it's been a long, long time.
but i'm back.
i hate myself for ever leaving.
i'm starting over.
it seems my eating issues are without fail always sparked by being cheated on? wtf. it's my coping mechanism, i guess. it seems like the girl is always younger, always thinner.
i'm too old for this. 24? srsly. i should have moved on from all this but i don't really want to.
is anyone else out there older? in their 20s maybe? c'mon, make me feel less bad please.
today's celebrity bmi twin: courtney love. current bmi: 21.0.
feeling a little bummed out by some of the entries here occasionally?
have you felt like a "wannarexic" [shudder] or like you just aren't good enough
to belong here somehow?
looking for some more positivity, a bit more support?( look no furtherCollapse )
to start a new community.
where i'd monitor the members and kick out any idiots.
...but then i think there wouldn't be many people left. like 15 or so.
im so pissed off right now.
halfway through the day, i get this amazing text message from my husband. he wants to go away for the weekend, he tells me i can pick any place within a 6 hour drive and we'll go for the weekend.
so i spend quite a while figuring out what our options are, and i ultimately pick nashville, tennessee. less than 4 hours, i've never been before, it's a gorgeous city, would be a lot of fun.
i start working on choosing a hotel, and he calls.
and tells me he's invited some guy who's a little older than i am, who we have NEVER hung out with before - just this single guy who's like 23 or 24. and he expects me to not only not have a problem with this, but also tells me that he would want to split a room with this guy, this stranger i have never even hung out with or exchanged 10 words with. me & my newlywedding husband, splitting a room with a stranger, a bachelor i don't even know, on our first weekend excursion together.
i suggest he should have his own hotel room if he comes, this upsets my husband. and he has already invited the guy, without even ASKING me first.
he's like 'it's not like we're going to fool around.'
i mean, what the fuck. a vacation together, a romantic, relaxing weekend away - i'm already planning what lingerie i could pack, and how we could go to a museum maybe, out to a romantic dinner...
yeah. now some random fuck-twat single guy i don't know is going to be tagging along, oh, can't make him uncomfortable, oh, better not plan on having sex at all, oh, better keep him entertained.
i hate my fucking life sometimes.
about to get philosophical. or whatever.
im reading 'brave new world' right now. i should've read it a long time ago, i somehow missed it, and as my husband & i are bookworms - we're reading a ton lately. anyway.
it started getting really great today, for those who have read it - i just got to where they visit the 'reservation' in new mexico. and it got me thinking, well, the whole book got me thinking.
thinking is always scary for me, i have spent such a large part of my life avoiding the area of my brain which really 'thinks.' but anyway.
the world we live in now already is the 'utopia' described in brave new world, or at least it follows such a similar model. of course, the book is dramatized, as all books are. but huxley really had a good understanding of human nature, and where the world was headed. i believe it was the development of ford's factories that initially drove huxley to write 'brave new world,' the idea of people [and everything else] being mass-produced, manufactured, all the same, parts of a whole, etc.
i was really moved when they first arrived to the reservation, and the way that she reacts to the 'savages,' so to speak. it's more or less very similar to the way someone would react to camping - had they never been before. so disgusted when taken away from the little plastic bubble of her world, where she's so accustomed to numbing herself with drugs, sex, 'fun.' and seeing, really seeing, the real world.
it's hard to find any sort of outline for my thoughts here, they all rushed on me so simultaneously.
why is it that we 'admire' people like mother theresa, buddha, jesus christ, people who live a life of self-sacrifice - renouncing material things, renouncing material pursuits - and yet we try to be like donald trump, paris hilton, or travis barker? how does it make any sense that people who consider themselves to be the most 'christian' are the ones who are living the lives that are the least 'christlike,' i.e. furthering their careers, buying big houses, sending their children to college, etc...?
so there's this revolt against religion, against faith, and people choose to believe in nothing but themselves, and honestly - should i bother illustrating what a horrible failure that is? even though i respect those people more, in our society, for at least recognizing hypocrisy in religion and refusing to be a part of it. but i BLAME religion itself, the LEADERS and the DOCTRINE-WRITERS for ruining what is ultimately the one truth in the world.
if someone told me to believe in something i could never understand, i wouldn't. if i was taught to believe in a mysterious three-headed god who kills people because he 'needs angels,' and told that my reward would be to float on some pink cloud in the sky after i die, and that i should love jesus because that's just what we're supposed to do, and bad people burn forever and ever because that's what their loving god 'allows,' what a joke, i'm sorry. how could anyone pretend to believe in any of it? it's as silly as greek mythology, it's as meaningful as worshipping a pop star. actually, it's less meaningful.
what have people been taught as an option? NO creator, NO god, NO spiritual world. evolution. being reduced to 'higher' animals, here to breed, feed, and die. without a purpose, without a job to do, without any kind of mission whatsoever.
people really are like sheep, skinned alive, beaten, and left without anyone to care for them. prey. lost & lonely, diseased. confused.
we're all diseased, with envy, greed, hate, prejudice, self-importance, and a million other things. the very things that disease us are often the things that society stealthily tells us to admire. be 'go-getters.' be 'career-oriented.' be thin, and famous, worry about money, and things. have pride! be proud of your race, your body. show yourself off! be self-confident, be conceited. SUCCEED, SUCCEED, SUCCEED.
humility is no longer a 'positive' quality, not in this world. looking through the most popular magazines - cosmo, maxim - sometimes it completely nauseates me, i can't really read one all the way through because i get too angry with what the media is feeding the world.
then again, they only are giving people what people want.
i don't know where i'd be if i didn't know the things i know. if i didn't know why we're here, where we're going, what happened to make things this way. if i didn't have beliefs that were well-founded and made sense. if i hadn't woken up from life.
i think 99.9% of people will only ever have the slightest glimpse at clarity & reason, at knowing. and it'll probably be the moment before they die.
anyway, that's all. there's so much more, my brain's really churning, but i don't write much anymore and it's getting a lot harder to actually write anything at all.
Sometimes, I just know I'm a bad person who will never be any better. I am so proud, so short-tempered. I cause arguments when my husband needs patience and understanding, and then I do not know how to apologize. I ruin things and then try to convince myself it was his fault. I am under stress over something ignorant - over FOOD - and I have no patience for his problems when he needs me.
Who says that men are supposed to be strong all the time? They arent, they're human too. And sometimes they need their women to be strong for them and not to be selfish crybabies.
it's amazing how many radiohead songs really hit me right now. their music is alive. it means different things to me at different times of my life. this is the one that really breaks my heart right now.
Fake Plastic Trees
A green plastic watering can
For a fake chinese rubber plant
In the fake plastic earth
That she bought from a rubber man
In a town full of rubber plans
To get rid of itself
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out
She lives with a broken man
A cracked polystyrene man
Who just crumbles and burns
He used to do surgery
On girls in the eighties
But gravity always wins
And it wears him out, it wears him out
It wears him out, it wears him out
She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
And it wears me out, it wears me out
It wears me out, it wears me out
And if I could be who you wanted
If I could be who you wanted
All the time, all the time
my little filthy blue block of home.
from outside, my duplex is gritty and unappealing. the wooden planks are a faded cornflower blue, the door a hideous forest green. it's hard to believe that only a block away are the perfect manicured colonial homes with prison inmates cleaning trash from their sidewalks.
a block in the other direction, welfare housing and train tracks, liquor stores and garbage dumps.
and my little shelter right in-between. pedestrians are very common on my front sidewalk, peering nosily into my pickup as they walk past on their way to buy more meth, or booze, or wherever they are going. maybe they remember the wallet they nabbed after breaking my husband's window a few months back, hoping to find another one in my vehicle. but we're more careful now.
and inside, i sit on the sofa watching out of my big livingroom windows. they look much better since we hung the bamboo blinds. this piece of late 1960s architecture is definitely unimpressive, and yet it has become such a haven for me. the wooden floors were never meant to be seen; it's hard to believe that the carpet which was torn up could've been worse-looking than these badly scuffed and beaten boards. the furniture is all second-hand, as are the tweed jackets hanging over the back of the lime-green office chair in the corner. our t.v. is humorously miniscule, and it is never very tidy inside. shoes, beer bottles, blankets, pajama pants, kitty toys, all tend to be littered around the floor. the heat finally works and keeps the temperature bearable. the walls are almost completely empty. the smell of incense lingers, as does the smell of cigarette smoke.
i sit on the old plaid sofa, with the plump, purring body of a fuzzy black kitten sprawled happily across my torso. there are no photos of family. there are no mirrors nearby. there is only one photo in the room, of my husband and i on our wedding day. this is my home, this is where i am happy. i don't want to leave. i dread the idea of an outside world. i would be content to never interact with it again, beyond watching it from behind my big streaked window. there are a pile of books on the little table by the sofa. there are thick cases of cds on the floor by the television. there are guitars in every room, and i've finally organized my closets. all the collected little knick-knacks in the house have no common thread - this one is bamboo, that one is brocade, here's a panda, and there is a candle of british stamps. there are a dozen dying orange roses in the vase sitting in the center of the dining room table. i do not want to throw them away; they are a present from the one person in the world who knows me, who sees me.
there are little pieces of my past trapped in inanimate objects that i keep for some crazy reason. i have three glass vases of unscented potpourri because they are from my mother. the scent is gone, you can only barely smell the cinnamon when you burrow your nose into the mouth of the vase - but it is as close as i can get to her now and i can't do away with them. i miss her - even though i just spoke to her on the phone. if she isn't close enough for me to smell the hairspray in her blond curls, she might as well not exist. i keep her fur coat in the extra closet for the same reason.
we've built a palace for our cats out of spare boxes lying around. they seem to have lost interest in the towering labyrinth, but i think we'll keep it forever.
the roaches have lost their fear of daylight, their fear of movement. they move around unhindered. they own the place as much as we do, and there is nothing we can do about it anymore.
the most pleasant noise possible is the sound of the washer and dryer running in the utility room. the most pleasant scent is the cheap incense burning in the livingroom. the liquor bottles on top of the refrigerator, the pile of pajamas next to the shower, the cats lying across the bamboo placemats, the crooked rugs caked with little bits of pine needle from outside, and my family - my husband and i - lying in the tiny twin bed we share, snuggled under a crumpled and stained comforter, the rain pattering outside and radiohead humming from our stereo, and telling stores about our day... sharing what we heard on npr, or discussing the state of world religion, or just holding each other and talking in our own secret language about our own private things...
it's heaven, it's all i have, it makes everything else completely worthless. i wish i never had to leave it. i'm becoming strange. i'm becoming antisocial. it's slightly frightening, but in a way, i don't mind. home is the only place i feel safe and in control.
i suck at purging.
did it last night. it's been awhile.
in the shower, for the first time.
it was hard to get anything up.
i really have a hard time with it.
but i didn't have any other option at the moment...
other than taking a blade to my stomach or something twice as bad.
so, purging it was.