Possible ?.....

How is it possible, that as of right now I am sitting with my calorie count at 737 and I am feeling so lost so guilty and so so so afraid? I don't know. I don't know, I have no fucking clue. I am, of course, hugely triggered. I am lying,(laying,) on the floor of my grand parents home. They have lived here all of my life. As well as all of my mother's life. The problem is that while I have always loved being here in this quiet home. I have never, never, felt uneasy as I do this time. Why? Well because my uncle who has always been huge, both physically and emotionally has shrunk. Shrunk due to the fact that he had a Gastric bypass 8 months ago. It feels so haunted here. As if there is a ghost of this fun loving smiling person, who had so much. So much gusto, for life for, food and for experience. Now he is gaunt, drawn, quiet. He is starving. Now I know that so many people have experienced this horror as they watch us,(you know us as in the worshipers of Ana, Mia, ED). I am watching this unfold. I have never thought of it before. Here is the rub. I hate it. I want to be the whose flesh is disappearing, who,s light is fading before all of those eyes. I want to turn and walk away with only the though of, "I am so thin" in my head. I am envious that a person (namely my uncle),can walk into a hospital have his stomach sewn shut and everyone in my family applauds the "hard work" "determination", and "great sacrifice". I on the other hand, restrict, count, subtract, purge, obsessively exercise, lose a shit load of body weight, but I am sick. I have to go to treatment. I have to be "brainwashed" by therapists, dietitians, and doctors. I have to stop. I am still obese, still heavy, still, still, still. Yes I am whining. Someone PLEASE explain this. How is this possible.



Another missed opportunity down the drain, My therapist suggested a possible career change free of charge. I like the fool that I can be, waited until after the close date. Admittedly I have been dealing with this whole shingles debacle. My hands still work though, bah oh well cest la vie, kay sera as they say. Let’s just say that this has not been my finest week. I have been near paralyzed by gripping fear that my waist, butt, arms, thighs and stomach, have been secretly sneaking ding dongs, while I sleep. Only to realize as I put my jeans on this morning that I have maybe, possibly, that my restricting is getting out of hand. This realization was fleeting though, because almost as instantaneously that sweet sweet voice told me “That feels good doesn’t it. Putting on your pants and having to roll them. I told you that food was poison”. Damn her, but alas she is right. So, the war continues. I will continue to restrict and suppress my intuitive self (ha, yeah right), okay, the intuitive self I was trying to foster. In the hopes that this time with help from Ana I might be able to find the identity that I lack.



I have been told I am too loud. I have been told my voice is too loud. People have told me to stop screaming, yelling, crying,  arguing and laughing. I have been asked if I always talk so loud.  I get it people. I make your ears hurt. Maybe I make you all uncomfortable. I get that too.  Here is the truth I don't want to be quiet. I want to scream, yell, argue, and laugh. I even want to fart really loud.  My new T Wilkie  asked me why people in my life tell me to shush. I told her I don't know.  I honestly don't know. It could be that I know a lot and they don't want to hear it. (hmm, no probably not.) Maybe they have very sensitive ears. (again, unlikely.) Perhaps it is because I feel like nobody listens. ( ding, ding, ding.) I hate feeling like this truly I do. I do not always want to listen sometimes I want to be heard.