fat and wildly confused

"You've got your reputation and your good intent."

I'm halfway through my 2 weeks of WONDERFUL leave. I cannot say how good it is just to not be at the hospital. To be able to sleep late and sleep in. I wish I had some friends on holiday too, but hey, I will take whatever I can get. Been to Melbourne, shopped up a storm. Came back. Went skiing. Fell down lots but the weather was great and I had a lot of fun. 

And at this point I should offer a sincere apology for 1. being so absent of late and 2. being such a good for nothing fatass. And I mean that. F-A-T A-S-S. 

I am too scared to weigh myself because damn, I ate like a pig pig pig pig in Melbourne, and fuck it, my clothes feel fucking tight. I can't believe I'm not willingly starving myself. I must be stress eating. Swear to God this is stress eating. The hot cop is stressing me out.

This whole thing with the cop is fucking with my head so much that I almost want to just chuck in the towel so I don't have to deal with it. The only reason I haven't done that yet is because it is so obviously the coward's way out. Giving up something that could be great just because I'm scared to deal with old demons. 

But they are seriously fucking with my head. Old demons that I never thought I would need to hear again, old demons that I thought I had buried a long, long time ago. 

(I've had this blog going for a while now, and I don't know how many of you have been with me from the very start, so apologies if I am repeating myself here.)

It's no secret that my parents and I have almost never seen eye to eye. But things were a lot worse when I was younger. I started cutting when I was about 13 or 14 years old. That was around the time thing started going wrong with dad. I can't even remember what I did, but he was always mad at me. I was never good enough. No matter how hard I studied, I was always too dumb for him, no matter what I did, I was too fat. 

Every day he would tell me that I had to study more. I needed my brains, I needed to be smart because I needed an asset. He told me that I was so fat and ugly and utterly unattractive that no man could ever want me. He told me that everyday from about the ages of 13 to 18. Wow. Didn't realise until now that it was 5 years! 

At any rate, his point was that because I was so physically repulsive, I had to be smart to get a good job so that I could support myself. Because obviously I would end up alone and hideous. Or, if I became rich enough, some man might eventually want me for my money. On some level, I believe it was a twisted joke and just his unique way of trying to motivate me to study, but it has since become my reality. 

To this day, and probably forever more, I believe that I am so hideously unattractive that no man could ever want me. It is part of me, I have come to accept it, and years ago I made peace with the fact that I will never be in a relationship. That was just a part of life that wasn't meant for me, and that is okay. 

I didn't really think about it again for a long time. But now there is the hot cop. And my brain is hard out short circuiting all of a sudden. He is by no means perfect (but who is), but he is a really, really good guy. Why the fuck does he want to spend time with me? Since we started seeing each other, I have been trying to find the loophole. He wants to be with me because...he has a short, fat, boring Asian girl fetish?...he was desperately in love with his ex and I was an easy rebound?...he is actually evil and will abuse me because I deserve it?...there must be a loophole! 

I can't reconcile that a great guy like him would want me for just me. And so I'm always on guard, and I'm always non-commital because fuck it, even though this is nothing, I will still be upset when it ends. And the more emotionally involved I am, the more unstable I will be afterwards. It's all self preservation. 

Nothing makes sense to me anymore. A fundamental part of my being is being questioned and I'm hating it. 

If no man could ever want me, then what the fuck does he want with me? 

And the answer isn't even sex. If we were having crazy monkey sex every night and he was booty calling me all the time I would be like, okay, I get it. I'm the rebound girl and he just wants sex. And that would be fine. I am absolutely okay with being thought of as nothing but convenience. I would just wait patiently for him to find a girl he likes and then leave me. 

But it isn't that! Why can't it just be that simple! The whole sex thing is making everything worse. I wish he was using me for sex, but he's not. I never tell him when it hurts but I must have the worst poker face in the world because he always seems to know when it does. And he'll stop, cuddle me, tell me that it'll be okay and that with time, it'll get less sore and I'll enjoy it. At this point my terrible poker face will betray the fact that I feel guilty for him stopping. To which his response is always that we'll go slow, he knows I'm not ready to do any more, and that he really doesn't want to hurt me.

After a survey of my girlfriends, I've come to the conclusion that the above reaction, stopping mid-sex to do that is just unheard of. So much so that he's probably an alien. 

He's not even getting sex out of this, so what the hell is he getting out of it! I mean, I don't have the time to properly spend time with him. I live with domineering parents so I can never stay the night at his place, no matter how much he wants me to. I work so much that I'm always tired. I can't even properly fuck him. Why the fuck does he still want to see me? 

oh my motherfucking god I'm going to die.

"A little time with you is all that I get. That's all we need because it's all we can take."

So today I met up with my hot as fuck copper. I caved and decided to Facebook stalk him a wee bit, but, as expected, as a copper, the only thing his fb shows are a few pictures. But they were enough. There is this one picture of him in a black muscle tank and when I saw it all I wanted to do was vomit. 

And the vomity feeling has been with me the whole time. Oh my goodness. I mean, I knew he was rather well built, being a policeman and all and having seen him in uniform. But holy fucking shit he has muscles on his muscles and muscles where I didn't know they even existed, and I'm a DOCTOR. All the photos are of him climbing fucking mountains or whatever and fuck I'm going to die. 

I don't know what I was thinking before, actually I'm pretty sure I wasn't thinking at all. I can't go out with someone like that!!!! 

I have never felt so fucking fat in my whole entire life. And so I went running for the first time in like a year yesterday. Turns out I can run pretty fast when I'm feeling inferior. But now I'm pretty damn sore. 

I don't know why I feel so bad about all this. Probably because I've never ever thought I would be in the situation where I would feel so inferior to a guy. I've always thought I'd go out with another doctor, and well, there are some good looking ones, and they can be quite well built, but "traditionally" I'm the one that is intimidating. The word "ophthalmologist" tends to scare them a lot. 

For some reason I find my intellect meaning fuck all here. And if that is taken out of the equation then I really, really, don't have anything left. 

UGH! Why the fuck did he ask me out? Like, why? Do you guys know what he offered up as first date options? Rock climbing (which is actually okay, apart from my paralyzing fear of heights, but he doesn't know that so okay), or...and I quote " a circuit training boot camp session, just you and me." I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Those are four perfectly okay words that when strung together like that, mean hell. 

Well, I might lose some weight, but with this guy, I might actually die first. 

Needless to say I didn't exactly jump for either of those options *thanking all the gods that I am going onto night shifts tonight...there has never been a more perfect excuse* and so we just took it easy and went to a cafe. 

Then we went for a nice long walk along the beach. Then we went back to his place, where we sat on his bed and listened to music and chatted about things. 

Ladies, he is PERFECT. He's got so much ambition, he's got everything planned out and he's got his goals set and he's working hard for them. He's so damn good looking that it almost hurts my eyes. He's really easy to get along with, and all in all, a genuinely nice guy. As long as he doesn't ask me to go do circuit training boot camp again because I will still die if that happens.  

I think he likes me, because we hadn't planned to go back to his place, but after we had coffee, he asked if I wanted to go. So I said yes. No, there was no crazy monkey sex (although I do hope that will come later down the track) but he did kiss me. MY FIRST KISS LADIES!!!!!  *sigh* I will write about this in more detail later. When I'm a bit more calm. 

I am still plagued by insecurities, but, at this stage I'm not fucking telling him about anything. And I'm not sure if I ever will. I am sooo not good enough for this guy. 

I mean, if I looked like any of the above pictures, I wouldn't feel so bad. 

well, it's a good job, better than a courier driver. that's the worst job ever.

"Roll the window down, this cool night air is curious."

Well, nothing to report on the weight front I'm afraid. My eating is more erratic than ever. I've gone back to eating whenever I get the chance and eating whatever I can get my hands on. Unfortunately this usually means something fried at the hospital staff canteen. When I'm not at work I'm out with the boys, at dessert places and eating salted caramel gelato and things like that. 

I'm updating you all because I absolutely MUST tell you about this guy. The other night my mother had a car accident, she's not hurt at all, our car is a bit damaged, but it was a 4 car pile up on the motorway and so the police were all up in it. 

Dad and I had to go pick her up from the scene, and that is where I met THE HOTTEST COPPER I HAVE EVER SEEN. He was tall, rather well built, and extremely handsome. Short, close cut blonde hair, great jaw and cheekbones and smiling eyes. When we arrived dad ran straight for mum, and I was asking about what happened. The first thing he told me was that my mum had told them that I was a doctor. The second thing he said was, "I don't suppose you doctors have much time for dating?" 

And I, stupidly, did not know how to respond. He asked me what hospital I worked for, was surprised that he had never seen me before as he was often there patrolling. Asked for my name and gave me his and that's the end of that really. Oh, and he waved at me from his patrol car as he drove past. 

Still, I've been thinking about him since then. God, I'd love to fuck him. I do hope I bump into him again. Somehow. I'm admitting in ED tomorrow and I'll be dressing well, just on the off chance that I do bump into him. You never know. 

In the meantime I've been telling all my friends about him. I have to say...even I thought he was slightly hitting on me. Which was nice, because I don't think anyone has done that before. Made me feel quite cute. 

it's all in the eyes

"Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right...you mind is playing tricks on you, my dear. 'Cause when the truth may vary this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore." 

Someone once told me that you can always see the truth in someone's eyes. Okay, so everyone tells me that. Lovestruck friends, hate-filled friends, old ladies giving me advice and even my mother. And I very firmly believe in this. This is why I wear glasses all the time. Having a thick set of frames and glass between my eyes and the world makes me feel like I can somehow hide myself from it. 

Maybe I'm just being hopeful, or losing myself in flights of fancy, in fact, I'm 99% sure I am, but that little one percent in me thinks that Mark might be a bit into me. Truth is, I haven't seen him for weeks now. Our paths just didn't coincide, I didn't have any really complex patients to call him about. But our teams collided in the ward when our bosses stopped to chat to each other. 

By the time I spotted him, he was already looking at me and smiling. We didn't speak but oh my goodness we didn't break eye contact once. I just couldn't do it, couldn't stop myself looking at him. We were on the same ward for a while and so I went about doing my jobs, and each time I looked for him, he was already looking at me. As our bosses talked, we did this weird thing of moving throughout the ward, doing different things but somehow always looking at each other the whole time. 

I don't know how he felt about it all, but I am sure he was looking at me, I am sure he was interacting with me on some level and I am sure he definitely knows who I am. That time was so different to all the other times. It felt different, but I'm not exactly sure how. There have been times when I've seen him and wanted him to leap on me, rip my clothes off and just do me right there and then. This wasn't exactly that, but it was so INTENSE! 

Maybe I should stop dreaming and just hold onto what is constant. And try to get what I know I can get (which is losing weight) instead of using my energy for what I can't get, Mark. 

Day 18: I'm gunning for you girl so watch your back.

"They tell you trust your head, be like men, but never feel like you're good enough."

Pumped up as hell. Pumped up and scared as hell. At the end of the next week I swap out of general medicine and into orthopaedic surgery. It's true, all the things they say about orthopaedic surgery are true. It's full of muscular jocks. So I'm about to slut it up. It'll be nice to slut it up and have somebody notice. 

I've also just met my offsider for the rotation. She's a lady called Elena, and she's a fully qualified radiologist from Romania but has to completely retrain to practice in a new country and so is starting at the bottom again. With me. Which makes me feel great and like crap at the same time. It makes me feel great because now I'll have an offsider who is competent and I can rely on to do her part. It makes me feel like crap because from the very start it is going to be so evident that she is better than me. 

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck. I just am never happy. I don't know. Elena, I just have to one up her somehow. I don't know why I feel like this. After all, we are all working for the same team, looking after the same patients. I should just be happy that I'm working with someone as good as she is. But far out, if I can't one up her with my work ethic and knowledge, I'll have to do it another way. Which brings me to my point. 

She's fat. And I'm not just saying that. She's taller than me and much older than me, sure, but she is also twice my size and I'm willing to guess her weight at being twice my weight. And hot damn, by the end of the next three months I want her to be three times my weight. For some reason, that makes me feel so secure. 

Fuck, Elena, I'm totally gunning for you. You'd better just watch it. With my night shifts and my insecurity I will starve myself until I feel better about everything. I will work my ass off at the gym until the fat melts off and I'm toned as a ballerina. I will be beautiful. And I will have the boys at my red stilettoed feet. When I'm doing the sit ups and the leg lifts, I will think of you Elena, and the awful way that you feel, and then the burning of my muscles won't feel so bad. And then, in 3 months time, Elena, I will knock you dead. 

I will eat clean and train dirty. Dirty as fuck. And damn, if I could get my little hands on Mark I would fuck him till I was skinny. But since that is not an option, I'll have to run it all off. 

On that note, I'm down 2kg. At this point I'm not sure if any of it is fat, it might all be food babies that are now gone, but hey, 2kg is something and I'll take it. 

Day 2: I want to fuck you like an animal.

"You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you."

So here is the start of day 2 and I've decided that a neat way to keep track of dinner calories is just to have a bag of noodles. Let them sit in water for extra long so that they puff up and take up more room. Makes me feel like I'm eating heaps. Still too much, but I feel like I'm making progress just by getting into the right frame of mind for losing weight. And doesn't that come easily. 

They say you never forget how to ride a bike. Well, I never knew how to, but I sure as hell know how to restrict. I've been thinking, and going on a fluid diet shouldn't be that difficult. I can tell my parents that I ate dinner at work so that I could work out as soon as I get home. I could tell my colleagues that I eat dinner and a big breakfast so I don't want to have lunch. I could just drink bottle upon bottle of coke zero and cup after cup of coffee. 

Really, when I think about, it's not that hard. Frightening, how quickly it all comes back. The planning, the desire the execution. Frightening. How the fear comes back. Anything with a calorie count in the triple digits feels like far too much. It scares me because it is such a big number. In the hundreds! It seems ludicrous to eat that much! But I've been eating in the thousands and that fact makes me feel slightly giddy. 

And then there's Mark. "I've come to see your patient." And I smile at him as he approaches me and he smiles right back. I'm literally on my knees in front of him (because there are no chairs left and my back hurts too much for me to bend over and write) and in a really perverted way it feels kind of right. 

Mark is probably the least "dirty" looking guy that I've ever had a crush on, and for some reason, he's the one who makes me think the most dirty thoughts. There is something about the way he smiles, and the way he looks, and the way he talks that just does SOMETHING to me. He's older, although I have no idea by how much. And someone once told me that besides being incredibly intelligent, he is also a rocker at heart. When he was younger, he had long hair and dressed all in black. There is something about that that just drives me mad. 

It's like I think somewhere inside the neat and calm facade is that rocker, lying in wait and that would make him a great fuck. Don't get me wrong, I really do like him as a person too. He's amazing, amazing and I would dearly love to date him. But it really is the sexual magnetism that hits me first. I want to jump on him. Or I want him to jump on me. Or for us to jump on each other and collide and smash into a thousand little shards. 

I've never had sex, I have no idea what it might feel like, but damn, he sure makes me want to find out. 

ice queen at the ball

"And your heart is a stone buried underneath your pretty clothes."

Disclaimer: I'm a wee bit tipsy at the time of writing this post.

Cinderella at the ball, that's what SPM calls me. Cinderella with her glass slippers and Prince Charming and pumpkin carriage. I don't think I'll ever feel like that. My shoes were killing me by the end of the night and I wasn't about to take them off and go barefoot on the alcohol soaked dance floor. 

And I had to be on the dance floor to soak up all the calories that I ate. I left half my dinner, but it still felt like too much. 

Dinner is finished and most people are dancing. I'm sitting with Rich. Sitting, in the loosest sense of the word. We are sort of on chairs, I'm lying on him mostly, one of his hands is squeezing my left boob and his other hand is sliding up and down my thighs. His lips are glued to my neck when we're not whispering to each other. And no, I haven't had a complete turn around in my personality, he's only allowed to do that stuff to me because he's gay. He's my gay best friend and we are whispering about his boyfriend. 

He's telling me about how much he loves my boobs and my legs and how one day I will make some guy very happy. It's obvious he's just started having sex and now wants everyone to experience it. The sentiment is rather sweet but the thought of it makes me ill. 

There are a few guys trying to get close to me but I give them a look. Apparently that look of mine is infamous and it makes guys cower. None of them are allowed to touch me, but they still try. I'm pretty cold to them. I hate them. Nothing sickens me more than the thought of men grabbing all my fat. It makes me feel so disgusting. 

Everything about the night makes me feel fat. The food, the champagne, my tight dress and my skinny friends. 

"You're getting too skinny," Rich whispers in my as he squeezes the fat on my thighs. "Don't lose any more weight, you are skinny enough." I imagine how skinny I'd be if I hadn't lived with German guys who force fed me. Fucking hot German guys who I would've happily fucked if I had ever been drunk enough. 

How did I ever get to this point, almost 23 and never had a boyfriend, never been kissed, let alone have sex. Being felt up by my gay best friend is the most sexual experience I've ever had. Another one of my guy friends is trying to get at me. He's got his arms around me whenever he is around and nuzzles into my neck. I'm not flattered. I know how blind drunk he is. Blind being the operative word. 

All in all it was a night of binge drinking, beautiful shoes (but painful feet) and more male attention than I've ever had. Still, fat was everywhere. 

Stupid fat. Literally gets in the way.