I Fucked Up

I have tried writing this all afternoon.
But I don't know how to begin.
So bear with me.

I drank  this weekend. I drank the entire weekend. I was all set not to. I almost had my 90 days. And then the anxiety came over me and I knew I would be obsessed with wanting to drink until I got that drink.

Now while my friends supported my sobriety I'm a grown woman and they aren't going to tell me no.

I'm finding it hard to have a balance of saying excuses while taking responsibility for my actions.

I fucked up. And I got fucked up on the last day, so yesterday, of Sasquatch.

I had been pretty good about pacing myself and being aware, happy that I was not wasted, so I could enjoy the music and the atmosphere and not have a fat hangover. But then something in me got off balance and I found myself at around 5 PM walking to go get a disgusting Margarita beer thing in a can.

As I walked alone across the lawn I was hoping someone would see through me and stop me. I didn't want to do it but I couldn't not.

I got my drink and walked back to my friends who were waiting for me. We had to jet back to pack up the tent so we could come back in time to see the last bit of artists.

I walked up to them hiding my shame. I couldn't not drink even for one day. We were supposed to be hurrying and here I am with a mancan in my hand of 8% fruity shit. I tried to act like I was fine. Totally normal. I mean look around us, everyone's drunk or on something right? I'm just fitting in.

We got back to the tent which was soaked and the girls started cleaning up. I of course hadn't packed so I was holding everyone up. And as I tried to hurry I seemed to be going slower. The alcohol was already effecting me and I could feel the angry, bitter, alcoholic in myself coming out.

Every suggestion and action I tried to do was wrong. So I'd try again. And again. And nothing was right. I began to get bitter so I opened up another beer.

I knew what I was doing and I wanted to do it. I felt like the outsider and wanted to put a bigger gap between them and me. I was the girl with issues. The one who was out of place. The one that couldn't stop doing her makeup when she really should be racing to go see a show. The one who needed just one more shot. The one who wanted to do what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it. And they don't have my anxiety issues, my food / alcohol addiction issues and I wanted to punish them for it by proving them right. I am fucked up. I am a loser. I am a failure. Look how good I am at failing.

Meanwhile keep in mind this is all in my head none of this has been said aloud by them. As I drank more and tried to help more I felt more and more guilty. More hate. More anger. More disgust with myself. So I just drank more.

I tried to break the bad vibe in the air by apologizing but I wasn't sure what I had done. All I could feel was animosity and like the outsider. Once again, like always, I didn't fit in and I couldn't do it right.

I went to Alt J with one of the two girls and I could sense the distance from her. She was onto me and my alcoholic ways. So I just talked to strangers made new friends. Ah see? This is why we drink! So we can be 'normal' make people laugh 'be happy'. I don't need my friend to have fun I have booze.

So then we split up so I could see Steve Aoki and I wanted to make more friends. Feel this high. This high of belonging. Of having fun. This is what I'm supposed to do at these festivals right? Make new friends, have crazy fucked up stories, LIVE man LIVE! So I got another beer.

Talked to a Canadian dude who leaves for Europe in two days while finishing the brew. Now I'm living. Now I'm having fun. I knew I just needed a drink or two that's all. Why did I think anything was wrong?

I ran into the venue and danced and danced and danced. I asked to join strangers dance circles. Everyone was welcoming but with an edge of "this girl is fucked up."

Then I got the idea to meet my own friends again. Be the good drunk. The one that listens and goes where she's told when she's told to. Then they'd like me.

If you've never been to The Gorge or seen pictures then you should do that. But long story short it gets very packed at the mainstage. I attempted to find my friends in hundreds / thousands? of people when drunk in the dark. I had no luck. So I said fuck it! More booze! I'll go see Rusko.

Thank God they cut off everyone at 10ish and I got no more beer.

The rest gets blurry.

I have the memory of finding my friends. Them not seeming happy with me.

Insisting I pay for Taco Bell and eating an entire Crunch Wrap Supreme and taco. Then the rest of the bagels and peanut butter in the back of the car while drunk dialing everyone telling them that 'everyone hates me.' Repeatedly. Mind you this is at 11:30 PM and most people work tomorrow.

I then went on to tell ChaCha to breakup with me because I'm such a fuck up and I'm not worth it. All of these issues. All of these needs I have. I'm sick of them I'm sick of me, he should be too. He deserves better.

I woke up this morning with a Steve Aoki tank I don't remember buying and peanut butter in my hair and a sickening feeling of regret.

I've apologized to my friend and she accepted it but she's not forgotten what I did or how I acted. I have a heavy amount of shame and hate for myself right now. I can't go back and change what happened. I can't get the images of me fucking up and fucking up more out of my head. I can't shake this feeling of regret.

What I can do is do my best to move on. I've come clean with my sponsor and today is day one. I've listened to some AA speakers and done my best to eat on my meal plan. I don't know what it's going to take for me to start listening to everyone else but  my disorder but I feel like this is a big push.

If I want to move forward I can't keep looking back.
If I want to be happier I can't keep thinking negatively.

I fucked up. Really fucked up. And it needed to happen for me to appreciate the gift of recovery that I'm being offered. My tail will be between my legs for a while and I'll be awkward around my friends for a bit but I can't let this shame, hate and anger keep putting me in this cycle of behaviors.

I don't know if this makes any sense but like always I appreciate you for reading, reaching out to me, being honest to me and never giving up on me.

Intensive Outpatient : FAT

This fucking sucks. I can't be positive right now. I can't take it. I can't stop thinking about it. I can't make the thoughts go away. I can't feel better.

My entire body is tense. My jaw is permanently clenched.

I hate it. I hate my body. I hate it so much.

I can't look at it.

I can't stop thinking about my weight gain.

I am so ashamed.

I am so uncomfortable.

I have worked SO HARD for the past 11 years to NOT look this way.

And now I've failed.

I have no control over anything.

I have been holding this in for three weeks now and trying SO  FUCKING HARD to make myself feel better and tell myself it's ok.

But it's not ok. I am not supposed to weight this much. My pants are not supposed to be tight. I am not supposed to have this fat on my stomach. I cannot be a size 32. I cannot weigh 150. I can't I just can't. I'm breaking. I want my disorder back. I want to be thin. I don't like the new me. I can't take it. I can't get it out of my head. Every movement. Every piece of clothing I have. Every time I see my relfection. I'm reminded of my failure. I can't do this.

I don't want to eat. I don't want this weight on me. I want to be thin again.

I'm so confused. I know that Ed is bad. I know that it's not the answer but this sucks. It's SO much harder than I thought it would be and I'm so lost. I'm so ashamed and angry.

I can't get the thoughts out of my head. It is impossible for me right now to believe that size doesn't matter. That weight doesn't matter. That I am still attractive. That I am still ok.

Nothing fits anymore, none of my pants except my fattest of the fat pants. Those were my comfort and now they are my norm.

I tried shopping today for new clothes and making it exciting but it was not helpful. I just kept going up in sizes. HOW DID I GAIN SO MUCH WEIGHT? How did I get so big? How come other girls can fit into size 4 and I can't?

I really can't find peace right now. I really just want to be happy and feel better. I don't how to feel better. I can't live in sweats, I can't hide from everything but that's all I want to do. I want to go to bed and never leave.

I hate that I worked so hard in treatment and still am and that this is how I feel. When does it get easier? When do I get to say that "I know what you're going through and it took me time to get there but you'll get there."? WHEN DO I GET THERE?

I don't know what else to do. I'm bawling right now. Disgusting, snot dripping, mascara running, awkward noises crying.It's helping?

I have just tried everything it seems. And it's just hard to be me right now I guess.

And that sounds so petty, there are much worse things in life but right now at this point in my recovery this is where I'm at and this is the worst thing.

My worst fears, of being the size I was in high school, have come true. And I hate it. I hated that girl. I hated how confused she was. How lonely she was. How angry she was and ever since I left fucking Bothell High School I've never wanted to go back to that girl. And now I am that size and I am that confused angry sad girl.

Everything I've worked for is gone. And no matter what I do, whether I'm 120 or 220 it doesn't seem like I'll be happy.

I see how disordered all of this is but right now that's where I'm at.

The only thing that I know isn't disordered is the fact that I'm now fat. The scale shows it and so do my clothes and that's the worst part. There's no minipulation, there's facts that I am  fat and my worst fears have come true.

I'm sorry I've got nothing else but this right now. Tomorrow is another day and God has His plan for me. It's just hard to stay positive right now.

Fuck You Itty Bitty Bikini

I'm so sick of fighting with myself.

I'm sick of the up and down and the "you're ok" "no you're not" "you're fat" "you do need to eat" "no you don't"...

My legs are sore from working out.

My feet hurt from standing and walking and running so much—but I can't bare to sit down because it makes me feel fat. I've convinced myself that I must stand to burn more calories.

I've been doing 45 minutes or more of cardio everyday for two weeks almost, but yesterday I took the entire day off because I was weak. I lost sight of my goal, which is to lose 5 pounds immediately.

I've given into my urges to eat bites of a cookie. To have an extra protein bar to try to not be so hungry later, but that never works, I'm always hungry.

As I sat on the bus today I felt my fat stick over the side of my shorts. I felt the elastic squeeze me tighter—that sensation wasn't there before. I am reminded of my failure.

My bra doesn’t fit right because I have boobs again—I missed them.

I run up the stairs to my studio and feel my ass jiggle. Another cue. I clench my teeth and begin to condemn myself for not trying hard enough for not being better at losing weight.

I am weak for giving up. I am weak for not being able to go meals without eating. For not wanting to throw up after one. For not saying no to cookies at work.

I hate others that are thin that eat whatever they want with no abandon. Skinny girls that walk around in their cute outfits drinking, not caring about the calories.

I try on countless outfits only to end up in my underwear with clothes littered around me. I am faced with just my reflection. I'm in my Victoria's Secret matching set. I look nothing like those models.

I look away to avoid crying.

After dinner and giving into eating more than I should I have to pack for a river floating trip.

I get everything done except my bikini. I put my game face on and grab the one I'm always comfortable in. The one with the bottoms that sometimes sag and make me feel ok. I pull them on, there is no sag, they are tight and I'm ballooning out of every inch of it. And no I'm not being sarcastic. They don't fit anymore and it looks like I'm trying to wear a fucking thong rather than bottoms.

I try on another pair, my cellulite is there for all to see. My imperfections standing loud and proud. Mocking me.

I try on one more and they are a little better. But as my eyes trace my thighs that touch and my dimpled skin and my curves I feel them coming, the tears, the hot white anger and the shame.
There's nowhere for me to go, to hide, to make things better, this here and now is who I am and I can't fucking stand it.

I'm torn between breaking down and ripping my body to shreds. Screaming, throwing, fighting, destroying whatever I can. Then I cry. I pull the bottoms off and hide in a blanket. Me and my pathetic self.

Did you know that I haven't worn a bathing suit all summer? Well now you do. Not once. You know what's sad to me is that I work out all the fucking time and I'm still not in good enough shape to be seen almost naked. And I'll go through this entire summer hiding. When will I be good enough?

And it upsets me that I feel this way. I really wish I didn't. I envy guys that can just pull on baggy board shorts and go. For girls it's not easy.  I wish I could remember what I just realized recently. I truly understand what they say about media's influence on us.

The only life I really know outside my own is what's on tv or what people chose to tell me. So all I've seen about norms with sex, relationships, success, body image has been learned through television. But when I go to the beach and see girls that are heavier than me pulling off bathing suits with more confidence than me, it puts me at ease. I see the truth I guess. But I don't ever remember this. Plus if the movie stars can look perfect then why not me?

Fuckers.

Shame V Pride

So.
Anyone notice how I start a lot of my posts with "so," SO annoying.
But for serious.

So, I haven't been ok, but really good at pretending I am.
At least I'm falling for it.

I'm in a glass case of emotion.

And it fucking sucks a fatty.

One minute I'm Frosted Flakes grrreat and the next I'm literally on the floor trying to physically get rid of the shame I feel.

 He Did This Just For You by Max Lucado is a  bit of literature I cannot get enough of. I reread his words and learn something new from them, like it's the first time I'm reading it.

Pride and Shame is a portion of the writing that comes to my mind tonight. "Pride boasts. Shame hides. Pride seeks to be seen. Shame seeks to be avoided."

These sister emotions have been having a fucking rager in me this past month.

When I thought I had a control on my drinking and my eating, Pride was everywhere. I thought I was "FIXED." Welp, it's safe to say I was wrong.

Shame is who I'm kickin it with right now. She sucks. She can't stand who she is, she can't stand that she can't stop feeling this way, she's embarrassed that she keeps fucking up even though she doesn't want to, she's sick of herself and her excuses...so she wants to punish herself-and she does.

She tortures her mind with negativity, that's all consuming but puts on a smile on the outside.

Today, I was invited to lunch after church with the sweetest, funniest lady and her friend. I went and got the bright idea to get a fatty fried fish sandwich, french fries and key lime cheesecake knowing all the while that I was going to go home and throw it up.

God gave me signs to stop. Both the women I was with talked about how a heavy meal wouldn't sit well with the heat, they got salads and soup. I could have opted for that. The waitress said they didn't have my initial burger choice, therefore trying to deter me from eating something I knew I shouldn't.
The woman I was with offered to drive me to work so I could stay later and enjoy their company but then I couldn't go home and throw up.

I CHOSE TO DO WHAT I DID. I WANTED TO...even though I didn't.

So I proceeded with the ritual of being ok when I'm really fucking not. I asked the right questions, was charming at the table and politely excused myself until I couldn't stand the toxin in my body anymore.

I got home burst through the door and did my best to get rid of the meal she so kindly bought me. Hating myself more and more with every heave.

I looked at the clock, time to go to work, the pretending starts over again.

But it didn't have to stay.

God once again reached out to me and this time I took it. I confided in my coworker, and moreover my friend. She let me vent, she gave me someone else to reach out to.

No sooner did I leave her did I get two texts from two other major support systems...reminding they care about me even if I don't.

I chose to be honest with them with where I'm at. Relief flooded me.

Lastly, my friend who I adore and admire, called me about 15 minutes ago. We talked about some good things and not so good things. The main thing was that we talked. I didn't hide, shame didn't get the best of me.

I may not always, but I'm getting the hang of it, this caring about myself thing.

While I'm powerless over my addictions I am the only one who can chose to get help. If I don't ask for help, if I am not willing to take the steps, however small, towards a better life I cannot expect and will not get one.

Tomorrow I go to the Moore Center in Bellevue. I really don't want to but so far what I've wanted to do hasn't worked out.

XOX

Groundhog Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She asks for a shot. 

Something’s got to work.

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

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

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

It gets dark.

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

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

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

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

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

And well you know what happens next.

Fuck You Fries

I couldn't stop staring at this. Anyone realize what's wrong here? Anyone?

If you said: The fries have barely been touched. 

YOU ARE CORRECT!

Those fries belonged to my brother, Steven.

Dad, Steven and I were at Blue Moon Burger for Fathers' Day.

I hadn't seen either one of them in way too long.

And here I sit staring at fried potatoes.

I had to consciously drag my mind away from how much I wanted to eat those fries, and my bewilderment as to why Steven hadn't devoured them yet.

The kid couldn't stop talking about the amazing work he'd just finished doing at Whipple Observatory in Arizona with a professor. His burger sat, with a perfect bite taken out of it, lonely, unnoticed as all of his attention went to trying to explain to me different physics terms, facts, theories and other super intelligent thingys.

Poor burger. If I wouldn't throw you up and hate myself for eating your delicious, fattening, greasy goodness I'd have never let you sit there for so long.

The third time I had to say "Wait. What?" to Steven I realized just how much attention I was giving his food, that I was so inside my own head and my obsession and my twisted thinking that I was ignoring my little brother talking about one of the coolest experiences he's ever had. That's fucking stupid that I do that. And yet I do. That burger and fries was like an open bar to an alcoholic. Or dangling drugs in front of an addict.

I had to laugh at myself though. Realizing that this really is a disease, a physical, mental and emotional disease. Which led me to realize how different I am. And not just because of my disease but just how different of a person I am from my brother.

And at first I was ashamed.

(please keep in mind my wheels are turning and working this through as I try to understand spectro-something theories and hold conversations with my family haha)

Steven talked so passionately, excitedly about his work at the observatory. He showed me pictures to point out what he was talking about. He cared whether or not I got what he was talking about. It made me admire him even more than I already do.

So then my mind wandered to: What have I done lately? Oh ya I wrote about tie-dye tutu tee shirts. And my new zit cream is so not working, but at least my eyelashes look pretty today. And I um get my hair done on Monday. COOL LIFE.

I made the comment that I was too stupid to get what was being talked about. And as soon as the words left my lips something inside me said "no you're not." And the fact that, on my own that came up as a red flag is huge improvement. That instead of continuing to put myself down I stood up for me (it's  fun fighting with yourself).

Then, by the grace of God, I began to embrace and make fun of the differences between myself and my brother.

The burgers and fries were their splurge. Mine was having ketchup and a couple fries. And Parmesan cheese on my chicken.

And that's ok. Because that's who I am. That's where I am at in life.

It's ok that when Steven said helium I immediately thought of sucking the air out of balloons and talking in funny voices rather than it as an element.

That when I heard the words "Super Nova" I didn't think of an exploding star but rather Zenon Girl of the 21st Century.

And it's even kind of cool that I started jotting down notes in my phone so I could remember what I wanted to blog about later.

Because while I am not a scientist, I am a writer.

There are a lot of things I'm not, but that makes me who I am. And I'm learning to stop fighting that and embracing it. So kids, and you should try this too, here are five things I really like about myself.

1. I like my witty sarcasm
2. I like the shape of my lips
3. I like that I will dance at any time and anywhere 
4. I like that I wear a ring on each finger
5. I like that I have a blog (and if I may add to that-I like that you're reading it)

Now those are not that exciting, cool and really quite random but they help make me who I am. And who I am is slowly becoming ok and I'm slowly becoming ok with who I am.

For your viewing pleasure:

Punishment

Punishment. It sucks. Makes you feel small, makes you THINK ("Kristin LEIGH! go over in that corner and think about what you did wrong!" Ugh...THANKS MOM.) makes you put your doggone tail between your legs (har har get it doggone and tail because of dogs?), it makes you regret what you've done.

Ok you get it. It sucks.

I realized ... while thinking of WHO ELSE but myself and jamming around my room to Paper Diamond. <iframe width="420" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7tsYE57UnqE" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen>iframe>

... oh um sidetracked...I realized that...

I've been punishing myself most of my life. Long story short: I never liked me. Which means I didn't like my life. Which in turn means I felt that my actions were wrong, that I was committing crimes, I didn't accept myself because I wasn't good enough. AND WHAT DO BAD PEOPLE GET?

PUNISHMENT!

I would over exercise to hurt my bad body for eating too much, for not being thin enough, for having that old dude check me out in shorts.
I would overeat because I wanted to stuff my fat face with what it deserved.
I would throw it up because I wanted to hurt my body for what it had done, how dare it! How dare it eat and ruin my starvation regimen?!
I would talk down to myself because I deserved it. What a pathetic stupid self centered person I was...and I thought I deserved to have confidence? To have friends? Guys like me? A chance at a better job? Who the fuck was I kidding?
I would go for guys who didn't give me the time of day, they fed my negativity, gave me a reason to hold onto my disease. "See look, I told you, you're not hot enough, funny enough, sexy enough, charming enough for him ... he doesn't like you for a good reason ... "

As a result of this I have let the disease take over most of my life and led me to believe I don't get to go out on a "school night" I have to work out. I don't look good enough to go shopping. I can't eat that brownie...etc

I crave attention and approval from everyone and everything because it's something I wont give myself.
I'm too busy punishing me.

WELL NOT ANY DAMN MORE. It's so hard to let go, to tell that bitch in my head to shut up. But with my Higher Power's help I'm doing it.

Nothing is in my hands anymore. It's in His. I'm asking him to take over and not the disease. I'm asking for guidance, to think outside of myself, to no longer cater to this person that's resided inside me for so long.

The Serenity Prayer never gets old.

Thanks for reading, night.

Kris.