Black Books is Actually Kind Of Crap, and Lots Of Other Unorganized Thoughts.

Ah, mes amis.

A lot of stuff fell on my plate all at once, and it stressed me out hardcore. A hideous realization in therapy, and a shitty shitty landlord and an EXTREMELY COLD HOUSE, and my favorite roommate moving out with, like, no warning...and now I'm going to have to move. AGAIN. And those are only the things actually happening in reality.

In my head there's a lot more, as ever. Such as: What am I going to do with my life? I'm reasonably certain that I already know what I want to do but am currently too busy trying to heal myself to have the energy to pursue that path. When I'm feeling optimistic and non-self-hating, that's what I'm able to say to myself. When I'm feeling the way I usually do, I'm just a lazy wallower who will never amount to anything and it's all my own damn fault ect ect.

Also: I'm so, so, so, so, so desperately scared that just because there's no way in hell I'm in any way capable of a relationship right now, that I'll never be able to have one and even if I am, then the person I'd like to have one with won't be around when I am. And besides, I have this whole complex built around the idea that I'm some kind of unfeeling Queen Ice Bitch and that even if The Person wanted me, I'd only stomp on their heart while laughing callously, because I never really wanted them in the first place and was only pretending out of some cruel intention I wasn't fully aware of.

Because I'm totally like that. Obviously.

It's a testimony to the amount of work that I've done that now, no matter how down I feel, the part of me that maintains I am a worthwhile, non-Ice-Bitch person is currently steady and stalwart. Still quiet, yes. At times, very quiet indeed. Virtually silent. But always there, somewhere, underneath all the name calling.

A big one right now is how tired I am of being fat. I feel like, now that I've realized how un-fat I in fact was, can't this all be over? Haven't I passed the test? Can't I go back to that size, now that I've learned my lesson? Is it really necessary to keep hitting me with this body size?

And it doesn't matter that the body size I think I have right now is in no way related to the body size I actually have. It doesn't matter that I feel exactly the same and often smaller now than I did before. I'VE LEARNED THE LESSON, I roar. Let me have my body back! I promise I'll remember not to hate on it this time.

Of course it wouldn't make one damn bit of difference. I know that. I know it's ED hanging on for one more fist in my face. But...there it is, all the same.


SO THERE ARE MANY THINGS. My brain is overloaded and my heart is sad and scared. My back hurts and my neck aches. I don't want to have to deal with moving, or with trying to decide if moving is even the right thing to do. I don't want to have to think.


Perhaps those of you in the ED Brigade have recognized these. A whole bag of Big Ol' Triggers. Don't think I haven't caught their seductive whisper.

Binge, Flannery. Binge, and it will all go away. Binge, and you won't have to worry about all this grown-up, real-life bullshit anymore. Binge, and it won't matter if you're alone. Binge, and everything will be fine.

Well, you know what?

FUCK YOU.

Yes, I lived primarily off ice cream for the past week. But I ate it intuitively. It wasn't a binge, it was just eating.

FUCK YOU.

When I got hungry, I would eat. It was ice cream, or it was something else. If I wanted ice cream, then that is what I ate for that meal. If I wanted eggs, then I ate that instead.

FUCK YOU.

I was too stressed to deal with even the minimal food prep I usually do, so I bought food that didn't require it, without my usual accompanying guilt of LAZY and SLOB and HORRIBLE PERSON.

So fuck you.

I ate without moral qualifiers, without guilt, without anguish.


It's been a horrible week, but that one thing shines brightly, a gleaming patronus that no dementor can take away.