Friday, August 27, 2010

Where from here?

Counting down to my mental detonation. Everything got really fucked.

I broke up with Johnny two days after my last post. I feel like my own apprehension ruined it before anything else could. I was just so scared of watching another relationship fall apart, I wasn't even willing to put the effort into building it up. I watched the confusion and heartbreak on his face as I tried to explain (make excuses) that I couldn't do it. That he was a great guy (and I'm an out of control fuck-up) and I'm not trying to hurt him (just myself) and that I'm really sorry (but deep down I'm not sorry) and yeah...then he rolled a joint and we lit up. I went home after a day of successfully not eating and binged, hating myself. I passed out on the couch watching TV, only to wake up at 4:00 am feeling like I had a rock in my stomach. I burst into tears and popped laxatives, trying to get rid of my shame. I spent nearly all of the next day lying in bed between trips to the bathroom.

Yesterday I managed to not eat until 7:00 pm when I caved and went to Taco Bell with friends from the college. Why the fuck do I pick junk food? I don't know, but it's a bitch. Every time. Today I had some fruit when I got home.

Goals are in order. I need numbers and stats to keep me on track. So, back to the old routine! I'm reposting my stats because I went to the doctor and found out that I am taller than I was 2 years ago when I started the blog. Happy face :)

Age: 19
Height: 5'9"
CW: 145 lbs | BMI 21.4

Sept 1: 140 lbs | BMI 20.7
Sept 10: 138 lbs | BMI 20.4
Sept 20: 130 lbs | BMI 19.2
Oct 1: 125 lbs | BMI 18.5
Oct 10: 120 lbs | BMI 17.7 (UGW for now!)

Right now I feel like Ana is the only thing I have to live for. The only thing that I can keep track of, the only thing I can control. How many times have I said that before? I know I must sound like a broken record, but we're all broken in some way, my lovely Anas.

We'll survive it.



Sunday, August 22, 2010


I am waiting for a text.

This text will say something along the lines of "you still awake love?"

It will be a text from my new boyfriend, asking me to meet him.

It's 2:00 AM.

I am scared.

It's hard to describe the longing I feel right now, deep in the pit of my stomach. Maybe that's just a gnawing ache from the emptiness of acid trying to regenerate in there after throwing up an hour ago. Maybe it's a nicotine overdose from the rack of cigarettes I just inhaled to try and calm myself down. Perhaps it's a longing to allow myself to be happy. Or all three.

The new boy is Johnny, a sweet skater-type boy who recently moved to my parents' neighborhood. I met him on the bus a little while ago after running away from another guy who was trying to hook up with me. Johnny is a darling soul, very innocent and naive. He thinks I'm the cutest thing on earth. When I'm with him, I forget about everything. All I can think about is his lips on my forehead, his hand on my stomach, his breath in my ear as we whisper to each other under the stars.

It sounds perfect right?




Then why am I so scared.

I feel like the world is on my shoulders and I can't shake it off. I feel like I wrapped myself in duct tape and wrote all over it in sharpie: "untouchable, unlovable, unreachable...NOT allowed to be happy, NEVER."

And yet I'm the only one who pays any attention to these labels. If Johnny doesn't see them, they don't have to exist. If I wasn't such a fuck up then I could maybe believe him when he tells me he loves everything about me, that I'm perfect. Why is there a tiny voice inside my head, growing louder every day that tells me..."Johnny wants you to be skinnier, like him."

It's getting fucking LOUD.

I can't even sit beside him without straightening my back and sucking in, hiding the ugliness that is my shape, my fat, my imperfection. I can't even fathom the idea of sex at the moment, as much as I want it...I really don't. It's not like I haven't done it before...I often think of myself as quite the experienced whore. It's like my human and feminine desires rise up and take control, and then as soon as it's over, I want to hide. I can't get my clothes on fast enough, I can't get away from the guy soon enough.

I want so badly for it to be different with Johnny. But I don't know how.

There's always the easy solution, just fucking get SKINNY already and this won't be a problem. God, you ridiculous sack of shit. If your weight is the problem (which it OBVIOUSLY is) then DO something about it, you useless slut. Nobody wants to fuck a fat girl. It's funny that you wonder where all your relationships go wrong. It's YOU, Kat, it's YOU. Once they see you naked, it's only a matter of time before they turn tail and run. You're such a worthless waste of space. And you will never...

EVER... happy until you are thin.


Thanks for the pep-talk Ana.



Friday, August 20, 2010


Life goes on, and on, and on. So many things have shifted, faded, disappeared, and resurfaced. I'm sorry for the long absence. I got so caught up in living that everything else that I loved was pushed to the side.

I know that my family has probably subscribed to this blog, and it will be the whisper on everyone's lips behind my back - "Kat is posting on that blog again."

Do I care? No.

I'm sure Kate saw this coming...when she came to my dismal apartment last month and found me in a ragged, sobbish, incoherent heap on the floor, she explained (on the way home to mom & dad's) that because of my state of living (which has been pretty shitty for the last 2 months), it was causing a mental breakdown and I was "unable to really have an eating disorder."

Now that I'm healthy, washed, sobered up and safe, she's just waiting for Ana's return.

How nice it is when people think they know everything, and they know nothing at all.

Here's the story.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

I left off in May right after finding myself broke, homeless, and in a failing relationship. I spent a few weeks in that state, and then slowly began to fix myself. I found to my surprise that the new restaurant job paid very decently. I never walked out of a shift with less than $60 in my pocket. On a good night I could make $200 in 12 hours. I blew a lot of that money at first, but eventually landed at another apartment, which (surprisingly) my parents helped me pay for. Before that, however, I finally got up the courage to break up with Damian, who was becoming increasingly distant and moody, treating me like shit for the hell of it.

I moved on quickly, dating another guy Kent for a few weeks and having him live with me. Eventually his personal issues seeped into the relationship and it exploded. I kicked him out and said "fuck you." He came back, spent almost every night at the apartment anyway, and in return gave me rides to work in his ghetto '94 SUV. We continued to fight, and I started to feel stressed again. I started smoking up more often, mixing with ADHD medication for a mellowed out, super-focused wakefulness. Coming down from this mix was a bitch however. When combined with alcohol the morning after, my mind went to shit. Kent and I got into a fight on of these mornings and I smashed almost everything in my room, knocking things off of surfaces and screaming into my pillow at the top of my lungs. He sat outside the room on his laptop. I made sure to wear short sleeves so he could see just what I did with the pieces of my mirror.

Then Kent went to jail, and I started to lose it. I heard his voice everywhere. At work, in the shower, in my room, on the street. Every man I didn't recognize looked like him in some way. Every conversation included him calling me outside for a cigarette, or calling me a dork. I started to have panic attacks at work. If a cook yelled at me or a table was particularly bitchy, I would be in the bathroom with my head between my knees as I hyperventilated through choked sobs. I measured my pulse at 160.

When I wasn't hyperventilating in the bathroom, I was throwing up in there. Almost as soon as I settled into the new apartment, I was puking every chance I got. If I ate a piece of chicken at work, or a sandwich with the guys, or a few french fries, or anything. My only defense against the weed munchies was throwing up afterwards, or taking appetite suppressants. Most days I felt like my stomach was dissolving in acid, diet pills, advil, and speed.

One night after sitting in my room muttering to myself for 6 hours, stoned silly and hyped on vivance, I went outside for a cigarette and tried my best to calm down and chill out. I hadn't slept in 4 days and I felt like I was dying. I had a beer and got in the shower. The water running over my face and scarred limbs started to calm me, when Kent's voice echoed from the main room. I heard him talking to my roomamte, Roger, about jail and saying they had let him out early, that the food sucked...

They also let my phone die, isn't that some shit?
Where's Kat, I haven't smoked in God knows how long.
Roger, you're a Dumbass.

I turned the faucet off and put on my towel, staring at my hollow eyes in the mirror. It felt like a scene from a horror movie. Slowly, I opened the door and peered out.

"Roger? is Kent here?"

I stepped into the main room. Roger was alone - watching a movie about gang violence in San Fransisco. He looked at me, confused.

"Kent's in jail, Kat, you know that."

I stepped back, feeling my heart begin to race again.

"hey, are you okay...?"

I shook my head and ran to my room, slamming the door behind me. I collapsed against the wall, crying. I called Brett, asking him what the fuck to do. I was losing my mind, I was bat-shit crazy. I was going to get fired from my job. I can't go on like this Brett I'm going to die oh my god Oh My God OH MY GOD I'M LOSING IT.

He told me to call Kate.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

And that's how I got back home, in a well-lit, drug free, healthy environment. It's so strange, I can't decide whether I hate or like it. I also can't decide where I'm sickest, as far as my ED goes. At home I'm slowly slipping into a diet of cigarettes, coffee, and the occaisonal bite of dinner on my way out the door. It's so easy, so quiet, so not-obvious. But I lost ten pounds and I'm starting to wonder if this is just another chapter in the never-ending Love & War novel of Ana and Kat.

I gave up on telling boyfriends about my eating disorder after what happened with Paul. I will never forgive myself for the shit I put that boy through. Besides, what does it matter? This is my life, my fight, my downfall. I don't need anybody getting in the way.

I'm on the beginning steps of a very cutesy high school-type relationship with a boy in my parent's neighborhood. We'll see how this goes.

Thanks for your patience Anas, I've missed you all.



Calories: 230 so far today