Today I feel grateful. Grateful for all the people in my life who put up with me. Who don't give up on me. And who continuously listen and support me, no matter how annoying/frustrating/tedious I get.

Day two. Watching The Biggest Loser. Remembering the feeling of euphoria that exercise can induce. Revelation of knowing that even though I feel so far away from the end goal. Um. Hello? It's all about the journey douchebag. Seriously. I think what I meant was that I feel far away from where I was in terms of eating and discipline, and feel as though if I have spun out of control in such an intense way (five day binge-fest), then it can easily happen again and that's an incredibly scary thought. I feel weak in terms of self control. Especially since I'm already planning things for my cheat day (should read meal) on Saturday. I've set myself some ground rules; no fructose and a maximum of 2000 calories. Anyway, back to The Biggest Loser revelation: if they had never begun, if they hadn't endured those first few torturous training sessions, they would never have gotten to where they are now, particularly in terms of experiencing that euphoric sensation, which means they would have just stayed in the same miserable pit they had been rotting in. It takes courage. It takes strength and perseverance. It takes getting through the good days and remembering that feeling when the bad days come. It takes getting up from the bad days and continuing on, even though one is angry and disappointed in one's self.

I super bad didn't want to go to work today. It is a new job and I'm scared. I'm scared I'm going to be bored and start eating out of boredom. Which, in addition to the other emotional eating I do, is not something else I want to have to deal with. I want a fulfilling career damn it. I don't want to dread going to work because it's dull and tedious and unsatisfying and just thoroughly unenjoyable. Anyway. I went despite most of my person objecting to this act of obedience. Yes, it was a little boring but okay. My manager is lovely, which is another thing I am most grateful for.

Another big day tomorrow. Then a sleep in on Thursday and work in the afternoon. Then a big day on Friday. My next day off is Monday, which to be honest, is a little daunting. On the other hand, I do like being busy and feeling productive, and some of the shifts I have are only four hours, which helps a bits.  (The plural was on purpose by the way; just for all those grammar elitists out there.)

So today's happiness comes from sticking to my calorie goal. It comes from defying my 'headiness' and going to work anyway, and from not exercising excessively but instead doing some career work.

Yay for that.

11.32pm. Technically it's still day one. But just felt the urge to write again. Today has been comparatively good to what I thought it would be. I worked on some career stuff and made a choice that empowered me, as opposed to subjecting myself to something that I really didn't want to do. 

I do those things a lot. That being those things I don't want to do, but do them out of obligation or guilt. I'm tired of doing 'that.' It's crap. A complete waste of time and energy. And it causes all types of ramifications, such as the emotional stuffing down of feelings (binge/stress eating) and a ridiculous amount of worrying and stressing. I just realised I'm going on about this way too much and giving 'that' way too much sense of occasion. So, to summarise, today was good because I, one, empowered myself, and two, worked on my career, which is of utmost importance to me, particularly at this point in my life. 

Additionally, eating is back on track. I stuck to my calorie limit, went walking, and even though I'm hella angry at myself for the past five days. Speaking to a friend today who understands the whole binge thing was really helpful. She made me feel like I wasn't as alone as I truly feel. 

Even after the successful and positive things that happened today, I still get flashes of anger at the drama I've done. When I was doing so well. And then I stuffed it all up. Oh big flash of anger happening right now. But all I can do, as with any emotion is to ride the wave. Sit through it, without reaching for any exterior substance to numb the pain. To sit there, in it's heinous stench and wait for it to pass. Because it will. Pass. It will build, then break, then crash and then slowly roll away, leaving froth bubbles in it's wake. I love froth. Frothy cappuccinos are my utter and complete joy. Froth is good. Froth means that the pain is over. Froth represents winning. Froth means it's all good. 

So day one was good. And now it's over. Tomorrow I start a new job. I'm scared. It was one of the reasons I had my binge fest I think. I hate the unknown. I hate being bored. And as I stated above, I hate doing things I don't want to do. The other reason is quite personal and I think I need to keep it under wraps. 

So anyway. Day two. Brace thyself. Brace thyself.

365 Days of Happiness...#DayOne

It's been a while. A while indeed. Let's cut tot the chase, shall we?

After five days of binging and reaching rock bottom (yet again), it is time to take definitive action. It's sink or swim from here onwards. I'm at a crossroads in my life. Is it time to stop. To just bloody stop. I'm so tired of the roller coaster and binging and dieting and low carb and no carb, spending two hours at the gym, running six days a week, Bikram three days a week and high protein, high fat...once I binged on butter. Yeah, we don't even need to go into the details of that. 

Feeling incredibly low, so will keep this introduction short. But basically but goal is to go three hundred and sixty fives days without binging. Three hundred and sixty five days of not relying on food for emotional support, for use as a reward or really anything other than nourishment. Six days a week I will be at 1200 calories and one day a week 2000 calories will be permitted. Exercise is encouraged, but not essential. It will be used as a fun activity and not something that is meant to punish or hold one back from doing things one enjoys. We (well, my body and my mind, which I have discovered are two very different and separate entities) are going to try, attempt and look towards living mindfully and being happy, each and every day. Perhaps not all day everyday, but certainly that will be the objective set for each day. Food will not take precedence. It will be eaten mindfully and will not (just to reiterate) be used as a tool to supposedly 'fill one's void' or simply excite one. 

In conjunction, I have decided to give up Facebook, as I find it simply distracts and does not add richness to one's life in the slightest.

So there's my confession. My heart laid bare. It's going to be tough. No food or friend network is going to get a little lonely. But through discipline and the act of stripping back comes tremendous freedom. And I surely look forward to that. 

So here's to day one. The hardest day. And all the days to come, may strength, peace and an abundance of love pave the way...

Voided

There is a void. In me. Something not quite right and I feel ill at ease. It's been a tumultuous weekend, that's for sure. In short, family drama. Usually, I tend to keep out of arguments and the like, however, this time, I was stuck right in the middle of the drama. Some of it was even my fault. I apologised and made amends with the appropriate people, however, the void lingered.

So, what to do? My first impulse, taken directly from the thorn in my flesh would be to eat. To drown my void in Tim Tams, chips, apple pie, and thick slabs of bread lathered in French butter (quite literally, butter that is specifically French, which by the way, is divine). However, for the first time, in, well, the history of myself, I didn't want to do this. Scratch that. Actually, my first impulse was to do this, however, instead of divulging into this activity without a second thought, I actually stopped, and thought about it (for a change), and decided that I just could not bear feeling icky and sickly the following day, along with all those other feelings of failure and self-loathing that accompany their dear friends. Instead I managed to realise that in actuality, food would not fill the void at all; it would simply exacerbate the problem. Progress people, progress! Healing, in all its wondrous ways, takes time.

Therefore, food bypassed, and apologies made, how do I fill this void? I'm not tired. Not tired at all. I slept for a lengthy and quality amount of time last night and woke up feeling rested and rejuvenated. It may or may not have to do with an elusive essay that just happens to be due on Wednesday that I may or may not have started, and that I simply cannot muster the motivation to begin. However, besides all this, there is a specific relationship in my life that is not quite right and I'm at a complete loss at how to manage it's capacity for development...I know all very mysterious but much too precious to be revealed. It also could be a hankering to commence some activities that I have been wanting to start for some time, and simply have not had the financial asserts to do so. Maybe it's the inner conflict I have been experiencing with certain beliefs that do not correlate to the beliefs held dear by certain family members. We appear to have now gone full circle, ending up where we first began. So basically, it's pent-up frustration, about a good many things, beyond my control. Most eating disorders revolve around people who have lost control and feel that by controlling and focusing on their food intake, eating too much or too little to make themselves feel better about certain situations. Psycho-analysis. #Wooo. No, actually, bad. I am a pyscho that analyses things too much. More like #Boo.

Maybe I should just be more like Scarlett and learn to brush things off. Whatever happens, happens, and worrying about something so much that it gives me anxiety problems is not ideal. Not ideal at all.

So...

"I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow."

To Be Connected Or Not To Be Connected...

Despite the fact that I've spent the evening with a wonderful friend and subsequently came home to a house full of people who wanted to engage in either serious conversation or comical banter, I felt a distinct need to be connected with the world. So where do I turn? Facebook.

*hangs head in shame*

I know, I know. Prying into the lives of others to feel a sense of participation in this world is not ideal. In fact it's a cop out. Facebook is a cop out. You see someone you haven't seen for yonks and inside your head is a flashing slideshow of all that's been happening in their lives for the elapsed time since you last saw them simply because you regularly check the newsfeed. So you ask them how they are, but in reality, you already know because you've seen it on Facebook, and then you have to act all surprised about the fact that they've bought a new car or recently become engaged or don't like the way their neighbours play music very loudly and early on a Saturday morning when they are trying to sleep. In. Don't want to do it. Act all surprised and crap. COP. OUT.

On the upside, Facebook is good for keeping in touch with friends who live overseas or for getting in touch with people you knew from yonder year. Other than these acceptable reasons, Facebook stands as a platform for annoying little bitchy witchy-poos who gave you hell at school (etcetera) to brag about their 'cooler than thou' existences. Think I'll pass. Thanks.

So why do I look to Facebook for connection? Is it simply because it's a live interaction with the occurrences of the now? Or is it to feel comforted by the fact that there are others out there struggling with the same things as I? Perhaps it is to feel warm from comments left on my wall, requests to catch up, or notifications regarding an invitation to an event. Is there an emotional void in my life? A lack of friendship or excitement, perhaps a longing to do as others do, to be included in certain things, to be part of a wild and colourful photo album of amazing pursuits. Why don't I just leave it all behind? Shut down my Facebook account. I could. But then I'd lose touch with some of the wonderful people I met in Sydney. People I didn't necessarily request a phone number from but were comfortable enough to give me access to what they do on a daily basis (see the irony?) Besides, just because you reject a social norm and become an anomaly, doesn't mean jack. Yep, I said it. Does not mean nothin' because you're missing out on the benefits all for the sake of proving a point. So as long as you can stomach the bitchy witchy-poos, you'll be right. And hey, whatever doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger.

Enough with that. #inothernews

I've broken down. My month without junk has been violated. I feel disappointed in myself yes, however, I did manage to last two weeks (not consecutive weeks mind), and I feel proud of that. I've committed to starting again, and have been clean for three days now. Gosh that sounds pathetic. But, one day at a time, without too much forethought and obsession is the way to go. I'm learning everyday, struggling and triumphing, celebrating my wins, mourning my losses and having a jolly good laugh along the way.

To You My Dear, May You Be At Peace

Gar died today.

At approximately 2.15pm she left this world.

She wasn't a particularly easy woman to get along with, however, she was still my grandmother, and my life will not be the same without her. To be sure, the end of an era has come.

Every so often I visit this blog:

http://bensgotcancer.blogspot.com/search?updated-min=2008-01-01T00%3A00%3A00%2B11%3A00&updated-max=2009-01-01T00%3A00%3A00%2B11%3A00&max-results=50

I only met this young man once, but it is a conversation I will never forget. His story inspires me beyond comprehension to live my life to its fullest measure.

I find death an odd concept. This afternoon when I went to the hospital to say my final farewell, all that lay in front of me was a vacant body. The illumination that our spirits so graciously bestow upon us was simply absent. The spirit is not tangible, but ever so present in a living being. To ignore it would be to subsist in a world of denial. However, even with the beliefs I have about the afterlife, the first question that came to mind regarding her vacant body was: "where did she go?"

"They say in death, all of life's questions are answered." (Charlie's Angels) It seems however, that for the people remaining on the earth, death spurs on the raising of so many questions, including all the 'what ifs,' 'maybes' and 'I wonder whats' regarding that particular person and their life. I wonder about all the years before my time, and what she would have been like as a young woman, studying through high-school, getting married, having her babies, and meeting her children's spouses, and eventually meeting her grandchildren. I wonder why she was so proud, so particular, so proper. I wonder what she did on the many nights she spent alone, after my grandfather had passed away, and what her thought process was like.

The day someone dies is surreal. It reiterates the fact that no one lasts forever. That all the importance we put upon looking good and achieving marvellous feats and making our millions of dollars will one day become deeply insignificant. Death changes everything. Death laughs at secularity, at the world's concept of life and success. Death brings perspective up close and personal, forcing one to examine one's actions in a major way. Because death is finite and completely unavoidable.

Here be my ode to Gar:

She was the woman with the bright pink lipstick. The aquamarine eye shadow. The Salvatore Ferragamo shoes. The long navy skirt, the sprightly pink polo.

She floated into the room with her lady-like pace, handbag in place, hairdo intact.

Then came the anticipated "Hello Darlinksa," accompanied by a peck on the cheek.

She may be been opinionated, full of fire, and unaccustomed (willingly, I might add), to the more modern technology of our time, there is one one particular instance of love and benevolence that will remain my fondest memory of Gar. It was only a short six months ago, when the majority of my family had embarked on our overseas journey, but I was yet to depart, and still remained at home. It was a particularly low point in my life, which, without going into too much denial, was a time of great unrest and anxiety. I had been quite teary on that particular day she had called, and immediately she knew something was not right. I was very hesitant to discuss the details of my complex issues with her, and sensing this divide, after a long moment of stammering about this and that on my part, she gallantly exclaimed "Well, darling, if you get desperate, or just don't feel that you can cope, I'll get you up here!"

In the instance of "here" she was Armidale, the town in northern New South Wales in which she lived.

I'll never forget these words, and the deep love with which they were proclaimed. I will be forever grateful to her for giving me the most wonderful father I could have asked for. She will always remain in my heart as a strong, exceptionally capable and dignified woman.

So this here, Garfish, is for you. With all my love.

Good Monday

Normally I hate Mondays with a fiery passion equivalent to the bowels of hell. However, today was different. I went out last night. Yes. I, (me myself and I; oh, and my sister actually), went out.

*Sings* "you ought to be congratulated!"

Moving on. So, as I was saying I went out. To a gig. Of a good friend. It was fun. The end.

Haha. No, no really. Wait, no, it was fun, really! But there were no fireworks. Nothing exciting or out of the ordinary happened, which would have been nice. Okay...why am I even talking (writing) about this? I heard a song today which went somewhere along the lines of: "I could never see myself with a boyfriend..." or something like that (please feel free to stop reading at any time), and I could completely relate. It's just a weird concept for me. It doesn't help either that people in my world are getting engaged left right and centre. Not that I want to be married or getting married. Hell to the no. Gosh, I've got things to do. Nonetheless, a man friend would be lovely right about now. Just someone to hold my hand. And perhaps whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Actually, that would be weird. But the holding hand thing would be nice.

This morning at my humble abode of work, I noticed how grumpy people were. Maybe because for the first time in a hell bent long time, I wasn't in that titanium boat that carries 98% of the population of a Monday. Sure, I was tired, but I found myself politely showing the 'imperial' brand of mandarin sticker to *INTERRUPTION*

Mum just called me a loser. Now I really don't have a hope in hell.

Continuing.

Yes, so I found myself politely showing the 'imperial' brand of mandarin sticker to this woman who impertinently insisted that "IT WASN'T THAT BRAND" (and she might as well have added, 'you imbecilic check-out chick'), and upon simply showing her the sticker I docilely said, "yes it is," (upon which I didn't even feel like adding 'you stupid douche'). Good Monday.

Something lovely did happen amongst all these grouches however. An older man (grandpa vintage most likely), was kind enough to comment on my name and how lovely it was. He even used the word 'lovely.' Even lovelier. The more astonishing thing is that I relished this comment. This is highly unusual. You see, I used to push my name to strangers as being just 'Tess.' Whenever somebody called me Tessa, I would blush a deep purple crimson inside, feeling thoroughly and utterly embarrassed. I don't know why but I associated this identification with being tubby and clumsy. As 'Tess,' I felt light and airy, cool, calm, collected, single syllabled and ready to go roaring off in a pearly white mustang, my floral head scarf flapping in the wind, my over-sized sunglasses emanating a a bombshell vibe. 'Tessa' was the girl who ate her hair in the back of the classroom.

Not any more.

I love that he commented on my name. I love that I loved him commenting. Because now I love my name.

I love it because I was named after my Nonna, Teresa, who was my 'amore grande,' a great love who enriched my life in an indescribable manner. I love it because it's rare, not a name you come across often. I love it because I feel genuinely happy to be me, under the banner of that name. And most of all I love it because it's a name that, underneath its label has persevered and overcome great obstacles to be all that that name is.

That's what I call a good Monday.