A Deal with the Devil

"Please, just make skinny, and smart, and perfect, and happy, and everything to everybody. Please, I will do anything."

Not so long ago I made a deal to create the person I thought I was supposed to be: perfect. All I had to do was listen to that sweet and convincing voice telling me all of the rules and the ingredients of perfection. Of course, now I know that the voice was really a monster and the deal came with fineprint I never bothered to read. I traded my life and happiness for an idea-a faulty product that never appeared. 

It's so easy to get sucked in, after all the monster is a great salesman. And when you realize what exactly you've sold, basically your soul, it's too late. You're trapped bound by an imaginary contract you never should've signed. The good thing is that if you can sneak away for even a second and ask for help regardless if you get sucked in you have a better chance of getting out. But it's not easy, and it won't be for a very long time.

Right now, for the most part, I am in a really good place. Mostly with my anxiety and depression, I haven't felt this "free" from them in years and it feels amazing. Unfortunately I am not yet free of anorexia. But it's getting better, I stepped on the scale the other day and didn't die when the number flashed (106*) I felt good and happy with that number with almost no desire to go under. I can look in the mirror without wanting to crawl out of my skin, I can even look at pictures of myself that I've HATED and realize that I actually don't look too bad, or too big. Of course, I still don't see too thin in any of my old pictures, though there are some where I can look in my eyes and see how unhealthy I am.

All this is good, right? And you're probably wondering how I can still not consider myself free or close to free from anorexia. Well, all of that stuff is good and amazing the problem is that I've become terrified of food. And not because of calories or anything that I can exactly figure out. But it's causing me to restrict even more than I did before because even though I want to eat it scares me too much. Even my safe foods aren't safe and I can't fathom the idea of touching or tasting anything. It makes me sad and scared that I have developed this fear, but it's not a depression sad, more of a disappointed one. And I'm scared because I do really want to eat but it's so hard, but it's not the same anxious feelings I've had my entire life. So I'm still sad and scared but in less severe/life ruining ways. This is good, that means there's hope.

This scares me because if I don't figure this out soon I will end up in the hospital and I'm feeling so close to better than I've been in years and a phobia is blocking my progress. 

If you go back and read "Scary Statistics" you'll see motivation but after writing that post I relapsed pretty badly. Now it's different because I feel almost free of depression and anxiety and I didn't when I wrote that post. 

I'm not saying I'm cured, not by a long shot. I'm just saying this time I feel different than I did a month ago. Screw the deal I made with this stupid devil. I'm going to get out of it no matter what it takes. This devil changed me and that's got to stop.

Plus-Size

Most of you have heard about the controversy surrounding plus-sized model Robyn Lawley, strutting around in a bikini and being absolutely gorgeous, but also being a PLUS-sized model who wears a size 8. Of course the internet has decided that this is unacceptable and is bashing Cosmo (who originally posted the photo) and the fashion industry in general for their take on what is plus-sized.

Well, news flash, people of the internet-this isn't a new concept by any means. The fashion industry has labeled "8" as plus-sized for years.

And before you start hating on, me let me make it absolutely clear that I don't agree with the standard but it's the way it's been for as long as I can remember.

It isn't really that hard to pinpoint when exactly things changed, go back to the Marilyn Monroe era and you'll see what I mean. Marilyn was the epitome of sexiness and beauty and back then her look was the industry standard. Unfortunately that ended in the early 60s with her death.

Not long after her death a new model became the sensation, enter Lesly Hornby aka Twiggy. A pretty face on a young boys body, what could be better? Nothing. After that it was out with the old and in with the new. And now woman (and men) had an ideal, something to achieve.

With eating disorders running rampet in society it's no surprise that people want things to change. In fact, many magazines (I'm looking at you, Australian Vogue) have implemented rules on just how thin is "too thin" to be in their magazine. And sites are banning (or at least attempting to ban) pictures of skeletal women. And watching the Victoria's Secret fashion show in December, I didn't think those models looked sickly or were too thin, they looked fit. They weren't malnourished as far as I could tell. The VS models actually go through some intense workouts to get in shape (look them up on YouTube and see what I mean) not unlike the rigor of Crossfit-just different. (And I just said it was intense like Crossfit not actually anything like it so, Fitties, don't start bashing me)

This is not to say that if I saw Robyn walking down the street I would look at her and think she's fat or too big, because she isn't, she's beautiful as are women of all shapes and sizes. However, the people of the internet did get one thing right, we do need to change the standards and what people think looks good. Unfortunately, there are more people and more money spent on shoving this "Twiggy Ideal" down everybody's throats daily, than there are crusaders trying to change this perception. We need more people to help do away with labels and learn to accept people from size 00 on up. 

And until that happens Robyn will stay in the plus-sized category, whether you agree or not.

New Year, Old Habits

It's officially 2014. A brand new year, a fresh start. I started my first day laying in bed until 3 and ended the day at work. A nice balance to kick off the year. I also treated myself to sushi, because even though I didn't get out of bed until 3 I didn't want to begin 2014 by starving myself, and even though convincing myself to get food date going most of the day was hard, I refused to continue my bad habits. 

That's what I hope for this new year, to get rid of my old habits. No more starving myself or letting my anxiety/depression get to me. Along with a whole slew of other bad habits that I don't need a fresh start on. 

I am determined to make 2014 my year. I will be happy and healthy and begin to live my life exactly how I want and not how the monster says I should. 

So let's welcome this new year with healthy new habits and kicking the old ones. 

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.