Wednesday, November 17, 2010
I'm too much, yet somehow not enough.
Too, too much.
Yet, not enough.
I mess up too much.
I'm not good enough.
I'm not worthy enough.
I'm always causing some issue.
I'm always getting yelled at.
I am broken, and unfixable.
I've been through too much.
I'm not whole.
I'm not enough.
I talk too fast.
I'm completely unreachable.
I get too excited.
I freak out.
I speak before thinking,
act without thinking.
I don't consider options.
I get something in my head,
then completely ignore
the dangers that are involved.
I must do it now.
I must have it now.
I make stupid mistakes.
A perpetual underachiever.
I'm just... me.
I feel the need to apologise.
Apologize for being me.
For being this person that is just
too, too much, but not enough.
For being all these things.
For doing all these things.
For making people want to step away.
For being completely intolerable.
For not being able to hold onto something good
before I lose it.
And I do lose it, because of me.
It's me, it's me, it's me.
No one sticks around for long. Save Julie, who is a God send and an angel. I eventually push people away. Too much to deal with, they will say to me. You don't make sense, they will say. You are too much (of this), they say. Not enough (of this.)
How do I change this?
I take medicine.
I am religious with it.
But there's only so much medication can do.
I do therapy.
I try so damn hard to be normal.
To hide this ugly part of myself.
Eventually they find out.
Who is "they," you ask.
"They," is anyone.
Everyone who spends more than
a few hours with me.
I try to hide myself.
I try to hide behind the walls I build.
The stone fortress that protects my mind,
and my heart.
But, I let people in.
People who I love.
People who I want so desperately to love me back.
Then they enter,
then they find out who I am.
Who I really am,
and they leave.
They can't handle me.
Too much, they say.
Some are nicer than others.
They step back, and pretend that
they don't notice the craziness
that is my mind.
They don't exactly leave, per say.
More just step back.
There's always distance.
Do I create the distance,
or do they?
There is always a distance
A thin piece of glass that holds me
just far enough away that I cannot touch them.
That they don't have to touch me.
They can leave.
But my side of the glass is a box.
And I am stuck.
Singing with my iPod in one ear.
Trying so hard to pretend that it doesn't hurt.
That this doesn't fucking hurt.
That I am alone, and no one wants to stay.
No one wants to be close enough to hold me.
For me to hold them.
I am good.
I am a good person.
I love harder than anyone I know.
Perhaps because it is always so one-sided.
I love fiercely.
I try to show people how much I love them,
how deeply I love them,
in hopes that they will return it.
In hopes that someone,
You're not too much.
You're not too little.
You are wonderful,
and I love you.
I love you just the way you are.
That's a lost hope.
I am flawed beyond measure.
Broken, as I said.
I hurt others unintentionally.
I hurt myself.
fuck the world!
I don't care!
Here I am.
Take me or leave me!
I don't care!
I care too much.
I break every time
someone looks the other way.
I try so hard.
But, there is nothing.
Nothing I can do.
I can't make people love me.
And it hurts.
And I can't fix it.
Where does the illness end, and where do I begin.
I have this fear, this terrible fear, that this is me.
That this is how I came.
That this is how I'm made.
That there is something
inherently wrong with me.
Wrong with my soul.
Medication only does so much.
My mania is less manic.
My depression is less, well, depressing.
It's too much.
I know it.
I'm too much.
I get it.
I'm not enough.
I don't need you to tell me.
Monday, September 27, 2010
So, on the day I told him that I liked him/he rejected me, I decided to go out with a friend from high school. We got a little hot and heavy. No sex, but definitely way too close. For those who don't know my history, I was raped. For some reason that has fucked me up, and I have lost my ability to say no. So, I said yes. We didn't have sex because the condom ripped (Thank God) and so when he was taking me home, I told him that I didn;t want to have sex until he knew me better. That was cool, but we were supposed to hang out on Saturday, and he never called me. So, my feelings are that, since he won't be getting any, that he's decided that he doesn't want me. That makes me feel great.
I am so glad that all guys want from me is my body. No one wants to get to know my mind.. my heart. My trust is extremely hard earned, and in order for me to have sex, there needs to be a monumental amount of trust, probably even love. I have been violated, and I am already incredibly uncomfortable in my body, and I want someone to understand that. I want someone to understand that sex is a big deal for me. I've never once enjoyed it, even when I agreed to have it, because I just can't say no. I want someone to know me- all of me- and love me anyways. I want someone who will take the time to get to know my past, someone who will learn why I hurt, and why I'm broken, and why a relationship is such a fucking big deal to me. Is that really so much to ask? Maybe it is. I dont want a fling. I don't want a one night stand. I want a relationship. I want someone that I could marry. I know that people my age don't usually think about marriage, but I want to date guys that I can see myself with long-term. I don't want casual. I want commitment. I don't know. I really don't fucking know.
I know I'm a lot to handle. I'm fucked up, neurotic, delusional, somewhat paranoid, and can get crazy at times. I have a terrible temper, and I'm hard to love. However, I love as hard as I fight. I am loyal, and good, and giving in my relationships. I don't know what else a guy would want. Maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm too fat. Maybe it's my scars. Maybe I'm not pretty enough, or funny enough, or maybe I am just... me, and nobody wants who I am.
It hurts. I want someone to love. I want to be loved. I want happiness with another. I've been single for years, and I want something new. I don't know.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Saturday, September 4, 2010
This is my Daddy. This picture was taken on my 20th birthday. I was fresh out of treatment, and about to go eat my first (and very scary) mexican food. My dad is the number one man in my life. When I was younger, and sometimes even now, we have hard times. I am just like my dad. I got my intelligence, curly hair, blue eyes, and temper from him. Because we are so similar, tempers sometimes flair, and sometimes it get ugly. However, I love him to death. He's a good man, but sometimes an asshole, lol. He's very good to me. He gave me a job that I love, a roof over my head, and a lot of love along the way. He's my great protector. He will do anything in his power for me to be happy, and I love him a lot.
Challenge 2, Day 3:
Favorite TV show:
This award has to go to Law and Order SVU and House MD. I also love Kate + 8, Cake Boss, Say Yes to the Dress, and most crime shows. :)
Challenge 3, Day 3:
A picture of me and my friends:Look at next post
Friday, September 3, 2010
This picture is like, six years old. My mom looks ridiculous, and I look.. *coughfatcough*. Anyway. It was taken at the beach when I was 14/15, I think. This woman is the light of my life. She has obviously been there with me through everything. From holding me when I was crying about my "friends" ignoring me and treating me like I was unimportant, to my first hospitalization/treatment, my second, third, fourth, fifth, and my last. She has watched me waste away, and come alive again. She loves me more every single day. She tells me I get more and more beautiful each day. She put up with me clinging to her in my illness, and put up with me when I hated her and wanted nothing to do with her when I was a young teenager. I am not an easy person to love, and she has loved me anyway. She has gotten frustrated, tired, angry, scared, worried about me, and felt all alone when I was dying from anorexia. However much she hated me at times, (and let me tell you, she had every right- I was ruining her life) she still wanted only the best for me. She loved me when I couldn't love myself. She prayed for me, and believed in me. She believed with all of her heart that I could get better, even when I was set on dying from my eating disorder. She has encouraged me on my path of recovery, celebrated with me, and held me when I didn't think I couldn't go through another day of this. With my mother's love, I am never alone. No matter how far apart we are- even when I'm 400 miles away, I still feel her love for me, always. I don't think I've ever met another person as sweet and kind as my mother, except maybe her mother. She is so amazing. SO amazing. So beautiful, strong, courageous, and wonderful. She's the best mother I could've asked for. The best mother I could've dreamed of. I love her with every piece of my heart.
Love you Momma :)
Challenge 2, day 2:
Hm... Idk. Probably the first Harry Potter movie. I know, lame.
Challenge 3, day 2:
The meaning behind my blogspot name:
Resmiranda is latin for Wonderful Circumstance. I learned it from a choral song called "There is No Rose of Such Virtue." I think my life is full of wonderful circumstances that make me who I am. Without everything (I mean everything. The good, the bad, and the ugly.) that has happened in my life, I wouldn't be who I am. And I quite like who I am, thank you very much. I love the word Resmiranda, and I love what it means, so that's why I used it.
Day 2: Done. :)
Thursday, September 2, 2010
There are 3 30 day challenges, so I'll do all three first day challenges now:
This is Julie. She is my bestest best friend. We met at the MC reunion summer 09. Julie, Ashley, Kdub and I went to dreamcakes before I had to sing at the summer celebration thing. Julie ended up spending the night at Amanda's with me, and for some reason she loved me. ? :P
She had to leave the next day, so I said goodbye and really never expected to see her again. I mean, I liked her, but you know, I didn't think that we were going to end up being friends, much less best friends. Anyway, she started calling me. And I was like, "What the hell does she want? Why is she calling me?" So I started answering the phone. Mind you, I hate the phone, and Julie wanted to talk to me on it. I especially don't like to talk to people I don't really know on my phone. But, for some reason, Julie persevered. So, me, Amanda, and Melissa went to Fairhope and Mobile to see Julie. There, my friends, is where I fell in best-friend love with Julie Ann! I do believe that we were made for each other. I have never. NEVER. had a better best friend than Julie Withers. She's amazing, kind, loving, and she puts up with my bullshit. She supports me and loves me no matter where I am in my life, in my head, or in my disorder. If I could only have one friend for the rest of my life, it would be her. When I get married, she will be my maid of honor. When I have kids, she'll be their Godmother. Her and Joseph will be Aunt Julie and Uncle Joe. She's everything to me, and I love her more than LIFE itself.
I love you, Julie!
Gah, I have no idea. I really like top forties stuff. I really really like shine down's "45" at the moment.
A recent picture of yourself and 15 random facts.
(Refer to picture of me and Julie)
1. I secretly wear glasses when no one is looking.
2. I am naturally a really suspicious person by nature.
3. I love photography. I'm a pretty good photographer, and I'm always looking for pretty subjects to capture on film.
4. I made first chair in the Tennessee All State Honor Choirs.
5. I am addicted to diet Mountain Dew.
6. I can bend my fingers backwards. Like, you know the top joints of your fingers? I can bend mine the opposite way of how they are supposed to bend.
7. It's really hard for me to go out/party/whatever. I'm a definite homebody/introvert.
8. I'm really shy. Bet you didn't guess that one.
9. I love the spanish language, and when I was practicing it, my least favorite teacher told me I had no english accent when I spoke. That was quite a compliment, seeing as she hated me.
10. I really miss school. I miss learning.
11. History and geography are my favorite subjects, and math is my least favorite subject.
12. I like being creative. Scrapbooking, singing, drawing, photography, acting, whatever. It's how my brain works.
13. I have the best parents in the world. My mom is my other best friend, and my dad is such a good dad now that I'm older.
14. I really have no idea what I want to do with my life. I wish I could just go to college and take classes that I want to and get paid for that. That would be nice.
15. I am terribly unique. I've never met anyone like me. Most likely you haven't either. I'm pretty sure that I should send you condolences. :P
Day one: Done.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
We are so incredibly different.
He's popular, outgoing and very self confident.
When I was his age, I was bullied, quiet, and had no
self esteem at all.
He has a girlfriend. He's twelve, so obviously it's
not a real girlfriend, but they talk and hang out and
all of that stuff.
I haven't had a real boyfriend in three years.
I'm not even sure if guys like me, matter of fact.
Sometimes I'm slightly jealous of the life he leads.
He's so... normal.
I was never normal.
I was bookish, brilliant, and misunderstood.
He has kids his age for friends.
I had my teachers for friends.
I never connected to people my age.
I was a 25 year old in a 9 year old's body.
This is a prime example of nurture vs. nature.
We were nurtured the same way
(except he was never abused)
but our nature is so very different.
I'm like my father.
Brilliant, introverted, uptight, and a temper to rival all tempers.
My brother is like my mom.
Laid back, mediocre in school, and incredibly extroverted.
He finds it so easy to show love.
I, however, do not.
I guess it's that he's never had love used against him as I have.
There's still time for that, I guess, but I hope it never happens.
I hope he never becomes as cynical and jaded as I am.
Mental illness is in his blood.
Every single person in my family has mental illness.
However, unlike myself, he doesn't currently display any signs of it.
When I was twelve, I already was self harming.
I had an eating disorder.
I could have already been diagnosed with major depression.
So, I have hope for him yet.
I pray that he is so much my opposite
that he doesn't even think of traveling down
the roads that I have.
I pray that he will live a happy, normal life.
That he will actually try in school,
go to college,
have great, lifetime friends,
and have children that don't resemble me, either.
I pray that he will find a passion,
and persue it steadfastly.
I pray for normalcy for him,
and I pray that he will love God and
keep Him close at all times.
I want so badly for him to make it through
this life happy. I want it for him so desperately.
I hope he does.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
So, let us try again, now that my mood is stable.
I keep deleting everything I'm writing.
I guess it's because it's hard for me to
say what I mean sometimes.
This is one of those times.
The will to eat,
is not there.
I miss my skinny jeans.
They don't fit right now.
As an earlier post from me says,
I've gained some weight.
I'm out of the range the dietician set for me.
Only a few pounds,
but it's terrifying.
According to BMI charts,
which they are not accurate,
I'm still... at the lowish-mediumish side of healthy.
It's 21.3 now.
My BMI, I mean.
It amazes me sometimes,
the weight I've had to gain in recovery.
It amazes me that, at one time,
I was, as Nicole put it, "wasted."
I look back now at pictures, and I can see it.
I see how bad it was, weighing ** pounds.
I was not beautiful then.
Sickness does not befit me.
I look at pictures,
and I can see the bones.
I see the teeth, mouth, and eyes
that seem too big for my face.
I see that, even with a smile on my face,
my eyes were haunted.
I was haunted.
I am haunted still, sometimes.
I can still feel my past,
the rape, the abuse,
the harsh words that sting the soul even now.
I still feel it.
Like Marya Hornbacher said,
"Frostbite does not hurt until it starts to thaw.
First, it is numb. Then a shock of pain rips though
the body. And then, every winter after, it aches.
And every season since is winter, and I do still ache."
I do ache.
Recovery awakened me.
It thawed my frozen soul that I lived with in my Eating Disorder.
I didn't feel the pain,
once I had my eating disorder.
And then, when I made the decision to do it (recovery)
for real this time,
all hell broke loose.
We're not talking about a slow thaw.
We're talking about ice being thrown into
A fast, terrifying, "all emotions hit you all at once," thaw.
I just want to shut it off.
I am a completely different kind of fucked up,
now that I'm in recovery.
Before, I was psychotic, dissociated, numb.
It didnt mean anything, though.
I didn't know anything different.
I was so gone, that none of it mattered.
Now I'm neurotic, manic, depressive, and I feel
way too much.
It's overwhelming and I just want to shut my brain up.
I want quiet, but all I have are these thoughts that
won't go away.
It's like someone is screaming in my ear with a megaphone
all the time.
I grow tired of being abnormal.
The only way I know how to cure the abnormal-ness
is to feel nothing at all.
The only way I know how to do that is with my ED.
I don't know.
I should breathe.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
So much that is bothering me.
So much that makes me want to go back to before.
Before I had recovery.
Before the freedom.
All for the body and control I felt I had back then.
I realize now that, despite that I felt I was in control,
I was not.
Still, I long for the body I had,
the bones, the lack of flesh on my frame.
I know that I was not beautiful back then.
Still, I miss it.
Perhaps it's because of the weight gain,
the constant state of anxiety I've been in.
My clothes not fitting.
My watch not fitting at the beginning hole.
My mom told me I shouldn't eat so much.
Perhaps she is right.
I thought I was eating fine,
but maybe I am eating too much.
This is perhaps the most I've struggled since I've been home.
My weight had been steady.
I had no need to be worried about it.
My clothes fit. I felt beautiful.
I was happy.
Suddenly, I'm not happy.
I don't know what happened to lead up to this.
I miss Julie.
I have no one here. I'm completely alone.
I miss my best friend.
My therapist is worried about me.
She asked me if I was relapsing.
I said no.
I'm not relapsing.
I'm eating, I'm sleeping, I'm treating my body well.
It's the thoughts.
The pull of dissociation.
The need to be numb.
I cannot succumb to this eating disorder.
I cannot self-injure.
I do not want to waste what has been so kindly given to me.
What I've been blessed with.
Life is more important than this feeling that I've been having.
Yet, they are here.
Causing me to feel nothing but sorrow and anxiety.
I don't know.
I will not be like this forever.
I tell myself that every day.
This will go away.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
I know about relapse. I've done it, many times, with self harm and with my eating disorder. It's only by the grace of God, and hard work that I have stayed in recovery this time.
There's a profound difference in my recovery this time. What is it? I want it. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted before. I know what freedom- true, complete freedom- feels like.
It's this amazing sense that everything is going to be alright in the end.
It's about the love that I now have for myself.
It's about being able to love others, fiercly, totally, and completely.
It's about eating.
It's about being comfortable in my body at any given time.
It's about not having to know every single detail.
It's about feeling everything, the good, the bad, and the ugly.
It's about finding myself beautiful, inside and out.
It's about not caring what other people perceive me as.
It's about having fun.
It's about waking up and being reasonably sure that I'm not going to die that day.
It's about wearing a bathing suit and not wrapping a towel around me.
It's about having that one, true best friend.
It's about not having obsessive compulsions.
And it's about living life, not surviving through it.
I want recovery for every one of you. It's made my life so incredibly beautiful and simple.
Recovery is hard. Is it worth it?
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
This week has been endlessly amazing. Julie and I had a wonderful time. It's so good to be with my best friend. I cannot believe that I have to leave her :(. It's really hard because she lives so far away, but I'll hopefully see her again this summer. We had a blast. We went to the beach, and the water park. We spent some awesome days booze crusin with Joseph's (Julie's husband) friends. It's the best vacation I've ever had.
I have had some hard times while here. I weighed myself (Yes, you read correctly) and I've gained 6 pounds this week. That, my friends, is hard as hell to hear. We drank a bunch (and by a bunch, I mean like 25-30, each) of smirnoff green apple. We ate. Alot. I feel like a fat pig. I look terrible. I'm definitely out of the range that my dietician set for me.
Now, all my thoughts are on how I can lose this weight. And, they're not healthy ways. I will never purge again, but skipping meals is looking really appealing right now.
Everyone is looking at me weird. I'm sure they all think that I'm fat. None of my jeans fit right now. God, it's miserable.
I'm trying to tell myself that the weight will go away on it's own if I stop drinking 880 calories a day worth of smirnoff and eat normally again. I mean, it has to, right? Suzanne (Dietician) told me that my weight will always go back to it's set point if I lose a little or gain. I just have to eat correctly. Right? Right?!
My anxiety is high right now. I havent weighed this much in over a year.
I just need to breathe.
God is testing me. I know he is. He's testing my recovery and seeing what I'll do.
I want to do the right thing.
I really do.
Well that was a tangent I didn't mean to go on. Anyways, I am so happy I got to spend this time with Julie. I love her to death. She's amazing, and the best friend I've ever had. I am so proud of her. She also has an eating disorder, but she's kicking it's ass. We're kicking ass together, even though it's hard.
I love you Julie! You're amazing, wonderful, beautiful. You're everything to me!
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Today, I'm getting on a plane for the first time in 5 years. I'm going to go see my best friend Julie (See above). I'm super excited to see her, but super nervous about the airport. I've never flown by myself, so I am worried that I wont find my terminal. I don't know what to do. I have my boarding pass, and I know I'm supposed to go through security, but then I have no idea what happens next. I need a xanax. I'll take one before I leave. I have a feeling that this is going to be anxiety provoking.
Anyways, I'll be spending a week in mobile. I'll definitely post pictures at some point. I won't be out of touch, but I might not blog while I'm there. So. I'll miss you all.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
The lovely EA wrote about her experience in a clothing store the other day. It was similar to what I've been going through, so I thought I would write about it.
My bras were old. At least one and a half years old. They were streched, dingy, and didn't fit at all. In that year and a half, my weight has fluctuated about 40 pounds. Low before the first tx, to high healthy, to lower (than before first tx) before the second tx, to my body's healthy, natural set point now. Needless to say, my breasts have fluctuated as well.
I've always had breasts that weren't proportionate to my body. Before the anorexia (during the bulimia) when I was overweight, I wore a DD. They were too big for my overweight frame then. Last time I tried a bra on (that I didn't buy), (In the depths of my ED, when I was the smallest I've ever been) I was a 30 B, still rather big for my overly thin body. During that time, I didn't want to look like a woman. I didn't want breasts, I didn't want a period, I wanted to be a girl, not a woman. Yet, thanks to my family's big breast genes, I still had boobs. I hated it, needless to say.
So, 25 pounds later, I went in the store today, and tried on a 30 B, praying that it would fit and I would not have these breasts that I still have trouble accepting. Needless to say, the bra didn't fit anymore.
So, when I went to get a a bigger size, I was highly upset. "I don't want boobs! I hate looking like this!" The 30 B didn't fit in the cup area, and it didn't fit around my body. I was shaken. So, I went and got a 36 C. When I put it on, it fit. I looked in the mirror, and thought, "Damn. I look like a woman."
My body has grown. It has taken it's natural shape, and it's scary sometimes. I haven't looked like this at any point in my life. I've never been this weight in my adolecsent or adult years. Always much higher, or much lower.
The bra looked good though. It was pretty, and my body was pretty in it. Like EA said, I loved myself in the bra.
I have a woman's body. Hips, curves, boobs, and ass. After a battle of 8 years, trying to hide myself by being overweight or underweight, I simply am. I am my perfect size. As long as I treat my body right, it'll never change. I cannot hide in this size. I don't want to hide anymore.
My issues with men have kept me hiding my body, kept me making it undesireable in any way I could. I don't want that now. I want to be able to celebrate my body, even with bigger sized jeans, shirts, and bras. And, so today, with my new fitting bra, and the rest of my clothes that flatter my body, I'll do just that.
Thank you, God for my body.
Thank you for letting it work for me,
even though I abused it so badly.
Thank you for my curves, everything
that makes me a woman.
In Jesus' name,
Thursday, June 24, 2010
So, I have many dear friends right now (you probably know who you are,) who are really struggling with ED thoughts and/or behaviours. They are so precious to me. It physically hurts for me to know that they're hurting. So, these are letters of encouragement to them.
Hello you beautiful woman. I just want to tell you how amazing you are. You are so wonderful. You're gorgeous, intelligent, strong, and utterly amazing. This eating disorder has got nothing on you. I sincerely believe that this is your time, and recovery is yours. I know that you're working your ass off, and I am so incredibly proud of you. You mean the world to me, and I truly believe that one day soon, we will be living the lives of freedom which me yearn for. I believe in you!
I love you so much!
You are perhaps the strongest woman I know. You have fought hard for every step you've walked towards "recovered, period." I know how potentially triggering things are right now for you. (I hope you know what I'm talking about- I don't want to give specifics on here.) I truly believe that the stuff that's gone on lately is just an obstacle that you have to overcome. I have complete faith that you'll get through it, and it will make you stronger than ever. I love you so much, and I have confidence in you. I believe that recovered, period is attainable, and you've shown me that. Thank you.
Love, I know how hard this is. You know I do. I've said everything I would write here to you before. So, I'll just say this. I believe in you. Something Nicole and Chebon always said to me was this- If you can't believe in you and your recovery right now, believe that I believe. Because I do. I believe.
I love you.
Hey darling. I have seen your struggle- the will to live a life of freedom, yet the eating disorder just won't let go. I know that God has a wonderful plan for you, and that He will guide you through this one step at a time if you call upon Him. He is almighty, and He will save you, just like He saves me every day. God never gives us more than we can handle. I have faith in you. I believe in you. Just like you always tell me- Recovery is yours! Believe it.
I love you!
Things are hard. Recovery is a bitch sometimes. I've been depressed lately. There will always be hard days in recovery. There will always be hard days when I'm recovered. It's part of life. Nothing meaningful in life is easy to get. That goes for everything, especially for eating disorder recovery. If it was a walk in the park, everyone would be recovered. It's not, and so every day I have to fight for that. Every day I have to listen to the voices in my head that scream, "Go back, Go back!" And every day I have to scream even louder, "No!" There is an actual dialogue that I say out loud. When I eat, and the voices in my head say, "time to purge," I say out loud, "No, this isn't happening to me. This is not an option." Something about confronting those voices out loud gives me strength. The voices are stuck in my head, they can't verbalize out loud what they're saying. I, on the other hand, can. And I do. It's very calming for me, realizing that I am indeed stronger than those damned voices in my head.
It's like they're playing on a cd on replay. Just like my OCD. The voices that make me obsessive and compulsive also scream at me to turn back. "Really. Is this all worth it? You could be numb. No fear, no feelings at all. Empty, in every sense of the word." It sounds good sometimes. My feelings are so intense. It was a prerequisite for me having an eating disorder. Feelings and emotions that are so intense that I feel like I'm drowning in them. They say that creative people often have that, and that's what makes them excel in their craft. I believe it. The intensity is a blessing and a curse. When I'm happy, it's this sense of incredible joy in my life; When I'm sad, I'm wracked with sorrow, covered in it, like it's a blanket that's been tied around me and I can't get out. There really isn't a middle ground for me without my medication, and sometimes it doesn't work anyways.
I know that only by living a life in recovery will the voices eventually die down for good. I'm waiting for that time anxiously. Until then, I fight. I fight with everything I have, no matter how tired I am, or how depressed I am. And today, like every day, I will fight hard as hell, because I will win. I might not win every battle, but I will win the war.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
I've been having that conversation with my eating disorder for days. Every time I eat, it starts up again. But I won't do it. Not because I can't, because I could, but because I won't.
My hunger cues are back too. I've been ravenous for days, and that's scary. I'm not eating like I should. Too many carbs, not enough of everything else. My mom hasn't been making vegetables for dinner, so I'm not getting enough of that, and I haven't been eating my fruit. The last few days have been hard, because I have this insatiable appetite. I feel like I've gained weight, and that's ALWAYS a bad thing. My mind starts fucking with me when that happens. So, I need to get back on track. I'm not following my meal plan and that's dangerous. Today, I'm finding it incredibly hard to eat breakfast. No one would notice if I just skipped it. However, my eating disorder would notice. If I skip breakfast, it'll be much harder to get back on track for lunch. Nicole used to remind me of that all the time. So, I know what I have to do. I just don't want to do it.
I'll be miserable if I skip breakfast. I'll get shaky and weak and feel dizzy and lose my concentration. I really don't understand how I didn't eat for days when I was sick. I guess I got used to the feeling so much that I didn't even notice it. It's funny (in a not so funny way, of course) how much I notice those symptoms after just skipping one meal when I'm well, but didn't notice them when I was ill. It's like God's little reminder of how bad things can be.
I'll do what I need to do. I've got to, so there's really no question.
Anyways. Yesterday we had my cousin lindsay's 23rd birthday party. Happy birthday Lin! We ate and swam (and by swam I mean we got on floats and tanned). The boys swam around and played football. My brother (James- see below) hit me with the football twice and it really pissed me off! However, I did get a nice tan, and that's always a good thing. I'm as pale as a ghost, and it's nice to have some color, even though my freckles get crazy dark in the sun. I look like one big freckle. Thank you Irish ancestry! Red hair, blue eyes, pale skin and freckles. Unlike 90 percent of the red-haired population, I tan rather nicely if I'm out in the sun long enough. I did wear my bikini, even though I felt extremely fat yesterday. I'm proud of myself. I have a bunch of 1 pieces (thanks to swimming competitively) and tankinis, but I said to hell with it and wore my bikini. I needed sun on my belly anyways.
Anyways, I'm finding recovery rather sucky today. What does that mean? Absolutely nothing, because it happens. Today my motto is "You've gotta do what you've gotta do."
Be healthy today.
Friday, June 18, 2010
It's a beautiful morning here. The sun is shining, and it's not hot yet. It is probably 80 degrees now, but it's supposed to get up to 96 today. So much for spring-like weather. I think spring lasts about 1 week here in Memphis. I really want to lay out today, but that would require me getting into my newly acquired two piece swimsuit. I don't know how I feel about that today. I'm all for having a healthy body, and being at a healthy weight, but when I put on my swim suit I can't help but think how much better it would look if I was at my low weight (25 pounds ago). Yes, I know. I know. I looked like shit at that weight, according to many of you. And I know that, logically. But, really, when I look in the mirror, I can't help but miss that body sometimes. But then I remind myself of how miserable being in that body really was. It was not fun, it was not easy, and I definitely saw myself as heavier than I see myself now. Only with nutrition (that makes my brain function correctly- what a novel idea!) do I see that I was in fact much smaller than I am now.
The mirror is such a frustrating thing for me. I see myself now, and I look much bigger than I did when I got home. That is ridiculous, because, in fact I look the exact same to everyone else as when I got home. How do I know that? Well, it's because, when I went to the doctor the other day, I weighed the EXACT same weight that I did as soon as I got home (2 and a half months ago). Exact down to the decimal. So, logically, I know that it is physically impossible to look different if you haven't gained one ounce of weight. That's comforting to me, because I tend to be very logical when I'm not in the depths of my eating disorder. But, alas, the mirror- something that is supposed to reflect perfectly what an object (or person) looks like- lies to me on a daily basis. It's called bdd. Body Dysmorphic Disorder. It's when your mind sees your body as disfigured or bigger than it really is. When I look in the mirror, I see something much different than what you all see when you look at me. Same as photographs, videos of me, etc. Part of my brain will always (unless this rather unfortunate phenomenon is healed by the grace of God) believe what I see in the mirror, even though, logically, I know it's a lie.
My eating disorder uses this against me on a daily basis. Just another manipulative way to get me to go back to the hell that an having an ED is. I won't do it though. I refuse to let my eating disorder take over my life again. It can go fuck it's self. I've come too far to let it's lies send me back into the darkness.
However, the great thing about being in a strong, real recovery is that I don't give a damn. Yes, the mirror lies to me. The sucky thing for my ED is that, even though I see myself as 170 pounds (obviously I'm not 170, and there is nothing wrong with being 170, so don't get offended, please.) I accept my body looking like that. (even though it really doesn't). I look in the mirror and say, "Yep. This is what I see. Do I like it? No. But, do I accept it as what it looks like to me, even if it's not true? Yes." I accept that, even if I do look like that, I won't do anything to change it. I'm living the life that I dreamed of for so long, and, really, who the hell cares what I look like as long as I'm healthy and happy? I try not to.
Today, I am loving recovery. That definitely doesn't happen every day, but I am thankful for each day that I wake up and think, "Recovery is amazing." I thank God every day that he's brought me to the other side of this. From his grace, I can see clearly what life was like while I was sick. I no longer hold any illusions of grandeur about my eating disorder. It sucked. It sucked completely, totally, passionately. It sucked. There was nothing positive about the years I was sick. However there are some positive things I gained by being sick, and most importantly being in recovery. I have great amounts of understanding and empathy for all people. I know that everyone, no matter who they are or how happy they are in the moment, is fighting, or has fought, or is going to fight a hard battle of some kind. I understand the world around me in a completely different way than most people. And most importantly, I've come to realize that, yes, what doesn't kill you does indeed make you stronger.
I am strong, and I am a free woman.
And it feels great.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
So, firstly, I want to welcome one of my closest friends to the blogging world. I love you, Amaris! Welcome!
So, I've promised to write in this blog for both accountability and for my mental health. It's always good to get things on "paper." Here it goes!
I've been feeling like shit lately. My muscles and joints have been aching, and my heart's been racing. After a month of this, I decided it was time to go to the doctor. So, yesterday, off I went. I love my nurse that I see. Her name is Mary, and she's young, and a woman (obviously :P) and just all-around awesome. She checked me out, and doesn't know what's wrong. She did some blood tests, and my CBC is normal (Thank you, God!), but the other ones haven't come back yet. So, I left with more questions than answers, but I'm accustomed to that.
So, recovery wise, everything is going pretty well. I have my slips occasionally, but 95% of the time, I'm in full recovery. I find that it's hard to eat most days. I do it, but it's still hard. After 5 months of being in complete recovery, the voices still haven't gone away. It's always, "You're fat," "Why are you wearing that? It makes you look like a (insert huge, fat animal here)," "You could stand to lose a few pounds." I won't lie to you, 9 times out of 10, I believe those stupid voices in my head. Sometimes they're just a whisper, and I can barely hear them. Other times they sound like they have a megaphone and are screaming in my head. I hear that sometimes they never go away. I've accepted that. I hope for the best- that they will go away- but I prepare for something less than the best. Maybe I'll hear them for the rest of my life. I can't control that, but I can control how I react to them. I do that now, for the most part. If you're asking if I never skip a meal, then the answer is "No". I do, some days. I decide in my head that lunch really isn't THAT important, and really, what harm comes from skipping a meal? Normal people do it all the time. The problem is, I'm not normal. Every time I skip a meal, I give a little bit to the eating disorder. I give it something to work with. Luckily, most days when I skip a meal, either my body protests fiercly, or I come to my senses and make it up later in the day. 99% of the time, I still get in what my body needs in the day. Why? Because recovery is so much more important than those stupid voices in my head.
So, today, like most days, I hear the voices in my head. "Why did you eat breakfast, you fat pig?! Now you have to skip lunch or you'll gain 10 pounds!" And to that, I say, "No, I will not gain 10 pounds. Matter of fact, I'll not gain anything. Why? Because my body is stable, and it's at it's set point, and if I eat, I'll maintain, which is exactly what I need." And they reply, "Stable?! Who wants to be STABLE? Who wants to MAINTAIN?! Everyone wants to lose weight. Especially you. Isn't that what your whole life thusfar has been about? You're never happy with your weight. How about this. You can lose just 5 pounds. 5 pounds won't do any damage. Trust me." And, I roll my eyes and say, "Five pounds won't change how I look, but it will throw me right back into my eating disorder, and I don't want that. And! Why would I trust YOU? You ruined my life for 8 years. Trusting you is not an option. You wont win this one, so shut the fuck up!" And, everything is quiet in my head for the moment. They'll start back up when I'm fixing lunch, and I'll have much of the same conversation that happened earlier today.
It's a constant battle in my head- the will to live and the will to die, fighting for control of my body and mind. The attainable and maintainable fighting against the unattainable. Thank God that I find life so much more becoming than death.
For the first time in probably 10 years, yesterday, I thought of death and didn't wish for it. Even in recovery this time around, I would still think of it and say to myself, "Dying wouldn't be so bad." Yesterday, though everything isn't sunshine and rainbows right now, I thought, "Damn, it would suck to leave all of this behind." Life is hard. Recovery is harder. And, yet, I find life to be a grand thing. I've been blessed with having a beautiful, imperfect, amazing, joyful (not always happy, but definitely joyful) life. It's too much to willfully leave behind. It's not my time yet, as God has proven time and time again, saving me from death at the last moment sometimes. But now, when it is my time to go (which I hope will be about 70 years from now) I'll have had much more joy than pain.
So, today, I choose to live.
I pray you choose that too.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Anyways. So, this is it. I'll try to update as much as I can. Follow my journey with me. It will be fun.