Tuesday, December 3, 2013


dare i describe how it felt to be pressed between a bed and a girl, drunk and delirious while he fucked her on top of me? i felt such a rush of power, i felt desirable, all i had to do was lay there and let them do what they wanted, take some pictures, booze me up, give me some money and a ride home. my ventures into the adult industry have only fueled my desire to be thin, if i'm going to do this, i want my body at its best. the better i look, the more money i'll make. jobless and single for an unforeseeable chunk of my future, this is my only option. people can judge, but most won't know. and when i'm rolling in so much cash i don't know what to do with it, i can finally give back to all the people that i've been forced to mooch off of over the years. i can't handle life. i can't handle sobriety. the way i see it, the only way i'm going to be happy is if i have enough money for my drugs and distractions. i'm so lost in life, i don't know who i am or what i really want, i'm so unsure about everything and my emotions are a rollercoaster with or without my medication, i just have to pick which one i want to ride out. i'm still talking to drew and it kills me because i see him like a brother and he'll always see me as a lover. i'm still struggling to make friends and meet boys. that's all it ever is, struggling.

stay strong, think thin, live ana

Thursday, October 31, 2013


shortly after my last post, my laptop broke, completely died. now i'm stuck with my mom's laptop, and i'm too scared to post from there because i have to give it back in a couple months, so i have to find time to hunt down an open computer on campus to post on here. i will try to update from my kindle, but since that doesn't have a keyboard they will be brief posts.

the more immersed i become in the ana world of twitter, the more i miss this blog and the way the ana community was when i first walked through its doors. pro ana and pro anorexia used to be completely different terms, but now people use them synonymously. i still consider myself pro ana, but i go by the old definition. nowadays, pro ana means pro anorexia, girls who view anorexia as a lifestyle choice and encourage others to join the ranks. but what it means to me is, simply, someone who doesn't want to recover, someone who genuinely has an eating disorder but has no intentions of getting better, and is open to talk to other anorexics without nagging them to eat and be healthy. but on twitter, girls with this mindset bash the pro ana label, thinking its something completely different. i don't understand it. i miss the way things used to be, i miss the way i used to be. i was an inspiration. i want to be that again, influential enough to get the right facts out there and get some support. i want to change the pro ana stigma back around.

the reason this issue has been on my mind is because of the attacks on the Skinny4Xmas challenge on twitter. the challenge is run by an online ana idol in australia (@EDSupportNetwork) and runs from the end of october through the end of december. each week has a different net calorie goal, meaning you don't count the calories you burn off from exercise. not even a week from its first day, my timeline was flooded with girls thanking @EDSupportNetwork for providing them with a support network, and many even claimed that the challenge helped them eat more instead of fasting. yet so many other girls are talking trash, saying it encourages starvation and isolates those who are dropped from the challenge. you can read the rules for yourself on @EDSupportNetwork's twitter page, but i want to make a couple things clear:

  1.  if Skinny4Xmas was meant to encourage starvation, she would have included fasting days like the ABC diet does. 
  3. even if you get dropped from the challenge and unfollowed, you can still play along and interact with others to get support.
  4. it is a CHALLENGE, not a COMPETITION. yes there are prizes, but you are only competing with yourself!
i truly feel that Skinny4Xmas has become more than a challenge, its become a movement. and all the Happy4Xmas haters and dimwits are going to ruin something beautiful. if you follow me or read my blog, PLEASE help me fight these misconceptions!!

as for me, i've been sticking with the challenge quite well. thinking about things in terms of net calories really makes me keep track of everything more. i've already dropped 4lbs since it started, and only plan on losing more. i miss frailty, pale skin, shaking hands. winter is skinny time.

stay strong, think thin, live ana

Wednesday, September 18, 2013


that's all i'm doing. floating through the moments of every day, half there but half unaware. i don't know whether it's my medicine or my sickness, but i get in strange moods where i don't want to be around other people and i don't want to do anything and i don't think about anything and i don't feel like talking or creating or producing any thought. i call these times "feeling quiet." and i've been feeling quiet a lot lately.

i guess after so long feeling quiet last week i had to take something in and push it out, something had to fill the void. so when i went home for a trip to six flags with lauren and my grandparents, i ate. i caved. i ate and puked. then ate a little more, thought "fuck it" and filled up just to purge it back out. i continued on like this until yesterday when i woke up feeling like my insides were rotting and falling apart.

i don't even purge to lose weight, like most people think bulimics do. i do it for the high. i do it for the catharsis. i do it for the privilege of feeling full that must be replaced with the security of feeling empty. i do it to hurt myself. some people cut, some people puke.

i'm a motherfucking mess. there's a sort of dignity to anorexia, but bulimia is an addiction and a disease, just like alcoholism or self-injury, and i have to stop. i don't want to end up dead on a bathroom floor in a pile of my own sick. and i'm tired of crying into toilet bowls. every time i get clean for a few months, i fall back into this pit. and it's tough as shit to crawl out.

i'm going to try planning out my meals every morning, so that way i know that i have something to look forward to and to fuel me, but i won't decide on a spur of the moment to eat too much and have to purge or too little and want to binge five minutes later. i was in the habit of just keeping no food around the house, i let my supplies dwindle until i just had no options other than work food or spending money on binge food (which was supposed to be a deterrant), but it backfired. having no options just made me feel boxed in, and i took control by rebelling against my own punishment, spending money on cheap mcdonalds binges or concocting feasts out of random shit lying around the kitchen, waiting to go home on weekends to get the real goods. but fuck all that. i'm all stocked up on fruits and veggies and oatmeal packets and coffee. i'd rather spend my money on good cigarettes than food. i have got to exercise way more self-control, and so far since i set my mind to this, i have.

i just have to stick to it this time.

stay strong, think thin, live ana

Thursday, September 5, 2013

the floodgates open up..

these past two days have been long. no weed, no food, complete sobriety (other than nicotine of course). too much sobriety. too much thinking. by late this evening my thoughts were swirling around in my head like floodgates were opening left and right, thought whisper whisper thought "Nikki" thought whisper thought thought whisper whisper "Nikki!" whisper whisper thought...



i didn't know how to quiet it. my mind was racing with thoughts that whisked by as quickly as they came, most would fleet away from me but many of them i felt compulsed to record, as if it were so important, as if i were figuring out the whole universe. they would begin narrowly and focused towards myself: my life, my past, my future, my present. what went right and wrong. what should i regret? what should i let go? what opportunities did i miss? what happened to all the people i lost along the way? why do the things happen to me that do? what do people think about me, and how can i get them to think of me the way i want them to think of me? and how exactly is that, what is that perfect image of myself? on and on and on.. thoughts about the people around me, ignorant bitches and childish boys pretending to be men and stuttering theatre professors too nervous to live their dreams of working in film. these observations were obvious to me, based on sole intuition. off my meds (the paxil anyway, the zoloft must not be quite doing it for me) i view myself as a separate being of sorts, alien to the rest of the human population. i see their flaws so clearly, as well as the aspects i envy. i look at the others around me from the outside looking in, skilled in going unnoticed. and yet, i know i am flawed in myself. BAM, cognitive dissonance - tension. increasing anxiety. what is wrong with the world? i break apart the entire system, the societies, the governments, the media, the affluent, and so on all the way down to the shitheads picking coins out of the dirt to get their next buzz on whatever fucked up street drug got them stuck on the bottom. philosophy, what is right? what is wrong? who is right about what? brain buzzing brain buzzing and all the while anytime a thought of food or hunger pops into my brain my mind lashes back with a firm "NO." i was bad. i was being cleansed. i was not allowed to eat. i drank a mountain dew when i felt dizzy and had a headache, but that's all. any chance i was alone and had a little energy, down i went to do at least 30 squats, 35 crunches, 25 pushups, 40 crunches, 35 more squats and finish off with 100 jumping jacks. down went 3 pounds, away went my family dinner binge over the weekend. away went my mind with them.

the bestie fronted me some pot so i feel less anxious, but, as you can probably tell from my writing, it's all still whirling. i was hoping this would slow it down a little. well, it seems to have helped a little. anyways, i have a lunch date with a cute boy tomorrow so i suppose i'll end this cleansing fast then. i can't not eat and look like a freak, but i have to make sure not to let my hunger trick me into grabbing too much food and also looking like a freak. luckily we're eating on campus so i can plan a little. i pray we eat in the caf where i can just hit the salad bar. as long as it's colorful and i get some lite dressing, i bet i can slide away with 150 cals, and that's if i eat the whole thing! pair it with a diet dr pepper of course, and a boy with jolly-rancher blue eyes, and i think it will be worth any damage it could possibly do.

stay strong, think thin, live ana

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

thoughts and whispers

summer is supposed to be a magical time of year when the world is warm, happy, full of light. we all dream of that perfect summer romance, meeting some hunk at summer camp who happens to be a deep thinker and compassionate lover. someone who isn't meant to stay forever but who provides a lesson in love and a heartfelt goodbye.

well, my summer wasn't magical. my summer romance was a disaster. i don't know what i am supposed to have learned other than boys lie.

i fell for dakotah the day we met. he told his ex to shove it, and i stopped talking to drew. we moved in together, we fell in love, his family treated me like one of their own. the four days that i was in The Forest so far away from him brought us even closer upon my return. he made me feel more self-assured and encouraged me to eat, saying i would be perfect with curves. he helped me come to terms with the abortion to an extent, even made me feel comfortable with the idea of having a child with him. then, out of nowhere, he dropped me flat on my face. shattered my heart and broke my spirit.

i started cutting again. throwing up. popping diet pills like candy and working out all hours of the night. the less he acknowledged my existence, the quicker he forgot all i had, the deeper i descended into my self-destruction. i remember one night in particular my best friend had to talk me out of killing myself while i had a complete meltdown in my car in the middle of the night. i couldn't bear the aching loneliness in my heart. the hole left by the death of my baby was temporarily filled with dakotah's love. i still look at children and pregnant bellies with longing. after dakotah left, the pain returned.

going back to school has made things a little easier. the most important factor contributing to my semi-sense of ease was simply having access to the internet. i once again sought out the pro ana community for empathy and commendatory. when i'm scrolling through my anonymous twitter feed (@sickk_nikki) i am walking down my neighborhood street. each favorite a "hello," each retweet a friendly wave. picslips are the faces peeping from behind curtains, taking a peek outside. i am noticed here; my words matter.

lately i have been so consumed by thought, a constant babble of pretty words and articulated phrases. i feel that artistic craziness setting in, possibly from my new concoction of pills, but it drives me to pursue my goals, and to create. maybe it's true that artists have to suffer for their work, because what great works of art, what classic novels, what successful song releases have been written by happy, normal people?

i don't know why normal people were put on this earth, but maybe i'm not meant to be sane. because from insanity comes imagination. and there's so much inside this broken mind of mine.

who am i? who am i meant to be?

stay strong, think thin, live ana

((P.S. check out the link towards the end of this post, it's a really interesting article about the correlation between creativity and presence of a mental illness!))

Tuesday, June 4, 2013

8 Weeks, 3 Days

it's been 3 days since the procedure. with each day that has passed my feelings become more mixed. i know that in consideration of my financial situation and my physical and mental health, and not to mention who the father is, i did the right thing. i made the right decision. i don't have regrets. but i do feel a little remorse. in a sense, i feel like i'm mourning.

i arrived at the clinic at 8am, trailing behind my mother who i was silently thanking every second for being there with me. on the other side of the small parking lot a single protester stood in the rain with a sign around his neck, umbrella in one hand, camera in the other. i hid my face and cursed him under my breath. i don't even remember what the sign said. after confirming with the greeter that we had no food or drink with us and that my mother was my licensed designated driver, we entered the building.

it was actually a really nice facility, a lot cleaner and, well, better looking than the outside. the walls were painted with cool, calming colors, the lobby was filled with comfy chairs, TV monitors and magazines, and all the workers greeted us with smiling faces and kind voices. after filling out some paperwork and waiting for my name to be called, i went to the first waiting room to wait to get my ultrasound.

every chair was filled, phone use was not allowed, and all of us were sitting there alone with our thoughts knowing we were all thinking about the exact same thing. i searched their faces for emotions, some looked scared and nervous like me, some looked sad, some looked like it was no big deal, and others faces were too hardened or hidden to read. finally, after a girl had hushed her mother off the phone, i had to break the silence. "moms, right?" was all it took. a few of us in the corner started talking and a couple of them had already been to the clinic for the same reason before. they assured us that it wasn't that bad, only took a minute, and that the comfort shot they give you took away all the pain. "you won't even remember it," she said, "you be aight!"

when they called my name, i was pretty calm. i was a little nervous about pulling my pants down for a doctor for the first time, but the woman was so sweet and friendly it completely relaxed me. She told me I was 8 weeks and 3 days and didn't ask if I wanted to see the ultrasound. I didn't want to anyway, the number made it real enough for me.

after that they gave me a binder full of information about how the procedure was done, what the possible side effects were, aftercare procedures, and other services offered by the clinic. i read every single word, and now i don't recall any of it. shortly after i closed the binder, they called me for my blood test.

another nice nurse asked me how i was doing as she strapped my arm to take my blood pressure. then she pricked my finger, squeezed a little blood out and smeared it around on a test card. then she told me the awful news: my blood type was negative, meaning i needed an extra shot, which cost $60. i started to panic, because that meant i couldn't afford the comfort shot. with tears in my eyes i hurried out to talk to my mom, who immediately had my dad put money in her account and saved my ass. i breathed a small sigh of relief. then they called my name to make my payment. my got to come with me this time, since she was helping me pay for it. "for the record," she said, "i'm only paying for the shots. i'm not helping you pay for the procedure." this was hard for her, you see. she strongly sided with the pro-life opinion, but since i was her daughter and a legal adult, she supported my decision as my own choice. anyways, i paid the $440 for the procedure, and my mom paid $60 for whatever the fuck that stupid shot was that only people who are unluckily born with a negative blood type have to pay for, and $55 for the sanity-saving comfort shot.

then, back to the lobby. name called again. another waiting room. i ran into one of the girls from the ultrasound waiting room, who had been unsure about which way she wanted to get it done. now she was pretty settled on the pill, because it seemed more natural. i wished her luck when they called her away to consult with the doctor. then i was called to get my IV inserted. miraculously, i didn't freak out about the needle, probably because of the nurse. this one was my favorite, a late-middle-aged woman who probably lived in a trailer and sounded like she smoked as many cigarettes as i do. her slight southern drawl was comforting, she was just the sweetest thing. when she took my left arm to put in the IV she saw my scars and just touched them softly, said her son did the same thing and she never understood why. we actually talked about it for quite a while, among other things. at this point i really felt understood by these people, cared for. i thought that if i had to do this, of all places at least i picked the right one.

when she sent me on my way, i tried not to think about how that IV felt stuck in my arm. every time i noticed the sensation or looked at it i remembered why it was there and why i was there and oh god i'm really about to do this.. this time i was in the waiting room alone, and i started to feel scared. i think the only thing that had kept me calm this whole time was the presence of others, and now, lacking that, the dams behind my eyelids broke. i started to cry. i was frustrated, tired of waiting, I didn't have my phone but I knew i'd been there for hours. i cleaned myself up and calmed down just in time to be called to the changing room. the same nurse led me there, gave me a room, instructions, and a hug, and left me.

as i removed my shorts and underwear and wrapped the white cloth around me, things started to feel real again. "8 weeks and 3 days" began to play on loop in my head. i hid my face from the other girls in the waiting room and let the tears flow. one by one they called them and i hid my tears from the nurses. for a few moments, i just needed to be with myself. i needed to let it out, to cry. i needed to mourn. for the first time that day i saw this thing not as a parasite growing inside me and messing up my body, not as a piece of drew stuck inside that could possibly connect me to him for the rest of my life, but as a living thing, 8 weeks and 3 days old. maybe it couldn't think, maybe it couldn't feel, but it was living, it had some kind of spiritual energy, some kind of soul that kickstarts inanimate materials' transformation into living things. i couldn't give it a name, i couldn't refer to it with he or she, but i could grieve this loss of life, of both the fetus and the girl i was before this day. i knew i would never be the same, and i knew i would never forget this creature who i had decided to destroy.

i remember the last girl before me wishing me luck as she passed me, looking at me as if she understood all of that reasoning behind my tears.

a perky redhead opened the door and her smile fell as soon as she saw me. i stood up and hurried to her side as her eyebrows bowed with concern and she asked me if i was alright, if i was having second thoughts, assured me that i don't have to do this if i don't want to. well, nobody wants to i thought, but i told her i was alright, just a little scared and a little sad. i was sure i wanted to do this, but i just needed to cry. she smiled and said she understood and walked me into the O.R. with an arm around me and tightly holding my hand. i swear she didn't let go. this is where things get foggy, because shortly after getting up on the table and spreading myself open she pumped that wonderful comfort shot into my IV and i drifted. i remember the cold pressure of the first instrument the doctor inserted to dilate me. i remember some pinching and pulling inside, but i swear i was outside my body at the same time because i remember more of my yelps and handsqueezes than the pain itself. and before i knew it, it was over.

i was being led away to the recovery room to sit in a nice comfy chair all doped up sipping sprite and munching on saltine crackers. it was over with. i could breathe. i could begin to forget. i realized that same girl who wished me luck was relaxing a couple chairs down from me, and we made slurred small talk for a few minutes. nurses helped us stand and led us to a table where another nurse talked us through aftercare procedures, gave us a couple handouts, and hugged us goodbye. our nurses led us to our drivers, and my mom led me to the car. and that was it. we didn't talk about it, we didn't want to. and i was hanging onto that dazey, dreamy dopey feeling for as long as i could. but one thing i knew for sure, i was never going back there. i was never putting myself in this situation again.

that night when i got home i made the mistake of looking up pictures, educated myself on what exactly was inside me before i took it out. it looked more human than i was comfortable with. it killed me when i read that it could hear. had i known that, i would have bent down to my stomach and whispered "i'm sorry" every chance i got.

two of my best friends have been through the same ordeal. maybe they didn't go about it the exact same way i did, or werent the same age when it happened, but they understand, and i'm so grateful to have them. i want ALL of my readers to know that if they ever have to face this situation, i know how lonely it is to deal with and i am here for you all 100%, just leave a comment on my most recent post or tweet me and we will figure out a way to communicate (i forgot my lettersfromana@live.com passord, lol). i really want to help anyone else who has to deal with this.

as for me, i'm just trying to unmix these emotions and sort them into neat little piles, get everything in place and in the right order. i just try to keep my mind of things, and what better way to do that than to focus on shedding 15lbs of pregnancy weight, eh?

stay strong, think thin, live ana

Wednesday, May 29, 2013


i knew that the weight i was gaining was not entirely fat, and i knew it wasn't muscle either. i knew that it was completely unlike me to be unable to control my temptations for ice cream and spicy foods. i knew i wasn't just tired all the time because i was switching medications. i knew deep down, but i took a test anyway, right after wasting $40 on a morning-after pill. and that's when i found out, for sure, that i'm pregnant.

immediately: told the best friend
the next day: drank and smoked the shock into numbness
day three: made appointment for an abortion (this Saturday)
day four: told my mother (who took it well, actually) and got morning sickness for the first time.

and here i am, five days later. i can't believe it's been five days. five more days of this parasite slowly growing inside me. i need to stop it. i want it out.

drew and i broke up for good. i told him we both need to move on, that he'd flipped out and gone crazy on me for the last time. i refuse to give birth to his half-souled child. it's not a baby, it's a monster. and i just want it out.

stay strong, think thin, live ana