Hm.

So, I was thinking about my brother yesterday.
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,
get married,
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.

I'll try to be less manic this time.

My last post (which I deleted) was a mania induced mess.
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.

I'm struggling.
The will to eat,
to recover,
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."

She's right.
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
the fire.
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.

Voices.

There is so much I want to say in this blog.
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.

I hope.

You have to want it.

Recovery is hard, in case you all haven't noticed. I'm sure you have.

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?

Absolutely.


S

This week.

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.

Breathe.

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.

It's hard.

---

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!

Love

S

On a plane...

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.

Much love.

S

A woman's body.

Sorry it's been a while. I'm still here lurking, and reading everyone else's post. So here is mine:

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,

Amen.