Reconnected, Rejuvenated, Ratchet.

I blink through tears my eyes absorbing the colors in the rainbow rug that my therapist undoubtedly got as a gift from one of her other clients. "Fuck my mascara is running" I think to myself. "I'm a really pretty crier," I say to my 4'' therapy teddy bear, Teddy.  He doesn't reply. 

I laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Me talking to a bear, me worried about my fucking makeup in therapy, me unable to process my feelings-you know the normal shit that makes a normal person laugh.I felt like I was back in time yesterday during my session, old Kris came out, that means shit is really getting bad. I was sassy AF to my therapist, swearing, lashing out at her. Her and her calm fucking voice that I interpret as condescending when really “she’s just trying to help but you won’t let me.” I scoff as I write that, I swear sometimes it is her fault, not mine.

I have been spiraling downward, like it actually feels like I’m spinning, digging, constantly moving steadily down. And it seems as though I can’t come out. That life is too much and I’m too messed up and I don’t know which end is up or where I started.

I call my therapist back in (I demanded she go outside so she couldn’t hear my crying, laughing sobs—talk about embarrassing). My arms held tightly around my body, jaw clenched, makeup close to fixed (thank God for cell phone cameras). “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing and I want to feel better. I don’t know how.”

She, per usual, gives me some abstract answer which I’m sure if I wasn’t swollen with tears and a sore throat (I’ve been bingeing and purging again) I would actually not only hear but understand. I do neither.

I ask to leave early, I just want to go. Where I do not know, but because my makeup is fucked I guess I can’t go drink and I am trying to stay sober on weekdays anyway. Off I go, wishing I still lived across the street from her office.

And I binge and purge when I get home despite every belief eating was a good idea. And I crawl into bed and I take a sleeping pill and I pray that I wake up a different person the next day.

That didn’t really happen, but something else did. And now I’m crying at work because that’s when you’re supposed to write really emotional blogs about feelings and bulimia and depression and anxiety and crying. I’m crying because my heart has hope again, and I feel as though I’ve gotten enough to stop digging.I have been cutting out people I believe are not good for me, I’ve been swearing off all electronic venues, and been feeling incredibly jaded toward the electronic music world that once gave me a second chance at life. 

But I’m realizing it isn’t the EDM world that’s the problem, it’s those I surround myself with, the lessons I want to take from those experiences, and the venues in which I choose to experience these uh experiences in.What I’m getting at is I was over all the fucked up people in the club I frequent, I was over taking care of them, I was over not being able to dance, I was over the fact that this thing called PLURR is no longer even mentioned in said clubs. I guess that’s just it, they became clubs versus raves. There was no more peace, love, unity, respect or responsibility. And THAT was what got me started on this in the first place—an inclination that the world wasn’t as mean as I thought it was.

Because things have been so hard lately at home, at work, personally I needed an out so I decided to go to Bass Academy. I was going to get on those extra tickets released at noon, pay money I didn’t have, to have an experience  that would hopefully be priceless when it came to my sanity, happiness and hope.

And then—fucking tears—my prayers for help and hope were answered by a friend who I’ve known most of my life. You wouldn’t know it because we don’t speak that often, but he gives me a calm, a reassurance and a confidence I don’t feel in people that I talk to everyday.

And this human gives me a ticket. And along with this ticket comes more than admittance, with it it gives me something to motivate me to take care of myself the rest of the week and not purge. With it gives me a reminder that I don’t have to constantly protect myself, that you can give selflessly and always have enough. With it gives me faith that PLURR is still out there and something I can / need to strive for in myself. Basically, he gave me something to live for when I didn’t want to wake up this morning.

With something as simple as a ticket to a show I have drive, excitement, and most importantly hope. You never know how your words or actions can affect people. Yesterday I was asked why don't I write anymore and didn't it feel good to have just one person say you helped me today? And I had belittled the power honesty and openness could give someone else. If it weren't for those around me reaching out and offering help I wouldn't be able to have the guts to write again, and to hopefully help someone else. 

I am starting to go in circles, but basically I feel reconnected to the universe. I feel reconnected to myself. And to you. 

You Are Nothing To Me

How would it feel to be loved?
To be unconditionally free?
To be accepted as you are.
To be you in your normalcy?

How would it feel if you didn't have to pretend, hide, escape
To run from who you really are
To fix a mess you didn't make?

How would it feel to be loved?
To not be you anymore?
To be someone better?
Who hoped for more?

How would it feel if you didn't have to psych yourself up.
To try to forget the pain, isolation, the secrets you've kept.
If only reality could be as real as you could be
If only you could stand the possibility of who you can be

321 self destruct
I wish my mind wouldn't but it'll concave
Implode on itself
Miss can you pleases behave?

I face myself, put my hands on her shoulders
If  i didn't know better girl you're getting older
older isn't wiser it's more years spent
trying to be that person you always were meant

Failing, hurting, spinning
I can't be here anymore, the depression is winning
I know I'm meant for more and yet I'm stagnant
The beauty is in the eye of the beholder
Fucking blinded

The consistency the persistency of the words on my lips
Is the only thing that's consistent

What if I released those words
And just wrote, felt and hoped
And said fuck the lyrics and the poetry
And just screamed at you what I'm actually feeling
How i can't stand to be myself but  now is when I need me more than anyone else
And so I'm hiding this, me, I'm holding me
I'm so blinded with pain i can't see what's right from wrong

Write from wrong
What do you know anyway
Who are you to say that this is me and how i should be
You never put in the work anyway

And everybody hurts and screams
And feels there's no one by their side
But if they'd only look past my blood shot eyes
They'd realize there's me inside

And I don't know who me is and
I can't see who I could be but
Maybe she'll be better than you
And she'll realize
That her family isn't family
And her friends are fake
and her ex fucked that bitch on your first date

And your gut was right but it brings no peace
I told you so lingers on my lips
But there's no one to hear me say it
He, they quit a long time ago
Alone

But fuck that maybe I'm doing great
And maybe all this shit will build me up
Breaking is not an option anymore
When we break we burst
And all I can see is what's right in you and wrong in me

And people that can't handle themselves
or be themselves become their normality
and it's in you and it's in me and i can't see straight
there's so much fucked in my world
i have so much hate

how do talk about what shouldn't be mentioned
That the life you should have has was stolen from you
Alluding to the truth, tip toeing around the issue
Be quiet, behave

How to do you talk about the fact you never had a dad
All you wanted was a human to put you to bed at night
and wanted comfort and love and yet the house was saturated with hate
and it's not you it's them but it doesn't change your nightmares
that was your life
whether he stays or goes doesn't matter to me
because he never will be, never could be, always will be
Nothing to me
Except the force that made me

I Moved Here Two Years Ago Today

And I don't feel much like celebrating.

The panic I felt when we had traveled a whole exit away from where I had called home for the past three years still grips my heart every time I think back to that moment. My no longer long distance (as of that very moment) boyfriend was driving the U-Haul and Max (my cat) was drugged up, laying in my lap. I was numb.

The decision to move wasn't an easy one rather a logical one.

My now ex and I both were sick of riding the Bolt Bus every weekend to see one another. Sick of the Skype sessions and talking to each other's frozen faces on our laptops. Sick of feeling pangs of jealously when we saw other couples taking their same zip code addresses for granted.

Plus, I didn't have a job or much hope to find one left. I had recently pulled myself out of outpatient (eating disorder) and made the choice to leave zulily (a negative, suffocating, underpaid environment that sucked the life and creativity out of its creatives) in order to keep my recovery and my sanity. I was flat broke, exhausted by job hunting, and insanely lonely as will happen with unemployment.

I needed a change and this seemed to make sense: move to Vancouver where my boyfriend and soon to be new job was. I sincerely heard the warnings (never move for a guy), concerns (but you love Seattle so much), and encouragement (you don't know until you try) and I made my choice. Plus Seattle isn't that far right?

Fuck that. Seattle is far. Not necessarily in miles or hours of drive time--but when you are no longer central to the things that make you feel like you, make you happy, make you at home--you're far. Far from yourself.

And two years later--which is what they told me it would take to be comfortable here--I still feel far. Even farther than I was before. I no longer have a home in Seattle and I don't have a home here. Life, construction and growth has changed what I used to know and love.

And Vancouver? Portland? I still don't know Burnside from uhhh another city street. My boyfriend and I are no longer together and with that came a painful distance from people I felt like were my family. It's like I moved here all over again.

The past 6 months I've fucked up, scrambled, drank, danced, partied, played, and held on tight to anything that felt like home and belonging no matter how detrimental, unhealthy, fucked up the situation / person / activity was.

Sinking lower into depression, anxiety increasing, my eating disorder and substance abuse oh and you can't forget the inevitable self-hate--I once again feel homeless.

I am unhappy here. I am barely keeping my head above water at my job. My rent kills me. And I have lost my best friend and the people I considered my family here. And yet, somehow the motivation for change isn't there. I'm disgustingly comfortable in this lifeless, depressive, anxious routine I cling to to get by on everyday. I feel useless, unmotivated, unwanted and am getting more and more comfortable with being in this incredibly uncomfortable place.

Making excuses, justifications, and just the slightest alteration so I can continue to wallow in my self-pity. I have no goals, I have no ambition, no dreams I'm just merely existing. I worked so hard to try to make it work here. To do the right thing. And I just feel more fucked up than I was before I left, but there's no going back so I guess I just keep trying to more forward.

14 Going On 28

16. That’s how old I feel.

No 14.

When I wore my favorite pink GAP tank top to the school dance. I was sweaty due to nerves?
my self-cut bangs stuck to my forehead. Braces. Puka shells. Etnes.

I am the epitome of trying to be.

He asks me to dance. Or was it me?

All I know is we’re front to front, but not face to face. We're going in circles. I’m so out of place.

I do my best to keep my heart in my chest.

It’s happening, I’ve made it.

We part and my heart is elated.

I cross my hands across my chest an involuntary response that shows I’m a mess.

Physical touch, belonging, wanting to be like the rest. 

As we part I am alone. No one could believe what I’ve done. Or him. With her? Really?

My heart sinks. I thought I belonged.

And here I am at 28. Feeling the same feelings I did before I ever went on my first date. Wasn’t I supposed to grow up by now? Where’s my husband, kids, and dog? The house, the job, the regular morning jog?

Here I am, 14 going on 28. Sweaty palms, quiet voice, rapid heart beat. But my head screams.

My need to for love, for family, for loyalty, for belonging is captive inside my head. My actions contradict my thoughts as I sit silently.

I breathe in, I breathe out and then it repeats.

I want to be. I want to be me. I want to believe. I want to see who it is you see. I just want to be me. 

Silhouettes, Echos

Just press play.

Song is Silhouettes by Echos. Check it.

Then let's talk feelings.

Like feelings that overwhelm you.

I don't know where to start, let's deal with it later feelings.

Emo, Dashboard Confessional, black nail polish, I never belonged feelings.

And yet I try to adapt.

When I go to write my mind becomes as blank as the page.

Even though I'm exploding with thoughts.

Things I want to share with you.

Things I want to purge.

Things I want to forget.

Things I wish I never thought.

Things I wish I never felt.

Things I can't speak about.

And yet they scream from my skin.
Your traces burn and the smoke lingers.

The only time I feel centered is when I write.

When I rip the words out of my throat and slam them against the wall.
An unorganized, honest attempt at expressing myself.
At making sense of myself.
I dare you to tell me my worst fears.
Tell me I don't belong.
Tell me I'm too much.
Tell me you don't understand.

The memories cut, leaving me vulnerable.
I confess my wrong doings, my shame, my imperfections.

Everytime I write I stutter. 

I speak my truth.
And I want to fix it.

It can be better.

That's what my life has been.

It can be better.

I can be better.
And yet there's a voice in me that wants to accept me as I am.
I want to be as impulsive and imperfect as I am.

Is anyone else as confused as I am?

I feel like the unknown destination in front of me should be exciting.

Should give me hope.

But it gives me dread.

I fantasize about a life that isn't mine.

Toy with what self-acceptance looks like.

I never can escape 14 year old me.

The one who decided that starving herself was the way to live.
Limiting her food, bingeing on men.

And now I'm full of regrets.

I want to be someone.
I want to matter.

I cannot be no one.

Because then I will become as insignificant as I feel.

As deep as the hole in my heart is.

Wanting a father who could never be there.
And a mother who had no more to give.
And it's not fair.

And it'll never be fair.

Because the only person that can make it better is the one who caused it.

All I want is you to say my name.

To see me.
Everyone else saw me but you.
And judged me.
And I was this thing.
This beautiful thing.
That never amounted to anything.

Starved, abused, confused.

You did this to me and now I'm captive.

Held by your actions and impulses.

Held by your sickness and weakness.

I don't want to be a grown-up anymore.

I don't want to have to stand tall.

I want to be held.

I want to be safe.

But my soul is housed in a graveyard.

And my body is my enemy.

And my mind plays tricks.

You stole something from me.

I'm paying debt to your sin.

I will never be safe.

I will never be home.

I will never be who I should be.

Because I can never escape who you made me.

To Those Who Think They Are Alone

You're not.

I might not know what you go through. I do not know what your struggles are. I do not know what your life is like. I do not know what happened in your past. But I do know what it's like to feel like you are fucked up.

I know what it's like to feel like no one cares.

I know what it's like to feel like everyone else has their shit together.

I know what it feels like to be on the outside.

I know what it's like to be frustrated with yourself, wanting change but then repeating the same behavior.

I know what it's like to feel like no one else struggles, like life is easy for them.

I know what it's like to not want to get out of bed in the morning.

I know what it's like to live from hour to hour, day to day on a thread of hope that things will get better.

I know what it's like to not want to be you anymore.

I know what it's like to want to not exist.

And I know how comforting it is to hear someone that I know personally, that I think has their shit together say that they don't and that they experience the same feelings I do.

You're not alone. You're not messed up. You're human, and you're doing better than you think.

I Just Lost My Shit.

The past hour was spent fighting off increasingly common, relentless thoughts of inadequacy, self-loathing, and insecurity.

I watch myself in the mirror unaware of both my staring and word vomit. I've got my boyfriend on the phone. The words that have been swirling in my head release themselves like a broken dam. They can't come out fast enough and they are lethal.

He will leave me, I'm sure of it. He's already thought of it. He's sick of me, almost as sick of me as I am. I'm convinced. I display my toxic thoughts out in front of him and myself. Wanting him to cut me, wanting him to hurt me. Just say it I tell him. Just tell me the truth. I know you don't want me anymore. You've come to your senses. Just do it. 

Manipulative, vicious, and cowardly I cut myself down so he cannot do it. 

And I am aware of the little voice screaming in my head..."TELL ME I MATTER."

I find comfort in being able to protect myself in this way. Of course I do not see it when I'm doing it. The feelings are real. I believe with my entirety that I am unworthy, I am insignificant, I am unwanted. 

It is safer to believe this than the alternative.

That maybe he could really, truly love me. 

Because if I give him that power, he could hurt me.

He could cut open the wound that runs deeper than my heart.

He denies my accusations and I quickly try to pick up the pieces. What have I done? I'm just pushing him away. Now you've really fucked up. And the thoughts take hold again. More powerful than before, hungrier than before.

Power. Control. It's all illusive. 

After we hang up I return to reality. Bullshit with friends. The conversation I just had in the back of my mind, buried, safe. He put the Band-Aid on it just like I wanted. 

On my way home my mind wanders, as it does. What I should do, what I didn't do, how badly I did what I did do...

And suddenly I'm caught, snagged like on a hook and pulled into my mind. She's there. And I hear "It's not about him." And something to the effect of:

Watch yourself in suffering. Tell yourself, 'I am suffering right now.' You did not get what you needed as a child. As a little girl, a very little girl. And that love you seek from him, that comfort, that security, he cannot give that to you. This desperate, hunger, manic need for love and reassurance stems from something much deeper, much more powerful than him. Watch yourself in your suffering. 

And so I did. I said "I am suffering right now." And the tears flowed, PUSHED out of me. Gasping for air, I violently go back and forth between the road ahead of me and the past. Struggling to stay present, struggling to breathe, I let myself feel.

I feel the pain of trying to live in an environment that was not safe. Surviving, not living, through my life. I felt the confusion, the sadness, the anger all at once. I grabbed my cuff I was given at FreakNight from one of the purest souls I've ever met off my stick shift. I cling to it, the stars digging into my hand, keeping me here.

Odesza's Light comes on and I am guided to well, the light. With the reminder of the kindness I was shown at FreakNight and the magic of Odesza's music I am reminded of the goodness in the world. I am reminded that there is true love. I am reminded of the unity I feel at festivals and in the music I listen to and the community I have submersed myself in. 

I am reminded that I do not have to be on my guard anymore. I am no longer in danger. I am safe. 

And I listen to Light and I cling to that cuff and I breathe in and out and I hold that little girl that didn't get what she needed. And I hold that 20 something that was destroyed over and over again by the  evil in the world. And I hold myself. I see myself in suffering and I give myself what I have been searching for everywhere else. 

I calm as my car stops. My breathing slows. And I can't really get over what the fuck just happened. The clarity and understanding and peace I look for everywhere else was just given to me, by me. 

I Just Want To Belong Somewhere.

I just want to belong somewhere. I want to matter to someone.

After 30 minutes of writing about my breakup, my move, and recovery that is what broke me. I ugly cried for what felt like forever.

I feel so insanely alone. The more I go to Seattle the more I feel I don’t belong. I ignore the sinking feeling I get when I feel disconnect but it’s there. My friends are changing, the city is changing, I am changing. And then I come here, and I don’t belong either. I lost my best friend, and with him all of his friends, our places and activities are haunted with what was, and I’m left with the ghost of what I thought I had. I don’t belong anywhere. I have never felt like I’ve belonged, and this feeling is the most painful for me.

I didn’t fit in in school, I was the friend that was picked on, I was the problem (am) the problem child in the family, work, sports teams whatever, I have never had a place. And now that hole that I’ve been trying to fill all of my life is gaping. I cannot hide, or fill it, or run from it anymore. Every time I try to, every time I go back and try to force things it doesn’t feel right and it doesn’t work. The pain of trying to force something to fill it  and failing is less than accepting what I have grown up believing is true: There is something wrong with me and I will never fit in.

My friend told me today something I really didn’t want to hear but I know is true: There’s a difference between what you want and what you need. And all I can really do right now is ask for the strength to accept what I need.

When I allow myself to feel, to give into the darkness and the emptiness that lives inside me, I completely lose myself. I open my mouth as if to scream and nothing comes out. I go blind. I can’t breathe. The feelings of my past come flooding into my body but my mind is black.  I curl into a ball and gasp for air. It hurts.

And I grieve for myself. And I beg to no one and yet everyone that it can’t be true. It can’t be true that I’m so terrible, that there is something so wrong with me, that I don’t have a home. I don’t belong. But this time around it’s really hard to pick myself up and try again. That is why I am having the hardest time of letting go.

I want nothing more than to belong. I want someone to call me and ask me to hang out. I want a group that isn’t complete without me. I want to be thought of. I want a person to sit in sweats all day with me and have unawkward silence with. And someone that I can tell stupid shit to and they actually care. I want to be someone’s someone.

I just want to belong somewhere. I want to matter to someone.

I Said Fuck In Front of a Grandma

I was in my head as I went into the locker room of my gym. Thoughts of whatthefuckamidoingwithmylife mixed with howdoIstopfeelingthisway and a hint of flashbacks to my ex take up most of my day, the breakup has been over 4 months now. Sigh.

Unknowingly I pull on my favorite cutoff and bitch face simultaneously. I walk to the mirror to do my hair. I don't know what I was thinking a about when I catch an older lady out of the corner of my eye gesturing to me.

"What could she possibly want me to do?" I think. I rip my headphones out dramatically, my nonverbal "I was fucking listening to that and YES I had them in to avoid humans like you."

And the 5th Golden Girl (and yes I'm writing this with the cutting tone I had earlier, I would never speak this way normally about people) asks me if I'm wearing my shirt because I am a chiropractor.

I look down at my skeleton cutoff, putting two and two together. And look back at her.

Her calm tone, smile, and adorable question make me realize I've had a bad attitude for a while, and that I'm being extremely rude, but the emotion her question evokes in me overpowers my manners.  I immediately feel embarrassed because no I am not a smart human that went to school for sciency stuff and gets paid a lot. I just bought this tee because it made me feel tough, I think it looks cool and it gives me a much needed confidence boost when lifting...basically it hides my insecurity. So of course I spit out. 

"No I'm too fucking stupid for that."

REALLY KRIS, REALLY!? You just said fuck in front of a nice old lady who is making small talk with you you asshole. 

I try to cover up my insecurity that I just spat in the all too quiet locker room with a laugh and a "I'm just a writer." 

Unphased, this ray of sunshine laughs and says, "Oh honey there is different kinds of smart. Somethings that one person is good at others aren't and so on, but we're all smart."

My iciness melts, and I break into a smile. Good for you lady, I think. And dude you're so right, and I tell her so. 

She continues to laugh and fluff her white hair and says I look pretty awesome in it. My spirits have lifted and I'm catching this woman's easy, positive energy and I jokingly say "Ya I'm smart, good-looking, and strong." And then I--oh Lord yes I'm admitting this--flex in front of her. She calls me the bionic woman and I tell her she's sweet.

I leave the locker room the best I've felt all day. I have the confidence to hold my head up as I walk to the squat machine and smile at those who pass me. I ask a trainer for help with a lift. I tell myself good job after a couple hard sets instead of thinking about getting sexier. 

What I'm getting at is I love moments like these, when I am reminded that life can be a little easier, a little more enjoyable if I let it. And no it's not that easy for me because my brain doesn't work that way, but seeing how a simple interaction, a smile, a change in perspective can really make my life easier is well now going to make my life a lot easier.

This Is Incredibly Hard to Write

I have been going through a very hard time.
I have never felt this way.
I do not want to exist anymore.
I do not want to hurt myself, but I just no longer want to be me.
I see myself as broken, panicked, depressed, lost, desperate, hopeless.
I feel unsafe, and not unsafe like I will hurt myself (please hear that) but like nothing is secure, and well, safe. I can't find the words other than that.
And well it makes sense. 
I have had nothing but instability for the past 8 months.
I have lost most of my support system.
I have lost the comfort of Seattle.
I was in an unstable relationship for most of the time I've been here.
I have moved twice now.
I started a new job.
I have fleeting friend groups here.
Nothing is stable.
I am unstable.

And I have been bullshitting all of you. I post selfies to try to feel good about myself (because well I look good and I know it but that doesn't do anything for my heart). I post statuses about the places I'm going and the accomplishments I'm making. I act like everything is fine because I want it to be fine but I have been writing in here for too long and been too honest with you all to stop now. 

So...I AM NOT OK. I feel more depressed, anxious, and generally fucked up than I ever have in my entire life. 

And I haven't written in a long time out of shame. Not knowing what to say and also for a lack of passion. I write these posts with overwhelming emotion or a need to tell you all what I learned and for months I didn't feel that. Until right now.

I am the most scared I have ever been in my life, and that includes facing my eating disorder. This time I am facing everything without much support and frankly as ashamed I am to say that I clung to this figure so much during these times,a boyfriend.

What I am facing right now is what caused the eating disorder. I am having body memories (physical reactions because of a memory) and reliving the very thing I've been running from since I was 12. When it all happened.

When my home was no longer my home, and my stability was taken from me. I was not taught how to deal with what happened, so the eating disorder started. It was an escape, it was a distraction, it gave me a reason to go on, a reason to be, the thing that got me accepted, that told me I was ok.

And now at 27 I'm having to figure out how to do that on my own. And it is fucking frightening. I wake up in a panic every morning with the sinking feeling of being alone, of being incapable, of like so many out there not knowing or wanting to deal with me anymore.

But I have to 'deal' with me. I am the only person that can help me and while that's a wonderful realization and an over posted pintrest quote I do not know how to do that. And I kept trying to write shit after that but I'm just going to leave it at that. I DO NOT KNOW WHAT I AM DOING.

Except well, my therapist threatened me with treatment again if I start slipping. And as much as treatment helped me I don't want to go back so right now as fucking pathetic and lame as I feel for being here again, I am just working on eating, sleeping, showing up to work. All of which I'm mostly doing. Support is another key component, so if you can be that for me, in whatever way from talking, listening, distraction etc. please let me know.

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.

Shoulders Suffocated.

The bellow is me exploring my feelings about my body and what it means to have one in our society.
About being made to feel like a sex object everywhere I go.
Feeling like it's not ok to take my sweater off when it's hot out because of what I am then subjected to.
How I've been made to feel it's my fault that I get hollered at...or worse.
How it's my duty to put up with cat calls because I have a decent body. And it's my fault that men react to me.
I realize more and more that as years of unwanted advances from men pile up the more I want to hide my style and my body. It isn't fair. It isn't right. And it isn't my fault. And most importantly I shouldn't have guilt or be ashamed.

I have just started to see how fucked up society's messages to men and women are about men and women. And self worth. And self esteem. And more. I really need to do more reading and thinking to develop a solid opinion on this but this video and blog post began to help me believe it's not me that's in the wrong.

Stop Telling Women to Smile and An Open Letter to My Daughter: Your Modesty Is Your Choice.

sunny sidewalk
uncomfortably hot
smooth knees
unknowingly alluring neckline
shoulders suffocated
breath abated
music bumps
windows rolled down
suggestive slang
coil back at the vulgarity
leave me be
redirect
life changed
never ok
sex object
my being is no longer mine

self medicated
doctor's out
head hangs with the weight of it all
knowledge, shame, undeserved guilt
eyes averted
no one look
but someone see my pain

a chuckle
manly grunts
I see them seeing me
naked, vulnerable
I pull my clothes tighter
weights slam
echos reverberate my body
they get trapped inside my head
relentless is the panic
muscles tighten
my vision goes
my heart races
I see only shapes
are they approaching me
fight or flight
flight flight flight

Snotty Yoga.

I am so tired so I may use the wrong there and half of you honestly probably wouldn't notice but that's my disclaimer.

I write best when I'm in the shit so I want to get this out now.
In this case 'the shit' means my emotions.
Which are not shit mind you.

Listening to Florence The Machine - Shake It Out which I'm sure all of you know but play it if you want the full effect.

So I'm going through a major--I don't even know what you'd call it--of myself. I'm looking at me. The way I live, the choices I make, how I act, my values and I'm trying to figure which way is up and left from right all while going through the biggest breakup I've ever had. And I'm unemployed. I'm just a mess--or am I where I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be?

I pulled out one of my seemingly hundreds of journals after pissing off a friend and just wrote. Free flowing just my paper and my pen but mostly I just like to think of it being just me.

"I feel sad. The fear of returning to who I was is real. The anxiety works against me. It's all so overwhelming. All of this does. This life is too much. It's always been too much. No wonder I numb. No wonder I get confused and mixed up and frustrated. I'm working so hard to figure me out that I'm losing myself.

And I'm tired and lonely and listening to sad fucking music (this was before Florence came on). All of this, this life is the hardest thing. Fighting against myself. I feel a fleeting feeling. I'm losing the calm I've had these past days. The sad slow calm. Desperate. I need it back. Don't leave. I'll do anything. Force. Will. Think. Do. Come back. Peace. I want peace. I see myself doing and thinking and anxious and I feel like if I could do different I would This is the spiral. I'm spiraling. The hopeless. The confusion.

But if I want something different I have to do something different.

Enter Florence.

I'm just not sure what that is. Trying to remember coping skills. Something to numb in a healthy way.

No feel. Feel. Just feel it.

*Pause for yoga attempt while crying so much snot to head* And I feel it I feel the pain and the sadness and the loneliness and it doesn't kill me. And suddenly I can breathe again. And each movement gets easier and the music somehow gets clearer. And my heart gets lighter.

I finish and I write...

This peace I'm constantly seeking isn't not having emotions it's having peace with having emotions.

And then I get so excited and want to tell you guys and I do.

Gratitude list:

1. I ate the 'scary' sandwich at the M's game
2. I just fucking did that shit that I just did.
3. I did so much laundry today
4. I am not quitting.
5. Watching my impulsiveness
6. My friends. Oh my goodness they are so amazing.

My demon is me.

It is mine.
It was not yours.
And you took it.
It was sacred.
And beautiful.
I worked so hard.
I built it up.
I nurtured it.
I believed in it.
I learned to love it.
And with a touch.
You tore it down.
It it ruined.
It is afraid of light.
It is afraid of love.
It is afraid of life.

She shies at glances.
At the light.
At a simple gesture.
Hardens in the night.
Crushed inside.
Unable to breathe
Each breath is a silent scream.
Arms clutch her figure.
Trying to hide. To hold.
Protect.
It's too late.
She's been seen.

He's here.
He never left.
She's bare.
Unable to hide her rage.
No where is safe.

My demon has taken away my innocence.
My love.
My home.
My family.
And what I'm left with is just me.
And who I have to face in the mirror is my demon.
And that demon is me.

Blind to the Beauty

I'm beyond frustrated with myself.

I am so tired of being stressed, of always having something wrong, of never being able to just enjoy life. I mean I have worked so hard to get where I am and it's not good enough.

There is always something(s) I have not done, something bearing over me, pressing on me that's wedging me between reality and my mind.

I feel like every post, every conversation, every ounce of me focuses on and works so hard to find the good, be positive, to be better and I'm so tired of having to work. When does it become easier? When does it become natural? When do I get to just wake up and appreciate who I am, all the work I've done?

If it was possible I would throw myself up against a wall. I would shake myself until I finally got it out of my system. That is how much violent anger and frustration is in me. 

IT being...I don't even know...this overpowering urge to just rip myself a part. Nothing is ever good enough, there is always something to do, to put in a list, to improve, to make an excuse for...I cannot just BE.

I'm frustrated to tears right now because I see how I want my life to be and it takes so much fucking work to appreciate who I am and those moments of clarity take so much effort it's exhausting. And I just want to give up. But I don't. But I do.

I just want to give myself credit for all the fucking work I've done. The work it takes to make and eat breakfast everyday, the effort it takes to go on my morning walks, to wear jeans, to quit my fucking job, to overcome addiction, sexual abuse. I want to see the beauty everyone sees.

Oh now I'm crying.
Because I believe you guys. I believe I am beautiful. I believe I have a big heart. I believe I'm generous. And funny. And kind. And honest. And a good writer. And I believe I have a light about me but I cannot see it. 

I live in the dark and I so badly want out but I don't know how.

I'm in a constant battle with my mind. I've got to text this person about plans, oh apply for that job, oh who was that reference?, call food stamps, write down a list of shit to do while I'm on hold, oh ya I wanted to try that recipe, oh fuck when is my dietitian appointment?, didn't that girl say I lost weight?, crap what did I do with that fax?, I should text my boyfriend how much I love him, shit did I just hang up on that call?

I'm constantly going and doing and I feel like I'm getting nothing done.

I'm unemployed and I'm still as stressed out and busy as if I wasn't.

I cannot shake the nagging feeling that I have something to do, that I'm not ok, or stable or safe.

I am tired of having a hard time. I am tired of complaining (but then again I can't keep this in). I am tired of not enjoying my life but I don't know how to let go, how to live, how to not just rip myself a part for who I'm not and what I don't have and what I haven't done.

Because doing all of those things, making lists, checking them off, being busy, perusing these things is supposed to help make things easier and it hasn't fucking happened.

I lessened treatment, I quit that hell hole and I am still stressed, anxious and fucking moody as all hell.

I just want peace.
I'm not giving up but I just have felt this weight, carried this weight of being me for so long and it seems to be getting heavier and I don't know when I'm going to break and I don't know how much more I can take.

I'm just living on that blind faith like everyone says it will get better, I deserve better. I just wish better would come soon.

My attempt at an omelet.

Max licking me while I'm trying to stretch.

Rainier Cherries

Rich part of town

They don't know this yet but I'm going to live there one day.

Pride :)

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.