just a dream…

It was just a dream.  It wasn’t real.  You don’t need to worry about it.  It’s never going to happen.

But then why can’t I stop shaking?  Why can’t I breathe regularly?  Why can’t I feel it when I’m tearing open my own skin?

I can’t get it out of my head.  Running, chasing, being chased.  Putting my family in danger.  Hiding, trying to get away, always being found.  By friends, by people I know, by people I used to see every day… and they would be mocking me, staring at me, trying to make me leave.  I didn’t belong.  I didn’t belong anywhere.  Even the kids didn’t like me.

I was climbing, climbing trees, and even that didn’t help.  They found me there.  I was running, running through the woods… I love the woods… but even the woods wasn’t safe.  They followed me there.  They saw me.  They called each other, so that they could run me down, chase me away, make me leave.

Hiding places, safe places, places I come to a lot in my dreams… they were destroyed, compromised, taken over.  They were not mine anymore.  Some were destroyed, or worse… made into centers of abuse and torture and dehumanization.

My family was not my family anymore.  They had been changed, turned against me… I was alone.

I would hide, everywhere, anywhere, but it was never enough.  I would scrape my body, cut into my skin… I would bleed, but I could not feel it.  I was constantly trying to force everything down, to force the fear, the emotions down, to think logically, to figure out how to ward everyone off.  I was abusing my body, getting more and more desperate, because nothing was working.  Nothing was helping.  Nothing was calming me down.  I couldn’t feel any of it.  It wasn’t enough.  I had to keep going, cutting deeper.  I had to find more and more things, tools, I could abuse myself with.  But there wasn’t enough, there was never enough.

And then I was high, looking down, and if I jumped, I would die.  It was high enough, I could get away, I could be free, I could be free.  But then they were there again, chasing me, mocking me, telling me how I failed.  I could hear them talking to each other, telling stories about how terrible I was.  I could hear them talking to my closest friends.  I could see their faces changing, from love and trust to disgust and horror.  They were turned against me.

I didn’t know how to defend myself.  What if the words they were saying were true?  How could I deny it?  How could I deny my own corrupted heart?  Yes, I was selfish.  Maybe I really didn’t care about other people… maybe I just wanted attention, I just cared about what people thought of me, what people could give me… maybe it was true.

I wanted to die.  I wanted to reach the poison, to climb the tree, or the top of that building… I longed for a knife, a sword, a gun… anything that would end it all… but I could never get to it.  Always, they came and chased me away, mocking me, laughing at me, never letting me go, never letting me be free.

 

And now I am awake again.  It was only a dream.  Just another dream.  I can forget it, and it will be gone. 

But then why… why am I still searching for that escape?  Why am I still torturing my body, hoping to sometime feel pain, feel something, so I can calm down?  Why am I still longing for a knife, a sword, a gun?

I’m curling up, in the corner of my bed, in the corner of my room, trying to make it stop, trying to shut out the mocking voices.  But no matter how tightly I squeeze my body, no matter how hard I press and pound on my head, it never goes away.  It never stops. 

I just have to wait for it to quiet enough that I can get up and pretend it’s not there, pretend I’m fine, pretend I’m happy and calm and safe and strong…

One Night

My fingers brushed the baby leaves still so soft against my skin.  The wind pulled around me, and I leaned back against the rough tree bark and looked up at the sky.  It was beautiful.  The sunlight glancing through the new leaves, the breeze tugging them gently, the smell of spring and flowers and life… it was all so perfect.  Even the birds were singing, joining the chorus of the whispering leaves.

“Look at that sunlight, Rach.  That’s for you.”  My friend called up to me, and I glanced down at her.  Her voice held a sense of awe and appreciation.  I looked back at the sun shining through the leaves, and I smiled.  It was for me.  Of course it was.  He always did that; he kept showering me with love, no matter how I was doing, or what was going through my head.  He knows the things that warm my heart and make me smile, and sometimes he just pours them out on me without holding back.

“Thanks, Daddy,” I whispered, smiling gently toward the sky.  The wind tugged around me, and I nodded.  I guess it’s part of the child within me, but I sometimes look at things differently than most people.  Sunshine is like a hug from God.  Wind is him playing with me, especially playing with my hair.  Everything is from him, and this wonderful day showed that beautifully.

Stress and tension and depression and cutting and anorexia and suicide had all been racing through me all day.  It was finally sinking in that I was leaving, and I was panicking.  I was questioning decisions I had been so sure about making, and doubting myself and my worth, and of course wondering if it would matter to anyone if I really left, not just college and that whole stage of life… but leaving life itself.  I was exhausted beyond what seemed humanly possible.  Sickness had drained my body of physical energy, and depression had drained the rest of my being from whatever else was left.  I was shaking so much that I had to be very intentional about holding on and not losing my balance.

They had told me that afternoon.  It’s official.  I’m going into treatment.  Residential, a home for women who struggle with various things… women like me.  I’ll be there within a month.  I was terrified… am terrified.  I had never doubted that this was what I needed to do… not until that afternoon.  Was it really?  What if there was a better way?  What if it doesn’t work?  What if it makes it worse?  How can I leave my family and friends like this?  Am I just running away from the responsibilities of real life?

My emotions were heightened to the point where I was hurting myself.  I wasn’t careful.  Scratches and scrapes had been happening all day.  I kept purposely rubbing and opening my cuts, so that they would hurt more… anything to calm myself down.  I wasn’t talking, kept getting lost in my head.  I couldn’t think properly, couldn’t make decisions.  We were going to have a bonfire, but it started raining.  I tried climbing one tree, but I didn’t get very far.  I did scrape up my arms a lot, and that fresh pain gave me a burst of hyper energy.

Then… the rain stopped.  The sun came out and lit the raindrops like glowing jewels all over the grass.  One of my friends got the fire going, and it was real and alive and warm.  I let myself become mesmerized by the dancing flames, sinking deep into their enchantment.  Sometimes I would hear a bit of the conversation around me, and I would smile or laugh or say something.  But then I’d be lost again.  I burnt my fingers in the fire, and again, the pain calmed me a little.

I looked up at the trees… they were dancing.  It had long been one of my own little beliefs that trees danced.  They sing and whisper to each other and to God in a language we don’t understand, and they love to dance.  Bowing and swinging and swaying and spinning, they dance the day and night away, and it is beautiful.  Sometimes I join them, when nobody’s looking.  I watched them, then got up and went to a big one and started climbing it.  Higher and higher, closer to the sun and sky, branch by branch, danger rising, spirit calming.  And then I was there, among the leaves and sunlight, feeling the strength of the tree as he danced all around me.  And the sunlight… the sunlight shone through closer and more beautiful than ever, and it really was just for me.  This moment was mine.

I thought about falling.  I thought about letting go.  But in order to die from this height, I’d have to fall and land specifically in a way that broke my neck, and the chance of that happening was too small to risk it.  So I stayed and breathed and existed, and I whispered prayers to my dear God.  I’ve finally gotten to the point where I call him “Daddy,” and it feels nice.

Leaves and sunshine and softness and glowing raindrops spun all around me.  The sky gleamed blue, and the clouds seemed a very pale gold.  Green grass stretched out below me, catching the sunlight and brightening the world.  Lilacs were blooming in a huge bush that could’ve been called a tree in the next yard over.  My friends were laughing and talking around the fire, and every once in a while, they’d look up and call to me, and I’d answer back.  A hint of peace was starting to breathe into my being.

But it wasn’t there yet.  I climbed down and sat again by the fire.  I ate a little, but not much.  I wasn’t hungry.  Everyone was talking and laughing.  For a while, I tried to participate.  Someone asked me about my plans for the summer, about camp and jobs and career plans.  I gave my memorized vague answers, and a lump rose in my throat as I remembered I probably wouldn’t actually be working at camp this summer.  People asked how I felt about graduating, if I was excited.  I said I didn’t know. 

The thing is, graduation IS a really big deal for me.  I didn’t think I would make it.  I was so sure that I’d have killed myself by then, or at least dropped out or been expelled.  But… I made it.  I am a college graduate.  I am surprised, and there’s a warmth of pride in my heart too.  I really did it.  But at the same time… I was terrified to leave this place that had become my home.  I was terrified to leave the family I’d found there.  I was afraid of the world, or real life, of failing.  I was afraid of myself, and what I’d do.

“Do you wanna go walk on the train tracks?”  I asked a friend.  She said yes, and we went.  I had to get away from the cheerfulness and questions.  The tracks were just beyond the property line.  We had to walk across a bed of rocks to get to them, and my bare feet welcomed the pain.  It didn’t even hurt much, because I’ve been going barefoot for so long, and my feet have toughened. 

It was beautiful there.  It was nearing dusk, and the tracks gleamed gold in the soft sunlight.  I closed my eyes and breathed in.  Beauty and wildness and sunlight seeped into me, whispering peace to my soul.  We walked a little ways, balancing on the rails, and I wondered how long it would be before a train came by… and if I’d be able to jump in front without anyone stopping me.

My friend eventually went back to the fire.  I almost followed, but I didn’t.  I stood on the tracks and thought about just following them as far as they went, following them into the sunset until a train hit me or I collapsed from exhaustion.  But I didn’t.  I sat down, and as I did, that resigned depression set in deeper and deeper.  I thought about lying down on the tracks, but I thought that would be too obvious.  I watched the sunlight hit the grass and new baby leaves on the trees, and I watched the world dance.  And I hoped that a train would come. 

The stones were different shades of pale and dark gray.  I selected a flat-ish dark one and a small light one, and I scratched the white outline of a heart on the dark stone.  Then I filled it in, and it didn’t look right, so I kept rubbing the white stone against it, trying to fill the gaps.  But I still wasn’t satisfied.  So I scratched a deep line through the heart, and then I scribbled all over it until it didn’t look anything like anything anymore.  My throat was hurting.  The lump was there, and it wouldn’t go away.  I glanced down the tracks… still no trains.  On the rusted metal bit at my feet, I began to write.  I hesitated at first, wondering if anyone would see it.  But no one was there, only me.  So I lightly scratched the words “Let me never be alone again” onto the rough surface.  But as I was finishing, I heard someone approaching.

I looked up, and there she was, my princess sister, arms out like a ballerina, tiptoeing down the rail towards me.  I shifted, rubbing the words with my fingers, but they didn’t go away.  So I picked up the dark and light stones and began rubbing them together as if that’s what I’d been doing all along.  She came and sat by me, and we admired the beauty and talked about nothing.  Little bunnies nosed around in the grass, and we watched them.  Then she stood up.

“Come on.  Let’s go back to the fire now,” she invited me.  But I pulled in toward the ground and shook my head. 

“Why?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

I shook my head and crouched lower.

“Rachel.  Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

I shook my head, refusing to meet her eyes.  She came and sat across from me.  “What’s wrong?”

I stiffened and stared at the ground.  The battle raged inside me, the same battle that’s always there.  She shouldn’t be here with me.  She should be with the others, having fun and enjoying the night.  I was keeping her from that.  I was keeping her from being happy.  But at the same time… I really, really wanted her to stay.  I wanted the comfort of her presence and the reassurance of her love.  I wanted to open up and let her in, and tell her about how scared I was, and how I was hoping for a train.  I wanted to let it out.  I wanted to tell her.  But I didn’t want to burden her.

I don’t remember how long we sat there, or how many times she asked me “why?”, but eventually, I did speak.  She was going to leave.  She wanted to go back to the fire.  But her kindness had comforted me, and I wanted her to stay.  I called her name, and she turned.

“Don’t leave me,” I said quietly.  I could feel the desperate emotion show through on my face, and suddenly I felt very vulnerable.  But I didn’t look away.

But she told me that she wanted to be with our other friends too.  “You could come back to the fire, and then I’d be with all of you.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

And this time I answered.  “Because I don’t feel like being all happy and excited about everything.  I feel like crying.”  And I ducked my head and forced back the tears that threatened to come when I said those words.

“You can cry with them.  They won’t mind.  They love you.”

“But they’ll be sad, because I’m sad, and then they won’t be having a good time anymore.”

“That’s okay.”

“No it’s not.  They need to have a good time.”

“They love you too much to have a good time all the time.”

I couldn’t talk anymore.  I stared at the ground, the sky, the grass, anything but her face, and tried to keep myself steady.  But I couldn’t.  One tear, one little tear, leaked out and ran down my cheek.  My princess-sister came and sat beside me.  We said nothing.  I just cried, and she sat with me.  The tears kept coming.

She started sorting through the rocks.  “Look, I found you a fossil!”  I laughed a little through my tears.  She found another, and I took it.  My heart felt lighter.  After a little while more, I could breathe again, and the tears had slowed. 

My friend stood.  “I’m going back to the fire.”  I took in a deep breath and nodded.  I would go with her. 

“Does it look like I’ve been crying?” I asked.

“It just looks like you sneezed.”

“But I didn’t sneeze.”  But I smiled a little as I said it.  And we walked back.  I took my time, half hoping that all traces of tears would be gone by the time I got there.  I picked pretty curls of grass and wildflowers.  I even found a couple daffodils still blooming.  Daffodils are some of my favorite flowers.  By the time I got there, I had enough of a little bouquet to give me something to talk cheerfully about, and act like nothing was wrong.

Then… they gave me my graduation present.

Each of my closest friends had gotten together and given me a book from the “How to train your dragon” series.  They’d written notes to go along with them, notes of encouragement and love and truth.  It was so perfect.  They knew me so well.  Kids’ books with pictures… these have always been my favorite.  My friends really knew me, and they loved me.  That gift and those words completely blew to bits my fears of what was going to happen.  My family loved me, and they always would.  And I’d get through this, and things were going to be okay.  I almost started crying again, because it was all so wonderful.

And then the peace was there, and it was real.  The night and the conversation moved on, but I hugged those books to my chest, still feeling comfort and reassurance ease into my being.  A train whistle blew, and a couple minutes later, a train rumbled by.  I watched it and thought about how I wanted to jump in front.  It was probably going fast enough that it could’ve killed me, too, as long as I got it to hit me right. 

But I didn’t move.  I just sat there with my friends, hugging those precious books to my heart.  And the train passed on, and I smiled.  I was still alive.

“Wow, even the stars are out for you, Rach.  This night really is for you,” my friend commented, looking up at the sky.  She knew how much I love stars.  I smiled and nodded.  They were bright and beautiful.  Peace settled in my soul.  I even ate a little more when my friend asked me to.

Daddy has taken care of me.  He made the rain stop so that we could have this fire, even though it was supposed to be storming.  He gave me so many things that I love that night… gentle rain, climbing trees, fire, sunshine, baby leaves, bunnies, books, stars… and the love of the dearest friends I could ever ask for.

I still ended up crying again later.  I still will cry many times in the next couple weeks before treatment starts.  I still shake and tremble, and I’m still so scared about this life.

But I am alive. 

And I’m doing what I need to do.

My Daddy’s taking care of me.

And everything’s going to be alright.

implosion

visions of suicide flashing through my mind…

help me

anger, hatred, despair building up inside me…

help me

cutting, scraping my skin, never enough, never enough…

help me

dizzy, vision fading, feel like throwing up, can’t stand up anymore…

help me

alone and lonely, hating myself…

help me

it’s all my fault.  I can get out of this.

help me

trying, trying to remember good things, coping strategies, ways to turn my mind around…

help me

overwhelmed, exhausted, just want to give up…

help me

I’m sorry, don’t come near me, I’ll just let you down again…

help me

want to die, want to die, don’t deserve to be alive…

help me

shouldn’t be alive…

help me

only ever cause pain…

help me

hating, hating, hating myself…

help me

falling apart inside…

help me

I don’t know if I can do this alone…

help me

but don’t come near me, and you won’t get hurt…

help me

don’t see, don’t listen, don’t hear…

help me

leave me alone, just walk on by…

help me

don’t help me…

help me

do not

help me

 

afraid

Fighting.  Why does it always hit on the days when I’m supposed to be focusing, when I have things I have to get done?

All I want to do is curl up in a ball and be safe.  And loved.  I want someone to tell me it’s gonna be okay, that the dreams weren’t real, that I don’t need to worry about that.

But it clings in my memory, won’t leave me alone.  And I’m afraid.  Afraid of myself, of hurting people… all the old desires are back, loud and strong.  I want to destroy myself.

Calories in my mind.  Cutting in my mind.  It’s been a whole freaking week since I cut, and it still hurts so much.  And of course that only makes me want to do more.  And the only reason I ate today was because I know I have to eat if I want my metabolism to keep going, if I want to lose more weight.

I really hope I’ve lost some more in the weeks since I last weighed myself.  I’m terrified that I haven’t… I don’t know what to do.

My family was here yesterday.  There was one moment, one short moment, where my shirt rode up… did they see the scars?  I hope they didn’t.  I really hope they didn’t.

I want to forget these dreams… please say they weren’t real. 

I’m a little girl right now, a five year old terrorized by her own dark dreams.  All I want is someone to hold me.  All I want is someone to tell me it’s okay.

Don’t listen to the lies… don’t give in.  Cling to the truth, don’t let go…

I’m sorry.  I’ve already failed at that.  It’s too late.

It’s so cold… It hurts so much… I feel so alone.

Yeah, I know I’m never alone.  I know.  But I’m just saying it feels that way right now.  And I’m stupid for feeling that way.  Because it’s like I’m believing a lie.

Everything I do is wrong.  I want to hide.  I want to run away and hide.

 

Oh I’m such a fool, I can’t be free!

No escape from the storm inside of me!

I can’t control the curse!

Anna, please, you’ll only make it worse!

There’s so much fear!

You’re not safe here!

No!

Ahhhhh…

I CAN’T!

 

I am Elsa.  So afraid to hurt people, I’m hurting myself, and hurting them anyway. 

There’s no escape from the storm inside of me…

I want to die.

wrapped in his arms

It was hard tonight.  Heck, it still is.  I want nothing more than to curl up in a ball and be held by someone.

Fun fact… I’m listening to Pandora, and the song that just came on is Wrapped in Your Arms by Fireflight.  Basically… I’m wrapped in God’s arms.  Right now.  I wanna cry.  He’s so kind, so sweet.

Tonight I started with the gentle words… “Hush, hush.  You’re ok.”  But they only slowed the onslaught; they didn’t stop it.  In the past hour, it’s become more of “Shut the f*** up.  Shut up!  Leave me alone.”  And it was directed more against that messy mix of my own thoughts, ED thoughts, and the usual Satan’s lies.

I’m tired.  I’m weak.  I’m tired of fighting.  I’m tired of holding in the tears, of being strong, of answering questions, of freaking smiling.  I want to cut, just because that will let everything come out.  Somehow, it’s ok for emotions to come out if I’m bleeding.

I went to be alone, in the big lobby downstairs, dark and shadowed.  The only light came in from the tall windows, where there was a swirling storm of snow outside.  I sat huddled up on the steps, alternating between rocking and hiding my face in my blanket.  I had my Bible, I meant to read it, but my thoughts were too loud.  They interrupted every single phrase.  So I gave up and held it to my heart and rocked again.  And I prayed.  Whispered prayers into those shadows… and some prayers that didn’t even make it to a whisper.

But he heard.

And he answered.

He calmed my heart.  I know I’m gonna have to cry or let out emotion at some point, but I don’t think I’ll cut tonight.  I think I’ll be ok.  No cutting, or purging.  I’m not shaking anymore.  I’m not freaking out so much about dinner anymore.

He… wanted me to sing.  It took me a while, but eventually I began whispering the words out.  “… the snow is raging like this swirling storm inside.  Couldn’t keep it in… heaven knows I tried.  Don’t let them in, don’t let them see, be the good girl you always have to be, conceal, don’t feel, don’t let them know…”  

It took a couple tries, but I did manage to sing out the chorus.  It was hard.  Because I didn’t want to let go.  I wanted to scrunch up in my pain and take it out on myself.

“Let it go, let it go, can’t hold it back anymore.  Let it go, let it go.  That perfect girl is gone.  I don’t care what they’re going to say, let the storm rage on… the cold never bothered me anyway.”

I sang it.  I even put a little strength to it.  I didn’t really do it, I didn’t really let go… but I sang it.  And I felt a little bit better.

I found a way to hide… I can listen to the emotional music I want to listen to, and use headphones.  I hate headphones, because I’m not aware of everything around me, and I’m not prepared for people when they come in.  But maybe I really need to block everyone out for a little bit.  Maybe that’s ok.  I don’t know.

I am vulnerable right now.  I hope this weekend goes ok… I’m a little worried, honestly.  I have to tell myself, yes eat.  No jumping off roofs.  Yes wear a coat.  No purging.  No cutting.  Yes stay with people.  Yes talk, yes relax, yes pray.

God help me.  I need you… I can’t do this alone.  I can’t get through a single day.  Help me.  Hold me.  Don’t stop holding me, Daddy.

Wrapped in Your Arms, by fireflight…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=M24Wb6aBuhs

sinking

Fighting… aching… trying… pushing… and nothing is happening.

I’m really struggling tonight.  I don’t know what’s going to happen.  My brain has gone haywire, and nothing I’m doing is helping.  I have a list, a long list, of things to do when I’m struggling, things that distract me and make me feel better and calm me down and get me positive again.  But today nothing’s working.  Literally, nothing.  I mean, I haven’t told anyone I’m struggling, but I don’t think I can.  And that’s the only thing on the list I haven’t done.  I don’t want to tell anyone.  I want to get through this myself.  I don’t want to always be talking about my struggles, to always be negative, to always be dependent on people.  I want to be happy.

Yeah, in this moment, I’m not.  I’m so far from happy I can’t even see it in the distance.  I want to scream, and destroy things, and feel physical pain.  I want to let it out.

But.

What if I really just want attention?  This isn’t the way to get it.  What if I really just want people to keep loving me, and helping me, and the only way that happens is if I keep being needy?  That’s so sick and wrong.  So I don’t talk.  Because I’m trying to convince myself that I don’t want attention, that I’ll be fine, that when I’m with people I need to be encouraging them and building them up.  Not weighing them down.

Nothing’s helping.  Nothing at all.  I’ve tried everything, literally everything, besides telling someone.  And I have a long list of things to try.  Well, I didn’t go pick flowers… that usually helps… but there aren’t any flowers to pick.

Praying… I know God’s here.  I can feel him.  But the darkness is so strong.  I’m afraid to open my eyes.

I feel so alone.  And trapped.  I’m believing something, something I shouldn’t, something that’s holding me back.  I want to stop.  I want to shut down.  I want to die.

That’s why I can’t tell anyone.  Because they freak out when I say that.  So I don’t say it.

But it never ends.

This is me in the midst of a battle.  I know it won’t last, but I can’t see the end right now.  I am weak.  I don’t know if I’ll come out of this one standing… or facedown on the floor bleeding the life out of me.

I’m not going to kill myself.  I’m not.  I’m nowhere near that point right now.  I’m just really sad, and really discouraged, and really tired.  And scared.  Really, really scared.

Is it wrong for me to want love and attention right now?  Is it wrong for me to ask for help?  Is it wrong of me to wish for someone to hold me and let the tension out of my body?  Is it wrong to be dependent sometimes?  Even if it happens the most in the midst of a battle?  I mean, heck, when I’m happy and strong and confident, I can usually get along just fine with just me and God.  But right now… I really want some one to help me.

But I can’t talk. 

A girl just walked past and asked if I was okay.  Boy, was it hard to put the mask back on and say I’m fine.  But I did.  I told her I was tired, but my body wouldn’t let me sleep.  And she bought it.

If anyone out there reads this, pray for me tonight.  I’m struggling.  Obviously.  Please, please, pray for me.

shy peace

Shy peace.

It creeps into my soul, quiet and unnoticed.  Slowly, it soaks into the tension and stress and melts it all away.  The shaking and trembling grows less and less.  My body relaxes without me forcing it to.  My heart calms… the beating becomes more slow and steady.  I can breathe again, and I do.  It fills my lungs, and as it leaves again, it carries with it the last shaky shudder.

I am okay.  There have been many battles, and today my entire being was worn and exhausted.  But I am okay.  I am safe.

I don’t know when the peace started to come.  Maybe it was when I fell asleep in the corner on the floor, clutching my fuzzy-warm blanket around me.  I went to my room to be alone, to get some introvert time, to rest my soul.  I was playing Christmas music, and I had my Bible open, ready to read.  But I fell asleep.  A friend told me that sometimes, in our time spent alone with God, He blesses us with sleep, with rest that our souls truly need.  It’s okay if we don’t always read.  It’s okay if we don’t always spend these moments in fervent prayer.  Sometimes… all God calls us to do is rest, and trust that it’s going to be okay.

Everything was so great.  I was happy, I was excited, I was glad to be alive.  Then… the attacks came.  I guess the devil panicked when he saw me doing so well, so he tried everything he could to bring me down.

It was a surprise attack, and it hit me hard.  I spent an hour lying in bed, literally writhing and sometimes hyperventilating, trying to force the temptations out of my head.  I wanted to cut.  Oh, how I wanted to cut.  I couldn’t think of anything else.  At one point, I looked around to see if there was anything within reach that I could use, fully intending to use it if I found such an item.  Then I settled for fingernails, and started to dig them into my skin…

And then I stopped.  I didn’t do it.  I didn’t hurt myself.  I couldn’t.  The enemy retreated, and I fell into a fitful sleep.

The past couple days were like that.  The attacks would come in waves.  Sometimes I’d be fine, and then a moment later, I’d be thinking about suicide.  It was crazy.

But always, God was there.  Always, he’s always been there, through everything.  He never left me alone.  And always, peace would come.  The battles never lasted.  After some of them, I felt more defeated than victorious.  I felt like I had surrendered.  But the fact always remained that I was still standing, and I still haven’t done any self-harm, and I haven’t binged or purged.  I even ate better this week than I did the week before, meaning I ate more.  It was good.

And the peace comes.  I fall asleep, and something inside me eases.  It’s going to be okay.  I’ve got God to hold on to, and he will always, always be there.

Shy peace.  There’s no dramatic entry.  There’s no exciting sensation.  It just seeps in, slowly filling and flowing through me.  And I look down, and realize I am breathing.  And I know that peace has come.

VICTORIES!!!

Can I sit down long enough to write this?  Well, that’s the question.  I’m super hyper, because I’ve had lots of love and lots of sugar, and I just feel good about life.  I’m in one of my crazy moods, and I really want to run and dance and jump off high things and fly really far.  I want to destroy things, and I want to make a mess, and I want to make people happy.  Yep, I’m crazy.  Haha, but it’s fun.

I just want to write real quick about a couple victories.  Because victories are wonderful, and worth sharing, and they give me reasons to smile.  And smiling is good.  Smiling is wonderful.

So.  Last week.  A week ago from Sunday.  I was doing really badly.  Like, REALLY bad.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to cut.  I hadn’t been eating enough, and I was wavering on the edge of wanting to make myself eat more, and wanting to eat less and less and lose weight.  I was slipping.  It wasn’t like I was just letting it happen, either.  I was fighting with all the strength I had in me.  But it was hard.  It was exhausting.  I was depressed, and I was thinking about suicide so much… not willing to do it, but kind of wishing I could.

The urge to cut was the strongest.  I remember pacing, going to the lobby to hang out with people, and getting restless and going back to my room.  And every time I went to my room, I got closer and closer to cutting.  I sat in a chair and rocked back and forth, my hands clenched into tight fists, trying to distract myself.  Then I went in my room, and I knew I couldn’t trust myself alone in there.  It had gotten to that point. 

So.  I went to the bathroom and went through my stuff.  I took out the pins, the blades, everything… and I got rid of them.  All of them.  All those last ones that I’ve been holding on to this whole time… they’re gone.  Thrown away, and I’m never getting them back.  They’ll never be there to tempt me again.  And… I can be alone and be okay.  All my sharp objects are confined to my desk, and that just sets up another roadblock between me and cutting, because people could walk in on me.

So.  I didn’t cut.  There was a point where I was literally walking in circles, trying to keep myself from cutting.  And now, I won’t.  I can’t.  I took away the easy ways, which makes it a lot easier to fight.  My record is still almost six months, six months without cutting.  That’s the longest I’ve ever gone, ever since I started.

Also.  Another victory.  I was talking to a friend with an eating disorder, and I was trying to encourage her.  And then I went on pinterest and saw my thinspo board.  Most people with eating disorders will understand this.  It was a collection of pictures that were highly triggering, pictures that helped me to continue in eating disorder behavior.  But the girl I’d been talking to, she was telling me about seeing someone who was really sick, and how she didn’t want to get like that.  And the thing is, I used to want to be sick.  As sick as sick got.  And my thinspo board showed that. 

So.  I deleted it.  I did it.  I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I kept brushing it aside.  I didn’t want to let it go.  I still wanted that opportunity to look at something and be highly triggered, so that I’d be able to lose weight faster.

I don’t need to lose weight.  I really don’t.  I’m okay the way I am.  I never need to go back to that.

So I let it go.  That board is deleted forever, and I will never get it back or make another to replace it.  I am done.  I am done with that.

Even now, I can feel the eating disorder strings pulling deep inside me.  It doesn’t want to let go.  It’s fighting this hardcore.  But that is not me.  I am me, and I am choosing to let go of the eating disorders.  I am choosing to be free.

So that’s it.  Those are my most recent victories.  I’m really shy about talking about them, because that means acknowledging the fact that I’ve been holding onto all those things while I was telling people I didn’t want that anymore.  I’m ashamed of that fact, and it’s one of those things I don’t really want to tell people.  But… I’m also really proud of these victories.  They’re kind of a big deal.  They make me smile a lot.

One step at a time, one moment at a time, I am moving forward.  I am healing.  Things will be better.  There is so much joy yet to come.  Tomorrow, the sun will rise again.  The darkness never lasts forever.

why would you even want that?!

Because.

Because I hate myself.

Because I want to hurt.

Because this is what I do when I feel like I’m doing something wrong… I destroy myself.

Because I don’t think I should be here. 

Because I’m afraid of making a mistake.

Because I’m afraid I already have.

Because I’d rather hurt myself than bother anyone else.

Because I believe I am worthless crap.

Because I’ve got to stop the screaming in my head.

Because I want relief.

Because I feel sick.

Because I am fat.  And ugly.

Because I feel like I’m going to cry.  And I don’t want to.

Because I am alone.

Because I can’t talk.

Because I’m not worth it.

Because I deserve it.

Because I’m tired of fighting.

Because even if it’s only for a moment, I will feel better.

Because my mind will stop racing.  I’ll be focused on one thing.

Because then I can feel guilty for one thing, instead of everything.

Because I have to deal with this myself.  I can’t bother anyone.

Because this is how I deal with things.

Because I do everything wrong.

Because my mind is so muddled, I can’t think of anything else.

Because there is no logic right now.

Because I’m shaking.  And I can’t stop.

Because.

 

That is why I want to cut.  That is why I want to purge.  That is why I want to destroy myself. 

Because.

God help me.  I can’t give in, but I really… want… to.

victorious

Step one to picking myself up again: accomplished.  I ate food today, first time in a while.  It was hard, oh so hard.  Once you let go just once, it’s so hard to get back up again.

But I did it.

It wasn’t much, it took me forever to eat, and it made me feel really sick.  But I got it down.  And I didn’t purge.  I will NOT let this become a relapse.  I will keep fighting it.  I have to.

It started because I decided to pick bulimia as my topic for a research paper.  I really thought it wouldn’t be a problem.  I thought I could handle it.  Apparently not.  All the research was super triggering, and I was not at all prepared to face so much graphic information.

I was suddenly faced with so many negative thoughts, SO MANY.  More than usual.  My mind was literally attacking myself.  The desire to binge, purge, and cut were all so freakishly intense, stronger than it had ever been before.  I think it was hard because I wasn’t giving in.  Usually I give in just a little, at least, and then I get some temporary relief.  But I wasn’t.  And it was a constant battle, all the time, and I was exhausted.  I cried, in church, in front of my friends.  I NEVER do that!  In fact, I usually don’t ever cry at all.  It just hurt.  So much.  Because with every attack and accusation, I was believing it.  I believed I was ugly, fat, unworthy, and basically a horrible person.  But it hurt.

Then… I did give in.  I stopped eating.  For days.  I got so incredibly tired and sore and weak.  My body’s not used to this anymore, haha.  And every minute, I was fighting this intense battle, trying to decide whether to eat or not.  I knew I should.  I just didn’t want to.

But then.  Today.  I did it.  I still feel awful, but it’s a little less awful than I did before.

One victory won.  I WILL get through this.  I WILL eat again tomorrow.  I’ll eat whole meals.  It might take me longer than usual, but I WILL do it.  I’m not going to let this one setback keep me down.  This has no power over me. 

I am standing up again, just one little bit at a time.