worst suit EVER

One of my least favourite things: body hate.

Being crazy (clinically speaking, anyway) and having an eating disorder (though currently asymptomatic) is like wearing an enormous full-body suit with lead hands and feet which cause you to stoop forever, which causes chafing because the belly of the suit is made out of steel wool. Oh and the suit has built-in goggles which are always dirty and made of frosted glass. Also, the suit is way too warm and you want to take it off SO bad, but you can never ever ever take it off.

So today at my parents' house i tried on a dress my aunt gave me two months ago and when i zipped it up it was decidedly snugger than it was then. I started to freak out, verbally, while my mom was in the next room. "Oh, it's probably your new meds, honey!" she said.

To which my only thought was: ohgodohgodohgod i have lost control over my body i gotta get it back NOW

and what really tops this scenario off is that two of my most special, best supports for body stuff are 1) a health professional i can no longer see because she's in another province and 2) someone who recently has demonstrated that he cannot or will not be a support to me through his complete lack of condolence during another time of need.

i am going crazy (crazier) in this fucking suit, you guys!

taking pictures of a girl who's in a wheat field

My dreams have been startlingly sad lately. I choose to think this the result of the new, sleep-inducing medication I've been prescribed.

Last night after I closed my eyes I desperately wandered a nameless New York metro station, rocking forward on tippy-toes looking for a tall figure in the crowd. Wandered into an underground symphony hall where a beautiful orchestra was practicing Brahms. I sat alone in the huge theatre and began to weep into my bag of candy. I tried to call out a request for Sibelius but my voice wouldn't emit anything but a pale squeak.

When the orchestra took an intermission from rehearsal, I stared into the familiar brown eyes of a cellist and my heart didn't flutter but stung like bitten fingers; itched like a new sunburn. We leaned in and didn't kiss but breathed gently into one another. He pressed two new HB pencils into my open palm and then I was alone in the metro again as trains rushed by.

with your silent brand-new sneakers

In the eight days that I've been here, there hasn't been one day where it hasn't rained (or snowed, in today's case).

Not to be overly dramatic, but I've also already been to the hospital. It's all okay right now, in the immediate sense, but I can't shake this feeling of doom.

She said, in her completely public blog.

On the positive side of things, I have already been to the liberry (liberry! LIBERRY), the statue garden, the teen sex cove, various drinking establishments, the quasi-vegan bakery, and the roastery.

My drawings haven't been very good lately.

Last night Steph and Cat and PD and I curled up in blankets and read out loud to each other whilst drinking peppermint tea. It was really lovely.

That's really all I can report. I'm hoping for feeling better once printmaking starts.