I cannot believe my last post…
I was happy and healthy and excited to be an educator.
Except now I have a full-time teaching position, but I am miserable. Part of it is my depression creeping back, but a majority of it is how awful my job makes me feel.
I want to quit. I would rather be in a hospital being slowly medicated to death than go to work on Monday…
Is there something wrong with me?
Why do I always ruin good opportunities with my failure?
Am I broken?
Wow. Hi. It has been awhile.
I haven’t posted in such a long time, but here I am sitting in class while my students work quietly on some worksheets writing a post.
Posting on this page sometimes used to make me feel better, and looking back at my posts makes me so sad because I was so sad.
Let’s just get right back to it…
Today, I woke up late…like 45 minutes late. It was one of those times where the snooze button seems to be hit without my knowledge even though I was the one hitting it. Once I realized I had slept in, I tried to convince myself that I was sick which was something I used to do ALOT…when I was in a bad place. As I started to make a plan in my head to stay home, I remembered how I need to be here for my students while my mentor teachers are gone on conference. (I am student teaching this semester so I am not officially a teacher, but while all of the theatre department’s teachers are in Galveston, I am in charge of the classes I have so far just been observing.)
For example, one of my students is transgender, and the substitute (who is legally required to be here for liability reasons even though they don’t do anything) is not supposed to call her by her old name during roll call because no one in the class knows her by that name. This is really the only reason I woke up this morning. To save her from that uncomfortable hand raise and awkward “here” when the substitute calls “Alan” when everyone knows her as “Leah.”
This reason made me think…I really am going to be able to do this whole teaching thing. Caring for and being there for the kids are the main purpose of being an educator.
I can do this.
Until next time, have a great day.
Hello whoever still follows me,
I have been absent-minded about posting on this blog for quite awhile. Honestly, my life has ben going well, and when I post on here, I tend to think only of the negative because that is what consumes this blog: negativity.
I am back to discuss my current problem: food. Although my depression and self-harm have not been an issue recently, my eating disorder symptoms have increased as I have begun a very strict diet with my mothe. My mother and I are on the HCG diet. This diet is known for the dieter administering a shot of the HCG hormone that feeds off stored fat instead of stored muscle when in starvation mode. (HCG is the hormone women produce when they’re pregnant.) SO. Basically, the diet consists of 3 phases.
- Phase 1: loading. This means you eat as much as you can stand for 2-3 days to prepare for the next phase.
- Phase 2: 600 calories. This phase consists of eating 600 calories of certain verified foods and restricting all starch, dairy, and sugar for 3 weeks. Of course, it is a bit more complex than that, but I’m too lazy to type it.
- Phase 3: 800 calories. This phase consists of eating 800 calories and still restricting starch and most sugars for three weeks, but dairy and more foods are allowed during this phase.
My mother and I started this diet at the beginning of the year, and I have lost 16 lbs so far which is great for a month and a half. We are currently on phase 2 of our second round of the diet.
Here is the catch.
Last round I cheated a lot and did not lose as much weight as I could’ve. I would binge dessert foods then throw them up. I would avoid eating all day so I could binge on cookies and frosting before I went to bed. I was doing all of the unhealthy things that got me out into an eating disorder facility last year.
So this round I am very determined to lose more weight than the last. But…at what cost? I am supposed to eat 600 calories every day, but I’ve mostly been eating 300-500. When I am on campus, I avoid eating. I am trying to only eat with my mom to lose more weight. I have lost 4 lbs since I started phase 2 which was 3 days ago. So I’m impressed with my results, and seeing the numbers go down on the scale only encourages me to continue restriciting my diet more than it already is.
My overeating and lack of eating has always been an issue, but I would like to lose 20-40 lbs by June. My brother is getting married, and I am in the wedding. I also need to keep the guy I’m dating interested in me, and losing weight will do that.
I just finished cutting.
My first time in 2016.
There goes my New Year’s resolution.
I haven’t been taking my medicine. Partly because it’s inconvenient, and partly because I’m tired of it. Sometimes I feel like I’ll be fine without it. Sometimes I feel like I’m rebelling against it because I want to feel this way. I want to cut. I want to feel hopeless.
But other times…I just want to be normal. I want to be happy and laugh at the little things. Lately, laughing takes a whole lot of effort. Everything takes a whole lot of effort.
I’m trying to fill the hole in my heart with a man, but I’m not having much luck. Every time it seems like someone wants to be with me, their actions show that they are only interested in fucking me.
I suppose I’ll just continue feeling this way until I decide I want to be better.
There once was a girl. She was broken.
There once was a boy. He was beautiful.
This boy sparked something deep in the girl’s soul. Then he forgot about her.
Now she is…
I’ve started cutting again.
I can’t stop.
It’s too helpful.
As I sit in a restaurant waiting for my mother to return from getting money to pay for our lunch, I decided to write a little bit…
I haven’t had the courage or the time to write in the past few months. I have returned to school so my free time is filled with homework, sorority events, or rehearsal for theatre.
I had a tough week emotionally and mentally so the counselor in the emergency counseling center decided it was best I go home for the weekend.
I don’t trust you to keep yourself safe.
She would actually prefer that I leave school, but I’m NOT doing that again. I refuse.
I am supposed to be back and better than ever. Aren’t I?
It’s a process.
PS: The last time I wrote, my mother thought I was pregnant. I AM NOT PREGNANT. K bye.