Loss

A couple months ago I went to go see my endocrinologist and found out that I've lost a significant amount of weight in the five months prior to my visit. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for me or even something that I would have wanted to know, but it became a problem when she told me the exact amount that I weigh. My old endocrinologist knew not to talk numbers with me because I first met her during my disorder and right after Dr. Spigarelli told me that I wasn't allowed to weigh myself. However, my new doctor wasn't aware of this. Needless to say, I was elated to hear about my new weight, but that elation has quickly started to morph into an obsession.

I'm not upset that she told me (I mean, It's not like I can or should go through life averting my eyes when I'm weighed on a scale or expecting doctors to hide that information from me every time I go to a hospital) but I am upset by my own reaction to her telling me this.

When I was at my heaviest, I used to always tell myself that if I could just get to the weight that I'm at now, I would be happy. I thought that by reaching this weight, I would finally be able to be satisfied with my body and all of my body image issues would magically go away.

However, I'm starting to realize that this isn't necessarily true.

For as proud as I was of losing the weight that I once had, I'm now terrified of gaining weight back. I criticize my appearance and compare myself to others more so than I have in a long time, my expectations of myself are slowly starting to become more and more unrealistic, and worst of all, I've even started to monitor what I eat and let calorie counting slip back into my thoughts.

Although I'm aware of what's going on within myself, I've been way more passive about addressing these issues within myself than I should be. So, I've decided it's time to have an introspective heart-to-heart with myself to try to nip these disorder behaviors before they become active participants in my life again.

Ready? Let's do this:

• Alyson, what is there to be afraid of? Going back to the previous weight that you were when you lost weight the first time after recovery? You liked yourself and your body then just as much as you do now. Weight doesn't determine worth or beauty, remember? I thought we've moved on past this.
• These thoughts that you're having go against everything that you've stood for and all the lessons you've learned during the three years you spent recovering. You're becoming a hypocrite.
• If you keep this up, you could easily fall back into your disorders or allow yourself to relearn an unhealthy relationship with food. Food isn't the enemy and your body isn't a construction zone.
• Good gravy, girlfriend. Your brain was made for bigger and better things than preoccupying itself with calories and constantly critiquing your physical appearance.
• Being skinny isn't an accomplishment and wearing a smaller clothing size isn't something to be proud of.  
• You are more than your body and you are good enough. 
• Also, at any weight or state, your body is nothing to be ashamed of.
• Don't be too hard on yourself for slipping up, recovery is a life-long effort. 
• Body image isn't reliant how you look or what you weigh, body image is reliant on how you feel about yourself.
• Losing weight doesn't guarantee happiness--you know this firsthand. Last time you obsessed over losing weight, you were constantly miserable, hungry, and depressed. 

With that taken care of, I want to note that as I started to recover, I slowly realized that happiness came from things other than my weight or what I ate. Additionally, the motivation behind my recovery changed from wanting to lose weight to wanting to be recovered and healthy. Instead of trying to change my appearance, I decided to change how I saw myself and coincidentally, I also became happy with myself as well.

Lately though, I've seemed to forget all of this.

So here's a reminder to myself that:

• I'm still proud of who I've become. 
• I still love my stretch marks because they remind me of where I've been.
• I'm still proud of how strong my body is and all that it can do at any weight. 
• I still believe that size is just a descriptor, not a determinate of worth. 
• I still think that I am beautiful no matter how I look or how the world says I should be. 
• I still know that I am not my disorders. 
• I still love myself because I am worth loving. 

I don't think it's a bad thing to lose weight or to be happy that you lost weight, but from my own personal experience over these last few months, I've come to realize that there's a fine line between being happy for yourself and obsessing over maintaining your happiness due to conditions you've applied to it.

Yes, I'm happy that I lost weight.
But I won't let my weight determine my happiness.

So, if I gain the weight back, who cares?
If I eat more than the recommended amount of calories for a meal, what's the big deal?

I deserve to be happy and proud of myself regardless of the number on a scale, the size of a dress,
the food I've eaten or the reflection in the mirror.

I am more than my body and I am more than my weight.

I am Alyson.
And I will be happy with myself.

Photo Cred: My Super Talented Boyfriend, Justin

Stress

Lately, I've been stressed out.
Okay, that was definitely an understatement.

Lately, I've been REALLY stressed out.

Between Type 1 Diabetes, work, career decisions, and every day life, stress has become almost second nature to me.

Which is more terrifying than it sounds.

In the context of my life, stress has a direct tie to disordered eating and depression.

When I was in high school, I was severely stressed out (and consequently depressed) to the point where I contemplated suicide on a daily basis.

Along with that, I ate food incessantly to forget about the world around me.
It was a coping mechanism which later became my second eating disorder and eventually resulted in my third.

I binged on food and too often, I eventually found my head shoved inside of a toilet in the hopes of helping my body forget the pain I had just put it through.

For the longest time, I was afraid that this is what the rest of my life would consist of.
Bingeing, purging, hating myself.

Wanting to die.

I couldn't imagine a life outside of my eating disorders--I couldn't see an end to my pain.

(As I'm typing this out, I realize that the words on this computer screen will never adequately explain or express how dark of a time that was for me.  I guess we never fully comprehend anyone's sadness like we do our own. Words can only describe the big picture of life-- they're shallow. Life is too deep and our experiences are too intricate to be defined by letters on a page.

But, hey. We can still try.)

Throughout all of the recent stress, I've found myself reverting back to small binges and urges to run to the bathroom and throw up... even on an empty stomach.

When I've looked in the mirror recently, I've started to see the darkness of four years ago watching and waiting from behind my eyes for the perfect moment to come forward again.

I think that's the terrifying thing about allowing yourself to step into the world of eating disorders, even if it's just for a moment, it's nearly impossible to leave.

I don't mean for this to sound disheartening or dismal. You can be cured from an eating disorder, I've done it--but it wasn't easy. When I get stressed out, I don't binge like I used to and I don't allow myself to go any further than kneeling next to a toilet--but the fear of having an instant of weakness and losing ground I've painfully gained is tortuous.

I once read that we fear most the things which we've already experienced.
And I know that to be true.

I've been through Hell, and I don't want to go back.

In all honesty, I have no idea where I'm going with this blog post or why I decided to take such a intense spin on my experiences.

I guess I'm worried about more than just myself.
I know what it's like to walk a path that you never wanted or intended to take.
And I don't recommend it to anyone.

If I could talk to myself in high school, I would try my hardest to stop her from starting her first "diet".
I would try to convince her to find help sooner.
I would try to tell her that she is beautiful at any weight.
I would try to persuade her that her stress would just be for a moment.
I would try to make her understand that not eating, eating too much or throwing up what you eat doesn't solve anything; it makes everything worse.

It makes every harder.

It makes everything scary.

Maybe this post is my open letter to any woman or girl who is contemplating taking on an eating disorder or already wading through one.

To all of you that this applies to:
Stop while you're ahead.

If you feel like you're in control of your disorder, you're not.
If you think bingeing while you eat, restricting what you eat, and throwing up what you eat aren't eating disorders, they are.
If you believe that your habits won't have any lasting effects, they will.

However:

If you feel like you're alone, you're not.
If you think you're a failure, you're not.
And if you believe that you can escape, you will.

Whenever I find myself inching back into my old habits and mentalities, I have to remind myself that I am better than this--stronger than this.

I am not weak because I have a weakness, I am strong because I am constantly fighting my weakness.

Additionally, having an eating disorder doesn't mean that you're weak, but eating disorders do require strength in order to be overcome.

So please, be strong sooner rather than later.
Be strong now, so you don't have to be strong later when you can barely find the strength to lift your head out of a toilet bowl.

It can be done, but it's much harder that way.

And much more stressful.

Memories

After reading a kind comment from a grade school friend on my last post, I decided to re-read every post I've ever written on this blog.

Not only was I surprised to see how impeccable my sense of humor was (and still is-- in one post, I had the tenacity to use just about every possible word for "butt" known to the English language), but I was also surprised by how much I've forgotten about the events and emotions of my past.

(Here's a slide from an oral presentation I gave in my PSYCH 307 class. We had to write a literature review on a topic of our choice, and I chose to focus on the rates of mental health complications and eating disorders in female adolescents with type 1 diabetes--I'll make a post about my findings later. I'm still blown away by how different I look now, in comparison to the other photos.)


As I read through the posts (from recent to oldest), I saw myself prolapse in levels of maturity. My initial posts focused on losing weight and blaming others for my problems; I was ignorant, selfish and worst of all, a bully to myself.

Thanks to this experience, I realize that I'm a completely different person today than I was back then.
I like who I am, I like how I look, and I finally appreciate the hard things I had to endure.

I once read a tumblr post that said:

"today my professor told me

every cell in our entire body

is destroyed and replaced

every seven years.

how comforting it is to know

one day i will have a body

you will have never touched."

I wonder if the cells of our souls are destroyed and replaced overtime as well. Our experiences obviously shape us, but to what extent? Do they literally mold us into a new combination of ideas and beliefs?

How many people can we become over one lifetime?

I went on a date to a concert once and let me say, it was super awkward. I told my roommate about it afterwards, distraught that I would never be able to go to see that band again without thinking of that memory, and she told me: "Don't dwell on what happened. Go again and make a new memory. You deserve to."

Maybe that's the answer.

In the last few years, I've noticed that life often moves forward against our will. It causes us to create new memories that either replace or join with those of the past in a "sink or swim" situation. It allows us to grow and become more than we ever could have dreamed of becoming.

Usually, right under our own noses.

And you know what?
I'm grateful for it.





Sample

A few weeks ago, I was invited to write a sample blog post in order to be considered for an opportunity to write on a volunteer basis for the LDS blog, Sugardoodle.

With this in mind, I thought that I could share with all of you what I submitted:


Eating disorders, like a lot of things in life, aren't exactly predictable.

During my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I was done with feeling embarrassed by my body and the extra pounds it carried. As a result, I started a strict diet that only allowed me to eat about 1,700 calories a day. Within two months I had lost 40 pounds and reached, what I thought to be, my ideal body weight. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. No matter how much weight I lost, I wasn’t satisfied; I could always lose five more pounds. Eventually, I reached a point where the compliments I had been receiving from friends and family became tinged with worry; but no one could stop me. I realize now that I had become a victim of an eating disorder due to my own warped perceptions of beauty and self-worth. My “diet” controlled every action, thought, and emotion I had; it consumed me, and became my identity.

Pre-eating disorders.

 I still can't believe I thought this was fat.



 A few months later, I became depressed due some drama at school within my circle of friends. Almost immediately I turned to food as my medication of choice, and shortly thereafter, I developed what would become another eating disorder. The sadder I became, the more I ate. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose (plus a little extra), came back within a month’s time and the depression that followed resulted in even more eating. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t stop myself--food was my escape from reality.

For the longest time I felt that it was my fault that I couldn’t control my eating because I was weak and too miserable to change. Luckily, I met with a doctor who helped me realize that an eating disorder is a mental disease with physical implications. It isn’t just a matter of not eating or eating more; it’s an addiction, a state of being.  He once compared an eating disorder to a person with Diabetes (which I have) by explaining that just as you can’t tell a Diabetic to make insulin on their own, you can’t talk someone out of an eating disorder. It takes time, therapy, medication, meditation, and patience for change to occur.



Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about how and why I came to have an eating disorder in the first place. I've come to the conclusion that it didn’t come from a single source, but many. In both instances, I felt inadequate. I was angry that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough. I guess I believed what society told me: that my value lay in the number on a scale, the calories on a box, or the size on a clothing tag.  Even though it’s been two years since my last relapse, I know that my eating disorder is an intrinsic part of who I am, shaping my thoughts, opinions of myself and, at times, how I interact with others. However, through the support of my loved ones, the blessings of the Atonement, and the love of my Father in Heaven, I know that we're never really alone during the trials placed before us.

Of Monsters and Men

I heard recently that in order to understand a monster, you must become one yourself.
I realize now that I'm the perfect archetype of this.

After 90+ blog posts, I can't exactly remember how much I have talked about my first eating disorder, but I wanted to write this down as a reminder to myself that numbers don't determine happiness.

I wish I could start this story at a specific point in my life, but as I've mentioned before, my eating disorder didn't just appear one morning. Rather, I believe that it had been festering inside of me for years.

In sixth grade, a boy named Noah told me that I looked like Fionna the Ogre.
Middle school brought self-awareness and the desire to fit in.
By high school, I was done.

My 10th grade health class was where I first learned about "calorie deficits" from my teacher, Mr. Lambourne. This concept of eating less to lose weight quickly seemed like an answer to my prayers. I did as he said, and kept a food journal online that would track my weight, my calories and my feelings throughout the process.

The first week was hard, but manageable. I wrote every day, and although I saw no change in weight, I was optimistic about the future.By the end of the second week, I had lost 5 pounds and fell into the rabbit hole. From that moment on, the scale became my best friend in what I thought to be a battle against myself.
The rules of my diet were simple: (looking back, I realize now how restrictive I had become) measure everything out into serving sizes, only eat 1,500 calories a day, eat celery and ice between meals (no calories),apples/rice cakes/bananas for snacks, and I couldn't eat sugar. My mom had told me that my lifestyle wasn't sustainable, and I was determined to prove her wrong.

The longer I did this, the easier it became. It was life. In the beginning, my mom complimented me on my self-control and I took pride in my "strength".  My A1c and blood sugar levels dropped dramatically and  I used them as an excuse for my actions. I thought my doctors were impressed with me, but as I look back now, I realize that their eyes were filled with worry, rather than awe.

Within 3 months, I had lost close to 35 pounds. I remember going to a parade with some guy friends during this time to see my best friend perform a cheer routine. As we were walking back to one of their cars, they admitted to have been checking me out. I laughed it off, flattered. They told me that I never needed to go on a diet, but they liked my new body more. Comments like these perpetuated my ever-growing ego. (However, I feel the need to state that not all of my guy friends were like this. One of them, Zach, would always tell me that he was worried I wasn't eating enough. When I finally started to turn my life around, he stated one day, "Alyson, I am so glad to see you eating again!") It seemed to be that the more weight I lost, the more compliments I received. My hunger for food was satisfied by my cravings for attention.

My restrictive eating caused a lot of tension between my me and my mother. The most prominent memory of this is when my family went to Oahu that same summer as the parade. I made my parents buy specific food just for me...low calorie, of course. I had temper tantrums over snacks and meal plans (I cried over not being able to have sugar-free syrup at Denny's to go with my whole wheat waffles and egg whites...). Needless to say, I definitely took away from the happy mood of the trip.

My thoughts were continually shaped around calorie amounts, my current weight, and my current clothing size. My mom told me that I wasn't enjoying life, I told her that I hated her. I constantly criticized everyone's eating habits around me. I thought of myself as an example for others to follow, so that they too could partake of my "happiness". I would tell my story whenever, and wherever I could. I wanted to become a nutritionist and write to inspire girls to do as I did--starve themselves to death in order to feel beautiful; I was clueless.

Although I thought that losing weight would make me feel more confident, it caused my insecurities to become even more exaggerated. Dress shopping for dances was ridiculous. I was constantly defensive, on edge and easy to anger. I didn't care about any of that though, I was too focused on the image I saw in the mirror. I remember being in the shower one day and looking down to see my feet, without my stomach obstructing the view--I was so happy I cried.

The more I write about this, the more I realize that I'll never be able to adequately record my thoughts, feelings, or experiences during this time of my life or about eating disorders in general. I said earlier that in order to understand a monster, you have to become one yourself. Well, I became a monster and lived to tell the tale; I'm able to better understand and help those around me because of it.

I can proudly say that I've been in your shoes, I get it.

Happy Holidays!

With the holiday season finally over, I definitely feel proud of myself.  My A1c is down from 9.0 to 8.4, and I haven't binged in months.

For the past four years, I've either avoided Thanksgiving dinner or overindulged in everything placed before me; this year was different. I didn't count calories and I didn't stuff my face,  I just ate. Maybe that doesn't sound like much, but for me it was surreal, miraculous. The entire night I was waiting the floodgates to open and drown me in my eating disorder once again.

After going shopping, I went home expecting myself to at least have the desire to binge on leftover pie or stuffing, but nothing happened. I ate a piece of pie and that was it.

When I went to my doctor appointment a week later, I told  Dr. Spigorelli about what happened and he was actually just as shocked as I was. He said that he expected me to have a normal holiday dinner in maybe two years from the time he first saw me, not 8 months.

Christmas went fairly well too. I had a couple more cookies than I planned on at our family nativity party and I indulged in some treats that my parent's neighbors brought by; however, I could stop myself whenever I wanted to. I was in the front-seat, not my eating disorder. I ate those things due to my own free will, not infectious impulses.

I was able to wear size large pajamas that my Great Aunt gave me without my self-esteem taking a nose dive. I also didn't care about unflattering instances captured by cameras.

My body is attached to my soul, but it doesn't determine my spirit.

Through the tears shed and trials endured, I've come to respect who I am as an individual.
I've decided that self-control and self-esteem are gifts best given to one's self.

2013: A Year in Review

A new year symbolizes a new start and a rebirth. It can be used as a marker of progress made and motivation to continue on in various endeavors.

A year ago today I was suicidal and depressed. I had lost all hope for recovery and my future seemed bleak. My relationship with my parents was strained and I was a living lie to all of my friends. I was constantly masking my feelings and trials, hoping for a better day that I feared would never come. I was isolated and alone, my soul shrouded in constant, endless night.

I had to see a therapist every week in order to better grab hold of the reality surrounding me. Every appointment was primed by tears and filled with sorrow. I would talk about the hatred I held for my sisters and the loathing of my mother. I would cry over the fate I had been given and the misunderstandings of the world. I would empty my heart to a complete stranger.

I would constantly check out of school or be late to classes with the excuse that, "I didn't feel well". I was telling the truth, but my sickness was caused by chemical imbalances, actions taken, and overwhelming insecurities--not physical illness or Diabetes. I stopped participating in activities that once brought me joy. I purged in secret at home and in public; as a result, my eyes became bloodshot and my skin sallow.  I wore baggy clothes and pretended not to care about my appearance. In reality, I was trying to hide my body from my own scrutiny and that of others.

I went to San Francisco, had some fun. I binged on my roommates foods while they were gone. I cried on the hotel balcony for what seemed like hours. Slowly I gave up on my schooling, friends, and life. Since I didn't trust myself, I wouldn't trust anyone else.

Through my therapist, I was able to meet a doctor who specialized in eating disorders. He gave me hope, medication and valuable advice. Since then, my problems have been far from gone, but at least they're diminishing slowly, one by one. I began my first semester of college in June and the impossible started to become a possibility. The control held by my eating disorder started to dissolve, food became less of a burden and I could finally stand tall. Despite progress made, my insecurities remained (and I'm sure they'll never completely go away). I avoided pictures and mirrors;  I restrained from being myself. I did meet a dear friend though, and because of her I started to live again.

In 365 days I have become a person that I never thought I would ever be. I still get sad, I still slip up, but at least now I love who I am and appreciate where I've been.

I've learned that life should measured by the trials we have endured and risen above. I could look back at this past year and see myself as a victim, but rather, I choose to see how I became empowered by my experiences.

I am strong, but not unbreakable.

Here's to the end 2013, and the dawn of 2014.
It's a new year "with no mistakes in it yet".

A Grateful Heart

As I was walking from class today a thought crossed my mind; someone at this moment could be wishing to have my life in order to escape theirs. What right do I have to complain about a healthy, functional body when there are some who cannot walk or move. What right do I have to complain about seeing myself in the mirror when there are those who cannot see. Who am I to put my trials above those of an abused or orphaned child? 

Much like Christ we all have our crosses to bear. No individual goes throughout life without becoming chipped or broken a few times...some more than others. 

During the beginning of my disorder, I was able to serve as a mentor in a Special Needs Mutual group. This experience helped me look outside of myself and my trials. My friend, Jenae, taught me that happiness is essential to endurance and that love should always be given freely. No trial is too large and no burden is too heavy. Despite her physical situation, she was always concerned about those around her. She loved to smiling, chocolate and country music. She lived her life and made sure that everyone else enjoyed theirs. Surely she must have seen her fair share of sadness in life, but she didn't let it dictate her existence. I can't begin to say how much her hugs and smiles held me together during that time. Her strength strengthened me. 

I owe my outlook on life to my mother. 

From when I was diagnosed with Diabetes, didn't make the cut for my high school soccer team, and when I felt like I didn't have a friend in the world, she was always there. Although annoying at times, she was always quick to remind me that "life could be worse". As I've grown up, I now appreciate her words and understand them; after all, she hasn't lived a perfect life either.

Life really isn't what we make it, but what we make of it. 

Setbacks.

Today I fell through again.

I did so well until after dinner when my mom left to run errands.

I just ignored my conscience and my motivations. I overate for around two hours. It was one of the nastiest feeling things I have ever done.

Why is it that I always fall apart right before I have one successful day?

I ended up feeling so sick that I purged after.
Oh the irony...

Another failure.

I can't decide what to do.

I feel like I'm failing God, and my Savior. I guess I don't have enough faith to abstain from these harmful habits. Do you think that an eating disorder counts as a sin? It goes against the Word of Wisdom....

I keep thinking I should fast, but what if my blood sugar goes low? What if I break it on accident?

It doesn't help either that my stomach has completely expanded so I think I'm starving ALL THE TIME.



I think my biggest problem tonight was that I allowed myself to say upstairs in the kitchen after I had eaten dinner. I should have gone downstairs, I even told myself that several times.


Some days I really just want to call it quits.

Emotional.

"It's hard enough having to live with you, and your Diabetes every day, Alyson!"

Thanks Mom.

I don't really know where to start as far as my emotions are going tonight. Tensions are definitely running high  here at home.

It annoys me that my family thinks that they understand me so well when they really don't. If they did understand me, they wouldn't over-react to some of the things I say. Half of the time, I have no idea what I'm even saying anyways. Most of the time though, they have have no idea what my intentions were behind what I said.

I guess its my fault that I feel this way. When I get frustrated, I do get upset. But let me just clarify that I get upset when I'm misunderstood, which usually results from being accused of something, or chastised for something I never meant to be offensive.

I usually say most of my conversations, and thoughts to myself. And no, I'm not crazy or schizophrenic, I just think to myself more than I talk to others. I guess it's because I trust myself more than anyone else. It's also safer to say something in my mind, than openly to others. I usually know where I'm coming from, and the reasoning behind what I want to say. This makes it hard for me to actually express myself adequately to those around me though. Often, the conversation I want to have is already over in my head, and I can't remember what I actually wanted to say to the other individual.

I just wish people would give me some slack. I try to do the same for those around me, and again, I do this in the privacy of my own head, which only complicates things even more due to the fact that I come across as ignorant at times. In reality though, I was already one step ahead of those around me.

I don't want to give a sob story about my life, or have a personal pity party, but I can't explain how hurt I feel whenever this happens. If people really knew me, and my character, they wouldn't say some of the things they do. Maybe if I understood myself better I wouldn't let myself get so upset.

I need to stop for a second to read a text my mom sent me about tonight.


She says that because she isn't agreeing with me it doesn't mean she doesn't care about my feelings. I appreciate that, but that wasn't the problem tonight. I didn't want her to agree with me, I wanted her to understand where I was coming from, probably more that anyone should need to. She also told me that I needed to apologize to my sister. I ALREADY DID THAT AN HOUR AGO MOM! I REALIZED THAT SHE WAS HURT WAY BEFORE YOU THOUGHT YOU NEEDED TO TELL ME. YOU SHOULD KNOW ME BY NOW. I WAS THE ONE THAT GOT HER TO APOLOGIZE TO YOU, AND THEN YOU CAME IN AND TOOK OUT YOUR REMAINING FRUSTRATIONS ON ME NOT EVEN KNOWING WHAT I HAD DONE, AND NOT EVEN GIVING ME THE CHANCE TO APOLOGIZE MYSELF. DO YOU EVEN KNOW ME??????!

I guess I'm still hurt by some of the things she said earlier. I understand that my blood sugar levels can control my temper, but I can't help it most of the time. I'm not an emotional wreck, I'm a human being. I'm not a walking disease. I have the right to my own emotions, even if their timing may be inopportune, or if they are enhanced by sugar levels.

You think it's hard living with me? Try living with a disease and an eating disorder at the same time.

Try having to live with yourself.

I don't know how to fix this gap between myself and my family. I know the responsibility is entirely on me, but how can you change someone's perception of you when they way they treat your personality is habitual?

I don't really know where I'm going with this, but I guess it's all out now.
I don't even talk to my mom about how I feel anymore. It's not worth it. This happens every time.

I get frustrated when she doesn't understand what I'm saying, and she gets upset when I say she doesn't understand me.

Seriously, this blog has become my lifeline.

Tempted.

Ah, another day of failures.

I did great up until the hour before my friend's birthday party. I had been holding myself back from snacking because his mom was going to make everyone dinner and snacks. I held my group fairly well, but then I just snapped. I can't explain what happened.

Again, I just think it was a lack of motivation and self-control. I've been trying my hardest to remind myself of the consequences of my actions both presently, and eternally. If I don't stop my compulsive eating, I won't be able to serve a mission at 19. I've often wondered if this is a weakness of mine that is only being brought to a new level of severity because of the adversary. I feel weird typing that up and saying it outside of the confines of my mind, but I can't explain just how strongly I know this to be true. I know that just like anyone else, I was meant for great things in my life. However, even though we all have many opportunities to achieve greatness, not everyone can reach it. I think temptation plays a major role in every failure in life.

Although I have great intentions to quit, and to reach my full potential, I just keep getting pulled back down by my actions. I know that I'm not the only one aware of the possibilities in my future, but I wish I was stronger. I've had several moments in my life where I had to stand for something. It was hard, but I wasn't swayed in the least to do things I knew to be wrong. I think I reached the hiatus of my spiritual strength when I was dieting and losing weight last year. We're taught that moderation in all things increases our connection with Heaven, and that when we discipline ourselves, it is easier to do what is right (hence the purpose of fasting). I was doing both of these things for a good 6 months of my life. During that time, I wasn't afraid to do what I knew to be right, I had a bright spiritual future. Now, with no discipline, and definitely no moderation in any aspect of my life, I've found it to be harder to not only hear the Holy Ghost, but to listen to Him as well.

I feel like Satan knows that this eating disorder is the key to my destruction. I've never been troubled by the fact that I have Diabetes, and I've always been able to rise above any cruelty shown to me.

But he knows as well as I do, that I have a terribly low self-esteem.

I think its great that I can realize all of these different aspects of my disorder. Sadly, I seem to forget my observations as quickly as they come.

I want to try to see my life in an eternal perspective, but its always easier said than done.

I want to receive the blessings that have been promised to me, I want to serve the Lord, I want to grow.

I want to repent.
I want to be happy.
I want to be healthy.

I want to be in control again.

Needless to say, today wasn't perfect. I fell apart, and gave in to the enticements of food.

Maybe tomorrow I'll remember these things.


Maybe not.

Food is like a drug. I can't stop thinking about it, and I have to have it when I know it's available.

I even dug through the garbage tonight to eat my mom's leftover Cafe Rio.

I'm disgusting.

Sugars.

Today, I fell asleep after school, and didn't wake up until 6:30pm.

My blood sugar levels went low during that time period, and I went to go get dinner to help raise my levels while also having a meal to keep me away from snacking.

Well, that plan failed.

Dinner wasn't ready, and with low blood sugar brain, I'm not the same person...neither is my reasoning.

I ate pineapple, chocolate milk, half a container of Cool Whip, some maple syrup, some pasta....and then finally soup for dinner.

Despite being full, I kept eating afterwards. I think part of the reason why this happened was that my will-power was definitely not being used to it's fullest measure, and I think it also was a result of my Mom not being home to give me a little peer pressure as far as staying away from the kitchen goes.

I'm frustrated that I failed again. I'll try again tomorrow, and test my blood sugar before I eat.

After bingeing, I felt like hiding in my downstairs bathroom to purge.

Luckily, I didn't.

Instead I finished up a drawing assignment for Sociology. I've noticed that drawing, music, and reading are the best ways for me to not only be distracted, but feel better about myself. I think I might set up an hour each day that I have to do one of these things....It probably won't happen, but at least I sound better by at least talking openly about the idea.


I should be fine tomorrow....
given that I don't doubt myself, and actually follow through on something for once.


Mom told me that I need to be more Christlike today... I feel like I'm always misunderstood. 

Balance

Within the past month, my eating disorder has finally gotten (somewhat) under control.

I still binge maybe once every week at the most, but they are definitely smaller and not nearly as frequent as before. I usually binge whenever I feel anxious, go a long time without eating regularly or have low blood sugar (I've learned that I can't eat when I'm low--it's just too risky. Even if I medicate to raise my sugar levels, it takes at least an hour for my mentality to get back to normal which makes me extremely vulnerable to bingeing). 

For a long time I wanted to lose the weight I gained immediately. After several failed attempts and months later, it finally hit me why I was struggling so badly. I needed time to assimilate back into regularity. I guess even more so, I needed time to heal.  In a sense, I was trying to run before I could even walk--let alone crawl.

A week ago, I decided to try cutting some calories out my daily diet using a calorie counter on WebMD. However, I decided that this time around, I would diet the right way. Last time I did a calorie deficit, I was living off of fake low-calorie foods and celery. Now, I'm working on moderating everyday foods and controlling my portion sizes at meal times.  I can't explain how good (and right) it felt to start eating healthily again. I've been feeling happier and like myself again. I even feel more in control and like I could finally handle the responsibility I was putting on my shoulders.

I guess I would normally consider myself a very religious or at least a very spiritual individual. A few months ago I don't think I could say that with as much assurance as I can today though. I believe that my eating disorder slowly corroded my ties to God. I unintentionally began to distance myself from Him. I'm not sure why this happened, but I do know that eating disorders take hold of you body, mind and soul. I stopped attending church events and even church itself at times. I avoided my scriptures. My prayers consisted of bitter tears and angry complaints.

As I began my path to recovery, I tried to put myself back on the path to God. By restoring that vital balance back into my life, I was better able to help myself and allow God to help me as well. Without Him, I'm not sure if I would have ever been able to heal to the extent I have today. He has sustained me.

During my worst moments I felt as if God had abandoned me; I wasn't worthy of his companionship, a lost cause. I just kept failing and moving in a vicious cycle. In retrospect, I now realize that He had been with me the entire time, but He couldn't stop me from experiencing the consequences of my agency (plus it didn't help that I wasn't exactly "welcoming" either at times). I guess my experience supports the idea that you need to be spiritually strong (no matter what religion or beliefs you may be affiliated with) before you can be successful in any other aspect of your life.

Today I learned this lesson again.

I was flipping through the channels on my T.V. and I ended up on MTV. Normally I would avoid or skip over channel 55, but today I stopped just for a moment and ended up watching a marathon of "Awkward.". I'm not going to lie, I loved the show. It totally captured high school life and it was BEYOND funny (there was even a girl struggling with her weight...I teared up for a second during one scene..). However, it definitely was not a "clean" or "G" rated show. Initially I just ignored the swearing and sex references. Then the "F" word was said more than once, nicknames consisted of the "B" word and the "H" word was used pretty frequently. Plus, the entire show was about teenagers having sex and making out (I haven't ever kissed a boy, so I couldn't help but be curious...but a lot of the conceptsd in the show did go against my personal beliefs...). I'm sad to say that despite all of this, I ended up watching the entire marathon and I enjoyed it...more than I should have. I knew it was wrong as far as my standards went (curse my conscience), but I didn't really care (and I'm not totally sure if I do yet...I'm feeling a little guilty for my indifference). For the entire day, I felt nasty (even while I was watching the show). I could feel myself slowly being dragged away from that which had been supporting me for so long.

(Going back to the whole "spiritual balance" subject a couple paragraphs back) I definitely did not help myself spiritually today, I was weak and as a result I struggled with my eating habits. I ended up bingeing around dinner time and now I just feel gross (after going off bingeing for a while, I've been able to realize just how nasty I used to feel all of the time). Despite the negativity that went along with today, I learned a valuable lesson.  I do need to stay spiritually strong to be physically healthy. I've been getting a lot more heavenly help than I realized before and today I cut myself off of that help, exposing my weaknesses--which ultimately resulted in a binge.

I'm sure that many binge eaters have recovered without even thinking of their spirituality, but I guess I rely on the spirit to support me whenever I face extreme challenges. It's intrinsic to who I am.

I know tomorrow will be a better day, as long as I do all that I can to ensure it will be.

My motto.

Complications

So I know that this isn't the first time I've said this, but I did relapse a little today. BUT, today's near catastrophe wasn't necessarily due to my own choices or desires.

I have had high blood sugar practically all day. It started around 8:00a.m. and it has pretty much lasted throughout the entire day. I've tried to explain this concept before, but high blood sugar influences my appetite and even my mental state at times. Because of this, I usually either binge, have my blood sugar raise and binge more as a result OR I have high blood sugar and binge until I realize I have high blood sugar. However, today I knew I was high (and no, not on drugs) and I really tried to avoid the kitchen all together. Somehow, despite all of my efforts I still ended up eating half a serving of mini wheats, two cups of honey nut cheerios (with honey on top of it), banana bread with peanut butter, milk, cheese with pretzels and some frozen cool whip....so yes, I definitely binged. I did go to the bathroom after and I did try to purge, luckily I didn't get hardly anything out.

I'm not trying to use diabetes or my blood sugar as a passes for my actions (ultimately, I make the final decision to act on my cravings), but depression on top of whacked out sugar levels is almost like asking for a binge to happen.

This is all really hard to explain and probably even harder to understand if you haven't been severely addicted to anything in your life. I know I should just be able to walk away or stop eating, but it just isn't that simple. On top of the plethora of complications that an eating disorder readily provides, having a disease that has such a strong influence over so many aspects of your health makes recovery seem impossible. Gaining weight messed up my insulin ratios and I still haven't gotten a handle on it yet.

I'm hoping that withing the next month after seeing a psychiatrist and my endocrinologist I'll be able to at least attempt to get better control over my mental and physical health so I can finally make even more steps to permanent recovery.

Clinics, Confessions and Trips to the Library (Part 1/3)

Part One-"Clinics"

I finally feel like my life has finally started to take a few turns for the better.
I guess it all started a few months ago with the end of my AP classes and the conclusion of soccer season. My dad had found a car for me and my friend drama was dying down. My mom also found an eating disorder clinic at Primary Children's Hospital and we were able to set an appointment for last week. I'm getting ahead of myself now, but literally, the past month has been a blur (in a good way).

My sister, Holly, took decided to take me to an LDS Family Services meeting for church members with eating disorders about two weeks ago. After having her check to see who was there, I chose to not attend because there would have been at least a ten year age gap between me and the other victims there; however, this was a huge step in the right direction. Not only did her kindness help me realize that I wasn't as alone as I thought I was, it helped me look at my life in a new light. In a sense, it prepared me for the change that would later take place within that same week. A few days later I attended my first of many clinic visits at Primary Children's.
I can't begin to tell you how wonderful that experience was. After my experience at Dr. Foster's office two months prior to this visit, I have to admit I was beyond skeptical. I guess I just didn't want to be disappointed again or have someone take my disorder lightly when it is something so serious.

We signed in and were immediately taken back to a patient room and was told to get put on a gown so I could be weighed accurately. They had me stand with my back to the digital screen so I couldn't see my weight, it wasn't hard to tell that they specialized in eating disorders after this. They obviously understood the sensitivity that eating disorder victims have towards viewing their weight. After we were met by a doctor, nutritionist and social worker/therapist. They were beyond helpful, they were my saviors. We spent the most time talking to my social worker (apparently we had set a "record" for the longest visit), she was so understanding. It felt nice to talk to someone who was experienced with what you were going through. She helped mediated between me and my mom along with giving excellent advice. Luckily, I was able to be honest with her. I told her about my purging, eating habits, emotions and pretty much anything else I could think of. It felt fantastic except for the moments I would look over at my mom and see the pain that would shoot across her face as she heard about things I had been keeping secret for months (purging, suicide, bingeing while she was gone). I could have never said the things that I said in that doctor's office to my mom alone. I needed someone else's support and expertise to soften the blow.

Later we met with the nutritionist and she definitely helped me adjust the way I viewed food. Now, don't confuse this with recovery, in fact, I'm no where close to that yet. Relapse will always be an all too eminent reality for the rest of my life and even more so in these vital following months. However, because of this changed mentality, my habits and thoughts are slowly starting to shift away from the extremes in which I have been living in. I'm finally gaining ground against the disorder that I allowed to define who I was for far too long.

 A few days ago I was talking to my Mom about the progress I had been able to make that I frankly wasn't capable of even fathoming prior to the clinic visit. After discussing this for a few minutes, I think she hit the reason why right on the head. I finally had hope. (I can't begin to express how liberating hope can be when deprived from its presence for a prolonged period of time.) I guess it felt like I was trapped in a small, uncomfortable concrete box that allowed no light in. Then after going to Primary Children's for the first time, the walls of that prison began to expand outward in every direction. Light broke in through cracks formed in the concrete cell I had built up around myself as its foundation began to crumble. (I'd like to imagine that one day the cracks would become so large as to cause the walls to crash down, never to form again.)I had room to not only stretch my legs, but to see glimpses of the world around me again, ending my self-induced solitary confinement.

Its been two weeks since my last clinic visit and also two weeks since my last binge or purge. Since then, I have been diagnosed with moderate depression and severe anxiety. Both can induce eating disorders to take place. I was advised to officially tell my immediate family about my disorder and that I would need their help to end this vicious cycle. When I decided to, I seriously wanted to cry I felt so relieved. I was terrified at first, but their support overwhelmed me. My therapist said that this is a family problem and that we're going to need everyone to come together in order for me to heal as an individual. After talking to them, I've decided she couldn't have been more right. My disorder is no longer something kept or talked about behind closed doors, but a topic that is openly (but still carefully) discussed. My Mom also has been doing some online researching and we discovered that Diabetics are more likely than "normal" individuals to gain eating disorders due to changing blood sugar levels and mental instabilities that can follow. Insulin (which is a steroid) can also promote weight gain in Diabetics due to excessive usage and the way the body may react to the substance (double-edged sword, anyone?). I guess this disorder wasn't just formed after one event or one flaw in my character. It was ultimately made up of seemingly small factors that ganged up to become one big problem. 

As recommended, my mom arranged an appointment for me to meet with a disorder psychiatrist at the end of July and I have my next clinic visit this Thursday. As much as I wish that medications and doctors could solve this dilemma for me, I know that my future is in my hands and based upon my resolve--not a bottle of anti-depressants. It's such a relief to finally feel like we're going about this the right way and I have educated professionals to support me. I feel alive again. I feel like I am gaining control. I'm starting to feel like myself again. I feel...happy.

My brother and nephew playing around while we were out
celebrating  Dad's 50th birthday, it's nice to finally
look outside of myself and notice moments like this again 

Arthur

Lately I've been feeling bitter. Especially towards those who are losing weight, while I keep packing on the pounds. After I lost 30 lbs. last year, I was so proud of myself. I swore I would never go back to being miserable and insecure. Whenever I would walk past a reflective surface, I would stop to check myself out. I looked good but I felt even better.

Now that I'm back to where I started, I can't help but feel depressed whenever I hear about someone elses success story. At first I feel proud of them for changing their lives (remembering how hard it was for me), then I realize I'm not who I once was. I'm pushed myself back while everyone around me seems to be shooting forward. It's frustrating. I watched this YouTube video earlier today and I ended up in a terrible mood after. I guess it must be because of all of the times I've tried to lose weight again and failed. Too many disappointments and too much hope lost. I'm not as optimistic as I once was.  I can't help but think I as watch this, "Now let's see you keep that weight off.", "You have a hard road ahead of you." "You probably gained back at least twenty pounds.".

I don't understand why this is so hard for me. Sure, my blood sugar warps this problem even more than other binge eaters, but I just can't get a handle on my cravings. Even thinking about my emotions makes me want to walk a few steps to my fridge and eat away my troubles. Eating seems to be the only thing that makes me happy anymore. I've been trying to have 100 sips of water whenever I feel a binge coming on, but I know by tomorrow I'll stop.

I hate myself.

I hate looking at myself.
I am disgusting.
"What you eat in private, shows in public."

The Ugly Truth

So, I've decided that I tend to turn most of my posts into a poetic, metaphorical or flamboyant piece of writing. Sometimes I'm too extreme with my emotional spectrum, either unrealistically optimistic or annoyingly depressed. Now I finally realize that "pretty" words won't help me adequately paint a portrait of a binge eater; they probably won't help anyone else who is in a similar situation either (at the most, I think I've been getting a few eye-rolls instead). So my apologies go out to anyone who has been following me from the beginning of this experiment and please stick with me as I find my way around my own awkward writing process.


It's time for me to tell the truth  as ugly and uncomfortable as it may be.


For example:


Last Monday, I came home from school and had probably one of my biggest binges in few weeks. I had been fasting for the past three days in hopes of receiving revelation and a smaller appetite (probably not the best reasoning on my part). It became really hard to keep fasting due to my blood sugar spikes that dehydrated my body every time my levels went above 200 (I thought I would be okay fasting on a day I had a soccer game planned, unluckily for me it turned out to be 80 degrees outside when the game started and after attempting to run for a good 90 minutes, I ended up getting a major Charlie Horse in my right calve....it wasn't that good of an idea after all). By the time Monday came, I was pretty much spent. I came home and ate just about everything I could find. I had known that I had soccer practice at 4:00pm (I had gotten home at 2:45pm...I finished eating around 3:40pm) but I just couldn't stop myself. I remember thinking, "It's Mario's (my head-coach) day to run practice, the most we'll do is run a lap and shoot on goal for the rest of the time..so my eating won't really effect me, I'll get over however I sick I may feel now....".


To my horror, my friend Riley and I got to practice only to see cones lined up across the field and all of our teammates taking their shin guards off. Instead of our normal practice, Mario had decided to hold a "conditioning" practice  because we had run out of steam at our last game (the same one where my legs cramped up because I was fasting).


I was bloated, nauseated, frustrated and on the verge of tears. How would I be able to keep my food down? Why had I let this happen? What will my team think if they see me throw up? Could I go make myself throw up before my body chose to unexpectedly? My thoughts were in a million different places,  I must have looked like a hot mess. I decided to "cowboy" up and attempt the workouts with my team (we ended up sprinting for a full hour). My food was smashing around inside of me and my stomach felt like it was about to rip open with my next step I took. After the first twenty minutes, I couldn't handle it anymore. I ran to the closest bathroom to make myself vomit up whatever food hadn't been digested yet.


Ironically, I walked in to the building to find a little girl trying to figure out why the toilet wouldn't flush. She talked to me about her predicament and she eventually found a button the wall that you had to push to make the toilet flush. She washed her hands and kept talking to me for a good five minutes before she left. By then, I wasn't nearly as sick as I had been . Plus,  while she was with me, there was no way I could have purged with her in the room.

Going to Antelope Island last year with my family.
This was towards the middle of my dieting, I felt insecure then too.

After she had left, I did my business and decided to try to throw up before I left to go back on the field.


Now let me hurry and add in that this wasn't the first time I had been driven to such desperate measures. I've purged a few times, usually when my blood sugar has been out of control after bingeing. I'm not going to lie, I always feel better after.


I jammed my index finger down my throat, trying to coax my "snacks" back up. I ended up making some dry heaves and nearly choked on my finger. I had to get back, I didn't know how much time had gone by and I also didn't want to be thought of as a slacker. Disappointed,  I gave up and figured, if I was meant to throw up, at least it would be naturally now.

I tried to run back to the sideline, but the pain came back as quickly as it had left a few minutes before. I half walked, half jogged to my team. My fat sloshed around and my breaths were forced.  I ran a few ladders, but I lagged behind big time. I wasn't even close to running as fast as I usually could. It was embarrassing. Eventually, I decided to check my blood sugar to see if that was contributing to my difficulty with the exercises and to give me a believable excuse to take a short break. It (luckily) ended up being high so I was able to sit out for ten minutes to catch my breath and let my body digest whatever it could from earlier.

I made it through practice and I didn't have any other binging problems for the rest of the night. I guess you'd think I would have learned by now that bingeing and soccer don't mix. I guess next time I'll try to listen to my conscience a little better.

Silence

"After a minute or two, silence would rush into the room from its hiding place because I had eaten up all of the sounds."

-Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Back in the days when I felt like someone special,
not a pathetic mess.

I'll admit, some days I can't help but crumble.

Life can really stink. It can be depressing and dark. Sometimes, it can cause permanent frown lines.
( I already have a few by the corners of my mouth, age doesn't matter so beware!)

Yesterday morning I binged again (turns out I had high blood sugar, just another complication in this whole dilemma). Bringing on a day's worth of depression. Exercising helped me push my emotions aside, but my "tough, indifferent girl" facade cracked on the way home from a trip downtown with my Mom and brother. An ad about "quick and easy" weight loss came on the radio and a wave of anger crashed over me. I felt like I was drowning in emotions, mostly confusion and frustration.

Then came silence.

What else could I do?

My world just seemed to be closing in around me and claustrophobia kicked in. I chose to save my breath instead of wasting it. I went into survival mode.

Whenever I can't handle life, I shut down.  It's my escape.

Once I lock down, it's hard to come back to reality. I try to hide it, but I'm pretty much an open book (...or more so blog). If I try to come to, it's like trying to stand with a broken leg; it can't be done and it's extremely painful.  My family ends up suffering because of my emotions (or lack of) and when I do choose to speak, it's never positive or kind.

 Not only do I suck the sound out of a room, I take the joy with me when I leave.

I usually try channel my frustrations towards myself and how I look. I push myself down in hopes of making myself hate who I am just enough that permanent change will finally happen.


It never does.

I run to the fridge for relief as soon as I can't take it anymore. I listen to my stomach instead of talking to others. It feels like a punch to the gut....and my self-esteem.


Usually sleep is just about the only thing that can bring me out of my depression.

I guess it's like walking outside after it rains.
Everything is still wet and murky, but at least the storm has passed.

You Scream, I Scream...

Well, I officially hate ice cream.

Lately it's become one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to binge eating. The days that happen to be my worst always involve some form of that frozen delicacy, like today. 

I was doing so well until I got the munchies around 4:00pm, I had a few pretzels and some cheese to try to satisfy myself until dinner, but everything just spiraled out of control from there. I left the room to preoccupy my thoughts with other things, but I felt extremely guilty for allowing myself to have a mini-binge right after I had just eaten and right before I was supposed to eat again. I figured since I slept in and didn't have breakfast, everything would even out and I would scrape by for the day. Around 8:00pm (an hour after dinner), I was in the middle of trying to make a decision about whether or not I should go to a "camp-out" at someone's house (this wasn't just anyone, it was my recently ex-best friend...so yes it was more than a little stressful). I went through some graham crackers, a handful of chocolate chips, cereal, a brownie, Girl Scout cookies, grapes and eventually found myself standing in front of the devil's lair itself, the freezer.

I had brought a spoon out with me so I would only "have a taste" of whatever was out there. (...Like that happened)

*Just a side note: For some reason I tend to eat out of a container of ice cream with a small spoon acting as if I would have less than the actual serving size, but in reality I always eat way more than I would have if I had actually measured it out in the first place. It's almost like a warped justification I tell myself. Once, at the very beginning of this disorder, I ate half a container of pineapple sherbet in one sitting...that was probably one of my worst food moments of my life.

August 2011. at the Dole Plantation on Oahu with the Fam.
Where I discovered Dole Whip for the first time, which is practically
Heaven in frozen form.
It's also the reason why my family bought that notorious 
pineapple sherbet I binged on a half-year later.

I originally had a few bites of ice cream and then walked away not quite satisfied. A few minutes later I found myself back in the same situation, but this time I found myself testing out our other carton of ice cream. I eventually brought it to the kitchen counter and started to snarf it down as fast as I could. I tried it with malted milk and chocolate milk powder too...just because I felt like it or more so, because I compiled to do so.

MayoClinc.com stated:

"Binge-eating disorder is a serious eating disorder in which you frequently consume unusually large amounts of food. Almost everyone overeats on occasion, such as having seconds or thirds of a holiday meal. But for some people, overeating crosses the line to binge-eating disorder and it becomes a regular occurrence, usually done in secret.

When you have binge-eating disorder, you may be deeply embarrassed about gorging and vow to stop. But you feel such a compulsion that you can't resist the urges and continue binge eating."

I can't explain why I tend to binge in secret (or why I have an infatuation with frozen desserts). I guess it's out of shame and fear of being caught. I remember while I was bingeing today, I was terrified that my Mom would walk in on me at any moment. I knew she would be upset with me. I guess that's why I ate the ice cream so fast, it was almost like an adrenaline rush, a game of cat and mouse. I've gotten a little better with resisting my impulses, but I am a food addict. It is my drug and I can't ever get away from it. Because of my bingeing, I can't tell when I'm hungry anymore (however, most of the time I do hear a very quiet, very desperate, Jiminy Cricket in the back of mind urging me to stop, but the poor guy has been so neglected, he's slowly starting to give up on me). Because of my constant urges to eat, my hunger hormones are completely out of whack, only complicating my cravings even more. I'm never sure if I need something or if I want it. I can't decide if  my blood sugar is low or if I'm somehow subconsciously tricking my body into starvation mode. It can get so frustrating sometimes. 

On a lighter note, I did notice that I happened to binge on the day that I didn't post the night before. I'm going to put myself through a little "experiment" and see if writing out my thoughts can really prevent my bingeing. I guess time can only tell, I just hope I can be patient enough to see the results.

P.S.

I'm going to be staying away from the ice cream from now on too.