I went downstairs to Ozzy's today while i was at work. Sitting at the bar were the Sunday regulars...they asked who else was working upstairs.
"The skinny one or the pitbull"?
i was taken aback. They have assigned nicknames to the other two girls upstairs...The "skinny one" is Stacey, she's beautiful and thin and charmingly demure. The "pitbull" is sadly very comparative to a brute dog, thick and rather homely looking.
"It's Stacey with me today...so what clever nickname do I have, guys?? Am i the thin one or the fat one"?
They heartily chuckled and in unison they all (all 6 of them) replied, "You're Perfect"!
What. The. FUCK.
Cerina (the bartender) said, "You're Yuri! You're too good for a nickname, gurrrrrl"!
One of the regulars, already half cut said, "You're an angel with a smile like sugar".
"More like Sugar Twin", i replied and strutted back upstairs.
It's true. The smile i wear at work is artificially sweet and bad for the health of anyone who dares challenge me or my capabilities of being a red-blooded human, complete with a brain and thoughts that are far deeper than the bottom of any bottle. The bigger my smile when in the presence of some of these people, the bigger the chances are that I'm completely patronizing the poor bastard who is on the receiving end of it.
I've been getting compliments and accolades galore on my recent weight loss. It's all fucking garbage...the act of disappearing slowly is a rather visible act, and the sad part is that the goal is inevitably to become completely invisible. I count ribs and smash my sad lonely hip bones with clenched fists when the thought of eating anything more than a sandwich crust or stalk of celery with salt or hot sauce crosses my mind. I've trained my body to become a resilient piece of machinery, a vehicle in which to cart my being across this little corner of the planet, not needing fuel. I've learned to let my resent and anger become my driving force; hate is somehow stronger than love these days. I let it give me strength. It glows like a hot ember, somewhere in between my bottom rib and diaphragm, burning brighter with each passing memory of my one-time happiness that now seems so far away.
I remember the days of being entangled in another's limbs, a caring arm placed underneath and holding me close, the other arm caressing my hair, my face, my shoulders. Legs intertwined and locked up tight. I've never felt so safe in my life.
I see perfect photo ops in every moment, i see an inside joke, an unspoken truth in every situation that arises in my day-to-day life that i share with no one, the only friends i have these days are the skeletons in my closet. I have been destructive, i've brought down myself and those around me. I watch aghast, completely horrified as i realize the extent that the repercussions of my actions ripple far past my own sorry self and affect the innocents.
I mock the self pitying drunks and junkies all around me, but i realize now that i'm no better. Why am i posting this in public forum? What am i looking for exactly?
I've taken the first steps by acknowledging the fact that yes, i need help. The sick part is that all my efforts seem to have been returned to me in metaphorical envelope emblazoned with a BIG.RED. 'RETURN TO SENDER'.
I'd like to know what lucky son of a bitch has the cushy title of "Mental Health/Eating Disorder/Nutritional Specialist" because i'm sure that their bank accounts are well padded, despite the utter lack of real work that they do. They have the glory and validation of a few initials prefacing their names to show that they've earned their degree by jotting down notes in some musty, poorly lit lecture hall...because they're oh-so-obviously just being paid to sit around and facebook or return personal emails. They do this while the sad lost souls desperately seeking their help are leaving message after message, then resigning themselves to the fact that each attempt is failed and that their shouts and cries for help are all in vain. It's like screaming in a soundproof room. It's completely fruitless. After a certain number of cries for help are left unanswered, the obvious next step is to just give up and seek inner strength. When there's so much negativity to dwell on though, the inner strength is more of an accumulation of several weaknesses all piled up in a shatter-proof wall that creates the illusion of power to rely on.
Maybe i just need to let it be known to anyone who reads this that i am a
Sugar Twin, the evil sister of a girl who is actually sweet.
I lost my $738.08 iPhone 4. I lost my wallet stuffed with a recently cashed check. I lost the love of my life. I lost my grip on reality.
I lost my way.
I need to find a way out of this hell.