Loving words

Would you??

Stare the wolf down

In case you are wondering; as mentioned in the previous post, the girl with the red cloak throws the cloak distracting the wolf, runs away to safety, and lives.

It’s hard to ask for help, especially when I felt like such a failure for having relapsed with my eating disorder. When I see so many people doing so, so well, I remember being at that place almost. I could almost touch their level or platform of how high they stood in their recovery. I almost didn’t feel worthy being around them.

When my slipping finally turned into a slide, it took me a while to be honest. Part of me felt lIke I needed it. Part of me acted like it was okay. The other part of me didn’t want to ask for help because I had become so addicted, once again, to the eating disorder behavior. Then, the piece of me that has been pushed down inside and silenced was begging to be heard, but I couldn’t listen to her.

Perhaps a large piece of this was denial. I never fully understood my own denial. I liked having my eating disorder be my secret again; but we are only as sick as our secrets, right? Right. I spent Saturday with a friend from AA. I was being honest that I was “struggling” with the disorder, but after I kept talking, I should have inserted my foot into my mouth, for I was not aware at how rapidly unsettling and worrying the behavior had gotten. It became this; “no big deal” and then finally became a big, big deal.

That part is hard. I think the part that kept me from reaching out when I was getting worse and even more worse was the feeling of failure within myself. This was a new sense of failure I had. Of course, I had relapses before, and felt disappointed, but the arms of my eating disorder swooped me up and I didn’t feel as much remorse. But this time, I felt more than remorse. I felt like I had failed my closest friends and especially, my therapist, who probably believes in me more than anyone I know.

The friends that I had sort of were doing this “intervention” but not as a group. They were talking about my status out of concern behind my back, and I started receiving texts and phone calls. Today, i had therapy and found myself angry and embarrassed. How do I get out of this hole? Back to basics.

New accountability, frequent doctor visits, group, meetings, check-ins daily, throughout the day with accountability supports and my therapist. Re-feeding, once again. I think the worst part of this, in addition to feeling like a failure, is finding the way to fight back. And, I am and I will. I just have a lot of fear right now, doubts, and honestly, I am sad and I am surprised that I can name that.

So I guess I need to not only throw the red cloak into the face of the wolf… but I also need to stare the wolf down, make the wolf cower and back away, going back into the cave.

I’ve come to relate to my own spin on the story of the girl, the red cloak and the wolf… for I am all three.

Good Behavior

I was frozen in a fragile world
Of make believe and empty lies
Dressed in the rules of a virtuous game
Captured by the thought of fear and loneliness
Afraid to cry suffocated for trying to scream
And I want out now to find myself
Cause perfect only makes you crazy
There is no way that it can save me
I’m sick of feelin like a traitor
Is this the price for good behavior
Oh my naked skin feels the warmth of the sun
And my eyes are opened to the brightness of light
Driven by a force so free to live this life
Noy paralyzed but with reckless abandon
So now I can breathe I wanted out to find myself

Oh, ED what big teeth you have

She hid underneath a crimson cloak, shielding herself from danger, terror and pain. She liked to care for others, tended to their needs and illness. She held them, nurtured them with positive thoughts and kindness. She had an innocence in her heart, one that was rare in the world today.

Her crimson cloak, a red hood covering her eyes was a protection. No one could look into her eyes for she feared her eyes would tell all. Her brown eyes would scream out the horrid things she had done, and there would be no more protection. She wore her red cloak, as a marking. The red poured out shame and guilt. But no one could see the girl behind the cloak.

It covered her body, one that she practiced to starve away or the marks on her body that told more stories than her words. Her cloak caused a separation from reality, a wall between memory and imagination. Her cloak kept her warm from the bitter ice winds, the biting air that blew secrets around. Her mistakes and her memories hit her cloak, but she remained warm inside and hidden.

Her cloak protected her physical body, one that hands of another could no longer touch, a safety between man’s hands and her own. It covered her legs, her rear, waist and breast.

The cloak worked perfectly for this girl, until she came face to face with a wolf; a wolf so attracted to her blood-red cloak, the color reflecting for the wolf, luring him. The girl stood frozen staring into the eyes of a wolf; reflecting images of her soul and herself. She stood gazing into the eyes of the wolf and she found words softly coming from her mouth as she spoke:

“What big eyes you have…” she said. The wolf responded with a harsh “the better to see your truth with my dear.”
The girl then lowered her gaze, focusing in on the wolf’s nose. She commented, “Well, what a big nose  you have.” The wolf snarled, whispering back, “The better to smell your fears with, my dear.” The girl then stared at the fangs of teeth jutting out of the wolf’s mouth. She whimpered, “What big teeth you have.” The wolf grinned and responded, “The better to chew you up and spit you out.”

The girl then realized the cloak that had been protecting her all this time worked until it ended up luring the danger and fear she had been avoiding all this time. She was face to face with an enemy, until her life was at risk. The girl then had a choice:

A. She would remove her cloak, throw it distracting the wolf’s vision, and run in the other direction, escaping or B. she would keep her cloak on, burying herself deeper into the fabric only to find herself being eaten alive.

Gratitude List

I’ve heard many, many times that gratitude is key to recovery from any addiction or alcoholism. I am a firm believer in this, but I also believe that I have much growth in this area. So I have decided to create a gratitude page on my blog. I am off and on with my gratitude list, a suggestion from my sponsor, other alcoholics, group support and a few others. I don’t want to come off as ungrateful, but I can be honest and say, perhaps I need to focus more on my gratitude. If I can find five things in the day, no matter how small or big, then I can try and focus on those things for what I have, not what I don’t have, so that way in time, when the pieces align, I can practice patience. I will start, once again, my gratitude list here… I will start with 10 items (not that I don’t have them in my journal but it is the first time I am posting this online). I may add to that list on my gratitude page at the top bar next to my resources, my story, links, etc.

In addition, I am going to attempt to set up a forum or way for readers to post something they are grateful for and I encourage ANY ONE OF YOU READERS to submit anything at any time once it is set up, to help yourselves and your gratitude and by sharing your gratitude with me, it will help me with my own gratitude. There is no room to drink in a grateful heart.

1. God, and my developing and growing relationship with him
2. The rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous
3. My sponsor, my therapist, my good friends, my family
4. Cheese
5. Heated blankets and comforters with puffy pillows
6. My cow pillow pet
7. Having a job and steady income
8. Extra large, comfy sweatpants
9. Having somewhere to live
10. Sobriety and the hope of full life recovery.

These, and then the additional five items I will add as much as possible throughout the week (my goal is 5 a day) will be located: Here.

Invisible Scars

I am not sure the origin of this poem, or who to give credit to, but one of my subscribers, dedicated readers and friend sent this to my by a comment and I wanted to post the poem, for it speaks well.

Invisible Scars

I am asking for you to be gentle with me,
for I am healing from wounds
that you cannot see…

I carry the wounds deep in my soul
and only by loving (myself, others & God)
will I become whole.

So, if my walls ever seem too high,
please use compassionate words
to ask me why…

For I cannot grow if I hide from pain,
and by me risking being vulnerable
I trust, we will have much to gain.

What. A. Night.

After yesterday’s session, I was forced to come to an acceptance that not only do I struggle with eating disorder behavior, but that I have an eating disorder. I could say that because I consumed food today, that I don’t have anorexia or bulimia. I could also say that because I haven’t thrown up today, i don’t have bulimia or anorexia. And honestly, it genuinely feels that way. Having a day that consists of consuming food, keeping the food down, mindlessly nibbling, snacking or whatever you want to call it is almost worse than having a day of full restriction or binges and purges.

The only reason I say this is because on days like today, I feel like I don’t have a problem. But, after last night, it would makes sense that I’ve blocked out that possibility today.

After session yesterday, and engaging in ED behavior, I was swarmed with an overwhelming amount of emotion. I felt the reality really sink in that I once again, was more than struggling. I then felt fear of losing my battle with this eating disorder. I want to be free of it, mentally, emotionally and physically and when the ED has such a hold on me, it’s difficult to recover.

Last night I got home from work and was overcome with a physical need to binge and purge. It was not an emotional need, that I believe, at all but merely the withdraw of the eating disorder. I don’t remember the last time I physically felt like I was withdrawing from the purge earlier that day and the need to eat food, lots of it. I cried for an hour, went online to an AA chat room, talked about my struggles, reached out for the first time in the past four weeks to fight the urge, cried more and then found my self standing in the kitchen crying.

I was fighting so hard but I physically could not get away from the withdraw. I collapsed on my kitchen floor for about 15 minutes, crying, just laying there in desperation to engage in ED. It was painful and physically difficult to fight, even with the support. After three hours of holding out, fighting, trying to get through the urge, I gave in and then I went to sleep.

When I woke up this morning I was discouraged, but also motivated to try whatever I could do to make myself eat for I had thoughts last night of starving, and fully not eating for the next several days. I wanted to be empty… and it was as if the anorexic mind was fighting to take back control of the bulimic mind.

With the risk of sounding crazy, I sure as hell felt crazy. But today I reached out to several women in my eating disorder recovery circle to help me stay accountable to eating and keeping it today. I have hopes that going one day without purging will help me to break the cycle. The only thing is, I have the restrictive mind completely lurking, waiting for the bulimia to take a hiatus.

I have not given up, and I won’t because I want to survive this. It just really sucks struggling back in the middle of relapse.

Breathe Me

“Help, I have done it again. I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again today and, the worst part is there’s no one else to blame.
Be my friend, hold me, wrap me up. Unfold me, I am small.
I’m needy. Warm me up and breathe me.

Ouch, I have lost myself again; lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.
I think that I might break. I’ve lost myself again and I feel unsafe.
Be my friend, hold me, wrap me up. Unfold me, I am small.
I’m needy. Warm me up and breathe me.” -Sia

Coming out of the ED closet

I went to the doctor today, for the first time since early last month. It was actually harder for me to bring myself back in there. Right now, I am sort of in this haze or a subtle denial post-therapy session (which followed after my appointment).

I finally talked some today, about my eating disorder and about the emotions, feelings and thoughts I am having about myself, the disorder and my status. While I would love to say that everything is fine and dandy, I would not be being honest with myself if I did. I could also say that I have been slipping up and having struggles, but perhaps that would also be dishonest.

I sat and cried in my chair today, knowing that this was more than a slip up. It was no longer a cluster of set backs or slip ups but actually being in the grips of my eating disorder, once again.

It’s always sad and difficult to come to the terms that I am back at a point of potential danger. I often write about how I’d like to say that I had an eating disorder or perhaps was struggling with keeping my eating disorder at a distance. But the truth is, I guess, if I was to not be in any form of avoidance or fully 100% out of denial, I would be honest to say I currently am struggling with my bulimic and anorexic behavior. Actually, I should probably take it further to say tat I have bulimia and anorexia. It’s not just behavior, it’s mental and physical.

And this really saddens me, if I am tapping into my feelings and emotions because removing the mask and seeing AND feeling it for what it is knots my stomach. I remember doing really well and I felt good, mentally, emotionally, physically and I was doing what I needed, no purging, eating, no restricting and I got sober.

For some reason, in this moment, I don’t feel like I have an eating disorder. It just is. I am not intentionally blocking this fact out, it just feels like a past experience again. But knowing that I am more than struggling, that I am more than slipping up really hurts because I thought I was past it and I didn’t want to let this happen. I didn’t want  it to happen, and I just feel like crying right now.