Astronaut Food

I've been thinking about that concept lately - a concept taken from the novel You Don't Love Me Yet by Jonathan Lethem.

It's not about actual food, either - although considerable parts of this blog deal with the consumption and non-consumption of food, today's post doesn't, not exclusively.

I'll try to sum up the meaning behind "Astronaut Food" for anyone who hasn't read the novel - Astronaut Food, as named for the packed-up long-lasting food provisions that spacefarers take with them, is

... someone you're always thinking you might get with, but deep down know that you never will.
... someone you keep on your list of possibilities, as a back up, just so you don't have to feel there are no possibilities at all.
... someone with whom the stakes are blissfully low; a friend who might be more than a friend, but in the end is really just that - a friend.
... someone, with the idea of whom you entertain yourself, despite knowing essentially that if anything was ever to happen between the two of you, it would have happened already.

M. has always been my Astronaut Food.
I'm not sure if I am his as well, I'm suspecting that I might be.

There seemed to be a mutual understanding between us all the time, that we were thinking about each other within similar terms.

This understanding might have been that "things were developing in a certain direction", slowly but surely - or it might have simply been that we were to be the others' Astronaut Food forever more.
I was never quite sure.

Now though, I am not even sure about the Astronaut Food part anymore.

Now, that I am spinning ever more out of control, that my academic progress has been stalled in the wake of my various psychological disabilities - I'm not sure that he still sees me that way, as even remotely desirable, when the facade of a happyfunctioninghealthysuccessful person is slipping further out of reach.

By which I am not insinuating he only cares about those things, about a person being "normal, functioning, successful".
It is just that - he is so goddamn clearly one of those people, the normalhappyfunctioninghealthysuccessfull kind.

It's not that he doesn't have issues, hidden depths in which problematic thought patterns lurk.
I believe everyone does, and I do happen to know a little about his.

Still, he apparently deals with them, in an ever so commendable and effortlessly healthy way.

He is the picture perfect image of a strong, compassionate, successful and grounded individual, incredibly kind and helpful towards others, someone who follows his passions and takes care of things actively, who manages to accommodate for his hobbies amongst excelling in the pursuit of his career, nauseatingly well-grounded really, totally down-to-earth.

And you can't even hate him for it in your bottomless envy, he's just the most endearing and disarming kind of "healthyfunctioningnormal" there could possibly be, at least to me.

Being in his presence makes me want to straighten up and better myself, to be healthy and sane - yet it makes me feel impossibly humbled too, like I could never be good enough, that in my broken state I am not worthy of his friendship, his compassion, his concern.

He's like the bigger brother I never had, and at the same time I would really like to be his Astronaut Food.

... once again I'm not sure where I'm going with this, except perhaps to say that I am rambling, and that You Don't Love Me Yet is an excellent novel, that I recommend it.

It has some bits and pieces interesting in the light of thinness and superficiality, too - some rather poetic pieces which I am going to quote while sincerely hoping I am not committing any severe from of copy right infringement:

"I do think he looks a little fat onstage with the rest of us. I guess I'm not supposed to say that."
"He's not fat, he's just a grown-up. We're the ones who look strange. We're anorexic, we're ghosts, we're tinder."
"I thought we looked pretty good."

"You know what I love most about you?" she asked.
"What?"
"The way the veins in your forearms stick out. And the ridge of muscle that runs along your waist. I love that you're skinny."
"That's superficial, Lucinda."
"You can't be deep without a surface."

Skinny Love: Tilda Swinton and an update

So, I am really, really not fond of myself today, and that's kind of an understatement.

To give you all the quick version: I did well on the abc for an almighty four days (yeah, really long, that), and then screwed up majorly with a HUGE binge yesterday (or huh-yooge, as Stephen King would say).

I don't even want to go into the sordid details of how and why it happened - yes, there were certain circumstances, and if I wanted to indulge myself I could go ahead and blame it on other people, on the particular situation, on the fact that I'm on my period and so on and so on.

But, we all know that sort of thing is deceiving yourself in a cowardly fashion - if I slip up and binge it is my own failure, a lapse in my self control, and no one else can be held accountable.

Oh well.
I got up at five thirty today and started the day with a run and a little weight lifting work-out afterwards, so at least that's making me feel good about myself.

Not so good is the fact that I'm invited to my parents for lunch today, so even if I wanted to pick up at day five again, I don't think I'll manage the 100 cal limit.
Perhaps if I add the burnt-off exercise calories, though...

In any case, in the spirit of not liking myself, I have decided to shift my blogging focus to other people for a change - no fun in talking about yourself all the time, right?

So, I've decided to declare this "Skinny Love" month, and do a mini-series of posts on people that fulfill the following set of criteria:

A) They inspire me in some artistic fashion, be it through their music, their style, their image, through writing or acting or any other creative pursuit, or simply through the entire concept and presentation of their persona.

And B) They are, in keeping with the obsession theme of this blog, visually inspiring to me by being thin or in other words, skinny.

(You are, of course, welcome to take up and participate in this idea if you find it amusing; I'm not running a trade-mark on it anytime soon, ha.
In fact, I'd be curious to know - which skinny minnies happen to have been inspirational to you, dear readers?)

Starting with: La incredible Swinton.










I absolutely love her as an actress - she embodies my every definition of "ethereal" with effortless poise - otherworldly, detached, incomprehensible and infinitely graceful beyond mundane definition, simply and utterly other.

And that photo-shoot she did a good while back for Another Magazine?
I can't even say enough about how she looks in those pictures above, how eternal and perfect, like a statue flawlessly set into stone, a monument of grace and beauty and dignity and spirit.

Where being thin is concerned, I don't even picture her as a person who purposefully tries to maintain or achieve this as a goal.

Much rather, if I had to guess, I'd picture her as someone who simply doesn't have food as a large part of life on their agenda, whose mind is too busy with ideas and their realization to ever think about eating in an active manner; someone who might often forget to eat, if not by chance reminded, while immersed in an other and inspirational part of existence that revolves around things untouched by the trivial absorption of calories into the body.

And that's the kind of ethereal we'd all like to be, aye?

PS: Have a happy Easter, everyone...

Goals

To update; I did finally manage to calm down last night, although it took forever.
Blogging proved to be quite cathartic though, and major thanks to Ancora and Athanasy for your helpful and supportive comments, love you guys to bits! <3

Despite no sleep and feeling utterly shitty, I also passed an oral exam today - but it was rather gruesomely embarrassing, I only just made it by a narrow margin.
Did I feel relieved when it was done with, anyway?

Let me put it like this - say you spend several months being brutally tortured in a dungeon by some absolutely merciless abomination straight from the depths of hell; you might rightfully abound in joy when you are finally freed and the entire ordeal is over.
Much more likely though, you will be too scarred and traumatised by the experience to feel any relief at all - and that was what that exam felt like.

(obligatory PC addendum: I am not a complete moron, and I do realize no actual real-life torture experience compares to something as trite and mundane as an exam. I'm doing this for comedic hyperbole, obviously - and because, in my crazy pathetic mind, it really felt THAT bad to get another chance to show myself just how much of a worthless worthless loser I really am.)

Anyway, I digress, so on the topic of goals:

I want to be carful about setting them weight-wise - disappointment is already a major theme in my wretched little brain, and I don't want to set myself up for more of the same.

Still, there is this:
In less than a month, less than three weeks really, I will be attending a concert of a band I adore.
I happen to have reasonable cause to suspect, nay fear, that this concert might also be attended by The Coward, the Boy That I Still Long For Despite Knowing That I REALLY Shouldn't.

And his new girlfriend, of course.

From what I hear through mutual friends, they never do anything separately anymore.
So if either of them is there, the other will be.

And then I will be meeting a personalized nightmare of loss and rejection in double force, instead of enjoying a relaxing evening where I shut everything out of my brain except for the music.

The thing is (and I use that phrase way too often lately), that I know weight is pretty much the one issue where I can get to her.

I happen to know that she is equally messed up as I am in the food department, that weight and clothes sizes hold the same morbid appeal for her, and that she defines herself, much as I do, through the space that is or isn't visible between her thighs.

So of course, the petty bitter side of me dictates that I have to be super skinny, that I have to fuel her insecurities by nourishing my own, that I have to beat her at being thin at least if I can't beat her at winning his love.

If I have to run the risk of running into her, into them, then I would love for her to be shocked and envious at the sight of me.
I know that I am grasping for straws and that my attempt at physical superiority to her is petty; but that's what you would expect from a bitter person, it's the best I can do.

I am unsure what my goal for those three weeks should be though, how much I would want to have lost by then.
I'm out of touch with what is even realistic, what I am actually capable of achieving.

So, I think I'm going to give it a few more days, see how I'm doing and where I'm at, then try to decide what goal would be achievable and sufficient for my petty revenge.

Operation Skinny For The Wrong Reasons starts tomorrow... (There's always another reason to starve, isn't there? And right now I'm damn glad about it, I need incentive to stay on track; I could pretty much use incentive for a lot of things these days.)

Positive Thought of the Day:

I absolutely adore the girl I'm stealing for today's picture, her outlandish glamorousness, her almost inhumane body posture in that glittering suit - very David Bowie Ziggy-Stardust-era; also reminds me of the foam-spilling poise of his alien character in The Man Who Fell to Earth in a way.

(Bowie himself never seems to eat, does he? Certainly didn't during the seventies, when he lived on "red peppers, milk and cocaine"...
Alas, that doesn't really seem like a recommendable long-term plan either.... still, I wouldn't mind to posses the otherworldly razor-blade-ish grace of the Thin White Duke.)

Cal count standing at 550 and I'm actually going to bed now, because I feel like a walking trainwreck - so that's quite agreeable!

Lies

You know how they tell you "Oh, even if you DO get skinny, that will not suffice to make you happy!"?

How they tell you that the perfect weight is not the gateway to the perfect life? That you need to see that skinny doesn't equal happy, that reaching your goal weight won't satisfy your craving to be whole, fulfilled, perfected, complete?

It's bullshit, if you ask me.
I have been there before - never as skinny as I wanted to be, never perfect - there is always room for less, how couldn't there be.

Still, I have been skinny-er before, I have been starving myself and exercising vigorously, and yes, I have been happy.

Hell, less than a year ago, I was ever-so-close to where I wanted to be with my body - I was thin, I was toned, clothes were falling off me and people were commenting the way they always do, with a mixture of awe and concern, of jealousy and curiosity.

"My, you have become ever so thin!", The Blonde Girl would say to me, and I would smile, all oblivious.

"Really? Hm, if you say so, must have been the fact that I took up running again..."
And she would laugh, unbelieving, flabbergasted "What, you didn't even notice?", clearly envious, so skinny herself, and yet in awe of my progress.

Those were good times, and I can honestly say that I was SO much happier then - not only happier; more complete, more in control, of myself, my life.
The "simple" fact of my body being closer to perfection made a whole world of difference in controlling my messed-up mind.

So there, I never want to hear those again, those lies of "It won't really make a difference" - It does.
If only I could get strong again, if only I could reach my goals, make up for the time I slacked.

If only...

Stay strong, and take those offerings of "wisdom" with a grain of salt.

Back to Zero

I am starting this blog because I need to get back on track.
With my life, with my body.

I am not doing well right now - I am depressed, as I've ever been, and I'm going through a bad episode at this point.
There's medication I should be taking, but I'm not.

I know what it does, why it's supposed to be helpful, but I just can't stand the thought - of something, anything, any entity messing about with my brain, influencing my emotions.

I've always been sceptical of that, the concept of forced-upon chemistry invading my head.
My brain is messed up enough as it is - I don't wanna add to it with pills.

At the very least, I want the messed-up-ness to be my own, to have originated in the depths of my own f*cked-up brain chemistry, not inside of a plastic bottle.

So, they're just sitting there, prescribed and paid for on my bathroom shelf, untouched.

The most important part though, that overshadows everything else, is to get my weight back under my control.
I've let myself go, and I don't feel skinny anymore. I AM not skinny anymore.
I am fat.
I have become a fat, disgusting slob.

I am not dancing through the Void right now - I am slouching, I am lying on the floor barely able to raise a limb.

That has to change, and soon, but in order to dance again, I need to be lighter.
I need to be thin again, thin and fit, thin and muscular - like the wispy, wiry wraith I know I am supposed to be.

So, I am starting here.
Starting on this blog, to give myself some semblance of control from the very start, a place to raise myself up, a place to let myself down, a place to bitch and rave and unwind.

I've been lurking about and reading a lot of thinspirational blogs around here, you're all fucking amazing to me and even though you do not know me and we've never met, I feel like you've already helped me a ton on my journey.

So, thanks to all you wonderful ladies out there, thank you and starve on.