Silence

Something has shifted. 

Flowers smell sweeter,

Blankets feel cozier,

I can get through a phone call without breaking into tears. 

There are these small bursts of happiness,

And it feels so foreign and bizarre. 

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. 

Big brown eyes look back at me curiously. 

Today I observe a thin girl, 

She actualy appears too thin. 

She looks like she is recovering

From some kind of illness. 

And there is a small sparkle in her eyes,

That had left some months ago. 

Anorexia, where are you now? 

I'm staring in the mirror,

And I can't hear your voice.

I make wishes on dandelions and watch as the soft white feathers dance in the wind. 

I have been floating on a cloud all day. 

It's new and strange...

And freeing.  

And so I make more wishes,

Look up at the sky and I whisper gratitude,

And warmth fills my heart. 

I can almost hear the prayers,

Like whispered words carried by the wind,

From others who believe in me,

When I don't believe in myself. 

Perhaps it's the new yellow pill,

That is lifting the shadow of this disease,

Smoothing the sharp distorted edges of my thoughts. 

I would never have predicted 

That this little yellow wafer,

That I once gave to so many patients,

Is now dissolving on my own tongue. 

I don't even care. 

I hold no judgment here. 

I am simply grateful,

So grateful, 

To feel just that much more alive. 

The silence of anorexia 

Is freedom from pain. 

To see my reflection,

and not recoil in disgust, 

Or to feel the absence of my once constant companion,

Feels surreal. 

I'm scared to trust my reflection. 

I don't want this to be stripped away.

Please don't let me become the hollow shell

I was when I arrived here. 

That very sick girl seems like a dream,

and yet so very real at the same time. 

I can't look at the photos I took of my emaciated body and empty eyes. 

I wanted proof at the time,

That I was that far down the rabbit hole. 

I can not deny that I have been sick,

Very sick,

The majority of my life. 

I'm letting the world into this shameful disease.

It feels good,

But it is also terrifying.  

What if I fall again? 

What if I starve again? 

I pause from my thoughts. 

I hear nothing. 

I look again into the plastic hospital mirror,

Still nothing. 

For just this moment of silence,

I am grateful. 

Anorexia, where are you now? 

I'm staring in the mirror,

And I can't hear your voice.

Secrets.

I've lived my life telling little white lies,

The smaller pieces of the shameful one that has become my cross to bear. 

Every relationship I've had,

Has been coloured by the secrets that I keep. 

In blood soaked pointe shoes,

I move across the stage.

All you notice from your seats are the graceful movements I've performed a million times. 

That's all you are meant to see.  

You become entranced by the dancer on stage,

And l become entranced by the dance. 

I make a wish on every falling star. 

I scribble a prayer on random notebook pages, 

on scraps of paper,

and mess up the pretty pages of journals. 

Between the drawings of hearts and faces, flowers and butterflies,

Are my heartfelt pleas. 

They are the same desperate words I've written too many times,

again and again,

over and over,

year after year. 

Dear God,

I long for a warm chest, 

Where I can whisper all my secrets 

And rest my weary head. 

Please give me strength,

Release me of this shame. 

I'm so so tired Lord. 

Men fall for her, 

They fall for the carefree girl,

The pretty one with the big brown eyes. 

She laughs and smiles,

And you see kindness there. 

I sometimes wish you could see inside. 

I would take off some layers for you. 

And may be, just may be,

you would stick around. 

But I'm pretty sure you would run. 

And I wouldn't blame you.

I would run from me too. 

If you get too close,

You will notice the blood on my toes. 

The lights will come on as you rise from your seat. 

The crowd will applaud and rush to get back to their cars and the warmth of their homes. 

These hours of watching me dance,

Eventually come to an end.

You grow weary of seeing me after the curtains have closed, 

When my makeup is off and my costume lies in a heap on the floor.

It's never the same as it was. 

If you come too close,

You begin to see my scars,

And the pain in my eyes. 

I look into yours, 

And I wonder if you'll stay. 

Will you run when the tears inevitably stream down my face?

Or will you hold me close?

Will you wrap me in your arms,

and fight for me,

Even after the curtains close 

and I am laid bare. 

I didn't want to tell you lies. 

But I couldn't let you in too close. 

I kept secrets to protect you from me. 

Now that you know,

Will you run, or will you stay. 

I hope you stay. 

(http://www.buro247.hr/local/images/burohr/nybalet7_jpg_1355241176.jpg)

Happy Birthday Zaine💖, my inspiration.

Last but absolutely not least...drum roll please!!! 

In half an hour Manitoba time, my amazing nephew Zaine turns 19. I'm bummed that I won't be there to help you celebrate this year, but Zainer, give yourself a huge hug for me and then give Jess one for me too.  

I love you Zaine, you are a huge reason that I am here, in hospital, and determined to let go of anorexia. You inspired me to fight for a better life and I remember your words so clearly, "you deserve so much better,". Thank you for having that talk with me on my last visit in April. You are wise beyond your years. 

You are an inspiration, and my hero. You have overcome so much, including multiple hospital stays, and you rarely complained. I'm so proud of the person you have become and always have been. 

I love you so much, and I want to be around to share many more birthdays and tipsy walks to Trav's together. I would even make you a Barbie cake if I could ;-).  

Here's a sweet pic of you and grandpa last year for your eighteenth. I kinda hate that you keep growing up on me, but at least you turned out alright ;-). 

Love you always and forever,

Barbie rooms 

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. 

They call it weight restoration.

I see the apprehension on her kind face. 

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, she says with a reluctant smile and caring eyes. 

Ironically enough, 

I was certain she was about to tell me that I am gaining much more quickly than I should be. 

Instead she wants to increase. 

Increase calories. 

Increase weight gain. 

The words sound like a sick joke,

She can NOT be serious. 

I immediately look at her in shock. 

I was finally mildly accepting the small amount of muscle on my calves. 

I was finally mildly accepting the softer outline of my clavicles. 

Now everything feels unbearable. 

I'm paralyzed in fear and utter frustration. 

None of this feels okay right now. 

I begin to beg her, like a child, 

Please not yet. 

Pleeeeeease. 

At least for a few more days...

I picture each fat cell in my body, 

Soaking up the calories like a sponge.

I immediately feel heavy. 

My entire being feels like this ugly, yellow, heavy wet sponge. 

I dramatically press my face into the soft fabric 

Of the pillow sitting on my bed. 

I try to muffle the sound,

But ugly sobs still escape. 

I feel like I'm watching myself from above,

The sad, little anorexic girl,

Crying over calories. 

I'm so FULL, always SO FULL. 

My stomach ACHES. 

It's used to being empty. 

I'm used to being empty. 

I consider this now at 3 am,

What is so alluring about the emptiness? 

Emptiness comes with a huge price tag. 

We must purge after too much has been consumed. 

We must pick at our food. 

We don't eat meals, we eat as little as tolerable, 

Or we scavenge food like vultures in the wild. 

We plan the escape route to the bathroom at restaurants before we even open the menu.

Eating is chaos,

But emptiness brings order. 

To be empty,

Seems to be worth the lies we tell.

I'm just not hungry today. 

I can't figure out why I'm nauseous all the time. 

I ate before I came. 

I have NO IDEA why I'm fainting everyday. 

The price tag is set high for emptiness,

Yet it seems worth it,

To escape the torture,

The wrath,

Of anorexia's voice. 

Ugly. 

Fat. 

Useless.

Waste of space.

The dietician apologizes.

She is sorry this is so hard. 

They call it weight restoration here.

No matter how you word it,

It means you will feel more pain,

A different kind of pain than before. 

A different kind of torture. 

You escape your self imposed concentration camp,

Only to enter a now foreign place 

With a language we have nearly forgotten. 

 

(_{source: http://bonfire--heart3.tumblr.com/)}

We all agree to come to this place,

Because we can no longer manage our lives 

with anorexia, 

or bulimia, 

or some combination of both.

Illness has become our normal,

And we are very weak and very very ill. 

We know that we will be expected to weight restore here. 

We are well aware that we will be expected to eat, but we just can't prepare enough for this. 

Our brain is trained to shun calories. 

It is programmed to decrease. 

Our neural pathways are deeply set,

From years and years of training,

Even before we realized we were in training for anything at all. 

To come to terms with recovery,

We must stray determinedly from the well worn path we set that very first day, 

That day we threw our lunch in the trash. 

The recovery path has not been taken for many many years.

It is overgrown with weeds and branches that leave us bloody and bruised. 

These are our battle wounds. 

It takes courage to turn left instead of right,

To cross the bridge, 

So old and fragile.

I long for someone to pick me up,

and carry me across to the other side. 

I long for someone to catch me

When my knees begin to buckle. 

But I am a child no longer. 

No one can ease this burden for me. 

Stand up straight.

Shoulders back. 

Step by step. 

I won't look back at the well worn path 

I used to take. 

I blow a kiss,

Let a single tear fall,

And leave anorexia behind,

Lost and alone on the other side where illness resides. 

(source:  http://myfancifulmuse.blogspot.ca/)

Through the Looking Glass

She presses her cold, white palms against the glass. 
She is always outside looking in. 

She strains to hear their voices

Watching their mouths move as they whisper

Words that break her heart.  

 
(_{Source: www.desktopnexus.com)}

She is so frustrating,

So stubborn.
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,

She can't stand to listen anymore,
To watch them go on without her. 

Bonding over something 

She is no longer a part of. 
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 

To ruin the atmosphere,
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

On the other side. 

They let her inside sometimes.
Until they remember. 
Until they push food in front of her,
And she glances quickly away,

Frightened that her fragile composure 

Will fall apart in front of them once again. 

I am this little girl,
Every memory marred by anorexia.

I am every girl who knows how it feels,

To be left behind,

An afterthought. 

I remember the toilet bowls
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,

As I once again pretended to be okay,
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,

The depth of it,
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. 

If you have an eating disorder, you know that fat IS a feeling.

Are you prepared to die?

My psychiatrist looked me in the eye

As she uttered the words in her quiet, calm voice. 

Because that's where you were before you came here. 

***

I fell apart over my breakfast again. 

This time I cried in my bran flakes,

I tried everything possible not to cry. 

I counted the windows of the building next door.

I practiced mindfulness exercises. 

Trying desperately to stay in the moment. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

It sucks to cry in front of a room of people. 

Even when these people understand your struggle. 

You don't want to have puffy eyes and ugly sobs at the breakfast table. 

You feel embarrassed that you can't get yourself together. 

One bite at a time. 

One sip at a time. 

I am okay in this moment.  

One sip of milk, one flake of bran, repeat. 

Before lunch,

I broke down again.

All of the frustration from the weekend, 

Of trying to keep myself together

while I watched the world go by outside, 

Came out today in relentless streams of tears. 

You can only hold on for so long.

Colouring in the lines, 

Listening to inspiring recovery podcasts,

Ignoring how FAT your stomach feels. 

And then you wake up the next day,

and absolutely nothing can be ignored. 

Your mind is done trying so hard to be okay. 

Anorexia enters in full force to remind you that you have gained weight. 

I feel uncomfortable in my skin. 

I feel disgusting and FAT. 

If you don't have an eating disorder, 

You may cheekily reply,

Fat is not a feeling. 

For us. It is. 

It's an indescribable feeling of discomfort,

You long to crawl out of your body 

Into the emaciated one you once lived in. 

You wish you could shed this FAT like a snake shedding its skin. 

You feel like you're trapped in some twisted game of torture. 

You don't understand why you have been chosen for this awful game. 

Anorexia is telling me that there is no point,

That I'll gain all this weight,

And I'll continue to have all these irrational,

Frightening thoughts. 

Anorexia does not believe in me. 

Anorexia wants me to leave this place.

***

So when I breakdown and sob,

"I don't think I can do this."

Dr. O asks the question I've been asking myself all along. 

Am I prepared to die?

If I leave now, anorexia will be holding my hand as I walk out the door.

Anorexia will send me on a mad dash to get my anorexia supplies...

Laxatives, fat burners, diet pop and sour gumballs as my staple dishes. 

Anorexia will kill me if I leave here,

And I would let her. 

There must be a reason that God kept me here. 

I feel too overwhelmed to understand what that is.

I can only focus on one moment,

One bran flake at a time. 

I must not let anorexia play me with her cruel jokes and nasty games. 

***

My boyfriend is angry 

When I break down on the phone.

Who cares if you gain weight?? 

What's the big deal?

I'd rather see you fat than how you were before. 

But it's so much more than just about weight,

Or food, or mirrors. 

It's about years and years of believing the lies of a disease.

You feel like you don't know how to live in this world if you are healthy 

...and taking up space. 

You feel like it's pointless to try to be "normal". 

You've never been able to eat and not feel guilt consume you. 

You've never spent a day without worrying about the size of your jeans. 

You feel like anorexia is all you have. 

You feel like a failure. 

You feel unworthy.

You feel selfish. 

You have lived a life controlled by this disease. 

And all of this becomes a feeling of FAT. 

I lay in my bed, my stomach so full, so bloated,

And I would do almost anything to feel the emptiness again. 

To feel the sharp, painful outline of my ribs again. 

All I feel is FAT. 

***

But I will lie here. 

I will surrender.

God, I feel helpless and afraid. 

I surrender to your will Lord,

No matter how strong the voice of anorexia becomes today. 

Or tomorrow. 

I surrender to you. 

I will lie here until snack time. 

I will hold my head up and be strong. 

I don't think I'm prepared to die. 

I won't leave this place,

until I know for sure. 

That time is not now. 

Saturday.

It just sits there.

The fucking chocolate cake.  

The little bowls of chopped up fruit. 

The chocolate ensure,

That I sip with a spoon,

Pretending to be a lady at tea. 

But I can't fool anorexia.  

My stomach hides beneath a baggy shirt,

That I would never dare wear beyond these walls. 

I don't dress up for a Saturday,

On 4F4. 

I hate locked bathrooms.

I hate Saturdays that drag. 

I hate nurses who roll their eyes,

Because there is no place 

They would rather not be,

Than here.

I've been on both sides. 

I've sat behind the stale and gloomy nursing station. 

I've been the nurse,

Tapping my pen,

Checking the hands of the clock,

As they tick slowly by. 

Writing occasional notes in ugly green charts. 

Pouring magic pills for patients,

Whose inner voices are getting too loud,

And pacing circles driving us all mad. 

As boring to the nurse,

As to the patient,

Are these Saturdays.  

My stomach aches.

My head hurts.

My brain spins.

I'm a patient on an eating disorder unit.

I now reside on 4F4.

I have doubts about why I chose

This voluntary prison sentence

To the comfort of my safe little cocoon.

The sun shines brightly through a window

That doesn't open.

I long to drink in a breath of fresh summer air. 

I long to be in a sundress,

Hair messy and sunkissed. 

Barefoot on the grass, or the sand,

Just anywhere outside,

Anywhere with singing birds 

And rustling leaves. 

How did I get here?

The question I ask each day that passes

In this place. 

Three huge meals a day. 

One huge snack before bed.

Needles in my arm.

The girl who won't stop talking

At my table in the dining room.

I'm too polite to tell her to shut up. 

The highlight of my day

A yoga class, so yin,

It's barely considered movement.

We can't risk burning calories here.

These aggravations keep spinning through my mind...

Anorexia is irritated,

She's a whiny whisper in my ear. 

I take deep breaths,

I colour for hours,

Staying precisely inside the lines,

My only sense of control right now. 

I clip the split ends off strands of hair 

in my roommate's chair by the window,

While she is out with her mother. 

The sun feels almost warm from here. 

I chose this.

I chose to grieve anorexia.

I chose to defy her directives, 

And argue her accusations that I am a waste of space,

A waste of messy writing in an ugly green chart. 

Anorexia tells me to pack up and go. 

I could be purging this discomfort at this very moment.

I could hold Skyla in my arms,

I could fall asleep beside someone 

In a bed that doesn't have wheels

Or fluorescent lights above to blind me. 

I could do all this today.

But what about tomorrow bitch?

What about tomorrow?

I would starve again.

I would stare in the mirror,

And I would vow to make to make my hollows deeper, 
And my bones sharper.

I would lose that person asleep beside me. 

I would quickly lose me. 

I am not ready to wear sundresses
Or run around barefoot and free.
I'm still grieving anorexia,
Still missing her cold hand in mine. 

I would fall hard

If I chose to abandon

My present post as patient. 

And I would soon feel my body

Collapse on the dirt floor 

At the bottom of that rabbit hole.

Part of me wishes I was brave enough,
Desperate enough,

To choose the disorder.
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 a life worth living,
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. 

I pray each day

To a God above,

Who promises to love me,

Locked bathrooms and all. 

To deliver me from 

All prisons and cocoons,

According to his will,

When he knows I am ready

To be joyfully free. 

I will not let my mother 

Grieve her daughter

Or watch more tears fall on her face. 

Instead I will hold my head in my hands,

Endure this Saturday.

My heart may ache,

I may cry and sob,

But to grieve anorexia

Is to believe in another day. 

Our suffering will not be in vain.

It was grade 9,  my friends and I attended a summer church camp for a week. One of our cabin roomies was this hilarious girl, Mandy.  She made me laugh soooo hard, no matter how uncomfortable I felt in this bizarrely charismatic church camp. She would imitate the Swedish chef from the muppets...moooooshty vooooshty vershty vershty (whatever the hell he says).  She also did such an impressive rendition of KORN that we were all singing/screaming it by the end of the week. 

Despite her outwardly carefree personality, my fourteen year old self noticed that Mandy would always put herself down, particularly her weight.  Our other roommate was suffering from bulimia at the time, and I think it was difficult for all of us to see.  

I had not yet learned how to purge, so it was a new kind of eating disorder for me to observe. It made me sad. Little did I know that one day in the near future, that would be me crouching over the toilet bowl, trying desperately to erase any food that touched my lips. 

It strikes me that at such a young age, a cabin full of girls were haunted by the shadow of feeling not good enough, not skinny enough, hoping that a perfect body would somehow erase their deep insecurities and fears. 

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."  

After reading the words of a much younger me, I was struck by this apparent insight I had. I didn't want Mandy to suffer like I had, but I don't think I truly believed the words for myself. 

I wish I could have warned fourteen year old me that anorexia would later haunt me again and again, long after grade 9 summer camp. 

"Yet, often I can feel the fat on my body choking me..."

This is how I feel, in this very moment, like fat is literally suffocating me, overtaking my body, and it's hard to discern anorexia's voice from my own at times like these.

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".  

Rebecca was 15 when her eating disorder began, she wrote,  "Do everything in your power to piss those bitches off (they bullied me),". Rebecca is gorgeous, kind, funny, and it breaks my heart that she began abusing her body because of the pain she felt by being bullied by girls that likely have no idea the impact they made on her life.

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,". 

I wanted to get the perspective from other patients on the unit to help others understand how eating disorders arise from different situations and environments, and manifest in so many different ways. The common thread between these stories is a desire to feel better somehow. Controlling and abusing their bodies became their attempt to ease the pain they held inside. They were held captive by their eating disorders, too afraid to share their inner torment, and often left to endure a devastating  illness alone. 

Please, if you know of a young boy or girl struggling, let them know that they are valuable and have been made perfect in God's eyes. They are a gift to this world. 

Give them permission to tell you their deepest fears and thoughts. Anorexia and bulimia is an isolating monster and sufferers live in a bubble of shame, guilt, and secrecy. 

If one young person can be reached before they lose years of their life to this illness, the struggles I and all the women fighting for recovery have faced, will not be in vain. 

❤️

Fuck you Anorexia

I haven't posted in a bit, because I've been trapped in my head, battling the overwhelming desire to give in to anorexia. Today was particularly difficult. My caloric intake has been increased, and I found myself panicked as I arrived in the dining room for breakfast.  One wrong word by the nurse's aid and I was crying all over my cornflakes.  It's bloody difficult to eat cornflakes in between sobs and near hyperventilation.  A kind nurse came and supported me briefly and I was able to get through it, but I barely tasted or acknowledged the food as I forced it down.

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.
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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.

Fuck you anorexia and goodnight sweet world 💜

Second Stage of Grief: ANGER

Well, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross was right in that grief has several stages. I've been up and down through most all of them. Today is stage 2: ANGER. I'm crying again. Tears of fear and frustration. I have zero passes because my weight hasn't gone up, despite eating all this damn food and I haven't purged since I've been here. I get stern lectures from the nurses when they see me doing any kind of exercise. I'm beyond restless, all this boredom and all this energy, and I'm not allowed to expend it. I find my thoughts are becoming more negative as the day drags on and on...

I feel pathetic, I'm 34 and I'm like a child, learning to eat again, and having almost no control over my environment. Anorexia is having a temper tantrum. My inner anger comes out in hot tears, streaming down my face. I'm so tired of this sadness, this loneliness, this pain. I'm terrified of gaining weight, I really am, and there's this illogical part of me that is pleased that my weight chart is not good and therefore I have been denied even the simplest pleasure of going downstairs to get a coffee with a nurse. I'm angry today. I'm sad today. Weekends are hard here, too much time to think and too much time to listen to the rebellious voice of anorexia. 

When I learned that I was very lucky to be alive, I felt a strange bubble of anger sitting in my throat. I was angry that I hadn't simply been allowed to slip away. My loved ones would know that I had agreed to get help, but just before I received it, I would pass away. That is so hard to admit. It sounds so weak and selfish, like I would prefer the easy way out. I spoke with another patient who had the same anger in the same situation. It helped me to feel less awful for these ugly thoughts. 

I'm angry that now I have to endure the pain of recovery all over again. I have to be in a hospital, but this time Im 34, not 19. I feel angry that I'm still fighting at age 34 and I feel pathetic. I'm scared, I'm terrified that I will fall again and never make anything of this life. 

Apparently God has a different plan for me. I wasn't meant to leave this earthly body just yet.  I wasn't saved from death just to give in again. 

Dear God, please help me to endure the hard days. Help me to trust that it will be okay. I am not strong without my hand in yours. Please show me why I'm still here, show me my purpose. 

The beautiful, silver lining of all this, has been receiving messages from fellow eating disorder sufferers of support and hope, and also gratitude because I have motivated them to get help. This brings purpose and meaning to this suffering.  If it wasn't for so much amazing support and love, the anger would overwhelm me. I will keep fighting, knowing that I am not fighting alone.

Thank you April for sending me this today. It's just what I needed. Xoxo 

The Rabbit Hole

After I calmed down and repeated to myself, "this is just edema...this is just fluid, I considered how sick I had become.  At what point did I think it was a good thing to ask your body to function without nutrients.  Why did I hate my body so much, that I was okay with watching my every limb waste away. 

It happened so quickly this year, I suddenly crossed this threshold where I couldn't fight anorexia any longer, and I just gave it my all like I do everything, even if it's to my detriment (understatement). Laxatives, diet pills, purging, starving...and repeat.  I just hate feeling full, I tell Darren. I don't want to get fat again, I say. 

As you fall slowly down the rabbit hole, you transform into someone unrecognizable from just months ago.  

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Your brain is running on empty.  You find small stresses  to be completely horrific. You cry easily, and you pick fights with your boyfriend because you don't think he loves you enough. You blackout every day and yet you still won't admit that there is a problem.  Your reflection in the mirror becomes more and more distorted.  You shop in the kids section because size 0 falls off your hips.  You look like a child.  You are secretly pleased as you slip on yoga pants designed for a ten year old.  Yet you still don't see the danger signs. 

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.  

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We are not sick, other people just don't get it. We think that our emaciated bodies look normal, and on bad days we feel grossly fat. We don't think eventually that this cocoon, this place where we find comfort, is actually killing us.

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. 

My nephew, my most loving eighteen year old, amazing nephew has a heart to heart with me as we walk slightly tipsy under the moonlit sky to Trav's, the old dive bar in town.  He tells me that he knows. He says that I have anorexia and he needs me to get help and get better because I deserve so much more. He wants me to be healthy, so that I'll be around for a long long time. I say, "I'll try Zaine. Thank you for caring. I love you."  He asks me to promise, and I do, but anorexia is whispering in my ear. Anorexia tells me I can't live without her, I can't cope, I will get fat and ugly, I'll have nothing.  I AM nothing, if I am not thin. 

As my Dad and Zaine drop me off at the airport I suddenly find myself unable to stop crying. The tears fall the moment we enter Winnipeg. I am scared and sad and I don't want to say goodbye. I feel like I'm grieving my family and I don't know why. 

Looking back, I think deep down, the tears kept falling and falling because I was afraid I would keep falling down the rabbit hole...and I didn't know where you landed when you reached the bottom. 

"First, however, she waited for a few minutes to see if she was going to shrink any further: she felt a little nervous about this; ‘for it might end, you know,’ said Alice to herself; ‘in my going out altogether, like a candle. I wonder what I should be like then?’ And she tried to fancy what the flame of a candle looks like after the candle is blown out, for she could not remember ever having seen such a thing," Alice in Wonderland.

Anorexia takes my hand...

7am on a Sunday and my Mom is calling.
Your heart pauses, you forget to breathe.

When everything you know 

Is falling apart in one phone call.

Uncle Gary, Cousin Evan have been killed.

They're gone.

Your Dad is a mess. 

I don't cry until later.

I don't wake up Darren as he sleeps soundly beside me.

I wander to the kitchen and I stare at the counter.

Dear God, why all this pain?

Poor Linda...the children...the trauma they endured. 

How are they meant to find the strength,

The courage, to carry on?

Later I call my Dad, his voice cracks, he sobs into the phone. 

And my heart breaks.

Hearing my Father weep...

I need to be home.

I cry and I cry.

I cry for the shattered pieces of this family.

I pinch the fat on my arm as the airplane descends. 

I am pathetic.  

I am selfish.

The viewing.  

It feels like we are observers of a tragedy that can't possibly be ours.

I think I see Gary laughing and entering the room for a moment,

And then I remember the coffins.

I remember the empty eyes, makeup faces, like wax figures of once vibrant beings. 

My Dad runs to the bathroom and I hear his wails.

I want to go in and comfort him.

Take the pain away.

Linda stands stoically with her children.

My grandma openly mourns another loss.

My brother places his head against the pew,

My mom cries quietly. 

So much pain.

So much heartache.

No one knows quite what to do with the emptiness.

We do shots after the viewing in their honour.

Stories are shared. 

Even in death, my uncle brings laughter. 

So much life in these two people

Who are now....gone.

The funeral service.

The brave children say goodbye.

I can't stop my tears.
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 book my flight. 
I manage to mess it up. 

I sob and I sob

And I drag my suitcase down the street

Until a taxi takes me to my grandmother's place.
I haven't been here since I was a little girl for sleepovers.
Her eyes are sad, but she welcomes me in.

We drink wine and it warms me up slowly.

I'm happy in this moment that I have this time with her tonight. 

We comfort each other with few words and several tears.

The grief is so real.

It's raw like people often describe it.

I sob and I sob at the smallest things. 

Darren is late to pick me up at the airport.

I sob and I sob.

Life has been changed.

I sob and I sob.

Anorexia joins in.

Anorexia helps me stop the tears 

When they overwhelm my heart.

I can't stop crying.

I starve some more.

I find myself at the peak of loneliness.

I purge some more. 

I am selfish.

I did not lose my dad.  

I did not lose my brother.

Why am I so inconsolable.

Anorexia takes my hand.

I will cope.

I will numb.

I will stop this melodramatic hysteria.

Get it together.

Go to work.

Lose some weight.

Buy some fat burners.

Food is making me feel nauseous now.

Refeeding Syndrome

I've been on the inpatient unit for 6 days now.  Holy hell, where has the time gone.  I endured the hideous "refeeding syndrome" in which your body goes into shock because it is now receiving energy from food and is no longer trapped in a self imposed concentration camp.  My body was in a catabolic state, it ate away my muscle and fat  to get energy to perform its vital functions, like send glucose to my brain. 

When I suddenly started eating my dietitian-prescribed meals, my body suddenly shifted to an anabolic state, using food as a source of energy. Not surprisingly, body processes became confused, causing fluid and electrolyte imbalances and vitamin deficiencies. Serious complications can occur with deficiencies in potassium, magnesium, phosphorus, fluid, and thiamine. Without medical supervision during refeeding, a person can experience heart problems, breathing problems, impaired mental status, insulin resistance, and bone problems. 

To negate these potential consequences, food and fluids are introduced slowly and fluids in small quantities. Most patients are given an IV for several days to supply the needed vitamins that are depleted during the confusion of the refeeding. 

Refeeding edema is common, as the body adjusts to shifting fluids and electrolytes. Hello jello body, a thick layer of fluid covers your feet, legs, and tummy and you feel like you've gained twenty pounds in two bloody days.  

It's scary, you want to run away, but then you worry that you will fuck up your body even more than it already is...plus, you don't feel like running anywhere with swollen old lady feet and jello legs. 

Today I am rejoicing, I can no longer occupy my time looking at the weird indents on my mushy legs. The edema has subsided. All this peeing (which is super inconvenient by the way when you have to get the nurses to unlock the bathroom door everytime), replenishing my protein stores with food and dragging an IV pole around, while popping vitamins has worked its magic. I can kinda smile today.  

Although I'm bummed that I still can't leave the unit, because apparently my weight is back down with the retreat of the fluid, I'm feeling more comfortable, and my brain feels more clear. All rewards of persevering through the discomfort.  

Plus, I'm hugging my little bear. ☺️

I Grieve

I starved.  I purged.

I watched as my flesh slowly disappeared.

I could feel each bone become sharper,

Each hollow grow deeper. 

Like an outside observer,

I examined every curve, every angle, of every bone.

I poked curiously and ran my finger along the veins that popped through my skin.

I starved to slowly fade away.

I was a girl watching her body disappear.

I sobbed and I shivered.

And clung to my boyfriend's chest.

Already I was grieving the loss of those I love.

I had a dream that I fell and slowly passed into death.

I considered writing letters to let my loved ones know,

Just how much they meant to me.

There was a whisper in my soul,

That I had finally, somehow, starved enough.

To starve so much that you achieve the end.

You have successfully perfected anorexia.

You die.  

You are now just a corpse,

Free from a prison that had become your cocoon.

Death did not scare me.

I was tired.  

A prisoner for 21 long years.

I battled and I fought,

And then I just gave in.

Perhaps my fate was to love 

And then to say goodbye. 

I wonder why I let them save me.

Perhaps I was too weak to fight.

Perhaps I truly was afraid to die.

Now I am full of fluid and nutrients.

The heaviness feels surreal.

I am left to grieve again..

I grieve the thing that kept me safe,

Far from hurt and numb to pain.

Today I grieve Anorexia.

I let the tears fall.

They fall and they fall.

It is a loss.

A loss many can not understand.

But that does not make this sadness any less.

I pray to a God much greater than this disease.

That I may one day be free

And anorexia will lie silent in its grave.

And I will grieve anorexia no more.