flagrant disregard

> e-mail: how is the cognitive behavioral therapy (cbt) homework been going?

though the suggested cognitive therapy (cbt: specifically art or watercolor painting) appears to be beneficial, i have been too depressed to implement it. my bad attitude is not concerned with stopping nightly food rituals due the lack of a pointed reason to leave this house for the next eight days. with no place to go and merely allergic reactions facilitating the trigger to make myself throw up, who cares? heart palpitations and arrhythmias seem long forgotten. death? what death? having studied human biology, the information learned catalyzes the illness to succeed. who dies unless they do it wrong? symptoms? symptoms reinforce what i do. the swelling in my hands and feet from electrolyte imbalances? you know, whatever. symptoms of starvation are only validation or used as confirmation. little facial tics and seizures? great! they give me ethereal blog topics.

if you missed it, i just related that the current level fear is easier than trading up to temporary discomfort.

[warning: this blog entry is apt to be edited.]

there will be horrendous issues of deprivation if any media is forgotten and all spectrums need to be prepared in advance of effort. translation: in the future i will wonder why i didn't allow myself to throw up savory foods. in health, i think i may feel slighted. anxiety over the concept of deprivation is hysterical if one considers my underweight form, but do you understand? i cannot stop preparing now for future emotions. the cbt would work quickly to counter rituals (certain about that) but not until one particular human interference can be eliminated (or beaten into submission). i know enough not to plan for potential feelings and should at least try to ignore it... should immediately leave this situation, utilize an uncomfortable foreign trip to kill an issue, and be done with the rituals while everything is legible.

[excuses, rambling:]
last minute summer airfare prices to anywhere interesting are obnoxious... i could go somewhere and get a break from the mental illness found nightly... but, have already taken several amazing trips this year... dealing with guilt from not bothering to spread worldly information around in a travelogue or on this blog... suddenly became obsessed with spending a long fourth of july weekend at la libertad beach in el salvador just to go surfing... every travelogue i read about the area details either being mugged or robbed at gunpoint even after securing an armed guard... perfect... on the other hand, i've been to el salvador before (all alone) and nothing happened... a spur of the moment trip to hell could send authentic anxiety through the roof... since issues of bandits and personal security would be overwhelming, nervous ocd rituals regarding food couldn't even register and i wouldn't have to feel them die... what an unhealthy way to improve, but i'm obstinate in thinking how it hurts to get sick, so why should wellness feel uncomfortable too..? found no standard frequent flyer award availability to any destination in central america... refuse to treat frequent flyer miles as anything but currency and spending twice as many miles to open up a seat on a flight doesn't have anything to do with the way i live... decided it would be better to stay home and rot... if a spontaneous trip to central america was taken this week, i'd want to scrimp on travel expenses when chuck's vacation rolls around later in the year. chuck continually combines the phrases "somewhere to relax" and "not spend too much money" with the words "african safari" (which does not compute considering multiple airfares to reach the remote destination total over $2200 each) but (i will bite my tongue and) we will go anywhere he chooses.

surrounding details are somewhat required to be over the top for an improvement in (this particular vein of my) ocd to begin, which serves as legitimacy/severity, rather than a simple one-upmanship in competitive travel or the privilege that people make it out to be.

[later:]
when putting the black and white thinking into perspective ("i can't go to san salvador tomorrow and get well the easy way so screw it, i won't even try to stop hurting myself") it sounded like i have veruca salt syndrome which cannot be tolerated.

[later:]
"cannot be tolerated" obviously meant "do something about my problem regardless of where i am spending the night" but midnight rolled around and spiritualized carbohydrate influence was of agonizing importance.

zzzzzz...

i drove to ucla to see resident doctor #4 this morning but first beat up a parking meter after it ate a second quarter. "fail," it said, but how did it know why i was there? since the words on the sidewalk state that all roads lead to westwood, i figured it was cheaper to be four minutes late for the appointment and in a different parking space, than to peel a screaming violation off of my tree sap spotted windshield. choose the spot next to a homeless man's combination tent and shopping cart contraption setup, or possibly hold up traffic while parallel parking next to stan's donuts?

"no, no, i got it," the transient waved me off as he properly fed the meter his own quarter. still nursing three overuse sports injuries from the waist down, i limped to the magic closet.

...where i decidedly read between the lines by listening to the unspoken, and then manipulated the freudian poetry into tools required to self inflict a terrific harm on my body.

...but started feeling lazy and actually dreaded the additional exercising, exhausting depression, and prolonged desperation. i decided to only be stirred by therapeutic metaphor rather than shaken.

turning off the dichotomous perspective felt good. the black and white thinking partially relaxed until resident doctor #4 whispered, "i don't mind this purging. i have to be okay with it. i can't let my own anxieties get in the way with this but i think you're right. when you're purging everything, it's going to have to be okay. so things are okay. okay."

...and my brain mushed up a bit.

...and then a bit more.

why attend doctor appointments twice a week? what for? why would eating disordered individual ever crunch on beneficial nutrition when receiving a license to chew and spew? aren't his words basically a "'get out of trying' free card" (or "'get out of trying to pin down the specifics of allergy' free card?") did resident doctor #4 just say that he must blatantly ignore the portion of eating disorder which is killing me to try to restructure a cognitive awareness first?

why would he have said that aloud?

[thunk]

now i either telephone him to clarify, or unintentionally and itchily meet my demise one of these days in a puddle of liquefied food porn.


[later:]
resident doctor #4 had been thinking aloud in an effort to calm his own nerves about my food rituals, and was extremely surprised when i repeated his sentences suggesting a "purging tolerance" back to him.

the eating disorder abuses language, and though rational, argues its points perfectly. irrational wins when related to self harm. if resident doctor #4 (authority) says bad is good, then *ding* bad must be good. hearing "i'm okay with the purging" in any sense, could have done a lot of damage as i have been waiting for resident doctor #4 (authority) take over and write a specific food related plan. he spends 70% of the time paging through the textbooks in his mind in an effort to know what to think/say/do instead of focusing on what is happening in the room. interesting. my own anxiety is never profound enough to start talking to myself when other people are within earshot.

"i'm torn with how hard to push you... do i call emergency services and give them your number or do i try to convince you to come to the hospital right now," resident doctor #4's said. it appeared he knew the potential damage his earlier statements could inspire, but i had also mentioned no intention of scheduling blood work until 'breaking' (losing) another weight loss level. ["if he needs to find a way to accept your purging, obviously you have leeway and are not the exemplary example of thin or ill," whispers anorexia.]

resident doctor #4 went on to explain how extremely hard it is to not think about my physical health concerns. he is in constant contemplation over a crisis team, and wonders if i will either pass out in the office, or even make it home safely after the appointment. [no way am i going to pass out from merely driving to ucla and walking three blocks to an office, but once again, i need to remember he is an easily panicked student.]

luckily, both my insurance and ucla medical billing give him grief, otherwise our phone conversation could never have evolved enough to find an ocd-related epiphany and i probably would find my arm attached to an iv tube for a few days, too.

"...a respite from daily life..." this phrase has lingered in the air for much longer than those accidentally spoken thoughts from earlier in the day. in reference to illness, resident doctor #4 had suggested coming in to the hospital before even listening to my concerns about his authority of language. rather than giving me a chance to speak, he initially assumed i was calling because he, in an attempt to reconnect, has begun stating that he "cares" about me and apparently a meltdown or disappearance of sorts has been expected. i never noticed.

the healthiest choice was made by confirming the purging conversation with my physician rather than privately beating myself to the ground with the skewed permission. that's grand. did he notice? why call him to ask questions commanding anything less than life-altering results?

over the course of our two hour phone conversation, resident doctor #4 began to finally understand in detail how particular food rituals have absolutely nothing to do with my eating disorder. [it's been impossible to articulate to any physician in the past. they tie 'making myself throw up' to 'purging anorexia' and never compartmentalize it as 'the purging an allergic reaction' or 'ocd purging rituals.'] when mapping out this exercise and its relationship to ocd as something separate from anorexia, suddenly the fractures clicked into place, and resident doctor #4 got it. excited, he couldn't get the words out fast enough to explain the cognitive behavioral therapy he wanted me to work on over the course of the next week. [the art-related cognitive behavioral homework actually makes sense and appears to knock anxiety out of the ocd rituals, leaving ocd unable to perform. it felt like he was hugging me at the time, and our phone call ended on an exhausted note, in the same euphoric vein as out of breath marathon runners.

[thunk]
[thunk]
[thunk]

when time draws near and plans to end the white noise are scripted out in an eerie upright penmanship, i throw away all consideration of spiritual entrance to heaven or other dimensions and only think about suicide with a mortal simplicity.

standing in a familiar scenario (next to a guy who accidentally killed himself by falling into a woodchipper, near the euthanized quadriplegic, surrounded by partial-birth abortions) i'd again hear my father's voice, "you had the world by its ass." the mascara wand jabbed into a community college dropout's eye itself could hum the song about being dressed up like a car crash, but i'd focus my legendary disgust on the normal-sized anorexic who was standing near arrivals. that last ounce of contempt is routinely saved until seconds prior to being handed my next assignment.

gatekeeper smiles: "hey, tristan!"
tristan says flatly: "you're still working in customer service?!"
gatekeeper stamps paperwork.
gatekeeper says: "i might put in for a promotion in 2012."
tristan facetiously waves: "see you next time."

place of rebirth: buenos aires, argentina
sex: female
punishment: thumbless with prader willy syndrome
perks earned: close knit family environment
expiration date: january 4, 2030

my life is fantastic, this depression sucks.
my life is fantastic, this depression sucks.
[repeat]

it's not working.
[thunk]
it's not working.
[thunk]

mm-hmm, blonde and impossibly thin, in these daydreams i can never reach the final notary without that bastard woodchipper guy lingering in the way. always attempting to chat, why can he never just take his hell and go? my body speaks for itself in all languages except third world poverty and lumberjack so who knows where to begin?

"i convinced myself this body couldn't physically swallow."

no, that answer would never work if he took notice of my chewing gum and it could welcome inane conversation about boyfriends. last time we talked, the exchange veered toward not liking slices of pizza. bemused looks and the "god, i wish i had been given that problem" chuckles from shortsighted people milling about in transition felt embarrassing rather than elating.

hmm.

"i killed myself because life treated me extremely well and the subsequent emptiness created a lot of unnecessary limitations to try to keep me occupied. eventually i could neither live with the limitations nor without them."

so lame, so true, but who could understand the concept?

every appointment with resident doctor #4 reinforces discipline and, unless i am balancing on knives, renders me sick for the next few days. people sick, outside sick, talking sick, body image sick... i feel uncomfortable to the point of harm. brain sick, vocabulary sick... sick sounds like a good enough word.

i don't know.

rather than turning anger inward to hurt myself, i feel slightly uncontrollable this morning, as if it would be easy to lash out to attack the focus. when it comes down to it, extended and horrific abuse is never available, but i certainly think about those gruesome details a lot.

tethered to illness, i see.
imprisoned by the intensity of language
chip chip away, all day, all night.
now how could one be anything but?

funny, an offensive label boxes up nice and tidy.
easier for an unwelcome surfer to understand
a dropout can never educate a furry friend.
visitor's day, is essentially MY day.

i am infuriated by the plural, potential.
go ahead, diagnose and then feed the blogroll
but be responsible for our hungry competition.

appointment with resident doctor #4: okay. chatty. acceptable.

munchkin-watch has ended.
a boy without a name.

- was filmed surfing north of malibu.
- was filmed rock climbing in topanga canyon.
- confirmed that makeupartist friend is a wimp.
- posted on another blog.
- couldn't hold down some green beans.
- flew united airlines nonstop to new york.
- interviewed a physician at columbia.
- took a return flight to los angeles.
- bought stock in mxwl.
- checked the mailbox.
[*shrugs*]
- munchkin-watch?
- i'm still not an aunt.

where is my post about flying to santa barbara?!?!

it appears i should restart my eating disorders blog.
weird moods and invented words mix better when posted over yonder.
"...the chymiferous coating of unflickable glop..."
oh, but it's a glamorous life, i heard you say.

peanut butter can be a frightening experience.
fear = intense entertainment
consider: what if those (enormous! sticky!) numbers get stuck?
note: impossible to hit a higher intensity than that.
backwards habit aside, i had a serious craving for a scent.

sarcastic and real, only offending myself- it's a bit easier.
how to explain the word patterns here, letters... speech?
-- this blog is horribly gripped by ocd lately.

any day now, munchkin-watch will end and i will:

- become an aunt to a newborn child.
- have ears filled with woeful tales of financial stress and strain.
- need to choose a gift from target's tacky baby registry.

the gift registry listing has been picked over, leaving six or seven $3.00 items, and not only am i notoriously anti-gift certificate, but completely DESPISE shipping items across the country. now what?

i don't have the patience to continue on with this post with what it should really say. after trying all morning the words remained mean, i appeared as arrogant as i try not to be, and the entire entry (which should have been celebratory) dwelled on the fact that two people without the ability to pay for their own college education or this baby are already calling me the unborn baby's aunt. essentially, they are insisting i am related to them (and that type of irresponsible behavior) without first having considered my perspective.

it's an itchy day but all true.

i stopped banging my head against the wall in frustration and an honest effort was spent trying to change the outlook. it worked none too well and i am now considering restarting those thumps. ten percent of me is happy to be included but the remaining parts are practically irate.

funny... anger over a birth, but it's not funny- it's wrong.

decidedly, it is not jealousy and even invalid friend suggested that i will be needed to rescue the parents from some financial predicament in the near future. i am scared for their family because for me it would be required yet impossible to map out the spectrums of possibilities, to secure all bases in advance for such an overwhelming task.

[later:]
attitude only continues to increase. considering the munchkin-mother and her husband have not had any contact with me since february of 1999, how is it wrong to assume they are looking for anything more than an annual gift? i don't subscribe to their way of life. daycare for a one week old infant? how are people who are apparently only affording plastic living room furniture going to...

there is no anxiety today.
life is arranged. nothing to fear.
i'll panic for them.

overpriced inferior wool- rooftop carpet souk, fez, morocco

after suggesting the idiocy cannot inch any higher
i was alerted that rug related position #1 has arrived.
this means flying into casablanca and traveling the high atlas
to once again bargain for camel wool kilims and berber ceramics.


view from within the medina walls- atlantic coast, morocco

friday= invalid friend earned a $7600 commission at work.
saturday= there was an armed robbery at his workplace.
sunday= invalid friend earned a $9500 commission at work.
[computes]

monday= he arranged to deposit commissions into my account.
tuesday= i had frightening heart-related health concerns.
[computes]

yes, this is the same invalid friend who couldn't get hired to ring the salvation army christmas bell back during the 2003 holiday season- chuck, the one who had openly suggested he wouldn't mind living the life of a $7/hour home depot cashier.

this week= spoke to resident doctor #4 without hesitation.
next week= something about being interviewed for a dvd package.
next week= appointment with a physician on the east coast.
now= panic about the excess of it all.
[computes]

tomorrow morning i begin visiting resident doctor #4 in his magic closet again. this is a problem for a multitude of reasons, first and foremost being that i operate on consistency and tend to malfunction without it. our accelerated therapy project (monday + friday) was interrupted due to foreign trips, the memorial day holiday, and then he simply had a day off scheduled one friday. i am not a flexible person, so these minor disruptions over the last few weeks are making it difficult for me to get back into routine.

we had fantastic and explosive sessions fall between my thailand and south pacific trips, which put the two of us into a nervous territory. the magic closet was so intense the week prior to fiji, it was as though regular life wasn't allowed to interfere with our subject, and i could find no way to tell him that i would miss two scheduled dates in a row. terrified that he would try to read something into my voicemail, i did telephone from the gate at lax airport minutes before boarding the flight, but no information was given aside from saying, "i cannot make monday's appointment."

later in the week on a fijian island, i paced the length of a beachfront bungalow on the coral coast, and one short sentence explained to his voicemail that the appointment on friday was not going to happen. i should have cancelled both monday and friday during the first phone call from the airport, but didn't. having resident doctor #4 not know that two missed appointments were planned out in advance gave me an edge because, even though he had no information to draw from, i knew his mind would inaccurately fill in the blanks. [there had been a lot of tension in our sessions over whether or not a problem i have is a true illness or merely a label. it was an infuriating time (as having endured the illness, i do not know how to otherwise present myself) so having someone try to challenge its existence made it worse and threw me into a desperate depression. though i didn't want to, it felt as though i was going to finally commit suicide that week.]

the day after returning from the south pacific, i sat in his office unable to speak, and nervously gripped a small piece of coral in my hand the whole hour. resident doctor #4 did exactly as planned. he heard my call and assumed i had ignited the anger from the "true illness or merely a label" subject even though there really was none. that day he took the silence away from the room and poetically related those missed appointments to our strained relationship. i did nothing but count the white stitches on his horrible slip-on shoes.

ha! strained relationship?
[i was just gone on vacation is all.]
... but he assumed something more.
i won.
[too bad he didn't know we were playing.]

now we start again, with relatively few interruptions except for two days around the fourth of july holiday... then we both take several weeks worth of vacation in september or october. i don't know. it is frightening to go back since it seems i am going to actually get worse before finally making a substantial leap forward.

if i were apt to blow up the city,
i would insist it happen on a saturday.

i am having a hard time getting through the weeks.
each day equals four endless neon nights of pensive clock watching
perfectly refracted in orange- but then blurred by the window.

my clinical expiration date? one year, five months ago.
consider: set the alarm? stop my clock?
note: it goes against education.

here, there, afterlife #6, hallucination #10, tierra del fuego...
what's the point? i will always be me.
why wish i was dead instead of investing one lonely evening?
why bother when it will only be the same?

claude bell's tyrannosaurus rex- cabazon, california

flying over the city- los angeles, california

[sigh]

nothing good ever happened in june.

i hate june.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...