So mid-terms are this week, and I'll I really have time to say is:
I'm stressed.
I'm a fat cow.
Oh, and I found out that my new roomate has bulimia. So convenient, having someone puking after bingeing when I'm struggling to make it throught the week. I've never had mia (don't get me wrong, I've tried...some of us just don't have the mental strength to go through with it. I turned to compulsive exercising to purge my calories.)
Anyway, just a shitty week to boot, not to mention that I've been having a really hard time keeping my cals under 800 (I boost my cal limit this week to get through midterms without passing out...lol). Anyway, things are only bound to get better.
Not gonna weigh myself this week though. No, nope, naaaaaah.
Thinspo for today: an A on my Poli Sci midterm! wooo
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Today
I went frollicking at the beach (that's me)!It was a great day. I'm down five pounds this week (whaaaaat?)...I have no idea why or how that happened, but I'm obviously not complaining.
The past four days I've eaten:
1/2 cup egg whites
cup grilled zucchini
salad w/ tomatoes, almonds, turkey, and zero-cal ranch
3-4 cups of green tea
1 cup coffee
Apparently, that's like, the magic day of calories for me. You bet your bum I'll be sticking to that for a while!
Oh, and yesterday I went to In-N-Out with all of my friends and didn't eat a thing. It was one of the harder things I've done in a while, but the power that came after leaving was euphoric. Not to mention that everyone was asking me if I had lost weight, and why I wasn't eating, etc. I forgot that being the center of attention, even if its because of an ED, is sort of addictive.
I wanted to tell them:
you wait two months.
It'll be newsworthy.
<3,
C
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The Olivia Files
<---Thinspo for today!
I know it’s ridiculous to reminisce in high school memorabilia and journals and think anything fantastic of who you were at that time.
But truthfully, honestly,
As of my junior year I think I was fucking fantastic. And it’s incredibly hard, looking back on those first steps into the stages of anorexia, and then to look at who I am now.
Around November of 2005, I stopped eating, and started over-training…and began the long process of perfecting my body. The date today is September 10, 2009, and I’m…
I’m less than perfect, at best. But I’m on a new turn, and presently I’m venturing into my sixth week of starvation.
God, I forgot how hard this was.
So right now as I hold my old leather sketchbook and journal in my hands—from the section of months I like to call “The Time of Olivia”—I can’t help but feel lowly and pathetic. I was as close to perfect as I would ever be, and I let it all crumble beneath me. I let go of the accomplishment that had taken me so long to reach. Just, let it all go.
I guess this a place where I should be honest with myself. Honest with this revolting point I’ve reached. I should probably also acknowledge the consuming monster that lives inside of me. As of this morning, I was 146 pounds. Not my highest weight, but certainly a number worth puking over. I think the most I’ve ever weighed was last summer when I got back from doing mission work for four months; I remember going to the doctor for a checkup and seeing 174 on the scale. Horrifying, to say the least. Absolutely horrifying. But I started school and crew, which got me back into some sort of level of shape, and dropped to around 160. And I’ve been struggling at that weight ever since. Twelve months, twelve looonnng months, and I’m just beginning to get the fact that I’m sickly obese. Luckily, my newest bout of Ana has dropped me back to around 145 again; the control is addictive...I had forgotten about that.
When I was in high school, I would look at the mirror and see myself for who I was: fat, cellulite-ridden, and in dire need for improvement. I was 140 pounds back then, which wasn’t great (but now that I look desperately back…not bad, either). So I worked. For months, I worked my fucking ass off (pun intended) and dropped to…oh, I’d say my lowest weight was around 114, putting me at a BMI of around 15 (I'm 5'11--categorical amazon woman). And to be frank, I know I was too skinny at that weight—not body wise (my body was to die for!)—but my poor face had sunken in, and my hair had started to fall out.
My grades had also slipped, which ironically enough, is what finally got my parents to force me into recovery. Oh, and need I say that my definition of “slipped” was receiving a C, and possibly another one. What a conundrum of an adolescence I led, really.
Anyway, all of these things I will delve into further and in more detail. This is my way of scraping together what’s left of me, left of Ana, and left of whatever future I have for myself. This journal is dedicated to retrieving what I’ve lost (and hopefully, losing what I’ve gained), and becoming the person whom I used to find pride in.
Ana, please don't let go of me this time.
Monday, October 19, 2009
Flash a Dimple Or Two
Flash a dimple or two
Meet a pupil or two
For a while
It’s all the same.
Collision of skin
Softly, crashin’
I mean,
It’s all the same, really.
Your heart still beats
Faster, faster,
They draw near.
Breath close to yours
Sometimes just a
Voice nostalgically
Echoing in your ear.
Yeah, yeah, can you
Feel the follicles rising?
It don’t matter, a whole lot
It’s still feels the same.
Ignore it, pursue it, do what
You want with it
But it’ll linger.
Oh, the binding knots that
Tie your insides together
Will always stay the same.
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Crazy Hormones
Oh, to be a woman. To be categorically psychotic.
Such fun times.
I realized, in my attempts at nothingness this week, that I was also pmsing a week and a half early, thanks to living with a group of other females. No wonder I've been crazy the past five days.
Anyway (past the TMI...apologies to the few--if any--who ever read this), today is a better day. I've stepped up my academic vigor a little, which gave me a little boost in self-confidence. Alas, Ana never fails to bring you back down to your pitiful little place; I also realized my scale has been off by four pounds for who knows how long. Sigh. More the reason to cut back, I suppose.
I've been rocking the no dinner thing, also. Don't get me wrong; it's as hard as hard gets--especially when my freaking roommates are stuffing their faces with macaroni and cheese every night--but I'm somehow managing to stay strong. That's one thing I always appreciate about this disease; while it's seemingly never-ending, the small bouts of soaring control manage to fit their way in, and resisting temptation on a nightly basis is no exception.
Like they always say: you can't taste thin, but you can feel it.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Thinspiration
For tonight is Gossip Girl. Blake Lively is my ultimate thinspo...she's drop-dead gorgeous! Not to mention that she's extremely tall like I am, which gives me hope that I won't be an amazon forever as long as I stick to the plan:
Stop. Fucking. Binging.
Good news, though. After a long day of not eating much and running lots, I weighed myself today and lost another pound! How fate feels the need to bestow me such a gift is beyond me, but I'm definitely NOT COMPLAINING.
I also came across the greatest idea today. Since I need to eat something before class (I'm not paying 25,000 dollars a year to pass out in lecture), I'll just skip dinner instead. They always say that you shouldn't eat late anyway, so I guess I'll be the official tester of that. So. Goal for the week: under 400 a day, and no dinner. That gives me leeway for a decent breakfast and lunch, which I'm stoked about. Then I just need to hold out to the next day.
It's not so bad so far.
Stop. Fucking. Binging.
Good news, though. After a long day of not eating much and running lots, I weighed myself today and lost another pound! How fate feels the need to bestow me such a gift is beyond me, but I'm definitely NOT COMPLAINING.
I also came across the greatest idea today. Since I need to eat something before class (I'm not paying 25,000 dollars a year to pass out in lecture), I'll just skip dinner instead. They always say that you shouldn't eat late anyway, so I guess I'll be the official tester of that. So. Goal for the week: under 400 a day, and no dinner. That gives me leeway for a decent breakfast and lunch, which I'm stoked about. Then I just need to hold out to the next day.
It's not so bad so far.
Crashing and Burning
I was almost on my last day of my under-400-a-day fast, and was doing wonderfully.
Alas, my other half comes out and proves me yet again, how incredibly weak I am. My mom came in to visit, and immediately I flashbacked to therapy, recovery...all of those things I've grown to hate the most in life. So, to appease her mind (she noticed my weight-loss so far; I told her it was from the flu), I ate. I ate, and I ate, and I ate, and I ate some more.
And this morning my stomach is swollen and grotesque, and I hate myself. I'm not even going near the scale.
Why, why would I let go of such an amazing, euphoric high of accomplishment for one stupid day of pleasing my damn mother?
Fuck.
Alas, my other half comes out and proves me yet again, how incredibly weak I am. My mom came in to visit, and immediately I flashbacked to therapy, recovery...all of those things I've grown to hate the most in life. So, to appease her mind (she noticed my weight-loss so far; I told her it was from the flu), I ate. I ate, and I ate, and I ate, and I ate some more.
And this morning my stomach is swollen and grotesque, and I hate myself. I'm not even going near the scale.
Why, why would I let go of such an amazing, euphoric high of accomplishment for one stupid day of pleasing my damn mother?
Fuck.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Today
Today was a sad day.
I forget sometimes, when I pledge for an "under 400 a day" week how completely dejected it makes me feel.
Whatever.
3 days to go.
I forget sometimes, when I pledge for an "under 400 a day" week how completely dejected it makes me feel.
Whatever.
3 days to go.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Metamorphosis
October 8th.
Relapse
I’d say I relapsed into ana about a month ago. Now, to make this abundantly clear: most of us with EDs don’t just brush off our illness once we decide to recover. Everyday (and sometimes every minute of every hour), is a fight. I don’t remember the last time I’ve looked at a plate of food without analyzing the caloric content; I don’t go a single bite without agonizing—however miniscule to unbearable—on what swallowing will result in.
However, I have spent…oh, the past year and a half focusing on others instead of me. I can’t tell you how tired I was of seeing my step-mother’s teary eyes in the nutritionist or therapist’s office as I refused anti-depressants and treatment. My father’s shaking voice as he begged me to eat something, eat anything. At one point or another, I guess you become so broken down that your will to fight the ones you love doesn’t even matter anymore. Or, I don’t know…perhaps I never reached a point of psychosis strong enough to keep me chained to my disorder.
Or so I thought.
The funny thing is, you assume you’ll get better. That as you put on some healthy pounds and learn how to “live in moderation”, your mindset will change.
Fact number one: it doesn’t.
You do what you’re told. You eat without restricting, you quit the cross country team to focus on new endeavors…heck, you even enjoy living a little. And your body responds. It packs on the weight, grasping onto every last pound of fatty flesh like you’ll throw it back into starvation mode again. Your relationships begin to heal.
But you…the innermost part of you refuses to change.
Ok, so you’ve figured out your trigger points with your therapist—apparently mine is from a severe need of love from my biological mother and a sense of recognition from my father…and a probable chemical imbalance within my brain that in turn causes intense obsessive-compulsive tendencies blah blah blah—and you’ve figured out how to deal with those issues. So why in the hell is Ana still bitching at me to stop with the feeling nonsense and get back on the bandwagon?
Because, as I’ve come to the conclusion: sometimes, these things never go away.
So. In reference to my intro, I have relapsed. I have lost around fifteen pounds since I’ve started school, and don’t plan on turning back any time soon. I’ve let Ana take the wheel once more, because I have no fucking stamina to do it on my own anymore. I stopped going to my college Christian group. I’ve stopped responding to “where have you been” messages. I’m done.
It’s just me, and the next couple months of metamorphosis. And when I’m ready, I’ll come back out, brand new. Better. Stronger. And this time, understanding of the fact that this is who I am.
-C
Relapse
I’d say I relapsed into ana about a month ago. Now, to make this abundantly clear: most of us with EDs don’t just brush off our illness once we decide to recover. Everyday (and sometimes every minute of every hour), is a fight. I don’t remember the last time I’ve looked at a plate of food without analyzing the caloric content; I don’t go a single bite without agonizing—however miniscule to unbearable—on what swallowing will result in.
However, I have spent…oh, the past year and a half focusing on others instead of me. I can’t tell you how tired I was of seeing my step-mother’s teary eyes in the nutritionist or therapist’s office as I refused anti-depressants and treatment. My father’s shaking voice as he begged me to eat something, eat anything. At one point or another, I guess you become so broken down that your will to fight the ones you love doesn’t even matter anymore. Or, I don’t know…perhaps I never reached a point of psychosis strong enough to keep me chained to my disorder.
Or so I thought.
The funny thing is, you assume you’ll get better. That as you put on some healthy pounds and learn how to “live in moderation”, your mindset will change.
Fact number one: it doesn’t.
You do what you’re told. You eat without restricting, you quit the cross country team to focus on new endeavors…heck, you even enjoy living a little. And your body responds. It packs on the weight, grasping onto every last pound of fatty flesh like you’ll throw it back into starvation mode again. Your relationships begin to heal.
But you…the innermost part of you refuses to change.
Ok, so you’ve figured out your trigger points with your therapist—apparently mine is from a severe need of love from my biological mother and a sense of recognition from my father…and a probable chemical imbalance within my brain that in turn causes intense obsessive-compulsive tendencies blah blah blah—and you’ve figured out how to deal with those issues. So why in the hell is Ana still bitching at me to stop with the feeling nonsense and get back on the bandwagon?
Because, as I’ve come to the conclusion: sometimes, these things never go away.
So. In reference to my intro, I have relapsed. I have lost around fifteen pounds since I’ve started school, and don’t plan on turning back any time soon. I’ve let Ana take the wheel once more, because I have no fucking stamina to do it on my own anymore. I stopped going to my college Christian group. I’ve stopped responding to “where have you been” messages. I’m done.
It’s just me, and the next couple months of metamorphosis. And when I’m ready, I’ll come back out, brand new. Better. Stronger. And this time, understanding of the fact that this is who I am.
-C
EDistrict:
The Anatomy of Thin
I am sitting here in my San Diego apartment, watching people parasail slowly into the La Jolla cove. It’s a pristine, beautiful day: the sun is shining gently and the ocean breeze is whisping through my windows, almost singing as it passes between strands of my strawberry hair. A couple is chatting as they walk their Golden Retriever to Black’s Beach, while a copper-skinned surfer hauls his short board down the cliffside. From the outside, it seems as though the world is as it should be; life is of abundance here, and happiness exudes from the smallest of corners.
In response to this glorious, typical Southern California day, I shut my windows and pull down my blinds. Because, life as I know it does not deserve such pleasures. I’d much prefer night, where the flat pallid tone of my skin doesn’t reflect so brightly; where things aren’t as noticeable, where I can be alone in my own pitiful state of self-demise.
Such a conundrum, to live in a place of such bliss, and to continuously want anything but it. Don’t get me wrong, I understand and appreciate the home I’ve so undeservingly been given. I know there are starving kids in Africa, unloved orphans in Russia, religious refugees in China…I know this. And yet, beyond the walls I’ve built around myself, I see nothing…I feel nothing.
Which is exactly why I need to put whatever this life is into words.
I guess you can just call me C, and I suppose to start this off on the obvious note: I have an eating disorder. I’ve been struggling with anorexia since my junior year of high school, and still fight the daily battle of whether or not I feel like delving into self-inflicted punishment. I’m getting ready to graduate college here in a year or so, and I’ll be honest: I never thought I’d have to deal with this for so long. It really hit me today, as I browsed for the ump-teenth time on anafriends.org, that it’s been nearly five years; five, long years of ups and downs, high-highs and devastating-lows, and I’m in nearly the same place as I was when I started. Miserable. Self-loathing. And most importantly, out of control.
So why is it that some people can cope with mental illnesses and disorders, and some of us can’t? Will I have to live with this forever? There are a lot of questions that run through my mind, more so about my future and what little bleak hope I have to obtain some sort of normalcy. How can I be married someday if I have to hide this lifestyle? How can I ever have kids when I’m deathly afraid of weight-gain, not to mention what a horrible role model I’ll be for a possible daughter?
I feel like a lot of young-women struggling with EDs probably have similar problems, which is why I’m starting this blog. I guess a part of me has always found comfort in knowing that I’m not alone in this world of starvation; that next door there might be a girl staring at her plate of nothing and glass of green tea with pain, just like me. While I’m not pro-ana in any shape or form (who would ever wish this upon anyone is beyond me), I will be strikingly honest in what I go through on a daily basis. How overweight I feel today, how many miles I ran to fight the drinking binge I had with friends the night before, how many times I weighed myself just to mentally force the physical hunger away…all of it.
This is a place of truth; a space of understanding and empathy, of case-studies and personal experience. This is EDistrict. And for you who have read this far, who know in the depths of what’s left of you that you can’t get rid of this low: you are not alone. And while I can’t promise that things will be okay, know this one simple truth: I love you. And I’m so sorry.
-C
The Anatomy of Thin
I am sitting here in my San Diego apartment, watching people parasail slowly into the La Jolla cove. It’s a pristine, beautiful day: the sun is shining gently and the ocean breeze is whisping through my windows, almost singing as it passes between strands of my strawberry hair. A couple is chatting as they walk their Golden Retriever to Black’s Beach, while a copper-skinned surfer hauls his short board down the cliffside. From the outside, it seems as though the world is as it should be; life is of abundance here, and happiness exudes from the smallest of corners.
In response to this glorious, typical Southern California day, I shut my windows and pull down my blinds. Because, life as I know it does not deserve such pleasures. I’d much prefer night, where the flat pallid tone of my skin doesn’t reflect so brightly; where things aren’t as noticeable, where I can be alone in my own pitiful state of self-demise.
Such a conundrum, to live in a place of such bliss, and to continuously want anything but it. Don’t get me wrong, I understand and appreciate the home I’ve so undeservingly been given. I know there are starving kids in Africa, unloved orphans in Russia, religious refugees in China…I know this. And yet, beyond the walls I’ve built around myself, I see nothing…I feel nothing.
Which is exactly why I need to put whatever this life is into words.
I guess you can just call me C, and I suppose to start this off on the obvious note: I have an eating disorder. I’ve been struggling with anorexia since my junior year of high school, and still fight the daily battle of whether or not I feel like delving into self-inflicted punishment. I’m getting ready to graduate college here in a year or so, and I’ll be honest: I never thought I’d have to deal with this for so long. It really hit me today, as I browsed for the ump-teenth time on anafriends.org, that it’s been nearly five years; five, long years of ups and downs, high-highs and devastating-lows, and I’m in nearly the same place as I was when I started. Miserable. Self-loathing. And most importantly, out of control.
So why is it that some people can cope with mental illnesses and disorders, and some of us can’t? Will I have to live with this forever? There are a lot of questions that run through my mind, more so about my future and what little bleak hope I have to obtain some sort of normalcy. How can I be married someday if I have to hide this lifestyle? How can I ever have kids when I’m deathly afraid of weight-gain, not to mention what a horrible role model I’ll be for a possible daughter?
I feel like a lot of young-women struggling with EDs probably have similar problems, which is why I’m starting this blog. I guess a part of me has always found comfort in knowing that I’m not alone in this world of starvation; that next door there might be a girl staring at her plate of nothing and glass of green tea with pain, just like me. While I’m not pro-ana in any shape or form (who would ever wish this upon anyone is beyond me), I will be strikingly honest in what I go through on a daily basis. How overweight I feel today, how many miles I ran to fight the drinking binge I had with friends the night before, how many times I weighed myself just to mentally force the physical hunger away…all of it.
This is a place of truth; a space of understanding and empathy, of case-studies and personal experience. This is EDistrict. And for you who have read this far, who know in the depths of what’s left of you that you can’t get rid of this low: you are not alone. And while I can’t promise that things will be okay, know this one simple truth: I love you. And I’m so sorry.
-C
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