Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Saturday, October 2, 2010
~The Final Post~
There are moments where our lives as we know it change. Unequivocally, irrevocably, undeniably shift. Our realities alter, our priorities come into a glaring focus. Moments that change us.
They occur every day.
Mine occurred Tuesday, at 7:15pm, laying in a hospital bed in the ER with the taste of nitro and aspirin in my mouth, the heart monitor pounding out a rapid 145, my blood pressure at a sky high 196/92. I tried to speak, but couldn't form the words. Tried to think, but could not string together a full thought. As the hours ticked by, my pulse barely dropped. I became too weak to keep clutching a chest that was tight, the muscles strained. My head began to droop. My arm fell. My eyes fluttered.
That was the moment my reality shifted.
My first true hospital admit. Rushed upstairs to a bed, at the age of 23, placed in the cardio unit. Wide eyes from nurses, 'She's the youngest we've seen!', 'She has an eating disorder. We get them sometimes', 'She's too young for a heart attack'. Three days of nothing but morphine, carefully selected foods, and major tests. The final night, being informed by my doctor of the damage done.
We have to forward your results to a cardiologist and gastrointerologist. I don't see any reason to keep you. You're out of major danger now, but we need you to follow up soon. There's some anomalies on your EKG and it looks like you might have developed a problem where your body can't derive the nutrients it needs from what you do eat.... Your potassium is the lowest I've ever seen. That in itself could be serious....
Realizing all the foods my damaged stomach may never be able to tolerate again....
.....
Overall, I had 5 visitors in two days. Seven phone calls. Texts from nine people.
And a hug from a nurse.
I realized how much I'm loved.
They found out work.
Some of them already knew.
But when you have a heart attack near the end of your shift in front of other servers, customers, a talkative MOD, and another cook who's also one of your good friends, you have no choice but to own up to it.
The words came out in a panic,
"D, I think it's killing me. Oh god..."
The MOD (manager on duty) rushed over as soon as Dave got her. My hands were shaking, my words already short, my vision blurry. Not a panic attack. I k now those. This was different. My heart was squeezed in a vise. Boy was on shift, and S, the manager, called him over. She ordered him to take me to the hospital. I wouldn't have made it had he not driven me. Wouldn't have gone, and probably would have died, had they not forced me.
A moment of truth was faced when those doors opened and I was rushed inside. When the ER doctor sat me down by myself and told me, "You need to stay here. You have no idea what you've done to yourself."
I had never felt so much fear.
Returning to work, all eyes are on me. Some are of judgment, but the rest aren't. I take my potassium, and all at once, I get the questions.
What was that?
Was that a diet pill?
If that was an energy pill I swear to god I'm going to kill you.
Multiple people, hard stares. I show them the bottle, they immediately relax.
Don't worry me like that.
Another one hugs me tight.
You need to stop hurting yourself. I'm going to make sure you behave here. No more scaring me anymore, you hear me?
I should feel offended--I've been told that before. Instead, I feel in awe. How many years have I hated myself?
How long now have I tried to self destruct, convinced there was nothing worthy in me worth loving, only to now have so many people, so many veritable strangers, loving me when I cannot? Caring for me when I've been so obliviously spiraling into death? So blindly overwhelmed by self loathing, casting everyone aside in feeble attempts at self punishment?
What if I stopped?
What if I let myself be loved, for once?
What if I didn't turn away from those open arms and extended hands?
what if I took them?
What if I said yes?
What if I stopped dreaming of flight,
and what if I decided to just fly?
I guess this is my goodbye.
We've suffered long enough.
I'm tired of being the moth.
I'm tired of hating myself.
I'm tired of wilting at every turn.
This disease has taken my life away from me. It's taken my health. it's taken my soul. Laying in that hospital bed in the ER, the only thought I could string together before the nitro kicked in was, "Fuck you, Ana." It was a feeling of betrayal.
She offered me perfection.
And all I got was a fat death.
From the abuse of anti depressants in Jr High, to the meth addiction in high school...crash diets in college, to the point where I finally starved. I've given up my childhood, my friendships, my health, my life, my writing...I've given up my morals, my integrity, my everything.
I've lost me to this disease.
And I'm ready to lose the disease to me.
I've decided to get better.
I don't want to be the Prettiest Wreck you've ever seen.
I don't want to be a wreck at all.
Sure, there's romance to the writing of it all, but there's nothing pretty to a car wreck. It doesn't matter how thin you are if you're dead--you're still a rotting corpse, and you'll be a skeleton only after the maggots are done with you.
Death is terrifying.
It's horrifying.
I'm not ready for it yet.
I'm done with wishing for when I'm thin, and I'll do it when I'm skinny. I'll never be thin enough for me. I accept that now. I can't see me, and that's fine.
I don't want to be a Pretty Wreck.
I want to be a Butterfly.
I want to be the best god damned success that's ever spread her wings.
I want to write again.
To go outside.
To have friends.
To go to dinner without panicking.
To be able to eat healthy.
To be able to eat without binging.
To live again.
To breathe.
To never have to stroke the back of my own throat after I have a meal again.
I never want to count another calorie.
I never want to strive for the body of a thirteen year old girl.
I never want to suffer like this again.
This will be a struggle.
But I've lost eighty pounds the bad way.
It's time to enjoy it the right way.
It's time to finally fucking be free.
They say this disease is a disease of adolescent girls, but they're wrong.
It affects girls of all ages.
But it still affects girls.
There is something inherently childish about the female (and male) that possesses the disorder. Something that strives to hide, to be protected, to be hidden. To somehow be powerful but frail. To burn away everything about ourselves like a martyr, victims of a blaze that we do nothing but stoke.
And I am sick of being a girl.
I'm ready to be a woman now.
I'm ready to grow up.
There is safety to the disease, of the emotional variety.
But with that safety comes too high of a price. At some point, the cocoon becomes too small for the butterfly, and they must leave, or they will die.
My cocoon has started to choke me, now.
I have jumped from disease to disease my whole life.
And I am finally ready to be free.
I am finally ready to be healthy.
I am finally ready to recover.
My change has come.
My awakening hit me hard in the form of a heart attack and a stomach disorder.
As I have with my ED, this is not an attempt to convince you either way.
But I hope you all find your path to happiness. Either through pursuit of your self destruction, or by shaking off the notions of romanticism, and breaking free. This will not be easy. This will not be pretty.
But fuck it.
I want to be me. I want to know who I am again.
I am finally ready to be better.
Fuck you, Ana.
Fuck you even harder, Mia.
I.
Am.
Not.
Your.
Slave.
I am loved, and I swear, if it is the last thing I do, I am going to learn to love me, too.
I will still keep in contact with any of you, if you'd like.
And all my friends on here, I will be contacting you soon with information on how to reach me.
But this is, officially, the end of this blog.
I love you all, and thank you for coming on this journey with me.
But I am finally breaking free, and I need to leave this me behind.
I love you.
I'm going to miss you.
And I hope you'll miss me, too.
I'm scared shitless.
And I'm so afraid of falling back into this again, and even more afraid of letting my disease go. But I have to do this.
I'm not ready to die.
I'll give you guys way to get a hold of me if you request it. And probably a link to my private blog, if I ever decide to make it public.
Be strong, my girlies (and boyos).
Wish me luck.
If I ever post again, it will be about recovery, and my efforts in it.
I have to get better.
I'm just not ready to die yet.
♥
For the last time,
No longer a PrettyWreck,
just damned Pretty.
~ The End ~
They occur every day.
Mine occurred Tuesday, at 7:15pm, laying in a hospital bed in the ER with the taste of nitro and aspirin in my mouth, the heart monitor pounding out a rapid 145, my blood pressure at a sky high 196/92. I tried to speak, but couldn't form the words. Tried to think, but could not string together a full thought. As the hours ticked by, my pulse barely dropped. I became too weak to keep clutching a chest that was tight, the muscles strained. My head began to droop. My arm fell. My eyes fluttered.
That was the moment my reality shifted.
My first true hospital admit. Rushed upstairs to a bed, at the age of 23, placed in the cardio unit. Wide eyes from nurses, 'She's the youngest we've seen!', 'She has an eating disorder. We get them sometimes', 'She's too young for a heart attack'. Three days of nothing but morphine, carefully selected foods, and major tests. The final night, being informed by my doctor of the damage done.
We have to forward your results to a cardiologist and gastrointerologist. I don't see any reason to keep you. You're out of major danger now, but we need you to follow up soon. There's some anomalies on your EKG and it looks like you might have developed a problem where your body can't derive the nutrients it needs from what you do eat.... Your potassium is the lowest I've ever seen. That in itself could be serious....
Realizing all the foods my damaged stomach may never be able to tolerate again....
.....
Overall, I had 5 visitors in two days. Seven phone calls. Texts from nine people.
And a hug from a nurse.
I realized how much I'm loved.
They found out work.
Some of them already knew.
But when you have a heart attack near the end of your shift in front of other servers, customers, a talkative MOD, and another cook who's also one of your good friends, you have no choice but to own up to it.
The words came out in a panic,
"D, I think it's killing me. Oh god..."
The MOD (manager on duty) rushed over as soon as Dave got her. My hands were shaking, my words already short, my vision blurry. Not a panic attack. I k now those. This was different. My heart was squeezed in a vise. Boy was on shift, and S, the manager, called him over. She ordered him to take me to the hospital. I wouldn't have made it had he not driven me. Wouldn't have gone, and probably would have died, had they not forced me.
A moment of truth was faced when those doors opened and I was rushed inside. When the ER doctor sat me down by myself and told me, "You need to stay here. You have no idea what you've done to yourself."
I had never felt so much fear.
Returning to work, all eyes are on me. Some are of judgment, but the rest aren't. I take my potassium, and all at once, I get the questions.
What was that?
Was that a diet pill?
If that was an energy pill I swear to god I'm going to kill you.
Multiple people, hard stares. I show them the bottle, they immediately relax.
Don't worry me like that.
Another one hugs me tight.
You need to stop hurting yourself. I'm going to make sure you behave here. No more scaring me anymore, you hear me?
I should feel offended--I've been told that before. Instead, I feel in awe. How many years have I hated myself?
How long now have I tried to self destruct, convinced there was nothing worthy in me worth loving, only to now have so many people, so many veritable strangers, loving me when I cannot? Caring for me when I've been so obliviously spiraling into death? So blindly overwhelmed by self loathing, casting everyone aside in feeble attempts at self punishment?
What if I stopped?
What if I let myself be loved, for once?
What if I didn't turn away from those open arms and extended hands?
what if I took them?
What if I said yes?
What if I stopped dreaming of flight,
and what if I decided to just fly?
I guess this is my goodbye.
We've suffered long enough.
I'm tired of being the moth.
I'm tired of hating myself.
I'm tired of wilting at every turn.
This disease has taken my life away from me. It's taken my health. it's taken my soul. Laying in that hospital bed in the ER, the only thought I could string together before the nitro kicked in was, "Fuck you, Ana." It was a feeling of betrayal.
She offered me perfection.
And all I got was a fat death.
From the abuse of anti depressants in Jr High, to the meth addiction in high school...crash diets in college, to the point where I finally starved. I've given up my childhood, my friendships, my health, my life, my writing...I've given up my morals, my integrity, my everything.
I've lost me to this disease.
And I'm ready to lose the disease to me.
I've decided to get better.
I don't want to be the Prettiest Wreck you've ever seen.
I don't want to be a wreck at all.
Sure, there's romance to the writing of it all, but there's nothing pretty to a car wreck. It doesn't matter how thin you are if you're dead--you're still a rotting corpse, and you'll be a skeleton only after the maggots are done with you.
Death is terrifying.
It's horrifying.
I'm not ready for it yet.
I'm done with wishing for when I'm thin, and I'll do it when I'm skinny. I'll never be thin enough for me. I accept that now. I can't see me, and that's fine.
I don't want to be a Pretty Wreck.
I want to be a Butterfly.
I want to be the best god damned success that's ever spread her wings.
I want to write again.
To go outside.
To have friends.
To go to dinner without panicking.
To be able to eat healthy.
To be able to eat without binging.
To live again.
To breathe.
To never have to stroke the back of my own throat after I have a meal again.
I never want to count another calorie.
I never want to strive for the body of a thirteen year old girl.
I never want to suffer like this again.
This will be a struggle.
But I've lost eighty pounds the bad way.
It's time to enjoy it the right way.
It's time to finally fucking be free.
They say this disease is a disease of adolescent girls, but they're wrong.
It affects girls of all ages.
But it still affects girls.
There is something inherently childish about the female (and male) that possesses the disorder. Something that strives to hide, to be protected, to be hidden. To somehow be powerful but frail. To burn away everything about ourselves like a martyr, victims of a blaze that we do nothing but stoke.
And I am sick of being a girl.
I'm ready to be a woman now.
I'm ready to grow up.
There is safety to the disease, of the emotional variety.
But with that safety comes too high of a price. At some point, the cocoon becomes too small for the butterfly, and they must leave, or they will die.
My cocoon has started to choke me, now.
I have jumped from disease to disease my whole life.
And I am finally ready to be free.
I am finally ready to be healthy.
I am finally ready to recover.
My change has come.
My awakening hit me hard in the form of a heart attack and a stomach disorder.
As I have with my ED, this is not an attempt to convince you either way.
But I hope you all find your path to happiness. Either through pursuit of your self destruction, or by shaking off the notions of romanticism, and breaking free. This will not be easy. This will not be pretty.
But fuck it.
I want to be me. I want to know who I am again.
I am finally ready to be better.
Fuck you, Ana.
Fuck you even harder, Mia.
I.
Am.
Not.
Your.
Slave.
I am loved, and I swear, if it is the last thing I do, I am going to learn to love me, too.
I will still keep in contact with any of you, if you'd like.
And all my friends on here, I will be contacting you soon with information on how to reach me.
But this is, officially, the end of this blog.
I love you all, and thank you for coming on this journey with me.
But I am finally breaking free, and I need to leave this me behind.
I love you.
I'm going to miss you.
And I hope you'll miss me, too.
I'm scared shitless.
And I'm so afraid of falling back into this again, and even more afraid of letting my disease go. But I have to do this.
I'm not ready to die.
I'll give you guys way to get a hold of me if you request it. And probably a link to my private blog, if I ever decide to make it public.
Be strong, my girlies (and boyos).
Wish me luck.
If I ever post again, it will be about recovery, and my efforts in it.
I have to get better.
I'm just not ready to die yet.
♥
For the last time,
No longer a PrettyWreck,
just damned Pretty.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Goodbye, for now.
So, what do you say when you're falling?
There's really no appropriate words for it. Not when you're not even afraid of it any longer.
I'm not sure what you'd call this moment. A revelation? A grandiose understanding? A hesitant moment of enlightenment?
Call it what you will, but the truth will always stay the same.
I have failed you all.
A year with less than ten pounds progress. I have failed you, and I have failed myself. For this, I apologize.
I made the mistake of opening my mouth. Telling people of my disease. Flaunting it, like I wanted attention, when really, I just wanted to be held. Speaking of it, like I wanted to stop, when really, I had no idea what I needed. Speaking like I wanted to be seen as something glamorous. Something better than me. I felt despair and I told people why I was dying. I revealed the inner depths of me, and now? Now I pay for this mistake.
I pay in forms of flesh and fat.
Of shame for having let you down. For having let myself down.
I apologize, but silence, I feel, has become a necessity.
There must be a certain level of privacy to my inner thoughts from this point on. I no longer fear what I am or what I can become if I continue, only because I know the consequences of not doing so are so much worse.
I must get me back.
And I must close the doors for the time being to do so.
I feel I have forgotten the true purpose to this blog, and have started to put on a show for you. I have set myself up with expectations and I have forgotten the real reason why I first put down my fork and declared "No more". And with forgetting this, I have forgotten the way, and that has led me to failure. I become addicted so easily, and this is proof positive in how easily I became addicted to the attention that was provided.
I love you all dearly.
You will hear from me again when I have given you reason to be proud of me.
I love you all.
Do not forget me in my silence.
Do not abandon me, please.
I will return.
♥
PrettyWreck
There's really no appropriate words for it. Not when you're not even afraid of it any longer.
I'm not sure what you'd call this moment. A revelation? A grandiose understanding? A hesitant moment of enlightenment?
Call it what you will, but the truth will always stay the same.
I have failed you all.
A year with less than ten pounds progress. I have failed you, and I have failed myself. For this, I apologize.
I made the mistake of opening my mouth. Telling people of my disease. Flaunting it, like I wanted attention, when really, I just wanted to be held. Speaking of it, like I wanted to stop, when really, I had no idea what I needed. Speaking like I wanted to be seen as something glamorous. Something better than me. I felt despair and I told people why I was dying. I revealed the inner depths of me, and now? Now I pay for this mistake.
I pay in forms of flesh and fat.
Of shame for having let you down. For having let myself down.
I apologize, but silence, I feel, has become a necessity.
There must be a certain level of privacy to my inner thoughts from this point on. I no longer fear what I am or what I can become if I continue, only because I know the consequences of not doing so are so much worse.
I must get me back.
And I must close the doors for the time being to do so.
I feel I have forgotten the true purpose to this blog, and have started to put on a show for you. I have set myself up with expectations and I have forgotten the real reason why I first put down my fork and declared "No more". And with forgetting this, I have forgotten the way, and that has led me to failure. I become addicted so easily, and this is proof positive in how easily I became addicted to the attention that was provided.
I love you all dearly.
You will hear from me again when I have given you reason to be proud of me.
I love you all.
Do not forget me in my silence.
Do not abandon me, please.
I will return.
♥
PrettyWreck
Saturday, September 11, 2010
How many calories is in human?
I will not start off this day purging.
I will not.
Last two days = serious fucking blows to self esteem.
Fact of the matter is, I don't want anyone to be able to call me chunky or even think that word when they see me.
I hate this.
Self esteem = nearing all time low.
I feel like a selfish bitch for being upset right now.
Even worse because I didn't explain to Boy why I was upset last night, but I didn't even understand it then. Maybe that's why girls are so confusing--they don't get it themselves. They just know it hurts and they can't figure out the words to explain why.
I'll talk to him later, I guess.
When he's not sleeping.
Ate too much bad and greasy food.
Had food I hadn't eaten since February 14, 2009. A calzone from a certain pizza place. Expensive as fuck. Was upset, and wound up spending all the money I had to spend on bills, and now I'm fucked. I'll find a way out of this, but if shit doesn't start improving, maybe I should just say fuck it and become a whore. God knows, it's not like I can't find any pimps for the high class out here. I mean, my sister used to work for one (let's call him J), and he's still out here and in operation.
And guess who he offered a job to?
That's right.
I turned him down.
But at the possibility of making $20,000 in a month (apparently, confirmed with my sister, was the average for a six hour a day, four days work in a month), it's a rather tempting prospect.
But I have morals, and therefor, don't believe in the manipulation of people to get money. I try to rely on brains and wit and self perseverance, doing things the right way.
Because if you do it the wrong way, you only set yourself back that much farther in life.
Doesn't mean I have to fucking like it.
.....I have no control over anything.
And now I have no time left to purge.
Ugh.
Ate too much this morning. I feel greasy and huge and bloated.
But I will not purge.
I will not purge.
I will not purge.
Because now I don't have the time.
Maybe I should have just given up and done it.
It always tends to make me feel better when it's over with.
And no, Boy didn't call me chunky. Sorry this entry is convoluted. It was someone else who did. When I mentioned it to Boy, Boy declared some rather interesting threats. As for myself, I know who this guy is, and plan to have some fun.
Who's up for the "Make the tweaker believe you're a cannibal!" game?????
I AM!
"...TWEAKER! I'm gonna EEEEAAAAT YOOOOOOUUUUU!"
Totally going to tell him that I, the little Jew Girl, got my SS Eagle imprinted switch blade from a skinhead I ate. And that I've never tried dark meat before....but I bet he would go great with merlot....
...I love my defense mechanisms.
"You're fat."
"Yeah, well, you look delicious. Come here and let me spit roast you!"
The answer to all of life's greatest problems can be found in simply convincing your adversary that you will devour them with fine garlic seasoning and a side dish of quinoa.
And those are my words of wisdom for the day.
♥
PrettyWreck
I will not.
Last two days = serious fucking blows to self esteem.
Fact of the matter is, I don't want anyone to be able to call me chunky or even think that word when they see me.
I hate this.
Self esteem = nearing all time low.
I feel like a selfish bitch for being upset right now.
Even worse because I didn't explain to Boy why I was upset last night, but I didn't even understand it then. Maybe that's why girls are so confusing--they don't get it themselves. They just know it hurts and they can't figure out the words to explain why.
I'll talk to him later, I guess.
When he's not sleeping.
Ate too much bad and greasy food.
Had food I hadn't eaten since February 14, 2009. A calzone from a certain pizza place. Expensive as fuck. Was upset, and wound up spending all the money I had to spend on bills, and now I'm fucked. I'll find a way out of this, but if shit doesn't start improving, maybe I should just say fuck it and become a whore. God knows, it's not like I can't find any pimps for the high class out here. I mean, my sister used to work for one (let's call him J), and he's still out here and in operation.
And guess who he offered a job to?
That's right.
I turned him down.
But at the possibility of making $20,000 in a month (apparently, confirmed with my sister, was the average for a six hour a day, four days work in a month), it's a rather tempting prospect.
But I have morals, and therefor, don't believe in the manipulation of people to get money. I try to rely on brains and wit and self perseverance, doing things the right way.
Because if you do it the wrong way, you only set yourself back that much farther in life.
Doesn't mean I have to fucking like it.
.....I have no control over anything.
And now I have no time left to purge.
Ugh.
Ate too much this morning. I feel greasy and huge and bloated.
But I will not purge.
I will not purge.
I will not purge.
Because now I don't have the time.
Maybe I should have just given up and done it.
It always tends to make me feel better when it's over with.
And no, Boy didn't call me chunky. Sorry this entry is convoluted. It was someone else who did. When I mentioned it to Boy, Boy declared some rather interesting threats. As for myself, I know who this guy is, and plan to have some fun.
Who's up for the "Make the tweaker believe you're a cannibal!" game?????
I AM!
"...TWEAKER! I'm gonna EEEEAAAAT YOOOOOOUUUUU!"
Totally going to tell him that I, the little Jew Girl, got my SS Eagle imprinted switch blade from a skinhead I ate. And that I've never tried dark meat before....but I bet he would go great with merlot....
...I love my defense mechanisms.
"You're fat."
"Yeah, well, you look delicious. Come here and let me spit roast you!"
The answer to all of life's greatest problems can be found in simply convincing your adversary that you will devour them with fine garlic seasoning and a side dish of quinoa.
And those are my words of wisdom for the day.
♥
PrettyWreck
Monday, September 6, 2010
A lot to update, but not a lot of time
So I have a lot to inform you guys of and not a lot of time to do it in. So right now is going to be a very basic post without much detail, and just some random bs hooplah shit that has no meaning whatsoever and I'll tell you guys the good stuff later, including how now, you're going to be able to follow Boy on here because....well...he found my blogger and has made his own. I'll give you guys a link. But consider it another player in the ultimate Emotional Exhibit that is this blog. Or whatever. It sounds cooler in the other thing I was writing, and I'll introduce you to him later. But yeah. Awesome stuff.
Anyway. Bad feeling. Instincts are telling me I'm about to have to find a new job and FAST. I don't know why. Just that feeling that the server job is about to be OVER. Which is always a fun thing to think about. I like it there, and if it made more money, I'd seriously be set. As it is, I'm gonna have to apply at like...a place that's like a normal TGIF or something. I don't know. Whatever.
Awesome song I found.
Completely reminded me of the whole "Ana as a person" thing, and just...feelings toward the ED thing. Corpse of Corpses by Hawthorne Heights. I'm throwing it on my Thinspo playlist. HOORAH.
And all of the corpses
Walk step by step
To the rhythm of their once beating hearts
Over and over they march
On and on to the same old songs
Trying to find something worth living for
No more ghost or memories that hold me back
A fresh start is all I have ever ask
I watch my body slowly turn from blue to black
And on, and on, and on
Sometimes it hurts the most to be who you are
You can change your mind, you can't change your heart
To find the end you got to know where to start
And on, and on, and on
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
That dripped down from our veins
I swore I'd never tell
I know where to go
What sky, stars are align
Point to blame, clear your name, or just kill the time
My dreams slowly turn
They turn to black and white
They die, they die, they die
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
That dripped down from our veins
I swore I'd never tell
And on, and on, and on
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
The trip down from my vein
I swore I'd never tell
The end.
Anyway. Bad feeling. Instincts are telling me I'm about to have to find a new job and FAST. I don't know why. Just that feeling that the server job is about to be OVER. Which is always a fun thing to think about. I like it there, and if it made more money, I'd seriously be set. As it is, I'm gonna have to apply at like...a place that's like a normal TGIF or something. I don't know. Whatever.
Awesome song I found.
Completely reminded me of the whole "Ana as a person" thing, and just...feelings toward the ED thing. Corpse of Corpses by Hawthorne Heights. I'm throwing it on my Thinspo playlist. HOORAH.
Walk step by step
To the rhythm of their once beating hearts
Over and over they march
On and on to the same old songs
Trying to find something worth living for
No more ghost or memories that hold me back
A fresh start is all I have ever ask
I watch my body slowly turn from blue to black
And on, and on, and on
Sometimes it hurts the most to be who you are
You can change your mind, you can't change your heart
To find the end you got to know where to start
And on, and on, and on
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
That dripped down from our veins
I swore I'd never tell
I know where to go
What sky, stars are align
Point to blame, clear your name, or just kill the time
My dreams slowly turn
They turn to black and white
They die, they die, they die
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
That dripped down from our veins
I swore I'd never tell
And on, and on, and on
You said she is so evil, but
She looks like heaven to me
I follow her to hell and back again
I swear I sign my name in blood
The trip down from my vein
I swore I'd never tell
The end.
Monday, August 30, 2010
...this is very bad.
127.2.
Fuck me.
Today, I pulled out my pants from the dryer, and thought, "Jesus, these are my work pants? They're HUGE!" Then I pulled them on, and they were tight around my thighs and in my belly. Size 4's, squeezing the fuck out of my gut. I've noticed it's been getting softer than normal, and my legs feel thicker, and I know it's because i haven't worked out since basically the first of August. I haven't had time, and seeing as I have a killer head/chest cold, it makes it nearly impossible to do much of anything without wheezing.
Add onto it the munchies brought about by a sudden increase in pot consumption in a desperate attempt to regulate my suicidal tendencies that overwhelm me this time of month....?
...we have an inflating PrettyWreck.
I'm trying to decide what's more important.
My mental stability, or bodily perfection.
Of course, as those of you on this journey know...it's the second.
I'm laying off the weed and increasing my stimulant consumption. I'm decreasing my food in take to something more reasonable. I'm a trainer for goodness sake, I should know better than to eat like I am!
I need to get my life in order, and I'm not going to eat anymore unless I have done something good. I have to earn the right to eat, and not let food overwhelm my life.
Food is the reward for a job well done, and I have not deserved even a morsel these past few months.
I'm going to have to lie to boy in order to start on my most recent path of melting away this cage that entraps me. He hates that I struggle with this, and gets so happy every time he sees me eat. I've been eating normally, and I'm afraid of what will occur when he notices I'm losing weight. But I have to balance out whether or not i want him to be happy right now and lose his love when I get ginormous, or whether or not I want to hide this terrible deed in order to keep his affections.... It's precarious, but such are the choices people like us must make, aren't they?
Ironically, the girl I wrote about, H, the blond one I adore...I tried to hook her up with Boy's friend, M. H is my walking thinspo. She's a size 2, and has a good shape to her, but very thin arms and a tiny, beautiful little body. A little bit taller than me, but just like, by an inch. And M and her get along very well, and both are seriously into cars, but M admitted to me and Boy that he could never date her.
Why?
Because she's too skinny. And when he said those words, Boy burst out with, "OH MY GOD I didn't want to say anything but fuck she's way too damned small to be attractive." Then he looked at me and went, "Please don't ever get as small as her."
And I was kind of confused. Because I've heard that remark about her weight by a lot of people outside of the gym (but the guys in the gym tend to be into her because...it's just a gym rat thing. Male trainers like anorexicaly skinny whores, and so do a majority of the body builder types...I don't know why, but a majority of men in the real world, outside of the fitness obsessed, don't. Even relatively in shape guys who have just a six pack, tend to like girls sizes 4-8....).
I didn't want to tell boy that I plan to become smaller than her. He said all sexual attraction would disappear if I got that skinny, but I'm already terrified of sex. I love it when we mess around and get in the mood, but the idea of it when I'm not...in the act of the touching, kinda unnerves me. Probably because of my past, not gonna lie.
Anyway. I need to call up the new gym I'm renting a space at and see what's going on. I have to start getting my clients over there.
If I can get three clients to agree to meet me there this week to get memberships, then I'm going to have earned a meal. Otherwise, nothing.
Today, what I need to do to deserve to eat again:
Get situated at the gym
Make at least $40 in tips (if there's rush, if not, only $20 :( )
Reapply for a server job I wasn't qualified for before
Call up four clients to tell them where I've moved to
Go see my mom again.
Get to work on time.
Won't be too hard.
Hopefully I won't fall through, and I'll be allowed to have something. But if I go over 1300 calories, then I can't eat tomorrow. I'm saying 1300 because I've obviously been above 2000 if I'm gaining this much, and I need to bring myself down with control. And in a way that nobody will be suspicious of.
Time to go restock on carrots, fruits, and random veg.
Get reacquainted with the basic food groups.
Water, air, diet pills, hunger, vegetables, fruit, and control.
Blend well.
Serve chilled for maximum calorie burn.
Stay strong, my loves.
I'm going to become the stick figure living inside of me.
And then the world will see what perfection really is.
♥
PrettyWreck
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Too much pot?
I've started smoking. It's helped more with my severe anxiety and depression that occurs around my period than any anti depressant ever has. Part of me worries about addiction, but the rest of me is suddenly so fucking terrified of having to give it up or let someone take it away because it's illegal. This is the first time I haven't been suicidal in the week before my period in like....years and years and years.
Though I feel horrifically fat. I was at 127 again this morning and wanted to scream and rip my hair out. All it means is that I have to be very careful today to not fuck up and watch what I eat.
Boy knows about my ED. I purged the other day while he had stepped out with his friend. It wasn't nearly enough to be satisfying. And I've still gained.
I keep eating. Typical for before my period. I just wish I could stop gaining. I wish that even when the gain came, it would be less than the month before, and the loss more than the month before.
Yuck.
I'm super anxious right now.
Have valid reason for it.
But not a lot of time to talk.
Watching Snow White and about to go finish moving my things into Boys house. Yeah, it's weird that we're moving in together this quick, but...I feel safer here than I do at Rita's. I just hope things work out with us. I'm a realist, and know that endings are inevitable, be it through divorce or death. But I also am a realist in that relationships need work and communication, and I think he and I can do both of those if we try hard enough. One just has to make up their mind, I suppose.
I wish my Zune charger worked. I really would feel better if I could zone out and rock out to music, not gonna lie.
Though I feel horrifically fat. I was at 127 again this morning and wanted to scream and rip my hair out. All it means is that I have to be very careful today to not fuck up and watch what I eat.
Boy knows about my ED. I purged the other day while he had stepped out with his friend. It wasn't nearly enough to be satisfying. And I've still gained.
I keep eating. Typical for before my period. I just wish I could stop gaining. I wish that even when the gain came, it would be less than the month before, and the loss more than the month before.
Yuck.
I'm super anxious right now.
Have valid reason for it.
But not a lot of time to talk.
Watching Snow White and about to go finish moving my things into Boys house. Yeah, it's weird that we're moving in together this quick, but...I feel safer here than I do at Rita's. I just hope things work out with us. I'm a realist, and know that endings are inevitable, be it through divorce or death. But I also am a realist in that relationships need work and communication, and I think he and I can do both of those if we try hard enough. One just has to make up their mind, I suppose.
I wish my Zune charger worked. I really would feel better if I could zone out and rock out to music, not gonna lie.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Quick Update, yay!
I have internets again!
Boy and I moved in. I'm getting the rest of my shit out of Woman's place by this Saturday and breaking the news to her. I feel bad for doing it so suddenly, but I have a cockroach bite on my foot, and an infection on my toe from her skanky ass carpets, and my dog started getting blisters on her face from how dirty that place is. Plus, Boy is being cool with money right now, and since I just quit the gym and have to pay rent to a new place (if things go well at the interview I'm about to head to) then that will seriously help in getting off the ground, no joke.
I have hopefully 4-5 clients who will be coming with me, which will be a major bonus. I still have to get the papers printed off for them to sign, and start to get some shit organized and the like, but I'm seriously excited. If things go well, and I start to build up a steady client base, I'll be making about $1000-$1300/month in the first few months off of it (combined with my server job, and I'll be around $1800/month), and if things go well and I stay on top of my game, I'll be at around $2000/month just from my training by December. I just have to start pulling in more clients and really start to pursue these things. Gotta crack down like a motherfucker!
Not much more I can talk about in the short amount of time I have. Things are crazy, money is tight, I'm tired, and I'm hoping boy can tolerate me. He's bore witness to a migraine, and a slightly cranky day. I'm waiting for when he finally sees me in all my fucked up glory taking out serious issues on food and kicking the fuck out of a punching bag.
I apparently hit him the other night when his alarm startled me, and I bolted up right up with only the singular thought in my mind of finding a weapon to defend myself with.
I already warned him that he's probably the only person who will be able to wake me up without me trying to hurt them XD
Which is why I tend to not sleep with a knife under my pillow anymore.
YAAAAY PTSD.
Someone from the cult contacted me again.
Found my new email address and got a hold of me.
The cult that fucked me up.
The one that's nearly made me change my name and has driven me beyond just the breaking point, but to full out shatter.
At first, the fear and anxiety hit.
And then there was rage.
It's funny, isn't it?
I spend so long dreading that it will happen,
that when it finally does,
I've used up all of my fear.
And the part of me that I used to call "My Warrior" comes out, and all I can think is, "How DARE you?" I feel like I get all the meek terror out of the way before hand, so I'm free to lash out with a violence when it inevitably occurs.
It was someone who had always been on the outskirts.
He says he's not involved anymore, so I'm not quite sure how to respond to him, or if I should. Part of me wants to play with fire and see what stirs. Discover what they're up to. It's the part of me that, oddly, sees all of life as a game of war. I sit on the outskirts with friends and family, pretending to be normal, but inside, life is a battle and I have a clearly defined enemy. I think I continually have the urge to check on them just so I know what they're up to, so I can station my defenses and wait. So I can be sure they're not tracking me. To ignore the enemy does not mean they no longer exist. To turn your back on someone does not mean they go away.
It just means they have a larger target to strike.
I assess every person on the street and wonder, If they attacked, what would I do? I think of what I carry on me. If I had to fight, what weapon would I choose?
I consider the stances and weaknesses of those I see. I would hit their knees, or their postural weakness is heavily in their lower back...I could strike their spine and take them down. They have no balance.
I am contacted by those who I fear or despise.
And rather than run from the lion,
I face it head on and watch with eyes narrowed, studying it's muscles, waiting to see which way it will pounce, playing chicken with a beast that could consume me if I acted for a moment as if I were it's prey.
I think it's why I have so often been able to walk through the dirtiest and most dangerous of neighborhoods at night without being hassled.
I avoid street lights, I don't make eye contact, I am constantly on the alert, and I move with the confidence of a creature that is not the hunted, but the hunter. The air that says, "Approach me. I am off putting, pretty, and small, and I am hungry. Come to me. I want to hurt something, and I want an excuse. Let me use you."
I like to play my vulnerability up.
I like to feel small and needy.
But I like to know that people underestimate me.
And that I could kill them when they least expect it.
Always be prepared: Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.
LOL because that's not psychotic!
I'm just a fluffy little bunny, aren't I?
And I am! Just the Monty Python bunny, is all!
OK I have typed too much.
Off to go and work out an arrangement with a new gym!
WISH ME LUCK DOLLIES!
Stay strong and beautiful.
Oh, and my weight is up to 124 again, which is ok. I'm in pre-period bloat phase, and last time, I got up to 127. I'm really, really, really hoping that this means I'm starting to break through my high weight time, and I'm trying so hard to keep it down. I binged so bad this morning because I've been exhausted, but yeah, whatever. Blah.
I've also tried a little bit of something that makes me hungry, because it eases anxiety when I do have to eat. It's...well...I'm going to be getting my medicinal marijuana card for my migraines, to see if it helps,a nd also because I'm so sick of the anti-anxiety medicines, and sometimes...sometimes I really do just....want to stop panicking and be ok with eating a fucking apple, you know?
And I tried some, and for the first time in like...a full out fucking year, I ate something and didn't feel guilty the next day.
Of course...I felt guilty the day after that, but whatever.
You get what you can get, I suppose.
Stay strong, starve on. I'm going to try and do the same.
♥
PrettyWreck
Boy and I moved in. I'm getting the rest of my shit out of Woman's place by this Saturday and breaking the news to her. I feel bad for doing it so suddenly, but I have a cockroach bite on my foot, and an infection on my toe from her skanky ass carpets, and my dog started getting blisters on her face from how dirty that place is. Plus, Boy is being cool with money right now, and since I just quit the gym and have to pay rent to a new place (if things go well at the interview I'm about to head to) then that will seriously help in getting off the ground, no joke.
I have hopefully 4-5 clients who will be coming with me, which will be a major bonus. I still have to get the papers printed off for them to sign, and start to get some shit organized and the like, but I'm seriously excited. If things go well, and I start to build up a steady client base, I'll be making about $1000-$1300/month in the first few months off of it (combined with my server job, and I'll be around $1800/month), and if things go well and I stay on top of my game, I'll be at around $2000/month just from my training by December. I just have to start pulling in more clients and really start to pursue these things. Gotta crack down like a motherfucker!
Not much more I can talk about in the short amount of time I have. Things are crazy, money is tight, I'm tired, and I'm hoping boy can tolerate me. He's bore witness to a migraine, and a slightly cranky day. I'm waiting for when he finally sees me in all my fucked up glory taking out serious issues on food and kicking the fuck out of a punching bag.
I apparently hit him the other night when his alarm startled me, and I bolted up right up with only the singular thought in my mind of finding a weapon to defend myself with.
I already warned him that he's probably the only person who will be able to wake me up without me trying to hurt them XD
Which is why I tend to not sleep with a knife under my pillow anymore.
YAAAAY PTSD.
Someone from the cult contacted me again.
Found my new email address and got a hold of me.
The cult that fucked me up.
The one that's nearly made me change my name and has driven me beyond just the breaking point, but to full out shatter.
At first, the fear and anxiety hit.
And then there was rage.
It's funny, isn't it?
I spend so long dreading that it will happen,
that when it finally does,
I've used up all of my fear.
And the part of me that I used to call "My Warrior" comes out, and all I can think is, "How DARE you?" I feel like I get all the meek terror out of the way before hand, so I'm free to lash out with a violence when it inevitably occurs.
It was someone who had always been on the outskirts.
He says he's not involved anymore, so I'm not quite sure how to respond to him, or if I should. Part of me wants to play with fire and see what stirs. Discover what they're up to. It's the part of me that, oddly, sees all of life as a game of war. I sit on the outskirts with friends and family, pretending to be normal, but inside, life is a battle and I have a clearly defined enemy. I think I continually have the urge to check on them just so I know what they're up to, so I can station my defenses and wait. So I can be sure they're not tracking me. To ignore the enemy does not mean they no longer exist. To turn your back on someone does not mean they go away.
It just means they have a larger target to strike.
I assess every person on the street and wonder, If they attacked, what would I do? I think of what I carry on me. If I had to fight, what weapon would I choose?
I consider the stances and weaknesses of those I see. I would hit their knees, or their postural weakness is heavily in their lower back...I could strike their spine and take them down. They have no balance.
I am contacted by those who I fear or despise.
And rather than run from the lion,
I face it head on and watch with eyes narrowed, studying it's muscles, waiting to see which way it will pounce, playing chicken with a beast that could consume me if I acted for a moment as if I were it's prey.
I think it's why I have so often been able to walk through the dirtiest and most dangerous of neighborhoods at night without being hassled.
I avoid street lights, I don't make eye contact, I am constantly on the alert, and I move with the confidence of a creature that is not the hunted, but the hunter. The air that says, "Approach me. I am off putting, pretty, and small, and I am hungry. Come to me. I want to hurt something, and I want an excuse. Let me use you."
I like to play my vulnerability up.
I like to feel small and needy.
But I like to know that people underestimate me.
And that I could kill them when they least expect it.
Always be prepared: Have a plan to kill everyone you meet.
LOL because that's not psychotic!
I'm just a fluffy little bunny, aren't I?
And I am! Just the Monty Python bunny, is all!
OK I have typed too much.
Off to go and work out an arrangement with a new gym!
WISH ME LUCK DOLLIES!
Stay strong and beautiful.
Oh, and my weight is up to 124 again, which is ok. I'm in pre-period bloat phase, and last time, I got up to 127. I'm really, really, really hoping that this means I'm starting to break through my high weight time, and I'm trying so hard to keep it down. I binged so bad this morning because I've been exhausted, but yeah, whatever. Blah.
I've also tried a little bit of something that makes me hungry, because it eases anxiety when I do have to eat. It's...well...I'm going to be getting my medicinal marijuana card for my migraines, to see if it helps,a nd also because I'm so sick of the anti-anxiety medicines, and sometimes...sometimes I really do just....want to stop panicking and be ok with eating a fucking apple, you know?
And I tried some, and for the first time in like...a full out fucking year, I ate something and didn't feel guilty the next day.
Of course...I felt guilty the day after that, but whatever.
You get what you can get, I suppose.
Stay strong, starve on. I'm going to try and do the same.
♥
PrettyWreck
Saturday, August 21, 2010
I'm going back to Cali....
So I'm heading to my brothers wedding and typing this on my cellphone.
My temporary fling that I was epecting to have with boy is....not going according to plan.
Its going...well....amazingly. Ive spent the night with him every night for over a week, and Im probably going to be moving in with him when I get back. We got a cat together. Im terrified, but...hes worth it. Hes worth everything.
I woke up this morning to the words "I love you" tagged on the mirror in soap. So before I left dor CA, I wrote a bunch of notes and hid them in places he normally looks. I hope he likes it.
Hes adorable. And Im afraid of messing this up. He makes me so happy, and I want to make him happy too.
My weight is not going as well. Im trying to chill on the ed a little for him. It means I keep fluctuating between 121.3-123.6. Bah. One day I will see the teens.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I have fornicated with your family.
I feel like I should be sanitizing myself religiously.
For those of you expressing concern, I thank you. I've recently moved, and I have no computer. I'm in the process of trying to rent one until my baby returns from repairs, and my only access is my roomates desktop which currently possesses a most awkward keyboard, or my parents computer.
As for a little update on life, I will try and be quick, as the woman who's home I currently rent a room in does not maintain a very tidy household, and as this keyboard is in her personal quarters, I am vaguely perturbed by the idea of what may be on these keys, and when the last time is she washed her own hands....
Boy and I have been going fairly steady, and he has met my parents. We're planning a vacation together in October. I've finally finished moving out of my house as of last night, and spent my first night in my new place. I've a pretty vicious restrictive phase again, and dropped in the span of three days from 127.8 down to 121.6 this morning. It's taken it's toll, as my body has begun to cramp up and I've started to become moody, exhausted, and overwhelmed. Of course, part of this has to do with the chaos of moving, maintaining two jobs, a boyfriend, a sudden surge in my social life, and just general chaos.
I've also quit my gym job.
I will be done in September. I'm in the process of going into private practice, which I believe will be most beneficial to my future career goals and aspirations.
I've been living off of Atrophex (which I am addicted to), Adderall, and Nutella on toast. There is no more any such thing as bread. Just raw toast.
I managed to get one of my roommates kicked out already.
I'm hoping for one of my friends to move in. A girl who I will call H, who knows about my ED, and is completely nonchalant about it. She's caught me purging before, and just stood there chatting with me as I induced vomiting. She's perky, blond, younger than me, a hookah fiend, and whereas I am a 4, she's a 2, but seems so much smaller. I adore the hell out of her, because I want to be as tiny as her. SHe can go for days on end without touching a morsel of food and her lifeblood is alcohol and her air is the smoke of that flavored tobacco in the three new hookah pipes I possess. When I'm around her, I have no need to think. She's gloriously ditzy. Has an incredible amount of intelligence, but no desire nor need to use it. She tends to spend most of her time simply checking out boys, looking for the next way to have fun, always seeking someone to spend time with and hang out with, and will gladly spend hours coloring, chatting about nonsense, or playing with kids meals toys. We both clean obsessively when we're around each other, and she always makes me laugh and feel hella relaxed. She reminds me of what it's like to be YOUNG, and not some self obsessed, overly "intellectual" thing overwhelmed with the anxieties of day to day life and responsibilities.
I feel like a kid with her, and it makes me happy.
Part of me is sad.
She's dated girls before. She says she's a lesbian when she's drunk.
I doubt we would ever hit it off in a serious long term thing, but I just sort of wish I had started to connect with her before me and Boy, because I've never just had a fun relationship. The sort of thing that's wild and filled with nothing but laughter and an in-the-moment craziness. She's small and I could feel comfortable with her. But I know nothing serious would ever come of it, and I know she's not worth ditching Boy for. It's just me being fickle as always, fretting because fretting is what I do, and I always look for ways to curse myself.
Also, the crazy boy roommate here apparently flipped shit when he saw how I left the bathroom today.
Because there were hairs on the floor.
I didn't SWEEP when I was done getting ready for work.
....because god knows, I gotta take time to sweep off of three hours of sleep, working a double back.
I'm gonna drop kick this guy in the face. All he does is complain about shit. And all I can do is hold my foot to resist the urge to shove it into that sobbing-bitch-hole called his mouth.
He's about to taste toe covered socks.
Damn bastard is the worst stereotype of Jews. Like...I'm a cool Jew. He's the whining, high pitched, New York Jew who can only complain or "kivetch" or however the fuck you spell it, and is always sick, and nothing is ever good enough and likes to say, "OH MY GOD" all the time. That sort of Jew where you're not sure if he's Gay or....well...Jewish.
Either way, both groups PRAY he's not one of them because he's a bad representation of it no matter what group he falls into.
Oh....and did i mention he's homophobic?
Yeah.
Guess what I pulled out and carefully folded with all the reverence due to the stars and stripes?
My rainbow flag.
As he was talking about "some homos" acting like predators against him at the gym.
Sorry.
But he's not hot enough to be butt raped.
He'd be like the dork in gym if he were to go to prison. The last to get picked. Whoever would get to buttrape him would be the low man on the totem poll.
....okay, I could totally go on with the innuendos about anal penetration, polls, holes, totems, your mom, and the ways I fucked her last night, but alas, I think it's time I go. I have to order a movie off of Netflix for boy, then punt a cat across the house because I can.
And it just smacked my dog in the face.
YAY PUSSYPUNTING!
(If you don't know what that is, ask your sister about it, because I played it with her last night. OHBURN)
Also, best picture ever, as taken off of CrazyXangel's blog.
The end
♥
PrettyWreck
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Updates
Silence follows with the passing of my laptop.
May we all give a moment's silence in mourning.
Dear Baby, you were a good piece of equipment. Our thoughts are with you. May you find peace in the repair shop you have been sent to, and perhaps be sent back repaired. If this is not the case, then may your replacement live up to the power with which you operated, and the abuse you took through being shoved in backpacks, tossed around a backseat in a speeding car, and downloading insane amounts of random items off the interwebs and having hard drives scrubbed repeatedly after bad proxy servers were loaded, viruses installed, and various porns removed in an attempt of covering tracks before parents touched your glorious keyboard.
Aaaaamen.
I'm on the Mental Diet for my gym job. Very strange. I keep winding up with the band on my left wrist.
You can't think any negative thoughts.
I've been on my period for five days, and collapsed on Thursday after a binge fest like a motherfucker at my server job. Had to be driven home by a friend, and have had a migraine since then. Collapsed again yesterday. And yeah. It's totally hard to keep myself positive through all of that.
And some weird updates. Ok. Lemme try and have this post make a little bit of sense, yeah?
My current weight? Ridiculous. My new phone? Sexy as a motherfucker. HTC MyTouch 3G Slider with T-Mobile. I am almost free of the chains of Verizon.
My current love life....?
....amazing.
I have to say, things have been....surprising, to say the least.
Boy is...different.
I'm not sure how to describe it.
Last post, I know I said I thought he was going to break up with me, and I hoped he did, but...he didn't. And I can't even begin to put into words how relieved I am that it didn't happen.
See...ugh. I don't even know how to explain it.
He knows.
About everything.
My ED. My PTSD diagnosis. I've tried to show him all the ugliest parts of me, and he sees them, and accepts them unwaveringly. I feel safe when I'm around him, uncomfortable, terrified, and just confused.
After that post, we got into a fight that lasted for a week. I said purposefully hurt things with no idea why. I ignored him, stood him up twice, avoided his calls, mocked him in front of people....
...I did terrible things.
I blamed my stress. My job. My life.
I validated it and defended it and put people on my side.
And he waited.
Patient.
When he finally snapped and we fought, I went to see him with a friend, after telling the friend to help me ditch out quick.
I got there...and didn't hug him or touch him. His friends came over. We talked a bit, and I tried to avoid the urge to jump on him, because the friend, H, had just been dumped by her boyfriend and I didn't want her to be uncomfortable. But Boy looked so defeated, sitting there txt'ing, no smile on his face, shoulders slumped. His door was covered in dents, and when I asked about them, he said, "It's the only thing that won't hit back and that I can't hurt when I do hit it." It was like something in me was breaking. He hides nothing and wears his heart on his sleeve. I had already told him over text that all this bad shit had been happening, and used it to justify my avoidance (getting kicked out, doctors appointments, etc.), so he knew there had been drama, and I really didn't want him to see it...but...still....
I wandered into his room when his friends came over. He followed a few minutes later, and I grabbed him and kissed him, trying to keep my mouth closed to cover the taste of the vomit from my purge a few hours earlier (I could NOT track down gum, damn it). We collapsed onto his bed, and I wrapped around him, and almost started crying, shaking, thinking of just how good it felt to be in his arms. He was safe. He was home. He held the back of my head and rolled me on top of him, whispering that he was falling in love with me, and begging me to talk to him, to tell him what was happening, to stay with him and not push him away anymore. I begged him to not leave me, to never make me leave, to let me stay, and to please forgive me....
...we talked. Sat there, curled up, and talked. He said something that made my heart break. Told me that what hurt the most was that I didn't feel comfortable saying when I was hurting. Because he wanted to be a part of my life, not just a piece in it. That he was there to be strong for me when I couldn't. That he wanted to help with my pain, and wanted to stand by me when I was crumbling, and keep me up when I was falling.
He's too damned good for me.
He's so god damned good for me.
Last night we talked for hours. On Thursday, I collapsed at work, and had to be driven home. My boss, CD (the assistant chef at the server job) caught me. He wound up carrying me out to my friends car. I didn't tell Boy the full details, but he found out, and since he doesn't have a car, he told me he felt so damned helpless. Last night, he called me when I woke up at 2am and we talked for hours. With my migraine, in the dark of my room, he got me to tell him things i never say outloud. That I feel dirty and broken. Why I started on my ED. He asked me questions all about it. Asked why I was doing it, about my childhood, my life. I answered everything so honestly. He said, "On Thursday, were you really sick, or were you purging?" It wasn't accusatory. He never accuses me of anything. It was curious. I try to never lie to him, but I said, "I just felt sick." And we left it at that, because I didn't want to admit this current bout of migraine and collapsing aroused from me purging. It's not from starving--I've gained seven pounds. It's from having my period for seven days of hardcore bleeding, but I'm not ready to tell him that.
I told him about being kidnapped. About what happened to me before that. About the suicide attempts, and how I feel sad everytime people say they wish they could go back to being a little kid, because this time in my life right now, despite all the pain, is the happiest i've ever been, because my childhood was hell. He told me about things that had happened to him, and at the end of the night, before bed, he said something that made me almost cry....
"I've dated girls who have had problems or who I thought were strong, but I always knew how things would end with them. You're just...you've told me things that I think if you said more about would make my blood boil, not because it's your fault, but because somebody dared to do that to you. And you know what, Pretty? I'm proud of you. I'm so fucking proud of you for surviving. For having the courage to tell me all of this and to come back to me. I'm so proud of you. And you're not going to push me away. If you are broken, it's not your fault. I think whatever it is that pulled us together did it so I can be the one to fix you. And you know what, baby? I love you. I'm falling so hard and so fast, but for the first time, I'm not scared. I'm excited. I love you, and I'm going to stay by you and get you through this."
I think something in me melted.
I'm so lucky to have found him.
My migraine is now starting to recede. I need to keep packing, because I was supposed to finish moving places, but my parents were cool with letting me put it off while I was busy...you know...being dead. On that first night, THursday, my dad apparently found me slurring in the kitchen, trying to find sugar, before I fell over and he panicked. My bad seizure migraines are coming back, but I think it has to do with 1) an addiction to Atrophex and Adderall, 2) A lack of sleep, 3) The fact that this last period lasted for over a week, and is still going on now.
HOORAH.
Oh, also, my doctor has smuggled me a months worth of antidepressants that are prescribed to patients in top ED clinics. It's very expensive shit, so I'm happy he gave it to me. He finally believed me on my disorder when the new med student took me in to take my weight, and she forgot to zero it out before I stepped off (I have to get weighed stepping on it backwards), and when I saw my weight, I flipped out and started to scream and sob. I wanted to tell the Med student sorry, but I couldn't stop trembling long enough to get the words out.
I'm so fucking obese.
When I was being carried out by my boss from my server job by him and my friend, they both made remarks: "Thank god you're so light."
When he caught me the first time I fell, I could feel his arms shaking.
I'm not that light.
But I guess I made him laugh. He grabbed my ass when I collapsed, and was like, "It's not on purpose."
I guess I looked at him with the most "duh" expression and said, "If you really wanted to grope it, you just had to ask."
We flirt all the time. But he's Boy's friend, and Boy knows that he's my favorite and the only one who really is invited to touch.
I kept joking with Boss the whole time. And my friend.
I had to keep them laughing so they wouldn't make me go to the hospital.
I hate my hormones. My ovaries.
Why couldn't I have collapsed over starving?
Oh...that's right....because I keep EATING. OMNOMNOM.
Purging is easier on antidepressants!
Ironically enough.
No...I collapse because I'm bleeding out of my VAG.
How fragile. How pretty.
(Heed my sarcasm.)
May we all give a moment's silence in mourning.
Dear Baby, you were a good piece of equipment. Our thoughts are with you. May you find peace in the repair shop you have been sent to, and perhaps be sent back repaired. If this is not the case, then may your replacement live up to the power with which you operated, and the abuse you took through being shoved in backpacks, tossed around a backseat in a speeding car, and downloading insane amounts of random items off the interwebs and having hard drives scrubbed repeatedly after bad proxy servers were loaded, viruses installed, and various porns removed in an attempt of covering tracks before parents touched your glorious keyboard.
Aaaaamen.
I'm on the Mental Diet for my gym job. Very strange. I keep winding up with the band on my left wrist.
You can't think any negative thoughts.
I've been on my period for five days, and collapsed on Thursday after a binge fest like a motherfucker at my server job. Had to be driven home by a friend, and have had a migraine since then. Collapsed again yesterday. And yeah. It's totally hard to keep myself positive through all of that.
And some weird updates. Ok. Lemme try and have this post make a little bit of sense, yeah?
My current weight? Ridiculous. My new phone? Sexy as a motherfucker. HTC MyTouch 3G Slider with T-Mobile. I am almost free of the chains of Verizon.
My current love life....?
....amazing.
I have to say, things have been....surprising, to say the least.
Boy is...different.
I'm not sure how to describe it.
Last post, I know I said I thought he was going to break up with me, and I hoped he did, but...he didn't. And I can't even begin to put into words how relieved I am that it didn't happen.
See...ugh. I don't even know how to explain it.
He knows.
About everything.
My ED. My PTSD diagnosis. I've tried to show him all the ugliest parts of me, and he sees them, and accepts them unwaveringly. I feel safe when I'm around him, uncomfortable, terrified, and just confused.
After that post, we got into a fight that lasted for a week. I said purposefully hurt things with no idea why. I ignored him, stood him up twice, avoided his calls, mocked him in front of people....
...I did terrible things.
I blamed my stress. My job. My life.
I validated it and defended it and put people on my side.
And he waited.
Patient.
When he finally snapped and we fought, I went to see him with a friend, after telling the friend to help me ditch out quick.
I got there...and didn't hug him or touch him. His friends came over. We talked a bit, and I tried to avoid the urge to jump on him, because the friend, H, had just been dumped by her boyfriend and I didn't want her to be uncomfortable. But Boy looked so defeated, sitting there txt'ing, no smile on his face, shoulders slumped. His door was covered in dents, and when I asked about them, he said, "It's the only thing that won't hit back and that I can't hurt when I do hit it." It was like something in me was breaking. He hides nothing and wears his heart on his sleeve. I had already told him over text that all this bad shit had been happening, and used it to justify my avoidance (getting kicked out, doctors appointments, etc.), so he knew there had been drama, and I really didn't want him to see it...but...still....
I wandered into his room when his friends came over. He followed a few minutes later, and I grabbed him and kissed him, trying to keep my mouth closed to cover the taste of the vomit from my purge a few hours earlier (I could NOT track down gum, damn it). We collapsed onto his bed, and I wrapped around him, and almost started crying, shaking, thinking of just how good it felt to be in his arms. He was safe. He was home. He held the back of my head and rolled me on top of him, whispering that he was falling in love with me, and begging me to talk to him, to tell him what was happening, to stay with him and not push him away anymore. I begged him to not leave me, to never make me leave, to let me stay, and to please forgive me....
...we talked. Sat there, curled up, and talked. He said something that made my heart break. Told me that what hurt the most was that I didn't feel comfortable saying when I was hurting. Because he wanted to be a part of my life, not just a piece in it. That he was there to be strong for me when I couldn't. That he wanted to help with my pain, and wanted to stand by me when I was crumbling, and keep me up when I was falling.
He's too damned good for me.
He's so god damned good for me.
Last night we talked for hours. On Thursday, I collapsed at work, and had to be driven home. My boss, CD (the assistant chef at the server job) caught me. He wound up carrying me out to my friends car. I didn't tell Boy the full details, but he found out, and since he doesn't have a car, he told me he felt so damned helpless. Last night, he called me when I woke up at 2am and we talked for hours. With my migraine, in the dark of my room, he got me to tell him things i never say outloud. That I feel dirty and broken. Why I started on my ED. He asked me questions all about it. Asked why I was doing it, about my childhood, my life. I answered everything so honestly. He said, "On Thursday, were you really sick, or were you purging?" It wasn't accusatory. He never accuses me of anything. It was curious. I try to never lie to him, but I said, "I just felt sick." And we left it at that, because I didn't want to admit this current bout of migraine and collapsing aroused from me purging. It's not from starving--I've gained seven pounds. It's from having my period for seven days of hardcore bleeding, but I'm not ready to tell him that.
I told him about being kidnapped. About what happened to me before that. About the suicide attempts, and how I feel sad everytime people say they wish they could go back to being a little kid, because this time in my life right now, despite all the pain, is the happiest i've ever been, because my childhood was hell. He told me about things that had happened to him, and at the end of the night, before bed, he said something that made me almost cry....
"I've dated girls who have had problems or who I thought were strong, but I always knew how things would end with them. You're just...you've told me things that I think if you said more about would make my blood boil, not because it's your fault, but because somebody dared to do that to you. And you know what, Pretty? I'm proud of you. I'm so fucking proud of you for surviving. For having the courage to tell me all of this and to come back to me. I'm so proud of you. And you're not going to push me away. If you are broken, it's not your fault. I think whatever it is that pulled us together did it so I can be the one to fix you. And you know what, baby? I love you. I'm falling so hard and so fast, but for the first time, I'm not scared. I'm excited. I love you, and I'm going to stay by you and get you through this."
I think something in me melted.
I'm so lucky to have found him.
My migraine is now starting to recede. I need to keep packing, because I was supposed to finish moving places, but my parents were cool with letting me put it off while I was busy...you know...being dead. On that first night, THursday, my dad apparently found me slurring in the kitchen, trying to find sugar, before I fell over and he panicked. My bad seizure migraines are coming back, but I think it has to do with 1) an addiction to Atrophex and Adderall, 2) A lack of sleep, 3) The fact that this last period lasted for over a week, and is still going on now.
HOORAH.
Oh, also, my doctor has smuggled me a months worth of antidepressants that are prescribed to patients in top ED clinics. It's very expensive shit, so I'm happy he gave it to me. He finally believed me on my disorder when the new med student took me in to take my weight, and she forgot to zero it out before I stepped off (I have to get weighed stepping on it backwards), and when I saw my weight, I flipped out and started to scream and sob. I wanted to tell the Med student sorry, but I couldn't stop trembling long enough to get the words out.
I'm so fucking obese.
When I was being carried out by my boss from my server job by him and my friend, they both made remarks: "Thank god you're so light."
When he caught me the first time I fell, I could feel his arms shaking.
I'm not that light.
But I guess I made him laugh. He grabbed my ass when I collapsed, and was like, "It's not on purpose."
I guess I looked at him with the most "duh" expression and said, "If you really wanted to grope it, you just had to ask."
We flirt all the time. But he's Boy's friend, and Boy knows that he's my favorite and the only one who really is invited to touch.
I kept joking with Boss the whole time. And my friend.
I had to keep them laughing so they wouldn't make me go to the hospital.
I hate my hormones. My ovaries.
Why couldn't I have collapsed over starving?
Oh...that's right....because I keep EATING. OMNOMNOM.
Purging is easier on antidepressants!
Ironically enough.
No...I collapse because I'm bleeding out of my VAG.
How fragile. How pretty.
(Heed my sarcasm.)
Thursday, July 29, 2010
I am loved, and confused as to why.
I thought Boy was going to break up with me, and frankly, I was relieved. Playing the normal heterosexual female is tiring. But then he says that he wasn't trying to. He was nervous about telling me that he thinks I'm "the one".
"The One"?
Well take me to the Matrix and call me Neo!
YEEHAW
.....right. I'm not sure what to say to him. I turned off my phone.
How do you respond to that?
I've tried to be as ugly as possible for him. He's seen my disorder. Gets frustrated at my refusal to give him a picture of me because I hate them. He hears me hate myself all the time. I've even stood him up on a date.
Yet still...I'm The One.
The One.
No pressure there.
Just the singular person he's meant to be with for the rest of eternity.
ANd I still can't get over the lack of tits he has.
I still see him as a temporary fling that I'll recover from.
Right.
Hoorah.
Hung out with a girl from work today.
And her boyfriend.
I realized part way through that...she had told him about me.
In depth.
She told him things I had said. That I was "freaking amazing". He knew stories of times when I had exploded at our new boss at the gym. Had heard about the weird shit I'd said to her. She was laughing about the way I first said hello, with a joke that was, "You know how you are what you eat? (Cups bellybutton and poofs out stomach) BAGEL!" She was like, "She has NO insecurity. Isn't she just amazing?" She let me borrow her swimsuit and we went into the pool. Watched Invader Zim. And her friends? Knew about me.
Like...I had something to live up to.
They invited me out either tomorrow or this weekend.
My friend, KJ we'll call her, who I've known since high school....her boyfriend P keeps trying to get me to hang out with him. Says he misses me.
V, my ex girl I dated for a while, says she misses me and now that we're friends again, remembers why she loved me.
KG, another girl I was friends with, messaged me out of the blue about how much she misses me...
...it's like the universe is trying to tell me that I'm cared about. I've given up trying to please everyone, and suddenly....suddenly I have clients hugging me. I have people buying sessions out of nowhere. I have constant reminders that I'm somehow special, even though I'm not.
And the only thing I'm hung up on is that I got yelled at at work.
Like that's all that matters.
I feel like a failure for fucking up. For not being good enough. For being bad. For being terrible.
BIg boss won't be there tomorrow.
I just feel like a fool there right now.
Because I showed up at exactly the appointment time, and wasn't wearing my work shirt. And I know it's not allowed, but fuck it, I was rushed. C, one of the bosses, said it shows that I don't care, and that the client isn't important.
Which is exactly why she hugged me at the end of the session and thanked me repeatedly for being the "first person to have her best interest in mind".
For being someone who's "passionate, caring, and honest".
Yup.
Right.
I'm totally not good with my clients.
I showed up at exactly 1 for a 1pm appointment and had to rush to get the shit together because they TOOK MY DESK AWAY FROM ME so all my prepared paperwork was fucked up, and that was my one flaw.
I drive one of my clients home every session.
I take calls at 2am from others who are depressed.
I've taken cold medicine to one when she was laid up sick.
BUt of course, my lack of being twenty minutes early....? Is evidence that
I
Don't
Give
A
Shit.
Hoorah.
That's me.
Callous as can be.
Not that I care at all. I'm completely selfish. Love me and don't care about them. Totally into myself. Overflowing with ego and self righteousness. There's me, treating clients like they're just for the money, and it's wasting my time to give them any session because I"m not on time, regardless of the fact that I'll do sessions for free when they're broke, or that I'll do home calls and pick up prescriptions for them. A total asshole.
Yup.
He has some point, to be honest. I'm a failure for punctuality. And I did stand up a client once when I was too worn out to move or get out of bed.
But...I just have blood poisoning right now.
And still haven't had a day off.
And am puking.
And shaking.
Cold sweats.
Surviving off of diet pills and a good 13 hours of sleep a night and still exhausted....
....my punctuality is totally my major problem.
Fuck them.
I need to go into private contracting as a trainer.
My integrity can't handle this job much longer. Not with the diet pills they make me peddle, or the way I have to sell training as if someone is INADEQUATE and NEEDS IT. I can't play on peoples insecurities like that. I want to make them better, and make them healthier. I don't want people to wind up like me.
Assholes.
Sorry.
Rant over now.
Why do I have so much good and positive, and yet the negative still cripples me so?
I don't think the Prozac is working.
"The One"?
Well take me to the Matrix and call me Neo!
YEEHAW
.....right. I'm not sure what to say to him. I turned off my phone.
How do you respond to that?
I've tried to be as ugly as possible for him. He's seen my disorder. Gets frustrated at my refusal to give him a picture of me because I hate them. He hears me hate myself all the time. I've even stood him up on a date.
Yet still...I'm The One.
The One.
No pressure there.
Just the singular person he's meant to be with for the rest of eternity.
ANd I still can't get over the lack of tits he has.
I still see him as a temporary fling that I'll recover from.
Right.
Hoorah.
Hung out with a girl from work today.
And her boyfriend.
I realized part way through that...she had told him about me.
In depth.
She told him things I had said. That I was "freaking amazing". He knew stories of times when I had exploded at our new boss at the gym. Had heard about the weird shit I'd said to her. She was laughing about the way I first said hello, with a joke that was, "You know how you are what you eat? (Cups bellybutton and poofs out stomach) BAGEL!" She was like, "She has NO insecurity. Isn't she just amazing?" She let me borrow her swimsuit and we went into the pool. Watched Invader Zim. And her friends? Knew about me.
Like...I had something to live up to.
They invited me out either tomorrow or this weekend.
My friend, KJ we'll call her, who I've known since high school....her boyfriend P keeps trying to get me to hang out with him. Says he misses me.
V, my ex girl I dated for a while, says she misses me and now that we're friends again, remembers why she loved me.
KG, another girl I was friends with, messaged me out of the blue about how much she misses me...
...it's like the universe is trying to tell me that I'm cared about. I've given up trying to please everyone, and suddenly....suddenly I have clients hugging me. I have people buying sessions out of nowhere. I have constant reminders that I'm somehow special, even though I'm not.
And the only thing I'm hung up on is that I got yelled at at work.
Like that's all that matters.
I feel like a failure for fucking up. For not being good enough. For being bad. For being terrible.
BIg boss won't be there tomorrow.
I just feel like a fool there right now.
Because I showed up at exactly the appointment time, and wasn't wearing my work shirt. And I know it's not allowed, but fuck it, I was rushed. C, one of the bosses, said it shows that I don't care, and that the client isn't important.
Which is exactly why she hugged me at the end of the session and thanked me repeatedly for being the "first person to have her best interest in mind".
For being someone who's "passionate, caring, and honest".
Yup.
Right.
I'm totally not good with my clients.
I showed up at exactly 1 for a 1pm appointment and had to rush to get the shit together because they TOOK MY DESK AWAY FROM ME so all my prepared paperwork was fucked up, and that was my one flaw.
I drive one of my clients home every session.
I take calls at 2am from others who are depressed.
I've taken cold medicine to one when she was laid up sick.
BUt of course, my lack of being twenty minutes early....? Is evidence that
I
Don't
Give
A
Shit.
Hoorah.
That's me.
Callous as can be.
Not that I care at all. I'm completely selfish. Love me and don't care about them. Totally into myself. Overflowing with ego and self righteousness. There's me, treating clients like they're just for the money, and it's wasting my time to give them any session because I"m not on time, regardless of the fact that I'll do sessions for free when they're broke, or that I'll do home calls and pick up prescriptions for them. A total asshole.
Yup.
He has some point, to be honest. I'm a failure for punctuality. And I did stand up a client once when I was too worn out to move or get out of bed.
But...I just have blood poisoning right now.
And still haven't had a day off.
And am puking.
And shaking.
Cold sweats.
Surviving off of diet pills and a good 13 hours of sleep a night and still exhausted....
....my punctuality is totally my major problem.
Fuck them.
I need to go into private contracting as a trainer.
My integrity can't handle this job much longer. Not with the diet pills they make me peddle, or the way I have to sell training as if someone is INADEQUATE and NEEDS IT. I can't play on peoples insecurities like that. I want to make them better, and make them healthier. I don't want people to wind up like me.
Assholes.
Sorry.
Rant over now.
Why do I have so much good and positive, and yet the negative still cripples me so?
I don't think the Prozac is working.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
I am not your fucking cautionary tale....
Let's get something clear.
I am no god damned cautionary tale.
I posed a question to myself, when I thought about the fact that the symptoms I had mere weeks ago, I realized, were all those of a heart attack brought about by lack of food and overdose of stimulants.
The aching jaw, the pain in the sternum and gut, the dizziness and shortness of breath...
...I looked in the mirror at my fat, flotsam like body, and demanded, "Would you rather be alive or thin? Do you want to live? Or do you want to be thin?"
....and the answer was so fucking obvious.
There is no life without thinness.
There is no purpose without perfection.
I am fat.
I am a fucking whale.
And I take no pride on my obesity. My waist is almost back up to 26 inches, my arms jiggle, my stomach is bloated, and I've exceeded 3500 calories a day for three days.
I am a shame to my own eating disorder.
But I am not a shame to myself.
I am no cautionary tale.
I am no promotion of this disease.
I am me.
I binge and purge, starve and eat like the most extreme of seasons.
I get excited at the thought that I might be dying.
I take stimulants enough to kill most folk, and relish in the realization that I'm fading.
Not because of any sort of ideals of divinity, but I am simply that fucking depressed and not able to carry through on my desire to just straight out off myself.
I'm not worthy of suicide.
I'm not thin enough yet.
I can't give up yet, because I'm not worthy of death.
Death is the reward, and to die before I have fully decayed would be to fail.
You see, we all die at some point.
And I'm going to die in pursuit of what I love.
Perfection.
I will never leave this behind.
I don't ever want to recover.
I'm angry and hateful at me, and I've realized I've been this way since I was a little kid. No therapy nor pharmaceuticals have ever helped. The only thing that helps is the driven, pointed thinking of this disorder, and the rage and sense of purpose against myself that it gives me.
I will achieve my goals of perfection.
And I am going to die in the process.
When it happens, don't take me as a story of why it shouldn't be done. Don't use me for your stupid inspiration for recovery or relapse.
I'm not your tool. I'm not here to move you. To change you.
I'm not here to shatter your life or help you rebuild it.
Let me be just me.
Take just me.
What I am.
A self destructive little know it all with an outward superiority complex, rage issues, and no self esteem.
A girl with no acceptance of herself who loves the feel of petting the flap at the back of her throat to bring up bite by bite what she eats.
An insomniac who hurts herself when she sleeps.
A rage filled being often too tired to move, but too hyped up on stimulants and amphetamine to sleep.
A person.
Burning.
Dying.
Laughing and crying and screaming the whole time.
Andorgynous internally and outwardly feminine.
I am the Moth plummeting into the lanterns flame.
Cackling as I sizzle and pop.
Watch.
Me.
Go.
I am no god damned cautionary tale.
I posed a question to myself, when I thought about the fact that the symptoms I had mere weeks ago, I realized, were all those of a heart attack brought about by lack of food and overdose of stimulants.
The aching jaw, the pain in the sternum and gut, the dizziness and shortness of breath...
...I looked in the mirror at my fat, flotsam like body, and demanded, "Would you rather be alive or thin? Do you want to live? Or do you want to be thin?"
....and the answer was so fucking obvious.
There is no life without thinness.
There is no purpose without perfection.
I am fat.
I am a fucking whale.
And I take no pride on my obesity. My waist is almost back up to 26 inches, my arms jiggle, my stomach is bloated, and I've exceeded 3500 calories a day for three days.
I am a shame to my own eating disorder.
But I am not a shame to myself.
I am no cautionary tale.
I am no promotion of this disease.
I am me.
I binge and purge, starve and eat like the most extreme of seasons.
I get excited at the thought that I might be dying.
I take stimulants enough to kill most folk, and relish in the realization that I'm fading.
Not because of any sort of ideals of divinity, but I am simply that fucking depressed and not able to carry through on my desire to just straight out off myself.
I'm not worthy of suicide.
I'm not thin enough yet.
I can't give up yet, because I'm not worthy of death.
Death is the reward, and to die before I have fully decayed would be to fail.
You see, we all die at some point.
And I'm going to die in pursuit of what I love.
Perfection.
I will never leave this behind.
I don't ever want to recover.
I'm angry and hateful at me, and I've realized I've been this way since I was a little kid. No therapy nor pharmaceuticals have ever helped. The only thing that helps is the driven, pointed thinking of this disorder, and the rage and sense of purpose against myself that it gives me.
I will achieve my goals of perfection.
And I am going to die in the process.
When it happens, don't take me as a story of why it shouldn't be done. Don't use me for your stupid inspiration for recovery or relapse.
I'm not your tool. I'm not here to move you. To change you.
I'm not here to shatter your life or help you rebuild it.
Let me be just me.
Take just me.
What I am.
A self destructive little know it all with an outward superiority complex, rage issues, and no self esteem.
A girl with no acceptance of herself who loves the feel of petting the flap at the back of her throat to bring up bite by bite what she eats.
An insomniac who hurts herself when she sleeps.
A rage filled being often too tired to move, but too hyped up on stimulants and amphetamine to sleep.
A person.
Burning.
Dying.
Laughing and crying and screaming the whole time.
Andorgynous internally and outwardly feminine.
I am the Moth plummeting into the lanterns flame.
Cackling as I sizzle and pop.
Watch.
Me.
Go.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Reverse Orgasms.
I was 124 this morning.
I keep telling myself it's my period waiting to start. But that doesn't make it better.
My appetite has sky rocketed. I just ate four slices of pizza, five chicken kickers, and half a large brownie. On top of the two slices of 50 cal toast with full fat butter and scrambled eggs I've eaten today.
Then I went and paid homage to Mia.
It's funny.
Sometimes, I wake up.
I'll be standing over the toilet. My fingers shoved down my throat. And I'm still me. I stop. Shaking my head like a dog. Make weird noises and stretch mouth as I prepare myself for another round of self-induced-gagging, and make odd comments to the graffiti on the walls. "Yeah, bitch, just like sucking your mom's dick!"
Then I dab at my face as delicately as I was taught with a rolled up wad of toilet paper, my pinky sticking out as my mother taught me in my etiquette lessons, before carefully folding the toilet paper, dabbing off the sputum from my finger, and then delving it back into my esophagus.
And then, as I'm stroking that flap of skin, making strange faces as I try to avoid scratching that delicate flesh with my nail....I stop, and think, "What in the hell am I doing?"
Then it hits.
The vomit comes.
Small mouthfuls at a time.
And I know what I'm doing.
But I don't process it.
It's an action that has no thought. It just is. I can't consider it. Can't really question it. If I do, the guilt hits, and when the guilt comes, so, too, comes the anxiety, and the anxiety brings with it food, and terrible self hatred, and eventually, cradling another bottle of store-bought sleeping pills to my breast.
I wonder what people would think if they knew.
Then I don't wonder anything at all.
I just do it.
It makes the anxiety better for a little bit.
I stop. Not when it's all out, but because I tell myself to. The toilet is full, my throat is aching. I think, "If I stop before it's all out, then it's not laziness. It's control. I start when I want, end when I want." Just like I first thought when I stopped eating.
"It's not anorexia, or an eating disorder. It's an experiment. I can stop whenever I want."
Or like I tell myself from time to time.
"I can eat normal whenever I want to. I just don't want to, yet."
....sweet denial. How you taste of salt and vinegar and bile on my tongue, wrapping me up in the warmth of your lies.
I'm so tired.
I want to go purge more.
But mostly
I just want to go to sleep.
I keep telling myself it's my period waiting to start. But that doesn't make it better.
My appetite has sky rocketed. I just ate four slices of pizza, five chicken kickers, and half a large brownie. On top of the two slices of 50 cal toast with full fat butter and scrambled eggs I've eaten today.
Then I went and paid homage to Mia.
It's funny.
Sometimes, I wake up.
I'll be standing over the toilet. My fingers shoved down my throat. And I'm still me. I stop. Shaking my head like a dog. Make weird noises and stretch mouth as I prepare myself for another round of self-induced-gagging, and make odd comments to the graffiti on the walls. "Yeah, bitch, just like sucking your mom's dick!"
Then I dab at my face as delicately as I was taught with a rolled up wad of toilet paper, my pinky sticking out as my mother taught me in my etiquette lessons, before carefully folding the toilet paper, dabbing off the sputum from my finger, and then delving it back into my esophagus.
And then, as I'm stroking that flap of skin, making strange faces as I try to avoid scratching that delicate flesh with my nail....I stop, and think, "What in the hell am I doing?"
Then it hits.
The vomit comes.
Small mouthfuls at a time.
And I know what I'm doing.
But I don't process it.
It's an action that has no thought. It just is. I can't consider it. Can't really question it. If I do, the guilt hits, and when the guilt comes, so, too, comes the anxiety, and the anxiety brings with it food, and terrible self hatred, and eventually, cradling another bottle of store-bought sleeping pills to my breast.
I wonder what people would think if they knew.
Then I don't wonder anything at all.
I just do it.
It makes the anxiety better for a little bit.
I stop. Not when it's all out, but because I tell myself to. The toilet is full, my throat is aching. I think, "If I stop before it's all out, then it's not laziness. It's control. I start when I want, end when I want." Just like I first thought when I stopped eating.
"It's not anorexia, or an eating disorder. It's an experiment. I can stop whenever I want."
Or like I tell myself from time to time.
"I can eat normal whenever I want to. I just don't want to, yet."
....sweet denial. How you taste of salt and vinegar and bile on my tongue, wrapping me up in the warmth of your lies.
I'm so tired.
I want to go purge more.
But mostly
I just want to go to sleep.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
homnomnom...OINKOINK
Well, it was bound to happen at some point, wasn't it?
The inevitable post-starvation OMNOMNOM myself into oblivion.
That was yesterday.
Today, I had a full out panic attack when faced with a taco. And didn't eat all of it. And am currently very pleased with having not eaten a lot, but still managing to feel full. Only because I'm drinking that much diet soda and water.
My neck hurts and I'm tired.
Whine whine whine, I hate work, three jobs sucks, etc. etc., read through my last five posts and it's all reiterations of the same trite bullshit of how much I hate my security job and aches and pains and blah blah blah blahblahblah cocks blah blah blah weightloss, blah blah blah, your mom.
Same shit, different day.
ADHD is a federally recognized disability.
I had to walk out of a movie today for my Health Card, and you're not supposed to. Sitting became painful. And not because I was freshly shagged (which I'm not, sadly), but only because I had to sit still, and it wasn't working. My page, in the first ten minutes, was covered with sketches of faces and "SHAMWOW" written all over the back, and I couldn't stop twitching. When I walked out, the woman asked what was going on, and I told her I'd try again later, but this was my third time in the class. She asked why, I showed her the meds...she told me to take a breather and go back in when I was ready, because, "They have to make allotments for people with disabilities", and I think I must have looked at her like she was NUTS.
But it's okay! I finally got through my class.
I'm at 123.6 from 120. Because I'm a fat fat girl.
Time to get back down, though.
Aiming for 117 this time.
I can do it.
Because I rock.
And I fucked your mom.
(Not really....)
(....or did I? Oooooh, mysterious.....)
I've run out of words now!
OKBAI!
♥
PrettyWreck
The inevitable post-starvation OMNOMNOM myself into oblivion.
That was yesterday.
Today, I had a full out panic attack when faced with a taco. And didn't eat all of it. And am currently very pleased with having not eaten a lot, but still managing to feel full. Only because I'm drinking that much diet soda and water.
My neck hurts and I'm tired.
Whine whine whine, I hate work, three jobs sucks, etc. etc., read through my last five posts and it's all reiterations of the same trite bullshit of how much I hate my security job and aches and pains and blah blah blah blahblahblah cocks blah blah blah weightloss, blah blah blah, your mom.
Same shit, different day.
ADHD is a federally recognized disability.
I had to walk out of a movie today for my Health Card, and you're not supposed to. Sitting became painful. And not because I was freshly shagged (which I'm not, sadly), but only because I had to sit still, and it wasn't working. My page, in the first ten minutes, was covered with sketches of faces and "SHAMWOW" written all over the back, and I couldn't stop twitching. When I walked out, the woman asked what was going on, and I told her I'd try again later, but this was my third time in the class. She asked why, I showed her the meds...she told me to take a breather and go back in when I was ready, because, "They have to make allotments for people with disabilities", and I think I must have looked at her like she was NUTS.
But it's okay! I finally got through my class.
I'm at 123.6 from 120. Because I'm a fat fat girl.
Time to get back down, though.
Aiming for 117 this time.
I can do it.
Because I rock.
And I fucked your mom.
(Not really....)
(....or did I? Oooooh, mysterious.....)
I've run out of words now!
OKBAI!
♥
PrettyWreck
Monday, July 19, 2010
......woah o.o
...fifteen unapproved comments in the space of like...an hour?
I'm not sure who linked to me, but whoever did, I fucking love you. Thank you to everyone for all the love. You guys rock my literal pants off.
No joke. I'm now sitting here sans trousers.
(Not really. I have them on still. But I wish I could rip them off....I'm at my job I'm close to quitting, so it's really hard to RESIST that temptation, too!)
I think I'm turning bullimic.
I broke my vow and purged in a public facility. Two times in two days. I've lost almost 7 pounds these past 7 days, but as many of you like me out there know, almost seven is not yet seven, and fifty still wouldn't even be good enough. I've come to the firm conclusion that I don't think I'll ever be done in my own mind. There will always be flaws and faults, and I'll just have to keep going until something happens to make me stop.
To those of you reading this considering getting into the disorder, or returning from your recovery, take this as your message to stop.
A friend of mine on another site died from this fairly recently. And I find myself toeing the same line she did. She collapsed while running, and injured her head, falling into a coma before she finally perished. Only a year older than me.
I've collapsed--not quite fainted--three times.
This is life. This is life slowly slipping.
I hope you enjoy watching me plummet. I enjoy sharing my fall.
Live vicariously through me, but do not repeat these mistakes. I am an entertainer, here to martyr myself for your amusement.
Part of me feels slightly bitter, though I think that's the jalapeno cheese I just regurgitated. I don't feel anymore depressed. The Prozac my shrink gave me was supposed to help control the impulses to binge and purge, but in fact, it only makes it easier to starve, and I feel much more calm when I throw up. My fingers pet that flap of flesh that separates lungs from gullet, and the food comes up like a gentle tide from my mouth. I've even stopped freaking out when a little bit of the toilet water splatters on my face. The sensation of winning by losing is so much more precious to me.
I went shopping.
Pulled on a pair of size 3's. They fit loosely.
Took a size 2 dress, just for a bit of fun, to see how far off I was from fitting. Took a size 4, which is my normal.
The 4 slipped off my shoulders.
The 2 fit me like a charm.
I bought it.
I can't afford it. But I think I would have died if I didn't walk out right then with that dress.
Up close and personal with a set of the most hideous calves you've ever seen rocked in a little black dress:
Front view of the nastiest tits to ever exist on a 23 year old body:
I got it for my brothers wedding, technically. And the woman who was running the dressing room said it looked "sexy". I plan to wear a white lace cami under it, to hide the tits, and also the nastiness of the bra and gross underarms and flabby skin on the side.
Yuck.
How is it that I'm so large, and yet wear something that's a size 2? I see that I'm getting tinier, but it's like...I don't exactly know how to word it....
....like taking me, and shrinking me, but...keeping the fat?
Like...it's still there. The shapes and rolls and nastiness. They're all still there.
But they're just...smaller versions now.
I wish I could lose weight in my nose.
It's gigantic.
It and my ears speak volumes to my Jewish and....uhm...elephant? heritage? I don't know. I know the nose is my Jewish side. The ears must be because someone in my families past bumped uglies with Dumbo. Can't think of anything else.
I love you all. Have my babies.
Wish me luck.
I was 120 this morning.
I want to be down to 119 by tomorrow. Or 119.something. Just so long as I see that drop to under 120, but I doubt it. I ate too much, and didn't throw it all up, because I fail like that.
♥
PrettyWreck
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Fainting spells, boys, binging, purging
Two fingers down the throat.
Reached back. Felt that little flap of skin. Didn't bother with the purge pen--felt too impersonal. The gag reflex hit like a punch to the gut, before everything moved so easily out of me. Gentler than swallowing, the roil of the chest and stomach, the spilling of the contents, the sticky viscous fluid pouring over my fingers and arm. My teeth never clenched on my knuckles. My hand never left my throat.
Pet, pet, pet--good girl, give me a little more....
Like a reverse orgasm (as Flushed so put it), the loving, tender touches to the strangeness of my inner neck cavity bringing forth the desired results of sin and dirtiness in my gut.
200 calories purged.
Weigh myself.
.6 pounds lost.
Victory.
Off to work. Server job. Rushing back and forth. Hunger. More and more, heavier and heavier. Atrophex swallowed down pill after pill. I sneak half a roll, and a quarter of a brownie. Down a teaspoon full of salt. My hands shake. The pills kick in after nearly eight. Just like the song, Hunger soon passes, sickness soon rise. Legs bent stockinged, I am Twiggy, and I don't mind the horror that surrounds me so.... The food quits being a temptation. My hands stop shaking.
Rushing between tables.
Boy shows up. I see him, see his face. He waits, watches as I move through the dinner rush. His hand rests on my hipbone and the stress melts. When I drop something in a frantic rush of my first afternoon working, he drags me back into a side room and lifts me in a hug so quick I can do nothing but wrap my legs around his waist and let him cradle me against his body. It's perfect in every sense of the word. He smells like the subtle hint of desert dust, sweat, and his shampoo. I press my face into his neck and he kisses behind my ear. Calm down, he whispers against the shell of it. And I do.
Another hour passes. He slips subtle hugs and kisses. His lips are sweet and full. My heart thunders. He picks me up every chance he gets.
And when I faint, he catches me. Tells me to eat. Kneels down in front of me and makes me vow that I will have something as soon as I get home.
I don't want to.
But I do.
Because he reminds me that one of my friends died of this.
That he knows? That I told him? Speaks volumes.
I'm falling for you, he tells me after walking me to my car, picking me up, holding me. He carries me every chance he gets. Whispers, You're so tiny, constantly. Makes me feel safe. I never have to doubt around him.
So quick.
So frightening.
His arms are safety and everything I've been craving for, and I know distance must be kept. Like with food, the refrain makes the caving that much sweeter. I need to take things slowly, just to make sure this isn't ruined. That we don't rush in too quick and spoil this.
I'm terrified.
I'm happy.
I'm scared.
I feel more unsettled than I ever have in my life, but it's a sweet thing.
Toast. Real butter. A golden grahams cereal bar. Club soda.
The biggest meal of the day.
My stomach feels swollen. Disgusting.
I want to shove my fingers in my throat.
Even without it, I still feel the nausea, roiling. The stress that urges me to stay away from food. I can't eat with it this upset.
But his smile plays in my mind.
Damn it all.
But it's too cute for me to deny him this simple request.
Besides,
I'm not ready to die yet.
And if he hadn't caught me, my head was aiming for a very sharp corner, and because he's not here right now, I have to make sure I don't die before I can see that smile again.
Life is a strange thing, indeed.
Reached back. Felt that little flap of skin. Didn't bother with the purge pen--felt too impersonal. The gag reflex hit like a punch to the gut, before everything moved so easily out of me. Gentler than swallowing, the roil of the chest and stomach, the spilling of the contents, the sticky viscous fluid pouring over my fingers and arm. My teeth never clenched on my knuckles. My hand never left my throat.
Pet, pet, pet--good girl, give me a little more....
Like a reverse orgasm (as Flushed so put it), the loving, tender touches to the strangeness of my inner neck cavity bringing forth the desired results of sin and dirtiness in my gut.
200 calories purged.
Weigh myself.
.6 pounds lost.
Victory.
Off to work. Server job. Rushing back and forth. Hunger. More and more, heavier and heavier. Atrophex swallowed down pill after pill. I sneak half a roll, and a quarter of a brownie. Down a teaspoon full of salt. My hands shake. The pills kick in after nearly eight. Just like the song, Hunger soon passes, sickness soon rise. Legs bent stockinged, I am Twiggy, and I don't mind the horror that surrounds me so.... The food quits being a temptation. My hands stop shaking.
Rushing between tables.
Boy shows up. I see him, see his face. He waits, watches as I move through the dinner rush. His hand rests on my hipbone and the stress melts. When I drop something in a frantic rush of my first afternoon working, he drags me back into a side room and lifts me in a hug so quick I can do nothing but wrap my legs around his waist and let him cradle me against his body. It's perfect in every sense of the word. He smells like the subtle hint of desert dust, sweat, and his shampoo. I press my face into his neck and he kisses behind my ear. Calm down, he whispers against the shell of it. And I do.
Another hour passes. He slips subtle hugs and kisses. His lips are sweet and full. My heart thunders. He picks me up every chance he gets.
And when I faint, he catches me. Tells me to eat. Kneels down in front of me and makes me vow that I will have something as soon as I get home.
I don't want to.
But I do.
Because he reminds me that one of my friends died of this.
That he knows? That I told him? Speaks volumes.
I'm falling for you, he tells me after walking me to my car, picking me up, holding me. He carries me every chance he gets. Whispers, You're so tiny, constantly. Makes me feel safe. I never have to doubt around him.
So quick.
So frightening.
His arms are safety and everything I've been craving for, and I know distance must be kept. Like with food, the refrain makes the caving that much sweeter. I need to take things slowly, just to make sure this isn't ruined. That we don't rush in too quick and spoil this.
I'm terrified.
I'm happy.
I'm scared.
I feel more unsettled than I ever have in my life, but it's a sweet thing.
Toast. Real butter. A golden grahams cereal bar. Club soda.
The biggest meal of the day.
My stomach feels swollen. Disgusting.
I want to shove my fingers in my throat.
Even without it, I still feel the nausea, roiling. The stress that urges me to stay away from food. I can't eat with it this upset.
But his smile plays in my mind.
Damn it all.
But it's too cute for me to deny him this simple request.
Besides,
I'm not ready to die yet.
And if he hadn't caught me, my head was aiming for a very sharp corner, and because he's not here right now, I have to make sure I don't die before I can see that smile again.
Life is a strange thing, indeed.
Saturday, July 17, 2010
So, MacGuyver is currently less itchy than expected, though part of his eye peeks out through my shorts. It's a new addition to the ecclectic scars covering my legs from Self Injury, which most people are too nervous to ask questions about.
I made bank in tips today, considering how few tables I actually had. There were three of us, and keep in mind, the place is a small locals spot, so there's regulars, and the tips aren't always the best. And there's only like....14 tables, with three servers, and a slow arrival of people, since our area is hit pretty hard by the recession. I still made $37 from a 6 hour shift, and add that on the about $8.25/hour I make...? They take off $1/hour for tips (so I don't have to file separately for the tips I make) and an extra $10/paycheck that I have withheld...so....I figure in the past two days I've been working on my own, I've made about....$75/day? After adding in tips to the paycheck? Which averages out to about $11/hour. And apparently, when it's just me and one other server (meaning, when I'm not still on "training" mode), I'll be making MORE in tips...so...I'm pretty happy. We'll see how it goes when I actually get my paycheck.....
So, Boy, aka, R, and I are dating, I suppose? But on the same note, what I said about life and relationships and Katy Perry in an entry a while back, is basically that California Girls probably don't find themselves in the predicament I'm in.
H and T are a husband and wife. Young 30's. Rich. One is basically a physicist, the other an emergency veterinarian. She's....fucking perfect, and he has like...7% body fat.
He acts as her dominant...meaning they play bondage games, and she's the pet.
....they want me to join them.
And I...don't think I'd mind.
They're both geeks. He made her a Lego rose for their second date. They have a giant death star. She has TITS. Boys...well, the more I'm around R, while he's perfect, I realize that boys just don't INTEREST me that much, and I'd mostly be HERS. I'd be his, too, but he and I would be more of friends who had sexy times when she was involved, and I'm TOTALLY okay with this. They want me to visit them out East, and they're coming to visit me, and see how things go. And things feel really cool and right with them, and not just because I want someone to care about me.
They're obsessive over how I exercise, and making sure I do it, but also what I eat....and they yell at me when I eat bad foods. So I like that.
Point is, they have the boy, which I seem to want some times...and they have TITS.
So I'm at a cross roads. On one side, an emotionally fulfilling heterosexual relationship with the male version of me.
On the other side, a polyamorous couple who can take me away from my home town, give me mind blowing sex, and who things might not work out with in the long run, but I'll still be able to motorboat myself into oblivion with a girl who puts as much stock as I do in the importance of a well rounded education involving Star Wars VS Star Trek.
And they're INCREDIBLY smart.
I don't know.
This shit always happens.
Point is, life is a strange beast.
I'm at 121.6 or something. .8? I forget. Point is, I only gained 1.4 pounds from my binge yesterday, which makes me very happy. I thoroughly expected to gain more, considering how much I ate. Which puts me at a 5 pound loss since last Monday. I'm back to eating nothing, living on Atrophex, Adderall, and diet soda. I feel very sick, have burned almost 2000 calories and it's only 4:48pm, and I'm very pleased with that. I'm going to be burning a lot at this server job, and I work an even longer, busier schedule tomorrow, working the swing shift there. While it's hard, being on my feet that long is very fulfilling, and it seriously has been starting to shape up my legs.
My waist went from 26.5 inches on Monday, to 25.5 inches yesterday morning.
The only down side is being around all that food, all the time, makes me seriously fiend. And I wind up pulling the complete antithesis to my trainer job, and urging people to get the most fattening, terrible foods, just so I can smell it, see it, stare at it, and watch them eat it. It's like...directing porn. Like telling someone, "Now touch them there...lick them here...." and being able to tell them just how to do it, how to taste it, but never being able to touch or taste for yourself. It makes my stomach knot, and I find myself watching almost rapt as they eat, and disguising it constant vigilance. I'm always at the table the moment their soda runs out to replace it, always there to clear their plates, recommending the best desserts, judging their faces to find what the best tasting foods are and making the best recommendations. Not because I know first hand how the burger is the juiciest in town, or how the brownie a la mode melts in your mouth, but because I watch the flutter of lashes of other customers. Hear their quiet murmurs as their overly large, inflated jaws open to emit the fat filled grease, adding to the heavy weight holding down arms and stomach, making their moans of pleasure reverberate like they live inside of an ampitheater.
Horrifying. Addicting.
I watch with both disgust and jealousy.
Constantly hungry.
Constantly smiling.
Like a ravenous shark.
Twitching.
Jaws wired shut.
Every time I want to give in and wrap my mouth around a french fry or biscuits and gravy, I slip another diet pill into my mouth and down enough diet pepsi to make me feel sick.
The overload of Atrophex soon makes my stomach churn, and the smell of the food becomes a sating factor in and of itself.
Like exercising while looking at pizza. Equating the refrain to the loss of calories. I find myself content with only staring, not with tasting. The less I have, the less I want to consume, and just to smell. To watch.
I get the guilty pleasure of vicariously living through their tastebuds, while watching my own self melt away.
Feeling naught an ounce of withdrawal, nor an ounce of rage from staying away.
I am so inundated with these foods that how can I ever claim to be deprived?
Not a morsel passes my lips, yet I am satisfied.
I shrink.
They grow.
I get the pleasure of smelling, touching, handling, watching, serving.
They simply get to eat.
And then regret.
I know the food longer.
I know it intimately. From the moment it is delivered, I am watching, seeing as it takes shape, watching as it is formed into the concotions that become such addictions.
It's almost nurturing it. Handing it off to another. It is in my possession, under my calm and steady touch, much longer than it is on their plate or in their stomachs. I get the pleasure of making, smelling, preparing, serving....they get only their distended bellies and growing waistlines.
Perhaps that is a wicked way to approach it.
But it appears to be working.
My mouth may water from time to time. I may steal the heel of a slice of bread with butter, enjoying it with more pleasure than they do the whole of their steak and eggs and four slices of toast. But I am still losing. I am still smelling. I am still touching.
And I am stronger for it.
I am a mean and evil person from time to time.
But the hunger makes me feel more powerful than a Roman Emperor.
The dizziness more potent than Napoleon at his peak.
This is a war I fight. A war on hunger, a war on my body, a war on everything.
I am hunger's supplicant. Ana's Neophite.
And I will be strong. I will be as healthy as possible, but I will still refrain, and I will succeed.
Stay Strong, lovelies.
♥
PrettyWreck
I made bank in tips today, considering how few tables I actually had. There were three of us, and keep in mind, the place is a small locals spot, so there's regulars, and the tips aren't always the best. And there's only like....14 tables, with three servers, and a slow arrival of people, since our area is hit pretty hard by the recession. I still made $37 from a 6 hour shift, and add that on the about $8.25/hour I make...? They take off $1/hour for tips (so I don't have to file separately for the tips I make) and an extra $10/paycheck that I have withheld...so....I figure in the past two days I've been working on my own, I've made about....$75/day? After adding in tips to the paycheck? Which averages out to about $11/hour. And apparently, when it's just me and one other server (meaning, when I'm not still on "training" mode), I'll be making MORE in tips...so...I'm pretty happy. We'll see how it goes when I actually get my paycheck.....
So, Boy, aka, R, and I are dating, I suppose? But on the same note, what I said about life and relationships and Katy Perry in an entry a while back, is basically that California Girls probably don't find themselves in the predicament I'm in.
H and T are a husband and wife. Young 30's. Rich. One is basically a physicist, the other an emergency veterinarian. She's....fucking perfect, and he has like...7% body fat.
He acts as her dominant...meaning they play bondage games, and she's the pet.
....they want me to join them.
And I...don't think I'd mind.
They're both geeks. He made her a Lego rose for their second date. They have a giant death star. She has TITS. Boys...well, the more I'm around R, while he's perfect, I realize that boys just don't INTEREST me that much, and I'd mostly be HERS. I'd be his, too, but he and I would be more of friends who had sexy times when she was involved, and I'm TOTALLY okay with this. They want me to visit them out East, and they're coming to visit me, and see how things go. And things feel really cool and right with them, and not just because I want someone to care about me.
They're obsessive over how I exercise, and making sure I do it, but also what I eat....and they yell at me when I eat bad foods. So I like that.
Point is, they have the boy, which I seem to want some times...and they have TITS.
So I'm at a cross roads. On one side, an emotionally fulfilling heterosexual relationship with the male version of me.
On the other side, a polyamorous couple who can take me away from my home town, give me mind blowing sex, and who things might not work out with in the long run, but I'll still be able to motorboat myself into oblivion with a girl who puts as much stock as I do in the importance of a well rounded education involving Star Wars VS Star Trek.
And they're INCREDIBLY smart.
I don't know.
This shit always happens.
Point is, life is a strange beast.
I'm at 121.6 or something. .8? I forget. Point is, I only gained 1.4 pounds from my binge yesterday, which makes me very happy. I thoroughly expected to gain more, considering how much I ate. Which puts me at a 5 pound loss since last Monday. I'm back to eating nothing, living on Atrophex, Adderall, and diet soda. I feel very sick, have burned almost 2000 calories and it's only 4:48pm, and I'm very pleased with that. I'm going to be burning a lot at this server job, and I work an even longer, busier schedule tomorrow, working the swing shift there. While it's hard, being on my feet that long is very fulfilling, and it seriously has been starting to shape up my legs.
My waist went from 26.5 inches on Monday, to 25.5 inches yesterday morning.
The only down side is being around all that food, all the time, makes me seriously fiend. And I wind up pulling the complete antithesis to my trainer job, and urging people to get the most fattening, terrible foods, just so I can smell it, see it, stare at it, and watch them eat it. It's like...directing porn. Like telling someone, "Now touch them there...lick them here...." and being able to tell them just how to do it, how to taste it, but never being able to touch or taste for yourself. It makes my stomach knot, and I find myself watching almost rapt as they eat, and disguising it constant vigilance. I'm always at the table the moment their soda runs out to replace it, always there to clear their plates, recommending the best desserts, judging their faces to find what the best tasting foods are and making the best recommendations. Not because I know first hand how the burger is the juiciest in town, or how the brownie a la mode melts in your mouth, but because I watch the flutter of lashes of other customers. Hear their quiet murmurs as their overly large, inflated jaws open to emit the fat filled grease, adding to the heavy weight holding down arms and stomach, making their moans of pleasure reverberate like they live inside of an ampitheater.
Horrifying. Addicting.
I watch with both disgust and jealousy.
Constantly hungry.
Constantly smiling.
Like a ravenous shark.
Twitching.
Jaws wired shut.
Every time I want to give in and wrap my mouth around a french fry or biscuits and gravy, I slip another diet pill into my mouth and down enough diet pepsi to make me feel sick.
The overload of Atrophex soon makes my stomach churn, and the smell of the food becomes a sating factor in and of itself.
Like exercising while looking at pizza. Equating the refrain to the loss of calories. I find myself content with only staring, not with tasting. The less I have, the less I want to consume, and just to smell. To watch.
I get the guilty pleasure of vicariously living through their tastebuds, while watching my own self melt away.
Feeling naught an ounce of withdrawal, nor an ounce of rage from staying away.
I am so inundated with these foods that how can I ever claim to be deprived?
Not a morsel passes my lips, yet I am satisfied.
I shrink.
They grow.
I get the pleasure of smelling, touching, handling, watching, serving.
They simply get to eat.
And then regret.
I know the food longer.
I know it intimately. From the moment it is delivered, I am watching, seeing as it takes shape, watching as it is formed into the concotions that become such addictions.
It's almost nurturing it. Handing it off to another. It is in my possession, under my calm and steady touch, much longer than it is on their plate or in their stomachs. I get the pleasure of making, smelling, preparing, serving....they get only their distended bellies and growing waistlines.
Perhaps that is a wicked way to approach it.
But it appears to be working.
My mouth may water from time to time. I may steal the heel of a slice of bread with butter, enjoying it with more pleasure than they do the whole of their steak and eggs and four slices of toast. But I am still losing. I am still smelling. I am still touching.
And I am stronger for it.
I am a mean and evil person from time to time.
But the hunger makes me feel more powerful than a Roman Emperor.
The dizziness more potent than Napoleon at his peak.
This is a war I fight. A war on hunger, a war on my body, a war on everything.
I am hunger's supplicant. Ana's Neophite.
And I will be strong. I will be as healthy as possible, but I will still refrain, and I will succeed.
Stay Strong, lovelies.
♥
PrettyWreck
Friday, July 16, 2010
My Self-Injury is named MacGuyver
Not even kidding. See the giant smiley face I carved into my leg this morning? His name is MacGuyver. He likes long walks on the beach, and when his maker doesn't eat. For noms are evil, and the body is best left purified and starved.
homnomnom. HI MACGUYVER!
Yes. I totally named my SI. I'm ridic like that. Totally need a new hobby, NOT GONNA LIE.
So I'm getting kicked out of my house. Boy has declared I'm the most perfect thing to walk this earth and I've found out that I am terribly not happy with anything. I've barely been doing anything but working, my computer has died, I have no life outside of my place of employment, I feel immensly dirty in the realm of sexual relations, and I am officially going to be attending Catholic classes come September for potential conversion.
I also handed my suicide pack to a Deacon today and went, "Ok, you can have this now, because I'm about to use it". I only went to the church for two reasons, and they rather contradicted each other. The first one was that I wanted a place to make me feel not alone, so I wouldn't be so tempted to omnomnom on some sleep aids. The second...was to be in a place where it would be quiet and peaceful enough so I wouldn't feel so alone when I did omnomnom on those sleep aids.
omnomnom.
I feel better now. Obviously, I didn't eat them. But I did eat a KFC Sammich and fries. Most of both. I've lost 6 pounds since Monday, in the ultimate "I fucking hate my life/food/YAAAAY ANXIETY!" fast EVER. Today is the first day I've tried to get anything in, and I did it after the church, after talking to the Deacon, because I think I just wanted to stop being dizzy. I've collapsed like, twice. It's been awesome.
I still can't stand the thought of food, and I'm afraid I"m going to start craving it again. I keep hearing that I'm so skinny. The Deacon said he couldn't believe that something would exist to make a girl as beautiful as me want to end it. Boy says I'm the most perfect thing to ever exist. G, the one who was all muscled that I lusted like a loony after at the gym wrapped his hands around my waist and went, "....FUCK you're getting so tiny. You're starting to get too tiny...." and my boss C, at the gym (aka, Harry Potter) who only likes anorexics, was like, "We should have sex," which ended with, "....and then there were trannies", and it was an interesting story. I mean, we didn't have sex. And there were no trannies, but the conversation line went from us potentially sexing to there being trannies and a porcupine.
Oddly, I think he's as fucked up as I am. It makes me feel nice to know I'm not alone in my silent misery.
I feel disgusting. ANd now exhausted. Truly tired for the first time since Monday, when I stopped eating. I don't have anywhere to be. I took the night off of work. I've done my gym job. NOw I have laundry, and I don't know what else. My computer is broken, so I'm on my parents, and I won't have access to it for long since I'm...you know...getting kicked out and all.
Fantastic times.
Woot woot.
I feel so gross for eating.
I'm going to go pop more diet pills and aderall, and maybe purge or something.
Then I'm going to sit here and feel EMO or BE LIKE "STABBY STAB STAB CONCERT" and "CUT MY WRISTS AND SLASH MY THROAT, I MUST BE EMO!" all song like.
HOORAH.
......the end.
homnomnom. HI MACGUYVER!
Yes. I totally named my SI. I'm ridic like that. Totally need a new hobby, NOT GONNA LIE.
So I'm getting kicked out of my house. Boy has declared I'm the most perfect thing to walk this earth and I've found out that I am terribly not happy with anything. I've barely been doing anything but working, my computer has died, I have no life outside of my place of employment, I feel immensly dirty in the realm of sexual relations, and I am officially going to be attending Catholic classes come September for potential conversion.
I also handed my suicide pack to a Deacon today and went, "Ok, you can have this now, because I'm about to use it". I only went to the church for two reasons, and they rather contradicted each other. The first one was that I wanted a place to make me feel not alone, so I wouldn't be so tempted to omnomnom on some sleep aids. The second...was to be in a place where it would be quiet and peaceful enough so I wouldn't feel so alone when I did omnomnom on those sleep aids.
omnomnom.
I feel better now. Obviously, I didn't eat them. But I did eat a KFC Sammich and fries. Most of both. I've lost 6 pounds since Monday, in the ultimate "I fucking hate my life/food/YAAAAY ANXIETY!" fast EVER. Today is the first day I've tried to get anything in, and I did it after the church, after talking to the Deacon, because I think I just wanted to stop being dizzy. I've collapsed like, twice. It's been awesome.
I still can't stand the thought of food, and I'm afraid I"m going to start craving it again. I keep hearing that I'm so skinny. The Deacon said he couldn't believe that something would exist to make a girl as beautiful as me want to end it. Boy says I'm the most perfect thing to ever exist. G, the one who was all muscled that I lusted like a loony after at the gym wrapped his hands around my waist and went, "....FUCK you're getting so tiny. You're starting to get too tiny...." and my boss C, at the gym (aka, Harry Potter) who only likes anorexics, was like, "We should have sex," which ended with, "....and then there were trannies", and it was an interesting story. I mean, we didn't have sex. And there were no trannies, but the conversation line went from us potentially sexing to there being trannies and a porcupine.
Oddly, I think he's as fucked up as I am. It makes me feel nice to know I'm not alone in my silent misery.
I feel disgusting. ANd now exhausted. Truly tired for the first time since Monday, when I stopped eating. I don't have anywhere to be. I took the night off of work. I've done my gym job. NOw I have laundry, and I don't know what else. My computer is broken, so I'm on my parents, and I won't have access to it for long since I'm...you know...getting kicked out and all.
Fantastic times.
Woot woot.
I feel so gross for eating.
I'm going to go pop more diet pills and aderall, and maybe purge or something.
Then I'm going to sit here and feel EMO or BE LIKE "STABBY STAB STAB CONCERT" and "CUT MY WRISTS AND SLASH MY THROAT, I MUST BE EMO!" all song like.
HOORAH.
......the end.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
What is this boyfriend thing you speak of?
Dear Life:
AOWIEJFAOIWEJFOAVIOHEWOIWARLKEWGHNAWFOIAWEFOIJOIWAOHWAEFJOIWEAF *KEYBOARD SMASH*
♥
PrettyWreck
So, new serving job is hella fun. And I had two clients today, and I think I might have more if I work at it. I'm currently working three jobs, and I'm so high strung, that I'm actually getting the violent shakes. It's seriously fucking nuts.
Could also be the lack of food?
WHO KNOWS!
You'd think my lack wouldn't be so BIG, because of all the shit I shovel into my gob, yet still reaching up to something like, 1400 calories yesterday, I woke up and was at 124.4 this morning, from 126.6. I hate number patterns, and for me to have lost 2.2 pounds so much? Is starting to make me want to drop kick my scale, or myself.
But they're comforting. But NOT. THEY ARE IRRITATING when they come to my weight.
I don't know. They make me happy to see them, because I sort of attach and wonderful symbolism to them, but then I get so anxious about them sometimes, that I get ridiculously panicky over it.
Anyway, the reason why life is confusing.
Life is confusing because Katie Perry can suck my cock. California girls got nothin on the girls where I'm from. Why do I say that?
I currently have a choice.
I've met the most amazing guy.
He's....everything I think I've been whining about not finding. I can be so ME around him. We work together at my server job, and we met up today for lunch, and he didn't even bat an eye when I just got a diet pepsi and no food. We had an intense discussion as to whether Chuck Norris or Abe Lincoln would win in a fight to the death (and of course, the answer is Lincoln--he has a better beard, and that is the key to their strength), how much studying I would need to become an undead elimination specialist versus just your run of the mill zombie hunter, and then his friend joined us and I discovered they have the habit of breaking out into random ninja fights with swords, and his friends jaw hit the table when I announced that I must be present to participate in the next.
The gym has a different type of folk, and I love them, but I think being around this boy (let's call him R, and his friend, M), has made me realize that...holy shit...you know how long it's been since I've been just me?
Like...just me. Just me, in all my chilled, fucked up, awkward glory. Just...sitting back, making your mom jokes, poking fun at people, making references to old Star Trek episodes and Trogdor, and knowing other people who find tag or sword fights to be as fulfilling of spending a Saturday night as I do.
And...I think he and I might be dating. Or very close to it. Shit just...happened quick. I met him on my first day working as a server (he works security at the place), and next thing I know....we're texting back and forth. YESTERDAY was my first day. And suddenly today?
We meet for lunch...he doesn't question when I only order a diet pepsi. We talk. Laugh. Just...chill.
And he messages me with the cutest things. "Your smile is cute as a button, but its your laugh that I really love".
My laugh is so geeky.
So is his.
His nose wrinkles. His eyes go wide, then scrunch up.
He's adorable.
He makes me smile when I start to hate me.
He brings out a playful side to me. The side that wants to play videogames and make bad jokes and smoke hookah and watch terribly awkward anime and cartoons and have a best friend and a relationship and just be...if not normal...then happy.
He makes me want to be happy.
Two days, and it's weird, but I just...feel like my whole world has shifted in that time.
Like...he scares me.
Absolutely terrifies me.
Because I just...I don't even want him to know about my past. About the cult, or what she did to me, or what happened when I was a kid.
I don't want him to know there's anything damaged there.
I don't want him to see how ruined I am.
I want him to like me.
He does pot. But he says I'd be his perfect reason to quit. He says he only smokes occassionally. He'd be willing to sit through a Firefly marathon with me.
He knows Invader Zim like I do.
He makes Your Mom jokes.
But yeah.
And there was more. More relationship nonsense, another option I have, but...I think R and I might...I don't know.
I think this could be good? Healthy? Special?
Terrifying?
I'm like a kicked dog. An abused one.
I like people like G, generally. Who are drug addicts, partying too hard using women and tossing them aside. I've been flirting with people and looking for someone and none of it works, and I think it's because I keep going for people who I know it won't work with. And he just...literally came outta nowhere, and I'm so very confused.
I feel so fat today, too. And it's strange. I'm so scared of him, and of this...and I keep hating myself the more we talk, but I don't stop talking to him?
Odd.
I'm very hungry.
My body fat is down to 23.5%. But I'm still very gross.
I keep hearing I'm thin.
That I'm pretty.
That I'm something special.
I'm not.
I never have been.
I never will be.
It makes me sad sometimes.
Me and my unspecial, fat tummy.
I feel like he'd accept me. If he knew. All of it. That he'd be okay with it.
And that's the reason I think I need to hide it from him most.
So silly of PrettyWreck.
Why couldn't this be easy and I fall for a girl with big boobies? Vaginas are so much less scary and they are so familiar to me. Girl relationships.
Of course, I did. But...K is now engaged.
And....oddly....thinking about R? I'm okay with his lack of tits.
Maybe that'll change.
If any of you have read me, you all know how fickle I am.
Man, woman, whatever.
Bah.
Done now.
I keep getting distracted.
Sorry if this entry sucks.
♥
AOWIEJFAOIWEJFOAVIOHEWOIWARLKEWGHNAWFOIAWEFOIJOIWAOHWAEFJOIWEAF *KEYBOARD SMASH*
♥
PrettyWreck
So, new serving job is hella fun. And I had two clients today, and I think I might have more if I work at it. I'm currently working three jobs, and I'm so high strung, that I'm actually getting the violent shakes. It's seriously fucking nuts.
Could also be the lack of food?
WHO KNOWS!
You'd think my lack wouldn't be so BIG, because of all the shit I shovel into my gob, yet still reaching up to something like, 1400 calories yesterday, I woke up and was at 124.4 this morning, from 126.6. I hate number patterns, and for me to have lost 2.2 pounds so much? Is starting to make me want to drop kick my scale, or myself.
But they're comforting. But NOT. THEY ARE IRRITATING when they come to my weight.
I don't know. They make me happy to see them, because I sort of attach and wonderful symbolism to them, but then I get so anxious about them sometimes, that I get ridiculously panicky over it.
Anyway, the reason why life is confusing.
Life is confusing because Katie Perry can suck my cock. California girls got nothin on the girls where I'm from. Why do I say that?
I currently have a choice.
I've met the most amazing guy.
He's....everything I think I've been whining about not finding. I can be so ME around him. We work together at my server job, and we met up today for lunch, and he didn't even bat an eye when I just got a diet pepsi and no food. We had an intense discussion as to whether Chuck Norris or Abe Lincoln would win in a fight to the death (and of course, the answer is Lincoln--he has a better beard, and that is the key to their strength), how much studying I would need to become an undead elimination specialist versus just your run of the mill zombie hunter, and then his friend joined us and I discovered they have the habit of breaking out into random ninja fights with swords, and his friends jaw hit the table when I announced that I must be present to participate in the next.
The gym has a different type of folk, and I love them, but I think being around this boy (let's call him R, and his friend, M), has made me realize that...holy shit...you know how long it's been since I've been just me?
Like...just me. Just me, in all my chilled, fucked up, awkward glory. Just...sitting back, making your mom jokes, poking fun at people, making references to old Star Trek episodes and Trogdor, and knowing other people who find tag or sword fights to be as fulfilling of spending a Saturday night as I do.
And...I think he and I might be dating. Or very close to it. Shit just...happened quick. I met him on my first day working as a server (he works security at the place), and next thing I know....we're texting back and forth. YESTERDAY was my first day. And suddenly today?
We meet for lunch...he doesn't question when I only order a diet pepsi. We talk. Laugh. Just...chill.
And he messages me with the cutest things. "Your smile is cute as a button, but its your laugh that I really love".
My laugh is so geeky.
So is his.
His nose wrinkles. His eyes go wide, then scrunch up.
He's adorable.
He makes me smile when I start to hate me.
He brings out a playful side to me. The side that wants to play videogames and make bad jokes and smoke hookah and watch terribly awkward anime and cartoons and have a best friend and a relationship and just be...if not normal...then happy.
He makes me want to be happy.
Two days, and it's weird, but I just...feel like my whole world has shifted in that time.
Like...he scares me.
Absolutely terrifies me.
Because I just...I don't even want him to know about my past. About the cult, or what she did to me, or what happened when I was a kid.
I don't want him to know there's anything damaged there.
I don't want him to see how ruined I am.
I want him to like me.
He does pot. But he says I'd be his perfect reason to quit. He says he only smokes occassionally. He'd be willing to sit through a Firefly marathon with me.
He knows Invader Zim like I do.
He makes Your Mom jokes.
But yeah.
And there was more. More relationship nonsense, another option I have, but...I think R and I might...I don't know.
I think this could be good? Healthy? Special?
Terrifying?
I'm like a kicked dog. An abused one.
I like people like G, generally. Who are drug addicts, partying too hard using women and tossing them aside. I've been flirting with people and looking for someone and none of it works, and I think it's because I keep going for people who I know it won't work with. And he just...literally came outta nowhere, and I'm so very confused.
I feel so fat today, too. And it's strange. I'm so scared of him, and of this...and I keep hating myself the more we talk, but I don't stop talking to him?
Odd.
I'm very hungry.
My body fat is down to 23.5%. But I'm still very gross.
I keep hearing I'm thin.
That I'm pretty.
That I'm something special.
I'm not.
I never have been.
I never will be.
It makes me sad sometimes.
Me and my unspecial, fat tummy.
I feel like he'd accept me. If he knew. All of it. That he'd be okay with it.
And that's the reason I think I need to hide it from him most.
So silly of PrettyWreck.
Why couldn't this be easy and I fall for a girl with big boobies? Vaginas are so much less scary and they are so familiar to me. Girl relationships.
Of course, I did. But...K is now engaged.
And....oddly....thinking about R? I'm okay with his lack of tits.
Maybe that'll change.
If any of you have read me, you all know how fickle I am.
Man, woman, whatever.
Bah.
Done now.
I keep getting distracted.
Sorry if this entry sucks.
♥
Monday, July 12, 2010
OMNOMNOM DELICIOUS CALORIE BURN
Ow.
So, this weekend? Shot to hell in a handbasket. Flushed was close by, and I wound up landed on my ass the whole fucking weekend. I don't even remember most of yesterday, except for being at the gym, and suddenly starting to slur my words with a client. I drove him home, got in the house, and then the next thing I remember is waking up on the couch shaking. Got food, I think...don't remember so much what I ate, but I know I drove and got it. Took more meds than one person should be able to handle, and I passed out at some point, but I don't know when.
Today I woke up with still a lingering migraine, angry because I haven't had one that bad since I was fat (which leads me to believe that it's not just in my head that I'm gaining weight), at 5am, and had to bust ass out to my new job.
I'm now a waitress.
Yes.
I'm around food.
All day.
I was so hungry by mid morning. I woofed down some crackers. And then a piece of carrot cake and some taco salad. I felt so weak while I was standing there, inhaling this food. I ate only maybe 1/3 of the taco salad, or maybe a full half, and then the full piece of carrot cake. ON a good note, I"ve gotten 1564 calories burned, and it's only 3pm. And today was a slow day.
My knee hurts.
But it's okay.
And last night, I don't know when it happened, but I think I dislocated my shoulder. I can pop one of them out of socket, like I can with my hips, and I do it sometimes when shit hurts too much to relieve the pain. It's not a full dislocation, but I can pretty much twist it in ways it shouldn't, and I fell asleep with it that way at one point, because my arm is hurting in a very strange way. I'm not double jointed out of birth, I'm double jointed out of damned necessity.
I'm also really tired.
Turned in my two weeks at my security job.
Currently wearing a petite size 4 pants. At New York and Company on Friday, I was fitting into a size 2 average, size 4 petites. Size XS average, size SM petite. My new shirts are all XS. I was getting pissed off. Because I'm not a size two.
I'm still at 126.
My waist is still 26 inches.
My body fat is only 23.5.
The pant sizes lie to me.
I'm so freaking HUGENORMOUS.
HUGENORMOUS.
Omnomnom.
Watch the amazing PrettyWreck DEVOUR DOWNTOWN DETROIT (I don't live there, but I hear their skyscrapers are DELICIOUS)!
WILL ANA TAME HER?
FIND OUT IN OUR NEXT INSTALLMENT OF....
BLOG OF PRETTYWRECK:
CURSE OF THE NOMMONSTER!
So, this weekend? Shot to hell in a handbasket. Flushed was close by, and I wound up landed on my ass the whole fucking weekend. I don't even remember most of yesterday, except for being at the gym, and suddenly starting to slur my words with a client. I drove him home, got in the house, and then the next thing I remember is waking up on the couch shaking. Got food, I think...don't remember so much what I ate, but I know I drove and got it. Took more meds than one person should be able to handle, and I passed out at some point, but I don't know when.
Today I woke up with still a lingering migraine, angry because I haven't had one that bad since I was fat (which leads me to believe that it's not just in my head that I'm gaining weight), at 5am, and had to bust ass out to my new job.
I'm now a waitress.
Yes.
I'm around food.
All day.
I was so hungry by mid morning. I woofed down some crackers. And then a piece of carrot cake and some taco salad. I felt so weak while I was standing there, inhaling this food. I ate only maybe 1/3 of the taco salad, or maybe a full half, and then the full piece of carrot cake. ON a good note, I"ve gotten 1564 calories burned, and it's only 3pm. And today was a slow day.
My knee hurts.
But it's okay.
And last night, I don't know when it happened, but I think I dislocated my shoulder. I can pop one of them out of socket, like I can with my hips, and I do it sometimes when shit hurts too much to relieve the pain. It's not a full dislocation, but I can pretty much twist it in ways it shouldn't, and I fell asleep with it that way at one point, because my arm is hurting in a very strange way. I'm not double jointed out of birth, I'm double jointed out of damned necessity.
I'm also really tired.
Turned in my two weeks at my security job.
Currently wearing a petite size 4 pants. At New York and Company on Friday, I was fitting into a size 2 average, size 4 petites. Size XS average, size SM petite. My new shirts are all XS. I was getting pissed off. Because I'm not a size two.
I'm still at 126.
My waist is still 26 inches.
My body fat is only 23.5.
The pant sizes lie to me.
I'm so freaking HUGENORMOUS.
HUGENORMOUS.
Omnomnom.
Watch the amazing PrettyWreck DEVOUR DOWNTOWN DETROIT (I don't live there, but I hear their skyscrapers are DELICIOUS)!
WILL ANA TAME HER?
FIND OUT IN OUR NEXT INSTALLMENT OF....
BLOG OF PRETTYWRECK:
CURSE OF THE NOMMONSTER!
Monday, July 5, 2010
I starve.... a poemy, by me!
Hunger. Overwhelming and
tragic.
Alone.
Quiet subliminal messages for temptation
and reminders of
why I must strip this body
down to skin and bone.
Finger nails bitten,
callouses picked,
cuticles bloody,
hands swollen and trembling,
insides in knots--
--the physical symptoms of the shock
of this internal war I have.
This slow and steady scrub brush taken
to my soul
in hopes of getting
clean.
Purification.
Every morsel another scar on my soul.
Every calorie another smear of mud on my mind.
Every ounce of fat
another outward symbol of my sin.
I starve to be as frail as I feel
somewhere within.
I starve to be as delicate,
as damaged,
on the outside,
as my heart both symbolically and literally is.
I deprive myself in hopes of one day
turning to ashes and dust at a gust of wind--
--of floating away like fake snowflakes in a summer breeze.
Of crumbling under the pressure
from both outside and in.
I starve because the weight of the world on my shoulders
is heavy enough
without the weight of the fat in me.
Because maybe when I'm tiny enough,
when all the padding and muffling flesh
has faded,
people will hear the sound of my screams.
Because I'm praying someone will see me shattering,
and breathe a touch of life back into me.
I starve in hopes of finding salvation
Of one day...
Of one day making myself clean.
~~~~
Aaaand another bad poem, by me.
The end.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
HORSES, CARWASHES, DOIN YOUR MOM
I RODE BAREBACK.
Your mom, not the horse.
AAAAHAHAHAHAHA, no, actually, it was the horse.
(Not that you can tell really. They both have similar faces and weights. OBURN.)
But in all seriousness, I went and rode a horse for the FIRST TIME today. I mean, I rode once before, on a trail, but today was my first real ride. A client decided it was a sin that I had never done it, so she took me, her three kids, and her baby sitter out to the stables her Dad keeps their horse at, and we went riding. I almost didn't go, because we had to do a carwash at the gym for a charity drive, and while it was a pretty nice day (didn't go over 104 the whole time, which, yes, is absolutely AMAZING for where I live), after four hours, we were all fucking WHOOPED. But I went, and it was freaking...just....perfect. I can't even describe it.
My first time, and I wound up getting him into a full run, while controlled. Some people were shooting off fireworks early, and I had him doing laps to keep him from breaking into a full panic, because he seemed to get real tetchy, and I know when I get tetchy and anxious, I have to move, and with direction, or else i go insane. So I just figured he'd probably be like me, since he's considerably young (only 6), and high energy. When the fireworks started going off, I had him walk around in different directions, talking calmly to him, and then nudged him into a full gallop, and we were doing circles and zig zags. When we finished, the owner of the horse looked like he was panicked, and demanded if I was okay. I told him, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" All confused. But apparently...they thought the horse had taken off, and were surprised that I a) wasn't screaming and panicked and b) actually was in control of the whole thing, or that c) I was the one that had instigated the run to begin with.
Apparently, for a newbie at the horse thing, I was pretty damned amazing. Not to brag. But I am awesome. Though I think I somehow persuaded him with my tits. Because the horse nipped at everyone, but kept trying to just lick my boobs.
What can I say? They're delicious.
That was so much fun. You guys have no idea. I was invited to go back whenever I wanted, and I am seriously taking them up on the offer. It felt so FREE.
And on a great note, it burned a LOT of calories. I've officially burned 2464kcal for July 3, 2010. My start weight of the day was 123.8, which is amazing, considering I've been stuck at 126 for EVER.
I'm back into my food panic mode.
Which...is terrible and wonderful all at once.
ANA IS BACK IN MY HEAD YOUGUYS.
Is it sick that restriction and my ED feel like coming home?
HOORAH.
Anyway, me and my horse-drawing sugar tits of joy, are going to go nom on some ice and curl up in bed.
I guess I'm supposed to be hurting from the work out that is horseback riding? And every one of my horseback riding friends are making wagers on just how sore I'll be in the morning?
Honestly, I don't feel a damned thing.
I even got to ride him bareback when we were putting him up, which required a lot of leg action, but...I'm an endurance athlete? So...I dunno!
I guess I'll figure out in the morning!
Also, for those of you that don't know? Go watch Ray William Johnson on youtube. I've been on a kick. Which is why I'm obsessed with the song, "Doin' your mom, doin' doin' doin' your mom, I'm doin your mom!"
Your mom, not the horse.
AAAAHAHAHAHAHA, no, actually, it was the horse.
(Not that you can tell really. They both have similar faces and weights. OBURN.)
But in all seriousness, I went and rode a horse for the FIRST TIME today. I mean, I rode once before, on a trail, but today was my first real ride. A client decided it was a sin that I had never done it, so she took me, her three kids, and her baby sitter out to the stables her Dad keeps their horse at, and we went riding. I almost didn't go, because we had to do a carwash at the gym for a charity drive, and while it was a pretty nice day (didn't go over 104 the whole time, which, yes, is absolutely AMAZING for where I live), after four hours, we were all fucking WHOOPED. But I went, and it was freaking...just....perfect. I can't even describe it.
My first time, and I wound up getting him into a full run, while controlled. Some people were shooting off fireworks early, and I had him doing laps to keep him from breaking into a full panic, because he seemed to get real tetchy, and I know when I get tetchy and anxious, I have to move, and with direction, or else i go insane. So I just figured he'd probably be like me, since he's considerably young (only 6), and high energy. When the fireworks started going off, I had him walk around in different directions, talking calmly to him, and then nudged him into a full gallop, and we were doing circles and zig zags. When we finished, the owner of the horse looked like he was panicked, and demanded if I was okay. I told him, "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?" All confused. But apparently...they thought the horse had taken off, and were surprised that I a) wasn't screaming and panicked and b) actually was in control of the whole thing, or that c) I was the one that had instigated the run to begin with.
Apparently, for a newbie at the horse thing, I was pretty damned amazing. Not to brag. But I am awesome. Though I think I somehow persuaded him with my tits. Because the horse nipped at everyone, but kept trying to just lick my boobs.
What can I say? They're delicious.
That was so much fun. You guys have no idea. I was invited to go back whenever I wanted, and I am seriously taking them up on the offer. It felt so FREE.
And on a great note, it burned a LOT of calories. I've officially burned 2464kcal for July 3, 2010. My start weight of the day was 123.8, which is amazing, considering I've been stuck at 126 for EVER.
I'm back into my food panic mode.
Which...is terrible and wonderful all at once.
ANA IS BACK IN MY HEAD YOUGUYS.
Is it sick that restriction and my ED feel like coming home?
HOORAH.
Anyway, me and my horse-drawing sugar tits of joy, are going to go nom on some ice and curl up in bed.
I guess I'm supposed to be hurting from the work out that is horseback riding? And every one of my horseback riding friends are making wagers on just how sore I'll be in the morning?
Honestly, I don't feel a damned thing.
I even got to ride him bareback when we were putting him up, which required a lot of leg action, but...I'm an endurance athlete? So...I dunno!
I guess I'll figure out in the morning!
Also, for those of you that don't know? Go watch Ray William Johnson on youtube. I've been on a kick. Which is why I'm obsessed with the song, "Doin' your mom, doin' doin' doin' your mom, I'm doin your mom!"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)