Happy Friday everyone,
Its been a long week, and though I did find something amusing to share with you all, my little sis' has been really sick lately and I'm just not in the mood to type it right now. I promise to do so some time this weekend; if I were to write it now I don't believe I'd be doing the moment justice. In the mean time, I had another reader send in her story, so I'm going to be posting that sometime after this recap is online. Enjoy the rest of your day! -Soliuna
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Yo!
Drum roll please, the Friday post is here! (I didn't know how to start this post, so I went with tacky). Now that the initial awkwardness is out of the way, we have some business to attend to. This week I recieved some submissions from a few lovely ladies who agreed to let me post their stories here. I'm going to step of my soap box for a moment, read on to see their truths. Hi Nerds,
Sorry this post is a lot overdue, some weird stuff went down and I'm lame and procrastinated on this post. In terms of how this (actually last) week's challenge went, it was actually a lot more difficult than I thought it would be. The first couple of days were without incident, but on Friday I had a melt down. It went something like this: Huh, there's no one in the bathroom right now. Translation: Perfect time to check on the obvious food baby brewing under my shirt. And the maniacal gremlin in my brain cackles as she shoves the people pleaser (mentioned last post) through the floor. The core checking ritual is in session. It starts with the mirror, I turn sideways, look at my stomach for a good few minutes. Then I move, taking a few steps forward to see if that changes the size of the spare tire under my skin. It's growing before my eyes. It doesn't. I step back approximately five feet. I'm going to explode. Nope. Darn. Still the same. Next comes the pinching. I move back to my original spot. Three feet from insanity, two feet from reality. I watch my roving hands. They manipulate their way across my abdomen, pausing every couple of seconds; my eyes are broken. Each time it changes; each time it's the same. Cue the emo teen music. My fingers absentmindedly twist at my torso. Click-clack. Someone's coming. Tick-tock. Time to go. I pull my shirt down and try to walk away from me, a task tougher than anticipated. That night I did something uncharacteristic of me; I (gasp!) thought. Eww. What am I trying to accomplish here? Since I did not know the answer to this question immediately I did what my instincts dictated as the best course of action, staring blankly at the wall. So productive. Thought process in motion, I came to the conclusion that I'm not sure anymore. I really want to have a witty explanation I could pull out of my hat, but the truth is I don't know. And that's ok. This challenge has made me realize that the recovery scene is all about those "why's" and finding out what they mean. Understanding the motivating factors behind this behavior is going to take a bit longer than one (ok, two) week(s). If it means one day I'll be healthy enough to win the war between my eyes and behind my skull, I'll take it. Until next time, Soliuna Hi Nerds! It appears that my cat will not receive my blankets, nor shall my sister become sole possessor of my fuzzy pants this week because chicken on bread did not kill me. As disappointing as this news must be for my poor furry companion, navigating the lunch scene and not dying has been a pretty cool thing to me. So, without further I give you the rundown of something that I hope one day will not be such of a big deal! Its twelve twenty. A chime that sounds annoyingly like the doorbell at my house goes off overhead. "Stupid door-bell bell" I think to myself. There is about a gazillion things I could do with the next half hour. Could, I could leave. Picking up my mountain of stuff is like trying to move the Andes to Hawaii but somehow, against all odds, everything (sort of) fits in my backpack and then I'm out the door. Twelve Twenty-Six. Slinking back to my locker, I'm lost in a very rivetting conversation with myself about the best method to slink more efficiently when I see a familiar black bob of hair pocking through the crowd. Said black bob of hair is connected to a hand, a hand which at the moment is waving at me. ALERT! This is not a drill, I repeat THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! Oh dear creator of all things good, why? Maybe if I stand still, she won't notice me. "Ostrich it out," I ration. Nope, too late. She calls me accross the quad. "Hey girl!" I hunch a little lower, defeated, because I know what she is going to say next. "Lunch with me," says the mouth connected to the black mop of luscious locks. There is no escape now. Her brown eyes lock target on mine and the people pleaser in my head overrides all system protocol. "Yeah man!" I holler back. Brain sucesfully rebooted. I check my watch. Twelve thirty-two. Unfortunately, my pouting-about-life time is going to have to wait today. Moment of truth, time to lunch The table tried to be a circle. It really did. But its not; its an oval. For whatever reason, this bothers me greatly. Who doesn't like a good circle? And so it starts. A whole bunch of other girls flock over to our roundly-challenged table. Then we talk and eat and it feels perfectly normal. Twelve Fifty. Door-bell bell rings again and its time for this fifteen-ish minute lunch party to disperse and go to class. From this experience, I learned that lunch is just another part of the day that I love to over think. I can't wait until this becomes boring. Though I only sat in once this week to do my time, I hope to start switching out solitude time with some hard core lunching. Humans eat food, and that's ok. Until next post, -Soliuna |
Nerds in the NeighborhoodSoliuna
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