Posted in Immaculata

Relapse by Larry Leiva

At the moment I’m really jonesing some McDonald’s. I can go for a couple of snack wraps and a side of sodium deficiency right about now. I won’t though. I’ve been having the macramé munchies for about two days now, and my stomach–the Requisionist–has become ill-humored. It forgets what an oddball it really is as soon as that foxfire we call hunger starts knocking. I have yet to open the door, but that glimmer doesn’t stop. I don’t know why I am writing about my current relapse. I feel that it may help me get things off my chest or it just help me get off.

I’ve tried. I’m still somewhere in my beating benevolence trying and wanting to get better, but it just hurts, and I know that it sounds pathetic and whiny, but I don’t talk about how much it hurts to anyone. It’s hilarious. Food has evolved into some sort of workable warfare that takes place everyday in my central nervous system. I’m not satisfied with who I am = this itself being the utmost horrific abattoir you should never step foot in. I’ve said it before that ED is the immaculate version of Larry, of me, and even though I know I will never be exquisiteness personified, I’m helpless when I still picture those charitable cheekbones and those lips filled with crimson appetite.

I have fat fucking lips. Go eat a fig newton.

Pretty fucking vain. Vanity has and will always be a part of ED. Just a part though.

by Larry Leiva

Posted in Immaculata

The tighter the jeans, the tighter the asshole

I become. Physically, it shows. Recovery, remember? Of course. I have gained some weight, which I know in some logical Larry that lingers shallow inside my deepened fucked up brain, is a good thing. The “right” thing. I don’t know. I do know. But I want to not care so bad. I want to just go ahead and starve, but I don’t allow myself anymore. I want to purge after a more proportioned meal, but I don’t allow myself anymore. Is this how strong I’ve become? To emotionally feel like a hummingbird who can’t fly backwards anymore, but still has the willpower to flap its wings.

The binger inside me never fails to ring and ring that doorbell when I’m eating a meal, and most of the time, I open the door, made of Ethiopian hardwood. I eat with my emotionally inflated eyes. Then after I’ve completed ingesting my hopes and dreams, the bulimic deep down inside starts knocking on that door made of Ethiopian hardwood, but I never open. I realized as I finished typing that last sentence that I am still standing and yes I am playing Elton John in the background.

I’m hearing plenty of comments on my physical appearance. They sound positive, and I’m sure they are meant to be positive, but when I hear from my godfather that I look very handsome, and more “rellenito” (aka fuller) it hurts. I don’t get upset, but I feel like I’m doing something wrong. I have to remind myself that I am doing this not just for myself, but for the people around me, for the people who really love and care about me. I can’t be selfish.

I want to throw in the purple towel, but I won’t.

–By Larry Leiva

For Almost Dorothy, Larry writes his autobiography and documents his long-term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Larry is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or boy-to-man) (man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls and that it’s easy to beat. Because it’s freaking hard to beat.

Posted in Immaculata

This Charming

For the sake of sounding suicidal, I want to die, but not really, but yes really. This shit is so dramatic, and I hate that I am actually typing this because it seems like it is going straight to broadway, but I feel the need to write this…to write this. I gave up on myself fairly quickly, and I then I give up again. I know I can do greatness. I just don’t care because I’m not doing greatness.

I went dancing on Friday night with a couple of co-workers and then two of their friends. I felt toothwort safe meaning not safe at all going with them, but I wanted to dance. So I went, protocarnivorous and all. The DJ was a little off with the music. He played copious amounts of the mainstream earthworm shitake I can not listen and not dance to in the car. Then he would turn it around and play interesting music. Music with raspberry syrup stuck on its knees.

I danced. I was the march hare on the dance floor. Then the random co-worker friend wanted to leave because she wanted to eat. Fuck the food. It was my birthday celebration and I wanted to continue transforming to the beat. They all wanted to leave. I told them to go. That I would find my own way home. They did, and I was bothered. Not surprised, but bothered. Then the floodgates opened up a bit more and more clean water ravaged by the smell of dead squid who mated too much rushed through. I was sad. I shouldn’t drink because alcohol releases me. I wanted to die. I wanted for someone, for something to kill me.

This sounds like a pity party in my fingers, but I don’t care. I wrote what I wanted to say out low.

By Larry Leiva

For Almost Dorothy, Larry writes his autobiography and documents his long-term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Larry is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or boy-to-man) (man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls and that it’s easy to beat. Because it’s freaking hard to beat.

Posted in Immaculata

A Flock Of Tobiuo

Elaphurus Davidianus | Père David's Deer

I turned 25 on Monday. I went and had myself a real good time at the Ritz Carlton on Key Biscayne. I ate some. Drank some, and then walked some. Then, I decided to stare at the ocean, and I was inspired. Inspiration has been a stranger to me for a while now, almost like it was this visible whatchamacallit that would come around the Pocahontas bend once in a while, give out this loud yelp, like if a Père David’s Deer accidentally stepped on its own foot, and always smelled good. It smelled good, but I couldn’t taste the good, like if I had a very nice cold. Then I couldn’t smell the good, because it would run away.

The ocean taught me a couple of things. I don’t get into the ocean, because those couple of things are dangerous. On the evening of my 21st birthday, I remember feeling off. I went to go eat at TGI Friday’s with a couple of peoplefriends, then took off to South Beach with four friendpeople. I remember the sweet n’ low comment, I remember walking past a fashion house and then I remember walking up to the edge of the ocean. The breeze was tough, the waves were horny, and the night was deaf. Then the realization of how much I despised the person, the soul, the heart of who I was, who I wasn’t, and who I wanted to never be, drilled into my skull. I hated Larry.

Four tigerbeetle sex years later. I was staring into the ocean. Recovering. Recovering from what took little time after that odious revelation to develop. Recovery takes alot of your time. It steals so much of your emotional embracement. It takes up alot of your mental suitcase, and physically it shows. I don’t know what to embrace emotionally now. A part of me is very proud of how far I have come, another part of me is very psycho happy, another is very mickey mouse sad, and then I’m very confused. Do I really want to get better? Of course I do. Do I really want to get better? Of course I don’t.

It is a constant tug-of-war.

By Larry Leiva

For Almost Dorothy, Larry writes his autobiography and documents his long-term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia. Larry is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or  boy-to-man) (man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls and that it’s easy to beat. Because it’s freaking hard to beat.

Posted in Immaculata

He Does Everything To Me

This everything is pleasure. Pleasure that makes me feel sexual, a benign sexuality that hugs me and not just fucks me. This pleasure makes me feel wanted, attractive, accepted, secure, funny enough, lovable enough, good enough. It’s everything that I’ve wanted since the first time I was ever called fat. From that day on, I felt like the most disgusting and unworthy ‘fat’ kid’ walking. My mind was sullied.

Kids are not innocent. They’re assholes because their parents are assholes. They come to school to bring down and to be brought down. Screw learning. All I learned, and took with me from elementary school, was that I was an overweight, semi-flamboyant he-has-to-be-a-gay-kid kid because he hung out with all the girls. And it carried on to middle school where all the guys and girls are on edge because either a) Their dicks (or wieners) are not big enough or b) their boobies aren’t growing as fast as the boobs of the future M.I.L.F. who gets caught giving a blowjob in high school to some sleazy semi-hard guy in the main men’s bathroom. I mean who the fuck gives head to a semi-hard douche bag in the main bathroom? Go to the desolate ones near the science wing.

What’s the atomic number for capital T Trauma again? High school was when trauma began. All these little (dirty) thoughts of ED started to gush into my blood stream and latch on to white blood cells and mutate on to even bigger and more self-destructive thoughts. It only took two years after graduation for ED to make its grand entrance into my life and the lives of the people around me. In my immaculate vision of myself, I wanted to be skinny.

Let’s not forget about home, A.K.A. the Spooky House. To be honest here, parents sometimes do the best they can. And sometimes they don’t. My parents know they fucked up somewhere and through my wannabe happy glare, I know that they know. I don’t need to tell them that they are part of the cynical equation of why and what ushered me (their son) into the hands of my eating disorder. ED. Serena and Joe, Pauline and Juliet, whatever I call this life-threatening situation, I find myself in their arms every single day. I would go to school, face the assholes, be an asshole and then get on the Blow Pop bus that dropped me off at home with all the negative affirmations that I would be spanked with at school. Don’t get me wrong, my parents weren’t physically or mentally abusive (that much). There was a sense of never-ending criticism that origami-ed me during high school, and especially after graduating.

They would say I was overweight, obese, and stay out of the kitchen, stop drinking soda, exercise more, stop eating. This wasn’t 7th Heaven. Words trump everything sometimes. I know that when I become a parent someday, my kids will know that they are loved. And that they are beautiful. Every single day. The house that I will build for them will be a haven for them, a safe place. My parents and I burned that miserable, unsteady bridge. It gave me splinters every single time I crossed it. No matter how safe I thought I was.

I get it though. My parents didn’t mean any harm even though that’s what they caused. But we’re good now.

–Larry Leiva

Posted in Immaculata

Whenever I Would Go To Therapy

Instead of calling my eating disorder ED, I would always change the names up a bit. One day he would be a girl (Bob) and then the next day she would be a boy (Cindy), until I started juggling two eating disorders. Eventually Bulimia came to be known as Serena and Anorexia had Joe as a moniker. These names have stayed with me for quite a while. I don’t use them often, for the sake of people not looking at me weird or weirder in support groups, but that’s how they are known in their ungenerous world.

I was thinking up and down, left and right, about how to introduce myself to the world, to this blog. One thing came to mind. I remembered waking up on a very cold January day back in 2009. I was trying to hide under my sheets for a bit longer, but my bed wouldn’t have it. He kicked me out. So, I picked up the remote, turned Continue reading “Whenever I Would Go To Therapy”

Posted in Almost Dorothy, Immaculata, The Potty Mouth Interviews, Themes

The Immaculata Series by Larry Leiva

Immaculata | Photo by Maureen Seaton

PRESS RELEASE: Ladies and gentlemen, boy-girls and girl-boys, welcome to the Immaculata Series by Larry Leiva. In this atuobiographical series, Larry Leiva documents his long term struggle with Anorexia and Bulimia, Heavenly Creatures, and Japanese Kitsch. Although Larry is not the Virgin Larry (or Jesus Christ,) he has stuff to share with the world and he will do it on Almost Dorothy. Ma is super pistol-packing psyched-out and pumped because Leiva (also known as Leyva) is a heavenly creature fond of 80’s music and Mr. Zebra. She’s also excited because Leiva is not afraid to talk about life as a guy (or boy) (or man) dealing with multiple eating disorders (ED). He is not afraid of dispelling the myth that ED only affects girls. It can affect anyone. And it’s freaking hard to beat.

I thought it would be cool to conduct a Potty Mouth Interview with Leiva and he said yes when I asked him so here it is. Enjoy.

Almost Dorothy: How long have you dealt with ED? And how/why/when did you come out of the ED closet?

Larry Leiva: I have been dealing with ED for three years now. Soon to be four. I remember the time I told my dad that I had this problem, though I knew he had already known or had a hunch that Continue reading “The Immaculata Series by Larry Leiva”