Monthly Archives: September 2013

ED Recovery App Update

A little while ago, I stumbled across the Recovery Record app and wrote about it.

After using it for a couple weeks, I’ve discovered that one of my commenters was right; this app just brings my disorder to the forefront of my mind.

The constant “EAT” reminders that buzzed on my phone every couple hours just overwhelmed me and make me uncomfortable.  The detailed food log just made me want to have a lack of food to log.

All in all, I’m sad to report it was very triggering.  I do hope it was better for others, but I wanted to mention my experience.

Anyone else have any experiences to share?

Oct 6th

October 6th.

It’s coming.

10 days.

10 days seems like a flash.  I wish I could just gloss over it.  Don’t think about it.  Don’t acknowledge it.  Don’t remember it.

Unfortunately, it combines with my father’s birthday.  Isn’t that fantastic?

I remember he was in Las Vegas when it happened.  Of course, that afforded me the opportunity to stay at his house.

Away from people.
Away from Army; furious I hadn’t told him what hospital I was at.  Suddenly he cares?  Out of nowhere he actually gives a shit?  No.  You do not get to magically start giving a shit about something so precious.  Especially when it’s being lost.

I’m being unfair. He’s being so wonderful lately. Trying so hard. Making me smile.

But back then…

That horrible day.

6 hours in the hospital.  A box of pills intended for a new arthritis treatment because my body doesn’t know how to just let things go.

Over a week of excruciating pain due to those pills.  Barely get out of bed pain.

The night I get back from the hospital, I dig out the cans of 4 Loko I’ve hidden under my childhood bed and find frozen fruit in Dad’s freezer.

His blender is a nice one and chops the ice perfectly.  Dad doesn’t buy milk or juice, so I use only the 4 Loko as the liquid for the smoothie.

It is strong.

My texts to Army become so bad that he calls me.  I slur.  He changes from angry to extreme concern.  I let slip that I’m alone at Dad’s.  He says he’ll be there in 20.

I fail to mention the messages I’ve been exchanging with Katherine.  Because I am still an idiot at this point.  My fractured self desperately clings to the past.

And her father saw me in the ER, so of course she is curious.  She is concerned.

She sees the fracture, the pain, the scars.  She claws them open further with her sharp nails.

And I let her.  I relish in the tearing flesh, the prickling heat of blood, the teeth, the tears.  I offer myself up and beg for more.  It’s a dance we’re both familiar with.  The steps are well-worn, not forgotten at all.

Until Army shows up.

He fumbles with being the white knight.  It isn’t a role he does, except with guns and medicine.  But I am not in physical danger.  For now.
He checks my vitals anyway.  My blood oxygen is low.  He is angry I want to be alone, despite the doctors expressly forbidding otherwise.

He’s found my discharge paperwork from the hospital.  Not that I hid it.

He takes the smoothie, tastes it, and glares.  I laugh.  His eyes go from irritated to anxious so quickly.  I idly wonder how I can affect him like this now; when for months he’s been like a robot.

He says he will be taking me home with him.  Tonight.  Whether I walk or am carried to his car is up to me.

I reach for the smoothie.  He goes to the kitchen and dumps it down the garbage disposal.  I sigh.  I cannot summon anger.  I was so angry just 24 hours ago.  I was blaming him for all my discomfort, my depression, my lack of friends.

But now.  Now I’m just tired.  I just want to sleep.  Forever.

Distantly, I hear Army talk about me needing to eat.  I chuckle at this.  I will never eat again.  I couldn’t manage to keep a small, flickering life lit inside me.  Why the hell would I bother with myself?  It’s all pointless anyway.  The doctors say there is a good chance I am broken now.


If my body would just learn to let things go.

Just let it go.  Please.  That’s all I want right now.  I just want to stop dwelling.
I want to not hear the ghostly whispers of Audrey begging for suicide.  Screaming our faults.  Trying to tear at the scars.

I just want to lie down and wake up to October 10th.  Or Halloween.

Can we just skip it all?

Let it go.

Crux (trigger warning)

At the crux is pain. And terror. And my brain just whirling and swirling when I just want it to settle.

One of my greatest fears is doctors. And surgeries. I don’t know if I can do this. Don’t know if I can do this tonsillectomy.

I think I’m having a full blown case of the mentals.

Just match. Just stop. Stop swirling. Stop crying. Stop hurting.

I just want it to stop.


Feeling Worthy

It’s a soft yet constant stroke of his fingers on the thin, delicate skin of her inner wrist.  The way he outlines the shape of her tattoo.

On the cinema movie screen, Simon Pegg’s wrist’s are exposed.  Covered in bandages practically to the elbow, a hospital tag firmly attached.  She winces, flashing back to those two awful weeks in late summer years ago.

Before she can curl into herself, his head is tilting against hers and his hand is moving up to play with her hair.  Carefully. He doesn’t say a word.  He knows better than to ask.

When they are out in the parking lot, he does finally speak.

“This work schedule is hard. I’m glad you came tonight. I miss seeing you.”

He’s parked his car right next to her’s and they stand between them, her leaning against him.  She’s quiet before she says softly.

“I almost didn’t. I love spending time with you, you know I do. But…after the other day, I’m worried about being able to include you in my general social life.”

“You mean Horrorama.” He murmurs.  She nods against his chest. “And Rogers.” He adds. She nods again, then looks up at him.

“I know you have very different viewpoints on…specific matters.  But you’re both important to me.”

“You’re important to me.” He replies carefully, his eyes hesitant. He doesn’t want to fight again. “I don’t want to ruin Horrorama for you.”  His eyes move around the dark and mostly empty parking lot carefully, “And I didn’t mean to cause issues with him with my comment the other day, but you know how I feel about proper protection.”

“I know.” She slips her hands into his pockets and tugs lightly, affectionately. He smiles and adjusts his legs so she can lean more comfortably between them.

His hands stroke up and down her arms as he sighs. “Anything for you though.”

She stares up at him in surprise.  He’s never said that combination of words towards her.  About her.

“I’ll be on my best behavior.” He agrees.  Then he pauses. “But if he brings up politics first…”

“Well.” She lets out a small chuckle, “I suppose he brings it upon himself then.  But be nice.”

“So like…at nerf level? So he won’t get butthurt?” He says, a twinkle in his eye.

“You can’t talk about anything without being slightly asshole…” She replies with an eyeroll.

“Twenty percent.” He offers, “If he brings up politics first, I’ll argue back at twenty percent.” His head moves closer and drops lingering kisses on the crown of her hair, one arm moving down to wrap around her hips.  She lets out another chuckle.

“You’re awful.”

“I’m awful.” He agrees easily. “You’re not. You’re wonderful.”

She moves her hands around his belt, marveling at how easily he lets her maneuver over his holster and clip holders without tensing.  She’s aware of his PTSD and the history with his ex wife (stealing his own weapons and threatening him with them).

She isn’t interested in removing or touching them, just moving around them to snag the hand he has placed against his car.  She interlaces her fingers with his and turns her head to lay flat against his chest.

There are days when she wonders if it would be better to just stay at home, locked in her room, never dealing with other people.

There are days when she wonders if she’s ever meant to have any sort of relationship that actually works.  If she’s just punishing herself by picking people who seem unavailable for the most part (whether physically or emotionally).

Then there are nights like this. When it all makes sense. And even though he has his faults, his hangups, sometimes he actually lets it drop for her.

When her hand fits perfectly into his and his words crawl into her soul and build a nest to rest and remind her that she isn’t unworthy.

Torn Canvas

Most of you are familiar with this story.  The beginning, so to speak. It is what caused the initial coping of fracturing, of splitting. It wasn’t until much later that the coping technique was used to it’s maximum…

Trigger warning (pretty obvious from the title)

It was always about the words. The sentences. The phrases. That charismatic speech.  The way they curled about and slithered into the deep recesses of Pen’s mind.

The saying may be that a picture is worth a thousand words; but Pen was always fascinated by a good story.

This story started out simple enough…

Once upon a time there was another child of divorce- Katherine. Another girl who struggled to form normal relationships with people. A girl who was not repulsed by the idea of Pen being more than just Pen.

Pen did momentarily hesitate due to the gender. She had never considered a relationship with another female. Not for any particular reason, it simply hadn’t occurred to her.

Katherine spun the story’s web of beauty tighter. A complicated pattern to entice and confuse.

A woman would never hurt another woman. She knows how men can be too brass, too rough. They can trigger Pen.  They only want to brand Pen.

She tells these lies, even as she hides her own branding iron behind her back.  Pen never even tries to look.

The first time is so very tentative, unsure. Pen is concerned she’s doing everything wrong. Katherine seems enthralled by the innocence. Pen doesn’t notice, too focused on trying to please.

Katherine is quick to demand more of Pen’s time. It seems so easy at first. Pen has so few friends anyway. But soon the few friends she does have are noticing. And commenting. Pen brushes them off. They just don’t understand true happiness.

It doesn’t take long for Katherine to turn rougher. Pen is startled at first, but Katherine uses those charismatic phrases to sweeten the deal. And of course, it is nothing but ecstasy for Charlotte.

The story changes quickly. Soon Pen is the caged songbird. The collared fox. She was okay with being tamed, but this seems like much more.

The marks are hard to hide. She has to purchase special makeup that is technically for concealing tattoos. Katherine says the marks are better than tattoos. The burns last for months. She says she is working on “proper branding”. Soon Pen will truly belong only to Katherine.

There is jewelry as well. Necklaces and rings so that a person they encounter out in public may be quickly made aware that Pen is not available.

The waiter grins as he hands Pen a refill on her Coke. Pen gives him a hesitant smile. It takes mere seconds before she feels the harsh pain of Katherine squeezing her hand and digging her nails into the soft flesh. She hisses a warning. Even a polite smile means fraternizing to Katherine, especially when it involves males. Pen doesn’t register the abnormality of this. She merely aligns her face to “completely disinterested” when around men. Midori helps.

Pen delves into books regarding domestic abuse and sees little correlation. And yet, she feels this sense of camaraderie with the victims that she cannot explain. It puzzles her.

The sex is so extreme now that Pen’s migraines have become frequent and debilitating  It does not occur to her that perhaps her body has realized how repulsed Katherine is by an upset stomach and has devised a way to try and snag some time to heal from the bites, burns, scratches, and welts. The doctors are at loss on how to treat the migraines, since they do not respond to standard medication. Katherine becomes frustrated that treatment is not happening easily.

It is surprising how it comes to a roaring halt. Or perhaps it is not. The relationship started out with a sweet lie.  It seems only fitting it should end with a harsh true.

Another woman? It makes no sense to Pen. Pen has thrown her whole self into their relationship. Katherine claims to have done the same. But obviously this is not true. She so easily finds another and leaves Pen a torn and incomplete canvas. Left to rot in a forgotten room.

Despite the words that started this story, it is the picture left behind that does the damage.


It takes years and multiple partners to relearn how relationships are supposed to work.
The most recent partner has taught the best lessons:

-Independence is allowed. And is healthy.
-It’s okay to cry or yell if something has truly upset Pen. She doesn’t have to pretend everything is fine.
-Teeth are not acceptable below the belt.  For either party.
-It’s all right to smile at another person in a friendly manner.  That actually does not equal flirting.
-Pen does not have to have sex on her period.  If fact, Pen can actually decide at any point whether she actually wishes to have sex or not.
-She can eat what she likes without judgment.
-The scars she has are part of her past, not part of her.
-Slow and soft cuddling is sometimes the best way to spend time together
She is beautiful

Petty Drama

“We accept the love we think we deserve”  -Stephen Chboksy, “Perks of Being a Wallflower”

I’m feeling a bit divided today.

Basically, Facebook drama has reared its ugly head.  Sometimes I wonder why I’m even on Facebook.

I hate that I have to blog about something that seems so very petty, but it’s really upset me.

Army, during this probationary period we’re trying, recently decided to take more of an interest in my social life and what makes me happy.

I decided to share a little about some of my best coping techniques.  One of those includes the lovely friendship I have with Rogers.  It’s extremely rare for me to feel this emotionally comfortable with someone of the opposite gender.

It’s nice to be able to just honestly tell someone about my emotional state and when I’m triggered and what the trigger entails, etc.  I don’t have to be vague.  I don’t have to say something like “Oh…it’s just been a stressful day.”

It’s a relief.

I sometimes worry that I take advantage of my friendship with Rogers.  It’s hard to have so few friends who really know “me”. Also, he’s one of my few “techy” friends, so he gets bombarded with dumb questions like “How do I take a screenshot on my new iPhone?”

Anyway. Told Army about how Rogers is a really amazing friend. And Army seemed to take a genuine interest. I also realized they’ll probably both be at a Halloween event that I’m helping with this year.

Now, Army is very very Libertarian (conservative leaning) and Rogers is very liberal (socialist ideals).  They’ve butted heads over this in the past.

I requested that Army respect Rogers were they to encounter each other at said Halloween event. Army agreed.

Then this morning, he decided to friend Rogers on Facebook. I have no clue why. But within ten minutes, he finds a liberal slanted status and proceeds to reply with patronizing snark.

Rogers, who suffers from some similar anxiety and confrontation-fear that I do, decided to unfriend Army and delete the post.  Understandable.

Army then messages me about the situation and tries to appeal to the fact that he “just had to explain something close to [his] heart”.  (Note: he means gun legislation)

I feel torn. I understand how Army is about gun control. But I also feel he isn’t understanding how it looks to Rogers. He thought he was being offered something akin to an olive branch, and suddenly it’s being snapped in half.

I dislike conflict.  I dislike having to “pick sides”.

Honestly, I’m on Rogers’. Army was completely unreasonable.

But this makes me worry that my romantic life and social life will not be able to easily mix.  Ever. This isn’t the first friend of mine that Army has alienated.

How can my relationship with Army be long term if he can’t understand how not to insult my friends?

This really is unnecessary stress, but I can’t seem to force myself to move beyond my concerns.

I’m now thinking about telling Army he can’t come to the Halloween event.  Which seems entirely unfair; both to him and myself (I do enjoy his company when he isn’t an asshat).

But I know I won’t enjoy it if it turns into some insult/debate-athon.

I just wish he could shut down that part of him for others like he does for me.  But it doesn’t seem to be possible.

I also feel dumb for dumping this petty drama in a post on my blog.  I promise to return to more deep and relevant posts in the future.

Thanks for your patience (if you’ve even read this far).

Hope your day is going better than mine.

Today’s Heroes

Have you seen this?

Watch it.  Seriously.

This advertisement floored me when I saw it a couple days ago for the first time.

More than a number?  It may seem like simple advertising techniques to a marketing excecutive.

“Oh women are always concerned with weight and sizes.  What if we just made sizes flattering names instead?”

What I don’t think they realized is the impact it would have on someone who struggles with ED.

The whispers of my ED were stunned into silence after seeing this commercial.  It was terrified of a world where it couldn’t dictate to me to get down to that size.  To the winning size.

How could the whispers possibly hiss and bully without the elusive 00 goal?

In this beautiful boutique the commercial paints; all sizes are merely empowering descriptors.

It’s a deep, dark struggle to tell friends or partners “…now I’m a size 7.”

But wouldn’t it be beautiful to tell a friend “Now my size is fabulous!  What about you?”

The hissing and bubbling and bullying would be forced to cower and grumble in disappointment.  It’s hard to make words like Stunning, Confident, Courageous, or Charismatic a punishment.

I like radiant myself

I like radiant myself

I think Special K has made a surprisingly strong (and perhaps unintentional) message to not only the general self image we are obsessed, but the size focus a lot of eating disorders and other mental-health diagnoses struggle with.

I’m ready to re-label all our sizes!  Let’s do away with numbers!  It’s time for some positive change!

The Goddess Ana and Mia can only crumble before these heroes.  I imagine these modern heroes fighting just as bravely as the famous Greek ones of mythic lore.

Meet Radiant: A fiery redhead who in the past would rather sleep than do anything.  Now she uses her two powerful short swords to slash at the black curtains of depression and self-harm that these hateful goddesses erect daily.

Meet Charismatic: A smiling blond whose song can stop a truck.  She used to sing the blues but now she rocks out with all the energy of hope.  She loves it even more when she can get others to sing with her.  Her friends and family comment how much her smile lifts their spirits and how glad they are to see it again.

Meet Fabulous: This brunette used to stay in the bathroom, bogged down by the whispers and tormented by what she thought was her own desire for death.  But now she stands strong and using a mirror shield, reflects the goddesses own images and nasty words back at themselves.

These are today’s heroes.  They want nothing more than to drive away the black hole that only sucks and sucks.  To replace it with the shining light of hope, healing, strength, love.  To show you that you are a beautiful person.

And you can be a hero too.

What new size do you like the sound of?

Disclaimer:  I don’t work for or with Kellogg’s in any way.  I haven’t received any compensation.  I did this post merely because their ad struck me on a personal level.  I actually don’t even eat cereal.

The Keys

All I want is some control.

I feel like things are slipping again.  I don’t want to be wishy-washy.  I don’t want to fall into old habits, even if they feel safe.

But I want to be happy.

And it’s so hard to deny that feeling of elation that I get from him.

Though I must remind myself that he isn’t any better than the others.  He decided to betray me too.  He decided I wasn’t worthy of faithfulness.  That I could be simply discarded.

But it’s so hard to push that easy feeling of comfort away.

The way the heat rushes through me so easily when he brushes his fingers over me.
The natural way my head tilts against him when I sit close.
The way he knows to stroke my hair when I’m feeling nervous.
The way he gets just the right level of teasing and sarcasm to make me smile.
The way he kisses the top of my head as an afterthought of affection.
The way he knows I carry all my tension in my neck and shoulders.
The way he recognizes the look of self-loathing in my eyes and knows the right words to make me debate on being beautiful.

No one else knows me so well.

And I find myself not wanting to give those keys to anyone else.  But I’m not sure if my possessive take on my innermost workings is because I truly want him to be the only one to unlock them…

Or that I want no one to unlock them again.

Perhaps being closed to the world is better.