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.

Friday, July 16, 2010

The Logic of Illogic

The injustice of the world never ceases to amaze me. Or to make me want to claw my guts out and fling them in the face of pure, unadulterated INJUSTICE.

Why is it that we are the ones that feel so ridiculously horrible about ourselves, when we are also the ones who people are constantly complementing? You’re so thin. You look so much better in that dress than I do. Your legs are so long. You’re so pretty. What the fuck can I say to these people without sounding like a complete bitch?

Because, the truth is, THEY ARE WRONG. Not that I think they are lying to me. It’s just that they don’t see correctly. Only I see correctly. Which means that, really, I am a huge pile of lard with undeniably hideous features and a pitiful, ugly way of seeing herself. Self-centered-pile-of-shit-go-curl-up-in-a-hole-and-disappear.

But no, I don’t say that to them, because that would just outwardly confirm that I actually AM a self-centered pile of shit. No, instead, I flash them the smile, toss the hair, make the genuine-happy-eyes, and thank them modestly for their complement. GOD, people eat that shit up. And it almost, for a split-second, makes me believe them myself. Maybe I am what they say I am. Perhaps I don’t have to despise my very essence or make a hunger offering of a slice of my belly to feed a small African country.

And then………………I see a mirror.

Nvm, Ghana, I hear you were interested in some good, wholesome blubber to fatten your malaria-ridden kids up? Have some inner thigh, that should last you for a while. Kthxbye.

Well, at least I don’t have people telling me I look horrible. Although what kid of cocksuckers tell ugly people they’re ugly. Jesus Christ have a bit of mercy. Everyone in the world is beautiful in some way. Except me, silly!

Alright, enough self-bashing. I really am a nice person, I swear. And I would never, EVER, want to make anyone feel bad about themselves (him/herself, technically, but PC grammar can suck it), especially not people who are already in pain. It’s just, for some reason, I deem it okay to spray carbonated vinegar on my own wounds.

I know I’m illogical, and I really can’t stand illogical people. It’s really quite confusing.

But here’s a logical solution! I’m just gonna starve myself until I’m about to keel over, and then I might feel a tad bit better about myself! Oh God, here I go again…

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

An Intro

What do I do when everything I know is impossible?

I am trapped. I am forced to exist in a world where the only ways I know to make myself feel okay, feel real, feel in any way like myself are taken away from me.

4.5 months ago, I was hospitalized for my anorexia. I was 5'8", 87 lbs with a BMI of 13.3 and damn proud of it. I was also a walking zombie, my brain virtually unable to process anything more than how many calories I had eaten that day. I was crying every day and my loved ones, so used to the ebullient, happy, successful, gracious Rose they knew, didn’t know what to do with me. My world was tiny, but it was known. I felt safe. But I also knew that was just an illusion. I was trapped and I knew only death (or close to it) would make me willing and able to get myself out of that hole. But, for some reason unbeknownst to me, people loved me too much to let me get to that place.

I don’t know why I feel the need to tell my story, or to even think about all of this shit. I guess I’m just not strong enough to not think about it. In a way, I know that this will be with me for the rest of my life, in some way, shape or form. And I’m not upset about it. I am upset when I feel like I’m not the one that controls the way in which this—this life, this disorder, this friend, anything in between—is with me. THAT, more than anything else, is what I cannot stand.

And that is where I am right now. Out of control. And I am going fucking insane.

And perhaps this will help me to get things sorted out in this brain of mine. Or maybe just give me something to do, or people to listen who understand what I’m going through and won’t yell at me for it.

Welcome to my maze of roses.