Out Of Order

Oh my gosh... How do I even describe what this is like? What all of this feels like? ... I had been standing in a blizzard with my arms out at my sides, trying to cover others and protect them from the continual downpour of snow. The temperature was freezing and I could see my breath. I was shivering and cold and tired and weak. But I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop being the shield they needed. My tears froze on my face, so I didn't cry anymore because of the irritation from the frozen water on my cheeks. The snow piled up on my arms and weighed them down. I needed a break. But I couldn't. They'd be exposed to the harshness and I must cover them. But no one was there to cover me. The precipitation landed on me as if I were part of the earth. And soon I grew numb to it. I'm used to being cold. Frozen. But it's killing me and I'm dying. Suddenly, I'm pulled out of the snow and am brought to a place of rescue . And now, I'm being thawed. And...

Why? There are lots of reasons for why one might intentionally harm themselves; to feel numb, to feel anything , out of guilt or sadness among other reasons. For me, it has always been anger based. Something unexpected and disappointing happens, I take it out on myself. I make a big mistake (or any, really) or mess something up and my skin becomes the sacrifice. Whenever something intense (and sometimes not that intense) happens, anger is my go to emotion and self harm is my release. It's the only way that feels, I guess, safe. Crying is unacceptable and too vulnerable. Weak. And being destructive is too scary; I become the anger. The heat and force from this emotion which was once resting in my gut soon envelops me. It takes over and bad things happen. So instead of retaliating against the person who hurt me, instead of throwing things around and making a mess of my tidy living space, I become the target. It's easier that way. Safer . ...

Treatment. Recovery. Patient. Those words make me cringe. But I am a patient who's in recovery and undergoing treatment. And I ask myself, why am I doing this? No one is making me do this, I choose it. I voluntarily, although reluctantly, choose to get treatment. Sometimes when someone is getting treatment for something, it involves medicine and there can be unpleasant side affects, to say the least. Due to the nature of my illness, my medicine is not what one would normally consider to be medicinal. I don't get hooked up to an IV when I take it nor do I receive it in pill form or injections. It does, however, give me distressing and sometimes painful affects: nausea, dizziness, headaches, stomach pain, fatigue and those are just some of them. My medicine is food. You may be thinking, "Seriously? That's it? " Now while it may not make my hair fall out or give me sores in or on my body, it does still affect me in ways th...

Right? As I was going on my way to treatment the other day for the first time, one of my favorite songs came on the radio: Exhale by Plumb. It opens with, "it's okay to not be okay" and that one line gives me so much positive reinforcement. It's not saying that I should be happy with where I am or that I should live here but that it's simply where I am right now and that's alright. So often I have beat myself up for not being in a better place emotionally, mentally, spiritually and it's very hard for me to accept that this is where I am and that it's okay. But... it is. Maybe you're dealing with something right now and maybe you've been dealing with it for a while. Or maybe not. The bottom line is, it's okay. You are where you are and all you can do is your best to get out of it. So take a breath and exhale .

It sucks. You know the saying "this is the first day of the rest of your life"? Well, September 3, 2015 was that day for me. By the time this post is published, I would have already begun the daunting task of walking away from a very abusive relationship. If you know me well enough, you know what I'm talking about. And if you have ever gone through one or are in one now, my heart hurts for you. The relationship I'm talking about is not one with a man, though some may call it Ed. The relationship I'm talking about is with my eating disorder. Yikes! I said it. I just made it public on the inter webs that I struggle with an eating disorder. I'll give you a moment to roll around in your minds how vain and immature I must be. How conceited and shallow I am. Done? Okay, great! Saying I have an eating disorder is not a vie for attention. In fact, I never say it out loud. Saying those words makes me feel like I'm ripping a very sticky piece of duct tape off ...

... I am not perfect. This is a personal declaration to myself. I am not perfect. Obviously, because I'm human but that simple statement is so hard for me to accept. I don't think that I'm perfect and unlike Beyoncé's over inflated self esteem, I know I'm not flawless. In fact, if I were to post a picture of how I look when I wake up, I'm sure that some of the traffic to this blog would decrease. The reason this is such a hated concept for me is because of my desire to be perfect. Not better-than-everyone-else perfect but good enough perfect. I've always had a problem with not feeling good enough and accepting myself the way that I am. I'm not good enough as a sister, as a daughter, as a Christian. I'm not good enough to be successful or to even write this blog. I am not good enough. And if I am not good enough for myself, well, who will I ever be good enough for? God. Ah, of course. I know that through and through (or maybe not as thoroug...