Self Destruction, Main Distraction, The Reaction, Then Contraction

Perfectly still and then it begins: my mind starts racing like a tornado wind.

Body image, Broken down, Binging purging, Bullied around
Binding contracts, Begin to blur, Boiling nerves, Begin to stir
Barely restricting, Bouncing around, Believe in one thing, Burn to the ground
Bleeding inside, Boiling out, Buzz clear gone, Bursting water spout
Blind to the truth, Bending reality, Biting my nails, Bullet of finality
Bad self image, Breaking down, Binge purge, Bullies in town

Stuck in my head, Stick to the facts, Simple to say, Struggle to act
Saturated with coffee, Snapping on gum, Shocking my senses, Sipping on rum
Straighten up, Sleep it out, Self medication, Sarcasm about
Staring off, Smoking on, Sting inflicted, Spreading beyond
Shaking uncontrollably, Stirring at night, Senses numbing, Slip or fight
Stick in my head, Stuck on my facts, Starting to say, Surrender my hat

Crying parents, Concerned friends, Complex process, Cannot comprehend
Condemned for actions, Compulsively performed, Concealed motives, Compute, reform
Career shattered, Collapse entails, Conflict follows, Compression prevails
Confess to nothing, Confronted at last, Combining emotions, Contempt won't pass
Chastised inside, Contradicted out, Competing for life, Culminating shout
Crying friends, Concerned parents, Cannot process, Complex to comprehend

Painful memories, Picked dry, Process thoughts, Problem supplied
Punch it out, Pluck it up, Preach aloud, Pity cup
Promise shattered, Please forgive, Progressing backward, Play, relive
Picture this, Paranoid that, Program unleashed, Petrified splat
Pinned in a corner, Powerful lull, Pride has vanished, Present a skull
Picked memories, Painfully dry, Problematic thoughts, Process supplied

Perfectly still and then it begins: my mind starts racing, the tornado never ends.

Rocky Road

Will power, strength, courage, control
Some things people barely know
I can't do as I want
But I want what I do
Dealing with people who haven't a clue

You will see me struggle
You may see me fall
Regardless of what you think
Sometimes we have to crawl
No one says life is easy
Trust me, no one at all

Every day is a burden
Every day filled with fear
Reaching for what I truly desire
Hoping the end is seemingly near

Knowing this demon will never be gone
Knowing this fight will be present every dawn
Hoping and praying to be shown the way
Hoping and aching to make it through another day

Stumbling, crumbling, hiccups now and then
Is this something I can ever win
Damned if I do
Damned if I don't
My head pulls me one way
My heart screams I won't

Rocky road icecream
Temptations galore
Can I fight this fight
Will I ever win this war

I push and I strive
With all of my might
Will this ever be over
Will I see the light

Willpower, strength, courage, control
Somethings people barely know
I can't do as I want
But I want what I do
Will I ever have a clue

Dear Danielle

My dearest, darling, daring, Danielle,

Just breathe. I know what horrible, haunting thoughts are cascading around your precious, impressionable mind. Take a deep breath then exhale. I'm here to tell  you everything is going to be alright.

When you look in the mirror what do you see? You are so distorted and dizzily dismorphic my dear. Would you like to know what I see? Of course you wouldn't but it's my duty to tell you differently. I see a bright, blue-eyed, blonde, beautiful, eight year old girl, full of life, vigor, and beaming with a brilliance few have ever beheld. 

Don't argue with me; that's one battle I'm sure you will not emerge victorious from. You are as precious as a pearl, special as a star, and draw others near to you like a mesmerizing melody. Don't pull away if they get too close. You are intelligent, witty, charming, and crazy cute. Competitive to a fault, you constantly stand and defend your ground. Don't ever let go of that completely - you never know when that might come in handy. 

As  you absently stare at yourself in the mirror I can hear your mind screaming, practically screeching, "you are different." You know what - you are different - just not in the way that you believe. You are unique. You stand-out. You are one-of-a-kind. Not to inflate your ego (which let's be honest, isn't even possible at this point in your life) but others are jealous. You don't even notice as you are so fixated on the  menacing monster you have created of yourself in your incredibly imaginative mentality. 

Hear what I say: you are not ugly, you are not fat, you are not bigger than everyone else, no one is staring. You are perfect - the very thing you strive desperately to be - you are perfect. The only one arguing this point is you. Get out of your own mind for a minute and try to grasp this actuality. Let your guard down, stop obsessing. Let that confidence you carry overflow into every aspect of your life including how you look.  You are unstoppable. Never back down. Never give up.

Just breathe. 

Love,
You

Recovery Revealed

Recovery radiates hope, is comprised of compassion and is deeply desired by many. She thrives in the light, is fueled by the sun and remains present but reserved in the moonlight. Recovery feels the need to be wanted. She is afraid of rejection and of people's emotional, often irrational minds. Recovery is revered as a gift, a precious intangible you desperately try to grasp. She may creep into your life silently like an unwelcome guest or be invited in almost like a long, lost friend. She believes in you in your darkest hours and holds your hand in times of hardship - but only if you let her. Recovery never overstays her welcome nor remains when completely tossed aside. Recovery draws you in like a magnetic force, pulling you closer and closer until you cannot help but give her a huge hug and wish to share in her exquisite experiences. She believes in all who believe in her and even many that do not. There are numerous facets to recovery. Recovery herself, is constantly transforming and well versed in adjusting herself to fulfill your needs but not necessarily your wants at present. Recovery is strong, steadfast, and requires a steady supply of support. She is radiant, beautiful, confident, inside and out. She never doubts her self-worth as an individual. Recovery is a rock. Recovery has the strength of steel. Do not misunderstand, recovery is not perfect, she's a work in progress, but at least she's progressing. It is her never-ending quest to bring hope, happiness, and healing. Recovery is love and cannot exist without it. 

Recovery radiates hope.

Questions But No Answers

My life is spinning round and round. I wonder if I'll ever come down.

Sedated, medicated, shrunk and analyzed. What will I come to realize? My mind says one thing, my heart screams another. Too many battles, not enough capacity. Will I break? Will I lose it? Breakdown, beat-down, going down. Done. I want to run. Be honest, where would I go? I wish I could know. Fickle doesn't even begin to describe me. Where will I be? Hiding in my hat, cloaked in an over-sized coat. Am I distorted? Or am I sane? I always feel such disdain. Numbing out. Can't hear. Are you there? Am I here? Shaking, trembling, longing for an embrace. Will I ever win this race? Tumbling down and down into the deep. No words help; I constantly weep. Staring off into space, thoughtless and free. Is this real; can this be? There's no end in sight, I'm losing the fight. Spiraling, tumbling, tripping, stumbling. Zoning. The lack of feeling. My comfort, my norm. I want to be thin. I want to be sick. My candle is burning down to the wick. Tortured, scorched, wanting to burn. Will I ever learn?

My life is spinning round and round. Will I ever come down?

Tungsten Tough

tung·sten  (tngstn)

n. Symbol W

A hard, brittle, corrosion-resistant, gray to white metallic element extracted from wolframite, scheelite, and other minerals, having the highest melting point and lowest vapor pressure of any metal. Tungsten and its alloys are used in high-temperature structural materials; in electrical elements, notably lamp filaments; and in instruments requiring thermally compatible glass-to-metal seals. Atomic number 74; atomic weight 183.84; melting point 3,410°C; boiling point 5,900°C; specific gravity 19.3 (20°C); valence 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Also called wolfram. 

I know this guy...

Words can't describe. Protector, warrior, guardian, steadfast. More love than one can comprehend. Strength, compassion, determination, hope. The key to my life lies deep in his eyes. He is my rock when the journey gets rough. He is my tungsten tough.

I know this guy...

Selfless and giving. Comprised of kindness to the core. Thrives on my happiness, driven by a smile, powered by laughter, whose purpose is to please. Loyal, noble, god-like, divine. Deserving of perfection. All mine. 

I know this guy...

Who gave everything he had. Again and again. Proving his love, fighting for fate. Countless times he was hurt by the one he lived his life for. Countless times she betrayed his trust and broke his heart. Countless times she killed him. Yet he never gave up, tungsten tough.

I know this guy...

Tears well up in my eyes. What have I done? It doesn't seem real, I know it's not right. But even now he is still willing to fight. Knows what he wants. Persistent and true. He is the strongest man I ever knew.

I know this guy...

I'll never let go. Best that there is. No one compares. We'll be together, good times and bad. We're moving forward. He's all that I have, and want for that matter. One of the good ones, all the right stuff. He is my tungsten tough.

Marked for Mayhem

(I adamantly apologize for all the awkwardly annoying alliterations. Forgive this forlorn fool...)


I've been the misbehaved, mischievous misfit straight from the start. With two prim and proper siblings it's hard not to stand out. (In a negative nuance naturally.) It's not that I have a grueling grudge against anal authority or frequently following rules, considerably the contrary. However I disdainfully dislike idolizing idiotic idiosyncrasies grounded in ignorance or insanity.

Let's find the common connection combining my current conundrum and my tenacious tendency to toss the trivial tenets. Since someone seldom can stand relying on ridiculous rules she ran to rebellion. It was all about absolute ascendancy, commonly called control. The seduction of superiority snuck in and sunk in. Personally I wanted to procure power over person by baiting body over the basic building blocks. This is where we went wrong, Ed and I, to explicitly elaborate. Down and down and down the duet deathly drowns. Let there be light? Fight or flight? Do or die: decide!

Fortunately for friends and family fate has found me and is forcing me to feel. Glee to grief, play to pain, excitement to exhaustion: they're all there. No numbing; zero zoning.

I may be marked for mayhem but I'm making up my mind. Realizing recovery. Discovering a newly directed determination. Fighting not flying. Starting to stand soundly; picking my permanent place. One ounce at once. Measure, not maliciously, meticulously manipulate. Focus on the future; pass the past - leave it lonely.

Marked for mayhem yet punishing my pride. Ready to revisit recovery.

(Re) Lapse in Judgement

My urges are stronger than ever. They usually don't last long though. I give in, too quickly, almost without thinking. I am almost back to where I started except for the extra layer of added guilt I feel when I slip up because now I "know better". Now it's "why can't she get it together; she knows what to do".

Oh I know, but I don't care. That internal instinct has taken over and I've begun the rebelling phase. Not this again. How do I change this course of action? I don't want to push people away but my mind is yelling at me, telling me to get rid of distraction, get rid of influences that tell you anything other than what I want. What I want is to be unhealthy. What I want is to shrink. What I want is control. I feel it slipping away...

What will I do?

Fickle, Fickle, In a Pickle

"I'm alone, on my own and I'm starting off
I'll be strong, I'll be wrong, oh, but life goes on
Oh, I'm just a girl trying to find a place in this world"

Where is my place? What is my path? Where am I going? I've gotten so turned around I don't even know anymore. This is where I am.

For years my direction was clear. Then I became more and more enmeshed with my eating disorder that my mind lost the ability to function normally and waged war against all that stood in the way of my sickness. Threats were not taken lightly. I'd rebel, remain secretive, pull away and finally push away.

In the beginning I flat out fought against those holding me back from my control, altering my plans. I'm scrappy and I rebelled. I'd always win. But you can't remain in a state of war and maintain a healthy relationship. Subconsciously I didn't want to. I sabotaged loved ones in my life, setting us up for inevitable disaster. Slowly I began to care and Dr. Jekyll started fighting Mr. Hyde back. Now there is the battle I force upon others only to eventually drive them away and the battle with myself that is a continuous tug-of-war.

My hands are shaking, trembling from this other battle that is constantly raging in my head. It's loud. It's vivid and occasionally, but more frequently now, bloody. It's terrifying. It's daily. It's perpetual.

Throughout the day I struggle with the ever present urge to just give up, give in and stop. I stare off into space. I'm distant, gone, numb. I'm not happy; I'm not sad. I'm non responsive and uncaring, nonchalant. As I drift away inside my head I start to imagine, almost see, graphic things - things horror stories and night terrors are comprised of. I see myself hurt, bloody, broken, dead. Last night I fantasized about slitting my wrists. Before, I wanted to burn my skin with cigarettes - feel the pain, endure it, make it real. Sometimes these scenes scare me; most of the time they don't.

All the while I'm trying to get my life back on track - the problem is I can't find the track. I've returned to work and am out of treatment. I am personally seeing to the diabolical destruction of my relationship: the main, underlying reason why I moved to California. Do I stay or should I go?

Back in eighth grade my first boyfriend said to me after I had broken up with him for the second time, "you are so fickle, Danielle." First off, I was offended simply by the tone which was obviously meant as an insult. Since I didn't know what the word meant I grabbed the nearest dictionary and sure enough my picture was printed there and my name was listed as a synonym.

You are so fickle, Danielle.

Slip and Slide

Yesterday I slipped. Today I kept sliding.

I've lost my footing on the road to recovery. What defines relapse? Am I there? I don't want to go back. I need a distraction during those dark times - something to pull me away from the magnetic force which is driving me to self-harm. The appeal is too strong, the scent too alluring. My mind races, cascading from thought to thought desperately hoping to land on something that will pause the process, but for nothing. By this point my instinct and urges have already taken over my rational side and before me in the mirror stands Ed. 

I am fat. I am ugly. My legs are too big, my back is too wide. I want out of my body. I want out of this world. I don't want to be confined anymore, restrained from reaching my full potential by this horribly flawed body.

Dismorphia. 

No.

I laugh on the inside while cringing simultaneously - I know what I look like, mirrors don't lie. I'm not crazy. I see what is. Stop telling me I don't. Stop looking at me like that. I'm almost there. I'm almost perfect. Just a little further.

Today I slipped. I'm still sliding.

Ready or Not...

Well this is it. End of the road. Game over. Time's up. Ready or not, you have to leave.

It hit me like a bus. "I have some news." Never words you want to hear from your therapist. "Further treatment has been denied." They will allow me to fill out my discharge papers tomorrow, other than that I'm gone as of today. 

My eyes swell up and tears run down. My throat closes. I'm not ready. My hands are trembling, my feet are numb. I'm not ready. I wish I'd never come. I wish I'd never tried. Things continue, right on schedule, but nothing is the same for me. I don't see the point in trying anymore. I don't have any choices. My life will return to exactly how it was before - I don't have time to change it. On the plus side I can now exercise as much as I want, drink occasionally, and enjoy as much caffeine as my body desires...at any hour of the day. I can go to the bathroom alone and not have to count if I do. I'm transitioning from this life of recovery to a poisonous environment that suffocates, and eventually, engulfs me. 

Process my feelings? I'm pissed off. Insurance is validating this notion I have that I'm fine. 

I'm fine. I'm not ready. Two contrasting thoughts. Two different minds. Two separate minds. Two voices. Two personalities. I want to spiral off and fall further just to stick it to insurance. I want never slip up again to prove to everyone I'm stronger than this. I want to cry. I am crying. I'm not ready. At the same time I smirk. I can use this to my advantage. I can go right back to where I was - blissfully ignorant and ignorantly happy. Isn't that what I want? No, not at all! Right?

Ready or not, here I come.

Approval Rating, Vantage Point

My approval rating has dropped three points.

How does one go about determining an "approval rating"?

Sticks and stones, be popular, I'm rubber you're glue, who's who: so much emphasis is placed on beauty, popularity, strength, and success. Where am I on your scale; do I measure up? Do I care? Of course I care! I'd love to lie and fool you into believing I don't, but I have a disorder that screams otherwise.

I want to be seen. I want to be heard. I want to be validated. I want that approval. I am plagued by the never-ending desire to be approved of. Personally, I can honestly say I have never truly lacked in self-confidence or self-esteem, but I feel like nothing I've done in my life has been noticed; nothing has warranted a reaffirming response.*

*Disclaimer: I am not asking for pity, sympathy, or reassurance, I am simply expressing feelings and emotions that may have contributed to my eating disorder. Yes, I am well aware that these feelings are most likely skewed due to my, let's say, "unique" mind, as warped and twisted as it might be.

An approval rating all depends on where you're looking at the situation from: your vantage point. What I must come to realize and accept is, the only person whose opinion actually counts is mine. Not yours, or his, or hers. Just mine. I'm not running for president (yet). I have nothing to prove. Throughout this journey, this process, I have reestablished my identity, reintroduced me to myself.

My approval rating has jumped 97 points. 

It's all about perspective. 

In this Moment

"The past is gone
The future is not here yet
In this moment
I am free of both"

Yet still I'm unsettled
I'm stuck in the now
Frozen in the present
Lost in the moment

The past is irrelevant
The future unknown
In this moment
My mind dwells on both

I push them aside
I sit down and write
I'm brought to the here
Which is blurry, unclear

I am gone
I am not here yet
In this moment
I am lost

Gone in the past
Here in the future
In this moment
I am lost

Where did I come from
Where will I go
In this moment
I am free of both

Feel the warmth of the room
The light noise in the air
The sensation of an inhale
I can be free

Trust the past which is gone
Anticipate the future to come
Because in this moment
I am ready to be free

Cheshire Cat

One day Alice came to a fork in the road and saw a Cheshire cat in a tree. "Which road do I take?" Alice asked. "Where do you want to go?" was his response. "I don't know." Alice answered. "Then" said the cat, "it doesn't matter."

Everyone knows where they want to go, whether they admit it or not. "I don't know" is simply a distraction, a smoke and mirrors type thing. Behind every "I don't know" is a sense of denial, a lie of sorts. Either you know but haven't admitted it to yourself or you've admitted it to yourself but don't want others to know. There is no such thing as being bad at making decisions. You might not like the consequences of said decisions but that doesn't change the fact that you know what you want, you know what you'd like the outcome to be. Perhaps you're too focused on what others think about the choices or what others think about you.

Where do you want to go?

I know.

Writer's Block

ca·pa·bil·i·ty  [key-puh-bil-i-tee]
noun, plural ca·pa·bil·i·ties.
1. the quality of being capable; capacity; ability: His capability was unquestionable.
2. the ability to undergo or be affected by a given treatment or action: the capability of glass in resisting heat.
3. Usually, capabilities. qualities, abilities, features, etc., that can be used or developed; potential: Though dilapidated, the house has great capabilities.
Origin: 1580–90;  (< Middle French capabilité ) < Late Latin capābili ( s ) capable + -ty2

This is big. I feel like I'm standing in front of a 1000 foot concrete wall. And I'm gone...I can't even look at the paper. That's why I forced myself to write the definition above. Holy hell it's hot. Feel like I could pass out. Cheeks flushed.Plush. Racing. Veins throbbing. Head dizzy, light, fuzzy, going. I can feel the numbness washing over me, shielding me, guarding me from the inevitable pain that will arise. The numbness cannot be penetrated. The numbness is safe. I feel out of my mind. Psycho? (Ask Dr. Grose.) Hands sweating, floor moving, room spinning, anti-psychotics. Floating. Funeral story. Find it. Ignore. I feel sick. I hear a Mustang. I want to run. I want a motorcycle. I want to go fast. I want to face danger. What is the matter? Can I help or will I be forced to sit-back and watch the frustration well-up inside you? Ringing in my ears. Gone. Drop it. Compensate. Back-pedal. What is on your mind? Let me throw something out there. Head pounding. People are manipulative, not authentic. 

Middle-page, halfway!

Capability. Irony? Mind blown. This could be the turning point not only in my recovery, but also in my life. As I turn the page and leave the past behind I can move on. I haven't even discussed it yet but I know this is where the capability conversation is leading. A new page. A new half. Shut down. So numb I cannot feel afraid to write on the next page. I can't breathe. Not here. Not in this building. Not in this world. I touch the center of the page to ensure it's real. It is. Nothing feels real. Nothing feels safe. Tornado. Footsteps down the hall. Voices in the background. Words are heard but not registered. Is this real? My eyes are open but I cannot focus. Floating. High? Definitely not really. Feeling that disconnection, feeling unpresent. Can anyone see me? I'm shaking but I'm not scared, sweating but am not overheated. Red dots and lines fill my vision when I close my eyes. I try to look at them but they float too. My eyelids flutter, tremoring like an earthquake. Does my hand hurt? I'm not here. Out of body, out of mind. Deep, unfulfilled breath. Attracted. I'm attracted. Twisted. The only word that's made me smile... I'm so caught up in the craziness that is my mind that I just crossed the mid-point without anxiety. This anxiety was only concocted by my mind anyway. If I hadn't stopped to think about it, this crazy ironic notion would not have entered my head. I don't want to come back, come down, be here. Can I just walk through this place being in my own head? Is that possible? Am I capable? I've ignored the entire point. I'm good at that.

Capability: Is the person capable of giving you what you want? Do you have what the other person wants?

Enter cold sweat. Recovery done. Hah. How long will this numb-honest last? I blink and everything shifts for a split second and back. False pretense. Sweaty palms. Pen slipping. Calm them down. Feet tapping. Body shifting. Voices scratchy, not emotionally here. Driven. Done. Done? Capability...

No. Heart stopping. No. Always the underlying issue. No. Numb. Dizzy. Pass out. Fail. Break. Numb out. Get out. Run. Hide. Jump. Fail.

I(')mperfect

Maybe it's okay to be imperfect...

My entire life has revolved around this theory, this idea, of reaching perfection. What exactly is "perfect"? Is it obtainable?

Today I sat in a group discussing the definition of perfectionism. We were asked to use our non-dominant hand to express what this word means to us individually. Stuck on the horror of writing with my left hand, this is all I could sputter out: "This is cruel and unusual punishment. Feeling this way manifests my perfectionism. The end." 

It looked like a three year old wrote it. To be brutally honest, I was completely disgusted. Why? Why on earth did it matter what my handwriting looked like? It was my left hand for crying out loud; what was it supposed to look like? I am not ambidextrous. Perfection was not required or even slightly expected.

"Perfectionism is a matter of opinion." What a interesting, marvelous way to put it. Now, can I make myself truly believe that? Altering what is hard-wired into my brain is not as easy as I would prefer it to be. My whole life has spun off it's axis trying to be the best, at everything, at all times. However, I cannot be happy if I'm just living to beat everyone, if I live every minute as a game: a competition to be won. There are some things in life that I should not want to be the best at, but due to this overwhelming urge, I find myself compulsed to try. 

I can say the words: "there's beauty in imperfection". Yet, I cannot force myself to comprehend or believe them. I have my flaws; I hate them, but I have them. I think I'll make a list (I like lists). Confronting my flaws will most likely be terrifying and tedious, but I'm wondering if that will allow me to put them in perspective. My mind-set needs to change; I must find the perfection in my imperfections.

I'm perfect.

Whiplash, Unstoppable Splash

One fish, two fish,
Red fish, blue fish
...
Some are sad, and some are glad,
And some are very, very bad
...
Today is gone. Today was fun.
Tomorrow is another one. 

- Dr. Seuss


My body snaps from one emotion to another, to one feeling and back. One day I'm fine: no urges, no triggers. I feel confident in myself, who I am becoming, and where I want to be. The next day I purge, feeling relief sink into me, releasing the pent up feelings of anger, aggression  fear and depression. The following day I want to purge but don't because I have a selfish reason, more incentive, not to. Urges persist and grow like wildfire, burning paths through my mind, leaving scars as they turn my willpower into ash. As the hours drag on these thoughts, desires, continue to plague me. As a result I restrict my food intake trying to compensate, trying to contain the flames. Although my "wise mind" tells me I shouldn't, tells me to stop, I repeat the restricting cycle: every meal consuming less than my meal plan requires, less than what is necessary for proper nourishment. Pride and the feeling of success well up inside me and I become engulfed by this overwhelming sense of calm, peace. I am able to relax. I am back.

Irrational Danielle: 29,378  Logic: 7

Resistance is Futile: This is a Story of a Girl...

Sweaty palms, flushed cheeks, pounding heart; I stare at this assignment in disbelief. "They’re kidding right?" I shake my head and scoff while perusing the questions. “What is an ideal weight for you? What number is this on the scale? How many sizes of clothing do you have? Document the patterns of your compulsion: how much, how often, when. The examples should be specific and should include feelings. Unless you have a feeling for how destructive your food use has been to you, you will have very little reason for a continuing recovery program. In essence, this is a diary of your life.” I sigh. “Seriously?” I thought numbers were taboo, sizes and weights not to be discussed: off-limits. Seemingly every aspect of this task is prohibited, forbidden by the treatment team to be openly discussed, and for good reason. My anxiety is climbing, exponentially so, my thoughts are racing; I’m entering a very painful, uncomfortable place.  Not to mention I’m being asked to share these deep, mostly dark, private emotions with everyone here.

“Take a breath; just breathe. Relax for a moment and approach this calmly. Hah! Yeah right.” My mind drifts away as I start to ponder the beginning of my eating disorder. “I have an eating disorder." It took me four years to say this out loud. I almost felt that if I did not utter the words vocally that the statement would not hold true. “If I don’t admit it, if I don’t say it, there’s really no problem. I’m fine.”

May 23rd, 2008:  Our former high school class president was throwing an unofficial two year class reunion at her farm. Per usual I was at my best friend's house preparing to go out. I remember everything in vivid detail. We had invaded the basement bathroom with straighteners, make-up, hair spray, and seemingly every article of clothing we owned; sipping on her parents whiskey, refilling the bottles with water, as if that would fool them. Earlier that day we had gone shopping – I needed a new pair of jeans. That was my tipping point. I had gone to American Eagle, which had the only jeans that would fit me since I’m abnormally short, and had to buy the largest pair of jeans I had ever owned. I remember trying on three different pairs hoping it wasn't true; but it was. I was the biggest I had ever been. My mind started spiraling in a tornado of self-damaging thoughts. Looking in the mirror while prepping I realized I had to be rid of this distressing feeling; I had to numb the pain. I had to finally fulfill the only void I've ever felt in my life (which we’ll get to later). I had to achieve “perfection”. I had to be desirable. I had to be thin – whatever the cost. It was in that exact moment that I made the conscious decision to have an eating disorder. It was my twentieth birthday.

December 24th, 1992: Derby pies, deviled eggs, sugar cookies, smoked ham, veggie tray, velvet cake, potato casserole, pecan pie: Christmas Eve, Coomes' style. Snow covered the ground, adults covered the kitchen - no children allowed. We congregated under the tree, stealthily (or so we thought) counting our presents, evaluating who had more and, most importantly, who had the biggest. My cousin and I always had the same number and the same size gifts as we were only a month apart in age. As we assumed our designated positions on the floor I distinctly remember the first time I compared myself physically to someone. She had always been taller then me, as my immediate family lacks in the height department, but what I was experiencing was an entirely new, unfamiliar emotion for me. I looked at my dress, I focused on my stomach, my legs, my face. I felt pain, hurt. I felt fat. I was four years old.

August 10th, 1994: First day of first grade. White collar shirt, navy blue slacks. Typical Catholic school: everyone wore uniforms, everyone looked the same. Right? Shortest one in the class, little dirty-blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl, sharpened pencil in hand curiosity written all over my face. As the classroom filled my face slowly sunk. Withdrawn, disconnected, thoughts plummeting downward. Knots in my stomach, lumps in my throat. "Why am I fatter than everyone else? Why is my belly bigger; why do my legs take up more room?" I was six years old.

August 14th, 1996: Welcome to third grade! Top of my class, sharp and sarcastic. Why did I feel this overwhelming urge to fit in? I believed I would not be accepted for who I was. My biggest fear, unbeknownst to me at the time, was being alone. Daily I obsessed over my size, silently. At lunch time I would purposely never finish my food. Didn't help. Every night before bed, after brushing my teeth and saying my prayers, I'd lay down and squeeze my rib cage together as tightly as I could attempting to make it smaller. Every night. I was eight years old. 

May 24th, 2000: "As we go on, we remember, all the times we had together..." Sixth grade graduation. Fancy sun-dresses, heels and frills - moving on to middle school. As I stood behind the pulpit I nervously tugged on my dress - my sleeves were too tight, my arms looked too big, my hips looked extraordinarily large because of the way the slip was falling. I could not concentrate. "Focus Danielle." I made it through my solo and the remainder of mass. Afterward I proceeded to change into my favorite outfit. However, once I exited the bathroom and confronted my classmates I was struck with shame. Immediately I withdrew into myself. "Why do I feel this way? Why can't I fix myself? I tried a few months ago." I was determined to be heard. I needed to express my excruciating affliction. First, I climbed the magnolia tree in the front yard and jumped out, landing on the side of my ankles. I did this numerous times to no avail. I was upset and repeatedly hit my arm on the sharp corner of my desk. I wanted to break it. I wanted it to hurt. It was incredibly painful, but I shed no tears. I started riding my bike slamming the same spot over and over on the handle bars. When I got back to the house I told my mother I fell off my bike. She paid me no heed. The next day, after seeing the swelling and plethora of bruises she took me to the doctor. I had broken my arm. To this day she does not know I fractured my arm intentionally. I was twelve years old.

September 15th, 2000: Congratulations! I had made the cheerleading team. The day we received our uniforms I cried when I returned to the safety of my bedroom. These were not tears of joy. As I looked at my skirt, I felt deeply disgusted. Was I the fattest girl on the squad?

November 21st, 2000: "You're only allowed to have one bowl of cereal in the morning. And you know you're only permitted to have Poptarts on Fridays when we go to church before school." No frosting.

July 13th, 2001: "Danielle, you should probably do some crunches. You're looking a little chunky." I retreated to my room and cried myself to sleep. Whether I was aware of this fact at the time or not, my mom had just validated every body image issue I had ever felt. No longer was this torturous feeling I endured just an abstract thought; it was real. 

May 25th, 2006: Bathing suits flying, towels being packed, the smell of sunscreen lingers, don't forget your sunglasses. The Hayden's were headed to Hawaii. The house was a frenzy, stress was welling up. Following an abnormally large Kentucky-style dinner and dessert I felt this odd inkling. My stomach was pushing out, uncomfortably so. As my family ran around preparing I snuck off to the bathroom, stuck my finger down my throat and made myself throw up. Horrified at what I'd just done, I decided to never repeat the behavior. I had just turned eighteen.

May 23rd, 2008. It was my twentieth birthday. I concocted some lame excuse to go use an alternate bathroom and started down a very dark path. Intelligent as I am, I had an entire plan formulated before exiting the restroom. I would eat a "normal" amount of food (which I usually didn't do), purge after putting anything in my mouth, and exercise like I was training for the Olympics. After I reached my goal I would finally be complete. I had the grades, I had the potential, I had the attitude, the determination, and more. I would finally have the body I had longed for since childhood. I would finally fit in. Just as I knew it would, my scheme  fell into place perfectly. To be honest, I'd never been happier.

As the months went on I noticed I could start eating whatever I wanted. I could indulge, even over-indulge, and it didn't matter. I began sneaking food at every opportunity I could find. All my money was spent on take-out or at sit-down restaurants. I thought I was happy.

August 8th, 2008: It was the first time I'd ever seen my mom cry; my parents had found out. I was taken to a therapist. After one session it was determined that I had simply been stressed and wanted control; I understood the ramifications of my actions and would never do it again. "Well, that was easy." For three days I ate nothing but frozen grapes. On day four, the cycle resumed. It was at this moment that I realized I would not be able to stop. But I didn't care. 

I had become addicted. I was trapped inside myself. I was stuck. When I was away at school I charted out the perfect places to purge. It was easy. It was fun. It was mine. In Owensboro it was more tricky, but as a math enthusiast there was no problem I wouldn't take on, no challenge I wouldn't face. Within ten minutes I had a map - always an precise position to put me where I needed to be to fulfill my urges, my routine. Friends knew but wouldn't say, family hypothesized but would never address.

Seven Cheez-Its. Seven. This is the smallest amount of food I've ever purged. I could keep nothing down. Nothing. It became as natural as eating, as normal as meals. My mind had become so intertwined with my eating disorder that I could not discern logic from irrational thoughts. Body dis-morphia haunted me.

June 13th, 2012: "Are you ok?" The entire hallway had gone black and faded in toward the center of my vision. I then fainted in the hallway. I opened my eyes, light-headed and dizzy, completely unaware of my surroundings. It was later, in the hospital, that I discovered my potassium level was fatally low. My mind snapped and registered - I could have died. I was admitted for the night and the tests began.

June 14th, 2012: ED: 1, Danielle:0 I couldn't even go one meal without purging. Actually, it was quite the opposite. After being in the hospital and receiving IV's and soup I was ready to lose the extra I'd put on. I started a cleanse of sorts. Had to lose as quickly as possible. And I did. To compensate for the lack of potassium and electrolytes I added Vitamin Water to my daily regiment. I was so deeply pleased with the results from my disorder that I couldn't let it go. I wasn't ready to be free; I wasn't ready to be alone.

I pushed all my emotions aside and swam in the comfort of my disorder, my constant. I'd lost myself, my identity. I had no control.

December 28th, 2012: Covered in bruises, smallest I'd ever been, shivering from the cold, shaking from exhaustion - Merry Christmas. My parents sat me down in the living room with looks on their face I'd never seen before. As they spoke the world seemed to freeze. "Treatment, worried, recovery, die." I could only take in a few words. Never once had my family expressed any sort of emotion like this. We gloss things over, we keep them to ourselves, we dwell then drown in our feelings. "Treatment facility." I almost threw up.

January 7th, 2013: Welcome to the Bella Vita. I was twenty-four years old.

One Step Forward, Two Miles Back

Recovery, relapse, retreat, resist
Regurgitate, resume, reject, repeat
Redirect, rephrase, relive, relieve
Rationalize, reason, repress, resent
Recluse, resume, reduce, restrict


I feel as if I'm at a fork in the road - actually it's more of a "y". On one side there's recovery: the pathway to a new, revived life. On the other there's the seduction of relapse: being pulled back into the darkness which has been my life, my comfort, for the past five years. Like a magnetic force it draws my curiosity toward it. If I plummet even further into the abyss what might I get out of it? Where might I go? Could it be better, more attractive, than recovery? It's certainly more unpredictable, more of a thrill. What am I looking for; what will satisfy my hunger? 

I'm staring at my potential paths and am in complete disbelief and shock at reality: I've taken more steps toward the dark, the possibilities derived from the unknown. This isn't the girl I know - who am I becoming? The fact that I am sitting here writing this almost proves to myself that I've already made my decision. I wanted to act like I needed a pro/con list of sorts - like I needed to debate my choices and rationalize before making the final decision. But it's too late isn't it...

"Fixed"

I want to be thin
I want to see my bones
I want to disappear
I want to be weightless
I want to be invisible
I want to be sick
I want to be dark
I want to have issues
I want to be mysterious
I want to be damaged
I want to be neglected
I want to be ignored
I want to sabotage relationships
I want to be alone
I want to numb the pain
I want to be depressed
I want to be a mess
I want to be addicted
I want to isolate myself
I want to be broken
I want to be guarded
I want to succeed at failing
I want to give up
I want to close up
I want to break down
I want to go down
I want to be rejected
I want to "get cut"
I want to be wrecked
I want to binge
I want to restrict
I want to repeat
I want to be bulimic
I want to be anorexic

I don't want to be "fixed"