What's on my mind?

2008-11-20T18:51:00.000-08:00

I feel like I'm dying again. There is always a bridge that I have to cross over to get to that god forsaken place. Once I do, I'm trapped again. I depend so much on those around me to make me happy. Which of course, is complete bullshit. I am the only one who controls my emotions. To say that everything else is "responsible" for my misery is bullshit. I am responsible. I will always admit that. Even when put down, forced to do something I'd rather not, or looked down upon - I am the one who controls how I feel. I am the one who chooses to carry my burdens. I choose not to let them go.

Now once again I feel like all I have is this drawing feeling inside of me, just nudging me to return to my facade - the place that fools everyone. The place where I will purposely stop frowning, and only smile and laugh - when inside I'm dying. The place where I don't allow my eyebrows to arch downward, where I don't allow my lips to pout. This is the place where I'm able to convince myself that my suffering doesn't exist.

I am about ready to dive in. I just want to disappear, my body to vanish, quickly, efficiently. I've put on lbs. all over, covering my bones, covering my muscle, a thick seal around my body which exists for the sole purpose of keeping me alive. My body understands who I am - my body knows that I fall back into deep depression and suddenly go from eating like a person who could give a shit less about their diet, to someone so strict and rigid that nothing in the world could change me. Therefore, it prepares and stores for the times when I fall.

In essence, this body is all I am. It's all anyone can see. It is my image. It is what lies. It is what convinces the world that I am confident, happy, cheerful, and full of care and concern for others. It's all fake, and it will always remain fake. Hell, give me some fake tits. Some smartlipo in the lower abdomen. Fuck up what God gave me and turn me into Hollywood's new born child.

Right now I feel like a hollow shell. I feel alone. I sit here and type and watch the words appear on the computer screen. Pretty amazing. Huh? I hope and pray that I can only make him love me and look at me the way I want him to. Without going to some bangbros or some porn site for tools. I am so deeply sorry, but I can't help it. I do not have any fucking trust. I've been through this same fucking scenario before. I know that shit is so fucking easy to hide. I'm educated in behavioral psychology for fucks sake.

We all follow patterns. It is very rare that we change these patterns. If we are good liars, we tend to remain good liars. If we are good at keeping the truth from people (especially those we love), it tends to remain that way, correct? So if a person tends to keep the truth from those he/she loves and could easily get away with murder, what would be enough for that person to change? Avery negative consequence. Not just some teary eyed girlfriend sad about seeing some stupid fucking amateur porn. Behavioral Psych gave me a very grim view of humanity. However, the older I get, the further I've strayed from having any sort of spirituality or hope in humanity. I will always worry that I am not good, perfect, or beautiful enough. I don't know if I'll ever find hope within myself.

When I think about this god forsaken eating disorder that haunts me every single day, all I see is an empty casket waiting for me. The severity, the depths that I've reached before,

To every season ?

2008-05-01T10:49:00.000-07:00

Been awhile since I sat down and allowed my mind to flow effortlessly. Just my mind and the click-click of the keys. Remember when I learned to type. Software program in 6th grade annoyed the hell outta me. Had to chase a little computerized fox and the only way to do it was to type fast enough. I got up to 160 wmp. Crazy little girl. Always had to have a new goal. Even if it was one as stupid as becoming world's fastest typing 11 year old.

Anyway. Right now I can't tell you (whom I assume is simply myself since this websites stats suck...and because I don't advertise my retarded mental state)...anyway, I apologize...as you can see I'm easily distracted. But, I cannot tell you who I am today. Truly. This eating disorder is beginning to eat at my soul. And I'm letting it. I feel so completely alone. Scared. Empty. I hate this place. I hate the quiet. I absolutely despise silence...wait did I just rephrase the previous sentence? Yes. I believe I did. Oh well. This is why I'm known as a complete scatter-brain. I try with all my might to keep my thoughts together when at work, school, bar, etc. But left to my own devices, the ramblings of my inner mind do not make much sense at all. I worry about everything. I worry about ending up alone. I worry about taking opportunity. I want to succeed yet I don't. I want to win but allow myself to fail. I want to be healthy but I stave myself.

Anyway, I have to go get some caffeine. I'm going to start writing again. Need this.

2007-12-20T21:13:00.000-08:00

I can't sleep.
My heart hurts too bad to even think about closing my eyes.
Half the time I don't know what's going on.
Feel like the world is upside down and I'm holding on by a thread.

I am such a quote whore.

2007-12-11T21:18:00.000-08:00

What we have once enjoyed we can never lose.
All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.
--Helen Keller

Love is sometimes denied, sometimes lost, sometimes unrecognized, but in the end, always found with no regrets, forever valued and kept treasured.
--unknown

The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark
places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands
love is mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.
--J. R. R. Tolkien (Fellowship of the Ring)

It is so true...as love becomes entangled with grief, it begins to change into something so incredibly beautiful and painful at the same time...it almost forms its own entitity, something that I've lost power over (well...I never had any power over it). Because the pawns were thrown. Because of chance? Or luck? Or gravity? And what about timing?? Then I check out the good ol depressing book of Ecclesiastes...

Ecclesiastes:

For everything there is a season,
And a time for every matter under heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to throw away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to throw away;
A time to tear, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate,
A time for war, and a time for peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

But why the answers Ecclesiastes?? I suppose life wouldn't be anything if we didn't experience love and pain! It wouldn't amount to shit. Everything is worthwhile - even if it sucks. In fact, the most worthwhile feelings or accomplishments...result from much suffering. For the first time in my life, I have the body I've always wanted. I can finally say that...and I've experienced far too much suffering for this result to ever morally ok it for someone else to do (with sanity). No one else would eat so little (under 400 calories) and workout so hard (2-3 a day, 6-7 days a week baby). But it's worth it for me. I appreciate suffering - I know what it can create.

And sometimes its worth it to suffer just to feel love. Love and pain go hand in hand. Truly. You cannot experience something so thought and mind consuming, something so passionate and wonderful without the other extreme...life throws cards at everyone. Sometimes people end up with more pain and love than others. Some with all pain and no love. Some with all love and little pain (I suppose those people consider themselves lucky?? Maybe?).

Well it's nearly 1AM. Gotta catch some zzzzs. Until next time...

2007-12-11T11:35:00.000-08:00

Numbing the pain for a while will make it worse when you finally feel it. ~J.K. Rowling

2007-11-26T23:36:00.001-08:00

Pretty amazing how life can transform you into a completely different person than the person you were as a kid, or the person you were 5 years ago, or even 2 months ago. I remember when I could barely raise my hand in class I was so embarrassed. Or the thought of talking to a boy...oh my god. I wouldn't dare! Or the thought that I could be wanted?! Never. Though now I feel a bit of ego burn and I think I need to tone it down a notch or two.

I can't say I've ever been so angry, confident, confused, lost, happy, and sad all at the same time. Daily I feel with such great intensity and I absolutely love it. Perhaps it's just a manic stage, but I am letting go of so many fears. I just don't give a fuck what anyone thinks anymore. The fact that people watch me, look at me, compliment me, whatever - just makes me angry. But I let them think that they're making me happy. They're just being human and that's fine. I use this persona and I love using it. But it scares me that some people are beginning to recognize how incredibly angry I am inside. I don't think many people at work ever thought a little pretty polite chica would throw a mad punch like I do. And spend hours doing it. People realize that my energy has to be coming from somewhere, that it has to be fueled by something.

I think about a lot of things when I workout. I've always used it as an escape. It's really hard to do when you're sad. It's not a priority when you're happy. But it becomes an addiction when you're angry. Realizing that I've been angry for a fucking long time.

I'm so tired of being nice. Of giving myself, or at least as much as I can to others, and then end up being taken advantage of or used in some way. It has happened again and again throughout my entire life. Of course, it's my own fault. I allow it to happen because I can't stop caring. I remember letting the horde of middle school girls cut in front of me in the fucking lunch line so that every single one of those little bitches could get their fucking chocolate milk before me. And guess what I got once I finally got to the milk section?? Fucking 2%. I'm so fucking sick of getting 2%. It tastes like fucking ass and I've put up with it for way too long. I can feel my skin growing thicker as I think about it. The more anger I feel, the more angry I get. (Wow intelligent statement Sara.) I'm not bothered by feeling angry. It's rather addicting and it's kicking my ass into some good fucking shape.

I wonder what it will take to get me to the point where I stop forgiving. Where I stop caring. Where I simply give up on people the moment they let me down. I'm extremely envious of those that can simply let go of people not worth their time. It's a trait that I doubt I'll ever acquire. If only I had an easier time letting go. Truth is - I don't. I don't let go. Of anything. I've held on to things that upset me as a fucking kid. I hold on to memories that are only in the past. I hold on to tons and tons of shit and carry it willingly. Why?????!!!!!!

And then I must end with a contradiction to my question. I like carrying shit. LoL. Maybe I enjoy drinking the fucking 2% milk because it tastes so nasty. Just like I love anger and pain. I need a sport that is full-out aggression upon the opposite sex. Where if I get hit in the fucking face or a jaw broken, ribs concaved, or cracked skull - I wouldn't care. Or vice versa. Maybe I'm kidding....? Or maybe I'd like the fucking attention?

3AM. I love early morning rants. Until next time.

2007-11-26T17:04:00.000-08:00

Going to go box the hell out of a fucking bag.
For another hour today. (Oh baby, you gotta believe that 2 hour long sessions with a heart rate at 185 bpm is addicting.)
I can't fucking wait!
Yay.
Abs.
Of course.
And two fucking cans of chicken today. And like a nibble of a fucking pancake. Makes the body look even fucking better. I love pain. And I think it's worth it to put up with pain for certain reasons. Like your fucking image - because that's all that this retarded society can see. They can't see you. Nothing that is inside. They see only see how you portray yourself. What is my number one reason for feeling pain? I'll feel pain for those I love any day. I don't mind it. I love it. I want it. Give me the S & M baby. Because you cannot experience happiness without feeling pain. My memories of happiness are worth pain. And I'll repeat; I don't mind it, I love it, and I want it badly. I'd rather live with it than become numb.

I'll just look down.

2007-11-26T17:01:00.000-08:00

I'll just look away.

2007-11-26T16:59:00.000-08:00

My flaws speak loudly without a cover up.

2007-11-26T16:58:00.000-08:00

At least I can pretend to be happy.

2007-11-26T16:57:00.000-08:00

Maybe I'm a ghost?

2007-11-26T16:56:00.000-08:00

Whatever right?

2007-11-26T16:55:00.000-08:00

Working my ass off. Why? Anger issues?

2007-11-25T19:41:00.000-08:00

2007-11-25T13:31:00.000-08:00

You crack me up.

Hebrews 13:5
"Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you."

2007-11-10T23:17:00.000-08:00

I love to play with words. As if that wasn't already apparent. Hence. The word "love " (for examples) can be just about anything. And when we look out of the context of Neo-Western thought, we get into even deeper, more complex meanings.
Just a few examples,
"I really loved that meal." Just a basic, that was great ma.
"Hmmm. I loved that meal." Sarcastic undertones.
Or, "I love my dog. Isn't he great?" Love really doesn't mean that much right? I mean, if the dog dies, and you don't get over the grief soon - there is some sort of problem. But if a friend, family member, spouse, etc, passes, grief is expected and socially acceptable for quite some time. One of my mom's friends was obsessed with dachshunds. She owned at least eight at any given point in the year; but most were so obese that they ended up breaking their hind legs and needing a rigged wheel-chair like device for that allowed them to move around, maneuvering with their front legs. Due to severe stress on the lower back, most of these obese dogs would barely make it a year. Maybe 2, if they were lucky. Anyway, every time one would die, Ms. Lanto would hold a funeral. She always invited my mom and my down syndrome brother. Paul had no clue what was going on at these funerals and most of the time ended up laughing or saying something like, "pooor baby gogggy die." Despite the humor of it all, Ms. Lanto loved Paul's company. She needed friends to pay their "respects" to these retarded creatures that she loved so dearly. How the hell one comes to love such a ridiculous pet, only God knows.

I suppose the point to all of this is - what is the point of loving something that is completely replaceable? I mean, dachshunds could easily populate the planet with the proper conditions set in place. They'd all be the same. Maybe a few genetic abnormalities. A few albinos. A few mutants. Etc. But pretty much all the same.

Unfortunately, human beings are a bit too complex to be replaceable. We have far too many characteristics. Far too many personality traits, odd little behaviors, patterns, (and the not-so-patterns), and complex behavioral histories to be put on the level of dachshunds...well according to me...perhaps not Ms. Lanto. In fact, we are so complex, that we have attempted to define why we love.

There is evolutionary theory which states that we are attracted to those with characteristics we deem as attractive and thus "healthy" - leading to further reproduction and increasing the chances of good genes being passed on to the next generation.

Then there is social exchange theory which states that people's feelings toward one another is dependent on his/her perception of rewards and costs, the kind of relationships he/she deserves, and their likelihood for having a healthier relationship with someone else. Social reinforcers, more commonly known as "rewards" make it worthwhile to stay involved in the relationship.

The traditional biological view sees 2 major driving factors in love; sexual attraction and attachment.

Psychology does not attempt to explain why love exists as much as it attempts to define love; defining love as a combo of companionate love and passionate love.

And finally there are hundreds upon thousands of religious, social, and scientific explanations for this one little word.

I love to play with words.

This word drives me crazy.

It means way too many things!

When I start to think about it, I start to feel like Edward Norton in Fight Club as he transitions into Tyler Durden. Chronic insomnia. Staying up late on caffeine. But of course instead of fight club, I have Sara's blog.

Hehehe.

Where I spend far too much time pondering, and writing out the random shit that exists and randomly appears within my brain.

So have I come to any conclusions yet about how I love to play with words? Did I mention that I love it? Or do I love it?

Some words such as la, la meaning the, drive me crazy. Because it is a word that has too many meanings! You can't just say, "I love you." to one person, then to another, and it somehow means the same thing?! No. But our English language has only allowed for so much!

Well it's nearly 3AM. Sadly, I must be up in 3 1/2 hours. I don't want to sleep. I just would like more caffeine. Sometimes I wish there was a 24 hour fitness in this god forsaken town because I would hit it up right now. And see though I'd like that, it probably wouldn't be beneficial to my health or to sanctity of mind to those who care about me. Although, they wouldn't have to know about it I guess.

So. That's my next goal I guess. Right? A 24-hour fitness in Kzoo. Dear God. Sara. Rose. What has come into your head?

Yes, that's right. You are the lucky winner and I am the one who is going to be psychoanalyzing you! Call and step up today, and let a real psychologist help you!!

That will be my motto. I can see the headlines right now. :) Ah. Well. The eyes are tired. The body is tired. But the mind is still awake and refuses to ss ttttttttt oooop ttypingn=.dd

Ok...suppose it's time.

Edit: I couldn't help but return to this to note - the main reason to writing this blog was to simply state the the word love is grossly overused. Couples say it in the goddamn morning, afternoon, and night. It almost makes me want to hurl. They say those little words are so important to say on a daily basis in a marriage. Whatever. People use words to hurt. Sometimes people use words to confuse. Words are simply in place to get a reaction of some sort. What really matters is the action the comes with the words. So I love reactions. But I love action, that is completely separate from my wanting a reaction, more so. Ha. Aren't I clever? See showing someone you love them is much harder than saying it. So easy to say those words. Much much harder to show it. And of course, it gets even harder to show it over time. After 2 years. 6. 8. 10. 20. 50. What happens at 50 years?! But should we really have to work that hard to show love? Yes? No? And what if I feel no love? What if I love nothing or no one? Sometimes I fear that that is the case. That I don't feel anything! But of course, that is completely untrue and it is just my angry bi-polar side taking over my personality at this very late hour in the evening and yes it is time to go to bed but I just wanted to edit in those last few words because I really felt the compulsion to do so at this late hour in the evening did I say that already? I think I did ok.

2007-11-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

love: thunderstorms. rain. dark skies. windy nights. chillin. victorian furniture. new clothes. feeling out of control. ting of new guitar strings. running alone. writing down random shit. numb. masochism. human mind. spiritual warfare. winning. tiny waists. eyes. mysterious people. imagination. dreaming. nightmares. lucid dreams. far away places. ireland. celtic history. christianity. buddhism. zen. religious institutions and how they began. diet coke. melancholy, angry, emotional music. chili peppers. rage. afi. alanis. sarah. kurt. classic rock. minor piano sonatas. moonlight sonata. contrast. black and white. extremes. change. changing color. acting. affection. love. sensitivity. closeness. dreaming. again. dreaming. traveling to the end of the earth. obituaries. the stories we leave behind. cycle of birth, life, death, rebirth. pondering time. letting myself go. shiraz. syrah. escargot. calamari. strawberries. dark chocolate. beautiful memories. sicily. genealogy. passion. service. altruism. consummate love. purpose. seasons. learning. always learning.

12 - time to run

2007-11-05T08:28:00.000-08:00

hot water. lay for hours. submerged. warm my body. please. am i the only one who is this fucking cold? suppose so. head, shoulders, knees, and...can't feel my fucking toes. huh. hot water. drink more hot water. warm up. run. cool down. hot water. lay in hot water. god grant me catabolism. come on. don't be scared. i'm not. break me down. i enjoy this.

2007-11-03T19:54:00.000-07:00

Defective merchandise.
Please return me to the proper shelf.

2007-11-03T19:42:00.000-07:00

Space. Space. Space. Space. Space. Space. Space.

Seriously.

All I want sometimes is fucking space.
I simply like being alone.
I'm trying very hard to disappear.
It's not working so well.
More self control + space + alone = perfection.

Search for light

2007-11-03T07:23:00.000-07:00

"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach."

I wonder if that quote is really true. For those who have been forced to take darkness upon their shoulders, is it really a measure to which you can aspire to reach? What about when you do not choose a certain path but are instead forced to abide to the rules that a person or establishment has created?

As a little girl I often wondered about how much power I actually had. I lived in fear of dark places for years. Not just, "i'm scared of monsters in the closet mommy" darkness. No. At seven years old, I remember the feelings I got when I walked into the old Michigan basement in the farmhouse that my parents owned outside of Detroit (when the burbs were actually farmland). It wasn't a feeling of being scared. The blood red walls, the multiple rooms with assorted objects. Victorian armoirs, love letters dated back around the time of WWI, old mirrors, and those fucking greenish colored amplified portraits where the eyes just follow you from every corner of the room. The rooms were pretty cool to me. I loved to explore. The house was very old and looking back on what I saw, I'm guessing it was built years before the turn of the century. Lots of history.

Endless fields of sandy colored wheat, run down thatched barns with rusty tractors. Not every little girl's dream land. But it was mine. I loved being alone. Alone and exploring. There was something about not depending upon anyone else - the freedom of being away from my parents. That yearning to be completely alone, is in the end, what ended up causing me to build walls...walls that I'm having a very hard time breaking through. When you're alone, you are vulnerable and unprotected. There's not much that can hold you back when you're alone. You can do what you want. Go where you want. Listen to what you want. Do whatever the hell you want. But, when you're alone, you don't have anyone to watch over you. There is no one who can watch your back. Protect you. Hold you. Empathize or try to help feel with you. Fuck that.

I was alone. On the bus to school every day I remember this one boy. This one little asshole that would rub his dirty shoes on my white pants leaving behind two huge black splotches on my leg. On a daily basis, he would take things that belonged to me. My bag. My little retarded stuffed animal which at the time was my best friend. He'd take my things and hold on to them all day and throw them at me or in my face on the way home.

But then things happened that I don't remember so well. My mom remembers because I spoke up at the time. My mom called the police and not even a week later, the parents were in jail for multiple counts of child sexual abuse. The counts for heroin were lesser charges. Kids all ended up in foster care and I never saw that little asshole again.

Fact of the matter is, is that shit like that happens all of the time. And when you're a kid, there is no right and wrong. Really, is there ever a right or wrong? Even when you grow up, learn about what hurts people, what makes you happy, etc. Everything in life is fucking relative isn't it?

I hope that "the depth of darkness to which you descend...is a measure of the height to which you can reach." But I highly doubt it. No one can correct that kind of pain. There is no opposite end of the spectrum when it comes to wounding another human being. There is no making that person stronger. What happened to me as a kid gave me what I see as a very weak will. I guess others might see it as me being empathetic. As I get older, I grow more and more angry about it. Every day I'm angered by how people treat others. If we all only did what made us fucking happy, how many more fucking kids would end up abused, molested, or raped?

Searching my soul does not make me happy. It makes me feel enraged. However, if I don't attempt to find a way through the walls I've built, I'll always remain a facade. A figment of the imagination. I'm not real. I'm completely fake. I can't even face my own demons.

Today I enjoyed the feeling of rage when I took a look back at the demons that still haunt me. It's quite amazing; to put on a pretty dress, some make-up, make sure my legs are smooth, eyebrows perfect, eyeshadow, keep up on the bod, and torture myself for an image that I am so incredibly far from it's almost disgusting.

The Milgram Experiment

2007-10-29T04:42:00.000-07:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Milgram_experiment

It would be interesting to do further research on this (if it were legal). It's also interesting how many people will simply sit and watch as a neighbor is being mugged, gun to the head, killed. Pretty amazing stuff, mankind. Groupthink. Group polarization. The term sheeple really does fit. Some actual topics to research today.

Halloween, fun with the devil, and how to disappear.

2007-10-28T20:17:00.000-07:00

Fun stuff. Indian chic with some pretty sweet body paint...dammit. It is cool right? No??? Well whatever. Despite the costume, my constant act is (however) quite amusing, entertaining, and always enchanting. Because none of it, of course, is at all real. People always fall for a lie before they accept the truth. Just like we like to listen to gossip before we actually want to find out the truth. We, human beings, love all that is fake. We love to imagine. Living outwardly with my thoughts and emotions, I don't think I've ever confused people quite this much. But, I love every second of it.

"Watching a peaceful death of a human being reminds us of a falling star; one of a million lights in a vast sky that flares up for a brief moment only to disappear into the endless night forever." Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (psychiatrist, author)

I am somewhere else right now. Somewhere distant. Somewhere fallen, quiet, out of reach. From just about everyone. Not worth looking for or searching for. Not worth rescuing or setting sail for. Not at all. Because I keep just enough distance to be seen, but never caught. I like this place because it is sweet torture. Dancing with, embracing, kissing, and always holding on tightly to it; pain is something I'll always love. Having such a love affair is addicting. All I can think about is feeling more and more distant. Running far from the ships that have set sail. Running. I love running. Who am I? I run. Nike. Dammit. What do I like to do? Act. Play the chameleon. I can be whatever anyone wants me to be. Crazy. Laid back. Pensive. Thoughtful. Intelligent. Funny. Whatever. Play the chameleon, I disappear. That's who I've always been. I am too much. Simply too much.

cha·me·leon (k-mlyn, -ml-n)n.

1. Any of various tropical Old World lizards of the family Chamaeleonidae, characterized by their ability to change color.

2. See anole.

3. A changeable or inconstant person:

2007-10-22T07:15:00.000-07:00

“Our greatest pretenses are built up not to hide the evil and the ugly in us, but our emptiness. The hardest thing to hide is something that is not there.” Eric Hoffer

I don't want to think. Brain waves = _________________
Or feel.

I remember standing upon my rooftop years ago. My little weird place to retreat from all the shit in my life. It's odd...the feelings of being empty at 16 return to me at 23. Anyway. On that rooftop, I used to love to stand at the edge and look down. I never contemplated jumping (well...perhaps I did for the curiosity of it...because I like to think of weird shit like death). More than anything else, it was the thrill of being on the brink of something dangerous.

I remember taking off on runs at 2 in the morning, running for miles and miles on nothing. Scared my parents to death. Down dark roads. No food in my stomach. The whole time ignoring the fact that my body wanted to shut down. I forgot about that. Until now of course. I just don't give a shit what my body is feeling. I was and I am on the brink of something dangerous. Fascinated by being close to death and having the mental control to let myself get very very close - but not to the point of letting go. Scary thing is, is that I've been warned about this. This entire moment in time, what I'm doing to myself, and to others. I made a promise to God that I'd never do this to myself again. I felt a clear response to my prayer.

I'm not meant to be loved or trusted by anyone. I've said it many times...I should not ever be trusted. I only end up hurting the people that love me. Often times, I don't care if I hurt others. I am not good inside. I enjoy making myself numb. That's no fun for anyone else.

Perhaps I am just selfish. An accurate statement, I'd say.

2007-10-21T18:07:00.000-07:00

"I arise in the morning torn between a desire to improve (or save) the world and a desire to enjoy (or savor) the world. This makes it hard to plan the day."
E. B. White

Crossroads

2007-10-13T08:03:00.000-07:00

I am so fortunate to have come to a place in my life where I finally see the two roads Robert Frost once described.

Robert Frost (1874–1963). Mountain Interval. 1920.

1. The Road Not Taken


TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;	5

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,	10

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.	15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.	20

The road less traveled makes all the difference. I knew that many years ago. Before I even got out of high school. Somehow, I allowed my decisions to take me down the traveled path. The one that gets worn down easily. The one that some people travel by for security and safety. Because the outcome is clear. The road doesn't change much - it's predictable.

I guess I let the years begin to turn me into someone different, someone a little less alive, someone quiet, without much expression except maybe a smile, laugh, maybe someone fun to be around. I feel some of my bridges breaking, some of my walls collapsing. Definitely not all of them...I am a work in a progress...growth is a constant process. Change and renewal. Strength and survival, even in the worst of circumstances.

Where it is dangerous, most people would never go...but in these places, sometimes dark twisted areas where little love can be felt and sadness seems to overwhelm the spirit, we grow. We learn. Wisdom can not be taught at an institution. Wisdom can only be achieved by experience. Many many people are intelligent. I can think of...many. But, people who are wise? I can count them on a couple fingers.

Looking down the road right now - it is so uncertain. It's foggy. It's twisted. It's sort of scary. But, I love it. It lures and fascinates me.

2007-10-06T09:52:00.000-07:00

“What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

It's odd that I spend the majority of my time worrying about the present, the future, where I'm going, etc. If only I could reach inside and turn on that little light that used to shine when I was young. I've tried looking, reaching into my heart, but the path is blocked (maybe it's just uncontrolled, chaotic, barbed, very sharp...maybe I just don't want to go there). Hate looking at this wall, whatever it is, or whatever it represents. I sometimes find bits and pieces of it, shattered on the ground...but I can never make out a face or a reason. Everything that I hope for, for all people; freedom, peace, inner sanctity and adoration, all of these things I keep away from my walls. It is something I'll have to break down, if I ever want to let "what lies inside" out of imprisonment.

Across the hills, across the sand, across, the ocean, across the universe

2007-10-05T18:52:00.001-07:00

I'll be.

Peace or something like it

2007-10-05T10:50:00.000-07:00

"Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day."

Rainer Maria Rilke
Letters to a Young Poet

I think that this is the exact reason I never seem to finish anything...and have handfuls of unfinished projects. I lack this thing called patience. According to the chakra model, I have an overactive crown (sahasrara) which is considered to be the chakra of consciousness, empathy, and energy. However, my root (muladhara) or sense of grounding, is grossly underactive. I've never really felt "at home" and I've never been at peace feeling this way. Does this simply come down to thinking too much? I suppose the goal then, is to allow my mind a chance to be at peace not knowing, or as Rilke has said, "live the question."

What I'd give...

2007-09-22T17:35:00.000-07:00

to get the hell out of hick MI

Wreck of the Maheno, Seventy Five Mile Beach, Fraser Island, Queensland, Australia

Phuket, Thailand

Tuscany

Temple I, Tikal Ruins, Guatemala

Machu Picchu

Tug of War

2007-09-22T09:08:00.000-07:00

I wonder if I'm the earth, the sea, drifting above it all, or similar to the kami, a part of everything. In Japanese Shinto religion, the kami are a part of all nature, of human beings, those in the past, those in the present, and all that is held sacred. A very idealistic notion. If only we were all part of each other. If only we could love freely and completely without judgment. Without causing pain. Without causing a break between earth and the tide.

When I look at this entire picture, I'm captivated. I cannot move. I'm motionless. Then I realize that I am not part of the earth, the sea, or the sky. I am not part of this place. I am somewhere distant, perhaps leagues below, silently and sadistically drowning myself. Taking pleasure in my sorrow and pain. Who the hell does that? Alcoholics? Yeah. The severely eating disordered? Yeah. Perfectionists. "Winners."

Why am I addicted to being numb?

I could choose to swim. I could choose to let go, break free, and perhaps gain the courage to swim to shore. But, I'm afraid to feel anything. I am numb. I will always be numb. I cannot allow myself to feel. I've been hurt so many times, over and over again, by allowing myself to feel.

So if you're wondering who I am...not even I know the answer to that. I'm lost and I will forever be alone. Think I've convinced myself of that yet? I was trying to convince myself that I did not feel my heart beat recently. Maybe several beats...it was really weird. Seriously. Maybe I'm not waking dead? Maybe I am ... alive? I swear I've been walking in my sleep for years. What's it like to be fully alive? Who am I? Again, don't know. There are things inside that I do not want to face. Yes, scared to face.

What lies behind us, and what lies before us are tiny matters, compared to what lies within us. ~~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Worry

2007-07-11T05:07:00.000-07:00

I'm only bound by the chains I choose to carry. I'm burdened by the weight I choose to bear. I worry and choose to worry.

Louis Aragon once wrote, "Light is meaningful only in relation to darkness, and truth presupposes error. It is these mingled opposites which people our life, which make it pungent, intoxicating. We only exist in terms of this conflict, in the zone where black and white clash."

So, I suppose this inner conflict of holding on and letting go is similar to any battle, as Aragon says, "intoxicating." Perhaps my history of ups and downs, depression and mania, are somewhat of a rush, reinforcing, exhilarating. Perhaps that is why I see this time of sadness as a chance to explore myself and all that is within me. I look around and I see bits and pieces of my past, fragments of creativity, beauty, and hope entwined with pain, heartbreak, and blood. This is who I am. I am not "emotional" in the sense that a disturbing movie makes some sick to their stomach - I enjoy the suspense and thrill of something dark and psychological. My mind takes some sort of pleasure in pain, why else would I dwell in it? What is it about pain that forces me to return to this place? Why do I stay? It hurts, it makes me despise myself, it makes me want to weep...why do I stay? And more importantly, why do I feel more like myself, my inner self, when I allow myself to hurt?

Learning, Part I

2007-04-25T18:43:00.000-07:00

I found this illustration quite amusing. Obviously, the vintage artist did not have supporting the Women's Suffrage Movement in mind when creating this print. Suffice it to say, he had the general stereotype of women during the 19th and early 20th century down quite well. Why do stereotypes piss us off?1) They place judgement without examining the reasons why and how someone came to be. 2) Though they make speak some truth, they do not always represent the individual.

In this vintage print, we learn that the female mind revolves around marriage, caring for annoying screaming pooping babies, eating chocolate, being a good mother, and writing thank you letters. Man...if only this artist could have been transported in time to see me in my apartment. He would probably think I was brain damaged. I lift heavy weights, rarely wear a bra, eat red meat, hate babies (Sorry new mothers...I wouldn't say in public...but your babies, for the most part, annoy the hell out of me.), hate cleaning, live in a house full of dog and cat fur encrusted crevices, LOVE to argue and prove my point, love the idea of becoming successful on my own, hate cleaning dishes, and everything I put in the oven turns into petrified rock. I should probably apologize to my husband too, but ya know, we're nearly one of the same.

Yet, sadly, the artist has one element that does, yes, represent who I am. The dress represents the idea of women yearning to be beautiful. Every woman wants to be beautiful...I don't care how ultra liberal booby bearing she is...she has the yearning to be beautiful.

Time has shown us that "the mind of a woman" has changed. Not all women think about having babies, we're holding off on marriage until the mid 30s, we're filling high paying executive spots in the corporate world, we're getting our PhDs...though we still have something that tells we have not quite come to completely equality between men and women. It is something that keeps us small, something that keeps us contained, quiet, and immobile. It is something that hinders our ability to move forward. What is it that keeps us from reaching our feminine potential? Notice that, I said feminine potential...in that our female potential is different (but equal) to the male potential. Shopping, clothes, purses, getting our hair done, going out with the girls, talking to a best friend, showing off our emotions, and etc are things we learned that make us "feminine," increase our sex appeal to men, and thus increases our chances of being loved.

Let's get even more basic. Why do we wear jeans? Well...during the 1850s, Levi Strauss (a German merchant) sold jeans under the name "Levis" to miners in the San Fransisco area. The idea? Rivets to reinforce the material, thus making "jeans" less likely to tear while the miners were hard at work. It wasn't until the 1950's that jeans became a twentieth century teenage fashion statement. Today, jeans are the norm.

Why?
"Because."

Because why?
"Well because...that's just...what we wear today."

Umm. Sorry. No. Don't think it's that simple. Jeans became popular. Popularity increases sex appeal and also increases the chances of social approval. And who wants to be alone? Not I. Thus today, we have jeans in many different styles to show "our unique individual assets." Relaxed fit for manly men. Skinny fit for pretty girls. Increase our chances of acceptance, social approval, sex appeal, and/or maybe even love.

We want to fit in. We want to be accepted. Don't give me any of that "I'm Goth" bullshit or any of that "I'm trendy and unique!!" bullshit. Whatever you're doing, you're doing it to fit in whether it's with another group of goths, preps, jocks, poets, artists, intellectuals, or business people. Unless you're a hermit. If so, congrats because you are unique. Still human nature must come into play. Perhaps you were hurt by another person, perhaps social situations create too much anxiety for you, perhaps the beauty of nature is incredibly reinforcing to you and you simply LOVE it.

Am I sounding too scientific right not subtract the spiritual? Am I reducing humans to simple behavioral models of reinforcement and punishment? No. no. no.

We are spiritual beings.
We are intelligent beings.
We are made in the image of God.

We also learn.

God made it possible for us to learn at an astronomical rate...especially as growing children.
Young children can quickly learn a second language, the rate of aquisition far surpasses that of adults.
The more a child practices the lanugage, the harder it is to forget it.
Language is a positive adaptive behavior.
It is not possible to learn language without human interaction.

What's my point?

We also learn. (These facts are available at www.about-face.org)

American children and adolescents spend 22-28 hours per week viewing television (23 on average) more than any other activity except sleeping. By the age of 70 they will have spent 7 to 10 years of their lives watching TV. American television and movies are the most violent in the world.
A content analysis of 33 popular Nintendo and Sega Genesis video games revealed that there were no female characters in 41% of the games. Females were either absent, or they were cast in the role of victim. In 28% of the games females were portrayed as sex objects.
90% of all girls ages 3-11 have a Barbie doll, an early role model with a figure that is unattainable in real life.
A study of the content of Seventeen Magazine (the most widely distributed adolescent magazine) for the years of 1945, 1955, 1965, 1975, 1985 and 1995 found that in all issues the largest percentage of pages were devoted to articles about appearance (Schlenker, Caron, Halteman, 1998
The average person sees between 400 and 600 ads PER DAY-that is 40 million to 50 million by the time s/he is 60 years old. One of every 11 commercials has a direct message about beauty (this isn't counting the indirect ones).
The behaviors that are resultant of the media can be extremely destructive to both young boys (violence associated with masculinity) and girls (thin ideal)
It is not possible to learn the language of the media without interaction with it.

So just like language is flying into kids' brains, isn't the media as well? Aren't children EXTREMELY observant? (A lot of times, they are a little more direct and to the point than we'd like!) Were the messages we learned as young girls regarding our bodies positive? Or do they account for the how and why of it all? Yes, the stereotype is quite true as it stands. Women want to be beautiful. But what is beautiful? Does beauty change from era to era?
"Well, yeah."
So is beauty is simply a social concept?

"Depends on your definition of beauty. I happen to think that beauty comes from within."

Hey. You're learning. (You were sick of my nagging weren't you?) But I still don't think you believe what you just said. Can you simply erase your native language after it has been learned?
"Of course not."

So what can you do?

You can start learning a new language. No, it's not going to be easy. Can it be done? Next time, we'll explore those possibilities!

Afraid

2007-04-23T13:15:00.000-07:00

"I have learned over the years that when one's mind is made up, this diminishes fear; knowing what must be done does away with fear." Rosa Parks

In order to face the world, does purpose have to be clear? Why are we so confounded by our place, our meaning, and our untold story? I think so many of us are so tired of asking, "What do you want me to do God??? Just tell me - I'll go! Just give me a glimpse, a clue! I'll go. I promise I'll go. Anything. Please God, where are you?" Ecclesiastes teaches us that purpose is not static. A time to weep and laugh, to keep to throw away, to seek and to lose. Does a clear path even exist? How did Rosa Parks know what to do???

"I did not want to be mistreated, I did not want to be deprived of a seat that I had paid for. It was just time... there was opportunity for me to take a stand to express the way I felt about being treated in that manner. I had not planned to get arrested. I had plenty to do without having to end up in jail. But when I had to face that decision, I didn't hesitate to do so because I felt that we had endured that too long. The more we gave in, the more we complied with that kind of treatment, the more oppressive it became." Rosa Parks

So what did Rosa start out doing that was so phenomenal? How did she go from being fearful to being the civil rights leader that she is hailed for?

She simply took a step forward. Does it really matter how or where we step forward? Does God really care about the details when we are first learning to walk? As we begin to overcome fear and take steps forward, walking becomes easier. Soon, we're able to run. Then race. Then see the finish.

At 23, I'm finally beginning to understand that while I'm waiting for God to give me an answer, there are people going hungry, women being broken, lives being torn apart, war ravaging families and tearing apart loved ones, and hatred being spread. While I sit and ponder, pray for clarity, and grow tired of waiting for an answer, life gets comfortable. While I was worrying, I could have faced the fear of becoming.

So what does God want? Stop listening. (Listen, but not the point that it cripples you.) Stop worrying. Stop daydreaming. Stop wasting time. Act. God wants us to act. He equipped us with certain talents. Tools to build up others, tools to create change, tools to help others heal. Let's get to work! Let's use our voices, our instruments, our hands, our compassion, our artwork, our intelligence, and all of our gifts - and let's start moving forward.

Body

2007-04-22T18:43:00.000-07:00

Body. Boys. Accessories.

I don't know what it is about Helen Keller that fascinates me; of all the literary figures in history, she is one that I'm most drawn to. She was an author, activist, and lecturer; she stands out in my mind as revolutionary. Socrates, Kant, Mills, Plato, Aristotle, etc. Pretty wise dudes, yes? And according to any revolutionary, any philosopher, "suffering" is a relative term; it is what we make of it. In regards to Helen Keller,

she could not see.

She could not hear.

It is hard to look back into history books, memoirs, and biblical accounts of those who suffered for what they believed in. Jesus. Martin Luther King Jr. The Apostle Paul. Paul Rusesabagina. Mother Teresa. These are big names. Let's not forget those who stood up during the Holocaust. Fathers and mothers who have died trying to protect their families in Darfur. The Christians living under Roman persecution. And on and on.

Here's a dictionary look at the verb, to suffer.

suf·fer
v. tr.

To undergo or sustain (something painful, injurious, or unpleasant)
To experience; undergo
To endure or bear; stand
To permit; allow

If this definition is correct, suffering entails a conscious effort. Socrates suffered while be held captive by authorities, but chose to end his suffering by drinking the hemlock poison. On the other hand, Jesus had the opportunity to renounce his divinity, but instead chose to suffer. Though it is impossible to compare being deaf and blind to choosing death, there is a point that I'm alluding to.

The first picture is what? A Body. Boys. Sex. Accessories. All a girl needs to feel whole today, right?

In the case of Jesus, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther King Jr, and Helen Keller, what was the role of the body? Even when the body failed to see or hear, it was home to a spirit. In all cases, the body was merely a house. A place for the spirit to reside in this world. These men and women sacrificed their physical self, for they KNEW that the spirit was eternal.

(Was eternal. The spirit Was eternal. What has happened to the spirit? Who took the spirit away from us?)

In the first two pictures, why is the house displayed without the spirit? Where is the soul within those broken, empty vessels? That is what starvation and vanity does...it leaves you empty. We've lost sight of what constitutes suffering. Today we hear things like, "Beauty hurts" and "No pain to gain." Yes, we suffer for the body, we throw away the value of the spirit, and we wait patiently for our Coach purse to serve love to us...patiently... patiently...

We buy our salvation...God forbid we live alone. We forget the love, the eternal love, that God has for us. We cannot buy, see, touch, or hear God's love...where's the value in that? If I can't have it here and now then what's the point? If it's not on a CD, if it's not in a magazine, if it's not on TV, the here and now, what are we supposed to do? Wait for it to come around? Ha. What's the point in waiting for a love we can't even feel? We must appease the body. Our senses. We only live inside our house. We bought this house with our money. We bought all of the furniture, accessories, and wall ornaments in this house. Live it up, take precious care of these resources. These dwindling resources. Cannot be shared. Will not give them away...will not give them away. This house is ours.

"Character cannot be developed in ease and quiet. Only through experience of trial and suffering can the soul be strengthened, ambition inspired, and success achieved." Helen Keller

Decent into November

2006-11-05T05:53:00.002-08:00

Why do I feel myself losing touch? I don't understand why winter does this to me. Is it the simple establishing operation of impending cold and stories of my past? Why am I still so attached to my past?

Summer brings warmth, a sense of home, and a foundation for peace. Summer is beautiful and friendly, it does not lie. (Well, hold on. I take that back. This is Michigan afterall.) For the most part, if you look out the window and the sun is bright - chances are that if you step outside to check the temp, it's going to feel alright.

Winter is gorgeous, and in my opinion more beautiful that all other seasons. But winter is extremely deceptive, cold, frigid, deadly. I remember, years ago, while in the very midst of losing my mind, looking out my frosty bedroom window. Breath fogging up the glass. Watching two ravens flying directly overhead. Circling right over me, as if I was their prey. Gifted with some knowledge of spiritual metaphors, I knew exactely what this symbol meant. They were telling me a story about my destiny, if I was to let go. Just waiting for me to give up.

That image still haunts me and it only comes to mind this time of year. It serves as a spiritual warning, "Don't go there." I get this sick sensation of admiration for all that I stand against, sickly thin waif models and size 2 CK jeans. A yearning to pick up a copy of Vogue and flip through the ads while degrading my body, knowing exactely how to manipulate my own thoughts and behavior. I remember the smells of perfumes in stores and the overwhelming joy I felt - feeling light and disassociated with real-life. Is this lust for thinness pure selfishness? Is it an escape? Probably a little bit of both. Is it something I can erase from my memory?

I wish.

But no. If I find a way to "unlearn" English, I'll let cha'all know. Beauty ideals are a part of our neuro-circuitry, hard-wired into female minds across Westernized (and now many Eastern) nations. I hate that it is a part of me. I hate that when life hits hard, my only escape is this yearning to be thin. But then again, what is the ultimate goal? To be recognized. To gain attention. To feel loved.

Anorexia accomplishes the attention part. WAKE UP. It will never NEVER make any human being feel loved. It leaves you feeling more alone than ever. The mind driving you to believe that maybe someone will love you when you are sick, in bed, with a feeding tube. No. You will not feel ANYTHING. Not love. hate. passion. joy. excitement. sadness. Complete emptiness. And when you let go, you don't care about the ravens circling overhead.

So is that something that I want? No. So what do I do?

Face life and feel it. Because if I don't feel the bad, I'm not going to feel the good. Would I rather be empty and void?

Or completely and utterly bipolar?

The lows are horrible. More disturbing in mental imagery than what you could ever imagine. Visions of death, brutal murder, hopelessness, and demons devouring myself. Nightmares and racing heart. Cold, lonely, exhausted.

The highs are ok. But the highs usually consist of compulsive exercise. A hurricane of ideas. Random conversations in my mind. Addiction to new clothes (nothing new). Starting 5 different book and magazine ideas at once. Passionate, exuberant, and hyper. Funny, always weird.

Today I'll conclude with what I always tell myself when these feelings hit.

"Go into yourself and test the deeps in which your life takes rise; at its source you will find the answer to the question whether you must create. Accept it, just as it sounds, without inquiring into it. Perhaps it will turn out that you are called to be an artist. Then take that destiny upon yourself and bear it, its burden and its greatness, without ever asking what recompense might come from outside." R.M. Rilke

So it is a burden. But, perhaps something I'm meant to bear. This insanity, this depression, these highs and lows...all of it meant for a reason? Modern medicine deems not, but my spiritual side detests such notions. In that medicating my "disease" would only supress it. It would still linger. To struggle and battle it out is more my style. I don't like to be thought of as let off easy. But, my own mind does truly scare me at times.

Decent into November

2006-11-05T05:53:00.000-08:00

Isaiah

2006-09-30T19:35:00.000-07:00

Van Buren State Park

We took a trip out to Van Buren State Park today. Beautiful sunset and one hyperactive puppy.

Let me off this leash!

Sunset

Haha

On the road

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Isaiah, 1. 18

Ok, so we named him after a prophet...and his sins are arguably not white as snow. Alas, we...I mean I, love him because he's just too cute.

"What what? I'm innocent. And, I need a treat. Pleeeease."

Mr. Che opening the bathroom door and attempting to escape from Isaiah the tyrant

Oh the baby boy

Arnold accent, "I am a sexy black lab vaiting fo you to take ze picture of me."

Old Campus

2006-04-22T06:53:00.000-07:00

Very cool house on South St.

2006-04-22T06:52:00.000-07:00

Ben's a chillin

2006-04-22T06:49:00.001-07:00

Ben's little friend

2006-04-22T06:49:00.000-07:00

Spring flowers

2006-04-22T06:48:00.000-07:00

Chillin

2006-04-22T06:47:00.000-07:00

2006-04-22T06:45:00.000-07:00

L and I

2006-03-16T21:27:00.000-08:00

Josh looking rather intellectual at Waterstreet Coffee

2006-03-16T21:22:00.000-08:00

New Hair Cont.

2006-03-16T21:21:00.000-08:00

My new hair!

2006-03-16T21:19:00.000-08:00

2006-02-19T17:48:00.000-08:00

I miss my family.
This city makes me feel so alone.
I wish I had more friends, well, the confidence to make friends.
I'm embarrassed to go out in public.
My body disgusts me.
I'm tired of stress.
I want to sing again.
Every day is the same.
I need hope.
I need you God.

Dark and Light cont.

2006-02-12T13:16:00.000-08:00

Dare to reach out your hand into the darkness, to pull another hand into the light.
~Norman B. Rice

I feel so much apart of both. That darkness is something permanently engraved in my soul; and light is something my heart is aching for. Light is who I am to become, though dark is something I will always have to live with. Just like the quote says, you must reach into darkness to pull others into the light.

When I think about speaking to women crippled and immoblized by eating disorders; I imagine myself losing my breath and not being able to speak. I imagine every word I say being relected off, back into space. There are people meant to help these women, and I believe they have very strong souls. I feel myself drawn more towards the source of body-hatred.

The following information can be found at http://www.about-face.org/r/facts/bi.shtml

Body image dissatisfaction and dieting behavior isn't restricted to adolescents or adults. In a study of almost five hundred schoolgirls, 81% of the ten-year-olds reported that they had dieted at least once (Mellin, Scully & Irwin, 1986). A study of 36,000 students in Minnesota found that girls with negative body image were three times more likely than boys of the same age, to say that they feel badly about themselves and were more likely to believe that others see them in a negative light. The study also found that negative body image is associated with suicide risk for girls, not for boys (American Association of University Women, 1990).

Wooley and Wooley (1980) found that girls are more influenced and thus more vulnerable to cultural standards of ideal body images, than boys are. A recent national health study, that studied 2,379 9yr and 10 yr old girls (approximately half White and half Black) found that 40 % of them reported that they were trying to lose weight (Striegel-Moore et al, 1996).

In a sample of male and female high school students, two-thirds of boys and girls believed that being thinner would have an impact on their lives. The majority of girls believed that this impact would be positive, while the majority of the boys believed that the impact would be negative. The gender groups did not differ significantly in their weight distribution around the expected norm for their group. Girls had higher body dissatisfaction scores than boys on all measures. Girls reported magazines as their primary source of information regarding diet and health, whereas boys reported their primary source to be parents, followed by two other categories before mentioning magazines (Paxton, Wertheim, Gibbons, Szmukler, Hillier, & Petrovich, 1991).

It is so saddening to me, that girls as young as 10 years old (and probably younger) think of themselves as overweight, or that they need to diet. That being thinner would have a positive impact on their lives. At what age does this begin, and how can parents help to prevent this? It is not like parents can completely shield their daughters' eyes. We are a media-crazed culture, and somehow - the media finds a way to get just about everywhere. I want to help prevent eating disorders, while also encouraging treatment. For me, my most vulnerable age was around 11-13 years old. I already knew about the media, but girls is school were actually starting to live by those rules. The cool girls were thin, had new clothes, and got attention from "guys." They read Cosmo and watched MTV, and actually were allowed to watch "The Real World." All of us were attempting to model our lives by what we saw on T.V.

And so began Mr. Allen's class; where we were to monitor our calorie intake and burn for an entire month. The last thing on Mr. A's mind was starting a mass complex about food and weight for the girls in his class, but it affected everyone so horribly. It was pretty much a contest to see how little we could eat, if we could beat the other girls. Some pretty disturbing behaviors began that year. I know that if these sorts of behaviors developed in quaint little IR, Michigan, than that was just a very small scale to what was and is going on in big cities.

This complex is out of control, much like a spreading disease, though very few teachers and parents see it as that. They see it as "girls being girls." I have to disagree; we are not meant to hate ourselves, this isn't some "trait" that we all share. In the 1500s, full bodied women were all the craze for artists and rich men alike. A skinny woman was "poor" and "sick." When the media of the day glorified larger (normal!) women, I highly doubt that these women hated themselves. In fact, I'm sure they were quite proud to be the highlight of many artists most famous work.

The media isn't going away. Though there are currently some counter-activists; like Dove. Wow, what a company. I give them so much credit for starting the campaign for real beauty which recognizes the unique shape and build of every female.

When I talk about going back into darkness; I pretty much mean going back into middle school. It is there where I believe that eating disorders develop and affect women for the rest of their lives. Even with a master's in psychology, I am sure much of the work I will be doing, will be for free and out of the deep concern in my heart.

As a young girl, I would have loved to have talked to an older woman about my low self-esteem and skewed body image. I never would have admitted it though, which leads me to believe that I must go to that place never mentioned; that place left in the dark...that is very much alive.

Dark and Light

2006-02-12T13:00:00.000-08:00

So Afraid.

2006-02-09T18:58:00.000-08:00

Title of my life. So Afraid. But perhaps, that is changing.

Well, L. (my good friend) and I were planning on going out for some drinks, some talk, and just to connect on female things...which I think is so essential for women: to connect with other women! Since of course, we are the superior of humankind...kidding. No, what I mean is that we really need someone to share our emotions with. Sometimes the ones we love the most, our husbands or boyfriends, cannot come close to understanding what it is like to feel on such a high degree. And we wish they would, and we often get on their cases for not listening. When, we are plain and simply afraid to go out and talk to other women about our insecurities!

Anyway, my friend ended up having other obligations, which is fine! I was a bit dissapointed, but I suppose this entire situation was a lesson for me. I have been asked by many female friends to go out for dinner, go out for a movie, etc., and I have always responded with,
"Yes, of course! I'd love to."
But in the end, I ALWAYS end up backing out and nearly 95% of the time, I avoid their phone calls. That is one of my worst traits; I avoid the phone when I know someone wants to talk to me. I avoid some else's yearning to get to know me. This happens so frequently, my behavior is painstakingly predicatable. Perhaps L. is that similar to me, that comfort often comes before a new experience; getting to know and getting closer to our same sex is simply too terrifying. A chat now and then, before or after work is great - but sitting down for more than half an hour... my nails are biten raw before I'm done thinking about it.
Women.
We are crazy folk.

No, I am not mad at L., in fact, I am quite happy. She has opened by eyes. I am feeling right now, what other girlfriends have felt when I turn them away; disappointment! I have never been in their shoes because I have really never wanted to get to know other women. And this feeling of dissapointment is good because it proves I am changing a little bit. I do want to know other women. How can I ever help women, if I fear getting to know them at a deeper level? It wouldn't happen.

Only the mind of a female could come up with such a perfect synthesis! (Basically, that means over-analyzing. Something I love to do.)

Well, I am sitting here listening to Josh's alarm clock go off. It has been ringing for 10 minutes straight and the noise is interfering with the frequency at which I type. Ah. Make. It. Stop.

Ok. I will attempt to ignore. Anyway, Ben is home with Bilbo's. The best pizza the world has ever known. Until next time, cheers.

Beautiful sky this morning

2006-02-07T06:53:00.000-08:00

How cute is he?

2006-02-07T06:52:00.000-08:00

Old Campus

2006-02-07T06:50:00.000-08:00

Tired

2006-02-06T20:34:00.000-08:00

Not the best day. I've done so well these past couple weeks with balancing food and diet. These weekend I gave myself a break from cardio, and today was a day I should have done cardio. It was also a day I should not have stuffed my face in. Now, I am exhausted. My brain is doing backflips, "I should work off those extra calories I consumed I should not have had that glass of wine with Laura. I should not have had those cranberries and almonds. I should have worked out in the morning. I shouldn't have been such a fat ass. Where is your control? What is wrong with you? Why are you so lazy.What were you working for in the first place, you just ruined everything."

These are the thoughts in my mind right now. My mind will not give me peace right now. So what can I do but make it sleep? I am so tired right now, and all these shoulds are racing through me. Sure, I could do those things. I could workout and burn 1000 calories. But I am exhausted. Why would I want to do that? Because, there is something in me that is angry that I am tired. My dark concious. My "other" half, not the better. True, I have stuffed myself moreso than need be. I have picked on things that have made me feel guilty. So, what is the person striving for recovery saying?

"Please Sara, realize that tommorrow is a new day. A fresh start. Your recovery is not going to happen instantly. Or overnight. Please realize that these days are inevitalbe. You worked a double shift. You felt a variety of emotions today; anger because you feel walked upon by many people at work, boredom (because Monday is the worst shift ever!), frustration because you had to spend all of your tips on groceries, and an array of negative emotions. You are tired. So rest. Listen to your body's signals. If it is tired, it knows bests: it yearns for sleep. Tommorrow is a new day."

Yes. yes. yes. you are right. but I still feel crappy about myself for bingeing.

"Mind you, what you consider bingeing, others consider healthy snacking."

Right. well, bingeing to me. Ok? Errr. Why does my mind have to be so messed up? I suppose this crazy mind best suits me.

As actress Tea Leoni says, "The inner conflict is what makes the spin so much fun, what makes it more colorful. I actually can't imagine playing someone who wasn't neurotic."

But ha, this quote is too funny.

"I'm afraid of making a mistake. I'm not totally neurotic, but I'm pretty neurotic about it. I'm as close to totally neurotic as you can get without being totally neurotic."
Bridget Fonda

ok ok, just one more.

"A neurotic is a man who builds a castle in the air. A psychotic is the man who lives in it. A psychiatrist is the man who collects the rent."
Jerome Lawrence

Ha! Gotta love that last one.

Bend, move with the wind

2006-02-03T21:22:00.000-08:00

Another one of those days that feels like it blended into a big gormut of blah. Is gormut a word? I don't know...maybe it just sounds cool. I am this close from quitting my job. I have the worst possible shifts, and it seems as though the people that bitch the most, get the best shifts. The ones that are quiet and personable - get the very worst. I'm sick of management, people in general, and the notion that "the customer is always right." I am sick of being a servant to those who do not appreciate it. I am sick of old women. And young women. And the bitches that come in at 10:30 at night, demanding separate checks, and that they need them in 5 minutes. The ones that whine when they found out I added 18% gratuity to all of their bills. That's right. I just gratted you bi-atch, you like it that I don't trust you right? (With any party over 10 people, the server has the right to add an 18% grat.)

So yeah, I am fed up. I really don't get along with anyone there except L. I really do not feel liked by anyone else. Their attitudes diminish good spirits.

Most fortunately, I have all of Saturday off to chill and go out with my love! Ben and I will probably go and fetch some good ol' Mongolian Barbecue. Yummy!

As far as recovery goes; I have taken notice to my emotions and when they are raging - instead of grabbing a jar of peanut butter - I write. Or I take pictures. When I was exhausted after work the other day, I did not push myself to run. Instead, I enjoyed a nap. Listening to my body's signals is something very new to me. Either I starve it, stuff it, or exhaust it. I never listen to what my body wants. My body is gaining new meaning. My body. It is mine and no one else's. My body has a voice, and it knows what it wants. It knows when it is being stuffed to feel numb. It knows when it is being starved to feel numb. My body wants to feel. Not diet or lose more weight. My attempts to control it have only ended in deep depression, disappointment, and a never ending circle of defeat.

To let go...

"As I started to picture the trees in the storm, the answer began to dawn on me. The trees in the storm don't try to stand up straight and tall and erect. They allow themselves to bend and be blown with the wind. They understand the power of letting go. Those trees and those branches that try too hard to stand up strong and straight are the ones that break. Now is not the time for you to be strong, Julia, or you, too, will break." Julia Butterfly Hill

Joy in simple things

2006-02-01T22:28:00.000-08:00

Outside my window

2006-02-01T22:13:00.000-08:00

Oh ye long day at work

2006-02-01T21:10:00.000-08:00

It seems as though the days blend together into this huge mass of wasted time and space. I really hate days where I fall asleep feeling blank, my mind only wants sleep. Yet, my heart wants my mind to stay awake. My heart wants my mind to forget that it's tired and focus on things it yearns for; music, art, and thoughtful words.

Sadly, I do not have many thoughtful words tonight. Working a double shift today with only a half hour break wore me out to the point that my mind non functiono. There are a few goods things about work; for one thing I am connecting with this wonderful girl, we'll call her L. L. and we click like best friends that have known eachother for years...she has inner battles likes me, is more beautiful than Elizabeth Taylor, and is one of the very few women I would trust sharing my core with. More importantly, she is one of the first women I do not feel threatened by. Yes, she's beautiful. Yes, she's smart. But she is also troubled, and underneath her kind smiling face - I know that there's a girl so much like me.

I really don't feel that way about the other girls at work. None of them are as smart, or pretty as L., but I do feel threatened by them. This leads me to believe that what I am really threatened by, does not have everything to do with "thinness" or "beauty." Some of it comes from that...but I think it comes from feeling judged. I perceive and sense judgement from the others. With L., I feel that she sees more than outward beauty, another shell that hides all sorts of people; depressed, insecure, afraid, spoiled, tormented, and etc.

My intuition leads me to women who appreciate soul more than anything else in this world. L. is one cool chic, and I am so happy to finally have found a female friend in this new city.

On another note, I despise my boss. We'll call him B. He is the opitomy of men, a true slimeball that somehow worked his way up the power ladder. He takes great pride in putting me down, finding whatever he can to pick on me about, and attempting to make me feel powerless as often as possible. It is people like him, that make me so excited about the future. People like B have a purpose; it is to motivate the silent competitors of our time into action. The type of person that has not yet emerged from her shell, but will do so. Ungracefully as it will occur, she will do so. I can't wait until this sleeze reads the papers someday, and sees that face of the girl he humiliated and made feel like shit daily gleeming in the spotlight. I'll be sure to give a sarcastic smile just for him.

2006-01-31T22:00:00.000-08:00

awake

2006-01-31T21:55:00.000-08:00

learn to love

2006-01-31T21:49:00.000-08:00

So

2006-01-31T21:47:00.000-08:00

Collar

2006-01-31T21:46:00.001-08:00

2006-01-31T21:46:00.000-08:00

Scared

Warm

2006-01-31T21:41:00.000-08:00

2006-01-31T21:34:00.000-08:00

Just thought I'd post a few pics of parts of my body that I coming to terms with. Some I like. Some I have hated for years. I appreciate my facial features, I appreciate my strong legs, I appreciate my muscles. I have always despised my stomach...these pics are a bit more graceful than what I see day to day. However, this is helping me to let go. To see myself as I am, instead of looking in a mirror...I find photography so much more beautiful than looking in a mirror. I take these pictures not out of vanity, but in an effort to learn to love. Since I love art, maybe I can learn to love myself in art.

2006-01-31T17:56:00.000-08:00

Love ya.

Another Tuesday morning

2006-01-31T06:04:00.000-08:00

It feels as though routine has taken over my life; eat healthy, workout, go to work, sleep. I yearn for something so much deeper, primarily with Ben. We connect so well, and get along nearly all the time. We see eachother's differences and look past them. We love eachother and vow to work things out whether we are feeling "love" or not. There is just something deeper that we are missing. As I awaken, and try to force myself out of this shell, I see that he is covered. Maybe he is embarrased to express his innermost thoughts, maybe his shell has become more of a barrier - and he cannot see it, or maybe, maybe I am wrong all-together.

See what I mean. Neurotic.

I need to learn to listen and observe, these gifts I already have but they could use some fine tuning. I can sense other's emotions, see it in their eyes, feel their self-conciousness. I often find myself feeling with everyone. With some, it is harder than others. Some of us have built up walls high that we allow no intruders, not even ourselves. I know very little of who I am. Intuitively speaking, Ben knows very little of who he is; how badly he was hurt, pushed around, degraded, and made to feel powerless as a child. I know that he was affected more than what he would ever dare to tell. He also does not realize his potential. He is a healer, somewhat of an oracle to me. I often wonder if he hears me when I tell him how wonderful he is. (I know I often brush off those compliments when they are given to me.)

Well anyway, these are more thoughts to ponder for later. Until then, off to work.

2006-01-30T21:26:00.000-08:00

Black and White

Recovery

2006-01-30T19:37:00.000-08:00

I think I have actually, and finally dipped my feet into the shallow waters of recovery. I know that I have to wade out there, over my head to finally be free from this. I will struggle and at times I will just want to swim back to "safety."

The act of letting go is not easy. It is something completely new to me. It is unlike "giving my life to Christ" or "laying my fears down." It is much harder than those things, which I have done in my past. There is something that draws me back to darkness again and again. Sadly to say, there is something very beautiful about despair. Something beautiful about emptiness. Something tempting and secretive, mysterious and radiant.

It is my perception of "beauty" that is greatly skewed. I see thin, malnourished, depressed women as "beautiful." It is not just me. I work with several women, all very thin themselves, some more preoccupied with their weight than others. Undoubtedly, their perceptions of themselves are also skewed. I put in an effort to never say, "I'm so fat. I'm disgusting. I'm such a pig. I can't believe I just ate that. Etc. etc. etc. (all those familiar phrases)" in front of other women. It is catchy. One woman starts talking negatively about her body and all others respond with "Oh I know. I feel so nasty today too."

Yet, I still think those things in my head. It is not until I tell myself, "I am beautiful! I am strong! I am compassionate! I am talented!" on a daily basis that I will be able to help other women recover from their own horribly skewed perceptions. I know that hating myself is wrong. Self-hate keeps me at the shore, it keeps me from swimming out, it keeps me far from danger, risk, and discovery. It keeps me from reaching the lost on the other side. This island that I must reach. These women who are starving, lost, alone and just praying for someone to come and save them. To give them purpose and meaning. To give them hope. To help them feel beautiful and feel loved.