10:17 - 04.11.2007
tell them i'm tired

moved in with meinem verlobter. sort of. my stuff is all here and put away as much as i can. but until my fiance's clutter gets cleaned up, it won't really feel like home. one would think that the clutter would be mine, since i'm the one who's been transplanted, but, no...

i suppose i'm just more organized, due to a certain level of obsessive-compulsiveness, and an illogical belief that if i can just make everything perfectly clean and pretty, mia will go away forever.

because i'm sickandtired of the fallingout hair and enamelchipped teeth. sick from having no immune system, due to the eating disorder. i've had a mosquito bite for 5 weeks that has not yet healed. & now i've got a nasty cold, which i'm sure that i will have allwinterlong.

another strange point: i'm already used to being here, but my fiance keeps nearasking me when i want to go "home." to my parents. never, of course. my dad asked if i wanted my mom to take me to see the therapist at the ed clinic. being that she is one of my 2 biggest triggers (the other being my manorexic youngest brother), why the fuck would i want that? not that i can explain, of course. noone ever believes me because i'm a bulimic monster, so how could i possibly explain how much damage my mother has done to me? standing in the living room with my mother and aunt, bones sticking out. aunt's eyes wide, commenting on how skinny i'd gotten. before i could so much as nod, let alone refute the observation, my mother jumped in, so eager to say that, no, i wasn't skinny; i was still as chubby as ever. the boots just made me look tall. why this was so harmful, i know not, but that set me off on my track of bingeing&purging multiple times a day.

then my fiance raped me the night before i moved in. i know, i know--why move in with someone who raped you? stranger still that my fiance wound up being the one doing the crying, meaning that i had to be the one doing the comforting. how contrary. but a perfect example of what is wrong with the modern world.

sipping theraflu, hoping that soon i'll be able to breathe sufficiently to workout. because right now, i'm choking on my own snot and mucus, gasping for each breath of air. but once the meds kick in, i'll be flying high and dizzy. taking a full dose of medicine always makes me loopy and outofit. i suppose i should invest in some children's medicine. later. if i feel like it.

invaded my fiance's privacy this morning by rifting through the porn & sextoy stash. pisses me off so much that my fiance denies owning such things. i've shared my own; made it no secret. i don't like being lied to or having things hidden from me. especially when some other being is screaming at my fiance and futureinlaws because i've moved in. unrequited love? or just that this other person is already married and cannot be possessed by my fiance? i would love to find the answers, but my fiance is notsaying; denies everything. like to believe, but so much evidence points the other way. porn stash. yes, i'm a monster for invading the privacy of others, but i had to know; had to see. and now ithink irealize the why of it all. opposite of me. all the things i lack, that are "okay" because my fiance "doesn'tlikethemanyway," present in the porn. true dislike? denial? illusion? ich weiss nicht.

which brings me to the perpetual question of whether my fiance truly loves me, or if i am just the most presentable toy. yes, i'm a mess, but i'm good at hiding my problems, and can be passed off as a mostlynormal person; one who just dresses eccentrically. but isn't "i'm an artist" the universal excuse? they say it works. use it on me, and...hmm...

should i 'fess up? claim i found it by accident while cleaning? ask again to see "what's in the bags?" pretend i never saw it? give my fiance the cold shoulder for a couple days, using my illness as an excuse for my distance. i'm toosick todo anything butsleep?

and it's not the actual presence of the porn & sex toys that bothers me (like i said, i have my own stash), it's just being lied to about it, especially since i always share mine. i don't lie. i don't keep secrets. not to/from my fiance. (parents are another story.) if it's embarassing, why have it? if i'm embarassing, why keep me around?

not that life with my fiance is truly so awful as i make it sound here. most times, i truly do feel loved and valued, which makes the instances of neglect and such all the more confounding in my mind. my last relationship was very abusive--but the abuse was predictable. that lover was going to hit me; going to cut me; going to rape me; going to molest me; going to manipulate, control, and expose me; and going to use me overall. my fiance thinks me neck is a ticklish spot because i squirm when touched there. it's actually because the exlover choked me by lifting me by the back of a dogcollarsytle choker i was wearing and shaking me like a ragdoll at the top of a flight of stairs, screaming at me and threatening to throw me down. i had bruises for alongtime, and went about with a scarf tied around my neck to hide it. probably lucky i wasn't killed. definitely lucky i haven't died of severe purging bulimia. someone or something wants me alive for some purpose.

that night i died. it was my fiance's name that brought me back. an intriguing point in this drama that is called "mylife." if my fiance is the poing of my existence, then that is depressing to the point of suicide on one hand. but on the other hand, i suppose that life is the greatest gift to give. we can't have babies, after all--not like i'll ever be able to give the son or daughter that my fiance wants eventually. we could adopt, i suppose, which may be what my fiance means by "wanting to have children someday" (then why pursue a lifestyle that disallows it?), but i'm terrified of smallchildren.

speaking of which, they did a school tour through my kroger on tuesday. the meatcutter, who is just a few years older than me, shares my disgust/fear of smallchildren. he ran out when the tour came through our department, leaving me cramming a mixture of chicken fat, soy protein, and bread crumbs into bonelessskinlesschickenbreasts, as i was bombarded by a parade of 20 or so 5and6 year olds. i nearly froze. i nearely cried. my heartbeat grew noticeably faster; my breathing became labored. definitely a phobia. damn near had an anxiety attack. shaky and pissed when tim wandered back in. were i not so submissive and useable, i probably would have chewed him out for it. and i good deal of other things. (for instance, why the hell was i cutting meat while he wandered around the store aimlessly?)

i feel a little better, my theraflu "tea" mostly drunk. can't help but feel that a couple shots of straight vodka would kill the bacteria living in my throat, but if i start drinking, i'll get drunk, and then i'll wind up bingeing, and there is noone here to save me from myself and/or mia right now. though wouldn't it be a trip for my fiance to return home from a longday of manual labor and find me totally shitfaced? that would be so cruel of me.

i bascially have the week off work. 12 measly hours; 3 pathetic 4hour shifts. i need a little break, so i'm not complaining this time. i worked 36 last week and 2 weeks ago. i guess i get a vacation in december, because that will be my year. we have a new newguy, and if we can get him to stick around, i get more dayshifts, versus being alone and sad at night. i turn 21 in 2 weeks. my name, r/o, & 21st birthday, as i wrote on the calendar at work. "drunken night," rita wrote beneath it, and "i'll work to cover the 'drunken night'" by phil beneath. the square is quite filled; hopefully nooneelse needs to write there.

a mutual friend of my fiance's & mine, is making plans with my fiance to take me out on my birthday. i'm not sure i want to go out. i have a severe anxiety disorder; it's all i can do to go to work. go to a bar? surrounded by strangers? uh-huh...i guess i'll do what they want, though. so what if it's my birthday, yeah? just do what everyone else wants. always.

about a week ago, i got pissed off at my dad for interrupting my bulimic binge and upsetting mia, because "mia always gets what mia wants," so how dare he! as i told my pillow angrily. upon reflection, i said twice as much, though. hidden between the words, "mia...(i)...always...(never)...gets...(get)...what...(what)...mia...(i)...wants...(want)..." at least it feels that way.

you don't have to be bulimic if you don't want to i could binge and purge. i go workout. either way, i need to get out of this robe and into some clothers.