Perhaps I would feel better mentally if I stopped obsessing. Perhaps I would feel better physically if I stopped eating everything that holds still long enough. But will I? No. Well, the eating thing's more likely than the obsession thing. I'm pretty sure the best I can manage is transferring the obsession. Which I still don't want to do if I can avoid it.
I took the National French Exam today. The girl was sitting right behind me. As soon as I heard the teacher say the name Nora - as soon as I recognized that name, and turned around and saw that face that I vaguely recognized with that long red hair - my heart started beating faster and I got these jolts of... something... in my stomach. You know, like when you're on a roller coaster and all of a sudden you reach the top of a hill and drop. Adam's done a good job of completely removing himself from my life. Hell, he doesn't even come to lunch anymore. But when I saw her, it all came back to me and I anylized things for time number five-thousand and one. She has brown eyes and freckles, like him. When I got to gym I ran on the treadmill until all I could feel was the pain in my legs, which didn't take all that long because I am the most out-of-shape person ever.
And Julian is a horrible person for me to be transferring my obsession to. Horrible.
I can't concentrate. I don't find anything at all interesting. I feel like I'm just living life as an alternative to being dead. It doesn't mean anything. I'm just dragging on... I feel like I'm not fully concious. I have a bad relationship with FOOD again. Really. Of all things. I haven't had a bad relationship with food in forever. I might be gaining weight, but it's not even that that I care about. I don't like eating now, but I feel like I have to at all times. I feel bloated and uncomfortable all the time. I feel like I'm not in controll. I feel like food has controll of me. I had this problem all through elementary school. I don't want it to be back again.
When I was little, my aunt Kathleen used to tell me a lot that you need four hugs a day to survive, eight to grow, and twelve to be happy. I remember it bothering me back then that this statistic was obviously false. I think I even said it one time - "How can that be true? I don't get four hugs a day, and I'm alive." (I must have been seven or eight.) She probably said something like "No really, it's scientifically proven." I probably reminded my seven-or-eight-year-old self that my aunt is one of those people who believes in angels and true love and life's overall purpose.
But I do wonder if that has anything to do with anything. I mean, human beings do need physical contact with other human beings. And I haven't had any, really, in... two and a half months? Unless you count that time I hugged Adam in the hallway in mid-January and he just didn't hug me back. Or the split second between when Molly touches me just to bother me and I flinch away. She does this on a semi regular basis. She thinks it's funny. I don't.
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