Wednesday, 29 June 2016
Silence
Sunday, 26 June 2016
Secrets.
Saturday, 25 June 2016
Happy Birthday Zaineđź’–, my inspiration.
Simple pleasures, small victories ;-)
As I was texting the boyfriend about my day, I realized that, holy shizzle, I hadn't cried all day. I feel like a huge dance party should be held in my honour, Britney Spears must attend. Please advise when able to arrange. This goes out to all of you. Thanks.
Oh and another super exciting thing, I can now have two hours post supervision after meals, rather than "permanent post," which means staff must stand beside the bathroom door every time you need to use it, and bloody hell, I pee a lot. I'm sure the nurses are rejoicing.
I'm missing Skyla, my kitten desperately. Every once in awhile I think I see her in my room out of habit. It's a sad moment, when I remember she's not here to snuggle me (tolerate me snuggling her) to pieces.
So instead, I'm hugging this stuffy I've had for a million years, it's not as special as Skyla, but he does let me squish him.
Oh, and watching The Bachelorette and Southern Charm definitely made today more enjoyable.
It's the little things yo.
Friday, 24 June 2016
They call it weight restoration.
Wednesday, 22 June 2016
Through the Looking Glass
She is always outside looking in.
(Source: www.desktopnexus.com)
She used to smile all the time.
She changed.
Now she cries all the time.
She won't eat.
She's too tired to do anything anyway.
She is a hollow version of who she once was,
The carefree girl that anorexia stole away.
A tear slides slowly down the glass.
Her vision blurry,
To watch them go on without her.
She carefully tiptoes away,
To a place where she won't be seen,
Or even missed.
She feels her heart sink.
So sad and alone.
She hears them laughing now,
They are happy when she isn't there
With her sickness.
Anorexia has left her on the outside of the glass.
No longer a participant in their world.
Trapped inside this sick game
That she never asked to play.
No one warned her that counting calories
Would lead to this,
Anorexia played her with her lies.
They let her inside somedays.
And when she is brave,
She can plaster on a smile,
Laugh and dance with the rest of them
Until they remember.
Until they push food in front of her,
And she glances quickly away,
Every memory marred by anorexia.
I purged in on every vacation.
I remember ordering room service
When the coast was clear.
I remember feeling the panic rise in my chest,
Eating nachos on the beach,
Sipping my sugary margarita.
I was never okay though.
I was always thinking,
Obsessing over the food in my stomach.
Cringing at my thighs against the sand.
I remember quickly sneaking away,
Trying for nonchalance toward the bathrooms,
Where I could purge the guilt,
The anxiety,
And the shame.
I can't make eye contact.
I smile and pretend.
I secretly long to be free.
I secretly wish someone
Would see my pain,
Under my carefully constructed
Suit of armour.
I am this sad little girl crying out..
Please take this anxiety away.
I want to be free like you.
I want the glass to shatter
Into a million sharp edged pieces,
So that I may never cross to that place again.
Monday, 20 June 2016
If you have an eating disorder, you know that fat IS a feeling.
Saturday, 18 June 2016
Saturday.
And my bones sharper.
Or run around barefoot and free.
I'm still grieving anorexia,
Still missing her cold hand in mine.
Part of me wishes I was brave enough,
Desperate enough,
To accept a fate,
Of a life cut short.
But I am stubborn as hell.
I'm too stubborn to let anorexia win.
I hope I deserve to feel how it feels
To house my soul
In a body that cherishes
Just how beautiful,
A soul can be.
Thursday, 16 June 2016
Our suffering will not be in vain.
I was pretty amazed when just last week, Mandy went through her memory box and discovered a letter that I had written to her at this bible camp so long ago.
"I know you feel fat. But weight is not worth as much as living."
The sad thing about this letter, is that as young girls we had such disgust for our bodies. Why and how did we learn that being thinner would make us somehow more worthy of love, attention, happiness? What happened to us to that we felt compelled to manipulate our bodies to compensate for the belief that we are not good enough, loveable enough, just as we are?
I asked a few girls on the unit to share when their eating disorders had developed and what their present self would want to tell their past self. I passed around a notebook and they were kind enough to share their experiences.
Michaela: I began having body image and disordered eating thoughts and behaviours from age ten, but my disorder took a stronger form two years ago when I was 20. I would tell my past self that what she is feeling is real, that her fears and pains are valid, but living them is not some kind of predetermined lot for her life. I WOULD BEG HER TO FIGHT FOR HER HAPPINESS,".
Cecilia's eating disorder began at age 12. If she could go back, she would tell this young girl, "there is a healthier way to deal with problems and to be happy and to find it".
Another would tell her 9 year old self that, "You matter and are important in this world. You have a positive presence and you BELONG. NEVER GIVE UP,". I can so relate to this, I always felt that I didn't have a place in this world, that I was in the way, and that I was a burden. Anorexia was a way to make myself smaller, take up less space, and be as perfect as possible to make up for the fact that I existed.
Another woman developed her eating disorder at 15, if she could go back and tell her past self anything, it would be: "This isn't going to be a 3 year thing to survive until you can leave home. You're not going to be able to give it up. Tell someone what's happening and get some real help instead of going down this road,".
The last entry in my notebook read, "My binge eating disorder started when I was 7 and the anorexia started when I was 14. What started as an attempt to eat healthier and begin adding physical activity into my life, manifested into the manipulative, abusing partner: dictating my every thought and behaviour, it has swallowed me whole. Appreciate what you have, for when the sun sets, you will be left blind and the sun rises tomorrow,".
Tuesday, 14 June 2016
Fuck you Anorexia
It is definitely a time of grieving. With every bite I take, I feel that I am slowly betraying anorexia. It is a mindfuck, it truly is. How is it possible to miss the girl with sunken eyes, and hollow cheeks, a girl one breath away from dying.
Anorexia is angry, and she is beyond pissed. This bitch is fighting me tooth and nail as I try to hold on to hope that I can have a happy life someday beyond this illness. Anorexia tells me that the dying girl was stronger than the one who is now in a hospital, who needs locked bathrooms and ativan to endure the anxiety of eating. Anorexia makes me stare at my reflection with disgust and hatred.
.
She tells me that I am losing control. She tells me that I am fat and I could simply leave these claustrophobic walls and jump right into the rabbit hole again. I feel an urgency to jump, before I gain too much weight, before my organs start to heal, before I'm too well to get back to that dying girl I was.
A new patient arrived today, I observed how frail, how sick, how weak she looked. I was then reminded by my boyfriend just how frail, sick, and weak I was when I was first admitted to 4F4 just 11 days ago. It's funny how my mind suddenly forgets how awful it is to feel this way. Anorexia glamourizes death, it's like the heroine chic of modelling, but anorexia aims to be the deadly trend of those who have lost their self worth. I felt so sad to see this patient's empty stare, so vacant and hollow, like anorexia had removed all light from her soul. How messed up is it to wish to be so ill? How messed up is anorexia?
I'm well hydrated now. I've had a week and a half of nourishment. I have colour in my cheeks. I have energy to walk and not feel dizzy. I'm no longer a walking corpse. Yet, here I grieve the dying girl. Here I grieve my safety blanket, anorexia. A cocoon so safe, you feel ready to accept that this world is too scary to live in.
Writing is so therapeutic for me now. It reveals the utter craziness of my thoughts. The grief is real, the tears and sadness are real, but I am slowly learning that anorexia is a false idol that has robbed me of so much joy, so much laughter, so much life. I long to be free, and for that freedom, I will keep fighting. I will endure more tear soaked cornflakes, and hopefully the tears will become less and less as I learn to disassociate my beauty as a person from the false identity of anorexia.
Sunday, 12 June 2016
Second Stage of Grief: ANGER
Saturday, 11 June 2016
The Rabbit Hole
As you fall slowly down the rabbit hole, you transform into someone unrecognizable from just months ago.
My psychiatrist said that girls like me find themselves living in an altered reality. We feel invincible, we live in this fantasyland where it's totally okay to continue our rituals and actually rather admirable.
I had a glimpse of insight when I visited my parents in June. I could feel the discomfort in their eyes as they glanced at my thin arms and legs and then quickly looked away. I gingerly step onto the scale in their bathroom. I haven't weighed myself in ages because I'm terrified of those numbers and their power to ruin or uplift a day. I step on, stare at the two digit number, step down, step up again...the same number in red light stares defiantly back at me. I hadn't seen this number since I was....15?...14? I need to eat more. I can and I will.
I tell my mother this, and she sighs in relief that I have some insight as I speak calmly and say that I didn't realize. I just didn't know. As the week goes on, my willingness to eat just doesn't happen. I know I'm too thin, I see my hip bones again....but the scary truth is, I don't actually WANT to see the numbers go up on the scale. As much as they scared me, my brain is so programmed to weight loss, I don't know how to press the reset button. I eat just to say I have, but it's obvious I can't keep anything down. My Dad asks me to get help when I get back to Alberta, but I can't stop the anger from bubbling up inside me. I'm sick of thinking about this. I know he means well, but I find myself reacting like a petulant teenager.
Friday, 10 June 2016
Anorexia takes my hand...
Your heart pauses, you forget to breathe.
Later I call my Dad, his voice cracks, he sobs into the phone.
The viewing.
The funeral service.
So selfish.
Look at me, crying and sniffling.
I'm not the one who should have to be comforted.
Secretly I pray that my mother will come to me, wrap her arms around me.
Like I'm still her little girl.
But my mother copes by fussing, organizing,
Making sure things are in order.
This is her way to numb.
I run to the toilet and throw up,
Stare at my gray reflection in the mirror,
Inspect my stomach and pinch my thighs.
I manage to mess it up.
I haven't been here since I was a little girl for sleepovers.
Her eyes are sad, but she welcomes me in.