It's sad that it's 9:45 am and I'm already ready for a nap.
My bed is dangerously comfortable. Whenever I'm on it, I just want to sleep. Which may sound normal, being a bed and all. But I can walk into another room and say "Huh, cool. A bed," and walk the other way. But not mine! It demands that I come and nap on it.
It could be that I'm sick. I think I have a fever and I woke up with one of those throats so sore you don't want to swallow anything. And maybe it's stress that's making me sick. Yesterday was such a horrible day that it kind of makes me laugh at how horrendous it was.
First off, I was in a shitty ass mood. I don't like waking up at 5:30 in the morn only to have to get tortured for an hour and 20 minutes by Rick "The Man That Can Cure Insomnia" Lozinsky, my geology professor who has verbally claimed that "Rocks are my friends!"
On to failing my exam in my remedial math class. If I have to take this class for a THIRD time, I've decided that I'm dropping out of school. My new goal in life is to find a high-paying career that requires no college education whatsoever, since I absolutely HATE school and it will probably take me 8 years to earn my bachelor's degree.
Then, after a day filled with serotonin levels so low that I honestly think I've never felt crappier, I had a visit with the psychiatrist from HELL.
He starts off my asking me to get on a scale.
"I have to know your weight," he says.
"Um...can I NOT know it?"
*Rolls his eyes* "Heh heh! Why? Why dontchu (he was ghetto) wanna know?! You ain't a big woman! You slim!"
"Can I just turn around and not look at it?"
"Just close yo' eyes!"
So after that's over, he launches into all these questions, tells me I'm crazy for preferring Wisconsin over Southern California, and when he finds out about my eating disorder, says "So, you think you fat? Chunky? Chubby?" As I'm nodding my head, he keeps spitting out adjective after adjective that pertains to fat people.
YES, YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER, I THINK THAT I AM FAT.
Then he asks why I'm there to see him. Welll.....I don't want to run out of my meds.
"You out of your meds? What!?"
No, I don't WANT to run out of them, dumbass. That's where you come in. Write me the prescription and let me leave.
After insulting an aspect of my appearance (the second time in a WEEK someone--a STRANGER--has said something), he rambles on and on about the power of positive thinking. And talks about effective weight loss strategies.
Needless to say, I walked out of there stunned. I'm pretty sure that I could've done a better job. I'd seriously rather be Xanax free for the rest of my life than EVER see this man again.
I remember sick days when I was little. I would stay in my nightgown and sleep in my mom's bed and she would bring me oyster crackers and white soda and I would watch "The Wizard of Oz" and "Hocus Pocus" and my mom gave me a little bell to ring in case I needed her because she didn't want me to shout and hurt my throat. Sick days were AWESOME. My mom would go at the end of the school day and pick up my homework so I wouldn't fall behind. Ahhh. The simplicity of life back then. Now, a day of missing class requires a whole chapter of make up work, making up exams, asking strangers for notes, etc. It's not worth it. Plus all my classes are small enough so that they take attendance. I wanted nothing more than to skip French yesterday, but didn't want CHPROF! to drop me. As it turns out, yesterday was the first day he DIDN'T take attendance.
And Wednesday. God. I had kickboxing, which I normally LOVE. But after bingeing and purging Tuesday night, the last thing I wanted to do was some "AB WORK!" and a 6-minute run test. I literally was scared I would just puke on the mats in the gym. I went, and got through it. Thank GOD. I have this general rule of thumb where after a night of bingeing and purging, I don't work out. A) I'm too depressed to get to the gym, and B) I feel so disgusting that I don't want to concentrate on my body more any more than normal.
I don't know. This whole recovery thing is just kicking my ass. My mom said I can see my therapist from HG, so hopefully she takes people on Fridays, when I have no class, so I could see her. She is my IDOL. I want to be this woman. She has her shit TOGETHER. I guess my dad suggested it to her. Funny, I didn't know he noticed anything. Even when I'm laying on the couch with my mom and sobbing so hard that I can't breathe and when I lock myself in the bathroom and cry at an audible level and come home from class and go right to bed every day, he never says anything.
My whole up and down and been very, very down lately. I miss the manic part. Sure, it's not healthy. But it's a hell of a lot more fun than being depressed. Yeah, I overexercise and restrict. But hey! By going to the gym I get out of the house, I'm actually inclined to do homework, and I feel more like myself. Granted, it's still bad, but if I truly am bipolar (which I've self-diagnosed myself as having), I much prefer the manic state to the depressed one.
This girl in my geology lab said the other day how she's 86 pounds. 86 POUNDS. God, could I FEEL like a bigger whale?!? And I've played the "ED or no ED?" game with this girl, especially since she's always eating unhealthy shit in class. But she doesn't seem antsy after eating it, like she NEEDS to get to the bathroom to throw it up. Maybe she digests things slowly and just uses the bathroom after class?? Hmmm. I genuinely like this girl, however, so hating her is not possible. Sigh.
I'm thinking of writing for the school newspaper. Or something. I don't really know how to go about GETTING a position, but I figured the only thing I enjoy doing lately is writing, so I might as well be productive about it. It just helps SO MUCH. Every damn day I write things in my head, which is why I can't seem to stop writing Facebook notes. Things happen every day that I think "Oh, I gotta remember this for later!"
I had a weird-ass dream last night where the Jonas brothers were vampires from the book "Twilight" and they were killing people in a high school's pool. And this is a night where I went to bed without taking any Xanax at all. I also had a dream the other night where Britney Spears was selling her house and I went to go look at it and she was there. She was kind of a bitch in it too. These dreams always happen after a night o' bingeing/purging, so maybe it's something in the saturated fat? Or sugar? I don't know.
I can't wait until this semester is over. I don't know where I'll be next semester. Maybe Wisco? I'm kinda really extremely hating Fullerton right now. I don't know if I'm meant for higher education. I can't seem to stay in one place for very long. I have geographic ADD. Maybe I SHOULD just get a dead-end job and be poor for the rest of my life? Yeah, it sucks. But I don't know if I can handle school right now. I'm a huge mess, and failing all my classes won't do anything to boost my confidence level.
I suppose I could shower and attempt at starting my day. But then again, I don't feel good, so maybe a nap would make me feel better?
Yes. Definitely
