flagrant disregard

x-ray film folder containing medical records

tomorrow afternoon i will find out whether my physician will schedule surgery for my ankle, or just refer me to be fitted for an immobilizing brace.

none of this ankle related care is too important, as i currently am walking six miles a day. the swelling has reduced and rarely is the ankle kept wrapped. the only urgency is how i want to quickly collect miles by running instead of obtaining my exercise through walking and swimming. also, it is difficult to justify the expense of the doctor appointment when i should instead buy all of my psychiatrist's open slots this week.

consider the Plastic Rule: how drinking water in a plastic bottle must now be avoided. how a negligible vegetable purchased from the produce section of a market is usually placed in a lightweight plastic bag prior to approaching the check out register. how the hand-held shopping cart in the store is more often than not constructed from hard plastic. AND what hell it would be to consume more than what one could carry. consider the arrogance of this basket complex. AND its conflict regarding Rules which demand minimal transactions. AND consider the influence a simple Plastic Rule will have.

New Rule: food is no longer allowed to touch ceramics or plastic.

big deal, or is it?

this Rule is HUGE.

everything is transported in plastic.

it may prove difficult to incorporate.

difficult to maintain.

AND suddenly, what's this?:
Elevated Mood Without Guilt.

Rule, Game, Goal:
a life without plastic.
AND outside of my moroccan gallery
there will be no ceramics.



"AND this life without plastic may prove impossible"

says you, via e-mail, mr. moob?
making fun of my language, eh?
scared to pick up the phone, too.

good, i love the hurdle
love of the hoop
light the match

practice
AND
practice
AND
prove you never need practice, by succeeding at the fiery option first.

oh, monday the perennial Day One,
AND i'm so happy to finally have something stupid to Do Not Do.

everything related to the structure of food is screwed up. it seems backwards in unfamiliar ways, but what does that really mean? the specific problem is with anorexia and how its New Rules stand at a conflicted point with Old Rules. Rules, per definition, are to supply order and a sense of calm. i need these Rules to come together soon because any results from being cornered too long cannot be productive.

i want to (again) label this period of time as the worst illness has ever been, but rock bottom in this case will never allow life. i see i need to talk myself out of how bad this time is by stating, "of course anorexia feels to be the worst ever-- but the restrictions are simply different. i'll get the hang of it soon."

i feel the need to fulfill all Rules of both Old and New. this is impossible, since New Rules may allow or restrict that which was allowed through the Old Rules.

these mental games become too close and passionate, therefore it is virtually impossible to drop the Old Rules. how could i ever allow myself (something) which previously had been restricted, especially when that restriction was protected by a threat of a violent punishment? Old Rules remain because they were intense and unforgettable. an Old Rule may now be deemed unnecessary, but when standing next to a New Rule, it becomes another puzzle.

i know managing both sets of New and Old Rules is impossible, but i cannot quit. i am obsessed with finding the solution. i feel sick and lazy if a challenge is available but i opt for an easier route.

this problem should end here: Old and New are in conflict. if i feel the need to adhere to these puzzles to restrict food, then i need to pick one set of Rules and get on with it. operating on one set is acceptably neurotic and has its elements of fun, but it will work. trying to maintain both sets of Rules is becoming psychotic and... and it is hurting other people.

at 78 mph on the westbound 10, the driver immediately in front of us lost control of his car. the result was (hopefully) the most frightening event i will take in this year.

how was one supposed to process the two seconds prior to impact? consider relativity and how those passengers experienced a much longer period of time than any onlooker.

"right there, the law of increasing chaos," i marveled toward the twisting car. it spun erratically, then abruptly veered towards the right and smashed into the concrete soundproofing wall. chuck's comment was much more human than mine, but i expressed those strong words, too.

it was almost hidden by the incredible shower of sparks, but the car hit with such a force that it seemed to bounce backward before completing a double somersault to land on its roof.

no souls managed to escape this hell, but a woman did. how odd for this breathless moment of pause, which was to let those spirits wisp by into peace, suddenly snap. hyper strangers quickly scrambled out from underneath the scene. it was over that fast, but yet _________ hadn't even started.

consider:
the relationship between adrenaline and amygdala.
AND the discomfort from watching my omnipresent solution fail.




five miles later, my stunned affect became an act-- but how else does one tolerate taking their obnoxious and ravenous muppet to the los angeles county fair?

chuck has cancelled my session with resident doctor #4 again. this makes five cancellations out of the last eight appointments.

i don't know how to proceed. either i go "pay someone to kill anorexia" and then anorexia beats me to hell in a manner more psychotic than obsessive, or, i stay home and retain the regular version of the battle.

NO!!! a fedex courier just slipped an envelope under my door and inside was a prescription for the illegal substance i recently mentioned injecting. my new internist is the only person who knows and could have arranged for it. this is extremely protective, and obviously i am going about it wrong, but i am supposed to be testing limits and breaking rules.

the doctor who contacted me is foreign, and this drug is available with a prescription in his country. this prescription i have just received does not allow me to obtain more, but it has changed "illegal substance" to "prescribed medication."

well, all exhilaration is deflated now, isn't it? i mean, consider how just owning the damn bottle upped my metabolism.

the point of buying it was to feel good, alive, and perhaps, to allow a form of elevated mood without guilt. i also thought maintaining an excited metabolism would facilitate digestion. so far, the substance has only made my skin oily and allowed for many tremors-- there is no interest in abusing it.

an ivy league university recruiter is trying to seduce my talents. when i initially suggested a lack of interest, he was thrown. when i suggested his subsequent stammering indicated he merely worked for the university and had never the displeasure of enrolling, he did break.

it's difficult for people who have never made anything out of their stack of crap to understand the vein where an "ivy league" affiliation can reduce one's achievements. unless it's columbia, they pay triple plus expenses, and also supply a startlingly nice apartment, i am not interested in the attempt.


the sitcom continues...

a few days later, i was contacted by a researcher at columbia university.

it's no secret that i am extremely interested in what he can offer me. agoraphobia might prove to be an attitude because i have accepted the invitation to visit and will get to this appointment. the only thing standing in my way is, of course, the mechanics. what do i wear? what is appropriate for their weather? the common fear, for instance 'the inability to effectively produce' does not compute.

one part of me is already disappointed because i am not healthy enough to leave resident doctor #4 for an opportunity in new york. flying back to los angeles for an appointment with him every ten days or so sounds feasible, though it really is not.

contrast this with how another part of me doesn't ever want another session with "anyone being paid to kill anorexia" and grants its blessing for me to crash land, congested yet alone, in manhattan.

my tax problem has finally wrapped up. when all was said and done, i had to sign a few statements, and now have a bill to pay.

my accountant (who should be skewered, glazed, and then served sliced on a glass plate) is only under the threat of the hangman for a few years. he is also paying a large percent of my financial obligation-- thanks to my cut-throat attorney.

the two of us will never talk again, which is fine. my accountant's daughter is one year younger than me, and this imaginary barrier was strong enough to always distance me from his propositions.

what i will miss about him: he may have been the only person i have ever met who also adhered to my strategy of 'maintaining the oddness of restriction' to promote one's net worth.

one professor i have this term insists that all students sign up for 'microsoft windows live/hotmail plus account' and use it expressly for his course. a few students are at odds with the fact that 'windows live' is not a free service, and forget to shrug off the cost as one of the course's supplies. had this service come on a cd-rom and easily purchased at the university bookstore, no one would have thought to raise an issue.

i can neither reach the $20 a year argument nor log on. the website will not allow me to sign up-- all week it has been returning errors stating they are having temporary problems and "to try again later."

oh, this sucks because it doesn't appear that anyone else (on earth) is having a similar issue. after restarting my computer several times and also having gone through the ritual of investigating what might typically be in conflict, i still am receiving errors from an assortment of microsoft sites stating there is a problem on their end. the fact is, it isn't obvious but seems as though my cheap computer system inspires the ordeal. after deleting cookies, clearing the cache, attempting to connect from both wireless and dial up-- nothing works. perhaps the remedy is as simple as my browser needing to be updated.

i should walk over to the los angeles public library and try to sign up for an account from their open kiosks. bah! anything but that. i haven't been but ten steps into the local satellite library and...

... elements of little concern that wouldn't panic anyone else but facilitate my catastrophic fantasies go here:

call in the panic! cue the adrenals! is there a waiting list to use the public computers? do i need to sign in with a library card? what type of tracking and logging do they practice? why would that be a concern? under the influence of what pharmaceutical could cause me to act inappropriately in a public place?

or, the real issue. i have several home computers. i wouldn't want to take public access away from someone who hasn't their own private system.

the professor will drop me if i do not respond from my new windows live account by tonight. this action of signing up for an account is basically a role call to get an idea of who is in attendance.

this is a problem. i have withdrawn from several courses already and to essentially have one of the few remaining classes 'taken away' from me inspires more stress. going out in public today and trying to rectify this is an annoying need. i do not want to go outside. i do not want to get dressed appropriately in clothing that touches my body and keeps reminding me that i own one. today, agoraphobia and i could conspire to keep the door locked. i would ignore its risk. we could live very peacefully with each other and forget about the dangers.

i had enrolled in five courses at this particular college. one was dropped immediately. although it appeared interesting, my social structure
limited me from filling the requirements. it wasn't an issue of whether or not i was comfortable completing the class-- i simply would not be able to do it within the semester's time frame. what a nice relief to merely access my student enrollment records, point the mouse to the 'drop' button, and then confirm i was out of there. this was neither a class i thought to 'investigate and potentially drop' nor was it invalidated due to this planned season of starvation. i somewhat regret these credits have been postponed.

i dropped a second class yesterday for pretty much the same reason-- there is a social and interpersonal aspect i will not be able to complete.

right there, with two classes dropped due to my lifestyle, i wondered if this social issue was being blown out of proportion. no. it the complex is true and not rooted in nervous retraction.

this second dropped class would have been beneficial in continuing to challenge the way i "talk" (or don't talk) about food. the vocabulary and personality i find intolerable was required. at the end of the semester, i would marvel at how stuck i live today. the main problem with these classes is in the lack of connections which are needed to finish the course. due to my history of isolation, i don't have the spectrum of society that is available to the other students. i am certain i would have succeeded, and these endeavors are meant to be challenging, but they do not need to be painful.

if i should get dropped from this course today due to not signing up for windows live, i feel like "what's the point of being enrolled in any of this? screw it. i will find Potentially Overwhelming in another domain and postpone this research and education for a few months." the racing thoughts, catastrophic fantasies, and black and white thinking never stops.

it's no secret that without this course, my schedule would remain overstuffed when stacked next to another person. that doesn't matter, though. it's not good enough for me. i can't get dropped. my ratio of success and activity in this regard needs to define a level beyond the overstuffed. if the excess in production doesn't baffle and impress me, i feel like the activity is a waste of time.

should i need to withdraw from all obligations in order to obtain anorexia's desired number this fall, fine. if i'm not obsessed enough, i intend to be.

apparently, the picture isn't near as dark as it looks.

so far, in order to win at the loss, i have intentionally dropped half of my course work and cancelled three out of six scheduled international business trips. typical me-- all of the demanding and miserable endeavors which have been on my ass, but aren't necessarily interesting, are expected to remain.

right now, i'd rather my exasperation only involved returning a few textbooks, but instead it is directed at a post-it note found on my desk. a neon green square announces that my new internist has set up several future appointments with michael strober-- one of the world's leading authorities on the subject of eating disorders. seeing as he is the editor of the relevant international journal, i will arrogantly suggest nothing should affect him.

if he's seen it all, how would i immediately prove that i could teach him? the philosophy held today suggests no other purpose in meeting him. nothing is fatter than intentionally wasting a resource. just like last tuesday's situation with resident doctor #4-- what is the point of abusing another person's time if the intention was to continue squinting my eyes closed? AND so, it's no surprise my head has rendered me very fat since the plush private practice.

AND why should i be encouraged to converse with an acclaimed doctor who probably assumes he could finish my sentences? AND why even bother to consider possibilities resulting from thinking in the wrong direction? AND isn't it clear my illness and i conspire to find and then make the unsophisticated accidentally shove us off the edge?

i am just coming down from processing the "paying someone to kill anorexia" issue and haven't completely decided whether or not resident doctor #4 will be allowed to proceed in this direction. don't take away my only friend. it took away my ability to make and retain others. i would never know how to live or what decision to make. the nothing it made is packed with never ending extensive obsession, testing, and checking. it's the loss of living without it which would be overwhelming and vastly empty.

new areas of illicit thoughts have recently been reinforced. in other areas, i feel weak. this is the best time to pay to meet with dr. strober because my chaos had changed and i am not quite sure of its design. essentially, this doctor is the most famous threat... and therefore these appointments cannot happen unless it has been predetermined they will inspire a fantastic sickness.

awesome. my professors for this upcoming term have already sent my objectives by fedex. too bad i've given up on finding a warden outside of myself. too bad i don't care about anything other than loosening up my central nervous system.

"...must jump through this hoop," demands professor #1, but a previous typo suggests he is apt to misplace most game pieces long before december. what a joke. who is to believe any of this? at the end of the term, the rule always breaks. everyone gets a pass-- student's failures become padded and acceptable but i miss out on the treat since my 100% has nowhere to advance.

i saw resident doctor #4 tonight for the first time in private practice. this is seen as an indulgence, thus was restricted. i spoke not one word-- not even hello -- and eye contact was never made.

one step in from the door is where i stopped. my body was not only controlled of movement, but also in the capacity of vision. it was determined my eyes would gaze or glaze on what could be seen in a three foot by two foot area of space. to the left was the bumpy fabric of a yellow chair. i got the impression from an indication of light that there was probably a large neutral-toned rug in the room. resident doctor #4 had told me before that there were windows. i couldn't tell you if there were any windows but traffic on wilshire boulevard could be heard.

resident doctor #4 can pinpoint my state of engagement based on my external presentation. was it confusing to find that open was shut and in color meant dull, or did he know i was choking my own chain under the surface? my hair was loose-- a rare and perhaps a profound feat at this length. the fitted blue leather jacket i chose also allowed for the example of exposure. under it, a superstitious depiction of a cartoon cat wore a beret while holding a baguette. march 1999. my mother had purchased this happy shirt at a tourist kiosk near the latin quarter in paris-- oh yes, she somewhat grasped my disconnection at the time, but never accepted her violation.

perhaps resident doctor #4 saw through me. perhaps the lack of black clothing and typically wound around braids tonight did reveal a fraud, rendering this tightness to appear not very ill at all.

"anorexia is putting me through many variations of conflicted hell since i started to understand its structure"

AND

"i am dying because all of the lunatic Rules of Anorexia, which usually provide elements of fun and distraction, have suddenly changed and are now illegal-- this has become dangerous"

AND

"this really isn't me anymore-- my intent is to maintain a fractured state, not one which is broken"

are all meaningless in resident doctor #4's office. the sentiment behind the factual statement is much more important. how would the topic of a sports injury be dissected? what is the therapeutic metaphor?

"a game?"
"i am playing a game with him?"
"i lost the game...?"

"i am wounded?"
"i am defeated?"

or worse,
"anorexia played hard but broke."

consider how i have been going through hell, but he could easily suggest this is an exciting and positive period of time.

they moved the art store. now everything is nervous and different. the contents has merely been relocated from one side of santa monica boulevard to the other, but who knows the layout of the new building? how am i supposed to know where to find anything inside? the other location wasn't perfect, but the traffic dynamics always proved typical and i knew where to park.

i can't go there now.

it had been fine-- ordinarily managed without any thought to worry. now it's going to be screwed up for me for awhile.

it would be difficult to go inside this new store knowing i would bumble around at first. plus, add to that, consider how someone is apt to see that i don't know exactly where i am going. someone will watch me try to find my way around.


"oh," said resident doctor #4. "no, i don't have a receptionist-- if that's what you're asking."

consider: "paying a specific someone to kill anorexia."
consider: how the recent response to this has not been pleasant.
consider: how i usually get a tremendous thrill out of illness.

were the last few weeks broken?
or, in an intense state of destruction/reconstruction?

i said: "i don't have time for this."
illness said: "how can you not have time for Nothing?"

the countering increases. the rhyme is mostly reasonable. the language of ridiculous riddle offered is inane, but fun in the way it leaves me perpetually looking for a solution.

AND the fact is, this illness was specifically designed for and to promote unwavering obstriction. the lack of trapdoor works to stifle even a pondered rebellion. as this strange time of decompensation moves further into history, the questioning calms-- soothed with the presentation of The Rules.

illness says: "Laws."
illness says: "Don't worry. Redefined Rules persist."

consider: the promised prize previously revealed itself as a lie.
consider: the need to double check.

consider: merely reaching the location of where that mental prize should have been awarded, and how it will offer at least an hour of undisturbed elevated mood which has never been obtained elsewhere.

cured, but due to politics of health insurance and disability, i was still seen by my internist in urgent care this morning.

i didn't want to leave the house.
why, again, make the drive to ucla when i am fine?

it was a horrible morning. this doctor has only been in my life one previous time and i am stuck on the fact that if he does remember me, it's either due to my physical appearance, or for trying to score amphetamine salts.

the wrong turn started when the intake 'nurse' took my blood pressure and questioned if i was allergic to any medications. she also (somewhat loudly) announced that i was 20 minutes late. on cue, i stated my doctor was 22 minutes late last time and therefore i still owned two minutes worth of leeway before my appointment time would be hit with a penalty.

apparently, patients grumble, but never specifically.
AND, therefore, i am from mars.

a conversation richly punctuated with neuroanatomical vocabulary was proven to be a rare foreign language for the intake 'nurse.' when i used the term "auriculotemporal" she abruptly stopped taking notes and got stuck in a looped state of "oh-my-god, oh-my-god, aurio-auto nerval, wha-ha?"

consider her position, how "nerval" is a terribly lame off the cuff neologism, and how i should have been the only one out of the two us us allowed to test a state of "oh-my-god." also, consider it interesting that my resting heart rate must have been double stuttering to reach that digital triple digit and yet she was too thrown to notice this exciting number.

AND because i like kicking people in the teeth when it's clear they won't understand the joke, soon after her level of potential had been determined, i suggested i would wait for my doctor in the main waiting room.

AND so, while becoming increasingly agitated and depressed to be living among the dead, i waited with mostly diabetic geriatric patients who fell into two categories: 1) those who liked my hair and wanted to loudly talk openly to other strangers about how much they liked it; or, 2) whimpering patients whose ankles were swollen much worse than mine. i decided that today, i needed to represent myself as anything other than the clinic's 'standard set' of the slow and bent.

happy?!
how about: happy and energetic?!

fine.

which my doctor was not expecting--
noticeably, not expecting.

when i saw this internist in july, depression was profound. i could barely lift my head, and when i did speak, eyes only focused on a corner of a sink cabinet. today i decided i had to be the one to tell him who i was and what i was all about-- because that last appointment, in concert with my outdated medical file, was starving the unnecessary.

i explained the frightening health events which occurred over the last week, and detailed the procedures i used to test and treat the sensory losses. a second example was presented which proved my treatment tact toward the ailments were not coincidence.

he said he would have never thought to use pilocarpine to relieve the pressure from swollen parotid glands. had i been received in urgent care last friday (as was originally planned, but he had postponed this appointment until today) i would have been admitted and probably still be in the hospital.

this is good. he now knows me for something notable aside from anorexia.

the eating disorder didn't go ignored, though. even though i have access to resident doctor #4, my internist wants me involved in one of the eating disorder treatment programs at ucla in some capacity.

illness has basically crossed into very nervous territory. i have referrals for a team of professionals to use as a "back up plan" should i want or need to put it into place.

i injected an illegal substance.
i inverted an apple.

"you might find its sweet spot tomorrow," it suggested.

of significant importance: the villain was outfitted in navy and kelly green.

this doesn't feel like rock bottom.
it really doesn't.

i bet resident doctor #4 let's me suffer. i bet he never returns the call.
i bet, with these two destroyed appointments in a row, this unwound state is where it ends.

chuck has again called this week to cancel my appointment with resident doctor #4. our transition into private practice should have been over by now-- but i still have yet to enter his office.

i don't know how to articulate the problem other than, "i can't get down to westwood tomorrow night and, by the fact of a rare or spontaneous chance that i could, i certainly wouldn't be getting out of the car."

AND i try to blame mechanics as that which blocks the way to resident doctor #4. "i don't know how to predict and prevent each 'threat of an awkward moment' that may stand between my house and his office door." these catastrophic daydreams distract from the painful issue of "how i am suddenly paying a specific someone to kill anorexia." to say this is not sitting too well with anorexia is the year's biggest understatement.

if i am going to continue to separate "me" from "my problem" then i also have to state that it's not fine by me, either.

i have two large papers to start and also submit before midnight. they are to be written in a language i neither write well nor care to practice. the subject matter is tiresome and flat. my only motivation has been to reflect on the imbalance between 'the solitude in the text' and 'the energy of science' it details.

ah, and there is where the sick rhyme started-- when i caught myself swimming in the interstice and forced an examination of interaction between excitation, inhibition, and limits of attention. how to pause, just for a second, between hyperactive states of urgency and my proclivity for sedation? that area of non-illness is thought to be intolerable. perhaps it isn't now.

i don't have to be a writer for this class, but do need to remain coherent enough to provide information. it can be a technical read and retain an undesired stoutness. i have previously tested the system-- six strictly distinguished sentences in a row screamed out for a synonym. either no one noticed or the dull template is an expected standard. it's not a class in creativity-- i don't plan on doubling up on the work.

it's sunday-- the day after. aside from chest pain, which is one of the side effects from the pilocarpine taken last night, i am completely fine.

even though i did not notice an immediate reduction in swelling, all senses fully returned within a few hours of taking that first dose of medicine. i can now hear the car stereo, smell the litter box, and for a brief moment, was convinced that sea salt crystals tasted like the afterlife. a body is easily dehydrated from this amount of pilocarpine and mine craved the mediterranean crystals straight from the mill.

the plan is to continue with the pilocarpine for another day or two-- but i am scared to death of it. care is justified for a variety of threatening health concerns, but the particular fear relates to the role pilocarpine plays in promoting lactation. anorexia will not tolerate how, in combination with my pathetic nutritional profile, a trite amount of medicine can greatly influence my hormones (and therefore the size of certain body parts). if i take in one extra bite of food and my body changes, fine. it is difficult to lack the control and have to watch a pill influence size independent of caloric intake.

my new internist isn't greg house -->
so, why would i entertain the drive to ucla? -->

why always try to reveal one's skill? -->
why do people always need to be directed toward the right answer? -->

why do i never act on myself? -->
what am i waiting for? -->

sigh

i don't know my internist good enough to enjoy firing him just yet -->

ode to my old student loans -->

increase in desperation -->
strained purging of water and minor caloric intakes ->
additional appearance of violent bulimic behavior -->
dramatically swollen parotid glands -->
leading to possible compression (?)
or injury (?)
to facial nerves (?) -->

consider the parasympathetic nervous system -->
consider stimulation of the sympathetic nervous system (?) -->

AND if i were to get technical, additional information relating to ganglionic or other nerves probably should be considered here -->

or, simplify this by reducing parotid and submandibular swelling (which may be interfering with various branches of nerves) through the use of extremely potent sialagogues -->

hmm...
hmm...
hmm...

consider my shoebox pharmacy -->
it still stocks a bottle of pilocarpine hydrochloride tablets -->
oral pilocarpine is very strong cholinergic agonist -->

concern -->
worry -->

consider these tablets to be a poison -->
consider stagnation -->

or, consider taking care -->

take two pilocarpine tablets now -->
if they come back up within a few minutes, try, try again -->
take two additional pills later -->
expect exaggerated side effects at this dosage -->

drink two liters of water tonight -->
the eating disorder will protest -->
consider "something + something" is not nothing + other Rules of Anorexia -->
easier said to drink water than ever done or dealt with -->

consider if not compensating with fluids -->
heart may not regulate the hemodynamics -->
get the damn water down -->
obsess about being poisoned if necessary -->
keep drinking -->

prediction:
swift reduction in swelling to parotids --> reduced swelling to related salivary glands --> expect to catalyze the reduction of pressure to auriculotemporal and associated nerves -->

expect on sunday that, if i can get enough water in and keep the pills down --> swelling will subside --> offering a reduction in pressure -->

AND i will be fine.

AND again, is a sense of smell slowly returning, or is it that i only seek to inhale the strongest of scents?

well, i am about to force the sickness this afternoon and push on to question whether alternate forms of any 'sense' actually exist. i honestly do not feel in control of (a portion of) the recent (and imminent) behavior.

i don't know what this entry is apt to say tomorrow. not only will my eyes not stay focused on one object, but when reaching to type a j, the screen occasionally shows an f. an expectant d on the keyboard results in having the direct opposite k pressed from the body. are these motor concerns neurological issues from the week, for instance, a form of disrupted communication between hemispheres-- or merely a sad state of dehydration? it's not that i cannot see-- i am suggesting a current deficit between thought and physical action.

chemical imbalances are wild and relate to 'keeping down food at night' and a compromised concern of 'being sick occasionally during the day.' it is the rare occasion to find me with a nutritive intake during daytime-- and one adequate to purge at that. a few days ago, i threw up one apple. it doesn't make any sense why i would: 1) eat an apple during the daytime; and, 2) decide one apple amounts to a catastrophe when the rest of the entire day's caloric allowance remained open.

even if i couldn't run, or go out for a walk, getting sick on such a small amount of hard fruit is painful and horrendously strenuous (in comparison to being sick with the benefit of propulsion from a 'bulk' of food). i spend considerably more turmoil ridding the small portions from my stomach. the twisting inside is different when focused on tidbits. the squelch which i cannot explain takes an effort to return and define itself. also, with a small edible, there is never time to transverse into a state of dissociation. consider eating a large amount of food or small, and the mental pain, if it must be called a discomfort, is identical. purging small is a much larger pain physically.

losses and damage never have influenced behavior-- i have had that conversation with a lot of people. "if something important were taken away, the problem would stop." strangers to the issue are convinced-- they don't understand that dissociation, the regulation of emotions, the addictive qualities, the behavior of family members which once adapted to facilitate smooth evenings but can never veer from that safe routine... even though the routine is no longer safe.

if i knew i was to lose my hearing entirely if i were follow through on this next purge, that truth of the loss has no bearing on the intensity under the surface. the release i am about to get is exceptionally more important than anything. AND, this intensity, doesn't have much to do with fat or thin. it's what leads up to this crap that does.

over the last few days, i considered whether or not a portion of this conflict ("how losses might cure") may be true. i thought these sensory losses of mine were different from say, items which could not be bought, and that their deterioration might help to change. hearing loss is a much different level that that of lost privileges. "i didn't eat today-- i can't watch television." "if you throw up tonight, you can't do (whatever)." well, who cares? those ideas (or, threats?) are completely meaningless. the emotions this illness structures are so much more profound than television or a special event.

i was scared for a minute, i guess, on one afternoon. yesterday, maybe-- or it might have been the day before. i was renewed for three days, perhaps. lost then without clarity... for most of the rest of the time. today i gave up. "if an entire loss is what happens, well, i need this release no matter what." a few minutes after, i wished that i had not given up. no doubt, it would have continued in its own fugue.

i don't know how this will unfold, but this week certainly holds a marker.

my physician (the new internist, who probably doesn't know my name from anyone) cancelled my appointment on friday and told me to come in next wednesday morning.

loss of hearing, reduced sense of smell, taste, and occasional slurred speech all mean nothing? is he serious? i didn't present a reason or explanation. am i really supposed to shelve this until next week?

why are these real symptoms meaningless when told from an invisible voice?

when i have shown up to a medical office in person, in perfectly functioning physical order [and maintaining perfect grades, employment, managing parameters of daily life {shopping, bill paying, friendships}] yet at a weight of 90 pounds or less, my physical appearance always summons for the flurry of additional medical personnel.

an experiment focusing on popping or clearing potentially clogged ears by transversing a span of altitude via the freeway:

consider: broken rules, additional acts of swallowing.

after picking chuck up from work, we set off to drive through the mountains and back at midnight. with bottled water, super-sized 'big gulp' cups of diet soda from 7-11, and sour sugar-free chewing gum secured to act as sialagogues, we figured the stash of calorie free (yet still 'illegal') fake food was large enough.

AND grumble grumble grumble, this was initially thought of as a grand waste of time but may confirm that this hearing loss is caused by something other than an infection or the accumulation of fluids.

an expired bottle of flonase nasal spray

question: is the active ingredient in flonase (fluticasone propionate) suspended in a solution which would have evaporated after its expiration date, therefore strengthening its potency? or, will the medicine have simply broken down over time, rendering this prescription ineffective and with a greater chance for contamination?


answer: the action of inhaling expired flonase to reduce any possible inflammation and/or congestion was a waste of time. this outdated spray was proven ineffective almost immediately simply from the lack of side effects. a fresh prescription ordinarily provides a sore throat and post nasal drip upon delivery. my ears remain clogged and other senses are still reduced even after multiple doses.

AND, not only was this experiment useless, but had i a microscope available to me this morning, probably very, very gross.

consider: not very likely, but perhaps this hearing loss, etc, may be related to severe head congestion?

+ 325mg acetaminophen (pain reliever)
+ 15mg dextromethorphan hbr (cough suppressant)
+ 200mg guaifenesin (expectorant)
+ pseudoephedrine hcl (nasal decongestant)

= generic equivalent to tylenol cold severe congestion.

this experiment in drainage was not only a waste of time, took an effort in esteem to buck up and enter the huge store, and allowed an opportunity for my ankle to swell up from the exercise of shopping. the endeavor also saw $3.47 spent at a check out register toward over-the-counter medicine which i will never take again.

i must have appeared to be quite the wreck because i am in serious need of a pair of crutches.

are senses improving?
am i simply smelling the most flagrant of scents?
might i be accustomed to the loss?

consider: pressure or injury to the auriculotemporal nerve?

- one week of (supposedly intense) illness/behavior
- swollen parotid + submandibular glands + amylase production
- this is relative to temporomandibular joint + facial nerves
- hearing loss + sense of smell/taste + cluster headaches

i am experiencing a loss of hearing, a large reduction in my sense of smell, and a loss of taste. i don't know when, or if, an event caused this to occur, as the loss in hearing became noticeable only upon leaving my home on tuesday.

the interior of my home is quiet, but suddenly when outside that morning, other little losses started to compute-- how the strongly scented burt's bees citrus spice soap in the bathroom, which was fairly new, had mostly lost its scent... how a recent edible was fairly bland and tossed... how it had been 110'F but why didn't my shirt smell stale...?

none of these diminished senses have returned. my vision is not noticeably reduced, nor is my sense of touch. needless to say, neither was i able to buy a dorm-sized refrigerator nor did i make it down to westwood that night for the (very important) first appointment with resident doctor #4 in private practice.

currently, i have arrived at three potential explanations for the losses.

self diagnosis #1:
allergic to the prescription medication which was prescribed for my ankle.

self diagnosis #2a and b:
my stress hit an ultimate level in august. as the mechanics of life and order finally began to tie themselves back together, it was expected that i would release the stress in some form of maladaptive eating disordered behavior, but... could this sensory loss be the result of purging my food? perhaps my glands, which are noticeably swollen, are enlarged enough to distress nerves inside my body, or, my head is temporarily congested from the behavior.

this recent purging, which happened a few times per day for several days in a row, could have temporarily damaged my hearing. i know i made myself sick on occasions when it didn't feel urgent (garden salad with mustard) and a few additional times (because the obsessive exercise devil was pissed at my injury) but did not feel that i was experiencing anything more than a "real bad" week. in no way was i hurting myself to a point other than one of familiar hell or exhaustion.

consider how the level of par relative to illness may have changed. what was once "real bad" now stands in the face of "somewhat improved" and must insist on a different definition. i am beginning to digest and can have a few days of nutrition in a row, so merely a few days in a row of purging multiple times should be considered "real bad."

both good and behaviors are routinely stagnant, but when they change, it is rather abrupt. it's been too fast to think that, already, a week of multiple purges should be looked at as severe. it was normal for a long time.

i have forced myself through more hell with less consequence in my history. for example, it's easier to think, "well, i used to not eat for [x] days in a row with [x] amount of exercise; so [a lesser amount] should not be considered intense at all." or, "the purging aspect was severe when i was making myself sick [x] times per day. i don't come near that anymore and shouldn't complain. i should be grateful to bring it down to an occasional level and also try to convince myself that this level of purging is too lame to try to claim that it hurts."

self diagnosis #3:
i may be experiencing a reaction to ingesting a different brand of vinegar for the first time. the different label and branding should only indicate that this product was on sale. i had just swapped one store brand for another and the contents were to only differ in the way one generic would be to the next.

the act of drinking vinegar, for me, defined the very last instance of harm in this chapter. it is mentally soothing and symbolic, but a small amount also facilitates the physical end to ill behavior. to be clear, it burns my stomach, but then feels good. ordinarily the morning after taking in two or three tablespoons of vinegar, the world still seems a little cloudy. this is exactly how i feel now-- brain muffled, allergic, and needing lots and lots of caffeine to formulate any motivation.

i'm in for self diagnosis #2a/b and #3. these sensory deficits essentially feel like the day after many sessions of purging, amplified by too much vinegar consumption.



i had to 'make an appointment' to be seen in urgent care tomorrow. something tells me that my favorite two out of these three explanations are going to be met with a blank stare.

well, visiting urgent care will be better than having no one but resident doctor #4 to talk to. could you imagine bringing up the topic of how my senses have shut down-- on a week where it was assumed i would have difficulty making it to the appointment, essentially because one huge part of me (anorexia) did not want to acknowledge what was happening ("paying a specific someone to kill it")?

it has been expected i would shut resident doctor #4 out, not take in too much information, and break down while reestablishing my arsenal. (<-- exactly what happened... everything is broken. i didn't get to the appointment, and here i am, somewhat blunted to what i can experience.)

with him only promoting the psychological aspects all of the time, it tends to restrict me from seeking physical care because i then cannot judge the importance. the psychological parallels and metaphors are fun, but am i to only attend to them mentally and avoid treating the physical problems? if everything physically wrong with me is stemming from how i think and act, then seeing an internist would be the temporary, but least effective choice.

another 'thing' which isn't going to sit well with anyone-- if the problems are due to the prescription medication for my ankle, i still lack any anger over this. other than the few times a day when i wish to scrape the fuzz from sound, the peace is nice. i have even been able to obtain appropriate levels of sleep. it has been calm enough that the original food plan has clicked into place for two days in a row.

consider: finding a way to associate this 'peace' along with 'the breaking down levels of anxiety.'

REX is putting me through hell and this swollen ankle injury is working as an additional nemesis to help counter any instance of sanity or peace. severity has reached the point that i cannot walk very far at all without renewing pain or inflammation, and subsequently, i have acquired a massive amount of irritability.

without exercise, or with this injury, the concept of processing food is invalidated. in this real world, people cannot understand the dedicated lines or personal firewalls and continue to supply nutritive numbers. the problem is, over the last few days, i've had to eat the food they brought (to make them relax) and then reverse it (to make myself relax) well beyond any state of exercise. this might define an exhaustion to the other side, but in this voxel, "throwing up beyond a state of exercise" signifies a concern of caloric accumulation. merely a few light times and i'd be spent, but a few extended episodes took effort-- scissors to wrapper and other sins -- and now balancing packaging and a flimsy plastic bag of dented cardboard confirms the hot cow.

you know how it goes-- suddenly it's everyone else's fault that i'm vomiting my guts out. "they are the one's who keep buying the food. no, this is not my fault. how could it be my fault when i can't even walk? hell, i neither asked for anything nor went to the store. they are intent on poisoning me. it is not my fault that they cannot follow my complicated system of rules. they *know* my rule system will render everything they do as incorrect. it is not my fault they continue to try. this must be looked at as them *insisting* on hurting me. wow, why do i have people who want me to hurt in my life? well, they can't hurt me if i hurt worse."

everything related to anything feels steamed, wrong, and fat-- probably because my world is 111'F, upside down, and swollen.




i am debating canceling my first appointment with resident doctor #4 in private practice. tomorrow night. i already drove by to get the gist of parking and whatnot, but wilshire boulevard was too congested to focus on the mechanics that i still haven't confirmed concrete, let alone door.

in the car, in quick traffic, chuck was no help. "there it is," he said, noting the address display. okay, great. so, on what side of the street might 'there' be located. i was driving in one of six lanes of traffic and had six additional lanes of traffic coming at me on the other side. how was i to even look around? of course i knew the general vicinity and what side of the wilshire boulevard the building apparently stood, but still...

it seems like (any other day without injury) it would be easier to find a parking space in nearby westwood village and force myself to walk across those 12 lanes of traffic. perhaps, with left hand turning lanes, the expanse could be 16 lanes to cross? i think i could get through the agoraphobia due to the fact there would be a lot of surrounding activity. i wouldn't be the only pedestrian for all of the people stopped in traffic to see. if i got stuck driving in that convoluted mess of traffic and couldn't switch to the appropriate lane in time, it would be potentially disastrous. i tend to keep driving.

does the fall semester at ucla start tomorrow? i don't know. it might be the first week of the term down there and therefore bustling with more excitement and nerves than i imagine. this entry isn't helping.

there is no way i can make it, but i have to get there. it is the WORST day to cancel. my injury would mean nothing to resident doctor #4. it is too obvious that my main issue is how "i'm too fat to be seen outside" due to "now i'm paying a specific someone to kill anorexia, and how is anorexia going to respond to that." anorexia didn't exactly blink and accept it. canceling *this* particular appointment for *any* reason whatsoever, will directly speak of *this* particular appointment. it doesn't matter how real the excuse is, it will not be granted any attention.

i can't even get a sarcastically pleasant week out of eating disorder's frantic search for needle and shovel. anorexia is seething (about my "paying a specific someone to kill it") and the chaos now involves debating, testing, and rewriting the rule system into law. i am no longer allowed a few negligible items which have never caused harm, since, without them, the puzzle can advance into time consuming conflict. i felt compelled to make myself sick too many times this week because the rules, or now, i guess, "laws" were being rewritten during the intake of what was thought to fit the rules.

AND, there really hasn't been enough time to implement these new laws and detail the system of progress, but anorexia immediately bought an illegal substance.

a few hours after the purchase, i wondered if it were possible for me to take responsibility for the purchase when i hadn't felt like i had been the one who bought it. was i even there? that wasn't me. god, could the combination of e.d. and panic actually convince me to do that?

in fact, i felt scared of the substance because i am without an insulin pin and cannot gauge this liquid poison by sight but i know i (or some other part of "i" since i shouldn't say "we") will.

i felt as though i could finally understand day-to-day anorexia and its escapades (and also that this 'understanding of its structure' is why it has suddenly changed over to a new and incomprehensible system). i cannot understand that deep, dark part of myself that was desperate to take any risk. of course, again, i do not need to understand it-- i just need to accept that there is an urgency. would it be best to no longer separate anorexia from myself when talking or writing about it? yes, but no. it's not 100%.




i can't believe i might go out and buy a compact refrigerator-freezer due to this injury. (i am temporarily renting a place in l.a. and have never considered it.) ice would help tremendously to bring this week under control. i could ease ankle pain, do my laps, calm the chatter, and try to get back to at least one day on the food plan. without ice and without running, i have the option of feeling like death ("sit here") or the option of feeling like slight death ("chlorine irritations from water running in the pool").

then again, how perfect to stalk the appliance stores and return with stainless nonsense: "no fatty, you can't put your diet coke in there. this refrigerator is owned by an anorexic and therefore, any variety of edible, even low or no calorie drinks, would not compute if found stored inside. this refrigerator is to be used for athletic injuries only. it was only intended to freeze ice packs or to prep gel inserts."

currently in a state of painfully swollen sports injury/ could merely hop or hobble for two miles today/ AND it's too damn hot to wear these compression socks/ indoors/ outdoors/ day/ night. elevate the leg/ foot on the desk/ swallowed three nsaids six times/ AND adding ice would be nice companion to caring for myself but i don't own a refrigerator.

success: chuck has concluded the interview process at Job #4 (the most desired position) and has been hired.

reasons to stay high in the sky with anxiety, rather than to float while calming down:

i worry that he will not pass the additional background check procedures that will be run, even though he has sailed through cleanly with all other employers over the last month. apparently he has passed an initial background check with Job #4, but that doesn't give me any relief as long as the second hurdle remains.

last january, several felony listings appeared on his background investigation during the initial search for information. upon re-submitting the background check, it came back clear. i assume since a potential for bad news remains, it will arrive the minute i relax. in my mind, chuck would be terminated at Job #4 rather than placed on suspension and given a chance to have the file rectified.

i know for certain that on the initial investigation last year, there was a felony listed relative to los angeles county. these jobs chuck has applied for over the last few weeks are all located in los angeles county. he has never been arrested for anything, and has no record-- but has bounced a check for the felonious amount of "more than $300." that was over ten years ago, and in another state. i don't know how the statute of limitations works in this case or if this is what the background report brings up.

it bothers me because some negative information is out there, whether or not it is correctly attached to him, and this is apt to show up again.

in trying to clear this mess up earlier in the year, it appeared that chuck would need to present himself at a sheriff's office and provide identification for an officer or clerk to run a search. not really a good idea, eh? aside from hiring a lawyer, is going to the police station the only option?

if a warrant showed up, correct or not, then what happens?! i'm desperate to know if chuck would be arrested on the spot or not. i am also unwilling to pay the tens of thousands of dollars needed to pay the fines should any information be true.

another reason to be nervous: chuck seems to think that just because he starts work at Job #4 this next week, everything is fine because he passed the preliminary check. right, he is hired-- but this does not mean his employment is secure until the secondary 'intensive' check results are returned.

chuck is currently working at Job #2 and incorrectly thinks its a good idea to inform Job #2 that he is leaving. i think he needs to wait, and in the meantime, simply juggle these two jobs. if or when he does leave, i think a 'leave of absence' is in order rather than simply working for one week and then quitting.