No creative title needed for this - life just sucks right now. Blah, blah, blah...

Life is hard. And you know, there's nothing worse than being severely depressed, and trying to get out of an eating disorder. Especially when I can't relieve myself with a thrash at my tender flesh. Ugh...

Oh well. I'm now on the road to recovery. It's going to be difficult. It IS difficult, but I have to keep pushing on, because if I don't...Anna will win. And as I think we all know, that my friends, will never happen. I'm going to bitch slap the little tranny look-a-like, and if that doesn't work? I'll just kick her in the balls. Oh wait, did I say balls? Oops, I forgot she wasn't a TRANNY. My bad.

For every negative, there's a positive somewhere. You just have to open your eyes, and want to see it

Last night, I had time to reflect on my life. On the good parts, and horrid parts, and you know...I discovered something. Something that I think will really help me through this hard time.

The title of this post, is what I discovered while reflecting. I thought to myself: "For every negative, there's a positive somewhere. You just have to open your eyes, and want to see it." And so that is what I did last night. I looked at all the negatives in my life, and found positives. Also, I thought about the saying "All things happen for a reason". I firmly believe that...still. Even though there is so much shitty stuff that has happened in my life, I believe it has all happened for a reason.

The first - my dad dying. I have no idea why his life was taken so suddenly, when he still had the rest of his life to live, and look forward to. But, I still believe it happened for a reason, as terrible as it is. And I also searched, and searched, and found some positives that came out of this horrid, horrid negative. One positive being the new-found freedom me, and my mum and Summer have. Used to, we'd have to rush through everything fun we'd do together in the daytime, because my mum would have to be home to cook dinner for him and such. Life was always rushed when my dad was around, and that really got me frustrated, because it felt like I never got to really spend time with my mum, and tell her stuff. We were all always so rushed...and so the positive out of his death, is that we have a pretty damn leisurely life now. And now, we can literally just spontaneously do stuff, and not have to worry, or rush.

Although I think you all know that as much as I love the non-rushed life-style, I miss my dad a lot. And I would give it all up in a heart beat, if that meant him being here.

But anyway, that's one situation I thought through, and found at least one positive.

Another - my anorexia. I often wonder why in hell I developed such a horrid thing. I get angry, and frustrated, and say: "Why me? Why? Seriously?"...but then I think, like I did last night. And this negative - this life affecting negative...well, it has a positive. And a bloody good one. You see, before all this started, I didn't care. I didn't care about exercising much, and I didn't really care about what I ate. Granted, I never gained any weight, or looked fat, I still wasn't healthy though. I never really exercised. I danced a bit, and ran a bit, but not enough. But you know what? Now, I exercise every single day. One and a half to two hours a day - whether I'm tired, in pain, hungry, feeling sick...I'll do it. Sometimes I over work it, but that's okay. I look at my uber fit body now, and that's all I need to see to know that over-working it sometimes, is not so bad. And without this disease, and the need to exercise and burn calories, I would have never become fit, and look better than I did before! So there's the positive. And it's an excellent one, because I'm generally very happy with the way I look...when Anna isn't being a bitch, or course.

So that's what I did last night though...I reflected, and found positives. And also found a good way to deal with the numbers on the scale. Everything I've gained since eating, has ALL been muscle - no fat. So I shouldn't be freaked out by the numbers on the scale anyway, right? If I know it isn't fat. Well, Anna doesn't agree. BUT. I have to remember my new coping device. I have to think of it as gaining muscle, rather than gaining weight. Because it is gaining muscle. Every time there is a higher number on the scale, it's because I've built more muscle. I just have to remember that, and I'll be okay.

But anyway, so yes, that is what I did. I reflected, found lots of positives, and have the beginnings of a new, healthier outlook on life. I'm on my way to getting better, and I won't stop until I've gotten completely well.

I won't give up, and I won't give in. So suck it, Anna. Go fuck yourself honey.

The path of darkness stops, and comes to a dead end. Should I turn back, or just end it now with a step off this beautiful cliff?...

Do you ever get those times where you wonder if your life is even worth living? Yeah, well I get those times everyday. And it's all because of goddamn Anna.

I've gotten to the point where I am so fed up, that I wonder if life is even worth it anymore. I can't tell her to "Fuck off" or "Go away", because it doesn't work. She doesn't fuck off, or go away. She gets angry, and sometimes it scares me, but then other times I just kind of try and make her think I'm going to do things her way, and she calms down.

People think I'm better - they think I'm healthy, and that I look good. But that's only what they see. I'm not in any way shape or form better, yet. I still constantly worry about gaining weight, and calories, and burning them all off. And I miss it sometimes...the feel of my prominent hip bones, and rib cage, and spine. How thin my arms and legs were. And I can't even believe the change in my body, with only one pound in weight gain. And it's muscle, not fat. But I look so different. And most times...I like it, but only my abs. I'm so proud of them. But the rest of my body, I hate. I think my face is fat and my arms are fat, and my legs...these thoughts go through my mind CONSTANTLY. All day. Everyday. Calories, burning calories, how fat I look, wishing I could go back to starving. It's not over, and I can't believe I was so stupid to think it might automatically disappear as soon as I started eating again.

Every night before bed I start planning my meals, and counting calories already. And there have even been a few nights where I've tried to tell myself that starving is okay, and I can go back to it, because I can pull it off, and I've proven to myself that I am not dependent on food. I've said these things out loud over and over again before bed. Not many times, just a few. Now, of course it didn't work, but I had to try it. Because I missed it. I miss it. Still.

And what scares me, is the fact that I don't even know if an E.D. doctor/therapist can help me. I'm obviously going to try the idea, but I just don't know. At this moment, I just don't know about life though. I try to ignore it all, and say I'm so happy. But deep down, when I think about it...I'm still not happy. Because I don't want to live my life this way. And currently, I don't want to live life in general.

The only sense of comfort I feel is when I lie down, and touch my ribs and hip bones. Because they feel like they did when I was starving. I don't want it to be like that. I don't want that to be my comfort. I'm ready to be better now.

My Daddy

Today, I thought I'd write just a few random bits about my dad. About how special he was, and caring, and loving. And overall - a great daddy.


He was so funny, and he told the best stories of anyone I know. He had such enthusiasm, and charisma that showed so much when he was telling them, and just being him, really. And he had such a hard childhood, yet spoke of his stories in such an...indescribable way, really. Not as if he was in pain about telling them, or sad. But as if he was just enjoying telling me and Summer so much. And I think he did. He literally told the same stories over and over, and we never got tired of them. It was like I was hearing them for the first time, every time he told them. I loved to hear his silly laughter when he'd tell of something funny - it just made everyone so happy. He definitely knew how to lighten up a room.

He loved to watch horror films. Some of my favourite memories of being with Daddy, are the times we watched horror films together - particularly the Halloween films. He loved those. We would watch two or three in a row, and crack up laughing when Micheal Myers would chop a head off - or we'd start yelling at the television when the characters were being dumbarses. And he'd always say things like: "Now look at that white chick runnin', if that was a black girl you'd only be seein' dust right now! She'd be going so fast...But that girl is falling, and acting all stupid!". And then he'd pretend to be the stupid girl: "Oh! Micheal Myers is coming to chop off my head! Save me, save me! Ohhhh!". He always knew how to make anything funny. A moment so dark and gruesome, he could turn it into the funniest thing alive.

He genuinely cared for everyone. He'd do things like, stop at the entrance of our neighbourhood, just to help some random person fix their flat tire or something. He was always helping anyone in need of help, and he truly loved to do it. He wasn't forced, he didn't think it was something he HAD to do, he just did it. He did it because he cared, and because he loved to help others. I think he was a pretty selfless person though.

When me and Summer were really little, he used to play Barbie dolls with us. We'd sit upstairs in the hallway, and just play dolls with him for an hour or so, whenever he was home. And the funny thing is, is that although he preferred being the man doll, he would occasionally be the girl. And again, make us crack up laughing doing it. He'd use a high pitched voice, and say lots of silly things. And also the times when he wanted to watch television, but also wanted to make me and Summer happy, and play with us, he would do both. We would all sit in front of the TV, and he would literally just be holding the doll up, while engaged in a show, and I thought it was the best thing in the world, still. He wouldn't even have to say anything, it was just the fact he was still playing with us. Even if it was just holding a doll sometimes, it meant something.

He loved Country music. Of all the music out there, Country was his favourite. All though Jazz came close. That was just one of the many wonderful and original things about my dad though. I mean, come on, how many Black men do you know, that love Country music? None - unless you knew my dad. He was always talking about how he loved that every song told a story. And he would call my mum almost everyday just wanting her to hear a song with lyrics he couldn't get out of his mind. That was another thing about him though - he was so passionate. Passionate about his family, friends, music, and even life itself.

He had the biggest heart of anyone I know. And I think it will be like that always. Then, now, and forever. Daddy was truly one of a kind. He was so incredibly special, that no one on this earth could ever take his place, or even compare. He was a great dad, and over all, a great person in general. And I miss him so much.

Today is June the first. My daddy's birthday. And I feel like I am letting him down. This post has not at all been what I wanted it to be. I wanted it to be perfect - to tell you all everything about him. Everything I saw in him, and everything I know he was. I wanted to share things that even the people that knew him, never got to see. I wanted him to come alive through my words.

But then I have to realise...I can't describe my father in just one post. Or a few paragraphs, and certainly not with one word. He was so many things. Wonderful and sometimes, not so wonderful. But I can simply not do him justice with one post.

So I will take my time, describing and telling stories of my father. I will share every fantastic moment of my life spent with him, and through my words, he will be so alive, it will be as if he never really left. A part of him will always be with me, and I am going to do my best to share that part with everyone I shall meet.

I guess all I have to say now is...Daddy, I love you. More than you ever knew, probably. And I miss you every single day. I miss your laugh, your hugs, your Country singing, but most of all I just miss your presence. And wherever you are now, I hope you are happy. Just always know that I will miss you forever, and love you always. Happy birthday Daddy.

What is love?...

The question so often arises, yet no one can truly answer it in a "proper" way. Love is merely different to everyone. It effects each individual in an original and special way, so no one can truly answer that question "correctly". But I am here right now, to share my version of the feeling. And I know what you are all thinking "How the fuck can a fifteen year old give an opinion on love?". Well, it may seem crazy, but I have had my share of love already - despite my young age.

So today, I will share with you, how I would answer this popular question...

What is love? Love, to me, is so many things. And I'm talking about the special kind obviously - the kind of love you don't feel for your friends, or family members.

Love is when you think about that special person, and feel so overwhelmed with happiness and joy, and obviously love for them, that you can't even bear it. You just want to shout it right there, right then, that you love said person so incredibly much. And when they're not there with you, you want to text them, call them, something just to remind them of how much you truly love them.

Love is when you think of the future with the person you're in love with, and get excited, and ridiculously ready to just skip ahead, and start it. You don't get nervous, or scared, or anxious. You're just ready - ready for the day that marks the rest of your lives' together - to get to hold each other in bed each night, wake up next to the one you love each morning, and see their lovely face, comfort each other when you're at your worst, listen and understand each other, grow old together.

Love is when you realise kids aren't so bad after all - that you actually kind of want a couple of the little ankle biters yourself now, because it just feels so right, and so wonderful to think about.

Love is when everything becomes more enjoyable again - when you suddenly have a thirst for life, and a hunger for the days to come - when you become happier, and an overall better person, if you are in love with the right one.

Love is talking for hours about something completely silly, and not caring because you're just so happy to be with them - doing anything, or nothing at all, it doesn't matter. When you're with the one you love, it just doesn't matter what happens, or what you do. Because it simply isn't important.

Love is worrying about the other person when you're not with them, because you are terrified of losing them. Love is when you'd lay down your life for the other person, and not have a single doubt in mind.

Love is so many things, and I could sit here for hours listing my answer to this common question. All I know is, is that no matter if you are in your teens, or your twenties, or your thirties, forties, fifties, and so on - love is possible. Finding the one you want to be with for the rest of your life is possible, no matter if you are 16 or 60, it is real, and it is love. Now I won't say that all teenagers are really in love when they think they are, but some are. It is pretty rare, but it happens, and I know this.

So say what you may. I know I am young, I know I have not experienced quite a lot yet, but I have experienced this. And it is a feeling that I know won't go away, because I know my heart.


"If I lived for a million years, with illnesses coming and going, tragedy and pain, it would not matter. As long as I lived that million years, with you."

Trapped in hell with a beautiful illusion...

All I can say at this very moment, is...

Fighting Anna is not easy at all.

Consuming me like an unstoppable black hole, you,...have become my life

I find myself saying this a lot, but I really am sorry for the lack of updates. It's just, when I have stuff to write about, it's usually never good, and I have so much to say...it's just annoying. But I promise, I'll try and update you guys more often. Really.

Anyway, today I thought I'd write about anorexia. My mum is convinced I don't have it. Even though she had thought I did before, she says she doesn't now. Well, I agreed. But have now found my mind changing to disagreement. Why? Because I decided to really find out, and research it this morning. I looked at symptoms, signs, all of that. And guess what? I've got every bit of them. There was even something on the list that was so shocking, but explained so fucking much. I mean, god.

Okay, first, the shocking thing I found on the list that explains so much. I circled it on the list below:


I had no way of understanding my wish to cook for people all the time - find nice recipes and make them. Feed people. Look through cooking magazines/visit cooking sites. This explains so much, and I think it's so weird how it's tied to anorexia. How, it seems like, everything I do now, is tied to anorexia. I have every symptom/sign on that list. Which has now forced me to believe I am anorexic. I didn't think so before reading these, but now...I mean, if I wasn't anorexic, I wouldn't have all the symptoms.

I am eating three meals, but they are small. I can control my breakfast and lunch, so I try to eat as little as possible because I have no idea how much food I'll have to eat at night. I stay hungry - which to me, is fantastic. There have only been two nights that I ate so much I wasn't hungry anymore. And I was miserable. I cried, my stomach hurt...it was a feeling I never want again.

I am also still over-exercising. I look in the mirror so many times a day, that I can't even count anymore, and you know what I always see? Fat. Just fat. All the time. I'm never thin enough, I always see fat, and ugly. You can see my ribs, chest bones, collar bones, hip bones - you can feel all them, and you can feel my bum bone if I sit on your lap. I get told I look skeletal, and anorexic, and terrible, and too thin...yet all I see is fat. And how I'd look so much better if I ate a little less. But not being in control of dinner completely hinges that. So I simply do as much as I can before dinner time. Then I exercise dinner off afterwards. It's the only way I'll feel satisfied enough. Last night I went to bed hungry, and happy. I was ecstatic. I lay in bed at night and stroke my hip bones, feel my chest bones...I'm so warped. I know. But I just...I don't know.

All day today I've been having flash backs from when I was like 11, and how terrified I was of becoming anorexic then...and how that, one time, I looked in the mirror, and saw a morbidly obese me staring back.And then I cried. And also how I was so terrified, that I couldn't eat for a few days. I had practically stopped eating because I was so worried I'd become anorexic, that I felt sick, and couldn't eat! God. I have literally struggled with my weight and appearance ever since I was like, 9 years old. It just didn't get to this point until 14...which, thank god it didn't start any sooner.

Then I think about how disappointed my dad would be in me right now...every time I exercise, every time I feel that burn in my chest, a sign I can't take what I am doing, yet I still keep on going...I know he'd have had a fit seeing me looking like this if he was still here. He thought I was too thin before he died, and I was eating normally then. So imagine what he'd say now...he'd get pissed off, and probably blame my mum - which this is certainly not her fault.

I don't know, it's all just so hard. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm very happy at the moment, really, I am. It's just...tiring sometimes, ya know? It consumes my thoughts, my body, my day...anorexia has taken over me, and I love it. I allow it. I welcome it. It makes me happy to go to bed hungry, and to eat, then walk away knowing I'm still hungry. It also makes me happy to exercise so hard that I end up shaking afterwards, then knowing I'm just going to do more later. It fills me with joy to feel that burn in my legs when I walk up the stairs - that burn that makes me feel as if I will collapse right then and there. It lets me know that I am doing things right. Well, right in my distorted view of what's right. Others' would say it's sick, and wrong. I started worrying when I couldn't feel that burn anymore though. When I wasn't as in pain as I used to be when working out hard.

Ugh, I don't know. I'm so happy, but there is no doubt about it. No denying it. No covering it up anymore, because people can see me. I am anorexic, and it is my life. It has consumed me, and I'm happy about that. That sounds so wrong, but god it feels so right.