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.
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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.
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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