Landslide

It's just past sunset, and I'm on a walk in my neighborhood. The light is just enough to see where I'm going and into people's houses. I take each house in as quickly as I can while my long legs carry me at the pace I've come used to (fast) from being late everywhere. I see people in their own lives, caught up in their heads, or with their families, I see the moss-covered lawn ornaments in the overgrown grass--a reminder of a more productive and inspired time. I see decorations inspired by Pintrest and staircases that make me wonder where they lead and whose room I'm seeing. I'm so present and yet entirely absent.

I remember my friend shared a song, Landslide by Oh Wonder with me that I had yet to listen to. The text was followed by "I love you." Being that we usually share bass-heavy bangers Landslide caught me off guard but gripped my attention. And I hear the words:

I know it hurts sometimes but
You'll get over it
You'll find another life to live
I know you'll get over it

And I feel that tightness in my throat and the tears in my eyes--the sensations I've been avoiding at all expenses (going out instead of saving money, drinking when I know I shouldn't, staying out instead of sleeping, not showing up to work). I realize it's been a while since I cried, since I let myself feel. 

I have felt like I'm drowning lately, too much to do, not enough time. I have felt far away from myself, the girl I started becoming on my own in Seattle. The girl in recovery. The girl who believed in herself. But every time I stop, I can't sit with myself. I'm not even really aware of it, it's instinctual. 

And even though I'm so busy, I feel like it's not enough. Most of my day is made up with trying to remind myself of all those Pintrest quotes that remind me of how I want to live my life. To not forget what I should be doing, what I didn't do, and what I will do. Writing and rewriting my goals, not understanding why there's such a disconnect between what I want to do and what I actually do. 

As I reread this I see how little credit I am giving myself. It's not anyone around me that's creating the feeling of failure, of too busy, of shame--it's me. I have the power to chose happiness everyday and instead I'm looking at what isn't working, what didn't happen, and where I can still improve, hardly do I ever acknowledge the growth, the effort, or the hope that's there.

But when I do I'm so much happier, when I do basically I'm able to give myself that confidence and calm that I crave others to give me. When a friend tells me to "be kind to myself" to "give myself more credit" I can but I (but I'm working on it) struggle to be able to give myself that own acceptance, grace, and love.

Today it hit me that I'm trying to control my future and avoid my past which is making me miss the present. The belief that I have to be happy in order for me to function in my day causes me most of my distress. The lists, the notes, the reminders all there to help me avoid the very thing I need to feel--pain. 

The pain of losing my best friend to hatred, jealousy, insecurity, and selfishness. 

The wounds that are reopened every time he is mentioned.
The anger towards her.

The shame that comes with not being fixed yet.

The insecurities that keep me frozen at work.

The anxiety that interrupts my day.

As I write and bring up all of these I get more and more uncomfortable in my body. My thighs feel huge, I feel so fat when I sit I won't allow myself and haven't all day, regretting eating dinner. ED is here, to the rescue. Distracting, all consuming, relentless.

And I've gone through therapy enough to know that I need to go through these emotions and discomfort to ground myself again. Then the rapid thoughts of everything I haven't done and need to do and the dishes suddenly seem more attractive.

The fear of feeling the pain is probably more powerful than the pain actually is. I guess what I'm getting at is I am going to go cry after this.

But before I do that, I wanted to make sure I said what inspired me to write in the first place. The song reminded me to have faith. And believe that everything does work out the way it was meant to in the end.

All I have ever wanted is to love and be loved. And as simple and concise as that statement is it is so incredibly complicated. But because I started listening to my heart, had faith, and did the scary shit I'm at a place where I believe what I want most I'm getting.

I wanted love from someone who didn't love me anymore, not like that. I was so busy focusing on what was lost I didn't see who I had found. I found true friends, I found courage, I found strength, and I have begun to find myself.  

And every time that you're lonely
Every time that you're feeling low, you should know
I'll be there for you, I'll be there for you
I'll be there for you, you know

Read all of the lyrics here.

I Figured Out What's Wrong With Me

Recently, I've been told more often than not by you all how much you appreciate my blog.
It means the world to me that you read and call me things like "brave" and "inspiring." Your comments are what keep me writing. It feels good to know that I'm heard, and perceived in the manner in which I intend: honest, flawed, hopeful, real.

I haven't written in a while because I have not felt I have anything useful to say. There is no epiphany, no morale of the story, no insane amount of feelings that needs to be purged onto the page.
And more often than not, I am having a hard time making sense of my feelings.

It's like when I am asked, "how are you?" I cannot answer. There's a blockage. I think back to therapy, when the tears and words flow so easily. I try to do the same in the comfort of my own room, the privacy of my desk, my car. And I just spin. I cannot connect. I get frustrated.

And I think it's because I do not actually want to feel what I feel. My mind is protecting me from feeling that deep, dark, loneliness that has haunted me since I was 12. I do it subconsciously, I do it routinely, I do it well.

I want everything to work out, I want to know what is going on, I want to have a path to follow. But every time I try to force my life down this path that I THINK I should be on, I get this stuck feeling in my mind. I want to avoid the feelings of anger, of dislike, of hurt because these feelings are telling me that what I'm pursuing isn't right for me. Isn't going to work. And that means I don't know what the fuck I'm doing anymore. That goal, that life, is not going to work for me and now I'm left with the unknown. And that is scary.

So I push myself down this path, invalidating who I am, ignoring my heart, the universe and it's signs in order to have some sense of safety. Some sense of worth. And yet the more I do these things, the more I feel less secure, and  like shit about myself.

I am reminded of this, "What you want and what you need are two different things." I need to get out of my own way and let it happen.

I have been listening to a lot of motivational speeches throughout the past month and something that stuck out to me was: in order to obtain your goals, you have to focus on the WHY not the WHAT. So why do you want a million dollars? That reason, the why, is what gets you up in the morning, the why has to be greater than all your excuses you have in your head.

And I've been realizing that I don't really have a goal, and I most certainly don't have a why. So I think that's why I'm so stuck. Why I make the same mistakes. Why I care so much about what other people think. Why I feel stuck. Because I have not found anything that drove me to want to do better and be better than my relationship. And now that that's over, I'm just idling. And I am ashamed that I don't have a self-righteous path. I guess it's because I don't see my worth. I can live for others, but I can't yet figure out how to live for myself.

I love the idea of being an independent woman. Of knowing who I am, what I want, being driven, passionate, dedicated, confident etc. but there, for whatever reason, is nothing driving anywhere. Nothing pulling at me. No passion. No goal. I just don't really care right now and I'm not sure how to find what that one thing is.

Thank you again to everyone who tells me they appreciate this. You are the reason I wrote today. And this helped to sort my thoughts, and also gave me a small sense of purpose, which I guess is what I'm looking for.

I Cried During My Workout, What'd You Do Today?

The gym is empty, it's me and the seniors and the stay-at-home moms. It's lunch time.

I like the quiet because it's so loud in my head.

My anxiety has been debilitating lately.

Constantly spinning, pining, fucking with me.

Behaviors have increased.

I constantly feel like I'm drowning.

Today is chest, triceps and biceps. I started this routine back in the summer. I couldn't curl more than 10lbs and now I'm doing 20s. I never really write about exercise because I am afraid. Afraid of triggering readers, of people saying I wasn't good enough, of people seeing me really as I am: no filter, no angle, no disorder, that since I still use behaviors I couldn't fully own my new body...the list goes on.

But after treatment this last bout I started to lift. A good friend showed me how to do it properly, she got me to go in and keep going in. I liked the power it gave me. I liked seeing results. I liked the exhaustion. My desire to lift is a  different hunger than my ED's need for exercise.

And this afternoon as I stood there in my Seahawks cutoff-that yes I made myself-and I for whatever reason actually look at myself. i see that my shoulders have shape and my arms have definition. I for once feel a connection with my body. I for a fleeting second looked at myself and felt pride. And it's not pride from losing weight, or defying the scale--it's pride because of my hard work. That's me eating. That's me taking the time to treat myself right. That's recovery.

I finish my workout and go to my favorite place in the gym--the classes room. When not in use all the lights are off and the mirrors reflect the light outside. I put on my newest obsession  and I dance. I poke fun at myself, I try to twerk, I do my model walk, I try a new move I've seen online. I feel so authentic, happy and centered. 

And on this particular day I started to do this and the fleeting thought came back, "I look good." Usually I've brushed the idea off, it's uncomfortable and something I don't want to deal with. I stopped what I was doing and tried to stay with the feeling (therapy at its finest). And suddenly the calm curiosity exploded in a million directions. 

I apologized to my body, this deep sorrow I've buried for who knows how long came to the surface and I legit sobbed. I crumbled to my knees and forced myself to look in the mirror. 

I so often do not want to be connected with my body, for reasons I've discussed time and time again. And it was so strange to me that I could feel such emotion for this thing that is right in front of me, that is me and still be so distant from it. I'd like to say that I had some spiritual connection, but I basically just kept crying. When you don't know how to handle your emotions they come out all sorts of ways. 

I looked at my face and my eyes and my lips and I held myself. 

"I need you the most" playing in my headphones. Oh Justin Bieber.

The apologizing stopped and it was like I wasn't doing the talking anymore. It was like there were two of me and one was telling me they get it, like I was forgiven, and I can just be sad now and that's ok. And so I cried and tried to not hold it in, releasing, feeling. And then I felt an anxious excitement, like "Oh shit! I'm getting it! I've got it!" 

And then more sobbing. The end.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP

As I sit here in my new skinny, high-waist jeans I hear the words "you cut out this food and then that and I'm going to sign up for a marathon." And my pants get tighter and my anxiety higher.

I just barely am ok with letting go this holiday. Maybe because I'm writing I'm actually not ok with it. Ya actually my ED (I'm really trying to separate the disease from me and my thoughts) is so fucking pissed at the idea that I did what I did and I can't do anything about it now. The damage is done. And I am sitting here uncomfortably with the consequences. I want to rip myself apart verbally and physically. How could I live under this illusion that I would be ok with eating seconds? Butter on everything? Having a drink every night? Idiot. Now look what you've done. You've stepped out of line and now you'll pay for defying me.

Recovery and the work I'm doing never stops--or well it shouldn't if I want to make progress. Yes I had more than two cookies a day and yes I didn't work out once and yes I sat with the thoughts and the uncomfortability for the last week of it all thinking I was somehow pushing forward in my recovery but I feel like the biggest fucking failure now. I want so badly to workout non-stop, to cut calories to show all of you people that talk of diets and exercise how it's really done. But if I let up now and give in I'll only let it win and have gone through all of that for no reason.

God I wish none of this fucking mattered. But it does. It feels like it really fucking does.

All of this anger and hate comes from me overhearing a conversation. My simple morning turned upside down.

I am frustrated that life is like this for me. That I am not further in recovery. And I am also just fucking bitter that I'm so uncomfortable all the time. Before I was with therapists to talk to, dietitians, girls and guys just like me that understood. Now I am seemingly alone. Stuck in my head and these fucking jeans and this environment that's full of people throwing out their regrets, calorie counts, diets and distorted view of the word healthy.

Sometimes I believe I am not the one with a problem but the rest of you are. The way you define healthy, the way 'cleansing' is seen as healthy even though it's essentially anorexia, how you post photoshopped pictures of models on your pintrest to push yourself further in your workout and publicly shame yourself for eating too much food. AND I'M THE ONE WITH A PROBLEM? I'm just trying to get my five grains a day and workout to relieve stress. But nothing around me supports this idea of moderation, enjoyment and pride in our bodies for the way they are.

I'm so fucking sick of having to work so hard to try to be normal in a world that doesn't know what normal is.

I usually like to end on a positive note. To end concisely. But I'm going to leave this open and uncomfortable. I'm going to sit with my anger and feel it.  Because as much as I fucking hate it it's ok to be uncomfortable.

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.

Treatment Day 3: The Terrible Three's

Man. I am a meany.

I just sent two of my best friends like a three page text about why to not ask me about treatment.

"How's treatment?"

The thoughts, feelings came hard and fast. Uncontrollably
My initial reaction is to throw it back in their faces.
How the fuck am I supposed to summarize treatment. In a word? In a text?

I mean it's like someone asking you about a vacation...so much happened, so many emotions, activities, feelings, experiences...how do you honestly answer that question?

I'm not sure why I get so mad and so defensive so fast.
I mean these are my best friends, or people that truly care how it's going.
I'm lucky to have them I don't want to push them away.

"It's mostly positive right?" Well no. It's not. This is the hardest shit I've ever done.

I like to compartmentalize things. This is what I'm feeling, put it in a box, put it away.
But I don't know what the fuck I'm feeling so I can't put it in a box, it's not going away.

I guess some of me just doesn't want to think about it all again.
I guess some of me just resents that I have to do this still.
I spend 7 hours in there, please just let me have some peace outside of it.

I mean today the morning was great. I was on high. Such a high I almost cried of joy (yea wtf). Then came our outing to Tutu Bella.

We went and got pizza and then had to have dessert. Then sit in a car on the way home in awkward silence as every girl is in their heads. Then sit and do a stupid fucking art project that I didn't want to do and then BAM there's dinner in my face and then oh yes let's do yoga in jeans in a small ass room so I'm uncomfortable and crammed and full.

GREAT. Just fucking great.
So that my friends is how treatment was today.

Meh. Not that's not accurate.
There was the part when I reached out to a girl who was struggling and we were buddies for the meal.
There was the part when I ate the pizza and I enjoyed it (but man it was hard to fight Ed constantly, he was saying don't do this. You have to workout later. You're going to get so fat if you keep this not caring about what you eat shit up....) And then dessert on top of an already super hard meal. Sitting next to girls that are struggling too. Their anxieties catching like fire. And ED still saying this is bad. This is so bad. And me going but I liked it. A constant battle.

My anxiety is felt so strongly in my body. My heart races. I clench my jaw. My hands sweat. My mind is everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Then there was dinner where the dietitian next to me was leaning into my space and just chomping her food. GET OUT OF MY FACE I yelled in my head but then I heard my actual voice go you're really triggering me. We worked through it.

I hate typing this out because most of  you don't have EDs and don't understand why something like that would be so damn hard. So then there's a shame that comes with it.

Which makes me more mad.

I guess there's just a lot I had to push today. A lot I had to deal with. A lot I had to do. And then to have people ask me how is it? Reminds me that it's not that fucking great right now. And I feel so much pressure to get better since everyone knows I am in here.

But it's a blessing that you know because I then have so much support.

I guess it's the hard days like these that show what I'm made of and I did it all. It wasn't pretty. I wasn't very nice. But I got through it.

Treatment Day 2: Today I...

Today I...

helped create and then ate from an ice cream bar.

found out my sensitivity to noises (chewing, smacking, people talking loudly at the gym...) might be biological, linked to my depression and PTSD. And can be lessened through medicine.

had a therapy session WHILE EATING.

was told by my therapist that I am one of the most motivated clients she's EVER had.

spoke up for myself

fought the mean thoughts

tried to be more outgoing

had my friend join me for family group and really got to open up to her about what's going on and what it's really like to have an ED.

felt like recovery is really possible.

My Year In Review

Facebook has been full of updated statuses to summarize 2013.

Mostly from what I can tell...

1. People lost weight.
2. Got married.
3. Had kids.
4. Got promoted.

So naturally I compare every one's successes to my own--or lack thereof. 

1. I gained weight.
2. I broke up with my long-time boyfriend.
3. Thank God I did not have any children.
4. I'm currently on probation at work.

I unknowingly slipped into a depression and a relapse.

Cheers?

But the more I thought about it I realized my year can't be summarized in words, numbers or events. Right now it's just too complicated for that.

As I look back on my 2013 I see struggle but I see success. 

1. For whatever reason I no longer hate my body. I cannot tell you what it's like to finally have boobs after never having them (I've always been too underweight). Call me a late bloomer. 

And while I'm still very scared of gaining weight, I don't really have the anxious drive to lose any. No day is perfect but I'm not constantly pinching, sucking in, analysing myself in the mirror.

2. I can eat most foods. I used to have very strict food rules. Nothing EVER has been full-fat since I was 14. Carbs? No thank you. My parents weren't allowed to have anything in the house that wasn't green or lean for over 12 years. If I didn't workout I didn't deserve to eat. 

While it's still a struggle to eat a full or normal meal I can eat pretty much whatever is in the house or on the menu.

3. I have begun to be able to break some of my disordered rules and regulations. I used to have to workout everyday. I could only eat salad for every meal (yes even breakfast). I would have to go on two long walks at work. I would have to throw up any meal that wasn't a salad. I had to walk the stairs while waiting for the bus. Etc.

While I'm not free from these thoughts I LOVE eating breakfast. If I'm swamped at work I take a shorter walk. I no longer embarrass myself by walking up and down the stairs while waiting for the bus. 

4. I can accept compliments. I got very good at making jokes off of whatever you guys would say to me. Or making up reasons why on earth you'd say those nice things to me (you feel sorry for the eating disorder girl). I couldn't look you in the eye if you called me pretty. I would immediately change the subject. Etc. 

But now when I hear something nice I take it in and I try to believe you--most of the time I do. 

5. Lastly, I've started to learn that life is about being happy. It's meant to be enjoyed. As I've let go of the rules and the thoughts have subsided I have more time to do what I want to do. 

I have to be careful with that happy thing because I am very big on instant gratification. I feel shy? Drink. I feel fat? Workout. I can't sit with myself? Binge. I am depressed? Stay home. So it's more of the what will I be grateful for tomorrow? What in the long run will truly make me as a person and my life fuller?

So I go on walks and take pictures. I take the time to make dinner. I watch Netflix instead of exercise. I show up to work. I write in here.

I hope that this helps you look at your past year and realize that maybe while you aren't being promoted, getting skinnier or having children (GAH) that that doesn't mean we aren't headed in the right direction. 

And any accomplishment, no matter how small is something to be celebrated.

Cheers guys happy 2014!

No One Wants A 25 Year Old Bulimic

Hi candy canes.

I'm in an especially good mood because it's Christmas Eve!

And there was a rumor we'd get out at noon. But it's noon oh one and I'm still sitting here at work. So of course I blog.

Update:

I am going back to treatment.

Two Mondays ago I walked into an INTERVENTION (what I thought was a girls night) with my 4 besties and another friend who had an eating disorder.

When I saw the chairs in a circle and water bottles my heart plummeted and I was like WTF. I think I said that out loud...multiple times.

What happens next is pretty private but basically I was given an ultimatum go to INPATIENT (meaning I live there) treatment in NYC (sometimes places give people with diseases / disorders free treatment if they participate in a study) or my best friends would not be in my life anymore. AKA I wouldn't have a life anymore.

So after this I freaked the fuck out.

I was mad. I was confused. I was sad. I felt betrayed.

These were the same friends who I finally got the courage to open up to and they were telling me I was doing well. Keep it up. You're doing great!

And then this?

And by freaked the fuck out I mean that I cried every other hour at work. I wasn't hungry then I was. I was fine then I felt extremely fat. I was calm then I wanted to throw a fit. It was like eating disorder overload.

I went to bed with texts from my friends and woke up to them, got them through the day. Was ok, had I looked into treatment, had I done my labs?

I went from trying to hold my miserable life together and enjoy it so all of a sudden being told I'm going to have to leave my job, my home and my life for this "free treatment facility'' in NYC.

I mean I already get really anxious when people text call me a lot and I'm trying to work but on top of that I was having to be interviewed by NYC for the program.

Just imagine midday having to leave your desk and go talk to someone about your deepest darkest secrets. Rehashing the sexual abuse. How you starved yourself for months. How you've gained so much weight. "What did that feel like?" "And when about was this?" "What weight were you at?"

So that on top of life was more than I could handle.

I skipped work on Wednesday.
Got shit faced on Wednesday.
Skipped work on Thursday.

Oh and throw in all of my friends and I meeting with my parents about how bad the situation has gotten Thursday night.

After having my adult tantrum I started to realize I DO need help and I DO need inpatient.

Then my boss slaps me with probation for missing too many days.
Fuck.

Then that Friday after countless hours interviewing and phone tag with NYC they tell me I'm not eligible.

While I felt betrayed at first by my friends I started to realize how lucky I am not to have just one person that really cares but five! I mean my own parents couldn't even do this for me.

And while my ED told me not to tell them anything else, because they'll just crack down harder on me, I didn't listen and I opened up more.

I cannot tell you how nice it has been to not have to hide this from them anymore. They answer every time I call. They try to understand and sometimes do.

So that all was a couple of weeks ago. I have checked into other free treatment places but they are only interested in 12 - 18 year old  anorexics. No one wants a 25 year old bulimic.

That leaves me with one option in Washington state. The Center For Discovery.

Currently I'm in talks with them and my insurance. So it's a waiting game. And of course no one is answering my messages or the phone. It's the holidays.

It's a little bit hard to know that I'm going to treatment but not there yet. It makes ED say do it this one last time....you'll get fixed later...they think you need treatment well then fuck it let's prove them right.

But also it's helped. I have tried harder than ever not to binge. I have spent time doing / making things for people. Calling them more. Caring about them (instead of myself). I have gone and done things I wouldn't usually take time to do because I feel as though it's my last for a while.

(I've taken so many videos of my cat. So many.)

This brings me to now.

Yesterday I stayed home from work. I cleaned. I cooked (if making a salad is called cooking). Put pictures up on my wall. Made my brother his Christmas present. Went to the gym and actually lifted weights. I realized this is what my life could be like every day.

But it didn't come without the constant fight of telling ED no we don't have to go eat BBQ chips and a pizza. No we don't need to stay on the cardio machine another 30 minutes. NO we don't look fat in those pants.

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.

Krismas

I have like 5 minutes until my laptop dies.
I MUST stop forgetting my charger at work.

I have decided. To try my hardest. More than I have ever tried before. To not binge / purge all of December.

Now you'd think I would have obviously been trying so hard most of my 'recovery' life to not do this...but it was always a forever goal. Never again will I ever...

But this time it's just for Christmas.

I was talking to a friend and he asked me what do I want?

It was a very open ended question and I couldn't think of the answer.

I have not really thought about my life, or a life, or what I want because I've been so clouded with ED for so long.

All I could say was not have an eating disorder anymore.

So that's what I'm going to try to give to myself this year.

I have not had a 'normal' Christmas time since I was 14.

Now I know there'll be food. There'll be tons of booze. Indulgence galore. But I would really really love a season where I am not on a roller coaster with food, my body, my health and my eating disorder.

Last night at midnight I was just wanting to hurt myself because I felt stupid after talking to a guy, my friend was upset with me and I was alone.

So I went to binge but I saw that it was in fact December 1st and so I just said no and went to bed.

This is really all over the place but I'll write more tonight or tomorrow.

Sorry if it doesn't make sense.

Lastly, after the fiasco that was my parents' house. And a passive aggressive text from my mom today. I have decided to cut them out of my recovery life.

They will not know the bad or the good. That topic is not their business. And I think it's best that way.

I can't stand taking any more time focusing on how to try to fix my relationship with them when I have so much support here with you.

God I'm crying again.

You all mean so fucking much to me. Here's to day one!

How Dare You.

"How dare you have the audacity to throw up or think about throwing up in this home?
After everything we have done for you.
After nine years of this Kristin..."

In this home?
This home where my cries for help were met with anger and hostility and excuses.

In this home?
Where my dad would pick on me. Not answer my questions. Act like he didn't hear. Look at me with disgust and disapproval when all the while it's he himself he hates.

In this home?
Where I thought I was safe.

In this home?
Where my two role models made cutting remarks at one another. Muffled voices raising louder and louder as I hide under my pillow.

In this home?
Where everything must have a coaster. Don't paint your nails there. You did the vacuuming wrong. You got the wrong bread. It's not what you said it's your tone of voice.

In this home?
Where I'd ask to go on a walk with you and you were too tired. Where I try to introduce you to new movies that you still haven't watched. Where I try to tell you what it's like to be me and what I need help with and I'm met with a blank face.

In this home?
Where I am scared to be myself. I am scared to be anything but fine.

Yes I am that fucked up mom that I can't help but throw up one of the most anxiety causing dinners for all bulimics, overeaters and anorexics plus fucking normal people.

"I don't understand how you can do that."

"Mom, I'm a BULIMIC. I have a MENTAL DISORDER."

"I shouldn't have come home, it's not the  best place for me."

"How dare you say we are not a loving home."

"I didn't say that, it's just in treatment I wouldn't be met with anger, I would be met with understanding."

"I'm just mad you lied about not trying to throw up."

Could you imagine what would happen if I dared tell you the truth?

We calm down. Part ways.

Dad asks me like nothing happened to take out the recycling.

...fuck you.

I'm Full And So Hungry

Just finished a normal dinner.
ED is disgusted that I ate everything I am supposed to.
I have been home sick all day and the most exercise I've had is walking up and down the stairs to sleep.

My dad just walked in and I had to rewind the news to try to figure out WTF they were saying AGAIN.

"Did you get the mail like I asked?"
"I didn't know you asked me to."
"Fine. I'll get it."
Slams door.

Immediately my mind goes. OMG He's on a walk. I should walk. I haven't exercised. I feel fat...
The urge to get up and move and burn calories takes over. I can't sit here and type this much longer.

But I need to recognize that the only reason I want to walk is because my dad upset me. Talked down to me.
Not because I truly want to exercise.
My mind just goes there to cope.

Being here reminds me of the cutting remarks and the child-like behavior that I lived with my entire life. It doesn't help.

I had texted my dad asking him to pick up Sprite and Jello on his way home since my throat really hurts. He goes "Ok I'll just take the money I spend out of your checking account."

Now I may be being a brat but ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? I have had to move back in with you because I am so depressed, so desperate and drowning in debt and you can't buy me fucking Jello?

They'll put money toward an $800 new faucet but when I'm telling them to their faces that I am sad. I need help. And I can't afford it. The offer to help pay doesn't come up.

It's just like when I was in high school and finally asking for help. Trying to tell my mom about my anxiety and these thoughts. And she would shut me down. Tell me to cut it out. To stop being so selfish.

I told my mom I wanted to go to an energy healer (I think that's right). She just looks at me blankly.

"Well I think it'll help. I've tried other things. She can give me direction. It worked for multiple of my friends. I wanted to ask for it for Christmas."

"How much is it?"

"100 or more?"

Looks back at her computer.

As much as I wish it, it seems like somethings may never change.

So I also tried looking up therapists and dietitians today. Most of them are a 40 or more minute bus ride from my office. Which is just like my old commute and mostly why I stopped going.

The other therapists I found that are close are not in a network so I would pay out of pocket.

However with how little I make at my current job I can't afford a twice a week therapy dietitian thing.

But in order to get a new job I need more experience and my current job won't give me more experience and responsibility because I don't show up because of my bulimia...so...it's a circle.

I can't seem to get out of it.

I need a lucky break. A new job. A cheaper therapist. My parents to help out. I so desperately want to change and work to get healthy but I feel trapped.

Lastly, ChaCha and I are on a break  / broken up whatever you want to call it.
So I'm also losing one of my best friends. But I can? can't? be that sad becauase I'm mostly the one who wants it to end. Or I feel like it needs to. I won't go into details but it's pretty much over (he's abroad so we've only been able to text...sigh) so I'm mourning that too.

Sorry to be so depressing but I have every right to be. I just can't get stuck in it though.

So as always gratitude list:

That my parents let me stay here.
That there's a bus to Seattle near their house.
That I have a big support system.
That an interview I had today was able to be rescheduled.
That I have contacted three therapists.
It's ALMOST Thanksgiving!

So...I Moved Back In With My Parents.

Hi kids.

Checking in.

I'm not doing so well-still. 

I'm staying at my parents to help stop the BP cycle. Today will be the first full day I haven't done it in months. So that's good.

The fact that my mother drives me fucking crazy and she doesn't understand at all what it's like to have an ED and my dad is as emotional as a table...doesn't help. But I have my cats.

I don't know why I'm so sad one moment and then the next I'm mad.

I am like a junior high girl getting picked on at school. I run to the bathroom to hide my tears every other hour.

I just want to feel better / at least not like this so, my ED thoughts have come back. Like full force. I skimped on breakfast. Hated myself for eating lunch. And felt out of control when I was eating trail mix for a snack. Each peanut, chocolate, raisin (for goodness sakes) I regretted. 

What am I doing? Why am I eating? I have so much weight to lose. This isn't going to help.

I even had the thought that I have to lose weight to prove to work that I really am sick again so they won't fire me.

I forced myself to workout after work but I think I would explode with irrational anger when I got home if I didn't. But I did feel sexy and strong while doing so. 

However sick thoughts came flying through my head.

You're all about to learn how shallow I am. Er ED is (trying to separate the two).

My favorite ... their favorite thing to do is to picture myself as a gogo dancer. Yes that's right. All sexy and slim but fit. And tan oh so much spray tan. With big hair. Gorgeous makeup. Amazing costume. And I'm on stage and I'm free.

I can dance. I can listen to my favorite music. And best of all I look good. Damn good. And everyone loves me. Everyone wants to either do me or be me.

THAT is my dream. THAT is all I want.

WHAT a lame ass goal. But that's what ED wants. And thinks would make me happiest. And I'd just ride my life on that high forever.

When I go to shows I dress up in my costumes with my fake confidence (sometimes it's real though) and pretend that this is my real life. That I go with the flow. That I'm just here to have fun. To enjoy. That I don't give a fuck.

But it's not true. It's so opposite.

But I can't blame myself for wanting to escape because for whatever reasons (well I guess I know what they are. Important relationships are falling apart, I'm trapped in my work and I'm losing control of my recovery..er lost.). And all I know or can think of to do is either drink, binge, or exercise. Because nothing else seems to let me feel better or not feel.

I have been holding it all in. I'm so afraid of what will happen if I let it go. I don't even know what IT is though. I'm not sure what's wrong other than I feel wrong. Sad. Mad

But then I'm just avoiding it. My friend reminded me of that today. And she's right. But I want to pretend that recent events didn't happen and they aren't happening. I'm too scared of what will happen if I let them in if I give them weight and truth.

In a life, the life I want to live I know that everything will need to be seen and felt. I would wear my heart on the outside.

My friend sent me this letter that another woman wrote to her ED. She was breaking up with it. And this really inspired me.

"When we were asked to describe ourselves as others see us, the words “fat” and “gross” were not among those used. It is time to remove those words from my vocabulary. It is time to end this book, finally, and begin another. It is time to say goodbye." 

I guess I couldn't have read this at a better time because Ed has been VERY loud. Loud like it used to be loud.

But I know when I'm being disordered and I just have to do the opposite. To tell that thought that it's wrong. That it's not true.

I'm kind of watching MNF while writing this so I hope it makes some sense.

As always I can't thank you all for reaching out to me. If anything I'd love to hear what you're going through. I'd love to get out of my own head and stop thinking about myself for once.

My friends have been great and they now know just how ugly I am inside but they have been nothing but supportive.

OK I'm going to look up nutritionists because one of you lovely (I mean that) people are texting me to do so.

Every Little Thing Is Going To Be Alright

I'm singing that. OUTLOUD to myself right now.

Don't worry. About a thing.

Ok cheesy but I have been in such a low place that this whatever it is feels like the best shit ever.

I feel like I can do this. Like I can be ok. Like I can have a new life.

A new life where I don't have to take out my trash can full of puke before friends come over.
A new life where I don't have to take out my trash can full of the boxes of food I ate before friends come over.
A new life where I don't have to make up at the gym for what I did last night.
A new life ... what no not new life ... I don't want a new one ... I have the makings for a fine one right here. I want an IMPROVED life.

So I just talked with my friend who is 30 bomb blonde and so wise beyond her years. She's like the big sister I never had and my idol. I got the guts to ask her to talk about everything that's going on. (Some things have happened that I haven't shared with you all) And she totally put my mind at ease. Made things seem easier, more hopeful, like I have a direction.

And actually that's how I feel after any one of you message me. Suggest advice. Talk. Text. Call.

I feel a spark of hope and then I ride that for  a bit until I hit another down...

And in the past I have stayed down but now I'm getting the courage to ask for help and you're giving it to me. You people are not as mean, judgemental, disgusted by me as I thought and I really appreciate it.

I was able to talk to another friend about food and exercise and tell her all of my confusion I've had for two months and start to sort it out.

Lord this isn't making sense. I'm just so damn happy that I don't want to throw food down my throat...that I want to throw food down my throat. HA.

BUT tomorrow I'm going to Pretty Lights and Odesza and ain't nobody got time to be tired when that's happening.

So I wanted to write and tell you guys that all day all fucking day I have held back tears and now after talking I don't want to. So I guess I should keep doing this talking thing.

So anyway I guess it will just really take a day by day hour by hour thing to help me not binge. And I'm ok with that because that's how life should be lived anyway.

Night.

How Am I?

Many of you ask this to me on a daily basis. Whether you want just the basics, to know what's currently on my mind or you mean like seriously--how are you?

I am not very good at honestly answering this question.
I have not written or truly answered it for what feels like forever.
I've been living in a numb state.
And while that sounds dramatic when I really look at my actions and my life and everything it's true.

There are definitely ups. I mean I'm still having a social life. Something good at work. I hang out with my cat. But mostly I think if I really thought about it it wouldn't be so good.

So together we are going to really think about it.

I have been bingeing and purging 2-4xs a night. Every night.
I am sick once again from me killing my immune system.
I do not want to go to work.
I do not want to workout.
I do not want to eat normally.
I do not want to look at myself in the mirror.
I do not want to leave my house.

I have depleted all of my savings on food and treatment. I have nothing left. I'm living paycheck to paycheck for the first time in my life and its not a big paycheck.

It gives me great anxiety. But I cared so much for so many years about money and savings that I immediately reject any kind of rules around money.

Me: "no coffee today!"
Friend: "want coffee?"
Me: "yes!"

Balls.

Also I'm looking at food this way too. I do not know how to eat a normal dinner anymore. Nothing-NOTHING looks appetizing. And I'm also afraid to eat for fear of binge...which I figure will come anyway so I give in. What I now have to eat in order to be full enough to throw up is. 3 mini pizzas. A bag of chips (yes the family size). A container of those ready to make biscuits. And usually 12 donuts. I have my go to foods that I know I can eat fast and throw up and that are cheaper.

Lately though it hasn't been coming up. And then I'm scared shitless of everything I ate. Then I hate myself more.

Oh and that brings me to the fact that I was weighed yesterday. 153 lbs. Fuck. Fuck me. That number. My thighs. My belly. Fuck me.

But then as soon as I try to get back into the gym habit I reject that too. I can't force myself to do it. I don't want to live by those rules again. Where I restrict all day. Ditch friends to go to the gym. Push myself harder as I tell myself just 10 more minutes.

So as you can see my thinking is fucked.

BUT at work it's so fucking busy that I can barely find time to go on a walk let alone look for therapists. But it's so apparent I need one.

My friends even sat me down to say they are worried. "I can't be that bad--can I?"

"Tomorrow, tomorrow I'll try harder."

Today is my tomorrow and I just finished bingeing. Threw some tater tots in there-they were not as good as I expected.

I don't really know where I'm going with this. Oh standard blog style for me means up next is what's going right.

I HAVE been able to fight and go to work mostly every day.
I HAVE been able to make my personal training appointments where I start to feel strong and hopeful again.
I HAVE been able to open up my circle of trust (God that sounds so cheesy) and ask for help from friends.
I HAVE a list of therapists and went to the doctor yesterday who gave me some more dietitian names.
I HAVE gotten in touch with a friend about church and am going to try the higher power route.

And I keep having this confusing thought-what if life was meant to be enjoyed? What if all of my decisions could be made on that? And not like oh right now enjoy but what if I write my blog post and then later I feel better and get some support from you all? What if I push myself to go to work every morning so I'm not at risk of losing my job? What if I say no to the extra 20 minutes at the gym so I have energy tomorrow? What if I don't binge tonight so I'm not depressed the next day?

But then all of these rules and thoughts and anxiety get in the way. And I get so confused.

So I hope this makes sense to you because well it makes sense to me.

Basically it sounds like I'm lost and I really need direction and some hope which I think will only come from a customized recovery plan. Soon to come. Promise.

The Face of Bulimia

I was talking to a friend today about how we get jealous of our friends, coworkers and colleagues from facebook.

Of course we mostly look perfect (even if it is a silly picture), we tag ourselves at only the cool places, and do status updates that beg congratulations or at least a zillion comments about how "Mondays totally suck."

And I am guilty of this. I mean who isn't? It's not like we think our life is facebook-we know there's bad and the ugly too. But it's not out there. Which is why I think my blog is so popular.

And now what I'm about to show you isn't to get more readers, make my stats go up--whatever. What I'm about to show you is incredibly private.

No one has ever seen me binge and purge. It's been my secret for years and is slowly unfolding as I recover.

I just finished eating 9 muffins and 12 pancakes plus a yogurt (to help it come up easily) while watching Netflix. I ignored a text from my boy friend and a call from my mom (it's her birthday). My bedtime was 30 minutes ago seeing how I have to be at work at 7 AM and go to four meetings, finish my normal workload, apply for other jobs, go to an AA meeting, go to a personal training session and then dinner with my man and then another AA meeting.

This is my life it's its most honest, true, raw form. I have this fulfilling meaningful life with people I love and support and then I come home and I have my secrets, my shame and my eating disorder.

Last thing I'll say is that it always surprises me who reads this and who is kind enough to reach out to me. I am risking coworkers, ex boyfriends, my current man, aunt, mom's best friend, and future employers seeing this. But I feel more compelled to show you all the many faces of me. This is not who I am because I am not bulimia but it most certainly is a part of me. And maybe if it's out there and it's not so secret it can't have this hold on me. This shame.

Here is me on my best day:

And here is me now, after a binge:

You can see how swollen my face is from leaning over the toilet. My lips my nose even. And my jaw has started to get stuck open and swollen right next to my ears which freaks the fuck out of me but not enough to stop.

I'm not sure what I want out of this post--selfishly it's for me. So expose my ed and say that even though you see this---this thing that I become during a binge--that doesn't mean that's who I am. That doesn't mean you won't like me. The shame and secrecy is gone. It's all out there for anyone to see. It now holds no more power over me.