Pony Boy

I feel like I started this blog during a huge change in my life and so far it has resulted in some posts that have have pretty much been downers and that can't be too much fun to read.

Sorry. Happy times will come later, but I am slow to get things out and I feel like there will be a few more cleansing posts before I am done. I am afraid to face myself. It is so much easier and more flattering to help others, but it is a bit hypocritical to give advice when you can not face your own flaws.

I have been having some dark thoughts but that is to be expected since part of what I need to do to get healthy is to confront the negative thoughts that I have tried and failed to ignore for so long. For whatever reason, I truly believe lies of my own making about myself and I need to stop. I need to face it and control it because ignoring it and dealing with it alone has not worked- it manifested itself anyway, by means of ridiculous amounts of obsessive compulsive exercise. I now know that I was not in control and I am just glad that I saw a doctor before things got really serious.

But heres my point, I really think that I started breaking down last year and that it was managed aright enough until all the stress that had building in my family and then in school finally got to me. I do not mean to deny that I have a problem all along, I know I did, I just think that I was able to hide it from others and even myself well enough for so long that it did not really physically hurt me until last year. I had a steady weight for a few years and only started running more than an hour at a time recently. Now that it is back down to an hour tops I actually do feel better and I focus on that to help me see that there is truth to what I am hearing- too much exercise is BAD. And I would never advise someone else to do that much so why should I demand it of myself?

No, it was last year that it started to get out of hand and I am sure that a lot of it has to do with my brother. We'll call him Pony Pony. It's ok if you don't get why. It means something to me and I think at one time it meant something to him too.

Pony Boy has had a very estranged relationship with my parents for years, with mom almost as far back as I can remember. He could always manipulate and bully her into doing what he wanted. Now it's completely pathetic and heart wrenching to watch how he talks to her and shoves her away. He can hurts my mom and dad, he has hurt them both so much with his indifference. All they ever did was love him. He bosses them around and demands money gas food freedom and they give it all to him despite how hateful and ungrateful he is. He even steals from them.

I am not the perfect child. I know that I am ungrateful to them often enough and that I am starting to reject a lot of their advances of concern and affection and control (that word again) over me. But I have NEVER sworn at my parents or shoved them back.

(If he ever hits my mother I WILL call the police and I'll set up the restraining order myself.)

I positive now that he is on crack. I can just tell. He has done pot for years and had tried other hard core drugs before, but we were still friends then and we were so close. And I was so afraid of losing him like they lost him that I could over look it. Then I suspected that he was doing worse drugs, that he too had a problem. I betrayed his trust to the parents, and things have not been the same since. He is not my brother anymore. He is druggie, a liar, a thief, a bum and only the second person that has made me so mad I did swear back at him and sadly that is the last time I can remember seeing for a second my brother in his eyes.

I don't use curse words, they mean something to me and when I do use them it is because the person deserves them. They are powerful I do not care how desensitized the rest of the world becomes to them from over use I do not think their power is lost when someone uses them. There is a difference between using words and saying words and when I used the words FUCKING DUMBASS BASTARD to address my brother well for just a moment and for the first time in that Hazel Green trip he did look me in the eye and I did see my brother surface from the druggie haze he induced on himself- I saw Pony Boy.

I have not seen him since. That was almost five months ago.

Now that I am here for the summer (I dearly hope not) we just kinda live around each other, he talk but ever since I betrayed him to our parents there is no friendship no closeness. But that is because I really believe he is not there anymore. He might come back one day and I so desperately hope that he does butIamsoscaredthathewillnot-soscaredthatIamafraidtotypeitoutandIdonotwanttodewellonitso

moving on now

I am ready to leave. It is hard to be here. I see the doctor again to today and I was a bit excited about it because I was thinking that it might be a good visit and that I could negotiate a trip to Auburn. But the scale this morning said I had lost a pound geez I hope that their scale says otherwise.

pondering 1

Sometimes I think I see colors that other people don't. I just always get so taken aback by the vibrancy in the world around me and I wonder if others even really see what I am looking at. I was just thinking about this and did not want to forget, I might explore the topic later.

Also it is so very boring here. I am ready to go home. :/

(but maybe really not)

I mean if nothing else I need to be less selfish and just enjoy the time with my parents they can just be difficult to deal with when it is just me.

I miss my brother, but he is never here.

(actually I sometimes think my brother is gone and that I will never see him again... I could use my brother right now)

pot belly

176

that is the number that i saw on the scale. that was the catalyst for the change. when i saw that i knew it was wrong and that i needed to do something about it.

but it was not the reason.

everyone thinks its the number on the scale that matters so much to me

but it isnt.

it is a number and i am not a number. so it doesnt matter.

not one little bit.

i care about this stomach, i had this gross protruding stomach that was so out of place and from the rest of me.

i hated it. i had slimmer arms and legs, no boobs no butt. it did not match.

other girls had flat stomachs but had weight in their boobs and butts

why couldnt i carry my weight like them? in perky breasts or junk in the trunk?

my body stored it one place. the center of gravity. right out in front and center for the world to see.

i can remember standing in the shower looking down and just barely being able to make out the tips of my toes with out having to lean over. i could grab handfuls of fat and flesh and twist it around like play dough.

it so was gross. it disgusted me so much.

and the strange thing is that i never thought of it as being a part of me. it wasnt a part of me.

the fat, the stomach, was alien— the fat was like an invader that i just wanted to go away.

i never took the credit for it.

i ate irresponsibly and i knew it. i was out of shape and i knew it.

i couldnt run back in PE and i did band because i loved it but also to get out of the embarrassment of going to PE.

i hated changing in front of those girls.

176

that number that protruding bloated round stomach.

i had to get rid of it.

i started with sit ups. i did sit ups for weeks. and i did see a change.

i liked it but it wasnt enough i needed to start something else.

i discovered running. i found out i loved running not just because i saw my shape change but because i loved the feeling. the first time i ran a mile without stopping i felt such a victory such a triumph over the limits of this body like i could move mountains. i might as well have just finished a marathon i was so proud.

now that i can run for more than an hour at a time that seems silly, but it was my first win for myself.

and on top of that i could watch that stomach leave. and i liked it.

it was disappearing being burned away by the miles and the careful meal planning.

but i thought it might come back.

no i am still so scared that it will come back. like if if i let up or give in once it will be back in the morning when i wake up.

thats irrational and i know it.

it takes 3,500 extra calories to gain one pound of fat. i know the facts.

i just can't apply them to myself because this unattainable goal is all i see and focus on even now that i am getting help.

and i still don't want the help

i want to control this i want to fix it and i dont want to admit that i lost control of it.

but when the doctor told me that i was broken, that i had hurt my pituitary and thyroid glands i knew i was not really in control anyway.

the fear is. it still is.

i have to stop i have to let my body heal because i did hurt it but i am so scared still and it is so selfish and stupid to be this obsessed with this fixation on the "perfect" body.

and i can preach all damn day about how beautiful others are and i am not lying about it.

i really can see the beauty in others and how the diversity in people is just a gift and something to be celebrated.

i just am so blind when i look at myself and i guess that is another kind of sickness

and yes i do try to hide it.

when people did not believe me when i told them i thought i hated how i looked i just kept it to myself i did not want them to think i needed the attention or that i was crazy.

but i must be crazy. if no one else sees anything wrong with me and yet i can find so much wrong and so little right with me then i must be sick in the head.

i want so badly to make others see their beauty and preciousness but maybe that is because i really can not perceive it in myself.

that is a problem

i am thinking about letting my doctor set me up with a psychiatrist

it is hard to say i really need one since i thought i was handling these thoughts on my own for so long but having them is wrong and even now with evidence from the lab that i am too skinny i can not stop these thoughts..

i am hurting myself.

i am doing it through exercise i am abusing a perfectly fine body with what should be a healthy habit.

my drug is not alcohol pot or cocaine

my self abuse is not cutting or purging or suicide attempts

i am just trying to run myself away

yes that is what it is.

it is easier to run away into nothing

to run until everything i see as a fault disappears and then there nothing left to judge.

i heard once that obese people find shelter within their layers of fat

i do not relate to that

i do feel safe or protected by fat

i felt cut off i felt like i stuck out and i felt like it was an outside substance that i had to get rid of.

and i did

but it is not healthy

i have to convince myself that it is not healthy for me to be this small because my body does not properly metabolize at this weight.

i will get through this

i have to relax and just let myself heal even if i feel the urge

i have to distract myself because i always feel the panic to run.

I suppose I should finally post on this new blog... I really hope I stick with it even though I really don't know what it will be about yet. Prepare yourself tho, it will be abundant in typos.

I actually I have a topic, I have been pondering something for awhile and this seems as good a place as any to put it and examine it outside of myself. (I think things look different when they are written/typed)

Its the word "LOVE" and how much i have grown to hate it.

Shocking no? Let me explain.

We as a society constantly kill words with overuse abuse. And love is one of them. Affection for and attachment to an object should not be traits that can be ascribed to an object with the same word to describe how i will about my family, besties and God. I really bothers me how associating this feeling with the lesser liking of something else really belittles how I feel. I think we new a new word for this emotion, the French and Spanish have many different words to describe feelings of love so why don't we? I feel like i literally can not tell someone how much they mean to me sometimes because we misuse or fail to fully develop our vocabulary. If sitting through those Graphic classes taught me one it taught me the importance of words, it hit me that they can be so powerful visually and when carefully placed, kerned, type-chosen and refined you do not need a pretty picture to give it meaning or content. Words can shock and offend and hurt no matter what they tell you.

But words should be able to heal, comfort, uplift and celebrate! I just, I just feel like sometimes I cannot make someone believe with the words I know how truly and deeply I "love" them and I know it's because I, yes even I, overuse this word all the time.

I say I love this shirt, this food, this show, this actor! I don't really love this actor I've never met them! NO! i love my group, my little wolfpack of friends and my family and even then there is difference in the emotion. It is not less mind you, just different. i can't explain it, words won't let me, i need to start inventing words or maybe just read the dictionary so one day maybe they won't blow me off when i try to celebrate with them and comfort them and convince them that i reallyreallyreallyreally do " " them in the most fierce passionate and beautiful way.

I get so tired of feeling like my words are useless and underscore my meaning.

Anyway thats just a thought that has been nagging me for a while. Funny really that I can be bothered with concentrating on ideas like this with all that has been happening lately in my life— maybe its my minds way of distracting myself from the real problems...

I don't think I am ready to let those out yet but maybe later I will.

I still have no idea what this will be about so we'll see.