Being a five year old, I knew more that I should’ve. I feared dying, I felt bad for people, I was angry, I considered killing my mom with a butter knife when she was asleep, I wouldn’t talk to anyone, but why? Being sexually abused by my neighbor made me fearful of existence. My older sister knew about it and deemed me as a bad person and I believed it. She held that over my head and called it “blueberry pie.” If I wasn’t being obedient to her, that was the secret that she was going to tell everyone. Eventually she stopped using it as I got bigger and a little meaner.
At 8 years old, I could finish a whole foot long from Subway. I would look in the mirror and be happy with what I saw. I thought I was pretty! My mom took us to a doctor appointment and under the doc’s breath, he mentioned “overweight.” I asked my mom what that meant? She replied with “fat.”
*After hearing her talk about my chunky cousin, Brittany and how bad of a person she must be because she was FAT, I was absolutely devastated!
“I’m fat, so that means I’m a bad person.”
How could this be? I mean, I think I’m pretty and I like me but mom must be right.
Fifth grade rolled around and so did I. I would walk down the hall, sucking my tummy in, thinking I was skinny.
Middle school came and I was fearful to eat in front of people. I would order 1 pizza stick and a water. Soon enough, it was just water.
My grandma mentioned one day about how thin I was as I was running down the stairs to say hi to her and I felt ecstatic that someone noticed. “This must mean I’m a good person now…” I thought to myself.
I had on and off bouts of anorexia throughout middle school, with the occasional friend drama. You know, doing everything for them to make them happy yet nothing was ever enough. I was kicked out of our group when I got my first kiss at a football game. Called a slut and prank called a lot. I was just trying to fit in with them, but the harder I tried, the worse it got.
Oh high school… party, party, party! That was my freshman year. Up until March 3, 2007. I looked at a picture of myself and saw how fat I was. I was nearly 150lbs and 5’1”. That was def not okay with me. After my sister’s birthday dinner at Chili’s, I came to the realization that I could just throw up this food and not gain weight. This was a definite win for me because I looooooved eating.
3 months into it, every day, at least 3 times a day, I knew I couldn’t stop.
There were actual support groups for bulimia and anorexia. Can you believe this?
I got very good at hiding it all. People questioned how I lost the weight. I was down to 110 lbs.
High school went on and I didn’t learn much because all I really cared about was being pretty and popular. I was given answers to everything so why try?
I got extremely drunk one night at a trailer house party and remember glimpses of being raped by Scott Harris and Zach Havens. I don’t know how I drove home that night yet somehow I made it.
Junior year I got involved with the captain of the football team. We were obsessed with one another… not in the good way either. We both had our issues and it clearly showed, everyone knew we were trouble. This continued on outside of high school and I started college and moved out with two of my best friends.
After a couple of weeks of being extremely emotional and nauseous, I ended up sitting backwards on my toilet, I stared at the flashing screen of the pee stick which was ultimately going to make or break me. It stopped… so did I and I let out the biggest, deepest, pitiful cry and fell into my best friend’s arms.
My eggo was preggo…I told the boy that night and oddly enough, it was his birthday! He wasn’t having it and kept telling me that WE cannot do this.
I broke down, again, and told my dad about it. He was confused, very confused. And said, “well, your mom and I will support you. You’ll probably have to move home.”
I felt so relieved. I went to my first checkup alone, saw the little bean, and got a recording of the heart on a disk.
Shortly after, my parents got a divorce and my dad and I got in a physical fight resulting in the cops being called and didn’t talk to him for 6 months. He was my best friend before he became an alcoholic and addicted to pain meds.
I showed the boy that night and he wasn’t having it. Long story short, he trapped me in his house until I agreed to getting an abortion. The day came and we sat in the room with the aborting doc and he says, “is anyone making you do this against your will?” I’m thinking in my head, “yeah this motherfucker next to me.” But all I muttered was a simple, “no”. An hour later, walking around Cabela’s with a seaweed stick inserted into my cervix which was used for dilating, it was time. Hospital gown on and legs in stirrups, the doc warned me it was going to hurt. I saw this foot long hollow needle thing going toward my whispering eye and that right there was the most excruciating, heart wrenching physical pain I’ve ever felt. The deed was done. I thought I was dead. They made me wear a huge pad out of the clinic but silly me wore a thong. I looked at Blake and said, “give me your underwear.” He walked out wearing a thong for the first time in his life and I walked away in boxers, without my baby, and a hole in my heart.
Needless to say, we didn’t work out. It only took 7 years, one drunk night of mixing prescription meds, a punch to his face, and jumping out of a car going 30 to realize that.
“Wow, if this keeps going… I might kill him.”
I started going to the gym more and spending more time outdoors, little hikes, and running the canyon in 90 degree weather. I was feeling good. I got a job at Dutch Bros and it was a change of pace for me. People were upbeat and pleasant to be around. I gained a new bff and eventually she introduced me to Jake. Jake and I talked and opened up to one another and it felt like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Was this love? I mean, I don’t know what Love feels like but this felt pretty damn good. March 23, I went on a hike and felt as if I was in heaven. Not even joking, like if you could imagine dying and meeting God or whoever, that’s what it felt like. EVERYTHING was absolutely perfect. He was on his way home from working in Cali and I was at Macy’s, my 2nd job about to get off. We had agreed to meet up once he got back. It was 9pm and I hadn’t heard from him yet. I got off work and sarcastically asked, “are you alive?” I didn’t hear back from him and just assumed he went home and fell asleep.
The next day as I was putting my face on, nearly complete, I get a call from my bff. It was quiet at first and then she muttered, “Jake was in an accident last night.” I paused hoping for better news to follow. Then she says, “he didn’t make it. His truck landed on top of him.”If emotions were visible, you’d see mine shooting in every direction and piercing the walls as my heart felt like it just imploded on itself. This cannot be… this doesn’t happen. I cried hysterically on my way to work and of course they sent me home. I was in college at the time and told my professor about what had happened and he said, “if you need to leave, you can. The topic we’re covering today may be a little sensitive to you.” English teacher man was correct. Up on a slide show popped up a picture of a casket… that was it.
My nights consisted of working out and going to my mom’s empty apartment (she would stay at her boyfriend’s). I would binge on all of the food that I could and sometimes would fall asleep without purging, feeling even more shitty than the day before. This turned into an every night thing while I would read Jake’s texts and sometimes text his number hoping for something… anything. I was desperate. Once night, I actually got something back. They said, “I’m sorry for your loss but I hope things get better for you.”
His phone number has been moved on, now how do I move on?
I drank a lot, partied every weekend, blacked out, slept with guys and ghosted them just as fast. That was my life at 21. Sounds pretty typical.
I met this guy through Tinder. Oddly, he had the same name as my ex. I got to know him and he acted just like my ex. Hmm…
I was convinced I needed to move to Boise to be with him.
I moved in with my gma to save money, worked at a butcher place for five months because the money was good, crying every day covered in pig blood and flesh. I saved up enough to be comfortable and made the move.
I stayed with my aunt for a bit in Boise and worked with physically abusive mentally disabled people. I felt really down in this aspect because, you know I don’t like getting beaten. I eventually applied for a field inspection job at the dep of AG and eventually got a position in the office TRS1 for the field inspection program.
I started therapy for ED, took on multiple jobs within my job, had extensive car issues which led to massive amounts of debt, an addiction to adderall, got raped by my friend’s husband while I was living with them, and eventually lost every person I had ever associated myself with.
I recovered from my ED for 9 months and when I decided to move back home, that’s when I relapsed. I was fixing my grandmas house up and getting it ready to sell. Things fell through as well as our relationship. I moved in with my dad at that time and just started on focusing on me and where I was at in my life. During that time, I started talking to a former classmate and we started to date. He was calm and so helpful through a crucial point in my emotional healing. He was understanding and everything I had needed. There was just one thing, I was not attracted to him. I could only get myself to have sex with him whenever I drank and we ended up drinking… a lot. It was an every day thing for me at that point. I fell in love with him. Who he is as a person. Months went by and we kind of stayed in the same routine. Gym, drink, fuck, and occasionally we’d fight.
We met so deeply on a spiritual level and understood one another. We tried an open relationship and I found a person that I was happily fucking. My bf seemed to process it fine but still had issues with someone else inside of me, I totally get it.
About a month into the open relationship, he told me that he was talking to someone else as well. I lost my shiiiit. As if life weren’t difficult enough to deal with, this comes out of the blue. There’s no way in hell I thought he would be talking to someone. I mean, I’m pretty… he’s not. I felt betrayed. Like I wasn’t good enough for him but I allowed him to feel that way because I wasn’t being affected by what I inflicted on him. I knew it wasn’t fair but my ego held onto it oh so tightly and wanted to be right. At that point, we decided to end the open status and focus on the two of us.
I decided one day that I wanted to go back to college to become a naturopathic doctor. How tf do I pay for it? Dun dun dun dun!!! I get a text message from an Army National Guard Recruiter. They pay for school, here’s my answer! So I jumped right on that. I started the joint process and did what they said to do. I lied about anything and everything to get enlisted. Including my extensive history of depression, ED, anxiety, BP, and suicidal thoughts. But it’s okay… the recruiter told me as long as they’re not existing in the here and now, I’ll be fine. He also told me that I’d be defending my state and not be deployed EVER. I enlisted October 2, 2018. I was shaking sooo bad while I was trying to swear in. Good god, i could not stop. After all was said and done, I didn’t feel happy. Nothing whatsoever. My date for basic training was set to November 19.
Things were tough at dad’s house and he started drinking again and was always drunk. No one else noticed. How in the hell did no one notice? I wanted yo leave until I left for basic.
I asked my bff if I could come live with him in Utah and he was like, “well fuck ya!” So I was like, “fuck ya!”
I told my bf I couldn’t do that long distance with him so we broke up. We still hung out and did whatever but we never agreed on being together, again.
One night, a couple weeks before I moved to Utah, I went to my old open relationship fun buddy and we had a good time. Apparently too good because I don’t remember any of it!
Left Idaho behind and arrived in Utah. I got a job at Target and was so grateful to be with Dan Dan again.
I could feel this underlying sadness after the first week of being there. I’ve had this feeling for a long time and can’t remember never having it. I have heard of the benefits of psilocybin (shrooms) and decided to try…
This was my old life and I’ll soon find time and strength to write again.