Happy Holidays!

I'm really out of the habit of journaling; I haven't even been keeping up with my personal one for the past few months, which is really unlike me. But I haven't taken time off because I'm out getting into trouble like in the past, so that's a relief. As a matter of fact, here's what I wrote a year ago today, in Serenity:

It's Christmas Eve and more shit has gone on all weekend than has the entire month I've been here. I got moved to Lowenstein where I'm back on a top bunk (talk about being reminded of Karat Place!), but it's so much quieter. I've been trying to finish my life story but there's so much going on all the damn time that I can't think and it's depressing enough to remember as it is. I've not been keeping up with affirmations and mood trackers, but I'm trying to remind myself of why I'm here, what I'm doing, and why I'm doing it. I literally can't have five seconds of peace and quiet.

Needless to say, I can only go up from there, especially considering the Christmas prior I was running around between houses trying to stay high. I hated it at the time, but an entire holiday season spent in treatment so I never have to use again is worth all of the freedom that follows.

Anyway, I haven't really posted since March, so let me get everyone up to speed (and somewhat knock out a year-end post at the same time): In June I went on the annual Spring River, AR, trip with fellow members of our NA region. It was my second year going and I did it with my RV fam again and I always look forward to going. We get disgusting and burnt but it's always worth it. In July, I went to Pete Miller and started a coverup of my very first tattoo on my hip that actually takes up half my stomach as a birthday present to myself. I haven't been able to work on it since the first session, but intend to get back to it after the new year. It's so sick, and since the original tattoo was a crab for my Zodiac sign, I wanted to go with that theme and kept the crab for my Rising/sun in Cancer, added a scorpion for my moon sign, and a Snake for the year of my birth. It's also covering up a lot of old scar tissue from years of self-harm, so while those spots were painful, the ink took well and it makes me feel a bit more confident about the area. In August I finally finished the half-sleeve KP had started two years ago (hahaha oops) and I love it so much. I get complimented on it all the time as it is, but especially now that it's fully colored. Shortly after that, my father and I took Maggie to be put to sleep. It was a difficult decision to make and we prayed for months that she would just go on her own, but eventually it was more than evident that living was only causing her pain. She couldn't move on her own, she could barely hear or see, and when it got to the point that food didn't excite her anymore, we knew. We got her an ice cream cone on the way and had the windows rolled down because she always loved car rides, and I sat with her the whole time. It was one of the very, very few times in my entire life I've seen my dad cry. It's still very painful to think about, but I know she's in a better place now with her pup Zoe, and she lived such a long time for a lab, longer than Pepper did. I still miss seeing her every time I go to Mom's, and I know Lily is still adjusting. That leads me to the next event, that I finally moved out in late September! Most everyone knows I've been living at Mom's since late 2013 (minus the month I tried to leave, Oded, and ended up in halfway for six months, and then last year in treatment), and it's not only so far away from everything I like to do, but I just felt trapped, like back to being a child. I'm directly across the street from my gym, and it's just me and Bee and Tony and I love it. I do miss having a washing machine and dryer of my own, but at least I can use the one on-site. November marked my very first year clean! I did write about that somewhat, but more than anything I know the biggest difference has just been in my mind-set and attitude. Am I doing perfectly? No, but I'm making much more of a conscious effort to change for the better and realize that any fix that could come from using or other destructive behaviors is temporary, and will only make matters worse in the long run.

I went back to Southwest this past fall semester to take Biology I and Pre-Calculus, and between part-time school and full-time work, I barely had time to do anything else. I did manage to make it to the gym on average five days a week for at least an hour, but that's about it. Even with all of that time put into studying and neglecting any attempt at a social life, I still did terribly in Biology. Does that mean it's not what I'm meant to do? I can't decide that yet. I already have next semester filled up full-time because I'm close to getting an associates degree, which means I'm that much closer to working on my bachelors, and I can't let one slip up push me back. This is not where I saw myself being ten years ago, but I'm doing the best I can, and hopefully in another ten years I won't look back at these upcoming years with the same kind of shame. Life happens. Keep working towards doing better. I'm not giving up that easily.

Also, a jab at myself, I decided to start meal-prepping and eating super clean three days ago and while it feels great, the binge-monster in the back of my head is going nuts and I haven't even made it to the first of the family Christmas festivities. That's my own fault for thinking I can get through this weekend unscathed. I've been doing all the workouts planned out for me but the gym is closed tomorrow so I'll just walk, and if I eat something I'm not supposed to, it'll be okay. I've made it this far going back and forth and I'm still here, so the occasional sweet won't kill me. The biggest thing is implementing and sticking to the discipline. Diet has always been the most difficult part of working out for me, but I'll get into more detail about that for anyone who cares a bit later, once I've done it a little longer. So far I'm loving it.

My laundry is done, I have the hiccups, need to get ready for Christmas Eve at my aunt's, and this update is pretty quick and lacking major details, but that's the gist of it. Hope everyone has had a wonderful and safe holiday season regardless of what you do (or don't) celebrate. (Honestly I'm ready for it to be over so everything is less hectic and goes back to normal, but I don't need to wish away my whole life!)

One Year!

It's been quite a while since I've updated this thing (which was something I really wanted to keep up with), but at least this time it's because I've been busy in constructive ways rather than just totally fucking everything up in some way or another. For one, I've been back full-time at work, have been back in school this past fall semester and doing homework, have been trying to stay working on my step work and going to meetings, and hitting the gym for at least 45 minutes to an hour every day. A month into working I was able to replace the vehicle I totaled in my relapse and in September, I finally moved out into my own place with one of my best friends and Bee, and as of yesterday I hit 365 days clean. (On a side note: As of today, I'm also 254 days free from self-harm, 117 days since my last cigarette, and 63 days since my last purge!) I have had so many blessings over this past year and most of them all come down to simply not picking back up, but I can confidently say that I've worked hard for a lot of them, too.

One of the biggest things has been for me to work on doing what I need to for myself and getting over the feelings of guilt and selfishness when I chose my own needs over others'. I've had to cut people out of my life this year that have hurt, and it's not even that they necessarily did anything to me or I'm mad, but they are not currently conducive to my goals, or do not have my best interests in mind, or it's just better that I love them from afar and let them be where they're at. Another big thing has been staying off social media because I'm terrible about getting all in my head and jealous seeing people live their lives without me, as if I'm the most important person and how dare anyone not include me. I may slowly re-acclimate, but for now it just keeps a lot of stress and anxiety off me to just stay away. Another big thing for me has been setting these unrealistic expectations on people that they will never meet, because I hold them to a standard that just isn't possible; I have the tendency to fantasize about who I think someone should be rather than see them for who they really are, and I end up hurt and resentful in the end for some dumb shit I put into my own head. Plus, I'm staying so busy lately that I just don't have time to focus on anyone that isn't keeping up with me. That sounds super self-centered, but what's worse than someone reaching out to you, you agree you should meet up sometimes, but they immediately say they're too busy for the foreseeable future? The semester is almost over, school won't last forever, but I've worked very hard to get back in and I'm not compromising anymore. I'm still very new in recovery despite being in and out for four years, and I'll lose everything and everyone if I fall off again. It's like those signs on airplanes for oxygen masks, where they say to put on your own before assisting anyone else; I'm no good to anyone if I can't even take care of myself so right now I have to be selfish and do what needs to be done. I've established a routine and if anything interrupts that, it throws me off.

I'm not sure if any of that makes sense, but I guess it was more for the people who keep running into me asking me where I've been, why I'm never online, etc. My spare time is usually spent doing homework, working out, step work, or sleeping. I admit I did binge watch Stranger Things 2 the night it came out and I saw Justice League last night with my home group, but those instances are few and far between and I can't wait till Christmas break to have time to catch up on all the books and comics I have to finish! Anyway, this weekend a lone has been busy. I was asked to speak at a good friend's anniversary Friday and I agreed to speak at another one tonight, and my own is tomorrow! It's very surreal and a little overwhelming. For now though, off to the gym so I can get that out of the way and run laundry while I work on my math homework. Love you all.

Codependency & Reservations?

My sponsor had me read through "Recovery and Relapse" again out of the Basic Text and journal on it, and I put it off until after I went over my step work with her on Tuesday. I felt like it was super important to focus on my codependency, since I constantly struggle with it.

One of my biggest downfalls has always been this underlying need to control everything around me, especially people. I want everyone to act a certain way to provide the outcomes I want, with little regard to how I am affecting the same situations. I'm self-centered; it's all about me, my needs and wants. When things don't work out, I blame myself for my inability to do or say the exact thing that might have salvaged everything, especially in relationships. I beat myself up for months when IP left me because surely he didn't see how hard I was trying, how I got clean for him, how he was mistaken in assuming my future goals because I didn't properly communicate and only complained about my parents' failed marriage. I even considered offering to have his children to keep him around when I found out how important that was to him, even though he entered into a relationship with me knowing I didn't want kids, so it was he who was being deceptive, not me. But I am powerless over him and I lost control of the situation so I considered all of the ways I could manipulate it back in my favor. I reached out for a while until I allowed ML to dominate my mind. I got lax on meeting attendance, step work, and talking to my sponsor and other recovering addicts -- outside of his halfway house. Even before I knew he was using again, I blamed his shady behavior on myself. I did something wrong. I was undesirable and pushed him away. I'd try to cook for him, give gifts, hold him, any form of affection I could think of, but it was never received. He'd stop speaking to me all together for weeks at a time. If I talked to anyone, it was about him. He became my Higher Power. Once I did accept his using, I had to fix everything for him. My own recovery meant nothing, I hated myself, became suicidal, and relapsed. I put others ahead of myself because that's how I've always expressed love, but it's really more destructive and self-deprecating than selfless like I want to convince myself I'm being. I use other people, especially men, to validate myself and maybe it stems from feeling emotionally neglected by my father growing up or these grandiose expectations of romance and wanting to be this fragile thing to be saved, but I only end up disappointed and hurt in the long run. I love the idea of love and someone's potential more than who they really are. I have fun with someone I'm lusting after and mistake it for love, but it's always conditional. They're smart enough to leave after a while, but I will be miserable trying to make things work for as long as they'll allow me to. But feelings are not fact. I know that I truly love these people, but I am obviously capable of loving again, even though I don't want to admit it because the idea of going from one man to another makes me feel like a total whore, even if sex isn't involved. I also have the tendency to go for men who need to be taken care of, as if I'm fulfilling some weird mommy complex. I know that I'm instinctively nurturing despite how much I fight it, but I need someone who is responsible and self-supporting like I strive to be, but first I have to take care of myself and support my own emotional needs, not rely on them. I'll continue to project my insecurities onto every relationship I have and be miserable and alone and make a lot of people resentful of me in the process. I'll continue my destructive patterns because they're comfortable and it's how I know to cope. I have to work on my issues with food and internalizing everything, learn to reach out to the right people, stop reacting so heavily on my emotions, and get outside of myself. I must share in meetings and be more open to newcomers; I must continue journaling, talking to women, and being consistent with my step work; I must pray daily, sometimes many times a day, if only for willingness. I have to be grateful and remember that gratitude is an action. I want to be more involved with service and help others the way people help me, but to do so, I have to be emotionally available in ways I've not been. I have to find balance in my life and apply my recovery to everything I do, because while I can't progress if I'm using, quitting drugs is the smallest part of the process. If I have to devote a certain time out of my day to pray or food-prep or do something for me on top of step work, then so be it. I have to consistently turn things over to my Higher Power until I learn to relinquish all control, and to do so, I really have to work thorough second and third steps.

Throwbacks for emphasis...

01/23/2014

It really sucks for me to have to admit that I relapsed, again, almost immediately after starting this blog the other day. That would make it my third in two months. My original sobriety date, the day I was arrested, was October 3. I didn't even make it a full three months before I talked myself into drinking over stupid shit, and attempting to OD. See, while I was in jail, my boyfriend stood by me and was so supportive. When I got out, I had to move back in with my parents as I lost my apartment, and he moved back in with his mother. The plan was to save up and use the time that I was court-ordered to live here to catch up on bills that I'd fallen so far behind on and find a better place. I moved in right before Halloween, and by the beginning of December, he broke up with me. Told me he didn't love me anymore. I was distraught as it was, until a couple of weeks later, I discovered that he had slept with his friend's girlfriend a couple of weeks before breaking up with me and had no intentions of telling me. I confronted him about it that night, it was confirmed, and the next day I stayed in bed until the late afternoon when I was determined to get as drunk as possible as quickly as possible. Two bottles of wine, a very stout vodka drink, and twenty minutes later, I was buying heroin and having it delivered to me with the works. The people who brought it to me are friends that I had to seriously con into it, and their one stipulation was that they shoot me up because they knew what I was trying to do. I had talked my now-ex into bringing me the blankets I'd forgotten in his car, and everyone knew I was drunk and I thought I was being slick hiding how high I was, but he said he could tell that I was a nod away from possibly not waking back up. I'll admit that my biggest regret is not the anxiety I caused myself over potentially getting caught, what with it being the weekend before Christmas and drug screens being so intense, but the fact that in my drunk-high fog, I managed to lose the remaining drug and didn't finish it. That's a fucked up way of going about things, but that's how my mind works.  

Flash forward to this month. I started hanging out with a friend of mine who is also in the program, and he's literally been the biggest inspiration I could ever hope to find. He was so much worse off than I've ever been, and he was resistant at first, but now seems to flourish. We have so much more in common than I could have ever imagined to find in another human being, and really I'm surprised at how much I can't seem to get enough of someone so similar to me. He's the easiest person to talk to and doesn't seem to judge me (that I can tell). I admitted to him the other day that since my first relapse, I've been drinking on and off for a straight month. His birthday was the twenty-second (the day after my first post), and I spent the night before blogging, making him cupcakes, and chugging rum. I realized after the fact that not only could I easily get into this place where I feel like I'm able to successfully sneak around and get away with things and get eventually caught, but really it was all pointless. What good did it do me to drink? I wasn't any happier during or after. I constantly crave a drink, but it's really the dope I want. Alcohol is just safer because it's out of your system faster. Thinking things like this makes me realize how badly I really do need to be in this program, and that's a huge step for me to admit. The problem is, the longer I go without using, the worse my bulimia gets. I'm so fucked in the head in more ways than one, and I don't honestly know which is worse. I can stay clean from drugs, but I'll always find some way to hurt myself.

After typing up all of this, I logged onto Facebook to see my sister's friend tagged me in a post.

She seems to think I'd be qualified to speak? I hate speaking in front of people, but it probably wouldn't be a bad idea. Does it count as service work? It's not affiliated with any twelve-step programs, obviously, so I wouldn't really incorporate any of that, and would have to watch my language while still trying to focus on strength and hope. Experience is good especially as a scare tactic, but I feel like if it's going to prevent someone from picking up, or leading someone to find help, I need only use enough to get the point across and follow it up as positively as possible. Something to think on, I suppose.

Anyway, when I'm uninspired to blog, oftentimes just a prompt or a topic helps to jump start the process, so feel free to throw in any suggestions of things you'd like to read!

NEDAwareness Week 2017

So this is a big one, and I've really struggled with the concept of making a post about it at all, but I feel like it needs to be discussed, and my mission was to be more open, after all. So it's coming to the end of the National Eating Disorders Awareness week, brought about by NEDA, and this year's theme is It's Time to Talk About It; basically, the drive to end the stigma around eating disorders. They do not discriminate based on age, sexuality, gender, ethnicity, whatever. They can manifest at any time, suddenly or gradually, and can take on many different forms. My experience has shown that the secrets I keep are what keep me sick, and since I am actively working toward recovery in all areas of my life, my issues with food and body image must be addressed or I will continue to destroy myself. 

Not all addicts have eating disorders, just like not all disordered people abuse drugs. Some people have issues with self and/or food, but do not have eating disorders. (Here's a cool resource!) What's the difference? The NEDAwareness site has a self-check screen that encourages anyone with questions to take to better help them get started, as everyone who suffers has a different experience. But an eating disorder is a mental illness, and is not actually about food! It is a warped perception of self and -- in my case -- a means of control. Eating disorders are also the most lethal of all mental illnesses, caused not only by the immediate or long-term affects, but often by suicide. It is common for even non-addicted people to abuse substances to control weight, self-harm, overexercise, go from one extreme (such as restricting or binge eating) to another, etc. I've read quite a few memoirs and biographies of people in recovery to compare, but the easiest way for me to illustrate this is by using myself as an example. Proceed with caution, could be triggering.

I always felt very different from everyone around me, especially kids my own age, beginning when I was very young. My parents always talk about how I was such a happy child, and then one day it was like a switch went off, and I was different. I began overeating in early elementary school; looking back, I believe it had something to do with the stress of moving to a new house, having a new sibling, dynamics changing in school, whatever. The point is, I used food to comfort myself. I played sports on and off all throughout my school years, but otherwise was not very active. I was in the best shape when I swam year 'round in middle school, because I was finally putting all of those extras carbs to good use! I was always very down on myself about my fluctuating weight and began cutting myself around age eleven, but rather than make an effort to change, I would usually cope by eating more. It was also at eleven that I had my first drink, but it wasn't until high school that it became a frequent weekend thing to binge drink, and I began smoking cigarettes which immediately affected my lung capacity and my ability to swim long distances. I had the tendency to isolate and hide junk foods, especially when I went away to my first year of college. I was in a new town where I hardly knew anyone that I didn't graduate high school with, and they all made new friends, so I was alone a lot. I walked around town quite a bit, but I spent most of my free time in my dorm room bingeing, cutting, and smoking weed. I thought it would be a good idea to try to overdose on Aspirin one time, too, but it only left me with tinnitus for a couple days. I was horribly lonely, bored, started skipping classes to sink further into myself, and ended up coming back home for my second year. Once I was back at my parents' home with my truck, I went to school and found a job, but college was becoming less and less of a priority as I realized art was not the field I wanted to pursue, so in my fourth semester, I simply quit going and failed all of my classes as a result. I was drinking and smoking regularly, and began experimenting with any and every drug I could find. It was at nineteen after I had my wisdom teeth removed that I fell in love with opiate painkillers.

21st birthday

I began cosmetology school part time a few months after dropping out of college, hoping a skill would save me from a lifetime of working retail, and went at night part time where I spent every lunch break drinking 2x4's, smoking bowls, and when I could get ahold of any, taking pills and doing lines of coke. My "partying" began to take a toll on school again and my ability to work, and I switched to school full-time in an attempt to make up all of the hours I'd missed and still graduate in a decent amount of time. I was living with a friend in our own apartment for the majority of this time, drinking beer excessively and overeating, and when my twenty-first birthday rolled around, I was at my highest weight. I was so disgusted with myself and everything about my appearance that I was determined to finally do something about it, even though it took a few months for me to finally put those plans into action. The following spring, as I was nearing the end of cosmetology school, I began waking up early before class to do simple exercises to start my day, and severely restricting. My first rock bottom was the day I realized I'd eaten only fast food all day, for all three meals, and I finally committed to totally cutting out meat, not only for ethical reasons, but to severely limit my food options. I joined a gym and began working out for hours at a time every day, heavy on the cardio, and in the month between clocking in my final hour and actually picking up my certificate for graduation, had dropped thirty pounds. The night of graduation, my friends, boyfriend, and I decided to go out to a club, where there was a foam party. I had changed out of my heels into wedged flip-flops, slipped in the wet shoes walking down steps, and broke my foot; my bones had become so brittle from being malnourished.

Graduation

Being in a walking boot for a month greatly impacted my ability to work out, which had quickly become an addiction. I was obsessed with burning every calorie I took in and then some, so I was terrified of suddenly being unable to move like I wanted to. I'd toyed with the idea of vomiting on and off for most of my life, but was never able to force it, until one day my boyfriend and I ordered pizza after I'd been heavily restricting for so long on strictly healthy foods and I ate two slices. I was doing laundry in the on-site laundry room at our apartment, went to change the clothes from the washer and dryer, and proceeded to purge in the trash can. From that day on, for months, I continued to restrict and purge everything I ate. When my boyfriend confronted me about it, I only became more secretive. We worked differing schedules, so it was easy enough to hide when he wasn't around, or so I thought. My drinking was increasing at the same time, and I'd chose alcohol over food for my caloric intake most days. Once my boot was off, I was back in the gym every morning. I was constantly dizzy and light-headed, my face and neck were swollen, my digestive system was fucked, my gums and the enamel on my teeth were eroding from stomach acid, etc. My self-harm was also increasing, as I'd black out on a nightly basis, and I put myself in countless dangerous situations being totally unaware of what I was doing.

"Chipmunk cheeks"

I went to visit my Grandmother in Florida with my family and boyfriend the summer of 2011, and fearing discovery, I had to limit my vomiting, but was still terrified of food to an irrational degree. I began abusing laxatives and diuretics, because any little thing I did keep down would sit and rot in my stomach for what felt like days, and I just wanted it all out. I was so hungry all the time, and would dream about bingeing so intensely at night that I would wake up believing it had happened, and try to purge nothing. My exercising decreased once I began working in a salon and my substance abuse continued to progress. I was restricting all day, bingeing at night, and purging as much as possible. I began putting weight back as my metabolism shut down, trying to conserve whatever it could get. I was either out at the bar every night trying to get my mind of things and drinking my sorrows away with friends, or drowning in self-hatred at home alone with bottles of liquor and pills, curled in a ball on my couch. Grocery stores were terrifying places for me, because I couldn't focus on the necessities to make meals or even snack normally, it was all about the binge foods. I'd stop daily to stock up, hit the liquor store, and lock myself away at home while my boyfriend was at work. I was belligerent usually by the time he came home, but I was so absorbed in the cycle of self-destruction that no matter how much I convinced myself that I needed to stop, that I had to quit taking it out on him, that I was only getting worse, I just wasn't ready to ask for help. I was diagnosed with all of these food allergies and digestive issues as a direct result, and still continued.

That relationship ended abruptly and I continued to act out on my own, ending in a suicide attempt that landed me in the ER and locked in a psychiatric ward for over a week, where I went through DTs and was first diagnosed with bulimia. Upon release I was instructed to move back in with my mother, take my psych meds, and see a therapist, but I went back to my apartment after the first night and was drinking again almost immediately. I began hanging out with a guy who was shooting up, so I did too. My eating disorder and substance addiction go so hand in hand that it's often difficult to separate the two. I stopped drinking almost entirely because all I wanted to do was get high. Food didn't matter, and work was only to make money to keep going. Eventually I got arrested, spent a month in jail where I went through withdrawals, and was put on drug court. I was sentenced to eighteen months of random drug screens, intensive outpatient, regular court dates, and attending AA and NA meetings, but ended up doing twenty-two months because I was sanctioned three times for relapsing. Trying to stay clean kicked my bulimia back into overdrive, and I was bingeing and purging constantly again, to the point that it was affecting the creatine levels in my urine screens, and the court thought I was diluting them to hide drugs, so I eventually told on myself. The center where I was doing outpatient created a special group for me and a few other clients who struggled with food, but everyone was eventually kicked out of the group and a few people graduated, and when I couldn't stop getting, I was sent to the relapse group. I managed to stop vomiting for the duration of drug court under threat of being kicked off, but I continued to use laxatives and binged. When I finally graduated the program, I began getting high again that night, and the past couple of years have just been a cycle of relapse after relapse, in every area of my life.

This last high, I had to be forced to eat anything. It wasn't even a conscious attempt to starve myself, I had just gotten to the point of wanting to die and when I couldn't successfully overdose ever, I lost interest in doing anything. I got down to my lowest weight ever, but I have no idea what that was because I was so sick that I didn't even care about the numbers on the scale anymore. I knew everything was out of my control, and I wanted to succumb to my disease. I worked and would eat every few days just so I could keep getting high, and when I'd wake up still alive, I had to keep doing it. I didn't even realize how awful I looked, or else I really didn't care. I ended up nodding off or overdosing while behind the wheel and totaled my car, and the officer who showed up should have given me a DUI and arrested me, but instead let me leave with my Mom and I vaguely remember him looking me dead in the eye and basically telling me to get help. I had promised my sponsor and my family that if I got high again, I'd try inpatient treatment for the first time, so I kept my word. I went to my judge the next day, and he set me up at a detox facility and rehab, and I went that afternoon.

I didn't fully grasp what I had done to myself with my eating until I completed detox and was sent to rehab, and I can remember hiding in layers of clothes because first off, it was the beginning of winter, and secondly, that's just what you do when you detox. Your body can't properly regulate its own temperature, so the cold sweats become unbearable. I was chilled to the bone all the time. I was getting out of the shower one night and looked at my reflection and was shocked. I've always aspired to be this fragile, skeletal thing, and would revel anytime I could see or feel a new bone protruding where it was once covered in layers of fat, but for once I didn't recognize what was in the mirror. I felt almost as if I'd finally overdone it, and was overcome with this sick sense of pride, but also fear. Was I actually dying? Did I want to live? I knew I needed help, and told my counselor the day I did intake that I was bulimic and had to stop in order to succeed in staying clean, but suddenly I wasn't so sure that's what I wanted. I knew I didn't want to purge anymore, I certainly didn't want to binge, but none of that would ever end if I continued to restrict like I always wanted to. The cycle would simply begin all over again, and if experience taught me nothing else, it was that it always got worse with time. So I tried to stick to a diet that accommodated my allergies and eat as best as possible, was compliant with my medication, and agreed to continue outpatient and therapy beyond my release. So far, I've continued to do all of those things.

I've had a few slips, but I try to work through them rather than beat myself up or give in completely. One thing I've discovered is that I won't be happy with myself no matter my weight if I don't work on myself from the inside out. Exercise is a major component to my recovery, but I have to maintain a balance in that area as well as how I'm eating because I can abuse it, too. My medication has thus far helped keep me stable enough to not feel the need to harm myself in anyway, even when the thought crosses my mind. I have people to talk to through it all. I have healthier coping mechanisms that I just need to put into action. Recovery is not a straight line, but it's worth pursuing. I am not happy with my body, but I'm working on accepting it for me, and not relying on outside validation or drugs to affect the way that I feel. I want to be happy and healthy so that I can better contribute to the people that I love in my life and be there for them, because when I'm consumed with my disease, I'm no good to anyone. I used to be terribly embarrassed of admitting my problems, but there's no message without the mess. Whether I'm leaning on one end of the ED spectrum or the other, it's all the same sickness. You don't have to fit certain physical criteria to have one. You can appear perfectly healthy but be falling apart on the inside, as I've been most of my life. This began for me at a very young age, and has been going on for nearly twenty years, and I'm ready to take action and end it. I want to be happy. I am worthy and I deserve recovery. Everyone does. You do, too.

In Need of Some Spirituality

I haven't done a tarot reading in a long time, and with all of the shit constantly going through my head, I felt like it would be a good idea. I'm still pretty new at this, and refer back to the manual that came with my particular deck (The Renaissance Tarot by Brian Williams) and instructive books often. I lit Nag Champa and laid out amonite, angelite, and a custom Flower of Life organ pendant, set with an equally customized intention: quartz, amethyst, kyanite, shungite, tourmaline, smoky quartz, garnet, tigers eye, moonstone, selenite, obsidian, fluorite, carnelian, amber, iolite, metal flakes, and iron oxide. "I am healed in every way. I focus on positive thoughts and gain more strength everyday. I AM strong, beautiful, and able to overcome and achieve anything and everything." I went with a simple, straightforward layout that is usually referred to as PEMS - how you're doing physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually. And it is important to remember that order!

• Physical: The Knight of Cups - The knight rides his mount with trappings of interlaced hearts. His attributes are the constellation Scorpio an the archangel Raphael. Divinatory Meaning: A person of turbulent, poetic, romantic cast. An opportunity or favorable event in the near future. Deep feeling transformed into verse, music, or visions.
• Emotional: The Nine of Swords - In a rage of grief, Achilles drags the body of Hector, whom he has killed in combat, around the walls of Troy. Divinatory Meaning: Revenge. Excessive or violent response to a problem. Jealousy.
• Mental: The Fool - The Fool is dressed in an elaborate slashed costume of a sixteenth-century court jester. The plumes in his hair signify folly, and the staff he holds is surmounted with grapes and a tiny skull, symbols of Bacchic abandon and terror. The Fool's companion deity is, in fact, Dionysus (Bacchus), and he is accompanied by the leopard Dionysus brought back from his wandering revels in India. A lily of the valley flowers at the Fool's feet, symbolizing blithe innocence and simplicity ("Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin..." Matthew 6:28) and the advent of spring. The Fool signifies rebirth and new beginnings, as does the constellation Aries; the pagan god Dionysus, who was dismembered and made whole again, as his grape vine is pruned to be renewed in spring; and the Christian savior, whose resurrection is symbolized by the lily and whose feast, like those of Dionysus and Demeter and Eleusis, is celebrated with the grape and the grain. Divinatory Meaning: The personality in the primal state, the willful child in all of us. Instinct. Innocence. Impulsive actions. Setting off in a new direction in life. Liberation of the impulses. Insight and wit from instinct rather than instruction.
• Spiritual: The Four of Cups - The sisters of Psyche are jealous over her fabulous wealth and her happiness. They plant in Psyche's heart the suspicion that her invisible lover must be a monster. Divinatory Meaning: Jealousy and envy. Suspicion of a loved one. Nagging doubts.

The card drawn for "spirituality" left me feeling weird, but it would make sense if it's my relationship issues keeping me from being where I need to be with my Higher Power, so I shuffled, reset my intentions on relationship specifically, and drew a new card. 

• The King of Swords - The king of swords, an armored and bearded man, sits on a castle-like throne. The sun and the planet Mars attend him. Reverse Meaning: Abuse of power. Tyranny. Cruelty. The empty striving for control. Failed attempt at mastery.

The thing about drawing the King of Swords, for me, is I see myself in all of those attributes. My vain attempts to hold together what obviously isn't there, my codependency, and my need to control everyone and everything around me. I have real issues with letting things go and allowing people to be where they are, because I'm so used to playing the victim and being afraid of rejection and abandonment. I was hoping to get some insight on how to fix my relationships, and what do you know? It all points back to needing to work on myself. I can't get caught up in my own head about where I went wrong and what I did or didn't do to push people away, which is way easier said than done, but it's what I have to keep reminding myself. My failed relationships can't solely be blamed on me; I did play a part, but so did they. I've always been with men just as sick as myself, but where I cling and need constant validation, they tend to emotionally withdraw. At least, that's been my interpretation of it. Save for my very first boyfriend, I have no idea of any potential closure or what happened to lead up to where I am today except for the involvement of drugs and resulting circumstances. One did me real dirty, and the other I can't help but want to believe everything he says to me, but for now I can't look at him, speak to him, see what he's doing, etc. It sucks. I think about him all the time, and that's blocking me from progressing. No wonder I'm acting out! I need attention and validation, and a woman can tell me something about myself but it won't mean anything unless I hear it from a man. I can recognize these things finally, but I have to take steps to change them. No wonder all of my closest friends are men. I have to stop that, because I start wanting to control them. I get jealous when they enter into new relationships and I'm no longer a priority. All of the other cards I pulled - man! All seem to link straight to that relationship card. Okay, HP, I get it. Stop stressing over him and focus on yourself. You can do this.

Other than that, all I've really done since getting back home is make one to even five meetings a day, go to IOP, go to the gym at least five days a week, try to stay busy, and make attempts to get step work done and apply to jobs. I haven't been nearly as successful in those areas as I'd like, but I am putting forth an effort. I also have slacked on my meditations already and need to change that. I'm eating entirely too much again, despite the Prozac, and it's getting to me. I need to stay occupied so I don't wander around the house aimlessly. Half of me wants to lock myself in my room and sleep all day every day, and the other wants to get out and never come back. Neither are good or likely situations, so I have to accept something in the middle. As it is, I've been writing more on my Instagram than on here because I haven't found the time to sit down and plan anything out. I actually had photos to go with this post but my iCloud seems to be acting up, so whatever. This is a half-assed attempt at discipline anyway. I need to get ready to go to a couple evening meetings; so much for trying to skate today. I've been listening to the OST from The Last of Us all day, and I'd rather be in bed!

Some Catching Up

So court yesterday was a joke, but at least I didn't go to jail! That's always a bonus. I got off super easy if all I'm having to do is pay restitution, really. I mean, sitting there for five hours was punishment enough, right? Anyway. I have to call someone who works for the city with my insurance information tomorrow, and then I'm good till next month. Sounds a little too easy, but we'll see. Maybe I'm just too used to chaos and can't accept a good thing when it comes my way? I didn't get as much done as planned because of how long the whole ordeal took, but I did manage to get enough out of the way before going to court to feel like I hadn't wasted the entire day. Since I woke up so early, I was able to make some important phone calls, clean out the bathroom, do all of my meditation, etc. I didn't get to do my hair, but what's the rush at this point? I mean it's awful already. I also didn't get a chance to get up to the gym to figure out my membership, but again, it's not like I really had the time to work out, so that can be done later. 

I also texted a former coworker this long, drawn out amends that I'm sure wasn't even said properly, and I know I'm not anywhere near a place to be doing such a thing, but I needed to get it off my chest. And if it's coming from a genuine spot in my heart, is it wrong to do? I hate that it was a text and not a phone call or in person, but that way she could open it when she has the time and didn't feel compelled to respond if she didn't want to. In the end, I feel like it did me some good and after going back and forth some (in which I had a lot more presented to me than I remembered or was ever aware of), I feel like there can be real healing there and that gives me hope. 

Aaaaanyway, I need to do these reviews! First up, I'll knock out Safety in Numbers, by Brittany Burgunder, again. It's a memoir of the author's personal struggle with an eating disorder that takes her from one extreme to another, being deathly underweight to morbidly obese, and further proving that weight and intake do not distinguish the severity of the disease. The majority of the book is written in the format of a personal journal that she kept during those years and later condensed to tell a story, with a few photos and further narration strewn throughout. And the quality of the book is just that: it really feels like reading someone's personal thoughts. It's scattered at times and very informal, but sometimes very profound in its simplicity. It's certainly no great American novel, but that's not the point. She bares all of her thoughts and insecurities, and in that it is so refreshing. There's nothing quite like reading something in which every word is so relatable. The best thing about it, however, was when she does begin to work on her recovery, she finally realizes that it's not a straight line and that setbacks do happen, but that's no reason to stop working as hard as possible. The initial downside is how triggering some of the very descriptive rituals and weights are, but it's a very easy read and I highly recommend it to anyone who feels confident enough to tackle such a story.

Immediately after, I picked up Carrie Fisher's Wishful Drinking. Now, I've been a huge fan of Carrie Fisher my entire life. I first saw Star Wars when I was about six. It and The Empire Strikes Back were recorded on VHS by my mother while she was at sea, and she purchased The Return of the Jedi, and I wore those tapes out. I was ten when The Phantom Menace came out, but that's a whole different story. So back to Carrie Fisher. I wanted to be Princess Leia. Well, really I wanted to be Han Solo but Leia was a close second and made more sense for me to say out loud because I'm a girl and growing up, people might have thought it was weird that I wanted to be the bad boy, but that's neither here nor there. Turns out, they're both the tough characters that I idolized, but in different ways. I followed Carrie Fisher on Twitter for years, and she never failed to make me laugh. I remember watching her on a roast on Comedy Central one time, and thinking, "This woman! Why can't more people be as amazing as her?"I was devastated to hear of her passing while I was in treatment. But about the book. I didn't realize that Wishful Drinking was a show prior to the novelization, but it certainly reads that way. It's definitely more like a long conversation than anything, a very quick and easy read, but funny as hell. Being what it is, I can't really rate it like I would a normal book, but I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Sunday and Monday I'd been hitting two meetings a night and getting a lot of fellowship in, and today I can finally go to the gym! I'm so excited waiting on my sponsee sister to come and pick me up. It's been far too long. I also really missed all of the ladies in my IOP, and they seemed happy to see me. I get to see some of them again at the meeting tonight, which is awesome. I desperately need to do my hair and fully intended on doing it after the meeting, but I just realized I don't have nearly enough lightener and no way of getting to the supply store, so I guess that'll be put off for another night. Oh well. Also, my plan of refraining from Instagram hasn't gone so well... At least I'm still not on Facebook. That's the real evil. Pictures are one thing, and as long as I'm not scrolling through scoping out who's liking what, I can just go about my business. But on a more serious note, I really need a better URL for this thing! I just can't decide. I've been toying with a few, but none really stick. I've had such lame blog names in the past and I want something good for once. At least it's not like I have a time limit. But back to planning out my first workout of the year. Hope I don't die!

Back Home!

I've decided to take a break from social media for a while, for my own sanity. I haven't deleted anything because I need Facebook active to log into Spotify, and I'm not on my computer much except to blog, so it's as simple as deleted apps for the time being. I don't know how long I'll go, but the people who truly want to get ahold of me know my number or hey, there's even here. I'm sure some will assume I'm ignoring them, but oh well. I just need to step away from the obsessive scrolling and borderline stalking that I tend to do with social media when I'm hurt. It doesn't do me any good.

So, the past few days! Dad and my youngest sister arrived, and we didn't get too much done. We drove to Lyman Orchard in the pursuit of stocking up on syrup, but it turns out they're closed during the winter (very much to my dismay!). We drove around some more while in Middlefield, and Mom mentioned Powder Ridge, so we wandered around there for a little while, asked about prices, and decided to return the next morning. We had dinner at the Athenian Diner, which is really quite good (I hadn't had spanakopita in a long time, so that made me happy -- lactose intolerance be damned!); drove to Essex to wander down the main streets, see out the historic homes, and check out the Griswold Inn and obnoxiously wandered around while people were having dinner; and then drove by the steam train and riverboat, but by then it had been dark for so long that I couldn't even see my beloved locomotive (I hadn't been since I was a kid!), and the entire place was already closed. Dad insisted on stopping by Cabela's because there aren't any here in Memphis and he's obsessed (plus they were bought out by Bass Pro and my little sister works for them, so she gets discounts).

Friday morning we got a late start, but we went back to Powder Ridge Ski Resort to try out snowboarding for the first time! Now, I figured it would be pretty simple, considering that I skateboard (on occasion), but I had not considered the fact that the board is super slick, my feet are both strapped in, and snow is even slicker. Needless to say, I fell a lot even on the bunny slope. But me being me -- that is to say, stubborn as hell -- I grew tired of the baby hill quickly and wanted to go on the mountain. Granted, it was the beginner's slope, but still, it's the side of a mountain. And I greatly underestimated the speed wobble; I couldn't imagine my lack of balance had I not already known how to correct myself. My poor sister was not so fortunate and was still dumb enough to follow me once before going back with the kids taking lessons. Hah!

I felt like I was about to land on the moon in those boots!

I only pretend I know what the hell I'm doing.

When I say I fell, I mean I fell a lot. I'm bruised all over, and thank god for that helmet, because I smacked my head a couple of times on the last trip down. I hurt to move the next morning, but I had a blast! I'd love to do it again, especially now that I have a better appreciation for the whole thing. My dad kept making jokes that he wished he had gone out with us to show us "how it's done" (he said this as he nearly pulled his back walking back to the car, by the way), because clearly he's the master of all board sports since he surfed while stationed in San Diego. Okay.

We went back to the apartment to change out of our soaking wet clothes (we clearly had not anticipated snow sports and were not properly dressed), and then tried Lamothe's Sugar House in Burlington, because damn it, I wanted my maple sugar candy! It had been years since I'd had any, and I wasn't going home without trying again. We'd never been there before, but Mom's cousins suggested it, and it's significantly smaller than Lyman, but the cutest little shop. We ended up getting the biggest package of candy (made in house), a box of maple cream cookies (a more commercial brand, but again I hadn't had them in years and they're not sold at home), and a huge gallon jug of amber syrup. My entire family are snobs when it comes to syrup; none of us will eat that fake, corn syrup garbage sold at stores or used in most restaurants. We're those people who carry our own with us if we're going out for breakfast. Mom's family used to own property in Vermont until quite recently, when there was death in the family and then the land was sold, and though it's the best, we also get it from local Connecticut suppliers. Dad's family also used to send us some from Wisconsin and Canada, which I'm sure was great from him, but it's not New England maple syrup. Wow, I'm so pretentious haha. I am a foodie, after all. Years of love/hate relationships with food has made me picky and stickler for the real shit, and experiencing flavor as much as possible. Plus, just fuck corn syrup entirely! Who really likes that garbage?

We ran back by the funeral home to pick up Grandpa's ashes, drove around some more with him in the car, and then had dinner at a cousin's house. That was a meal! We had the most amazing peach salsa (the perfect balance of sweet and spicy) and tortilla chips, and for dinner they'd prepared vegetables, mashed potatoes, cinnamon apple sauce, and giant ribs (they were so sweet about me being vegetarian and went out of their way to find me some white bean chili burgers, and they were really good! I'm a fan of black bean, but I'll have to find these myself). They also grow blueberries and freeze them, but when they lost power earlier this winter, they made most of them into pies so they wouldn't go to waste, and they served us one of the blueberry pies and some maple walnut ice cream and good lord was I so uncomfortably full that my head was screaming at me to act out, but it was just so delicious and I hadn't really eaten all day, so I let it just rest.

Saturday morning we got up early and packed everything we could literally fit into the van, and more going to Goodwill in the Explorer, then went to get lunch at Friendly's before heading out around 1:30pm Eastern time. Riding with Dad means driving straight through, and he does all of the driving, so eventually I'd done as much reading as I could handle without getting motion sick, no one was responding to my texts anymore, and my phone kept dying from playing too much music, so I fell asleep and woke up around 6am Central time in Nashville. The majority of the ride was rainy, and all of Pennsylvania and the Virginias were thick fog and nearly impossible to see ahead of us, so pretty early on we had to stop to replace the wipers and clean the windows. I worry about leaving Mom up there alone, because even with me there she didn't have a whole lot of motivation to do much: family or myself had to remind her to eat, and she wasn't sleeping well. I know the full weight of everything hasn't quite hit her, and she keeps wanting to call her father to ask him questions, and then remembers that she can't do that anymore. It just goes to show that no matter how old you are, you'll still always want and need your parents. She's lived away from family since long before I was born, but she talks to them regularly. I'm just really dreading when it comes time for me to seriously consider going through this with her and Dad. It terrifies me.

I had planned on doing more thorough reviews of the two books I completed while away, but I may save that for tomorrow. Since we got home yesterday morning, we all napped for a couple more hours, my cat came and curled up in bed with me for a few more, and then I rearranged all of my color, tools, and products to make them all more accessible in my closet for when I do hair at home or need to pack things to go to clients. It's so much more efficient. I just need to box up all of the books I had to move to make room! I have a huge container of books still in the garage from moving. I may have a problem. I may have to resign to using my Kindle solely from now on simply because I'll need a full personal library to ever be able to unpack, and that's after downsizing! I love books so much. Anyway, I cleaned and organized quite a bit, but didn't get to the bathroom yet (which is next on my list after posting this and calling Mom), went with a friend to a meeting, caught up with a lot of people I hadn't seen in months (seeing my best friend's former sponsor brought up a lot, and it was his home group, so it wasn't the easiest thing to get through, but so refreshing to talk about it to people who know us both), went to a second meeting down the street with a different friend, and then went out to Perkins for more fellowship. It was 2am before I got dropped off! I hadn't stayed out that late in a long time and my contacts felt like they were fused to my eyes after sleeping in them on the car ride. I don't think I fell asleep until close to 4 this morning, tossed and turned the whole time, and was wide awake by 6. That's what I get for drinking coffee before a 10pm meeting, but oh well. I slept more than usual by napping yesterday, and I feel pretty good this morning. I thoroughly enjoyed all of the intimate conversations I had last night, talked to my sponsor first thing before getting out of bed, and did more than my usual meditation this morning so I'm feeling really good. One of the things my mom got me for Christmas is this journal that says "I'm Kind of Awesome" in bold, capital letters across the front, and the idea is that you write why your'e awesome everyday! It's so goofy, but it reminds me of the daily affirmations I had to do in treatment, and when I'm feeling good, I feel better about myself, which makes everything I do feel so great. I'm also super nervous about court today at noon, so I figured reminding myself of why I'm doing all of this was a good idea. Sometimes it's hard. It's been hard the past few weeks -- the past year, really. It's been an emotional roller coaster. I've been the happiest I've ever been and also the lowest in the past twelve months. But really, thank god for it all, because I'm where I am today and that's a miracle. 

A More Somber Update

"He has already anticipated my every want and need." 

RIP Grandpa Larry
08/20/1935 - 01/13/2017

My mother and I drove thousands of miles from Memphis to Middletown, CT last Thursday after she'd been getting news that her father went to the hospital with pneumonia. It's not uncommon considering his age, but he quickly declined within a week and we later learned that he hadn't been leaving bed much prior. He didn't talk about his health and was notorious for brushing things off as if everything is fine, a trait I seem to share. We made it in around 5-5:30 Eastern time, and he was not the man we knew. He was riddled with cancer, had cirrhosis, and was breathing laboriously through fluids, and finally passed about an hour later after getting to talk to Mom. I hadn't seen him since he came down to visit around Christmas of 2013, and the last time I was here was for his seventy-fifth birthday in 2011. Life tends to just get in the way once you reach a certain age, and it wasn't for lack of wanting to visit, but between my adult responsibilities that I began taking on too soon as a teenager and my addiction and the resulting consequences, leaving town was difficult. It's easier to drive fifteen hours or hop on a direct flight to visit Grandma in Florida than two days of driving or longer, more expensive flights to New England. Regardless, I have a lot of guilt around the situation, even though we hadn't had the opportunity to get as close as I would have liked. This side of my family is super close, and a part of me was always so envious of that. 

The biggest thing for me, however, was the opportunity to be here for my mother. (If I were still using, I couldn't have left -- I'd either still be high, dead, or still in treatment. Likewise, if I hadn't relapsed and was still clean, I'd have a job and school in the way of my leaving. I have to remember everything happens for a reason, just like it's supposed to, to put me right where I need to be.) Mom moved away from her entire family at eighteen after enlisting in the Navy, marrying, and moving to Tennessee, and has always carried guilt around that, especially once we were born and so far from everyone. Her brother moved to Memphis for a new start in 2002 and now has a family of his own, but he was able to make the drive right behind us. He didn't make it in time, but Mom called him and put it on speaker phone so he could say goodbye. It was one of the most heartbreaking things I've ever witnessed, to see someone pass right before my eyes, and to watch a woman as strong as my mother hurt like that. We were lucky to have cousins in the room with us who had been sitting with him, and he was so loved that friends and family never left his side the entire week. As much as we regret not having gotten here sooner, part of me is relieved that we weren't just in and out of the hospital and that he didn't suffer long. 

Mom and I went back to his apartment to stay and that first night was especially rough. We've been busying ourselves since then cleaning everything out, taking what we want or can give to other family members, and donating what we can of what's left. Grandpa had lived in this same apartment for over forty years, so there's a lot to go through! He's also where my Mom inherited her tendency to hoard everything, so we've had to clean out every possible nook and cranny and it's gotten to be overwhelming at times. My uncle and his wife brought their baby who hadn't gotten to meet Grandpa yet, but she's such a happy little thing and has served as quite the distraction when things have gotten tough. Saturday evening my cousins had everyone get together where there was so much food, and the house could hardly contain everyone. Kiana is the youngest, but there were two other small children I hadn't met before and CJ, who was much smaller the last time I was here. We talked and laughed and caught up, looked through lots of old photos (photography and family history is huge with this side of my family, which I appreciate; I don't know many other people these days who share my love of film and old cameras, either), and had a good time. Grandpa was always the life of the party, and what better way to remember him than by enjoying each other's company and telling his lame jokes? My uncle's family left on Tuesday after going over arrangements at the funeral home. It was Grandpa's wish to be cremated, and Mom plans on spreading his ashes most likely in Vermont, which he loved. We've found all kinds of amazing things, like a machete and a "brain harvester" (Mom needs to get her hearing checked!), an Edison phonograph, and Mom's childhood skateboard. We've been lucky to have lots of help and have made a huge dent in clearing things out, but there's still a lot of work to do before the end of the month, and I have to go home this weekend.

There's a huge part of me that is craving attention right now and maybe that's a big reason for me putting so much of this out there. It's not something I'm proud of. I'd like to project this image of someone who is so magically recovered and cured, but that's not at all the case. If there's anything I've learned time and time again, is that life happens and there's no perfect way to handle things. People come to me for suggestions and advice all the time, and it's so easy for me to take on their problems and forget about my own, but that only hurts me in the end. I've been putting off really talking about what's been bothering me the most because I keep feeling like if I ignore it, it's not really happening. I really need to take a social media break, because I can't stand being reminded of everything I'm losing and missing out on. I miss my best friend. I can't even properly be there for my Mom emotionally because I'm so preoccupied with my own shit and trying to numb the pain as best I can without acting out. I'd actually considered self-harm again the other day, talked about it to a friend, and a few hours later came across a package full of fresh straight razors. I'd be lying if I said I immediately threw them out; it took a few hours after hiding them in my bag, but I finally did. How is cutting myself over someone going to hurt them? They'll never know, and I'm left with the guilt and shame of acting on old behaviors. That's one more step backward and I haven't cut in nearly four months. Do I want to use over him? Yes, and no. Yes, so that I don't feel and because a part of me will always crave the drugs, but mostly no because I've seen too much death and destruction this month alone, and because of how my last relapse went. I nearly killed him trying to kill myself, and for that I will have to work long and hard on forgiving myself. I don't want to be that person anymore. I'm finally getting to a point where I'm mostly comfortable in my own skin again, I feel like though there isn't much going on for me externally, I do have value, and what good am I to him or anyone else if I'm high or dead? I've spent my entire life hating myself and thinking I had this great capacity for love, but how could I love anyone when I was so busy trying to destroy myself? I loved as hard as I could, and I still do. I miss people tremendously, whether they realize it or not. Years after going through painful situations I still lose sleep agonizing over the memories we had. That will keep me from making new, better memories, and I need to learn to not get so hung up on the past, which is a symptom of my depression. I'm learning to turn everything over every morning, every noon, every night, every day... trusting the process, and realizing that if it's not meant to be, there's nothing I can do to change it. True, unconditional love is about being able to set someone free anyway, right? As long as the ones I love are happy with or without me, that's all that matters. I'll never stop loving as hard as I do, but I don't have to be so sick and codependent about it. The only person I'll ever have forever is me, and I have to keep working on that relationship, because really, it could be something so beautiful.

Today's Twenty-Four Hours a Day

We're waiting now on Dad and my youngest sister to get here. A few hours ago they were near Scranton, PA, so it shouldn't be too much longer. We'd been getting help from cousins with the cleaning, lifting, and transporting, but everyone is busy today so we're kind of taking it easy. It's much prettier outside than the past few days, but still very cold. I don't mind the cold as long as it's not too windy or wet or the roads aren't awful, and luckily we haven't encountered any horrible weather since being here. It snowed some Saturday night, but once the sun came up Sunday morning, it was gone quickly. It's very different here than at home. I hate when it snows at home, because it's just a slushy, muddy mess and freezes over and no one knows how to handle it. Here, it takes some act of god to close down anything because they're so prepared and accustomed to it. Basically, I have no idea what we're doing today. I'm sure we'll go to eat once they get here, and I really want to go to at least one more meeting in town before I leave. Last night we went to Mom's friend's house, a woman she's known since high school, and that was fun and a nice escape from everything, but really I'm just ready to go home and be with my animals and my support system. I miss my meetings and even my IOP group! That's crazy to admit. I'm doing the best I can though, and that's all that matters.

My New Mission Statement

New year, new goals! Express gratitude wherever possible!

Don't worry, I'm still a nerd :)

Well aren't I just the queen of making blogs and neglecting them? Anyway, I've honestly reconsidered this thing for a while. I still enjoy sharing photos and recipes and reviews and all of that fun stuff, but I don't do them often and it makes me feel like anything I'd blog about is irrelevant if that's the main focus. For one, I'm not good at maintaining the appearance of having anything together for prolonged periods of time when the reality is quite the opposite. Two, I've gone through a lot and it means so much to me to be able to help prevent others from making the same mistakes that I've made. I've gone through periods of public oversharing and brutal honesty, but mostly I'm isolated and secretive; I'm a recovering addict -- it's what I do. I still love doing hair and am still planning on finishing school, but my life has been put on pause for a little while. As of today, I'm broke, unemployed, still living at my mother's, once again find myself without a vehicle, fresh out of treatment and doing regular outpatient groups, attending twelve-step meetings, and desperately clinging to whatever hope I can find. (I'm also currently in New England taking care of some personal things, but that's for later)

Hope -- that's something I'm not lacking. My current situation really sucks, but I've overcome a lot in the past few months and have finally realized the importance of the saying, "No message without the mess!" I've had to go through hell and back to make any kind of impact on the people out in the world that I need to help. I've been doing a lot of reading in my downtime as well, and currently it's been Safety in Numbers: From 56 to 221 Pounds, My Battle with Eating Disorders, by Brittany Burgunder, someone I stumbled across on Instagram one day. I downloaded the Kindle version of her book months ago, but a lot of the beginning was just trigger-material and I would read it when I wanted to make myself sicker. I know that's not at all the intention, just as when I finally get to writing my own story it may or may not sit well with others, but once I really sat down and started going through it (and remembered that Kindle has a "highlighter" option for me to abuse), I realized how much I could really, honestly relate to everything she said and did. I've never been less than 100 pounds, but nor have I ever been over 200. I have, however, struggled with body image and weight since I was a child, and my addiction first manifested itself through food long before I picked up any illicit substance. Halfway through my reading the other night, I was overcome with this need to speak my peace publicly, and though I'm still ridden with anxiety over the idea of anyone seeing or knowing about this, it was well-received and the people who know me best and whose opinions I actually care about already know all of the gritty shit. Who else is there to impress? Strangers? That's what I'm here for! Not to impress anyone, but to maybe reach someone in need through my own insane testimonies.

I went through treatment at Serenity Recovery Center in Memphis over the holidays, and one of the biggest issues I had to face while there was not my addiction, but myself. My addiction and every symptom of it are results of the way that I feel about myself, and my self-loathing most commonly manifests in extremely destructive behaviors. What you may or may not know about me is I suffer from major depression and panic disorders, I've attempted suicide multiple times, I have an eating disorder, I self-harm, and I'm a drug addict. I've been working on all of these issues on and off for years, but while at Serenity I was stabilized on my medication (today I'm on 60mg of Prozac), and my counselor did a personalized treatment plan specifically targeting my self-esteem. I was made to journal every day for at least ten minutes (which I try to do nightly anyway), make gratitude lists, write down ten positive affirmations about myself, do "mood trackers" (where you write down a negative thought, the underlying feeling, and then a way to positively change that thought), and keep a "spiritual journal" (often times I'd copy the Daily Reflections, rewrite the Serenity Prayer a million times, or just beg my Higher Power to give me patience, understanding, etc.) daily. I've tried to keep up with all of these things in my recent journaling, and so far so good -- but then it has only been a few weeks!

One of my last assignments was to write a love letter to myself. If you know me at all, I'm sure you can imagine my reaction. I got frustrated. I was angry, anxious, thought it was the dumbest assignment ever, and could only think of all the things I hated about myself. I sat down quite a few times trying to figure out where to even begin when my counselor finally handed me a sheet of paper with an example on it. It was the goofiest sounding thing I'd ever read in my life and I wish I had it with me to share, but regardless it got the ball rolling. I ended up really surprising myself and, handwritten, took up four whole pages:

Dear Sarah, 

This is a very uncomfortable and uncertain time for you, so it's important that you learn to be kind to yourself. Sometimes it helps to step outside of yourself to see what everyone else does. We've been together for twenty-seven years now, and so many things have changed, from your interests to your thinking, and obviously your body. I love how much more accepting and open-minded you've become over the past few years, because though intellect has always been present, you needed something else to teach you to share wisdom rather than hoard it. You're a great listener and there are so many reasons why people can barely know you but already feel so comfortable confiding in you; people automatically look to you for direction and leadership even when you're in the same positions they're in; and you are extremely observant, yet unbiased. That takes a lot of practice, because getting emotionally involved can be the easier route. You're so much more artistic and creative than you give yourself credit, and all it takes is getting back into the practice of drawing and painting again. You don't have to hide your portfolios away simply because you lacked confidence in it when you were a teenager. You have so much knowledge and experience to share that it really is such a shame that you subconsciously censor yourself all the time. Doesn't it feel amazing when someone thanks you for sharing? You could feel that all the time, but you have to get over those feelings of inadequacy. You have so much to offer to other women, and your past defines your present character, so don't let it drag you down. They are experiences and strengths, not mistakes and weakness. Every scar is a reminder of what you've endured and survived to tell the tale. You're not that awkward little girl anymore and there's no one left to impress. You're a grown woman and all of those years of trying to fit in to one style or another has left you with no choice but to create your own, and so many people compliment you on it! Wasn't that one of the first reasons Chad gave for wanting to photograph you, and didn't those shots get more attention than you knew how to handle? Even you couldn't deny how good some of them are, which brings us to the physical; it's easy to compliment your brain, because it's what you've relied on your entire life. Always making good grades with minimal effort, absorbing knowledge simply by being present. But you struggle with your body, and that hurts the people who love you. Your family and friends cringe when they see your scars, especially now that you've given up on hiding them. They're a part of you now and though they made fade with time, it's only skin. They tell stories more than the tattoos you spend hundreds of dollars and hours on, and you're not alone, so why be ashamed? How many grown women and men have come to you since you quit hiding to commend you and tell you of their own struggles? How many men and women have openly admitted to their own eating and body image issues because you trusted them to know of yours first? You have so much insight to give and can save a lot of people from going down the same roads, if only you speak up. You have beautiful eyes and do well to play them up but not mask them with cosmetics. You have your grandfather's nose and looked just like him as an infant, and it's a trait you share with your mother and sisters, and if they have such pretty faces, why can't you? You share your dad's crooked smile, but when it's genuine you wear it all over your face. Everyone compliments your hourglass shape but you feel the need to hide in the baggiest clothes, because wide hips are a sign of maturity, womanhood, and sexuality, and you're uncomfortable with all of those elements of yourself; you were not built like an adolescent boy, even as a child, so don't get caught up in the futility of trying to look like one. You work so hard to eat properly and stay active, but results don't appear overnight. Your body has endured a lot of abuse in the past but it's still functioning properly most of the time. It just needs to be given a chance to heal. You have run, walked, and swam so many miles, danced nights away, and put in blood, sweat, and tears for the things you truly want, and not everyone is physically able to do that. Your vision isn't so far gone that it's can't be corrected, you have excellent senses of hearing and smell, you are eloquent, and it's not a sin to occasionally indulge in delicious things -- that's why we can taste! You must learn to nurture your body and mind with food, not punish it. Everyone makes mistakes, and making one isn't a failure, but a learning opportunity. And your personality: how many times have you made yourself laugh but held it in? You're funny and others appreciate it when you don't hold it in. People appreciate how you are uniquely you and don't follow the crowd or change for other people. Your thoughts and opinions are your own, but you're not so set in your ways that you can't see someone else's views. You're empathetic and compassionate, and sometimes people will take advantage of that, but don't let it make you bitter. Your patience and tolerance are growing as you, too, learn to accept people for who and where they are. You're doing well at not taking things so personally or losing your temper any more. People see you as calm, cool, and collected, and very down-to-earth, and your quiet reservation for observation and not judgment. They look to you for advice. And you have so much love to give. When you love, you do so so deep down to your core that you can feel it in everything that you say and do, but beware to allow that love to blind you. Everyone is just as human and imperfect as you are. All you can do is be yourself and love them for who they are. But most importantly, you have to love yourself. Some people will until you learn to, but that only goes so far. If you don't learn to love yourself, you'll continue to push people away with your self-hate. It's okay to be proud of yourself -- total self-loathing is an ego problem, too, and the key is humility and moderation. You are not the scum of the earth, nor the cause of all the world's problems. You can only control you, no one else. You are not a number on a scale or clothing label; you are not your external appearances. All of these things change over time, and you will never be anyone but you -- that's what matters. 

I love you. 

Love, Sarah

I was actually supposed to process this letter in group, but with the holiday schedule and me leaving right after the New Year, there was no time. I did have another girl read it one day, and she nearly cried! We'd gotten so close in the two weeks we were there together and she knew how tough that was for me. I still feel really ridiculous, but amazingly it helped so much. Sometimes I still read it to myself when I'm having a really bad day. It's something I highly recommend trying. It can be short, long, silly, serious, whatever. You can write one and reread it over and over or write new ones anytime you need them. I'm so happy to have found some peace with myself after being forced to sit for forty-two days, or at least I have it today. 

I also take the concept of daily meditation very personally these days, as well, and first thing upon awakening, read the daily Just For Today and do the corresponding page in a copy of Hazelden's Twenty-Four Hours a Day that a past AA sponsor gave me in 2014. It helps to center me for the upcoming day. Talking to others in recovery helps tremendously as well, and I'm always amazed at who comes to me with their problems, whether they are looking for suggestions or just a listening ear. I am by no means equipped to give advice, but I can share my experiences and maybe that will prevent someone else from making the same mistakes I have.

I suppose that was the whole point of this awkward post, that I want to help people however I can but still work on what I need to do for myself. When I get home, I'm going to continue to do IOP until I'm discharged, attend meetings daily, stay connected, get back into the gym, ease back into work and school, and continue to focus on what I need to do for my own sanity. I would never break anyone's anonymity, but I'm willing to put out my own if it'll make any difference, because that's all that matters.

And now back sorting through dusty things for my next post! :)