Oh Hey Sadness- This is Loneliness. Can Emptiness and I Come Over For a Drink?

I don't want this post to be me whining the whole time.
But it might be if we are being completely honest.
I had a really hard last couple of weeks.
Not necessarily because of anything.
But my thoughts have been so loud.
Not eating disorder thoughts, surprisingly and thankfully.

I have that feeling in my stomach.
You know the feeling where you know you have lost someone? (I haven't lost anyone is the annoying part).
When you feel empty, and like someone punched you right in the gut.
And it seems to be the only thing you are feeling.
You can't think about anything else.
You don't feel like turning to anyone.
And you know you are accountable for how you handle what you are feeling.

Emotionally, I feel like I got shit on.
I want to lay in bed all day and ignore anyone and everyone.
I want to crawl out of my skin.
But I am not going to.
I have to force myself to get out and engage with people to stay on track.

This is important for EVERYONE.
Instead of sitting and wallowing in self-pity, get out and find someone to talk to.
Go for a walk.
Call your mom.
Do SOMETHING.
Nothing will get better from your bed-trust me. I would know.

When I was in my eating disorder, I never would have felt these emotions so strongly. I numbed out completely.
So I feel completely overwhelmed. I am being forced to use the thousands of coping skills I have obtained through treatment-which OMG I'M SO THANKFUL FOR.
But I am extremely proud of myself for not turning to behaviors to cope with my emotions.

It's hard to think of all the good things you have going on in life, when you can't figure out the reason you are feeling so empty.
Loneliness and sadness likes to accompany emptiness.
What a lovely trio, eh?

BUT GUESS WHAT.
Whether you like it or not, life goes on.
Life doesn't just pause and let you figure out your shit.
Life keeps going, with or without you.

I never expected recovery to be perfect.
Although, I didn't take into account that MAYBE I would struggle emotionally more than ever.

It's refreshing to be able to feel emotions, even the painful ones.
It reminds me that I am finally alive, and I can cope with these emotions without totally screwing up my body and mind.

We all struggle. We all feel sad and lonely for no reason at times.
It doesn't mean we are though.
The world is not ending.
You are not dying.
And you will make it out alive.

I have to tell myself this often, because I am a drama queen at times.

Hell, I figure if I have made it through this much, there is no way I'm giving up now.

Holidays can bring up a lot of emotions, it's up to us how we choose to handle them.
Me? I'm going to get out of this funk and continue to kick ass.

"It's just a bad day, not a bad life."

Stay cool, my friends.
And be safe during the holidays :)
Thanks for reading, and all the support and love.

-Lela.

Picking Yourself Up Can Feel Like Trying To Run Without Legs

Oh hey. It's me. Ms. Lazy.
Sorry for lack of posts lately. I've been crazy busy with treatment and holiday festivities.

Today, I want to talk about something that is incredibly hard for me.
Self-harm.
No, we aren't talking about crazy emo, black make-up, screamo music, self-harm. (Honestly, I don't even know if that's a thing, it just used to be the first things I thought of when I heard self-harm).
We are talking real life pain, that is so excruciating, you can find no way to handle it other than to hurt your own body.
Sounds insane, right?
I used to think self-harm was terrifying. Cutting your own skin? Burning your arms? Ah. No way, I thought. No way will I ever become like that.
Or so I thought.
I had so much internal, intense, hate for myself. I loathed myself.
I just stopped trying entirely. I started showing up to work about 2-3 hours late (Sorry, Justin) and was lucky if I even brushed my hair. Attractive, right?
I couldn't figure out why I couldn't get my shit together. I felt like I tried SO hard, but never met my expectations.
Everything I had worked for my entire life was slipping out of my fingers, right in front of me.
I lost it.
I couldn't stop the voices in my head from controlling me. I felt like I had nothing to try for.

Walking around in a mindless daze all day, trying to not claw my eyes out.
I turned to cutting to manage my anxiety.
How does this happen, one may ask?
I have no idea.
I didn't just sit down one day and decide, "Hey. I think I'm going to cut myself today."

Negative, obsessive thoughts controlled me.
You're a f*** up.
You are fat.
You're such a burden to your family.
Your friends don't even want to talk to you.
Why are you even trying?
You aren't going anywhere in life anyways.
You will never make anyone happy.
You are pathetic.

I wanted this to go away so desperately.
I wanted to get out of my skin, rip away my flesh, start over.
But obviously that wasn't possible.
I soon found that the pain I was causing myself on the outside, felt so much better than the pain I was feeling on the inside.
It became addicting.
A method that seemed to work for me, to help me get through the day.

It started out slow, on my legs.
Soon, I began to run out of areas that weren't completely thrashed on my legs.
So I moved to my arms.
Just when I thought I couldn't get any crazier, I started hitting myself in the head until I saw stars, and pulling out clumps of my hair during anxiety/panic attacks.
This is when I knew I was giving up.
I didn't care if people saw the deep, raw cuts on my arms.
I didn't care about the bald patches that were increasing daily on my head.

I always tried to stay present and calm down before I moved to cutting or self-harm, but it's almost like it began to be a natural reaction to stress for me.
I remember just bawling my eyes out during a horrible  night, wondering why the hell I was doing this to myself.

Soon enough, my wonderful mother started to notice, despite my excuses of running into things at work or falling.
I felt terrible for the obvious pain and worry I was causing her, but I couldn't stop.
She put me in therapy right away.

After a few weeks, and a few huge break downs, I had an epiphany.
THIS IS THE ONLY BODY I WILL EVER HAVE.

I started becoming more aware of the stares from people I was getting.
I hated the pity I automatically got from their looks.

I didn't need this, I thought.

Amazingly enough, I was able to stop cutting just through therapy.
It was extremely hard, and I had urges for the longest time.
It was a constant battle for me to either distract myself or give into the temptation.

This subject is so shitty and depressing, I know.
But I don't think people talk about it enough, and that's why it gets so out of control. I know I was SO terrified to tell anyone because I didn't want anyone to think I was insane or psychotic. Because cutting yourself or whacking yourself in the head, well that does sound pretty crazy.

I want everyone to know that this is NOTHING to be ashamed of.
When you are hurting, you will do anything to escape the hell inside of yourself, the demons trying to get you to lose the fight.

Looking back now, I thank God I went through this.
I thank God for my scars.
I thank God for my beautiful mom for sticking by my side through everything.
But mostly, I thank God for helping me realize that I am beautiful and WORTH something.

I have worth. I am here for a reason. And I will not take that for granted ever again.

"Now I'm a warrior, now I've got thicker skin. I'm a warrior, I'm stronger than I've ever been. And my armor, is made of steel, you can't get in, I'm a warrior, and you will never hurt me again."
-Demi Lovato


Don't forget to cut yourself some slack- the world is hard enough on everyone as it is, you don't need another source of negative energy.

If anyone EVER needs anyone to talk to about this, or anything else in general, I'm your lady.

Stay strong and remember-
You are beautiful. :)


-Lela

Courage Isn't Just For Superheroes

Courage: (kur-ij, kuhr-)
noun
The ability to do something that frightens one, strength in the face of pain or grief.



I used to think only great people did courageous things. People like soldiers, doctors, policemen, etc. The way I saw it, you must have some special skill set, or copious amounts of training to ever be put in a situation where you could look like a true bad ass.
Now, I consider myself to participate in acts of courage every single day.

Getting up and facing the day: Courageous.

Completing tasks that require any sort of energy: Courageous.

Not giving into urges: Courageous.

Staying on the path of recovery: COURAGEOUS.

To me, these are small victories in every single way. In this world we are living in, it can be a HUGE struggle to even get out of bed in the morning.
Depression and anxiety can play a huge part in this. Depression makes you feel worthless, incapable of facing even simple, every day tasks. Strips you of every desire you have to feel, to move, to participate in life.
Anxiety makes you terrified and wonder what will happen if you DO decide to get out of bed and conquer the day. It eats at your brain, making you think of every possible bad or detrimental situation that could happen from simply going outside your room.
Combine these two and BAM.
You have a lethal combination that prevents you from experiencing beautiful things. Beautiful things that LIFE provides.
Life is terrifying. Especially these days.
I am at a constant battle with myself.
I want to fit in and make everyone like me.
But I also want to be my own person and tell the status quo to go to hell.
So what if I'm not a size two?
So what if I have a big booty and curves?
Will this prevent me from getting out and doing amazing things?
 NO.
I get so worked up that girls feel the need to push themselves to impossible limits to be what society tells us is "beautiful".
Same with men: killing themselves to be what is "attractive",

Do you see why we all need courage?
We need courage to be our own, beautiful person.
To accept ourselves, when it seems like no one else will.
To love ourselves, when we may feel alone and scared.
To speak up and use our voices- when the world is telling us we are wrong.

I encourage all of you to celebrate your little victories.
Reward yourself for not telling your boss to go to you-know-where.
Reward yourself for smiling at that girl in your English class.
Reward yourself for conquering anything that makes you feel afraid, or uncomfortable.

Remember-
Courage isn't just for superheroes. :)


"You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, 'I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along."
-Eleanor Roosevelt





-Lela.

The Art of Being BEAAAA-YOUUUU-TIFULLLL

Today, I struggled. Hard core.
I was sitting there, thinking about how my thighs were touching together and sticking to the plastic of my chair. I then stared at them, and poked them until I couldn't look anymore.
I wanted to cry and scream and rip my pants off and burn them.
Dramatic? Maybe. But I can honestly say that's what I was feeling.
Then I had to really look at what I was thinking about.
Were these my thoughts? Or my eating disorder's thoughts?
Definitely not my thoughts.
I started thinking about all the time we spend criticizing how we look.
It seems like looks are all that matters to people anymore.
You see those shows where someone dresses up and does an experiment to see if the 'ugly' version of themselves is treated differently? Yeah. Almost 100% of the time they are treated more poorly than when they are their normal, attractive selves.
I don't know about you, but this makes me SO ANGRY.
Why are we judging someone's character upon the way they look?
"Oh that guy has crooked teeth. He must not have many friends."
"Ew look at the lady's hair. I don't want to talk to her."
HOW DOES THIS MAKE ANY SENSE AT ALL.
I know I have thought this way, and it's terrifying to me that people have probably done the same to me.
I struggle with body image daily, and I know tons of people without eating disorders struggle as well. It is SO hard to live in a world surrounded by unrealistic expectations for women and men. Women are expected to have the perfect, Victoria's Secret body, while men are supposed to have huge muscles and a sexy V-line. Who has time to get these bodies?! I don't know about you, but I have lots of important stuff to do before I die. Killing myself  to look like a model is not one of them.
It makes so much sense why people have eating disorders, or problems with exercise.
I am learning that your size or your weight is not a measurement of your character. Of course, I've haven't always thought this way. But now that I am in recovery, IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!
I would rather be at a higher weight and healthy, than underweight and sick.
Our bodies are beautiful. We only get one. What we do with that body, is up to us.
We owe it to our bodies to be healthy. It does SO much for us. It helps us walk, run, talk, carry babies, hug, kiss, cry, etc. All the amazing things we experience in life, we experience with our bodies.
As for me? I am working everyday to be more at peace with my body.
Telling myself everyday that I am beautiful and worth more than my appearance has been incredibly helpful. I don't always believe it, but when I do, I can't help but smile.

Stay beayouuuuuutiful my friends.

-Lela

Life With ED.

Who is ED, you may ask?
ED is my best friend, but also my worst enemy.
My eating disorder, or "ED" is a bastard, simply put. He came into my life unexpectedly, and no one even knew he was there. Not even me.
I noticed him first when I was about 11. I was in dance class, and completely loved it. I was very comfortable with myself and never had a problem with the twig-thin girls in my class.  My dance teacher once asked us to all go around and say what we had for lunch. She then criticized every 12 year old's lunch and warned us how much weight we would gain if we kept eating this way. I suddenly felt uncomfortable in my body. I was ashamed that I wasn't tiny like the rest of the girls in my class. I constantly was aware of my stomach and the way it felt against the waist band of my jeans or the way my thighs would spread out when I sat on a chair. I was miserable.
I began to be very paranoid about what I ate, but didn't think this was a big deal. I was just eating
healthier than anyone else my age, that's all.
WRONG.
I was then diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes at age 14. Before this, I had lost a significant amount of weight from the undiagnosed diabetes, and quickly gained it back when I was finally healthy again.
Naturally, I lost my mind.
I became obsessed with calories, carbs, and exercise. I was so angry at the world. Why did this have to happen to me? I did everything I could to make sure something like this wouldn't happen to me. I envied the girls in my school that seemed to have perfectly sculpted legs and a tight stomach to match. I never saw myself as necessarily fat, but I always wanted more.
Eventually, I learned to mask my anxiety about food and my body.
Even though I was maintaining my grades, doing well in softball, and keeping my friends, I knew things were just getting worse.
When I got to college, my eating disorder was in full force. I was absolutely TERRIFIED of the "Freshman 15" and was bound and determined to not let it happen to me.  At first, I did not want to purge because of the fact that, 1. It was messy, and 2. Having a whole group of girls hear me puke my guts out multiple times a day was not the most appealing thing to me.
Quite the image, right?
I felt out of control. I completely shut myself off from everyone around me. I wanted to be like a normal college student and go out with friends to dinner or dancing, but I knew that I would obsess over my meal or worried what my body would look like.
Staying in my room and pretending I didn't have any issues was easier for me than anything else.
That's when the purging began.
Since I felt alone, I turned to my eating disorder for comfort. Hell, I turned to my eating disorder for EVERYTHING. My inner demon, the thing that was taking my life away from me, was my best friend, and my greatest source of comfort.
I started purging only a couple times a week, maybe more if I was stressed. I thought "this will be easy to stop, no one will ever find out"
And I was right. Until I came home for the summer.
Being home broke me apart, stripped me of every piece of self confidence I had left.
I needed my eating disorder to cope. Or so I thought.
I remember purging 10-20 times a day, not thinking twice about how extreme this was getting. Some days, it was a struggle to even keep water in my body.  I rarely ever left my room, or my house for that matter.
I felt numb. And in my mind at the time, there was no point in even feeling anything, because it would just cause me anxiety.
I didn't become really aware of what this was doing to my body.
My kidneys hurt like crazy every second of the day. My hair was falling out and breaking off. My teeth were becoming sensitive and thing. My heart was beating irregularly, and I could never seem to catch my breath. As for my diabetes? I did not care. At all. I was not managing it well and my body was SCREAMING at me for help.
My mind was also being affected. I couldn't retain information for more than a couple minutes. I couldn't seem to connect myself to any conversation, or anyone at all.
Why would anyone want to do this to themselves?
I needed help. But for a couple months, I wasn't sure if I even wanted it.
I was comfortable. Isolating myself and purging insane amounts during the day is what I was good at.
I knew I couldn't go back to school like this. My body was not in shape to play softball, and I was in emotional turmoil.
Deciding to stay home really hurt me. I felt like a failure, and that I had let myself and everyone close to me down.
I wanted help at this point. I had goals. I was going places. And I was not about to lose that.
As soon as I entered treatment, I knew this is what I stayed home for. This was my path for this certain time in my life.
After reflecting on my story and going through treatment, I've learned many things. Things that I think people that don't have an eating disorder should know.
I want to bring awareness to this seemingly 'taboo' subject.
I am in no way, shape, or form ashamed to talk about this. In fact, talking about it helps me.
Eating disorders suck.
Recovery is hard, and makes me want to throw my hands up and walk away sometimes.
But life is too precious and too short to waste on something so dangerous.


Thanks for reading, and expect many posts in the future.
:)


-Lela