Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Deep Shit

I’m sure an infinitesimally small percentage of the world’s population has been kept up nights pressing the Refresh button on its browser while anxiously pondering the question: Where is Rose?

Well may your Refresh buttons rest in peace, for I am breaking my silence to bring you answers and questions and question-like answers to questions! Where has Rose been? Getting herself in deep shit, that is where Rose has been.

Yes, unfortunately, I am now officially swimming in Bad Waters—turbulent, unpredictable waters with little islands of steaming Shit that suck you into a black abyss of existential despair for days, only to spit you out with a self-satisfied *thock*, back into the raging current of BAD.

I have been waiting to post until I have wrapped my head around at least something, because I generally like to post articulate, well-thought-through comments on a semi-coherent topic. Har. But, unfortunately, my thoughts, life and actions just seem to get continually more jumbled until I literally feel like ripping my skin off.

I will spare you the long-form update of Life’s Proceedings—I went here, ate this, thought this, ablardiblahblah. Instead, allow me to describe the last few weeks as Data Collection. And the data I have been collecting has been about myself, namely about how I will actually act when given complete freedom.

Data Point #1: When left to my own resources, I will eat 300-800 calories a day and lose weight consistently.

Data Point #2: When I reach the absolute minimum weight that my school’s administration will even think about readmitting my ass, I go below it.

Data Point #3: When I agree that 1,000 calories is probably not going to make me explode, and that, yes, I can make that my minimum intake so my weight doesn’t dive off the charts, I go below it.

Data Point #4: When I picture myself gaining 3 pounds and maintaining that (which I must do to see the light of Amherst College), meaning eating more and not being so sneaky all the time, it makes me practically cry in terror.

In conclusion, I DO NOT know how to maintain my weight.

And I know that most people reading this are not actually attempting to maintain their weight, and when they hear about me complaining about my inability to stop losing weight, they roll their eyes with great aplomb and write me off as a Whining Whiner that doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

However, allow me to appeal to our collective ED voices and say that, the land of ED looks different for each person. And my personal fairy-tale land has me running around my beautiful college, with my beautiful friends, sharing a loving relationship with my boyfriend, succeeding in all I undertake, and BEING GODDAMN SKINNY. Pretty picture, eh?

So when I am put in a situation that is almost identical to that of my fairy-tale land, and I collect Data Points 1-4, well, I am left fucking disheartened. Maybe I can’t do this, I have been lying to myself this whole time, my fairy-tale land is unobtainable because I, Rose, am too fucking committed to my anorexia. No no no, hands over ears, la la la I can’t hear you that can’t fucking be true I can fucking do this I will I must god fucking damnit!!

So that, my lovelies, is where Rose has been. Not much fun, no, not much fun at all. But on the bright side, I am now 115 pounds and I fit into the Rose is Officially Skinny Jeans!! (Ironic, that fact is also the one that is throwing me into such fucking confusion. Silly me.) But yay! And I have been having some fun times on the side, so all is not chili cheese hot dogs and deep fried twinkies (aka HORROR). Needless to say, you beauties always make me feel better, and I hope I can sometimes do the same! *mwah*


Sunday, August 22, 2010

Grand and Shit

Operation Rose Has a Life has officially begun.


Ohmahgigglygodstrousers I have been so ridiculously busy since the last time I posted, which seems like it was an eon ago. I am still living with my parents, of course, which automatically knocks the coolness factor of Rose’s Life down a couple letter grades. But, by “have a life,” what I mean is do more than sit on my ass, read blogs, watch America’s Next Top Model and feel like shit. As you can see, the standards are not set terribly high for this Life of which I speak.

However, while I am the ebullient optimist for other people’s lives, I still remain the permanent devil’s advocate for my own (hey, someone’s gotta do it, and if it wasn’t me, I would be more pissed off at that person. IT’S LOGICAL harumpf). Therefore, I feel the need to make a list of the new developments (and some old) in my Life, in the form of Grand and Shit.

Grand: I started two classes at City College (Multimedia Studies and Beginning html and Web Design).
Shit: I just want to be back at Amherst, my lovely college in Massachusetts.

Grand: A bunch of friends from college came to visit me in San Francisco last week and we had a total blast together!!
Shit: I will not see them for a very long time. This semester, I will be around a grand total of ZERO friends. Plus parents. Which throws that total for the negative numbers.

Grand: I am leaving today for a week-long driving trip with my boyfriend. OH MY GREAT WADDLING MAN IN THE SKY I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED!!!!!
Shit: Like above, I will see him for one glorious week, and then not for 4 months.

Grand: My boyfriend is a wonderful, amazing young man that loves and supports me unconditionally.
Shit: He can make me eat. I am really freaked out about this. Like, SCARED out of my fucking mind.

Grand: I have more freedom now that I am in school, including getting to ride my bike all over the city!
Shit: Freedom makes my mother bat shit insane with worry. When my mother is bat shit insane, my life is hell and freedom becomes slightly less existent. Nuff said.

Grand: I got my parents to trust me more by agreeing to go see a Dietitian and telling them it was what I wanted to do because I am working toward my recovery. Turned out to be one of the wisest moves in terms of leveraging power mwahaha.
Shit: I now have to see a Dietitian. Shitmonkeys.

Grand: I am now 120 lbs YAY WEIGHT LOSS!!!
Shit: If I lose more than 2.5 more lbs, I will not be readmitted to my school. Which means I have to start maintaining. And I am absolute crap at maintaining.

(Side note: This is actually a huge issue that has been eating my cranium since I saw the Big D a week ago. I have really gotten myself into a tight spot, and am going a tad bit crazy. But I can’t do it justice in this post, so we shall save till later the subjects of Weight Maintenance and Rose’s belated realization that she might have a Hardcore Babykiller of an eating disorder.)

So that’s basically what’s up in my head. I’m sorry for my absence, and I hope none of you lovelies takes it personally or gives up on me. Because I’m still here, crazy as ever!! I just might not be quite as obsessively attentive given my current state of occupation. Lo siento.

But wait, there's more!! A friend of mine took this absolutely amazing picture of me (he’s a professional photographer, so he managed to make me not look as fat and ugly as I am. Or at least as I think I am. Because I am the only really objective judge, right?). Anyway, I haven’t posted a current picture of myself, so I thought, what the hell? Enjoy!

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

What is this contentment of which you speak?

Yesterday was a wonderful day.

No, for reals, I can’t believe I’m writing that too, because how often do I end up clouding my happiness with thoughts of “I could have done better.” But yesterday, I decided to give myself a break from the Whipping Girl and let myself enjoy life a bit.

At one point in the evening, I turned to my friend and said with surprise, “I’m happy!” And she was like, “Are you not normally happy?” Oh dear…

Because the fact is, for the last year I have just been…well, blah. I’ve had good times and felt ecstatic and I’ve been extremely depressed and felt like a worthless pile of scum. But I haven’t felt content in a really fucking long time. And it’s not like I’m not still stressing over things and hating myself for things and sad about things and yada yada. But I was able to let go of that to have a nice evening with my friends.

And smoking weed made me happy. THANK THE FUCKING LORD! I haven’t been able to be pleasantly high in a really freaking long time, and yesterday, I was your classic stoner who sat there and giggled at dumbass movies and said inane things that made sense to her and no one else. It was fucking GENIUS!! And I got my first good sleep in, I don’t know, forever.

You wanna know the best part? I stayed under 700 calories for the day. And I still had energy and was happy. AND I didn’t get the munchies!! Maybe that’s why I could be content and happy? Hmmmmm, curious, very curious.

So I feel encouraged. That maybe I can have my vibrant self and be skinny. Maybe I will be able to enjoy life while existing with my crazy. Maybe crazy doesn’t need to dominate everything about me. Maybe? Yes?? I HOPE I HOPE!!

I love you lots like vodka shots, but not as much as jelly tots!! PEACE


Monday, August 9, 2010

Demon Spawn

Just escaped to my room from a massive fight about the big D. What could D stand for? Douchebag? Dickfucker? Damnrightannoying? DON’T-fucking-like-you? Yes, these are all true. But a more accurate description of the Devil’s Mistress I am speaking of is Dietitian. *blegh* that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Yes, the oh-so-thoughtful Parents have now decided that the next gift of love and support for my recovery they will give me (read: ATTACK me with), is weekly meetings with a Dietitian.

The Way THEY See It: THEY are not sure whether I am maintaining my weight and keeping up with my meal plan. THEY believe that I am, but THEY do not want to always be worried about it. Therefore, THEY would like me to go to someone as a “backup” that will weigh me and make sure that I am following my meal plan. So that THEY can trust me more.

The Way I See It: I would be going to this Dickfucker to please THEM. A Demon Food Lady is not going to tell me anything that I don’t already know. I know how much a serving of pasta is. I know that I should have three servings of dairy a day. I know that I should eat more if I’m working out. I know everything. Having another Damnfucking Preppy Freak tell me all of these things is not going to HELP me. I will still do whatever I am going to do.

And so when I told the parents that I wouldn’t really be learning anything new from the Dietician, that I KNOW when I am keeping up with my meal plan or not, and that I would basically be going to please THEM...well, THEY weren’t happy with that. Because people who are trying to recover from anorexia SHOULD want to go see a Dietician. Because when I tell them that I am doing it FOR THEM, then I am just bargaining with my anorexia so I can still keep it.


And so it makes it rather difficult to be a rational person and convince them that I am doing well and following through with Dicksucking Procedures as outlined by the Treatment Overlords when I want to throw something LARGE and HEAVY at their simpering faces.

How am I going to work my way out of this one? God damnit am I really just making things more difficult for myself? Should I just pretend to be happy about this? FUCK.


P.S. I apologize for my excessive references to the penis. If anyone is offended by the words Dick or Balls, they should probably stop reading my blog. Like, right now.


Ahhh, I feel slightly better now ☺

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Food Rant

I have very rarely talked about food, intake, calories, weight, la la la, because I figure it is assumed by all that I am constantly obsessing over these things. And because I, like a good therapy-trained monkey, know that there are much more important things underneath the run-around with food.

But sometimes, the spinning and counting and freaking out are just so strong in my head that I must get them out before I can even think about anything else. Which is partially why I obsessively track all my calories on the wonderful LoseIt! iPhone app. Because if I didn’t, it would permanently be in my head, which would be so much more complicated and debilitating. And it has gorgeous charts and colorful graphics!

Anyway, point is, the last few days I have not been able to get away with much sneaky business, so I have been eating pretty close to my meal plan. AND IT IS KILLING ME. So I thought I’d share my torture with you, for some real thinspiration.

Breakfast (320)

1 cup Cornflakes (100)

1/3 cup Hemp-Plus Granola (93)

1 cup Soymilk (100)

½ cup melon (27)

Lunch (527)

1 Luna bar (180)

1 piece bread (100)

1 slice cheese (100)

1 cup soymilk (100)

½ cup pineapple (40)

6 carrot sticks (7)

(I managed to throw away my afternoon snack of 1 cookie)

Dinner (580)


1 piece bread (100)

½ cup rice (110)

1 cup soymilk (100)

1/3 bell pepper (10)


½ piece chocolate cake with fucking rich chocolate (120)

Total: 1547 (and that was minus 100 for the cookie, which sometimes I have to eat)


And one of the things that freaks me out is that, 1527 is not officially a huge amount. It’s less than they recommend normal people eat in a day. So why does it feel like a fucking binge to me? Every single fucking day. And why do certain foods terrify me? Like I was reduced to a quivering-lipped, crazy-eyed, pulling at my split ends BABY in a public place over HALF a slice of chocolate cake! AHHHH it still makes me freak out and want to rip something off my body.

Food is a part of everything. Every single event, celebration, relaxing fun time, stressful time, we’re bored and need something to do time, EV-ER-Y-THING. I wake up and am faced with food. By the time I have gotten over that, I am faced with food again, and probably a fight about how much and servings and exchanges and the FUCKING HISTORY OF LIFE.

And so on and so on and THIS is my FUCKING LIFE.

I can’t take this anymore. And I feel like the only way to stop the screaming just a little bit is to control my food. I have tried other things, I really have. But at this point, I just need to starve a little bit. I need that release, that rush, that sense of pride, control, that calmness in my veins, that fuzziness that dims everything else out. Today I will have the opportunity to skip lunch, and I am practically 10 Lords A-Leaping. We shall see how that changes the mental landscape.

I love you my beauties, together we will forge the river of Worthlessness and pass into the fairytale land of Beauty, Love and Self-Satisfaction, complete with white sand and calorie-free chocolate!!


Saturday, August 7, 2010


So I am slowly dragging my partially evolved self onto the boiling shore of my primordial stew. Which is much better than being submerged in it. But not quite as nice as sipping sugar-free mojitos on the Beach of Beauty. Or wherever my fantasy land of the moment is.

This last week has been a week from hell as far as my parents and anger at them are concerned. But we have worked some things out, and, somehow, SOMEHOW, they are trusting me a bit more as a result?!? Dunno how I pulled that trick off, but apparently I am Le Master Wool Puller Over of Eyes aha!! It’s not smooth sailing yet, they’re always going to be at my throat, and I will always have to eat my “meal plan” with them and go through fucking huge conversations about grams of fat, the anorexic mindset, the fucking Slippery Slope (which is a FALSE philosophical axiom, might I add? No? Don’t care? Alright, keep throwing it in my face then), and the fucking HISTORY OF OUR FAMILY every single fucking time I want to shake my pinky finger. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Okay, perhaps I haven’t quite ascended past this pettiness into my superior land of In Control Benevolent Ice Queen.

But what’s been bothering ME, my personal acidic botherment that has been gnawing at my insides, is that it’s been getting harder for me to eat, even around my parents.

Silly child, why the hell would this be a problem? Wouldn’t we all love a sheer inability to eat?

Not so fast logical questioner! Here’s my conundrum.

Fact: I have convinced my parents that I am on the Road to Recovery, and it is necessary to convince my school’s Gestapo Administration of such in the near future. And I need to be 117.5 in order to remain at school. Which I am about 7 pounds away from.

Fact: I have lost a decent (not great, not shabby) amount of weight in the last two months via my Sneaky Skinny Pants tactics.

Fact: I am quite happy with this, and would like to lose more weight. I have gotten a sniff of blow on my daintily quivering nostrils, and I am an insatiable coke head, so to speak.

Fact: I cannot lose more than 7 pounds or my ass is grass.

Fact: The previous fact tears me up with frustration, helplessness and self-hatred. Which then makes it hard for me to eat. Like, ever.

Fact: If it is hard for me to eat, how can I convince The Parents that I am recovering? And, if it is so hard to eat now, how the hell do I think I’m gonna lose to 117 and then maintain that.

Long story short, I have forgotten how to maintain my weight. And, friendly logical questioner, maintaining my weight is what I must do. At least at a certain point, and at least for the time being. Balls.

So I have taken to just eating whatever I have to eat with my parents, and trying to assuage the ROARING of self-hatred in my head with the comforting thought that it won’t be forever, that I will be working and going to classes in a week, that I will get to do what I want soon, don’t kill me please? And I’m not sure if that’s the most productive, logical or even do-able solution, but it’s the only thing I’ve got right now. SSPA here I come!!

Love you bunnies muchly *mwah*


Wednesday, August 4, 2010

Primordial Pot of Shit

So I was surprised by the responses to my last post. Actually, no, surprised doesn’t quite cut it. I was thrown into a pot of emotional turmoil and philosophical confusion that rivaled the primordial stew from which the first, sorry spec of life oozed.

Well, that might be a slight exaggeration.

But, point is, I have been regressed to somewhat of an adolescent state for the last few days. When I wanted to cry, I cried; when I wanted to throw things, shit flew; and when I didn’t know what else to do, well god damnit, I screamed bloody murder. I watched a lot of mindless TV and movies, and when even those couldn’t hold my attention, I slept. (I also took to practicing the sexy model pouty lips and “smizing” with my eyes, a la Tyra Banks, but that is rather beside the point.)

It’s just as the lovely Kazehana said. The answers to some of the questions I was asking were enough to make me sick to my stomach. I was reminded first-hand why I have adapted a strategy to numb my emotions and turn off my brain. Because when I begin to delve into the vast depths of my psyche, it is not pretty. It’s like I am an intruder into my Private Self, and so my Private Self starts attacking me. WHAT THE FUCK, PRIVATE SELF?! Who are you and why are you such a crazy bitch?

I would have liked this post to be my List of Wise, Thoughtful and Honest Answers to last post’s questions. But, unfortunately, I have found myself with piles of questions on top of questions. So I am sorting, very slowly, trying not to tear my skin off in the process, and taking lots of “fuck it I don’t care about anything” breaks. It doesn’t really help that every few hours I am faced with food + parents, a lethal combination to this poor girl’s sanity. But, hey, my horoscope said this would be a rough week for me, so I can’t fight with the stars, now can I?

I apologize if I’m adding to your madness. I can only hope that the process of dumping my thoughts into cyberspace and a few kind minds will be a fruitful one. I shall let you know when the massive FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK spin cycle in my brain becomes a coherent thought. Stay beautiful, I love you lots <3