forty.

Sorry I didn’t post sooner! I was building up the suspense…

err, not really.

I was just getting ready for the boring school house. I’m back now (yuck!) and my internet’s working so expect comments tonight/tomorrow morning.

So…. *evil snicker* shall we start with some food pictures?

***seasonal flavor***
when I opened the wrapper, I was surrounded by the smell
of apples. yummy, fresh apples. mmm. :)

I just had to have this with some Emgurt!

some homemade pizza by the madre.
she mades the dough herself :D

BAKING #2
date, granola, walnut muffins. :)
mmmm, deliciousness.

the last night home: veal with steamed spinach and sautéed mushrooms.
mmmmmmmm! num num num.

last emgurt a la casa.
honey chobani with dates and extra honey!

cherry > apple
♥

Storytime!

Well, not that special story time. ;)

Last Sunday, mis padres y yo went to Savannah. :D It was mostly for me to take pictures but we did eat at our favorite restaurant up there: Tubby’s! Best. seafood. ever. I had cheese grits and fried oysters, with a bit of calamari on the side. Num num.

cows.

Okay, okay, I’ve tortured you long enough. Here’s the fortieth post special story. There’s two actually but one’s really quick and happy, while the other… isn’t so much.

Let’s start happy, ‘kay? I GOT MY PERIOD. WHOOOOOOOOOT. :D *dance dance dance*

*dance*

I’m happy but not. I’m glad that I have it but it hurts like hell! Before, when I had it, it hurt pretty badly (once, it landed me in the infirmary at 2 am) but never like this. I was up all last night and I was so tied this morning. I was falling asleep everywhere I sat down.

Story Number Dos! Perhaps it might be a bit triggering… no reading unless you’re okay with me mentioning my personal ED... a lot.

This is a little bit about my “journey”, if you will. I never talked about it, never even told my parents/closest friends. (actually I did tell one person, but that’s another story for another time.) I wanted to share it with you guys first, since I think you’d understand better than they would. It’s my way of getting my courage up to tell *at least* my mom, if not both the padres. I’ve got to admit, I’m afraid to talk about it, even a bit ashamed…? I just know I need to, because if I keep it to myself, I’m afraid I’ll start to think it’s okay. If no one but me knows, then no one can tell me it’s wrong, but if I tell somebody, anybody, they can reassure me that it’s wrong to want to be bony and sickly. I’ve been putting this off for a while now but there’s no time like the present.

I think ED started when I was in 7th grade, the transition period between just being a kid and kinda growing up a little. I started noticing things about my body, specifically my legs. I dunno why but ED has always targeted my legs. “They’re too fat! They touch at the top and wobble everywhere. Look at your huge thighs! You. are. gross.” Even now, I worry about my legs. I hate wearing shorts, because they hug your legs and always make me feel really bulky. Skirts were a middie for me, because they were flowy but showed off part of my leg. Jeans are okay sometimes but I always feel disgusting if I sit down in them because my legs squish out and look bigger. I was also starting a new school back then, so I was scared no one would like me because of how “fat” I was. (At my old school, everyone had known each other since kindergarten so I was never pressured.) I noticed how other girls were taller and skinnier. The silly thing was, I was one of them- I was one of the tallest, skinniest girls in the school, but I just couldn’t see that. I don’t know for sure whether or not I was at a low BMI then, because I never thought to weigh myself, but I did know that there was something differing about how I ate, dressed, looked, etc. I was paler and bonier- my ribcage was totally visible.
In 8th grade, I got my own personal camera. It really jumpstarted the obsession. I would take pictures of my legs in the mirror at the beginning of every month and compare them over time to see if they looked better. They never looked good enough. I always felt sick after I ate and I refused to eat lunch. Everyone just assumed it was because the food was bad. I started skipping breakfast and only ate dinner and a tiny snack. My parents were going through some rough times- my mom was in recovery from cancer and my dad had just been replaced at work. He was always busy and she was always tired. So no one noticed what I was doing and I loved it. I loved being able to follow my “dream”, or so I called it.
In 9th grade, I went off to boarding school and was bombarded by girls who only cared about their weight and how they looked. Honestly, no girl that year was satisfied with how she looked. That plunged me deeper into ED and my legs were, for the first time, small enough for him. I hardly ate at all. I skipped every meal, claiming it was too far to walk to the dining hall. ED told me it was okay that people thought I was antisocial and never spoke to me- I had my “pretty, thin legs”. (They looked like tiny grayish twigs.) When I went home for the summer, I was sad, sad that now, with my parents never letting my leave their sight, I couldn’t do the same, sick cycle. I gained all of the weight I lost back and started Calorie Count to get it off". I got down a few pounds and I was relatively happy. ED still told me I had fat thighs but, with my parents around me, I never gave in to him. As soon as they were away or I went somewhere with a friend, ED would win.
At the beginning of this year (10th), I got to my absolute worst. I went to the gym every morning, never at breakfast, skipped lunch, practiced field hockey for two tough hours , ate a tiny salad with skim milk and went back to my room to study. Calorie Count estimated that my calories (monthly average) were 593. I weighed 103, my “favorite “weight". I was so pale and bony that people started asking questions. I always told them I was sick and made up excuses. They always bought them.
Sometime around late October/early November, I got angry. Angry with ED. Angry with me. Angry with my parents. Angry with my friends. Angry with everyone. I was just angry. I made a blog and started posting a little bit, pretending like ED wasn’t a part of me. I told myself that I wasn’t going to be just another girl with an eating disorder. Deep down, I knew I was.
Then I fought with my best friends pretty badly in November, only a few days before my birthday. I told her I hated her and blamed her for terrible things. Part of me believed it. After I stopped speaking to her, ED started speaking less and less to me. I started to eat and gain weight. I committed to my food blog, earning the laughs of a few classmates as I snapped pictures. I still do. :)

That’s my story. Sorry it’s so long!! Hopefully, you guys don’t mind me sharing. It lifted a big weight off my shoulders and gives me the feeling that I can tell my mom- she’s going to understand, I think.

I’ll get to commenting tomorrow, ‘cause for now, I’m off to beddie bye. ♥