Tag Archives: personal

It’s time for another ‘Seriously?!’

Welcome to another episode of “Seriously?”

Not too long ago, I wrote a post about all of the nonsense surrounding the allegations toward a certain comedian (hint — he’s known for his jello). The actual incident is not the nonsense I am referring to, but specific to how people are reacting to the plaintiff, specifically with victim-blaming.

Once again, I am not saying that one thing is true or not true, I am simply commenting on the reaction that is most recent from the media. And as a disclaimer, I do personally, work in the media field, but I am separating myself from my work, and opinion.

I’ll keep this brief. I just heard on the news that this comedian is saying he was wrong to be named and should have remained a John Doe until a court decided whether or not to have a trial. I’m not dissing the laws in California, which basically states that if someone comes forward, then the accusations remain with a pseudo name until it moves on legally.

OK, so here is my beef — I understand the law, and I am not saying it’s wrong or right, but seriously?? This comedian is now complaining, not that there are allegations against him, but the fact that his name was used, thus putting the blame back on the plaintiff.

All I’m gonna say is — seriously? Once again, when the media handles this coverage and the public is responding, it all comes back down to “slut shaming” or victim blaming. Seriously — can we not?!

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When I never was a person

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Mirrors didn’t matter, but neither did my presence
Insanity chased me more when I had to live in silence
Stuck in the spider web, tangled in the  shadows
The black widow came along, and jammed in its teeth
I climbed through a window as the room spun around me
I couldn’t make it to a shower, I could not let anyone see
Hide below the blankets and sob in the quiet
You remember the only thought pounding in your mind
“What did I do? What did I do? What did I do?”
“How will I wake up tomorrow, how will I face him?”
I’ll do it by disappearing, I’ll pull an abracadabra
Before they know it, I’ll be gone and nothing can touch me again
My skin won’t exist, and my body isn’t real
With lips sewn shut, and nonexistent tear ducts
I won’t feel and I will not be, because of your choices imprisoning me
There is no one in here anymore, that girl you used to know
She went away, into the sky, and all that remains is me
I’m not a person, people can make choices and I certainly didn’t
If you want to speak to her, let me know, I speak for her
Because her voice isn’t real, and neither is she
But when you stare hard, into my soul, you can catch a glimpse of a girl
Just a shadow, an outline of her, but then blink, she flies away
I grit my teeth, keep her hidden, because the last time she was a person
She turned into an object and that pain is too much to handle
So again I say, she is not here, you have to go through me to get to her

Return

I know this blog has been lacking with posts and updates or anything else from my jar’s collection of loose screws. However, I’m back. I stayed inpatient for 30 days and then continued on to another three weeks of full day program. There was a lot of growth, recovery, pain, setbacks, and support. I don’t want to get into too much detail right now about where I am at with ED. But I promise I will. I will share chapters of my life from the last six months.

Thank you dedicated readers and friends.

I hope all is well.
Love always,

Brittany

March 31, 2014

Sometimes I want to take my hand, shove it down my throat, into the heart that barely beats in captivity. I want to grab and squeeze the disease that imprisons me, barely breathing after it has sucked out my life. This is despair. Fear. Agony.

I want to rip the life from the flesh-eating disease that possesses my body. I want to fight, but then I can’t breathe and I’m tired. Please, just make it stop. I want to squeeze the life out of the disease that starves me. It’s like I’m buried alive inside of this body, screaming to get out but no one can hear because the dirt fills my mouth. Because this demon waits until I am out of breath. And when you ask, it whispers: “I’m fine.”tumblr_n3czsvNqk11twwxf2o1_500

Hang on little fighter, life is bound to get brighter

It’s been quite a trial attempting to navigate through life, recovery, and christianity. I throw in christianity, because that is a huge part of my sobriety, and life. Without my faith, I’m nothing. Being sober is a gift, but it does not mean that there are not situations I’m forced to deal with staying sober.

tumblr_n30v3wjSIp1t5fu3io1_500Trauma is one of the most difficult things to mentally grasp. It’s like this shadow that hides and pounces when you least expect it. As a journalist, I’ve been in many different intense situations, sometimes scary, other times boring. But last week, I endured probably the most ground-shaking experience to date. I was covering a town meeting — typical night, introduction of the budget, swearing in of a new chief — when suddenly, I am being evacuated into a safe hall due to a “gun situation.” First I am shaking, then I’m hyperventilating. Before I know it, I pass out and I’m taken to the emergency room. While I don’t remember feeling anything; not even fear, my life has been shaken and I’m completely scared all the time.

People have stepped up to support me, and that’s wonderful. But I’m not myself. I don’t understand how, but it’s brought out all these feelings I already try to manage on a daily basis about my sexual assault. Regardless, I’m preparing for Take Back the Night, Stand-Speak-Empower in two weeks. I’ll be speaking about consent and taking back your body.

I’m falling behind in classes, constantly late; still managing to get my assignments in and doing well on my exams, but I’m barely hanging on. I keep trying to cling to what I know about God, and that the answer is there. All I have to do is bow my head, pray, open my Bible, read. But I just don’t do it. I know I’m so much stronger when I feel like a warrior, taking on the world with Jesus by my side, but something is getting in the way. Maybe it is exhaustion. I don’t know, honestly.

And my eyes are constantly turned to God because He is the only person who makes no mistakes, no disappointments. People who are near and dear to my heart, who I have continuously back up, loved unconditionally, are slapping me in the face. That’s painful, to only feel needed when someone else is in a crisis or dealing with their own shit. But what about me? Who is going to be there for me, to help me cry through pain, and to deal with all the trauma in my life? I know God is there, but where are all my people? I’m trying not to feel disposable and used, but if I’m 100 percent honest, that’s how my heart feels.

Let’s talk about body acceptance, in any point of recovery

“One of the biggest problems about recovery is the inconsistency of it. Some days, you are a superhero. You eat all of your meals, and still find beauty in the fullness of your stomach. However, the not-so-wonderful days are the deterrent. You wake up, and cannot find a thing appealing about yourself. When beauty is no longer the goal—you just want to not hate yourself.

Then, you find yourself wishing you knew you were skinny when you were skinny. You hate that wish. It is the creepy uncle that no one likes who sits in the corner and stares at everyone at Thanksgiving. But you cannot help but think it. You were not skinny, you were dying. You were trying to be invisible; you were trying to shrink away from life. It got so severe that you just stopped functioning, didn’t you?

You may not have known you were skinny, but you knew you were dying.”

Michelle K., Bad Days in Recovery

tumblr_mzayiqlhfx1sm41mbo1_500While browsing the internet, I came across this quote, or section from a writing: Bad Days in recovery. I never heard of this piece before, and I am very keen on books and articles regarding eating disorders. From self-help to fiction to biographies. This is an interesting though, and poignant because it’s so, so accurate. Michelle describes a piece of any eating disorder so profoundly and accurate, that for me, especially, I forget that piece to recovery.

Lately, I find myself at a new point of recovery. Technically, I’m not in recovery yet, but I am working IN recovery. Five years ago, my life spiraled out of control and I found myself praying to a God I didn’t want anything to do with to simply “don’t let me die.” Other times, I found myself checking my pulse, only to reassure myself that my heart was still beating and my night-long purging and starving did not kill me without my permission.

But in a sense; that’s what we do. Our eating disorders, all very different, say, like a fingerprint, take on an identity and drive of their own. I mean, on the surface, isn’t that what we are so obsessed with in the midst of our behavior? Getting thin or skinny? Obviously, all of us anorexics, bulimics, binge-eaters, or combination of all three, know that while we are primarily focused on being “fat” or fearful of getting “fat” that we merely do what we do because we are not ourselves. We do what we do because we are sick. We do what we do because we cannot cope with emotions, past traumas, current issues, adulthood, relationships — and the list goes on and on.

Many of you can relate with me, when it comes to being in different points of recovery. Whether you’re newly diagnosed, or in treatment, out of treatment, or in sobriety from your eating disorder behavior, one of the hardest things; if not the hardest, is the acceptance of allowing our bodies to physically heal. We have to let our body’s restore to the shape and size God created, instead of doing everything in our power to shrink it, get rid of it, or change it. I have been struggling with this more that I think I ever have.

Two years ago, I thought the hardest part was stopping my purging, eating more than once a day, while accepting that I had to put on more than 10 pounds, at the very least, to even be considered stable. What I’ve found is that ever since being discharged and rebuilding my life, I still struggle with my anorexia. More so than restricting, I really find it discouraging when I know my body still isn’t at it’s set point. It pisses me off that I cry over the “bulges” and “fat” I can see and grab. And when I’m told, “you still have an eating disorder” I cling to the fact that, well, no, it’s not that bad because I am not as small as I was when I was dying.

Truth. Sometimes I find that I get more upset and depressed over the fact that I feel so much worse lately in a body that is 25 percent more than it was a year ago. I fight myself to keep it at that weight, to not go over, but to not drop too low. And I find myself thinking, “well, I wish I had the body I had before if I am this miserable” or “how the hell can I have an eating disorder if I weigh more than I did before?” It’s as if I find myself feeling like a failure in recovery, but also as an anorexic. It’s sick and twisted. How can I come to terms with my body now, let alone another 25 percent more? How? I haven’t been inside that body for five years. In fact, I’ve never been an adult in my adult body.

Even if I can’t accept it right now — maybe I need to accept this: I don’t know that I am skinny, or thin, small, or not where I need to be, but I know I’m dying when I purge like I have the past several days because I cannot tolerate my body. I am terrified of what it will and is becoming. On those bad, bad, bad days, like Michelle says, it’s turmoil. Trapped in this limbo of a purgatory. Between fully restored, only halfway there, halfway sick, halfway recovered. Let’s start with a simple step of accepting that when we are not living, when we are not eating, when we purge, even if it’s just once every once in a while, or if it’s in a minor relapse that needs to get under control. I know logically, that I’m dying when I do that. And that is an eating disorder.

Let’s try to accept this thought — by not purging, we aren’t dying. I may not accept that my body is bigger than it is (even if it’s a minimal change because of where I am at), or that I’m not as thin as I was; isn’t it time to try and radically accept that? I’m not as small as I was, but I’m also more alive than I was. I may not like or accept my body now; but I can say that I accept that I need to learn to accept this, before I can let my body 100 percent back to where I am fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 134:19).

Back to school

I can definitely tell I am back into school for the semester. I have my first quiz on Monday (tomorrow) and I’m really overwhelmed about it because research methods is the scariest class I’ve taken yet. I can’t wait to finish with the credits I need added on to my BA so that I can start prepping for the GREs and then get into grad school. I know I have to keep the big picture in mind that I am working toward my larger goal.

About a year and a half ago, I discovered what my passion was and what I wanted to do for a living. Originally, I had planned to take courses needed and get my license in addiction counseling. However, after thinking hard about this, I decided I needed to, for myself, go back to school and achieve my master’s degree in mental health psychology so I can get a masters level license. I also want to be able to teach adjunct courses at a college in my other degrees – communications, journalism, creative writing, and eventually psychology.

I’m waiting to hear back from one of two rehab facilities I applied at for a job, now that I have two years sober. I am just waiting and I have to find a way to manage my anxiety.