“Eating disorders linger so long, undetected, eroding the body in silence, and then they strike. The secret is out. You’re dying.” (Wasted; pg 2)

When it all comes out, the people we love will kick themselves for not noticing, for not realizing sooner the way we punish ourselves. If you really look closely, it is all so obvious, but things like these never resonate. “It could never happen to me, not my child,”, the same I’d think with teen pregnancy. There was a girl in my high school, a year older than I am. It took her months to realize she was expecting. I suppose if it were a movie, morning sickness, weight gain and the works would be obvious, but if it’s you, and it’s your life, you always think it would never happen.

So families have their children, dieting, exercising, and even restricting. They think, oh good, she’s losing weight, she’s being healthy and taking care of herself. Anorexia never comes to mind. It’s not until they’re only skin and bones and lying in a hospital bed until you realize that these things are real and these things could happen to anyone.

Holding on for the sake of holding on

I shouldn’t even attempt to have normal relationships. I should just be the little hermit who stays in her room and only befriends emotionally damaged people who keep their distance.

I have questions, but no answers. I understand that in a relationship, there are tough times. There are times where you want to kill your significant other and you would consider it if it weren’t for the fact that you would get caught. There are times you have to work for the relationship, and work hard. I get it, love is no walk in the park, but is there a line? How do you know whether you are in a rough patch, or you have reached the end?

I feel like I’m just over it. I can’t be bothered anymore, and if any of you have read my previous posts, you would see that I have been feeling this way for a while now. Whenever I talk to her, I find myself wishing that I did not have to talk to her, that I never have to talk to her again. It’s just effort.

And then the little bitch goes on about my attitude, how she has gotten over what’s happened to me this past year, she has accepted it, like she even knows what it’s been like, like that’s the part of all of this that’s been bothering me. She’s a fucking child locked up in her room for most of her time, not interacting with anyone except her big fucking stuffed bear. And then she sits back and judges me, always having an opinion about things she has no knowledge of. Ranting about her doesn’t even make me feel better, and ranting has gotten me through a lot. Whenever I rant, I just find something else to be annoyed about. Maybe too much has happened. Maybe we are just too incompatible. Maybe we’re too the same, and if I can hardly stand myself, why the fuck would I be able to handle someone who is exactly like me?

I get annoyed with her when she’s happy. What kind of person am I? Oh she’s out with her friends, oh she’s happy, better be short and ignore her to spoil her mood. That’s basically what happens. And it’s not like I want to hang out with her and her little friends, but if we’re going to be completely honest, if I were to see my friends, whenever I make plans with them, I invite her. I always cart her little ass along, regretting it 9 out of 10 times because of her little attitude like her being there is a favor to me. And then suddenly this year when her best friends turn around and leave for varsity, now she suddenly likes my friends, now she wants to see and hang out with them. Sorry sweety, wave them goodbye.

And her baby talk. Mother of god, I just can’t take it. If you’re seventeen years old, there is absolutely, positively no fucking reason for you to fucking talk like a three year old in a conversation with someone your age, or older than you. This is probably the biggest reason talking to her is such a motherfucker of a chore. I try so hard to talk to her, and then she tries to act all cute. Seriously at what age do you stop convincing yourself you’re a toddler inside? Not to mention the complete bullshit she talks about. Wow, the teacher who so happily let you shove your head up their ass, your school marks that now suddenly measure up to mine after your lovely rant about how no one could do that well without obvious favoritism, or your inadequate art. Best of all your backstabbing childish little school chums lives. Let’s be honest, there’s really nothing to talk about anymore. Everything she says annoys the shit out of me.

We had a fight the other day, and didn’t talk for two days. I happily deleted her number and didn’t think about her. When she popped up telling me she misses me, honestly I was tempted to just tell her to fuck off again.

But then I think, we’ve known each other for more than a year. We had a solid relationship, we have relied on each other, my friends know and are used to her. I still have her books, I want to do a detox with her family. If I ended this for good, it would be the end of many things. And, though I don’t feel like it now, it might be something I regret later on. I must say, being completely honest, picturing a life without her right now did not seem so bad. Sigh.

At times I wish I had never met her. I wonder how different my life would be. As I said, we relied on one another, she has changed my perspective on life. Not in a good way. She’s managed to make me feel average, fearful, unimportant, needy. My life, especially this year, would be so much different. And I wish I could just go back and never start this mess. I was perfectly happy in my little bubble, with my little group of friends and my vague plans for greatness. I didn’t need her, I’ve never needed her.


Hiding pieces of ourselves so people would like us better

Another quick thought.

I feel like when people meet us we should just wear big signs around our neck that say “I’m emotionally unstable” or “I’m fucking crazy”. Just as a warning, to avoid fights in the future.

When we meet someone, we pretend we’re normal, we hide our flaws, we often wait years to reveal our true selves or attempt to hide it forever, but what is the point? How is that justified? You do it because you want this person to like you, and yet you spend your entire life with this person pretending to be someone you’re not, or less, pretending to be less of you.

I’ll admit, I have that same problem. How do you even tell someone these things without seeming like you just want attention?

I wish when I met her I could have just gone “Hi, I’m fucking crazy and emotionally unstable and severely bipolar and I have crippling anxiety that totally ruins my life and I hate myself to the point where I criticize everything I do but it’s okay because I laugh it off and appear super confident and actually I’m battling anorexia but please let’s talk about food because it’s all I think about and I pretend not to like physical affection but it’s only because when people touch me I fall apart and want to cry.”

At least then she’d know who I am. It’s all I am. I sincerely don’t even know how to accurately describe myself in another way.

It’s not even that I need her to take care of me. I just need her to know so that what I do makes sense to her. But it’s too late now. Forever stuck pretending to be half a person.

But seriously though

I constantly talk about what I still need to learn in life, but lately I’ve started thinking about the things I have learned, especially during this year. Reality has pulled me down to earth, which, admittedly, I desperately needed.

One of the biggest reasons that I had suffered my academic faux pas this year was that during high school, I honest to God believed I was special. I thought I was smart, I thought I was talented, and ultimately I thought that some kind of bright and idiosyncratic future was waiting for me. Maybe I thought I would be a writer, or an artist, or an actress. None of them particularly special nowadays, now that I think about it. To tell the truth, I didn’t know what I wanted to be, I’ve never known. It’s always been some far-off thing that I didn’t have to deal with until the day came where I had to decide, and I still didn’t know.

I hated the idea of a university, I thought that it was so average. Being surrounded by thousands of academics, living the average college life, wasting time and ending up in an average job. I thought I was better than that. I wanted something different, something special, specialized schools that weren’t as pretentious as I found universities to be. I always said that university wasn’t special enough, it wasn’t original enough. Typical thoughts of a teenager trapped in a small town, yet to see the world.

That was the idea that I had going in, and look what I ended up with. I ended up with the people who dropped out of university, specialized schools with no academic merit whatsoever. And the place where I thought I would find people like me turned out to be the sea of pretentious people that I wanted to get away from. Though I was probably like them, I too was pretentious. But I wanted better, I’ll always want better.

At least now I know that life isn’t exactly what it seems, especially not when you’re cooped up in a small town and life is based on what you see on tv. But I thought I knew everything. I had no plans and no direction, no ambition except to be noticed, and yet I was some genius willing to waste the money of my parents just so that I could feel special for a little while longer. I was an immature child who was scared of facing the future, though that hasn’t changed much.

I have previously mentioned my intention to study Law which has lead to internal conflict which I have yet to share with anyone. It makes me feel like a coward, and in all fairness, I am a coward. I am scared of disappointing my parents and people who expected greatness from me. I don’t want to be some broke ass artist living in a dump to survive, I want a safety net, and that kills me. I always expected more from myself, but I guess this is growing up. Making peace with things like this, letting go of certain parts of ourselves as we leave childhood behind.

I had to move out of my college apartment last week, something I was absolutely dreading. Admittedly, it was quite cathartic. I cleaned the room, threw away some of my belongings and packed my life into a bag. Just goes to show how easy it actually is to close a chapter in your life if it can all fit in a suitcase. There was no sentimental goodbye to the miserable little apartment, but I still wonder whether I had let go of something that was not meant for me, or if I had simply given up.

Either way, here I am, this girl who is seen as someone who works hard and is ambitious, back home and working as a waitress. Never in my life did I think I would be the girl who ended up this way, but oh well, at least I’m not pregnant.

I sometimes feel like I don’t have the right to be sad about it. It was all my fault, after all, it was my poor choices, and ultimately my decision to discontinue my education and come home. I feel like I am judged for being sad about it, like my peers think that it means nothing and I should move on, but I do feel sad. I’ve never realized how lost I am in life, people like me aren’t supposed to be lost. I just wish someone would tell me what to do with my life, that I would have a steady vision or even a dream like my friends. I am not only sad about coming home, I am sad about the fact that I had let it all get this bad, and that deciding on a future means betraying myself. I am sad because I don’t know myself at all in a place where everyone seems to have everything together.

As a child of no more than twelve years old, I had heard somewhere that the teenage years are the most confusing years of your life. Growing up, friends, changing, and ultimately questioning who you are. I laughed, confidently, and told myself exactly who I am, I never thought that I would question it. But then again, this is the same child who sat in front of the mirror and told herself, “I simply can’t be ugly, why would I be ugly? I am me. God wouldn’t make me ugly, not when I am me.”

Sometimes I think that people stop wondering who they are and they just are, the way they are. Just as simple as that. Stop asking, wondering, and just be. It sounds so easy, but when it comes to it, maybe I just haven’t reached it. In the same breath,  I would like to say that I didn’t know that I was learning these lessons while they were happening. It was only a few days ago that I realized that my perspective had changed completely. That’s part of the beauty of it, feeling the same, looking back and suddenly realizing you’re a bit different.

I know that I need to stop complaining about this incident, that I need to get my shit together. But what would help was one person that understood, one person that actually understood me and loved me, not just tolerated me. I’d much rather prefer beating myself up about this. People don’t understand that there’s a difference between complaining, and the actual self loathing that you can’t just let go of.

It’s the same idea with my art. Everyone had always thought that I criticized it because I wanted attention, when in reality, I saw every flaw, every mistake. The same with myself. Every flaw, every mistake, I scrutinize, I replay, I criticize.  I have said every possible bad thing to myself, so I never quite understood why anyone else was needed to criticize me too.

But oh well. Just burning more bridges until I have nowhere left to go, I guess.

& we are all a bunch of liars, tell me baby who do you wanna be

When we graduated last year, we couldn’t understand how, in this day and age, people would fall out of contact with their high school friends. We figured that with social networks and constantly communicating, we would always be in contact, but I guess what we didn’t realize is how much would change when we all went our separate ways.

I still think of these people as my friends, no doubt, often I am still proud to talk about them and I do think of them fondly, but as I sit here, I do not feel the need to be in contact with them anymore. And this is coming from me, the one who stayed behind and has no other friends, imagine how they must be feeling with their new lives and new friends. I just feel like we have outgrown each other, as much as it pains me. We don’t need each other to break the isolation that we felt in school because they are no longer isolated. I, on the other hand, am more isolated than ever, but it doesn’t change the way I feel.

I think it’s paired with the fact that I feel like I am in the way now. I have nothing to talk about with them. I feel guilty about talking to them about things that go on in town because I know that they don’t care, but it’s all I have. I feel like they see me as less of a person now, oh she stayed behind, she doesn’t matter. They have their shit together, they are working towards their future, their lives matter.

Even next week, I am looking more forward to coming back home than going to the city. I feel like my friends don’t want to see me, and don’t really want to help me. Everything is done out of obligation, there is no empathy or kindness behind their actions. It frustrates me, and yet it motivates me. I just want to come home and work on myself, and leave those people, my former best friends, behind. I want to discover myself, and return to the city next year and make my own friends, so I won’t need them anymore, at all.

It’s more a problem with myself than with them, it always is. I will end up pushing everyone away. just like what happened at school this year. Sometimes I think I would have made friends if it wasn’t for my anxiety and self esteem.

In the beginning, I had, you can say, “latched onto” two girls at school. The first years had to go to the beach, and we even carpooled together. For a moment, I was quite content. I was in someone’s car, with two new girls who would possibly become my friends. I was in a city I loved, driving to the beach with her singing to the radio. I was hopeful.

Quickly the girl I came with made a new friend, I had tried to participate in their conversations, but everything I said fell flat on the ground. Within a week they would go off to lunch together. Initially, I would come along, but little things kept happening, like we would order food and they would start walking away while I was still waiting for mine. It felt like they didn’t consider me as “one of them”. I tried sitting with them, but I never felt comfortable, I felt like I was in the way.

I don’t know how true it was, or if it even happened at all. My self esteem was, and still is, so low that I cannot believe that anyone would want to be comfortable with me. I am so uncomfortable in my own skin that I can barely function. I am prone to criticizing myself so no one has to, and if they do, it’s nothing I haven’t told myself before. This is just another indication that I am nowhere near ready to function in the outside world.

And this is why on campus residence is a must for me. New people everywhere I turn, a new chance for me to make friends. I feel like if I am not forced to interact with these people, the next five years of my life will also be spent in isolation. And how many second chances can I get? I need to get this right.

I should be okay with not constantly having validation about how someone feels about me or thinks about me. And I shouldn’t always put myself down, but where does confidence come from?

Maybe in six months time I will look back and not have changed at all.

Holy horseshit, Batman!!

I’ll admit, I haven’t had the easiest year. And I’ll also admit that most of it was my fault, but after spending months being angry about it, fighting about it, I have to say, I am feeling quite content right now.

I get on the bus on Sunday. In my mind I had this lovely picture of me walking into my building, sorting everything out, cleaning and packing away what needed to be packed away. I thought I would go visit my best friend at her university, walk a little, explore a little. Then I thought my friends and I would go back to my apartment and pack everything away, afterwards we would go out and have fun.

In my years on earth I had realized that things don’t often go as planned. I assume I will return to my shoebox of a room, the big mess I left it in a month ago, realize that there is absolutely not enough room and panic. I will not be visiting my friend because she has grown up and moved on and has no time for me. Then my other friends will begrudgingly help me move my crap into her house, then leave. I will once again be alone for two days before struggling to get my baggage to the bus station and return to the hometown that I had loathed for years.

But that’s okay. At least that way I won’t binge or waste money.

When I get home I have to start searching for a job. I am not prepared to work in a popular restaurant where I will see not only former schoolmates but teachers who expected a lot from me as well. I will settle for a less popular restaurant, which hopefully will be safer for me. Though I will be making less money, I will still be making money. And I have to admit, I am looking forward to it. I get to make money without the responsibility of paying bills or buying food. I get to have money to spend on my friends, I get to fix my disaster of a hair color, and I finally get to order all the books that I had wanted for so long.

I feel like I was in denial. I had pretended that my time in the city was so amazing. Yes, it’s an amazing place, but I hadn’t handled it the right way. I pretended to love the place I lived in, the truth was it was cold and unwelcome, and the owners really only wanted money. The people were selfish and unfriendly and to be honest, I’m glad to be leaving.

I get to take a breath, get fit, lose weight, hopefully fix my skin and hair, and hopefully learn a little more before I once again attempt to reenter the real word as I attend my dream school.

Going to take things one day at a time until one day I can look back, and everything, including me, is different.

I’ll be the beauty queen in tears

I’ve spent my entire life trying to convince people that I don’t care, that I’m some unique individual who doesn’t follow the crowd and has no desire to do so in any way. Along with that, I’ve managed to convince people that I am extremely self assured, confident and maybe even arrogant because of it. Today I realized what a complete fake I am, even more so. You know, it’s true what they say, the people who claim to be real usually ends up being the most fake.

In my previous post, there was a little line about my “friend” slash “sister” being chosen for a pageant of some kind and her needing a new dress. I might have underplayed my frustration regarding that a bit.

The moment I heard she was being considered for being Miss Champagne or whatever the accurate name for it is, I was immediately negative about it without any validation. As the possibility became reality, I immediately withdrew from it. I was negative, standoffish. I constantly made comments about her wasting money on buying a dress that she doesn’t need, a dress that she would never wear again and how unfair that is that her parents will have to pay for it. What pissed me off the most was that she wasn’t contesting it, she was an all too wiling participant in the whole thing because she is so obsessed with image and how she comes across.

As time went buy and the day grew closer, she had to look for a dress. She asked me to go with her to pick a dress, I instantly refused. Yet she still chose to send me pictures of every dress on the first day, all of which I so graciously criticized. She didn’t show me again after that. Then she asked me whether she should have her hair up or down, angered by the fact that she spent so much time thinking about this bullshit I told her not to ask me, and that she was trying way too hard. 

She didn’t talk to me about it again, I was relieved, the topic really brought out the worst of me. Miss and Mister Champagne were supposed to attend the big sports game against a rival school, and the week before the game, spirit building took place. Obviously my friends and I were the type of people who never participated in this kind of junk, when we were supposed to wear our school colors, which were green and yellow, we would wear black and gray, when we were supposed to dress silly, we would dress in sneakers and jeans. We had no spirit, the closest we came to having spirit was green icing on our cupcakes the day before the game.

She kept sending me pictures of her dressed as a hobo or a primary school child, showing me how they were supposed to dress up for the spirit week and it just angered me more. Why the hell would she have “spirit”? It annoyed me that I even associated with someone like that, I didn’t understand. Once again, I suppose it was about her image.

The big game was this morning, when she informed me she was at the salon getting her hair done. I mean really? You sit in a fucking car waving at acne ridden adolescents who came to watch two teams fighting over a ball and you waste money trying to look pretty for that? Holy fuck no.

And Saturdays were our day, I have not spent a Saturday in town without her since October of last year. And obviously I was already irritated as hell with her because of the whole Miss Champagne thing and various other reasons that I had mentioned in the previous post so I was honestly not very keen on seeing or spending time with her. I thought maybe venting about it would make me feel better but honestly it just made the feeling more intense.

She spent the entire day at school in her little princess outfit, then came home, then changed, and went back to school for fuck knows what reason. By the time she came home it was nearly four, and because it is winter here, the sun sets quite early. Normally I would leave her house between four and four-thirty. By that time I was unbelievably irritated, and couldn’t believe she had the audacity to tell me to come to her house for ten minutes, see her, which I REALLY didn’t want to do, and then leave again.

Though I was torn up about it, I had decided to break the tradition and tell her that it just wasn’t worth the trip. I felt like it was the end of an era for us, and it would only be downhill from here.

Two hours later, I get a message from her asking to bring her food because she was home alone. I knew it was a trick to get me to her house, but I also couldn’t say no because this child has spent a huge amount of money buying food for me in the past year.

Still annoyed, my intention was to give her the food and leave. She had other plans. We basically sat in silence while she ate, she would sometimes look at me and laugh, and I would keep a straight face and stare, maybe browse through my phone. I saw a hint of glitter glimmering on her eyelid, and though she was dressed in her usual sweatpants and ponytail, I felt the resentment towards her only imagining what she had looked like. I saw the dress hanging in her room, or rather, gown. Red, long, the sparkling pins on her desk indicating the updo she probably had. I was disgusted.

I just didn’t even feel like speaking to her, I didn’t want to touch her, and I most certainly did not want to share her food. Despite everything, this child knows me well, and can pick up on the sudden animosity.

As she continued to attempt stuffing her fries in my mouth, I snatched the fork out of her hand and held it back to her. She slid down her leather chair in protest eventually ending up on the ground. She turned to her side, away from me. I didn’t feel like playing so I remained in my chair, scrolling through my phone once again. Shooting my a glare, she moves towards the wall.

I knew she was crying, but for a while I just sat there, unable to move. I knew it was my fault, I knew I was the one in the wrong as she had technically done nothing wrong, but I would not and could not apologize. I couldn’t find the words, and even if I did, I didn’t want to say it out loud. Not everything that was going on in my head.

I eventually swallowed my pride a bit and took her hand, and held her to my chest as I always did when she cried. No matter how angry I was, seeing her in tears always calmed me down. I wasn’t as angry anymore, but she was. She cried for a while, then violently jerked away and stood up. I followed her like a lost puppy. Please note that throughout this entire evening we had hardly spoken a single word.

She moved to her chair, where I sat on her bed, eventually sliding down to the floor. She cried, I just sat there and asked myself, “Why?”

Why was I really so angry at her? I tried to justify it. She was conforming, she was trying to please people. She who claims to hate everyone in her grade and the concept of sports is now the beauty queen of the conformist teens. She claims to not care about dresses and hair and looking nice and she goes through all of this effort, getting her hair and her brows done, spending days trying to find the perfect dress, but I guess I knew that wasn’t the real reason, not the whole reason at least.

In my group of friends, we were five people. All a bit strange, all a bit special, not intimidating to me at all. In my group we had a chubby one, one with big ears, two with bad skin, and then there was me. I’ll admit I was a bit intimidated by my best friend at the time, despite her bad skin. Out of everyone, we had the most similar body type to mine and in the eleventh grade she had started to lose weight rapidly, she had gotten a boyfriend and started to wear makeup, become more fashionable. I didn’t like it, and I was always mentally competing with her, but not so much that it really hindered our friendship.

But this girl, this child has no idea how absolutely intimidated I am by her, not even intimidated, but so jealous that I could hardly function. She has near perfect skin, hardly any acne at all, and for me this is a serious problem. I had gotten through high school with a beautiful skin that I had gotten compliments on many times before, until September of my final year. A panic attack during exams had gotten me on anti depressants, which turned out to be the worst thing for me. Not only did I become completely apathetic, but it caused my skin to break out so badly that even though I don’t take them anymore, my skin is still extremely damaged.

She has thick, long dark hair compared to my frail, damaged hair with roots showing to the point where I am ashamed to leave the house that never looks the way I want it to. And of course, her body. She is tiny. Tiny to the point where she buys the smallest pairs of jeans. Never have I heard her complain about something being too small, it’s always too big. What bothers me the most is that she eats like a trucker, and eats junk food so often, doesn’t exercise, and still looks the way she does. This is not a safe thing for me to be around. 

And the thing I am most ashamed of is the fact that I am jealous of her being chosen to be Miss Champagne. I hated the fact that she got to go from dress shop to dress shop, trying on dresses and finding one that makes her look beautiful. For my senior prom, I had only visited one shop and only tried on a handful of dresses. It was a rainy day, my mood was horrendous and my figure even more so. My legs were too short and my hips were too wide, I felt and looked awful in everything. In her skinny little body, every dress suited her, and if it didn’t fit, it was too big. She didn’t have to hate herself and stare at the mirror with disgust while she pulled the dress over her humungous hips.

She got to have her makeup done and her hair, and she got to look into the mirror and feel beautiful. People would see her and think that she was beautiful, which she is, at least to me. And in five months she gets to do it again for her senior prom.

I often think back to my senior prom and regret it, wishing I could redo it. I feel like it was probably the only time in my life that I would get the chance to feel beautiful and I blew it. My cheeks were too chubby, my hips were too wide, my stomach too big. My dress didn’t fit right, it would have looked so much better on someone skinnier. I had expected that I would be beautiful for my senior prom, all I ever really wanted was to feel beautiful in my own skin, but not even then, not even on my “special night” did I truly feel beautiful.

And it all just comes down to me. I had taken everything out on her because of something she really has no control over. And how do you tell something that this is the reason you’ve been acting like a dick?

And as I sat there, watching her cry, I thought to myself, I really and honestly had no idea who I am. I am a terrible person, that I know. I have extremely low self esteem, that I know. I point out every single flaw in my body, and to make myself feel better I point out every single flaw in everyone else as well. I resort to making inappropriate jokes because being genuine and showing emotion makes me uncomfortable. I constantly think that becoming skinny will make me happier, but I know that even if I did, I would still think my skin is ugly, my nose is weird, my forehead is too big, my cheeks would still be chubby and my hips would be too wide. I don’t even feel like I am a person, I’m basically a bunch of negative feelings mashed with a giant asshole who hates people I love because they’re happy, simply for the reason that I am not happy. I am the douche that wishes obesity and ugliness on everyone to feel better about myself. I really don’t even deserve her. 

But that’s another thing I realized. I remember someone telling me, “You don’t love me, you love the idea of me.” Maybe I spent so much time thinking about her that the idea of her became so real, the idea that I had grown to despise. Being with her wasn’t nearly as awful as talking to her over the phone.

I mean, here I am, I have this tiny little person who loves me so much despite of who I am. This person who only wants to help me and I push her further away. I don’t think I will ever be able to tell her what I have said here, it’s just something else I need to learn.

How do you wake up one day and just know who you are? Does something dramatic happen, or do you just grow into it over time? Do you suddenly wake up and be okay with what and who you are? Do you have the power to stop being an asshole, even though you really don’t want to be an asshole? And how do you wake up, look at yourself in the mirror and go, “I am beautiful.”, without the makeup and the hair and the dress? How?

For now the skies have cleared a bit, I left her house not wanting to murder her because no matter how mad we are at each other, no matter how long the glare at each other, someone eventually laughs. And that, my friends, is love.