Another blogger has inspired me to do what I swore I wouldn't do.... Write about NKOTB Cruise 2012. If the title looked intriguing enough for you to get this far, great but before you go on, let this serve as a fair warning that what you are about to read is completely about the ongoing relationship on I have with Donnie (and if you have to ask Donnie who, please stop right now) and 4 other guys.
They said it couldn't be done. They said it would never last. They said I'd get bored. Well they were wrong. It all started on a hot August day back in 2011. I formed NKOTB Cruise HQ at my house and with several computers, an iPad, a blackberry and an iPhone my fellow cruiser, Baby Spice (...I'll get into that later), and I began our journey. Getting on this boat is no joke. NO FUCKING JOKE. Being a Block Nation member (like I said, no joke), I was able to get on to buy a space for Baby Spice, Sporty Spice and myself, a whole hour earlier than the world. It was intense. I can't speak to the details because I am still putting the broken pieces of that experience together but it ended in a champagne toast. It all worked out in the end but keep in mind there was a cruiser wait list that was longer than one of my Santa Christmas lists.
Days, weeks, months passed by..... until finally June hit. Sporty and I hopped on a jet plane and set off for Miami to what has become a pre-cruise ritual. We spent an amazing day lounging by the pool in a private cabana (for free) thanks to some maneuvering by Sporty and I. How does one describe Miami heat? Well, I think Dorothy Zbornak said it best, "the heat in Miami is like August in Calcutta." Holy fuck. It was hot. I'm not going to lie-- I enjoyed swimming in the heated pool but mostly because I needed to sit on an ice cube to keep cool when I wasn't in water. Note to NKOTB: DON'T EVER CRUISE IN JUNE AGAIN. After a great evening of drinks and appetizers with local friends, I had my first New Kid sighting at the hotel. As I walked through the bar and restaurant of our hot spot, I saw Jordan. Right there. Boom! But, I kept my calm and after our earlier attempts to send one of the Jareds a drink by the pool, I was rather an annoyed BH. I moved on to our next spot... STK. Couldn't tell you much since I have no recollection of that dinner but Baby and Sporty assure me it was yummy. Yeah, well so were the hot pink Barbie cocktails we had.... or I had... or we all had... not sure. I do not recall the exact conversation we had with the cab driver on our way back to the hotel, but I do recall a great deal of laughter. Someday, I hope to piece that night together.
Once snuggled in the bed with Sporty, my teeny little head was filled with visions of New Kids dancing in togas in my head and I was preparing for the next day's adventure.
I won't bore you with the morning details but as we walked out through the hotel lobby, we saw lots of important people. Well, important people in my eyes. You could say I've honed this skill over the years but never doubt the finely tuned radar of a BH. We know a roadie, girlfriend, nanny, manager, etc when we see one. Or dog. Yeah, I swear I saw Donnie's dog in the hotel lobby. Why is this important? Because it means Donnie and I slept together--- if he and I were both sleeping in the same hotel, that's a true statement. Try to disprove that theory.
Last year I tried to jump in a van with these people but Baby and Sporty stopped me. I tried again this year too but neither girl thought it was a good idea. Or they weren't paying attention to me... I know after about 10 minutes of my nonsensical jbber-jabber, Sporty Spice tunes me out. After years of friendship, it's definitely an automatic reflex for her sanity. Excitement was building while we sat in a puddle of our sweat in the back of the cab on our way to the Port of Miami. We were ready to board the Carnival Destiny for Round 3 (...2 for Sporty). The difference this year? Well, two things. First, Sporty had an "in" and second, I had a video camera. That's right bitches, this shit was documented.... As I type, Baby Spice is fervently editing our expedition on the high seas.
We arrived on scene only to find thousands of... um.... fans. The percentage of crazy was higher this year and I attribute that to first time cruisers who lacked cruise etiquette but wow, if half of what I SAW was real, then I realistically shouldn't set foot on a boat with this guys again but I keep telling myself I was hallucinating from the heat. Thankfully, Sporty's contact got us on the boat FAST. I don't think it took 20 minutes from stepping out of the cab to stepping on the boat. It was amazing. Literally, Sporty was the FIRST cruiser on the boat. It's on video so it's true. We even missed the "I'm getting on the boat so let me take a picture with my friends in front of this cheesy backdrop" because it wasn't set up yet.
As the door opens..... the magic begins. There is only one way to describe the feeling, at least for me. When I walk on and see the signs and cardboard cut outs of the guys or hear the music playing, all I can think is, this is exactly how Charlie must have felt when Willie Wonka opened the little tiny door to enter his chocolate factory. My face had WOW all over it. And suddenly, I was 14 all over again. Just like that.
TO BE CONTINUED.........
Monday, July 9, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
100 Days
Happy Birthday to me….
I’ve been MIA for a reason--- a good reason. Although it’s been 112 days since my last blog (yes, people have been counting), it’s been 100 days since O.A.R. (Operation Anorexia Recovery). What does this mean exactly? Well, I had an AHA! moment about 100 days ago as I was about to enter an 8 week residential treatment facility for my eating disorder. It went something like this: If I eat, I won’t have to go--- AHA! Sure, I’m over simplifying it at this point but the main objective is covered. I wasn’t going--- insurance coverage issues aside--- the thought of leaving my child for 8 weeks and then explaining to my job, yet AGAIN, why I was going on leave was too much to bear and I couldn’t. I knew I had to take back my life. And I’m proud to say that for 100 days, I have…. And I’m not stopping.
O.A.R isn’t about eating six meals or three meals a day (although to get me on my feet that’s how it started). I’m now at a point where I eat. I realized I wasn’t a calorie counter or obsessed with exercise. My goal was to see how long I could go without eating. I challenged myself on a daily basis. If I could go 24 hours, could I do 36? Could I do 48? I lived on turbo Dunkin Donuts coffee and sparkling water with about 100 calories of food thrown in sporadically. I had spiraled out of control. Every day I wake up, my goal is to NOT intentionally skip a meal. That may sound easy to some people but to me, it’s not. It’s still a challenge. Clearly there have been hiccups. In the last 100 days my life has not been drama free. As a matter of fact, it hit some pretty hard fucking lows. My record of eating isn’t perfect but I still give myself an A + for trying. Sometimes ED creeps up on you without even realizing it….. and takes control like any other addiction but instead of beating myself up for the meal I missed, I give myself credit for all the meals I didn’t miss. You can’t mark yourself as a failure or you’ll never succeed.
This wasn’t a one woman show by any means. I have support. My biggest cheerleader is my husband. He knows it hasn’t been a perfect 100 days but he knows I’ve tried my hardest to get here which was all he wanted. Seeing me try and struggle to push through the hard times has given him more satisfaction than seeing me eat. In addition to him, my friends have really supported me. There are very few and I’ve lost many, but as with any life changing event, you learn who your true friends are… It’s sad that people have distanced themselves or disappeared completely. I wish I could believe the bullshit excuse of “not everyone knows what to say/how to act/etc” but I don’t. Not at this point in our lives…. We’re not 15.
As I said, this wasn’t easy and my friends were on my ass…. How do you make sure someone eats? Easy. With the power of the iPhone, you take pictures of your meal before and after and text it to the world to prove you’ve eaten. Embarrassing? Yes. But I can’t blame anyone but myself. I acted like a 5 year old and clearly I needed to be treated like a 5 year old. I was watched like a hawk. Food was ordered for me….. Placed in front of me… I was under 24 hour watch by multiple people. And to those who did that, I love you. You know who you are. Keeping with the anonymity of this blog—I won’t share names but as you read this, you know who you are. I couldn’t have done it without you. Today I celebrate you all as well. You guys were my treatment providers.
Of course there have also been inspirational words from a certain boy band-er via Twitter that kept me motivated (no, I’m not delusional. I don’t think they were solely meant for me). It amazes me that through the power of technology you can reach hundreds of thousands of people who you don’t even know and can affect their life.
How do I feel? Physically I am at a 6 but mentally I’m at a 3. I’m working really hard at it though. My clothes are tighter and it’s difficult to process but one step at a time. I’m not going to be able to go from being a double 00 to a 2 and not have issues with it. Sounds ridiculous to some but it’s very real to me. It’s no party and I know others are envious of my size but the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s not easy to process—and I don’t expect anyone to understand, but gaining weight will forever be a cross to bear and I am going to have my ups and downs. I look better but the physical toll of the eating disorder has done damage and I’m still trying to gain energy back. I know that with any recovery, it’s going to take time.
So, here I am, 100 days into O.A.R. I’ve become active in the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) and I plan to walk for the charity in New York City in October. I’ve raised some money and hope to raise more as I get closer to the walk date (….being Italian, if certain people in my life don’t come through, I will forgive but never forget. I’m just saying… I’m charitable and understanding to a point). Most asked question: Are you happy? Honestly, no. No one is happy giving up an addiction and trying to live their life in a new way. As part of my recovery, I hope to become happy and I know I will but right now, I miss it. Yes, 100 days is a long time but to someone living it, it’s not. I’m working towards a goal of being healthy because yes, I have an eating disorder and no, I can’t just get over it (great quote).
Why am I doing this if I’m not 100% happy, healthy and excited? Well, that answer is easy…. In the words of a wise man: BECAUSE I DESERVE IT.
I’ve been MIA for a reason--- a good reason. Although it’s been 112 days since my last blog (yes, people have been counting), it’s been 100 days since O.A.R. (Operation Anorexia Recovery). What does this mean exactly? Well, I had an AHA! moment about 100 days ago as I was about to enter an 8 week residential treatment facility for my eating disorder. It went something like this: If I eat, I won’t have to go--- AHA! Sure, I’m over simplifying it at this point but the main objective is covered. I wasn’t going--- insurance coverage issues aside--- the thought of leaving my child for 8 weeks and then explaining to my job, yet AGAIN, why I was going on leave was too much to bear and I couldn’t. I knew I had to take back my life. And I’m proud to say that for 100 days, I have…. And I’m not stopping.
O.A.R isn’t about eating six meals or three meals a day (although to get me on my feet that’s how it started). I’m now at a point where I eat. I realized I wasn’t a calorie counter or obsessed with exercise. My goal was to see how long I could go without eating. I challenged myself on a daily basis. If I could go 24 hours, could I do 36? Could I do 48? I lived on turbo Dunkin Donuts coffee and sparkling water with about 100 calories of food thrown in sporadically. I had spiraled out of control. Every day I wake up, my goal is to NOT intentionally skip a meal. That may sound easy to some people but to me, it’s not. It’s still a challenge. Clearly there have been hiccups. In the last 100 days my life has not been drama free. As a matter of fact, it hit some pretty hard fucking lows. My record of eating isn’t perfect but I still give myself an A + for trying. Sometimes ED creeps up on you without even realizing it….. and takes control like any other addiction but instead of beating myself up for the meal I missed, I give myself credit for all the meals I didn’t miss. You can’t mark yourself as a failure or you’ll never succeed.
This wasn’t a one woman show by any means. I have support. My biggest cheerleader is my husband. He knows it hasn’t been a perfect 100 days but he knows I’ve tried my hardest to get here which was all he wanted. Seeing me try and struggle to push through the hard times has given him more satisfaction than seeing me eat. In addition to him, my friends have really supported me. There are very few and I’ve lost many, but as with any life changing event, you learn who your true friends are… It’s sad that people have distanced themselves or disappeared completely. I wish I could believe the bullshit excuse of “not everyone knows what to say/how to act/etc” but I don’t. Not at this point in our lives…. We’re not 15.
As I said, this wasn’t easy and my friends were on my ass…. How do you make sure someone eats? Easy. With the power of the iPhone, you take pictures of your meal before and after and text it to the world to prove you’ve eaten. Embarrassing? Yes. But I can’t blame anyone but myself. I acted like a 5 year old and clearly I needed to be treated like a 5 year old. I was watched like a hawk. Food was ordered for me….. Placed in front of me… I was under 24 hour watch by multiple people. And to those who did that, I love you. You know who you are. Keeping with the anonymity of this blog—I won’t share names but as you read this, you know who you are. I couldn’t have done it without you. Today I celebrate you all as well. You guys were my treatment providers.
Of course there have also been inspirational words from a certain boy band-er via Twitter that kept me motivated (no, I’m not delusional. I don’t think they were solely meant for me). It amazes me that through the power of technology you can reach hundreds of thousands of people who you don’t even know and can affect their life.
How do I feel? Physically I am at a 6 but mentally I’m at a 3. I’m working really hard at it though. My clothes are tighter and it’s difficult to process but one step at a time. I’m not going to be able to go from being a double 00 to a 2 and not have issues with it. Sounds ridiculous to some but it’s very real to me. It’s no party and I know others are envious of my size but the grass is always greener on the other side. It’s not easy to process—and I don’t expect anyone to understand, but gaining weight will forever be a cross to bear and I am going to have my ups and downs. I look better but the physical toll of the eating disorder has done damage and I’m still trying to gain energy back. I know that with any recovery, it’s going to take time.
So, here I am, 100 days into O.A.R. I’ve become active in the NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) and I plan to walk for the charity in New York City in October. I’ve raised some money and hope to raise more as I get closer to the walk date (….being Italian, if certain people in my life don’t come through, I will forgive but never forget. I’m just saying… I’m charitable and understanding to a point). Most asked question: Are you happy? Honestly, no. No one is happy giving up an addiction and trying to live their life in a new way. As part of my recovery, I hope to become happy and I know I will but right now, I miss it. Yes, 100 days is a long time but to someone living it, it’s not. I’m working towards a goal of being healthy because yes, I have an eating disorder and no, I can’t just get over it (great quote).
Why am I doing this if I’m not 100% happy, healthy and excited? Well, that answer is easy…. In the words of a wise man: BECAUSE I DESERVE IT.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Size Matters
I woke up this morning in a shitty mood. Not sure why... But I do have a lot weighing on my mind in general. Even though my meds have been lowered, I do feel better anxiety wise and I'm not depressed. Overall, I feel pretty good but I haven't felt good since Friday. It could be that rough therapy session I had or it could be the entire bottle of wine I drank when I got home, but my mood has been off. I wish I could blame it on something else-- like being off birth control or just the normal job stress but it's not. It's totally Eating Disorder related. I was able to push past it for most of the weekend and enjoyed every second of my daughter's birthday. It was probably the one day I felt happy.
Sunday turned into a day of anxiety having to deal with family members that make me uncomfortable but I survived. Then it started yesterday.... I really began to feel irritable. Again, I thought perhaps it was PMS but I'm still a week away and honestly, if I get my period now that I'm off the Pill, I'll be shocked.
So, today, I got up. Dealt with a moody toddler, realized dry cleaning lost EVEN MORE of my clothes and then tragedy struck. As I was getting ready for work, I couldn't button my pants. My size 2 pants. It put me over the edge. I haven't been able to concentrate on much more than that. I shouldn't say they didn't fit, because they did but not the same way as they have always fit. It was nearly heart stopping for me. I was now in a REALLY bad mood. Anyway who was about to come into contact with me was fucked. I was beyond irritated. To be honest, I was sad. I was angry. I was disappointed. What happened? How much did I eat this weekend? Is this what recovery is like because I'm all fucking set.
To make matters worse, I was walking into work when I fell. My bags got caught up in the door and I wiped out on both knees. Now, for most people, that wouldn't be a big deal but for someone in my condition, it is. I'm very fortunate that I didn't break anything considering that my bones are probably in distress. My knees are swollen and I am in a lot of pain. Fortunately I have bosses who convinced me to go home, but not until I heard the whispers and the shit being said behind my back. Because let's face it, that's what happens.
On my way into work, I told a friend that I feel like the guy in Saw. The one who is trapped in a room and needs to saw his own leg off to get out. That's my job in a nutshell. Regardless.... the falling is happening alot. The forgetfulness. The confusion. It's not getting any better and even though my pants may say differently, I think it's attributed to not eating enough. I'm back to square one.
I can't work. I'm struggling everyday to get the minimum done. Its all smoke and mirrors because my bosses are very pleased with my work-- right now. But I'm barely keeping my head above water. There are two reasons for that: 1) ED and 2) I'm too worried about what's being done, said, etc behind my back at work. Neither of which is out of control.
Sitting at home right now, I could go to sleep and not wake up for weeks. I am so fucking tired. It's partly ED and partly because I am a full time working mom. I want so badly to have energy to do more.... but if it means I can't fit in my pants, I don't know if I am ready for that. Clearly something has to be done-- but I know I sound like a broken fucking record. I see I need help, I admit it but do jack shit about it.
Sunday turned into a day of anxiety having to deal with family members that make me uncomfortable but I survived. Then it started yesterday.... I really began to feel irritable. Again, I thought perhaps it was PMS but I'm still a week away and honestly, if I get my period now that I'm off the Pill, I'll be shocked.
So, today, I got up. Dealt with a moody toddler, realized dry cleaning lost EVEN MORE of my clothes and then tragedy struck. As I was getting ready for work, I couldn't button my pants. My size 2 pants. It put me over the edge. I haven't been able to concentrate on much more than that. I shouldn't say they didn't fit, because they did but not the same way as they have always fit. It was nearly heart stopping for me. I was now in a REALLY bad mood. Anyway who was about to come into contact with me was fucked. I was beyond irritated. To be honest, I was sad. I was angry. I was disappointed. What happened? How much did I eat this weekend? Is this what recovery is like because I'm all fucking set.
To make matters worse, I was walking into work when I fell. My bags got caught up in the door and I wiped out on both knees. Now, for most people, that wouldn't be a big deal but for someone in my condition, it is. I'm very fortunate that I didn't break anything considering that my bones are probably in distress. My knees are swollen and I am in a lot of pain. Fortunately I have bosses who convinced me to go home, but not until I heard the whispers and the shit being said behind my back. Because let's face it, that's what happens.
On my way into work, I told a friend that I feel like the guy in Saw. The one who is trapped in a room and needs to saw his own leg off to get out. That's my job in a nutshell. Regardless.... the falling is happening alot. The forgetfulness. The confusion. It's not getting any better and even though my pants may say differently, I think it's attributed to not eating enough. I'm back to square one.
I can't work. I'm struggling everyday to get the minimum done. Its all smoke and mirrors because my bosses are very pleased with my work-- right now. But I'm barely keeping my head above water. There are two reasons for that: 1) ED and 2) I'm too worried about what's being done, said, etc behind my back at work. Neither of which is out of control.
Sitting at home right now, I could go to sleep and not wake up for weeks. I am so fucking tired. It's partly ED and partly because I am a full time working mom. I want so badly to have energy to do more.... but if it means I can't fit in my pants, I don't know if I am ready for that. Clearly something has to be done-- but I know I sound like a broken fucking record. I see I need help, I admit it but do jack shit about it.
...just wondering when I'm going to hit that bottom.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Rachel Zoe: Fashion Icon or Controversial Role Model
Being a self proclaimed fashion whore (which is totally different from a label whore contrary to what most people believe), I have been obsessed with Rachel for as long as she has been styling LiLo and Nicole Richie. Before she had her show, her Piperlime picks, and even her own clothing line. I loved her even when Perez Hilton referred to her as Raisin Face. In my best Rachel impression, I was "Ub-sessed." Her celebrities were always styled in a way that was classy and innovative. She had my dream job. She was living my life-- to an extent. I can't help but be jealous of anyone who has had a private tour of CoCo Chanel's apartment above the flagship store in Paris. The assholes around me who think it's about the name and status, can't see beyond their own jealously. It's the style. Chanel says it all. Not because of anything but it stands for timelessness and Karl Lagerfeld does what he can to continue that dream... but enough of CoCo and Karl. This blog isn't about them.
Styling celebrities is a dream I've always had. I have longed to be in the fashion industry in one way or another-- but definitely in a hands on way. As Rachel became more famous, I became more intrigued. I began to emulate some of her style and then when her OWN fashion line came out, and was affordable, I wet myself. Seeing as though I'm "petite" her clothes fit me rather perfectly. Even length wise. Over time, she's become more than a fashion icon to me but a role model, and not in the "successful built my business from the ground up" sort of way but the, I want to look like that way.
Have you seen Rachel? She's not what someone may consider to be healthy. I watch her reality show and I NEVER see her eat and the only thing I ever see her with is the largest Starbucks possible in her hand (sound familiar). Recently she was pregnant and the cameras were following her. She ate on camera and had a healthy pregnancy, even at 38 years old, so the question of having an eating disorder is still on the fence. That being said, I had a very good pregnancy and ate anything and everything I could get my hands on.
But now, I look in the mirror and aside from the hair color, I could be her. Speaking from the perception of others and not myself, I'm little. Beyond little. I recently had the stomach flu which is pretty much the last thing I needed in addition to my eating disorder. I restrict food to begin with -- but to an extent. I never go hours and hours without eating. In this case, I had no choice as I couldn't even keep water down. But, I digress..... I like the way that I look sometimes. I'm enjoying my thighs not touching, if I can be honest. Bad, I know. Very bad.
I look at Rachel and over the years there has been constant speculation that she's anorexic and I'm 90% sure she is. Even before I was so far deep into my addiction I thought so. People talk shit about her weight all the time and she either blows it off or she doesn't. Based on what I see/read, it sort of depends on what's said and who says it. Today, I walked into work in my 00-7 jeans and got looks to kill. I'm not sure if it was the jeans or extraneous nonsense that has been going on in this office for months but I have a feeling the jeans caused the looks of contempt, anger and ignorant judgment. It was my Rachel Zoe moment.
clearly I look in the mirror before I leave the house everyday but looking in a mirror does nothing for me. My mirror is truly the reflection of myself in other people's eyes. Rachel seems OK. So, maybe I'm OK? It's clearly no coincidence that I've had a cold, bronchitis and the stomach flu all within 6 weeks. My immune system has weakened. I'm going to work on that though and take a vitamin. That should do something. Maybe a bottle of Ensure once in a while? I don't know.
I adore Rachel. I really do but I'm starting to think she's a trigger. I've transformed myself into her. I wonder in the back of my mind how big she really is. Personally, I think if we were standing side by side, she'd be smaller than me but given that my waist is 24 inches, I don't know. I certainly don't have an honest perspective of myself. My question is, will I ever?
Styling celebrities is a dream I've always had. I have longed to be in the fashion industry in one way or another-- but definitely in a hands on way. As Rachel became more famous, I became more intrigued. I began to emulate some of her style and then when her OWN fashion line came out, and was affordable, I wet myself. Seeing as though I'm "petite" her clothes fit me rather perfectly. Even length wise. Over time, she's become more than a fashion icon to me but a role model, and not in the "successful built my business from the ground up" sort of way but the, I want to look like that way.
Have you seen Rachel? She's not what someone may consider to be healthy. I watch her reality show and I NEVER see her eat and the only thing I ever see her with is the largest Starbucks possible in her hand (sound familiar). Recently she was pregnant and the cameras were following her. She ate on camera and had a healthy pregnancy, even at 38 years old, so the question of having an eating disorder is still on the fence. That being said, I had a very good pregnancy and ate anything and everything I could get my hands on.
But now, I look in the mirror and aside from the hair color, I could be her. Speaking from the perception of others and not myself, I'm little. Beyond little. I recently had the stomach flu which is pretty much the last thing I needed in addition to my eating disorder. I restrict food to begin with -- but to an extent. I never go hours and hours without eating. In this case, I had no choice as I couldn't even keep water down. But, I digress..... I like the way that I look sometimes. I'm enjoying my thighs not touching, if I can be honest. Bad, I know. Very bad.
I look at Rachel and over the years there has been constant speculation that she's anorexic and I'm 90% sure she is. Even before I was so far deep into my addiction I thought so. People talk shit about her weight all the time and she either blows it off or she doesn't. Based on what I see/read, it sort of depends on what's said and who says it. Today, I walked into work in my 00-7 jeans and got looks to kill. I'm not sure if it was the jeans or extraneous nonsense that has been going on in this office for months but I have a feeling the jeans caused the looks of contempt, anger and ignorant judgment. It was my Rachel Zoe moment.
clearly I look in the mirror before I leave the house everyday but looking in a mirror does nothing for me. My mirror is truly the reflection of myself in other people's eyes. Rachel seems OK. So, maybe I'm OK? It's clearly no coincidence that I've had a cold, bronchitis and the stomach flu all within 6 weeks. My immune system has weakened. I'm going to work on that though and take a vitamin. That should do something. Maybe a bottle of Ensure once in a while? I don't know.
I adore Rachel. I really do but I'm starting to think she's a trigger. I've transformed myself into her. I wonder in the back of my mind how big she really is. Personally, I think if we were standing side by side, she'd be smaller than me but given that my waist is 24 inches, I don't know. I certainly don't have an honest perspective of myself. My question is, will I ever?
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday
As my husband loves to say, I have a lot of noise in my head. I don't think there is a better way to describe someone who has anxiety issues because it's true, my mind is racing at all times. It just more or less depends on how fast its racing. What I do know is this: when I need to write, I need to write. No matter what I am doing needs to stop and I have to sit down and type. This can be challenging when you're a working full time mom but I try to grab on to it when I can.
Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day." She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive. Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.
Today is not a good day for me-- mentally. I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely. I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day. I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing. I think way too much and look for distraction. I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways. My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type. I truly can't wait to see him.... I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time. Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.
I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road. I won't know until I'm sorted out. Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter. I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens. I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there. As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds. That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.
So this need.... this desire.... this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this. But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed. Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them. Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this.
This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor. Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts. Clearly the eating disorder is out of control. It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story. I'm anorexic. It's really bad. I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell. I'm not blind to it--- I see it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to." That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all. I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help. I'll eat dinner-- I always do. It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work. Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.
Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...). One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house. My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug. He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands. He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out. Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is. My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.
I'm tired. I can't fight this anymore. I don't have the strength or the will in me to try. Telling me I'm going to die should be enough. Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day.
One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't. And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off. I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it. Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in.... I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.
Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day." She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive. Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.
Today is not a good day for me-- mentally. I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely. I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day. I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing. I think way too much and look for distraction. I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways. My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type. I truly can't wait to see him.... I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time. Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.
I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road. I won't know until I'm sorted out. Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter. I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens. I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there. As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds. That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.
So this need.... this desire.... this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this. But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed. Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them. Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this.
This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor. Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts. Clearly the eating disorder is out of control. It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story. I'm anorexic. It's really bad. I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell. I'm not blind to it--- I see it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to." That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all. I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help. I'll eat dinner-- I always do. It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work. Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.
Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...). One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house. My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug. He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands. He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out. Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is. My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.
I'm tired. I can't fight this anymore. I don't have the strength or the will in me to try. Telling me I'm going to die should be enough. Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day.
One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't. And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off. I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it. Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in.... I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.
Monday, February 6, 2012
People are Assholes.... and Let Me Tell You Why
Speechless. Not a word that's used to describe me- ever. I not only have an answer for everything but I also have to get the last word in all the time. Some may say it's a spoiled brat thing, I say it's an only child thing. Although I may not actually be speechless, I am completely numb from the ignorance and outright cruelty of those around me. Let me first say, there are some AMAZING people in my life who I know would move the sun and the moon to help me get better right now. Even though I've probably bored them to tears with listening to me over and over and over again, they still remain a constant. Probably unknowingly to them, I've actually pulled back and talked about my anorexia less because I feel as though I'm burdening them with my problems. It's funny because, in my mind I've pulled back whereas they may be thinking, "Is this bitch ever going to shut the fuck up and get help? I can't listen to this nonsense anymore." Well, it's funny to me, porbably not so much to them.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
00 Minus the 7
You know those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be golfing" or "I'd rather be fishing"? Mine would definitely say "I'd rather be shopping." Anyone who know me, even just as an acquaintance knows how much I love to shop. Well, today shopping officially turned into a nightmare for me. A complete nightmare.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
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