The Daggers

Stick and stones they break my bones

But words they really wound me

They pierce me like sharp daggers

Leaving open wounds in which the salt can pour in

Each hateful word, name, judgement

 Forms a dagger stabbing my being

The open wounds lay unhealed

Open to the next word, judgement, or stare 

To deepen the pain and hold they have

But no one knows the pain

No one knows the words that echo through my ears

The daggers from years ago that continue to chip away

That rip my soul, my bare open soul

That tears my heart to shreds

Shreds falling down to the cold stone floor

Losing hope of ever being pieced together

But no one knows

My apparent optimism covers the wounds

The smile of my mask covers the tears

Yet day after day

The daggers stab me

Leaving the open wounds

And this broken girl

Recovery Hangover

Yesterday I made a shocking realization. Choosing recovery brings me more pride and joy than my ED actions do. My ED actions may bring me initial joy (though even this is ceasing to be the case) but that's soon followed by guilt which propels me to act out again until I am in a vicious cycle. On the other hand, my recovery choices give me at first a sense of guilt (though this too is waning) and then extreme pride and joy with myself. The pride propels me to make more good decisions and they get easier.
Of course now I kind of have a recovery hangover. You know...that next day feeling when your mind is yelling at you to go back to your old ways. That pit in your stomach when you look in the mirror and are convinced you have ballooned. That out of control feeling you get because you are no longer trying to control your food. The extreme sleepiness from the stress of all this going on at once.
I figure this will pass. Each day the hangover will get less intense and I will get used to making recovery-oriented decisions. In fact I know that's the case because it happened when I was in treatment. But in order for that to happen I have to keep choosing recovery and not slip back to my old ways. Otherwise I have to start from the initial hangover that I am experiencing now.
I must say this is scary. Actually giving into recovery and making the decisions on my own. There are no inpatient personell telling me I must eat this, signing off on everything, watching me like a hawk. There is no threat of a feeding tube scaring me into completing my meals. There's just me and the fear of dying both spiritually and physically, propelling me to make the decisions I need to make. Perhaps that is why it is so hard. Perhaps that's why this recovery hangover is so intense. Because for once in my life, I am choosing to recover at each and every moment in the day.

Time to fight

Hey everyone--
Long time no post, but I have realized that blogging really did help me. In fact it helps me a lot more than journaling where a hand cramp can cause me to finish my thought processing before its over. So I decided to return to blogging since I need all the positive outlets I can get.
So update first. I lost more weight (I know, I know bad news) and now everyone including me, my team, and my family is freaking out that this ED could take my life. After a crazy two weeks, doing an internship with my dream job, gaining motivation, seeing my dying grandma, and getting a kick in the ass by my treatment team I have decided to start to fight with all I have. What does this mean? Well:
1. Gave my scale battery to my stepmom and only weigh myself once a week.
2. Am trying to eat what my body wants, not what my ED rules say it should have.
3. Being 100% honest with my team and family about my struggles and support I need.
4. Not using the food scale unless necessary.
5. Using measuring cups to get the right portions aka no skimping.
6. Only doing my alloted exercise and only when I need it.
7. Voicing my stresses and negative body image so I can get help for them.
8. And the major one....leaning on God at each and every meal, snack, trigger, urge, and slip along the way.

I really am hoping this works. Am I scared? Hell yeah. What I am scared of I am not sure. Perhaps the unknown. Definitely what my body will look like and how I will feel about it when I reach my goal weight. What people will say. What life will be like. But what scares me more is if I keep in this ED and die. I can't come back from that. That is a definite end. Lights out, no more, the end. Weight gain I can cope with. Fear of the future will subside. But death......there's no coming back from that.
So I ask for my readers support too. When ED is screaming tell me, because sometimes my bond with ED is so tight I can't separate it from me. I am fighting because I want to live and I'm hoping along the way I will start to fight because I truly want recovery. Right now recovery seems so far away, so foreign, so scary, that I can't use that as my motivation. But to live....well that is damn motivating.
I am open to any and all suggestions, motivations, whatever. I am gonna fight and I'm gonna win, because I have no other option.

Reality Check

I have come to realize that a lot of the reason I don't wanna gain is I find a sick, twisted pride in being this low of a weight. It tells me I can eat whatever I want because I'm so low I need to gain. It tells me I was good at something. It makes me in a way feel superior to people. But what's the reality. 

The reality is when you have a BMI in the 15s there is no pride. There is just fear. I have had friends die who were trying to recover at this BMI. Their bodies just can't take it and they just die. That number that brought them pride in reality ended their life and anything they could accomplish and be proud of. It brings disgust and guilt in yourself for letting it get this bad. It brings a trap in the fact  that you feel you have so far to go that you don't wanna gain and since your mind doesn't have enough fat to process it thinks everything is black and white and thus you must lose. In reality its a scary, sad, lonely weight that no one should be proud of.

So I make this decleration now. I am going to gain. I am going to surrender to the process and let it happen. On the days I don't want to I will just remember that it is either gain on the outside or gain in treatment because no medical professional would ever let me stabilize here. EVER! On other days when I have the strength to fight I will remember the peace being above a BMI of 18 brings. That you won't die, that you don't have to gain, that you can go for a run or do yoga without the fear that you will overstress your heart. It brings freedom, peace, and joy. Not because of the number, but because for me the number they want me at is where my body likes to stabilize. It is my natural state. It is what I deserve. And getting there, getting to a place of recovery and health, that is something to be proud of.  

The Measure of Things

So recently I discovered that I was obsessively measuring every little morsel of food that went into my body and not in a good way. I was measuring to make sure I kept the intake low. It got me to thinking why on earth I was still doing this. Why did I keep turning to scales, nutrition labels, and grades in my life. Why do I obsess over weight, calories, BMI, GPA? Why do I measure my life in numbers?
I got deep into it and realized its all I've known. Growing up I was judged by my peers and family based on my weight. I was a success or a failure based of my grades and my calories. Those were what were used to measure me and my success and what I thought life should be measured based on.
Also, numbers give me control. They are the one thing in life that is definite. If the scale says 25 g of food is there, then 25 g of food is there. Plain and simple. No questions asked, nothing. In life filled with grey instead of black and white, numbers give me my control, my definite measure.
If I go based off something other than numbers I must admit that life can't be controlled. Some days will be good, some days will be bad. There is no number that can tell me how the day will be. I just have to surrender and let life happen. The more I thought about it the more I started to see that is the beauty in life--the surprises it brings. That's why I love veterinary medicine, because no day will ever be the same, no case will be the same, and no cure is the same. All depend on the situations that arise. That is life.
Life is more than numbers. It's more than calories, it's more than a scale, it's more than my GPA. So to is happiness. Happiness cannot be measured by calories or the scale. I can have a good day no matter how much I weigh or how many calories I eat. Bad things will happen no matter how much I restrict or how much weight I lose. Good things will happen even on days I eat more or weigh more, because life isn't governed by my scale. Joy isn't governed by a scale unless I let it be, and still then it isn't true joy, because the next time that scale's red number blinks....my joy can be gone.
So how should I measure life. Well, these past two days I haven't measured my food and have enjoyed them so much more. So my question now becomes should we measure life? Why not just experience life for the ride it is? Experience each moment as it happens. Don't dictate the path of tomorrow by the events of today. Don't deem a day a success or a failure, because every day is filled with ups and downs. We don't measure the success of a road trip by whether we had to take side roads, how many hills or dips there were, or how many miles long it was. We measure a road trip by the experiences. And even then we don't measure it, we just remember.
So for now I won't measure life....I will just live it. For life isn't here to be deemed good, bad, successful, failure. It's here to be experienced. Every breath we take is another opportunity to learn, love, and live. So take it. Stop measuring and start living. This moment is yours for the taking.

My finish lines

I decided if I am going to be fighting towards recovery I need to know what it looks like. A runner doesn't go into a race without a goal time or goal of finishing. They know the path ahead and know where the finish line is. Since recovery is very much like a race (hills included), I need to know what the finish line looks like.

My ultimate finish line has me married to an amazing husband with kids or at least dogs. I have a white lab coat on and a stethescope around my neck with an animal control emblem embroidered in my scrubs. I am saving animals and using them as therapy dogs for eating disorder patients. Of course this finish line is more like the Boston Marathon finish line because I have a few years till I'm done with vet school (or even in vet school for that matter).

My half marathon finish line: I don't see a nutritionist or therapist and only go to the doc for thyroid checks and when I'm sick. I am running 5Ks frequently, accept myself as I am, go to cycling regularly, and have my TOM back. I can go into any restaraunt or any event and eat whatever I want without worrying about what it does to my body. Food is a part of my life, but it isn't my whole life.

My 5K finish line: I am able to run and cycle for the most part whenever I want. I don't have to see a therapist or nutritionist as frequently. I am more comfortable eating in restaraunts but still glance at the nutrition before going in. I don't rely on pre-planning my meals and snacks. I am not on a meal plan anymore and instead am doing intuitive eating. I can run 3 miles. I am learning to accept myself. I am free of the threats of being kicked out of school.

My 1K finish line (more immediate future): I am approved to run. I am at my goal weight. I still plan out my meals but am learning that it is okay to eat beyond my calorie goal when I am hungry. I have no fear foods. I am going out to eat at least once a month and trying to challenge myself when I do. I am training for a 5K, lifting weights, and not getting caught up in how I look. I am losing my perfectionist tendencies.

I will admit I still have a long way to go even to get to the 1K, but I know it is possible. Every day I will get stronger, be able to push myself farther, and eventually will be able to run for recovery for a figurative 1K, then 5K, with practice a half marathon, and finally will be running the marathon of life with recovery pushing me forward.

Dear ED (a lot of cursing sorry)

Dear ED-
I just wanted to write you this goodbye letter. Not because you deserve the time of day, not because you need it, but because I want to have this to look back on when I feel like letting you take control again. So listen up.
I freaking hate you. In fact, I have hated you since you came into my life 13 years ago. You have changed forms, but the whole time made me feel miserable, unloved, and ugly. You have prevented me from giving myself the love and patience I deserve. You have taken the light from my life and replaced it with darkness. You even took it as far as to try and kill me and condemn me to Hell by taking me away from my Heavenly Father. So fuck off.

Honestly all you are is an abuser. You beat me down, spit in my face, and never have anything nice to say. You have turned me against myself and I am fucking done with it. I'm done with your shit, your lies, your destruction of me. You prevent me from feeling proud of myself when I complete meals and move towards recovery. You prevent me from being able to breathe in peace and understanding of myself. You prevent me from being me.

But I'm done with you. I am breaking up with you. No, not breaking up because that means you have the chance of coming groveling back to me to pull me into your clutches again. I am getting a freaking restraining order and permanently removing you from my life. In your place, my God will stand firm. He will have your restraining order nailed to the cross where His blood was shed for me. So fuck off, my God and me are stronger than you. Hell, you need someone to pick on just so you can survive, all I need is God to survive and God doesn't need anything to survive. So whose pathetic now?

I know you are going to try every second of every day to fight for me to come back to you. I know you are going to whisper sweet lies in my ear telling me I need you and with you there is peace. But if it sounds too good to be true, it is, so I will refuse to listen. So fight every day to get me back, but realize you won't win. You can fight, scream, kick, you can do a freaking love dance if you want to I don't care. You can tempt me with power, might, love, whatever the hell you want and it won't matter. My power comes from my Abba Father's love within me. A love that cast out all illness and strife. My might comes from an Almighty God who created the universe with His hands. My love comes from the unfailing love of the Son who gave His life for me. So I don't need you and I refuse to give you the time of day anymore.

Tears will be shed because I will grieve you, but those tears will be replaced by laughter through my Father. I will have to experience a sense of no control, but I know my Father in Heaven has control of my life and only has good plans for me. It will be hard, but life with you is Hell so it can only go up from here. I will learn to accept myself, to freely feel emotions, to put my trust in the Lord, and I will never let you back in. I know when I vowed to you I said till death do us part and I hold true to my vows so you are going to have to die.

Goodbye forever,
Jess