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.

Checking In

This is a letter I wrote to my therapist and dietician this morning. I haven't seen them in two weeks, nor have I said one word to them. 

"I feel like we are friends who had a slight falling out and I'm not sure how to approach you again. Or where I stand.

But that's crazy. 

I've twisted being away from treatment into this huge thing that's creating me a lot of anxiety.

I wanted to prove to you all that I could do it on my own (not that you ever dared me to). That I could just do AA and not have behaviors and be free finally.

Wellit hasn't gone that way. I've had ups and downs but more downs I'd say. I've BP at work two days in a row causing me to not finish my work. I have felt like even though I know what the right thing to do is I can't stop doing the wrong. I know that I can't just deter from my meal plan for a buffet at work for a moment to pretend like I'm normal. But I did it anyway. 

I see myself doing things that I shouldn't do, like stealing, bingeing, trying to get on the light rail for free, running red lights on my bike and I feel I can't stop. Each choice makes me more mad at myself and watch the negative pile up and the failures so I can't see the good.

I'm a bit calmer now but the past couple of days I've just been upset and not known why or how to fix it or feel my feelings which pisses me right off.

I haven't followed my meal plan, I haven't been exercising, I haven't been going to AA, I haven't been talkign to anyone about what's wrong and it's left me miserable. I don't know how many fuckign times I'm going to have to go through this until I get it through my head that this is no way to live but it looks like I had to do it once more.

I feel out of control. Who knows how much I weigh now. I know it's gone up. I can feel the rolls on my stomach and sides when I do things like bend over or curl up to sleep that weren't there before. I had an illusive control when I was doing ED behaviors regularly like over eating, under eating, exercising compulsively but now I don't have that illusion and since I can't do what I used to do to feel in control I feel even more out of control.

I hope this makes sense.

But what does make me feel calm now is getting to work on time, helping other people, eating on my meal plan, keeping my room clean, hanging out with friends, working out normally and i've been doing that too I just have let the negative over shadow everything again. So I guess I'm ok now. It's just when I think of my weight and how much I've fucked up for so long I can't bear it and want to just run and run until there's nothing left of me, nothing left to feel or see or hate."

Thanks for reading.

All You Have To Do Is Ask

My knees hurt from the tile. My left hand clasps the porcelain, while my right has teeth marks on it. My heart races.

Just keep going. You did this to yourself. The cake I ate ten minutes ago fills the toilet while relief fills my head.

I finish, brush my teeth and stop to look at myself in the mirror. I've popped blood vessels in my face, they look like freckles. My mascara is running down my face. I leave the bathroom in disgust.

I try to write.

I can't. I'm shaking too badly. Tears fill my eyes.

I do what I don't want to-I call my sponsor.

"I've done it again. I drank last night. I didn't want to. I over ate last night. I didn't want to. I ate a cake this morning. I didn't want to. I threw it up. I didn't want to. I called you. I didn't want to."

Deep breath.


"I want help."


And that's all I've gotten since I said those words.

I called my best friend. She listened to me. She let me cry. She gave it to me straight, I need help, I've needed it for a while. She gave me love and understanding at my lowest point.

I recieved a call from an old friend who has a similar story, only thing different is she's no longer sick. She told me I'm not alone, that I can recover, she told me that I deserve happiness. And I'm tempted to believe her.

That night at a wedding I met a woman who's a recovering alcoholic. She told me her story of multiple relapses and how she's healthy now. She told me it's not going to be easy but that if I keep working, I'll get there.

The next day, Sunday, I went to church. The pastor spoke about God's love. How He loves us no matter what, no matter what I do, where I go, my sins, he's always there when I seek him. There's nothing you can't redeem. I needed to hear that.

Two women from my church prayed with me afterwards. They looked at me with sadness, understanding and hope in their eyes. Their words and prayers were full of love. They asked God to give me direction, to talk with me, to walk with me. They blessed me and my recovery.

Before I could leave the church Pastor James asked me how I was. He remembered my name and that I'm addict. He leaves for a three month sebatical and I was one of the last people he spoke to.

That evening I realized I could go to an ABA meeting so I grabbed my journal and raced out the door. I got there 5 minutes to 7 only to hear that it started at 6, I was an hour late, no one was there.

I called the one person I knew in the meeting, we have met once. She told me she was in Colorado, checking into an inpatient program for her ED. We talked for an hour like old friends with no abandon, we understand each other better than anyone else because of our struggle. I gave her hope to go to her first session tomorrow and she gave me  courage to call a friend for help.

I called that friend who I used to think was much more sick than I, turns out she's healthy and has been for a year. She got a number for a treatment center that's highly recommended and told me who to talk to and that she'd join me for my consolation.

I can't make this up even if I wanted to. God didn't leave my side for one second yesterday since I let go and said I can't do this on my own and he's not letting me.

Groundhog Day

She can feel her thighs sticking to the plastic booth, it’s uncomfortable and sparks immediate anger and self-loathing. 

Release is only moments away. It sits in front of her, teasing her. 

She looks away and tries to remember why she shouldn't give in.

The next thing she knows the glass in her hands and it's half gone.

She hears herself ask the waitress for another, then another.

This goes on for hours, but something’s wrong, she doesn’t feel better. 

The girl next to her is naturally pretty, strong, confident, everything she wishes she was and everything she feels she’s not. The girl sips her beer, then starts a conversation with strangers. How does she do that she wonders? How can she set the glass down? How come she's not nervous? How does she know what to say? What did she do to look that good? She wonders why she doesn’t look that way.

She asks for a shot. 

Something’s got to work.

Hours go by when suddenly the girl wakes up fuzzy. There are lights and dancing and laughter. She feels happy.

Look she thinks, everyone loves me, they are taking pictures with me, I have confidence, why was this so hard before? She wants another drink.

The rest of the night is a blur, there’s dancing, there’s talking to strangers, there’s more free booze, life is fucking great.

It gets dark.

She comes to in the kitchen, wrappers of food are everywhere, the fridge is open, the kitchen’s a mess. She feels sick.

It’s 6 am and the alarm is going off. Her mouth feels like sandpaper her head hurts she wants to not feel. Memories come back from the night before. She’s trying to look sober in pictures, she acts like she didn’t fall in the bathroom, she remembers the shots she took alone, the awkward conversations she put herself in and then the food she ate.

Regret, remorse, shame then hate floods her. She’s disgusted with herself. She’s shaking from the liquor, she gets sick and feels weaker. She sees her makeup is still on from the night before and her clothes on the floor she puts them back on and heads to work—time to play pretend.

She laughs at jokes, talks with everyone, does her job—last night never happened.

Works over, she’s home, alone. She wants a drink. She gets one. 

And well you know what happens next.

Faith

I’m having issues with my faith.

I realized it while walking today, and I’d say that’s an act of God working in my life, helping me to see what’s going on in my head. So I’m getting closer to figuring it out.

I only believe that there is a God and that He’s there for me after He does something great. After I see him, feel him working in my life. Not before. My prayers, even though I mean them and I do want help, I feel phony when I say them most of the time.

Why would someone ever forgive me for all my sins? Why would someone accept me for who I am? Why would someone love me unconditionally?

I had this question the other day in my fourth step. Are you pessimistic or optimistic? And I didn’t realize just how negative I am. For whatever reason I don’t believe or trust that God is there for me or loves me. I just don’t see why.

I also feel this way about most people. Why would so n so like me? Why would she want to be my friend? He is so gorgeous, giving, funny. She is so pretty, positive and likeable. Then he leaves me and my fears are reaffirmed. I am demoralized lost and just more gung-ho that I am as bad as I’ve always told myself I am. Just waiting for my friends to leave me too because I don’t deserve them.

I heard in a meeting the other day that God will love me until I learn to love myself. That’s a great quote and idea but how do I believe that?

I’ve been acting as if. So praying like I believe, really trying to mean it, but then again you can’t force things. Trying too hard, forcing things, has always been a down fall for me. I tried too hard to get a job exhausting myself, I tried so hard to be liked making myself miserable, I try so hard to be in shape and thin and control my eating and in the end what do I get? This disease.

The answer is generally to turn it over to God. But how do I turn over my faith to something I don’t even believe in, in order to believe it?