The Siren's Song

I have a confession. Recovery right now is steady because people I love deserve a recovered me not because I want recovery. I long for the sweet arms of addiction. She beckons to me like a siren promising that one night would satisfy my lust. I know it isn't true but the voice sings beautifully and I struggle to resist her pull. I just want the outside pain to match the inside pain.

What NOT to Say

In case you ever need to know this, in case you don't already know this, I have some news. I have news of something you should never say to a recovering anorexic ANYONE. "Oh look at you having another donut." Don't say it in an office. Don't say it in front of other people. Don't say it in jest. JUST DON'T SAY IT!

I am grateful that I'm in a stable food place because a year ago those words would have spiraled me. They would have spiraled me whether said about me or said about someone else in my presence. They would have shamed me. This year they frustrate me but are not spiraling me.

Yes, I had a second donut that day. No, I won't allow myself to feel guilty that I had 2 donuts on my sons birthday. The words were not intended to be hurtful. They were intended in a "good for you, go get 'em" kind of way. She doesn't even know my history.

And THAT is why to not say food shaming words to ANYONE. You have no idea if the person you are talking about has had food difficulties. You have no idea if someone else who hears you talk has food issues.

I don't look like I battle an eating disorder, many of us don't. Please be cautious with your words. Even when they are well intentioned they can wound.

longing to be whole

I dreamed that I was sick again. I dreamed that I was restricting like I used to. The problem is that I haven't been restricting so my body doesn't feel sick. In my dream it was the anorexia that every eating disorder longs for, the one that allows the control and euphoria of restricting while still having the feelings of being healthy. It was the lie that orange always promised, "You can be different. You can restrict and not get sick."

A lie is a lie, but for a moment it was a familiar lie that beckoned to me to try again. It was a lie that reassured me that it could be different. The dream came at a time of body loathing. It was a dream that made the idea of anorexia sound good for a moment. Maybe more than a moment. 

I have had to be extremely vigilant this week to maintain recovery. Illness sounds alluring; stress, a packed schedule, and an upset stomach have made it difficult to battle the allure. And yet I have battled. I have fought to remember where I have come from. I have fought to remember the pain when my family hugged me. I have fought to remember that healthy is entirely better. 

To this point, I can say I've fought well. I have had meals that would have been easy to skip because no one but me would have known. Now to continue fighting for my recovery. How I long to be completely whole. How I long for the day when those thoughts don't creep in. Though I don't know if that day will ever actually arrive, I will continue to fight as I hope for it.

Healing my heart

Once again violence filled my dreams last night. I've allowed myself to become accustomed to pleasant sleep which makes it so much harder when the nightmares return to haunt me. Today I feel sluggish and tired. It doesn't matter that I had enough hours of sleep because it wasn't restful sleep. Today I feel as though I'm walking through jello knee deep.

And yet the violence of my dreams was different and therefore I'm intrigued and curious about their meanings. My thoughts were still filled with assault but it wasn't reliving the assaults of my past. The attackers were unknown to me but every bit as clear and vivid as the dreams of known attackers.

Likewise my reactions were different in these dreams. My feelings were ones that related strength. I wasn't the cowering little girl. I wasn't the terrified teenager. I was me, here and now. I was a woman. A strong woman.

I cannot explain how I could feel so vulnerable in my dreams and yet simultaneously feel power and strength fill my veins. I awoke incredibly disturbed and yet not distraught as used to be the norm. I am healing. I can feel it in my dreams. It is amazing and freeing and not nearly as painful as it was when healing was beginning.

And though I can feel my heart mending, I can also feel the cavern of what remains to be healed. Healing is a process, a journey. One that requires me to show up fully and completely. One that, even now, I still must take one step at a time. It is a journey worth walking. It isn't over by far, but it's no longer in the devastating, soul crushing, pain of the journey new.

Once I was afraid if I let go the dam of unshed tears that I would never stop crying. For a time it did seem that way. And now I realize that the tears do stop and life does continue and healing does come even though it comes slowly.

NEDA week and comparing my journey

I've wanted to write for a while now.  I've just been so tired and when faced with the option of curling up in bed next to my husband and sleeping or turning on the computer and organizing my thoughts into words....well, comfy bed seems to win more often lately.  Last week was a struggle for me.  I was already struggling a little but NEDA week is hard for me.

 It is a week that makes me think I was never really THAT sick.  I hear the stories of people who nearly died and I think well, I didn't nearly die.  Until my husband speaks that strange kind of logic that says, "Um, you did almost die.  You were intending to commit suicide."  And I think about so many of my friends who have spent time in in-patient care and think but I wasn't sick enough for in-patient.  I hear how someone restricted to x amount of calories and the competitive voice of orange reminds me that I was x amount of calories more than that person.

My brain, or rather my disease, argues with everything its got to say I wasn't ever really sick. I don't have the physical scars that some have. I knew how to take care of my self inflicted burns and cuts so that they wouldn't scar and people wouldn't have reason to think I was sick.  My body doesn't carry evidence of the hell it has been through so I try to downplay that it really has been through hell.

Isn't that the battle of the eating disorder though?  There is ALWAYS going to be someone out there who is sicker than you, which will always play through your head to insist you aren't sick because you aren't as sick as ______.  As long as the comparison game continues in my mind, I will never be free from the belief that I wasn't sick enough.  And I've come to realize that as long as I compete mentally to have been sick enough to validate my illness, NEDA week will always be difficult for me.

It's great to educate.  I went to a meeting of about 50 women the other day and this group of women were having a biggest loser competition.  They were standing on the scale before breakfast and giving out prizes for the most % lost. I wanted to grab the mic and tell them that in a group that big, I would be shocked if they didn't have at least one woman who has struggled with some variation of an eating disorder.  I wanted to educate them about NEDA.  I love the purpose of the week.  And I also, for my own recovery, avoided the computer radically last week.

For this time in life, my recovery depends on me not comparing my journey to someone else's journey. For this season of my recovery, I will focus on choosing the next right thing and worry less about comparing my illness to someone else's illness.  Recovering together is amazing, it is great to have friends who just know and understand.  Recovering together is not however meant to be a comparison.  Comparison is a trap, and not one I can afford to get caught in.

A picture of recovery

These kinds of decisions are what keep me recovering. It may seem small but I chose the waffle because it's what I wanted. The voices in my head told me to avoid the waffle and have my peanut butter and jelly on an apple instead. I was able to push past the guilt of eating frozen waffles and enjoy (mostly) my breakfast that my brain tried to convince me wasn't safe. Staying consistent with the healthy choice in these situations is what keeps propelling me forward in recovery instead of letting the tiny choices prime me for relapse.

A Open Letter to the Boy who Accepted No

Dear Boy,

I remember it well. We were young, the night wasn't.  Hand holding had led to kissing, which had led to making out which had led to clothes flying in moments of passion.  I remember your hot breath in my ear asking if it was time to think about protection and I groaned more than said my yes.  We jumped into your truck, me with only a blanket to cover me and drove to K-Mart around the corner for condoms. I really really really liked you.  You were going to be my "first", at least my first that was a choice.

We drove to a secluded park and picked back up right where we had left off with the hot and heavy. Suddenly the words that neither of us wanted to hear came out of my mouth, "No. I can't do this.  Not tonight." That was what I said out loud.  In my head though, my only reason was because I was drunk.  I was so afraid I would be that stereotype party girl who would have sex while I was wasted and that I wouldn't remember it. I wanted to remember the first time I did this with a boy that I liked and really wanted to be with.

I was afraid to tell you that the reason was because I was drunk.  I was afraid you wouldn't like me anymore or that you would think that I only wanted to do it because I was drunk.  So I just said no.  And you stopped.  I don't know if you respected me enough to listen to my no or respected yourself enough to not become a rapist, but either way I have just this week realized how much that meant to me.

Thank you.  You didn't have to stop.  I was drunk and naked in your car.  I couldn't have fought you off and honestly wouldn't have tried.  I had said yes before I said no so you could have said that I had consented.  You could have continued and said it was my own fault for bringing you that far.  I would have spent my life believing that I was at fault and most of the world would have agreed.

But you didn't.  You did the honorable thing.  You accepted the no from a drunk girl who had moments earlier been ready to go. That night, I didn't realize what a gift you had given me.  I couldn't realize it then.  It took years for that to sink in.  I thank you, from the bottom of my heart I thank you for stopping when I said no.  Especially since I said yes first, thank you for letting my no mean no.

Lonely

I've been posting more on my other blog lately. This one still feels like an old friend though. I'm lonely. Very very lonely.

Anxiety has been really high recently and has been manifesting itself in social anxiety. My staff Christmas party, team meetings, the ladies Christmas tea and even just sitting through church have all been incredibly difficult. Even posting to Facebook feels vaguely uncomfortable and far too social.

I do love my job but I'm struggling to go. I don't want to leave my house. I feel comfortable with Hubby. I feel known. I feel less lonely with him. I just want the anxiety to go away. I want it to go away so that I can function without huge discomfort every time I leave my house.

And I'm still lonely.

how anxiety affects orange

My anxiety has been really high for the past month or so.  Last week it caused me to call in sick to work one day.  Something needs to change.  I need to be fully functional.  As anxiety mounts, it becomes increasingly easier to not eat enough.  I'm still eating, don't fret.  It's just easy to not eat as much as I should.  My stomach is so twisted in knots that eating is actually difficult.

I'm saying this not to make you worry, but to hold myself accountable.  I have found a natural supplement called Confianza that helps tremendously with the anxiety when I take it.  I need to start taking it regularly again.  I let the anxiety get so high that I am incapable of getting up and going to grab it out of the cupboard.  Hubby has a few times asked if I needed it, grabbed it and brought it to me when I can simply nod with tears flowing down my cheeks but can't move to get it.

I need to start taking it daily again to help bring the anxiety down and make my life functional again.  I need to stop waiting until I'm hyperventilating and starting to go into panic mode to take it.  What's the phrase, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

I most definitely need to get the anxiety under control, anxious thoughts also make orange thoughts really loud.  It seems so easy to try to gain control through food.  Though I know fully that not getting proper nutrition makes the anxiety worse, sometimes in the midst of it that is hard to remember.  Just because I know this doesn't seem to mean that is how I handle it in the actual situation.

I am grateful for the prayers.  I can tell you there have been days that I am certain it was God's grace through the prayers of others that has carried me through the day.  I know this too shall pass.  I also know the longer it takes to pass the harder it is to wait for the light at the end of the tunnel.  This has been longer than usual and standing strong is getting harder.  Please pray that the peace of God that surpasses our understanding will guard my heart and mind.

I am still recovering, although I hate that fact.  I want to say 3 years should equal full recovery but I know that isn't true.  The healthy times are easier and not usually a concentrated effort.  The hard times are still a struggle though.  A struggle that I had hoped I'd be past by now.  I'm trying to be patient with myself. I'm trying to be patient with the work that God has started in me because I know He will carry it through and not leave me stuck in the middle.

I love you guys.  And I love the role you have played in my recovery.  Thanks.  Let's keep recovering together.

When feelings aren't truth but they feel like it

The text said fml. I acknowledged that I don't actually believe that.  But it's how I feel right now.

I love the people in my life. I'd take them out of that equation of the text.  I love things about my life.  I love being wife to Hubby. I love being mom to my Littles. I love my job,  even though today I was too overwhelmed to go to work and do my job.

So when I look at it logically, I really wouldn't say fml. I love my life.  But I hate my emotions.  I hate that with a life full of love,  I still struggle to see hope.  I hate that anxiety sometimes cripples me.  I hate that depression sometimes makes me feel emotionally bankrupt. 

Food is hard.  Not my because of my body but because of my emotions. I want control.  I want to feel the surge  of euphoria that being hungry gives.  But this time there is no euphoria only the empty darkness that usually comes when I've fallen too far.

I don't want to fall but I don't want to fight either.  I just want to give up.  I won't give up, I just want to.  Hubby is keeping me accountable.  He knows where I am and he's holding me up.  I know this too shall pass.  Until it does, I'm really grateful for those who hold my arms when I'm too tired to fight.

fighting side by side

We're all in this together right?  We are here to do life together, to encourage each other, to bear one another's burdens, to restore each other.  We fight together through this mess of life.  Today I want to fight alongside someone whose battle I've never personally fought.  Just because I haven't fought it myself doesn't mean that I should hole up in my corner of the world and only pay attention to the battles that have affected me directly.  Today is Mesothelioma Awareness Day.  If you have a moment and you want to hear the story of an amazing woman, strong and beautiful beyond belief, please check out:

www.mesothelioma.com/heather/awareness

Heather, I'm glad you are cancer free.  I'm glad that you are encouraging others in their fights around the world.  I'm glad I can share your story.

a walk through my mind

I have mentioned recently that I am noticing the healthy thoughts getting louder.  I'm back at a healthy pre-relapse weight.  I'm usually engaging in healthy behaviors rather than disordered behaviors.  To the outsider, I don't look the part of someone recovering from an eating disorder.  Even to my friends, I look healthy and therefore most people think that the eating disorder has gone away.

Sometime the noise in my head gets loud though.  Sometimes I look healthy but my mind is screaming inside of me for relief.  It has been one of those times this past week.  Like the day I ended up wearing an extra tank top when I met up with friends simply because I was unsatisfied when I looked in the mirror so I was trying to hide my body.  There was also the shorts day.  Oh my, the shorts day.

My shorts that I have fit in for the last 2 summers have been too tight this summer.  Yes, I know, that is a good thing.  But it doesn't feel like a good thing.  It doesn't feel good to realize that pre-relapse weight also means another clothing size bigger.  I've settled it by not wearing shorts rather than buying new clothes.  But this weekend was hot and my friend had given me a pair so I decided to wear them.  They were a bit too big but too big is better than too small and they were just long enough to cover the space on my thighs that touches again.  But my body felt clunky in them.  I felt like the hips were huge and the thighs accentuated.  How on earth do women wear shorts and not feel like I did that day?????  I applaud you if that is you.

Yesterday I changed clothes 7 times before I finally realized that the problem was the mirror not the clothes.  And then after realizing that, I still changed 2 more times. 

The healthy days are regular and beginning to feel consistent,  which is nice.  But that doesn't mean the disorder is completely gone either.  Days like yesterday take every ounce of my strength,  lots of prayer support and truly God's grace to hold on to my recovery.  It is awkward to still struggle when I look like I'm all better.  It is frustrating to fight what is a now an invisible battle.

I'm doing better.  I'm still recovering though and it is hard to remember that I still need help,  that I still need to give myself grace and that recovery is a journey not a quick fix.

anniversaries and healing

Today I want to celebrate a little bit.  It's an anniversary for me but not one most people would celebrate so just bear with me a little while I explain.  On this day 3 years ago relapse hit full force.  Typically one doesn't remember the day things started going south but I do.  I had been allowing disordered thoughts, actions, and habits for more than a year but then something snapped.  July 24, 2010 I drove to the airport to pick up a friend and suddenly every single calorie in my drink attacked my brain.

I panicked and restricted.  I restricted severely.  I exercised until my body collapsed.  It wasn't pretty.  It was among the darkest times of my life.  So why on earth would I want to celebrate the anniversary of the day relapse became official?  Well, because I don't remember the date that I started recovery.  I can celebrate today because I can clearly see how different my life is now than it was on this day 3 years ago.

That is part one of this post.  Where I was then.  And now for where I am today.  

I recently did something brave, something really brave.  Something I thought was a gift for my husband but turned out being a gift for myself as well.  I did a boudoir photo shoot for Hubby's birthday.  This is the 3rd time that I have purchased a package, and the first time that I finally had the courage to actually use it. I just have never been able to convince myself that my body is beautiful enough to take pictures of it.

In a random and quick burst of bravery I called and made the appointment.  Somehow I made myself  show up for the photo shoot.  I'm not particularly modest but I am uncomfortable in my skin.  How on earth that happens I don't know.  My hesitation wasn't about posing in my underware, it was about not liking my body. I'm not really sure if that makes sense but it does in my head.

It was a different experience than I could have even imagined.  It was actually fun.  It was empowering.  I felt pretty even in my own skin!  I didn't tell Hubby I were I was going.  I didn't even tell him after I had done it.  For two weeks I kept the secret.  Finally the day of the consultation I had a friend watch the kids, told Hubby I had a surprise for his birthday and drove him to the photographers.

He was SHOCKED.  He was amazed.  He loved all of it.  And then I was able to finally tell him what had happened to me through the experience.  I was able to tell him how I thought I was giving him a gift but how I had been able to relax and be ok  with my body during the shoot.  I told him how healing this experience had been for me.  I don't know if I can even fully express the healing this brought to my soul.  And at that moment he informed me that I was the best gift I could have ever given him.  The gift wasn't the pictures, the gift was me.  The gift was seeing me smile.  The gift was watching me begin to heal.

vulnerable

So I totally overreacted to something stupid.  I made a big deal over what was meant as a joke.  When he looked at me confused, wondering what could have possibly done to warrant my reaction, I started talking.  I talked myself into a corner.  And then I did it.  I blurted out something I didn't even really realize was in my heart until the words tumbled out of my mouth.

I now feel like I overshared.  I shared where my safe spot is.  I told him what I dreamed of when I was a little girl and needed to escape my reality.  I now want to rewind time and leave those words unsaid. I want to keep that spot only in my head.  I want it back.  I want it to be mine again not ours.

 I feel vulnerable. I feel guarded.  And I feel those things with the person in this life who loves me most of all, with the one person that I don't need to feel guarded with.  And feeling those things makes me feel lonely also.

I want to crawl into my head and stay there.  I don't want to be vulnerable.  Even though this vulnerable is safe.  I want to protect my heart but I'm trying to protect it from the wrong thing.

Speed (up)dating

In the 5 minutes I have before I leave for work, I'm going to update. I have noticed some really healthy things going on in my brain.  I weigh the most that I have since before relapse.  Let's face it, I am back to pre-relapse weight.  In some areas that is very scary.  I feel like I'm one brownie away from being post-baby weight again but I know that is perception not reality.  I've heard things come out of my mouth like....

This summer I am working on accepting this new body.

I'm trying to find clothes to fit my body rather than make my body fit my clothes.

and the best one yet.....

Please don't edit my birthmark out of those pictures.   I need to be able to be beautiful just as God created me and I need to be ok with that "flaw" on my body.  

It isn't all easy-peasy.  There are days that the fact that my thighs are beginning to touch again really bothers me.  But as a whole, the healthy voice in my head is starting to get louder than the unhealthy voice which is, in my book, huge progress toward healing. 

That's all for now, must head to work.  Love you friends!

What's posture got to do with it?

I have so much going through my head.  So much that God has been working on in my heart.  And I sit down to write about it and the words just won't come.  I can't tell you how many times I've started a post  only to backspace the entirety of it.  It all makes sense in my head but the words sound jumbled when I try to say it.

God has been dealing with me on things like my hatred of a set schedule and why I feel so strongly about it.  Things like having gained weight since last summer and trying to keep a healthy mindset about accepting my  new body.  And things like understanding what posture means to me and how my posture reflects my body image.

Yeah, strange huh? I slouch to avoid standing out.  I just want to blend.  I just want no one to notice me.  And yet I want to be known.  Not noticed but known.  And I just can't have both.

I think I'm ready for another blog challenge.  I need to get out of my rut.  I'm thinking deep but I'm writing not so much.  I just can't seem to quite embrace the words right now.  I want to hash it out but I want to hash it out by talking rather than writing this time.  It's getting late and my brain is starting to wander. 

What about you?  How are you doing right now?  What is important to you?  What to you want to talk about or write about?  Are you realizing new things about yourself? 

uninsurable

My insurance agent made a mistake and didn't switch my bank account on my life insurance when we changed banks.  He switched it for my car and home insurance, he didn't get the life insurance policy switched.  It lapsed, I realized, I panicked.  He told me reinstating it  was easy, just fill out these forms.

I fill out said forms which ask  questions about physical and mental health within the last 5 years.  Well, you can't lie, that is insurance fraud, and I do have things on my medical record that weren't there when I first got my policy.  Things like an eating disorder and a stay in the mental hospital.  Things like suicidal ideations, Major Depressive Disorder, anxiety, and PTSD. 

Apparently insurance doesn't like those things.  They asked more questions.  I answered them.  Yesterday I received the letter stating that my request for policy reinstatement was denied.  I have no life insurance anymore.  I am not insurable anymore.  And I lost my coverage all because of a clerical error.

I have a myriad of emotions about it.  The first was anger.  And let's be honest, I'm still pretty hot about it.  I felt a little bit of overwhelm.  And I also feel a bit like Marshall in the episode of How I Met Your Mother when he is imagining bears jumping out at him in NYC and attacking him.  Ok, so that last one makes me laugh so at least when I feel the pit in my stomach growing I can switch gears and laugh for a moment.

One more thing that this eating disorder has taken from me, insurability.  I don't know if I'm most angry at my agent for the error, at myself for not catching it sooner, or at Orange for stealing one more thing from me.  I'm going to get better.  I'm going to prove them wrong. 

And now I need to take a deep breath, finish getting ready for work and take this day one step at a time.  I will trust myself to my Creator, both physically and emotionally.  He sees it all and He is here with me, even here, even without insurance.

worth it

The depression has been dark.  Hubby has been kind.  Yesterday was one in a series of days that he took care of me both physically and emotionally.  In the quiet darkness of our bedroom, I lean into his arms.  I whisper thank you for taking care of me today.  He brushes hair from my face, leans into my ear and whispers back the last words I heard before sleep came, "You're worth taking care of."
Words he repeated again by mornings light, just to make sure that I had heard them.  I shake my head, I don't understand.  But I am grateful that he does.  I'm worth the effort, even though sometimes it is great. 

I'm a guest blogger, I'm no longer MIA and I'm hanging in there

I have been reminded that it has been a while since I have updated.  Now that Hubby works from home and I go to out to work, writing has been something I unintentionally shift to a back burner.  My preference is to write with a quiet, preferably empty but I'll take sleeping as well, house.  I go to bed before Hubby now that he doesn't need to be up in the middle of the night for work.  I get ready for work while he takes the littles to school.  I have no time to write.  Well, that is not true.  I just don't make it a priority or time block for it anymore.

I'm doing ok.  I'm not dealing as much with food panic right now but I am still walking through the heavy mud of depression.  Some days have been dark.  Some days have been bearable.  Few days have been wonderful.  I'm trying hard to not isolate, though there is nothing in the world that sounds better right now.  Work has been a good distraction from focusing on me and my own pity party.

Today my father in law has surgery to remove the screen that they put in his lung to trap the blood clots.  I'm trying to trust the doctors when they say it is a very basic surgery with low risks.  It is hard to trust that when just a couple of months ago we thought we were going to lose the man I love so much.  He is a pillar of strength to me, to my husband, to our entire family and the mere thought of anything going not as planned makes my heart quiver with anxiety. 

Hey, if you have a moment, go visit Brittnie at A Joy Renewed.  She is doing a great series on life with an eating disorder and today my very dear friend Amy's story is posted.  My story, *gulp* will be posted tomorrow.  I know I'd appreciate some support from those of you who know me and love me because it seems scary to guest blog.  Why?  No idea, I already lay it all out here but for some reason it is different laying it all out on someone else's blog to friends I haven't met yet.

Love you guys, sorry I've been MIA, I'll try to be more intentional and not block y'all out!

Swearing inside my head

This morning I am silently cursing the breakfast that stares me down. The breakfast that is one peach slice smaller than intended because of the panic in my head.

Yesterday I silently cursed my own body. The way it bruises too easily. The way it left evidence of the anxiety that I took out on it.

I long for complete healing. To never ever have days and moments of completely overwhelming anxiety that makes eating hard and self harm easy. But since this is a journey not a destination, I will press on thankful that I am further on my journey than I was a year ago.