Gray

The world is not black and white.

I am a vampire bat. Sleeping during the day and awakening for moonlight adventures.

No but seriously, I think I've just been watching "Intervention" (via youtube) videos for at least twelve hours. I'm sure more. That stuff is insidious.

Last week I listened to a curious voicemail informing me I had finally reached the top of the list for an eating disorder clinic my GP referred me to ages ago. Meanwhile, I spend the rest of the week making excuses for not returning the call and pinching my wobbly bits in scorn. I decided after watching a particularly queer "Intervention"--where the supposed addict looked healthier than her clearly anorexic friend who was begging her to seek treatment--that despite feeling too fat to have an eating disorder, I should probably go ahead and give them a ring.

I have until March 23 to get my ducks in a row or completely get back down to my emaciated self. Haven't decided which side of the coin toss it'll be yet. But resting my arm on my little Buddha belly makes me worry it will be the later.

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"In movies. Crazy, quirky, art student types are portrayed as these free spirits that teach 'nebbishy dorky Jon Stewart'ish'-type guys how to live and love. Yet in reality are complete psychological train wrecks. I can personally attest to that. As I have fallen into that trap, being a nebbishy dorky type myself. The sex really doesn't even come close to making up for the perpetual batshit insanity either."
-Some random guy on a forum

But it is true, yes? How many times do I need to see my life projected on screen to realize this. Someone was recently talking to me about how their current brush with emotional instability was not anywhere near as exciting as the movies.

Well, yes, I'm well aware. I do live that every day. But....... I'm not. I live inside my own head. No matter how many times TR and I fight, I always think that this one time he will do the "I love you because you're so crazy you make me crazy and I can't live with you or without you" kind of speech we all gush over in "10 Things I Hate About You" or "When Harry Met Sally."

What actually happens, every God darned time, is I instigate a chase and he doesn't take the bait. Then I'm sitting at a train station crying 3 hours later because he never actually came back to get me. THEN I'm calling him immediately upon this realization and yelling, then crying, then breaking up, then apologising and saying how much I miss him.

I guess that just wouldn't make for good cinematic narrative.

But I live in my head and this will never occur to me. The other day, I was telling a friend how I'm never underwhelmed by my surroundings because my imagination and head games always manage to keep me entertained and curious no matter how lackluster the landscape.

And for both the above reasons, random guy on the forum would not be able to deal with my kind. Even though I am actually quite a catch in the sack. Believe you me.

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But getting back to my original point. I've been thinking recently and mulling over the idea of my current state of existence. It really is cliche how dramatic and pre-teen my life has become. Seriously? An eating disorder? Cutting? How 7th grade of me. Very original. Especially when Marya Hornbacher, after slaying her anorexia demon, gushes about how trite it all is. That we all fit in a neat little box. A broken taped up little box.

And yet... when I quit the Wellbutrin what do I end up doing? Currently, I'm skipping class. The side of my tongue is burned from all the sour candy I've been eating, which has also made my teeth painfully sensitive. I keep shoving something down my throat every few hours though. All the while thinking how misunderstood and alone I am.

Seriously? Record the thoughts in my head and play them aloud. You'll hear the same bullshit we all say. Textbook. Little box. "I control food because the world is so chaotic..... I cut so I feel alive..... I binge so I feel something other than empty.... Guilty..... I'm fat and ugly..... I hate myself..... I'm afraid you'll abandon me...... Sometimes I think I won't ever be able to cry again...... Sometimes I think I can't stop crying...... I have to be perfect...... blah blah blah."

I'm just so done with myself. Done sharing a brain and body with something so fractured, and so unoriginal. Like toast always falling butter side down. Predictable.

Being an addict is completely the most conformist thing about me. As much as I'd like to think of myself as that different sparkly girl who is eccentric and free and misunderstood like in the films, I know that deep down, I am a faceless drone. A drone operating a program with other drones in a compartmentalized world.

Where will I end up at the end of March? It's a vicious cycle of choice and predestiny feeding one another.

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The world is not black and white... but in the spectrum of gray. And in the spectrum, if you look closely you can reduce it all down to pixels. A neat little box.