Keep It Simple, Silly.

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Dear Body.

Dear Body,

I’ve always let some imperfection or another stand in the way of me seeing what you truly are, that you are beautiful. You are a divine creation housing the most valuable thing known to the universe, my soul. I’m beginning to realize that a person’s soul has the capacity to radiate light that transcends all the characteristics that I have been conditioned to believe are flaws.

You naturally tell a story. Your blue-green veins are like a map to where your heart has been and where it is going. The curve of your waist and the shape of your cheekbones tell a tale of heritage and ethnicity. There are crayon markings on the wall somewhere that has measured your height throughout the years. Always returning to the same spot to see how you’ve changed.

Your eyes bare resemblance to nature. They are a deep forest green with golden yellow sunflower flecks. Your faded birthmark, once beet red, brought me shame because all I wanted was to conform. It now reminds me of how unique you are and all I want is to be different.

Your body begins as a story but continues with new chapters throughout your life. Some are chapters of sadness and pain, others of joy, and all of growth. Each chapter a blank canvas meant to be painted by our experiences. Photos are memories but so are our bodies in a way that’s more real, no posing and no fakeness.

I’m realizing these things now, but I’m so sorry that I didn’t realize them before. I’ve done everything I could to destroy the canvas and deface and burn the pages of different chapters.

I’ve waged war on you before; used razor blades to feel and drugs to numb. I’ve used caffeine to stay awake and alcohol to sleep. Abusing the side effects of my prescription drugs like loss of appetite, to deliberately starve myself into making you skinnier. I’ve spent far too much time on a scale that merely weighs your effect on gravity, not the depth of your beauty. I wanted you to look like one of those girls in the magazines.

But in the ruins there is still a canvas. There is still beauty in your brokenness. The faded scars show healing reminding me that even though I’ve been in dark places, I’ve survived and learned and become stronger.

Although the war is over, the world still takes its toll. You have calluses on your hands from me writing too much and concentrating too hard. Yet the words are beautiful and the studying is worth it. You have the ache when it rains from broken bones, and stretch marks from growing too fast. You have burns from jobs and scars from falls. But those experiences were worth it.

Dear body, as I grow older I worry about how you will age. Together we gain wisdom and wrinkles, after being young and beautiful and naïve. The wisdom tells us that the beauty doesn’t subside, it only changes, and more of it comes from within. So I won’t worry when my hair doesn’t look just right, or when I do something stupidly funny and emerge with another scar because you are telling a story. And what would I be without my story and my past?

(By: TWLOHA intern, Stephanie Koszalka)

Western Standards Of Beauty

Present - 2000's Onward



Keira Knightly




Emma Watson




Nicole Richie




Dakota Fanning



Where We're Left

...with worth determined by weight, compulsively counting calories and pounds, deconstructing ourselves into imperfect parts. We trumpet our gains in the professional and political sphere, while we pare away our bodies as penance.

ED's Are An Illness.

“Usually when we think about violence, we think about interpersonal forms of violence, such as attempted murder or homicide, assault and battery, rape and sexual assault, robbery, kidnapping, and torture. Rarely do we think of suicide, anorexia, and self-flagellation, or of verbal abuse, threats, and intimidation as the forms of interpersonal violence. More significantly, we usually ignore, deny or accept other forms of institutional and structural violence that provide context of most of the personal violence that occurs.”

— Gregg L. Barak, Violence and Nonviolence: Pathways to Understanding, Page 4.





"For far too long, people suffering from this disorder have had to deal with the theory that this is all societal, that somehow they choose to have anorexia, or parents have had to deal with the blame placed on them because somehow their parenting style caused this. Now, they know that they really need to go against the tide of their biology to overcome this."

— Cynthia Bulik





"Genes load the gun, and environment pulls the trigger. These people who are genetically disposed to anorexia nervosa may be more sensitive to those environmental triggers, like dieting after seeing a fashion magazine."

— Cynthia M. Bulik





"It disturbs me how aggressively some of these web sites promote anorexia as a lifestyle choice, and how intricately they scheme to subvert the efforts of families and treatment providers trying to save the lives of those with anorexia ... Press coverage of these sites often completely ignores the reality that anorexia nervosa has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness – up to 20%. This is a life and death matter that families and individuals facing eating disorders must recognize."

— PR Newswire





“Lori is the perfect example of how you can't tell someone walking down the street has bulimia. She doesn't look like she has any problem at all, and that is what most look like.”

— Laurel Guccione





"When a man gets up to speak, people listen, then look. When a woman gets up people look, then if they like what they see, they listen."

— Pauline Frederick





"If women cannot eat the same food as men, we cannot experience equal status in the community."

— Unknown





"You know as well as I do it's not about what you look like, or your job, or how successful you are. It's about having people in your life that you love and who love you... that's all that matters."

— Meredith Grey (Grey’s Anatomy)





"The stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking/stuffing/puking didn't make her skinny, it made her cry."

— Laurie Halse Anderson (Wintergirls)





"By very slow degrees, and with frequent relapses, that alarmed and grieved my friend, I recovered."

— Mary Shelley (from Frankenstein)





"The young man punched my statistics into his keyboard and pinched my arm with clippers wired to the testing machine. In a moment, the computer spit out my results. "Only ten percent body fat! Unbelievably healthy. The average for a woman your age is twenty-five percent. Fantastic! You're this week's blue ribbon winner."
I stared at him in disbelief. Winner? Healthy? Fantastic? I glanced around at the other customers in the store, some of whom had congregated to watch my testing, and I felt embarrassed by his praise. And then I felt furious. Furious at this man and at the society that programmed him for their ignorant approbation of my illness and suffering.
"I am dying of anorexia," I whispered. "Don't congratulate me."

— From the poignant essay, "The Body Politic", by Abra Fortune Chernik; in Listen Up: Voices from the Next Feminist Generation, edited by Barbara Findlan; Seal Press, 1995





"To lose confidence in one's body is to lose confidence in one's self."

— Simone de Beauvoir

There Is Healing.

So, I don't know who needs to hear this, but there is healing. No matter what you're going through, there is someone who loves you no matter what you have done and will always take you back no matter how many times you jack everything up. They will always be there for you and have loved you at your darkest. There is healing and there is hope and I hope that you will hold on if you feel like you can't go on anymore.

 

71 Facts On Suicide.

1. The word “suicide” comes from two Latin roots, sui (“of oneself”) and cidium (“killing” or “slaying”).

2. People have committed suicide in an endless variety of ways, including swallowing poisonous spiders, power-drilling holes in their heads, sticking hot pokers down their throats, choking on underwear, injecting peanut butter into their veins, crushing their necks in vices, and hurling themselves into vats of beer.

3. In China, someone takes his or her own life on average every two minutes. China accounts for nearly a quarter of the global total of suicides with between 250,000 and 300,000 suicides a year.

4. Among famous figures who committed suicide: Sigmund Freud, Cleopatra, Mark Antony, Brutus, Judas Iscariot, Hannibal, Nero, Virginia Wolf, Adolf Hitler, Ernest Hemmingway, Sylvia Plath, Vincent van Gogh, Jack London, Dylan Thomas, Judy Garland, Rudolph Hess, Pontius Pilate, Socrates, and possibly Tchaikovsky, Elvis Presley, and Marilyn Monroe.

5. It is more likely someone will die from suicide than from homicide. For every two people killed by homicide, three people die of suicide.

6. In America, someone attempts suicide once every minute, and someone completes a suicide once every 17 minutes. Throughout the world, approximately 2,000 people kill themselves each day.

7. Suicide is the 8th leading cause of death in the United States.

8. The most common types of suicide include copycat, euthanasia, familicide, forced, honor, Internet, martyrdom, ritual, attack, and cop suicides.

9. The acne medication isotretinoin (Acutane) has been linked to a possible increase risk of suicide. The FDA requires Acutane to include a label warning that the product may be linked to suicide, depression, and psychosis.

10. The spring months of March, April, and May have consistently shown to have the highest suicide rate, 4-6% higher than the average for the rest of the year. Christmas season is actually below average. Some studies suggest greater seasonality in suicides in rural rather than urban areas.

11. David Carradine, famous for his roles in the 1970s series Kung Fu and the Kill Bill movie trilogy, was found hanging in a hotel closet with a yellow nylon rope around his neck and a black rope around his genitals. Family members deny it was a suicide.

12. Autoerotic asphyxiation, also know as sexual hanging, is a type of abnormal sexual behavior in which a person (usually a young male) tries to restrict the flow of oxygen to the brain (usually with a rope around the neck) while masturbating to enhance the sexual experience. The practice arose out of the observation that men executed by hanging often got an erection and sometimes ejaculated. The practice is mentioned in Samuel Beckett’s Waiting for Godot.

13. A college student committed suicide by taking a drug overdose in front of a live Web cam while some users egged him on. There are also several pro-Internet sites that give detailed information on the most effective ways to commit suicide.

14. While there is a common perception that suicide rates are highest among the young, the elderly, in fact, have the highest suicide rates.

15. Some studies suggest a correlation between a sport team’s performance and fans’ suicide rates.

16. Sylvia Plath’s (1932-1963) novel The Bell Jar, about a gifted young woman’s mental breakdown, mirrors Plath’s own breakdown and is considered to be one of the best-told tales of a woman’s descent into insanity. It was published only weeks before Plath killed herself.

17. Many cultures have prohibited a normal burial for people who committed suicide, although the restrictions varied according to time and place. A common practice in England until 1823 was to bury a suicidal person at night in a crossroad with a stake driven through the heart. In France, the suicide’s body was dragged through the streets and then hanged from the public gallows. In Prussia, early laws required the victim to be buried under the gallows.

18. One in seven Canadians has seriously considered suicide, and more than 3,500 Canadians kill themselves each year. Canada’s suicide rate (currently 12.3 per 100,000) is consistently higher than the United States' rate (currently 11.2).

19. Over the last decade, the suicide rate among young children has increased dramatically. In 2002, suicide was the sixth leading cause of death of five- to 14-year olds and the third leading cause of death in preteens. Suicidologists are alarmed that children as young as age two are also increasingly attempting suicide.

20. Five to 10% of suicides take place in mental hospitals.

21. There is some evidence that suicide attempts during the first week of the menstrual cycle may be associated with low levels of estrogen.

22. During 2008, 140 American soldiers committed suicide, breaking all previous suicide records in the military. In the first four months of 2009, 91 soldiers committed suicide. If this rate continues throughout 2009, by the end of the year more than 270 soldiers will have killed themselves, leading some scholars to claim there is a suicide epidemic in the military.

23. Caucasians tend to have higher suicide rates than African Americans.

24. On November 18, 1978, the dynamic leader of a religious group called the People’s Temple ordered his followers to drink cyanide-laced juice. In all, 913 people died, including nearly 300 children. The leader, Jim Jones (1931-1978), shot himself in the head.

25. Hanging is the leading method of suicide around the world and is particularly popular in rural areas.

26. Although women attempt suicide about three times more often than men, men complete suicide about three times more often than women.

27. Four out of five people who commit suicide have attempted to kill themselves at least once previously.

28. Suicide is the leading cause of death for people with schizophrenia.

29. A number of suicidologists have criticized news coverage of suicides, citing that reading about suicide victims in the news often triggers copycat or “contagion” suicides.

30. Levels of a brain transmitter called serotonin is considered a possible predictor of suicide. Some researchers found that people with low levels of serotonin are six to 10 more times likely to commit suicide than are people with normal levels.

31. Suicide rates tend to reflect economic conditions. In the United States, for example, suicide rates declined during the prosperous years after WWI and WWII, but rose during the Great Depression. Ironically, suicide rates tend to decrease during times of war.

32. Oregon and Washington are the only states that specifically allow physician-assisted suicide under certain strict guidelines. A few of these guidelines include being diagnosed with a terminal illness that will lead to death in six months, making two oral requests and one written request for assistance separated by 15 days, and persuading two physicians that the patient is sincere and is not influenced by depression.

33. Some scholars suggest that there are national preferences for modes of suicide. For example, the Russians prefer hanging, the English and Irish prefer poison, the Italians prefer firearms, and the Americans prefer firearms, poisons, and gas. Proclivities for certain methods tend to travel with immigrants wherever they go.

34. In Rome, razors, scalpels, and daggers were more common methods of suicide than hanging (which was seen as unclean and shameful), jumping, and poisoning or other drugs. Less often, but not rarely, the Romans starved themselves to death by refusing to eat or set themselves on fire (immolation).

35. In America, the most common suicide method for both men and women is firearms, accounting for 60% of all suicides. For women, the next most common method is ingesting solid and liquid poison or pills. The next most common method for men is hanging/strangling/suffocation.

36. Though there is need to practice caution in the comparison of religion and suicide, studies suggest that in the United States, Catholics appear to have suicide rates higher than Jews but lower than Protestants. Generally speaking, higher suicide rates are found among the multi-denominational, loosely federated Protestants.

37. Several U.S. state and national studies suggest that suicide attempts among gay, lesbian, and bisexual high school students are higher than their heterosexual peers.

38. Abuse in early childhood may change the genetic structure of the brain, leading to a greater susceptibility to suicide
Experts believe that early exposure to child abuse may disrupt the proper development of communication pathways within the brain and, consequently, abuse victims are more likely than their peers to commit suicide.

39. There is increasing evidence that individuals with a family history of suicide are more vulnerable to becoming victims of suicide themselves.

40. No suicides have been reported in the several small South Sea Islands and the Hindu Kush Mountains of India.

41. Countries that rank unusually high include Hungry, Denmark, Finland, Austria, Germany, Sweden, Switzerland, and Japan. Countries on the low end include Philippines, Angola, Jamaica, Mexico, the Bahamas, Kuwait, Jordan, Kenya, and Egypt.

42. A provocative 1982 book titled Suicide, mode d’emploi is both a how-to manual and a political manifesto encouraging readers to exercise their right to die. It contains information about those prescription drugs that ensure a “gentle death” along with how to calculate a lethal dose.

43. Famous literary suicides include Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary (Madame Bovary), Victor Hugo’s Inspector Javert (Les Miserable), Goethe’s Werther (The Sorrows of Young Werther), Ridley Scott’s Thelma and Louise (Thelma and Louise), and Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina (Anna Karenina).

44. Attempted suicide was once considered a felony in Kentucky.

45. The first suicide note is thought to have been written by an Egyptian four thousand years ago. In his poems, he describes the pain of his existence and the attractions of death.

46. Russian poet Sergei Esenin (1895-1925) wrote an entire poem in his own blood that served as suicide note.

47. Popular suicide locations include San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge, Japan’s Aokigahara Forest (“sea of trees” or “suicide forest”), and England’s Beachy Head. In all these places there are posted signs urging potential victims to seek help.

48. The jump from the Golden Gate Bridge is 250 feet. Trauma from the jump is dramatic and can cause ripped blood vessels, demolished central nervous systems, and a transected spinal cord. While a few have died from drowning and one from a shark attack, most die from the impact of the body on the water. Only 1% who jump survive.

49. The Eskimo, Norse, Samoan, and Crow Indian cultures accepted and encouraged “altruistic” suicide among the elderly and sick.

50. Roman gladiators would sometimes thrust wooden sticks or spears down their throats or force their heads into the spokes of moving carts so that they could choose their own time of death rather than another person’s imposed time and way of dying.

51. September 10 is World Suicide Prevention Day.

52. The top predictors for suicide are diagnosable mental condition, co-morbid substance abuse, loss of social support, and access to a firearm.

53. Children of parents who commit suicide are a higher risk to committee suicide later in life.

54. Divorced people are three times as likely to commit suicide as people who are married. Moreover, children of divorce are at a higher risk for committing suicide when they grow up. Divorced and separated men are two and a half times more likely to commit suicide than married men. Divorce, however, doesn’t seem to lead more women to commit suicide.

55. Though studies remain inconclusive, among the professional disciplines, doctors are twice as likely to kill themselves as the general population. And female physicians are more likely than their male counterparts. Some scholars have identified psychiatry, anesthesiology, and ophthalmology as specialties at greater risk for suicide, with pediatrics having the least risk.

56. The last time someone jumped off the Empire State Building was in 2000, but there have been more than 30 suicides at the 1,250 foot skyscraper since it opened in 1941. Most people who jump never made it the street, but landed on one of the building’s setbacks.

57. The suicide rate for Alaskan Native Indians is twice that of the U.S. population, and in western Alaska, the Eskimo suicide rates are even higher. The most common method used is hanging.

58. Fiji Indians have the world’s highest female suicide rates. A major cause of the rise of suicides has been the erosion of social structures and values. Additionally, early Fiji Islanders forced the many wives of a tribal chieftain to kill themselves when he died. The women would actually compete to be the first to die, believing the first would become the chieftain’s favorite wife in the afterworld.

59. The odds that potentially suicidal adolescents will kill themselves double when a gun is kept in the home.

60. In the United States, Nevada consistently leads suicide rate statistics, with Alaska, Arizona, California, Colorado, Florida, Montana, New Mexico, Oregon, Washington, and Wyoming variously falling within the top ten. Highest regional rates are generally those of the Rocky Mountain and West Coast areas, with the South showing the lowest rate, except for Florida.

61. Since the Golden Gate Bridge opened in 1937, more than 1,200 people have jumped to their deaths, making it the number one spot in the world for suicides.

62. The first scientific study of suicide was Le Suicide written by French sociologist Emile Durkheim (1858-1917).

63. The M*A*S*H theme song is titled “Suicide is Painless” and contains the lyrics “. . . cause suicide is painless/It brings on many changes/And I can take it or leave it if I please.”

64. The usual modern life insurance policy will pay for death by suicide provided that the death occurs two years or more after the initiation of the policy.

65. Between 10% and 35% of people who commit suicide leave behind a note.

66. Monday appears to be the day on which most suicides occur. Saturday sees the fewest.

67. Some experts believe that 25% of drivers who die in auto accidents cause them subconsciously. “Autocides” are suicides disguised as automobile accidents.

68. Nearly 10% of fatal police shootings in the United States are a result of “suicide by cop.”

69. Many more suicides are linked to psychiatric illness than to serious medical disorders such as Huntington’s disease, multiple sclerosis, or cancer.

70. Many Jews imprisoned at Treblinka, one of the most notorious World War II Nazi concentration camps, chose to kill themselves as an affirmation of the freedom to control their own destiny.

71. One suicide victim who committed suicide by jumping from the Golden Gate Bridge left behind a note saying: “I’m going to walk to the bridge. If one person smiles at me on the way, I will not jump.”

Originally written: March, 2011.

Top 10 Reasons Not To Weigh Yourself.

1. Weighing yourself is only one measurement of health. It does not factor in your height, your build, your body fat, your lean muscle tissue or your bone density.

2. Muscle is more dense than fat. 150 pounds of muscle looks really different than 150 pounds of fat. Your body composition is much more important than your body weight.

3. If you weigh yourself on different scales at different times of the day, you don’t have a consistent point of reference. There’s no way to tell which one, if any, is accurate.

4. Your weight doesn’t measure how you look or feel. If you genuinely feel good, have lots of energy, have a healthy self-esteem and you feel healthy…there is a good chance you are healthy! In other words, being realistic and observant goes much further than the number on a scale.

5. Normal weight can fluctuate around 3-5 pounds in a day. It’s difficult to know if you’ve really lost/gained weight or if its water weight that is changing the number you see.

6. The cheaper the scales, the less accurate they are. Most domestic bathroom scales are inaccurate – usually on the light side.

7. The thought of weighing yourself can cause sever anxiety. Stepping on the scale means whatever you decide it means -- If you think and believe it will be a stressful experience, it will be.

8. One pound of junk food weighs as much as one pound of veggies. The number on the scale is not an indicator of how healthy you are eating and what kind of fuel you are giving your body. The better you eat, the better you look, feel, and live.

9. Weight does not indicate hydration. It is important to stay hydrated and avoid sodium so as not to retain the water and allow it to flush out the toxins in your body. If you are dehydrated you may weigh less on the scale, but obviously continual lack of water in the body can cause major health problems.

10. YOU ARE MORE THAN JUST A NUMBER. You are a beautiful intelligent creature that does not deserve to be boxed into any category because of a number. 

You are beautiful, and remember, there's light, even in the darkest places.

When You Feel Like You Can't Go On.

I’m sorry that you’re hurting so desperately right now. I know how painful the seconds, and minutes, and days can be, how long the nights are. I understand how very hard hanging on is, and how much courage it takes.

I ask though that you hold onto one day at a time. Just one day, and slowly this despair will pass. The feelings you fear you’re trapped in will serve their purpose, and then fade away. Difficult to imagine isn’t it? Almost impossible to believe when every cell in your body it seems cries out in agony, desperately in need of comfort. When it feels like the only thing in the whole world that can touch your pain and banish it is beyond your grasp. And after all this time, the assurance that you will heal has become an empty, broken promise.

Just let one tiny cell in your body continue to believe in the promise of healing. Just one. You can surrender every other cell to your despair. Just that one little cell of faith that you can heal and be whole again is enough to keep you going, is enough to lead you through the darkness. Although it can’t banish your suffering, it can sustain you until the time comes for you to let your pain go. And the letting go can only occur in it’s own time, as much as we would like to push the pain away forever.

Hold on. Hold on to appreciate the beauty of the earth, to feel the songs of the birds in your heart, to learn and to teach, to laugh a genuine laugh, to dance on the beach, to rest peacefully, to experience contentment, to want to be no other place but in the here and now, to trust in yourself, and to trust your life.

Hold on because it’s worth the terrible waiting. Hold on because you are worthy. Hold on because the wisdom that will follow you out of this darkness will be a tremendous gift. Hold on because you have so much love and joy waiting to be experienced. Hold on because life is precious, even though it can bring terrible losses. Hold on because there is so much that you can’t now imagine waiting ahead on your journey - a destiny that only you can fulfill. Hold on although your exhausted and your grasp is shaky, and you want more than anything to let go sometimes, hold on even though. Please hold on.

So much in life can be difficult, even impossible to understand. I know, I know… So many of us have cried in despair, why? why? why? and still the answers and the comfort failed to show. Survival can be a long and lonely road, in spite of all those who’ve stumbled down the path before you. And it can be a treacherous, torturous journey - so easy to get lost, and yet impossible to avoid even one painful step.

And the light, the light at the end of the dark tunnel for so long cannot be seen, although eventually you’ll begin to feel its’ warmth as you move forward. And forward you must move in order to get through the hell of remembering, of despair, of rage, of grief. Keep looking forward please. Rest if you must, doubt your ability to survive the journey if you have to, but never let go of the guide ropes, although when you close your fingers around them, your hands feel empty, they are there. Please trust me, they are there.

When you’re exhausted, when all you have to count on is a weakened, weary faith, hold on. When you think you want to die, hold on until you recognize that it’s not death you seek, but for the pain to go away. Hold on, because this darkness will surely fade away. Hold on. Please hold on.


I’m always, always here for those who need me.
Don’t ever be afraid to ask for help…

Taken from: Sirena

I’m having an incredibly hard time dealing with my Grandma and everything else, but I know that there is a reason to keep moving forward.  I know that there is a light even at the darkest places. I know my Grandma is always with me.  I know I have great friends and family and reasons to hold on.  I hope that you have the same thing if you are feeling lost, alone, sad, angry, hurt, betrayed, and just at the end of your rope.  Please, don’t give up.  Let’s walk together.  I can still see the light, even if it's raining.

Clare Gerrard On Life As A Self-Harmer.

I am a self-abuser, self-mutilator, self-harmer. Whatever label you give my behaviour, I use a razor blade as a coping strategy. The first time I cut myself, I was 15. My life had been shattered by the bullying I experienced at school. Most of the taunts were related to my acne - I was known as “pizza-face” during my four years at middle school. I had no friends, I was incredibly lonely, and became introspective, finding solace in the security of my own company.

When I was nine, and already plagued with self-doubt, I discovered I had epilepsy. The illness turned my life upside down. I was no longer able to trust my body. I had no control over its actions and felt it had betrayed me.

As I got older, I increasingly felt that I was worthless. Sexually, and within relationships, I would let people do anything to me. I felt it was rude to say no - I had no right to refuse them. These events always felt totally out of my control. Things simply “happened” to me.

Finally, I stopped eating in an attempt to take control. This way, I was all-powerful, looking down on the weak who succumbed to food. I could survive on air. Watching others eat repulsed me - I was God-like in comparison, existing on a higher plane, but sliding further into self-disgust each time I gave in and ate.

One sunny afternoon, shortly after my 15th birthday, I lay in bed feeling a desperate need to do something, anything, to stop the pain that felt like a physical ache in my abdomen.

To this day, I do not know what made me do it, but I found myself with a razor in my hand. I ran the blade lightly across my wrist. I felt a mild stinging sensation and, slowly, small bubbles of blood began to appear. I felt elation, terror, fascination and disgust. An enormous rush of adrenalin surged through me, followed by a deep sense of calm. The chaos in my head ceased. All was simple, nothing complicated. The feelings of anger, hatred and confusion had subsided. I felt that I had been tranquillised, numbed.

During the following years, I found myself time and time again in that place, blood pouring over my wrists, and staining my clothes and sheets. I took to carrying a razor at all times, because once I felt the urge to cut I had to do so, by any possible means.

There was no one really to intervene. My mother had been in a mess since my parents divorced when I was 13; she knew I was unhappy, but she was too caught up in her own difficulties. I was taken to the doctor a couple of times, but I did not think there was anything wrong with me, and I was very good at convincing other people of the same thing.

Cutting myself became an addiction - I felt better each time I did it. And, as with all addictions, I began to need a bigger high to find the same relief. Every cut, conversely, took a huge amount of courage and strength; each time I hoped I would injure myself more severely than before. Several times I ended up in hospital. Several times I hit veins, and once even an artery, as I worked toward annihilating my physical self. Yet still I felt I did not deserve medical or professional help.

By this time, cutting was such a part of my life that I simply could not comprehend that it was strange, or wrong, or symptomatic of deeper problems. By the time I was 16-17, I was cutting every day, many times, deeply, savagely, and simply pulling down my sleeves to hide the wounds. Still, nobody knew what I was doing.

Cutting is so complex it is hard to put into words what caused me to do it. Something small, but which caused me to turn grey with horror at the stupidity of what I had said or done, would be enough. Sometimes, the pain was so bad, I could not see, or think, or breathe. On these occasions, I would cut to relieve the agony. It was the only way I knew of coping.

I would cut with rage and bitterness, totally out of control. I was fuelled by self-hatred: hating the way I looked, or walked, or spoke, hating not being intelligent, or well-read, enough. I hated meeting someone who intimidated me.

Sometimes I could feel nothing. These were the most frightening times. I was numb; totally, completely. I was unaware of existing, unsure I was alive. People seemed not to notice me, or what I was going through. At these times, I cut for the plain reason that I needed confirmation that I was alive. I had to have proof that blood ran through my veins.

Occasionally, I would cut only to see if I still could do it. The courage each injury took was breathtaking. When I had not cut for a day or so, I would have to do so to prove to myself that I was still strong enough - that I could still cut deeper than the last time.

By now, I was attending a sixth-form college, trying to sit four A-levels. I occasionally went to class, but usually spent the day sitting on the floor of the refectory smoking, reading or writing. I retreated to the world inside my head, in which mental torment was glamorous, desirable, sexy, creatively essential even, for, as Larkin said, “happiness doesn’t provoke a poem”.

I managed to survive one semester at university before I stopped turning up to lectures. My “failure” simply gave me further and further ammunition with which to fuel my self- destruction. All I wanted, desired, hoped for, was the total obliteration of self. I had not the strength to kill myself, although if I had ever cut a little too deeply, I am not sure I would have called for help.

As the next few years progressed, I found myself in turmoil constantly. Then things seemed to improve. Even though I only felt a little better for a short time, remembering what it felt like to be able to get out of bed in the morning was an incredible feeling.

Yet my few months of reprieve only highlighted how bad things really were once I began to slip again. This spurred me on to hunt for help for the first time. I went to my doctor, who referred me to a local psychiatry unit.

At the unit, I was prescribed a cocktail of anti-depressants, anti-psychotics, sedatives and tranquillisers, which ultimately, along with talking therapy, got me out of the rut I was in. However, I now understand that these feelings will never leave me completely. They are far too deep, and are too ingrained in what I believe makes up “me”.

Ultimately, self-harm is preservation. It is a survival strategy that the mind employs when it is drained of other resources, much like the cannibalism the physical body engages in during starvation. It is indicative of severe underlying unhappiness. More than anything, a person who self-harms, in any way, is in great distress and unbearable pain.

However socially unacceptable my way of coping may have been, try to understand the difficulties I have every day as a result of my scars. Try to appreciate what a brave thing it is for people like me to wear short sleeves. Instead of making the subject taboo, stigmatising the sufferer and asking ignorant questions; instead of staring open-mouthed at the scars, ask me an intelligent question, in order that I may have a chance to explain.

Originally written on: June 13, 2011.

Losing My Grandma.

Originally written on: June 10, 2011.

Na na, na na na, na na
I miss you, miss you so bad
I don't forget you, oh it's so sad
I hope you can hear me
I remember it clearly

The day you slipped away
Was the day I found it won't be the same
Oh

Na na na na na na na

I didn't get around to kiss you
Goodbye on the hand
I wish that I could see you again
I know that I can't

Oh
I hope you can hear me cause I remember it clearly

The day you slipped away
Was the day I found it won't be the same
Oh

I had my wake up
Won't you wake up
I keep asking why
And I can't take it
It wasn't fake
It happened, you passed by

Now you are gone, now you are gone
There you go, there you go
Somewhere I can't bring you back
Now you are gone, now you are gone
There you go, there you go,
Somewhere you're not coming back

The day you slipped away
Was the day I found it won't be the same no..
The day you slipped away
Was the day that I found it won't be the same oh...

Na na, na na na, na na
I miss you
-Slipped Away by Avril Lavigne

I wrote this on June 4, the day after I lost my Grandma, one of my best friends.


Yesterday afternoon, my Grandma lost her battle with cancer.  I was with her at the hospital.  She went in Tuesday morning after falling.  Tuesday night my parents and I drove to Colorado.  By the time we got to the hospital Wednesday morning, it was a 50/50 chance of making it.  She couldn’t talk, but I would sit with her and hold her hand.  I didn’t want to say anything though because I felt like if I did, I was saying goodbye.  My Dad, with tears in his eyes, said, talk to her.  She wants to hear your voice.  I broke down and said I couldn’t yet.  But my Grandma would make faces at me and shake her head and squeeze my hand.  When we went in Thursday morning, we put her on a respirator because she couldn’t breathe on her own anymore.  We didn’t want to give up on her yet.  When we left Thursday night, she had a fever of 102.4 and she wouldn’t squeeze our hands.  She wouldn’t make faces.  She wouldn’t move.  I had a hard time falling asleep.  I wanted to be with her at the hospital.  My parents made me stay though.  They didn’t want to see me hurting.  I cried myself to sleep.  At 7am we were at the hospital. It was just my parents and I and my Granddad.  The dr told us she was failing.  Her fever was finally at 99 but it was up to us.  We went back to the house and we all decided that we didn’t want her to be in pain anymore.  We went back to the hospital and asked them to remove the breathing tube.
We all went and said goodbye. I was the last one to go in.  My Granddad and Dad kept asking me if I needed someone with me.  I said, I’m okay, I need to say goodbye by myself.  As I sat by her and held her hand, I sobbed.  I’m sobbing now.  I said, I love you so much Grandma.  I love you so much.  I know you’re going to be up in Heaven and you’re gonna be watching over me, but I miss you like hell already and I don’t know what to do about Granddad.  He’s never been on his own before, but I promise to try and take care of him.  I love you so much Grandma.  I was named after you and I hope that I’m half the woman that you are.  I hope I can wear the name well and make you proud of me.  I love you so much, Grandma.  Then my Dad came in and helped me leave.  Even the nurses were crying.  They took us to the family room in the ICU and said they would remove the tube but it would take a few hours for her to stop.  A minute later they came in and said we could be with her.  My Granddad and my cousin left because he couldn’t see his wife go.  He wanted to go plant her flowers and asked us to call when she was gone.  We walked in to her room and my Dad and his sister held her hand.  I held her, too.  She was breathing very shallow and it sounded like she was snoring.  Then about 30 seconds later, her eyes rolled back.  I said, I think she’s gone.  My Dad touched her forehead and everyone was sobbing.  Then she breathed the final time and we called my Granddad back.  When he got back a few minutes later, we all hugged him.  I had never seen my Granddad cry until this.  He was sobbing and said, I didn’t take good enough care of her.  We told him he did everything right and the doctor came in and helped him to make arrangements at the funeral home.  We all had thought she was going to pull through, but she didn’t.
We left the room 2 minutes later. I was the last one to leave.  As I left, I touched her hand and said, I love you so much, Grandma.  Her hand was already cold and it felt like wax.  That’s what really bothered me.    This morning, my Granddad asked me if I would speak at her funeral on Tuesday.  She’s being cremated so I won’t be looking at her.  I wrote my thing and I’m practicing now.  I don’t feel like eating.  I don’t feel like doing anything.  I’m having trouble sleeping.
—-
I’m writing this today.  It’s been 1 week now since she’s been gone.  I spoke at her funeral.  Then we drove back home.  I’d be lying if I said I’m fine now.  Because I’m not.  I’m hanging on though.  I’m allowing myself to grieve, but I’m working extremely hard to not fall into depression.   My Grandma was one of my best friends.  She was an amazing woman and I miss her like crazy.  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her, and the worst part is, I shouldn’t have had to.
She had stage 4 cancer, but that’s not what killed her.  Her doctor refused to give her the necessary shots after cancer treatments, even though her insurance covered it 100%.  If she had gotten those shots like she was supposed to, she would still be here.  She wouldn’t have gotten pneumonia because her immune system wouldn’t have been failing.  I wouldn’t have lost my best friend.  I wouldn’t have lost my Grandma.  My Dad would still have his mother.  My Granddad would still have his soul mate.
But the doctor didn’t care about that.  He saw a 76 year old and said, whatever she deserves to die.  He may not have said that directly, but he might as well have.
I know I’m angry right now.  I know that it’s a part of the process.  I still feel her with me everywhere.  I know it’s a part of my process and I know that I’ll feel better eventually.  It will take me a while, but I know it’s okay to grieve.
It doesn’t make you any less of a person.  It doesn’t mean that you’re weak for shedding tears, or for getting angry.  Or for bargaining.  I even started asking God why He answered other prayers of mine, but not the one with my Grandma.  God, why did You take her and give me something that seems so insignificant now?  I’d rather have her, didn’t You know that?  I fasted and prayed.  I cried.  Why did You let her go like that?
But I know that she’s with You now.  She’s in a better place.  She’s out of pain.  And I can rejoice in that.  There's still light, even in the darkest places.

Truth Vs. Lies.

Originally written on: May 23, 2011.


A while back, I talked about the judgemental congo-line running through my head.  I realized that these are some of the lies that I believe. Whether people or Satan tell me this, or I myself lie to myself, and whether or not I believe it, they are not true.
A  lie:  I was made wrong.  God made a mistake in how He created me. He made me wrong.  Not good enough.  Not smart enough.  Not talented enough.  He made me too different and too ugly and too wrong.
The truth:
“Your hands made me and formed me; give me understanding to learn your commands.” -Psalm 119:73.  God made me and formed me.  He took the time to make me special and unique. He made me the way that I am for His purpose, and who am I to question God?  Who am I to say, You have made me wrong?  This is pride.  I am the pot, He is the Potter.  I have no right to say to my Creator, You made me wrong.  “O LORD, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise, you perceive my thoughts from afar.  You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways.  Before a word is on my tongue, you know it completely, O LORD.  You hem me in-behind and before; you have laid your hand upon me.”-Psalm 139:1-5.  He knows me.  He knows when I sit or stand.  When I’m sinning behind closed doors, or at church.  He knows my every thought, and what I will say before I even say it.  He knows everything about me.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well…When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be. How precious to me are your thoughts, O God! How vast is the sum of them! Where I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand.  When I awake, I am still with you.”-Psalm 139:13-18.  Looking at this, I see just how prideful I am when I think I was created wrong!  I didn’t even think pride was something I struggled with since I am usually beating myself up.  But looking at this psalm, I see just how much thought and care went into every detail of me as a person.  My thoughts, my looks, my weaknesses, my shortcomings, my heart.  Everything.  I was fearfully and wonderfully made.  I was created with love and care by an amazing and wonderful and holy and perfect God and who am I to question that?  He knows everything about me, and since He is perfect, He couldn’t have made me wrong.  Sorry, Satan, that lie can’t work anymore.  Sorry, Hollywood, I am not a movie star, but that doesn’t make me wrong.  Sorry, Trish, you are all wrong.  God made me right and wonderful, and it’s time I start believing the truth.
A lie:  You are too weak to be a good disciple of Christ.  You are too weak to be in life group. You are too weak to give up those sins that keep coming back.  Those secret sins that are killing you.  You are too weak to fight it.
The truth:  I’d like to meet one person on this planet who hasn’t screwed it up.  Besides Jesus, I can’t.  Yes, I make mistakes.  So that makes me too weak to fight sins that are killing me?  I have Christ.  He always provides a way out when I am being tempted. “So, if you think you are standing firm, be careful that you don’t fall! No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear.  But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it.”-1 Corinthians 10:12-13.  “When tempted, no one should say, ‘God is tempting me.’  For God cannot be tempted by evil, nor does he tempt anyone; but each one is tempted when, by his own evil desire, he is dragged away and enticed.  Then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin, and sin, when is full-grown, gives birth to death.”-James 1:12-15. Sin is deadly.  Those little habits, those little sins, they grow.  They snowball.  But God provides a way to let me stand up when sin is crouching at my door, ready to seek and destroy me.  He is faithful to me, so I can fight it.
There are so many others, but it’s already 1AM.  So, I’ll finish this later.  I’ll just leave you with one of my favourite songs.  It’s called Red Sam by Flyleaf.
Here I stand
Empty hands
Wishing my wrists were bleeding
To stop the pain from the beatings

There you stood
Holding me
Waiting for me to notice you

But who are you
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Outscreaming these lies
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Saving my life

The warmth of your embrace
Melts my frostbitten spirit
You speak the truth and I hear it
The words are I love you
And I have to believe in you

But who are you
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Outscreaming these lies
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Saving my life

My hands are open
And you are filling them
Hands in the air
In the air, in the air, in the air

And I worship
And I worship
And I worship

You!

You are the truth (you are the truth)
Outscreaming these lies
You are the truth (you are the truth)
Saving my life

This is some Bible verses I have started to put on my wall so that I can have the truth in a place where I can see it and read it.

What are some of the lies that you, or someone else, tells you?  Do you know the truth?  Do you believe it?  Do you want to?

Soul Hunger.

Originally written on: May 19, 2011.

Have you ever felt it?  This gnawing feeling inside.  You are so thirsty, but water won’t quench it.  It’s this feeling in the pit of your stomach that won’t go away no matter how much you eat or drink.  You’re still starving.  You can’t fill that hunger, not on your own.
I think, one of the reasons my bulimia ran rampant in my life my freshman year of high school was because I was Hungry.  I could feel it.  I knew I was hungry, I knew there was a void in my life, and I thought, hey, I’ll just eat and eat and eat, and then I couldn’t fill that feeling.  I couldn’t fill that void.  But I didn’t want to be full, either.  I didn’t want to admit that I was weak, needy, empty.  I did my best to prove that I had no needs after giving in to my weakness.  So I purged.  I wanted so desperately to believe that I had things under control.  I wanted so badly to fill that void.  Bulimia couldn’t fill me.  Smoking couldn’t fill it.  Drinking? Nope.  A relationship with some boy who only pretended to care? You guessed it, nothing filled me up.
My soul was starving.  My soul was dying.  It was a caged bird.  It needed nourishment and love.
There’s a better way, someone told me.  As soon as I let God in, I began to be filled.  My soul ate.  And I drank and drank and I’m not saying that as soon as I became a Christian, my life became 100% better and I got over my addictions.  That was 5 years ago.  I gave up cutting.  I gave up smoking and drinking and relationships.  But my eating disorder is still engrained in me.  I still fight the battle though, because I know that the war isn’t over yet.  I still have the voice saying, just one more time.  But I have a stronger voice, Jesus, telling me in a 66 book love letter written for me, not to keep trying to fill my soul hunger with just regular food and drink.  Not to fill the void with anything but Him.
“As the deer pants for streams of water, so my soul pants for you, O God.  My soul thirsts for God, for the living God.  When can I go and meet with God?”-Psalm 42:1-2.
“My soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken.”-Psalm 62:1-2.
“O God, you are my God, earnestly I seek you; my soul thirsts for you, my body longs for you, in a dry and weary land where there is no water.”-Psalm 63:1.  That is a perfect description of my bulimia.  Bulimia was my dry and weary land with no water.  But I was still starving.  I didn’t know that only God could ever fill me.  I didn’t know that I was worthy of redemption.  The truth is, I’m not.  None of us are.  But I didn’t believe that God would even want to save me, if He was real.  But I was tired of the endless cycle of binge and purge.  Need but reject.  Give in.  Try to seek atonement.  I was tired of living in the desert.
Once I called out, He began to fill me.  He held my hand every step of the way.  “Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand.  You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will take me into glory.  Whom have I in heaven but you? And earth has nothing I desire besides you.  My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”-Psalm 74:23-26.
“But now, this is what the Lord says-he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.’”-Isaiah 43:1.
“‘Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past.  See, I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?  I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”-Isaiah 43:18-19.  God provides a way out of your desert.  Mine was my bulimia and my other addictions.  What is your desert?  Did you know that God is making a way for you right now?  He is filling your soul hunger.
Remember, there is light even in the darkest places.  You don’t have to live in the desert.  You don’t have to live with the hunger.

You Are Beautiful.

Originally written on: May 11, 2011.


Whether you are 13, 25 or 36.
Whether you are skinny, “normal,” or overweight.
Whether you are African American, Asian, or caucasian.
Whether you are blonde, brunette, copper, or bright blue.
Whether your butt is flat or round.
Whether your nails are painted bright, or plain and bitten down.
Whether your eyes are bright blue, chocolate brown, or murky green.
Whether your collar bones show or not.
Whether you wear lacey underwear or cotton ones.
Whether you’ve had your first kiss or never been kissed.
Whether you have curvy or stick thighs.
Whether you wear one pieces or string bikinis.
Whether you are hourglass, pear or triangle shaped.
Whether you have defined cheek bones or smooth, soft cheeks.
Whether you wear jewlrey or your wrists go unadorned.
Whether your hair is cropped to your head or down to your butt.
Whether you are a size two or twelve.
Whether you wear skirts or camo pants.
Whether you eat a whole bag of chips or half a bag of carrots.
Whether you look like the Photoshopped women in magazines or you are your OWN woman.
Whether you are wearing makeup or not.
Whether your breasts are large or small, whether your nipples are large or small, dark or light, perky or flat.
Whether you have a a full waist or a stick thin one.
Whether you take a good picture or think you look like a hot mess in every one.
Whether you have a small, medium or large frame.
Whether you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or if you’ve been single all your life.
Whether you are any of these things or anything else.
Whether you wear fashionable clothes or wear sports gear every day.
Whether you see it in the mirror or not.
Whether you wear heels or sports shoes.
Whether you love a man or woman.
Whether you have a gap between your lovely thighs, or you have beautiful healthy legs.
Whether your lips are thin or full.
Whether you have a New York accent or a British one.
Whether you go to the gym everyday or miss a few.
Whether you have a six pack or a flat belly.
Whether you have curly, straight or tasseled hair.
Whether you believe this or not.

Don’t punish yourself just because you see something you dislike in the mirror.
Don’t punish your body for years to come.
Don’t torture your body by depriving it of nutrients it needs to grow.

Don’t think when someone says this to you, that they don’t mean it.
These words are powerful. They are you.
And you choose to take hold of their power, or to ignore their truth in favor of society’s standards.
Taken from: http://xxgetwellsoonxx.xanga.com






You are beautiful.  No matter what others say.  Tell that to yourself every single day.  Because, darling, it’s true.
And remember, there’s light, even in the darkest places.
<3

So, You Want An Eating Disorder?

Originally written on: May 11, 2011.

1) Turn off all the heat in your house and open the windows wide. Walk around in short sleeves and dip your fingers and toes in bowls of ice water every 10-15 minutes. This will do nothing to help you lose weight, but it will help train you for the misery that anorexia brings in the form of being constantly cold. You are not allowed reprieve from this “feel the cold” stage as you will never be warm again until you recover.

2) Visit your hairdresser and ask her to pluck 25-50% of the hair from your head. While you’re at it ask her to overprocess your hair with whatever chemicals she has on hand. If the overprocessing makes you lose even more hair that’s even better. This step will get you used to the dry, brittle, falling out hair you’ll have once you’re nutrient deprived.

3) If you plan on purging you should visit your dentist and ask them to grind all the enamel off your teeth. While there also ask if they can pull out a couple of existing fillings. Your teeth will be wrecked soon anyway, so you may as well get a head start and learn what it feels like to have super sensitive teeth once your enamel is gone.

4) Ignore all your friends. Don’t tell them why. Don’t do anything that would give them a chance to try and stop you from cutting them out. You will likely feel utterly miserable. Learn to expect that. You will feel miserable during every day of your eating disorder anyway. The loneliness is a key part of this misery.

5) If you’re in school you should throw away all your textbooks and order their equivalents in a foreign language. This stage will get you started on the cognitive difficulties you will suffer once malnutrition sets in. In a few months of anorexia you will feel like everything is in a foreign language anyway since you can’t read it because your malnourished brain has made you stupid.

6) If you have a job ask your boss to start withholding half your pay. With the amount of sick days you have once your ED is bad you’re going to lose half your pay anyway. This will help you get used to that. In 3 months you should quit your job with no backup plan. This will let you know what it feels like to be fired because your ED made you a lousy employee.

7) Throw away your calendar. Stop asking people their name. Leave your backpack and purse at home every time you go out. You need to learn what it’s like to live without a memory. As well as making you stupid malnutrition will rob you of your memory. Stand up every ten minutes to make sure you turned off the kettle/iron/tap. You know you are forgetful and you are anxious about that. Do this all day every day. You will soon forget why anyway as your memory becomes utterly useless.

8) Throw away all your moisturizer, body wash, anything that makes your skin soft and lovely. Like your hair you need to feel what it’s like for that to be dry and fragile. Think back to the last time you fell down a flight of stairs. With your malnourished body and skin you will feel like that every single day. You will wake up bruised, and aching, and scraped, and you won’t know why. The answer is your ED. The answer to all misery is your ED.

9) Lock yourself in a dark room. Put up spotlights everywhere else in the house. Do not shower. Do not even wash your face. Play music that makes you sad. When it’s time for bed play a CD of a jackhammer. The ED will rob your ability to sleep well, and you need to experience that. If all of this sounds like torture…it is. With this ED you will be sad, and scared, and panicked all the time. This emotional hell will rob you of the ability to do tasks as simple as brushing your teeth.

10) Write a list of every good thing you want out of life. Burn it. As long as you have an eating disorder that is all you will have. You will watch every good thing go up in smoke.
Or, you could just stop going down the road right now.  Eating disorders are not glamorous.  Losing weight won’t necessarily make you any happier.  In fact, it makes you so miserable.
With an eating disorder, everything that is good about your life eventually slips away.  Soon, the only sense of accomplishment that you get is from seeing the scale drop.  And as the scale drops more, it becomes harder to drop.  This makes you work harder and harder.  And don’t think, okay, I’ll lose a few pounds and I’ll be able to like what I see in the mirror.  I’ll be happy with myself.
Not quite.  Welcome to the mind games.  Your ED likes to betray you.  You will never see how thin you are.  You will always see yourself as fat.  Huge.  Every adjective that people would use to destroy someone.  That’s what you see in the mirror, whether you’re 80lbs or 180. 
You will never realize how sick you are.  You like it when people play tricks on you?  No? Then you won’t like an ED.  Welcome to the master of tricks.  Let’s play a game, shall we?  Who’s the biggest person in the room?  Is it you?  Oh, not good at all.  Work harder.  Run for hours a day.  You have failed if you can’t keep your daily intake at 500.  I should point out, if your body gets below 900-1200 calories a day, it goes into starvation mode.  So what is 500 calories a day?  A suicide diet.  You didn’t listen to me, so now, because I love you, because I am your best friend, I will make your life a living hell.  But we’re still playing the game.  Now you are the smallest person in the room.  Good job, you’ve listened to me.  But you see, if I let you go now, then you’ll just be mediocre and average.  And we don’t want that, do we?  No, work harder.  Let’s reduce the intake to just 250 calories a day.  Let’s only eat yogurt every day.  And coffee. And cigarettes.  Oh, you could leave if you wanted.  But we know you don’t want to.  We know that I’m just here to make you better, stronger.  Pretty.
For your edifcation, it’s all bull.
You want to live in a fun house mirrored hell?  Develop an ED.  You wanna get low grades at school?  Develop an ED.  I can assure you, even if you never become visibly sick, you will lose more than you ever thought possible.  You will live every day in total hell.
So, let me ask you again.  Do you still want an Eating Disorder?
Walk away now.  This is a road of darkness you need to stay away from.  Stay on the right path.  Keep in the light.  If you’re already in an ED, please know, you are beautiful, and you are lovely, and you are WORTH recovery.
Good luck to you all.

Life, And Recovery, Is ALWAYS Worth It.

Originally written on: May 9, 2011.

While there are definitely things I don’t like about life, there are so many things I love about it.  My first summer recovering, I fell in love with simplicity again.  I took walks in the sunshine.  I went to the park and rode the swings.  I went fishing.  I went swimming. I rode horses. I got out of bed.  I lived. I’d sit by the lake at night and watch the sunset.
I even took drivers education and got my permit in August.  That was a huge step for me.  I didn’t get my license until 3 summers later, but I was moving forward.
The thing is, there is some good in this world.  Sometimes you have to look hard to find it.  Sometimes, people surprise you.  Yes, there are good people in this world.  I know a majority don’t seem that way, but again, people can surprise you.
Life is beautiful.  Some days, it’s hard.  Some days, it’s easier.  The point is, there is good things in it.  There is hope.  There are so many reasons to keep living.  But until you make that choice to keep going, you won’t see that.
I’m not saying that once you decide to live, that everything will be amazing from that moment forward.  Because recovery and living doesn’t work that way.   I once told a staff person at treatment, I’m a mess.  She smiled and said, I think you’re just going through renovations.
Life is like that.  Recovery is like that.  It might seem like this huge mess, but you’re under construction, and once construction is done, you’ll be stronger and better for it.
And don’t forget, there’s light even in the darkest places. :)

5 Years Later.

Originally written on: May 8, 2011.


They say that hindsight is always 20-20.  I don’t know if I really believe that.  I still look back on days like today, and on other parts of my life, and even now, things seem a bit muddled.   I don’t think I’ll ever really understand what happened 5 years ago today.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make sense out of that suicide attempt, or the events and consequences that followed.
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fully describe it.  There are no words for the pain that I felt.  There is no way to fully describe the hell that I went through.  That I put myself through.  The truth is, I can blame it on an unsupportive family, and I can blame it on crappy friends and a boyfriend who did NOT love me or care.  Or who put me through some more hell.
But the truth is, I went down that road.  I chose to drown.
The thing is, I gave up.
I lost 95% of my friends that day.  I was already in agony and I was trying to just find something to hold onto.  They let me go.  I can’t really blame them though. I had taken a ride on the dark side, and now I was too far gone, and they couldn’t take it anymore. One of my best friends told me I was dead to him.  They all said that.  Then they had the guts to write me letters, called me up, told me to check my mail, and then they hung up.  That’s where some of the meanest things I have ever read slapped me in the face.
As I walked to my house, each step seemed like hours had passed.  Every inch of me had been wounded.  Maybe this sounds over-dramatic.  Maybe I was over-dramatic.  But everything I had been living for for the last six months just stabbed me.  The betrayal hurt the most.  I remember trying to go to bed.  I remember that didn’t work.  I went for a walk.  That didn’t work.  While on my walk, I found myself at my neighborhoods church where my friends and I would go to smoke.  I remember looking into the sanctuary and being so angry with God.  I sat down on the steps, smoked a few cigarettes and tried to stop the tears that were burning down my cheeks.
Nothing helped.  I called my best friend.  I told him I was sorry.  I told him I would do anything, please, just don’t leave me.  Please, just don’t leave me.  I’ll try harder.  I promise.  I’ll do anything.  He said, you’re already dead to me.  There’s nothing you can do to change that.  Don’t call me anymore.  I don’t care if you live and I don’t care if you die.
I hung up.  Walked home.  I saw no way out.  I saw no way of feeling better.  I saw no end in sight to my pain.  It wasn’t just that my friends had left.  It wasn’t just that my parents weren’t supportive, and my older sister had told me she wished I would just die instead of this halfway sh!t.  It was everything and nothing.
I wanted to die because I could only see pain.  Death to me, seemed like the ending to that pain.   The ending to that relief.  To never being wanted.  Never being happy enough. 
I was sleep deprived.  I wasn’t thinking clearly.
I wanted to fly.  So I jumped.  But then I fell.  Hard.
To this day, I can still smell the ambulance.  I can feel my legs tingling in my stretcher.  I began shivering.  They put a blanket on me.  I can feel the straps holding me down.  I can hear them trying to keep me awake.
I got scared then.  But I wanted to die more than anything.  But I wanted to live.  I was at war with myself.
Part of me really wishes I could take this part back.  The agony I caused my parents.  My Mom and Dad both said, “f*ck you, when they got to the hospital, dropped my stuff off, and left.  The agony I had caused so many people.  The way I was selfish.  The way I couldn’t see a way out.  But I know that I wouldn’t be where I am today if I hadn’t hit the bottom.  Once you finally hit it, there is no way to go but up.  Things have to get better from there.  And as crappy as the bottom is, and as much pain and sorrow and agony there is in that moment, there is also relief.  You can’t go any lower.
There is relief.  It’s like the eye of the storm.  It’s the most calm.  As bad as things got for me, it is 5 years later for me.  I can see just how far I’ve come.  I can see that I got my life mostly figured out.
I don’t cut.  I  don’t smoke.  I don’t drink.  I don’t binge and purge.  I don’t attempt to end my life.  I graduated high school.  I’m in college. I’ve had jobs.  I’ve seen the other side.
When I left the hospital, my staff Nick said, okay, Punk, what’s your plan?  I have to ask you what your plan is, rules you know.
I told him this:  Screw drowning.  I’m going to swim.  I’m going to paint.  I’m going to take walks.  Go to the beach.  Go ride a horse.  Go fishing.  Go sit in the grass.  Finish school.  Get my degree in psychology so I can help other kids find the light in the dark. I’m going to breathe.  Recover.  Move on.  Heal.  Keep moving forward.  Live.
He gave me a hug and told me how proud of me he was.  I’ve done almost everything on that list.  I’m still in school, but I’m moving towards that goal.

I Still Have Hard Days...

Originally written on: May 3, 2011.

I still have hard days.

I still have hard days.  I still have moments where I feel like falling apart.  But I know where that road leads me and I know it’s a path I can’t go down anymore.  I can’t just lay down and die, letting the black wave of sorrow drown me.   I have too many goals and dreams and I am too busy living my life to let my depression drown me again.
I still have those days when it seems like staying in bed all day is the best option.  And I’m not talking about those mental health days where I’m recharging my battery so I can keep fighting.  This is the screw-it-I’m-staying-in-bed-laying-down-surrendering-I-give-up days.  I have to tell myself, no, get up girl.  Come on.  You have come too far to give up now.  You have been doing so well and you’ve had good days.  You’ve seen the other side and you know you’re gonna get there again.  This is a part of recovery, and you know you have so much to live for.  Come on, get up.  Deal.  Move on, keep going.  You’ve got this.   Not very often, but it still happens, I have to force myself to get out of bed and not surrender to the dark.
Some days I have moments where I feel like Alice on Shrooms.  I ate the wrong type of cake and magically am transformed right before my very eyes.  This is usually the same day where I have to force myself to get out of bed.  Then, as I’m getting dressed, every outfit I try on makes me feel gross, uncomfortable, and a whole bunch of adjectives that no one should feel, especially first thing in the morning.   I try on at least a dozen outfits before finally saying screw it, I’m wearing sweats.  I feel like nothing fits me right and I might as well wear sweats.  Then I have to fight another battle, my old ED thoughts that come, saying, okay, just purge.  Just stop eating and workout all the time.  Just lose weight, all your problems will be solved.
But I have to remind myself that that’s magical thinking and no, most of my problems will not go away even if my jeans do shrink.  I have to remind myself that most days, it’s not this type of battle.  I have to tell the judgmental congo-line of negative thoughts dancing through my mind all day to shut up.  I have to challenge those thoughts.  I have to remind myself that I am not worthless.  I am lovable, capable, worthwhile.  I am WORTH recovery.  Worth happiness.  I am capable of winning this war.  I am capable of fighting my demons with God’s help.   I am loved without strings.  I am loved by an amazing God despite how many times I screw up.  A God who promises to never leave me nor forsake me.  So I am never alone.  I am loved by friends and family no matter the size of my jeans or the awards I win or don’t win.  I am never alone.  I always have God.  I always have my cheerleaders.  I always have people with me.  I am lovable, capable, worthwhile, loved without strings, and never alone.
God is with me every step of the way and He stands by me through these hard times.  I cling to Him with all I have.  I get out of bed.  I keep moving forward.  Sometimes I ask God to carry me.  God is my light in the darkest places I’ve been and with Him on my side, I know I can make it through this race.
I know that sometimes, you will have hard days.  I still do.  It’s a part of life.  It’s these moments, where I am on the fence, that I make the conscious effort to fall back on the good side.  It’s these moments where I have to fight the hardest to make sure I don’t fall back into old habits.  This is the part of recovery that is the most challenging because it feels like it’s always 2 steps forward and 3 steps back.  But that’s how recovery works.  When you are learning how to walk, you don’t just make it from point A to point B.  I am learning how to walk, and sometimes I might fall.  That’s okay.  That’s how it works.   But you gotta get back up every time you fall.  It’s worth it, and we can make it through this.  I promise.  We can fight this.
 Remember, there's light even in the darkest places.