b3ta.com user Bathory
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» Absolute Power

I work with livestock...
I work importing and exporting marine aquarium corals and fishes for a major company. This basically means I work in a big brightly lit warehouse full of tiny little tanks, full of tiny little fishes (and larger and larger fishes). Pretty shite job to be honest, but it does come with the degree of sick power some people crave. My job is to go around the thousands of fishes once or twice a day and pull out all the sick looking ones, the ones with "missing bits and extra bits, and funny looking bits too" so mr fishey with one eye, or cotton wool balls growing out of his gills, or no tail - they all come with me into the 'sick' room. Unbeknown to me for the first few weeks of doing this, another member of staff was euthanising the poor buggers. Anything 'unsaleable' or 'unsaveable' was put into a bucket of anaesthetic and killed (humanely, but still..) some of these fishes being perfectly healthy, just being born deformed, รก la Finding Nemo.

So I get the job of deciding who is too deformed, or too sick to live each day. I feel like a mini fish Hitler. Although, many a fish has been known to go home with staff members to take refuge in their home aquarium to avoid the dreaded bucket of doom - I myself have had many 'one-of-a-kind' fishes when I kept my aquarium. Seeing as most of us there have a heart, we do attempt to squirrel away the healthy, but unsaleable fish - just out of sight of the management. I dread to think how many wonky fishes they'll find that we've hidden away out in our tens of thousands of litre resevoir when they drain it some day... it's like a little sanctuary of Quazimodo fish out there!
(Sun 11th Jul 2010, 10:05, More)

» Things to do before you die

Before I die? The lurker returns..
I thought this would be last night.

I was a recovering anorexic. Was being the main part. For 8-10 months now I've been relapsed and I now know that I'm dying. It's 22c in my house and I'm wearing a vest, a polarneck and a huge knit jumper, socks, thermal socks, and shoes - and I'm still shivering. The feeling in my fingers and toes comes and goes as it pleases, alternating between pins and needles, pain, or just numbness. My heart hurts with every beat that it takes. Like being stabbed with a skewer every couple of seconds. My head spins and struggles to focus on things any more. I can't use the toilet without a laxative overdose. I have a constant taste of blood in my mouth from vomiting everything I do break down and eat. My skin won't heal, and flakes off if I scratch it. My stomach is swollen and in pain constantly, and it gets worse if I try and eat anything. My beautiful hair falls out by the tens of strands if I so much as run my hand through it. I tie it up constantly now to stop it falling out so badly. My mouth is full of ulcers which aren't healing. I know that if I continue, I may not even make it until Christmas now. After 7 years with this disease, I now know I am finally dying and the heart attack could be coming at any time. I am suprised that I made it through the night, as I thought yesterday was the end.

But I am reasonably content with this. Whilst many people tell me that my life has sucked, I am happy and have done many things which I am proud of. I got a good education in the face of the bullies who tried to knock me down for every year I was at school. I completed sixth form college with failing kidneys - with higher than average grades, despite only actually attending 50% of classes. I sat an A level exam in agony, doped on sky high levels of painkillers to try and numb it, and got a B. I moved out and supported myself when I was 19 years old. I moved, alone, to a new city when I was 20. I got a job at the leading company in my chosen sector, to experience and live one of my passions in life. I have a dog, a 'difficult breed' who I have brought up and trained on my own. I have a caring and understanding partner who means the world to me, and accepts me for who I am, no matter how sick, well, angry, happy, stoned or sober I am. He looks after me. I am 22. I have no credit cards, no over draft, no loans. I have a moderate sized rented flat, a partner, a dog, and some fish. I have a stable job which I enjoy. I have seen several European countries. I have seen Canada. I have taken drugs and opened my mind. I have seen wolves howling in the wild. I was entered into the group of 'gifted and talented' youngsters whilst at school. I have seen the Ypres war graves and trenches where our ancestors fought and died for our freedom. I have seen dolphins playing wild and free in the ocean. I have seen wild whales. I have stood on the top of a mountain with the wind in my hair, the sun shining on my back, and skiied to the very bottom. I have seen Rome, and eaten home made Italian icecream whilst roaming around the Colloseum. I have driven a car at 100mph. I have met Rolf Harris! I have swam in the desolate, cool clear waters of natural waterfalls in hidden mountain ranges and I have leapt into the deep water below from the top of one. I have ridden the highest, longest, and scariest rollercoasters. I have loved, and lost. I have danced, centre stage, in some of the biggest Fetish club nights in the world. I have qualifications taken years before I was meant to take them. I can converse in three languages. I have performed in National winning drama and dance shows and competitions. I have galloped a horse full speed across a country field. I have fallen off that horse, and got straight back on. I have been to funerals for friends, and for family. I have helped the homeless and the needy. I have stopped for people, when others have walked on by, been the good samaritan. I have sat on a deserted beach and watched a shower of shooting stars whilst cuddling a stray puppy.

I have an eating disorder.
I am thin.

I hate that for years I have rated being thin over all those other things I have done in my short 22 years. But I feel I have lived and I am content with what I have achieved. It could be much worse. I have done SOMETHING to be proud of. I am sure there are many other people my age who can't say that.

The one thing that I know I can't do before I die is the one thing which ruins it all. I wish I hadn't hurt so many people to get here, in the state I am in. I wish that before I die, I could stop causing everyone close to me so much pain and die with a clear conscience. I wish that before I die, I could get better, and get on with enjoying life.

Length?.. This night? A year? The next 50 years? Who knows... Enjoy it whilst you still have it, live every day like it's your last and be sure to give yourself something to be proud of so that if you die tomorrow, you can die content.
(Sat 16th Oct 2010, 18:26, More)

» Morning After Souvenirs

The joys of modern technology now mean you can end up with souvenirs from an evening of drinks at home, without even leaving the house!

Unfortunately I have a bad habit of going on eBay when drunk. This has resulted in some really bizarre purchases, confusing the fuck out of me when the postman turns up with an armfull of random boxes for me. My most recent purchases include:
37 varieties of chilli plants. My other half is going to be eating spicy food until he retires now. Every window ledge in my house has sodding chilli plants growing on them.
A few hundred grams of dried lavender. I don't even like lavender.
20 giant pumpkin seeds. I don't even have space for the chilli plants, but no, I needed to get giant pumpkins too.
A neon pink wig.
A stuffed dinosaur.
A real (dead, obv.) mole's skull.
18,000 poppy seeds, which I have now sprinkled over my garden. Flanders Fields - you have competition.
Knee high socks with a zebra pattern on them.
Not one, but two random metal tiaras (apparently you can never have too many tiaras)

eBay needs a breathalyser.

(Apologies for lack of boobs, porn or drugs)
(Mon 30th Apr 2012, 17:28, More)

» Addicted

Anorexia and Bulimia
I was addicted to both a mixture of food and starvation over the course of around 6 years. It took nearly dying due to kidney failure and starvation to knock some kind of sense into me. I still struggle with it on almost a daily basis but now I am finally at an almost healthy place.

Diets are bad m'kay kids?... Kidney failure HURTS. More than anything you can ever imagine. Now lil girls, is that really worth fitting into that size 0 skirt for? IME, no. I get every cold and flu coming at me, I have a small heart, weak muscles, and developed bipolar disorder from my eating disorders. I wish I was addicted to coke instead. At least there's decent help out there for coke addicts.

Length? 5 feet 4 inches, and 85lbs the last time I saw the scale. Currently a healthy 115lbs with my newfound addiction of mood stabilizers and antidepressants. Oh and my fantastic and almost equally as messed up boyfriend who without him, I have no idea where'd I'd be.

It ain't worth it kids.

Edit: Oh and I forgot the self injury. If you want a leg that looks like you were involved in a housefire due to the amount of scars, then go ahead and avoid seeking help. Those little emo kids sporting cat scratches down their arms have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. It's addictive. It's primitive - all animals injure themselves as a way to vent extreme emotion - and once you've found it, it's hard to stop. That's 11 years and counting on that one.
One ticket for Hull please, via the Loony Bin. It's an open return.

Apologies for lack of funny.
(Sat 20th Dec 2008, 14:11, More)

» Irrational Hatred

Ooh lots of things!
Musicals. I don't know why. They make me so passionately angry. I can't watch them, they just make me want to strangle things.

Arnie. I hate him. I don't know why I hate him. Every movie he's in becomes shite because he's in it. It's not his 'acting' of the same character, as I like other films with the same kind of actor, or actors who play only one role. It's just him.

Children/Breeding/Pregnancy. I am passionately full of abhoration for breeders. A pregnant stomach fills me with such a rage that I want to stab it repeatedly, or puke on the spot. It disgusts me. It disgusts me when I found a Facebook group where people posted pictures of their stillborn babies, calling them 'angel babies'... no they didn't give birth to a son or daughter, it did not have a name, and it was not 'born sleeping'. They gave birth to a corpse, now get over it and stop posting it's image on the internet. The idea of getting pregnant? Makes me want to tear open my stomach and rip out my own uterus. Thankfully, I'm almost certainly infertile, thanks to years of having an eating disorder. Lovely doctor informed me the other day I'd gone 2 years having sex on a pill that is counteracted by my other meds. Soo, wahey, broken innards!

People who get they're their there mixed up. It's REALLY not that hard.

People calling me, or knocking at my door. Oh and mix in NOT CLOSING MY FUCKING GATE into that one too. I have a front gate... it's there for a reason. It stops my dog from running out of our road and onto the busy main road which leads off the North Circular. I open the front door to let doggy in the garden, and if the front gate is open he gets all excited and bolts out the door like 'wahey, freedom, walkies!'. I spend the next 30mins trying to find my stupid dumb dog who now thinks it's a game. All because stupid taxi company leaflet droppers can't be arsed to shut my damn gate! Next time, I may just let the dog out immediately... he's a dobermann. I'm sure they'd love that.
Anyway, knocking on my door. Disturbing my peace and privacy, it's just RUDE. If I wanted you to come over, I'd have arranged it with you. Make a fucking appointment. Do not come over unexpected. Chances are I'm ASLEEP (shift worker), or I just don't want to see you or buy your random SHITE. It upsets my dog, and it makes me grumpy when people knock on the door.
Phones: if your number is not in my phone book, I simply will not ever answer. If it's witheld, fuck off. If you want me to answer your call, reveal your number! It's rude. If I don't know who you are, don't expect me to answer! How do I know I want to talk to you if I don't know who's on the other end. The other thing, again, SHIFT WORKER... Do NOT ring me after 6pm, I'm likely to be asleep you idiots. Leave a message, I'll get back to you. All my good friends and family have finally understood this, and find it quite normal now.

People who put their Facebook avatar as their sodding kids. Then set their profile to private. Fucking fantastic, how am I meant to know it's actually you if I can't see your face and I can't read your info? All I can see is your fucking kids. I don't even know if you have kids, how am I meant to know it's you!?!

I'm quiiite an angry person.
(Sat 2nd Apr 2011, 14:08, More)
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