numbers
this is just what i...felt...
Numbers
I try to count the numbers of my day, looking back, starting to regret-should I be doing this? Isn’t this just fueling the disorder? But how else am I going to FINALLY be thin?
I just have to keep trying. I have to keep at this. Healthy means thin, yes…yes. Right?
I count up the total for that ice cream. I remember why I was craving it so badly at work. It didn’t help much, but it sure tasted good. I think maybe when the relief was over it just fueled my rage from the day. The day where I don’t try to do anything but be good at my stupid fast food job…all day long. And then retarted immature thirty-year-olds have to make my life harder. I don’t know what to do…
I went to church with nothing else in my stomach. It feels good. I feel the holy spirit coming back. The meds, of course, keep me pretty balanced….but my spirit needs more food than that. So…I read….I do devotionals….and…I believe I’m getting there.
There’s the next meal I ate. I tried to balance it. Then the juice…the juice that set the calorie count too high. How dare I…
Is this my life? A life of wishing endless numbers and guilt and worries? A life of thinking of food, and only food, thinness…perfection…avoiding that which I cannot control…which is just about every other problem I have.
There’s his voice. His sweet voice. I want him in my life. Things seem good…until the small, little problems…
It never did make sense for him to see much of anything in me…especially beyond friendship…
My lifestyle…things…parts of me I can’t give up….they make him so uneasy….he hates it….he hates things I love so much…
My stomach growls…
No appetite. It won’t be long before this man doesn’t love me, just like the rest of them…
Numbers
I try to count the numbers of my day, looking back, starting to regret-should I be doing this? Isn’t this just fueling the disorder? But how else am I going to FINALLY be thin?
I just have to keep trying. I have to keep at this. Healthy means thin, yes…yes. Right?
I count up the total for that ice cream. I remember why I was craving it so badly at work. It didn’t help much, but it sure tasted good. I think maybe when the relief was over it just fueled my rage from the day. The day where I don’t try to do anything but be good at my stupid fast food job…all day long. And then retarted immature thirty-year-olds have to make my life harder. I don’t know what to do…
I went to church with nothing else in my stomach. It feels good. I feel the holy spirit coming back. The meds, of course, keep me pretty balanced….but my spirit needs more food than that. So…I read….I do devotionals….and…I believe I’m getting there.
There’s the next meal I ate. I tried to balance it. Then the juice…the juice that set the calorie count too high. How dare I…
Is this my life? A life of wishing endless numbers and guilt and worries? A life of thinking of food, and only food, thinness…perfection…avoiding that which I cannot control…which is just about every other problem I have.
There’s his voice. His sweet voice. I want him in my life. Things seem good…until the small, little problems…
It never did make sense for him to see much of anything in me…especially beyond friendship…
My lifestyle…things…parts of me I can’t give up….they make him so uneasy….he hates it….he hates things I love so much…
My stomach growls…
No appetite. It won’t be long before this man doesn’t love me, just like the rest of them…