Oh, and if you're recovering from an ED - good for you, but this isn't the place for you.
And if you are "suffering" from an ED - follow the recoveries. This isn't a place for "victims".
This is a choice,
not an excuse,
not a spotlight,
not a statement,
and definitely not a disease.

Monday, August 31, 2009

Scary Shit

I know we don't read one another's blogs to get to know one another. In reality, we don't really care too much for eachother on a personal level. We write and read so we can recieve understanding and praise and feel accepted. We do this to see others in ourselves. But, this post is about me. It's about my weekend. And you don't have to read it if you don't want to. But I have the feeling you may find more of yourself in this than you may want.

So... I haven't blogged all weekend because Friday night, some scary shit went down. I was doing so well that day. I had had barely anything save for some Rice Thins, spinach, and liquids.
One of my best friends lives around the corner and she and I and a couple other girls decided to have a girls night in. We set up a little smoking station outside. I had my Belmonts and hookah, loaded up with some mango shisha and my friends had brought their bong which we loaded with ice. We had also gone out before and decided to buy some salvia. I don't know if you've ever heard of or smoked salvia, but it's fucked. It's 100% legal and is supposed to give you a solid, fucked-up, 10 minute trip. We got 60x (not the highest strength, but not the lowest). And I had four bowls. 4. You're only supposed to do 1. But I didn't feel it all right away, so I kept on taking moremoremore. Everything was all shits and giggles and I basically just felt really high, but then it all hit me. I went to the washroom, locked the door, sat down hugging the toilet, and struggled to control my breathing. I've had panic attacks before, and this went one step beyond panic. I quite literally could not control myself. In these situations, I'm always ok. I can handle myself, I can calm myself down. But the one fucked up thing was that inside that little intoxicated brain of mine, all I wanted to do was stand up and weigh myself. The scale was sitting right beside me, but my legs would not stand up, my breathing would not slow down, and I had next to no idea what was going on.
I don't know how long I was in there, but the same thoughts kept sprinting through my mind. weighmyselfweighmyselfweighmyself. I knew I had to get out of the bathroom and away from the scale. I hauled myself up using the toilet, stumbled into the living room, and splayed myself on the couch. I layed there, tripping out, and eventually got all the thoughts of weight out of my head. When I knew I was solely  thinking for myself, I got up, struggled to the washroom, and weighed myself.
It's the lowest I've been in over a year. I was ecstatic. I then returned to my beloved couch.
It would appear to anyone else that I had given in, but it goes a little deeper. In my subconcious, Ana was the one behind my food intake (and Mia my outtake). Now, when I refer to "Ana" or "Mia", I'm not inferring that I have another personality or specific "voice" in my head. Ana and Mia are simply the subsect of me that became obsessed with food and calories. A part of me took my new habits to a new level for wrong reasons. And in that fucked-up moment on the couch, I retired that part of myself that was hungry for everything other than food, and regained my strength. If I'm going to starve and become skinny, that's my decision. I'm not doing it to be noticed or loved. I'm doing this for me.
But back on track with the story...My best friend came in to check on me and I told her I was hungry. She made me popcorn. I ate the whole bowl. I spat in the face of Ana who had been screaming at me what felt like moments before. I came to the realization that if I'm doing this to have control over something, I have to keep control of myself.
I then proceeded to eat 2 plates of nachos with rediculous amounts of salsa. I decided that for the weekend, I was going to eat (relatively) normal and starting Monday, I would start this process over with more insight and more determination than ever before.

So, here I am. It's Monday. I'm ready.

Friday, August 28, 2009


I had this in one of my earlier posts, but I only posted the link. I found a version that allowed embedding.
Meet Cassie :)

Everybody's Working For the Weekend

And it has almost arrived. Wonderful.
I'm making this walk/smoke every morning a pattern. It just starts my day off perfectly and gives me that little just start I need. Sitting here, sipping on a Diet Coke and going through the faxes that have come in. It's not an exciting job, by any means, but it's alright. I just wish I had more opportuniy to be up and moving around.
Last night I ended up eating some popcorn with safflower oil (only 80 cal per 2 tbsp as opposed to olive oil which is 120 cal per 1 tbsp) and salt. I had maybe 2 cups, so it all probably amounted to 100 calories. I burned 200 on the bike yesterday, so no biggie.
So I found this video. It leaves me speachless; it's just so beautful.

Lifetime Collective - SS2010 from Salazar on Vimeo.

Hope you're all having great days. Stay strong :)

Thursday, August 27, 2009

Great Day

Today has been absolutely FABULOUS!!!
It started off wonderful and just keeps getting better and better as my stomach becomes angrier and angrier.
When I got to the office, no one was here, so I walked 6 flights of stairs 4 times, went for a walk, had a smoke, came back, and walked the stairs again. I haven't had anything other than two Diet Cokes and a couple sips of coffee.
I'm gearing up for this Saturday. It's one of my best friend's (I'll call her V) birthdays. We're staying in a hotel in Toronto and just clubbing the night away. I've one clubbing quite a bit. I usually go to parties or bars more. It's just the group of people I hang out with, I guess. V clubs all the time. The times I've gone with her, we mostly went to all ages but now we finally all have fake IDs. Not that she ever needed one, really, but she wanted to be safe. I'm promising myself nothing other than cigarettes, coffee, diet coke, and negative cal veggies until Saturday night. So fucking excited.
And I found an amazing photographer: Lars Botten. His work is absolutely phenominal. Just all the compositioning and lighting seems so natural and beautiful. Ugh, I could drown in his work.
This is his website.
Here's a few examcples from different collections of his:

And thank you ladies for the comments. They really did help. I woke up today all flustered and seeing "tommorrow is a new day" and all the positive input completely changed my mood around.
I WILL succeed. I WILL lose weight. I WILL be beautiful. :)

Wednesday, August 26, 2009


So I'm now 124.7 lbs.
But I feel like shit.
Because I just ate parmesean chicken and mashed potatoes. I tried to purge, but it was too late.
I'm disgusting, I really am. My stomach hurts and I'm so angry at myself.
Those are my only feelings for today: disgust and anger.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Oh God

Binged again. I won't go into detail because I'm trying not to reflect on it, only to fix it. So absolutely NONONO food today. Only coffee.
Fuck. I can't believe myself.
I'm 127 lbs.
I'm a fat cow.
My boyfriend comes home today.
Words of encouragment greatly appreciated. I could use some help today.

This is what I ate and what I didn't eat, my mother threw into a container for lunch today. I can smell it. It reeks.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Steven Meisel

I wish I could tell  you that I really am down to 124 lbs. But, lo and behold, I fail...again. Last night was Sunday dinner. The only dinner I cannot avoid. I'm usually fine, though, because I always take a shower right after dinner and purge with the door locked and the shower on. But I went out to see a movie last night and was running late, so I didn't get to "shower". Blagh. Chickenchickenchicken. Meat is fucking disgusting. I cannot believe I ate it. I'm going back to being a vegetarian. I had all that chicken, carrots, and salad for dinner but as if that wasn't enough, I bought a large popcorn at the movies and demolished the majority of it. (PS- don't go see The Ugly Truth. It's cute and all, but it's so predictable and rediculous.)
Felt like shit this morning so I packed my lunch to munch on today:
10 Green Beans (currently eating) (30)
1/2 cucumber (10)
1 Celery Stalk (10)
2 Pickles (10)
591 mL Arizona Green Tea (150)
=210 calories.
If I have anything else when I get home, it will be more cucumber and/or celery. Maybe I'll make myself a salad. Yum. Balsamic vinegar is great for salad dressing. It only has 10 calories per tbsp.
A long while ago, I fell in love with fashion photographer Steven Meisel's work. He is absolutely phenominal. Every shoot he does goes beyond the clothes and the model - they all mean something. My favorite shoot yet is "Supermodels Enter Rehab" Here's the link for his site.Here's a few pics from the shoot.
This one's my favorite!!!

Sunday, August 23, 2009

I Wish TLC Had a Show Called What Not To Eat

I'll help you out by doing the opposit - what TO eat:

Pickles (but they have a lot of sodium, so drink lots)

Sunflower Seeds (Amazing for when you need to be constantly munching)
100 cal Cup a Soups
Rice Cakes
Popcorn (with no butter or salt)

Lo-Cal Monster
Coffee and Tea (As black as I can and with brown sugar)


So, this weekend has been worse than I wanted, but better than I thought in terms of AnaMia. I was doing great Friday until after getting home from a party around 4:30ish am and eating two plates of chicken curry. My drunken self told my Ana self that I would thank her someday. I don't. I wish I had eaten less and something else with less calories and carbs, but tis' life. And if I hadn't, I would have been really sick the next day.
Yesterday I went shopping at Value Village (my favorite store next to Salvation Army) and bought a wonderful amount of clothes. My friend knows I had EDs, so I have to be sure to eat around her. I had soup at Tims for lunch and when we got back (I couldn't help myself) a small plate of chicken curry. We went to a party and I got shmammed. It was horribly amazing.
1/2 26er of Soho (If you haven't tried Soho - do. It's amazing.) and 1/3 26er of tequila. Ouch
I told people "I am mother nature" and followed the proclamation with "and mother nature said let there be rain". Guess what? It rained.
I also used a marshmallow for a cork for the remainder of the tequila (it worked) and took a bottle out of the fire with my hands. God, I'm so fucking smart when I'm drunk.
Biggest event of the night: my best friend's ex showed up. Oh, man. I won't go into details, but if you knew who I am, you would understand (that sounded horribly conceded. I mean it in a way that I know people. And he's going to get his ass kicked). He was scared shitless. I finally let him talk to her but stood by them while they talked. Then you will never guess what she did. She asked me to leave. I was fucking humiliated. Then they went off somewhere and I couldn't find them. He succeeded in convincing her that he didn't cheat (he did-and on her birthday, too) and I was livid when I saw her. But we sorted things out. And the ex? He's going to wish he hadn't fucked with us. Oh, man.
So, I'm sitting here hungover to shit and eating a few sunflower seeds. Life's great. I'm down to 124 but it was on a different scale than the one at my work, so I'll wait til' tomorrow to make the loss definite.

As promised, here's your postly dose of thin art :)

Listen To:
Skinny Love by Bon Iver

Look At:
Edie Sedgwick - see Watch

The Cobra Snake's photography
He goes to parties and clubs and takes pictures. A truly glamorous life.

Factory Girl
It's a movie about Andy Warhol and Edie Sedgwick. You think you love Audrey Hepburn? So does everyone else. Meet Edie, the first superstar. I look up to this woman in ways people could never begin to fathom.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Today is Boring

2nd post today. I have no life slash work sucks. So... I rumaged through some old poems and came across my free verse about Mia.

Nervosa? I'm Not Nervous, Just Curious
This endless cycle leaves me with my hands and stomach clenched. No more butterflies in there. This binge and purge, this relapse, it’s keeping me alive, even if my existence is slowly dissipating. The cycle gives me control, I could stop if I want to, but I don’t want to. I want to have something to claim for my own, some sort of success because I never seem to have enough. No, I can’t get enough. Leave me with perimolysis, esophagitis, hypokalemia, and my pride. Oh, yes, I’ll fit into that dress.

You hear me and shake your head. Threaten me with someone smaller than I, someone shrunken. You say I’m destructive, detrimental, disadvantageous. I don’t care, shhh, keep it down. I know I won’t. No combination of words can convince me otherwise.

You keep to your cigarettes, I have my own addiction. You say my addiction has me. Your Belmont’s aren’t holding you, shaking your shoulders. So why, when you see mine bent over and heaving, do you insist it’s different?

You’re so wrong. So damn wrong. So fucking wrong.
The colour under my eyes makes me feel colorful, interesting, a story to read. You hate reading. These broken veins, these broken names, these broken gains, this broken heart.

Maybe if you gave a shit, I might be able to. My heart skips beats, but for all the wrong reasons, there’s not thrill left in this anymore. I’m not ashamed, I’m not the one to blame. It’s those magazines you keep stacked under your mattress. It’s those videos I found in a hidden folder. It’s those you compliment, you lust after. Why can’t I be beautiful enough for you?

This is more than skin deep, it may show in my complexion, but you know this goes deeper than you do every night.

Flushing the weakness away, I feel strong. I’ll faint recurrently, but I am so much stronger currently.

Impulsivity, you call it. Productivity, I call it.
I’m sick and tired but this booze should help, these smokes should help, this weed should help, these pills should help, you could help.
But no. You’ll just stand and shake your head as mine bows down.

It’s a trade you’ll never appreciate.
It’s a war I’ll never win.
It’s a cycle that never ends.


Last night I didn't end up going out for dinner. I couldn't get the car and my friend and I both agreed to stay in. No one went, anyway, because they're all camping. But, last night my father dearest brought home MacDonalds. God's gift to tastebuds is the Southwest Grilled Chicken Sandwich of which I ate with a large fries. 1030 calories total. That's more than 2x what I want to me intaking per day! So I threw it all up. But Mia is not nearly as effective as Ana (obviously!) so I'm almost total Ana today. My only acception is coffee. And maybe a piece of bread if I plan on getting drunk tonight.

But the main reason I decided to post today was to show you a video. I know I was going to do a whole art compilation with every post, but I couldn't wait for the next one. Let's consider this a half post. Here's the almighty video: Cornelius by The Bloody Beetroots

Also, I wrote something. (I don't know if I've told you - but I write and read a ton) And I wanted to share it. It's definitely not my greatest. It's inspired by The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins and 100 Years if Solitude by Marquez, both of which I'm currently reading. If you're an atheist like me, you will absolutely adore Dawkins. But I'll discuss religion in another post that I have more time to write.
Here's my story. It's long, so I only included the first few paragraphs. Message/comment if you want the rest. (Photo: "The Search For Individualism" by Me)

The Repetance Burrows Deep
The air, strung with resentment, idled about her head, poisoned all her deliberation. Her thoughts conceived, she was impregnated with indignation. These feelings not preordained, but fabricated with the expansive sea of possibilities she longed to float upon. She longed to bathe in sin, in the eventual penitence, the anticipated pity.
To everyone else, it was unforeseeable, it was unrighteous, but there was a strike of dignity echoing behind her eyes as her dress slipped from her shoulders. Like a receding tide, her body gave into the heat and the stench of testosterone he emitted from every crevice. His sandpaper hands, grown rough from the salt of the sea, crawled from her ankles to her calves to her thighs. The wind whispered “shame” in through the windows. It gave shape to the translucent curtains, haunted their meeting, cursed their passion.
An existence suckling upon family ties and the Bible, she was always perturbed, veiled with a mask of composure. Adorned with an accumulation of “don’t”s and “no”s, she wore her
dissatisfaction on the outside in his presence. She shone with omnipotence. She reeked of power and he succumbed every time.
On the hard earth patted down to flooring, they made love. Their gasping was hushed despite their distance from town. Their grasping desperate, their ecstasy shared as they moved to their own rhythm, created their own melody. The harmony created by her feather of a body and his impulsivity crescendoed on the wakes of their waves. They perturbed the shores of home. The wind screamed and their consciences howled. But drowning, they were blind with love and deaf with worship.
Upon their tidal wave, their adolescence was excavated. Laying on their backs, their intentions were bare, running wild naked through the tiny room they had made their own. His heart thundered, her hands shook. Innocence was lost and flying through the mountain range that enclosed their settlement.Exhausted of vigilance, they had submitted to recklessness.
But once finished, silence inhabited and inhibited their departure. Duty filled their lungs and covered her eyes in a thin gloss. With obligation, their clothes retuned to cover their bodies, stuck to their backs and between their legs, and they again molded into the rigid entity created by their parents and their parents and their parents.

The End :)
Hope you enjoyed.

Later Days, Fellow AnaMias

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Working Bucks Salls

Currently: 57 kg./125 lbs.

I sit in an office. For 8 hours a day. Filing useless papers. Not only do I have no chance at losing weight unless I absolutely starve myself, I feel like absolute shit. I feel as if my ass is transforming into a pancake. And because this filing is so mindless, I find myself constantly thinking about food. Everyone here is fat. Except for my favorite employee. But even she's gained weight. She stopped smoking and eats breakfast every day. She's still the great person she used to be, she's just got "more to love". She's so tall, though, so she can pull it off. But the office even has a whole cupboard of cookies in the back. So glad I made the last Grocery Gateway order and got me some Rice Thins. They're pretty bad, but they're better than cookies.
That little rant aside, I'm doing o.k. Obviously not as well as I'd like to, but I know the beginning is always hardest. I used to knock back and forth between a binge and fast. Totally converging into the latter category has my body less confused, but more angry. But sometimes, I love the feeling of my stomach screaming at me. It's as if I'm one-up on my body. It's great. But I have a long way to go.
My ultimate goal is to reach under my low which is 110. From there, I have no idea where I'm headed. We'll see.
This Saturday I'm going to the beach with some friends. I'd be looking forward to it if one of my friends' birthday dinners wasn't tonight. Oh, and guess where it is? Pretty much the equivalent of Hell for any Ana/Mia. With the little Asian Sait Peters awaiting at the gates, the Mandarin breathes fat. Fuck my life. I'll probably have to go Mia tonight. As much as I like Ana better, Mia accompanies me in keeping with my friends without attention. I've never been a dependant, annoying "will you come to the bathroom with me?" type of girl. That shit pissed me off. Wipe your own ass and solve your own problems.

As you can tell, I'm in a pretty shitty mood. I forgot my lunch in the car, so I had to go eat with my mother who works a few buildings away from me. Holding hands with Mia in a hospital washroom is disgusting. Note to self: never forget lunch in car again.

But, on a lighter note, my boyfriend is coming home soon (yes, I can hold a steady relationship with AnaMia). That will be nice, as I've been extremely horny lately and sex is great for burning calories.

I really would work out more, but I'm trying to lose muscle. Everywhere I've turned, looking for a way to do this, all ways have pointed to disuse. So, I'm boycotting all arm/leg exercise and working solely on abs and hoping that my stomach will get angry enough that it eats my leg and arm muscle (just kidding - you can relax).

So now I just need motivation. So many AnaMias praise celebrity AnaMias, even worship them. I think it's pathetic. Celebrities are just people. Except they are obviously pulling the stunt for attention. Instead, I delve into the creative and artsy side of the AnaMias. Artists, models, muses and all alike starve for inspiration to create beauty and feel real emotion, not to be published in People Magazine, or whatever other trash people read, for being admitted into the latest rehab center. The publicity stunts are lame.

Wow, getting a lot of ranting out today.

Motivation motivation motivation. Those out there who are with me on this wonderous self-indulgence people call eating disorders, allow me to lend you some motivation.

Every post, I'll leave you a taste of beauty in several forms of art.
(click the pictures to englarge them, click the light text for links)

Listen to:
Lua by The Bright Eyes

Look at:
Alex Asher Daniel's paintings

Anna Selezneva

Cassie from Skins
You will love everything about her.
You will understand this:

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The Last Game

Since I was 13, I've been a part-time bulimic/anorexic. I say part-time because throughout those earlier years, I surrendered to these habits solely while staring into the glaring eyes and snarling faces of schedules and responsibilities and hormones and growing up. I was staring at my lack of control.
There are many reasons people (especially females) practice eating disorders. I hate the preordained notion that every individual "suffering" from an eating disorder is in search of help or recognition. Yes, it's the main reason. No, it's not the only one.

First off, let me tell you that I have been brought up in a healthy environment with a supportive family and great friends. I am confident; I play sports, I graduated high school with an 88% average, I volunteer, I party, I work. I'm balanced. Bulimia and anorexia are my choice.

So, don't go fooling yourselves. Eating disorders are not diseases. They are not even "disorders" which, according to the Online Princeton Dictionary is, "a physical condition in which there is a disturbance of normal functioning". What is normal? In my opinion, my eating disorder is the equivalent of your smoking a blunt between classes or visiting a strip club after work or your private collection of porn or your exercise and sport you push so hard in. Point is, it's a release. It's a secret. It's something that is mine. Something I don't have to share or talk about. Something I'm secure with. It makes me feel in control of myself.

So stop judging and start reading.
And you're here to read why it's different from what textbooks and reality television shows tell you.
Currently: 18 years old, 5 4", 59 kg/130 lbs, BMI = 22.3
Currently: healthy