Sooo... I made the call to the guy that handles admissions into the substance abuse IOP program. Ginny kind of "nudged" me into doing it. She just walked out and told me to call him. I kind of realized I could fake-call him, but I didn't really want to. I hate calling people I don't know (and some that I even do), so she let me write a sort of script. I went into pleasant social-worker mode and just kind of knocked it out, but it was really uncomfortable.

I'm starting to really like Ginny. She's assertive and honest, like telling me how she could relate to me as an only child that was brought-up to think that she should rely mostly, if not only, on herself. She's had her own struggles with substance abuse. I just wish she acted more like she understood how fucking much I struggle with my eating disorders. I mean, seriously, they were my life for a long period of time. I know she's concerned, but I was used to Kelly, who was awesome awesome awesome with keying into what was underneath all of the crazy cycles I went through. With Ginny, it's more goal orientated. Like, I'm expected to take responsibility and GET SHIT DONE. For real real. She is also very forthright in telling me when she is in the right of sharing her own truths and when I am overstepping my boundaries. Like today when she said something about my laugh that involved an adjective I find particularly uncomfortable, regardless of it being positive. She told me I can be uncomfortable, but she was speaking from her own truth. I, of course, made nice and apologized, etc., but it actually made sense. She doesn't tiptoe or walk on eggshells around me. She gives me a lot of credit, maybe more than I think I deserve. She actually said she was proud of me. She actually teared up a little bit... which, of course, made me cry. I explained so much to her, like how I was raised to be a feminist and a fierce little monster with no weakness, but how in reality I am just so fucking complex with so many different facets, that even I find my self confusing.

We have a session with my grandparents and my mother on Thursday. And, I'd just like to take this time and space to give that a big GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. I even explained to her how I have to maintain a certain front and balance of certain energies and play a certain part to cooperate in a family session, or I shut down. I just... Shut. Down. Kind of like the stereotypical humanoid robot shutting down. I just collapse and crumple and become so indifferent and numb.

In conclusion, I like Ginny.

And I don't think mirror pics are that bad if you're taking them with a Canon Rebel.
I feel like the Canon Rebel cancels out the shitty idea of mirror pics. AND LOOK HOW CUTE I AM. How can you hate on me when I'm just so damn adorable?

p.s. Ginny asked me "por que" today and I had to do my little "SCORE!!!" hand-motion it was beautiful, trust me.

no matter what, i will not miss looking like an awkwardly lanky horse.

therapy soon soon at twelve. need to get coffee first.

i went to the club last night with my ex guy-thing, a girl i've slept with, her boyfriend whom i've made out with, and our mutual and adorable friend. he was the cuuutest thing up on the platforms. me and the girl were up there for awhile. i lost track of my ex. he was an awkward dancer.

sometimes i think eating disorders are religious cults.

like tonight, where i just ate a caesar salad, pita with hummus, boca chik'n patty, and glass of sweet tea. it was one of the most moving feelings i've had in quite awhile.

it's like some bizarrely devout form of edible catholicism.



...i think i'm falling back in love with my once-beloved camera, the rebel rebel.

"and i get down on my knees
and i pray the same as you"
-Amy Ray, Let it Ring

sometimes i feel beautiful. i look in the mirror and i think that this is really what all the fuss is about, because it's true--i'm beautiful. i have such dramatic features, such a fierce and delicate composure of plush lips and sharp teeth. i look in the mirror and i flex and i turn to the side and i turn around to look at my butt and i stretch my legs out and i flex some more. i turn my face in every direction, and i really do think i'm beautiful. i make faces at myself, and even the snarls are beautiful. even the imperfections are endearing, and i think that seeking mates must be more than just seeking symmetry. sometimes, these things are what keep me going. other times, it's the desire to see these things, to know that i am strong and perfect and the best i can be, but when i can just look at myself, just run my hands over my body and feel my skin, those are the times when i am happy. sometimes i am just happy to be in my body, to be my self. i am not a brain, and i am not a body, and i am not my mind. i am a composition of all of these things mixed together, feeling and chemistry mixed together in a way that makes me tick tick tick through life. sometimes i accept life for what it throws my way, and for being beautiful despite (or because of) the fact that it can be so gruesome. it is intense. but, i have the chance to love myself, and i promise for my own sake that i will grasp that love in my hands as tightly as possible. i will squeeze every drop of love from life, and i will go past the present and into the future, knowing that i have done the best that i know.

voltaire spoke truly when he said,
"we're neither pure; nor wise; nor good;
we do the best we know."

i have chosen recovery, as voluntarily as i can choose to sacrifice such a leeching part of myself. i have chosen hope and happiness and health. i have chosen to love myself, to support myself and accept the support of others. i have chosen strength and pride.

i know i can do this because i believe in myself. i am dedicating myself, i am devoted to myself, and i am doing the best i know.

I have the idea for my new tattoo almost ready, hence the sketch above. It will be a muscular female body with a (male) lion's head. She will be in a stance almost as if braced for impact and battle, so feet apart, etc. She will be the symbol for my becoming/being a lion-hearted girl. It will be a gift to myself for battling through recovery and general life struggles, a symbol of all I overcame in the past and all I'll overcome in the future. I just need to get an artist to come up with a plausible rendition, get it priced, get the moneys, and get it done! Hell yes!

so, today I've quite randomly had in this order: a chik'n patty (protein), oatmeal (starch and protein) with skim milk (dairy protein) and soy protein powder (obvious protein), a tuna salad sandwich (starch, fat, protein), and a slice of bread (starch) with peanut butter (fat, protein). I'm back in protein-loading mode, apparently... which I guess is okay. The only parts I'm missing (and I mean missing as in, damn, I wish I had these) are fruits and veggies. Because of my grandparent's bizarre grocery lists, I have managed to get nothing but small amounts of bananas, strawberries, and blueberries in my system for the entire time I've been back. The only vegetables are nasty, nasty salad mixes or unfrozen stir-fry. I told my grandmother today that I need some fucking grapefruits and blackberries... like, ASAP. She said something about how she'll pick me up some blackberries and a few grapefruits next time she goes shopping. What. The. Butt. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO? There are probably some old canned peaches or pears hidden in the cabinet, and I know there are some applesauce-like substances in the fridge, but I NEED FRESH PRODUCE. It's a source of hydration and natural sugars for me, which is good because I rarely use actual sugar, and I have a seemingly moral opposition to drinking water. Haha, this is the dumbest little rant in history. Waaaah, I want fruit. I'm such a little bitch. And on the subject of vegetables, it's weird that I even want vegetables. I kind of dislike most of them, except for: carrots, broccoli, water chestnuts, cauliflower, spinach, and romaine lettuce. All other vegetables (except for delicious ones that I've forgotten) can burn in hell.

On a more normal note, I'm so proud of myself. I'm eating better (even if in a weird, weird way) and working out. Actually, I'm improving greatly with each day as far as working out goes. I just feel like I need to up the endurance aspect to a more marathon style, but I dislike the idea greatly.

This is where the rest of that paragraph would go if I hadn't deleted it after I typed it... because it was silly. It was about strength vs. endurance and all that shit. I just don't care enough. Maybe that's the problem. I lack motivation? I sure don't feel that way. It's probably my need for immediate gratification.

Blah blah blah. I see Ginny on Monday. I get to tell her about my accepting the need for treatment. And the tattoo idea. And my missing Kelly. And my working out. AND ALL OF THIS RANDOM-ASS POSITIVITY.

...where the fuck are these moods coming from?

I <3 BEING BIPOLAR.

i must become
a lion-hearted girl
ready for a fight
before i make
the final sacrifice

new tattoo, anyone?

It's official: I have a problem. I have a drug-related problem, and I'm going to change that. I'm going back into treatment, probably a local OP program and insurance will apparently cover it.

On a brighter note, I discovered one of the best mixes I've ever heard, which I will share. The sixth song ("Rabbit Heart"/"Raise It Up") is one of my all-time favorites now. It's... stunning. I hear the video rocks, too.

I'm scared, but now is the time to become stronger. I'm working out again... mostly weight training, but that's what I need right now. I'll run when I give a shit. I want my muscles back. I need that protection, that cover, that defense. I need my security and safety. I need my own armor and I will have it.

I'm not eating as much, but I'm eating strangely.

I don't know. This is a lot of uncharted territory as far as I'm concerned.

okay, so even though I fucking hate being stuck in Winston, it's not like I was even hanging out with my friends that much before I came back... it's not like anyone really noticed my sudden shift of geographical location.

I went to the club with Heather the other night. She got us free tickets to a strip club, a fact I find quite hilarious. I've never actually been to a strip club. I'm expecting a drunken night of grit and grime to ensue, honestly.

There are a few bright sides. I'm getting back into weight training. I really could give less of shit about cardio right now. I want to quit smoking before I start sprinting again, just because I hate that winded, "coughing up shit from the last five years" feeling. I think I'm coming to terms with the fact that I will never be pretty-tiny. When I was at my lowest weight, I looked weird--just straight-up freakish. I would much rather be solid and strong anyways. That's what really makes me jealous... Like my aunt that can bike 300 miles a week and looks like she's only in her mid-thirties max. I just want to be... toned? Defined? I don't know if that's a healthy mindset or not. Part of me really doesn't give a shit as long as I'm not binging/purging, etc.

I go to therapy soon. I'm seeing Ginny twice a week for two half-sessions instead of once a week. She wants to check in on me more often to make sure I'm safe, etc. I'm supposed to start going to NA soon or something. I'm not actively seeking stimulants or anything else anymore. That coke ordeal was pretty intense and I really would rather not have to get involved with that. The only thing I'm taking right now is my meds and my vitamins. I kind of hate the fact that I've started taking "diet pills." It seems like such an easy way out, especially after doing things the hard way the first time around. I really, really don't want to admit that I'm in over my head with this. It's really like I just can't quit swapping one addiction for the next. I honestly think that my problem with substance abuse is more about availability. Like, I will not turn down most drugs if they're offered to me... and that's bad, I know. I still feel a little amazed that I snorted coke. Seriously. I kind of never thought I would snort anything, but apparently I ignore that rule for the rush of stimulants.

GAHHHH. all i want is to live in a gym. or have a gym in this house where i live.

time for therapy.

I am so sick of this--
strike that, I am so sick. Period.

Tonight is being used to shift the direction of change.

I have been stuck in a really, really bad binge/purge cycle... again. I don't think anyone really understands what bulimia is like for me. It's devastating. I don't know if I want to be able to explain it. I am ashamed of so much in my life, but this is close to the worst of it. For around a week past, I have basically been locked in my apartment. There have been few breaks. If I had lost any weight in the weeks before, I am sure I have gained it back and then some. It scares me how completely I lose control. My apartment is absolutely disgusting. There are ants in my bed. I have slept on the floor for the past few nights just because my bed is filled with trash, etc. It seems too overwhelming to clean. I haven't let anyone into my apartment in awhile now. I exist on shame. I wallow in my own filth. I would make a great beast.

But!!! I went to therapy today. It wasn't a particularly spectacular session, but Ginny said she isn't going to stop seeing me. She isn't going to abandon me. She doesn't think I'm hopeless.

So, tonight, I've taken my pills, but with the intent of breaking the cycle and getting started on some cleaning.

I'm going to direct the changes this time.

I can do this.



AT LEAST TWO HOURS LATER:
Okay, so I'm feeling pretty overwhelmed, and taking 2 1/2 Provigil was not the brightest idea when I have absolutely no one to talk with at this time. I drove around quite aimlessly for over an hour. At least I'm not binging?

I said something to Ginny about how when I take pills it's better than coke, and she definitely called me on bullshit. I'll take any drug I can get as long as the result is the same.

I need something to look forward to in my life. Not just... mediocre bullshit. So, here's the plan:

...PATHETIC. I just tried to write some goals and the only things that really looked appealing were getting a puppy or kitten and going back to school. I don't even know what I want to do after school. The great mystery of what the fuck I'm going to do with my life still remains unsolved.

I can't decide if I should try cleaning, go to sleep, try cleaning and then go to sleep, or take more pills and try cleaning then go to sleep eventually.

I really am pathetic.