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.

Why I NEDA week

Yesterday was the last day of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week.  I was hoping to post more on to social media, but there were a few days this past week that I wasn't feeling well.  But the nice thing about awareness is that it doesn't have to end after the designated week or month is over.  Hopefully it lights the dry brush in a field and starts a wildfire that spreads across the states, the continents, the world.

Why I need #NEDAwareness is because it reminds me I'm not alone, it validates how I feel, it gives me courage to keep fighting, it gives me a voice to share my story, it gives me optimism that I will succeed in recovery and so much more.

One way I'm going to continue spreading awareness is producing my recovery album.  I've already started the recording process and I'm so happy to be back in the studio.  It will be a mixture of covers (with my own spin) and originals.  

There are plenty of days I'm super excited and can't wait to launch my Kickstarter campaign and see it thrive.  Then there are other days I'm questioning myself - what makes me think I'm good enough, that people actually want to hear what I have to say, that people will enjoy the music, that people can relate, and on and on and on.  Doubt and fear.  Those are ED's favorite tools, but I'm not playing his game anymore.  

One of my close friends reminded me, regardless of what happens with my recovery album, I'm doing it for me.  I don't need to impress anyone nor do I need anyone's permission.  It's time to trust myself and do something that seems impossible because I promised myself that I would step outside of my 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.

When purging is a good thing

One reason why I love the movie Frozen so much is because of the popular song Let It Go.  I know...everyone is sick of hearing that song, but for me it has huge significance.  The action of letting go is so crucial in every day life.

When engaging in behaviors like purging essentially we are using our bodies to get rid of or let go of the negative feelings we are experiencing.  Bingeing is seen as an action to bury your feelings down and then purging to release that tension.  People say they feel a sense of relief after a purge.  With the holidays I definitely experienced moments of wanting to purge, but I'm proud to say I didn't give in to those feelings.

With the new year I wanted to talk about purging, but in a different and healthy way.  Let's say you have a friend, but for some reason they can be toxic.  It's a difficult thing, but letting them go or purging them out of your life may be necessary.  Remember YOU have to take care of YOU and no one else is going to do it.

I get attached to stuff easily, as my family knows all too well.  For some reason letting objects go that hold some meaning is a challenge.  I'm afraid I'll forget the memory that it's associated with or I'm afraid if I donate the item it will be mistreated (yes, I said mistreated, like it's real).  (On a side note: In some of my eating disorder research it's common for sufferers to associate magical properties to objects.  For example, my baby blanket.  I still have my baby blanket and I don't refer to the blanket as an "it" but as a "she".  Even though I'm well aware it is a blanket, just pieces of cloth, I give "her" feelings and there are many days "she" can make me feel comforted and even loved.). But accumulating stuff can actually be detrimental and one can start becoming a hoarder.  I'm not going to turn around and get rid of my blanket, but I also can't hold on to everything little thing that means something to me.  The act of purging and letting go of things can be very therapeutic.  

My husband has been an amazing asset when it comes to helping me let go.  We recently went through a box of my toys and I have such fond memories of each one of them, but as hubby brought up someone else can find joy playing with these toys and that I haven't used these toys in a very long time.  There were certain ones that I didn't want to get rid of, but at the end of the day I had a couple boxes of toys ready to be donated.  And even though at first I felt sad that I wouldn't have these toys anymore I ended up feeling relieved.  I don't need those possessions and that's very freeing.

Letting go of negative feelings is an even harder task to do than letting go of actual stuff.  For us to really grow we have to let go of the things weighing us down.  If you imagine yourself holding onto the various objects that represent hurt feelings or bad memories you can't also hold on to new happy feelings and memories.  I struggle with this all the time.  I can get in a rut and play a negative tape in my head over and over again, but what good is that?  I'm focusing so much on the past and how something made me feel bad instead of making peace with that situation and purging it out of my life.  We all make mistakes and some mistakes are rather large, but try to let it go.  

You are more than your mistakes and struggles.  

Free yourself from the prison cell you created.  

You are a good person and you deserve to feel good.  

You are worthy.

It's never been easy for me, but the more I learn to let go or purge in a healthy manner the better I feel about myself.  Here is to a happy and healthy new year!  And remember you are never alone!

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!