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My mind thinks differently than other people's. It's hard to describe because it's so weird. My mind only works on time frames, schedules. Everything is alloted a certain amount of time in my mind. Brushing teeth..... a reasonable time is about 2-3 minutes. Fixing hair...... 5-10 minutes for quick nonsense, 20-30 minutes for a nice hairdo. Washing clothes...... at least one load of laundry a day, and on my days off, washer and dryer must be running, ever chance I get. Now this is just to name a few things...... now imagine everything you do, having a certain time limit. It gets nerve racking. I've gained alot of weight during my depression, about 30 pounds. I am disgusted with it. I just want it off. last year this time I was very fit and firm. I loved the way I looked. Now I wasn't what we would call skinny, but I had a killer body. So along with the depression, the meds, and more depression, I managed to pack on the pounds, even while I am dieting. People think I still look great, and I sometimes feel I do also, but only when clothed. When I take off my clothes, that's when I begin to hate it....... it's gross, fat rolls on my belly. How could I have let myself go to shit. Now maybe talking about my body is a little vain..... not a big deal I am a little overweight. I can handle it. I still feel good. But wait, I obsessively pick my face. I have no idea why I do this, I make horrible marks all over my face. Every bump is squeezed, every zit ripped off, ever blemish, squished, picked at, poked at!, I have even heated up sewing needles to poke them into large pimples. But yet, I am still complimented everyday on how I look. I have a scab above my eyebrow, a scab above my lip, about 4 scabs on my left cheek, my other cheek is clear. I have various red unidentifyable marks all over my face from touching it all day, and all night long. I had to ask Z the other night to accompany me to the bathroom because I needed to be chauffered to the bathroom, I was having a problem with a war on my face. The only way I can stop touching it, is if someone tells me to cut it out, or I need to be watched. Right before I wrote this, i was in the bathroom ripping off all my scabs, so that the sores won't be able to heal. It's crazy. I hate it. But I can't stop doing it. Enough talk about all that dampness. Today was a beautiful day. It made me feel wonderful. It was all so beautiful. I loved just sitting outside for a few minutes, just feeling comfortable. The day seemed to have so much promise. It made me smile. I loved when I came home, the air was flowing through the house. The house seemed so much bigger with the windows opened. Seemed like much more hope. |