Happyy Holidays

Okay, so I was a little hard on myself. I deserve a post with a smile on my face. I love my family, and overlooking everything, I have a pretty good life. Nah, it's pretty awesome. I have a lot of people that love me back, I just need to try harder. I hope I don't forget this valuable information as always;) Anyway, Happy Holidays! I hope everyone is well, and enjoying their Christmas, or whichever Holiday you choose to celebrate!:)

Ranting.

For a couple of years now I've dedicated at least two hours a day to working out. I run outside when I can, but now it's too cold. So, here's my workout I do in my room:
140 box jumps
2000 jump ropes
200 weighted lunges
ab ripper x
extensive yoga/stretching
If I'm not doing this, I'm swimming, or running at least seven miles. So someone tell me, why the fuck am I so fat? Why am I gaining weight?
It's not fair. I struggle with an eating disorder for three years, then okay, I'm going to stop making myself throw up after evening meals or whenever I decide to late night eat a shit load of food. And okay, I stop, and I start gaining weight. So I can't lose weight because I'm already eating healthy and working out, what do I fucking do, starve myself? Make myself puke? I just got my bikinis in the mail that I ordered for Jamaica. They look like absolute shit on me. I look like fucking cottage cheese woman. My fat is spilling out at every place it gets a chance to and I look like a glob of dough. I FUCKING HATE MYSELF. No wonder I'm fucking single! I'm a FUCKING FATASS. I've been humiliating myself this whole time. I may as well off myself. I'm breaking down. Why do I even bother?! GAHHHH. I don't want to go to Jamaica anymore and embarrass myself on the beach. FUCK THAT.
And to confirm this: I was looking at women's crossfit profiles the other day and my dad pointed to someone that weighed the same as me and said oh, she's big. YEAH I GET IT. I'M FUCKING FAT! I'M DISGUSTING. GO AHEAD, DAD. SAY. IT. AGAIN.

New realities, singularities, breaking all illusions

I think this time I'll get out ahead. Come Monday, although it's near Christmas, I'll collaborate with my mom and make some phone calls. It's time that my issues aren't ignored and stored in my family's back room of denial. Some people don't like to admit these things, but I only find it difficult to say to my family; I need help. I want to erase it right now and pretend it never traversed the corridors of my conscious mind. But that would do me no good. I have to face the evils of which I've nurtured and let grow inside me. If I'm to do anything of importance, I have to stay alive. I would like to say I didn't need my old friends and family to help, but the truth is, I do. I need them more than ever.
I suppose that's why this entire process has steadily become more impossible for me to face. My friends barely speak to me anymore. They always have things to do and I'm never included. I talked to Cassi yesterday and she informed me that she was at the movies with "everyone", a word when placed here means, our entire circle of friends, minus me. I have since faded from their realm of importance, it seems. I've been replaced by someone else.
As much as I'd like to insist that I don't need her, I need her now more than ever. She's my best friend, my soulmate. I'm so close to falling apart. If only I could write here the thoughts that cross my mind every night, but I cannot, only because I'd be under surveillance in a psych ward before I could say, save me. Cassi is the only person with the ability to make it all better. She can make me laugh when I feel as though it's imperative that I die, or when I can't feel anything at all. When I've had a bad relapse she can always talk me into starting over and trying again. She's the only person with sense enough to slap me in the face when I call myself fat, or discuss how pointless my life is. Sometimes I'm even afraid to describe to her my thoughts because of how I know she'll react. She'd punch me as hard as she could, and yell, "stupid fucking retard! If you say that again I'll literally cut your face off!" That's what I need. I don't want anyone's damn sympathy, I want Cassi hitting me and telling me to snap out of it.
Why does this matter? It appears my best friend no longer has time to see me. She has her own life and friends to tend to, and there's little I can do to change that. I'm far too afraid to tell her how angry I am with her. I'm so angry, because the entirety of the summer, save for my agonizing depression over Austin, consisted of her promises. Promises that we would spend every weekend together, that she would occupy my Sundays, and moreover, that she would always be there for me.
None of this happened, as you can imagine. She's far too busy I suppose. Although, I am a nursing student and I still would have forced myself to make time for her, because I love her so much. I'm not sure I have anything else to talk about. I need to make a list of the good things going on in my life so I don't end this post as sadly as the last.
1. My family. Yes, they're a bunch of assholes more than half of the time, but I've learned that by teasing me and making me look a complete fool, they're telling me how much they love me. They're not here for me when it comes down to life and death, but how can they? I've already mentioned the room of denial. I still love them, and we have a ridiculous amount of fun together.
2. My ability to write. I don't believe I would be here without an outlet such of this.
3. Jamaica. Yes, I will disclose that I'm spending an ungodly amount of money on a trip to Jamaica with my three older sisters. I'm extremely stressed about next semester's expenses because of this, but hopefully I will make it through. I hope this trip helps me.
4. Running. Something as simple as this is what keeps me sane. It's sad to me that it's begun to snow, because I can't run outside when the weather is ill. For one, there isn't enough space on the roads and I fear I would be run over by the snow plow. And secondly, my asthma wont allow such a thing.
5. Swanson. He's my little kitty and as stupid as it sounds. I need him to cuddle with at 4 a.m. when I can't sleep. It happens every night. There is such a thing in nursing called pet therapy. Swanson is my therapy kitty.
I can't think of anything else at the moment, besides the practical things such as food and shelter, but I don't care about that at the moment. I live a rather empty life. Oh wait, I'm not supposed to end this post sadly...
My oldest brother, Ben, and his wife, Ashley, are finally headed home tonight. I haven't seen him since June. He's going to ship out to Afghanistan soon. I can't wait to see him. He usually lectures me about life for about twenty minutes every time I see him. He barely finds room to breathe, he talks so much.
And Christmas is soon. I don't know if it's something exciting, but it's something.

Thoughts

I tell myself over and over, things will get better. That's what I've been saying for six months now. Although my hopes for this have faded from time to time, I have moreover clung to it. I usually make it through a day with a somewhat positive outlook; it's when I'm all alone at night that I feel life is all too difficult to force myself through. I lie awake until four or five, sometimes I pace. Thoughts of my dreary existence flood my mind. What have I?
There is the constant fear of my appearance. I relapsed, to say the least. The pressure to be skinny and beautiful and perfect and have friends (of which I have few, is ever present. I try to manage what I eat. Salad, yogurt, oatmeal, water. Sometimes I slip up, and I have to pay for that. My legs and core are sore from working out and I have cold symtoms from running in the cold. I want to lose ten pounds before I go to Jamaica, but I'm far too afraid to weigh myself. I know the number will be higher than I would like. I fear it will be in the 140's. Obese Molly. I should be 120, more like 115. It's difficult to function when I feel like I'm swimming in my own lard.
I have very few friends. I go about my life with no one to talk to. I have two good friends from school, of which I only see when there is school, and I'm on vacation right now. This means I don't see them. I have my family and church. Oh god, how I hate church. I hate everything they talk about, and I'm even beginning to dislike the people there. Sometimes I regret deciding to "go back." I thought it was my only choice because I was so overwhelmingly miserable and suicidal. But it's not helping. The thoughts of nonexistence still exist. I doubt my parents see it to a great extent. I'm the girl who smiles all day and falls asleep with tears in her eyes. That is, if I fall asleep at all. All my old friends are gone. They don't have time for me, and I feel as though I'm the only one who cares.
School has already proved far too difficult for me, and I haven't started nursing yet. I barely passed my anatomy and physiology class, so I decided if I cannot pass that, I have no hope for nursing. I'm simply not smart enough. It means I'll probably be dropping out after next semester and joining the army or something.

Writing

I've begun something of which I have a very good feeling about.

The patio was cold beneath her. She watched vacantly as a leaf blew across the gravel drive. It was momentarily caught on a fallen branch before being snatched away in an updraft. From there it was lost in the gray sky.
The lawn was trampled, still littered with champagne glasses, some shattered, stained plates, and gold streamers. Cigarette butts too, she thought. The tents, tables, and chairs had long since been packed and taken away, but everyone was far too exhausted to bother with the trash. She imagined that it would linger for a day or two before one of the gardener's feet were swelled down enough to pick it up. How typical.
It had been a magnificent party, from what she could recall. It had taken months to plan, only to end in one night. There had been lights in the trees, an orchestra playing on stage. Swarms of people she had never met circulated, dancing and talking and laughing. She had wandered by herself for some time, first sipping champagne, then gulping. The rest was a beautiful, sickly blur; the last of the summer breeze drifting lazily through the crowds of wealthy friends and strangers.
She put her fingers to her temples and let out a sigh. She had recently woken on a desk in the library, sprawled barbarically. Her party gown was a disheveled mess. There was puke in her bent, crooked, brown curls.
Delia forced herself to stand, only to lean against a railing. She swore underneath her breath.
“Alright, Delia?”
The young woman jumped. She turned to see her mother-in-law's wrinkled old face peering down at her from a few steps above.
“Of course, Mrs. Sinclair! I was merely catching my breath. What a party,” she exclaimed, feigning exuberance. “Goodness me, I haven't had a sparing moment to bathe and change into something fresh. Do excuse me.” Her tone had altered into one of business and Delia Sinclair brushed past Alta, her husband's mother.
She had never found Alta in any way amiable, and she had long since given up on being anything but a formidable acquaintance to the old bat. As Delia struggled to keep composure on her way to her rooms, she recalled the moment she had met William.

I crashed. I guess having no one in my life has finally gotten to me. It makes it even worse when people say no, I'm not alone, that they're here for me, because I know they're not. I commute to college with my siblings and all my friends are wrapped up in highschool. I don't even want to call them my friends anymore. Cassi lied to me and said she was busy last weekend to hang out with Austin's new girlfriend. Where does that leave me? Fucked over and out of the picture. I really have no one, at all. I don't see or talk to anyone. I go to school and go home, and now that school's over I don't know what I'm going to do. Stay home? I'm really hoping I get hit by a car.

I've begun a new story. Everything that used to bother me doesn't anymore. It's been like this for the past month. The one person I feel I cannot replace has found someone to replace me, and I haven't cried about it. We're actually friends. I don't care to see his face, though.
I'm almost finished with my first semester. I have a few friends, I have my family, and I finally have control of myself. I didn't make the two month streak for my eating problems. I had a few problems, but it only means I have to try again. It's been three days so far.