It's No Wonder

People have been asking me recently why it is I believe I developed an eating disorder. This question has caused me to pause and reflect over the years as to what might have influenced me into this disorder. I was highly involved in ballet during my entire childhood. I have always loved acting/theatre/drama and basically all of the performing arts. When I was in my teen years I loved doing pageants and took classes on how to be a model. Most of what I loved doing was inherently based on esthetics. Now that I think about it, it is no wonder I developed an eating disorder.

During my life as a dancer I constantly wanted to be leaner, thinner, smaller. At times I wished I could even be shorter. I never understood why it was that I was so much "bigger" than all the other girls. Now mind you, I was taking up to 6 classes a week, that equates to at least 10 hours of dancing a week. I was very physically fit but in my mind I still was not small enough. I thought that, probably because my instructor constantly barked to "suck in that gut" and "pull in that tush" so that we could have better lines and posture. These statements really cut close to home especially when paired with the instructor's cane swatting you in "that" area and the informing you that you do not have a dancers body. It now makes perfect sense to me as to why I was inflicted with this disease at the tender age of 7. At 7 years old I had already been in the dance world for 4 years, over half my life. It was ingrained in me that one must appear to be lithe, lean and slender to be a dancer. Unfortunately for me I began to think that there was something dreadfully wrong with my body because it wasn't built to conform to the "dancer" guidelines.

When I was in middle school I developed a love for acting. I have been in productions ever since I was 13 years old. Yet it wasn't until I was 19 did I get my first leading role in a one act. It wasn't until I was 30 until I got my first leading role in a full length main stage play. I started to wonder if I wasn't cast as a lead simply because my body didn't conform to societal standards. When I did get my first leading role I thought it was based on the fact that I had lost 40 pounds that prior year. I had this disease before but this is when my obsession with this disease began. I then got my next main stage role over 10 years later when I was a die hard anorexic. I ate almost nothing all day. Then after rehearsal, when I got home, I was so exhausted and tired that I ate 2-4 servings of dry cereal. Then the next day I would restrict all day yet again because I had over eaten the night before. Such a vicious cycle and one that would take 2 months in rehab to break.

As a teenager, the hardest years on all of us when it comes to esthetics, I became involved in pageants. As much as I denied other peoples claims that pageants were only about how pretty a girl was, deep down inside I never ever thought that my body was good enough to be in pageants. I have no idea how I was able to walk around on a stage in 3 inch heels while wearing a bathing suit in front of an entire audience while a spot light was directed at me. I felt like I might as well have circled my "flawed" areas with a red marker as a way to let the audience know that I knew that I wasn't perfect and that I really "didn't fit in" in the whole pageant scene. When one is born into a family of women who actually built like women, with hips, butt and boobs, it's amazing how easily this woman can feel so unwomanly when around those who are boyish or thin.

So now at the lovely age of 33 I battle daily to reaffirm my positive traits. I have to constantly remind myself that I don't need to "look 10 pounds lighter", that I don't need to "reduce wrinkles and puffiness", that I don't need to be ashamed of what the tabloids may call a "baby bump". (Not that I've ever been in a tabloid but you get my drift.) If all women were suppose to have flat bellies, slender hips, long legs and no wrinkles then God would have created us all the same. And if that were the case what an absolutely boring world this would be.

Beauty does not define us. The number on a scale, the size one wears, the latest lipstick, anti-wrinkle treatment, anti cellulite cream and the latest kind of spandex gym wear does not define us. What truly defines us is who we are and what we contribute to society. I am reminded of a Bhuddist quote that I love; "Happiness is not measured by success. If one loves what they are doing then one can truly be happy." I'm still working on figuring out what it is that I love doing but I'll tell ya one thing, I'm no longer striving for unattainable "perfection". I no longer strive to look like the model on the cover of a magazine, or the current Miss America or the latest "it" actress. I'm striving to be me and the best version of me that I can be.

Black Cloudy Day

These are the worst kind of days. These days bring about a feeling of walking through peanut butter. Everything, no matter how small, is a struggle to get through. It's not that I don't want to accomplish anything on these days but due to the enormous strength it takes just to get out of bed on days like these I seldom have much more strength than to do the absolute minimum to just get by.

At the end of one of my Black Cloud Days I feel a heavy burden of guilt surrounding me for all the tasks that were left undone or unaccomplished. How can just emptying the dishwasher feel like too much? The guilt is compounded when Casey comes home and completes a task I didn't have the energy to do.

I know these kind of days will lessen over time. I realize that compared to where I was three months ago I am doing phenomenally well. Yet there is still that nagging inside my head (stupid eating disorder knows my weaknesses) telling me that I'm not doing enough, that I'm not good enough and that I never will amount to anything. On my Black Cloud Days this voice wins over and I give into the feeling of melancholy that only it can induce.

Here's the bright side of this whole sh-bang; I at least now can recognize days like these. I can at least now work on climbing out of the mound of peanut butter. No, it won't be easy. Most likely I will be struggling to get this goo off of me for quite sometime. However, I am fortunate enough to be able to have some self-reflection. It is this self-reflection that will enable to me move forward and leave these Black Cloud Days behind me. As my sister once said, tomorrow is another day and I hope it can be a Rainbow Cloud kind of day.

Epiphany

I am at work. There is a lull in customers coming in so I have a few minutes to stand and people watch. People watching is one of my favorite hobbies. (Can it even be considered a hobby?) As I stand there people watching I slowly realize that I am silently comparing each and every one of them. My thoughts go like this: "She's thin.", "Wow, she is a bit heavy.", "She's beautiful but not at all thin." At the very moment it dawns on me. No, that is too passive of a statement, it's more like I am hit over the head with a ton of bricks. This epiphany explodes out of no where and slams all other thoughts down for the count. I am all at once overwhelmed, startled, humbled and humored by this thought that I am having.

For as long as I can remember I have strived to achieve what I have thought as "normal". "Normal" being what I have seen portrayed in movies, magazines and tv shows. "Normal" being what models and movie stars look like, ie. thin as a rail. As I look at this woman who is beautiful, no more like absolutely stunning, but in now way thin, I realize that what I have strived for my whole life, this "normal" that I thought I had to be really isn't normal at all. I realize that the woman I am starting at is normal. I realize that I am normal. I realize that for my entire life I have fought to reach this goal of unattainable beauty. This idea that beauty means that you are super skinny thin. This isn't so. Beauty like that is unattainable for a reason. That reason being that not everyone is supposed to look like that.

The epiphany that I have is that I don't need to strive to reach that idea of "beauty" that I see on the cover of a magazine because that person on that magazine is not me. I do not need to be like her because I am me. I am the most perfect me I can be because I am who I am. (Now I sound like Popeye) However, this statement is very true. Why have I pushed myself to believe that I need to look like someone else when who I am is more than good enough just as I am? Because every where you turn there is something telling us that we need to be thinner, smaller, younger and prettier.

Well, I don't need to listen to the lies that I'm not good enough exactly as I am. I was made this way for a reason. I was made this way because there is beauty in being different. There is a mystery to being unique. I still have a ways to go before I look in the mirror and can say I love what I see. I'm just like every one else in that matter. We all have issues with how we look. But I can say this, I'm no longer going to strive to look as thin or beautiful as someone else, because that's not possible. I want to be the best person I can be. I want to look back on my life and know that who I was really mattered. I never want to be remembered for what my body looks like. I want to be remembered for my character, my personality and for what I have contributed to society.

An epiphany indeed. What a lovely one to have. How lucky am I to have been able to realize in my life time that I am more than perfect just as I am. Who am I to try to be someone different. I will never disrespect myself again by believing I need to be like someone else. Instead, I am going to embrace my uniqueness and my differences. I will be proud that I do not look like someone else. I will be proud to look like me.

Synopsis

(This is my synopsis for my last day in my eating disorder treatment program. For confidentiality purposes the names have been changed.)

It is 6:38pm on the night before my discharge from treatment and I’m at a loss for words. I’m sitting here trying to come up with the right words to say regarding my experience while in treatment. Yet nothing I write seems to be able to capture exactly what I want to say because what I have gone through is so huge that words don’t seem to be enough to express all that I have to say.

As I write this I find myself crying. The tears have automatically started and just won’t stop. The feelings I have regarding this experience are too enormous to keep inside. I am realizing, right now at this very moment, not that I have changed but just how much I have changed. When I entered this program 7 weeks ago I was filled with anger, self-loathing and anxiety. Today I am leaving filled with joy, self-love and tranquility. I am no longer fighting off the tears and striking out in anger. I am allowing the tears to flow down my face and streak my cheeks with mascara. It is an odd sensation for me still, to cry, but one that I am welcoming with open arms.

This experience has been transformative for me. I feel like I have gone through my adolescence all over again. Not only was I relearning how to eat but I was learning how to appropriately manage feelings and emotions. I am thankful for the former but ever so grateful for the latter. As we all know, it was never about the food it was about using the food as a means to get rid of feeling emotions. I no longer want to be free of emotion or to be angry all the time. I now embrace emotions with open arms.

Tracy, thank you for being so real and true to yourself. Seeing that from you helped me learn that I’m capable of the same. I learned from you the only way I was going to get better was if I was not only honest to every here but also honest with myself.

Felicia, I feel so lucky to have gained your friendship. Thank you so much for all the talks and for being a true understanding friend.

Maria, thank you for being so honest and vocal during groups. I have learned so much from hearing you speak up. I wish you much success in your future.

Nora, I realize I barely know you, but I want to thank you for teaching me that my words make a bigger impact on others than I ever thought they did. I have learned to not carelessly throw words around without thinking of their affect on others. For that I thank you.

Dr. Horton, thank you for listening to me as I rambled on and on about being in pain and having insomnia. I cannot thank you enough for prescribing me that little green pill that has provided me with the wondrous gift of sleep.

Maureen, I remember the day you said to me, “So what’s keeping you in that chair? You’re an adult. You can get up and leave anytime you want.” You saw the truth in me. The truth that I didn’t want to leave. It was those words that helped me to realize that deep down inside I knew I was worth it to get better. Thank you for your patience, honesty and wisdom. I have learned a tremendous amount from you. There are many things that you have said during my time here that will always stay close to my heart.

Steve, thank you so much for listening, for being available to meet with me all those times I needed to. I was a bit scared to change therapists mid stream but was relieved to find out that it was just as easy for me to talk to you as it was for me to talk to Marie. For the record, you make an excellent stand in for Marie.

Marie, I don’t even know what to say. How can I thank someone who has made such a dramatic impact on my life as you have made on mine? All I can think of to say is thank you. I wish I could do so much more to express to you the amount of gratitude I have for you. The self discoveries I made during our sessions together are the cornerstone behind helping me to transform into this healthy person that I’m becoming. Thank you for listening. Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your wisdom. Just, thank you.

My sister. You have been there for me my whole life. Yes we have had our ups and downs, but what relationship hasn’t. The fact that no matter what happens, we are able to still laugh and have fun together is what truly matters. Thank you for injecting humor into my life even when I didn’t want it.

My Ma, thank you for giving up a piece of your life to come live with us during my first week here in treatment. I do not know how I would have gotten through that first week with out you. I am so lucky to have such a strong, understanding and caring woman in my life. I’m very proud to be able to call you my Ma. My Pa, thank you for supporting me through this experience. I am so thankful to have you in my life.

My love, what in the world would I ever do without you? Lucky for me I will never need to find out the answer to that question. You truly are my rock. Saying thank you for all you have done for me truly will never be enough to let you know how much I appreciate all you have done. You have truly seen me at my very worst and yet you have loved me through it all. Even when I didn’t love myself you loved me enough for the both of us. I think back to that day, which is one of the worst days in my life. On that day I thought you were truly out to get me. Now that I look back on it I realize that you did all that you did because of how much you love me. For that I am forever grateful.

I no longer view food as the enemy, as I once did. Instead I view it as fuel to keep my body healthy and nourished. I won’t say that I have reached the point that I look forward to meals yet, but I also know that someday that day will come.

I no longer view my body as disgusting and something I should be ashamed of. I won’t say that I have reached the point of loving what I see when I look in the mirror but I can say that I’m able to appreciate my body for being healthy enough to do all the things it does for me as well as allowing me to do all the things I want to do.

I no longer care what other people think of me. I won’t say that I’ve reached the point of never giving what other people think a second thought, but I can say that I no longer allow what they might think of me to determine how I live my life.

I no longer hate myself. I won’t say that I have reached the point of perfect self-love, show me one person who has, but I can say that I love who I am and who I am becoming. I no longer view my worth as being associated to a number or a size. Instead I know that my worth comes from who I am and what I am able to accomplish. And I have a feeling I’m going to accomplish a lot with this life.

Healing

I am healing. I have realized that this is a slow process especially considering that I have been building these injuries for several years. These injuries are not apparent to the eye, they are not physical injuries. No, these injuries are far worse. These injuries are emotional, mental and psychological. I'm not proud that I have allowed these injuries to accrue over time. I can only imagine how deep the scar tissue will be once they heal, but heal they must. I will no longer allow myself to suffer in these wounds that keep me trapped, keep me from moving forward in my life.

My life. It is interesting to view my life through the eyes that I now have, instead of the clouded eyes that I have been used to in the past. My life used to be filled with fear of the "what ifs", the "shouldn'ts" and the "not good enoughs". Now my life is filled with the possibilities of what can be, what could be and what will be. I now believe that I have the ability to accomplish anything with this life. No longer will I allow fear to keep me trapped from growing, from moving forward or from living life to the fullest.

I think of my grandmother, she was an independent and strong woman who never allowed the doubts of others stop her from what she wanted to accomplish. My grandmother accomplished so much in her life that she has left a legacy in her part of Alaska. She never intended to leave a legacy behind her. She never set out to do something so that she would be remembered for doing it, she simply did it because she wanted to do it. My grandmother taught me many valuable lessons but I think one of the most valuable things she ever taught me was not spoken in words but spoken in actions. When she set out to do something she accomplished it and when she did so she did by fully investing herself in the project.

Yes, I'm healing a great deal right now. This trip home is doing me a world of good. I know that I still have a long road to recovery before I am fully healed. Of course, there is always the possibility that I will never be fully healed but one thing I know for sure is that the hole that has been gaping for so long in my heart, the hole that I so desperately tried to fill up with food, is a bit smaller than it was before I began this trip.

I have a feeling that if I continue to look inward and reflect on who I am and where I want to go that hole may just disappear entirely. Here's hoping.

Sitting on the Sidelines

Sitting in my red leather chair, I stare out the window and look upon the world that exists beyond. The sun is rising behind the clouds. The trees are starting to take on the colors of fall. The birds are flitting to the feeder for food. The world is busy while I sit in my red leather chair watching it all.

I begin to think about how often I have found myself just sitting, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the moment when I am compelled to stop idly watching life and begin to become an active participant in the world around me. Too often have I made excuses for not engaging in a social activity because of my fear. Too often have I talked myself out of an audition due to possibly being rejected for the part. Too often have I made myself feel "not good enough" and therefore have denied myself to live life. Instead I sit on the sidelines, watch other people achieve their goals, thinking to myself, "I wish that were me."

What is it that propels me to think that I'm not good enough to participate in life? Why is it that I waste the days away as if I have thousands more to live before I actually start living? Why do I allow myself to focus on the negative of what might happen instead of looking at the positive?

I wish I was brave enough to look at the world and exclaim, "Test me all you want but I'm going to follow my dreams no matter what life throws at me!" Instead I fear it may come out as a whisper and no one would hear it at all. Or worse. Someone would hear my meek, fearful protest and laugh at the self doubt that entangles it. Pointing at me while they snicker because they know that I'm too weak to stand up for myself.

Then again, what do I care if other people laugh at me behind their backs. What does that matter to me? Nothing that anyone else thinks of me should ever matter. I should never bring into consideration what others think of me when making decisions in my life. Yet, I do. I long for the approval of others. I desire to have others view me as being "right". More than anything, I want to belong, to fit in. To be accepted as I am.

I have never felt accepted as who I am. However, looking back, I have never really shown who I am to anyone. No wonder I've never been accepted. How can one be accepted for who they are when they never show the world their true self? How can one be liked for being themselves when even they don't like who they see in the mirror? In essence, they can't.

So...I've decided to do the scariest thing I've ever done in my life. I'm going to show the world who I really am. No more mask to hide behind. No more wall to hold back my feelings. No more facade to play. In fact, if you look at it like that, I'm one of the greatest actresses there ever was. Or the worst. In truth, I don't think I was fooling anyone with my act of "having it together." It's amazing how easily one can fool themselves.

From this day on I will be creative instead of passive. I will take chances instead of sitting on the sidelines. I will be bold instead of meek. I will be passionate instead of angry.

I want to achieve happiness in my life, not success. For too long I have strived for success to make me happy. Sadly that is not how it works. Instead I will strive for happiness. In happiness I will find success. I will keep a Buddhist saying close to my heart. "Success is not the key to happiness. Happiness is the key to success. If you love what you are doing you will be successful." Buddha, he's one smart cookie.

Ok world, I'm ready for ya! Bring on the worst you've got. I have a feeling that no matter what I face, as long as I face it with truth, conviction and sincerity I'll have a better life than never facing it at all.

Red leather chair, I love you so, but it's time for me to stop sitting. It's time for me to start doing. To start living. Living...hmmm...I wonder what that's like? No better time to find out than now. Watch out world, here I come. I hope you're ready for me!

Tamara and Benji Round 2 & 3

I open the bathroom cupboard and take the scale out of it's hiding place. I hide it to try and conceal it's power over me. Yet that power is so strong that I continue to use it on a daily basis, even though it has never said a positive word to me or has ever given me any good news, I still use it. I have never once liked what it has told me. In fact I don't even really like the scale itself. I hate the relationship we have. I am so codependent on it. Without it I feel out of control, with it I feel inferior and worthless. This is not a fun way to feel about oneself.

I place the scale on the floor. I stare at it. Actually it is more like a glare. I hate the sight of this thing, this plastic, metal, electrical contraption that was invented just to torture me. I pick up my right foot to step on the scale. My foot is clothed with a sock, the rest of me is clothed as well...jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, bra, underwear, earrings and ring. As I pause with my right foot an inch from the ground I start calculating in my head the weight of all that I am wearing. The anxiety starts. That all too familiar feeling of panic, worthlessness and confusion. I say to myself, "It's allright. I will weigh myself clothed and then I'll get undressed and weigh myself again because it won't be accurate if I weigh myself fully clothed." No one stops me to get me to realize that there is no point in weighing myself at all because I won't like what I see no matter what I do.

I start to move my right foot towards the scale and stop. I can't do it. I think, "I've already eaten breakfast today. It won't tell me my real weight because I still have the weight of what I've eaten today to weigh me down. Plus, I have to go to the bathroom. I need to rid myself of that before weighing myself."

I put my right foot back down on the ground.

I sit down on the side of the tub. Exhausted, drained from this mental battle. A battle that I face on a daily basis. A battle that happens daily due to this piece of plastic holding it's power over me. I lower my head. My hands reach up to catch the weight of it. I sit there, alone, in the bathroom, struggling to make sense of my inner struggle. I think to myself, "Why do I do this? Who in their right mind weighs themselves so excessively? Who, but me, puts all of their self worth into a scale?"

I realize right then and there that I cannot continue this way any longer. I know what I must do. I must kill it. I stand up, filled with conviction. I pick up that scale and walk outside. I place it on the concrete walkway. I see the mallet resting against the house, the mallet that Casey used the other day. I pick up that mallet. I feel it's weight in my arms. It gives me power that I didn't know I had.

In a voice, aloud for all the world to hear I proclaim to the scale, "I no longer allow you to have power over me. I release myself from your negativity. I do not want you in my life. I free myself from your power."

I pick up that mallet and slam it down on the scale with all my might. The scale barely gets a dent in it. "You're gonna take the hard way, huh?" I say to the scale with a sneer. I pick up that mallet again, swing down with more strength then I ever knew I had. The mallet makes contact with the scale and creates a gaping hole right in the middle of it. I smile. I am killing it. That thought makes me happy. I swing down again, and again, and again until all that is left of it is bits and pieces of plastic. I am heaving from the work. But I'm also smiling. I am feeling freer than I have ever felt in my entire life. I look up at the sky and watch the clouds as they pass. I sense that I have accomplished something great just now, other than just destroying a scale, but not sure what that "great" thing is just yet.

I look back down and see that the scale is still there, laying all over the back porch in smithereens. Time to rid myself completely of this evil beast. I gather all the pieces up in a dust pan. I walk triumphantly to the garbage can and toss what used to be the scale into the garbage can. I can hardly wait until Monday when the garbage men come to take it away from me forever. I walk back into the house, back to the bathroom and it is there that I realize what the "great" thing is that I accomplished.

I have rid Benji, my eating disorder, of it's most powerful weapon over me. It no longer has this scale in it's artillery. I feel vindicated. I think, "what other weapons can I get ride of?"

I rush to the closet. I see the "skinny" clothes hanging there. The "skinny" clothes from when I was anorexic. I no longer think of them as "skinny" clothes but as my "sick" clothes. I rip them from their hangers, tear them out of the drawers. I shove all of them in a garbage sack. I rid myself of their negative power of me. They no longer get to tell me every morning, "Look how fat you are. You're so fat that you can't fit into us anymore. Don't eat! That's how you'll get us back." I don't care about getting them back. Sure I was skinny when I fit in them, but at what cost? The cost of losing my hair? The cost of looking ashen and hollow? If that's what it is to be "skinny" then I was certainly fooling myself.

I know I must carry this mound of clothing to the garbage can. It's a heavy load to carry, but knowing that I'm throwing them away gives me the strength I need to continue. Once I pick them up I realize that they aren't as heavy as I thought them to be. Out of the house I walk and into the can they go. They rest atop the shards of the scale.

Benji is down another piece of ammo.

I walk back to the house, I am triumphant. I have won not only 1 battle today but 2. I know that I am better than what those material things told me I was. I have a womanly figure that is attractive and beautiful. I now realize that a size cannot make me feel beautiful, that a number on a scale does not signify my self worth. There is only one person that can make me feel beautiful. Who is that person you ask? Only yours truly...myself.

I have a long road to go yet until this war is won. Knowing that I have the power inside me to create my own happiness is all the ammo I need to defeat Benji. He's going down. He's getting weaker.

And every day I'm getting stronger.

Tamara 3/Benji 0

A Lightbulb Moment

It was Thursday morning and I was taking a bath. It has become a new ritual for me while I'm taking a bath to repeat a daily affirmation to myself. Thursday's was "I love myself". Not an easy affirmation to believe when one has been so self loathing as I have been recently. While I was repeating this affirmation to myself of self love I had what one of my therapists calls a "light bulb moment".

This moment was such a blow to the head that I literally heard myself gasp in the bathroom. It echoed off the bathroom walls as if the moment itself became an affirmation. I was at once amazed and awed by this new self discovery. First I had to stop for just a minute. Calm myself down. I had to reason myself out of this new idea. Could this really be true? I began to think of all the things that I have done in the past 2 1/2 weeks.

I realized that I needed to go to treatment. I went to get an assessment to see if this treatment would be good for me. When it was decided that it would be I started going to treatment. I have worked hard during my treatment days to end this eating disorder. I have begun to bring these new concepts I'm learning into my home environment so that I can work on them at home. I work everyday to stop all the destructive behaviors I have such as: negative self talk, staring in the mirror and checking myself constantly to make sure I don't look gross (even though I always came to the conclusion that I did). I have reached out to family and friends for support.

Why would I do these things? What is the point behind all of this hard work? The answer is what slapped me upside the head. The answer is because...

I really do love myself!

Why else would I be making changes to better myself and have a better life? I can't believe that I have fooled myself into thinking that I don't love myself when all along I really did. This will be a new way of life for me. Instead of not doing things because I don't matter anyway, I will be doing things because I'm worth the effort. I am a person that is valuable. At least I'm valuable to me and in the long run I'm the only person that needs to believe that. What other people think of me is none of my business.

What an amazing, unique, foreign and lovely concept.

I love myself.

This is going to be a good way to live life.

Sugar and self doubt

I'm 33 years old. I graduated high school when I was 18, that was 15 years ago. I look back on those 15 years for accomplishments that I have achieved. Sadly, I don't see very many. This is a true indication of how I have not been living my life to the fullest. I keep waiting to achieve things until I am perfect enough. As if being perfect has anything to do with how successful one can become. Yet, I have allowed this one thing to consume my life. I have allowed myself to become so focused on becoming "perfect" that I don't have any real passion for life.

My days are filled with sitting around, watching tv, stuffing my face with food and waiting for that miraculous event to come and hit me over the head. It is difficult for me to plan to be away from home for any length of time because I might be gone too long and then where will I be able to binge. I have declined many offers to go to movies, parties, gatherings and such because I didn't want to leave the safety of my house and the solitude of being able to eat alone. If I ate alone I wouldn't be judge. Little did I know that I was being judged all along by those I declined to do things with. These people were confused because they saw a confident girl who enjoys laughing and they couldn't understand why I didn't want to go out and have fun.

The confidence thing has always confused me. I have been told that I appear to be a very confident person. Man, I have been able to pull the wool over a many pair of eyes! I am so very opposite of confident that the word to describe me should be self-conscious. In fact I am so self-conscious I might as well be artificial. At least that's how I feel. It's like fake sugar, it tastes like real sugar, looks like real sugar but is so far away from what real sugar really is that it's amazing.

The artificial me has built up a wall of protection but this last week that wall was broken down. In all honesty, I have tried to build the wall back up but it cannot ever compare to the structure it once was. So...I have left it to lay in it's own crumbles. Instead of Humpty Dumpty not being put together again, my wall of artificial sweetener has not been put back together again. I must say that I miss it. However, I realize how uncomfortable it made me at the same time.

So how do I get from this self-conscious, newly exposed girl to a confident and self assured woman? Will I become this way over time as I experience new adventures? I'm not sure. What I do know is that I'm done waiting to be "perfect" to start living life. Perfect is unattainable. What does perfect even look like? Who cares! I don't want to be perfect anyway. I want to be myself, that includes all of my feelings, all of my flaws and all of my positive attributes as well. I have decided that if someone doesn't like me, as I truly am, then screw 'em. They weren't meant to be my friend anyway. I am no longer going to hide behind a saccharine wall just so someone will like me, just so I can wait around to be able to do something.

This imperfect woman is going to begin living her life, today. I will no longer sit on the side lines watching the game with nachos in my hands. I will instead be the one in the game. To win this game it will take blood, sweat and probably quite a few tears. It is a dream of mine now not to look back at my life and still see an unhappy girl stuck in a wall of perfection constructed out of self doubt but instead to see a confident, self assured, imperfect woman baring it all to the world with a steady line of accomplishments behind her.

True Self

It is Friday September 11, 2009. I feel as if I am starting life anew. I am looking at the world from a fresh set of eyes. Eyes that have only seen blurriness the last week but are starting to clear up and the world is beginning to come into focus. It seems to me that it is only natural to feel as if I am restarting life, considering that prior to entering this E.D. program I was not living life. Nor was I feeling life. I was sheltering myself from reality and truth. I only allowed myself to focus on what wouldn't enter past my protective shell all the while believing that no one could tell it was there.

Reality came and struck me in the face this week. It felt like the slap that Cher gives to her boy toy in Moonstruck. She slaps him and then quips, "Snap out of it!" So I have snapped out of my false world of protection and have entered the very new and surreal world of feelings and truth, which is intimidating. In this new world of truth I am allowed to be myself, not the protected Tamara that everyone has seen previously. I feel more exposed than if I were to run through a mall naked. There is a rawness to allowing myself to fully express my true feelings, to allow myself to be open enough for people to see the real me.

When one allows this to happen doubts rush in like a flood. I have questions such as; "What if when they see the real me they no longer like who I am?", "What if they don't agree with how I'm feeling?" and "What if they don't believe me?" I have learned that if I allow these questions to dictate what I do then my life will never truly be mine because I will never be my true self.

The last 3 days I have pushed that wall down. I have revealed my true self. Was I ever surprised to learn that people liked me more. I was told I seemed more genuine, more authentic, more real. Because of that people wanted to reach out to me more and help me more. You could have knocked me over with a feather! To be accepted as I truly am with my feelings out in the open for all to see was scary yet comfortable at the same time. Sort of like when you watch a horror flick in your own home. You're as comfy as can be snuggled down in a blanket on the sofa and yet terrified as well for the dumb cheerleader who is entering the house without turning on the light. (Did I just relate myself to a dumb cheerleader?)

The last few days have seemed so surreal because everything is so very real. No longer are these blurry eyes trying to focus on just a few focal points but they are clear eyes looking at the world anew. Life right now is as if I'm a toddler. I relearning how to eat, think and feel; just like toddler. I'll say this, I would rather regress so that I can truly live life then push forward into my 34th year as hollow version of myself. So, I'll keep exposing the real me. I'll continue to allow my friends, family and new acquaintances to who the true Tamara is. As for running through the mall naked? I think I'll leave that for my dreams.

Solitaire

It's a quiet morning today. Of course, maybe that has something to do with the fact that I've been up for two hours already and it's only 6:00 am. Suffice it to say it was not a good night sleep. It wasn't even a half way decent night sleep. Now that I think about it, I'm wondering, "did I even sleep?" Can a person actually get sleep in between checking the clock every half hour? ugh

The permanent fog that has come to rest on my eyes and forehead no longer feels foreign to me. The awkward numbness and pain that travels from my armpit down to the tips of my fingers no longer feels alien. The beast named Benji yelling in my head no longer seems like a distraction. Instead, these things have become a part of me. They have become so much a part of me that I'm wondering how I will function when I am able to get rid of them. These things are not easy to live with yet live with them I must...at least for now.

Of course I have been prescribed painkillers and medication to assist with easing the pain, the insomnia and the depression. They only do some of the work to alleviate what I am experiencing. The rest is left up to me to cope with through ice and heat treatments, meditation and basically doing anything to get my mind onto something else. This is why the night time is so treacherous. It is much easier to find a way to get your mind off the pain, fatigue and depression when the sun is up and activities are easily found to do. In the middle of the night when the world is asleep and it seems like you are the only left alive in the world, the most difficult thing to do is getting your mind off those problems.

It is in the middle of the night when I am at my lowest point. The fatigue causes my eyes to constantly droop close. I think for an instant, "finally, sleep has arrived." But then reality sets in and I realize that they are only closed for a few seconds before I feel the pain roar in again. I decide to play a few games of solitaire on my phone. To no avail. The pain cannot be ignored no matter how many times I play. Then the depression sneaks it's way in and I become downtrodden and pessimistic. I start playing the "why me" game. It's a game that can never be won but is highly addicting.

Now here I sit. Still all alone in the world, so it seems. The sun is not up. The birds have yet to start their chirping. The dogs look at me as if to say, "lady, you're crazy, go back to bed!" Casey is still snuggled down in the covers. How I envy him right now. His face is fully relaxed and his body is enveloped in healing comforting sleep. I am thankful he is getting rest but jealous at the same time. Uh oh, here comes the "why me" game again. Why am I the one who can't sleep? Why am I the one in pain? Why am I the one who has an eating problem? Will the answer to these questions ever present themselves? Who knows.

What I do know is that I've got to make it through this. I've got to continue to keep pressing on and fighting this fight. My pessimistic side informs me that each day is a battle. The new and intriguing optimistic side says that each day is a chance to start anew. Right now it seems as if I have to struggle through the battle to be able to start anew. There have been a lot of battles and there are many more to come. In fact, I don't see an end in sight. How will I get through them all? For a warrior to be at their best they must be well rested. How can I continue fighting a war when rest never comes?

Right now this warrior is exhausted. My eyelids keep drooping as I write this. Is sleep finally here? Nope, the pain has snapped me awake again, dammit.

Time for some solitaire.

Benji

It is 1:00am. I am awakened yet again by the pain. The pain in my shoulder that with the aid of pain killers ebbs away but never truly diminishes. I stare at the ceiling, praying to God, the Divine Spirit and Mother Nature to please take away my pain. I think, "if I could just get past this shoulder pain then this eating disorder's gonna be a breeze to kick." I lay there. And I lay there until I realize that today is not the day that they are going to answer my call. Instead I start hearing someone, something calling my name, reaching out to me.

The way in which it calls out to me is filled with yearning, despair and grief. This voice calling out to me reaches to the depths of my soul. I can feel the sorrow from the roots of my hair to the very tips of my toes. It clutches my gut and clings on as if to say, "I'm not letting go. I cannot be alone. I've been with out you for far too long."

It is at this moment that I realize who this voice belongs to, it's my dear old arch nemesis, it's my partner in crime, it's...my eating disorder. His name is Benji. It seems as if Benji is here to win me back. He starts back in with the same old lines he always has: "I won't get out of control this time", "I never meant to hurt you", "You told me that we had fun together" and my favorite line of his, "Weren't you the one who told me that I understood you like no one else could?"

I feel myself freeze. I don't know what to do. I feel so weak against his constant barrage of comments. I know I don't want to go back to him but at the same time I have been mourning his vacancy in my life. I close my eyes. I inhale sharply. I push the air way down in my lungs like one does when trying to stop hiccups. I slowly, ever so slowly exhale. I start to open my eyes but they are weighed down with guilt. The most I can open them is just enough to look down at my feet. This guilt come with the terror of knowing that I am going to let Benji back in my life. The guilt is here because I am not strong enough to turn him away.

Benji whispers his secret soothing message to me. I know automatically what I must do. I pull back the covers. I sit up in bed, a task not easily performed with one shoulder down for the count. I delicately place my feet on the ground and stand up. Once again, I take a deep breath and push it down, this time it feels like I have pushed the breath all the way down to my toes. I begin my journey to my comfort zone. It is a well worn path and one I can travel with my eyes closed. It only takes 10 steps and the comfort zone is reached. It is in this comfort zone that I feel cocooned with love but also steeped in self hatred. The kitchen.

I reach up for my favorite binge item and make the journey back to the bedroom. I slowly, ever so carefully open the box and the bag inside; can't wake any one up. The fear of someone discovering what I'm doing is enormous. I reach in the box, grab a handful of cereal and stuff it in my mouth. I close my eyes expecting relief, heaven, soothing comfort. Instead the cereal, my favorite snack in the world, tastes like saw dust. I'm not giving up though because that hole has to be filled. I reach in again and again and again. The saw dust taste remains. Then I do something that amazes myself. I stop eating. Me. The over eater, the binger, I stop eating.

It is at this moment that I realize I have been duped yet again. Benji has swooped in, deceived me into believing him and he has hurt me once again. Why would this time have been any different. He's never done anything but hurt me. I close the box of cereal. This doesn't shut him up. I confidently walk back to the kitchen and place what was once my favorite snack food back in the cupboard. Benji is louder than ever before.

I walk back to the bedroom all the while Benji is screaming at me. Yelling at me. Telling me what a failure I am. Snickering to me that I'm a loser. I crawl in bed, pull the covers over me and stare up at the ceiling. Benji is still raging at me. This time when I pray to God, the Divine Spirit and Mother Nature I am praying for them to protect me from my demon. I pray to keep him away from me. I pray for strength to defeat him.

It is now 7:45am. Benji is still at it, but I have not allowed his abusiveness to convince me to hurt myself. Instead I have reached out to those who love me. I have come out of hiding and have found support in those who love me. It is now that I realize that I'm still at war with Benji but I think I might have actually won a battle for a change. And Benji, if you're listening, this won't be the last one I win. I'm in this war for the long haul. I am building my defenses. The numbers in my army are increasing. One of these days you will be defeated for good. One of these days I'll be free from your terrorizing clutches.

For now though I am relishing in this small victory.

Tamara 1/Benji 0

Dear John Letter

Dear Eating Disorder,

I don't know how to say this other than to just come out and say it. The time has come for us to go our separate ways. We used to be the best of friends. I really did enjoy the time I spent with you. Our relationship was so comfortable. I look back on those day so fondly. But lately I get the feeling that you aren't giving me what I need anymore.

Don't get me wrong, you've done a lot for me in my life. You have filled a void that no one else has been able to fill. When ever the going got tough you were always there for me. You were my confidante. My partner in crime.

However, when I look at our relationship now, I no longer see you as a confidante but as my arch nemesis. Instead of letting me live my life and let me be who I am, you are holding me back from getting any enjoyment from life. I can't even get any enjoyment from the little things. I've tried breaking up with you in the past but have not had the power to stay away from you for very long. I have always returned to you, even though I know you are not any good for me, I have always returned to you.

I still don't know if I have the power to end our relationship. However, what I do know now is that I have the support of those who love me standing by my side. I have let others in on our little relationship. My family and friends know how dysfunctional and abusive it is for me to stay in this relationship any longer. They are providing me with endless support and love regarding my decision. They will stand by me and provide me with strength when I feel I have none.

I have realized that unlike my family and friends you've never supported me, you have only weighed me down. When I'm with you I seclude myself from others, I feel negative thoughts about myself and I don't see any hope towards the future. The only thing I'm concerned about when I'm with you, is you.

I can no longer live this way, because, let's be honest, this is no way to live a life. I can no longer eat my way through life. I want to be able to live life to the fullest, be able to experience all that is out there in this world and more than anything I want to be able to love myself.

It is for all these reasons that our relationship must end. Please know that I will miss you, all those trips to the kitchen at night, the covert operations to sneak food and the feeling that you would give me when I was fuller than I every thought I could be, yes I will miss you.

But for the sake of my well being I must end this. And I must end it now. Please do not contact me or try to visit. This may sound harsh, but I want nothing to do with you. From now on I have no room for you in my life. I will be busy moving on and growing up.

I do wish you the best.

Sincerely,

Tamara

Rock Solid

He is my rock. He not only tolerates my moods, negativity and recent pessimistic attitude towards life but he loves me despite these traits. When I'm unable to stand up on my own, he holds me up. When I feel like giving up, he helps me to see there is something worth fighting for. When I feel defeated in a battle, he reminds me that the war is not over. I am not only blessed to have this remarkable man in my life but honored that he has chosen me to love.

We've not yet been together two years. The first two years of a relationship are normally filled with glee, happiness, fun adventures and romance. This has not been the case for us. Our first two years together have been filled with the ups and downs equivalent to a roller coaster. I am still amazed that he continues to choose to love me. This past year has been one of the most difficult in our lives. We have faced unbelievable job stress, major depression, an eating disorder, two of our dogs almost dying, financial issues beyond belief, a mother almost dying, an aunt passing away...I don't think I need to go on. More negative events have put pressure on our relationship this year than some couples face in 10 years. Yet, the love he has for me has never diminished, it only has increased.

The fact that this man loves me despite my flaws is a wonder to me. His love provides me with the strength I need to heal myself, to face my darkest hour and know that with him by my side, I can face these demons before me. Not only face them, but defeat them. With him by my side I know that anything is possible.

This man who has chosen to love me is not just my boyfriend, my significant other or my future husband to be, he is my hero.

Flip Flopped Feet and Baby Blues

I am waiting in my car. It is 12:30pm, a half hour before my appointment. I'm staring at my reflection in the finger-print smudged rear view mirror. I do not see myself. I see little eyes staring at me. I see what ifs. I see questions. I see doubt. Most of all I see desperation. Desperation because this has to work. I cannot continue eating my feelings, my fears, my life.

The sky blue eyes in the window stare back at me. They are judging me. They are testing me. Those cloudy blue eyes dare to taunt me through the mirror. They say, "You're a half hour early and there's a taco cart just down the street." I put my flip flopped foot on the brake, shift the car into drive then...I freeze. I look in the mirror at those taunting eyes and scream, "No!" I throw the car back into park. I keep the flip flopped shoe on the brake just to make sure I won't go down to the local taco joint for a taco...or five.

I continue to sit there. The air conditioning is blowing causing those baby blues to water. I hadn't realized that I was staring at those eyes again. They now speak the truth. I have two choices in front of me. Two journeys to choose from. I'm not sure I want to embark on either one. Journey number one: turn off the car, leave the comfort of solitude behind, walk through those doors and leave those menacing eyes behind me forever or...journey number two: back the car out of the parking space, maneuver the metal coach back home and allow those temptresses, those beady blue eyes to haunt me forever.

I look back in the mirror, back at those blue eyes that have been allowed to humor themselves for far too long and I see...something I hadn't expected. I see strength. I see courage. I see hope.

I put my right hand on the sun warmed keys and I feel myself turn off the car. I feel the flip flopped foot remove itself from the brake. I look down into my lap, close my sky blue eyes and breathe a breath of life. I open the car door with my left hand. It feels like the weight of the world is behind it. I push with power I didn't know I had. Suddenly I'm standing next to my car, drenched in delightful sunlight. It pours over me like a baptism. I think to myself, "why did I not realize it was sunny before now?" I close the car door. It shuts with the greatest of ease. I turn towards the building before me. The doors are 20 steps away. I place my purse on my shoulder and take my first trepidatious step. Then another one until I'm at the door way. The doors open automatically. A clue from the gods above or just the mechanical genius of technology? I find this question humorous. As I step over the threshold towards my new life I realize, I am smiling.

Cheese Puffs, Solitude and Truth

It started when I was 7. I'd crouch into the kitchen, slowly open the cupboard door, carefully open the bag of cheese puffs, cringing the entire time just knowing that I would get caught. This would be it. The jig would be up. I would be caught red handed, or in this case, day glow orange handed. Alas, the bag would be open! I'd reach my hand in, my mouth already watering from anticipation, I'd get the first fistful of cheese puffs and stuff one in my mouth. I wouldn't chew right away. In fact my method didn't require chewing at all. I'd hold it in my mouth, allow it to melt in the saliva. This was the easiest way to eat them. I wouldn't get that raw mouth one normally does when eating cheese puffs. Instead the cheese puff would melt to a wonderful mushy consistency and all I would have to do is swallow. Then it would be time to do it all over again. I loved these secret trips to the kitchen, to my special cheese puff cupboard, to my haven of safety. Those cheese puffs were my best friend. They filled a hole that wasn't filled by anything else.

I've always snuck food. I can't remember a time when I haven't. When I was in junior high, I loved coming home from school to an empty house. This was the time that I got to make cheese rice. I would carefully measure the rice and the water. The perfect consistency of rice was so dependent upon the perfect proportions. Once the rice and water were in the bowl I would top it off with a slice of American cheese. The microwave would do it's fantastic magic and Presto! I would have my little bowl of perfection. It would be me, the cheese rice and the safety of solitude.

Then I would panic. Time to hide the evidence. My sister would be home soon. I can't have her know. Can't have her find out the truth. I would scrub the dishes by hand. Dissolve all the specks of remaining goodness. Down the sink it went along with little bits of my self worth. In no time the kitchen would be clean. A testament to the world that I never ate at all. I knew the cheese rice would never divulge the precious connection we had. The cheese rice and I still had our little secret.

It's been this way my entire life. I used to view food as my best friend. Now I view it as my enemy. Let's just come out and say it...I'm a binge eater. To this day I still sneak food in solitude. Now, instead of just a few fistfuls of cheese puffs, or a bowl of cheese rice, it's half a box of cereal, a bag of popcorn, half a bag of chips, a few slices of cheese, a slice or two of left over pizza...shall I go on? I assume that you get the idea. I don't purge, meaning I don't throw up after bingeing, because I love the feeling of being full, of being stuffed, when my pants get so tight, like after thanksgiving dinner, that I have to unbutton my pants. And yet, I despise that feeling as well. I think, "How could I do this to myself, again?" Such an odd juxtaposition to be in.

The humor in it all is that even with being that full, with eating so much that if I were to eat another bite I would throw up because not one more bit of food will fit into my body, I still don't feel full. I still feel hungry. I have a hole in me that is never full. It's always running on empty.

On Monday I have an intake appointment for an eating disorder program. I am petrified. The program is five days a week, nine and a half hours a day. My first thought is, where will I be able to binge in solitude? When will I be able to get that next fix? And yet, I don't want that next fix. I don't want to swallow another bit of self hatred. With each bite of food I lose a little more of who I am, I lose a little more of myself. The food has taken over. I have allowed food to use it's power over me for way too long. I need to fill my arsenal with a multitude of weapons so that I can actually win a battle someday. I want to see food as fuel not as solace. I want solitude to be splendid not covert. Most of all, I want to be free from this addiction.

Tomorrow my journey towards being free begins. Today is another day of struggling against these chains to food, of trying to live another day with this empty hole.

Casey is not here right now. I hear the cupboards beckoning me. I hear the cupcake batter in the fridge swirling about. The chips are singing their sweet song of temptation. I can hear the cereal dancing it's delicious cha-cha-cha. And off some where in the distance, a half a world away, I can hear the cheese puffs calling my name...