01-11-06 | 12:11

The still, the clam after the storm, after the drama, after the breakdown. I tried to write an entry a few times last night. Each time I was thwarted by self-doubt and deleted my words. Last night was bad. Yesterday was bad. I think it went bad with the cup of peanut M&M's I ate after re-stocking the candy drawer at work. (As a side note, can you believe that is one of my tasks? A bloody test every afternoon) I didn't feel like going to the gym, but I pushed myself nonetheless, and I don't know if that was a mistake or not. I was a mess from the start. I was stressed out, I almost tripped twice on the walk to the gym, and once I got there the place was filled to the brim with skinny workout chicks. I felt my energy and willpower draining by the minute. But worked out, I split water all over myself and almost fell on the treadmill. I couldn't lift weights without being self-conscious and I felt wasted when I looked at my heart rate monitor and saw that I burned a measly 241 calories. I think my M&M's had more calories than that.
Somewhere on my fifteen-block walk home I decided to order pizza. I had my heart set on ordering food. PB was at his studio and then going to dinner in Chinatown with some friends. I was safe I was alone. I knew how I would feel. As I waited for the pizza to arrive I shoveled down sourdough bread with a bit of olive oil balsamic dipping sauce. I also ate some orange chocolate chip pound cake. I could have ordered sushi. That Spicy Vegetable Roll is narcotic but I was told that delivery would be at least an hour wait. I couldn't wait.
The pizza wasn't even that good. But I ate it. And I knew it was coming, the upset, the worthlessness, the tears, and the disgust. I called PB but I didn't want to seem upset and cause him to leave his friends. He was having a good time and I was happy for him. I acted out. Threw things around, the maid just came and I felt extra destructive. I crawled into bed with all the lights on and my clothes still on. I had nary a glass of water since I arrived home. I was swollen from crying and bloated from all the cheese and lack of water. I dozed off in between tears, crying all the more because I didn't deserve to cry or to feel bad.
PB came home a bit later and the poor guy must have thought I'd been kidnapped. He rushed into the bedroom and well; it didn't take a sleuth to figure out what happened to me. He lay in bed with me, waiting for me to talk, holding me while I cried. I really do not remember the details. But some time later he put me in the shower and I cam out with the apartment tidied up and I felt a little better.
We fell asleep at one o'clock. On Wednesdays I am very busy. I have Pilates in the morning, therapy right after and then my personal training at 4:30. This morning I couldn't get out of bed until 11:30. I missed Pilates and I cancelled therapy. PB told me that a therapist is like Santa and can tell when I am lying. But either way I think it is OK. I feel awful about missing Pilates. On the day that I needed the most to move around. I just couldn't get out of bed. My muscles felt heavy and I felt like I weighed a ton, or that a ton of bricks fell on me. PB literally picked me up and put of bed and now, after some cereal and a cup of coffee I am here, typing my transgressions of last night.
I ate last night to punish myself. If I cannot be perfect I deserve nothing more than absolute failure. And then I cannot be upset about it.
I am coughing today because of the dairy I consumed last night.
PB thinks that food is not my issue but rather a symptom of other issues. I know I am terribly afraid of school. But aside from that I had no clue or the energy to figure out the issue. What a day to lie to my therapist and cancel therapy.
I broke all my rules and this is what I get. A late night of self-wallowing and a day of being hung-over.

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