Type, type, type; what should I write? 20 mins into this posting session, and I am on “Take 5″ of the posting scene…here’s hoping this is the wrap-up before post editing takes place. As I hit each key on this decaying MAC of mine (if you’re new here, you should know his name is Dexter, he is a black 13 inch MAC – yummy – and has been the subject of my abuse since 2008…) I note the gentle “wiggle” of arm fat performing in stride with my verbal subconscious. It’s annoying. Gets me thinking of body image, how much I have to work out in yoga this evening…which then gets me thinking of my legs – my short stubby tree trunks that have always been the subject of torture for me – and then I look down at my robust abdomen, jiggling with pride on this empty stomach of mine. Then the “self test” begins at the kitchen table in-front of my mason jar of coffee. I call this the “wrist test”.
- The wrist bone must be protruding noticeably.
- All fingers and thumb must be able to wrap around my wrist comfortably. (See above photos.)
- Then, out of curiosity, I wanted to see just how flabby and big my bicep was, so I attempted to see if I could contain it in one hand. Result: just barely. About an inch or so of girth to chip away at before I will be comfortable…but we all know that’s a lie.
For myself, it’s safe to say that the strange rituals I do on a daily basis to maintain some semblance of comfort pertaining to my body image is well, fucking psychotic. But it’s okay, because this is one big tango with mental instability in the end. Or so I convince myself…
Truth is that no one should be so fixated on these tripe rituals, or care about this perception of “perfect” or “normalcy”. No one should be intimidated by another person based on how their genes concocted their physical being. How boring this world would be if every Tom, Dick, Jane and Bonny looked similar, loved the same, or laughed at every joke told. That’s the world nightmares are made of my friends, we should be embracing the individuality of society.
So why can’t I? Why can’t I look at myself and be happy? Why am I so fueled with fear of rejection? Of disappointing those around me? Of being ridiculed and critiqued about an aspect I truly have no qualms or concentration for: that of self vanity and projection. The crazier the look, the happier I am. I love people who dare to be honest with their feelings, emotions, drives, passions; YES I SAY!
Today I started doing some more research on eating disorder statistics, treatment facilities, articles to share with friends in the community, so on and so forth. Through the searching I came across an online test titled Eating Disorder Assessment Test. Naturally, I decided to take this test.
- 0-3 Score: You may be predisposed to developing an eating disorder
- 4 – 6 Score: Eating Disorder probable
- 7 Score: High likelihood of an eating disorder
My score: 11
Least I know I can ace one test in this life time. That’s about an A+++ in my books…all for the wrong reasons, but some devil in the underworld is proud of me.
At this moment I am tired, exhausted, ill and uncomfortable. My period came three days ago, but like it has for years, it either all happens in one day – I get nauseous, vomit, sweats, dizzy spells, can’t speak, horrible headaches – or I spot for three weeks. This period was one of pain and “one day spending.” It all came like Niagara Falls. I cried from the pain. Looked like I was perioding black tar and coffee grounds. In my head I knew that I should make an appointment with the va-jay-jay doctor…and in my head I knew a certain friend would be lecturing me to seek medical attention; so I did. Tuesday. Another talk, with another doc, about how this body is breaking down from the inside out, and why I need to start handling all the mental instability of my past to be able to move into a solid future.