Not much to say. Black eye, broken tooth, rum. Watching Meet Me in St. Louis alone again. It must've been wonderful to see all those lights at the World's Fair.
I would look so good and feel so confident in the clothes they wore then. I'd look like an exhibitionist are weirdo if I went out like that today. Instead I have to attempt to be stylish in my Walmart, Goodwill/thrift store clothes. Most of the time I don't even try to look good anymore. I barely leave the house and never have a reason to try to look good. If I did have the chance to dress up and look special I wouldn't know how to do it. I've barely got a clue about make-up and I don't like to spend money on expenses like that because he's constantly acting like we are broke. He's so dramatic about it that you'd think he was hovering above filing for bankruptcy.
I've got good strong nails, the kind of nails that other women dream of having. I've never had a manicure. I've only had them painted professionally twice, both gifts from my mom. I cut my own hair. I don't have it colored. At some point I'll start going grey and then I'll want it colored but so far not one grey hair head. I've had one white eyebrow hair that I've picked twice. It bleed the second time and hasn't shown up in three months now. Anxiety and stress being the cause of grey hair is officially debunked in my view.
I'm a good cook. When we got our first apartment together I barely knew how to make anything. We are really simple basic things, I don't even remember what. Meat was a luxury. One day he brought me home one of those really cheap hamburgers from McDonald's and I was actually excited to be having some meat.
When I got sick even my favorite foods disgusted me. Simple things I loved and was even craving made me gag when I went to put them in my mouth. Growing up my older sister and I often made food, usually potato soup or macaroni and stewed tomatoes. We loved them, we were teens and we ate a lot and they cheap things that we could basically eat as much as we wanted. Noodles and tomatoes is sort of a comfort food for me now, I crave it. It's like a grilled cheese sandwich, simple, reliable and good.
I digress... There were times when I felt like I was absolutely starving. Nothing sounded good though. I imagine it's similar to a pregnant person just hearing certain foods and getting sick. Part of the reason I felt so sick was because I needed to eat, so I figured whatever I can get down will be better that this. I boil some noodles and open the can of stewed tomatoes, everything smell wonderful. I'm so glad that I'll be getting some relief! It's done pretty quickly but I'm exhausted for standing the whole time the noodles were cooking. I sit down with my food, I blow on it and put some into my mouth.
I immediately get an overwhelming feeling of disgust. That scene in Indiana Jones Temple of Doom where they give her eyeball soup... that's what it felt like to me. I thought this wonderful smelling, warm and comforting food was trustworthy. But it FELT like I was eating eyeball soup. Everything in me was saying it smelled good, even tasted good but it was eyeballs. (Or similar) I have not idea what the hell that was about. It was extremely frustrating and I spent many days hungry and vomiting because there was acid in my stomach that just kept building up.
After that I discovered cooking channels and shows. I could watch them and dream about food and how wonderful it was. After a few weeks I decided to try making things I'd never made before to see if I'd be able to actually eat them instead of getting that involuntary "eyeball" reaction. I'd be watching and thinking how easy it was to make, more steps than what I was used to making but still so simple. And it looked soo good. I started with different spaghetti sauces because they usually had ingredients I was familiar and comfortable with. Well... Some days it worked and some days it didn't, but I began to enjoy making things to my own taste and creating pretty plates.
I feel like I've been talking/typing for hours. I'm sure I've made spelling mistakes, probably at least one "you're, your" thing. ( Get tf over it ppl, you knew what I meant and you're just being hateful.)
I started to be able to combine recipes and change out spices and ingredients I thought would be more tasteful to me. I'd try something new about once a week and was excited and stressed to do a new recipe. But I felt more alive than I had on almost a year. I had thoughts and emotions that weren't just nausea, dry heaving, pain and tears. I'm was a good feeling and I even started to get so confidence and life back through cooking.
Those feelings are gone now. I know how to adjust a recipe to my tastes and I'm pretty confident when trying a new recipe. It doesn't make me feel good anymore. Kenny tends to get that feeling from trying something new and it being really lovely. Most of the time he just goes upstairs and eats in front of his computer/Xbox and barely pays attention. I know I've made something special, I just can't feel it, but he acts like its uninteresting or ever mundane.
I'm just rambling on like this is my diary that no one will ever read. It's probably true. Why would anyone read this and see it as more than a briefly entertaining thing. I'm not special or important. My only real accomplishment is the fact that I've managed to stay alive through so many things. And you, Reader, don't even know what those are because I'm barely coherent and jumping around.
I wish I wasn't a fighter and wasn't so strong. So many times he tried to strangle and suffocate me and I fought. He's throw me to the ground and put his legs on my chest, hands over my nose and mouth, and push with everything he had to make sure I didn't get breath. I fought. I scratched/clawed, tried to get up, tried to beg and scream. I wish I would've just given up and let him finish me off.
Police would know he did it. They could punish him and I wouldn't be in pain anymore.
