Relapse

I've been avoiding you.

It's not you. It's me.

If I write it out, then I have to face it. I have to feel this shame and hate and guilt. I have to come to terms with my weight gain. And I'm going to be a hot mess after this post is over.

I'm already snotting all over myself from thinking about what to write.

Ed is coming back.

About a week ago, I tried on my leggings (which are my always comfy go-to safe pants) and they were tight. So I tried on another pair trying to keep my spirits up. And as I stripped off each failed pair my positivity went with it. This was proof—I've gained more weight.

Since that Tuesday morning I have had nonstop thoughts about exercise, how much I hate my body, how uncomfortable I am at this weight and that I should start restricting.

I mean I go upstairs or on walks and have to hold my hand across my stomach because it jiggles.

My leggings dig into my sides when I sit down.

My boobs don't even fit in my bras anymore. Which is what I thought I wanted but now there's no hiding them.

Yesterday I went out and it took me a while to get dressed. Nothing fit right because I was exploding out of the tops and bottoms. I finally put on my comfy pair of (get this) pink leopard pants (SUPER stretchy) and a tank that covered these bad girls. I walked to get a cab and got stared at and hit on by three different guys. Which you would think is flattering but they don't know that this is all I have to wear. I'm trying to act confident and not cry in front of the drunk black gentleman (ahem guy) asking where I'm headed if he can holler, I'm losing it inside. He doesn't know that behind my heavily mascaraed eyes, push up bra (the only one left that fits) and my skin tight pants that the last thing I want is to be seen.

It's so shameful that you, them, everyone can see me, my fat, my failure. It's there and it's big and it's in plain sight.

I am so ashamed. So disgusted with my body. I want out.

These thoughts are exhausting.

Ed's starting to choose what I wear, what I eat, how I spend my time (aka choosing the gym over friends). I'm losing my life again. But I don't know how to stop it because he's so strong and so convincing. And I am so unhappy.

I believe I'm right. I believe I've gained too much weight and this needs to stop.

My recovery team was saying it's possible that my mind is creating this sensitivity to clothing and obsession. But I do not believe that my mind is that warped, that fucked up. It has to be true that I'm fat. And that it's not stopping. It's like if you touch an oven that's on and your brain tells you it's hot then you know it's hot. The way my clothes fit, the jiggling, the uncomfortability…that's my brain telling me how much I've gained. It's not ok.

Especially not now. Come on man not during the start of spring / summer. Not when I have to wear less. Be more social. Have girls that are thin running around in outfits I wish I could wear. This is usually my favorite time, I mean hello have you seen Seattle in the summer? But I can't do summer because I don't have anything to wear.

I tried on my shorts—every last pair. And NONE of them fit. What used to fall off of me a year ago is now SKIN tight. And when I went to shop for more in sizes like 30 and 13 they didn't fit. They were too tight. I don't fit in anywhere. I'm just too big. I don't get it. I don't understand how other girls are thin and don't have this. Why am I so large why can't I eat and not get fat?

I tried so hard to do this right but I can't. I can't be this big. It's a huge red flag. I MUST lose weight. Or else I'll continue to be this obsessed and miserable.

But I'm so confused because I was miserable when I was thin.  But now that I'm fat I'm more uncomfortable, filled with more hate. Recovery is supposed to make me feel better. But now I don't believe that I need to eat as much as they are telling me. I believe my disordered ways worked…at least in the weight category.

I'm also confused because I had this photo shoot for fun and people are leaving incredibly nice comments on them. I think they are making them up. How could THAT be pretty? THAT body be admired? It's disgusting.

I can't even walk normally because I hate how my thighs touch. I don't like showering because then it's just me and my body.

I don't know if this will even make sense to anyone who doesn't have one but I'm hurting. I'm so confused. I'm so incredibly uncomfortable. And I'm full of hate. The only thing keeping me going is that every day I eat less and workout more is a day closer to being comfortable.

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.

Plus Size My Ass

So I'm a product copywriter-which means I write about products-so no not copy RIGHT.

The age range for the clothing and accessories that I cover has changed from infant, toddler, kids and now to tween. Tween is exactly what it sounds like in-be-TWEEN ages. So I cater to the confused, awkward, not grownup yet but are starting to discover their independence girls. It's a WONDERFUL age. When you really think about it this is one of the toughest ages to be. So I'm giving props to my Justin Beiber, cropped smiley face neon tank wearing, eyeshadow over-using ladies.

Ok cool. So getting to my point...

Today I'm writing a sale for 'plus-size' tweens and I'm a bit pissed off-er well, more than that since I'm blogging about it.  

As soon as the higher ups saw the words "plus size" I was told to "not say plus.... (because it's a) sensitive age."

THIS IS THE SHIT that got me started (when I was a tween) hating my body. I was always bigger-no one is really 5'8'' in the 6th grade and I was VERY aware of it. 
The kids made fun of me. 
I had to shop in the grown up sections but it wasn't fun, rather it was shameful.

This "sensitive age" shit won't go away until these girls are in their '50s and don't give a flying fuck anymore. 
HOW DISGUSTING. 
HOW AWFUL. 
How sad. 

The plus-size just means that the clothes are cut wider, not longer (because that just looks frumpy). These styles just give girls the room they need while coming in looks that are trendy. 

But it just pisses me right off that everyone is tip toeing around the fact that they are for "larger girls" "bigger sizes" "husky ladies." 

I talked to the buyer who used to work for Nordstrom and she said in her 25 years there that they NEVER sold plus size, that's just not something they did.

And after checking their website just briefly (so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong) I don't see PS on there at for juniors or girls. It's like they saying just because the girls are not petite, not cookie cutter sized that they are not able to shop where all the other girls are. 

THIS is the age when girls start to realize that everyone is different, that body size "matters." They start listening to the media and their peers and make judgements about themselves and their self worth. 

WHO SAYS PLUS SIZE IS OFFENSIVE? That it's an insult? I say fuck you. I wear a size 11 / 13 and that's one of the biggest out there but I'm not fat. I'm me-sized. I eat, I exercise and I'm the weight I'm supposed to be and I can barely fit in most jeans out there which makes me feel like shit. Like I'm less. Like there's something wrong with me.

This is the first time our company is running a plus-size girls event and I am SO happy that we are. The styles we are running look just like all the other tween styles out there, they just come in bigger sizes. I love that we are starting to cater to ALL girls because all girls deserve to look and feel their best no matter what their size.

Props to Khols and JCP for doing this too.

Thanks for reading.

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. 

Sweet Cherry Pie

I woke up this morning with so many thoughts racing through my head about what I did last night.

I had gone out.

I had binged and purged earlier that day even though I did everything I could to not.

I almost binged before going out.

Then I was extremely late because I couldn't find an outfit that looked right.

I get there and ran into at least three different graduating classes from high school.

I almost fought this duuuude...duchebag…who flicked his drink in my face when I told him to leave my girls and me alone.

I saw and talked to girls I used to envy and be afraid of in high school—ones I put on a pedestal, comparing myself to them constantly, knowing I'd never measure up.

I stayed out til the lights came on.

My DD got pulled over.

We stopped at 7-11 for goodies…I made an impulse decision.

I got home and ate.

Now, usually all of these things would be bad. Usually I would have had too much to drink and have racing thoughts of regret attached to each of the above statements. But last night I was sober and I didn't have my drunk goggles on, I saw my night through different glasses. It looked like this…

I went out last night. – Thank god because Ed had me wanting to give up, go home and isolate.

I had binged and purged earlier that day even though I did everything I could to try to not. – I was able to stop it before it got really bad.

I even almost binged before going out. – BUT I DIDN'T.

Then I couldn't find an outfit that looked right. – But I ended up finding one that showed off my new amazing, exquisite breasts (Anchor Man…) and even got compliments on them (THAT NEVER HAPPENS)

I get there and ran into at least three different graduating classes from high school. – Which was really fun, every time I turned around there was a new person I WANTED and ENJOYED talking to. I didn't get scared and quiet.

I almost fought this duuuude…douchebag…who flicked his drink in my face when I told him to leave my girls and me alone. – I was in a very sober state of mind and this guy who was trying to entice us with his drink sloshing and "baking" during Cherry Pie was not.

I saw and talked to girls I used to envy and be afraid of in high school—ones I put on a pedestal, comparing myself to them constantly, knowing I'd never measure up. – But they complimented me, said it was nice to see me, my nerves weren't there and the conversation was genuine, it was easy.

I stayed out til the lights came on. – which usually means I am at the bar trying to get in that one last drink but I was no where near the bar.

My DD got pulled over. – she was sober J

We stopped at 7-11 for goodies…I made an impulse decision. – I got a Slurpee and it felt great to get what I, me, Kris wanted not Ed (usually would have been cookies and candy bars).

I got home and ate. –I had a sammich because I was hungry and stopped there. Usually I would eat anything and everything until I felt sick and throw up in order to go to sleep.

I'm on a high right now, and it's the high I've been failing to get from food, exercise, booze, purging, restricting. It's this genuine, organic happiness … this light.

I have a clear head, I remember everything last night, I didn't check out, I don't regret anything. Oh AND I found $20 on the floor. BOOM.

I've had a VERY hard time lately. I can't seem to not listen to Ed when he tells me "just this one last time we'll eat this…" "just have the cookie … and add this peanut butter to it and maybe syrup would taste good" "Well you've already started might as well go for two more bowls of cereal…." "You have a disease … just give in to me…" 

I've been trying to find that combination of food and flavors that makes me feel happy, high, relaxed … but after many binges and attempts I've come up with nothing but pain.

But I've found it here.

And I've found it because I was honest about my struggles, and because I acted rather than reacted.

I went to an AA meeting at 7:30 before going out. And after I prefunked with a latte and a girl who has 18 months sober. We talked about our addict state of mind. I felt less alone, less like a freak, less ashamed. It was freeing, it's what I've needed and I want more.

I've found the gray area of my black and white mind.

And it's from doing what I'm told. 

It's from writing gratitude lists, staying in a positive state of mind, from trying, from giving a shit about myself, from going to treatment everyday and from calling up ChaCha and telling him I need help, from going to AA meetings and confessing that I have an alcoholic state of mind. It's from doing the work that I need to do and following direction.

I had to do a lot of reaching out, going out of my comfort zone and talking back to my disease last night. It was not easy but my God was it worth it.

THANK YOU to all of you who read. Every time I go out I'm approached by a new person who reads this mess of madness and confession. 

It's an embarrassing yet flattering feeling. 

Your kindness, encouragement and words lift me up and I'm truly grateful for you. 

God bless!

Feeling Better Ish

My password to my computer…and only my computer is "I Choose Life."
I just had to type it in to get on here to bog. It reminds me each time how important recovery is.

I'm on two of three buses I'll take home to Bothell tonight. It's actually peaceful and obviously I have time to write…or watch TV over the shoulder of the guy in front of me-if only I could lip read.

I just had dinner group for treatment.

I supplemented, which means I took a shake instead of eating the brisket they put before me. I just couldn't chew it…nor enjoy it. I also had asparagus-my pee's going to smell.

Today has had a light about it. Kind of like "Every now and again sometimes, I get lost on the wind of a dream. The air gets clean and the seas get wide. And I can do anything." That's called "Anything" by Mae. We listened to it before dinner. It was very relatable for me.

I keep having these stints of bliss. Of clarity. Of I can do it! Just don't focus on your weight so much. Easy. And then I wake up from that "wind of a dream" to a toilet bowl full of puke and my shaking hands. Reality. It's not that easy. But then like the tide, hope comes around again.

Hope is here now. Today I woke up and decided to follow my meal plan and to only workout every other day like my nutritionist suggested. So far so good…I even had two sugar cookies and haven't really freaked out about it. As I say that I get uneasy in my seat.

When I was given the supplement instead of eating the brisket I could have easily tossed it out and saved calories. It took a lot to take it as I saw other girls not touching theirs—other girls that are thinner than me.  But I did it. I've got to start trusting my treatment team and not Ed. Ed has gotten me no where but unhappy and unhealthy. It's so much easier said than done. And it's so uncomfortable.

My mind raced back and forth from workout before work? No you won't finish your work. But maybe just a little? No. Yes. Ok go change. NO NO NO. Sigh.

But it's easier to follow direction from my treatment team than Ed. It makes me happier. They tell me not to drink—not in the moment but after I'm happy I when I stay sober. They tell me that restricting isn't good—I usually binge the night after restricting all day. They tell me no to compare—I am miserable when I see other girls thinner than me (for shit's sake this woman at work today was showing off that she could wear kids jeans—fuck off lady).

I'm just not sure where I stand. I feel wildly out of control. Like I'm in the wrong. Like there's something I'm forgetting when I'm not constantly thinking about restricting, and working out. No one calls me skinny anymore. I've lost my identity. Who am I then?

I'm getting pretty sensitive at work to people not answering my emails, not appreciating the goodies I bring in, the extra work I do—so I take it as though they don't like me. So what can I change? My appearance. It's a cycle.

So without being skinny I'm just the girl no one likes. Sigh. Ok this is making me sad.

GRATITUDE LIST!

·         I got to work on time today

·         After being gone from 5:45 AM to 8:20 PM the cats didn't throw up or pee anywhere!

·         I did what I was told today

·         I had a really fun dinner group—oh that's the other thing, people in treatment seem to genuinely like me. They ask me about my life. I am bubbly, not shy, I have confidence—I'm just me.

·         I'm watching The Princess and the Frog

·         I have a super sexy super funny boyfriend

·         And I have a girls night tomorrow!

OH and the funniest thing happened. I had my bike helmet attached to my backpack and I raced into Microsoft to pee in between busses. I peed with my backpack on for efficiency purposes and when I stood up I got yanked back down. My helmet got caught on the flusher so I was just flushing the toilet and cracking up with my pants down in the bathroom for a little bit. HIL-AIR.

Good night.

So Sick of SKINNY

So I'm laying on the couch with a headache. I've been coughing up yellow stuff for a week now, my throat is sore and I can't breathe through my nose. And I'm feeling like shit because all I want to do is have a cookie and watch tv.

So I try to inspire myself by looking at Pintrest. What can I craft? What quotes can I read? What recipes can I pin that I'll never actually make but think I will?

When I pull up my app all I see is a bunch of pins by girls that I thought were good looking / didn't need to lose a pound with boards dedicated to bringing sexy back, beach bodies, "healthy" lifestyle. With images like this: 

IT'S AWFUL. I feel way worse about my sausage thighs, the fact that I've gained weight, the fact that I ate at each meal and that I haven't worked out today. I hate myself for not wanting to do a damn thing but rest. I could be doing MORE! I could be eating LESS! Eating more efficiently! Eating more like her...less like me. How dare I be hungry after lunch?

I couldn't help continuing to look. My ED was triggered. Hm maybe the answer is in here. In one of these pictures, workouts, recipes, "the answer" to what I've been trying to find since I can remember. The answer to being skinny and happy and having a perfect life where nothing goes wrong because I'm skinny!

Even though the answer wasn't to weight 25 lbs less than I do. I wasn't happy then. Or when I stopped eating carbs. Or when I drank every night. Or when I binged and purged 4xs in a row. Or when I became a brunette...

I hope you see what I'm getting at. God this is such a rant.

There are all these sick twisted menacing images of what I SHOULD look like, who I SHOULD be like, what I SHOULD do...I'M SICK OF IT!

Why do we have to shame ourselves into looking right? I did it for years. Five more minutes here. 20 more crunches there. Don't eat that just think of that bathing suit. It's DISGUSTING.

We are surrounded by the BE BETTER DO BETTER mentality and it sickens me.

Have I said sick enough?

The commercials on the tv get at us to have a better, faster, more efficient lifestyle. More sex. Be flawless. Be perfect. "Healthy" foods-fucking shit people MODERATION is healthy and that's it. Do not deprive yourself of anything that doesn't help.

That's what I'm learning now in treatment. That I can have cake and eat it too...if it's in a normal portion size. That doesn't mean I've thrown the day away or that I'm in debt. It just means I wanted cake and I had some. I won't always be happy but I won't always be sad. There will be shit days and alright days and really fucking good days and that's just how it works.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than a public rant to my personal ED. I hate you. I hate how you make me feel like I'm less than I am. How you make me feel like I don't do enough...

I have this body that I despise, that I pinch and poke at, that I abuse with food, exercise and words. But  it's mine it's me and it's all I have. I'm sick of bashing it of pining at different ways to make it better.

How about this? I am good enough? I don't need to lose 5 more pounds. I don't need to be like the girls on tv. I don't need to do anything but just be?!

BAM.

I was ranting and typing and raring when I get a notification from my calendar. I am supposed to be at my nutrition appointment. CRAP.

So I call my nutritionist and I tell her what's on my mind.

She reminds me that my body looks at food over a week rather than a moment. That my body needs nutrients to help get better (which I have been depriving them of). Sigh. I can relax now.

Thanks for listening.