Just Cried In A Ball On My Floor

Exhaustion.

That's what I feel.
Emotionally.
Physically.

But I want to capture this. I want to share this with you.

It was hard for me to not go to the gym tonight, I still needed to move but I'm getting too obsessed with the gym again so I came home and put on my Sporty Spice outfit (sports bra and yoga pants).

I start trying to gogo dance and realize it's not authentic and I'm just trying too hard.
So I lose the mirror and go into my room.
Dancing for myself by myself.

I start moving into some yoga when I tire.

Then on comes Kaskade's Invisible.

Memories of high school come rushing back.
It's been on the surface as I'm talking about my molestation and need for acceptance in therapy and groups more often.

I see myself. My many faces. I feel my pain, depression, confusion.

I hear the lyrics "every day I try to look my best even when inside I'm such a mess."

I'm no longer in my studio in Seattle. I'm no longer 26. I'm 15. I'm in the halls. I'm seeing the looks, I'm hearing the words that still cut me. The pain is so real and so raw it over comes me.
As I try to go through my moves I succumb to the pain.
I almost collapse into the memory that feels so real.
I have not allowed myself to think about that time since it happened.
It's too much.
I'm curled up on the floor, sweating, crying, shaking.

The song fades and I feel like I will not move from this spot ever. I feel I will be stuck in my high school at 17 and anorexic forever.

My concept of time is gone.

Moments but what feels like hours later Titanium by David Guetta feat Sia comes on.

Goosebumps move from my heart outward.

"You shout it out but I can't hear a word you say."

I always relate that to my ED and everything he says to me.

I'm snapped out of it immediately (so much for my dramatic comment earlier).
I'm at Ultra in Miami two years ago.

I feel the night's humidity, the lights bounce off my skin, the beat moves me.
Moves us--the crowd and I are one.
All of us strangers brought together for one purpose.
Unity.
There's power here.
Power in the universe.

I feel it here in my room. I realize my arms are up and I'm mouthing the words as tears stream down my face, "You shoot me down but I won't fall, I am titanium."

I do power yoga moves until I collapse once again with pure anger.
Anger at this disorder.

"Shooting at the ones who run."

I am so mad at my eating disorder. Preying on my weakness. Relentless. But I am becoming new. I have power in the universe, there is power in me.

The anger and the determination mix and I am clawing at the carpet.
I heave with each trying breath, harder to get out.
There is so much passion here.
Passion within me to live.

It ends.

I rest, waiting to see what my higher power picks for me next.

Moment For Life by Nicki Minaj.

I'm brought back to a post I wrote a couple of years ago.

It was when I first felt the presence of myself. Of my authentic self. When I first felt alive in a long time.

It was the first time in years, YEARS, I wasn't numb. I felt my anger. I felt it strong.

I am taken back to the sunny gym on an innocent Sunday afternoon where I punched the bag until my knuckles bled and my arms couldn't.

I think of that girl and I'm so fucking proud of her.
I look at me now and I see who she's grown into.

And I'm so proud of where she's going.

I wish I could have this moment for life.

PS Yes I took a picture and yes it looks so much more dramatic and cheesy out of the moment but what I just experienced, and what I just wrote about was real and I wanted to try and convey that in more mediums than one. So there I am raw and real.

Pain binds us together in healing

I try to watch her without getting emotionally involved.

The teal armchair cannot contain her emotion. Her over sized, stuffed animal twists in her fists. She has no idea that she's even in this room.

She's with her mom. She's 10 again. She's hurt.

It goes something like, "Look at what I did in school."

No response.

Just dark.

Emptiness.

She may as well have been talking to the flowers in the wallpaper. It has more life.

She tries again, "I made up this new dance--want to see?"

Nothing.

Something in me stirs. 

No. I don't want to. Please. Not today. It has been a good day.

We're back in the present. 

Words smack against the walls. Words that haven't dare been spoken in 26 years.

"Just acknowledge me. Just tell me you love me. Mom just let me know you see me."

I crack.

This isn't fair.

My eyes tear from the girl in the teal chair to my left. I see my rock, my role model with tears streaming down her face.

Neither of these girls ever had a mother. No one there to love them. To tell them their art projects were good. To make them a lunch. To tell them they were ok.

I see myself in them.

I'm taken back.

I hear her words.

And I hear his silence.

I'm in the office, I'm 14, 12, 18, pick an age, I'm overcome with anger. I'm overcome with depression. With anxiety. With hate. 

I'm trying to put the words together. To tell the people who are supposed to love me unconditionally that I need help. That I don't know what's going on. That I'm not ok.

"You're so selfish."
"Stop talking about yourself."

"You're so self-centered."

"I have been dealing with you all your life, I can't do it anymore."

Next thing I know I'm next to the teal chair.
My hand is on the girl's, her's on mine. Another palm on my back. 

I'm heaving.
Each breath leaves me lighter.

I understand.

I have had the hardest time with knowing what it is I'm feeling.

I have had the hardest time with figuring out why it is I am so damn angry.

I have had the hardest time figuring out why I have always felt alone.

Until now.

Until this moment where these girls who are as 'broken' as me hold each other.

Pain binds us together in healing.

I have had this hole that was never filled, rather dug deeper-suppressed.
I was told I was wrong for having such emotions.

I was told I was a burden for feeling such ways.

I was told to get over it.

To go elsewhere.

To deal with it.

And since I did not know how, I turned to my eating disorder.

I ate my feelings.

I starved my feelings.
I numbed.
I suppressed.
I denied.

For so fucking long that it made me into what I'm unraveling today.

But in that moment huddled on the floor I understand. I get it. 

I have a bit of peace knowing why I am so angry, why that hole is still there, why I do not know how to deal with the day-to-day, because I was never taught how.

I look into the girl's eyes. There's an understanding there. A peace.

I feel a wholeness that I have never experienced.

I will be ok.

Acceptance. Group Therapy Brought To Me By Above & Beyond.

Tunnel vision of the stage.

I grasp onto everything Above & Beyond is typing.

Lights flash, smoke rises,the beat starts.

"A little bit lost and a little bit lonely."

Goosebumps rise.
My heart jumps.
I'm elated.

"But I hold on and I feel strong and I know that I can," I yell with my hands up embracing the message and the of relief of being understood.

The song plays, the chorus hits, the beat takes me away.

My body moves. I'm not in control. I'm just expressing what's inside me.

Time, place, people, looks--nothing matters.

My mind takes me to a beach where I see myself age 20. I'm in a triangle green bikini, white floral bottoms. I'm walking past old friends who look at me and gawk. They comment on my weight. Their words cut me. I thought I was finally ok, finally thin enough, finally acceptable--loveable.

I want to hide but I am in my most vulnerable place-outside in a bikini-my disorder glaring.

I come back to the Showbox SoDo I'm holding myself. Arm in arm. Slightly buckled over in pain with the memory, in pain for her. She was so lost. So confused. So thin. So sick.

I open my arms and she willingly walks into them. I hold her. There isn't much. I feel her bones and see her rib cage. I stroke her hair and I tell her it's ok. Everything is going to be ok.

I tell her I don't hate her. I  understand her. It's ok to be confused. She's going to be ok. She'll be ok.

My mind shifts to 12 year old me. She doesn't know love. She knows anger. I try to take her hand. She doesn't want to be touched--not anymore--never again.

I look into her light brown eyes and let her know it's not her fault. She's grateful for the love. She sits with us.

Then I see no one else. I realize it's my turn to face me as I am now with the same compassion I just received my past.

Now it's just me holding me. I embrace myself in this moment as I am.

It is ok that I am not ok. It is ok that I do not know what's going on or what will happen. It is ok that I am frustrated. That I am confused.

 I am who I am because I needed to protect myself from my present which is now my past. I needed to be who I was and do what I did in order to survive.

In that moment of an accumulation of my past and my present I accept myself and I forgive myself.

Above & Beyond types "Group Therapy" on their screen.

I smile.

Where I am, who I am is exactly who I need to be.

Not Normal

This is incredibly hard to write about as it feels that is should be shameful.

People don't really share when they do 'not normal' things and I'm constantly doing that here but this 'not normal' thing is not normal even for me.

I had a panicish attack this past Monday slash freak out.

My deep frustration and anger came out during my therapy session with only the slightest push from my therapist.

"What if you try and feel your anger."

Heart pounds
Jaw clenches
Chest heaves
Not here-not now
Leave me be

Emotion strobe lighting
Fast, violent, unrelenting
It claws from within me
My Resistance is caving

Involuntary shaking
I need something to calm me
There's nothing to tame me

Don't let it go
I can't do this
Mustn't lose control
There it goes
Here I go

Fingers find flesh
Grasping, sinking, scraping
Release with every tear
Pain calms me

I see me
I'm not me
Who is that shaking there?

Suddenly my breath finds me
Shuddering in and out
My heart slows
I catch up with myself

What was that?
It mustn't
It can't be
Was that me?

I was told by my therapist about two baby monkeys. One was put in a cage with a loving mother, the other given nothing. The one with the loving mother acted normally. The other slowly became frustrated. It did not know how to show its frustration so it began to pull out its hair, hit itself and act irrationally.

In this case, I am the one without the loving mother, without an outlet.

I'm slowly learning to love myself the way I needed so long ago.
I'm slowly learning how to show my anger the way I needed to so long ago.

You're The Best Valentine

This was a Valentine I had to write to my body.




Being in a defensive protective mood I of course defaulted to sarcasm at first when writing my card.

"You're the best Valentine"

The following slowly became more sincere.

It reads:

You help me stand tall.
And sometimes run away from it all.
You haven't given up on me yet.
Even though I didn't like you when we first met.
I love it when we dance.
And leave our weight up to chance.
I love the curve of our hips and the color of our eyes.
What I'll like next is a surprise.
And I cannot lie.
Having a boobs now helps me get by.
If I stay true, true to you.
Loving you, loving you is what I'd rather do.

I wrote it in like 3 minutes so let me dissect this amazing literary work for you not so sophisticated selves out there (yes that's sarcasm).

You help me stand tall-I am tall. I hated it for years. HATED it so much I would avoid going to family things and parties because I couldn't stand people commenting on how big I was. Now my height is something I own.

And sometimes run away from it all.-Literally run, exercise, walk get away from my feelings, my hate, my world.

You haven't given up on me yet.-I am not dead and my body has been through hell with me.

Even though I didn't like you when we first met.-again ever since I could remember having a body and like really being aware that I had one I hated myself for not being petite like the rest of the girls.

I love it when we dance.-EDM self explanatory.

And leave our weight up to chance.-Weight and numbers are a huge trigger for me, it's only recently that I've let go of giving the scale any power over my happiness or actions.

I love the curve of our hips and the color of our eyes.-you get it.

What I'll like next is a surprise.-it's interesting what I find I like on myself. What part of me that I'm like dayum alright gurl.

And I cannot lie.
Having a boobs now helps me get by.-Lord my life would have been so much easier through high school and college if I had these. I love them and in fact do not want to lose weight because I'll lose them again. They are just sexy, fun and feminine (..duh) and something I NEVER had until recently. It was a big object of envy for me in my anorexic years.

If I stay true, true to you.
Loving you, loving you is what I'd rather do.-If I listen to my authentic self then I know how awesome, powerful and resilient my body truly is. It's mine and no one elses and I'm blessed with one that works just fine.

Thank You Readers - The Face of Bulimia

I wrote this post: http://wilhelmyk.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-face-of-bulimia.html in desperation to purge all of ED's secrets out of me. For once in my life I didn't look my best, I probably am at my worst. Showing you all what I can look like after purging (when it's a really bad long binge) was very scary and yet empowering.

I was just looking at my page views and since I posted that ironically on my mom's birthday of last year it's gotten 1,423 views. I'm not sure what those readers or clicks actually depict but I hope they helped comfort some who suffer, scare those who are dabbling and teach those from the outside.

I'm still rather like what the fuck did I just do about having me out there like that because it is so ugly and it is so shameful but at the same time I'm really happy I did it. You all are reading it for a reason and I hope that reason is for recovery or understanding.

I can't do this without your support. Thank you!

Banana And A Cheese Stick

Today's post is brought to you by a banana and a cheese stick.
It will not string...it is just cheese.
This is my night snack-which I still see as pointless. But I'm eating it.

Today was hard. Like every day.
Yes I was happy yesterday but well that was then.
Overall I'm less depressed but I'm in a mood right now.

I really want to stress that I may be hopeful one hour and then the next I'm not. If I write a happy post that does not mean everything is going to be fine from there on out. That does not mean I am curred. That just means that there in that moment I was happy.

I am scared that you all will read that I'm happy or feeling better and then another day I will not feel that way and you will be confused. You will ask questions. You will not understand.

Most of my life I have not understood myself or been understood by others.
And that brings me back to the dark, empty place that I felt when I was 14 that made me turn to anorexia.

But if I am not ok, if I am not happy, if I am not positive that does not make me bad. It is not bad to feel. Emotions are not to be judged they just are. Whatever I am feeling I am feeling for a reason, it is genuine it is true, it is real.

Moving on.

Today was a hard day. For whatever fucking reason they have had us eat more meat on the bone or that has visible fat in it than ever. I mean I had flank steak tonight (where I had to chew swallow or spit out the fat), steak tacos last night (which were dank and I picked them), fried chicken breast that had veins, fat, other shit that made me gag, and ribs for lunch.

Again I get ashamed because I do not think you will understand why this isn't the greatest thing ever. I am not used to seeing food like this without all the fat out veins out etc. so it's hard.

But today was much harder for one of my peers.

I looked across the table at "Lillian" and saw her small structure enveloped by her oversized sweater.

I saw her pick up each piece, bite, chew, swallow and go onto the next one. No being aware she was doing so.

Her bright blue eyes fixated on her plate. A tear halfway down her cheek. The energy coming from her was strong, something was wrong, something was going on in her head, she was not with us.

She finished her meal without a word or a glance from her setting.

We had to check in with the therapists about the meal and she finally looks at us and I'm panged with hurt. I can see it in her, I feel for her, my stomach churns and tears come to my eyes.

She just says "it's amazing how some food can trigger memories of trauma."

Then I got mad. So fucking mad. I hate ED. I hate what it has made us. I hate how it has belittled our lives. I hate that we have to go to treatment. I hate that people helped put us here. I hate how this was not in my control. I hate that this had to happen to us.

Lillian is one of the kindest souls I have ever met. She's genuine. She has the warmest heart. She is a good person who deserves good things and for over 30 years she has had to battle this disease that's almost killed her. It is not fair.

I didn't deserve this to happen. It's not fair that it has happened. That my life for so long has been put on hold, held back, interrupted by this. And I am so fucking proud that all of us are there and are fighting.

I don't know if the significance of today or how strongly I feel about this is coming through but I hope it is.

We have had the odds against us and we are fighting a disease that is created by and in our minds...it's twisted and it's deadly. And my heart breaks for every girl at that table because I know that hurt, that compulsion, that confusion, that hate and I am just fucking pissed that we have it and we have to deal with it.

But more so I guess I am proud I am so fucking proud of all of us for being there and for fighting and for doing something that's this intrusive, invasive and scary. And we do it every day, every hour and every minute.

Craisins & Blueberry Yogurt

Craisins and blueberry yogurt.
That's what success looks like.
That's my big accomplishment for the hour.
Not eating some weird combination of foods. Not not eating it. Not eating it and a pizza, cookies, two bags of Sun Chips (cheddar for the win.)

Just eating my protein and my fruit like a boss.
Like food doesn't control me.
Like it doesn't have a power over me.
Like it can't make me cry.
Like it won't make me fat.
Like it won't make me try on six outfits then crawl into bed crying.
Like I won't have to go to the gym for another hour when I went this morning.

These are just some of the things food has made me do---or rather my eating disorder.

But not today and kind of not yesterday and slightly not the day before that.

What I'm getting at is that I'm getting better.
What does better mean?

Fuck.

Better means fighting that cunning, powerful, malicious voice in my head.
Better means being full and being ok with that.
Better means talking about the stuff I really don't want to with my therapist.
Better means speaking up for myself in group.
Better means calling my ED out on it's shit right then and there.

The first three weeks were rough. I can't explain it. Every moment, every question, action, intention, conversation--sentence even, meal, food, movement is analyzed.

I was caught naked in a spotlight. Everything disordered that I intentionally did and had no idea I was doing was brought to my attention.

I picture ED's skeleton hands clasped so tightly around my heart that when you pry the fingers off one by one there is an imprint that is permanent. There is no oxygen to fill it. My heart won't beat. It had been suffocated for so long it's not sure how to function.

And it's painful as it tries to figure out how to work. I gasp for air feeling silly, ashamed that I don't know which way is up and what what is in or out.

And I fumble, I choke, I gasp but I'm trying.

And lately it's like I've caught my breath.

Oh yes that's it. That's it exactly! I have found my breath so I can finally live. I can function. I can talk. I can do. I can see. I can be me.

So far--if summarizing is even possible--I have learned:

-That I do not want to give food power over me anymore. It's just food. It's fuel when you get right down to it. I need it, I can enjoy it and I need not be afraid of it.

-I am a jealous person because I can't / won't see my attributes as meaningful, as good enough. Once I give myself a break and see what I have to offer the world, what my attributes are, I will be much less angry and stressed.

-I put myself down because at one point you probably did. All of those times from elementary, junior high and high school where I was pranked, verbally abused and cut down...I learned to deal with that by putting myself down before you could. It's stuck with me and now I cut to the chase before you can put me down so it won't hurt as much. So I don't take compliments, I make fun of my mistakes, I make fun of my successes...etc make sense?

-I apologize for having a feeling. For so long my cries for help and my confusion was met with hostility in my home. From my mom "You're so selfish. Stop talking about yourself. GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD." Or silence from my father. And anger from myself. "Why are you this way? What's wrong with you?" So now when I start to feel anything but happiness I shut it down. I laugh. I actually tell myself to shut up. That didn't make for good therapy sessions in the beginning...

-I am starting to see who I am...she's coming out naturally. I get overwhelmed with excitement when I see my successes now. When I talk at the table and don't think twice about it. I am funny. I am witty. I am kind. I am caring. I am determined.

Today was a great day...minus tears and trials.

And to end it all I was given a ticket to Above & Beyond by USC for my diplomatic response to the ticket fiasco.
And I also got some financial help so I can continue to pay rent--almost ;)