had a disturbing afternoon yesterday (when do i not have a disturbing afternoon, huh?). made plans to meet jason at the mall in salem. because my car has no A/C, it's brutal. i guess that triggered me. anyway, i was in an aisle waiting for a spot- any spot. finally, i saw a car start to pull out behind me. i put my car in reverse, and all of a sudden am stopped short by some truck that refuses to back up and let me get the spot. i refuse to move. meanwhile, the car trying to back out of the spot is honking. finally, i pull forward. but i couldn't let it rest there. as soon as the truck pulled into the space, i backed up and proceeded to yell at the couple who got out (i had given them both bad hand gestures while i had refused to move and could see that the woman in the passenger's seat was returning the favor in an exaggerated fashion; she was even more forthright once she stepped out of the truck and the yelling commenced. i called her a "fucking fat pig."

i know it had more to do with the heat. the day before, i had been over jason's helping him paint and something i said (about maybe the smell of the paint being bad or the idea of him coming over my place to sleep because of it) offered me an "out" from having to go through with our plan of cooking dinner that night. i had planned, as the nutritionist had requested, to have chicken and pasta (brought both with me, as well as a substitute of saltines, pb, and a banana), but as soon as he said, "you don't have to stay here tonight, hun," i was grinning inside from ear to ear. no, not me, the ed. it was going to get its way- again. thoughts of eating my usual (globs of white bread with margarine slathered on it and strawberry yogurt, with iced tea sweetened to death with about six splenda packets beckoned to me. i took the out, of course, and felt like complete shit as soon as i had finished eating once i got home. for self-punishment, i made myself do another round of yoga. i have since been doing a nightly round of yoga and feel as though it is becoming a sort of requisite activity in order to allow myself my usual fat free ice cream with jimmies ritual at night.

i hate this. i could go on and on about how pathetic i am, but i won't. it's not going to do me any good. i don't know what to do, though. as i type this, my stomach is full and i feel "big." not really big, but not "sick." yet i am sick in my head. it is like a cancer and i can't stop it. to make matters worse, my doctors are all in disagreement over the proper treatment (i.e., the nutritionist thinks a program would do me more harm than good while monika seems undecided and kristina seems all for a program). i've also been taking ativan almost every day at some point and purposefully taking a nap. i feel better once i wake up. maybe i need some sort of anti-anxiety mixed in with the cymbalta?

i need to start doing some "nutritionist work" (reading that workbook, planning meals, etc.), but i have 100% no motivation. how can i be so fucking sick of something and yet not have any motivation to make changes? or maybe i do, but i just can't?

"god, come down if you're really there, for you're the one who claims to care." -morrissey