The Girl

     When you see her on the street she is always smiles, always trying to add sunshine to everyone's day. She is the first person to jump in if help is needed without expecting anything in return. She succeeds at everything she puts her mind to, and everyone whispers about her potential. The girl has it so together that everyone around her wishes they knew her secrets. The only problem is that girl who you think has world in her hands is falling apart.
     Those smiles, the good grades, the awards, and helpful nature is all there to cover up the real girl...the girl she knows that no one could ever love. Everyone thinks her life is so on track, and they talk about her future, about all the amazing things she will do. None of them can see what she is hiding, the secrets that are tearing her apart everyday. It gets so hard to breathe some days she thinks she won't make it...she is so afraid and no one knows. No one knows that beneath her long sleeves are the marks of the crimson tears she cries every night when the lights go out. No one sees that she has stopped eating, and is obsessively watching the numbers on her scale fall everyday. She must be perfect, who could love her if they knew she was such a mess.
     She looks in the mirror everyday and can't find what it is that everyone thinks is so beautiful, so talented because all she sees is hate. Her mom has fallen in a bottle that can't get out of and the girl thinks that maybe, just maybe if she could be perfect than her mom could come back. There would be no more screaming, no more hiding the bruises...if only she were better. If she were more perfect her dad might actually see her, she could be something rather than nothing to a family that she has always disappointed. She wants to scream and break that mirror, shattering that stupid reflection staring back at her, but she practices the smiles and programmed responses hoping no one can see past the walls she has put up.
     The girl is so tired, so tired of hiding who she really is. She doesn't know how much longer she can do it, the secrets drown her more everyday. She has forgotten what it means to feel pain free, the only time she can truly breathe is when opens her own flesh.
Somehow the bleeding makes the pain go away, it is somehow escaping her body, but it always comes back in the morning. People have noticed her ever shrinking body, but now her diet has become an obsession that she can't stop. She was raised to never lie yet every time she opens her mouth another one escapes her lips without even second thought. She can see her walls breaking down, everyone is beginning to see that she is a wreck which only makes her fight harder to cling to her addictions. At this point she is so out of control she can't navigate the web of lies she had spun over the years. Her choices are limited now, too many questions from everyone, and one solution...RUN.
     She runs to a new place, to a whole new group of people who won't see past her smiles to the damaged person she has become. The only problem is that every time she thinks she is comfortable in a new place they start to notice that she isn't okay. They watch with a plate full of food that never actually finds its way to her mouth, but rather the nearest trash can. They spot a scar or cut on her arm, and it is just a little too perfect to have been an accident. The second they confront her she shuts down and heads for a new place. She has been running all of her life, she doesn't see a person worth saving, or deserving of anything but the pain she puts herself in everyday. They tell her she is pretty, smart, talented, etc yet she doesn't see it. The girl hates herself, she is trapped and she can't find a way out. Even when she screams at the top of her lungs nothing comes out. The only voice she hears is the one in her head calling her fat, worthless, pathetic, selfish, and so many other things that you wouldn't say to another person let alone yourself.
     Just like most nights the girl finds herself on the floor trying to bleed out the pain of the day when something changes. She is hopeless, the world has forgotten her, and she makes a choice. By the time the paramedics get there the girl isn't breathing surrounded by empty bottles and razor blades. That girl who brought sunshine with her smile will never smile again, and so many people will be left behind asking, "why"? Some people judge her and call her selfish because they can't understand why she did what she did. Others see themselves in the girl...hiding their starving bodies from the world, taking razor blades the their arms every night thinking no one can understand...they could never love me like this.
     That girl isn't just me, she is so many of us in this world right now. So many of us are sitting home in the dark clutching that blade praying so hard that you can beat it, that you don't have to do this, and then you fail again. Things become so hopeless, and going on seems too much. We all hide our true selves from the world thinking that if people knew how screwed up we were they wouldn't want to be around us. Just because this girl in here had to die doesn't mean we all have to. Believe me I know what it feels like to be on your floor crying out for some kind of strength to stop everything, some kind of answer that the pain will go away someday, and you are clutching that razor wanting so badly to throw it and tell someone what is going on. I also know what it is like to be afraid, so afraid that taking your own life seems to be the only way you can make it all go away and never come back. It is very easy to change the ending of this story, you have to reach your hand and admit that you are no okay. There are people who will help you and everyone will still love you. You can cry real tears on someone's shoulders instead of bleeding your pain away, you can learn how to eat again, and you can go on to have a good life. I know it is hard to reach out because we are all so afraid of that hand pulling back at the last instant like a joke leaving you more raw and more exposed than ever.
     I would be lying if I said that it is easy street now because there are plenty of struggles and old temptations. The girl here represents a lot of my own struggles except when the paramedics broke into my door I was still breathing, and I kept on breathing. We all need to be working on being our own "girl'"...stop covering up all the things that we think make us some undesirable person. The thing is that generally what you hate about yourself someone else loves like your eyes, your smile, the fact you are full figured...etc. You can be the girl that recovers and goes on to help others find their way out of their own darkness, and get that voice back so they can speak for themselves. You get to be someone who doesn't have to constantly juggle a thousand lies at once while waiting for it all to come crashing down. You are allowed to have a voice, to say how you feel without having to hurt yourself. There will always be people who try to pull you down, family members who will joke at your expense, family members whom you will never please, and stupid boys (there is plenty of time for boys later). You aren't alone because we are all out here for you. Please don't have a tragic ending like this girl did.
    
      To the rest of the world take some time to get to know people, and learn to look past their smiles and stand with them through the dark days, and someday they can return the favor. We don't take the time to really get to know people that often anymore, to break down those barriers and just dig into who the person is, including ourselves. We think that if we are honest then no one is going to want us. People can surprise you if you give them a chance, and you can truly feel what it means to smile and let go. The tragedies can be prevented, we don't have to be the girl/boy from above. We can't stop every ignorant bully in the universe, but we can stand together and fight. We put down the razors and use our voices.

Holiday Pain

     When I woke up this morning my first thought wasn't, "Yes, I'm ready to get my Christmas on". In all honesty the only thing that came to my mind as I stared at my ceiling gathering up the courage to get out of bed was, "Lord, give me the strength to get through this day with only a few tears, and give my son the best Christmas I can". I have struggled with my own hardships these last few months, and the last thing I've wanted to do was put up a Christmas tree and smile like there was nothing wrong. I was ashamed that I was too broke to buy my son a bunch of Christmas presents, and the only reason he had some under the tree was because of some amazing people that blessed us in our hard times. I began to wonder as I sit here alone in my house, my son going to bed, everyone else coming home from their family dinners how many other people were hiding pain behind those smiles this year?
     When you look at pictures from the holidays everyone is beaming ear to ear with grins, but how many of those grins are truly genuine? Just because it is Christmas or any holiday for that matter doesn't mean that things magically get better in our lives, we simply learn to hide it better because that is what is socially acceptable. We are taught that no one wants to hear your tragedy when they say, "Merry Christmas". I was around some family today and not one of them asked how I was doing, or how I got through opening "Santa" presents with my Firefly without crying wishing my husband was here seeing our son get excited about his new toys. It was very lonely this morning, just me and my lil Firefly sitting in the living room opening up gifts, me trying to help him and take pictures for my husband, and then after we got done at my parent's house I came home to my house just me and the Firefly. It is amazing how quiet it gets sometimes without him here. I still walk down the stairs some days and expect him to be in the kitchen, but I know that he isn't, and won't be for a long time. It breaks my heart for him to call me and there is nothing I can do to make his holiday better...we are both serving time, forced to be apart.
     Believe me I know that some of you are like, "How are you in prison, he is the one stuck behind the locks for not doing anything wrong"? I am not locked in a room being told what to do all the time, but I am being kept from the man I love. I have taken on the life of a single mom for a little while, while being sick, and while spending every spare second trying to free my husband from this false charge. It is heartbreaking to wake up to our son crying for his daddy still thinking he is going to be there for their morning breakfast routine, and you think he is only two and would forget...he doesn't. I miss him so much it hurts my heart deeper than I thought possible, I have stacked crap up on our bed so I don't have to feel the void next to me where my husband should be. The holidays really mean very little to me this year, I put on the smile for my son because he deserves to have a good holiday even if his mommy is struggling. At the end of everyday that little boy gives me the strength to wake up and fight all over again, and I know that is a blessing not everyone has.
     I know so many of you are hiding the pain you feel this time of year whether it be the pain of losing someone you love, trouble in the family, money problems, illness, or so many other things that hurt us. I wanted to let you know that you are absolutely not alone this Christmas. I know how much it hurts to smile and laugh when you would rather lock yourself away and just cry or disappear. You have to understand there is nothing wrong with you if you are struggling, I promise you more of us are struggling through the holidays than laughing. Everyone is hiding something or stressed out about trying to afford presents or getting the right presents for everyone. Don't get me started on how commercialized we are, and that we can only show love by gifts...that frustrates me. This is just a really hard time of year for so many people.
     I'm writing this for all of you who are finding yourself sitting alone in your rooms after peeling off the make up and gift wrappings that made you look perfect this holiday season. You are surrounded by stuff and yet tears still stream down your face for whatever reason. I know what you are thinking..."There is something wrong with me". But, I can promise you there isn't, it is okay to be sad or need help this time of year because lots of people do. Years ago I use to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas just smiling ear to ear and then when I got home I would go back to my room, back to the darkness inside me, and I would take a razorblade to my flesh. I couldn't be happy like everyone else, the stuff I pulled paper off of didn't fill whatever that emptiness was inside of me, and I was right back to where I was before it all. Now, I am blessed to not feel the need to turn to those old demons, I have a son who needs me to be whole not starving or bleeding. But, not everyone has the support to get through this without resorting to their demons whatever they may be. I hate to think of the people who are alone and scared turning to their addictions to get through the pain...YOU AREN'T ALONE! I think about those people who take their lives around the holidays and it breaks my heart. I know what it is like to give up, I've swallowed the pills myself, and only woke up in the ICU by the grace of God. But, waking up after that night was enough to let me know that I didn't want to die, and so I think about those who succeed who would have had a long life full of possibilities ahead of them if they would have been given the chance to just wake up the next day. So, I'm writing this to tell you that you aren't alone, that there are tons of us that are sitting alone right now crying wishing we were with the ones we loved or wishing we had a better relationship with our families, and you don't have to hurt yourself to show this.
     Believe me, I understand how much the pain eats away at you and you think you just can't make it another day. Pain has a way of draining you in every way possible, it makes you tired physically and emotionally, and eventually it feels like too much. I know as it gets harder and harder to live with you turn to other ways to get through, drugs, alcohol, razors, starving, etc ...anything to make it feel better, anything to help you keep up the smile for others. I have been there, you want someone to tell you that it is okay to not be okay, and I'm telling you that right now. Believe me when I say it took courage, prayer, and support of some good friends to get me through this holiday season without my husband. Christmas has been hard since my mom died six years ago, we lost her on December 8 kind of made things like my birthday on December 20 and Christmas seem unimportant without her. Then the year after my mom passed we lost my great grandma two days after Christmas, once again another black cloud over the holiday season. My heart began to open up again when I met my husband and had my son, but this year my husband and I only spoke on the phone for a few minutes. I know not everyone has a kid that keeps the fighting through these tough days, but I can offer you my friendship and a promise that if you ask me to talk I won't leave you alone in the dark. I don't want to read about anyone hurting themselves because the pain of the holidays was too much. I promise you that you don't want to die, and it will just bring a whole new set of troubles to your family. Living is amazing, I know it is hard, and often times makes you want to give up, but the thing about it is you never know what is around the corner. I believe that even in the darkest hours of our lives there is still the possibility that the light will shine through again, we just have to keep up the fight, and when we see people struggling to win the battle on their own we help them out. It is amazing the capability of people if they aren't forced to stand alone.

So, you want an eating disorder?

    Lately I've been noticing more and more online how many people are actively striving for an eating disorder, and it frigging baffles me. My whole universe for almost ten years revolved around food, weight, and running away from hospital admissions. I can't even remember how my diet turned into anorexia, nor what point the scale started to dip lower and lower. The only thing I can tell you at that time was I was determined, the more weight I lost the more my mom would be proud of me, the better I would look, and the list goes on. I hid everything and when it got to the point that people started to question me I found anyway and everyway to lie about what was going on because in my mind I did not have an eating disorder. By the time I realized something was wrong it was already too late, I wasn't me anymore I was a walking eating disorder. When you spoke to me the only thing I could talk about was weight and food, I constantly moved even when forced to sit down, I would have bruises on my hips from "checking" how my bones were sticking out, every trip to the bathroom meant stripping down to nothing to weigh and being prepared to punish myself for the slightest gain, and that is just a short list of my rules.
     I don't understand why you would want to strive for this. You don't get to live while you are in an eating disorder, rather you exist. Your smiles and responses are all programmed, "smile, laugh, and they won't know", you spend the weekends in your room doing sit ups while your friends are at parties, and, in my case, when everyone got to go to college I got put in a hospital. Do you know what happens when they put you in the hospital? You go from being able to make decisions for yourself to having everything taken from you. When you are admitted you get to watch while they dig through all of your stuff looking for contraband. After they take some of your stuff away they send you to a room where you wait for some admission counselor to come in and explain the rules, all of which will go completely against the "rules" you had been following. You will weigh everyday BACKWARDS and not be told the number. You will eat all of your food in a certain amount of time or you will drink a supplement. If you refuse your supplement long enough you will have a tube shoved down your nose and it isn't pleasant and doesn't make you the coveted "sickest". Now the food rules...no cutting or tearing into small pieces, you must eat a sandwich whole, 1 packet of each appropriate condiment, no mixing foods, no avoiding fat, no hoodies or jackets at meals, your pockets can be searched, and those are just the most basic. Does this sound fun yet because it gets better? How long have you been using the bathroom and showering without a babysitter? Guess what that is a thing of the past, enjoy peeing with someone standing in the door. Enjoy having to stumble to the nurse's station in the middle of the night for them to let you in your locked bathroom. They come in and check on you while you are asleep to make sure you aren't working out. EVERYTHING you do is watched and there are consequences for rules broken.
     I know you are probably thinking that is horrible, and it isn't fun if you are the one being treated, but there is no other way. I rebelled against my treatment team for so long thinking they just hated me and wanted to take away the only thing I'd ever done right. The thing is I wasn't in my right mind, I was literally starving myself to death...I couldn't even see what I was losing. All my friends were in school getting to have fun and do all those crazy things kids do while I was being held down on a hospital bed while they put a tube down my nose. And, I know if you are suffering from and eating disorder your brain is say, "Tubed means hardcore, if I get tubed I must be doing something right"....NOT!!!! Let me just tell you they hurt and not just when they are placed. You lay there tethered to a pole watching something drip into you that is completely out of your control, and if you pull it out there are consequences. Once the tube is in the only way to get it out is to start eating, not saying you will eat, but eating on top of the tube feed. Believe me I know we would joke about being tubies, but I want to make it clear that it is not the way to go and if you are sick and don't have a tube don't question the severity of your problem. Anytime you are intentionally starving, purging, or doing anything that harms your body like that you are very sick and in a lot of danger. 
     Does any of what I've said so far sound fun? You think the obsession with weight and all that makes your life easier, but it puts you in a place where you are completely and utterly alone. The disease requires that you isolate from the rest of the world because you have one task to focus on...losing weight. You cry as you watch your hair fall out, as you deal with the pain of muscle wasting, and that feeling like you are in a black hole you can't escape. There is no happiness, the scale that you coveted is now your ruler, despite hating it you have to kneel to it. If your weight is up there is punishment and if it is down it is never down enough. I was looking through some of my recovery stuff and I found something I had written down that said, "If only I were perfect the punishment could finally stop". The thing is as long as you are in your eating disorder the punishment will never stop because you will never be perfect. The more you realize how much you are consumed the more desperate you become, and before long life doesn't seem worth it anymore and you try to hurt yourself...I was blessed to survive my attempt, but unfortunately I know many who were not and it is completely heartbreaking.
     Eating disorders are not a goal they are illnesses that kill so many young and old people everyday. It is an obsession that you will do anything to protect because the idea of having anything in your body to nourish it just seems to horrible to fathom. This is NOT something you can make a choice to have, and it has nothing to do with weight or food. The starving, purging, over exercising, laxative abuse, and all the other destructive behaviors are symptoms of a much deeper problem. For me it was so much more than control, it was a way to control my own pain. When I was starving or hurting myself I could decide how much pain I would feel and no one else could hurt me, no one else could get through, and I could keep it together. The thing is that I never had it together and the second they would feed me all those things that were starved deep down inside of me or that I bled away would hit me like a truck, and that would cause panic. My brain would go into crisis mode and I would immediately start acting like I was crazy. I would cry and scratch at my stomach screaming that I could feel I was fatter, I would obsessively pace around my hospital room until I had to physically be sat down, and I would be completely engrossed with the lies screaming in my head, "You fat, worthless failure...get up, you don't deserve rest, purge, run, cut...do anything to punish your weakness". I literally believed what I heard in my head as fact, I believed that everyone else was lying to me when they told me they loved me, that I wasn't fat, or that I didn't have to live like this. I was living in my own nightmare, and couldn't find my way out.
     If you are attempting to glorify eating disorders, please understand that they are very serious mental illnesses that have a super high mortality...that means a lot of people dying. Just the fact that you want an eating disorder in itself shows that you have some serious body image issues because no one should want to be sick or have the ability to starve themselves and throw up on command. Please understand this will take everything from you...I could be a musician today, but anorexia took over and I lost it. I also lost everyone's trust because every word that came out of my mouth was generally a lie, and pretty soon all those lies you've spun out there get really hard to keep track of. You are beautiful the way you are and a number on the scale does not have anything to do with your self worth. I know that I might have seemed attacking earlier, it is because I know the pain that an eating disorder puts a person and their loved ones through and from the depths of my heart want to protect you from it. Once you start there is no stopping without help. You are worth more than that.
     To my beautiful people who are fighting an eating disorder right now, and you feel like the claws are in tight and there is no way to free yourself from it. Keep fighting because you can beat this. I was labeled chronic, all but one doc told me I would never recover, and everyone was worn out dealing with it...I found recovery. I am far from recovered, but I no longer live by the scale and die by the scale. I can smile for real and even laugh sometimes, and I have one heck of a cute lil man who loves me. I am thankful everyday that I survived my eating disorder, thankful a friend found me on the night I tried to kill myself. Believe me I know that having an eating disorder is far from a choice, but the only way to get better is to fight back, to show that voice in your head screaming the lies that you aren't gone, and you will fight back. Help is available, but a lot of the time you have to reach your hand out to grab it. Eating disorders are deadly and we've all thought at some point or another that it just couldn't happen to us, but then someone dies. When you see a young person laying I in a coffin having never had a chance to live her life, and you realize everything she lost...everything you are currently losing. There is hope for a future without the rigid rules you set for yourself, without being a certain number on the scale, and without faking your emotions. It is okay to feel and okay to cry. This all sucks, but with determination and support you can get through it. We have to stand together and stop competing for the "who's the sickest" title...WE ARE ALL VERY, VERY SICK! I don't care if you are sixty pounds or two hundred and sixty pounds and if you are struggling you are sick. There is no magic number that pops up on the scale that will convince you that you are finally sick enough to maybe try help. Guess what...a fairly good majority of people who die from eating disorders are not underweight. You deserve to live a life not just exist to hurt yourself because I promise you it is impossible to be a functioning human being with an eating disorder. Imagine having a lunch meeting and the panic that will ensue as you try to find something "safe" to order, then you have to try and control your food rituals, and afterwards try to sneak to the bathroom without people wondering why. That is far from a life. Please keep fighting.

Forgiveness

     I've had something on my heart lately, and I haven't been sure how to express it. I talk about this topic sometimes, but I haven't done a post strictly on it this deeply.
    About six and a half years ago I can remember my world falling apart, I felt broken, dirty, ashamed, and so much more than I can put into words. I was 21 years old standing in the yard of a Women's Shelter hiding from the guy who at the time I thought took everything away from me. I was starved, bloody, and felt like I could never overcome this...never get over what happened to me. I was on the phone with probably my best friend and I remember him listening to me telling me that it wasn't my fault, but there is one thing that sticks out about that conversation. After I was raging and pouring out hatred on this man he told me, "Andrea, you have to learn how to forgive him".
    Needless to say that conversation ended abruptly with me yelling back about not having to forgive this monster, he took from me what was mine to give away...he didn't deserve my forgiveness, he deserved horrible things, or so I thought at the time. I held a hate for that man so far down in my heart that it was poisoning me, feeding the thoughts that already raged inside me screaming I was worthless, pathetic, damaged, and now I was a whore because this was my fault...my no wasn't enough therefore I wasn't enough. I can say now that those are all lies...I was none of those things, but I couldn't believe it and I went on starving, bleeding, and eventually trying to take my own life. I would dream about him every night and wake up screaming, my solution to that was to take an obscene amount of medication that a doctor just kept on dishing out when it was clear that I was absolutely not okay.
     When I went through everything the detectives asked me to do and he admitted to what he did I thought that I would have comfort, and yet I felt like that was ripped away when a prosecutor told us in a conference that he didn't think taking it to trial was a good idea because even with the phone call confession a jury could be hung. He went on to let me know that only three percent of forcible rape cases are prosecuted because when it is done by a boyfriend or a date rape situation most of the time it becomes his word against yours and the male members of the jury sympathize. I was devastated to say the least. This guy took from me what I never told him he could have, and despite years of showers there are times when I feel like I am still unable to get clean. I cry and beg for strength to realize that I am mended, you can see my cracks, but they are holding strong with the glue the Lord has given me.
     Through all of this my friend would still tell me to forgive, and I would fight that as hard as possible. I allowed the hate to take over, and in the end I wasn't even hating him I was hating me. I had let this happen...I was in the wrong, if I hadn't let him be there then it wouldn't have happened, if I had been more assertive he would have stopped, and the "ifs" just added up and piled up on my chest more and more everyday. I was afraid all the time, I would dream he was coming back, and I would relive everything, all the time hating me because I figured they didn't punish him because I was in the wrong. I didn't want to be touched, I couldn't talk about it, and I couldn't let it go. All the while my friend is whispering to me, in a very supportive way that if I could find a way to forgive him I could start to heal.
      Every year on April 8th I've fallen apart in the past, every year I remembered it was the day and my whole universe was bad even after I started to recover. I remember when the statute on limitations came up on the case and I was just devastated that he was allowed to walk around and not be punished for what he took from me, for destroying me. Then last year April 8, it came and went without me even realizing. In fact, I didn't even notice until Josh told me the next day how proud of me he was that I made it through the day without falling apart or refusing to sleep...my day was not another PTSD flashback, it was just another day with the man I love and the lil man I adore more than anything in this world. It was around that time that I realized what my friend had been saying all those years, and it was time for me to begin to let it go. By not remembering the day, that was what I needed to realize that I had made it through all of that. I no longer hold hate for him, in all honesty he barely crosses my mind when I am awake, and when the nightmares are back, once I am awake and reminded that I am safe and it was a dream there is still not hate. He did what he did and I've been called by the Lord to love him, despite his sin or wickedness it is not my job to judge him or hate him. I let it go and have felt a freedom that I can't explain, it is like the poison that I was spewing on myself  became weaker. Believe me I still have my moments where I am feeling worthless and damaged, but the weight of that burden, that hate isn't there anymore. Forgiveness set me free, and I pray for him that he has found his way back on a path that doesn't involve hurting others.
     I know forgiveness is hard and believe me I can still catch myself holding onto things that have happened that I should let go and forgive the parties involved, and I know that it is going to take time. It has taken six years for me to get to the point to say that I have no hate in my heart towards that man, for what he took from me. I am back together now, and maybe you can see my cracks, but I feel whole. I know what it is like to want to hold onto hate, I have struggled with it recently with events in my life, but the more I clutch onto that hate and anger the more I find myself slipping away, being drowned by all of it again. I have not faced the guy during this time, and I'm not sure if I will ever see him again, but in my heart I have forgiven him for raping me physically and emotionally. I don't define myself as a victim of rape rather a survivor, I have made it to the other side and learned how to give grace so I can receive it. The situation can still sting at times, but it no longer defines me...I am no longer angry. I pray I can learn to forgive all the wrongs of my life including myself...it is a process that doesn't happen overnight, but it means something to set all of that darkness free...it takes one tear in the dark for a small ray of light to shine through and it is my intention to tear it apart one piece at a time.

Strength

     What does it mean to be strong? I use to think strong meant never showing weakness, never showing pain, and never reaching out for help. Before people found out about my anorexia or self harm I thought I had this enormous amount of strength because I had found a way to handle all of my pain so that no one would ever see me cry, never see me broken, and most of all I had found a way to protect myself against the feelings of worthlessness, failure, weak, and pathetic. I was the thing that held everything together, I could stop the world from finding out about my mom's alcoholism and the bruises left on the nights when the bottle was empty, and I could be my parent's confidant, holding all of their secrets. The fact is that I was spinning out of control and I was headed for a hard crash...a crash that almost killed me.
     Your senior year of high school is suppose to be awesome, the last year with your friends and favorite teachers before you are going off on different roads. I didn't make it through a month before everyone started realizing that something was wrong, I never ate, and the excuses for the cuts on my arms were obvious lies. When my secret came out people thought that it was the time I would get better, I would be strong again, but I just got better at lying. I couldn't let food inside me, I couldn't handle all the feelings I had, and I couldn't stop the bleeding no matter how much I tried I wasn't strong enough to ask for help. I thought if I smiled no one would see how much I was hurting on the inside, I couldn't be me because the real me was pathetic and worthless, deserving of all the punishment I was inflicting in the dark. I literally couldn't cry, I couldn't breathe, and the only relief was seeing my own blood hit the floor. I HATED everything about myself and I believed the lies screaming in my head that everyone else hated me too, and I had to starve and bleed because pain is the only way to perfection. Years of hospitals, tubes, IVs, heart monitors, and babysitters couldn't breakthrough the screaming in my head.
     Between 2004 and 2006 I lost pretty much all of my friends, my family didn't trust me, and no one even tried to stop me from destroying myself anymore besides my doctor who had to constantly put me in the hospital and force feed me and hydrate me because even taking a drink of water was something I didn't deserve. Then in 2007 I was raped, he took from me what was suppose to be mine to give. I was ashamed and couldn't tell anyone because I knew it was my fault, at least that is what I thought. It was two weeks before I told a friend what had happened, my world was shattered, and I didn't want to live anymore. I learned while living at a Women's Shelter that only three percent of rapes are prosecuted, mine would not be one of them. The nightmares still breakthrough even now, and I think of him out there just living his life with no regard for what he did and I know that I have to forgive him, but I've yet to fully grasp how. It was only a few months after that my mom died from her alcoholism. I still couldn't cry, I still felt it was my place to be strong, to read the eulogy without tears, to hold my five year old sister's hand as they placed our mother in the ground, and to protect my grandma from my pain and secrets. All the therapy and medicine in the world wasn't saving me, just bringing more addictions. After cutting I could swallow a few pills and fall into a dreamless coma for hours and repeat the process when I needed. I don't remember most of 2008 and the first part of 2009 except for waking up in the intensive care unit after a nearly successful suicide attempt. I was nothing in my eyes, worthless and deserving of everything that happened to me. I thought by killing myself I was making it easier for everyone, and they could finally move on. That was my rock bottom, that was the moment that I learned what true strength and courage was.
     I met the man who is now my husband during the darkest period of my life, and for some reason when he looked at me he didn't see this worthless, nothing I thought I was. He would tell me I was beautiful, he didn't judge the scars all over me, and he reached out for me. My whole life I had believed that reaching out to people made you weak and pathetic, and once you didn't get better immediately they gave up on you like a failed science experiment. I was tired of my life, ready to give up or get better because staying in the darkness wasn't working anymore. I very carefully took his hand and began that slow climb into the light. Everyday was a struggle and everyday I learned what true strength was. Strength isn't being perfect and never showing weakness...no one is perfect and we all have weaknesses. Strength is pulling yourself back up after you've fallen into a million different pieces. Strength is saying no to the lies in your head telling you that you aren't good enough, thin enough, or you deserve to bleed. Strength is realizing that it is okay to ask for help, and it is okay to talk about all the things you've kept pushed down so far and tried to bleed and starve away. Strength is finding your voice and using it for good. And, strength is being able to admit when we are weak.
     Everyday I fight, I fight for the physical disease that is trying to destroy me, I fight back against those lies trying to breakthrough me again, and everyday I fight to help another person know that they can beat this, that they are beautiful and worthy of love and friendship, and that no one deserves to bleed, starve, purge, drink, or swallow their pain away. It isn't easy, and I won't lie and say it is because I will always fight this. I've heard others say that they are in a complete recovery and they never have any thoughts of old behaviors, well, I'm honest when I say that isn't me. I make the choice everyday to not cut and to get my nutrition, and there are days that I fall short. I've learned that that is okay and I have a new day coming. I am not ashamed of it anymore, I am not a victim, I am a survivor, and I will continue to survive whatever is thrown my way. God gave me this life, and it isn't easy, but He gave it to me because He knew I was strong enough to push through it. Believe me when I say I've doubted Him, there are days I feel like I can't make it, but minute by minute I make it through.
     It is your choice...you can be strong and fight or you can fall farther into the darkness. It took me years to start fighting, to start living. When you are living your life hurting yourself and hiding who you are from the world you aren't really living, you are merely existing. Life is a gift that can be taken at any second and I want to live it no matter how much pain I have to feel because there is joy that comes with truly living. When I am facing the end of my life I want to be able to say that I fought hard and lived every moment whether they be good or bad. I promise you that you have the strength to fight, it is there you just have to stop listening to the lies in your head. Don't let anyone tell you that you are worthless because you aren't, we all have a purpose, and we are all loved by someone.

     I lay here in this hospital bed feeling chained down by all the tubes and the wires watching the white fluid that will be my savior and possibly my killer drip into my chest, and though I smile I want to cry and run out of this hospital never looking back. I do my best to focus on the fight, telling myself to smile, keep my sense of humor, and stay positive. There is no point living in fear or throwing pity parties crying, "Why me" into my puke bucket, not to say I haven't had those moments because there have been plenty. I have just learned that focusing on the fight is way more productive than focusing on dying and the fears that come along with it.
     I can't hide it tonight though, I am not as strong as people give me credit for, and this is one of those times it has all come to a point. I keep smiling at the doctors and nurses all the while my thoughts are racing, despite a very high dose of dilaudid sleep comes in short spurts. I should be relieved that I am finally getting TPN, that I will no longer be starving, I will slowly get my strength back, the doctors have opened their eyes to the severity of the situation, and in all honesty, I'm terrified. I know the risks of having a central line, how dangerous infections can be, the risk of blood clots, and many more risks that are neatly listen in a little pamphlet you get when they place the line, and TPN causes all of these risks to increase. I am not naïve to the fact that infection is the downfall of many who have lost their lives with this disease...central line infections, and I've already had five.
     GI has declared me surgical, there is nothing they can do from their side anymore. We attempted a last shot medication last night that didn't even make it to a second dose after making me very sick and causing my blood pressure to bottom out. It isn't as if I expected the medication to be that helpful, it was a long shot from the beginning, but hearing GI service declare they had no recommendations hit me harder than I thought. I am now dependent on IV nutrition until transplant time comes.
     From now on we will be on heightened alert for infection, we watched closely before as we were instructed to do when dealing with a central line, but now the danger goes up. TPN is like food for the bacteria once it enters the blood stream and often causes it to back up in the heart, which can cause endocarditis (can be fatal). Sepsis can turn fatal at any point for anyone, especially someone who is already in a weakened state. I can still picture the doctors back in May standing at the end of my bed telling me that my fever was still there and my blood pressure was beginning to fall. They informed me that if things didn't get better I would be taken to the intensive care unit where there was a possibility I could stop breathing or worse. I was blessed that the medicine started to work, I remained on the step down unit where ICU patients generally go after they improve, the unit makes sure nurses have a smaller patient volume...more attention to give to their patients. After two weeks I wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair that was to become mine since my strength was pretty much gone, I had a brand new line, and had to continue to run IV antibiotics and antifungal medicine at home. I have friends that have never left the hospital after the kind of infection I had, they lost their battle, and it scares the hell out of me.
     I know that I probably won't live to see my son get married and have grandchildren to love on, but I won't give up the fight to see as much of his life as possible. I'm lucky to have each day, but I'm scared. I am twenty seven years old and I would be lying if I said that I am at peace with dying because I have every intention to fight for my life...if the Lord wants me He is going to have me kicking and screaming the whole way. People think I'm strong, but I wrote this to say that I'm really not. I am doing my best to survive and I'm a fighter, but I have my weak moments. When you are fighting a disease like this it isn't about doing things that you want to do, I do it because I have to so I can survive and increase my quality of life. I pray everyday for my friends who deal with the same stuff I do everyday while fighting this monstrous illness, praying we find a cure.
     When I started this blog I was not having an easy time, struggling not to fall into the fear, and then the door opened with my nurse bouncing into the room. I decided to take a break, which turned out to be very revealing and helpful. She asked me questions not only about my past of anorexia but also about the gastroparesis and intestinal failure. She admitted that she knew very little about gastroparesis and was more than interested in hearing me explain my experiences along with talking about my fellow GP sisters and brothers. It was that conversation that renewed my fight, not only my own fight, but a fight to raise awareness so no more of my friends die because of this disease and lack of treatment options. There is so much research done when it comes to cancer and other well known diseases, and with the research comes the awareness...cancer walks, fundraisers, and much more done in the name of raising money for research. Do you the colors we use for Awareness of Digestive Tract Paralysis? Everyone knows what the color pink stands for along with red...breast cancer and AIDS awareness. We have to do better, we have to work together to get the word out. Research means a chance for us, a chance for young mothers to see their babies grow up, kids and teens who suffer from DTP to enjoy school, go to college, and for all of us to live a life free of hospital beds and pain. I won't give up, I won't let this disease win, I will smile when I want to cry, when they tell me I can't I will show them I can, and I will fight for those who can no longer fight for themselves. This blog started with me feeling depressed and defeated, and it will end with my spark being renewed, refusing to give up.

Sickened

     Imagine having spent years of your life in and out of hospitals, having tubes shoved down your nose, and fighting tooth and nail to recovery from an eating disorder only to go to a Halloween party to find someone wearing a costume mocking the disease that you have fought against for years. I never even thought of this as a possibility until I was scrolling my news feed on Facebook the other day and saw a link one of my friends had posted to share her disgust. I won't show the link mainly because the costume made me physically ill and the comments on the actual link made me realize how much society still doesn't get how severe and life threatening eating disorders truly are. To put it simply the costume is a black mini dress with a skeleton down the front of it and a tape measure hanging around the waist. They even went as far as to name this monstrosity Anna Rexia.
     When I first saw it I think I was too shocked to even react right away, but once the shock wore off ten seconds later I was angry. I began "dieting" by the time I was sixteen and within a few months it became an obsession that would imprison until I was twenty three and will haunt me for the rest of my life. The summer before my senior year it was becoming obvious that I had issues, I wasn't eating, I was losing weight, and had taken to wearing long sleeves in the middle July to cover up the fact that I had begun cutting myself. My world was spinning out of control and by the middle of October of my senior year of high school rolled around it was apparent I had a serious problem, and once cuts were found on me at school my secret was out. The day before Homecoming I was officially diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa, a demon that had only begun to show it's ugly face.
     Instead of going to college with my music scholarship I was hospitalized the first time from my birthday in December until February. When I finally got to go to school I was a year behind my friends and lost my music scholarships. I lost control the first semester, spent all my time running at the rec center and avoiding the dining hall. I ended up meeting the doctor that essentially kept me alive the next few years and never gave up on me, and come finals my first semester I was admitted to the adolescent unit of the hospital with a tube down my nose to give me nutrition. This became a regular occurrence leading to a surgical feeding tube being placed.
     I lost all those years until I hit rock bottom at twenty three and decided I either had to die or recover...I actually tried to kill myself before I went with option two. Looking back I lost my youth to anorexia, things I never got to do because I was too busy focusing on the food and the numbers and punishing myself when I thought I was weak. I lost all but a few friends, my family stopped trusting me, and I made a disease that my body already had get so bad that once I wanted to eat my body would no longer let me. No one understood why I couldn't stop, couldn't "just eat", and often spoke to me like I was just being a spoiled brat trying to punish everyone.
     I spent many months in rooms with others that suffer from eating disorders and they faced the same thing I did...no one understood that we weren't doing this by choice. The simple fact is anorexia, bulimia, and all other eating disorders are illnesses. People who have survived their eating disorders and even those who have lost loved ones to them have fought for awareness, fought to get insurance companies to pay for treatment, and have continued to fight to save the lives of those suffering. That Halloween costume is a slap in the face to every person who has fought to raise awareness, who has fought to survive, and to those who were tragically lost because no one saw what they were doing, or they couldn't get they help they needed because some person a thousand miles away at an insurance company decided they weren't "sick enough" yet.
     If you've ever seen an eating disorder up close you would be as outraged as I am over this. The onset age of eating disorders has fallen extremely low as the years progressed. Hospitals and treatment centers usually had programs for teenagers and adults, but now they have had to open programs specifically designed for children. When I say children I'm talking as young as six, younger in some cases. Imagine sending your six year old off to live at a treatment center for months, crying and pleading with you not to leave, and then when you visit you see your baby with a tube down her nose just to get her the nutrition her body needs. Anorexia has the highest mortality rates of any mental illness and in children it can progress even faster and cause very serious damage because their bodies aren't even close to developed yet. I lived the disease and I saw those very kids, and I was heartbroken to know that kids that young could be feeling the same things that I was feeling as a teenager and young adult. I have an eleven year old little sister and every chance I get I make sure to tell her how beautiful she is, and when I heard her call herself fat one day I almost broke down. The last thing I want is her to see some ignorant person dressed up as "Anna Rexia" for Halloween. These kids follow the examples that we set, and there is nothing funny about this costume. It is sick that someone would have the nerve to buy it and wear it out in public.
     If you want to play dress up and think that it would be super fun to dress up like an eating disorder let's go ahead and give you everything that comes with it. First you get to take everything you love out of your diet and start exercising obsessively. Then you get to start lying to everyone who cares about you because you have to protect your ED, they would try to take it away from you. Now you find yourself alone, depressed, and maybe you hurt yourself in other ways like cutting or swallowing some pills. You eventually get to take a trip to the emergency room where they will put you in the hospital and shove a tube down your nose to save your life. While in the hospital your every freedom is taken away...do you like showering with a nurse there, pooping with someone in the door, someone watching and telling you when to eat, what to eat, and how to eat? And, when it is all said and done if you were able to find recovery, which some aren't you will always have that voice in the back of your head trying to creep its way back in telling you that you are worthless, pathetic, and fat. You are forever changed by the disease, and you will always have to be aware of your actions making sure to keep that monster at bay. Does it really sound fun to have an eating disorder?
    

My husband and caregiver

     I've had a few different topics on my heart to write about lately, but this one seemed to be the right one for tonight. As I sit here listening to my lil man and big man wrestling around getting ready for bed I can't help but smile and realize how lucky I am to have a husband here with me helping in everyway he knows how. It is so easy when you're sick to constant focus on your own pain, your own exhaustion, your own depression after bad news, your own fears, and often forget about the person taking care of you. I've spent most of the day rolling this topic over and over in my head trying to see all of this from Josh's perspective.
     Most people know our story, how he helped me out of the darkness of my eating disorder and self harm and was there every step of the way as I began the long road to recovery. As my recovery from anorexia and self harm was becoming pretty firm the gastroparesis reared its ugly head causing me to get sicker. We had only been together a few months before I stopped tolerating tube feeds. He sat in the ER with me more times than I can count listening to the surgeons telling us it was the disease progressing and they couldn't do anything about it. When I ended up with swine flu he practically carried me to the ER because we didn't have a car so we had to find buses to get everywhere back then. I was put in isolation and a PICC line placed to start TPN.  At this point Josh learned everything from dressing changes to setting up the infusion. At this point I was sure he was going to head for the hills because it wasn't like we were married, he didn't have to sign on to take care of a sick woman. His love never faltered though even on days when I wanted to give up he was there smiling and spiking another two liter bag of TPN.
     After a month insurance decided that they weren't going to pay for IV nutrition anymore because I had become more stable. Josh watched as I began to crash again, getting so weak I couldn't even walk to the bathroom or shower without his help. During that time I selfishly could only think of how this disease was unfair and throwing myself little pity parties not even thinking about the man who was devoting his every moment to take care of me, giving up his whole life to clean up puke, spending nights sleeping on the floor of the emergency room, and holding me while watching a chick flick rather than going out on the town. He did it without complaining and he became my voice as I got weaker. He argued with doctors and Medicaid all the while dealing with my childish "why me" crap. He would just remind me that we were like Johnny and June and would get through it together, and when I thought he was done with me he proved me wrong by getting down on one knee in our bedroom asking me to marry him. A few days after we got engaged my IV nutrition was approved long term, we were moving into a nice place where his kids (I consider them mine too) could stay with us, and though I was still sick we were doing much better and facing every challenge that came our way together. We had no idea where life was headed.
     When you are on IV nutrition with a central line it is only a matter of time before you will get a line infection, we do everything possible to prevent it, but sometimes it just happens. I was admitted to the hospital with a line infection on Mother's Day leaving daddy to take care of three kids on his own, which went well except during nap time our sneaky middle boy buzzed our beautiful little girls hair. We noticed over the next few weeks after I got out of the hospital that I was extra tired and seemingly  more nauseous which we attributed to side effects from the antibiotics and iron infusions I was having at the time. The symptoms were kind of weird to me so at my next doctor visit I told her that it just didn't feel right and since I hadn't had a normal period in so long I thought maybe we should check. She actually said it would be a waste of time because I can't get pregnant with how serious my disease progressed. I got a phone call when I walked into our house being told I was pregnant. It was a miracle and a huge bomb I dropped on Josh because he has called me on his way home to check about the appointment and I wouldn't tell him anything, so he thought I had to go back to the hospital. I still wish I hadn't been in shock myself because a picture of his reaction would have been great to have.
     We went to the OB and found out that we were roughly eight weeks along which meant that I was pregnant when they had removed my port in the OR and replaced with a PICC. The next part of this is what changed our lives. They sat us down in the office and strongly suggested we terminate the pregnancy because my body would not be able to support the baby for nine months either I would die, the baby would die, or we both would. My first reaction was anger without even looking at Josh or considering the fact that if I died I would be leaving him with a newborn and no help, but I couldn't believe that they wanted me to kill a miracle that God gave me. The docs switched from speaking to me to Josh saying he was the one who would have to convince me or he could lose me. Neither one of us would budge...this baby was coming in nine months or it was in God's hands. At 11 weeks pregnant they did surgery to put another j tube in because it was less of a risk than my line. I had a very hard time with the surgery leaving Josh once again completely in caregiver mode. I was put on bedrest, he was cleaning out vomit bins, and so much more. He did it all for nine months to help make sure Damien and I would be ok. He has only recently told me how scared he was during that time period esp since we were told that the pregnancy would most likely make my disease worse, but we faced it together like everything else and on February 17, 2011 Firefly came into this world weighing in at six pounds ten ounces and perfectly healthy. The pregnancy had taken a toll on my body, that we now know was not temporary as we had hoped.
     It has been almost three years since our miracle came in this world and I can say that neither of us regret the choice to allow our miracle to happen because he makes us smile even in some of our darkest moments. Seeing now what the years of being sick have done to Josh I can see that my disease has not only impacted me. Yes, I'm the one that goes through the pain and has lost my quality of life, but he has to watch the woman he fell in love with slip away and there is very little he can do to stop it. I hear him on the phone with doctors, lawyers, and anyone who will listen to try and get me better care. He holds me when I cry about being scared of dying while holding himself together thinking he can't lose his butterfly because no matter how much we've argued over the years we have always been meant for each other there are no other puzzle pieces out there that would match what we have. I've watched him in pain still doing everything for me driving over a hundred miles round trip to doctor's appointments, pushing me in my wheelchair, forcing me to wear my masks, keeping nurses up on the fact that my wt is never to be told or discussed with me, and that doesn't include the multiple ER trips after he has been working all day and just wants to rest.
     It is tough being sick, but I think those of us who are sick need to realize that it can be just as tough on the people who take care of us, love us, and fight for us. My husband has shown me what true love is, caring for me all these years when he could have left at any moment and found a woman who isn't broken and sick. He has stayed when I've pushed him away, closed myself off to the world because I wanted to feel sorry for myself. Living with someone who gets overly exhausted just taking a bath is rough. We are both still young, young enough to be going to concerts and enjoying life with our son. We still have a great family, but it breaks my heart that when we go do things together my son rides on my lap in the wheelchair. He doesn't know the difference because he doesn't know mommy as anything but being a sick mommy, and he is the best little boy about it never messing with anything he isn't suppose to medical supply wise. I think the main reason I wrote this is to remind myself and if anyone else that reads this how important it is to stop and think about the people in your life. My husband gave up his own needs to fight for me, he has devoted himself to being a wonderful father and saving my life. You know a man truly loves you when you accidently dump a whole cup of stomach contents on him while he is sleeping and he doesn't get angry. Think about who is there for you when you open your eyes after surgery, holds your hand during painful procedures, and remember that watching you in pain and being helpless to stop it hurts them too. I  love my husband for giving me his heart and always putting his family over himself, there aren't a lot of people who do that these days. We've lived through some tough times not just me being sick and we always pull through together and I know that with him in my corner I have a really good chance at winning this fight.

Pinktober

     This is one of those blog posts that I've debated writing because I figured someone would lynch me because I dare attack Pinktober. If you don't know what that means, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month where everything that is not already Pink year round gets even pinker and all the stores start feeding into people if they by Pink their contribution will go to fight Breast Cancer...that is not always true please read what you by and the store's policy. Now, before we delve into what I'm about to say please know that I am a full supporter in Breast Cancer Awareness and I have the deepest sympathies for anyone facing this horrible disease, but I think we need to realize that Breast Cancer isn't the only debilitating disease out there, yet one of the only ones who receive adequate awareness.
     We were in the ER last night and I took it upon myself between throwing up to ask staff some questions. First was simply, "What do you think when you see someone sporting something pink or a pink ribbon"? Answer was quick, "Breast Cancer". The next was what do you think when you look at me carrying around a lime green pillow pet and lime green blanket with the words "Fight GP" painted on my laptop bag in green and yellow"? The only response was I must like the colors green and yellow, most didn't know what gastroparesis, nor did they know about pseudo obstruction, or what I have is full blown intestinal failure with no ability to absorb food or liquid. These are people that work in hospitals, not the doctors because it is too obvious with them when you bring up the actual diagnosis, but still work around sick people all day every day. Most of them were sporting pink shirts, pens, mouse pads, car keys, even a few with pink hair streaks, and not one lime green or yellow anywhere. Most couldn't even name awareness ribbons when asked besides pink for breast cancer and red for AIDS. None knew that the NEDA heart on my wrist is the recovery symbol of an eating disorder and they couldn't name not one other ribbon to support any other cancer or disease besides breast cancer...anyone else see a problem with that?
     Those of us who proudly sport our green for our disease are often over looked because no one gets the disease so I'm going to break it down for you the best I can. Have you ever had one of those stomach flus that keep you in bed for about a week? I mean the kind that leave you throwing up in your spaghetti pot because the bathroom is too far, you smell food and you dry heave, and then you get the runs where you race to the bathroom hoping you can not puke during that awful activity. Your friends, spouse, parents, whoever find you in the bathroom clutching the toilet saying that you are going to die...everyone has been there at some point. You lay in bed for a few days and things get better, less begging for death while clutching the toilet, you are able to keep in water/Gatorade, then comes the soup and eventually you are feeling well enough to eat a meal. Your misery is over and you can go back to your life, work, parties, school, or whatever you do. What if that misery never stopped, what if everyday you had to feel like that, and you had to push yourself to keep going?
     There isn't a day that goes by that I don't run to the bathroom to throw up if I'm lucky enough to get there, or run to visit the bathroom for other reasons, my stomach churns without relent, my purse contains bottles of meds, syringes, extra clothes, and vomit bags. I am kept alive by a IV line, a central line known as a Hickman in my chest, everything that I need for medicine has to be put directly into my intestines with a prayer that we won't lose it, when I'm not throwing up the normal way I am either venting it out a tube in my stomach or watching it pour out a hole that ruins my favorite clothes. By the time I was twenty three they had removed all but three percent of my stomach and declared I would never eat like a normal person again...tubes and IV lines would be my life. I've had hundreds of surgeries and procedures, spent countless hours in emergency rooms, and even more laying in the hospital because of sepsis (blood infection), recovering from surgery, renal failure, heart problems, blood problems, and all complications of malnutrition because my body won't do what yours does without question. I'm twenty seven years old with a miraculous little two year old who was never suppose to live, we were never suppose to survive the pregnancy and by God's grace we did only for my disease to get worse. I'm pretty much dying now, kept alive by medical intervention, if it were taken away I would be gone. My hope is maybe a five organ transplant at this point, but there is a good chance my son will grow up without a mother. That is just my story and there are millions more worse that than. 
     There is no cure for Gastroparesis, there are treatments that barely help. Some people will respond to diet changes and meds, but there are quite a few severe cases requiring surgery, feeding tubes, IV nutrition, and other stuff. I've lost my ability to walk along with very close friends of mine, but I am lucky to have a life still. GP goes after all age groups, we've lost teenagers, kids, it doesn't discriminate against age, but lately we've lost younger women leaving behind babies that will never know their moms and still no research. We don't get a break, we live in pain, nausea, in and out of hospitals, and most of the time try to keep a smile on our face as we do it. We sport our green with no one bothering to take the time to see. People go to Wal-Mart and fill their carts with everything from pink bags of chips to hats, to water bottles, and even saw a pink rifle in the gun section talking about breast cancer awareness. Did you know that all that money you are spending you might want to check the label and with the store to see about how much actually goes to supporting it because in some cases none of it is going to profit research. I hate breast cancer, but I hate even more that I'm losing my friends to a disease that no one is doing a damn thing about while a whole month is given to one disease and it isn't just a month it is ALL YEAR long. I know it is a horrible disease and I hate that people have to suffer, but there are other deadly diseases out there. What about children's cancers...do you by things to donate money to childhood neuroblastoma which takes the life of many kids all the time, cystic fibrosis, leukemia, and many more rare forms of cancer that get maybe a week of awareness that no one bothers to pay attention to. Have you seen a two year old fighting neuroblastoma in the hospital, going through painful treatments and surgeries and still smiling...it is heartbreaking?
     Now to something else close to me...I wear a heart on my wrist that is purple and red...the purple being larger than the red. It is the National Eating Disorder Awareness heart representing recovery. Did you know that anorexia has the highest mortality rate for any mental illness out there? Did you know that the age of onset has gotten so low they have had to open centers for children as young as six? Everything changes when you see a little six year old with a yellow tube down her nose because she won't eat. You know that insurance has caused treatment to be put off to the point that there is irreversible damage if not death in the case of someone suffering, causing suicide rates to go up because health isn't available, but during NEDA awareness do you see posters at hospitals or at the local Wal-Mart asking you to support it? We are forgotten until it is your six year old or twenty year old that needs help and the insurance company tells you no and then a few months later you are burying your baby in the ground and no one does anything, hell there is barely awareness in school. What about the orange ribbons for self harm...the act of one person hurting themselves trying to deal with all the pain on the inside, those that you judge thinking your kid could never do it until you find the blood clothing in the hamper or their room. Still no awareness because it makes people uncomfortable.
       Believe me I know cancer is a tragedy, but breast cancer isn't the only cancer that deserves awareness. By this point in time women know they need to check for lumps and get them checked and there are places they can go for free unlike most diseases. Maybe I jaded, but I've seen those little kids with tubes down their nose crying over eating some carrots, I've seen the cuts on my own flesh just trying to survive, I'm lose friends and almost myself to suicide and anorexia, and I lost more friends everyday to the disease that is killing me...Gastroparesis. I go to the hospital and it is pink everywhere and not one person knows anything about raising awareness for everything else diseases people don't know about or don't want to know about. Nothing changes without awareness. Breast cancer patients can find treatment now, they have made great strides and unfortunately we still lose wonderful woman to the fight, but we forget those of us fighting in the lime green throwing up and crying while still fighting a disease that there is little research being done given there is no funding. We hold each other up because we are all we have. Please don't focus on one disease, we have to raise awareness for all of them and if we give them all a month were that is all anyone focus' on and we by into the lie that everytime you buy pink you are making a donation we are naïve. There are not enough months out there to donate a whole one to ever disease we have to fight together and keep our eyes open. Breast cancer takes moms away from their kids, but lately I have heard of three moms under thirty dying of GP related problems like a line infection, we go to bed every night not knowing if tomorrow is going to bring us a line infection or surgery we can't beat, and they had young babies...babies who won't even know who their mommy's are and no one even knows what it means when you see us decked out in our lime green on Fridays.
      Not trying to be disrespectful, but it had to be said.

A Tough Topic

     The other day I was messing around on YouTube and I came across the Rascal Flats song "Why", which is a song about suicide. I scrolled down to the comments and saw something that seriously disturbed me. A young girl made a comment that she was struggling with thoughts of hurting herself, she was putting herself out there into cyber land hoping for some sort of support that she obviously couldn't find at home. What she got were a few supportive responses trying to convince her that life is worth living and to keep fighting, but what stood out were the comments tearing her down. This girl was fifteen years old and people were telling her things ranging from an eternity in hell to flat out telling her to do it. They didn't know her or what she had been through, but they were all willing to pass judgment on her. She was a kid, vulnerable and reaching out to the only thing she thought she could. I've been thinking about it since I saw it, she was a random user name on YouTube with no way of finding out who she is in real life. I've prayed that she found the strength to keep fighting and reach out to someone in her real life to help her. It really hit home to me, reminding me of the person I was just a few years ago. I went back and forth about blogging about it, not sure if I wanted to share the details of my own struggles, but as I sat here unable to sleep tonight I was reminded that I told myself I would be completely raw on here and maybe I can help one person realize that life is worth fighting for.
     It is no secret that I struggled with anorexia and self harm from the age of fifteen until I was able to find my back up that mountain at twenty three. Despite the fact that I was starving myself and cutting to deal with my feelings I was never really trying to die, in my own way I was trying to survive. It wasn't until 2007 that I began that downward spiral that ended with me in a graveyard. In April of 2007 my first serious boyfriend who I thought I loved and trusted raped me taking what was only suppose to be mine to give...my virginity. I was devastated and ashamed too scared to tell anyone what happened. I held what happened deep inside for almost two weeks before I fell apart to a close friend of mine. For those two weeks I stopped eating, I barely drank anything, tried to bleed enough to cover what was tearing me apart on the inside, and sleeping on the floor of my bedroom unable to even sit on my own bed. When I broke down to my friend, letting that secret escape it all became real. She went with me to my doctor and stayed with me as I told him that I wanted to die, that I couldn't eat because having anything inside of me made my skin crawl, and she stayed when I was admitted to the hospital and a tube was shoved down my nose to nourish me. My doctor made the call to my dad and step mom telling them my shameful secret, and the reaction sent me even faster down the rabbit hole. My dad, the man I thought would kill anyone who hurt me never acknowledged that it happened and my step mom's reaction was it never would have happened if I hadn't broken the rules and  had my boyfriend over while they were out of town. At this point the guy was stalking me and I filed a police report and an order of protection. I lived in a women's shelter for over a month, faced the monster in court with a victim advocate standing with me rather than my parents, I made the "cold call" where a detective bugged my phone and I called him and he admitted what he did on tape, and I was alone when the prosecutor called to tell me that he was very sorry about what happened, but even with the confession on tape there was no physical evidence and he didn't think he could get a whole jury to convict. He is still free today, living a normal life never thinking of me while I still have raging night terrors that leave me kicking and screaming as a man that loves me tries to pull me out of it, holding me until I come back to the present. I didn't know when it happened that the rape was just the beginning of my world crashing down.
     For seven months after the rape, living in the shelter, facing him in court for the restraining order, and walking around wondering if he was there I convinced myself that things couldn't get worse...then the phone rang. In November I got an emergency call from my step dad telling me that my mom was in the intensive care unit unable to breathe for herself with her liver and kidneys shutdown from years of being unable to beat her alcoholism. She laid there for a month unable to improve or get the liver she so desperately needed (alcoholism means you have to be clean at least a year before you can be listed for transplant). On December 7th I got the call that they were going to take her off life support, I was two hours away with no way to get to the hospital. At 4:30 AM on December 8, 2007 my mom died alone with no one there holding her and helping her know that she was loved. Four days later I stood in front of her coffin and read the eulogy and held my five year old sister as they put our mom in the ground. As I held Kelly's hand I knew I had to be strong, not just for her but for my grandma and my step dad yet on the inside I felt like more of me was dying.
     The next year was a blur...I met a man who was nothing but a crack head, convinced myself that I loved him and we got married. The only sane act of that year was not signing the marriage license which was a blessing given the character of the man. I'm pretty sure I was as clinically depressed as one can get by Spring of 2009, the insanity of the previous two years had turned me into a shell bent on self destruction. The first time I swallowed all of those pills I don't think I was trying to kill myself I just wanted to sleep so I didn't have to feel all the pain, sadness and anger raging inside of me. I spent three days in the hospital and they sent me back home on more sleep and anxiety medications than any person should ever have in the house at a time. It wasn't even a month after that when my need for sleep turned into a need to disappear. I didn't think about it for weeks or days before I did it, hell I didn't even intend to do it that morning when I woke up. But that sunny June day I pushed enough meds through my J tube directly into my intestine to ensure that the sun wouldn't come up for me again. It was a miracle that a facebook friend states away noticed something was wrong when she txt me and made sure that a group of EMTs and Firefighters burst into my apartment. I can't remember much...the EMT smacked me in the face when I stopped breathing, there were a bunch of doctors everywhere, and then I came to in the intensive care unit covered in wires and tubes. I realized at that point that I didn't want to die and how close I had been to actually succeeding.
     I shared that because it is really easy to pass judgment on someone who has attempted suicide or expressed thoughts of suicidal ideation. They call them selfish cowards for quitting and leaving behind their loved ones. In my head dying was a way to protect my family, I had hurt them enough, put them through years of torture as they tried to understand why I wouldn't eat and why I would take razor blades to my flesh. I was ashamed of being raped, ashamed of the "marriage" to a bad man, I blamed myself for my mom's death thinking if I could have been better she wouldn't have needed to drink and would still be alive, and I lost hope that life could be anything but pain. It hurt so bad just to breathe and I didn't know how to reach out or how to ask for help mainly because I feared the response that poor girl got on YouTube even worse I feared it from the people who truly loved and cared about me. The hurt little girl trapped way down inside my twenty three year old body wanted to hear from her daddy that she wasn't dirty for what that guy did to her, it wasn't her fault, and mainly wanted it to be real to others besides her. She had been hurt and no one stood up for her and it made the shame that much worse. That same little girl inside of me wanted her dad to be there holding her as she watched her mother get put into the earth like she had been holding her five year old sister. It was like everyone pretended none of it happened, but the problem was I couldn't forget and I still can't. If I died I wouldn't have to see the images of him in my head or her laying in that hospital bed thrashing around instinctively trying to pull her wrists out of the restraints.
     I think about that day a lot and I am so happy that I didn't succeed, I was given another chance at life. I lied to myself awhile after that saying it was a mistake, I wasn't paying attention, or I just wanted to sleep. Four years later I see it for what it was, I tried to commit suicide and I knew what I was doing. Life became too painful to keep going and I was convinced I was removing a burden out of everyone's lives, no more anorexic Andrea bleeding and being crazy causing upheaval in everyone's lives. During that time I didn't need to hear I was stupid, going to burn in hell, or to have someone antagonizing me acting like I wouldn't do it especially random strangers like on that YouTube video. Suicide is a tragedy, not only does it rob someone of their life, but all the questions left for the people who loved them. You get to spend the rest of your life wondering if you couldn't have done something to save them, and will never have peace. It is a tough subject to approach and it has to be done very carefully. This day and age the age of people killing themselves is dropping dramatically, 14 and 15 year olds are ending their lives before they begin. The only way to lower the number of suicides that happen each day is for people to show compassion rather than judgment. I was saved by a girl I've never even heard her voice, but she spoke up and followed her gut and I am here because of it. I've been the person who has lost all hope and thinks death is the only way out and today I cherish everyday I have to watch my toddler grow and smile. I want to live with everything in, which makes it even more of a tragedy when you think about those who succeed because with help they could be here today appreciating their life. I know it is cliché but the organization TWLOHA had it right when they said, "Love is the Movement".

Wreckage

     I've been keeping a lot of things inside me lately, things that I've always let eat at me and eventually destroy me, and after today I'm done with that. I've spent my whole life walking an edge trying to keep everyone happy, do it right, smile despite the pain, I hurt myself in a sick way to protect everyone I love, and in the process not having a voice pretty much lost me a place with my family, friends, and in life. I'm not that person anymore, I have opinions, I have feelings, and I have a son that has my full heart and protection, and part of protecting him is making sure he never feels the way I have felt. I am not blameless, I spewed my fair share of poison, I helped aid in the destruction of the body that God so preciously gave me, and I'm not asking for people to change who they are because I've changed who I am. I am not that weak, broken soul, too scared to stand up and be heard anymore...I don't have the time to do it anymore, seconds are precious in all lives and I just happen to know that mine are ticking quickly and with uncertainty there is no time to wait to fix what has been broken.
     Whether you are raised in a Christian house or not one of the first things that are instilled in us is that family is what you value first, what you depend on, they love you when you are good and bad, in the light and the dark, there is no secret too big, and the list goes on from there. Unfortunately, things are that black and white and we sometimes cause hurts in each other that the space just gets bigger and bigger and Christmas becomes more and more awkward, and before long you realize you feel alone and hurt, unsure of who you can run to when you fall down. Families become broken, sides are taken, people spew poison to cover their own pain, forget that core value of what comes first, and it seems to happen somewhere in even the best families...I've come to the conclusion that it is my time to try to heal my wounds, give those I love the answers they never had, prayerfully find a common ground somewhere, and most of all to show my son that he never has to feel the way I have or do what I've done because my sins will not be his burden to carry.
     I've twenty seven years old and only in the last few years have learned how much of a gift life is and how much I really want to be the old lady getting all the gifts from her grandchildren at Christmas (I mean those homemade pinecones covered and glitter and stuff like that I truly love). Before the light came on in my head I was lost in my own destruction/annihilation. I started trying to be a different person for everyone I cared about pushing the real me as far down as possible, I smiled when I wanted to scream, I quit eating, I started cutting, started trying to be perfect to fix things that were never my job to fix, and tried to carry the burden of struggling parents doing what they could. I've discovered being a parent that at the end of the day you do what you hope is best and some times it blows up in your face and you don't need to have it thrown in your face years later, letting go has been hardest and yet the most freeing. I tried to take my own life and thanks to God, a good friend, EMTs, and ICU docs I woke up the next day. I couldn't see that blessing then, but now it is a debt I can never repay fully to the people that saved me. We are all going to die and spending our time refusing to forgive those who hurt us, reach out to those who we've hurt, and down right just pushing through all the wreckage to find someway to mend what is broken leaves us left questioning when we lose loved ones with whom we've had unresolved issues. I will never have peace with my mother's death she died with us both lost in our own darkness never mending what was broken. I can't do that anymore...no more time.
     Fact is, by the time my mind could wrap around not starving, purging, cutting, swallowing every pill I could grab, and dying my body was already in pretty bad shape. I didn't stop the darkness when they told me the disease I have was so severe they were removing over 95 percent of my stomach and putting in another surgical feeding tube to possibly help save part of my stomach, I didn't care, wouldn't hang my tube feeds, just kept on cutting, and pushing my many, many meds meant to stop the PTSD and night terrors. I was about as dark as it gets, I was screwed up all the time, would just sit there and bleed when I needed stitches, and made no attempt to change. Two days after meeting the man who is now my husband he was calling an ambulance after finding me pretty much passed out in bedroom with a major death cocktail shoved directly into my guts and they wouldn't let him ride with me because he wasn't really anyone who knew me yet, so he rode a bike with broken brakes to the ER to sit with me. That was day one of a very long battle to regain control of my mind that included a definite re-evaluation by a psych doc who wasn't keeping their patients snowed out of their minds, I gave up control of what meds I was kept on, I slowly became more willing to increase my intake (sometimes requiring restraint to stop behaviors), I very slowly began to stop myself when I was slipping into the, for lack of a better description "cutter's trance", I learned to use a voice that I didn't know existed, and eventually it got easier to get through a minute, then five minutes, then an hour, and pretty soon I made it to bed without using any behaviors. The screaming got quieter and the light could finally made me see that I had a life to live. It has been over four years and I still have dark moments and even dark days, but I've learned how to reach out and how to stop myself, that doesn't mean there aren't lapses because there have been and I get through them without falling back and holding on to a husband and son who love me. Like I said, all of this happened and I decided it was time to have a life and my body decided it wasn't sure how much more life it had in it.
     I've been blessed to have a beautiful little boy that they told us was impossible and despite being sick I have lived, laughed, cried, and loved him with all my heart and will until it stops beating. The problem is I never mended when the people who were around when the darkness found it's way inside me, I've never said my piece, and despite thinking it, I've never let it go. These relationships are about as broken as they can get and as we get more and more bad news my emotions go from sad to pissed that they aren't around and that blame and hurt starts getting in and all those why's that I never had answered start pushing their way into my mind, and I can feel it all coming back like I'm going to shatter suddenly. I refuse to die with all of this inside of me, leaving so many questions unanswered, and leaving my brokenness with my child. He will never be made to felt the way I have because he is far from worthless and will never feel like he is. I have to know why he has a family that doesn't want to know him, why the only parents I have left seemingly have no interest in addressing the fact that they are going to lose a daughter far before they thought, I want to know why I was raped and nobody ever acknowledged it, why I lived in a shelter and went to court with a stranger to support me and not my family, I want to know why when they knew their teenager was sitting in her room cutting herself and starving herself to death they didn't open the door, and most of all I want to know why my voice went away as a little girl, why I felt like I was worthless, and nothing I ever did for them was right? That is just a little bit of my darkness, my dirty laundry they say you shouldn't speak about in public, well I say speak about it before you die with it. I want this slate clean, I want a family there when I die whether it be in a week or three years, and personally I've not found any better way to do it than to just frigging say it.
     I am done with all of this, this game playing and blaming, I'm done with awkward dinners or holidays, and huge elephants in the room. I will admit my own mistakes and I have no interest in passing judgment I just want healing. I don't mind that you can see my where my pieces have been glued back together after damn near turning to dust because at this point there is no time. I am who I am and I've done things I can't take back and I'm not proud of and I dare you to find someone who hasn't. I'm sick, it doesn't define me but I won't let my loved ones continue to ignore it like if we don't talk about it that it goes away. I sometimes need a person to listen on the phone when I'm having a bad day and feeling like crap and I want to complain about what the doctors are doing, I'm not asking for it to be all the time, but sometimes it is going to happen. I'm not perfect, and neither are the people I love and I know that we will still disagree and sometimes down right fight, but I don't want it to end without the mending, no more whys even if I don't like the answers I get I need them.
     Fact is, we are all dying the fact that I have a team of doctors that remind me of my mortality every week it can be anyone's last day, last second on this Earth even when they are perfectly healthy. We put off everything hoping to have the strength to do it later, that it is somehow easier, or with the thought that maybe we will never have to do it and it gets put on a shelf. All that hate, rage, guilt, sadness, and pain just gets stored up and it either comes out in a way that is more damaging or you learn that you have to let it go. I was damn near consumed before I was twenty three years old in darkness, can't imagine what it feels like to go fifty or sixty years just stewing until one Christmas you have to many drinks and it comes out with broken furniture and blood and people pulling you away from someone who you love and leading you both in other directions whether it be father and son, mother/daughter, brothers, sisters, whoever. Despite what you think nothing is impossible until you are dead, you aren't broken beyond repair until you are buried in the ground, and if you reach out and say your piece and the other person is too lost in their own head to realize that it is time to pick up the wreckage you have to be able to let it go and breathe through the fact that you did something you couldn't do. I won't lie, I have damn panic attacks in confrontations, it is best for me to have someone there who is able to almost mediate and keep me from getting too upset because then that trance comes back and all I can think is "must get out, must run away from everyone, can't breathe, can't think, have to bleed"...that is me and I know that about myself which is a good thing. I wrote this very long blog mainly for myself and my current situation, but I've come to realize that sometimes my ramblings can make a small difference in someone else's life and I pray that is the case with this one. Letting go and learning to use my voice and my feelings is new for me and scary as hell, but it is a thousand times better than what I was before. I am sick, but I'm sure as hell not dead yet and I didn't die the thousand times I've probably should have over the years, so I figure I might just be strong enough to face all of this stuff and learn what it is like to be able to breathe and take a walk without falling over wreckage. When we have a tragedy like a tornado and this is disaster and wreckage everywhere we all work together to pick it up and put things back together, maybe not the same, but we mend them...I believe wreckages in life can be picked up and mended even if they turn out a little strange.