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About Jaime

  • Birthday 06/18/1994

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    game development, math, musical composition, creative writing, digital art, swimming, singing, self hate

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  1. Jaime


    wow, congratulations! i couldn't do mine. my day was a little too busy and now it's night time and i'm too exhausted. i only had 780 calories today though so i think i'm excused. holy balls. i tell you it's like magic, the minute i finished typing this i got up and did a hundred squats i probably wasn't doing them right but it felt pretty good thanks man, great job today, good luck for the future
  2. Jaime


    GSpolar, I have a bad habit of mentally marginalizing any kind of exercise that's not cardio. But how can anyone say 100 squats a day won't do you good? I'm totally in! Thank you so much for this idea. I may have an unfair disadvantage, being that I was born with my hips pronated outward to an extreme that can only be described as pathological. Hopefully this won't have too negative an impact on the calories. Good luck with this. I'll be doing it with you to the fullest extent of my ability.
  3. Jaime


    I lost 30lbs! yeah sure. YEAH RIGHT. At least one of the scales involved in that computation was probably broken. Hell, I'm probably the one who broke it. God I'm so fat. Please help. I hate my body so much I can't take it. It's tearing me apart.
  4. You know what? I've decided today that I don't have a problem. It's not real. If it were real I'd stop eating and wouldn't still have hopes and dreams. I was going to make a long post whining about how upsetting / triggering it is to feel this way, like my depression isn't real. But then I realized, since it's not real, I have no right to complain. About anything. Ever. So I'll just say it's not upsetting either. Not objectively anyway. If I experience it as upsetting, that's my fault. That's my only real problem. Too soft. Too weak. Everything about me is proof. My girth. My gentle disposition. My only problem is clearly that I haven't suffered enough. How disgusting that I'd dare label my easy peasy life with "depression" when some people out there are actually facing real challenges, whether with mental health or with life, and having real feelings about them. Do any of you ever feel like this? I bet you don't. Because what you're going through is real. There's no anger in my jealousy. I support you all in my heart and wish you an expedient recovery. In fact, if it breaks my heart so much that I can't be like you, it's because I have so much compassion for you.
  5. I know this is my second (third?) blog post today, but I feel like I've had another breakthrough. I'm always feeling so discouraged about where I am now with my life. I feel so bad because of my weight. I can hardly stand to look at myself. So people tell me, if you don't like it, change it. So I'm trying my best to change it. But it's just not happening. I diet, I give in and binge, I lose hope after the binge and chronically overeat. Diet, binge, chronically overeat. But I slapped myself in the forehead today. D'oh! What I've been doing is the same exact thing as when I was too depressed to even make an effort. Cheating on diets, like being fat, is just something I have to accept for what it is right now, and try to change. It will do me no good to kid myself that if I try hard enough, I can maintain a caloric deficit. If I can't function without a caloric surplus, I'll let myself have a caloric surplus, but try my best to keep it down. "But wait," says my inner critic. "If you keep cheating every ******* day, you'll just keep getting fatter." And that I will -- for awhile. But this is where the magic happens. For, you see -- and this is something I couldn't seem to grasp before -- the longer an uninterrupted effort I make to keep my surplus down, the lower I'll be able to keep it, until it is a deficit. Do I know that for a fact? No. I do not. Therein lies the principle of faith. Not in my own inner strength -- of which I am now convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt I have none -- but of my capacity for it. I "am" a strong person. I put that in quotes because I don't mean it presently, but in a timeless sense. I'm weak now, but when I do my best -- however little my best may be -- I get stronger. All I have to do is maintain faith that this is the case. From there, I suspect my effort will practically make itself. I'm going to bed without dinner tonight and I am feeling totally okay about it. Tomorrow, if not sooner, I'll probably go mad from hunger and cheat again, and that will be okay, too. Because I know, as long as I have faith, that's going to start happening less often. As long as I keep my gaze fixed on the future I'm letting myself believe exists, I'll continue to draw closer to it. edit: WHY DID I WRITE THIS DOWN I'M AN ***** NOW IT WILL GO AWAY . please don't go away
  6. Thanks. I'm really glad to hear I've inspired you. I hope expressing how you feel will help you feel better, as it has for me. I just wish it wouldn't for me. I think I may have the opposite problem. As any depressed person, I'm in a lot of pain. But I fear I may speak it too often. I've spoiled myself. And now I can't achieve my goals because I'm too weak. Too dependent on instant relief. I want some of that pain to control me. That's why I'm going to try to start speaking my weakness instead. Things like appetite and exhaustion. Everything holding me back. I've ignored it for too long because it felt wrong to feel hungry when I eat so much, or to feel tired when I work so little. But ignoring it has only seen it grow. Maybe if when I'm hungry, I actually let myself feel hunger -- or, when I'm tired, I actually let myself feel fatigue -- without judgement -- then that will reduce the urge to eat or rest. And if I stop complaining about my pain, and let it fester, then it, in turn, will reinforce my desire to fast. That's my hope.
  7. Too often I whine about how much I hate my body and how fat and ugly I am, and how I'm mentally weak, etc, etc. For some reason I thought if I said it enough, I would finally get through to myself and start getting serious. I see now why that's not been the case. I learned recently that when I write down my feelings, they go away. Whenever I really, really hate myself, or feel desperately depressed, I sit down and write about it, and then I forget and feel fine. Nothing I say or write is going to get through to me, because when I speak or write, the words that surface don't go into me. They come out of me. So what if, instead of repressing all the feelings keeping me fat and letting them control me, I try to push them out, and instead repress my self disgust so it can destroy me and make me eat less? Here goes. Cover your eyes; this is probably going to be absolutely revolting. Disclaimer: I don't believe any of the bulls*** I'm about to write. I'm just writing it because these are all the feelings I want out of my system so they won't be there anymore. Ahem. Cough. A-HE-HEM. Starting now. . . Starting... now. . . . Here we go. . . . . . . . . 500 calories just isn't enough for one meal. I need more. It doesn't matter that I've already eaten so much today, I'm still hungry. My hunger is real (snrk) and merits validation. (LMAO YEAH RIGHT.) I don't see what's so important about losing weight. 330lbs isn't heavy, I'm as thin as a stick. I can still do stuff, too. I can run and do taekwondo and I'm okay at it. I'm graceful when I exercise and my nasty ass rolls don't wobble around at all. Fat isn't ugly, it's attractive. Wanting more isn't greedy or wrong at all. I deserve as much food as I want. In fact I deserve more food than other people because I'm better. I'm a better person than --- jesus ok I can't do this anymore nope NOPW DONE HERE BYE GONNA GO BARF NOW
  8. Absolutely. I understand how you feel. Though perhaps for a different reason. In my case it's not anyone outside of myself, but my inner critic, who makes me feel like I can't talk to anyone about my depression, because it makes me feel like I have no right to be depressed. Me: *stuffs face* Inner critic: "You're so fat. Children are starving around the world and in some small way it's probably your fault. That's your greatest accomplishment as a human being: your appetite kills babies. I hope you're happy with yourself, fatty." Me: *purges* Inner critic: "How dare you throw away food. The less fortunate could have eaten that. It's bad enough that you gorge yourself, now you have to let it go to waste, too? You are consumer trash and everything wrong with the first world." Me: *lies around doing nothing* Inner critic: "Remember when I said I hoped you were happy with yourself? I guess you are. You're not really depressed. You're just lazy. Look at yourself. So content. So comfortable. And you say this is what depression looks like. Shameful. You're a fraud." Me: *cries into pillow* Inner critic: "Why are you crying? You have everything to be grateful for and nothing to want for. Your life is so easy. You never do anything. You're just crying because you want attention. Like a little baby. You are the most spoiled and pampered piece of garbage and everyone you know has more reason to cry than you do yet here you are. It's mental weakness. That's all it is."
  9. For a long time, I've had two characters in my mind. I would draw pictures of them sometimes, or write about them. I'm a little embarrassed to admit they'd surface whenever I was sexually aroused. (My sexuality is all twisted up in knots with my depression and self loathing.) One of them is an emaciated and extremely selfless young man who is suffering a lot and frequently offers kindness to others at his own grievous expense. The other is an obese and very feminine man, a bit younger, with long eyelashes and a pretty face, who is playful, affectionate, and very greedy and selfish. The emaciated young man is working hard to overfeed the obese young man and starving himself so as not to cut into the food supply. The obese young man adores the emaciated young man, eats to excess every day at his expense and rewards him with gratuitous affection, and refuses to acknowledge there's a problem. I never understood what these two characters in my mind represented until today. Today I realized I don't have one body image. I have two. The obese young man represents my public body image. How I see my body. Everything I think I am -- obese, gluttonous, selfish, ignorant, immature, needy -- and everything I want to be -- playful, affectionate, feminine, young, pretty / cute. At once all the negative and all the positive of my ego. The emaciated young man represents my private body image. Where the obese young man was my ego, this is my id. It's how my body sees itself. Every comparison I could make to how I feel. For example, when I haven't eaten all day, my physiological feelings tell me, "golly, I'm starving." So the man is starving. Or when I've tried to put my best foot forward and I feel hurt and ignored, that's when the man is offering kindness to others at his own expense. This is everything I repress, everything I pretend I'm not feeling because I strongly believe I don't have the right to feel it. I see now why it arouses me to think of these two characters doing "stuff" together. Because that's something I deeply crave. Unity. Dignity. Self forgiveness. Self love. I want nothing more than for these two to kiss and make up so I can have some peace and quiet.
  10. "Today I'm not eating." Welp. There goes that plan.
  11. I think I can relate. Have you had traumatic experiences that were either recent or have been affecting you recently? When I was younger I used to have nightmares about the time my father molested me, and for a very, very long time, I couldn't be alone in a quiet room that had any doors or windows, because I was so afraid someone would open them. I knew in my mind nothing bad would happen if someone walked by and opened the door. But in my heart the terror wouldn't go away. If you'd asked me what I was afraid someone would do if they'd opened the door, I couldn't have told you. I just felt very strongly it would be something horrible. For years, I never made the connection, and now that I understand what I was so afraid of, the spells of fear in quiet rooms have stopped, as have the nightmares. So, I guess, ask yourself, what are you afraid of? What are you afraid will happen if you sit in a quiet room long enough? Will mouths come out of the walls? Will a face or a hand come out of the toilet? I'm no professional, but from experience, the best advice I can give is, try to step out of your fear, and look at what you're afraid of objectively, and try to understand why you're afraid of it in the context of your life. Best of luck!
  12. If life were a fantasy novel, I'd be the big, fat, greedy comic relief villain. You know the one. The "ogre." The "monster king." Ignorant, lazy, selfish, entitled, filthy, foul smelling, constantly producing disgusting noises and gases as he reclines in his mossy stone seat and gorges himself nonstop on a banquet of scraps stolen from starving little mice. Idly ordering equally foul but considerably less rotund servants and foot soldiers all about, getting fatter and more comfortable off their hard work and executing them as he pleases, while children and cute animals cry and suffer in cages suspended over bubbling cauldrons. It's so funny when that big fat monster gets his comeuppance, it's so ****ing funny. That's me. The hero will come vanquish me one day and everyone will cheer, and it will be funny. Because the villain's life has no value. He thinks he's so much in need, but truth be told, he's never worked a day in his life. Spoiled. Whiny. Gluttonous. A skid mark on the drawers of mankind. The hero. That's you. Brave. Enduring. Determined. The underdog. The cute, spunky little victim turned hero, a troubled young soul, so sad about what's happened to her, but she'd never do anything wrong, oh no. So perfect. And skinny, too, of course, not out of vanity, but just because she can't get enough to eat. Because of me. Because the big, greedy ogre is taking all her food. This beautiful, merciful, rail thin little angel, who's endured loss, and grief, and finally decided to take a stand. No one knew how strong she was until disaster struck (that's me!) and it was her time to prove it. Nothing that's happened to her has ever been her fault. She's coped in all kinds of awful ways, and suffered so much, but never shed a tear, never fell into any self indulgent sort of lifestyle, because she's strong. Stronger than me. Better than me. And now she's kicking down that nasty stone door, ready to prove it, ready to take on this foul, disgusting beast who's caused her such misery. I beg you, hero, do the hero thing that the very best heroes do, and show mercy. Though it may not be obvious anymore now that I'm so bloated and overgrown, I really am just a lowly, nasty little sewer rat. Alone. Afraid. Weak. So weak. So weak that I can't even bring myself to endure by choice what you go through every day because of me. Please believe me when I say, if I could stop hurting you, I would, but I am just too pathetic. Please put down the dagger and be Snow White again. Open your warm, enormous heart, and show forgiveness; take in this tiny, frigid, black, shriveled little apricot pit I call a soul. We can be friends. You can change me. You can make me more like you. But you can't, can you? "Only you can choose to change," you tell me. But I can't change. I can't be able to change, because if I were able to change, I wouldn't be scum, and what good is a comic relief villain if he's not scum? What, are you telling me I'm not even good at my one purpose in life? Well, go ahead then. Stab me. I changed my mind. Please go ahead and liberate your people. It will be so funny. Everyone will cheer. You'll all escape my nasty, smelly dungeon, and you'll all rejoice and eat cake. In moderation, of course, because good people do everything in moderation. And my ugly, filthy body will rot into the earth, back into hell where it came from, and all the hungry little mice I'd robbed will have food again, but I suppose they'll have to share it with worms, vultures, and mold. And they'll clean off my skeleton together like best friends over a roast. I guess then I'll finally be thin. Hey, dramatic irony! More laughter! Hahaha, it's so funny! End fantasy novel. Gee, what a great book.
  13. Let's all die Sorry, just pretend I was never here
  14. **************************************************************************** TRIGGER WARNING: binge eating disorder, bulimia, body dysmorphic disorder I can't find the option to make something a spoiler, so I'll have to just leave it like this. Sorry. Today I went out on a short walk with my backpack. I went to a handful of different stores and restaurants, bought a s***load of unhealthy food, and stowed it all in my backpack so no one would see. I do this every now and then to mock myself for being obese. My inner critic thinks it's funny when I binge because I'm fat. So I went home, locked myself in the bathroom, turned on as many things to make noise as I could so no one would hear, and ate all this food at once, in underwear, on the can. I started feeling sick, but didn't stop. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. When I finally ran out of food, I was so stuffed I felt like I was gonna throw up. Once again, this is the norm for me when I do things like this. The difference is this time I actually did. Here's how it happened. I looked down at myself, and I was so disappointed. I knew I'd have to work out for a very long time to make up for this incident. I thought to myself, it's alright, I can fix this tomorrow on the elliptical, and maybe the next day after that. It's just a minor setback. Then, in response, this voice rang out in my soul. "No," it said. "It's not okay." And then I climbed into the shower and turned on the water, and induced vomiting. I'm not sure I got it all. I'm not sure I care, because at some point, I stopped, and thought about everything I'd done today, and I thought, "what am I doing with my life." And now I'm here.
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