2016 has been a shit year for many, including myself. But great writing tends to emerge during difficult times. Here are what I consider to be my top 15 pieces from 2016.
15. reflections from the hospital
14. Days Weeks Months Years
13. Why they need to get rid of atypical anorexia
12. To the girl who thinks she's smarter than this
11. #eatittobeatit
10. This one's for the girl
9. My depression is ugly
8. Faking perfection
7. Thinspo: video (no images, don't worry)
6. How to help a suicidal friend
5. Orthorexia
4. 7 things I want you to know as you're staring into the toilet bowl
3. A week with borderline personality disorder
2. Counting down (link to buy my poetry book, one of my greatest accomplishments so far)
1. Cat pictures (because my cat is the best thing that has happened to me this year)
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Kamis, 29 Desember 2016
Sabtu, 12 November 2016
Orthorexia
It started with lunch, whole grain bread, skinless chicken and spinach sandwiches. Fruit flavored yogurt as desert. Hitting all four food groups with one perfectly balanced meal, before going out for a 10 mile run.
Dinner was brown rice, broccoli and salmon., with a smoothie on the side.
Common meals that nutritionists eat, hitting those 7 servings of fruit and veggies every day. Getting recipes from Pinterest, and smiling as I indulged in a burger every so often.
I heard somewhere that it was healthier to be a vegetarian, and I really like animals, so I cut out red eat then chicken the fish. My lunch became whole grain bread, eggs and spinach. dinner was brown rice, broccoli and tofu. Things were good. I could eat work and play, running 12 miles a day. I felt healthier and knew I wasn't hurting animals.
Turns out that all animal products are bad, and cows and chickens are tortured for milk and eggs, so I said bye to the yogurt and cheese and the eggs. I was being healthier right? And saving the world at the same time. Everyone looked up to me, my discipline, my health, my care for the planet. I was down to running 8 miles per day but I was unstoppable. I was eating my whole grain bread, more than seven servings of fruits and vegetables a day and almond milk has the same nutrients as cow milk right?
That was all well and good until I found out gluten was bad because now I'm eating oatmeal with berries three times a day, and dry leaves on a plate when I go out with friends. I'm making cakes that taste like chalk from recipes off of Pinterest, but the girls posing beside the cake look so happy and radiant so if I eat the same things I'll look the same way, right? My friend's are annoyed cause I can't have a beer but that's okay because alcohol slows down my five mile runs.
Did you know that humans used to only eat raw, and that's better for you because the nutrients don't get cooked out. And I swear it's possible to eat normally with only raw foods, using zucchini as pasta, and you can make your own granola out from seeds and agave. It takes me a couple hours to prepare every meal, so I have to work from home, and I can never go out to eat, so I never go out with friends. I finish my three mile run with a cup of green tea to fully detoxify my body. I'm broke because of the money I'm spending on dates, and no one wants to take me out on a date, because what do you do with a girl who won't eat anything?
I'm scared to even touch something I can't eat. What if the unhealthiness seeps into my skin. I don't trust others to not cover my food with lard, and I can't have someone watch me eat. I only eat at my white kitchen table scrubbed clean before and after every meal. I haven't gotten my period in month but that's good because I no longer have to take birth control and artificial hormones are bad. I take three times the recommended dose of Omega 3 but my hair is still falling out. I've cut anything processed, anything not pure. I've cut out animals, gluten, fat, friends, family, love, happiness and life. I'm only living for the next meal. I'm terrified of that brown rice, broccoli and salmon dinner I used to have.
I don't run like I used to, I can barely walk a mile, so I lay down in bed and wonder what the hell happened to me.
Dinner was brown rice, broccoli and salmon., with a smoothie on the side.
Common meals that nutritionists eat, hitting those 7 servings of fruit and veggies every day. Getting recipes from Pinterest, and smiling as I indulged in a burger every so often.
I heard somewhere that it was healthier to be a vegetarian, and I really like animals, so I cut out red eat then chicken the fish. My lunch became whole grain bread, eggs and spinach. dinner was brown rice, broccoli and tofu. Things were good. I could eat work and play, running 12 miles a day. I felt healthier and knew I wasn't hurting animals.
Turns out that all animal products are bad, and cows and chickens are tortured for milk and eggs, so I said bye to the yogurt and cheese and the eggs. I was being healthier right? And saving the world at the same time. Everyone looked up to me, my discipline, my health, my care for the planet. I was down to running 8 miles per day but I was unstoppable. I was eating my whole grain bread, more than seven servings of fruits and vegetables a day and almond milk has the same nutrients as cow milk right?
That was all well and good until I found out gluten was bad because now I'm eating oatmeal with berries three times a day, and dry leaves on a plate when I go out with friends. I'm making cakes that taste like chalk from recipes off of Pinterest, but the girls posing beside the cake look so happy and radiant so if I eat the same things I'll look the same way, right? My friend's are annoyed cause I can't have a beer but that's okay because alcohol slows down my five mile runs.
Did you know that humans used to only eat raw, and that's better for you because the nutrients don't get cooked out. And I swear it's possible to eat normally with only raw foods, using zucchini as pasta, and you can make your own granola out from seeds and agave. It takes me a couple hours to prepare every meal, so I have to work from home, and I can never go out to eat, so I never go out with friends. I finish my three mile run with a cup of green tea to fully detoxify my body. I'm broke because of the money I'm spending on dates, and no one wants to take me out on a date, because what do you do with a girl who won't eat anything?
I'm scared to even touch something I can't eat. What if the unhealthiness seeps into my skin. I don't trust others to not cover my food with lard, and I can't have someone watch me eat. I only eat at my white kitchen table scrubbed clean before and after every meal. I haven't gotten my period in month but that's good because I no longer have to take birth control and artificial hormones are bad. I take three times the recommended dose of Omega 3 but my hair is still falling out. I've cut anything processed, anything not pure. I've cut out animals, gluten, fat, friends, family, love, happiness and life. I'm only living for the next meal. I'm terrified of that brown rice, broccoli and salmon dinner I used to have.
I don't run like I used to, I can barely walk a mile, so I lay down in bed and wonder what the hell happened to me.
Minggu, 02 Oktober 2016
Promises
It hurts to know that I can't promise you my existence. That I can't look you in the eye, and guarantee that I'll never self destruct again. It hurts to know that you have to worry about this.
If I were me all the time, you'd have nothing to worry about, because when I am me I know that the storm will pass and the rainbow will appear. It's the demon, the dark ghost haunting my lungs, suffocating me from the inside out tearing at my throat letting go only when my head is in the toilet.
She always comes back after, catching me from behind, yanking my arms and pulling me back into hell. She starts to whisper. Quietly at first. Hinting towards my razor blade. I lock myself in the safety of my room but demons can pass through closed doors. I cling to my bed but the force is too much. I start to hear screams. And next thing I know I find myself paralyzed in the shower, red stained water flowing down the drain.
I hide. You can't see blood stains on my dark purple blanket so I curl up inside. I worry, because the next time you see me, you'll see more darkness than I wish. You'll see the scars the demon has left.
It hurts me. It hurts to see your face when you see my thighs, the sadness in your eyes when you look up and ask me when it happened. It hurts to feel the lump in your heart as you hold me so closely acting strong just for me.
Some tv show is being played on my computer in the hopes that my speakers are louder than her voice. Her voice is meaner today. She's yelling at me from behind the walls and no one else can hear her but I swear that she's their please believe me. I start to get angry and decide that today's the day, the day that the demon lives no more. I'm not myself anymore. I'm a murderer. My only goal is make the demon suffer the same way she made me suffer. I drown her in acetaminophen.
I wake up. I'm myself again and realize that the demon is within me and that I've poisoned myself. I lay in a different bed with needles in my arms. I watch as people come in and out. I get asked questions and I try to explain that I didn't want to hurt myself I wanted to hurt the demon, but they don't understand. They don't believe in what they can't see or hear. I succumb the thoughts of the demon and fall asleep.
I wake up in another new bed in a locked ward. I'm me again and I'm relieved. I'm safe here. The demon can't catch me. Several days pass and she doesn't come to get me so they let me go home.
It hurts. It hurts to see the fear in your eyes when I head back to my bed, the bed where she first attacked. It hurts that I'd be lying if I said I had control over her. It hurts that I can't promise you my existence.
If I were me all the time, you'd have nothing to worry about, because when I am me I know that the storm will pass and the rainbow will appear. It's the demon, the dark ghost haunting my lungs, suffocating me from the inside out tearing at my throat letting go only when my head is in the toilet.
She always comes back after, catching me from behind, yanking my arms and pulling me back into hell. She starts to whisper. Quietly at first. Hinting towards my razor blade. I lock myself in the safety of my room but demons can pass through closed doors. I cling to my bed but the force is too much. I start to hear screams. And next thing I know I find myself paralyzed in the shower, red stained water flowing down the drain.
I hide. You can't see blood stains on my dark purple blanket so I curl up inside. I worry, because the next time you see me, you'll see more darkness than I wish. You'll see the scars the demon has left.
It hurts me. It hurts to see your face when you see my thighs, the sadness in your eyes when you look up and ask me when it happened. It hurts to feel the lump in your heart as you hold me so closely acting strong just for me.
Some tv show is being played on my computer in the hopes that my speakers are louder than her voice. Her voice is meaner today. She's yelling at me from behind the walls and no one else can hear her but I swear that she's their please believe me. I start to get angry and decide that today's the day, the day that the demon lives no more. I'm not myself anymore. I'm a murderer. My only goal is make the demon suffer the same way she made me suffer. I drown her in acetaminophen.
I wake up. I'm myself again and realize that the demon is within me and that I've poisoned myself. I lay in a different bed with needles in my arms. I watch as people come in and out. I get asked questions and I try to explain that I didn't want to hurt myself I wanted to hurt the demon, but they don't understand. They don't believe in what they can't see or hear. I succumb the thoughts of the demon and fall asleep.
I wake up in another new bed in a locked ward. I'm me again and I'm relieved. I'm safe here. The demon can't catch me. Several days pass and she doesn't come to get me so they let me go home.
It hurts. It hurts to see the fear in your eyes when I head back to my bed, the bed where she first attacked. It hurts that I'd be lying if I said I had control over her. It hurts that I can't promise you my existence.
Jumat, 26 Agustus 2016
Fingers
Finger 1 started in year 1 of high school when I ate five chocolate bars and tried to throw up. Finger 1 tried and tried and tried but it wasn't until ear 1 of university in the midst of a panic attack was finger one successful at letting me purge. As I purged more and more using finger 1 my gag reflex lessened as quickly as my mood. Soon finger 1 was all I was living for and when I realized that I was no longer in control of finger 1 and that finger 1 was in control of me it felt like I had nothing to live for.
After botched attempts to kill the demon I started using finger 2 because maybe I had control of finger 2. It was year 2 of university and finger 2 helped with my lessening gag reflex and allowed me to empty more and more. You can't be happy on a malnourished brain and the depression got worse and there were many more attempts to kill the demon. There stopped being a purpose to life.
I made it to year 3 of university though and that's when finger 3 came into play, because my gag reflex no longer worked with just finger 2. As I started using finger 3 more and more it became evident that my past was haunting me. Nightmares triggering the use of finger 3 which triggered the nightmares ended up being an endless cycle.
But year 4 of university will break the cycle. Year 4 will be the year I use fingers 1, 2 and 3 positively. On finger 1 I'll tattoo the eating disorder recovery symbol, representing the start of it all. On finger 2 I'll tattoo a semi colon, for the life I wanted to end but didn't. On finger 3 I'll tattoo a star, so that my past can be with me, not haunting me.
Fingers 1, 2 and 3 will be strength and no longer my weakness.
Senin, 22 Agustus 2016
Stigma
Many parents get divorced so why would it bother me, I mean my mom's parents got divorced and she got double the Christmas presents and all feelings were hidden so why would I have any feelings when my parents got divorced.
When I was eight my stepmom died and eleven years later I still get nightmares because watching someone you love die is terrifying. But why would it bother me? We never talked about Cindy that summer after she died and I never really grieved because my parents assumed I was fine.
And maybe my family's history of hidden feelings is why I didn't know about my mom's depression or all the alcoholism on my dad's side of the family until I swallowed a bottle of Tylenol hoping it would kill me.
My siblings still don't know that I've been admitted to the hospital five times because of suicide attempts or really that I'm sick at all. We don't talk about why I missed Christmas dinner or spent all summer hiding in my room. My sister saw me take my Prozac one morning and asked why I needed medication and when I told her it was to make me happier she thought I was joking because we don't talk about mental illness. I mean why mention depression when you can pretend everyone's happy all the time.
I've been diagnosed with an eating disorder and a personality disorder and my siblings don't even know those exist. They could tell you all about cancer or diabetes but when it comes to metal illness we hide it behind doors that never open, it's like I'm in a seclusion room my entire life.
When I make a Facebook post about mental illness, people comment on how strong I am to share this information. When others make posts about physical illness people comment on how strong they are to get through it.
They say the stigma is gone but it's not. We're labelled as over dramatic attention seekers going through a phase. We're told that we'll outgrow it. Last time I was in a locked unit over half the patents were over fifty and my psychiatrist still had the nerve to tell me I'll grow out of it. Mental illness affects adults too and it's not because we're weak or dumb.
My medical insurance covers hospital admissions but not my outpatient therapy. My medical insurance covers my help only when I'm locked away.
Try telling me again that the stigma is gone.
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