the other night i dreamed that someone who used to think of me as a friend had written something that was like an email, using huge block caps, bigger than real life caps. he was shouting at me. he had no respect for me, he couldn't believe how i'd allowed my writing to get so embarrassingly bad, so moronic. he called me a baby. then he was talking to gk like i wasn't even in the room about some old girlfriend of his who had hurt him and made him cry for a whole day. and then i thought about how much i've cried over the years. there was more to it, a kind of vulnerability on his part that i didn't quite understand. maybe it was related to him not wanting me to do this to myself, not wanting to see me suffer in this embarrassing sort of way and about him feeling powerless to make me behave rationally. or maybe it was something else. when i woke up, i felt bad about myself. i *am* a baby. all day long my thoughts are like that dream, though. only usually i'm the one remembering every stupid or thoughtless thing i've ever done or said, and all the ways i've been unable to clear up misunderstandings, and in all the ways i've been ugly, insensitive, ridiculous, embarrassing or disgusting. it's all linked together, in chains, and it's all triggered by every word i hear, by every image i see, by smells, sounds, everything. i can't avoid any of it lately. i've gone without gorging and vomiting for a little more than a week now, and what i have instead is intensified anxiety and depression, with no distractions. i try not to think. all of my thoughts feel like razorblades.
a lot of my dreams over the years have been like that one. people angry with me, and me wanting to defend myself, but not seeing any way to do it. if i get angry in response, i end up shrieking like an irrational shrew, and when i wake up i feel extremely bad about myself.
i can see people being embarrassed to be associated with me. maybe i should hide away, maybe i should be ashamed. it seems likely that i have hidden myself from the world for most of my life because of this shame that's related to who i am. so now here it is, where anybody can see. my diary, and the rest of this website, it's all about what i can't control. what i keep trying to throw away. what i keep trying to transform into something acceptable. i can't do it. i keep thinking that i'm going to be punished further somehow for continuing to put things up. i tried to explain in such a way that it might show that i've tried, and that it's difficult for me, excruciating for me, since i'm a somewhat rational person, that i can't seem to have control over myself. maybe it will help some people to understand to some extent why i want to die? the thing is, when you're silent, just observing, it's so much easier to know how you think, and be sure that you understand things in a way that those who are writing do not. but when you actually try to communicate yourself, it's so hard, so hard to be clear. i can easily see that with what other people write now. anyway, i'm sorry if i embarrass y'all.
when i become obsessed with a person, it's like all of the anxiety gets channelled into a different area, and becomes almost pleasurable in a way, and i'm somewhat motivated to deal with the anxiety. and so for a while i focus, and usually i can even think a bit in different directions. it will still be difficult to think, because the feelings can be overwhelming. it depends on which direction the other person leads, or what results from the combination of our personalities. it's very hard to predict how long it will last.
anyway, when i talk about 'love', this obsession that i experience from time to time is part of what i'm talking about. i'm not sure if i've written about it before here. i know i've written of it often enough in other places. 'love' for me is a term that stands for a series of physiological, psychological, and mental responses that occur when you come in contact with a person who meets a certain minimum of criteria that has been set by your genes, upbringing, etc. different people experience it differently, and different people value different aspects of it. i tend to value that passionate obsessive destructiveness kind of thing that doesn't tend to last long. i do also value day-to-day caring and kindness, intellectual stimulation and discussion, and various other things, but days are so long for me, and i'm just not a longterm kind of person. i think a person can get to understand me by seeing what i'm like over a long period and recognizing my patterns and whatnot, but the kind of understanding i want relates to something different, i think. it's like i am not saying that how i respond to daily monotony is not important, but it's like what i want to be the point of understanding relates to the moments in which everyday reality is transcended. it's like i want to connect at the point of what i like best in me, and not at the point where i feel trapped by circumstances.
when i'm not obsessed, it takes so much mental energy to constantly try to deal with all of the stressful thoughts that are constantly in my mind. i think i've tried extremely hard to challenge all of these thoughts and figure out where they come from and all the rest, but the thing is, no matter what, they just don't stop, and it's like i just don't have the strength to do enough, and i live in a state of torture. eating is a way to represent thoughts i'm not supposed to have, or thoughts that won't .. when these painful or stressful thoughts are constantly in my mind, eating seems so seductive. i start to fantasize about it, and it's like it takes the focus off all the stress. or if i have strong sexual feelings, but nowhere to put them, something similar occurs. i eat to allow myself to process things. to acknowledge pain unconsciously. to allow myself to be embarrassing and disgusting, and then i vomit to try to get rid of the evidence of all i've felt, thought, all i am.
although.. i'm pretty sure that part of it is just the pleasure in food itself. food is readily available, and i guess for me eating is like a hobby or an interest. if it were natural to eat as a hobby, and if it were possible to eat a lot without becoming painfully full and without gaining weight, then possibly i would own it as a hobby. there may be more to it, though. i think that some foods contain things that might act as sedatives. when i was a teenager feeling extremely stressed before school, i would find myself out of control eating bowl after bowl of cereal. i'm too lazy to look things up, but i think there's something like tryptophan in milk that can act as a sedative. something else i've considered is that for a very long time i may have had some level of iron deficiency. meat was usually my least favourite part of a meal, and i probably didn't eat much even when young. since cereals tend to be a source of iron, maybe my body sought to get iron this way, and since iron isn't as easily absorbed from non-animal sources, i had to eat very large quantities of cereal? that's only one tiny little bit of a possible explanation. i feel so fucking lazy. i do think it's possible that there is something to do with my body's chemistry that makes me crave certain foods and certain quantities of food to an extent that not everyone else experiences.
when bulimia was at its worst, i pretty much ate and vomited constantly when no one was in the family home, all day long. i did a lot of baking, ate a lot of cereal, bread, cheese and pasta as well. at one time i decided to confide in my stepmother. i was very upset, crying, etc, but in health class at school i had learned that bulimia was a recognized disorder and that there were certain treatments for it, and that the first thing to do was to tell someone about what is going on with you. her response was silence. she looked angry. then, at some point of time in the future, in front of company, my father made some joke, asking me if i was still puking after meals, and he laughed.
a woman who had been a friend of my mother's took an interest in me, and i think she had the best intentions.. she seemed to have a more 'current' knowledge base, and she seemed to accept that bulimia was a real disorder. she gave me all sorts of stuff to read about it, but then told me to try to just have a little self-control. ok, if she'd actually read the info she gave me, i don't think she would have said that. i feel mean for picking in this area, because she was kind, and i think she honestly wanted to help, but it's like my communication skills weren't good enough, and my confidence level wasn't high enough to try to deal with the outside world's view that bulimia is just a vanity disorder adopted by spoiled little girls who don't want to grow up. i couldn't take that on, because i felt that there was some truth in it, at least in my case.
my first efforts to be accepting of bulimia openly, and depression and the rest, and being on welfare, etc, all seemed to be met with results like this. i never seemed to be in the right place at the right time, and people didn't know what to do with the information i gave them. psychiatrists didn't want to know any of the stuff i write about in here. they wanted a few details, and then to medicate me. i needed who i am to be acknowledged. i needed my suffering to be acknowledged. somehow. all that's wrong with me is due to screwy brain chemistry? i'm not worth listening to until my thinking is 'cleared up' with medication? i understand that there are time restrictions and that i'd probably be a demanding patient with maybe not enough return for investment of energy. but if all i've experienced is dismissed up front, it's even harder to hold onto any concept of self. i am not sure if being in the 'right' time or place might have kept my problems from snowballing.
i don't mean to take friendships for granted, and i don't mean to treat people like shit. i just don't think i'm capable of being a good friend. when i try to write generically in here about my relationships with all people, it doesn't work, because i can see how the specifics of various relationships make what i say lame, and in some cases much worse than merely lame.
the idea that some of us live many lifetimes in one life. that with our imaginations, with our perceptions, we experience more in 'love' than some of the others who have only one mate for a lifetime. although, i'd like to have one great love, one to think about when times are difficult. but things always change for me. i've had 9 relationships which i consider were all intense in different ways and had a deep effect on me. at different times, i remember and focus on different qualities of these different people. at present, gk is the only one of them that i can communicate with. i can't see how communication could begin with any of the others now. er.. except there is one i *may* need to write to within the next few months for a particular reason, and i'm a bit afraid he'll just be disgusted by getting email from me, and i doubt he'd be able to predict right now why i'd need to write in the future. fixating on a relationship all the time in the way i do ages the relationship prematurely. i think i put as much as i can in, and i live it out as fully as i can even if there is no way to communicate that to the other person, and then i have nothing left to give. it's like a lifetime has ended, and there is no way to communicate with those in the previous life. or there is no more navigable common ground left.
i think that when i no longer have contact with people that they either stop thinking of me, or if they think of me it's not pleasant for them. if parts of who we are live on in the memory of others, i don't think in the end that i ever leave much of an impression. it's like there might be some original intensity or positive feelings, but then the negative cancels out what was good. and i don't leave scars, i leave skidmarks.
this may have something to do with moving a lot as a kid, and then as an adult.. i'd always move away and then not have contact with people. a few times, i tried to write, but usually other kids did not respond, or didn't for long. i learned young that i could go away, and that i wouldn't really be missed. i think i learned detachment. in a few cases, i think people were glad i moved away. i can remember there was this girl i hung around with in 7th grade who got a cousin who lived in my new town to tell me not to bother writing anymore, because she didn't like me. when moving away, i always had this feeling of letting go. when i knew i'd be moving, i stopped trying as hard. i'd forget about mistakes, and concentrate on a fresh start, but there was always this sense of guilt, like i was walking away from messes i should have cleaned up, it was like i had gotten away with some crime. i got used to that feeling.. that if i felt like i had badly screwed up, it didn't matter because i'd probably be moving away before long. i see this thought pattern in my suicidal ideation, except now it's far beyond mere screwing up. it's like i want to get away from something i am, something that does not depend on screwing up or not, just something i can never accept.
i think all added up i went to about 14 different schools. as i got older and older, i found that i could disappear just as easily from everyone else's lives. even people who seemed to really care for me. i think there's something in my communication style that probably makes people think that i'm rejecting them. i don't think that's the case in reality, though.. i mean, usually at a certain point i will realize that i'm pushing a certain person past their limits, i'm letting out too much of the uncontrollable. this may result in anger or boredom on their part, or other unappealing emotions, and i will realize that i will not be able to control myself, and so it's best to end a relationship because i know the other person will not want to deal with me. sometimes, i wait too long. jamie and i tried to be friends afterward, but it wasn't genuine. i think it's like i can bring certain people close enough that i think they understand to some extent what i go through, and they end up feeling that i'm doing all i can, and that i do try very hard, though.
i used to have these dreams about jamie and other people i knew in which they were lying to my face but denying it and thinking i didn't know, or not caring how i felt at all, and i'd frantically try to peel their faces away with my fingers. i'd wake up feeling so incredibly guilty, and thinking it was just due to my paranoia and insecurities. and then, to find out jamie *was* lying.. i think there must be something about my personality and communication style that makes it impossible for people to tell me the truth, to feel comfortable with me.
when people try to write to me now, i panic. over the last months, a few people have written to me. i don't want to be closed, and i do appreciate what it takes to write to someone you don't know. i suffer so much when i send people away. it's just that writing here is about all i think i can manage any more.
as for the recent cold turkey.. for the first few days, i had headaches, and the depression was unbelievable. no energy. i had to urinate very frequently, even through the night, and i didn't sleep well. i didn't want to get out of bed. ever. i didn't want to exercise (but i did), i didn't care about anything, i couldn't imagine anything i really wanted except to die.
all along i've noticed subtle changes. the second day is usually the worst for me, though. the first i may still have food in my system and i may have the energy that's associated with a new start. and then all the thoughts come flooding in, all the embarrassing things i just can't forget.
little by little my physical energy increased, and i eventually slept less and found it less difficult to cope with the daily routine, exercising, and not gorging, vomiting or drinking coffee. i haven't been able to concentrate well enough to read anything yet, though. i have rented movies from a store that rents videos for a dollar (australian) for one week. but other than that and walking around the neighbourhood at night, i haven't been going outside. (and that's *a lot* more than i've gone out on some occasions.) bulimia's a distraction, a way of not having to think of all the embarrassing things i say, do, am, or all the past embarrassments and inadequacies. the rituals, the planning, the preparation, etc, take up time, give me something to focus on. i tend to like to watch a movie or something on television while i eat, as well, but sometimes i listen to music. a few times i've done stuff on the computer, but it's usually more difficult. i don't have anything against television. if there was more on that i could handle watching, i'm sure i would watch. it's just that there's not really so much that i can follow or bear to watch.
in australia, it is almost uncool to have cable television. 5 channels are provided free nationwide, although in some areas of the country reception isn't so good and only a couple channels come in. i think i have even less of an idea of what's going on in the world than i did before. i know even less of what's going on in music.
even when i had cable television in toronto, so much of the time i just could not bear to watch. and i wanted to stop watching. i resented that i didn't have a life, and it was so unsatisfying to always just watch. i do tend to watch movies or anything a certain way, though. analyzing everything. imagining the movie made from different perspectives, with people in the background being main characters or the more 'positive' roles. sometimes an interesting setting or situation can let me imagine a completely different plot, and this can be embarrassing when someone asks me to give a synopsis of a movie and i forget what really happened as opposed to what i imagined. i think about so many aspects of the movie, imagining how locations were chosen, things going on behind the scenes, the politics, the relationships of various people involved in the movie on various levels. i don't know, there's a lot more that happens in my mind very quickly, and i'm too lazy to figure out how to express it. i speculate about the psychological makeup of the writer/s, and how much pressure they were under to bend, and what parts of themselves they were able to get in anyway. i look for those moments in movies. they still reach me. and sometimes i see something i don't know how to explain, something that probably has not much to do with the writer's original intent, or the studio's intent, but something that i see that is apart from those things, something that makes me think. but also, i do relate to a large range of human experience, and i can watch, and sort of feel for the characters in a way, and i think there's a pretty big range of what i will watch, depending on the circumstances.
i don't know how to pick favourite movies, or books. i don't know how to pick favourite songs. i used to have favourite songs, but i think things have become outdated. it's weird, when i'm writing sometimes, or thinking, it's like various song lyrics pop into my head. my memory is a vast storehouse of lyrics and partial lyrics or misheard or 'creatively' altered lyrics. not even necessarily songs i like. it's just like my memory at different times in my life has soaked up all the lyrics it has heard, like a sponge. if i use a few when writing, in order to sort of trace my current thoughts, or get at something subconscious, in a way i think it gives people an idea about my musical tastes that probably isn't completely accurate. i'm not usually using lyrics to say 'this is my favourite band' or 'i think these lyrics are deep, man', but in order to represent my muddled thought processes. often it helps me to interpret a dream if i think of what song i had in my mind when i woke up. it's true that i do tend toward certain genres more than others, but i know that from what i've written publicly i haven't given a very complete idea of the range of things i've listened to, or what music has meant to me in the past.
when it comes to movies, i don't know how to pick favourites. my mind absolutely goes blank. there are little things here and there in many movies that i like. books.. it's similar. i know a lot of these things have had an impact on me, on my development, and it's sometimes easier to pick out things that i think have had an impact and explain that impact, but most of these things i wouldn't think of as favourites. i will admit that when i read josephine hart's 'damage' i genuinely enjoyed reading it. i read it years ago. i don't know if i would enjoy it now. i felt at home reading it, and i didn't want the book to end. the idea that when you find the right catalyst, who you really are emerges, becomes clear to you, and you feel at home, although that doesn't necessarily mean you feel comfortable, or free from danger. and nothing matters, death, destruction, etc.. all that matters is that at last you have found what you looked for all your life, maybe without even knowing you were looking, and your old life falls away as if it were a dream, something unreal, something adopted temporarily. i can find things in other books that i relate to, but what i most relate to is the idea of just letting all the 'temporary' stuff go in an instant. when i read other books, it's like i have this idea that i'm just collecting knowledge that isn't essential, and that i'm just putting in effort to stay in place.
life is vast, diverse, and there is a lot in it that is potentially interesting, even to me. but when relationships begin, if a person isn't this catalyst that i seem to wait for, then it becomes another temporary source of stress. it may provide excitement, it may provide things i hadn't really imagined, it may be fun and stimulating, but at the same time it will be stressful, and i will feel like a time bomb. i will feel i'm being pulled apart in so many directions, and i won't know how long i will be able to handle it.
what i miss about canada.. well. what first springs to mind is food. the kinds of food i can get there that i can't get here. i miss the loblaws superstore that was near where i lived. i miss the maple fudge at the corner store near my apartment. i miss harvey's cheeseburgers, fries and onion rings. i miss tim horton's chocolate eclairs and french crullers. i miss pizza pizza's creamy garlic dipping sauce for pizza crust. i wonder if i should attempt to list all the loblaws products that i miss.. anyway, there are some things here that i didn't have there. like timtams. chocolate mudcake from the local bakery. gk's cooking. when i'm alone in the house here, i don't usually think of meat as food, though. the freezer can have meat in it, and i really don't think to use it for binges, or even regular meals.
maybe sometimes i miss the boardwalk late at night down in the beaches, when it's pretty close to abandoned. maybe even in the daylight sometimes. and i miss the independence of knowing the city and knowing how the public transport system works.
i'm already starting to have food fantasies, and one food dream so far. in the dream, gk and i were in a bakery, and i was picking up all of these items that were on special. there were lots of really beautifully prepared things that were extremely inexpensive. as i started picking up items, gk became displeased and silently left the room. i continued to look around, but at least some of the items i had originally wanted seemed to have disappeared. what this says to me is that i have a feeling gk will not put up with much more bulimia. if i want to still enjoy a few things with him, i will have to give up a few or all of the items that are so tempting, because he can only take so much. he reminded me a bit of jamie in the dream.
a couple of times i've found myself looking at old shopping receipts for groceries that gk keeps lying around. just looking at them, thinking about what i'd eat if i could make my own shopping list. we don't get junk mail, but i remember in the past when i used to get junk mail, i used to look at the grocery ads, and sort of check off what i'd like right this moment, in some weird universe where it was possible that what you checked off would magically appear. i'd like to have a grocery store to myself. i want to go for cake and coffee. i want a really amazing seafood dinner, with lobster, alaskan king crab legs, prawns and maybe more. i want to have a piece of every kind of cake in a cakeshop or cafe. i want to walk around a large mall buying a piece of cake here, cookies there, muffins, bars, etc, all the things that look really good. i don't think i care if i ever have sex again. i want coffee, though.
can i keep it together long enough to go for my blood test (to see if iron in my blood has increased) and then to get the results? last time, years ago, i couldn't go back, and so i never knew. there is a part of me that just wants to say fuck it. who cares. why go back at all? i suppose part of me is curious, although i don't think it's a real curiosity. if i lose control, then i probably won't be able to go. my hair is still falling out at the same rate, and at this point i feel hopeless about it. to me, it looks and feels noticeably thinner. i have no idea when it's going to stop falling out, and i hate living in this state of not knowing. and even if the problem is fixed now, i don't really want to spend another couple of years waiting for my hair to grow in again.
and if i make it long enough to go to the doctor, what then? i'm already dragging, and i want to give up. i want to die. i have small meals and snacks frequently throughout the day. if i lose control again, i don't think gk will be able to stand it for long. he's trying incredibly hard to be supportive. it's unlike anything i've ever seen. i ask 'what if all this effort ends with me just being the same as always? i don't think i can change, not for long.' my thought is that when he sees the effort doesn't change me, he may feel angry, and then he'll give up. he may not be able to admit it consciously, but his survival instinct will pull him back to life. whatever it takes. and i understand. it's just.. i wish i could cut through all that right now, in this instant.
so far, gk hasn't really seen me give up on anything 'important'. i was under unbelievable stress with the whole wedding and visa process, but i went through with it all. i've not cancelled on any of the trips we've planned together except one that we hadn't yet bought tickets for, although i've come close, and when it seemed necessary for me to go to the doctor, i went. etc. but through my life, i have not always been that way. at any time, i might lose control in such a way that i just can't do one more 'important' thing.
at the age of 20, i stopped weighing myself. i used to weigh myself compulsively, and when the numbers were such that i couldn't see myself as having any value, it would destroy everything. i hated how a number had so much power over me. i even knew that the number can be inaccurate for a variety of reasons from day to day, but i couldn't let even relatively minor fluctuations go without freaking out. i stopped weighing myself, but i think i've always had a vague idea in my mind of what i weigh, depending on how certain clothes fit, and how it feels to move around in my body. i think i always had it in the back of my mind that one day, when i finally accepted myself, i'd weigh myself to see what number represented that acceptance. but i started weighing myself about a year ago because i couldn't hide from myself any more that i was genuinely curious about what my weight was. i was feeling like i was going to make a serious effort to try to lose weight, and that i wanted to be able to see something concrete, a number, to represent the weekly changes.
and what about filming myself dancing? it's like i stopped caring about it at all. i felt like i was on some kind of torture rack, and i just wanted it to stop and i couldn't care about anything. i don't have much confidence, but i suppose things move in cycles, and confidence isn't really necessary if i'm carried along by something internal. i've been seriously fantasizing about killing myself, not waiting, because it seems there is nothing left to fantasize about that won't leave me feeling inadequate, embarrassed or stupid, but last night i started to get ideas again, more fully developed ideas, things that add on to what i'd already been thinking of. but i don't know if i will be able to hold myself together long enough to carry things out. the process is so slow. now that i'm older, and there are perhaps new layers heaped upon the old layers of depression, it takes so much more to motivate myself. my body doesn't recover from abuse as quickly as it used to, i lose my fitness level more quickly.
the picture at the top of the page is a pruned down version of something gk and i worked on together a couple of years ago. i had some ideas and asked him how i might go about achieving certain effects, and so we collaborated. i ended up using an alternate version for the background on my navel page when i was creating 'obxesceion'.. i realize that that page looks sort of tacky.. it's just that i think it represents my sense of humour in a way. and also, it was like i was trying to prepare others to realize that i wasn't taking myself too seriously, and that i didn't have the energy to do any 'real' writing. i thought i looked 'fat' in that navel picture, but i thought that if i didn't have much to live up to it would be easier to write in my broken down state. but i'm not really sure if anyone actually sees what my intent was there, and sometimes i think maybe it actually gave the opposite impression to what i wanted. anyway, i recently fiddled with the original picture a bit again, not trying very hard, and am not consciously sure of why i chose it to go with this particular scattered diary entry. i sort of like the idea that maybe eventually i'll sort out some kind of message from my subconscious.
it's saturday night here, and i wish there was somewhere to go. i don't know if there will ever be anywhere for me to go on a saturday night. gk would go places, but it's like the particular chemistry that's between us maybe sort of eliminates what it is i think i'm looking for. we have tried to analyze things a bit and make efforts to do new things, though.
on new year's eve, gk and i went down to the riverside where there were free celebrations. we took the train into the city. beforehand, i was extremely nervous, and it was making it difficult for me to figure out what to wear. i started to panic. i told gk that alcohol might help. so i drank four shots bambambambam, and suddenly i was able to get dressed and out the door. as we walked to the train station, a couple of cool-looking girls said they liked my outfit. gk looked adorable. he was wearing what he calls his 'tuft'. he puts his hair into a little ponytail on the top of his head, and it all curls around the thick band holding it in place. his hair is fairly long now. i suppose that as a couple we probably looked somewhat noticeable.
i was very talkative, and no longer stressed. i felt slightly self- conscious that i was embarrassing gk. we brought alcohol with us, mixed, in a plastic bottle. when we arrived in the city, there were police check-in points everywhere near where we wanted to go, and so we realized we might have to ditch the alcohol, but we walked along for a bit, and saw an unguarded portion of fence where the bottle could be passed through. so i waited with the bottle while gk went to the police check-in. while i waited, i started to dance. the music was loud all along the riverfront, it was dark, and the alcohol was moving through my system. then i realized that a group of young men were making a lot of noise in relation to me. i immediately felt self-conscious and stopped dancing, but i suppose in a way i liked that i had been noticed.
so gk came and i handed him the bottle, then i went to check in. after checking in, i started to run toward where gk was, because it was a fair distance, and i just suddenly had so much energy. it felt really good to be in my body, my body felt so powerful, fast. when gk saw me, he was a bit nervous that my drunkenness would call attention to us. i decided to tone things down a bit, and when we passed the bottle back and forth, i tried to sip only. (anyway, we didn't get caught, arrested, whatever.) we walked around, and went to listen to the salsa music and african music, and i danced a bit. nothing too wild. i guess i was self- conscious. i wasn't wild, and i wasn't xesce. still, i think it's good that i overcame things well enough to dance in gk's presence. the first time ever. he did say it was lovely, beautiful, etc. i don't know, he seemed sort of genuine. and it really wasn't so long after that that he finally bought a video camera, although he had been talking about it on and off for a few years. *his* dancing was actually quite unique and interesting, and he was able to dance with me, in public. for someone so shy, who has never danced in public at all before, that was fairly amazing. so, we watched fireworks as well, and we took the train home.
it's just that even drunk, i was still restrained, still waiting for something. will that something ever come. tonight i badly want to binge, but i am painfully aware of the consequences if i do. tonight, i think it's mostly about that something that will probably never come, but hmmm, there are other influences as well. it's a compensation, to eat. if i control my impulses, think about the future rather than immediate gratification, what does that mean? it's so hard, when it doesn't seem realistic that there could be anything in the future. how many years can a person keep waiting for that something that never seems to come, no matter how much effort is put in? wouldn't it actually be more intelligent to accept that what i'm waiting for doesn't exist for me?
i just want to give in. i don't know how to explain how strong the urge is, how it tears at me, how badly i need some kind of comfort that seems permanently out of my reach. how hard it is trying to motivate myself when it seems likely there is nothing for me. and if i slip, even once, will that be the last straw for gk? i'm under so much pressure. but would it be a bad thing?
i'm not sure what will happen next.