stumbling

I’m worrying again.  Afraid again.  Venting again.

I’m planning to fall.  I’m planning to not eat when I go back to school.  I’ll keep it up here, while I’m at home, while I don’t have a choice.

They said when I go back there has to be a limit.  If I go under that limit and lose too much weight, I go home.  THAT terrifies me.  Because I have to lose all this.  I have to lose everything I’ve gained this summer.  My nutritionist actually told me she’d support me being a lower weight.  She said that.  So that means I’m way too much right now.  I have to lose it.  I have to get back down to where I was comfortable.

I hate myself.  I hate my body.  I hate that I didn’t lose any weight while I was on vacation.  I hate that I ate so much food.

I’m turning around again.  Going down.  My meal plan has a certain amount of protein, carbs, and fats that I need to get in each day.  I know how to do this.  I can eat the foods that meet my requirements for proteins and carbs, but is under 600 calories.  I’ll skip the fats.  I know that eating only that much will make me lose weight.  I’ve done it before.  It doesn’t have to be a ton, and it doesn’t have to be all at once.  Just a little at a time.  And I can go as low as I want.

So.  No dinner tonight.  I’m gonna have to start lying again.  And working out way more.  If I’m not going to listen to what they tell me about how much to eat, then it’s no use listening to what they say about how much I should exercise.

I want to be sick again.

I have a friend who sent me this youtube video about a girl struggling with anorexia.  It’s all pictures, with “Skinny Love” playing in the background, and every picture has a number with it.  My friend sent it with all good intentions, I’m sure, but it was hugely triggering.  I didn’t watch it until today.  And then I watched more.  People, if you want me to get better, don’t send me thinspo!!!

I want to look like that.  I want to be like that.  I want to go that far.  I want to go that low.  If she can do it, I can.  I don’t want to listen to anyone anymore.  I want to be anorexic again.

Psalm 107 is one of my favorite psalms to read when I’m feeling down.  It tells stories of people in all these different situations reaching the end of the their ropes, and God saving them.  I like stories like that.  They give me hope.  And in this psalm, there’s something I can relate to in every one of the stories.

It begins happy, talking about the redeemed.  And then it tells a story.

Some wandered in the desolate wilderness,
finding no way to a city where they could live.
 They were hungry and thirsty;
their spirits failed within them.
 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble;
He rescued them from their distress.
 He led them by the right path
to go to a city where they could live.
 Let them give thanks to the Lord
for His faithful love
and His wonderful works for all humanity.
 For He has satisfied the thirsty
and filled the hungry with good things.

Note:  All these pictures are from google, not me.

I know what it is to be alone.  I know what it is to be lost.  I know what it feels like to be dying of hunger and thirst.  I know what the wilderness is.  But the thing is, God brings a way out.  I thirsted for love, and he drenched me in it.

Others sat in darkness and gloom—
prisoners in cruel chains—
 because they rebelled against God’s commands
and despised the counsel of the Most High.
 He broke their spirits with hard labor;
they stumbled, and there was no one to help.
 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble;
He saved them from their distress.
 He brought them out of darkness and gloom
and broke their chains apart.
 Let them give thanks to the Lord
for His faithful love
and His wonderful works for all humanity.
 For He has broken down the bronze gates
and cut through the iron bars.

I know what it’s like to be in bondage to something, too.  To yearn for freedom, but it’s always just out of reach.  To feel like with every step forward you take, someone yanks your chains back and you fall to the ground.  I know what it is to be controlled by something you hate, something you can never hope to get away from.  I know.  BUT there’s hope.  Because there IS freedom in Christ.  Sometimes, on the best days, I can taste it.

Fools suffered affliction
because of their rebellious ways and their sins.
 They loathed all food
and came near the gates of death.
 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble;
He saved them from their distress.
 He sent His word and healed them;
He rescued them from the Pit.
 Let them give thanks to the Lord
for His faithful love
and His wonderful works for all humanity.
 Let them offer sacrifices of thanksgiving
and announce His works with shouts of joy.

They loathed all food and came near the gates of death… this one is obviously the closest to my story.  I just have to get myself to believe that God CAN heal me and bring me out of this pit.  He really can.  I hope he does.

Others went to sea in ships,
conducting trade on the vast waters.
 They saw the Lord’s works,
His wonderful works in the deep.
 He spoke and raised a tempest
that stirred up the waves of the sea.
 Rising up to the sky, sinking down to the depths,
their courage melting away in anguish,
 they reeled and staggered like drunken men,
and all their skill was useless.
 Then they cried out to the Lord in their trouble,
and He brought them out of their distress.
 He stilled the storm to a murmur,
and the waves of the sea were hushed.
 They rejoiced when the waves grew quiet.
Then He guided them to the harbor they longed for.

This is what I feel like.  I’m in a storm, and I’m sinking.  The waves are so high around me, and I can hardly catch my breath.  I feel like I’m drowning.  But I hope God calms the waves soon.  I hope he brings me to safety soon.

Then the psalm goes on and talks about God turning wastelands into streams of water, and deserts into gardens.  It’s soothing.  They cried out to God, and he answered them.  I cry out to God, and he will answer me.  I have to believe it.

Just as a side note, psalm 88 is the one I go to when I need to cry out to God.  It’s good for that.

Rescue is possible.  Healing can come.  Please, Lord Jesus, bring me through this to the other side.  I want to be free.

Night again.

It is night again.  And again, I’m agonizing over the amount of food I ate today.  I didn’t go over my meal plan.  Technically, I was fine.  But still, my mind is sick.  It’s nights like tonight that I remember that.

Maybe it’s because I’ve been doing so well.  I mean, today was good.  Today was wonderful.  But now it is night, and today is over.  Part of it is just that I’ve gone for a while without weighing myself, and the fear is starting to sink in again.  I’m gaining weight, I’m not doing enough, I’m eating too much.

It’s just another reminder I’m still sick.  I know in my head that the amount of food I ate today was perfectly fine and good and healthy, and it shouldn’t make me gain weight.  But it’s so hard to accept that.  So hard.

I’m getting discouraged again.  Today, dinner was so hard.  I swear my stomach is shrinking.  I just can’t handle full meals anymore.  Maybe I’ll figure out how to move some of the protein and carbs I have at dinner over to one of my snacks.  That might be easier to handle.  Today I was so sure I was going to puke, just because I was so full.  I almost did.  Several times.  But I managed to keep it in.

So, several times tonight I had victories.  I could think of it that way.  For every time I wanted to throw up, but didn’t, that was a victory.  I should be happy about that.  But, no, all I can think of is that I ate a full dinner.  And the snack afterwards.  I feel so full.  I almost want to puke right now just so I can feel a little better.

Distractions aren’t helping.  I’m just getting more tense.  You know, there are actually people out there who enjoy eating?  But I don’t.  I’m crazy.  Abnormal.  I don’t fit in.

Today was so good.  I got to talk to a friend, and it was so good.  But now it’s night, and I feel alone.  I miss her, I miss my friends from school.  But I know that none of them could help me with this.  None of them could help me accept myself, even when I have to eat food.  No one can make me be okay with myself at the end of the day.  It just doesn’t work.

It is night.  It is dark.  I’m tired.  I feel guilty.  I hate myself.  I ate too much.  I ate too much.  I’m getting fat.  I hate myself.  God, help me.  Help me.  I don’t want to kill myself, I’m not that desperate.  But to live in misery is worse than to die in pain.  It’s so much harder.  I don’t want to kill myself.  I just feel like part of me is going to die anyway.  I will fall away from myself, and live out my days in apathy and bitterness, caring for nothing and no one.  That’s what I’m afraid of.  And I still wish that God would take me.  Because death is better than this.

I’m still hurting.  Can anyone understand that?  Even if I’m not about to kill myself, I’m still hurting.  This struggle is still real.  I’m still crying dry tears.  It is night, and I am hurting.  God help me.  Please help me.  Give me a little peace tonight.

the valley of the shadow of death (WARNING: THIS COULD BE TRIGGERING FOR CUTTERS)

I’m still okay.  But I’m in a solemn mood tonight.  I feel like it’s finally time.  I should share what happened to me the week of July 8th.

I’d just started treatment the week before.  It was good in that I finally had support.  I could finally talk to people who understood what I was going through.  But I remember that first day, when they gave me my meal plan, I was so overwhelmed.  It was too much food.  I couldn’t eat it all.  I felt so fat.  I hated myself.

They made me eat again.  It was torture.  I went into anorexia withdrawal, and my depression skyrocketed.  I’d been cutting pretty often, but I started going deep.

Two weeks before, I’d gone too deep.  I opened an artery and bled for hours.  The warm rush flowing down my hand felt so good.  It never hurt.  Not when I went deep enough.

I’d wanted to kill myself.  That night I lost over a quart of blood.  I passed out, but I hit my head on the way down, and that woke me up.  I had a small bruise over my eye for a week.  I remember trying, trying to gather the strength to clean the mess off the carpet.  I remember falling again and again, unable to get up.  I remember the intense battle in my head as I tried to decide whether I should live or die.

There was one thing that kept me alive that night, and one thing alone.  A friend had made me promise I’d talk to her again that Sunday.  She made me promise I wouldn’t die.  That one promise kept me from just letting it go.

The one thought that kept going through my head was “Not yet.  Not yet.  Not yet.”  I had a plan.  I was going to die a week from that night.  After I fulfilled my promise.  But that night, there was something in me that kept me from letting go.

But it was hard.  I’d lost so much blood so quickly, I was incredibly weak.  I couldn’t hold the cloth over my wrist.  I couldn’t sit up.  I lay on the floor with blood spatters around me, and I thought about calling for help.  But I lacked the strength, and my pride told me I had to do this alone.

It took me hours to clean up the mess.  It was a long night.  My cuts broke open again several times.  But finally I stumbled back to bed and slept, my wrist bandaged tightly.

Two weeks later, I was at it again.  I couldn’t get it to stop.  I was in the shower, and I couldn’t get it to stop.  So went another night of cleaning blood stains off the carpet.  I survived.

I almost died so many times this summer.  And so few people know.  There’s another part to the story, a part that involves hospitalization and the longest day of my life.  But I think this is enough for tonight.

I needed to write it down.  I needed to get it out.  I’m sorry.  It’s a dark secret that still looms in the back of my mind.  Sometimes I wonder what people would think if they knew what I’ve done.  I mean, attempted suicide is the most shameful thing out there.  Especially when you fail.  Because then you’ve got the judgement and the guilt of trying to kill yourself, but there’s the sense of failure at the same time.

This is my dark side.  This is my story.  This is what I’m fighting.  The fight for life is more intense even than my eating disorder battles.  Things have been good lately… but memories are still sharp.  This is what I’ve done.  This is my past.  And it still weighs on me.

I’m okay.

Wash, wash, steady waves, washing away the sand.  Making it clean, washing, washing, rolling it over, over, again and again. 

I’m at the ocean.  And I’m okay.

I’m not having too hard of a time eating.  I’m not binging OR purging.  The ocean is a beautiful wonder, not an invitation for suicide.  I’m okay.  I really am.

I was so afraid.  I thought that coming back here would be so bad.  I thought that it would all come back.  But I’m okay.  Granted, I haven’t been here long.  Crashing could still happen.  But… I’m not going to worry about it.  It’s true that I still could fail.  But worrying about it will not change the future.  There’s still a chance I could go all the way without falling.  I mean, I really could do it.  Just like I really can get all the way better.

I’ve heard a lot of people say that this eating disorder stuff will be something I’ll deal with my entire life.  I may be able to get to the point where it doesn’t control me anymore, but it will always be there.  I don’t believe that has to be true.  I can get through this, all the way through.  I can be happy again, not just every once in a while.  I can accept myself and stop worrying about how I look.  I can.  I really can.

People are too pessimistic.  But hey, guess what, I’m a pessimist.  As good old Puddleglum said, I expect the worst and try to put a good face on it.  The thing is, I know that recovery is possible.  I’m a realist.  It’s true.  I know that not all stories have happy endings.  But many do.  And many have happy beginnings, or middles, and there are some that are happy now, and haven’t yet come to an end.

I’m fighting this.  Someday I want to help girls who are struggling with life.  To do that, I have to first get healthy.  Those 365 days it takes for the mind to heal?  I’m on day 7 since the last time I purged.  Day 21 since the last time I cut.

Yeah, I’m afraid this won’t last.  But it’s lasted this long, already.  It can last longer still.

I know I’m not alone.  I’ve been praying again lately, and reading my Bible.  God is here.  Ever since I gave my life to Him, He’s been there.  After all the times I’ve run, all the times I’ve rejected Him, all the times I’ve yelled in His face, He’s still been here.  He won’t let me go.

I’m okay.  I’m gonna make it through.  I really am.

Determination.

Tomorrow we leave.

I’m still scared.

What if all the thoughts come back?  What if it’s just like before?

But it won’t be.  I won’t let it.  I’ve packed my food for the trip, and I’ll stick close to my meal plan when we’re there.  It’ll be okay.  I’ll read books and go for long walks and collect pretty shells.  It will be good.  It will be beautiful.

I fell today.  And I’m only barely standing now.  But I HAVE to keep going.  I can’t give in.  I refuse to give in.

I have to remember I’m not alone.  I’m still a princess, blood daughter of the King of kings.  As much as I don’t understand it, He calls me His own.  It’s like He’s standing behind me with His arms pulled across my chest, guarding me from danger.  As many times as I fall, He’s still here picking me up again.

I’m gonna be okay.  Because I’m safe in His arms.  And He won’t let this dragon defeat me.  I will overcome.  With my Daddy the King, I will have victory.

rain.

Rain.  Soft rain is falling, oh so gently.  I can hear it on the leaves, whispering, singing, tapping a quiet song.  The scent of it is in the air, fresh, sharp, cool.  Silver shimmers are falling, sliding down the leaf-tips, catching tiny sparkles of light as they go.

Someone once told me, when the days are the hardest, to pray for rain.  There’s something about it that helps.

This evening I was swinging, swinging outside in the darkness because I couldn’t bear being around people.  I couldn’t bear to have people seeing me.  So in the darkness I was swinging, back and forth, up and down, until my legs hurt.  I don’t know how long I was out there.  But as I was swinging, the wind was blowing, gently, softly.  And a cool spray of mist was falling past the maple canopy above.  It washed my face and calmed my heart.

Soft rain is falling.  Calming my heart.  I can hear it tapping, oh so softly, tip, tip, tap, slow, on the leaves.  Soft wind is blowing, gently soothing the ache inside me.  Gentle sprays like ocean waves are washing the air clean.  Gentle rain, so softly falling, steady, reassuring, calming my soul.

The trees are whispering with me in the wind.  “Hush,” they say, “hush.  Everything’s going to be okay.  Let the tears fall.  Let your heart open again.  Hush, hush, child, hush.”

The darkness hides them.  But I can see their shadows, slowly bowing, nodding kindly as the rain washes over their branches.

Soft rain is falling, oh so gently.  Soothing, calming, washing, reassuring.  It’s gonna be okay.  I’m gonna be okay.  This pain will pass.  This darkness will pass.  Day will come, and joy, and peace.  The rain is falling.  The tears are spilling.  “Hush,” whisper the trees, “hush.”

Gentle rain is falling, tumbling, washing.  Little crystal beads are melting, spreading.  Everything’s going to be alright.  Gentle rain is falling.  Let the rain fall.

slipping

Wind I am crying.  Yesterday was so good.  But today I hate myself.  I hate myself for eating.  I think I went over my meal plan.  That terrifies me.

I’m obsessing over my weight again.  Also, I just ate dinner, and I’m so full, but I’m NOT going to puke.  I’m not letting myself.

I’m so messed up!  At least before I actually looked sick.  Now… I hate the way I look.

Yeah, I know what I said yesterday.  Yesterday was a good day.  But today is not.  Today is not.

Somebody help me.  Somebody love me.  I’m slipping again, and I really want to let go.  I’m not going to be able to hold on much longer.

I know when I go back to school I’m not going to eat.  I know it.  That’s what I’m planning.  And I’ve only got one month left.

I just don’t want anyone to see me.  How can anybody love me now?  I hate myself.  I hate my body.

Wind, wind, softly blowing… take my tears away.  I feel alone, I feel unwanted, I feel like I want to die.  Wind, blow, take me away.  Take me away, far away.  I can’t face this anymore.  Take me, take me, God my Father.  Take me and give me peace.

Somebody hear me.  Somebody care.  No, I’m not dying, but I’m struggling.  I’m not suicidal, but I wish I were dead.  Somebody… wind… blow… take me… please…

the thinnest of them all

“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the thinnest of them all?”

Is that really all that matters to me?

I’ve been thinking a lot about the whole thing lately.  The whole eating disorder mindset and lifestyle and everything.  For so long, it’s been ruling me.  Even before I started losing weight, I hated myself.  I was sure I was fat, regardless of what others told me.  This dragon has ruled me for most of my life.  And I have bowed to it.  My appearance has become my god.

I don’t want to spend my life in front of a mirror, agonizing over the fact that there’s someone else who’s thinner than I am.  There may even be someone else who’s thinner than I am, and is still healthy.  I tend to assume that anyone who’s thin has to be sick like me, because there’s no other way to do it.

But the truth is, being the thinnest of them all is a pretty poor life goal.  Even being the most beautiful of them all is a wimpy goal.  I don’t want my appearance to be all that matters in me.  It’s true that I want to be okay with myself, and there are still so many days where I hate to even catch a glance of my reflection.  But hopefully, that will fade with time.

I want to be confident.  I want to be kind and friendly.  I want to help people.  That has been one of the main things that’s kept me fighting.  I want to help people, and I know that I can’t do that very well if I’m sick.  I don’t want food to always be my enemy, to always be a punishment for being bad.  I don’t want eating to be torture anymore.  I want to be free.

I truly do.  This demon has ruled my life long enough.  I want the chains gone, I want to be happy again, I want to begin living again.

Yes, I still want people to call me tiny and thin and skinny.  I still want my bones to stick out.  But I also want to NOT want that anymore.  I’m tired of this.  It’s a standard I can never live up to.  I’ll never be thin enough, never light enough, never… enough.  This master is cruel.

Despite all that he’s told me, I do know that happiness is possible, that fulfillment is possible, even if I’m not the thinnest of them all.  There are people I love and admire who are not stick thin.  There are people who are overweight and still beautiful.  Being thin isn’t everything.  I can have a life without being tiny.  People don’t need me to be little to accept me.  I have friends who I know will love me no matter what I look like.

I may still feel like a monster inside.  I may still hate the way I look.  But I refuse to let that demon rule my life anymore.  I refuse to bow down to anorexia or bulimia.  I have a God who’s better.  And He loves me just the way I am.

memories

I need someone to tell me I’m beautiful.  I need someone to tell me I’m not fat.  I need someone to tell me I’m okay, that it’s good that I ate all that today, that it wasn’t too much.  I need someone to tell me I’m not the ugly monster I see myself as.

Because I can never believe it if I try and say it to myself.

 

A couple weeks from now, my family’s planning on going on vacation.  We’ll go to the ocean, to the same beach we went to last year.  It’s beautiful there, and it’ll be so nice… but there’s fear in my heart.

My only memories of that week on the beach last year are memories of anorexia.  I remember agonizing over the amount of calories I was eating.  I remember calculating every little thing I ate, and trying to get away with skipping as much as possible.  I remember sitting for an hour at the table with only a glass of milk before me.  I remember my mom trying to give me hug, telling me she loved me, when I finally finished it.  And I remember shrugging her arm off my shoulder and backing away.

I remember getting up before everyone else so I could walk and get in some exercise.  I remember panicking as I realized I might be consuming more calories than I was burning.  I remember looking out over the waves every single day and thinking of just swimming out until I could swim no farther, and just letting myself sink.

I remember being cold all the time.  I remember the jeans that would hardly stay up.  Even my swimsuit was loose.  I remember the bones, the shoulders and hips and ribs that stuck out.  I was exhausted all the time, always fighting in my head, always lost inside.

I remember playing games with my siblings, but I remember snacking while I played.  And hating myself with every bite I took.

I remember pain.  Guilt.  Desperation.  Lonliness.  And lots of self-hate.

Today I am afraid.  I don’t want to go back to that place.  Because I’m afraid it’ll be the same.  Or worse.  Those jeans that were practically falling off last year?  They fit now.  They’re actually pretty snug.  And I hate it.  I feel like hiding.  I feel so incredibly fat.  I can’t accept that I’m not.  I know that I am.  I’ve gained too much weight.  I hate myself.  I don’t want anyone to see me, not ever.  At least not until I’ve fixed myself.  I don’t want everyone to see how much weight I’ve gained.  I don’t want everyone to see what a big fat ugly monster I am.

Maybe that’s harsh.  But I know it’s true.  That’s what I am.  And I hate it.

I really wish I had my blades right now.  I need to punish myself for getting so fat.  I need to make me hurt.  I don’t care what people say… they’re not saying anything, anyway.  I want to die.  I sooooo want to die.  This isn’t worth it anymore.