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I have a tendency to unconsciously appropriate other peoples' affectations, leading me to say things like y'all.

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Monday, February 13, 2006

WTF?

I was doing so so well. I had 22 days of stable marked in my mood journal (which is an incredible first), but now, I've hit a wall. I'm not depressed exactly, but I'm irritable and I feel enormously, uncomfortably fat. I feel gross. I feel ungainly. I feel hungry and not hungry. If I eat more than some baby carrots, some celery and a small tub of cottage cheese on any given day, I feel like I've failed myself. And like I've gained 20 lbs in one sitting. I've been avoiding pants that I know will make me feel *big* for three or four days now and wishing I could just stay in my pj's all day in general. (Under the blanket would do quite nicely.) I'm being bitchy to Sophie again, turning what should be a really cool time signing valentines into some form of nazi imprisonment...John is sort of keeping to himself at this point because, really, what can he do? He has a cold. I should be taking care of him. Besides, he's seen this inexplicable turn of events before and knows his role in all of this is limited. It seems like he's just sick of me. Like I'm disappointing him because I can not keep my shit together. (I suppose that's just the way I feel.) Shouldn't I have better balance by now? Maybe I'm not getting enough sleep? I feel really lonely. And that, in turn, also makes me sad. I want to be better. I want to be for real, like long term, better. Why is that so impossible?

Of course, I'm not glancing over the fact that I go all kooky when I sense a disturbance in my weight. I don't know where that came from for me. I can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't really really aware of what I was eating or what the result of the eating might be. When I was a child, my dad would go crazy because I hated to eat onions (for example) and so there was always penalty associated with eating. Food was also most commonly the way my father rated our success in the world and showed his love . It's no wonder at all that I have an extremely complicated relationship with the stuff (which is not to say that everything is my father's fault). I love it and I hate it. I'm never happier than when I'm in the kitchen making dinner for someone (or 20 someone's) and I'm never more miserable than when I've eaten the fruits of that labor.

I'm 5'5'', I weight 130 lbs. My measurements are: 34(D), 28, 36. I wear a size 4. Shouldn't it be okay for me to feel thin?

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