… And I’m a food addict. Even as I sit here typing this, I’m snacking. It’s a horrible feeling when you finally realize that you’re out of control and don’t know how to stop.

Sometimes I want to stop… and I can’t. Other times I stop, only to find myself looking in the fridge ten minutes later for something else. I think about food nearly constantly. I can barely make it through a day without thinking about sugar. My cravings are so intense that sometimes I literally have the shakes. Seriously, I feel like I’m a heroin addict. I hate it. I hate myself.

I wasn’t always this way. In fact, I was pretty much the opposite: in high school, I was so thin that my math teacher sent me to a counselor because he thought I was anorexic. My doctor was constantly monitoring me because he thought I was lying about eating. I weighed 104 pounds and was a size 0 for a good portion of my life. Even then, I thought I could always stand to be a bit smaller, but I wasn’t addicted to food then.

I’m not sure what changed that led to my life being like this. I’d love to blame my ex husband, since I started gaining the weight and eating when I met him.  But realistically, the only person I can blame is me. My psychiatrist and I chatted about the food, and I realize that I’d really like rehab.

Right this very second, all I can think about is peanut butter cups. Actually, Reese’s makes a treat like a Klondike bar sort of thing, but with peanut butter ice cream. That’s what I want.

I feel like a hopeless basket case. At one point, I was seeing a personal trainer, and I literally didn’t budge a single pound in the entire time I was seeing her… 4 months of working out 5 days a week, and nada. Not even in inches (since I know that’s what everyone will say). Nothing. I was so stressed about it that I just stopped going. I figured there was no point if I wasn’t going to see any results. Probably a bad idea, but it happens.

Over the last year I have made some minuscule changes, and have made a very small amount of progress: I lowered my cholesterol. In the long run, that’s something I suppose, but it’s not good enough.

I’ve had to stop doing something that I love because it was affecting my sanity: baking. Everyone who knows me knows that I baked at least 4 nights a week. Lately I bake about twice a month. The thought of fresh cookie dough is practically making me drool right now, and the gum and water I have in front of me isn’t cutting it. That’s been really tough too, because that’s how I took out a lot of my frustrations. Concentrating on getting a perfect cookie would always take away whatever stress I had, and made me forget that I was angry. I have yet to find anything that works as well.

So why am I writing all this? Because I need to see it. I’m making a conscious effort to try to do things differently.  I want to change.

Those of you that know me know that I have a terrible self image. I often compare myself to Jabba the Hut with better hair and lipstick. It causes a lot of issues with the people around me, but most of all with Jason. I don't always realize how whiney I'm being, or how annoying I am, or how frustrated he gets with my lack of a self esteem.

He tells me all the time that I'm beautiful. I can't see it. I'm constantly worried that he's going to leave, and in this process, I am, in reality, driving him away. I'm scared that I'm not satisfying him, and that I'm not good enough for him, and for what? To make both of us insane, and make me hate myself even more? Am I driving him away just so I can tell myself that I was right?

He's unbelievably patient with m. I spent about 1/2 of his last trip home in tears. Why? I don't even know. I even made up some lame excuse for us to break up, because I'm scared that someday he'll realize how insane I am and do it himself. Thank God he knew I didn't really want to, and he shook his head and told me to smarten up

I'm also feeling guilty and like I'm holding him back from things. I don't even know why. He tells me he loves me. Why can't I just believe that? Why do I need to make everything complicated? Why do I hear my friends and family saying shit in the back of my head every time, telling me that there is obviously something wrong with him? I know there isn't. Better question is why do my family members have to even say shit like that in the first place. Fuckers.

I love a wonderful man that loves me back. So why can't my self image just let me be happy? Why do I see Jabba in lipstick every time I look in the mirror?

I have noticed that I often self sabotage everything. Even when I don’t want to, I still end up doing it. It makes me a little crazy inside.

I finally meet a guy that I like, and what have I already started doing? Picking fights with him, so that I can drive him away, and prove to myself that I was right all along, I am undateable. What the fuck is wrong with me? What kind of crazy person does shit like this? Am I alone in my insanity? Is this just the pms talking today? I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be the person that drives other people away from her. I don’t want to be a pessimistic bitch. I don’t want to embrace the negativity. I’m really quite nice in my everyday life, so why the hell can’t I just get it together and embrace that I’m actually kind of happy?

Holy fuck. I’m turning into my mother. Someone please help me stop the insanity.

While in the shower this morning, I came to a decision that is going to significantly change my life: I've decided that I don't want kids. I'd been sure of this for quite some time, and now that I'm rapidly 33, it's definitely become an issue of age with me. I flat out don't want to be one of those parents who, at 50 plus, still have teenagers in the house. I know how insensitive that seems, I really do, and for all of you have kids, I congratulate and wish nothing but the best for you, but I know that I am too selfish to do it myself.

I never wanted to be a woman who started having kids after 25, let alone 30 or more. In my younger years I had a lot of problems and my doctor told me if I didn't get pregnant by the age of 25, I likely wouldn't have kids. My mom and all her sisters had to have hysterectomies by 40, and I and their daughters are expected to have the same sort of issues.

So here I am, about to turn 33, and all I can think about is how I'm not going to have kids, so why can't I just get the hysterectomy out of the way now? Is it wrong of me to decide at 33 that I want a tubal ligation? Why are doctors telling me that I'm too young to decide that this is what I want? Why does everyone around me feel the need to tell me that I'm going to change my mind, and worse yet, why are they telling me that I'm going to end up alone because I don't have kids?

I can't and don't want to have children alone, which is what my family thinks I should do. I never wanted to be a single parent, nor do I think it's a good idea for me. To anyone that is, I commend you, for you are far stronger than I could ever be.

I don't know for sure how not having kids is going to affect my life, and sure, maybe in ten years I'll regret the decision that I'm making. I don't think I'm cut out for motherhood, plain and simple. If Mr. Right comes along before my doctor will let me have the surgery and he wants kids, it's going to be a helluva long chat.

And if I am making the wrong decision, well, then I fucked up. But if I have kids and that's the wrong decision, I fuck up more than just my own life, and that's what scares me the most.

Funny how little things remind you of people in your life. For instance, every time I smell dirt, I think of my grandmother on my Dad’s side. Sulphur reminds me of Mom’s Mom (the water at her house smelled weird, reminded me of sulphur). Resin reminds me of Dad. I never had a grandfather growing up, so I’ve got no memories of them.

But I had a great grandfather. Grampy Kendall I called him. Sticks of gum remind me of him – he used to take us to the wildlife park and give us sticks of spearmint gum. We thought it was for us… Not so. He’d take us to see the black bears, and instructed us to give them the gum. The bears would come over, take the gum from our hands and walk away. Beans and franks remind me of him too. When we were kids and we were hungry, that’s what he made us. We rarely saw him, but he was awesome.

My hairbrush reminds me of Uncle Larry. I was a tomboy as a little girl, but I had this mass amount of long, curly blonde hair. And I HATED letting mom brush it. So when it got tangled enough that it needed to be brushed, I’d run across the yard to Uncle Larry’s house with my brush, and let him do it.

The word “Information” reminds me of Dave, as does the TARDIS sitting on my desk. If you know of the Dave I am referring to, you’ll understand this.

I see a little dog, and I can’t help but be reminded of Rene and Kari. 

Yesterday I saw a rooster. I burst out laughing, thinking of @Wildsau.

My favourite brand of vodka reminds me of my ex.

A lot of things remind me of Sandy. I don’t get through a day without thinking about her. This morning I woke up with Roxy Roller stuck in my head. That’s her song.

But I’m writing this because of what just happened. I was sitting here. Coolio, of all things, came on the radio. 1. 2. 3. 4. Yeah. One fat tear rolled down my face. William. He loved this song. It would come on the radio in the car and he’d start giggling, and ask us to turn it up louder, and he’d sing along. I miss that. I miss him. What a stupid, regrettable mistake I have made there.

Little every day things remind me of all the great things, the great memories, and the sad moments that have shaped my life. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Last year, I was in a different place in my life.

Last year, I made a pact with myself, that if I was still feeling the same, I was going to end my life.

Sadness, loneliness, emptiness, fear, despair... All those things overtook my and I knew that I needed something to happen to keep me from doing it.

I'm still an emotional wreck sometimes, but I've gotten much better this past year. I still have nights when I come home from work, and go to my room and don't come out. I've spent entire weekends in my bed. Crying and feeling ashamed for needing help just made things so much worse. And it's hard when you feel you have no one to talk to. I've been told that I put on a good show, because most people don't have any idea that I spent months wanting to just... End it.

Sometimes I see a flicker of a light at the end of my tunnel. That tiny flicker is the hope that I hold onto, the small speck of hope that keeps me feeling ok.

I have some pretty vivid, intense dreams. Dreams might not be the right word. I have nightmares. Sometimes they’re beyond comprehension. I’ve woken up sweating, screaming, crying, choking… I’ve woken up in the middle of the night and had to call someone and wake them to calm me. Once I had a dream that I was out walking, near the ocean, and there was a cliff. A little girl was running towards the cliff, and she turned around and said goodbye to me, and then jumped. I had that dream a few years ago, and it will never leave my head.

Another night, I had a dream that someone was choking me. I woke up with tears streaming down my face and I couldn’t breathe. For countless night afterward, I would wake up worried that I couldn’t breathe.

I’ve watched myself die in my nightmares more times that I would like to recall.

Last night, though, was a different ball game. Last night, I dreamed about zombies.

  I can still see the weird eyes they had. Like cats eyes, but orange. At least until they realized they were zombies, then they  turned red. Somehow I knew that when they turned fully from human to zombie, they got weird, distant and quiet. And then they’d come after  you.

In the dream, I was sent in to make sure that they had a smooth transition, because, as they said, I’m the kind one that calms people, and gives them what they need. In the dream, that put me in danger. I was locked in a classroom with 2 zombies that were about to change, and 2 others. They were all high school kids. I was there to help, so I started by talking to the ones that weren’t in danger of changing about how they could help me. Then I had to start counseling the kids who were changing. There were 2, a boy and a girl. The boy was changing far quicker than the girl. We were all talking about how scared they were, and then I realized that everything went quiet. They charged after all 3 of us. I pushed the kids out the door, and ran.

Then I remember seeing myself, in the dream, hiding in the corner. I was behind zombies who were attacking people and I couldn’t help them.

Then I was grabbed from behind, and pushed into a car. Someone had come to rescue me.

And then I was in a submarine, sort of. It was sort of like a huge orb. Like a Death Star, but underwater. And so many windows, I could see us sinking and look out and see bubbles rushing. I fainted in my dream. And when I woke up, I was in a new civilization, some sort of island. I was sitting on a rock, the sun streaming on my face, my feet in the water. Someone called my name and I turned around…

And then my alarm went off. At least I didn’t have to watch myself die this time.

Sandy found out last year on her birthday that she had cancer. I've never seen anyone so positive about being sick before. Looking back, it reminds me of all the wonderful things she did for others over the years.

Starting with the boys. Sandy had a friend who ended up being a junkie, and not being able to care for her kids. Sandy took them in and raised them herself so they wouldn't have to be stuck in foster care. The eldest has FAS, and has a lot of developmental problems. Both of them ended up being issues for her, and after raising them for a very long time, she was forced to say goodbye. Both of them had basically turned into their mother. It broke Sandy's heart to give them up.

However, she did move on to a better life: She met Scott. Scott and I were friends before Sandy and I became friends. I'm kind of responsible for them meeting and falling in love. Scott was talking about going to Vegas. I invited Sandy and myself, and then decided I couldn't go. They started spending time together, and after the boys moved, Sandy and Scott moved in together. I tell ya, I have never seen 2 people so happy. They adopted a dog, Copper, and were living a very happy life together.

Sandy was a kind and giving person. I know very few people like her. Even when she was at her sickest, if she knew I was upset she always asked about me. She rarely complained about how much pain she was in. She was still smiling through the pain. I'm sure it was for my benefit. I'm insanely emotional and she knew that I'd be a disaster.

Sandy spent the last day of her life surrounded by the people who loved her the most. Her friends were having their time with her too: We made her a scrapbook, and had planned to take it to her the morning she died. Her mother and Scott saw us later that day, and her mother has it in her home now.

Going to her funeral was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. However, in true Sandy fashion, she got what she wanted: They played Here For A Good Time by Trooper. Andrea, Christa, Dale and I wore leopard printed scarves, something she would have loved. Her Dad gave the eulogy, a wonderful tribute to her. He talked about all the great things she had acheived in her 35 years of life, and he talked about her prized posession: Her 1970something Nova SS. The restoration was about to begin when she got sick, and her Dad is going to finish it for her.

Sandy was so positive, loving, caring, and generous, and that is how I will always remember her: With a smile on her face no matter what. The last day I spent with her was lovely, we fell asleep in the same room and watched some mindless reality show. She'd had a good day, and that's how I choose to remember my best friend.

I wish I had told you how much you meant to me before it was too late.

I wish I'd spent more time with you. I can't ever change that.

I am grateful for the last 5 years. Being your friend made me see what's important in life. You taught me how to be a better person, how to stand up for myself, and how to be a friend.

Sandra, you may be gone from this world, but you will always, always be in my heart.

I love you.

I'm a mess.

I genuinely hate most things about me. I avoid things as much as I can... I purposely don't attend social events because I'm terrified that everyone will see me for who I really am on the outside. I've had lots of opportunities to meet new people, but I can't do it. I'm still the same person on the inside, but the world doesn't judge you that way. As much as everyone wants to say that this isn't true, it is. And everyone is guilty of it at some point.

I'm terrified of ending up like one of those people you see on talk shows that has such low self esteem they don't leave the house. I'm already beginning to wonder if this is part of the reason for the all the panic attacks I'm having lately.

I don't like feeling this way. But when it's regarding things about you that can't be changed, it's not easy to just get over.

This isn't a pity post, this is me trying to figure out how to approach the subject of my insanity. Someday, I'll need to figure it out.