note to self

sarcasm is a suit of armor

next week

I'm sitting at a coffeeshop where I just ate chicken salad.  

Third step prayer: I need to say this prayer every morning when I wake up

God, I offer myself to you to build with me and do with me as you will.  Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may better do your will.  Take away my difficulties that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help.  Of your power, your love, and your way of life.  Amen.

My menu for the following week is:

Thursday dinner: sushi and 1/2 salad

Friday:

normal breakfast

turkey sandwich with cheese and orange juice

fruit

mathias to make the plate at party.

Saturday

call Erin

one slice of pizza and a side salad

Sunday

chicken sandwich with side salad

fruit

prepared salad from whole foods on way home,.

Wish

I wish I could describe how hard this is.  I wish to eat.  I wish to go to the Olive Garden and order dish upon dish.  I wish to drive to the grocery store and purchase a buggy full of macaroni and cheese, butter, and milk and spend the rest of my days consuming, consuming, consuming.  I wish to numb my pain away, but the pain I'm feeling is stemming from I don't know where.  I wish my parent to tell me what to do.  I wish to go back in time to the appropriate age where your parents dictate your life, and for mine to do just that.  To tell me to stop, to tell me to go to therapy, to not make me feel guilty for the expense of a therapist, psychiatrist, psychologist, nutritionist, blah, blah, blah.  I wish my family to understand the deadliness and destruction of this disease - to watch the show "Intervention" and to want to show that much love for me.  Ten years of wishing has led me no where.

Tweak

I just finished Tweak by Nic Sheff, the son of David who wrote beautiful boy.  Here's what I've taken from it:

"There's something about outward appearances that has always been important to me.  I always thought I was so ugly.  I mean, I really did.  I remember being in L.A. at my mom's house as a little kid and just staring into the mirror for hours.  It was like, if I looked long enough, maybe I'd finally be handsome.  It never worked.  I just got uglier and uglier.  Nothing about me ever seemed good enough.  And there was this sadness inside me - this hopelessness.  Focusing on my physical appearance was at least external - at least, to a point.  I could buy different clothes, or cut my hair, or whatever.   The pit opening up inside me was too frightening to even look at ... It's so shallow and ridiculous and I see it, but I'm powerless to change.  I mean, I don't know how to change.  All I can do is just shoot more goddamn drugs."

"I always get so overwhelmed trying to do everything perfectly.  I can't do a job and not put everything into it.  I need to be the best employee, the best coworker, the best whatever.  I need everyone to like me and I just burn out bending over backward to make that happen.  Having people mad at me is my worst fear.  I can't stand it.  There is this crazy fear I have of being rejected by anyone - even people I don't really care about."

"No matter how much I want to, I can't actually believe that there is a power guiding me.  It just doesn't make sense to me on a deep, visceral level.  I don't believe in God - not really.  Honestly, that scares me.  I'm worried I won't be able to work the twelve-step program."

"I get up at 6 a.m. every day to exercise and I feel really crazy and anxious if I miss it.  It's like I need to kill my body with exercise in order to be calm enough to function throughout the rest of the day.  I also have incredible anxiety socializing with people.  I mean, if I'm at work, or I'm high, then that's okay.  But sober, going out with people my age, I am just really uncomfortable.  I'm not sure what it is that scares me.  Maybe I just don't know what to say and I'm constantly worried about what they think about me."

Yesterday

Yesterday I began my three meals per day regimen.  I had yogurt and pineapple for breakfast, a CHICKEN SANDWICH with a side of fruit for lunch, and half a slice of pizza with a side salad.  I called my sponsor at 8 o'clock, crying.  My stomach was voraciously distended, my body so full it felt like the food was reaching from my stomach to my throat.  I didn't think I could eat anything else.  Nor did I want to.  She told me it was okay, I'm experiencing normal "feelings" as I eat 3 "regular" meals each day.  And she said I didn't have to eat a whole slice of pizza, just half of one.  Which I did.  After the conversation, I went into the bathroom, bunkered to my knees, and asked whomever the hell is out there to help me get over this shit.  I walked out, looked Mathias in the eye, and said, "Fuck the eating disorder.  No more crying over pizza."  And we left for dinner.  

The size of the pizza I ate was about double the size of my pointer finger.  I didn't eat the side salad, and I awoke this morning scrupulously checking my body for signs of weight gain.  If I stretch the skin on my upper legs, I can see remnants of cellulite.  I said no more crying over pizza, but how do I stop crying over body image?

Quote

"Some great men and women are fortified and redeemed through their suffering, and they even seek sadness instead of happiness, just as van Gogh asserted, 'Sorrow is better than joy,' and Balzac declared, 'Suffering is one's teacher.'  But these dicta are suitable only for extraordinary souls, for the select few.  For ordinary people like us, too much suffering can only make us meaner, crazier, pettier, and more wretched."

-Ha Jin

Self-explanatory

'He did it to himself.  But nonetheless he has an illness.  It's a tricky illness.  Yes, people do have choices about what to do about it.   It's the same with an illness like diabetes.  A diabetic can choose to monitor his insulin levels and take his medication; an addict can choose to treat his disease through recovery.  In both cases, if they don't treat their illnesses, they worsen and the person can die ... There's that evidence that people who become addicted, once they begin using, have a compulsion that cannot be easily a matter of willpower.   They cannot to stop on their own or they would.  No one wants to be an addict.  The drug takes a person over.  The drug, not a person's rational mind, is in control.'

David Sheff beautiful boy