Thursday, April 29, 2010


It didn't take nearly as long as I thought it would...people know I'm back. Some are unwanted, such as Kate and Judah. I expected they would be watching for me, but I really don't care anymore at this point. I would much prefer if they chose to keep my resurfacing to themselves and not involve the entire family this time...but it's up to them. I can't not post at this point.

I ate today. It was supposed to be a reward for myself after eating next to nothing for the past 4 days and finding a mostly flattened stomach this morning. But eating never really works as a reward does it? Seeing my magically unflattened stomach now that the day is feels more like a punishment.

Reading through the comments on my previous entry has been interesting. A very extensive string of welcome with little bits of bashing and unwanted family interest sprinkled in between. I could address some of the bashing, but I would rather not waste the space in this entry. If they find it satisfying to continuously insult my personal choices and actions, then by all means. I'm happy to help however I can.

I was talking to a friend the other day about my writing. I told him that many of the stories I tell about my life are hard to hear. Deep, intense, depressing. While that is sometimes the case (especially with my last post), I don't see it that way. I see an interestng story that I have the ability to word in such a way that it strikes people. It makes them think. Or cry. Or find similarities to their own lives. No matter what reaction, I don't want to struggle in vain. I want my life to be useful in some way. Even if it's only good on paper.

To clarify, I'm not miserable. I constantly have to remind myself to breathe, to stand up every day, to find the sun, to live...but my life isn't without purpose or joy. I find joy in little things these days. In late nights over coffee and card games with friends, in a tip over 20% left on the table for me, in Damian's sleepy eyes and mumbles when I attempt to wake him up in the morning, in sharing the last cigarette with a friend because you are both broke and need nicotine.

I'm content.

In some ways, I'm even content with how I look. I'm not nearly as desperate as I was before. Damian swears up and down that I should never shed an ounce. Funny coming from him, considering he is 6'1" and 128 pounds. But yes, in some ways, I could continue as I am.

And just as I write that, I hear a faint whisper. A challenge. Ana stirs in my memory, a compelling and inviting picture of what I could be. What I have been. Just over a year ago I was at my lowest weight. The picture in my mind of that time is very strong. The size 4 jeans, the shrunken waist, protruding hips and ribcage. And I want it all over again.

Tomorrow I will be testing my limits. How low can you go? How long can you say no? Will it be diet coke or regular? On goes the list of small decisions that direct my path closer and closer to thin. It's an ongoing battle. Tomorrow I fight.

It's funny how the concerns of my day melt away when I write here. Just an hour ago I was nearly driven mad with the flurry of thoughts and feelings in my head after a discussion with Damian. A crashing wave of insecurity mixed with tortured love and unconditional loyalty. The only way to describe the overall feeling was that I was screaming inside. On fire.

One cigarette, 20 minutes of TV, half a poptart, and a blog post later, I feel ok.

And life goes on.

Stay strong everyone, I've missed you so.


Tuesday, April 27, 2010


Wearied and lonely, I return to the world that once provided me with such strong satisfaction in my destruction. Hello all. I missed my readers dearly. I know it will take some time to get the word out that I'm back, but I'm just happy to be posting again. So much has changed.

Shortly after I gave up the original "Quest for Perfection," my life shifted drastically. I refuse to decide whether or not losing my precious blog was the cause. However I will say one thing. Losing the blog was one thing, I could barely handle it. It hurt, it tugged at my heart and soul unceasingly for many sleepless nights. I worried about what would happen to my readers, what would become of me now that my voice had been stripped of me. It was enough torture simply having my life taken away from me. But to watch my sister, my gorgeous, loving, selfish, and broken sister step directly into my place and start talking about me...saying whatever she wanted simply because she could...and because she automatically had readers...

I broke.

I felt like someone had put duct tape on my soul, I had been completely shut up. I tried to find solace in starting a new blog as someone else, completely different from myself. Writing stories that pertained very loosely to my true life. The further I went on however, the more I felt like I was writing a fiction and not actually being heard. I lost interest quickly.

The new year started with a bang. Stumbling around in my room alone at 4am with a stolen pint of vodka the night after a new year's eve party, my mother heard me crash into a window. She found me in the hallway, mid-attempt find the bathroom, clutching my robe around me with one hand, eyes bloodshot and voice heavily slurred. I panicked and ran away from home an hour later. Wound up at a male friend's house 45 minutes drive away. Lee (oldest sister), called and reminded me that we were supposed to hang out that day. She insisted we didn't have to talk about what happened. "Just tell me where you are."

And I did.

Before I knew it I was at her house and nobody would drive me anywhere. Her house is in the middle of nowhere, so there is nowhere to physically run to. I was trapped and soon horrified to find myself in the middle of an intervention. Kate, Judah, my parents, my brother, and Lee's husband all showed up and read the traditional intervention letters to me. Tears found their way out of my lying eyes. The tears meant nothing, as did the letters. The only thing that touched me was when my little brother looked me in the eyes and begged, "don't leave me alone..."

I finished the sentence for him in my head. "...with this insane and fucked up family."

And then things began to move fast.

Paul and I fell apart very quickly. Our relationship had already taken a hard hit with the drama that occured with his mother separating us in early December. The insanity on my part that immediately followed the "end" of my career in pro-ana blogging ruined what was left of us and I left him. I was soon in an empty relationship with a co-worker 9 years older than me for a few weeks and in the process lost my virginity to him. Moved out of my parents house a few weeks later. Was cheated on and dumped the day before Valentine's Day. Got high as fuck on V-day with 3 other single friends from school. We drove around aimlessly and rambled about nothing. I bought hair dye and bleach. Went strawberry-blonde and began hanging around the community college again, though I had dropped all classes before the semester even started. I searched desperately for every party and every chance to get fucked up for weeks on end.

I quit my job one morning when I showed up an hour after my early shift was supposed to start. I had been at a rave in another city the night before. Sleepless and fucked out of my mind on five different drugs, I walked smeared and hair a mess from sweaty dancing and walking in the city-smog rain, my slutty raver clothes stained and wet but very much still on my body (instead of my work uniform). I calmly asked for my paycheck. It was a Friday morning. The manager gaped at me and my unbelievable audacity. After gaining control of herself and the desire I'm sure she had to slap me, she said the paychecks wouldn't be ready until 10:00. It was 7:30 am. She asked if I was planning on working like I was supposed to. I shrugged and walked out the door. Picked up my paycheck later that night, ignoring the burning glares the other employees were giving me. I was supposed to become assistant manager.

On went the dizzying fast-forward motion of my life. I scored a new job as a waitress at a pub near my house. Night shifts, of course. The new habit I was developing of getting hammered drunk until 3am or staying out until sunrise did not encourage another morning shift like my last job had required of me.

I stopped visiting my family. Completely shut Kate and her two-faced husband Judah out of my life. Began ignoring my parents' efforts to connect with me. They had an unlimited number of chances to get close to me while I lived under their roof...and it's not my fault they failed miserably. I have no desire to speak to the two people who emotionally gagged and bound me and drove their daughter into a silent psycopathic state, bent on her own destruction. I will not acknowledge the smiling fakes who sat back and did nothing while I created my personal hell of blood and vomit and attempted suicides and starvation.

I have bought a week's worth of groceries about 3 times in total since I moved into my new home. I have been living here for nearly three months.

I started hanging around a completely different crowd. Out of the names I've mentioned in the original blog, Paul is the only one who I hold any sort of contact with. I call him. Rarely, and increasingly so. Faces of so-called "loved ones" and "best friends" have all run together and slid into the dark pool of the past.

Note: All these events occured within less than 3 months.




Pause. things took an interesting turn in mid-march. I ran into a boy at school who I had known before, but hadn't really noticed until this point. He was an interesting person, yes. But what caught my attention was that he was suddenly everywhere. More and more often I would slide into the backseat of a friend's car and find him next to me or in the passenger's seat, ready for the night's activities. The more I talked to him the more he intrigued me. You could tell he was a man with many secrets and a very short or nonexistant childhood. He was hard yet easy to get along with at the same time. His eyes full of laughter and darkness. His stories of people and things in his past so incredible or bizarre you almost can't believe them. And yet, you somehow don't care whether they are true or not. You look at him and mentally say "fuck it, even if the story isn't's a damn good story."

Damian. I was drawn in very quickly.

Eventually I got a chance to get him alone. We sat at a playground on a chilly Sunday night, and I let all the questions I wanted to ask him come pouring out. It was a no-holds-barred attack on the defensive walls I knew he had put up at some point in his life. I slowly cracked and pushed and pressed and coaxed my way into his mind and learned his deepest thoughts and secrets. Five hours later, when he realized what I had done, he told me, surprised, that nobody had ever shown that much interest. I got the idea that I had, in a sense "gone where no one dared to go before." Then he cocked his head slightly, studied me for a moment, and reached his hand up to touch my cheek.

"You're amazing. I could spend eternity with you."

And he kissed me.

Since that time, Damian has turned my world upside down. His existence is directly linked to mine. His physical presence is like a drug. A love like none other... unbound, passionate, full of conflict and raw emotion. Two naturally guarded and cold people, suddenly open and vulnerable to each other. Constantly measuring, constantly tearing down walls and rebuilding them. Ever wounding, ever healing. He will be the death of me, and I can't live without him.

In upcoming posts, I will go into more detail about Damian and how he affects my feelings about my body. It's more contradictions and ever-wounding, ever-healing stuff. Trust me though, there is plenty to write about. And now that I have satisfied my need to be dramatic and release all the thoughts that have been building and incessantly rearranging themselves into the perfect order for this one blog post, I can return to my original purpose.


Ah yes, the beautiful and terrible path on which ana leads us, full of cracked mirrors and scales, pain and satisfaction, emptiness and gain. The call is strong, her frail hand beckons.

Here we go's good to be back.

Stay strong, xoxo