I’m not even safe in my dreams anymore.
I hate waking up in tears, lost in that momentary sensory collision between cruel fantasy and reality, fighting to remember, clinging to your dream like a refugee in the waves, as your beach upon the shore of what is real.
And it is when you finally drag yourself into solid ground, bitterly choking up the last remnants of the imaginary world you thought you could call home, that suddenly you find yourself dying to forget.
I’m huddled in bed, listening to the rhythm of the tranquil Oregon rain. My glassy eyes flicker slightly as I descend into exhaustion, my frigid body like a bone in it’s cocoon of blanket flesh. I pull my bedding tighter and rub my eyes with a sigh. I get cold easily, and the gloomy run of weather that has plagued the airspace over the Portland Metro Area as of late has only enhanced this unfortunate tendency.
As I tuck my hands in my sleeves and settle into the pillow, I pull my mind deep into the recesses of my memory, flinging myself into the warm, healing, sea off of the coast of Oahu’s lush countryside. My eyes sheath themselves in sleepy lids as I drift through the waves, swaying like an underwater forest, the radiant Hawaiian sunshine cascading its’ blissful aura into every cell of my being.
The ocean softly deposits me on the beach. Beautiful turquoise waves shatter and foam over my skin like pearl and lace edged petals on the hem of a mermaid’s wedding veil. I devour the salty air, pulling it deep into my lungs through the chronic joint in my hand, then pushing it through berry-stained summer lips into the afternoon airwaves. I hover in this daydream for awhile, just floating, and make the naive wish to stay right there forever, enveloped in beauty and adored by Mother Earth… Safe, calm, and free.
When I open my eyes, there are no palms stretching overhead, no sand on my skin, no magic in the air. I’m here again, in the dark, in three layers of clothes, with four hours of sleep and a twelve hour shift ahead of me. It’s not like I don’t pull this shit every Sunday, I always get through it. I run my fingers through my hair idly, staring at the puddle-dominated patio out my window, imagining the roar of the Pacific as the early morning rain rippled its’ shallow surface. Reality may be less than perfect, but at least I got to escape for a little while.
Just impulsively bought a fancy-ass professional curling wand.
Judge all you want, a lifetime of $225 perfect beach hair for $75 (including shipping!) is fucking worth it.
Omg I’m not sure if it’s because I haven’t smoked a bowl yet today, but I feel like a cruel bitch.
Don’t talk to me doe, I’m a vicious, flaming, demon of hell, tearing the skin from the mortals around me with my whip made of uncontrollable, angry, emotional, irrational, hormones as I burn cities and ravage souls, shrieking my unholy battle cry to the heavens above.
Wtf am I doing
I’m a horrible, selfish, bitch with too many secrets,
And I don’t deserve any of you.
A friend teased me for buying groceries, saying I got way too much, considering the amount of time I spend at home. While I know he was being playful, and was in no way hinting I should be fucking ashamed of myself, it crushed me. I completely lost it and bawled like a baby on the couch, which did nothing to ease my humiliation.
All I want is to be able to eat normal amounts of healthy food without mentally hissing nasty things to myself during and afterwards. I want to be able to close my eyes without seeing the ugly little numbers starting up at me from the scale. My appetite has dropped now that I’m off the pill, which makes me both excited and nervous. The planets are finally realigning for me, and I’m ready to do what it takes this time.
Today I had a period of clarity, and spoiled myself with a bunch of healthy, clean, organic, groceries. I was feeling positive, exited to nourish my body as my hormone levels change and I start to lose weight (I’ve been off my birth control for a few days now), and had a little soy yogurt with chia seeds, nuts, and fruit for lunch.
Then I decided it would be a good idea to have a weigh-in so I can track my progress. For the last little while, I’ve been avoiding using my scale because it always always always leaves me feeling elevated and irrational, when I KNOW that I should be focusing on building muscle & lowering body fat instead of only aiming to lose pounds. So yeah, I stepped on and stared at the screen, waiting.
When the number flashed up, I knew I’d made an irreversible mistake.
If I don’t shed the weight in a healthy way this time, I will lose control again and potentially die… But seriously, at the moment, crawling under a rock and dying alone sounds fucking perfect.