you came to me when i was broken

Hey everyone, I'm back! Everything in my life has been going so well and I'm happy to announce that I am officially taken. Here is a poem I wrote for my incredible, sexy, smart, loving, amazing boyfriend, Krishani. I love him more than words can explain, but I'll give it a try:

you came to me when i was broken

climbing inside my heart 

sewing the pieces back together

you came to me when i was broken

entering my precious body 

making the pieces beautiful again

you came to me when i was broken

seeing into my damaged mind

changing every thought to artwork

you came to me when i was broken

clinging deeply into my soul

weaving us tightly together

you came to me when i was broken

fixing each part of my entity 

mending me until i was whole,

nobody can go back and make a brand new start. however, anyone can start now to make a brand new ending.

There's such a weird mix of feelings that goes on within me every single day. 

I can start depressed, wanting to die, to feeling so elated that nothing can bring me down. Or I can feel both of those at the exact same time. 

I used to use so that I couldn't feel anything. So the hardest part about sobriety is learning to feel and cope with the new whirlwind of emotions inside my head. It's easier said than done. Imagine feeling sad, angry, relieved, hopeful, yet hopeless, frustrated, excited, and humored at the same time. Seems impossible, right? Well trust me, it's not. It is, however, extremely hard to deal with for the normal person. But for an addict in recovery, it's even worse. When you're so used to feeling nothing, feeling even one emotion is rough. So going through the full spectrum in a minute on any given day, it's not fun or easy. But it is life. And it's something I'm learning to deal with. Sort of. Don't get me wrong I still lash out, burst into tears, react too quickly, or laugh inappropriately, but at least I'm not running away and getting high every time. See? I'm making progress.

Anyway, I figured that since so many of these posts are about the negative emotions, I'd make this one just for all the positive I'm feeling.

You know that feeling when you meet someone new and just hearing from them makes your heart rush? Where all you want is to lay with them while they make you forget all your pain and past? That emotion right before love, where everything is new, fun, and gives you happy tingles. Well, I'm the luckiest girl to be experiencing this again, and being sober enough to be able to experience it. So I'm grateful for my sobriety and for Nicole for showing me what it's like to feel all warm and fuzzy inside again. 

And then there's relief, when you know that the people you care about are okay. 

And excited emotions when you know you're on the verge of a perfect poem, or story, or whatever. That nature rush you get as you start to share at a meeting, or introduce yourself in group. 

And how about the peaceful, calm feeling you get when you lay down at night knowing you don't have to worry about where you'll get money or where you'll get dope the next day. Knowing you won't be sick and that when you wake, everything will be okay. It's that confidence you have in knowing that you will rise with the sun and the day is yours to do anything with.

Of course, there's love, and compassion too. I find these in my family and pets. I don't think I'd be here with out the help and love and support from my mom. And I wouldn't be happy without the unconditional love from Charlie.

And lastly (for now), there's passion. That drive and need to complete something that gets your blood flowing and creativity soaring. That high you get from doing the thing you were made for and knowing that it is your calling. That sense of pride you get reading the final copy, or viewing the final piece of artwork, or getting that dressage move down pact. The feeling of just knowing, from the deepest part of your soul, that you're right where you're supposed to be.

So yes, I'll have bad feelings and bad days. Maybe more than I'd like. But when things get rough, I know that I at least have these amazing emotions. And more importantly, I have the special people in my life that can help me feel and see all these great things I have in my life. 

Ouu, there's another one. Gratitude. The ability to see the abundance of good things, good people, and good feelings I have every day. And the ability to give thanks for it every night.

So tonight, life is good. And I'm glad for that.

she can never go back and make some of the details pretty, all she can do is make the whole beautiful.

So in case you haven't heard, I've got some issues. I've got scars, scabs, bullet holes, stab wounds, puncture marks, track marks, a broken smile and a gaping black hole of pain. So no, I'm not perfect. Never was, never will be. But you know what? I don't give a flying high fuck.

So you want to know why? Probably not, but I'll tell you anyway.

 I realized, that me, and only me, should be at the top. I may still be climbing my way up from the underground, but don't you worry or doubt me. Cause I'll fucking make it up there. I'll be so high up there that every bitch, ex, loser, and scumbag that ever crossed me will be scared. And those who wrote me off, well, they'll be begging to be my friend. Good, let them beg. But they'll be begging for a lifetime because to me, loyalty, honestly, dedication and real love is key for me. If you didn't have it when I was at my lowest, you won't have it when I'm at the top. Sure, they'll pretend, but it's too late. I've already seen their true, ugly colours. And those who did have my back? The ones that were there for me when I was completely broken, ugly, damaged. Well I know they'll still be in my life, because they deserve to be.

Now, before you think I'm ranting and raving for no reason other than the fact that I'm into myself (haaa, yeah right, have you met anyone with bulimia who loves themselves?), let me tell you how I came to the above realization:

So you all know my ex. The love of my life, turned friend. If a friend is what you want to call it. He has a new "girlfriend" named Tiffany. Cheesy, skank-ass name. So after months of being terrified to check all social media, I finally grew the balls to check. I was so worried that I'd have a mean message from him, or worse, no messages at all. But there were some. They told me that he still loved me, that he hadn't loved anyone else since, and that he wasn't single, but that things were complicated. Anyway, long story short, we decided we'd talk, maybe be friends. Fast forward a bit, bitchany finds out that we're talking and decides to send me a message, demanding I no longer contact him. I didn't reply, why would I give her the satisfaction? But upon reviewing her message, I decided, "Wow, he could have done sooo much better." And I mean, no offence to this girl, it's not her fault she looks like a horse and acts like she's six. Well, sort of. The least he could have done was show some respect and throw a dime piece in my face. Then I'd understand. Then it got me thinking, why was I so upset? She's a downgrade, and he left me when I needed him most. I should only care about the people who have been there from the start, from the bottom, up. 

So I may be being a little nasty, and I may seem arrogant. But I see it differently. I see that they've been nailing it in my head at rehab, at every meeting, at every group that I am worth it, and maybe for the first time, I finally believe it. I finally realize that I am worth every bit of recovery, respect, love, understanding, compassion, etc. And after all the hard work I've accomplished getting and staying sober, I deserve to have a day  and a blog post where I rant in about how awesome I am.

Fuck, I deserve more than just a day. But I guess for tomorrow, I'll try to tone it down a bit. Maybe.

And even though I can't go back in time and fix everything and make it all pretty, I can move forward, learn to love myself and know that my whole is still beautiful. Imperfections and all.

selling my soul would be a lot easier if i could find it.

I woke up in a great mood. I spent hours last night chatting with my ex. He is/was the love of my life. I can't even fathom trying to find anyone else. I'd rather spend the rest of my sober days alone than with anyone who isn't him. We laughed, we joked, we made fun of his girlfriend. We shared past memories, future goals, and shared our love without actually saying it. We wished each other goodnight, both saying how it was lovely to talk. I went to bed with this happy energy I haven't felt in years.

The thing is, I owe him quite a large amount of money. I left him high and dry when I was in the depths of my addiction. I am trying to make this right with regular payments, but he never seems to actually want to meet up and collect.  I suspected it was because he was scared he'd get caught up in me all over again. Having said he hasn't loved since me. But I was wrong. I think he only said that to spare my feelings. Or maybe he said it drunk.  Either way, he's chosen her over my money, so he has chosen her over me and repairing anything we had left.

We hadn't talked in months, in 9 to be exact, since I got sober. So I sort of came to terms with him seeing other girls. I had in no way gotten over him,  but I at least sort of admitted it was over.  But now, we're speaking again and it has stirred up all these old emotions. Both of pain and love. So everytime he chooses her over me my heart breaks all over again.

And everytime it breaks, I want to numb myself into death with dope. Every single time he turns me down I want to pick up the phone to pick up. Drugs, drugs, drugs. It's all I want. I want that rush of pleasure followed by blissful numbness. I remember that feeling and wish I had it. I didn't give a fuck about anything in that moment. As soon as the shot hit my veins I was in paradise where nothing mattered but feeling the feeling of pure ecstasy.

How do I keep doing this? It's almost like I have to choose, my life and sobriety, or love. It's a choice I never want to make. It will throw me off the edge.

after injury, a scar is what makes you whole.

The first few days after I cut myself, all I felt was guilt, shame, and burning. I was incredibly angry at myself for damaging my skin, which has no marks aside from a freckle here or there. I turned the one thing flawless on my body into something ugly, damaged. And what if they didn't heal properly, would I have to wear long sleeves every day for the rest of my life to hide my embarrassing scars, the ones that showed nothing but crazy and weakness?

My cuts have healed up pretty nicely since then, but are still visible. I'm hoping they do eventually totally fade, but taking care of them has helped make them less stark. And the crazy thing, is that I've almost grown to like them. The first time I went out without sleeves, this cashier looked right at them and gave me this awful look. It was a mix of disgust, and pity. It was like she thought I was gross, but still felt bad for me. At first it bothered me, I went back to wearing hoodies in 90 degree weather. But after a few days, it just made me angry. So, so, so fucking angry. Who was this girl to look at me with pity?

That was when I almost grew to like my scars, and what they mean. Imperfection is beauty. To me anyways. I see imperfections and marks in others to be stunning, but in myself I hate them. Why should I demand perfection of myself, but not in others? People who are damaged are more interesting. Stronger in a way, since anyone who has gone through something and survived, came out the other side with a new understanding. A new strength they gained through survival. And not only is there something beautiful about imperfections, tattoos, scars, anything, but what happens to wounds and scars? They heal. I kind of love my scars because they give me a new hope. I cut my skin, I put a knife deep into my flesh and created open injuries. Injuries not unlike my emotional ones, where there is pain, and blood and damage. But over time, my cuts healed, filling in my wounds with brand new skin. My skin was broken, damaged, un-whole, but my body healed and fixed me, making me whole again.

I used to think people with scars were damaged, unwhole. I used to think people with scars like mine were lost and pained. I had no hope for them. I thought once you were that low, that you would never be able to get back up. Your scars would always give you away. But now I'm seeing that it's the ones whose scars have healed, they're the ones more whole that anyone. Because they've allowed themselves to heal. They've found a way to overcome everything, move on, and let their wounds close over. And if you can overcome that and have the scars to prove it, why not show them off to the world?

This all just motivated me to heal my inner wounds like my outer ones so I can show off those battle scars too. So today I will go out without sleeves to hide who I am. And I dare anyone to look at me with pity, cause I sure as hell don't pity myself for having them. I'm probably even stronger than the person staring.

this will be the last time, everytime's the last time.

So, I haven't posted in anything since the night I said I was getting clean. Not because I didn't try, but because my computer was not in operating condition.

But the big question is, have I stopped using? Not totally. I wanted to cut back, and like, wean myself off of them, because I thought that if I stopped cold Tofurkey (not turkey, I'm a vegetarian, haaha) that the withdrawal would be so horrible that I would give in too easily. I know how weak I am, and I didn't want to put myself in a place where I'd succumb to my weakness.

Anyways, to summarize what's happened over the last week, I wrote my last post, got high, crashed and went to bed. I woke up feeling awful, and had so many things to do. I got high again just to make it through the day. I made a plan and cut all my drugs into small pieces, promising to cut back more and more each day. This went okay for a few days, but then I came into a bit of extra money, and I figured, hey, why not have a little bender as a goodbye to my addiction. So I started using like it's going out of style (ahaha, Mariana's Trench Lyrics <3).

Fast forward to yesterday: I totally ran out of pills. Like totally. My whole city is dry, because of the new Neos, which are the replacement that makes it impossible to use to get high. So I had none left, and no way to get more.

This is when I realized that as much as I want to be clean. I also still really like using. It makes me sad to know that I'm only going to be clean because I have no other choice. It's depressing to know that I couldn't do it, and that I never really even tried. That I will get sober, but not because I chose to. And the problem with that is, if I don't stop because I want to, as soon as they're in my face again, I'll be crushing and snorting.

You might say, "Well, maybe you won't. Maybe after you're clean you'll decide it's not worth it."

Haah. Wrong. Because somehow, I found some. And guess what? As soon as I got them tonight, after not having them for a day or so, I had it in my mouth sucking the coating off, dying to feel it burn my nose.

But again, I don't have much. And I'll probably run out all over again. And then I'll be sober by force, again. Maybe that will be the last time. But everytime is the last time.

the way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing.

The thing about me, as you'll come to see, is I'm all talk. Whether it's talking shit, talking myself up, talking myself down, or just plain talking because my ears like the sound of my own voice, that's all I am. Talk. I spend my whole life talking about things, writing about things, that at the end of the day, all my time was wasted in words, rather than actually getting up and doing something about it. I've been talking about recovery for years now, but when it comes down to actually doing it, I always fall short.

And the sad thing is, I'm so shy that most of my deeper talks are in writing or to myself. Anything else that comes out of my mouth around others is shallow, superficial. If there's anything at all. But I'm afraid to let people in any deeper. Like Nic Sheff says in the afterword from Tweak: 'I guess the biggest fear I had in the whole world was that someone would see what's inside of me and discover what an ugly, disgusting, horrible person I really am.'
So all this means that I'm all talk, but most of my talk goes completely unheard. So really what do I have? Nothing, I'm alone.

I guess there's still just a comfort in words for me though. Which is really why I even started writing this blog. Even if nobody even knows it exists, at least I do. At least I can write exactly how I feel, and write my way through whatever I'm going through. At least it's not bottled up inside of me, building pressure waiting for me to explode until I have to purge it all out. Metaphorically and literally. Which is why I'm so shocked that I have quite a few page views. I'd be happy with one, but excitingly enough, there's even more people reading than I ever thought. It's scary as hell, knowing people are reading what I have to say, knowing things about me even the closest people to me don't even know. But it's oddly comforting too, knowing someone is there listening.

So I guess the point of this post, and title quote from my beloved Walt Disney, is to say thank you to anyone that's has so much as opened my blog. It doesn't seem like much, but for some reason when I looked into the mirror today, and saw how ugly I'm becoming. How my usually deep brown eyes where empty, hollow. My usually beautiful smile seemed horribly fake. How my twenty year old face looked as though it's aged 100 years. How my reflection just seemed dead, I guess I just realized that something needs to change. But like always, changing for me, is seemingly impossible. It's hard to find the energy to pick yourself up, when you've always just fallen back down even harder. And like I said, I'm all talk.

But then I thought of anyone reading. I thought, what if there's a girl out there somewhere, in my shoes. What if she's reading this, reading my lack of motivation. My lack of any real hope. What if she's reading and starts to lose hope too. That's the last thing I want. And so I realized how much hope this all has given me. Even one reader would give me a sense of support. And because I feel overwhelmingly not alone for once, guess that I've found it in me to pick myself up again, and try.

And in the spirit of changing, I figured, what better way to thank everyone reading who has given me the courage, strength and hope to try again, by than actually trying again? Instead of just using words, just saying thank you, I will use my actions as a thank you. I can't guarantee that it will all work out in the end, but I won't ever know if it will until I stop talking and begin doing.

And as a final word, since this post is just too 'perc-y' (pun and misspelling totally intended) and too optimistic for my taste (I can't totally change overnight, hahah), stay tuned for tomorrow: Day One of Excruciating Withdrawal-Enough to Blow My Brains Out. Sounds fucking fantastic.

moving on is a simple thing, what it leaves behind is hard.

This is what happens every time I start something, try to get better, try to do something with what I've been dealt to help myself, and hopefully to help others. I start, with so much dedication and drive, but within a few weeks, my ED loops me back in, my addiction dictates how I function, and then I eventually give up because I can't seem to tell myself that I can do this, I can beat this. I say I can, but deep down, I don't really believe in myself  anymore. I started and restarted this blog in hopes to write my way through recovering from an excruciatingly long run of bulimia, and to maybe have someone, even if it's just one person reading even just one of my posts, feel like they aren't alone. That there's tons of us out here looking for someone to resuscitate them. But somehow on the way, I've just give up twice. And as soon as things got tough, I cracked. Instead of grieving the loss of my dad the healthy way, I snort drugs until I can't feel any pain. I'm no role model, and I shouldn't even have a blog. What is anyone going to take from me? That I'm a bulimic who tries to recover and ends up with a severe drug addiction on top of everything? I'm pathetic and nobody should look up to me, nobody should read this and think that I'm any example of anything. I wanted to encourage people. I wanted to give girls younger than me, less deep than me, hope that they can beat this. And all I've done is shown how weak I am. How I can't ever do what I set out to do. How I just let my problems walk all over me, let Jenna, the girl who's my reflection, control my life until I'm so beaten down I can't get back up.

I wish I knew why I just can't let go of this. Why I can't say good bye to my ED identity that is Jenna, for good. Is it because she's become so apart of me that I don't know how to live without her anymore? Can't live without her anymore? It can't be because I'm afraid of failure, I'm pretty used to that by now. I think it's because moving on, and letting her go, not living with my ED defining me, is so unfamiliar and uncertain. What if I get better, and I still think I'm fat, still think I'm ugly, still feel so worn down and tired? What if I let go of who I've become, to only feel the same or worse, just without my identity? Lost and alone. Because sometimes the only way I can deal with all of this is knowing that I am here, and Jenna is apart of me, keeping my going, even if it hurts like hell.

I think I'm just afraid that when I finally just simply let go, what's left after that will hurt. The process after will be hard, and long, and tiring. Afraid that it will all be for nothing.

So since I have nothing better to give to you, take this: don't look up to me. Don't read my posts and think I'm strong and can influence you to get better. You have to get better on your own. You have to pick yourself up and stop living and doing things because and for others. Because if you only try to recover because you read someone's blog, you're not doing it for the right reasons, you'll end up falling back down because you weren't ready. And in the end, pleasing other people is the whole fucking problem here anyways. So when you're ready, when you can finally accept that it's time to let go, don't be afraid, just do it. You only get one shot at this, and not going for it isn't benefiting you anyways.

Sorry about the gloom, have a good rest of the night (or morning? ahaha, drugs).

i tell myself it's all in my head, but i'm pretty hard to convince.

The problem with taking psychology as you major, is you realize how fucked up you really are.

 It's bad enough I'm bulimic with a capital b, but did depression, anxiety, and borderline personality disorder have to get thrown into the mix too? And now, I have a voice in my head, who takes over my body sometimes, in the form of a girl named Jenna . Well most of the time really. Is that split personality? Or schizo? Both? I mean, she even has a name. I'm so screwed.

The last thing I need is a drug addiction on top of all that. And I'm not talking minor leaugues here. My habits are bad enough, I don't think my mind could possibly handle it. But then again, don't I sort of have two minds? They could share the burden of one more issue. Right?

This is what Jenna is telling me to convince me to do it.
It'll make you forget all you're problems, you'll feel great without my help for once.
"I don't know, Jenna. Don't I have enough to deal with already?"
How could you doubt me after everything I've done for you. You'd be fat without me.
"I know, but this isn't a good..."
She interrupts me now, screaming.
Listen to me! I'm never wrong, you know that! You won't feel the pain anymore. Won't miss your dad. Won't hate yourself. Won't think about how everything around you is falling apart. And did I mention you won't be hungry any more?

She had me and she knew it. So I said,

"Okay, I guess trust you."

But she was wrong, and I'm foolish for ever listening to a voice inside my head. I tried to tell myself this before it started, but I'm (she's) pretty hard to convince.

illusion is needed to disguise the emptiness within.

I'm so empty inside, I'm practically a bottomless pit, nothing will ever fill me up. Nothing will ever fill the void.
You know how people drop things into wells, and listen for the splash that signifies where it ends, how deep it is? I tried to do this to myself. Eating anything and everything, just trying to see how much it would take to fill me up. It didn't take me long to realize that although my belly might be full, the rest of me is still completely empty.
But I guess it's better to be one kind of full, than both kinds of empty.
Eating until I was stuffed was my illusion of fullness. Happiness. Being so full of food disguised the feeling of emptiness, long enough to keep me somewhat sane. Although, sane isn't exactly the best description of me. It made me feel slighty better.
Until Jenna got her way and made me throw it all up. Leaving me even more empty than before. I purged out the food, but any ounce of happiness, sanity, esteem, anything, came up with it. And over time, I'm realized that if I thought I was a bottomless pit, than what am I now? How is it possible to dig a bottomless pit even deeper, filling it with nothing more than more emptiness?

And worse? How will I ever be able to fill it all up? Will I always be empty? Will anything ever get better? Or will my soul always be nothing more, than a black hole?

warning – reflections in this mirror may be distorted by socially constructed ideas of beauty.

Today, like all other days, I spent a good 90% of my dad staring at my reflection. To an outsider I may seem completely self-absorbed and in love with myself. Self absorbed? Of course. In love with myself? You couldn't be more wrong.
Looking at myself is very much a love-hate relationship. I hate what I see when I see my reflection staring back at me, but for some reason I cannot look away. Am too afraid to look away. As if I'll gain 50 pounds in an instant if I take my eyes away from myself. As if Jenna is keeping an eye on me to monitor what I'm doing, criticizing, picking apart, and prodding at every single flaw she sees (and trust me, she sees alot that she wants to fix).

I'll use almost everything with even a tiny bit of reflective surface to analyze myself, to hear what Jenna has to say ("ew", "you're huge", "suck it in"). Mirrors, windows, stainless steel fridges, car doors (not recommended for those who suffer from an ED, it's like a fat mirror in a [not so] fun house-although the thin mirrors are quite pleasant). Everything.

You see, this is extremely hard to deal with. It's almost impossible to go places without my reflection staring back at me. And Jenna, as much as she loves to tear me apart, can't stand this fact. It's like she has occupied my body, but it's still me she sees stuck in the mirror, and she hates me. Thinks I'm weak, thinks I'm pathetic, thinks I'm disgustingly fat. And I guess the more someone tells you these things, the more you believe it's true. So now, instead of seeing what I think Ryan sees, or what my mom sees or whoever else sees, I see what Jenna sees. I see a blob of fat that keeps growing and growing, no matter how much I starve, no matter how much I purge, no matter how hard I try. And it's not just my fat body anymore, I hate my skin, I hate my hair, I hate my fake beautiful smile. I hate everything about myself.

So why does Jenna hate what she sees? Is her mind just distorted, like she's constantly looking into the [not so] funhouse fat mirror? Or is it that she's comparing me to all the people she sees in society. To the people she thinks Ryan thinks are beautiful.

I guess I'll never know the answer to this, but what I do know is that I wish she would just stop judging me so harshly. Stop comparing me to Megan Fox and all these unnaturally skinny toothpicks we're all supposed to think are amazing. These skinny girls who are airbrushed and photoshopped have issues just like me. So why the fuck do we look up to these bitches? I hope nobody's looking up to me.
I mean, what happened to girls like Marylin Monroe, who were a healthy, normal, gorgeous weight?
And furthermore, what happened to beauty being in the eye of the beholder? Why must we all see skinny as beautiful. Why can't we just BE?

I guess I'll never know that either, but I'm sure as hell going to try to just be me. Too bad if you don't like it. And to Jenna, if you don't like it, get the fuck out. It's my body, and I don't want you here anymore.