Live for more.

14th May 2012

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She says, “we’ll take this road until we’re back at the start again.”

Ed showed up at my door yesterday afternoon.  She heard that I was fighting with my girlfriend, that my dad had been drowning in a couple of beers, and she thought I could use some company.  She waited until my sister took the kids to the park; she must have been hiding out in the rose bushes, or behind the citrus tree in our front yard, because it only took a few fleeting moments of silence before I could hear her quiet rapping on the door.  She was so quiet that the dogs didn’t even budge or barck or prick their tiny ears.  My cat flicked his tail as I raced for the door, all too excited and ready and willing to let her inside. 

When I opened the door, there she was in all her boney glory.

She reached for my hand, took it in hers.  She lead me to the bathroom and left me standing there to searched the house for peope, for my support team; she hid my phone underneath one of the couch cushions.  I could hear her in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards.  She came back with a bottle of flavored water.  She made me drink some and then climbed onto the bathroom counter, leaning her head back against the mirror.

I wanted to say something to her, knew that I had a wide vocabulary of things that I had learned over the last several months, but my mouth came up empty.  With her, Ed had brought a fog.  Once again, I was weakened in her presence.  She overshadowed me. 

She didn’t even have to say anything; I knew exactly what she wanted.  So I lifted up the toilet seat and leaned over, bending at the knees, one hand over my stomach, fingers curled into the skin.  With the other, I put two fingers to the back of my throat.  It took no effort.

A wave of red.  Strawberries.  Strawberries and candy.  Tiny chocolate shadows. 

My eyes blurred, tears welling to the edges.  Just my bodies natural reaction. 

Then a wave a relief as I flushed.  There was a sense of calm that settled in the entire house.  I walked out back and lit a cigarette and wondered why I ever stopped. 

This wasn’t so bad, this business of puking and restricting. 

“I kept trying to tell you,” Ed said from across the patio.  She was petting my dogs head with a tiny smirk.

I thought about this, inhaled, exhaled a trail of smoke.

“No,” I said.  “I believe you, but I know shouldn’t and I don’t want to.  I think it’s time for you to go.”  Putting out my cigarette I stood and called the dog and went inside. 

For the rest of the day I thought about Ed and all things that she had taught me and all the things that I had learned were lies.  There was a tiny ache, a weighing down of my chest.  But there was no guilt, which bothered me most. 

To quiet the noise in my head, I cleaned the house.  For hours.  Top to bottom, back to front.  I did several loads of laundry, put them all away.  I rearranged the furniture.  I worked right through dinner.  I worked until nearly midnight, when I was finally exhausted.  My hands shook and my knees felt weak and Ed kept telling me not to eat, not to give in.  I wanted so badly to obey, but couldn’t.  Not entirely.  I opened a bottle of ensure and downed it.

I slept fitfully, consumed by thoughts of hunger, food, and bones.

Tagged: anorexia recoveryrecoveryeating disorderpersonal

14th April 2012

Post reblogged from Life choice with 34 notes

How could my biggest fear have been fat? Shouldn’t it have been losing my friends (which happened)? Losing the trust of my family (which happened)? Hating myself (which definitely happened)? Or losing sight of God (which is my biggest regret)? How can fat even be compared to these things?

Source: freefromthesechains1

11th April 2012

Post reblogged from ❤ Learning to Live Again ❤ with 499,850 notes

Reblog if you’re willing to answer publicly anything that comes to your ask box right now.