My life is crazy right now. And no matter what I do, I just can't seem to get a grip. My diet was going really well off and on all week. Then I took my mom out on Friday to celebrate Mothers Day. And I didn't want to spoil the evening by not eating and her being worried, so I ate. A ton. I probably could have gotten away with eating less. But once I started I couldn't stop. Story of my life.
Then Saturday night I got together with this guy I met last week. I was checking him out as he walked past me and he caught me. He smiled. I smiled. Then he gave me his number. We talked on the phone. He seemed nice enough and I liked the attention and I've been wanting to fuck someone new ever since my boyfriend and I broke up. Plus he has access to some awesome shit and I like that. So, he came over last night. We stayed up talking till early in the morning and then watched half of a movie. It was really fun. I was actually having a good time. By then, though, I was getting pretty sleepy and really just wanted him to leave so I could strip off my clothes, crawl into bed, and curl up under my nice comfy blanket.
So I started hinting that I was tired and he needed to leave. I kept saying how exhausted I was, and yawning, and stretching, and drifting off while he was talking... but I swear to god this guy couldn't take a hint. Although it's possible that maybe he was getting the hint and simply refusing to acknowledge it. Because after a while, I started to suspect that he knew that I wanted him to leave – I mean, he wasn’t stupid and I was making it pretty obvious - but didn't want to go and knew that I wasn't the type of person who would be direct about it. (But that could be me being paranoid. I always think that other people are purposely trying to take advantage of me or use me or manipulate me.) And it might just be me, but I think that is really fucking rude! So I started to get kind of angry. I'm not a confrontational person and I hate it when people ignore my polite cues, because then it forces me to either be assertive (aka mean and bitchy) about it, or just let them have their way. Then I feel like I'm being bullied and manipulated and I really don't fucking appreciate it!!!
Finally he says "do you want me to go or do you want me to spend the night?" And I go "I think you should leave. I'm just really tired and I need to sleep." So he nods and I'm thinking Yes! Fucking finally! He's finally on his way out the door and now I can go to bed! Yipee! Little did I know he was not on his way out the door. In fact, it took him an hour and a half to actually leave.
First I started to clean up. I brought my computer and dvd player back into the bedroom. I put the bottle of vodka back in the freezer and my chaser in the fridge. I emptied the ashtrays. I rinsed out our glasses. And the whole time he was just sitting back on the couch staring at me. Not making any move to get up and gather his shit and put his shoes on and walk out the door. And I knew he was waiting for me to get so uncomfortable that I would change my mind and let him stay just because of the awkwardness of the situation (which he created on purpose for that reason). Or for me to jump on him and start pulling off his pants because he thinks he’s sooo fucking irresistible. And that pissed me off even more. I will not - I repeat WILL NOT - be pressured in my own fucking home.
I tried to be nice about the whole thing - I really did. But I was mad. And I'm still mad. I just think that is so fucking incredibly rude. And such a fucking turnoff. And he left some shit at my house so I had to see him again the next day. UGH. This time I was prepared though. I made up some excuse that I had to leave right away (I told him I had to run over to a friend’s house and pick up some shit I left over there and that was going to be the only time she’d be home all week so no I couldn’t go some other time and he really couldn’t come with because I had to talk to her about something personal and important while I was there…) And it still took him forty-five minutes to leave. God that irritates me.
Anyways, after he finally, finally left - right as I was about to punch him senseless and just drag him out the fucking door – I sat in the kitchen and stared at the cupboard. I was so hungry I could barely stand it. I hadn't eaten all day (to make up for that binge-fest the night before) and I was shaking. I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep. Or maybe I was just looking for an excuse to stuff my face, I don't know. But I binged. AGAIN. Then I cried.
FUCK!!!
FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!!!!
GODFUCKINGDAMNIT!!!
I HATE MYSELF AND I HATE MY STUPID FUCKING PATHETIC LIFE!!!
WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS?!?
WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH ME?!?
I made mac and cheese - the only food I even had in my cupboards - and ate two huge bowls of it. Then throughout the night and into the next morning I kept reaching in the fridge, grabbing a big cold handful of it, and just shoving it in my mouth like a fucking feral animal. Over and over again. God I really hate myself. I binged all day Sunday. I don’t know why, I just couldn’t stop. Then this morning I binged some more. If I keep this up I’m going to have to start puking or using laxatives or something. I can’t think of any other ways to deal with this problem. I’m out of solutions. I’m out of answers. I’m out of hope. I’m fat, full, bloated and sick to my stomach… but all I feel is really, really empty.