Monday, May 22, 2017

Day Whatever: I Don't Want To Write

So changing habits is apparently hard, uncomfortable, unnatural-did I mention hard? 
I don't want to write right now.
I don't want to write because that means I have to face the things I would much rather avoid with a drink after work or skipping the gym. But there's a little something pushing me to do so, and another little thing pushing me to delete this and continue to avoid.

Random things going through my head:

Weekends fuck my shit up. My gym is about 30 minutes away from my house so I keep telling myself I'll do an in-house workout, look for free yoga courses online or in an app, go on a hike. But what do I actually do? Sleep da fuck in, feel ashamed I slept in (whether I drank the night before or not), kind of doddle around all day until I say it's so nice out I want a margarita and then well you know the rest. Or I work, which takes out most of my A. time and B. energy. 

Monday is continuously the worst day for me. I cling to the relaxation, spontaneity of the weekend on Sunday night until 11:30 - midnight. Trying to avoid the responsibilities that come the next day, the responsibilites I especially don't want to own up to because I "fucked up all weekend." And have to make up for everything. I'm unmotivated, tired, grumpy. Really I feel like my work week doesn't actually start until Tuesday. Monday is usually when I have a resolve to "never" drink, eat, skip a workout, get behind on work, whatever again. 


I feel afraid to go to the gym. That doesn't quite capture it but it's something like a fear. I just really don't want to go but I can't tell you why. It's like being there sounds awful to me and I'd rather just run home and "clean my house" "unpack my boxes" "make a goals list" AKA go home and eat then lay down and watch Netflix with my cat. I know the things I could do to push me to go:

  • Putting my gym clothes on
  • Think about my friends that already went to the gym / will go (I get a weird jealous competitive thing from that, it's stupid but it gets me to go)
  • Remembering how I've never said I really wish I hadn't done that after I go to the gym
  • Remembering that I worked really fucking hard to break my silence and ask for help from you guys and how the more I make this a habit the easier it'll get
  • Sometimes thinking about how uncomfortable in my body I am helps, but right now I just don't care
  • Looking at fit girls on Pintrest / instagram or reading motivational quotes I've saved
  • Reminding myself that every decision I make can get me closer to my goals or further
  • Remembering how much happier I am when I go in general and especially when I go when I'm in a mood like this
I'm pretty black and white. I had decided before writing this that I wasn't going to the gym and I immediately went in search for the cookies that have been sitting out since Friday at work. I grabbed some pretzel chips I wasn't that hungry for. I started convincing myself that just one happy hour drink would be fine. 

Shame. I think it all just comes down to shame. I want to run away from the feelings that I have now, which I can't even really pinpoint. If it is a fear of going to the gym or what the lack of wanting to go even means. Even writing now I don't feel I've captured whatever is going on with me, but I know not knowing is pushing me to find something to make it go away. But most of my coping skills or quick fixes just feed my bad habits and will make it harder to go next time, and the next time. 

Social anxiety. I keep saying I'm lonely and I don't have a support system. Which is true-ish. However when I think about reaching out to those of who you have said you're there for me, there's more fear. I only feel really comfortable and like myself around about 3 people so I keep talking to them and hanging out with them. I guess I feel like I'm stuck in that department. Plus two of those people that I feel comfortable around don't even live here haha

So to keep in theme with my other posts...

Meal plan have so far stuck to. Lies. Damn it embarrassment. I purged the chips I grabbed. BUT other than that I have stuck to my plan and did avoid those cookies all damn day.

I really have no idea if I'll go to the gym. I DO need to clean my apartment and get on top of things. I guess that would be the compromise. I'd have to actually get on top of my shit at home if I skipped out. But making my space a home is definitely something that will help my overall well being and stop making me feel like I'm drowning. 

Okay I'm rambling. I'm out. Thanks for reading friends. 

Friday, May 19, 2017

Day 4: Stop The Bleeding

Welp, that was a good day of sticking to my goals (Tuesday). 

You all often compliment me on my ability to be honest and this post is harder to write than the others. Shame weighs heavy on me right now and it's hard to keep my head up.

Wednesday went really fucking well. Writing in here and receiving an overwhelming amount of support from you all had me pushing myself and feeling good. 

Warm-up 10 minutes
Arm day
Stairmaster (shit owns me) 5 minutes

No overeating no under eating, less snacking


I got home from therapy feeling good, exhausted, but good. I had planned to meet my friend and watch a show. No drinking just relaxing while I did laundry. Well those plans changed into his roommate and his girlfriend (who I'm intimidated by and don't really connect with) coming over and drinking. 

Before I left I grabbed a seltzer water to help deter my urge to drink. I stared at my laptop a couple of times wanting to open it and write in here. But I told myself that would be something to look forward to when I got home. 

Well that never happened. A night in turned into a night out and me missing work the next morning. Again. It's not that I didn't try though. I reached out for help, I kept drinking water, I set a time to go home...but when I put myself in such an environment (where I feel uncomfortable, when I'm tired, when there's booze) it's harder to succeed.

Yesterday after missing the morning I had no choice but to go into work with a headache so bad I couldn't keep food down (no this was not a hangover, I actually did well with moderation--better than normal). 

The looks I got or lack thereof from my manager coupled with short emails had me hanging my head in shame and the anxiety took over. I literally was unable to look anyone in the eye. Shaking in meetings trying to focus and not get sick. "You're going to get fired." Repeating in my head while trying to write.

I made it through the day and got work done. It's probably obvious but I did not go to the gym, I did not check in with anyone due to shame, frustration with myself.

But what I did do was not make my situation worse. 

I still can't believe I came into work with such a headache.
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to binge (since I'd be purging anyway, yes that's a thing for me, I know it makes no sense).
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to not eat.
I didn't use my state to go get happy hour right after work. Oh but I tried. I took the fact that no one was able to meet as a sign and to deter the impulsive urge to go continue to hurt myself. 
I ate when I got home, I got on my sweats, did some chores and went to bed.

I'm trying to calm the waves of anxiety about being fired or put on probation for missing work again. I'm trying to keep my head up (literally) instead of down. 

On my way in this morning I started to rip myself apart. Mad that my happy playlist wasn't doing shit for my mood and that my attempts at looking at the positive weren't sticking. I said to myself something along the lines of:

Today can go two ways, you can keep punishing yourself or you can give yourself grace. And if giving yourself grace doesn't want to stick you can at least be WILLING to TRY to give yourself grace. You are NOT a bad person for missing work, for messing up again. Your demons do not define you, how you deal with them does. And today dude you're going work, you're going to work hard, you're going to not hide in shame but do the things that will stop the bleeding

You have a choice right now, to continue the negativity, the depression, the shame which will lead to another night like Wednesday or you can believe that this was just a bump in the road and not something that derailed you.

I can't tell you guys how many times I've picked myself up and sometimes especially lately it seems pointless as I keep falling down. There's always something going on with me, always an issue, an excuse, something that causes me to spiral and I'm sick of it. However that's how it's always going to be, but the difference is how I start to handle those things that could derail me. And I believe that how I'm acting now, the mindset, and the actions I'm taking are going to get me to a place where nights like Wednesday will just be a painful memory.

Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Day 1: I'm Not Happy And I Don't Remember How To Be

Okay super depressing title, and I swear I won't always be like this (friend's comment pops up in my head that there's nothing wrong with being sad) but the title of this post is what ran through my head today and hasn't left.

It was only after a workout fueled by self-hate that I was able to get to a place where I could cry. One of my oldest friends texted me after reading my post and I couldn't get through the first text without crying. Good thing I was headed to therapy. His text was full of grace, compassion, understanding-three things I have realized I've not given myself.

It's no secret that negative reinforcement is shit, and will send your kids to therapy folks but it's my default method of motivation. At least it got me to go to the gym today. I showed up angry, anxious short on time because I was finishing up deadlines at my other jobs. I hated everyone on their squeaky machines, the jerk face yoga pants Facetiming her mom right next to me, and the men grunting and dropping weights.

But I did it. I finally broke my workout dry spell.


-20 minutes HIT
-leg day
-finished with Stair Master, stretching and blow drying the sweat in my hair so I can look like a normal person (fixing my hair did not take away from my bright red face)

During my workout I thought about this post. It's funny that when I start writing again I start thinking in blog post. I zillion quotes came up from my many Pintrest excursions (Be you own best friend, sweat is fat crying, every squat counts). I processed my anger, felt more anger, was on the verge of crying at one point, thought about what I have to do, what I didn't do, people who are mean to me, people who I want to be friends with, how much I wish I had started working out earlier, that I hadn't eaten that thing, that that woman's shoes are untied, and that dude smells. I was all over the fucking map, but my God it felt good.

It was like all the feelings I'm running from my bingeing and drinking came to the surface but didn't kill me. And on top of that I got a good workout in despite the squat racks were taken for most of the time (curses). And at the end of it, I even literally looked at myself in the mirror and said "Good job dude."

That little bit of forgiveness, of grace, of recognition felt like the hope I've been missing for a long time.


I did well today with food. I did not overeat or under eat. I made a very big effort to not eat emotionally or put myself in a place to risk a binge. I snacked a bit much when I got home which I'm working on combating with a sparkling water as I've noticed that when I snack I feel overly full after eating dinner too (imagine that) and that pushes me to purge.


  • Writing in here, TWICE
  • Going to the gym
  • Not drinking
  • Not bingeing or purging
  • Going to bed on time (my terrible Instagram / Pintrest before bedtime habit allowing)
  • Asking for help
The amount of support, love and reminders of that support and love I've received already is overwhelming but much needed. I have not felt this alone, even when I first moved here and to be reminded that my mind can play tricks and maybe I'm not that awful or fucked up is incredibly awesome.

The Beginning: Fat Pants Aren't Cutting It Anymore

As someone in recovery from an eating disorder I have never really had problems losing weight until now. I have been thinking about writing this for the past week and am finally saying fuck you to my embarrassment, insecurities, and other really great traits I possess and doing it.

I am finding that it's really hard (like REALLY HARD) to get back into shape and to stop my bad habits like drinking / bingeing and purging / staying up all night when I'm depressed. And welp folks I'm depressed.

Anxiety, now that's a real personal trainer. She helps me miss meals, feel like I'm going to explode if I don't get away from my desk and go to the gym at lunch, wake up with a jolt in the morning to do my yoga, constant panic running through my veins all day. But now that I'm rather numb to life I can't "cheat" on my weight loss / fitness / health goals anymore (which I mean is probably a good thing).

I have never had such a problem getting out of bed. I sleep on my lunches in my car. And either avoid my feelings with habits that are not only unhealthy but also deter me from being able to workout the next day or give me normal hunger cues. When I blog and pour out all the ugliness (or beauty for you positive humans) that is me and my vices and my thoughts on this little guy I not only get a support system, I have to deal with the shit that's in my head and causing me to continue downward.

So here we fucking go. Why the fuck am I sweating so much right now? I'm fighting urges to just delete this. This blog has been such a blessing and a burden. I feel like old me, mostly pre Portland me, was such a great writer. It's like I set the expectations way too high and now I'm over here producing Bring It On Again level writing.

The amount of times I have tried to go low carb, no dairy, no booze, no eating (not really), no bingeing / purging and failed is what is killing me. I see old Facebook memories of me this time last year when I was in the best shape of my life and I get so ashamed. What the fuck is wrong with me? How come I can't get back to her? Why isn't it sticking this time? It's so simple just don't drink, just get off your ass and go to the gym, just don't go to the Mc Donald's so unfuckingly conveneiently located down the street from my house after a night of drinking.
With every failure comes more shame, which I know in my right mind only triggers more poor behaviors. I know that the black and white of failure and success and the desire to be perfect perpetuates my poor coping skills. But my God it feels so good to tear myself apart. I live in my 'fat clothes', when I cave and drink I drink more in a way of punishing myself, and I tell myself those fateful words: I'll start tomorrow. Well tomorrow was two months ago darling.

Today is my tomorrow.

It should also be noted that I know it's not necessarily willpower entirely that I lack, it's my lifestyle as a whole. My struggle makes sense. 

  • I moved out of a house that was incredibly unhealthy for me but in doing so I cut ties with people I considered family.
  • I have stopped going out to the clubs and lost my identity and with that a ton of people I considered my friends, even if it was only on a surface level. Not going to clubs also means I've stopped dancing which has always been such a powerful outlet for me. 
  • I'm on my own again, which while good, also gives me more of an opportunity to hide in my bad habits.
  • I'm finding it incredibly hard to make friends at 29. I reach out to those who I have some connections with mostly lackluster responses leaving me to want to recluse even more. 
  • Since I have not found something to replace the drinking or something as "satisfactory" as bingeing and purging I will continue to use those coping skills. I DO recognize that exercise helps me feel much better than either of those things but those other coping skills are more quick fixes versus exercise. 
  • Lastly, my job underpays me so much so that I work 3 other jobs and am so exhausted from pushing myself so hard that exercise has taken a back seat. My fitness goals and a new job are equally as important as the other, but I need more support with my health. 

So the point of this, is I'm going to commit to writing every day about my food, exercise, mental challenges (or well a summary I mean this isn't a novel and my crazy little self could fill a book) as well as successes until Paradiso.

I'm not sure how I'll structure this entirely and it'll be a work in progress so bear with me.
Here's to the preface to day 1. (fuck now I really can't skip the gym after work or eat all the chocolate in my desk).

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

Reconnected, Rejuvenated, Ratchet.

I blink through tears my eyes absorbing the colors in the rainbow rug that my therapist undoubtedly got as a gift from one of her other clients. "Fuck my mascara is running" I think to myself. "I'm a really pretty crier," I say to my 4'' therapy teddy bear, Teddy.  He doesn't reply. 

I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Me talking to a bear, me worried about my fucking makeup in therapy, me unable to process my feelings-you know the normal shit that makes a normal person laugh.I felt like I was back in time yesterday during my session, old Kris came out, that means shit is really getting bad. I was sassy AF to my therapist, swearing, lashing out at her. Her and her calm fucking voice that I interpret as condescending when really “she’s just trying to help but you won’t let me.” I scoff as I write that, I swear sometimes it is her fault, not mine.

I have been spiraling downward, like it actually feels like I’m spinning, digging, constantly moving steadily down. And it seems as though I can’t come out. That life is too much and I’m too messed up and I don’t know which end is up or where I started.

I call my therapist back in (I demanded she go outside so she couldn’t hear my crying, laughing sobs—talk about embarrassing). My arms held tightly around my body, jaw clenched, makeup close to fixed (thank God for cell phone cameras). “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I want to feel better. I don’t know how.”

She, per usual, gives me some abstract answer which I’m sure if I wasn’t swollen with tears and a sore throat (I’ve been bingeing and purging again) I would actually not only hear but understand. I do neither.

I ask to leave early, I just want to go. Where I do not know, but because my makeup is fucked I guess I can’t go drink and I am trying to stay sober on weekdays anyway. Off I go, wishing I still lived across the street from her office.

And I binge and purge when I get home despite every belief eating was a good idea. And I crawl into bed and I take a sleeping pill and I pray that I wake up a different person the next day.

That didn’t really happen, but something else did. And now I’m crying at work because that’s when you’re supposed to write really emotional blogs about feelings and bulimia and depression and anxiety and crying. I’m crying because my heart has hope again, and I feel as though I’ve gotten enough to stop digging.I have been cutting out people I believe are not good for me, I’ve been swearing off all electronic venues, and been feeling incredibly jaded toward the electronic music world that once gave me a second chance at life. 

But I’m realizing it isn’t the EDM world that’s the problem, it’s those I surround myself with, the lessons I want to take from those experiences, and the venues in which I choose to experience these uh experiences in.What I’m getting at is I was over all the fucked up people in the club I frequent, I was over taking care of them, I was over not being able to dance, I was over the fact that this thing called PLURR is no longer even mentioned in said clubs. I guess that’s just it, they became clubs versus raves. There was no more peace, love, unity, respect or responsibility. And THAT was what got me started on this in the first place—an inclination that the world wasn’t as mean as I thought it was.

Because things have been so hard lately at home, at work, personally I needed an out so I decided to go to Bass Academy. I was going to get on those extra tickets released at noon, pay money I didn’t have, to have an experience  that would hopefully be priceless when it came to my sanity, happiness and hope.

And then—fucking tears—my prayers for help and hope were answered by a friend who I’ve known most of my life. You wouldn’t know it because we don’t speak that often, but he gives me a calm, a reassurance and a confidence I don’t feel in people that I talk to everyday.

And this human gives me a ticket. And along with this ticket comes more than admittance, with it it gives me something to motivate me to take care of myself the rest of the week and not purge. With it gives me a reminder that I don’t have to constantly protect myself, that you can give selflessly and always have enough. With it gives me faith that PLURR is still out there and something I can / need to strive for in myself. Basically, he gave me something to live for when I didn’t want to wake up this morning.

With something as simple as a ticket to a show I have drive, excitement, and most importantly hope. You never know how your words or actions can affect people. Yesterday I was asked why don't I write anymore and didn't it feel good to have just one person say you helped me today? And I had belittled the power honesty and openness could give someone else. If it weren't for those around me reaching out and offering help I wouldn't be able to have the guts to write again, and to hopefully help someone else. 

I am starting to go in circles, but basically I feel reconnected to the universe. I feel reconnected to myself. And to you. 

Wednesday, January 18, 2017

You Are Nothing To Me

How would it feel to be loved?
To be unconditionally free?
To be accepted as you are.
To be you in your normalcy?

How would it feel if you didn't have to pretend, hide, escape
To run from who you really are
To fix a mess you didn't make?

How would it feel to be loved?
To not be you anymore?
To be someone better?
Who hoped for more?

How would it feel if you didn't have to psych yourself up.
To try to forget the pain, isolation, the secrets you've kept.
If only reality could be as real as you could be
If only you could stand the possibility of who you can be

321 self destruct
I wish my mind wouldn't but it'll concave
Implode on itself
Miss can you pleases behave?

I face myself, put my hands on her shoulders
If  i didn't know better girl you're getting older
older isn't wiser it's more years spent
trying to be that person you always were meant

Failing, hurting, spinning
I can't be here anymore, the depression is winning
I know I'm meant for more and yet I'm stagnant
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Fucking blinded

The consistency the persistency of the words on my lips
Is the only thing that's consistent

What if I released those words
And just wrote, felt and hoped
And said fuck the lyrics and the poetry
And just screamed at you what I'm actually feeling
How i can't stand to be myself but  now is when I need me more than anyone else
And so I'm hiding this, me, I'm holding me
I'm so blinded with pain i can't see what's right from wrong

Write from wrong
What do you know anyway
Who are you to say that this is me and how i should be
You never put in the work anyway

And everybody hurts and screams
And feels there's no one by their side
But if they'd only look past my blood shot eyes
They'd realize there's me inside

And I don't know who me is and
I can't see who I could be but
Maybe she'll be better than you
And she'll realize
That her family isn't family
And her friends are fake
and her ex fucked that bitch on your first date

And your gut was right but it brings no peace
I told you so lingers on my lips
But there's no one to hear me say it
He, they quit a long time ago

But fuck that maybe I'm doing great
And maybe all this shit will build me up
Breaking is not an option anymore
When we break we burst
And all I can see is what's right in you and wrong in me

And people that can't handle themselves
or be themselves become their normality
and it's in you and it's in me and i can't see straight
there's so much fucked in my world
i have so much hate

how do talk about what shouldn't be mentioned
That the life you should have has was stolen from you
Alluding to the truth, tip toeing around the issue
Be quiet, behave

How to do you talk about the fact you never had a dad
All you wanted was a human to put you to bed at night
and wanted comfort and love and yet the house was saturated with hate
and it's not you it's them but it doesn't change your nightmares
that was your life
whether he stays or goes doesn't matter to me
because he never will be, never could be, always will be
Nothing to me
Except the force that made me

Tuesday, January 17, 2017


The depression has diminished, no vanished.
Anxiety takes flight and I'm remembering what it's like to be me.
My mind buzzing, my heart fleeting, my eyes are open but I can't see a fucking thing.

I have been struggling with depression off and on since this time last year.
Sinking lower, setting new standards for what normal is. A good day went from a day at the gym, time with friends, productive work day to just getting out of bed. And hit after hit came. Got dumped, lost my friends, broke my foot, broke my hand, crashed my car, sexual assaults, family problems that I can't even talk about.

I can't remember the last time I was truly happy.
And yet I don't give up. I know what giving up looks like.
It looks like drowning, digging, finding a new bottom to climb up from.
I think of the girl who killed it in treatment.
The girl who had dreams, ambitions, support where did she go?

How did I let it get this bad? How did I lose my drive, how did I lose me?

And yet it all makes sense. And grace flows through me and instead of anxiety all I see are tears. The fears are gone and I feel like I can finally see me.

I see a girl (do you say woman now at 29?) who has repeatedly been torn down, got back up only to be torn down again. I see someone who I just want to hold, to tell her it'll be okay. And that's all I want to believe is that this circle of depression / anxiety is not all my life is meant to be. To live not just survive.

And my brain is still pretty scattered right now, I feel like I'm floating (totally sober mind you), like I'm buzzing with hope, possibility, yet sadness and compassion. I'm all over the fucking map.

I have not written in a long time because nothing seemed good enough, or to even make sense. But it's one of my goals to write more because there's so much in me. And because this outlet gave me the most support that I desperately need right now.

When the anxiety comes back I get scared of it. I don't want to have days where I'm constantly-and I know I keep saying it-buzzing. Trying to do a million things at once and get nothing done creating more anxiety and yet I can't seem to just do one thing. My heart sinks right now as I realize I've spent my time writing this versus getting ready for my presentation in 11 minutes.

Failure. Failure. Failure. The word burrows into me and my shame consumes me. Not again, sometimes I really just don't want to be me.

But then when I embrace the beauty that is me, I feel so empowered. Timidly I reach for hope, for better, for positivity and it never burns me, rather it lifts me.

I keep deleting this copy for some reason, well fuck I know the reason, it's the same reason I always have: SHAME. Why am I so embarrassed to tell you my goals, or the things I've been doing well? Why is it so damn comfortable to tear myself apart rather than lift myself up?

Lately I've been really working on moderation, not going out.
I've been getting back in the gym.
I finally stopped being afraid to look like the person I want to (I got a back piece I've wanted for years, colored my hair silver and pierced my nose..I guess that'd look like acting out if I were 18 but I swear I feel more like myself than I have in a long time).
And I'm starting to reach out more to friends I didn't even realize I'd isolated from.
I'm writing "poetry" and "lyrics" basically just a mess of feelings that my friends are trying to turn into songs.
I've been killing it in my freelance jobs.
And I'm moving into a house with my best friends.

Like I said this post really has no point, it's just to start again. Begin again. Because if I don't start I don't think these feelings of shame, regret, and depression will ever stop.