Merry Krismas To Me : Seven Months Later

I wrote this post about seven months ago.
And it breaks my heart because I remember that girl.
So desperately wanting to be free.
Wanting a holiday without addiction, disease, turmoil and torture.
I tried. I know I did my best.
And my best got me about three days in a row. Which bless me, was amazing.
I hated my parents. I never saw how we could ever exist in the same room together.
It wasn't possible. Not with me, my disease and them--it was too crowded.

I was at ground zero then.

Days later I had plans with my parents to go shopping at the Seahawks team store. I would get a new hat. We would go on The Seattle Great Wheel. I would have the happy Christmas I dreamed of each year.

That never happened.

I was confined to my bed because I could not stop throwing up. I was a slave to my disease. I had binged and purged for meals and days straight. Like a zombie I went to the store just a block from my house, spent hundreds on food, ate as much as I could and got rid of it. And then did it again. Slept. Repeat.

But then my body began to shut down. I had no sense of time of day, hunger, self.

I remember lifting the chips to my mouth and so desperately not wanting to. Wishing with all of my might that I could just stop. Leaning over the fridge in my puke-splattered sweats, oily hair, shaking not wanting anything in there and seeing my hands reach for something new.

I could not stop.
Until my body did stop.

My body said I can't do this anymore the day we were supposed to have Krismas in Seattle.

I remember so vividly opening the door for my parents. All of my energy was drained. I didn't even try to hide the dishes, the wrappers, the food or my ghostly appearance.

My mom covered her mouth when she saw me. Shock of what her daughter had become. My dad put down the coupons Mom had cut for me back home. I wouldn't be needing those.

The fear in my parents' eyes is indescribable. The shame I felt was overridden by exhaustion. I felt as though I was done. I hadn't actually eaten in days and my stomach was eroded by acid.

My parents stayed with me for hours.

My dad brought me Diet Sprite at my request (which really doesn't help anything but ED was still so loud as I lay there lifeless). I don't remember their time there as hours. It's a blur. There were crackers and broth. And there was my mom.

I had let them down. I was so scared. How did I get here again? Where did I go?

As I write this I remember how dark my room was, how sick I felt, how ashamed I was.
And by the grace of the universe I began to keep food down.
And my parents finally had to leave.

My mom said she thought I wasn't going to wake up.

Once again I had, my disease had, ruined another family event.

Days later my friends had an intervention with me and I wrote these words in my blog on Christmas Eve:

"I'm looking forward to working my ass off to get a better life. One where these thoughts aren't constantly breaking up my day.

I'm looking forward to a life where going to work won't be a struggle. And I will have enough nutrition in my body to stay focused and not forget things.

I'm looking forward to WANTING to eat which currently I don't have. It's all or nothing at the moment.

I'm looking forward to wanting to cook.

I'm looking forward to a new life. The life I was always meant to have.

Merry Krismas kids."

And I write to you now sobbing and snotting and with total fucking pride that what I wanted and what I looked forward to is exactly what I'm doing.

And recovery is more than wanting to eat, and quieted thoughts.

It's wanting to live. It's wanting to be me. It's having the clarity to carry on a conversation. It's being honest. It's being able to breathe. It's having the peace of mind to think of others. To live in the moment. To remember. To show up for people. To live.

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 ;)

Treatment Day 4: Tough But Good

Don't want to write.

I feel like I have so much to do that I don't want to take the time to do this and I resent it.

I think that'll change by the end of this post.

I am beginning to resent treatment-just a litttttttttttle bit. Not like last time. I know it's where I need to be and want to be and take advantage of my time there BUT...it's like I get home at 8 PM and I am so tired I don't want to do anything. 

Our brains are working so hard it's exhausting. You won't understand unless you've been in my spot but think of it like how tired you were after the SATs.

I feel really disconnected from my friends. I'm usually gone on weekends and no one can meet at 8 for happy hour.

I miss them. 

It makes me feel lonley. I can't summarize what's happening in a text but I know I need to talk to them about treatment etc And actually more importantly I need to stay connected with them. I never want to have to play catch up with my bests. I need to remember what the outside world is like, I need them to laugh with, to be myself with--not treatment me--but me me. 

So today was tough. 

But today was the kind of tough that I really learned from. Not pushing me too far.

My anxiety is paralyzing to me. I get so caught up with what I have to do, what I didn't do, what I should have done that it makes me mean and lash out--therefore causing guilt--therefore causing anxiety--and repeat.

I went into my therapy appointment joking and being sarcastic as always and moments later I'm pissed. I don't know what triggered me but I was mad--pretty much my default emotion--and then I lashed out at the therapist.

Then I felt stupid for being mean to this woman who's only trying to help.

So I put up my wall. Started cracking jokes.

Tried to move on.

She wouldn't let me.

She called me on my shit.

Something like "you have the tendency to not want to feel and when you do you immediately suppress it. Therefore pushing it down further making you more anxious, more irritable, more likely to get more angry the next time..."

OH.

Oh my God--she's right!

Classic therapy case but I never saw it until today.

So she asked me what would it be like to feel? And I said I don't fucking know. And she said it was ok that in this space and in this moment I can just let go. So I did.

I cried but I was laughing while crying because I felt so ridiculous.

The words started coming it was the thoughts I'd always had, the concerns, the anger, the vulnerability, the joy--all of it.

It felt so good.

So now I'm a crier folks.

I cried five times today. Mostly of joy and feeling blessed that I am in treatment and I'm really fucking doing it this time.

Oh and we ate burgers and apple pie then had to get weighed. NOT COOL. But they let me listen to my music for a bit to calm down. I actually would have had a much harder time doing this in the past (like crying, bingeing, not being able to sit down, pacing...etc) but I honestly forgot about it happening until right now.

I am learning to speak up in group. I mean if everyone wants to sit there in silence that's great for them but I'm going to get my money's worth.

I am pushing myself with food. Trying a new one every meal. Pushing against my food habits and disorders. 

I am reaching out to the girls in treatment.

I'm journaling now!

I'm really trying guys and it's hard but I know it's worth it.