Welcome to share

To my followers and anyone who reads this post I would like to share your thoughts. I have a copyrighted book not complete and at some point will encompass many of these pages I have written in the past four years. If interested send me your post to bullimiaddict@gmail.com. You choose your name. I will post it as per approved. I want to hear your version of what you believe “Make Up Not Required” means to you in this world. Me, it’s being real to myself. It’s being able to being honest, true to myself, and too not having to wear make up to be beautiful. Nor having to wear make up to hide behind someone I am not or to deceive. Interested in your opinion. Those who partake will have updates on my progress in the book and be recognized which ever way you want. Real or anonymous. I’ve been working on this project that I said I copyrighted fifteen years now. My bucket list is to complete it and get it published. I just figured out with this site I want it to be a shared venture. Not looking to get rich. Just to complete it. And if it does make money definitely will be donating to this cause!

Purple Polar Fleece and Hypocrisy

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Hello! What? A thank you after four years of being patronizing and mean and I get a thank you for a stupid polar fleece I made for my younger sister in a random text she sent today. I wasn’t sure what to reply. F you? What do you want now? After all the backstabbing back ended things you did in the past few years is this some symbol of peace like the olive branch?

I work with women like her. The kind that make you anxious just being around them. The whispers, then the verbal rude comments about stupid people, blondes, and you just look at them and don’t want to know what they say about you in your absence. They patronize you and everyone around them. They look at you like ‘what why don’t you agree or say something’ when you ignore their rude comments.

Severe anxiety is no friend to this kind of world.

Here is who I am. One young lady has been hired and she is young. Her make up is actually mainstream. Not like us fifty somethings old school. So in sales she attracts the younger generation. What is wrong with that? She is nice. Maybe not as incredibly perfect as my next to me Miss Perfect, but why be mean? Why not treat them as humans? My next to me calls her little thing. Our new people working in the back are new guy one and new guy two. I asked her when will they achieve her respect enough to call them by their names?

Next to me complains about the lack of professionalism where I work. What a laugh. Maybe a mirror should be before her. I love all people. From next to me’s nasty comments about ‘a real blond’, ‘Barbie and Ken’, ‘stupid’, ‘won’t threaten his vacation by making waves guy’, etc. all that is so destructive and it isn’t getting better.

That ‘next to me’ person is a mirror image of my little sister. Intolerant of anyone but themselves. I thank God I love and accept all for who they are. Do some bother me? Of course. I human. But it’s not that often and really it’s my problem. Why should I have the need to share it with others who then make judgements based on my opinion?

God bless those of us who have a higher tolerance for humans and chose not to be rats, gossips and cause unease of someone being around us.

Purple polar fleece? I don’t even remember what it looks like. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Severe Anxiety After Recovery

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An online acquaintance said it is a shame that there is always a trade off when I shared that I have been diagnosed with severe anxiety since I recovered from my bulimia. That is so true. Then the other trade off is drugs. I don’t want to do that. Was on some medication for a while but didn’t want to stay on them. I want a new alternative. Not a trade off. But sometimes I feel locked up. I work a lot of hours and just want to reward myself with rest. I get anxious when on my day off I know I have to shop for food, do laundry, clean up. More work. I get anxious knowing it would be good for me to complete small projects or working out.

I can’t even find it in myself to meditate. I’ve been told that works. But it’s one thing committing to work, it’s another committing to anything outside of work. Some would call it lazy. But it’s not. It’s fear of committing and losing what little freedom I have left.

Does this make any sense? I am not afraid of dying. I am in fact more afraid of living! Of life.

Technology sucks. Sucks human interaction out sometimes…

Awwwww. The joys of trying to interact with the techno addicted youth. Tried to watch a movie one night and then another just chat but the cellphones were on and chatting with others made for not hearing questions trying to interact on a more mundane boring level. Person to person.

Who am I kidding. At one time it was me with my food. I didn’t have a cellphone to hold onto and stare at for hours on end hoping someone will answer. I just had food there all the time to fill that empty void.

What are our children looking for on that phone? What I was looking for in food? To fill that empty spot? I know about my bulimia. Our kids don’t yet know about their addiction to their phones.

Difference though, they can live without their phone. We can’t live without food. So addiction is harder to let go of. Ours. We need food to survive. They don’t need their phones to survive. So those of us who have let go of our eating disorders are stronger. Because it is the harder addiction to let go of. They can survive without a phone we can’t survive without food. So which one would be harder to give up?

I had this argument too many times. Let them text while you are talking to them. Let them ignore you, funny. Daughter said exactly what she threw in my face. Enjoy this time. Yet she and other daughter didn’t understand her words. Keep texting because when you do that around me I don’t exist and you may as well not be here because it’s a stupid interaction.

At least with my food I could hear you and be with you totally while I was feeling that comfort. Even if I did throw it up after the bonding. Your cellphones I sometimes think and your snap chats in the middle of a conversation are more insulting.

Thank God my dogs have not learned how to be tech savvy yet! lol. My only grounding in true world life. ๐Ÿ™‚

I’ve surpassed leap year!

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I just noticed I have posted now 367 posts. That is one day more than leap year! Amazing. Thanks to all of you who have read my posts and brought me this far! Over 30000 hits! I never would have imagined. Granted these are all just numbers. My hope is they are not just numbers but more so reaching outters. ๐Ÿ™‚ hugs to you. And thank you for keeping me going and alive. Bulimic free!!!! But not by posts over leap year. ๐Ÿ™‚

365 x 4 ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ˜‰ ๐Ÿ™‚ ๐Ÿ™‚

After 30 years on and off longest time off. And no desire to return whatsoever. And I believe it is all thanks to many reasons, but my little bullimiaddict site being rather a very inspiring part. Thanks for sharing. ๐Ÿ˜‰

Penis Envy… An end to Bulimia?

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I know this is harsh but truth be known I have penis envy. Not in the way you would think. Mine is of growing older and not worrying about sagging boobs as a female or the sagging pooch or the sagging skin. In automotive terms that would be code N86.Sagging. Men on the other hand don’t seem to have society label their sagging balls or their new sagging breast. Their grey hair is akin of being dignified whilst that of women aging and old.

My penis envy is not of the drooping unerectile old dick, but that it is not as advertised nearly as much as the female parts. Not as advertised or media stricken.

Sometimes, no, often, I wish I would have been born a boy. It would have made my mother proud (she had four daughters and cried at every birth that we were female), I would have made my dad proud carrying on his name and my crows feet would be sexy, not old looking.

And I could have been a better man and not left my love of my life for a newer model if I still had some female honour of morality in me. I would have fought for her no matter what.

I live alone, birthed children and no man will know that feeling. That I am thankful for. For being a woman. But their expectations of my looks wear thin in time.

I experienced all the beauty a woman could in her body, all the hell in her body trying to please the male.

Ends up at 50 something simply… I wish I could have had the choice of becoming a man in my last years. Be able to pick any sparkling eyed lady wanting love. And crows feet, grey balding hair, and a smile and cuddles. Easier to find as a man then as a woman with same a man she may be able to love again.