relapse is apart of recovery.

So I have been so busy with everything that has been going on in my life.

I have recently stopped writing for those blogs. With school and everything that has been going on in my life I just couldn't keep up. Plus, I realized I need to write for me.

I have felt so burnt out these last few months because I was writing so, so much for other people and nothing for myself, I realized I need to get back to writing for my own eyes and a smaller audience in order to get my head back in the right place.

In terms of my ED, things that got better during group treatment have slipped back into those nasty habits. I don't go for my new assessment until November 2nd and it's getting hard to wait. I feel like I'm losing grips on my life again and it's scary as hell. I've completely relapsed in anyway that I made progress and it's horrible.

My depression has been bad again and no medication seems to be helping me. I'm starting to not know what to do.

As far as my addiction goes I can at least say that things have been better. I haven't been craving as much and I feel like this is the only part of my life that is in control.

I've been going to and running my meetings but I feel like nothing seems to help my ED and depression. It's like nobody really understands and I don't know who to turn to.

So, I'm back here hoping you guys will get it. I've missed you all.

Much love, xx/

her fat ego makes me think she has a thin mind.

http://substanceforyou.com/body-shamers-be-ashamed-of-yourself/

Still not having a good day, but the good news is I have written an article taking on body shamers in the hopes that people will be more body positive. Please read and like it, or recommend it on here. I appreciate all your love and support, especially on days like this.

http://substanceforyou.com/health-consequences-eating-disorder/

Here's my newest blog post for Substance for You. Please take the time to read it and like/share it. It would mean the world to me.

if you don't want to be possessed by something, don't obsess.

So I got asked to be a full-time guest blogger for the Substance for You website! My first two articles on eating disorders were so well taken that I was asked to keep writing them on an ongoing basis. I couldn't be more proud. Here is the one I just wrote on food rituals and rules. Let me know what you think!  Much love, xx.

One day I was out for lunch with some friends from a support group. I, as usual, ordered the healthiest thing on the menu (read: the lowest calorie dish on the menu) with salad as a starter. When my food arrived, steaming hot and smelling delicious, my mouth watered. It's been almost 24 hours without food. I had to starve myself for a whole day to be able to go out for lunch. My body is screaming at me in hunger. I look at the food in front of me with a sudden rush of panic. Thoughts swirl through my head:


“I can't eat this, it's too much food.”
“I don't know what's in it or how many calories there really are.”
“What if the chef used too much butter/dressing/oil/sauce?”


My friends have already started to dig into their equally delicious looking meals. They can see my hesitation and ask if something is wrong. I shake my head and pick up my fork. As I'm moving the fork towards my food, my mind is quickly doing its automatic analysis. It calculates calories, grams of fat, sugar, etc instantaneously. Then it tells me the best way to eat in a specific order: healthiest to most 'fattening'. This is the way I have been eating for many, many years. I eat only the healthiest thing first, then will move on to the next. I never take bites of different things. I always eat all of one thing before allowing myself to start on something else. I had been doing this so long that it came as a shock to me when someone pointed it out.


“Why aren't you eating your (insert food here)?”
“I haven't finished my salad yet.”
“Oh. Well can't you have some of both?”



Being asked those questions absolutely stunned me. I honestly had no idea that this was a strange behaviour. I especially didn't realize that it was an eating disorder behaviour. Of course I had heard of food rituals, but I didn't think I did anything that would be considered one. I knew I had food rules, but not rituals. This was a completely new concept for me to wrap my head around.


Food rituals are the compulsive behaviours surrounding eating. They can range from pretty normal to completely bizarre and everything in between. Food rituals are common with all eating disorders, including anorexia and bulimia nervosa, binge eating disorder and eating disorders not otherwise specified (EDNOS). If any food rituals are interrupted or not completed it can cause severe anxiety and may result to compensatory behaviours from the individual. Some examples of food rituals are weighing and measuring food (often repeatedly), cutting food into small pieces, using specific bowls and cutlery, eating in specific orders, and eating rigid amounts of calories.




I have many of those rituals and some that I didn't mention. One of my biggest food rituals is measuring food. This stems from the need to know exactly what I'm putting in my body. If I don't know exactly how much I'm eating it causes extreme stress and anxiety. This also occurs because of my need to know how many calories I am eating at all times. Since I also have a rigid calorie allowance, not knowing what I'm consuming can throw off more than just that meal. It can ruin my whole day. This ritual is problematic when going out to a restaurant or for fast food. On the rare occasions where I do decide to eat outside of my house, it often involves extreme research into the specific restaurant. I will check their online nutrition guides so that I know what to order ahead of time. I try to avoid the places that do not provide this information online, but sometimes it can't be avoided. When this occurs I will usually always purge everything I eat due to the fact that I don't know how many calories I have eaten or what the ingredients were. I can't risk eating more than I should have, so I'd rather be empty inside than to overeat.


While speaking about eating out, I was reminded about another food ritual. I avoid eating in front of people at all costs. This is a pretty common ritual with individuals with eating disorders as the fear and anxiety surrounding eating in front of other people is too unbearable. If I eat with someone else I barely even taste the food because I'm too preoccupied with concerns of whether or not they think I'm fat. I question if they're watching me eat or if they think I'm eating too much. I worry that if I eat too little they will discover my secret. I constantly observe what they eat, partially because I'm jealous that they can eat more than me, but also because it causes me stress to eat more than the other person at my table. Another big fear is not being able to purge while out in public. I often have done it in public, but the fear of getting caught is worrisome and shameful. Not being able to purge before the calories are absorbed is an even worse thought. Just losing that option is enough to make me stay at home instead of eating out with friends. I'd often rather be completely alone to binge on my own with nobody judging me except myself and my eating disorder.


Another strange food ritual I have that I wasn't aware was weird was disassembling food. Many things I eat I will take apart in order to see what's inside. It makes me feel safer to eat some things separately. This is most common when I eat sandwich like foods. I often order subs and then completely pick them apart when I get home. I will remove almost half the ingredients I ordered and eat them first before moving on to the rest of the sub. For example, I will order lots of pickles on my vegetarian sub and then take them off to eat on their own. Even if I don't take anything off my food, I check it to make sure there are the right amount of things on it, in the proper order and in tolerable quantities. I arrange my food in very specific ways, again, usually with sandwich like things. I think this goes back to eating things in a specific order. When the food is all in one item, I feel less anxiety when I can put the toppings on in a way that I feel safe. I know rationally that this makes absolutely no difference, but the panic it causes when I can't do this is overwhelming.


Many food rituals are the result of strict food rules that develop overtime when someone has an eating disorder. Many of the rules are not based scientifically but are passed along through misguided advice, family role models, or are just created by the individual themselves. Food rules are rigid and often dictate when a person can eat, what they can eat, where to eat, and how much to eat. These food rules become obsessive and all consuming. I personally believe that these are the obsessive thoughts that result in compulsive food behaviours, as with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.


Food rules surrounding when to eat “involve specifying certain times and situations where food can be eaten” (Bulimia Anorexia Nervosa Association). This can also include avoiding eating all together or only eating after a certain point. For me, my rules around when I can eat are very black and white. I try at all costs to avoid eating anything before dinnertime. After than I will allow myself one small meal. I will not binge before 10pm, but after that I usually binge and purge repeatedly. I often binge and purge three or four times per day. Although this is something I have been working on in
treatment, it is a hard cycle to break and continues to be a struggle. I have had this food rule for so long that it will take a long time to break it.



Food rules that involve what to eat usually stem from the idea that some foods are 'good', while others are 'bad' or 'forbidden'. Food that the eating disordered individual thinks is especially fattening or 'dangerous' will be avoided at all costs. This often includes carbohydrates, sweets, fats, or anything when the ingredients are not known (i.e. at a restaurant). I personally have a huge list of 'forbidden' foods including pizza, junk food, sweets, simple carbohydrates, non-diet pop, chips, etc. This is not to say that I don't eat them. Many people with eating disorders fail to avoid the food they label as 'bad' which then results in feelings of guilt and shame. Removing the labels can help the individual feel better when they do eat something. As the BANA dietitian says, “All foods fit.”


Lastly, food rules that surround how much to eat often involve limiting or eliminating the quantity of food groups or calories consumed. According to BANA, this is often under 800 calories which is literally starvation. The body can not sustain it's functioning at that level of restriction. I have always tried to stay below 800 calories, which was my 'magic number'. I heard that number as a child and it has stuck in my head ever since. If I fail to eat under 800 calories, I will try to stay under 500 the next day in order to make up for my 'mistake'. This type of restriction often leads to binging and purging because I get so hungry that I lose control. In order to stop this cycle, I must eat normally during the day so that starvation doesn't lead me to binging at night. It's something that is easier said than done, however.


Food rules and rituals are very detrimental to those suffering with an eating disorder. They create an extreme preoccupation with food and dieting. This level of obsession is time consuming and is emotionally draining. Rules and rituals also lead to hunger and physical deprivation, emotional deprivation and physiological deprivation. The mind and body cannot function with this level of disordered eating and restriction, which results in malnutrition and worsened mental health. Binge eating is also a result of some of the strict rules and rituals surrounding eating disorders. As mentioned before, extreme hunger often results in the loss of control that is a binge. The food rules can also lead to emotional distress, especially when they are broken. Because the food rules are already set up to fail, this leads to feelings of guilt, shame, worthlessness, uselessness and self-hatred. The person may feel weak for not having enough self-control, when in reality the rules are completely unrealistic.



The fear of weight gain may create these rules and rituals surrounding food and eating, but it is a completely unhealthy and sad way to have to live. Nobody should have to live a life that is all about dieting, thoughts of food, worries of being fat, or hating themselves. It is important to realize that the rules are not accurate and are based on irrational fears rather than science. Hopefully once someone can admit that the rules are faulty, they will be able to break the rules and start eating intuitively rather than in a strict, rigid way. It is not the individual who is the failure, however, it is the food rule itself. Structured, normal eating is the best way to combat these rules. Giving your body the nutrition it needs will heal your body and your mind in time. There is hope.

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.  

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.

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.

i guess you could say i had been having a 10cc love affair.

So I finally had my very first psychotherapy and education group (PTE) with my local eating disorder treatment centre. I've had a few 1 on 1 sessions with my counselor there, but it was sporadic and not as regular as I had hoped. So I'm glad this has finally started so I can get on with making the changes I desire. I'm excited (but nervous) to learn the skills they will teach me and how to put them into action to start my road to recovery.

 I also met with their dietitian and she has given me an ED specific meal plan to regulate my eating. That scares the hell out of me. I never eat. I go all day with no food, then binge and purge at night. How am I supposed to avoid weight gain when I have to eat 6 times a day?!? Now I know that's Jenna, my ED identity, talking. She's the girl in my head screaming at me all day, telling me what to do to be skinny and criticizing when I don't lose weight. Or even worse, when I gain.  But still, eating is terrifying. What if I do gain weight? I can't afford to. Literally and metaphorically. I can't really afford new 'fat clothes'. I'm already at a much heavier weight since getting sober. The methadone and my anti-depressants make me crave sweets. And now that I'm not on the streets and am actually eating (sort-of), my weight has sky-rocketed. And worse, I don't have the dope to keep me from eating. It was my miracle drug. I felt good (or nothing) and never felt hungry. Win-win.

But sobriety has been so much better. I feel good. I feel normal for once in my life. So I'm not willing to throw all this work away over a few pounds. I have hard days with it still. Days when I want to just give it all up. Roxy, my addiction's identity (am I starting to sound crazy yet?), starts telling me about all the good times we had, about how much easier it was. About how happy I was. She reminds me of how many more friends I had. She promises I'll be okay and tells me to just let her out of the cages she's been put in for nine months.

"You have money now. Just take a few days off and celebrate with your left over birthday money. Come on, you deserve it after all this hard work!"

'But what if I get hooked again?'

"You won't. I'll protect you. Don't you want to lose that weight too?"

And with that thought, Jenna's on her side. I may be strong enough against Roxy now, but if they both team up on me, it's almost impossible to say no.

So I make a compromise. Instead of the drugs, I just won't eat. No drugs, no food. How does that seem fair? It isn't. But until I can get them both locked up, it's what my choice is.

So as you see, my life and sobriety is dangling by a thread. Not only do I want recovery, I need it. I just want it to work so badly. I can't live like this any longer. I want to quiet the voices in my head. I want to smile because I'm happy. I want to eat because I'm hungry. I want to look in the mirror and like what I see. I want to see my value as more than my weight and size. I want recovery.

I'm finally ready to take the steps, not just dream about them. Although the first group was pretty dull and only the introduction, it made me optimistic. I felt for once that I can  do this. And I will. It will be a long, hard road. But I've walked those before and ended up stronger than when I started. So it's time to do it again, to raise my head high, lift my feet, and walk this journey to freedom.

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.

it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

*I am in no way endorsing dog fights with this title, they're horrible. Just a good quote.

 A week ago, since I posted last. Things just got increasingly worse. Before I get into that, I think there's a background story that needs to be interluded here:
 Me and my boyfriend have been together and madly in love for two years. We live together, we're always together and we're happy. But we fight a lot. We 'break-up' a lot and then everything is fine by the net day. We make up and are back to normal. We love hard, and fight hard. But this time I really screwed up. He just left me and that was that. I don't think we can bounce back from this. Maybe this is the time he never comes back. He really hurt me and broke my heart.  So this is where my week of drug binge and drinking drinking started. That's also the week I cut myself. And the week my Cymbalta or situation made me want to die.

Continuing on, my last post, I was crashing. I slept forever, and woke up feeling horrible. Depressed. Hopeless. Anxious. Shaking. Ryan still didn't want me, my other friend has a new girlfriend, and my best friend doesn't know I'm a drug addict wreck. I have nobody. So I rush to the LCBO, buy this HUGE bottle of vodka, get some more sleeping pills, and whatever else I can get my hands on. And so, my drug and alcohol binge continues, my non eating continues. And despite how heartbroken and sad I am, when I'm fucked up, I don't care. My drugs and whatnot is all I need.

Ryan ended up messaging me, and we talked for a long time. We decided we were going to work on things. Take it slow, do the whole best friend thing until everything's okay. Yet for some reason, as completely happy I am that we have the chance to fix something that should have never been broke, I couldn't stop myself from thinking what about the things that are already broken and always have been broken. Like me, I'm broken, always have been. And my idea of fixing myself, is a fix...of drugs, purging, starving, whatever. So I keep breaking myself more. Will I ever be fixed? Do I even deserve to be fixed? I'm afraid he's going to come back expecting the girl he loved, the one he met, the one who was sober before all this. And what if we try, and he changes his mind, and I have to go through all this heartbreak again. I cannot handle that.

So I spent my nights talking till him until he went to bed, then I'd begin my nighttime drug routine. I kept getting worse, and it wasn't until I drank and drugged myself do death that I realized I'm becoming an alcoholic too. My mom found me, puking my guts up, incoherent, eyes rolling back in my head. When I did finally wake up, I was still drunk. I couldn't remember anything, my whole night was a black hole. I decided I couldn't drink anymore. My mom was furious, pointing out what I never even knew, you aren't supposed to drink while on antidepressants...I'm on two. I felt like shit for a few days recovering from that night.

Things with Ryan are getting much better, I think we're going to be okay. We've been hanging out, getting intimate and I'm so glad. He also helped me realize I've been misjudging weed the whole time. I personally think it's therapeutic. It gets rid of my anxiety, I can relax, it helps me sleep, and I don't even need all the other drugs. I still will have all the other drugs for now, I'm not ready to give them up, but maybe it'll help me slowly get off them. It's a lot better than drinking, sleeping pills, xanax, percs, coke, you name it that I'd do.

I'm not giving up. It seems like I've relapsed again and want to stay an addict. I don't I just need to get my life a bit more in order, build up the strength deep down in me. It's me against a monster, I need to build the fight in me before I can fight something that size. But I will do it. I've gotten clean before on a lot worse, I can do it again. Just give me time.

a lack of clarity could put the brakes on any journey to success.

Apparently so.

I haven't been on here in who knows how long (nothing new there), and to be honest I've been kind of scared to come and check on everything. I was afraid that there would be tons of views and everyone would see how much of a failure I really am. I was afraid I'd discourage someone from trying.

Anyways, I logged on here and found a few new great blogs to read. I was avoiding seeing mine. And holy fuck was I right to be afraid. I read my last post and was absolutely disgusted with myself. I don't know if it's because there's no oxy clouding my mind or if I had just temporarily lost my fucking mind all together. Probably both. But anyways, I apologize to anyone if my swearing offended them (but I do have a filthy mouth, so it won't stop all together, sorry) and I apologize for my absurd crudeness, it was a bit out of line. I considered deleting it, but it's apart of my journey and life story, so it should stay. I was feeling like that at the time and just because I'm not now doesn't make it disappear from my life. I don't want to hide anything.

It's funny though, here I was thinking the drugs were making my brain think more clearly. They definitely helped me get through my classes during school. And now I come on here without them clouding my judgement, and I find that I was definitely out of my mind unclear. Whatever, that's what drugs do to you I guess. Make everything all blurry, so blurry in fact, that you think you have absolute clarity.

Now, finally I can get to the goodish news. I am off oxy (kind of?) I never thought I'd be saying this in a million years. I'm not taking credit though, because it wasn't my own will, I just literally had none left and couldn't get more. And trust me, I tried. When I got down to my last two, I woke up and realized I better start weaning off them or I'll be fucked. I spent the next few days after that hurting. It's weird, I've never had any pain in my life, other than very minor things, but the withdrawal symptoms made me feel like I was dying. It hurt so badly I wanted to kill myself, but it hurt to much to get up and do it. And worst of all was the RLS. It's just so irritating because I couldn't stay still and it's frustrating. Plus having to move to cope with it hurt pretty bad. And sleep? Wasn't going to happen, even though I was exhausted in every possible way. Anyways, I started to panic though, because I was still on the oxy's, just cutting back, but I was going through it way faster than I thought and I was still hurting badly even cutting down slightly each day. I was doing three 80's a day at least and cut back to about 3/4-1/2 of that. I was still doing too much and I didn't have enough to last. That's when I got the best news, and I suddenly had a large amount of percocet (which has 5mgs of oxycodone in it). This made it much easier because I wasn't afraid of running out, and the small amounts helped me cut back more easily than with a 80mg oxy (have you ever tried to split one into 8 pieces or more?). I just took enough to keep the withdrawal symptoms at bay. This was about a week ago, and I'm down to my last half of one, which I will save for tomorrow in case I need it (the pain's still there slightly because I technically haven't got the shit totally out of my system). But I'd rather take this slow and do it so I'm not wishing to die every second of my life. I might have prolonged this shitty stage, but I don't know if that's good or bad? Part of me wishes I were over it and able to go without hurting for a day, but part of me is glad I didn't because it would have been shorter, but much more excruciating. So, as of tomorrow, I will be completely oxy free. I'm kind of happy, but I'm also kind of sad, and even more sad that I'm not more happy about getting sober.

It's just that I didn't expect to miss it this much. I thought that once my body stopped needing it, everything would be fine. But once the need is gone, there's still the want. I just never expected I'd want it so badly. I never expected to feel this insatiable urge to feel the slight burning in my nose, to taste the medicinal taste dripping down my throat. I don't understand what's wrong with me. I should be happy, thankful that I had to do this for myself. But all I am is sad. My anxiety is threw the roof, depression's in full swing. And every fiber in my body is telling me that the answer is snorting more oxy. But I can't do that, so I turn to Jenna, my bulimic alter ego for answers. And yeah the binge purge cycle feels good at first, like my emptiness has been filled and the calories are gone, but then it's all guilt and shame and bullshit. But for some reason if I can't have drugs then stuffing myself and puking it out must be the answer. Cute. Thanks a lot Jenna.

And who am I kidding, if one fell into my hands tomorrow, it'd be crushed up and threw a straw into my nose in seconds. The only reason I "beat" this thing is because I had to.

My life is a fucking train wreck and I have nobody to turn to. How am I supposed to get threw all of this? It's not just one problem, it's tons of problems and they're all feeding into each other making all of them even stronger and worse than before.

I don't know what to do. Which is why I'm having a few drinks and writing this. At least it takes the edge off and makes me feel less alone.

Haaah. And I can't even think of something witty and clever to end with. Pathetic.

secrecy, once accepted, becomes an addiction.

Have you ever had a secret? One that's so big you can't tell even the closest people? Probably, because everybody has at some point. And if you're like me, you don't go around announcing to everyone how you stuff your face and puke it all out the next minute, or that you hide out in the bathroom with the water on to hide the fact that you've been crushing and snorting pills for five months without anyone knowing.
But what happens when these secrets, these secret addictions are about to rip you apart? How can I ask for help when nobody knows? I don't want my boyfriend to know how fucked up I really am, I don't want my mom and brothers to have to have the burden of my problems, we've all been through enough this year. And once it's all out in the open, there's no going back to secrecy. Not really at least. Somebody will always be watching, listening, looking for the signs that I'm lying, that I'm not sober, that I'm still bulimic. That I've gone back to hiding what I just came clean about all over again And honestly, I'm surprised they can't see it now, I must be a good liar. I should play poker. But once your secrets are out, once they aren't just your to hold on to, if you ever go back to them, that's all you'll ever be. A liar. And a disappointment at that. Haaah, then I'd be the lying disappointing bulimic drug addict daughter that nobody wants to have to deal with.

Kind of sad.

So this is why, once you accept these secrets, and acknowledge that as long as their only yours, they will be another one of your addictions. Cause I mean, you'll hide them as much as you hide your habits. And the secrecy will tear you apart just like your habits. And what's a secret, if you tell? Not a secret anymore.

There's another adjective i forgot should be on my resume.

Secretive.

an optimist stays up until midnight to see the new year in, a pessimist stays up to make sure the old year leaves.

So which one am I? (I know it's only 4:35am on New Years Eve, but I'm starting this year's celebration alittle earlier. Or I suppose, due to my new found habit, continuing the celebration from the night before).

I guess this year I'm a bit of both, as much as I'd like to be only an optimist, I'm also realistic (at least in some ways) and understand that I've never been much of a positive person. Plan for the worst, hope for the best.

See, this year, of all years has been a bit unusual for me. And mostly in a horrific way. Not only has Jenna taken over my life significantly this year, I've also lost alot of people that mean the world to me.

It all started fairly early in the year. My grandma, who was elderly became sick. The next thing I knew she was in the hospital, and a day later, she was gone. Over the last few years, as my disorder took over my body, I haven't been that close with my Grandma. This was the first lesson I got in making sure you always save time for those you love, you never know when you're going to lose them.

Next, and thankfully (or not, depending on how you see things) not as sudden, was my best friend, my brother, and my amazing dog Rogan. As a vegetarian, and an animal lover, I did see my furry friend, of eight years, as one of the closest people to me. I loved him so much. He was with my through thick and thin (literally and figurativey) and unlike everyone else around me, he loved me unconitionally and unjudgementally. He hit me harder than my grandma did. And unfortunately, his death was overshadowed, and didn't get the attention and greving it deserved.

But nothing, and I mean nothing hit as hard as the day I lost my dad. He was only 55 years old. With so many years ahead of him. My heart sank getting a text from my mom, telling me to come home immediately. I knew somehting was wrong, but she wouldn't tell me. I got a ride from my boyfriend, Ryan. There were five cop cars outside my house. No ambulance. I couldn't possibly imagine what could be going on. Was someone in trouble with the law? Was I?

I never in a million years guessed that my aunt would say, "Jordyn, your dad's dead." I could see sick, a heart attack or stroke (he'd had both in the past). But nothing prepared me for "dead." He was the most important person in my life. One of the only men I'll ever love, along with my brothers, and hopefully one day when (if) I'm married, husband.

The last few months since October 26th have been a blur. Filled with funerals, calls from collection angencies about my dad (news to everyone), crying, anger, eating, puking, drinking myself sick, and now, my newest way to forget. I can't see myself healing from this anytime soon. I don't know if I ever will.

And see, through all this I've really only lost myself. Through all this pain, self induced or death induced, I've moved towards ways to make me forget, make me not feel the pain I feel. I don't want to hurt. I've always hurt enough without everything else I've been through this year. I thought I couldn't recognize the person I saw in my reflection, but I was wrong. Now I see that I've just been seeing me disapear, as Jenna comes into view. But now, when I look at myself, I definitely don't know who's staring back at me. And this new girl, she scares me to death. I thought Jenna was scary, but this girl takes it to a whole new level.

And so I wonder, will I ever get Jenna back? Will I ever get me back? ANd this is why I'm both a pessimist and an optimist this year. I will stay awake all night, to see this horrible year leave me, and to welcome the new year in, hoping it will be better for me. For everyone. Hoping I'll finallly get everything my life put back in place.

So happy new year everyone. Enjoy your last night of 2011, and your first day of 2012.

Let's just fucking hope it isn't the end of the world like everyone says. Wouldn't that just blow.

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.

nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task.

I started this blog, god knows how many months ago, with a strong desire to drown my disorder, and save myself from her. I wanted to do whatever it takes to get rid of the bulimic alter ego that was dictating my life (she goes by Jenna) and to vote Jordyn into power again. But I guess I knew it would be an impossibly hard task. I mean, it's not every day people overthrow dictators. So, days and days went by, and I guess I just never got around to trying. I gave up at the first moment of weakness. Or maybe I didn't give up, maybe Jenna just saw my weakness and took her opportunity to force me to my knees again. And this time she made me want to stay there.

"Can't you see yourself? Look what you've let happen! I give you less than a day of freedom and you've already got us both fat. You may want to weigh 300 pounds, but I fucking don't." 
                                    I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I promise I'll try harder.

"Do you want Ryan to leave us for someone skinnier?"
                                  No! He wouldn't do that, would he?
"You saw him looking at that girl today."
                                What the hell do I do?!

"Don't you see how tight your clothes are getting?"
                             I'm a cow. I'm so sorry.

"You fucked up. You ate too much."
                           Oh no, no, no, no. What do I do?

"I think you know how I want you to fix this. Get to a bathroom. NOW!"
                               I'll do anything for you. Thank you.

My disorder finds anyway she can to make me her slave. And I find myself fighter her less and less as time goes on. But coming accross this blog again, and looking at myself in the mirror-the real me, not my disorder- I can see how tired I look. How worn out I am, how ready I am to just give up. I don't want to live anymore if it means living like this.  I put off getting better. I procrastinated trying to recover. Maybe it's because I'm weak, maybe I'm just scared.

But one thing I've finally figured out is,
"Nothing is so fatiguing as the eternal hanging on of an uncompleted task."

So I guess there's only two options. I give up, and let her kill me. Or I get off my knees and try again. Really try this time. And take my life back.

I chose the later.