I thought about this tonight and many other things.  I thought about how all my dogs are not nearly as great as after my family has them for a while.  Where do you think the love came in?  Where do you think all the complaints of how loving they are came from?  OH YA, what would be me.  Their mother.  But like the father of my children, those around my “other”children, who are my dogs, they have to take credit.  I’ve always been the loser.  Speaking of which, bullimia cannot come between these emotions now a days.  Was easier to eat those thoughts up and throw them up, but now I blog them.  My dogs were always beautiful and well behaved around me.  Thing is though, they lived like me.  I didn’t socialize.  They ran free.  So did I.  But now that I lost everything, they, like me, have to adjust to a new life.  It’s not that we were bad to begin with, it’s just we were different.  We lived our lives the way we lived it and we liked it.  We weren’t worse, or better, we just were.  Them and me.  Marly and me.  Jenny and me.  My babies and me.

So today I live with my Marly with my parents, and my three other babies with me, and my sister and her significant other.  Marly – actually Yeller – is apparently so much better behaved now that he is with my parents.  Rolly, my little guy and Peanut are so much more muscular since living with me and my sister and her significant other.  Okay, so here’s the deal.  I am a loser.  Can’t do anything right.  Never will.  OMG… so anti bullimic right now, but so not hungry.  Where I am today is a really weird place to be on so many fronts.  I’m trying to write about today and then digress into my past to where all this began, but I always have another emotion surfacing… that which I blog and then don’t have time to go backwards.  Maybe that’s a good thing.

Having written that, I wonder.  How was I born?  How did I come to be.  Oh yes, this is the title of this blog.  Well… lets see.  Mom was having a nervous break down (as they called it then) around the time I was created.  I never understood that.  Apparently, from one source, mom lay on the couch for a year.  Didn’t want to get up or anything.  Another source said mom painted all the time.  Painted walls.  So I’m confused.  If mom was so busy either painting or lying down and not wanting to get up, which led to someone coming in to help my sisters… all in and around the time I supposedly was created… hummm… how did that happen?  How did I happen?  And why the hell did I happen?  I can’t finish this … because I don’t know.. and I can’t begin either, other than I am here.  I exist against all odds.  No wonder.  No wonder everyone tells me I’m different, I’m not normal, I’m hard to figure out, I’m nomadic, I’m smart, I’m …. different.  And in that word of different, I experience the world of being a BullimiAddict.  Welcome to my life.

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