My throat hurts. Zack left me naked and in bed an hour ago, and I thought it a good excuse to go straight to sleep. But, as it turned out, I was too bored to do so- I don't know how that works- and when I'm bored, I think about eating. And when I think about eating, nowadays, I think about not eating. And I drive myself insane.

Here's the dilemna- I hate my body. Wait, no, I didn't phrase that right. I HATE my body. It used to be that I could put up with it, but suddenly I see it or feel it without a sense of failure and repulsion washing over me. Two possible reasons for this that I can think of, and, surprise surprise, they both have to do with my loving fiancé: A, I'm simply naked more than I used to be, therefore forced to think of my body more often or B, I finally have something I desperately don't want to lose.

When I explained it to him that way, his immediate reaction was the same misconception I bet I've just afforded all of you- I don't believe Zack would- nessecarily- leave me if I were to gain a substantial amount weight. But, to put it more bluntly than I did in my conversation with him, I do think it would put some undesirable strains on our relationship- as if there's any more room for undesirable strains- whether it be because of him genuinely finding me less attractive or my irrational assumptions that he did and the ensuing estrogenical madness. (If shakespeare can make up thousands of words, I figure I, the next great literary mind of this age, can claim the license for "estrogenical".) I would never get over the self-loathing, as well as the paranoia that he was looking at every other woman in the world-- something I seem to fear when anything goes wrong between he and I-- and, in my misery, I would definitely make his duties as my better half less amiable. (And why IS it that they bothered making "amiable" and "amicable" two different words?) Simply put, I never had someone that I wanted so badly to be beautiful for. I could put up with my body if I were confident that it would stay the way it is, but, mostly, in my mind it seems imminent that I will inherit my mother's body, and THAT scares me.

It started out that I blamed others for my insecurities- models, TV, the impossible standard of beauty. And part of my big plan still stems from that- I am officially boycotting any commercials with models in them (which is to say I look away when they're on TV. People tend to find my wording of that laughable....you know who you are, screw you!) Soon after, I looked within myself for the problem, and came up with two things- a horrible diet and utter inanimacy. I eat the wrong food, and, more importantly, I do so when I'm bored. I do nothing all day long so I don't really burn a lot of calories with my action, and- this is where it gets all tricky- I'm bored a lot. You see how that works? Then, add into the mix that my boredom with life has me feeling bad about myself anyway, and you've got a recipe for the teenage girl blues.

Dieting and exercise aren't so much my forté, so I'm taking a rather relaxed approach: be more active (including things like wrestling around with Zack on a daily basis, playing basketball with whoever's up for it, and dancing in the shower the way I used to- which also helps for prom preparation.) and not letting myself eat out of boredom instead of hunger. The second is harder by faaaaaaaaaaar.

Thus, we get a shitty entry like this- this is me attempting to amuse myself long enough so that I won't give in and eat. This time of the night is a danger zone- I'm alone, with no boyfriend to coach me, and my only real options for entertainment are the internet and TV, neither of which are generally exciting enough to distract me. There's two books I'm in the middle of that maybe I should start thinking about making a dent in, and Micheala- my 12-year-old cousin- and I are going to read "The Giver" at the same time and discuss it. I have to have that done by April 1st, and that just may become my saving grace. Also, maybe a new hula hoop. Or something.

So, while I'm writing this, I might as well ask for the help of all of you- there's some options here: I need people to be "active" with me. I need people to either keep me entertained, or not let me eat just because I'm bored. And I could probably use some people to argue with me about the fact that I'm gaining weight at all- even if they don't mean it.

This post is pathetic. I apologize for it. Seriously. You deserve better. I'm going to get a drink of some non-fattening water, probably pop some sleepings pills and stave off boredom with unconsciousness. What easier way to lose weight?

On with it.

Me: I'm becoming entirely too dependent on Zack
Casey: interesting.
Me: sometimes, such as tonight, when he leaves for the night it's actually physically painful.
Casey: exits and entrances, it would seem.

I don't know what I'd do without Casey. On with it.

You have

Take the "What sexual dysfunction are you?" Quiz at Scarleteen.com!

And life makes sense again!

No, the above isn't actually a link. That banner- if you can actually see it, I'm having some trouble hosting the image- was actually attached to the article that link will lead you to that explains the little-known condition of Vaginismus. This condition is defined as an involuntary spasm of the vaginal muscles causing tightening during attempted intercourse causing it to be extremely uncomfortable, painful, or entirely impossible. And knowing this makes me really happy.

As relatively few of you know, on and off again over the past several months, Zack and I have been attempting to have sex, and, for reasons unbeknownst to us until tonight, failing miserably. This has been a source of extreme tension and frustration for me, causing me to have such doubts on a wide, wide variety of topics, from my own phyiscal competency to the validity of our relationship. After a particularly poignant series of failures tonight, I spent the better part of the day feeling really really fucking bad, and wondering if we would be able to weather it- in short, I thought I might lose him.

The site explains the symptoms of the condition- that fit me to a tee, and explains the tampon trauma incident before prom last year- and also the treatments, which are both psychological and physical and sound, well, downright fucking nasty. They include, to name a few, couples therapy, the use of "dilators" (say it with me now: eeeewwwww....), and hypnosis, to name a few, and I do NOT look forward to the gyno appointment whereby my doctor "simply inserts a finger into the vagina and watches for a tight, involuntary muscle contraction." Oooooh, is THAT all.

But, as absolutely horrid as all of this sounds...It's curable. It's fixable. I'm not the one and only person in the world to ever go through this and, most importantly: I'm not going to lose my Zack.

So congratulations to me! I have Vaginismus! :-)

On with it!