Will my Kickstarter succeed?

As of today I have 13 days to reach my funding goal for my Kickstarter campaign to produce a recovery music album.  If I do not reach the goal, I don't receive any funds.  To say I'm not nervous that this project will succeed is a huge understatement. I'm doing my best to be positive and to spread the word on social media and within my circle of family and friends.  Unfortunately I'm not receiving the responses I was hoping for.

There's a part of me that feels disappointment that I'm not even close to reaching my goal.  It makes me question whether this project is good enough, whether I'm good enough and deserving, whether people care about eating disorders, whether people care about my own recovery, and the list goes on.

Another blow came when a "friend" told me in essence that I shouldn't be doing certain cover songs because I don't sound good singing them.  She said that someone from outside my family had to tell me because my family is probably too scared to tell me the truth.  I kindly asked her to please stop sending me messages because she was hurting my feelings, however she just had to send one more.  I'm not sure what her purpose of doing this was.  It's amazing how one person can shake your faith in yourself.  I've chosen to let her words roll off my back.  I don't need her approval or really anyone's approval for pursuing my dreams.

My dream is to sing and perform and to bring awareness about eating disorders.  Not until I received treatment and went into a partial hospitalization program did I realize how sick I was.  Not until I was eating regularly and watched my body change did I realize how much abuse my body had taken.

Music is an amazing outlet for me.  I love listening to songs that pull at my heartstrings and hearing something new inside the music.  I've chosen the songs I'm covering because they help me express how I feel, good or bad.  I've also find comfort in writing lyrics.  I've been writing lyrics for a very long time, but I never thought I could ever share them because no one could know about my struggles.  Now I want to share these personal lyrics so others know they are not alone.  We all know what's it like to find that one song that moves us, stirs something inside us that we can't exactly explain, but we know we've found something special.

To be able to share this music and my message of body acceptance and self love, I need your help.  Producing an album takes a lot of time and effort and it comes with a price.  If you are able please pledge $1 and share this campaign with others.  

Let's change the world one song at a time.

Here is the link to my campaign: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/2026292512/emilys-eating-disorder-recovery-music-album?ref=project_share

Thank you so much for your support!

I still need help

I haven't blogged since the end of May!  Partly why I haven't said anything is because I feel so conflicted within myself.  

I've been struggling with body image a lot and I don't really want anyone to know.  I want people to think that in recovery I'm doing really well and that although there are bad days I'm still doing amazing.  Don't get me wrong, there are days I look in the mirror and I give myself a high five because I like how I look and I feel good.  But it seems whenever I have a good day, a string of bad days follow.  It's like ED can't handle me even having one good day, he has to take it from me, throw doubt in the mix and make everything confusing.

In a sense, I'm disappointed in myself that I'm struggling.  I want to be a voice for others who are struggling, but how can I set a good example when my mind starts spinning ED's lies?  Overall, I'm eating and my body tells me when it needs food - this is a very good thing!  Then there are days I still eat, but I'm so anxious and I start lamenting over the fact that my body has changed and how everyone is judging me.  (I have quite the ego, don't I?)

I still need help.  One of the hardest things for me to do is ask for help and I've already learned many times that hiding and being silent is not the answer, so here it goes.

I need support.  I need family and friends that can set aside what they're doing because I need to talk something out or to cry or to celebrate.  I need reminders that life is amazing and beautiful.  I need someone to just ask "how are you?" and really mean it.  I need laughter and hugs and shared memories.  I need to know how you are doing and if you need me.

I'm blessed with so many wonderful people in my life and I continuously have to remind myself that I don't have to do this alone and the best part is knowing none of you would want me to do this alone.

I love you all!  Getting my perspective back is difficult, but I know I can do this with your help!

Thank you.

Behind the scenes

I'm working on my recovery album and I have taken some behind the scenes video.  I can't wait to share it after this awesome videographer I know works his magic.  I've always been fascinated with all the work that goes into a big project like this because once the project is done it has been polished and perfected.  No one sees the blood, sweat and tears that went into the project being a success, unless you share it like I intend to do.

I've watched some of the footage and it's hard for me to watch myself because I'm so critical.  I notice every mistake and flaw, just like I notice every mistake and flaw about my body, my personality, and my life in general.

Recovery could have its own behind the scenes footage.  On the outside people see me smile and laugh and be in good spirits, but that's not the whole story, that's just a finished project (and I can't even really say it's finished because recovery is ongoing).  People don't see the days that I'm extremely anxious, feeling down in the dumps, obsessing about the differences in my body, experiencing moments of chronic pain, or having a hard time eating dinner.

I've been in recovery for almost a year and a half and that's something to be proud of.  However, I sometimes get this sense that certain people think I'm all better or cured or something.  There is no cure, but there is lots of hard work in my future.

Right now my biggest struggle in recovery is learning not to care what others think.  I'm so afraid of being judged.  My body has changed and it's difficult not to obsess about it.  My mind has all these irrational thoughts that tell me everyone is judging my body and not in a good way. Then my wise friends come into the picture and ask some very simple questions:

Did anybody die? No...

Did you lose your job? No...

Do you have family and friends who love you? Yes...

Bringing back the perspective is so important!  In treatment we had gratitude journals and by naming our gratitude we would remind ourselves of what's important.

The number in my jeans doesn't dictate how talented I am, how many friends I have, how much I care about others, how intelligent I am, how funny I can be, and the list goes on.  As my mom mentioned to me recently: the only person who seems worried about your size is YOU.  And she's right.

Recording my recovery album is giving me a chance to accept the mistakes and flaws that will naturally occur, which in turn will teach me to accept what I consider mistakes and flaws in myself.  Besides, I hear being perfect is overrated.  😉

I'm more than a number

Recently I went shopping for the second time since being in recovery.  My wonderful husband came with me, but even with his support I struggled a lot.  

Before I went into recovery I was at a normal weight and I was always terrified (still am terrified) of gaining weight because if I'm already at a normal weight I shouldn't gain weight, right?  

Wrong.  

I can't say whether anyone in recovery will gain weight or not, it really depends on each individual.  My body is figuring out where it needs to be.  Unfortunately where my body needs to be is very different from where I want my body to be.  There are certain clothing that don't fit anymore and a part of me feels like a huge failure.

It wasn't until this last shopping trip that I realized how sick I really was.  I'm not going to use numbers because I don't want to trigger anyone so I'll use letters.  For a long time I was size X, but after trying on clothes I'm now size Z and it's totally messing with my head.  BUT!  I have to put it into perspective that naturally my body is size Z and I went to extreme measures for years to make sure I was a size X.

I seriously cried after shopping because I felt so disgusting.  I felt like I let myself go, that everyone can tell I've gained weight and that everyone is judging me for it.  This week was really tough, but the more distance I had from my nightmare shopping experience the more I could detach myself from the nightmare.  

I now can appreciate my new clothes because they're comfortable and they look good.  I even got a compliment when I wore my new dress pants.  Even though I shouldn't worry what others think it did prove something to me: nobody is keeping track of my weight or my clothing size.  My coworker didn't say anything about the size of my pants or ask me how much I weigh, she simply gave me a compliment of her own freewill.

I still need to add to my wardrobe, but I'm not as scared to go shopping because I'm more than a number.

Out of my comfort zone

This year I decided I would commit to doing things that make me uncomfortable.  I've let fear and doubt take over my life for way too long.  It's time to act and stop playing the "what if" game.  

One of my good friends, Justin, has been phenomenal at challenging me.  For example, with my recovery album he suggested I contact people so they can help promote my music and that a Kickstarter campaign is in the works.

So I did.  And it was terrifying.  When I called various eating disorder organizations I had no idea what to say.  I usually started with:

Um...hi, my name is Emily and um...

Have any of your read the children's book Emily Umily?  That's so me.  I hate talking on the phone, to groups of people, sometimes to my own friends because I'm scared that I'm going to say something stupid or someone is going judge me.

Eventually after saying "um" plenty of times I finally spit it out:

I'm in recovery for an eating disorder and I'm recording a recovery music album.  I want to bring awareness about this project and I was hoping to get your help to spread the word.

Or something like that.  I mention the Kickstarter campaign as well.  Responses have varied from excitement (e-mail me your info!) to uncertainty (cue crickets sound) or I had to leave a voicemail or send an e-mail.  Can you imagine how many times I say "um" on a voicemail?!

So far I'm waiting to hear back from most of my contacts and one eating disorder organization left a message on my phone saying they couldn't help me.  I found it a bit odd since my intent is to spread awareness about eating disorders and give people hope and support, but they can't help in my cause because they're probably busy...spreading awareness about eating disorders and giving people hope and support.  (That was a bit snarky of me, wasn't it?  I don't know why they can't be of assistance, but they did wish me luck so that's something, right?)

Guess what?  I did get an amazing response from one of my contacts!  Her name is Caroline Bach and she's a reporter for Channel 27 news!  On Sunday she came to my house and interviewed me about my eating disorder and my recovery album.  I don't remember what I said!  But I do remember Caroline was a very fun person to talk to and even though I was completely out of my comfort zone I survived.  

That may seem a little dramatic.  Woman survives interview splashed across the front page!  For me, it was a huge step!  Knowing that this story, my story, is going to be told is strange, weird, crazy, terrifying and also wonderful, awesome, amazing, brave!  I want to make a difference and the only real way to make a difference is by stepping out of that comfort zone.

Making ED mad

Most recently I've been feeling low and experiencing harmful thoughts about restricting, cutting and death.  I'm physically fine, I haven't given into those thoughts.  I feel like a hypocrite to promote recovery and body acceptance and self love, when right now I want to return to the very behaviors that led me into treatment in the first place.  I told my husband yesterday that I'm disappointed in myself because I was doing so well and now...I'm not, as if all that hard work doesn't mean anything.  But he reminded me my hard work isn't gone and that I will have slips and falls.  

I keep questioning, why am I having so much trouble right now?  Overall this past year I've done rather well in recovery.  I've been told on more than one occasion that I seem happier and brighter and that just makes me smile even more!

Then I realized what's going on: I've made ED mad.  All my successes, especially my newest one, smashing my scale, makes ED weaker.  He's like some bad exboyfriend that doesn't get the hint I'm not coming back to you, it's OVER.  But now he's stalking me with a vengeance, trying to make my life seem out of control so I'll go back to him and remember the "good times".

Dear ED,

This probably won't be the last letter I write.  I'm once again telling you that it's over, we are done.  If I go back to you I know you'll end up killing me.  If I could legally get a restraining order against you I would do it in a heartbeat.  I've had enough of your bullshit and abuse.  I may feel weak right now, but I know what it's like to feel strong.  There are so many things I want to do with my life and you're just a fucking control freak.

I know about the others.  I know about all your affairs and I'm warning you to leave them alone.  I've been starting a revolution, I've been calling you out on your bullshit, I've been laughing in your face and you can't handle it.  Who's the weak one now?  In the end you're going to be all alone.

P.S.  I've got an army so you better watch yourself.  You're going down, jackass.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.