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*



  1. SSPA woooo, thank you rose, thank you, thank you, I love you and I needed that

    I don't know how we can fix your 7lb limit without losing the plot totally.

    I will have to think xxx

  2. My own maze of roses is aromatic, heady—-a sunny distraction, a beautiful place where death seems distant, even nonexistent. Behind every thorny wall, though, an invisible gas chamber waits, a room that I can either walk with dignity toward, feeling the warmth of sunlight on my hair, or run away from, kicking and screaming while the guards aim their pistols at my head. That's what life is. My parents are not the guards. I'm gonna die no matter what they do, no matter what I do. For some, the act of eating invites sweet disassociation, a brief reprieve from death's breath in their throats. For me, the act of eating breaks the spell, the carefully constructed illusion of control, inviting rage and anger. And pain. Stupid, stupid adults. They are running and screaming from their own fears, and using me to do it, using MY pain. The maze of roses is my gift to them, my sacrifice FOR them. At least they could acknowledge that fact. But that would be expecting them to be more than they are, more than human. And these fucking expectations are what got me here in the first place.

  3. It is so insane to me that your school is so crazy! And how did they come up with such an arbitrary number? I am sure based on something like the BMI scale, which as much as we worship low BMIs on here, we all know that they can be affected by height, muscle, build, etc. BMI is not the be all end all of how healthy you are. We also know that someone could have a perfectly healthy BMI but have horrible cholesterol because they just eat chips all day and weigh 140 pounds at 5'6". Sorry for the rant, it's just a little beef I have over BMI. Not that I don't worship it as well, and run to the computer to check my BMI when a weight loss occurs, lol. But to take something as serious as whether or not someone is allowed to stay in school and leave it up to some weight someone chose from the sky is so silly. Good luck, sweetie! We're all here for you xoxo