Saturday, December 03, 2005

So. Haven't written in a while. I've been a bit preoccupied. With what? With this:
Current weight: 107
Current height: 5'5"
BMI: 17.9 ( "severely underweight," the CDC says helpfully.)

("Does this body make me look fat?" she asks. Do you like the shirt, by the way? It's from my elementary school. Boone Elementary, named for Daniel Boone, who owned a cabin just up the road from my house. I used to wear that T shirt as a nightgown; now it's at the satisfying state of hipster-tightness, clingy in places but loose in others, and soft as all hell) I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but there's something strange going on, either with my body or my perception...I don't know how I can weight what I do and still be as fat as I am, teetering at the edge of obesity.
These are the numbers I obsess about, day and night; I dream about them, fantasize about them. How did I get here? I don't quite remember. I know there were periods when I was running seven miles a day, eating 1000 calories a day, eating nothing for days...until my body said "Hey, you. Yeah, you. Cut this shit out." Which it communicated through a stress fracture (and tendonitis--double trouble!) of my right foot. This kept me off the streets (away from running, I mean) for all of a week and a half: now I'm back, running a cool, easy three miles a day. It hurts a little. But as Courtney Love says, "It might as well, it might as well hurt..." Although I'm not certain Ms. Love is the person to look to for advice on major life choices. Ahem.

I'm definitely going into the hospital on Dec. 19th: my doctor here has arranged it with my parents and with the eating disorders unit back home. This means I'll be IN the HOSPITAL over f*cking CHRISTMAS. Deck the halls with boughs of hell-y. I really don't want to go, as any person who's acquainted with my stubborn ass knows. And I know it's juvenile to drag my feet and say "I don't wanna," but I DON'T f*cking WANNA! When I imagined my Christmas, I imagined myself taking baths when I wanted, watching TV when I wanted, cuddling with my beloved beloved cats and dog whenever I desired. I could drink what I wanted, eat (or not) what I wanted, take naps and go shopping and hug my mother and for hell's sake PEE when I wanted (not a given in the hospital...last time, when I was on a 24 hour watch--what they do the first 24 hours you're in the hospital, when I guess you're most likely to try and trick them or revert to old behaviors--the nurses wouldn't let you into the bathrooms for an hour after meals. They actually locked all the bathrooms. After that, if you needed to pee or whatever, you had to sing while you went, loud enough for the nurse standing on the other side of the bathroom door to hear you).
But enough of that. Another post later today, about less depressing topics. If you consider organic chemistry less depressing.

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