Digging Deep

Years ago I fell down the rabbit hole. The one that led me to a hate filled world I found oddly comforting. I've spent time, energy, and money; I've sacrificed health and friendships keeping myself in a world nobody wanted to be a part of.

I tried over and over again to get myself out. Clawing my way back to the life I once had, to the voices and faces I had known before falling.

And I've come to realize this is the problem. I've been climbing backwards. Fighting to return to the places and people that were responsible for the fall to begin with. So I've changed course. I've gathered my pail and shovel and I've started to dig deep. Digging below the awful, terrifying world I'm currently in. And digging further away from the world in which I started.

I am learning that the digger I deep, the more I will lose. The terrifying, yet comfortable world has been my home away from home. Driving away all that was bad and scary in my life. But that's the problem, not everything was as bad and scary as I thought it was. This world used smoke and mirrors to turn my closest confidants into monsters. And in order to protect myself I ran them off.

Or, some just left. Tired of trying to convince me that they weren't the monsters. My mind was. Surprisingly, though. Some stayed. Some people didn't run for the hills no matter how hard I tried to get them to leave. And as I dig, I see that as wonderful as it was to have people not leave, some of the people that stayed were in fact, monsters of their own making. Ones that pretended to root for me while secretly hoping and praying that I would fail miserably.

That's hard. Knowing I will lose people that stuck by me. Even though I really and truly know their intentions were rarely, if ever, good. But as hard as it is knowing I will lose people, I hope that those who left will be waiting for me on the other side, arms wide open, welcoming me to my new home. One that is terrifying yet beautiful.

And as I dig and dig and dig I know that those who have truly stuck by my side will continue to do so. Shoveling when they can, trying to lessen the burden so I don't get too comfortable in this torture chamber. 

So no matter hard it gets I will continue to dig. And i know that people like, Julie, Shelby, Bill, Caitlin, Banana, and my sweet munchkins will all dig with me when I need their help the most.

Together they will help me dig deep into my new, happy life.

Small Stuff

"Don't sweat the small stuff"

We've all heard this phrase countless times. Have been lectured by nearly everyone on the planet about how the small things don't matter. It's the bigger picture that does.

This is incorrect. Life is all about the small stuff. And the small stuff is good and bad and ugly and beautiful and terrifying and comforting. Sometimes it can even be all of those things at once. 

And it's true, as you grow older you'll look back and all you will be able to see are those big, defining moments, at first. As you sit and reflect on one moment or another, thinking about how everything changed at this one pivotal point, for better or worse, you'll start to remember the smaller things that got you to those big things. Perhaps it was that one time you ran late. Or maybe you chose to deviate from your daily schedule. Whatever the reason every action changes which direction you go. 

And often it can change things for others as well. Because as much as we talk about not sweating the small stuff we also talk about how the smallest act can make the biggest difference. Even a simple smile at a stranger can alter everything. 

Sweating the small stuff gives you the power to change not only your future, but those around you as well. This is not to say you need to sit and ruminate on every misstep or failure. But sit there and think about those missteps and the good steps. Remember everything that got you to where you are, that shaped who you became. 

Because in the end sweating the small stuff is what shows you the big stuff.

Battle Cry

My body is currently in battle with my mind. Entrenched in this war my mind started. And to be honest, I don't know how much more my body can take. And then there's me. Being tossed about like a rag doll while those two bicker. I'm trying to find anything to hold on to. But there is absolutely nothing. Because for as much as I hate my mind and the monster that controls it. I also hate my body. I hate that it's weak. I hate that it looks and feels the way it does. But there is a part of me that wants to save it. That wants my body to win. Because as much as I hate it and am repulsed by it I know it can do so much if only I could give it a chance.

My body's latest cry was a kidney stone. Because my grandmother always had a problem with them I am more prone to getting them. And anorexia certainly doesn't help the problem. Metabolic abnormalities and dehydration from exercise just add on to the likelyhood of me continuing to get them. And if you've ever had a kidney stone you know they hurt like hell, it's been compared to childbirth- I don't know since I've never given birth. But let me tell you when I do I want ALL the drugs. I was literally laying on the floor in excrutiating pain cursing myself for causing this.

You'd think that would be enough. Enough motivation to start following my meal plan and fighting harder to recover. Unfortunately it just made the problem worse. I became less motivated and started to punish myself for being so stupid for restricting, by restricting. Eating disorders are so logical. 

But that did scare me. Scare me enough to keep from working out, it's been 8 days. And it scared me enough to search for that motivation I so need to recover. I'm searching, I'm getting closer, I think. It's still terrifying and I'm tired of it. But I know its my body's was of telling me what it needs. And I know that it's just as tired as I am. But for some reason it's still fighting. Using its battle cries to tell me it hasn't given up on me yet. But I do know that the next cry could very well be its last.

Find Your Voice

Julie wants me to read her a letter I wrote to my ED. But I won't do it and here's why;

I know part of getting better is speaking up- speaking out about the things that hurt and even the things that can heal you. And people with eating disorders tend not to speak very much at all. Our voices are drowned out by the monster in control. 

But there are those, like me, who have always been quiet. Who have never felt the need to say much, instead choosing to absorb the world around us and speak in different ways. 

And that doesn't mean not talking. It just means I speak differently and I choose to speak in writing. Letting my voice be heard through the scratch of my pen or the click of a keyboard. It is easier for me to articulate through a medium that is not my vocal chords. And that's OK. 

There are those who speak through paint and canvas. Or those who do open their mouths but let their words flow out in melodic poems.

But just because we aren't physically speaking doesn't mean we aren't talking. In fact, some of us are quite loud. You just have to listen a little differently to hear us. 

This doesn't mean I don't need to practice speaking up. I do. I need to stand up for myself when people put me down. Or let them know "hey, hearing you talk about how much skinnier my sister is, doesn't really help. Stop it." And I do want to learn how to speak up for those things. And one of the ways I can start is by explaining all of this to Julie.

By explaining I will not ever be the type to say what exactly is on my mind right in the moment. I will explain that I need time to process and write it out. And she is more than welcome to read those things but don't ask me to speak when speaking isn't really a part of who I am.

Flashback

 

This time last year I sat in the waiting room of my new doctor’s office. A doctor I had yet to meet, while my mind did mental gymnastics debating if I should stay or run out the door like I so desperately wanted. This doctor was going to determine my fate, the one who decided what exactly was going to happen to me. Continue seeing Jamie or be hospitalized, and I didn’t have much hope that I’d be allowed to continue with Jamie. I had weighed myself a few days before and tipped the scales at 96-freaking-pounds, aka hospital weight. Thankfully, or not, depending on which part of my brain you ask, I stepped on Dr. Lapidus’ scale weighing in at a total of 101lbs. Relieved and sad and angry don’t even begin to cover the thoughts racing through my mind. I was lectured about gaining and then sent out the door with an order for blood work that would be the final determining factor in my future.

Well, it’s been almost a year since that doctor’s visit and I have so far managed to avoid inpatient. I’ve gone from 96lbs to 108 to 110 to 106 to 104 and now I currently weigh around 112. And my weight is still not something I can comfortably handle. I want back down to 96, or lower. But my relationship with food is on the mend. I can somewhat comfortably consume 1,000 calories in a day without wanting to throw myself off a cliff. Unfortunately this is quite a bit less than the 2800 I’m supposed to be taking in. I have a meal plan that I’m supposed to follow but by lunch I’m over it. By lunch the voice that starts the second I wake up is tired of being ignored and just gets louder. And since I don’t like being yelled at I tend to obey.

While I did manage to avoid inpatient I did land in intensive outpatient. Though, thanks to insurance that’s ended. So now I see Julie and Marlena for individuals once a week. I went from 5 days of support and therapy to being almost completely alone, at least alone in ways that I need right now. But I’m contemplating a letter to the insurance company regarding their refusal to cover more treatment.

The hardest part of this year was also saying goodbye to Jamie who had to move on for school and could no longer see me as a client. It’s been a weird adjustment, not that Julie and all of the ladies at my treatment center aren’t great, but I had to leave a relationship I had spent over a year building. I still get to talk to Jamie sometimes and thankfully we live in such a small town I know it’ll only be a matter of time before I bump into her somewhere, especially since I work at one of her favorite restaurants.

Sitting here thinking about this past year brings up so many emotions. Because I recovered and relapsed and now hang somewhere suspended in the middle unable to decide which side of the rope I’m going to cut. I just know that whatever happens, and for better or worse, I am not in the same spot I was in this time last year. And despite my struggles, that’s something to celebrate.

Wolves

Just because you're not eating doesn't mean you aren't feeding something. Things like eating disorders, depression, and anxiety don't need calories to survive. They live and thrive off of the thoughts that make you not eat.

Julie talks a lot about the wolves. And she asks me constantly which wolf I'm feeding, more often than not I'm feeding the bad wolf. I fed the bad wolf by letting the anger I felt for being fed so much sugar in a short amount of time, just consume me. And I let it carry and fester and suck me in so much so, that I didn't eat for 42hrs. 

The seconds ticked by and as the anger, fear, and sadness grew bigger my appetite got smaller and smaller. And I paid dearly for feeding the wrong wolf. Because when I got so desperate and unable to control the wolf I ran to Marlena. And in order to make the wolf less scary that meant I had a lot of eating to do.

So that's what I've done today. I made up 42hrs worth of calories in 7hrs. And it's awful. It makes me want to start all over. But what does that accomplish? Nothing. Because if I have another moment like that the consequences could be much much worse. 

So somehow I must let those emotions out, the ones that feed the bad wolf. I have to learn how to feel those emotions instead of filling myself up with the emotions instead of food. From now on, I must feed the good wolf more than I feed the bad. 

Frozen

My wish came true. Kind of.

I wanted to be "cold as stone" to not have to feel any of the shitty things that I was feeling, even if that meant not feeling joy either. Yeah, I know that's totally fucked up thinking, but desperate times call for desperately insane ideas.

Much to my dismay I must've screwed up the wording because instead of turning off my feelings I just turned off my ability to show them. So that means I'm stuck feeling all of these crappy things and I can't even express them. And not only does this make me feel crazy it also makes my therapists a bit crazy. They want me to open up so badly and express how I'm feeling instead of constantly trying to hide it and remain so stoic.

And as much as I try not blame my parents for my problems, at least not all of them, I can blame my dad for this one. I can blame him because me showing any sort of bad emotion would just enrage him, especially crying. It's the one thing he can't stand more than anything. So I learned not to cry. And I learned to use those emotions I wasn't expressing to fill me instead of food.

But now I don't want that. I mean, I still don't want to be full of food, but I really don't want to be full of unexpressed emotions either. I want to be able to scream and cry and yell if that's what I'm feeling. But right now I just can't.

I came closer than I have been tonight. In group we did "family sculpting" where I positioned my therapists and fellow ED fighters in poses to resemble my family. And then I had to talk. I had to go to my "dad" "sister" "brother" and finally "mom" and say all of the things I haven't been able or allowed to say. 

Mom. That's what almost did it. Talking to her and getting out the things I needed to, almost broke down that wall. One of my therapists, Leslie, could see what was going on. At least in my eyes, my face remained passive. And she tried so hard to get me to just let it out. But I just couldn't I wanted it out as much as everybody else did but it wouldn't come. And I hate myself for not being able to cry. But I'm also proud of myself for not breaking down. And that's terrible.

So how do I do it? How do I let myself show everything I try so hard to conceal? How do I become unfrozen?

Killer Cardio

I'm on exercise restriction. That means no running, spinning, hiking, swimming. I'm not even allowed to walk long distances. My dietitian told me I could walk to Starbucks as long as it was under a mile and I did it in flip flops.

And that's the problem, I do all of the exercises I'm not supposed to be doing. I have found a new love for spin and do that 2 or 3 times a week. Or I go for 2ish mile runs. On top of the work schedule I have that already burns calories like crazy. And my recovering metabolism that's in overdrive.

I'm compensating for the food that's being forced down my throat with exercise. I can't starve anymore so it's off to the gym I go. And the worst part is that combined with the restricting i still do when I'm left on my own for too long, and the damage of eating so little for so long that's already present I'm killing myself. I'm killing myself and I can't stop.

But I have to. I have to get this under control because if I don't I'll end up in the hospital, or worse. I'm supposed to come up with ways to keep myself from doing those exercises but other than being physically restrained I have NO idea how to kick this habit. Especially, since I know if I didn't have such a crazy schedule I would workout even more than I am now.

Working out right now also screws with my vitals. And unstable vitals means back to PHP or even the hospital if it gets too bad. And I think about that every time I get in the car and head to spin or lace up my shoes for a quick run. But even these thoughts aren't enough to keep me from working out because It convinces me being thin is so much more important.

But I'm so scared of this newest addiction because I know this much cardio really could kill me.

Me Time

"You need to schedule 'you time'" That's what my new therapist, Julie said.

I beg to disagree. I don't need or deserve "me time". I get that time when I'm at treatment-time that should be spent working. So adding even more time to focus on myself just cements the idea that I'm lazy. It tells me that if I have time to take care of myself I'm not doing a very good job of taking care of others. Clearly, I'm not working enough or doing enough if I've got all of this extra time to spend on myself.

Lazy.
Useless.
Selfish.
Fat.

That's what I hear when I have free time. So I make sure not to have any, and it's easier to run myself into the ground than it is to sit back and have time to think about how much I've failed that day, and even my life.

I'm told all the time I'm a hard worker and super motivated but I can't believe them because I don't think it's enough. I waste 5hrs a night sleeping when there are so many better things I could be doing with that time. And here I am now, typing away at the computer during my scheduled me time when I know I could find something to clean or someone to take care of.

I do wish It would let me relax and just breathe for a moment. But it doesn't. Not really ever. The only time I'm given even a small repreve is when I'm working out, and that's only because I know I'll get the praise after. But I want to REALLY relax. I want to be able to sit and read a full book in a few hours like I used to do. I don't want relaxing to involve killing myself at spin class especially when I know I'm not supposed to be there anyway.

Sure, I could've skipped this hour like I should've. But then I would've felt guilty for breaking the rules. For ignoring the mark I had made in my calendar to do this. It's an evil catch-22, feel guilty for relaxing and knowing I would've felt guilty for disobeying Julie.

But I did it. I took time out of my day to do something I like, writing. And so far I've survived. So hopefully I won't always view "me time" as torture. And it won't make me feel, lazy/useless/selfish/fat.

Hello My Name Is...

Ana

Mia

Ed

No. Stop it. I've never understood the point in giving this a name. I've always referred to my disorder as "It" and even that seems too dignified for the hell I'm going through.

Eating disorders aren't friends/sisters/brothers/magical fairies. They are hell/nightmares/torture/fucking evil. 

I cringe whenever I hear anyone refer to their disorder as the "best friend they never had". I scream reading the Twitter handles "anasbitch22" or "miasbff13". 

In my opinion this only perpetuates the disorder. Giving it an identity makes its chokehold that much stronger. Making it that much harder to escape. I can't imagine the state I'd be in had I ever viewed this as anything other than an abusive relationship. An abusive relationship I was having with myself. Because I've wanted out since I realized what was going. 

In my program we refer to eating disorders as Ed. Yes, it makes it easier to shorthand what this is, but that doesn't mean I don't cringe whenever they ask me "what Ed is telling me now." 

Eating disorders are not their own entity. They don't have souls or personalities. But rather, they steal yours. They take your essence and change it from the inside-out. And these changes are not for the better. So why name something that changed you so drastically, so deeply, and forever?

Maybe people name these disorders as a way to distance themselves from this. Maybe it is easier to create a seperate existence from the torture. Maybe it is easier to pretend this is just a visitor, one who keeps extending their stay no matter how desperately you want them to leave. 

But, distancing yourself from this isn't any way to make it better. Distancing yourself doesn't make this any less scary. Distancing yourself will not make this any easier to fight. Instead accept it. Meet your disorder head on and fight. Fight tooth-and-nail to rid yourself of these thoughts and feelings. Fight because you cannot physically kill this without killing yourself.

But most of all, stop naming this. Stop naming all mental illnesses. Stop naming what can and will kill you. Ana is not your best friend. Ed is not your boyfriend. Don't give this the decency or dignity of a proper name. After all, it's not as if you met one day and were greeted with,

Hello, my name is... 

Run For It

"RUN! Run as fast and as far away as you can. You just have to get out of here right now."

For once this is not the voice of It. This is the voice of my anxiety. Anxiety is telling me just to run from every thought and feeling I'm currently having. You, see, I started an outpatient program here. I love the program, It hates this place. But It is also completely confused, I'm eating and eating and eating. Which is bad, bad, bad. But I also keep losing weight. And It says this is awesome. I don't know where my true self is, except, that I'm just terrified. And Anxiety has the perfect solution: RUN.

However, It wants me to bolt too. It wants me out of there before I screw up even more. It is trying to convince me these people are not to be trusted and even though I know It is never right, I'm inclined to believe It this time around.

I was weighed a little over a week ago and tipped the scales at 108. (totally had a meltdown over that but whatever) I was weighed again on Friday and nearly crushed the scale at 106. (shhhh I'm not allowed to know) and I was weighed again today. Two days after my Friday weigh-in. I don't have today's weight, like I said, I'm not allowed to know. But SURPRISE I fucking LOST more weight. What.the.hell?!

Of course I wasn't told this until an Ensure was being handed off to me at snack time today. And in fact, I wasn't even told then. And right in that moment, is when everything stopped. I just shut down. I "porcupined" and that was it. I was done. Thankfully, one of my new therapists saw this exchange. She saw me shut down and she recognized the terror I was feeling.

After snack Julie checked in with me and I explained that I just didn't like the fact I couldn't adjust and accept what was going to be done, it all just happened soooo quickly. She spoke with Hannah (our dietetic intern) and asked her to speak with me about it. So I did. I told her that I knew why it was happening and she had JUST weighed me before we ate, so, there was no time to tell me I had lost weight and they would be adding an Ensure to my snack. But, that's the rational part of me. The part of me that knows these ladies care. That they would never just STUFF me full of food without at least talking to me about it first.

But...I have a few different irrational sides as well. And those were the sides that caused me to shut down and check out. Those were the sides that produced the anger I was feeling. It started screaming at me that these people can't be trusted. Because not only had I lost weight (around 4lbs) in less than a week but my vitals had changed drastically in only a few days. So drastically, that I'm currently on exercise restriction with threats that I'll be IP by FRIDAY if those don't at least pick up.

Inpatient. By FRIDAY. F-R-I-D-A-Y. But, the whole reason I'm doing this program is to AVOID fucking inpatient. And because I'm doing what I'm told and eating I'm losing weight. I'm losing weight because my metabolism is in overdrive. And it's in overdrive because I've starved myself for so long it's trying to repair all of my organs. But that's where all of the not-so-good parts come into play. That's where they tell me these people are purposely making me lose weight so they can ship me off. Like it's some sort of conspiracy to get rid of me. And what's even more irrational is that while It is whispering this in my ear, It's also whispering they're trying to make me fat by forcing me to eat, ALL THE TIME.

The paradox. They're making me eat to lose weight so they can ship me off. They're making me eat to gain weight and make me fat. Of course, my eating disorder doesn't let me think about how they're making me eat to get better. That they're making me eat to get rid of It. Because my eating disorder wants me to be better by Its own standards. The standards that say I'll only be skinny enough when I'm dead.

I know the irrationality of it all. I do. I'm not stupid. But I'm so angry and upset and scared that I can't see anything except for these untruths. These untruths that tell me to stay shut down. To keep everybody out. And most of all..

to just fucking run.

A Disorder Free Day

My hobbies include, weighing myself and counting calories.

No.

Not anymore.

Those are the hobbies of someone who is sick. But I'm not sick anymore. I'm better than I've ever been. So I have new hobbies. I have new ways of passing the time that don't revolve around food and what I'm eating (or not).

I read. I read all of the great books I used to read. And not all of those books have to do with eating disorders, for a long time those were the only books that could hold my attention. The books were well written, but surrounding yourself with books about the very thing you're trying to fight is probably not the most productive. 

I cook. OK so I started this hobby while entrenched in my disorder but I don't obsess quite as much about making my recipes "skinny" and focus more on making them HEALTHY. And sometimes I don't even go for that, sometimes I make good ol' fashioned chocolate chip cookies, because those are my favorite, god dammit!

Friends. Friends. Friends. I go out on a semi-regular basis. I'm not a party girl or anything, I doubt I ever will be- I'm  positive I skipped that phase. But I don't obsess for days beforehand about what I can eat in the days before, sometimes I can even be SPONTANEOUS about it and go out no matter what I've eaten that day. And there's no talk of my eating disorder because it's not something that my friends have to worry about anymore.

Family. I can see my family on a regular basis because I'm not scared of what I could possibly be fed. Except for meat, I still won't eat that. But that's more of a health thing than a disordered habit. 

I'm back in school. Finally. My disorder made it hard to focus. And hard to take the steps I needed to take to fix the mistakes I had made with regard to school. But I'm back and it's awesome.

Mostly, my hobbies are just me being free. Free to choose whatever I feel like doing that day. To choose and not have to worry about the monster that used to control me getting angry for not listening. 

Being free. That's my favorite hobby of all.

Obviously I'm not there yet. This post is basically my goal. A goal that I hope to achieve within the year. That's right a year. I want to be recovered before the start of 2015. Obviously I've got some work to do but I just know that I will have disorder free days.

Complications

Me: "ouch! I just got a paper cut"

People: "well, you need to eat more"

Alright, this is dramatized for effect. But lately it seems that every time I complain about anything I'm told that my problems could easily be solved if I would just eat. Yes, I have problems that could be solved if I would just eat more. Like maybe I wouldn't always be cold, tired, and cranky. Though, even pre-ED I was always cold, it just affects me more now.

The problem is that eating also creates problems. Internally, of course, but problems nonetheless. Any bit of food sets off this war of anger, shame, and guilt. And quite frankly, I would rather live with those physical problems than be up all night trying to get my brain to quiet down.

Sadly this isn't an option. Because physically I'll get worse and my nutrient deprived brain will convince me it's a sign of strength. And I'll weep with disordered joy.

I'm not even that sick physically, YET. I know I'm headed there. And the scary thing is, people are starting to notice. My managers are constantly asking me why I never get my free meal. Even the two guys are questioning me, and guys are usually somewhat clueless. 

But, sometimes the comments they make are worded in a way that makes my disorder shriek with delight, like yesterday.

My father and I had brunch at the sister restaurant of the one I work at. My GM is also the GM there. I ordered egg whites, tomato, and avocado. My GM was the one who brought the food to our table. She of course has noticed me not eating and constantly tells me to "put meat on those bones" but when she dropped off the plate her comment this time was "scrambled egg whites, tomatoes, and avocado. Do you just not eat? That must be how you stay so thin and pretty"

Ugh. 

Of course, It was whispering in my ear "see, thin DOES equal pretty" and It cackled along while I tried my hardest to even touch my food after that.

And I want to scream and yell at these people to stop talking. Stop talking about what I don't eat. Because what happens when I finally start to pull myself up and start eating again? Are the comments going to switch to "oh look! She does eat!"? And if I'm still struggling up the ladder will that cause yet another slip?

I've contemplated talking to my GM and the less clueless of the two assistant managers about why they don't and won't see me eat, for a while anyway. But that's where the disorder complicates things. My work and family are tied together this time. And I don't want to make things uncomfortable for my father who has meetings with the head chef weekly and I'm worried my managers would say something to my father out of concern. Though, I'm kind of surprised they haven't already.

The more I think about it, the more complicated it seems to get. And not only do eating disorders complicate the present there is also potential for them to complicate the future. But that is a story for another day.

Hugs

One year ago today I met Jamie and my life changed in ways I never could've imagined. And those ways were for the better.

I am a strong believer in fate and destiny. (And a multitude of mushy romantic stuff that has nothing to do with this post.) and I like to think from the day we are born the stars/Fates/whatever have already chosen those we are supposed to meet. But I also believe in free will. Meaning that our choices affect how/when/why we are going to meet these people. Because everyone that comes into our lives teaches us something whether it's good or bad. We are all students and we are all teachers.

As fate would have it I was lucky enough to meet Jamie. My warm/fun/kind therapist who has made a huge impact on my life. If you know me well, you know just how shy I am. For a little while, anyway. You know it's hard for me to open up until I really know and trust you. With Jamie though, the connection was instant. There are very few people I've been that comfortable with that quickly. I mean, sometimes I do get a little tongue-tied but I'm like that with people I've know for years :) 

But the thing with eating disorders is that they change your relationships and rarely for the better. But with Jamie, even as I was getting worse (the first time) our bond grew stronger. And every time I gave up on myself, and felt like everyone else did to, she was there to remind me that I'm not and never will be, alone. And for that I am truly grateful. Even now, as I'm falling harder and faster down that damn rabbit hole, she's fighting tooth and nail to get me to keep fighting. And her encouragement is what is keeping me from completely giving up.

We often joke about how we have "three differences" when it's really probably more like five ;) it's kind of crazy to think just how similar we really are. Of course, this bond makes us wish we had met under different circumstances. And since I believe I was always supposed to meet Jamie, I often wonder how we would've met had I not developed this problem. While I do wish our relationship was not the therapist-client kind, I am thankful she is the one supporting me. I can't imagine where I would be if it had been somebody else.

So, Jamie, this post is for you. My way of thanking you for all of the support you've given me over the past year. And no matter what happens or where my current path takes me. I will always cherish our time together and all that you have taught me. And one day when I FINALLY defeat this monster we will have the biggest celebration, because no matter where I may be currently, I know with your support I will get to the other side of this.

So, here's to a year of progress and changes. And many more (positive ones) to come.

HAPPY THERIP-AVERSARY!

*Hugs*

I Wish I May

OK, close your eyes and make a wish!

I've blown out so many candles over the years. With the voices echoing in the background to make a wish. That part never changes. The place and the people change. Whatever the candle is on is never the same. But the wishes. The wishes are different every single year.

When I was little I would probably wish for a special toy or to get to play longer with a friend. I'm pretty sure I would also wish for that particular day to never end. My wishes were the simple wishes of anyone under the age of 10. 

As I grew older the wishes changed. And I would close my eyes and imagine fame and fortune. Sometimes love and romance. Vain filled wishes of teenagers.

At some point the wishes changed again. Instead of wishing for love or ponies I started wishing for beauty. All I wanted was to be just a tad bit prettier. Maybe longer hair. 

But last year. Last year, when they told me to think of a wish they didn't know I already had the perfect one in mind. So as soon as the voices stopped singing I would extinguish the flames, my eyes shut tight, wishing to be skinnier. Weightless. The perfect size. 

I know I had wished for those things before my birthday last year. But last year just sticks out in my mind the most. 

But this year was different. I've celebrated with different people and blown out candles on top of mousse, cake, even a can of clam chowder. but now when I close my eyes all I can think about is how much I want to recover. It's all I wish for.

Maybe my wish will come true this year. 

I just know that every time I make a wish that voice in my head, the good one, will be whispering:

I wish I may. I wish I might. Have this wish, I wish tonight. I wish to recover.

Liar, Liar

"How are you?" Don't you dare tell her.

"Fine." 

"Hmmm somehow I'm not buying it." Don't screw this up. All you need to do is smile and laugh.

*smiles* *fake laugh* wow, that was pathetic. 

I've never really been one to lie. Ever. I can if I absolutely need to but I hate it. But It turned me into a liar. Eating disorders turn everyone into liars. 

Not only do eating disorders turn you into a liar they also convince you that everyone else is a liar as well. 

It does a good job of convincing me that everyone who is trying to help is really just setting me up to fail. It has successfully convinced me, multiple times, that everyone who tells me they care, don't actually care. It has convinced me they're the ones who want to ruin my life and make me fat and make me fail. They're just jealous of how much closer you are to perfection than they are. 

I know this isn't true. I know that everybody really does care and it doesn't matter to them how perfect I am. But for some reason I have a really hard time seeing that. All I can believe is what my disorder tells me.

Because my disorder lies to me I have to lie to everyone else. During our last session I lied to Jamie. More by omission than anything, but still a lie. We talked about how I can find opportunities to add extra protein or calories in with my meals without adding to the number of times I'm eating throughout the day. I didn't tell her I was purposely not adding calories. I told her my schedule was to blame for my limited intake. But it wasn't. It was because I couldn't eat. And I couldn't eat because I'm counting calories. Because It lied to me and convinced me that I was overeating and if I counted my calories I could see just how fat I was making myself. 

And I did. Over 500 calories? Unacceptable. Count calories to keep yourself in check. Count calories and restrict your intake accordingly.

But Jamie's not stupid. She knew there was something I wasn't saying. But she can't read my mind, though I really wish she could.

It rewarded me though for lying. For not telling the things I needed to tell. My reward was a break from the negative thoughts surrounding how I looked or how much I had already eaten that day. But it wasn't a real break. Because as soon as It quieted down the guilt set in. The guilt for not telling Jamie what was going on. 

Of course I told her and of course she was sweet, she always is. Even though I don't really think I deserved it. Because It made me lie. It made me lie to the one person I should never lie to. 

I hate that I didn't tell her the truth right away. I hate that It convinces me that everyone is lying. I hate It for existing. I hate It for lying. I hate it for turning me into a liar.

I hate that all I can hear sometimes is liar, liar.

Songs Like This

I have a habit of making playlists for every event in my life. Break ups and make ups. Different seasons. I've even got ones for my wedding and songs to share with my children. I've also got a recovery playlist. It's filled with songs that are either motivational or describe how I happen to be feeling. I will either skip every song or just put one on repeat for days.

My current mood is to shift between Into the Ocean by Blue October and Change by Taylor Swift. I will blast both of those songs repeatedly and sing them loudly (not very well I might add) as I'm driving along. Unless I've got munchkins then it's Chipmunk radio on Pandora. The loud sounds drown out negative thoughts and if I'm busy singing I'm not berating myself for whatever I've done wrong THIS time.

Into the Ocean is the most accurate representation of depression and relapse I've ever heard in a song. In the music video the guys even look depressed and at one point there are three creepy ballerinas dancing around whispering and it's like the voices of It and anxiety and depression. Go watch it and you'll see what I mean.

And what is a playlist without T-Swift? She dominates most of my playlists (not so much the wedding one) because her songs are interchangeable, at least in my mid. So when she's singing about the guy that fucked her over I can easily see that as being my eating disorder. And recovery is literally breaking up with the disorder. However, Change is different. It's not about a boy (shocker, I know) it's really motivational and a fabulous song to blast on your way home from another exhausting day.

Of course the playlist has some not so motivational and depressing songs that I listen to when things seem really hopeless. I know things are bad when I put When She Cries by Brit Nicole, Nobody's Home by Avril Lavigne, and Courage by Superchick on repeat. Those are the songs I played over and over again this summer when things were unbearable. If I ever post a Facebook status with lyrics from those songs that's when you should really worry.

The best thing about music is that, even the rockiest/rappiest/metalish music can relax you depending on what you need to hear. And the right song can help make your day.

Despite the fact that I do have this playlist and those songs to help focus me I still feel like I'm losing it and I don't have a ton of faith that I will snap out of this before I wind up in the hospital. I don't want that at all and I'm trying but I'm just not sure right now.

So, I'm going to go blast my recovery songs and hope for the best.

Losing It

I'm scared. Terrified, anxious, panicky, petrified, and more. I can feel myself slipping with every meal I skip, every calorie I refuse to consume. I hate it and I want to hide from the monster that is trying to regain control. He's closer than he's been in a while. 

But I can't hide. There's no hiding from It and the terror I feel. I'm getting so tired of this, of fighting what It is trying to convince me is a losing battle. It tells me there's no way I will win this war. Mental battles shouldn't make me feel so physically exhausted but they do and that exhaustion is sucking the life out of me. 

It convinced me of a new trick, a new way of comfort (as stated in my last post) but most of all it's a punishment. Because if I would just stop eating I wouldn't need to be punished. But I eat and as punishment I must take the laxatives. And let me tell you, they suck. And yet I continue to eat and continue to use them. Jamie knows. I wouldn't tell her for a few days because I am mad at myself for getting sucked in. But I can't stop using them because I can't stop eating. And it's an awful cycle.

I feel like I'm going crazy and I can't look at myself without crying because I've gained so much weight despite the increase in exercise. I just need to sleep for a few days straight. Or get back to my low weight. Maybe that will help. Or so says It.

I know that neither of those are good choices. I know what happens if I figure out how to do both. And it sucks. And I don't know what to do.

I'm losing it and I don't know if I can stop it this time.

Late Night Ramblings

PThis will not be a coherent post. I'm giving you a glimpse into the current battle inside my head. The argument between It and Sanity.

I took this picture Saturday before work. I liked my hair and make up and wanted to send a picture to my mom. Looking in the mirror before I left I was fine. Obviously or I wouldn't have left the house. I liked the way I looked enough to take the picture. But of course, once I snapped the picture I wanted to cry. And the monster got so loud and angry telling me my face looked fat. And I kept switching between the picture and the mirror. Hoping that maybe the camera was broken. But no matter how much I hoped I just knew my cheeks were ENORMOUS. 

Of course, this was a trigger. A big one. I was cashiering which meant free food (Ahhh!) I wrestled back and forth for most of my nearly 7 hour shift on whether or not I was actually going to eat food. I ended up ordering jambalaya to go and ate it. But the guilt was overwhelming and I turned to my newest method of comfort, and punishment, for relief.

I woke up the next morning thoughts still consumed by the picture and decided to compare it to one from August- the month I was nearly hospitalized. 

Seeeee I am fat, or so the monster is trying to convince me. Ugh I am pale though I need it to be summer!

The monster is so mad. But Sanity is so much stronger than it was before and I can actually find GOOD things in the picture on the right, so long as I look at them side-by-side. 

I'm smiling in both pictures, yes, but look at my eyes- It's always the eyes that give it away. It's my eyes I always look at in the pictures I keep handy to remind myself that's what will happen if I relapse. In the picture on the left my eyes are hollow and sunken. I have circles and bags. I might as well be a zombie. Though, I'm pretty sure at that point I was. ("At least your face was skinny")

Then there's the picture on the right. I don't look dead. My eyes look happy and "sparkly". They aren't hollow or sunken in, and they look somewhat hopeful, or so I tell myself. ("Yeah but look at how chubby your cheeks are")

The war currently going on in my head is confusing. I think about letting myself relapse daily. But by the end of the day I've changed my mind. Something stops me and convinces me to eat a good dinner or enjoy an extra snack. Or even to not add up the few calories I've eaten thus far. Not that it's all perfect. I've found a new comfort/addiction. One I can't say out loud because I know the dangers. I know how bad and incredibly stupid it is. I know what happens if I don't stop. (I can't say it. Not yet. But I'm not cutting or self-harming just to clarify) I keep myself from full relapse by reminding myself that if I fall again I will just let myself hit the ground and shatter. 

But for now I just do the best I can and try to listen to my body, even if the monster says it's an idiot and doesn't know what it wants anyway. I pull up THOSE pictures to remind myself why I can't go back. And I let my mind ramble on and spam my Pinterest followers with quotes (#sorrynotsorry) and sometimes, in an attempt to make sense of it all I type and type and type random, hopefully somewhat logically blog posts. 

And as much as nights used to scare me I actually almost welcome them now.

Dear Eating Disorder

Hi. We've met before, you know me very well. You know my strengths, you know, the ones you tried to convince me were weaknesses. You know my actual weaknesses. You know me very well but you don't actually know me. Or at least the person I used to be.

I used to laugh and have fun. I was as carefree as I could be. I mean, you know I value safety and control you just made the things I needed to control different. I used to twirl through life with candor and happiness. Then I met you. And you made me believe you could make me laugh and twirl more. You made me believe that if I stuck with you I would be happier than I've ever been. But you lied. You lied over and over again. Every single time I tried to leave you, to forget, you pulled me back promising me that I was close and to just stay a little longer.

How many times did I come back? Believing that this time things would be different. But they weren't. They were always the same. I was never happy, I'm still not. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder or clinging to the edge of a cliff just waiting for you to get me again. To pull and pull until I'm too exhausted to fight. I'm scared you will never leave me alone.

You know, I'm writing this on Valentine's Day. You know, "the day of love"? But I don't love you. I thought I did, sometimes I think I still do. But then I think about everything that's happened since you came into my life and I realize how much I really hate you. And how much I wish I could kill you. Not just for me but for everyone else you've tricked into thinking that you know everything. Everyone you've tricked into believing that your way is best.

I can't even begin to tell you the things you've stolen from me. I used to have friends, best friends to hang out with. But you took that. You made me believe that starving myself was better than friends. You made me believe that once I got skinny I would have an endless number of friends. But that was just another lie. I get to sit back and watch my once-friends have fun while I sit and try to escape from you.

Maybe, that was your plan. Because if you left me with no one I would have to come crawling back. Because I know you're always there, you will never leave. And I wish you would. I wish you would leave and my friends would come back. 

I'm sure, right now you're smiling because you think this loneliness is going to make me come crawling back. But I refuse to let that happen. I am determined to fix this. To fix what you've broken and to take back what you stole. I'm exhausted and I'm sad and it feels impossible but if I let you sweet talk me back I don't know if I would ever fight again. Maybe this time I would let you kill me and I know nothing would make you happier.

So while I may feel sad and lonely and desperate for anyone, even you. I'm done. I'm over you. I'm not stupid, though you try to convince me that I am, I know you're there, behind me. You are biding your time and waiting for me to give up. Maybe you'll get tired of waiting and attack me from the shadows. but as tired as I am of fighting I am even more tired of you. And somehow I will find the strength to win.

Because I hate you.

*I've been doing a "recovery challenge" and day 14 is writing a letter to your disorder*

Fear Food

It does not make sense to be afraid of food. Unless, of course, it can kill you, then it's probably best to run from it.

The thing with eating disorders is that you develop a fear of foods you used to love. Foods you ate almost daily. For inexplicable reasons your heart now beats a thousand times a minute at the mere mention of these foods. So you begin to catagorize: safe and unsafe.

There is no rule for these lists and everyone's is completely different. My fear foods include:

French fries

Candy

Most chips

Milk

Non-soy yogurt

Most cereal

White bread

Chinese food (which used to be a favorite)

There is more but those are the biggest. I don't know why. It's not calories the thought of eating these just foods terrifies me. But in January I decided it was time to work on getting over those fears. So on a whim I decided to try our special grilled cheese at work. Goat cheese, cheddar cheese, tomato, arugula, and WHITE BREAD. 

It was amazing. And I actually didn't  feel bad for eating it. I wasn't overly full and it wasn't greasy like most grilled cheese. I did end up eating super safe and healthy foods later, but, one step at a time.

Surprisingly though, my biggest safe food is peanut butter. I've always liked peanut butter but when I got sick I couldn't live without it and it's now my favorite food.

My goal is to challenge myself to a fear food at least once a month. Today it was Chex. A favorite snack that I haven't eaten in ages. It was so scary and it sat in my car forever before I could convince myself to eat it. It was so so good. Obviously, I used to eat it all the time!

I know Chex is a lot different than a sandwich but I can't always eat big fears like that. I don't know how I feel right now. I'm in a slump at the moment so it's hard to be proud for conquering this.

But I will keep trying different foods. And maybe I will eat those foods more often once the fear is gone. 

As scary as this may be at least it's yummy. 

All Fall Down

I've written before about being lost. Stuck in this nightmare of a world, trying and failing so many times to escape. Currently I am poised in between my world of terror and that of happiness. Unsure of which way I really want to go, especially because climbing all of those steps is exhausting. So, some days I don't climb at all, but I still hold on and try my hardest not to fall, even if the easiest thing would be to let go. 

The good news is that my support system is getting louder, drowning out the voices below that tell me to fall once again. I make myself dizzy constantly looking every which way, trying to decide who is right today. But then something will hit me that makes me realize which way I really want to go.

You see, I've come to realize we all end up in nightmares we seemingly can't escape. Nobody will make it through this life without falling down that rabbit hole, some are just better at getting out than others. 

In some ways we are alone in these worlds. With only the voices to keep us company. But there are millions of these worlds. They are occupied by boys and girls, men and women who simply lost their way. But this is the 21st century. There are a million and one ways to communicate. So while we are stuck in isolation in our ghastly worlds we are not completely alone. 

So enters Twitterland (or Facebook or Tumblr or whatever) where you can create your very own secret identity. An identity separate from those not currently stuck in grim places. Through these mediums you can find those who's land of nightmares is not that much different from yours. You can talk and share and support in ways that you can't always do with those you communicate with in the "real" world. Of course, this can be tricky because, while rare, there are those who do not want to see you succeed they support your demons and tell you that starving/purging/cutting/etc. is fine, they will do anything to keep you in this world. The trick is getting far away from those and fast. Luckily, more people are supportive and motivating than not.

This glimpse into another's nightmare can be just the push you need to get yourself out of your dark place. Often times it will put things into perspective, a perspective these monsters don't want you to see. I hate the saying "no matter how bad you have it somebody always has it worse" while not untrue I feel it diminishes whatever that person is feeling. Nobody should feel that their feelings aren't important but this glimpse into another's world may be the key to helping them. 

While all of these illusions differ from one person to the next they all share a common ruler: fear. It's the hardest monster of all to defeat. But that's exactly why the glimpse of another's horrifying dreams is so important, especially if that person is overcoming a fear. There are those fighting a fear of needles to get the ultimate gift. There are those facing their abusers and letting them know they no longer control them. These are the important things to see. The stories I've heard that made me realize that as terrifying as Fear is there's so much more than just giving up and staying in this hellish place.

It's not easy breaking free from those chains you've got. And it's one of the scariest things you will ever do, no matter what it is you are trying to escape from. I'm still trapped but my chains are looser than they were before. 

I don't know exactly what's waiting for me on the other side of this. I do know that the world I left behind long ago is gone and once I'm free from Fear the world I enter will be so much better than anything I could ever imagine.

The Whole Story

Note: I wrote this a few months ago but am publishing it now.

 

At some point most of us have this overwhelming desire to be skinnier. For some the thought is fleeting and you go back to enjoying your cupcake or whatever food you happen to be eating. Then there are those, like me, who take it to the extreme. Who cling to this new found obsession with all they've got.

I can remember it like it was yesterday. A family I babysat for was trying to get healthier and the dad was telling me about this new app that could keep track of food and exercise. If I downloaded it we could see what the other person did. I downloaded the app, MyFitnesPal I set my goal to 90lbs. The perfect number. 

After that day I didn't think about it again. I continued on with my life and the rest of the summer doing whatever I damn well pleased. Then as the weather got colder my thoughts got darker, I don't remember when exactly the thoughts changed but all of a sudden I hated how I looked in my jeans so I skipped a few meals and that seemed to solve things, temporarily. My jeans didn't give me a muffin top when I put them on and my stomach seemed flatter. I kept this up for a little bit.

Things changed at a doctor's appointment in October of 2012. I walked in completely indifferent after all this was routine. I was fine until I stepped on the scale. 121 is what the number read and I melted. "Perfect!" The nurse said and I just smiled meekly at her, it seemed so massive. I was starting to realize how fat I actually was.

After that I decided skipping meals was the answer. I could get away with skipping breakfast and lunch. I could sometimes manage avoiding dinner but living in a house with 6 other people made it difficult. But it still worked, when I went to the doctor two weeks later the number was smaller, 115. Down 6 pounds in such a short amount of time and it felt amazing. Even more amazingly the doctor didn't say anything, they hadn't even noticed my sudden change in weight.

This was my last doctor's visit because I was moving, 2600 miles away. I remember talking to people saying that I was glad to be making the trip alone because then I wouldn't have to stop for food as much. They told me to be careful because I needed to keep my energy up but I was happy at the thought of how little I would have to eat.

When I got to California I had definitely lost weight, I don't know how much and I always wish I had weighed myself. But I gained some of the weight back with the constant family dinners I was attending until one day I felt out of control and massive. That was the first time I ever tried purging. I was unsuccessful and embarrassed because only people with eating disorders do that.

After that night I remembered that app I had learned about. I reinstalled it and began counting every little calorie. The weight came off quickly and I was down to 109 before I knew it. 

But this was exhausting all of it. It went on for a few months but I stopped losing weight but I felt like I was still losing my mind. It got to the point where I knew something was really wrong, and decided I needed help. I hadn't eaten for two days when I texted my aunt to tell her what was going on. 

It was a relief, at least for a little while, to get it out there. And by mid-April I was in therapy. I liked my therapist right away, she was young and made it so easy to talk. Having Jamie to confide in made things that much easier, especially since my family had stopped being supportive. They thought I was doing it for attention and I was told that I wasn't "skinny enough to have a problem" or that I was "thin not skinny" 

In May I headed back to Virginia for my brothers graduation and scheduled a doctors appointment while I was back there. I weighed in at 108, not alarmingly small and they didn't question it until I explained why I was in therapy. My doctor (whom I miss being able to see and was amazing) compared my charts and noticed the 13 pound weight loss and said "your little body can't handle that" of course I wanted to scream that I wasn't that little but I just bowed my head. And although I didn't fit the DSM criteria for it she said my thoughts and my somewhat dramatic weightloss was sending me towards the dangerous world of anorexia. She sent me home with some reading material and the promise that I would find a doctor as soon as I got back to California.

I told my parents what Shannon had said and they didn't believe me. I will always remember my mom saying "no, I don't think so" and after that things just got worse and by July I was down to 104 and determined to lose even more. 

When August rolled around I was fluctuating between 99 and 101 and being threatened with hospitalization because I FINALLY met all the criteria for anorexia nervosa, the only thing that kept me out was normal blood test results. But I was also miserable, I had lost a job because the parents were worried I was influencing their daughter in a negative way. I couldn't handle the way my clothes didn't fit and the reflection in the mirror just screamed that I was massive. I was getting calls and texts from loved ones in Virginia about how unhealthy I looked in the pictures I posted on Facebook. Everything was so overwhelming.

Until one day it changed. I was determined to get better, even more so than before. The weight gain was easy, too easy and I was up to 106 by early October and 108 by Halloween. But my mind was, and still is very sick and I want nothing more than to lose everything I've gained. 

I can't handle that people are constantly telling me how skinny I am because I just know it's not true. And my boyfriend who doesn't know anything about my struggle is constantly telling me how he can feel my bones or that he's scared he's going to snap me in half. I never know what to respond when he tells me these things so I just laugh and change the subject. Don't get me wrong there's a part of me that loves this. Doesn't every girl dream of being fragile or delicate? Because doesn't that mean perfect? 

As of now, November 2013, I'm slipping. I feel as I'm just not even trying and nobody really seems to care except my therapist who is begging me not to give up. My next doctors appointment is not until January, I've been granted longer between times because of how well I'm doing. Of course, my therapist could deem it necessary to go back earlier if I continue down this path but I'm hoping I will be climbing again long before that.

The hardest part of this is the feeling of being alone. Sure I have friends that support me but they don't truly understand. My family thinks I'm magically cured because I'm at my target. And my therapist who is amazing I only see once or twice a week. But if you're reading this and struggling I want you to know you're never alone. I'm here for you and will do whatever I can to help you succeed with whatever battle it is you are fighting. I would never want anyone to feel as alone as I sometimes do when it comes to struggles like this. 

Know that, even if you can't see your beauty, I can. And you're amazing just the way you are.

Xo,

Miranda

Baby, Mine

To my future children:

Hi! As I'm writing this you are nothing more than an idea, a fantastical dream I can't wait to come true. Of course, I'm 22-much too young to have children (remember this) but I still like thinking about you and I know I already love you.

You will come into this world untouched, knowing nothing of heartaches and disappointment. And how much I wish I could lock you away in the tallest tower, like in the fairy tales we will read countless times, and save you from ever having to learn the harsh realities you will encounter. But, I know doing that will deny you of the wonderful things in this world. And those wonderful things will trump the bad stuff every time.

I know I don't know you yet but I already know what a gorgeous young lady and a handsome young gentleman you are. I'm sure you're rolling your eyes at this point because as your mother it is my job to tell you this. But I want to do so much more than that, I want to make you believe this about yourself and in those around you. 

Much to my dismay you will enter a world obsessed with looks. A vain world people claim they want to change but then turn a blind eye when it really matters. And it is not just girls who have to meet this standard but boys as well. Girls are expected to look like dolls and boys are supposed to be star quarterbacks with movie star looks. 

I am not naive in thinking that I can block the images from you, it's just not possible. And I know you will have moments where you will cry because you do not like the image that you see reflecting back. Please know that during those moments I will hold you and allow you to cry, but only for a moment. Because I will take you, we will get dolled up in our favorite outfits, the things that we are most comfortable in, the things that make us feel the best-even if it's a pair of sweats. We will make lists of the things we love about ourselves, both inside and out, and the things that we dislike but must learn to accept, because our flaws do not define us, they are what make us unique.

You will know nothing of scales-except that they belong in doctors offices and not in homes. You will understand that your value is not placed on the number you see, or the size you wear. Your value, and who you are as a person, is based on the size of your heart and the way you treat others.

I also want to apologize in advance because I will be neurotic. I will be overbearing and I'm sure it will cause many problems but I do it out of love. I do it because I know what it's like to step on a scale or look in a mirror and hate what I see. To cry and vow that the next time I look in that mirror I will look like the doll I'm "supposed" to be. But I didn't have anyone to hold me, my parents-your grandparents, aren't great with emotion. They certainly mean well but it's just something that is hard for them.

So, lady and gentleman someday you will read this and I will share with you my experiences that lead me to be the "crazy" mother that I am. The mother who dreams of putting her little girls hair in bows and dressing her son in sweater vests, but would much rather have a tom-boy or a son who feels the most comfortable in dresses than kids that hurt themselves trying to reach an unattainable goal. All I ever ask is that you be kind and caring individuals but most importantly BE YOU. And walk away from anyone that tries to change that.

I love you already and I haven't even met you. And I will do whatever it takes to make sure you love yourself and to give you the strength to overcome whatever obstacle you may face.

Love you forever and always,

Mom 

PS- writing "mom" when I'm not yet one is a little strange.