oh, hey.

Holy guacamole! It’s been a while since I have been on here, or written. Most of that comes with my mood, other times it’s because I just can’t figure out how to put my thoughts into words. So here it all goes; here is what the last nine months of my life have been like.

But where to start? I guess I will start with me. I have evolved and transformed myself and my thoughts so much in the last year. I would like to say that I am happy about my one year mark of being in the gym and being active and working out. I absolutely love everything that the lifestyle has brought to me, my daughter and my health.

Back in August, I tore my shoulder up pretty bad. Up until now, my heart issues and seizures had subsided, I’m assuming because my body was nourished, and I was transforming into a healthy weight and being so active. Once my shoulder injury happened and I had to take time out of the gym, I found myself dwindling back down into my hole. I was struggling with my body image, and looking big and flat, with no muscle definition, the weight and the inability to go lift. I started back into the grind of not eating well (or at all) and my anxiety started to get the best of me. I developed an infection in my shoulder, and the heart issues and medical issues started back up again. I had a really hard time dealing with it all. Test’s being ran, going in and getting blood drawn and having spinal taps and ekgs, erg’s, ct and mdi scans. I just, I got to the point where I was done. I found myself back in a hole, scared with not having answers, and ultimately just giving up on myself.

Throughout this time, S came into my life. He tip-toed in right around my shoulder injury, and things evolved from there. Looking back at this now, he seemed to be more just a filler; he filled and gave me the attention that I wanted. He didn’t have answers, but he gave me comfort. Things were great for a while, although I had told myself I wasn’t getting into anything, I didn’t want anything, I wasn’t interested. But we all know how that goes. Above all, we truly did have a great friendship and when we were together, the time was great. I laughed and smiled and we would watch football and yeah. It was nice. But distance, lies and being taken advantage of ultimately screwed me to the ground.

S is a great guy, but a terrible boyfriend. I retract, he can be. He has the capabilities of being a great guy. But he’s not. He is selfish and immature, and very narcissistic. That’s all I am going to say about that, but it’s important because I really lost myself, trying to make him happy. And that’s not okay. I did everything I could to make him happy, and it’s impossible to do that for someone who doesn’t want it, or isn’t ready for it.

I lost a friend, and I don’t blame her for leaving. The last thing she said to me was this:
“It’s amazing that you’ll go to the end of the world, doing whatever you can to savor and appease a guy who doesn’t deserve you, yet you won’t fight to make our friendship of years work. I’m done Allie”

It hurt to hear that, but at this point, with EVERYTHING else that was going on, I felt like I was done fighting. I didn’t want to fight anymore, for anything. As now, I can see that I senselessly was fighting for S and I to work, but I didn’t feel that way. I am a loyal person. I give and give and give and make sure that everyone is happy, and do what I can to make them so. I didn’t feel like I was fighting for that, I felt like I was just giving. And with just that, I literally gave every ounce if my being to him, which left me with nothing. Nothing to give to anyone else, or myself.

So in the final month-ish of deciding to be done, it became easier and easier. But on the days that weren’t, it was hard as hell. I wouldn’t want to get up, or do anything. I still wasn’t cleared for the gym, I lost one of my best friends, my other girlfriends were tired of hearing about it. Well deserved I guess.

One day, a little over a month ago, I said screw it. I got my happy butt up and went to the gym. I lifted for two hours that day. And with that, I felt myself start coming back together. So many things have been happening lately, people coming in my life, people walking out, opportunities with my career, my faith in the man up stairs. Im happy.

I am happy where I am. I am loving myself again. I have days that I don’t like what I do, or say or look like. But I am proud of myself. I don’t have the interest of needing someone to depend on. I am proud to be rising above. If anything, S taught me to put myself first. Not selfishly, but my needs. I need to do things for me every once in a while, instead of doing everything for everyone else. I take pride and it makes me happy to make others happy, but I need to do me. And love me.

And I am.

I’ve figured out years ago that you can’t eat your problems away. You can’t starve them or drink them or anger them or fight them. You have to accept them, and resolve them. You put them on a path and you conquer your problems. That in itself gives me power and fight to keep moving forward.

And that’s exactly what I am doing.


For the record

So I have two theories on my dad; and by dad I mean my biological father. 

I think he is a piece of shit to my sister and I. I feel he has no care, nor desire or fight to be a part of my life. I blame my step-mom for the majority of it, but at the same time, he is his own person and I feel it is his fault. I think he is a coward. And a deadbeat. Cruel, but true. 

And then I see the side of him, that reflects in me. His artistic nature, his passion for [most of] those around him. His love to cook, and those wrinkles in his forehead he gets when he makes the faces. I have those too. His round blue eyes, and the way he used to sing me to sleep when I was younger. Much younger. 

I was talking to my dad (my step dad) the other day about it. I realized i have no positive memories of him, after the age of, oh I don’t know, 8? Actually, I retract; The last positive memory I have of Sam was when my Papa passed away. the amount of compassion and empathy he had for me, still moves me. Regardless, I am 25. And the last positive memory of Sam was when my Papa passed away. When I was in 7th grade at the age of 13. How….. ridiculous. 

I did inherit my love and ability of music from him though. I remember being younger, like 4, and him playing the piano or guitar as I am dancing around to the Shirley Temple songs that I just couldn’t get enough of after visiting my Papa. Man, I miss my Papa. 

You know, I strongly feel that if it wasn’t for that man, I wouldn’t know Sam. He would have backed out years and years ago when he found his wife, and had their kids. That’s when he disappeared on us. After he had his new family. And I hold an immense amount of resentment towards him for that. 

I resent his inability to parent me and be there for me. I am betrayed that he never showed up for my award ceremonies, or soccer games. Or dance. 

Dance….dancing is my passion. My whole entire heart is filled with the joy of my child and dancing. The way my body moves to emote the anger and hurt. I think that could be why I love it so much. I emote. I express. I never realized how healing and therapeutic dance was/could be for me until my Papa passed. I went to rehearsal the next day, a little sulky, and spoke with my teacher. She pulled me aside during warm up and stretch and told me how to use my emotion to portray the story in dance. I had danced for 11 years at that point, and had never realized that dance was the oxygen to my life. That day, in class, was probably one of the most emotional for me yet. 

Back on track! He was never there. Sam forgot me at school more than my hands can count. He would agree and promise, and then fail to follow through. He was so disingenuous with his actions and words to my sister and I- I just kind of lost hope in him. I lost hope in having my dad. How sad. 

Two major events, I remember vividly. At daycare one day, it was a Friday and my mom had let us know Sam would be picking us up. Obviously excited, 6pm rolls around, timing to 630p and then 645. Around 7pm (30 minutes after the daycare has closed) my uncle walks in and we leave with him. Still being young, I asked where Sam was, Richard mentioned he was picking us up later, and we carried on. Still excited I might add that our uncle picked us up- because kids are like that. Getting excited about the small things. 

Dinner time rolls around….bedtime rolls around and low and behold at 1145pm Sam RINGS THE DOORBELL. Sister and I jump out of bed, waltz into the living room and are immediately instructed to go back into our room. Sam showed up almost 5 1/2 hours late, drunk….to pick us up. Nice one. Needless to say, we spent the night with my grandmother. 

Another time, my dad takes me to dance practice. Super big deal by the way, because its the first night for Daddy Daughter Act dance practice and Sam was going to join me. (Right? haha.) I go through my normal set of classes….and into the first 15 minutes of DDA practice….still…no Sam. I called my dad and he was already downstairs. Like he even knew he needed to be there for me. Sam never showed up…to any of those practices. I danced for 19 years and the man only came to ONE recital. 

My dad, he stepped up and he stepped in. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to. He was always there, and still is. That man has never let me down. 

The more so pathetic part of all this, is Sam has three other children. I love my brothers and sisters, so very and incredibly much. But it is so hard at some points, to not envy them for the fact that he is there for them. Never missed a band show, soccer game, basketball or dance practice for any of them. He takes them hunting, he takes them on family vacations and never once invited us. Call it envy or call it hurt. I still struggle with those emotions, and not resenting them [my brothers and sister] for that. I get angry that He can be there for those kids at the drop of a dime. I may be over-reacting and dramatizing the situation in whole in this aspect, but how do I have a sister, who does dance and cheer and anything else that could possibly make her happy, and he is there for HER. He never lets HER down. He put her in dance, she almost has my name, she is the “baby”, and here I am. Its like she copies me. Ridiculous and immature sounding I am sure, but it sucks. 

We would have to ask to come over, even on the weekends that we were supposed to be there. I had to ask sam if I could come over to his house because I missed him. His response…”Let me ask your step-mom,” generally leading to “Oh we have plans, not this weekend.”

Bitterness is starting to takeover. 

My ending moment with Sam was Easter weekend of 2013. I was 23 years old at this point. A grown woman. He sent out a text to sister and I saying Easter dinner at his house..blah blah blah, and would love for the kids and us to come. I replied back to him saying I didn’t have Addie but would love to be there…what time? He told me never mind. 

Yes, when he found out I wouldn’t have my child….he didn’t want me there. Ouch. 

I have attempted to go to counseling with him. He never showed up. I have set up dinner dates, or times to meet him at his house to talk through things. Bailed. 

He is my flesh and blood. But he is not my dad. I have a dad who loves me, cares about me and supports me. 

In 2007 I was in a pretty horrific car accident. fractured my L spine and C spine, had to be care-flighted to the hospital. My seatbelt broke, and I flew out my car. The entire way to the hospital, according to dr’s, I was screaming for my daddy. Once in the hospital, Sam walked into the room, I looked at him and said no, I want my daddy. 

That says a lot to me. I have no recollection of that. None at all. 

About three weeks ago, I was walking to my car at lunch, fell in the parking lot and started seizing. Again, in the ambulance…I was crying for my daddy. 

The one man I need in my life, and he has NEVER once left me. He has never passed me off or broken a promise to be there for me. He has always stepped up and filled the void I had for a long time. I am such a daddy’s girl. I am such a lucky girl. 

Going back to the conversation I had the other day with my dad, we were talking about him legally adopting me, as an adult. I want to legally have his last name. I want to have him as my dad on paper. I want him to legally give me away when I get married. Although I use Long for everything, I want my driver’s license to say it. I want my w-2’s and my paystubs to say it. And it will. 

Anyway, we were addressing concerns with doing such, and his biggest concern is that I am doing this for the wrong reasons. Out of spite and anger; to get back at Sam. And I get that. But that’s not why, those aren’t my reasons.

Then he asked if something happened to Sam, how would I feel. And I just sat for a few moments and pondered. 

I don’t think it would affect me to be frank. I know, I say that now. But honestly, how could it. I have not had this man in my life at all for how many years? When I have needed him to catch me fall and save me, the times I went running to him, hoping he would just hold me…he wasn’t there. He chose not to be there. I can’t be sad. I can’t hurt. I honestly don’t even think I have anything to say to him. I don’t have love for him. I have nothing from him or for him. He has given me nothing but anger, and emotional issues and sadness. Hurt, Sam has given me so much hurt. 

I was over on his part of town about two months ago…and ran into the store. There he was. And he just looked at me, then kept walking. 

And that’s exactly what I am doing. I am just going to keep walking. 

I have EVERYTHING I need for a dad, and more. 


For any of the family on his side, you may not agree. You may not believe and that is all you. He used sister and I as a trophy. He bragged about us and our accomplishments. He shared our pictures on Facebook and claimed to be so proud of us, yet never called or text. Never made an effort. 

The man never fought for me. 

I have such a struggle with allowing people into my life that don’t fight for me. I am so reckless with my actions sometimes, because I allow the struggle to win. And I am done with that. 

I have given Addison’s dad HELL because I am so afraid of her being treated and forgotten by him like I was. (Sorry JP but you know my struggles and issues on this) 

My dad shattered my heart. Subconciously, he broke me. And there is a huge, concrete and hardened wall of stone around me because of that. 

I don’t hate, but if I did, I would hate him. Instead, I am going to thank him. I thank him for the strength I have gained, the wisdom and self power. And I thank him for walking away so my daddy could walk in.


I have slacked TERRIBLY on here! My apologies.

However, due to some recent difficult times, this blog is brought to you in hopes to spread some awareness and insight on the battle of a girl trying to love who she is, her body and the struggles with eating disorders and self image.

I mean no negativity, and to be frank, I could really care less if you think I look like a twig or too little. As people who are overweight battle with their eating and health habits, I do too. This blog is to try and give you an insight, not a sob story.

SO here we go.

I hate my body. I don’t think I will ever be content with how I look; ever. I have my days and some days I am okay with it all. Others, well not so much.

A few years ago, I figured that if I just stop eating, and control my hunger, I shed pounds. So i did and it was to the extreme. It got out of hand, but I was OBSESSED with the fact that I was little. If i was hungry, I would allow myself lettuce, or water or tic tacos (crazy low in calories, but cured the hunger). Slowly it got to the point where I wasn’t even hungry. So if I did eat, I would get sick. I wouldn’t even purge myself, it just happened. Mainly because my body was not used to eating, let alone eating servings or plates full of food.

After some time, it obviously affected my health. I wasn’t healthy. Literally, I was losing hair, I was tired, my teeth were starting to break, I had no color to my skin. I was getting sick which has now chronically affected my GI and I now have no stomach lining and uncontrollable acid reflux. There are times it puts me in the hospital because it flares up so bad and nothing makes the acid go away. I will throw up blood, because my stomach and esophagus is so raw. It affects my colon, and my digestive tract. Its seemingly funny that when you choose to make this type of lifestyle you don’t think about the harm it causes to your body. But it’s understandable because the focus is on being skinny. Your life is revolved around the obsession of being little.

I never made the choice to do this because I didn’t feel good enough, or someone said I was fat. That shit happens all the time and it can easily be brushed off. I did it because my life was a spiral downward and it gave me control. I had control of what my body looked like. I could go buy a pair of size 14 kid shorts and in two weeks fit in them. It was never a concern of whether or not I looked pretty, or healthy. My concern was being skinny.

I know, ridiculous.

I don’t feel there is enough, whats the word- understanding? I don’t know. Awareness? I don’t think there is enough care in people to understand why people do this. The world will never 100% accept somebody for what they have. There will ALWAYS be an issue with something on someone. With everything that was happening in my life, I decided I needed control, and that gave it to me.

Now, here I am. 7 years later, and although it is a struggle, everyday, I look at myself and what I have gained (no pun intended) and I look at my daughter. What would I do with myself if she felt this way? If she wanted to just be little and skinny? I would overcome with guilt. I don’t want that for her. She is absolutely beautiful and perfect the way she is.

So here, after 12 weeks of being in the gym, learning to eat and eat correctly at that, working on myself, I am also teaching her the healthy way. I am teaching her self pride and positive self image. I want her to know she is beautiful and strong. (Trust me, it’s working). I don’t want her to think that its okay to be unhealthy and bony.

in the last two years my weight has fluctuated from 80 pounds to my max, which is where I am now. As I shockingly say I am proud to weigh what I do. I am proud of my progress. I fit in clothes I couldn’t fit in before. My clothes are too big. BUT I am healthy. I am toned. I have meat on my bones. I have a release.

Working out gives me control too. I am in control of my diet. I am in control of my gain. I am in control.


I don’t feel or at least see enough support for people like me. People don’t understand the battle of body dismorphia or anorexia. I have to force myself to eat. I have to learn that what I see in the mirror is not what I truly am. And everyday, I continue to grow stronger to do so. Healthy is okay. Weighing 140 pounds is okay.

It’s okay because I am healthy. Its okay because I’m happy. I am learning.


My lowest around 90 pounds.





THis picture above, I would say I was about 100 pounds. I see two different things when I look at this. I see my legs, wishing they were smaller, but the other part of me sees skinny. Bones out way too skinny.



This picture was about three years ago, and I wasn’t eating at this point. Either the week before or week after this picture, I remember I fell and passed out in target.

THis picture below is the recent of all, going back to two years ago. Here I see my legs being too big and the belly fat hanging over the jeans. I know, you probably don’t see it. How could you, theres not a lot of it. BUt i do. And thats what I would focus on,






New Years 2012




And here I am today. After 12 weeks of being in the gym, this is just the start to my new healthy lifestyle.


I am so proud to be me. 


So, this whole blogging thing is new to me, so please be kind. The initial thought of starting and writing a blog was actually introduced to me by my granny and momma. (Thanks y’all) I didn’t think much into it, other than their constant compliments of my “flow” when i write posts on Facebook, until today. Today was different.

So Jason, Addie, Granny and I walk into church, grab a cup of joe and chat for a few minutes before taking Addie into her Sunday school class. After her plead of wanting to sit in our “class” so she can listen to the music, we obliged, got settled and I opened my sermon folder. The church is pretty nifty I might add, always so organized in providing us with the materials needed to get the most out of our sermon. Anyway, as I am looking at the tri-fold paper, with the outline of the sermon, my eyes stayed glued to the title of the sermon; Seeing Life Through God’s Eyes. Now a little history on my religious background here for a few. I was raised Roman Catholic, baptized at the age of 5, taking communion, repenting sins in the confessional, going to Sunday school- you know, the whole she-bang. Come forth, after years of a falling out with my biological father (another blog for another day) I lost my touch within my faith, and stopped going. When I was in 7th grade, my journey in the non-denominational spectrum started and I found myself at peace and at home with my new community in the Bible Church. Back to topic, I remembered this series last year, and the year prior, and hesitation rattled in my britches as I sat there and forewarned Jason about this 6 week series of sermons. They are personal. They arise issues within, and I like to call them the Politics of Religion, if I can even combine the two. They seem to irk me at times, and rattle my heart a little as I feel more related to these than most sermons. Moving on, I knew this sermon was coming, and was debating if I wanted to jet and get out of there, or to stay and see if I can walk away with a different take on it this year. Low and behold, we stayed, thanks to Addie, who wanted to listen to the music in our “class”. The topic: Abortion, and the take on it strictly from the bible, through God’s eyes. I prepared myself, I even prayed before the service started, in hopes that I can at least get SOMETHING out of this, other than frustration. You see, I love the bible church. I feel, personally, it doesn’t sway the word of the Lord. There is no worshiping saints, or blabber about praising the Saints, or hearing just what the gospels had to say (coming from my Catholic raising). Listening to Ted preach about this, and proving point after point, disproving any objections and narrowing down the number of objections one could come up with, I realized, it’s true, abortion is wrong and a sin. Ted solely spoke of what the bible said, and found backing with other verses and words from pieces and parts of the bible. He found an answer to ANY objection from all over the bible. That right there left me in awe. He narrowed every objection down the three underlying points, and I won’t go into it deeply. But I will say this, although I myself am not affected by abortion, I know others who are. And although I am a full believing and faithful Christian, I just still feel as though one shouldn’t pass judgement. My struggle with my faith currently is that although yes this is a sin, in God’s eyes, all sins are equal. So why do we belittle those who might have been involved in such event. Perhaps belittle isn’t right, criticize maybe, why do we criticize and point fingers and people who are our equal. Everyone is involved in some type of sin. Whether it be a curse word, looking at someone other than your spouse, homosexuality, using the Lord’s name in vain, whatever it is, WHY do people treat some sins greater than others? Why does MY church, who is full of imperfect people make an entire Sunday sermon about this, when what we need is healing? If you are a Christian, whether you go to church or not, its a “common sense” i guess you could call it, knowing what is sin and what isn’t. So why did Ted feel the need to preach about this today? For 45 minutes at that?!? The three points all the objections of justifying an abortion came down to these: 1) its my body, I can do what I want with it. 2) an unwanted baby shouldn’t be brought into the world 3) a baby with disabilities shouldn’t be brought into this world, just to live a miserable, half-filled life. So I know we will all have our own opinions to this, as we are all entitled to. But Ted proved them all wrong. With verses and words from the bible. Like I said, I’m not going into a preach mode, but it all comes down to prosperity and comfort. All three of those objections come down to prosperity and comfort, to us, to you as an individual. Regardless, the sermon, was true. And it made sense. At least to me and even Jason, per our conversation in the truck on the way home.

All being said, I still feel like the church, a place of praise and worship, peace and comfort, shouldn’t pass judgement. Although my church doesn’t in a sense, sometimes those who relate could possibly feel as if they are. I feel that way on some of the next few subjects, which I’m not necessarily excited about, but definitely braving up, to hopefully if anything get another blog out of =].

So coming out of church, actually, it was halfway through Ted’s sermon, I was like BING! I’M GOING TO START MY BLOG!! THIS WOULD BE A GREAT WRITE. I know, it should be the last thing from my mind while listening to the Word, but I just wanted to stand up and object. I wanted to say something, and stand up for those who might not be willing. But obviously that’s not how church goes, so the idea of this came to instead. Once again, thanks momma and granny. As much as I would love to sit back and have a one on one with Ted about this so called “Religious Politics” because man, it would be great. I feel (I know I say that quite a bit), but I feel like this is part of discovering my strength and foundation in my faith and Christianity, which I am sure Ted would tell me the same. Although I have my personal beliefs, as does he, but what he said today, as Jason helped me realize, was this is THE WORD, this is what the Bible says, and I am a firm believer in it. I guess just trying to diversify my personal opinion and belief with what the bible says is the hard part. Although God loves ALL of his children, it is Ted’s job to teach the lessons and word of the Lord, as the Lord has said it. Does Ted feel and think differently? No, I don’t think so, because he has grown with his faith and faced his own tribulations with his questions and curiosities, but for me, learning to not pass judgement, yet hold the same standards and parallels to the bible and the word. Will I be perfect? No. Will I try my hardest? Yes, you bet your boots I will.