My Identity 

Since I was 15 I have either been on a diet, in post diet downfall, or in pre diet binge phase. There are a lot of reasons for this constant need to lose weight, control, depression, spite, loneliness, just to name a few. For the last 17 years my weight has always been on the forefront of my mind, even more so than sex, which is saying a lot because I think about sex all the time. The only small break I got was when I was living in Ecuador because all the man there considered me thin, probably the reason I want to go back so much. But other than that, I can not recall a time that I was not fixated on my weight and appearance.
When I was younger I would just not eat, that was my preferred method of dieting. This lasted about 8 years, on and off. I would have long stretches of eating less than 500 calories a day and then one night I’d get drunk and eat until it hurt. The next day would be spent in pain and loathing. Eventually I began to take laxatives after such binges, but then I got very addicted to that pain and suffering that you feel and started taking them all the time, even if I hadn’t eaten in days. It only took a few months before my body could no longer handle it and then the internal bleeding began. As much as I love the extreme feeling of emptiness and accomplishment that came from taking those little pink pills, it just didn’t seem worth it to be shitting blood. So I stopped and just stopped allowing myself to ever eat more than 700 calories on my fattest day. 
Luckily when my life fell apart and I moved to California I lost the will power to starve myself for more than a day. I was surrounded by free food, fun people, at cost booze and sunshine, so I gained a lot of weight. I still obsessed about my weight but it seemed as I had no control over it, after all those years my body was wining out over my mind. So for about a year and a half I packed on the lbs, and finally got so uncomfortable that I had to do something about it.
In the past 6 years I have run the gamete in terms of diets and fads. I have tried just about everything that I have ever read about. Atkins, Keto, Master Cleans, Raw, Fast Track Detox, 3 Day Military diet, Ford Diet, juice fast, egg fast, even a fat fast and countless others. I became a self proclaimed diet expert. I always enjoyed trying new diets, it was a challenge and gave me focus. I always enjoyed them even more when they actually made me lose weight. But of course, as you read on any healthy lifestyle website, diets are never long term. I went on and off a lot of these a million times over. This was just what I did. It is still just what I do.
I can’t picture my life without the struggle of wanting to lose weight. As this point in time I fear it is how I identify myself. I recently became extremely put off by men, so I no longer have them or the thoughts of sex to at least consume some of my thoughts. Now it is weight, diet and exercise 100% of the time…even when I am suppose to be working. I workout twice a day, I have multiple calorie trackers on my phone, there is nothing but diet and exercise pins on my Pinterest board. I’m full on obsessed, and yet I’m still fat, I’ve always been fat, even when I wasn’t. I will never be able to see myself as anything other than fat, because if I’m not, what would I do? I get to a point, so close to reaching my goal and then sabotage myself out of fear of losing my identity. Then I begin again. If I am not on a diet, I’m pretty sure it means that I’m dead, hopefully in the afterlife I won’t have to worry about a body at all.


The Same, Only Different

I become genuinely heart broken and distraught when I get rejected by a guy I’ve slept with, even if it was just once. I have the tendency to believe that every man I sleep with is the one for me. I become infatuated and they consume my thoughts. On my long runs I’ll envision our lives together, and then, inevitable they reject me. It comes at all different points, sometimes early on, sometimes 6 years after they have taken advantage of me, but it does always come. And then I spiral into a tornado of self loathing and bewilderment.
I just can’t ever understand how it could be that these men can just not care. It seems nearly impossible to me, someone who does everything full force, that they can just move on to the next one. I have spent countless hours, days, weeks, yes even years wondering how it could be possible that I did not matter. I can’t seem to grasp that I made no real impression on their lives, that they could so easy just toss me aside. What was it that made them even drawn to me in the first place, if I am clearly so forgettable? 
After a fair amount of inner reflection and false hope,that these men who are rejecting me will have a change of heart, I move on to being angery, well angery for me. In my head I get all worked up and despise the fact that I’m just another notch on their bed post, another girl they “took down” or just another meaningless fuck. When I finally come to terms with the reality, I except how much it hurts and then I move on.
I’ve spent so much time getting worked up about the same scenario, over and over again, never once realizing that I too just get over it. It may take me a little bit longer, but I just stop caring. I have no problem falling just as hard for the next gorgeous guy that happens to spend a night in my bed. From there the cycle repeats itself, clearly indicating that I must have not been that into the last guy if my feelings are so easily swayed to the next one. So although it may look different, it is in fact the same thing. Each guy becomes a tick mark in the form of a blog post, if they are even memorable enough for that, and then nothing more than a memory, sometimes a fond one, other times just a memory. At the time though, they were the most important person in my life, and when it is over they weren’t. Although I like to think I’m above the assholes I sleep with, I’m actually just the same, only different.

Have to Laugh

I have to laugh, there is really no other way. At the time I do cry, sometimes uncontrollably so, or it may just be a slow silent weep. But when it is over, and I’ve got some distance from whatever it was that made me cry I typically laugh. I’m not sure if it comes with my mentality to never keep a grudge but I tend to make a joke of it all, which may be way I keep getting myself into such absurd and hurtful situations. Maybe if I viewed the situations with the sadness and disgust they deserved I would not have some many things to laugh about now.
I lost my virginity when I was 16, in my driver’s ed teachers house, in his kids play room, with no door, next to Barbie’s mansion. Luckily it was not to my driver’s ed teacher, but instead to an asshole whom I had been hooking up with for a while. He was 22 and had already graduated from Culinary Arts school. For some reason he felt that it was appropriate to come back home and hang out with his younger sister’s friends. He could buy beer, so clearly none of us objected. 
Looking back in makes perfect sense to me now why I liked him so much, he was so fucked up. I’m not sure what his damage was, because at that age I had not yet deemed myself an insightful non-licensed therapist. Thus I had not delved into what made him the way he was, but needless to say, if you are 22 and sleeping with a 16 year old there has got to be some sort of disconnect in your head. But again he could buy us beer, so I continued to lust after him. 
One night, the beer he did buy us lead to a very drunken night out at the lake. There were only a few of us there that night so I had a better chance of getting his attention. The other girl there was his cousin, so my changes were great. At some point I was in his tent, and I experienced my first hook-up, beyond making out. At the time I was pretty numb from all the booze, but the following day I was both emotionally and physically in pain. I had bruises all over my body and my vagina was sore. I went to work and tried not to think about it. Several weeks later, with many beers taken in the same thing happened, this because the pattern for over four months. 
We developed my first one-sided relationship. Having never had a boyfriend I had no reference point. I saw my other friends having boyfriends, but also having drunken hook-ups, so I didn’t think my situation was that unique. Eventually we fell into the routine of hooking up at parties then not speaking any other time. The night after I gave him a blow job, my first one, I told my friends that the next time we hooked up I would most likely end up having sex with him. At this point it had become a very pathetic and desperate situation that all of my friends could see. They told me I should stop hooking up with him in the event that I did end up wasting my virginity on him. I was too far in by that point, I was infatuated and wanted nothing more than to make us connected, and I believed sex was the only way to do it.
Which brings me to a night filled with booze, so much booze, weed and absinth. My fake and grossly pretentious friends wanted to have a wine and cheese party where they played trivial pursuit and discussed stuck up shit. What really happened was that a large shit show happened at my driver’s ed teachers house, where my friend was house sitting. Absinth is some crazy stuff that leads to insanity when consumed in large volumes. There were people climbing on the rooftop, walking around in nothing buy a quilt, and overall just acting insane. I only had one object that night however, and that was to create a relationship where one had not previously existed. 
Even at the time I recognized the absurdity of the situation, we had one sleeping bag between the two of us and all that was separating us from the rest of the house was a few stands of beads. We had to move Ken’s convertible out of the way before we were able to have the most underwhelming experience of my life. The actual act lasts less than half the time of the first verse of Jeff Buckly’s Hallelujah. I clearly remember thinking to myself…that’s it? After the very quick act I got up the never to finally put it out there, “so does this mean we can hang out now?” After a long silence he replied, “Yea we’ll go hiking or something.”
We never went hiking, we never even had sex again. Things progressively got worse until I was able to go away to college. I wasted some much time trying to make him want me. Endless drunken nights waiting for him to show up at a party and then being heart broken when he would leave me half naked in a field somewhere.
Looking back I laugh, not necessarily about how he treated me or how painful it all was, but I laugh about how I lost my virginity and often tell the story to friends as a source of entertainment. I have always convinced myself that if make light out of my life, especially the really dark parts that I will not be ruined by them. But perhaps if I ever treated them with the severity they deserved I would not find myself in these “laughable” situation so often.

Fast Mover

Life can be so funny sometimes. How is it possible that there are times where it seems like time may actually be moving backwards. And then there are other times when you see a cute guy one week, and then within a week his dick is in your mouth. It seems slightly exhilarated and yet with the current exposure to online dating it is becoming the norm. 
I have been online dating on and off for over three years now, and have had a very wide array of outcomes. A large portion of them where just boring, or fine but with no interest to pursue anything. Others were really bazaar, like call you up in the middle of the night to come pick them up in the middle of the woods because they “can’t go back to jail!”, type of bazaar. Some I fell hard for and was rejected promptly, others dragged out and the rejection came after falling even harder. Some led to a long term dating situation and some where just an awesome fling for a night or a weekend. 
Amongst all of my online date experiences the theme remained the same, meeting someone who, previously you had no knowledge of their existence, and then forming some type of relationship with them, within a few hours. I figured that this was just the way that life was now, and that I was simple following the norm of what I had been offered. It had been so long since I met a guy the old fashion way, seeing them, exchanging words and then progressing to a date. I honestly thought that it wasn’t actually a possibility for me anymore, not at my age. I came to terms with the fact that if I wanted to date I would have to be online. 
Last week I had a rare occurrence and saw a cute guy at a street fair, and I actually made a feeble attempt to flirt with him. Through this exchange I learn that he would be back the next week to work the same event. So the following week I took care to try and look cute…when not gross at least. My friends and I showed up again and after showing my true colors and not saying a word to said guy, my friend decided to give him my number, after I had left. I didn’t think much of it, but then he called that same night. Yes called, not just texted! 
As we spoke on the phone I thought to myself that finally I would get a chance to experience the old school dating experience. He called, we spoke, he invited me out! I was on cloud nine, he had even invited me out for that same night. I did little to prep for the date, thinking it was just a quick drink. I was relieved that I was actually going to meet a guy and I already knew what he looked like. I envisioned us chatting, drinking a beer or two and making plans to meet again, if all went well. Instead by the end of the night I had his dick in my mouth, realizing that it’s not online dating that makes me a fast mover, I’m actually just a bit of a slut.  

Once Again

Once again I am back here, to this state of discomfort and unrest.  It seems as though there is a time limit to my complacency.   I can’t fathom how people do this, their whole lives, just stay in one place, do the same things, day after day after day.  I can’t seem to find the appeal, the desirer to never change, in my mind that is hell.


I have a tendency to blame my depression for everything that happens.  My inability to maintain a relationship or my constant feelings of hopelessness, are just a bi-product of the chemical imbalance that is in my brain.  But what if my illness is actually saving me from a mundane and monotonous existence.  


For so long I have been judging myself based on others, feeling as though I am inadequate because I am still single, have no interest in children and couldn’t put down a downpayment on a house if my life depended on it.  I constantly see what I don’t have, the stability, the support, the peace of mind.  But what I fail to see is that these people may be content, but they might not be happy.  The difference between their unhappiness and mine, is that I get to at least try to change it.


I have been searching for happiness for a long time now and it has brought me to some amazing places and introduced me to some amazing people.  I have traveled, I have experienced and even though the whole time I was struggling, I have lived.  I can’t imagine if all of those had never happened, if I had gotten what I always thought I wanted.  


When I was younger I would picture my life working out, the house, the husband, the career, these were all things that I just thought were part of life.  As life progressed though, I began to realize that my life wasn’t quit falling into place as I had planed.  There was just something off, I didn’t fit the mold, as much as I wanted to.


I still feel as though something is wrong with me, but I’m slowly coming to terms with who I am, illness and all.  I may never settle down, I may always feel anxious and not at ease, but at least I will know that I never stopped trying,  I will not have to wake up at the age of 65 wondering what my life had been like if I wasn’t afraid of change.  Instead I will have a long list of places I’ve lived in, jobs I have worked, beautiful men I have slept with and the incredible people I have met along the way.   I have given up on thinking that I can cure my depression, but I’ve also learned to appreciate it for what it is.  Ironically the thing that makes me want to end my life, has been the thing making me live a better life.   


I must be doing it all wrong. I can’t figure it out, I really can’t. No matter how hard I try, how far I go, how long I work, I’m still so very very unhappy. I must be missing a big fundamental part of being a human. It does not seem reasonable that no matter what I do, that feeling will always control me. Maybe not fully all of the time, but it’s always there in the background and then out of nowhere it rears its ugly head. Sometimes I can tell what triggers it, rejection, finical failure or obligation, lack of career or a future are all easily identified. But what always gets me is when it just seems to sneak up and knock me over the head. These are the times that are most difficult for me to deal with, because I can’t see them coming and I can’t tell why they happened. Which means it just in me, there is something within myself that is completely and utterly opposed to happiness, or even contentment. That realization that I will never be happy or even want to keep living is so overwhelming and defeating. I can’t change it, I have tried. I don’t want to keep living like this, wishing I was dead. I can never escape it and it’s getting harder and harder to try to push myself though, just cause. It is getting decidedly more painful and pointless for me to keep going. I am wasting my life by wanting it to be over, but I have run out of things to try. I’ve always been told that I have great instincts when it comes to making decisions, and yet this is the one instinct I’ve been ignoring for the past 17 years. Maybe it is finally time to listen one last time to what my mind and body is trying to tell me. Because clearly I am doing something terribly wrong…and I hate doing things incorrectly. 






I want you to know

I want to tell you everything, everything that has ever happened to me, everyone that has ever hurt me. I want you to know it all. I really want you to know all of me. There is so much good, but also there is so much I try to burry. I try to hide so much of myself because I am so ashamed and regretful of who I once was. I’ve also felt that the way to get someone to love me was to completely deny who I was in the past.
But then I met you. For whatever strange and twisted reason I want you to know all aspect of me and my life. I don’t want to hide who I was, who I hated being and who I have become. I have worked so incredibly hard for who I am now. I have struggled so much to overcome the guilt and self loathing that comes along with being an insure, self conscious, deeply hurting female. I have made very poor decisions in the past, and I occasionally still make them, but everyday I strive to be a better person than I was yesterday.
I don’t want you to think I am perfect. I want you to know that I am not, and still love me. I want you to realize that I make mistakes but still want to be with me. I want to be completely honest with you and still have you want me. I don’t want to feel the need to hide anything in fear of losing you. I want to be me, with my past, with my present and with my future and have you love me. That’s what I want.