it's not thinness or fat, it's life or death.

Here is my most recent post for the Substance For You website. :)

The definition of eating disorders is a broad term that encompasses the many types of eating disorders, including bulimia and anorexia nervosa, binge eating disorder, atypical anorexia and eating disorders not otherwise specified (EDNOS). On their own eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illnesses and can result in serious health consequences, suicide, and death. That is to say, simply having only an eating disorder is extremely dangerous. They are even more dangerous when co-occurring with other mental illnesses.

Co-morbidity is defined as 'the presence of one or more additional disorders (or diseases) co-occurring with a primary disease or disorder'. Eating disorders have a high co-morbidity rate with other severe mental illnesses, such as depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), and post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Which means someone with an eating disorder is likely to suffer from other mental disorders along with whichever eating disorder they struggle with.

According to the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA), substance abuse disorder has the highest co-morbidity rate along with eating disorders. NEDA states that nearly 50 percent of individuals with an eating disorder also abuse drugs and alcohol, which is a rate five times higher than the general population. This means that someone with an eating disorder of any type is five times more likely to develop an addiction than the average man or woman. Due to the fact that both eating disorders and addiction are correlated with higher instances of death, having both is extremely life-threatening and needs to be treated as soon as possible.

For me, I had my eating disorder long before my addiction came into the picture. I developed depression and anxiety as well at a very young age. I can't remember a time where I didn't feel some sort of depression or anxious feeling. I believe this along with extremely low self-esteem and a higher body weight, led to feelings of body dissatisfaction. This hatred for my body is the reason I went to extreme dieting to lose over 100 pounds in less than one year. This weight loss is also when my bulimia nervosa developed. It was so easy to fix any 'mistakes' I made in eating by purging anything I ate that was considered 'forbidden'. I no longer needed to worry about cheating on my diet because I had found this loophole in the system. I felt like I had discovered some secret ingredient to a perfect body and I continued this behaviour to this day, ignoring the negative effects it has had on my health.

That feeling of discovering something 'incredible' is almost the exact same feeling I had when I had my first line of Oxycontin. It was around five years after I developed bulimia that I started using opiates to numb any pain I felt. I dealt with a lot of death in a short span of time and drugs were my way to cope. I couldn't bear losing my grandma, dog, and dad all in a few months. I promised myself I would finish school to make my dad proud, at any cost. My freedom was that cost.

I started using in December of 2011 around exam time. I needed to be up studying for most of the night. Having been dating someone who was involved in the drug lifestyle, I knew all about Oxy's and how dangerous they were. I had seen up close the toll they took on people's lives. But for some reason, I didn't care. Or maybe I did care but I thought I was intelligent enought to trick the system and be just fine. Regardless of what I thought would happen, I knew two things. One was that they would help me stay awake studying. I knew that if I did a line here or there, my grades would sky rocket. And two, I knew I'd feel much better than I did at the time. I felt so alone and depressed, I think I was willing to try anything, no matter how bad it was for me.

For a time using worked wonders in my life. My grades improved immensely for a while. I would stay up rocked out of my mind studying and doing assignments all night and actually enjoying it. I would go to class feeling amazing. The drugs heightened everything and boring classes became these incredible lectures that I needed to hear. I no longer felt depressed. In fact, I felt pretty amazing. I remember my brother making a comment to my mom about how well I was doing with my dad's passing. I even recall laughing about that comment to myself in a sick way.

'Ha! If only they knew my secret!' I thought.

Not only did my mood and grades improve, my weight loss did too. Using pills made me feel somewhat full all the time. I felt absolutely no desire to eat anything. As long as I was high, I didn't need anything else at all. Sometimes I would even do too much and would be too sick to eat. Those moments of what I considered sickness was only a hint at was coming my way.

The first time I felt withdrawal I didn't know what it was. I woke up feeling sick, fidgety and sore. I couldn't keep anything down and I could not stay still for the life of me. My legs jumped around, completely restless. I didn't think anything of it because almost as soon as I got up, I was doing lines of Oxy. It took a while for me to connect the dots: if I use, that feeling goes away. If I was smart, I would have gotten out then before it was too late, but I didn't.

My addiction fed into my eating disorder for another three to four years. I would wake up, use, not eat, study, binge, purge, use, starve. Repeat. After a while though, the positive effects of using wore off. It took more and more to get high. More and more to feel normal. I had never felt anything like the sickness I felt when I didn't have any drugs. But my weight was extremely low, so I didn't care. I didn't care about living or dying, as long as I was thin and somewhat high, life was okay. I started missing more and more school and spending more and more money on dope. Things were starting to fall apart all ready. My grades went down to an all time low. I had to drop out of classes because I missed to many classes and had no idea what I was doing. My life was getting chaotic and out of control.

My dysfunctional relationship was getting more dysfunctional by the day. He was a drinker and my dealer (although he didn't know it at the time) and the more we abused substances together, the more erratic our relationship got. I wouldn't consider him abusive, but many would. I was okay with it though, because when I would get high, I would get mean. I'd even fight back when things got violent. And as much as I loved him, I needed him more. I completely started to use him because I knew no other way to get drugs. My eating disorder and addiction became more important than he and my family did. I didn't care about anyone. Not even myself. I wanted to punish myself for all the horrible things I had been doing by doing more and more.

Eventually my mom and ex-boyfriend gave me an ultimatum: get help or get out. So I checked myself into detox, paid for by both my mom and ex. I stayed for the five days in excruciating pain, planning the day I'd get out so I could get some more drugs. Finally the day came when I was released. My first stop was to pick up two new friends who were addicts too. This is when I first stuck a needle in my arm. I had gone through the progression of using, from snorting to smoking to injecting. I knew that moment that there was no going back. I was a full-blown junkie and there was nothing that could change that. Or so I thought.

I hid my use for a month or so before being kicked out by first my mom and then my ex. I had no place to go except my car. I ended up homeless and couch surfing for about five months in 2014. At this time, any money I got went into my veins so I had no time or way of eating. My weight sank to an new all time low. I looked so sick, and part of me loved it. I loved the harsh look of my bones and track marks. I wore them with pride. But as time went on like this, I sank in to a lower depression. I started to hate myself and my life even more. I felt so hopeless that I wanted to die. All I wished for was an accidental; overdose so I wouldn't have to face my horrible life anymore.

Finally I got my wish. The 'friends' I was staying with assaulted me and threw me out. Broken, battered and alone, I sought help form my mom. I hadn't spoken to her in months and just the sound of her voice made me cry. I realized then how much I missed my family, my friends.

I finally got help, went to treatment for my addiction and traumas, found a Women for Sobriety chapter in my city and never looked back. I knew that I had to get help for my eating disorder as well, however, otherwise I would relapse. They fed into each other immensely, so I needed to treat both or risk being back out on the streets. I am currently still in outpatient treatment for my bulimia and am almost 11 months sober. I honestly couldn't be happier. I know there is a long way to go still, but I can truly say it is worth it.

One thing I know is that if someone is struggling with one of these mental illnesses, they need to seek help. And if someone is suffering from both, or has a different co-occurring disorder, your life is in serious jeopardy. I urge everyone to get help, it may be tough, but it's treatment or death. The statistics prove that the choice is isn't thinness or fat, high or not. It is life or death.  

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.

i may not be where i want to be, but atleast i'm not where i used to be.

Wow.

 I haven't read this blog in ages. It's really bizarre to see what I was feeling and thinking at the depth of my addiction. My pain was so real, so apart. How did nobody see it throbbing off of me with every pained heartbeat?

My thoughts were warped by drugs. I can't even begin to understand the things I said or did, let alone understand why. Reading this made me sad for the girl I became. It brought up a lot of shame and regret from the past.

But it's sad to say that my using got worse, much worse. Eventually the oxys became generic, so the Neos didn't dictate use as much. As soon as I had access to the new generic crushable ones again, I started right back up with a vengeance. I was smoking them uncontrollably, getting up to 8 or 9 80mg pills per day. That would kill most people.  My lungs would burn without them. I'd wake up coughing, the only thing to calm the cough was the toxic, sweet smelling oxy smoke.

Eventually I ran out of money. The cost had skyrocketed. I started stealing, lying, manipulating. And when everyone finally figured it out, I had nothing left. No money, no dignity, no hope.

My mom kicked me out to the streets. My biggest fear came true, Ryan left the broken, shattered addict I had become. I don't blame him, I wasn't the girl he fell in love with 4 years before. Losing him and my mom took me over the edge, I didn't care about anything anymore, especially me.

I went from couch to couch, trying to get dope. I slept in my car most nights too. I used needles. I did meth. I did crack. I did so  many things I promised myself I would never do. I even let my "friends" stick needles in my neck when they couldn't find a vein. I wore my track marks like hickies on my neck proudly. I wanted everyone to see me for who I was. A lost, broken addict. The one thing I didn't do was sell myself. For  that I'm thankful.

I fell apart completely out there. But I also became a survivor. You have to gain a different type of strength to make it out on the streets. I think it's that strength that finally got me sober.

And I still am today. On May 14th I'll be 9 months clean. I feat I have never dreamed I'd actually reach. But I did it. I picked myself back up and tried to live again. I'm still not perfect, I want to use every single day.  But I don't, and that's what counts.

Ryan is still not mine. But we're talking, and that's more than I can ask for. And my bulimia is still bad too, but that's a story for another day.