my guy

"Living just to find emotion hiding somewhere in the night."

Well ladies, I did say in my last post that I would write about the first date in more detail once I calmed down a bit, but now it is becoming abundantly clear that I will never calm down and so I might as well just bite the bullet and write this post. 

I'm desperately trying to think of ways to describe my man. Firstly, I'm calling him "my man", so that at least gives some indication of where my head is at. Secondly, it's 3am, and I'm on night shift at work, so I do give myself permission to wax lyrical if I so choose. 

I should start off by saying that I have no idea what  my relationship status is right now. One date doesn't qualify as anything really. Certainly not for him. It means a lot to me, because there were a whole lot of firsts for me in that one package, but he's definitely been there, done that. So we met up at a nice beach, went for a walk along it, just chatting. He told me about his screed of ex-girlfriends, most of which scared the bejeezus out of me. I'm certainly different from the rest of them! Not sure if that's a good thing or not. 

He told me about his ambitions, and really, it was like the worse job interview ever. He kept telling me about stuff that he's good at. Well, I guess it worked because I was fucking impressed. In an odd way, I was doing the opposite. Like, I'm not that great, please don't be disappointed.  

We walked for about an hour, totally didn't realise it was for that long, and he took me to a cafe for another hour or so and a chat. And over coffee he was telling me about his house. 

"If you like, I can give you a tour." He said tentatively. And so we went back to his place. Which apparently is not normal for a first date according to most of my friends. And I guess that for my first date ever, it was a little out of the ordinary. But it felt right and I felt safe and so I went. 

He showed me around the house, showed me the renovations that he had been doing and then showed me his room. Let me say right off the bat that he owns some damn good music. So he played me some music as we sat on his bed and chatted some more. And he started getting quite touchy. I mean, when we were on our walk, he was helping me up and he'd tap me every now and then to redirect me. But in his room, he was tickling me (way too much) and sliding his hand up and down my leg. 

Come leaving time, he walked me to my car, and just as I was about to get in, he grabbed me and pulled me into him and kissed me. Out there in the bitter cold, on the road by my car. I had expected maybe a little kiss, a quick peck, or even just a peck on the cheek. After all, he does know I've never had a boyfriend before, never been kissed. 

But it wasn't like that at all. He was very gentle, just wrapped me in his arms and then I suddenly found myself in a long, passionate kiss, tongues and all. When we broke apart I was quite speechless, and just when I was about to break away, he pulls me close again, tilts my chin and we're off again. 

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. 

the unlikeliest of thinspirations

"You will never escape from this sad, sad house. I take his hand, we sink."

I've just had the unlikeliest of thinspos pop up in my life. And before I start, here is a disclaimer that what I am about to say is sick, depraved, and an absolutely deplorable example of the awful human being that I am. I don't want any of you to take up the same example...I'm just trying to get this out of my head. 

I've often wandered how fast someone can lose weight. Often wandered how it was possible to drop several dress sizes in next to no time at all. But now that I have seen a real life example of it with my own eyes, well. 

Let's set the scene. It's an ex-patient of mine, who lost more than 20kg in 6 weeks. Okay, so here is the bad part, he has cancer. Pretty end stage too. No appetite whatsoever, lived off a few spoons of supplement every day for 6 weeks and lost 20kg. If we take the cancer out of the equation, and say the weight loss is about 12-15kg with a normal person and reduced food intake. 

So trying to tweak the equation further, and put the weight loss at 8-10kg over 6 weeks if I drink...a few coffees a day, trim at that, and eat maybe one or two pieces of fruit. And...maybe 6kg over 4 weeks if I can keep it up.

I have lost nearly 10kg in 4-6 weeks before. So it must be possible. And that was eating normally on weekends and liquid fasting. 

The reason I'm so focussed on 4-6 weeks is because in that timespan, I will be going to Australia to see my friend, during which time I will be shopping up a storm. I'd love to buy small, skinny clothes. I'd also love for her to be able to see a difference in my weight. It must be possible. I just have to set my mind to it. 

I am well aware of how sick it is to have a dying patient of mine as thinspo, but it probes to me that it's possible. And the only way I can mimic a cancer is to have absolutely rigid self control. All I can do is try really. I'll keep you updated. 

suicidal fantasies

"I want you to know I'm not through the night. Sometimes I'm still fighting to walk towards the light."

There is a deep, primal grumbling beneath me. The jagged rocks cut into my bare feet, I can barely feel them due to the cold. It's a bitter wind, it's a biting wind, it's a bracing wind. It is one last kiss from life. An icy kiss to farewell me from a life that never loved me. 

It's my hometown. It's the place where I grew up. And here I recall a childhood of ignorant bliss, muddy football stained t-shirts and cream cakes and scraped knees. A time where size and weight were irrelevant and calories were still mysteries held by the universe. And here I recall leaving that behind and entering a different world that was not so kind and not so forgiving. 

School balls and Valentines and boyfriends and shopping malls. Those were never meant for a girl like me. They were not part of my world of textbooks and calculators and tutors and exams. I'm not sure if I ever lusted after them. 

Years of trouble. Taunting. Teasing. Loathing. Hatred. Self-harm. Now I am old enough to recognise it as abuse. At the hands of my classmates, my so-called friends, my family. One day I'm stupid. One day I'm fat. One day I'm ugly. One day I'm unworthy. Everyday I am something that I wish I was not. This is what became my reality. 

If my reality is a cage from which I cannot escape then I care not to know what the general populus knows as reality. Because it is irrelevant. 

The grumbling beneath me grows, the stones I stand on start to tremble, my heart begins to race, my body begins to shake with the adrenalin that pumps through me. Automatic and accurate, one foot moves in front of the other and I wriggle them once I am balancing on the smooth metal railings of salvation. 

I want to dance. I have never felt so full of anticipation, so powerful. Now I understand that none of it ever mattered. In this moment in time, none of it ever mattered and I am happy. There is no doubt. There is no regret. There is no shame or sorrow. I am finally getting what I want. 

It's so close. I can hear it now. The vibration down the line is like electricity coursing through my veins. Under my breath I hum that dear old tune that's kept me comfortable for years "she's got a ticket to ride and she don't care". 

I can't see. The light is too bright. I can't hear anything but my heartbeat above the roar fast approaching. The dense night air rushes towards me, carrying with it the promise of resolution. 

I spread my arms to embrace whatever may come. 

I think of all those I love. 

The one promise I did keep - I loved them till whatever end. 

I am engulfed by the light and the noise. 

One big hum. 

The cold becomes warmth. 

The light becomes darkness. 

The heartbeat slows. 

This is freedom of choice. 

I have never been so happy. 

underneath we're not so tough and love is not enough.

Day 1 of proper holiday stuff and I'm already feeling the stress. I wish I could just be content with general surgery, then life would be a hell of a lot easier. But no. I have to go chasing the unobtainable (again) and stress myself to the max (again) and surround myself with triggers (again). Ah the curse of history repeating itself, but I must like it on some level or I wouldn't keep doing it.

I've just realised that my opening sentence sounds a bit strange. I should say that the reason the holidays stress me out is because I'm working, and I have to contact the professor about a 4 week project that has now dragged out a full year. I feel sick to my stomach just thinking about it. At least it puts me off my food, every cloud has a silver lining after all.

Now that the summer is on it's way the high pace stage of my weight loss plan kicks into action. I'm thinking that I will diet and will work on skipping lunch and dinner and just having some salad and an egg for breakfast. I'm also thinking of daily 8km runs and yoga and taebo. That should kick some sort of shape into the gelatinous mess that I am right now. I'm 121lbs and I feel like such a big ugly slob.

I have no idea how I tolerated being 143lbs for so long. I must have looked an absolute fright at 143lbs, I must have, because I feel an absolute fright right now and I'm 22lbs lighter than I was then. I hope that by the time I get to 100lbs I don't feel quite so heavy anymore. But you never know. I don't feel any better about myself now than I did when I was 143lbs, on a logical, rational level I know that I should feel some sense of pride for the weight that I've lost but on a much deeper emotional level I feel even more disgusting.

The more weight I lose, the more I want to lose. Maybe it's because with every pound I shed I uncover a small block of potential. As the fat drips off, some sort of light is shining through and it offers me something to hold onto.

But I know now what the light at the end of the tunnel is.

I feel as though I am stuck in a railway tunnel, stumbling across the sleepers, bruising my shins on the rails, grasping at the darkness and finding nothing. The cold, wet solitude of my silent prison stings my skin and the cold, wet solitude of my soul pours down my face as tears that nobody will ever see. But still I crack a smile, it's almost a gruesome sneer, it's satirical broken smile, a sort of Hail Mary to a world that has shunned me and forced me here.

I wish you could see what you have done, are you still proud of yourself?

And in my world of darkness and seemingly infinite horizontal space, I am fit to burst. The air is filled with promises that I can't keep, undeserved faith and words I can never live up to. And the pressure continues, a lonely little girl who just wants a hug, it's not too much to ask for, but it is too much to expect from people who have no hugs left to give. Maybe if I was smaller I would fit in their arms better. Maybe if I was smaller, someone might have the energy to pick me up and tell me that I don't have to walk anymore. Maybe if I was smaller someone would want to feed me the love that I've been deprived of.

But I live in the present, not in a world of ifs and buts. And at present all I know for certain is that there is no one else here and no one wants to hold me. It is so cold. No one to kiss me except the scalpel blades that I hoard. A sharp metallic kiss that is second to none in this world. And for a moment, if I close my eyes and be very still, I can pretend that the warm blood seeping out of my arms and legs and abdomen is the warm embrace of a soul who cared enough to stop and see.

And this is the cruelty of my reality. When I saw J and TS and SPM today, for the first time in a long time, I realised that I've been living in some sort of dream world. It's true that absence makes the heart grow fonder and now it is clear to me that as much as I might yearn for it, they will never think of me as their pet. No matter how much I might care for the professor, he will never be my father. They will never be my family. They do hold some true affection for me, but it runs no deeper than what would be considered normal for one to feel for a student. It was a dream, nothing more.

To die, to sleep; to sleep, perchance to dream...For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.

And the realisation of this was quite momentous for me, it really was the death of all hope. I had been holding onto some rose tinted notion that these people might somehow be able to reach down through the earth and find me falling around in my tunnel and pull me up to green pastures and circulating air. But no, I shall be left here to stew and rot in my own sour air and continue on in the darkness, not knowing if I'm walking forwards or backwards or towards anything in particular.

In a way I'm grateful to have this moment. It means that I don't have to waste more time clinging tooth and nail onto false hope. And now, more clearly than ever, I'm starting to see the light at the end of my tunnel. And it is my salvation and it will end my suffering and it will be the end of all things. And one day I know I will be too tired to carry on but then I shall summon all the strength left in every single muscle fibre in my body and run into the light, meet my train head on and I will be bathed in light and sound. Blinded by white, that passenger train will impart its impulse unto my mortal flesh and the energy will course through my body, right to the heart of me and I will fly. Fly through the air and die on the very ground that I've trodden my whole life.

The light at the end of the tunnel is my passenger train and it will make me fly and it will take me away from this world into the next, or into further darkness. And so I can see the end of all things for me. I know that at some point, all this will cease to be worth the effort and when I decide that, I will be consumed with power and with that overwhelming power, I will choose to leave this world.

There is nothing in this world that can save me. Love is not enough.