You can do this. You can get up. You can keep moving forward. You are strong. You are wonderful. You are beautiful and amazing and not just a survivor. You are a warrior. And, you can get through this pain.
You know what? Tragedies happen. What are you gonna do? Give up? Quit? No. I realize now that when your heart breaks, you gotta fight like hell to make sure you're still alive. Because you are. And the pain you feel? That's life. The confusion and pain that you feel, that's there to remind you that there is something better. And that something is worth fighting for.
He wrote you over 30 letters. And he's kicked you around. He's made you cry for the last 15 months. And you know what? It's time to stop crying, and it's time to stop saying that it was because you weren't good enough. You are. You were. He was the one who messed things up. You didn't do anything wrong. It's not your fault he fell apart. It wasn't your job to take care of him. You weren't his wife.
It's time for you to let down your walls. The walls you have built after all these years need to start being chipped away. That's what you need to do in therapy. You are an island. I know it's because you're so sick of being hurt. I know it's because you have this huge fear of letting someone in, someone who could be incredible for you. You also feel like you're not worth loving. You are. That's a lie. You're afraid of getting hurt.
You're afraid of living. Just get up. Come on, let's go. Let someone in. Build a bridge to your island. Or let them land a plane there. But let someone on.
I know you're really hurting. I know you just found a lot of painful things a few weeks ago, and even now. But you can't just lay down and die. You can't just say that your solution is to restrict your food intake, or to cut. Not that you have been doing these things, but that is what you fall back on when you're hurting.
I know your heart is bleeding. I know you feel like you have taken so long just to feel okay, and now you feel like all those months meant nothing because you didn't know the details. But you know what? They do matter. Every day you got out of bed. The day you went back to school. The day you got yourself a full time job when you stopped going to school. Those days mattered. Those days you weren't in school, you were learning so much about your relationship with God. You were in your Bible for hours. You were learning how to crawl. You went back to school in January, and you had your goal in mind. You were starting to walk.
Each day of your life matters. So, let go. Let go of the pain. Let go of the anger and the hurt and the feeling that you were betrayed. You were. But you can't let it poison you. You can't live your life at a distance and say that you're content with loneliness because no one was ever worth the risk. It's okay. It's okay to let people in and know that not everyone is a psycho, or is someone who will hurt you.
I love you so much. You are so amazing and you always come back to life at the last second, before the final tap on the mat tells you you've been knocked out. You have seen such incredible darkness, but you also know that you have seen so much joy and light.
Share that love with people. Because you have so much joy, and people need to see it. And you don't deserve to be alone because some jerk broke your heart. You are so loved, and it's time for you to wake up and see it.
So, since I haven't blogged about this.
3 weeks ago, my ex-fiance's Mom called me and told me that he was in jail and asked me to write him. I talked to my residential hall director at my college about it, and she told me that I needed to write him telling him to not write me anymore, to call me, or anything like that, so that if I needed a restraining order, it would help because I had made the effort to tell him to leave me alone. I did that.
32 letters later, last Friday?, I was obviously very upset. I started therapy that afternoon, and my therapist and I are working on my trust issues, and just dealing with all of the issues that are coming up. My ex raped a 7 year old boy and has a felony charge. He admitted to doing it. I know that little boy. I know that kids family. He also admitted to sexting boys for months during our relationship, when we were engaged. At the same point where I almost drove to Minnesota to marry him, he was sexting others and other things. He didn't say he was sorry for over 30 letters. Then last night when he admitted to doing more things, that's when he said he was sorry.
I needed to write myself a letter. I needed to remind myself that none of this was my fault. I told my ex in the letter I sent him telling him to leave me alone, that I forgave him. I had at this point. I'm in the process of forgiving him for all the things I now know about. I told him that no matter what he did, that God loves Him and will still take him back. With all the extra layers on there, and all the issues that I have to now face, I still believe that to be true.
God will always love you. God will always take you back, when you ask. He will give you the strength to get out of bed. Because 15 months ago, when my ex-fiance and I broke up, I wanted to just sleep and never get up. I don't remember hardly anything from those first few months, but I do know that I am still getting out of bed. I do know that God's grace is mind-blowing and that there isn't anything that you could do to make Him love you any less. But I've also learned that you can't just say well I'm a bad person, or I'm not good enough, and I'm not worth loving. Because you are. And that's something I'm working on in therapy.
If you've been in an abusive relationship, leave that hurt. If you've been cheated on, leave those feelings of betrayal at the feet of Jesus and just get up. Work it out. Talk to someone. Don't let it keep you sick. Jesus is the ultimate doctor, let Him heal you.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Suicide.
Why is your face down, left stuck in the ground?
'Cause somebody chose not to love you,
Does that make me worthless when they turn away?
They couldn't see how much that I love them,
It's not your fault that they couldn't see,
How much that you are worth,
I'll lay you down,
Lift your hands,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
In my hand,
Why do you cry, cry all night?
Since when are things that you wanted,
Things that you needed?
When I have given you everything,
Every part of me,
I'll lay you down,
Lift your hands,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
In my hand. -Suicide by Disciple.
I want you to know that you are worth it. Life is worth living. You can make it through this. Even though it hurts, and maybe you are fighting for your life, and maybe you can't hardly even get out of bed, but I can promise you that it's going to be okay in the end. You will get through this.
Please don't kill yourself. You have a reason to live and remember, there's light even in the darkest places.
'Cause somebody chose not to love you,
Does that make me worthless when they turn away?
They couldn't see how much that I love them,
It's not your fault that they couldn't see,
How much that you are worth,
I'll lay you down,
Lift your hands,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
In my hand,
Why do you cry, cry all night?
Since when are things that you wanted,
Things that you needed?
When I have given you everything,
Every part of me,
I'll lay you down,
Lift your hands,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
You've got a reason to live,
This is not your time,
Even love its darkness (love will shine again),
This will pass in time,
And I will forgive you,
I caught you in my hand,
In my hand. -Suicide by Disciple.
I want you to know that you are worth it. Life is worth living. You can make it through this. Even though it hurts, and maybe you are fighting for your life, and maybe you can't hardly even get out of bed, but I can promise you that it's going to be okay in the end. You will get through this.
Please don't kill yourself. You have a reason to live and remember, there's light even in the darkest places.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Hang On To Each Other.
Too often we feel alone. But there is always someone ready to take our hand. There is a beautiful story of an overworked nurse who escorted a tired, young man to her patient's bedside. Leaning over and speaking loudly to the elderly patient, she said, "Your son is here."
With great effort, his unfocussed eyes opened, then flickered shut again. The young man squeezed the aged hand in his and sat beside the bed. Throughout the night he sat there, holding the old man's hand and whispering words of comfort.
By morning's light, the patient had died. In moments, hospital staff swarmed into the room to turn off machines and remove needles. The nurse stepped over to the young man's side and began to offer sympathy, but he interrupted her.
"Who was that man?" he asked.
The startled nurse replied, "I thought he was your father!" "No, he was not my father," he answered. "I never saw him before in my life."
"Then, why didn't you say something when I took you to him?"
"I realized he needed his son and his son wasn't here," the man explained. "And since he was too sick to recognize that I was not his son, I knew he needed me."
Mother Teresa used to remind us that nobody should have to die alone. Likewise, nobody should have to grieve alone, cry alone, laugh alone, or celebrate alone.
We are made to travel life's journey hand in hand. There is someone ready to grasp your hand today. And someone hoping you will take theirs.
Remember to hang on to one another!
-Author Unknown
My Recovery Process.
Recovery is a process. Anyone who says otherwise has no idea what they are talking about. It does not happen over night, magically, one little moment, and you are done. Recovery is a life-long battle. Some days you win, others, you don't. But, even if you lose a day, you remember that it's just a single battle lost, and not the entire war.
I was diagnosed with major depression in fall of 2003. I was almost 13. I kept that diagnosis until fall of 2009. They thought it would be a permanent one. It wasn't. I began purging in fall of 2001. I was almost 11. I became a cutter at 13. I started smoking cigarettes at 15. I first drank (and tried to drink to oblivion) at 15. At 15, I was having weekly panic attacks. At 15, I was going in and out of treatment. I attempted suicide 5 times in 6 months.
After my last hospitalization that year, I remember walking out not even knowing where to begin. Where do I go when all I know is destruction of my body? When every instinct inside me was telling me to lay down and die? There was just a small voice I had, one that I could barely hear at first, telling me: live. Don't die. Come on, get up. We have to keep fighting this. It won't be like this forever. I wanted to argue. Do you see my diagnosis? Recurrent. Permanent. No escape. No relief.
All I could hear was live. And die. And live. Like those little cartoon angels and devils you see on the shoulders. One was telling me to live, the other had a different idea. As my parents drove me home, I remembered how I had to turn around. I had to keep going down a different road. I couldn't keep living to die. I had to get up and go a different road. But I wondered, would Jesus really be with me, like He claimed? Did I dream that up?
I wanted to ask Him, how do you turn around when all you know is the wrong way to go?
I knew it would be a process. It would be one baby step at a time. It would be a step forward, and a few steps back, but I would have to start walking the other direction.
I was forced back into school by my parents. There was 3 weeks left of the school year. Most mornings, my Mom would have to threaten to call the cops to even get me out of bed. When I got to school, I was met with another battle. There was so much hatred towards me by the others. They would tell me how I had failed and couldn't even do one thing right. They would tell me that I was dead to them, that I didn't matter, that I was a stain on the mattress of life. I was worthless. They wanted me dead. I would get random text messages from others telling me to kill myself. But there was no way of tracing who it was. That small voice would come back: Live. Prove them wrong.
On my last day of my freshman year of high school, I was getting more threatening messages. You had better transfer. We don't want you here. I texted back:How dare you. I will never lay down and die for anyone again. It was the first time I had texted anyone back.
It was Jeff who made sure I came back. He told me how much he wanted me there and how much I meant to him. Music is one of my favorite things, and on the last day, he made me a CD. That night, my older sister was graduating from high school. I almost missed it because I had a panic attack in the car and my parents said well we're not babying you so if you decide to go, then go, but you are being so selfish right now. I wanted to scream, do you think I choose when to have these? That voice told me to get up. Go. Don't stay in the car. Go to her graduation. I did. And watching her get her diploma, I told my Mom that whatever it took, no matter how many times I would want to leave that hell hole, no matter how many times I would want to drop out, to lay down and die, I was going to get my diploma. No one told me that almost everyone thought I could do it.
That summer, I started intense therapy. I learned coping skills. I saw my therapist 3 nights a week. I had classes on Wednesday nights from 5-7 on learning how to live. My older sister moved to college, and I decided that I wanted to get an education. I wanted to give back, because I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for my therapist. Or for my care teams.
On my 16th birthday, I went to TreeHouse. I went for 3 years. I learned more about God. I learned about how loved and treasured I was. They poured life into me. They taught me how to do things other than die. I learned how to go canoeing, to play paint ball. I went on 3 mission trips, and I learned how to serve others. I learned just how much of a difference you can have on someone's life. I went rollerblading and to museum's and retreats. I learned that a vital part of recovery is doing things you love, but also learning to take a break from life when you need it. To get away for a weekend. To relax. It's okay.
In April of 2009, 2 months from graduating, I had my final hospitalization. I was sleep deprived. I was stressed from moving to California. It was Easter Sunday. Ask anyone with a mental disorder, and they will tell you, holiday's are one of the toughest times to get through. I overdosed. 3 days later, I was discharged because insurance refused to pay. This happens all the time. In the hospital, I learned that slip ups do happen. I had gone almost 3 years since my last one. This was progress. I learned from it. The doctor's wanted to keep me the there for a month. But if they had, I wouldn't have graduated. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. I needed that hospitalization, to take a 3 day break, to learn to always make sure I am doing what I can to take care of myself. It helped me to reset my goal. I left determined to keep fighting.
I graduated on June 9th, 2009. I moved to California 3 weeks later. In California, when I first got there, I was lonely and tired and didn't have any friends. I was in a long distance relationship with my now ex-fiance. He had asked me to marry him my last night in Minnesota. I started college a month later. But I pushed God aside.
When I let God back in about a year later, I had learned that no matter what you are doing, it means nothing if you don't have Him. I learned that He had to be number one in my life. My ex and I had just broken up. I was hurting. But I told God, don't let me lay down and die.
I am by no means perfect. I slip up. This week I had my first small anxiety attack in 3 years. I saw it coming, and walked out of Jeff's dorm and said I need to sit. He could see it coming, too. He said, okay, what do you need? I said, I want a cigarette, but that doesn't really help. Just let me sit here. I breathed in and out. Okay, Jesus, I know I can do all things through You because You give me strength. I know I am going to be okay on this math test. I know I miss my Grandma, but I know she's there with me. I know I am going to be okay. It went away. Sometimes, you just have to wait for it to pass. But I still do have small relapses. It's one step forward, a few back. It doesn't mean you have failed. It means you are fighting for your recovery.
I get up. Every day. I get dressed. I shower. I go to classes if I have them. I do my homework. I write out my feelings. I have a web cam on my computer, and I use it if I ever need a therapy session. I do fun things. If I had the time, I would be playing rugby. But I'm involved in other things now. I work at McDonald's and I go to school full time. I worked at Target for 3 years. I had a job. I live. Every day. I thank God every morning for giving me hope. For helping me when the diagnoses all were stacked against me. When all I wanted to do was lay down and end my life. He gave me the strength to live.
I was diagnosed with major depression in fall of 2003. I was almost 13. I kept that diagnosis until fall of 2009. They thought it would be a permanent one. It wasn't. I began purging in fall of 2001. I was almost 11. I became a cutter at 13. I started smoking cigarettes at 15. I first drank (and tried to drink to oblivion) at 15. At 15, I was having weekly panic attacks. At 15, I was going in and out of treatment. I attempted suicide 5 times in 6 months.
After my last hospitalization that year, I remember walking out not even knowing where to begin. Where do I go when all I know is destruction of my body? When every instinct inside me was telling me to lay down and die? There was just a small voice I had, one that I could barely hear at first, telling me: live. Don't die. Come on, get up. We have to keep fighting this. It won't be like this forever. I wanted to argue. Do you see my diagnosis? Recurrent. Permanent. No escape. No relief.
All I could hear was live. And die. And live. Like those little cartoon angels and devils you see on the shoulders. One was telling me to live, the other had a different idea. As my parents drove me home, I remembered how I had to turn around. I had to keep going down a different road. I couldn't keep living to die. I had to get up and go a different road. But I wondered, would Jesus really be with me, like He claimed? Did I dream that up?
I wanted to ask Him, how do you turn around when all you know is the wrong way to go?
I knew it would be a process. It would be one baby step at a time. It would be a step forward, and a few steps back, but I would have to start walking the other direction.
I was forced back into school by my parents. There was 3 weeks left of the school year. Most mornings, my Mom would have to threaten to call the cops to even get me out of bed. When I got to school, I was met with another battle. There was so much hatred towards me by the others. They would tell me how I had failed and couldn't even do one thing right. They would tell me that I was dead to them, that I didn't matter, that I was a stain on the mattress of life. I was worthless. They wanted me dead. I would get random text messages from others telling me to kill myself. But there was no way of tracing who it was. That small voice would come back: Live. Prove them wrong.
On my last day of my freshman year of high school, I was getting more threatening messages. You had better transfer. We don't want you here. I texted back:How dare you. I will never lay down and die for anyone again. It was the first time I had texted anyone back.
It was Jeff who made sure I came back. He told me how much he wanted me there and how much I meant to him. Music is one of my favorite things, and on the last day, he made me a CD. That night, my older sister was graduating from high school. I almost missed it because I had a panic attack in the car and my parents said well we're not babying you so if you decide to go, then go, but you are being so selfish right now. I wanted to scream, do you think I choose when to have these? That voice told me to get up. Go. Don't stay in the car. Go to her graduation. I did. And watching her get her diploma, I told my Mom that whatever it took, no matter how many times I would want to leave that hell hole, no matter how many times I would want to drop out, to lay down and die, I was going to get my diploma. No one told me that almost everyone thought I could do it.
That summer, I started intense therapy. I learned coping skills. I saw my therapist 3 nights a week. I had classes on Wednesday nights from 5-7 on learning how to live. My older sister moved to college, and I decided that I wanted to get an education. I wanted to give back, because I wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for my therapist. Or for my care teams.
On my 16th birthday, I went to TreeHouse. I went for 3 years. I learned more about God. I learned about how loved and treasured I was. They poured life into me. They taught me how to do things other than die. I learned how to go canoeing, to play paint ball. I went on 3 mission trips, and I learned how to serve others. I learned just how much of a difference you can have on someone's life. I went rollerblading and to museum's and retreats. I learned that a vital part of recovery is doing things you love, but also learning to take a break from life when you need it. To get away for a weekend. To relax. It's okay.
In April of 2009, 2 months from graduating, I had my final hospitalization. I was sleep deprived. I was stressed from moving to California. It was Easter Sunday. Ask anyone with a mental disorder, and they will tell you, holiday's are one of the toughest times to get through. I overdosed. 3 days later, I was discharged because insurance refused to pay. This happens all the time. In the hospital, I learned that slip ups do happen. I had gone almost 3 years since my last one. This was progress. I learned from it. The doctor's wanted to keep me the there for a month. But if they had, I wouldn't have graduated. I am a firm believer that everything happens for a reason. I needed that hospitalization, to take a 3 day break, to learn to always make sure I am doing what I can to take care of myself. It helped me to reset my goal. I left determined to keep fighting.
I graduated on June 9th, 2009. I moved to California 3 weeks later. In California, when I first got there, I was lonely and tired and didn't have any friends. I was in a long distance relationship with my now ex-fiance. He had asked me to marry him my last night in Minnesota. I started college a month later. But I pushed God aside.
When I let God back in about a year later, I had learned that no matter what you are doing, it means nothing if you don't have Him. I learned that He had to be number one in my life. My ex and I had just broken up. I was hurting. But I told God, don't let me lay down and die.
I am by no means perfect. I slip up. This week I had my first small anxiety attack in 3 years. I saw it coming, and walked out of Jeff's dorm and said I need to sit. He could see it coming, too. He said, okay, what do you need? I said, I want a cigarette, but that doesn't really help. Just let me sit here. I breathed in and out. Okay, Jesus, I know I can do all things through You because You give me strength. I know I am going to be okay on this math test. I know I miss my Grandma, but I know she's there with me. I know I am going to be okay. It went away. Sometimes, you just have to wait for it to pass. But I still do have small relapses. It's one step forward, a few back. It doesn't mean you have failed. It means you are fighting for your recovery.
I get up. Every day. I get dressed. I shower. I go to classes if I have them. I do my homework. I write out my feelings. I have a web cam on my computer, and I use it if I ever need a therapy session. I do fun things. If I had the time, I would be playing rugby. But I'm involved in other things now. I work at McDonald's and I go to school full time. I worked at Target for 3 years. I had a job. I live. Every day. I thank God every morning for giving me hope. For helping me when the diagnoses all were stacked against me. When all I wanted to do was lay down and end my life. He gave me the strength to live.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
If Demi Lovato is Fat, Then I'm a Buffalo.
So what was everyone upset over? Her body.
Before entering a treatment center in October of 2010, Demi was a completely different person. The stress of constantly being in the public eye had really taken a toll on her, forcing her to develop an eating disorder in the process. She had a very, VERY slim frame and almost looked a little unhealthy. After entering the rehabilitation clinic, Lovato was able to recover from her disorder and also recovered from a lot of mental problems. That being said, she obviously gained a little weight.
The weight-gain and her new curvier figure caused the star so much Twitter hate, that she eventually had to tweet out the following:
- @ddlovato: I’ve gained weight. Get over it. That’s what happens when you get out of treatment for an EATING DISORDER.
- @ddlovato: Guess what, I’m healthy and happy, and if you’re hating on my weight, you obviously aren’t. #UNBROKEN
…Or am I? Even though Hollywood has been trying to embrace more full-figured women in the past few years by promoting healthy lifestyles and promoting plus-size stars, I can’t help but feel like people are still constantly pressured to be a size 2. After some of the most beautiful bigger women in the industry shed all their weight (Jennifer Hudson, Raven Symone, Jordin Sparks, etc…), it makes me wonder if that really is the key to success. It’s no secret that Demi has an amazing voice, but will her new body boost or shrink her fan base?
Aside from the Hollywood aspect of it, what does it mean for female body image as a whole? If some people look at Demi’s body and think “fat,” what hope is there for girls who are her size or larger? Should we be embracing healthy bodies instead of just skinny ones? I think as a society, we should embrace and encourage more women to go for the healthy look and not the impossibly tiny look. Maybe if there were more women who looked like Demi proudly flaunting their stuff, we could save a lot of young women from the stress of negative body image.
-Taken from collegecandy.com
Thursday, September 1, 2011
My Conversation with ED.
I know I'm fat.
But I'm still beautiful.
I really wanted to scream that tonight.
It's like, 98% humidity today. I went on my evening walk with Jeff today and from the humidity, I took my shirt off. I had a bright green sports bra on. (I'm not talking about how you should be modest, because I do believe that, but sometimes there is a moment when you just gotta take your shirt off and cool off) When I did that, everyone that drove by would stare. And it wasn't just staring. It was that, oh my gosh, what is that fat girl doing with her shirt off? One truck with a group of guys yelled something like yeah at me and just were rude. I wanted to scream, you know what, I'm not doing this because I think I'm hot. I KNOW I'm not. I'm doing it because it's freaking hot outside and I don't want to be wearing a shirt. And I am still beautiful no matter what size I wear.
I wanted to say that.
But I would feel like a hypocrite because I'm still trying to lose weight. I want to lose my belly weight. My friends and I call my belly Pablo. He started off as just being a food baby, but since I've started college, he's become always there. I don't mean losing weight with the help of Mr. Ed. Because I don't. I am committed to excersizing and being healthy and doing this the right way.
I should mention, it's not like I can't handle heat. I can. It was so hot that when I returned to my dorm, the mirror hanging up and the clock fell because the stickies came off from the moisture in the room. When I was walking by the river, it was fogging from all the moisture. When I say it was hot, it was hot.
That's not my point though.
We should be able to wear a sports bra or a bikini and not have a perfect body. As my friend Shelly says, if you want perfection, buy yourself a barbie doll. I am a human being. I should not have to binge and purge or be a laxative junkie or hardly eat to be able to enjoy a walk with my best friend in a sports bra and not have people judge me because of Pablo. I should be allowed to feel beautiful no matter what the size of my jeans is. I should be able to enjoy a swim without having to listen to the voice of my eating disorder saying, oh, you're bigger than everyone else (even if I'm not, it's one of his favorite tricks) so now you can't enjoy this activity. Wow, Trish, all those people are staring at you.
It's like me and ED have this type of conversation.
ED: You ate way too much today.
Me: Well, I walked at least 5 miles and I start rugby on Tuesday and I will be going to the gym tomorrow after classes end. It's not the end of the world.
ED: Why did you take your shirt off?
Me: Because I'm freaking hot and I want to keep walking.
ED: Look at all those people staring at you. They know you're fat. They can see it.
Me: So what if I'm not a size 0. I should be able to enjoy this walk I'm on. And since when does society define what I'm worth?
ED: Because you want to be loved, right? Because you want people to like you.
Me: True. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone wants to be liked and accepted. But I'm not going to damage myself. I'm going to do this the healthy way, remember? Now get out of here, because I don't have to let you define me anymore. I have to do this the right way and be healthy and know that God made me beautiful no matter what my size. Not everyone thinks I'm gross. And I'm beautiful and lovable no matter what you say. You just want to hurt me and give me nothing but bad things. I can't listen to you anymore.
I would like to point out that I am not engaging in ED behaviors at this time. That being said, there has been occasions where I do slip up. That's the reality of having dated Mr. Ed. Once you have engaged in the Eating Disorder, it will always be there in the background, trying to seduce you, trying to date you again. You may move on with your life and understand that you can't date him anymore, but he will always be a part of you, waiting for his moment to try and get you back.
The only real ED treatment I had was during my stay at fairview hospital for depression in 2006. Because of insurance and in 2006 having a diagnosis of ED-NOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, basically a mix between anorexia and bulimia) I have not really had an effective treatment plan for it. It is mostly me challenging the thoughts ED gives me, like the conversation above, and remembering that God made me beautiful. I would recommend reading Jenni Shaefer's Life Without Ed. It's all about challenging the voice of Ed and actively entering a state of recovery. You have to fight the thoughts that tell you that it's okay to eat only a bowl of soup for the day. Or, wow, everyone is staring at you, so now go throw up and then run 5 miles.
Don't live your life on the hamster wheel that is the eating disorder. He's like a really bad boyfriend that is abusive, talks bad to you all the time, demeans you, plays tricks on you, and hits you and tries to make you fall, but you can't ever leave him because he needs you, and has you convinced that you need him.
Challenge him and leave. Claim freedom for your life. Don't let ED stop you from living a quality life. And remember, no matter what ED does tell you, you are beautiful no matter what. God made you and created you with such love and care, and you are so beautiful. There's light, even in the darkest places.
But I'm still beautiful.
I really wanted to scream that tonight.
It's like, 98% humidity today. I went on my evening walk with Jeff today and from the humidity, I took my shirt off. I had a bright green sports bra on. (I'm not talking about how you should be modest, because I do believe that, but sometimes there is a moment when you just gotta take your shirt off and cool off) When I did that, everyone that drove by would stare. And it wasn't just staring. It was that, oh my gosh, what is that fat girl doing with her shirt off? One truck with a group of guys yelled something like yeah at me and just were rude. I wanted to scream, you know what, I'm not doing this because I think I'm hot. I KNOW I'm not. I'm doing it because it's freaking hot outside and I don't want to be wearing a shirt. And I am still beautiful no matter what size I wear.
I wanted to say that.
But I would feel like a hypocrite because I'm still trying to lose weight. I want to lose my belly weight. My friends and I call my belly Pablo. He started off as just being a food baby, but since I've started college, he's become always there. I don't mean losing weight with the help of Mr. Ed. Because I don't. I am committed to excersizing and being healthy and doing this the right way.
I should mention, it's not like I can't handle heat. I can. It was so hot that when I returned to my dorm, the mirror hanging up and the clock fell because the stickies came off from the moisture in the room. When I was walking by the river, it was fogging from all the moisture. When I say it was hot, it was hot.
That's not my point though.
We should be able to wear a sports bra or a bikini and not have a perfect body. As my friend Shelly says, if you want perfection, buy yourself a barbie doll. I am a human being. I should not have to binge and purge or be a laxative junkie or hardly eat to be able to enjoy a walk with my best friend in a sports bra and not have people judge me because of Pablo. I should be allowed to feel beautiful no matter what the size of my jeans is. I should be able to enjoy a swim without having to listen to the voice of my eating disorder saying, oh, you're bigger than everyone else (even if I'm not, it's one of his favorite tricks) so now you can't enjoy this activity. Wow, Trish, all those people are staring at you.
It's like me and ED have this type of conversation.
ED: You ate way too much today.
Me: Well, I walked at least 5 miles and I start rugby on Tuesday and I will be going to the gym tomorrow after classes end. It's not the end of the world.
ED: Why did you take your shirt off?
Me: Because I'm freaking hot and I want to keep walking.
ED: Look at all those people staring at you. They know you're fat. They can see it.
Me: So what if I'm not a size 0. I should be able to enjoy this walk I'm on. And since when does society define what I'm worth?
ED: Because you want to be loved, right? Because you want people to like you.
Me: True. Everyone deserves to be loved. Everyone wants to be liked and accepted. But I'm not going to damage myself. I'm going to do this the healthy way, remember? Now get out of here, because I don't have to let you define me anymore. I have to do this the right way and be healthy and know that God made me beautiful no matter what my size. Not everyone thinks I'm gross. And I'm beautiful and lovable no matter what you say. You just want to hurt me and give me nothing but bad things. I can't listen to you anymore.
I would like to point out that I am not engaging in ED behaviors at this time. That being said, there has been occasions where I do slip up. That's the reality of having dated Mr. Ed. Once you have engaged in the Eating Disorder, it will always be there in the background, trying to seduce you, trying to date you again. You may move on with your life and understand that you can't date him anymore, but he will always be a part of you, waiting for his moment to try and get you back.
The only real ED treatment I had was during my stay at fairview hospital for depression in 2006. Because of insurance and in 2006 having a diagnosis of ED-NOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, basically a mix between anorexia and bulimia) I have not really had an effective treatment plan for it. It is mostly me challenging the thoughts ED gives me, like the conversation above, and remembering that God made me beautiful. I would recommend reading Jenni Shaefer's Life Without Ed. It's all about challenging the voice of Ed and actively entering a state of recovery. You have to fight the thoughts that tell you that it's okay to eat only a bowl of soup for the day. Or, wow, everyone is staring at you, so now go throw up and then run 5 miles.
Don't live your life on the hamster wheel that is the eating disorder. He's like a really bad boyfriend that is abusive, talks bad to you all the time, demeans you, plays tricks on you, and hits you and tries to make you fall, but you can't ever leave him because he needs you, and has you convinced that you need him.
Challenge him and leave. Claim freedom for your life. Don't let ED stop you from living a quality life. And remember, no matter what ED does tell you, you are beautiful no matter what. God made you and created you with such love and care, and you are so beautiful. There's light, even in the darkest places.
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