Bikinis, Tortillas & Bad Writing

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I have to go to the pool today and sadly, due to the fact that I am not a duggar, I have to wear a bathing suit. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. FUCK. It’s not because I think I’m fat, that’s not the issue. I’ve accepted the fact that I cant see myself as what I truly look like but I do know that I am underweight so I don’t look fat to the world. The issue is I have to put on another badge of relapse. I like to pretend that my shorts falling down isn’t because of my weight loss and the fact that even my bras aren’t fitting is just because they are old. I like to play stupid, making up excuses for hiding behind my baggy clothes but I know the real reason why. And now, I have but on a bathing suit that I know wont fit.

It’s humiliating because I cant hide from the world like I did before. I cant be praised for weight loss and my body cant be ignored. Everybody fucking knows I’m anorexic and it’s the worst feeling in the world.

I keep telling myself that today is going to be different. Today I am going to eat, today I am going to be strong and today I am going to make people proud to have Sarah as a friend but it never works out that way. I never take into account that today I will be just as in my head as before. I don’t allow myself to realize that this miraculous new day will bring tears over eating a tortilla. It’s fucking stupid. I’m a 22 year old girl who is defeated by this disorder and all I want to do is be better. But better means living and it’s hard to fight for that when the thought of death is so….enticing.

Im trying though. Fuck am I trying. I eat when I can, I’m not self harming, or taking pills or even isolating. It’s not enough though, I have “wins” everyday but my body tells a different story.

Side note, I was creeping some bitch’s spotify and she had an anorexia playlist. Let me let you in on a little secret, 99% of eating disorder songs are fucking hilarious. They are so over dramatic and they are like “she just wants to fit in and have friends but she wont eat fa la la”. It’s great and if you like to smile and lol forever, I suggest you find a playlist because it’s so fucking funny. I realize this is a serious disorder but when you write your thoughts down and put a piano behind it, it gets a little too extra.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

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How’s she though?

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I apologize about my lack of posts here. There are multiple reasons why I kind of stopped. For starters, this semester has been so incredibly stressful and any second I had to actually sit down and write something but the main reason I’ve been silent is because I refused to sit down and reflect on how I was really doing. But I promised myself that I would write something once this semester is over and ta daaa it is.

So….how have I been doing?

 Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh………………

 I’m not going to say my weight nor am I going to go into details about everything I have been. This blog isn’t a look how sick I am or a forum where I write about how depressed I am (well…not anymore). But I think it’d be safe to say that recovery is over. I am gone and anorexia has taken over. I know that sounds kind of blunt but it’s the reality. And don’t assume my bluntness like I don’t care because if I could somehow explain the shame I feel about relapsing you would see that my bluntness is just a way to protect myself. I am doing my best to just keep up and this is the only way I know how. I cant balance my depression and my life at this moment and I had two options: I could focus on getting better and let things in my life slide, like school or I could use my eating disorder to get by. I know that sounds bad but people have so many expectations from me and I have so many expectations for myself that I don’t have time to put recovery first. And I am so incredibly grateful for that because if I didn’t have things to distract me, I would have killed myself and I say that with complete certainty.

Even though this semester has been so insane that I haven’t been able to really look behind me to see the mess I have made. Now that everything is over, I am able to look back on these past few months and holllyyyyyyyy shitttttt. I do have a lot to be proud of but honestly, just thinking about everything makes me shiver. The last few weeks with my dad was traumatizing. Watching somebody who is dying, seeing them die and dealing with the aftermath is absolutely devastating. Then coming back to school on top of that is near to impossible. I never want to live through that again, I never want to feel those things again and I don’t want to think about these past few months ever ever ever ever again.

As for right now, I am really struggling with the effects of my eating disorder on my life. I’ve lost weight and I am getting a lot of comments. It’s a solid mixture between being called beautiful and thing and, my favorite, “how do you get so thin? I want to be on your diet” -_____- and “Sarah, you’ve lost weight oh my god, even though I refuse to actually ask you how you are doing or learn about what an eating disorder is, I will comment on you weight though because that’s CLEARLY my place. I only care if you’ve gone down a size”………..may have exaggerated and put some opinion into that last part but you get the point.

But comments don’t bother me as much. I mean, I am not proud of my weight loss, it’s rather humiliating to say the least. What really hurts is when I think about what my life is. I have been dieting for years. Fucking years. I hear all my friends talk about their futures and see bitches getting married or having kids and I have had to accept that those things wont happen to me. I’m not throwing a pity party, it’s just a reality. With my eating disorder the way that it is, I wont be able to make friends, I wont be able to date or have kids and what kills me the most is I know that I cant hold down a full time big girl job with this. It’s devastating to think about honestly and I am so pissed that I have this. But right now my eating disorder is at a point to where I don’t even have a choice anymore. Those with ED’s know exactly what I am talking about and those who don’t can suck my dick. You think this is all Sarah and it’s easy, let me follow you around for a day and talk to you like my ED talks to me and I promise you that you wont eat. I promise you that I would do some severe damage. We’d probably end up being roommates at the same rehab.

Ohhhh life

I wont say this person’s name but I got a present today. I wonderful present that every person with Anorexia must get: a fit bit. Because, naturally, if you know somebody that starves themselves, you should get them a weight loss tracker and tell them that you want to compete with your diet and exercise. How? Because your little bracelet can pair you up and be like “Hey…you walk more than this bitch HOORAY FOR YOU”.

Anywho, now I am on a group diet with people who know about my ED and this person is like “this is going to be so much fun to compete” And I’m over here thinking

 I’m going to win bitch.

 Lol forever. You may not think this situation is funny but I find it comical.

There you have it. A lovely update.

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I’ve come to the realization that it doesn’t fucking matter how I feel. It doesn’t matter how upset I am, how depressed I am, how exhausted I am, how little or how much I’m eating. As long as I complete the list of assignments, finish my work load and continue to perform as a college student then I’m fine to the world. 

I just want to go home 

I Miss Him 

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There is no sense of pride I feel when I look at myself. If I could put my shame and self hatred in a bag I would break my back trying to pick it up. Everything in my life is a blur and for some reason I believe that restricting will give me the lenses to help me see life again. I’ve fallen short, and it kills me. My dads death was supposed to inspire a better me. A person that could leave his ashes proud but instead here I am counting the hours of restriction hoping that I can be beside him in whatever universe he is now in. It’s not rediculous to miss somebody and want to see them. I want to hear my name, I want to tell him about my day, I want the stories about his life to leave his lips instead of the countless cards I am receiving. You miss people but what I am feeling towards his lose is more than the word miss can encompass. I long for him and playing the role of a girl who lost her dad is just too fucking much.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. I wish I could just stop and grieve but school is just drowning me.  I’m sick too. And I need him back.  

Don’t plan, prepare

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I imagined my fathers death. I played over fantasies in my head of the pain I’d feel and the dullness that would be around me. I imagined a colorless world without my father and I felt the covers as I expected I would spend my days hiding beneath them for the pain of my fathers death would be so unbearable I would be crippled, unable to function.  It was sad but at least I had a plan. Even better, no matter how dark my imagination took me, it was merely a thought. My dad was still alive. His voice wasn’t just a memory, it was a reality that i selfishly took for granted. His hands were warm and his hugs were tight. His chest moved, his eyes blinked and his face showed expression, his familiar foot steps were heard within my house and if i ever had any doubt, he was there to prove that despite the fact that death was near, he was still alive.


Once again, I feel the disappoint as I have felt before because the dark future that I had planned was wrong. In fact, I have learned that if you have a plan for your future, whether it be a fairy tale ending or a realistic nightmare, you’re wrong. Things never turn out the way you expected it to. I don’t say that with bitterness, I say it with stories and memories I’ve collected that prove my hypothesis of you never know what’s going to happen. Don’t plan, prepare. 

As for me, my prediction of life beyond my father was wrong. I get up, I live, I brush my hair, I line my eyes, and I breathe. Yes, I correctly imagined my colorless world but I never imagined the pain I would feel. Pain that aches every muscle, runs through every vain, and thumps with each step I take. You can’t imagine this pain until you ache from it and naturally your body will try its best to make it feel better. For me, I can’t seem to go a day without having to take frequent naps. My body is giving a break because even though it can seem that a life is so much more complex than just skin blood and organs, I, like you, am just a body. I am healing, even if it feels like each day is a new wound, I am in repair.

I am dreaming of tomorrow. I am in no way particularly special or particularly tortured to have a parent die. In fact i am one of millions and lately, those are the people I look towards because each person tells me it gets easier with time. Time. Days, weeks, minutes, years, seconds. There must be a day when saying that I lost my dad at 22 doesn’t sting as it leaves my lips but instead is merely a fact that fills the pages of my living biography. I don’t imagine that tomorrow will be that day but I do know that it’s one day closer. 

  For those who have ever experienced a loss, I am deeply sorry. I suppose I now wear the badge that separates me from those who still have every person in there life present. It’s not fair, and I don’t say that in the context of just myself, it’s not fair for each of us. No person should feel this way, no person should lose a part of their life and no person should have to live through the days like this.

Even though I have heard this expression many times and I say this not in truth but instead in hope: things will get better. Hold your head up high so the one you lost can see you, and trust that even though you shouldn’t try to predict your future, you can cross your fingers that the unpredictability of life may throw you well deserved joy.

He was my Puff

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He was more than just my father, he was my puff and I was his. He was the person who taught me everything. The person who followed my school bus each year on the first day of school to make sure I got to school safe. The person who would take me to Starbucks just to ask me my thoughts on life, religion and politics. The person who made time for me.  The person who referred to himself as “Wolfiss” and chased me around the house. He was the person who saw cuts on my wrist and cleaned the blood as he told me he loved me. The person who loved me, truly, truly, loved me.

I was there in his final breaths. I sat by his side and watched as the shell of a man who used to be Bob Gore moaned in pain as he slowly allowed death to become him. I kissed his corpse and thanked him for being the best Puff a girl could ask for. The voices saying time of death are stuck to me like a tattoo, permanently stabbing my skin knowing that moment will follow me forever.

I woke up today as the parade of Im so sorry’s continued from strangers fogged my entire day. I’m sorry, too. If you ask me, this is bullshit. My dad should be alive, I shouldn’t have to look ahead and see all the grown up places we never went. Puff shouldn’t be a picture on my key chain or a closet filled with his clothes, Puff should be in his chair, alive and well with the knowledge that he was perfectly healthy. But he isn’t. He is dead. I will never be called Puff again. And somehow I have to figure out how I am going to survive the next day, the next morning, the next hour, the next minute knowing that he is no longer here. This sucks. Every inch of it sucks and I just want it to be over.