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.

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.

Brassaï

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'.

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.

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

rager on a friday night

It is Friday night and I have made the “decision” of staying in. It's not like there's nothing to do; I was invited to TWO different things. This is a lot for Uruguay winter. I don't feel like a grown-up staying in, I feel like a grandmother.

Other things that make me feel like a grandmother?

and not like these cool bitches either

I get dizzy every time I get up, it feels like I'm on percocet (without the, you know, fun part)

I have to drink Ensure to keep my weight up (woe is me, right? But that shit tastes gross)

My gums bleed every single fucking time I brush my teeth

I have a terrible, been-smoking-for-40-years cough

I am tired, like, all of the times. All of them.

laugh it up, giles. you asshole. 

But I decided to stay in because I don't feel exotic any more. Let me walk you through this insane logic that I have: When I was in the States, even my name was weird. People would be all shocked and surprised and impressed that I was from a small South American country.

like the gay one from nina sky.

“But your parents are American?” No. “But you have lived here since you were little?” No. “Oh wow, you are zooo cooooufllfll” Lalala. Here, I am one more girl with a weird fashion sense and a bitch face on. No one new ever talks to me because I'm old and jaded and pale. I have only had ONE come on the whole time I have been here, from a dude. An old one. And not even at a club, it was walking down the street and I felt dirty.

So, I am not interesting here. I often miss pop culture references, I don't get jokes, and I even make numerous mistakes in Spanish. I feel like a foreigner with no personality. I have nothing to talk about. So I stayed in, because, why am I going out to spend money getting drunk when I can do that here in my house. I bought a flask of whiskey. It is now gone yeeeeeaaaayyyy!

But mostly, LESBIHONEST, my ex was going to be there. Outside, I mean. And I really want to be the person who doesn't give a shit and that can be okay with being around their ex, specially because it's been a month, but running into her every time I force myself to leave my house is not pleasant, having to actually will-power myself into not checking her Facebook isn't either. So I stayed in and deleted her from Facebook which may be childish but I'm too depressed to give a fuck. I'm thinking of getting rid of Facebook altogether. I have most definitely become an internet addict during the past month. I spend countless hours reading and re reading boring posts and news. I don't even read interesting things, or fiction, or watch good movies. I have recently gotten into Pretty Little Liars, for fuck's sake.

they *do* have gays

I rarely eat, I don't read, I don't even listen to music because it makes me feel too much. Whenever my friends are over I sometimes stop listening to what they say and stare at the walls. I do that when I'm watching TV too, all by myself. I'm actually trying to fool myself, by having a plate of food in front of me or talking on the phone or something.

I have a list of things I have to do. If I'm lucky, I'll do one thing a day. Today, I picked up my boots from the boot guy. I also washed the dishes, so that's two things. I didn't send off my resume, and I didn't shower. I slept for 13 hours last night, and then I took a two hour nap. It is time to sleep again.


Next time I'll tell you about the time I almost died two weeks ago. 

long delayed - promise of more (sorry for the typos)

Long ago, I found a cure for my depression: writing. Uninevitably, as I never listen to myself, I stopped doing this for the better part of last year. Partly because I didn't want everyone to know all the dark twisty things (because, obviously, the only way to write is to blog) inside of my head. People had found out about all of my broodiness before, and catastorphic consequences ensued (not really). I often lie in bed thinking of good sentences that just come to me and I am too lazy playing mahjong to write them down. Sometimes I think of a good line of a poem while half asleep. Again, too lazy. Every single thing I write down on the notebook that I carry around with me feels daily-journal-y... describing bus passangers, events of the day, a little fly on a window pane, it all seems like counting calories (and that shit is for boring anos)

cry ano bitch cry
(via fuckyeahtattoos)

But, luckily for my muse, I recently had my heart broken and now I don't give a shit. I want to let it out again because most of my friends are far away and the ones that are here are busy and don't live next door as my college friends did.

(via april27th)

It's very cold and windy here, my skin is very dry and chapped, even the skin on my legs. I notice how old I'm getting. Grey hairs, scarred skin, weird spots. When I watch movies or TV shows, I usually half-cry most of the running time: Santana and Brittany kissed TEAR, a father loses his child TEAR, a child loses his father TEAR, Zach Galafinakis (sp?) is fat TEAR, etc.

will die will die

My heart is a little bomb, that I know will explode one of these days. It will be the familiar routine, more pills, therapy, warm weather, happy again. Except probably not.

I am greatful that despite of this shitstorm I am still able to work and stuff. I just don't think much. I haven't read anything since I landed. I mostly spend sleepless nights whispering regrets under my breath.

Living with my family again also ain't easy. It's not that I don't have room for my stuff (I don't), I don't have room for me. ME ME ME. I expanded and stretched all over the place when living in college, even when I was in Paris. I need space and I need silence, and there's none of that here. And it's not my mum's fault... It's mine, for failing to get a job in the States, for not performing better in college, for being ugly, for not foreseeing this, saving up for rent somewhere here, but 8000 pesos will get you nowhere. And I'm smothered by my own house.

(via letgooftheredballoons)

Lots of things have happened since I came back to Uruguay. A girl I was very excited to see and kiss and hold hands with told me she didn't want to do all those things with me. This had repercussions on a lot of other relationships for me and I am held in an uncertainty limbo right now. I had a terrible cold, I kept coughing. In my hypochondriac mind I thought I might cough up blood any second. But then it went away (edit: immediately after I posted this I spent 2 hours coughing. I woke everyone up). I haven't stopped smoking like I said I was going to. But there's time for a serious health scare, no?

bitch please

So, in order to get out of my funk – or at least make it productive, I must: read more, write more, see my friends more often, not spend so much fucking time on the internet, take pictures, draw, and probably smile more often.

I spent a month traveling the States. That is my next writing mission: a portrait of each of the cities I visited and their people. Could be sort of a delayed short-term travel blog. Are you interested?

as excited as this baby was when being held by david bowie

<3