Twice the taste, No Calories

Alrighty friendlies, I’ve been feeling a little deep lately. I know, I know, it’s very unlike me to get all emo and shit, but can you blame, I am a woman nearing her 30’s, with ovaries that cry once  a month. Seriously, if it were up to me I would rather have no feelings and punch my ovaries in the fucking face, but alas, I shall not.

This year, I have been slowly unraveling into one of two things: 1) A Crazy Person 2) An Open Book. Fuck, perhaps both man. I mean for one, my whole family is crazy so it is about time the cray cray bug bites me, and well, I have always been someone who is quite open, but very careful will what I choose to share with others.

So today, I will share a couple things that have been floating around in this big head of mine.

***

In highschool (fuck 11 years ago now?) I was a little more roly poly. In my family I was the ‘fat one’. I would be hounded by my siblings with fat jokes. Now here is the thing, I wasn’t by any means overweight. I was thick sure, but I played tons of sports and was a dancer.

In grade 9, I decided that the only time I’ll eat food was right after school and right after dance class (which usually ended around 10pm). I never, ate breakfast, as it always made me sick in the wee hours of the morning.This practice of mine was painful. I would be starving all through school, and as soon I was home I would eat, and eat and eat, as much as humanly possible and then head to ballet class. Now, to put this in perspective, school started around 8:45, ended around 3pm and my dance classes would start at around 4:15. So stupid Caitlin, would be cramming in any fucking thing she could in the span of 1 hour; Chips, sandwiches, KD, fruit, you name it!

I would go off to class, in a very tight body suite for 4 sometimes 5 hours, with all the shit I just ate swishing around in my stomach. SO.NOT.IDEAL.

Now, at this age I was also turning from a child into a semi-decent-older child. I began having curvy hips, my boobs were blossoming into an uncomfortable C Cup (C is for Caitlin), and stretch marks started to line my thighs and ass. Now, maybe for most females at this time, having titties and hips is exciting. The boys will finally come flocking wanting to catch a  nip slip, or slide in for a finger bang. But for me, a girl who wants to be a ballerina, this was unacceptable.

I already came to terms knowing my body type was not that of an ideal ballerina. I had thick,stocky legs, but I knew they were strong and I could fly off the floor with them, I had small feet, but they were able to endure pain like no other {Side note: I once danced a show with a nail completely stuck in my heel without realizing until the performance was over. #thuglife?}. I wasn’t very tall, but I could lift my legs hire and jump hire than my other fellow ballerinas. I was faced knowing I probably won’t make it as a ballerina based on my body, but if the companies saw passed this and looked at my skill, my technique, then maybe I could. Maybe, just maybe.

In order for me to speed up this process of possibly making it into a company. I decided that all the binge-eating I was doing, was not productive for my life goals, and so to balance it out I discovered……..wait…..for….it……the two-finger diet. (Ahem-bulimia).bulimia

Now, I didn’t start doing this until the last few years or so of high school. But I would go home eat like a fucking piglet, head to the studio, use the washroom to throw all the shit I just ate up and head to class.

Some of the other girls I think knew, but we were all in the same boat. We hated our bodies.

Towards graduation, I stopped. Like turning a light switch on and off. I applied to few universities. The one dance school I applied to I was denied. I wasn’t going to be a dancer. I was angry, I was sad, I was let face it PISSED RIGHT THE FUCK OFF. I couldn’t understand, I knew my body wasn’t that of a ballerina, but I tried to make it so it was. My technique was damn near flawless, my turn out was outstanding, my feet could take me across the floor like no other dancer. My references, were from well-known choreographers and prima ballerina’s. Now, yes I know this seems like I am building myself up way too much, but fuck I was straight up awesome what can I say?

In the letter I received. They regretted to inform me that I was not accepted into the School Of Which Will Not Be Named. They then followed with and now I don’t remember word for word, but it was something along the lines of: What makes a dancer, is not her arabesque. it is not her perfect turn out, nor her feet, but it is her passion. That was my problem, I was so concentrated on trying to make my body perfect, that I completely lost my passion. My eyes were dead in dance, the emotion I tried to convey in dances was forced and noticeably so.

So I stopped. I stopped dancing, I stopped throwing up, I stopped stuffing my face. I was accepted into SFU for Performance Theatre, moved out to BC at the age of 17 and pursued another path.

Now, being a freshman in university I certainly gained weight. I partied every weekend, I was eating unhealthy food, I was an insomniac, I drank coffee until the last drop, I was completely an utterly unhealthy in every possible way. You would have never guess I was a dancer, until I started to move and dance.

I would come home during the summers from university and would be a little bit bigger. I knew my family noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. I hated myself all over again. However, I didn’t feel the urge to go back into old habits.

At some point during my years in university, I met someone and fell in love. L.O.V.E. Now, being still a young, stupid girl still in the party scene, and when you are working with a bunch of actors shit just gets weird. I made a mistake. We almost broke up. He wouldn’t talk to me for a couple weeks, and although we were ‘working on it’ I felt like I was loosing him. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t even drink. In the span of 2 weeks I went from 145-130, then from there on down to 112.

Went home for the summer to visit the family, and they noticed, not everyone said something, but facial expressions say a lot. My mom noticed right away. I in fact didn’t even realized how much weight I lost until people started making comments. And now looking at older photos, I definitely was skinny as fuck. AIN’T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT! My body resembled that of a boy scout or slender man. So not sexy at all.

(Funny how when you gain a little chub chub or lose a lot of weight people will always say rude shit)

When I returned to University (I believe it was my final year), my perspective of people and their bodies changed. Even, the most skinniest of people I saw flaws in their bodies. I didn’t want gain any weight ever again.

So fast forward to now, I am not as skinny as I was then, I am more what I would like to describe as an average thickness. I workout regularly. I eat somewhat healthy. But even now and then that trick I did back in high school creeps up. Sometimes, I get so down about it I won’t even eat in a day, the only thing I seem to binge are laxatives and fucking strangers.

dumb_dumber-e1370035901294What do I have to thank for it? Well, my teeth aren’t as white or as healthy as they could be. That’s from throwing up disgusting acid shit. I have a lot of intestinal issues. I can eat something and it goes through me quite quickly, and sometimes if it doesn’t HELLO LAXATIVES! I also have issues with my ovaries. And it’s not because I punched them in the fucking face. You see, because of my old habit, I have developed cysts on my ovaries, that come and go. Usually, being on birth control keeps them in check, but they are not nice to have. I can sometimes get intense pains, which usually means they have ruptured or just headbanging in my nether regions.GErQCzV

Also another lovely side effect of my old stupid tricks, is the possibility of having children is slim to non. Usually, pregnancy would result in miscarriage or an ectopic pregnancy which is usually resulted into a miscarriage anyways.

So I am at a stage in my life, where I am rather indifferent to the fact. I enjoy being the crazy auntie from out west that spoils all her nieces and nephews.

I am okay with the decisions I have made in my past. I am content with moving forward. And I am still a work in process when old shady habits start creeping up on me.

But hey, every one goes through stuff. And maybe I feel the urge to devulge all this shit because I’m riding the crimson wave right now. but hey I am a bit cray cray, and thought I would share just one chapter of my open book.

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Times Are Tough

So here is a little secret friends, or perhaps it’s not a secret but something that has always been spitting up lately. I am going through another tough time, and yet my tough time is nothing compared to the issues that go on in third world countries, it is not as devastating as the fire’s in Fort McMurray, I am not homeless, nor poor, I am (for the most part) in good health, have great friends, and I am not nearly as traumatized as others with the whole HODOR/HOLD THE DOOR phenomenon.

My problem friends, is as social as I can be, I crave my alone time. As happy as I may seem I am very sad. Some days I wake up and just want to go back to sleep, some days I wake up and I am the happiest I can be and sometimes I just want to end it all. I loathe waking up because I’ll never know how I’ll feel. The feelings I like, are ‘notfeelings’, numbness, indifference etc, etc.

I have not been clinically diagnosed with ‘Depression’. In fact, I’ve avoided going to the docs just for this reason. I hate talking to people, I hate showing weakness, I hate crying, and I hate to admit that I am really just a sad, sad sac of shit, stewing in absolute and utter sadness {howmanytimescaniusesadinasentence}. I don’t want to be labelled, I don’t want to be judged, I just want to either be or to either not.

***

Beginning of this year, I received a letter from seventeen year old Caitlin. (True story). The letter said something along the lines of: If you are not rich and famous now YOU ARE A LOSER! You are probably serving tables and being a wait….for….it…..LOSER! Then it was followed by some cheesy song lyrics of a song I don’t even remember. Fack!! I was/am such a bitch to myself. Seriously, who writes a fucking letter to them self only to tear them down! Uncool seventeen year old Caitlin, uncool. Now, the kicker in all this is: I AM WAITING FUCKING TABLES!!!!! I work five nights a week serving!!!! Would you like another beverage,sir? How is the food tasting? Oh, you didn’t enjoy your food and when I went to do a quality check you said everything was tasting okay and now you don’t want to FUCKING TIP!? Another beer, coming right up, or how about a tall glass of SHUT THE FUCK UP AND FUCK OFF! My smile is wearing thing fuckers!!! Now, having said all that, I enjoy my job. It also allows me  the opportunities to work in shitty low budget films and cheap modelling gigs, but hey every little step counts towards something, right?

***

One thing I pride myself on is that I am able to crack wise about myself. I make ‘two-finger diet’ jokes about my history and somewhat present love affair with bulimia, I joke about the days I am driving to work crying my eyes out, I joke about miscarriages and abortions and not being able to have kids. This is what I do, I make jokes. But sometimes it’s hard to have only myself as a scapegoat.

***

So lets get back to the start.

Last year was a rough year for me. Now, I won’t go into too much detail there, but in short, some shit happened, I was sad, I had anxiety, Doc prescribed me a mixture of potions and pills and off I was into the Netherworld. Summer full of nothing, but rainbows, unicorns and David Bowie’s Goblin King’s bulge.1200

At some point, the rainbows and unicorns disappeared and Bowie’s bulge started to resemble Danny DiVito. I realized, fuck this Cait, you are a big girl, pussy up and do this on your own. No drugs.

So in the fall, I went off completely against Docs orders. (I know, I am such a rebel).

It sucked at first, but day by day, I was slowly finding myself.  I socialized more often, I went to the gym (sometimes seven days a week), I made an effort to be a real person. It was actually quite exciting. It’s like when you first masturbate or ‘discover yourself’, you just want to keep doing it over and over and over and over and over….

Sure, I had bad days, but I would cope with walking my dog or watching my daily dosage of Dr.Phil. I found things to do,to occupy myself.

So…..

At some point this year, my progress into becoming a real person again, was retrograding.

  • I was/am drinking quite often (a girl with three years of sobriety),
  • Hated/hate being at home, so usually a drive or a stop at the pub was my go to,
  • The should’ves, would’ves, could’ves started creeping back into my life,
  • My family back home seemed like they were/are growing without me,
  • I am working 24/7,
  • I am homesick
  • I am lonely
  • I am falling back into a sad, sad, place and all I want to see are rainbows and unicorns and David Bowie’s bulge all over again!

New prescription-complete.

Diagnosis-self-diagnosis.

Anywho, there is more I care to say, but this medication are making the little gnomes on my computer angry and I am pretty sure my titties are lactating….whattheactualfuck!

funny-side-effects-to-medication

4 Pills later and….

It’s been awhile friends (and yes I know this is usually how I begin all my blogs, mostly because I feel mildly inspired or because the rail I just did is kicking in). [It’s okay though, I am only an occasional user.]

ANYWAYS… I am here to tell you guys about my glorious trip to The Doctors. And no I am not talking about the sexy phony’s in white coats and scrubs on daytime TV, and no I am not talking about a previous stint of marathon-ing General Hospital either. (Now, why I spent all day watching a day time soap is for another story, but I will tell you it involved Paxil/Viagara/Zoloft and a doob the size of  a super tampon. #notwinningever)

So bright and early on some morning of this week, I am up, UP and at ‘em (such a go getter). Well, now that it’s been roughly a year or so since I have been single I figured I should start being a responsible adult and go to the docs and get the good ol’ Pappy Pap and make sure all my ladies bits are calm, cool, and collected. I can only presume there is nothing worse than a having your very own cave of wonders demolished by an STI, or lets face it a child.  I mean, when you are in a relationship for 7 or so years, the visits are less frequent. I frequented falling down the stairs more often than visiting the freak’n monkey clinic down the street. Seriously I probably spent more time bending coat hangers just to the right point.

Part of me hustling my ass to the clinic is also that fact that it’ll be the most action I have gotten since me and the ex, parted ways. I am serious, one Leo DiCaprio dream and I book my appointment ASAP. Doctor here I come (possibly in more ways than……no, no, I won’t go there.)

So I am at the docs at 8am. Hair not brushed, no bra, crusted drool on my mouth, and a pair of sweats with the largest hole ever. I don’t know how I got the hole, I only noticed it when I was scratching my ass at the damn place, but hey…. easy access, maybe I won’t have to strip down.

***

PUPPY.

MONKEY.

BABY.

Which by the way is the worst song to ever get stuck in one’s head, especially since it’s not a song it’s just some annoying trend that can seriously fuck off. I am telling you, it’s like herpes, once you think you got rid of it, it comes back.

PUPPY.

MONKEY.

BABY.

Yarggh!!!!!

***

Anywho.

They call me in. I am sitting there and the Doctor walks in. OH FUCK, NOT THIS GUY. You see now that I live in BC, I don’t have my very own personal doc to call me own. Instead I have all these strangers since 05’ to now, prodding me and making me feel like less of a person. This fucker, makes me feel like I am incapable of being a person. If I had known I was getting this guy, I would have smeared peanut butter all over my chasm of doom just to see one of the 8 veins protruding from his forehead vibrate.

So as I was saying, the Doctor comes in. And it’s this old dude, who had trouble finding my hymen the last time I visited him years ago. He comes in, asks why I am here. I give the usually spiel about being responsible and safe and wanting a happy life. I also told him I had a dream about Leo DiCaprio and a pap test was the next best thing. Not only did he not get the joke, nor laugh, he had no idea who Leo was and presumed he was someone I was banging. (I FUCKING WISH, BUDDY….I FUCKING WISH!)

So right at it, my bottoms are off, my apron on, lie back with my feet up , legs a part. Ironically, if you know me, spreading my legs a part is easy (because I was a dancer guys….c’mon…) but here at the docs it was the most difficult thing I have ever done. I don’t know, I was either nervous, or tense or something. I tried to imagine me on a fluffy cloud with Leo about to finger blast me, but even that just made me tense more. DOOOO…..NOT…..PASS……GO……

So with the nurses help she presses one leg down, while Doc presses the other one….insert the metal/plastic tongs of GOFUCKYOURSELFTHISISSONOTCOOLORWORTHITWHATISWRONGWITHMETHISISSONOTOKAYINANYWAY

And then…..are you guys ready for this…..and then……..AND THEN…..

The doctor says, I do remember you.you were the one who wanted to be an actress right?

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME. This asshole only recognizes me from inspecting my whiskerless biscuit!!! I KID YOU NOT!!

He then proceeded to tell me, that he recalled I had broken up with the ex quite awhile ago, and that the last time I visited him I had a UTI and was not being an honest girl. (whatever the fuck that means…..)

In rebuttal, I told him I haven’t had sex since me and the ex split and that if I ever got pregnant it would be a god damn Christmas miracle. Jesus Junior at your service.

He had a little laugh, which hey is all a girl can ask. I’m cracking wise and he’s crack-a-lacking.

So he said well…we both know that isn’t true, safety first. Always safety first.

I called him a butthead, straight up. He made me feel like a loser and the best I could come up with was…butthead.

DOCTOR=BUTTHEAD

Anywho, long story short, we did all the testing, he sent my cunt swabs away to be tested by other strangers in white coats. Said he’ll call me (I am sure he didn’t mean for dinner and a movie.)

He then gave me a prescription. WTF. I asked for what, he and I quote: Not to worry just a precaution….

Fast forward to taking the drugs I was prescribed: 4 blue pills all to be taking at once. and 1 red pill to be taken at once and the next thing I know, I wake up and it’s today….

#sorryforpartyrocking

Needless to say, I still don’t know what the prescription was for…and whenever I google or askjeeves it points to the matrix or the movie Hair…

Alas, I adulted at some point this week, and got my shit check so now I can slag around or just become a nun.