self-improvement journey, a note.
if it's true that i succeeded in getting over my crush, the next thing i feel ready for is getting over this eating thing. how easy it was, just to motivate myself out of it, the crush, because i was already ready. "manifestation" is no doubt a disease upon the body cultural(-politic). but what is true--maybe--is that visions can articulate a complex strategy already materially available, and even engender impetus to execute it. you get it right. you're this high. what i know is i want my brain "back" (was it ever fully there?). morally, if on no other account, i need to move on from this literal navel gazing.
if it annoyingly has two sides, this thing.
the one, an escape into eating, or just a psycho-physical dependency, a little like marijuana, no doubt related to my chemical happiness deficiencies but also more complex stuff, social isolation, lack of social development, etc.
the other, what exactly: the excuse to not live and instead reduce life to...did i succeed at this one thing that might one day allow me to deserve to live. maybe not so much dieting as the way i diet, and maybe that means i'm incapable of dieting at all. it's the draining of color from the world to concentrate on one thing, and the overwhelming consciousness of my inadequacy, so dulled when i do nothing about it.
if it has two sides, there is no free state. no natural path. just like them, i'll have to work on it.
i'm motivating myself with the prize of a brain. if it turns out the tomb is empty, there's other things too. travel, the (petite) dolce vita, that kind of thing.
being 141 or over is unbearable--it's a very big cause of depression. somehow that number 140.x, corresponding--and even though it can't be a coincidence it feels like it has to be--to the old bmi marker of "normal," gives me a whole different perspective on my body and face.
it's true, on the other hand, that my ideal weight has never been anywhere in the near distance. i have never been adequate. adequacy was never nearly in sight.
maybe i will always think -- but maybe not-- that my ideal weight for my age (almost 33) is 97lbs, and that younger it would have been closer to 80.
and there was something in me-- a musical resonance-- at the numbers 6 and 13.
6lbs, the weight i wasn't even born at. and 13? i don't know. the responsible ugw for a grown adult. it's very strange. maybe it's part of my superstitious physiology.
if i choose rationality, i am afraid of giving up something inside me, and i desire to be loyal to myself.
what if i monitor my weight, keeping it under the danger zone, but otherwise living life with health, true health in mind. social development, brain development, living in-the-world irl. if at least my face is pretty (relative to its ugly inherent state), if at least it's not exploded from binging, or chronic overeating, or that .1+lb pushing me into the category of "overweight," not as pretty as it would be, and not pretty because it never could be, maybe i can present myself to the world. be done with this self-indulgent shame.
am i always returning to the bargaining stage.