I Keep Dancing

The Days I Remember

Fri, 03 May 2013 23:41:47 -0400

So there are days I will remember. Specific days. Days in which I did things. Real things. With real people. Real, living, breathing people. People who are really good at the whole waking up and getting out and being alive thing, something that I have fallen out of practice with. And these are specific things that I did with specific people that I will remember. That day when I lost myself at the beach with my friends. That day I got in a 4-way wrestling match with my best friend and 2 dogs. The day I decided on a college. That night I spent driving on highways with a boy, laughing until our laughter matched the sound of the acceleration and we forgot that the road that was taking us away would also take us back.

And then there are the days I won’t remember. Not because they are unimportant, but because they will all meld into one big gob of nothingness. Days in which I didn’t do things. That I didn’t spend with real, live people who could remind that I am human and that I am, at my core, a happy person. Because those are the days that I lost myself in Cyberland, with no one around to find me. It is far too easy to get caught up in the hypnotic scroll of Tumblr, to bury myself in the follies and feelings of others as they find solace and entertainment here. It is easy to forget that while there are real people behind these photosets and posts and queues, they are not, for the time being, living, breathing people who will sit with me when I cry and scream with me when I’m angry or wrestle with me and 2 dogs when I want attention from a boy. They can’t drive with me through the night to forget our troubles and they can’t pull me back from the ledge that I so often find myself at.

In short, I am a living, breathing person, and I have forgotten that I need living, breathing people by my side to remind me to wake up, get out, and get better at this whole being alive thing. But it is days like this that I remember.

OH MY GOD

Wed, 24 Apr 2013 20:16:03 -0400

lokinatasha:

nolifeonafridaynight:

IT SHAKES WHEN YOU DO ALT+CLICK TO REBLOG NOW.

IT. SHAKES.

LIKE A VOLCANO READY TO ERUPT.

LIKE PIKACHU PREPARING TO ATTACK.

LIKE A SMALL CHILD GETTING A SHIVER IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT.

IT JUMPS OUT OF MY SCREEN WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT

thewavemechanic: Got into #USC for mechanical...

Thu, 28 Mar 2013 18:26:00 -0400

thewavemechanic:

Got into #USC for mechanical engineering!

dude me too! mech-e buds?

unexotic: unimportant: best-bitch-doin-it: Photoshop In...

Sat, 23 Mar 2013 20:40:43 -0400

unexotic:

unimportant:

best-bitch-doin-it:

Photoshop In life.

reblog then click the photo

I’m sorry but this is just cool.

what the hell?! why doesn’t this have more notes?!

Oh my god.

what

I WANTED TO KNOW WHAT THE FUSS WAS ABOUT D:

IT FINALLY WORKED, YOU HAVE TO STAY ON THE PAGE FOR MORE THEN 10 SECONDS THEN IT REDIRECTS YOU OMG SO COOL

this is cool

magog83: BBC MERLIN FANS: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT. WATCH...

Thu, 14 Mar 2013 00:05:58 -0400

magog83:

BBC MERLIN FANS: PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT.

WATCH THIS VIDEO. IT IS PERFECTION. (warning: may cause heart breakage)

It’s made by AloraVideos

yesterdayisnttomorroww: lumpyspacelion: monsterparamore1d: pre...

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 11:34:00 -0500

yesterdayisnttomorroww:

lumpyspacelion:

monsterparamore1d:

pretty-muthafugga:

chrisplankedonkim:

yourlovelyariana-:

theofficialselanon:

equal-ity:

amanda-rachael:

gr8shytbr0:

This is a picture of my best friend and her boyfriend. Normal concert photo, right? Well, look closer in the back where the red circle is. Can you see the face?

This isn’t just some normal chain letter. My friend and her boyfriend died 3 nights after this picture was taken, the police having no idea how they died considering they were both 15 and perfectly healthy.

It turns out a boy died at that venue a few years ago at a concert. He was in the mosh pit and he hit his head and then a few nights later he was found dead in his bedroom from his skull broken and slowly bleeding to death.

If you don’t reblog this within an hour, you’ll hear faint music playing for 3 nights straight. On the 4th night, the boy will come from your closet while you’re getting ready for bed and kill you for not helping us put his soul at rest.

This is not fake. 3 people have already died from not passing this on.

OH MY F’CKING GOD.

Im crying holy fuck

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

im such a pussy lol

im not taking a chance .

Sorry but I don’t wanna die

OMG. ;___;

sorry guys, i don’t take any chances

~~I’m sorry guys. not taking chances ahkjfg.~~

^^^^

I’m such a pussy. Not taking any chances sorry followers D;

Why the fuck did I read it -_-

I’m a bitch when it comes to these things ;p

this is fucking scary…

urgh why do people have to reblog these? i hate it! i always get scared and reblog them ahh i am so sorry guys!

Y

That awkward moment when you’re friends with the people in the picture and you know they’re not dead….

hwardius: I love this and I need summer

Sun, 24 Feb 2013 19:46:00 -0500

hwardius:

I love this and I need summer

staypozitive: The most followed love blog on Tumblr.

Thu, 21 Feb 2013 22:15:46 -0500

staypozitive:

The most followed love blog on Tumblr.

My mother found my stash.

Sun, 10 Feb 2013 23:09:00 -0500

I finally got it. That phone call. The phone call that I clandestinely predicted but kept pushing to the back of my brain because I couldn’t face it, and, let’s be honest, didn’t really believe would happen. I don’t tend to trust those predictions that just kind of happen, like “It’s going to rain around 3 pm today” when I haven’t checked the weather or “I’m going to end up meeting a guy this week who loves musicals and who will never like me back” when there is no evidence to support that hypothesis. And yet, those are the things that end up happening. Which is how I know, have always known in fact, that this conversation with my mother would inevitably take place over the phone when I am unable to gauge her feelings by her body language, only her voice. Which of course makes having a difficult conversation that much more difficult. It is a sick kind of fatalism.

That’s right folks. My mother found my stash, and God, how I wish she had found a stash of heroine or pot or vodka. Anything but what she actually found, which was several drawers full of food wrappers and remnants. She called me yesterday with that serious “We need to talk” sound in her voice that always bodes ill and I knew, before she even told me the reason for her call, exactly why she was calling. I felt it in my gut, a feeling so overwhelmingly visceral that I wanted to throw up right then and there. Then of course, she actually told me what she wanted to talk about. She had gone into my room to get some mail or whatever while I have been staying at my dad’s house. She moved my desk to get something behind it and my drawers slid open because they’re always doing that, blah blah blah. The rest you can figure out. I knew this conversation would take place on the phone because I knew there would come a day when I wouldn’t have time to clean out my drawers, go through the tiresome process of gathering all the evidence into a white trash bag and taking it out to the garbage while my mother is at work or asleep, and then go to my dad’s house for a few days. I knew at some point, my mom would need to get something from my room or she would need to leave some mail on my desk for me, or maybe she would just get curious. She would open up my drawers or they would slide open accidentally. Either way, that day would come when she would see what I had left behind. And this would of course take place while I was out with friends or at my dad’s, meaning that she would inevitably call me to have this talk.

Like any addict, the worst thing that can happen to you is to be found out. Except that this is not the first time I’ve been found out. The first time, I willingly told my mother because I wanted help. It was right after I figured out that I am suffering from a kind of disordered eating. Back then, though I didn’t know it yet, I was only in the beginning stages of my journey, or rather, my descent. You see, when I told my mom that very first time, after rehearsing it with my best friend, I thought I was at the end. I thought it had gotten as bad as it would get. But that was only the beginning. She found me a therapist whom I stopped seeing after 5 months. We had the conversation a second time a year later when I asked to see the therapist again. I stopped seeing her after 2 months this time. And we had this conversation one more time, when she asked me why there were credit card charges at McDonald’s and why I would take out money from ATMs at odd hours or odd places. And once again, I had to explain to her that I have an eating disorder, that it doesn’t just go away, that just because she doesn’t see me destroying myself doesn’t mean I’m not. It’s like after we have these conversations, she just forgets. You know how I know this? She always says the same thing: Shira, I want to know what’s going on with you. She says this in a tender, motherly, concerned way, which always makes it 10 times worse because it makes me feel guilty for distressing her. I don’t know how and I certainly don’t know why, but my mother makes it impossible for me to tell her the truth when we talk about this. At least, the whole truth. I can tell her snippets of the truth, but not the whole honest-to-God truth. So this time I told her part of the truth. The good part. And here is this particular snippet of truth: I’m having a good week. I mean, a really good week. This week, I found the strength (and I mean full-on Odyssean/Herculean strength) to be kind to my body. I told myself on Monday that on Tuesday, I’m quitting cold turkey. That I will not, under any circumstance, eat to fill a void or relieve stress. I will not leave the house to buy a treat (or several) at the convenience store. I will not waste my mother’s hard-earned money on food products that will only hurt me, rather than help me. And I said that I would set a reminder to myself a week from Tuesday (because it is a proven fact that the first 7 days of quitting an addiction cold turkey are the absolute hardest) to congratulate myself for making it through the worst week. And you know what? Today is Sunday. It has been 6 days since I made that promise to myself. And I’m doing great. I have been on vacation from school for a few days now. Vacation is always the worst time for me. Too much free time, too much free brain space. I usually fill that free time and space with food. It’s a very time consuming process, getting money, going to the store, picking out exactly the right combination of food, paying for it, bringing it home, sorting it out into food that needs to be cooked (AKA microwaved), food that needs to be hidden in the freezer, food that needs to be eaten so it doesn’t go bad, and the food that will last me for days as long as I wrap it up in my drawers. Then of course I have to eat that food. Then eventually dispose of it. Are you starting to see why this process takes so long? It’s a great activity for vacation, “great” being a relative term. The significance of all this is that I have been on vacation for 4 days now. 4 whole days, the most dangerous days for me. Days when I have an abundance of free time, cash in my wallet, and of course the omnipresent freedom that my parents give me because I’m generally a good kid. But in those 4 days, not a single binge has occurred. This triumph might have been assisted by a record-setting blizzard that happened to keep me locked up in my house for around 36 hours, but still, when one is determined to binge, one will always find a way. Of course, I’ve thought of a million ways to binge. But I haven’t. And that makes for a good week. A very good week.

I don’t know where I’m going to go from here. I’m not sure if that’s something I should figure out or if I should just let the chips fall where they may. This was not intended to be a hopeful blog post. Blog posts usually fall into two categories: Tragic rants/reflections (my drug of choice) or “A New Hope” (not usually my preference. Tragedy is so much more entertaining). This blog post seems to have synthesized the two. I began writing this Odyssey of a post in order to make sense of my feelings about my mother (God, Freud would have a field day if he were given the opportunity to analyze Tumblr) and it seems to have morphed into something much more productive than that. I seem to have failed at writing the Poor Me/I Hate My Mother blog post that this was intended to be, most likely for these two reasons:

a) I find self-pity to be a waste of time and

b) I don’t hate my mother. Not even close. As much as I make my mom out to be a villain, she’s not, nor has she ever come close. As far as moms go- hell, as far as people go, my mom is about as good as they get. She’s strong and intelligent, resilient, funny, sharp, warm, genuine, and dead clever. She has an unlimited store of love in her heart and she is never sparing when it comes to the dispensing of that love to her children. But she’s my mom. And what kind of a teenager would I be if I didn’t complain about my mother? Moreover, what kind of a daughter would I be if I didn’t recognize that my mom will always do things that piss me off and that I will always do things that piss her off, and that we will sit and stew in our mutual pissiness until we remember just how much we love and need each other?

In order to give credit where credit is due, I’m posting a link to what I believe I can call “my savior.” Please take a look at Superbetter.com and consider signing up. It really will, as it claims to do, give you the power and resilience to quit anything. And if you still don’t believe me, watch this TED Talk. You will not regret it.

This I Believe

Sat, 09 Feb 2013 22:45:30 -0500

This I Believe

Photo

Sat, 19 Jan 2013 16:36:47 -0500

Photo

Thu, 17 Jan 2013 11:36:46 -0500

There is no point to this post.

Mon, 14 Jan 2013 21:29:01 -0500

There have been times when I have considered trying an inpatient treatment facility for binge eating disorder. I wasn’t aware they even existed until I read a book recently called Food: The Good Girl’s Drug, by Sunny Sea Gold. I always kind of assumed that there were only treatment centers for anorexia and bulimia, but not for BED because BED isn’t “serious” enough, even though it is by far the most common eating disorders. I did some research tonight because I had some extra time and brain space and looked up residential treatment programs in my area. Turns out there are a few, but then I thought about actually physically going to one, for a week or a month or whatever. And the first thing I thought was, “It would kill my mother.” It actually would. I can see her die a little bit every time she knows I’m in my room binging. I can see her face fall and it hurts me but I can’t stop.

Things parents forget to tell their children:

Thu, 10 Jan 2013 20:25:51 -0500

Things parents forget to tell their children::

Bodies are hairy. No matter the gender, your face will have hair and that is more than okay.

Your butthole is going to have some hair too. And maybe your nipples. And your tummy. And where ever else.

Stretch marks. Those are a thing. Everyone gets ‘em. If you don’t, you probably don’t have skin.

Vaginas smell. Every vagina has a scent. Don’t worry about it! (Unless something seems wrong, then go get it checked out! No need to feel embarrassed or ashamed.)

Vaginas come in all different shapes, sizes, colors, flavors. All are beautiful.

Penises come in all different shapes, sizes, colors, flavors. All are beautiful.

You don’t need to shave anything if you don’t want to. It’s tooootally not mandatory.

Sometimes people get butt acne.

You can have a vagina and want short hair and think dresses are just the worst.

You can have a penis and want long hair and think dresses are just the best.

You can wear whatever you want and style your hair however you want.

You can even think whatever the hell you want.

People might tell you that you are a girl because you have a vagina. People might tell you that you are a boy because you have a penis. People will tell you what your gender is. But in reality, you don’t have to be that gender. You don’t have to be either of those genders.

You are what you are and it’s just the worst thing if you try and hide that.

Doctors: Anorexia is an epidemic, people need to eat.

Mon, 07 Jan 2013 22:52:59 -0500

Doctors: Anorexia is an epidemic, people need to eat.
Doctors: Obesity is an epidemic, people eat too much.
Society: People have unhealthy body images, accept your body the way it is!
Society: People should be more concerend about their health, exercise & eat right!
Media: Celebrities are way too skinny, they are setting a bad example for young girls.
Media: This singer gained 20 pounds, she must be really unhappy.
People: Being too skinny is gross, real women have curves.
People: Eww, fat rolls.
Friends: You're so pretty, you're not fat.
Friends: Eww I'm so gross, I need to lose weight.
Family: Don't starve yourself, eat. It's not that hard.
Family: You ate all of this for breakfast? What is wrong with you?
And people wonder why we have such distorted body images.

Photo

Wed, 26 Dec 2012 08:01:59 -0500

News!

Sun, 23 Dec 2012 00:07:00 -0500

I just started a new Tumblog on a very specific topic: Weird things I’ve done as a result of my eating disorder.

http://abundanceofsomedays.tumblr.com/

Please feel free to follow, like, and post!

This is a very sensitive and important topic for me, but I feel like there are a lot of people who have the same struggles as me and I want them to know that we have all done weird things. This is my way of saying that no one is alone in this.

Check it out!

Photo

Sat, 22 Dec 2012 23:51:30 -0500

Photo

Sat, 22 Dec 2012 23:42:49 -0500

Photo

Sat, 22 Dec 2012 23:39:40 -0500