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.

Slice

Energy surges through my heart
Slicing it open
My stomach fills with fear
I'm bare
Air dances in my rib cage
Fear of the possibility of failure
Fear of the possibility of success
Dare I look down
Dare I face it
Face me
This naked vulnerable small scared
Blink open
I see my heart working
Surreal it's happening right now life
I'm so aware
Heart beats my faith has no choice but to leap
No
I want to close off
Put myself back together
But the air is refreshing
I can breathe
Is this what living feels like?

Not Normal

This is incredibly hard to write about as it feels that is should be shameful.

People don't really share when they do 'not normal' things and I'm constantly doing that here but this 'not normal' thing is not normal even for me.

I had a panicish attack this past Monday slash freak out.

My deep frustration and anger came out during my therapy session with only the slightest push from my therapist.

"What if you try and feel your anger."

Heart pounds
Jaw clenches
Chest heaves
Not here-not now
Leave me be

Emotion strobe lighting
Fast, violent, unrelenting
It claws from within me
My Resistance is caving

Involuntary shaking
I need something to calm me
There's nothing to tame me

Don't let it go
I can't do this
Mustn't lose control
There it goes
Here I go

Fingers find flesh
Grasping, sinking, scraping
Release with every tear
Pain calms me

I see me
I'm not me
Who is that shaking there?

Suddenly my breath finds me
Shuddering in and out
My heart slows
I catch up with myself

What was that?
It mustn't
It can't be
Was that me?

I was told by my therapist about two baby monkeys. One was put in a cage with a loving mother, the other given nothing. The one with the loving mother acted normally. The other slowly became frustrated. It did not know how to show its frustration so it began to pull out its hair, hit itself and act irrationally.

In this case, I am the one without the loving mother, without an outlet.

I'm slowly learning to love myself the way I needed so long ago.
I'm slowly learning how to show my anger the way I needed to so long ago.

You're The Best Valentine

This was a Valentine I had to write to my body.




Being in a defensive protective mood I of course defaulted to sarcasm at first when writing my card.

"You're the best Valentine"

The following slowly became more sincere.

It reads:

You help me stand tall.
And sometimes run away from it all.
You haven't given up on me yet.
Even though I didn't like you when we first met.
I love it when we dance.
And leave our weight up to chance.
I love the curve of our hips and the color of our eyes.
What I'll like next is a surprise.
And I cannot lie.
Having a boobs now helps me get by.
If I stay true, true to you.
Loving you, loving you is what I'd rather do.

I wrote it in like 3 minutes so let me dissect this amazing literary work for you not so sophisticated selves out there (yes that's sarcasm).

You help me stand tall-I am tall. I hated it for years. HATED it so much I would avoid going to family things and parties because I couldn't stand people commenting on how big I was. Now my height is something I own.

And sometimes run away from it all.-Literally run, exercise, walk get away from my feelings, my hate, my world.

You haven't given up on me yet.-I am not dead and my body has been through hell with me.

Even though I didn't like you when we first met.-again ever since I could remember having a body and like really being aware that I had one I hated myself for not being petite like the rest of the girls.

I love it when we dance.-EDM self explanatory.

And leave our weight up to chance.-Weight and numbers are a huge trigger for me, it's only recently that I've let go of giving the scale any power over my happiness or actions.

I love the curve of our hips and the color of our eyes.-you get it.

What I'll like next is a surprise.-it's interesting what I find I like on myself. What part of me that I'm like dayum alright gurl.

And I cannot lie.
Having a boobs now helps me get by.-Lord my life would have been so much easier through high school and college if I had these. I love them and in fact do not want to lose weight because I'll lose them again. They are just sexy, fun and feminine (..duh) and something I NEVER had until recently. It was a big object of envy for me in my anorexic years.

If I stay true, true to you.
Loving you, loving you is what I'd rather do.-If I listen to my authentic self then I know how awesome, powerful and resilient my body truly is. It's mine and no one elses and I'm blessed with one that works just fine.

Thank You Readers - The Face of Bulimia

I wrote this post: http://wilhelmyk.blogspot.com/2013/09/the-face-of-bulimia.html in desperation to purge all of ED's secrets out of me. For once in my life I didn't look my best, I probably am at my worst. Showing you all what I can look like after purging (when it's a really bad long binge) was very scary and yet empowering.

I was just looking at my page views and since I posted that ironically on my mom's birthday of last year it's gotten 1,423 views. I'm not sure what those readers or clicks actually depict but I hope they helped comfort some who suffer, scare those who are dabbling and teach those from the outside.

I'm still rather like what the fuck did I just do about having me out there like that because it is so ugly and it is so shameful but at the same time I'm really happy I did it. You all are reading it for a reason and I hope that reason is for recovery or understanding.

I can't do this without your support. Thank you!

Banana And A Cheese Stick

Today's post is brought to you by a banana and a cheese stick.
It will not string...it is just cheese.
This is my night snack-which I still see as pointless. But I'm eating it.

Today was hard. Like every day.
Yes I was happy yesterday but well that was then.
Overall I'm less depressed but I'm in a mood right now.

I really want to stress that I may be hopeful one hour and then the next I'm not. If I write a happy post that does not mean everything is going to be fine from there on out. That does not mean I am curred. That just means that there in that moment I was happy.

I am scared that you all will read that I'm happy or feeling better and then another day I will not feel that way and you will be confused. You will ask questions. You will not understand.

Most of my life I have not understood myself or been understood by others.
And that brings me back to the dark, empty place that I felt when I was 14 that made me turn to anorexia.

But if I am not ok, if I am not happy, if I am not positive that does not make me bad. It is not bad to feel. Emotions are not to be judged they just are. Whatever I am feeling I am feeling for a reason, it is genuine it is true, it is real.

Moving on.

Today was a hard day. For whatever fucking reason they have had us eat more meat on the bone or that has visible fat in it than ever. I mean I had flank steak tonight (where I had to chew swallow or spit out the fat), steak tacos last night (which were dank and I picked them), fried chicken breast that had veins, fat, other shit that made me gag, and ribs for lunch.

Again I get ashamed because I do not think you will understand why this isn't the greatest thing ever. I am not used to seeing food like this without all the fat out veins out etc. so it's hard.

But today was much harder for one of my peers.

I looked across the table at "Lillian" and saw her small structure enveloped by her oversized sweater.

I saw her pick up each piece, bite, chew, swallow and go onto the next one. No being aware she was doing so.

Her bright blue eyes fixated on her plate. A tear halfway down her cheek. The energy coming from her was strong, something was wrong, something was going on in her head, she was not with us.

She finished her meal without a word or a glance from her setting.

We had to check in with the therapists about the meal and she finally looks at us and I'm panged with hurt. I can see it in her, I feel for her, my stomach churns and tears come to my eyes.

She just says "it's amazing how some food can trigger memories of trauma."

Then I got mad. So fucking mad. I hate ED. I hate what it has made us. I hate how it has belittled our lives. I hate that we have to go to treatment. I hate that people helped put us here. I hate how this was not in my control. I hate that this had to happen to us.

Lillian is one of the kindest souls I have ever met. She's genuine. She has the warmest heart. She is a good person who deserves good things and for over 30 years she has had to battle this disease that's almost killed her. It is not fair.

I didn't deserve this to happen. It's not fair that it has happened. That my life for so long has been put on hold, held back, interrupted by this. And I am so fucking proud that all of us are there and are fighting.

I don't know if the significance of today or how strongly I feel about this is coming through but I hope it is.

We have had the odds against us and we are fighting a disease that is created by and in our minds...it's twisted and it's deadly. And my heart breaks for every girl at that table because I know that hurt, that compulsion, that confusion, that hate and I am just fucking pissed that we have it and we have to deal with it.

But more so I guess I am proud I am so fucking proud of all of us for being there and for fighting and for doing something that's this intrusive, invasive and scary. And we do it every day, every hour and every minute.

Craisins & Blueberry Yogurt

Craisins and blueberry yogurt.
That's what success looks like.
That's my big accomplishment for the hour.
Not eating some weird combination of foods. Not not eating it. Not eating it and a pizza, cookies, two bags of Sun Chips (cheddar for the win.)

Just eating my protein and my fruit like a boss.
Like food doesn't control me.
Like it doesn't have a power over me.
Like it can't make me cry.
Like it won't make me fat.
Like it won't make me try on six outfits then crawl into bed crying.
Like I won't have to go to the gym for another hour when I went this morning.

These are just some of the things food has made me do---or rather my eating disorder.

But not today and kind of not yesterday and slightly not the day before that.

What I'm getting at is that I'm getting better.
What does better mean?

Fuck.

Better means fighting that cunning, powerful, malicious voice in my head.
Better means being full and being ok with that.
Better means talking about the stuff I really don't want to with my therapist.
Better means speaking up for myself in group.
Better means calling my ED out on it's shit right then and there.

The first three weeks were rough. I can't explain it. Every moment, every question, action, intention, conversation--sentence even, meal, food, movement is analyzed.

I was caught naked in a spotlight. Everything disordered that I intentionally did and had no idea I was doing was brought to my attention.

I picture ED's skeleton hands clasped so tightly around my heart that when you pry the fingers off one by one there is an imprint that is permanent. There is no oxygen to fill it. My heart won't beat. It had been suffocated for so long it's not sure how to function.

And it's painful as it tries to figure out how to work. I gasp for air feeling silly, ashamed that I don't know which way is up and what what is in or out.

And I fumble, I choke, I gasp but I'm trying.

And lately it's like I've caught my breath.

Oh yes that's it. That's it exactly! I have found my breath so I can finally live. I can function. I can talk. I can do. I can see. I can be me.

So far--if summarizing is even possible--I have learned:

-That I do not want to give food power over me anymore. It's just food. It's fuel when you get right down to it. I need it, I can enjoy it and I need not be afraid of it.

-I am a jealous person because I can't / won't see my attributes as meaningful, as good enough. Once I give myself a break and see what I have to offer the world, what my attributes are, I will be much less angry and stressed.

-I put myself down because at one point you probably did. All of those times from elementary, junior high and high school where I was pranked, verbally abused and cut down...I learned to deal with that by putting myself down before you could. It's stuck with me and now I cut to the chase before you can put me down so it won't hurt as much. So I don't take compliments, I make fun of my mistakes, I make fun of my successes...etc make sense?

-I apologize for having a feeling. For so long my cries for help and my confusion was met with hostility in my home. From my mom "You're so selfish. Stop talking about yourself. GET IT THROUGH YOUR HEAD." Or silence from my father. And anger from myself. "Why are you this way? What's wrong with you?" So now when I start to feel anything but happiness I shut it down. I laugh. I actually tell myself to shut up. That didn't make for good therapy sessions in the beginning...

-I am starting to see who I am...she's coming out naturally. I get overwhelmed with excitement when I see my successes now. When I talk at the table and don't think twice about it. I am funny. I am witty. I am kind. I am caring. I am determined.

Today was a great day...minus tears and trials.

And to end it all I was given a ticket to Above & Beyond by USC for my diplomatic response to the ticket fiasco.
And I also got some financial help so I can continue to pay rent--almost ;)

Treatment Day 4: Tough But Good

Don't want to write.

I feel like I have so much to do that I don't want to take the time to do this and I resent it.

I think that'll change by the end of this post.

I am beginning to resent treatment-just a litttttttttttle bit. Not like last time. I know it's where I need to be and want to be and take advantage of my time there BUT...it's like I get home at 8 PM and I am so tired I don't want to do anything. 

Our brains are working so hard it's exhausting. You won't understand unless you've been in my spot but think of it like how tired you were after the SATs.

I feel really disconnected from my friends. I'm usually gone on weekends and no one can meet at 8 for happy hour.

I miss them. 

It makes me feel lonley. I can't summarize what's happening in a text but I know I need to talk to them about treatment etc And actually more importantly I need to stay connected with them. I never want to have to play catch up with my bests. I need to remember what the outside world is like, I need them to laugh with, to be myself with--not treatment me--but me me. 

So today was tough. 

But today was the kind of tough that I really learned from. Not pushing me too far.

My anxiety is paralyzing to me. I get so caught up with what I have to do, what I didn't do, what I should have done that it makes me mean and lash out--therefore causing guilt--therefore causing anxiety--and repeat.

I went into my therapy appointment joking and being sarcastic as always and moments later I'm pissed. I don't know what triggered me but I was mad--pretty much my default emotion--and then I lashed out at the therapist.

Then I felt stupid for being mean to this woman who's only trying to help.

So I put up my wall. Started cracking jokes.

Tried to move on.

She wouldn't let me.

She called me on my shit.

Something like "you have the tendency to not want to feel and when you do you immediately suppress it. Therefore pushing it down further making you more anxious, more irritable, more likely to get more angry the next time..."

OH.

Oh my God--she's right!

Classic therapy case but I never saw it until today.

So she asked me what would it be like to feel? And I said I don't fucking know. And she said it was ok that in this space and in this moment I can just let go. So I did.

I cried but I was laughing while crying because I felt so ridiculous.

The words started coming it was the thoughts I'd always had, the concerns, the anger, the vulnerability, the joy--all of it.

It felt so good.

So now I'm a crier folks.

I cried five times today. Mostly of joy and feeling blessed that I am in treatment and I'm really fucking doing it this time.

Oh and we ate burgers and apple pie then had to get weighed. NOT COOL. But they let me listen to my music for a bit to calm down. I actually would have had a much harder time doing this in the past (like crying, bingeing, not being able to sit down, pacing...etc) but I honestly forgot about it happening until right now.

I am learning to speak up in group. I mean if everyone wants to sit there in silence that's great for them but I'm going to get my money's worth.

I am pushing myself with food. Trying a new one every meal. Pushing against my food habits and disorders. 

I am reaching out to the girls in treatment.

I'm journaling now!

I'm really trying guys and it's hard but I know it's worth it.

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.

IAMAFUCKINGBALLOONANIMAL

I'm supposed to journal about my hunger.

I say I'm supposed to like it wasn't my idea - BECAUSE IT WAS!

I said it at some strange point when I was in a fine and dandy mood. Recovery? Yea--I can do that. No problem.

Now I'm just white knuckling not using behaviors (over exercising or bingeing). I'm making myself write this before leaving work because Ed was all "oh do it when you're home." As soon as we get home we go to the kitchen and eat the first thing we see.

I feel like a fucking balloon animal. My safest leggings are tight. Yes I know they are leggings you smart ass...but they are worse or feel worse. I didn't want to wear them but I had NOTHING else to put on this fat ass.

So I'm uncomfortable. Every movement is a reminder of my insecurity and I get more and more annoyed with myself.

On top of that I'm insane because I'm on birth control and prozac but when you throw up 3/7 days of the week you don't really get the full effect of the medicine. AND I'm on my period kind of. So my body is all sorts of fucked up.

I just want to feel better now. And I'm not. My anxiety is growing by the minute and writing about it is not helping. It's magnifying it. I'm so aware of what I'm feeling physically and emotionally and I can't go to what I usually do to make myself feel better sooooooooooooo...what the fuck do I do?

My heart is racing. I'm sucking in while writing. Clenching my legs. My teeth are  locked. I want to explode. I want to feel better. I want to be thin. Then all this would go away. I want to run away from myself. I don't want to be this anymore. I don't want this disease. I don't want to be an alcoholic. I want to be normal. I want to not have treatment four days  a week and meetings in between just to fucking function.

I'm getting madder as I write.

I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in 4 hours so it's probably real hunger. But sometimes it's just emotional. It feels like real hunger. God this disease is everywhere. I fucking hate it. I'm going to go hit something. Fuck I can't the gym is taken up right now.

I don't know what to do.

I'm a fat emotional wreck and I hate it this me everything. a,sdmfl;k;df jfd;lkd;lkf;dskfgp FUCK.

Like Anyone is Going To Read This On a Friday Night

That was me a year ago. I was too skinny, just out of jail (seriously), miserable and confused.

Today was supposed to be a celebration.

To mark how far I've come.

How successful I am now.

How changed, enlightened, happy, healthy…whatever…I am.

I'm writing to you from the tangled blankets of my bed. My eyes sting every time they close because they are dry—that's what happens when you throw up three times in three hours.

 I am disgusted with myself.

I have more support than I've ever had.

IOP at the Moore Center which I go to four days a week.

A full time job with understanding lead and manager.

A sponsor in AA and the fellowship.

My wonderful boyfriend.

My gracious friends.

My now understanding parents.

And yet here I am. Eyes half open. Hands shaking. My stomach nauseated. My throat raw.

Some celebration.

I see the negative working in my head. It wants to bash me, make me hurt. Just give in…you've already fucked up your meal plan…fuck up your sobriety. Let everyone down. Who cares? I mean really? They'll just be disappointed for a while but you've put them there before. They've heard it before. Just do it again.

This all started when I stopped drinking.

The compulsion to overeat was uncomfortable. I would find my mind drifting to what I could binge off of "for the last time." I began to mourn my eating disorder. I never understood that until now.

So I did it. I looked everyone in the eye and told them I was ok as my destructive plans worked in my head. I binged and purged last night. It hurt. It was not enjoyable.

However, I woke up rejuvenated. Happier than I'd been all week. Shit. This eating disorder DOES serve me a purpose.

4 hours later I'm eating my lunch an hour early…then going into my snack. All my food gone before lunch even started.

I slowly began to binge after that. Grabbing snacks, cookies, breads, cakes no one stopping me. The rush of doing it in front of people. The hate for myself swimming in my head with each bite.

I was so full I could barely move—this girl was not going to treatment. It was family night too. So I bailed on my recovery team, my parents and myself for food. Luckily work got so busy that I ended up having to stay late.

So I had to sit with all this food in me. It was so uncomfortable.

I called my AA sponsor for peace. She gave it to me and yet I could hear the thoughts going. "Maybe this one last combination of food…cake batter and cookie dough…maybe that'll do it…"

But I fought it. I fought it for an hour until I found myself at QFC with the cookies in hand.

So I came home and did what I do best. I ate until I couldn't stand up and barely had to force myself to vomit. Then I did it until I was shaking and stomach acid was stinging my throat.

"There. That's it." I thought. And yet I forgot, like I do every time, that that "last time" isn't my last time. I found myself searching the cupboards for another concoction that'd wake me up give me that jolt of whatever it is I needed. Nothing came out so I just ate things I knew I could throw up easily.

I know this is graphic but well, I'm being honest. This is the only place I am honest. Because I don't have to look at any of you…I don't tell my best friends this or my treatment friends…the shame is too great. But here I can tell the black and white of my screen and release. Anyway…

So I did it. And then I did it again. And now I can't stop shaking.

I'm supposed to go to Lucky in 2 hours. I'm dehydrated, exhausted and well fucked up. A drink sounds good right now. Escape from my escape.

 But does it really sound that good? What did I just learn? That bingeing and purging didn't help but rather hurt so what will my other addiction do? Help then hurt.

I can't tell if I've come as far as I thought, there's that negativity again.

So here goes my gratitude list:

·         I'm so grateful for ChaCha he listens to me and doesn't blame me for any of my faults.

·         I'm grateful I'm not in jail right now

·         I'm grateful for finding glitter nail polish and flower clips at Walgreens

·         I'm grateful that my mom and I talk pleasantly to one another every day

·         I'm grateful that I get to dress like a slutty rainbow tonight and it's ok

·         I'm grateful that I have gigantic boobs to show off tonight

·         I'm grateful for Gatorade because my electrolytes are so fucked up that I could have a heart attack if I don't drink the stuff

·         I'm grateful for the legs I hate that allow me to dance all night long

·         I'm grateful for Pretty Lights because a year ago at Ultra they helped change my life and how I felt about shows.

Thanks for reading. 

I Had A Bad Day

I binged and purged at every meal today.

I should have known when I went for a truffle before breakfast that I was in a disordered mindset.

I had a rough night on Valentine's Day—or let's say Ed did.

I had stayed home from work that day because I didn't feel well, my throat was super sore, I couldn't breathe through my nose and had an awful headache. Ed and I fought all day to not binge and to not go to the gym. I was successful. I ate on my meal plan and took care of myself. Then ChaCha came over to celebrate San Valentin.

I had done nothing that day but be in sweats and work. This was my highlight of the day and I was going to act like I wasn't sick and that Ed didn't exist—only thing is he fucking does.

I shaved my legs, washed my hair, did my makeup nicely and even put on matching underwear. This was Chacha's first Valentine's Day in the US with a girlfriend so I wanted it to be special and cheesy. 

Now to keep being honest with you all I have to embarrass myself a lot a bit right now. I am not sexy, I do not know how to get the mood going or how to make sex happen like it does in the movies...

My hope was that he wouldn't be able to resist me and we'd be at it as soon as he walked in the door—no such thing happened. Ed took offense and started talking louder than ChaCha.

It's hard to pay attention when you have two conversations going at once—one in your head and one with the person in front of you. All I could hear was how ugly I was, how unsexy and unworthy I was even to the guy I'm dating. I felt like such a loser. 

I went upstairs and weighed myself 150 lbs. WHAT THE FUCK. I had been working out every day. I had been restricting here and there in hopes it'll help and I gained 5 pounds?! I was at my high school weight. My shameful embarrassing weight. No wonder he didn't want anything to do with me.

I tried keeping a smile on but it just got harder as we went to the market (as Chacha calls it—I call it Fred Meyer). He picked out yummy foods to make that Ed had no intention of eating. I went along with it and got champagne to calm my nerves. He said it wasn't a good idea. I said I want it. So I got it.

We get home and I weigh myself again. Same damn number. I see ChaCha add oil to the pan, cream cheese to the salmon and crackers…my anxiety is through the roof. I sip the champagne pissed at myself that I broke my sobriety. Pissed that I do not weigh less. Pissed that I'm not a sexy girlfriend. Pissed that I'm a failure.

With a big breath I told Chacha what was going on. He of course doesn't see any of it. He says I am sexy, I don't have to try. He says this is healthy food and it's ok to eat a bit of it. He makes sense but Ed doesn’t believe him. Ed is strong right now.

I calm down a bit and don't even get drunk and don’t over or under eat which is good. We go upstairs and go to bed.

I wake up this morning feeling even worse. Still trying to not cough up a lung in front of ChaCha I see him off at 6 am. Write into work that I can't work today. My head was killing me. So what do I do?

I sleep. Overeat. Throw up. Sleep. Overeat. Throw up. Sleep. Cancel going to treatment. Overeat. Throw up. Journal.

I am so ashamed. I have not done anything like this since before I was in treatment. I think it's because I'm in my parents' house. I think it's because my mind is so fucking twisted. It's all or nothing. I can't have any junk food or I must have it all. If I don't work out I should just eat because it's a wasted day. I'm so upset with myself because I literally did NOTHING but eat and throw up today. I am sitting here in my puke splattered clothes writing this to you at 7:38 PM. I'm exhausted. I'm sad. I feel like I'm in such debt now. How do I make up for all the calories I ate today? It will require more restricting more working out…but that's what got me here in the first place. But food, is not something I want to see ever again. I hurt more than I already did. I've wasted a gorgeous day. I should have just forced myself into work.

But I can't get down on myself, that negative place gets me nowhere. But I can't find a positive in today except for the fact that I got to wake up to Chacha, it was sunny, and I'm asking for help now. Better late than never.

God I even have to remake all the cookies I was going to bring in for Valentine's Day to work since I ate ¾ of them.

This is probably the most important part of this post: I realized that I rely too heavily on this blog because I feel alone. I do not have  the guts to call up a friend without this disorder and say I want to eat. I hate myself. I am fat. I'm sick of saying it so they must be sick of hearing it. Ed tells me that people don’t care. People at work don’t like me at all. People in treatment don't want to hear what I have to say. My boyfriend is going to get bored of me. If I do bring this up to my friends I just get ashamed and brush over it-I'm fine I'm fine forget I said anything. I mean what am I supposed to say? What are they supposed to say? This is the only place I have to let it all out—I mean that and my therapist—but she has to listen to me. So I thank you for reading, I thank you for reminding me I'm a little less alone.

And this is so embarrassing but if you really wouldn't mind me calling / texting / messaging you when I'm struggling please write me because I need to start reaching out when I need help instead of being so embarrassed to do so before it's too late.

I'm going to drink water. Tomorrow is a new day.

Friday VS Saturday Night

Saturday night:

Wet toenails that I just painted with charmed, which is like my favorite pumpkin orange—rich, vibrant and yet wintery.

I have ponytail hair, which means I went to the gym came home didn't shower, didn't like my hair in a ponytail but it looks like shit down.

I'm considering falling asleep in my chair while Avicii is playing me Superlove.

The music is incredibly contradictory to my mood.

It's 8:59 PM and I could have fallen asleep an hour ago.

Friday night:

I had just worked a full day, leaving the house at 7 AM. Then rushing to treatment at 3 PM. Meeting my mom outside treatment for Family group at 4 PM. Be there for two hours until 6 PM, where we talk about things—the abuse came up again. Go to 6:05 PM and my mom is crying, in pain, asking me about the abuse. The images of those nights flash in my head, I hug myself as though trying to protect me from my thoughts, I don't want to talk about it.

So of course—I talk about it.

She says she's sorry. She says she never knew. She says a lot of things I've needed to hear—but not now. I just can't handle this now.

My nonstop day continues with dinner with her—on the outside you'd see a mother and a daughter having Subway together—you'd have no idea that she just asked me how many times, where, when, how…

Race off to my bus to make it home in time to meet my brother—he beats me.

My anxiety is through the roof. I need to drink. I can't eat in front of my brother so the other option of relief is the drink. I regrettably divulge a 13-year-secret to him.

We talk, drink two. Then I get my sexy on. I'm feeling good.

We taxi it to The Crocodile to see GRiZ with my friends and ChaCha.

I'm buzzed. I like it. I'm in control but my anxiety from earlier is gone.

I feel relief. I'm having fun. I’m surrounded by people and music I love.

I see friends from high school—I'm no longer that insecure girl. I no longer think they hate me. I'm just me. It's nice.

The music starts. I dance. I want more. So I have it. Still pacing myself. Still in control.

I see others who aren't. Others who are messes before 11 PM. Others who are getting kicked out. I thank God I'm not them.

We dance. We laugh. We live.

So cheesy but that's exactly what we did. I've been on a high from it ever since.

A high from the music, from the positive vibes—not from the disorder or from the drink, it's from something organic.

It's weird to contrast my two nights. I was up til 2:30 last night eating  normal portion of Pirates Booty and watching Wedding Crashers with my brother.

Tonight I went to an AA meeting and will be sound asleep at 2:30.

But I still have the same high. I feel like the world is much more simple. I feel hope. I feel like things are easy right now. I know what to do and I want to do it.

After last night realizing that I drank because of my anxiety scares me. Alcoholism is real thing. I can't take one disorder and trade it for another. So it's time to get sober, I know—it's just I'm not sure how.

Party ... Animal ?

So I stayed sober on Saturday when I went out dancing.

And the only way I was able to do it was by:

·         My therapist telling me she might have to recommend me for an outpatient treatment program for alcohol. Seriously? I said. Seriously. She said.

·         My therapist telling me I have to go to at least one AA meeting and get a paper signed proving I was there

·         My therapist telling me straight up that alcohol isn't good for me and is only making my life harder

·         My therapist telling me that I've "plateaued" in recovery

·         Going to an AA meeting (plus leaving my phone at home so I would focus and taking notes)

·         My friends asking me what I learned from the meeting

·         My friends telling me how proud they are of me

·         My friends asking if it was triggering for me to see them drink

·         My friends asking how I'm doing throughout the night

·         The fact that I tried on my favorite pair of shorts from the summer and they fit me like fucking Seran Wrap

·         The fact that I can't dance as ridiculously as I do with a drink in my hand

·         The fact that I clearly remember the binge purge session I had the last time I went out

·          The fact that I figured out that I'm the only one that can do this for myself

Last night I learned that I'm not as easygoing as I was in college around drunks. I think this is mostly due to the fact that those "drunks" were my friends or people I had to see the next day in class. Now, getting butt bumped by bitches in too short dresses trying to dance, stomped on my girls who don't know how to wear heels and grabbed at by guys on the wall…just doesn't float my boat. I found myself checking my phone at 11:30 PM. Party…animal?

I'm so much more aware when I'm not drunk.

Duh you think.

But it's making more sense why I feel pushed to escape when I go out and dance. First of all it takes Ed out of my head (until I get too drunk and emotional…ugh). When I'm not as aware he can't talk to me and tell me the girl behind me is super skinny, he doesn't make me ask how does that girl's thighs not touch? How come she can be thin and have big boobs? Why am I stuck in this frumpy body that isn't getting attention from any guys? What have I done wrong? I haven't worked out hard enough, looked hot enough, danced well enough…

That's what was going through my head last night. It wasn't very fun. But there were moments of good. Of escapism that was organic, just me and the music and my friends. And those are the moments I have to live for now because the other way just doesn't work for me.

So I walked in a little late (what's new) to the AA meeting and noticed I was one of two girls. And by girl I mean the other woman there had her foot propped up (old woman in AA tall tale sign) sweats under her skirt and Sorel snow boots on.

I sat in a chair that went sideways under my weight and creaked—moved over one. Opened up my heart covered journal to take notes—only to see the last time I wrote in it was when I was in church on December 18, 2011 I called the post "God is love."

As the guys began to talk, I began writing—with my neon pink pen.

"What is the worst that could happen if I follow direction rather than do what I want to do?"

"What else can you do while you're sober that you can't while you're drinking?"

"In order for this to work you have to keep going to meetings."

"God works for good even if 'good' doesn’t look the way you think it should."

"You've already had your fun, you've already drank til you black out, til you get sick, til you do things you regret…"

"It's a good feeling to wake up clean and sober and see what life has in store for me that day."

"Don't throw everything you've worked for away because things don't go your way."

"I'm just constantly trying to feel another feeling, another high…"

And my favorite:

"I've been using alcohol as a crutch…but I'm not disabled."

I feel that these things can be related to life in many different ways, situations and struggles. Whatever it is that's pulling you down, that you can't seem to kick, to get over, to stop … just try this once to change it to make it different. I did it last night and I woke up this morning very happy that I did.

                                                                                                                                                                                           

Isolating.

So I wrote this two days ago, but I got kicked out of my blog and fucking google doesn't have a place where you just contact them to say "I am not computer savvy, help me."

I finally figured out how to sign back into this sucker after two days of bitching and resisting to throw my computer. (google kept telling me I didn't have an account-bitch-I have an account).

ANYWAY: Pretend it's two days ago on the bus:

Just left treatment.

I wish the woman next to me wasn't chewing gum.

Oh shit she can probably read this.

FOCUS KRIS.FOCUS.

So I haven't written because I didn't want to think. I'm sick of thinking. Of summarizing how I'm doing. Are you sick of it too?

Here's to hoping you're not…

I'm not surprised I've gone back inside my shell.

Back when I would tell my mom I was struggling she would yell at me. She didn't understand the disease or how I saw what I saw or why I did what I did—I learned to not mention what was happening—it was safer for all of us.

In high school if I would complain about things my friends would talk behind my back.  (granted I was very sick then and probably talked about it in a different way and amount)

But my therapist brought up today that now isn't then. That what if my friends really do care? I'm not giving them the chance to by automatically shutting them out. What would happen if I did reach out to my support team?

And to answer that basically I'm just scared of being annoying. Being that person in your group you try to get rid of. That everyone talks about, "Oh Kris is doing her thing again…" "God does she ever think of anyone but herself?" So I'm going to go out on a limb and reach out when I'm struggling, not just with food stuff but life stuff. Work has been shit this week and my anxiety is through the roof. My therapist thinks that's because I have been keeping it inside.

Hmm what else? I have been drinking. I said I didn't want to but I am. Guys it's hard not to. I haven't drank in excess or anything so that's good—but now my therapist is having me get papers signed at AA meetings. Damn.

I'm actually relieved. I've been wanting to go to them but my anxiety freezes me and keeps me at home—not sure why—but now that I have to go, I well have to go. I can't do this alone. I think there's shame in that. It's just one more thing I need help with.

I've been very negative lately. My perspective is pessimistic. It's no fun. And it's not helping. So here I am again writing out the positive things from today:

1.       When I went to go throw away my banana peel a squirrel jumped out of the garbage can scaring the hell out of me—I then laughed alone for what felt like forever

2.       I'm going to shower tonight

3.       I'm going to see my best friends tonight to talk about my first ever bachelorette party (…not for me obviously)

4.       ChaCha said "Justin Fever" today instead of Bieber

5.       My socks aren't soggy

6.       I made a list of things I can do instead of bingeing and it totals 89 things

7.       I fought Ed and didn't workout today

8.       ChaCha just told me he's taking me to dinner on Valentines' Day (aw)

9.       I discovered Kid President

10.   I discovered Griz's new album Mad Liberation

I'm not allowed to wear jeans for a month (therapist's goal for me since my anxiety goes through the roof when I wear them)

That's it kids. <3 o:p="">

I Didn't Mean To Throw Up

Most people hate puking.
When they hear I'm a bulimic, most people's reaction is "I don't know how you do that to yourself, I hate throwing up."
There are two different kinds of throwing up, selfinduced and uh not.
The past two days I've been throwing up because I'm sick AND I FUCKING HATE IT.
It doesn't feel the same when I do it. When I'm sick like this I have aches and chills and shakes. I throw up stomach acid and that taste stays in my mouth forever.
So just to clear that up, that well at least for me, I don't feel like that when I throw up. It's not pleasant by any means, but it's not that unpleasant.
Also since I'm sick I have NO appetite. This is weird coming from someone who is hungry 1 hour after a full breakfast.
But I'm so proud of myself for not turning to food to fix everything, which is what I usually do. Each everything until I feel better...no it doesn't make sense but neither does this disease.
So I've been stuck at home two days and since I have a studio I pretty much live in my kitchen and I haven't binged or purged (on purpose) at all.
GO ME!
Also, I just made blueberry muffins for ChaCha because even though I'm pukey (yes that's a word) and sick and disgusting he still wants to come over and hang out. I'm thinking of introducing him to Anchor Man or Bridesmaids.
The texture of pudding and cheesecake and batter etc are the easiest to binge off of for me, so this was a challenge. I started licking the spoon, had one spoonful then another and then said WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
And now I'm here,writing instead.

I also wanted to say that I've continued to learn things from my birthday fiasco weekend.

I DO have people that care about me.

This morning I actually went into work hoping I was ok and ended up getting sick at 8.
My coworker (there were only like two there at that hour) drove me home thank God and I told her I owed her big time and she said something that stuck with me "Kris, it's no big deal, that's what friends do."

And while all of my friends weren't able to make it to that one event, that one day, that doesn't mean I don't have any.

I have a tendency to zoom in on one moment, magnatize it and worry the shit out of it. It's an annoying habit.

But I've had other friends text and ask if they can do anything. Ask me how I'm doing. I've had friend who've read my last blog post and written me telling me how they saw me, instead of my one-sided Ed view.

A friend told me he had a crush on me but didn't bother because I had guys lined up. I didn't see my freshman year of college like that. That's when bulimia started and that's when I was so into the disease that life was just a formality. It was nice to step back and see the big picture and remember all elements of my past, not just the bad.

Ok I'm going to go put on deoterant and lotion and act like I showered for Chacha...haha I'm so gross.

Good night!

I Learned Some Shit Today

I've had some big realizations today.

If you didn't read last night's post you probably should—but then again why wouldn't you have? I'm so damn interesting how could you not?

But seriously.

On Friday we had a speaker come to the center, she was a bulimic, abused alcohol and was molested and raped when she was younger. I have many things in common with her.

At the end of the session we were allowed to ask questions, and I wanted to know whether or not she got over the abuse and rape.

Did she still hate men? Did she cringe at hugs? Did she have a relationship still with those who took advantage of her? Does it get better?

Her answer made my heart sink and my eyes fill with tears. No—no she doesn't have a real relationship with her abusers and no—it hasn't gotten better.

Today I brought this up at group therapy. And I heard somethings and learned somethings that I think I have been trying to figure out for years.

I have been trying to have a relationship with the abuser ever since it happened because I felt it was my fault—I wanted to make everything ok again—I wanted to act like it had never happened—so that's what I've tried to do.

Only it did happen—it wasn't ok—and it will never fully be ok again.

The person that I want him to be, he never will, because he never was.

All this time I've been trying to be good enough for him and his attention, friendship etc and I've never met those expectations because it's never going to happen.

This lead me to open up about my birthday 'party' snowball fight.

It is incredibly scary for me to take a chance and have confidence. I went out on a limb that people would want to show up for me, want to hang out with me, want to do this for and with me. It took a lot of courage to say, I'm going to think about making me happy today, not everyone else. And what happened? No one showed up.

At first I took this to mean, again, I'm not good enough, there's something wrong with me. How come I care so damn much about other people and they can't return the same common courtesy? Well that's because I'm not other people, I am unique, I am gracious, caring and selfless—not everyone is that way.

It took a very good friend of mine to help me realize that tonight and I'm so blessed that she did.

You see no one showing up reminded me of high school, junior high—where I was so confused and lost and didn't know how to be seen, to be liked, to be "ok." All I knew for sure was that I was attractive and if I got skinny I got some kind of approval that I wasn't getting at school or at home. And thus the eating disorder took hold.

And now I'm in a place where I don't have my looks, I'm not skinny, I can't have my disorder so who am I?

I used to base all my decisions on being thin. What I ate, how I spent my time, where I went, what I wore, etc all towards my 'value' of being skinny and attractive.

Now, I'm not supposed to do that—shit I CAN'T do that anymore—and I don't know how to find my value and my worth.  It's hard and it's confusing.

Living for God sounds nice, I'm not sure what that means, but I need to eat and to be healthy in both mind and body in order to serve him. So I'm going to try to do just that.

And you know something else? Every single girl that I invited from treatment had the time and the heart to call / text me that they couldn't come as well as ask me how it was the next day. Same with my best friends. So that just shows me who my real friends are, and honestly I have quite a few of them.

I feel so much better.

Sigh.

Goodnight and God bless.

Just Really Fucking Annoyed.

I've got to get somethings out of my mind or else I'm going to go out of my mind.

First is the shame and hate I have towards myself.

After my big woo I'm not drinking resolution-I drank on Friday.

I had gone 11 days without the stuff and thought one couldn't hurt but nope.

Before going dancing with my friends I said I'm ok, I only want two drinks.
I had four, my friends noticed, I brushed their questions off.

I drank more because my friend was getting more attention than me.

It's just not fair and so confusing, why am I not good enough?

She's already booed up. She's naturally pretty. Everyone likes her. I admire her. She's younger than me. A great dancer. Eats what she wants and is skinny. My heart dropped when the bartender brought me close and asked "so your friend, she taken?" thinking he was going to compliment me. Usually dancing is my thing, but nope, this girl one-uped me. I was just watching her in awe as she had only one drink, wondering how she does it. How she is so confident with herself. Wondering what she does that makes her so desirable and what I'm doing wrong.

I binged and purged when I got home that night. Telling my friends that I was ok.

The next morning, Saturday, I woke up ashamed and depressed and angry.

I binged and purged all morning until 2 when I was supposed to leave for my 25th birthday party.

To celebrate being a quarter of a century I wanted to go to the gigantic snowball fight at Seattle Center. What a unique thing to do!

I invited 40 people on facebook-20 said they were going-4 people showed up. 

Do you have any idea how stupid I still feel? How embarrassed?

Of the 20 about 8 were nice enough to say I'm sorry I can't come. Totally fine with me, I understand! But when it's getting late into the day and no one has shown up or called and my boyfriend and his friend ask me "where are your friends?" And I don't have an answer for them, it really fucking sucks.

The fight was ok and I tried letting go and being in the moment rather than thinking about how lame I felt. But I couldn't especially because of one person in particular that let me down. I'm always ALWAYS there for them and they did nothing to say they were or were not coming and all they had time to do was text me happy birthday on the actual day. I'm too chicken to confront them so I'm writing it on here.

Anyway, so fight happened, pretty cool to be apart of breaking a world record. And getting to hang out with Chacha since he's been gone so long.

Then we went to meet up with his friends at a bar. And I wanted a beer. I felt like shit about myself and just thought well fuck it.

I'm getting closer with my man and am less petrified to tell him about my disease so I told him what I had done that day and he said he'd help me not drink a lot today, which he did, bless him.

We went home napped-and this is a good thing-I ate pizza for my first time since recovery (so August). YAY! Then just sat and talked, or well Ed talked to me and I did all the listening.

He was telling me that Chacha's friends think I'm stupid. I was really out of it from binging and purging and then drinking so, well honestly wasn't being the sharpest tool in the shed that day. And I was already down on myself so when they were making fun of "Blondie" I took it to heart.

I HATE WHEN I DO THIS. I hate when I get so inside my head and so scared of people and what they think. It's very hard to get out. It makes it so I am too scared to talk. I shut down. My tongue swells and I literally can't say anything because I'm so ashamed of being nervous and not knowing what to say.

So what did I do? Drink more.

We ended up going to Cha Cha and that was fun then dancing at Neighbors which made my night.

I ran into old high school friends and one of them goes "congratulations" and I was like gurl what? And then she said she reads my blog. I was so flattered to hear that and to have her rooting for me.

I went home with Chacha so I didn't eat or throw up.

Today I woke up feeling like shit.

I can't do this anymore. I'm so sick of saying that I want to stop and I don't. I wish I could slap myself awake. I wish I could just fucking get it. I wish I could drink normally, eat a damn cookie, not cry when I wear jeans, not be jealous of my friends, not always be thinking about being skinny.

BUT I know that that thinking doesn't help, just makes me more depressed.

All I can do is the best I can and well, I honestly am trying. I'm still bitter sometimes that I have this and that I have to spend thousands on treatment. That I have to spend 4 days a week traveling to treatment and home again while my friends get to go to happy hours, soccer games, have a life.

BUT that doesn't get me anywhere except for mad.

I just want to get it right. I want to do this. I want to do it now. I'm so fucking determined sometimes but then I forget everything I know and do things to hurt my recovery. This is really fucking hard.

I'm just getting "back on the horse" - er I don't like that saying because it sounds like I was so defeated. Messing up is apart of my recovery too, each time I do I think I get a little stronger or am at least reminded as to why I want to be healthy and why I am spending thousands of dollars and hundreds of hours to be better.

So I'll go with the positive things:

Ahem.

1. I finally got to give my friend her Christmas present.

2.   I got mine from her! It's on my night stand :)

3.   I didn't binge or purge today

4.   Instead of bingeing and purging I painted my nails, researched primary care doctors, cleaned and wrote in my blog :)

5.   I got this for my 25th birthday!

6.   I'm learning who my real friends are. 

7.   I'm bringing in my Nerf gun to work tomorrow-where it will permanently live.

8.   I'm going to bed in about a half an hour.

9.  I was on The (206)  last night in a skit with Chris Cashman.

9.5  The Seahawks game was a good one. (it gets a half because it's not all positive)

10.  Now That I've had another weekend bender I hope / think / pray that I really will stop drinking for the time being, all of this mess, depression, anxiety and hate started from that "harmless" beer. I need to give myself  a chance at beating this and when I'm drinking I'm not doing that.

Ok that's all.

Goodnight. 

25 So Good So Far

GOSHDARNIT. I just scooted up my chair to write and forgot I put my favorite frame on top of my chair...it just shattered onto the floor. Damnit.

Well maybe this is a good time to go over the positive things in my life ATM:

1. My awesome possum coworker sent me a list of all the shows he wants to go to. I really like this guy who we'll call...Eyes...because he is like my show buddy. He loves going to them. Isn't fussy. Doesn't get wasted. And likes to dance.
2. So to bring me to point number two, thanks to Eyes's list, my little brother and I are going to see Griz. 
3. Also because of Eyes I found out about this new (to me new) DJ Listen To Him Here

I didn't realize how many people read my blog / facebook until "random" (as in not within the 5 people I told personally that I'm not drinking) people talk about me not drinking. Bringing me to my 4th good thing...

     4.  My friend showed me this which are different drinks that are not alcoholic. It's just so cool to see how many people support me and care. :)

     5.  Chacha and I are having ____(insert whatever I feel like eating in an hour) food tonight at my place while we watch a movie and he shows me how to use my present (it's a tablet for those of you who have as dirty as mind as I do).

     6.  I found a dollar going into work today

    7.   I slept in for an hour (but worked two hours extra)

So, part of my New Years Resolution and being 25 and because I fucking want to ... er resolution ... is to do something I'm scared to do everyday today that was numero 8 on the positive list.

   8.   I did yoga and zened the fuck out. There is a woman that teaches it in our "gym." I've only done yoga in treatment by the amazing Jamie at Ginning Yogi (can you tell that I just figured out how to link shit?!)  and once at Gold's which isn't very good. I learned new positions and got my coworkers interested in it too!

   9.   I am not hung over from my birthday

  10.  I ate cheesecake yesterday

  11.  I had an entirely veg breakfast and snack and lunch (not in that order) which was a goal of mine.

   12.  I had a really nice conversation with a girl I really admire in program today. I was feeling off since I didn't workout and got a ride home from work (aka no walking exercise aka I'm fat), but she helped calm me down and talk it out. 

I'm just so blessed to have you all support me and to have so man resources for love and hope. Sigh. I'm going to go shower and get ready to watch either Bridesmaids or Anchorman with Chacha.

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Older and uh Wiser?

There's a mom and daughter in front of me talking about family issues.

Then annoying, stereotypical Mercer Island housewives behind me blabbing, "Oh it's an awesome show. Oh totally I know! I saw it in NY just amazing…"

As I try to ignore them I look outside. It's pretty much pitch black out minus a bit of blue sky that's getting swallowed up by the clouds and the cityscape. It looks magical, all the buildings lights glimmer brighter as the cloud cover overtakes the sky and night comes.

Today is my 25^th birthday. I can feel it. I feel special, I feel different and I feel confident—mostly I feel like myself.

My therapist said today that I'm just being Kris right now. I learned in our session that there are many Kris's—that's not a bad thing. There's frazzled me, there's sad me, there's fucking pissed off me and there's confused me, to name a few—the catch is they are all still ME.

But today it was easier to be me. I was comfortable in my skin, I didn't second guess what I said or what I did, what I wanted to eat and even though I was very worried about what to do tonight I'm set on my plans.

I'm the type that wants to make everyone else happy on my birthday. I don't want anyone the next day talking to their coworkers about their night and being like, "I had to go to this stupid movie which gave me a headache but I did it because the birthday girl wanted to…" that means I won't have fun, actually I make myself not have fun from worrying. Which is no fun.

So tonight I'm going to get gelato (which I love but am scared of) and to see Cirque du Soleil: Worlds Away 3D (have to google that everytime).

It's a great way to end a wonderful day.

I want to say the highlights of my day were the facebook "happy birthdays" what a way to feel loved by my 75 closest friends!

As well as my coworkers—who totally rocked today.

WE usually do a potluck thing where everyone brings a bunch of really tasty, intimidating food and it sits there all day for me to have to look at avoid and talk to –yes talk to.

But I requested a sandwich bar thing and they delivered! I was able to eat on my meal plan comfortably and without fear. It was wonderful.

So this doesn't really have a point I just haven't written in a while.

I'm still not drinking – 9 days! But I have thrown up—just twice which is good.

I'm doing well overall except for that Ed is nagging me to lose weight. I want to be skinny but without the eating disorder—is it possible?

So I'm constantly fighting urges to restrict. To throw up meals. To over-workout. As well as those negative thoughts that keep telling me I'll be happier if I'm thinner.

It's embarrassing to admit that I just want to lose weight,  but that's where I'm at. And it's really hard with everyone talking about their diets and weight loss plans.

Also, I've noticed that I do really well if I get an entire day to myself. Where I don't have to go anywhere answer to anyone—I used to think it was bad but I realize I need to recoup—regularly. So seeing that as a positive thing is new.

Anyway, that's where I'm at. Chacha is home J I'm going to dinner with him tomorrow. Dancing on Friday with my girls. Saturday is my bd and Sunday is FOOTBALL! Go hawks.  

That's all. My stop is up. Good night!