Scales are for Fishies

A month ago I found the scale my father told me he threw away. I was so mad and of course my father didn't see the big deal. Finding the scale was a big trigger for me and my dad put the scale somewhere else so I went out and bought my own. Which I kept hidden in my car, after two weeks I told Jamie about it, she told me I could give the scale to her but I couldn't I NEEDED the scale, especially when every time I stepped on it the number went down. 

But then it stopped being good, I couldn't keep the scale in my house so I kept it in my car and would weigh myself in the parking lot of whatever location I was at. And that's completely normal, isn't it?

Then I saw this thing online where somebody smashed their scale and who doesn't love smashing things?! So I asked Jamie if we could do it and this was her response:

So last week, that's exactly what we did. We smashed the scale to pieces, with a sledgehammer. It was fun and exciting and liberating. 

Though, right now I'm struggling. I want to run out and buy a brand new scale so I can watch the number go down, down, down until it gets to that perfect number. So I just keep telling myself I don't need it and the only thing that actually needs scales are fish.

PS I put bows on our safety goggles (safety doesn't have to be ugly)

Scary Statistics

This is what I saw yesterday. Statistics screaming at me that the odds aren't really in my favor. I'm more likely to die than to recover and if I don't die my life is over any way. Those I love would give up, getting tired of my neediness and abandoning me so they don't have to watch me constantly almost kill myself. 

I also made a choice when I saw the statistics that I would be part of that 60% I am more determined than ever to beat this. To kill the fucking monster that is ruining my life. I will not be part of the 40% that lives alone and in misery. I refuse to be part of the 3% that goes to an early grave. No, I will be part of the 60%. I will enjoy my life and I will live like I'm supposed to.

Of course, it's so easy to SAY it but it's a completely different thing to go through with it. Recovery is exhausting and fighting is hard and I want a break but I don't get a break because the monster doesn't take breaks, in fact it waits for me to get tired so it can drag me down yet again but this time it won't get the chance.

Because right here and right now, despite how scary this is, I've decided to be part of the 60%. And I will be, despite the odds.

Getting Better

What I think "getting better" means:

Getting fatter

Losing control

Imperfection

What "getting better" really means:

Healthy (doesn't mean fat)

Happy

Accepting of myself as is

Energy

Can taste again

I know what getting better gets me and all of the things I will lose if I fight against recovery. But the monster is very good at convincing me that I will lose it all, everything I have worked (starved) so hard for. 

But with recovery comes all sorts of unknowns. I don't want to be the "anorexic" or the "girl with the eating disorder" but what am I if I'm not that? As much as I hate those stupid fucking labels it's how we survive (or die) in this society. 

I know that getting better means that I get to figure out who I am, that I won't have those labels attached to me. I can get a new label, perhaps something good and happy. 

And if I get better what happens to the people I adore (Jamie)? If I'm better I don't get to see her anymore. Does she just vanish into thin air? Like we've never even met? How do I forget someone that has been a part of my life for nearly a year and will most likely be helping me for months to come? And what about the people online? The ones who have and are struggling do I move on and forget them as well?

Yeah, I know that's silly. I can't speak for the others but I know that I will never forget and do what it takes to stay in touch (thank you technology!) I know you don't forget those that help and support you. And I hope they don't forget me.

Rationalizing is easy. I'm a rational person until that monster gets in and convinces me that it knows better. But I must fight that voice and let the rational part of me win. It's so terrifying. But I know that getting better will be worth it.

A Purge to Stop the Gain

I was only successful once. And even that was more of a failure than anything else. It happened over a month ago at a party I hadn't eaten in 29 hours but had been plied with plenty of wine in a short amount of time. In addition the wine that never seemed to empty from my glass I was given food. Food I wanted desperately to avoid. My friends were adamant that I should eat, and after that long without food I couldn't stop. I ate half a burrito and some salad, feeling stuffed by my standards and the buzz from the alcohol certainly didn't help. So I stumbled into the bathroom and shoved my finger down my throat. And you know what came up? Just a few pieces of lettuce. That was all, and yet I felt a fleeting moment of triumph.

That was not the first but it was the last time I tried purging. In fact, I don't even really get the urges any longer. Because after that one time the guilt I felt was worse than any other I had felt before. 

You see, I had gone a few months without trying at that point. Before I even started therapy I had tried it a few times and had always been unsuccessful. And the problem wasn't so much the fact I had eaten it had more to do with if I ate and then happened to mess something up so I equated eating with screwing up and I just knew that getting everything out of me would fix all of the things I had done wrong. And not only could puking get rid of the food maybe it could get rid of my feelings too.

But I could never purge properly. And it upset me so much, because it was just another thing I couldn't do. Forget the fact that it was actually a good thing. In my totally fucked up state it felt like the perfect solution. Jamie has told me more than once she's happy it never worked because purging becomes an addiction and would be yet another thing to fight. 

Of course, for those that knew I was purging it made them not trust me. They trusted me more to feed myself than to be in a bathroom. I got very sick in August with a kidney stone, whether it was my genetics, a "side-effect" of anorexia, or a combination of both, we aren't really sure all I know is that at times I was in unbearable pain. But this was a different type of stone because it would stop and go and stop again. So I was kind of able to carry on with my normal routine. But one night at work it started bothering me and I needed to get home. But I got freaked out that the pain would get so bad I would drive off the road. So I asked to stay with a family I babysat for. But the pain was so bad it made me feel like puking. The mom got so upset thinking I was purging with her daughter across the hall. She told her aunt, who told her sister, who is best friends with my dad. And I was ambushed in family therapy by my dad who asked me why I was purging with a 9 year old in the house. I wasn't, but I'm not sure anyone but my therapist believed me. 

At that time I hadn't tried purging in over a month because I had cut the back of my throat shoving a straw as far back as it would go in yet another failed purging attempt. And until the party in early October I had given up trying to puke because of the pain and guilt.

And despite that one slip-up I haven't actually gotten any urges. The guilt I felt then was worse than any I had felt because I let myself and Jamie down. Nobody knows about the party except for Jamie and I. And now I'm telling you. 

I'm telling you because you need to know how far I've come, even if I still look "emaciated" in the pictures I post. I'm trying. But please understand that I will slip up and feel like sinking down again, and if that happens I need your support more than ever. I'm currently in a slump right now. Stuck between counted calories and recovery. But even if it seems like it I promise I'm still fighting.

 

Scarlet Letters

Hester Prynne had it easy compared to now. "A" for adultery. She bore her letter as proudly and unabashedly as she could given the situation. while pastor Adam Dimmesdale lives his life in secret shame. Afraid to admit the hand he played.

Sometimes I feel much like Adam, dealing with secrets I am too ashamed to share. I am tortured daily by inner-demons and guilt unable to come forward, afraid of the repercussions. 

On the other hand I'm terrified that all anyone sees are the scarlet letters embroidered in everything I wear. A for anorexia and another for anxiety. C for crazy. D for depression. L for liar. F for fat. I'm covered in these letters, I know  it's all anyone sees. I don't want them to know. 

But isn't the whole point of The Scarlet Letter is, it's better to bear your cross and admit to your sins and mistakes than to be tortured by them until the day you die? Well, yes. But people are more forgiving of adulterers than they are of those with mental health issues.

This is why so many live in secrecy and fear. Much like Adam, we are afraid of the consequences if we speak up. So we hide behind anonymous Twitter accounts or secret blogs, afraid of anyone unearthing our imperfections.

And like Adam, these secrets eat us from the inside out. Making things that much harder. When I'm being chastised for making a mistake or get concerned looks and questions about what's wrong, I want to scream and yell that my internal struggle makes it hard to do everything even though I'm trying my hardest. 

There has to be away to avoid guilt-induced illness, and subsequent death, and instead be unashamed, and like Hester, die peacefully after living the life we all deserve.

We have to get rid of these scarlet letters. And the stigma.

Just Like Glass

Trust too much and you're considered naive. Trust too little and you're heartless. Unfortunately I tend to fall in that naive category, or so I'm told. I must say that I've been fairly lucky in that I've only been truly burned by this trustworthiness once I'm warned that it could happen more if I don't keep my guard up.

Like everything else being told I trust "wrong" sends me into a panic. A panic because everyone whom I've trusted could turn out to be the last person I should've confided in. 

I like that I trust people and I don't think I'm stupid about it. Isn't it worse to trust no one? I don't go around sharing my struggles or telling my deepest secrets but if somebody asks me a question I answer it honestly hoping they'll understand why just this once I need them to keep it to themselves. 

However, once that trust is broken it will not come back. The person who burned me I still see and talk too but when I'm with her things are uncomfortable and feel broken. Our conversations are superficial and of little importance but because I love her and her family I'm trying to forgive her since I know she felt she was doing what was right.

As for everybody else, I will be more careful in who I trust but I won't stop giving people a chance to prove they can be loyal and I in turn will be the same. 

Trust is a lot like glass, fragile but sturdy, but if broken nearly impossible to fix.

The Unknown

I need a crystal ball or to be able to read the tea leaves at the bottom of my cup. Maybe visions in the form of dreams? Oh, does somebody have the number of a palm reader? All of these things would be lovely, simply to keep around or experience when I cannot handle not knowing what's coming next.

Knowing things is comforting. I can wrap myself up in reassurance with carefully planned days, every moment scheduled. The same goes for food, I don't keep track of calories but I know how many are in the foods I eat. Foods I cannot deviate from. 100 calories in plain oatmeal, 25 in flax milk, 80 in FiberOne cereal, 45 in my reduced calorie bread. I can eat other foods with those terrifying uncounted calories but I would prefer to just live off of these foods. I know them we've become friends. 

Sadly, plans go wrong. That's when I wish I could see the future, all the better to plan for it. An unexpected illness kept me almost bedridden for two days, forcing me to reschedule my carefully planned days, which sends me into panic mode, and even more panic when therapy could be canceled because of an illness I couldn't see coming.

As my therapist pointed out today there are some good unknowns, for example: I have these shorts that have always been somewhat big but as I got sicker they just got bigger until it got to the point where they would fall off as soon as I put them on (I liked that) but when I was getting better I put them on and it took some wiggling before they would fall off which made me panic and I got bad again. Then there's a picture I have from July,

back when I was being threatened constantly with hospitalization, and I like the way I look even though I was so sick then. And I want to pull out that outfit and take a picture and compare because I don't know how I look now. Not knowing how those shorts fit or how my legs look now compared to July drives me crazier than I already am. But my therapist and I did talk about something I do know. If I put on those shorts and they don't fall off or if I take that picture and see a difference, and not one I like, I will be triggered. We know that things like that trigger me and I will end up back at square one and I could hit rock bottom, which I've so far managed to avoid.

So right now it's a delicate balance, I can take comfort in the things I know. I know I am loved, I know I have foods to eat that won't make me fall apart, and perhaps, most importantly I know my triggers, so I can avoid them and hopefully work towards getting rid of. But for now I must hold on tight to what I do know and prepare myself for a future full of unknowns.

THANK YOU

It's Novemember already. The time of year when we really start to reflect on all of the things we are thankful for and all of those that make all of these wonderful things possible. So now I want to say thank you to everyone who make feel so special.

Dad-you're not reading this (I hope) but maybe someday you will. Things were hard in the beginning, and you had a hard time accepting that I was sick and needed more help than you could provide. But we've moved forward and both grown and you're learning how to help me in ways that I need. And I'm learning from you how to take charge and become more independent. 

My new friends-Beth, Linda, and Katie. All stepping up when they learned of my struggles promising support with whatever I may need and always there if I need to vent. They didn't turn and run when they found out and instead embraced my problems and me helping me more than I think they realize.

My new extended family- the Baird's, Monreal-Bugrova's, and the Rose's. when I moved I left a whole network of "adoptive" families behind and was scared I wouldn't be able to find that again but you guys have made everything that much easier and I know my "old" extended family would love you as much as I do, especially since you've done such a good job taking care of me.

My "old" extended family- Patterson's, Foster's, Snirving's, Stone's, Henderson's, Chatterson's, Gorman's, and Malinowski's (I hope I got everyone!) I grew up with you, I watched your children grow (some of them are high-schoolers/Tweens/teens now which so NOT cool!) you took me in and treated me as one of your own and you helped make my difficult situation bearable. I don't know how I could ever repay any of you for everything you've done for me over the years thank you doesn't really seem like enough. But for now it's all I have. Thank you!

Nan- my first introduction to you was when I was only a few minutes or so old. You were one of the few that was comfortable enough to hold me. From then on I became like a daughter to you and you became like a mother to me. Even though we were apart for years I know you never stopped thinking about me and we instantly reconnected. Now I live closer and while I still don't live as close as you or I would like seeing you isn't quite the task it used to be and I know you're only a phone call away, even if you're in the middle of taking Vivi to training.

Bill- I miss our Saturday therapy sessions at ACAC. And watching you get splashed by my little fish. Thank you for your continued support even through the distance. Your kindness means so much to me and I cannot wait for you to come next year. And I love all of the pictures/links you send me on a daily basis and your encouragement with everything I do.

Mom- we don't get to talk often, and I see you even less often, but thank you for the sweet phone calls and texts letting me know you're thinking about me and that you care. Even if I don't get a chance to respond just know that it always puts a smile on my face.

And last but not least...

Jamie- I am sure you had no idea what you were getting into that day I walked in for our first session, especially since I had taken so freaking long to call you in the first place! But you muddled through and got me talking, now I'm sure you wish you hadn't ;) I don't think I would've come this far this fast without your amazing support. And the fact that I am ALMOST comfortable talking to you on the phone is pretty big and just shows how amazing you are at your job. Though I certainly have no problems texting/emailing you. I know that with your help I will get through this with as few slip-ups as possible. And I will come out an even stronger person than before.

If you're not mentioned it's not because I am not thankful for you because I am. More than I think any of you will ever know. I love each and every one of you forever and always.

Thinspiring

"Thinspo" and "thinspiration" terms used to describe the emaciated girls we can only hope to emulate. Like most people that suffer with eating disorders, or even just basic body image issues, I have an entire Pinterest board dedicated to what I could only dream of looking like. But unlike most my "Must Be" board is mostly words, words have a bigger impact on me.

Some of these words I have committed to memory and I repeat them to myself over and over in fits of obsession reminding myself to find control and hang on tight. These words can come from anything they could be direct quotes from books or longingly searched for on the internet all related to anorexia. "Goodbye food, hello thin". Or they are simply movie quotes that I have perverted to fit my sick idea of comfort and control "turn out your toes, remember who you are". 

I don't know why words are like this for me. I know I've written about them before and how much one comment can ruin my entire day. I just really like words, provided they are the ones that I need to hear. The problem is that I spend so much time hearing words and everything can be a trigger. A catchy song I used to like now sends me into fits of tapping while I repeat over and over "eat your salad, no dessert". Yes, tapping. I've always had sort of a nervous habit of tapping when I got anxious but now the words must match up to each tap. And there's the rational part of me that is screaming to change the song but I can't. Sometimes I will play it 3 or 4 times in a row just to get the tapping done.

Sometimes I hit the "thinspo lottery" and stumble across a picture of a seemingly perfect girl watermarked against a perfect thinspo quote. Obviously these are a double whammy, these are the pictures I set as my background for a day or so before coming to my senses and realizing it's not healthy or productive to have these images/words laying around.

My therapist hates that I have this board. Her and I both know it's an unhealthy thing to have but I'm not yet at that point where I can delete it. Luckily I have Jamie and my friend Katie who have both promised to be there for me when I'm ready whenever that may be. And knowing that I have support for something that will be such a daunting challenge is amazing. 

Until then I must figure out how to get my mind off of negative words that promote negative actions and feelings, I just wish I knew how.

Pills to Make You...

Happy, sad, sleepy, numb. Lose weight, gain weight. Forget, forget, forget. As children we played doctor and the cure for anything was "take two M&Ms and call me in the morning." Best prescription EVER! Happily skipping off with your crayon-scribbled note to the fake pharmacy to fill it, if your brother hadn't eaten all of them yet.

Now, it's different. Your prescriptions are not nearly as delicious. You keep your head down as you walk to the real pharmacy with that same note, still a scribble but it's pen and it's real. Of course there's still that fear that some drug-addicted pharmacist has taken your pills.

When I am having a very bad day my favorite solution is to pop some pills and go to bed. Because if you don't have to face the problem there isn't one. But sometimes I have VERY bad days. Bad moments and everything just seems to suddenly fall apart. In those moments one or two pills won't cut it. In those moments the solution seems to be to just take enough Oxy or Trazadone or Prozac, hell just combine them, to put me in a lovely coma for a week or so. Not enough to kill myself of course, just to get a break. Besides, what could go wrong?

Ummm, everything.

I could miscalculate and end up killing myself, and I would hate that. If it didn't manage to go that far I could do irreparable damage to vital organs. And then there's what happens after I wake up. I would wake up probably chained to a bed in a padded cell. After all only crazy people take that many pills.

I hate that these thoughts come. They scare me and of course my first instinct is to tell somebody. So I email my therapist in panic mode. Which only succeeds in making her panic and telling me that if I'm serious she has to file a 51/50. Automatic 72 hour psych hold. 

Obviously I haven't followed through. I'm scared. And doing so would mean a major loss of control and I can't have that. 

So I just stick to my prescriptions and take them as recommended. Mostly. 

After all, a pill (or two) a day keeps the demons away.

Down the Rabbit Hole I Go. Again

Our worlds are different, mine and Alice's. Hers is unique and odd and filled with color. Mine is scary and dangerous and dark. Of course it took me a while to realize this. In my world thinness is genius and as long as you're skinny and perfect you can paint the roses whatever color you want, after all the Red Queen envies you and your fragileness. You spend your days chasing after the rabbit, even though you no longer care about where it is he's going, but as long as he's hop-hop-hopping along you might as well follow, it burns calories after all. The worst thing about this world is that damn cat, always trying to confuse you, go this way. Oh wait, that way. WAIT WAIT WAIT the other way is the right way. You want to scream and yell and strangle the stupid thing but he's untouchable because he is in your head. He's all the voices telling you to get out of that place-it's not a world you want to be part of or to run even faster-burn those calories. hide from the people trying to pull you out of this world. DON'T LET THEM FIND YOU!

Run, run, run straight into the perfect party. A party without food that offers only water, coffee, tea, and all of the gum that you can chew. There's the Mad-Hatter organizing all of the games "Step right up! I'll guess your weight! If I guess under what you weigh, you lose. If I guess over you're a winner-unless someone else weighs less." You step up to the scale, the evil machine you're not allowed near under normal circumstances, just another reason why you love this fucked up world. You're shaking, from hunger or panic you can't tell. Unfortunately, you're not standing long enough to hear the results. Before you know it you're flat on your back staring up into the creepy smile of that cat again. He's force-feeding you and you're not resisting.

Off in the corner, unbeknownst to you, Tweedle-Ana and Tweedle-Mia are standing there, whispering and planning, evil evil things. Remember, they can't see the cat. All they see is you failing, failing, failing. Tweedle-Ana is yelling at you to STOP! And just like that the cat switches from caring to laughing it's head off. It knows what it's done. The cat starts to tell you what a failure you are and points you over to Tweedle-Ana and Tweedle-Mia for help. They are staring at you with such a look of disgust it's painful. You look to them, disapointment evident in your eyes. You're scared because you  know what comes next. You know at this point Tweedle-Ana can't help. She got you to stop pigging out, so now Tweedle-Mia must help you get rid of the food.

But just like you failed Tweedle-Ana you fail Tweedle-Mia as well. You suck at purging and she just gives up, you're hopeless after all. Both Tweedle-Ana and Tweedle-Mia leave after that. Hoping they've at least scared you into submission, however you know they're always watching and waiting for you to fuck up again.

Something inside of you has suddenly snapped, this world that seemed so perfect and able to provide you with everything you need is suddenly changing, you need to get out of this world. So you bolt. Run, run as fast as you can they can't catch you...through the woods, hop the Queen's fence, she knows what you're doing and sends the cards to get you. The hunting horns sound, but lucky for you the cat is back and he decides to be encouraging, at least for now. "Run to get better, run back to the hole you fell down, don't let them catch you." he whispers.

You round the corner and you're there. Back to the place where it all began. Climb up and up and up, you're right at the edge, the edge of freedom. Almost back into the world of love and happiness and sunshine. You're struggling to climb out and you're clinging on the edge for dear life as the cards, the Mad-Hatter, the Queen, and the Tweedle's try to pull you back. You fight for as long as you can. But you're tired, and the cat has decided to taunt you again "Never mind, if you go back there's no more perfection. And who out there is going to love you if you're not perfect? Stay here, and we will help you acheive that."

So you let go, back down the rabbit hole you fall. After all, it's not so easy to escape from Hungerland.

Monsters Really do Exist

When we're little we are afraid of monsters. The ones in closests, under our beds, and out in the blackness of the night. As we grow older we start to realize that these are not the monsters to fear. There are the lucky ones that simply must realize that there are people out there who really are monsters but will never encounter them. Then there are those of us with the monsters inside of us, the monsters who make us do things that hurt ourselves and in doing so hurt those that we love.

The first monster I ever met was anxiety but that is easily tamed with the right combinations of pills, breathing exercises, and support. Anxiety has it's moments when it fights the affects of all of those and reigns supreme but can be controlled with enough focus.

Then, there was depression the monster I refused to acknowledge until it got so ferocious and scary that I finally had to admit that it had teamed up with anxiety and they were both wreaking havoc on my fragile psyche causing me to need find help in anyway I could, even though admitting it was almost as scary as facing it alone.

But then anorexia entered the picture. The scariest monster of all. Anorexia quickly took over, it might have been the newest in the bunch but it didn't take long for it to become the strongest.

The thing with this monster is that there aren't pills to fight it. Anorexia cannot be cured, it can only be fought. Fought by controlling the other monsters and finding strength within myself to defeat it. But I don't know if people understand that this battle is hard. I know it's not impossible but sometimes it feels like it. 

However this monster does sleep. But it is also easily awoken; by certain words or by simply chewing. I do my best not to let It wake up, though that sometimes means not eating. And when the monster does wake up to hear my stomach rumbling It is nice. It is proud of me for being strong enough to resist temptation. 

Because this monster is inside of me it knows every thought, feeling, and action coursing through my body and can tell when I'm about to slip. It knows how to control this, all I have to do is look at those perfect skinny models. The skeletons in clothes I can only dream of wearing. Or if I am unable to pull up any sort of pictures it simply whispers in my ear "look at your thighs, put down the food" "not worth the calories" "do you want to stay fat forever?" Those thoughts send me into panic mode. I scream and cry because there's a part of me, the part that the monster hasn't quite gotten to yet, that knows these are bad. Those thoughts are simply the monsters way of trying to win and I must do everything in my power not to let that happen.

The thing with these monsters is that I don't get a knight in shining armor to help me defeat them. However, I am not alone I am simply the leader. I must use the support and resources I've been given to defeat the monsters. It is hard knowing that I've had to bring all of these people into my war, a war none of us asked to be a part of, but one that I am glad I am not alone in.

So yes, I believe that monsters exist, out in the world and inside of us. But there those, like me, that have an amazing army behind them to help fight and call on when I am in need of assistance. And with any luck I will defeat Anorexia and hopefully take down the other two with it, and once that's done, perhaps I can help others fight their monsters because nobody should have to be afraid, especially of themselves.

 

An Open Letter to Muscle Milk

"If you enjoy feeling dull, overweight and lethargic put this bottle down, pick up that donut and prepare to cry yourself to sleep on the couch, again..."

To whom this may concern,

Seriously? What marketing genius came up with this? I have been that person that has cried because they ate a donut. Or has just cried because they ate ANYTHING and were "feeling overweight", even eating nothing at all can still trigger me to "cry myself to sleep on the couch, again". Granted, the fact that I suffer from anorexia makes a lot of things surrounding food very hard.

Eating a donut should not cause that much shame, a healthy person knows that indulging in the occasional donut should not make them feel that way. Even though I struggle when it comes to things like donuts I know that as long as I don't eat them everyday it's a perfectly acceptable morning companion to fresh fruit and coffee. Not that I eat donuts anyway, but I digress.

My therapist has instructed me to have something protein packed at every meal, but especially in the morning to help jump start my somewhat messed up metabolism. Thankfully, my therapist understands there are times when I just can't handle solid food. Where the act of chewing can cause me more anxiety than the food itself. Because she understands this, she told me that protein drinks are an acceptable replacement and she's just happy that I'm getting nutrients.

Muscle Milk was the answer, half of one in the morning and half of one at some other point in the day or even as breakfast the following day. Then I found Muscle Milk Light and I was ecstatic because it had fewer calories so my anxiety went down even further. I did experiment with a competitor whose shake was a whole ten calories less but the taste was awful and even I can rationalize ten calories for better taste. That was until I saw the back of your bottle.

We live in a day and age where eating disorders are more rampant than ever. It seems each year the age keeps dropping for those being diagnosed with eating disorders, and your product bemoaning someone for eating a donut is not going to change that. Why not put something useful on the bottle? Why not mention that it's a great choice when you're running late and need that boost because it's better than not eating at all? Because eating ONE donut should not make you feel that way but not eating at all will.

I hope this opens your eyes and prompts you to find a new way to market your truly delicious drinks, however, until then I will be unable to continue to support your product or company.

Sincerely,

Miranda Poletti

Puzzle Pieces

It's funny what you find when you look hard enough. I have discovered that no matter the age you're constantly leaving pieces of yourself wherever you go. I drive by the hospital I was born in on my way to school and next to that is the park where I had my first birthday. I don't remember these times but the pictures show a lot. And I can visit those places and feel a sense of comfort.

A family I babysit for lives just up the road from where I spent the first six years of my life; I've driven by old house numerous times. The house is different, very different. 13 years of different ownerships and tragedies change things. Despite these changes I can still see the puzzle pieces left behind; the pool I swam daily in, the carpet I took my first steps and played on, and my room with my first "big girl bed".

For a place I lived in for such a short time I am amazed at the amount of those puzzle pieces I find: the field where we discovered soccer was not my thing (but I was very good at picking flowers), the dance studio where we discovered that dance was also not my thing, the children's museum (my favorite place), probably the worlds smallest zoo, the beach where I played for hours, my elementary school that I visit daily because of babysitting duties, and I am sure there are more at the places I haven't even visited yet. 

Then there are the pieces that stay with you, hidden until a sudden memory brings them bursting out. For me it can happen when somebody mentions a potato bug and I immediately remember the poem my mom used to tell us or while rocking out with the kids to Pandora and Down by the Bay comes on, or, even better, You are my Sunshine which my grandmother sang to me constantly. I find these the most startling pieces of the puzzle to find because you don't know what is going to trigger those flashbacks and feelings, but I so love it when it happens.

I love finding these puzzle pieces, they bring a sense of calm to my crazy world. I love when I drop the munchkins off at school and see that it really hasn't changed. 

By no means have I found myself. I still feel hopelessly lost but maybe by finding the pieces to the puzzle I am slowly finding myself.

Selfish Can Be Good

I made a new friend, one that I'm worried is heading down the same slippery road I'm already trying to navigate. It terrifies me because this is not something that's easy to escape from. During our many talks I've thought about how I wish I could take her pain away and just make it disappear forever. But then I also think about all of the other people that feel this way about themselves or that have any number of illnesses both mental and physical and it makes me sad.

I try to be as unselfish as possible. I try to give all I can and take very little. I would rather solve everyone else's problems before I even think about my own. But sometimes this makes me selfish because I would sacrifice my own health for others to have theirs. I would gladly take any sickness from everyone if it meant problems could be solved. I would happily live my life in pain if nobody else ever had to feel pain. But as thoughtful and unselfish as these thoughts are they are also somewhat selfish. They are selfish because my friends and family wouldn't want me to suffer. And if I'm suffering chances are that they are suffering as well. And so the cycle would begin again with them suffering because I am and me not wanting anyone to suffer.

I know that part of helping others is to also help yourself. I must recover before I can help others do the same. But that doesn't mean that I can't wish things were different. 

I don't know if these thoughts are bad or good but I do know that as selfish as they may be to my family being selfish, at least in this sense, is good.

Breakups, Breakdowns, and Breakthroughs

A few weeks ago I broke up with my scale. And today I broke up with MyFitnessPal, because the number doesn't matter. Or so I tell myself when It screams at me that numbers are EVERYTHING. Breaking up is hard to do. I spent a good 20 minutes looking for my scale before asking my dad where he hid it, turns out it's gone. He threw it away which was actually really relieving because now I know that I won't ever find it. Though I could always go buy a new one and believe me I've thought about it. It's been weird not logging my calories after every meal though so hopefully I can last awhile without re-downloading MFP. I mean I know there are 32 calories in the 20 grapes I consume or 52 in 10 goldfish. But I don't know how many are in the almonds I'm currently eating or that were in the rice/bean/veggie burrito (sans burrito) I had for lunch. Break ups are hard it doesn't matter if you're breaking up with a thing or a person, they're hard and they suck.

Despite these positive break ups I'm also teetering on the edge of a breakdown at any given moment. This isn't a 24 hour feeling, though it can take up a good portion of my day. sometimes I can ignore the thoughts that come along: "you're going to eat ALL of that" or "look at you, eating!" But sooner or later they catch up. And the thoughts that are a sign of a break down come creeping in "you could just purge" or "hey why don't you take all of those pretty pills!" Or my most frequent thought "wouldn't it be nice if my jaw was broken so I don't have to eat?" The feelings that come along with these thoughts are hard to deal with and if I'm at home I take a sleeping pill or three so I can go to bed and not deal with them. I want to cry and scream and throw things but I can't. Those are signs of a breakdown and having a breakdown means I'm weak and imperfect. And I won't have that.

But for every breakdown there is a breakthrough. When I think about purging I think about what happened last time that ultimately made me stop trying. When I think about pills I think about all of the people that would be so hurt if I swallowed them. Getting rid of the scale was a breakthrough and not buying a new one every time I head into the store is a breakthrough. I'm changing my negative thoughts into different ones, maybe not positive, but less destructive. Despite these breakthroughs I still have a lot more and one of the biggest ones is to be able to love myself no matter what I look like. I need to be able to look in the mirror and smile instead of just wanting to cry, and that is a breakthrough I am anxiously awaiting.

Feedback

So if feedback is the breakfast of champions and you give me feedback, doesn't that mean I don't have to eat breakfast? (Totally kidding I will still eat breakfast)

So I know there are at least 3 people who read my blog. They are the ones that email or text me about posts or my therapist who discusses them with me (though we do a lot of texting and emailing I hope she has unlimited messages) but for those of you I don't hear from let me know who you are and what you think. I have so many ways you can contact me:

email: miranda_poletti@yahoo.com

text: yeah right, as if I'd put my number on here. If you know me then you have my number!

Facebook: self explanatory

Twitter: @sleepingbeauuty

I want all comments, negative and positive!

Oh, and in case I haven't told you lately I love you. Especially if you've managed to stick around this long and continue to read my ramblings. And the new friends I've made that know and have recently joined the madness. I LOVE YOU

Honesty is the best Policy

“Recovery feels like shit. It didn't feel like I was doing something good; it felt like I was giving up. It feels like having to learn how to walk all over again.” -Portia de Rossi

I have a habit of being completely honest, so even when I don't want to share just ask the right question in the right way and I will let the truth flow out. As has already happened, I had two coworkers blatantly ask me if I have an eating disorder and one mom admit that she already knew after confiding in her. I guess I'm not quite as good at hiding it as I thought. 

At least being so honest with people, as long as they aren't blood related, means that I can be honest with myself. I can admit that "recovery" is the hardest fucking thing EVER. Things that my therapist sees as "milestones" (i.e. periods, pants being a tad bit tighter, hiding scales, or not counting EVERY little calorie) seem like failures to me. It doesn't feel right, it feels completely wrong. Of course, there's the non-sick part of me that understands some of those were choices I made, not something forced upon me (except fuck you Mother Nature that one thing is your fault and that's from most, if not all girls!)

But here's a list of things I'm honestly terrified of:

•that as well as I've been doing (at least in Jamie's eyes, remember good is bad in my mind) that it could come crashing down at any moment.

•that despite blood tests and doctors visits I've done irreparable damage to my body that's going to haunt me for the rest of my life

•I'm scared that everybody is lying and that stupid monster is the only one being honest. Telling me lies I see as the truth, a pretty web of lies that tell me what I want and need to hear

-And-

•getting better. Why? Because getting better means getting healthy and getting healthy means getting fat. Deep down I know that getting better means that I will no longer synonymize "healthy" and "fat". But I know that these are the changes that are the hardest and last things to change.

Honestly though, I have a great support team, especially my therapist Jamie. We go off on the most random tangents, last session we talked about pole dancing and she tells me stories about her husband and if you know me well you know how much I love a sweet story (even if it's not really "sweet") because I am a total sap (and I proudly admit it!) and love it when it's even a super mundane thing that happened. This maybe isn't how other therapists do it, and I don't know if she even does it with her other clients, but she knows that it's what I need. I need something to lighten the mood and to look back on and smile when I'm having a rough time. And the funniest thing was that I had the hardest time calling her to schedule that initial appointment. I think her and a friend of my dads played phone tag for a week before I finally called and talked to her. OK and since this post is all about honesty I will be honest that I didn't call her until after I had the "genius" idea to Facebook stalk her to make sure she looked like someone with a friendly face. (Jamie, I don't know if you knew that but I guess you do now, but I haven't been a repeat stalker just that one time ;p) Thankfully she looked friendly enough for me to call her and then the best part was after that initial phone call we've texted/emailed and I haven't had to talk to her on the phone! (Though she's making me work on phone calls-ugh) 

The bottom line is this, I am terrified about all of this. I'm terrified that I'm going to fall and end up hooked to an IV. I'm afraid that I'm going to ruin more relationships, I think maybe there's one that's not fixable, before I get better. Luckily, I'm not afraid I'm going to die. I'm afraid of dying, but I'm not scared that's going to happen because mom/dad/dads friends/Jamie/my friends aren't going to let it happen. 

But, honestly, that doesn't mean I'm not fucking terrified.

 

The Future

Everybody always tells me to "think of the future." And I do, sometimes. It's hard though when I'm so bogged down in the here and now.

I'm supposed to think of my future and that what I do to my body now will affect how I feel later. So when my mind is "cured" my body could still show signs of the monster that's currently in control. Not obvious ones but ones that crop up with every doctor administered test. "You have heart damage/kidney damage/bone loss..." Or my absolute biggest fear "I'm sorry, but because of what happened 10 years ago you can't have kids."

I know the consequences of this. I know that if I don't fight as hard as possible I won't be able to have everything I want and more. But thinking of those possibilities also makes the future seem terrifying and mean. Because as it stands for the moment I can't have kids. I'm 22 so it's not super scary at the moment but if I don't kill the monster before it kills me I could turn 32 and not have kids.

So while I do look to the future; recovery, graduation, "big girl" jobs, weddings, babies, and grand kids, I also need to focus on the present because if I don't deal with things that are happening NOW there won't be a future, or it just won't be the one I've always imagined.

So Loved

If I said it once I've said it a million times, I AM NOT DOING THIS FOR ATTENTION! I know how to get the affection I crave without resorting to drastic measures. I know how to make people happy without hurting myself. This is about control and my own idea of happiness. 

You know, I got asked a lot growing up if I was anorexic or had an eating disorder. And I denied it because I thought it was ridiculous, why would somebody starve themselves, let alone "tiny" me who people were already concerned about without needing to be? Thinking back it seems so silly because now I know why people starve themselves and it doesn't matter how small they are.

I don't need to feel anymore loved than I already do. I get so many texts/emails/phone calls from people telling me they love me or that I'm amazing. Obviously I'm not feeling neglected. 

I don't completely understand why this happened and I may never know, medical professionals can't even give a clear cut answer as to why people develop eating disorders.

I can tell you though, that I certainly didn't develop mine because I was unloved.

Scales

There was a point where I would quite literally weigh myself 50 times a day, stepping on and off the scale like I was partaking in some sort of step aerobics. It was comforting to see the number stay the same, or even better, go down. But then there was the panic when by chance the number was up. Sending me sometimes into tears of frustration and feelings of failure.

But on Wednesday my therapist gave me a challenge, to weigh myself once a day, I failed Thursday but only weighed in a handful of times and I did OK yesterday though I did step on and off it a few times but didn't weigh myself any other times after my morning step on, step off routine. But yesterday I also made myself a promise, a promise that I would try and go an entire day without weighing myself, after all my upcoming challenge will be to weigh myself only once a week (do you know how terrifying that sounds?!) Well I saw the scale sitting there, in its place next to the shelf that holds the ungodly amount of beauty products and hairbrushes and bows that I own. And it was so tempting to get on it, and I was panicking because I just knew the number was going to be MASSIVE after all I was feeling quite whale-ish. So I did what any "normal" person would do; I picked up the scale and told my dad he needed to hide it. And the best part was that he just took it. He didn't act like I was being dramatic or silly or anything like that. He simply said he would do it. Which made everything that much easier.

Of course I'm now laying here kind of freaking out because I don't know how much I weigh, though it must be close to 200lbs. But I'm also relieved because what if the number is no longer 101, what if my scale says 102? How would that affect me? I was already skating on thin ice with my low(ish) weight and I was so close to being put in the hospital. I got lucky though, my blood tests were normal. I want them to stay like that. And I sincerely hope that by hiding the scale and getting used to not having it around to mock me and tempt me will help. 

After all, scales only tell a small part of the story.

Over It

"I'm fucking over it."

All of it.

I want to crawl out of my skin. Out of the 101lbs of fat that clings to me and laughs when I stare in the mirror.

I want nothing to do with any of this anymore. I don't want the comments about how skinny I am or how much I eat. I want to be left alone. Completely alone.

I feel judged 99.9% of the time, by my parents if my room is too messy, if I work too much or too little, if I don't do this ONE thing they want. I'm judged by most of the adults in my life for being too thin and not setting a good example. This isn't something I chose, being a bad example is doing drugs and being a whore. I'm starving because I need to be more perfect and I'm trying to be a really good example in a very fucked up way. I'm judged because they think I want attention when in reality I just very much want to be left alone.

I can't be left alone. When I'm alone I get sad, very sad and I need hugs and soothing words. When I'm alone It gets louder and louder saying that nobody is here because I'm not perfect enough for anyone to care. So I guess I don't really want to be left alone, at least for very long.

This isn't easy though. Fighting through this. And at least for tonight, I'm over it. I just want to bury myself in bed and be alone. Unless someone wants to snuggle and play with my hair and just let me cry, that's OK, but I can't talk, not tonight.

Lost

I am a master at getting lost. Not only while driving or attempting to get anywhere I've never been, sometimes even in parking lots. But lately it's more than just being physically lost I feel like I've lost myself as well. I feel like It put me on auto-pilot and when it malfunctioned and I asked for help I was left in mid-air with It pulling me down further and my angels trying to pull me up.

That's why I get so mad that people think I'm choosing this, I would love to be able to turn this off. Because not only am I losing myself I am losing a lot of other things. I can't watch one of my favorite munchkins until I'm better. I can't concentrate in school. I can barely stand up without wanting to fall over some days. And not to mention that not eating makes it easier to get physically lost as well. Turning down the wrong street when you're going somewhere you've been a hundred times or going to the wrong gas station where you know they don't have the "right" coffee.

I'm trying so desperately to stop myself from falling any further and getting even more lost. But sometimes I have to stop because getting back on track is tough, especially when I have so many voices telling me a hundred ways to go.

Speak Up

It is no secret that I have a really hard time standing up for myself, saying when I'm uncomfortable in a situation. Sure, I can let loose and have fun it just takes me a lot longer to get there than most. The problem is that I care too much about the opinions of others and what they think of me is really important, at least in my mind. This is not the worst thing in the world, being mindful of those around you is a good thing, to a point. But for me it goes beyond what is acceptable and I get terrified and anxious of saying even one wrong thing.

My anxiety is not only geared towards the new people I meet but also those I've known for a very long time, especially adults, because after all I am a child and children are to be seen and not heard and they must always be respectable. OK, yes, at 22 I am an adult (legally) and I'm pretty damn responsible-I have been told since I was 18 that I act at least ten years older than I really am-but it doesn't matter if you're over the age of 30 you're much more of an adult than I am and I will respect you. This isn't all bad, I'm polite and respectable to everyone but there are certain times when it's not so good. For example, when I get high-fives for eating a rib (this is before I went on my whole "no meat" thing) I am afraid to speak up and say "whoa! That's not OK, I am a 22 year old that has an 'illness', not a 5 year old that won't eat her vegetables" yes, I know that people are recognizing what they see as a success, but for me it isn't like that, if I eat I see it as failing. And you high-fiving me makes It scream that it's just proof you don't want me to be happy. (Because that makes total sense)

My dad gets mad if I complain, he says that if I open myself up and let people know what's going on they are going to respond in the only way they know how. And let me make it clear that I know I have to accept how people respond but I need to be better at saying "hey, in the future could you do this instead of this" but I can't. I don't want them to get offended because I know they care and I don't want them to stop caring or get mad at me.

It's also hard because I'm not always treated like an adult, people hear stuff (that isn't even true) and they go straight to my dad (#smalltownprobz) instead of talking to me. They tell my dad out of respect and a family-like bond they've shared since childhood, but it's also the same people that tell me to "grow up" "be independent" "take responsibility for everything you do". How am I supposed to do any of that if I'm not given the chance?

I am trying so hard to learn to speak up for myself, or speak up at all, I really need to be better about making phone calls, and I'm trying really hard to do everything but it's not easy when those I love don't give me the chance to try.

I wish that I could keep being passive aggressive on Twitter and post vague Facebook statuses, and sometimes I do but I need to add in there that whole part where I find my voice and let me people know what I want, need, and feel. It's terrifying though, if I'm not completely agreeable it's impossible to practice conversations in my head because it's harder to predict what the other person is going to say. 

I will get there, just like I will defeat It, and be happy with how I look, and do everything I want to do, and more, in my life.

Like this: http://youtu.be/e9SeJIgWRPk

Baby Steps

It's 8:34 at night and I have consumed more than 500 calories, yes still less than 600 but that's so much better than the (maybe) 200 I have been consuming for a while now. I had planned my day to end with a total of 474 calories close enough to the 500 my therapist would like me to eat but still under that GIGANTIC number. Yes, this does mean I'm counting calories again but in a good way. I'm counting them as I try harder to reach the daily 500 goal (which will eventually be 800 then 1200 before you start saying that's not enough, baby steps!) but the good news is that I went over 474. I don't know how much over because I'm trying not to count those extras I didn't plan for which is driving me a little crazy but I have to get better. At 96lbs I'm nearly hospital weight and I would like to avoid that. Though I see my new doctor tomorrow and if she says hospitalization then I've agreed to go so I've been preparing myself for the worst.

I want today to be the day things change. I want this to be the start of more good days than bad. It's hard, very hard. But considering my calorie consumption was mostly caffeinated drinks before I ate real food I felt so crappy. I was jittery and weak, you can't eat just a slice of cheese (80 whole calories!) and consume, I don't even know how much caffeine, and feel OK. 

Though I'm going to keep fighting. It's hard especially with my doctor's appointment at 2:30 tomorrow because the messed up thing is that I want to weigh as little as possible. I had planned not to really eat anything this week, I'm kind of happy that those plans changed. I don't know why I feel the need to weigh nothing.  Maybe I'm afraid she won't believe I have a problem if I weigh THIS much or the fact that even now I feel like a "fake" anorexic. 

I know it doesn't seem like a ton of progress but it just takes baby steps.

You vs Me

I got asked the other day if I considered so-and-so fat because I can't wrap my head around the size of my body. I see it as huge and horrible but that doesn't mean I see those who are bigger than me as overweight/ugly/massive/huge/fat or however it is I feel about myself at the time. 

I am so good at finding the beauty in things other than myself and especially in other people but I can't see it when I look in the mirror. I'm jealous of almost everyone who can be healthy and happy with how they look while I'm slowly killing myself to be perfect.

I got asked once if I went shopping with this girl if I would be honest and tell her if she looked fat in something. She was joking of course but I was so scared, what if I messed up and said the wrong thing? What if she suddenly started hating what she saw as well? I know that one comment isn't going to automatically cause someone to start hating themselves. But what if it's the trigger? What if my one comment were to unravel a persons entire life. I couldn't live with that. And chances are I wouldn't even be able to see the flaws. 

I wish I could see myself the way I see those around me. Hating almost every aspect of yourself is exhausting and I just want it to stop. I just hope that I will not lose my ability to see beauty in things around me but gain the ability to see it in myself as well.

Eyes

"What do you weigh? Like 66lbs?"

"...like 55lbs soaking wet"

"It's because you have no body fat"

"You're SO tiny!"

"You look anorexic"

"Don't you know how thin you are?"

STOP IT! I wish I weighed 55 or 66. And I do have body fat can't you see it? I'm not tiny and definitely not skinny enough to look anorexic. No, I don't know how thin I am because I'm not thin.

Those are the thoughts that bounce in my head every time somebody comments on my weight/body. I've been told that I probably like what they tell me because that's why I'm doing this. That's so wrong. It makes me extremely uncomfortable when people comment on how I look because I can't see it. I don't believe them and every opinion just brings more doubt and I just KNOW they are lying.

My eyes are broken. What I see and what everybody else sees are completely different things. And I'm in trouble because what my eyes and mind need to see is actually not OK. What I wish I looked like has sent my therapist into panic mode, she's begging me to gain even one pound and definitely not lose anymore. I know she's concerned and that she cares but when I look in the mirror or step on the scale I can't understand why. I could lose ten more pounds and it would be fine. 

This seems like a perfectly acceptable way for me to look. This is why I'm in trouble.

I know my thoughts need to change before I get sicker or something worse happens. But how do I fix my eyes? Glasses and LASIK aren't going to cut it. How do I not hate what I see every time I look in the mirror?

Magic Numbers

102. That's what my scale currently reads. A number that seems massive to me, but a number that seems too small to the people I love.

If you know me at all you know how much I hate math and anything involving numbers but here I am obsessed with numbers on scales and in food. And I can't help but wonder how somebody who has always avoided numbers could become so enthralled. 

I don't have a goal weight, I would like to be under 100 which is not good, I know this. Maybe I didn't pick one because I knew I wouldn't be happy when I got to 95, I would want 90 and the number would go lower as I reached each goal. I just want to look in the mirror and not hate what I see. Which I know comes from changing my mind not from changing the number on the scale.

But I've actually stopped counting calories for the most part. I automatically count calories in my head "so if this is 230 calories and I have half now it's 115..." But I no longer write them down. Which is actually a really good thing. And a little more progress.

I am still obsessed with numbers and counting and perfection but not writing them down (hopefully) is a step towards victory and I so desperately want it.