I've had multiple people over the years ask me if I regret the choices I've made over the years and if I could change the past would I make that decision. The answer is no to both questions. What kind of life would I have if I sat around dwelling on the past? I've made a ton of mistakes over the years some of which were huge, but can you honestly say that you've lived your whole life without mistake?
People forget sometimes that life isn't perfect, there isn't always an answer. I use to think that things were black and white, you are either fat or thin, smart or dumb, a success or a failure, etc. The fact is most things fall into a gray category, most of us fit somewhere in the middle. When I was lost in my eating disorder I couldn't stop the black and white thinking. I spent all day declaring things safe and unsafe, if I set a goal for myself and didn't reach it I was automatically a failure who deserved to be punished. To be honest accepting the gray in life was one of the hardest things in my recovery. Realizing that life was messy and that my mistakes didn't make me less of a person was something I couldn't grasp. It was especially difficult with everyone telling me how I destroyed my life and that I use to have so much potential. In my head that translated to FAILURE, my life was over and there was no fixing things.
For awhile I was drowning in self pity and even regret, I thought of myself as nothing, and gave up. I figured my life was over at 23 so I pushed a bunch of pills down my j tube and that was that. Coming to in the ambulance as a paramedic was yelling at me to open my eyes and breathe was shocking. I remember bits and pieces of that experience like the alarms going off in the ambulance, the paramedic telling the hospital to be ready, voices over me as they wheeled towards the trauma room saying they couldn't get an IV and my vitals were very unstable, and then I was in the ICU. I can't really describe what I was feeling when I woke up because it was a long range of emotions mainly anger and relief. Part of me was angry that they had saved me, this wretch of a human being and the other part was relieved that I had survived. That whole experience didn't wake me up completely, but I firmly believe it was a crucial event that set me on the road to recovery.
Once I hit bottom it was a long, treacherous climb out. It has been almost four years since I made that first step back to the living and I am still constantly reminded how easy it would be to fall back down. I've stopped dwelling on the past and focused on living in the future. My road has been tough but it has also given me a lot. If things had been different I never would have met Josh and I wouldn't have my amazing lil man who I can hear laughing from his room right now. My mistakes have put me in a position to make a difference in different ways. My story can help others who feel lost and alone, who are headed on or currently battling an eating disorder or cutting. I think maybe if I keep sharing my experiences it might make a difference to someone and spare them from hitting bottom like I did and if I only help one person that is enough for me.
I no longer have regret, I feel like my experiences have made me stronger in the end and give me the strength to get through tough days living with my GP and the complications from it. I do grieve for what I missed during those years or what I couldn't appreciate and enjoy because I couldn't stop focusing on my anorexia. My senior year of high school was full of wonderful things and I spent most of it obsessing over my secrets rather than enjoying every minute of it for what it was. I had a scholarship to the college I wanted to go to for music and lost it because I ended up in treatment when all my friends were checking into their dorms I was sitting at a table full of girls who were crying over finishing dinner (myself included). Once I finally got to college a year later I only made it a semester before I found myself tucked into a hospital bed with a tube down my nose. Those are just a few of the big things I hold grief over there are so many small things I lost to my own choices...I never made those stupid mistakes everyone makes as a kid, those rites of passage that most people experience, and much more. I spent my adolescence and early twenties trapped in my head spending every second focused on my eating disorder, too wrapped up in restricting and numbers along with cutting to pay attention to life as it was blowing by.
Like I said before I do not regret those years nor would I change them because they have made me who I am. I've decided to not be ashamed of my past anymore or let anyone shame me because of my past. I beat a disease that has taken more lives than any other mental illness and I did it after I was told I never would. I know I had the potential to be more, I know I'm smart, and I'm overly aware of the fact that I could have done anything I wanted with my life but that isn't how things went no point dwelling on it. Personally, I don't think I'm any less smart because I couldn't finish college or work making some large amount of money. My IQ is just as high as it has always been and I've learned a lot about life because of my struggles. I'm not a doctor but I am a mommy and that is more fulfilling for me. I fight everyday against a body that has betrayed me and face the fact that I will probably die much younger than most and my past gives me the courage and hope to defy the odds the docs give us. I know that most of my family and even friends think I am a total screw up, but at this point I've learned how to take their opinions with a grain of salt. I am who I am...no regrets.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Saturday, April 13, 2013
It's More than a Number
I was on Facebook today and once again found an advertisement that has pissed me off from day one. It was for Denver ACUTE eating disorder program, it states they take the sickest of the sickest. To meet the criteria for "sickest" one must be under 70% of their ideal body weight. I have been working my recovery for almost four years, but after reading the ad and looking at the website I began to think what someone struggling with their ED might think when they see the way the site is worded.
Almost every person I know who has faced an eating disorder or is still struggling has used the phrase "I'm not sick enough to go to treatment" which then turns to "I'm not thin enough for help". In my opinion ACUTE perpetuates those thoughts...it is right there in bold print that they admit under seventy percent of IBW. It translates to someone with ED brain that they are too fat for help, which is untrue. You don't have to be a certain number on the scale to be very sick people die at all weights...underweight,overweight,and normal weights. Bulimics can often be at a stable weight while in serious trouble medically. They can die of stomach rupture, electrolyte imbalances, heart attack, and even choking...all the while looking "fine".
I emailed the intake director of ACUTE asking about the program. To prove my point I left out that I was currently in recovery and told her I was really struggling with my eating disorder and to complicate things I had a disease that has made me dependent on a feeding tube and IV line to survive and every residential treatment program told me I was too medically compromised to be there. I said I couldn't keep my ED behaviors under control and it was really compromising my health. And, I finished by saying I wasn't under seventy percent of IBW. She replied the next day and said she was terribly sorry to hear about my situation and admittance to ACUTE was a case by case basis and she would gladly talk to me, but since my wt was still in its range they would need to recommend me to a different place or hospital. If someone would have said that to me while I was actively in my disorder I would have gone insane, all day long I would obsess over the numbers while ignoring my failing body. I would have been repeating the same phrases from above. Luckily I am in recovery, but what about those who aren't? Knowing the competitive dynamic of ED patients using the phrase "we take the sickest of the sickest" is practically a friggin challenge and to put it on Facebook makes it that much worse.
All I ever heard about during my eating disorder was that it isn't about the numbers, but yet it seems like that is what everyone focuses on. Yes, nutrition is the first step in getting a person out of brain lock but even people overweight can be malnourished. By focusing on simply the numbers you can't possibly get to the core of the disease. I know so many people who are severely ill and trapped in their eating disorder that can't get help because their insurance company says they aren't at a low enough weight to be in the hospital or treatment center. My first treatment center as a teenager started getting pressured by insurance when I restored to eighty five percent IBW even though I was still actively using behaviors and was constantly losing privileges because I was too stuck in my ED to control myself. I ended up stepping down to day treatment where within the first two weekends at home I had gotten my wt in trouble along with everything else and when they tried to put me back in residential insurance said that by their numbers and their doctor who had never met me I was well into recovery and could be discharged from their program. That was the beginning of a very long road of hospitalizations, treatment programs, ER visits, and losing pretty much everything and everyone I loved because I just couldn't find space for anyone except the anorexia.
I was luckier than most because I had a doctor who was devoted to his patients, who kept encouraging and pushing when it seemed like a lost cause, he went above and beyond to help his patients and I owe him my life. There are so many people out there struggling today who can't find help, they feel they aren't sick enough therefore don't deserve it or they are told they aren't sick enough by insurance companies and sometimes even doctors. I firmly believe if I would have been kept in treatment as a teenager rather than booted after two months because of insurance I might not have spent my adolescence and early twenties trapped in this awful disorder destroying my body in the process. I did permanent damage to my body because of the years I waged war on it, and I'm lucky compared to others. I came through the war wounded others lose their lives because they couldn't get the help they needed.
We have been fighting for a long time to get the diagnosis criteria changed, taking the weight out of the equation. Yes, they have a diagnosis for people who don't fit into either the anorexic or bulimic category and it is called eating disorder not otherwise specified aka EDNOS.Once again, another way to tell someone they aren't sick enough or worthy enough for help, which with an EDNOS diagnosis is pretty tough to get. Sure they will pay for outpatient therapy, which is very helpful in some cases especially caught early, but in a lot of cases the person's behaviors are out of control and they need that structured environment and extra support to make a change. A bulimic who binges and purges two times a week wouldn't fit into the diagnosis of bulimia because they don't B/P three times a week or more. Can we not see that someone eating thousands of calories in one sitting and then throwing them all up even once a week is a big problem and extremely dangerous. The fact is your body doesn't care what the papers say or what number is on the scale, your heart can give out at any moment, your stomach could rupture after a week of purging and you die with your head in the toilet all because of some BS criteria.
I've been under weight and at a stable weight, and to be honest some of my most scary health issues happened at a stable weight. We have to fight for this to change, so many lives are lost because they don't fit in some perfect little box that the treatment centers and insurance companies must have. If you are struggling, please don't let the lies in that you aren't worthy of help, your eating disorder wants you to think that because if you think you are worthless and failing then you won't fight back and take control of your own mind. You have the right to get help, don't give up and keep calling the insurance companies, there are programs that will help you in fighting for treatment coverage, and if it all feels too much ask for help. Believe me, I know asking for help is one of the hardest things to do because you are admitting you aren't ok. Please understand the strain you are putting on your body and the longer you go without help the worse it gets. Screw the numbers and focus on you because you deserve it. When you are stuck inside your ED you aren't living rather you simply exist as a host to an awful parasite and we are all better than that, we deserve to live a life that doesn't revolve around calories, scales, purging, and restricting. Don't give up the fight!
Almost every person I know who has faced an eating disorder or is still struggling has used the phrase "I'm not sick enough to go to treatment" which then turns to "I'm not thin enough for help". In my opinion ACUTE perpetuates those thoughts...it is right there in bold print that they admit under seventy percent of IBW. It translates to someone with ED brain that they are too fat for help, which is untrue. You don't have to be a certain number on the scale to be very sick people die at all weights...underweight,overweight,and normal weights. Bulimics can often be at a stable weight while in serious trouble medically. They can die of stomach rupture, electrolyte imbalances, heart attack, and even choking...all the while looking "fine".
I emailed the intake director of ACUTE asking about the program. To prove my point I left out that I was currently in recovery and told her I was really struggling with my eating disorder and to complicate things I had a disease that has made me dependent on a feeding tube and IV line to survive and every residential treatment program told me I was too medically compromised to be there. I said I couldn't keep my ED behaviors under control and it was really compromising my health. And, I finished by saying I wasn't under seventy percent of IBW. She replied the next day and said she was terribly sorry to hear about my situation and admittance to ACUTE was a case by case basis and she would gladly talk to me, but since my wt was still in its range they would need to recommend me to a different place or hospital. If someone would have said that to me while I was actively in my disorder I would have gone insane, all day long I would obsess over the numbers while ignoring my failing body. I would have been repeating the same phrases from above. Luckily I am in recovery, but what about those who aren't? Knowing the competitive dynamic of ED patients using the phrase "we take the sickest of the sickest" is practically a friggin challenge and to put it on Facebook makes it that much worse.
All I ever heard about during my eating disorder was that it isn't about the numbers, but yet it seems like that is what everyone focuses on. Yes, nutrition is the first step in getting a person out of brain lock but even people overweight can be malnourished. By focusing on simply the numbers you can't possibly get to the core of the disease. I know so many people who are severely ill and trapped in their eating disorder that can't get help because their insurance company says they aren't at a low enough weight to be in the hospital or treatment center. My first treatment center as a teenager started getting pressured by insurance when I restored to eighty five percent IBW even though I was still actively using behaviors and was constantly losing privileges because I was too stuck in my ED to control myself. I ended up stepping down to day treatment where within the first two weekends at home I had gotten my wt in trouble along with everything else and when they tried to put me back in residential insurance said that by their numbers and their doctor who had never met me I was well into recovery and could be discharged from their program. That was the beginning of a very long road of hospitalizations, treatment programs, ER visits, and losing pretty much everything and everyone I loved because I just couldn't find space for anyone except the anorexia.
I was luckier than most because I had a doctor who was devoted to his patients, who kept encouraging and pushing when it seemed like a lost cause, he went above and beyond to help his patients and I owe him my life. There are so many people out there struggling today who can't find help, they feel they aren't sick enough therefore don't deserve it or they are told they aren't sick enough by insurance companies and sometimes even doctors. I firmly believe if I would have been kept in treatment as a teenager rather than booted after two months because of insurance I might not have spent my adolescence and early twenties trapped in this awful disorder destroying my body in the process. I did permanent damage to my body because of the years I waged war on it, and I'm lucky compared to others. I came through the war wounded others lose their lives because they couldn't get the help they needed.
We have been fighting for a long time to get the diagnosis criteria changed, taking the weight out of the equation. Yes, they have a diagnosis for people who don't fit into either the anorexic or bulimic category and it is called eating disorder not otherwise specified aka EDNOS.Once again, another way to tell someone they aren't sick enough or worthy enough for help, which with an EDNOS diagnosis is pretty tough to get. Sure they will pay for outpatient therapy, which is very helpful in some cases especially caught early, but in a lot of cases the person's behaviors are out of control and they need that structured environment and extra support to make a change. A bulimic who binges and purges two times a week wouldn't fit into the diagnosis of bulimia because they don't B/P three times a week or more. Can we not see that someone eating thousands of calories in one sitting and then throwing them all up even once a week is a big problem and extremely dangerous. The fact is your body doesn't care what the papers say or what number is on the scale, your heart can give out at any moment, your stomach could rupture after a week of purging and you die with your head in the toilet all because of some BS criteria.
I've been under weight and at a stable weight, and to be honest some of my most scary health issues happened at a stable weight. We have to fight for this to change, so many lives are lost because they don't fit in some perfect little box that the treatment centers and insurance companies must have. If you are struggling, please don't let the lies in that you aren't worthy of help, your eating disorder wants you to think that because if you think you are worthless and failing then you won't fight back and take control of your own mind. You have the right to get help, don't give up and keep calling the insurance companies, there are programs that will help you in fighting for treatment coverage, and if it all feels too much ask for help. Believe me, I know asking for help is one of the hardest things to do because you are admitting you aren't ok. Please understand the strain you are putting on your body and the longer you go without help the worse it gets. Screw the numbers and focus on you because you deserve it. When you are stuck inside your ED you aren't living rather you simply exist as a host to an awful parasite and we are all better than that, we deserve to live a life that doesn't revolve around calories, scales, purging, and restricting. Don't give up the fight!
Friday, April 5, 2013
Facing my Nemesis
So, yesterday I had to come face to face with one of my old nemesis, now I'm sure you are thinking it was some person that I had a falling out with our something, but I promise you that is not what it was. This nemesis I speak of was a tape measure. I know what you are thinking...how could I be scared of a plastic measuring device? The thing is when I threw myself full into my recovery there were some steps I had to take to ensure I remained on the right path. I got rid of all my anorexic clothes, I stopped wearing jeans or anything that involved zipping or buttoning around my waist, I destroyed my scale and all measuring devices, and in the beginning of recovery all food labels were blacked out even my tube feed so I could stop obsessing over it. The thing about recovery is you can't go half way, if you don't throw your who self into it and think that you can keep some of those trigger items you are asking for relapse.
For almost four years I have done a pretty good job at avoiding my triggers, not paying attention to dress sizes and making sure I weigh backwards at my many doctor's appointments. I've had my moments where I've been triggered, but I've always gotten through it without giving in to the old me. Josh and I have been planning our wedding for months now and it has been great. I picked out my beautiful and very eccentric wedding dress and I've been super stoked. Then I realized yesterday after getting an e mail from the dress maker that she would need my measurements before she could begin the dress.
I kept acting cool as Josh kept asking me over and over if I was going to be able to handle this, to accept my new body for what it is and not let the numbers define me. I kept telling him that I would be fine and we need to just get this done. So, last night we took my many measurements and I sent them to the dress maker. I kept insisting I was fine because it has been almost four years, why would a tape measure send me into thinking those old lies that use to scream in my head all day long? I let shame get the best of me, I was avoiding writing this because I thought everyone would see me as a failure, but now that I'm looking back at it I'm not a failure at all nor do I deserve to be ashamed.
So, here is the fact...seeing those new measurements did mess with my head a little bit. I heard her screaming in my head trying to convince me how unacceptable those numbers were and how could I even allow myself to run my tube feeds with those numbers. I finally yelled "shut up" as I was standing in the middle of my bedroom. I couldn't believe what I was doing, I'm marrying a man that loves me despite the fact that I'm getting sicker and sicker every day it seems and here I was obsessing over some numbers. My body is giving out on me, my stomach can't tolerate anything in it so I'm venting everything which is causing wt loss and electrolyte imbalances, my intestines aren't doing well already with my new feeds, I have to wear a heart monitor for another two weeks to make sure that my long QT isn't worse than we thought, and through all of this I'm living everyday in so much pain and fear that I won't see my son grow up....why the hell do the numbers matter?
I've been thinking about that last statement a lot since last night because I know so many other girls and even guys who struggle with the same thing. They can be in a strong recovery and one time seeing their weight, their measurements, or a larger dress size and the vicious cycle will start all over again. I think body acceptance is one of the hardest things after you recover because so many things can change. First of all, when you recovery that usually, not in all cases, but quite a few comes with gaining to a healthy weight which can be a huge adjustment. You have to buy new clothes which means new sizes and new feelings. Recovery means your body is different...bones won't be sticking out everywhere, instead of that sunken in face, and dark circles under your eyes you actually look more beautiful and younger. I wish just the first weight gain to begin your recovery was all you had to worry about, but that isn't everything.
The fact is as we get older our bodies are going to change and that means we have to accept the change and just go with it. Having my son left me with excess skin on my belly and there are days when it bothers me more than it should, but this is my body and the excess skin was a small price to pay for the beautiful little boy that crawls up to me everyday and cuddles with me. Part of recovery is accepting who you are because the number on the scale does not define you at all even though that liar that sometimes fights to the forefront of your mind is going to tell you different you have to keep up the fight.
I almost let my fear of a tape measure ruin my wedding because I was still allowing the numbers to define me. This just goes to show that even when you are years into your recovery there are still going to be obstacles and that is okay. It is always okay to struggle, there is nothing about recovering that means you have to be perfect because there is no such that as perfect. In my opinion we are all beautifully imperfect and that is what makes us who we are. The numbers that ruled us for so long only have power if we give it to them. After we did those measurements we threw the tape measure away and for a split second I wanted to jump in the dumpster and find it because I thought that I absolutely had to have it, but the feeling passed as soon as I stopped and took a breath.
I wrote this because I think there are so many people out there that think struggling means their less of a person or that they are failing in recovery. Recovery is full of ups and downs and you just have to keep with your support system. Do what makes you happy and accept that fact that your body is perfect the way it is. Numbers don't matter, a size is nothing more than a number and it doesn't define you and neither does the scale or a tape measure. We all have moments of weakness...recovery can mean five steps forward and two steps back, just don't give up because we all deserve to be free and accept that beauty is not defined by a number.
For almost four years I have done a pretty good job at avoiding my triggers, not paying attention to dress sizes and making sure I weigh backwards at my many doctor's appointments. I've had my moments where I've been triggered, but I've always gotten through it without giving in to the old me. Josh and I have been planning our wedding for months now and it has been great. I picked out my beautiful and very eccentric wedding dress and I've been super stoked. Then I realized yesterday after getting an e mail from the dress maker that she would need my measurements before she could begin the dress.
I kept acting cool as Josh kept asking me over and over if I was going to be able to handle this, to accept my new body for what it is and not let the numbers define me. I kept telling him that I would be fine and we need to just get this done. So, last night we took my many measurements and I sent them to the dress maker. I kept insisting I was fine because it has been almost four years, why would a tape measure send me into thinking those old lies that use to scream in my head all day long? I let shame get the best of me, I was avoiding writing this because I thought everyone would see me as a failure, but now that I'm looking back at it I'm not a failure at all nor do I deserve to be ashamed.
So, here is the fact...seeing those new measurements did mess with my head a little bit. I heard her screaming in my head trying to convince me how unacceptable those numbers were and how could I even allow myself to run my tube feeds with those numbers. I finally yelled "shut up" as I was standing in the middle of my bedroom. I couldn't believe what I was doing, I'm marrying a man that loves me despite the fact that I'm getting sicker and sicker every day it seems and here I was obsessing over some numbers. My body is giving out on me, my stomach can't tolerate anything in it so I'm venting everything which is causing wt loss and electrolyte imbalances, my intestines aren't doing well already with my new feeds, I have to wear a heart monitor for another two weeks to make sure that my long QT isn't worse than we thought, and through all of this I'm living everyday in so much pain and fear that I won't see my son grow up....why the hell do the numbers matter?
I've been thinking about that last statement a lot since last night because I know so many other girls and even guys who struggle with the same thing. They can be in a strong recovery and one time seeing their weight, their measurements, or a larger dress size and the vicious cycle will start all over again. I think body acceptance is one of the hardest things after you recover because so many things can change. First of all, when you recovery that usually, not in all cases, but quite a few comes with gaining to a healthy weight which can be a huge adjustment. You have to buy new clothes which means new sizes and new feelings. Recovery means your body is different...bones won't be sticking out everywhere, instead of that sunken in face, and dark circles under your eyes you actually look more beautiful and younger. I wish just the first weight gain to begin your recovery was all you had to worry about, but that isn't everything.
The fact is as we get older our bodies are going to change and that means we have to accept the change and just go with it. Having my son left me with excess skin on my belly and there are days when it bothers me more than it should, but this is my body and the excess skin was a small price to pay for the beautiful little boy that crawls up to me everyday and cuddles with me. Part of recovery is accepting who you are because the number on the scale does not define you at all even though that liar that sometimes fights to the forefront of your mind is going to tell you different you have to keep up the fight.
I almost let my fear of a tape measure ruin my wedding because I was still allowing the numbers to define me. This just goes to show that even when you are years into your recovery there are still going to be obstacles and that is okay. It is always okay to struggle, there is nothing about recovering that means you have to be perfect because there is no such that as perfect. In my opinion we are all beautifully imperfect and that is what makes us who we are. The numbers that ruled us for so long only have power if we give it to them. After we did those measurements we threw the tape measure away and for a split second I wanted to jump in the dumpster and find it because I thought that I absolutely had to have it, but the feeling passed as soon as I stopped and took a breath.
I wrote this because I think there are so many people out there that think struggling means their less of a person or that they are failing in recovery. Recovery is full of ups and downs and you just have to keep with your support system. Do what makes you happy and accept that fact that your body is perfect the way it is. Numbers don't matter, a size is nothing more than a number and it doesn't define you and neither does the scale or a tape measure. We all have moments of weakness...recovery can mean five steps forward and two steps back, just don't give up because we all deserve to be free and accept that beauty is not defined by a number.
Tuesday, April 2, 2013
No means no, but silence doesn't mean yes-tough subject for me, but I think it needed to be said
I honestly debated writing this, I thought it was too personal for even me to share. In all honesty I was ashamed, after all of these years I still feel ashamed about something that wasn't my fault. After a lot of thinking and praying I decided that i'm not the only person that has felt this and has gone through this so I'm going to mommy up and just put it out there to whatever criticism I might get.
For the last six years I have dreaded April 8th, when that day rolls around I want to lock myself in a dark room and just be left alone the whole day. I've tried to move on and forget it and for the most part I have pretty good life where I hardly ever think about that day and what was taken from me. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try I can't erase that day from my mind.
It was April 8th six years ago, Easter Sunday to be exact. I was excited because my boyfriend was coming out to the house and we were going to go, for the first time as a couple to my family's Easter celebrations. I was so happy, we went shopping and I got a new outfit to wear and even baked a cake to contribute to the family buffet. I was twenty one years old and pretty much glowing about actually being a part of the holiday. It all started out wonderful, I was walking around with a smile on my face thinking everything was, for once going right, for once I wasn't going to be looked at as the anorexic cutter by my family, and then that sunny day went as dark as I could have ever imagined.
It was innocent enough, two young people making out each thinking they found the love of their life, or at least one of us thought that I guess. And, then things turned into something else. He pushed me down on the bed and I thought he was just playing around at first until I realized I couldn't get up. I laughed at first telling him to get off of me and his grip just tightened. He told me he knew I wanted it and everything would be okay and that was that. I begged him not to, I told him he was hurting me, that I had never, and all he did was tell me to relax and that he knew I wanted it. After realizing I couldn't fight him off I went somewhere else in my head praying it would just stop. When he finally let me up he acted like nothing happened. I grabbed my pants and I ran for the bathroom and locked the door. I fell apart in the shower I scrubbed until my skin was raw all the while he is knocking on the bathroom door asking when I would be out. I remember feeling like a robot getting out of the shower and walking into the other room where he was just sitting there watching television like nothing happened.
It took me hours to get him to leave having to feel him kiss me and hug me when I just wanted him to get away from me. When he left I didn't know what to do, I was ashamed and I knew I couldn't tell anyone, he shouldn't have been there while my parents were out of town. Maybe I could have stopped him, maybe this, maybe that...I went through everything in my head that all pointed the blame to me rather than the person it should have been pointed at. I kept silent as it ate me alive, I stopped sleeping in my bed, I couldn't handle eating or drinking because anything inside me made me vomit, and I cut and swallowed pills like I wanted to die. I think at that time I did want to die. What if someone found out, what would they think of me, I was just a dirty whore for what happened.
That went on for about two weeks before I was invited back to Columbia to see a friend for a few days. The first day I was there she knew something was wrong, my wt was no where near stable and I was covered in cuts in places that mean business. She wasn't pushy about it, we went for a walk and as we were sitting on the swings at the playground things started to pour out, I had been waiting for a safe person to relieve me of this secret, to know why I was so ashamed. She was the first person to use the word rape...that word still turns my blood to ice. She gave me the courage to e mail my doctor who called me bright and early the next morning and had me in his office by two that afternoon. My secret was out and I was a train wreck. I wasn't crying or yelling, I was simply there hating myself, blaming myself for everything that happened. Sitting in the doctor's office was was rocking back and forth, knees drawn up as my doctor, who was like a father figure gently pushed for details. He asked me if I were safe and I just stared straight ahead. He asked me what my plan was and the shell I was at the time said in a flat voice that I was going to go swallow a bottle of pills and slit my wrists because I deserved to die, I was now unclean, tainted, and no one would ever want me again. Needless to say I found myself on my usual med unit with a sitter and a feeding tube and IV when I refused to take in any nourishment.
Over the next few months I was forced to live in a Women's Shelter to hide from him and worked with detectives to try and get him to pay for what he did. In the end he admitted to what he did and the prosecuting attorney decided that wasn't enough to go to trial because it was still a he said she said case and those are always crap shoots who win. So, the guy who raped me, took my virginity was free and I lived in terror of him finding me again. I felt dirty, talking about it in groups wasn't helping, nothing helped. I couldn't let go of the fact that it wasn't my fault, I punished my body as harshly as I could thinking maybe I could eventually punish myself enough to forgive.
Here I am six years later and for the most part I don't think about that day, I'm not scared of him finding him anymore. I have a healthy relationship with my future husband and a beautiful son. I've learned that it wasn't my fault and I can say it now...I was raped. The night terrors are few and far between these days. I'm still uncomfortable around new guys and am extra cautious about who is in my house, but I've gotten through it.
I wrote this because I know that I am not the only one that has gone through this. I am not the only one who felt ashamed and couldn't tell anyone when it happened, I am not the only one who almost destroyed themselves because of rape, and I'm not the only one who survived. Rape is a very taboo subject, it makes people uncomfortable, but the fact of the matter is that it is another thing that we need to talk about. Did you know that roughly only four percent of rape cases get convictions? Did you know that most lawyers won't take a rape case to trial when it was the person's boyfriend or happened at a party? It often becomes he said, she said and they say that is hard to prove in court. Where does that leave us...the victims? We are left feeling like maybe we did do something wrong, maybe my no wasn't strong enough, maybe I gave him a signal he misunderstood, and this list goes on. But, the fact is we didn't do anything wrong...we said no, we begged them to stop and they kept going and yet we still feel like we did something wrong.
We have to stand up against rape, it can't be taboo and silent because nothing gets done, it happens again and again and women don't come forward...it took me weeks to tell anyone. Women need to know there are safe places to go and safe people to talk to who will do whatever they can to help. I lived in a Women's Shelter for over a month hiding from him, waiting for protection orders to go through and it wasn't easy, but I met some really amazingly strong women there, mothers who were raising babies who had escaped a man who was beating them everyday and eventually going to kill them. Every time I had to deal with the detectives or go to court for the protection order there were DOVE advocates there the whole way speaking for me when I thought I didn't have a voice. Helping women through this horrible time is what these people are trained for, they build safe houses for us, feed us, talk to us, and in my case drive out to the shelter in the middle of the night when I cut myself too deep and cleaned me up and sat up with me the rest of the night. These places require donations and funding to keep going and it is absolutely worth it. If you have never been a victim of rape or abuse I know it is hard to understand, but just think it happens to everyone no matter their race, social class, age...it can happen to anyone.
Like I said I wasn't sure I could share this on here because it isn't something I talk about much. I have been a victim and I am now, like so many a survivor, but I carry it with me all the time. I have an understanding man in my life who is there with me when the night terrors break through or when he finds me in the bath scrubbing my skin raw. I got through this because of a great friend, a fantastic doctor, and the help of a whole group of people at the Women's Shelter who really just took me in as a mess and worked hard to help me overcome, to show me that I could be a survivor. It was not my fault and I am not dirty or ruined. And, I can tell you if you are a survivor of rape or abuse it is absolutely not your fault and you are a stronger person than you can possibly understand for getting back up and fighting through this. We are survivors and have nothing to be ashamed of.
NO MEANS NO, BUT SILENCE DOESN'T MEAN YES!
For the last six years I have dreaded April 8th, when that day rolls around I want to lock myself in a dark room and just be left alone the whole day. I've tried to move on and forget it and for the most part I have pretty good life where I hardly ever think about that day and what was taken from me. Unfortunately, no matter how hard I try I can't erase that day from my mind.
It was April 8th six years ago, Easter Sunday to be exact. I was excited because my boyfriend was coming out to the house and we were going to go, for the first time as a couple to my family's Easter celebrations. I was so happy, we went shopping and I got a new outfit to wear and even baked a cake to contribute to the family buffet. I was twenty one years old and pretty much glowing about actually being a part of the holiday. It all started out wonderful, I was walking around with a smile on my face thinking everything was, for once going right, for once I wasn't going to be looked at as the anorexic cutter by my family, and then that sunny day went as dark as I could have ever imagined.
It was innocent enough, two young people making out each thinking they found the love of their life, or at least one of us thought that I guess. And, then things turned into something else. He pushed me down on the bed and I thought he was just playing around at first until I realized I couldn't get up. I laughed at first telling him to get off of me and his grip just tightened. He told me he knew I wanted it and everything would be okay and that was that. I begged him not to, I told him he was hurting me, that I had never, and all he did was tell me to relax and that he knew I wanted it. After realizing I couldn't fight him off I went somewhere else in my head praying it would just stop. When he finally let me up he acted like nothing happened. I grabbed my pants and I ran for the bathroom and locked the door. I fell apart in the shower I scrubbed until my skin was raw all the while he is knocking on the bathroom door asking when I would be out. I remember feeling like a robot getting out of the shower and walking into the other room where he was just sitting there watching television like nothing happened.
It took me hours to get him to leave having to feel him kiss me and hug me when I just wanted him to get away from me. When he left I didn't know what to do, I was ashamed and I knew I couldn't tell anyone, he shouldn't have been there while my parents were out of town. Maybe I could have stopped him, maybe this, maybe that...I went through everything in my head that all pointed the blame to me rather than the person it should have been pointed at. I kept silent as it ate me alive, I stopped sleeping in my bed, I couldn't handle eating or drinking because anything inside me made me vomit, and I cut and swallowed pills like I wanted to die. I think at that time I did want to die. What if someone found out, what would they think of me, I was just a dirty whore for what happened.
That went on for about two weeks before I was invited back to Columbia to see a friend for a few days. The first day I was there she knew something was wrong, my wt was no where near stable and I was covered in cuts in places that mean business. She wasn't pushy about it, we went for a walk and as we were sitting on the swings at the playground things started to pour out, I had been waiting for a safe person to relieve me of this secret, to know why I was so ashamed. She was the first person to use the word rape...that word still turns my blood to ice. She gave me the courage to e mail my doctor who called me bright and early the next morning and had me in his office by two that afternoon. My secret was out and I was a train wreck. I wasn't crying or yelling, I was simply there hating myself, blaming myself for everything that happened. Sitting in the doctor's office was was rocking back and forth, knees drawn up as my doctor, who was like a father figure gently pushed for details. He asked me if I were safe and I just stared straight ahead. He asked me what my plan was and the shell I was at the time said in a flat voice that I was going to go swallow a bottle of pills and slit my wrists because I deserved to die, I was now unclean, tainted, and no one would ever want me again. Needless to say I found myself on my usual med unit with a sitter and a feeding tube and IV when I refused to take in any nourishment.
Over the next few months I was forced to live in a Women's Shelter to hide from him and worked with detectives to try and get him to pay for what he did. In the end he admitted to what he did and the prosecuting attorney decided that wasn't enough to go to trial because it was still a he said she said case and those are always crap shoots who win. So, the guy who raped me, took my virginity was free and I lived in terror of him finding me again. I felt dirty, talking about it in groups wasn't helping, nothing helped. I couldn't let go of the fact that it wasn't my fault, I punished my body as harshly as I could thinking maybe I could eventually punish myself enough to forgive.
Here I am six years later and for the most part I don't think about that day, I'm not scared of him finding him anymore. I have a healthy relationship with my future husband and a beautiful son. I've learned that it wasn't my fault and I can say it now...I was raped. The night terrors are few and far between these days. I'm still uncomfortable around new guys and am extra cautious about who is in my house, but I've gotten through it.
I wrote this because I know that I am not the only one that has gone through this. I am not the only one who felt ashamed and couldn't tell anyone when it happened, I am not the only one who almost destroyed themselves because of rape, and I'm not the only one who survived. Rape is a very taboo subject, it makes people uncomfortable, but the fact of the matter is that it is another thing that we need to talk about. Did you know that roughly only four percent of rape cases get convictions? Did you know that most lawyers won't take a rape case to trial when it was the person's boyfriend or happened at a party? It often becomes he said, she said and they say that is hard to prove in court. Where does that leave us...the victims? We are left feeling like maybe we did do something wrong, maybe my no wasn't strong enough, maybe I gave him a signal he misunderstood, and this list goes on. But, the fact is we didn't do anything wrong...we said no, we begged them to stop and they kept going and yet we still feel like we did something wrong.
We have to stand up against rape, it can't be taboo and silent because nothing gets done, it happens again and again and women don't come forward...it took me weeks to tell anyone. Women need to know there are safe places to go and safe people to talk to who will do whatever they can to help. I lived in a Women's Shelter for over a month hiding from him, waiting for protection orders to go through and it wasn't easy, but I met some really amazingly strong women there, mothers who were raising babies who had escaped a man who was beating them everyday and eventually going to kill them. Every time I had to deal with the detectives or go to court for the protection order there were DOVE advocates there the whole way speaking for me when I thought I didn't have a voice. Helping women through this horrible time is what these people are trained for, they build safe houses for us, feed us, talk to us, and in my case drive out to the shelter in the middle of the night when I cut myself too deep and cleaned me up and sat up with me the rest of the night. These places require donations and funding to keep going and it is absolutely worth it. If you have never been a victim of rape or abuse I know it is hard to understand, but just think it happens to everyone no matter their race, social class, age...it can happen to anyone.
Like I said I wasn't sure I could share this on here because it isn't something I talk about much. I have been a victim and I am now, like so many a survivor, but I carry it with me all the time. I have an understanding man in my life who is there with me when the night terrors break through or when he finds me in the bath scrubbing my skin raw. I got through this because of a great friend, a fantastic doctor, and the help of a whole group of people at the Women's Shelter who really just took me in as a mess and worked hard to help me overcome, to show me that I could be a survivor. It was not my fault and I am not dirty or ruined. And, I can tell you if you are a survivor of rape or abuse it is absolutely not your fault and you are a stronger person than you can possibly understand for getting back up and fighting through this. We are survivors and have nothing to be ashamed of.
NO MEANS NO, BUT SILENCE DOESN'T MEAN YES!
Monday, April 1, 2013
Self Harm
Have you ever felt so overwhelmed whether it be with anger, sadness, loneliness that you felt like you were going to explode? What did you do...yell, go for a walk, hit a punching bag or pillow, maybe you even cried or talked it out with someone? The point is you found a way to get it out of you. For some people those options seem impossible, they are going to explode and they need a release so they turn on themselves...they cut, burn, pull their hair, anything to make breathing easier. It is a taboo subject that no one likes to talk about, it is easier to say only emo kids or attention seekers self harm not the captain of the drumline with music scholarships waiting for her, not the star football player, and not the homecoming queen who has it all together. The fact is I've known one of each of my examples who dealt with self harm and it took a long time before anyone found out about it. In fact, I am the girl from the first example.
I started cutting my junior year in high school, honestly I can't even remember what made me do it the first time. Things were just so hard at home and I was having a hard time handling home life while keeping up the smiles at school. I felt like I was going to explode, I couldn't yell or talk to anyone about what was going on. I had to be perfect and no one could know what was happening at home. When I cut it was a release, I could see it pour out of me, all the hurt was subsiding and I could just be numb and keep up the smiles. The only problem was the hurt always came back and I had to do it again.
Not long after that first cut my diet had turned to full on anorexia, I became obsessed with my weight and the more people got onto me for not eating and telling me how my wt was falling the more I was hooked. My life became me protecting my secrets and making sure everyone thought I was the same happy person I always was. No one figured anything out for a long time, they were my secrets until the beginning of my senior year when my friends decided it was time to step in. I told them I was fine and they didn't buy it because they went to a trusted teacher and told him what was going on. Eventually it got bad enough that I had to go live with my dad and all my secrets were out there for everyone. I was seventeen when the doctor officially diagnosed me with anorexia. This is the part where I wish I could say that I worked through my issues and started eating again and didn't cut myself and life went on great...that is not the case.
The fact is instead of going to college with my music scholarship I was shipped off to a residential treatment center for eating disorders. I spent my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's there doing nothing but trying to get out. All they wanted to do was feed me and make me talk about things that I didn't want to talk about. I eventually got out because my insurance stopped coverage and went to college. I held it together for a month before I was back to my old self. I would find myself running for hours and then, when I still couldn't find that fake smile everyone wanted I would take my razor to the shower with me. I was hospitalized in mid December once again for my anorexia requiring tube feeding. The only positive thing was meeting the doctor that stuck with me through some of the toughest moments of my life and who often saved me from myself at times.
It went on for years after that, constantly hospitalized because I wasn't getting enough nutrition. The cuts got deeper as I fell deeper into my addictions and cutting is an awful addiction. I lied to doctors about the cuts, it got to the point that I carried razors with me everywhere I went in case I couldn't handle a situation. I was a shell of a person who didn't care if they lived or died. I woke up in the ICU after an overdose and I just kept finding myself in the same situation all the time. I was destroying myself, I wasn't doing it because I wanted attention or because I was trying to fit in with some emo culture.
I was constantly judged and criticized by everyone in my life, they couldn't understand why I was doing what I was doing. I wasn't praying enough, trying hard enough...I wasn't enough. The more they talked the more I cut, trying to find my fake smile again, but at this point all the cutting and restricting in the world wasn't helping me find anything except a coffin. I know most people can't understand this but cutting is an addiction that has been compared with heroin. After years of running to a razor every time you have a feeling you can't handle you develop a physical reaction when you are triggered. It has been almost four years since my last cut and when I'm really upset my arms still tingle the way they did years ago. It took me a long time to learn how to cope with feelings without running to a razor or turning to my eating disorder which is another form of self harm.
Part of the reason I shared this is because I hear so often when someone is speaking of a cutter they say how stupid they are or how all they want is attention when in most cases the person is just trying to hang on. Cutting is not a suicide attempt, most of the time it is a desperate way to avoid suicidal ideations. The last thing needed is judgment from the people around. I would also advise against policing the person because it makes things way worse. If you know someone is cutting or doing somthing that could hurt them let them know that you are there for them and if you fear for their safety you should contact a parent or teacher if the person is underage and if not underage you call 911. If your friend is mad at you for a minute it is worth it if they are alive, they will get over it. I am alive today because of people intervening.
And, to those who struggle with self harm I know what you are going through, I've been there. I've been scared to let go, I didn't think I could survive without cutting. The urge may never go away, mine hasn't, but you learn how to ride it out without picking up a razor. You learn that it will pass, and the best advice I can give you is find something to help you through the hard urges. I know people who take cold showers, stick their heads in a bowl of ice water because it shocks the system almost like cutting does. Some people find a friend or loved one they can confide in and they call them up when things are tough. I write in my journal, every awful thought that is racing through my head, I've taken markers and marked up my arms, and sometimes I even call someone. The point is do whatever you have to do to stay away from your harm objects. I know that sometimes it feels like you can't make it, but I promise you that you can. It takes time and sometimes you might fall, but it is about getting up and starting again. My mom bought me a picture that said "Each day is a new beginning" and I really do believe that. What is done is done just move on. I am not ashamed of my scars, I don't hide them behind long sleeves or lies, I am proud of what I have overcome and I won't let anyone shame me for it. You are worth more than this, you deserve better, and I know that voice in your head is telling you different but it is a damn liar. You can get better and I promise you are absolutely not alone.
I started cutting my junior year in high school, honestly I can't even remember what made me do it the first time. Things were just so hard at home and I was having a hard time handling home life while keeping up the smiles at school. I felt like I was going to explode, I couldn't yell or talk to anyone about what was going on. I had to be perfect and no one could know what was happening at home. When I cut it was a release, I could see it pour out of me, all the hurt was subsiding and I could just be numb and keep up the smiles. The only problem was the hurt always came back and I had to do it again.
Not long after that first cut my diet had turned to full on anorexia, I became obsessed with my weight and the more people got onto me for not eating and telling me how my wt was falling the more I was hooked. My life became me protecting my secrets and making sure everyone thought I was the same happy person I always was. No one figured anything out for a long time, they were my secrets until the beginning of my senior year when my friends decided it was time to step in. I told them I was fine and they didn't buy it because they went to a trusted teacher and told him what was going on. Eventually it got bad enough that I had to go live with my dad and all my secrets were out there for everyone. I was seventeen when the doctor officially diagnosed me with anorexia. This is the part where I wish I could say that I worked through my issues and started eating again and didn't cut myself and life went on great...that is not the case.
The fact is instead of going to college with my music scholarship I was shipped off to a residential treatment center for eating disorders. I spent my birthday, Christmas, and New Year's there doing nothing but trying to get out. All they wanted to do was feed me and make me talk about things that I didn't want to talk about. I eventually got out because my insurance stopped coverage and went to college. I held it together for a month before I was back to my old self. I would find myself running for hours and then, when I still couldn't find that fake smile everyone wanted I would take my razor to the shower with me. I was hospitalized in mid December once again for my anorexia requiring tube feeding. The only positive thing was meeting the doctor that stuck with me through some of the toughest moments of my life and who often saved me from myself at times.
It went on for years after that, constantly hospitalized because I wasn't getting enough nutrition. The cuts got deeper as I fell deeper into my addictions and cutting is an awful addiction. I lied to doctors about the cuts, it got to the point that I carried razors with me everywhere I went in case I couldn't handle a situation. I was a shell of a person who didn't care if they lived or died. I woke up in the ICU after an overdose and I just kept finding myself in the same situation all the time. I was destroying myself, I wasn't doing it because I wanted attention or because I was trying to fit in with some emo culture.
I was constantly judged and criticized by everyone in my life, they couldn't understand why I was doing what I was doing. I wasn't praying enough, trying hard enough...I wasn't enough. The more they talked the more I cut, trying to find my fake smile again, but at this point all the cutting and restricting in the world wasn't helping me find anything except a coffin. I know most people can't understand this but cutting is an addiction that has been compared with heroin. After years of running to a razor every time you have a feeling you can't handle you develop a physical reaction when you are triggered. It has been almost four years since my last cut and when I'm really upset my arms still tingle the way they did years ago. It took me a long time to learn how to cope with feelings without running to a razor or turning to my eating disorder which is another form of self harm.
Part of the reason I shared this is because I hear so often when someone is speaking of a cutter they say how stupid they are or how all they want is attention when in most cases the person is just trying to hang on. Cutting is not a suicide attempt, most of the time it is a desperate way to avoid suicidal ideations. The last thing needed is judgment from the people around. I would also advise against policing the person because it makes things way worse. If you know someone is cutting or doing somthing that could hurt them let them know that you are there for them and if you fear for their safety you should contact a parent or teacher if the person is underage and if not underage you call 911. If your friend is mad at you for a minute it is worth it if they are alive, they will get over it. I am alive today because of people intervening.
And, to those who struggle with self harm I know what you are going through, I've been there. I've been scared to let go, I didn't think I could survive without cutting. The urge may never go away, mine hasn't, but you learn how to ride it out without picking up a razor. You learn that it will pass, and the best advice I can give you is find something to help you through the hard urges. I know people who take cold showers, stick their heads in a bowl of ice water because it shocks the system almost like cutting does. Some people find a friend or loved one they can confide in and they call them up when things are tough. I write in my journal, every awful thought that is racing through my head, I've taken markers and marked up my arms, and sometimes I even call someone. The point is do whatever you have to do to stay away from your harm objects. I know that sometimes it feels like you can't make it, but I promise you that you can. It takes time and sometimes you might fall, but it is about getting up and starting again. My mom bought me a picture that said "Each day is a new beginning" and I really do believe that. What is done is done just move on. I am not ashamed of my scars, I don't hide them behind long sleeves or lies, I am proud of what I have overcome and I won't let anyone shame me for it. You are worth more than this, you deserve better, and I know that voice in your head is telling you different but it is a damn liar. You can get better and I promise you are absolutely not alone.
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