“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!

Eating Disorders.

What master manipulators we are.

What brilliant little ways we have of “normalizing” abnormal behavior.

Like John Oliver said of Trump: we can’t normalize what’s not normal.

Yet, we continue to try all the time.

It’s sunny tonight, the longest day of the year, and I’m in Breckenridge, Colorado – dressed up from a conference, sipping a glass of white wine in a cream colored dress.

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Earlier in the car with a #ShamelessSelfie

I’m sitting at a shaky iron table right now at a pub n’ taproom, across from a group of girls. No older than 16.

I see one. I see her.

She doesn’t eat. 4 moms and 4 daughters around a table.

She won’t eat. Everyone has a plate. She doesn’t.

She’s sick and looks it. She’s sick and loves it.

Clutches the back of her arm every few minutes.

Needs that little validation.

The validation of grabbing skin – touching it in her fingertips.

How many of us can relate?

I wonder if she’ll get help as I look at her. Sitting here. Typing from my computer.

She has caught my eye a couple times.

I wonder if she’ll be okay.

If she’ll grow out of it. If she’ll find more meaning.

I see her friend trying to give her a piece of chicken and she puts her hands up. “No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “Gross.”

The girl gives her that look. That trapped look of a friend.

You’re transparent, I want to say. I know your game.

She squeezes out a lemon into a bowl.

She distracts herself.

And yet – I live this girl’s game.

Who am I to judge?

How easy it is to justify the shit we do.

How easy it is to displace ourselves when we see another doing the same.

I went through a break up a couple months ago.

It happened in a day. One of those “last best days” sort of memories.

Walking around Boulder, coffee in hand – breakfast bagels in a bag.

Everything was ideal – until it wasn’t. Until my mouth felt dry from hanging open with no words falling out.

It was no one’s fault. I have no fingers to point. Which, when you think about it, is almost always more difficult than having the pain to pinpoint. I don’t have a pinpoint of pain. It just happened. Slowly, one event at a time. Miffed responses left unresolved – one miscommunication after another –

“Do we want the same things?”

Until eventually they forked into a road neither of us wanted to be on – lost in the weeds, dirt kicking up.

I think, as humans, we have a tendency to demand closure as though we deserve it. As though the scenes in our lives are put together as intricately as novels, but they’re not. In real life, relationships are messy, with shitty paragraphs, terrible word choices, ending too early or too late, and sometimes in the middle of a sentence – the middle of some great dialogue, and you’re left saying ”why the fuck did I read this anyway?”

I am awfully sentimental at the end of the day. Of belongings, people, places. It matters very little how positive or negative the experience was – I will remask it anyhow. If it shared some meaningful time in my life, I’ll have trouble letting go.

I love my ex, dearly. But, there’s an intricate difference in loving someone and loving the relationship that you build. How easy it is to love a human for everything they are – and resent them for everything they can’t give to you.

“You’re important to me,” I said that day. “I think if there’s anything that will last forever – and remain true – it’s that. Whether we separate, stay in touch or rarely speak again, you will always be that little someone I really do care for.”

“You’re my friend,” he said. “You were every future plan. I can’t picture a life where I don’t know what glass of wine you had with dinner. What book you’re crying over.”

On our final night, we laid beside each other on a bed. Our arm hairs touching.

“Will you stay?” He asked, once the decision no longer floated in the air. “We’ll miss each other forever, you know. We’ll forget the time. Misconstrue all our memories — barrel them into one container. Forget the little things. Our birthdays -”

“Don’t forget to get that mole checked out,” I smiled.

We were messy that night – but not in the way that requires touching. We were messier than touching can give. Messy the way I always am – and the way he never wanted me to be. It didn’t seem to matter anymore.

“You have me with tears in my ears,” I laughed at one point —  eyes to the ceiling, knocking my kneecaps together on his bed. “You have me with tears in my earlobes, forever. I can feel them sliding down into them.”
“I always thought you look beautiful when you cry,” he whispered — but he didn’t look at me – feet fastened to the ground. “Your skin glows. Every time, I always thought to myself ‘how can she be so fucking beautiful in the strangest ways?”

Everyone you meet has a part to play in your story.

To him, I’d say: It was a privilege to matter to you.

And I’m still reorganizing my life to clutter your absence.

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I don’t believe you are allowed to blame relapses on heartache – but you are allowed to use that pain to trace back to a starting point.

I lost a bit weight from March – May. Perhaps, I’ll always believe that to showcase pain – you have to see it.

I’ve gained back a few pounds over the last week or two. Life has a funny way of jolting you and then flatlining.

Technically, I’m healthy. I’m thin – but not “too thin.”

I’m thin where you notice (or so I like to think) but not thin where you worry.

That’s a fine line for anyone that has been where I am now.

How easy it is for us to notice others across from us – and not notice ourselves.

I would never inflict this mentality on anyone.

I would never look at a little person, or that girl across from me, who is starving themselves – binge eating – whatever. Running excessively.

And think “good for you, lil girl or boy.”

“You got this baby.”

I see people who are sick and my heart aches.

Mostly because I can see them when others can’t.

I’m the Houdini of eating disorders: the magic of presenting something you didn’t see before. I can always spot someone with an eating disorder.

It’s painful to see – and then, I wonder what others think of me?

Am I that to them?

Sometimes, maybe. Sometimes, no. Sometimes, for sure.

Regardless, this post surrounds the art of gaining back weight once you’ve let yourself lose it.

This is dedicated to all you anorexics that lost weight – and have to deal with it.

((P.S. This is not solely what anorexia is.))

Anorexia is a normal body size. Is an overweight body size.

Anorexia is not an emaciated stereotype.

But, tonight’s post: this shit I’m writing now –

Is for the people who need to gain weight. And know it. Have had it told to them.

Who have the voice in their head that knows they need to.

This is directed towards you.

I’m in this phase where I’ve lost weight and now gained a few pounds back.

Naturally you like to justify it, right?

I did it. I’m done.

Or more like…

OMG I’ve gained back like 3lbs in a week and OMG THIS WILL BE THE NORM FOREVER.

WILL THIS BE THE NORM FOREVER?!?!?

WILL I JUST GAIN AND GAIN AND GAIN NO MATTER WHAT I EAT?

It’s hard to remind yourself that like, MY GOD, we have to gain back weight. And if your body isn’t where it naturally wants to be … it’ll get there … and likely stabilize.

Bodies work for you, yeah? They work for you. And we forget that.

We forget this whole body thing – it wants to work for you.

It’s like the eager college graduate that is biting at the bit for an entry level job.

It wants the ability to impress. To grow. To be malleable.

I have a few remaining pounds to gain back.

I can lie forever – lie to everyone.

But what’s the point?

How much do I still have to live for?

How many memories to still form?

I state this as a question.

But, I know.

I know that life is short – and passing.

I know, I know, I know.

I think about my best friend, ya know – he died so young. 18 years old.

It’ll be 10 years this September. What a life he missed.

I don’t want to miss mine.

We all die at some point.

Will we really be remembered by skin?

By a number?

Nah. You’re only remembered by the way other people felt around you.

Maya Angelou – whoever said that; they were right.

You’re only remembered by the feeling you gave to others.

The energy you put forth into the world.

You’re remembered by connection; by being raw.

Losing weight didn’t make the uncertainty of my future alter.

Losing weight didn’t “prove” to anyone that I was hurting over a relationship ending.

All it did was provide a distraction.

Entice that fear from my friends and family.

That validating fear from them so that I knew I was loved.

An extra layer over my heart so that I didn’t feel.

But, who doesn’t want to feel?

To feel is the bravest thing you can do.

And to feel means to hurt. And to love. And to experience those moments of happiness that you think your heart bursts at the seams.

I don’t want to experience love through sickness – through makeshift blocks of an eating disorder.

I want to experience love in its equality. Two people on the same page – who love each other not because they are sick, but because they are capable, strong, passionate.

So, if you’re in the boat I’m in right now – gain back your weight. Gain it with me so that we’re not sitting around being boring stick figures. Lifeless stick drawings walking up and down streets – so preoccupied and caught up in our shit that we forget to see that life is sweeping past us.

Gain back your bloody weight so we can be present again, human:

And so very alive.

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6 {Real} Signs Of An Eating Disorder Relapse

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Haven’t written in awhile.

Mostly because —  I’ve lost weight — And I don’t know how (nor want) to talk about that.

How do you talk about the reality that’s occurring – and less about the past you can reflect on? (Writing about the past is so much simpler.)

What does it mean when you’re generally “okay” and yet — not being okay?

How do you write for the people you know that read this — put yourself out on the gurney —  and still make it human?

It’s hard to maintain a sense of transparency about your life – while also worrying about what other people will think.

So, I write in this way. In numerical values like this headline — because it seems easier to own.

6 “real” signs of a relapse.

I’m in one – but I’ll dig out of it.

And, I think, while I’m in it — it’s worth shedding light on the little manipulations we use in order to get away with it. Continue reading “6 {Real} Signs Of An Eating Disorder Relapse”

“If I Eat That, I’ll Have To Work Out”: Exercise With An Eating Disorder

Oh, Exercise. The ultimate double-edged sword of an eating disorder.

 

^BUT MY GOD, HOW CUTE IS THAT?

People ask me every so often “What was the hardest part of rehab?”

Depending on my mood, the answer varies.

“The food, the confinement, the emotion overload, the disparity of sick people… the exercise.”

Ah, the exercise, I always land on – or lack thereof.

3 years ago, I was escorted into rehab (yes, escorted. Two people at each side in the case that I bolted… and ran to the highway? I don’t know where the hell they expected me to go.)

Anyway, I remember looking around the vast expanse of my prison-like surroundings, and spotting what looked like a runner’s path.

Circular, brown dirted and perfectly suited to run on during what I assumed would be many hard days ahead, I was relieved to see this silver lining.

“YOU CAN TAKE MY BODY, BUT YOU CAN NEVER TAKE MY FREEDOM (TO EXERCISE)” – the William Wallace inside of me screamed. (Side note: Braveheart, oddly enough, happened to be a fan favorite to watch while in rehab. We were banned from all trash television, as well as any movie baring nudity of any sort – but yet, somehow, Braveheart slipped the radar.)

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As it goes.

Continue reading ““If I Eat That, I’ll Have To Work Out”: Exercise With An Eating Disorder”

The One Sentence You Should Never Say To Someone With An Eating Disorder

“I can’t even tell that you have one.”

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This sentence helped take away 8 years and 40lbs of my life – and I’m reposting it here today because in light of NEDA week, I think it’s a reminder to anybody searching for resources on the internet.

“I can’t even tell that you have one.”

Such a simple few words. We say it all the time.

Continue reading “The One Sentence You Should Never Say To Someone With An Eating Disorder”

5 Things You Need to Know About Eating Disorders & Your Heart

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Originally seen on SheKnows.com

5 Truths You Need to Know About Eating Disorders and Your Heart

Here’s the truth about eating disorders: we are often uneducated as to their risks.

Sure, we “know” they are detrimental, but when I struggled for 8 years I had no real awareness as to what type of bodily harm I inflected on my organs.

I noticed the physical effects: thinning hair, sallow eyes, and stress fractures from running. I observed the light-headedness and fainting spells, but I never took time to explore what that meant internally, especially for my heart.

Now in recovery from my eating disorder, I spent time speaking with cardiologists and medical professionals around the country to learn more about the harmful effects that eating disorders can have on your organs – specifically, your heart.

Here’s what they had to share: Continue reading “5 Things You Need to Know About Eating Disorders & Your Heart”

“We Can’t Save Your Tooth”: Truth About Eating Disorders 3 Years Later

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This post is a struggle, but it needs to be written.

If my message doesn’t carry its usual snarky platitudes  – please understand that I’m grappling with this past week and I’m generally a bit more ha-he-ho about these eating disorder subjects (‘Cause, really, who wants to read the woe?)

However, this message is important.

Should I write it? I asked my partner today on a hike.

(Side note: it’s 66 degrees in Boulder at the moment. Double-edge sword of being like WOO WE GET TO HIKE… and also, OH GOD. GLOBAL WARMING IS GOING TO END THE PLANET.)

Anyway, we were chatting about the events of the past week. It’s embarrassing, I said. I never thought this would catch up to me.

Write it, he said. So you can be an example. People are short-sided. Maybe they need a reminder that the effects of eating disorders are long-term.

… So, here I am. And here I am to remind:

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Bagel Saturdays – yaaasss
A couple weeks ago, I went to the dentist. Falling in line with the rest of the nation, I have avoided that chair for a year.

Was it an oversight? Yes. Was it intentional? Of course.

I’ve felt pain in my gums and molars for the past year and been filled with an ever-present growing dread.

It’s Gingivitis, my New York dentist said – with little concern. You need to floss more.

But my molars, I said.

He waved it off. You’re fine. The x-rays show nothing.

Accepting his nonchalance eagerly (purposely), I skipped outta that office and moved to Denver – where I’ve been for a year and some – with an increasing pain in my gums and back right molar.

Go to the dentist, my partner said for months.

I will, I’d say curtly – with that whispering fear in my brain.

Why so nervous? Some might ask. You’re healthy, you’re recovering.

I am. I am both of those things.

But, you don’t forget the cigarettes you’ve smoked in your life.

The ones you still sneak on a bad day.

You don’t forget the years you threw up – bile clinging to the back of your teeth – and the lack of concern you paid to your mouth.

The pain worsened over the past couple months; gnawed at me like a consistent reminder of my past.

Brushing my teeth became excruciating before I finally relented.

I booked a bloody appointment.

Sitting in the chair, I introduced myself to the dentist.

Nice to meet you, I said. I know something’s wrong and I’m not sure what it is but my back molar is pretty painful.

He nodded. We’ll take some x-rays.

Let’s do it, I said. Let’s face the damn music.

20 minutes later, he came back with a fresh-faced, nervous-looking assistant.

My throat tightened.

You want the good news or the bad?

Bad, I said. I’m not much for glazing.

He nodded. There’s been trauma to your teeth.

I sighed. Yeah, I was bulimic for years.

He nodded – probably more than a little surprised I admitted it – but kept his composure.

Did you smoke? He asked.

Yes, I said. Still do on the occasion.

He nodded again, as though he already knew the answer and was relieved to hear me confirm it.

Okay, he said. I’m going to be honest: Your back right molar is extensively damaged. He brought up my x-ray. Did you know you had Gingivitis?

Yeah, I said. The whole bleeding gum thing kinda gave it away.

It’s turned into periodontal disease, he paused. Now, this is common. A lot of people have it and don’t ever know. But, yours has progressed fairly severely from what we can tell.

I picked at the skin around my cuticles.

You’ve lost somewhere around 6 millimeters of bone on your back molar, he said – pointing at my x-ray. And you have a cavity that has wrapped around your gum lines near the molar.

What next then? I asked – cutting off all emotion. And why the fuck didn’t someone else notice this when I was bulimic?

He shook his head. It can take years to form into this. You could be perfectly healthy now and just starting to experience the after effects.

Fantastic, I muttered.

He stared at me.

Why are doctors such duds?

I’m sorry, he said, earnestly.

I shrugged. Saw this coming.

I didn’t… but Dr. Sociopath didn’t need to know.

Here’s what we can do, he said – in his flat manner. We’ll have you come back next week, figure out just how severe this cavity is  – and we’ll try to fill it before anything else.

What are the chances of that working?

He shrugged. Can’t tell you until we’re in there.

I left that day; made an appointment.

I also booked a second opinion.

I so badly wanted this dentist to be wrong that I was willing to spend $100 bucks on a second glance.

The optimistic side of me thought “It’ll be fine. They’ll fill it.”

The pessimistic side of thought “You’re screwed.”

Turns out, neither were particularly correct.

(I say this while popping another painkiller in a bookstore.)

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The second opinion confirmed the first.

I dragged back in on Thursday to the original doctor and sat in the chair.

For 2 1/2 hours, the dentist and assistant hygienist worked to save my tooth. Doped up on Novocain didn’t stop the pain of them poking and prodding into my gums (hence, the painkiller).

For 2 1/2 hours, I thought about my eating disorder. I thought about the purges, the binges – imagining my teeth in the process.

As they struggled to get a filling, I sat in the chair and I thought to myself: “If only I knew then what I know now.”

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Maya Angelou
At the end of the day, here’s the deal:

I was anorexic and bulimic for years – I smoked anywhere from 10-12 cigarettes a week – and I’m 3 years into recovery.

I was never an “every meal” purger. More a 4-5x/week purger and I truly believed I wouldn’t suffer consequences cause hell “I wasn’t as bad as that person or horror story.”

When they got into my mouth, they confirmed that my tooth was decaying from the inside out.

Not yet at the nerve, I won’t have to have a root canal. (wahoo, good news, I gargled to them.)

However, bulimia took a toll.

My molars have lost bone, my gums have fairly severe periodontal disease, and my gums have receded.

They cannot save my back right molar.

They removed the cavity from my gum line but my tooth is 2/3 filling, which can only last temporarily – a year or two.

At the end of the day, I have two choices:

Have the tooth extracted and chew on other molars, or have gum surgery and a crown.

They tested my other teeth: with the exception of a couple, most are strong. They will be fine if I get this shit under control.

Inevitably, I will spend $1000s of dollars on my teeth throughout the years – and that’s a financial burden I’m just beginning to sort through.

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Now for some real talk: Is this the end of the world? No.

I’ll live, and I’ll get my mouth under control.

A kick in the ass, my partner said. We’ll get better about flossing and brushing.

But, I can’t help but sit here right now writing this – and shake my head.

How short-sided of me to think for all those years that there wouldn’t be repercussions.

How silly of me to think I could throw up meal after meal, run mile after mile, smoke cigarette after cigarette to keep hunger muted –

And not wind up dealing with the consequences.

I used to go to the dentist when I was bulimic and wait for the ax to fall.

Certainly, this will be the time they tell me my teeth are screwed.

When I started recovery, I thought to myself “A-ha. I got outta ‘dat scot-free.”

But, I suppose I’m here to remind you that every decision has a consequence – some for the better, some for the worse.

And you can’t quit an eating disorder expecting zero repercussions.

You don’t just get to be like “BUT WAIT, HEY NOT FAIR. I WAS SICK AND IT’S NOT MY FAULT AND I DIDN’T WANNA MESS WITH MY TEETH.”

If only we could bargain with our bodies.

The guilty side of me is resentful of my choices –

I’m down, admittedly. I’m angry at the things I did and the lack of care I inflicted on myself.

I’m angry at 18-year old me – hunched over the toilet, ice cream splashing back up into my face as it hit the surface.

I never thought at the time that I’d age. That life would carry on at a regular weight – and I’d be working hard every day to advocate for recovery.

Hindsight truly is 20/20.

Look, I know I’ll forgive myself. Just give me a couple days. There’s worse shit in life and my life is good.

I can be mad and feel guilty, but truthfully – what’s the point?

I’m not gonna go relapse over it. I mean hell, I don’t want dentures. (lol)

I’m not gonna go run 10 miles and pray that exercise makes up for it.

I’m not gonna go punish myself.

I’m just going to be and spread my message as I can.

Be a walking example of the good and the bloody bad.

There’s nothing you can do about the mistakes you made. They are yours to deal with and manage (sometimes in the future).

I’m not going to stop living over its effects. Hell, been there done that.

But, I will change my habits.

That “secret” stash of cigs. It’s over. I have lived in a world where consequences don’t apply to me and I’m 27-years old and 1-2 cigs a week or even a month isn’t cutting it anymore.

Tonight, I’m going to wrap up this blog – publish it – prep for a podcast interview on ‘drunkorexia’ and have a beer with my partner when he’s done studying (and yes, have food as well).

We’re going to sit outside and talk about this or that. And then we’ll drive to Denver, feed my dog, cook some pasta, and burrow down in the living room in sweatpants to watch a movie.

Life keeps going. You keep moving.

I’ve got solid relationships, a healthy lifestyle, shelter and motivation.

I’m not ever going back to who I was – but the traces of her linger always.

And perhaps, at the end of the day, I need those traces to remember how far I’ve come.

Have a good weekend, y’all. ❤

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“Can You Grab My Spanx?”: Weddings With An Eating Disorder

 

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Wedding season.

… We’ve all been there – or will be there – and once you do, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

Picture this:

It’s the weekend of your best friend’s wedding and you’re a bridesmaid.

You’re back at your parents house; surrounded by crinkled pictures, dolls in plastic bins, old love notes from high school boyfriends that you refuse to throw out (even if they’re all married with a kid on the way; nostalgia is a real disease), and a high school Geography and Algebra book you never returned.

You’ve just showered: the fumes of yesterday’s spray tan wafting through your nose. Your hair is up in some makeshift form, water running down your back, and a towel wrapped loosely around your chest.

You’re hunched over childhood chest of drawers.

Where the hell is it? You’re wondering, tossing aside a neon yellow tank top you bought in Costa Rica on your Senior trip.

You push around an oversized college t-shirt, a ragged spaghetti top, and some winter Long-Johns your mom bought one Christmas that you never wore them. (They’re polka dot for Christ’s sake).

You sigh. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME I WORE THOSE BLOODY SPANX, You’re now chastising yourself – moving on from the Long-Johns.

Kim’s wedding? Amanda’s? April’s?

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Continue reading ““Can You Grab My Spanx?”: Weddings With An Eating Disorder”

Add A Pinch of Salt: Must We? Cooking With An Eating Disorder

Happy 2017 y’all! My fingers have finally found their way to the keyboard again and I couldn’t be more relieved. (Always have this mass blind anxiety that after each blog post I’ll suddenly run out of subjects and dive into a deep writers block and lose my voice and never write again and and… well, you get the picture.)

Anyway, I’d say my resolution is to write more consistently – but hey, I think resolutions are bullshit – and I don’t like writing unless I have a subject to delve into.

SO, with that being said, lez’ talk about cooking and eating disorders ’cause LORD – I gots some venting to do.

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Pancakes from my roomie

Picture this:

The other night my roommate walks into our apartment right? And there I am leaned over on the kitchen counter – squinting at a laptop screen.

She halts in the doorway. “Are you cooking?”

I look up from said laptop, brow furrowed –  a dripping colander of black beans, a pan full of burnt rice, and reading some eye-rollingly beautiful blonde bloggers “easy, earth shattering sweet potato and grains bowl” recipe.

“I dunno what the hell I’m doing,” I say – turning back to the sink and pushing sweaty hair off my forehead.

SUCK IT BLOG LADY, I think. I hope all your cabbage rots and fumigates your 10,000$ oven.

“Well, this is interesting,” my roommate grins.

I make a face. “I’m on a budget.”

“Lemme know if you need anything,” she says – walking back towards her room (likely with deliberate stride).

“IS A CLOVE THE WHOLE GARLIC?” I yell.

“Jesus, NO. That’s the bulb.”

I sigh. Look over at my dog.

“Wanna give me your gruel?”

He did not.

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Hello, Juno – you greedy bastard

The truth about cooking with an ED?

It’s a minefield.

Continue reading “Add A Pinch of Salt: Must We? Cooking With An Eating Disorder”

Sugar N’ Spice N’ Everything Nice? Naw: Holidays With An Eating Disorder

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Christmas Eve – and… donuts? 🍩🎄❄️️ ((or otherwise known as a time of general food anxiety, fear of weight gain, and constant body checking))

Such a balancing beam between the holidays we are born into believing in – and the reality that takes place when you have an eating disorder.

Went on a run this morning with my partner. Ran straight past a Dunkin Donuts. “Let’s get donuts for my family,” he said. “I got the dog; you go in and pick it out.”

I. Fucking. Cringed.

Continue reading “Sugar N’ Spice N’ Everything Nice? Naw: Holidays With An Eating Disorder”

“Trump”ing Eating Disorders: Guest Post for My Blog in Light of 2017

“She looks old and wrinkled.”

“She was hotter sick”

“Someone should’ve told her she looked bad sick.”

“She’s so pretty.”

“Poor girl.”

“SHE’S AN ALCOHOLIC NOT A DRUNKOREXIC.”

“This girl be FUCKED up.”

“I’d fuck her.”

“She got an ass.”

“So tired of hearing about sorority girls with eating disorders. NEXT.”

“Someone should give that bitch a real problem to cry about.”

“I think she’s beautiful.”

“She has a nice smile.”


Oh, the internet.

A place I liken to “seeing someone else puking so you start puking and then everyone else starts puking” 2016.

Thanks for the line, John Oliver.

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Continue reading ““Trump”ing Eating Disorders: Guest Post for My Blog in Light of 2017″