A Tornado of Shitty

Last night I talked on the phone with my best friend at around 2AM. I was relieved that she was up, because I felt anxious and angry and disappointed and shameful. I tried to smoke it off and that didn’t work. I tried to pick it away but that just left me with a little pain and a little more dissatisfaction.

My mind is on this cyclical path of self-hatred and self harm. I lack the willpower to starve myself like before and my rational mind knows that’s not the answer and it will just leave me obsessive and more shame-filled.

I shared this with my bestie, who already knows my disordered history, and she told me that it’s okay to be feeling anxious and shamed and full of self-hatred and that at age 23, that’s all about par for the course. That I’m not alone. And that this season brings out the worst in many of us. She knows I overanalyze and I hold up impossible standards for myself and when I don’t follow them, I beat myself up.

I hate how all foods are failure so eating at all is failure so I might as well just binge anyway. And how when I get hungry I know I’ll eat more than I need to, and how when it’s in front of me it makes me want it.

I was doing so well for a while.

I was doing so well.

The Creation of the “Fuck You” Bun.

I have to consistently remind myself:

  • Feeling ugly doesn’t mean I AM ugly
  • Feeling fat doesn’t mean I AM fat
  • Feeling hopeless doesn’t mean I AM hopeless.

This weekend I did a photo shoot for a new comp card. I was encouraged by the images, but it’s weird to look at yourself and think, oh, is that who I am? That’s how I come off? Do people like that? Do I like that?

I aced an important audition today and I think I have some really cool opportunities ahead. But I’m left feeling kind of sad tonight instead of encouraged and victorious. Worn out, I guess.

On the train back into the city, I realized,

Huh. Success may not make me happy.

Which is of course a big DUH. I mean, I’ve heard that many times, and I’m sure I’ve even said it myself before. But it hasn’t been revelatory to me. So much of my happiness is so wrapped up in how well I perform, and shouldn’t it be the other way around instead?

I don’t want this dark cloud of UGLINESS hanging over me, stealing my joy, minimizing my successes, assuring me that I got this or that by fluke.

Meanwhile, right now I just feel like curling up in a ball in my studio wrapped in a snuggie and my big red University sweatshirt and tuning out to something or other. But that’s not my plans for tonight. I have things I need to do. Not errands, but spending time with the people I love. Essential to my health and happiness. Essential to my life.

I thought about not going this weekend. Because I felt too fat and ugly and anti-social. But if I hadn’t gone I would have missed out on the incredible results from this comp shoot, and the opportunities I got today, and the people I met. I would have missed it all in favor of staying and feeling sorry for myself.

I can’t live that way.

So what do I do? I wash my hands thoroughly, I put my hair up in a “fuck you” bun, I pull on some warm clothes, and I go the fuck out. And however I am, that’s how I am tonight.

I’m back bitches.

I realized that I have some things I need to say.

I struggle every day. I don’t feel beautiful or worthy or deserving. I feel like I take up too much space. I’m not fat. I feel thick. I can’t force myself into the box I once did, but I’m not comfortable taking up more space than that box.

I live in a very stressful city now. I’m an actress, I live in New York, I have an agent and a manager…I balance two jobs, auditions, classes, and having a bank balance that constantly worries me. I don’t sleep a lot. I’m always tired.

Maybe it’s because of the winter, or maybe it’s finding out my baby nephew has a terminal disease, or maybe it’s even just balancing my goals as an actress with my goals as a human being, but lately I feel slightly more like I’m sinking underwater. I want to curl up in my bed and watch more episodes of Scrubs and not do the dishes and not take a shower and not think about how I feel. I want to hold my nephew and cry.

I want the shield of thinness more than ever, but I can’t handle the manic dieting and exercise of yester-year.

I need encouragement. I need someone to squish me in their arms.


"I HATE eating in front of people."

Well, it’s been a while hasn’t it…

I’ve been through a lot. Some things have changed a lot. Some things remain the same. I’m writing this with the full knowledge that it may sound angsty and melodramatic. I’m hoping it doesn’t. This is what I’m dealing with now, and I’m at a loss.

More and more I realize why I binge.

I started binge-ing in middle school, after school when I got home. It was a way to soothe boredom and hunger, but also it was the way to comfort myself after being bullied and feeling alone. I didn’t have the words or comprehension then for why I binged, but it was deeper than boredom. It was the soother for the sadness I felt about not feeling included.

I’m 22 now, but I carry this with me still…this empty aching feeling of aloneness in my chest. For a while, it turned into absolute apathy, where I no longer cared about what anyone thought or how I looked, and I actually lost weight from not eating. I wouldn’t go back there.

Now I’ve healed a little and changed a little, but old habits die hard. I still am eating to momentarily dull the ache of feeling empty. I’m not overweight. I don’t binge on thousands of calories. I eat relatively healthy. But my eating habits are not healthy. They are obsessive and controlled or uncontrolled, and I don’t know how to fix it.

I still feel alone.

I don’t know how to change, or how else to dull the ache without resorting to food.

My young cousin is anorexic

(this may be triggering)

…and I want so badly to stop it…her. She’s in middle school and in the first throes of anorexia, and she’s such a wonderful, beautiful girl, and there’s nothing I can do. I want to share with her my road and how every day is hard, but you have to fight against the voices in your head and the disordered eating and not eating. I wish I could love her body for her.


Something is wrong when your greatest accomplishment is showering and putting your laundry in the washing machine.

I can’t help stave the feeling

That I will never get better. That I will never get rid of this, whatever it is. I’m scared and I feel like a giant waste of person. I giant puddle of self pity. This shortness of breath never goes away. I hate myself. I feel like a 21 year old has been. What good is therapy doing, when this is physical?

Fuck. Fuckkkkk.

Oh God.

I have to believe there’s something beyond this life, because I don’t think I could stand it much longer if there was not.

I’m realizing more and more that I make opinions based on how other people feel over how I feel. If I think people like something, I will often talk in favor of it. Not the really important things, but little things that don’t matter—music, movies, public opinion.

I realized this evening that my back was sore from anxiety.

If people with serious eating disorders can live happy lives without always being in treatment, than I should be able to live a happy life too.

I’m scared of the future. I’m scared that I will amount to nothing. I’m scared that I will be found out. And then I think that’s ridiculous…what would people find?

An obsessive-compulsive, naive, fat, selfish drama queen without real talent?

What is the rock bottom for me? What could people possibly find in my worst nightmare that could make me feel so awful? What am I worried about?