My Apologies

Sorry, it’s been a while since I posted anything.  I’ve moved back in with my parents until I find a house to live in, and hopefully buy.  Living with them means more stress as I try to hide my lack of food consumption.  So now I go to the gym after work each night.  That puts me elsewhere until after everyone has eaten and I can claim to have gotten something earlier.  They seem to be aware that I am not eating enough but I don’t know that they have made the jump to “eating disorder.”  Whenever we are out and someone offers us food, my mum always says “oh no, she doesn’t eat anything.”  I almost want to cry every time, especially when I actually planned on eating.  Once that statement is in the air, I know I can’t be seen eating, that would make me a hypocrite.  Anyone who reads this wordpress knows I have major issues with hypocrisy.

I get tired.  I’m exhausted right now, and thinking is just too challenging sometimes.  I’ve been working so many hours, and so many in a row.  My new boss, whom I have a major crush on, had me scheduled for 8 days in a row this past week and a half, and 9 in a row beginning part way thru this week.  It doesn’t help that I’m on day 3 of a fast, either.  I’m not even hungry.  But I’m exhausted, and working out like a maniac while fasting, following a 12 hour work day, is a bad idea.  But I do it anyway.  Why? Because even though I wear a size 6, and ppl tell me I’m small, all I see is the number on the scale and the fat covering my entire body like a blanket.  All I see is how my legs jiggle, and my hip width.  I disgust myself.  So I get tired.

And at the same time, I suspect my new boss likes me back. (Queue corny grade school montage, and laugh-track)  The things he says and how he says them.  We had a conversation about chicken wings and who had the best.  I said “I don’t remember the last time I had wings.”  He says, “when you fell.”  (Aww, I’m an angel.)  He doesn’t think I give myself enough credit, so he is always telling me how proud he is of me.  I told him that being proud of myself is not a skill I possess, he said it would be when he was done with me.  It’s all very flirtatious and I am incredibly happy.  The trouble is, I can’t seem to get it to move past that.  I’ve invited him to two bonfires, he missed the first one and we will see if he comes to the second.  I’ve also given him a million suggestions on fun things to do or restaurants to visit.  Some guys prefer one-on-one to group settings.  He’s shy so I wasn’t sure which was more comfortable for him.  An RCA at work asked if he was my boyfriend, when I said no, she said “I think he likes you.”  Everyone I talk to about what he says or does each day, agrees.  But in the back of my mind, I think it’s just like the last million guys…I get a little attention and I decide there’s something there, only to be brought down in a rain of fire.  With him, I’m constantly changing what and how I say things to avoid sounding too whiny or depressing, too complaint-filled, or too bossy; all things I’ve been informed are my faults, by my mum.  I also keep thinking there is no way he could actually like me, I’m so fat and ugly and stupid.  He certainly deserves a beautiful, intelligent, skinny woman on his arm.  I must be reading too much into his words and actions.

I’m continually obsessed with this “Damsel-in-distress” scenario.  I remember being fascinated by fainting when I was a small girl.  I have always hoped to faint into someone’s arms, have them scoop me up, and think to themselves ‘my god, she doesn’t weigh a thing.’  Sick and disturbing, but welcome to my brain.  Anyway, I remember watching hundreds of movies as a kid that followed this story line. (Hint: Disney)  But my favourite movie was Gone With The Wind.  I always wanted to faint like Scarlet.  My mum always called me Scarlet, because I’m so dramatic, another fault of mine.  I also watched my devoted father worry endlessly over my mother, to a point that I was frequently left to myself.  But I associated that with love.  And not just romantic love, friendship love, as well.  I truly want someone to come and rescue me.  I remember playing with my dolls as a child and each time the story line followed the movies I watched as a child.  I learned to associate knowing love with being rescued and protected.  So here I am making myself sick in the hopes that I will pass out or get sick in front of key people in my life..  I guess I want to see their reaction, specifically his.  In some twisted way, I think he will realize how much I mean to him when he thinks he’s lost me… (Queue eye-roll and nod to Hollywood)  Clearly I’m desperate.  I feel disgusted with myself for thinking this way.

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