flagrant disregard

well, it's been fun staring down this trazodone for two days.

lock and key.

let's investigate the stash in my personal pharmacy. do you think these stockpiles of pills may be getting out of hand?

into the safe went the prescription sleeper, but i chose to walk out with a pill cutter and my favorite supermodel drug. indicate the tare. tweezers. the topamax tap and blow. within an hour the stupids hit hard and recited nothing except for the lankiness of my arms and how i should famously avoid xenoestrogenic parabens. later, fingers and toes were tingling, and somewhat inversed, a twitchy blindness and spatial orientation cautioned toward calculations of information at the current rate of exchange.

consider: how can one learn to sharpen proprioceptive sense and ability?
consider: how snorting a trazodone tablet would lack efficacy.

this decision to medicate eliminated not only emotion, but froze a previously intended post -- that included an insolent "who cares about the nuance of substrate or sphagnum when it’s just a bloody carpet" -- which rendered the pharmacological experiment decidedly flat.

consider: obsess over mold/bacteria rather than paraben preservatives.

consider: the itchy drive topamax eliminates-- the only fun i know.
consider: returning to the blog to incorporate that saturated sentence.
consider: what would happen if i pushed emotion rather than nerves?

reverse the ten thousand seven miles, tens of thousands of dollars, and half of a calendar to find this blog blather over buying the All or the Nothing. the problem was how we refused the waft of the narcotic and could even starve off restriction due to that threat of the life sentence.

"give us the Nothing, now! the All of it."

oh stop, just stop. we all know i both directed and needed to chew on the pre-departure drink in order to celebrate this happy half-birthday to the finally acquired All in Nothing's clothing.

[skip ahead]

yesterday the big, bad world introduced MINI Sippy Car to the less than perfect world of living with a minor scuff. the subsequent war of alternative elements supplied bipolar happification:

crap-- who scuffed up the bumper while parallel parking? (incensed)
damn-- these days, this may have even been my own doing! (elated)

true, i may have scuffed my car myself. the nutcase level of anxiety is much, much lower than experienced over the last few years. i am no longer in a situation where double, triple, quadruple checking and overt levels of care or preparedness are necessary. this little cooper is also so small and agile, it is easy to be aggressive in places where another car must hold back. rather than grumbling about someone else's inattention, sure, it may have been my fault. it's just a slight mark-- perhaps a coat of wax will clean it up.

consider: relishing in this freedom.
consider: allowing for the old All to become the new Nothing.
consider: the $120,000 porsche turbo, home delivered.

why read about entering the los angeles marathon/ when one should detail the finish line?

consider that adequacy of a brain grown bored as supercolor shoe steps to intersect the final white mark/ turn/ stand/ marvel/ account for the squint.

AND,
consider bone dry LIFEBOX shading the reverse.

Or,
anticipate the slow arrival of The Everyone,
AND, only smell their need for a towel.

monday, a resident doctor #4 day, found me catching and then carrying around one of the best sentences available: "i need you to be able to eat a little food this week." he then suggested throwing a sliver of pharmacology at the issue.

consider: now owning sentences of ultimate caliber rather than catalyzing a goal.

"not enough to knock you out," he said, and then handed me a new prescription for 50mg trazodone tablets to cut up. the last time i investigated this medicine for a speck of sleep, the dose weighed in at 12.5mg on the gram scale. within 15 minutes of acceptance, i was visually under water. trazodone was good in that it allowed me to very restfully dream away all but five or six hours of a weekend.

consider: if GRIT merely licked trazodone would it facilitate the life sentence?

my brother is moving to south korea today.

[skip ahead]

there is a god.
AND she publishes a very odd blog.

perhaps i will refuse to kite a perpetual dunce. AND all i ever want to do is carry the nasty saw. if fingering a sharp tooth/ do i dare dull it by drawing circles around his desk? on friday/ a saturday cartoon/ rusty rings must wear through/ AND, yay, his gravity will at least have the capacity to fall through to hell.

on sunday afternoon, i left motherfigure at shinjuku station, tokyo, with not only an excessive amount of japanese yen, but with my corporate keitai denwa and access to my car.

consider: waving goodbye on the first day of elementary school.

japan doesn't necessarily need to be expensive, but this is only her second time there-- and first opportunity to navigate the city alone for longer than what a day long layover at narita international airport can offer. i doubt she will find herself in either trouble or 'the epitome district' of kabukicho.

fear not, dear anxiety, i still get paid in yen and this cosmopolitan experience is a bargain whether or not she loses my cellphone.

perspective #1:
- arrghh!
- it's only 6:00am and i have already failed at lent.


perspective #2:
- never mind the clock, ruby and fat tuesday simply hasn't ended yet.

One of my employees is currently traversing Mongolia. Not only is he riding a camel between several towns, but the temperature has dipped down to -15'F outside of his felt ger each night. He sends cheerful e-mail every few days, and though it includes tales of difficult food choices, he has yet to include one bad word.

"No doubt you would suggest field rat over the camel," he joked, sensing that if required, anorexia must select the least palatable option. The requisite term muted all opposition.

Consider: If they lacked deep fried sparrow, why not conclude that rice-fed rats are only slightly less savory than Andean cuy?

Consider: The pH. The gag. His molested intestines.

And how I may have finally found someone who can safely unravel the risks of connection by simply understanding significance and consequence.

a student called me and requested i help her this semester with nuclear physics.

note that there are very few subjects in the world which i despise more than the nuclear physics subsets, but just as passionate, i hate how terms such as 'nuclear science' or 'molecular geometry' can scare people into thinking they will do poorly even with tremendous effort.

since i was introduced to this student as "having a background in neuroscience but now chooses to research in the field of astronautical engineering" (- and am not the physicist she needs -) this inquiry can speak volumes about my approachability. might i not be the hunched over and drooling troll pictured in my head? perhaps i spend so much time promoting the neologism, and attempting to create written art out of illness, that i honestly forget i am a comprehensible person offline.



consider the spectacular metaphor involving a combination of concerns:
the lone pair-lone pair repulsion is noted to be stronger than the lone pair-bonding pair repulsion.

what's that, english?
a language relating my personal brand of introversion?
vsepr theory?



now it's later and i am feeling exposed and obligated. ["i'm feeling fat, inferior, obsessing over the what if, and am annoyed with myself that i agreed to tolerate possibly appalling questions for who knows how long."] a recent reversal of a food unit due to gastroparesis has dehydrated typical distractions for the time being. i keep picturing myself piercing skin and muscle with a large bent paper clip, but that instant gratification of self injury would solute and sister with archenemy Backwards Habit. definitely, let's not discharge internal frustration by promoting a psychological substitute and its wound.

considerations:
- the blunt end of the clip
- the similar mechanisms of action between si/Backwards Habit
AND therefore, what should be the blunt end of injurious practice!



crap, crap, crap, all this metaphor involving electrostatic repulsion! even though these electrostatic forces are vastly stronger than gravitational forces, we all know they do not usually succeed in pushing the nucleus apart.

man, this is really going to suck for my 'neuroticisms' if maladaptive behavior suddenly looks right and decides to adhere to the laws of quantum mechanics.

frustration/ people who can neither tie abstract nor any depth of connection beyond the superficial. frustration/ when after pointing out the profound, having the companion in conversation stutter to desperately retain the initial primary level. frustration/ talking to the blind about the horizon. frustration/ a blind man who refuses to acknowledge sight/ AND publishes his theory as fact.

consider: perhaps three or four panic attacks in total last year.
hmm... but this blog was filled with entries relating to anxiety.

consider: already up to five panic attacks this week alone.
hmm... but i'd tell you i am much calmer than normal.

consider: the truth in that.
how it doesn't look right, but it feels real.

statute of limitations
warrant searches, court records...
AND it's no surprise the panic attacks have arrived.
the last known moments of insomnia are around 4:36am.
alarm sounds off at 4:45am.
AND it's a rush when sleep is louder than life.

it's only February.
AND today was to rank as the greatest day of the year.
AND then i opened the mail and dissected Invalid Friend's criminal background report.

i know invalid friend chuck has never been arrested.

- the trace lists six undefined felonies and six misdemeanor offenses
- no, the report does not use the word 'convicted'
- a nationwide search can locate no court documents

[thunk]

tell me how his employer looked at those facts and thought 'grand error in reporting' rather than 'gee, this is a fugitive who has never been caught!' the situation is now worse than what was originally thought to be 'the worst case scenario' in that the criminal report appears to be true. what this report does not state offers the clearest picture.

perhaps this persecuted lifestyle of of mine [- the paranoia, exaggerated distrust, and acute sense of how 'what isn't said might say it all' -] is finally adapting into useful education. i am fixated on the bold print of all of those missing sentences.

what happens now?
i don't know
BUT regardless of relationship, i will not compromise my character.

RULE: social phobia and eating disorder will always discount everything i accomplish. neurotic idea: everyone i meet will eventually know of these weaknesses. psychotic idea to keep RULE in place: even people who don't know of these weaknesses can see them prominently written all over me. RULE: i must accomplish more than necessary to compensate for illness in every domain approached.

fact: looking through other people's eyes tonight showed me that illness is a jacket. illness is a backpack-- or possibly another article lumped in my pile on the desk. illness is just something i have with me. it does not demote any accomplishment by default. accomplishments revealed gained a collective gasp, which seemed to confirm illness as an entirely different subject.

AND it's the obvious divorce as this, ordinarily only found in social situations, which helps to define those outer walls of my own maze.

AND how very simple, they would say, while forgetting that remembering to think without the complex would add to the complication.

you searched for:

1) anorexic favorite foods
2) anorexic grocery shopping lists
2) anorexia diet coke and green tea

my physician and i refuse to understand the complete stupidity of people who combine these words in a web search. we are certain that the proanorexic understudies must not comprehend that the foundation of my illness is to structure emotions and seek out to touch the hunger.

after detailing my physical subtraction, abhorring the existence of food in print, and writing about how i constantly crave to touch the sensational effects of starvation, people still ask me how to avoid hunger.

hello?
i have anorexia nervosa.
i don't want to avoid hunger.
i love the sensation of hunger.

what i cannot stand is the feeling of satiety.
i will not tolerate the muffled feeling from food.

consider: to retain one's bmi under 12, one must not think of hunger as the enemy or speak of the feeling in terms of pain.

if i avoided hunger and wanted to suppress it with 'no calorie' or 'low calorie' foods, this would counter the definition of anorexia nervosa.

to mask hunger with meals; to use diet coke, coffee, tea, enormous lettuce salads and other gratuitous filler; and to avoid hunger by trying to preoccupy oneself with sugar free gum or cigarettes-- is how people soothe themselves. whether it be by bags of salads or boxes of cookies, the gluttony is the same.

i may call it food, but there is no food in my life worthy of your definition. trips made to the grocery store will always burn more calories than ever will be allowed to be purchased. there certainly would never be the crime of writing down actual names of foods in print and then calling it a shopping list! when i get very sick, i can't even use the word 'grocery' or speak about food out loud.

perhaps the naive people who search for grocery shopping lists and other such nonsense only desire the skinny body, but if that is true, why attach the name of the illness? call it what it is-- why not say "i want to be severely underweight, but never be known to have the mental complications and chaos of anorexia."

why can't people understand that to purposely starve the body to a shocking level, one must accept hunger and mental conflict? it's hysterical that these individuals do not realize that by stuffing themselves with huge salads or cases of diet coke, they are setting their body up for future obesity. do they not understand that they are training themselves to constantly feel full? do they not see how that fullness is essentially training themselves to become obese? after restricting calories for some time, the body will override and decide to eat. how will these people regulate the capacity when the stomach is used to being stuffed?

perhaps they don't understand that in this illness, 'not eating' means to go without food for considerable lengths of time. to 'eat' means to ingest nothing but sparkling water, apple cider vinegar, and watery pickle brine for one week-- only to consider that excessive -- and subsequently delete those items and continue the restricting. in my world of anorexia, coffee, tea, and diet coke are frowned upon and considered items only for weak people who cannot endure hunger. diet coke is a symbol that reveals a secretly huge and 'wanting' person exists on the inside. diet coke is a treat and there are no treats with this illness. anorexia hates you. anorexia lets you think you may receive a break, but will never allow it. eventually, it will take away all pleasure.

are people getting their inaccurate perspective of what anorexia nervosa is from television talk shows? are they just ill-informed and unknowingly use the word 'anorexic' when they mean to say 'underweight?' do they incorrectly think that 'severe dieting' and 'anorexia nervosa' are interchangeable terms? do they not know that many people have decided to crash diet on a temporary basis and this is considered 'popular' rather than 'mentally ill?' are they falling for the headlines on tabloids and magazines that incorrectly label young able-bodied starlets with the illness? c'mon, no one at the clinic thinks nicole richie is thin enough to gather any attention for her weight. she is healthy enough in body and mind to maintain a job, nightlife, skin tone, and connections to people. my illness restricts normal activity. perhaps i am very ill right now, but i can't imagine how enormous someone's body must be to think the 'tabloid celebrity anorexics' have actually been diagnosed.

"no need to be shy," he said. "it goes on the front page."

fine.
fine.
fine.


i am conducting a lab tonight at USC.

consider: talk to, can do.
consider: talk with, kill me.

consider: 30 mmmphing undergraduates, what in the hell am i doing?!

distraction ///
- where to park?
- someone will be in my ritual space.
- i'm too fat, ugly, and outdated to go.
- what about traffic?
- what about crime?
/// distraction

the next six hours of pre-confident mode will really suck.


The Fear regarding this evening relates to __________. The Fear is the uncertainty, which then makes sense that I can only pin it onto very basic or consistent situations. I never ordinarily find myself at USC in the evening, and stepping back from the panic, I can see The Fear is trying to blow anything it knows out of proportion. Parking spaces, traffic dynamics, personal safety, stomach rumbling in a quiet room-- it's almost funny to watch as The Fear tries to protect me in its promotion.

- chuck would have been found by now if he was "wanted."
- hey, it's -20'F here.
- don't worry, relax!

[says dad]


the stress doesn't stand for whether or not chuck may have committed a crime. it surrounds: 1) what could be an insurmountable task of protecting records from future errors, 2) whether or not his new job is in jeopardy simply due to the uneasiness of the situation, 3) how chuck's boss said he was clear to come into work, but what if, 4) the annoyance of finding him a new job, 5) how and when these false records could harm before they are retired, etc...

an ordinary fear of 'whether or not the first criminal background investigation has any truth behind it' no longer matters. anxiety as a disorder never thrives in the reality. it takes all of the possibilities behind 'what can go wrong' (no matter how ludicrous) and obsesses until the idiocy is destroyed by concrete answers.

anxiety is difficult in that i spent the night in the sky, but it is also beneficial. i am now completely prepared in paperwork and information for any irrational situation. if i have the answer to the 'worst-case and completely over-extended scenario' secured in my mind, whatever may actually happen will seem pretty benign.

invalid friend's pre-employment criminal background investigation has returned six felony convictions.

[blog entry should end here]

an ocd block disables me from writing expected sentences of innocence without first blowing a kiss to superstition. how to dare to wish? how to disengage from everything except myself? six felony convictions! is this where i get sarcastic and say how difficult it will be to convince invalid friend to leave the 'stoner surf wear' at home when we meet with a lawyer?

for the record, invalid friend has never been arrested and i have suddenly turned into an idiot. god, my brain has turned to mush. what's my name? i don't know. what happens now? i don't know. could it be true? no-- er, i don't know.

AND as the real world begins to hum without a stutter and turn ultraviolet, i know i control his day to day-- CALM DOWN! AND the worst thing chuck is known to have done is documented in gold on a fast food receipt-- CALM DOWN! AND i don't really know how to clean any of this stuff up without looking into it-- CALM DOWN! AND this damn disorder multiplies the varicosity of every impossible daydream so there can be no CALM DOWN!

consider: why i no longer provide my own fuel.


[later:]
invalid friend's employer has called back with the results of a re-submitted criminal background investigation. he stated that it was clean. apparently it listed none of the criminal convictions or incidents that it did the first time. chuck can expect to receive a report in the mail from the investigator within three days and there is no threat of losing this new job.

consider: might that be a trick? how did this second background investigation only take an hour rather than the usual seven to ten days to complete? is chuck going to go to work tomorrow and be arrested?

consider: even if this situation truly is over, how to (and why) trust it? there are now one hundred things to do and secure. the magnitude of the stress may be relieved, but the stress on a whole will remain.

consider: should Afterward ever arrive, not doting on about the privilege of experience.

animated and sassy/ talked of the two distinct but muffled voices/ then came clean and revealed that my one perfect transcript last semester was secretly three. three for three/ computes. the predictable and scheduled grief inspires pining for some/ others a yawn/ but we'll all s'pose now is the time to fake some of that plastic profundity.

note: did not refer to self as satan.
consider: how resident doctor #4 is not proficient in exposing evil.

- mentioned concerns over upcoming medical appointments.
- revealed needing to seek out The Whitelights and slipping kidneys.

consider: nothing i can do, not even a combination of clenbuterol and a complete water fast, will provide the level of depth i feel i need to present to an internist. a physical medical exam is not a session with resident doctor #4. the nuances of sickness are tremendous in the Magic Closet but will not be in an examination room. naked, skinny, and on a table. under the influence of extended abstinence and rigorous discipline, i would still be naked, skinny, and on a table. a referral for inpatient treatment and a request to stay overnight at a hospital would be offered if i was examined today. there is no lower rung-- if coherent, i will not be offered anything different next week.

"yeah, nice try."
consider: numbers on medical record = concrete evaluation

AND i left with Elevated Mood and three new prescriptions to fill.

a billion new projects which span the spectrum start today. AND though i have a prescription for it, if one should fail, this will be the highest success.

monday, a Resident Doctor #4 day, may find me standing in the Magic Closet amid sentences suggesting to strive for the C. AND we approached this C nonsense last year without success [consider: fail] since i insist on ranking all my personal over achievement at a reduced par. AND i also refuse to sign my name to complacency or to partner with someone who may need resuscitation.

AND the other part:
Resident Doctor #4 never chose to visit Scaryland, either.
fact: not even as a tourist.
consider: his description is worth what?

consider: not "if" one project should fail, rather, "when."

consider: The Doubt.
consider: which button to press?
consider: START / END

AND the omnipresent lack of conclusion says hello.

Alexithymia has again reduced vocabulary to rely on the words frustration or anxiety. Over the last few days, and specific to initiating major changes in DAILY LIFE, the disaffectation is such I have lacked the capacity to distinguish between excitement and fear, or apparent feelings of hunger and exhaustion.

try...
label...
compartmentalize?!

The last bits of winter vacation are dwindling down, and though every destination seen in January could have inspired a great blog entry, this next week is that which matters. Everything will change, and I am now experiencing a throttled feeling of [something]. Honest to God, the emotion is, but isn't, that misplaced fear and/or excitement, with a combined elements of exhilaration and suicidal ideation.

Consider: The recent worry wasted on fearing flatness and apathy!?

Perhaps, I should choose to thwart the train wreck category in detailing the nervousness which surrounds confusion, and instead reveal the variety of normal apprehensions:

New research projects. New university facilities. New mentors. New classes. New traffic dynamics. New personal and professional relationships at Columbia University Medical Centerin New York. New structure implemented in regard to food units. New love and hate relationship with Cereal Box Dietitian. New and somewhat insulting medical bills! New lease in Los Angeles. New tenant in my Tokyo apartment.

AND I also have a new niece who was just born last Monday.

AND the new job Invalid Friend Chuck started offers alternative thrills, too.

February compromises my only need:
to answer every possible complication in advance.

Blah, blah-- stop it! I've grown bored of obsessing over DAILY LIFE and how each instance poses an easy right turn on red, or the possibility of a nervy left without an arrow. Given the situation, I'd die upon hearing the horn rather than after having been smashed in traffic.

What is worse than living in a city without timed traffic lights is having to install ceramic brakes on a car which has yet to rack up 5000 miles. What I am saying is that occasionally the light can be seen changing and I hate knowing I will squeak when coming to that complete stop.

An hour after stumbling upon Motherfigure's Only Son's blog, I maintain that I was prepared to be disturbed, but never expected the horror to excite another spectrum of esteem in myself.

AND now, the silent time will obsess over 'why we choose to represent ourselves in the way we do.'