Tag Archives: eating disorder

Marrying the mental and the mischief

It always surprises me how aspects of my kink related play marry to other aspects of myself.

Let me back up briefly.

 It’s about to get a bit personal.

I have struggled with an eating disorder for over the past decade, though I am now medically considered recovered. I was hospitalized for it back in my late teens and it has influenced some of my current medical conditions.

My relationship with food is still complicated. Especially around holidays like Thanksgiving. I have to navigate a prickly maze of thorn-laden hedges in my brain to merely sit down with family and eat a plateful of food.

I deal with it in my day-to-day life mostly by grazing. It tricks my brain and those darkly creeping thoughts to only eating a little at a time. It’s the plates full of food in front of other people that sets off that siren screaming in my head. Calling the cruel goddess Ana to my brain with her poisoned words and glittering sharp teeth. Just a couple pounds less. Always just a couple less.
Her demand of sacrifice is a throwback to the days of pagans gathered around an unfortunate virgin, knives gleaming.

But I have found a surprising weapon in the community and exploration of kink. Not just the support I receive from friends and mentors when the dark thoughts curl around my feet, but also the play itself.



The subspace is untouchable by Ana. It is a thickly layered brick maze that she cannot navigate. The stinging of a flogger, the thudding of a paddle, they add barbed wire to those brick walls. The rip of tape, the slithering sound of rope, the zap of electricity…

All of these things are soothing to me. They bring me to a place that I cannot bring myself. 

It may seem unorthodox, and I’m sure the average mental-health professional would be floored by the therapy I get from play. After hitting subspace, I haven’t the inclination or motivation to count calories or restrict myself.



The food I put in my mouth after a scene is so goddamn guilt-free delicious.

First session

“I’m lying there wondering what happens next and I hear a voice. It says, ‘Man, this is not a way to live. This is a way to die.'” -Cornell, “28 Days”


Today was the day. As the alarm blared, and a hand reached from under the covers to slam it off.

Fuckin’ alarm

She shrugged off the echoing words, well-used to strange thoughts and ringing words she didn’t remember thinking. It matched well with scrawled notes she didn’t remember writing and stacks of books earmarked at pages she didn’t remember reading.

The strange bruises and cuts on the canvas of her body. A quick glance in the bathroom before dressing showed there weren’t any new ones today.

Her stomach felt strangely hollow, but she ignored it. Breakfast wasn’t happening anyway. Running too late. She shoved a wad of cash into her hip pocket. She’d get food at lunch. The worshipful caress of her sharp hipbone said otherwise, but it wasn’t noticed.

Time hop-skipped and she was at her locker. The hopscotch jump of lost time didn’t faze her. Thankfully it was a routine school day and she could easily see by the clock on the wall that all she missed was the trip to school and maybe a bit of pre-homeroom socializing. Nothing she would be required to recall at a moment’s notice. But then a post-it on the inside of her locker caught her eye.

Meeting with the counselor today- after lunch

Panic rose. She would have to discuss “things” with this woman. Explain why her schoolwork was slipping and why her friends never saw her eat.

“Hey. Today’s the day.” said a voice to her left. She jerked silently before noticing it was a real person standing next to her. Katherine.

“Yeah. Today.” She replied.

“Are you still mad at me for telling your mom?” Katherine’s bright blue eyes were concerned and Kit momentarily wondered why she wasn’t mad. Normally she would be. She had been furious at Sarah back in middle school. Telling the school guidance counselor about having to prevent her from drinking bleach at a party. That anger seemed to bubble and overflow for weeks. Months.

But Katherine telling her mom about not eating? Nothing. Even though it was the missing piece in the mystery of “Kit’s mental status” that her mother was trying to untangle.

“I’m not mad.” She replied honestly. She had a sudden flirty urge to play with her hair. She squinted for a moment, trying to place the urge. It didn’t feel like hers. Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“What are you planning to talk about? Josh? Texas? Your dad?”

“I dunno. Maybe. Depends on the person.” She shoved the locker closed and twirled the lock compulsively.

“I think you should tell them about everything.” Katherine pushed. Kit’s eyes cut away, fluttering.

Another pair looked up.

Everything?” came the sharp reply. The eyes accompanying the harsh word seemed in contrast. They were a bit shy, but also warm. Katherine turned a bit pink. Her turn to glance away.

“Well. That’s up to you.”

The sharper eyes fiddled with her small green purse, pawing through it with purpose. Suddenly a rattling sound announced success and she pulled out a small bottle of painkillers. Katherine frowned. “More headaches?”

“There’s always more headaches.” Midori replied. “Today’s upcoming party isn’t exactly a help.”

“So you are mad.”

“Jesus Katherine. I said I wasn’t.” Midori huffed, tipping the bottle expertly and dry-swallowing a couple of the oblong white pills. “I’m going to be late.” She shoved the bottle back into the purse and looked expectedly at the dark haired girl in front of her. Katherine glanced at the clock.

“Oh. You’re right. I’ll walk you?”

“Whatever. Your tardy record.”

“Media doesn’t care. As long as we turn in projects, we can pretty much be wherever.”

“Should have gone the media track.” Midori replied, automatically falling into step next to Katherine. Sometimes their arms brushed. It was one of Midori’s favorite parts of the day and she hoarded the feelings jealously.


It was lunchtime by the time Kit was aware and she automatically headed to the table she shared with Germany and a couple other friends. She avoided glancing where Josh and Texas would be sitting, half in each other’s lap.

Charlotte peeked out and saw. She rolled her eyes, knowing she was better at pleasing Josh anyhow. Not her fault he preferred the sane.

Germany never asked why she just drank a diet coke. The excuse of headaches and migraines worked well for Kit’s supposed closest friend.

Lunch didn’t last as long as Kit hoped. As her other friends threw the remnants of their lunches away and headed towards the classrooms, Kit clutched her half finished diet coke and walked towards the faculty side of the building.

It felt like a death march.

The kids all knew where “special meetings” were held at the school. Whether it was tutoring, discipline discussions, or counseling, there was only one area it happened. Kit opened the door to the lobby and tried to dodge the eyes of a secretary she’d never met before.

Blackness

It was Roms who surfaced this time and timidly walked up to the counter. She recognized the sign-in sheet, similar to the one for when she arrived after third bell. She filled out the body’s name, then finally met the eyes of the secretary. The woman was obviously judging her, but Roms tried not to think about that. Someone important needed to attend this meeting. This meeting could not be lost entirely. That’s something a crazy person would do. Sane people remember. The primary goal was to appear sane.

The secretary glanced at the sheet, then at something on her computer screen.

“Room three. It’s the last one.” She pointed down a short hallway. Roms gave a brief nod and headed towards Room Three.

She opened the door and saw a woman already in there. She paused.

“Are you K____? You’re in the right place.” The woman said, a smile on her face. She was younger than Roms expected. Barely out of college. She entered tentatively, the diet coke held in front like a shield.

“Is this all right?” She asked. The woman nodded with a smile.

“Sure. I’m Joy.”

A derisive snort exploded in the back of Roms’ mind, but she ignored it. Fought to not let the offensive sound reach the air verbally.

“K____.” She lied automatically. Joy nodded.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Because my father won’t pay for a real psychologist and doing it through the school is free.” Midori interjected bluntly.

Roms pushed back the sensation of a blush but wasn’t positive if her face remained passive. Lately, her and Midori had less of a wall. They synced in many of their goals for the body, so perhaps that was why.

Joy had about as good a poker face as Roms herself so there was no way to tell if the blush avoidance was successful.

“What are you hoping to get out of these meetings?” Joy asked

Roms paused, considering.

“You can be honest. It stays between us.” Joy encouraged.

“I suppose it would be whatever is needed to reassure my parents and friends that I’m fine.” Roms answered truthfully.

“Are you fine?” Joy asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to elaborate on that right now?” Her tone seemed hopeful. Rom felt the immediate upheaval and internal lip curl.

“Probably not.” She said quietly. Joy nodded easily.

“That’s fine. We don’t know much about each other yet. Please do sit.” She offered the open seats at the round table she was at. Roms chose one diagonal from the therapist. Not across, not next to. That seemed the most comfortable. Joy made a note in her pad.

“Let’s start with some easy stuff. Any pets?” She asked, her tone disarming. The buzzing bees of Roms’ head increased. Suspicion was high. Roms pushed back as much as she could, trying to focus on the fact that getting through this meant parents backing the fuck off. That thought decreased the buzzing.

“Two cats. Girls. Velvet and Ashes.” She went ahead and supplied the names. Knowing that was the logical next question. She’d handled enough guidance counselors to know the line of questioning.

“Do you take care of them mostly? Or your parents?”

“They’re only at my father’s house. But I mostly take care of them. He will on the weekends I’m at Mom’s.” This commentary caused another note made to Joy’s pad.

“Do you see your parents equally?”

“That’s the technical deal. But since school is here, I’m at my father’s more. Most of my friends live here.”

“Understandable. And your parents are okay with that arrangement?”

“Yep. Friendliest divorced parents you’ll ever meet.” Roms’ tone edged on facetious as Midori crept out slightly, “Their separation was a business arrangement. Neat, organized, timely, and emotionless.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” Joy said, her expression remaining fixed. Midori rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” She replied without argument. Joy seemed to react to this, and made another note.

“Why do you say it’s like a business arrangement?”

Midori slumped slightly in the chair. She definitely hadn’t taken enough painkillers for this woman. It was ridiculous that Roms thought to go along easily with this bullshit.

Midori debated a moment on letting Rika out to just end the session bluntly. But that could end with further counseling and possibly school faculty involved. Rika was not good at censoring her language.
Last time in Geography when the boy had made a crude pass at Kit, Rika’s response got her kept after the bell. Thankfully the teacher liked Kit, and had heard part of what the boy said. So the discussion was mostly for show. Not a true disciplinary action.

Rika in this situation would end differently, Midori was pretty sure. She sighed heavily.

“Look. I get that I’m here to ‘sort things out’ or whatever. But I really hate the constant ‘why’ follow up questions to things I say. Can we do this a different way?”

“I appreciate the honesty, K____.” Joy replied matter-of-factly. She did not make a note on her pad. Midori wasn’t sure what that meant. “Any suggestions on the best way to do this?”

“The way that gets me out of here and my parents no longer pissed.” Midori answered.

“Well I’m going to be honest with you then, K____. That’s going to have to involve some whys. I have to be able to see why things are not fine. Eventually. Or the parents probably won’t be cool.”

Midori picked up on Joy trying to make her speech more high school causual in its rhythm and some word choices, but it mostly sounded odd. It put the whole head on edge. Even distant parts of the pieces who were truly unaware of there being a system.

“I’m not sure what to tell you.” Midori said stubbornly.

Then there was a push and Roms gave way. “I guess I should say I just got out of a long relationship. For high school. Almost a whole year. I was dumped a couple weeks ago. He’s going out with one of my former best friends now. Found out they were already doing stuff behind my back for months. My other best friend that I sit with at lunch hasn’t noticed I haven’t eaten at school in three weeks.” Roms paused, hesitant with the last big tidbit. Then she focused again on the goals of just getting through this as honestly as they could without getting committed.

“And my third best friend…she’s the only one who’s noticed anything different about me. But I think I have a crush on her. I don’t know how to feel about that. I’ve only liked boys. I still like boys. I’m not a lesbian.” Roms’ tone became desperate at the end as pieces of emotions breathed in from other corners of the system.
Being more abnormal was a fucking disaster.

Why couldn’t they just be normal.

Joy was silent for a long time. It felt like forever. Roms was resisting the urge to give way to The Compulsives, who would pick or scratch, or toy with something and make the abnormal even more obvious. She remained rigid, in body and head. The headache increased.

“Thank you. That’s very helpful.” Joy said, finally starting to make some notes on her pad. “I think having feelings for people who care for you can be good, healthy, even if they seem confusing. I think we really got through a lot of stuff today for a first session. Is it okay with you if we stop early today? I think you need to pause after telling me all that. And I need to pause too before talking to you about all that. But I’m glad we were able to open a little bit of this box you keep.”

Roms stared, resisting the urge to drop her jaw in open-mouthed surprise. Joy knew about the box. Joy carefully didn’t meet her eyes while she finished writing and Roms composed herself, mentally running through all that had happened in this room. With Joy.

It was vital that Kit be aware of this whole first session.

Roms had a feeling these sessions with Joy would determine some important direction for the future. Others were more skeptical, but Roms was the one who was usually right about those sort of predictions.

Something important was at work here.

Spiraling

The path isn’t a straight line; it’s a spiral. You continually come back to things you thought you understood and see deeper truths.

-Barry H. Gillespie

I was doing well. I was. I have a house. I own it 100% outright. I’m doing this adult thing. I even traveled this year.

But life isn’t a straight path. It’s a spiral and half the time, you come right back around to where you were.

And where I am now is not good.

My life is a spiral.

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.47.49 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.47.04 PM
Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 9.01.56 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 7.39.13 PMScreen Shot 2015-04-16 at 7.35.51 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.49.25 PMScreen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.52.55 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 9.02.40 PMScreen Shot 2015-04-16 at 9.00.08 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.57.49 PMScreen Shot 2015-04-16 at 8.55.29 PM

Screen Shot 2015-04-16 at 9.00.34 PM

ED Recovery App Update

A little while ago, I stumbled across the Recovery Record app and wrote about it.

After using it for a couple weeks, I’ve discovered that one of my commenters was right; this app just brings my disorder to the forefront of my mind.

The constant “EAT” reminders that buzzed on my phone every couple hours just overwhelmed me and make me uncomfortable.  The detailed food log just made me want to have a lack of food to log.

All in all, I’m sad to report it was very triggering.  I do hope it was better for others, but I wanted to mention my experience.

Anyone else have any experiences to share?

Beyond Frustration

After my last two weird posts, I did end up going to the doctor.  He got me in quickly because he wanted to check if I had other signs of a stroke or seizure.   Apparently I did not.

After that was ruled out, he became rather apathetic about my strange symptoms.  He did some more history stuff (we talked about my psych-ward stay) and he rearranged my meds slightly again.

And then yesterday I got hit with a baaaaad migraine.  Vomiting for hours, BP of 187/125 or higher.  Finally it started coming down in the afternoon enough that I could get an anti-nausea to stay down.  Called the doctor.  He did some more med rearranging and said to call if it got dramatically worse, otherwise he’d see me Saturday.

I just feel like I’m falling into this hole again.  Unsolveable, doesn’t respond to treatment.  I know the doctor is trying but I’m just starting to feel entirely frustrated and hopeless again.  My body seems to really be sure it should have this high pressure no matter what.  I don’t understand it.  I’ve been so good now for over a month on EVERYTHING, even food.

But now I’m feeling that ED nipping at my heels and curling around my head.  Stating that I’m too fat/ugly/disgusting and that’s why I have high blood pressure.  Of course the pills aren’t working.  I just need to lose this fat.  Just stop eating and the blood pressure will drop.  It’s not hard.

My mind is messing with me a lot.  I’m aware this is damaging thinking.  Not healthy.  Not normal.  But I can’t stop.

Nothing seems to be working and I don’t know where to turn to.

Trying to be a protector

(Trigger warning.  Bad language, dark thoughts, and slight sexual talk.)

He fucked someone else.

He’s the one who fucking decided to not speak to us for weeks, acts all apologetic when he comes to visit us in the hospital, and then last night he decides to tell Charlotte he’s fucked someone else.

While they’re in the MIDDLE of foreplay.

Fucking classy, right?  Motherfucking classy.

I wanted to put my boot through his shitty fucking face.  But I didn’t get to control that situation.  Since it was a fucking sexual situation, control falls to fucking Charlotte.

Fucking Charlotte.

So fucking needy in her fucking needs that when he drops that gem of a bombshell, she fucking pauses, stares at him a second while internally WE LOSE OUR FUCKING SHIT.

Then she carries on like nothing fucking happened.

Fucking fantastic.

She fucks him not one, but twice after that little gem of information.  She tries to justify it by saying she didn’t try hard (yeah right).  But that’s not even the fucking point.
Then she needles him.  She fucking push, push, pushes the shithead to admit that the cocksucker’s fling of betrayal was shitty.  Great fuckwit.  I don’t fucking care if it was the shittiest lay you ever had.

You’re still a fuckhead.

He spends half the fucking night trying to say how beautiful, how lovely, how gorgeous we are (stupid fucking V told him about the body image issues and most recent laxative use).

It all fell on fucking deaf ears.

All I can fucking hear in here is how awful we must look for him to go out and find someone else to fuck.

Shit.

Now I have to fucking deal with a brand new spiral of self-hate after we just dug ourself out from the last one.

Thank you motherfucking shithead of a fuckwit.  I’m putting up a fucking banner.  We aren’t going fucking back to him.  This is it.  Charlotte filled her fucking void.  She’s done for a couple weeks.

We finally found a fucking doctor who will see us (appointment tomorrow) so we don’t fucking need his medical fucking ability.

The fuckhead can just stay away.  Stay the fuck away.

Don’t need these fucking mind games.  We already create our own shit.

Hoping the fucking doctor tomorrow can help.  And I’ve never fucking hoped on doctors for shit.

Anything to calm them down.  Thinking they’re fat and ugly and unfuckable.  Jesus.
Charlotte fucked the man twice and he certainly had no issues performing.  Ya’ll are fuckable.  Chill the fuck out.  It’s him that’s unfuckable.  I’m sure the low class whore of a bitch he found was like, 400 pounds and had the worse butterface in fucking existence.

I’m with Middi on this front.  If meds can help, I’ll allow them.

Especially with the numb fucking hands being the worse they’ve been in awhile this morning. Can barely put the fucking bra on.

So that’s our fucking weekend.

Hope ya’ll are fucking good.

-Rika

Lifesavers

Sometimes some lifesaver floaties and rafts need to be tossed out into that muck of a swamp you’ve found yourself in…

Crunch on the lifesavers below when you’re feeling down…

(I admit to being snagged by this idea by a new follower I peeked over at recently.  Ms. Georgia did this post and it inspired me to list some “advice” to both myself and others who might need it.
Obviously it’s catered to myself.  But I’m hoping a couple may strike other people.  I have the warmest thoughts for all of you!  Hang in there!)
______________________________________________________

1.) You are not your state of health.  You are not that pain you’re feeling.  You are not the nauseous feeling sinking in that stomach of yours.  You are not the throbbing in the temples, the tingling in the hands and legs, the dizziness swirling when you stand too quickly.

2.) It’s okay to have bad food days.  Those days when food just seems like it’s been sent from that personal nemesis and you can’t possibly eat it because that would mean that that evil feeling inside wins.  But it’s also okay to have a little extra the day after.  And if you see that impulse food and it sings a happy little tune of safety; it’s okay to get it and quickly devour it.  No one need know.

3.) Don’t listen to your relatives.  They know nothing about how you actually feel and live your life.  They don’t know how hard you work, how much you try.  They’re little biting remarks could be “well intended”, but that doesn’t even matter.  What matters is how you feel about your own goals.  They’re yours.  Not theirs.

4.) Spend more time at the dog park.  There is nothing more nonjudgmental than an animal.  Especially a dog.  They only care that you can manage to stroke their head momentarily. And they’ll easily forgive if you can’t.  Plus, it involves walking and a bit of sun.  You can always use more of that.  And there’s minimal social contact so don’t worry about how you look.

5.) Put the razor down.  Just for a couple minutes.  Doesn’t have to be forever.  Just set it down for a moment.  Look at your bookshelf.  That book, that one right there?  That was your favorite as a kid/teen/college student.  Why don’t you take a moment to flip through it?  Remind yourself why it’s such a great read.  You can worry about the razor and it’s commands later.

6.) Sex is great.  It is.  But you don’t have to be having it right now.  Don’t do that stupid shit you’re thinking about just for a quick roll.  You know you’ll just regret it anyway.  Focus instead on some hobbies and interests you’ve been putting on the back burner.  When’s the last time you baked?  You don’t have to eat it.  Bring it into work.  They’ll love it.  Glow in those compliments.  Better than shitty sex.  Let the good sex come to you.  Don’t seek it.

7.) Accept hugs.  I know touching is hard.  It is.  But you have got to graciously accept a hug. They mean well.  They aren’t trying to give an opinion or advice you don’t want.  They aren’t trying to take your problems from you.  They aren’t trying to give you more problems.  They simply want to let you know they are there and they hear you and they are concerned.  That’s okay to accept.  There is no fine print.

8.) Don’t take work home.  You don’t need to be superwoman.  It’s sad, but people lose their homes to mortgages they can’t afford.  They grieve.  They move on.  And then they’re able to manage a budget again and fall in love with a new residence.  It’s a house.  You don’t work in medicine.  These aren’t lives.  Stop taking it home and letting it fester and grow like a dark monster in your chest.  Sometimes clients will yell or cry or curse.  But it isn’t you; truly.  They are grieving and you are standing in front of them.  And you know what?  You can totally bring home the heartfelt thankyous and tears of joy when you can save their home.  That’s allowed.  Store them on that imaginary shelf and look at them when the hopeless files stack and pile and topple.

9.) Write.  For the love of god.  Whenever you avoid writing at least a little for multiple days, your mental-health suffers.  You know this.  You don’t have to write some grand amazing thing.  You don’t even have to write in the blog.  Just write.  Something.  You have that journal by your bed.  There are no excuses.  Write a list of things you would wish you had.  Write your favorite books from childhood.  Write about the first time you had a really damn good steak.  A paragraph suffices.  You know it’s worth it.

10.) Hang out with who you want.  Stop worrying about what people think.  This doesn’t mean ignore what YOU think.  If you think they’re a doucher- don’t force yourself.  But if they make you feel good for the most part even though 70% of your friends find him a dick to hang out with.  Well.  Then go somewhere without those friends.  They don’t need to join.  If he’s different to you, it doesn’t mean that different side is wrong.  Just means you bring out something different.  Enjoy it.

Rose-Tinted Lies

**(EXTRA Trigger warning for blunt and not pretty ED talk)**

The_Reflection_of_Flight_by_kitkatfox

The glow and flame and burst of light you think you’ll have.  The silver insides, the fluttering clean, the glorious empty, the lightly skipping steps of a person who is perfectly thin.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

Here’s what an eating disorder really is for me:

It’s two am and I wake up with those sudden feelings of self-hatred and the flab seems to be clinging, clinging,  Something has to be done.  It doesn’t matter that work is in the morning and I really shouldn’t be a shell at work.  I reach for the pills.

It’s living a life where measurement of pills are dolled out by shakes of a bottle and tosses into a shaking palm.  Proper dosage is only “more”.

It’s making sure I have enough ephedrine to curb the hunger pains and exhaustion.  It’s reading the articles that talk about it being mostly outlawed because when it was coupled with caffeine and aspirin it caused dramatic weight loss (and a lot of health problems).  And my only reaction is “gotta get some low-dose aspirin”.

It’s telling people I love eating hot sauce straight because I’m a weird nut about spicy food; when it’s really because it acts as a natural laxative and adds next to no calories.  And loving that it burns the shit out of my tongue so I don’t want to eat more.

It’s the burning and painful tenderness of my behind after I’ve had a particular violent bought with the laxative effects.

It’s sobbing in the middle of a weekend afternoon because I desperately want to bake something (baking being my secret passion) but knowing I’m not seeing anyone soon that I could pawn the results off on.  So I have to stop myself from doing it.  Otherwise I’ll just eat the results and cow’s don’t deserve desserts.

It’s being a little happy deep down when a particularly nasty migraine results in multiple days of vomiting.

It’s hating myself so deeply, so darkly, in a twisting thorn of rage, for the days after those migraines where I can’t eat enough.

It’s telling coworkers that I ate before I came to work and I would prefer to just work through lunch.

It’s shaking and trembling in the bathroom after those handful of laxatives, the cramping in my stomach so bad that I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

It’s unexplained bruises and scratches when I wake up in the morning.  The only clue is a echoing cry of despairing self-hatred in the back of head.  It is almost childlike.

It’s hearing my best friend tell me I look like a pinup model in a swim suit and wishing, just wishing, that I could see myself that way.  I’m not dumb, I know my eyes are broken.

It’s hearing my mother say “You would never treat another person the horrible way you treat yourself” and being stunned into silence by the truth of it.  I am my own worse enemy.

It’s hoping, hoping, hoping that something will change.  But nothing ever does.

It’s a rose-tinted lie.

Silver streaking pain

(*trigger warning: ED talk)

I stupidly binged last night. Dumbdumbdumb.

I wish I had the courage or ability to just get rid of it immediately. A simple up and out. But I don’t.

So I broke out the laxatives today. First time in awhile. 

I forgot about the stabbing knife-like pain. Silver streaks dancing through my stomach and flashing through my head.  Their sweet singing flickering through each ear, taunting me, encouraging me.

Need to feel that glorious empty. The sharp bite of bright white clean. The echoing flavor of nothingness.

I just wish it didn’t have to be painful. I really hate pain.

But pain is beauty. And I’m never quite close enough.

-Victoria

Living’s Too Hard To Do

“I’d rather be dreaming than living
Living’s just too hard to do
It’s chances not choices
Noises not voices
A day’s just a thing to get through
Living’s just too hard to do

I’d rather be dreaming than talking
There’s nothing to hear or to say
With ears covered mouth closed
The world is opposed
Nothing gets in or away
There’s nothing to hear or to say

I’d rather be dreaming than thinking
Thoughts are small comfort to me
Dreams might be pretend
But at least dreams end
And I just can’t stop thinking you see
Thoughts are small comfort to me

I’d rather be dreaming than sleeping
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead
In dreams I can fly
In dreams I don’t die
That’s why I lie here in this bed
Just sleeping you’re just as well dead

I’d rather be dreaming”

“Dreaming” by Loudon Wainwright III

___________________________________________________________________________

I’m not well.  I’m a shell.  A hull.  Going through the motions like a sick twisted puppet.  Higher, faster, better, longer, they all say.  And I do it.  Mechanically my parts move but my mind is long gone.

Lack of meds is spiraling spiraling spiraling.  I don’t want to be there when I crash.  I’m so close.  Closecloseclose.  I can taste the tacky bitterness of it.  The sharp tang, like a slice of my own skin.

The world is splinters and ghosts and I just want to sleep and sleep and dream of days before.

Was there a before?