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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.