Hoe, Hoe, Hoe

What do you say when your grandmother brings her married boyfriend over for Christmas?

Trick question.


                       You say nothing.

                                          But you do get very, very drunk.


So, let me paint the scenario for you. My grandmother had invited herself over, and had decided as well that she was going to bring her boyfriend.

My sister and I ran to the store, she wanted needed hummus and I needed wanted wine. We come home, and my dog decided to get in the trash. I carry up the much needed items, which magically also included Ben and Jerry’s Almond milk ice cream too. Then went to clean up the trash.

Then I hear the car.

I gathered myself, regretting that I hadn’t downed the entire bottle of wine the moment I stepped foot in the house. I took a deep breath for composure, and walked into the line of sight.

Grandma tried to get me to hug the strange man, I nicely declined, claiming, “Looks like he has his arms full.”

The moment we were back in the house I dug through the drawers searching for the corkscrew, which seems to only make its appearance when I come home. I poured red wine into a very large coffee mug, trying to be slightly discreet, hoping grandma wouldn’t notice I needed to be intoxicated to deal with her. Walking down the hallway I run into my mom. I offer her the mug of wine. She quickly inhales half of it. My brother walks around the corner and inhales the rest. Here I stand, still sober as a judge.

I quickly inhaled red wine, and could feel it in no time at all, being on an empty stomach.

Grandma doing the fake laugh, I could hear her mumbling and talking shit from the kitchen. I was pouring myself another mug of wine.

Her boyfriend, whom I didn’t care enough for to even learn his name was not only still married, but was 12 years younger than her, and was a condescending prick.

Granted, I don’t even know how to describe what I do for a living without sounding pretentious, but he was just being a smug prick.

In no time at all mom and grandma were picking a fight about all of grandma’s boyfriends. Grandma was talking trash about our family. What’s-His-Fuck has to butt in with his two sense that nobody wanted or asked for.

With that my brother and I snuck off to get some air, as the wine was still flowing through my system.

I hadn’t been that drunk in a long time. I remember sitting on my brother’s floor eating a Larabar. Talking about our trashy grandmother, and her weird creep boyfriend, and having a midlife crisis about what to do with my life.

My brother went to the living room briefly, and came back to his room, informing me they had left.

With mumbled words, I asked if I should go hurry and say goodbye. He said not to worry about it.

The feeling of disbelief and confusion came over me.

In almost the same way as telling someone, “I went home for Christmas and it was chaotic. My grandmother brought her married boyfriend over.” He responded, “I understand.”  



To the Most Important Guy in My Life

I love you, I really do. I have also contemplated throwing you into the lake with a couple anchors attached and watch you struggle. You have been there for me, you have laughed at me, you have seen me cry, and have even let me pluck your eyebrows.

You throw cups of water at me, and laugh at me when I trip and fall. You are also the first one to run and jump up when I actually get hurt or need something. When I left an old outpatient appointment one time crying he looked me dead in the face and said, “What happened in there? Do I need to kick someone’s ass?”.

Some of our conversations are as follows:

“Dude, you fucking suck at catching.”

“Maybe if you could throw a God damn ball worth shit.”

“You’re the one who just threw it in the fucking lake, go get it!”

“I’m gonna fall in….”

“….well, don’t.”


“Ewww that’s nasty! Nasty ass!”

“Shut up, it’s from that nasty drink.”

“Want some of my water?”

“Yeah, please.”

“Wanna go throw again?”

My brother is one of those shit heads I joke that I would gladly hand over in a heartbeat. Anyone who knows me knows that I would fight tooth and nail for any of my siblings without thinking twice. This year my brother started working for me, at first I was hesitant… Would he make it? Would he annoy the shit out of me?

The answer was inevitably, “YES”. We have laughed our asses off, yelled at each other, ignored each other and went paddle boarding together. When I was at work and got hurt, he was the first one to rush over, no hesitation at all.

He knows about my eating disorder, and we talk about it.

“So, why don’t you just go to outpatient for me today.”

“Will they feed me? Hell yeah, alright.”

When he goes up to the store he will get me an apple, or something, and keeps me in mind. We make jokes about how he can eat all of my starches and fat.

He called my ex a “total dumbass”. Him and I went out of town and I didn’t eat all day. My brother thought he was a complete idiot. “If that was you and I, there is no way I would let you go a whole day without eating. First of all, I’d be fucking starving, plus your ass has to eat.”

I also randomly left town a week or so ago after work, and headed to the beach. I stopped by my house, threw clothes at my brother, who shoved them in a bag. All that was left to do was drop him off at his house and I was good to leave for the beach. As I’m dropping him off at the house he looks at me and says, “So, no clue where you are going, but I threw your stuffed flamingo in your bag too.”

Damn, my brother knows me so well. 🙂

I AM HEALTHY… and done fighting.

Today when I left my appointment I felt stressed, discouraged, frazzled, and just pretty done.
Even my little brother, well, I can’t even call him that. My younger brother, he is 13 and is taller than I am by a lot and weighs about the same as me. He could tell I was upset when I was leaving today. He asked why I was crying, I wasn’t, I was just rubbing my face. He didn’t know where we were, or what I was doing; he stayed outside, listening to music. In all honesty seeing my brother so concerned about me and defensive made me feel like I was important. “What the hell happened in there? Are you ok?” I was waiting for the words “Who’s ass do I have to kick..” bc I could feel it coming.
I honestly feel like recovery isn’t for me.
I’m not saying I want to die. I’m just kind of done.
Done fighting, done exerting energy I don’t have. Just over it all.
I felt very discouraged today. My relationships are fucked up. I am very apathetic. I am the healthiest/fattest/laziest/ etc person ever with an eating disorder.
Yes, C, yes. I would love to go into treatment. Almost have to want to give a damn about getting better. Be forced to do things that will help me to get better. I cannot miss work, I cannot miss that much school. I don’t have that kind of money to just piss away.
I’ve kinda just become accepting and half-ass with everything. I’ve given up and in. C wanted to talk to my doctor… fine, give me the damn paper to sign. Want to talk to my best friend? Fine, I’ll give you the number, I’ve become almost passive, just trying to placate her and the eating disorder. I’ve become a hollow vessel full of nothing but self hatred. In my hand during my appointment was my coffee cup. If you would have looked closer you would have seen the picture of my sister and I on the side of it. Our fingers laced crossing the finish line of one of our runs. I almost began to cry as I saw her beautiful face while talking about inpatient. Yes, I would love to go into treatment and get better, because this is not living, and I would never want to leave my sister.
Being told I have to make a doctor appointment was irritating. I hate doctors, I spent weeks upon weeks having at least one doctor appointment a week. I’m not sure what you want to hear. My blood work has came back almost perfect every time. My weight? pretty fat. I AM HEALTHY.


I squat over 100 lbs with the bench press bar.
I leg press more than twice my body.
I run miles on miles on top of miles.
I dead lift.
Clean and Jerk.
I am the healthiest person with an eating disorder ever.
Being told I need to go to the doctor just felt like I wasn’t believable.
Trust me, I have wished, hoped, PRAYED that something would be funky, wrong, bad. That my esophagus would rupture.. ANYTHING. It hasn’t happened… because I am unfortunately FUCKING HEALTHY.
I’m done fighting for something that has no importance to me… me.

Ultimatums, Pot, and Panic Attacks.

Fear tactics just don’t work for me. I just get pissed. No, don’t threaten me, don’t attempt to scare me.

Well, my mother tried to hit me with an ultimatum after our last conversation together. She was planning a trip out of the country but because of finally finding out about my eating disorder she hit me with a do this or I’ll do that.

Good ole Kathy told me that, “I will cancel my trip and have you put into treatment myself. Or, you need to show interest and go back into outpatient on your own.”
I did what any good daughter would do, “Oh, mom, you can’t cancel your trip, you have been looking forward to it so much. I’ll consider looking back into outpatient and making an appointment when you are gone.”…blah blah blah, bull shit bullshit bullSHIT.
So, mom is still out of the country for a few more days. She messaged me a few times on Facebook…”Oh, yeah, I just forgot. I’ll call C in a couple days, make an appointment.” “Oh, I’ve just been so busy with work.”

Then I began to feel the weight of the world fall on me, and my frail legs couldn’t hold it all up and together. I called out of work, spent time with my brothers, remembered how much I hate my step dad. I decided to relieve my grandmother, pick my brothers up and spend some time with them. My step dad is about as useful as a bike to a goldfish, no help to my grandmother, spending no time with his own sons… anyway. I picked them up, took them back to their house and decided to spend the night, we were planning a fun day together. My step dad refused to let me take them, even though he had given approval earlier that day, but then informed me he had to work the next day. He owns his own company, he is the boss, but yet he wouldn’t take one day off….?
So, I still decided to spend the night. I got up early the next morning and went on a long 6 mile run. Felt great, loved it, starting the day off with -500ish calories. Apparently step fuck went into my brother’s room raising all kinds of hell wondering where I was. His sleepy response was, “she went on a run.”, so I got home, hadn’t eaten in anything substantial in like 3 days anyway, and step fuck was gone. We laid around the house for a few hours, talking, watching a movie, etc, I wasn’t feeling too great after my run and no food. I decided I was not going to be some live in nanny who was told what she could or could not do with her brothers. I ordered them pizza, and went outside to shoot hoops with them while I was waiting for the pizza to come so I could head home. Then I saw it……
there, hidden under the morning glories, the basil, the cherry tomatoes… pot… marijuana, indica… that little step fuck was growing his own pot. His 21 year old daughter is getting her concealed carry permit, works with children, has two jobs, scholarship, and yet he is going to act like he is twenty with control issues, tell me what to do while he is growing pot… mature much? The pizza came, I paid for it, the sight and smell of pizza was enough to make me want to throw up- huge fear food of mine.
That was just more shit on the shit cake. Then I decided to go to Wal-Mart. I wasn’t even buying food, I got a planner, highlighters, a movie, coffee, and was standing in the candle aisle when I felt like I was spinning. I couldn’t breathe, the amount of people rushing past me was making me anxious, the mere thought of food was enough to send my body into a frenzy. There I stood in the aisle as one old lady, staring blankly at the candles.
Everything was just falling down around me. Rumors about me going around this small town, how fat I felt, how much I can’t stand my family, the fact that my 13 year old brother wanted to smoke his father’s pot, I couldn’t stand to eat, I can’t bring myself to go back to treatment. I felt so overwhelmed and all I could do was stand there, frozen, staring at the candles. People commenting on my weight, my relationship with people going to shit, wearing clothes and getting dressed was such a chore. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up, pass out, or start crying; my legs weak, and my head spinning. My cart, full of only 5 things, remained glued to that aisle floor, as my vision was just getting blurry, and the distance between the cart and I grew.
I made it to the entrance of Wal-Mart with nothing in my hands besides my keys, phone, and debit card. I got in my car and sat there, unsure if I would actually make it home.

Sitting in my car in the quiet I was able to focus and get my breathing back to a steady pattern, I finally texted C, (too afraid to actually talk) and messaged my best friend about the overwhelming, stressful day I had had. I made it home, and took a nap.

Any yet my mother tried to get me to move back home… over my dead body.