Sunday's rant: Springtime Folly

Yesterday ended, inexplicably, with the late night consumption of an innocent Chocolate Easter Bunny in all it's obscenely delicious, golden tin-foil wrapped glory.
However, I've decided not to be hung up about this - the mere existence of chocolate bunnies is a sign of spring-time after all, and I do love springtime, I can only repeat myself in that regard.

Besides, today's the first day of my scheduled abc run anyway - meaning there won't be a whole lot of Easter Bunnies waiting for me in the coming 50 days, so crying over split (chocolate) milk is even less appropriate.

In the spirit of the hands-on, life-affirming approach I seem to have adopted just this minute, I went out and took a picture of a cutsie little trias of crocus blossoms sitting on the patch of grass outside my building:


Awwwww.

All right, enough with the pretty flowers already, I'll tell you straight away that the rest of this post is going to be nauseatingly boy-centric.

(You have now been warned and have had a fair chance to get the hell out of here & run for the hills - as bitching about the same boy over and over and over again is so last decade, I swear I wouldn't even blame you...)

Because - The Coward is still on my mind.

He isn't even my ex, per se - although he certainly is an ex friend by now.
We'd already known each other for two years when things started getting out of hand, and it has to be admitted that I used to have a thing for him pretty much from the start, while also suspecting, with moderately justified reason, that he might be having a bit of a thing for me, too.

Then, at a fateful party, he started flirting with me like there was no tomorrow (and I'm not making this up to minimize my own responsibility, I swear - although I do happen to posses a button with the slogan "That pig seduced me!" printed on it, and it would come in handy right now.)

I myself, of course, was anything but discontent with that turn of events.

As a consequence, we ended up having a thing together right then and there, with emotional and physical bonding running high for a few blissful hours and a dreamy morning beyond, and a dance of awkwardness and trying-to-play-it-cool with purposefully vague accounts on what this was supposed to mean between us running high afterwards.

Then, things got ugly.

Basically, he is a stupid douche-bag, who is too much of a coward to be honest with people to their face, instead opting to hurt them and lead them on and break their heart with lies, all so that he can avoid confrontation, avoid feeling guilty.

And I made it easy for him, tremendously easy - I asked him straight to the face, hell I practically begged him, time and time again, to just be straight with me, just be honest.
To tell me, honestly, whether he cared or whether he didn't, whether there was a chance for us or not.
"Hey, if you don't, I can take it - I won't cry, I won't hate you, I'm not one to make a scene. I just need to know where I stand!"

And he said that he did, that there was.
Despite it all being filthy lies.

"You don't have to lie to me, really, just don't. I want the truth for once, please, give me the straight dope. If you don't want me, say so now, so I'll have a chance to make a fresh start."

But he didn't. He said I was wrong in assuming he didn't care. That I'd never be just any girl to him, just any friend.

He kept leading me on, kept my hopes alive through well placed words and endless reassurances of his feelings for me, his concern.
"You matter to me, don't ever think otherwise... it's just so... complicated right now..." Yeah right.

Like hell it's complicated, you cavorting around with that clingy little trollop, the one without a shred of self-esteem, who depends on a man for her every identity, her every validation.
Totally helpless without you... I know some boys dig that sort of thing, perhaps... but really? You sure? That's your thing?

But then why not say so, why not answer truthfully to my questions, why not save me the endless disgrace of trying to win you over, the shame of hoping, of trying and failing to change your mind.

Cruel, is what he is.
And yet I keep on "loving" him, desiring him, without sense or reason.

I am a hopeless case.

It has reached ridiculous levels, where his so-called girlfriend puts up all these profile pics of them cuddling, kissing or doing whatever together on various social sites, and I can hardly bear to look at them, not because I am jealous, but simply because every single sight of his perfect face sets my heart a-racing.

Ri - di - cu - lous.

And the girl, she is so effing ugly no matter at what angle or weight.
I'm not just making this up because I'm a raving, jealous bitch - although I certainly am.

She is seriously bad looking, and the biggest factor in this is her "charisma", the constant expression on her face that conveys "I need to perpetually reassert my self worth by putting down others, so that I can feel most special when indeed I am as insecure as the next person, probably more - and I revel in that paradox".

It's a fiasco of a sham, the fact that I am in love with someone who is love with a girl like that instead.

Eldritch Abomination

So... I sorta kinda majorly binged today.
It wasn't even just one giant binge, but continuous piling on of calories throughout the entire day in absolutely unnecessary amounts.
I had every intention to keep counting, though, so as to hold myself responsible.

I think the worst thing one does when bingeing is to get that feeling of complete abandon, like the world could end in a fiery blaze and it wouldn't matter, and fuck it, I'm not even counting the calories right now because the balance is so obviously shot to hell.

For me that's always a way to avoid feeling properly horrified, to avoid facing the consequences of my actions - I don't even want to know that devastating number in irrevocable precision; I do not want my head to spin at the exact account of what I have just devoured.
It's like a Lovecraftian Horror - the mere sight of it will make you go insane with frenzied despair.

So, I stop counting during a binge.
But , as we all know , sticking your head into the sand doesn't accomplish anything - I need to face up bravely to what I have done so that I can do better tomorrow.

... yeah, so far for theory.
In praxis, of course, I couldn't handle it.

I did have every intention to, but finally stopped in abject horror when I was starting to inch past 2000 and still could not bring myself to quit.
And so, ladies and gentlemen, the Eldritch Abomination that is my bingeing calorie intake wins again.

Basically, it adds up to me consuming a quantity of food that could have fed a small village of less idiotic individuals. (Much the same as a Cthulhu-ish monster would consume the village itself, ha. Bet that adds up to a lot of calories... not to mention that I totally feel as huge as Cthulhu right now.)

God, I shouldn't be joking about this.
It's gross. Utterly disgusting, despicable gluttony in its purest form, a real proper binge after not even 3 days of moderate restricting.

... which is, yeah, pretty fucking miserable.
I know I need to step away from this kind of behavior if I ever want to stop being cripplingly unhappy with myself again.

Yet I mustn't allow myself to wallow in my failure and be overwhelmed by self-hatred and despair. There's always a chance to do better tomorrow, and I need, no I WILL be focussing myself on that.

As a side effect since starting this blog, I have noticed that the general re-focussing on food avoidance and weightloss has served to pointedly alleviate the acuteness of my depression.
Maybe that's why I'm always happiest when I'm doing this, "getting skinny"... yeah, I know, revolutionary thought, that - the entire calorie-counting game is just something we do to keep our minds off of more unpleasant things anyway, big fucking surprise there.

I'm sorry, I'm a bit of the cheap-mouthed cynic right now due to my own (literally) enormous failure.
I'm feeling deplorably weak; I just wish I was one of these girls that simply don't eat without making a fuss about it, firm resolve and no bitching about the struggle and the slip-ups.

One "nice" thing that I binged on were frozen strawberries though, which was good because a) they barely make a dent in the calorie count obviously and b) sucking on frozen berries on a hot day is one of my favourite pastimes in general.

They also colour your hands a lovely shade of purple/red when you are grabbing them out of a cardboard box one by one, so you can look like you have just committed gruesome slaughter while walking along in the sunshine or sitting down in a park.

Mmpfh, wish I'd stuck to them...

"I'll do what I can..."

"...nothing more, nothing less."

It's a mantra my therapist has me repeat as a means to avoid anxiety attacks and counter perfectionism.

I'm not sure it is helping - but then again I know she didn't mean for me to apply it to food intake, either.

So, did I do well today, did I do everything I could?

I ate some stuff, namely 160 g of soy based yogurt (57 cal/100g, which means 91.2 cals), half a banana (medium size, so let's say 50 for half of it), a 10-cal cup of broth I drank in the morning, half a grapefruit at maximum 50 cals; for lunch I went out to have sushi with a friend, so I had a miso soup plus an avocado and a shinko maki roll.
(Taking into account the differing numbers you find on the calorie content of sushi, I estimate I come in at somewhere around 600 cals total for the day, perhaps even below.)

All in all, that adds up to considerably more than I wanted to eat in an ideal scenario; but on the other hand it seems pretty reasonable for a "first day back" to restricting, and is definitely better than the fiasco I have indulged in lately.
Still, I just don't know what to think.

I feel low.
No, that's not right - I don't feel either or, really.
Mainly, I feel disgusted with my body, despite doing relatively well today where food is concerned.

I have that kind of feeling where you want to peel off your own skin so badly, shed it like a reptile, that you have to restrain yourself hard not to take a kitchen knife and cut it open from top to bottom so you can wriggle out of it.

In positive news, I like the fact that spring is beginning - the first sightings of crocuses (crocus? croci?) and lilies of the valley, the re-awakening of the world, the metaphorical rebirth of life and all that sappy crap.
I'm just very fond of this season, whenever I step outside it elevates my mood by a tiny fraction.

I hope, if you are reading this, that spring has set on wherever you live, too, and that it is bringing you some amount of pleasure.