I'm Back Bitch.

I look up through puffy eyes and relieving tears and I laugh.
My cat is staring at me, watching me unravel.
I realize I'm not breathing and I gasp for air.
Then the tears come again.
I cling to my accent pillow (I'm a true grownup because I own one of these) harder, hugging myself.
That's all I wanted was a hug and to be told it's ok. 
I'm ok.
I'm good enough.
I'm pretty.
I'm smart.
I'm talented.
I'm a good person.
And I tirelessly look for these things from other people, things, substances, and actions. 
It's a cycle.
I chase after these things with determination, with willpower, with good intentions and I never find them. 
Not really.
What I find in those things is temporary.
And I wake up today after another night of drinking too much. Too much makeup. Trying too hard. And I feel exhausted, defeated, ashamed.
But as I hug this pillow, and myself I'm reminded that I can and am the only one who can give me what I need.
I needed a hug--I gave myself one.
I held onto myself so tight, flooding my heart with the love and secure feeling I have craved since a kid.
And I just repeat this.
The crying. The forgetting to breathe. The laughter. 
And I violently go between flashbacks and reality.
I cry for her, and I hold her tight.
And I give her exactly what she needed then, as I give it to myself now.
After what seems like forever which is just minutes I am calm.
I am centered.
I am grounded.
I feel that light that I get when I find myself through all the anxiety, depression, bullshit.
And for the first time in months I feel the urge to write.

I have a love hate relationship with this blog. Writing makes me be honest with you all, and well myself. It makes me feel the shame, discomfort, anxiety, sadness, all the feelings and shit like that that I run away from daily. But I'm finding that running doesn't work because it fucking catches up with you in the worst ways.

So I'm trying to get back in the swing of things because, guys I'm learning some good shit in therapy and about my life and I really want to share it with you.

Update on life:

Attempting abstinence (for now) and it's not going so great.
Eating on my meal plan most days and not bingeing or purging or restricting or any of those nasty little habits that come with an eating disorder.
I can curl 25lbs like a boss.
I decided to put up real boundaries with my parents. (for now)
I am doing well at work, and I really love my job.
I am realizing that my actions have consequences.
I am looking at the relationships I put my time into and see why I have that relationship and if it's really a healthy one for me.
I am in the stage where I finally figured out I'm good looking and take too many selfies. Eventually I'll have the confidence to not have to do this to feel good about myself.
I am trying to simplify my life and only do those things that align with my values and my goals (it's fucking hard).
I am pretty much a brunette now.

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.

Mom, Look at What I Did!

I had no urge to write for months and now I'm flooded with thoughts.
I danced alone in my room for the first time in months.
I dance usually when I don't know what to do with my energy and emotions.
And it's not like interpretive dance -- rather Missy Elliot. Video to come. I swear.
I feel like I'm running, tripping, grabbing at everything I'm learning.

Yesterday at the gym I weighed myself and I didn't like what I saw.
I'm afraid I'm losing weight.
The thought overpowered me as I watched myself curl 20s (heck yes) seeing my muscles, lean and toned.
I discarded them--it's just because you're too skinny now they have to show through.
You're failing on your own again.
God haven't you learned by now?
I convinced myself that the guy behind me thought I was disgusting.
I hung my head in shame, forcing myself to look down as I moved through the gym.
It was my unspoken cue to everyone that I know I'm shameful, so please for the love of God don't tell me.

I began to panic as the thoughts raced in louder and faster, feeding off each other. I couldn't control my mind--again.
Most days I feel out of control. No matter how hard I try to make lists, plan my day, set reminders -- control, control, control I can't.
The more I try to control, the more I lose control.

People always say (mainly my mom's voice comes into my head) "I wish you could just let go."

WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? I can't. I can't just let go. Don't you think if I could I fucking would?

But yesterday something clicked. I realized the more lists I make, the more I try to negate what will inevitably happen, the more I shun my ADD brain and try to shut it down the more I spiral out of control.

So yesterday when my mind was spinning and my heart was pounding I told myself that these are the moments that matter--this is where you do something different, this is where you try, this is where you grow.

And I put back the weights, and I did some yoga and noticed the thoughts without judgement and tried to recenter myself. I made the scary decision to scan my body, connect with it (real hard for me). And I turned my music up loud. The pulsing beat, feeling my body's natural pull towards balance--I calmed.

I got up smiling. I FUCKING DID IT. The thoughts did not consume me. I was not powerless. I actually do have control.

I have been acting like life is happening to me, and I'm helpless. Moments like these and a lot of Beyonce and Britney remind me that I am stronger than I think.

So I got back up and finished my workout with my head held high and my heart a little more whole.

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.

Morning Ritual

Listening to: Kito Views From SW2 Mini Mix

I've got to keep this quick as I'm 5 minutes over my morning time.
I give myself a half an hour to settle in and get my mind right before writing. Usually goes like:

Inhaling coffee
Socializing
Watering my rose plant which has not had any roses on it since I got it (sad face)
Reading Daily OM
Checking Facebook
Pintresting until I realize I've gone over my time
And occasionally reading JCrew (delightful clothing and copy to match)

However, oh how do I summarize the last couple of days?, ED has been extremely loud to the point where I was skipping full meals and unable to focus on anything but the voice in my head. I drank that night, engaged in behaviors, spiraled, fought...

Woke up so fucking over it. I want recovery so badly but I (and this isn't fully true) don't know how to obtain it. I can't get to the other side of the street. I need a million and one things to hold my hand to get there: friends, BF, therapist, changing habits, a higher power...calorie free food? haha I AM SO FUNNY.

I somehow, blessedly, found the fire in me that I had at the Emily Program. I am sick of being stunted in my growth because of this back and forth bullshit with the eating disorder, the judging voice, the anxiety. I've been spiritually asking for help and with friends and slowly my old coping skills, thoughts and determination has come back -- not fully people,  I'm not fixed, i didn't just find the answer (even though I'm sure they'll invent a pill to fix me soon -- my ED humor is alive and well today).

So going along with this spirituality comes repeating my values to myself, journaling more, telling the voices to shut up and go away instead of being entranced in them. It goes with being in touch with myself my authentic self.

When I became unemployed it was clear I needed direction and ritual which came in the form of journaling and listing my values (acceptance, authenticity, balance, connection, respect, gratitude) and going on a walk.

I wanted ideas for a new one so I googled and came across this. It's gold. The smiling in the mirror at myself thing for 30 seconds. Like wow. It seriously worked.

I've got spinach and other green smoothie things on my grocery list, I'm going to buy a body brush...

Basically instead of wanting or wishing or feeling blocked I feel like I'm able to take action against those things that once paralyzed me just days ago.

I believe it's because I'm finally acting in alignment with my values.

Boom.

Ok, morning meeting time.

Love.

Change is Hard.

I get very anxious whenever I have down time, I don’t know what to do with myself. I tried figuring out what was going on within me when this happened this late afternoon after my ride home from Seattle dropped me off by going on a walk—to the grocery store.

All of my recovery thoughts raced through my head. You only want to binge because you are ____ . Tired, actually hungry, emotional (about what we do not know), avoiding…fill in the blank.

It reminded me that I always resolve to ‘never do it again’ after I do it. Then the voice comes back at me with you don’t give a flying fuck right now.

You need to save for a car and you spent WAY too much this weekend.
Ashamed I say I know and I just don’t want to care (realizing late aka now that I don’t want to care because I want to avoid the shame of ‘failure’ or / and? The feeling of going against my values.

It’s such a waste of time and you always hurt after.  You’ll regret it long after the effects of the binge have worn off.

Clearly it still does something for me like the therapists say so I’m going to do it. It’s too much dealing with all this back and forth shit so, fuck it I’m doing it. This is what I know, I’m a failure, I fail. I’m not better now and I never will be. Just fucking do it. You always do and you always will.

And then I went and did it. And now here I am ashamed and regretful, wishing I had listened to the smaller voice. Feeling a bit defeated. But proud that I am journaling about it instead of further avoiding it.

Then the good ol’ BF calls and says he’s having dinner with a coworker of ours who I haven’t met and that is female. I hear her talking and laughing in the background. My teeth grit and my responses to him are short. I hang up with no I love you.

I feel worse, like that little voice said I would. I regret what I did and now he’s off having fun, making money, being social and I am just alone, sad and wasting money and time. Fuck me.

The binge started because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have anyone to call to hang out with and I felt that I had ‘ruined’ the day by being so lazy and tired that I couldn’t be ‘productive’ by going to the gym / fearful that was eating disordered (HA ironic I went to the other side of the spectrum on that didn’t realize that til now) so I can’t start being productive on my to do list of taxes and classes and budgeting. So I did what I know.

And I’m realizing that to change (I know this is on a zillion Pinterest boards) I have to do what I don’t know. I have to not listen to the voices and try something else to get that relaxed feeling, to release.

It also hit me that I am still pretty lonely here. It’s getting better but I do not have that core group or even one person who I can call up and be completely honest with where I’m at and know that they are probably down to Netflix it in sweats and sit in silence and it’s not uncomfortable. In order to change this I need to start going out on limbs and asking my new found acquaintances to do this. I don’t really know what that looks like.

The idea of being that vulnerable with someone scares me, what if they were just too drunk at that party and they really don’t like me ? Why did that one person not try to hang out again after I tried to instigate a friendship? Oh lord. I sound like I’m dating but like friend dating (not weird it works).

So that’s where I’m at. I have texted some of my friends from home and it feels so good to have that connection again and to be pulled out of this, without them even knowing what they are doing for me.

So I’m going to go play with my cat and probably watch a Disney movie, because today isn’t ruined, I didn’t fuck it up, I learned from it and I’m starting stronger than I was before.

White Booty Shorts & Eating Disorders are Equally Unforgiving.

The words seemingly so profound within my head are complemented by the lyrics in my headphones. The energy that's radiating off me is manifested in phrases mirrored by moments in my mind. Oh shit that's good, I should blog.

I came in my room with every intention of dancing. The energy pulsing through me is steady, a cunning calm. It feels like power, it feels good, I want more of it.

The thoughts keep coming, morphing into a conversation. ED is talking with me. Fluid we move around my room in discussion. Even though our tones level with some contempt it is not a fight like it usually is. Just old friends catching up. Don't you love those friends you don't see for a while and when you do it's like you never parted?

Ah she wants me to tell you that I will probably fail, as I do every time she takes a hold, I will succumb to the food, my body will be too exhausted to do anymore reps, I will put on my safe pants...I will act as though she is not there. But she will not let me go easily.

Viciously we cut my body with strong succinct words and a rage that I have not felt in a long time. Together we avoid dinner (an omelet) and the urge to cry. I cannot lose the power.

I want more of it, because I feel as though I have none.

I suddenly softened earlier when writing when I realized the above. My life, while better than it has been in a long time, feels out of control. I have my hands in a million things. From a busy work schedule to another job on the weekends, a set workout schedule, two blogs I support, therapy weekly, taking the thousand of steps to get a car and still trying to enjoy myself ... everything I try to accomplish grows two heads it seems. I feel like I'm drowning, flailing to keep my head above water.

And ED is back lashing at me for crying and writing instead of doing my never ending to-do list.

I can't seem to control my weight like I used to. I used to be able to accidentally lose weight, scaring those around me and delighting myself. I have let myself go and I can't seem to stop. Right now in this moment I cannot see how eating, not working out and doing what I (instead of ED) wants to do is at all progress. It's pure weakness.

At first with the whole control / lack of control / ED realization I felt soft. As I realized it I forgot to breathe, clenching my jaw I tell myself don't let the tears come, I'm not done writing. Get this emotion out of me, ironic I wrote a post about giving them room last time she snaps at me, see failure? The control thing is textbook ED. You don't feel you have control or you don't so you create it with something you can control, your food or lack thereof.

All of this started because of a fucking number on the scale and the fact that I tried on XL boy shorts in hope all my hard work at the gym would pay off. I would look sleek and sexy in white boyshorts at my next rave like all the other girls. And while the shorts were made for women they might as well be made for little boys by how they fit me. I bulged out of them. Standing there pasty white, slightly sweaty, under the unforgiving Fred Meyer dressing room lights I saw myself, I turned around to see just how bad it was and the tears flowed. I am a disgrace. How could I even think I was alright? How could I let go of what was 'working'? I hung my head through the store after I left the dressing room, the feeling of shame all too familiar and welcoming.

And that's where I'm at.

Six Months. That's Half a Year.

I realized I've been here six months. The idea brings me to tears, I'm not sure what kind of tears but I don't think they are over joyed happy ones, more like I really miss home tears if I'm honest. And not like a super depressed I can't take it anymore but more just genuine heartache for the city and my friends. I can't believe it's been that long and yet I can, I guess that's how time usually goes. October feels like forever ago and I just want to hug my old self and show her she's ok and will be ok.

One thing my therapist here has taught me (or well I'm sure I was taught it but now I'm listening / seeing it) is that I will be ok. That my feelings are not something to fear but to welcome and listen to. That I do not have to fear sadness or anger or the future because I can handle whatever happens. 

When I get mad or sad or have some 'unpleasant' emotion I run from it. I subconsciously distract myself by thinking of how my thighs have grown, seeing what needs to be cleaned, have a physical impulse to get away from myself. My therapist has shown me that once I calm down from the emotion using grounding techniques (music, meditation, ice, petting my cat) I can stay present with the feeling. I can see what is happening in my body, if I'm clenching my jaw, if I'm sweaty, if I'm hot (all of these genuinely happen) which makes me want to escape more---making me more sweaty. Nice huh? When I feel the emotion, and I do not run from it I begin to learn what the emotion is telling me. It, like happiness, or fear, has a purpose. 

When I shun my feelings thinking that they are problematic, shameful and hurtful I just begin to spin. I know I'm not supposed to feel this way for one reason or another and then I get more mad I'm feeling it and then I see myself making it worse and I get more mad until I explode. Not productive, yet natural.

Now that I'm learning to give space for my 'unpleasant' emotions I am able to learn from them and calm them and not fear their return. This kind of mindset has also shown me that no matter what happens in my life I will be ok. I am learning to not live in fear. I am learning to live in the present. I like to say to myself something like I have this negative emotion but I do not want it, this is ok. We can listen to that emotion give it room to tell us what is going on and then appropriately move on. Yes I really do this. 

​I'm almost on my period (you so wanted to know that) so I'm super emotional and holding back tears as I'm at work. I haven't BP for a week and three days which is a record since moving here. I fought off the thoughts all night last night using softer language on myself and understanding. I've been thanking my body for what it does for me instead of hating it and I've been trying to be open to the idea of my rose-gold heart even though it feels very far away. ​

 I've already began to see myself in a different light and appreciate who I am rather than compare and contrast myself to others, seeing what I should do differently, what is wrong with me. I've been able to validate myself when no one else will. And try to accept the apology I was never given. I do not believe I'm fixed and I don't know how long this road will be but I feel like I've found my footing again.

The end.

How The Fuck Am I? How the Fuck Are You?

I've always had an issue with the question "How are you?"
Generally this is a very nice thing to say to someone, but if you say it to me, I will not be happy with you. This is because I am ... I don't know. That's the problem. It's not that I'm not happy, it's that I don't know what I am, I am every emotion, every minute a different one. I cry a lot, let's start with that.

Everything makes me cry. As soon as I have to stop my routine, my constant doing, listing, thinking about what I did, what I didn't do, and what I have to do, I fill up and I want to explode. I don't know why and I don't know what to do to calm down, all I know is I need relief. 

I picture it like this. But more tornado-y and in a very sterile, high-tech building. It's just me, this ball of color, loud, vibrant, swirling and nothing around me, nothing to latch onto or to anchor me.

(These are underwater ink plumes documented by Italian photographer Alberto Seveso)

It's ironic because this is beautiful, and my recovery self tells me that all of these emotions and confusion is actually beautiful because it is life. And I am FEELING because I'm alive and blah blah blah.

The anguish I feel and the racing thoughts, and hyper-sensitive body response (getting really hot, clenching my jaw, muscle tension) is actually information, it's telling me something. If only I could calm down long enough to listen to it.

But generally that scares me. Calming down requires to look at what's happening. And I do not want to poke the beast (ED). It generally makes me very mean, makes me regret my actions and I'm constantly left trying to please it. It is never satisfied however.

Even now, as I try to make sense of this so publicly, so honestly trying to see what is going on, it's getting mad because I seemingly cannot do it. I can keep typing and keep pushing and searching and asking questions and I do not have the answers. And the shame of not knowing. Of being so lost in this seemingly endless turmoil is just so exhausting. And then I don't even remember what happened or why I am so upset in the first place and I feel more out of touch with myself and life. More lost. More far gone. Worthless.

If I try to go get ice cream because I thought I craved it. It will tell me it's not ok, I'm at my highest weight since recovery and I better not go over. I should be running away from the ice cream, in fact run home fat ass. 

Then it will tell me that I'm weak for not knowing how to just eat ice cream like people do every day. I'm pathetic for breaking down in the grocery store again. And I'm selfish for asking my boyfriend drive me there before he had dinner. So I succumb and I go workout. And yet the physical release and exhaustion helps. . . was I just giving into it or was I helping myself? The thoughts, and the tornado pick up again. . .

Another thing I am is anxious. Constantly. To the point of where I feel the need to finish everything that is in front of me. You text me I have to answer then. I get a like on Facebook I have to investigate. And when I go online I remember that I didn't contact the bank. And that I need to see if I got a measles shot. And oh I have a work email. And I never cleaned my dishes. I should brush my teeth. Is it time to eat yet. Oh ya my food journal. It never stops. I haven't slept well in weeks. 

I am also sick, I'm sick and tired of making everything an ordeal. I can't just make my boyfriend dinner, I have to tell him how it makes me feel, how he should feel and how I am justified in my feelings. I will leave the room and then come back in to tell him more of my thoughts. In reality I realize I'm just trying to get them all out so they can no longer be stuck in my head. In doing this I then feel guilty for once again bothering him with these things, because I do this with everything. 

But I can't seem to help it. I can't be without spinning inside my head and I'm exhausted. I just want to be. I want to be left alone. What's the answer? Why can't I just figure out the answer? What is so wrong with me? 

I ask that question a lot. And with therapy I'm slowly finding the answers. It seems as though I've become a very anxious person in order to ignore the sinking hole inside of me. The tornado distracts from the imploding that's happening underneath it. 

But learning that each emotion I have is valid, and has a purpose helps. I'm learning to hold different parts of myself, the tornado part and the sinking hole, and still find myself within it. I'm learning to make room for that self-doubting, critical voice. Separating it from myself has really helped, well kind of haha 

I was never really taught how to deal with emotions when it was important. I was met with silence, or anger, or frustration (and this is because of how my parents were taught to deal with emotion). Then the eating disorder manifested, helping me to 'cope' showing me distraction from the emotions--relief in twisted way. And now 13 years later with a couple of years of hard work in recovery I feel as though I've only scratched the surface. Only now learning to just be aware of all the things I'm doing out of habit and only just now being aware of all I do to distract. The dealing with them part seems so far off. The normal part of life seems so far off. 

And that's where I'm at.

Also, I need to build my support system back up. If you feel inclined to reach out to me I would greatly appreciate it.

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.

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.

Unemployment Day 1: Tougher Than I Thought

I'm so tired my eyes are watering.
I even took a nap today.
I feel fat and lazy.
I feel less than.
I feel messy and unorganized.
I feel lame.

I do not like myself right now and I have an insane amount of tension going on in my body--it's anger.

It's anger about being unemployed and it not being easy.

Yes one thing at a time but what the fuck is the first thing?

Don't come at me with file for unemployment. Yes I did that. And I've been doing things all day and I feel like I have accomplished nothing.

I feel so out of control.

I hate this.

And to all of you sweet humans asking me how my day is I really appreciate it but I keep getting so mad. I get mad because it reminds me of how insignificant I feel and stupid. How I have a huge fucking list of all this shit I need to do and somehow I didn't do any of it today and yet I haven't stopped doing all day.

And I feel like a piece of shit because I've received nothing but support from everyone since I was 'let go' / left work and this is how I am? THIS is what I am like?

Fucking worthless. I didn't even know my mood was this horrible until I started writing. I was avoiding it.

I have thought about bingeing and how it would be nice to eat some Cheetos and donuts and maybe mac n cheese and pizza, and then I thought about how little fucks I give about myself and what  a piece I am and how I don't care that it's not recovery focused and I don't care that it will hurt--I want it to hurt.

And then I read the mantra I picked out for myself this morning. Courtesy of pintrest and inspirationalfeed

And well today I made the best of what I had. I actually had a dentist appointment at 7 am so I was up at the crack of dawn. I ate a normal breakfast. And really just started trying to put pieces of my life together and I cannot even tell you specifically what that is but it was me working and doing the best I could and I wish I could give myself more fucking credit.

Then I went back to bed as I can do that. I woke up to my neighbors right outside my window. Annoying.

Walked to Volunteer Park while I talked to my boyfriend.

And then after I hung up I took the time to let myself enjoy this:

And now that I have re inspired myself and you all have listened (thank you) I am going to get out of bed and go to the gym because while I know I need to get a new job I cannot constantly force myself to do that 24/7.

This unemployment thing is happening at this time in my life and recovery for a reason and I intend to take advantage of it on multiple aspects / levels. I just have to constantly remind myself that I will always have time to do the things I want to instead of beating myself up for what I haven't done.

And at the end of this my landlord calls me and asks me to help in the yard...and the next right step is clearly indicated for me.

Also, if you have any jobs for me. Holler. Thanks.

I Quit My Job. Like 2 Minutes Ago.

I haven't been writing because I've been busy.
Because I've been stressed and anxious and depressed.
I don't always know how to put what I'm feeling into words.
Which makes me feel stupid and get more frustrated and then I cannot think and it reminds me of school.
And then I shut down (but I'm getting better at this).

Lately I've lost myself.
Stepped down from IOP then bam work had an incredibly busy week and I was staying 2 hours late every day.
I was unable to get home early so I could journal, practice cooking, eat normal meals, work on recovery, HAVE A LIFE.

Oh it upsets me so much that work has gotten it's claws in my life again.
I have worked so fucking hard and spent months and so much fucking money on getting better so I can start to live and then what do they do? They run me right back into the ground.

They give me--everyone--too much work. They make me bitter. They make me angry. And anxious. And mad. There is such a lack of respect and caring in that terrible place. It's indescribable.

For the past three years I have done nothing but try so hard to work my way up in that company. To stay late, come in early, do the extra work, train people, do projects, work on marketing copy, morale boosting and everything EVERY FUCKING THING was taken from me. Because we got too busy. Because this fucking company pushes so much product without hiring enough people to handle it. They just want money and they do not care about their employees.

So every job I have applied for I can mention the projects and skills I KIND OF have and I KIND OF did until we got too busy and my main job was to write about fucking tee shirts and tutus until ungodly hours and was told to put a smile on my face and finish my work as my eating disorder and depression slowly crept back up.

This place has fucking trapped me. I have not enough experience to leave but it is no longer (and never was) a healthy place to get experience to move up or out.

I see how miserable my co workers are.
How they are having to go to therapy too, how some are having actual physical side effects from the job, who were once happy people are not wanting to come to work anymore.

And now that I have done this song and dance twice I see myself creeping back into the days of not wanting to show up to life. Of being bitter and cutting and mean. Of not wanting to eat, wanting to eat everything. Of being angry and not knowing why. I see this fucking company ruining my life again--and no I'm not just complaining you have no idea how negative and unhealthy it is there--and I'm saying no this time.

Most of this has been about what this company has done TO me, which leaves me feeling powerless.

But it feels empowering to say I am choosing to leave because my recovery does come first.

I am petrified I will not find a full time job again, ever.

I have had three interviews this week and all of them fell through.

I just don't understand when my break comes, when my hard work pays off because all of my life I have been working and I have never really had one.

Ok but yes positivity.

I wish I could show this blog to an employer. And show them what passion I have, my honesty. I wish I could tell them how my career has gone and why my resume is so lacking. I wish someone would take pity on me and say actually after meeting you in person you fucking rock. You are funny. You are charming. You are determined, a hard worker, a great writer, innovative, outgoing, honest, positive--but you swear too much. But shit we'll hire you.

Where is my employer Prince Charming?

Day One of Having A Life

So today is the day that my life starts.

I say this because it's the healthiest I've been with the least amount of things to do.
It's the closest to actually getting to have a life and see what it is people, you 'normal' people do.

You muggles (hehe) that don't have to go to treatment after work and that don't exhaust yourself or are enslaved in addiction.

Here's what I did today:

I was 15 minutes late to work.
I was pretty stressed out all day trying to figure out what to do with the rest of my life.
I took the time to go on walks, get coffee, talk to my boyfriend (who got a great new job! I'm so proud of him) and keep in touch with girls in treatment.
I fought ED on eating too much and too little and his thoughts on my exercise (and lack thereof).

I raced home after finishing almost on time (left 15 minutes late) and brushed my cat.
I don't understand how she has so much fur.
I cleaned a bit.
I ate dinner-on my own-all of it-while missing my girls in treatment.
I then helped my landlord in the yard and learned more about her and how much I hate mulching in the process.
I got to spend an hour outside and get money off my rent.
I then fought ED again on my lack of going to the gym.
Picked myself up and got a pintrest recipe for sweet potatoes and bacon and brussel sprouts to attempt to cook tomorrow.
I then went to the grocery store where I realized I forgot my phone with said pintrest recipe on it.
Ugh.
Then ran into my neighbor across from me who sympathized with how much it sucks to live under the ass upstairs. Then we talked about food allergies. Then i told him I am a bulimic and he said he never heard me throwing up-I believe him. I told him I never heard his chanting or smelled his incense.

When I got home I smelled his incense haha

Now I'm writing you this.

I am so at ease.
I feel so free.
It was hard work being a 'normal' person today.
But I think I shall try it tomorrow.
I rather liked it.

Work Was Better: No April Fools

I'm really hungry and want to eat my snack.
I just got home.
I'm really exhausted.
Two more days of nonstop then I get a break.

Work was way more chill today--ahem I was way more chill today.
I finished on time with a bit extra to audit my writing.
To chat with people.
To eat lunch.
To be my recovery self.
To decorate my space.

I figured out that I wasn't receiving any emails.
So that's why I felt like no one cared...I couldn't see anything anyone was sending.
Doh.

My coworker but mostly friend asked me how my day yesterday was, that meant so much that she would even think to ask and care about the answer. She then lent her support.

I walked around in the sunshine by the water before treatment.
Saw a car covered in post it notes.
But mostly in GAP whose clothes fit me better than anyones.
I got some spandex pants---er leggings..why didn't I just say leggings? that will be grand for football season. BOOM.

Was on time for treatment.
I got the best cat picture from my friend which as I'm typing this I realize I left in the kitchen damn it.

Dinner was hard. I could hear the girls in PHP and I could hear eating disorders and I could  hear things that annoyed me. I tried focusing on my new table my new support but they were so loud at the other table. I worked through it but it wasn't as smooth as I'd have liked. Progress not perfection.

I did however find out how epic a pulled pork sandwich is. YES.

I wish I had more time for me right now.
I feel rushed to relax.
I am mad that I don't have more than a half hour or so until I have to try to go to bed.
To do this over again.
And yet I must reframe.
I am happy. In this moment. No in this person that I am. In my life. I am happy.

I am doing it. I am slowly messily but surely meshing recovery with the real world and figuring out what on earth life is and can look like.

Gah Help Me

When I write in here it's usually because I am overwhelmed.

It's almost instinctual the way I blog.

I have a thought, emotion, experience or all of those and my mind goes "I must tell them!"

I must tell you!

I think it comes from the uncomfortably of the intensity of emotions.
I have a very VERY hard time sitting with any emotion, even the happy ones.

I need to DO something when I feel something either to change it or lessen it or to get more of it.

So, the time has come to where I no longer need to be in a higher level of care. I am stepping down from PHP (partial hospitalization program)---that's what I've been in for the past two months, 5 days a week, 7 plus hours a day at The Emily Program (highly recommend it), now I'm moving into IOP (intensive outpatient program).

Which yes--smart ass--is intense.

Here's what my life will look like:

8 - 3 Work

3- 5 Therapy / Dietitian / Psychiatrist / Case Management (pick one of those for Monday to Thursday)

5 - 8 IOP

8 - 8:30 commute home

8:30 - ?? keep my long distance relationship going, stay in touch with friends, attend to my cat, fix food for the following day, shower?, blog?, Netflix? etc.

It will be very tough.

Just writing it out overwhelms me.

There is no real break. There is no skipping.

Ah I'm already doing it. Spinning. I do this a lot. Taking the bad and taking another bad and putting that bad with the bad and making it worse.

So I will have to reframe the above--meaning put it in a different light or perspective. 

And while it is a lot and I will have no time to see my friends who I desperately miss I still...

Get to go back to work and prove myself to MYSELF.

I will be able to text, call and be in touch with my boyfriend and friends then.

I will be able to be social with my coworkers.

I will get the chance to eat for the first time ever in a recovery setting at work.

I have the BLESSING of going to a treatment center and spending time there four days a week.

I still have Fridays and weekends off.

This is all worth it. But it will be hard. And I will need your help.

It is hard to admit that.

I feel ashamed to say I am not 100% better after two months. I have even had a very hard time with anorexic and over exercising behaviors lately in response to the stress of stepping down.

But I'm really using my recovery voice and being assertive (two totally awesome treatment things I learned) by asking you guys to please message me with encouragement, with a funny cat picture, with a how are you? with anything you like. Even if you're struggling with something. I love love love hearing from you all. When I feel less alone it is so much easier to stay on the right path. 

I'm really fucking proud of myself for coming this far. I've lessened my drinking, I am now only bingeing and purging twice a week (coming from three times a day every day), I have hope, I am no longer depressed, I have a voice, I have confidence, I am finding out who I am. And so much more that can only be seen and felt within me.

I appreciate all of you who read and reach out to me. Every one of you has had a part in my recovery and I'm so grateful.

Proud of Myself.

I want to tell my parents how well I’m doing-but they are too busy.

Ah I did it already. Just that quickly. Condemned them and myself in one sentence.

To see both sides of the coin they probably have no idea why I keep calling and actually are busy. But not ‘too busy for me’ as that sentence above inferred.

But honestly I don’t think they’d get it anyway.

It being the magnitude of what I’m about to say.

I don’t think any of you normal people would get it anyway.

Which makes me belittle my accomplishments and makes me minimize my struggles.

And even though I know how powerful the urge to binge is and how I can’t stop until I purge. Even though I know at times it’s impossible to sit still during a meeting. Even though I find myself involuntarily clawing at my thighs when I’m nervous. Even though my heart stops and stomach drops when I see rice and beans inside a burrito I’m supposed to eat. Even though all of the challenges I go through each day are so real, I do not know what they look like to a normie.

This hinders my recovery.

But at the same time I know there’s no clear-cut solution either.

So you could get educated.

You could be my boyfriend (not really there’s only one of him and he’s doing a fine job) and be right there with me every step of the way. And hear the pain in my voice, see the tears in my eyes, feel my heart race and listen to my daily stories from treatment. And start to examine your own life and see where addiction and struggles paralyzes you. And you could begin to relate.

Or, as I fear, you could get your idea about what I go through from what the media tells you.

You could hear the jokes about girls who stick their fingers down their throats and ‘manorexia’. You could see the tabloids that tell actresses one minute they are too fat and the next that they are disgustingly skinny. You could read the magazines that bold words like “detox” “healthy” “sexy” and show you images of women who have been modified and managed. You could read an uplifting story about a singer who struggled got help in a treatment center in Malibu and is better now. She has a foundation in her name. Yay.

But that does not tell you what it is like to have an eating disorder. It does not tell you what that girl had to go through, what she had to face, what her past was like, how she is still fighting to this day.

I so badly want to know what you think of me and my struggle. More often than I expect you people surprise me. You make me feel ok. You make me feel less alone. Less of a freak.

As I said I do not know what you think of eating disorders, but I guess I need to say this for myself, that this is hard.

This is fighting every instinct in my body. It’s like doing your morning routine at night.

Get home from work and shower, makeup, breakfast, coffee and off to work.

Every bone in your body is saying no this isn’t right. This doesn’t make sense and you try to get ready for bed but everyone keeps telling you the recovery focused way is to get ready for work.

It doesn’t seem to make sense so at first you don’t want to do it. But then slowly you try it. Every time you reach for your dinner you’re given pancakes when you want steak. When it’s wine you want it’s coffee. When you want to wash your face you have to put your makeup on. When you want to go bed it’s off to your commute.

It’s backwards, it doesn’t seem to make sense and it goes against everything you’ve ever done so religiously.

THAT is what it’s like to break eating disorder habits.

I have a way I have lived my life for so long. I have thoughts, rules, mantras that were normal were my routine and now I’m told to do the opposite. And every bone in my body and my brain are screaming at me to do one thing while my heart is telling me another.

It is so fucking hard.

So this is why I am so proud of myself for not bailing on my friend when I woke up late and couldn’t put on makeup.

For not skipping breakfast.

For eating all of my lunch.

For going cake tasting—CAKE TASTING!

For not forcing myself to the gym.

For getting stools for my kitchen so I can eat normally.

For calling friends when I need help.

For looking my friend in the eye and telling her the menu was overwhelming me.

For trying on pants at the store and not crying.

And for having the guts to publicly tell you these little things that you could easily do daily are huge accomplishments in getting my life back. And I am so proud of myself.

Just Another Crazy Sunday Afternoon

Sometimes recovery is too much.
There is too much emotion.
Too much going on in my head.
Too much to do.
Too much to figure out.
Too much to handle.

I just had one of those moments in the bright, bustling QFC on Broadway.
Er not a moment because it lasted like 15 minutes.

I had come from a photo shoot with the talented Angela Ciccu Robinson and was feeling fancy fine.
I needed to get lunch and dessert before I go get my hair done for free.
It's Sunday.
The sun is out.
Everything is fine. No great actually.

When I start to second guess my lunch choice-Greek salad with rice.
Then I see what's on sale--maybe I should opt for that because I'm drowning in medical bills just within one month of treatment.
Then I see fried chicken--maybe I should challenge myself.
My heart starts to race and the voices start to talk.
The therapist, the me and the ED.
I don't know what's right or wrong.

I grab the salad and the rice.

I remember I want jam because I realized how yummy it is on English muffins from my brunch with a friend yesterday.

My stomach growls, I need to hurry or else I know I'll binge when I'm home.
Failure failure failure.

I get there and I see the nut butters. Oh I haven't tried that one. Oh it's so expensive. Oh it's your recovery.

Fuck what fucking jam do I get. Old lady cuts me off and gets her plum preserves. Fuck you lady.
OMG I just said fuck you to an old lady.

Why am I angry was I not just fine literally a minute ago?

Grab jam and sunflower butter and make my way to the next isle.

What did I need oh what did I need?

Fuck. Dessert. I don't know what is a normal portion size for dessert unless they stick it in front of my face in treatment. There is no dietitian here. I just won't eat it. Yes you will. no I can't. Yes you will or else you'll binge because you'll know you didn't eat fully on your meal plan and have wiggle room. I grab and put back and grab and put back.

I end up with cookies that are fucking $4 for like 4. And now I'm too fucking scared to eat them.

I'm home and I'm shaking while typing this and my heart is racing.

And then there's the emotional shit.
Like a friend that has completely abandonded me.
Issues with my parents.
Comparison to the girl I just saw running on my block.
Does my neighbor think my music is too loud?
Guilt.
Shame.
Hate.

My mind snaps back to the thought that my cabinets are full of food for once and the idea is exciting and scary.

I'm doing this recovery thing, things are changing, I am changing and it's exciting but it is so scary.

I feel uneasy, I feel unsettled, I feel like I am not myself. I am not myself.
That's the point I guess.

I can't explain this but it's like when there's something bad going on then I'm bad if there's something good going on then it's somehow still bad. there's no right there's no peace there's just thoughts, anxiety, pressure, anger, excitement repeat.

I just want to be.

My Imaginary Foe

It's quiet in the sunny room.
Lunch is only halfway over.
I still have to eat this stupid, fucking sandwich.

I wanted to keep her hidden.

My head is in between my hands.
Eyes closed.
Jaw clenched.
Leg shaking.
I feel like there's a spotlight on me.
Get me out.
GET ME OUT.

"What is your eating disorder saying to you right now?"

I look up to address the cold, tense quiet of girls inside their heads fighting their own voices.
They are angry, they are tired, they are conflicted, they are disordered--just like me.

"Mine is saying, wipe the grease off your sandwich. They won't notice. No normal person would even eat that salami. There's too much butter on that. This is disgusting. So unhealthy. You're disgusting. You can't eat that. Wipe it off. You have to workout tonight. I don't care that you did yesterday..."

I get quiet. I feel ashamed. I do not know how to move on.

The dietitian's voice brings me back.
"What would you say to your eating disorder if it were here right now?"

My head is back down.
My jaw is still clenched.
My eyes squeezed closed.
I see her plain as day.
We're sitting at the table together.
We've got the same outfit on.
Nikes, leggings, hoodie, vest.

I picture her--me--saying those things out loud to me.

"You fat fuck. You're fatter than all these girls here. You disgust me. Ya look at your thighs. Everyone sees them. I know you've gained so much weight since starting. You're just adding to it. You fat fuck. You disgust me..."

Then I hear me say loud and clear.

"Leave me alone."

The tears come instantly.

My eyes open. The girl next to me isn't a girl in treatment it's me but a mean me. ED me.

I look at her.

I say it quieter, scared of the power the first statement had and what it would ignite.

"Leave me alone. You have been talking to me all my life. I want to be left alone. I don't want to listen anymore. Just go please just go. You've taken so much from me. Just leave me be. Just leave me be. Just leave me be...."

My words turn into silent sobs.

She leaves.

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.