August 30, 2014 § Leave a comment
These suggestions work especially well if done in a relatively short period of time, say, 2 or so years. It is also most efficacious if you start out as something of the prodigal daughter/sister/student until you move out on your own, more of a bang for your buck if you will. Obviously it goes without saying, use at your own risk.
1. Focus most of your attention on your appearance. Especially if you start out somewhat chubby and ill proportioned, and perhaps naively experiencing puberty far too early when you are NOT sexually attractive by any means to your peers, despite becoming a sexual being, however they like to determine that by your physiology. Starve those hips and breasts and belly down at all cost, by any means. If it doesn’t work, focus the rest of your life trying to goddam MAKE your body do what you want it to. Fight your fucking biology (note: it will fight back).
2. Though you won’t ever be satisfied by your body, your skin, your face et al. keep fucking with your metabolism and your bodily chemistry. Be fucking miserable, and maybe say fuck it eventually and give up. Eat and start vomitting. Practice makes perfect.
3. Run away from all of your friends and relationships. Ruin them through self-sabotaging means if necessary. You can start out slowly with this one. We’ll get to the more severe breaches of trust in relationships later. Most likely, you’re terrified of anyone caring about you as more than a piece, a resume or a GPA. Cut all your ties when anything gets too serious, where they or you might care about the other as anything resembling a living, feeling human with needs and emotions. You don’t want to get too involved and you don’t want to let anyone get too close lest they get to know you enough to leave or give you any sense of identity beyond the external criteria I just mentioned.
4. By now your identity (or lack thereof) should be sufficiently defined by external characteristics. You don’t know what the fuck you like, who you are, what you want so let others tell you, especially as society might dictate. You don’t really want to work at a lab or as an engineer or a doctor but that seems to be what you SHOULD do and would be lucrative. That’s all that matters.
5. Upon moving out, try to get a single room. Aim to be as isolated as possible. Attain acquaintances, but again, be wary of anything becoming too serious. Drink to socialize always, be careful not to gain that blasted weight they say is inevitable in first year college/university. Your appearance is still paramount. By now, what else do you really have?
6. The career plan that was somewhat chosen for you may not work out. You may realize that you don’t like any of the classes you’re taking and since your classes are so big, you don’t get the same recognition for academic achievement that you’re used to. But don’t try to meet anyone in your classes wherein you can study together. Don’t seek out TAs or profs because, again, you’re terrified. Refuse to challenge this and let yourself feel the complete sense of failure. Let it really overwhelm you. Bonus points if you don’t seek help despite having become bat shit crazy, neurotic and paranoid.
7. Keep pushing. Emotionally drain yourself, murder your health. Pump your body full of chemicals, pills and booze and whatever else you can find. At first, it’s fine to again, start out slowly. Buy your pills from friends and dealers. Avoid sleep and food and support for as long as possible. Fainting and illness may occur, both mentally and physically.
8. If you’ve followed through with the above, you’ll become too sick and broken to keep a job or stay in school. Relish in your malfunctioning organs and your broken bones. Ensure that even with your failing health that you keep at it. Remain dedicated! Drain the rest of your bank account, max out your credit cards to get your hands on the necessary substances to abuse, food that you will waste after hours with your head in the toilet. Remaining hours will be spent having crashed onto your floor, your carpet, sometimes the odd time actually making it to crash into your pillow, where you may find it difficult to move for a good day or more.
9. Move back home. This will be necessary if your family still thinks they can help you attain your previous level of functioning, as you will have no money, and have long since accepted your ill ability at remaining attentive to your school work or remaining physically well enough to work.
10. Since you’re broke and have little to no sense of your capabilities, you may try to work some jobs, despite the tendency to collapse without warning, to break down in sobs. If you work in a service industry job, you’ll most likely be aware of the dead look behind your eyes, bloodshot and verging on a meltdown. Keep at it until a ‘talk’ happens and you are asked to leave for “your health/wellbeing” but really, for being unreliable and unstable.
11. Let whoever take advantage of you, fuck you, do what they want with you. This works well with strangers and assholes. Become adept at identifying the ones who really demean you. Strive to be as attractive and cooperative to the men (or women) who treat you the worst. Physical and sexual violence is another bonus. Your only sense of identity should be your body and your appearance and you should, therefore, try to be as objectified and devoid of self worth through your interactions with the opposite sex as possible.
12. Having ruined a great many prospects and relationships, resort to acting out like a teenager. You’ll have to really raise the bar on your moral depravity here. Steal and manipulate and lie to your family and friends. Prime targets will be the food you will throw up, booze, pills, anything that might help you forget or will make you lose weight. If you haven’t already left your scattershot group(s) of friends as noted above, you’ll definitely be able to fuck things up for good through these methods. A good attempted (even if it is accidental) suicide attempt works as well.
And there you have it. I’d like to think these are all fairly fool proof methods to achieve the outlined objective. It’s harder than it seems, you really have to develop a deeply ingrained self hatred. I’d like to think the reverse trajectory of digging yourself out of the mound of shit you’ve buried yourself in is as equally possible. As yet, I have no advice on that matter.
August 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
I know if I was happier, if I was feeling more whole or whatever fucking word they use to describe ‘remission’ of mental illness and bullshit at therapy sessions, that I wouldn’t be such a shit person. I wouldn’t feel this need to fuck everyone over in all the ways I do.
At the retreat I went to in February, going through all of the other womens’ experiences with sexual abuse, my roommate and I felt so similarly about all the people who’d abused us, taken advantage of us, whatever. They were people too, who’d gone through shitty experiences, had doubts about their capabilities, themselves as people, the same as us. And going back to whoever first violated us, or anyone for that matter, I’m sure they’ve gone through their own shit, been hurt and fucked up by someone else. An endless fucking cycle.
And I feel awful because I do that to people now. Or always have. And I don’t want to hurt anyone, wherein they end up hurting other people in similar ways, projecting the shit I’ve projected on them, blah blah.
I’m angry that any of it ever starts, and causes so much shit to keep happening and happening to people who don’t deserve it. And I hate that I hurt people, that I feel some need to have relationships with people who I want to treat me like shit. Those are the only people that I ever feel the pressure to be a very good friend or girlfriend, knowing they don’t like or love me as much as I feel for them, so I need to try and prove myself. And then the poor people I know care about me, and especially the men and boys I’ve let love me, knowing they really do, I end up doing all I can to hurt them, to steal and manipulate them, to tease and break them, seeing how much they put up with, how much I can test the boundaries of their feelings for me. Hurting the people who love me the most, foresaking any real intimacy.
Everyone’s getting married, everyone’s graduated and has gone to jobs or grad schools and I’m still sick and deranged, drinking and throwing up and avoiding any responsibility. I’m newly 24 and the older I get, the more inadequate and…young I feel. Or immature in a way, undeserving of a place in the world as a 24 year old. I should be out of my house, I should be healthy and happy and working and loving someone properly. I should have money, an ability to live for myself, and not to act out, and I’m still fucking terrified of being an adult. I can’t fathom being able to keep a job, to manage my finances and pay my bills. Part of this is an affectation I’m sure, but part of it is very real, coming from experience.
I know I can’t live alone. I isolate myself, and end up feeling empty and terrified of myself and the outside of my apartment. I can hole up and stop feeling capable of leaving my room, sometimes even my bed, without drowning my fears out with alcohol and pills.
It’s incredibly depressing to think about some of the times I’ve felt the happiest, however shallow that feeling has been for me, in the past couple of years. Those were the times when I’d get the heady rush of starvation, where I’d be pushed by some internal force to put on my face, and put on my nicest boots and coat, cover my bloodshot eyes with sunglasses and run to the licquor store first, buy bottles and bottles of wine and gin, then walk across the street to the grocery store, listening to the ticking time clock in my head, thoughts only focused on whatever list of foods I’d become obsessed with at that time. For a while it was cabbage rolls and those stuffed little wontons. Even now, I can picture that Food Basics store that I frequented so often during my really bad years, all of the aisles, the specific locations of my favourite foods.
Words even seem difficult to me, trying to put the emotion and desire into letters and phrases to adequately describe how essential, how desperate I was for these items at the time. The thump of my heart beating into my throat as I circled and circled under those fluorescent lights.
Very cheap ramen noodles that I’d boil and cover with sundried tomatoes and olives and this Greek seasoning and this sundried tomato greek dressing
One of those giant family sized trays of ready made cabbage rolls
Both cheddar and mozzarella cheese curds
Pre made greek pasta salad and this Caprese salad with those giant penne noodles, very similar to my own version as above
packages and packages of Kraft Dinner, usually the white cheddar kind if I found it fast enough
Oreos and dried apples with the red wine because I’d read about it in Marya Hornbacher’s Wasted
Tofu that I’d always plan on keeping for my ‘good’ days but would always end up eating too fast with the rest of it
Tons of canned soups with crackers, that would usually be the last thing I’d eat before throwing up, filling the soup bowls with as many crackers as I could, mashing them up with a spoon, sometimes melting cheese if I decided to take the time to heat it up
Now that I’m home, I don’t have as much of an option of getting what I want. Although that maybe makes it all the more exciting when I find something I really want to binge on in the freezer or fridge. Recently I spent a ton of money on ready made wraps, a chicken ceasar and some other spicy meat something or other, cheese curds and peameal bacon, bags of candies. One of the really good days, I’d just gotten my period and I’d been starving for a while and was desperately craving meat I’m sure, as I was absolutely ecstatic upon finding a half a ham in our freezer and bacon. I’ve gotten into making tuna casserole like my Mom makes, macaroni baked in mushroom soup, with a chopped onion, peas and topped with a shit load of shredded cheese, melting all over it all. Eating an entire family sized serving and throwing up a vile grey mush.
I miss being cold and quiet and productive, when I just didn’t eat. I miss the Adderall or Vyvanse or whatever other ADHD drug that I used to buy in huge amounts from friends and strangers on campus, before I moved away from campus and my dealers. That all began first year when I just wanted to binge study, and practically everyone I knew popped the study pills like candy. I just kept going because I could be insanely productive and HAPPY on them, and I’d never want to eat and I could forget about food really, because I was happy to read and write and study through the rush of dopamine I’d be pumping myself with, and I’d end up dropping ten pounds in a week without even thinking about it.
Now I’m just fat and disgusting, spending too much time with my hands down my throat, drinking till I’m a sloppy ugly drunk, hating myself and wanting it all to be over, for me to go back to…some idealized version of myself that probably never existed.
August 29, 2014 § Leave a comment
Remember when this began as a baking puke blog. A mix of lovely recipes I dedicate my time too, and obviously my fuckedupedness. The past couple of weeks I’ve been god awful. I haven’t been as symptomatic in my bulimia in, perhaps, more than a year? I was averaging a purge about 3x a day for the past couple of weeks. I didn’t drink at all, but again, something else takes the place of whatever vice I give up at a time. I do wish I was just an alcoholic or just a bulimic, anorexic, anything else. Where I could just give that ONE thing up, instead of feeling like shit all the time and resorting to one of my defective strategies when I try to get rid of something.
I baked like a manic the past weekend. It was all very intense, no one was around a few of the days on the weekend and my dad had a work party where they had planned a contest of sorts between the two offices he manages; which office had the best bakers. So he got my help. I planned on doing two for the party: Caramel Apple Cheesecake bars and Chocolate chip cookie dough stuffed cinnamon rolls were the two winners. The rolls, of course, needed more time than I had because I had to use yeast and let it rise for so many hours. Whoopsie, forgot about that. My ideas were, as per usual, superior to my time management and common sense. I made the cookie dough and the bars before the party, so my dad took the bars and I made the rolls the next day. And then I made a homemade pizza as well, as I went on a bit of a frenzy. PIZZA, with a GARLIC BREAD crust that I also decided to stuff with cheese. Mmmm. And I puked for a good couple of days there. Which I’d been doing beforehand, but at least the baking kept my head out of the toilet for a certain amount of productivity.
The pizza was my best accomplishment.
I mostly stuck with the recipe exactly. HowSweetEats is, perhaps, my ultimate recipe blog. So check it.
My mom makes her own pesto though, and I didn’t have any cloves of garlic lying around, so I used the pesto in place of the separate ingredients. One day, when she’s not as pissed at me (which could be a lengthy amount of time, I apologize) I will get her recipe for it.
makes one pizza
1 1/8 cups warm water (100-105 degrees)
3 teaspoons active dry yeast
1 1/2 tablespoons honey
1 1/2 tablespoon olive oil
3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon garlic powder
1 teaspoon dried basil
approx 1 cup pesto
5 tablespoons unsalted butter
2 tablespoons parmesan cheese
In a bowl, mix the water, honey and olive oil together. Add the yeast and mix it together until the mixture foams.
Let it sit for about ten minutes.
Add 2 1/2 cups flour (the remaining 1/2 cup will be used later), basil, salt and garlic powder. (I mixed this together in a separate bowl first before adding it to the yeast mixture). I mixed it first with a spoon and when it was relatively homogeneous I began to use my hands to roll it into a ball.
After it’s been doughed up in the bowl, use the remaining 1/2 cup of flour to cover a flat surface and beat the dough out for a few minutes. I told my brother he would most likely be better at this than me, being a man and a lot more experienced in the motions HA. I’m ruthless.
After you’ve kneaded the dough, pour a ring of olive oil around the edge of the bowl you’d used to mix and roll your dough with the oil. Cover the mixture with a towel. I usually use an elastic around it to make sure it’s covered well enough. Maybe I’m a little paranoid. I do allow give in the towel above the bowl, to let it rise as much as it needs to.
Let it rise in a warm place (I left it on my kitchen table, it’s summer, room temp and everything worked out perfectly) for 1 1/2 hours.
Preheat oven to 375 degrees F.
After the dough has risen, remove it and punch it out on the floured surface again. Roll it into your desired shape and place on your baking pan. No extra oil/butter should be needed since it should be well covered already. Cover the crust on the pan with a towel again and let it rise for a further 10 minutes or so.
As it’s rising, mix together 3 tablespoons of the butter and about a cup (or as much as you’d like) of pesto and a tablespoon of parmesan cheese (I love cheese so I used extra).
Bring out the dough and cover it with the butter/pesto mixture, making sure to focus especially on the edges.
Cover with any toppings you’d like and bake for 25 or so minutes (I left mine in a bit longer because I’d stuffed the crust with cheese. I made sure to keep checking it though after it reached the 20 minute mark.
I made mine a Balsamic Veggie Pizza with a Mixed Cheese stuffed Crust.
1 tomato, sliced
1 stalk of broccoli, with ends cut off
1 onion, chopped
1 red pepper, chopped
1 green pepper, chopped
Can of sliced mushrooms
Balsamic Vinegar (I used pretty liberally)
Parmesan cheese (also used fairly liberally)
I put all of the vegetables into a pan and turned it onto med-high heat. I added balsamic vinegar, salt, pepper, parmesan cheese and crisped the veggies (although, I didn’t cook them completely through as I would be adding them to the pizza to be baked further).
Once they were nicely browned, covered with the vinegar and other spices, I took them off the heat and let them cool for a bit.
While I let them cool, I used a mixed cheese mix, preshredded and pulled out the edges of the pizza crust, and filled with a ring of cheese, then folding over the pulled out pieces of dough to cover the cheese.
I then covered the middle with my vegetables, added some extra parmesan and baked the pizza for the 20-25 minutes (I think I ended up baking it closer to 30 minutes).
Another great idea, because i fucking LOVE anything with balsamic vinegar, is to drizzle a balsamic glaze over the baked pizza.
Such as the one used in this recipe:
obviously, just use the glaze portion of the recipe but I highly recommend the burgers, which I’ve made myself before and are AMAZING, and also really low-cal. Also slightly expensive, for all the vegetables and portabello mushrooms are fairly expensive for cheap ass uni students like I was when I made them. Even more so because I probably puked them up afterward. So fucking wasteful, I’m awful.
I had this fucking pizza, which ended up being a beast, disgustingly thick.
My parents had also left about half of my Caramel Apple Cheesecake bars
and the Chocolate Chip cookie dough stuffed Cinnamon Rolls I’d finished before the pizza that morning, while they left for their party.
PLUS, since my brother apparently doesn’t like pizza, and asked if we could rent movies and get chinese food, there was wanton soup for me, chicken balls, eggrolls, chicken fried rice…Jesus.
I drank a lot of diet coke and water, and snacked on my baking. I only had one piece of the pizza, the rest of the dessert stuff was easier to hide how much I’d had, but I went through a decent amount of that as well as the chinese. I’d already been throwing up for the better part of the week. It wasn’t even binges really. I wasn’t drinking and had tried to be strict with myself, as I am wont to do on what I plan to be my “good” days, where I plan on having my coffee black and THAT’S it. Sometimes, I’ll decide it’s okay to have a can of diced tomatoes with a shit ton of salt and pepper and vinegar, but I’d been doing that and feeling guilty, and puking those up as well.
That week, I’d been trying to at least appear better. I usually only have the sauce when Mom makes spaghetti for dinner, picking through it for the vegetables, but I’d actually had the noodles this time. I knew I’d end up getting rid of it, but it wasn’t a binge really, and I seemed to be trying for their benefit, so I figured it’d be okay. I’m always the first to finish dinner, because I usually eat the least and the rest of my family stays up to talk either at the kitchen table or in the living room upstairs, so I could throw up fairly quickly and discreetly in the downstairs bathroom.
Getting back into the habit, it ends up being easier and easier to throw up quickly and quietly. I always had my water bottles to rinse out my stomach, to keep throwing up until it came back as clear water. Then I’d feel okay and I could stop.
Once I’d stolen painkillers from my aunt, the ones she hadn’t been using anymore. I think they were Oxy and I remember thinking how great the endorphins felt, how I’d started puking even small amounts, or just liquid, sometimes until I was just making myself dry heave, because I wanted that rush without the drugs.
I don’t know what the fuck’s been going on with me lately. I can’t drink, I really can’t, except I drank two days ago, and it was the only time I didn’t vomit anything up. And I did eat during the day, so it wasn’t that I was just drinking all my calories. My tolerance is so high though now that I don’t puke or pass out anymore. The puking, I mean, I don’t unless I make myself. But I end up drinking and drinking and then taking other peoples’ alcohol? I came home and was so drunk anyway, that I didn’t end up drinking the wine I’d taken and forgot about it, as well as the movie I allegedly watched with my father, until my friend and my dad brought both events up to me.
And the thing is, I hate all of this shit that I do. And I want all of it to stop. I want my goddam head to be okay just being fucking SOBER, or sitting and reading or painting or whatever other activity I should just fucking like doing, without wanting something to hurt me, hurt everyone else, get me out of my goddam head and my body and my life.
The only thing I can think of will still hurt me, but not others. If I was skinny again, and just starved I wouldn’t be eating and needing to purge. Whatever, FEELING the need to purge, I wouldn’t drink because of the calories and the weight gain. I wouldn’t be drunk and stealing and obliterating all consequences from my pickled brain. But then, again, I’d be sick and stupid and non functional. Everyone’s going away tomorrow and I’ll probably end up passed out after puking all day or drinking my skull off. I scare the shit out of myself.
August 2, 2014 § Leave a comment
Dad made a shelf for my art outside in the garage. It flips up when we need it to, like one of those beds that folds up into the wall. I’ve lost some weight, so that makes me feel a bit better, a bit in control of myself. I can’t help but wondering what would happen to me if I ate like a regular person. My metabolism is so shot, I think about how much I eat on various days, when I can just maintain my shape, and it’s not much I don’t think. I’ve been pondering starting attempts to run again, even though I have the worst form. I run like a dinosaur, with my little hands creeping up, despite trying to remain conscious of it. They flop in front of me and I imagine I look like a velociraptor running, or hopping if you like. And I just think of the scene in Jurassic Park when the two or three of them are hunting the children through the kitchens. I’d have to wake up at 5 or earlier so no one saw me. God knows it’s embarrassing enough, trying to start running, when I’m such a shit athlete. It’d probably take me months and months of vigorous practice to be able to run for any significant amount of time.
Plus I don’t like anyone seeing me around town anyway, because I’m such an embarrassing drunken idiot to most of them. It takes a long time for anyone to forget.