Meet Rachel

I first met Rachel Morrow while I was working at my part-time job a few weeks ago. She and her friend approached me and mentioned that they knew of me and my blog. Needless to say, I was super flattered that people actually knew who I was and read what I wrote! We exchanged information and decided to collaborate in the near future. Rachel is an incredible writer and an inspiring woman who doesn't let depression drag her down. To learn more about her story and to read the article that I wrote for her blog, check out her blog, Finding the Sunshine, at www.yellowinthegray.com 

 I’ve always been a bit of a perfectionist. From the time that I was little, I can remember feeling a little bubble of anxiety in my chest when things weren’t perfect. I’ve wanted to be perfect—to be the perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect friend, perfect student…perfect everything. This wasn’t too much of a problem until I was diagnosed with depression when I was sixteen.

My perfectionism fed my depression. It made me hate myself for not living up to an impossible standard. The more I thought about my insecurities, the stronger my depression grew. I felt like I was never going to be able to be good enough and that I might as well give up. No matter what I did that was good, I felt like there were a billion other bad things to outweigh it.

 I mostly got things under control by the time I was eighteen. I started school at BYU and decided to serve a mission at age nineteen. A month or two into my mission, my perfectionism (along with my depression) started to really get to me. I got overwhelmed and frustrated. As my depression started to drown me, my perfectionism was there too as my constant companion. I felt like I was failing as a missionary--I was failing myself, God, and the people around me. What I didn't realize is that the chemical imbalance in my brain was causing these thoughts. I was holding myself up to a standard that wasn't realistic because it was perfection.

When I came home early from my mission in 2013, my depression was debilitating. I had to come home after six months because I couldn't do the missionary work and for my health it wasn't right for me to stay in the field. So when I got home, I still struggled to get out of bed. I had a hard time with social interactions and often had panic attacks when I was in a crowd of people. I felt absolutely awful about myself. Because I had come home early, I felt like a failure. I was trying to work to be better—I started my blog, I went back to school, I got a job, etc.—but my depression and my perfectionism kept telling me I wasn’t good enough. I hated myself for being depressed and for not being able to do what other people can do.

Finally, I started to realize that perfection isn’t possible. I began to look for the little accomplishments I did each day. I decided to live each individual day to the fullest, and to go from there. If one day all I could do is shower—that was enough for me because I was living that day to the fullest. The less I focused on the things I couldn’t do and the more I focused on what I could do the happier I became. Progress has become my mantra.

Progress, to me, is living my life to the fullest. As I take each day one at a time, my days are brighter and I am happier. I have to assess each day individually and work on some sort of progress for that specific day. Progress doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be one step, then another. I still struggle with perfectionism, but I’m learning more and more each day. As Frederick Douglass said, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” To struggle is okay. Struggling and striving are a part of the human experience. Through my battle with mental illness I have learned that perfection isn’t possible. But I’ve also learned that it’s not perfection that matters—it’s progress.



Love,
The Optimist in Progress

Ask Aly: Questions

I recently received this email and I thought it would be worth sharing with all of you. I want to clarify that this blog is not intended as a handbook for recovery, but rather a source for hope and insight into the world of eating disorders and body dysmorphia since everyone's experiences with both are different. If you ever have a question about a specific topic or resource I have included in a past post that you may have missed, feel free to click on the label section of the sidebar to find what your're looking for, check out the "Helpful Websites" section of the navigation menu, or submit an "Ask Aly". Although I may not have all of the answers or word things exactly as you need them to be said, I'm here to help!

I have struggled with EDs for almost my whole life. As a college student, I have emerged myself in  health studies, which have helped me cope with my eating issues, because I've been studying how to promote health in others.
I love reading your blog, and often find myself relating to the things you say. But as of late, I have had an issue with some of the things that you preach. You reach many young women, especially your peers, and I feel like you should be hyper aware of the messages you send to others.
You send the message that recovery is possible, and mention health pretty frequently. I wish you would promote the idea of reaching out for help from more than just those around you. I don't know if you ever got any professional help for the problems you have faced, but as with any mental disorder, professional help should be a line of defense. Many people are afraid to get help because of fear of being "caught" or the stigma related to mental health issues. I honestly wish you more explicitly would offer some type of professional resources for recovery, rather than just suggesting leaning on family and friends for support.
Additionally, I feel like you don't promote health quite accurately. You mention that now you are helathier, even if that means being heaier, however you don't really explain how you are healthier. I know it may seem like common sense to you or I, (both college educated and have struggled with these things) but some people have never faced these issues and don't really understand what is healthy and what is not. SO overall, I'd like to say that I enjoy your blog, but wish you'd promote health in a more professional light with more emphasis on how to get help and what being healthy really means.
I know you personally and understand how you get when you're criticized, and don't want you to take this as a personal attack, rather I'd like this to be seen as some support from a fellow soldier in this fight looking for ways to help you coach others.
xoxo best wishes

Hi there,

In past posts I have mentioned that I did go to a professional and I list his information on one of my blog pages. I don't know how long you have been reading my blog, but from the beginning, I have emphasized how seeing health professionals is a crucial aspect of recovery. I mentor girls on campus for their EDs and tell them the same thing. A good doctor will always be better than a good friend who is trying to help you. I am hyper aware that what I say influences the young women around me--which is why I say what I say. I try to focus on the causations for eating disorders like bad body image and low self-esteem--since those need to be cured first before one can successfully overcome an eating disorder. I suffered from depression and was suicidal during my eating disorders; I understand that eating disorders are a mental disorder. As to what I have said about reaching out to others, that was in response to a specific question that I was written about that. However, reaching out to others is another crucial step towards recovery. As to my health, I have been diagnosed as completely recovered from my disorder and I no longer hate my body--I have a healthy mentality towards myself; which I have also explained before. Thank you for your message, I'll make sure to reiterate these points in future posts.

Also, I know that offense wasn't your intention when writing this, but I question the extent to which you know me and what I have written on my blog based on what you have written to me.

You probably won't get this response because you used what looks like a fake email in order to maintain anonymity, but I hope that you're able to recover and find the help that you need. It's a hard journey, but it can be done.

*To submit a question, you can either use the submission app on the sidebar of the blog or email me at: tomyfullestblog@gmail.com*

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.

Free

My sister, Holly, was a good sport and took some pictures
 of me for an employee board at work. I was surprised by
how  much I actually liked how I looked in each one.
Definitely a new experience. 

Lately I've started to realize that the older I've gotten, the more prioritized and selective my free-time has become. Thanks to this, February came and went with no blog posts. 

Last month I had an appointment with Dr. Spigarelli and heard some great news.

Guess what? 

I am officially eating disorder free. 

It took me six years of battling my thoughts, my habits, and my body, but I did it. 

If you asked me six years ago if I ever thought that I would like my body at any size, I would have said no. 
If you asked me five years ago if I ever thought that I would have a healthy relationship with food, I would have said no. 
If you asked me four years ago if I ever thought that I would ever have a normal life, I would have said no. 
If you asked me three years ago if I would be alive right now, I would have said no. 

If you asked me three years ago if I wanted to be alive right then, I would have said no. 

It's amazing what time can do. 
Actually, scratch that. It's amazing what the influence of selfless people can do. 

My mom. 
Dr. Spigarelli. 
Dr. Cheung. 

Without them (and countless others) I don't know where, or who, I would be right now. 
They were my friends, my mentors, and ultimately, my saviors. 

Dr. Spigarelli mentioned during our last appointment that he had just been my cheerleader, and that I was the only person to credit for my success. 

Obviously he's right in the sense that it was up to me to find the desire to change and act upon that desire, but in all honesty, what I needed most was a cheerleader; someone who unconditionally believed in me more than I believed in myself. No one is ever "just" something. We all play roles in the lives of the people around us, whether we realize it or not. Who you are or what you do may be exactly what someone needs. 

Looking back on the past six years I spent fighting either an eating disorder mentality, or an eating disorder itself, I can't say that I regret anything that happened...which must sound crazy given all that I went through.

I was miserable, I was suicidal, and even at my lowest weight during my first eating disorder (restrictive eating/ anorexia), I loathed myself. The smaller dress-sizes, lower calories, and increased exercising didn't make me happier, they made me paranoid.

I sold my childhood to see a lower weight on a scale, only to have it stolen from me when my body said "enough" and my growing appetite became an addiction (bingeing/ bulimia).

As I gained weight at the rate of 20 lbs. per month, my world shattered around me. I had an identity crisis, and broke down. I remember thinking that if I wasn't thin or "beautiful", all I did was take up space. I felt like the "real me" was hidden under layers of fat. I thought that it was my bigger body size that kept people from I asking me to dances or going on dates.

I sincerely believed that because I weighed more, my value was less.

I realize now that it wasn't my weight that held me back, but myself.

Why is it that we tend to think that we need to change or "improve" ourselves in order to be loved or accepted by others when the only person we're really trying to earn acceptance from is ourselves?

I've been told before that God gives us trials to make us better people, and I completely agree. My experiences have opened my eyes and caused me to see the world differently. I'm more compassionate towards others, especially myself.

The lessons I've been taught through my eating disorders weren't easy, but they were worth every ounce of weight gained or lost. I know now that there's more to life than calories counted, clothing sizes worn, miles run, or weight placed on a scale; life is about living.

Even though I'm no longer medically diagnosed with an eating disorder, I still fight my past every day.
Sometimes I wish I was smaller, and sometimes I eat when I'm not hungry.
But that's okay.

Because I like who I am, regardless of body size or what anyone says I should or shouldn't be.
I am a survivor, the hero of my story.

I am free. 

New Year

Happy New Year! I can't believe that it's already 2015! When my siblings and I were watching the countdown in Times Square, my brother made the comment that we're now the same distance away from 2030 as we are from 2000....which is a pretty crazy thought! We may have not gotten the hoverboards, self-lacing shoes, and expandable food promised in "Back to the Future II", but hey, I'll keep my fingers crossed for 2030.

The end of 2014 marked the beginning of my third year free from bingeing, strict dieting, and my habits associated with what was left of my eating disorders. I can eat food without feeling guilty, and I finally know how to properly feed myself--which feels amazing! I still find myself fighting off my own self-depreciating thoughts, low self-esteem, and negativity towards my body, but I'm proud of the ground I've gained. I've won this battle, and now I'm waiting for my enemy to retreat.

One thing I love about the new year is the period of obligatory self-reflection and goal-making that follows. Although we usually tend to forget or give up on these goals shortly after making them, I think there's a lot of value in having even a small desire to improve oneself.

My goal for this year? Make goals that are worth keeping.

Not:

"If I lose weight, or gain weight, I'll like myself more."
"If I can become this size, everything will be okay."
"If by changing my body, I can make someone else love me, I'll be able to love myself."
"I just need to lose five pounds, or I just need to be a size ____."

I've learned that these aren't goals,
They're poison.

Instead, I'm aiming to make 2015 the year that I:
-Loved myself unconditionally, with no strings attached.
-Always said yes to dessert.
-Told myself how cute I looked each time I walked past a mirror, rather than seeing my flaws.
-Became comfortable in my skin, no matter what size or condition it was in.
-Ignored what society said I should be, or how I should look.
-Became a person I am proud of.


This year, I'm planning on loving my body first, and moving on from there.

Starving

In high school, I picked up two eating disorders. The first was during the end of my sophomore year, and I basically limited my food and calorie consumption by doing a calorie deficit. After three months, I lost 40 lbs., and considered myself to be healthy. No matter how much weight I lost, I believed I could always stand to lose more, despite how small I had become. Looking back now, I realize I was borderline anorexic and pushing my body to be a size that it wasn't naturally built to be.

During the beginning of my Junior year, there was drama within my friend group and I turned to food as a way of coping with the stress and emotions that ensued. After months of doing this, my coping turned into bingeing, and as a result, I gained more weight than I had originally lost. Food become an addiction, and as time went on, the bingeing progressively worsened and my stomach had stretched to a point where I couldn't determine whether I was hungry or not. Essentially, I was bulimic, minus the purging...which I eventually acquired later on. My thoughts of self-loathing carried on from my days of anorexia and became an obsession during my battle against binge eating. 

All in all, I spent my entire high school career fighting myself and my eating disorders. 

Okay, so you're probably wondering where I'm going with this story.

...Yesterday I didn't eat. 

The night before I had fallen into old habits and turned to food as a medication for my emotions. I went to bed disgusted with myself, and decided that in order to make up for what I had done, I would skip all my meals the next day, or couple of days, in order to "balance" myself out. I had accepted the notion that by starving myself, I would become healthier, and happier. (I hope you can tell I just rolled my eyes at that statement--see this post-- Isn't it interesting that we think health and happiness can be derived from starving ourselves and strict dieting?)

I think that too often in our efforts to become physically healthy, we become emotionally and mentally unhealthy along the way. Through my experiences I've come to realize that eating disorders are composed of mental, and physical, aspects--you can have an eating disorder mentality, without physically acting upon those thoughts of self-hate and detriment. Although its been almost two years since my last binge, I know that time and distance don't end eating disorders; to end an eating disorder, you need to overcome yourself...which I'm still trying to do.

I have signs of being an eating disorder survivor spread across my body (especially my eyes due to burst blood vessels from purging), but because of this, I only have to look in the mirror to remind myself of where I've come from, the pain I went through, and the progress I've made. I've said before that our bodies tell our stories, and in my case, I'm a living monument to myself.

Although I'm not completely free of my past, my eating disorder mentality, or the consequences that came because of it, I'm still moving forward. I think we all have days where we either overeat or don't want to eat; however, the trick is learning how to eat and then moving on with life regardless of food amount, calories, or our personal weight.

In summary:
It's time to realize that food isn't our enemy, and eating isn't a sin. 

Sorry

Have you ever caught yourself apologizing for your size or appearance? I have. Multiple times. Usually to myself.

Last night as I was trying to fall asleep my thoughts drifted towards my body and how other people perceive how I look. As I rolled over in my bed, I whispered, "I'm sorry", in the hope of washing away these thoughts from my mind. For some reason I felt a wave of embarrassment, not only for me, but for anyone and everyone who has ever had to look at me. I was ashamed that I would never live up to society's expectations or beauty standards.

My thighs touch together.
I'll never be smaller than a size 8 (unless I starve myself...which I've done, and will never do again).
I have a chubby face with delicate features.
I have stretch marks along my hips.
My upper arms are flabby.
I have back fat.

And along with all of this, I would much rather have my hands in a bag of chips than have my feet in a pair of running shoes.

My question though, is why are all of these characteristics considered to be negative or derogatory to who I am as an individual or how attractive I may (or may not) be? How can the length of a measuring tape around my waist ever produce an accurate measurement of my character?

J.K. Rowling has been quoted as saying:

Fat is usually the first insult a girl throws at another girl when she wants to hurt her. I mean, is 'fat' really the worst thing a human being can be? Is 'fat' worse than 'vindictive', 'jealous', 'shallow', 'vain', 'boring' or 'cruel? 

I think it's ironic that as women, our worth is determined by how much we don't weigh, rather than how much we do. At times it seems like the less we are, the more we are.  Society looks at our size first, and our accomplishments second. In a sense, our appearances, not our actions, often speak louder than our words, thoughts, or beliefs.

What can we do to fix this?

One of the first steps to changing how we see ourselves, and how we see others, is to change our vocabulary. "Thin" and "fat" should never be synonymous with insults or the lesser. The amount of power that simple descriptions of anatomy are given, and the extent to which they're used as indicators of worth, is ridiculous. No one should ever feel inadequate, judged, or stereotyped due to their body size, whether it be large, or small, natural or unnatural. By applying negativity to physical features within humanity, we begin to see ourselves in a negative light due to our self-association with those words and traits. Media emphasis on certain types of bodies is equally as poisonous. It's been said that a "picture is worth a thousand words", and if that's true, one can only imagine the impact that the thousands of images of idealized bodies, that we see on nearly a daily basis, have on us as well. 

As I was skimming through some of the recent posts done by "Humans of New York", I came across this:

"I'm trying not to hate my body. I love my hair and my hands, but everything else I wouldn't mind switching out."

I've come to believe that as women, we're taught by various sources that we're only worth our parts, rather than the sum of our parts. Like animals placed before a butcher, only the best cuts of meat are considered desirable-- with our objectivity, not subjectivity, placed on the chopping block. Too often we try to "salvage" and buoy our self esteem by finding small aspects of our appearance that are socially acceptable, rather than accepting ourselves as a whole, human being. We tend to feel that if every aspect of our body isn't deemed good by society's standards, we're no good at all; making it hard to accept ourselves as naturally imperfect due to impossible ideals of perfection placed upon our shoulders by ourselves, our peers, and our culture.

Well, I'm saying, "enough" to all of this.

It might sound crazy, but today as I was walking to class, I realized that I like my thighs.

I like that they're bigger.
I like that they don't have a gap between them.
I like that they're soft.
I like the way that skirts drape over them.

But most of all, I like that they're mine.
And the same goes for the rest of my body too.

So, no more apologizing.
No more self-loathing.
No more guilt.
No more comparing.
No more shame when I see my reflection.
No more seeing my body as a rough draft or a construction-zone.
No more relying on the connotations of adjectives or the glances of other people.

Our bodies tell our stories, and my life is nothing to be ashamed of.

I've overcome two eating disorders, a terminal illness, and the everyday trials that come from living. Battles have been won, and obstacles overcome... in this body, at various sizes. Yes, I have fat on my arms, stomach and thighs, but I'm learning to see those areas as a source of pride, rather than disgrace. They're a reminder of who I am, and what I'm capable of doing.

So, today, I choose to love myself as is.
Not for how I was, or will be.
But for how I am right now.

'Imperfect'.



And that's okay. 

Sunday Thoughts

Today I caught myself thinking about how much better I would look if I were skinnier. I won't deny that it's probably true, but as I was thinking this, I realized we have more purpose to our lives than obsessing over dieting, exercising, appearances or how we're captured on film. 

We aren't objects that need to be tweaked, we are subjects that need to be loved. 

So what if I'm not as small as the girls around me? I'm a living person with a (relatively) healthy body. I have an intrinsic amount of worth despite whatever dress size I may be.

Who I Am

I seriously haven't binged since September of 2013.
For as far as I've come with my eating disorder, I still have hundreds of miles to go.
I think one of the biggest trials I have yet to overcome in this life is my cripplingly low self-esteem.

Tonight my roommate and I were watching "Les Miserables" and commenting on the actors. I mentioned that I thought Amanda Seyfried was beautiful and that I would give anything to look like her. After a moment, my roommate--still looking at the television screen, said, "I would much rather be myself than her."

Her words, although not surprising (trust me, this girl has the most confidence I have ever seen in an individual), silenced me. Being someone who has never felt beautiful or comfortable in my own skin, I could never imagine myself saying what she did so assuredly. My mind started to wander as I tried to imagine how an individual could gain that much love for her appearance. Was her simple statement the result of childhood experiences, parental guidance, or an innate feature within herself? How could I grow to say the same thing one day also?

As the movie continued, I again found myself commenting on the features of the actors and actresses--particularly their noses. (Okay, so let me step back a second here. I have this strange obsession with noses. They are seriously the first thing I look at when I'm examining a person...is that weird?) My roommate said that she thought it was funny that I focus so much on such a seemingly insignificant feature. After thinking for a moment, I stated that I had always hated mine and because of that I always was jealous of people who had my version the "ideal" nose. She replied, "I'm just grateful that mine works."

Once again, her words silenced me.

I looked out the window of our apartment to see couples holding hands and walking home from dates. I became jealous and mad that I wasn't in their position because of, well what I believed to be, my body. I turned back to the movie and we (my roommate and I) talked about how romantic it would be to fall in love at first site. However, as we spoke, I realized that no one would ever feel that way about me. I'm average in every single way, I'm chubby, I have small boobs, my nose is huge, my teeth are yellow, I have acne, and I'm shy.

As I continued with my self-defeating mental commentary, my roommate's words returned to my thoughts. Shouldn't I just be grateful that I have a healthy, working body? Why can't I appreciate the progress that my body has made since three years ago? I may be chubby, but my battle with my body has been uphill and it has taken every ounce of my strength to end up where I am now--all 160 lbs. of me.

I'll never naturally be 5'7" and 120 lbs, so why do I constantly hate myself for not being the impossible?

I said once before that I need to learn to love and accept myself in the present, as well as eternally. Well, I know now that things are always easier said than done.

I've been thinking about my roommate's words all night, and I've decided that although I wish I could look differently, I would never give up the person I have become in order to fit society's standards.

Although I may not like how I look, I do like who I am.

Good/Bad

Just as with life, the past few months have been exquisitely good and tremendously bad.

I have learned that selfish people who perpetuate body image issues really do exist.
They aren't distant media figures, but living individuals outside my own front door.

I have cried bitter tears that I had thought finally ran dry.
I still feel ugly, fat, and inadequate.
I still hate men.
I still hate my body.

But I do love myself.

I haven't binged consistently in 8 months, and I haven't binged at all in 5.
I don't rely on my medications to keep me away from eating.
I've finally started to buy clothes that fit me and that make me feel good; no more over-sized sweaters, t-shirts or jeans.

I want to shed the skin of my past with each layer of clothing I throw away.
I guess I'm trying to invest in who I want to be.

Incubation

"It started that young?"
Yes.

I remember a time in early elementary school when I would stand on the toilet, and look at myself in the bathroom mirror. I would critique my appearance by saying things like, "Too bad you have such an ugly head on a decent body."

I resigned myself to never being beautiful.

Growing up, all I ever wanted was to be like my sisters, television stars and peers.
I always tried to be just like them, but I deceived myself.

Middle school brought more insecurities which I then buried beneath layers of discolored foundation and globbed mascara.

In eighth grade, I was a dress size bigger than both of my sisters, my shoe size then followed suit.

In ninth grade I cried in dressing rooms at the mall.

During my Sophomore year, I hated myself enough to "change" and eliminate all insecurity from my life.
And by change, I mean starve myself.
And by eliminate, I meant hide.

The glass house I constructed around myself shattered during the winter of my Junior year.
Suppressed insecurities rushed over me with the force of a tsunami.

I was drowning. Again.

I think that all girls are born with insecurities, it is intrinsic to our nature.
For some they wax and wane, but for many the insecurities never change.
I have yet to meet a girl who is completely comfortable in her own skin.

Although my eating disorder didn't begin until high school, the disease had been incubating in my mind since childhood.

The world is literally experiencing an ignored epidemic, but instead of defeating it, society has chosen to nurture it.

And people like me are just side-effects of an unethical experiment.

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".

Hate

Today I saw my weight for the first time in months on accident at a doctor's appointment and it crushed me. Honestly, I thought I was past calling myself "ugly" and "fat", isn't it interesting how a number can dissolve all you believed yourself to be?

I found my school photo from Junior year, I almost didn't recognize myself. I tried to find sadness and insecurities in her eyes, but there were none. Little did she know at the time that her life would be turned upside down in only a matter of months. I'm jealous of her ignorance, and for that I hate her. She caused this whole mess. Her stupid obsession of becoming who she thought she was meant to be ruined who she already was. Sure, it felt great feeling comfortable in her own skin for once in her life; it was best life she had ever experienced. The longer she dieted, the stronger her will became. Her life rotated around looking good, and having other people agree. However, she did lose sight of what really mattered in life; she deluded herself with thoughts of self-righteousness and confidence. She wasn't me.

I like who I am as a person now, but I do wish I could look different.
As much as I hate her, I want to be her again.

Inner Strength

J.R.R. Tolkien once said, "It is not the strength of the body that counts, but the strength of the spirit."

Lately I've been having more and more self-esteem issues, and honestly, I'm getting tired of dealing with myself. I know that my body has limitations and weaknesses, but I just can't seem to accept myself as I should.

I have definitely let my week center around negative thoughts. I feel like an outcast among my friends; I just want to be left alone.

Have you ever just wished that you could find a hiding place where no one could find you? It wouldn't be anything fancy, just a small, quiet place to be at peace with yourself and be free from the judgments of others.

I know that these feelings of depression won't last forever, but it's always so easy to only see the negative embers in the eternal fires of our lives.

I know that my life is not my own, but the Lord's. I am constantly be polished, molded and mended. Right now I am broken, but one day I will be whole.

Despite how many times I may stray on my journey to perfection, fear for my life, or question God, I know that I have the strength within myself to carry on.

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. 

Cravings

During the past week I had to go without taking anti-depressants due to my prescription running out. I thought I could handle a few days on my own, but I guess I'm still a little shaky. I definitely felt the urge to snack more and, well, I did. Actually, I'm snacking on slice of bread with raisins and peanut butter plus a cup of soy milk hot chocolate as I type....at 2:30am....

I know I've mentioned before that I'm scared that this disease, this disorder will follow me throughout my life. Times like this always reawaken those fears. In all honesty, nothing terrible has happened over the past seven days. I mean, I practically scarfed down an entire family-size bag of Frootie Tooties on my own, but aside from that I've been maintaining myself fairly well. Dr. Spigorelli has told me countless times that one day I'll be able to look back and not remember the last time I binged. I think I'm slowly getting there, but honestly, I just want to get to a point where I can eat like a normal person for a day, or at least feel "normal" for an instant.

My biggest problem is that I often allow objects or opinions to determine my happiness.

I'm nervous for my future and frustrated at myself. Healing physically is one thing, while healing mentally is a completely different ball game. I guess that's what I'm scared of, never being able to recover mentally from this disease. I've always had my insecurities, but I've allowed this eating disorder to make mountains out of molehills. 

I'm certain that one day I will be in a better place.

I'm just not sure who I'll be when I get there.

Or how long it will take. 

Fragility

A friend of mine in my single's ward mentioned today that "you never realize how fragile life is until it is broken".

After hearing this, it caused me to look back on moments in my life when the very ground I stood on seemed to collapse below me. The winter of my Junior year was definitely one of the darkest and hopeless times of my life. My reality of being 129 lbs. and "beautiful" was completely gone. I had focused my life, my goals, and happiness around a number; once it changed, who I thought I was shattered before my eyes.

I attempted to piece my emotions back together by using food as "glue" to contain my inner-self. For brief moments during binges, I felt happy. I was carefree. Of course my insecurities never left, but for a moment I was distracted from who I was and what I was doing. I was a broken individual for a long time. I tried my hardest to keep up appearances and to plaster a smile on my face. I guess I didn't want to shatter whatever image those around me had of who I was or used to be either.

Harder times came whenever I would relapse and go back into my self-destructive habits. My vision of progress would disappear and the ugly reality I had been living would resurface. One experience that almost crushed the remaining shards of my existence happened during a choir trip to San Francisco this past spring.

I thought that I had finally reached a level point in my life. I knew I was still walking a tightrope, but I felt I was finally balancing my cravings and the disorder.  On one of the last nights of our trip, my choir friends decided to go swimming in the hotel pool. I was so ashamed of my body that I didn't even bring a swimsuit with me on the trip. So, while everyone was out having fun, I locked myself in a room. I ended eating not only my food, but the food of my roommates as well. I felt so sick afterwards, spiritually and physically. I was embarrassed that I had stooped so low as to steal other people's food. I was mad that I was so weak after all of the progress I had made. I was lost on what I should do, and how I should feel. I eventually broke down and left our hotel room to cry on the outside staircase. It was terrible night.

I called my mom for help, and I think that if I hadn't I would still be in a mess today. As I was sobbing to her over the phone, she listen to my fears, my complaints and my tears. One thing she said still sticks out to me to this day. After I finished telling her what had happened, she said, "Alyson, this isn't you". Although I was still upset over what had happened, that comment had been an answer to my silent prayers that night. I was scared that I had become an eating disorder. However, I knew my mom was right. I was person, I had values, and I had worth; an eating disorder wouldn't ever be able to change my soul.

I wish I could say this instance was my last bingeing episode, but it wasn't. It took months after my trip to San Francisco to pick myself up and feel confident in my progress again.  Although I haven't had a "true" binge since June of this year, I'm still fragile and I'm still broken.

I've decided that this is one of the hardest battles I am ever going to face in my life.

But in the end, I won't be the damsel in distress...I'm going to be the hero.

Support

Gosh, I can't believe how much love I've been able to feel today. For years I was scared to tell anyone about what I was going through, I was ashamed of myself and embarrassed at who I had let myself become.

I guess I just didn't want people to see me as an eating disorder, rather than a person.  I didn't want to become a rumor or a charity case.

I've decided that my high school years were an almost impossible time to be myself, it's almost like a social prison. I didn't want my past to be stamped on my forehead until I graduated and I didn't want to become a prisoner to my peers.

 College is seriously the best, its a fresh start, a clean slate.

I want to take the time to thank my high school friends for all that they've done for me. Most of them probably had no idea how much they raised me up and gave me a reason to keep living. All of them reminded me that I wasn't alone.

My dad once told me the successful in life surround themselves with the best people. I know the main reason I was able to heal was because I was truly surrounded by the best people during one of the hardest times in my life.

I know my trial is far from over, but at least now I know that my eating disorder doesn't define who I am.

However, my friends do.

Doodles and Depression

During one of the hardest stages of living with an eating disorder, I tried to find ways to cope with my emotions other than turning to food. I have always loved to draw, but I just stopped in middle school; It must have been one of those "If I want to be popular I need to conform to the crowd" moments.

As I began to draw, I surprisingly got better, and better. I put my emotions into my work, which helped me find purpose in what I was doing. In all honesty, the only thing that can completely calm me down and distract me from the world is drawing.

I think it is so amazing that I was able to harvest a talent during one of the most trying times of my life. I like to think of it as a tender mercy given to me by my Father in Heaven.

From something terrible came something incredibly wonderful...I guess that's life. The good and the bad usually come hand-in-hand.

Beauty

Well, I actually survived high school; in all honesty, it was a longshot. Senior year was definitely better than Junior year, and for that I'm glad. A few months ago, my therapist, Elaine Cheung, introduced me to Michael Spigarelli. Mike was the answer to every prayer I've had over the past few years. I don't know why things clicked with him, but I think part of me knew that he was my last chance for help. He's seriously a great person, I admire him so much. He definitely isn't afraid to talk your ear off, but the information he gives you is worth way more than a missing ear. I can't say that I'm 'cured' yet, but life has gotten easier. I still overeat occasionally, but the binges are pretty much ancient history. I'm not trying to count my chickens before they hatch, but I know that I've changed.

Before I thought I was a worthless individual. Throughout middle school and high school I placed value on a scale that weighed beauty. I thought that I was at my happiest when I went on a restrictive diet and lived off of celery sticks and crystal light. In all honesty, that was such a miserable time in my life. I didn't value who I was as a thinking human being, but rather as an object that everyone could/should admire. My motto seemed to be, "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". Now that I look back, I've realized that the only thing that dieting will make you feel is hungry.

I'll admit that I would seriously love to naturally be a size 4 and have no reason to feel insecure about my body. However, I need to accept who I am eternally, and in the present. Numbers don't determine your worth, but your actions towards others do.

Throughout the past years, I haven't been able to let go of an experience I had after I had lost weight.
I probably shouldn't name names, but In ninth grade (before I lost weight) I had a massive crush on this guy, B. I thought he was amazing in every single way (mostly because I was overlooking his faults). He showed some interest, but the next year when I had starved myself down a few pant sizes, everything changed. He told me I was beautiful, that I dressed well, that I didn't need to lose the weight--but I look great now, he serenaded me with songs while he played his guitar, he texted me, he tried to be around me, he blushed when he saw me,  and he even attempted to ask me to be his girlfriend.

I thought about him all the time, I really grew attached. Sixth months later when I gained 50 pounds, he was gone from my life. No more smiles, no more compliments, nothing.

I hated myself. I hated who I was. I hated him. I hated every boy who had ever lived on the planet.They were all selfish pigs who couldn't overlook a girl's weight. I kept telling myself that if I lost weight again, he would be back in an instant. I told myself that this was my fault, that I was a failure, that I didn't deserve to be loved since I wasn't worth looking at.

My brother-in-law once told me that it's always good to be served a slice of humble pie and I can't agree with him enough. Bouncing from both ends of the eating disorder spectrum, helped me widen my view of the world and of myself. I felt like I had shattered into a million pieces and there was no way to put myself back together. Ultimately, I was the only person who could pick myself off of the floor and become whole again. During the healing process, I had to examine each piece of myself including the good, the bad, and the straight out ugly. I'm actually grateful for this experience, it helped me realize who I was, what I valued and what I stood for. I want someone to love me for me, not for how I look at a certain moment in life. Afterall, humans bodies only get weirder when we age...

Raven Simone was recently complimented on losing weight by being told that she was "beautiful". Raven responded "I was always beautiful, now I'm just thin."

I am valuable. I have worth. I like who I am now.

I am beautiful, and no one can take that away from me.