This holiday depresses me.
The parade, the football, the pies, all of it.
When the doorbell rings and distant relatives walk in, I shudder with contempt.
It's all fake. No one is happy to see anyone. In fact, the kids are the only honest ones present.
Their cries of, "But I don't want to wear this dress, it's itchy!", "But I want to sit at the big-kid table!" and "I'm done eating, can we go home now?" are the only honest words uttered on turkey day.
Why is it that children are the only ones capable of blunt honesty? They lack some filter that our parents impose upon us to prevent us from saying stuff like, "Mommy told me that when you call, she's in the shower." and other socially inappropriate honesties.
Back to Thanksgiving. The parade makes me the most upset. The grinning floats seemingly leer and mock me with their weightlessness. Their floating heads simply reaffirm the fact that I can't let go.
My total control over every aspect of my life suffocates me like the oxygen deprived floating head of Spongebob Squarepants.
And why don't the children fear these massive floating monstrosities? It seems like over stimulation would get the best of me and I would pass out in a sea of colors, confetti, and joy.
It makes me think of taking ecstasy at a discotheque, too many colors, sounds, people,and smells for the brain to process.
In fact, I feel like that in day-to-day life. I wish I could go numb to it all.
What's wrong with me?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Do You Recognize Her?
Today at work I bonded with a woman who I thought was my hero.
She is 34, I'm 25.
We began the day talking about relationships, how we both found it difficult to get close with men.
As we got further into our discussion, we got to know each other a little better.
She said she hated spooning. Me too.
She hates holding hands. Me too.
She hates cuddling. Me too!
Then she said that she'd been in love once before.
She told me that she'd been in love when she was 25, but she'd ruined it. She said, "I think we're the type of self-destructive women who are never meant to be in love."
What?
I came back and read my past blogs.
When did I become so self destructive?
What am I doing? I can only blame myself, right?
How do I end this cycle? Is everyone else this self-aware? And then, is everyone else this depressed when they see themselves for the first time?
I look in the mirror and see someone I no longer recognize.
Who is she?
Do you recognize her?
She is 34, I'm 25.
We began the day talking about relationships, how we both found it difficult to get close with men.
As we got further into our discussion, we got to know each other a little better.
She said she hated spooning. Me too.
She hates holding hands. Me too.
She hates cuddling. Me too!
Then she said that she'd been in love once before.
She told me that she'd been in love when she was 25, but she'd ruined it. She said, "I think we're the type of self-destructive women who are never meant to be in love."
What?
I came back and read my past blogs.
When did I become so self destructive?
What am I doing? I can only blame myself, right?
How do I end this cycle? Is everyone else this self-aware? And then, is everyone else this depressed when they see themselves for the first time?
I look in the mirror and see someone I no longer recognize.
Who is she?
Do you recognize her?
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I've Been Sick...Not Really
I'm sorry I have not blogged in a while, I've been very, very ill.
Not really.
That's a lie. I have actually never felt better.
Except that a man loves me and I don't love him. I've allowed him to love me for months now and I don't know what to do.
His mannerisms irk me to no extent. The smell of his cologne makes me gag.
Worst of all? His kindness makes me want to vomit. Is it wrong that I would like him more if he were abusive?
I would enjoy our sex if he tugged my hair a little harder, pinned me down, bit me.
I fantasize about rape. Is that sick?
I can't bring myself to break up with him because I cannot fathom that I, the most empty person I know, would reject filling, warm, delicious love.
Love so pure and kind that its saccharine flavor makes me sick to my stomach.
Love so thick, like molasseses, that it makes my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth and makes my vomit slide back down to my acid filled stomach.
What is wrong with my heart?
Not really.
That's a lie. I have actually never felt better.
Except that a man loves me and I don't love him. I've allowed him to love me for months now and I don't know what to do.
His mannerisms irk me to no extent. The smell of his cologne makes me gag.
Worst of all? His kindness makes me want to vomit. Is it wrong that I would like him more if he were abusive?
I would enjoy our sex if he tugged my hair a little harder, pinned me down, bit me.
I fantasize about rape. Is that sick?
I can't bring myself to break up with him because I cannot fathom that I, the most empty person I know, would reject filling, warm, delicious love.
Love so pure and kind that its saccharine flavor makes me sick to my stomach.
Love so thick, like molasseses, that it makes my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth and makes my vomit slide back down to my acid filled stomach.
What is wrong with my heart?
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Everyone Thinks I Have A Twin-I Don't
Everyone, my friends, co-workers, and aquantences believe that I have an identical twin who still lives in Greece (where I was born).
My parents divorced when I was a child-True
They couldn’t decide who got custody of their daughters-True (I have an older sister, remember?)
They each chose from a set of identical twins which one they wanted-False
One of us came to the states and the other stayed in Greece-False
I must be a damn good actress because I have convinced people that all of the above are true.
One time I even went to school with a heavy Greek accent pretending to be my twin and people believed me.
None of my ‘friends’ even know me for what I really am-a liar, a manipulator, a sociopath.
I even used a work computer in my office to Photoshop two images of me together!
Sometimes I feel bad about my lies.
Then I realize that people are gullible and that’s their fault, not mine.
Why should my fun and humor suffer because of someone else’s ignorance?
In return, I trust no one and I doubt everyone.
My parents divorced when I was a child-True
They couldn’t decide who got custody of their daughters-True (I have an older sister, remember?)
They each chose from a set of identical twins which one they wanted-False
One of us came to the states and the other stayed in Greece-False
I must be a damn good actress because I have convinced people that all of the above are true.
One time I even went to school with a heavy Greek accent pretending to be my twin and people believed me.
None of my ‘friends’ even know me for what I really am-a liar, a manipulator, a sociopath.
I even used a work computer in my office to Photoshop two images of me together!
Sometimes I feel bad about my lies.
Then I realize that people are gullible and that’s their fault, not mine.
Why should my fun and humor suffer because of someone else’s ignorance?
In return, I trust no one and I doubt everyone.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Vampires And Ghouls
How badly do I wish vampires and ghoulies existed?
Very badly.
I need to believe that there is something else out there unexplained by science or fact. As of yet I have found none.
Some people turn to religion and their belief in god, something I find fanciful and silly, thoughts worthy of a 5-year-old writing letters to Santa Clause in hopes of him fulfilling their dream for the newest Barbie dreamhouse.
I never got mine so I stopped believing.
Where is the proof in the so-called “higher power”?
Everything I have seen in my short 25 years has proved to me that science can explain everything.
Some people have told me that having your own child brings you closer to the higher power, which begs the question:
Shouldn’t I love myself before I try to love another creature?
If vampires and ghosts existed, they would be my proof that something bigger than me existed.
I don’t need a good higher power with hopes of salvation, I just need to know that humans are not the highest level of intelligence that this universe will ever see.
If not, maybe we’d all be better off dead.
Very badly.
I need to believe that there is something else out there unexplained by science or fact. As of yet I have found none.
Some people turn to religion and their belief in god, something I find fanciful and silly, thoughts worthy of a 5-year-old writing letters to Santa Clause in hopes of him fulfilling their dream for the newest Barbie dreamhouse.
I never got mine so I stopped believing.
Where is the proof in the so-called “higher power”?
Everything I have seen in my short 25 years has proved to me that science can explain everything.
Some people have told me that having your own child brings you closer to the higher power, which begs the question:
Shouldn’t I love myself before I try to love another creature?
If vampires and ghosts existed, they would be my proof that something bigger than me existed.
I don’t need a good higher power with hopes of salvation, I just need to know that humans are not the highest level of intelligence that this universe will ever see.
If not, maybe we’d all be better off dead.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News!
I have 4 doctor’s appointments in the next month and I could not be more ecstatic.
I love being alone in a room with someone asking me how I feel, what my symptoms are, am I okay?
Maybe it’s narcissistic of me, maybe it’s just human nature.
I mean, women go get mani-pedis, and men get massages, I do neither, I see doctors instead.
Instead of painting over ugly feet or temporarily rubbing out pain, I go to the doctor to get to the root of the problem.
I don’t even mind the awkward examination, even at the eye doctor or gynecologist.
Now I am a very clumsy woman, I end up in the ER 3-4 times per year (falling down the stairs, bronchitis, etc.).
Do I unconsciously do it on purpose?
Probably not, but you never know.
I love being alone in a room with someone asking me how I feel, what my symptoms are, am I okay?
Maybe it’s narcissistic of me, maybe it’s just human nature.
I mean, women go get mani-pedis, and men get massages, I do neither, I see doctors instead.
Instead of painting over ugly feet or temporarily rubbing out pain, I go to the doctor to get to the root of the problem.
I don’t even mind the awkward examination, even at the eye doctor or gynecologist.
Now I am a very clumsy woman, I end up in the ER 3-4 times per year (falling down the stairs, bronchitis, etc.).
Do I unconsciously do it on purpose?
Probably not, but you never know.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
I lied, I'm Not Busy, I Just Don't Like You
I was going to say that I've been busy for the past few weeks and that's why I have not posted anything.
That's a lie. I've been bored at work with nothing to do but too lazy to make the effort to blog.
Does anyone even read this? Probably not, but for some reason it makes me fee connected.
A friend of mine recently had a stomach virus and was telling me how she could not hold down her food, and do you want to know my first thought?
Lukcy! I quickly chided myself for even thinking that, but I cannot deny that I did.
I can't be the only one that thinks like that.
I'm massively unhappy and I live in constant fear, but of what I do not know.
I scare easily, too easily. It's like I'm constantly waiting for something horrible to happen to me.
I'm not unhappy, per se, but I'm not happy either. I am content.
But I've always felt that my life has been a crescendo waiting to climax but never getting there.
The anticipation is killing me.
I'm killing me.
That's a lie. I've been bored at work with nothing to do but too lazy to make the effort to blog.
Does anyone even read this? Probably not, but for some reason it makes me fee connected.
A friend of mine recently had a stomach virus and was telling me how she could not hold down her food, and do you want to know my first thought?
Lukcy! I quickly chided myself for even thinking that, but I cannot deny that I did.
I can't be the only one that thinks like that.
I'm massively unhappy and I live in constant fear, but of what I do not know.
I scare easily, too easily. It's like I'm constantly waiting for something horrible to happen to me.
I'm not unhappy, per se, but I'm not happy either. I am content.
But I've always felt that my life has been a crescendo waiting to climax but never getting there.
The anticipation is killing me.
I'm killing me.
Friday, June 6, 2008
Unhappy
I am supremely unhappy.
That is my lie. I sit here at work counting down the hours until I go to bed. When my alarm shrieks at me in the morning, I don't moan, I sob.
But that's not a lie. Here's the lie:
Life is not a whirlwind fantasy. You cannot just work hard and expect to be happy, let alone get what you want out of life.
Success is NOT 90% perspiration, it's who you know and who you sleep with.
The rich only get richer and the poor only get poorer and there is no Robin Hood to fix that.
There is only you and the knowledge that deep down, no one cares about you. Even when they go above and beyond and help, they only do it for the attention and glory.
People only cry for others for the attention and sympathy they get.
Humans are the least innocent creatures on earth.
One thing that I am happy about: there are no rainbows or happy little elves. No, that would be creepy.
Here's what I don't get: why do I feel this way? Why am I so unhappy?
I am 25-years-old, making good money, don't have an STD, and no chronic illness.
So why am I such a cry baby? Why do I whine like a little brat?
I recently read JK Rowlings commencement speech for Harvard University (http://harvardmagazine.com/go/jkrowling.html.) and it broke my heart.
I began asking myself, "Why aren't I more humbled, more caring, more enlightened?"
And then I realized why--she is a billionaire and I am not.
What is wrong with me?? I think my zoloft's effects are wearing off.
That is my lie. I sit here at work counting down the hours until I go to bed. When my alarm shrieks at me in the morning, I don't moan, I sob.
But that's not a lie. Here's the lie:
Life is not a whirlwind fantasy. You cannot just work hard and expect to be happy, let alone get what you want out of life.
Success is NOT 90% perspiration, it's who you know and who you sleep with.
The rich only get richer and the poor only get poorer and there is no Robin Hood to fix that.
There is only you and the knowledge that deep down, no one cares about you. Even when they go above and beyond and help, they only do it for the attention and glory.
People only cry for others for the attention and sympathy they get.
Humans are the least innocent creatures on earth.
One thing that I am happy about: there are no rainbows or happy little elves. No, that would be creepy.
Here's what I don't get: why do I feel this way? Why am I so unhappy?
I am 25-years-old, making good money, don't have an STD, and no chronic illness.
So why am I such a cry baby? Why do I whine like a little brat?
I recently read JK Rowlings commencement speech for Harvard University (http://harvardmagazine.com/go/jkrowling.html.) and it broke my heart.
I began asking myself, "Why aren't I more humbled, more caring, more enlightened?"
And then I realized why--she is a billionaire and I am not.
What is wrong with me?? I think my zoloft's effects are wearing off.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
I'm Not Smart
I am clever. I am funny. I am witty.
I am not, however, smart.
But no one believes me. I am not fishing for compliments.
And I have no desire to become smarter.
Actually, I wish I were stupider. Really.
It is so easy to be an idiot. You worry less, you stress less, and your problems are far easier to solve.
I'd wonder:
"Gosh, this door just won't open, *tug tug*....ohhh, it's push, not pull!"
Instead of:
"Where is this election going? On one hand McCain is financial conservative which, with this recession, could me lots of tax cuts, which means more money in my wallet. On the other hand, Obama is socially liberal so I can be a bridesmaid 10 more times at all my gay best friends' weddings! Oh me, oh my, What to do?"
Ignorance truly is bliss. Can I tell you, being stupid seems like the best idea ever! Every accomplishment would feel amazing!
"This jar won't open, damn it! Oh righty tighty, Lefty Loosey! Gosh, I am so smart! I should go on Jeopardy!"
Instead of:
"Why won't my website work. I have to go through ALL of this html code to figure out what little bracket I left out that won't show my video. Ohhh, I put
EMBED
SRC="../graphicssounds/1812over.mid
HEIGHT=60 WIDTH=144>
instead of
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SRC="../graphics/sounds/1812over.mid"
HEIGHT=60 WIDTH=144>
How could I miss that?? Gosh, I am stupid. Really and truly."
I am not, however, smart.
But no one believes me. I am not fishing for compliments.
And I have no desire to become smarter.
Actually, I wish I were stupider. Really.
It is so easy to be an idiot. You worry less, you stress less, and your problems are far easier to solve.
I'd wonder:
"Gosh, this door just won't open, *tug tug*....ohhh, it's push, not pull!"
Instead of:
"Where is this election going? On one hand McCain is financial conservative which, with this recession, could me lots of tax cuts, which means more money in my wallet. On the other hand, Obama is socially liberal so I can be a bridesmaid 10 more times at all my gay best friends' weddings! Oh me, oh my, What to do?"
Ignorance truly is bliss. Can I tell you, being stupid seems like the best idea ever! Every accomplishment would feel amazing!
"This jar won't open, damn it! Oh righty tighty, Lefty Loosey! Gosh, I am so smart! I should go on Jeopardy!"
Instead of:
"Why won't my website work. I have to go through ALL of this html code to figure out what little bracket I left out that won't show my video. Ohhh, I put
EMBED
SRC="../graphicssounds/1812over.mid
HEIGHT=60 WIDTH=144>
instead of
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SRC="../graphics/sounds/1812over.mid"
HEIGHT=60 WIDTH=144>
How could I miss that?? Gosh, I am stupid. Really and truly."
Monday, May 26, 2008
I Don't Believe In Love
I don't believe in love.
I believe in greater and lesser levels of dislike.
I think when people say, "I love you", they really mean, "I dislike you less than anyone else!"
Does that make me cynical? No, realistic.
I do believe in love, I am just scared that I won't ever feel it.
If I never feel love, I think that it will be entirely and 100 percent my own fault.
Why?
I use sarcasm and meanness to cover up how vulnerable I am.
What's worse? No one sees through my shit.
I just want someone to shake me and scream, "I don't believe that you don't cry and don't feel, cry, damn it!!"
Because once that happens the dam in my heart will shatter and I can cry 25 years of tears that were never spilled.
So my biggest fear-no one will see through me and break me.
src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js">
I think when people say, "I love you", they really mean, "I dislike you less than anyone else!"
Does that make me cynical? No, realistic.
I do believe in love, I am just scared that I won't ever feel it.
If I never feel love, I think that it will be entirely and 100 percent my own fault.
Why?
I use sarcasm and meanness to cover up how vulnerable I am.
What's worse? No one sees through my shit.
I just want someone to shake me and scream, "I don't believe that you don't cry and don't feel, cry, damn it!!"
Because once that happens the dam in my heart will shatter and I can cry 25 years of tears that were never spilled.
So my biggest fear-no one will see through me and break me.
src="http://pagead2.googlesyndication.com/pagead/show_ads.js">
Friday, May 23, 2008
I Wish I Was Infertile
Sometimes I wish I was infertile.
Is that weird?
It would give me an excuse to not have children.
I hate children.
Their hands are always sticky, and they cling on to adults like little leeches.
Their needy, and they constantly want and want and want.
They suck the life out of whomever they belong to.
And why do people constantly say, "I can't wait to be pregnant"? Pregnancy is the worst part.
1. You get Fat
2. Your skin loses elasticity
3. Your vagina loses elasticity
4. You swell and get constipated
Ooooo, sounds like oodles of fun.
And people change when they have kids, and not for the better. They become boring, distant, unaware of their surroundings.
The let the kid take over their life so that you can't have a conversation with them without them checking their watch or calling someone to check on the baby.
I love my nieces and nephews, but ever since my sister had them, she's become this other person, someone I don't recognize. Whenever I call her to talk, all I hear in the background is shrieking and she's constantly turning around to shout something at them.
"Don't climb onto the counters!" "Don't stick your head between the banisters!" "Share with your brother!"
And my brother's wife just had a baby that is ugly.
Of course I can't tell them that people cannot be realistic and take criticism.
But please, don't coo at me, "Isn't she beautiful?"
No. She has baby acne, her hair is falling out, and her eyes are too close together. She is ugly. And she will probably stay ugly.
And that is why sometimes I wish I was infertile, because it would give me an excuse not to subject myself and those around me to the horrors of babies.
Is that weird?
It would give me an excuse to not have children.
I hate children.
Their hands are always sticky, and they cling on to adults like little leeches.
Their needy, and they constantly want and want and want.
They suck the life out of whomever they belong to.
And why do people constantly say, "I can't wait to be pregnant"? Pregnancy is the worst part.
1. You get Fat
2. Your skin loses elasticity
3. Your vagina loses elasticity
4. You swell and get constipated
Ooooo, sounds like oodles of fun.
And people change when they have kids, and not for the better. They become boring, distant, unaware of their surroundings.
The let the kid take over their life so that you can't have a conversation with them without them checking their watch or calling someone to check on the baby.
I love my nieces and nephews, but ever since my sister had them, she's become this other person, someone I don't recognize. Whenever I call her to talk, all I hear in the background is shrieking and she's constantly turning around to shout something at them.
"Don't climb onto the counters!" "Don't stick your head between the banisters!" "Share with your brother!"
And my brother's wife just had a baby that is ugly.
Of course I can't tell them that people cannot be realistic and take criticism.
But please, don't coo at me, "Isn't she beautiful?"
No. She has baby acne, her hair is falling out, and her eyes are too close together. She is ugly. And she will probably stay ugly.
And that is why sometimes I wish I was infertile, because it would give me an excuse not to subject myself and those around me to the horrors of babies.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
Imagine My Own Tragedies
Sometimes I wish something horribly tragic happened in my childhood so that I'd have an excuse to feel this way.
You know what I mean.
Well paying job in a sucky job market, nice apartment, extra spending money, and yet there's a hole.
I feel like throughout my entire life (albeit that's only 24 years) I have been waiting for something, someone to shake me out of it.
No one's here yet.
Sometimes I pretend that I am a surviving rape victim, wounded both emotionally and physically by some jarring and violent crime.
I rent maudlin movies with scenes created just to make the audience cry, all so that I have an excuse to sob. I don't sob for the characters in the movie, I sob for myself in the theater, I spill tears, haunted by memories of the happy person that I used to be.
I don't think I'm depressed, I think I'm realistic.
I have no tragedy. My empty sadness is my tragedy.
You know what I mean.
Well paying job in a sucky job market, nice apartment, extra spending money, and yet there's a hole.
I feel like throughout my entire life (albeit that's only 24 years) I have been waiting for something, someone to shake me out of it.
No one's here yet.
Sometimes I pretend that I am a surviving rape victim, wounded both emotionally and physically by some jarring and violent crime.
I rent maudlin movies with scenes created just to make the audience cry, all so that I have an excuse to sob. I don't sob for the characters in the movie, I sob for myself in the theater, I spill tears, haunted by memories of the happy person that I used to be.
I don't think I'm depressed, I think I'm realistic.
I have no tragedy. My empty sadness is my tragedy.
Monday, May 19, 2008
What My Boss Doesn't Know....
I hate my boss. This is no grand proclamation, most people hate their bosses.
But my boss thinks we’re friends. We are not.
I secretly pray each and every morning that he gets hit by a bus on his way to work. I’m only half joking, I’m mostly serious.
He follows my work on our computer network and cleans it up, not his job. He peers over my shoulder, trying look at my monitor, prying into my life.
He pushes his religion on me and mocks my ethnicity.
I hate him. I want to quit but the money is good.
When is the line crossed between I hate, and I loathe, I despise, I ooze anger? I’m about a mile past wherever that line is.
And of course, he’s obese. Not chubby or fat, but obese.
He eats French fries with every meal.
Whenever he shoves fistful of French fries into his mouth, I pray that he chokes.
His mouth makes noises as he eats.
Suck, chew, swallow, smack lips. Suck, chew, swallow, smack lips.
He slurps his coffee and makes yummy noises with each slurp.
Shlluuurrrp, mmmmmmmm.
I have to hold myself back from punching him in the mouth and screaming, slurp on this!
But my boss thinks we’re friends. We are not.
I secretly pray each and every morning that he gets hit by a bus on his way to work. I’m only half joking, I’m mostly serious.
He follows my work on our computer network and cleans it up, not his job. He peers over my shoulder, trying look at my monitor, prying into my life.
He pushes his religion on me and mocks my ethnicity.
I hate him. I want to quit but the money is good.
When is the line crossed between I hate, and I loathe, I despise, I ooze anger? I’m about a mile past wherever that line is.
And of course, he’s obese. Not chubby or fat, but obese.
He eats French fries with every meal.
Whenever he shoves fistful of French fries into his mouth, I pray that he chokes.
His mouth makes noises as he eats.
Suck, chew, swallow, smack lips. Suck, chew, swallow, smack lips.
He slurps his coffee and makes yummy noises with each slurp.
Shlluuurrrp, mmmmmmmm.
I have to hold myself back from punching him in the mouth and screaming, slurp on this!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Another Day
Fat people bother me.
I can't help it, maybe it's because I used to be fat, maybe not, but they bother me. When I was fat, I bothered me.
And now, I can't stand their sight. When my friend Robert shoves a brownie in his mouth without pausing to taste it, I want to strangle him.
But do you want to know what's worse? I want to be him.
I want to eat with that kind of reckless abandon and relish every bite. I want to not worry about calories, carbs, or trans fats.
I've even considered taking up smoking even though I have asthma just to stay thin.
When I wake up and my tummy is flat and my rounded hip bones peek out on the sides, I giggle in glee.
And the sad thing is that the more I lose weight, the more people say "Oh my god, you're so thin, you're like a model," which in turn makes me think that if I become healthy and fain good weight then I won't be beautiful anymore.
I'm scared I have a colon illness (ulcerative colitis) but I don't want to see a doctor and get treated because treatment will make me gain weight (weight that I need to gain).
But above all I like the attention. I like when people pinch me and can't find the fat, or when I turn down free food, or I try on clothes.
There's something wrong with me, isn't there?
I can't help it, maybe it's because I used to be fat, maybe not, but they bother me. When I was fat, I bothered me.
And now, I can't stand their sight. When my friend Robert shoves a brownie in his mouth without pausing to taste it, I want to strangle him.
But do you want to know what's worse? I want to be him.
I want to eat with that kind of reckless abandon and relish every bite. I want to not worry about calories, carbs, or trans fats.
I've even considered taking up smoking even though I have asthma just to stay thin.
When I wake up and my tummy is flat and my rounded hip bones peek out on the sides, I giggle in glee.
And the sad thing is that the more I lose weight, the more people say "Oh my god, you're so thin, you're like a model," which in turn makes me think that if I become healthy and fain good weight then I won't be beautiful anymore.
I'm scared I have a colon illness (ulcerative colitis) but I don't want to see a doctor and get treated because treatment will make me gain weight (weight that I need to gain).
But above all I like the attention. I like when people pinch me and can't find the fat, or when I turn down free food, or I try on clothes.
There's something wrong with me, isn't there?
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
First Blog...Here Anyways
So I started this blog because I live a life of lies that no one knows about, not my sister, not my mother, not even my best friend. But I feel that I need a spiritual cleansing, somewhere to place confessions of my weekly lies, daily lies, hourly lies.
An early memory of my first big lie is when I was 8-years old. I went to school and told everyone that I was my identical twin, Sarah, and that my sister and I had switched places for a day.
Another big lie in my life--I think about my weight non-stop. It never ends, I'm a size two, I've been a size two for the past two years, and yet my biggest fear is getting fat. Not getting cancer, not my dog dying, not even getting diabetes or some other disease. Just getting fat. Thoughts of my weight plague me with every bite of food, every sip of water, and I can't seem to stop.
I also lie to friends so that I don't have to go out. As a teen I would lie and say I was grounded, and by the time I was 18 all of my friends thought that I had horrible, strict parents.
I also hate my job. In college I rebelled against my parents and decided not to do pharmacy even though that's what I love. Now I am stuck in a horrible job, pretending to love what I do to defend my college rebellion.
That's all for now, but my lies are daily so stay tuned.
An early memory of my first big lie is when I was 8-years old. I went to school and told everyone that I was my identical twin, Sarah, and that my sister and I had switched places for a day.
Another big lie in my life--I think about my weight non-stop. It never ends, I'm a size two, I've been a size two for the past two years, and yet my biggest fear is getting fat. Not getting cancer, not my dog dying, not even getting diabetes or some other disease. Just getting fat. Thoughts of my weight plague me with every bite of food, every sip of water, and I can't seem to stop.
I also lie to friends so that I don't have to go out. As a teen I would lie and say I was grounded, and by the time I was 18 all of my friends thought that I had horrible, strict parents.
I also hate my job. In college I rebelled against my parents and decided not to do pharmacy even though that's what I love. Now I am stuck in a horrible job, pretending to love what I do to defend my college rebellion.
That's all for now, but my lies are daily so stay tuned.
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