My Bucket List

My Bucket List

     Over the past few months I have been thinking a lot about the things I hope to accomplish before my time on this Earth is done. We've known for a long time now that my life is precious, the first time they told us that I would die was the day we found out that I was pregnant with Damien. For three hours they told us that I would never survive and neither would the baby...nine months later we proven them wrong. Then they told me when I was laying in the hospital in kidney failure that I would never see 28...28 came and went. And, they they stood at the end of my hospital bed during a bad case of sepsis...had three bacteria in my blood and yeast in my blood stream as well. They told us that I would most likely stop breathing, but I didn't...two weeks later I left the hospital. They all said I would never be 30 and coming up on December 20th 2015 I will be 30 years old. We aren't naive, I am still very sick. I have short gut, gastroparesis, Long QT syndrome, and severe tachycardia, along with all the other serious organ issues that come with the disease getting worse. I have been blessed to have my son for the past five years and I pray to have him for many more, but I thought it was time to start working on my bucket list because there are some things I would really like to accomplish before the Lord decides that it is my time to come home. Now it is time to put some of my wishes and dreams in a list, I hope people don't find me too silly.

1. One of my biggest wishes (a personal wish) is to meet the band Tenth Avenue North before my transplant. I was truly blessed that they invited me to see their show in August, I really want to get to speak with them in person and share with them how much of an impact they have made on my life. I know to some this wish sounds childish, but Mike's testimony and video diaries really helped me to turn away from my demons during some hard times. #TenthAvenueNorth 

  2. Years ago when I moved to Columbia I was blessed to meet a whole group of people who took me in like family and loved on me despite my anorexia and cutting. They prayed with me and for me, and went out of their way to look after me. They took me into their home and poured into me. Jon and Veronica treated me like a true family member going out of their way to take me with them during Christmas time and encourage me, sometimes having to force me to eat. They showed me Christ's love lived out. Them along with Andy, Sasha, Delilah, Christian, Ryan, Chrystal, Broc, and so many more poured into me and got me back into the Word of the Lord again. My inability to recover caused stress between us and eventually our friendship was broken. I have prayed and found it on my heart that I would really like to have a conversation with them and mend that relationship before my transplant or before the Lord has called me home. I have come a long way since the last time they have seen me and I hope to show them that I am not that same girl they once knew many years ago.

     3. I desperately long to mend the relationship with my family. I said some pretty stupid things years ago to my family while I was still wrapped up in all the hurt and pain from my anorexia and self harm. Being sick I have learned that time is too precious, and I don't want to die without them knowing how much I love and appreciate them. I know that most of them don't want to talk to me and that hurts my heart, but I brought it on myself. My goal is to reach out and let them know how much I want them to know me and know my family. When the time for my transplant comes I want my family to be there waiting for me to wake up, or if I am being called home I want to be surrounded by those who knew me best. I am asking for forgiveness that I don't deserve, but we are family and at the end of the day we are suppose to be there for each other. I am far from perfect, but I am asking that you love me despite my many imperfections. I long for you guys to know me flaws and all, and I hope that someday learning the real me will make you proud. I spend so many years smiling and pretending to be the Andi I thought you wanted, but I want to be the real Andi and I long for you to know me, and I pray you will give me the chance.

     4. Though I am weak I am going to fight my hardest to write a book, to share my story, my fight through anorexia, cutting, surviving rape, abuse, and showing that there is a light to be found in that dark world. I want people to know that no matter how dark your life seems right now that there is a light just waiting to come through, and for me that light was the Lord. He brought me back from a starved, bloody and suicidal state. He found me laying in that bed in the ICU and gave me a reason to fight, it was a slow fight, but a fight that brought me back to the land of the living. So before this body is done on this earth I plan on sharing as much as much book as possible, I pray that this doesn't cause discord with all those I am fighting to mend with, but to help them understand the fight that was going on inside of me all those  years, and explain the anger that came out towards them that I never truly meant. 

     5. I pray to have a reunion with Mr. P, Mr. Jackson, Beth, Dowdy, Koontz and some of my favorite band kids. To get together and express my deepest things for them fighting so hard to keep me safe from myself, but also making me the best musician that I could be. I am sorry that I let you down and didn't take my talent on to major in music somewhere. Mrs. Beth, you knew so much of my pain and you never judged me...I loved you, loved all of you so much, and I long to see you before I find myself facing transplant. You were a blessing in my life. 

     6.Mark, my brother who always looked out for his very messed up little sister. I owe owe you so much, and I pray that as part of my list I will get to sit with you in person and say all the things that I've wanted to say to you in person, all the thank yous for saving me even when I was mad at you and thought I didn't need you to save me anymore. You were the beginning of my recovery, and for someone being so young and so stubborn you helped me in the very beginning to find my faith again and you've always been there . I pray that you and Julie will sit and listen to the many thanks I have for you and the gifts I have to give you. I hope to wake up from my transplant to you guys being there because I love you like my family.

     

     7.Dr. David Paul Robinson....you would have to know that you would be on my bucket list. I want nothing more than to spend some time with you before I face this transplant or before I am called home. There are so many thank yous that have gone unspoken, but you saved my life when I didn't want to save my own. I owe you everything. You took care of the starved and cut up little girl that came into your clinic every week. You and Roma fought for me when I couldn't fight for me. You were there when I was raped, you came to sit with me every single day I was admitted and laughed at our attempt to build Dr. Dumpy. You saved our lives and introduced me to one of the greatest girls I ever had the privilege to know....Danielle Peterson. You believed in us when we couldn't believe in ourselves. 

     8. There are so many things that my parents need to know, they need to know I love them, but part of my bucket list is that they sit quietly and listen to all the things I need to tell them without speaking, without judging, and just maybe by the end of it all they will be proud of me.

     9.My husband and my son....I need them to know that I have given everything for them and no matter how sick I get I will not stop protecting them. Part of my bucket list is that we start doing videos that Josh is required to show Damien everyday after I am gone so he knows that he had a mom that would do anything for him. I have spent that little boy's whole life sick, but there are videos and books that I want him to read so he knows what his mommy stood for and that she would do anything in this entire world to protect him and teach him how to be ready to face life. Above all I want Damien to know that there is a God above him who is watching over him, and that he has to accept him into his heart and he will have a God that will be there even in the darkest days that life has in store for him. I want him to know that Mommy will never leave no matter what. 

     10. I want to leave a legacy...not be famous, but leave a legacy. I want to do my best to raise awareness for gastroparesis and short gut and esp raise awareness for eating disorders and self harm. It is incredibly important to me to leave an imprint in this world, I don't need fame and fortune, I want to make a difference to all those who are fighting and dying from diseases or suffering in silence from mental illness because so many myths leave people ashamed to step out and ask for the help they desperately need. My goal before I leave this world is to make all those myths disappear and make treatment available for those in need. I long to make my family proud of me.

    11. One little selfish secret to the bucket list is that I've wanted to meet Josh Groban since I was a kid.

What Took Me 30 Years to Learn

     I am coming up on my 30th birthday in less than a month, and I've found myself thinking a lot about the years that have gotten me here. I spent so much of my life trying so hard not to feel, to starve, purge, bleed, and even try to end my life. All those years that I was supposed to be soaking up life, finding myself in college, and make all those stupid mistakes that kids make on their road to becoming a grown up. I spent those years in hospitals with tubes down my nose and IVs in my arms, and when I wasn't there I was hell bent on ending myself. It has taken me all these years to accept the three words that set me free..."It's NOT your fault"!
     I've always had this belief that if I were better I could save other people. I remember thinking when my mom told me that her and my dad were going to get a divorce, and my first thought was, "If I had been better, not thrown so many tantrums maybe they would still be together". With that thought at eight years old the seed was planted that everything wrong was somehow my fault. My dad got a new family, my mom drank more and more, abuse started, and I turned to anorexia and cutting. "If I am thin like mom wants she will stop drinking, she won't hit me, tell me how I'm not good enough...If only I were thinner". Those lies managed to cement themselves in my brain and in my heart and I become hell bent on "fixing" everything by punishing myself.
     I remember the first time I took a blade to my flesh, I had been trying so hard to make everyone better, to be the perfect daughter, sister, student, musician, and I felt like I was exploding. How could I keep the smile while not eating, exercising, still getting homework done and keeping up my practice schedule. It some how made sense in my damaged mind that if I opened my skin I could bleed out all of the pain and frustration and be..NUMB. One cut turned to two and eventually I found myself years later needing stitches to patch me back together. I became obsessed...I would starve and starve, smile and joke while doing my best not to let the world know that I was dying inside. A person can only hold that up for so long before they break and I would turn to the closest sharp object I could find desperately breaking my picture frames and anything else my friends had tried to keep out of my reach. I couldn't let all that pain stay inside me, I would fall apart, and everyone would see how bad I was, how I poisoned everyone who came near me. I had to take the blame because I had let everyone down, and eventually believed I let God down to the point that I didn't deserve to breathe.
     Six and a half years ago I took the first step in my recovery...I dared to eat and handed over my razors willingly. Eventually all the things I had been keeping in the cobwebs of my mind started coming out, and I had to face them. My mom drinking herself to death, the things she said or did to me while she was drunk was not my fault. It wasn't my fault that a guy took from me what was suppose to be mine to give, and it wasn't my fault that my family didn't understand. I slowly started to see that other people's demons had nothing to do with me, and no matter how much I hurt myself it wasn't going to fix them, wasn't going to make my pain go away. I realized that it was time to put my broken pieces back together and not be ashamed of my scars.
     Now I would be lying if I said that I didn't have bad days, that my recovery seems like it is on shakey ground. I have learned how to see the difference in the truth and the lies, I've learned to turn to my faith, and to trust that maybe I am not seeing things clearly. There are days when I would love to pick up a razor and "forget" everything going on inside me, all the crap that comes with life. I never saw the light in my life, everything was constant chaos and I spent all my time in crisis...trapped in the darkness. I slowly put my mind back together and my body began to fall apart, and I wondered why even try? It was then that God reminded me that there are beautiful things in this world, beautiful things that make all the bad, all the pain disappear. On February 17, 2011 I saw the light looking up at me from a swaddled blanket, with a scrunchy face, and bright eyes seeing the world for the first time. My son didn't know anything about the darkness in the world everything was new, and I watched him grow and every small thing he leaned seemed to heal the parts of me I thought were beyond repair.
     I understand not everyone has a kid and suddenly things seem compeletely different. But, you have to find that thing in your life to hold onto that is worth so much more than starving or cutting. My soul was dying all those years, I lost myself and became anorexia. My world was nothing but my illness and my blood. At some point in your recovery you have to accept that you didn't deserve what happened to you, and you didn't' cause the abuse, you didn't ask to be raped or hit. I couldn't accept living until I accepted that everything bad in the world wasn't related to what I ate or didn't eat, how much I bled. So, I'm turning 30 and I've learned that the world is way bigger than me and that is wonderful, I do not have to control everything, and I am not ashamed of what I have survived. I'm here despite the predictions that I would never see this day, I'm a wife, a mother, a survior of rape, abuse, anorexia, cutting, and I survived suicide. I am a lucky woman, and I am going to face 30 realizing how far I've come in the last decade. I may not have a strong body anymore, but my mind is free, and I have moments of pure happiness that I never experienced before, moments that my smile and laugh are not planned or controlled. Life is already too short, I might be damaged in some people's eyes, but when I look in the mirror for the first time I see a whole person and not pieces that need to be different or bandages covering my sharp obsession. It has taken thirty years for me to be happy just being...striped shirt, plaid pajama pants, two different socks, and a Jack Skellinton hat, kind of crazy...ME.

What does it mean to have strength and courage?

     I get told quite a bit how courageous I am, how strong I have to be to fight this disease that has been trying to kill me these last few years, and it leaves me at a loss for words. I don't want to offend anyone because I appreciate the kind words and the prayers because I believe that prayers can move mountains. The thing is that I am not brave...I wake up and fight everyday because that is what has to happen to keep going. I fall apart just like everyone else crying to my husband that I can't survive another day of this pain, apologizing as he carries basins of my vomit away to be cleaned out, and there are days that I want to hide my head under the covers and forget it all, but I feel my husband pulling me up to get dressed for yet another doctor's appointment and my son looking at me and smiling saying, "mommy bye", and I face the day. I didn't make the choice to get gastroparesis or short gut among my many physical problems, so I have to fight them, there is no choice because I made a promise the day my son was born that I would not leave him alone in this world, that God would have to take mommy kicking and screaming. Fighting these illnesses the strength comes from the smile I get while gazing into my son's bright blue eyes away, watching my husband put himself through the ringing to do anything to make life easier on me, and trusting that God has a plan still for me after all these years.
     In my humble opinion it takes more bravery to overcome something like addiction because only you can decide to end that battle, no pills, no magic cure, it is an up hill fight until the finish. I watched my mother battled addiction for years, she was so miserable, and for some reason that bottle of whiskey made her feel better. She would be mom one minute and a new woman the next, I wasn't a big fan of the 'whiskey woman' who often stumbled around rambling and screaming. I was nearly sixteen when I became her target...she would say despicable things and hit me, and the next morning mom would be back and she would tell me she loved me and remind me to do my homework and that I better get an A. After my sister was born I learned to provoke her and I cared for the baby while my step dad was at work. I bore her secrets and her bruises. I thought I could fix her. I thought if I was the best, looked better, did better, she wouldn't turn to the bottle anymore, but it never stopped, it was never enough. When you are in that situation the definition of strength becomes the complete opposite, suddenly strength isn't standing up and doing it on your own, it is saying you can't do it on your own...asking for help. For her, she couldn't lose her pride so she lost her life leaving behind at the time two daughters 21 and 5.
     During my mom's fight I began my own battle, anyone who has read my blog knows my story...I developed anorexia, self harm, depression, and eventually almost successfully ended my life all before the age for twenty four. I was walking in my mother's footsteps and I was strong enough to fix myself, my own pride allowed my illness to destroy me in every way you can possibly think of. I fell away from my friends in church besides one that just kept standing by me, the first guy I thought I loved raped me, my mom died, and I snapped. There are months of the years of late 08' and 09' that I don't even remember, I was so 'under control' that Andrea went somewhere else and I became my disease personified bent on ending this. All the while people tried to save my life, doctors kept me alive by force feeding me when they could, they stitched me up when I 'slipped' too deep when cutting. The more they fought they more I found myself ready to take the coward way out because I knew that if I stopped all that pain that I had been holding for so many years would all come racing through and I would be so broken, so filthy that no one would ever love or forgive me anymore. I was in such a dark place I've ever been, even compared to facing the life threatening diseases I have now, I have never been so lost and fallen so far. Despite how miserable I was I refused to admit that I wasn't strong enough to beat this on my own. The few people who still actually associated with me basically were just watching me rot away, the person I had once been completely changed in eight years. I was going to be a musician, loved singing, playing marimba, percussion, piano, and I had big plans. Once I let anorexia in my head my plans slowly began unfolding an and before I knew it eight years had passed and I lost music scholarships and spent most of my time in and out of hospitals being fed through a tube through my nose or gut. The girl I had once been was somewhere completely else...I had become my mother just a different addiction.
     I decided one night in the spring of '09 that I was done, I was too far gone to be saved, and who would even care to see me saved at this point after all I had done. What I did next was not brave, courageous, or showed any strength...I pushed bottles of medication down the tube used to feed me directly into my intestine and then I took a razor to my flesh...I took my mom's way out. I knew before anyone found me I would be dead, but God was watching me when I thought I was too far gone to be seen and a friend showed up randomly and found me collapsed in my bed cold and barely breathing. I fought hard to die while all of these strangers were fighting to keep me alive. All night I resolved to give up, until I saw the light blue that you can see when the sun is getting ready to come up, and in that moment what little bit of me was still inside figured out the answer to the question I needed to get my freedom...the definition of courage and strength...admitting that I needed help, to God and everyone who was still willing to listen. Six years later I am still in recovery, and I still fight everyday to remember that sometimes it takes more strength to admit to God and the world that you are in over your head rather than keep drowning in  your own pain and darkness.
     Every person that has found themselves in a place where the feel lost and alone whether it is addiction, divorce, name your situation. They think they are strong enough to do it alone, pride won't allow them to reach out and stand up an find the courage to reach out for help. I know how hard it is to admit that you can't do it on your own, that whatever is holding you hostage, but the freedom that comes with reaching out is like being freed, admitting that you are not perfect, that you are human like the rest of us. Recovery is possible when you do the strongest thing there is to do...admit that you are weak and need help. I believe that is an act of courage.
     It is hard for me to live in this fragile body and resist my old temptations, but I feel blessed to have control over my mind now unlike when I was clouded with the lies of my disease, convinced that I was some kind of invincible anorexic. Admitting I needed help was humbling and confidence building at the same time. I learned so much through my dark days and will continue to learn. I will always feel blessed for every person that tells me they pray for my family and our medical situation, but continue to remind them that I fight that battle because I have no choice. What makes a person strong is making the hard choices in the hardest situations. It takes courage to walk into a rehab center and face sobriety or re-feeding for someone with an eating disorder. It takes more courage and strength to live than it does to die, and I beg that if you are on that line right now that you can make the choice to fight, to dig up the strength that inside of you to reach out to someone and ask for help because you are not alone.

Roadblocks and Recovery

     There was a time in my life when sitting down to the dinner table with my family was torture. I would stomp my feet, scream horrible words at my parents, and eventually stomp away from the table without a bite passing my lips. I remember hearing the desperate fights coming from the kitchen as my parents fought over what they were doing wrong, or what needed to happen before I ended up killing myself. I was seventeen years old, out of control, and my parents had no idea how to help me.
     Through the years I was put in residential treatment where I faked it until they let me out or insurance pulled the plug. Then a doctor came into my life that refused to give up no matter how much hell I gave him, he kept me in the adolescent unit with an IV in my arm, a heart monitor on me, and a tube down my nose to feed me. He did this for years until he moved away when I was twenty three. And at twenty three I was on my own forced with the decision to live or die, and for a long time I tried my damnedest to die.
     I was twenty four years old and after an eight year battle with anorexia, self harm, depression, and suicide attempts I made the decision to recover. So many people think that once you make that choice the fight is over, sure you will struggle at first, but eventually it will just be a time in your life that is in the past. This is where so many people get it wrong.
     This fourth of July will mark my seventh year in recovery from my demons and there are some days that it feels like that first day when I looked at the tiny portion of food on my plate unsure if I could manage to eat it. Everyone was so proud of me when I got that food down, and they were supportive keeping me away from the bathroom for two hours afterwards. In their eyes I had just overcome the anorexia demon controlling me, I sat with them, ate what was on my plate, didn't throw up, or slit my wrist...in their eyes the eight year nightmare was over. In my eyes it was simply one meal with many more to go without purging, cutting, over exercising, or going back to my old tricks.
      It is hard for some to understand that recovery is a process, it doesn't happen overnight, and you will face lapses. And, when you don't 'have a solid support system that understands the process and the fact that you will fall sometimes it makes it feel almost impossible to overcome the tiny battles let alone the war. Eating disorders are a two step forward eight step back kind of disorder, and those family and friends who desperately try to support us don't understand that part.
     I do my best to support girls online who are new in recovery, even old in recovery like myself...heck I need support sometimes still. One of the biggest things I notice is when a girl relapses she thinks it is over, however many days she stuck to her meal plan and controlled her behaviors are all for nothing. To them one mistake means it is all over and the monster won...THAT IS A LIE! Unlike with your eating disorder recovery isn't all or nothing, if you make a mistake it isn't over, there is another chance to face the demon, to overcome the meal that caused you to lapse. Just because you make a mistake you are not a mistake, the game isn't over, we are still fighting, and you aren't alone.
     The toughest part for me was letting go of this idea that perfection was possible. I had a quote on the wall in my hospital room that said, 'When I am perfect the punishment can finally stop'. The truth was that in my sick, eating disordered brain punishment would never stop because nothing would ever be good enough in my mind to equal perfection. I was perfectioning myself into my own grave. I was one more pounding myself to death, and when I looked in the mirror I saw fat. That was the moment I needed that support, the people who had been in my shoes and understood what it felt like to be in that moment.
      I try my best to keep up on facebook, and I really need to do better because I see so many beautiful girls fighting for their lives who have a lapse and figure they have lost their chance at recovery, their chance at having happy lives. I've been doing this for almost seven years and I look in the mirror sometimes and that old ED voice breaks in taunting me, trying to pull me back, throwing out 'just five pounds would make all the difference'...ALL LIES trying to pull me back into the dark, lonely place I lived for so many years. I still reach out for support on those days to make sure I do not slip up, and if I do slip up I catch my balance and keep moving forward towards the happy life God and hard work has placed in front of me.
     If you think the only way to be in recovery is to be perfect, to never hear that demon whispering from the cobwebs, to never think about going back you are wrong. Recovery is messy, it is hearing that whisper in the cobwebs and telling it to take a flying leap, and when you think about going back you remind yourself how far you have come. For me, I look down at my blond haired, blue eyed stinker of a four year old and remember he could care less what the scale says when mommy steps on it as long as he gets his special desert. Do you think that A you got on your midterm was because you studied or because you stayed up all night running on the treadmill, or that promotion at work, was that because you worked hard or because you skipped dinner?
     It is okay to fall down, we all fall down. The only think that matters is how you pick yourself back up again. I won't lie and say that recovery isn't a fight, but it is a fight you can win if you don't give in. You can't always prevent lapses from happening, but you can help yourself avoid triggers. For me, I haven't stepped on a scale in seven years (or been told the number by a nurse), I made that choice because that number isn't going to own me, it doesn't change me, I am still a beautiful butterfly of a woman. I made the decision to stop wearing pants that zipped up because they triggered me, and I can say proudly now that I managed to wear an old pair of old jeans for two hours after Christmas to prove to ED that it doesn't own me, it was hard, and I panicked, but I did it. I have a whole list of triggers, some I will never tempt myself with again and others are more like goals to conquer to prove ED lost the control over me. Do the same for yourselves make a list of triggers that you never want to see again, and make another list to show ED you can beat it and ED can kiss your butt!
     Recovery is about taking your life back one step at a time, if you mess up you start over again. You are so much more than your eating disorder, and you have the fight in you to recover that is why that ED voice gets so much louder when you fight back it is because it knows that you have the power to kill it, to reclaim your life. Don't let a setback push you off track what you are fighting for. Recovery is a process, I'm heading on seven years and I still have to take it a step at a time some days. Don't give up, you are a beautiful, unique butterfly with the potential to do whatever you want.

Recovery and Blue Jeans

    Today as I was attempting to get some extra stuff done around the house, trying to decide what to donate, what to keep, or what to throw away. I pulled out a light blue tote that we had tucked away, and when I pulled off the lid my mouth dropped open. I was face to face with a very large trigger...a box full of ED clothes.
   Despite being in recovery for almost six years I hesitated for almost five minutes before I picked up the first piece of clothing, a very tiny dress that was still too big for me at my high school graduation. As I stood there staring my quiet ED voice that lurks in the dark cobwebs of my mind began whisper the lies..."If you let me back out you can fit in that dress again", "With me in control you just imagine how low we can get", and more terrible things like that. It was preying on me in a weak moment thinking I wouldn't have the strength to tell it to 'shut up' and kick ED's ass back to the cobwebs.
     My mind was racing, remembering when I wore the clothes, and suddenly the years of starving, purging, cutting, doctor's, hospitals, tubes shoved down my nose, losing all of my friends, most of my family, and eventually almost losing my life hit me like a ton of bricks. It was one of those moments when I had to stop, take a breath, and make a choice. The same choice that I have made in the mirror every day for almost six years...will I fight for my recovery and my life, or I will allow myself to become a slave to anorexia again. In a matter of a minute the clothes that represented the old me were stuffed into trash bags to be thrown out. I felt empowered, like I had shoved ED even farther to the back of my brain.  When I looked down I saw them staring up at me...a pair of barely worn Old Navy jeans.
     Over the last six years I have faced all of my fears/triggers, even managing to face food fears before my stomach and intestine began to fail. I can go to the doctor alone and I ask to be weighed backwards without them telling me my weight, years ago I would have fought tooth and nail with Dr. R to let me know where my weight was. I can honestly say the number doesn't cross my mind very often anymore at all. All these years the only trigger I have yet to face and make it without a complete break down are dresses, skirts, pretty much anything requiring a zipper and a button, and jeans are at the top of that list.
     Things have been so hard lately with all the medical stuff going on, I refuse to let ED have my mind ever again. I put on those jeans, and I fought the immediate urge to panic and rip the stupid jeans off and honestly set them on fire. After a minute I realized that I wasn't going to die because I was uncomfortable, that they were just fabric sewn together, and had absolutely no power over me. I walked around the house for a minute, stared in the mirror, and honestly felt uncomfortable and proud at the same time. Instead of tossing those pants (that still fit) I folded them up and put them in the closet because little by little I will challenge myself until one day when I can wear them out and about the whole day without obsessing about how I look in them or constantly checking if they have somehow gotten tighter around my stomach or thighs...basically leaning on behaviors. That day will be my day to stick my middle finger up at ED and let him know I might not have control over my body anymore, but my mind is completely mine.
    I wrote all of that because people make the mistake thinking that because I have maintained a stable recovery for almost six years that I no longer struggle. Everyday is a fight, everyday that I don't let ED win is a small victory in war for my recovery that I believe I will always have to fight. I want people to know that just because you still struggle, or you still have triggers doesn't mean you are failing in your recovery. It isn't about never being triggered or having a horrible day. It is about how you handle these things when they arise. There is always a choice to fight ad hold onto your recovery. You have to remember that ED will do anything to try to get you back and the harder you fight the harder it will be for ED to push out of the cobwebs.
     Every single person struggling with an eating disorder deserves better, they deserve freedom from the living hell ED forces you to live in. Putting those jeans on today might seem so silly to most people, but it was monumental for me. Obviously everyone has something different that they haven't been able to let go of yet, for me those jeans represent much more than just some denim sewn together. It is about facing recovery head on, and making the choice everyday that you will endure whatever it takes to stay you, to not let ED turn you into a host again, a walking, talking eating disorder. Think about those days...were they worth it? The constant obsession over the number on the scale, the number of calories in a food, the number of miles you have run, and all the lies ED screaming at you nonstop reminding you that you aren't good enough, thin enough...you aren't enough. What about the constant loneliness because to be under ED's rule there is no time for friends or family because they ask too many questions, the lies become too hard to keep track of. No one deserves a life like that, your mind is your own, and you can't have your ED and stay you. Recovery is a fight, and I won't tell you that it is easy, but it is worth it. Without recovery I wouldn't have my baby and my husband.