While I write this I can see the eerie glowing eyes of my cat down the hallway outside of my bedroom and hear the stupid clock ticking in the bathroom. We got that thing years ago, why isn’t it dead yet?
Here is a snapshot of me at the beginning of freshman year before my boyfriend and I started talking in December: My dad moved out in the spring, I spent the summer being tormented by my little brother and being forced to stay home and watch him everyday all day. I didn’t see any of my friends until August 18th when I went to a summer camp at my new high school which was designed to get the freshman class ready for high school and acquainted with the building. My brother literally threw my cat at me along with legos and other things and hit me a lot. I realize now it was because he was upset about my parents splitting but at the time I really just wanted to strangle him. I was miserable, my mom was miserable, my brother was miserable, my cat couldn’t care less. Fast forward to freshman year. I’m in a new school and new classes and a new system that I have to get used to. My family life isn’t much better. Guys are hitting on me and it’s weird. People in drama club decide I can’t make decisions for myself and start telling me what to do. Homecoming is a disaster. My friends are starting to split apart.
I start losing weight. I start cutting. I keep crying myself to sleep. I cry until I can’t possibly cry anymore. I cry on purpose because I always feel better after I cry. It’s like a drug. I’m addicted to sadness. I don’t want it to go away. I’m ready to be done. I’m ready to leave in any way that I can. Life holds nothing for me anymore. It’s over. I’m done.
On December 15th, 2008 I get this message:
That sparks a conversation that lasted all the way into the new year. On January 1st we had our first date, though neither of us were confident enough to call it that and by January 31st, 2009 we were official, and slowly I started revealing my troubled past and the troubles to come. By the spring of 2010 I weigh about 5 pounds less than I do now (I’ve been losing weight again, I was supposed to gain 15 in recovery but I think I gained about 10 and now it’s going away) and my heart rate was about 42 beats per minute on a good day. For those of you that don’t know, going under 40 bpm is very dangerous and my EKG had me below that if I remember correctly. At this point my boyfriend has already been helping me with my depression and I’m happier around him.
Same pose, but notice how much more pronounced my cheek bones and collar bones are. I used flash in both but you can tell a difference in skin too. I’m sick and I turn to him for help when I realize I need it and he gives it to me. It’s a crazy hard battle at meal times and eventually I promise to recover for him because I can’t die and leave him here alone. I made a promise that I would gain back the weight for him.
That was a quick-fix solution. Now that he is off at college I find myself without the reason for not only my recovery but my existence. He found me at a very crucial time in my life and I don’t know if I’d even be here typing this if it wasn’t for him. I’m very grateful to him but now I need to work on finding the real solution. I have to recover and live for myself because otherwise I’m just being bandaged up over and over without ever really being healed. I need to start the healing process. I need to recover because I want to not because someone else wants me to. So now I start a whole new recovery journey. I had a lot of trouble on my trip to Minneapolis because I was now further away from my boyfriend and away from my regular routine and foods. I ate a muffin or some french toast sticks at breakfast with orange juice and water and yogurt and then a larabar or two during the day. That was it. I barely ate anything. I don’t even know how much I weigh right now and it’s killing me. I’m obsessed with my weight and exercise and making sure I don’t eat a lot. I’m slipping back into old habits and I need to stop it. I need to recover because I want to. (That said, my boyfriend has been my only support in my recovery and I’m very thankful to have had him help me, but I relied on him too much and that is what I need to change.)
But here’s the problem: I don’t want to. I miss weighing so little. I never thought I was obsessed with eating little and exercising a lot. To me it felt normal and I didn’t obsess over it until they told me I was anorexic because then I felt like I wasn’t doing it right. I’ve never really been able to believe that I have an eating disorder because I was never emaciated. I don’t feel like it ever got bad enough to classify as an eating disorder even though I know that isn’t true. I know it’s a terrible thing and I know I have to recover and I’m going to try. I already weigh a good amount (for now) I just need to get past the obsessions and worries. I need to find why I want to recover and right now that’s hard. Turning to my boyfriend for the rest of my life isn’t going to help me in the long run. So now begins almost an entirely new recovery. Wish me luck.
Why do you want to recover?
The next post shouldn’t be so depressing. It should be filled with pictures and a fun holiday recap, with maybe some sadness since I don’t expect Thanksgiving to treat me too well since I am a teeny bit sick and haven’t exercised in like a week because of the trip.