w: 120.8
I have no appetite.
This is an extraordinarily strange feeling. I've had such a specific relationship with food for the past several years - usually a very strong love/hate one, where I was often voraciously hungry and obsessed with food. Where it was all I could do to not eat down the house (and consequently, become the size of a house).
Now, I'm struggling to eat. Nothing tastes good. Nothing looks appetizing. I keep a diary of how much I eat, and how many calories, and I'm barely touching 900 calories a day. I'm glad I'm finally losing weight but I'm scared to eat so little. But I'm simply not hungry - or if I am hungry, there's nothing I feel like eating, so I drink tea to fill me up.
I'm in a thoroughly peculiar place, emotionally. I've been rejected, but not really. I have no plans, but not really. I feel lost, but I'm not really.
One of the designers I worked with over the summer gave me some good advice. He told me that there was no hurry. That I didn't have to rush to New York, rush to get paid design work. That things would happen in their own time, and to be persistent, optimistic, and kind. I need to keep those thoughts in my head, because I think 99% of my freaking out is because my plans aren't happening fast enough. And that if they don't happen fast enough, nothing will ever happen for me. And while there may be some truth in that, I'm not going to let "nothing" happen to me. I just need to accept that it's going to take longer than I originally planned.
I went over to UNCG last night and saw a dress rehearsal of Oklahoma!. It's a good production of a musical I've never liked, so my thoughts on it were mixed. The best part, actually, was seeing some of my friends and old teachers. I've been missing being around people - I feel so isolated and lonely. I've taken to driving out to the park and sitting in the sun and reading books and just enjoying being around people. Once the show officially opens, everyone will be on more flexible schedules, and I can finally just hang out with people.
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
the show must go on.
every therapist, every counselor, every mentor, every teacher has told me not to hide my emotions. I think this is because for years and years, I did keep things to myself, in such stifling quantities that when the dam finally burst (at the age of 19, in the middle of tech for my very first show), I broke down so completely that I picked up my things, left school, and went home for nine months. And hid.
but my therapist urged me. "You can't keep hiding how you feel. You can't keep feeling ashamed, or guilty, or embarrassed, about your emotions." Talking to her about all the things I felt got easier with time, and I realized that I did start to feel better for the talking. It felt like receiving absolution. As the months and years passed, I progressively stopped hiding, and let people into my life, in a more emotional sense. I even learned how to still remain calm and relatively emotionless and untroubled at work, and not let that accidentally impede on whatever openness I was cultivating in my personal life.
mostly, being open earns me praise. My later therapists enjoyed seeing me, and could often give me sound advice, because I could speak openly and honestly about my life and my reactions to it. I was an asset in group therapy, because I set a good example and made other girls in the group less self-conscious about speaking frankly on difficult topics. The more I could talk, to share how I felt, the more advice and help I could receive. Nothing about me was a mystery to them. I had no poker face.
Life, however, is not all therapy, and I'm now faced with the question: were they all wrong?
I'm discovering that maybe my level of openness is inappropriate. Maybe there are things better left unsaid. It had never really occurred to me that my frankness could be a burden to other people - maybe because I never felt burdened when other people were open with me about whatever troubled them. Maybe because I scared myself so badly when the pendulum was swung in the other direction, and I never wanted to feel that way again.
when I think about it, I think I pretend that being open about my problems and my emotions is the end solution. "Oh, I can talk about it, so clearly I'm dealing with it." Or that being open about it even excuses some of the behavior - like, "oh, that's just how Kate is, hahaha." But I'm not dealing with it, and it just isn't who I am. I enjoy being open but there is a time and place for it - I'm not this inappropriate. Worse, I'm glancing at all my problems sideways, and I can't do that anymore. Because I'm not hurting just myself anymore by doing that - I'm hurting people I love.
It's time to face things head-on, with a big, brilliant smile on my face.
but my therapist urged me. "You can't keep hiding how you feel. You can't keep feeling ashamed, or guilty, or embarrassed, about your emotions." Talking to her about all the things I felt got easier with time, and I realized that I did start to feel better for the talking. It felt like receiving absolution. As the months and years passed, I progressively stopped hiding, and let people into my life, in a more emotional sense. I even learned how to still remain calm and relatively emotionless and untroubled at work, and not let that accidentally impede on whatever openness I was cultivating in my personal life.
mostly, being open earns me praise. My later therapists enjoyed seeing me, and could often give me sound advice, because I could speak openly and honestly about my life and my reactions to it. I was an asset in group therapy, because I set a good example and made other girls in the group less self-conscious about speaking frankly on difficult topics. The more I could talk, to share how I felt, the more advice and help I could receive. Nothing about me was a mystery to them. I had no poker face.
Life, however, is not all therapy, and I'm now faced with the question: were they all wrong?
I'm discovering that maybe my level of openness is inappropriate. Maybe there are things better left unsaid. It had never really occurred to me that my frankness could be a burden to other people - maybe because I never felt burdened when other people were open with me about whatever troubled them. Maybe because I scared myself so badly when the pendulum was swung in the other direction, and I never wanted to feel that way again.
when I think about it, I think I pretend that being open about my problems and my emotions is the end solution. "Oh, I can talk about it, so clearly I'm dealing with it." Or that being open about it even excuses some of the behavior - like, "oh, that's just how Kate is, hahaha." But I'm not dealing with it, and it just isn't who I am. I enjoy being open but there is a time and place for it - I'm not this inappropriate. Worse, I'm glancing at all my problems sideways, and I can't do that anymore. Because I'm not hurting just myself anymore by doing that - I'm hurting people I love.
It's time to face things head-on, with a big, brilliant smile on my face.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
the day after christmas.
when I was a little girl, Christmas was easily my favorite holiday. Not just because of the presents - although that was certainly a big part of it - but because it was this one day each year where everyone was happy, light-hearted, and carefree. When we all ate good food and nothing could really go wrong - how could anything go wrong, when surrounded by loved ones and good cheer?
The day after Christmas, though, was my least favorite day of the year. For me, the feeling of the "day after" would begin as coffee was served after Christmas dessert - signaling the end of the meal and thus, the end of a beautiful day. I never wanted it to end, because tomorrow we would have to continue about our normal lives, and deal with the realities of life that we had forgotten about for this one day. So on the day after Christmas I was in an inevitable funk, a depression I couldn't lift myself from. I dreaded the idea of waiting another full year for that same feeling of joy I felt on Christmas. I'd cry the whole day, filled with such an inexplicable anguish that alarmed anyone not immediately acquainted with my behaviors.
today, I no longer cry the day after Christmas. I outgrew that reaction early on in my teenage years. However, I have not outgrown the deep depression I feel at the end of, say, a wonderful vacation, or a visit from a wonderful friend I don't see enough. I begin to suffocate with the idea that I will never experience something so incredible again - that maybe I won't again be able to afford that vacation, or that special friend and I will have a falling out and lose what made our friendship - and the visit - so enormously meaningful. The "day after Christmas phenomenon," as my mother sardonically calls it, is very well alive in me right now. And it's literally making me crazy.
it doesn't much help that now I really have to get cracking on moving to NYC, but I know that doing so is going to make me feel better. I'll feel better once I'm in New York and, in a way, closer to the things that mean the most to me. I feel disconnected and far away, and it isn't helping me one bit. I'm terribly afraid of being forgotten, or getting lost in the shuffle, but maybe once I get up there I can better plant my feet and feel more secure in some of the choices I've made.
but in the meantime, I can only hope that the day after Christmas feeling passes.
The day after Christmas, though, was my least favorite day of the year. For me, the feeling of the "day after" would begin as coffee was served after Christmas dessert - signaling the end of the meal and thus, the end of a beautiful day. I never wanted it to end, because tomorrow we would have to continue about our normal lives, and deal with the realities of life that we had forgotten about for this one day. So on the day after Christmas I was in an inevitable funk, a depression I couldn't lift myself from. I dreaded the idea of waiting another full year for that same feeling of joy I felt on Christmas. I'd cry the whole day, filled with such an inexplicable anguish that alarmed anyone not immediately acquainted with my behaviors.
today, I no longer cry the day after Christmas. I outgrew that reaction early on in my teenage years. However, I have not outgrown the deep depression I feel at the end of, say, a wonderful vacation, or a visit from a wonderful friend I don't see enough. I begin to suffocate with the idea that I will never experience something so incredible again - that maybe I won't again be able to afford that vacation, or that special friend and I will have a falling out and lose what made our friendship - and the visit - so enormously meaningful. The "day after Christmas phenomenon," as my mother sardonically calls it, is very well alive in me right now. And it's literally making me crazy.
it doesn't much help that now I really have to get cracking on moving to NYC, but I know that doing so is going to make me feel better. I'll feel better once I'm in New York and, in a way, closer to the things that mean the most to me. I feel disconnected and far away, and it isn't helping me one bit. I'm terribly afraid of being forgotten, or getting lost in the shuffle, but maybe once I get up there I can better plant my feet and feel more secure in some of the choices I've made.
but in the meantime, I can only hope that the day after Christmas feeling passes.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
"you can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. honestly."
w: 124.4 (but it's seriously all water.)
yesterday was brilliant. I went over to campus and found some of my favorite people. Happily, not all of my best friends have high-tailed it out of the 'boro. Tomorrow a bunch of us are getting lunch together at a truly epic Japanese restaurant in town. So excited. Less excited about the huge quantity of sodium in all the food, but I'll drink a lot of tea to compensate.
I'm totally stressed out. Tonight, Mom and I are meeting Rachel and her mom to discuss our impending move to New York. John suggested that I move to Queens - the prices are better, and the trains take you straight into midtown. As much as I'd love a Manhattan address, maybe it's better to start off somewhere else.
I'm working on my website, and that's just annoying. It's not enough to buy the domain name; you have to buy hosting privileges so you can put things on your site. Then you have to buy an email address to go with the site. And on top of all the protocol, the codes, the how-to guides that might as well be written in Klingon, I actually have to build my site. Fortunately, iWeb is quite helpful in this arena, and I've built a cute little site that's good enough to get started with. If only I could figure out how to correctly upload an iWeb site into a personal domain....
yesterday was brilliant. I went over to campus and found some of my favorite people. Happily, not all of my best friends have high-tailed it out of the 'boro. Tomorrow a bunch of us are getting lunch together at a truly epic Japanese restaurant in town. So excited. Less excited about the huge quantity of sodium in all the food, but I'll drink a lot of tea to compensate.
I'm totally stressed out. Tonight, Mom and I are meeting Rachel and her mom to discuss our impending move to New York. John suggested that I move to Queens - the prices are better, and the trains take you straight into midtown. As much as I'd love a Manhattan address, maybe it's better to start off somewhere else.
I'm working on my website, and that's just annoying. It's not enough to buy the domain name; you have to buy hosting privileges so you can put things on your site. Then you have to buy an email address to go with the site. And on top of all the protocol, the codes, the how-to guides that might as well be written in Klingon, I actually have to build my site. Fortunately, iWeb is quite helpful in this arena, and I've built a cute little site that's good enough to get started with. If only I could figure out how to correctly upload an iWeb site into a personal domain....
Sunday, September 5, 2010
9.5
w: 121.2
when I get panicky, I start eating vegetables. Huge quantities of them. And I drink gallons of green tea. Like I'm trying to drown or push something out of my body.
being home is comforting, but lonelier than I imagined. I realized that all my friends have moved away, or are still here in school but busy with their own lives. I've been spending my days unpacking, reorganizing, going out by myself, idly shopping for things I don't need but seem to be filled with the promise of filling up whatever emptiness I'm experiencing. As much as I love my alone time, I know too much of it is dangerous for me. I can already feel myself getting restless.
the weather here is beautiful right now. I'm thinking about going to the park with a book - you know, doing one of those supposedly calming, idyllic activities. Or I could take a nap.
I really am glad to be home. I'm still exhausted, though, and still covered in scratches and bruises from the summer. I feel gross.
when I get panicky, I start eating vegetables. Huge quantities of them. And I drink gallons of green tea. Like I'm trying to drown or push something out of my body.
being home is comforting, but lonelier than I imagined. I realized that all my friends have moved away, or are still here in school but busy with their own lives. I've been spending my days unpacking, reorganizing, going out by myself, idly shopping for things I don't need but seem to be filled with the promise of filling up whatever emptiness I'm experiencing. As much as I love my alone time, I know too much of it is dangerous for me. I can already feel myself getting restless.
the weather here is beautiful right now. I'm thinking about going to the park with a book - you know, doing one of those supposedly calming, idyllic activities. Or I could take a nap.
I really am glad to be home. I'm still exhausted, though, and still covered in scratches and bruises from the summer. I feel gross.
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