Archive | February 2016


Cleaning pictures off my devices and found these that I made last fall.  I have some more I need to piece together. The joys of bed bound.

My validation strips.



Breathe Me

This song is gorgeous instrumentally and lyrically. I want to do a routine to it. But I also love that I feel like it captures how I feel in words and emotions. Feels right.

Breathe Me- Sia

Help, I have done it again

I have been here many times before

Hurt myself again today

And the worst part is there’s no one else to blame
Be my friend

Hold me, wrap me up

Unfold me

I am small and needy

Warm me up

And breathe me
Ouch, I have lost myself again

Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found,

Yeah, I think that I might break

Lost myself again and I feel unsafe
Be my friend

Hold me, wrap me up

Unfold me

I am small and needy

Warm me up

And breathe me
Be my friend

Hold me, wrap me up

Unfold me

I am small and needy

Warm me up

And breathe me

Last Chance

Last Chance – Kaskade & Project 46

Please don’t break me

Please don’t let me fall

Please don’t break me and leave me nothing at all
Cause this is my one last chance to breathe

This is my one last chance to breathe [x2]

This is my one last chance, my one last chance to breathe
Please don’t break me and leave me nothing at all
Cause this is my one last chance to breathe

This is my one last chance to breathe [x2]

This is my one last chance, my one last chance to breathe

Too Fat to Breathe?

Last weekend I ended up getting pretty sick.

It all started with a horrid sore throat. Which progressed to a runny and congested nose. This led to some hardcore coughs that were few and far apart.

In retrospect, it all started with a bunch of sneezing.

And it all started with a coworker who shared it. And got it from a patient.

Well I figured it was a basic cold; no biggie.

Everyone in the office seemed to get some variation of it and now it was my turn.

But thanks to that whole starving myself thing, I got it full on.

I’m immunosuppressed. Anorexia does that to you.

They don’t advertise that on the model campaigns. Or as thinspo.

I guess “nothing tastes as good as skinny feels and being sick all the time because you’re immunosuppressed” isn’t catchy.

Well, when it first started, it was simple things.

Walking I would get winded.

I was convinced I was just getting fatter. I was clearly out of shape. I can’t breather because I’m fat!!!

I nearly passed out in the stairs from lack of oxygen–because I’m fat!!

This went on for a week.

I got sent home from work because I looked horrendous apparently.

My lips tingled. When I coughed, I would cough so hard I’d almost faint. My sinuses were beyond full. I still figured it was a cold.

One of my coworkers texted me Friday evening to tell me we had all been exposed to RSV–another coworker tested positive and that someone else transmitted it to us via a patient.

Normally, RSV is only bad for elderly adults and babies. But it’s also bad for those with asthma.

Guess who now knows she has asthma?!?!

I called my doctor to see if anything besides my current inhaler could help. I mean hitting it 5times a day without much help and still feeling like a fat ass because I can’t breathe while walking is ridiculous.

So to summarize: I literally can’t breathe, I have minimal oxygen, am confused, show all scary healthcare signs of poor oxygenation, and have Ed’s voice telling me it’s because I’m too fat on top of all that.

Oh and my damn pharmacy decided to close 4 hours early today so I couldn’t get my newest inhaler.


Because I don’t feel fat enough! I get to pant and feel dizzy every ten steps!

Second Time Around

Here I am again.

Round two.

Second first appointment.

This time I kind of know what to expect. And yet, I did not.

I was nervous all week for it.

Well, I was until I got super sick. Ya next post to be posted.

I arrived, figuring the usual–game plan of what we will do. Me relieving my past. Torturous. Me detached. Avoidance of feelings. Me outside of my body telling the story as if it happened to someone else and I just watched it all happen.

What I did not expect was to be sent home the day before for being sick. So I was home sick before the appointment. And I ate nothing because I slept the whole time.

No. Not depression. The opposite has been happening-anxiety. But I’ve been so damn sick my body needs it so I gave it what it needed. And I have no energy. So fighting to eat well ha ha ha.

We start off our meeting with me sporting the sexy yellow mask.

Talking about how when I’m sick is when I need help and support the most.

I told her about the horrible situation I dealt with the weekend before with my parents calling me fat to my face maliciously. How it’s hard to deal with that to give her an idea of how it is always ongoing.

Then we started working on her plans and goals of treatment. Here it gets fuzzy because, well, I blacked out.

She said she wants to do weekly weights.

And I basically told her no kiss my fat ass. That I used to obsess over them they are triggering fuck that. Even blind weights I will find a way to find out what it is.

And then I proceeded to black out.

I remember tunnel vision happening. I remember the panic. I remember the rapid breathing. It doesn’t help that I have RSV and asthma so my oxygen levels are pretty crappy.

Who the hell knows what else happened.

At the end I know that I had homework. That I have goals every week. One self care, one eating disorder recovery, one relationships.

The homework came home with me.

I’ve already failed them.

They are so simple.

And yet I can’t even.

So even having done this before, knowing what to expect and what to do, being a professional in this field, and having a nutrition certificate, I still can’t even do this.

Because that is how powerful Ed’s voice is.

Second time around and just as rough as the first.

Little Moments

Today I just had a little moment of realization. Another one of those “Why PC is My Kind of Perfect.”

Granted he is on my list for contributing to getting me sick with a throat cold…

But sick and all, he knew how badly I was hurt yesterday. He knows how stressed and anxious I have been on this journey to get help. He knows I’ve been bullied by Dramama and I can’t fight back.

So he did my kind of amazing.

He took me to cleanse my soul.

Even sick, he insisted we head to the beach. So we went to the beach today.

Sea salt air. Sun on my skin. Sea breeze blowing through my hair. Just what I needed.

But as we were driving there, I was having my usual anxiety in the car and his responses made me realize how perfect for me he is.

-What an asshole! He didn’t need to cut that driver off! I mean seriously?! Who does that?! Drives in the emergency lane to cut people off to get ahead and we are all still stopped!

Babe. It’s ok. Let’s bring it back and enjoy the ride. Forget them. Let’s enjoy the moment. It’s a beautiful day. And I’m in the car with my beautiful girlfriend. [as he reaches for my hand].

It brings me back in the moment. I don’t know if he even realizes how he grounds me from these anxiety and panic attacks. /mindfulness\

I’ve become more aware of them lately when he drives.

It’s these little moments where I am so thankful I have him. Because I don’t know how I’d survive this world, deal with Ed’s voice, without PC.

Ya why do I deserve him?

The Intake Interview

Everything was so slow up until the actual intake. Panic attacks happened. My anxiety just blossomed into full on panic.

I was fearful that this was my last attempt at help. What if it didn’t work out? What if there is nothing wrong with me? What if it truly is all in my head? What if I’m too fucked up for her to help me?

I didn’t take any Ativan because I needed her to see me in the raw state–me at my worst. That is the whole point of this I take interview. It sucked going at it that way.

Leaving work early also was not fun. I still have fear that there was gossip about why I left early. All that nasty whispering that has been going on.

When I arrived to the clinic, during check in, another patient had seizures. So, naturally, I stepped in to assist. I don’t think the clinic handle them well, but now I’m all jacked up on adrenaline and panic juices. Fab combo.

Of course my new therapist is cute. Tiny, petite. I swear it’s like a requirement.

She has a close relationship with Cherry which makes me ecstatic. They talked about me which to most people is upsetting. To me it’s a relief. Cherry is a Cassie expert. Cherry can and will be an excellent resource as needed. Cherry was apparently proud of me for telling my boss about my struggle with anorexia. I’m still not sure if I regret that or not, but it felt wonderful to hear that from Cherry.

I had to take 3 assessment quizzes. One stated I was depressed. I said the last month it’s hard not to be when I’ve been bullied at work and home and I am unable to exercise because of my fall. I still don’t think I’m depressed–anxiety filled for sure!!

Then I had to do the usual in depth questionnaire that I hate.

Purging habits. Restricting habits. Explanations of how I truly have no desire to eat. My earliest memories of dieting desires and compulsions were 5th grade. My need to not eat was as early as 6 or 7 years old; yes I’m a lifer anorexic. I really hate food.

Then the conversation about how I’ve started to get the baby belly back again because I haven’t been eating so I’m agitated. That I’m having confusion and excessive sleepiness and it’s because I get out of meals and don’t eat not depression. But forcing to eat sucks. But I need to to lose weight.

Vicious fucking cycle.

She is tabling the idea of me working with a dietician. Ummm I will fight that. None of that.

After two hours, all I kept thinking, and still think, is I am not that sick. I don’t have a problem. When she asked about how many breakfasts/snacks/lunches/snacks/dinners I have eaten in the last 30 days, I just felt really fat. Like too many. And way too many to qualify.

But she wants to see me effective immediately. Definitely once a week minimum. She thinks maybe twice but she knows how hard it was to get once a week off for work.

She proceeded to give me a pamphlet of the labs she wants completed with my doctor as well. So while I still feel like a huge fake, it seems I’ve triggered something to indicate further and closer follow up.

It’s a relief in a way because now I can stop fighting on my own. I have someone on my team and someone who can validate me and my experiences.

Be thankful if you have friends and family who support you in your recovery. Some of us would kill for that. It’s part of what’s killing me.

My parents today told me I’m too fat that I’ll never be able to fit into a certain size. They also constantly tell me that PC must be grossed out seeing me naked. Both of my parents are more overweight than I am.

Glad to have someone remind me that what they say is not ok. Because Ed’s voice still latches on. And I’ve been crying all day over this.

Two Days.

Two days until the intake interview for the potential newest therapist.

Part of me is so desperate I want it to work.

But then I think back to how the social worker and I just did not mesh or gel and I think it exacerbated everything. She is sweet and kind, but anorexia and anxiety are so fragile that the wrong help is just like handing an already cracked glass item to a toddler.

So now I wait.

Longest two days of my life here we come.

The thought of just having a support system is anxiety provoking in a relief sense; like I just want it to start someone can validate me. Yet I’m so scared of the rejection. The “this isn’t a good fit” or “I can’t give you what you need” when you desperately need it.

Just someone to believe in me.

Two days is a long time to wait to find out if you have someone on your team or not. Especially when you already suffer from anxiety disorders.

Alright, Ativan, you’re up!

About To Go Off

Alright, first off, I have come up with a nickname for that nasty coworker I have. You know, the one who tried to inappropriately put me on blast yesterday? The drama seeking and invoking unhappy mother in her 50s? Today sealed the deal on her code name for on this blog: Dramama.

It just seems right.

I’m just so done. Today I nearly lost it.

I mean I didn’t even notice her bad attitude and apparent bad attitude towards me; someone else pointed it out to me. I’m just so used to it and so used to ignoring it.

Because she doesn’t phase me.

And I think she knows it too.

Cause she’s been stepping it up.

She’s pissed for literally some self induced juvenile drama. She’s taking it out on me. I just don’t care. It’s upsetting others. I appreciate their concern but that’s what concerns me most–my lack of concern or empathy for Dramama. It’s the point where if she were to die I would not be phased; might even add some tidbit about kharma being a bitch. Cause it is.

Well I am having issues of establishing my boundaries with her. Part of it is my fault because I’m fearful in establishing/defining/upholding my own boundaries. For reasons that explain my anorexia and my plethora of anxiety disorders.

I’m just afraid of upsetting someone. And getting in trouble. Always in my head!!

Well Dramama was jealous today and went to our boss and  lied stating that I was being loud and laughing for an hour–distracting her from her work.


You’d have to be working to be distracted. You could ask us to be quiet. It was a whole 15 minutes so way to over embellish. She was jealous because she was not a part of the coversation nor was she invited/able to contribute/was it around her.

So she tells the boos it’s my fault?!

Fuck. That.

Shhh. The fireman coming!

My boss knows Dramama is the way she is and we had a good talk–initially about my shifts supporting me in therapy mickawhat?!?!

So I politically correctly threw Dramama under the bus while making myself look good.

My boss told me to stand up against her and I’m glad I did. I have the permission now. It’s on baby!! My bitch gangsta side comes out and it’s not pretty. Her faux pretentious ass will not handle my honesty.