Before I really get into this post, I must first say that I am ABSOLUTELY grateful for my friends and the wonderful things they bring into my life. I honestly cannot say what my life would be like without them. I can say without a doubt that I have no negative feelings for any of them and the beauty of our friendships is how we can identify with one another, we can be open and honest, and we can own up to what we may feel has been a mistake and make it right. As one of my greatest friends just shared with me today, "Trust is knowing that you can be transparently honest with your friend. It's the assurance that your deepest secrets, your strongest desires, your biggest dreams, even your worst mistakes are safe in the hands of another. It's believing that your friend will not betray your confidence. It's knowing she has your best ...interest at heart." Melody Carlson...I especially needed to hear this one today!
I went clothes shopping for the first time in a LOOONG time and let me tell you, it was extremely difficult. My day has been great and I started it off with an AMAZINGLY refreshing workout. It wasn't until I actually walked through the doors of the store that I immediately panicked. I felt so utterly lost. So I did exactly what I have always done. I went straight to the Juniors Department. Yes, I know. JUNIORS. I am a 30 year old mom and I should NOT be dressing like a teenager. I should be dressing my age, with the understanding that I can still look cute. But for the past year I have been buying size 3 jeans and XS shirts. I had "Chicken leg skinny" arms and flabby skin on where once resided a butt. I had bones for hips, bones for knees (some of which I never knew existed before) and my hair had more volume than my body. Something, by the way, I did not notice or really SEE until the past month.
Now back to shopping. I instinctively went for the size 3 jeans and put them back. I grabbed a 7. In one clearance brand a 9. I must remind you that this is in the Juniors Department still. I knew that I would be lucky if they fit the way I wanted them to. They didn't. I saw in the mirror this incredibly disproportionately large body with a belly like a basketball, thighs like a sumo wrestler, and hips as wide as the Arabian Sea. Now I know this is not a realistic image of what I look like to the outside world, but this is my reality as I see myself. I wanted to cry. My body was flushed and I was burning hot with an emotion I cannot describe. I immediately got dressed and put away most of the clothes I had grabbed with the exception of an extremely cute top. I went over to the misses thinking that I would have an entirely different experience only to discover that I was drowning. I grabbed a few items that I thought looked decent enough for public, paid, and ran out of the store.
I had a seemingly similar experience a few weeks back when, once again, I was shopping for jeans. I guess once you have embedded something into your head as brutally as I have, it is really hard to change your way of thinking. I was wearing a size 3 and now, realistically, I have to go up in size. I know that I am getting healthy. I know that I have developed muscle, not gained fat. I know that my body is transforming in a way I have never in my life experienced. I have been told by my closest friends and even some strangers, that I look good. Amazing. Beautiful. So why can I not see it most of the time? I do have days that I would agree. I have days that I will be the first one to say that I am looking great. But why, today for example, do I focus on the negative so much. I am buying what I think looks good because I think it makes me look "skinny". Is that healthy? No. My dearest, closest, greatest friend, Kendra*, told me today that I look fabulous and amazing but some of the jeans I recently chose are skin tight. Just because they are smaller doesn't mean they make you look better. She is absolutely, 100%, RIGHT. I KNOW she is right. To have this woman tell you that you look amazing is in itself, an honor. Kendra is amazing herself and one of my greatest inspirations! So why can I not hear the positive she keeps trying to embed into my head? Right now, I am at a loss for words. I cannot answer that one.
I, once again, want to say that I TRUST my friends beyond a level of trust I have ever experienced. These friends make me feel like I am living in a life of Sex and the City or even Desperate Housewives. We come together and can be honest in a way that you cannot in the confines of your home life or the public world that frankly, has no business knowing your, for lack of better word, sh... We don't judge each other and we can call each other out on their faults of the moment. We don't lash out and we don't sugar coat the truth. We hold each other accountable and we forgive our faults. For this, I am blessed and grateful. I could not ask for a better circle of friends. I adore my time with my friends and I can only hope, that in my distorted thinking's and visions of myself, they can see past my biggest imperfection, self-doubt, and hold onto the good that I know I possess. You know, I don't hope for this because they already do. I hope that one day I, myself, can look past my imperfections and learn to grasp onto the positives over the negatives and love myself the same way they do. For now, though, I will cherish those moments when I walk past a mirror, glance over and say, "WOW. I look amazing".
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
My Battle with Bulimia...Part One
I am desperately trying to fight this horrible disease of binging and purging that I have developed. I am not sure if you should call it a disease or disorder or even a defect but those words seem fitting to me. My husband on the other hand HATES the word disease. He might call it a sickness from which I will fight to recover or even a lapse in judgement from which I will find a way to higher ground. But for now I am calling it my disease. I know that it is dirty, disgusting, brutal, and highly dangerous to my future and even current health. I tell myself day in and day out that today will be THE day only to find myself succumbing to the power I have relinquished to this plague that keeps pulling me farther down into a deep dark hole. One that when I open the door it is like opening Pandora's box. The darkness, depression, self loathing, self pity, and tornado of thoughts come pouring out driving me to desperately seek that first power high that I once got when I would purge. But it doesn't come as it once does. Instead it makes me feel worse and pushes me to want to fight for a better reality.
I must be honest by admitting that I am still binging and purging on an almost every day level. Granted I am a lot healthier now that where I was a few months ago, but even if I am purging once a day versus the ten, yes TEN or more, times a day, I am not close to being healthy yet. I did have a brief period of 28 days of sobriety that followed a comment from my then therapist. I was sitting in her office complaining about how I cannot control my purging. It was controlling me and I kept asking her over and over, what do I do; how can I stop; I want to stop! I wanted her to tell me that it was OK because the disease had taken over and I had lost all my control and instead she replied the simple words, "But you do have a CHOICE. You can control it. Plain and simple it is in your power to make that choice." Now to be honest I was PISSED! I could not believe that she was putting it on me. I left pretty upset and it wasn't until two days later when I read in my AL-anon book that had a saying, " it is who you are, Not what you do, that makes you worthwhile". Then it hit me. She was right. I had a choice. I can be worthwhile if only I make the choice to be. I could choose to stop. I did stop. But I wasn't fixed.
I am not sure what the trigger was for me after I reached the 28 day mark, but it really doesn't matter. I gave in to the temptation and again I kept lying to myself. I would tell myself it was only this once and tomorrow I would go back to stopping. Instead, here I am months later still trying to find that one focal point that I can grasp onto, one that I can carry with me day in and day out to make that conscious choice. Why it is so hard for me this time, I have no idea. I am trying my hardest to change my self talk and point out to myself all of my good qualities and strengths, but it seem easier said than done. Right now at this very moment I want nothing more than to give into the urge. My heart is racing, my chest is tight, my eyes are welling with but fighting back the tears. I think of all the snacks or processed foods I can shovel into me without instant guilt because they won't stay. But then I think about how it will really make me feel in the long run when all is said and done. I can't honestly say I will really feel better. Instead I sit here and write.
Being a bulimic is not what I had in mind for my life. I had dreams of being a fantastic mom. I could never decide on a lifelong career because my mind kept wandering to raising children. It took a lot of effort to even have the first one, which resulted in MAJOR surgery when she was only three months old, and the second ended in a full hysterectomy one year later. Maybe those events lead up to where I am now but I know I would not change them because of the amazing kids I have been blessed with. I do know that back in December, when I turned 30, I was going to make a change and fight for my future and the future I can provide my kids. I finally confessed my perfectly bad secret that I had hid from my husband for a full year and I opted to take the scale out of my bathroom and retire it to the garage. I approached a friend 5 months ago about my ailing condition as the doctors were seriously concerned about my health and together we made a plan. I committed to a full strength training regimen with my friend who is a fantastic fitness coach, as well as amazing with nutrition counseling. I, for the first time in a long time, felt like I was living again.
Now the road to recovery is full of detours, bumps, closures, and construction, but I know that if I keep fighting my way through, I WILL find the road that is open, free of constant damage, and full of beauty that I have been overlooking. How long it will take is a question I am not ready to answer honestly yet. I have gotten rid of the scale (oh how I curse the scale). Admittedly it does call my name every so often which I give into once every month or so. Recently I committed to a challenge. A challenge that holds my nutrition choices accountable, one that makes me think before I act, and one that gives me a goal. Not a goal to be skinnier but a goal to look hot in my jeans which are in full truth a size bigger than I have been. A hard concept for my mind to accept but one that pushes me with the knowledge that I will look healthy, be healthy and most of all, I will be able to look in the mirror at myself with pride.
I must be honest by admitting that I am still binging and purging on an almost every day level. Granted I am a lot healthier now that where I was a few months ago, but even if I am purging once a day versus the ten, yes TEN or more, times a day, I am not close to being healthy yet. I did have a brief period of 28 days of sobriety that followed a comment from my then therapist. I was sitting in her office complaining about how I cannot control my purging. It was controlling me and I kept asking her over and over, what do I do; how can I stop; I want to stop! I wanted her to tell me that it was OK because the disease had taken over and I had lost all my control and instead she replied the simple words, "But you do have a CHOICE. You can control it. Plain and simple it is in your power to make that choice." Now to be honest I was PISSED! I could not believe that she was putting it on me. I left pretty upset and it wasn't until two days later when I read in my AL-anon book that had a saying, " it is who you are, Not what you do, that makes you worthwhile". Then it hit me. She was right. I had a choice. I can be worthwhile if only I make the choice to be. I could choose to stop. I did stop. But I wasn't fixed.
I am not sure what the trigger was for me after I reached the 28 day mark, but it really doesn't matter. I gave in to the temptation and again I kept lying to myself. I would tell myself it was only this once and tomorrow I would go back to stopping. Instead, here I am months later still trying to find that one focal point that I can grasp onto, one that I can carry with me day in and day out to make that conscious choice. Why it is so hard for me this time, I have no idea. I am trying my hardest to change my self talk and point out to myself all of my good qualities and strengths, but it seem easier said than done. Right now at this very moment I want nothing more than to give into the urge. My heart is racing, my chest is tight, my eyes are welling with but fighting back the tears. I think of all the snacks or processed foods I can shovel into me without instant guilt because they won't stay. But then I think about how it will really make me feel in the long run when all is said and done. I can't honestly say I will really feel better. Instead I sit here and write.
Being a bulimic is not what I had in mind for my life. I had dreams of being a fantastic mom. I could never decide on a lifelong career because my mind kept wandering to raising children. It took a lot of effort to even have the first one, which resulted in MAJOR surgery when she was only three months old, and the second ended in a full hysterectomy one year later. Maybe those events lead up to where I am now but I know I would not change them because of the amazing kids I have been blessed with. I do know that back in December, when I turned 30, I was going to make a change and fight for my future and the future I can provide my kids. I finally confessed my perfectly bad secret that I had hid from my husband for a full year and I opted to take the scale out of my bathroom and retire it to the garage. I approached a friend 5 months ago about my ailing condition as the doctors were seriously concerned about my health and together we made a plan. I committed to a full strength training regimen with my friend who is a fantastic fitness coach, as well as amazing with nutrition counseling. I, for the first time in a long time, felt like I was living again.
Now the road to recovery is full of detours, bumps, closures, and construction, but I know that if I keep fighting my way through, I WILL find the road that is open, free of constant damage, and full of beauty that I have been overlooking. How long it will take is a question I am not ready to answer honestly yet. I have gotten rid of the scale (oh how I curse the scale). Admittedly it does call my name every so often which I give into once every month or so. Recently I committed to a challenge. A challenge that holds my nutrition choices accountable, one that makes me think before I act, and one that gives me a goal. Not a goal to be skinnier but a goal to look hot in my jeans which are in full truth a size bigger than I have been. A hard concept for my mind to accept but one that pushes me with the knowledge that I will look healthy, be healthy and most of all, I will be able to look in the mirror at myself with pride.
Monday, September 27, 2010
"You Make Me So Happy"
I sit here thinking about actually using happiness as my topic today. I was full on convinced last night that it was the 'perfect' follow up to my previous post. Maybe it was the wine that gave me that overbearing sense of assurance that I was onto something good. I pulled out my dictionary, which has become one of my best friends, and grabbed my pen and paper and the thoughts, ideas, and brilliant flow chart developed. Then I went to bed, exhausted, woke today and spent most of the day doubting myself. Why do I constantly continue to beat myself down day in and day out? Why can I not trust myself that I may actually be on to something good? It all comes with the mindset that I have programed in me over the past 15 years or so; but it is part of what inspires me to make a better choice. To be happy.
It is amazing to me how and where we get our inspirations. I was sitting with my daughter watching a movie last night and she looked at me with an innocence that can only come from a four year old. Her mind seemed heavy and then she said to me, "Mom...you make me so happy. You are the best mommy ever...". Now this is the same little girl I yell at sometimes for absolutely no apparent reason. The same one that tells me that it is OK that we don't have enough money to buy the toys she wants, or that it is OK I yelled at her because, "it was an accident mommy". The same one that made me stop dead in my tracks and start to think about what makes me happy. Granted my children make me happy, most of the time, and I have a good life, but what TRULY makes me happy? So I began to strategicly plan my next blog when she hits me with another question. "Mom, does money make people happy?" I was floored. Apparently while I was in la-la land thinking, a line on the movie prompted yet another innocent question. And a good one at that. So again I ask myself, what makes me happy...is it money? Does money equal happiness?
In comes the dictionary. Happy, "feeling or showing pleasure or contentment; fortunate; lucky". There it is. Fortunate. "Lucky; Prosperous; Blessed". My mind is going now. The word prosperous is sticking like glue. Isn't that the same as money in a sense? My mind seems to think so. But happiness from money can't be forever, can it? I know those moments when my husband gets a great paycheck with bonuses that seem long overdue. The happiness and relief sets in for we can now pay those bills and even get a lil something for ourselves. Then, like a lightening strike, the money is gone and we are left stressed about making it to the next payday, praying no one gets sick, yet again. It's like we are hung-over from a bad night of binge drinking. How can anyone be happy living like that? So I handle the hangover the best way I know how...binging and purging. Wow. That stress is gone. But then comes the next stressor. So for me, money equals stressor, and nope; not happy.
So then what makes me happy? The next word that sticks in my mind is "lucky". I sure am that in more ways than one! Luck can be brought on by accident or even serendipity. Destiny. Is it our accidental lessons we almost always seem to encounter that guide us a step closer to finding our true happiness? Are we destined to lean on fate and chance to bring us to discovering the identity of what makes us happy in an effort to embrace it for life? It would seem that in my quest to answer that innocent question brought forth to me, I have sent my mind on a hunt that seems to have now brought me more questions than answers. I am slowly and cautiously coming to an understanding with myself, that in order to really succeed in my quest to being healthy, I must first figure out what happiness means to me. I cannot just say that my goal is "to be happy". I need to grasp a hold of where I want to be in terms of eternal bliss. I need to know what I can hold onto as a long term goal. Money is short lived and even some of the filthy rich seem unhappy in their lives.
I guess the only thing right now that I can full heartedly answer to my daughter is that money does not make me happy. I do know that my kids make me happy. When I hear the sweetest, and sometimes not so sweet, words come out of the little innocent mouths of my two and four year old, I get tickled pink. Yes, no matter how ridiculously funny it sounds, tickled pink is listed as a synonym for happy. I am now laughing at myself because my mind wanders to the book we are reading, 'Pinkalicious'. My face is flushed with embarrassment at myself for feeling so ridiculously child like and then it hits me...I feel happy. Maybe I need to stop trying so hard to be so perfectly adult-like all the time and instead, sit back, enjoy the little things, and laugh more. Maybe it's the little things that I need to hold onto. Maybe the little things will bring me that one step closer to ridding myself of my perfectly bad secret.
It is amazing to me how and where we get our inspirations. I was sitting with my daughter watching a movie last night and she looked at me with an innocence that can only come from a four year old. Her mind seemed heavy and then she said to me, "Mom...you make me so happy. You are the best mommy ever...". Now this is the same little girl I yell at sometimes for absolutely no apparent reason. The same one that tells me that it is OK that we don't have enough money to buy the toys she wants, or that it is OK I yelled at her because, "it was an accident mommy". The same one that made me stop dead in my tracks and start to think about what makes me happy. Granted my children make me happy, most of the time, and I have a good life, but what TRULY makes me happy? So I began to strategicly plan my next blog when she hits me with another question. "Mom, does money make people happy?" I was floored. Apparently while I was in la-la land thinking, a line on the movie prompted yet another innocent question. And a good one at that. So again I ask myself, what makes me happy...is it money? Does money equal happiness?
In comes the dictionary. Happy, "feeling or showing pleasure or contentment; fortunate; lucky". There it is. Fortunate. "Lucky; Prosperous; Blessed". My mind is going now. The word prosperous is sticking like glue. Isn't that the same as money in a sense? My mind seems to think so. But happiness from money can't be forever, can it? I know those moments when my husband gets a great paycheck with bonuses that seem long overdue. The happiness and relief sets in for we can now pay those bills and even get a lil something for ourselves. Then, like a lightening strike, the money is gone and we are left stressed about making it to the next payday, praying no one gets sick, yet again. It's like we are hung-over from a bad night of binge drinking. How can anyone be happy living like that? So I handle the hangover the best way I know how...binging and purging. Wow. That stress is gone. But then comes the next stressor. So for me, money equals stressor, and nope; not happy.
So then what makes me happy? The next word that sticks in my mind is "lucky". I sure am that in more ways than one! Luck can be brought on by accident or even serendipity. Destiny. Is it our accidental lessons we almost always seem to encounter that guide us a step closer to finding our true happiness? Are we destined to lean on fate and chance to bring us to discovering the identity of what makes us happy in an effort to embrace it for life? It would seem that in my quest to answer that innocent question brought forth to me, I have sent my mind on a hunt that seems to have now brought me more questions than answers. I am slowly and cautiously coming to an understanding with myself, that in order to really succeed in my quest to being healthy, I must first figure out what happiness means to me. I cannot just say that my goal is "to be happy". I need to grasp a hold of where I want to be in terms of eternal bliss. I need to know what I can hold onto as a long term goal. Money is short lived and even some of the filthy rich seem unhappy in their lives.
I guess the only thing right now that I can full heartedly answer to my daughter is that money does not make me happy. I do know that my kids make me happy. When I hear the sweetest, and sometimes not so sweet, words come out of the little innocent mouths of my two and four year old, I get tickled pink. Yes, no matter how ridiculously funny it sounds, tickled pink is listed as a synonym for happy. I am now laughing at myself because my mind wanders to the book we are reading, 'Pinkalicious'. My face is flushed with embarrassment at myself for feeling so ridiculously child like and then it hits me...I feel happy. Maybe I need to stop trying so hard to be so perfectly adult-like all the time and instead, sit back, enjoy the little things, and laugh more. Maybe it's the little things that I need to hold onto. Maybe the little things will bring me that one step closer to ridding myself of my perfectly bad secret.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Perfect Mom...What exactly IS perfect??
Let me first start off by saying that my title is a complete oxymoron. I am NOT perfect by any means. I am far from a perfect mom, other than the fact that I love my children unconditionally, I am blessed with an amazing husband and friend who is also an amazing father. My secret, my perfectly bad secret, is not in any way perfect. It is self destructive, disgusting, a disease I have let control me, and it is dreadfully bad. So
when coming up with a title for my new found project of blogging, which I have absolutely no idea what I am doing, other than venting, I pondered on the notion of what the real meaning of the word Perfect is. I know I spend much of my time trying to be perfect in every way possible, but is it really possible? What am I doing? I guess part of my downfall into a horrible world of binging and purging, obsessing over the scale, criticizing everything about myself, and unintentionally becoming oblivious to the realities that were surrounding me, stemmed from the idea, perception and belief that I had to be perfect in every single way, shape and form.
Now to answer what the real meaning of Perfect is. It's funny to me that when you look up the word Perfect in the dictionary it has a few different meanings that no matter which one you choose, in my mind, it spells insanity. I have driven myself insane by trying to be perfect. According to the Oxford Pocket Dictionary and Thesaurus, Perfect is "Complete, not deficient", yea right; "faultless", I blame myself for EVERYTHING; "blameless in morals or behavior", mmm-hmmm; "exact; precise", have you seen my house? The dictionary then gives other words similar. The ones catching my attention were, "flawless, righteous, faultless, spotless, pure and immaculate". Looking in the mirror I see none of those. Is that really what I have been trying to be? How can one person really be flawless or faultless? We ALL make mistakes, I make them every day. "Blameless in morals or behavior". To be honest, I cannot blame anyone but myself for the choices I have made.
I have indeed made some pretty bad choices and hands down, I believe the worst choice was that first day back in 1998 when I very first stuck my finger down my throat. I can remember where I had eaten, Texas Roadhouse; what I had eaten, Chocolate cake; and the feeling I had experienced once the purge was over, Power. I never fully understood what that actually meant or how dangerous feeling so powerful really was. It would be 12 years later, taking us to now, that I am finally understanding and realizing how dangerous my choice had become.
I must clarify to you that I didn't feel power over any one being, situation, or event. I was feeling power that I was purging not only food but I was purging all of my stress, anxiety, fears, frustrations and anger. When I was a teenager struggling with the normalities of my parents rules, girlfriends fights, heartbreaks and even the constant struggle of what I wanted to do with my life, I took to binging and purging as a way to feel great and look great (I was loosing a lot of weight fast), and it was awesome. The first time I purged was like a life high. It was instant. It lasted a while. Then the next time it was good. Eventually the purges became awful, but I couldn't stop. I purged harder and harder and more and more trying desperately to get back to that initial "high". Maybe I was like a meth addict or alcoholic who takes more and more to get that first high that you really cannot duplicate in its whole. I eventually went from someone who thought that I was in control of the disease, to being someone who was letting the disease control me.
I could go on and on about my past as a bulimic, which did take a "break" from 2000 til February 2009, but I really want to focus on now. I am now at a place in my life where I am committed and focused of life long health. I am 30 years old. I have 2 amazing kids. I am a woman. I need to stop drowning, bypass surviving, and I want to THRIVE. I want to LIVE. I want to be around to see my kids grow up and marry and have kids of their own. I am going to be lucky to be around in the next maybe five years if I continue on the path I have been on. This is what brings me here. I am sharing my story, thoughts, frustrations, steps forward, steps backward, but all of it here. I want to hold myself accountable for my actions, learn how to be honest with myself, fight to be healthy, happy, confident, and courageous in my life and within myself. I want to get away from the belief I have given myself that 113 pounds is cool. Size 3 junior jeans is hot. XS shirts are amazing and eating whatever I want because I know I can throw it up later is pretty freakin neat. I want to enjoy life without obsessing over a scale, over-analyzing myself in the mirror, and sacrificing those precious moments with my kids because I am thinking too much about my disease and what I can accomplish with the next binge.
So here I am world. Unedited. This is my life and my journey to not be perfect. To not have a perfectly bad secret. Instead, to be real, happy, and the best that I can honestly be. Easy? Not even close. Challenging? Absolutely! Am I ready? You bet. This is the day I am making a choice. One I will not look back on as a mistake but instead it will be the best choice I have ever made.
when coming up with a title for my new found project of blogging, which I have absolutely no idea what I am doing, other than venting, I pondered on the notion of what the real meaning of the word Perfect is. I know I spend much of my time trying to be perfect in every way possible, but is it really possible? What am I doing? I guess part of my downfall into a horrible world of binging and purging, obsessing over the scale, criticizing everything about myself, and unintentionally becoming oblivious to the realities that were surrounding me, stemmed from the idea, perception and belief that I had to be perfect in every single way, shape and form.
Now to answer what the real meaning of Perfect is. It's funny to me that when you look up the word Perfect in the dictionary it has a few different meanings that no matter which one you choose, in my mind, it spells insanity. I have driven myself insane by trying to be perfect. According to the Oxford Pocket Dictionary and Thesaurus, Perfect is "Complete, not deficient", yea right; "faultless", I blame myself for EVERYTHING; "blameless in morals or behavior", mmm-hmmm; "exact; precise", have you seen my house? The dictionary then gives other words similar. The ones catching my attention were, "flawless, righteous, faultless, spotless, pure and immaculate". Looking in the mirror I see none of those. Is that really what I have been trying to be? How can one person really be flawless or faultless? We ALL make mistakes, I make them every day. "Blameless in morals or behavior". To be honest, I cannot blame anyone but myself for the choices I have made.
I have indeed made some pretty bad choices and hands down, I believe the worst choice was that first day back in 1998 when I very first stuck my finger down my throat. I can remember where I had eaten, Texas Roadhouse; what I had eaten, Chocolate cake; and the feeling I had experienced once the purge was over, Power. I never fully understood what that actually meant or how dangerous feeling so powerful really was. It would be 12 years later, taking us to now, that I am finally understanding and realizing how dangerous my choice had become.
I must clarify to you that I didn't feel power over any one being, situation, or event. I was feeling power that I was purging not only food but I was purging all of my stress, anxiety, fears, frustrations and anger. When I was a teenager struggling with the normalities of my parents rules, girlfriends fights, heartbreaks and even the constant struggle of what I wanted to do with my life, I took to binging and purging as a way to feel great and look great (I was loosing a lot of weight fast), and it was awesome. The first time I purged was like a life high. It was instant. It lasted a while. Then the next time it was good. Eventually the purges became awful, but I couldn't stop. I purged harder and harder and more and more trying desperately to get back to that initial "high". Maybe I was like a meth addict or alcoholic who takes more and more to get that first high that you really cannot duplicate in its whole. I eventually went from someone who thought that I was in control of the disease, to being someone who was letting the disease control me.
I could go on and on about my past as a bulimic, which did take a "break" from 2000 til February 2009, but I really want to focus on now. I am now at a place in my life where I am committed and focused of life long health. I am 30 years old. I have 2 amazing kids. I am a woman. I need to stop drowning, bypass surviving, and I want to THRIVE. I want to LIVE. I want to be around to see my kids grow up and marry and have kids of their own. I am going to be lucky to be around in the next maybe five years if I continue on the path I have been on. This is what brings me here. I am sharing my story, thoughts, frustrations, steps forward, steps backward, but all of it here. I want to hold myself accountable for my actions, learn how to be honest with myself, fight to be healthy, happy, confident, and courageous in my life and within myself. I want to get away from the belief I have given myself that 113 pounds is cool. Size 3 junior jeans is hot. XS shirts are amazing and eating whatever I want because I know I can throw it up later is pretty freakin neat. I want to enjoy life without obsessing over a scale, over-analyzing myself in the mirror, and sacrificing those precious moments with my kids because I am thinking too much about my disease and what I can accomplish with the next binge.
So here I am world. Unedited. This is my life and my journey to not be perfect. To not have a perfectly bad secret. Instead, to be real, happy, and the best that I can honestly be. Easy? Not even close. Challenging? Absolutely! Am I ready? You bet. This is the day I am making a choice. One I will not look back on as a mistake but instead it will be the best choice I have ever made.
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