another speck of insignificance.

coughing up blood and bile..

too stubborn to go to the hospital.

leave for vacation in two days. sunday. both excited, no-work-or-obligations-for-a-week!, and scared, how will i spend a week in clearly-not-by-myself land? i spend every waking moment, alone or able, eating and wasting food. eat, waste, hey i'm empty!, rinse and repeat. i am disgusting.

my throat, esophagus and stomach are so eaten away from this year-straight in-and-out food-fest that i can no longer bend over to, say, pick something up, without the horrible erosive sting of stomach acid threating its ascent. i cannot drink anything too hot (a shame when tea is only worthy when it is scalding, melt-my-teeth lava), or hot-at-all, anything remotely acidic (a shame when there are beautiful limited-time christmas-orange-like oranges, not mandarins themselves but similar, seedless, small and sweet and crisp and juicy, yum, in the shop), the list goes on but to put this all in an almond shell i find the day takes too long to go by, and any amount of hours can be weaved through in seeming seconds if there's food and a remote corner to hide in.

in other news, i started taking birth control -- something i avoided quite adamantly for years as i greatly feared the side effects that could be risked -- and so far if my perception is not entirely skewed it has killed the 0.003% of libido i had, has possibly triggered a few inexplainable mood swings, and despite still being the same weight (i quite quickly shed the filthy layers that prompted a certain coworker's comment as explained in the last entry) have had a two-weeks-and-counting visit from 'aunt flo', and it is very disgusting. i do not not-eat to bleed from places i should not be bleeding.

while i blame it for the latter i cannot pin the other two accusations quite yet because no sex drive and mood swings are definitely come-natural habits i've had since.. forever, or something.

oh, the joys of instability.

i apologize to anyone i've neglected to at least throw a comment at lately.. between work and packing and othersuch events i've just sort of placed a here-and-there note when/if i can.

♥,
rhia

i have been partaking in small things to be healthier for my boyfriend's sake. small things such as perhaps snacking, when with him, trying to be less-insane, less-starved, less the-retriever-of-unfathomably-worried-looks from him and i-can-feel-all-your-bones comments said with such solemn tone i cringe to have it mantra in my head.

apparently people have noticed.

at work no more than perhaps 40 minutes ago a coworker edges near me and in his foreign tone asks, "you're getting fat, rhia, right?" i stare in horrific disbelief. he simply smiles at me and goes back to what he's doing.

i do not cry. i stood shaking with tears threatening all they could muster but i do not cry. i'm trembling as i finish through with the rush of orders for perhaps 15 minutes longer before stating a smoke break (albeit i have quit though no one at work is aware apparently), grab my things and leave. home, i stand under a boiling shower to clean the filth from myself until the water refuses to yield any more heat, my phone meanwhile ringing with incessance of pleading where-are-yous from my boss.

the scale tells me 5 lbs are the culprit behind his observation.

well, the scale can have them back. and a few extra for interest charged. welcome back to black coffee and familiar abdominal pangs, rhia. we dearly missed you!

dear eating disorder,

i know you're just borrowing it,
but can i have my life back now?

please and thanks,
rhia

one of my closest friends got into a huge almost-breakup fight with her boyfriend. to end the argument she agreed to go to the hospital and get some method of help. she's been bulimic since she hit puberty.

i was texting her a lot last night when out with the boyfriend. apparently he found this insulting or something stupid (he texts all the time when we're out) and the so-far-going-lovely night turned into a complete aversion of me for the most part. and then him asking why *i* was quiet when he fucking stopped acknowledging me in the first place.

so i just kept texting. growing more frustrated, worried, helpless, i suppose. i got a rather unfamiliar feeling. i excused myself to wash my hands, left, sat in the stall and cried like a pathetic kid. went back up to the table bleary-eyed, thankfully it was dark, but at the same instant i wish he'd've asked one more time what was wrong so i could tell him and he could stop being pissant.

he knew something was wrong. but didn't press. and for once i wish he had.

sleep felt like a complete waste. i woke up feeling like the same shit i went to bed as.

i'm scared and worried and frustrated and i feel like vomiting. i don't want to have to go to work in a half hour.

where is rhia? (worrying/shoppai)

i am so scared and miss her.

my dog recently had surgery and was prescribed tramadol for pain. when she takes a capsule she turns into a drooling mess, so says my mother. it's also human medication, not to be taken with alcohol and known to cause siezures.

so of course i take one while on 3/4s a bottle of wine. this should be interesting.

stoled from __goldberry__.

* * * *

IF YOU'RE ON MY FRIENDS LIST, I want to know 36 things about you. I don't care if we never talk, if you're more of a lurker, or if we already know everything about each other.

BE HONEST! COPY FROM HERE THEN SEND DIRECTLY TO ME IN A COMMENT THEN, REPOST THE EMPTY QUESTIONS (if you wanna).

1) Are you currently in a serious relationship?
A.

2) What was your dream growing up?
A.

3) What talent do you wish you had?
A.

4) If I bought you a drink what would it be?
A.

5) Favorite vegetable?
A.

6) What was the last book you read?
A.

7) What zodiac sign are you?
A.

8) Any Tattoos and/or Piercings? Explain where.
A.

9) Worst Habit?
A.

10) If you saw me walking down the street would you offer me a ride?
A.

11) What is your favorite sport?
A.

12) Do you have a Negative or Optimistic attitude?
A.

13) What would you do if you were stuck in an elevator with me?
A.

14) Worst thing to ever happen to you?
A.

15) Tell me one weird fact about you.
A.

16) Do you have any pets?
A.

17) What if i showed up at your house unexpectedly?
A.

18) What was your first impression of me?
A.

19) Do you think clowns are cute or scary?
A.

20) If you could change one thing about how you look, what would it be?
A.

21) Would you be my crime partner or my conscience?
A.

22) What color eyes do you have?
A.

23) Ever been arrested?
A.

24) Bottle or can soda?
A.

25) If you won $10,000 today, what would you do with it?
A.

27) What's your favorite place to hang at?
A.

28) Do you believe in ghosts?
A.

29) Favorite thing to do in your spare time?
A.

30) Do you swear a lot?
A.

31) Biggest pet peeve?
A.

32) In one word, how would you describe yourself?
A.

33) Do you believe/appreciate romance?
A.

35) Do you believe in God?
A.

36) Will you repost this so I can fill it out and do the same for you?
A.

my boyfriend is the only reason i haven't killed myself yet, i realize.

how sad.

i'm forcing myself to live for one person. and it's not myself.

i've hit bottom.

i have been neglecting entries lately. i apologize. i'm here, just.. brain-dead.

i have to attend a wedding on saturday and buy clothes and crap. i look ridiculous wandering through dress-me-up stores, in jeans and hiking boots, hoodies and/or a big jacket, browsing dresses and non-casual clothing. the way clerks watch me, i should just tag "Shoplifter" onto my forehead.

maybe i just like the look of shock i get when i approach the till after choosing my purchase(s) and say "i'm sorry for being the last-minute shopper."
and the clerk saying a non-chalant "it's okay." ("wow, you mean you're not stealing everything?")
and me: "well, you're trying to close up, and then there's this asshole still wandering around.."

she laughed. it was cute.

i still need to find a few things though. tomorrow! there is no time! augh!

12 hours saturday, 13 hours sunday, 12 hours today.

work will surely be the death of a rhia before any disorderly habits.

thunk

i cannot, cannot, cannot function on 5 or less a night and then work double shifts balancing two jobs meanwhile be expected to cope between useless-fuckup-manager #1 and useless-lazy-fuckup-manager #2. said 1 is daft, coy and likes to play the managerial system while #2 is daft and plays-said-system because said daft-boy is son of the owner and oh, why did no one ever tell me that because of said-daft being said-son you could do diddly shit and make everyone else pull your bulk; said not-loosely as his bulk is a lot to pull figuratively-hypothetically and otherwise.

i cannot, cannot, cannot function while i am so FAT.

i cannot, cannot, cann-- zzzzzz..

i don't want to live anymore. i don't want to live. i don't want to breathe. i want to go from pale to blue to green and rotting to nothing but bone because when i die there will be very little skin left to rot. i hate this. i hate me. i want to die die die die die die die die fuck and everyone lies and says i have potential, says i'm smart, says i'm beautiful, FUCK YOU, STOP LYING TO ME, STOP BULLSHITTING MY FACE, STOP STOP STOP STOP TALKING.

JUST LET ME DO THIS MY WAY.

so how does a rhia cope. how, with two jobs, a boyfriend, and a sick obsession with food.

she doesn't! i'm going mad!

work, binge, vomit, work, see said boy, binge, vomit, it's so disgusting, how do i live and consider myself a person at all. i live under this sense of control i think i have but i binge at work, i binge with the boyfriend, i binge at home or... fuck, where is this sense of control coming from?

so-lost-in-her-own-fucking-head rhia and yet too-stubborn-to-admit-it-to-anyone. i know it and everyone else knows it but no one says anything because facing the music means dealing with the issue and the issue is best left avoided because god-fucking-forbid anyone try to help me or i try to help myself.

that boy is the world to me i realize and i don't even have the decency to stop my sick charade for even him. i am so very better off dead and rotting beneath a rock.

they deserve so much better than me.

regardless pulling a double makes for one fucking exhausted rhia who needs to find a corner to expel her insides into before passing promptly out.

my brain really sucks!

binge, purge, binge, purge, binge, purge, eat, throw up, eat, throw up, consume, ruin your insides, devour, vomit, headaches and heart palpitations,

you are so fucking stupid rhia.

i feel so ill. from vomiting. from being on my feet at work. from seeing a doctor whose receptionist averted looks of pity when weighing and measuring me upon my being forced to see said doctor for a check-up. i positively hate physicians.

ill from simply seeing him, him the alleged boyfriend, him who i am starting to become rhia around; snarking this-and-thats of starving angst pushing further and further away and yet when i see him be-it-from-a-distance or up-close i think why, why him, why me, why when he deserves none of it, and why me when i don't deserve his company or compassion or anything and why, why can't he just not exist so i can become a hermit again: leave the house for work and work only, perhaps a rendezvous to a market to browse-but-not-buy or somesuch. why, why, why, fuck i hate myself sometimes a lot.

"so do you do it because you feel you have no control ..
.. or does it feel like the only thing you have control over?"

he sees the reasoning behind these doings far more insightfully than most--any--bystander i've ever encountered and it's frightening. and

"...sometimes i think 'if she thinks she's fat how does she think of me?'"

he says this with sadness and concern and look at me, i've turned into the rants-on-lj-about-her-stupid-problems whine-a-lot. oh well, i suppose that's what this is here for!

i just don't know. for the life of myself i cannot reap satisfaction or faux-satisfaction from anything but this sick cycle and yet small inklings of wanting to live pang my cognitive in brief spurts and i almost wish they'd linger a little longer. long enough to act on them and just be.. okay. although the harsh reminder of pessimism eats away at the brief thought: a reminder of how shallow and self-loathing i'd be whether all this occured or not; fat or thin i blatantly distort myself and eating may cure this ailment it won't cure complete distaste and loathing because it was all there before.

and so we're back to square one.

i suppose i will just sleep.

how the FUCK am i getting my period at a bmi of 14?

if this is a disease and not a lifestyle, why has seemingly every "woahmygawd diagnosed anwhorexic" on the internet turned it into such a glorified skinny slutfest?

because taking several "omgthinspo" pictures and arranging them neatly into one of those rainbow bars just to put "anorexia is a disease not a lifestyle (hrthrt)" in swirl letters on your profile kind of negates itself.



in other news, i've been through 3 sets of stitches for a wound that can't heal itself. thanks, malnutrition.

this is probably going to be the most disturbing journal entry i will ever post, but i feel the need to do it for anyone who reads this, for anyone who reads the journals of users with disfigured social insecurities and who think they want to be a part of it too so they can be skinny and sick and have their legs give out on them and treat food like a god and a taboo just the same.

this. is. not. glamourous. it's fucking suicide.

no one reacts to words anymore so i took proof via photo to enlighten anyone.

because this is what your insides are going to look like when you throw them up after excess stomach acid has eaten away at the lining of your digestive tract and esophagus from making yourself vomit too much.

( i'm rotting from the inside out. )

i'm not a fucking fashion statement. i'm dying. for god's sake, have your cake and eat it too. go for a walk. LIVE YOUR LIFE.