A Year Ago Today

You know when just a little something, an image, a place, a smell, an outfit whips your mind back to another time? This weekend that's happened to me so many times. It was a year ago during Capitol Hill Block Party that I started diligently digging towards my bottom that had me admitting I needed to go to a treatment facility for my alcoholism and bulimia.

I was binge drinking and eating nonstop. I was out of control and it was a rush. After years of controlling my food, my exercise, my money, my life I was screaming fuck you to the rules I had created. I couldn't believe the terrible things I was doing to myself and that I could still keep going. How much further could I go? How many more times could I make myself throw up? How early could I start drinking. What combinations could I do? How flirtatious could I be? How much attention could I get? How much money could I blow on booze, food, people?

I wrote this a year ago:

"My knees hurt from the tile. My left hand clasps the porcelain, while my right has teeth marks on it. My heart races.
Just keep going. You did this to yourself. The cake I ate ten minutes ago fills the toilet while relief fills my head.

I finish, brush my teeth and stop to look at myself in the mirror. I've popped blood vessels in my face, they look like freckles. My mascara is running down my face. I leave the bathroom in disgust.

I try to write.

I can't. I'm shaking too badly. Tears fill my eyes.

I do what I don't want to-I call my sponsor.

"I've done it again. I drank last night. I didn't want to. I over ate last night. I didn't want to. I ate a cake this morning. I didn't want to. I threw it up. I didn't want to. I called you. I didn't want to."

Deep breath.

"I want help.""

Damn am I a good writer.

So now of course I get reflective.

I cannot write words of total recovery, of health, of victory over addiction.

Because I was doing exactly what I wrote a year ago this time yesterday. I binge ate and threw up until 6 PM when relief came by having to go meet friends to see A-Track at this year's Block Party. A year ago I don't think I would have left the house out of hurt, shame and pure addiction and selfishness. Going to meet them was a relief and the only thing that kept me from continuing to just eat until I hurt and get rid of it. Not knowing why I can't stop, what made me think it was once again a good idea to start.

While I'm not recovered yet I am in a much better place.
I am 60 days sober today.
I have been through partial hospitalization treatment for my bulimia, intensive outpatient and now outpatient.
I have been getting help through AA for my drinking.
I have more good days than bad.
I have a real relationship with my mom and a growing one with my dad.
I have become a better person, less selfish.
I hold four jobs when this time last year I lost one and could barely show up for another.
I have a steady boyfriend that I'm there for, present for and honest with.

However, I still have deep shame for my body. I am 20 lbs heavier than I was. I see and feel the weight and grit my teeth. I cannot look at myself in the mirror unless the angle is just right the light flattering and I have enough makeup on. I put pictures up online of when I feel pretty to hopefully get a boost from my super close facebook friends (yes that's sarcasm) that I am in fact ok - pretty, worthy.

I am still seeking attention from guys to make myself feel once again worthy, important, desirable. I am not getting that satisfaction from myself.

My priorities are still my looks over all else but now I'm starting to make room for being a good person. Measuring my success not by my weight but by how many people I can help.

If this is how far I've come in a year, I can't imagine the words of hope and wisdom I'll have in another year. I won't give up, I can't.

I have you all that have reached out to me and given me kind words of encouragement and understanding to thank for much of my perseverance.

I now have faith and knowledge that what I cannot do for myself will be done for me if I keep believing and asking for help. I'm living proof of it.