2+2

Life has a really funny way of deciding when it's gonna call your bluff.  You can pretend to be someone you're not but, eventually facades crumble.  Recently i was prodded by a random person of no particular importance in my life and told, 'Wow, even you seem to be unable to avoid the inevitable 'freshman 15' i don't think i've EVER seen you eat french fries with cheese on them.'  My jaw dropped along with my cheese covered french fry and my use of ephedra products and that magic pick me up necessary to make things happen has once again been fueled.
Today i watched my mother groan as she noticed the bottles had once again reappeared next to my food scale and truvia (i've somehow overtaken a corner of countertop space with my excessive and frequent use of items my family finds strange). She was clearly upset that all her effort had washed away that quickly by a comment an ignorant accomplice made.
However, the accomplice was right.  I had been feeling softer, my bones feeling as if they were diminishing.  I had even gained 2 pounds the past few weeks bringing my massive weight up to 108 pounds.  For the rationally minded and those who calculate bmi's i'm 5'7 and it's 16.9, my bmi.

2nd day of college

Looking around i pause to wonder, what am i doing here?  I don't belong, i'm the freak within the sea of expectant faces, all looking for an explanation.  A reason as to why i don't fit the pristine mold set forth by those who came before me.  The thinner i get, the more ravaged my perfectly disheveled look becomes.  The smaller i become, the more i resemble my drug fueled self.
Outsiders scan me, i don't appear to make sense.  I should either be dead or on a corner somewhere, i am not collegiate material it seems.  Then it happens, they find what appears to be the answer! My scared and battered arms tell a tale that is no longer true.   Injection points map out a story of another life, of another girl caught between life and her mind.  They are just that though, scars and a terrible tale but, with all the stumbling and bruises my fragile state impairs on me, it all looks the same to an outsider.  I'm just another lost junkie wasting her time and someones money.
She straightens her blazer and decides to take charge of what she feels is a vital opportunity to prove her worth to the institute,  she storms up to me and asks for my visitors pass, 'We can't just have random people wandering the campus miss.' I smirk back watching as her confidence slightly wavers.
' I'm glad we have people like you keeping us safe then, perhaps you misspoke and intended on seeing my student id?' This i speak with as much venom and energy that black coffee can provide to a full time student and someone who manages a full time job whom hasn't eatten in nearly 4 days.  She checks my id and clomps away while i continue to smirk and stand my ground.  My vanity and ego is an act only performed for self preservation, to protect my withering veins from hurtful words and poisons that allow me to reside in my mind, away from the every day traumas.  Gosh i miss it.

You don't understand

It's very strange to have my disorders encouraged.  It's even stranger to openly contemplate the pros and cons of purging with my boyfriend even though we both know it's been two days since i've eaten.  He doesn't understand eating disorders, he barely comprehends my abhoration of my body.  He takes me to the gym, questions my food choices, and encourages my disordered thoughts.  I love it.  I love the complete freedom i have to live as i please.  If i decide to eat, it's my choice.  If I don't, the few murmurs of protest so commonly echoing in my home are gone.  My family has accepted in the sickest and most twisted way i'm dying.  My boyfriend is either stupid or just trying to appease the control freak in me by allowing me to completely run my life and choices.

I refuse to see doctors, even as i grow dangerously skeletal. I no longer go to NA and pray to god i never run into an aquaintance who can supply me.  I hide in my house, only escaping to shop or work.  I fear friends and hanging out where as i once beemed at the thought of envious stares.

Once upon a time i thought of this as a game.  So many people will roll their eyes with disgust.  A game they'll say?  You thought of an eating disorder as a game?  The answer is yes.  Each pound gained is a point for the opponent, the inner demon forever taunting me.  Each loss yet another feat.  The prize was always clear.  I'd finally be free.  Every restraint controlling me or telling me who i am would be shattered or starved into myth.  The exercise always some mindlessly stupid excuse to witness my skin wiggle on my bones.  The doctors, parents, friends, teachers all another opponent whom to confuse, control through my rebellion.  Now i sit here, debating whether to purge stomach bile and think, 'was it ever really a game?'  I think about the texts i'm recieving suggesting i purge water if i must and wonder, who is it really that doesn't understand?

“I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I'm not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.”

Robert McCloskey

MIA

No, not bulimia.  Missing in Action.

I've taken a few steps back laely, completely ignoring my blog and not really posting on PT.  I hit a very rough pach in my social life where i wanted nothing to do with the part of me that was killing myself.  Everyday i woke up and realized that someone embedded in my heart no longer could.  This brave soul fought so hard to live while I continue to let myself waste away.

It's tough to think about.  Here i sit, refusing to eat while someone tonight will pray for some scraps;  I pretty much am looking death in the face and flicking him off.  Yet, that beloved person no longer with me had to go? 

Well, this is kind of a post to say i'm not dead, i'm just really pissed off at myself.
I hope people continue to view my blog as a source of wisdom or help and i love seeing comments so post them ladies and gents!

Constant Questioning

I struggle alot with 'why?'  Why don't I try?  Why am I unhappy?  Why can't I love my body?  Why can't i just live my life as fucked up and deadly as i'd like regardless of the emotional impact it'd have on others?  Why do I care?

Everyday when I wake up and look in the mirror, for a moment, just the faintest moment I get lost.  I look at my protruding bones, my sallow skin, my empty, tired eyes.  In that moment, i don't see skinny.  I don't see fat.  I see a tortured child struggling to survive.  The next instant, it's gone, I am again big.  I am again dealing with a lifetime of bad hair days, skin that seems to not have settled right on my face as i slept, aand a fear that today will be the day my peers finally tell me that i am going to be cast out and rejected, that i am not good enough.

I once read a mental health journal on trauma and abuse that said victims of severe trauma stop mentally developing at whatever age the trauma occured.  Despite a gain in intelligence, social skill, or whatever, in the eyes of the victim, they forever remain developmentally that age.  At first, i was intrigued.  Then i decided i didn't believe it.  However, after being upset i tried to conciously witness how i subconciously reacted to negative events in my life.  It was astonishing to me because despite my intelligence, despite my manners and ability to articulate myself, when i feel threatened or experience something negative, i tend to revert right back to the age i was when i experienced the trauma i can't seem to heal from. 

Maybe, just maybe that's why in that brief moment in the mirror, early in the morning i see a child.  I am staring down the very core of my psyche and it's scary.  I'm witnessing that no longer is it the abuser who is continuing to inflict that trauma on me-- it's now me.

The whole secret of existence is to have no fear. Never fear what will become of you, depend on no one. Only the moment you reject all help are you freed.

Buddha

Just Dance

I must confess, i can't dance at all.  I lie to myself and blame my ethnicity (although i am often told i must be mixed because my features aren't entirely white) and my body type, i think i don't have enough meat on my bones which is why i can't shake my body all amazing like.  Anyways, this all leads up to me saying i tried zumba today.

The people i went with could see my horror and how uncomfortable i was.  Curves were everywhere in tight spandex, shaking up a storm.  I was jealous and overly self concious..  My gym clothes are baggy and don't cling.  My body doesn't shake or gyrate easily.  These women looked so happy, so care free.  I was repaetedly told i was too stiff.  I have no clue what so ever how to loosen up.  I wish i could dance.  I wish i had rythm and for once could dance and not feel like a child. or inferior.

Nobody cares if you can't dance well.  Just get up and dance.  ~Dave Barry

Why?

For some reason, despite my views towards myself, i am very vocal on the fact that the entire world doesn't find skinny beautiful and that curvy is becoming the widely thought of body type when considering sexy.  The community amongst my school is very tight knit, we hear, feel, and experience so much together and, for the majority, my classmates know of my struggles with my body. 

The other day while sitting at a table during lunch, i hear the same girls i've spent all of highschool with complaining about their weights again, one in particualar who i've known for 7 years and is practically family.  They chatted about how they would need to skip dinner or workout to make up for a perfectly healthy lunch.  In a non-cynical way i said they didn't need to focus on weight so strongly and that i bet there was a life beyond that, that skinny didn't equal sexy and beautiful, that curvy is what is now seen as beautiful in the media.  Thinking she was clever, a girl i'm not particualarly fond of flat out asked me, 'Then why are you trying to lose weight?' 

I was taken aback by her boldness.  People can be cruel about my conditions but, it's usually done with 'cloak and dagger'.  I looked at her for a minute and heard the people next to us go quiet waiting for my response.  Finally, i said 'I make no concious effort to lose weight.  Seeing the weightloss in and of itself is probably the only positive about what i go through.  We're not close so you may not know this but i'm actually trying to gain weight and have even managed to put on 8 pounds in 3 months in an effort to avoid my father gaining court appointed custody over me since i am considered a danger to myself and potentially others.  My extended family is ashamed of me, i don't get invited to baby showers, weddings, parties at public areas where their friends may question about me and it's questionable what kind of state i'll be in.  As soon as i find out my fate i'll probably be right back where i was, working way too hard at my job, school, family, and social life to make up for the fucked up person i am, and in that labor i will pray to find happiness or to die in my sleep.  I am an eighteen year old child with intelligence and manners far beyond yours because i have the courtesy and intelligence not to ask people questions that will make me look like the ass.  The worst part of that is that i'll probably die before our 10 year highschool reunion and despite these false attempts at being witty or slender you'll more than likely have 4 kids, weigh 250 pounds, and live on welfare.'  The table next to me exploded in laughter proclaiming 'roasted'.  She just walked away.

This got me thinking though.  How many people are just trying to be skinny to fit a preconcieved notion of beautiful set forth by the media?  How many are using that as an excuse to hide a deeper reason?

"I learned to love myself, because I sleep with myself every night and I wake up with myself every morning, and if I don’t like myself, there’s no reason to even live the life. I love the way I look. I’m fine with it. And if my body changes, I’ll be fine with that." – Gabourey Sidibe