music plays the moments, pauses the memories, stops the pain and rewinds happiness.

I've always been a music lover. Music has always been a way for me to cope. I listen to songs that express my mood or that inspire me. I've always loved songs that are eating disorder related, as seen by older posts about Marianas Trench. The lead singer is bulimic but also  had a heroin addiction. So after my own addiction developed, their songs took on a whole new meaning for me. I could related to them in both ways and I felt like they were written for me, about me, or by me. Something about his lyrics really touched my soul.

I could so easily feel his pain, his struggles, his triumphs, his set backs, etc. Every single word was etched into my own heart and mind.

Now that I am sober (almost 11 months!!!!!), some music is hard for me to listen to. I've always loved rap about dope dealing as well as songs about being an addict or using drugs. So it's sort of hard to listen to the ones that almost promote using. But I can't seem to stop myself. I love the songs too much to change the channel when they come on. They get stuck in my head.

I think I like them because they also give me this false boost in my confidence. I listen to them and remember my past when I was a somewhat big shot in the drug world. At least, behind scenes anyways. It takes me back to driving around selling or, more recently, buying. I just go right back to every single high moment where we'd drive around bumping music about drugs and just have a blast. It's like we glorified and intensified our use buy listening to songs about selling dope. So listening to them now it brings me back to those days when I thought I was so cool. It was like I had a secret that nobody else got to know. I felt special. It felt amazing to sort of know exactly what the songs where saying when most other people wouldn't make the connection. I felt like I was privy to top secret, cool kid information. And it almost gave me a bigger high than just being ripped did.

So I listen to them, I think, to try and acheive that same high again. I can't have the dope, but I can still have the songs about dope. And sometimes it does give me that same satisfaction. That same natural high.

But other times it's nothing more than a bad trigger. The music doesn't seem good enough and I want more. I think, this music would be better if I had some pills, coke, ice, whatever. And so starts a craving cycle.

I don't know if I should stop. Should I avoid any songs that make using seem like a dope thing to do (excuse the pun)? Or should I keep doing it. Sometimes I justify it by thinking that it's better to listen to the music than to actually go out and get high. I don't know. I'm so torn about this. I don't want to give it up. I feel like it's one of the last pieces I have of my addiction and I'm clinging on to them like they're my life.

Much love, xx.

sometimes you will never know the true value of a moment, until it becomes a memory.

So I've been looking through old Facebook pictures and I'm so shocked at many of them. I see them and instantly remember the exact time period in my life. I recall what I was doing, who I was with, and most importantly, how I felt. In so many of them I was almost too scared to post them because I honestly believed that I was so fat and gross.

Looking at them now it just makes me so sad for myself. I can see now how thin I really was. I was even borderline skinny. In one, you can especially see my collarbones sticking out like crazy.

See?!

It's so bizarre to me that in those moments I really, truly thought I was huge! It just shows how much bulimia really distorts your self-perception. I always knew it did, but to this degree is just shocking. It leaves me feeling a mixture of sadness and jealousy.

Sadness because I wish that I could have recognized how beautiful I was back then. Maybe things would have gone a little better. Maybe I wouldn't have turned to dope. Maybe I'd become eating disorder free. Maybe I'd be happy. Who knows. The possibilities are endless.

But at the same time, I look at these photos with such a strong sense of jealousy and anger. I think to myself, 'What an idiot! Didn't you see how good you had it?' and 'Wow, I'd die to be this weight again.'  I know this is extremely disordered thinking, but I can't help it. It just sort of causes this hatred for the weight I am now. It just makes me feel so giant. I don't even know how to deal with it. I don't want to delete the pictures, but I also can't let them get to me like this. It's unrealistic to ever think I can be my high school weight again.

I wish I could use it as a learning experience, but I'm not sure how. I know it shows how distorted my view is, so it should tell me that I'm not as fat as I think I am now. But you know how it is, eating disorders lie. Mirrors lie too. And Jenna's in my head telling me to starve myself until I'm that girl in the pictures again.

I just wish this was all over with. I wish I could just be normal and happy. In fact, I wish none of this ever happened, because I don't know how to overcome it.

defeat your enemies with your success.

So in recent posts I've mentioned those key players in my life last year. You know, the ones who took me in when I was homeless. The ones that taught me how to shoot up, the ones who stuck needles in my neck. The ones I considered my using family.

I haven't been able to keep them in my life, no matter how much I may miss them. As I've said before, we were bonded in our addictions, but not bonded in recovery. So in order to protect myself, I had to let them go. The best thing they did for me was kick my ass and leave me broken on the side of the road. Had they not  hurt me in that way, I'd still be out there using. Or more likely, dead in a ditch somewhere in this grim border city.

I was at the methadone clinic to see my addictions doctor. I ended up running into not just one, but three people I knew. One of them was my ex's mom. I had been told by him that she hated me. I was accused of stealing stuff from her car (which I swear on my dad's grave I didn't). So when she called me over and started talking to me I was so incredibly relieved. She even hugged me and invited me to come over at anytime to see her. I agreed. When she left, I sat down and almost had a complete breakdown. It just brought so many emotions to the surface. She used to consider me her daughter in law, that's how serious this relationship had been. We weren't married and didn't really want to be, but it was this love that you only get one time. So I just didn't know how to feel. I missed him, I missed her. I was happy to see her, but sad that she was in the same position as before. I was happy she was getting sober, but saddened that she had to work a minimum wage job now that his dad has passed away. I managed to keep it together, but just barely.

Just as I was calming down, Trelaine, that slut-faced bitch that slammed my head into the ground walks in. I was just overwhelmed with anger and fear. I didn't know what she would do to me if she recognized me. Lucky for me, I don't think she really did. But just as I thought she had left, Dan, the guy I had been sort of seeing strolls in too. He walked passed me so many times and didn't even look at me! I know there's absolutely no way he wouldn't recognize me unless he was so rocked out of his mind that he didn't recognize anyone. But then it got worse. Trelaine came back and started talking to him. Last summer they barely knew each other, but that had clearly changed.

Finally, as I was  waiting for my meds, Dan stood directly beside me. I didn't say a word. As much as I wanted to ream him out, I also didn't need the drama. He's such a scumbag to me that I couldn't even be bothered. I'd have defended myself if I needed to, but I wasn't going to start anything. It's just not me, But then I felt her behind me and suddenly she was laughing. He turned as asked what was so funny, and then finally his eyes fell onto me slightly. That's when I knew...they were laughing at me.

I left as soon as I had my script in my hands and just got the hell out of there. I was such an emotional wreck. Angered at them, pitying them, missing them, hating them, etc. I was so upset that they laughed at me. I did nothing to them. In fact, I drove them around for months and shared dope with them! I even slept with that douche bag. Which is the only regret I have sexually. I don't regret anything like that, except him. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

But then I got home and was telling my mom about it. Suddenly. as I was telling her I had this huge realization. Why should I care if they were laughing at me?! In all reality, if I was a bad person, it would be me laughing at them. They're the ones still out there using, hustling, lying, hurting and struggling every single day. And although my life isn't close to perfect, I have way more than they do. So since I'm not the horrible person they may think I am, I can't laugh at them. It's just not my nature. I no longer care that they laughed or if they like me or not. And I wouldn't ever wish ill on them.

This has just been such a lesson in gratitude. It took them being hurtful towards me for me to realize that in terms of things to be happy and grateful for, I have an abundance when they have none. So I will continue on with my own life, wishing well for them, but not caring so much about the things they may or may not do to me.

twice the taste, half the calories.

Here is the second piece I wrote for the Substance for You website! It's based on living life with 'Mia' (bulimia). Normally I would call her Jenna (which is what I've named my bulimia identity) but for this piece, I wanted it to be easily understood and since bulimia is often refered to as Mia, I figured it'd be more straightforward than calling her Jenna like I usually do. I hope you like it! Let me know.

Spending My Life With Mia

I'd like to introduce you to my best friend, support, love and life, Mia. I met her over nine years ago when I was 14 years old. She came to me in a time of need and scooped me up in her arms, whispering, “Everything will be okay.” In that moment, I instantly trusted her with my life, my well-being. For a while, she kept her promise to me. She told me when to eat, or rather, when not to eat. She told me how often to exercise to achieve that perfect, skinny body I was yearning for. And when I slipped up and stuffed my 'fat' face, she taught me just how to fix it, teaching me to purge. “Twice the taste, half the calories,” she said. I didn't know then that she wasn't the friend I thought she was. She was helping me. She was the one that was responsible for all of the pounds of fat that were falling off my body. She was my source of strength, control, will-power, and happiness. She was the only one who understood my desire for a stick-thin frame.

I adored Mia, I thought she was this beautiful entity that chose me, seeing something special in me. I thought she saw my potential, my beauty, hidden behind those extra 100 pounds. I thought she was the definition of perfection and when she promised me that I would be just like her, I was taken. She knew she had me. And for a time, she was everything I had hoped for. But her kind advice and support quickly turned to malicious hatred and criticism. Not a day went by where she didn't have some sort of complaint. Even if I only had one apple for the whole day, Mia would call me a “fat, careless pig.” She would insult me until I was metaphorically on the ground begging for help. And then she would tell me to go to the gym until I burnt the apple and the some, off. I would always comply. It didn't matter what her demand was, I would do anything to absolve myself from the food crimes I had committed. I would do anything to change her hatred back into praise. I was like a battered woman, making excuses for Mia no matter how horribly she treated me. She would kick me while I was down and I would run back to her crying and begging for forgiveness. Sometimes she'd finally praise me after I had run for hours, purged all that I ate and restricted all day. She'd promise that she'd stop being so harsh, but by the next meal, she'd be back to her evil, hateful self.

On a particularly bad day, Mia was her usual alluring, charmingly evil self. As she did most days, she demanded I get on the scale. I complied, the need to know my weight now imprinted on my mind. I took a deep breath, preparing myself for the verbal abuse that was about to come my way. I knew I shouldn't have eaten that cereal last night. I stepped on, eyes closed. Mia beckoned me to open them, to look at the number that was taunting me from the scale. I gathered my courage and finally took a peak. In my mind I was ecstatic. I had lost XX pounds! “ Mia will be so happy”, I told myself. But I was wrong. Almost instantly she started in on me with harsh words and insults. She knew my weak spots, my insecurities and used them to her advantage. Our argument looked something like this:

“You really think XX pounds is good enough? Are you kidding me? You're pathetic.”

I'm sorry, I'll try harder. But at least I lost, right?

“You will try harder. You think you can just sit on your fat ass? That's not enough. You can't eat at all today. Not one calorie will enter that fat, ugly mouth of yours!”

You're right, I can't afford to eat today.

“You don't deserve to eat. Not today, or ever. No wonder nobody at school wants to be your friend. I wouldn't want to be friends with a weak, humongous worthless person like you!”

I'm sorry, I should have listened to you.

“If you can't follow simple instructions or simply control yourself, you don't deserve to be here. I think maybe you should just kill yourself. Nobody would even care.”

Maybe I will. I didn't meant to let you down. I let everyone down.

“No you won't. We both know you're to weak and pathetic to go through with it. You're nothing but a fat coward! I think you deserve a slower, more painful death. Much like the one I have planned for you.”

But I don't want to die, not really!

“Then why did you want me to stay? Didn't you know that bulimia is a death sentence? Idiot.”

At the time, I truly didn't know that Mia would kill me. She seemed so kind and caring in the beginning. She seemed like a miracle solution for perfection. It was that day that I knew she would never, ever be happy. I had achieved my goal weight, in fact, I had lost more than my goal weight. I worked out almost constantly and starved myself. But no matter what I did, Mia wasn't happy. She wanted more and more. She wanted lower numbers, more workouts, lower measurements, smaller sizes. She wanted me to waste away to nothing.

And all the while, she was taking up residence in my head. Slowly pushing my own identity out so that she could take over my body. The more she beat me down, the more I felt I needed her, so I let her in more and more. Each day was a cycle of weighing, starving, exercising, binging, purging, weighing, binging, purging, weighing, starving. I weighed myself more than 20 times a day. I weighed after every meal, binge, purge, workout or just when ever I 'felt fat.' My world revolved around numbers and calories, sizes and measurements. I spent hours upon hours in front of the mirror examining my body. I would pinch the fat, suck in my stomach, turn from side to side. I would stare and pick apart at my flaws. No matter how much I lost, my reflection always appeared huge. Mia had entered my mind and distorted my eye sight and self-perceptions. I turned to measuring tapes to try and figure out what I looked like, but they never seemed to match up. I literally had no idea what I looked like.

And to this day, I still can't decipher what I look like. I couldn't tell you if I weight 300 pounds or 90 pounds. But it really doesn't matter. I was just as sick at my highest weight as I was at my lowest. Bulimia, and eating disorders in general, do not discriminate. They will take all races, ages, genders and most importantly, shapes and sizes as their victims. Eating disorders will attack their victims slowly, withering them away to nothing.

Over time Mia became apart of me. I was no longer Jordyn, the loving daughter, intelligent student, talented equestrian. I was only on the sidelines while Mia took over my identity. I became nothing but my eating disorder. Every lie, manipulation, binge, purge, starvation was Mia's doing. I no longer knew who I was, what I liked doing, or who I wanted to become. All I knew was that I needed to be skinny. I only cared about numbers, food, and weight. Nothing else mattered.

Mia slowly isolated me from my friends, family, boyfriend and hobbies. School and horseback riding lost importance for me in comparison to bulimia. It was all I knew anymore. Thinking about not having Mia anymore sent me into a complete panic. Without her I literally would be nobody.

At least, I thought I would be nobody. It took nine years, millions of weigh-ins, binges, purges and calories burnt, but I have finally realized that Mia is only out to hurt and kill me. I still fear losing her, but I no longer want to live my days obsessed with weight and appearance. I might miss Mia a bit, but I won't miss the endless, exhausting cycle of starving, binging and purging. I won't miss the sore throats, the hair loss, the depression or the pain. I know now that I can be more than my bulimia. I know that I don't need Mia. I just need me.  

the road to success comes from hard work, determination and sacrifice.

I'm SO excited today! I don't think I've felt this good in a long, long time. I feel almost manic. If I didn't have good, exciting news, I'd be a bit worried about myself. Especially since I was put on a new mood stabilizer called Abilify.

Anyway, I had the meeting with the detox program coordinator today. And everything went very well! In fact, I start hosting the Women For Sobriety meetings there tomorrow! I couldn't believe it. I thought for sure that he would have to think everything over and then get back to me. So the fact that he said 'can we start this week?' was just a lovely shock.

I'm so thrilled about it and have been getting myself ready for tomorrow. I want to host the meeting as best as I can because I know that the other women in WFS are counting on me to spread the message in a professional, proficient manner. Plus, I feel that if I screw up, it could cost someone their sobriety. I need to really make sure I do well, but also not to get too much involved with each person. I know that the statistics for recovery are grim, so I can't expect that they will all get and stay sober. But I'm definitely going to keep my optimistic attitude and hope. I know that all it takes is someone to believe in you to make you believe in yourself. And then from there, recovery can seem like a possibility. I've taken this job on to help other women in need. So that's exactly what I'm going to do.

I just feel so great about it. I'm just so proud of myself. I can't believe it.
Wish me luck!

Much love, xx.

writing is the whispering of the soul.

http://substanceforyou.com/a-personal-perspective-on-bulimia/


My piece on bulimia was published! I am so incredibly proud and happy! I've been getting such positive feedback too, I couldn't be more excited. I feel that it is helping to raise an understanding and awareness about eating disorders.

I would really appreciate if you guys went to the site and shared the link via twitter/facebook or even if you just pass it along on here! I just believe that it can help our cause and will spread the message about what eating disorders can do to someone. I would really appreciate if you did.

On another note, I meet with the program coordinator of my local detox tomorrow to discuss Women for Sobriety meetings. I'm super nervous but also excited to convey my message to him. I just know that it will do some good for the women in detox and will at least make that one day a positive day for them. And it will give them another option for meetings.

I will check back in tomorrow with news on how it went. Wish me luck!

her ability to break free growing, repairing the cracks in her soul.

This is a poem I have been writing off and on for years. I would always put it down, only to forget about and come across it again months later. I finally found it again and decided to finish it. I finally had the ending. I think writing it in the midst of bulimia and addiction, I could only write the beginning and middle. But now in recovery, I was able to see the finish line. Enjoy.

'ABC Poem'

She was Free

She was alone
Afraid to breath, to bleed
Ripped apart by their stares
Whispers and laughter erupts.

She was aware
Her innocence taken, broken
Each lie shredding the truth
The unveiling of her secret
Revealing of her soul.

She was accused
Blamed for the unthinkable, unbearable
Harsh comments bringing shame
Destroying the stability of her mind
Frustration bubbles over.

She was blamed
Told that she was despicable, deserving
Screams portraying her worthlessness
Shattering any remaining hope
Falling to her knees.

She was battered
Torn to bits by beatings, betrayals
Brutal remarks scar her skin
Searing pain into her soul
Shrieks rupture eardrums.

She was broken
Snapped in half by evil, enemies
Every bash breaking her spirit
Shattering her bones and strength
Tears slide down cheeks.

She was captured
Spirit shackled in rope, reined
Controlling her thoughts and will
Destroying all independence
Silent surrender palpable.

She was compared
Viewed against others prettiness, perfection
Never good enough, a failure
Crumbling her torn esteem
Head slumped in shame.

She was capable
Overcoming the impossible, indescribable.
Her ability to break free growing
Repairing the cracks in her soul
Becoming whole.