You Think You Know, Eh?

My hope through beginning a blog was essentially to change the way people view eating disorders, first and foremost. My second hope was to maybe find a certain level of healing and comfort by finding the courage to make an extremely private story, so incredibly public.
I have reason to believe I have yet to accomplish either goal, with the exception of blatantly exposing my ridiculous life. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

Unless you have personally lived through something, you can not feel it with every single fibre inside your soul. It is virtually impossible. To change an individuals outlook on a certain topic generally proves to be quite difficult. To make people passionate about changing the way, say eating disorders are looked at, is an entirely different story altogether.

It's not a diet gone astray, it's a death sentence being lived out. We're not picky eaters, we're petrified of what you just placed in front of us. We're not anti social, we're trapped behind bars inside a very tiny jail cell. Just eat, you say... Just dive into that concrete pavement from 5000ft above, we say back. We don't know how yet. And you won't. We're not "stupid girls" or vain, get to know us and we probably possess more intelligence then you ever thought possible. You know, once you can look past the whole ED thing. I've met countless people effected by an eating disorder who are some of the smartest, most kind hearted caring people I have ever met in my life. Should we know better? Yes. Do we? Sometimes. It's not entirely about being convinced "that voice" that perpetually taunts us day after day, is lying to us. It's about learning to believe that what we are being bullied into hearing All. Day. Long. Isn't actually true. To somehow look deeper into the mirror, deeper into ourselves, directly from the borrowed eyes of another and see what they so clearly see for a change. That maybe... Possibly... We are good enough in every way possible by just being us. It's about wanting to be good. Needing to feel loved unconditionally. Thriving on human contact that we tend to run from whenever it presents itself anyway. I can preach, man can I preach. And I can give advice to another. But I can't believe it for myself. I say I know. I know I should know, but I don't know anything. I just so desperately want to believe that the thoughts I'm being ambushed with aren't real, aren't true, or that some day they will indeed be silenced without my having to try so hard to shut them up. I feel crazy sometimes. When I despise who is glaring back at me, it's impossible to believe anything remotely good at all. I crave to be a good person. Pure and loved. But when things go askew, I believe anything but and the only thing that I can make sense of is turning to what I know, my eating disorder. Somedays I really do feel alright, somewhat normal. In times of stress, uncertainty, or hardship though, I haven't a clue how to deal but to try as hard as possible to fade away as quick as I can. To become smaller, unseen, invisible.
Light as a feather, I'll be.
It's incredibly easy when the eating disorder has always been here in times of need. To numb me out when I refuse to feel. To have Ed, so consistently, so utterly punctual, so goddamn reliable. It's so easy when I find myself distraught, sitting in my apartment seemingly alone, and I turn to look and He's the only thing sitting next to me. He's so conveniently accessible in moments of hurt. Ed, I believe he's actually saved my life at times when I believed I couldn't get though what was happening to me. He must care, right? How do you learn to separate from something so controlled?

Now tell me again it's just another fad diet gone a bit too far...

Made Sense In My Head

I keep finding new reasons not to eat.

Because I should be smart enough to have already dealt with my old reasons not to eat.

No reason to dwell on the past now, right?

Silent Killer

It's like all you're doing is fighting against yourself and you know, there is a chance that you will never win.

I've been doing so well.

That's such a lie.

If I silently sit back and reflect, it would appear I'm just swapping old symptoms for new ones, or for really old ones. Due to legitimately not being able to engage in symptoms I'm so fond of out of pain/fear, I've come up with more "healthy" things to keep myself occupied with.

I get tricked so easily!

Laying in bed at 1:23am and I can't bare the silence. I can't bare my own thoughts, my own feelings. The sound of my own breath makes me cringe, I need to hear something other than me so I try to focus on the cars passing by in the streets. It doesn't work. Playing music on VEVO keeps my anxiety at bay momentarily before I realize my cellphone bill is going to be through the roof.
A difficult time with sheer silence is an understatement. My anxiety levels go on a rampage when I realize it's just me and my brain. Maybe hence why I'm always keeping busy. Work, social media, exercising, reading, walking, texting, music, dancing. Anything at all. But what happens when there is no choice but to sit in it. Sit in the silence. What I really want to do is scream at the top of my lungs, punch something, throw a temper tantrum or cry like a two year old. When none of these are a likely option... Then what? I write. I'm writing because what I really want to do right now is go for a run. I've been sitting here counting the hours until I can get outside again and move. What am I running from? Myself, my reality. My legs try to go faster, to separate from myself, but my body knows it will never escape itself. I need to except where I am and be okay with it and move forward. I feel almost as if I've hit a blockade where, on my own, I can't move forward. Maybe it's time to go back to group therapy. Where I'm heard, where I'm understood and where I learn. I convinced myself a long time ago that I'm not sick enough to go back to group, I'm not thin enough to need help anymore. Someone tell me where the logic in that is please?
I'm not where I started. I'm not where I was a year ago when I began this blog even. I'm somewhere different. Better? Maybe. Worse? No. Simply different. The goal is still the same though, the ideal number hasn't gone away. My perfectionistic ways have yet to cease and the obsession is still there. The eating disorder morphs itself into something new, something that has me believing I'm happier. Happier until its quiet. Rules changed because I was catching on, I didn't want to play anymore. I refuse to believe I'm falling deeper into it instead of coming more out of it. I'd also be a fool to not know how easily I can fall back into it.

Ya, This Happens

*~*a classic common dialogue between Ed & I*~*

Yesterday I worked a busy shift, running around sweating my balls off, (if I had any) in the mild heat we did have. Until the end of my shift at 1130pm, I really had barely consumed anything all day. So I ordered food... To go. Ed disapproved.

Ed- you better not eat that. You've done so well all day.

Me- I'm hungry Ed, I'll eat half of it at home. I'm going to die if you don't let me eat.

Ed- you'll get fat, don't eat that.

*i ate it. half of it at work actually.*

When I got home...

Ed- you better not eat the rest of that. You foolishly made plans to go for breakfast tomorrow morning. You probably shouldn't go anymore.

*so i ate the other half*

Ed- okay, now you definitely can't go for breakfast tomorrow. Look at you, I can see the meal on your hips already. Do you feel better?

Me- no actually, I feel like I'm going to be sick.

Ed- you're not going tomorrow.

Me- I have to Ed, I made plans. I actually single handedly made these plans myself. I have to go. I'll just have coffee.

Ed- fine.

*when I woke up this morning I still felt full from the meal last night. I wasn't going to go, but really, I did make the plans. I had to go, I wasn't letting Ed win this morning. So I went, and I ate.*

Ed- you don't get it do you. You're too fat, you shouldn't be eating that. You're going to regret this, because I'm going to make you.

And by fat I mean...

~I'm really frustrated that I'm not better yet~

Me- I'm going to yoga later, I had to eat or I wouldn't make it through the class.

Ed- you better go work out before yoga or you'll look disgusting in those clothes.

And by disgusting I really mean...

~I keep attracting and allowing shitty relationships into my life. I need to be better so I can do better~

*so I did. I went home and jumped roped for 30 minutes. And then I danced for an hour and a half.*

Me- I shouldn't have done that. I'm going to eat something small and take the subway up.

Ed- no you're not.

Me- i'll walk home Ed, it's hot yoga, I gotta make it through the class.

Ed- you can take the subway home, promise. But you have so much time before class, you have to walk.

*so two hours before my class I walked there... The long way. An hour and a half later, I arrived, sweating and hungry and anxious*

Me- I shouldn't go in. You're in my head too much today. And I'm hungry, I'm really not going to make it through this class I don't think.

Ed- you'll make it through, I promise. And hey, I think maybe you kinda sorta look skinnier then you did earlier. You should work out some more. ***snickers behind devious smile***

Me- k, but stay outside. I need peace from you for an hour and a half.

Ed- only if you go in now

Me- my class doesn't start for another 30 min. It's too hot. I'm not making it through this class.

*so I went and laid in the heat for 30min prior to my class. I didn't bring Him in with me, so many people were in and out, He must have snuck in. I couldn't concentrate on a single thing, I couldn't hear the instructor. It was Him, His voice, Loud in my hear, taunting me.
...I didn't make it through the class*

Me- see, I told you...

Ed- that's your own fault, you were doing so great, I thought for sure you could do it. Don't blame me for your incompetence.

While kneeling on the bathroom floor trying not to puke or pass out...

Me- shut up Ed.

*foolishly thinking I could take the subway home, I was so disappointed in myself for not completing the class, I walked another hour and a half home. Sweaty, ugly and fat.

And by fat I mean...

~I think I'm really worried about my mom~

The entire, long, gross walk home he was walking beside me.

Ed- you should run home.

Me- I have a yoga mat, a purse with TWO towels in it among other things, and a water bottle. How about YOU run home, I'll meet ya there.

Ed- no really, I think you should run, it'll make up for lost yoga time. I promise you'll feel better.

Me- Ed, I still feel like I'm going to puke

Ed- well, if you had of stuck out the class, you could have taken the subway home. You did this to yourself.

Me- ya right you would have let me. How about I walk really quickly and you shut the hell up for 20 minutes.

*i walked a pace so fast I was trying to escape from someone. If I didn't have all my stuff I would have ran. I was trying to escape Him but man can that guy keep up. Every 30 seconds he assured me that I'm so fat I'll never get the things I want in life.*

And by fat I really mean...

~I'm scared my hard work in school and life right now isn't going to get me where I want to be. I'm terrified I'll never be good enough.~

*i eventually made it home and hopped in the shower. I blasted Adele to drown out the obnoxious sounds of Him and belted out lyrics that all too closely relate to my relationship with Him.*

Ed- what's the text say?

Me- don't worry about it...

*i was suppose to go out tonight, with a guy I'm really into. My response to an inquiry of if I'm coming was, "not likely"*

And by not likely I mean...

~I'm too fat.~

And by I'm too fat I REALLY mean...

~...I'd love to but you're no good for me, and I've had enough of no good for me for today.~

Ed- I think you should go...

Me- I think maybe you should go fuck yourself.

*so I put on the cutest pair of PJ's I could find to make myself feel a little better, made a coffee... And wrote...*

My Own Path

Recovery... What does that word even mean?! I can tell you this; the words easy, fun, reliable, joyous and The. Best. Ever! Will not be descriptors of Recovery, I'm sorry, they just won't be. Messy, chaotic, emotional and frustrating are more likely to fit the mold. It's the most uncomfortable, confusing thing ever. The process in itself sucks in my opinion. Just when you think you're doing kinda okay... You're suddenly, without warning or excuse, kinda REALLY not okay. There is no Recovery for Dummies manual to read and adhere to. There are no rules, no shoulds, shouldas or shouldnts. People will tell you to just eat, just don't throw up, just don't exercise, just love life, just be okay and just get better already. Some will tell you they know best, that you are too far in it to make a good decision and you should listen to them. Some will leave you alone and let you make your own decisions. Either one may or may not work for you. What I'm trying to say is... You're path won't look like mine and mine won't look like yours. What works for someone may not work for someone else. The most important thing...? Follow our own individual path, find what works for us, above all else, find the drive within our heart to do better for our own lives. To give ourselves the love we deserve even though most of the time we don't believe we deserve anything remotely great at all.

I've chosen a path that is maybe a little less conventional. Writing is my release. I have more paper notebooks than any single person should own with sporadic writings in all of them. Oddly, not a single notebook is completed. I hit a point where writing for only myself was getting me nowhere and decided to lay my heart and soul on the line for the world to see. It has been my saving grace I think. I don't so much talk freely in person about all this, my blog has allowed me to talk without having to speak.

I can't explain why it helps so much, I'm not sure I even understand it, all I know is that I'm not laying on my bathroom floor curled up in the fetal position everyday crying, afraid to leave my house except to go to work. With that being said, it's still hard to leave every day. I've had a small glimpse into life enjoyment this last year and that is what is keeping me afloat for now.

Afloat... Maybe we can use that word loosely.

My chosen route through this has been a struggle for others in my life. It's hard to make people understand my not wanting to do some things and wanting to do others when it comes to treatment. Treatment is an intensely scary thing, something I'll touch on another day, and that I'm not ready for. It's been a slow process for some to handle and at times for me as well. What matters to me though is that I want recovery sometimes, and sometimes is better than never. The somewhat small successes I have had don't get the praise they deserve because contradictory, they are serious failures in my eyes in the moment. I know though that that's Ed's voice knocking me down and my selfish reasons for not wanting to give up my eating disorder for good. It's only when I can look back on weeks, months and sadly, years, that I see I'm not in the same low place I once was. I get really angry everyday that I'm not better, but it's the simple reminder to myself that after 15 years of being effected by Ed, I can't expect to be better today. I'm learning to find the fine line between needing to stay inside away from the world and needing to go out and walk for hours. I'm learning who's voice is speaking, mine or Ed's, and which one to listen to. I'm learning that today I'm good but tomorrow I may be back crying on the bathroom floor. That my next post may be how horribly horrible all this is and how I'll never get better and that I downed a box of diet pills and spent my entire day exercising, and the post after that will be how motivated I am to recover. I'm learning that recovery is a contradiction in itself. That recovery can't be defined at all. I'm learning... And for now... That's what matters.

I'd also like to mention sharing, in any form, is therapy. When you can't be kind to yourself, getting your secret out results in kind words from others. It just so happens I was pleasantly surprised when I read a comment on a previous post today. I don't know them but that's what the best thing about it is. I needed to read that comment at that moment. Reading the kind words from an anonymous stranger makes me realize there are some pretty fantastic people out there. So to whoever you are, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for caring and believing. And seeing what I can't yet.

Media Hurts

I don't know whether I should tell you that I haven't made myself throw up once in about a month, or that today all that ended in a very premeditated, violent, angry way. Maybe all that truly matters is the "why" it all came to a halt.

I feel if for a few minutes it was possible to silence the world around us, our insecurities would still be what was screaming in our ears without the outside noise validating our every negative thought. We are, after all, essentially our own worst critics, so once you add in all that we witness or hear we tend to doubt ourselves more often in a day then we praise ourselves. Now fill in all that silence with Magazines, Print Ads, Billboards, Retail Stores, Radio, TV, Co-workers, Relatives, Parents, Spouses, School, Work, Friends, Enemies and Strangers... In a simple, single day, all of these make us take a look back at ourselves and question... Am I good enough...? As if women (yes men too) aren't exposed and knocked down ten notches on the daily, the message we are sending to our youth is unbearably disgusting.

I've had a pretty difficult few days so this afternoon when I decided to walk into La Senza with a girlfriend, I should have listened to that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach and turned right around. Unfortunately I'm no good at listening to myself and, well, I needed new underwear. Scanning through the store I noticed a common theme. The most widely accessible sizes on the walls, racks, and tables, were the smallest size with a bigger bust. "Normal" "Average" or "Bigger" were all stuck in drawers. Being use to things like this, I was trying my hardest to look past this detail. Then I noticed that 50% of the sizes that were out were a 30A. A size that I'm fairly certain did not even exist six months ago. I typically steer clear of underwear shopping so my timeline COULD be slightly incorrect. But I doubt it. Regardless, such a size would NATURALLY only fit a small undeveloped child of about ten, or... A person with an eating disorder. The question immediately on my mind to La Senza was; are they promoting child sexism or anorexia. Call me crazy but neither target market is proper. No 12 year old in my opinion needs a sexy lace push up bra. Encouraging such is encouraging children to be sexy women, not children. Since when are children suppose to be sexy? We need to teach these girls to be strong with their minds, education, drive, and ambition. That sex isn't the most important thing. More importantly, it teaches young boys to treat women as sex objects, and gives them a view of women that is so far from what it should be.
Secondly, if the target isn't young children (really, that may be giving La Senza too much credit) then we are telling women they need to be this thin. Any woman who walks into that store who is healthy will question if that is how small she should be. A girl walking into that store in recovery from an eating disorder or still suffering, an unhealthy size like this is going to keep them sick or revert them back to old tendencies. Maybe I'm speaking too boldly, that not every woman in the world is so easily influenced, but so so many of us are.

Further into the store I came across a highly suggestive picture of a model who couldn't have been older than 14 on a bed in pigtails and lingerie with a popsicle in her mouth and another sucking icing off her finger. Sorry, La Senza, but my giving you the benefit of the doubt that young girls aren't being sexually exploited in your store, came to a quick end right there.

So I have to ask, with all the pressure from the media that women need to be skinny to be beautiful, sexy to be adored, over the top to be seen; where are the warnings? People buy cigarettes with graphic warnings on the label about the effects of smoking. On the label of diet pills and ads are they going to let girls know the consequence of trying to be "perfect"?

WARNING: taking such diet pill, dieting, and forcing yourself to be "perfect" will cause depression, anxiety, obsession, addiction, severe self harm, and an abundance of hate for yourself. Participating in anorexic and bulimic behaviours will leave you with no friends, no life. You will become consumed and think of nothing but being pretty, skinny and perfect. You will become so deprived on everything you need it will be all you think about. In the end you will die because you killed yourself or your eating disorder did. Please take with caution. And remember... Smile so no one knows how sad you are.

It's all been so glamourized that no one thinks about or mentions the disturbing consequences. I speak so passionately about this because I don't think anyone should go through what I do every day. It's not worth it... It's just not. I have young female cousins that are subjected to this all the time and I can't bare the thought of them turning out like me. I'll fight tooth and nail for things to change for them.

Upon leaving the store and going to work... A co worker called me fat. Because people think that's funny to do. I walked home, and with every other step I took I told myself to purge. And with the other steps, I told myself no. After forcing the food I didn't want to see again down, I fought myself not to. But I had to. I had to feel better, to rid myself of the pain I felt today. Of the anger I have for society. Upon finishing dinner I read this...

Lady Gaga, a former sufferer of bulimia, with a huge following, tweets "just killed back to back spin classes. Eating a salad, dreaming of a cheeseburger. #popstarsdonteat #iwasbornthisway"

...and I knew that second my faith in society was gone for the day. The battle in my head was over and so was my month of "hard work".

...it felt like the first time I had ever purged again. It felt glorious and horrible. It felt so so right and so wrong. It felt like Ed in my soul.
It felt like love.
True love.

Wait... What?

I think I had a small glimpse into recovery.

I didn't like it. It was unfamiliar, unsafe and uncomfortable, and anything else "un" related.

So I unconsciously and then slowly knowingly and then very much aware, self sabotaged myself.

Really...? Is this how this goes?