Saturday, April 30, 2011

The sun is shining.

I have a purpose.
It is this life, in this body, this man.
The heartbeat that lulls me at night is outside of my body, but it is my own.
I feel like an animal. Something in the wild.
I eat so I can survive. So I can live another day.
I cling close to him at night. I am held close, kept safe.
I nuzzle him as if I do not have the words to communicate my love.

Friday, April 29, 2011

"I'd rather be bulimic than get fat."

That's what a friend of mine, J(female) said to me last night while we were shopping.
We weren't discussing eating disorders, but rather getting old.
Of course we both said "getting fat" was our number one fear.
It saddens me that the fear of getting fat comes before things like fear of getting wrinkles, lower sex drive, menopause, and deeply saddens me that it comes way WAY before fear of developing health issues, losing a parent, and plenty of other things that are actually a much bigger deal than putting on some weight. Or at least are supposed to be.
She said, "I would honestly rather be bulimic than get fat."

And shit, I agreed.

Normally I'd see J's comment as being rather ignorant of what girls with eating disorders actually go through, but in this case I just have a feeling she knows what she's choosing between. B, who has known her far longer than I have, says she used to be pretty chubby. J is a very small girl now, short, small frame. She looks very tiny although she probably has a normal amount of body fat on her.
It is certainly insane to assume that everyone who has ever lost a significant amount of weight had an eating disorder, however I've always felt like I had a sort of radar for detecting these things, an EDdar I guess.
I think if you know the behaviors, the signs, the excuses we make, you can pretty easily spot one of us.
But it's possible that when you know what you're looking for you see it in everybody.
B used to ask:
"Jenny, what are you doing to your food?"
"Why do you eat so slow?"
"Why do you order it with everything on it if you just pick almost everything off?"
He used to joke around with me because when we went to Subway I'd order a BLT and take off almost all the bacon, avoid three quarters of the bread and just eat the tomatoes and lettuce. Basically a salad.
When I explained to him that these were eating disordered behaviours I hadn't been able to shake yet [I had told  him of the existence of my ED one of the first times we ever spoke, which is very very not normal, it was very bad back then and I was very ashamed. I don't know what possessed me, why I trusted him so quickly,] he said something like, "Oh, I guess that makes sense. I just thought you were a weirdo."
He would have NEVER recognized an eating disordered behaviour before then, unless I stuck my fingers down my throat right in front of him.
And that's why I told him the signs.
Every trick I know.
Like an addict, sick of themselves and disgusted with the cycle they've fallen into, handing over their drug to a loved one and saying "Here, don't give this back. No matter what. Not if I ask, not if I beg, not if I cry, not if I swear that I will die without it. Hide it, because I will try to steal it. I will try to steal from you and I will lie to you because I am an addict and in the throes of withdrawal I will do anything for a fix."
Because I'd hoped he would love me enough to try to save me from myself.
He does.

Edit: It is Friday [payday] and I have only mentioned drug addiction in a simile? I was so sick yesterday. Stomach cramps and chills all day, restless legs at night, tossing and turning, sobbing on and off, wide awake. God dammit, why does my body insist I need drugs, even during the rare times when my mind wants nothing to do with them?
B was okay. He is just so much bigger, so much stronger.
I told him how I'd been feeling when he woke up this morning. Says I should have told him last night. We could have got suboxone. A part of me thought he knew.  A part of me is too ashamed to say it anyway.
I don't know what happens tonight. Rent is due the 1st, most of his paycheck has to go there. Plus I have a closing shift (fuck me.) I'd be proud of us if we just bought some suboxone. I don't know what I expect we will do. Not that, for some reason.

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Brain Damaged

I locked myself out of my apartment yesterday. B was at work and my roommate wasn't home either so I had to break in through the bedroom window. Awesome, right? Yeah well it gets better.
Our bed is right beneath our window. I was planning on just kind of letting myself fall onto it, but we have these grey goose bottles on the windowsill filled with water and food coloring that I had to get out of the way first. I threw them onto the opposite side of the bed. I was trying to get in quickly because I'm pretty sure like 8 people who live in our building were watching me and it was humiliating. I was also worried someone who didn't recognize me might call the cops or some bullshit.
So I lost my balance and fell.
Onto one of the vodka bottles.
Knocked out cold.
If ever there was a tale of the dangers of alcohol, this is it.
Also, if ever there was a tale of how I am a huge fucking idiot, this is it.

My head hurt ALL day after I woke back up (I guess woke up is the word....un-passed out?) and I felt nauseous and weak and I'm pretty sure I am concussed. I'm feeling better today but jesus I'm an idiot.
B worried about me all night.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post. I really appreciate your support. You are all truly wonderful.
I didn't post all weekend or on Monday because B wasn't working and we were spending time together.
It's not that I'm trying to hide this blog from him.
I'm not. I wouldn't care if he found it and read it, maybe he already has. Probably.
There is nothing here I wouldn't tell him if he were to ask about it, or if I thought it was anything he really wanted to talk about.
I don't really have anything to say today. I'm not feeling the best. I'm kind of sad. I don't know why.
Tuesday is always the saddest day of the week.
I'm so tired.
I hope B is in a good mood when he gets home tonight.
I want us to have a good night.
I guess this is just a post to let everyone know I'm still alive. Maybe I'll be more in the mood for this later.
Sorry for being a waste of time.

Friday, April 22, 2011

It's not fair that I still freak out over shit like this.

Today is one of those days where recovery doesn't really seem worth it.
I'm having a fat day.
I should have seen this coming, with the way I've been shamelessly devouring anything salty, greasy, fatty, and calorie-laden.
I should have known that all the shame I shook off at the time would eventually find me. And that it would be strong, having had time to build up, while I would be weak, too tired from the mess of carbohydrates I had consumed to fight it off.
Have I gained weight? I don't know. There's no scale here. My measurements haven't gone up, couldn't have gained too much, right? I'm not supposed to be fretting over a few pounds anyway, dammit. I'm better, I'm recovering, I love myself blahblahblahblahblah thingsI'mnotevensureifImeanorbelievemostofthetime blahblahblah.

In all likelihood I just feel a little heavier because B and I didn't eat dinner last night until after midnight.
And it was PASTA.

I don't want to talk about what I eat too much, because to most of you who aren't in recovery, it would seem really, really disgusting. You would think I weighed 190392930023002302lbs. I don't, I assure you. I am of average weight. My BMI is 19.6. Though I am just as surprised I don't weigh 190392930023002302lbs as you are.

But I have to prove to myself that I am stronger than this. I'm about to have my first meal of the day. I contemplated fasting. I miss fasting. But I am making the right decision, I am winning.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

An Encounter with the Woman We've All Wanted to be, at Some Point.

I work at a retail clothing store.
I see a lot of very thin women every day, but yesterday I saw a woman who I could only describe as "extreme thinspiration."
A walking corpse, really.
One of the thinnest women I've ever seen who wasn't lying in her deathbed.
I let her into the fitting room and watched as she modeled outfit after outfit to her average-sized friend.
She was swimming in the smallest size we carry.
I tried not to stare at her bones.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about her.
I'm not even entirely sure why.

A part of me wanted her, and a part of me wanted to be her.
But a part of me wanted to throw up on her.
I wondered if she had an eating disorder, what she saw when she looked in the mirror.
I wondered, if I touched her, would her skin feel cold?
How do her bones feel?
It made me question why I had once aimed to have a body like her, when I, in a more stable state of mind can't even decide whether I find her attractive or repulsive.
Why did I want that? Why does a part of me still want that?

And then it occurred to me that she had been on my mind all day. She still is.
When was the last time I thought about a stranger of average weight for this long, this in-depth?
When was the last time I couldn't help but stare at a woman the entire time she was in my presence? I'm a straight female. 
When was the last time I saw a woman so striking?
It's as if she was breathtakingly beautiful if only for the fact that she barely existed.

Her body, her eyes, her smile, they're all etched into my mind.
The average-sized friend? I couldn't even tell you her hair color.
And as sad as it is, THAT'S why.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Sleeping Like a Baby, and a Rant About a Roommate

I fell asleep last night while sucking B's....wait for it......thumb. Yeah, seriously, I fell asleep sucking his thumb.
I've decided that it's not weird at all, and is in fact the cutest thing ever. And since I've already decided you cannot tell me otherwise, so there.
If you haven't already picked up on it, we have a very unique dynamic, B and I. And I've never felt more like myself around anyone.

In other news, I HATE having a roommate.
He sent me a text this morning, which woke me up, by the way.
Should I have already been awake at 11:30 in the morning? Yeah, probably. Not the point.
He asked me if I was working today. I said no. So he asked me if I'd clean up the house.
Said he'd throw me ten bucks.
This wouldn't even be an outrageous request if B and I even had full use of the house.
But we just don't.
We NEVER use the living room, unless the roommate isn't home all day and B wants to watch a movie.
The roommate follows a pretty rigid routine, and gets very very annoyed if B or I somehow screw it up.
Say he comes home and wants to cook dinner, but I'm using the stove. He's pissed. Not my fault.
Or he gets home from the gym and wants to shower and B is already showering. He's pissed. Not B's fault.
I get that it's inconvenient, but that's part of having roommates, and B and I have more or less resigned ourselves to working around HIS schedule.
Because, well, he lived here first.
Even though we pay way more for the rent, because there's two of us, even though we only have one bedroom, just like him, and our room is way smaller.
We also have about 1/4 the cabinet and fridge space he does and---you know what, I could go on and on about our roommate.
From how he says creepy stuff to me when he comes home drunk and B isn't in the room to how his dog and two cats stink up the place and defecate where they shouldn't to how I'm pretty sure he is actually ripping us off every chance he gets on utilities, rent etc. (money we don't have, by the way.)
I'm sure sometime I'll get into deeper detail of what a scumbag this guy really is, but for now, point is:
We REALLY need to save up some dough and get our own place. Really.

Anyway, today, my need to please people beat out my desire to sit on my ass and do nothing and I agreed to clean HIS apartment. The little room B and I live in will have to suffer another day (I was PLANNING on cleaning that today since, you know, the mess in there is at least partially mine.) My personal hygiene will also have to suffer because I really need a shower, but also need to get this cleaning done before the roommate gets home. I'm 99.9% sure he won't be satisfied with the job I do and won't pay me, by the way.

Monday, April 18, 2011

This is where I finally say something about my ED.

Friday night-
Yeah, we bought drugs.
B actually got ripped off out of a few hundred dollars at work. Nothing but a bunch of fucking unprofessional, underhanded scumbags, but I digress. Means we had to sorta take it easy.
We picked up a friend of ours, J(male) and took him to go get drugs, too. We obviously bought more for ourselves at that time, despite our financial situation. When you are high the only financial situation that exists is not having enough money to get a little higher. Doesn't matter if we need money for food or gas or bills. That money can always be acquired "later, tomorrow, or the next time I'm not high." I cant help but love that attitude, despite how many times it's fucked me over.
As if the karma gods were looking down upon us, we got a flat tire.
Have I mentioned J smokes crack? And that he had crack and crack-related paraphernalia with him in the car? Yeah, I guess this is about the time that little bit of info becomes relevant. We had booze, too. Apparently when it's 3 AM and you're the only car on the road and you pull over in an empty parking lot you become a target for the cops.
I wasn't too worried about it. It's not in my nature. However B and J, who are both seven years older than me, and have a little more experience in the world, were freaking out despite being high. (J is also paranoid as fuck because, well, he's a crackhead.) We threw out the opened bottles and put the unopened ones in the trunk and J hid his crack.
Two friends, J(female) and M ended up picking us up. J(female) demanded to know if we had drugs. She would NOT have given us a ride if we said yes. Of course we said no, B and I weren't even lying. J(male) thinks he has the right to lie because the world revolves around him, but that's a story for another day. I would've lied too in this case.
Long story short, J(female) and M got B and me home, and we spent the rest of our night (until about 7 AM) fucking around. It was really fucking hot but I'll spare you the details. Went to bed still high, which is the only way to go bed, to be honest with you.
He should be getting those couple hundred bucks he's owed today, so no guarantees we won't blow that on drugs as soon as I'm out of work. The temptation is so overwhelming. The feeling we're's not euphoria. It's....satiation.

Next time, if you want, I'll spare you the details of my junkie escapades as well. I know that can get boring to anyone who can't relate. You are mainly ED sufferers, so on a related note:

My eating has been out of control this weekend. I know I'm recovering, so I can't not eat, but I shouldn't binge either, right? Couldn't that trigger me?
It's mainly because we don't have the money for groceries. We end up eating shit at home (ramen, easy mac, etc.) and eating shit when we go out (chips at the gas station, fast food, etc.)
My measurements haven't gone up and I don't feel like I've gained, but I do feel guilty about it. Still.
I shouldn't have the right to do this, in my mind.
Yesterday at 3 PM I looked down and realized I was eating easy mac and drinking a beer. Seriously? Who is this person in my body eating all this shit?
I really don't know what to do about it. I want to stop eating, but I really can't. Because of my mental health, because I need to be strong, but mainly because of B. I can't hurt myself. Except for a handful of isolated incidents I stopped purposely doing things to hurt myself as soon as I knew B wanted me to be his. I knew it would hurt him. And it does. The few times I've admitted purging to him since we've been together I could tell he was hurt. He wanted to make me all better, but he didn't know how.
Last September he was admitted to the hospital because of an ongoing medical problem he has, and we couldn't see each other that weekend like we had planned (for a long time we had a long distance relationship.) I was really upset, and he texted me something that was meant as a joke, but I got really hurt by it, broke down, and cut.
I told him a few weeks later and the way it hurt him hurt way worse than what he said and the cut put together. He still thinks he did it to me. That it might as well have been his hand that brought the knife across my skin.
In the moments I did it I think that is what I wanted, sick twisted little girl that I am. I thought "This is good, when he finds out about this he will learn an important lesson about how I deserve to be treated. About what words can really do."
I am an idiot. Hurting myself to teach someone else a lesson. It was only the way I justified it, not the reason I did it, but still. Stupid, and petty. And let me tell you something. The truth is, he treats me a million times better than I deserve. He treats me like a goddess. I am SO lucky. He is very honestly amazing.
And that is why I need to be strong and not let my ED take me back. Because he will suffer more than I will, and I can't stand to see him hurt. It kills me. I love him so much.

Friday, April 15, 2011


I'm not sure if it's counter-productive to my recovery to post measurements....I do not care.
My thinking behind it is this: We do not currently have a scale in our apartment, and we can't afford to buy one [read: we keep spending the money we could use to buy one on stupid shit] so I've been measuring myself excessively to make sure I'm not blowing up into a giant monster.
I was smart enough to bring a little measuring tape with me three months ago when I moved here. I didn't think my mom would appreciate me jacking her bathroom scales though.
I figure if I post my measurements on here I'll be able to look back and see what I was, and what the exact date was. That way I can't lie to myself. Could blow up in my face...we'll see.
They are as follows:
Bust: 35 in (I have huge tits...hate it, boyfriend loooves it)
Waist: 24 in
Hips: 34 in

I didn't get too in-depth. I didn't want to look obsessive. I mean, I don't want to BE obsessive. You know.
I have a question. Can I try to lose weight, like a healthy person, and receive any outcome OTHER than spiraling downward back into anorexia? I've  been contemplating this. I'd like to lose an inch around my bust and two each around my waist and hips. I just don't want to go back to the way I was before. I'm so scared of that.

Forgive me for the non-existent segue into "this is how the past few days went for me" but this post has to cover a lot of ground and I don't seem to have the mental capacity for smooth transitions right now.

Wednesday my boyfriend, who I shall call B from this point on because I am sick of referring to him in such an impersonal way, didn't work because it was pouring rain. He does physical labor and is outside the whole time so work got canceled. It sucks because that's a whole day he won't get paid for when he gets his paycheck (today!) but I had the day off too and it was SO nice to just lay around with him all day and be loved. I came into some money Wednesday night which we promptly spent on drugs. Then we cuffed some more off the drug dealer next door (who, by the way, must be a HUGE idiot because we have fucked him over doing this exact same thing a handful of times in the past few months.) I'm glad we held off on taking the last of our suboxone, because it was so fucking nice to be high. It felt like it had been weeks. It had been three nights [read: pathetic]

Yesterday I worked from noon to six. I work in retail now, so...yeah, it sucks. I felt really nauseous most of the afternoon and I threw up during my break. I threw up on Tuesday night too. I'm not sure what that's all about, honestly. It's kind of scaring me. I hope I'm not seriously sick.
B picked me up right after work and seemed in good spirits except for the terrible headache he was complaining of. It's so hard for me to see him in pain. I would take it all away from him in a second if I could.
I found out later why his spirits were so high when the drug dealer next door called and cuffed us drugs, again, even after we failed to pay him for the drugs from Wednesday night. That guy is fucked in the head. B had obviously talked to him earlier and knew it was going to work out that way, so that's why he was so chipper.
So we did drugs, again.
We laid in bed for a long time after that, just loving each other.
When B wants to cuddle, I know I am about the feel like the most loved thing on earth. He is perfect.
When he felt better I did the dishes while he cooked an amazing dinner. We ate it, then had amazing sex. Which, by the way, we've had for the past three nights.
Sex life=win.
Drug, depends on how you look at it.

Today is Friday and B will get paid. Not me, though. I get paid bi-weekly. Sucks. My paycheck is so pitiful though it barely makes a difference. Hopefully we manage to spend a little of our money on things that we need. Food, laundry, etc. I feel so much better about blowing the last of our money on drugs when we at least have everything we need to get through the week. We are getting more responsible in that way. Used to be by the time Wednesday rolled around we couldn't even afford a pack of smokes. You don't want to be around either of us during a nicotine fit. He flips out over everything and everything makes me cry. If I weren't too busy crying I might think it was pretty comical.
I guess I'll have more to write about tonight by the time tomorrow rolls around.
Sorry this post was all over the place. Thank you for bearing with me.

I want to thank everyone who commented on my last post, with support and advice. It means a lot to me, girls. Thank you. A big thanks to Jamie, because it is so nice to find someone to relate to. I remember you from my old blog and your comments always came from a place of understanding. Thank you <3

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

"Is anybody out there?"

I am an idiot and you can disregard my last post. The one about me complaining like "oh-I-am-so-tired-and-I-don't-know-why?" Yeah, I was dope sick. I do such an effective job lying to myself about how bad my boyfriend and I have let our habit get that I actually FORGET that I get dope sick. Every time it happens I'm like "huhh....whas goin onnnnn?" like an asshole until my guy gets home and is like "We need to get a pill or something, I feel like shit." I'm such a pathetic person.
And I'm really scared, you guys.
Last night when he came home he told me he considered buying a pill and not telling me. Just doing it himself.
He didn't, and I'm glad he told me even though it really did kind of hurt.
But I understand. I have to.
He was sick. Drugs are terrible. It's evil.
They fuck everything up.

It doesn't matter that he loves me and that I'm sick too because it's drugs, and drugs don't give a fuck who you are in love with.

I guess I have to look at it as if I was in his shoes. If I had money coming in and I could do it, I might consider it too. How many times have I considered not eating, or purging, and just not telling him? I could get away with it. I know it's different, because he's never been ED, but the concept is the same. Deceit.
I want to say didn't know it was this bad. I guess I was trying to put it out of my mind.
We need to stop before we start lying to each other. We need to stop anyway.

We had a long talk about it at the laundromat. I wanted to cry.
I'm still being mind fucked by that  annoying little question, "If I don't do drugs, what will I put in their place? What will I fill that void with?"
I replaced starving with getting fucked up. Would I go back to starving?

We bought some suboxone from our roommate. We made the right decision, last night. We could have bought a pill. I wanted one. I know he did.
I'm scared we won't be able to keep it up. I know we will get fucked up on Friday when he gets paid. I have convinced myself that's okay. But it's NOT. How can I know that it's not but still think that it is? Explain that to me.

Anorexia almost destroyed me but I shook her away at the last minute. Only to let a little blue pill, or fucking heroin, finish what she started? I don't want that.

Monday, April 11, 2011

And Every Monday...

reality sets in.

I have no clean clothes and I don't have enough cigarettes for the day.

I find myself budgeting my time. If I only lay around until 5 pm I should still have enough time to shower and get dressed up nice and clean before my boyfriend gets home.

I sit around and wonder why everybody seems to have more energy than I do. At one time I blamed it on malnutrition, apparently that was not the case. I blamed it on depression.....well, I don't think I'm depressed now. Am I? Is that even possible?

I avoid our roommate. Always.

I wonder what to eat, if anything.  
I should eat.  
There's nothing here I want.  
I could walk to Target and buy something. 
 I don't have much money and plus if I go out in public I'll have to get ready and that will take hours.  
The walk would do me good.
The candy bar I'd buy wouldn't.
This argument goes on in my head for hours. The winner varies.

-wash hair
-wash face

Get ready
-dry hair
-get dressed
-apply makeup
-brush teeth

Clean up
-make bed
-organize laundry
-throw away trash

 These are the basics. The bare minimum I can do.  Why is it so overwhelming to me?

Saturday, April 9, 2011

About Him

Nights like last night and mornings like this one make it next to impossible for me to find anything in my life I'd change.

I'd give us more money, of course, always money, but I mean anything that isn't material.

The reason I say us, if you're wondering, is because my boyfriend  and I are very much the "us" type. If one of us had money, we both would. We share our world. I know it's not always like that with couples, but I love it that way. He treats me better than I can possibly deserve and I try to give him everything he wants. I would do anything for him that I could.

I am a good girlfriend and a lucky, lucky girl.

And when we are high all we can do is love each other.
Last night I stared into his opiate eyes, pupils tiny little specks. His eyes drive me crazy. You just can't call them brown. Nature couldn't make a brown color that beautiful. They are some other color entirely. They don't have a name for it. I try to describe them to him sometimes but I always end up lost in them and kissing him to hide that I can't speak.

He is seven years older, six and a half feet tall, and strong.
Charismatic and brilliant.
We rarely fight.
He makes me small, and keeps me safe, he treats me right, and (without really trying to over-share here,) he gets me off.

Every time.

Often more than once.

The sex is unbelievable. We just somehow always knew how to please each other, and it's only gotten better with time. He gave me three orgasms this morning before he left for work, you guys. I suppose it's no wonder I'm feeling so positive about life right now.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Why I Find Myself Here Again

Honestly, it took watching my boyfriend return to an online community he once enjoyed to make me realize how much I missed this place. How much I owe to all of you, once my only outlet, the only people I could confide in, the only people who knew what really went on in my twisted little head. I'm not sure where I would be without you guys. I may owe my life to you all, in some strange way.

I suppose the difference between him and me is that he got to use his old account. He wasn't forced away, he just left. Was able to pick up where he left off. What I have to do is much harder and sucks so much more. I want to be able to tell you all who I once was, direct you to my old blog (which is deleted and you can't read but I still see the link on many of your profiles.) You see, I have the patience of a little kid who really has to use the bathroom, jumping up and down and feeling like days have passed since I began waiting, even though it's really only been a few minutes. I just want it to explode, BOOM. Hundreds of followers like I used to have. Well, that's pretty unrealistic, and VERY undeserved. I know that. Anyway, I'm just going to have to wait.

Today is Friday and I will tear the head off of anything that tries to bring me down.
On my old blog, I once asked something along the lines of, "What is the point of life if you don't have a lot of sex and do a lot of drugs?"
I caught a little bit of shit for that, but honestly, even from the somewhat solid ground I'm standing on now, I can't answer that question for the life of me.

I still have a lot of sex. Just with one man and I wouldn't ever have it any other way, but god is it still fucking important to me to have a lot of sex.
And I suppose, depending on who you are and on how your own experiences have shaped your opinion, I still do a lot of drugs.
I'm not trying not to, I just usually can't afford it. Ha.
Welcome to the real world, little girl.
Now that I don't have mommy and daddy's medicine cabinet to steal from, I have gained a little perspective on the matter. There were no repercussions before, only that I might get caught. And I honestly didn't fucking care.
Now if my boyfriend and I get fucked up, we might not be able to eat (I try very hard to be upset by that,) or be able to do laundry, etc. We've made some stupid decisions, especially at first, but we are learning and I am proud of where we are.
Still, I can't help but wonder, what in the world am I supposed to fill my life with, if not this?
I can't decide if I have learned a lot or nothing at all.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Well, here I am...

...A little over a year later and I still don't know what to say. I'm writing on a different account, and under a different fake name because as it turns out it's impossible to stay anonymous forever. I remember some of you, others are new. I'm fairly sure no one would remember me, though I felt quite close to many of you at one point.

I want to be able to tell you I'm better. I want to. Really, I am better. Much better. I eat when I'm hungry, and I feel little guilt. It kills me that no one who has suffered from an eating disorder can honestly ever say they are one-hundred percent cured, that there are days that go by that they aren't tempted to go back, that they never make a conscious decision to not eat because they're sad, or anxious, or feel like they ate too much the day before. I want to be there. But that place just doesn't exist.

I'm living two states away from the little town that almost killed me, with an amazing man that I'm madly in love with, that I want to spend the rest of my life with. I have a job, and I plan to go to school soon, and I feel lucky that even with all the mistakes I made things are still able to go right for me. I am so lucky.

I guess what I'm hoping to accomplish here is to prove to myself that there is life after recovery. That my ED was not who I was, just something I suffered from that I let define myself when I shouldn't have. Sometimes, it's hard to convince myself I am making the right decision, even though I'm in better shape than I've even been, even though I feel better than I've felt in four years. I want to prove that I still have plenty to say.

I eat CAKE. I drink soda. I eat over 1000 calories a day, and I'm alive anyway. Who knew?