I feel like such a freaking girl.

I spent today with my mom. We shopped. A lot. Okay, a ridiculous amount, and all girly stuff. I got today: cookie dough lip balm/gloss, crazy nail polish, a cute top, a cuter miniskirt (horrors! had never worn anything like it before… now my legs are skinnier so I can… hoorah), delicous chocolate from a free sample lady, the best damn strawberries I’ve ever had, pretty good low calorie french onion soup (150 in a restaurant meal! AMAZING), a cinnamon latte (mmm), a shawl thing to wear to church, 4 pairs of earrings (on sale!), and a bra. We hit up all kinds of sales, and my mom’s excited because she went down a size (she’s like a size 20 now, and she says she hasn’t worn that since she got married). She doesn’t realize that her losing weight by NOT EATING ALL FREAKING DAY while LECTURING ME FOR NOT EATING MUCH (I eat 3 meals and 2 snacks every day, thanks!) is EXTREMELY TRIGGERING, especially when she’s all like “I’m skinny now heeheehee!” and “Oh, I can’t eat, I’ll have to eat again later!” Seriously, she skips breakfast so she won’t have to eat lunch. MEH!

But anyway, it was a lovely girly day. Thankfully, my obnoxious sister didn’t tag along. Really, she’s been awful, throwing tantrums and curling up in the fetal position in counseling… I think I ranted about that already. Ah well. I’m hungry and all I smell is peanut butter. I don’t want peanut butter. Hmmm. What shall I eat?

Ember Sky progress, and also Phoenix Wright!

So I got Trials and Tribulations, finally, and surprisingly enough I’ve been anble to do other things besides play it. It’s great so far, although I hate hate HATE Mia’s voice. Apparently the annoying psyche lock thing is still in… damn, I hate that. Ah well. I’m not so sure about Apollo Justice, but I hear there’s a game coming where you play as Edgeworth. My inner screaming fangirl squeals with delight. i love that poofy neck thing he wears– is that a crevat? Hmm.

But the more important thing– I have the preliminary sketches for Ember Sky’s facesets ready! I have to install my pprinter/scanner and scan them, then color them, and they’ll be ready for action. In the mean time, I’m wrapping up the intro. Hopefully I won’t get too distracted!

Also in exciting yayness– I’m finally getting my film processed from a few weeks ago. This means soon I’ll be able to post some of my new photos! Yay! Perhaps I’ll even post a picture of my beautiful self, hmm? Haha… in much better spirits now. There is no freaking way I’m gonna let myself backslide over a freaking bathing suit.

Also, good news for those following my hideous clothing adventures– I have shirts. They fit me. Let’s throw a party.

Demoralized.

On so many levels it has been a bad day.

Globally, it has been a bad few days. After the cyclone in Myanmar (Burma?), it is estimated that one million people are homeless, says my mom who was awake to watch the news. It’s unfathomable. One million people without a place to sleep. Tens of thousands of dead bodies. My God. To us it’s just a number. It’s so easy to simplify and numb ourselves to it. But just stop for a minute. Try to picture it. Not just the pictures on the news. Just imagine, your house gone. Now your neighborhood. Your city. Maybe even your state or province or what have you. Gone. Incredible, unbelievable, and true.

Personally, of course, I’m struggling again. If there is anything that can make me upset, it’s clothes shopping. I need a bathing suit– doom. Just… doom. Everything which looked fine under my clothes suddenly seemed bulgy, jiggly, hideous. I feel disgusting. Shameful. Like I don’t deserve to recover. Why should I? After all, I have these huge awful thighs. I must be a pig, a lazy ugly pig not worth anyone’s time. I still feel like that. But I forced myself to eat my scheduled lunch and snack. I must remember that starving myself is not going to make me worthwhile.

It’s frustrating to be so stuck on me when all this crap is going on. But I firmly believe that I can take control of my own life, and that in order to lend strength to others, I must. I can’t save the lives and homes of the people in Myanmar, but I can get better and be an inspiration to others facing this disease. That I can do.

Happiness is not a baggy size 0.

I was never much for pro ana sites. I used them sometimes to scare myself into eating, or to convince myself nothing was wrong because I was eating more than these girls, or I weighed more, or whatever. Total BS, by the way. But they are insidious. Really. Their sick mantras leech into the brain, and although intellectually you KNOW they’re absurd, they’re there. “You can never be too thin.” “Bones are beautiful.” “Happiness is a baggy size 0.” The “thinspirational” messages can and will get to you. Even if they disgust you, repulse you, make you want to shove 15 peanut butter and fluff sandwiches in every model’s face, that image is still there. I am haunted by a girl whose perfect, smooth thighs have at least 3 inches between them when she stands with her feet together. Even when your rational brain screams, “THIS IS NONSENSE. THIS IS NOT YOU. THIS PROBABLY ISN’T EVEN REAL,” there’s that annoying part that whispers, “If she can look like that, why can’t you? Because she’s better than you, that’s why.” And that’s what it comes down to. It’s not about thinness or attractiveness. It is a feeling of weakness, inferiority, lack of control, the urge to disappear. You don’t realize that unless you’ve been to that lovely place where you wonder how much it would hurt if you sliced off the jiggliness on your thigh, and ponder for a while if it would be worth it. It’s that lovely place that makes you stare at the mirror in tears because you miss your bones.

I hope I’m getting past that particular circle of hell. I had a pretty good day today. Lots of laughing, silliness, and joy. Productivity. Resolve.

And an interesting development.

We went to AJ Wright, a great store with some incredible deals. Now, because I dropped about 50 pounds and am smaller than I have ever been (or at least not for a very long time), I have very little that fits me properly. No t-shirts at all, really, 2 pairs of jeans (both a bit saggy now), and a few funky silky shirts not at all appropriate for just messing around. I need clothes.

So I go frolicking down the aisles, remembering those days when I was too big for all the cute stuff and laughing– not any more, I’m a good size now! Down the aisle, to the ladies’ extra small. I pull out a few shirts, a dress or two as well. On the hanger, they look good. I scurry to the dressing room, slip on one after another. A touch too small on the boobs, but far too loose on the tummy. I know, a unique problem. Mildly frustrated, I tell my mom. She gives me that “EAT A SANDWICH NAO” look that I hate. To make a point, I pull out a size 0 shirt. It looks so tiny. “This is a size 0,” I tell her. “I’m not THAT thin. See? I could never wear that.” She raises an eyebrow. “Try it on,” she says. So I wrinkle my nose at her. And I try it on. Just a tiny bit snug on the boobs, again… and too lose everywhere else, down to my hips, where it fits nicely.

This is not happiness. It’s kinda freaky, actually.

I think it might have been an anomaly, a looser, flowier shirt perhaps. There’s no way I’m a baggy size 0. That’s just scary wrong.