Crossroads

There's been so many things I've been running from because they scare me. They're what I fear the most and what hurts the most. It's human nature to avoid pain, so you'd think it's only natural for me to run away from it. But just because it's human nature doesn't mean it's right, and maybe you run too far and end up in more pain than the pain you were originally avoiding.

Ok, enough of the philosophical ramblings. I mentioned in my last blog that I had a really good day of not purging, TWO days of no purging. And yeah, that was great and I'm proud of myself and all, but the two days following my miniature victory were a vomiting nightmare. Quite literally (though I highly doubt I needed to add that statement. You all aren't stupid).

I don't want to purge. I feel closer to death when I purge, which is one of those things I've been trying to avoid thinking about. Not trying to get all mystical on you guys, but I feel death every time I purge. Even when I don't purge, sometimes reality becomes both distant and distinct and I feel death reaching for me.

I don't feel ready to die. I still have things to do, my life to live. But if I've learned one life lesson, I've learned most people don't die when they're ready to die. Death hasn't always been a scary thought, but the thought of dying like this scares the shit out of me. Quite literally (yet again, I didn't need to add that. Blame it on my twisted and perverse humor).

I'm finishing a Vampire Academy book and I had FIVE PAGES to go, when my dad walks in to have a serious talk. Bad timing on his part, but I can't blame him for not knowing my heart was just shattered into a million pieces because Dimitri was turned into a Strigoi, an evil soul-less vampire, and now his true love has to kill him because he's better dead than a Strigoi.

He pretty much told me that he's freaking out because he can literally see me wasting away with every day that passes. He said he can't handle another one of his kids dying. He started to tear up which inevitably meant I began balling. My parents want to meet with my whole treatment team (three people- I feel like I made it sound like a dozen people were treating me or something) to find out what the deal is and where we go from here.

He said I have no margins left. I'm at a pivotal point and he can't just stand by because it affects my whole family.

Great. And I thought the day couldn't get any worse. Maybe all this sarcasm and dry humor is surfacing because I can't handle dealing with it seriously. The weight of it all is too much. I feel like the happiness of so many people rests on my shoulders and I can't bear it by myself. I think my Dad doesn't think I'm trying hard enough to get better, which makes me feel even worse because this IS me trying my hardest.

He's right. I AM dying. They say eating disorders are slow suicide. I, like probably everyone else, thought I was the one and only exception. I thought I could control it. Apparently not.

So here I am sitting in bed, salty tears dried on my face, and a very heavy heart filling my chest. I can't run from the pain anymore because it's cornered me. It's either death or facing the pain I'm not even sure what to name, and I don't want to die yet.

Please, someone tell me dealing with the pain will be worth it. Someone tell me everything will be okay. Because I'm not okay. Not at all.

A Little Sunshine

FINALLY I have something cheerful to write about. I didn't binge or purge at all yesterday. First day being b/p free in at least a month! It was incredibly difficult and I came close to bingeing a few times, but somehow I made it through. I think it helped to have friends who were trying not to b/p and were successful as well. We kind of kept each other accountable, and this time it really worked.

I have yet to b/p today. But to be honest, I'm incredibly tempted. Partially because chocolate chip pancakes are sounding pretty delicious right now, and also because I'm home alone which makes it that much easier since there's no here to question my odd behaviour.

Hence, this blog. I'm doing anything to distract myself.

I had a doctor's appointment today and I suppose it went alright. Though my weight is at my lowest, my bloodwork was okay so that was a relief. He had me do an EKG. I had to put on one of those hospital gowns backwards and I felt irrationally promiscuous with it gaping open, revealing my pierced navel. What was even more embarrassing was the fact I had cuts all over the right side of my stomach and ribs. It was the outcome of feeling horrible after an insane b/p and was slightly ambien-induced. Note to self: Take ambien and go to bed IMMEDIATELY. Otherwise, hallucination will occur.

Anyways, the women doing my EKG was really professional and didn't ask any questions of the cuts or stare at them. I felt awkward enough being so naked in front of another person.

Well, I really can't get my mind off of those chocolate chip pancakes so I'm going to go read at Borders for a bit. I can't believe there's people out there who thinks this recovering thing is easy. It's not, and it pisses me off when people say, "Just eat." They say ignorance is bliss. I say it's just plain stupidity.

Thoughts on Therapy at 4am

It's 4am and I've been wide awake for an hour or so now. I've finally caught up on video comments and messages, and to be honest I feel so blessed. Most people, including many of my friends, don't understand eating disorders which leads them to a) ignore it completely or b) say really stupid things. Both responses are quite frustrating and leave me feeling even more alone. I've found the YouTube community so supportive and I've made great friends that actually get it.

Even though I don't feel like I'm making any progress in recovery, I've actually learned so much from therapy. When I went into therapy for my ED at age 14, I had a great therapist who I loved and we still stay in contact. However, at the time I wasn't willing to open up to her. Whenever we would be getting past the walls I had built around myself, I would shut down. Thus, we never digged into the root of my ED.

This time around in therapy, I've been much more receptive and open to talking about things. I'm okay with crying now and talking about things I've never voiced. And you know what? I am AMAZED at what I've found out about myself. For me, my ED orginated in abuse, feeling misunderstood, and growing up with death always being a topic because of my sick brother.

Everyone is different and that's what's interesting about therapy. I think it would be fascinating to help people dig and learn about themselves, how they tick and why they tick the way they do. I now understand why so many recovered eating disordered people go into therapy or become nutritionists themselves. Once you've been helped, you want to help other people too.

Well, I have much more to say about this week, but I'll leave that for my next video I'll hopefully make tomorrow. I suppose attempt #3 at sleep might be beneficial. I hope you all are doing well. You're support means the world to me!

Confused

The message I've gotten from people over and over in my life is that I shouldn't be feeling what I'm feeling. When I tried to tell people about being sexually abused at 14, the message I recieved was it wasn't a big deal, I'm silly for feeling used and dirty. People wouldn't of said those things if I wasn't so embarrassed by what happened, that I didn't explain it well and left out pretty much all the details.

It was the inability to communicate hindering me, but I wasn't aware of that at the time. I thought I explained it well enough and I was stupid for feeling hurt. I'd like to think my communication skills have at least improved slightly. But yet again, I'm getting the same message: You're feelings aren't justified, you're wrong for feeling hurt.

What am I supposed to do with my feelings then? When I was 14, I used my eating disorder and cutting and pills to deal with feelings I thought weren't supposed to be expressed. In fact, those are the first coping mechanisms I usually run to when I need to deal with negative feelings.

I thought the right answer was to express my feelings in a gentle, upfront way. Apparently I went wrong somewhere. Yet again, the message I got was I shouldn't be feeling hurt and it's not okay to express it because what I'm feeling is WRONG.

I don't know what to do. I've tried doing it the "healthy" way, but it seemed to make things worse. The only thing I have left is eating disordered behaviour, cutting and pills. Primarily my ED, since it's what I'm struggling with the most lately.

I'm wrong. I'm stupid. It's my fault. Something is wrong with me. I'm unloveable. I'm defective. I'm not acceptable. I'm alone. People's friendship with me is charity. All I can trust is ED. He'll never let me down.

And the voices refuse to be silent.

In the Land of Limbo

I am tired. Recovering from an eating disorder is constantly fighting the voices in your head. I feel like I've been fighting for recovery and delving deep into the root issues of my ED for so long, and now I've come to the point where I'm tired of fighting it. It's too hard to fight. It's easier to give in.

I still have that number in my head, but I don't really feel the need or drive to reach it. It's not about weight anymore, though gaining weight is still quite frightening. I just...don't really care if I lose anymore. I just don't want to eat. If I eat, I purge.

I feel numb. I feel kind of lost and unsure of everything.

All I really know, is this isn't a fun place to be.

Never walking, always running

one two one two,
breathe in breathe out,
let go of every thought and just
run.

When I relapsed last April, I started to run again. I really do love running, the feeling of your body hardening, knowing you're stronger than before. I started running 3 miles five times a week, but soon that wasn't enough. I upped it to five, then six, and so on till I was usually running 10-11 miles. As I started running faster, longer, and harder, I lost the joy of running. It became a necessity. I wouldn't eat if I couldn't run off the calories. It became something I couldn't imagine living without.

I was obsessed. Obsessive exercise isn't uncommon among the eating disordered. We tend to be people who take things to the extreme. Being average isn't good enough, whether its running, sports, grades, music...weight. When we accomplish something, we hardly (if at all) feel happy about our accomplishment, because we're already thinking about our next goal.

I miss running. When friends and family tell me they're going to the gym or they've just ran x amount of miles, it's like a knife in the stomach. I'm jealous. I want to run. I want to lose myself and be freed of the thoughts constantly bombarding my mind. I want to have a break from the voice in my head that's planning my next meal and what I'm not going to eat.

But part of me is glad too...glad I have a valid reason to not run. Because I was chained to the treadmill and it came to the point where running wasn't a choice anymore. Even though my heart kind of aches, I also feel like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders. I'm free from the treadmill and it doesn't control me anymore.

Now if I could only be free of this stupid voice in my head telling me I'm not thin enough. Because I'm not. I'm not small enough. I want to disappear in size 00 jeans. I might as well be thirty pounds heavier again because I don't feel any different. I'm unhappy at this weight. You could tell me I'm thin, but I won't believe it because I KNOW I'm not thin enough. I wish I COULD be convinced otherwise.

I'm weary of it all.

Opening Old Wounds

Eat purge eat purge...the cycle that never ends. Everytime I bend over the toilet I think to myself, "I don't want to do this." But I can't stop. Throat burning, head throbbing, and chest pounding, I'm a mess.

I wish people would stop offering me food. I don't need it, really. It's better this way, because if you give me food, yes I'll eat it but I'll throw it up too. I wish they'd just lock me up. I wish someone would save me from myself. I need an intervention because I'm killing myself and I don't want to.

I saw him this weekend...he was different towards me...distant and kind of mean. I wonder if he knows I finally told my parents what he did to me when we were teens. I have this illogical desire for him to like me and to treat me well. It hurts that he refuses to show me any form of affection, unless you can call mocking a form of affection. I wish it didn't hurt. I wish he'd just...say he was sorry for hurting me and taking control away from me, and love me like he should- like a cousin should. I hate it that he still has the power to hurt me.

I kind of want to cry.