I am still in the middle of it. I am on the verge of tears, or crying, or bravely Not Crying, or blinking back Tears That Aren’t There.
I have no idea what is going on, all I know is I am losing my mind.
I was at the fancy mall returning a pair of fab gold peep toe flats I bought at Ann Taylor about 10 days ago. They were very chic, but I do not need Very Chic. I need Chic, and it did not suck to get back the $40. I tried some things on, since they were having a 60% off sale (still) and I stole some items when my mother was visiting (seriously great skirts and dresses and shirts).
I realized I am no longer a 4. I’ve lost 9 pounds since last Monday (water, obviously) and my 4s are a little big. I am really a 4p or a 2. I have not been clothes shopping at this smaller size. Period.
Here is where the crisis begins. I am in the dressing room, trying on my size 2 jeans and I think: “I look really hippy in these.”
Logically, I Am Wearing Size 2 Jeans.
No matter how wide and hip-py I look, I Am Wearing Size 2 Jeans.
So, then it hits me . . . there is something else happening here. It’s not about the jeans. It’s not about my body. It’s about my life.
I am unbalanced right now. I am glitching everywhere. I cried while watching the soccer game with my friends. It’s bad.
Okay, it’s better. I have spoken to BP, my mother, JF, and W and I am feeling a little better.
JF is now freaked out, but I feel better. The eating disorder from which I suffer is mild and it’s really just a body image problem that causes disordered thinking. I don’t know what I look like to the world, or what the world looks like. Basically, and this is a horrible thing to say, nearly everyone looks fat to me. Women who are supposedly fit and sexy — fat. Actresses on television — fat. Now I know logically this cannot possibly be true, but to me they look fat.
At the bar this afternoon at which we watched the game I remarked, “I mean, I guess she’s cute, but she’s so big.” W looked at me, and said, “hey, eating disorder girl, how about you not comment on what other people look like!”
I always say in my defense that I am not underweight, that I look fine, that I am not that skinny, etc.
But, I have no idea. I just say it. I do not know if it’s true.
Here is what I think is happening . . . my relationship with BFD is solid to good, but I am feeling neglected and unfulfilled. Now, I am not actually neglected nor unfulfilled, but that is how I feel. BFD and I are in regular contact. I call him out about things that make me uncomfortable and we’re closer than ever. But I still have some hesitations, as does he.
Most of our hesitations have to do with money. Neither of us is comfortable with the dramatic economic disparity between us. For a long time, we kept money out of our relationship. But for the last few months, it’s become an issue. I drive his car, for which I am not paying anything, I’ve never looked at a check and he refuses my offers for dinner. Now, we’re also in business together. I am doing some work for him, contingency-based, but work nonetheless, which means he calls me to say “uh, Plan, where are we on this?” So, that sucks.
We are speaking regularly, a combination of making dating plans, general checking in, work checking in, and the endless car stuff.
There are a couple of issues that are beginning to alarm me, but they are the kinds of thinks I bring up to him.
My existential crisis is about control. That’s the freakout, that’s the madness. With BFD, I have no control. With my job, I have no control. My body, I have control. And that’s the sickest part of the whole thing.
And now, I must sleep.