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Until last Wednesday, I’d never had anyone close to me die. I’ve never really mourned for anyone. I’ve never had to deal with death. I always thought that at this age, most people would have death figured out. They’d know how to deal with it, cope, mourn, move on - next please? Maybe it’s that I never had to experience it before, lucky me. Maybe that’s why I feel so lost now.

I keep crying for no reason. Someone said something mean to me, someone I didn’t even know very well, and I started crying. I don’t know why. Everything is setting me off. Maybe having someone close to you die strips off that last little piece of innocence. No one lives forever, here’s your proof. Look at the person you love most, and imagine an expiration date printed on their forehead - like the gallon of milk that everyone keeps shoving to the back of the grocers fridge, looking for one that’s a bit fresher. Sorry honey, I want someone that is going to be good until July 21st.

I should be happy right now. I should be smiling, calling my mom, calling my friends, telling all of them about the job I just got - but I can’t even think about it. Someone opened me up, took out the best part of me, stitched me back up, and told me to have a nice life. I miss you, RJ.

It’s just a dog, right? I always viewed animals as just that - pets. Family members, but expendable. I’ve always been so cold-hearted. You wouldn’t know it from the way I act. I just don’t let myself get too emotionally invested in anyone. It’s like I saw this hurt coming before it even happened, little good that it did me.

Does it get easier? Does the death of someone you love sting less over time? Do you get used to it? When is she going to turn into a happy memory?

At least I have Anastacia and Oreo. Mike is rarely around. He’s either busy moving us into the house or he’s out of town on business. When I sink into my usual blanket-puddle of sobs, the puppies come running straight at me, pulling my hair and chewing on my fingers until it’s nearly enough to draw blood. They make me laugh with their attempts to cheer me up. It’s like they know when I’m so close to sinking into myself, and they do everything they can to take me out of it. C. was wrong, the puppies aren’t my way of being done with mourning for RJ. They are just all that’s keeping me going right now. Without them, I think I’d just stay in bed.

I’m fat. Don’t even start with the “Oh honey, you’re just fine. You’re not fat!” comments. It’s a medical fact. I’m overweight. I’m not nearly as fat as I used to be, but the fact remains that I’m still heavier than I should be by society’s standards. I’m fairly open with it. I laugh at myself in public about it, and I wasn’t always able to do that.

When I was younger, I was a size 18. This is bigger than you’d imagine. I think my waist was probably 38″, although my overly large breasts would hide that fact quite well. I was oddly well proportioned, and most people wouldn’t ever guess my true size, but I still hated myself for being that big. Kids are rough on themselves, you know? It didn’t help that my step-sister was a size 10. She wasn’t small, but to me she was perfect. I would compare myself to her every day and fall short.

I had kids, and my weight ballooned even higher still. I think at one point I was up to a size 22. Eventually, I stopped eating. It just seemed like too much effort. Usually depression led to food for me, but this was different. I had just gotten the boot from a terrible relationship, and I laid in bed for weeks. I didn’t eat anything but a little dietary aid I lovingly refer to as meth. Yes, that’s right. Meth. I put meth in St. Johns Wort pills and took them for a few weeks straight. I think in my life I’ve done about 3/4 of a gram of meth, which isn’t much at all. I’m pretty lucky in that I never build up a tolerance to illegal drugs. No, my body saves that lovely thing called tolerance for the prescriptions that I need, much to my aggravation. I lost quite a bit of weight, bringing myself back down to a size 18. My husband and I got back together (hint: not the relationship I referred to earlier), and I stopped caring so much about my weight.

I got angry at my ex and decided to learn C, primarily to write GTK apps. I have severe ADD, and at the time I was unmedicated for it. My brother was getting adderall, and he started giving them to me. Woah, look at that weight , the basis for comparison that I used on an everyday basis, drop. All I did for months was code and sleep. Food? Who has time for it. Hence I got down smaller than I’d ever been until that point - size 14. Then came another job, where I was working night shift and doing lines of blow in the bathroom to stay awake. Wow, there goes more weight. Size 10.

I’m convinced that few people ever lose an extraordinary amount of weight through anything other than sickness or drugs. Exercise and eating right? Who has the time?

I put on a bit of weight these past few months, bringing myself back up to a size 14. I’m starting to take it back off, but it’s not easy, especially not with it being Easter. I love this time of year because it’s the only time they sell the only chocolate I like: Cadburry Eggs. I eat the things like I used to eat meth pills, and they have the exact opposite effect on my bootie. I dread waking up in the morning, because I look at my closet and wonder what happened to all of my fat-girl tshirts. You know, the ones that drape over my breasts and cover up half my butt & hips. Oh yeah, that’s right, I gave them to goodwill in an adderall induced frantic cleaning spree. Fuck.

So now, I’m looking at eating and exercise in an entirely new light. I’m not really up for doing the drugs. Mike and I are working towards something, and it’s time to grow up. That’s not to say I’m going to stop doing drugs entirely, but I don’t see it as a means to an end anymore.

I haven’t really cared to lose weight in a long time, but I find myself looking in the mirror and noticing the subtle - and not so subtle - differences in my face, my ass, my stomache. I love myself, but I have to fight not to hate the way I look. For a long time I stopped doing all the girly things I used to love. You know, the small touches females do that guys so rarely notice. Shaping the eyebrows, putting lotion on religiously, facials (and not of the bukakke variety). I painted my nails earlier this week. When I stood outside work smoking my one and only Camel Light of the day and grooving to the sweet sounds of Anastacia being blasted out of my iPod, I looked down at my toes peeking out from beneath the dusty fringe of my jeans. Pink, girly toes. Cute toes. It made me smile. It’s something small, but it’s a start.

*** Starting Conversation With [Ex-boyfriend’s AIM Name Edited Out]

sektie: i’m going to write a book
sektie: and it’s going to suck.
sektie: it’s going to suck worse than i do.
sektie: i’ve decided i have no writing skill whatsoever.
sektie: i’m devoid of talent
sektie: all i have is breasts
sektie: and with age, even those will sag
sektie: and then i’ll have nothing.
sektie: i’ll have no talent, saggy boobs, and a stupid book.

BBL. Hanging myself with a piece of cat5.

I’ve been on a self-destructive streak, lately. At no point in my life have I ever been this bad. I’m not sure what is going on. Things could be so perfect if I’d just go with it, you know? I need to make some serious changes, or things are going to get bad quick. I wish I knew what those changes were.

I need a magic fairy wand to make all of the bad things go away.

I know this is a bit early to be getting started on these, but I wanted to have a while to think about each resolution as I make them. Normally I don’t believe in resolutions based upon the coming of the new year, but this January 1st is a huge turning point in my life. I’m going to comment on this post from time to time as I think up more things I’d like to change before January 1st, and December 31st (or thereabouts, depending on how my free time falls) I’ll make a new post with the final version. I don’t expect to make huge changes right off the bat. I know change is a gradual process, and trying to do all of it immediately is going to make me burn out and fail. I am going to make an honest go of it though, so let’s see how this goes.

- Don’t eat any more fast food. I already rarely eat fast food because it upsets my stomache, but I need to stop eating it at all. Fast food is bad for me, and if I want a healthy body, I’ve got to stop eating it completely.

- Along the same lines, start eating carrots. I hate carrots. I think they are gross. I’m going to start eating them every day until I like them because they are good for me. I’m guessing they are an aquired taste, like coffee. I hate coffee too.

- Read more nonfiction. I read quite a bit of fiction, and I could dedicated some of that time to technical literature, like stuff on astrophysics or programming. Fiction will not better me except when it comes to my imagination. Imagination will only get a person so far.

- Spend less time on my computer. I spend entirely too much time on IRC/AIM. I have a life. I should interface with it more often.

- Stop smoking. Yes, cloves smell nice. They give me something to do. However, the sugar from a charms blowpop will do the same thing and also appease my oral fixation. No more Djarum’s.

- Start going to the gym at least twice a week. I’m paying for one of the ubercoolspecial memberships at Ballys, I should use it.

- See the doctor about my back again. I need to get it fixed. I just really hate doctors. Medication is not a ‘fix’, and I should accept this and start looking for some more help.

- Start doing yoga every morning. I do it somewhat now, but not enough. Be the gumby.

- Start attending a martial arts class. Aikido? Not judo. I dislike judo. This will have to happen after I get my back fixed.

- Learn how to deal with skeezy irish guys at bars hitting on me. Looking around frantically for anyone I know and doing the whole ‘nod and smile’ routine is not acceptable. Sometimes it is OK to be a bitch. I need to learn how to apply that in real life.

- Stop trying to justify my existance by working to gain the acceptance of other people. I am my own fucking snowflake. This goes right along with not being such an attention whore. I look for attention because I don’t like myself enough. I’m cool, I’m special, I’m pretty, I’m smart. I need to actually believe these things when I say them instead of just saying them to piss other people off.

- Work harder. I’m never going to amount to anything in my career unless I start pushing myself more. Stop being so fucking lazy. Talk to my boss about getting more projects or something. Put my resume up on monster or computerjobs or something. Make something of myself instead of idling.

- Learn how to love myself before I get involved with anyone. If I don’t love myself, I’m not going to respect myself, so how can I expect anyone else to respect me? It sounds like bullshit, but it’s true.

- Learn how to control myself when I go shopping. Depresssion/Anxiety/Loneliness/Self-esteem issues are not valid reasons for mini shopping sprees. Buying myself another pair of boots is not going to make me feel better about myself except for about 5 minutes, until I realize I don’t have money to buy food or rent or gas for my car or something. This one is especially important, because I’m about to be out all on my own, and I won’t have Chad to fall back on anymore.