Monday, August 31, 2009

I think of all the things I could have had had I done it right the first time. A comfortable dorm, Chelsea by my side, respect from my fellow classmates, the esteemed position of Honors College, the beaming pride radiating from my parents. Instead, I have this - my bedroom, shared with Carissa, no Chelsea, no respect, just bizarre looks as I'm now a new student, normal, non-honors classes, and the disappointment of my parents. The disappointment in myself.

I know I need to be grateful and all of that bullshit, but I'm not. Am I happy to have a second chance? You bet your fucking ass. I am going to work incredibly hard on all of my assignments and not let a single night go to waste partying and being lazy. I want to graduate with honors, knowing I should have been at a different school, but that I made it, period. But, maybe I don't want to work so hard. Adelphi was comfortable, coddling, slow. I could slip beneath the radar, forget a homework assignment, or two, text my way through class after class. I didn't even have to be at class at all, come to think of it. I could just sleep my days away, slowly starving to death in bed, avoiding the entirety of the student body, and hand my papers and assignments in whenever it suited me.
And, as I sit here, missing the likes of that, I have to wonder - was it worth it? Is that what I really want?

What I really want is to be happy. With myself, and with my life. I'm always going to be disappointed that I missed out on the ultimate college experience, that I fucked myself sideways, genuinely believing running away from home would be the solution to my problems. I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself for it, honestly. Perhaps I'll make peace with it, but forgiveness is going to be rather difficult in this case, especially seeing as I knew all along that Adelphi was not the right choice. It was just the farthest one.

It wasn't worth it. I nearly lost my life a third time in three years because I was too far away for anyone to notice and too wrapped beneath my bedcovers to give a damn. I realized immediately that Adelphi was not my quote-un-quote dream college, so I decided, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, to starve as punishment. But, the emptiness was too much. So, I reached for the food and kept reaching, desperate to fill the hollow void that had somehow developed within myself. But, the surfeit, the gluttony of my weak hand could not be tolerated and before I could ever convince myself otherwise, I would throw back the feast, empty again. Empty, exhausted, and numb, the most important of all.

I want to appreciate Wagner, I want to appreciate this second chance at education, life, freedom, but a part of me is so angry with myself, so angry with everything. I just wanted something to work out one time, just one time, and instead of working out, it fucking fell on my head and crashed, crashed, crashed. Typical. I want to change minds. I'm not the typical Jessica anymore, I'm not a mess. Touch me, I'm opaque, my skin is supple, its coloring healthy as opposed to the previous ashen gray. I'm no longer translucent. And, I can do this. Maybe I'm not a straight A student. Maybe I'm not perfect. Maybe this was what was supposed to happen for some bizarre reason I have yet to understand or come across. Maybe only time will tell.

I have no excuses. My work is now my work. Nothing belongs to my disorder. The work, the school, the education, the degree - mine. No one else's. I have to be an adult. I have to stick my nose in the fucking air and not give a fuck. I just have to push on through and live my life, and inevitably, live the way I want and have always wanted to. I am a freed bird. God knows I've had Stockholm syndrome in the past, but I'm fucking done. No more cages for me.
Fly, fly, fly.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Mish mosh.

I have no picture today. I have such a hard time actually writing in this anyway, so I don't particularly care (and I'm sure no one else does either).

I'm not really sure what my deal is lately, everything has reached a bizarre level of simultaneous normalcy and numbness that I cannot seem to articulate in words or express enough to burrow through. It is a rare event that I actually admit this, but I'm beginning to think that this is being caused by my medication (I'll elaborate).

Prior to shipping my ass off to Renfrew Philly, I was entirely against the use of anti-depressants and anything of the sort that was used/is used to treat eating disorders. My first two hospital stays were chock full of dramatic fits after several psychiatrists attempted to push said medications on me, often resulting in level drops and scolding, none of which I appreciated. I think I knew the medication would help, but was depserate to be the epitome of strength and prove everyone wrong, attempting to recover entirely by myself without ever admitting to vulnerability. Given that this approach didn't necessarily work the first two times, I decided to try a different one upon the third round of treatment. I promised myself that I would do whatever it took, even if that required the aid of an anti-depressant. And, I guess it did, because here I am, on 75 mg of Zoloft.

I don't attribute this recovery to that Zoloft. The dosage is too low and my motivation was high enough to cancel out the entire dosage, anyway. I'm not ashamed that I take it nor am I ashamed that I thought I needed it. I did. This has been my most successful round of recovery yet and I wouldn't be half as calm without that medication. However, the longer I take it, the less I feel the effects of it, the less I believe it's helping me and the more I begin to believe it's hurting me.

I feel nothing. All of my emotions are scattered and impossible to place mainly because I cannot access them. I feel exceptionally numb and barren, detached from many things, things I want desperately to feel connected to, apart of. I'm not sure if it's me or if it's the medication. All I know is that I haven't produced a single piece of writing since this medication has begun and I'm beginning to think that is has very much to do with that. I'm just an empty pile of mush. Or so it seems, anyway.

I know I shouldn't complain. I'm not sick and in better health than I've ever been. The days pass without even the slightest thought of food or purging or anything of that nature. Regardless, I find this odd, though I appreciate it. I no longer spend time staring at my body in the mirror mainly because I don't care. However, it is not a positive apathy, it is more of a blatant disinterest. I still feel uncomfortable in my body and am mildly conscious of that discomfort if I am naked in the presence of others or even by myself, but it seems I feel no connection to it whatsoever. My body, that is. It just is. I don't know whether to be happy about this or just confused.

I don't know if I should cease the medication or just continue on in this entirely numbed state of being. I don't know if it's worth it. I seem to be just dawdling on through life, walking aimlessly along the paths life is offering me, twirling my hair and yawning. I'm not even excited about school. I can't even understand that. I'm beginning a new college and I'm not even the least bit enhtusiastic about this? I don't get it. I don't know if it's the medication or if I'm just in a funk, but it needs to fucking stop. I don't like this.

I officially moved in with my father for the year and as I was packing up the remainder of my clothes this morning, I came across a dress that I bought in January of 2007, a dress which, to this day, brings tears to my eyes. Yet, somehow, I cannot seem to part with it.

When you have an eating disorder, trying on clothes is an ordeal. You do not just try on the clothes and waltz out of the dressing room, accomplished. It's not quite as simple as that. There is the hideous task of undressing, removing layers and layers of clothing, revealing the horrible, unwanted flesh beneath. The mirror looms. You stare at it for what seems like an eternity, horrified. How could this be? You stave back the tears as you pull on the new clothes, hoping to Christ Almighty they fit. They do. Relief.

This particular dress was the only of its kind in the store. I saw it and immediately desired it, it was beautiful - crocheted top with silky multicolored bottom. I did not just want it, I needed it. The only size available was a small. I frowned. I wouldn't fit into it, and of that I was damn sure. At this point in time I was at the height of my disorder, purging daily, eating barely anything, burying myself in silence to avoid the questions. I didn't think the dress would fit, but my disorder encouraged me to try it on anyway. No better reason to use symptoms than clothes not fitting, right? So, I tried it on. And, it was loose. I remember looking in the mirror, my face gaunt, cheeks sunken in, my arms beginning to look bony and frail. It was the first and one of the only times I could see myself for what I really was, what I was becoming - a monster. I bought the dress.

The dress was $50 and $50 I didn't have. I bought it, anyway. That's the funny thing with eating disorders. You rarely think about the money or anything else, just that it fits and that you need it, because it's validation. Your hard work has paid off. If you die now, at least you can die beautifully. Beautiful and thin, just what you always wanted. You don't think the dress may not fit in a few months, or that you may actually get better and have no interest in wearing it. Those things are of no consequence and have no power in your brain whatsoever. The disorder says, "Buy it." The disorder says, "It fits." The disorder says, "Now you must make it looser." And, I did.

That dress has gone through 3 treatment centers, 40 pound weight losses, break ups, hook ups, and I even think I was wearing it when I was taken advantage of. It is the dress that has seen it all. Literally. Yet, somehow, for some bizarre reason unbeknownst to me, I cannot part with it. I can't wear it, but I won't throw it away. It still fits, mind you, but not the same, and that's what kills me.

Most days I forget I had an eating disorder. Most days I barely think of it at all. But, there are days I fall right back into the hole mentally and it's a terrible, terrible thing. It sickens me that I can crave the feeling of bones jutting out, the taut flesh hung over them smooth and pure, the running sink water, the relief of a purge. This contradicts the first piece of this post entirely, and I'm well aware of that, seeing as I just said I can't feel anything. But, those days I remember, those few days I see that skeleton girl in the mirror, that sallow face, concave stomach, empty expression, they nearly discredit those good days, they nearly take all of my hard work away. I don't know what it is about me, what it is that has wired me this way, to make me want to be so thin it hurts to even look at myself in a mirror. Make no mistake, I'm fine with how I look. It has taken me an exceptionally long while to be okay with my appearance, but I am finally here. But, if I was still in my disorder, if I still had the option, I guarantee this body would not be enough. A body in and of itself is not enough mainly because it is there. And having an eating disorder requires complete and utter disappearance, which is quite impossible with a body like this, with a body at all.

I swear I could run myself in circles with this shit.

I don't want to go back. I really, really don't. What terrifies me is that I could. And, that, more likely than not, I could enjoy it. I don't want to, but I could. It is a bizarre state of mind. I'm on the other side of the fence, but that fence may come down. And, those weeds may start growing in my yard. I just hope I can keep hacking them down.

I am a different person. I look in the mirror and can barely recognize myself. It baffles me. I'm here. Where I wanted to be. I just wonder if it's enough. If it will ever be enough. Strangely enough, it still has zero to do with my outside environment. The only person involved is myself. I have great people in my life - my family, my friends, my boyfriend - so I have no complaints about them. I suppose my only complaint is with myself. I need to get out of my head. And possibly cease taking this medication. I should probably discuss that with someone first, it would most likely not be wise to just go off of something I've been taking regularly since April. Which once again proves I'm a different person because if this has happened about a year ago, I'd probably just stop the medication myself and say 'the hell with it.' This really is a parallel universe. I just hope I can find peace somewhere along the way.

Sunday, August 23, 2009


I really do not take pictures often enough, so this will have to suffice. Plus, I find it applicable.

I wish I had written this last night, mainly because I was near high with happiness, but given my utter exhaustion, I didn't. So, I will do so now.

My life has been a complete, inescapable mess since I've been old enough to label it as such. I've fluctuated between acceptance, disgust, and annoyance with this, but regardless of what it was I felt, I was never happy with it. It was rare that something worked out for me, and if it did, I often dismissed it as a stroke of good luck or was too sick, or too stuck up my own ass to notice.

I have finally come to a point in my life where things are no longer so messy. In fact, they are rather clean and tidy. And, though I once enjoyed the mess my life had become and remained, I now realize it no longer has to be.

I'm happy. Understatement. Thrilled. Relationships, for me, have always been, as aforementioned, an absolute shit show disaster. The communication poor, the love, not enough, the bond always dangling by a string. I thought for the longest time that this was how relationnships were meant to be and that I would never know different. I didn't think it was possible for a boyfriend to actually like my family, let alone get along with them, nor did I think I was ever worth enough for someone to come visit me, whether sick or otherwise. In retrospect, I find it bizarre I didn't think otherwise. I wish I had. I probably would've saved myself a lot of heartache.

He has proven to me that I deserve someone worth my time, someone who will appreciate, respect, and care about me whether I'm next door or two states over. I'm so happy I could burst. I'm such a sappy girl sometimes (all the time), but I can't help it. Nothing has ever been like this. Absolutely nothing. And, for once, I prefer it that way.

This is not a mess. Not in the least. If anything, this is the most organized relationship I have ever been a part of. This baffles me endlessly. The thought of something working out is midlly confusing to me, as it often hasn't and often doesn't. I suppose there's a new start for everything, though.

I suppose there is, in the end, even a new start for me.

Friday, August 21, 2009

I am terrible at updating this, I apologize.

I know I said I'd be taking pictures everyday and whatnot, but I've been finding that seriously impossible given that my schedule has been jampacked since the moment I made my last post. Inbetween working, attempting to figure out school nonsense, my family, my friends, and my boy (:]!), everything has been rather hectic. So, my sincerest. Today's post will not have very much to do with my life at present, nor will it feature a picture I have taken. It is instead a picture of the poster for a movie I watched recently which reminds me of a very different time in my life.

I am very aware that August Rush is not what one would consider a 'good' movie. It is predicatable, at best, and the story line in and of itself is slightly, if not entirely ridiculous. I fight the urge to call it stupid only because I wouldn't be writing about it if it were. But, in many respects, it is a wee bit silly. However, regardless of how absurd the plot is, it still holds a very significant place in my heart.

Before I left for treatment in Florida, I was forced to wait a week because of the lack of bed space. I can say without hesitance that that week was the longest of my life. I later found out that had I not entered treatment at the opportune moment that I did, that week very well may have been my last. I think a part of me recognized that, at the time, even without that information, and I tried my damned hardest to make the best of it, though I had very little energy with which to do so. I painted on a happy face for my family and friends, strung Christmas lights, even baked with my sister, fearing all along she'd be the one to find my dead in the morning. One of my last evenings home, I took her to see August Rush, which is why it's so important to me. I did not expect much from the movie, nor did I expect to be able to sit through it - by this time I was having a very hard time sitting without sleeping and a very hard time doing simple things. Like, for instance, breathing. Everything seemed exhausting beyond comprehension and I feared I wouldn't be able to make it through the simplest of tasks. I can actually remember believing I would die before the movie ended because the scent of popcorn was driving me out of my mind, my stomach growling louder and louder and louder as the movie progressed.

I cannot say the movie touched me very much - I was so distanct and detached from even myself at that point that whatever could touch me had to be beyond the normal stretches of sentiment. What touched me was my sister beside me, the fear in her eyes, her hands wringing and wringing, her decision to avoid popcorn for my sake. Her love for me so evident in even the smallest of actions. The movie represents that love.

Recently, I watched it, again with my sister, and as difficult as it was for the movie to touch me before, it touched me then, and for entirely different reason. Even if the movie is silly and poorly made, the music is beautiful, the story is beautiful. I watched it and felt whole, like something had been clicked magically into place, like everything was going to be okay. That the things that once meant nothing now meant everything, and vice versa. I recognize the difference, not only in my ability to grasp meaning, but in myself, period.

I am astoundingly altered. I find that I cannot remember the last time I fought with myself over anything food related, or even had a temptation to use symptoms. I am, without doubt, a completely new and unblemished individual. And, I value that. I often worry, extensively, mind you, about falling backwards. If it were possible to finally find recovery, who's to say I may not eventually reject it, as I did last time? I am, essentially, the same person, even if I am different, even if I am new. I have just shed my former skin, molted like a snake. However, in the end, I am still a snake. But, perhaps no longer a venomous one...

I have been sicker than sick. I have accepted death three times more than I should have had to and I have lived anyway. This did not always make me happy, but it does now, and I am thankful that I somehow managed to maintain the strength to keep going. I enjoy food. I no longer stand in front of my kitchen cabinet arguing incessantly with myself over calories and starches and calculations and exchanges. I no longer find need for that. If I want to eat a bowl of cereal, I'm going to eat it. I no longer answer to that bitch in my head. I answer to myself.

I never thought I'd be here. Never in a million years. I stand in front of the mirror and don't think or look twice. This is my body. And, it's fine. It's beautiful, actually, and I am lucky to have it. So, so lucky. I have two arms, two legs, two eyes, two hands. These are the important things. There is no sense losing sleep over cellulite and the now non-concavity of my stomach. I have far more important things to worry about.

I am happy. Everything in my life makes sense for the first time in six years. I have fantastic friends, a supportive family, a great job, which I will be returning to both in the winter and next summer, and a boy that really respects and appreciates me, which I appreciate more than he will probably ever know. I have my moments, still, I am human, after all, but they have become fewer and far between, which I find awe-inspiring. I've never been so amazed by myself, and I mean that in the least conceited way possible.

Life is great. I don't even need this blog, haha. I really have nothing to whine about.

Thursday, August 13, 2009

My positive contribution to the day: I think this picture makes me look cute! :D

I am very happy with the position my life has comfortably fallen into. It took quite a long while and quite a bit of shifting, shaping, molding, and morphing, but my life is finally (hold your breath) a normal, functional, WHOLE experience that no longer requires more energy than I possess. Mainly because I now have enough energy to fuel a jumbo jet. But, that's besides the point.

Along with my excessive shitload of energy and current happy-go-lucky-shit's-awesome demeanor, I have something blooming, something wonderful.

I have thought myself defective in terms of relationships since I've been old enough to be in them. And, given that I don't necessarily have a great track record with not only relationships, but guys, period, I have come to expect very little from them and very little from myself so far as they're concerned. My second semester of college was heavily immersed in my inability to help myself and also my inability to recognize that I could be loved. I found myself far more depressed about my lack of significant other than about my state of actively dying, which in retrospect, I find peculiar, though not bizarre given the person I am. In my illness, I was manic, constantly desperate for human contact, proof that someone could tolerate me even when I couldn't tolerate myself. And, when all of the guys I involved myself with fell away, leaving me with none other than myself, I was consumed by the thought, 'See. You're alone. Dumbass.' At Renfrew, I realized that I didn't want a relationship, I had simply longed for the validation and was looking for it in all the incorrect places. So, after years and years of chasing after every boy within a five mile radius, I decided to give it a rest. And, since May, I have been astoundingly simple in my relationship ventures, the few there have been, and have preferred to be by myself than with someone I barely knew that wanted only one thing anyway (perhaps that's an unfair judgement, but I've known far too many guys with this desire). I suppose you could say I've been laying low.
My mother always told me that if I kept looking, I'd continue returning home with empty hands. I finally sat down and took a rest, focusing on myself, and what I have wanted for such a desperately long time has finally fallen into my lap. I never thought I'd see the day. I really didn't.
I'm taking things slow. I rushed my last relationship and it ended up a decrepit, rotting, smelling pile of garbage. Thus, my only interest in any of this is to be happy. And, I am.
I apologize for the vagueness. I just don't feel specifics are relevant at this point. Only time will tell, I suppose.


Tuesday, August 11, 2009


My mother, for some reason unbeknownst to me, woke me up obscenely early for work this morning, so I decided some big-sister-little-sister-bonding was in order. Charlotte loves my webcam - she calls it 'funny faces!!' - so I let her take some pictures with me.

When Charlotte was born, I was sixteen, and completely and utterly uninterested. I had very little feeling towards her and or about her, mainly because I hadn't desired another sibling (two was quite enough, I thought), and also because I was slightly preoccupied, hold the slightly. I lost a large amount of time with her mainly due to my illness - I was far too busy bingeing, purging, starving, and holing myself up in my room isolating myself endlessly to pay attention to a few month old infant. God knows I barely even paid my boyfriend at the time any mind, let alone my little sister, whom did very little save eat and sleep, two things I couldn't do. I resented her. In retrospect, this seems absurd, even a little selfish, but given the predicament I found myself in, I can't find fault with my behavior. I was ill, probably more ill than anyone, particularly myself, recognized, and I hated that the attention I so desperately wanted belonged solely to her.
I am not that girl anymore; I am not sick anymore. I am not pushing Charlotte away because I'm too tired and too cranky to play with her. In fact, I wake up in the morning desperate to see her, to hug her, to spend time with her. She provides me with more motivation than she'll ever know. She is such a beautiful, affectionate, darling little girl and I could not be luckier to have her in my life. I know I've lost more time with her than I can compensate for, what with all my hospital visits and such, but what counts is today, and that's what I'm spending with her.
I hope when she's older she realizes how much I love her and how much she's meant to me in my recovery.I really, really do.
And even if she doesn't, I hope she at least thinks I'm kickass.

New tattoo!

L'chaim: 'to life,' and also, 'to happiness and health.' Nothing could be more applicable or better suiting for this point of my life. Nothing at all. I am lucky to have this life and this is my recognition.

I think I might love it.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Lake George and Reunion.

Greetings! I have finally returned from Lake George and come bearing many pictures. I have posted only my favorites, as there were far too many taken to post them all.
(scroll over the pictures for captions!)

sibling love
my best friend, throughout it all.
I'm sorry, but nothing is cuter than this. I am obsessed with him.
My face makes this picture, hahaha
The family...and Daffy. Refrain from asking
Nothing better.
I'm special.
Johnny Rocketts' tantrum. Epic.

Though I originally had zero interest in attending this vacation, I'll admit I had a good time. I'll even go so far as to say I had a great time. The beginning of the stay at Lake George was somewhat tumultuous - vacations have a tendency to be very difficult for me and I found myself struggling very intensely and withdrawing nearly entirely. However, I met my battles with a strong face and quick strategies, defeating the voice insisting I skip meals and mosey into the bathroom after whatever meals it allowed me to have. I've come to realize that it is not about the environment, it is about me. Perhaps vacations have not been good in the past (understatement). That does not mean, whatsoever, that every vacation has to be bad because the previous have been. I have changed. Thus, whatever the surroundings, I am adaptable. Food is a necessary ingredient to life and I completely accept that, even if sometimes begrudgingly. I may never look perfect in a bathing suit. I may never been one hundred percent happy in my body. But, I am happy to be alive and that is what matters. My family was very supportive throughout the entire trip and I was very glad and very lucky to have had them there. My stepmom and I have somehow managed to become the best of friends in the past year of so and I couldn't be happier. When I think of how hostile things were between us last vacation, the anxiety in my chest rises to nearly unreadable levels. It was terrible. I am nauseatingly happy to have her in my life, and not as a negative force. There are times I almost prefer her to my own mother, though I could never admit that (oh wait, just did, teehee). The siblings were lovely, also, and both of them had me laughing hysterically the entire trip, something I desperately needed. I adore them both beyond comprehension. It nearly sickens me that I could love two people so fiercely, so passionately, without ever examining their faults, or in AJ's case, what could eventually develop into his faults. I finally understand the concept of "unconditional love" and I am filled with an unfathomable sense of pride knowing I am capable of it. Also, my dad was fabulous as always.

After I returned from Lake George, I returned to work (yay!) and last night, I drove all the way to East Guam (not really) to see Amy and her family's production of Fiddler on the Roof. Chelsea was there as well.
regardless of miles and minutes, you will always be in my heart.

The play was phenomenal and I cannot even begin to express how thrilled I was to see two of my very closest friends at the same time. I could barely contain myself. Of course it made me slightly depressed, especially seeing as I won't be living with either of them next year, or with anyone aside from my family, for that matter, and they were by far the two most wonderful people to spend my days with. I attribute my college life in its entirety to the both of them. The fact that I managed to survive through my spring semester baffles me, but I know they kept me alive, and for that, I am eternally grateful. They are with me everyday, in my heart, and I will never, so long as I live, forget either one of them. I hope they know that.
I wish more than anything that I could rewind my life, to that first day at Adelphi, and do everything differently. That wouldn't prevent Amy's family from moving to Texas, but perhaps it could have granted me more time with Chelsea.
However, I know it is foolish to cry over spilt milk mainly because I've already cleaned it up and poured myself a new glass. I am better than I ever have been and God knows I could have never made it without Renfrew Philly.
Thus, though I will miss the both of them more than I could possibly ever articulate, I know they will both be my friends for life, regardless of whether or not I'm at Adelphi. And, I know for a fact I will be happier with my father and at a new school.
I hope so, anyway.

That concludes my second entry!
Upcoming exciting events: tatto-age with Lindsay on Monday (terrified), seeing CJ Wednesday and Saturday, my cousin's Sweet Sixteen Friday, and my little sister's third birthday on Sunday. Whee!


Saturday, August 1, 2009

Okay, so.

I have made a new blog and decided to give it a theme - pictures! I have resolved to take at least one picture per day in which I document something I did, exciting or not (god knows I do a serious shitload of completely useless, boring garbage). Also, I must say something positive about the picture or have some kind of positive contribution of and or related to the picture. Good idea, eh?

So! On with the first post!

Last night I went to Medieval Times with Courtney and my sister, and even though I felt like an absolute fool wearing the paper crown, I couldn't have been happier to be there. We had such a good time! And, even though we ended up getting obscenely lost on the way home (we nearly meandered into New York), I'd say it was a successful venture through and through. Plus, the food wasn't even half as bad as everyone claimed. In fact, it was delicious. Like, really delicious. But, then again, I did order the vegetarian meal so perhaps I'm biased - you can't exactly fuck up hummus and pita chips. Oh well, meat eaters' loss!

Tomorrow I will be leaving for Lake George until Thursday. Next post will most likely be a conglomeration of pictures from there.

Goodnight! :D