Not sure what the trouble was that started all of this..

My last nutritionist appointment got cancelled, by my nutritionist, because she was stuck out of town. She said she'd call me when she got back and figure out when we could meet this week. This week's almost over, and I've not heard from her. To be perfectly blunt, I am more than relieved. I love my nutritionist, don't get me wrong there, but I hate that my parents spend so much money on a lost cause. My eating habits are not normal, but when have they ever been, and really will they ever be? I eat. I eat enough. On occasion, more often now than I'd like to admit, I eat more than enough. My weight has stayed within a four pound range for the last eight months, and my caloric intake has increased tenfold. I believe going to a nutritionist for $100 bucks an hour every two weeks is a complete waste of money at this point.

Then there's my counselor. I love my counselor, but I'm tired of going. I need him, now more than I have in the past few months for sure, but that's why I'm tired of going: I'm fucking tired. Always. I'm exhausted. I'm miserable. I hate myself. I have daily panic attacks. I cry for at least an hour every single day, not counting the frequent nights that I cry in my sleep (so I'm told). Something is very not right with me, and it's getting worse. Slowly at first, but now my mental/emotional state is getting worse rather rapidly. Almost by the day, I am getting worse.

According to the Beau, I look like I've lost "at least five pounds," but he always says that, so I ignore it. Kind of like he ignored my immediate confession the other night when I sliced my leg eight times and my arm four.. well, he ignored it after he hung up on me in mid-sentence.

Apparently we're back to the stage we were at five years ago: if you don't talk about it, then it never happened. He's in Colorado skiing for the weekend, so it will never be discussed. I'm fine with not talking about it, I'm just shocked beyond shock that he is fine with it, too. Usually all he wants to do is talk about my fuckups. My "not eating," or my "self destruction," or my "depression," or my (here's my favorite) "not talking."

But he's been quite standoffish when it comes to my blatant mental/emotional deterioration lately. As much as his bitching about my fuckups can get on my nerves horribly & as much as I whine about it, I secretly like it. I like that he worries, because then I know he cares. I know he cares anyways, but I really wish he wanted to talk, because I need to, but when I start talking to him I just feel like a nuisance and stop myself before I say too much then say aloud, "oh nevermind it doesn't matter. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything. I'm fine. Nothing's wrong." while I'm obviously lying, the tears smeared across my cheeks and shirt and blood on my sleeve as evidence.

I don't know why it's become so hard for me to ask for help again. It never was my strong suit, but I was doing well for some time there. Now I feel like the 15-year-old silent girl shooting heroin in her bathroom and starving herself as cries for help. Albeit, I am not doing either of those things, nor do I plan to, but I'm baiting people to ask me what's wrong, to ask me to talk to them, to cradle and coddle me and tell me it's going to be okay while I sob, but it's not working and I'm too much of a pussy and a money-guilt to just fucking say something. Why can't I just fucking SAY SOMETHING?

I have to go to class now.

Our Baby's Gone

This is the definition of being alone in a room full of people.

I always say this: I have NEVER felt more alone than I do right now, in this exact moment, and as I did, in the last six hours.

Rainy morning.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message [S]he Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

[S]he was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

--W.H. Auden

sweet, sweet medicine, save me tonight

I'm tired and I'm sad. I wanted to write, but now I can't think of anything to say. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I'm sad. That's really all I've got.

If I could wave my magic wand...

Tuesday I turned in my two revised Intro. to Studio Art papers.

On time. I got extra points on my grade because of this fact.

I went to my nutritionist. My weight has been within a 3 pound range all semester. My eating since the beginning on the semester has increased at least 3 fold, I don't work out, and my weight won't budge. Momy says I look healthier; not so bony. My counselor said my face looked much fuller and had more color than the last time he'd seen me a month prior. So, I guess this technically very underweight weight is it. I don't have to go back to the nutritionist for a month. Dope.as.fuck.

I went to WalMart with Ariane and wasted half an hour looking for wire for our art projects that are due tomorrow only to find out our teacher is full of it & WalMart doesn't carry what we needed. So I bought Christmas cards for my teachers, giant construction paper to make a Menorah for my dorm door, a bubble package to mail Emily's (very late) birthday present, and a big-ass Texas shot glass for my roommate for Christmas.

We went to the apartment where I got a huge blob of red paint on my pajama pants before I even started painting on my Art resubmission. I finished the resubmission and ate dinner with Jacob. While I was gathering my stuff to come back to my dorm, Jacob talked to his mother on the phone. I was putting my shoes on when I asked him, "What was that all about?"

"They got Grandpa Bob's blood work back."

"Yeah.."

"He has cancer in his bones, his liver, and his lungs."

I froze as the same goosebump-inducing shivers ran through my body as the ones that did as I typed that out. I opened my mouth and "Oh, my God.." spilled from it. I stood and apologized to Jacob, not knowing what else to do. I asked if he wanted to come stay with me for a little bit, and he didn't. I asked if he wanted me to get my Science stuff and come stay with him for a little bit. He did, but he wouldn't say so because he thought I didn't want to since I needed to study. We sat in his car, smoking, going back & forth until he asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I want to be there for you. I want to be where you need me."

"Okay. Go get your stuff. I'll wait here."

I ran up the stairs and threw together an overnight bag with jewelry, makeup, & clothes together as well as a next-day school books in another bag faster than I think I ever have.

I don't know how this works. Grandpa Bob is going to die, but he's not dead.. we don't know when it's going to happen. But we know it is. It's extremely awkward and sad. I'm not used to it. Except for my own grandfather, Death has always come unexpected and horribly tragic in my life. I'm not sure what to do or say. And the worst part is that it hurts me, too. I only got to spend a few weekends around him, but Grandpa Bob is THE shit. I love that goofy old man. And there's some chance that I won't spend another weekend attempting to catch fish with him ever again. But I don't want to feel sorry for myself, this isn't my loss, this isn't my tragedy. I need to be there for Jacob & Ariane. And I don't know how.

Yesterday I received a 100 on my Sociology quiz, did okay on my Environmental Science test (I think.. I hope), got another 95 on my English essay, another 100 on my Life & Leadership reflection, and received a 100 on my Life & Leadership Volunteer/Service-Learning Project. So for that course, my final grade is: 100. or maybe a 99 because I didn't turn in a doctor's note for the seminar I missed, but he knew I was at the doctor. Whatever, it's essentially a perfect grade that averages in to my GPA, so I'm happy with that.

Last night Jacob & I went to WalMart to get my $85 worth of prescriptions and some other groceries. I stressed heavily over the money spent. I am very money-stressed lately & I'm not sure why other than the fact that I know we don't have much & I know I'm a huge expense. I refused to go to Home Depot to get more wire for my art project because I didn't want to spend almost $20 on a spool of fucking wire. We got pizza, ate it, and then my chronic fatigue (comes and goes ever since I got mono five years ago.. usually around the same time of the year that I had mono, which is now) and nausea kicked in hardcore. Jacob brought me back to my dorm where I set all of my alarms for various intervals starting at 6:00 a.m. and the last one for 7:00 a.m. because I needed to get up and work on my art so I could have something to turn in for critique. I laid in bed watching TV for like, three hours, unable to fall asleep, but whenever I stood up, to pee or get water or candy, I felt like I was going to just crumple and a huge wave of exhaustion would hit me. Finally I fell asleep.

This morning I didn't get up at 6:00, 6:30, or 6:45. Jacob called me at 7:00 and I finally got up. I wasted an entire hour making almost no progress & had to strongly resist destroying what I had many times. I decided during class that I would destroy it & do something completely different for resubmission next week. I'm a lot more confident about what I'm going to resubmit. And Ariane bought more fat wire (the stuff I needed but refused to spend money on), so I'm basically set.

I don't know what else I want to write about. I just got bored and decided to write in my blog. Because I'm just that cool.

And no one reads this.

Hooray.

Go Steelers.

Distant Early Warning

I hate it here when you're gone

Thanksgiving was fine. The only times I came close to crying were when Grandma Veldman started asking mother about Eli and why dad blames him for Kelsey's death (I wanted to interrupt "I BLAME HIM, TOO, BECAUSE HE'S A DIRTY PIECE OF SHIT LYING SNAKE" but I just sat quietly and kept up my game of solitaire) and when she said Grace before dinner, adding in there "We miss Kelsey, but we know she would want us to continue like any other holiday." But I didn't actually cry until this morning. I sobbed. Hysterically. I'm alone in my dorm room like I have been since last night, and I just lost it. I got a message on facebook from someone I don't know who saw my "you look like my sister did" comment on superanorexic Ms. Teen Arizona, Sarah's photo asking if I lost my sister to an ED and how she's thinking of me. This girl & I have two mutual friends: Sarah, and a girl Lindsay that Kelsey was internet friends with. Lindsay's profile picture is still a picture of my sister. So then I started looking at pictures. And now it's noon, I've been up for two hours, and I've accomplished nothing but a bunch of online posts about how much I miss my sister. I really need to do something.. anything. I think I'll do art.