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.