My fat is a symptom of my loss of safety.  My binge-eating is a symptom of my chronic emptiness.  My scars are a symptom of my inability to regulate my self-hatred and extreme emotions.  My anxiety is a symptom of my fear of both the known and unknown.  My nightmares are a symptom of the abuse and terror I have experienced.

I am lost and I am shattered, but I am not over.

The fact that I am still alive is a symptom of my strength and hope that I can still get better.

— ♥ — ♥ —

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Empty is hollow laughter and false smiles; pretending everything is okay when almost nothing is.  Empty is pushing away the people who care about you and pining for the ones who don’t.  Empty is saying you want something real but chasing an illusion.  Empty is changing who you are for a kind word yet caring more about things than people.  Empty is a sweetly overstuffed stomach and a mouth full of bile and lies; bingeing and purging your way through another day while you tell others how worthy they are and treat yourself like garbage.

Empty is not knowing who you are or where to turn.

Empty is my existence much of the time.


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In my world, “summer” is a six-letter word that inspires fear.  I hate that the days are longer and the clothing skimpier.  Summer brings out some of my worst body insecurities, because I see so many other women who look the way I wish I did wearing clothing I wish I could but never will.  To be clear: It’s not their fault; it’s mine.  Having dealt with an eating disorder since I was a young girl, I’ve never had a healthy body image.  My entire life has been spent looking in a funhouse mirror and summer magnifies that exponentially.  Add to that the fact that I’m not a sunshine kind of girl and it’s a few months of misery.

This year I’m going to do some things differently though.  I’m going to go swimming and face my bathing suit-reveal fears.  I’m going to spend some time outside, during the day, and try to enjoy myself (with a super high SPF sunscreen of course, because as pale as I am, I’m likely to catch fire after too long in the sun. ;))

And I’m going to remind myself that we need the sun to sustain life.  If I can learn to not only tolerate — but try to help — bees … after years of panic … surely I can do this too.

love & light.

♥—- ♥—- ♥

this post inspired by: The Daily Post
{and also my friend kittycat, who is one of the bravest people I’ve ever met ♥}

Deep Dive

Starting this week, I’m going to be going deeper in my posts by sharing some of my issues with my eating disorder.  These posts will most likely be triggering, or a cause of judgment, so what I’m going to do is clearly mark the posts and have the content below the cut and you can choose whether to read it or not.  This is not going to be easy for me, but it’s either do this or start an anonymous blog to discuss what I’m going through, and I really don’t want to have to do that.  So just a heads up.

Hope everyone’s weekend is going well.  I’ve been barely able to function this week (hence my thoughts about going deeper here).

I hate it when the darkness goes from soothing to scary.
~ love & light

Shut Up, Billy

I’m sure no one can watch as much television as I do, so this may not annoy fellow former-smokers, but at least four times a day I see a commercial for Chantix featuring “Billy.”  Billy is super-enthusiastic about being a non-smoker now.  He says being a non-smoker is “fun!”

No it’s not.  It’s stressful and hard — at least for me.  I had my last cigarette on August 20th, 2010 at 10:38am.  Yes, I remember exactly.  That’s how stressed out I still am.  Don’t get me wrong; I know the health benefits I’ve gained from quitting and it was almost like discovering a new world once the nicotine was out of my system.  I can taste my food now and I don’t get sick as much and it’s a lot less expensive.  But I still feel like Anna in “Keeping the Faith” when I see someone smoking: I want to run over and kiss them to suck the nicotine from their lungs.  The physical cravings have lessened, but the emotional ones are still inside me, begging me.  My smoking was tied to my eating disorder, which is still active.  Instead of eating, I would smoke.  Now that option has been taken away from me, like so many other unhealthy habits I’ve either quit or tried to quit.  My coping mechanisms are lacking these days.  So I’m glad you’re grinning ear-to-ear, Billy, but excuse my testiness when I say, “Shut. Up.”

Now — does anyone know how to get marijuana in Ohio?  Kidding.
(Not kidding. ;))