Monday, December 31, 2007
Usually I'm not a fan of the resolutions that everyone sets (but rarely achieves) at the New Year. One could wonder why we don't set resolutions of some sort every month or two or six. Why do we only try to "better" ourselves once a year? And why are those goals almost always about fixing our bodies or achieving something more desirable than what we already have? It's common knowledge that gyms get a surge of new contracts at the new year when people are guilt-ridden with the turkey and egg nog and holiday cookies they consumed. And don't get me wrong. I mean, being healthy and taking care of yourself, both in body and in mind, is important and goal-worthy. But.
What if we made resolutions that really, truly meant something? What if the world (or really, just a few of us) resolved to instead of changing our bodies, change the world? Or at least the small bit of world that we inhabit? How would our lives and the lives of those around us be affected if we made a conscious effort to smile at a stranger in the parking lot or spend an hour volunteering at a homeless shelter? I believe that we could make a real difference.
So my resolution this year is to start a revolution on the way women in our society view their bodies. I think it's high time we start accepting them and loving them, no matter our size or weight. It's time we start treating ourselves with respect, instead of calling ourselves "disgusting" or "bad" for eating or having curves.
It was only a small investment, really: just the cost of some post-it notes. On them I've written various things like
Ladies, love your body! Join the revolution!
I keep them in my purse and I leave them in public restrooms or on bulletin boards or in store windows.
I want it to be known that there is a real war, here, going on. It's a war that women are fighting against themselves, against their bodies.
The unrealistic pressure to be too thin is beginning to get nauseating. I have fought my own battle for years, and I believe I have nearly won. But it's not enough. I want to help others, and this is my small way, I think, of battling the negative images and attitudes this world has on what is desirable in a woman's appearance. If enough of us joined, if we all made an effort to change the world, we could. Please join the revolution too.
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Friday, December 28, 2007
Thursday, December 27, 2007
Brandon had a grand 'ol time looking like a scary mo fo with a candy cane in his mouth, while I (obviously) struggled to come up with "odd" facial expressions.
Christmas itself was amazing, of course. Brandon surprised me with a new iPod Touch, which promptly sent me into squeals of delight. We spent the day playing Rock Band on XBOX, and even though I have maybe the worst singing voice since Cameron Diaz in My Best Friend's Wedding, I had a splendid time rockin' it out. We also (finally) got a camcorder, which Santa was so sweet to remember. We had a riot recording Cade opening presents and promptly disregarding all of them to play with the vacuum. Oh, the irony.
And there it is. I not only got to be with my incredibly amazing family, but I got to spend it with some pretty darn cool friends, too. Whit and I had a fricktastic time playing Rock Band and dueling it out on Dance Dance Revolution. (We missed our Alana baby though.)
To finish the holiday break off before I headed back to work, mi madre y yo went to Barnes and Noble to peruse the books and buy some delish hot chocolate from Starbuck's. Just my kind of activity, no kidding. I love my mama. What a sweetheart.
Well there you have it. My holiday. I hope yours was as perfect as mine was. :)
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Well folks, it's been an interesting night in pictures. As you can see, I'm mighty fine pleased that my hair has grown approximately 1/8th of an inch. YESSS! (It sure is moving right along!)
Cade trying on my new bra. He was delighted with the promise of potentially adding up to one full cup size. He's got a little bit of growing to do, as you can see.
This lovely shirt is a Christmas gift from the uber awesome Marissa. It's a Twilight fanclub shirt, you can comprar them here, if you'd like. Notice the ridiculously hot Alana vying for some picture space in the background. Oh sad. I kinda feel bad for her, no kidding. This picture...WOW. Maybe not the best angle for me, if you know what I mean.
Immediately upon snapping this, Alana assured me this would be a beauty to treasure for years and years to come. Oh how right she was! (Please ignore the fact that I look like I'm wearing a do-rag. This beanie is actually pretty un-frigtarded.)
I know the question is so cliche, but really, who am I?
Tuesday was my last sesh with my therapist. She maintains that I don't need therapy so much as "spiritual guidance." And I do agree. (At least I think?) I mean, my spirituality is a big part of my life, and I would like to strengthen that area - I do agree with her that it would help in the whole recovery aspect.
But for me, living without therapy is like a fish trying to survive out of water. Being Anorexic Brie, the girl who's always in treatment centers, the emaciated girl, the girl who's always in therapy...as sad and pathetic as it sounds, that's who I was (and maybe still am).
That was my identity. That hopeless, fragile shell of a person was what I knew, was all that I thought I had to offer this world whose idea of a beautiful woman is an emaciated woman.
I know that it's time to grow up and shed that old, tired me. I want to be somebody new, real, vibrant, beautiful.
But I'm scared. What if the Brie I find down the road does not fill me the way my anorexic self did? What if I can't find anything else to be good at?
It's time to try being...well, normal.
Is there even such a thing?
Is there such a thing as me living in this world without my eating disorder?
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Obviously I wasn't looking forward to taking my child to yet another doctor, and I was prepared for all sorts of freaking out and temper tantrums on his part. But he was actually surprisingly cheerful! He only kicked the doctor, like twice.
The afternoon turned really interesting when Dr. Kelly (I'm pretty sure) thought Whit and I were, you know, together. He inquired as to where we lived, etc. Maybe he was just surprised that there were two females there with Cade? Regardless, I totally didn't correct him, which sent Whit into a fit of giggles that could have been ridiculously horrifying, but she managed to pull herself together, to my utmost relief.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
"Oh Honey, you worry me. You look like an unfinished boat."
This may come as a shock, (haha) but I've never been called that before, nor do I expect to ever, ever be called that again. I'll be honest, I was quite tickled when he said it because it was just so darn original, and well frankly, pretty funny.
But an unfinished boat?
Monday, December 17, 2007
See, we were hoping to move into my parent's home while they are finishing off their mission for another year and a half, but because my dad is so not a cat person, he said we could move up to their home if we either got rid of my cats, (umm, why don't you just ask me to get rid of my left breast? It'd hurt less, and I'm not quite as attached to it!) or make them outdoor cats. ...And, what? Have them die in less than eleven days? For those of you that don't know, my parents live in the mountains, where all sorts of wild animals roam around. Seriously. Last year, my parent's neighbors were eating breakfast and happened to look out their dining room window to find two mountain lions in their backyard fighting over a deer carcass. Needless to say, they lost their appetite for their breakfast, but that's hardly the point.
So, what? Am I supposed to be okay with my cats being the next carcass the friggin' mountain lions are fighting over? I don't think so.
So I was really sad - much tears and snot were involved as I realized I wouldn't be getting out of our Pit of Despair (aka my basement apartment) to move to a beautiful new home. I thought Brandon (the esposo) would be a bit upset that the cats were the reason we wouldn't be moving, and as he pretty much dislikes them anyway, I thought he'd be all gung-ho about making the felines cougar meat.
But once again, he has proven to have gone above and beyond my expectations. Later that night, after I broke the sad, sad news to him, I came home to find that he had bought a bunch of new toys for the kitties, as well as a cute new bed they can snuggle in together. (At least, they were supposed to sleep in it together, but as Bobbi takes up the space that roughly a small foreign country uses, they can only sleep in it one at a time). But still. That's not the point. The point is that my husband wanted to show everyone in the family that he supports his crazy wee-fay's inappropriate attachment to cats by buying them toys and actually holding and petting them, (which lasted all of two minutes, till Hairy stuck her claw in his leg - but still)! My man loves me, and that means he loves all of me and is making an attempt to love the cats, because he knows how much they mean to me. And he made this huge monumental sacrifice for me - we're stuck in the Pit of Despair, but hey - we've got our love and our cats who will never know the horror of becoming cougar dujour! What more could I ask for? (Actually, I could ask that my parents change their minds, and allow the fat nasty kitty lovers to live in their home, but that's beside the point. My question was meant to be figurative, not literal).
This here is a picture of my kitties sleep-humping. Thanks to my sweet, sweet husband, there will be many more days of this beautiful sleep-humping, and it will never be tarnished with pain or hurt or mountain lions stalking them! Yay. I just love happy endings, don't you?
Saturday, December 15, 2007
Friday, December 14, 2007
I take a swig of my Diet Coke and stuff a square of a Mr. Goodbar in my mouth to keep myself fully alert just as Susan leans over to me and whispers, “Brett dared me to put ten sprays of Binaca underneath my tongue. I decided to do twenty. It’s burned pretty bad. It looks like a wrinkled penis. Wanna see?”
And with that, she opens her mouth wide, lifts her tongue, and sure enough, there it is: a little ‘ol wrinkly penis lookin’ thing. I dissolve into fits of giggles, and the rest of the meeting is shot, but my day is absolutely made, for I saw a burned, wrinkly penis/tongue in my supervisor’s mouth today.
I love the people I work with, I really, really do.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Two nights ago, I was a hot mess. Really, saying I was a hot mess is putting it lightly. I was a hormonal, chemically-imbalanced, batshit insane, premenstrual basket case.
That's putting it lightly.
Some lunatic thought it would be great fun to steal my prescription medication out of my car, (I had just picked it up from Costco) and he/she was undoubtedly hoping for goodies like painkillers or uppers. Sadly, as I only suffer from depression, they didn't get much more than Neurontin, Celexa, and Cymbalta. Hmmm. I wonder what the street value for those are?
But I digress.
So, because I have no pills, and because my psychiatrist, Dr Ferre, is out of town, (who I affectionately refer to as The Ferr Bear, but that's a whole other story for another day) and because I am too lazy to drag my ass forty minutes away to Provo to see my PCP to see if she would write a prescription, I decided that suffering was my best option.
And suffer I did.
After about two days, the withdrawals started to hit me hard-core: I had a horrible migraine, I couldn't handle any noise, I could barely form coherent sentences. And I was so depressed. Horribly. And my moods were all over the place. One minute I'm doing fine, and the next, I'm screaming at Brandon for looking at me wrong (Are you looking at me because I'm fat? You think I'm fat, don't you?!).
But well, friends, I think my low point came on Monday night. I was sitting (well slumping is more like it) in a chair, staring dully at the floor, unable to think clearly or speak or do anything productive. My Amazing Fur-Ball of Joy, Hairy, wandered into my line of sight and laid down on the floor. I thought about going over to her to pet her, but that seemed like too much effort, so I continued to stare. Then suddenly - suddenly...
ONE OF HER ARMS WAS MISSING!!!
So. I can look back now, and realize that I was wearing neither my glasses or contacts, and that things were rather blurry. She's also really fat and fluffy, so maybe her arm got lost in all that mess. But all I knew that evening, looking at my cat, was that she didn't have an arm. And I was horrified. My compromised mental state could not process what was obvious: that her arm was at an angle that kept me from seeing it, and coupled with the fact my vision was blurry, I should have been able to laugh and shake it off. But I couldn't. I could only freak out that my cat had somehow lost her arm. So naturally, I start sobbing.
SOBBING. Sobbing like I just lost a family member or something. I mean, crap, I'm thinking, I've got to look for the damn arm now, where do I start? Where would it be? What do I do with the arm once I find it? My poor kitty, without an arm! Brandon notices me sobbing then, (I was kinda hard to miss) and gets very concerned - what on earth could be wrong? After I explain to him that my cat was missing an arm - it took awhile, due to the sobbing and tears and snot, he (so kindly) tried to explain that she did in fact did have an arm, I just couldn't see it. And I didn't believe him. So I'm muttering to myself, "The world is a horrible, terrible place. It takes all the things you need like your arms and your joy. What's the point of even living?!"
And then, just like that, she jumped into my lap, all four limbs intact!! This started my sobbing up again full-force, and I couldn't stop hugging her, telling her she was so beautiful and pretty with all her arms, but that I would love her anyway, even if she were missing one. And I was happy again.
This is a pretty funny story now, folks, but wow. It sure wasn't then. I mean, what if I had a three-legged cat right now? That wouldn't be so funny now, would it?
This cat is actually missing an arm, (actually a leg, but let's not get technical here, people) like, for real.
This is Hairy, all limbs intact.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Not that my opinion matters much, but I've compiled a list of my "favorites" of this year.
Dan In Real Life - this movie was amazing, folks. Whether you are in love with Steve Carrell or not, this movie is a must! Seriously. Like, go watch it now.
Waitress - Okay, so true story: Adrienne Shelly, who wrote, directed, and co-starred in this flick (who is a genius and a goddess) was murdered a short time before this movie premiered. She never got to see her amazing work, but that doesn't mean we can't appreciate it in her memory. Seriously. You'll laugh and you'll cry - I know, because I just watched it again a couple of nights ago and am already dying to watch it again.
Enchanted - Okay, so aside from the fact that Dr McDreamy co-stars in this movie, (that shouls be reason enough to see this flick) this is such a fun movie that will so put you in a better mood after you've seen it. It's totally clean, so don't be scared to take your parents to it, either!
Time to give in, Alana and Whit! The Twilight Series is amazing, and I swear you'll love it. Yeah, it's a bit corny, yeah, the writing could be better. But the plot? The characters? You'll fall in love with them. Production begins in February for the movie, and I'm thrilled!
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows - So if there's anyone even left in this universe who hasn't read the HP Series, it's time to give in. Seriously. The conclusion to Rowling's series was, of course, amazing.
The Thirteenth Tale - Written by Diane Setterfield, this was a story I particularly enjoyed. If you have secrets, then this will be a story you can relate to. It's eerie and charming and mysterious - the story is completely addicting. I have a copy if anyone would like to borrow it.
Okay, so it's not like these restaurants opened this year or anything, but they were certainly my personal favorites of this year:
Red Robin - Yay for their orgasmic fries! How is it that their fry sauce and ranch taste better than anyone else's? I have so many good memories from that place...Whit, Alana...so many happy times with my besties at good 'ol RR!
California Pizza Kitchen - Their BBQ Chicken Pizza beats no other. What else can I say?
The big button/box sweater - Oh how I loves this look! Big, fun sleeves, it looks great on anyone - no matter their size or shape.
High-Waisted Jeans - So many of you may not support me on this one, but I luuurves the high-waisted look! I've got myself a couple pair of jeans and skirts with this look. I think it's hip and classy. Go for it - this look will so not be in style forever!
The Ankle Boot - Sadly, I do not yet own a pair, but it doesn't mean I don't still adore them.
The Mary-Jane Pump - I love this look! I may be tall (let's be honest, I'm ridiculously Amazonish) I still can't resist these heels! I loves!
Here's to hoping that something even better comes along in 2008!
Yes, that's good.
Wait. Don't forget to exhale.
Now breathe again.
Blink if you need to, of course.
But don't forget to wake up.
Shower. It would be awful to let your hygiene slip.
Run a comb through your hair.
Go to work.
Smile at your coworkers.
The phone's ringing.
You should answer it.
Molina Healthcare, this is Brie.
Good. You sound normal.
And you're still breathing.
Still going through the motions.
Play with your son.
It's back to basics.
that's all I can offer life.
Monday, December 10, 2007
And then suddenly, with little or no warning, I am left feeling bereft, lonely, and hollow. I cannot help but think of those in my family who I will not see this Christmas, or those who have passed during the Christmas holiday in the past…I think about how, in a perfect world, there would not be suffering. That some of my dearest family members and friends who I love more than I love myself would not be in pain, or that I would not be in pain.
And then my mind wanders to the true meaning of Christmas. Yes, I’m sure you’ve all already heard the requisite lecture on what Christmas really means this season, but I cannot help but ponder on it a bit more this year. Alana sent me a text message with a beautiful picture of HAPPY BIRTHDAY JESUS in Christmas lights hung proudly on someone’s home that she had taken as she had driven by their house. And It is because of God and His son, Jesus Christ, that we are here to be with friends and family during this time of year. Oh how I wish (myself included) that we could be content with gifts of gratitude for all that we have, rather than the physical trivialities in festively wrapped boxes that will soon be forgotten as the year progresses. We live in an amazing country – one in which we have so many freedoms that each and every one of us take for granted every single day, that many all around the world envy of us. We have troops fighting for us, for our freedom, for our country, and most of us don’t give them a passing thought at all. Our cups truly runneth over. And it is sincerely my hope that we all may be able to keep that close to our hearts this Christmas season.
Friday, December 7, 2007
I look up from my mountain of work, annoyed. I smile anyway.
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to fix the copy machine, Boss."
You're a fat dipshit. Why are you calling me Boss? "Sure. Let me take you to it."
I stand, he walks toward me, leans in close.
"Oh Boss! You're picture is beautiful."
I look down at my name tag with my miniscule, smiling face grinning from it, and surreptitiously flip it over so he cannot see it.
I wanna rip off your package. Or at the very least, knee you a good one in the groin. "Oh, thanks. That's so nice of you to say."
I lead him through the myriad of cubicles and hallways at my office, and gratefully leave him at the copy machine. I return to my desk, my huge pile of work.
Thirty or so minutes later he's back.
I notice him walk back in, but I pretend not to notice him anyway.
"Hey Boss, I can see you're very busy, but can you spare a teensy weensy minute for me so that you can sign this work order for me?" He grins his yellow, coffee stained smile at me.
You're the ugliest piece of crap I've ever seen. "Of course."
I reach for his pen, and just as my fingers are about to take it, he lets it slyly fall to the ground.
"Woops, Boss, my bad. I can be clumsy sometimes."
I bend over to pick it up, and I can feel his searching, greedy, probing eyes all over me.
I straighten up and sign the work order. I don't smile this time.
Go eat shit you sicko. You're a fat nasty bastard and I hate you. "It's fine. See ya later."
He grins, and finally leaves.
"You're a jerk, and I don't deserve to be treated that way!" And I say it. He doesn't hear, but at least I say it. A few minutes too late, but still. At least I say it.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
If you die in your dream, then you will most certainly die for real the very next day.
I heard this rumor kicking about the soccer ball one afternoon at recess. I was nine, and my childish ears curiously listened to my "wisened" friend as she explained to me what her older sister had told her:
"She knows someone who knows someone who died after they had a dream where they drowned. For real." My friend said this in a knowing whisper, and it raised goosebumps on my arms.
But the moment passed, and I gratefully pushed it from my mind.
And then one night I had a dream.
And in the dream I died.
And I went up to Heaven.
And Jesus was there, and really, I had a lovely time, and I wasn't scared at all.
But then I woke up, and I was my nine-year-old self again, very alive.
And I was scared.
And right then, I just knew. I knew that I was going to die.
All day I waited for it to happen. Would it happen at school? On the bus? I hoped that it would just be me, and that my twin brother wouldn't die too, or my mom, but I did worry about being terribly lonely without my mama and my brother.
And I was sooooo scared.
I wasn't ready to die! I wanted to write the next Great American Novel, and I wanted to be an Olympic gold medalist, and I wanted to go to college and have babies. I didn't want to die. Why did I have to have that awful dream?! It wasn't fair, and I was so, so sad. So scared.
Well, the whole day passed and I never died.
But then I knew how it must work: I figured that the next night when I went to sleep, I would be taken to the next world while I dreamt. And then I was relieved, because I didn't think that would hurt very much.
So that night, I carefully brushed my hair and my teeth. I changed my underwear.
I pulled out a clean sheet of paper and wrote in my childish script careful instructions on how to feed my cat and my fish. I said goodbye, and that I was sorry.
I hugged my mom extra hard that night, never wanting to let go. I was never going to lie in her lap again, smell her shampoo, feel her warm hug.
And it hurt too much.
So I ran from her, ran outside. I curled up in the garden and wept.
My cat came to me then, curious as to why I would be outside like this at such a late hour. And I was so happy for the company! I hugged her fiercly, sobbed the Dying's Cry of all that could have been and all that I would miss.
And then I dried my eyes.
I stood up.
I went to my bed, crawled under the covers, closed my eyes.
And I waited to die.
And in so many ways my eyes have never opened.
And I am waiting.
Sunday, December 2, 2007
I am extremely uncomfortable with the idea of any one person knowing too much about me.
Two years ago I burnt every single journal I had ever written.
I was so disquieted by the idea of being remembered.
After I'm dead, I want to have never existed.
I want people to think that perhaps I was a figment of their imagination, a fleeting moment of deja vu whispering in their memories.
You see, nothing I have ever done is worth remembering.
And it is my insignficance in this world that frightens me, devastates me.
already I feel as if in this post, I am revealing too much.
It scares me. So
I must go.