Chained to the pillars, a three day party, I break the walls, and kill us all with holy fingers.

So it's almost the 1 year anniversary of this blog. And it is now the 8 month anniversary of my ovaries drying up and rendering me barren and without my womanlies.

Normal, healthy people's ovaries:

Mine:

No, I still have not gone to the doctor about this. I know I should, but I am terrified and distrustful of all medical professionals. I'll most likely wait until 'tis time for my annual check-up with the lady-doctor in June, and then just casually tell her, "oh yeah, I haven't gotten my period in a year."

Actually, most likely I'll just lie and make up the date of my last period when they ask. If something's wrong, I'm sure they'll find it when I am examined and blood-tested. 

But I digress. I was talking about anniversaries. 

This time last year, I was in the depths of morphine abuse and over-exercising on an injured Achilles tendon (which is now permanently damaged). I don't know what would have become of me if I had not found Blogger and this community, and most importantly, all of you. In many ways, I feel closer to you gals than I do to my friends in real life. This community helps keep me from slipping too far over the edge, sanity-wise. So thanks. <3

Ok I'm done being mushy. 

This time of year also marks the two-year anniversary of my full blown Food Problem. I had issues with food and disordered eating long before this--starting when I was about 15 or 16, I think (when Mum and Granny told me I was fat). I would go through brief spells of starving, but these were usually countered by an overinflated sense of self-worth, and confidence in my own good looks and charm. It got slightly worse in college, when I moved back home from Philadelphia and put on weight. I was starving and over-exercising then, but it never occurred to me that I was doing anything wrong or abnormal. And as time wore on, I became a bit happier in myself and so didn't really dedicate enough time or effort into starving to make me dangerously underweight or unhealthy. 

So what made me suddenly go from that to consciously counting calories, restricting, and over-exercising? I was thinking about this the other day, and the answer hit me like a slap in the face. 

Two years ago, Paul#1 and I ceased all communication. 

It's difficult for me to talk about this, because I'm not so good with the emotion thing. Anything outside my 2 comfort zones of Zen-Like-Calm and Irritable causes me anxiety. 

that's my teaspoon-sized emotional range

 P1 and I met in college. He was a senior when I was a freshman. Former roommate Damo introduced us, and we hit it off immediately, although for the first few years we were just bff's and nothing more. P1 is a giant hippie. He looks like a pirate. Just thinking about him and talking about him this much in one sitting makes me want to throw things, break things, run someone over with my car (him or me--I can't decide). 

::deep breaths::

After I left Philly, we stayed in contact, seeing each other maybe once every months and talking on the phone every so often. I'm not sure when friendship morphed into something else, but eventually it did. I'm not good in relationships. I have trouble remaining faithful to one person, and even more trouble getting emotionally close to someone, or just being comfortable with someone both physically and mentally. But with P1 I had a level of comfort I had never experienced since Brad. 

But this could only be a long-distance relationship, because P1 lives in Philly and I live 2 hours away in Northern New Jersey. I made the trek down to Philly 1 or 2 times a month. I called him multiple times a week (and I HATE the phone). I adored him. Even with the long (and constantly growing) list of things I hated about him, I adored him so much it made me giddy. After a while though, it became clear to me that I was making all the effort in our relationship.

I drove 2+ hours to go and see him. He never once made an attempt to come and visit me. That was the biggest issue. 

We bounced between "just friends" and something more, both of us sporadically dating other people. Something dark had begun to fester in my psyche. I wasn't used to being emotionally close with anyone, and it upset me a great deal that I was putting so much effort into P1 and yet he didn't seem to think I was worth any effort on his part. So this time, two years ago, I got drunk and angry and belligerent, and slept with his friend. 

And so P1 cut me off. Like a gangrenous limb. No more contact. Nothing. 

I'm presuming that whatever had started festering in my head grew into a huge psychological infection. Obviously I was worth nothing. Less than nothing. So I wanted to disappear into nothing. I began consciously counting every calorie, weighing myself and measuring myself obsessively like I had never done before. 

And here I am. 

Things are better with P1 now. Kind of. The friend I slept with (J--hands down the most talented gentleman I have ever met when it comes to his knowledge of a woman's anatomy) hadn't realized at the time what our little fling had caused. I continued to see him as a sort of friends-with-benefits and one day (like last May) I told J about how P1 had cut me off. J was still pretty good friends with P1, so this news both surprised and upset him, as P1 never had mentioned any of it. 

So then like a week after I told J all of that, I get a phone call from P1. I'm pretty sure that's the closest I've ever come to a full blown heart attack. 

Apparently J was so upset by the whole situation that he cornered P1 and told him to stop being an a-hole (or something along those lines--neither one of them ever gave me details of that conversation). J convinced P1 that he had reacted too harshly, and so P1 called me and we spoke for 2 hours, he eventually admitting that he missed me and he thought we should try and be friends again. I made the journey down to Philly like a week later and had a brief visit with him, which more or less tripled how much I missed him when I got home. 

Because of various factors (living situations, job, etc.), I haven't seen him since. I also haven't spoken to him on the phone in a really long time. A lot of sh*t happened last year that kept me either busy or upset at other things, and I just didn't have the emotional energy to spare him. He's my friend on Facebook now, and every time I log on to FB, I check out his profile (to check his relationship status) and consider sending him a message. I feel like a facebook message is too ...... I dunno, too something. But I'm not ready to call him--it's been too long since we last spoke. So to counter this, I just don't really go on facebook anymore. I actually haven't logged in for like 3 or 4 days. 

I can't stop thinking about him. All the effing time. If I develop a brain tumor, I'm sending him the medical bills. 

And I don't know what to do. 

I'm sorry. That was long and kind of pointless and no doubt you've all been bored out of your trees by my rambling. 

Imma keep rambling for another while though, because now I need something to take my mind off of P1. 

It really sucks being addicted to something you hate. By that I mean it REALLY EFFING SUCKS to be so addicted to exercising that just the possibility of not exercising for 2 days in a row has me popping clonazepam-lorazepam cocktails like a mofo. 

Tonight, we're going out to dinner with Cousin, because she's leaving for Florida (again) in a couple of weeks. (We tried going out last week, but Cousin cancelled at the last second). And then tomorrow (Friday), I'm going to see my 5-year-old niece in her school fashion show. So I will not be able to go to the gym today or tomorrow, and the treadmill at home is broken. 

::itwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeokitwillbeok::

I'm also having issues breaking in my new sneakers. My feet go completely numb after the first 30 mins on the elliptical. Does this happen to anyone else? Am I walking wrong? Am I just retarded? 

Ugh.