the food issue

Trigger warning, ya'll: This is NOT a thinspiration post, this is NOT a pro-ana post. If you have issues with food, this might fuck you up. Read on at your own risk. 

For a while now I haven't been eating right. It started a long time ago, in December, maybe. Sleeping too much/not enough, at weird hours, in weird places. Falling asleep on the bus, at work,  reading, at the movies. During that time, I also started feeling less and less hungry, filling up faster, feeling full all the time. I had blood work done to see if I had something like mono or a... face parasite, I don't know. Nope, I was fine. In fact, my blood values showed no signs of me being malnourished. o.O

Anyway, things got worse, and it got to a point where I am now actually disgusted by food. I don't want to weigh myself because I look scary. I have no idea what my BMI is, but I know it has to be lower than 15 (normal is 19 to 25). 

The food issue passed through a stage where this shit was actually suicidal. I thought, even consciously, well, I can't kill myself any other way, maybe if I starve myself I'll die and it won't be my fault. I'm pretty over that now, but food, and depriving myself of food became a kind of punishment/reward thing. I love to punish myself for things when I'm depressed and this was one of the ways. I would go hungry on purpose, until food became gross to me. I would be hungry and eating, and at the same time, trying not to puke from the horrible nausea the feeling of food in my mouth gave me. 

I overcame (somewhat) my depression, but the food thing persists. Because I made my body turn into survival mode, living off the bare minimum. Hence, I shut down all the time, and sleep. Forever. You burn less calories when you're dead asleep. 

I went to the doctor yesterday, it became too much, to stand up from my chair and grabbing on to the walls so as to not faint. Every time. I am now eating those things babies and old people eat so they won't die (yet, can I tell you a secret? It is now 6:37 PM and I've only eaten some pasta and a small salad). 

I am sure this food thing is directly responsible for my weird sleeping patterns and my fucked up skin lately. It's incredible, huh? Eating is the easiest thing in the world, right? I used to LOVE eating. Now, it's a paralyzing, incredibly difficult guilt-struggle with a piece of lettuce. Nevermind the carbs. How could I train my body to do this to me? Or my brain, I'm not sure which. And what's worse, the way I look makes me super self-conscious, and I just keep feeling worse. I can't eat, I can't gain weight, I'm ugly. My face looks hollow, my legs like twigs, and my breasts are non-existent. 

At the same time, this is just the way my body looks now. A lot of body-positive sites and people make sure to only affirm those fuller bodies. What about me? I feel like the pale man in Pan's Labyrinth. I feel so ugly and hated and judged at the same time. A lot of people would kill to have this problem. A lot of people DO kill themselves to have this problem. A lot of people die to look like this bullshit: 


Shit's sad, we're all crazy.



i'm pretty high on my sleeping pills right now. i wrote some tweets that are great because you can read them from top to bottom and from bottom, up. 

goodnight, sarah


can i just ask you a question, miss?

In my never-ending devotion to VICE mag and their questions to random people on the street, I decided to answer their questions myself, because I am unoriginal and boring. But remember when I was in Paris and I used to write every single day? I think I want to do that again. 


Pyramid Song (download - right click, save)

Also, maybe, Hurt by either Johnny Cash or NIN (this last video is a really bizarre choice of images for this song).

Yes, somewhere not in the face or spine. I really really want to be famous. 
The Fresh Prince. 
If murdered: I would like to be hung to death and make it look like a suicide. But then my friend or lover would not believe the police and would have to gather clues as to what really happened to me. 
Otherwise, I would like to die in the cold, cold snow. 
I am trying to think if I have slept with someone *not* working class... But yeah, poor people fuck better. 
Usually a coke and a cigarette, but if possible, a Bloody Mary will take all your problems away. 
Ham + Parmesan cheese + bacon + avocados + mustard + lettuce + tomato + lemon juice + salt.
Because they gave me a bunch of money there so I could know things. Because it is the birth place of many many people I love dearly. Because it has pretty mountains and pretty deserts and nice architecture. Because great musicians sometimes come from there. Because New York City, San Francisco, and Seattle. 

I guess another reason is that pretty slutty girls come from there?

Probably everyone. Probably me. But mostly all those people who perform female genital mutilations are on top of my list. 
Mostly men. And some women. But they usually get bored very fast. 
Probably not... because if the devil exists, then god must as well. And so must heaven and hell. If I make a deal with the devil, I will go to hell after I die. But if I meet the devil, it is direct evidence that heaven exists, and, sorry, but I don't want to suffer for ALL of eternity. If I was ever offered a deal by the devil, it would turn me into a devout christian. Talk about irony!
Not great, people tend to go overboard. 
Yes. We would have done a shit ton of drugs together. 
The really real world.
I've felt them before, and I have seen them in my dreams. 
A *male* lion, because they get to sleep all fucking day. Do I see some drool there?


Heath Ledger + Julia Stiles
People who rape children. People who mutilate women. Fred Phelps. Robert Mugabe. AhmadiNejad. The People Running Fox News. 
I don't use them, I just flirt relentlessly. But my favorite one was from my friend who said: "Hey Lau, that outfit is very becoming on you. If I was on you, I'd be coming on you, too." It was gross but hilarious. 
Judging from the other day's post, crappy white female mcs. 
I don't know why, but he's so unattractive to me, he makes my skin crawl. 


Mashed potatoes at a "restaurant" in Aguas Dulces, Rocha, Uruguay. It was potato-y water. Also, anything I find someone else's hair in. 
I... don't know. 
Yes. It makes ME evil. 

Mulan, fucking with gender roles and what not. 
These two bad bitches, too.


A lot of people from my high school. Bad people, sexist people, racist people, homophobic people.
Cry for days, in all honesty. 
I would like it to be someone like Emma Stone, but, realistically, Tilda Swinton. 
Get laid, it's not a big deal. Do drugs. Do more art, write more. You have potential. Don't go to high school in the States so early. Visit your father's grave. 
Physically? When I got all these teeth pulled out. They were all fucked up and they wouldn't come out, so they had to break them before pulling the pieces out. 
I wasn't. It's part of the problem. My father once slapped me because I was being annoying. My mother didn't do anything about it. 
From the X files. 
Horrible horrible things I don't want to own up to. But everyone laughs at Mexicans jokes, right?



Pica (play /ˈpkə/ py-kə) is characterized by an appetite for substances largely non-nutritive (such as clay or chalk).[1] For these actions to be considered pica, they must persist for more than one month at an age where eating such objects is considered developmentally inappropriate. There are different variations of pica, as it can be from a cultural tradition, acquired taste or a neurological mechanism such as an iron deficiency, or chemical imbalance. (source: wiki)


A light lunch, a salad of mixed Swedish words,
blue paper chunks, peppered with tobacco.
Glossy nail polish juice, garnished
with a thousand fine pieces of hot pink glitter.
A fresh palette cleanser, flower petal
and grey wool ice cream, ideal even in winter.
The kisses of blue-eyed young girls,
dialogue from TV shows dealing with the supernatural,
and transfeminist post-pornographic blog posts,
-the slam poetry of NYC kids pretending to be Egon Schiele-
wash it down with sweet blackberry fountain pen ink.
The crusty mustard pages of old books and black leather jackets.
For dinner, the memories of rough pillows melting in your mouth,
literal finger-licking goodness late-night snack. 

This is the poem I had been working on. I wrote it on paper, which I rarely do. I am much much better now. But for a while there, it was like involuntary anorexia nervosa, man. Ta.


john waters is probably a female mc

You know when you are not with a person and you think about the universe and god but actually the longest distance in the world is between your fingers because they're not touching? And you probably won't touch them again? And you can daydream about fucking them while you ride the bus home from work, maybe and how good his dick felt inside of you and the new one just isn't quite cutting it the smell of nice cologne on his prickly neck or running into his friends who pretend to not recognize you or involuntarily fantasizing* about running into him while you look like shit with no make-up on but fuck it! Do you know how easy it is to get a new dick? Do you know how easy it was?

I pretty much spent the weekend looking at gifs (did you know they are pronounced “jifs”??!?!?! blew my fucking mind) and videos today. I saw a terrible movie I found funny. I thought about boys and girls and the weather. I read all the articles on VICE and saw all the DOs and DONTs too. 

ugghghaghghghghghghg the synchronized back pattern is killing me (via.)

I made tiny lists in my head I forgot promptly. I got mad at my students for now knowing their shit. Now that I am a teacher, I am NEVER going into class unprepared, or miss class unless I am actually on fucking fire. It's rude and shitty and ungrateful. I thought about sexism a bunch and well-meaning dudes and how they never seem to get it, that horrible dread when you forgot you were a woman, you thought you were a human being, and then someone objectifies you, and then you just become a collection of holes with maybe nice hair. And they take pictures of you and maybe rate you on a scale from one to ten and you laugh and maybe participate but really you want to cry with all the rage while slowly choking the literal shit out of every man that's ever been alive. Except for John Waters.


Did you know that John Waters is hitchhiking across America? He's, you know, mature, and just like, not giving any fucks, and getting rides from strangers.

It is never not okay to post a John Waters gif. Also, read THIS article. Speaking of VICE...

I've been a bad friend. I haven't returned some emails I should have. It's because sometimes I feel like recreating the stigmata with fucking nail scissors because I miss my friends so much, and telling them about my trivial shit seems not real and my face scrunches up but no real tears come out. Nobody wins.

I have a bunch of posts actually coming up. One is a poem I wrote about not eating food. Another is a list, because I love lists. Another is another post about men I'd like to fuck, but that's like a sore subject today, so let's leave it. Another is a post about how fucking insane my mother is and how every day I am turning younger vis-à-vis my relationship with her.

Dudes, I searched the tags on tumblr for "mother" and all I got was REALLY disturbing porn and pictures of Lady Gaga, so here's Joan Crawford, who is nothing like my mother. I'm more Joan Crawford in our relationship, if anything.

I downloaded 136 songs worth of hip-hop yesterday and spent 6 hours organizing my music library by genre. I tried to even google every missing album name (with its accompanying image) but that got old real fast.

I woke up sick today, bleeding, itching, my forehead is full of water and misspelled words
I made a circle around my bed with used tissues and old underwear
I listened to This Song 32 times in 3 days.
Wishing for Sleeping Beauty Disorder, just a bit under two months, is it? Today?
Jag äter mat, jag äter mat fucking inte. Jag äter aldrig? Gotta Practice.
Fake pearl necklaces and tight shirt collars
Some Things i Became Obsessed With Over The Weekend:

Iggy Azalea ft. T.I. - Murda Bizness
L$D - Don't Smoke My Blunt Bitch
Confesión Feat Eli Almic & DJRC by Eli Almic. I went to the best hip-hop show in Uruguay that I have ever been to. This girl, Eli Almic, was MCing. Straight crushin'.
Faye CU
Everything on rookiemag.com (again), specially this photo shoot with fucking with gender. I wish I was still a teenager so I could write for Tavi.
Pretty Little Liars. Yes, I watch the shit out of this show. Shut up.
Brassaï, Two Acrobats, Cirque Medrano, 1932-33
Brassaï, Paris from Notre-Dame Cathedral, 1933
All of Brassaï's photographs, specially these three. That french dyke couple (1932) is power. (via)

And, lastly, white cabbage salads at six in the morning, heavy on the vinegar.

*is there a word for this? You know, when maybe you lie in bed and you start thinking about the worst possible outcome, the scenario in which you would be the most embarrassed and hurt? Is this something only I do? Involuntarily fantasize? It's like day-nightmaring. Something.  

<3's back