"I never promised you a rose garden. I never promised you perfect justice . . .The only reality I offer is challenge, and being well is being free to accept it or not at whatever level you are capable. I never promise lies, and the rose-garden world of perfection is a lie"
I found these in Purge: Rehab Diaries. I didn’t cry reading them, but I was grinning so hard it almost hurt. Whoever put these post-it notes in that book is an Earthly angel. (Sorry the pics are so small)
"Love yourself. You are irreplaceable"
"You are so beautiful. Love yourself."
It became a routine, a way of life. I didn’t even think of it as having an eating disorder. I was just living life; I didn’t bother to dwell on the fact that most others didn’t skip consecutive meals and obsess over inconsequential things. Acceptance of my problems came later; I didn’t see anything wrong with what I was doing. I was miserable in one sense, and euphoric in another.
*Darn, I hate that word*
Losing weight rapidly/being at a low weight is just a symptom of anorexia.
Anorexia is not a petty diet gone too far. It is a mental illness. You wouldn’t look at me and guess that I have anorexia. You would think, “Oh, some random girl in a big t-shirt.” Big whoop. However, I torture myself every day with every single thought that passes through my brain. Not everything is about the food or the number on the scale. We think about those things because we’re avoiding the real issues; those feelings of worthlessness, sadness, inadequacy, and even feeling like the world would be a heck of a lot better without you in it. Why? It’s different for everyone; no one has the exact same story. We may not be the only ones who struggle, but we are all individuals, and we will not let this thing consume us.
- Journal #6 (I am mindlessly spamming my page right now with quotes)
I can never say anything around them.
"I can’t do it"
"Yes you can"
"It’s not that easy"
You just say "yes”. You just say “no”. You "just do it".
And I know it’s that easy (don’t even bother denying it) but it’s still hard, if you know what I mean. I
can’t won’t make the decision to “just do it”. Whether it is body acceptance or giving in to recovery, it’s not that I can’t make the decision; I won’t.
That’s what makes this so difficult. It’s not that I can’t do any of this, because I know it is physically possible. I just won’t do it. Or I am technically right now, but I don’t want to. Not for me. I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t. And I don’t want to deserve it either.
- Courage - Superchick
Well, I had to go back to my school last night to attend my sister’s band concert.
For those of you who don’t know, I am currently part of a homebound program set up by my school. I started on it when I got my outpatient feeding tube inserted, and now I’m just out because of my mental (okay, partly physical) health, which still hinders my life-success rate. But I will be heading back to my school physically for senior year.
Anyway, sometimes I just wonder what it must be like for my sister. For her to know that she has a nut-case of a twin sister at home while she attends high school like everything’s cool, everything’s normal. And she can’t (or won’t) tell anyone. She won’t tell anyone that she’s had to stand by as her sister is shipped off to [insert name of hospital here] or [insert name of treatment center here]. There are only two people at my school that are aware of a FRACTION of my situation, and they’re mutual friends, so I’m not too worried.
How much time do we spend actually endeavoring to put ourselves in our family’s place? Yes, it’s hell for us’ we’re living it, but what about our family? I can’t imagine how difficult it is for them. I think my life is so bad but imagine how hard it must be for them to know what’s going on, and my sister - for the most part - just keeps it all inside. Seldom does she come to me and tell me how she’s feeling.
Seldom does she blow up at me because of all the shit I pull around the house. I have to instigate the deep conversations between us because SHE feels like she needs to be the strong one.
I know a lot of you probably don’t make it this far in my posts, but if you’ve stuck around, thank you.
I can want to cry and need to cry all I want, but that doesn’t mean the tears are going to come.
It all just kills you sometimes, you know? All the feelings felt, all the things that have happened…and I’m still considered a youngster. No wonder I don’t want to get older.
You are responsible for every action you take, negative or positive. Others can influence you, trigger you, but you are the one who ultimately decides to act on the impulse, whether this means you cut, starve, purge, binge, etc.
You are in charge and in control of every move you make. Remember that. Unless someone is literally holding a blade to your arm or restricting you from eating food or forcing food into your mouth or a hand down your throat, you cannot blame them. You can only blame yourself in the end
and that’s what makes this so hard.
Oh Jesus, I had a slice of pizza for lunch. Granted, all my other friends had at least two slices, but dude…I was so scared. I wanted to get a salad, but there was a special for a large pizza, so I couldn’t say no.
I’m not proud of this, but I wanted to share it anyway. The more I think about it, the more I freak out about it, but I know I should be happy about it,
so I can at least pretend.
1. There will always be girls thinner than me.
2. There will always be girls prettier than me.
3. There will always be someone smarter than me.
4. There will always be someone with more friends.
And vice versa.
In life, we must accept these things that are difficult to accept. We cannot be happy without such acceptance.
I am bored (working on homework in-between Tumblr), so I am going to post some of my favorite six word memoirs that I’ve come up with in the past 13-14 months.
*Choosing from over 800. This says a lot about how much free time I have*
Only a few of my followers won’t look at me with a strange face about this. If you want more information on what a six word memoir actually is (though it’s pretty straightforward), you can message me.
From oldest to newest (Trigger warning?)
And there you go. Maybe you skimmed, maybe you skipped it all. If you read them all, you deserve an 11:11 wish to come true and more.
I’m going to be that OMG girl for a minute here.
I had a small epiphany last night as I was lying in bed staring at the wall. Here’s the big question:
Why do I love restricting/starving so much?
I finally found a really good answer to that. Well, it’s not very good, but it makes resonates very well with me.
Here’s the thing: I’ve been quite self-destructive the past few years; I’ve cut, scratched, purged, and starved.
However, all of these things (purging maybe an exception) all bring pain. Sometimes, I like the pain. I crave the pain. But with restricting I numb myself. I was lying in bed last night with a terrible urge to scratch my arm raw because I kept it quite clean for Rent.
But then I had this thought: I don’t want the pain. I want to numb it. I wanted to become comfortably numb.
Now, here’s the thing with restricting: at first, it is terribly painful. Emotionally, physically. There’s a lot of pain involved. But after a few days, a few weeks, a few months…it all goes away. Numbness does in fact take over, and that is one of the things I love most about the restriction. There is such…relief in not having to feel so much.
And here is where purging might be the exception: Purging probably has the same effect. It may numb you emotionally after a long period of time..but I wouldn’t know because the longest consecutive amount of time I purged was 2-3 months, once a day.
But here’s another thing: I f***ing hate purging. I’m lazy, and so it feels like more effort on my side. Hence why I never had much of an exercise problem either. I exercised, yes, but I didn’t overdo it. Long walks every day and crunches at night - and DAMN did my spine get bruises from that. Still does sometimes.
Restricting makes me feel numb. Sometimes I feel like I love that too much - too much as in I can’t give it up.
Sad story. But as for this rant:
I’d apologize, but I guess it is my blog. I warned in my “About Me” that I’m not purely a recovery blog.
I’ve been thinking about it all day. I mean, I forgot about it for a while, but the thought cycle is back:
What am I if I am not an anorexic (anorectic?)
I’m Mckenna. That much is obvious. But what else is there? I don’t know anymore. I don’t find things as exciting or interesting as I used to. Sure, I like reading and I love being in musicals, but I don’t get the same thrill I used to get. I know a symptom of an eating disorder victim is “lack of interest” because of the decay of brain muscle.
However, I am always convinced that I never got that bad. Every “victim” has this thought, I know. But the thing is, I’ve been around women with a BMI of 9, so it’s only natural for me to feel…like a bit of a loser. Like, I couldn’t be good at this one thing? I wasn’t even good at starving myself?
For example, an underweight little girl told me the other day that she weighed 89 lbs at a height of 4’10. Okay, so I weighed two more pounds at a height of 5’6 1/4.
My rational mind says, “Hey, shouldn’t this mean something? She’s small, so you must have been a skeleton at that weight!”. And I still disagree.
So, what am I? Does anyone else struggle with this kind of thinking?