// μ = m // dayvan cowboy // music is math

Coffee is a quick way to undereating. I shouldn’t be empowering the pro-ana nuts — I mean, by all means, enjoy the good foods life gives us — but I drink enough coffee that I don’t need lunch at all. It does help that I load it up with sugar, and, yes, that means more calories but also more satisfaction.

I won’t refuse the foods my mom offers me when I get home if they’re any good — lunch leftovers age differently depending on the kind of food and will even go out of my way to cook something really “food-y” like fried eggs, hot dogs and bologna sandwiches. If I’m feeling hungry or hedonistic. Sometimes I’ve had enough coffee that I’m not hungry at all.

I lost a lot of weight on Topamax and then switched to Seroquel. The habit of not having lunch (actually arriving to work at lunchtime) kept for a while, though, so I kept getting thinner and thinner in spite of the fact that Seroquel is fattening. I don’t really feel hungry at night most of the time, and will eat for the pleasure of eating.

So I’m not willing to give up pleasures to become unnaturally thin. I’m just drinking coffee my way into it. Maybe I’m not 0.05 anorexic, more like 0.5 anorexic, but “soft” anorexic in a way that anorexia is not one of my first priorities. General pleasure comes first. Mostly intellectual, but some foods are good.

Maybe I just happen to be obsessed over the word “anorexia” because fucked up things haven’t happened for months and months, I’m happy with my job, my girl, etc. And I’m supposed to be fucked up — I’ve always been fucked up until Pax Seroquel.

I do want to be unnaturally skinny.

Nah, I don’t mean the red pill stuff, or the associated political analogy. I have derealization and depersonalization symptoms. They’re mostly flashes, but sometimes a really hard crisis happens. It’s even often really pleasurable,  as an amorphous wave of pleasure. Once in a while, it’s some specific, disturbing fantasy that feels wonderfully perverse at the moment. Like the time I first heard “Luscious Apparatus”, being by my own in the dark waiting for the bus — I felt I could actually carve poems into my body since it wasn’t really my body and its skin was thick enough I could carve it out without bleeding.

  I have strong memories of that particular crisis whenever I listen to that song, and even really mild DR/DP flashbacks. And that was a pleasurable one, but DR/DP can be terrifying, and I had a really strong case of the bad ones this tuesday.

I was just leaving home for work. Having missed my bus, I had to walk for ten minutes to get to the bus that takes you to the subway. And then I lost most of my sense of context — I had a very very thin string tying me to my sense of self and didn’t know where the hell I was. All I knew was that I had to walk for ten minutes and get into the bus that takes you to the subway to get to work, so I did that in an automatic sort of way while I tried to get my sense of self back, trying to find music on my iPod that would remind me first of my childhood, then late teens and early 20s. And even when I had a clear picture of who I was, I didn’t feel like I was who I was. Thirty or fourty minutes had already passed, I was already on the bus and knew how to get to my workplace, and still I didn’t recognize anything or felt like I knew who I was.