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When everything else fails, try prayer.

Pray to whatever or whoever you believe in. Or if you're like me and you believe in angels, pray to one of your angels for guidance. I believe that my grandmother is one of my angels. I didn't know her very well though, so I don't know what kind of guidance she can give me.

I'm praying for serenity. For grace. For inspiration. For stick-to-it-iveness. For hope.

I've gained back two pounds. I guess it makes sense. Twice I half started binging, and then got interrupted... with all that food sloshing around my belly and nowhere to put it. Ugh. I can blame it on lack of self-control. I lost it all this past week. I didn't care at all about losing weight. And then, this morning, as I was getting ready for work, I opened the front cover of VS, and refound my inspiration. I need to be good.

So I will go to the gym today. I have never taken this long of a haitus from the gym before. And I expected to lose weight?! Usually I would go at LEAST once a week. I haven't gone in about a month. I'm just lazy.

I don't care about anything right now. Not my fiance. Not my health. Not work. Not my friends. Not my family. I'm addicted to cross stitching. What kind of an addiction is that? Am I a born loser? I mean, I know I am anti-social and all, but cross stitching??? Are you serious? I feel accomplished when I work on my cross stitching, like I am artistic. I am as beautiful as the work I do on aida. Perhaps. I haven't been trying to be beautiful lately. What is my problem?

I am leaving on Wednesday for Tucson. Joy. More weight gain. I feel so awkward when I visit my parents. Like I am defensive. I cover my breasts and cross my legs because I am self-conscious. Yes, I am female. I have breasts. And I am embarassed of that fact. I don't want my mom or dad to know I wear a bra. The humiliation. This has been going on for quite some time, as one might imagine. I've been wearing a bra since I was 11 or so. Or at least, I NEEDED to wear a bra since I was 10 or 11. I hated bras. I felt like a slut wearing one. I wanted to press my breasts down and make them disappear. I didn't want to develop. I remember wearing this bathing suit I had. It was a one piece and it buttoned up the back. It flattened my chest so nicely. So I wore that bathing suit every day. Under my clothes. Instead of a bra. That was 6th grade. I started getting my period about that time, and I used to stain the bathing suit. It took me a while to learn period etiquette... but that's another diary entry. Anyway, I felt dirty wearing a bra, so this was the alternative. My phobia of bras might have come from trying some on with my mom... she came into the dressing room, looked at the bra, said it looked okay, and then gave me a hug and said, "Oh, my little girl is growing up!" Awkward. Then, the only other girls wearing bras were the popular girls who didn't even need to wear bras. Another puberty faux-pas... my mom taking a wiff of my underarms and saying, "Well, I guess you need deoderant." And it felt like she threw a bottle of deoderant in my direction and told me to get lost. Then she said, in a really annoyed tone, "Next it will be your period." Oh, that made me look forward to it! No one taught me about shaving. I just sort of knew it had to be done because the hair kept getting caught on the ball of the deoderant. I snuck my mom's razor -- an old rusty dull double edged -- into the shower with me and mangled my underarms with it. I would later use this same razor to cut my wrists and other various places on my body. Ah, memories. I wasn't too fond of puberty. It was my worst enemy.

So I'm supposed to be okay? I'm normal? People tell me I am, or that I should be. There's a lot of psychology that goes into my psychosis. I'm fucked up. There's no denying it. I'm not normal. I don't know that I would ever want to be. Maybe this is why I don't want to have children. I'm afraid I'll fuck them up. I'm afraid they'll turn out like me. God, no! Please!

So I'm praying. Make me normal. Like when I started getting vaginal discharge and I thought I dying. I prayed to the Virgin Mary, while soaking in the bathtub trying to wash the disease away. Please take away this sin! I'll be good from now on! I won't touch myself! I will press my breasts down and not enjoy human touch! I will become fat so boys will not look at me! Oh, please, just make this stop!

Hail Mary, full of grace...

Please, grandma, make the voices stop. Let me just be happy. Make the stress go away. Let me enjoy being alive. Help me not to care about the weight, but make the scale my friend. Oh please, oh please, oh please....

And so now I must face the day. Expose myself to the world. Show my breasts. Be "normal." Just like everyone else.

Listening to:
Thinking:
Weight:

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My current state is:

recent entries:

Bah - 138 07.19.08
Losing control - 135 07.11.06
Spa weekend - 132 07.03.06
Drinking too much - 134 06.27.06
Okay weekend - ??? 06.26.06