Surviving My Suicidal Thoughts

Every time I hear of an adult suicide I get very, very scared. It hits close to home. I'm afraid that their story could have been about me. I want to write about this subject yet I have sat on this blog for weeks, constantly questioning if I am doing the right thing by admitting suicidal thoughts. Carrie Fisher once said, "My liabilities are my assets. If you declare something it has less power over you, far less. Say your weak things in a strong voice." Carrie inspires me to grab my mental illness by its balls and show it who's boss. So here goes *In my strong voice* Hi, my name is Alyson, I am 36 years old, I have anxiety and depression, and I experience suicidal thoughts. 

Often we find our sense of hope from strength in others journeys, identifying with the struggle, inspired by the vulnerability and ability to overcome. I am nervous about sharing this dark corner of my closet because there is an unspoken taboo regarding depression and suicide. However, I realize that I HAVE to share my struggle because our society needs help in breaking down the shame of mental illness. People need survival stories, they need to know they are not alone. 

I can remember having suicidal thoughts as far back as elementary school. I remember being taught that suicide is the ultimate sin and that my soul would burn in hell for all eternity. Suicidal thoughts were sent from the devil, he wanted my soul. That's powerful stuff to a kid -  I was terrified of 'burning in hell'.  As I grew older though, the devil felt more like a fairytale villain and I needed something else to help me feel strong against the thoughts. 

My teenage years were volatile and lead to my first experience with planning my own emergency exit. I survived by pure stubborn 'I am not proving any of you douche bags right' mentality. I used to repeat to myself "the greatest revenge is success" and I found strength in my unknown future. Eventually, as a young adult, I accepted suicidal thoughts as part of my being. Always telling myself "here we go again" and succumbing to the roller coaster of the internal struggle and the external chaos. Depression and anxiety, when left to their own devises, are evil life hating forces. Forces that spread to the people around me; my behaviors effected the people I loved in ways I wish I could take back. 

In my 36 years there have been three times my life was in serious jeopardy. Depression and suicidal thoughts beat me down more than the usual expected torture, making me feel like the only way to obtain relief was to end my own life. Three times I had a plan. Three times I stood in front of the emergency exit door, ready to push it open. I AM STILL HERE so that means there were three times I didn't follow through. Three times something inside of me refused to give in. 

The most recent of these time was in January 2018. I got very sick and ended up losing partial hearing in my left ear. Going partially deaf meant I wasn't going to become a firefighter. I was broken and that ended my dream. A dream I had never worked so hard in my life for, it was just...gone. Depression is the ultimate opportunist and my complete loss of purpose made me an easy target. Of course depression doesn't want its victim right away, no, depression likes to play with its food first. Depression gave me a mask to cover the internal hostel take over. I wore this mask every day, playing the role of "ok".

I'm a wife and a mom. I have a life. I have others that count on me. I am supposed to be an adult so I dutifully put on my mask and went through the motions of life. Numb. Everyday an internal beat down. It was exhausting. That's what depression wants - to wear the person down. The weak are easy prey. This is when, what I call the dark hallway, appears. It's long and daunting. There are echoes of screams and crying. The ground is covered with broken glass. This hallway isn't meant to be walked through... that why there is the emergency exit door. I faced that hallway again.

I AM STILL HERE which means I was successful at beating intense suicidal thoughts for the third time. I emerged victorious after months of constant fear. How did I pull myself out this time? I like to think I have evolved past stubborn mentality or maybe, like the devil story, I need something else. I found my something else in an unusual post I saw online. I saw a video about drunk driving on New Years that said, "Your dog will not understand why you did not came home." That became the thought that drove me to not give up. My dog. The heart breaking feeling of my dog not understanding what happened to me made me sad enough that I couldn't do it. I felt like such a shitty person because it wasn't my family that was my driving thought. In truth, hang on to whatever inspires the will to live! No one is keeping score!

I had my motivation to fight yet another battle and I also wanted to be a success story. I had to make myself give a shit about ending this hostile takeover. I made myself heal. This meant MAKING myself do the things I knew would help me. Spin class, yoga, painting and drawing, meditation, oils, crystals, prayer, personal growth projects, and confiding in trusted friends and family. That last one took the most time. Letting go of my shame for my own sake was a large hurdle and, eventually, I jumped it. 

I have chosen to share my survivor story because we need them. People experiencing the same thoughts need to know they will survive. Depression is lonely and isolating. Depression attacks each victim differently. For some it drains the life out of them, making its hostile takeover known. For others it can make you play the greatest role of your life - being the most convincing happy person you have ever been. Neither of these victims are supposed to ask for help. One feels like the ultimate burden and the other has themself convinced they are surviving, they can make it. Mental health is slowly becoming a socially acceptable topic and it is about time. People's lives depend on our society eliminating the stigmas and giving people a safe space to get help. 

I am not here to tell anyone how to manage their depression. There is no linear path to mental freedom from the dark place.  Each of us has our own unique body chemistry, experiences, values, and beliefs. What works for one person is not the answer for someone else. The objective to sharing my struggle is to help someone who might be standing at the entry of that hallway of darkness and thinking that this time, maybe the emergency exit door might be easier. You are not your thoughts! You are not worthless or weak! That voice in your head is lying to you! It's important to know you are not alone. Suicidal thoughts plague more of us than we realize because not many people talk about it! We HAVE to talk about the victories over depression and suicide. There are others who fight and win every day. EVERY SINGLE DAY. You are one of those stories, a story of victory. I offer you the hope from my journey, use it as the elbow and knee pads you need to crawl out!

I will tell you that it is imperative that you take proactive measures to find what illuminates the dark place for you. Set yourself up for success. Begin a journey of self-awareness. Learn your triggers. Talk to your doctor. How much about depression do you truly understand? Do you have anxiety? Do you understand how the two work together and what you can do to prevent them teaming up? Have you explored exercise and nutrition as ways to manage brain chemistry? How much effort have you honestly put into managing your mental health struggles? 

I wish I had counted all the light bulb moments I had last year as I learned about myself and how my brain is wired. Life changing! I have been free from suicidal thoughts for several months now. I crawled out with a new purpose, to stop living in shame and to talk about mental health. I will be the loudest person you know telling you to go for a walk and reflect on yourself. Listen to your warning signals when they are soft beeps so that you won't have to hear the sirens go off when you hit rock bottom. I am diligent about my mental health routine. I am not ashamed to explain to anyone that I have depression and anxiety and because of that I need to set boundaries and have routines. I am unapologetically myself (I feel like somewhere in heaven Carrie Fisher just yelled "hell yeah!") and I encourage you do the same! 

I hold tight to the knowledge I am here for a reason and maybe that reason, right now, is to share my story. You will be another success story too! 

                           ________________________________________________________________________________________

If you are in need of help right now, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (1-800-273-8255) or text them at 741741. They are available 24 hours everyday. I called them and I AM STILL HERE! Screw shame, you are worth the effort!

Turns Out Stars Have Sharp Edges

The quote that inspired me to keep fighting for my peace 

"Shoot for the moon and if you fall, you will land among the stars."

When I shot for the moon, it was not the stars I landed in when I fell. No, instead the stars cut and scratched me as I plummeted to Earth. Then I bounced off mountains like a cartoon character until I landed in a bleeding heap on the hard ground. I laid there for a bit, ok for a while, but eventually I got back up. I got back up... that is the story I will be sharing! For every person who lost a dream (and maybe themselves) along the way, I am here to show you how I got back up stronger than ever and that life is always shaping us into better versions of ourselves if we are open to the journey!

So here goes, the story I lived to tell...

Two years ago I was inspired to become a firefighter. I lived and breathed for my goal. The first year I transformed my body into a machine and beyond losing weight, I had gained an insane amount of muscle and ability.  At one time I was busting out push ups with a 20 pound weighted vest on, crushing physical goals like I never imagined.  I went to school and became an Advanced EMT with an acceptance letter into Paramedic school. Everything was lining up; my plan unfolding right down to the last detail. I was a prime candidate for the fire department. Tests taken. I was living my dream, I had an intense sense of purpose. Only...

...that was as far as that dream would ever go.

During the second year several things steamrolled me: first, the price tag that came along with paramedic school was a kick to the gut; second my plantar fasciitis and heel spurs where working against me and my need to use my feet; and third I was mentally falling apart. I had been burning myself at both ends and eventually ran myself down into the ground. The stress of school had impacted my waistline and the fear of weight gain triggered my eating disorder to levels it had never been before. My reality was a dark one. In gunning for my dream I was destroying myself. I had to slow down for the sake of my health and wellness.

New plans where talked about so that my dream would just be put on pause while I got my head on straight. I put school on hold. I got help for my eating disorder. I began the difficult journey of putting myself back together. The most difficult part to the beginning was the shame, embarrassment, fear, and self-loathing I had inside. I was barely holding it together. Then it got worse.... 

January 2019 will mark one year that I have been partially deaf in my left ear. I lost my hearing! They don't hire deaf firefighters. So no matter how much I fixed myself and got back on track, I was never going to become the one thing I worked day and night to become. That moment of realizing my dream was over broke me. 

The beginning of 2018 felt like my life was in ruins. I was sick for months. Losing my hearing was a nightmare. The pain, the multiple doctors with no answers, the hanging on to hope, and the months of uncomfortable existence in my head was soul crushing. By my birthday in April everything had been set in stone... I had permanent hearing loss and all hope was gone. I was already deep into a depression and the finalization of my fate knocked me so far down that I felt my life was in jeopardy.

I put up the greatest fight of my life in 2018. In order to give myself the time to heal and face my demons head on, I did the only thing I could think to do - I bowed out of life for a while. I was too angry and confused to explain why the sudden screeching halt to a very public goal. The few times I crawled out of my hole I was slammed with questions and strong opinions. I just wanted to be left alone. In the beginning, no one knew the entire story expect for my husband. Eventually I opened up to a few, crying in the arms of people who had no clue what to tell me while they held onto me very tight. I didn't need speeches, I needed empathy- and to those with stronger shoulders than mine, I thank you!

The loss of a dream and my hearing wasn't anything I prepared to take on. The fight I had to put up was not easy. I discovered just how bad ass I truly am, and it had zero to do with my physical strength. I am a hell of a lot stronger mentally then I ever gave myself credit for. I struggled quietly everyday. I used Instagram as a diary of sharing my struggles, yet never mentioning just how deeply I was cut. I never talked about not becoming a firefighter. I couldn't. I still struggle to do so now (you should see pile of tissues forming by my computer as I type this all out!). If you happen to know me in real life, I warn you, mention this article to me and I may very well cry - so brace yourself.

I refused to give up and 2018 was the year I conquered my eating disorder, dove deep into understanding my struggles with binge eating, anxiety disorder and depression, and dug through layers of pain to unearth an inner peace like I have never known. In order to find this peace I had to create an environment for myself that inspired deep spiritual healing. I returned to parts of myself I had long since been buried in the layers of adulting. I turned to yoga. I turned to art. I lit incense and meditated with crystals. I smudged my house. I gave myself permission to just be and explore different ideas about life and purpose. I found myself becoming softer, more at ease with myself and those around me, and discovered a renewed sense of calm about life. I healed in ways I never anticipated. I had monumental break throughs. I see the meaning of life so very differently than I used too. This journey that I have been on, searching for new meaning, ended up being the very thing that gave me meaning. I survived relentless suicidal thoughts brought on by depression. I survived and THAT is the story that needs to be told!

I am a success story of overcoming the loss of purpose and meaning. I am a success story for ending my life long battle with bulimia. I am a success story for understanding my anxiety in ways that gave me back my power. I am a success story to ending the war with my body and finally allowing myself to live and enjoy what my body can do. I am a success story in overcoming a dark depression. I successfully hit the reset button on my life and every lesson learned needs to be shared. Not every sad story has a sad ending! 

Stay tuned to New Figure Forward in 2019 for more blogs, YouTube videos, and Instagram posts covering the accumulation of lessons that transformed my life and gave me back my purpose.

Addicted to the Number

     Confession: I weigh myself every morning and have for over a year. I started after I went to my doctor seeking help when I started to put on weight, getting very close to a number I swore I would never see again. To monitor my figure, I checked in every morning, weighing myself and writing in my calendar.  That number had the power to make or break my day. It would dictate what I ate, what I wore, or even how much physical activity I would put in for the day.  

     Today I read The Militant Baker's blog post Smash the Scale Revolution. This post made me realize that I have an addiction to the number on the scale. My self-worth starts every morning in my bathroom.  It could be a good day or a bad day; it all depends on the number.  I have lived by the scale since I was 9 years old. I earned more love from family if that number was lower than before. If it went up I was put down and belittled. The lower the number the more love I could earn. This has been a lifetime battle for me. 

The following passage from the blog hit me like a punch to the gut;

"So who is Smash the Scale for?

For every girl bent over a toilet, worshiping at the altar of thin. For every teen who cries herself to sleep at night because she’s not good enough and doesn’t know why. For every child who didn't know they were fat until someone told them. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle. For every person who's stopped eating when they're still hungry. For every woman who hopes that happiness is on the other side of that pill bottle this time. Or maybe this time. For every woman that thinks she’ll be worthy of love if her thighs were smaller.  For every woman that holds back tears while she tries on jeans. For every child with a Weight Watchers chart on their bedroom door. For every man who's been told to put his shirt back on. For every teen who starves for a gap. For every skinny girl accused of anorexia and every fat girl that’s called lazy.

For every person who looks down at a number for so long that they forget to look up at the world.

For you.

Choose your weapon.
Smash the Scale.
And with it, all obligation, expectation and guilt."

     Look again at the line I have highlighted in red. That line hit home. The wheels in my heads started turning. I am addicted to the scale! Am I capable of not standing on the scale? It has thrown me a bit to realize just how much power that square box STILL has over me. I told myself I was doing it to stay in check and to help maintain my weight. That is only half true. My self-worth still comes from that damn number. If I weighed in less than the day before I knew I was going to have a good day because I was happy with the number. Why am I giving this number so much power? I have been looking down at a number on the scale since fourth grade. When I was losing weight family would constantly as what I weighed. That number became my definition. I am THAT number. I have to learn new places to find my self-worth! No more looking down!

     I admit to having a sense of panic over not standing on the scale every morning. Because of that panic I will be relocating my scale to the closet. I am going set myself free from the number. It will take some time to move past knowing how much I weigh. I stand for a positive body image and I need to heal this part of my own mind and heart. I am NOT the number on the scale. This addict is kicking the habit. I trust myself to care for my body like I always have without needing to know my weight. In 2014 I will not weigh myself every day. I promise this to myself. I am more than a number! Loving myself is not contingent on the number on a scale anymore!

Secret Food Addict

   

      Unsupervised in the kitchen has been a battle field for me since elementary school. I remember the first time I was left alone in the house. My grandmother had gone out with a friend and left me, and cake, alone for maybe an hour. I remember sitting and staring at the cake, swearing I could hear it call me name.
In this moment, I used the trick that I would continue to use even until today.  If I just cut off little slivers from the sides no one will notice anything is missing. I am not sure I really mastered this skill as I have been caught MANY time throughout life having eaten more than I should.

     I have been yelled at more times than I care to count for having eaten too much food or food that I wasn't supposed to eat. I have known a few "non-food sharers" who would bring in food to the house that I crave then tell me to not eat it.  When your labeled the fat kid, people think they are doing you a favor by not letting you eat the foods you crave and punishing you if you do. In all reality, it is no different then putting someones drug of choice in front of them and telling them no. A person can only be strong for so long and inevitably the Costco chocolate chip muffins were mine! Bringing in foods that, because I was fat, I was told I could not eat did not do my any favors and instead turned me into a closet eater.

     There was no amount of yelling or fat shaming that could stop me from eating the foods I craved. Sugar is my drug of choice. Cakes, cookies, chocolate, frosting, ice cream, donuts, and everything else in the sweets category is my drug. The constant ridicule for eating sweets only made me eat it in secret. Alone in the house I would eat the foods I was told not too.  The fear of getting caught was not enough to stop me, just like the drug addict is no longer scared when the craving gets too strong. I became numb to the aftermath that my drug induced binge eating would cause.

     I have done things when it comes to food that I am in no way proud of.  I have devoured entire packages of cookies, candy, cakes, and many others food and simply put the empty container in the bottom of the trash can so no one would see the evidence.  I have spooned, cut, and nibbled at foods in hopes that it would not be noticeable that I had eaten any of it.  Before I could drive I would get creative in the kitchen; mixing, stirring, and baking my way to some form of a craving fulfilled item.  Over the years I learned the ingredients for coffee cake are usually always on hand, as well as the ingredients for frosting.

     The inability to resist my cravings would eventually lead to massive amounts of guilt.  I would make my coffee cake, sit on the kitchen floor, and when I could safely eat it without burning my esophagus, I would devour half before I could process what I was doing.  My crumb covered face, like the white powdered nose of a coke head,  would knock me back into reality and drown me in guilt.  In a fit of anger I would dump the remains in the trash and bombard myself with hateful inner monologue. I called myself names that others had called me; I believed I was a fat pig.

   

    Moments after shedding tears over the trash can, I would purge. The two places I have cried the most in my life have been in the kitchen and my bathroom.  I would eventually pick myself up off the bathroom floor, wash my face, tell myself something somewhat comforting, and try to put the event behind me.  The guilt feeling would never leave. I would go about doing something else and just about every time find myself standing over the trash can.  I would mentally argue with myself; how could I seriously be considering eating out of the trash? When my craving would kick in, my standards would drop a great deal when it came to what I was eating. It is shameful to admit that, on more than one occasion, I would pick whatever it was back out of the trash and finish it.  I hated myself for doing it, yet I could not stop myself. I would binge eat until there was nothing left and then purge in hopes of sparing my waist line.

     This was my life for years. When I moved out and was away from parental supervision and judgement, my eating disorder became worse.  I worked at CoCo's Restaurant and Bakery and would take home pies after work and eat the entire pie.  I repeat, I would eat the ENTIRE pie. Why? If there was no evidence then nothing happened. I had learned to be ashamed of my sugar addiction - I was fat because I could not control myself. When I would give into my addiction I had to eat it all and throw the box away, not just in my kitchen trash but all the way to the apartment dumpster. I did not want a reminder of the sinful act that I had participated in or the judgment from someone thinking I should not be eating that kind of food in the first place.

     The freedom to purchase my own food lead to massive weight gain over time and the continuing fight to fit into my pants.  Binging and purging was normal for me up until I was 26. At that point and at 300 pounds, I signed up for Weight Watchers. Weight Watchers taught me what I had always been missing in my diets. Balance. While in the program, never once was I told I could not have a food. Instead, I was taught how I could still eat the foods I loved in moderation.  Over time the guilty feeling that would come with eating sweets went away. As I regained control over my body and mind I was no longer ashamed of being seen eating "junk food". I had grown up believing that in order to be thin I could no longer eat sweats and I would have to eat salads every day for the rest of my life. No thank you. I was willing to sacrifice my health so I could keep eating cake.

     It has been five years since my weight loss and I still struggle with binging and eating trigger foods. I did not "get over it." It's not something that can be cured. Binge eating and trigger food are a reality I have to face everyday when I am alone standing in front of the pantry door. There are foods that are not allowed in the house. For example; fruit snacks - I have eaten too many entire boxex; candy - the entire package will be demolished; Lucky Charms - yes, I admit I have had nights where I pick out all the marshmallows and throw the cereal part away.  My husband and I also have a rule in place that if we are going to indulge in a treat it must be something that will be gone in one night. No entire cakes allowed.  I have also learned that if there is something that I am craving, and craving bad, just eat it! I have found myself eating everything else expect the one thing I want and eventually end up eating it anyway. I have had to learn to accept this about myself and make accommodations because of my sugar addiction.

   Food addiction is difficult to fight. After all,  we have to eat! I do the food shopping for my family. I have the ability to pick out whatever I want. I don't struggle as much as I used too. My health is important to me and I also did not shed 125 pounds just to let Little Debbie help me pack it back on.  Do I slip up? Yes. Those oatmeal cream pies are my crack and sometimes they win. Sometimes. Do I find myself eating out of the trash? No. I have not done that in so long I can not remember the last time I did. Food is not easy to stand up against. It took years for me to better understand and ACCEPT myself for the way I am wired. If a craving hits, I will leave the house, or get online, or tell my husband, or pick up the phone. I will fight it until it passes and it almost always passes. Almost always....I am not perfect - when I do slip up I refuse to let it sabotage everything I have done. A box of cookies will not add 100 pounds to my body overnight. I get up the next day and treat it like any other day. I eat right, I work out, I put my energy into something other than thinking about food, and I forgive myself. I am only human. I will make mistakes. I accept that and no longer punish myself for it. No longer being told no, knowing that eating sweets does not make me a bad person, and I am capable of balancing the diet that gave me my life back. Most of the time...sugar is still my drug.



**UPDATE***
I have found that eliminating refined sugars from my diet has drastically improved my health. I no longer have craving (99% of the time) by replacing unhealthy treats for healthy options. I LOVE and swear by www.chocolatecoveredkatie.com for healthy sweet treats. I do not live a deprived life, I live a healthy life WITH treats. Check her out and just start slow. Find a recipe that you are comfortable trying and give it a shot!! I promise you will be blown away!!

The Purple Bracelet

While exploring the world of Facebook to find like minded women, I discovered Beanie from her blog  Curves are Beautiful 2. As I have struggled in my life to obtain a socially acceptable body, so has she. I struggled with food, so has she. I had the most hateful inner monologue, so did she.  Now we have become two women determined to embrace our bodies and spread the message of body acceptance. Yet, we are on complete opposite ends of the body spectrum. In my eyes she is a skinny girl who could never be skinny enough and I am the fat girl who could never be skinny enough either. She has the body I was starving over and I have the body she was also starving over. After reading her story I saw the connections we had. Eating disorders hurt women of ALL sizes. 

It's not easy to come out and talk about the abuse that we, as women, put ourselves through. We are closet sufferers. The woman next to me in line at the grocery store is self conscious about her weight and only buying fat free items. The lady in the self check-out line is buying a box of cookies that she is ashamed of and will go home and eat them all.  Let's not forget the women that are not in line, they are at home, starving. All to achieve this body that no one actually has. Actresses and models are covered with make up, blasted with lights, and Photoshopped to an inhuman idea of beauty. 

From an early age I developed eating disorders and became a master at hiding them. I kept a diary durning high school, recording the torture I put myself through. My eating disorder lead me to be incredibly unhealthy. I was killing myself. Beanie was killing herself too. The fat girls and the skinny girls are walking the same path and under the surface, they are both dying. 

I feel I have learned at great deal about health and nutrition over the past few years. I take good care of my body now. I'm not perfect though; I have polished of a box of Little Debbie Oatmeal Cream Cookies a few times, or not eaten dinner because of an unhealthy lunch. Eating disorders don't disappear overnight. It takes time and patience with yourself. A svelte figure was not worth being miserable for the rest of my life, and if I didn't want to be miserable then, I had to make peace with myself. I had to make peace with my body and realize that unless I'm want to starve myself to be a size 4, it's never going to happen. I come with meat on my bones and that's ok! Curves are beautiful!

Beanie made the purple bracelet as a reminder to herself that curves are beautiful and it's ok to eat and enjoy food. She never has taken it off.  Even on her wedding day! I contacted her for one of her bracelets. She is helping women all over the world by reminding them that their bodies are beautiful. She inspired me to wear her bracelet as a reminder to myself that my curves are beautiful and I'm worth living a long and healthy life that includes dessert! 

I am wearing my purple bracelet and it makes me smile. Beanie made me smile. We need more voices to stand up for our bodies. Women, we are amazing creatures yet we treat ourselves with little respect.  My purple band is a reminder to embrace my figure -  "I was born to stand out!"
"I am learning that I do not want to be another victim of the worlds blinded definition(of beauty). I will not be another clone! I was born to stand out!"-Beanie

The Diary on Video

Photoshopped lies made me hate my body

I kept one hell of a secret in high school. I kept it so well not even my best friends knew. I never talked about it until a few years ago. I've shocked people over it. I've shocked myself over it. I always knew I had it but I never wanted to admit how bad it was.  I had an eating disorder, I hated myself, and put my health at risk for the approval of my peers.  I kept a diary during several attempts to lose 40 pounds or more.  It's time to be brutally honest about how much I hated myself.

February 13, 2000,

     Well this is it...hopefully....the start of the rest of my life. Today I got on the scale and weighed in at 190! Oh my god! I felt so bad.  So I ended the day right, with a an all vegetable meal...

 ...So let's see how long I'm going to last (and yes, I'm trying to stop putting myself down.) 

February 16, 2000,

     I totally screwed up on Valentines Day and yesterday! My punishment today is I'm not eating anything until 5p.m. tonight....

...I'm so hungry. I have diet pills on me that I'm going to take after this class...

...Well I'm very proud of myself. I survived lunch and didn't even take my pills. Can you believe food means so much to me?

Filled with hateful words. I was my worst enemy. 

Entry after entry detailed my longing for food, how hungry I was, and how I had to make it until 5p.m. until I would eat. I always had diet pills with me and many days they would be all I would have. 
No wonder I was such an angry teenager - I was starving! My grades and classes suffered because I wasn't able to focus on anything expect my empty stomach. 

My goal was to weigh 140 pounds. That was the magic number that would make me beautiful, popular, and would bring the boys to their knees. ...At least at that weight someone will find me attractive ...It's 13 years later and I have NEVER made it to 140 pounds! My doctor told me that between 170 and 180 are healthy weights for my body type. I'm 5'9, I'm not meant to weigh 140 pounds.

It wasn't long before not eating until 5 p.m. and diet pills also included taking a run before school. In my diary I used words like "fat ass" to encourage myself out of bed.  I lived off my diet pills and hateful inner monologue.  By March I had included a diet pill to take in my sleep,...I'm excited to see myself in three months.Starting tomorrow I'm going to take a new diet pill to help... This was a great combination. I'm starving and NOW I'm not sleeping. (I can feel my husband's heart tighten as he thinks of me both hungry and tired.) 

Hard on myself is an understatement. 

Rereading my diary makes me cry. I was hurting, I was starving, I was seeking someones approval, and I was slipping under the radar. The entires continue for a year and by the following February I was 220 pounds. How does a starving girl GAIN weight?! It's because of what I didn't write down. The binge eating. I refer to it in my diary as "a bad day." I would binge and purge. When I grew too weak to mentally fight off the need for food, I would stuff myself until I was sick. I remember telling myself I couldn't even torture myself thin. I couldn't starve the fat off or purge it off either. 

The worst binge memory I have includes an entire grocery bag full of candy. We sold candy in school to fundraise. I didn't want to sell it - handing me a bag of candy was like handing a drug user crack. The candy  didn't even make it a day. I was home only minutes before the carnage of candy wrappers covered my bedroom floor. This day was not entered into my diary. Many of these kinds of days didn't get written about. Acknowledgment would make them real. Instead I handed over my  money to cover the cost; that way,  no one knew I ate it all and life continued. 

Page from my diary. There are many pictures like this. 

As a senior, I wanted prom to be the highlight of my high school career. I wanted to be thin and amazing with my dream date on my arm.  Instead, it became my darkest time. My diary entries turn into daily check-ins of measurements, weight, food and exercise log. While on the outside I was an active senior; AP/Honors student, drama club president and editor on the paper, on the inside I was destroying myself. The closer prom got the worse my destruction became. I would go home after school, kill myself with an intense hour of exercise, then shower and return to school to work on the paper.  I timed everything around my school schedule and my mom's work hours. No one ever knew. I had reached my goal by the time prom rolled around. I was even lucky enough to have my crush as my date. I felt amazing. Then it was the next day. 

I road this roller coaster of weight lost and gained for almost 10 years. When I tipped the scale at 300 pounds, I knew I was fighting for my life now. I needed help. I wasn't winning the war with myself. I tried crazy diet after crazy diet. When I saw the commercial for Weight Watchers I figured, why not give that a try? Something has to work. Weight Watchers was what I needed. I needed to learn how to eat. My eating philosophy prior was eat salads to be thin and eat the entire package of cookies so there would be no evidence and purge. This was getting me nowhere. Weight Watchers taught me how to balance healthy with junk food. Healthy wasn't just rabbit food, in fact I lost my first 100 pounds without eating a single salad because I hated them! 

I now weigh 175 pounds. That's not much smaller than my smallest in high school. I worked hard to get to where I am physically though my greatest achievement has been breaking the mental hold my weight had on me.  I'm ending the war within myself. It's not a fight to be at my current weight. I do have to take care of myself, eat healthy (which does include salads), indulge occasionally, and exercise 4-5 times a week. I'm no longer on a "diet"  - I eat to live a long and happy life which sometimes includes cake! 

I still hear the voice of my disorder in the back of my head. 95% of time I am able to shut it up and move on with my healthy habit day. Then there is that 5% where I succumb to the voice and binge eat. After the blanket of guilt lifts off me, I forgive myself and just move past it. It is not easy, sometimes I get so unbelievably pissed at myself, however I made a promise to myself that I would love myself. Forgiveness is a part of love. 

I'm not perfect. I never achieved super model statues. My thighs still touch and I'm soft around the middle. I still have two digits in my size tag and the double chin has been known to make an appearance in pictures. I cannot get back those years of self-hate and torture. All I can do now is give myself the gift of love and forgiveness.  For today and many tomorrows I vow to embrace my body, just the way it is, and love it!