I'm addicted to ice cream. I'm serious.

If any of you have read my husband's blog, hardcorepoetic, then you know that life isn't comepletely rosy and good for me and him right now. I really wanted to keep my blog from becoming a vomitorium for me to upchuck onto the page - I had hopes of doing book reviews or something important with this creative outlet - but hell, my life just isn't that clean and simple.

I'm addicted to ice cream. I'm serious. I need ice cream almost every day to cope. Eating has always been a coping mechanism for me when I'm stressed. And boy is there stress in my life right now. Again, have you read my husband's blog? While he is dealing with Bipolar Type 2, ADD, Sleep Apnea, PLMD, and all of the emotional upheaval that comes with that territory, I'm trying to cope with the fact that my new husband is not healthy enough to support me as I struggle with my own battles - such as me being fatigued since December (probably due to the general anxiety disorder and clinical depression I've been recently diagnosed with), or the fact that I'm still coming to terms occasionally with the fact that my parents don't talk to me, my father chose his dogs over coming to my wedding, and that my husband has told me that I have to talk to him like a child to get him to REALLY hear what I'm telling him.

So I eat ice cream. I've just finished a bowl as I've typed this. I've gained almost 40 lbs. since the wedding and we've only been married since May '04. I hate my body so much right now that I don't want to take baths or look at myself in the shower. I actually tried to make myself puke up my dinner the other night because I hated myself for eating it. It was not the first time I had wanted to do it, but it was the first time I actually stuff my fingers down my throat and tried. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I've discovered that my fingers are too short to make my gag reflex kick in. Damn it!

Yeah... As I type this, I'm wondering how long it will take Scott to actually find out about this because he rarely gets around to reading my blog. No, I haven't told him yet. He worries enough about me already - it sucks because he can't do anything to help me so he gets mad, which in turn makes me feel worse. And here I am feeling bad because I can't help him, I can't seem to stop myself from feeling bad, I've got the stresses of work, class, and family, and I'm also supposed to help him hang onto sanity! I can't relax... I wander around in the evenings trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing because I feel urgently that I'm SUPPOSED to be doing something but I can't remember what.

I'm losing it, people, one scoop of carb-ladden vanilla ice cream at a time!