Wonderful Goals! I love to hear them. So this week, I'm going to continue to post my daily goal, and anyone can feel free to contribute their goals. It definitely helped me.
Monday: Today, I'll *only* eat my 2 safety foods no matter what's offered to me.
So, yesterday I was moping around. This month, I've been spending a vast amount of time applying for private insurance now that my school health care has run out. I looked through every single plan until I thought my eyes would burst, wrote and re-wrote the application (you had to do it by hand), and spoke with several people on the phone. I even had a woman who would bug me every 2 weeks to make sure I hadn't forgotten about it or died.
I got my first premium in the mail on Saturday. The plan I picked out wasn't a hugely inexpensive plan, but for people like me... you need to make sure a lot of things are covered (doctors visits, severe/non-severe mental illness, prescriptions, hospitalizations). Originally, about a month ago, the plan I chose was quoted at about $88 per month with a $1500 deductible.
What was my first premium going to be? Due September 10th?
$500.00 per month.
Don't go crazy in America. Even if you can get insurance, they'll make it so high that you can't afford it and thus get weeded out of the system. Woo, I have no insurance! I just have to remind myself not to do anything destructive until I get to England.
Gah, by the way... I totally don't understand the NHS or whatever. Someone needs to explain it to me because I get that I'm supposed to pick a "GP" (totally cute by the way) and apparently the "chemist" (I'm really not being condescending, I just think these are way more awesome names and useful than our equivilents) is the person who *writes* perscriptions. The GP is free? How much do perscriptions cost?! And where are the psychiatrists? What the hell do they do?
And does anyone know anything about the "personality disorder services" because we definitely don't have one of those on every block like London apparently does.
eek, I look like such a tourist! But it's really not my fault. If anyone's seen the news, the US government is officially in anarchy as far as health insurance reform goes... I can't watch, I get scared every time. And who does it really affect? Not the old people (even though they are targeting them because they're the freaking huge voter demographic) but people like me with chronic or terminal illnesses... those of us with pre-existing conditions WHO ARE FUCKED.
Bottom line, if you want to be crazy, because it's cool ala "Girl, Interrupted" (which Paula D. keeps referencing to me to try and scare me straight, like I haven't seen worse in real life)... it's not worth it.
It might be kitch at first, but then you're down a rabbit hole and you realize you aren't living in a novel or piece of fiction. You can't just close the book and go back to your life.
I promise I won't be preachy like that again :)
Monday, August 31, 2009
Wonderful Goals! I love to hear them. So this week, I'm going to continue to post my daily goal, and anyone can feel free to contribute their goals. It definitely helped me.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
I hate it.
Today, I'm going to attempt to brave the LA heat in a back baring sundress.
Really, it's terrible. What kind of person hates their back? I mean, that's probably why the majority of my tattoos are covering it. If someone is focused on those, they aren't looking at how hideous the rest of it is.
I have a couple of scars from several bouts of shingles when I was in high school. It was a stressful time, and at the time, everyone made me feel like a leper. Now apparently, life is so flipping crazy that everyone gets singles... not just me, the terminally ill, and the elderly. So, my scars shouldn't be a big deal.
I hate my tan lines. The juxtaposition. I'm so pale. My friend B loves it. He's a film major and once told me that he would love to do a photoshoot my bare white skin sleeping on silky forest green sheets. It was mostly flattering, and only slightly creepy. B, my gay art-nouveau friend.
I have $20 dollars to my name. $10 are in quarters. I raided my piggy bank from eight years ago. Times are tough. Especially when people expect you to spend your money on food.
Paula D. "You better use that money to get some food. If you pass out in public they will take you to Cedar Sinai. And it'll cost us $30,000 and you'll be locked up again, so I hope it's worth it."
I love her pep talks. I can't fit my baby food in my stupid clutch.
Anyway, I have much things to tell you all that I keep procrastinating on doing and I've been terrible about reading and commenting. Like worse than ever. I've been trying to keep up with google reader, so I hope you know that even though you haven't heard from me on your blogs, I'm mostly trying to keep up with your lives! You all mean so much to me. I love you all dearly and your comments get me through my day (no, seriously, I get really excited when my Gmail app on my phone lets me know I've gotten a new comment! I just wish I could get blogger access on my phone so I could do more reading. Sad day).
Let's everyone have a goal for the day... or depending on where you are, if it's late, what's your goal for tomorrow?
My goal for today is to eat safely even if I don't feel like it. When I'm out with friends, I usually end up eating pastries or sandwiches when I could very well eat a salad w/o dressing. So, salad and water for me!!! It'll be cheaper too :)
What's your goal?
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
Recently I've been learning new things. Things that should have been painfully obvious to me before.
Like just the other morning, I realized that if I don't just whisk my mascara brush on my lashes, but rather put the brush and twirl until it intwines, it curls and separates... I'm sure everyone else knows this.
After a huge brawl with Paula D. I realized a new method of SI (I know I know, it doesn't happen often, but when it does, it does)...
It made me realize that what I've been doing all these years has been much more work, much more destructive, much more painful. We got to the point that TR had to throw everything in our house away, and we were eating with plastic utensils on paper plates. He was annoyed, but he liked that he didn't have to do dishes anymore.
I looked at myself in the mirror, admiring my handiwork. Quick and effortless release. My pale white ribcage surrounded the pinkish inflamed skin, and I couldn't help but think that I had just purchased a fitted sheet that was the exact shame mulberry red as the now ubiquitous blood. It was almost beautiful, like a perfect set of paint samples.
If there is a God, he is most certainly a painter. A fractured soul, like me. It almost makes me at peace to think that an omnipotent being might be a tortured artist.
After the healing, I realized the ritual wasn't complete. I hadn't experienced the guilt that accompanied the usual work, destruction, and pain. This was too easy. It would heal too fast. It might not scar. I might not remember.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
If I made an Etsy shop, would anyone make use of it? Or would it attract flies and tumbleweeds?
I often get spontaneous seemingly-brilliant ideas (the other night, I thought it would be amazing if I jumped on a plane to see TR in Alexander McQueen, smart boots with kid gloves, and fascinator ... we would hop on a trolly and elope at City Hall. This thought was quickly squished by TR, hmm).
Don't know exactly what I would sell. Beatiful, lovely things of course. Tasteful and discreet naturally. Maybe a mix of teas, jewelery, and motivational remembrances (it wouldn't be "pro ana" per say... but more pro support, pro recovery, pro inner/outer beauty, pro community, etc). I suppose, what I'm really asking, is what would you want to purchase?
Obviously, this venture wouldn't be for monetary purposes, and I would only hope to break even. Mainly I'm bored, and fidgety, and I think most things on the internet are hideous.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Some google searches that have lead people to my blog:
*"I had swine flu"
*"Pigged out my fat"
*"Word for sick from fried food"
*"Laxative short term fit dress"
*"Irrational anger in boyfriends"
*"While I am going step forward ... sick"
*"Loan pictures for posting"
*"Sick of everything blog"
I especially find that one fitting.
*"What kind of site is Savory Sick?"
I'm not sure if I should be concerned about this... my imagination ran wild with what kind of person might be googling this. It involved kitten sweaters, soccer games, and a quiet midwestern town. Or it could be something completely different. I should just stick to concrete things instead of letting my mind wander.
A lot of people find my blog searching for "low calorie tapas" ... this my friends, I can help you with.
I've found the following exhaustive list of tapas with ingredients and recipes for each. So you know what you're ordering and what the fuck is in it!
Now, when I go out for tapas, I find that most of the food... like all "bar" food, is usually fried and greasy. But never fear! The wonderful thing about Spanish Tapas is you share the little plates, and no one really pays much attention to how little or how much you are consuming.
But generally, you want to stay away from the aioli, anything fried, and things that look creamy. Things that are sauteed are ok because they're using olive oil. Don't be afraid of olive oil! It's good for you.
And munch on olives if you feel you need to be eating more or there's nothing for you to eat. The olives are super healthy and are usually marinated in vinegar (which suppresses the appetite and is GOOD FOR YOU!). If you look around, there's usually fish options that are safe as well.
My safe bet is usually olives, gazpacho, and if I want to splurge I'll go for patatas bravas (because sauteed potatoes and tomatoes are better than fried balls of who knows what).
But look through the list and be glad that you're prepared for any tapas bar your friends can throw at you.
Don't forget about alcohol. Calorie wise... Liquer > Wine > Beer > Cider > Cocktails.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
I'm sitting here watching "30 Best and Worst Beach Bodies"
It's stuff like this that makes me think in the same ONE HOUR SEGMENT:
"Maybe it's time to eat some white bread"
"Oh my god, I can't believe I'm even thinking about not doing 500 crunches and even entertaining the thought of carbohydrates!"
What the fuck?!?
Between 5 best and worst bodies, the show said that Tara Reid needed to eat a sandwich, and her thin frame was disgusting. THEN it applauded Beyonce's curvy frame AND the fact that she lost 20 pounds on the Master Cleanse diet. Back and forth back and forth. AND AFTER THAT it touted out Victoria Beckham as a prime example of someone we should all strive to look like. Uh.....mmmm..hmm...
FUCK YOU ALL.
Do I need a Kim Kardashian butt to make you happy? Or Jessica Biel's? Or...
andf[oaisdfjlsakfm;alkxcnvapoisdj as;ldfjkasdfjk dfj. I needed to bang on the keyboard a little bit. Sorry, you all know that normally I'm more composed than that. Don't like to show emotion.
Baseline. That's me.
Whatever, obviously I will never ever fit into mainstream society. I don't even want to, so I don't know why this is important. Not that I want to be like hipster or scene either *tosses hair aside*
I'm totally above all of that. Wasting away... not for society, not for you, and certainly not for me.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
October 11, 2006
*Excerpt from Journal*
Everything here is strictly regulated. If you forget what you're supposed to be doing, you're kindly (or sternly, depending on which nurse you encounter) directed to look at the dry erase board. It militantly lists hourly activities, with subtle daily changes, as if to remind us that we are a mere Ford "Model T" on an assembly line, with interchangeable parts. Efficiency.
We've finished breakfast. Normally we wake ourselves and do whatever it is civilized people do in the morning... except we have to wheedle and entreat the staff to give us basic necessities each morning. Today, however, we were woken by Bertha. I don't know what's wrong with her (I pride myself on knowing or having diagnosed almost everyone on the ward). She wears a pink helmet. Bertha was screaming. The nursing staff had to do something to get her under control, or surely we would all start screaming. Surely.
I hate breakfast. By the time it gets up to us, the pink plastic hospital dome cover has humidified everything and my food has turned into the Florida Everglades. I look over at the Eating Disordered table, glad no one is timing how quickly and meaninglessly I can pretend to eat. At the same time, I know they're the clique on the ward. This time, that's not why I'm here. I'm stuck with the crazies.
Casually, I passed my bread and butter pads to Patty, calculated what I was going to eat, and walked over to Bertha. She has a thing for sugar. After this morning, she was a little dopey. Usually, someone helps her eat, but not this morning. Upon close inspection, I can tell they aren't taking care of her. Bertha smells like old laundry and wears a stained hospital gown. Still, I tried to smile and hand her my sugar.
I don't know if I was being nice, or if I want to keep them from finding out I'm not eating my food.
They're about to give us our medication, according to the careful time table. I don't know what they're giving me. When I ask, my nurse asks "Why is it important?"
It's hard not to feel paranoid here. I've already lost a pair of pajamas. And I don't think any of the patients took them.
The dry erase board would be so easy to completely destroy. Why haven't any of us wiped it off, crossed the synthetic border? I miss chaos.
Friday, August 21, 2009
From Darkly Dreaming Dexter:
"How long have you been doing this?"
I search Harry's face, then look out across the clearing to the beach. Our boat is there, moving gently with the surge of the water. The lights of Miami are off to the right, a soft white glow. I can't figure out where Harry is going, what he wants to hear. But he is my straight-arrow foster dad; the truth is usually a good idea with Harry. He always knows, or he finds out.
"A year and a half," I say.
Harry nods. "Why did you start?"
A very good question, and certainly beyond me at fourteen. "It just--I kind of...had to," I tell him. Even then, so young but so smooth.
"Do you hear a voice?" he wants to know. "Something or somebody telling you what to do, and you had to do it?"
"Uh," I say with fourteen-year old eloquence, "Not exactly."
"Tell me," Harry says.
Oh for a moon, a good fat moon, something bigger to look at. I clutch another fistful of pine needles. My face is hot, as if Dad has asked me to talk about sex dreams. Which, in a way-- "It, uh... I kind of, you know, *feel* something," I say "Inside. Watching me. Maybe, um. Laughing? But not really a voice, just--" An eloquent teenaged shrug. But it seems to make sense to Harry.
"And this *something*. It makes you kill things."
High overhead a slow fat jet crawls by. "Not, um, doesn't *make* me," I say. "Just--makes it seem like a good idea?"
Why am I telling this to you? I'm not really sure. But I was standing in line to get into a panel to hear the cast and producers of the television show Dexter, based on the above book (which if you haven't heard of it, the premise is he's a serial killer with a vigilante code to only kill those who deserve it. That's his M.O. That and cleanliness), and suddenly it occurred to me I might not get in. It was very important I see Michael C. Hall and Jennifer Carpenter... omg thinspo... and I started praying to someone or something. I said I would recover. Give up my ED.
Long story short, I did get in. I would still lose 8 pounds after that, despite my promise (I haven't gotten stricken by lightning so I guess my prayers were for naught). But what it made me think about, right in that giant ballroom surrounded by crazy weirdos who think they can associate with a serial killer, is do I have a *Dark Passenger* ? As everyone around me was thinking about the panel, the famous people 30 feet from them, I was wondering if I really had to give up my eating disorder. There was bargaining going on in my head. I felt totally disassociated from everyone there, and for a strange moment, I started to get this weird understanding. This must be what this idiot whiny Michael C. Hall is always talking about when he's in his head narrating. Everyone's in Miami laughing and working, and he's thinking about his kill trophies or faking emotions.
I was thinking about how fat I must have looked in my shorts. What I was going to have to eat for dinner after the panel. Did I really have to give up my ED since I had a seat? And how was I going to do it?
I had a chance to ask something to the panel. Of course, with the writers not being there, the producers gave me this dumb scripted answer. If I had to do it over, knowing it was completely anonymous, I probably would have said:
"I'm an anoretic with Major Depressive Disorder, can you give me a good reason to believe that I shouldn't see myself in Dexter?"
Dexter, Season 2.
Our main character--a sheep in wolf's clothing--during an Narcotics Anonymous meeting, where he feels he can finally discuss and explore his Dark Passenger:
No! Better question:
"Correct me if I'm wrong in this interpretation, but it seems to me that the 'serial killer' is a metaphor for Dexter's true psychological co-morbid diagnoses of Eating Disordered Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS) with deliberate self-harm (DSH) tendencies and an addiction to amphetamines? Yes? That's what I thought. Thank you."
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
I wanted to take some time out to answer some questions I've gotten recently...
What If Summer...
I'm pretty sure I've read every single one of your blog posts... but a little voice in the back of my head chimes in as I read them, and it's asking a question that I don't think you've ever really answered in any of your posts. I keep reading them to see if maybe you will answer it eventually.
It just keeps asking "Why?"
Great question. I won't answer it. Not that I don't want to, and it's quite embarrassing to realize I haven't previously addressed this... but I guess I have to figure it out myself, since it's something I'm keeping from my psychiatrist and previous therapists. I'll get to it someday, I promise. There is a story, and I know part of the narrative, so I'll save that for its own post.
heebeejebus! (In regards to living amid Paula Deen and Ruby making her town famous for the *wrong* reasons)
Oh, I'm so sorry. I suppose it's girls like me who romanticize things like that... but my mother is not pleasant, so I imagine it's not fun to be surrounded by people who want to glorify two loud mouthed women who act like they are making an effort, but who are they kidding? I had something profound to say about this, but then my mind wandered to the fact that there's some kind of Rascal Flats dish at Denny's now (along with those crazy gross "Pancake Puppies" eek) and I always go into my horrible Ruby vernacular when I enter that place.
So, in short. You have my sympathy for the tourists. Come visit me in Southern California, where at least the obnoxious people are thinspiring!
Tree among others, has asked me to further expand about my upcoming London adventures.
So, I'm going to attend UCL for a 1-year masters starting end of September. I'll be living somewhere between Kings Cross Station and Angel Station and I'm pretty hugely excited and scared to death about it. I've visited the country a total of 2 times (once being a short weekend trip which was horrible because 36 hours was the plane ride to and from the States) and I know very little about British food, etiquette, BBC, etc etc.
So obviously any helpful tips would be appreciated. As of now, I'm hoping to live off sushi, thai, and fruits/veggies... even though everyone keeps telling me how amazing the Indian food is (I can't trust the calorie content!). Any life saving or "make sure you don't..." suggestions can be sent to email@example.com !!
Baby food? What makes that a safe food? I've never heard of eating that before, and frankly, i'm intrigued by this new idea.
Here's my rationalization. If I can, I like to eat things that aren't bulky so my stomach doesn't stick out and I don't feel disgustingly full. It's already portioned. They run about 40-70 calories and are ridiculously low in sugar and are fat/sodium free. PLUS they have a bunch of little baby size vitamins, which are always helpful. And I can safely keep them in my house because WHEN THE FUCK AM I GOING TO GET DESPERATE ENOUGH TO BINGE ON BABY FOOD!? never. I can't keep jell-o because I'll eat it all, but baby food is sweet enough to satisfy me but I'll never eat more than one... it actually takes me quite some time to get through my whole allocated purchase. So that's that.
And did you finish reading wasted yet? I cant wait until its been long enough that i can read it again!
I've just gotten through her first hospitalization. I read a LOT in about 1 day, and then I realized it was too intense and I was having crazy dreams (the same thing happened when I tried to read
Stiff... amazing book by the way!). So I've slowed down. Marya's hidden under my mattress, gives new meaning to the word Ana Porn I think.
Definitely though it's given me a lot of insight into myself, and it's made me realize how fucked up I am (why am I mad that I'm not passing out or growing lanugo? Don't answer, I know I'm not supposed to think those things...).
In other news, I'm going to try and focus on maintaining at 107 for a bit. It seems like a good number (107lbs 17.0 bmi 48.5kg), and as much as I want to keep losing, I think in order to maintain real control, I have to consider the idea of going against what my Dark Passenger *more on this tomorrow* is telling me to do.
Questions, comments, concerns? I had this regular substitute in middle school who used to end his thoughts with that phrase, probably knowing that would end any thought we 12-year-olds may have had in our wee brains. Hopefully I didn't do the same for you, dear reader.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
When I was young, I harbored this fantasy that my mother had stolen me and raised me as her child. I imagined I belonged to a loving aristocratic, or even royal family who would never dare punish me, raise their voice, or make me cry.
I thought I was the only one who questioned my parentage until I started taking psychology, when I realized we're all greatly influenced by Hans Christian-Anderson and Walt Disney... as well as some deep seated loathing against parental authority. I was no longer alone in my paranoia. It made me feel a little less unique.
I felt like I've eaten a lot today. It's amounted to about 425 total... but it feels like at least 1500. All of it was forced on me by my kidnapper.
Really, I did try to choke down the late snack, then the dinner... but when it came down to the second dinner, it was just too much. A fight ensued. I tried to bargain that I would eat if I could go out afterwards, like a princess locked up in a tower.
She tells me if I don't start eating more food (aka more than 500 a day, I forgot that she's counting) I'll have to live somewhere else until I go to London. This was almost in the same breath as, "You might as well be up in your room snorting cocaine."
I don't even think anyone who knows what this is like has to dignify that with a response. But I'll try anyway. Hmmm... I wish it was a choice. I wish I woke up one day and said, "Today, I'm going to vow to whiddle myself down to 14% body fat (ugh still seems too high), risk osteopenia and organ problems. Get stares from my friends and family who will glance from afar and say 'Is that Savory? No that girl is too thin to be Savory.' Oh, and probably ruin my fertility forever."
The later of which, I have to say I'm not terribly sorry about. A little evolutionary part of me is screaming to have kids, but the fucked-up selfish part of me knows that's not a good idea and that this isn't the worst side effect.
Don't worry Mommy Dearest, I won't land myself into the hospital again and send you into a fury about medical bills. Though, if euthanasia was legal, I could just step into some kind of suicide-toll booth and save me, you, and everybody else a whole lot of trouble... side stepping even the death panels.
I sobbed in my room until I sleepily began to stop caring. Then I asked myself, "Do you burn calories when you cry? Or do you just make yourself bloated?"
Yeah, there's no escape.
Monday, August 17, 2009
I'm going to show you the real me. As awful and ugly as it is.
There isn't a more perfect, more attractive me under all the flesh and fat and muscle I have painstakingly evicted from my being. Underneath is just a hollow, weaker, maybe even faker person than I was before.
Most of my life has been a performance, tweaking my act to suit whatever audience I encounter. Perhaps, I wanted everyone, every group, every fractured part of me, to know and physically understand how little I've been consuming emotionally for 23 years.
I was 20 years old. 156 pounds, and going without make-up for the first time since the seventh grade. I've never weighed this much in my entire life, and I feel fat, but at this point I don't have time to care much about it. That summer, I was on my first big adventure away from home, doing glorified physical labor 8-5 every day. Was I happy? Probably not. I was off meds at the time, but I would go back on them soon afterwards. Maybe I was happy though... as this is one moment where I actually let my arm rest against my side for a picture, even though it made everything spread apart into the worst and most unattractive kind of mush.
I am standing a bit askew. Props for that cowgirl.
Yes I know, you've seen this one before, but I shy away from the camera and haven't found a more recent one. For those of you who missed it. 113(ish?) lbs. 3 weeks ago. I was rather excited to see a legendary Japanese sweetheart who I cut out of this photo because it upstages me. Compare to above photograph.
I mentioned I'd been away from the scale, and moving stuff out of storage. I refused to let anyone help me. Not that there was really anyone to do it. Here's the end result of my legs. I think they're quite bruised (sorry for the shitty iChat photos, my Nikon USB is lost!) but if you've got better ones, I sympathize as these are a bit painful to the touch. But I'm proud of my bruises as they are physical calories burned. Here are also some shots of my tattoos. Judge or don't. I've never shown you my body. Of course, I've still gotten away with not giving you a standing pose. That will have to wait until the puffiness goes down. Weighed again (I know, I can't stay away)... back to 110. Ah, well, not everything is magical. I ate fast food and chain restaurants so what can I expect.
Happy picture viewing, they won't be up for long. Remind me to tell you sordid details about terrible things and drug and alcohol related events. Loving you with all my fractured pieces!
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Last Weigh in: 107
I've had quite a few things I've wanted to blog about...
- my clandestine adventures stealing measuring tapes to measure my waist (23" WHY DON'T I LOOK LIKE VICTORIA BECKHAM!?)
- the fortune in my cookie the other day: "Remember, it's the journey not the destination that counts" (Don't worry, I didn't eat the cookie)
- my attempt to eat "normally" around everyone while I'm away from the scale, and home, and safe foods (aka baby food, frozen veggies, and rice cereal) and my failure to be OK with it
- super secret adventures purchasing Wasted while on an outing with friends... it basically went like this "OH oh, you all go on ahead, I want to use the bathroom in Barnes and Nobles and then I'll catch up with you guys in line for the movies!" Sad sack.
- My paranoia at keeping said book hidden from the world. I've got Darkly Dreaming Dexter on top of it in my luggage as a thinly veiled attempt to hide it for now. Will wrap it in some sort of shirt later.
- Then the usu. You know... the pinching, prodding. Mirrors, reflections, second glances at myself.
- I'm trying to run around and lift as many heavy things (we're moving things out of storage) as possible. "No no, don't help me, it's easier if I do it by myself!!!" Burn calories burn calories.
In the storage unit, there was a freight elevator I passed by.
Minimum Weight 100 pounds
Part of me at that point wanted to weigh 98 pounds just so the manager could say, "Hold on, you're too small to ride this elevator... we need to put something else on here with you."
I've never thought about going below 100, but now it's so tempting.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
... As Told By Savory Sweet
Anorexia Nervosa would be categorized as an illness in the 19th century. However, its presence in history and practice by a segment of the population can be traced back at least to the medieval period.
At this point, classes were defined by the availability of food, with the upper classes participating in feasting to celebrate a myriad of religious and cultural events. However, as technology advanced agriculture, transportation, and socio-political-economics, the amount of food between the classes became less of an issue. The upper class now distinguished themselves by *how* they ate, and practiced self-restraint.
During this time, religious institutions began to more frequently associate food with spiritual adherents (the forbidden fruit, body and blood of Christ, etc.) and the Church along with some number of laymen would practice fasting days to observe religious holidays. Also rising in numbers, were girls who would begin abstaining from food during the medieval era, known as "fasting saints." This would be be Western Europe's first encounter with adolescent girls to control their bodies and social lives. Through fasting, these girls could prevent themselves from being married off, causing embarrassment to their families and circumventing ecclesiastic authority. Restriction of food served as both a spiritual undertaking as well as the assumption of self-control and social-restriction of others.
The Victorian Period would become the pinnacle of self-restraint and idealization of the upper class as thin and frail (as this indicated one was unfit to work, instead enjoying the idle idyll of leisure). Women were expected to manage the complicated dinner and tea set up, and yet refrain from eating publicly. A fat gluttonous body, during this time would indicate a complete lack of control, spiritually, morally, and carnally. These qualities were espoused as virtues a woman must hold precious, as indicated within The Cult of True Womanhood, and this could be manifested physically as a waif.
However, this would also be a time of scientific advancement (germ theory, patent medicine, etc.) and a system of of diagnosis and treatment began to form. This wasting female body with related ailments such as dyspepsia (chronic indigestion) and chlorosis (anemia) became a significant concern for doctors and families. The category "anorexia nervosa" and its symptoms (wasting body, refusal to eat food, absence of an organic origin) emerged from this new medical system. However, doctors paid little attention to the anorexic's complaints, and the family was considered unreliable and biased, therefore the doctor relied purely on his inexperienced knowledge of the disease and "scientific evidence" to treat the patient (mainly consisting of bed rest and refeeding).
Twentieth Century and Beyond
Anorexia Nervosa has only recently, within the last few decades been regarded as a serious mental illness, though restrictive eating and dieting was still commonplace (see Great Depression, World War II). However, in the postwar years, companies began placing an importance on materialism and youth culture. Clothes became more revealing, and more of the body was displayed, with individuals newly anxious about aspects of their body never before displayed. Companies combated this anxiety with products targeting youth such as cosmetics and hair products, but with the sexual liberation of the 1960s-1970s there was still an increased sense of preoccupation with bodily appearnace. Women in particular were expected to purchase proper clothes, exercise adequately to maintain her shape, and consume food to display a socially and presentable figure.
News media began to warn of the "starving disease" and anorexia became increasingly diagnosed. Though today, statistics vary, it still remains to be the highest fatality rate of any other psychiatric illness and many patients still struggle with symptoms even after treatment. Further, male anorexia is increasingly on the rise with the ratio of males to females diagnosed currently at 1 to 10.
Anorexia is a continually shifting sociocultural pathology: as the currents of culture have changed, so too has its diagnosis, treatment, and conceptualizations.
One can see, that there is no one confounding factor, no lovely scapegoat that can be blamed and chastised for the emergence of today's eating disorders, in this case anorexia nervosa. Like almost everything, it remains a multiplicity of factors, and no one person or generation can claim to have witnessed its evolution.
What is an eating disorder? A religious connection? A rejection from parental control? Self-regulation? Socially enforced purity? A drive for beauty? Manifestation from adolescent anxiety? Consumerist motivated perfection, gone awry? Something to do with the brain? Shall I keep typing?
Friday, August 7, 2009
This morning I had a freak out. My stupid Belkin router wouldn't let me access blogs because its firewall was making Google think I was sending Automated Traffic/Queries... and was a spam robot.
So I basically haven't figured out h2222222222111 (cat stepped on keyboard) to remedy this so I'm going to steal wireless from the neighbors until I have time to scream out Belkin on the phone.
Popping some Ativan helped. Literally, I was AIMing TR like "OMG OMG OMG I NEED to read my blogs! WTF is happening!? JESUS CHRIST!" And he was like "Calm down. You're getting hysterical." Then I started to bounce off the walls like Bugs Bunny in the cartoons and my dog started scream barking at me (when he does this, I imagine he's saying the worst profanities I know... I'm not going to repeat them here, his filthy dirty mouth doesn't need to be spread around).
Some of you have asked over the last few months about my mother. Well, I've finally found a picture of her that she doesn't despise or claim to be a "Squished Pumpkin" so I think I can finally give you an understanding of why I call her "Paula Deen." My mother is on the left (at my college graduation) and Paula Deen is on the right (ah I couldn't help myself!). I'm sorry to disallusion everyone who thinks she is Paula Deen. My mother would like to clear the air, as she and Paula clearly pernounce the word "pecan" differently and thus it's a total insult. Apparently coming from Georgia and Alabama is also a big difference too. *rolls eyes*. I'm still going to call her P.D. and you should too.
Lastly, thank you to both my faithful readers and commenters, and those of you who are just beginning to follow me on this crazy crazy skewed Savory's Wild Ride, we've got going on. Holly, as I knew she would, definitely did go back and look at my blog, and she's unphased. Like I said, many of my friends are screwed up.
So basically she doesn't care. I guess? I don't know. It doesn't really matter. I've already been institutionalized twice, taken 3 bottles of pills and been forced to drink charcoal, had my 2nd amendment right taken away from me, and gone through 9 different psychiatrists and therapists in the last 4 years. I guess I don't really care much either.
Anyway, I need to get caught up on everyone's blogs now that I'm stealing internet (mwahahaha!)... but I thought I'd send you a link to Holly's website. She's an artist and one of those annoying skinnies who doesn't have to try to be skinny (but of course she wants to lose 5 pounds!). So check it out if you get bored, and feel free to follow her blog since apparently EDs are NBD (nobigdeal) to her ;)
Oooh 10pts if you can find my fat ass!
EDIT: apparently commenting wasn't working, but now it is lol! Thanks
Ok, so I'm always reading other cooler girls who are like "Okay girls, quick update. I'm at my friend's house so this has to be short!"
Yeah, well I tried to do one of those and totally failed. My friend, who is small and quick and a bit neurotic (her word not mine) totally snuck up on me when I was trying to blog about being worried about going to a bar last night and was like:
"YOU'RE BLOGGING ON YOUR PRIVATE BLOG ON MY PUBLIC COMPUTER!!!"
"I SAW SOMETHING ABOUT NOT GETTING A DRINK!? DO YOU NOT WANT TO DRINK!?"
Quickly, I closed it and told her I was worried about money. I hope she didn't see my user name. I cleared out her history. We drank and went to Denny's. It apparently made no dent on the scale. I almost wish it did. Like some sort of punishment is needed, "Savory, you are so stupid, I'm going to make you gain 27 pounds from Pancake Puppies and a Malibu/Diet Coke."
Anyway, she may or may not be reading my blog as I write this. Holly, if you're reading this, I'm sorry I lied to you. I'm sorry I complained about everyone being worried about my weight and tried to get you on my side, when clearly this has been anything but healthy. I'm sorry I left my unfinished Frutista Freeze outside of Mark's convertible that night in the parking lot. It was intentional. I didn't want to drag you in to my fucked up life, like the drama we have to deal with B, L, C, and R (especially R lol).
OK, that's not being spoken of anymore.
I need to go read some blogs and follow some more peeps. I feel like I'm on the cusp of this new community that's forming... and I don't like to be on the outside of annnnything ;)
Thursday, August 6, 2009
If you haven't seen Mad Men, get the fuck off blogger and go watch some bootlegged copy right now. I'd mail you my special Zippo Lighter Season 1 DVD but I've just loaned it to some other sad sap who hasn't seen it...
For those of you still with me, today I've made myself into a subordinate 1960s kitchy woman. This was cute and fun until I felt ashamed of her and thought her arms were too fat to be pictured. I was totally honest about the nose though. In 2008, I don't smoke... unless I'm drunk or really melancholy and it's a cigarillo (mmm swisher sweets), but in 1961, I think I would have smoked a lot.
You can't see but my fat fat fatty arms are holding up a cup of black coffee to-go. That's right. I'm still fucked up in any generation you put me in. Scary thing is, thinking back, I'm pretty sure my mother (aka Paula Deen) back when she was a slight 87 pounds and a girl of 19 (already married with a baby) definitely looked just like this. Minus the cigarette. She's too wholesome. But she definitely had the anorexia, not by choice, just by... habit(?) I guess? Anyway, I suppose I really am reverting into my mother in some sort of alternate scary universe. I don't want to turn on the Food Network and think that that will be me in 40 years, putting my pinky finger in BBQ sauce and winking.
Speaking of fat arms. Oh what? We weren't talking about that? Well that's what I was thinking about. Recently, I discussed the fact that unknowingly, I programmed my Sim Savory self with 5 traits that gave me the life goal of "perfect mind, perfect body" aka ED in my humble opinion.
This is why I don't talk to things like small children that can be easily imprinted.
So, here's my fat ass little sim. Ok, I know she's not fat, she's as thin as she can get apparently. I'm upset that I can't make her smaller. She doesn't eat anything, and she's quite happy (there's even a feature that makes you less hungry.... uuuuuhhh, ok I'm going to choose not to go there). Anyway, basically I have a distorted image of myself in reality and in virtual reality.
This is sad. But sad in one of those "Oh look, the clown is crying! It's so ironic and funny and sad but really still funny actually because it's ironic."
This must be why I can lose 2 pounds and be positive I had gained at least 4 pounds. I still think the jury is out. Possibly the scale is broken. Didn't weigh today because I ate a plum and then my friend made me eat a veggie sandwich with avacado.
I'm unreasonably afraid of avacado. It's triggering. So I had candy for the first time in a long time after this as well as some juice. Both were not worth it. Didn't really make for a real binge but I'm staying off the scale so me and my fat 1960s chain-smoking and fat-ED-book-reading-sim self can deal with another day of blissful ignorance and thinking about how fat our arms are.
Loathe loathe loathe.
In other news, the blog is going to go through some renovations soon! I'm excited. A friend wants to assist, but I think it's her way of trying to find out what it is I'm writing about, so we'll have to put a lid on that one!
Loving each and every one of you. I'm slap happy. It's late here. I'm staying up to call London. Silly time difference. But it makes me feel closer to all my UK readers ;)
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
I'm pretty sure I thought something in my head, and then it came true.
So, I had a pretty good weekend...
- TR and I worked out some relationship things (though we had a major argument today, but it was resolved: BTW I'm starting a new thing called "don't fucking talk about my relationship with people anymore because it makes you look crazy and unstable and a bad girlfriend" ... except this doesn't apply to you all, because you, dear readers need to know everything, so help me stick to it!!).
- I lost 2 more pounds since Friday, even though I've been eating terribly.
- Apparently my grad school wants to throw £5,000 pounds at me ($8,460) so, that's good news? lol. I'm not used to good things.
Except today has been shitty. So I'm on the train back home, and I'm reading my London travel guide (dork dork dork!), reading the little history bit. It comes to the "Great Plague" that kills 100,000 Londoners in the 1600s... and me being in the bad mood and a big fat bitch start thinking:
"Wouldn't it be lovely if some kind of pandemic happened that affected most of the people on this train, and in the area... people dropping like flies around me? Of course, *me* being blessed with so much mental and physical shit by God, Satan, Fate, or Darwin would be pardoned from getting sick.
"I would just be one of those people who would have to stand by idly watching everyone die, and blog about it. Writing history. Women and children would take me in as I wander the streets with my laptop and try to feed me broth, but I would tell them that I couldn't eat when I knew that there was so much suffering. And no one would bat an eye, or ask me 'Is that all you're going to eat?' (PS. fuck you waitress at Denny's)."
Yeah, that was my 30 second fantasy, on the train, fleeting and brief and totally fucked up. I know. But that's just me. I also flirted with the idea of jumping in front of the train like an hour before that, then I told myself that I couldn't because I didn't want the 4 year old on the platform to have to witness and deal with that kind of shit forever.
So really, try and spend a night in this head of mine. I like to think that the soundtrack inside my head is like ladies playing saws with violin bows, and crying blood. They're probably underwater and there are marionettes dancing and fish swimming in circles.
But the point of this story is I call my mother to tell her I'm on the train, and what does she tell me? Uh, my oldest sister has some kind of superbug, like Outbreak type thing that we thought was a bug bite that paralyzed her whole head after 24h and she had to be rushed to some specialized hospital. She had surgery and has a fucking hole in her head now with shit sticking in and out of it and it's been described to me as "half of Princess Leia's head." They don't know what's maybe or maybe not killing her. She's in an isolation clean room and you have to wear like an astronaut hazmat suit to go inside....
Basically it's an episode of House without the predictable plot and zanny cast of characters.
Oh, and this morning the same thing happened to her son, so it's apparently contagious and maybe it's a pandemic! They have to swab like everywhere and everyone she's contacted. I'm so fucking psychic.
Don't feel sorry for my sister though or for my family. My older sister is a horrible person. I don't need to get into details because it's long, confusing, and complicated. I'll just give you tag words so you understand and you don't think I'm a total bitch for being a wizard and giving her ebola or something: drugs, prostitution, child neglect, crazy, child abuse, drugs, crazy again, and she hates my whole family.
Uh, so yeah. I'm magical. Ask me to think of something you want to come true. I'm trying to think that loads of kittens get adopted or something to even out my karma, but if you think of something better let me know... my mind is pretty uh twisted. It keeps going back to ripping the heads off build-a-bears!
P.S. But the loss of 2 pounds must mean that Jesus still loves me, yes?
... that's a song btw. Rick Nelson, apparently. But now that I've said that, it ruins the cultural reference like having to explain a joke. Augh, never mind.
Anyway, I'm trying to re-boot all of my blog following manager since I realized it's stupid to try and read blogs without actually following them and try and remember how to get back to them and comment sporadically (which if I've been doing that to you, that's what I've been doing p.s.!).
So I'm trying to get to people, but if I don't get to you and you read my blog or you stumble upon this or you don't read my blog but you want me to read yours or just what-the-fuck-ever, leave a little comment routing me to your blog, and I'll gladly follow. I NEED to follow loads more guys and dolls (Ah another cultural reference, a musical! Ugh, ruined it again) and put more time into the blogging community again.
So, gimme a poke or holler. Seriously, I start this task of finding and following and then I get distracted and watch "My Super Sweet 16th" or "Ruby" on Style Network--the later of which will most definitely get her own dedicated post, wait and see.
Monday, August 3, 2009
OK. I think I have more proof that me not eating is good for me.
For the first time in probably ALL my life, I haven't gotten the flossing, plaque, or tut-tut lectures at the dentist office at my 6-month cleaning.
What's happened? I should be so proud of myself for taking such good care of my teeth, they think. My parents brought me up right.
Bullshit. This bitch is still the lazy bastard who gags when she flosses (but still can't manage to purge, hence hasn't ruined her mouth) and therefore skips it, and only brushes in the morning because frankly, she can't remember to keep up a nightly regime.
So what has got to be the difference? Why is my dentist so happy with me? Probably because I drink a shitload of water, basically zero sugar enters my mouth (my mother always told me that fruit snacks would ruin my teeth), and I stay away from food when I can.
If I don't eat, but I drink water, and brush my teeth.... wouldn't I naturally be better off than someone who eats more??
Don't contradict me. I don't want to hear it. I'm super happy that I left the dentist with a smile on my face, and a mouth full of no-pain.
Take THAT FDA, ADA, and whatever other big acronyms I should be shouting at for telling me how to live.
Here I am, sneaking on my blog since I no longer have any privacy...
After commenting on some posts, I realized my "reader" thingy was quite sparse and I was getting the same bloggers updating.
I then had to do something that I've been avoiding. Clean out my blog following manager.
A lot of girls, who were my foundation when I started, stopped blogging suddenly over the past 2-3 months... some of them I think maybe started eating normally (yay), some perhaps just became tired of blogging and quit, and then there were one or two that lingered in my mind.
I was worried about those ones.
I've had a hard time *un-following* some people. Well, most people. I like to think that one day, everyone will pop back up after 4 months and have a lovely blog explaining their haitus, and my blogging community routine will be back to normal. But I especially hate to un-follow those few girls that just dissapear when they were the ones you were already anxious about.
So... it's been emotional.
This has led me to thinking about another thing I've been pushing to the back of my mind. How healthy is my blogging? I've always been a hardcore advocate for "pro ana" sites etc etc (though I'm not particularly fond of the term) and I still am, but is it good for me? I always thought it was, or at least harmless.
But sometimes I almost consciously think to myself, "I can't recover, because if I recover, then I can't blog, and I care so much about my girls and readers..."
The other week, I was feeling particularly suicidal. I asked TR to do something very important for me, the only important thing I would ever ask him to do. He wearily agreed and I told him that if I were to die, I would make arrangements for him to access my blog so he could write a blog post for me, because I don't want anyone to keep me on their readers list, hoping I might return someday.
JESUS CHRIST I AM FUCKED UP.
If you all stop following me now, I completely understand. But, I suppose, in a way, this whole pro-ana thing is just as addictive and insidious as my resistance to food and gaining weight. There's no support for me in a cruel world where mothers, friends, and companions say things ranging from "You could stand to gain a few pounds" to "It looks like your body is eating all your muscles because you're running out of fat... you look sallow and withered." Of course we would want to turn to a world of non-judgemental, anonymous, virtual friends who support us but sadly cannot be there for us, and therefore we never have to feel abandoned or let down by them.
Truly, at this point in time, I don't know how to live moderately. A good day for me... is spreading my fingers wide apart to see how concave the skin beneath the tendon attached to my thumb is (seriously, that's one of my fat markers). A good day for me... is checking my secret gmail and finding new comments from people that I wish I knew in real life, though who knows if we would actually get along in any other setting. A good day for me... is thoughts running in my mind all day, planning, calculating, finding an escape route.
A good day for me is getting through the day.
You all really do keep me going, almost all the time, and I'm so glad to have each of you in my alternate reality.
Time to stop mourning the the end of my core community, and start re-building a new one.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Vegan Diet has been going well for me.
Everyone else wants to strangle my ever shrinking neck.
Every once in awhile something sneaks in that I am not aware of, but I haven't eaten straight dairy in lord knows when and ask me if I'm pleased about it. No, don't, because you should already know the answer.
My mother is still crying, and I had a conversation with TR last night about him starting to look a bit rolly polly like the Police Officer on Heroes and he made some quippy comment about me gaining weight, but it's all water under the bridge.
No comment can quite affect you when you realize you can't even wear your blue jean skirts anymore without a rather large safety pin.
Secretly, dear readers, I do hate it. I know you all do, I wish I could just eat without loathing every bite, without cramping up, and without pinching at bits of my arms, tummy, and legs hoping I can cut every inch off and give it to someone who needs it more than me...
But I can't tell anyone, because then I have a problem. I don't have a problem, because I'm not thin enough.
Haven't updated in a bit because I was at Comic Con last week. That's right, I totally geeked it out. But I like to do it mainly because, I always end up running into celebrities, and I feel prettier than the average person there (believe me, you would too if you ever went and wore something moderately skimpy or eye catching).
So, I'm going to do something unprecedented on this site...
You've all been quite patient, so I'll reveal a bit of myself to you.
I'm sorry if I dissapoint anyone who has been picturing me otherwise, but this is me. You may continue to visualize me however you wish!
P.S. Celebrity run-in tally to make me feel better. Seth Green (again... kind of getting annoying), the entire cast of "Big Bang Theory," John Lithgow (3rd Rock from the Sun), Joss Whedon (Buffy/Dollhouse creator), Michael C. Hall (Six Feet Under/Dexter), Doc Hammer (Outstanding oil painter/Venture Brothers co-creator... makes me a nervous puddle of awe; he's beatiful), Matt Groening (Simpsons/Futurama Creator), other people that I wasn't impressed by to remember their names lol.