Safe in my own skin?

After Dubai, it was one week in Montecarlo.
Same client, who operates restaurants and night venues. Never seen so many Ferraris and Lambos in my life.
It was like the world was spinning and it was mostly populated by supercars, diaphane hookers, musicians and singers dressed like the 70s were now, dwarves (yes, dwarves), shishas, 30 liters bottles of Dom Perignon. And in the morning at their offices trying to figure the business, while my head experienced troubles addying 2 and 2.

Carrying around 10/15kg more than all the other girls tends to be depressing. I don't care that most of the girls were hookers, that is not the point. And in the end, how different are we?
I don't have sex with clients, but truly I still have to make them feel successful, smart, powerful and brave. I sell them my skills and knowledge in principle, but practically I sell my time. My time away from home, away from what I care.

The saddest part is that I am totally aware that I'll have to work all my life, and I'm also aware this work/life balance is unsustainable even in the short term. I can no longer manage it, blame it on the age, on the responsibilities it doesn't matter. I just can no longer manage it.

And I tried, I tried quitting, I tried working in a corporate and where did it lead me? If fucked up my mind in first place, and the other consequences, the real ones are/were unspeakeable. Vivien is dead and there is no going back, and I'd rather not even considering that kind of adventure again.

Old habits die hard

I seem to be back to years ago in terms of hectic life.
I left on Sunday morning for Amsterdam and came back last night. On Saturday I'm off to Dubai for a week, then it'll be Montecarlo for another week. work work work work work.

Don't get started with how much fun this is - it is not. I'm too old for this shit.

Meanwhile my husband is also back to his old habits, and on Monday night he claimed he was at home, then disappeared from the world, went out, got shit faced, lost his mobile and faile to show up at a client meeting on Tuesday morning. His team started calling me but I was in Amsterdam and had less news about his whereabouts then his team.

So not looking forward to a good old fight tonight...

There is a light and it never goes out.

…and if a double decker bus, crashes into us, to die by your side, it’s such a heavenly way to die.

And if a ten ton truck, kills the both of us, to die by your side – well the pleasure and the privilege’s mine.

Take me out, tonight, oh take me anywhere I don’t care I don’t care I don’t care

I don’t want to die fat. But I’d rather die while my husband still loves me. I’m so afraid he will get over me.

So many expectations on me.

Mine: get skinny, make it to the partnership at work. I don’t feel anyone supports me in those.

Husband’s: who knows what he expects of me? Get more fit, surely, Probably a kid, which I don’t want.

Mom’s: children. Stop working as much as I do. Gah

Dad’s: make him get younger (not joking). Do more things with him. Bring him to Nepal again. Oh dad, I'm so worried about you! But I also need to make my marriage work. 

How can I possibly make everyone happy? And myself?

Random thoughts

Failure is the reason beyond my silence.
Somehow, I managed to reach 139 pounds (63kg), for a BMI of 22.1.
Quoting the amazing To kill a mockingbird, "Atticus told me to delete the adjectives, and I'd have the facts", so this is the blunt truth.
I don't even know how exactly it happened; probably a combination of weekend binges and too many nights where instead of salad I chose the comfort of cookies and milk. The level of stress has been so high since the end of August that this tends to happen pretty often.
On top, I seem to spend my life in airports, as I'm flying to London and back at least once and often twice a week, to spend the day in neverending meetings where I indulge walker cookies (ginger stems are my passion)
However, making excuses will not change facts, and so I followed the suggestions from a skinny boy that works with me and started this Clean 9 program. The idea is that you start with 2 days of fasting (I'm only drinking a cup of skimmed milk per day), and then you have 6 more days restricting.
I dropped three pounds on day one, which is not bad. I hope to drop at least one more by tomorrow morning.
The program also involves drinking some aloe vera gel (overall circa 80kcals a day), which is so utterly disgusting that it probably helps in killing any appetite for real food.

I managed to fast for three days, follow the program for 2 more, and then started puking. I quickly abandoned the aloe shit, and I'm still stuck at 61.5kg (135.6lbs).

I really need to eat less and, even more important, train more.
If by next year in December I have not managed to enter the Partner selection program at work, I'm giving up this job. Honestly, it's really overwhelming. I did not work last weekend, and it was the first time since August (by "I did not work" I mean I left the office at 10PM on Friday night, had a call on Sunday afternoon, and was back at 8AM on Monday morning, but I did not turn on my computer).

Vacation, hiking, binges and so on

Cape Verte it was.
Sal Island. Honestly? a shitty place, but hey, I did spend lazy lazy hours just suntanning and reading. i needed it. We needed it.
Before that, we went hiking through Simplonpass (in the middle of the Alps, not far from where my family lives).

Hiking was so good that, before leaving for Cape Verte, I bought myself these

(of course the pic is from the net it is not me)

As soon as we got there I realized three things:
i) Sal Island is a shithole
ii) the food was disgusting (wait before thinking that was good news)
iii) virtually everyone staying in the hotel had severe diarrhea

WARNING: things start getting guresome from now on

Now, as much as I sometimes indulge purging (although in these occasions I vomit), due to years and years of big stomach issues when I was a teenager and later, I am fucking scared of eating something that will make me sick.
So.....
I spent one week eating (with no restrictions whatsoever) only two things: fries and boiled white rice.

And now I'm back, 6 pounds heavier. fuckfuckfuck.
Let's forget about those short shorts, okay?
It's time to restrict and get back to some serious training

Failure

At the end of December, my boss was demoted at work. As an indirect consequence,  I went from being second line (albeit with privileged access to the CEO) to being third line.
The new CFO is a fat bitch.

Then last Friday, with no warning at all, I was moved from my office to the open space.
I know it's petty, but this was humiliating.

Action plan: the next two months will be focused on training and losing weight (because let's face it, I'm back to 134lbs (almost 61kg)); meanwhile, I'll figure if things work out here or if I'd better find another job. Should I quit, I think I have a couple other options, so I'm not really worried. I just feel I failed - nothing new there right?

Not good

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I am so fucking gross and fat I disgust myself also I had sworn to be down to 57 (which is super gross) for the Marathon instead I'm still over 60
FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL FAIL
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Am I going to die fat? Will I ever stop to work 60+ hours a week?

(Also, my boss just got a Liposuction done to her legs. I fucking hate her)

Tell me how ugly I am, but that you'll always love me

Every year, for some reasons, I’m miserable for my birthday. It’s usually one of the worst weeks of the year.

Mostly, my family makes me miserable. They don’t mean to, yet they manage to make me cry every year. It’s true, I always say my bday isn’t a big deal to me, but hell, of course I’m lying. I do it because back in my teenage things used to go so wrong that deep down I’m still afraid of celebrations.

Steve will be away, since my birthday’s on Wednesday. That’s bad enough, but at least he’s flying in for the weekend. I asked him to take his Friday off, so we could spend a long weekend at my parents’ place by the lake, but when he bought the ticket he forgot, so our weekend will basically last one day and a half.

Bro promised long ago to arrange BBQ at his place on Saturday night with friends. When I called him on Saturday, to compliment him about his performance on a national regatta, I asked him about details. The answer? “Oh, I totally forgot. Sorry Sis, I’m working on Saturday, so that can’t be done”. I didn’t complain but it hurt like hell.

Finally, after planning the weekend with my parents, last night dad told me they’re leaving for a short trip on Wednesday and they probably won’t be home before Sunday night (we’re leaving on Sunday at noon, since Steve’s got his flight on Sunday afternoon).

Sorry if I’m childish, but I do feel neglected.

But the truth is, the worst thing is there’s only one thing that would really make me happy. The only gift I want is for Steve to ask me. And this is not going to happen.

Oh, also, Dad had something to tell me last night, after we went running 4 miles. He said I need to drop weight pronto. He said I look awful, that I’m at my worst ever and that I need to stop eating right now. And of course he’s right, but it kinda hurts when people you love feel that they need to say it, doesn’t it?

Maybe I shouldn't take love for granted. Maybe they just don't love me anymore because I'm ugly. And after all, I should have known it. Nobody loves failures.

GET UP LUCY

You're disgusting

You smell of puke

You're a fat hippo

Pull your shit together and GET UP

FOR FUCK'S SAKE!

Then this thing turned out so evil, I don't know why I'm still surprised

(to my ED) But you'll always be my hero, even though you've lost your mind I keep swinging. I don't even ultra-super-mega binge. Honest. I never get to the point I consider puking. Then I realize I've fagocitated 2500kcals in a single day. ...and it's sick that all these battles, are what keeps me satisfied... I don't know. My mounth is still tore up due to the tooth estraction, therefore puking is not an option. I've never been much of a MIA, but I'm considering this: I need to drop the fat. I must stop the binge. Therefore, (as soon as my mouth heals), I may consider throwing up after bingeing, as a punishment (I don't believe in throwing up for losing weight: it takes 20minutes to absorb the calories; my massive overeating happens at the parents' place, where coffee goes on for a while after eating, so puking would happen too late to help). Effing disgusting, I know. I must stop running away, and start facing reality. Each calory counts. At least I'm still training hard.. On to another subject. Bloggers sometimes disappear. Sometimes someone we specially care for disappears, and when it's within the blogorexia, it's often scary. Did they drop out because they're happy? I hope so, but often don't believe it. Marcus from Do you like lemones? disappeared, and even cancelled his blog. Marcus, I hope you're doing great, but I miss you. Miss Burton, on the other hand, may be back. I really hope she decides to come back to the blogorexia, because I missed her too! Belle, who later turned into Rogue, is another beautiful person I lost track of. And I think everybody remembers (wonders?) about Ana Regziz. Love you all sweeties. I'm not commenting much, but I'm still reading!

Stuck into the rut

I gained even more. I woke up at 125.8 this morning. I felt numb.

Weight loss competition, huh? Mother spent the weekend criticizing each piece of my wardrobe always saying I’m too fat or that I need a bigger size (which is exactly the same).

Thanx Mother, it’s always nice to feel loved.

So I binged like a mad cow yesterday. Very reasonable, huh?

I’m sticking to fruits and raw veggies until Friday night (and coffee of course, but since I have it unsweetened, that doesn’t add up). I need to get back in control, just like I was in July.

The thing is, work has been really depressing lately. Mother keeps making sneaky comments. Keith, my eldest bro, moved back to our country, and is so busy screwing his girlfriend he hasn’t yet found time to see me. Steve is away and keeps putting pressure on me because he’s miserable and wants me to move to London (which is simply not going to happen because I can’t and don’t want to move abroad anymore).

I need to hit the gym harder, to fast, to feel I’m in control. Also, I need to clean up my place, I started last night (after bingeing). I need to seriously think about work: what am I going to do? Keep up with this, or look for something else (no clue what I could do other than this by the way)?

I need to see a skinny bitch staring back at me when I look into the mirror.

Growing up..

One of the biggest advantages of ageing is the way you live your love relationships.

One may thing teenage love, with all the drama involved, evolves, but it’s not true. Life does. So at 28, you get to live a relationship in a more natural, smooth way. You most likely move in together and your man gets to know you actually have hair on your legs that require a painful maintenance. He gets to know that you poo, that you own period underwear, that at the end of a long working day your armpits smell: in short, that you are human.

And that’s great! Because really, your love life gets to a much higher level of intimacy, and everything is smoother.

And then your man moves to another country, and all you get are weekend visits, and you get back to the crazy loop, where you think that, since you get to see each other only once in a while, he needs to see the perfect you. And so you get crazy again with waxing, manicure and that stuff. And you crazily get a haircut on Friday afternoon, right before hopping on a plane, because you feel insecure because he never has time for you anymore because he’s working too much.

And of course that bitch of a hairdresser fucks up everything and gives you curls when you asked for straight hair. And you look like you shoved your fingers into a plug and got 220 volts straight to your hair.

Needless to say, your boyfriend will work too late to get to Gatwick to meet you. Of course you will have to get on your own to his new place.

And of course, you’re fucking fat, because you are a failure (fuck, you even ate chocolate cake at lunch: who the hell does that??). And that’s why he doesn’t have time to talk to you on the phone or come and get you.

Because you’re a failure, and what’s worse is you cannot possibly hope that you’ll be better when you grow up because you’re fucking 28, and you have already grown.

Into a huge, fat failure.

Scenes from last weekend

Act 1, in a small boutique, while I’m trying a lovely white, warm racket I fancy

Mother “You don’t look good in those jeans”

Lucy (shadow? This is fat Lucy talkin’, no shadows here) “Umh you always say that, no matter what jeans I’m wearing, mother”

Mother “Yeah, the thing is, you’re not 17 anymore, and more important you’re not 45 kilos anymore, so you should stop wearing jeans altogether”

Lucy * keeps quiet and desperately tries to swallow her tears back, while handling her Amex to pay for her jacket. Silently wishing she could just lose weight by paying with her Amex.

Act 2, dinner party at next door neighbor (aged 52), about 35 people attending

NDN (on his way to drunk-ness) “You know, Lucy here, you should see what a nice boyfriend she has now!”

Another friend “Yeah totally, don’t let him go Lucy, he totally seems a great guy, plus he’s gorgeous”

NDN “Yeah well, you should probably drop a couple pounds if you want to keep him”

(Note: NDN is obese, not just overweight. My BMI is currently 20. Awful, I know, but do I deserve all this?

Also, sorry for the lack of posting.

I cough a flue that is still lingering, and I’m working 60-70 hours per week. It’s all pretty insane. I keep reading you though.

I love you all!!