I Had A Fat Tantrum on Instagram

I wrote this blog post in my head at the gym today, whenever I start writing in my head it makes me happy. It means I'm inspired and feelings some feels. Writing to me isn't a choice, it's involuntary. I haven't felt, or been inspired to write in a very long time. Thank you in advance for reading.

This post comes starts with a tantrum about my body image via my Instagram story spat out by my three favorite authors: eating disorder, shame and sadness.

This morning I woke up puffy, swollen like usual. Seems to be one of the many fun responses my body has to me turning 30 (whether I've been drinking the night before or not (last night not)). As I walked around the house I was painfully aware of a little extra something above my waistline, my armpits seemed puffy and my legs flabby. Now you can't fake this, this isn't a scale or a number, it's how I feel. I try to push it aside as I go about my day attempting to get my life together (and today went better than most)  but I am constantly being nagged by these "fat feelings."

As the day progresses with bigger stresses and more emotions my eating disorder jumps to the rescue. Distracting me with thoughts: despising every blonde, tan, 21 year old girl spending her parents' money on 23rd. Getting me to pine over photos of my old figure I had taken for granted, the figure I had before I was fired, picked up a drinking problem, and a whole other batch of destructive behaviors. It helped me push away friends compliments with "the truth" of what I look like, shaming myself before they can (like they ever would).

My wise mind fought to combat my eating disorder but it was no match. Feeble attempts at "you're doing the best you can." "Every healthy choice gets you closer to your goal." "Being mean to yourself doesn't make you any skinnier." Angry as ever I go into the locker room at my gym, I stare at myself in the mirror. I see my fat face, my flabby arms, my thick thighs and I want to scratch and tear at myself until there's nothing left or cry. Both is accurate. I tell myself I am disgusting. I go through my routine avoiding everyone's eyes non-verbally telling them I know what I look like, how far I've let myself go, how ashamed I am. I compare myself to every fit girl in there, ignoring of course the other girls that are also out of shape.

I hate these girls and yet I so badly want to be them. I workout with such anger and energy subconsciously attempting to lose all the weight and gain all the tone in this hour and a half. As I start to lose my intensity my wise mind comes back, those thoughts I said before surface. I see that my eating disorder is back not just because I feel out of shape (and honestly guys I'm not fat, I know that but I'm in the worst shape of my life), it's back because it's trying to distract me from something, help me cope with something.

Early today I wrote down all my bills and debt and lack of income. I have not faced what I've done to my finances over the past year until today and fuck is it bad. As I cooled down I realized that that's what it's trying to help me deal with (classic): the feeling of being out of control.

I have been pretty quiet about what my life has been like since being let go twice in a year and my depression the worst it's ever been and it's not helping. The moment I reached out yesterday and said yo I'm kind of scared and need help you guys sent me texts and messages of encouragement, understanding and love. Until I get on my feet again I'm going to be more vocal about my drinking, my eating disorder, my debt but also my successes and hope. Because as I was so brutally reminded of today: positive reinforcement changes behavior for the better, criticism stabilizes negative behavior and blocks change.

Today, I'm Not Thankful

Today I'm not thankful, I'm proud. Go with me on this:

I left the warmth of my brother's house with well wishes and invites to future game nights, leftovers in hand the cold and dark of the night foreign compared to previous my environment of games, laughter, and inside jokes. I didn't make it to my car without being consumed by an all too familiar feeling and I began to cry.

As the loneliness set in and the tears started I angerly asked myself: Why? You just had the best Thanksgiving you can remember having (not an exaggeration) and you're crying?But as I put my things away and started my car I realized that it makes sense. As soon as I was physically alone, I felt alone. To some a break from the social engagements would be welcomed, but for someone like myself who suffers from attachment trauma, it is almost unbearable.

This is because all I want is to be loved and to belong--no--to FEEL loved and like I belong. The moment I step away from the reassurance that that's a fact, it slips away from me like the light when I shut the door to my brother's house. The restless yet confined energy starts, I know it well, it's my impulsivity. It's uncomfortable and I can't usually put a finger on what it is at first but I usually don't like it and want it gone.

So I drink. Or I eat. Or I call a boy. Or I do all three in whatever order. I choose what I know how to do to get it to "stop," or what I now know is actually just putting it at bay. My quick fix, my instant relief that leaves lingering affects that sometimes require days of recovery and damage control. But for once I don't WANT to drink, eat or call a guy. However, that leaves me with this uncomfortable, flighty feeling, that steadily grows within me.

My drive home is a steady transition from loneliness to feeling silly to validating my emotions to happiness and back again. I have been in DBT and therapy long enough to know whatever I'm feeling isn't wrong, to not push it away, judge it, try to change it-simply notice. So I do, I get curious. As the city comes into view I am hit with a wave of realization: this is what recovery feels like.

I tell myself, you should write. Or no, it's more like an urge, but one that's uncomfortable since it's not A, B, or C from above. I used to write in here daily, sometimes twice a day. I'd write in meetings when triggered at work, or on the backs of menus in restaurants. I used to have so much in me that it wasn't a choice, I HAD to.

But that was before I started becoming depressed at my last job (which I have since left as it "just wasn't working out") about a year and a half in (just "celebrated" my three years). I didn't know it as it was happening, as often depression does, while it was. I didn't know that I was slowly becoming someone that didn't care, that was bitter, uninspired, lazy, barely got by. Now that I'm free and slowly, ungracefully tangling myself from the routine, thoughts, habits I'd created over the last year and a half, I see me again.

Today I got to see what me, not bingeing, not purging, not drinking (excessively), not craving attention from men, is like. I think that scares me, I think it excites me, I think it inspires me. It feels as though I have a glass ball in my hand and all I want to do is throw it. It doesn't make sense, to self-sabotage, but it's what I have come to know to do.

The idea of being successful, of being happy, of having to hold the responsibility of my life is almost too much for me. The idea of actually being the girl my friends and family and coworkers and even acquaintances tell me they see scares the fuck out of me. My potential, my talents, my charm, hell my looks if I REALLY had all these things that I'm told others see in me: I don't fucking know. I shut down when I think about those things being true.

And yet I am seeing how it is more painful-torture almost-to believe the opposite. I get this crazy idea sometimes, and more lately with this huge fucking (you know I'm getting into it when the only word I can think of is fucking) transition of my life at almost 30, that it could be true. I CAN have the apartment I want, the car I want, the salary I want, the job I want, the friends I want, the guy I want, the lifestyle I want, the spirituality I want, the body I want, the time for traveling I want...the other cat I need :)

I haven't had hope in a while nor the time, space, energy and support to do it in but I do now. And today is just a small yet really fucking big peek into that life and I am so damn proud my work and determination has gotten me here.

Day 4: Stop The Bleeding

Welp, that was a good day of sticking to my goals (Tuesday). 

You all often compliment me on my ability to be honest and this post is harder to write than the others. Shame weighs heavy on me right now and it's hard to keep my head up.

Wednesday went really fucking well. Writing in here and receiving an overwhelming amount of support from you all had me pushing myself and feeling good. 

Workout:
Warm-up 10 minutes
Arm day
Stairmaster (shit owns me) 5 minutes
Stretch

Food:
No overeating no under eating, less snacking

Booze:
...

I got home from therapy feeling good, exhausted, but good. I had planned to meet my friend and watch a show. No drinking just relaxing while I did laundry. Well those plans changed into his roommate and his girlfriend (who I'm intimidated by and don't really connect with) coming over and drinking. 

Before I left I grabbed a seltzer water to help deter my urge to drink. I stared at my laptop a couple of times wanting to open it and write in here. But I told myself that would be something to look forward to when I got home. 

Well that never happened. A night in turned into a night out and me missing work the next morning. Again. It's not that I didn't try though. I reached out for help, I kept drinking water, I set a time to go home...but when I put myself in such an environment (where I feel uncomfortable, when I'm tired, when there's booze) it's harder to succeed.

Yesterday after missing the morning I had no choice but to go into work with a headache so bad I couldn't keep food down (no this was not a hangover, I actually did well with moderation--better than normal). 

The looks I got or lack thereof from my manager coupled with short emails had me hanging my head in shame and the anxiety took over. I literally was unable to look anyone in the eye. Shaking in meetings trying to focus and not get sick. "You're going to get fired." Repeating in my head while trying to write.


I made it through the day and got work done. It's probably obvious but I did not go to the gym, I did not check in with anyone due to shame, frustration with myself.

But what I did do was not make my situation worse. 

I still can't believe I came into work with such a headache.
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to binge (since I'd be purging anyway, yes that's a thing for me, I know it makes no sense).
I didn't use my nausea as an excuse to not eat.
I didn't use my state to go get happy hour right after work. Oh but I tried. I took the fact that no one was able to meet as a sign and to deter the impulsive urge to go continue to hurt myself. 
I ate when I got home, I got on my sweats, did some chores and went to bed.

I'm trying to calm the waves of anxiety about being fired or put on probation for missing work again. I'm trying to keep my head up (literally) instead of down. 

On my way in this morning I started to rip myself apart. Mad that my happy playlist wasn't doing shit for my mood and that my attempts at looking at the positive weren't sticking. I said to myself something along the lines of:

Today can go two ways, you can keep punishing yourself or you can give yourself grace. And if giving yourself grace doesn't want to stick you can at least be WILLING to TRY to give yourself grace. You are NOT a bad person for missing work, for messing up again. Your demons do not define you, how you deal with them does. And today dude you're going work, you're going to work hard, you're going to not hide in shame but do the things that will stop the bleeding. 

You have a choice right now, to continue the negativity, the depression, the shame which will lead to another night like Wednesday or you can believe that this was just a bump in the road and not something that derailed you.

I can't tell you guys how many times I've picked myself up and sometimes especially lately it seems pointless as I keep falling down. There's always something going on with me, always an issue, an excuse, something that causes me to spiral and I'm sick of it. However that's how it's always going to be, but the difference is how I start to handle those things that could derail me. And I believe that how I'm acting now, the mindset, and the actions I'm taking are going to get me to a place where nights like Wednesday will just be a painful memory.

Day 1: I'm Not Happy And I Don't Remember How To Be

Okay super depressing title, and I swear I won't always be like this (friend's comment pops up in my head that there's nothing wrong with being sad) but the title of this post is what ran through my head today and hasn't left.

It was only after a workout fueled by self-hate that I was able to get to a place where I could cry. One of my oldest friends texted me after reading my post and I couldn't get through the first text without crying. Good thing I was headed to therapy. His text was full of grace, compassion, understanding-three things I have realized I've not given myself.

It's no secret that negative reinforcement is shit, and will send your kids to therapy folks but it's my default method of motivation. At least it got me to go to the gym today. I showed up angry, anxious short on time because I was finishing up deadlines at my other jobs. I hated everyone on their squeaky machines, the jerk face yoga pants Facetiming her mom right next to me, and the men grunting and dropping weights.

But I did it. I finally broke my workout dry spell.

Workout:

-20 minutes HIT
-leg day
-finished with Stair Master, stretching and blow drying the sweat in my hair so I can look like a normal person (fixing my hair did not take away from my bright red face)

During my workout I thought about this post. It's funny that when I start writing again I start thinking in blog post. I zillion quotes came up from my many Pintrest excursions (Be you own best friend, sweat is fat crying, every squat counts). I processed my anger, felt more anger, was on the verge of crying at one point, thought about what I have to do, what I didn't do, people who are mean to me, people who I want to be friends with, how much I wish I had started working out earlier, that I hadn't eaten that thing, that that woman's shoes are untied, and that dude smells. I was all over the fucking map, but my God it felt good.

It was like all the feelings I'm running from my bingeing and drinking came to the surface but didn't kill me. And on top of that I got a good workout in despite the squat racks were taken for most of the time (curses). And at the end of it, I even literally looked at myself in the mirror and said "Good job dude."

That little bit of forgiveness, of grace, of recognition felt like the hope I've been missing for a long time.

Food:

I did well today with food. I did not overeat or under eat. I made a very big effort to not eat emotionally or put myself in a place to risk a binge. I snacked a bit much when I got home which I'm working on combating with a sparkling water as I've noticed that when I snack I feel overly full after eating dinner too (imagine that) and that pushes me to purge.

Accomplishments:

• Writing in here, TWICE
• Going to the gym
• Not drinking
• Not bingeing or purging
• Going to bed on time (my terrible Instagram / Pintrest before bedtime habit allowing)
• Asking for help

The amount of support, love and reminders of that support and love I've received already is overwhelming but much needed. I have not felt this alone, even when I first moved here and to be reminded that my mind can play tricks and maybe I'm not that awful or fucked up is incredibly awesome.

The Beginning: Fat Pants Aren't Cutting It Anymore

As someone in recovery from an eating disorder I have never really had problems losing weight until now. I have been thinking about writing this for the past week and am finally saying fuck you to my embarrassment, insecurities, and other really great traits I possess and doing it.

I am finding that it's really hard (like REALLY HARD) to get back into shape and to stop my bad habits like drinking / bingeing and purging / staying up all night when I'm depressed. And welp folks I'm depressed.

Anxiety, now that's a real personal trainer. She helps me miss meals, feel like I'm going to explode if I don't get away from my desk and go to the gym at lunch, wake up with a jolt in the morning to do my yoga, constant panic running through my veins all day. But now that I'm rather numb to life I can't "cheat" on my weight loss / fitness / health goals anymore (which I mean is probably a good thing).

I have never had such a problem getting out of bed. I sleep on my lunches in my car. And either avoid my feelings with habits that are not only unhealthy but also deter me from being able to workout the next day or give me normal hunger cues. When I blog and pour out all the ugliness (or beauty for you positive humans) that is me and my vices and my thoughts on this little guy I not only get a support system, I have to deal with the shit that's in my head and causing me to continue downward.

So here we fucking go. Why the fuck am I sweating so much right now? I'm fighting urges to just delete this. This blog has been such a blessing and a burden. I feel like old me, mostly pre Portland me, was such a great writer. It's like I set the expectations way too high and now I'm over here producing Bring It On Again level writing.

The amount of times I have tried to go low carb, no dairy, no booze, no eating (not really), no bingeing / purging and failed is what is killing me. I see old Facebook memories of me this time last year when I was in the best shape of my life and I get so ashamed. What the fuck is wrong with me? How come I can't get back to her? Why isn't it sticking this time? It's so simple just don't drink, just get off your ass and go to the gym, just don't go to the Mc Donald's so unfuckingly conveneiently located down the street from my house after a night of drinking.
With every failure comes more shame, which I know in my right mind only triggers more poor behaviors. I know that the black and white of failure and success and the desire to be perfect perpetuates my poor coping skills. But my God it feels so good to tear myself apart. I live in my 'fat clothes', when I cave and drink I drink more in a way of punishing myself, and I tell myself those fateful words: I'll start tomorrow. Well tomorrow was two months ago darling.

Today is my tomorrow.

It should also be noted that I know it's not necessarily willpower entirely that I lack, it's my lifestyle as a whole. My struggle makes sense. 

• I moved out of a house that was incredibly unhealthy for me but in doing so I cut ties with people I considered family.
• I have stopped going out to the clubs and lost my identity and with that a ton of people I considered my friends, even if it was only on a surface level. Not going to clubs also means I've stopped dancing which has always been such a powerful outlet for me. 
• I'm on my own again, which while good, also gives me more of an opportunity to hide in my bad habits.
• I'm finding it incredibly hard to make friends at 29. I reach out to those who I have some connections with mostly lackluster responses leaving me to want to recluse even more. 
• Since I have not found something to replace the drinking or something as "satisfactory" as bingeing and purging I will continue to use those coping skills. I DO recognize that exercise helps me feel much better than either of those things but those other coping skills are more quick fixes versus exercise. 
• Lastly, my job underpays me so much so that I work 3 other jobs and am so exhausted from pushing myself so hard that exercise has taken a back seat. My fitness goals and a new job are equally as important as the other, but I need more support with my health. 

So the point of this, is I'm going to commit to writing every day about my food, exercise, mental challenges (or well a summary I mean this isn't a novel and my crazy little self could fill a book) as well as successes until Paradiso.

I'm not sure how I'll structure this entirely and it'll be a work in progress so bear with me.
Here's to the preface to day 1. (fuck now I really can't skip the gym after work or eat all the chocolate in my desk).

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. 

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. 

You've Got To Be Comfortable Not Knowing.

"I feel shame," I say peering at my therapist over my over-sized, tan teddy bear that I've cleverly named Teddy.

"Stay with it, tell me more," she says from the massage table, I'm at my usual spot on the couch. It's itchy against my sweaty, bare skin in this hot weather. I have Teddy on my lap, my arms around his middle and my face buried in between his ears.

"I'm ashamed that I'm not normal," I say into the back of the bear's head as I try to hide further into it. "Aw man it's happening. I don't want to feel this." And then I cry and I let go of that tightness in my chest and I tell her things that I didn't even know I was feeling. It comes naturally, authentically, honestly.

"I'm ashamed that I have to go on walks religiously to get away from feeling trapped at work. I'm ashamed that the chewing and the talking and the typing makes me freak out on people. I'm ashamed that I hide what I'm eating from my co-workers. I'm ashamed I can't seem to show up on time no matter how hard I try. I'm ashamed that I'm inattentive at meetings and that I can't keep my focus for more than 10 minutes. I'm ashamed that I go through a day working so fucking hard but when it's 5 o'clock I haven't finished a thing. I'm ashamed that I bounce my legs in meetings and distract people. I'm ashamed that I glare at people when they eat in meetings. I'm ashamed that I wear the same two pairs of shorts everyday because I feel fat in everything else. I'm ashamed that I'm so far behind in life, at 28 my life is over."

She calls me back into the room. I had left, picturing every embarrassing moment, reliving it as I talked.

"I never realized how much effort I had to put into trying to be a normal person," I say. Relief flowing over me. ignited from realization and understanding.

"You spend so much of your time working to "be okay" that you don't have much time or energy for everything else," she tells me and I nod my head in agreement and another thought catches fire.

"And then I just look lazy. I mean if anyone were to ask me what was going on or why I'm always leaving my desk or why I feel the need to workout at lunch, maybe they'd understand. But they don't. They don't get what it's like."

"Not many people have as severe attachment trauma as you do, Kris. I'm here to tell you it's hard. All you want to do is one thing, to pay attention, to focus, to do good work, to be happy but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to calm your body, to feel safe in your body," she tells me as I realize I've stopped breathing. The relief of being understood is overwhelming.

"All they see is me going on walks, taking a long lunch, I even paint my nails at work because it calms me down but if anyone saw me doing that they'd be like what the actual fuck are you doing?"

I tell my therapist about all the triggering things at work. From the guy that chews ice and stomps around my office to the woman that is like Wilson on Tool Time, popping her head in on me asking me questions before I have even turned my computer on, to the group of co-workers that seem to have nothing better to do than talk about the last restaurant they went to for a half hour right next to my desk and a member of the senior team that sends me emails reminding me of protocols and procedures.

And she says the most beautiful words, "I am going to recommend you work from home at least one day a week."

I give Teddy a squeeze and immediately get embarrassed, avoiding this weird sensation of joy.

"But they'll just think I'm skirting work again," shame envelopes me, joy is gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll have to tell them about your experiences and your diagnosis but it's just so they understand."

"So they understand that I'm disordered," I say in a low voice to my feet. Shame. That fucker.

I change the subject to, "Well what do I do now? I mean in the mean time? Like this won't solve everything, do I still need to look for a new job? A new place to live? How do I cope with all of this (I gesture my hands and make a weird face the only way I can express how crazy I feel these days)? It's unbearable. Not knowing what I should be doing, feeling so sad and uncomfortable all the time, thinking I've got the answer one minute then changing my mind the next."

"Kris, you have to be comfortable with the not knowing."
"Fuck."
"Maybe this is your year of not knowing."
Silence.
"A FUCKING YEAR?"
"A fucking year."

And so now begins my year of not knowing and somehow not giving a fuck.

You've Got To Be Comfortable Not Knowing.

"I feel shame," I say peering at my therapist over my over-sized, tan teddy bear that I've cleverly named Teddy.

"Stay with it, tell me more," she says from the massage table, I'm at my usual spot on the couch. It's itchy against my sweaty, bare skin in this hot weather. I have Teddy on my lap, my arms around his middle and my face buried in between his ears.

"I'm ashamed that I'm not normal," I say into the back of the bear's head as I try to hide further into it. "Aw man it's happening. I don't want to feel this." And then I cry and I let go of that tightness in my chest and I tell her things that I didn't even know I was feeling. It comes naturally, authentically, honestly.

"I'm ashamed that I have to go on walks religiously to get away from feeling trapped at work. I'm ashamed that the chewing and the talking and the typing makes me freak out on people. I'm ashamed that I hide what I'm eating from my co-workers. I'm ashamed I can't seem to show up on time no matter how hard I try. I'm ashamed that I'm inattentive at meetings and that I can't keep my focus for more than 10 minutes. I'm ashamed that I go through a day working so fucking hard but when it's 5 o'clock I haven't finished a thing. I'm ashamed that I bounce my legs in meetings and distract people. I'm ashamed that I glare at people when they eat in meetings. I'm ashamed that I wear the same two pairs of shorts everyday because I feel fat in everything else. I'm ashamed that I'm so far behind in life, at 28 my life is over."

She calls me back into the room. I had left, picturing every embarrassing moment, reliving it as I talked.

"I never realized how much effort I had to put into trying to be a normal person," I say. Relief flowing over me. ignited from realization and understanding.

"You spend so much of your time working to "be okay" that you don't have much time or energy for everything else," she tells me and I nod my head in agreement and another thought catches fire.

"And then I just look lazy. I mean if anyone were to ask me what was going on or why I'm always leaving my desk or why I feel the need to workout at lunch, maybe they'd understand. But they don't. They don't get what it's like."

"Not many people have as severe attachment as you do, Kris. I'm here to tell you it's hard. All you want to do is one thing, to pay attention, to focus, to do good work, to be happy but no matter how hard you try you can't seem to calm your body, to feel safe in your body," she tells me as I realize I've stopped breathing. The relief of being understood is overwhelming.

"All they see is me going on walks, taking a long lunch, I even paint my nails at work because it calms me down but if anyone saw me doing that they'd be like what the actual fuck are you doing?"

I tell my therapist about all the triggering things at work. From the guy that chews ice and stomps around my office to the woman that is like Wilson on Tool Time, popping her head in on me asking me questions before I have even turned my computer on, to the group of co-workers that seem to have nothing better to do than talk about the last restaurant they went to for a half hour right next to my desk and a member of the senior team that sends me emails reminding me of protocols and procedures.

And she says the most beautiful words, "I am going to recommend you work from home at least one day a week."

I give Teddy a squeeze and immediately get embarrassed, avoiding this weird sensation of joy.

"But they'll just think I'm skirting work again," shame envelopes me, joy is gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll have to tell them about your experiences and your diagnosis but it's just so they understand."

"So they understand that I'm disordered," I say in a low voice to my feet. Shame. That fucker.

I change the subject to, "Well what do I do now? I mean in the mean time? Like this won't solve everything, do I still need to look for a new job? A new place to live? How do I cope with all of this (I gesture my hands and make a weird face the only way I can express how crazy I feel these days)? It's unbearable. Not knowing what I should be doing, feeling so sad and uncomfortable all the time, thinking I've got the answer one minute then changing my mind the next."

"Kris, you have to be comfortable with the not knowing."
"Fuck."
"Maybe this is your year of not knowing."
Silence.
"A FUCKING YEAR?"
"A fucking year."

And so now begins my year of not knowing and somehow not giving a fuck.

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'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.

Read Me

I'm amazed as to how long I've been writing.

I was forced to start this for my COM 101 class in 2008.

I think I wrote about food--(smirks, no surprise there).

It--somehow and you know what I'm not sure what made me want to start writing so openly on here--turned into a place where I shared my exploration in recovery. It turned into my best friend. Ya best friend. This simple little blog has always been there for me to pour my heart out to. To help me understand myself. My thoughts so plainly in black and white for me to read. See I like to talk but I don't like to listen--it's interesting when you listen to yourself. What are you really saying?

What I'm getting at is tonight I want to write about my night. I want to write about the fact that I had the guts and confidence to approach my favorite band after seeing them live. That I only had two drinks. That I didn't binge or purge tonight. That I felt like myself with people I used to put a front on for.

But when I write all of this and I start crying and laughing like a psycho at the same time because I don't know what to do with all of this emotion, I realize what I'm really writing is: I feel at home. At home in Vancouver (shudders) yes but mostly I feel at home with myself.

I'm constantly looking for belonging. I'm looking for acceptance. I want love. I want to be wanted. I want to be appreciated. I want to feel like someone. And with a lot of practice, tears, anger, drinking, eating disordering (totally a thing), money, therapy, and years of work I feel at home with myself.

There is no rush, there is no desperate pining for more: more love, more attention, more acceptance, more fucking food. I am. I just fucking am.

Letting go is something I've written about in here hundreds of time, with anger. If I could fucking let go I would. How do you let go? Those words vigorously typed out here while I succumb to tears. But that's exactly what I am finally fucking doing. I am living in the moment, I am changing my perspective, I am just here to enjoy my life.

Depressed me would want to punch me right now.

Easier said than done, but easy never got me anywhere.

I write in here about some very dark things, and some powerful emotions--and happiness, security, authenticity are among those powerful emotions.

The more I work to accept who I am, remove those things that don't align with who I want to be, the easier my life is getting.

I titled this "Read Me" because I will every so often comb my posts, the ones you read the most (that Face of Bulimia one pretty much kills it) and I ache for the girl that poured her heart out to an unknown audience hoping for some kind of acceptance.

And girl, I'm here to tell you, and remind you, that you can give yourself that acceptance.

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 Fucking Hate Love Songs.

Now that I'm single and going through what I can dramatically yet honestly call heartbreak -- I fucking hate love songs.

And yes it's because they remind me of what I thought I had, and what I thought was true (still working on how to work that out -- it looks something like radical acceptance, grieving, and a stark change in perspective).

But it's also because all they talk about is being reliant on the other person. NOT HEALTHY (said in Gru's voice from Despicable Me--watched that too many times lately--no, there's no such thing). Like I can't live without you. Fucking romanticizing codependency.

No, no, no.

And as I go through some of my playlists now I'm doing a major overhaul because sadly but not surprisingly most of the songs that used to make me happy make me sick. They remind me of my twisted, distorted view that I was supposed to throw myself into love and my relationship to be happy. My existence revolved around my other half, my Mr., my man.

GAH NO.

I can't say it enough. Seeing what happened to me when he left my life--how depressed, and seemingly incapable I was freaks me the fuck out. That just one person had such a hold on me. That I thought I was being a great girlfriend by being so dedicated (well yes loyalty and commitment is important) but just that I threw myself into the relationship with such abandon that I abandoned myself.

I mean it makes sense. I came here in early recovery, no friends, no car, no stability but him. So I can't blame myself but I can learn from, er--myself.

They always say you can't love anyone else until you love yourself. And that is so true. I couldn't find peace within me, I couldn't give myself grace, I couldn't give myself credit--I NEEDED him (and others) to tell me all of these things.

And now I'm learning how to do that. I think I bitched about not seeing how this was a good thing a while back, but now...I see the light ha no but really it's fucking great. Like I talked about before. I'm finally learning how to take care of myself emotionally and well physically (since we're on that subject--yay for eating) which I never learned before.

By doing the following:

-positive self talk (it feels really fake and stupid sometimes but my goodness it makes my days easier)
-learning how to ground when I start to spin in anxiety
-asking myself what I need (am I scared? how do I comfort that? am I lonely? let's call someone)
-distraction (not avoidance)
-and that's about it for now

I'm not sure if my posts are getting repetitive. I just have never seen life in this way and I am so damn excited about it (scared, scared should be put in there too). I've been posting a shitton of selfies and I'm proud of me statuses because I've never given myself credit for my looks or my efforts before and I'm in the honeymoon? stages of all these beautiful realizations. And also you folks are pretty damn nice and boost my spirits (hey I'm not that self-sufficient yet).

So while being so intertwined with someone you can't live without them (Twilight?) sounds romantic and what most of the media seems to tell us is what we should be searching for, the idea of being independent, confident and reliant on no one but myself is so sexy to me. Powerful.

So screw you Disney (but seriously I love your work---I just think it's fucked), and love songs, and Twilight. I'm out to be my own Prince Charming.

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.

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.