Topa Worries and Continued Loss

171.2 today. Awesome! I was going to wait until tomorrow to weigh, but I'm glad I didn't. I needed that boost.

Despite the nearly constant headaches, sweating and weird stomach feelings (not to mentioned involuntary teeth clenching, scalp pain, hair loss, inability to concentrate and muscle cramps), Topamax is effing KILLING right now in ALL the right ways when it comes to quick and consistent weight loss. I don't know what I'll do when I run out.

I've even started to look for more online, but it's so expensive and I don't have any money to spend on anything aside from bills, groceries, gas and diapers. Oh, and liquor and cigarettes. Two things I shouldn't be spending money on anyway.

*le sigh* Simple answer to my dilemma... Finish up the Topa I have and don't get any more after that. The whole point of taking it at all was to get a jump start on my weight loss. I'm already getting that. As long as I don't gain it all back when I'm out of the meds, I'll be good.

I can't lie and say I won't be disappointed when the weight stops dropping off like crazy, but I know deep down that this isn't a sustainable plan of action. I've tried that. Eight months of this shit and I was thin as a rail, yes, but I was also miserable beyond belief. I said I would never go down that road again.

So why did I keep the pills?

Ha. My mind is so screwed up.

Anyway. Time for work. Kisses, ya'll.

P.D.

I will be skinny by the end of this...

Random drunk posting... Woohoo! BONUS!

Just a short one... Btw, I just almost typed "short" as oshrt.

I'm SO awesome like that.

But yeah. I didn't eat dinner last night. I totally skipped it, all on the sly. I heated it. Set it on the table. Waited for the fiancee to have a cig break and put it in the fridge and proceeded to feed the baby. When he came back in... Oops, I already finished mine (I'm sorry, Love, if you ever read this and think me horrible, but I'm doing what I feel I must do. Lock me away if you must, but know that I will never be slender/skinny/fit/thin/pretty again if I don't do this NOW).

I HAVE to have dinner tonight, it seems, because there is take-out involved. Granted, I can pull the whole "I've had enough and the baby needs me" trick (which I haven't done nearly enough to ruin me yet)... God, babe, I hope you don't read this anytime soon. I want to get thin again before you stop me. As I write this, drunkenly, you are sitting not four feet from me on the balcony and all I want to do is be pretty for you again.

NOTE: I know that THAT is the WRONG reason to do this. I KNOW THIS. I KNOW IT TO THE CORE OF ME. And yet... I can't get away from it. Not yet. Maybe when I regain a sense of self-confidence, maybe, I will be able to see that getting small and healthy again is a good thing for ME. FOR MYSELF.

Sorry for all for all of the caps and the rambling. I reiterate. Alcohol.

Thanks to all of you who still read. I wish that I could figure out how to get all of my old followers to find me here. If any of you that do read this one DO know how to do that... Could you please let me know? I miss my old followship.

Stay lovely, all of you.

P.D.

Crushed Red Pepper and Down FOUR Pounds... w00t!

So as of two days ago, I've decided to put a metric shit ton of crushed red pepper on at least one meal every day. Works out well because I like spicy things anyway, but the main point is to boost the ol' metabolism a little. Give the Topa a little help (like it needs any!).

Speaking of that very thing... Two days ago, I weighed 176.something-or-other. Post-miniature-binge of roasted Brussels sprouts and two thin (but baked, not fried) pork chops. Okay. So I hated that number, obviously. I decided not to weigh the next day, but to try my damnedest to reverse the damage.

Today? 172.8. SWEET! I love how a number can trick my mind into thinking I see a difference in the fucking mirror, too. That's just downright hilarious.

When I get down to 165, maybe I'll post a picture. I do know that as soon as I start my INSANITY workout in earnest, I'll be posting photos weekly to track my progress.

Anyway... Guess I should get to work for the day. Love you, lovies.

Jumping Headfirst?

So I have a bit of Topamax left from over a year ago.

I just took my first one about ten minutes ago. Any weird feelings I have in my stomach or head are obviously psychosomatic in nature, which is why it's hilarious that I actually feel lightheaded, dizzy and nauseous. Stupid, silly brain.

I lost so much on the Topa before, almost effortlessly. I've been considering taking these for months, but yesterday was the deciding factor. I was brave enough to purchase a bikini top and wear it to the pool. No bottom yet... Just shorts. I honestly don't know if I'll ever be able to wear one, but we'll see. I did, once upon a time. Anyway.

I took a picture. It's kind of crappy, but showing my belly at the pool was a momentous enough occasion to warrant a photo.



I could hardly stand to be in public that way, but I did it anyway. I need my belly and back to get as tan as the rest of me. Couldn't stand the internal, infernal comparisons in my head... The girls that are obviously 15, 16, etc. have never had kids, much less eating disorders that have, over a period of four years, essentially wrecked their metabolisms. WTF am I thinking, comparing my body to theirs? Ridiculous. And yet, I can't stop. Ah, I'm brilliant sometimes, you know?

I suppose I should get to work. Make that bank, stack 'dem papers and what have you.

Stay lovely, darlings.

I'm too buzzed and busy to write, and yet here I am.

My beautiful little girl is scooting herself about on the floor, intermittently squealing and talking and blowing hilarious raspberries. I love it.

I don't know that I have a lot to say, but I feel compelled to write anyway.

I can't stand being as big as I am. I've hardly eaten anything today and I feel okay. That's strange. Dinner has yet to come, but I'm not hungry. I'll gladly prepare dinner for everyone else, but... honestly, I have no desire to put a single bit of anything in my mouth unless it's water, alcohol or a certain someone's special parts.

Okay, TMI. It's my fucking blog, bitches. ;) I love you all.

Anyway...

I do have to go to do the dinner thing and finish laundry and to make the bed and take care of the girls and finish the dishes... Oh, and that's only 1/3 of the things that I had wanted to do today. But yes... Pointless post ended.

As my once iconic (in the Blogosphere) tattoo states, Stay Lovely, my darlings.

As always,

P.D.

Positivity

So I just woke up and my brain is still asleep. Judge me if you want. Whatever.

It's apparent to me that I need to be more positive in general. I pride myself on being the optimist in this relationship, but lately it seems that I've allowed myself to become more jaded than I've ever been, even considering my ridiculous past. I put on a happy face for most of the world for most of the time, but when it's just me, alone, I begin to dwell upon everything that's wrong with my body, mind and life (I know that there's not too much wrong with my life, when you look at the big picture. I could be starving and homeless out in the streets. I could be dying of some terminal disease. I could have lost my limbs in a freak accident or become a vegetable and be a burden to everyone who loves me. I know my life isn't that fucking bad, but I still reserve the right to complain about it.).

See? Told you I was still asleep. I'm rambling.

I want a macaw. They're pretty. Also, the baby makes the funniest sounds when she sees them on Nick, Jr. and I like that.

Anyway, I guess my point is that, though I know I need to be in therapy, I can't afford it and, since I don't want to be miserable, I should at least attempt to make myself better in any way I can. I need to stop being so down on myself constantly. It doesn't make me happy and it makes everyone around me upset as well, especially my significant other. I put so much of myself into making his life better every day and then I go and ruin it by starting a long and drawn out argument about how much I fail at life. Oh, yes, I bet I'm a goddamned JOY to be around.

Ha... I just did it again. STOP IT. STOP IT RIGHT MEOW.

I'm going to get to work now and focus on the positive. In fact, here's a small exercise that I've just fashioned for myself. I hope it's effective.

Today's Five Random Stuffs of Positivity:

* I have two AMAZING daughters who think the world of me, no matter what.
* My mother-in-law is AWESOME. How many women adore their husband's mother?
* I've developed a pretty nice tan on my legs over the past month. That's nice.
* I sold my fucking car. Finally. $350 toward the "we're broke as fuck" fund.
* IT'S FRIDAY!

Okay, I'm done. The Backyardigans is on and the tiny one is blowing raspberries at the television. It's making me happier already.

Not a goddamned pound...

So I'll try to make this quick because I should be working or having breakfast or something productive like that.

A few months ago, when I was still nursing the baby and, therefore, having to eat a healthy amount every day, my fiancee took away my scale. He knew that I was weighing more than once a day and that not having access to a scale would "help" me. Well, it did and it didn't, apparently.

I asked for it back yesterday because I am starting the INSANITY workout program and would like to track my progress. He agreed to return it as long as I promised to be healthy about my weight loss (obviously no starving, purging, etc.). I promised.

I weighed myself this morning in the usual fashion (after the bathroom, before drinking my glass of water). It's been three months and ...

Nothing. Not a single pound lost. In fact, if I remember my weight correctly from before, it's possible that I've GAINED since the baby.

OMFG are you kidding me?

1
7
5
.

Not even kidding. 175 pounds?! I'm a monster. I figured that maybe, just MAYBE, I had taken all of those nauseating diet pills for a reason, that maybe they had done SOME good, SOMEhow. Oh no. Not even close.

And now I've confirmed what I've known for months. I have to slow down on, if not STOP entirely, the drinking at night. I'm positive that that's the only thing holding me back. I can eat beautifully all day long, topping out at about 1,000 calories (if not less), and then ruin it all by drinking a bottle of wine every night. That's more alcohol calories than food calories. And it's pure sugar/carbs.

Now the question is: How do I stop drinking when it's what I look forward to every single evening?

It's what he said that kills me in this...

I don't have the time for a long post (though I am, as you know, quite fond of them).

I'm cooking bacon for my family. Fucking bacon. For BLTs. Oh, yes. They're his favorite. And the little one (five years old) doesn't mind them).

But this isn't the point of my finally coming back to Blogger... No. When I'm drinking to forget EVERYTHING... That's when I tend to come here. To seek out my oldest and truest friends. To say what I need to say and know that it will strike at least ONE chord... Somewhere in the universe.

So. I've told him before... about everything. He says he understands that I was once in a very dark place regarding myself, my body image, my EVERYTHING. And yet...

I had his baby six months ago. I'm in recovery from something that could have killed me. I struggle HOURLY with thoughts of returning to that lifestyle, just so that I COULD BE THIN. I can't eat in the mornings because I dare not disturb the beauty that is HUNGRY. EMPTY. PURE.

Getting back to the point that was so eloquently (albeit briefly) delineated in the title of this post. He told me yesterday, while we were lounging at the pool with our two daughters, that he has been "frustrated" over the past "few months" that I'm not yet in shape... that I'm not the same size as I was when I met him... That he can't WAIT until I am back to the way I was before the baby... ... ... ...

I didn't know how to respond. Honestly, I think I look pretty OKAY for having two kids and just having had my last one six months ago.

Apparently, every time that he said I looked good, he said, he did so in order to keep me from feeling bad about myself.

...

If that isn't a trigger to go down the wrong road, I don't know WTF is.

...

I'm going to stop now so that I can make dinner for everyone. And pretend to eat. And this is why I fucking drink so goddamn much.

I love you all. I miss you so much.

I just wannabe...

I want to be young and pretty again. I used to be both (though I didn't realize or appreciate it at the time), but now I am neither. I am 25. Yes, young in the eyes of some, but I am twice that age now, if not older.

I was thin and beautiful and energetic and motivated.
I am now the mother of two, older in soul and body than ever before and more jaded than ever.

That last remark may not be true. It just feels that way at this moment. I can't complain, though, because it's driven me to write again. There's your silver lining.

Am I destined to live this life forever? I wake up early to make breakfast and lunch for my fiancee despite the fact that I've woken up at least twice to take care of our youngest daughter (currently six months old). I can't get back to sleep after because my mind is racing through the events of the week, the day and the night before. Add in the day to come and it's a wonder I ever catch a few Zs after he leaves for work.

When I *do* wake up, I am sluggish and hungry, wishing for nothing but more sleep. A full day of sleep. A full day of unconsciousness. I want to ignore the world and my life for just one day.

Every day.

When I was young and beautiful, I was constantly tortured by an invention of my own device. I was thoroughly insane with regard to my appearance, to my sense of control over myself. I was thin (and that equals beautiful in my mind) and I was killing myself slowly. Various medications, strenuous workouts and an undying dedication to an impossible ideal helped push me through my days.

Every day, I woke up thinner. Lighter. More determined than ever to reach my ultimate goal.

And yet I failed. Or, rather, I succeeded in recovery. I spent so much time and money on recovering, only to find myself pregnant, removed from my home, my university, my friends and my family. Removed and dropped right down into another life altogether. Nothing was constant anymore. Perfect time to turn your world upside down, just as you're beginning recovery. Ideal, if you're looking for a good excuse to relapse.

I have so much to say here, but the long post will surely bore anyone, even my longtime readers and loyal sisters here. I miss you all so much. I realize that what I'm doing is probably not healthy (HA! "Probably," she says). I don't care. Not at this point. Maybe I'll come to my senses suddenly and realize that life without my ED *is* actually better. For now, though, I am caught between this feeling of need and this feeling of responsibility. The need for control over all that occurs should obviously be inspected by a therapist of some sort. The feeling of responsibility should be considerably lessened by the fact that I have a significant other who has insisted that he will gladly help in any way that he can.

But he doesn't. He can't. He can't help me stop wanting to be a perfect mother, a perfect wife, a perfect human being. I will strive for these things endlessly, regardless of the consequences.

And I shall continue on another day. Thank you for reading, my darlings.

As always, stay lovely.

-Phantasmagorical Delusion