Sacred Connection

Sometimes I get to thinking about how much I miss treatment.

I say that out loud and realize how crazy that may sound to others. But the reality is that the connections created in and through treatment are unlike anything else. At least for me..

I never had much of a family. Don’t take me wrong, I absolutely adore and love my mom and sister but my family is so filled with disfunction and suffering that the bonds we have always had have been very unhealthy.

Through treatment I found my family. I found people who heard me, listened to me, and understood me. I found people who loved me despite my pain, despite my past, and despite my mistakes. I found people who helped me identify, embrace, and cherish the most beautiful parts of myself. I found people who encouraged me to honor and love the little girl in me who never felt loved as a child. I found people who wanted to help me carry my burdens. People who wanted to be with me at my best and my worst. I found people who would never leave.

So sometimes I find myself daydreaming about the beautiful people who I would have never met had it not been for treatment.

It’s crazy how the most beautiful things in life can also be the most painful. But without the pain meaning is lost.

We can’t appreciate the light without darkness and we can’t endure darkness without the hope of light.

So thank you to my family. I miss every single one of you who has offered me your heart.

My love and gratitude is beyond explanation.


My Father: The Rapist

Dear Dad,

I’ve thought long and hard about what I would say to you if I had the chance or the courage… And I don’t know that I will ever send these words to you but maybe one day you’ll run across this letter online and discover the things I’ve wanted to tell you for years…

It’s January 11, 2017 and I’m sitting alone in my apartment that I worked my ass off to achieve by working two jobs and never giving up. I am where I am today because of me, because I have put in the work and fought tooth and nail for a life beyond the crap you gave me. You tried to bring me down, to ruin my life but I made a choice to never let that happen. You will never win. I am successful in my job and at school and I am surrounded by beautiful, loving people who are walking this journey with me.

You lose.

I remember, dad.

I remember the times you tied me to my plastic play slide in the basement so you could rape me. I remember when you would make me undress and take pictures of me in sexual poses. I remember when you threatened to do bad things to my sister if I didn’t comply. I remember you laughing in my face as I cried out in pain. I remember having a knife held to my throat so I wouldn’t move. I remember being pulled down the stairs by my ankles and being raped on the cold, hard tile floor of the kitchen. I remember the weight of your body on top of mine, unable to breathe. I remember your hot breath in my ear. I remember the grimace of pleasure on your face when you saw the fear in my eyes.

I remember.

You never got caught.. but one day the truth will come out and people will know who you really are. You are far too good at getting people to believe that you are a poor father who loves his family and was betrayed and hurt by lies. But one day…one day people will see that you are not who they think you are…

You say you love me but I don’t think you know what that really means..

You say you miss me but I don’t think it’s because you care..

Well I want to say that I do love you..because I know what that really means..and I do miss you.. because I care..People don’t seem to understand how that could possibly be after all you’ve done, but in the end, you are still my father. You still gave me hugs goodbye and came to my ballet recitals. You still played fun games with me and took me to dinner. You are my father…the only one I will ever have and because of that I love you. It’s so painful to think that I may never see you again in this lifetime..

And while all of that is true, it’s also true that I hate that you are my father..I hate who you are and what you’ve done. I hate the confusion you’ve caused me and the pain you’ve inflicted upon me. I hate the lies you’ve told and the games you’ve played with my head. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you…and I hope that I never see you again…

You’ll never see me graduate college or get hired at my dream job, you’ll never meet my husband or walk me down the aisle, you’ll never meet my kids or even know their names…

I hope you are okay..wherever you may be..and I hope you have a nice life…I really do..

I just need you to know I remember.

I remember, dad.






Dear Younger Me…

My younger self is a part of me that I have always had a very hard time connecting with.

I feel like I don’t know that little girl, like she is some person in a far away land I have never met. Yet, she is how I have gotten to where I am today. She has been someone I have despised and hated for a long time. In my mind she is bad, dirty, naughty, selfish, and a liar. I think all these things of her and yet I’m not even sure what she looked like.

I often see young children in public and wonder how old they are because for some reason, my ability to discern ages of children is very skewed. I see a 2-year-old and think they are 4 or I see a 9-year-old and think they are 12. The most plausible explanation I can conjure up is that because I had to grow up so fast when I was little, I never saw myself as a young child and, therefore, can’t discern ages of other children either because to me they all look older than they are.

Any who…my current work lies in finding the key to unlock the cage in which my younger self is trapped. How do I do this? Where do I even begin?

I don’t have the answers yet but if I ever want to really heal the inner workings of who I am I must allow my little girl to have a voice, to be seen, and to be heard by others, but more importantly by me…

Utter Exhaustion

I lie propped up in bed where I’m supposed to be doing homework.

I have reached a place of utter exhaustion. Fighting for your life is exhausting. Especially when it seems the world is fighting against you.

About a little over a month ago I reached a point of giving up. I fell captive to anorexia with hopeless defeat. I plummeted in a matter of a single day. For about 3 weeks I ate little to nothing and starting purging when I felt I’d eaten “too much”. I quickly lost control. My hair started falling out and my blood pressure dropped to 84/51. I lost xx pounds in only a couple weeks. I was weak, I was freezing cold, I was dizzy, and exhausted. I could no longer think clearly. I was a mess.

In the beginning stages of my eating disorder I could go months doing what I can only maintain now for a couple weeks before my body gives out.

I guess after years of abuse, one’s body simply can’t handle what it used to.

I’m fighting to get back on track. I’m eating. I’m not purging.

And it fucking sucks.

All of the reasons I started using behaviors again are slapping me in the face and knocking the wind out of me.

As hard as I try, I feel like I’m fighting again the world.

I’m completely and utterly exhausted. And tonight, the 11 bottles of pills I’ve saved up over the years are looking like a really good option…

The Power of a Moment

Needed this song tonight. Feeling hopeless and broken. Feeling like a burden to those around me and wanting so bad to give up. I wan the pain to be over.

But God keeps me going, and sometimes it is through little things like a song.


Not For a Moment by Meredith Andrews

You were reaching through the storm
Walking on the water
Even when I could not see
In the middle of it all
When I thought You were a thousand miles away
Not for a moment did You forsake me
Not for a moment did You forsake me

After all You are constant
After all You are only good
After all You are sovereign
Not for a moment will You forsake me
Not for a moment will You forsake me

You were singing in the dark
Whispering Your promise
Even when I could not hear
I was held in Your arms
Carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake me


And every step every breath You are there
Every tear every cry every prayer
In my heart at my worst
When my world falls down
Not for a moment will You forsake me
Even in the dark
Even when it’s hard
You will never leave me
After all


Not for a moment will You forsake me

The Vicious Cycle

I can’t specify the moment my anorexia began, but I can remember restricting my food intake as early as the 5th grade. At the time I placed all the blame on dance. I needed to be “healthy” and “in shape” and “thin”. But it really had very little to do with dance.

I grew up in a family where I quietly existed in the background, behind all the noise. My mom extremely depressed and suffering from severe OCD and my dad a man with two personalities who became violent at the drop of a hat. With a baby sister in the picture, and my mom much like a child herself, I became mom, protector and comforter.

I grew up unnoticed. I grew up taking care of every one else and I never learned that it was okay to take care of myself as well.

I was (am) a perfectionist and people-pleaser. I did everything I was supposed to and more.

And yet somehow I never felt like it was enough. I was convinced that I wasn’t enough and at the same time I was too much. As the years dragged on I came to believe that at the very core of my being, I was a bad person.

I suppose years of listening to my mom berate and punish herself, drilled the belief into my head that I deserved that treatment as well. I don’t know why I did, but I did. And I suppose that years of my father using my body as he pleased taught me that my body was worthless and an object to be abused.

I remember the first time I decided to stop eating. I was a freshman in high school rehearsing for the school musical. I don’t know why then, but for three weeks all I ate each day was a banana.

Why only three weeks?

My mom began to notice not only the weight loss but also the scars on my arms from puncturing and dragging my razor across my skin. Her reaction was not what I was expecting…”This is ridiculous. I did those things when I was your age, but I had a reason to be doing them.”

From that moment I learned very well how to keep the perfect secret.

I would go downstairs early before my mom awoke just so that I could put dishes in the sink in order to make her think I had breakfast or put a couple pieces of food on a paper plate and then shove it in the trash can to make it look like I had lunch. I knew exactly what to say to avoid questions and suspicion.

I was a master at my disease.

I was a master until I wasn’t. Until I crumbled into a mess of a being. Before my first round of inpatient treatment I went off to college where I spent my days starving myself and exercising and then eating my roommates hot Cheetos at night, only to hate myself afterwards and purge in the community restroom. And let me tell you that if there is one food you don’t want to purge, it’s hot Cheetos. It became so out of control that I couldn’t hide it anymore and was forced into treatment.

One would think that the moment right before round 1 of inpatient treatment would be someone’s rock bottom, and maybe for some it is, but for me that certainly wasn’t the case.

I spent the next 4 years relapsing and going back to treatment, relapsing and going back to treatment…each relapse worse than the one before it.

It came to the point where my treatment team was scared for my life, crying for me to get help. And now my mom was too…

There was one night in particular that is forever etched in my mind. For months I had spent every day in bed, eating less than 300 calories, and walking 3-4 miles a day, while also using laxatives and purging my consumed food.

We had a plumbing issue and our toilet flooded the entire downstairs. As we worked to resolve the issue and clean the house, I panicked. I had taken my nightly dose of laxatives, as I always did, except I didn’t have a restroom. I stood in the living room yelling at my mom that I needed to go to the bathroom and frustrated she told me I would have to hold it.

The problem was I couldn’t. I blurted out that I’d taken laxatives and sped to the nearest store. When I came home and the house was finally sanitized, I sat in the middle of the floor exhausted. My mom burst into tears begging me to go back to treatment. She exclaimed “I can’t sit back anymore while watching you slowly kill yourself every day.”

I didn’t know how it had gotten so bad so fast, and I didn’t even realize it until that moment.

I knew then that I had a disease I could not control. That I was powerless to this eating disorder. That I was an anorexic.

I proceeded to go back into treatment and unfortunately that relapse wasn’t my last.

I’ve now been out of treatment for over a year. I was doing better than I’d ever had in my recovery. And now I’m back to starving…

The cycle never ends…

Catch 22

The last few months have been incredibly difficult, and while I am aware of some of what has been causing such pain, there are other aspects of my life where I just feel out of the loop. I walk into my therapist’s office twice every week and recently there has been a theme. I don’t know what is wrong and yet I’m a mess. She asks what is going on…I don’t know…she asks what I need…I don’t know…it’s really quite frustrating and makes me feel as though I need to get over myself and get my shit together. And yet, the pain and emotions are so real I don’t know how to ignore them.

I suppose this is why I haven’t been blogging much. It’s hard to write about my life when I can’t even seem to figure it out in my head.


Everything is so chaotic and counterintuitive.

I’m depressed and yet I find myself resisting seeing a doctor or getting back on medication.

I want to restrict and yet I need to keep my life together.

I want to SH to end up in the ER and be taken care of but I don’t want to end up in the ER.

I want to feel connected to people and yet I turn down opportunities to do so.

I want the pain to end but I don’t want to die.

I want to get high but I don’t want to eat.

I get high anyways.

And then I eat.

My weight hasn’t been this high in a long time and I am panicking. And yet I can’t seem to lose weight because I can’t seem to not get high every day. Because if I don’t get high I don’t get a break from the pain.

It’s all a catch 22.

I’m hurting. I’m stuck. I’m alone.

And I don’t know how to fix it…