shine on beautiful soul!

Fat-phobic.

I get it.

Some people are overly mean to overweight people.  That's really terrible.

I understand that sometimes it's an eating disorder, just as much as it is food addiction, but other times it's someone who's body is just built that way.

We are all different.

I have this food addiction and I do everything to abstain from the foods I gorge on.

Some people don't care that they're overweight and that is GREAT for them.

However, some of us have other feelings about it.

I, personally, have way too much pain in my knee and back when I put on weight.

Not to mention, I have a different sort of eating disorder that makes me lose my mind.

I would prefer to fit into my clothes so that I know I'm a healthy weight, even if the mirror doesn't allow me to see the same reality.

If I don't, I'm affected by obsession and can't function properly because all my energy is spent freaking out about the pants that don't fit, then I start having anxiety.

It's not fun.  I'd rather just stay at a healthy weight to send the Anorexia Monster back to its hole.

I have a very sweet friend who is working on losing weight.

She has been proudly posting the results of her efforts with glee!

I, and so many others, are so proud of her.

Then, we have the 'mean girls'.

They are being just as catty to her as they were to me and Papi.

Just as negative and hurtful.

The same fucking assholes as we all know they are.

Seriously.

Leave her the fuck alone.

She is doing a good thing for herself.

It doesn't affect YOU.

It makes her feel better.

But of course, 'you', have to try to make her just as miserable as you are.

You're going to run out of people to pick on, you know?

Maybe you'll all just have to start pegging off people in your clique one by one.

Then you'll be left with the king prick who will be lonely at the top.

Perhaps then, that person will have the leftover clique to ostracize them!

Oh, the irony.

Anyway, I'm fucking pissed off that people will harass my friend who is not hurting anyone, but only bettering her own life.

Me and Papi seriously don't think we will ever want to live in Vancouver again with these cretins.

These are some of the meanest people I've ever encountered.

Even being part of The Pariah Club didn't work out for me.

They ostracized me as well.

I doubt they're doing that to this lovely soul.  They are pro-health most of the time.

But still, the other uber-PC people?

I'm not shocked.

When this sweet soul started posting about her journey, I was counting the days before the 'mean girls' reared their ugly heads.

Sure enough, they appeared, spewing filth and negativity.

My sweet friend, you are awesome.

You are doing what so many people struggle to do.

You are paving a path to encourage others to feel better in their lives as well.

Healthy is strong.

You are lovely and don't let any of those creeps bring you down.

I, like the others who are ostracized from that 'community', wish you the best and are rooting for you.

We love you.

Shine on!

i achieve my weight loss goals

choices, choices

Drummer Boy once told me, "That will make a great song."

He would enjoy a new song that I would write and say, "I knew a good song would come from that shitty experience."

There's always music from tragedy, stress, heartache, ad finitum.

I've been working on so much music and I am half way through my goal of 3 sets of covers.

As I'm playing, I hear the beginnings of new songs.

Only problem is, if I go hog wild and start writing my own music, I'll delay the current goal I'm working toward.

I'm bad enough when I'm learning someone else's music, I get a level of obsession getting inside what they've written.

But when I'm writing my own music?

It's a whole other level.

But, as I'm practising covers for work, I hear my songs coming out.

It's like they're brewing at that spot before the kettle boils.

You hear it's ready to blow, but you want to catch it before the scream offends your air space.

It feels like that.

I just want to jump into writing my own lyrics IN ENGLISH because my biggest obstacle is memorizing the Spanish lyrics.

I feel like my brain is on TurboLearn.

All the damage that happened from the accident is being rewired in the most beautiful, amazing ways.

Learning Spanish through music is probably the very best decision I've made for re-wiring my brain, and helping me on the road to speaking fluently.

I fall in love with the melody, then because I love the song so much, I actually remember the lyrics.

Then, I am able to speak to people with the words I have learned from music much faster, because they have meaning.

More like speaking.

Anyway, it was an accidental good decision.

Bad decisions?

Oh man, how do I even begin here?

How about eating comfort foods while I was healing from the ankle.

No exercise, and comfort foods.

So, I went to the last appointment at the hospital and the guy that pushes us around on the wheelchairs said, "You are fat now," well, I got a tad freaky deaky.

Everyone tried to say he was a joking, but I've noticed people go on about weight here.  No beating around the bush.

Not to mention, I went shopping at the cheap clothes market that I could wear for work clothes, and I would normally be able to hold up a dress and think it fits, so I bought a few.

No, I didn't fit those clothes.

I paraded them in front of Papi, mocking my utter muffin top that has invaded my mid section over the past 5 months and damn, I have some work to do.

I just kicked into high gear of trying to take care of this 'situation'.

I won't go into that.  My eating disorder can take up a whole month of blogging.

But eating really bad foods for 10 months,  5 of those months I've spent on my ass, eating the most fattening possible foods I could to get me through the mania, was not the best of decisions.

I'm going to try chair cardio tomorrow.

If I can tear my ass off the piano bench, that is.

We'll see.

I have a lot of work to do, and I have a ton of music simmering before the kettle blows.

I don't want to lose all my steam to a rolling boil.

I certainly don't want to break the piano bench either.

i am motivated by both successes and failures

only happy when it rains

Everything is in Dominican Time here.

Including my healing.

But my steps are getting stronger, and yesterday, I made my first home cooked meal in 3 months.

Nothing special.

Canned diced tomatoes stewed with onions, garlic and red pepper, over top quinoa.

These past few months of the Papi diet, aka: eating wheat and sugar every day, have taken a toll on Bubble Girl.

My food allergies definitely add to my chemical imbalance.

My obsessing and anxiety are out of control.

Non-stop.

A lovely Blogger Friend, and amazing writer at Lesbians In My Soup!, really got the essence of what I was trying to say yesterday.

I'm only happy when I have something to bitch about.

I bitch about anything.

Everything.

So, when I'm happy about something, you really know it's genuine.

I'm generally a happy person, and on a regular basis, I catch myself off guard thinking to myself, "I really love my life," but I was brought up to bitch and complain.

It's the way I remember my family as a child.

I think the reason the waves have made me crazy, is because I haven't had enough of anything else to focus on.

Lying around like a bloated manatee will do that to me.

I'm not very good at staying still.

I'm also not very sane when you take music away from me.

It's my meditation.

I also need regular exercise to release the endorphins that help me stay on top of my mood swings and eating disorder.

All of a sudden, as I was making healthy food yesterday, followed by playing my piano, I realized I didn't hear those waves all too often.

The white noise disappeared with the crackle of onions and garlic sauteing in my cast iron pan.

The action of cooking drowned out the drone.

Playing my piano, doing my best to memorize lyrics to the 3 Spanish songs I know, really took me away from everything.

Hell, I didn't even hear The 6-pack barking.

And I know THAT never ceases.

So, moral of my story is, this has been a tortuous 3 months with this ankle from hell.

But I'm making healthier meals as of yesterday.

I'm playing my piano as of this week.

I'm taking baby steps without my crutches.

I even started teaching as of Friday that just passed.

No, I am NOT good at sitting still.

This I know.

Maybe now that I'm literally getting back up on my feet and eating healthier I'll stop obsessing as well.

That would be nice.

I can only handle one obsession at a time.

It's time to search for my SuperGirl Panties again.

I know they're in here somewhere.

I suppose I'll have to do the laundry to find them.

I also need a little more music, healthy foods and some gentle, seated yoga.

That should bring me closer to them.

developing healthy eating habits becomes easier every day

pass the prozac

There is always a new day to look forward to.

Today is so much better than yesterday, which was better than the day before.

I'm grateful the angels have patience for me, never answering my plea to come join them, allowing me grace to fall, followed by the sprinkling of magic pixie dust upon me to help get me back up again.

I'm grateful my true friends have patience for my screwy brain that isn't like 'normal' people, and send me the good energy I need to find my own strength again.

I'm grateful for friends who have been in our position, speaking their words of advice because they know what the fuck it's like to live in a developing country.

I'm grateful I don't have to hear from the sheep who judge us because they're following the crowd, have seen a documentary or read a book.  Yeah, I'm still fucking pissed at you all.  You know who you are.

Anyway.  I feel better today.

Expats on the DR1 Forum, who have been here a long time, have a lot of advice to give.

Some good, and some so horrid, that it's hard to believe the level of people's racism, homophobia and plain old evil ways.

But I digress.

One piece of advice that I may adopt, is something Papi has already put into action.

In this climate, the speed of this life, this culture, you should only choose to do ONE thing a day.

One.

I have to remember I'm not in Canada anymore.

I also have to remember I'm not the person I was before the motorcycle accident, just because I don't need to take pain meds for my bitch of a back.

I've been spending these last 5 years trying to get back to the girl on that motorcycle.  The girl who could do everything in one day.

I still haven't accepted that that fatal day was the day it was time to slow my life down.

I'm going to continue to work with MusicMan and prepare ourselves for a few gigs here and there in a moderate speed, but that's not for a few weeks.

I was just told by an orthopaedic surgeon that I'm not allowed to do ANYTHING until further notice.

Bed ... fucking ... ridden.

Good thing I found the good Prozac at the hospital.

Always, when you know what the problem is, you can immediately feel a little lighter.

Knowledge is always the first step.

It's no secret that I have a chemical imbalance.  I've been a 'special' person since I was 11 when the hormones kicked in and my battle with the eating disorder ensued.

I need medication to survive, and now that I'm forced to rest again, I damn well need the good stuff.

These fuckers and their phony pills are fucking around with peoples' well being.

No, we're not in Canada anymore.

Not too much is akin here.

Not me.

Not Papi.

Not even the dogs.

But what is the same, is the fact that the only thing that matters is happiness.

What is the same, is there are beautiful people with huge loving hearts that I am finding an abundance of.

They deserve happy Andréa just as much as my friends who love me do.

Just as much as I do.

Pass the prozac and nobody gets hurt.

Including me.

i am in control of my thoughts

dropping weight

When I write in my blog, it's stream thinking, and I allow the weight to be lifted from my mind.

As I write how I'm feeling, answers to problems come out.

When I write, it's public.

When I write, it's honest, and I leave details in that other would not, for fear of how they might be judged.

When I write, sometimes it gets me into trouble.

Usually, when I write, I am able to take those words and deal with the issue.

This time is no different.  I'm feeling much better today, however still feeling on the edge of tears and feeling quite a bit of anxiety.

It hurt my friend that I mentioned her here instead of talking to her first.

On the flip side, it also gave way to receiving support and love from friends.

Papi and I worked things out for the most part.

After talking about why we hurt each other with words, I learned that I said things that were hurtful too.

Like saying that what he was working on the new fans for himself.  When really, he was working on it for us and the cats.

I implied that he's selfish, when I know he's not.

He's very giving, sweet and compassionate.  When he's not depressed, that is, not unlike myself.

He apologized, as did I.

I took a few more steps today.

Now I'll behave and not get too overzealous with the thrill of it.  I vow to take the best care of my ankle I possibly can.

I would do it for the dogs.  I take care of their health issues with love.

So, I will take care of my own with the same attention and care.

After this weekend, I think I should be able to start making healthy food again and take off the weight I've put on lying about eating really bad food.

I'm having grave issues with what I see in the mirror.  It's not pretty.

I limited my food intake yesterday to try to calm my mind.

This is the worst thing I could do to myself while I'm trying to feel better.

This does not fix my heart.  This hurts me further.

Today, I'm starting my day with coconut water.

I hacked them open with a machete and was donned the beautiful, healing energy from those fuzzy orbs.

I don't have any coffee.

Let's hope the coconut water keeps me from lashing out.

The dogs are needy and making me crazy.  They can feel my energy.

They want to help, but they're not helping.

They act out, because my emotions are in a whirlwind.

They feel me.  They act accordingly.  They are my indication.

I've been quite aggressive with them, telling them to leave me alone.

The Thug was actually depressed last night.  That broke my heart.

My pain and anger has prompted a sweet, loving soul to hurt at the sight of me falling.

If we think our emotions are our own and don't affect others, we have got to give our heads a shake.

We affect others greatly when we are in this space of depression.

Depression makes us selfish.  We only think about ourselves.  We can try as we might to think of others, but we just can't do it when we have that fog.  It comes out forced and forged.

I don't want to be selfish.

I want to think of these little loves that I adore so much, and not push them away because they're trying to help.

They are trying to protect me.

I suppose I should do the same and start eating better for my mind.

I need to lose weight.

In my heart.

i dissolve all blocks to reaching a healthy weight

Gratitude Day 2/10
1. I am grateful for coconut water.
2. I am grateful my friend forgave me.
3. I am grateful Papi and I love each other enough to work things out.
4. I am grateful I took some steps today.
5. I am grateful for the rain to feed my garden.
6. I am grateful for my Fuzzy Family's love.
7. I am grateful for gratitude lists.
8. I am grateful we have electricity.
9. I am grateful I can use a machete.
10. I am grateful I can find gratitude. 

my padded room ...

Do you have troubles understanding what an eating disorder is?

Here.

Let me help you with how insane it can be.

I have an allotted amount of chocolate for each day in my cupboard.

That right there is part of an eating disorder.  Limiting how much I allow myself.

Anyway, it gets MUCH more entertaining.

Then there's the fact that I won't allow myself to eat it before 5 o'clock.

If I eat it before 5, then I will just obsess for the remainder of the day about the rest of the chocolate that is in the cupboard and will eat everything else I can get my hands on, even though all I really want is the chocolate, so I try to fill myself up with other things until I'm bloated and sick to my stomach to fill the void that which is the chocolate.

So, I try to eat super healthy until it's chocolate time.  After that, all hell breaks loose.

However, having said that, I have to eat it before 6, otherwise the caffeine will keep me up.  There's this magical 5 - 6 pm time that is like my happy hour.

Seriously, I might as well just stick to the rules and all will go much smoother.

Furthermore, I don't allow myself any more than the allotted amount of chocolate, or I will:

1) have too much sugar in my system creating Candida, then,

2) obsess about what I see in the mirror, then,

3) get on the 'wtf, I already ate that much, I might as well eat the whole damn thing' wagon, then, 

4) eat all the chocolate in the cupboard and have no happy hour the next day, which just sucks, then, 

5) get sick from too much so that I'm lying in a tub like a beached whale, calling my friend to say, "Omg.  I'm so sick.  I just couldn't stop eating it!  And now I can't move from the tub or I'm going to hurl."  (true story)

Anyway.  Among all of the above is also the incessant nattering, the worst of which starts around noon.

"We get chocolate in a while!"  It says.

Then around 1 o'clock.  "I can't wait until we get chocolate!  Here!  You better eat some veggies, brown rice and tahini to calm yourself."

Then around 2, "Oh man.  I don't know if I can hold out much longer!  Here!  Have some goat cheese!  Stat!!"

Around 3, I can be rational and say to myself, "You know, if you eat that chocolate, you're going to be really tired from a sugar crash and you won't get anything done."  That curbs me for a while, because the reality of the mid-day crash is enough to not allow me to make it worse.

But at 4, I seriously start to lose it.  "Omg!  I can't wait much longer.  How about we just eat it now and 'behave' for the rest of the day?!?!?!"

It's at this point that I start to snack on whatever I can find that is snack-able to try to convince my brain that the chocolate has to wait, or make the biggest plate of veggies in the world to keep my mouth busy.

At 5, I RIP THE PACKAGE OPEN AND GORGE IN A PANICKED STATE THAT LOOKS LIKE A COUGAR WHO JUST CAUGHT HIS PREY AFTER NOT EATING FOR A MONTH!!!!!

By 5:10, it's done, and I'm sad that I have to wait another 24 hours before I get to have more.

For the rest of the evening however, I must fight my brain off about the chocolate and remind myself that it just isn't going to happen.

Not to mention, my sugar crash usually keeps me down for the count, and I don't much feel like moving anyway.

This is how I live.

Every day.

This is only part of an eating disorder.

The obsession is manic and I have no control over telling it to shut the fuck up.

I could stop the obsession by abstaining from chocolate all together.

Yes!  I could!

Which I've done in the past.

But I'm in the Dominican Republic people!!!!  The best chocolate and coffee in the world!!!  Why would I want to deprive myself?!?!?!?

So, I obsess.

It must be worth it.

I keep doing it.

i learn from my mistakes

a VERY unwanted visitor

How do you say, "eating disorder" in Spanish?

I don't think they really get it here.  Mental illness is not on the docket.  It's not spoken of.

Oh, you can go into Google Translate and find the direct translation, 'trastornos de la alimentación', but it doesn't mean they're going to 'get' it.

Why would anyone who's starving from lack of money have a 1st World problem so silly as to cry about not being perfect?

I've been stress/depression/anxiety eating.  Corn chips.  Chocolate.  Pasta.  Gads of rice with butter and bacon bits.  All things I would normally eat sparingly as a treat, I've been gorging on, with the back of my mind begging to stop the madness.

When I eat like this, it's like I'm on autopilot and my hand won't stop going to my mouth.  I haven't even swallowed the last bite and I'm stuffing more in my yak with fervor.

I barely taste the food, other than 'salty', or 'sweet'.

Well, the other day, I went to put on a pair of my cozy pants, and dammit they were uncomfortable.  That evening, I was almost in tears, because it was confirmed that I had put on weight.

Papi knows better than to be honest with me if I have put on weight, "I don't notice anything.  You still look good to me," is his usual response.  Sweet of him, but I can't trust those words, just like I can't trust anyone else who tells me I'm thin.

I don't use the mirror to tell me, because no matter what size I am, that reflective demon always tells me I look bad.

But my pants?  Yup.  Direct indication.

I had troubles sleeping because I was obsessing about the fact that I can't stop eating and I'm putting on weight.

Then probably the worst thing possible could have happened yesterday morning.

Let me just set this up by telling you that the first week we were here, Our Translater told me what a beautiful body I had and that she really likes it.

It was a very sweet compliment.  It gave me confidence and was nice to hear, even though it was hard to believe.

Well, yesterday morning she said, "You look like you have more fat."  When my face turned into something akin to the devil, she added, "It looks good."

Good?!?!?!  Really?!?!?  This is my own personal hell!!!!

Oh, but it definitely was worse when the Housemaid chimed in, "You were much more fat in November when you were here."

Good fucking g*d people!!!!!  Have you memorized my every curve?!?!?!

Can I tell you what that has done to me?

I immediately started obsessing about limiting my food, putting on clothes that would hide my body and last night it was very difficult to get to sleep without feeling like I would go into a crying fit.

I kept venting to Papi about it and his response?  "You're obsessing about this!!"

My response to my sweet esposo who worked with mental illness as his career in Vancouver?  "You do know what an eating disorder is, right?"

Pure obsession.  100% demented thinking about nothing but food and my body.

Our Translator and the Housemaid have thrown me into a tailspin.

This is not good.  The whole day all I did was think about what I would eat next that would help me lose weight.

All I did was think about how much I would exercise to fight off the Anorexia Monster.

Going to the bathroom was torture, because I had to see the horrible image in the mirror that seemed even more distressing than it was the day before.

It's hell, and all because I got so over-stressed that I ate non-stop to deal with my emotions.

But the most horrendous part of this experience, is that now I KNOW people actually pay attention to my figure.

This will have me paranoid every second of every day as to what they're thinking about me.

It's ridiculous, because I shouldn't care, but an eating disorder is an eating disorder.

A fucking disorder of thinking.  I'm not in control of my mind.

I CAN be in control of what I put in my mouth, and yesterday I didn't harm myself, but ate as close to my food plan as possible, only a little more limiting.

How do you explain an eating disorder to people who don't really have this absurd dilemma of mind fuckery?

My only mission today is to continue to eat so as to not harm my body, and get some exercise.  Now there are no more strange men in our space today, because everything is done.

Yoga, fruit, vegetables, water, and loving, gentle talk to myself with as few tears as possible.

i see myself at a healthy weight and i achieve it

you don't know me.

Can I tell you how much I hate thieves without being called names for it?

Any colour, age, class, gender, nationality or any other difference someone has from one another, I hate thieves.

To me, 'they' are only one step below a sexual predator.

Yet somehow, Papi and I were called racist because we referred to the thieves here as 'they'.

I'm back in fucking pronoun hell just like I was a few years ago when I struggled with my love going through the male transformation.

I'm so fucking sick of the Vancouverite, uber politically correct people and their finger pointing.

We got nothing but trouble from the 'community' in Vancouver for NOT being perfectly dishonest.  We thought we escaped it by coming here.

Well in the world of social media, 'they' just attacked us on Facebook instead.

We are supposed to keep our mouths shut about everything and anything that we don't like.

If we don't, we're called racist, transphobic, selfish, you fucking name it.

'They' stole from us, the thieves, yet we're called racist for being upset, because 'they' are of colour and from a developing country.

For fucks sakes.  The Pool Man's wife is Dominican and she's the one telling us how almost all the people will scam us here and how we've already been robbed.

Yet we're being racist by calling thieves 'they'.

I came here with so much love.

I poo-poohed anyone who said it's not a good idea give to the people here.

'They', who poo-poohed me, said, "If you give, they'll take too much and rob you."

I didn't believe it.  We wanted to give, give, give.

Give, give, give we did.

We brought gifts and every day we unpacked them we gave it to people we thought would be family.

What did we get for it?  Robbed.  I've now noticed my toiletries have dwindled in only 2 weeks of being here.

I wanted to bring my favourite treats to the people in my village when we got here as a 'hello' and 'thank you for letting me be here in your space'.

Now I won't.  Instead, I'll give my time to an organization where I can leave afterward without anyone knowing where we live.

We have a security guard in which we are overcharged for, but we keep paying it until the pool and walls are done.

Yet still, every time I go out to bring him water, juice, pop, beer, snacks he asks for more money, because he says his baby is starving, then turns around and tells me his baby is drinking lots of milk from the mother.

Sorry, but we are paying you fairly for your job.  We are not stealing from you.  We are giving.  We are not being selfish, but we are not responsible for the well being of every person we know.  We are dependent only upon ourselves.

We really can't afford to pay him, the house maid and gardener and are running out of money, but we hired people because we were told it helps the 'community'.

Yet we're called selfish because we don't want to be broke and living in a shack.

I received a settlement for my motorcycle accident, and we're selfish because we chose to give ourselves a dream life with the money.

Instead, we were basically told we deserve to be robbed because of it.

Let me tell you, if a white, Canadian asshole robs me, I hate them just as much.

Yet because we've come to another country where we're the foreigner, if we vent our feelings about things we worked hard for being stolen, we're called racists and selfish.

One person thought that because 'they' were stealing and are so broke, we should wrap up our things in a gift with a nice big bow, as to say, "Here.  You need this."

To thieves it will say, "Here.  Thank you for stealing from us.  You're welcome to take anything you like because we are just weak, stupid pushovers."

To some people, we're supposed to just take it and give them chance after chance.

I'm sorry, but there are no second chances.  I won't be fooled again.

Today, no matter what the uber politically correct say, I will not allow myself to eat in anger.  That was 2 nights in a row that I used food as a drug to soothe my emotions and both nights wound up nauseas, feeling crappy and having visits from the Anorexia Monster.

Go ahead.  Call me what you want.

I don't fucking care what you think about me and who you think I am.  You have no fucking idea.

I know in my heart I'm a good, generous person who came here with loving intentions and got fucked over for it.

i am aware of my eating habits and how they affect my moods

by a thread.

Migraine: Day 13.

Just got back from the doc.

Looks like it's not just any Pain Med Party, but morphine merry-go-round for me for the next few weeks.

17 days until we leave to Casa Paraíso, and I get to feel better.

If I didn't have a light at the end of the tunnel, I'd say shoot me now.

This is what our home looks like right now.

 

Ok.

It looked like that on New Year's Eve.

Now that we're on January 2nd, everything you see strewn around up there is now in it's respective suitcases.

They say migraines are mostly brought on due to stress.

You think?

Does it look stressful to you?

Mania.

I have no words to express how this all feels, so my poor throbbing brain is doing it for me.

I don't even have the energy to entertain my eating disordered thinking.

Instead, I'm just having dreams that I'm obese and can't fit into my clothes, never mind get off the couch.

The 'not getting off the couch' part isn't too far from the truth.

Actually, it is the truth.

I have decided that I'm not making plans anymore.

No point.

I just cancel them now anyway.

Fuck it.

Tears rolled down my face last night when I realized I'd be spending the majority of my time left here, on the La-Z-Boy.

This is not living.

17 days until the real fun begins, and I start to wean off the morphine.

If it sounds like I have nothing to talk about, it's because I have nothing to talk about.

This game is so boring.

Don't take me to pasture just yet.

Wait until I'm in paradise, please.

i am too big a gift in this world to feel self-pity and sadness

terror > excitement

The fighting!  Good god people!  We have never bickered like this in our entire 4.5 years together.

Having heard from a few people confirming that a move to another country is extremely stressful, it seems that Papi and I are right on track with the in home clashing.

I didn't ever, even for a second, think I'd be feeling like this.

I thought it would be all puppies, rainbows and thrills of an amusement ride.

Nope.  If I'm going to be honest, which I usually am, I'm fucking terrified.

We are stepping so far out of our comfort zone that we don't even recognize each other anymore.

Last night, the panic attack I had over filling out forms was wildly unmanageable.  My disoriented brain couldn't even figure out how to start filling them in and I thought I didn't have the right ones.

That left me feeling like I had tried so hard to get the right forms, yet even with that, I failed.

As someone who tries so hard, but seems to blunder a lot since my accident, I feel like I can't to anything properly anymore.

I feel useless and that my best is no longer good enough.

I feel like there's nothing I can do correctly, because I get confused and disoriented, never mind the fact that I can't last as long as other people due to my never ending 'imaginary pain'.

I almost fell into the throws of an eating disorder, thinking of how I could lose a few pounds to feel better, as if somehow, fading away would make it all disappear like my shrinking muscles.

Well, the panic attack was so bad, I had to beg my love to come help me get past it, where lately, I've learned how to do it on my own.

He was a little perturbed about it, because there he was, working on MY forms, because I was too anxious about it, and then I'm asking him double time for help with my panic attack.

He feels everything is on him, because he has to help me, the g'ma, and deal with The Uncle adding more fuel to the fire by giving him more reasons to be afraid of what we're about to do, rather than just be thrilled.

He's really under so much pressure, and he said to me, "I'm about 5 cm away from losing it."

Oh, how I hear you my love.  I'm right there with you.

I need to find a way to be more supportive to my love, so that these rowdy moments of the same fucking argument stop their cycle.

I need to find a way to do more with this fucking bitch of a back, so that my love doesn't feel so much is on him, and him alone.

I need to, because our relationship has never been like this and it scares me.

It makes me fear that with all the stress between us, that a new dynamic will be set up and we'll lose the love.

I know that I'm just placing old, horrid relationships on ours.

Papi is nothing like those other assholes I dated.

He's just a sensitive soul who is reacting to the stresses of this move, and a little resentful that so much is on his back, and less is on mine.

Some people may be horribly envious of our move, and I'm sure the haters don't think we deserve this, but damn, if any of those people really knew how hard this is and how much stress is upon us, they wouldn't be so envious.

I've never had such a strange array of emotions all at the same time.

My stomach flutters with excitement, my head pounds with stress. my tears fall with frustration and my bitch of a back is on turbo seize, because I'm holding all of it in.

Papi didn't even know I'm afraid, because to him, I gave off an air of peace.

That's nice and all, that I give off an illusion of 'everything will be fine', because I've worked so hard all my life to believe that.

However, it's not good when someone thinks you're indifferent about the whole experience.

I do believe, even right now as I'm shaking, nauseas, irrational and in utter fear, that 'everything will be fine'.

We're moving to the Dominican Republic and I'm fucking terrified, and excited.

i deserve to succeed

I want a fart machine.

Of course I'm going to offend someone with this post, but I have to be true to myself and say it, because dammit!  I haven't met my piss off quota lately.

I want someone to invent a fart machine.

Not to make the sounds, because we have whoopie cushions and armpits for that.

What I want, is a gizmo that I can press a button and out will come ass stench at will.

I'd use my very own Buffalo Breath if I could gauge when I get the rank, horrid, practically seen breath emerges.

Well, that's not entirely true.  I know I'll get it if I stress out enough, or most mornings.

Oh, another way, is I can get it from too much sugar in my diet (aka: Candida), or from the gads of raw garlic I like to put in foods (to fight the Candida).

Then again, I also get it from taking those hideous pain pills, but then I'd be stuck with that breath all day and what happens if I see someone I like!?!?!

I hate it when that happens!  They don't deserve to give me a hug and smell shit breath!

I'm very self conscious about it with people I like.

I know that really, my Buffalo Breath was a direct result from my eating disorder.  I damaged my stomach with laxatives when I didn't care about the consequences, and thought it was more important to find that 'thin' girl, that to this day, I would never see in the mirror.

Anyway, this really wasn't supposed to be about my Buffalo Breath, nor anorexia.

It's supposed to be about a fart machine.

I want a fart machine that I can turn on at any time, so that the next time I'm stuck near the scum of cigarette stink, I can turn it on.

I understand people have their addiction, but man!  Why am I subject to smelling your malodour?

I don't go around intentionally farting and waving my stinky armpit smells around you!!!

But hey, if I had a fart machine, then I could prove a point.

When they said, "Fuck man!  That thing stinks!  Turn that shit off!"

I'd be able to say, "I will when you butt that rank skank out.  If I have to smell your crud, then you have to smell this.  I'm addicted to making this smell.  I just can't help myself.  It's a sickness."

So.

If there are any scientists out there who would like to indulge, I'm pretty sure it would 'smell' on the market.

... hehehe ... i know, that was really cheesy ...

I know I would buy one!

It would have to be small though.  Maybe a container like my mace that I carry around in my purse.

Wait!

Is it illegal to mace people who occupy my air space with their wafting addiction?

Probably.

Anyway, someone out there, please, make me a fart machine.

I'm sick of being passive aggressive and having to close my fucking house and car windows to escape it.

Fuck!  It sucks old man sweaty balls when I'm relaxing in a comfy, sunny spot, and along comes a smoker who sits right near me.

Then I have to move away for 7 minutes, while they enjoy my seat in their funk, as I wait impatiently for them to finish.

I can only resume my nice spot once they've complete pissing me off with their fetor.

That is of course, unless they're a chain smoker.  Then I'm subject to another bout of mephitis within moments of one of those bitches being put out.

For the love of god, make me a fart machine.

i behave in ways that promote my health more every day

Good Vibes

Remember the most recent uncomfortable moment I had with my mirror?

I found the best way to use that piece of paper.

I cut the positive mantras into little strips.

What I've started to do, is place them in secret spots around this dark, cold, rainy city.

When I was visiting my MC Guru in the hospital, I placed this first one.

I had to put it somewhere that someone would see it, be curious and grab it.

Fortunately, the back is super shiny X-mas paper, so it would have definitely caught someone's attention.

But I also had to put it somewhere that wasn't too obvious.

So, while I was tinkling in a co-ed bathroom, I found the perfect place.

Behind the dirty scrubs bag.

So, when someone would be sitting on the crapper, freaking out about their surgery or what-have-you, they would have this view.

I've put another in a bus shelter, and another on the SeaBus.

The SeaBus was fun, because there were so many people there that it was hard to do it inconspicuously.

I had my old lady cart with me, and I nonchalantly leaned back and taped it behind the cart so nobody could see it.

I then waited for the masses to leave the vessel, as if I didn't care that I was the last one on the ferry.

I usually do that anyway, because I'm such a slow walker, that it's just easier to let all the frantic go-getters off before me so they don't get frustrated with my cripple saunter and say mean things.  Then I get mean back and it's just not nice.

Anyway, I've now decided that I've found an awesome way to get rid of all that X-mas wrap that's upstairs collecting dust.

When I'm done with all the mirror mantras, I'm going to get the rest of the X-mas wrap and start writing some more then bomb the city with positive mantras!!!!

I hope that someone out there who's reading this gets to find one of my gems.  Let me know if you do!

The other day, I didn't have one with me, but I had a little piece of writing paper with me.

I drew hearts jumping into the ocean.

It was my way of saying, "Jump into the abyss with love."

I left it on the bench I had taken a break on in one of the nastiest areas of town that needs the most support.

I hope that each and every person who finds these gets a little blast of the emotion it emits, even if it's only for a moment.

It's actually pretty exciting to put these things out there. 

Papi thinks I'm nuts, but I'm cool with it.

It is a little crazy, but it's also so much fun!!!

We will have a wonderful clutter free home as we rid the house for The Great DR Purge!

I love love.

i care for people

educating andréa

So, a Blogger Friend asked if it would have been easier to get through Papi's male transformation if it wasn't intentional.

I think the intentional part is what got me.

If my love was in an accident and his features changed, I would have loved him just the same.

I would not have been a lunatic grieving the loss of my butch.  I'd be too busy taking care of my love, and supporting him while he struggled through a rough time of accepting his own new body.

Which I would understand fully now.

I'm not the same after my motorcycle accident, or so Papi says.

Apparently I was different before the brain injury.

I don't know, because this new brain is all I know now, and I've come so far in three and a half years, that I can't imagine being any different.

Although, I do know that I didn't wobble around and tip over like a drunk, without drinking alcohol, prior to the accident.  I also didn't break as many things and forget so much that I have a permanent list just to get through my day.

However, having said that, I also wasn't as happy.  I won the lottery of life and I will never take it for granted again.

I can say, that I know that my body is not the same.  My days of rockin' out on stage with my lovely bass guitar are pretty much over.  Thank god I love scoring to film, is all I can say.

Anyway, I do believe that the changes being intentional were the hard part.

I believe it's human nature to want to fight for everything to stay the same.

Also, that decision that made mi esposo happy was truly a misery for me, and I'm pretty sure it's back to that human nature thing again, with having to control the situation we're not comfortable with.

I have no control of my life.  It's chaotic and it's the life I've been granted, no matter how much peace I strive for.

Ok.  That is not completely true.  I have control of my food.

It's about the only thing that I do have control over; what I put into my body.  It's been my way of dealing with the chaos since I was young.

Hell!

When I was a teen, I wanted to die so badly, that I actually tried to eat as many chocolate bars as I possibly could, every day, in hopes that I would follow suit with some of my family members and get diabetes.

Then, I decided that once I had diabetes, I'd kill myself with chocolate.

Yeah.  Even with suicidal idealism I'm creative.  And dramatic.  I've always been a nutburger, but don't worry, I'm cool with it, even if others are horrified.

Anyway, back on track: Papi's male transformation.

I have no control over his or anyone else's decisions.

That's a fact.

If we do try to control our better halves, we're sure to lose them.

We loved them enough when we met them to accept them as they are and fall in love, didn't we?

Why the hell do we get into this place of feeling like we have to control our loved ones after the love sets in?!?!?

What the fuck is that?!?!?  Seriously!!!!!

Whatever.  I don't try to control others anymore, but what happens on the inside of me is disastrous as I try to let go of that control.

I get so scared and jump to worst case scenario.

But you know that by now, don't you?

Anyway, my love is nowhere near my worst case scenario I envisioned 19 months ago.

Mi esposo es guapo!!!  Even with face fuzz!!!

My overly creative mind has been educated once more, and for that, I am truly grateful.

no education is wasted.  drink in as many new experiences as you can

sugar! oh honey, honey!

It is confirmed, yet again.  I have an eating disorder.

I get into a little trouble with food sometimes.

You see, Papi has been told he has food allergies, so I bought him 2 glorious packages of some wonderful little gluten free cookies.

They're not on my food plan, because they are pure sugar.

We all know sugar makes me crazy.

Super crazy.

Yet what also makes me crazy, is knowing those little treasures are in the cupboard.

They've been there for about a month now.  So, what have I been doing for a month?

Telling myself, "Don't eat those cookies, they will make you crazy."

Well, yesterday, I opened one of the packages to have 'some'.

A 'few'.

Here's what happens when I eat sugar:  I can't stop.

There I was, munching and working on my emails that I have to send out to all the film and TV BigWigs and the next thing you know, I've eaten the whole damn package.

Well, really, I knew I was going to eat the whole package when I saw I'd already eaten 2 rows.

What happens at that point is my brain, filled with poisonous sugar chemicals says, "Just great, Andréa!  You've already eaten most of them.  You might as well eat the whole damn package and get rid of them!!!!"

There's a problem with that, however.

There were 2 packages.

I realized that if I ate them all, I would never have to think about those fucking cookies again.

So, I decided that I would have the next cookie package for dinner.

Oh yeah.

I ate them.  Both packages of cookies.

I'm slower than a slug right now, and I'm supposed to go to the gym to do my physio.  This will be interesting.

I'll be lucky if I make it through my cardio without falling asleep.  They might have to peel me off the rowing machine and mop me to the weights room.

Not to mention, those passive aggressive ladies better not be fucking with me today.

Sugar = Crazy.

Oh, I'm going to go to the gym alright.  I've gotta get my blood flowing to wash that shit out of my system.

I'll have 2 days of an unquestionably short fuse, but I won't be obsessing about cookies anymore.

I already have 4 mounds of red bumps on my face that will be sure to invite more friends to the party, turning into unwanted guests that will emulate a few extra noses on my face.

There will be many more to follow on my chest and back as soon as my body kicks in to try and push that crap out of my system.

But I won't be obsessing about cookies anymore.

It's back to whole foods and minimal carbs today.  Tons of water.

Jeeeeeeezus.  Going to need about 5 litres to wash this shit out of my blood.

Yes.  I have an eating disorder.

And I will not be buying Papi anymore treats unless he asks for them.

When my friend called and I told her I was binging on sugar, she screamed, "But you're not supposed to be eating sugar!!!!!!"

Oh.  I know.

Somehow, I forget these things in the heat of the moment of binging.

Goddam!  They were fucking good and this misery I'm feeling was definitely worth it, at the time. 

No worries.  If I know myself, which I'm pretty sure I do, I'll probably do it again in 6 months when I forget how bad this episode made me feel.

i choose to make positive healthy choices for myself

jaw surgery diet.

In three more sleeps, I'll be waking up to get my jaw surgery.

I'm actually looking forward to it.

Not the pain.

Not looking forward to that part.  We all know how well I deal with pain.

But I'm looking forward to my teeth matching up.

My brace face is looking really buck toothed these days.

My friends are sweet and say they don't notice, but I feel like a donkey.

So, after the surgery, my bottom teeth will match the front teeth and I'll be chewing like the majority of you out there!

Mind you, that's a good month or so after the surgery.

There won't be any chewing for a while.

First two weeks I'm on a liquid diet again.

This is the reason I'm going crazy eating everything I know I'll miss.

I'm going to load so many veggies into my system that I just might look green around the gills.

Not to mention, the wheat-free muffins, diary-free chocolate bars, coconut 'ice cream', peanut butter on kamut toast, and many many more lovely treats that won't be consumed by this belly for a while.

The two weeks after my liquid diet I can move on to mush.

Baby food.

You know the drill.

Then after the two weeks of mush, I can start attempting to chew normal things again.

Anyway, this is how I got past the rationale with my doozy of an eating disorder that has told me I should gorge on these treats of tragedy.

Yeah.

Zits will be in abundance.

So will the mirror of doom. 

Whatever.

The post-op sheets told me I'll lose 5-10 lbs on the jaw surgery diet, which in their words is; 'nothing to be of concern'.

Are you serious?

Concern?

I saw that and jumped for joy!

It's kinda like the amitriptyline withdrawal diet, or like the Mexican parasite diet.

Those were really great diet regimes.

Now I'll have a third to add to the diet methods I'm always in search of.

I'll get my jaw surgery diet after I allow myself all kinds of treats.

And veggies.

I'm going to miss my veggies the most.

I know it sounds crazy, but I crave collards, chard and kale.

And chocolate.

But I have 3 glorious days to eat as much of them as my blood can handle.

I'm also still off the coffee in terms of the 'addiction' to it.  I've had 2 coffees in a month and a half.  I'd say that's pretty damn good.

After my liquid diet, there will be coffee.

Every day.

The way your 'god' intended.

i create love by expressing love, compassion and understanding

exchanges of love.

I took the paper off my mirror.

I wasn't really expecting a big monumental moment, nor was I expecting my lunacy to end.

I just wanted to see if I'm still as wacky as the last time I looked into it.

Yup.

She's still there, however, I'm not feeling the burn from the visions she expunges.

Still, I really wasn't expecting what I actually gained from it.

I did expect that there wouldn't be a "HOORAY!" from the peanut gallery.

I didn't think I'd get a parade out of it.

I did know that if my dysphoria would not have been cured.

But there was something I had no idea I'd receive.

My love decided to replace my words of praise to myself with words of praise from him.

 

It was certainly a wonderful sight.

I told a few friends about it.  I just didn't tell my love how much it meant to me.

I bragged to a few lovely souls who struggle with eating disorders.  I needed to share how good this made me feel.

But I didn't tell Papi!

My dear sweet love didn't get to know what he had done for my heart.  He didn't get to know about how fortunate I feel to have such a caring person who knows what I need to hear.

Well, he knows what I need to hear but doesn't just tell me fluff for the hell of it.

He'll tell me when I need to be told the truth.

Regardless, the paper is down and I'm going to be leaving this gem exchange of love up for a while.

It doesn't mean that I've been healed from this ridiculous mental disorder.  I'd like to know from any of my friends with an eating disorder, does your dysphoria ever go away?

I don't think so.

Not for me anyway, but to have a sweet message on my mirror does indeed make everything feel better.

That and the fact that I held down a soy latte yesterday.

It was pure heaven.

i am safe to feel vulnerable

So scared.

I'm so nervous my stomach can barely handle the crackers I'm still on.

no ... i'm still not able to hold real food in my gut yet ugh ...

My Boifriend is in town and has invited Papi and I to go to a swim with him today.

It's called the 'All Bodies Swim'.

This means any person of any gender and any shape is invited to go play in the water.

My worries are twofold.

One, I still haven't uncovered my mirror.  I caught myself looking in the small bathroom mirror to try to see if my brain is still torturing me with visions that don't exist.

... or so i've been told countless times ... wish i could believe it ...

I still saw the devastation of my eating disorder.  Yup.  The horror was still there.

Well, imagine being invited to an event where I'll have to bare it all!?!?

Then there's the fact that the place will be surrounded by fucking mirrors.

I'll be distressed with every move of an eye.

Then there's the second part to this first part of my social anxiety.

This part is so fucking ridiculous that I can't even believe my brain thinks this way.

However, it is my reality.  It does.

I'm afraid that people will see what I see in the mirror.

I'm afraid they will look at me and think to themselves, "Ah, I see why you think you're fat.  Right there.  That spot you have nightmares about.  I see it too."

The part that is most ridiculous about that is that the whole premise around the All Bodies Swim, is that it's a place to go where the windows will be blackened out.  It's so that every person in that pool can feel that they're in a safe place to play in the water.

My stomach is turning.

More so than it normally would.

My hands are sweating, yet cold at the same time.

The good news is, I'm going to this swim with two people who are also needing support to be there.

My Boifriend and Papi.

I didn't know that my love was feeling abashed about his scars.

He feels that they stand out like headlights on a car.

But they're such a small portion of that lovely body, that it's really not a big deal to an outside viewer.

I barely even see them anymore.

I just see my love, a little lighter on top.

It surprised me though.  I didn't know he was feeling this way.  I thought he was in bliss and couldn't wait to be topless in this world.

"No, I wanted to wait to unveil them in the summer, because maybe they'd look better by then."

Those of us who are going tonight are all folks who are uncomfortable showing something about our body.

I'm not alone.

They made this swim for a reason.

However, the other half of my angst?

I'll have to endure the dirty looks from the people who feel that I'm transphobic, or worse, a horrible human being for having feelings about my love's male transformation.

I figure I just won't wear my contact lens or glasses, then I won't be able to see very far and I can ignore they're jeers.

That'll work.

I'll let you know how green my hair gets.

it is often hard to tell just how close you are to success

Peacefully Drowning

It's been a few months since I've needed the non-judgement of 'you', my imaginary friend.  I'm embarrassed and need to work this through in truth.

I had a moment of Hurricane Andréa last night, but you know what?  It was for good.

I didn't have the fist on the ground pounding, fetal position insanity, but I did realize that I'm not being honest about my struggles with the Anorexia Monster.

Well, I have to say it out loud now.  I've told Papi and now I have to be honest with myself.  For the past 2 days, I limited my food to 'feel' thin.

I have had an excruciatingly hard time seeing how I could keep from feeling 'not good enough', when I saw that person in the mirror.

I broke through a major layer last night.

People have seen as me as being very hard on myself all my life.  I realized that this is not my intention.

I now see that I'm frustrated at what I see in the mirror and need help, because she just won't let up.

I tried to appease her, but then I remembered that it is not such a great idea.  There's no winning with this bitch, because the less I eat, the worse she shows me in that reflective devil.

So, I'll just shut off her heat valve and cover the mirror.

Bitch.

Also, I think another part of the problem is, the nerve medication I take to help me sleep through pain is giving me that good ol' pharmaceutical puff.

This is my next venture.  Get off these disgusting pills that are puffing me up like that Orange Angry Bird.

The whole idea of thinking positively and chanting positive mantras is so that I can get past the things that hold me in fear.

Well, now that I'm getting to the nitty gritty, I had an awful flashback.

Because there were tears about my Anorexia Monster overstaying her visit last night, my nose got stuffed.

yeah yeah yeah ... i'm one of those messy cryers ... snotty and all consuming ...

Once I'd spat her foul, abscessed venom out of my mouth, I was trying to drink loving water to cleanse my tongue from her poison.

Well, because I was all snotty, my nose couldn't get air to swallow, and the water felt suspended in my throat.

In less than a second, I was transported to when I was a kid and was drowning.

I was trying to show my mom and dad how I could do a back float, but they didn't watch, ...

... smoke another one pops ... thanks for caring ...

... and I floated toward the sea.

It took longer than usual to hit the sandy shore, so I tried to stand, but there were no little pebbles to greet my feet.

Over the drop off I went.

Water forced it's way down to my lungs, because in panic, I tried to breathe in.  At the same time, my other life support, my sinus cavity, was already filled with water.

Nothing was going in or out and I became one and the same with water.

I watched the line of air above me float further away, and I calmly gazed at the boy who was standing near me, frozen in fear, do nothing to help.

However, It was tranquil.

I felt I could give up, and I would really be ok.

I had peace.

Part of healing our lives, so we may live without our demons, is getting things out of our mind and through our mouths so it can let our souls be free.

Still, these are the things that scare me.

These are also the times I think, who the fuck keeps trying to kill me?!?!

Well, 'they' just keep trying, whomever 'they' are, but somehow, I manage to stay one step ahead of 'them'.

I sleep with one eye open.



even when the road is rough, steep and slippery, I can keep moving forward.

You may be a redneck if,

I never got to tell you about the whacky experience during the video preparation and the actual day.

Remember that bad dream I had?

The one where my BlueLight partner Lin stopped the filming because of my 'fat'?.

While the fitting of the dress happened, you know, when it fit, Lin ever so seriously walked over and pointed out that there was a bulge in the boning of the dress.

All I saw was her pointing at the 'fat' that i'm all too aware of, so I told her what had just happened I had dreamed about prior.

I got very defensive, because the Anorexia Monster was chattering about how I'm going to look so awful in the video, etc.

However, I found my come back, "Ok!  But it is only Saturday.  I have one more day to eat a gazillion veggies and lose water."

They were both impressed that I was able to actually lose a dress size in a week, but now comes the hard part.  Keeping up with my proper diet.

There has been a lot of talk on Facebook about a campaign to bring awareness to eating disorders.

The Anorexia Monster is really enjoying it.

Mostly because I read the full article about how most models are considered anorexic, yet the 'plus' size models were around a 6 and above.

You fucking kidding me?

So.

To them I'd be a plus size person?

No.

A plus size person can only shop at 3 stores, and it's all made for older women who like to dress conservatively, or in a moo moo, without a spice of flare to it, lest they look good.

Seriously?

Where are the designers out there who realize that the world doesn't revolve around size 'waif'?

Beauty does not only come under the size of 6, but that good old Anorexia Monster is still talking away at me regardless.

hehehe ... while you're sick and don't feel like eating, you can just fake a little more 'not feeling like its' in and lose a bit of that stuff you see in the mirror ...

Well, I'm too sick to fight that bitch, so I'll be sure that when I do feel like eating, it will be something healthy that benefits my system.

So, fuck you and your 'plus size' fucking crap.

Fuck!

The fucking fucker's fucked!

Had to throw that in there. 

I just love the redneck in me.

Dream a Little Dream With Me.

Well, I did pretty good until last night.

I've been eating healthy, exercising and trying to be nice to myself.

That doesn't stop what I see in the mirror, but I feel better, so if nothing happens to get me into that dress, at least I'm feeling healthy.

However, even though I can talk to myself about being healthy, the Anorexia Monster is nipping at my heels, very much in the same manner as Sir Bark-a-Lot when we have company.

Alas, the Anorexia Monster entered my dreams last night.

I dreamed I was at least 50 pounds heavier than I really am, and when we did the video shoot, the Grand Poohbah ...

aka the big boss lin ...

... stopped shooting and said, "Hold on, hold on!  We have a bit of a problem here!"

She showed me the problem.

Yup.

Great gobs of fat hanging from my stomach.

We had to cancel the video shoot and I had to go lose weight.

Jeeeeeeeezus Christ on a stick!

First of all, even if I was as heavy as the Andréa in the dream, we'd still be doing a video, because this video is not about perfect bodies who have suffered to be this way.

This video is about my craft, my art and my talent, not my fucking ass and stomach.

Second of all, I can get another dress that will flatter my curvacious body and I will still feel sexy, because sex appeal comes from within.

So, I woke up, and what do you think is the first thing I did?!?

If you guessed run to the mirror and lift my t-shirt up to reveal the stomach that doesn't look like the one in my dream, then you'd be correct.

It was actually good for me.

For a moment, I saw that I'm smaller than the person in the dream, even if it did switch very quickly into wayyyyyy too much heftiness on my hips.

That's when I stopped looking.

I'm eating my normal breakfast, and will eat my healthy food through the day, coupled with a gym/physio workout and nice words to myself.

Even if I can't get into that dress tomorrow, I'm trying to remind myself that this was a gown worn in my teens.

I have to remember that I'm a woman, not a young girl.

I have to remember that one of the sexiest women known, was a vivacious size 10, which in today's sizes bring Marilyn Monroe's size closer to a 16.

I have to remember that the fashion industry has started to make clothing smaller, so that we women have even more grief about our healthy bodies.

Fuck them and their fucking ridiculous sizes that make us, with eating disorders, cringe every time we need to buy a new pair of jeans. 

Fuck them and their fucking air brushing to make an aging woman feel older than the stars we see in magazines.

Fuck them and their fucking rants about who's too fat or who's too thin.

Fuck them and their glorifying of mentally ill models, who are starving themselves for designers from hell.

I have had crying sessions in change rooms, where I've had to leave all the clothes I've tried on in a crumpled mess, that which reflects my mind.

Well, today I will be good to myself, even if I do see the dream Andréa in the mirror.

The mirror lies.

I have to remember that the only reason I have a mirror is to see if my outfits are not looking like a tossed salad with way too many clashing veggies.

Anyway, all I really want to say is, even if I can't fit into that dress tomorrow that I wore just 5 months ago, then fuck it.

I'm healthy, and there's another dress out there just waiting for me to slide my sexy booty into.