Monthly Archives: February 2015

another dad one 


I’ve been doing this shit for four years now and I still get restless any night my dad spends in the hospital. Despite all the sleep medication I’m on, nothing makes the pain of losing someone you love duller.

Nights like tonight I find my mind has like a slide show of memories of me and my father. When I look back, I just imagine me as a little girl. My dad didn’t get sick until I was in college but when I think of the times my dad hasn’t been ill, I immediately go to when I was a kid. I remember the routine of seeing my father on my days from school.  I remember knowing exactly how my fathers footsteps sounded as he would walk up the stairs. It’s the really random little things that I never thought I’d have to recall. Just looking back on this innocence that whole time in my life was. I never was a little girl who created grown up fantasies where my father wasn’t in the picture. I never blew out the candles on my birthday cakes thinking that my birthdays with him would limited. I never thought death would be the distance that would be between us so soon. He was my dad, not a disease or a diagnosis, just my dad.

Now everything is different. The same kitchen where my dad used to dance and do the dishes with me is covered in pill bottles, opened bills, planners and emergency phone number post it’s. The living room where we spent most of our time is now set up as a bedroom for my dad. Those things I can handle. Looking at a man whose hospital bracelet matches the name of my father and barely being able to recognize him is what’s hard. If I could paint a picture in words of who that man used to be then you would agree that the father who twirled me in the kitchen, drew sea cows in my lunch box, fought with me, and guided me is gone. And what’s left is a shell of a broken spirit who is trying to hold on minute by minute. 

That man had tumors from his brain removed today. There’s a high possibility that he may become blind after this. I want you to imagine his life now. He can’t work but his wife does all day, he can’t drive, and he can’t see. For 4 days a week, what will be his life. I can’t imagine the anger and frustration I would have if my basic senses were being taken away from me one by one. Stuck in a world that progressing as you digress into your illness. My heart breaks for that. 

Then my heart selfishly breaks for me. My dad won’t be able to look me in the eye ever again. He’ll never see my husband or boyfriend or my kids. The traditions that we have involve driving and movies and those days are over. He’ll never see me. When he is dying and if we have a last conversation he’ll never see how much I love him. Just another piece of him that has washed away before I got to say goodbye. I want my father to live but not as the man he is now. I want the father I grew up with to be resurrected and this man I see with his hospital bracelet to rest in peace. 

Sorry for yet another dad post. It’s all i can think about right now. Also sorry for any grammar issues, I typed this on my iPhone.

Monday Funday


What’d you have for lunch?

I don’t enjoy answering that question. I open my mouth to give a bullshit response hoping that the person hearing me doesn’t hear the shame that is carried with every word that comes out of my mouth. Fuck this question, even on the days I have eaten it is so humiliating that I have to share what I consumed.

I had a sandwich from the EUC

Lies. Liza Minelli Lies. I don’t carry my Anorexia as a badge of honor. If anything, it’s more like an ugly sweater you are forced to wear because it was a gift. I wear it on me with shame.

I don’t know what it is about Monday’s but it’s always the same routine. Monday is like my anorexic cheat day. Diet pills, calorie counting and purging. It’s like a give myself a day of control to start off my week because as the days go by, things always seem to be more chaotic. On Monday’s I always find myself looking back on a time where I didnt hide from people. When I didnt use my body as a weapon to protect me from reality. Just to eat lunch, to sit down, to pick a meal that I want without any outside influences and to taste it.

It’s not like I don’t like food. Well, depending on the day. But overall I actually love food. If I didnt, I wouldn’t waste my time to think and think and think about it. That’s the issue, I love food. It’s good but there is a limit for me. When I look at my life and all the stress, I don’t feel good. I don’t feel like I deserve something that is good for me because I am surrounded by situations that aren’t good for me. Food is a representation of what’s going on. I feel so restricted and forced into things that either I don’t agree with or situations that just hurt. So I starve myself. I allow the color to fade away from my cheeks. I allow the dizziness and the hunger pains. I allow the lies. I allow Anorexia to comfort me in ways that nobody else can.

So today I stay hungry, I lie to those around me and I continue to go down a path where the destination is a place I never want to go again.

Happy Monday


To say that I am stressed out would be an understatement. My insurance is killing me with charges and I have almost no money. I am behind in a majority of my classes and my depression is completely taking over my mind.

I know that I’m not hopeless by any means, but right now I’m not hopeful in getting cash, food, sanity and necessities

Fuck my life

He’s not doing too well


They found more cancer in my father. Lately the thought of losing him has been weighing heavily on me. Losing my grandmother means another part of my dad is gone. Each day I wake up not knowing if I’ll go to sleep with my father still alive.

I try to imagine the day he’ll be gone, how I’ll say goodbye, how I’ll tell my friends, etc. I saw my dad this past week, and he could barely walk or talk. Nobody should be in the pain that he is in right now. He could barely walk or talk, and his head hung lowly like he knew that death was coming sooner or later. It’s terrible, it’s painful, and it’s unfair

Growing up my dad could do anything. Always coaching my teams and lying to me and telling me I was athletic. Any daughter dance or event, we were in attendance and when we danced you could tell that he saw me as his little princess. I remember when I first got caught self harming he put pressure on my wrists to stop the bleeding and he just held me, telling me I was beautiful and everything would be ok. He did his best and I’ll never deny that. I wasn’t the daughter he expected and I hate myself for that but despite our differences, he never made me doubt that I was his little girl.

Maybe it’s selfish but I am so angry about this. I’m getting ripped off here. I’ll never get the dance at my wedding, he’ll never meet my kids or tell me he is proud of me for my future accomplishments. I want those things so bad. I want him to wake up and be fine.

Now I have a man that’s face and demeanor only translate to pain. The man who woke up at 2 AM for his second job so I could sing is now barely able to stay awake to form a sentence. Watching someone die is incredibly heart wrenching and I’d do anything to make it stop


Blame Game


Eating disorders are messy illnesses. No one person or event is to blame for causing an eating disorder, because that “cause” is a sundry mix of neurobiology and genetics, family of origin, social  environment, and trauma. And if you lack the psychological tools to deal with life stressors, then you will seek relief in any way possible. For some, that relief comes with the starvation high of anorexia, or the dopamine rush of binge eating, or any number of ED behaviors.

Unless you are a natural-born psychologist who can troubleshoot those stressors before they warp your thoughts and actions, chances are you did not see your eating disorder looming on the horizon. You didn’t realize you were in danger until it was upon you.

I know I am not doing fabulous. I am fully aware. It’s hard for me to believe that there is any sense of hope in a disorder that is constantly defeating me. It’s even harder when people look at my relapse like I wanted it.

I have an eating disorder, disorder being the key word there. I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for my disorder because there is so much blame that comes with anorexia. From telling people my story and being around people who try to understand, I normally get two responses:  “You were the person that decided to skip that meal” or “Is it really a disorder or a consequence of the media?”

I’m just going to say this once. My eating disorder was not created with photoshop, my eating disorder doesn’t give two shits about celebrity bikini photos and this idea that a photo of somebody else created this monster. No.

As for the first response.

I spend a lot of time sitting around wondering if I am truly to blame for this. Logically, it makes sense. Logically, yes, I did not go and eat a meal, there was no gun to my head. This is more than an eating disorder thing too, there is a lot of blame that comes my way for my depression. Some days you have to just brush it off is something I hear constantly. The truth is I feel like a prisoner within myself. I am being brainwashed by a voice that is constantly telling me that I am not good enough. That everything is always my fault, including Anorexia, and everybody looks down on me because of it. I am haunted by the possibility that every day in my eating disorder is a day that I am to blame.

Then I think about it

There is no blame talk when it comes to my skin disorder. No person has ever approached me with anger about it. There would no blame talk being thrown my way if I had another disorder like cystic fibrosis. Those things aren’t a choice, and they are disorders but when it comes to anorexia, hold the fucking phone because Sarah isn’t trying.

Anorexia, Bulimia, BED, and EDNOS are fucking disorders. They wouldn’t be classified as such if it was something that myself and the 24 million people with eating disorders decided to just have identical symptoms with food. With any disorder, there is no black and white. If there was, it’d be a lot easier to treat. I can’t pin point a single event that caused this because there isn’t one. Eating disorders can be developed by many things. THis is how my brain copes. Not how I made my brain cope, no, just how my brain processes stresses in my life and tries to survive through them. There are so many articles and studies that have proven that a person with an eating disorder has different brain chemistry than a person who doesn’t suffer. When I eat food, my brain sees it as something to panic. Does that excuse me from completely going into symptoms? No, it doesn’t. But I would challenge any body who says this is all my fault to go a day with your mind processing food as a threat and I fucking GUARANTEE you that you would skip meals, too.

Think of all the things you do to avoid threats in your life. You lock the door because there is a threat that your things might get stolen. You were a seat belt because there is a threat that you could die in a car accident. You have certain parts of whatever town you live in that you avoid because there is a threat that you could be in danger. If you see or feel an extreme threat coming your way, your first thought is to protect yourself. And when you feel threatened you are supposed to trust your gut instinct. Whether you realize it or not, there are things that every person does that make them feel safer in their environment.  This is what I do. I don’t feel safe and I am protecting myself

I am not saying that I hold no control in this, i am really not. What I am trying to say is that I promise you that I wouldn’t have chosen this life for myself. I would do anything to sit and eat meals with friends and be fine but I have a disorder that ruins that aspect for me. It’s so hard wired in my brain that I am an awful person and the blame I feel for developing this literally haunts me every day. I want to be normal. I want people to be proud of me and with this disorder, I don’t feel that way.

If you want more info on the science behind Anorexia Nervosa, watch this shitttt