Could not be more appreciative of all the support as this article runs. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a mixed bag of feelings to look down and see your name associated with the word “suicide.” To clarify: it’d be sensationalizing my eating disorder to state that I ever tried to end my life, but there were plenty of times that I looked at myself in the mirror and thought “this will be how I die. I’ll never get past it.”
Glad to be an example of recovery; what it is, what it entails, and all the beautiful ups and downs. Feeling so much gratitude and love as I leave this big apple city.
And of course, thank you to my friend Chase Williams for his sexy cameo. Don’t be surprised if the ladies of Cosmo come knockin’ my friend
A couple days ago, I was asked to submit a “before” and “after” pic for an interview I did about eating disorders.
Spent about an hour scrolling through old pictures trying to determine where I “looked sicker” vs now.
“Dude I never even looked that thin- people are gonna say mean comments about how I didn’t have an ED,” I complained to my best friend, to which she immediately backhanded me (👊) over gchat and said “Yo- Why do you give a shit about that!? You’re the one always writing that weight doesn’t define an eating disorder so no offense but like practice what you preach Linds.”
Thought about it for awhile… And realized she was right- ED got the best of me. I wasn’t being authentic at all. In the picture to the left I am about 11 pounds less than my weight in recovery on the right. 11 measly pounds guys.
Spent 8 years to look like that. Missed life for 8 years so that I could get my clavicle to stick out a lil more than it should- 8 years with stress fractures and binges and purging over a toilet trying to feel good- and yet I still remember taking that picture on the left and wearing shorts with that bikini because I was horrified by my legs.
A reminder that eating disorders are NOT about who can look “more sick” than another, or about what your weight is when you’re suffering.
I weigh 11lbs (sometimes 12-13-14) more than I did 2 years ago, and frankly I don’t look all that different- but I FEEL different. I eat different- and I live different. And no one gets to tell me otherwise 💛
Eh okay- I kinda lied. I’m not THATterrified of public speaking… but I am a lot better at expressing myself via the written word in my humble opinion.
Couldn’t help but see the flyer today and giggle to myself. Here I am going to be speaking beside Dietitians, Doctors, and Entrepreneurs and all I got is “I Haven’t Shaved in Six Weeks.”
LOL- just makes me realize I’m luckier than I comprehend sometimes to have ANY opportunities to speak on eating disorders and recovery.
At the end of the day, I’m just another girl with an ED story to share.There are plenty of people like me out there who could probably do 10x the job I’m doing when talking about recovery and struggle, so it’s a nice reminder to look at that flyer and remember that 2 years ago I was also just another girl who wasn’t allowed to shave her legs for 6 weeks.
Thankful for everything in my life- every chance to talk about it, because it’s truly what keeps me in recovery (hence, the panel discussion topic!)
I legit have the Flu people- THE FLU….yet yesterday at around 6pm I still thought as I rode the bus home “Am I sick enough yet to miss a work out?”
Inevitably, mother nature answered for me. In the 45 minutes it took me to ride the bus, get home and eat dinner (which my taste buds were already rejecting) I could feel the fever flame through me.
Ugh, fine- I thought, feeling the weakness fever brings. GUESS I CAN’T WORK OUT.
If felt like failure.
Huddled in my bed last night- teeth chattering- running a 102.3 fever and crying at Undercover Boss (because apparently fever makes me HIGHLY emotional)… I find I still have that little voice in my ear.
But, like, is it really? Isn’t recovery grey and murky? When do we draw the line? I never know. I have 10-years of eating disorders and 2 years of recovery, so I’m not even going to pretend like I can talk definitively.
There are times however I know I push it in terms of relapsing; times I conveniently put myself in situations where I won’t have the chance to eat for several hours and “can’t” get to food (i.e. the airport- always a prime example. Boarding an 11:50am flight from Dallas back to New York and conveniently not getting in till 5pm eastern time.)
“Oh,” I think to myself. “WHOOPSIE, guess I just skipped lunch!”
The last night I ever saw my best friend alive-it was 9pm at a fraternity party at The University of Arkansas, and I was standing there in the front yard backing away from him because I needed to finish a run.
18-years old- my first week of college- he was visiting with his parents on his way to University of Mississippi.
Linds, he pleaded, reaching out for my shoulder. Just stay. Christ, you don’t need to run so much.
I’ll be back, I’d laughed – windshorts hitting my leg. I’ll run home and change and I’ll come back.
But it’s my only night here, he sputtered– yelling down the hill with a red solo cup in his hand– his shorts hanging at the knee. Promise you’ll come back?
Maybe, I’d waved, smiling. I’ll call Riley.
But I was gone before he answered–running. Running because I’d eaten 3 bowls of Special K Fruit N’ Yogurt. Running because I was scared and the ED voice was screeching– And in the end, I didn’t go back.
Scared of calories, scared of loss of control, scared of losing my underweight frame- I texted him.
Goodnight, I wrote, Have fun with Riley–
I met him in the morning– a letter in hand. I love you, I whispered, pulling him close.
Love you too, he mumbled– Because he didn’t know how to be mad.
Don’t be upset, I grinned. I wrote you a letter, didn’t I?
He took it from my hand. I wish you had come back, he said, before turning to get into his parents car.
See you later- drive safe, I waved as he and his parents pulled out of the parking lot– my best friend in the middle seat– his backpack with my letter.
I’ll see him soon–I thought- I’ll make it up later.
And then you– my best friend– who carried me to bed when I fell asleep on the couch.
One month later– you pretty little boy– You fell from a tree, and you died.
8 years later I will always regret not spending that night with you.
Happy 27th Birthday Bradley Jameson- You are so loved and missed! Made that video above 6 years ago, and the only thing I’d change is some of my weak grammar. Love to you, your fam, and our friends that made this video (and the hours of film I still have somewhere in my parents house) possible.
Eating disorders kill, it’s true; but they kill your memories before they ever kill you.