I must do better

Just a little discipline. Or a lot. That's really what I need.

Been spending too much money, eating too much rich food, wasting too much time reading novels and watching tv shows, drinking too much alcohol, giving too much time to boys. Never working. Never doing anything for anyone besides myself. No wonder I feel like such absolute crap.

To be the thing you have to do the verb. I went to journalism school and learned there that I have neither the motivation nor the dedication to make it in that field. It's hard work, nerve, and creativity. I am too lazy. So hundreds of thousands of dollars later I have a fancy private school degree and almost no impressive work to show for it, precious few connections, and no job prospects. None of this would matter if I could just get my shit together and create something of my own. In this modern internet world I don't need a job at a paper or a station to publish anything. But I'm too afraid to try, to lazy to work at it.

Now here I am, a volunteer teacher in a foreign country. I'm behind on submissions for my TEFL degree, and it's been gnawing at me like overdue school assignments used to. I did a horrible job teaching this last semester, simply because I failed to properly prepare and do the work necessary. These kids deserve more than what I gave them. I can do better. I will do better.

It's not January yet, but I'm making a few resolutions for the new year now.

1. Make lesson plans, or at least outlines, for every class

2. Create something every week. (interview someone, write an article, draw, knit, audio postcard, etc.)

3. Do nice things for other people

4. Less small talk, ask more interesting questions

5. Do my best to always tell the truth even if it's more comfortable to lie

6. Mindfulness

7. Consider the consequences more

8. Stay in contact with college friends

Friendsgiving

My first Thanksgiving away from my family, it felt strange. All day I felt empty and anxious and just off.

Wednesday night I saw Marlon for the first time in 3 weeks. I was still angry at him for ditching me at the beach during Novembrinas and frustrated with his horrible texting habits. We made plans Tuesday but I went out with Francisco instead. (That night was amazing- Francisco and I bought wine at the grocery store and then went to his new house that his family hasn't moved into yet. We sat on his empty back patio and drank and read poetry in Spanish.) When I finally got to Marlon's house on Wednesday night I was frustrated with him for not coming to pick me up and for being so casual when I was still angry with him.

Of course we made up, and actually ended up having a pretty nice night. We talked a lot (well, as much as we really can. He knows about 5 words in English and my Spanish is pretty terrible. But we get by) and I ended up staying the night at his place. I got home around 9am and started planning for Thanksgiving dinner that night at my friend Mohamed's house.

I walked to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for cookies and a fruit salad but stopped on the way to eat an empanada and mango juice. Lunch was coconut rice and pork chops and guava juice. Then I went to class for a little while just to check in, then went home and made the cookies and some banana bread for my host mother. I tasted just a little bit of the cookie dough.

As soon as I got to Mohamed's house my stomach started to hurt. I was really pumped for delicious thanksgiving food and lots and lots of wine, but my body ruined everything. A sip of wine and I had to put it down. A friend got me a plate of food and the look of it made me want to throw up. I was so nauseous and started to get that taste in my mouth like I was going to be sick any moment. I went to the bathroom and waited a minute for my body to get everything out, but nothing. So I sped up the process and then it was like magic, the entire day's worth of food came up. It's so crazy for me to actually throw up now, purging is such a part of my life that when I throw up for real now it's kind of scary. My body does all the work for me and it's freaky to be out of control.

So now the question is if I have a stomach bug or if it was what I ate. My guess is either the empanada or the raw cookie dough. Drinking gatorade now and praying I can manage to keep it down. I want to go out dancing tonight and I don't want to feel like crap.

Actually trying

Yes, still just under 60 kilos, my weight hasn't budged since early October. Thankful I haven't gained anything but I need a kickstart so I can return to the US for Christmas at least at 3kgs lighter. I feel like I'm right around the weight where my face shifts from round to angled.

Mostly, I have to blame the alcohol. Far too much beer lately. I've been purging more meals which has helped balance things, but I drink a lot. It scares me to admit this, but I need the alcohol to truly relax and feel happy. Sober I always feel too anxious, too self-conscious. But then I get a little lift, a little buzz, and the inhibition slips away and it's as if the night has turned to magic and I can be anyone. Must be careful, this is how the problems always start.

Lots going on in my life right now. A change to my program, newly purchased travel tickets, Christmas preparations, love life drama, graduation ceremonies, thanksgiving dinner, birthday celebrations, last-minute classwork to turn in. My life is full and I'm trying to appreciate that best I can without letting my own nagging insecurities drag me down. I can't let myself ruin this experience with all my negativity.

all-consuming

You know that feeling you get in your gut when you were feeling good and confident, or maybe just neutral, and then you suddenly remember how ugly and fat you are? For me it usually happens when I catch my reflection in a window or a mirror or someone else's sunglasses. I left the house feeling okay but then I see how I look to the rest of the world and my stomach starts to turn. 

It starts with just a single thought. fix your hair. And then another. stand up straighter. And another. wipe all that grease off your nose. And then everything seems to be wrong with me. stop smiling like an idiot. suck your stomach in. don't say anything stupid. The thoughts spiral out of control and I am berating myself. why did you eat all that shit? your thighs are twice the size of hers. your chins are showing. your arms are fat hams. bring make-up to reapply next time. My stomach starts to hurt. you should have lost the weight by now. you're just another ugly fat girl. I can feel myself withdrawing from the people around me. you're not that special. everyone else is prettier than you. at least she has nice clothes. I fight to pretend I'm fine when I just want to cry and beg someone to talk me back to a happy place. you're ruining your own night with negative thoughts. you're socially awkward. there's something wrong with you. don't be selfish. The hissing in my head is enough to make me cry.

I've been living with this horrible voice in my head for as long as I remember. If I could only lose more weight maybe it would be a little quieter. I'd still be ugly and awkward (and prone to self-hate) but at least there would be less validity to fatness that I feel.

Somewhere around 130 pounds right now, not totally sure. I need to get back into a restricting mindset, find some discipline, and make sure my accurate scale at home reads under 125 when I get back to the US for christmas. I want to know what it feels like to be thin and strong and know that I really am beautiful. There's no way I'm meant to be fat for my whole life. 

La Fiesta Novembrinas

All week long my adopted city Cartagena, Colombia has been celebrating its independence day. Officially the independence day is November 11, but the festivities start in late October and continue on until the Miss Colombia beauty pageant the following Monday. It's too dangerous to take anything valuable out onto the street so I couldn't take pictures but here are some I found on Google to share with you all:

Boys covered in oil to represent the newly freed slaves. They roam around the city and if you don't pay them a few hundred pesos (20 or 30 cents in USD) they rub the oil on you. Kids also dress as clowns and block the roads demanding a toll to pass. Basically the children take over the neighborhoods for the week. 

Children playing with espuma. Cans of soapy foam are sold on the street and used to playfully spray all over friends and strangers. They also use water balloons and water guns, paint, eggs, flour, and cornstarch.

I had the absolute best time going to the parade on Thursday. I went with a friend and her boyfriend and his hooligan friends. There was so much energy at the big party downtown, and if I were a more cautious person I might have been a little afraid. Firecrackers going off in the street, loud music, dancing, so much alcohol, and of course all the things we were throwing at each other. By the end of the night I was covered in blue paint and cornstarch and my eyes stung from the espuma. I was drunk and tired and dirty but so incredibly happy to be there.

Eskimo Brothers

The moto I took today was reckless and fast. I flirted with the driver to get him to give me a lower price, and knew I could get my way by the look on his face. When we peeled off from the curb I immediately knew he was not a cautious driver. We weaved through buses and were always at the head of the pack of other motorcycles when a red light turned green. All the way I dared myself not to hold on and listened to my pulse race in my ears, loving the rush of wind across my face.

A meeting with my boss at a favorite coffee shop in the historic part of town. She helped me plan the next few classes before the end of the school year on December 4th. We had to have the meeting because I had a meltdown on Friday. My co-teacher asked me to randomly teach a lesson and make up an activity on the spot. I froze and panicked. I let the 45 minutes left in class tick by, the students just gossiping and texting on their phones while I sat paralyzed, mentally chastising myself for my lack of creativity, charisma, and mastery of the Spanish language.

I left the school before my next class, cutting it completely. I walked down the stairs and through the halls, through groups of curious students, trying to keep the tears in my eyes from spilling down my face. At home I had to walk past the two elderly women I live with to get to the safety of my room. They both felt the need to remedy my sadness with evangelical prayer and my room was doused in holy water while they prayed loudly to El Señor and Jesus. I managed to move my laptop just before the chair it was sitting on got water all over it, then closed my door as soon as they had left my room even though they were still asking the Lord to rid the evil spirits from my life. I know this was rude, and I should take all the help I can get, but at that moment I was so worked up and hating having to interact in another language so I selfishly shut myself away, stripped my clothes off, and cried in the shower.

That afternoon I left to go to the house of a guy I've been sleeping with for the last three weeks. And if you've been reading previous posts you'll notice this is the second Colombian that I've been sleeping with. I'm still in contact with and sort of dating the first one (F) who is philosophical and compliments me often but is full of himself and bad in bed. The second one (M) smokes a lot of pot, has a car and his own business, compliments me often, and is good in bed but speaks absolutely no English and is very bad at texting me back.

I arrived at M's house to try and fuck away my sadness, and it worked for a little while. That post-orgasm glow just wipes out any feelings besides contentedness and exhaustion. And now here's a little more TMI: He asked very sincerely if he could take a video of me giving him head and I agreed. We watched it afterwards and I couldn't believe how beautiful I looked doing it. Slutty, yes, but also glamorous somehow. My face looks amazing from that angle. He also took a video of us having sex, me on top, and I felt less good about my body. I've lost weight but my body is still soft and round, big bulges of fat on my stomach and legs and arms.

If I wanted to lose more weight, which I do, it really wouldn't be that hard. I just need to cut down on my alcohol consumption (currently I'm drinking a lot, mostly as an escape from the rest of my life which I find all at once perplexing, terrifying, and boring), stop eating so many saltine crackers, and take the opportunities when I eat meals outside my house to eat salads. I think the rest of my diet could pretty much stay the same and I would be losing weight again, especially if I threw in even just a little light exercise.

Being with M is really nice, despite the language barrier. He's sweet and even willing to forgive a fairly large and comical situation that we find ourselves in now. The night I met him we were dancing in a bar and then I went home with him afterwards. The next day we spent the day at the beach together and he looked at some pictures on my phone. A photo of me and F came up and he said he recognized the guy in the picture, "who is this?" he asked me, "I think I know him." I told him his name and M said that, yes, he did know him and he thought he was a bad guy. Later I told M the truth, that I was seeing another guy but didn't mention the name. M was fine with it "I don't care about that as long as you still want to see me again."

Then Friday evening while we were lying in bed, M asked about my novio. I said he wasn't my boyfriend, but yeah there was something going on. "Where does he live?" M asked, and I answered. "What's his name?" M asked, and I refused to answer. "Is it F?" M asked, and I said yes while I covered my face and turned away, coloring with embarrassment. "Do you believe in destiny?" he asked me, and I said I didn't know. I guess I do now, or at least in the idea that my life is sometimes like a romantic comedy. Turns out M and F have been in a similar situation before. A girlfriend of F's (who lived with him for 2 years) broke up with him and then immediately started dating M. It's a small city so they see each other out in bars and around town, enemies in the way Eskimo brothers can be. Now me, the cheating little gringa.

My love life has become a source of escape and entertainment, but when these men become unavailable to me I feel cold and alone and empty. I need friends or alcohol or a movie to be watching, because when it's just me and my thoughts I start to go to dark places. I'm sad. Sitting alone in coffee shops used to be enjoyable, but now it's a type of torture. I sit, trying to entertain myself with a book or browsing on my cell phone, anxiously waiting for my phone to buzz with a message from someone, anyone, so that I won't have to be alone anymore.

I need something my own and productive to give me purpose again. A creative project to drive me and help me find some sense of accomplishment and control over my life. I need to be able to fix this myself, I can't let myself fall apart again.

Éxito

My weight hasn't budged from 127 in three weeks. But I don't mind, it's a nice low weight for me compared to my elephant months this past winter. On Friday I felt sexy pulling on new tight-fitting jeans, a strappy tank top and wedges. My hair was long and sleek, my make-up fresh. The cat calls were louder and more frequent than usual when I walked from my house to the Castellana Plaza.

Friday was a friend's birthday and we made a plan within our group to go salsa dancing at a local place. I wanted to do something to make her feel special so far from home, so I left my house early to go buy a sparkler candle (volcan) and donuts instead of cake (cakes here in Colombia have never impressed me, always dry and tasteless). 

On the way to the store I walked across the street rather than using the pedestrian overpass because there was a group of teenagers hanging out up there and I didn't want to walk past them. So I darted across traffic instead and saw a very fat cat dead on the median. Its skinny little black and white legs were sticking straight up into the air from its fat black and white body. "Tsst Tsst Hola prima, mi vida ven aca" a guy called to me as I walked. For once I turned to acknowledge a guy calling to me on the street."Que pasó?" I asked him, pointing to the cat. "Se caió. Se morió," He told me, as if I were an idiot for asking. I said goodnight and walked away.

In Éxito (Colombian equivalent of Target) I walked straight from the entrance to the baked goods section where I examined every single box of donuts and compared them for most desirable flavors and variety. I had left my house far too early and had more than an hour to kill before I met my friends. So I walked up and down the aisles with my box of donuts, stopping to pick out a new color of nail polish. I wandered through the aisles of refrigerators and ovens and televisions and thought of the day last week when I'd done the same thing with Francisco. When I got bored I paid for the donuts and the nail polish and an impulse purchase of a smirnoff mixed drink in a can.

Then, like any number of strange americans in superstores, I sat down at a table with a box full of donuts to drink alcohol and paint my nails raspberry pink. For 30 minutes I sat contently, drinking and carefully applying three thin coats of polish. I waited for them to dry, stood up when it was time to meet my friends and went off to find a moto taxi. 

Dream a little dream of me

On my mornings off I still like to wake up reasonably early so I can feel like the day was still completely mine. Mornings off, like the mornings I work, I set a few alarms to allow myself to lazily put off getting up for a few more minutes. beep beep beep. I slide my finger across the surface of my cell phone and roll over in my bed.

Before the first alarm I was dreaming of people moving into my house. I often have that dream here, that the people back home miss me so much they're willing to move to south america to come be with me. Or that they just happen to be here too, and I welcome them into my adopted home so that we can be here together, a team of familiar faces up against the challenges of newness together.

Before the second alarm I dreamt I was organizing the closet of a very wealthy man. First we went to the store and bought a new armoire with lights running across the top and organizing shelves. Then we came home and he advised me while I stacked his slacks according to their shade of beige.

Before the third alarm the most wonderful thing happened. In the dream I was at a cocktail party where everyone was older than me, and then my mother walked in. We both cried we were so happy to see each other again. She remarked on how old I was, that I was an adult now. We hugged and I noticed how thin her shoulders were, it stuck in my mind that we were exactly the same height; with our arms wrapped around each other we pressed perfectly together cheek to cheek. The two of us sat on a sofa near a large picture window and drank a fancy foreign wine with a acquaintance of hers. She said she didn't have much time but promised to be back. I protested that I had so much to ask her, I needed so much from her. 

The third alarm rang and I got out of bed, my chest bursting with feeling. It always feels like some sort of miracle when she returns to me this way. I cry to think of all the time she missed, more than fourteen years now. But at this point in my life, even a sweet little dream of her is such a gift. I love you, Mom. I miss you. 

Medellín

A week's vacation in Medellín has spoiled me for life in Cartagena. There the weather is perfect, there is public transportation, clean parks, and so much to do. Here is a hellishly hot sprawl of houses and shopping centers, not a park or even a patch of grass to be found. It's normally difficult to come back to work from vacation, but this is harder than usual.

My body was not used to the amount of walking I did in Medellín. I did a hike in the mountains which made my calves sore for days afterwards. Then I walked miles each day after around parks and public squares and danced until my legs were shaking with exhaustion. A few months ago this would have been nothing, but after a few sedentary months it was a challenge.

Food-wise, it was an odd week. I ate only two actual meals in the 6 days I was there. The rest of my food was street food eaten from napkins. At least one empanada a day, maybe a pastelita. The majority of my calories came from the alcohol, though. Because I don't really eat after lunch time lately, the alcohol I consumed after 10pm hit an empty stomach and I got drunk quickly. 4 beers and I was dizzying-ly drunk. Medellín is famous for its white powder and the party scene there is amazing. I didn't do anything illicit, no worries. In the morning I'd try to cure my hangover with big cups of chocolate milk.

Between all the walking and my junkfood/alcohol consumption I have no idea if I gained or lost weight over my week of vacation. The day I left I weighed 127, a new low weight for me. I'm too afraid to look and see that I've gained.

Decide and let go

All through September I counted down to the break in the first week of October while simultaneously dreading it because I had no plans and no one to make plans with. I stressed a lot about it, having a little poor-me pity party over feeling alone and anchor-less. While telling my Dad about it on the phone today I started to cry. Today is monday, the first official day of the break, and I am home doing the same old stuff as always, totally wasting my vacation time.

So at noon I got off my hammock and opened my computer and started googling. Booked a flight to Medellin and texted a friend I know is close to there. I had so much adrenaline from my impulsive decision I started to shake (I shake in response to a lot of emotions lately) so much that I had to calm myself down alternating sets of squats and push-ups. My flight leaves tomorrow evening.

While I was planning all this (sort of, all I have is the flight still) the thought crossed my mind to stay to see Francisco. But then I reminded myself how stupid it would be to waste my vacation time on some boy I know is going to turn out being bad news. But still, after I bought the plane tickets I messaged him to say I was leaving. He said he would miss me, and did I have time to say goodbye today? I said yes.

So another sunset watched from las murallas, another twilight stroll along the narrow streets, another roll-around in motel sheets. But he confirmed to me all the bad news I was anticipating. "I lied to you about something," he said. My heart dropped. Turns out he isn't 25 after all, but turned 30 on June 3rd this year. 3 years older and 8 years older are two very different things. Then later he told me more truths, about the girl he's been seeing on and off for 3 years. "I don't love her, I never promised to love her forever," he said, "but I have fidelity to her. Or this is not the word... loyalty to her. As a person." She is coming to visit from her home in Australia in February and staying for two months.

I need to stop seeing him now. Just be strong and push his presence out of my life. But it's so hard to give up something that makes me so almost-happy. My days are so empty without love. To be alone is to be nothing. I am always yearning for that someone who I can pour myself into and who will pour himself into me. But I can never be first place in Francisco's heart, and he is not good enough for me. Charming and poetic and handsome and funny, but narcissistic and unmotivated and macho and a liar. If I let him stay, let the comfort of someone seduce me, I'm giving up the opportunity to have something real, the deep and loving relationship I want more than anything else.

Te extraño, hermosa

"Eres hermoso," I told him. He was putting on his clothes and I was sitting with my legs hanging off the motel room bed. I had just put my clothes on while he was in the bathroom, and he walked out naked. Silently, I watched him put on underwear, then pants, and then look around on the floor for his shirt. Perfect smooth skin that ripples over muscle, his body is beautiful. "Eres heromoso," I told him as he pulled the shirt over his head. "Ah, but hermoso is a very strong word here," he said, stopping to smile at me. He's a beautiful man, but what really makes me melt is his smile. "Yo sé," I said, "You really are beautiful." When he leaned down to kiss me again I couldn't help smiling, too.

He's been away for a little while, only a week, but with new lovers the time always seems to drag between meetings. "Te extraño, hermosa" he texted me yesterday. "Pero hermosa es una palabra fuerza aquí" I texted him back, trying to echo his response to me when I used that word. "Sí" he responded "pero tu lo eres."

Latin men have that way with words. They lavish their women with compliments and declarations of love, they whisper poems into her ears. Amor, cielo, cariño, linda, terms of affection are used in the most casual way. Sometimes it's hard to know what to brush off and what is really meant in a heartfelt way. Does he like me? Am I being played? I ask myself these questions every time I'm with him. But then he'll do something nice like introduce me to his friends as "mi chica" or ask when I want to come meet his mother, and I start to think he really does want me.

I'm still learning Spanish, and I speak it badly. So my conversations can be a bit wonky. But here are some of the things I've learned:

eres hermoso/hermosa- you are beautiful

yo sé- I know

te extraño- I miss you

pero hermosa es una palabra fuerza aquí- but beautiful is a strong word here

sí, pero tu lo eres- yes, but you are

Pretty Hurts

My good friend leaned over and said in a low, conspiratorial voice "I have to tell you two things..." I immediately braced myself for something raunchy and shocking, he's flamboyant and gay and loves to shock people with dirty sex talk. Like the last time I saw him when he described how bottoms need a lot of fiber in their diets. Ew.

"Two things," he said. "First, you've lost so much weight, you look so good. Second, I can tell you've had an amazing orgasm recently." Both things are true, but I demurred. "Just a little weight," I said. "Maybe I have maybe I haven't," I said. He went on, in that way he has, telling me I looked healthy and relaxed, that he could tell the sex was good. Then he asked me about the guy's penis and I turned red and refused to answer anymore questions.

"What ever you're doing, it's working, so keep doing it," he told me, back on the topic of my thinness. I laughed and thanked him, but was silently horrified. I throw up after most of my meals, I told him inside my head. If only you knew.

Full stomach, hate on the brain

Dinner out with a friend last night. I was in a 'fuck it' mood after plans fell through with the boy I've been seeing. I ordered what was sort of a chicken pot pie type dish and a fresh mango juice. Panera Bread-style bread bowl full of chicken and mushrooms, it was warm and filling and delicious. I am always too hot here and for once I was feeling cold and in need of comfort so I ordered it. I ate all the chicken and mushrooms and almost none of the bread. 3/4 of the way through I felt full but I kept going. And then I finished it, telling myself it was alright. Then friend begged and begged me to get ice cream with her so she wouldn't feel 'like such a fatass' (she had gotten a salad for dinner). I compromised with her and ordered myself a latte to sip while she ate her ice cream sundae.

We went to the bathroom together after we paid and I was cursing her in my head the whole time. I wanted to purge so badly, but she was in the stall right next to mine. We took a bus home and I sat in silence the whole 45 minutes just yelling at myself in my head. The full feeling was so triggering, I couldn't stop wishing to be home to get this food out of me. But I knew the bus ride was too long, purging would be pointless by the time I got back.

Spent the evening lying in my hammock, fan pointed in my face. I texted the boy for over an hour, a considerable effort considering the language barrier. We decided to meet today after my classes were done at 7.

Felt horrible about my food yesterday, but today was worse. Granola and milk for breakfast, lemonade and a pastry before a morning meeting (purged in a public restroom) lunch with a new friend and some random backpacker men, then a large dinner of fried pork and tajadas. And I still feel so bingy. I just want to eat everything in sight, and buy more and more and more. I don't know what's set me spinning like this. I was doing so well on not craving or binging, and then the last few days... all I want is food. It's like being me in America again, and I don't want to go back to being that fat sad person ever again. 

Same old

Had to use a flashlight to read what the scale said yesterday, the power was out again. So I did my happy dance in the dark- just under 60kgs, 130lbs! If this scale is to be believed, that means I'm only 5 pounds away from my lowest weight since middle school.

My host mom has noticed, she told me I look "mas flaca, bastante bastante bastante." thinner, much much much thinner. She was exaggerating, but it made me feel all glowy and happy inside. I want more people to notice, and I want to keep losing. I can't wait til I'm comfortably within the 120's.

Host sister is pissing me off more than usual. Today I was watching tv on my computer and she barges in and asks me to pull up some pictures for ideas for her costume. I do what she asks, and then about ten minutes in I get frustrated with her and say "I'm trying to watch something." She gives me a passive aggressive retort that's supposed to make me feel guilty, but I don't. So far every time she's pulled that shit on me I've responded to it, but I won't anymore. She's a spoiled little girl and I'm not going to treat her the way she's used to being treated. Hell no.

Still haven't come up with any plans for my October break, but I need to get out of Cartagena for a while. Doing the same old stuff all the time is driving me crazy. And all I really want is to relax and eat in restaurants and take a million sun-drenched photographs.

Lord give my strength

At the moment, I haven't got the courage to get up and go. Can't tell if it's laziness or discomfort that makes me so unwilling to leave my home lately. I go to work everyday, occasionally the grocery store around the corner. Weekends I go to the old city to dance or walk around with the boy I talked about in my last post. This city is large and sprawling but I only know a few small corners of it. Too afraid to leave my comfort zone to know more.

A girl I do not like wants to travel with me during our break in October. I do not want to go with her, but I don't have anyone else to travel with. My best friend here is going to the coffee region with her mother. Another friend is going to Medellin alone and I don't want to intrude. I need to figure this out fast and work up the courage to say no to the annoying girl who wants to travel with me. I feel bad, but I cannot stand to travel with her. I'm worried that after I tell her I cannot go with her, I won't figure out something to do instead and I'll end up putzing around my house for a full week. What a waste of time. 

My spanish is slowly improving. Very slowly. I get too embarrassed to say a lot of things at once. So I speak mostly in 4 or 5 word sentences, with a very limited range of topics. I wish I could communicate more with the people around me. I've been seeing Francisco a lot lately. We spent the day at the beach last sunday and went out for a walk around and some juice last night. I really like being with him. 

132lbs, I've been maintaining for a few weeks now. My clothes are feeling looser, but the scale says I've only lost one pound since my birthday in August. I keep telling myself I'll feel more comfortable and social if I can manage to lose weight and look better. People will like me more when I'm skinny and it'll all get easier. But I also know that's crazy. Even when I'm skinny I'll still be shy and full of self-doubt.

Tengo miedo

One of the craziest nights of my life on Saturday. Lots of lessons learned.

A retelling:

Spent the whole day Saturday at the mall shopping by myself. It was half heavenly, half a miserable exercise in loneliness and self-hate. I went because I had nothing better to do and because I'm extremely tired of wearing the same 8 or 9 outfits that I brought with me from the states. I loved walking around listening to my podcasts and enjoyed the air conditioning quite a lot. But then there was that enemy, the mirror in the dressing room, and the whole confusing dilemma of sizing in a foreign country. I've lost some weight here, but I'm still very large.

Anyway. I wore one of my new shirts to go out that night. A green patterned tank top with a cutout in the back. Blue j crew shorts, brown leather wedges, dangly earrings, smoky eye make-up. I looked good. My host sister and her date drove me into town, dropped me off at the bar where I'd meet my friend Mo. He was late (as always) so I met him at a famous plaza where all the gringos and argentinian backpackers hangout. We drank a little and talked, I met some fellow volunteers from Denmark and Canada and some backpackers from France. Then a Colombian guy named Francisco introduced himself. He is so cute! Dark and muscle-y with a charming smile. We talked all the way to the party that Mo had heard about down the street. I felt confident in my spanish at that moment, and that felt really nice.

Got to the party. It was much more electronica and reggae than the salsa and champeta I've gotten used to. The smell of pot was everywhere, I'm sure lots of other drugs. Blue lazer lights, a big sound system, a bar with over-priced beers and margaritas. I talked to a bunch of people, then found my way back to Francisco. We started dancing, and then suddenly it was clear to both of us there was something more going on. Our bodies got closer, he was whispering in my ear, and then we were kissing. Maybe an hour passed, I have no idea the time. Suddenly my host sister came and broke the spell. "I can't believe you are dancing that way with this guy! He is so ugly!" I looked at her, shocked. She looked disgusted with me. "We have to go. Now" she told me. I gave Francisco my number and followed her down the steep stairs to the street. She started telling me how horrible he is, so champetua and not the type of guy I should hangout with. I started to get angry with her. How dare she tell me who I could like? How dare she judge someone she's never even talked to? We fought on the street and I felt indignant. So she left and I stayed. I went back to the party and Francisco had left.

Distraught, I went back to my new friends the French backpackers, and struck up conversation. We talked awhile, then danced some. My friend Mo found some weed and I had a few puffs, thinking it would be just like when I smoked back home. I hadn't smoked in months and wasn't used to it anymore. Immediately I regretted everything. I was so paranoid, anxious, and lost in my own thoughts. I didn't want to feel this way anymore. The guy who had given it to me noticed and tried to calm me down but I felt awful. Time to go, I thought, and asked Mo to help me grab a cab.

We left the party; Me, a Dutch girl, a French guy, a Colombian I didn't know, and Mo. As we walked down the stairs I told Mo I felt way too high and he laughed while telling me he'd find me a cab. But before he could do that, his drunk ass got into a fight with a drunk old man. "Que pasa?!" he asked in that awful loud drunk way american college students have. The man understandingly took this tone as aggressive and got worked up. He threw a glass bottle at us and the shards hit my legs. I freaked. Didn't look back, just speed walked away from the yelling and the sound of more bottles smashing. "What the hell were you thinking?!' I yelled at Mo. "We're in a foreign country, you can't act like that!" He laughed it off and went to hail me a cab.

We're waiting on the sidewalk, the Colombian and I nervously laughing about how drunk Mo is acting. Everyone is a little freaked out. Then the police show up and my heart starts beating hard. My high brain is on overdrive, super paranoid and now filling with adrenaline. Two cops walk over and start asking questions. Thank God there is a Colombian here to talk to them, my Spanish is not good enough for this situation. While one questions us, the other starts searching the French guy. Pats him down, turns out his pockets, makes him take off his shoes. The French guy looks understandably freaked out. My hands are shaking and I'm terrified. "It's okay. It's normal" Dutch girl tells me. This doesn't help and I'm still freaking out.

Another Colombian guy shows up, a friend of the first guy, and starts asking what's going on. He joins the discussion with the police. Then a few more friends, and one of them miraculously is Francisco. "Pensé que te fuiste a casa?" he asks me. "I was supposed to." I say back in English. I have no more Spanish in my brain. "Are you okay?" he asks. I shake my head and say "Tengo mucho miedo." He looks concerned, and goes to take my hands. "Está temblando" he says, noticing my shaking hands. He gives me a hug and offers to find me a cab. I say yes, and leave the situation as quickly as I can. He tells his friends I'm really afraid, and walks with his arms around me away from the cops and the whole mess.

I am shaking so hard, and I cannot stop. My heart is still beating so quickly I can barely breathe and I'm so high my brain can't focus on anything, least of all trying to communicate in Spanish. We sit down and he looks at my hands, still furiously shaking. "Tranquila" he tells me over and over. But I can't calm down. I have so much adrenaline in my system I could sprint a mile. He buys me water and sits with me until I stop shaking. He kisses me, but I'm not sure I want to be kissing anyone. I'm still to scared to be interested romantically in anything. We walk to find a cab, and he negotiates for me. We kiss goodbye, and I start to worry about how I can most silently open all the locks on my front door and slip into bed.

The next morning I woke up late and started worrying all over again. My host sister had been right. That was a bad party, and I shouldn't have been doing any drugs. In the states it would have been fine, but this isn't the states and I need to be more careful. I don't know anything about this city, and things could have gone so much worse than they did. What if the French guy had had drugs on him? What if it's an offense in Colombia just to smell like weed? Cause we all sure did. I don't know enough Spanish to get me out of tricky situations, and I don't know the culture well enough to navigate it sober, let alone higher than I've been in months. I spent the day worrying and chastising myself, then avoiding eye contact with host sister. Who knows if she'll ever forgive me.

Francisco texted me yesterday. We have a date for tonight. Not sure I want to start anything with a guy my host sister clearly hates so much, but to me he seems fine. So I'm going, but I'm very nervous about my Spanish skills. Wish me luck. 

Sept. 4, 2015

Took the day off work today. So far, I've spent it talking to my ex back in the states about what made us break up. Not sure why I'm torturing myself with this pointless conversation. I broke up with him, it was my choice, but still I go back to him asking him if he really meant all the hurtful things he said right after I ended it. It's cruel to him to ask, but I'm so curious. Hating myself for this massive waste of time and distracting myself from the real, good things I should be doing with my new life in Colombia.

The water in my bathroom stopped working the other day. Had to use my host mom's toilet, sink and shower and was too afraid to purge in there for fear that she might hear. I think I gained weight, but it's so hard to tell. Water is back now. Made cookies with a friend yesterday and ate pieces of them. Purged after she left, but I think too much time had passed and they were in me for too long. Purged breakfast today, too.

Starting a new exercise regimen today. Going to do a half hour of calisthenics each day, that's my new goal. Then I'll immediately sit down to do a half hour of spanish grammar practice. Better myself for an hour a day and stop mindlessly trolling through social media with all my free time.

Talking to my crush all the time. Our communication is so difficult but I'm so excited by this new darling little romance I have. Hope I can see him today or tomorrow!

slow dancing in a burning room

went out dancing last night with my friends. I like a boy and he likes me. we have this cute little week-old romance going, and it's been a really interesting cross-cultural experience.

anyway. wanted to write something because I don't feel like I can say these things to anyone in real life. last night when we were dancing my head just started spinning with the most awful thoughts. almost in time with the music I repeated in my head you are worthless you are ugly you are stupid you are terrible you are nothing. I was giving into myself, almost making myself cry, but at the same time having an internal argument: I need to stop thinking like this and enjoy the night. this boy won't like me anymore if I act like such a downer. I'm being crazy. I need to stop this and pay attention to being happy with him. when we left the dance floor we sat outside and I blabbered in english about how horrible I felt, only telling him the truth because I knew he couldn't understand me.

I guess drunk me gets sad. 

a little ramble

133 this morning, or at least I think so. The scale in this house looks so old and unreliable. Plus, it's in kilos so I have to do a conversion and this makes the results seem less real somehow. Like if it's kilos it somehow doesn't count.

My weight was pushing 150 when I left the states two months ago, this is the easiest and maybe the fastest I've ever gone between my two normal weight extremes, 150 and 130. I'm always bouncing back and forth between this twenty pound range in my periods of dieting and binging. In Colombia I eat high fat foods and so much starch, but I'm losing still. typical day:
b: cafe con leche and some sort of cracker or cookie-type thing
l: fried or ground beef or pork, white rice, lettuce and tomato salad, fried plantains, and juice
d: fried plantains or fried dough called "arepa"(which I usually purge)

I don't usually snack, but when I do it's usually popcorn or crackers, more plantains, chocolate, fruit, or baked goods if we have them. There's not a ton of veggies in my diet, but there is a ton of fresh fruit and I take a daily multivitamin.

This is a complete 180 from the rest of my life's eating habits. Since I was about 8 I've been a total emotional binge eater. I started dieting when I started getting fat in elementary school, simple things like skipping meals or desserts, which then always backfired and triggered a binge. The cycles got more intense in high school when I got better at fasting and dieting, and better at finding and hiding binge foods. I used to steal foods from the cupboards in my house and go to the store with my little saved money and then go find a safe private area to eat as much as I could as fast as I could. Needless to say, I was a very fat and ugly child/teen. I lost weight and felt better for the first time when I joined the track team in 9th grade, but I always put the weight back on in the off season. I lost weight effectively again when I was home from college for the summer. But when I started to gain again back at school, I taught myself to purge and wandered into the world of bulimia.

I feel better bulimic than I did as a just a simple binge eater. At least it's a tiny bit more glamourous and a lot less shameful. It's disgusting and terrible yes, but the cliche is true, I feel so much more powerful when I can get rid of the food I don't want inside me anymore. And I felt special and important when I started going to outpatient eating disorders treatment for about a month. The actual therapy was shit, but I felt vindicated by it. Like my problem was more real than just something in my head.

Converting into kilos

After I got home from work this morning (I work in the morning and the afternoon, but I come home for lunch) my host mother was standing in her bedroom on the little scale she has. She then demanded that I step on it so she could know my weight. I only wish I could effectively communicate to her how uncomfortable this makes me feel. But I don't speak Spanish well enough, so I had to do what she wanted. 63 kilos. She remarked that I'm only 4 kilos heavier than her granddaughter.

The weird thing is that Colombians think being a little bit fat is a good thing, it's not attractive or desirable to be super skinny. They like girls with big boobs, a slim waist, and a very big butt. Well I go the big butt, but the waist I'll have to work on and the boobs are a lost cause.

I was a little happy about learning that I'm now 63 kilos. That's somewhere around 138 pounds, which means I'm only 2 pounds away from my healthy weight benchmark. 136 is a magic number for me, it puts my BMI at 24.9, just under the line for being overweight. My lowest weight ever was 129, and that only lasted for about two weeks, so anything in the 130's is a good place for me. My body just always wants me to swing back up to the high 140's, and I hate being that weight. 

Hopefully if I just keep this up, monitoring my portion sizes and avoiding food after 6pm, I can keep losing. Ideally I should be exercising as well, but it's too damn hot here and the gym is really far from my home. I do squats and crunches and leg lifts and stuff like that in my room, but I really can't do any decent cardio besides jumping jacks.

I joined an online forum/message board since I don't seem to have any readers here anymore and can't find too many blogs that I enjoy reading. All my old favorites seem to have disappeared. The forum is called MyProAna.com and my name there is flowergirl8461. Follow me if you like!

Besos de Colombia! xx

Paradise

A few pictures from my weekend, 24 hours in paradise.

My friend on the beach

me on the porch of my cabana

Now, as you know, I am living in Cartagena Colombia. I love the city but sometimes I need to escape it for a little while. A friend and I packed our backpacks and took two busses and a mototaxi to Playa Blanca, the most beautiful beach within an hour of the city. I wish I had photos from the moto to show you, it was the most fabulous ride. It had just finished raining when we made it to the last town before we crossed the bridge onto the island, so we were lucky with the weather. But then once we had crossed the bridge, all the water on the road was coming up as steam. Driving through the mist, tropical plants on all sides, it was a magical start to our adventure. When we finally got the beach I wanted to cry with happiness. The water was perfect clear blue! Immediately I was in love with this place.

We stayed at a tiny little hostel that was only a second-story cabana and a double bed with a mosquito net. For just one friend and me, it was perfect. There was no water and no electricity, but we were served sweet tinto in the morning and had the pleasant company of the owner, his son, a cat, 5 kittens, and a very large hermit crab. Rustic, but intensely beautiful and comfortable. We fell asleep to the sound of the ocean and woke up already on the beach ready for another day of sand and sun.

Hooky

Slept through class this morning (on purpose.) I woke up at 5:45 to get ready and then just got back in my bed, turned off the alarm and decided I wasn't going. Sorry, school. Partly I was just being lazy, partly I was avoiding my teacher who annoys me and make me uncomfortable. He's that creepy uncle type guy, not quite creepy enough to make complaining valid but enough to make you never want to be around him if you can help it.

So instead I watched TV on my laptop, made banana bread, and listened to the radio while I cleaned my room.

b: cafe con leche and dry bread
l: rice (un poco), patacones, beef and onions

Trying to plan a trip to Playa Blanca this weekend, I have three days off from school in a row and I want to take advantage and get out of the house for a little while, maybe see something interesting. Really missing home and friends right about now.

Useless

I'm a teacher now. A neurotic, self-conscious, under-skilled, over-educated kid who is for some reason entrusted with molding young minds. This was not a good idea.

The reason I signed up to do this program was to travel, and to escape from a life I didn't like back in the States. But, to my surprise and disappointment, I am still the same person I was, just in another country this time. I am still lazy and unable to complete any of the projects I dream up. The staff and students at this school must be so disgusted with me.

desayuno- cafe con leche y dos rebanadas de platanos amarillos
(breakfast- coffee with milk and two slices of yellow plantain)

Then I had one class for the morning, half of which was students doing a pointless worksheet. After the worksheet I had no idea what to do so I let them run wild. They gossiped and played on their cell phones and horsed around. I feel terrible wasting their time this way, but I'm paralyzed. I have no idea what to teach them or how to keep them interested. When I speak to them I am so nervous I am shaking. Really I shouldn't be nervous at all, I could be speaking in gibberish and it wouldn't make a difference, they can't understand anything but the most basic of English phrases. But still, with all their eyes on me like that, I lose my cool (as if I had it to begin with) and start to stutter and stumble over everything. I can't fucking do this.

Now lunch time. I made mango juice and my host mom is making lentils and rice. At least it's healthy, if a bit more caloric than what I should be eating. I'll try to write again later, dear reader. If you exist, which I'm pretty sure you don't.

---------------------------------------------------
Later...

In my afternoon class the teacher asked me if I "had gotten heavier" since I arrived. Then later the same guy told me "Yes, see you tomorrow. And enjoy your dinner, but don't eat too much." FML. I know it's a Colombia thing, they don't have the same sensitivities about weight that Americans do. But still. Ouch.  (and for the record, I've actually lost weight since I arrived here in Cartagena.)

Back again

Yeah. I'm back. New blog name and everything. I couldn't even tell you how many different names this thing has had since I started writing it back in high school. Now it's important to me to stay anonymous, but I'm sure it would be quite easy for anyone who knew me to figure out who I am. A risk I guess I'm willing to take to have this community back again.

I'm living in Colombia now as an English teacher. I have another, real life website where I'm completely honest about my identity but lie in every post I write. I write that I love it, only talk about the positive things. It's all very professional, but I feel strangled by trying to look polished and happy. Reality is that I'm drowning. I hate learning Spanish. I'm so stressed about making friends and my image that I've reverted back to old habits, knowing at the same time that it's terrible for me and that if I commit with enough fervor I could actually get there this time.

The scale in my host mom's room told me today that I weigh 140 lbs. But it's a new scale so I don't know what to compare that to, plus it's old and yellowed and untrustworthy. At least it's told me I've lost weight, though. Before I left the US I was somewhere around 150, so that's a good ten pounds down in a month and a half.

Here my diet is mainly fried things, but I don't binge in the same way I used to which has got to be helping me lose a little bit. On the other hand, I've almost completely stopped exercising. Lost my fitbit on the second or third day in country, but I somehow don't care about that at all. I just know that I'm walking drastically less than I did in Boston and there's almost no use in tracking the two or three thousand steps I take everyday.

Everything I eat is made by my sweet host mom, she's an excellent chef. Patacones, arroz con coco, cerdo frito, yuca, I could go on and on. She serves me far too much, but I've started complaining loudly that I'm very fat so she will feed me a bit less. I hate talking about my body image out loud, it's so gauche, but in this case I'm using my words as a tool. Colombians are so different from Americans in this way. They very openly tell others "you look fat" or "you've gained weight." But at the same time, that's not necessarily a bad thing to them. Today my host sister told me twice that I have a big butt and she wishes she could have a butt like mine. I'd trade for her 110 pound body in an instant. But I'll get there, this is the year I can focus and get thin for the first time in my life.

Fears

The fear of leaving, and staying in Colombia for so long, is really starting to set in. I dreamt all night that I was so sad I couldn't function. That I was lying alone in a dark place and lying to people I loved to avoid spending time with them. Who dreams about being depressed? I woke up sad, and full of intense fear about my trip.

The biggest fears are:
1) not knowing Spanish. (like, not at all. I can't understand anything people say, its all a big blur of syllables. Even the words I thought I knew make me confused, it's too difficult for me.
2) being fat. Everything I read says Colombians value image highly. This morning I weighed 153 pounds. A really high weight for me, I feel huge and my clothes fit tight. Because I'm fat and ugly no one will like me there and I'll never make any friends. I'll just be the fat american girl.
3) being alone. This is a combination of the first two, being isolated by language and disliked for my appearance.
4) not having any money. I didn't save enough of what I earned in Boston. I spent it all on binge food and now I'm fat and poor.
5) Being a bad teacher.
6) Missing home too much.

Ugly Girl

Negative thoughts keep running through my head. Ugly girl. Stupid bitch. Worthless. I hate living this way. But I am fat and talk too loudly about things I know nothing about. I need to sit quietly and listen, stop eating everything that's bad for me, and quit being such a lazy asshole.

I'm going to Colombia to volunteer because I have nothing else to do with my life. Sometimes I get waves of panic and anxiety about the year I'll spend there. But then I think about what I'd do if I weren't going, and I can't come up with anything. My resume is pitiful and I don't have much going for me skill-wise. And it's not as if I have a killer personality, I'm just sad and small and worthless.

Preparing for Colombia

Taking the shower the morning after a few days of being dirty is the most glorious feeling. Especially the moment when warm water hits your skin and all the dried sweat and dirt starts to rinse away. I love wrapping up in my towel with my fresh soft hair, smelling like flowers and soap.

I worked a double shift yesterday, and it was really hot out. When I biked to work at 9am the heat was bearable and there was a lovely cool breeze, but by noon any trace of the morning was gone. Just a week ago I had a coat on, and now I'm sweating in a cotton t shirt. There's a reason they say "If you don't like the weather in New England, just wait ten minutes." 

On my route from Allston to Cambridge where I work, I stopped at three places. First to the Walgreens where I bought four wallet-sized passport photos for my Colombian visa. Is there a rule somewhere that mandates all passport photos be ugly? I never have good luck with the pictures that go on my ID card. (Which then get flashed on a large screen every time I enter university buildings. How embarrassing!) The second place was the Au Bon Pain in Harvard Square for an iced coffee and a fruit cup. I sat on their patio for a few minutes and watched some graduates in their caps and gowns and regalia travel in smiling groups. (I did that just last week. What a happy occasion.) Finally, the third stop is the postoffice to buy express stamps and a padded envelope. All this so my Colombian visa can be made just in time, but not too early, for my departure on June 23.

Work was long and a little frustrating. Midway through the shift when it was slow, I did something I rarely do, grabbed my cell phone and took care of some emails and texts I'd been putting off. I texted a girl I had to tell wouldn't be getting my sublet after all. Then I had to text a good friend and roommate about why I was frustrated with her behavior recently. I hate confrontation and both virtual conversations ate at my brain for the rest of my shift.

Then a bike ride home to my bed. Sleep. And then being clean in the morning. Having the day off is a wonderful thing! I had a pedicure and bought 2 new blouses for teaching, then went to the organization's office to drop off my visa documents. Then I bought a new pair of shoes (great deal!) that will also go to good use at my new teaching job.

Highlight of my day was going to a Colombian restaurant that I'd never known was so close to my house. I got what the waitress suggested, chicken with mushroom sauce and a nice fruit smoothie. Everything was great! I hope food is this good when I get there. Contrast to that, though, was the bubble tea I got on my walk back from Harvard Square. I love bubble tea and I can only hope (but highly doubt) they have in Colombia.

At 8pm there was an online meeting for the volunteers to ask the field staff questions. I was really looking forward to this and I feel really good after the meeting. I got to see the faces I'll meet when I start orientation and ask really direct questions about the details of the trip. What kind of shoes should I wear when I teach? What credit card should I get? What's the weather like? It was nice to hear the answers to al the little details I'm unsure of. The planning makes it feel so real, and it brings up all the fears I have about leaving my life in Boston. But then I immediately have to remind myself- this is the chance of a lifetime and I'll be so glad to have done it. I'm going to help a community and learn so much more than I ever could staying here in the States. I'm nervous about my host family and new boss at the school, speaking Spanish, and feeling alone in a foreign place. But all that is so small compared to the benefits of lunging out of my comfort zone. Maybe I sound naive, but the only way I know to actually do this is to be optimistic and enthusiastic.

We didn't find out our placements or any details about our host families yet, only generalizations of what its like to live on the coast. I can't wait to know all about my new host family and where I'll be living. All day I've been smiling while I imagine my new life in Colombia.

Highgate

It took 10 minutes for me to bike from the restaurant I work at to the frat house where my friend had invited me to a party. This was one of the very few times I rode my bike at night, but I felt more comfortable on the dark empty streets than in the bright daytime traffic. Black jacket, black leggings, not a good outfit for alerting drivers to my presence, peddling furiously in my tiny designated lane alongside them. A light grey helmet and neon pink shoes helped to increase my visibility.

When I got to the party, my helmet made me stand out in a funnier way. "Ready for anything!" I joked when people asked what I was carrying. Not that I need a conversation starter, tonight I feel like a celebrity. I used to come to these parties often, different houses over the years, a new theme each night, but the same party when you come down to it. Our brothers set up a pong table and a playlist, make strict rules about who is allowed in (which they almost always break) and point the scantily dressed girls towards the 3 or 4 boxes of cheap beer. Since I pledged a sorority in my freshman year I must have attended at least two dozen iterations of this scene. But I graduated a semester early and all at once fell out of this social group. Now I was back, seemingly out of the blue, and old friends were delighted and surprised to see me.

"Hey! I didn't know you were here! How have you been?"

I beamed at each one of them and hugged them tight. "I miss you," I told them. Nostalgia and warm memories came flooding back, a familiar feeling of belonging I had forgotten. These faces knew me and were glad to have me back for the night. It was almost enough for me to feel like a returning hero, doing a victory lap of my old stomping grounds. Almost. All my old insecurities came back to me just as quickly.

It's a natural and obvious question, but "how have you been?" makes me squirm now. I'm "fine" like everyone else who answers that question automatically, but really I'm searching and insecure and floundering for something more impressive to say about my life post-graduation. My degree was in journalism, but I spend forty hours a week as a waitress in a sports themed restaurant. "I'm working and looking for a job in my field" I say, trying to explain away my unimpressive life. But I'm not looking for a job in my field, not actively anyway. I'm paralyzed in that arena by self-doubt and an intense fear of embarrassing myself.

Almost but not quite the oldest person at this party, I look around and realize I have only a few precious months left of attending this kind of thing without being weird. I'm an alum now. Already the new pledges brush me off, introducing themselves but not really looking me in the eye. I remember meeting older girls like this when I was in their shoes. I didn't care who they were, I cared about my new friends and how to get the boys to notice me. Not that I don't still care about that too, it's just that after a few years experience I can see the story play out before it starts.

The end of things

I've been thinking about breaking up with my boyfriend. After a month or more of fighting and tension, I'm reaching the end of my patience with him. More than once this week he's gotten insanely drunk and belligerent, especially towards me. Don't worry, nothing violent, he's just purposefully mean. He scolds me harshly for the tiniest of mistakes, his tone a baseline angry one that only get louder.

The most recent episode of this was in the worst place.

Normally we see each other everyday, on the few days we don't we're still texting and talking. It's comforting to me to have a constant companion in this way. He's someone who I walk alongside everyday, spending enough time together to start a life. But we hadn't spoken for 24 hours when he texted me something sweet and asked me to come out and see him. I agreed to see him, but I feel guilty. My head is completely sure this is over but my heart doesn't agree. This is about to hurt really bad, I can tell.

Step Class

Purple v-neck tee, black crop leggings, florescent pink and blue sneakers. I look like an average girl at the gym. Then why do I feel so out of place here? I don't actually go often enough that's definitely a reason. But it's also because I believe myself to be unathletic, which I've found to be more hindering than any other factor keeping me from physical fitness. Gym class was never a place where I shined, or even enjoyed myself. It was a source of dread and shame. Now here I am, a college graduate and actually paying to do the classes I used to hate.

This evening's class was step aerobics. I arrived a little early, just enough time to put my coat in a locker and watch the end of the class before. It was a bootcamp with a large black man with a booming voice. I liked him, he seemed encouraging and jolly. As it turned out he was the teacher for my class, too. As soon as everyone had said hello to each other (they seemed to all know each other! I felt conspicuously new) George bellowed to the class to get ready and with no further introduction started a very fast step workout. Everyone in the room started doing these step moves to his directions, lunging and kicking and stepping and grape-vining and sashaying almost in unison. I was constantly four or five steps behind and embarrassingly moving in the wrong direction constantly. The older woman behind me gave me some pointers over the break and I tried to concentrate on being as dancerly as possible to keep up with these insane step workout people. 

I'm proud of myself for actually going, and I did a pilates class last week. Last night I did some lifting with L and his buddy, and my arms and thighs are definitely sore. Trying to keep up an actual fitness routine, I want to take up hiking in the spring. 

L isn't here at the moment and I feel his absence acutely. We've been spending days on end here, ordering in food and watching ridiculous television. Smoking and going out to parties, wild sex at all hours. Then there's the fighting, the worrying, the lies and truths all muddled up. And the love, the sweet, true, exhilarating love. My heart flutters when he says nice things, refers to our future together, when he smiles at me with his doe eyes. It sinks and shrivels and dies in my chest when he turns away from me cold, offended by my applications to faraway jobs. I love him, I need him by my side. 

Shouldn't Have

These size 6R American Eagle "super skinny" jeans are cutting into my fat rolls. This pair fit me fine at 130 and even 138, but started to get uncomfortable after I got past 140 and then 145. 148 this morning, I am a disgrace.

I joined a gym that's just down the street but I've used it no more than 5 times so far. I have to cancel it for my finances sake, it's dumb to pay for something I almost never use.

Yesterday and the day before were lost days. My city was sent back into lock down mode because of yet another snow storm. So I spent all day monday with my boyfriend, watching movies and having sex and eating pizza and chinese. Tuesday I was alone, but I repeated monday's activities except for the sex. Now, two days later I am awakening from my hazy marathon binge and I feel awful about myself. why do I keep doing this?

I cannot wait for summer to come.

Relationships

To those who don't live on the east coast in the US, there was a blizzard here this week. It's basically all anyone can talk about and we've been in snow day lock-down here in Boston. I spent most of the snow holiday drunk and watching tv and hanging out with roommates and friends.

My last post was a giant complaint about feeling awkward and alone. Monday night made me feel very much outside the group. Tuesday night was completely different, though. I went along with some coworkers to a party at my manager's house. We played beer olympics drinking games and drank a lot of whiskey and beer. I threw up in the bathroom on purpose when I felt like I'd had too much, and I think it helped me from losing control completely. Then my manager started handing out Adderall to everyone at the party and like a stupid idiot I took some. I felt nothing at all, so I took another one a few hours later. By 1 in the morning I was super wired and intent on learning Spanish for some reason. I walked home and felt beautifully alive, I couldn't stop talking and doing things.

L, my boyfriend, came over after sledding with his friends in the closed-down streets. "You're acting really weird," he told me. I explained the amphetamines and he laughed. He had been smoking pot with his buddies and was tired and relaxed. Me, on the other hand, I was talking a mile a minute about anything and everything. Hours passed in what felt like mere minutes and soon it was four o'clock in the morning. 
What was simple in the moonlight by the morning never is. 

I told him things I've never told him before. That I have intense guilt about my body and not being pretty enough for him (that was humiliating to say out loud.) That when we met online I was going through a weird phase and didn't even really know what I was getting into when we took a chance on meeting in real life. He said from my profile I seemed lost, like I had stumbled into a world where I didn't belong. He had been sleeping around a lot at that point, too. And I'm sure for a long time after we met. I asked him to please, please sleep around still. "I just want you to feel free, to be happy," I told him. He said he wouldn't, he wants this relationship to be different. Which made me so happy, in a way I wasn't expecting at all. He wants me, for real. He wants to know me and care about my day, he likes having sex with me but he also likes to drink coffee with me and watch the movies I like. I feel special, knowing that now.

My pupils were huge from the drugs and he just wanted me to sleep. So we started drinking, spiced rum this time. Then like an even bigger idiot than I'd already proven myself earlier, I took two hits of a bowl he packed. Alcohol and weed together make me almost immediately violently ill. I ran to go throw up and got all the booze out. Still sick. I tried to lay down and had to keep leaping up to throw up again. Agony. He was sweet about the whole thing, but if the positions were reversed I'd have been so annoyed. I bet he is. In the morning I felt ill, partially from the booze and weed combo and partially from the amphetamines, but we made love all day anyway. "made love." Such a cheesy name for sex. Fucking. Screwing. Sleeping Together. But after all the honesty last night, I'd call it making love. I trusted him more, was more sure of who he is and what we are.

I'll exercise more and eat better and blah blah blah as soon as I'm on my feet again. For now, I have sleep to catch up on.

Flirt

I can hear my roommate having sex with her boyfriend right now. Which is awkward for me since I have a weird tension with him. I think mostly it's just because his primary way of interacting with women is to flirt with them. Actually it's likely both my roommates are having sex right now, both of their boyfriends are here tonight.... yup, just walked down our narrow spiral staircase enough to confirm my suspicion that the other four people in this house are having loud passionate sex at this very moment. In fact they are all crying out with pleasure. Direct quote: "Uh! Uh! Uhhh!"

Yeah. I'd say this moment kind of goes with the key themes of today. It's some sort of insanity that is only brought on by apocalyptical news broadcasts like "Record Breaking Blizzard." I spent the morning making breakfast and chocolate chip cookies with my boyfriend. But we burned them because we were too busy with more important things. Funny thing to explain the hockey puck like things you have to offer as an excuse for the odd burnt smell that's all over the apartment. And then the evening was spent at work for only two and a half hours, a complete waste of the money I spent on transportation getting there.

In the evening I smoked too much and ate too much and drank too much and played cards with my roommates and their boyfriends. Do I post weird stuff when I'm inebriated?

Crowded

The first snow of the year is coming down outside my window; a beautiful, white, train-delaying snowfall. I woke up only minutes ago with that hazy what did I do last night? confusion at the front of my brain. I know I smoked last night, darn it. Did I eat anything after I got back from the party? Oh yes, I remember.

Yesterday's daylight hours were spent napping in a heap on top of my blankets. Then when it was dark out and I was finally awake, I felt the resounding loneliness for the first time. Loneliness, whatever else it is, is always surprising. It sneaks up on me and then with a pang I look around to find no one and start to regret and pity myself. So I walked aimlessly, finally deciding to go sign up at a gym. I've been meaning to do this for ages but yesterday I finally made that awful financial decision. At a price that adds up to more than $2 per day, I better really like this place and use it a lot.

Then I took a meandering loop home, stopping to try on a few sweaters that all make me look huger than I already look and peer into windows. Home again. Alone still. What to do? I pack a few bowls, watch a television show on Netflix, drink decaf coffee. Then I brake the healthy few days I've been having and binge. (greek fro-yo bar, peanut butter, crackers, pretzel twists, nutella) I'm not bursting full but I've ruined my intake for the day. This is why I'm fat, this is why I must give up this awful smoking and eating alone habit. Because of the peanut butter I don't even consider purging, pb is always too painful and difficult to get back up.

A text from my roommate. A party down the street. I get dressed, apply eye shadow and so much cover-up, grab a belgian white beer from the mini-fridge and meet her downstairs in the kitchen. She's already drunk and high, I'm only high and full of food. We walk to the party together, almost getting lost on our way to a place we go all the time. She quickly finds her crush and they disappear together, leaving me to wade through crowds of underclassmen I've never seen before. I feel suddenly old. Upstairs I find the people I know, but I don't want to talk to them either, really. But I stay until 1:30 anyway, simply because I was stalling the lonely walk home when I'd have to pass large raucous groups of boys, stumbling giggling groups of girls, couples pressed up against a brick wall outside a bar. Home again. More tv, more snacks, more shame on me. I finally fall into fitful sleep around 3.

Recognition

First shift back at work, everyone was very excited to see me. It felt almost as if I'd never left, in fact waiting tables has never been easier. I've made fewer mistakes in the last two shifts and gotten a lot of complimentary comment cards, which always feels great. Another big plus- I get tons of steps on my fitbit. Yesterday I got over 16k, my personal best!

Funny/terrible thing happened on the shift last night. I greeted a table in the back of the restaurant and immediately recognized one of the two women. Who is she? Why do I recognize her? And then she started speaking and I realized she was one of the case managers from my eating disorders outpatient program. In fact, she was the one who pushed hardest for me to be removed from the program because I wasn't meeting the attendance requirements. Talk about awkward. When I asked for their drink orders she looked at me and I knew she recognized me, too. Thank goodness she didn't say anything. My heart beat so quickly as I was walking away, my hands were shaking when I poured their two glasses of ice water.

After work my boyfriend met me at my apartment. It was exciting to see him after a full month away. I left on December 20th and flew back yesterday. We talked and when he finally kissed me, it felt like a memory. Sex started slowly, like we were jus getting to know each other again. And it hurt for me, my body is out of practice. After only a little while I had to ask him to stop, and asking made my tears well up. I'm so embarrassed, for ruining what should have been a special reunion, for not living up to his expectations of me. I know he was expecting a hot, steamy, marathon night. Instead I was reduced a shaking crying puddle, nearly sobbing in pain and unable to speak from the humiliation.

I wanted to tell him to cheat on me. Please, sleep with someone prettier, someone with a nice body. Not a pasty, dimpled, lumpy blob like me. Please, cheat on me, you have my permission. I'm a disappointment and I can't live with this guilt.

1/21:
b-black coffee and lemon water
l-pear turkey walnut salad, baguette, iced coffee
s-raspberries
d- (haven't eaten it yet but thinking about some pizza, maybe soup.)
s-beer beer beer

Going to have drinks and sing karaoke tonight with my roomies and school mates. Missed them dearly while I was in Pennsylvania and now I get to be back in their routine.

Chubby Cheeks

Wisdom teeth are out, I definitely feel dumber. Or is it all the narcotics I'm being prescribed?

My face is still puffy and I have a small blue bruise on my left cheek, but other than that I'm actually doing really well. Going under anesthesia was a little nerve wracking, but I barely remember anything. As soon as I made it back to my car I fell asleep again, and then my dad helped me get back to bed. After a 4 hour nap most of the numbness in my mouth was gone and I felt a lot better. I had two bowls of vanilla ice cream and a packet of ramen noodles, not a great intake in terms of nutrition, but whatever. It's a sickie, right? Or at least that's what I tell myself so I won't feel so terrible about my lumpy fat self.

Today I got all my steps in, almost 14,000. My dog Molly and I walked to the local coffee shop where I got a latte. I sipped it from a little beige and brown to go cup on the walk home and it was a little piece of heaven. Why coffee tastes better to me in to go cups I don't know, but it's one of my favorite treats lately.

Thursday, January 15th, 2015

b- mixed berry and banana smoothie

s- latte (w/skim milk)

l- penne and red sauce

d- penne and red sauce and 4oz grilled salmon

Too many carbs today, the only protein I got was from the fish and the milk. Tomorrow hopefully I can chew a bit more so I can have a few more options in terms of food. In the morning I plan on going for a walk with my dog again, maybe some place downtown. Then she has an 11am doggy salon appointment for a haircut and a pedicure. How funny does that sound? But really its because she looks shaggy and her nails are too long and make loud clicking noises on the hard floors. While she's in the salon I'm getting lunch with my Nana and then packing for another ski weekend. On Monday when we get home from the mountain I have to quickly pack again for my return to Boston.

I've really loved being home. It's as if my whole personality has changed back to the person I am within my family. But now I have switch gears and be a good roommate, girlfriend, and waitress again. I'm almost a little sad to be going back, wish I could stay here and find a new job. But I have obligations there; an apartment, a boyfriend, a life. Time for me to get back into the swing of things. 

Another day

When was the last time I got really into blogging? The last time I lived at home? Well this place must do something to drive me here because here I am in my childhood bedroom writing a post on the same blog I've had since 11th grade in high school. I guess my new college degree hasn't really changed much about me after all.

Today's intake was actually pretty okay.
b-coffee and milk
l-chicken sandwich with balsamic, kale, mozzarella and red pepper (so delicious)
d- taco with beef, rice, salsa, lettuce and corn chips

And now I'm fasting until 11am when I have my wisdom teeth surgery. I'm nervous about the pain and how nauseous the pain medication is going to make me. I've never been under but everything makes me nauseous so I just know it's going to be bad. Only up side is that I'll hopefully be on a really low intake the next few days.

Achieved 10,000 steps today as I was supposed to be doing everyday. Now hopefully I can keep this up if I can manage it. More steps plus more strength and flexibility exercises I'm hoping will be able to keep me a bit more balanced. If I can put energy into fitness I'll have more accountability to eat healthily, I'm hoping. Because if my life has been anything, it's been proof that I'm miserable at following a diet.

My little sister hit a deer with our minivan last week so we had a rental car for our vacation. Or should I say rental warship. This car was absolutely massive. We nicknamed the giant white beast "the Yeti", a fitting monicker I think for a Chevy Suburban. I got to drive it only once, but it was like what I imagine steering a sporting boat would be like. Fast, large, wasteful, and fun. Today we had a Jeep Grand Cherokee and I had a great time driving it to go shopping for a new coat. I didn't actually buy one but I did decide on the style I'd like to order online.

Skiing in the bitter cold

On the car ride home from our family ski vacation in Vermont I listened to almost the entire audiobook It Was Me All Along by Andie Mitchell, a memoir about a girl who grows up fat and gets skinny her senior year of college. She was 260 by the time she started losing weight, I'm lucky never to have gotten that big. (but she's really pretty, unlike me. Sometimes very fat girls with pretty faces are preferable to average fat girls with ugly faces. There are somethings hard work cannot fix.) Listening to it, I cried for all the sad parts of my life it reminded me of. And I also felt inspired to make a change in my life, too. Bulimia was awful, but I'm finally done with that now. I throw up occasionally, but EDs don't consume my thoughts the way they used to.

I bought myself a fitbit with my Christmas money. I love it, and it gives me a much better way of tracking my daily calorie burn. It gives stats for how much you're burning with active exercise and how many steps you take, plus how much you've burned just by being alive. It's actually really helpful for getting a realistic picture of how much I should be eating. (Not that I can stick to an intake plan, I feel I have very little rational control over what and how much I eat.) My goal is to take 10,000 steps each day. I've met this goal maybe 5 times in the 15 days I've had the thing. Though I must add that for a whole week I was skiing for a few hours each day which isn't tracked as steps but is actually a high calorie-burning sport. There's a lot of lunging and pushing your weight and lugging around heavy equipment.

My skiing has gotten technically much better. My turns are sharper, I hold my skis parallel most of the time, I ski more fearlessly down steep pitches. To my humiliation my aunt and cousins kept pointing out my improvement, which to me felt like they were emphasizing how embarrassingly terrible I had been at skiing only a few years ago and through my entire childhood. I've always been the slowest and most timid of our group, always requiring someone to stay back with me and make sure I actually came down the mountain instead of standing frozen in fear half way down the slope. This trip was refreshing, it felt good to keep up with my group, plus I had a new appreciation of how lucky I am to have the resources to participate in this sport.

There was one moment where I reverted to old ways and scared myself into some serious self-reflection. I followed my braver siblings and cousins down an experts-only black diamond trail that was mostly ice covered by mounds of powder. I made it down about half way before I lost footing and freaked out. Blind terror took over and I froze where I was, unable to keep linking turns and escape this section of the trail. I just kept looking down and slipping inch by inch, making my eyes swell with tears and my calves burn from holding my weight at that odd angle. Eventually I sat and removed my skis, sliding down while whimpering and repeating a mantra of "help me, help me, help me" inside my head. My dad waited only 50 yards down the hill and shouted to urge me down. I shook my head vigorously "no" and cried even harder. As soon as I somehow made it down the black diamond, I flew down the easiest trail I could get to and back to the connection trail to our condo. The entire time I was ski-skating my way across the flat trail that connects the chairlifts to the resort housing I fought violent sobs and too-loud-for-public wails that kept bursting out of me.

By the time I made it back to the beginner slopes I was calm again and the snow had stopped. All morning and while I was on the difficult trails it had been snowing and gusts of wind whipped up the mountain to blind the skiers. Now that I was away from the challenge the sky was clear and I wanted to stay outside. I rode the chair alone, looking behind me to see mountains far in the distance. Vermont is so beautiful, a true treasure to our country. I took pictures and began to contemplate the complete terror that had just gripped me. When I got stuck up there, I lost total control of myself, my thoughts and my actions. I didn't do anything rationally, I just freaked out and panicked. Is that a panic attack? I skied back to the difficult mountain, stopping on the empty connection trail to smoke my travel-size piece. High and in rapture with the gorgeous scenery, I had a wonderful lift ride up and a near perfect ski to the bottom. The sun was setting and the sky turned beautiful colors. At one point I was skiing through golden patches of trail created by the sun sinking perfectly into the notch where two mountains meet. That last run was heaven, true bliss.

An update on my life (besides last week's vacation):
-graduated from college! (Dec 15, 2014)
-went home to PA on Dec 19, been here ever since (except for week in VT)
-still not sure what I'll do with my degree/life

Hope to post again tomorrow, I'm trying to get back into more exercise and be more conscious of my nutrition. Maybe I'll get a hike in? One can only hope.