EATING DISORDER DINNER PARTY/PSEUDO REHAB/GOT HIT BY A TAXI CAB/ A NEW YORK SUMMER CLASSIC.

EATING DISORDER DINNER PARTY/PSEUDO REHAB/GOT HIT BY A CAB/ A NEW YORK SUMMER CLASSIC. 

Ello blog. Ive been doing awful bla bla bla bla but Im still le best effing writer in nyc. 

le depressive bulimic episode got so bad that I had to come clean to my parents. 

We met at an Italian restaurant on west 48th street above an empty salsa club for le big occasion. I wore a vintage coat made of lite fabric with gold sailor suit accents. I always feel confident in nautical-wear. AHOY!!!! I waz in such a vommit brain fog I couldn't tell what shoes I wore (which is extremely unusual for moi, I typically have a photographic memory of all my outfits, if i cant remember you or somethging you told moi: just tell me what i was wearing when it went down).

Le week prior to le dinner,  I pulled a classique moi and texted a confession spiral to my dad. Poor guy. He'd been mad I'd been over-drafting all my bank accounts recklessly. I had no excuses left. I'd spent le past 6 or so months trying to claw my way out of my increasingly hoarder-ific bedroom. Every time I made progress , I got dragged back and somehow worse. I'd reached le point where I could not function. Id effed up all work+commitmentsr+relationshipz and if i made it out, itd be to an odd party where I'd get blackout just to deal with le utter misery of knowing peepz could look at me and my fucked weight gain and subsequent shit outfit!!!!! Itz a sick effing joke that bulimia makes moi looks so much fatter and has destroyed my face (so. Swollen) EATING DISORDER DINNER PARTY

Ello blog. Ive been doing awful bla bla bla bla but I'm still am le best writer in nyc so here we are...

I had to come clean to my parents.

 We met at an Italian restaurant on west 48th street above an empty salsa club for le occasion. I wore a vintage coat made of lite fabric with gold sailor suit accents. I always feel confident in nautical-wear. AHOY!!!! I waz in such a vommit brain fog I couldn't tell what shoes I wore (which is extremely unusual for moi, I remember all outfits).

Le week prior to thiz dinner,  I pulled a classique moi and texted a confession spiral to my dad. Poor guy. He'd been mad I'd been over-drafting all my bank accounts recklessly. I had no excuses left. I'd spent le past 6 or so months trying to claw my way out of my increasingly hoarder-ific bulimia bedroom. Every time I made progress , I got dragged back and somehow worse. I'd reached le point where I could not function. I couldn't make it to work, commitments, and if i made it out itd be to party where I'd have to get blackout just to deal with le utter misery of knowing peepz could look at me and my fucked weight gain and subsequent shit outfit!!!!! Itz a sick effing joke that bulimia makes moi looks so much fatter and has destroyed my face (so. Swollen) PLUS my fingers are all cut up. Maybe I'm a bad bulimic, but mY advice iz to leave that shit to le professionals.  So annoy that it'z so addictive..!!!! Beware.

Anywhoooo I'd been charging like a maniac. Piles of take out boxes and empty diet cokes all over my room. Grey gardens of Bushwick meets "Wasted" . bla bla bla. I'll save le gritty-ness for my long awaited book deal. 

My dad had been extremely understanding after I texted. I felt completely stuck. but slightly better. That's le thing about running yo-self into a wall in le name of avoidance. You get to a point where le suffering is so hopelesz you dgaf and just spill le beanz. And then itz just a huge relief. We made plans to meet up when they arrived. 

I got to Le restaurant first. I usually am a very punctual person, although ive become flakey to le max. Even though id tried to bail twice, barely able to drag moiself out of bed until my father mentioned he might come to my place if I no-showed, I strutted past elderly patrons and touristy families catching a pre-broadway show dinner. I love le attention you get in crowded city restaurant's when a hostess shows you to your table. Its basically a catwalk. And even at what felt like rock bottom I guess I'm still a sucker for le limelight.

We drank like a bottle and a half of wine between le three of us. My parents did a really good job. I suspect they may have been relieved to see that I had actually gained weight since le last time I saw them. My text was probz a bit alarming. Ive always been a mega fluctuator (I'll never forget my mother's shock le first time I saw her on break from freshman year of college.. "You've disappeared!"  She exclaimed. Of maybe disintegrated. Something dramatically motherly like that.) 

Right so anyways my parents did a good job with le talk and I ate all my salmon and didnt ralph. We talked about the movie with the Abu Ghraib military guard. Then we jumped between serious what-are-we gonna do talk and family chit chat. I half apologized for all my bad press in the new yorker and the new york times (my parents know better than to take everything i blab seriously) . I only teared up once. My mom did pull up the NEDA website on her phone at one point. But I was touched. And oui, we got tipsy. But like not in a dark way just sort of a few minutes of light trauma bonding, spastic, emotionally absurd wine haze. Majorly needed at the end of a eating disorder sos dinner party!

after that I felt a lot better. But le next day I went to some gallery openings and a dinner and then party I had to go to (I had promised to host!!). I drank way to much. If you've ever read le mf blog before you can guess what came next... Hotel after party, drama, it girls fighting (not moi this time!!), moi taking a bath, and us all getting kicked out of le room by security. Then an after after party. Somehow lost my apartment keys and my cards but not my lipstick. As has become tragically routine, I spent le following week In bed being agoraphobic and e-d riddled as hell. I used to say that I'm like a wind up toy.... And I just shoot off when I go out. Lately im just a lame effing explosion. 

But I'm trying. After le SOS dinner then le false start then le massive episode, I found a treatment center and have begun my official pseudo-rehab intake. I absolutely do not want to do it but thatz like the whole point of sort-of-rehab. At least its edgy. I think itll be good for le blog. 

Le whole breakdown ive dragged out for like 6 months and now ghosted everyone in my life over is so lame-sauce. I hate that I'm effing Britany Murphy with chickens under her bed in this girl interrupted moment - not even MF Winona (we all really want to be Angie in manic pixie world, obvi).

I haven't had a day where I didn't binge on something in longer than I can remember. Ive been an excessive person my entire life. I thought my move would help but moving to Brooklyn is never gonna be a lifestyle saver for moi, not matter how optimistic I try to be. STILL... Im commited to being an antisocial hermit until I actually get treatment going smoothlyy ish. Im mega mega pleased i can do outpatient but TBD. God help moi if I end up locked away with a bunch of teenage girlz, I'll get totally wrapped up in their drama.  But since I can't get moiself to do anything but sleep eat and puke... I'll try anything !

 I'm telling myself being so MIA and hard to reach makes moi seam less available and more mysterious. I loooooong to be mysterious. But, God made moi le biggest blabber mouth of all time. 

I haven't been taking photos because I can't stand to look at moiself these dayz but here are some fun thingz ive managed to do since I last blogged about my amaze life  ( but before le big nervy b): 

- bought loadz of king Kylie era heelz. Think givenchy 2015.

-bought a hat I call "Tiny Tim Hat" at BIG ASH (le new vintage shop, RUN OVA peepz of nyc). 

- spilled my bottle of prozac all over a studio floor of a photoshoot for a top fashion brand (I make an awful model but will take any gig).

- hosted to a faux gala and didnt have much fun. got in a fight about counterfeit Adderall there. 

- had massive fight with Tahar, who's name I have tattoo'd.

- got HIT BY A TAXI ON LE EFFING WEST SIDE HIGHWAY. 

- passed a pregnancy test thank eff. I havent had a period in months but thatz prob on account of le lack of proppa nutrients. i havent had sex in agez.

- made up avec Tahar after we were bounced from a club by a rude FIT gay.

- made up with le club but no le gay (EFF YOU BUDDY).

- drank fancy shroom juice from a NYC market and sent heapz of peepz recordings of moi and Mika screaming HOWL by GINSBERG.

- ordered bongo drums to be beatnik.

- ordered a v cheap record player.

- ordered one cheap Gilberto album. 

- ordered new red underwear. 

- ordered new red lights and red sheets and a red notebook.

- realized expired makeup is mega chic. 

- totally effed up my job which I use to be decent at. 

- ran out of perfume FML.

- orderedd dc

- became a master prankster (more on that later when im in a stronger mental place).

- bought incense to be beatnik. If im being totally honest i dont love le smell of incense but its not all about that.

- had my first DJ set and smashed it (dancing on top of le booth + playing perfect music). 

- was harassed by wack nobodies with chips on their shoulderz and bad taste in music and no respect for moi as a DJ after being tricked into DJing for le entire night. I plug my droid into le CDJs PR whatev and press buttons and oui, I let le YouTube ads play because I don't have any music streaming APS or anything. Sue moi- I'm avant garde and this is new york city!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ugh. I've barely left le house in months and I'm still getting riled up about le few times I did. Let moi repeat - this is new york City. Hide away or act proppa. !!!

Merci for reading !

Namasté.

...i'll be piling on le prayer beads.

Till next bloggy ....

...alltho I'm still technically on hiatus.....

Au revoir !

Xoxozozozozozxx