Sliders at 2 AM

It's the typical therapist bullshit-ok no it's not bullshit at all actually it's very true but I'm calling it bullshit because I hate how true it is-I am afraid to feel my feelings so I numb out.

I don't even want to write right now because I am actually scared as to what my eating disorder is going to say and do to me and what I am going to feel. Lately it's been really mean and attacks my legs and butt making me feel incredibly fat and like I need to claw at myself (not hard or in a self-harm way but like grab at them repeatedly). To the point where I can't sit or sleep because I cannot stop thinking about how much weight I've gained and how incredibly wrong that is.

And it's true--I am not over exaggerating--I have gained weight. And well I needed to and even typing this out it makes me feel ashamed that I have done so. In a world that lives off of fad diets and clean eating and stupid pintrest workouts that aren't backed up by anything except a chick in fucking spandex and a tan.

And I realized after a painful, long, very disordered conversation with my boyfriend last night that I cannot bare to gain anymore weight or do anything that resembles going towards fucking up my appearance because I will no longer be liked.

I have had four solid days of not bingeing and purging. And I've been doing it not by my old methods of distraction and overeating vegetables. I have been doing it by journaling daily, asking for help and really trying to figure out why I feel the need to eat more or to hurt myself. It only took me three months out of treatment but I finally figured out I need to tailor my life as though I was still in treatment.

I learned a long time ago--6th grade--from the mean girls that because I was different I was not liked. I was the odd one out and there was nothing I could do or say to make them like me. For whatever reason I was no longer their friend and my life was no longer fun. I awkwardly went through junior high going through things like sexual trauma on top of a dysfunctional household and again the mean girls. I had no where to turn for love and approval but my body.

It clicked that when I was pretty that when I had cool clothes that when I was thin people started to approve of me. And it just picked up from there in high school and then in college I was hooked.

I lost complete sight of who I was as a person. Having an eating disorder causes great lack of self confidence as well as the trauma I've experienced so who I was, what I brought to the table besides a size 4 and long legs was lost on me.

And that is where I get stuck today.

I still do not know who I am and am too damn scared to say things like I am smart, I am a good writer, I am funny, or whatever because I feel that just leaves me up to ridicule, to disappointment, to heartache. And after feeling that for so many years that has become my worst fear.

So when I see a slider at 2 am and I am hungry and I eat it I have just done a huge disfavor to myself. I will get fat. I will lose the only thing that makes me me and I will no longer be loved.

Now I'm told this isn't how the world works but it's all I've ever known and taking a leap of faith that I have more to me than my looks is very scary. And I really can barely even type this post out. Just having the idea in my head is a start and I know I don't want to live life this way--being trapped and not having any real substance to me or not seeing who I am. But I'm just not sure how to do so.

I don't know exactly how to get out of this but I'm trying positive talk and listening to compliments and just trying. But I really am near tears right now and I'm not sure why. It just seems so unreal that I have anything to offer anybody. I can string together compliments about my looks but I can't tell you what traits make me up as a person.

That's where I'm at and I appreciate you listening.

A Misunderstanding That Lead to Understanding

I'm going to out my eating disorder.

We've--it's been hiding (trying to not make us one in the same) from you all because of fear. Fear it'll be taken away from me. It thrives best when I'm isolated, made to feel like no one cares and that all I have is it. My trusty friend always there for me. It's twisted and weird to me still to think of it as having its own agenda and personality but that's really what it does.

Since last Sunday I had binged and purged 6 times. I fell down and I fell fast.

I believe it was a combination of losing the job (I had no incentive to NOT do it as I could sleep in the next morning I had no one to answer to etc) and the fact that I had to decrease my medication. 

Topiramate is associated with significant improvements in both binge and purge symptoms and represents a potential treatment for bulimia nervosa. Found in a study done by Mountain West Clinical Trials, Boise, Idaho.

Also, my psychiatrist at The Emily Program, a facility focusing specifically on eating disorders, had been prescribing the medication to me since February. I am not ashamed to tell you all that I needed help in my recovery or that I chose to take medication to do so. Obviously since I am typing it out here.

I recently lost a job that was going to lead to health benefits AKA I thought I was going to be able to go back to The Emily Program a week before I got fired. This means I had no way of getting my medication in time for my prescription to be refilled. So I just took one less a day--which on top of the firing and the emotional stress of being unemployed lead to a dramatic increase in depression, anxiety and my eating disorder.

I got a doctor's appointment as soon as I could. I only had three pills left--enough to get me through that night and tomorrow. Just in time I thought.

I waited patiently in the well waiting room and talked for what felt like forever with an eager-to-learn intern from UW all about what it's like to be a bulimic. He was kind, understanding and empathetic. My nerves were calmed, this was going to work and maybe I could get back on my feet again.

An hour and a half later the doctor comes in. I again relay how I have not been sleeping. How I have been bingeing and purging regularly for the past week straight. How I recently lost my job. How I have no income. How I am tormented with depression, feeling guilty for bingeing and purging and working hard all day to eat normal meals only to break down at night, and repeat the cycle. Slipping faster and faster into my old self and relapse.

She leaves the room and comes back in 20 minutes to say she cannot help me.

I feel the tears well up in my eyes and my throat tighten as I hear her say the words:

She goes on to say she'll need my medical records and to talk to The Emily "Project" as I keep correcting her it's "program". 

I fight for myself while feeling so abashed that a medical professional would dare use the words "strange" "don't know what to do with you". I tell her my psychiatrist prescribed this to me for months, there are studies done that says it helps and clearly it does since my behaviors have increased since I had to lessen my dosage. 

She continues to say that she doesn't trust what I'm telling her and doesn't feel comfortable.

I leave after two and a half hours of sitting in that little white room feeling so violated and more alone than ever.

I am being dramatic but that's what I was feeling. I finally had the chance to open up to someone again to tell them the truth about what was happening and they had the chance to help me and I was met with hurtful words and no help.

It reiterated what I've been trying to not tell myself for these past months since I've been out of treatment--That no one understands.

I called up my old psychiatrist and even though she hadn't seen me in over 3 months she was able to tell me that she'd help me. She told me that people just don't understand eating disorders yet and there's a lot of ignorance out there. She was able to help me calm down and not feel like such a freak and a strange case, rather to feel sorry for the doctor who didn't have all the information and maybe even excited that I get to help educate her.

I know I'm not the only one out there that's misunderstood and this situation reminded me of that. To be a little more patient with others, to try to be a little more understanding. You never know what someone else is going through. Or what a smile, kind words or patience can do to help brighten their day or even your own.

I Got Let Go From My Job At Lunch.

I just finished my taco salad and was about to get back to cold calling--my new least favorite thing--when I catch eyes with my manager.

I knew what was about to happen. She didn't even need to call me into her office and do the formalities. I knew I was being let go.

It feels like ages ago when I took the scary step to leave the hell hole that was zulily. To chose my recovery over a job. I felt so scared and yet so empowered.

The months that followed were full of me killing it in informational interviews, sucking up to recruiters and then came the weekly in-person interviews--maybe a couple second interviews.

I was as fresh as a spring chicken. I had just said a big ol fuck you to the company that dragged me down for years and I knew I had so much to offer. I had passion, I am a killer writer, I am on tv, I model, I am a kick ass promo ambassador and I wanted to work--enough of this unemployment crap.

I wanted to be apart of something. I wanted to share my ideas. Improve the place I worked while improving who I was. I wanted to grow and learn.

This began to dwindle with the constant no's and hearing about my "lack of experience" with writing jobs. So I took at shot at sales--and the company I just left took a shot on me.

The first day was like being in junior high. I was clearly at a disadvantage and way out of my element. I was drowning in information, overwhelmed with the material and incredibly insecure. I lost sight of who I was and all the work I had put into my recovery and my values. It seems as though the new me could not exist here.

I compared myself. I belittled myself. I stressed myself the fuck out. And on top of that the people I was talking on the phone with did too. Hang ups, no's, and other relentless negativity was not good for who I was trying to become.

I have to give it up to people in sales that can pull it off--you've got to have some thick skin and be incredibly competitive. Two things that I don't have and am totally ok with.

I have a ping of shame that I really did my best and it still didn't work out. Reading inspiring quotes every morning. Calling my boyfriend crying on breaks. Listening to my favorite music on my lunches. Revamping up every day, every hour trying to do the best I could.

Knowing that everyone is there now and sees my empty desk. Knowing I didn't make it. I don't know what they'll say but I guess it doesn't really matter.

I am really proud that I tried this. I have never done anything like this and I didn't have the support of my treatment team at all during it--and well I still don't. I did give it my all and while it's shameful to me that my all wasn't enough--I know that if I gave up I'd be even more mad at myself.

The part that scares me shitless though is that I have no idea what to do now.

I have no income and I feel I have nothing to offer. I have no direction or idea as to what I want to do or what I am even qualified to do.

It became clear to me that I have no writing experience from being put in a box for three years at zulily. There seem to be no copywriting jobs out there that I do qualify for. And now after working my ass off for a month I can't put sales on my resume.

I don't even know what positions to start looking for, what to even say if someone asked me why me, I feel very empty, insignificant and helpless.

I don't know what the next step is for me or what I'm meant to do.

I know this isn't the first time I've written about this but before I had hope and now that's really dwindled.

This is when my faith in my higher power is tested and when I really have to take it hour by hour and look for omens.

I will keep my eyes and my heart open and my mouth shut--I think I've heard that's the best way to listen.

Feeling Defeated.

I am so tense and frustrated to the point of tears.
I'm sitting here in my shorts and a sports bra--I was going to go workout to try and calm my anger--but I'm getting sick and am incredibly tired from this weekend and that's not in my best interest.
But I feel like the energy is pulsing off of me. I need to get rid of it.
I'm listening to Impavid Evence Remix and every time I close my eyes I picture myself running on an open highway as fast and as far as I can go. No end in sight.

The energy, the anger and my tense muscles are all set up to protect me from feeling.
It's hard and uncomfortable for me to feel when I'm bare like this.
I am forcing myself to sit with it.
My stomach in rolls and my thighs bare. They 'feel fat'.

I forced myself to go further and figure out why it's so hard to sit here like this and feel--it's all about shame. Unbearable to look like this and to have feelings at the same time.
I don't understand that part yet--I just know it's true.

I've been pushing really hard against my ED lately and it's screaming back at me.
I wish it was easier, that I could just yell louder and it would back down but it gets out a mega phone.
It chants. Repetitively. Relentlessly.
I want it to quiet so I give into the urges but then I'm back where I was.
So I know I can't give in but the things it says to me. The intensity of the anger it has towards me is hard to contain. It's hard to focus. It's hard to try to be me and stay on a normal path.

And I'm doing this mostly on my own this time--I really miss my treatment team.

I saw myself in a bathing suit yesterday and what I thought I looked like this entire time was the complete opposite of what I saw. I still need to gain. But then I have this voice in my head telling me that that's not ok.

I'm so tangled.
I feel very detached.

Everything is an ordeal. I can't write like I used to.
This shit head in my head won't shut the fuck up.
Delete it. You just whine. No one reads this anymore. No one cares.
Trying to remember why I wrote in the first place.

All I want is to be left alone. I want my mind to quiet. I want to enjoy my life.
And it just isn't that simple for me right now.
And it's incredibly frustrating and I don't know what to do to get out of this.
As I said I'm working really hard against it but my life just gets harder and more uncomfortable and I get more angry.
I'm so sick of having an eating disorder.

It's funny because after I write blogs--like immediately after I feel like my authentic self comes out. And I am able to think with my wise mind. 

So I'm editing the end of this.

I am exactly where I am supposed to be--and considering everything I'm going through and have gone through it all makes sense. Especially when I'm defying ED it's going to get pissed. But I can't give up now that I'm trying so damn hard. I just need to learn how to take it easy and take care of myself while it is being a bitch. And remember that this intensive anger will pass--this depression will pass. I will be better for it. I'm so sick of this disease ruling my life. I am doing everything in my power to continue on a path to recovery and I should recognize that rather than focus on where I lack--however it takes a lot of guts to post shit like this on here so good fucking job self.