Tag Archives: help

ED Recovery App without the stress/guilt!

The absolutely gorgeous lady over at The Fat Ballerina posted about a Recovery Record App available for FREE for most smartphones and tablets.

I just downloaded it and haven’t had a chance to explore it thoroughly, but what I read so far on the description and reviews has me excited.

Here’s something that may manage to let me track and log like my brain likes to do; but keep it as positive and guilt-free as possible.  Perhaps avoid too much triggering and encourage some better eating habits.

Please let me know if any of you have already tried it and have opinions or if any of you happen to try it out here soon and want to let me know what you think!

Remember; you are beautiful and braver than you realize!  Be gentle with yourself!

The Grip of a Label

The last post didn’t really establish how badly this Steubenville case has gotten to me.

I’m mad at myself for that, but I can’t seem to break free.

It isn’t really the case itself.  I’m not going to bore you with more talk about the media’s portrayal.

No, I have a more personal issue.

The victim’s mother stated, “This does not define who my daughter is. She will perservere, grow, and move on.”

But I worry.  I worry about the label of “victim”.  I worry whether that is truly ever able to fall away.  To be something of the past.

Because right now I only feel like a victim.  I feel like I’ve never shaken that label.  I’ve never relaxed the iron grip of it, the gnashing teeth and rancid breath.

I still feel powerless, lost, hopeless.  These feelings sometimes dwindle down a bit, but they never seem to truly fall away.  I can manage a strong front.  I can fake it like a pro.

But inside I still just feel like a scared girl who doesn’t want to walk down the street without at least some pepper spray, most likely my dog, and even possibly a gun (I never said I was a Democrat).

I don’t want to be that scared person.  I don’t want to be a victim.  But anytime I get into a personal situation that narrows itself down into that test of power, of control- I fumble.  I cave.  I fold into myself and allow myself to be the powerless.

I don’t understand it because I do not give up control at work to my clients.  I am not rude or mean, but I am in control.  I think the less I know a person, the more likely I am to remain in control and not allow that feeling of uncertainty to creep in.

But when someone starts digging into my skin, breaking beneath the surface…then I let the reins fall.

I hate that about myself.

The past couple days I’ve lapsed so bad back into my eating disorder because I need to know I have control, I need to know this body is mine to do with what I want.  I don’t know why I can’t get that feeling treating it healthily.  I wish so hard that I could.  I know I’m broken and I need help.

Why can’t I just reach out?

Why is the grip of this label so crippling?  Why do I think of myself as the victim or the villain of a story instead of the hero?

On one level, I’m so sure that I can just keep wading through my own muck without that extra push, that extra lift.


But on another level…..I know I can’t handle it.  I can’t keep going like this.  Not for much longer.

No no no no

I so don’t need this right now.

I don’t need Army to text me like everything is normal.

I don’t need him to go on about how his dad was diagnosed with cancer and that’s why he’s been an asshole lately.

I don’t need him to congratulate me on all my new responsibilities at my job.

I don’t need him to try and offer advice on the crippling and weird back/side pain I’ve been having for a couple days now.

I don’t want things to go back.

And yet…

No. No no no no no.

I stepped off that roller coaster.  I am not even on the ride anymore.  I don’t need these fucking ups and downs anymore.  I don’t need it.  I don’t want it.

I haven’t had any issues or remorse over the past three weeks.  At all.

But…I miss him when he talks to me.

Uggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. $(*$)(*$#@)(*#$)(@#*

This is just so much fucking with my head that I don’t need right now.

I don’t I don’t I don’t.

I was so close to normal and now it’s just completely fucked.

Fucking men and their goddamn pull.  Just fucking don’t talk to him.  It isn’t hard.  Just stop looking at his texts.  Block him on fucking Facebook.  Just look away goddammit.

Why can’t I?  I hate myself so much right now.  So much.  I just want the swirling to stop stop stop stop.

Oh god.

And another thought peels away from the collective.

There are razor blades in our desk still…

No no no no no.  I’ve been so good.  I’ve been so good.

Doesn’t matter.  Badgirl always needs punished.  Always.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I don’t need this today.

I need help.

I can’t ask for help.  I’m a lady.  Ladies handle it themselves.

Gotta keep it fucking together.

“Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart”
-Miranda Lambert, Mama’s Broken Heart