my new obsession hobby

Mastering different eyeshadow tutorials is quickly becoming my new hobby; Ulta (and makeup stores everywhere), my new vice.

This one is a shimmery copper with a dark green.

Confessions...

I have always been self destructive. It started at a very, very young age. At the time, I think I mostly wanted attention but eventually it grew beyond that. And now, here I sit, the fucked up adult that I am.

As I've gotten older I've progressively kicked most of my self-destructive habits. Self-injury was the first to go. For years I turned to the sting of a razorblade for comfort. Some people exercise, some people just cry, some people go to talk therapy, some people go off the deep end and shoot a dozen innocent people; for me, it was always a nice piece of sharpened steel that brought the inner calm that I tried desperately to cling to. Self-injury is so odd. People look at you like you're some crazy freak that needs to be locked up. I never saw it as any less self-destructive than being an alcoholic or a drug addict. After all, cut yourself open and your body releases endorphins. The best natural high there is. How is that different from taking in harmful substances to get a high or to shut your brain off for a while? Self-injury was my heroin.

The only other self-destructive behavior that has ever been significant in my life has been an eating disorder. [gasp!] At age 19, I returned to Germany quite a bit smaller than I had been when I left. Somewhere around 50 pounds smaller, in fact. Still, I wasn't small enough. (And really, I never have been. Even at my smallest (size 8/10, 150ish pounds) I still constantly looked in the mirror in disgust. This is the very nature of eating disorders, yes?) But it was at age 19, when I started working at my old High School cafeteria (yes, I am the biggest dropout cliché) I started eating bad food for lunch every day. Cookies for breakfast (and sometimes I took some home), french fries (drenched in cheese sauce and sometimes chili), pizza, fried chicken patties, white bread GALORE. (Looking back now I can't imagine WHY the school lunch program allows this trash to be fed to children!) I went back to drinking all sorts of soda, as well. It was bad all around. I felt horrible for doing it but it was cheap and readily available. It was then that I decided to try purging. I never considered it a problem because, after all, purging couldn't be much worse than the crap I was putting into my body. My logic was twisted, yes, but it's how I saw things. (I acknowledge that changing my eating habits would have been the ideal solution, but I simply couldn't stop eating all those horrible foods!) If I ate a salad for lunch I didn't feel the need to purge. After all, salads are healthy. But when I indulged in my craving for cheese fries and a Coke, my sorrows and guilt headed straight for the sewers. No one knew about it. By looking at me, you never would have guessed that I had an eating disorder of any variety. (I was relatively plump, after all.) I've never 100% admitted to anyone (except my BFF) that I had have an ED. Sometimes I don't even admit it to myself. "I don't have a problem! I can stop any time I want to!" The words of a true addict in denial.

At any rate, the problem waxed and waned over the years. I'd go through spurts where I wanted to throw up everything I ate and other times I'd throw up simply when I over ate or ate the wrong things. Sometimes I didn't even bother.

My last fasting insulin revealed that my metformin isn't working as efficiently as it once was. Or maybe I just haven't been eating as well as I should. (Option B, yes.) Regardless, the results not only prompted this hellatious break from trying to get pregnant but it also spawned more Google searches than you can begin to imagine. So this morning, I got to thinking about my past (and, to be perfectly honest, my present) and I Googled "bulimia and insulin resistance" and the results floored me. Studies have been done and experts have discovered a very probable link between bulimia and PCOS.

Bulimia is a mental disorder frequently associated with menstrual disturbances
and low estradiol levels although most bulimic women are of normal weight. Low
bone mass has also been reported in these women. Furthermore, increased androgen levels and polycystic ovaries (PCO) have been described in bulimic women. Little is known about the mechanisms of these hormonal disturbances and the role of sex hormones in the etiology of the disease has not been fully explored. Androgens
may promote bulimic behavior by influencing food craving or impulse control.

Now there's an interesting fact to chew on (haha.. pun not intended). I have both of those problems (cravings and especially impulse control). Not just with food, either. My shiny new eyeshadow collection can attest for my complete and total lack of impulse control.

So these are all things I am working on in therapy. Eee gads! Yes, I finally admitted to someone, a professional someone, that I have a binging/purging issue. So we were working on that but today we got to the root of my problem: it's not that I purge, it's the overeating part. That is where the root of my problem lies. Even further analysis would be my impulse control and need for instant gratification. I'm both glad and terrified to be working on these issues. It has been my way of life for years. It's going to be hard work.

girls' day out

I spent the better part of my day today shopping with my mom, sister, Madison, and David. We started in Old Navy and somehow my mom and sister managed to keep us there for an hour and a half. Sheesh. I think that's the longest I've ever spent in Old Navy in one "sitting". Oh well, I wound up finding a new vest (I'm totally into the vest look because it hides my tummy) and two long-sleeved t-shirts to go with said vest. After our adventures in Old Navy we went to Ulta. Ulta is quickly becoming my new vice. In the last couple months I've had to have spent a good $200. Probably more. I'm sure it's more. The problem is eyeshadow. I've quickly become addicted to eyeshadow since finding some great tutorials on You Tube. I used this tutorial and wound up with this kickass look:





Yep. I know everyone loves seeing my big mug REALLY up close like that but I love my eyes. If I was given the opportunity to modify my body I would not change my eyes. It's the one feature I have that I know other people admire and that I love about myself. At least it's something, right?

At any rate, I came home with six new eye pigments by Loreal High Intensity Pigments (they were buy one get one free... who could resist??) two shade sticks (one black, one white), and a purple shimmery eyeshadow by NYX. I did my best to steer clear of Urban Decay. Eeek!

In other news (though I'm sure this is just wishful thinking) I felt a peculiar wetness down below this afternoon and arbitrarily decided to check my cervix. Definitely soft, somewhat open, and pretty high. So I took an OPK on a whim and there's a destinct line there. It's not real dark but I've definitely had lighter. I was going to start progesterone supplements to get ready to induce AF but I think I'll wait a few days. I need some "on time" at work before I go rushing off to appointments in Montgomery every other week anyhow. Wouldn't it be some shit if I wound up pregnant this cycle. If that happens I'll never hear the end of it. (That whole "in God's time" speech. Ugh.) Still, it would be pretty crazed. I think I'll boink my husband for the hell of it every other night this week.

Also, my meds are starting to work their magic. I'm going to start back on Topamax this week, I think. But, yeah, Abilify rocks my world! It gives me energy, focus, and it curbs my appetite like crazy! w00t w00t!

manic not-Monday

Mania = clean house. Christmas decorations are down, kitchen is shiny, all the laundry is put away. :-O (Clean laundry has been piling up to be put away for weeks. Oh the shame!) Mania also equals maniacal driving. Yeppers. Mania = very horny. Mania = self indulgence. Me likey.

Tonight we are going to hang out with my parents' and I'm gonna get shit faced. So is Tony. His brother is driving. Heh. His brother is also crashing which means no wild drunken sex for me tonight. Tarter sauce. (Heh... Spongebob reference...)

I'm completely obsessed with my makeup! Yesterday I did an awesome smokey look with dark gray eyeshadow (Zero by Urban Decay) and a silver pigment that I've had for eons but never knew WTF to do with it. I do now! Today I did a kickass green and goldish-yellow deal. OMG, I rock. It looks awesome! Now if I could just drop this weight that I gained and get my freaking jawbone back we'll be in business.

Weeeee!

ramble, ramble.. always too much in my head

Guitar Hero, more makeup than I can honestly afford, new shirts, new shoes; a full tank of gas and I'm ready to go. (Wanna head west until I see the ocean.)

Things are better now.

There's a bottle of Tanqueray chilling in my freezer right this moment. (And there's lemon juice and club soda for Tom Collins.) I can taste the bittersweet drink enveloping my liquid-starved tastebuds.

(I should probably eat something soon.)

Slight headache and a stuffy nose. And the worst cotton mouth imaginable. (Damn meds.)

Desperate for 5:00. Ready, set.. Go!

1..2..3..4..5..6....switch!

My friends taught me a song when I was about 13. It simply went "I don't care if I go crazy.. 1..2..3..4..5..6... Switch! Crazy go I if care don't I.. 6..5..4..3..2..1... Switch!" And you repeated it over and over until you got too tongue tied to say it anymore. (Or until someone gave you the evil eye.)

I find this song incredibly ironic. At least for me and my situation. (After all, this song might as well been written for someone with bipolar disorder.) Hrrmph.

My brain chemistry is so whacked. Up up up up up up... Down down down. On top of the world! In the murkiest, blackest tar pit of despair you can imagine. I'm nearing the top of the tar pit; grasping at the ledge. Soon I'll be on much higher ground. And again, and again, and again, and again.

So like I said... 1..2..3..4..5..6... SWITCH!

get off of my cloud

I managed to escape hospitalization. (I haven't decided yet whether this was a good decision or not.)

So it goes.

I'm having flights of fantasy while trying to keep my feet on the ground. Torn in too many directions. Pretty little pills. (You always did understand me the best.) Percocet and Flexeril to dull the world around me. Sleep sleep sleep.

I'm looking for that perfect moment to escape. In search of a new purpose; a new reality. There isn't a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow.

It's all just relative, you know.