Merry Krismas To Me : Seven Months Later

I wrote this post about seven months ago.
And it breaks my heart because I remember that girl.
So desperately wanting to be free.
Wanting a holiday without addiction, disease, turmoil and torture.
I tried. I know I did my best.
And my best got me about three days in a row. Which bless me, was amazing.
I hated my parents. I never saw how we could ever exist in the same room together.
It wasn't possible. Not with me, my disease and them--it was too crowded.

I was at ground zero then.

Days later I had plans with my parents to go shopping at the Seahawks team store. I would get a new hat. We would go on The Seattle Great Wheel. I would have the happy Christmas I dreamed of each year.

That never happened.

I was confined to my bed because I could not stop throwing up. I was a slave to my disease. I had binged and purged for meals and days straight. Like a zombie I went to the store just a block from my house, spent hundreds on food, ate as much as I could and got rid of it. And then did it again. Slept. Repeat.

But then my body began to shut down. I had no sense of time of day, hunger, self.

I remember lifting the chips to my mouth and so desperately not wanting to. Wishing with all of my might that I could just stop. Leaning over the fridge in my puke-splattered sweats, oily hair, shaking not wanting anything in there and seeing my hands reach for something new.

I could not stop.
Until my body did stop.

My body said I can't do this anymore the day we were supposed to have Krismas in Seattle.

I remember so vividly opening the door for my parents. All of my energy was drained. I didn't even try to hide the dishes, the wrappers, the food or my ghostly appearance.

My mom covered her mouth when she saw me. Shock of what her daughter had become. My dad put down the coupons Mom had cut for me back home. I wouldn't be needing those.

The fear in my parents' eyes is indescribable. The shame I felt was overridden by exhaustion. I felt as though I was done. I hadn't actually eaten in days and my stomach was eroded by acid.

My parents stayed with me for hours.

My dad brought me Diet Sprite at my request (which really doesn't help anything but ED was still so loud as I lay there lifeless). I don't remember their time there as hours. It's a blur. There were crackers and broth. And there was my mom.

I had let them down. I was so scared. How did I get here again? Where did I go?

As I write this I remember how dark my room was, how sick I felt, how ashamed I was.
And by the grace of the universe I began to keep food down.
And my parents finally had to leave.

My mom said she thought I wasn't going to wake up.

Once again I had, my disease had, ruined another family event.

Days later my friends had an intervention with me and I wrote these words in my blog on Christmas Eve:

"I'm looking forward to working my ass off to get a better life. One where these thoughts aren't constantly breaking up my day.

I'm looking forward to a life where going to work won't be a struggle. And I will have enough nutrition in my body to stay focused and not forget things.

I'm looking forward to WANTING to eat which currently I don't have. It's all or nothing at the moment.

I'm looking forward to wanting to cook.

I'm looking forward to a new life. The life I was always meant to have.

Merry Krismas kids."

And I write to you now sobbing and snotting and with total fucking pride that what I wanted and what I looked forward to is exactly what I'm doing.

And recovery is more than wanting to eat, and quieted thoughts.

It's wanting to live. It's wanting to be me. It's having the clarity to carry on a conversation. It's being honest. It's being able to breathe. It's having the peace of mind to think of others. To live in the moment. To remember. To show up for people. To live.

The World Ended Last Night

I thought my world ended last night.
I thought I couldn't bear to go on another second in this body, in this way.

But I woke up this morning dehydrated, swollen and exhausted.

Looks like my world didn't end.

Last night I had my monthly breakdown.
But this one scared me more than the others.
I didn't think it was possible to hate myself more than I did the day before but that's what happened.

I was having a wonderful week. The promises of AA and early sobriety started to come true. I was feeling free and happy. I was also following my meal plan. Having a treat if I wanted to / when I wanted to. I wasn't drinking. I wasn't forcing myself to workout. It felt like I was starting to have a life.

Then 'reality' hit me and hit me hard.

I just casually went to try on pants and after 15 pairs not a one fit. A couple were too big but mostly they were too small, one size large wouldn't even go over my calf for goodness sakes. With every pair I would get this false hope that maybe this size 11 / 13 would prove Ed wrong. Maybe this one will fit and make me feel better. It didn't happen.

My mind began to race. Fuck. What the fuck have I been doing eating what I want? Not restricting? Not working out? I had to see the ultimate determinate. My weight.

I went to my gym and weighed myself and I saw the blue florescent light scream 152 lbs at me.

This is the most I've weighed in my entire life.

I lost it.

I walked home crying and as soon as I hit the door I sobbed, heaved, snotted, screamed at nothing. I couldn't stop scraping at my legs and arms and stomach saying "get off of me, get off of me."

Everything I've been told has been a lie. Treatment AA my friends etc. I was consistently gaining weight and I'd much rather have a size 6 slip off of me than a 13 stay at my calves. How could I have believed them? What the fuck have I done to myself? I can't go anywhere. I can't get rid of this fat immediately. What the fuck am I going to do?

I was scared I would actually hurt myself so I got my sponsor to come over.
She told me to pray but I couldn't move onto my knees because I couldn't stand my thighs touching one another.

She eventually got me calm down. I know that not eating won't REALLY help but I don't know what will. That is a hopeless and scary feeling.

After about an hour of me freaking out into exhaustion, she left and I felt hopeful, calm.
I talked to ChaCha and told him I was fine-which I thought I was.

I went to get Powerade and then the next thing I know I'm eating anything and everything in my house and what I bought at the store.
And you know the rest.

I look at the clock as I clean up. It's 12:30 AM.

I am going to be late for work tomorrow. I'm going to feel like shit. Fuck I did it again. Fuck me. Seriously fuck me. I'm so fucking done. I complain about how I don't want to gain anymore weight and what do I do? I eat.

I'm so so so so sick of this cycle. And you've heard me say that and I'm sick of saying it. But since it's a cycle I have to break it. I have to do something different. However, doing something different is easier than said (obvi or else I would have done it now).

I've tried changing my diet, writing signs on my cabinets, drinking, not drinking, working out everyday, not working out everyday, putting a bathing suit in my kitchen, treatment centers, checking in after every meal...etc you name it. I've tried it.

But everything I've tried have all been tangible things. Human things. The one I haven't really tried is something that I can't see - a power greater than myself.

I've tried going to church and believing what I heard but that didn't work.

In AA I'm learning that I can make my own conception of a God. I need to give him my struggles and my urges because I know I'm powerless over them. And supposedly He isn't.

Phew that's a lot. Thanks for reading. Happy Hump Day!

Purging My Feelings

I planned a binge last night.
I planned two actually.
And I did them and that was it.
Then I called out sick to work even though we're really busy.
I slept until 11:30.

Then I woke up and reality hit.
I am upset with myself.
I hate that I have no control over my actions and that I keep putting this stupid disease before everything else.
I cancel hangouts with friends, I don't go to work, I don't go to AA, I don't spend as much time with ChaCha because I want to stuff my face and throw up.
It's disgusting. It's shameful and I hate myself for it.

I keep feeding the disease though (pun intended).
I keep feeling like shit about myself and keep it in so I don't annoy others.
I realized this morning that I don't want to tell anyone I'm struggling (anyone in my 'real life' opposed to treatment life). I want to tell them I'm fine. That everything is ok. That I'm working hard and it's paying off when in reality I'm scared, I'm sad and I'm lonely.
I am afraid people will leave me and get as sick of me as I am of myself if they knew the real me, so I lie.

So when I lie I keep it all in. Which is why I had a breakdown yesterday in the North parking lot of Century Link Field. I was so upset all of a sudden I couldn't get on a bus to go to treatment. I couldn't let myself go there though so I went to the gym and numbed out for as long as my body would let me.

Then I got home ate an entire box of brownie mix and threw up right before ChaCha came over.
I didn't mention it to him because I feel like I always have such issues and I'm so annoyed with myself that he'll get sick of me too.

So I held in the hate and shame longer. I met with my sponsor and casually told her what was going on as I ordered a donut from the coffee shop. I was starting the binge again.

As we read the Big Book I would tune out thinking of what I would eat next and how good it would feel to release it all.

I left her and went straight to the store.
Bought my food.
Did my thing.
And woke up at 11:30 this morning and had to face everything I've been avoiding since 1:30 yesterday. It all hit me at once. And I had to get it out.

I found out that because of my absences that I'm going to get in trouble at work. Rightfully so. But this makes me hate myself more. And as I try to eat a normal lunch Ed is already telling me to screw it up. I'm just a fuck up. After yesterday I don't deserve to eat. I should be at the gym. I really can't do this. And I really should just keep hurting myself.

I told my mom I had a hard time and she  went on to tell me how I shouldn't be posting this online. And I'm most likely hurting my chances at getting a new job by skipping work and having this for the world to read and judge.

And well she's right. But I took it as you're a failure. She reiterated all of the things I already know. My fears. What a disappointment I am. How I'm so slave to this disease. So now I feel worse. Plain and simple.

I just want someone to listen. To tell me I'm going to be ok. Because right now it really doesn't feel like it.

So I'm writing I'm getting it all out. I am feeling the stomach turning hate and sadness that I've been avoiding. I'm letting the tears sting my eyes and my throat go dry. I'm feeling the uncomfortablility that is being me where I'm at right now.

But I'm trying. I'm still fighting by letting this out. By finally being honest. By eating on my meal plan as much as I really don't want to. I'm trying. And that's all I can keep doing because I know how much it sucks when I don't.

Thank you all for your support and for reading.
You have NO idea how much it means to me.

Love,

Kris

And then ChaCha calls. And he tells me he won't get sick of me but if I don't try to help myself then that's what will do it. I need to believe that my friends and my family want to help but they can't help me if I'm not honest. If I don't try. He always has tough love for me. I'm lucky to have him.

Stoned

I feel like I'm high.
Like not weed high-the only drug high I've felt and when that happens I think my feet don't work-stupid-but like light, airy, easy breezy, sand in my toes and the sun on  my skin high.
Like that feeling that comes when every light is green on the way home from work, an old friend calls you out of the blue and it's sunny on a Friday.
That kind of high.

But in reality, it's Thursday, raining and not much has changed from last week's melt down to now. Except EVERYTHING.

I had become obsessed with losing weight again.
Was constantly condemning my body, working out and restricting.
Working on my little plan by my big self.
This only put me deeper into my disorder.

What got me here is you people who coaxed my authentic voice out.
Who told me that I am beautiful. That I am not fat. That I am just how I'm supposed to be. That I can do this. That Ed is a bitch.

I can't thank you enough for reaching out when I really didn't want help.
Or actually WE didn't.
WE wanted to be in that space. We wanted to be miserable that way all I could see was us two.

But you people wouldn't let us.

While I still honestly want to smash a mirror / cry when I see my thighs and ass there's something that tells me that having great legs isn't what it's all about. That if I stay at this weight that my life isn't over. It's just beginning...hahahaha had to.

If I keep working to accept that this is where I'm supposed to be I can stop worrying. I can stop obsessing. I can start to live.

How I've gotten here is also by taking action against these feelings. Before I was just letting them happen. And well I guess I needed that to happen to get here.

Now I'm actually talking to Ed, out loud (like a crazy) and telling him he's wrong or to leave me alone.

Now I understand what I use Ed for and how to start to not need him anymore.

My therapist explained it to me like this: there's a lot of distance between me and my feelings / emotions. I created that space with distractions like binging and purging, overeating, obsessing over not eating, obsessing over eating, working out, drinking, thinking about drinking, being hungover as fuck. Now, that I'm not doing those things as much there's still that space. I 've begun to fill it with being busy (not hard when you work full time, do treatment, AA and have a second job oh and friends) so as soon as I stop and have a second where I'm not distracted it all hits me at once.

This would make sense why my breakdowns were in the AM and on my one day off.

So now the goal is to keep telling Ed to shove it.
As well as saying my feelings aloud when I feel them.

I got to practice it as soon as I left treatment yesterday: "Dear Asian lady, I felt very pissed off and upset and annoyed when you almost hit me with your car while I was riding my bike on the crosswalk and I had the right of way."

So now the hope is that this won't come back to haunt me when I have a moment to myself.

I also can't thank you enough for calling me pretty, saying you like what I look like that I even look better. I am trying to accept that you wouldn't say this unless you meant it.  Keep the compliments comin' ONLY if you mean them. Otherwise you make Ed right-that you just feel sorry for me.

I haven't advertised this as much out of shame for trying to get sober once before and breaking it-but I'm back in AA. I have a sponsor and we are starting the steps this Sunday. I have 31 days today, which I didn't even realize because it made me sad as to how little there were at first.

Also, I've been praying. More on that later.

Lastly, on Saturday I'm going clothes shopping (shorts and bras specifically) with a friend from program. This is my first time admitting that I need bigger sizes and I'm doing something about it.

Thank you everyone for your support and for reading!