It's 3:57 A.M. and I am doing good. I washed a huge-ass pile of dishes, cleaned the kitty's litter space, wiped out the microwave, cleaned the toilet, cleaned both sinks. I then danced for about ten minutes to the Beatles. I am wearing panties and a tank top. I still feel fat, oh yes, but at least somewhat accomplished.
The energy surge struck at quarter to two; I was simultaneously texting T.
This goodness happened after a mini-breakdown on my part. I was so tense, so lost, so, "I have absolutely no clue what to do next," just out of it, overwhelmed. Looking all around and seeing everything but knowing nothing. No clue what move to make, what direction to head in, whether to sit or stand or jog in place or take out the garbage or go to sleep or smoke more weed or scream out loud or call someone.
I started talking to my cat out of sheer frustration and the need to get some of these built-up words out of my mouth. I had tears in my eyes, it was almost like I was talking to God, but just to the air around me; my cat happened to be close by. He then (the cat) dove at my fingers, making me giggle and forget about my sorrow momentarily. Then T. texted me. And life went on.
I am here now to say that I am NOT ever going to give this up. I will never be able to live the life of a fat person, it's not happening. If I am stressing this much now, at 134 (this evenings weigh-in), then what the hell would happen if I gained ten, twenty pounds someday? Wow, the thought is ghastly and it made me cringe just now. It won't happen. Never. I will never be able to get past the weight of 138. That is my highest weight for a reason. I will never get there or over that. Never. That is my promise. I will get thinner than this though.
I will restrict. I will not binge ever. I will remember that I am merely eating to live. Food is nothing, food is everywhere and there will never be a food shortage. I do not need it. It is produced in icky places with inhumane conditions and hormone-injected animals take the heat for ALL OF US. I will be vegetarian for life and hopefully vegan when I can hack it.
I am losing my train of thought. I just zoned out, thinking about candy. See, that is my problem. These ideas get in my head and my addictive self leaches on to them. I crave what I think about constantly. I can push these horrific images aside, however...when I envision my soon-to-be sexier body, wearing mini-dresses & skirts & shorts, looking bangin'! This thought, this ideal makes the taste in my mouth for food turn to poison. I spit on food. Fuck it.
I'm going to go smoke a cigarette. My metabolism is already up from cleaning and moving around, might as well boost it a little more before bed. That way I'll (hopefully) burn twice the calories in my sleep.