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.