“You know what your issue is? You have a problem with authority, as in you are attracted to it. You see it, you fuck it (cause fuck the police, man), and then you do the stupid ass thing of falling in love with it. Probably because you want to break down the(ir) system and show them that you can fight with the boys just as well as the rest of them. Way to go, you are an idiot.” – Eli

Well thank you Doctor Hardlove. I never would have guessed. It has only been my major downfall in every day of my life. As it is I am currently hung up on two men in points of authority. Both are just bad news for my heart.

Captain (Oh Captain, my Captain *dreamy eyes*) is just awful for my… everything. It is rare that I don’t have game when it comes to men. I can walk into just about any room and own it, but if it involves being around Captain I just lose all sense of direction, and self preservation. I have only met with him twice (you can start your quiet judging around here), we text two or three times a month, but goddamn… Boy gives the best vanilla sex I have ever had. I mean I would write home about this sex // Dear Diary, today I blew a glorious cock, and then I rode it into the sunset. It was the best day ever.// But this man, oh lord. This man is emotionally unavailable, & socially unavailable. He is a veteran (all the anarchists can now start a low grumble), he is a chef… which isn’t actually a bad thing but lets face it Ive been ass over end for enough chefs they never have time, they work 16 hours days sometimes. But he is beautiful. Like… every god got together and they all voted to put all the boy pretty into one person and BAM : Captain. And he has been actually intelligent, interesting, attractive, attentive, or maybe I am imagining that last one… I don’t know (low grumbles can turn to cause for concern now). I know I am rationalizing… because the fantasy of him is way less stressful than the reality of needy ass bitch boys who constantly want my attention. But the relaity of him would probably break my heart, so I will just keep him in a nice little bubble where in my head we cuddle naked a lot, and make out like teenagers. #problemsolved

Then there is Wunderkind, whom I actually see in real life on a regular basis. I know, it is such a miracle – be in awe of my ability to attract men. He works for the transit system, as a law enforcement… you can all cast your judgey eyes downwards thanks. He is sweet, and he is smart, he makes me dinner, and is really good at spooning, and the sex is so fucking stellar. But we have polar (POLAR) views on society and how it should be structured. And his job has him interacting with what some may consider the dredges of society, so he comes home in a foul mood because of it, and then I get into a foul mood because I don’t like hearing shit talk about minorities (or maybe I am just desensitized to it because of the people I hang out with). And I don’t like being in a foul mood because the boy I am banging works a job that makes him biased… And it will just be bad for my heart…

But I want them both, now, all the time, right away. Because every heart is irrational, and that is ok.

Life is prostitution.
We sit in cubicals exchanging time/labour for money.
We date, we say I will provide you with fun and a new group of friends for sex, security, and sanity.
We give grocers money for goods and services.

In the first world, life is prostitution. We choose every day to barter with our happiness & our money. Other parts of the world they arent so lucky. They are forced into labour without pay. Marriages are arranged (an even more frightening form of prostitution).

The only type of prostitution we are actually against in the first world is sexual prostitution.

Soon it will be my first day with the “Girlfriend experience”. In short, escorting. I was very up front about this with someone who had been chatting with me online. Before hand I had told him that I was dating several people, which is true. A few days later I decided to enter into this world that so many people have mixed dialogue about, and I told him. He was all of a sudden hesitant to meet me. I am still the same person I was before I am still fucking just as many people as before, I just happen to be trading them something more than a few hours of my life for it. And this upset him. For me there is nothing different about this than being an ethical slut, it isntas if I was about to start charging him for his time. I didnt have to tell him, but I did out of respect for full disclosure. Also because I find nothing shameful in it. Currently I exchange 4-10 hr a week with strangers so that they can get their dicks wet and never call me again. I would rather stream line that process and get a pay off that is actually worth headache of a one night stand.

In a society where everything is done for a profit,the one thing that women could excel at making a profit with is taken away from them.

[[ understand that I am aware of human trafficking, pimping and other base forms of prostitution. I am speaking particularly about a choice a person makes with full knowledge of what they are doing ]]

Running around, covered in mud, climbing cliff faces in Tata’, scrapes – bumps – bruises, falling out of trees, skidding down 15ft deep ditches, and getting lost in the woods. I grew up living a tiny adventure, and I need a life full of newness. This is one of the reasons I had to move away from Halifax. I thought I could pretend that I found the town fulfilling, but in the end lying to myself almost killed me emotionally… twice.

A lot of people accuse me of running away from my problems, but my biggest problem was the town I lived in, and the other people who lived there. I ran away, gladly. But I knew that there had to be bigger and better things in the world than that tiny place. My father has lived his entire life in Nova Scotia between Halifax and Hubbards (30min outside of Halifax) and that is enough for him. But my mother has lived in different cities and despite our differences she has always inspired me to get out, get away, get to safe ground.

Montreal is my safe ground. There is always something new on the horizon. There are always beautiful people filling up my time. There is just enough Drama to make sure the ups actually look appealing and to keep the downs at arms length.

My small island saved me from drowning on the mainland.

Living with anorexic tendancies is a lot like living with alcoholism. Everyday I have to check in with myself – Did I actually eat three meals? If no – Did I actually eat enough to sustain my body for the rest of the day? If no – DoI have food that I can eat in my immediate vacinity? If no – Where is there food that I can eat immediately…?

The thing that most people dont understand is that there is an addiction to anorexia. The addiction is not only in the mentality of the control. But the sensation, there is this burn in the pit of your stomach. When you feel it you know that your body is aching for something, but if you can just wrestle that feeling for another 3, 4, 5hr you will have won and you can reward yourself with that granola bar. Over coming that feeling, living in that burn, settling into that ache is masochistically comforting. Having people acknowledge that youve lost weight is addictive.

Dragging oneself out of an addiction is painful. This isnt someone just being lazy and not eating. It is an all consumming need to be in control of something, anything, whatever you can get your hands on, because you have no control over anything else. It isnt something you just “get over”. You dont just wake up one day and say “Nope not anorexic any more, TAH DAH”. People also seem ti think that once you are “better” that you are BETTER. It will never happen again, so why are you still complaining about it?

I walked into my local cupcakery, having not been there for 2 months and the first thing out of the girls mouth was “You lost weight, you look so good”. All I could think was “I could keep this up… no one would ever know. I could just keep living off 1.5 meals a day… Ive lived off less… I could do it…” I then smiled, ordered two cupcakes, took a swig of my extra large mocha, and sat down to a plate of gf pasta. Because I know better. I have lived through dragging myself out of anorexia 3 times.

3 times, people. Ive done it three times. It does not get easier. So if you know someone who has told you that they have been anorexic and they have triggers, please be careful. Tread lightly. Follow the steps they give you, so you don’t make things harder on them. Heart ache is bad enough. Heart ache + anorexia is pretty much the worst.

I haven’t finished reading Lolita. I still haven’t finished reading Lolita. It has been four months. I pick it up, read two sentences, and put the little pink ribbon back in its spot. I put it down and sigh, I stare at it, I stare a hole through it.

I am terrified to finish it, I am only 5-10 pages from the end. I have been since the midway through July. The first few weeks it helped me deal with my emotions, but now I just cant help think that as soon as I finish the final chapter that we will also be done. Part of me wants to finish the book, the adult part of me that knows when to move on. The Little part of me wants nothing more than to hold on to the hope that my Humbert will get in his car and drive all over North America hunting for me, threatening every man who gets in his way. By the time you do though, you will find that it is far too late and I’ve forgotten all about you.

You already leave me exposed and naked to the world too often, too long. I cant hold it against you, as much as I want to. I will always come back and blame myself. I don’t tell you about anything that you do that upsets me because I don’t like causing you extra strain & stress, especially since I am so secondary…or tertiary at this point. However I know that when we do talk you will tell me that I should have just asked, or told you, at which point I will kick myself for not being more forward. But every time Ive been forward with you Ive gotten the exact opposite of what I wanted, so my learned behaviour reflects the lessons Ive been given.

Lolita still sits there with her tiny legs crossed, her little shoe dangling off of her tiny foot held on by the sheer hope of her delicate big toe, and she smirks at me. I don’t know what she wants, but I know she knows something I do not, and that frightens me. She knows the end to this Nabokovian love letter.