Good Times, Noodle Salad
June 9, 2015 § Leave a comment
I’ve literally been eating canned diced tomatoes and jarred pasta sauce doused in garlic, whatever spices I can find. Purging way too much. I still don’t talk or cry or fuck it EMOTE enough for certain people. It’s too bad because I really do wish I was dead inside. Truly though, because I know I come off the way I do for a reason. I am supposed to be changing and I see the reasoning behind it I suppose, but I cannot fathom showing my cards to anyone. I don’t see myself ever trusting anyone fully, to have actual friends, let alone relationships.
I don’t even want to try and get into all of the psychological whatever behind it all. I know I can, and so can you, infer what’s going on. But honestly, fuck it all. I am hideous right now. The antibiotics that made my skin the clearest it’s ever been are obviously not covered, but I’d still rather pay for those instead of any fucking SSRI/SNRI they’ve given me. Obviously my family won’t consent. Not that I truly need their consent, although they don’t trust me to walk an inch, they still have never understood any of that. But I really want to rip off my face right now, I feel so ugly.
I also ate…not binged, but ate a sufficient amount, and didn’t binge two nights ago. I had therapy the morning after too…and I just felt horrific the next morning. Bloated, fat, disgusting. So there was that, and my fucking face. I felt a bit better after seeing one of the girls I’d already known from another group (a group I’d been kicked out of, natch) was in this particular session and caught me up a bit, telling myself I wouldn’t eat at all for the day and scrimp a lot the rest of the week and I really did feel better.
I was upset initially because Rupaul’s Drag Race just finished for the season. My brother told me recently that he’d purposely introduced me to Willam Belli videos one day when he had been aware I’d been very sad, despondent for a while. And it cheered me up. I had no idea at the time, but it worked. I had been trying to think of something to do, something to get me out of my narcissistic bullshit selfish head space, but it hasn’t been working too well. I want, above all right now, to find some hole or room or something that’s locked up and dark, no windows, no light, just somewhere on the floor that’s comfortable to sleep, but not high up, like a cot on the floor, with something to play music and audiobooks and for me to maybe search for interviews and things to read when I want to, but nothing else.
I had to create this fucking “safe space” for myself for fucking therapy. And all I drew was a steering wheel and dashboard because all I’d want to do was drive on a highway at 4 a.m. on an empty dark road, flying and listening to horrible music that I can scream-sing too and musical show tunes and slam the wheel and chain smoke and hang chewed up bracelets from the rearview with vanilla beans because I just want to smell gasoline and leather and tobacco and vanilla.