one hundred eighty seven

I know I get frustrated, discouraged and experience a multitude of other emotions when it comes to recovery. Sometimes I feel left out that I can't dabble in societal Ed the way most people in the world can. I get jealous of how others can go to the gym every day without getting so caught up in it that they suddenly find that their entire week has been spent on a treadmill. I feel excluded from the girl talk of diet sensations and I get pissed off that my roomie can just leave a scale in the middle of the bathroom floor without getting to a place where the number it flashes becomes your next fix.

But at the end of the day I keep doing what I'm doing because I know its right for me. I know that most people live in a distorted society because they don't know any better and that I'm fortunate to be aware that I don't need to be confined to those unrealistic standards of perfection. I know that hours logged at the gym does not correlate with the success of my day as a decent human being. I can have conversations with friends about real things that actually build relationships instead of talking about petty diets that are ultimately in place to make everyone feel guilty enough about their flaws to set new starvation resolutions until they all meet again. I know that it doesn't matter what the scale says, I will always HATE it, and that I don't need to torture myself by always seeking its approval. Sometimes I have ice cream for breakfast while still in bed because it is a simple pleasure in life. And sometimes I have a snack just because I can- because it is okay to be a little reckless and not overthink everything and remember that there are more things to life than having an eating disorder.

one hundred eighty six

There's a certain kind of person I choose not to associate with.

Sure, I'm cordial,

but not much beyond polite.

Do I feel bad?

Absolutely not.

And I'm still a good person.
Peace out.

two hundred eighty fve

I am a predictable mass of contradictions.

I'm the quiet nerd with a secret life as an outspoken, witty human being.

I walk through school, clumsily graceful, with eye avoiding self-confidence.

I whisper flambouyant greetings to friends I have never met.

I wear flip-flops, a skirt, and an old faded t-shirt.

I drive around with the music up and the sunroof open on the rainiest of days.

I am a pristine mess,

a mismatched fashion plate with hot pink fuzzy socks.

I am an intelligent idiot,

a procrastinating perfectionist,

a musician who dreams of never being heard.

Im a gloomy optimist,

a rebellious star patient,

a good girl with a bad attitude....

I am the nerd at a rock concert and the rocker at the symphony.

The Beastie Boys sit next to Bach in my CD collection.

I baby my parents and drive myself to the park to swing on the swings....

I am a practical romantic,

a clear-thinking flake,

an airhead with a good memory.

Im promptly late and lazily busy.

I am a southern Anglophile in suburban Utah,

an old-fashioned woman of the future

and an artist who cant draw.

I am the silent commentator.

I get the jokes, but can't make them.

Im an observer who wont look at people and a show-off who shuns attention.

I am a tongue-tied linguist and a studious slacker.

Im a fan who misses every game and a socialite without a social life.

i am an oxymoron.