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


Sunday, August 1, 2010

Question Day

I am having a very pensive day.

Which I sometimes like, but usually just makes me feel uncomfortable. I don’t like to think too much, because then I realize how many things I don’t understand. And not understanding things REALLY rubs me the wrong way. I like answers.

But, alas, today shall be an answerless day. But here are some of the questions that I am tossing out, hoping the universe will drop a petal of understanding on my curled up body.

  1. If starving myself is the easier thing, does that make me weak for doing it?
  2. Will I really be able to lose to 117 and then maintain that in order to not be kicked out of college again?
  3. Can I give up my anorexia while still keeping a part of it in the back of my head? Is it even possible to not have it in the back of your head? Like, ever?
  4. Do I really not want to give up my anorexia, or am I just too scared? Is that just what I’m telling myself because it won’t even let me think anything else?
  5. Could I really die from this?
  6. Is this really what I want my life to be?
  7. If I don’t want this to be my life always, why do I want it right now?
  8. Would I let this ruin my amazing relationship?
  9. Why can I think about all of these things, and then just go and do the same thing?

Ahhh, writing lists always makes me feel a little bit better. But this list could just keep going. Shit. Perhaps things aren’t making as much sense because I had a very low calorie day yesterday. Yup, under 400, baby. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. But, why does that make me feel so good? AHHH, my head is confuzzled. Are you there Universe, it’s me, Rose. Arfschnakel.


Saturday, July 31, 2010

Pants Transgression

I have done something morally reprehensible. My pants have not obeyed my commands and have gone frolicking past their little pastures. I am ashamed, yet still excited at the same time, which makes me even more ashamed. And this rose does not like to be ashamed. Like, N.O.T.

Rose is at fabulous club, wearing super tight sexy grey lace dress. Rose is slightly tipsy, but only enough to make her really excited and TOTALLY feelin the dancing groove. Rose can be very good dancer when she is feelin it. Many mens like Rose dancing.

MONKEY WRENCH: Rose has boyfriend. Whom she is madly in love with. And happens to be in Malaysia doing fancy schmancy internship.

DOUBLECROSSMONKEYWRENCH: Tipsy Rose like positive attention from mens who like Rose dancing.

Enter Particularly Cool Man who start dancing with Rose.


Rose: DOWN pants. Sorry Particularly Cool Man. We has boyfriend.

PCM: It’s cool, I has girlfriend. We just dance. You good dancer. Me like dance with you.

Rose: Oh, um, okay!!!


And so they dance. And PCM keeps touching Rose, but since they both know that nothing can happen, this suddenly becomes okay. Man says that, if he didn’t have girlfriend and she didn’t have boyfriend, he would “Date the fuck out of her.” Rose falls slightly in love with man. Man kiss Rose. Rose kiss man back. Man leave with pals. In process of driving home, Rose’s head explodes.

In all seriousness, I feel really, really, REALLY horrible about myself right now. The only way I could tell you about this was in joke story form, because I am so fucking pissed at myself. This is NOT something that I want to do. I am so head-over-heels in love with my boyfriend, and I can’t believe I let the rush of dancing and someone being attracted to me let me do something that I totally regret. I guess it’s not like I had sex with him, and he was equally at fault. But, you know me, I’ll turn anything into an opportunity to hate myself!

I told my boyfriend and apologized profusely. He says he is not concerned about it. He says that no one expects it to be easy for us to be apart for so long, and that it’s not my fault. (I still think it’s my fault for being all dance flirty eyes flippy hair smile shake the butt stupid.) But he just wants me to learn to see myself the way he sees me, to value myself for the things he values me for. Which only begins with my body. Gawwwwwwwwww. Tell me again why I deserve such an amazing guy? Especially when I am such a horrible, despicable, undeserving, self-absorbed, stupid fat pile of worthlessness?

Wahhhh. I’m going to go make a calorie plan and watch America’s Next Top Model. My remedy for practically anything. I love you girls, and feel free to yell at my Pants, they totally deserve a stern talking to.


Friday, July 30, 2010

Skinny Dance!

Thank you all for your wonderful comments I feel so much love for everyone awwwwwwww huggles and nose-rubs and cuteness gawwwwww. *ahem cute attack is over* And so, I wish to continue that love by sharing my Great Happiness of the Day!! Ladies and Gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts and return your seat backs and tray tables to their upright position, because you are about to begin your ascent into the magical land of Rose’s Weight Loss!!

Yes, you heard me. I, humble Rose, the girl who lives under the cruel and deceptively caring tyranny of “Parental Support for ED Recovery,” managed to lose 10 pounds in the last 1.5 months. *shock* I was 125.2 after breakfast. How? Why? Where did it go? Because I still feel like the same fatty that waddled her way out of treatment.

But, just to see if perhaps the scale was smoking the crack pipe today, I tried on The Jeans. Well, they are not the Rose is Officially Skinny Jeans, and they are still far from the Stick Thin Corduroys (oh, you size 25 beauties, how I love thy non-stretchy, high-waisted, mercilessly clinging splendor). No, those two friends are safely tucked away until a time when I am worthy to deck my Officially Skinny legs with their splendor. But The Jeans, well, The Jeans are the first milestone. Fitting into The Jeans means that I am officially back to what was normal for me before I lost boatloads of weight. (Well, I’m still on the higher end of that range…so I’m still a fatty, but you know, a thinner fatty.) Does happy skinny dance!!

(Oh, speaking of dancing, did you know that an hour of general dancing burns about 200 calories? Which means that last night when I danced my heart away for 3 hours at my fav clubby, I burned 600 calories?!?!?! Say WHAT? I am SO getting my groove on more often. SF night scene better watch out, this rosebud is blooming in bright colors and lace!!)

So, that little aside actually leads me to another issue, namely why Rose is a horrible person that can’t keep her pants from jumping around all over the fucking city. But I am really too happy right now to go into sad and thoughtful topics (womp womp), so Pants Story shall have to wait. Knowing my Pants, though, they will totally gallop all over that and post without my consent the cheeky buggers!! Anywho, love love from la la land and I hope your days are going tre fab!!


Monday, July 26, 2010

The Skinny on Skinny

And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, the secrets are revealed, the disordered mind-warp is plumbed, the obsessions are quantified, the tricks are traded! For the first time in international cyberspace the craziest flower that grows gives you the one, the only, SKINNY ON SKINNY!!!!

Also Known As:

Rose’s Crazy Guide for How to Ruin Your Life But Be Skinny

*Cautionary Disclaimer* I had to call it that, because I cannot, in good conscious, tell you how to restrict without warning you that this has only gotten me locked up, tubed and fattened. But it’s still fun to talk about!

First of all, something you should know about me is that I don’t purge. I have only thrown up once in my life (when I was 8) and it was the most traumatic experience ever. Many times I have wished I could purge, but I just can’t seem to do it. Therefore, everything I do is to help me eat less and prevent Le Binge.

1. Avoid fasting at all costs. I know, I know, sometimes you just want to feel clean and empty, and yes, it’s often easier to not eat when you just aren’t eating. But really, fasting just turns OFF your metabolism, makes you more prone to attention-grabbing stunts (fainting, heart-attack, blue monkeys eating your face) and sets you up for Le Binge.

2. Try try TRY not to purge or abuse laxatives. It really fucks with your ability to digest anything properly. And it makes refeeding (if you ever have to) 50 bajillion times more painful.

3. Always eat something in the morning. Even if it’s a piece of fruit. It turns on your brain and your metabolism and keeps you a bit further away from Le Binge. (Unless you can sleep until the afternoon, which I never can, but is definitely a strategy of sorts.)

4. Let yourself have something that you want once in a while. If you never, ever let yourself have sugar or fat, your body will crave sugar and fat, and then guess what Le Binge will consist of? If you really, REALLY want a chocolate chip cookie, just make sure it fits into your allotted calories for the day, and go for it! Savor every last nibble of that god damned chocolate chip cookie. You won’t be as prone to eat the whole box later on.

5. Keep a balanced diet. Haha, but Rose, I thought we didn’t want to eat like normal healthy people! We need to be better than that! Don’t worry, we are. In your daily intake of 500 calories, make sure that 30% of your calories come from fats, 20% from proteins and 50% from carbohydrates (starch, fruit, dairy, veggie). Ish. The point is, when you eliminate one or two food groups, your body malfunctions a lot faster. And, of course, balance holds Le Binge at bay. Oh, and keep electrolytes flowing. When those babies imbalance you are in deep shit. Do you understand osmosis? It works like gravity, so don't try to disobey it.

6. Make a plan that you know will fit with your day and energy needs. If you have an early class, eat something before so your brain will work. Just go lighter at lunch or dinner. If you know what you’re going to do, it’s easier to not let uncertainty lead to eating something bad lead to freaking out lead to Le Binge.

7. Don’t have food lying around. That’s just giving yourself permission to eat it. (Unless you’re like me and like to torture yourself by hoarding food and never eating it. But that is risky.)

8. Ridiculous amounts of exercise is not necessary, as long as your caloric intake is low enough on a regular basis. Muscle weighs more, anyway. I sometimes fall victim to compulsive gym attendance, but that usually ends up just making me hungrier. I walk everywhere to stay in shape, and I do a ten-minute ab routine every other night to stay toned.

9. Eat in places without more food. I always went to the dining hall, got what I was gonna get, and found a nook somewhere totally random on campus. No more food = no more eating.

10. Try not to get too drunk or high. I eventually stopped drinking alcohol anyway because it just ended up making me sad. And it has boatloads of calories. But if you wanna drink, sip on two shots in a can of Fresca for the night. That should do you pretty well, especially if your stomach is empty.


12. Keep this mindset: Eating more is not an option. I’m sorry tasty bag of Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles. You look so dericious. I would love to nom on you right now. But you’re going to stay in your pretty little bag, because you are not an option. Not now, not tomorrow, not until I deem you are so. And that’s just the way it is. End of story. (And then remove yourself, because those tasty buggers really fucking want to be omnomnomed till they’re gone. But remember that is not an option. So LEAVE.)

So that’s basically what I do, and how I like to regain my testicles from the iron grasp of Le Parents, Le Administration, and LE FUCKING CRUEL WORLD.

*Cautionary Disclaimer #549, Section 36, Article Hypocrite* Seriously, as much as this does work and I can get skinny, when I was at my lowest weight, I had no brain. Literally. I wrote two papers before I went inpatient, but I have no clue what they were about. And I sorta value my brain. Which means that I need to be a bit more careful this time.

So just be aware of yourself and what you’re doing and why you might be doing things. And talk about it here!! Yay talking always helps :) Life does not have to be miserable. We can have fun and be skinny. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But don’t listen to me. I’m caRAzeeeee, remember?

I hope this helps, lovelies! Or is at least a bit entertaining!


Sunday, July 25, 2010


*Warning: Sad post ahead*

I am so fucking sad right now. Ahhhhh. Like, I am seriously sitting here crying right now. I feel pathetic.

Hmmmm, how to describe why I am feeling this way? Let’s see if we can make a chain of statements that follow a logical progression:


  • I am fat.
  • I can’t really do that much about how fat I am right now.
  • When I go back to school I can do something about it.
  • Then I will basically be showing my best friend and boyfriend that all the emotional turmoil that I have put them through in the last year has been in vain and I will just do the same thing all over again.
  • Which means I am really just a self-absorbed needy little bitch.
  • Eventually everyone who loves me will realize that I am really just a worthless pile of lard.
  • And then I will have pushed away everyone that I love for the sake of my emotional weakness and inability to see beyond this disorder.
  • Further proving that I am a self-absorbed, inconsiderate, superficial, needy little bitch.
  • The only thing that could make me feel slightly less worthless right now would be losing weight.
  • But I can’t do that.
  • I am fat.


Insert at various random intervals in that incessant loop the added confusion of WHY can’t I think of any other way to make myself feel less worthless? WHY do I need this disorder so much? Go on train of “I am so stupid and reckless with my life what a fucking failure I really just need to shrivel up and disappear,” which of course leads to the beginning of the loop again. Me = FAT. Because, my dears, that is inevitably where all trains in my head lead.

And that bothers me. But it is also known, and I can do something about it. And therefore it is safe. Comforting. Ahhhhh, I am fat. Yes, this we are familiar with. This we have operation for.

What would happen if that loop went a different way? I honestly think my world would implode. No, can’t think about that now ahhhhhh fat fat fat.

Sorry for the depressingness. I promise tomorrow I shall share my list of restricting/testicle salvaging heroics. For now, bed is my only recourse.

Pip pip and skinny dreams,


Friday, July 23, 2010

Grand Scheme of Life

First off, I’m going to do little blog dance, because I managed to eat about 700 calories yesterday!! Whee!!! I babysat last night, so I was away for three of my food-torture sessions. Not that I didn’t have to tell my parents “what I ate” so they could make sure I was “sticking to my meal plan.” BULL MALARKY I SAY!! I call your bluff kind parents, why the hell would you think that I’m not lying to you?!? (Lying comes way too easily for me. I’m a horrible person. More on that later.) Eh, whatever, I’m happy they buy the charade, just sorta pissed at the whole run-around. But yay!!!! I’m riding the high of restricting!!

So I’m running a tight schedule today, so no time go into restricting habits, but I shall have more self-revealing questionanswer time!!

I go to Amherst College in western Massachusetts, a small, elite, liberal arts college with a bunch of be-cardigained smart people who like to simultaneously talk about Cap-and-Trade economics, SEX and whether time exists. Oh, and most are rich and have the comfortable approach to life that they’re gonna be okay. I sorta have that, in a way, but I also have the poor person’s OHMAIGAWDIDON’TKNOWWHATI’MDOINGWITHMYLIFEFUUUUUUUCK attitude.

Once I get back to college, I’m going to take AWESOME classes (especially this baller Music Cognition class I had to leave), write an AWESOME thesis on why people are fundamentally fucked and we should all just go live in the woods (not, but something cool like that), eventually get this AWESOME internship at a publishing company where I can do copy editing and page layout till my eyes bug out, sing AWESOME music and be director of my a capella group, and live with my SUPERDOUBLEAWESOME boyfriend and friends. And after I have completed these stellar feats, I will be equipped with the knowledge, wisdom and poise to figure out what I want to do with my life, get a career that fulfills my intellect, get house, make babies, occasionally run around naked, and TAKE ON THE WORLD!

Oh, and I will look damn good doing all of this. Because I will be skinny. I WILL.

At least that’s the Grand Scheme of Life for the moment. According to all my treatment teams, I will end up dicking around with my potentially awesome life because I’m too afraid to give up my anorexia. But we shall see, young grasshopper, we shall see.


PSers: I am currently compiling epic list of how I restrict. It is quite fun, but also rather depressing. And I’m not sure if I want to tell you lovely people everything, because that would make me feel slightly guilty. Like giving crack to a crack-head. But then again, soy un crack-cabesa tambien. And really, everyone has their own style, this is just me. Don’t worry, I will, because what are we all here for if not to talk about food. Oh, right, we’re also here to try to stay sane and reach a place of happiness and inner peace. HA this is insanity!!!! Okay, check back for EPIC LIST my lovelies of monumentally skinny proportions!

As always, I (redundantly) remain your humble servant and confidant,

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Story of Life, Parto Numero Dos

Okay, where was I? Did I mention how much fun I’m having writing? I’ve never really thought about writing before, it’s just something I always do. Usually in journals. About myself. With lovely prose about how much I hate myself. Oh, and did I mention how much I love you guys? Well, there it is, LOVE! Anywasies, Story of Life Parto Numero Dos:

By the end of my first semester in college, I have an excellent group of friends, the aforementioned Boyfriend, good grades, and, tada! I start restricting again. I don’t really know why. I think I was just waiting for the right time. Plus, college made me gain, oh, maybe 5 lbs. And that was NOT OKAY. So, you know what happens then (at least I’m assuming. If you want more specifics as to how I actually restrict, I’d be happy to go into more detail). By February of 2010, I’m all the way back to 87 lbs (about a 40-45 lb loss in 9 months).

Mind you, I have been open with my best friend and boyfriend about what is going on with me this whole time, but they don’t really know what to do, and I’m certainly not going to change anything. But, one day, my friend confronted me and walked me into the health center. Commence administrative Freak Out (something about liability. Idk. They’re anti-skinny). Call the parents! Pack her up! Send her home! Get her treatment! And by golly make sure she doesn’t come back until she’s good and fat!

So I fly back home and go inpatient for 2.5 months. I’m resistant, but I go along with it because I need to get treatment in order to go back to college. The Administration dictates it is so. The hospital fools make me gain a disgusting 50 lbs (yes, 50. Five Zero. FIFTY FUCKING POUNDS). When I leave I spend another month in outpatient intensive group therapy before I reach my breaking point and fly the coop. I had to at least keep an individual therapist in order to assuage the parents’ fears and so I can get back into college.

Because, lovelies, that is my ultimate goal. That is why I have been sucking the Giant Dick of Treatment for my entire life. I LOVE my college. And my friends. Not to mention The Boyfriend. I want to be free. I want to be my own person. And in order to get that, I need to pretend like I am getting treatment for my anorexia, while at the same time maintaining a double life in my mind, and now here. I don’t know why I need to do this, but I guess it’s just not my time to throw in the towel. End of story.

So what am I doing now? I’m a liminal being, unable to go back to college until Spring semester, unable to find much work because I’m only here for the next 6 months, unable to have much of a life because The Parents own my balls, unable to lose much weight because, well, The Parents and The Administration own my balls. And unable to stand myself because I am a fucking whale suffering from the obesity epidemic.

What do I want to be doing? I want to be back in school, where I belong, where I am a Psychology and Music double-major who sings in choir, is the editor of a fantastic magazine, has a thriving and hilarious group of friends and an amazing boyfriend. And I want to be skinny.

I am so glad that there are some people out there that can hear that story and not yell at me or be worried for me or give me the “Why Would You Want An Eating Disorder Don’t You Want Your Life Back?” lecture. Thank you for reading this, if you made it all the way through. You make me slightly less Crazy.


Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Story of Life, Parto Numero Uno

Okay, I just wanted to say how absolutely thrilled I am to hear that some people (at least I think we’re all people…) out there in the big bad world somewhere like to read my humble noob blog!! It makes me do cyberdance like this Smiley!!

I also realized that an explanation of some of who I am and what I do (not much) would allow me to make a touch more sense. Not that I usually make sense, but that is beside le pointe. So *ahem* here follows Parto Numero Uno of the story of my life with anorexia.

I have always been tall and thin. I have always been complemented for it. (Please don't hate me.) And so, when I began that mortifying ascent into puberty, I realized that I might not stay thin forever (I couldn’t really do anything about the tall). And I realized that that was NOT OKAY. Imprint on brain since childhood: I must be thin. Rah.

I first started restricting when I was 13, 5’7” and a pre-teen 100 lbs. It didn’t take me but 6 months of restriction while running varsity cross-country, making straight A’s, playing in orchestra, blah blah blah, to lose to 87 lbs. My parents freaked, the doctors sighed sadly, my heart rate was critically low, and I was locked in a hospital with a tube down my nose for two weeks. Then followed 5 months of inpatient eating disorder treatment (read: CRAZY HOSPITAL where you talk in stupid groups all day and get fat). Well that wasn’t seeming to work. In fact it led me to an official diagnosis of General Depression, on top of my rosy Anorexia Nervosa. No duh, folks! Being locked up with crazy people makes you depressed!

So then I was sent to a Residential Treatment Center in Utah for a year. ONE YEAR. More crazy people, more group therapy, more food, more control. (It did have horses though. Awesome!) I eventually figured out that being sad and stubborn wasn’t getting me anywhere, so I decided to get through the program. I was their pride and joy, their shining star, their model patient. I don’t know if I wanted to get better, whether I really made that decision, I just wanted out.

So I go home. Wheee! First time at home in almost 2 years! I go to my last 2 years of high school, do excellently, see bloody therapists and those god damned peppy nutritionists (grrrrrrr hate nutritionists), keep my weight to its bare minimum for ease of parental concern, and get into a fabulous college. Finally, FINALLY, I am free. I can be my own person.

Okay, this is getting waaaaaaay too long, so imma take a breather. Check back for Parto Numero Dos: Relapseville and Treatment Fellatio!!

Love ya skinny bitches,


Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Oh I wish I wish I wish. There are so many things I wish for right now.

Let’s see, top wish is that I could be a free, independent person who could make my own decisions about what to eat, when to eat and what to do with my time. I wish I could buy my own low-calorie food and prepare my own, small, safe meals. Oh God, I don’t think you understand how much I want my lovely 60-calorie Dannon Lite n’ Fit yogurt right now. Yuuuuuuuuuuuuuumy yum yum. Oh, and low-cal bread? No more of this 120 CALORIES PER SLICE CRAPOLA!!

I can’t take this anymore. My parents wake me up at 9 am to go downstairs for a specially prepared breakfast of CALORIES, and then we have a lunch of DOUBLE CALORIES at 12 sharp, a smallish SNACK (snack? Who the fuck eats snacks? Snacks used to be my meals, bitches) at 3, a dinner of CALORIFIC HORRIBLENESS at 6, and ANOTHER snack later on.


Does it seem to anyone else like the schedule of an 8-year-old? And then, if I want to go out to, oh, I don’t know, HAVE A LIFE, I have to talk to them about it. What I’m going to eat, how late I’m going to be out, whether it’s okay to miss just one meal, or if they can risk letting me out for TWO WHOLE MEALS!! Wow two meals guys? You’re really playing with high stakes here! I may just lose 50 pounds by missing two meals and then THE WORLD WOULD END!! Good thing you’re packing a sack lunch for one of those meals, that makes you feel slightly safer, don’t it?

And the worst thing is that I have to pretend that I want to “get better” and that I’m following the “support” they are giving me. Which means I have to lie out my fat-laden ass about what I eat when I go out. Because, you can bet your skinny forearms that I’m not eating anything (or nearly anything if I’m with people) when I’m out. YESSSSSSSS.

Oh God I am a fucking whale, and I can’t do anything about it. SAVE ME!

Monday, July 19, 2010

The Boyfriend

My boyfriend1 came up from San Diego this last weekend and I am still sorta reeling from the experience.

Question Numero Uno: Why the fuck does he love me so much?

We have been dating for over a year and a half, and he has stuck with me through my last hard-core relapse. He stayed with me when I was a complete shriveled up wreck unable to form coherent sentences unless they were about food. When I was sent away from school, he cried and squeezed my emaciated body to himself like he wanted to permanently imprint us together. He called me in treatment and listened to me rant about not wanting to give up my eating disorder and how I hated it there and didn’t want to do anything those bastards wanted me to do. Fuck them they’re making me fat. And he was frustrated, but he stuck with me. He has told his very deepest thoughts and fears. He says when he looks into the future, the only thing he is sure he wants to see in it is me. Fucked-up, crazy, fatty old me.

Why the hell would I ever deserve that kind of love? And the natural question to follow the first is:

Question Numero Dos: Do I love him as much as he loves me?

That question makes my insides curl and I sorta break into a sweat. Because of course I love him. I am bat-shit crazy over this guy. Who wouldn’t be? But the real question that this brings up is:

Question Numero Dos Punto Uno: Do I love him more than I love my eating disorder?

Well slap my ass and call me Nancy, but I cannot answer that question right now. And that bothers me. Like, HELLA2 bothers me. I do know that it is the only thing that would ever make us break up. And part of me wants to break up just so I can go sink into my eating disorder. And that really, really disgusts me. It’s sad. Pathetic. And I don’t want that to happen. But I also don’t want to give up my eating disorder. Which leaves me with quite the dilemma. Because something I learned this weekend3 is that he’s not gonna let me get away with doing the same things. And I will eat for him. God damnit fuckity fuck shit cockfucking mother blower. Why why WHY can’t I just have him and just eat cereal and be skinny? Rah. Me frustrated.


1: For the sake of privacy, we shall refer to him as The Boyfriend, or if that gets really annoying, he shall humbly go by J. Which, yes, is his first initial. Go try to guess his name. Go.

2: Yes, I use hella, because yes, I am born-and-raised in San Francisco, and yes, I HELLA love SF and its slang. Fo sho.

3: Another fun thing I learned this weekend is that having an intense orgasm can make you go cross-eyed for a minute! Whee!!

4: I am a nerd.