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.

dad, your guiding hand on my shoulder will remain with me forever.

Today is Father's Day.

Ever since my dad passed away in 2011, I have spent these days alone. My dad was never a big gift guy, but I know he appreciated knowing we loved him. I never told my dad that I loved him nearly enough. I regret that I didn't tell him every single day.  Because now I don't have the option of hugging his big belly and holding on forever.

I miss my dad so much it hurts. This is my first sober Father's Day, so maybe I'm feeling overly emotional because I don't have anything to numb the pain. I had the option of going to my cousins to have dinner with my aunt (his sister) and uncle, cousins and their kids. But I just couldn't bring myself to do it. Some of it was eating disorder related. I had such panic about eating in front of them now that they know I have bulimia. But I think a bigger part of it was I couldn't bear to watch them celebrate this day with smiles. My cousin is double my age and still has his father. I know that shouldn't bother me. But it does. It makes me so incredibly angry and jealous. Why should he get his dad when me and my younger brother lost ours so young? It's not fair. And I don't think I could have hidden my resentment today. So I didn't go.

Instead I'm sitting here alone wishing I could get high. It doesn't help that the only person I really have to talk to is drunk. It's not easy to be around people who are intoxicated when all you want is to obliterate your feelings and sink into that  magical place between reality and dreamland. I would spend all day hanging in the middle, suspended on a cozy web of bliss, peace, and safety. Stuck in the place where nothing matters but the drugs pumping through your veins with each beat of your slowed, relaxed heart. So I'm angry and not speaking to her now.

I wish I could say that I want to get over it and be happy. I wish I could say I think my dad would be proud of how far I've come. But I feel like those would be lies. Today I don't feel like changing my negative thoughts or trying to be positive person in recovery. Today I just feel like sitting alone wishing my dad was here. And there's nothing in the world that can change that.

I love you dad. I miss you like crazy. Happy Father's Day. You will always be my king, my heart, my dad.

it takes a lot of courage to show your dreams to someone else.

Here is my first bulimia post for the blog site (Substance for You) that asked me to write. I'm pretty confident that it's good, but I'm still nervous that he won't like it. So let me know what you think! It's long so sorry for the timely read. The next one will be coming soon. 



Childhood is supposed to be a time for bike rides, camping trips, school work, friends, birthday parties and happy memories. For most, this is the case. Many people can look back on their childhood and smile as they remember the carefree playing that only children do. For many though, childhood memories are tinged with sadness, anxiety, and painful memories. My personal childhood memories consist of arguments, my mother's relapses, pressure to do well, bullying and criticism. Children are not supposed to feel shame if they aren't a perfect in every way. They are not supposed to feel like they aren't good enough simply because of their weight or appearance. The sad truth is, I, along with many other children, felt exactly this way.

Unfortunately, our society is one that encourages thinness, beauty, and physical attractiveness over tons of other valuable qualities. To many women (and men), dieting to achieve that 'perfect' goal weight is more important than being healthy role models for their children. In fact, dieting is promoted so much that the majority of girls and women are on a diet numerous times during their lifespan. According to the National Eating Disorder Information Center (NEDIC), more than half of young girls (1/3 of boys) engage in unhealthy eating behaviors ranging from fasting and purging, to laxative/diuretic use. NEDIC also states that approximately 1.5% of teenage girls go on to develop a severe eating disorder. So in a society surrounded by beauty campaigns, emaciated models, and diet ads, I don't think the question should be 'How do girls/boys develop eating disorders?' but should be 'How do girls/boys not develop eating disorders?'

Being someone who has struggled with bulimia nervosa for nine years (about half of my life), I can't tell you how to prevent an eating disorder. But I can tell you some of the reasons I personally believe led to my eating disorder so long ago. Like so many things do, I truly believe it started in my early childhood years.

 One of the most common memories I had of my parents were the obsessive, extreme diets they would both try in order to lose weight. My family was either stuffing their faces or barely eating at all. So from the very beginning, I never had healthy eating role models. This led to my childhood obesity. By the time I was in grade eight I weighed over 250 pounds. My parents would voice their concern about my weight to me very often. I know now that they were concerned about my health, as well as the risk of me being bullied. They were right, but at the time these comments always just made me feel ashamed of myself. I started comparing my huge body to the tiny frames of my friends. Finally, the summer before high-school, I decided I would lose weight. I wanted, no, needed, to be skinny for grade nine. So I did all that I knew to do-diet. I basically starved myself for a year and overexercised until I reached my goal weight, losing over 100 pounds. But somewhere along the line, my goal weight became smaller and smaller. No matter what weight I reached, I still saw that 250 pound girl staring back at me in the mirror.

The first time I purged was before going to the gym to see my personal trainer. I was 14. She did weekly weigh ins and I lived for the praise she would give me when I lost huge amounts of weight. But before I went, I slipped up badly. I had been starving myself for so long that sometimes I would break and just completely lose control. I would binge to the point of extreme fullness. After doing this, I suddenly felt guilt and fear. I knew the number on the scale would go up. I could not let her see that I had been so 'weak'. So I did what I thought would be a one time, harmless act. I threw it all up, cleaned up and went to see her. I don't remember what the scale said that day, but I do know that purging became an everyday thing. At it's worst, I would purge 4-5 times per day at least.

My bulimia quickly crept into my head and took up permanent residence in my mind. As I've struggled with this mental illness, it has become clear to me that the symptoms have little to do with the actual weight or food. They're simply symptoms that are an indication of severe core issues with self-esteem and mental health. At 18 I was diagnosed with depression, social anxiety and generalized anxiety disorder, but I had felt that way as long as I can remember. These feelings of extreme anxiety over everything and anything, especially social situations had a huge impact on the way my weight made me feel. No matter who I was with, I was always self-conscious, comparing myself to others in every way possible. As my bulimia progressed, all I thought about was whether or not I was smaller than other people. I'd worry everyday that people would stare at my 'fat' body. My depression resulted in feelings of hopelessness, worthlessness and suicidal idealizations. Depression exacerbated my eating disorder by removing what was left of my low self-worth, self-esteem, and hope for a happy life. All of my mental illnesses combined together to make me feel that I was only of any value if I was X number of pounds.

The sad thing is though, your eating disorder is never happy. It doesn't matter how much you lose, bulimia always wants more. It lures its victims in with promises that being thin will make your depression and anxiety go away. It promises happiness, but in reality buries you deeper into the depths of depression. It slowly takes over your mind and before you know it, you're no longer in control. Every action, thought, emotion is eating disorder related. Your mind suddenly revolves around numbers. Numbers on the scale, numbers of calories, numbers of sit-ups. Numbers, numbers, and more numbers swirl through your mind every second. Thoughts of food are all consuming as you go through a cycle of starvation to binging and purging. Your eating disorder tells you that it's okay to steal food, because you've been so good all week, you deserve to have a treat. Until you have it, then your mind is completely overwhelmed with guilt, shame and self-hatred. Or it convinces you that four hours of exercise is fine because, exercise is healthy. And when you can't do it, you feel like a weak, pathetic, failure, which furthers your bond with bulimia and its 'perfection.'

You start to believe that it's your only friend, support, and only sense of strength and control. You start to rely on your eating disorder to get you through the day. It becomes your way to cope with the overwhelming feelings of depression, worthlessness, pain, anger, etc. It helps you cope with the things you can't control as it gives you a false sense of power over your life. The reality is though, that the more you feel in control, the less control you truly have over your eating disorder. Every single aspect of your life becomes a false sense of reality. An illusion. You can no longer trust the image in the mirror, the food labels, the scales. You can't trust anything but your bulimia. Any attempt at help from others is now viewed as an attack on your eating disorder. This is when your mindset allows lies and manipulation into the list of things that are morally acceptable. You need your eating disorder so badly that you'd do and say anything to protect it. However, you'd also do anything to prevent any protection for yourself. You feel worthless while you think your eating disorder is worth any amount of manipulation, arguing, sneaking, etc. You feel your eating disorder is worth your life.

My bulimia, I believe, is a result of both genetic and environmental factors. I was prone to mental illness and then the lack of  healthy role models, the constant arguing of my parents, my mother's alcoholism, and the pressure to be perfect in every way led to the feelings of depression and anxiety. I never felt good enough. I ended up turning to food as a way to deal with the anxiety of my unstable external life. This binge eating as a child led to my obesity, which further worsened my esteem and mental illnesses, which resulted in the diet that started my bulimia. Further praise and pressure to do well maintained my disorder over time. I have now struggled with my eating disorder for nine years. Eating disordered individuals are prone to a high risk of co-morbidity with other mental illnesses. It's unsure whether or not they came first or were the result of an eating disorder. For me, some of my mental illnesses were the underlying core issues.  However, my addiction to opiates came afterwards and only added fuel to the fire. I now had two unhealthy ways to cope with the traumas in my life. My addiction also helped me to curb my appetite, further exacerbating my bulimia.

It wasn't until I got sober in August 2014 that I realized that I needed to do something about my bulimia or I would risk relapsing, or worse, dying from my disease. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any other mental illness. Hearing that fact resulted in a huge wake up call. I am now in outpatient treatment with a local organization called the Bulimia Anorexia Nervosa Association (BANA). I would love to tell you that now my life is great and that I am free from the vice like grip of bulimia. But that would be a lie. Eating disorders, like addiction, are life long illnesses that you can never cure. They both will be with me for the rest of my life. Unlike addiction, however, abstinence from food is not an option. Everyone has to eat, so the struggle in recovery is learning to have a healthy relationship with food. Individuals in recovery must learn to eat in a healthy moderation. We must learn to accept our bodies the way they are and to learn better coping skills for all our emotions. We can no longer numb or hide from emotions like we had in the past.

My recovery will be a long, uphill road. But I am optimistic. I was strong enough to overcome addiction, traumatic relationships, death, and hardship, so I am confident in my ability to beat this too. It won't be easy, but hopefully one day I will be able to say that it was completely worth it.

 Thank you for taking the time to read my story and some of the things that led to my bulimia. If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, I urge you to get the help you need before it's too late.

as a writer, you ask yourself to dream while awake.

I've been asked to write a blog post for this cool website about addiction and recovery. I asked to write a piece on addiction, but when the owner found out about my bulimia, he said he'd love some on eating disorders. So I promised him two different ones. One will be about 'One day in the life of Bulimia' and another is how they develop, the mindset when you have one, and the mental health issues that can lead to one. I'm pretty exicted, but also incredibly nervous.

 This will be me writing as me. Not writing as Jenna or Roxy, which are my ED and addiction identities, as you know. I feel safe being Roxy-an addict, or Jenna-the bulimic. It's been so long since I've written as my own person. I feel a bit exposed. But at the same time, it is a huge honour to be able to write these. I feel like I'll be speaking on behalf of every single one of us. Telling my story and yours. Because when it comes down to it, we may be on different sides, but we're still on the same coin that is eating disorders.

I don't even know where to start. There are so many ideas swirling around in my head. So many thoughts and emotions I want to share with readers. So many facts and stats about eating disorders. I don't even know how they'll all fit into two 1500 word posts. I need to set some time aside, write all my ideas down and come up with a rough draft. It's not like my blog here where I just get an idea, do a bit of research, find a quote that suits my idea, and then just start writing and letting the words fall as they may. This one has to be much more structured, accurate, and well-written. I'll have a broader audience with very intelligent respected people who have written before me. So I need this to be amazing.

Then again, maybe I shouldn't be so worried and obsessed. I feel like thinking to much into might just set me up for failure. I'll be so nervous that I won't be writing at my A-game. I think the best move will be to write for you. I do it almost everyday. I respect each of you even more than the other people on this site. And I trust you with my secrets. I know none of you will judge. So if I write it for you guys, then I think it'll be true perfection: where my honesty, passion, and flaws make the writing imperfectly perfect. I feel like I'll connect better to the audience if I think the audience will be my follows and readers here.

So thank-you for being my role models, supports, inspirations, and audience. I appreciate you all so much, even if my fan base isn't huge. I care for each of you in a profound way that can only be understood by others with these awful disorders. We're connected by our ED's and recovery in a way that is unfathomable to others. And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Much love, xx.

P.S. I will share the posts I write for this site as soon as they're finished!

be the change you wish to see in the world.

In recent posts I had been talking about Women for Sobriety and volunteering to host meetings for the women at my local detox. At the time the program coordinator had not yet replied to my two attempts at contacting him. I was frustrated and a bit let down. I was worried that he was an adamant 12 step sort of guy and didn't want WFS coming in.

 Now don't think I'm putting the 12 steps down, I'm absolutely not. They help many people get and stay sober. So if it works for someone, great. I feel each individual has the choice to do whatever the feel keeps them sober. I'm just saying that many people do not know anything other than AA/NA/CA. There are some (not all) 12 steppers that think that the only thing that works is NA/AA and won't be open or willing to try or learn about other options. I personally never could connect to NA. I really tried to because many experts praise and recommend 12 step meetings, sponsors, etc. But in the end, it was not for me. There were some things I liked, but many more things I didn't. I gave it a long, honest try and it just wasn't helping. Sometimes I'd even come home feeling worse than I did before.

I was so, so fortunate to discover Women for Sobriety and to attend a meeting. I was even more lucky that we had a local meeting in my small, shitty city. Those meetings, the 13 affirmations, and the women both in my group and online have totally helped me save my life. They made me see how much I have to offer, how much good I am and have, and how much I had in my life. I always left feeling just absolutely wonderful, positive, strong, and filled with this incredible refreshing energy to get through the week and any problem. They even are supporting my treatment for my bulimia. The women there just ooze positivity, health, recovery, intelligence and compassion. They're every quality I respect and hope to be.

Now, before I finally got sober and found WFS I was in detox. While I was there they hosted one or two 12 step meetings per week. When I got out, I went straight back out to use and stuck a needle in my arm for the first time. I'm not saying that the 12 step meeting wasn't helpful. It was. But it also wasn't what I needed for my recovery, especially at that time. Since finding WFS I often ponder this and wonder, 'If there had been a Women for Sobriety meeting, would I have stayed sober?' I may not have, but there's also the chance I could have prevented that whole summer downfall. There's no point in dwelling on the past. There's nothing I can change about my story. But, I can change this for someone else in the future. So this is why I want to host a meeting there so badly. I'm extremely passionate about raising awareness for other meeting/treatment options. Especially for women.

One of my issues was that I rarely felt comfortable sharing every part of my story in a group full of mostly men. There are many women who feel the same. So I think it's important that there is an all women option where they can discuss traumas, abuse, rape, etc. with only women. They need a place where they will be met with understanding, empathy and will be safe. Women for Sobriety is that place. And of course anybody is more than welcome to attend  both WFS and NA/AA/CA. I don't want to encourage people not to attend those meetings, I simply just want to show women and others that there is another option for them out there (there is Men for Sobriety too, by the way).

Anyway, I'm extremely happy because I finally heard back from the program coordinator. He wants to set up a meeting with me to discuss things. I'm feeling hopeful. The woman who forwarded my message to him said that they're lucky to have 'such a wonderful opportunity.' I know it wouldn't hurt to have us come in, and would certainly do some good. Not only for the women in detox, but for me as well. Plus, there has recently been more requests for WFS meeting information. I'm excited to talk with him and discuss the benefits of this. I want this so badly it hurts. I'm going to start preparing so that when I go I'll be fully ready to answer any questions, concerns, etc. Our detox needs this. Women need this. And it thrills me to be the one to finally start this awareness movement. It just makes me feel proud. It will make my recovery so much more fulfilled to be able to help others and give back.

This has totally brought me out of my down mood. So today, I'm celebrating this success.

Much love, xx.

an over-indulgence of anything, even something as pure as water, can intoxicate.

So it is clear to see that I am one who lives for over-indulgence. I've done it with food, drugs, booze, sleep, drama, fun, danger, etc. I've even over-indulged in love. And the more I grow, the more I see that love was the most dangerous intoxicant of them all. Even dope isn't as dangerous as love was to me.

Most would say that my last relationship was abusive. And in many ways, it probably was. So why is it that I can't see that? Why do I still think that he's the one that got away? The one that I was meant to be with had I not blown it and chosen drugs over him? I don't know if I'll ever fully understand.

When I got sober, we hadn't spoken in months. Just before I went into rehab, I sent him a message letting him know I was safe, clean and getting help. I called him the night before. He was with a girl. it made me absolutely furious. I wanted to go and slit her throat. I know, that sounds just plain horrid, scary, and messed up of me. But I'm only being honest, that was my first thought. Obviously I would never do it. After he hung up because of her protesting, I broke down into uncontrollable tears. Thinking, 'I couldn't go to rehab now! I need to be home so that I can convince him to come back to me. I can't be away, what if he messages me and wants me back and I'm not there to get it?' I wished I hadn't called. I knew it would hurt me, but I didn't care. I wanted the pain over nothing. I wanted to drown in that love induced pain and hurt.

I ended up going to treatment and sort of put it in the back of my mind. I knew that if I thought about the truth, it would rip me wide open and I couldn't handle that. I talked about every other trauma in my life except that. When my counselor asked me if there's anything unresolved with my ex, I lied and said no. Saying no and having her believe me was the best acting performance of my life. Just being asked about him brought me to the verge of tears and a massive breakdown. How I managed a smile and a 'no' with my throat closing, choking on a sob is beyond me. I guess years of fake smiles and manipulation paid off. Or ripped me off, if you think about it.

It was something I needed to deal with and didn't. So after rehab, I just kept him in the back of my mind, never letting him come to the front. Once and a while thoughts would slip in and I'd lose it. I couldn't listen to love songs, break up songs, or any songs we both liked. I'd go insane. Anywhere I went reminded me of him. Even some shows were off limits. It was like if I didn't think about it, the pain and reality wouldn't be there. I even banned myself from facebook. I was scared to have messages from him. Or worse, none at all.

So one day, something came over me. I felt this crazy urge to read my facebook, to get it over with. The not knowing and keeping it locked away would cause knots in my stomach almost everyday. I needed to check. Needless to say, there were messages. But not what I thought. They were sad messages, messages of love, and pain and hurt. He still loved me. He doesn't love her. I replied, months after they had been sent and told him what had happened with me, how I was, and how I felt. I told him that I wanted to keep our promise. We always swore that we would always be in each other's lives regardless of anything that happened.

I decided that I couldn't lose him again. It would kill me. Months of ignoring it had somehow let me sort of come to terms with another girl being there. Don't get me wrong, I still hate her and have awful pangs of jealousy here and there, but I was somewhat okay with that fact. I knew I'd rather have him as a friend than not to have him at all. So again, I chose to indulge in that love induced pain.
It's like I can't stand not having things, especially in excess. It was more scary to me to just let him go and learn to be okay alone that to have him but not be able to be his girl again. I'd rather be hurt in unimaginable ways to keep him, than to feel nothing and let it go.

And let me tell you, it hurts. It hurts almost daily, but I can't stop. I can't stop smothering myself in love, hate, pain, and tears. I will indulge in it as long as I can. Bad for me or not. I mean, nothing bad for me has never stopped me before. If anything, those 'bad things' encouraged me. They only made it more intoxicating. Like the thrill of doing something illegal and getting away with it.

So even though he caused pain and still does so, I will not let him go. I need him in my life. I don't care how other people viewed our relationship. I loved him in ways most people can't imagine. And he loved me. We fought hard, but we loved harder. That's just who we were. And I wouldn't change it for the world.

But why do I do these things? Why can't I just be okay with normal amounts? Will I always be doomed to be a gluttonous person who can't do anything in moderation? I suppose not, because I seem to only be able to function in extremes. I can do things in all or nothing ways. Never anything in between. With drugs it was do it all or don't do any. Same with love, booze, sleep, whatever. I guess I just think in very black and white terms. I don't know if I'll ever learn to enjoy the grey areas of life.

Much love, xx.

 The two of us on vacation. He'd kill me if he knew I shared this!

He may be bad for me, but I don't know if I could say no. I should say no. I should run the other way. But with my track record of over-indulgence, no isn't often a word I use.

This is sort of true, but at the same time, being his everything and doing anything for him made me feel bright and shiny. And I was his everything too. So it wasn't one sided.

I don't know if this one is true, but I hope it is. Either with someone else, or him. As long as it's true.

you cannot hang out with negative people and expect a positive life.

I've been thinking about my last year using. Like really thinking about it. I think it has a lot to do with my continued depression and down days. Usually they only last a day or two and then I snap back into a positive mood. But for some reason, I've been stuck in this low for a long time now. Longer than normal. I don't know if thinking about it brought it on, or if thinking about it is what is keeping it on or what. All I know is I'm feeling down, sad, and like giving up and I can't stop thinking about the 'good old days'.

These memories come on when I'm talking, especially when talking about something drug related or back from that time period. They start when I'm craving, which ends up increasing the time and intensity of the craving, making it ten times worse. But mostly, I get vivid, powerful memories when I listen to music. Anything I listened to daily during last summer instantly brings me right back there. Some songs bring me back to bad things and I have to change it immediately. Others bring me back to the times when I had a blast. Although that overall time was a nightmare, there were also many times where me and my friends had an absolute riot. 

This brings me to my friends, just as my memories do every time. I met most of them through this idiot, Dan, I was seeing/was friends with. But he turned out to be a pathological liar and would often get arrested or show up places only to have his mother pick him up a few minutes later for 'sneaking out.' He was 28 years old, just to clarify why this was so pathetic and annoying. She would also call the police, which as you know, is never something you want when you're a needle using junkie. Anyways, there were about 6 or 7 key players at this time of my life. Let me introduce them.

1. Angus, 39: Dan's friend from rehab. He was an ex-con from a federal prison. He robbed a bank with a shot gun, among-st other things. He was the first guy to fix me up (which I think creates a strange bond between people because you trust them and then experience that first exquisite high together; it's almost intimate in a way). He became a good friend and often let me sleep there when I had no place to go. We stole together, got high together, were sick together, but never ever slept together. I didn't want to cross that line. He was cool shit, but would go into psychosis whenever using any ups. 
2. Krystle, 34: Angus's wife (sort-of?). I met her when she reappeared in his life out of nowhere. I was getting sick of him, as he was me since I had been there too long. She needed a ride home, so in return, she got me crystal (meth)/Xanax and let me sleep over. We somehow really bonded that night. She was tiny, tough, and very ill.
3. John A ?: Friend of Angus's from a different town. I met him when he got out of jail and stopped by looking to pick-up. He introduced us to his connect, who had a good supply of pills and meth. He also stopped by randomly high as a kite and was annoying as hell when he did meth. He was a nice guy though and meant well. He'd help me get drugs and money when I couldn't. The second person I let fix me up. He was also a kleptomaniac. So he'd often help us steal, but wasn't trustworthy otherwise. 
4. Rodney, 50: Rodney was John's connect. The second time I met him, I drove him 45 minutes away and back to pick up his supply of ice. He hooked us all up nicely for that. I did it again the next day, but alone. I told him I wanted pills, not crystal, since, it was my thing. This is how I met his girlfriend.
5. Kat, 32: Rodney's girl (which I didn't know until later). She was known as the 'pill girl'. She liked me instantly and gave me her number so I could call her directly. I did, often. She also sold ice. When her and Rodney set up shop together, I got really lucky. I'd drive them at least once per day to go get their 2 ounce supply and get a taste of it plus free pills, a place to stay, and often food. She was the only one I knew who actually had money. She reminded me of me back when I was dealing with my ex before I got caught up in the dope. She hustled hard and I respected her for it. They respected me. I was the only one who would find dope on the floor and give it back instead of stealing it. Plus, I had a car. And I knew how to inject other people. So she'd call me late at night, asking me to come fix her up. 'I'll pay you', she'd say.  I don't know why she took me in, but I'll be forever grateful to her for it. I think I reminded her of her too. Which is a scary though, her being exactly ten years older than me. It was like I was looking ahead into my dark future. 
6. Chris, 29: Lived below Angus. Was into me for a time, but hated me after I refused to sleep with him and chose to stay with Angus instead. I feel bad now. I was a bitch to him.
7. Trelaine, ?: Girl I met in detox before I met anyone else. She was a bit stuck up. But bought me Chinese food in there. Turned out, she knew Angus and started coming by near the end. She was a two-faced, lying, skank-bitch and I hate her.
8. Mike, Cutie, Romeo: Various dealers. 

So now that I've briefly introduced them (Which was extremely hard, since that time was chaotic and crazy and sort of interlaps each other. Plus, it's a bit fuzzy anyways),I'll get more to the point. Around that time these people were my life. They substituted my lost boyfriend, family, and friends. They knew who I was at that time and didn't mind. In fact they liked me. They were the first people to look right into the depths of my rotted soul and still want me around. It was the first time I felt accepted. We took care of each other, almost like a family, or gang. If we all couldn't get something, we'd all go without. We each had our skills and used them together in order to get money, drugs, smokes, gas, food, whatever (in that order). We laughed often, got sick often, and played often. We did horrible illegal things together and blamed the system for it. There was always so much drama and chaos and crazy, dangerous shit happening that I grew to thrive within all of it. I even trusted them with my life, having them shoot me up in my neck when I had no other veins. So now that it's gone and my life is simple and boring and sober, it's no wonder I often miss it. And them. They were friends, bonded together in our addictions.

 But the sad thing is, in active addiction, friend is such a loose term. When it comes down to it, we were all using each other to benefit ourselves. And when someone became a burden or was no longer useful, we threw them away like we threw away our old needles. Like we threw away our lives. We didn't care about our own lives, so why would we value others? So I guess in the end, we weren't useful to each other anymore. We had all exhausted our energy and resources. We had burnt out.

So at the very end, I was living with Angus and Krystle. It was a crazy mix because she often never took her medication for her bipolar disorder. It was exacerbated by the drugs and she would swing in and out of moods like it was nothing. One minute she'd love him, the next she hated us all. Then back again. It usually depended on what we had at that point. She also was an unpredictable thief. She'd often go in my purse and take my car keys. Or money. She even robbed Dan blind as he laid overdosing on the floor in her apartment. Then did all his drugs while I sat there sick and he was in the hospital. She wouldn't admit she'd done it. When I accused her, she told me to leave. I didn't and just backed down. She knew she had me and she knew I knew it too. 

Anyway, in early August she went to detox. She had to be rushed to the hospital because of withdrawal induced seizures. They told her that she'd have to get on Suboxone or methadone in order to get sober. So on August 11th, I drove her. She convinced me to get on the program too, at least so I wouldn't always be sick if we didn't have dope. I agreed. Angus got on it too. We all started talking about our happy, sober futures. We started to get hope, and hope can be a dangerous thing. The methadone helped me right away. I ended up sleeping for 95% of the day. I called my mom who I hadn't spoken to since May. I told her, I'm getting on the program and asked her to come to the appointments with me. She did. So on August 14th she gave me $20 for food and methadone. This was huge because I knew it meant she had hope to and was trusting that I would get sober. That day, we got into another stupid, pointless fight. But this time, Krystle declared to Angus that she'd had enough. It was his house, but his life was only happy when hers was. So he sort of agreed. She grabbed my keys and her Trelaine and Angus went to grab 'her stuff. When she came back in, I was in the bathroom. I came out and checked my purse. The money was gone. They told me to get out. I refused to. All I had was that money! I wasn't leaving until I got it back. So the two girls physically threw me out, smashed my head against the ground and left me there. I went to my car, hoping there was enough gas to get home. And hoping my mom would see my state and believe they had robbed me so that I could come back home. I knew they spent it on dope too. So much for our pact to get clean.

Thankfully my mom did let me in and I never used again after that point. I went to rehab, I forgave them. I moved on. I even went as far as apologizing for my part in it. I ended up seeing Krystle at the methadone clinic a month ago. She was in rough, rough shape. I was terrified when I saw her (having not apologized yet). I thought she'd steal my carries (bring home methadone for those who test clean) or kick my ass. Or both. Fear  and panic pumped through my body until she finally got up and said hi. She hugged me. I was stunned but I went along with it. I told her I had nine months clean and asked how she'd been. 'Starting over..' she said. 

Seeing her there and like that brought such a mix of emotions to me. I thought I had moved on but it was clear that moment that I hadn't. I felt sad for her. I pitied her. I missed her. I hated her. I wanted to help her. I wanted her to relapse. I didn't know how I felt. But I knew one thing, I was so, so grateful that she had literally thrown me out like that. If she hadn't I'd probably be in the exact same spot. Or worse. 

I have mixed feelings about all of them. They range from missing them, to hoping they get clean, to wanting them dead. But on days when I'm not happy in my recovery, I think about them the most. I often could cry thinking about them. Worrying about them. Wondering if they'd take me back. I miss the fun. The craziness. The danger. I miss our bonds.

But then I realize, we may have been bonded in addiction, but we obviously are not bonded in recovery. So I have to let it go and move on. All I can do now is wish them the best and take care of myself. Because as much as I miss them, I don't miss the sickness, the worry, the fear, the betrayals, the stealing (which I was always only the driver for), the pain, the fights, or the sleepless nights I sat up afraid to close my eyes. 

They will always be apart of me and my story in some way, but they can't be in the future chapters. 

Much love, xx.

progress is impossible without change; and those who cannot change their minds, cannot change anything.

So I've recently been pretty active on Blogger. I've gained two new follows, which is exciting. I'd be excited if even only one person read this mess of words about the craziness of my addiction and bulimia. I was reading a post on my blog when I realized that the layout I had for years didn't include an option for people to follow me, which is shitty because perhaps more people would have, had they had the option too. So I spent sometime changing it up so that it won't happen in the past. I appreciate and adore anyone who takes the time to read this, so I want to make it easy for them to do so regularly.

So in that process, I decided my whole blog format needs an update. It got me thinking about change. At first I was so reluctant to change it at all. I didn't want to lose the appearance it has had since day one. I didn't want to lose my trademark "Am I thin enough?" picture with the girl in handcuffs symbolizing how chained I am to my addiction and bulimia. I didn't want to change any of it.

But then I realized, how can I improve and work towards recovery, when I'm keeping everything the same. On the blog and in real life. It's not productive to view the same format that I had made in the depth of my addiction and bulimia. It needed a change, a refreshed look that inspires change and progress in my writing and in my life.

It got me thinking about change in general. I always thought I did well with change, until I was face to face with it and couldn't handle it. For anyone new I'll give a bit of a recap of my life leading to my addiction in 2011.

• My grandma passed away early in the year.
• My 8 year old dog who I adored as family passed away soon after.
• In October of that year, I got the worst news of my life. My dad had died. 
• I resisted change, threw myself into school (my dad valued education) and tried to forget.
• When I couldn't forget, I started planning. Let's just say oxys were always around as, uhm, 'gifts' to people who had money. They sat in my drawer and called to me for weeks. So I slowly started collecting some, ranging from Percs to 80's. 
• One night in December, I snorted my first line of oxy. It was daily from then on.
• I then lost my great aunt, two bulldogs (one of whom was my baby, my son, and my life) When I lost him, something in me snapped.
• I kept it mostly together to care for my little boy bulldog Bam. I got out of bed for him, So when he was gone, I was again overwhelmed with sadness and obliterated the feelings with drugs.

So it's clear to me now that instead of changing, I numbed everything out until reality came down and knocked me off my feet last year. Then again, instead of changing and getting my life together, I ran. I got kicked out and ran to my addict friends. I lived in my car, on addicts and dealer's couches. I hopped from place to place with my bag of cleans and pills. I preferred this life over change.

It wasn't until I could absolutely no longer deal with it that I realized that something had to give. I needed to change or I would die alone homeless in my car as my junkie 'friends' robbed me blind and left my dead body. (They did do something like that, minus the body. Well, not minus one a different time. Great people, eh?). And so I did. I got on methadone, got sober and went to treatment. And now almost ten months later, here I am still sober and alive. And completely changed.

So although I still sometimes resist change, I now better understand the importance of it and catch myself when I'm becoming to stuck. I feel like once and a while my recovery needs small changes and refreshers to keep me going. Especially because recovery itself is all about change. I change who I am everyday on my search to learning who I truly am. So I have to update the small things to match the big change that goes on within me.

So now my blog is refreshed and ready to inspire my words, thoughts, and growth. So enjoy!

Much love, xx.

dear niece, some day you will shine.

I follow this facebook group called 'Beating Eating Disorders'. It's very pro-recovery and posts inspirational messages, photos, videos etc. and is run by two girls who are in recovery themselves. I absolutely love them and they give me such hope on bad days. I just saw this post, from one of the girls who runs the group. She wrote a letter to her young niece about self-love and wrote to her about loving her body the way it is. It's beautiful. I've copied it here for you all to read. I think I might write one for my first niece who is on the way and will be born in October.



"Grace,
I know you are only turning four this weekend, but I know you will eventually ask about your body - wondering about your size and shape, why you look the way you do, why others look different.
Important questions that I’m glad you will ask, this is my best answer:
You were born to be you.
You are not supposed to look like your cousin, like me, or like any of your classmates.
You might notice similarities, and that’s fine, but you are completely unique. You are important to this world, you are supposed to be here, and the design of your body is part of the greater plan of who you are – it should be no other way.
You may hear that you are supposed to look like this or that, or you may notice magazines or billboards that reflect a certain image, but they aren’t real. They are people, just like you, who have been made up, dressed up, and air brushed. This isn’t reality, it’s their work.
It’s great to have a healthy body and feel good about how you look, but self love is not about falling in love with your appearance. It’s about knowing your insides – your bliss, your gifts, your ability to share and experience joy.
Self love will hold you up in every aspect of your life because people will treat you as you treat yourself. When you love yourself you won’t allow others to take advantage of you. And if someone intentionally decides to hurt you, you will find support and begin the process of healing so you can forgive. Not to condone the behavior, but so you don’t carry around somebody else’s pain.
Taking care of yourself is your most important job – it’s the only way you will have energy to take care of others. So don’t waste time disliking yourself, spend time noticing your beauty instead. If you do, you will notice that everybody is beautiful, and you will be surrounded by people and experiences that reflect this understanding.
I see you when you are happily lost in yourself; when you are laughing, singing, playing, and twirling. You shine so brightly I get tears in my eyes. I feel your joy in being who you are, and I know that will always live inside you.
But at certain times you will forget, because unfortunately, we all do.
So your job is to have faith in that place, to remember that it’s not outside, it’s not in another person, it’s not in your clothes, it’s not in a job, and it’s not in a grade or an award.
It’s only in you.
And only you can celebrate the outside and inside of being you; so make it a celebration to remember.
And when you forget, please come back and ask. I am here to remind you.
Love, Auntie Kell."

got a bunch of bad habits, and i wear 'em like a crown.

So just as I thought I was feeling better, a new wave of frustration hit me like a bus.

Firstly, some weird sketch bag was sexually harassing me via Twitter. So I blocked him and moved on. But it left a bad taste in my mouth. Like I'm the first to admit, I'm adventurous in bed, and am probably considered kinky to many. Plus, I'm bisexual, always have been, always will be. Though I've only ever been in relationships with guys. It's so frustrating that men assume that because I'm not straight or 'boring' in bed, that they can say stupid things to me acting like I'll sleep with them if they make a comment. I'm not a slut. I don't sleep around. I share that intimate part of me with a very select few. So although I'm fairly open about it, it doesn't mean I shout it to the world and share that knowledge and part of me with just anyone. Kinky does not equate promiscuity.

So right after that, my mom got a message on Facebook saying, "I need to talk to you right away". So of course I knew it'd be about me. Something I posted, something I said, lyrics I quoted, my recovery, etc. This for some reason struck a nerve, badly. It just enraged me. Partly because I instantly knew exactly what she'd bring up. There is a band called Down With Webster. They're Canadian and have a combination of rap and alternative rock. It's amazing.

One of their songs says, "Addicted to the lights and sounds. Got a bunch of bad habits and you wear em' like a crown. You're royalty around here baby, get down."

So I was listening to their music, and liked that particular line. Now back in my addiction it may have meant something completely different to me, in fact it did. I was proud of my addiction back then.  I thought I was bad ass, tough, cool shit. I wore my track marks like tattoos. But now, I take those lyrics in a much more positive way. There is this quote I love, that says something about a girl looking in the mirror after all the pain, scars, struggles and still is there and alive. So it says, "She straightened her crown, and walked away like a boss." That is how I now view these lyrics. To me it means I had all these habits, disorders, and now I have overcome them. I have no shame in them They are apart of me and my story. So of course I will wear my strength of my struggles like a crown. And my healed scars like a tattoo that shows all I've been through and have ended up on the other side of.

But of course, to this woman, she probably assumes I've done something or am slipping up and feels the need to tell my mom. I'm 23 years old. I'm an adult. You don't tell my mother on me, It's disrespectful. If you have something to say or are concerned, talk to me. 

This all goes back to that horrible pressure we feel to always be 'okay', to always have a smile on our faces because, god forbid, if we have a bad day, we're going to fall apart! This is so unrealistic and silly. Anyone who knows anything about this knows that if you don't have bad days, there's probably something wrong. It's normal to have ups and downs. And it's so fucking annoying that we all have to hide it and put on our happy masks just to reassure other people. We're trying to remove those masks. We're trying to be ourselves. So please, please, just let us do that! Let us frown when we need to, cry when we need to, scream, shout, yell when we need to. We need to feel all of our emotions authentically, not just the positive ones. Otherwise, we may as well be numbing them all again. Which isn't the goal. So I guess I'm just going to have to be myself and try to ignore when people react like that. It's the only way they'll learn that all feelings are okay feelings. And bad days happen. Recovery isn't easy and never will be.

So keep shining everyone. Don't let people's ignorance stop you from being you.

Much love, xx.

before you can see the light, you have to deal with the darkness.

So the last little while I've been feeling great. Optimistic, hopeful, inspired, determined, etc. But the last two days something has changed. I can't seem to put my finger on it. I've been taking my anti-depressants as prescribed, doing what I usually do, so I don't know what has changed. 

But I guess since I have been sober I get days like these. Days where all I think about is getting obliterated and not feeling a thing. Sinking into that beautiful place between dreams and reality. Nodding in and out, in and out. And hovering blissfully in between. These days are the ones when I won't eat a thing. It's like I'm so depressed and craving that high that the only other thing as satisfying to me is starving. There's even this song lyric I've always loved (sick or not) that says, "I feel like a super model who just skipped a meal." The song's about feeling great and on top of the world, so he says that as a good thing. And to me, not eating sometimes gives me this rush, this pride and satisfaction. The hunger pains act as a reminder of how "good" I've done by starving. 

So today again, all I thought about was opiates. Or meth. Opiates and meth, opiates and meth. Over and over again I switched back between the two, imaging the feeling. Remembering those feelings. The ones like nothing else in the world. And the more I try and stop it, the more it spins around in my head. An endless cycle. 

 The only thing that can quiet Roxy (addiction identity's name) who is locked in her cage begging to be let out is by asking Jenna (bulimia identity) to come out and play. So just for a moment, the thoughts, conversations, arguments, are only with me and Jenna. Just us two, like it used to be before Roxy showed up in my head. In a sick way I miss those times. Just me and her. She my best friend. I always imagined her to be beautiful, sexy, alluring, charming, intelligent. Basically everything I think I'm not. She's the gorgeous best friend you hang out with because maybe her beauty will rub off on you. So although I know she's the evil girl who wants me dead so she can take my place, I miss her being my only company. It seemed so much easier before Roxy came along throwing addiction into the mess of all my other mental illnesses. 

As if I didn't have enough issues before. You have no idea what it's like to have two powerful voices in your head telling you what to do, constantly criticizing you, bickering back and forth all day. Sometimes I forget I'm even in there. I think these are the days when I feel down. It's like if my mood is down, my voice gets quiet, sad. So the other two start to fill the silence. And it becomes so overwhelming that my real identity,  the shy, weaker one, has hidden away afraid to have to face them. On my good days, it's me who is taking the reins, it's me who is speaking up. But every once and a while, those old habits call to you, and I let them take control for a while. Sometimes it's like I just need a break. Recovery is hard work. So perhaps I'm just taking a rest, letting them run on autopilot while I heal and can take back over. 

So I'm going to get some rest, read a good book, have a spa day and recuperate. That way I can take back over and silent the evil girls in my head and get back on track to a healthy, happy recovery. I think I'll share this in group too. We talked about the eating disorder voice/identity last week and had homework to think about ours. Weird timing, having felt this.

Anyway, I wonder if they will ever go away. I want them to, but then I'm also terrified to let them go. 

Much love, xx.

By the way, I do not have split personality disorder (now called dissociative-identity disorder) or have different "voices" in my head. I simply have given each of my disorders an identity and name, mostly for writing purposes. But it also helps me differentiate between what is me and what is my disorder. It's like three people in my inner monologue. Me, Jenna, and Roxy. 

Here are two new pictures of me! Just thought I'd share what I look like now. I feel huge in them (at least, that's what Jenna says), but I've been told I look pretty. 

guilt can stop us from taking healthy care of ourselves.

Guilt: 1. The fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, especially against moral or penal law; culpability: He admitted his guilt.
 2. A feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

Such a common word with so many meanings, situations, causes, feelings. Guilt in itself is a feeling, but I find it more of a primary emotion, one that evokes a secondary emotion depending on the situation. There's guilt over actions, guilt over thoughts, words, emotions. There's self-guilt, guilt regarding others. Inflicting guilt to manipulate someone into doing something. Real guilt, imagined guilt. Guilt, guilt, guilt.

Eating disorders and addiction are mental illnesses that are just completely loaded with guilt. Guilt over using, guilt over stealing, guilt over not caring about a thing in the world but whatever substance that makes it all go away. It even takes the guilt away for a short, blissful moment. Then there's guilt over eating, guilt over purging, guilt over gaining, guilt over your body, guilt over hurting others. See what I mean? There's no shortage of guilt over here.

In treatment for my opiate addiction, we sort of dealt with the past and guilt we had over our actions and stuff from when we were using. But it's so hard to completely let go of the past. As much as a try not to beat myself up over what I've done, I can't. The things I've done stilll haunt my mind and my life. And I think sometimes it's not my own issues with it, it is others'. For example, when I stole money from my family, I have sort of forgiven myself, but I know they still haven't. I mean to some degree I've been somewhat forgiven, but not totally. And I feel like until they have forgiven me, I don't know if I can forgive myself. Because many days are just a constant reminder of what I've done.

And so often when I'm consumed with guilt, I hid myself away. My self-care that is so important to my health (emotional and phsyical) goes out the window. I'm too ashamed of myself to do anything. I'm too ashamed of myself to believe that I deserve any kind of care or niceness at all. I did horrible things that I can never take back, and I should be punished for it. By myself and others. Now of course this isn't true, but there are days when forgiveness seems far and few between and I take it out on myself. Through isolation, purging, binging, negative self-talk, etc.

Some days this guilt effects my self-care in much more subtle ways. Often in the form of neglect or denial. For example, I knew that smoking dope, crack, etc and purging many times a day for years and years wasn't good for my teeth. I knew this, yet I avoided the dentist like it was the plague. So after getting sober, I refused to think that this was an issue. Until one of my wisdom teeth became so decayed and rotted that it was causing pain. But even then, my guilt got the best of me. I was too guilty to go in case they saw through me and accused me of being bulimic or an addict. My dentist is family, but I have kept these secrets from most of my family. I fear their judgement too much. And I'm sure they won't be that bad, but it's my own (you guessed it) guilt and shame that keeps me from telling them. And it's the same with my teeth. I waited until I couldn't wait any longer and now I'm paying the price. My tooth must come out, along with a few fillings. It will be painful. But it could have been avoided had I taken better care of myself over the years.

So I think I've finally learned my lesson. I need to find a way to accept my past and to let it go. I need to talk to those I've hurt and make amends and tell them that forgiveness is the only way I can truly move forward. And then I need to forgive myself, however I can. Plus, I need to acknowledge that much of my guilt is imagined or exaggerated. I need to be more compassionate and understanding of myself and to focus on the good I've done since.

I will not let guilt affect my well-being anymore. I will be all about seeking forgiveness.

Forgiveness: a conscious, deliberate decision to release feelings of resentment or vengeance toward a person or group who has harmed you, regardless of whether they actually deserve your forgiveness.

Much love, xx.

P.S. There are many healthy benefits that I have learned about regarding forgiveness while researching it for this post (yes, I do my research first, such I nerd, I know). There's a list here at: http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/topic/forgiveness/definition  Check it out! 

we found each other sinking, both lost without aspiration; no promise of tomorrow.

"Nicole's Ocean"

Dedicated to my Nicole, the girl who saved me from sinking and taught me how to swim. I hope this poem is half as beautiful as you are. You're my guardian angel of the sea. Enjoy <3 

I found her floating
Floating in the deep sea,
The deep sea of lost souls
The deep sea I'd been drifting along endlessly.

Some days I was sinking,
Drowning to the depths of pain
She grasped my soul
Pulled me back up
Returned air to my lungs, my heart
Returned me to the surface of hope.

We spent our time drifting
Floating together in perfect harmony
Letting the lull of the waves
Bring us back home.

Two moons later, the sky roared with thunder
Waves rippled, tide changing course
I braced for rough sea with fear
To be dragged down to despair once more
She looked at me in silence.

The current seized her body
Under-toe enraptured her life
I knew where she was headed, been there before
I watched as she surrendered,
Relinquishing her soul to the sea.

Taken to join the others
Those who had been lost
To a place so dark, so ugly
A place with only hopelessness
Despair feeding on her existence.

I knew where she was going
But I lingered, suddenly cold
Frozen with horror, I struggled
My life was flashing with the lightening
Bolting me to reality
I had no life without her.

I shoved away my panic
Dove beneath the water, submerged myself in darkness
Swimming blind, I'd lost my way
When a light appeared
Guiding me to her
I fought until exhaustion, seeking, searching

Finally I came across my illuminated destination
The glowing of her essence
I tugged at her spirit,
So stunning, beyond belief
I willed our way to freedom
Breaking through the oceans barrier
With our breath, came a new perception.
Intuition emerging with us.

I thought that I had found her
Floating in the shadows
A gift brought to me
My guardian angel of the sea
But now I knew, we found each other
Fate had found us too

We found each other sinking
Both lost without aspiration
No promise of tomorrow
But as we came together,
Our faith had been restored
We clung to one another, bodies close
Each other's life-vest.

So with her love
With her light
We started swimming
Swimming not as two, but one
Starting on our journey
Lost no more, we headed home.