check mate; mate.
I keep having nightmares.
I dreamt that its just like any other day except this day; I eat, but I eat a lot. And I keep eating. I eat like I haven’t eaten in days. Over and over again and there isn’t anything I can do about it. Normally in my past I usually would have had the solution to that problem which attributed to my past bulimia. But in my dreams there’s really nowhere to go.
People keep distracting me. I’m left in awkward situations to whom which I cannot get around. There’s nowhere to hide to keep the secret going. I just remember the dream ending with the feeling of guilt, shame, and pure disgust because I have no control of my actions. I don’t understand the dreams seeing that I’ve been fine for some time now. I guess the fact that I haven’t been able to confide as easily as I did in the past may contribute to my dream state. Am I expressing myself through nightmares? (by the way, I looked up “eating” in the dream dictionary: it says I’m satisfying my own hunger or whatever that may be. I dont know, this book was $3.99 on sale at Barnes and Nobles, I TOTALLY trust it)
I mentioned today this in a jokingly matter but quickly shot down any possible ideas of questioning it with a hindering of laughter and cheap jokes. They were phased of course, changed the subject as if it were a textbook conversation, a day in the park. You see, these are new people that I would be sharing this information with. New people that may not get it and yet I’m still afraid of judgment.
I shouldn’t be. It’s usually only temporary anyways.
Of course I own this book.
My nails break every single time I get a new set.
I wonder why this keeps happening. I’ve been taking care of my hands for over a year and a half now and it’s only recently that I can’t seem to go two weeks without messing them up. Am I not being careful enough? Are they getting too long? Do I just not give a damn? Regardless, my hands are imitating their best attempt at looking like a boys hand with chipped nail polish. I keep biting away at the fake acrylic as if I’m tweaking out and the last of the cuticle is my fix.
I remember when I was a kid, I couldn’t go a day without gnawing at my fingers. I’m sure it was a nervous habit like they all say but I really hated it. My fingers would be sore and bloody because I never let them heal long enough to recover. Now that I think of it, I was just a nervous kid in general. I was eating my hands, hiding behind my hair, mispronouncing S words, chewing on my sweaters, whatever I could do to make myself seem like the “weird” kid.. I did it. They stuck me in a class with other special kids when I was in the second grade. No one really bothered me then.
Think its time to get my nails done again
gullible.
People in LA are definitely not used to the rain. I guess I can kind of understand it. Every time the minute things turns for the worst, I along like the rest of the city, show signs of concern and act surprised that its no longer sunny. Its no longer 75 degrees out in January. I get it. I cant go outside and walk my dog to get a iced coffee along with the rest of them. My hair will probably get wet, but not in the fashionable-stylish-drenched look I’d hope for. Resembling a wet pussycat with eyes wide open seems to be more up my alley these days. Oh and lets not forget the constant complaining we Angelenos love to do regarding drastic weather changes. Its as if we were in a competition and wanted to smoke our rivals out of the water.
I’d have to say though that the biggest problem I have with the rain is that I feel it seems to be more suitable for couples. Well of course right? People in relationships feed off the gloomy weather. Perfect time to snuggle up to your loved one, enjoy a hot chocolate, play with a ugly small dog, make coo coo noises, whatever you couples do. I haven’t been a half in a relationship in quite some time so it seems that I become more recluse, more sour, the minute the drops start to fall. I turn on my TV, grab my computer, and write semi bitter notes into my laptop. I torture myself with bridal sites and The Dresden Dolls. My ex-boyfriends call, I answer. I make plans but realize that its pouring, then repeat and repeat over and over again. I’m not good in this weather, I don’t think I could cut it out in Seattle or wherever the buttfuck it rains all the time.
I’ve been talking to him lately. I wonder everyday if its a good idea even though I already know the answer. He complains to me about his dating life and that its hard to find a good girl in LA. I don’t say a word, I just listen. I don’t tell him that I’m right here. I don’t tell him that I’ll always be here. I just listen. I make jokes, make him feel better about himself after his failed attempts in love. He tells me, “You’re so good to me.” I can feel that choke rise up in the back of my throat, strangely enough its catching me off by surprise. I always think I can do this, I can go back to normal and act like I don’t care. I’m his friend because that’s all he wants from me anymore. Its my own fault though. My own fault I keep falling for someone that sees me as the last minute choice.
I hate the rain.
