story continued...

It all ended up being he said/she said. She...I moved into his house when I was 14 to avoid watching my abusive father kill himself in a river of vodka. He was everything to me at first, young love and what not. The first time he hit me I had interrupted the movie "A Hitchikers Guide to the Galaxy", and when I tried to leave he threw me to the ground and beat me till I agreed to stay.
Fast forward several months.... He is 16 and "has needs". I am 14 and a virgin. At first I fought it but in the end it was easier to go numb to every horrible thing he was doing to me. His parents did the same. The nights I was crying too loudly his mother would knock softly on the door before retreating, I hated that sound more that the act itself.
Fast forward several more months........... I miss my period. I ignore it at first since I had just gotten my first pair of blood soaked panties a few months prior.
And then I missed the next one.
And then I bought a little piece of plastic that held my entire future on its piss soaked tip. Not surprisingly it came up positive. I looked up the nearest planned parenthood and found out that in my state I needed an adult since I was so young so I went to Google for guidance. Found plenty of false hopes and slut shaming but nothing of use to a child in my situation.
I kept the baby, not from my choice but a choice made by a nurse at the clinic when she lied about how far along I was (said I was much earlier in my pregnancy) and postponed my procedure because of it, I ended up traveling 3 hrs to another state for this appointment she set up and found out I was in fact too far along to get the procedure.
In the end I am so immensely happy I have my son. I love him more than I thought possible and hearing his voice makes my day. But I lost my choice, and for that I am still bitter. I wish I could say that I never look at my son and remember what he came from, that it never crosses my mind but that would be a lie. I cant help what I cannot forget. I remember everything his father did to me, all the terror and pain, but I will never let that affect my relationship with my son. He is perfect in every way.

    Every seven years your body is essentially new, which means in seven years I will have a body you have never touched.

If my blog were T.V. then this is the commercial.

I am taking a post long break inbetween writing my story of how I got to this point in my life in order to share this VERY important information....


I DYED MY HAIRS AGAIN!

I don't apologize for my organic potato face, you knew what this was.....

I went cheap-o this time around and found Splat hair dye buy one get one at my local Walgreens, each box contains one bottle of dye and some bleach. I generally use 2-3 boxes of hair dye since my dreads have gotten so long and they are extra thirsty for the rainbow. I started with their emerald green and deep purple in big fat chunks around my head. I had some of my all time favorite dye called Sparks in orange crush and a wee bit of their hot pink so I slapped that shit on the side of my face for contrast. Overall I am pretty happy with the results. The Splat smells like grape medicine to me (smells like Grimaces butthole according to my boyfriend). I think after this washes out I will go back to the pink and orange sherbet hair I had. Let me know what you think (if anyone sees this)

Before purple

 

I guess I should mention as well that I have been doing my squats and plank every other day instead of every day since I'm a lazy chapstick.

he burned and salted the land so that nothing would ever grow there again

All I want is to feel whole. That is all any of us wants I suppose, but if I am completely honest with myself, I am mostly preoccupied with my first thought of the morning. It is the same thought every morning. Why cant I just feel beautiful. I wake up every morning trapped in a body that I did not want. A road map of purple and white lines wrap around my body like rivers, thick grooves pour down my sides and seep behind the cotton elastic waist of my granny panties. Stomach, back, calves, thighs, arms, ass. Scars that run so deep they have left gouges in my  sanity. Each one is filled with his charm, his smile, his excuses for not understanding that no means no. A fourteen year old girl, thin black hair, painfully emaciated and awkward hiding in a cocoon of black polyester. She met him with his friends at a small town fair. Sweat poured from her armpits down the sides of her shirt as they spoke. A boy had never talked to her before, looked at her with interest, ignored the overlapped front teeth, the flat chest, the broken home. He was forgotten after a month however, buried under a summer vacation at the local pool and sneaking out to party with a group of seniors.

One week after freshman year started the call came. Home alone again while her father stayed out drinking all the vodka the county had to offer, she spent most evenings reading in the cluttered one bedroom house with every light on, in high school and still afraid of the dark. It all happened so fast...or in slow motion, it is hard to tell when your heart is racing, your stomach is in knots, your palms itch  and you cant see straight. That is how the first call went. For eight hours they talked to the moon and back. He was so smooth and overwhelming.

They started taking walks together. She didn't trust him, nor any man for that matter. A rusted pair of gardening shears weighed down her cargo pants, like a warm bath after a long day they comforted her on these outings, ensured he wouldn't get too frisky. the hours stretch across each of their lives, intersecting and flowing together. Eventually the walks turned into meeting at his house (her house was in shambles and this caused her immense anxiety) Inseparable first love is what the parents saw. Labeled as soul mates by their peers. All she saw at first was his beautiful face. For months she was blinded by his charming smile, straight white teeth, slim body. She didn't notice the abuse, not at first.
Well, that isn't completely true now is it? The truth is she had no where else to go. Alone in that crackerbox house filled with trash and vermin. A father that would spend the days drinking bloody marys and masturbating in front of the living room computer and nights passed out, covered in his own sick. She would clean him up, wipe away the red after it had pooled and crusted in his neck folds. cover his naked body when he wet himself on the couch. No one was there. No, he was the only way out in her mind. So she turned a blind (black) eye to the rage...

( Picture of me about age 8 with my brother)

Did i mention my bangs?!

I cut myself some "V" bangs at 8:30 in the goddamn morning! The one in the second picture attempting to lick my eyebrows off is not my boyfriend but  my dog, Sam. He has a thing for makeup products...
  Today I accomplished my workout goals (extra actually, I doubled the reps today) and ate an awesome chickpea salad sandwich for lunch. Now if only I could motivate myself to sketch more. I am planning on going to art school at some point in the next year or so. That piece of paper will help with my worldly travels once my son is living on his own, and I have a dream of being a bad ass tattoo artist so I would feel much better putting something permanent on someone with some actual training under my belt.

This is like, for lazy people training for real life.

So I gave this a trial run on Friday, and by trial run I mean I did day one and then forgot all about healthy living and drank two bottles of rum and ate a whole stuffed pizza with my boyfriend...
Tomorrow I am going to give this a real shot though. I added in a 15 sec plank to day one with an increase everyday of 5 seconds, just to make sure I hate myself alittle after.
  I have to get in "shape" (what shape? I guess anything is better than having the shape of an organic potato). My boyfriend bought a bike this weekend and has decided to start biking to work, which is super great on our wallets, but just makes me that much more aware of how lazy I have become. I have a book that was due over a week ago and the library is just a 6 minute walk from my house, I don't think I will get around to turning it in till at least Thursday, that is how lazy I have become...
  On a slightly related note, I have come up with the BEST vegan ground meat replacement, made from barley and lentils. It takes alittle time to cook but it is worth it! If anyone is interested make a whooshing sound in the comments and I will put the recipe up next time I post.

A post for posts sake...

   If only getting healthy was as easy as giving myself an eating disorder.

I need to get a shot or some sort of electrotherapy that will stimulate the part of my brain that enjoys not being a lazy shit.

So here is the master plan, I will start a 3s0 day exercise routine and blog the results. When I first started blogging I did it in order to hold myself accountable. Even if only one (totally awesome) person is reading this, putting it "out there" makes me feel like I am already taking this amillionbajillion times more serious. The main goal is to get fit, not lose weight. Hell I don't even own a scale anymore. I just want to like what I see in the mirror again, and since I quit my job like a dumb-ass I have made eating my all time consuming hobby. I have put on at LEAST 10 lbs, I look like I swallowed a bee hive, that is how fat my double chin is.

I think I can I think I can....

Bad with introductions. When I was 18 years old I was suffocating in a small town, under the abusive thumb of a tyrant with my autistic son. Overweight and wrought with guilt over my choices in life that led me to that point, I reached out for anything to give me a sense of control. I stumbled upon pro anorexia blogs and was hooked. It was a way to escape my life, gave me a chance to dream of something more, even if it was only a smaller waist. I was an awful mother and I struggle with that to this day. For 6 years I starved. I lost my son. I lost my house. My family. My mind... And all those extra pounds. Fat lot of good that did me.
   I had a blog of my own for several years and recorded every horrid act trying to reach a ridiculous goal weight. I flew out from my small town in Missouri to Washington DC and lost my last bit of sanity, came back home at 5'6, 88 lbs. dead in the water.


It took one long year, a hell of a move across country, cheek piercings, throwing out the scale, forgetting that the past me ever existed. I can eat a sandwich without fear now. I look at my pooched out belly and I no longer am blinded by mind, I see it for what it is. Just a belly. I fell in love. And now?



I'll let you know when I find out.lol