I’m a huge fan of Jersey Shore. I’ve always liked Snooky/Snickers/Nichole. This episode, she revealed she has an eating disorder.
WAIT. Wait. Hold up. What? Anyway, it just made me respect her more. She recovered, and she looks healthy.
Recovery has become a goal of mine since I was in the hospital. Yep, I went to the hospital. I couldn’t eat during finals week, so I was living off of water and coffee for almost a week. I drank 14 bottles of water the day before my first final, and that night, I hopped in an ambulance with the few electrolytes I still had in my system. I had fainted twice that day, then fainted again, came to, and had a panic attack.
So that was really scary. I called West Coast; no answer. My roommate and a friend of mine called him; he wouldn’t answer. I sent a picture message from the inside of the hospital to prove that it was that serious; still no response.
Why the fuck do I have such strong feelings for this guy…?
Everything was going better until that point. We had a big falling out before Thanksgiving, but whenever we’re at a party or something together, we get along like we used to, just without the sharing of intimate secrets / sex. I can sit inches away from him and there’s no problem. I’m happier when I’m with him, even though we supposedly don’t get along…
I miss him so goddamn much.
I’m gaining a lot of weight at home, because I do not want to faint again. But I need to lose some before I go back at the end of the month, because if WC sees this… holy shit. He’ll never regret losing me if he sees this… new fatness.
Oh, and the boyfriend and I are taking a break starting the day I go back to school. He seems to be a big part of the problem WC has with me, so this is why I’m thinking about him more than I was before.
I’m going to miss my boyfriend but I need this time to get my shit together.
I feel like shit.
I wanted to tell West Coast that he hurt me. So I got up the courage to ask him to meet with me. He said sure, so I assumed that that was that.
But it’s never that simple with him. I went to his room and he wouldn’t answer the door. Then I texted him. He didn’t respond. So I called him. He picked up the phone and hung up.
Then he texted me something along the lines of “I don’t like you and I don’t want to see you.”
So naturally, I kept trying to convince him that we needed to talk, and naturally, he kept pushing back. So I gave up and said,
“I really wish I could hate you. But I can’t.”
I was at the smoking area at the time, so I sat there for a while. Then I went inside with my boyfriend and cried myself to sleep.
There isn’t enough alcohol or weed in the world to fill the hole that West Coast left. Nothing can make the hurt he left with me go away. I didn’t want to drink last night and I didn’t want to sleep, because I knew that when I woke up, the pain was still going to be there. And it was. But I was so exhausted that I couldn’t cry anymore.
I wish I could show him what he’s doing to me. But he doesn’t want to see any of the bad things he does, and that’s why (I believe) he was too afraid to see me yesterday.
He can’t face the truth.
But maybe that’s a sign that there’s still a good person in there somewhere. The good person who used to show through feels guilty, so he’s hiding. What I have to do is connect with the good in his heart. And I know it’s there.
I have so much love for him in spite of the horrible things he’s done to me. I’m not a perfect person though, and I can only take so much. But if this is coming to an end, it’s going to end on my terms.
It’s a battle of attrition now. He’s losing his friends over this, because even though he refuses to turn his head and see what’s happening to me, his friends see. And they care about me, and they look badly upon him for it. When everyone sees what he’s done and he has nobody to tell him he’s right, maybe he’ll see.
I wish he would just be the same person as he used to be. Sometimes I think he never was that person, but then I remember how we used to be and I know that somewhere in there, he cares.
I just scare him.
What last night made me realize, though, is that my boyfriend grounds me and stabilizes me. I need him in my life when terrible things happen, especially with WC. He was so wonderful to me last night, and I think it made our connection a little stronger. I love him and that’s something that will never go away.
I texted West Coast while high last night. I know I said I’d never smoke weed again, but oh well. I was in a really good place last night.
He looked great for the dinner but I didn’t see him at the dance. So I told him he looked good and that I was too high to worry. He didn’t respond, but there’s nothing I can do.
Tomorrow is the boyfriend’s birthday. He managed to get some weed from a friend so I have to think of something else to buy him. He’s turning into kind of a big stoner, which isn’t good because his grades are suffering anyway… but that’s not for me to worry about, it’s his cross to bear.
My grades are what I need to worry about. I spoke with the advisor for students with disabilities on Friday, and he told me he could help me with classes that I don’t have the energy to wake up for. Sometimes I feel so weak that I can’t get out of bed, and he said that it counts as a disability. So what that means is I’ll get to live in a single next year at no extra cost and that my professors will all be notified that I have some debilitating illness that prevents me from having perfect attendance.
My attendance is near perfect, but I don’t want to drop from being an A student to a B+ student just because of depression and anorexia.
I weighed in, and my BMI is 18.4. I’m underweight, but barely. I mentioned last time that I’m doing the “Skinny Bitch Challenge” and that I’m liquid-fasting right now, so I’m hoping to see that number go down soon.
I set a goal at 95. That’s when I’ll be able to smile again. Not so thin that I black out while walking, and not fat enough to invalidate any fleeting moments of joy I might experience.
I’m feeling really tired, but I’m going to go into town to get a gift for the boyfriend later. I’ll need more coffee first I think.
Lots going on right now…
I’m ignoring West Coast, because I’m absolutely sick of the heartache. This hurts a lot too, but I don’t want to have to hear him say something awful like he did last week.
I can hardly believe I’ve gone a full week without talking to him… I miss him like hell.
Part of me wants to get him jumped. That would be really easy, because I know a lot of tough guys who absolutely hate men who victimize women. These guys operate on a sub-zero tolerance policy.
But I know in my heart of hearts that violence can’t be solved with violence. And I really do care for him, and seeing him get hurt would probably make things a lot worse in the grand scheme of things, no matter how much I want there to be some kind of recourse for what he did and said.
Something in me is telling me that I should talk to him. But he’s crossed a line and I can’t apologize anymore.
“Sorry I let you rape me.” It sounds stupid when you say it aloud, n’est-ce pas?
“Sorry for spending so much time and energy on you.”
“Sorry for believing you when you said you’d be there.”
“Sorry for depriving myself of so much in order to give you more.”
“Sorry for expecting a short visit from you after everything we’d been through.”
“Sorry for waiting in my room for you for hours and hours when you weren’t going to come over anyway.”
It all sounds so stupid. What have I even been apologizing for? It’s not fair. Everyone observing this trainwreck between WC and I agrees, and I trust that they would tell me if I were out of line. He’s awful… but that makes me want him worse.
He doesn’t realize that what he did to me has made my eating disorder get markedly worse. I feel like a worthless piece of trash. I can’t accept anything about me that is imperfect, especially not on my body. Now that he doesn’t want me anymore, I just feel like everything I am is wrong. I probably could have been more irresistable. I probably could have kept my facade up for longer, and then I could have had him for longer. I could have been less weak in many regards – with the food, with saying “no,” with the mental breakdowns he’s been witness to.
But I’m weak.
Weak enough to have to get back into this “pro-ana” bullshit too, apparently. There’s this Twitter thing, “The Skinny Bitch Challenge.” I find that when I have a goal in mind like that, like a set number of calories each day or a pledge to only drink juice and water, everything is more effective. It makes each day feel compartmentalized, like each one is a new opportunity to work harder, detached from all the days before it. It’s a safe feeling.
I’m on a liquid fast until Thanksgiving, and by that time, the Skinny Bitch Challenge will have started. I’m not so sure what to do about Thanksgiving, actually, because my family is catching on fast. I’ll have to think of something to stay one step ahead of them all.
It’s stupid, and it feels like I’m back in middle school, but it helps me along. The support is kind of nice, too. I just don’t want to be that “oMg PoAsT tHiNsP0o0!” girl or some sort of “wannarexic” who only puts the fucking fork down to cry about her weight.
This liquid fast has been a great success today. My friends are all going out to dinner, and if I go along, I’ll be ordering water and water alone. I’m broke anyway, so this is my best option, disorder aside.
Reading this over another time, I see that I’m really sick and fucking twisted. It’s sick how I want him still, it’s sick how cowardly I am, and it’s definitely sick how much I hate myself and demonize people who are just like me.
I’m in an awful mood. And the fucking washing machines are broken… fuck this dorm.
I was raped. I just laid there and let it happen.
It’s hard writing that out and harder admitting it to myself. It happened weeks ago, but I just realized it. It certainly explains the panic attacks I’ve been experiencing.
It was “gray-rape,” but the feeling is just as bad. I don’t think he even knows that he did this to me. I said no, but he kept pressuring me. I needed him to protect me from myself, I didn’t want to lose him because of something stupid like sex. I don’t know what other decision I could have made.
I feel filthy.
It was WC, by the way.
He was getting really aggressive with me when we were drinking this weekend, too. He responded to my trying to be playful with anger. He pushed me and twisted my arms and yelled at me, in front our friend.
This was after he announced to the whole room that he never cared about me, and he was just trying to “get in my pants.”
This friend of ours said he wanted to punch WC at that point.
He always gets his way.
Someone I know was sexually assaulted tonight. I don’t even want to think about it.
All I’m thinking about is West Coast though… he doesn’t understand why he’s hurt my feelings. He ignored me all night and then when I asked him about it, he just said “That’s the point. I just don’t want to be around you.”
How could that be construed as not hurtful…?
Guys keep asking me “Why him?” They say I’m “so hot,” they say I could have any guy on campus I want, they try to convince me not to care about WC, but this isn’t a feeling I get to choose.
I try to present myself as a dominant, alpha female. I want everyone to think I have control over my life, especially my relationships. But I simply don’t.
I wonder what he’s going to do when I die. I’m saying when, not if. When I die of alcohol poisoning, starvation, cancer, suicide, whatever, I want him to have to fucking watch. I want him to be the one crying for once, not me. I want to have the power to break his heart.
But even if I could, I’d never do that to him. Not in a million years.
So I had a terrible binge/purge moment. Mostly just a purge moment though, because in retrospect, I didn’t even eat that much. But I threw up an awful lot, and I cut myself again.
But then something great happened as soon as I sent a desperate plea for help to West Coast.
“I did something bad” was the text I sent, and he came running (like he always does). And instead of being scared, I was happy, and he talked to me like a real person, like I hadn’t done anything wrong. He talked about his favorite books (like he always does) and we walked to the lake (like we always do).
And we talked about what’s going on, but we didn’t get mad, and we talked about what happened before and it wasn’t awkward at all, and he let me rest my head on his back, and instead of pulling away for once, he moved closer.
But the best part was when I was leaving his room after I walked him back there.
He let me stay for a bit, then said goodnight (like he always does), but then he said this:
“Give me a hug, babe,” and then he stretched out his arms.
And that’s the happiest I’ve been in the past three weeks. I didn’t even care that he had diminished me with “babe” because I was so happy.
So I ran right into him, I got my hug, and it was a great one.
He’s back.
Wind you up and make you crawl to me, tie you up until you call to me
I’m trying to do homework but I can’t concentrate. And I don’t want to do laundry, so I’ll write.
I’m pretty much a fat slut. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to. I’m surprised nobody’s talking shit about me.
But I shouldn’t use the word “slut.” I’m a “sexually liberated woman…”
Actually, I’m pretty much just easy.
I think it’s a self-esteem thing. If I get with people who look better than I do, I feel better about myself because I’m attractive enough for them. They’re not desperate, so it’s not just a matter of “there’s always someone as horny as you are ugly,” and that’s pretty boss.
Oh, plus it’s fun. There’s always that…
I don’t know what to do about WC. I’m gonna see if I can convince him to get back in my bed… it shouldn’t be too hard. He told one of my friends that he still wants to have sex with me, so it looks like hope isn’t lost. I’ll get him drunk. I’m pretty determined to get some this weekend.
He pissed me off again today. It’s funny how I’ll listen to him talk about self-help books that remind him of me for as long as he wants, but when I talk about women’s studies (my minor), it’s “I don’t care” or “I hate when feminists bitch at me.” He’s so… wrong.
There’s a dance this weekend. One where everyone toes the lines of state nudity laws… no exaggeration. Most girls go in lingerie. I will not be an exception. I’m determined to look dead-ass sexy in my outfit. I’ve been starving all week (I almost failed today, but I got my shit together and now I’m fine), so maybe if I’m lucky my belly will be flatter by Saturday.
Another perk of not eating: I get drunk faster. Which means fewer calories consumed in the liquor I require. And when I say I get drunk fast, I mean like fucking lightning. I’m kind of a lightweight, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing. I can get shitfaced off five shots and maintain my buzz for hours.
Back to the reason why I almost failed today though: I started to feel very dizzy and exhausted, so I had a few bites to eat. And then I wanted more. But I just waited, and the cravings started to go away. Really all it takes is time, and “overwhelming cravings” are just an excuse for people faking EDs to use. It’s just plain offensive.
Miracle food: Quaker rice cakes. ten of them equals only 70 calories, and it only takes two to stave off cravings. They make them in sweet and savory flavors, so they’re perfect for anything. I usually don’t get sweets cravings until I’m starved enough to need a really quick boost of glucose, so I bought some ranch flavored ones today. And some Camel Turkish Gold cigarettes, which are my new favorites after kreteks.
Smoking really does stave off an appetite well. I don’t think I would have ever started if it weren’t for that fact. I’m now smoking before each meal and at any other odd time of the day I please. I really should cut back, but at the moment it’s not my top priority.
Good lord am I ever horny… my mind just keeps going back to that right now, so I’ll say goodnight.
My body is going back into “starvation mode.” Hair falling like snow, bones popping out, nailbiting (excessively; not attractive), always cold, sore all over… this is the sort of time when I usually feel afraid this might someday kill me.
But what’s death to a suicidal person? I’ve been closer to killing myself lately than I have been in a long time. I’m not as scared as I normally would be.
It’s the same with smoking. I’ve been almost up to a pack a day, I measure my time with cigarettes, but I don’t care what happens to me.
Actually, I shouldn’t say I don’t care. That’s not true. But I don’t care as much as I feel I should.
I haven’t weighed myself in quite a while and I’m not sure if I should. It could either make things better or worse. Not that I know what “better” and “worse” even entail anymore.
Weird though: in spite of all this, my libido has spiked. I’m pretty obnoxiously horny; a very attractive dormmate/smoking buddy of mine is on my mind right now. We went for a cigarette and got on the subject of our respective significant others. As it turns out, he’s in an open relationship too.
This might just be a good weekend after all.
(Unless, of course, I start blacking out from hunger again, and/or have to return to hospital.)
