I Had No Idea

The theme of this year's NEDA week is "I Had No Idea." Sometimes, we have these cookie cutter ideas of what eating disorders are and how they can impact a person, but there's so much more to them than just a label.

I Had No Idea:

• The level of distortion I had when looking in the mirror.
• I was so cold all the time, because of ED.
• How much hair I would lose.
• I would end up with a chronic heart condition.
• Eating a meal would continue to cause stomach pain and issues, even in recovery.
• There are no good/bad foods.
• How hard it is to begin eating again- physically, mentally, and emotionally. 
• My thoughts were covering up so much more underneath.
• Using behaviors would give the high that cocaine once did.
• Wanting to be thinner wouldn't make me any happier.
• How quickly dieting turned into disorder.
• Seeing the size on my clothes get lower would cause me to push harder.
• Not everyone constantly beats themselves up mentally everyday.
• How much my self-worth would become dependent on size, shape, and numbers.
• A bad body image day would impact my ability to do anything.
• Skipping work would happen so frequently from being sick from behaviors.
• That I punished myself with restricting.
• I would use self-injury.
• Other mental health issues contributed to my ED behaviors.
• Anorexia would be closer to me than many friends and family when I'm sick. 
• The impact of my behaviors on my ability to perform well at work.
• Lying would become a part of my daily routine.
• I wasn't very good at hiding behaviors, even though ED told me I was.
• EDs have a major influence on how your brain works and performs.
• I had no clue who I was without my eating disorder.
• Anorexia would become my identity.
• The negativity of my core beliefs.
• How strongly my trauma affected me without restricting.
• Talking about my issues would be and continues to be the hardest thing I have to do.
• The amount of support I needed and continue to need to stay in recovery.
• Comparing myself to others would cause me to lose self-confidence.
• How amazing the community of people fighting EDs is. 
• As a therapist, I wouldn't know all the answers to help fix myself.
• I wouldn't be able to bring myself to dance again.
• People don't spend 2 hours in the grocery store to get a basket's worth of food.
• I have the ability to take care of myself and other people. 
• Suicide would be an option I would ever seriously consider.
• My behaviors could have killed me.
• Hunger cues would go away, and Fullness cues take time to adjust.
• That I would continue to fight anorexia 10 years later. 
• Just how sick I actually was.
• I would have to give up my job, relationships, friendships, life in order to go to treatment.
• I would lose everything to my eating disorder.
• You have to hit rock bottom before you can build yourself back up again.
• Even skipping one meal in recovery would put me off track. 
• Insurance coverage is solely based on numbers, not on actual mental stability.
• Letting go of behaviors would be this difficult.
• How hard it is to stay in recovery.
• I could feel so good without using behaviors, being a certain size, or a number on the scale.
• Treatment would be the hardest thing I would face, but it was absolutely worth it.

 I could go on and on, but eating disorders are so much more than a DSM diagnosis. That's why weeks like NEDA Awareness are so important. Without educating, many people may not understand or receive the help that they need. Spread the word!

One Year Later: A New Perspective

One year ago today, I made the decision to seek treatment for my eating disorder. 

February 1, 2014. I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had in a very long time with a hangover so bad that I could barely see straight. I hadn't eaten in 4 days, but I had consumed about a bottle and a half of Jack Daniel's in that time. I woke up unsettled and uneasy. I could feel my heart skipping beats, my head spinning, and constant waves of nausea. I had just finished another night of blackout drinking to help alleviate the depression and anxiety I was overwhelmed with. I had been reeling from a break up that I knew was coming but was still having a difficult time accepting. I lay in bed staring the ceiling debating if I would get up or if I would take the bottle of heart pills on my night stand. I could not bear to stand the weight of my eating disorder, my alcoholism, and the bad person I had become. I reflected on how things had gotten so bad.

7 months before, my supervisor was encouraging me to seek treatment. In July, I went to one session with a therapist. I was recommended for intensive outpatient treatment, as I was refusing to leave my job, but I never went back. I had spoken with friends about my eating disorder 7 months before. I was scared about what power it was beginning to have. I knew that I needed help at that point, but I wasn't ready to truly admit it. Shortly after, I entered into a relationship that I was convinced would help distract me from my eating disorder and fulfill this void that I had had for years. In reality, that relationship became my downfall.

From September until January, I put on a brave, happy face to those around me, but no one knew how truly volatile things were in my relationship. My eating disorder behaviors were not only ignored, but they were encouraged. Multiple times a week, I was being told that I needed to go to the gym to tone up. I needed to grow up and move on from my trauma. I just had to deal with these things by working through them, regardless of the flashbacks. My skipped meals went without comment. My drinking escalated quickly as I joined his lifestyle. Soon, I was eating one, maybe two meals per day and drinking enough whiskey that I couldn't remember the hurtful words. I isolated from friends, only seeing them at the bars. I withdrew from my outside world. I went to work and to my relationship. I had no life of my own outside of that. So, when this relationship ended, I had no idea how to live a life outside of my eating disorder or my relationship. I was nothing, and I felt like it.

February 1, 2014. As I stayed in bed, I thought about the people in my life; the ones who tried to reach out and stand by me, even when I was pulling away. I thought about the people I had lost to suicide. I thought about what my loved ones would say if they were the ones who had to stand by and watch me being lowered into the ground, as I has done for so many of my friends before. I decided that I couldn't put my people through that, especially when no one truly knew what was going on. I got out of bed, talked with my roommates, and went out with them to try and have a positive day, but there were so many different thoughts going on that I had no idea what to do. 

I had to think about what my options would be. My biggest was making the choice between continuing to live in this downward spiral or finding some way to get out of it. In all of my previous bouts with anorexia and depression, I always had some type of life transition that allowed me to cope with things better. There was always a light at the end of the tunnel. This time, that light was gone. All I saw was darknesss. If I didn't commit suicide today, I would create a plan that would help alleviate as much of the pain as possible for those around me. I had no doubt in my mind that that would be what happened if I didn't make a change, but there's always that little voice that says "What if?"

What if I made the choice to live differently? What would that even look like? How would I even get there? Could I actually admit what was going on? What would my family say? What would my friends say? Can I give up everything? Can I accept the help that I had been giving to others for so long? Is this really what I should do? Where would I even go? Could my life really be different? What if I failed? What if I can't ever get better? What if this is what the rest of my life is supposed to look like? What would it take to make that change? What if I actually did it?

February 1, 2014. I made the choice to contact my family to let them know what was going on. I wasn't sure what to say or what would happen, but I had to be honest. I spoke with both my brother and my mom to tell them about my suicidality and my eating disorder. I had to admit how bad things were and to what extent. I had to have support to make this change. I have the best family, because they were willing to help me do that.

My family accepted this information with listening ears and open hearts. Had they not done so, I have no doubt in my mind that I would no longer be here. They worked with me to figure out what my best option was and talked about the things that would need to be taken care of: my job, my apartment, my life in Milwaukee. I coordinated with them about what the first steps needed to be. Ultimately, that decision was that I would look into taking a leave of absence from my job in order to seek medical treatment in St Louis and return to Milwaukee after that. It was the first step to a major life change.

I had to contact my job to let them know what was going on. My supervisor was incredibly understanding, but very taken aback, as she had no clue what was going on. I had only been at this job 2 months, so she didn't know my struggles but was willing to support me in any way. She volunteered to contact the company to determine how much leave I would receive and to direct my coworkers in covering my clients. She agreed that I should leave Milwaukee for care in order to avoid personal/professional conflicts and to be with family. She helped ease my mind that maybe I was making the right decision. I spoke with my roommates saying I would be gone for a little while, but I would be returning. I would leave all of my belongings in Milwaukee and take a bag on a train to St Louis to be with my family for a little while.  

February 1, 2014. My roommates and I returned home where I grabbed a pile of clothes off my floor and shoved them into a bag. I couldn't even think straight, but they helped me get organized enough in order to make it through the day. They took me to the train station in downtown Milwaukee. I said goodbye and walked in knowing that I couldn't look back. I sat in the lobby tearing the corners off my paper train ticket, waiting for them to call boarding for my train to Chicago. Finally, that time came. Boarding that train was the most overwhelming experience, but some part of me knew I needed to do it.

I sat on that train and thought about who I needed to tell. I contacted my best friends via text to let them know what I was doing and why, and received nothing but love and support back from them. I cried and stared out the window at Milwaukee and Wisconsin passing by. I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I made the decision to share my journey with those close to me, because it was important to me to be honest, not only with myself, but others too. I knew I had hurt people in this process, and it was important for me to be honest about it so that I might be able to redeem myself in some way to these people. I said goodbye to the life I had known. I got to Chicago, waited anxiously for my next train, and finally boarded for the last leg of my transition.

On my train to St Louis, I couldn't do anything but sleep. I was so emotionally drained and mentally exhausted that my body could not stay awake anymore. For 6 hours, I slept and dreamed of the life I might be able to have; a life that didn't involve obsessing over calories, weight, size, shape. For once, maybe I could have a life that involved being happy. I arrived in St Louis exhausted, but happy to finally be able to get some rest. I was at the end of the longest day of my life, but it would ultimately be the first day of the rest of my life.

February 1, 2015. Today is a vastly different day from the one a year ago. I woke up without a hangover (although, this cold can go away anytime now). Even though I feel a little under the weather physically, I am in a much better place emotionally. 

I am grateful for the new life I have here in St Louis; a life that never would have happened if I had not made the call to my family. This life does not include: a negative relationship, drinking everyday, restricting myself to 500 calories or less, obsessing over each calorie, hating myself if I go over, body checking every time I see a mirror, suicidal thoughts, melting down if something doesn't go the way I planned, and so many other negative things. My new life is one that I never was really sure I ever deserved, and I'm still not 100% convinced that I do. 

February 1, 2015. Today, I am still struggling with some aspects of my eating disorder. My body image can range from "This is okay" to "How did you ever let yourself get this fat?" It depends on the day or the circumstances, but I do have far more better days than bad ones now. I do sometimes struggle with complete meal plan fulfillment, but I try to be honest with myself and my dietician about it. I still have physical problems as the result of restricting. My stomach might not ever be the same, but I am taking the steps to figure out what I can do. My heart condition will always be there, and I have to accept that. Overall, I have learned how to battle ED when that voice gets too loud, rather than caving in and following through on behaviors.

February 1, 2015. I have more love and support from people than I ever would have imagined when I posted that note on Facebook a year ago. So many people, even some I barely knew, reached out to me when I left for treatment and throughout the process. I cannot thank those people enough for that. My family is amazing, and I never would have followed through with treatment or the requirements of it had they not been so supportive, but one of the best parts about coming to treatment was the people I have met during and after this process. 

The people I met in treatment are some of the most courageous people I know. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you have a problem, let alone commit yourself to daily intensive therapy to confront and work through it. That's what makes those people so wonderful. My friends from treatment are truly the ones who have kept me accountable. We have a certain level of comfortability with each other to reach out and say, "I'm really concerned about you. Are you okay?" These are the ones that supported me the most when I went back to IOP at the end of the summer. I would not have felt as comfortable going back had they not supported me in it.

Also, the people I have met outside of treatment have also been so supportive of my recovery and making sure I stay on track. My coworkers have helped keep me sane in a stressful job that has derailed me a few times. They've also made sure we go get margaritas and food when things are really bad. They bring laughter and joy to my life. I also am especially grateful for the one coworker who led me to the best support a girl could ask for. 

I couldn't ask for a better partner, because he is always there for the support when I need it and has also taken the time to learn about my eating disorder behaviors to help ensure that I stay on track. I couldn't have imagined this relationship in my wildest dreams, so I feel so incredibly lucky that he's in my life now.

February 1, 2015. Today, I look forward to the future. I know that so many of the things I have now are because of my choice one year ago today, and I know that in order to keep these things, I need to keep working at recovery and not give into ED. Today, I have love and happiness, things that definitely were not there previously. I have the last year to look back on and recognize that, even though it doesn't often feel like it, I have made leaps and bounds of progress. For the first time, I have taken control of my life and made the decisions I had to in order to get myself in a much better place, and it feels pretty damn good.

Dance- How I Lost My Dreams to Anorexia.

This is probably the hardest blog I have written so far. It's very painful for me to discuss or even think about, which is why I don't talk about it often. But with it coming up more and more, I need to talk about it. If you know me, dance has been such a huge part of my life. It was one of the only constants I ever had growing up. Every time we moved, I was always involved in dance or something similar from city to city, state to state, country to country. Today, I came to the harsh realization that I haven't danced in over a year, which is something I don't think I ever would have thought would happen in my life, but here I am. I'm not dancing.

When I came to St Louis for treatment, I literally picked up and left everything behind. I was in such a bad headspace that I grabbed a pile of clothes from my floor into a bag (none of which even formed an outfit to leave the house in), got on a train, and tried not to look back. I left behind my job, my friends, my apartment, my car, everything. I ended up losing most of those things because of my eating disorder. To me, none of those things matter as much as dance. Losing that has been one of the hardest things for me to face. I can accept losing everything else, but this is has been really painful.

Last year, I was offered the contract of a lifetime. After so many days of auditioning, last minute trips to New York, and blood, sweat, and tears, I had finally done it; I was offered a contract to be a Rockette in New York City. It took me a few days to think about what to do. Had I taken that contract, I would have had to pick up and leave Milwaukee to move to New York City for a few months. I would have had to work another job to make it by, but it was something I had dreamed about since I was 5. I would be on stage at Radio City Music Hall. I chose to turn it down for two very big reasons- 1) I knew I would have to work a 2nd job just to make ends meet and 2) I was so deep in my eating disorder that I didn't think I would physically be able to do it. Two months had passed since my last audition, and I was down 15 pounds. I was barely able to work everyday, let alone dance a 90 minute show multiple times a week. So, I said no.

Things happen for a reason though. The show I was offered a contract for ended up being delayed, so I would have moved to New York for a few weeks of rehearsals and then, nothing. It ended up being the right choice. Little did I know that 2 months after that decision, I would ultimately lose everything anyway.

I haven't actually danced in over a year. The last gig I did was Mondo Lucha in Milwaukee, which was ninja hip hop and so much fun. For the first time in a long time, I was dancing just to have fun again; not to impress anyone or get a job. It was just for me, and I haven't gotten myself to dance since. Even in treatment, we had dance therapy, and I rarely participated. If I was in group that day, I would always sleep or zone out. It was too painful to accept that I wasn't allowed to really dance at that point in time. All I could do was eat a fuck ton of food and sit around in order to put back on all the weight I had lost. It was torture.

Even now, I haven't been able to bring myself to dance for so many reasons, which my eating disorder has a big part of. Being in front of mirrors for an hour where you have to body check to make sure your body is in the right position is incredibly trigger for me right now. All I see is fat and a body that I don't recognize when I look in the mirror. I have never been content in the way that my body looks weight restored. It makes it incredibly difficult to look in a mirror. Also, my eating disorder tells me that I can't go back to class, because I am out of shape, have no stamina, and won't be good anymore. It would be a failure for me to go, so I just avoid it. Finally, I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect in class. Dancing has always been an outlet for me, but it also has been a downfall. When I dance, I can't even describe the feeling. It feels like home; however, I feel like since I had been the best in class before, I have to live up to that in my mind, which is completely stupid. Dance is for me, not anyone else, but I still can't bring myself to do it.

I shudder in my mind to think that I won't ever dance again. Part of me truly believes it while the other can't see my life without that. Recovery has been a really painful journey so far. I have had to look at a lot of aspects of my life, past, and identity. Dance fits into all of those things, so I know in my heart that I need to reincorporate it. It's just a matter of how and when. I'm still not sure I can, but I don't think I or others would recognize me without it. So, it's sink or swim time. My challenge to myself is to take at least one class this month, because I know that I need to to prevent from going insane. I end this blog with this quote, because what is my life without dancing? Not as good as it could be.

Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free

Valuing Values

This weekend, I had the wonderful opportunity to go up to Milwaukee with my brother to visit our friends and go to a Brewers game, which is exactly what I needed for my mental health. The best part about these weekends is the time I get to spend with my bestie, Liz (BTW, she blogs about being a new mom here) She and I met under really shitty circumstances.  We met the night before the funeral of our good friend, Mike, who had died unexpectedly overnight of a heart condition that no one ever caught. So, we connected in a group of people at the bar and just clicked. We are basically the same person, except that we disagree on Beyonce.  I could not have survived in Milwaukee as long as I did without her. So, last night we were able to talk about our lives and all the crazy shit that's been happening. We ended up talking a lot about feeling unsatisfied right now for various reasons and looking at making major changes.  So, we talked about values.

In treatment,  I had a therapist that filled in on a week that my primary therapist was out of town. This therapist had me doing a lot of identity work. He and I went through my life's timeline. Then, he picked certain words and had me free associate to them on separate sheets of paper. Later, I had to go back and identify my emotions related to them.  The last word he handed me was my name. I drew a total blank. I literally had no idea how to respond to that. He told me that it was because I was struggling with figuring out who I am. He said that the best way to start is to identify my values.

Values are the ideals that we strive to live by. For me, some of my primary values are honesty, loyalty,  friends, family, and independence.  I believe that if we stick to the things we value, all the choices we make will fall into line and we can be comfortable. If something in our lives conflicts with our values, it leads to anxiety.  We know that these things aren't how we want to live life, so it creates this inner conflict. If one of our values isn't being fulfilled, it leads to depression,  because there is a void that needs to be filled. If we don't figure out what value is lacking, we might turn to negative behaviors to cope but don't exemplify the ideal we want to follow. It sounds easy, but like all things in life and therapy, easier said than done.

So what do we do? I have created a list of my personal values and keep it in my journal.  That way, if I start to feel anxious or depressed, I can look at those things and remind myself that if I have those, I am happy. It's not as easy figuring out if jobs, relationships,  or other things fall in line with those values (especially if society goes against them); however, if we set those ideals for ourselves and strive to follow them daily, our identity will fall in line behind it, even if we don't realize it. In the end, our values and journey to follow them will always be remembered more than making the right choice about changing jobs or moving to new places. But if we follow our guts and values, we just might make it.

Better

Better is such a loaded word for me. To me, it can mean so many different things. Even Webster's Dictionary has 5 (!) definitions for it! These 5 are- 1) Greater than half; 2) Improved in health or mental attitude; 3) More attractive, favorable, or commendable; 4) More advantageous or effective; and 5) Improved in accuracy or performance. Better has also impacted my eating disorder, perfectionism, and own self-worth. I look at those 5 definitions that Webster gives and can see myself and my eating disorder in all of them. So, how do we break it down?

The first definition, greater than half, applies to my entire life. I can honestly say that my mental health problems, trauma, and eating disorder have been present for the better half of my life. Better to me in this case is just sad. The better half of my life? It's insane to me that I have spent 15 years of my life hating and blaming myself for so many things that were beyond my control or ability to comprehend as a child. To me, this is the saddest better, because it puts into perspective just how much time my life has been consumed with eating disorder thoughts and behaviors.

The second definition, improved in health or mental attitude, is a great milestone for me. I can honestly say that, even though I am truly struggling in my journey in recovery, I am BETTER than I was in February when I entered treatment for the first time. This is my proudest better. It is proof to me that I can fight through anything and, even if that fight is still going on, I can improve upon myself to make positive changes in my life that will make the next chapter in my life extraordinary.

The third definition is what my eating disorder makes everything about: better. If I am "better," that means I am pretty, smart, loveable, and actually deserving of some worth. I am enough. This also boils down to comparisons though. This better to me is my Eating Disorder, but I am not defined it Everyone around me is. That girl walking down the street is better than me, because she is so thin and pretty. She's better. I did not graduate at the top of my class. Everyone above me is better than me. My boyfriend left me to focus on himself. His life is better without me than with me. I never allow myself to be deserving of that better. This is one of the biggest parts of my treatment right now, but one of the hardest. I often wonder if I will ever be better enough for me not to compare myself to anyone else. Somewhere in me, I hope that I will be, but I know that takes time and becoming more comfortable with myself. I need to create an identity surrounding this new transitioned person, which is way easier said that done.

The fourth definition is how I view my life with my eating disorder, better. To me, my eating disorder has always symbolized a place of safety, control, known, home, comfort, etc. I could attach most positive adjectives to how my Eating Disorder has helped me in my life. To me, anorexia has always been the better coping skill. It is the one thing that I know is guaranteed to make me feel better. I know that if I am having a bad day, all I need to do is skip 1 meal and I will automatically feel a little a better. To me, restricting is a better coping skill than anything else. How do you do better when you feel like you know the best solution for you? Time, patience, and an open mind are the best first steps, because something better and healthier is out there.

Finally, the last definition is a dichotomy for me: improved in accuracy or performance. My Eating Disorder mind sees this as "You can always do better" and applies it to school, work, life, appearance, any little thing. My healthy mind sees it as "You are doing better" and applying it to things like: my meal plan, less restricting, less exercising, fewer mistakes, etc. This goes back to my last blog about the War in My Mind. This constant battle of fighting ED mind vs Healthy Mind. By using challenges and evidence to focus on having more rational thoughts, I am better. I am no longer completely consumed by my eating disorder. I recognize it as a separate entity, which is a huge deal for me. It is leading to a better life for me.

Overall, I am learning to accept and incorporate all 5 versions of better. Although some of these definitions define a negative part of my life and a strong portion of my Eating Disorder, that positive side is there, even if I can't always see it. I just know that I deserve a life without hating myself everyday; a life where I don't analyze every bite of food or every calorie. I know that life is there, and it will be better.

How Being a Military Brat Influenced my Eating Disorder

One of the biggest pieces of my treatment earlier this year was identity work. I have a very difficult time focusing on myself, because I feel very lost and second guess a lot of the choices I have made to end up where I am today. I also have a very difficult time accepting things that make me stay in place for too long, but that's part of being a military brat.

My entire life, I have had very little consistency. Growing up as a military kid, you're constantly moving and adapting to new people, situations, and lives. As a kid, I moved every 2 to 3 years. I switched schools three times in elementary school, twice in middle school, and three times in high school. Granted, sometimes I did end up back at the same school, but it's still change. Even if I didn't have my trauma, that constant change has severely impacted me as an adult.

The military has a funny way of saying, "Hey, guess what? Time to move again." As a kid, when you are settling into a routine and need that consistency in order to thrive, that abrupt change causes a psychological mind fuck. You begin to rely on the only thing that is consistent, your family. That becomes tricky when you have a fucked up family too. Things were never great in my family, but we "maintained" as a unit until my freshman year of college. So, in reality, there was no real constant. So, with no constants and the ever looming threat of moving again, it always feels like you have no control over your life.

That lack of control has left this void that I tend to fill with temporary things: people, alcohol/drugs, eating disorder behaviors, etc. That void drives me crazy. It drives my depression and anxiety to a more severe level. It also was a strong basis for my eating disorder to begin. In some way, it felt like I had some power in controlling my own destiny with visible goals. I could see my control working in the smaller sizes of my clothes, the lower weight on the scale, the more bones I could see. That skinny controlled person became my identity. So what happens when you have to challenge that identity, because it's not healthy?

When I challenged the sole thing that defined my identity, I quickly found that I was left with nothing. Underneath everything, my eating disorder, which made me feel like a person, was covering up my complete lack of identity. I had no idea who I was, what I wanted, or where I belonged. It wasn't until working through my values with a therapist that I had some picture of who I could be. When looking at my military brat upbringing, it had a major impact on my identity. I value change, because you can learn from it. It taught me about resilience, the importance of true friends and family, and that I truly can face anything that life throws at me.

While being a military brat did have a major influence on the development of my Eating Disorder, it also gave me important life skills that are vital to continue on my journey to recovery. Skills that if I didn't have today, I would never have survived the majority of my life without. So, while I am still trying to figure out my true identity, I know that Military Brat will always be a strong part of it.

Carpe Diem. Seize the Day, Boys. Make Your Lives Extraordinary.

I've been thinking a lot about suicidality since the passing of Robin Williams this week. He was always one of my favorite actors, and his movies had significant influences at different points in my life. There will always be one that had the biggest though, so much so that I even have lines from it tattooed on me.

Sitting in my high school English class my senior year,  I remember watching Dead Poets Society right before graduating high school. I had such a huge future  planned. I was going to go to UNC and study dance, and move on to a huge professional dancing career.  Through all of those ambitious, I still had an underlying desire to help people. Dead Poets Society taught me that I could still be ambitious and go for those professional dreams while still helping people. That inspired me to pursue a psychology degree as well. Robin Williams' Mr Keating was the right balance of encouraging and understanding. He also encouraged his students to be the best versions of themselves, even if it's not what others expected for them. That's something I have always strived to instill in others. Very few of those dreams actually happened,  but new ones follow those same ideals.

Conventionality has never been for me. Growing up and moving all the time, I was always the new kid who never fit in. So, I just did my own thing of dancing and theatre outside of school.  Even as an adult, I received my Master's degree at 22. Fuck conventionality. Being unique and different has always been something I have worked towards;  however, that need to be skinny, pretty, and have everyone like me has maintained.

My Eating Disorder thrived off of that constant unfulfilled need. It still does. Every time I feel like I am failing, I turn to ED, because he knows me. He loves me. He tells me I'll be pretty when I lose 10 more pounds. He tells me more people will like me then too. Someone else besides him might actually love me at that point. So that constant void gets filled with love from ED, and I will do anything to keep that love, even to the point of ending my own life.

Earlier this year in treatment,  I faced the idea of my own mortality. When doing my most intense trauma therapy and reliving some of the darkest moments of my life,  I had to talk about things to my therapist that I never talked to anyone about or even faced myself. This caused an endless stream of anxiety, nightmares, and flashbacks. It got to the point where there were multiple nights in a row that I held my pill bottles in my hands thinking of how easily I could make this pain stop. My disorder completely consumed my mind, and the medicine made it impossible to even function. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin, and it needed to stop. So after being hospitalized for 7 days for my own safety,  I saw Dead Poets Society on TV, and it was time for my turn around.

It devastates me that Robin Williams could not find that peace of mind to help him through his darkest times; however, I think his passing is sparking a new conversation about the stigma of mental health and the idea of suicidality. Suicide isn't selfish. It's sometimes the only way we now how to end the pain and the daily suffering, which impacts our friends and families as much as the act of suicide itself.

After this year, I have a newfound, yet struggling, healthy-ish mind that allows me to make my new life extraordinary.  So seize the day.