Time heals all wounds...or does it?

We've all come to know certain sayings like, "time heals all wounds."  I'm sure I've even said this to people in the past, but I couldn't disagree more with that statement.

I'm encompassing all wounds together, whether they be physical, mental, or emotional.  For example, I'm still feeling the effects of a car accident that happened last year in August.  I don't usually talk about it, I see it as something I have to live with, but the fact is my body is never going to be the same.  Time and some effort on my part (like PT) may ease some of the physical pain I feel on a daily basis, but my neck and back are compromised and weaker than before the accident.  I broke my leg when I was eight and although I don't feel pain from this injury, it still affects me.  People point out at various times that my right foot angles inward when I walk.  Yes, thank you for noticing, that is because I broke my leg.  The bone may have mended, but my leg isn't the same.

This is the same for the mental and emotional pain we feel.  Time doesn't heal those wounds, it may create some distance and a barrier so the pain doesn't feel as raw, but it's still there underneath the scars.  

I will always have an eating disorder.  I'm not trying to be negative or say recovery doesn't work.  Recovery does work.  It works to help me cope differently and in a healthier way when life is stressful.  Even though I've had moments of feeling okay and maybe (dare I say) good about my body, ED is still there arguing with me.  There are days I'm strong and I laugh him away, but there are days that he breaks my spirit and I just want to stay under the covers and never come out again.  Even though I haven't purged in months doesn't mean I don't think about doing it, especially more recently with the holidays.  

What if I throw up just this once?  

We already know where that will lead.  It's never just once.  In my recovery I've learned that if there is a scale out in the open, I'm going to step on it.  It's this immediate knee jerk reaction.  Scale equals "hop on and feel like crap, it's your lucky day of self loathing."  I have weighed myself recently because the scale was there and we were visiting relatives in Michigan for Thanksgiving and I ate food on a holiday.  A great sin indeed...  And guess what?  I hate the number, what a surprise.  I will always hate the number.  Even at my lowest weight I hated the number, it was never good enough.  

BUT there is hope.  Even though time won't erase ED from my existence, it does give me the space and distance I need to put things into perspective.  Even though I hated the number I was able to have a coherent, logical and rational discussion with myself.  Last year I wouldn't have been able to do that.  It would have meant restricting and purging and chewing lots of gum and drinking water like it's going out of style and saying things like, "No thanks, I just ate."

Time may not heal wounds, but it does keep us moving forward and maybe give us a little hope that tomorrow will be better.

The Wedding Singer

Last night Edgewood College closed their most recent show The Wedding Singer.  I'm honored to have been a part of this very talented cast.  I remember going to the read through and I felt like the new kid in school.  I was walking into a situation that most of the cast were students and knew each other and have worked with each other.  Even though the cast didn't know my age at the time, I was very aware that I may be 11 years older than some of these students.  I'm so happy that the cast and crew welcomed me with open arms.

This show has pushed me past my comfort zone and has probably been the most difficult show I've ever been in.  The director and choreographer pushed us and expected excellence.  There were nights I went home and wondered what the heck I was doing in this show.  Why was I cast?  Could I really do everything that was laid before me?

I opened up to some of the cast about my anxiety, social phobia, eating disorder and how last year I was suicidal.  It's not something I just throw out there, but when I could relate to one of their life stories I wanted them to know they weren't alone.  

Wedding Singer has helped me in my recovery.  I was a part of the dance ensemble and with all the dancing we did there was no way I could engage in behaviors and go to rehearsal on an empty stomach.  Being around these college students also reminded me about having fun, that there is more to life than being perfect.  I'll take having fun over perfection any day.

So here's a shout out to all those involved with Wedding Singer!  You have enriched my life with your kindness, openness and talent.  I hope to work with you all again in the future!

Real women have....

Bodies.  And so do men.  It's this fascinating concept.  As human beings we were given this shell called a body.  We are tall and short, big and small, some of us have freckles, some of us have curly hair, some of us are left handed.  We are all different, just like snowflakes.  What makes us unique isn't just our outer shell, but what's inside the shell.

I know, super cliche: beauty comes from within.  And it always seems that only beautiful people say that, right?  Like it's super easy for a thin person to say something inspiring about having curves and make it seem like this positive thing, but that thin person without curves doesn't exactly know what it's like to wear a different shell.  And the curvier person is constantly reminded that she (or he) doesn't quite fit in our society's standard of beauty even though that thin person just tried their best to relate. 

I remember when the movie Real Women Have Curves came out.  I was so excited!  Finally they're making a movie to show it's okay to not be skinny.  But now after being in recovery I see the movie a bit differently.  I know the movie is about empowering women, has a great storyline and the intentions are all good.  However the title bothers me some.  Real women have curves...so...the women who are naturally slim aren't "real women"?  Or an anorexic wouldn't be considered a "real woman"?

What constitutes a real woman?  So much more than her body, that's for sure.  I can't even define what a real woman is and it would be rather egotistical of me to even try.  I can only define myself and I'm just one type of woman.

I'm average height, have black hair, brown eyes (so dark when I was a baby my grandma called them black), is insecure (but working on it), a daughter/sister/wife, heterosexual, hard worker, talented (that's hard for me to say, but dammit I am talented, might as well own it), creative, sensitive, anxious, kind hearted, perfectionistic, a good listener, likes to make people laugh...I could go on and on, there's so much that defines me.  In this definition I purposefully didn't mention my weight (which I don't even know) or my body type (which I'm conflicted about on a daily basis) because there is so much more to me than those facts.  Those are two things about me, just two, and so many of us let those two things run our lives.

But what happens when we stop making it about those two insignificant things and make our lives about being good people and reaching our full potential?  Being a good person has nothing to do with which shell you were given, what you ate for lunch, if you let yourself have dessert, if you went to the gym, if you are a size zero or a size twelve, and everything to do with how you treat others.  Smile more, laugh often, be vulnerable, give someone a hug, tell a special person you love them, make mistakes, cook with a friend.  Above all be yourself because no one else can do what you do or be who you are.

Mirror, mirror, on the wall...

As one can imagine, mirrors aren't my favorite thing.  Most times in a public bathroom, I walk up to the sink, eyes on the sink, get my soap, lather my hands together, rinse, dry, and walk out.  Not once looking at myself.  Why?  Because I don't like looking at myself.  When I do, my mind starts doing jumping jacks.

Can people tell that I've gained weight?  Do I look fat in this outfit?  Maybe I should always suck my stomach in.  How can I make my legs longer and thinner?  From the side can I pass as skinny?  I wish my arms weren't so big.

I could continue on and on, but I'm sure some of you could fill in what's missing because you have your own thoughts while looking in the mirror.

Today I was in rehearsal for the ballet version of A Christmas Carol with the Stoughton Center for Performing Arts.  It's a ballet studio.  They are not in need of mirrors.  They have plenty.  I look around at all the real dancers and wonder if any of them have a problem with the mirrors.

In rehearsal mirrors are important.  We can see how we carry our bodies, if we are in step with the person next to us, and for the real dancers they can keep an eye on their technique.  Today when we had periods of waiting time while the director was discussing something with certain people, I looked in the mirror.  I was wearing an athletic t-shirt and yoga pants.  By brain split in two.

One part of my brain did the usual check.  Thighs touch.  Stomach sticks out.  Wide hips.  Well endowed.  Flabby arms.  Yeah...I'm there alright.

The other part of my brain did something different though.  While the first part of my brain did its check, the second part kept asking, Does it matter?  You are healthy.  You can't trust what you see.  You can't compare your body with those of teenagers.  You want to be a strong dancer, right?

By the end of rehearsal I decided that I looked okay.  That there wasn't really anything wrong with my body.  That I looked like a human being.  That there is more to me than the number on the scale and the number on the clothes tag.  That I love people of all different shapes and sizes and others probably do too.

It's still hard though.  For the people who have seen me skinnier, I wish there was this sign they could read, In Recovery, so they wouldn't judge me that my body takes up more space now, that they automatically understood before I wasn't treating my body right and now I am, that I'm doing the best I can.

In a sense I have to mourn my previous body and ED.  I really don't have a desire to go back and starve and purge and drive myself crazy, but I'm still addicted to the idea of thin.  I still want to be considered the skinny friend, but that's not my role anymore.  My role is compassionate friend, understanding friend, loving friend, nonjudgmental friend, etc.

As I continue my recovery journey I don't know if I will ever love what I see in the mirror.  For right now I'm working towards acceptance.

When I was five years old

It's Christmas time and my church is putting on their annual pageant.  The older kids get to be Mary and Joseph and the Wisemen and the little ones, the five year olds, get to be angels.  

All I remember of this is standing in the back of the church bawling my eyes out because being an angel scared me.  I remember my mom standing in the back with me.  I don't remember what she said, I just know she didn't make me walk down the aisle.  

I wanted to be an angel so bad.  Then why didn't I just walk down the aisle with all the other angels?  Because I was scared of the unknown.  We didn't rehearse.  We were told just walk down the aisle and stand near the altar.  Okay...but...what if I mess up?  Even at a young age I needed to do everything right.  I needed to be perfect.

It's strange to think at the age of five I was already aware of people watching me and judging me and making mistakes and the consequences of mistakes.  Five seems like such a young age to be worried about the world.  These days I see little kids in church just doing their own thing.  They are coloring or looking at a book or even sitting quietly during the Mass.  And we all know those kids who have maybe just a little too much energy and they make themselves known.  (Sorry parents, the whole congregation knows where you are sitting, you cannot hide.)  I think about these active children and wonder why they don't worry about people looking at them or realize that their voice carries or that they make noise when they toss a toy at the ground.  These children are curious and they should be.  They want to experience what is around them.  I think of them as adventurous.

I was not adventurous.  In the confines of my own home I went on plenty of adventures, but bringing me out to the real world I just froze.  I was too afraid to move because...what if I make a mistake?  I don't know exactly what I was afraid of all the time, I just had this unsettling feeling that something bad was going to happen.  I still experience those moments; they're called panic attacks.

Recently I've been trying to motivate myself to finally do what I want to do, but I keep getting in the way.  

I want to write a play.  Okay, write a play, brainstorm some ideas and start writing stuff out.  It doesn't have to be perfect and most likely the first draft will need work, so go head and write a play.  Easier said than done.  Do you know how many times I've started writing a story and I just stop because I'm afraid it sucks?

I want to write music.  Okay, write some music.  Just write what you feel and think and a melody will come to you.  Again, it doesn't have to be perfect, so go ahead and write a song.  Yeah...easier said than done.  What if no one likes it?

I'm still five years old standing in the back of the church crying, afraid to walk down the aisle because...why?  In my last blog I said it's time to get real and I'm still working on that.  I know what I want.  Now I need to let go of my mom's hand, dry my tears and walk down that aisle not having a clue what I'm doing because no one has told me, but that's the point.  No one can tell me what to do, only I can do that.  I can't go back in time and change how that played out all those years ago, but I can challenge myself every day to keep on moving toward my goals and aspirations.  Easier said than done, but if I write a sentence or a phrase, that's better than not writing anything at all...and hey, at least I wrote this post.  ;)

It's time to get real

Blogging has been a great avenue for me to get out my thoughts and feelings  and be an example of what it's like to deal with mental illness.  The Robin Williams suicide still weighs heavy on my mind.  Even though he struggled I like to think that he'd encourage us to keep our heads up and keep moving forward, to get the help and support we need.  I've been feeling a mix of emotions - determined to be 100% in recovery and exhausted from trying to fight.  And then I feel stuck and confused because I know what life was like before recovery and I can't go back there.  It makes me think of the most recent show I was in.  Our director loved building on layers and after we reached a certain level of energy she'd say, "now we've reached this next level, we can't go backwards."

I can't go backwards.  If I'm honest with myself I already have gone backwards a bit, that's what lapses are: shifting your car in reverse because things just got real.  I remember telling one of my friends the reason I was scared to seek help was because it would make it real.  It already is real, was his response.  And he was right.  I don't want any of this to be real, but it is.  This whole time I thought I was accepting the fact that I had a problem, but was I really?  I'm not trying to denounce the strides I have made or the awareness I have brought out, but I'm half assing recovery.  Things got hard so what did I do?  I went back to what made me feel safe, something I knew.  It may make me feel miserable, but I know what to expect.

I need to step out of my comfort zone even more than I have.  I need to feel uncomfortable and yucky and scared and unpleasant to prove that I won't die from it.  I've been standing in my way my whole life.  Why?  Because I'm scared to mess up, to be imperfect, to be a disappointment, to be successful, to actually like who I am, to do something wonderful.  I'm scared to move and to live.

I want to be creative and write and sing and dance and act, but I'm terrified to do any of it.  Excuses always pop up.  It's safer not to fail.  Well fuck that.  

I'm blessed with so many friends who possess wisdom.  Last night a different friend said: You're not writing to impress anyone, even if you think you are.  You're doing it because Emily needs to do it.

So true.  I've been yearning to express myself for so long, but then my fearful self stands in the way and talks me out of it.

I can't do that anymore.  It's time I get real with myself and work harder than I ever have before because I need to.

Mental illness and relationships

This week my husband and I celebrated our five year anniversary.  We've known each other for over ten years.  John is actually the first person I told I had an eating disorder.  I was nineteen and he made me feel safe.  I couldn't hold on to my secret anymore.  So one evening when we were chatting online as usual I told him I had a problem.  It was the scariest thing I could have done at the time, but the closer I became with John, the safer I felt.  I could and still can tell him anything.  

Actually opening up about anything in the beginning was very difficult.  There were times we'd talk on the phone and I wouldn't be able to say certain words or phrases because I was ashamed.  I used to tell him to guess.  I'd be able to only say so much and then the guessing games began.  It always amazed me that he didn't go running in the opposite direction and that he cared enough to wait until I could finally say what was on my mind.

There are many days I feel guilty for having mental health issues because I know it affects him.  I'm not an easy person to live with.  Behind closed doors I am a different person.  There are moments I just want to lie in bed or I'm super emotional and sobbing or I'm anxious and I lose my patience.

Last year when my suicidal thoughts were at their worst I truly believed that if I died he'd be set free from the misery I was causing.  I feel like I cause so much trouble and I find myself apologizing over and over again.  On our anniversary while we were eating breakfast I just blurted out I'm sorry.  I don't  always have the greatest filter and my mind went off on a very unhelpful trail.  I was thinking of everything that I had done wrong.  John is somewhat used to my blurtings out, but he cocked his head and asked, "where is this coming from?"  I didn't really know how to respond because here I was again  feeling bad on a day I'm supposed to be feeling good.  On days that we want to have fun sometimes we have to actively say we are going to have a good day and we aren't going to let things bring us down.  It's more for my sake, to remind myself I'm allowed to enjoy myself and I don't have to be bombarded with negative self talk.  It's easier said than done.

Having a relationship (romantic or not) with someone who is struggling with a mental illness is very difficult.  I almost said "can be difficult", but there's no reason to sugar coat it.  It's difficult, period.  Your spouse, partner, friend, family member, colleague, whoever it is wants to understand, but if they haven't gone through it they can only understand so much.  And as the person with the problem, you can't even control it, even though you try so hard to be a good person.  I remember a specific time last year John became frustrated when I wasn't really engaging in conversation.  He was just trying to get something out of me, but I was so deep in my depression it wouldn't have mattered what he said, I wasn't going to respond to anything, especially if it seemed trivial.  He asked why I wasn't talking and I just lost it.  I screamed at him that I didn't care about the fucking lights in the living room.  

I don't understand where the anger and rage come from.  My therapist says it has to do with my anxiety, that it builds up and has nowhere to go and then BAM, I've exploded all over whoever is in my path.  I feel so out of control when it happens.  It's like I can see and hear myself doing and saying all these terrible things and I can't stop it, I just watch the train wreck happen.  Then a lot of sobbing happens and later apologizing.

Obviously John and I aren't in a constant fight.  I cherish the moments we laugh and do silly things that no one would understand but us.  I cherish the long hugs and sweet kisses.  I cherish date nights and his good cooking.  I cherish going for our walks and stopping by the swingset in the park because I just have to swing.

I want to thank my family and friends for being so supportive and putting up with my good and bad days.  We don't always see eye to eye and we don't always spend lots of time together, but in the end you're there when it matters. I'm here for anyone who needs a helping hand or a good listener.  As I've said before, we don't have to do this on our own.

Suicide

I'm sitting here in shock of the news of Robin Williams' death, his apparent suicide.  I've wanted to blog about suicide for awhile, but it's such a difficult and morbid topic.

Late last year I remember how dark my thoughts became.  How I was going to kill myself and that act was supposed to make everything better.  How I researched online different methods.  I didn't know what I was really searching for: the quickest way, the most painful, the least painful, the potentially irreversible in case I didn't really mean it.  I've come from a long way from those dark thoughts although I still experience them from time to time, but there are people in our lives who struggle with this every day on a constant basis.  Most I'm sure are suffering in silence.

The pain and thoughts become too much that death just seems like the next best thing, the ultimate escape.  I really believed no one would care, life would go on, no one would miss me.  Why would they?  It's just me.

People are going to say that Robin seemed happy, he was a comedian, was so successful, was so funny, made us smile and laugh...how could he take his own life?  It's rather simple, unfortunately.

For so long I put on an act of being happy and put together.  Everything is "fine", "no worries", I'm "just tired"...when really I wished I could scream for somebody to realize something is wrong.  But I always managed a smile, a laugh, a joke.  Just like you can't judge someone on the outside in regards to eating disorders, you can't judge someone on the outside if they are suicidal, anxious, depressed, or plagued by some other form of mental illness.

We are afraid to be viewed as weak if we acknowledge the fact that we struggle, but really we are strong.  What I've learned from this blog and being open and honest is that people do care and they want the best for you.  They are in your corner rooting for you.

Suicidal ideation is no joke.  If you ever start having those thoughts you must tell someone.  I learned that speaking my thoughts out loud actually took away some of their power.  I know it's so difficult to start the conversation, but if I hadn't started it I might not be here.  That conversation was a catalyst for me getting help.  It's an ongoing process, it takes time and effort, it takes journaling and crying and yelling and coloring and talking and hanging out with friends and watching movies and sitting through the yucky feelings until they subside (they eventually subside, patience isn't always my virtue though).

And even if we fight with all our might some of us don't make it.  I can't explain that.  I wish I could.

Rest in peace, Robin.  I pray your family, friends, and fans also find peace in your absence and will keep your memory alive.

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can break my spirit

It's hard to explain why I have irrational thoughts, why I want to take a razor to my skin, why I want to starve and purge, why I believe I am worthless.  My mom was asking recently how therapy is going and if I'm figuring out the underlying causes of my eating disorder.  Unfortunately I don't think I will ever find the full answer.  This is not out of lack of trying by working through my emotions and talking about my past and connecting dots.  Eating disorders are so complex.  I have some answers, but there is so much more I haven't uncovered.

Words are very powerful.  They can build you up or tear you down.  People can be cruel and out of malice say hurtful things.  Some might say it's your choice if you take it to heart, but I don't quite agree.  It's like telling someone who is depressed to just think of something happy.  It's not that easy.  Our brains are powerful and yet they are not light switches.  

When the hurtful words are coming from my own mind then I feel out of control and crazy.  I can play a negative tape in my head for hours and feel physical pain from it and I can't stop.  I need help to stop it.  That's where my support comes into play.  Recently I was viewing pictures of myself and had to ask a friend if I looked big.  There's a part of me that knows the answer is no, but my eyes see something different.  I needed to hear it from someone else since I'm not a trustworthy source.

Silence can also be hurtful.  Even if there's a valid reason for not receiving a response from a friend, my mind can twist it and make it so that they must hate me, that I've done something wrong.  I have to talk myself down a lot.  I have two sides at war: one that is screaming at me how terrible I am and the other trying to calm my mind and think rationally.  This is very tiring.  

Fighting ED is tiring.  I'm in limbo trying to figure out if recovery is possible.  Why do some recover and others die trying?  What is so different about us all?  Do some believe in God and pray and believe He helps them?  Do some just give up because they have no fight left?  Or does it come down to support systems and how good your insurance coverage is?  

What is the lesson I'm supposed to be learning from all of this?  I believe things happen for a reason.  But what is the reason for my eating disorder or why I'm still alive while others have died?

Although I'm tired and feel defeated, I'm not a quitter.  This is good and bad because I'm still fighting for my life...and I'm still fighting to destroy it.  I'm not ready to let go of ED completely, although I've been able to keep some distance and I have to remind myself I'm in a better place compared to last year.

Choose your words wisely, not only to people around you, but especially to yourself.  If you have trouble with that like me, write down five things you are grateful for.  It can be anything.  I might say I'm grateful for my parents' dogs and a little smile creeps on my face as I remember how silly they can be.  That's important because for that moment I wasn't thinking anything destructive.  Or let yourself be vulnerable and find a trustworthy person to talk to.  I'm sure they have wonderful words for you and one day soon you will believe them.

Death to the invader!

Sometimes I wonder if there really is something called recovery.  This lapse has been drawing out for what seems like forever.  Even though I'm in a lapse it doesn't mean I'm back to where I was before treatment.  I'm still in a better place, but I've experienced something even better than this.

When I think I'm finally climbing my way out of the rabbit hole, something in life goes wrong and I slip down the hole again, the loose earth falls around me and scrapes my skin.  It gets tiring to climb and at times I just want to give up.  Then I think of my family and friends and know they want me to keep going, but I can't do it for them.  I have to do it for me.

I'm currently in a Gilbert and Sullivan show called Princess Ida.  One of my favorite parts in the show is a song called Death to the Invader.  Basically at this point in the story a women's university is under attack and the women decide it's time to fight and protect their castle.  We have to be angry and fierce, we have to be warriors.  Now there are already warriors as characters in this operetta and they do get to fight, live on stage (exciting!), but as we women are singing about deadly blows and tearing ranks asunder we get to feel what it's like to be warriors.  Our characters are holding battle axes as we march and prepare for a war.

In treatment I was given a battle axe.  At the time I didn't know really how to use it, although the treatment team did their best at training me.  It actually made me a bit squeamish in the beginning.  Me?  Fight him?  I hadn't found my confidence yet.  I could occasionally strike at ED and make him bleed, but later he would slink back in and thrust his lance into my back.  Then I fall to my knees and feel defeat.  I attend my wounds, practice my skills and try again.

I'm a visual person and all this time I wasn't using my imagination to its full potential.  

When I'm holding my axe and about to battle ED again, I'm an actual warrior.  I can imagine my armor, the weight of the axe, my heart beating fast, my thoughts as I calculate where I should strike first.  I can also hear ED's cackle and see his leer, but I've heard and seen it all before.  I'm ready for it this time.  And then...we fight.  We are going to have an epic battle, one that would liken the battles on Middle Earth.  I have my army and they are ready to fight with me.  They hold their weapons tightly, they know what they have signed up for.  This is truly a matter of life or death.  My life.

ED has his army; they're quite ugly and scary, but that is because there is nothing pure or honest about them and the evil has twisted them to look like the very darkness of their souls.

ED, you can't kill me while I stand here.  You can injure me many times over, but the one thing you weren't counting on was my perserverance.  I may grow tired, but I always have that small voice saying don't give in.

One of these days the epic battle will commence and I will end it by cutting your head off.

More than a lapse in judgment

I have been struggling and feeling low.  Reading my last post you'd think I'm floating on cloud nine still, but I'm not.  I almost didn't want to write this post, but this is about my recovery and yes, I've had some great days, but most recently I've had some bad days.  

It started last week.  My ankle is sprained and my foot started giving me problems so I sent a message electronically to my doctor through MyChart.  I kept checking back to see if my doctor responded and one of the times I decided to venture around the site since I don't ever really use it.  While poking around I found something I shouldn't have seen: my last recorded weight, which was in April.  I've never weighed this much before, ever.

Houston, we have a problem.

I thought I believed it's okay to be at any weight as long as you're treating your body right, that there is more than one way to be and look healthy, but this number on the scale broke that belief immediately for myself.  I saw this shameful number some time after lunch and the only thing on my mind was what I had eaten.  So I got up from my desk and walked into the bathroom.

There are a number of stalls in this bathroom and none of them were occupied.  My plan was going to work.  It was as if the universe said, this is what you're supposed to do and giving me permission to boot.  I went into the farthest stall, bent over the toilet and released the contents of my lunch from my stomach.

Does the logical part of me know that purging actually doesn't stop my body from absorbing calories?  Yes, but that logical part wasn't around.  ED had taken over.

I told you you'd gain weight if you eat.  You can't eat like everyone else.  You're disgusting.

After work I had a therapy appointment and it was good to talk out what was bothering me and how to get back on track.  I went home and told John what had happened.  He even asked if I was back on track.  Yes, I thought I was back on track.  It's just a number, right?

The following day I was able to see my doctor about my foot and was reassured everything was healing.  When the nurse asked to get my weight I said I wanted to be weighed blindly.  I was actually proud of myself because this was the first time I successfully said that out loud in a doctor's office.

The weekend had arrived and I was excited about auditioning for a couple shows and going to rehearsal for the show I'm currently in - I'm a featured dancer and we were going to learn choreography.  But while I wasn't doing the things I enjoyed I was torturing myself by looking at destructive things on the internet.

I had my new plan: eat as little as possible and only eat "healthy" foods.

I went to Sunday night's rehearsal without eating dinner.  I told myself I had eaten enough for breakfast and lunch, I didn't need dinner.  Besides I was going to be learning a dance, great way to burn some calories, to start losing weight, to get back down to a number that makes me feel better, feel worthy, feel special.  I need to look beautiful on stage, the production staff is trusting me to make this look good.

That was the dumbest thing I have done in a long time.  I was so exhausted and hungry during the whole rehearsal.  I had packed some carrots in case I got hungry and man, those carrots didn't do a fucking thing for me.  I'm actually surprised I didn't pass out.

I feel disgusting and ugly and I'm going to feel that way for awhile.  Let me make this clear, I'm not choosing to feel this way.  I'm trying very hard to stay on the path of recovery.  I even talked to my dietician today and cried on the phone.  She understands why I'm upset, but she also understands that this is a critical time for me to not slip into a relapse.

I feel stuck.  I know I can't relapse.  I've work so hard, but at the same time I feel betrayed by my outpatient team, my support system and my own body.  I don't trust recovery right now.  From the beginning I have been on weight maintenance and watching that number go up is upsetting.

Upsetting - that doesn't even cover how I feel.  It's as if I'm talking about something trivial and after a few hours I can get over it.  I can't just get over this.  I see myself lapsing a bit here and there already.  

I don't need that much.  I'm not that hungry.  I don't need to finish the whole thing.  I don't need to tell John everything.

These next few days, weeks, months, who knows how long, are going to suck and I'm going to have to sit with the sucky feelings when they hit me.  But I was reminded by so many people on my support team that I felt good about myself before I knew about that number on the scale and they are right.  Things were feeling great, I was feeling great.

So I have a new plan: to get back to great.

The Body Project

Yesterday I got to be a part of something unique.  It's called The Body Project (http://lovebodyproject.wordpress.com/).  Women come together for a photo shoot and share their stories and enjoy each other's company.  My social phobic side was definitely nervous because we were going to have a big group.  I woke up with a headache and I thought, "Aha!  I don't feel well, maybe I shouldn't go..."  But this other part of me said, "You have to go, you've been planning this for months." 

And I had been planning this for months.  I found out about The Body Project through two different friends after I came out with my eating disorder.  It sounded like a great project; empowering women to love their bodies.  I had looked at some of the pictures (all very beautiful) and was surprised how many decided to just wear a bra and panties or even go topless and how much they were willing to share about their lives.  I hardly like my husband seeing my body, how was it these women were so brave?

I figured out yesterday why all the women that have been a part of this project are brave.  Because we are doing this together and we have a common goal: to show the world that all bodies are beautiful and that all of our stories matter.  Going around the room and listening to everyone share something personal about themself was moving.  My introduction was very short because I started getting emotional, no one else had been emotional and I didn't want to be the only person who cried, but a few intros later a woman did shed tears.  I just wanted to give her a hug.

We all had to choose an affirmation to put on our body.  For me, I decided to write "MINE" on my stomach.  The reasoning behind this: I have my one and only body and it's time I'm proud of it and claim it.  I wore a bikini that I only had worn maybe two times before this (a common theme among us was lack of bikini wearing or even owning).  I felt exposed when I took my tank top and shorts off.  But once Katy, the photographer, was figuring out the logistics of my pose I didn't feel as vulnerable.  The other ladies were chatting with each other and I'm sure some watched while I had my picture taken (I had attentively watched everyone else), but it was my time so I let myself be selfish and focus just on Katy and me.  I wanted my photo to be comparable to Sports Illustrated models.

Why?

Because I know I don't look like them.  Because it's my turn to be proud of my body and feel sexy.  Because maybe someone will look at the photo and realize they can wear a bikini too.  Because ED can shove it.  Because I decided I was worth it.  I was worthy of being a Sports Illustrated model for those few minutes.

Katy showed me the final shot and I was in awe.  I looked...good.  I liked what I saw.  That was me in that picture and...wow.  I could see all my months of hard work have paid off because I could actually look at this photo and be pleased with it.  The ironic thing is, I didn't physically change since being in treatment, but I can see something, or really someone, different now.  It's amazing how powerful our minds are.  Six months ago I hated my reflection in the mirror and today I can tolerate it and sometimes even like it.

I'm so grateful to all the women who were at the photo shoot yesterday!  You all are wonderful people and I can't wait to see how the book turns out.  Thank you to Katy for bringing all of us together.  Together we are taking back beauty.

Edit: here's the picture!

The art of flirting

Life has been busy and fun.  We did our second and last run of Annie this past weekend.  It's always amazing to see how shows come together and then see what friendships bloom out of the experience.  I made friends with so many teenagers!  Very talented teenagers, I might add.

With the run of the show it's been hard to keep up with the meal plan.  The nerves that come with performing ceases my hunger (if there was any to begin with) and I'm trying to get back on track...again.  Like I said in my last post that's something I'm going to be doing over and over again.

Recently people have been making comments about food and weight and in my mind I just roll my eyes and tell myself to ignore it.  But I realized yesterday that although at the time of the conversations I wasn't triggered, I started flirting with ED when I got home.

I went on YouTube and found a movie about a girl with an eating disorder and her family.  John wasn't home yet and I knew I could get away with watching most of it.  While the main character begins to hear those destructive and seductive thoughts about losing weight and not eating, my thoughts started going down that path too. 

What if I just lose a little bit of weight?

And ED gets very excited at this notion:

Yes!  Just a little bit and then you'll be perfect.  You don't have to follow your meal plan.  You're eating every day, isn't that enough?  You'll have better luck in casting for shows and everyone will think you're gorgeous.  You know I won't let you down.

It's always some rendition of this and even though I know he's full of crap I still was intrigued.  I was taking mental notes of what this girl was doing in the movie, of how I can appear to be following my meal plan, but really restricting.

Then...John came home and we had already planned we were going out to eat.  So I paused my movie and we went to the restaurant.  I was in denial of how much the movie affected me and John could tell something was off.  I talked about my stressful day at work and how what people have said recently actually did affect me.  I didn't tell him about the movie - I didn't want him to tell me I shouldn't be watching it.

Upon returning home I went back to my movie and John busied himself with other things.  The ending of this movie is a huge punch in the stomach.  I didn't see that ending coming at all and that stopped me in my tracks.  Instead of wanting to continue to flirt with ED I got mad.

I don't need you!  Go away!  I can't do what I want if I'm sick.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with my dietician and I'm going to tell her that I haven't quite been doing my part.  I feel like I tell her this every single appointment, but that doesn't mean I'm not recovering and moving in the right direction.

Some awesome achievements to share:

-I haven't weighed myself since treatment

-I haven't self harmed since September 2013

-I haven't purged since October 2013

-I have eaten every day since treatment

So although I flirted with ED yesterday I have made some amazing progress and I can't lose sight of that.  I can honestly say I'm proud of myself.

Getting back on track

Something I'm going to have to get used to is getting back on track again and again.  I've shared recently how good I've felt, but unfortunately that feeling doesn't stay.  Life happens and then for some reason instead of taking two steps forward, I take a step back.  I think a combination of being sick with a cold, a family friend dying, rehearsing and performing for a show and not getting enough sleep equals a lapse.

Today I didn't follow my meal plan at all and this past weekend was very difficult to uphold it as well.  I basically went the whole work day without eating much.  I wasn't trying to restrict, but I really haven't been hungry for days so I just let it slide.  Other people aren't hungry when they're sick or busy...but usually they don't make a habit out of not eating much for days because they're trying to lose weight.

The strange thing about today was not having the thoughts of needing to lose weight or any negative self talk.  I even questioned myself, is this the eating disorder or what?  It's hard to draw that line where ED ends and recovery begins.

I was comfortable with only eating granola this morning and having nothing else until dinner.  Even if I wasn't actively thinking about losing weight, I could easily go right back to where I started before recovery because I've done it for so long.  This is why it's so important for me to follow the meal plan no matter what.  Not feeling hunger is not an excuse to get away with not eating.

Even though this past weekend and today were part of a lapse doesn't mean that I'm back at square one.  It does mean that it's difficult to get back on my meal plan because now I have to work on eating three meals and three snacks each day again.

My first step in the right direction was eating dinner tonight!  Today isn't over and all isn't lost.  Yes, I only ate granola that really shouldn't be expected to sustain someone for about nine hours, but I told John and we figured out what I would like to eat so my dinner would be a success and it was!  

I'm not hungry and I have an evening snack to eat still.  Guess what?  I'm going to eat a snack.  It's going to suck, but recovery was never meant to be a walk in the park.

Tomorrow I need to make sure I pack my snacks and lunch because I can't let today happen again.  I could easily pretend to get back on track and assure everyone on my support team that I ate what I needed at work, but really that's just setting me up for disaster.  Today I had to remind myself how awful I've felt in years past and how terrible just five months ago was.  I can't go back.

Sure, I miss treatment.  I miss the other patients, the staff, the art therapy, the structure, etc, but I don't belong there anymore.  Treatment became my comfort zone and I was terrified to leave and I'm still terrified I'm not there anymore.  Today I longed for treatment because I knew that I would have gotten through my meals and snacks.  Not because I would have been hungry or because the food is better, but because I wouldn't be doing it alone.  I'd have my fellow patients (really my friends) and staff there to help.  Today I missed the opportunity to ask for help, for encouragement, for someone to eat with me.

Tomorrow is a new day though and I plan on being prepared.

I danced it out

Yesterday I found out a family friend passed away.  He had aplastic anemia and needed a bone marrow transplant to improve his chances of beating the disease.  I've known him since I was in fourth grade.  His son and my brother were best friends for a long time.  

I reconnected with Dave when he started doing theatre.  He became a "regular" like me with a specific church group.  It was strange at first to interact with him on an adult level.  I don't think it was strange for him, but it was strange for me because it used to be adult/child.  Now it's adult/adult.  I didn't have to call him "Mr. St. John" anymore and we could talk about grown up things.

I remember Dave always smiling and laughing and portraying happiness.  After I revealed my struggles through this blog, he was very supportive and reminded me that so many people actually cared.  His encouragement meant the world to me.

In a way I thought we were fighting together.  He was fighting aplastic anemia and I was fighting an eating disorder.  

I never thought he would actually die...

I never thought he could lose.

I thought we both were going to win our wars.

As I looked at my cell phone last night during rehearsal and saw the e-mail from my mom telling me of his passing I couldn't breathe for a moment.  I had to read it over and over again.

No, no.  This isn't right.  He didn't die.  He's not gone.  We're both fighting, we're both going to beat this...  I didn't get to say goodbye...he can't be gone.  They just had a drive for him...

I remember the last time I saw him.  It was for the show I was helping with costumes.  It was time for the cast party!  He was originally in the show, but with his treatment he wasn't able to perform.  But the night of the cast party, he was in the audience.  I walked into the gymnasium after the show was over and smiled when I saw that he was chit chatting with everyone around him.  I was so glad to see he was there.  He said my name excitedly and asked how I was (he truly wanted to know).  We hugged and I asked him how he was feeling.  We both were having good days it seemed.  The cast party was so much fun and I remember he sang a song during karaoke.

I didn't think that was going to be the last time I ever saw him...

After rehearsal last night I went home to an empty house.  My husband is visiting his family this weekend.  I collapsed on the living room floor and sobbed.  

We were both supposed to win our wars.

I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep so I turned on my Imagine Dragons cd.  I started cleaning the house before rehearsal and I decided to pick up where I left off.  I was still crying and I realized I wouldn't be able to clean right then, right when Radioactive was playing in the background.

I threw myself to the floor and I danced my grief out.  I don't know if you could really call what I was doing dancing, but whatever it was the music was moving my body.  You might say I was having a tantrum and releasing my frustration and anger and shock and despair and sadness...  

Then there was a moment I couldn't dance anymore.

All I could do was cry.

Slowly, but surely I got up and started cleaning, pausing for moments when the tears seemed to take over.  Finally exhaustion over came me.  I slipped into bed and fell asleep knowing this wasn't some terrible nightmare.

My heart goes out to the family and friends of Dave St. John.  You will be truly missed.

Still feeling good!

It's strange to report that I'm still feeling good!  Just comparing to how terrible last year and previous years were and even the beginning of this one, I'm amazed at this change for the better.  I can't believe I was trying to prepare myself for suicide around my birthday.  Phew...that's scary.  

Recovery is not a walk in the park.  I'm still missing some parts to my meal plan now and then, but I'm eating every day and that's awesome!  I need to work on planning better so I get everything I need in each meal and snack.

I'm not obsessing about my weight like I was before or my clothing size.  I'm curious as to what my weight is, but I know going down that path will most likely trigger me and possibly create a lapse or worse.

Today I looked in the mirror and actually liked how I looked in my dress pants.  Go figure!  It's all very exciting and alarming.  I'm not used to appreciating myself and how I look.

I'm also eating "bad" foods or what I considered was bad.  If a cookie looks good I'm gonna eat it because my body will know what to do with it.  I'm allowed to enjoy food!  What a concept!  Do I still have my moments of why did you just eat that?!  Yes, of course, I'm still fighting a very serious disorder, but I'm able to fight those thoughts more than I used to.

At Easter I ate probably a bigger meal than I'd like for having eaten at all my other designated times, but guess what?  When I was done eating I was satisfied and I didn't want to binge because I had starved myself the whole morning and possibly the previous day.  

I still worry that I'm not considered thin or beautiful or that I'll gain weight, but so many wonderful people in my life have proven to me that those things don't even matter.  We are all beautiful!  

Stop trying to lose weight and diet and exercise too much.  Eat the foods that will nourish your body, but also let it have some fun foods and eat a cookie!  If you like to swim then go to the community pool or for me I love dance and I'm in a beginner ballet class.  I also started yoga right after I was discharged from treatment.  I'm still involved in theatre and that includes movement too.  I feel like for right now those are great activities for me and I don't need to spend lots of time (or any time) on  fitness equipment or have a gym membership.  My point is move your body in some way that works for you!  Notice I didn't say exercise!

Find what you're passionate about!  For me it's music, dance and theatre!  Maybe for you it's science or literature.  Spend time every day doing something for you, even if it's just listening to your favorite song or taking time to write a poem or studying about dark matter (which I found out is pretty cool and a difficult concept for me to understand completely).

Dudes...I'm doing it.  I'm recovering.  Who knew feeling good felt so...good?!  I don't want to go back to where I was and I still have so much room for improvement, but life comes one day at a time and that's what I'm learning to let unfold.

Here's a smile for your day!

Good moods

I'm glad to say I'm in a good mood!  I was not doing the greatest and I felt like I didn't even have control in my own recovery.  I was just watching myself lapse and felt nothing but doom and gloom.  Then I experienced the moment that I just couldn't take this crap anymore (see You're gonna hear me roar blog post).

Since then I've still had moments of feeling anxious or not feeling hungry or feeling guilty for eating certain foods, but I'm not letting that get in my way.  Recently I heard the song Happy by Pharrell for the first time and it really put a spark in my mood.  I've watched some of the hour length videos and took in everyone's uniqueness, how they expressed themselves by what they were wearing, the props they used and the movement of their bodies.  It's amazing what a smile can do for your image!  I want to start dancing randomly in public places because...why not?

A good friend pointed me into the direction of the song Brave by Sara B.  I love the video and watching each dancer do their thang.  It just makes me smile how open they were to the experience and just danced like no one was watching.

Seeing the confidence of all these people just makes me want to be brave and happy and hopefully infect those closest around me with this amazing energy.

I'll now quote Max Bialystock: 

There's more to you than there is to you.

Yes, I'm aware Max was full of BS when he said this to Leo Bloom, but really, there is more to all of us than we even realize.

I don't have any more time for fear and sadness!  Let's hit the ground running!  Let's make people smile and laugh.  Let's do strange things in public.  Let's write music and plays and books.  Let's dance and sing to our heart's content.  Let's unleash the more.  I dare you!

My seven days away from Facebook

When I disabled my Facebook account a week ago, I thought I was going to be away for a good amount of time, like a month.  Who knows, I may just turn around randomly and disable it again.

You could say I was stuck like glue to Facebook.  What's happening right now?!  Did anyone see my post?  Did my friend respond to that message?

Seriously, I was driving myself crazy and all I wanted was to feel connected to someone so I wouldn't have to feel so alone.  But being obsessed with Facebook actually made me feel more lonely than I realized and it created so much "noise" that I wasn't exactly paying attention to important things like my recovery or spending time with John or having a friend over to watch a movie.  You know, connecting with real people and myself.

I posted yesterday how I'm so ready kick ED's ass and I couldn't not share it even if no one was going to respond to it.  I'm taking Facebook like a grain of salt now.  You want to be my friend?  Cool.  You want to unfriend me?  Fine.  Until you tell me to my face we aren't friends or that I did something that offended you, I'm going on like everything is peachy keen.  Facebook isn't real.  It's this made up place where we all come to see how popular we are or to find out who our real friends are.

Guess what?  Finding out who your real friends are is by inviting them to coffee or to go shopping, texting them to see if they're doing okay, calling them (if you're a phone person) to just shoot the breeze. I'm not saying you can't still converse with people on Facebook and have them be real friends, but don't get so wrapped up in a virtual reality that you forget to live your real one.

You're gonna hear me roar

A couple days ago I was home alone and dinner was approaching.  Having rehearsal that night I knew I needed to eat before going.  I played Roar by Katy Perry in the kitchen while I was trying to figure out what to eat.  One evening listening to the song helped me through dinner and I decided that it would help me pick out my dinner as well.  As usual, nothing looked appetizing and just being in the kitchen was making me more anxious than I already was.

But then something inside me snapped.

I got angry and when I get angry you better watch out.

Fuck this shit.  I'm eating this dinner whether I'm anxious or not.

And I did.  

I was still anxious, but I kept playing Roar in the background to remind myself that I'm a fighter and a champion.  Look out world, you're gonna hear me roar!  

I've had enough of this bullshit.  This whole week I've been anxious and just can't shake it, but guess what?  It's not stopping me from doing what I need to do.  I'm kicking ED's ass and taking no prisoners.

ED...you're going DOWN.  We are so through.  I hope the door hits you on the way out.

http://youtu.be/CevxZvSJLk8

Crawling out of my skin

Right now I literally feel like I'm crawling out of my skin.  I've been feeling this way since before my psychiatrist appointment today and that was three hours ago.  I don't know how to make the feeling stop!  I don't know why I'm so anxious!  

My doctor suggested I don't go back to work full time yet so that decision has been made, no reason to be anxious over that.

I have rehearsal tonight, but I'm only there for a little bit because I don't have a big role.  No reason to be nervous...

My friend is going to inpatient tomorrow...sad panda.  It's possible I'm feeling anxious for her...I do that a lot - take on people's problems and feelings.

I'm planning out my next album, which I decided is going to be about recovery.  That's exciting, but it can be anxious producing...but I'm in the beginning phase of it so would I really be anxious about this?  Maybe....right now I'm mostly just conceptualizing, figuring out songs I want to cover and reading through old lyrics for my originals.

There are auditions tonight and tomorrow for an upcoming show, but since I can't be there I already auditioned so I don't need to be nervous about not being at auditions...but the waiting game is terrible.  Anticipatory anxiety?  Most likely yes.

It's almost dinner time and feeling anxious already doesn't really start me off on the right foot.  Am I hungry right now?  Of course not.  The thought of eating anything turns my stomach, but I need to eat sooner rather than later since I have rehearsal tonight.

Do I have to eat?  Yes...unfortunately.  Do I have to like it that I have to eat?  No...but that doesn't make it any better.  

Seriously, why does this have to be so hard?

I don't know...ugh...

Sliding down the rabbit hole

I've been struggling with sticking to the meal plan.  I'm never hungry or I'm anxious or depressed or something and eating just seems like a hassle.  I didn't realize how sick I was until I went into treatment and now in the process of recovery.  A part of me truly thought I could stop whenever I wanted to.

I'm returning to work full time in a few days and I can only hope for the best.  My dietician wants me to plan everything and I understand her reasoning, but even if I make a plan doesn't mean the plan will be followed.  I've been watching myself slip ever so slightly.  It takes me forever to finish my meals and when I'm at work my mind goes completely into work mode and I'm never hungry then.  The people around me are doing their best to keep me accountable, but there is only so much they can do.  And there is only so much I can do.

I texted one of my friends from treatment.  I wanted to get some encouragement, reinforce that recovery is worth it.  But I found that my friend took a dive after treatment and is going into inpatient.  That's scary.  Inpatient means hospital, means you fell down the rabbit hole so far that we need lots of rope and light and shovels to get you out.  They say it gets worse before it gets better.  I'd say going from partial hospitalization to discharge to inpatient is a good example of how that works.  I wish her the best.

When I met with my dietician this past week she did a blind weight.  To me blind weight means she's somewhat worried.  She said my meal plan is already low so if I don't follow it completely I might lose weight and easily slide back into ED's arms.  She weighed me so she could get an idea of where I'm at.  This is the person who said I don't care what you weigh.  Of course she only means that to a point, she doesn't care as long as I follow the meal plan.  These appointments are rather blunt and direct.  She doesn't put up with any BS, not that I would try to pull one over her, because she knows who she's dealing with: ED.  

And he never plays nice.

Out of sight, out of mind

Today I'm disabling Facebook.  I'm pretty sure I'll go back to social media, but for right now I need distance and quiet.  Facebook tends to get rather loud and I think I've had my fill of all the noise.  Thank you to those who have asked how to keep in touch during my social media hiatus.

One thing that is going to happen is my social circle will shrink considerably.  I will be out of sight and out of mind of all my "friends".  I'm not trying to be mean about it, but there are people on everyone's friends list that don't ever talk to each other.  In fact, I've stopped saying happy birthday to people because it just seems so fake.  I'm going to learn rather quickly who are my real friends...and that scares me...there won't be many.

You may not know this about me, but I'm not popular.  Never was and I never will be.  It's just not in the cards.  People have shown concern with the car accident and going through treatment and now my road to recovery, but in a sense I made you pay attention to me.  You wouldn't have looked over to see what I was up to if I hadn't said anything.  If I quietly excuse myself from the room no one is going to realize I left.  It's happened to me on so many occasions, it's almost funny.  It's like I have a superpower of invisibility.  I know I blend into the wallpaper and there are times I've tried changing my pattern so someone can actually see me, but it doesn't really work.

People aren't attracted to me.  There is nothing about me that makes someone take a second glance (or even a first one, if we're being honest).  Part of that is my own doing because of my social phobia.  People make me uncomfortable and I do whatever it takes to not be around strangers.  I'd rather be at the zoo learning how to communicate with all the exotic animals than try to figure out if I'm actually friends with someone or not.  And that happens frequently.  I've met a lot of people through theatre, but who the hell knows if we're actually friends or if they even like me (and if you're wondering, I admire a lot of the theatre folk I've met along the way).  Come on, we're actors and we all have egos so let's make sure we have enough people to talk to and make sure we're talented, boost our confidence, it's like a test of worthiness.

So once I disable Facebook, I won't hear from a lot of people and I have to be ready for that.  Don't get me wrong it's not like I won't reach out to the people who I think are my friends, but the return rate in responses have always been rather low...  I have to be ready for that too.

As we've learned from Frozen, I'm going to let it go and focus on what's important.

A big mistake

Recently I made a rather big mistake.  For the purpose of this blog it doesn't matter what I did wrong, what matters is what I do with the mistake.  This mistake affected a few people and I feel terrible.  I wish I could go back in time and change it.  I'm sure I'm not the only one who has felt this way when we reveal how imperfect we are.

When I realized the damage I caused I immediately wanted to self harm.  Usually when I do something wrong I hold on to it and I don't let it go.  ED berates me for being so stupid, terrible, selfish, disgusting, etc and he coaches me on what to do next.

You deserve to be cut, to be punished.  You deserve to starve.  Nobody loves you.  You deserve to die.

This time with my mistake I talked it out with my husband John.  Although I was scared to talk about what I had done, I still needed to talk.  As always, John is too good for me and listened and didn't judge.  He comforted me and told me I had to let it go, there was nothing I could do to change the past.

I realized that cutting myself or skipping a meal would never fix my mistake, it would just keep my thoughts spinning, keep me feeling guilty, keep me with ED.  I was reminded that I am human and humans make mistakes.  Was it a good thing this mistake happened?  No.  I wish I could do something to remedy it and if I figure out a way how, I know it won't be with a razor in my hand.

I accept my body

I want to say that phrase so bad.  I've had days that I'm maybe-kinda-okay with my body and I try to realize that's a big step.  The next day I may be back in the body hate zone, but I hope those days become less and less sooner rather than later.

It's really amazing how many people have come through the woodwork and shared their own personal struggles or struggles of someone they love.  I never thought I'd be called brave and strong for writing a blog.  I'm just typing away on my iPad and will read through a post over and over again before hitting the publish button because if you hadn't guessed by now...I'm neurotic (say it ain't so!).  I didn't really know what to expect, but receiving lots of feedback and hearing these amazing stories have really helped me.  So thank you to everyone (yes, I mean you).  What you have done has helped me achieve those maybe-kinda-okay phases.

What has also helped recently was assisting with costumes for a show.  I'd say most of the women in the cast were hard on themselves and were uncertain to wear certain costumes because of their bodies.  Unfortunately when you are in South Pacific you don't wear parkas.  You wear bathing suits or something akin to a bathing suit for some of your time on stage.  I remember the day (the day) that the women were figuring out which bathing suit concoction they would wear.  They were in and out of the bathroom changing.  I subtlety left the area and ate my evening snack because I was feeling somewhat anxious.  Later though when we were even closer to the show opening, I saw some of the women still feeling hesitant or insecure.  I thought everyone looked great!  Sharon and I were praising how amazing they looked because it was true, we don't lie.  Seeing all of the cast (not just the women) of all shapes and sizes looking wonderful in their costumes really helped me.  It was proof you don't have to look a certain way to be considered beautiful.  I had so much fun watching the show and seeing everyone shine on stage.

After all of these positive experiences, I'm looking forward to the day that I will say loud and clear I accept my body.

When clothes don't fit

Today I was picking out my clothes for work and I realized I hadn't worn a pair of dress pants in awhile. They are one of my favorite pairs and I remember the many days of them fitting loosely.  But today, they didn't fit.  It's probably one of the most embarrassing things I could share, but whether I share it or not the fact is these pants are too tight.

My first initial reaction was to freak out.  My meal plan is for weight maintenance (not weight restoration) and I've been doing my best to follow it.  This is my worst nightmare: that eating food made me gain weight.  Do I really know if I gained weight?  No because I don't have a scale, but if my scale was back in my possession the first thing I would have done was hop on for good ol' times sake.  And then plan out how I would combat the "fat".

ED definitely had a lot to say about this, of course.

ED: See, I told you not to trust them.  You can't trust food and you certainly can't trust your body.  What if you gain more and everyone will notice and judge you.  You can't be pretty and wear a larger size.  You can always come back to me, you know.  I'm always here for you.

I agree with ED.  I don't feel like I can trust food or my body.  Or maybe control is a better word.  Right now what my body does is completely out of my control.  I have to continue to follow this meal plan and I have no idea what the future brings.  I have no idea what my body will do next.  I don't like the unknowns.

Maybe normal people don't freak out when they realize something doesn't fit like it used to.  I'm sure they don't obsess about it like I do.  In the past, I would have made those pants my goal.  It's not uncommon in the eating disorder world to pick an outfit that's too small and make it your goal to fit into.  The big motivator is when you leave the article of clothing out in the open so it will constantly remind you when you feel hungry that food is the enemy.

I really wish I could restrict for a week and see how the pants fit and keep doing it until they are loose on my hips again.  It's a bit addicting when your clothes are a bit too big.  It's a milestone marker for all the hard work you put into your body.  This "hard work" is really what you took out and left out of your body.

Even though I want to take back beauty, there is this part of me that's not ready to let go of ED.  Am I saying I'm going to start engaging in all my behaviors and forget about recovery?  No.  I am saying that I'm not going to easily forget about my brown dress pants and how they are now a part of my past instead of my present and future.

You might wonder what's next for these pairs of pants.  For right now, they're going to stay in my closet.  Myintent is not for self torture, promise.  I'm just not ready to say goodbye and let them go for good.

 

I have hips

A few years ago I went shopping with a friend.  My mission was to get nice black dress pants for work.  So we went to store after store not finding pants that were comfortable or fit or that I liked.  At last though, I found the pair of pants.  I showed my friend to see what she thought:

Wow, I didn't realize until now, but you have wide hips.

I said sadly, I know...

She said that is was a good thing because I'm a woman and women are supposed to have hips.

That didn't make me feel much better and I knew her intention was never to make my already low self esteem plummet even farther down the rabbit hole.

Years before this incident I was visiting Colombia with my dad.  We were staying with a friend of his who had a daughter around my age.  We went shopping and I had a mission: I wanted a skirt.  I love dresses and skirts, but I never seem to find the right fit for my curvy body.

There we are standing in one of the stores in a huge mall: my dad, his friend, his friend's daughter and me.  I didn't speak Spanish very well at that time, but as Laura asked the sales lady about skirts I knew enough Spanish to know that "ancho" means wide.  The sales lady was looking me over and speaking too fast and putting her hands on her hips...that Spanish word I will never forget.  Ancho.  

Yes, thank you very much, I'm very well aware that I have hips and that I'm curvy.  Only a select few people don't define me as curvaceous, but the rest of the population seem to have to come to the same conclusion: I have hips and I'm curvy.

Some people make curvy look hot, but if I ever try the styles I see work on other beautiful ladies I'm looking back at a disaster in the mirror.  Why does it work for them and not me?  I can't do thin right and I can't do curvy right.  I'm in some weird limbo that nobody makes clothes for.

I haven't gone shopping in a long time.  I know I'm not ready to expose myself to all the different clothing sizes and pictures of happy-go-lucky models wearing the clothes I want to try on, but seeing their long, flowing limbs I know this might not go well.

Last night I was talking with the costumer who I'm working with for this most recent show.  We talked about all different kinds of topics and it landed on it matters how you look in theatre.  Of course that hit home because I know that I don't look right for theatre.  I sometimes pass for "white," but with my brown eyes, black hair and a very light hint of "something" in my pigment I don't stand a chance against the other "American" girls.  I mentioned to her it doesn't help that I'm curvy too and that did it for her.  She became so passionate about making me see that I'm gorgeous, that my body is perfect just the way it is.  I almost wanted to start crying because I could feel those words like I've never felt before.

Thank you, Sharon.  I'm filing away your wonderful words to repeat to myself when I'm having a rough day or I think my hips are too wide.

The war has just begun

Yesterday I shared a meme: 

I consider this a trigger for myself.  Do I have a problem with the quote?  No, it seems inspirational.  Do I have a problem with the model?  Not really, but her picture is a trigger.  The combining of the quote and picture makes it even a bigger trigger.  Why?  Because this meme is telling me that I have to look this way and that if I don't I'm considered a lazy person.  This is how I interpret it.  You can agree or disagree, you can think I'm too sensitive or too harsh.  I don't care and I found out I don't care after caring too much.

On Facebook I said I viewed this ad as body shaming and I asked if anyone agreed.  I was quite surprised at the response I received.  There was a mix of people who agreed and people who didn't.  It doesn't bother me to have different opinions, but how the different opinions were brought up was quite hurtful. I was told I'm too sensitive and that I make weak arguments.  Soda was compared to heroin and Oreos to cocaine, some were inspired to exercise by the ad, some thought that this was a failure to our society, etc.  The conversation got way out of hand and I even apologized for making such a fuss.  I was literally crying because I never meant for this to go so far and I didn't understand the rudeness that was arising.  Don't get me wrong, I still had people who agreed with me, but it was hard to focus on the positives when an opposed response kept going and going and going.  I don't know what they thought they were achieving by being so rude and harsh.  I needed time away from the argument, that I never meant to be an argument but a place to discuss something I thought was important.  I wanted to take back beauty.

Later I realized that I have nothing to be sorry for.  Why should I be sorry for having an opinion on how the media portrays their product?  Why should I be sorry for not agreeing with someone?  Why should I be sorry for having thoughts and feelings?  Why should I be sorry when someone doesn't understand my struggle?  If you think I'm full of crap or don't give a shit about my struggle then I don't need you in my life.  I need positive people in my life, people who will be there for me when I'm having trouble eating a meal, people who when I see something triggering and want to purge talk me down, people who will eat with me because eating alone isn't the smartest thing for me at this early stage of recovery.  If you want to take ED's side of things and want a thinner society then farewell.

If you find this ad to be inspirational, then good for you.  I hope you love and accept yourself as you are.  Unfortunately I feel this kind of ad produces more harm than inspiration, but again that is my opinion.

The war has just begun.  Suit up and prepare for more battles because I'm not done fighting.