Reminder – Your “Back Fat” Is Not What’s Bothering You (Also, NEDA Denver Walk Speech: Please Critique!)

 

Posted the following message on Instagram, but felt like sharing here:

Had one of those nights last night where I had to sit at my kitchen table, moments before heading to the hot tub, and remind myself that damnit, it’s not your “back fat” you’re worried about – it’s the Denver NEDA walk speech you’re giving on Sunday.

It’s not your lack of working out this week – it’s the expectation that you would, and didn’t.

It’s not that you ate Qdoba for lunch and – OH CHRIST – the calories from a salad bowl (😱) – it’s that my ex read my blog post the other day about relationships, and was hurt. And now I’ve sat here the past 72 Β hours trying to reconcile the pain I’ve caused him for my misguided – at times – interpretations online. I’m dealing with guilt and a facepalm to my own face.

This is what’s going on in real life – not eating disorder land. But damn, isn’t eating disorder world easy to slide into?

Don’t wanna feel something? “I HAVE BACK FAT, THAT’S THE PROBLEM!!!”

Nope. It’s not.

At the end of the day, it’s not the shape of my body I’m concerned about truly, but it feels that way – and bloody hell, isn’t that a hard tick to navigate?

Recovery Β is such a battle to be present instead of avoidant.

I don’t like guilt and I don’t deal with stress – avoiding it consistently with impulsive decisions and immediate gratification.

This has been my coping skill and way of life for a long time.

And this is a truth about life in recovery.

It’s great, yeah. This recovery shiz.

But, this is the flexibly “okay” life you choose when you’re in it.

What we ultimately learn is how and what to think about again – learning how to navigate our thoughts without the ED voice, and how to look at the multifaceted angles of our eating disorder, and stay on the outside of it instead of being hypnotized by the allure of its constant monologue inside our heads.

It’s relearning how to think. It’s learning how to live in that hazy grey of “flexible” okay – and truly exist in spite of it, feeling all the shit that comes along with it.

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Continue reading “Reminder – Your “Back Fat” Is Not What’s Bothering You (Also, NEDA Denver Walk Speech: Please Critique!)”

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10 Years, My Darling Best Friend: Forever Rest In Peace

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09/15/07 – 09/15/17Β β›°πŸŽˆ

Hopped in a basket, and rode up in a balloon to feel a little closer to you today, Bradley Milder Jameson.

10 years ago, we got a call that you fell from a tree. A silly tree. And 10 years ago on 09/16/07, life would never be the same.

I think about you, you know.

I think about your life – who you’d be. I think about your small teeth – your chuckle – the way you felt when you held me.

You held me that night, do you remember? That way your boyish arms felt around my chest.

“Is this okay?” you asked.

“You’re fine,” I patted your forearm – my head on your shoulder.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” you whispered that night in my canopy bed, as though you could hurt me from a hug – or sleep.

You made fun of my canopy once. “Jesus. You would have a canopy bed,” you muttered.

“I’m a southern princess,” I laughed.

Perhaps, you looked at me then, and thought “oh how much this little girl has to learn.”

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Continue reading “10 Years, My Darling Best Friend: Forever Rest In Peace”

A Reminder: Relationships Will Not Cure Your Eating Disorder

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Sitting at a brewery in Evergreen, Colorado.

I’ve got my dog with me after an unexpectedly lost 10-mile hike – and we’re recovering here: me with a beer, and Juno with a questionable water bowl that has other dog hair floating in it. (Sucks to be a dog sometimes.)

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Anyway, I write pretty frequently about love in recovery. Mostly, because I suck at it, so I write to make sense of what I do that always ends in heartache.

That being said, let’s cut to the chase: it’s been a rough weekend.

Between Hurricane Irma potentially wiping out my grandparents home in Sanibel Island, and my aunt and uncles home in Naples – there’s stress in my family.

Selfishly, my childhood summers are wrapped up in Sanibel. I spent a month or two there every single year from 9 months – 24 years, and the reality of that whole island being destroyed – as I write this – is hard to grasp.

The people who have been there forever – their homes. The ice cream shop “Pinocchios,” the Bubble Room restaurant, our bike paths, the lighthouse and the cafe near it with the same waitresses for the past 20 years.

I was never more content than in Florida as a teen – it became an expected concept – to have it. I brought my best friends there, my boyfriend.

The possibility of not having it reminds me how fleeting things can be: how you can have this sense of security and it can be taken from you in an instant. The whole construct of security, which humans crave, reshaped in a storm.

Don’t get me wrong: others have it way worse. I know that. I’m thinking of them. But, that’s not my reality at this moment. And my emotions are still valid.

I’m not attached to the things of this island – I’m attached to memories. In truth, I could give up all my stuff, my whole apartment today if we all became nudists and moved into log cabins – with just a twinge of resentment before utter release.

I don’t carry “things” with me, except memories. I don’t move with much. I just start over.

Maybe that’s in part due to my eating disorder – eating disorders have a way of disassociating you, and so I don’t know that I ever really formed an attachment to things because I was always self-absorbed and preoccupied with being sick.

But, I carry memories because they are associated with people. And I carry people around with me everywhere I go – too many to count.

Which leads me to this post.

I’m emotional over Florida – but I’d be glossing over reality to say that the emotion isn’t simultaneously connected to my current love life – and that whole concept that things so often end in the middle of a sentence or a paragraph, with little warning – or is that even true?

If you choose to have a home in Florida, and make memories there, then you sign up for this potential hurricane destruction. If you choose to be involved with someone who you know is likely incapable of giving you what you want, then aren’t you just waiting out the inevitable?

I’m hurting today because I feel like these ‘safety constructs’ we build are so often dismantled suddenly, and leave us startled – wondering why the hell we didn’t avoid it in the first place, or why we let ourselves keep on with it.

I wrote about this briefly in a post last month – about a person I was dating. I effortlessly called out the fact that I knew it’d end.

Well, it has.

And how easy it is to write things in place of live them.

Perhaps it’s because it ultimately translates to yet another failed attempt at a relationship – and at this point, it’s embarrassing to have to clarify yet again, that the person in pics or in conversation – is no more.

It’s like I can feel the eye roll of half my friend group and parents. The nonchalance in their response. “Sorry Linds! That person wasn’t right for you though, so maybe now you can focus on you and just stop dating for a little while.”

”YEAH GOT IT. THANKS. I KNOW I SUCK AT THIS AND NO ONE TAKES MY RELATIONSHIPS SERIOUSLY ANYMORE.”

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I don’t even think I take them seriously anymore, especially after the break up with my ‘real’ ex a few months ago.

I kissed this recent man in May by a creek in Boulder at 3am, and I woke up and texted my best friend the next day with a big “LOL” because even the day after, after 5 hours of conversation, I knew he was never going to be what I wanted out of a relationship.

… And yet it went on.

He was physically attractive to me: looked like my ex. He was in the same ‘fields’ as my ex in terms of environmental sustainability, which is attractive to me. He was adventurous like my ex – both living in multiple countries and dreaming of the same ‘van life’ I want. He was unconventional, like my ex and me – not wanting a wedding, constantly talking of lives in tiny homes or RVs, traveling more than we sat – both of them introducing me to experiences I’d never had before (nudist camping, orrr blues dancing nights, orrr why people save their piss to help the garden they’re growing.)

This new guy was deep and thoughtful to others – like my ex.

We spoke the same love languages – unlike my ex and me.

We communicated better than my ex when we had our first argument.

I check-marked having the same love languages to ‘progress,’ and began to take it more seriously.

However, what I failed to acknowledge per usual, is that they both are dreamers – and dreamers are dangerous because they often dream alone – unattached. And in reality, they both didn’t know what to do with me once they had me – a truth I realized more quickly with this new person.

He had a child: which confused me into thinking he’d be more ‘responsible’ or ‘ready for something permanent with someone else.’

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It didn’t. Partners get knocked up accidentally all the time: it doesn’t change the two as individual people – and being a father at 27 was not what this person had wanted, and being a single dad at 28 was a tragedy he tried to avoid –  and is still grappling with when I met him.

Being a single parent who knew his freedom to explore on any given month – unencumbered – was over, left him in a place where it seems all he can focus on is the day he isn’t obligated to stay here, or obligated to anything or anyone.

He was no more ready for a new relationship than he was with being a single dad.

As he said to me recently: “I didn’t mean to have a family young, but I had one anyway. And I grew to love it once my child was born. I had accepted it, I loved my little family and was happy – even though it stripped me of the freedom I’d always enjoyed. But, then she left me, and everything I thought I had was gone. Now, I’m a single parent who never wanted to be a single parent, and I’m tying to figure out what I’m doing and how to be a father who doesn’t fuck up my child.”

I understood his point, but as my best friend said to me bluntly: “Not your problem. What do YOU want? That is his reality to deal with, not yours. And you don’t have to take that on if he’s unable to give you what you need and desire.”

I agreed.

We talked yesterday, after I withdrew for a couple days – as I do – and stopped answering texts.

He emailed me.

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My other best friend, his roommate, called before the email came. “It kills me,” he said. “Because I love both of you. Love the dude, but he’s a fucking lost cause right now, and you can’t put your cards on that. You deserve more.”

It frustrates me, ultimately, because I knew all this. I knew this was a reality from the absolute beginning.

Why did I let myself get attached to it?

Why did I let myself meet the child? Why did I start planning my nights around seeing this person? Why did I do this?

I saw the writing on the wall, and ignored it.

Perhaps, in some way, I felt like it “was fine” because I continue to talk to my other ex often.

As it goes with my life – overlapping one human for another – asking one to fill this need, and another for another need.

Never truly having one to fill most needs – and being seemingly incapable of doing it for myself.

I read that email and cringed. The way I interpreted it as a whole always comes back down to the simple fact that in whatever way, I wasn’t enough for this person to keep.

“He’s just not that into you.”

You can use pretty words all you want. All the justifications in the world. But, ultimately, I continue to be with people who are “just not that into me” at the end of the day, and maybe it’s not me – it’s them. And they don’t know what to do with me once they have me.

But, do I do this because I still struggle with self worth? Is it because I no longer have an eating disorder and in turn don’t feel as valuable without my bones? I don’t know. At some point, it just becomes a habit – seeking out the ‘unknown’ human, with their mysteriousness and their selfishness.

You fight for what you want. You fucking fight for it.

I fight for recovery every day. I fight to stay present in a world that demands distraction.

Perhaps, you have to fight for yourself every day too.

People are not the answer. And you have be careful with whom you share your life with.

I am exhausted with flings, and the insecurity of dating someone who I know isn’t ready to be what I need. I am mostly exhausted of defining my present existence via another person.

I have to take ownership over my choices, and I continue to date people who are ‘adventurous’ but seemingly unsure of the long term.

What about the consistency of being with someone who you know truly wants you?

What about the reality that you can still have all those ‘adventures’ with someone who is as equally as ready and equally as emotionally capable of being with you?

What about valuing yourself?

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I’m a catch for someone.  I’m full of life – bursting at the fringes – and I’m authentic (as one can be). I’m a caregiver and I’m active and I’m down to do anything once. I’m full of ideas and creativity – brimming the surface – I’m always moving.

I’m a good partner because I’ll support you to the ends of the earth.

But god damn, you have to want it.

And I have got to stop searching for it in the wrong ways – take heed of the realities before they get to a point that I feel hurt, as I do now.

I am signing up for this each and every time.

I make excuses that it’s different because momentarily, I feel validated. Whether it be from a “new experience” or 5am late night creek talks, I feel validated. Like someone chose to spend an inch of their time wrapped up in me.

But, relationships aren’t just one big validation ring.

The successful ones are between two people who make a choice every day to be there and show up – regardless if it’s not what they wanna do.

It’s rolling with the punches of someone else’s life – and them wanting to do the same.

Sometimes, my eating disorder thoughts and beliefs still fuck with me – even in recovery.

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Relationships seem to be the last effect of years of not being in touch with myself  β€“ giving myself away a piece here or a piece there.

I don’t know that I’ve found a way to be content with just myself. Clearly, I haven’t.

However, life is so short, right? It’s so short. What are we doing when we stay in relationships that aren’t giving us anything but insecurity or that feeling of burden when sad?

Sadness is a burden. I don’t want it because I invited it.

My best friend will be dead 10 years in a couple days.

The tears I cry for him are what I always want. The tears of grief: a reminder that you can love someone so god damn much that you’re willing to keep crying over them.

You’re okay with still being hurt. You don’t avoid it – you hurt to feel them. Hurt to feel near to their existence – so that they never die that second death.

Hurt because whatever they truly left you with was real.

I want that kind of love again; the completeness of bad and good.

I want a little bit of everything this life has to offer with someone – and I don’t think that’s asking too much.

So, I’ll keep going – and for once, maybe go at it alone. Until I know I’m healthy enough and sound enough to stand up and bat for my life, and a real relationship with another human.

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“OMG My Vacay Is Perfect”: The Problem With Instagram And Vacation Filters

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Oye – vacations. 3 days in and I’m sitting here in Hawaii, already scanning for that perfect filtered beach pic.

What is it about social media that makes us wanna pull the veil over reality.

Having a great trip – content. But, I still have those eating disorder thoughts and I still have body image hiccups, so in an effort to accept that and move da’ fuq on this week: here’s reality of vacation vs Instagram:

First pic: hair tie got tangled up during sunrise hike. Pulled like 70 hairs outta my head – grimaced through pain. Grimaced at that side shot. Wore backpack strategically.

Second pic: filtered for that “sunrise bright and alert” look. Sent it to the person I’m dating so as to remind them how “outdoorsy attractive” I am.

Third pic: left pic I posed strategically “casual” because I always feel like I have a tendency to pose with my legs spread eagle.

Fourth pic: soaking up sun with a beer in hand, big- grinning. Reality: it was freezing and raining n’ my brother and I sat perched on that rock for a solid 30 minutes. Drank 2 beers, felt like I was being vacuumed into my swimsuit. Worried about my cousin in Houston, stuckΒ  in the midst of Harvey.

Fifth pic: paddle-boarded yesterday for the first time… with one of the boat crew helping. Also, flirted with him because I seek instant validation in swimsuits. He was 8 years younger than I am. My family made fun of me. Captain yelled “you’re not even paddling Cinderella.”

Sixth pic: scowled at my stomach n’ made my brother take another round of pics. I was not “in mid walk” I was literally just standing there.

I’m hiking without shirts, wearing bikinis. I’m eating coconut shrimps and calamari and fruity cocktails and beers.

Just confirmed to speak during the Denver NEDA walk.

I’m thinking about my cousin and his wife in Houston. They’re safe, but man that storm’s devastating.

I’m good and content. And I’m flexibly okay and pushing.

We’re all human. So the next time you’re scanning through “vacay pics” demanding a redo or a “different angle” – remember you’re not alone. We all do this shit πŸ’›

“BUT… You Can’t Eat Chipotle For Breakfast?”: The Truth About Food Rituals

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I’m uncomfortable today, as I write.

It is 11:07am on a Wednesday morning – Afternoon? Brunch? Can’t we millennials just coin the 11-1:00pm timeframe as “brunch hours?” It seems much more distinguishable.

Afternoon always sounds late. The 1-4:00pm day-drag hours.

Anyway, it’s 11:09 now – And my white jeans are currently feeling snug around my waist, increases near my bellybutton from hours of wear, and I am sitting in my office swivel chair on a lunch break, pounding furiously on a keyboard.

It’s distracting – these jeans. My legs are Indian style in an attempt to combat the tightness – I am breathing more shallow to provide less stomach movement, and I’m preoccupied, right now, by whether or not what I ate for breakfast will make me gain weight – as though weight can now magically be defined by one meal.

Fucking Chipotle.

Isn’t it interesting – and morbidly fascinating – what we carry around of our eating disorders.

Last night, I hung out with a person I’m dating and my best friend from college. They happen to be roommates. Hungry, as thin men always seem to be (sorry for the stereotype but seriously. It’s like all thin dudes could eat a person and shit it out by the end of the day – never gaining an ounce.)

Anyway, we went to Chipotle. I ordered a burrito bowl. Light on the sour cream. In retrospect, what does that even mean – ‘light on the sour’? Isn’t it really just a justification for getting sour cream at all? I wonder at times. I think I just like saying the words “light on the ____,” so it symbolizes to the bored-looking high school burrito-maker that “I care about my weight. I know I’ve been gaining lately – you can probably tell – but, I’m in control of it.”

I ate half my bowl, the three of us nestled around a wrought-iron black table. Snorting through giggles, sneaking bites of the others. Listening to my best friend moan about being single again. In one sentence – excited for the prospective women. In the next – moping over how his ex is Satan’s love-child.

The guy I’m seeing squeezes my thigh under the table – giving knowing smirks to one another as my best friend announces he’s going to “take up dancing lessons” in the wake of this break up. In another declaration, “fly to Brazil and make love to beautiful foreign women.”

Sex was born in Brazil, he announces.

Continue reading ““BUT… You Can’t Eat Chipotle For Breakfast?”: The Truth About Food Rituals”

“It’s Buffet Style”: 5 Eating Disorder Situations That You ‘Can’t Even’

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Had one of those moments today – sitting at my desk around noon.

My personal email dinged as I haplessly knocked buttons on my keyboard trying to make a press release for work sound remotely articulate.

I sighed, tabbed over to my gmail account.

A Paperless Post invitation appeared at the top of my Inbox.

I clicked on it – going through the whole masquerade of electronically opening the letter.

Like, cmon Paperless Post, it’s 2017. Envelopes are dying. You can’t trick us millennials with your virtual envelope rip. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

An invitation appeared to a friends house in a couple weeks.

Immediately intrigue followed by immediate dread as I opened the invitation and saw the two glowing little shitty words:

POT LUCK!

Pot. Luck.

I groaned –Β  audibly – bashing my forehead onto the keyboard.

…. Okay, dramatic. I didn’t do that.

But God I hate pot lucks, which leads me to this post.

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5 situations that I just ‘can’t even’ with my eating disorder. Let’s see if you agree: Continue reading ““It’s Buffet Style”: 5 Eating Disorder Situations That You ‘Can’t Even’”

Calorie Counting: Does It Ever Go Away?

… I don’t know. And maybe, that’s okay.

Hear me out:

Calorie counting. If you struggle with it, you relate to Lily Collins in Netflix’s “To The Bone” scene when her sister refers to her calorie counting as ‘calories aspergers’, and if you don’t – I can only beg that you never attempt to. ((Also, I originally entitled this post Calorie Asperger’s in light of this scene – but it is insensitive to co-opt the two, so I changed it.))

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To The Bone

Coming off a weekend in Texas. Ate a lot – drank some wine. Went to my 10-year high school reunion and visited family. Feeling uncomfortably full as I write this – sipping a vanilla latte; ordered it and forgot to ask for nonfat milk, which made me laugh a little because I immediately thought to myself “Wonder how many calories that adds on?”

Some things never change.

You know that scene in Good Will Hunting? The 1997 movie about Matt Damon as this poverty-stricken Boston math genius. Beautifully written (RIP Robin Williams). But, there’s that scene where Matt Damon is told he has this ‘ability’ to solve math equations faster than anyone ever. He’s the best in the world – has a unique brain that rattles off numbers.

There’s a parallelism that resonates here with calorie counting for me, which leads me to this post.

 

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Continue reading “Calorie Counting: Does It Ever Go Away?”

Is Netflix’s ‘To The Bone’ Triggering? Spoiler Alert: Yes, But Life Is Triggering

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Been seeing thisΒ NetflixΒ movie ‘To The Bone’ anorexia debate flood my social media feed + inbox the past couple weeks, so I watched it yesterday and thought I’d type up a few thoughts.

I liked it.

As unpopular of an opinion as this might be for some, it’s easy to shit on eating disorder movies because there’s so many reasons why they occur. Not all can be covered in 2 hours. What I will say, though, is that I felt. And I appreciated the following attempts:

  • They cast a lead male with an eating disorder in treatment. This would not have been done 10 years ago. Thank you.
  • Β Predominately showcased Caucasian females, yes, but they cast at least two minorities (one who identifies with LGBT) as leads with an ED. Thank you.
  • While I would’ve preferred better dialogue on ‘drunkorexia’ or exercise addiction outside of sit ups, I was pleasantly surprised to see that they cast a pregnant girl dealing with pregorexia, a binge eater, and showcased ‘chewing and spitting’. Thank you.
  • Miscarriage scene. Horrifying. It happens. Thank you.
  • They included reference to social media pro-anorexia sites. More people need to understand that they exist in masses, and their kids could be on them. Thank you.
  • ”Calorie Aspergers” may not be PC, but if you have a type of anorexia, you know what they’re talking about. Thank you.
  • They inserted a frustrated sister. Cliche, sure. But, many of us have heard the same from members of our family or friends. Thank you.
  • The movie depicts insurance issues. And the recidivism rate of eating disorders + treatment. Thank you.
  • They showed a group of family members fighting over what to do. Scared. Selfish. Tired of her. Feeling like they did this to their child. Tis’ life. It’s not true. But yes, it’s relatable. Thank you.
  • They exposed manipulations with food. The diet cokes. The smoking. Laxatives. The bags under beds, the sit ups, the arm ring, the cutting off of bread from the fried chicken. Sure, there’s plenty more they could’ve done, but it’s a movie and there isn’t time. Thank you.
  • The stubbornness of these disorders. The habits we create and repeat time and time again. The locked circle. Thank you.

Continue reading “Is Netflix’s ‘To The Bone’ Triggering? Spoiler Alert: Yes, But Life Is Triggering”

A Reminder: Your Eating Disorder Is Boring

Coming out of a minor eating disorder relapse these last couple months, and I went to dinner with a girl who follows my blog this past week: “What made you go?” She asked. “To rehab? Did you have that moment?”
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I sipped my wine: looked down at 2 tacos in front of me. Sometimes, I wanna have a big, juicy response for that question. Sometimes, I don’t know what to say.
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I kinda chuckled. “I dunno if I have an answer really,” I said. “I didn’t have that moment – that big climatic scene in a movie. I didn’t have it, and sometimes I feel like I should make one up to feel relevant.”
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Truth is, though: I’m not the girl Lily Collins is playing in some hyped up Netflix movie about anorexia. I’m not your dying girl on a feeding tube in a hospital.
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I’m not the girl that people shook their head at in the street, and I wasn’t the girl who had a movie scene moment with an indie one-hit wonder theme.
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I was just a girl with an eating disorder – and I was simply boring.
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“I guess it’s that,” I said. “I was bored. I wanted a different story. Got tired of the one I was writing.”
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I wasn’t dying, but what is being alive glass-eyed? Tripping over your feet? Unaffected unless it directly relates back to calories burned or food lost. Food doesn’t give you love.
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Saw fields and mountains and beaches for years n’ all I thought was how long I could run them – till every calorie of food was gone.
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Look at pictures and remember events in my life by what I ate, threw up, or didn’t eat. “Ah yes, that picture. I had just hidden grape leaves in my back packet. Smushed them later in the car when I sat down. Smelled rank.”
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“I guess I just eventually got bored enough to ask myself ‘what else is there?’ I ended up saying. “And that was enough for me. Eating disorders are boring. People grow tired of you. You get tired of yourself; sit in the same 8-10 revolving thoughts all day. I was just … I was tired of feeling nothing.”
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I wanted something else to live for. I wanted to cry again; like big ole’ tears. And laugh the most genuine of my 7 laughs (still have them). I wanted to have shit days and joyful ones – and love affairs that wouldn’t last, and anger. I wanted to go on dates and road trips n’ eat camp food because it’s there. Party till 2am or sit in a lazy river. I wanted to run around at a hot springs or laugh at a meal with girlfriends. I wanted to gossip. Dance. Try some blues moves. Read a novel. Fuck up.
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I just wanted to be a person who no longer found the word ‘boring’ an acceptable meaning for a life.
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A lady who lives out of a suitcase – than motionless in a box, eyes wide open – feeling nothing.
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‘Cause honestly, what woulda’ been the point otherwise? I reminded myself that then: biting down into my tacos – what else is the bloody point?
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“But, The Scale Says I’m Fine”: Gaining Weight With Anorexia

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“But, I’m like, fine now.”

The other day I’m on the phone with my therapist.

“How’s your eating?” She asked – after we covered the mundane and I had no other drama to manipulatively fill the time.

“Better,” I said. “I’m diggin’ outta anorexia part 2. I weigh XXX. Put on some pounds in Mexico on that bachelorette.”

I hear her *harumph* on the phone. (And if you don’t know that sound – familiarize yourself with it immediately.)

“That’s not enough.”

I feel that growing flicker of annoyance in the pit of my stomach. “It’s fine.”

It’s FINE. LEAVE ME ALONE. ALL OF YOU – LEAVE ME ALONE.

“And you were …. how much did you weigh when you were in treatment?”

I tell her. “I don’t want to still be that though. I wasn’t even active then. They wouldn’t let me do shit so it wasn’t fair to say that’s accurate – I knew I’d lose a little. That was 3 years ago.”

“Regardless,” she says. “You’re still xxx off.”

“Yep,” I agree – ornery as eating disorders can be. “Yep, maybe. You might just be damn right.”

WHATCHU GONNA DO ABOUT IT, I want to say.

Instead, I wait.

A chess play. Always a chess play with eating disorders.

“So, what are you gonna do about your meals this week, now that you’re not on vacation?” She asks – which irks me.

WAIT, thought I was CONTROLLING this dialogue.

“Dunno,” I say, nonchalantly. “Do what I’m doing.”

“Skip meals?”

“I’m not. I’m gaining weight. I’m figuring it out.”

“But you’re not making it a priority.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “I don’t care if I gain weight or not. I’d be fine if I stayed this forever.”

“But you know you can’t sustain that?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” she says. “Maybe isn’t good enough.”

“Maybe is all that I got sometimes.”

Alex
Mexico!

Continue reading ““But, The Scale Says I’m Fine”: Gaining Weight With Anorexia”