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.

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.

<3 div="div">

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!

My New Years Resolution

June 23, 2012 I broke my 6 month sobriety.
Ever since I started drinking again I've been trying to stop. But been unsuccessful.

There are times when I can have just one and go home and not binge and purge. There are days when I don't restrict all day just so I can drink. I've had times when I've gotten just shmammered and not binged and purged. And all of those times make me feel like I could do it again. However, there are more times than not that I have done the complete opposite. Plus, the next day is also incredibly hard for me to not to continue my habits since I'm hung over and miserable.

I am embarrassed that I haven't been able to stop on my own. That I've said this to my close friends and they've said "that's a good idea" and I've continued to drink. I'm embarrassed that I keep saying "Oh I've been sober at a show before and I can do it again"...only to find myself buying booze the second I'm in there.

But now that I think about it, when I did it the first time it was very hard. I had to not go out  at first, and go to AA meetings instead just to get through the weekend without having a drink. And I had forgotten that. I had forgotten how uncomfortable I was being sober while everyone else was drunk. But most importantly I forgot WHY I had made that decision for myself, it was so I could stop bingeing and puring and restricting.

So this isn't forever, but it's for now. For as long as I'm in recovery and going to the Moore Center.   I know I can do this, I just wasn't willing to take the steps to do it.

After publicly making the commitment to do this again aka posting it on facebook-because everyone knows it's not official until it's on facebook-I will have to be held accountable. I also texted my close friends so I can't be sneaky when we go get dinner or HH.

And now saying something here makes it more real. A buzz, a beer, free shots are not worth the pain, ainxst and self-deprication that happens after and the next day.

I really am worth recovery. And I need to give myself a fighting chance at it.

There will be hard times and I'll have to white knuckle it and find other ways to "get a buzz" but I can do it with your support and His love.

Also, I am going to start flossing every other day.

:)

Happy 2013-May it be our lucky year!

Damn Those Jeans

I had to work-ahem GOT to work-my other job today. We are required to wear jeans.
As you know I've been avoiding them at all costs, but today I couldn't.

I pulled my safest pair on (the ones that are always loose, the ones that make me feel happy, the ones I can count on) and they let me down.

They were tight.

Well in my twisted mind they were at least-mind you I had to pull them up walking to my bus.

I couldn't control Ed.

The thoughts flew through my mind like warp speed fast.

"Screw my treatment team, they lied. They told me I wouldn't get fat and now I'm fat. I knew I should be working out more. YEAH RIGHT that it's ok to have a cookie once in a while and not workout everyday. YEAH RIGHT my mind is distorted-this is proof. They used to be baggy now they are not. I am fat. These are like size 13 (I later discovered they were 9s) they don't make many sizes bigger. How am I so fat? How do other girls not have this happen to them..."

Then I get a text from Cha Cha. He says good morning (even though it's the afternoon in Madrid).

I take a breath and a leap of faith and call him.

Before words come out sobs do, uncontrollable sobs. "MyjeansaretightandI'mfatandIcan'ttakeitandIknowitsoundssillybutIcan'thelpitandyou'regoingtothinkI'msogrossandIcan'tgainanymoreweightIcan't...does this make sense?"

And he calms me down. He reminds me that I'm healthy now. Ed doesn't like that word. Then he says in his sexy Spanish voice "Plus, your ass, it's really nice."

I'm one lucky lady.

So I work all day and have a blast. But I don't really eat on my meal plan because once we start working an event we don't really get to stop.

By the end of my 9 hour shift I'm starving but I want to workout but I'm tired.

I go home and eat normally. Then I have some more. And then I justify more. Then I say fuckit I'm going to binge so I can throw up. I eat anything that sounds good and nothing tastes good not even the chocolate bar I threw away last night. But once I'm full enough I throw up.

I'm shaking. Eyes watering. Gasping for breath. Thinking. Welp you suck. You really suck. And at the same time, good job. Get it all out you fat ass.

I clean up and decide to start cleaning my kitchen...then I decide to go to the gym...ignoring the scared thoughts in my head about my heart (is this ok for me to do? well you've done it in the past...if you're going to be disordered today just keep it up).

So I head to the gym and fight so hard to not over-workout.

I stick to my regular routine and realize somethings.

That my recovery isn't over. And who the fuck is in charge right now? Not Kris. Ed is like way too much. Fuck you dude.

I am ok.

And furthermore, I LIKE my ass. I wish my thighs didn't touch but that just means I'm not photoshopped.

All that started this was a pair of jeans that was too tight-that ended up being size 9 and stretching out.

I have been going through a lot lately. My soccer coach and his wife died in a horrible accident. Their children and son in law are in the hospital still. I'm in treatment for an eating disorder. My boy friend has been gone for 1 and a half months. I'm trying to not drink. I'm working two jobs. And facing financial trouble. For shits sake I need to give myself more credit.

Anyway, that's it. I'm home. I'm drinking Powerade. I know tomorrow will be hard but I don't have to do what I did today and today doesn't have to effect tomorrow.

Tomorrow I'm going to Resolution. AND I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED. I have an outfit I made (I love how I come up with these things) and can't wait to hang out with my best friend and dance in the new year (once again).

Thank you guys for reading and letting me be so honest and messaging me at just the right time (aka all the time).

Love,

Kris

Merry Christmas To Me

So Christmas was a success. But it was very hard.

I woke up and helped to prepare breakfast.

Which was a big meal full of foods my Ed normally wouldn't let me eat. My anxiety skyrocketed as I tried to figure out if I was going to be able to measure my meal and exchanges out exactly.

I got through it and fought the voice in me saying "don't you dare put butter on that. Jam? Why do you  need jam? That's extra calories." But I lived.

Then onto present opening which was nice. I love seeing the look on other's faces when they see what I got them.

Even though breakfast was three hours ago I started to get hungry for lunch. So I had that. It was fine. No one in my family ate-Ed was saying things like "why are you eating fatty? no one else is eating? Remember how much you ate at breakfast?" I calmed myself down by knowing that my meal plan is to maintain my weight not explode it.

Then came movie time. Lincoln. It is very long. And the idea of having to sit in the car on the way to the movie then sit and wait for the movie, watch the movie then sit on the way home overwhelmed me. No, I can't do it. I just can't.

My hands start to shake and I am like a two year old in a stroller- GET ME OUT.

So my parents understood and saved me a seat so I could walk around before the movie.

Their support is so vital and necessary in my recovery and I'm so happy that they are starting to understand my disease rather than disreguard it.

The movie was awesome. Go see it. 

We left which means it's dinner time.

I'm incredibly anxious and fidgety from sitting for so long when my dad asks me to help with dinner.

Yes let's hang around all the food when I feel like a cow.

NO THANK YOU.

So I hung out with the veggies - made a salad.

I couldn't calm down though. I hadn't gone on any real walks, I'd eaten more fattening foods then I have in a long time without throwing up and my pants seemed to get tighter by the second. Life was crashing down on me as I knew it...Ed is so dramatic.

I prayed, I called a friend, I listened to music, I tried talking it out but nothing helped.

Until we sat down and started to watch Rudolph with our grand dinner of sammies. 

I cleaned up the dishes immediately after finishing dinner. It made me feel better. And yet the food was calling my name. Everyone was out in the living room munching away and all the desserts and extra food was right there ALL FOR ME! But I white knuckled it and made it through.

To give you an idea of how backwards my mind is...after having such a huge fear of overeating as soon as my mom goes for the goodies after dinner. I immediately want them too.

So I have white chocolate peppermint bark. Just a smidgen. But it was good. 

Then comes the ride home. My dad of course takes the longest way home. Again I had to use all my mind power to calm the fuck down in the car instead of wriggle out of it. 

I get home and have my snack.

Then made my facebook status: 
This is the first Christmas in 10 years that I have not 

1) binged
2) purged
3) drank

Merry Christmas to me!

60 people-including myself liked it. I don't even think that many people wish me a happy birthday. I felt and feel so loved.

10 is a lot of  Christmases to ruin and I sadly, when calling out that double digit number, I wasn't being dramatic. Literally every single Christmas has been ruined by my disease. Self-loathing. Depression. Fear. And while this one was tough. I didn't let my bulimia, anorexia, overeating habits get in the way. 

But ... here I am a day later, feeling like I'm back at square one.

There was left over everything from my coworkers. I had some delicious fudge that made me want the cake in the break room. 

"Please Eat" - GODDAMNIT

So I started eating it and I realized I wasn't exactly eating it rather inhaling it. So I tossed it out. Ed yelling at me. But then I say no I want it I'll have it. So I try it again eating is slowly. But with each bite I like it less and regret it more.

I was so strong yesterday. And now I'm incredibly anxious, even sweating and hot from my decision. I can't sit down for fear of feeling my legs get fatter. My heart is racing-which reminds me of how many people with this die from heart attacks. Is it too late? Have I screwed myself over already?

So this is my attempt to calm down, get out of my head. But it's not really working. That one piece of cake and fudge won't make me fat. I need to step back, breathe. Thank God I go see my nutritionist today.

God bless. Happy New Year!

Oh. Doh.

Sho. I'm starting to get the hang of being proactive in my recovery.
It took me about three weeks to flail my arms around and scream random things in the dark until I calmed down and turned the light on-but BY GOLLY I'VE DONE IT.

Who am I?

Ok anyway, so. Yesterday I had two glasses of wine with a friend. And I was monitoring myself the entire time...why do I like this feeling? Why did it just take the server to ask me "And what will you drink?" to get me to throw everything I've been saying out the window?

And I realized it's the feeling of calm, of happiness, of being ok. When I am buzzing I don't feel all of the confusion that I do when I'm sober. I don't have to listen to the battling thoughts. I don't hear Ed. I just feel calm, happy and like everything is ok.

Now, this may have been obvious to others but it's a good thing I caught on.

The booze was an escape from my recovery. From how fucking hard this is. But what I'm doing now in recovery is learning how to get those happy, calm feelings on my own.

I'm still very black and white with my thinking. It's either restrict or binge. Don't workout or go every day. It's exhausting...but this realization will help me immensly.

Just like anyone else I need moderation in my life. So yes I can have a cookie on a random day. And yes I can skip two days of working out. And yes I will have hard body image days - but that doesn't mean I'm relapsing.

It's all about getting to the middle.

I find it's easiest to do this when I get outside of my head.

Por ejemplo.

Today I saw a girl that I barely knew in college at the gym. When I did see her it was at parties and I remember her and her friends telling me how jealous they were of how skinny I was.

Ed threw a fit.

I am 20 lbs heavier than the girl she used to envy and here I am getting naked in front of her in the locker room. I think anyone would freak a little bit.

It was very hard to not run and hide, or workout for hours on end and skip dinner. The shame of my new body overwhelmed me.

But I was able to counter those thoughts and do a normal workout as well as eat.

Even more surprisingly I called my mom for help. She said "well what did you think of her when you saw her?"

"Uh that she looked pretty and was nicer than I remember." - so nothing really about her weight.

And my mom pointed out that even if the girl did go say something to her friends then screw her. I don't need people like that in my life.

But still even as I type this I can hear her saying "she used to have an eating disorder but now she's fat."

Sigh.

But overall I'm over it.

Good things:

1. Secret Santa was yesterday. I got socks.
2. It didn't pour on me today.
3. I had a killer workout
4. I finally wrote my boyfriend and his parents their Christmas card
5. I wore my new boots today.
6. I'm going to go shower. YES.

Good night God bless

Inspired Hopeful and Dare I Say It...Happy?

I'm in a better place than I was yesterday. 

I didn't have a perfect day, like totally happy not disordered day, but I'm realizing that that is ok. That it would be really weird if I was Suzie Sunshine all the damn time-I'd annoy myself.

But really though accepting where I'm at and who I am right in this moment is bringing me peace. Also, by turning negatives into positives.

So my day started off by watching this little guy run into the light rail and his owner chasing him (he wasn't supposed to go to the airport).

Then went to work...yaddayaddaya. I am having trouble focusing. I always have but it's getting worse. I mentioned this to my psychiatrist today but she doesn't want to test me for ADD until I get this disorder under control-but says I have a valid point.

I had a 2 hour harassment seminar thing-some people are so strange.

I got to Skype with my man at work which was fun, a nice way to break up the day.

Then left work at 3 on the dot in order to make my 4 psychiatrist appointment. I don't usually meet with her but long story short she and I both agree I need to be on Prozac and that I need to stay in the level of care I'm in (even though it's supposed to be over soon).

After that I went on a walk and talked to my brother who fucking kicks ass and I can't wait until he gets a girlfriend because she's got to be one amazing girl to catch my brother's eye. He just got a 4.0 in his hardest quarter, he's looking at grad schools in Colorado, Florida, Oregon (ewe) and is tall, handsome, and the chillest kid I've ever met. Guess which one is the problem child?

So another good thing was that I thought I looked pretty today. I had Thrift Shop stuck in my head as soon as I woke up and he talks about Grandma's and sweaters so that's what I wore. Honestly, I think  my face and hair are pretty-maybe prettier than I ever have-but the rest of me-eh let's not go there but that's progress!

So yes treatment went-ok. I am trying to change my schedule so I go one more day than I already do so I reinforce treatment on more days. Also, that would actually give me a day off since I currently go from 1-8 on my Sundays.

After we ate dinner the girls and I all talk. It was brought up that they (like 4 of the 5 of us) are sick of treatment. They hate ED. They don't have behaviors (meaning bingeing, purging, restricting etc) and that they just don't want to be at the center anymore.

And immediately my head goes, they hate you and your Ed. You are less than them. You are not sick of the center and want to go more. You are the girl that they hate. You are a failure. You are not healthy and they are, why can't you get it?

But then I calmed myself down by being honest and open with the girls. Saying exactly how I felt, but countering it with "comparison is the thief of joy" and that every one's recovery is different.

So yes right  now I am not healthy, I am struggling, but I am taking the steps to recover and help myself rather than continue to fight with no help...you know?

Even though I'm trying to stay positive ....

I will say though that I'm having a very hard time fighting the thoughts of regret for not working out since Saturday. I didn't go on as many walks today because I talked to Raul and I got a ride home from treatment. It's hard to combat the regret and the mean thoughts pushing me to go workout and telling me I'm fat and I'm getting fatter and I don't deserve to eat. Sigh. But I am fighting them!

Ok time to talk to my sexy Spaniard. Good night!

Bulimia Kills

I have a confession that's hard to type out because when I do it becomes more real.

In group we learned about the ways that bulimia can kill you.

In my 11 years of having an eating disorder I have not once, NOT ONCE, looked up the physical impacts of it. I didn't want to know.

Then 4 days ago I was told that there are quite a few ways I can die from this:

1) Electrolyte Imbalance : Electrolyte balance in our bodies ensures our muscles, organs and nerves work properly. Bulimics often suffer from severe electrolyte imbalances caused by extreme vomiting or laxative abuse (luckily I have never tried that).

Electrolyte imbalances put massive stress on your organs and can cause sudden cardiac arrest and death.

Personally I have an irregular heartbeat and am often very swollen after purging because of dehydration.

2) Gastric Rupture

This is when a bulimic eats a massive amount of food while binge eating. The volume of food that's consumed is so great that it bursts the gastro-intestinal tract.

These are incredibly scary because it will most likely kill you unexpectedly.

3) Ketoacidosis

Ketoacidosis is high levels of acid that builds up in your blood (also known as ketones). They occur when your body burns stored fat, rather than food sources, to gain it's energy.

It is caused by starvation, bingeing and purging, extreme dehydration, diabetes, alcoholism and hyperglycemia.

Unfortunately it looks like I have four of those on my list (starvation, binging and purging, dehydration and alcohol abuse at least).

If Ketoacidosis is not treated, it could result in a sudden coma and even death.

4) Cancer

Most bulimics have constant and severe acid reflux caused from their damaged their 'non-return valve' which helps to keep food down.

1 in every 10 people who suffer from terrible acid reflux will develop a condition called from Barrett's Esophagus.

Barrett's Esophagus can lead to cancer of the esophagus-recommended treatment is removal of most of the esophagus. 

Gives me shudders.

5) Suicide

Bulimia and depression are two intertwined illnesses. It's a domino effect, one causes one which in turn causes the other.

I have NEVER thought about taking my life, but I have been severely depressed.

As you know, or are about to find out, my blog is called By Me For You. 

The title is more prevalent in this post than it usually is because I want and hope and pray that another bulimic stumbles upon this and becomes as terrified as I am, or at least realize what they er we are doing to ourselves.

However, being terrified didn't scare the disease out of me. And after finding the above out I still binged and purged on Sunday. In fact, it was a pretty bad one-to the point where I threw up blood and popped capillaries in my face. They all around my eyes and under them. I've never shown anyone these before. It's not as distinct in the picture but if you were looking at my lovely face now, you'd see.

Now, I know this doesn't sound like positive things, which is the route I wanted to start taking my blog, but in a way it is. It's so good that I have finally faced the facts. I'm scared. I am so very scared. I want to live. I want to live a life free of this disease. And I deserve it. 

The above list is positive because it's knowledge and knowledge is power.

Also, since I'm being so very honest I need to tell you that I do not have a hold on alcohol anymore. It's very shameful for me to say because I'd like to act like I'm ok and at least have a handle on one thing in my life but I don't. 

So once again I am trying to stop drinking. Every time I drink (almost) I drink for the wrong reason and excessively. But the main issue is I always binge and purge if I have it in my system. By me saying this publicly I'll hopefully be too embarrassed to drink when I go out (the only time I drink) because one of you  just might see me.

Going with the positive theme though....

Here are some things that went well today:

I got to admire my shellac manicure all day. And so did everyone else because I wouldn't stop showing it off.

I went to my parents' to decorate the tree. I had ridden the bus in and my dad suggested a Starbucks run. He read my mind. I got out my clutch because my dad, well, he never pays for anything. To my delight he bought-however I forgot my wallet there. THANK GOD no one stole it. Good ol' Bothell. Decorating the tree was really fun. We went through so many memories. 

A year ago today my Grandma died. It doesn't feel like a year and I miss her terribly. It was really good to be at home with my family for part of today.

I also got to hang out with my cat, Lucy, who's the size of a dog. This shows you how far I've come in my recovery-I NEVER would have put this disgusting of a picture up of myself to total strangers-but it's too damn funny not to.

Something else that went well is I got to skype with Chacha. I miss him so much. He'll be home in uh 3 weeks. My mom came into the room while I was saying dimple and he thought I was saying nipple. Great. Then, even more embarrassing, my  mom yells (because she doesn't exactly understand how a computer mic works) "YOU SHOULD COME VISIT US, YOU DON'T HAVE TO MARRY KRISTIN IF YOU DO. WE'D JUST LIKE TO MEET YOU." Great mom. Thanks.

I also bought jeans today. GASP. My mind goes to working out immediately ... but these fit. And I have found that the CURVY jeans fit this ass better. Thank you.

I'm going to go write Christmas cards for Chacha and family then pass out.

Thank you for reading and helping me through this. It's very scary to be this honest but it also feels good. 

Source: http://EzineArticles.com/4202979