Thursday, August 26, 2010


I see you girl, checking out my trunks
I see you girls, checking out the front of my trunks
I see you girls, looking at my junk then checking out my rump
Then back to my sugar lumps.

~Flight of the Conchords

I needed a funny quote for today. This was what came to mind/came on my iPod at the time that I needed a quote.

You're welcome.

I haven’t written on my blog in a very long time. That’s because I hate you all.

Haha! Just kidding.

Bf and I have broken up, due to my raging alcoholism/ outrageous drug abuse/ rampant bulimia. Just a few little personality quirks, and he couldn’t accept them, I guess. The douche. Regardless, I went into a deeeetox program last week to get cleaned up from the drugs so I can go into the eating disorders program at Blah Blah hop-sital. I finished the deeeetox program and got out today, and have moved back in with my parents to sit out the interminable wait to get into the goddamn hop-sital.

And as I wait, my weight drops a little more each day. SWEET!

Today was exhausting, but a pretty good day. As soon as Dad and I got back to his house from the deeeetox centre, the dogs and I had a pants-wettingly happy reunion, and I took them out for a long walk.

I’m pretty proud of myself for walking the dogs first thing when I got home, considering how badly I was jonesing to eat. I wanted to binge and purge so fucking badly.

There wasn’t a lot of chance to binge in deeeetox. Well. Being the savvy little shit that I am, I did manage to create a few, but they weren’t ideal.

Okay, maybe more than a few.

Quite a lot, actually. But not on the food that I really wanted, so it didn’t really count.

Okay, okay! I threw up pretty much everything I ate. But I mean, come on -  a girl’s gotta keep her figure in the booby hatch. You never know who you’re going to meet/ be on the news with/ be murdered by.

When the dogs and I returned from our walk, I wandered into the kitchen, and decided to pour myself a bowl of Corn Pops. I could handle this. I sat down at the kitchen table to eat, comfortable that I would leave what I had chosen to eat inside my body, and confident that I could have just one bowl, then stop.

Ha ha! It’s like I’ve never met myself or something.

Sugar ingested, I was gone. I ended up pouring an additional four bowls of Corn Pops following my first one, and after that did some rummaging throughout Dad’s kitchen, before also consuming half his ice cream bar collection and ALL his chocolate chip cookies.

  When it was all over, for some (delusional) reason, I was kinda surprised. I didn’t really know why I had binged; how my sitting down to one bowl of Corn Pops had turned into a frenzy of gluttony.

I knew it wasn’t the panic to get them out of my body; usually I don’t mind eating and keeping Corn Pops. Yes, they have a fair amount of sugar, but normally I eat a butt load of sugar. It's usually only fat that I stay well away from. I love to indulge in the constant self-soothing that a mouthful of sugar provides, chowing down on jelly beans and strawberry or banana marshmallow candies all day long.

Fuck, for several months there I was averaging a couple of bags of candy a DAY. How the fuck could I be diagnosed an anorexic? I had wondered then.

Ha ha! IRONY.

But the changes that have come over me in the past few weeks have just been unreal, as I await my hospitalization. I wouldn’t even DREAM of putting that shit in my mouth now.

I have to admit that I am being very negatively affected by my sheer terror of my upcoming stint in the Eating Disorders unit. Since the thought occurred to me last week that I am prolly going to be the biggest girl in the anorexia ward, due to the fact that I am actually bulimic, not anorexic (the difference is...ah, look it up. I haven't the energy to explain it), my food intake has steadily dwindled. Today I have had two bowls of cereal, a Lean Cuisine, a banana, some grapes, two plates of veggies and a few rice cakes, all for a day of being awake for almost 24 hours. That is not a lot of food. I bought some cottage cheese, tuna and rice cakes with Dad today; I really should try to include that in my diet tomorrow.

 I weighed myself on Dad’s scale this afternoon. The first time I kept my jeans and belt on - 117 lbs. That’s not so bad, I reasoned. That’s what I weighed when I saw the ED physician last week. Then I decided to weigh myself without my jeans and chunky belt - and I was 114.8!

 That’s not too good, but I am so fucking conflicted right now. I don’t like how my tailbone is sticking out farther than my ass is, I know I am too skinny, and yet the thought of the other anorexics I am about to encounter has me so wound up that, if I am completely honest, I am actually trying to lose a bit more weight before I go in. I am absolutely terrified of being the fattest anorexic in Unit 666.

 Chew on THAT one, Freud! You German git.

 Anyway, what I did today. After I binged (twice), I went to Gigi’s to enter the client names from the summer into her contact folder, something I was supposed to have been doing all along. The stag book was a fucking disaster, a living testament to my state of mind this past summer. Several of the bookings were missing information, say like oh, I don’t know, the client’s mailing address, postal code - some of them didn't even have the client’s fucking phone number. It was just brutal. And today was the first time I had to come face to face with the fact that I might actually owe GIGI money, rather than the other way around. I spent a lot of commissions. I so hope that is not the case, I am so fucking broke right now. And forget about thinking of trying to do a show or two, just to get some funds - even if she would take me back (she wouldn't) and book me for a show right now, like if I didn’t get into the hop-sital this week and was available to do it, I am just too skinny. I look like shit - nobody wants to see this strip.

 But for an anorexic about to be hop-sitalized, I’m not quite thin enough, I guess.

Or do the striations where my shoulders used to be make my arms look fat?

 At 6 o’clock I left Gigi’s to take the dogs home, and then I went to meet Robbie, the guy who did the speaker meeting last night at Deeeetox. I had asked him to take me to a meeting this evening, which I ended up regretting, as I was so exhausted by my first sober day in the world. Plus I was already going to an Eating Meeting in the evening. I guess my “Higher Power” -snort snort - must have been looking out for me (gag), cuz when I called Robbie to see what meeting we were going to, he told me that he was already committed to the 8 o’clock meeting tonight, but why don’t we meet up for coffee?

I was so fucking relieved. I simply did not have the energy to sit through a meeting right then. Or ever.

 So I met him for coffee, and we chatted for close to an hour. Robbie’s fucking bonkers, there’s no doubt about that. But he’s happy and he’s sincere, and most importantly, he’s sober. So I swallowed all my judgements and reservations, and tried to listen to him speak without prejudice. Some of the stuff he said didn't fit quite right for me (no, constantly listening to Nine Inch Nails does NOT just fuel my rage), but a lot of it did. I think I really need someone to be accountable to right now.

 Ah, I think that's enough babbling for today. I’m boring myself.

I’ve gotta go and not eat.


Oh wait, there's a bit more. Because there were no computers in detox, I had to write each day by hand. So I'm just going to start adding the entries from detox to the end of my new posts. It's going to be a disastrous mess, but whatever.


DAY ONE IN DETOX - August 18th, 2010

Happy Anniversary to me.

Two years ago today, Bf and I worked in Sundre together for the first time, and I asked him out. Later that night, after my friends had dropped Bf home, I got a bunch of coke with them and stayed up for two more days, using. I point this out because two years later, nothing has fucking changed.

The past few weeks, I have been in the downward spiral, knowing I was getting ever closer to snapping, but unable to take any action. Then last Saturday it all came to a head, when the guys at that party offered me some coke. I didn't have a fucking chance. I was off and running (and sniffling). Then after, back home I went to stay up all night in the basement, jonesing for more and picking at my skin, the dogs terrified of me. Poor Misha, she tried so hard to get me to stop, barking at me and trying to sit on my hands so I wouldn't keep picking away compulsively at my face.

Good Christ.

Come Sunday I was a mess, and when Bf called me out for avoiding him, I got the clever idea that hey! I would drink the half mickey of Jaegermeister I had nicked from the limo the night before. I HATE Jaeger, but Bf was on his way home and I knew we would be having a talk, so I wanted to numb myself up as much as possible. I had already fallen off the wagon, I reasoned. What did it matter anymore?

So I downed two hefty, disGUSTING glasses of it, which added nicely to the drugs still in my system and the complete lack of sleep. Then suddenly I just leapt up and ran out of the house and into my car, taking the dogs with me, and headed for Jude's place. I had in mind that I was just going to get some coke and go back to Bf, but I got really fucked up instead, and headed to Wang's house to keep using when Jude eventually kicked me out.

I was SO fucked up at Wang's, I spent HOURS picking at my face and neck before I decided to down a bunch of Seroquel, and see what happened. I poured out a handful of little yellow pills, choked them down, then lay down on the rug to sleep, comforted by the fact that I prolly wasn't going to wake up again.

I did, unfortunately. Wang found me the following afternoon, God DAMN IT. The authorities (parents) were alerted, and off I went with Dad to let HIM try and care for me and love me, as I so obviously was making such a tit of the job.

Despite wanting desperately to be put in psych, I ended up in detox AGAIN. The plan was to dry me out in preparation for the psych ward that I was already going to - I could spend the rest of the waiting period sobbing about my life in detox with a bunch of other retards.

I had to wait through the whole of Monday night before admittance, though. Despite being very, very angry with me, Dad let me crash out on his couch, thank God - especially considering that after he had dropped me at detox the next morning, I was out the door again in less than five minutes - they wouldn't take me without my meds being properly documented, and I got rejected at the door. Luckily Dad had also given me some cab money, just in case. I called for a pick-up from inside the detox centre, then went outside to smoke while I waited. I'll just have to go back to Dad's house and deal with it myself, I thought. Just for another day, then I could try to get into detox again the next morning.

The cab driver was so funny. When he pulled into the parking lot, he actually got out and pretty much sniffed around me before he would let me get in his cab. I smiled winningly and spoke charmingly, and with much evident trepidation, he eventually granted me entry to the backseat of his car.

On the drive back to Dad's house, I found out the reason for his peculiar behavior. Turns out the last time he picked a chick up at detox, she peed in the back of his car, made him stop and wait at the 7-11 while she ROBBED it, then inadvertently used him as her get away driver before running out on her fare. He had just pulled over to let her out when she jumped out and ran like hell, and then - this is the funniest (saddest) part - the cops showed up and swarmed around his car, yelling "Give us the girl! Give us the girl!"

Rahahahahahahahahahaha! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Prolly not funny.

Anyway, we got back to Dad's house, and I politely bid the cabbie adieu. No harm in trying to improve cabbie/drug addict relations, I figured. I dragged my bags up the driveway and dumped them at the front door so I could get the house key out of the garage. I had just punched in the code and opened the door when I suddenly remembered something very, very bad, which froze me to the spot with shock.

"No," I said aloud. "No, please God, no."

Desperately, I wrenched opened the cabinet door where the house key is kept, and guess what? IT WASN'T THERE. That's because I took it last night when I went to go and get drugs and FORGOT TO PUT IT BACK.

"Oh God, oh God, nooooooo," I whimpered. Dad was gone for the entire day and my car was locked, I had to go to the bathroom and I was fucking freezing. Not to mention I was about to come down off a butt load of some very nasty drugs. What can I do? I thought. Think, girl, think!

Oh God, there was nothing else for it. I was going to have to break a window. I had to get in that house, I was about to come down and things were going to get very, very ugly.

I looked up at the front of the house, then thought better of it, and walked around the house and into the backyard. Outta sight, outta-hate-me-for-breaking-your-window, I thought. I looked up and decided that the best thing would be to get on the roof, and do the back bedroom window to my parents room. Yes, Dad might get a draft, but at least it wouldn't be written all over the front of the house that it wasn't secure, so come rob us.

I sighed miserably. Dad was gonna be so fucking mad, but I didn't know what else to do. I would be sick soon. I had to get in that house, and it had to be now.

Suddenly, I stopped dead and turned around.

"No," I said again, and walked up to the back door. I reached out my hand and turned the knob, and walked right into my Dad's house.

"No fucking way!" I screamed. "Thank you, Je-bus!" Then my legs buckled underneath me and I sagged down onto the floor, shaking with relief.

Since I had used all my drugs the night before, I had nothing for the day, and there was no money left for more - I was on my own. I crawled to the office door where the dogs where locked up and freed them, then crawled painfully into the living room and turned on the tv. Good company, I thought. Then I heaved myself up and crashed down heavily onto Dad's couch, groaning in relief and smushing my face into the soft armrest. I knew wouldn't be moving for a LONG fucking while.

And I didn't. Not for 24 hours. The only reason I ate anything at all and didn't end up peeing myself was cuz Dad eventually came home and took charge of his fucking idiot daughter.

And then this morning, he brought me back to the detox centre, where this time I was accepted, and hospitalized immediately.

And that's it.

Day One.

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