Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Alright, so I'm going to stick to it this time... I am vowing to start, and CONTINUE my blog! So many times, I've tried to become a "blogger", if you will, but my perfectionistic side has gotten the best of me. I think "who the hell would want to read about your shit, Julia?" or "Your grammar is off, your words don't make sense, this layout sucks"... stupid stuff like that, mainly characteristics I've dealt with all my life.

So I'm giving myself permission to run with words, to let my thoughts go where they please. That's how good writing is made. I used to write quite often, and was very gifted at it. Although in the past few years, my need fear of flaws have gotten the best of me. I'd overanylize everything so much, I'd just reach a point of giving up on writing altogether. I even went as far as to delete 60 pages I had written, a memoir of my ED struggles. They just weren't good enough for me though I guess.

Damnit, I have too much to say. Too much to get out. And it's going to come out. My blog might suck right now, but I need to stop avoiding things, due to the fear of failure. I'm going to fail unless I stick with a task, even THROUGH THE HARD PARTS, and see it through. I'm so used to just succeeding right off the bat, getting school work naturally, ect. So when I face an obstacle, my doubts tend to get the best of me and just ask "Why even bother?". So why bother with this? Because maybe I'm worth it. Maybe allowing myself to SPEAK UP will open my eyes, and show me I'm worth it. I know I'm worth it, I know I'm worth life. I hope I am. I just don't fully beliueve it.

Because of my sins, because of the past.

Depression to Anorexia to Suicide to breaking my family.

I did that. And I still can't forgive myself.

But maybe I didn't do that. Maybe the things I say about other people with mental troubles apply to me to? If someone else makes a mistake, as a result of a medical complication, I say that they didn't make that mistake themselves. There illness was too strong to overcome, thus, the illness made the mistake. So maybe my depression was the thing that led to the Anorexia. And I couldn't control the Anorexia because I was knocking on deaths door, skeletal hands and all. And I just couldn't live with myself and everything around me.

Now I want to live, but it feels like I just can't... It's that horrible feeling where I'm constantly gasping for air, waiting for something to happen. Constant anitcipation of the unknown... there's really nothing in my future. Yet, I'm always waiting. What's next? I want to change, but I do nothing to act as a catalyst towards it.

It scares me, it scares me that I'm "medically well", and that I've been "medically well" now for over a year. Yet, I still have no sense of self. I still missed out on highschool. Freshmen year was perfect. Sophomore year was a dream, until I got pnuemonia. Junior year just blew. And I'm a homeschooled Senior.

I went to one party, kissed two guys, and went on two dates. Throughout the past four years. I have no friends. I'll admit it... I've know for quite some time. Though, I've always been too afraid to say so. I have no friends, just accquaintances. I've learned that it's easier to isolate, rather than having to constantly explain myself. And answer to all the "how are you feeling" or say thank you when people tell me "you can talk to me if there's anything you need".

I can't talk to anyone... I can't even talk to myself. Becuase I don't know myself.

Dance used to hold my life together. But now, I'm questioning my love for it. I used to be so free when dancing, but now, that feeling jsut isn't there all the time. I still get ti, but often times, it seems more trouble than it's worth. To go to class, to pay the money for competitions, give up weekends and live in hotels. When I loved dance like I used to, it was all worth it. But now, my dancing just remains a big question in my life. I don't really know what I'm going to do, in regards to my future with it, just yet. Because my future in general is so bleak.

It takes so much motivation to leave the house, to get my self together and present this mess to the world. I feel like people are looking right through me, with their stone cold eyes. I stand alone at all times. I speak, yet no words are heard. I'm a muffled shadow, that thing people push in the corner. I just want to be alone. But I can't even do that, because that's when the bad thoughts come back.

The haunting memories. Sight leaving me, as the heart monitor signals a flat line. Crying, SCREAMING, to see my mom. Being locked in the psych ward's safe room... feeling lonlier than ever before... those bright orange pills. The dark nights of situps, winter days where I lived infront of the fireplace. Broken plates, spilled drinks. Everything shatters. And I'm still sitting alone.

Ok, so I have honestly no idea what I just wrote. But I wrote it, so there, I guess I accomplished something.

My day wasn't all that exciting... but I woke up around 9 ish and made me some breakfast. Ate and read up on blogs, idolizing what it would be like to live somewhere else, with people who get me.

I'm still kind of taking a dance break, as are the rest of the girls at my dance school. Nationals are finally over, and Christmas is the only time of year that we're free from competition and shows. So we all (gasp) relax! Well, they do. I just kinda stay my anxious self, sans dancing.

So I did my jumping jacks, strength work, and took a run. Running and working out right now are the only things that make me feel whole... it's the best part of my day (which is why I hate Sundays, since it's my off day :/ but my body needs rest!). So I went for the usual 35 minutes, and managed to get in 4 and a half miles. I didn't really push myself, just felt incredible.

Came home, toweled off, and decided it was time to pick up Angry Management, by Chris Cutcher- the book my British Lituerature teacher selected for book club. So we had some guys over or something working on our sink. Which made me really nervous, because I looked like shit and hate cooking these ginormous freaking meals infront of people.

It's so wierd, because I honestly love the fact that I maintain on 3200. I love eating this, even though I can get a little too full at times. But the scale's staying stable (actually, I'm at the low end of my range, so maybe gonna bump it up a bit?), so I'm shoving the food in.

Well I was really just embarressed though, cause I hate eating loads in the presence of outsiders. So I started with some OCD shit... tearing the edges off my tortillas. 32 tears, OCD likes the number 32 for some reason whilst tearing food. That was a behavior of mine that still pops up from time to time. My mom saw and got really pissed. She said that if it happens again, I have to get weighed twice a week, opposed to once.

So then I was pissed initially, but then relieved. I thanked her for calling me out on it? And threatining an extra weigh in? Wow, I couldn't believe that, but I was happy she caught me. I have some motivation not to do it. It makes me nervous though, none the less. It feels like somthing bad is going to happen if I don't tear 32 little edges off my tortillas... what a stupid and irrational fear... the tears amount to crumbs, make no difference calorically, yet my irrational thoughts blow them out of proportion.

It. Needs. To. Stop.

That was that. I'm jsut kind of chilling right now, gonna get a snack in a few minutes. I want something really, really cold but already had my greek yogurt for the day (too expensive to exceed two containers of Oikos haha I have to limit myself!)

So I'm gonna go and eat :( Eww not really hungry, but it's gotta be done. Don't wanna lose my families trust. i wanna go away to college and be successful. Ok, enough rambling. Time to do some cooking. I hope you erm, enjoyed? my first "official" blog entry, if anyone is actually reading this lol. I'll try to update daily. God knows I have nothing better to do.

Take care everyone!

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