It’s Like a Roller Coaster, But With Drowning

I’m on the roller coaster. In some ways this is great. It means I’m not drowning. I have moments and hours where I look around me and go, ok, I can do this. This is doable. The ride goes up, and I start to feel good. Things are funny again. I take a deep breath…

And then the ride drops even faster than it rose. I get drug under, and no matter how hard I tug at the seatbelt it just won’t release. I feel the unease filling my lungs because I have no choice but to open my mouth and try for air.

And then back up.

It’s maddening. And i get so frustrated with myself because during the moments I could be breathing, instead I’m frantic and panicked, awaiting the moment I go under again.

I need to try to live for the breaths and not for the dives.

Advertisements

Sinking

I’m sinking. It’s been happening slowly for a little over a week now, but I haven’t been able to make it stall and stand still.

It’s been awhile since I’ve really had trouble, or experienced the four signs of the apocalypse.
1. Coma (the desire and ability to sleep nonstop. I am not exaggerating.)
2. Recurring fantasies featuring suicide, or otherwise some form of accident that results in my death.
3. Sudden insane crying jags when alone. Particularly when in the car
4. The strong desire to cut.

But here they are. And here they are, inside my own head. I could possibly pin down a few things that may have triggered this, but it really wouldn’t matter. It’s here now. It’s time to do battle.

Or die.

Really, those are the only options.

Stop the Hate

I currently weigh 177 pounds. I carry my weight well, and some if that is muscle from constant lifting at work and exercise in the gym, but not enough of it.

I have days where I wrap my arms around my body and hate it. I hate it enough that I hate being touched. Being seen. Being outside of my home.

I have days, though not many, where I’ve thrown up what I’ve eaten, then sat in terrified silence, hoping it won’t become a habit.

And then I have days where I force myself to get up, get dressed, and look at myself with pride and love. Shaky love, but love that I hope will become more stable, if I could only feed it a little more often (and perhaps my body a little bit less).

20130723-235854.jpg

Today, I am wondering why I let my own self doubt and judgement crush me.

Today, I put on a dress that does not hide the hips that are a little too round, or the bruises that never seem to go away, no matter how diligently I avoid bumping into furniture.

Today I am looking at myself, and yes, I am sticking to my diet to lose a few pounds, but until then…
I refuse to hate what I see.

I know I am not obese by any means. And on a decent day, I recognize my disgust as what it is, an extremely warped body image, mixed with a bit of low self esteem, and a whole lot of self doubt. But no matter how out of touch I may be with how the world sees me, and how I should see myself, everyone has days where they just can’t feel beautiful.

We all need to work a little harder, to get a little better about that. Put on something you love. Dance to a song that makes you feel sexy. And google how the fuck to do your hair like Marilyn Monroe, because that shit doesn’t come natural to everyone.

On New Friends

I dated a douchecanoe a few years back. Before I re-met my husband. Before I realized I am hella better than that shit. He was a fuckhead. A shitty McDickFace who, it would seem, dated a semi-clone of me.

We have the same tastes, same look, same style, same damn medical conditions. Which is especially weird since most people haven’t even heard of one of them.

The first time I met this girl, she was naked in my bed with McDouchenozzle on top of her.

It wasn’t a good night.

And you wouldn’t think that three years later we would start talking, realize how fantastically awesome one another is, and have a hell of a time drinking cheap wine together and dancing.

But we fucking did.

New friendships. They pop up when you least expect them. And it’s pretty awesome.