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I'm thinking and planning again. Poor me. I shouldn't be planning again, not so soon, but... I can't stop myself from hoping that I can still accomplish things. I am weirdly confident and self-depreciating at the same time.

It'll be okay.

Mocha escaped AGAIN and I'm pretty fucking angry about it. Just a couple of hours earlier, Mocha got into the main house and they left the windows and doors open. I told them not to leave them open, in case he escaped. They agreed to shut the doors/windows. They did it at that moment.

Two hours later, the doors and windows were open again, and as I was sleepily winding down for the night, Mocha got the bedroom door open and escaped - straight out a window.



He didn't just escape though.

He went on a fucking world-tour.



He ran everywhere. He ran all over our property, all around the perimeter and fences, and when the fences weren't interesting any more, he ran through the extensive gardens... and then walked through the fences and into a large paddock next to our house, which has a horse and bulls in it. He ran along THOSE fences (not for long), and he then went into the front yard, which freaked me out even more, since cars hurtle past.

Eventually I found him under the house again - he was tired from an hour of running like a psycho, and he came right up to me... where I grabbed him by the scruff and hauled his little kitty ass into the house.

I checked him for ticks (the horses and bulls are COVERED in them) and I couldn't feel anything on him. His little front paw, though - one of the pads of his front paws is raw and bleeding. It looks clean, so I won't fuss over it.



I walked through numerous spiderwebs and had a huge, disgusting spider on me (Australia, ugh). It was in my goddamn hair.



I am so angry. I /told/ them to close the doors. He was sleepy before he escaped, but then mum, who was in bed, got up, and he was like "Oh, okay, it's upsy time now" and he escaped after her.

I'm so angry.



/SHUT THE DOORS/.

Someone was harassing me today, in the library. I walked in the doors, and he was leaning against the wall. He instantly latched onto me - said hi, looked at me as if... I was his fucking saviour.

He creeped me out in the first 10 seconds.

Like hair-on-nape-bristling - he was c r e e p y.

He looked at me as if he was devoutly religious and I was Jesus, appearing in front of him.

Creepy.



He said hi, and asked how I was, as I walked up the first double-flight of stairs, into the library. I mumbled answers and didn't look at him as I went upstairs.

He followed.

I went in search of a power-point to charge my phone, and not finding one, headed back downstairs, because I knew I could charge it there.

He followed.

I ran down the staircase in a fit of energised pique, and he tried to keep up... and he fell down the second staircase, smashing his knee onto the concrete and tiles below. I continued walking, sighed, asked if he was okay (from 15ft away, heh) and he said he was fine, while rolling on the floor in agony. I watched, he extended his leg - not broken - so I left him laying there.

Terribly bad of me to do, especially as I'm a qualified first-aider, but he freaked me out. He really freaked me out.



I tried to find the charger for my phone, and he had limped his way over into the room I was in.

He thanked me (sounding TOO sincere considering I hadn't made a move to help him, and would rather have called an ambulance than go near him) and then he went to leave.

At the door, talking to himself, he said "No, I'll stay.", and he limped over to a chair where he could sit there and watch me and talk to me.

I packed my bags up - I'd find a charger elsewhere - if he DID hurt himself, good luck to him in limping up four staircases to the top floor to further harass me - and left him down there.

He saw I was leaving, and asked if I live around this area. I said no, and legged it up to the main floor, on the way, informing staff that someone had fallen down the staircase and that they were groaning in pain.



Last week I had some creeps wolf-whistle at me, and a couple of days later, a car load of people catcalled while driving past me.



I don't get it. I really don't. I don't mean it in a self-depreciating way - but... I don't get how men think that is attractive. Like do they expect women to be like "Shouting slurs at me out of a fast-moving vehicle makes me want to fuck you"? Is that what they think? Do they KNOW it's embarrassing and almost predatory to do it, and can leave people feeling intimidated? Do they do it to impress their friends? "Oh yeah bro, she's hot, watch me show how much of a manly man I am by screaming out of the window at her! That'll impress the bros!"

I literally don't get it.

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DaganaNumaraNamari
10:41 Nov 18 2015

I quite enjoyed this entry. Thanks for sharing, truly. Hope you are well, take care, be blessed.

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Mum mentioned I was a vegetarian/nay vegan at lunch yesterday, and someone rudely commented with "You know, vegetarians live shorter lives."

Thanks for that.

It's not scientifically proven, and I'd rather die early knowing I tried to minimise the destruction that my life costs, in every possible way, rather than treat the world like some usable, disposable and infinite resource supply - when it's anything but that.

I'd rather treat the world like every living being on it is beautiful and unique - even "just a cow" - and accept that they all deserve to live.

I'd rather die early thinking I had saved the lives of hundreds of animals than die thinking that for my own selfish reasons - PURELY based on taste - and without the guilt of knowing I had continued to eat animals in a world where you have a choice to eat without cruelty.

I'd rather die early without the egocentric idea that humanity is better than animals and that, as such, animals deserve to die, and it's our right to mass-kill them, to make our lives easier.



And you know what, you fucking moron? I have a subtype of Anorexia Nervosa, so don't assume for a second that if eating meat would make me live LONGER, I'd do it - because it is one of the reasons I cannot eat eggs - because my diet, my health, is not worth the suffering of animals. It's not fucking worth what happens to battery and even barnyard chickens.



So help me god if someone mentions "The circle of life" and "It's natural", and "We're meant to eat meat" one more time...

And don't even get me started on "If you were stuck on a deserted island and there was only animals to eat..."

Today was wonderful and perfect.

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DaganaNumaraNamari
12:10 Nov 15 2015

I agree! Be Blessed!

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I have decided to... do something I've been uhm-ing and ah-ing over for a couple of years, and join a gym. I decided on one that has low costs, is easy to locate and it's got everything included for one premium price (none of this silver, bronze, gold and platinum level bullshit) - so if mum, who also wants to join, is okay with the price (it's seriously better than anything else), I'll be pleased as punch.



It'll... help me decide where I am.

A couple of months ago, I found out that a young(er) boy that I know, my brother's old best friend from childhood, has a type of Leukaemia. He's getting treatment and it seems like he's going to be okay.

My old best friend, her mother died after a 3-year battle to breast cancer, last month.

A couple of days ago, someone I admired and respected to an incredible degree passed away.

Today I got news that another friend's mother, who also has breast cancer, has, as my friend put it, has now got an "expiration date". She was supposed to be in remission, in the clear.



Jesus fucking christ.

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imagesinwords
07:54 Nov 12 2015

It's horrible. So damn rampant.

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I found my old iPod Touch, which is a 1st gen. Holy crap, it's weird. I keep trying to press buttons that don't exist, but otherwise, god DAMN, I can't believe it still works. It's got to be at least 8 years old.



If only I appreciated Apple more. Heh.

I found old photos - two and a half years I estimate, and... god. Looking at those photos and comparing them to the current me and my perception of me... wow. Wow.

It's incredible. Legitimately incredible.

I've lost to much weight since then, but I feel like I haven't lost any - looking at the photos, ones I never would have posted (they were on my camera's SD card, which I just found) normally without cropping them, and it's... amazing.

It's so weird, because I am equally unhappy with my weight now, and I'm roughly 60-65lbs lighter than when those photos were taken. I still feel like I am that weight.

I am trying so hard to work through this, and it's so fucking weird to have photos that very, very obviously show a great deal of weightloss, when you don't feel like you've lost anything. It's so bizarre to have hard proof. It hurts my head.



It's really weird lol. I assume it can... be helpful to have hard proof of the loss - because it challenges the thought that I am the same as I was. And I can see I am not. It's really peculiar.

I'm so tired. I played The Sims 3 Supernatural expansion until about 4.30am. I just couldn't sleep. I now want to snuggle my gorgeous cat and sleepily play more Sims, light my oil-burner and relax in decadent scents.

But... no. xD



I got so upset and overworked by the horse racing a couple of days ago and... I'm now one day entirely dairy and egg free. I'm also feeling my illness creeping back up, so I'll have to be extremely careful. It doens't help that pre-packaged foods list the calorie contents boldly on the front of their packaging - so I'm always thinking "I'll reduce my intake a little more..." - whether I eat tonight will be the test, the ticket, the turning point for relapse.

It also doesn't help that vegan replacement foods are so expensive - I got two kiddy-tubs of vegan yoghurt and they're $4. GAH! I look at them and think "They're 130 calories... I only need that much today." - and I know that's not enough and not logical.

So I'm... trying. I'll see how I go. I'm sometimes a good mediator of my success - if I can't handle it, I'll tell someone and get the encouragement to keep going.

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Judgement
03:54 Nov 05 2015

EAT MORE YA YOB

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I got new mindfulness books today and I coloured for so long that my thumb hurts from gripping the coloured markers and pencils I was using.

I did some pretty amazing stuff, so I'm pretty pleased.



I once went to a class in which someone claimed that colouring books limit children's imaginations, and shouldn't be used. That's like saying that using coloured pencils and markers limit a child's imagination, because they're set, solid colours that cannot be blended. It's like saying that the only way to expand a child's limits artistically are to give them a pallet with red, yellow and blue on it, and an expansive, empty canvas, and tell them "Mix your own colours, paint what you want" - which isn't a problem in itself, and it's something children do in regular painting, but it's implying that anything that's set, grounded and solid is "mundane" and too "concentrated", as if it holds too many boundaries.

It's LIMITING creativity and expression by limiting what you're allowing children to do, ironically enough. If they want to paint by numbers, or colour in, or paint something on a roll of paper... let them, because it's all valuable stuff. They learn valuable stuff by doing all of those things - none is better or worse than the other.

Saying that colouring books limit a child's potential to make their own designs is like saying that painting freeforbidden limits a child's concept of rules and limits. If children want to make their own designs and paint their own pictures, they will.



From a mental health perspective, I can't draw what I... feel, as lame as that sounds. I cannot draw my emotions and my moods. I am a perfectionist, which oddly enough (I typed "oddling"... what) is common within people with my illness, and I cannot perfectly draw, or even begin to encapsulate what I'm feeling. I've tried. I had to try in Creative Therapy, and it was a swirling mess of colours and creeping darkness, surrounded by black. That's how I drew my /face/... and it didn't help my issue with "not being accurate enough".



I use colouring books. I colour in shades and sets of different colours. I use markers, smooth wax crayons and pencils. I give myself comfort of routine and limits - I keep within the lines, which makes me feel like I have a sense of control and I colour in new ways, sometimes, exploring what I can and cannot stand in terms of pallets, making myself uncomfortable and sometimes very frustrated... within a controlled environment.

I don't even just have to limit myself to the materials I have - I could go buy glue and glitter, and completely, very accurately and precisely use those to fill the lines. I could get big, simple designs and use coloured sands and glitters. I could use scraps of fabric and I could use nothing more than pencil shavings, smudged into the paper.

It's limitless.

Creativity isn't limited by what you have. It's creative to make the most with what you've got, and still make something you're proud of. Even if it's "just" a colouring book.



Gah. I hate the idea that "colouring is for children" and that colouring-in books aren't even good enough for children any more - so these "adult" colouring books are also rubbish. Nope. For me, and from observation of others (and through recommendations and then comments made later) an excellent thing for people to do... /just because/.

It's fun. It's mindful. It lets you escape in a way that is not mindless - it's something that keeps you thinking, but thinking solely on what you're doing. It's a very present and aware thing to be doing, and it's really soothing.



I'm glad it's become more "mainstream", and not just something I did in the eating disorder clinic. I'm glad it's a portable, and physical form of mindfulness meditation and therapy that I can take with me.

It's that time of year again, where we name systematic animal abusers "Iconic Australian heroes" and we cheer on thoroughly whipped (literally) animals for the sake of... money - which, may I add, will not profit the Australian economy other than catching other rich morons, like flies in honey, that come here to enter or watch the disgusting horse-whip-a-thon.

Yeah, woo, we get an influx of men and women who support animal abuse and they feed minimal amounts of money into hotels, eateries and tourism for a couple of days, spending their money that's unethically gained. When people say "But they spend money that benefits the economy!" - they spend such small amounts that it doesn't fucking matter - most of the money goes on horse racing. That's a bad thing, no matter how you look at it - in terms of animal rights and those suffering from things like gambling addiction - for those with a problem, Melbourne Cup Day is like Christmas.



Australia's a lovely country. We celebrate that we train horses and then race them, sell them, force them to breed, and kill them if they're injured. We celebrate those who enable gambling as "heroes".



It's that time of year where we turn a blind eye to the fact that many animals have died for this race. It's that time where we ignore that if any of those horses injure themselves, they'll be killed on the track, cameras averted so no-one watching on television sees just how callously we kill them - because they're not living beings, they're money on legs - and if they're broken, they're not worth anything.

It's that time where, not only are horses treated like commodities, but women are also oggled - the skimpier or more expensive your dress (or both, for bonus points), the stupider your "head dress", the more likely you're going to be noticed by some stud (pun implied) and mounted on the newspapers, photographed and treated like walking breasts - and not an actual human.





I hate this country. We're currently highest for gambling in the world - shown by the fact that we're making public holidays to focus on multi-million dollar races that perpetrate the suffering of animals. It's not just horses - dogs, which have numerous Animal Rights violations, are also raced and bet upon... and celebrated.

And with the gambling comes Australia's iconic drinking culture - getting blind drunk in the middle of the day and sloshing your way through a tear-soaked (for either winning OR losing) evening into a maudlin, melancholy night.

So proud of you, Australia.

So proud.

Since about August, I can't stand seeing fitness motivational posters.

It's not them it's me.

To be fair, most of them are perfectly innocent, but some strike a deeeeeeeep chord. Some of the things on them are the sorts of things my illness whispers - and it's weird seeing those things mass-shared by people.

"Imagine yourself six months from now. Don't stop, it'll be worth it."

"Sore today, strong tomorrow."

and so on.

I know it's my issue, and half are fine, but gah. Gah. My ex-housemate posted a lot of them, and I am trying to avoid them while trying to recover - I was just bombarded with a whole host of what I consider to be the "worst sort". Haha. Fuck.

Well... I don't know. I am going to see how I go. I've been feeling a bit loopy for the last couple of days, while also feeling... happy. Cute. Weirdly distorted.

I've been working hard to remove the filter from my eyes, the automatic filter that initiates as soon as I walk past or look into a reflective surface. Glass windows in stores. Mirrors. Large bodies of still water. Shadows. Gah.

It's getting much better, though. To use it as an analogy, I don't see SOLID blue any more - just a heavy tint. I'm not seeing just one thing, but I'm still looking through heavy tint, which is better than the resounding all-or-nothing... sometimes.

Lazy summer days, pleasant company, my kitty running around the house, gentle conversation and playful pestering... I'm so happy.

I'm so lucky.

Sometimes I miss that. Sometimes I miss the friendship. I miss the familiarity.



I saw an old friend today, who I haven't seen for years, in the mall. She stopped to say hi and exchange the expected pleasantries. She asked what I'd been doing over the last few years, I told her I moved a few times and we laughed about that. I didn't mention I was ill, she didn't mention my rather changed physical appearance (I got a message from an old friend about that the other day - that my "face looks all different" and that was awkward) and we didn't talk for long at all... but it was enough to make me miss having a couple of friends.

I think... I thought teenagers were trivial, and so I never kept my friends from highschool.

I think I judged them too much, and because I was already walking the dark, winding path of my illness, I'd already been diagnosed with one of my co-morbidities, I felt like the woes of teenagers were really petty and shallow.

I couldn't stand half the people I was around - complaining about boys and dates and clothing and what music was playing, what movies were out, homework, television programmes... stuff that still is unappealing to talk about now. I had less patience as a teen, less of an attention-span to listen to people prattling on.



I sometimes regret that I didn't pay more attention, and I didn't try harder to get to know people. I think that if I had, I may have not had the trouble with my housemate. I worry that if I had known her better, tried just a little harder, I'd have had some knowledge and I may not have moved. But then... I am also GLAD I didn't force myself to watch shitty television, listen to shitty music, pretend to be interested in people, just to seem... easier to relate to. I think I am glad that I didn't do that. I am glad I let myself be, and didn't try climb any sort of social ladder. I am glad I was a "wall-flower", even if I sometimes miss having people who I could have a casual conversation with.