Self Harm

On my previous blog, I had mentioned I was a reformed cutter, and had been just about 8 years without really hurting myself. (I don’t count the pinching or nail digging, I was taught they are acceptable replacements). I could sit here and post about all the reasons I caved after so many years. What I did, said, what someone else did, said, the weather, finances…but does any of that matter? All our problems are relative to only our own lives, so me sitting here and listing all the reasons I decided to pull out the old razor are useless.

 

What I’d like to share instead, is why I SHOULDN’T have done it.

I first cut at the age 11. I didn’t really know what I was doing. I had never heard of self harm before. I knew people tried to kill themselves by cutting their wrists, and I wanted to die, so I did it. But I was 11, so the “attempt” more or less just left me with a new coping mechanism: bleeding. Burning, punching, bruising, that never did it for me. From the first moment I saw blood, I developed an unquenchable thirst. It no longer mattered if I bled to death or not, I just wanted to make myself bleed. My wounds were light and superficial. I thought I could tell a friend about what I was doing. She told her school she was worried about me, now age 13, so her school called mine. This was the first time I was ever called into the guidance room for cutting. But certainly not the last. I was forced to show my wrists and asked to leave school until a psychiatric institution gave me “clearance” (in retrospect, what a crock of shit) so off I went. Fortunately, my first time to the psych ward did not end up in hospitalization. Got my clearance after 8 of the worst hours of my life, in a psych ward all alone. I’ll never forget that day…albeit 14 years ago. Got some therapists, some medication, a year or two of things going “smoothly”…by the time I hit High School, the cuts were too bad to hide anymore. And I didn’t even try to hide them at that point. I was miserable and didn’t care if the whole world knew. I overdosed on 50+ extra strength Tylenol and told no one. I just started puking uncontrollably for days, unable to eat. I was brought to doctors, tests were done and the only thing that showed were sky rocket liver enzymes. But nothing else. Eventually, my body healed, but there’s another few days I’ll never forget. I should’ve died, and I didn’t. I just got sick and made everyone around me upset and worried. By the time all that blew over, school asked me to leave again because of the cutting. I fessed to my therapist about the Tylenol, and off to the hospital it was. This time, inpatient. And it was only upon admission that I realized how bad my cutting had gotten.

I saw the nurses first, and when they were done with me they brought me to my room. I was bandaged from wrist to shoulder on both arms. My legs were covered in gauze. To this very day, I am still covered in scars, despite all the scar treatment and vitamin E I used (vit E works the best, the gel pills, just pop em open and rub them on the scar!). And I will never be able to make those scars disappear, they will live with me forever. People will ask about them FOREVER. I can never wear a short sleeve short to work again, for the rest of my life. There was only one girl I met who was cutting worse. It was a shame, she was one of the sweetest girls I had ever met. She was beautiful, thin, talented, she acted and sang. She always seemed happy and made everyone around her happy. And she was in danger of having her arm amputated because of infection.

I have moments where I want to die. But I do not want to lose a limb (even if it’ll bring me to my UGW heh). I do not want to make everyone around me concerned and worried again.

But the scariest part is, after I cut myself last week, I needed to do it again. I had an extraordinarily rough night mentally…and cutting seemed like the only option. So that’s what I did.

Now here I am, 27 years old..and I realize I am still struggling with my eating disorder, addiction…and now I am going to add cutting back into the mix? I might as well be 16 years old again. Have I not grown up at all?

I am embarrassed. I am disappointed in myself. I have no self control.

I am living here in America in a wonderful apartment, with a wonderful boyfriend, and two amazing kitties…I have a great job, I love my family, I am in decent health and have a decently running car (okay decently might be a stretch but it still gets from A to B so far!). I am not horribly disfigured nor disabled in anyway.

I HAVE EVERY AND ANY OPPORTUNITY IN THE WORLD TO FULFILL ALL MY DREAMS.

And yet I sit here, unable to sleep because I’m so hungry because I’m starving myself..I smoke cigarettes and drink caffeine and don’t work out.

All we have to do is survive and I’m doing everything I can to lower my chances.

Okay lemme stop the pity-train before it takes off full speed.

I wonder, friends…Where does the impulse for self destructive behavior come from? I mean, we are biologically programmed to do everything in our power to preserve one’s self. So why would an impulse for self destruction exist? Where does it come from? Does it mean we have inefficiently evolved? Or perhaps, OVERevolved to a level of thinking so high we create new problems and new solutions, including self harm? What do you think?

Oh my goodness, dear Kava tea, please fill my belly and let me sleep.

Goodnight & Sweet Dreams,

Anna

A Day in the Life, and I’ve Had it Up to Here

Recovery Anna and ED Anna are currently at odds in my head, hardcore.

I spend 9 1/2 hours at work a day. I wake up at 6:30am, and leave for work at 7am. I get there by 7:30, punch in, and work work work, and I leave to return home at 5pm, getting me home at around 5:30.

I am allowed to snack at my desk, and I usually have a protein bar and a miscellaneous fruit around. I get a lunch break of an hour, at noon, where I may eat a meal.

Throughout the morning, I make several glances at my snacks. Or if I have none, by 10 I usually grab some crackers out of the vending machine. And then place them  to the side of my desk, where my protein bar would usually be. If I eat my snacks before lunch, everyone will see me eating. Can I handle that today? Most days no. Every so often (usually around my period) I can do it, but for the most part, no. I don’t want anyone to see me fucking eat. So despite my hunger, I convince myself that I should not consume anything until lunch break. I spend the next two hours thinking about if I want to buy lunch (there’s a thousand options by my office) or if I will eat my protein bar/crackers/fruit for lunch instead. I calculate calories while I calculate fee schedules and accounts receivable at work. The fruit (usually an apple or banana) is 75. The crackers are 220 with 4 grams of protein. The protein bar is 180 with 10 grams of protein (or 110 with 11 grams of protein if I eat half a large one).  Then it’s noon. I realize I haven’t drank enough water for the day, so that hunger is most likely actually thirst, right? I’ll visit with mom during lunch break, and eat when I get back after some water. Mother offers lunch but I tell her I eat all day at my desk. She knows I’m lying but as long as I don’t get too “anorexic” looking (my father uses that phrase and I hate it…it’s more or less saying you’re too thin but you’re not anorexic so knock it off), it’s fine. I get back to the office and take my snacks out, placed on the left side of my desk like they belong. I drink 18 oz of water. Then 36, then 54, then 72 oz. I will continue to glance back and forth at these snacks, but I realize, it’s getting closer and closer to 5. I don’t want to get any food in all that nice clean water I drank. And plus, it’s good to be hungry when I get home so I can cook dinner. And I know I’ll feel better about eating dinner if I haven’t eaten anything yet for the day.

Even though I don’t consume any food while I’m at work, I am thinking about food all day. What can I eat, when can I eat, why can’t I eat.

I get home by 5:30, and usually from there I eat nothing, or everything. I have a very hard time finding the in between. I can’t eat anything until I smoke the herb. And once I do that, the voices of ana have usually softened, and while I do keep calorie intake in mind, I can eat more freely and less guiltily. Until the next morning that is.

Every morning I wake up, and before I even open my eyes, I try to remember what I ate the day before. I need to know if I should be hungry before I know if I am. If that makes any sense. I look at my fingers to see if they’re swollen or bony looking. That will give me a heads up for my soon-to-come rendez-vous with the scale. My heart races, I jump out of bed (making sure not to injure any kitties on my way) and run to the bathroom. Did I wake up extra sweaty? If I did, factor that into my weight (even though I don’t know if that makes a difference, if I’m sweaty, it’s like being wet, and you weigh more when you’re wet right??). I pee first. Get naked. Look at my body in the mirror (unless the night before was a binge, then I make no eye contact with the mirror or the scale), how flat does my stomach look? Hip and rib bones still there? If I feel extra thin, I might check my spine as well. This gives me a little preparation for the scale. I estimate what I think I’ll weigh by considering what I weighed the past few days, and what I ate yesterday. I have to have a lowest and highest number in my head each time, that way I’m prepared for the worst. Recently, I’ve started brushing my teeth before the scale. This is a new habit. Somehow, my mind decided several months ago that plaque might weigh something, therefore I need to brush my mouth out BEFORE stepping on the scale. Fine, whatever you say crazy thoughts. Teeth brushed, naked, and heart racing, I step on, left food then right. I try not to hold my breath or take any deep breaths (because we all know how much AIR weighs lol but it just feels heavy) and I look down.

 

At that moment, the rest of my day is usually decided, moodwise. On the weekends, my live in boyfriend is very used to knowing what a “good weigh in” morning vs a “bad weigh in” morning look like. I keep the weights logged in my work planner, and write mean notes to myself about how disgusting I am. The words “fat fuck” appear in my calender more times than the word Monday, I’m sure.

 

None of this makes sense. None of this behaviors are productive, healthy, or even logical. I know this. I am human. I am capable of rational thought by species definition.

And yet here I am, living out this anything but rational life of the eating disordered and I have had it up to here.

And yet here I am, still feeling fat as fuck, and I’ve had it up to here.

Which part am I sicker of?!

 

Love & Light,

Anna

 

A New Blog, and Hopefully Soon a New Story

Friends! I hope you’ve found yourself reading here in good health and good spirits! I have missed blogging greatly and am glad to be re-established, unconnected to Google.

For newcomers, welcome. My name is Anna (see About the Fat Girl for more) and I have created this blog in hopes to find some space to air out what is going on in my head. I had decided over a year ago that it was time to recover from my eating disorder. I have unfortunately made little progress, and am in fact back in the throes of ana like a child nuzzling it’s teddy. My routine is restrict, binge, purge, and the amount and length of each varies (along with my weight).

I used to have a rigid exercise regimen, but as I lost weight, it got harder and harder to keep up. Two summers ago, at 106 lbs and doing hot yoga everyday, I ended up feeling quite ill and stopped working out. I’ve gone to the gym here and there, but for the most part have not worked out steady in over a year and a half. One of my goals in keeping this blog is to also keep up a work out regime starting this weekend the latest.

I am also looking to keep up a zero alcohol policy. I have been on and off with drinking, and I stopped completely back in July and only recently (since Christmas) had a few drunken nights. It has to stop completely, as alcohol really affects my moods and my weight. Plus, after not eating for so long, I’m usually wasted after only one beer, but always drink more, and end up puking and/or passing out. So, no booze. And I am trying to quit smoking cigarettes as well, though my disorder strongly wants me to keep a coffee/nicotine diet.

I have currently been on the restriction end of things, and although it took longer than I expected (probably because I’m not working out), I finally got to 112lbs. While it felt great knowing I was underweight again, but it wasn’t, and isn’t enough. I’ve been on a week semi-binge to get the boyfriend off my back a bit, also I had my period which fucks with my eating as well, so I am trying to avoid the scale the last few days, but I intend on being close to 112 when I get back on.

I am frustrated, as I know I shouldn’t lose much more than I have. My coworkers are commenting, my parents, and my boyfriend hates it. I know I don’t feel healthy, and I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired (oh yeah we got some cliches happening on this here blog) so I know I have to change something. But the second I eat a meal and feel that bulge in my stomach…uck. I can’t do it. Hence the merry-go-round I am in. Get better, no wait, get thin, no wait, eat, wait stop you’re fat! My voice, pleaing for recovery, is light and soft, always drowned out by her screaming at me, scolding me for being the disgusting pig that I am.

I look forwarding to being able to blog again, and I hope you enjoy reading. Please share your blogs as well. Stay strong and healthy <33

Love & Light,

Anna

A Conversation with my ED from Last Year

This was when I began recovery. I wish I could say I was right and she was wrong, but a year later I’m still following the voices in my head.

 

Dear Ana,

 

I am writing you to let you know that this, you and I, has to stop. I cannot go on with you by my side any longer. You have had control over me for more years than I ever wanted to admit. You have destroyed what could have been wonderful, amazing, unforgettable moments in my life. (dates, sleepovers with friends, holidays, family gatherings, my graduation, all of high school for that matter, all of college, shit I don’t even want to keep going..). You have torched relationships into dust, and have hurt almost anyone positive who’s been in my life. I am certain my lifespan has been shortened, probably dramatically, because of you.  And regardless of when I die, I am certain to endure physical consequences as I age because of what you have done to me. It is because of what you taught me, that I now need glasses and can’t see. That past thyroid issue? All you. My fucking teeth are see-through at the bottom. I will never sing the way I used to, and probably never talk the same either. My hair and nails. My complexion. The stretch marks. The permanent bruise on my hand. Do you see all the repercussions of your presence in my life??

 

You know you’re full of shit. You can’t live without me and you wouldn’t even want to if you could. I make you better. I make you loveable. And if you start listening again, I might even be able to make you beautiful one day.

 

I know. But I also know you’re wrong and you lie to me. And I think that even if I believe you…if I ignore you, I may find the clarity to see through your lies. I am sick of not feeling good. I am sick of having to make up excuses, or find ways to explain myself. I am sick of having to avoid situations that would otherwise be fun if it weren’t for you, or ruining situations that could’ve been fun for other people if it weren’t for you. Do you remember the first time a guy ever asked me out to dinner? You have to remember, you answered for me. Jesus. How fucking weird I must’ve seemed. No one wants to deal with someone like this, not my friends, my family, and certainly not the one I love. You can only make me loveable from a distance. I don’t want to shut everybody out again. I don’t want to be lonely again.

 

You’d rather be fat than lonely?

 

No. I don’t want to be either. And just because I’m giving you up, does not mean I am going to be fat.

 

Yes it does. You cannot do it without me. You are a pig, you are disgusting, and you cannot be anything else without me. Try giving me up, go ahead. I guarantee you’ll gain 10 lbs by your birthday. Ooooh you definitely need more fat birthday pictures in your collection..

 

Fuck you. There has to be a way I can do it without you. I won’t let myself get fat. I am going to a doctor for help. I have to now, because you took away my ability to understand hunger/fullness like a normal human being. I want to know what that’s like. I never have, not once, at least that I can ever remember.

 

Well you are not normal. You’re fat. So I’m here to help you so you don’t become even fatter. So that maybe one day you can be beautiful.

 

Hunger = elation, euphoria, SUCCESS. You’re doing something right if you’re hungry. You’re getting closer to your goal weight every time your stomach growls. You are working HARD and you should be proud of yourself every time this feeling comes over you. I’m proud of you. Nothing tastes as good as being thin feels, my dove, so keep at it.

 

Fullness = shame, disgust, guilt. You have FAILED. How hard is it to not eat? People are forced to do it all over the world. People choose to do this all over the world. But you can’t, pig? You know you gained weight, you know what the scale is going to say tomorrow. And now tonight and tomorrow you’re going to be miserable (as you should) all because you couldn’t show any goddamn restraint. There is one silver lining, but it comes at a cost…the price of being caught, and the price of a swollen face…and you’ll still be fat. You can’t undo what you did, you can’t take back a lack of willpower. But at least the scale might be kinder to you tomorrow…

 

No. It doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Just like you’ve brainwashed me into believing and following your rules, I can be trained on a new, healthier set of rules. I can be normal one day.

 

You know that healthy is just another word for fat? Every single time someone in your life said that you looked “healthy”, they were referring to your weight gain. So that’s what you want? Fine. Without me you’ll be plenty fucking “healthy”. All the way up to a size 9 healthy? Mmhmm doesn’t that sound sexy…fucking gross. You disgust me for thinking it could be any other way. If you were naturally thin, fine, maybe you wouldn’t need me. But you’re not and never will be. So to be thin, you have to follow my rules. And without me you’ll just be another fattie wallflower that no one gives a FUCK about.

 

I don’t care and I can’t listen to you this time. Too much is on the line. I gave up everything for a chance to rid my life of you. I can’t give up.

 

You can’t give ME up. And hey, why don’t you go read what ____ said again…I like her. She sounds stronger than you.

And anyway, I don’t know who you’re kidding. You and I both know you’ll be back. 🙂

 

Maybe. But I’ll do everything I fucking can to be healthy AND thin before I let that happen.