tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13189976029089288862012-01-25T15:07:54.265-08:00My Best Friend AnaKatehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.comBlogger181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-80559407172339801012011-01-12T16:27:00.000-08:002011-01-12T16:41:19.875-08:00I stopped posting here last year when I realized, after some honest introspection, that it was definitely dragging me down. I wanted to reach out to you and others who might have been in the same place I was. And as much as I loved talking to so many of you, I'm afraid I still need to limit the amount of doses of this poison that I encounter. While I've successfully avoided relapse, I can still smell my face in the toilet when I read these blogs, and I don't want my mind to dwell there ever again. It was another life ago, and I'm at peace now.<div><br /></div><div>Since last year it looks like a lot of you have stopped posting. I may pop back from time to time, but for now I'll be leaving the parting message from my first post as my "away message." </div><div><br /></div><div>I hope someone can find strength, courage and possibly even healing in my words, which is why I'm leaving this blog up.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you'd like to contact me, please feel free to comment below and then e-mail me privately at TheKateofSpades@gmail.com. (But you'll need to leave a comment for me to go check the e-mail.) I will regularly receive and respond to any genuine comments or questions. But like I said, I'll otherwise not be lurking around the pro-ana community. You may find me without realizing it, blogging about my new life somewhere else. </div><div><br /></div><div>I wish you peace.</div><div><br /></div><div>Kat</div><div><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-8055940717233980101?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-80981748406738863592010-05-07T07:22:00.001-07:002010-05-07T07:33:54.675-07:00<b>Tonight is the night.</b><div><br /></div><div><b></b>I'm going to do it... I'm going to pole dance in front of a live audience for the first time in my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm ready... I've trained a year for this. I even got my drop back/handstand at the dress rehearsal Wednesday, despite my back injury.</div><div><br /></div><div>Think of me today:</div><div>Around 5pm I'm going to start putting on the full makeup, silver smokey eyes, glittery faux lashes... this is the real deal. </div><div><br /></div><div>6pm</div><div>The waiting, the waiting, the waiting... I'm going to throw back a corona light with the girls to calm my nerves. I'll be getting dressed - sequined booty shorts, stilettos...</div><div><br /></div><div>7pm</div><div>Guests start arriving. The house will be full.</div><div><br /></div><div>7:30pm</div><div>Lights are down. The show begins... group routine with all 10 of us... followed by my girls...one by one.</div><div><br /></div><div>8:15pm</div><div>Blastoff. :)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-8098174840673886359?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-50153016023444824862010-04-29T06:25:00.000-07:002010-04-29T07:39:53.680-07:00It dawned on me, as I sweated and twirled and flipped in the pole studio until 10pm last night, that I might not get one of my best tricks down pat before the show next Friday. Ugh. <div><br /></div><div>At a pivotal moment in the song (I am doing "Monster" by Lady Gaga), I do this awesome spinny climb, then a backwards layout, and then I drop back, upside down, holding on to the pole with nothing but the tops of my feet and my shins. (I know, it sounds impossible, but trust me, my body acts like a counter weight and it works - it's pretty flippin' cool when done gracefully.) At that point, I slide down the pole (upside down) into a handstand and kick down. Mind you, I am supposed to do all of this in my 6.5" stilettos. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last night I lost my steam spiraling up the pole and didn't even make it to the drop back. Twice. I'm not sure what happened, but I can only assume it's because i'm feeling so physically worn out from all of the training. As I drove home, I was sorting out a lot of awful emotions - envisioning myself failing to climb the pole and imagining judgmental onlookers thinking that it was because I was too heavy. It's ridiculous, of course, but Ana still takes every opportunity to put those thoughts in my mind...</div><div><br /></div><div>I've always been a bit of a perfectionist, which Ana has always told me coordinates with her outfits perfectly. A trim of perfection - to be the best - to strike awe into others...</div><div><br /></div><div>The thought of not being perfect - of not being the best - made me falter for a moment and wonder if I should back out of the performance. I had plenty of excuses I could give - what with my back strain and my injured knee...</div><div><br /></div><div>But no. I remembered that this is exactly what Ana does to me. She keeps me from living. She keeps me from doing amazing things - good things that I want to do. She tells me that if I'm not perfect, it's not worth doing...I'm not worth being. But it's not true. I'm doing this for me, and I'm doing it for you. And I would never do it if I left it up to Ana.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm doing this for the little girls inside of us who skipped fun outings with our friends at the pool on days that we felt fat or weren't comfortable in our own, beautiful skin. This body is my home, and not my enemy. Perfection is my enemy. And if I don't get my drop back, then I don't get it. But I'm not going to let Ana's perfectionistic mirages take this night away from me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Cheers - 9 days to go!</div><div><br />xoxo</div><div>Kate</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-5015301602344482486?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-16148693016247399212010-04-27T16:23:00.000-07:002010-04-27T16:51:09.645-07:00<div>I've thought of you every day, but my own necessity kept me away - I needed some time, like earlier this year, to recuperate. I read your blogs, and I can't not cry. You feel trapped in your words and say things like "it's been hard" or talk about how exhausted, angry, hurt you are by what is happening to you... but the words don't really do it justice, do they? They just look like complaints on the page, as if you were writing about something trivial that happened on a bad day at school. But it's so much more than that and the pain runs too deep, too complex, and too confused. I know. It's hard being here again, on these blogs, and it can be a bit emotionally exhausting for me because I can't numb myself to your pain. I know it too well. Wouldn't things be easier if we were all numb! But, I suppose, on the flipside, if we were numb, we would miss all of the beauty.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I did want to tell you about my project crazy:</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm going to be performing, in two weeks, in a pole dancing show. I've been training for a year - and my tricks are pretty darn cool. But I never thought I'd be able to get up on stage and do something like this. But my body is strong, and I've been enjoying learning what I can do <i>with</i> my body instead of <i>to</i> my body. I've only cried a few times. :) I'm scared! But I want to do this. I'm ready for this. So, think of me next Friday. I'll be in booty shorts and stilettos, and I'll be thinking of each of you - praying that one day your mind will be able to accept how beautiful you truly are, rather than how beautiful you will be one day...one illusive day.</div><div><br /></div><div>xoxo</div><div>Kate<br /><div><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-1614869301624739921?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-69225674253678097482010-02-23T17:20:00.000-08:002010-02-23T17:34:05.459-08:00<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">[Eavesdropping on a typical conversation between Ana and I, years ago]:</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><o:p> </o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Me</b>: “Ana, I’m sick of this. I just want to be happy. Sometimes I just wish I could eat and be normal.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Ana</b>: “By normal do you mean fat? You can’t be happy if you let yourself get fat. You’ve tried eating. You always come back.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Me</b>: “I know… but lots of people have normal and even large bodies, and somehow manage to be happy. Isn’t that possible?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Ana</b>: “Do you think you could be?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Me</b>: “No. I guess I never will.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Ana</b>. “See. Stick with me and you’ll be thin.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Me</b>: [Sobbing] “Maybe I should go into therapy or get some help.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Ana:</b> “You’re not skinny enough yet. You’re not at your goal weight.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>You're not sick enough until you lose a few more pounds. You can’t go into therapy looking fat.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">Me:</b> “You’re right. I’m too fat for help.”</p><br /><br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style=" text-decoration: none;font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;color:#330006;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-6922567425367809748?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-3044539936314196132010-02-22T06:48:00.000-08:002010-02-22T06:49:52.708-08:00Girls,<div><br /><div>I'm so sad because I haven't been able to find Della. We were e-mailing and profile disapeared and her e-mail address was deleted. Does anyone know how to reach her? :'(</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm so sad.<br /><br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-304453993631419613?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-13865512793917084532010-02-22T05:59:00.000-08:002010-02-22T06:04:24.713-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IQBMvIslXTA/S4KOoI3FrvI/AAAAAAAAABY/LSSzgUH4h4s/s1600-h/plate1-400x300.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_IQBMvIslXTA/S4KOoI3FrvI/AAAAAAAAABY/LSSzgUH4h4s/s200/plate1-400x300.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441068120041434866" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">This week was the beginning of Lent.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Since I grew up in a religious family, Ana and I used to use any excuse to fast. It was like a free day without any pressure – no one expected me to eat, so there was no pressure to pretend.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Fasting has presented a much greater challenge since I went into recovery.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here is the understatement of the year: I’m in a much different place spiritually and mentally than I was back then.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’ve changed faiths for starters. I broke off my friendship with Ana and Mia.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But I really wanted to participate in the season of lent this year. The idea is to give up something you really like (often a favorite food) and focus on growing spiritually and praying.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s also traditional to fast on the first day of lent.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On Ash Wednesday this week, I decided to give fasting another go. A few hours in – the familiar feelings. The hunger pangs I used to look forward to and consider a success. The oh-so-familiar taste in my own mouth. The blurry disconnect. It was all so easy. So familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I slipped it on like a favorite, old pair of jeans.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But you know, I think the scars run too deep.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I did that for too long to have a good mindset about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">While I didn’t feel the need to relapse this time, I couldn’t help but start seeing the world the way I used to. Seeing food as poison, noticing others’ weakness for eating, and feeling a little worthless.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I floated down the aisle at Ash Wednesday service in a blur. The priest placed the ashes on my forehead saying, “Remember, O man, that you are dust, and unto dust you shall return.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This reminds me that my life is just a breathe – a moment in time that is passing </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m playing my own body guard now, and I’ve decided that it’s not safe for me to fast from food. In a way, I think I’m becoming a better body guard to my own recovery – learning things that put me in harms way and avoiding them – even if it does make people judge.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I don’t think I really should <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">ever </i>let my guard down. Recovery is not a state of being, it is a daily journey.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style=" ;font-family:Arial;color:black;"><o:p> </o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think next time Ash Wednesday rolls around, I’ll be fasting from something non-food related like TV or the internet.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Probably I’ll go for something that puts a little more silence in my life. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m just not there. And that’s okay.</p><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-1386551279391708453?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-87926640597846619722010-02-15T07:25:00.001-08:002010-02-15T07:45:35.946-08:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve been distant, I know.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I won’t let it happen again.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">You see, I’ve been getting kicked in the gut over and over again.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I don’t blame you for being upset that I haven’t posted. I’ve just been flat on my back, emotionally, and I’m really, really ready to leave this place. I’ve got sooo much to catch you up on, and I hadn’t decided until now whether or not I was going to be able to do it.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I think I can.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve described to you before how EDs push people away. I know it first hand from my own experiences pushing everyone in my life out – slamming the doors so Ana and I could be alone and concentrate on progress.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But this is the first time I’ve ever been the one on the other side of the door.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It’s no fun.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve often made the parallel between an ED and an abusive relationship.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">In my own recovery, I refer to my eating disorder as a person, “Ed.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Kat said she was doing better, and said she didn’t want to do this blog anymore and that she knew it was keeping her from recovery.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I don’t know how to write about all that’s transpired since then, because I can’t process it fully myself yet.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve been trying to verbalize so I could share with you, but I don’t know how yet.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve been really torn up since recently; Kat started shutting everyone out, including me.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She’s been behaving really erratically and making a lot of crazy moves.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She stole from </span><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Judah</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">’s workplace. She stole from my friend at a party.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She dropped out of High School.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She was staying at my house for a few weeks, and picked up and left one night without warning.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Back at my parent’s house a few weeks later, she ran away from home.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">She’s been lashing out and hurting everyone around her, honestly being kind of a jerk, and busting up her relationships.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve cried a lot.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">For a week all I could think about was “Speechless” by Lady Gaga. The Lyrics totally expressed my feelings.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The day after she ran away from home, I wrote her a letter. </span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Here goes.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Dear “Kat”,<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I wanted to write this to you today to give you a glimpse into actual reality. I know that to a certain extent, you know that what I am about to say is true.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I love you. And I’m a fool in love because it’s destroying me emotionally.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I feel so useless as I write this at my little table at Starbucks.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">How long do you think relationships can handle going through the meat grinder that is Ana and Mia?</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">You are missing so much.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">One of my biggest regrets in life is that I feel like I just started living 3 years ago. Life, it turns out, is a cornucopia of amazing sounds, colors, thoughts – emotions even – that my eating disorder would not allow me to experience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’m talking about your eating disorder because I blame your relationship with Ana/Mia squarely for the crumbling relationships between you and our family who love you so desperately.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It makes me want to scream, or shake you because you are stuck in an addiction that promises everything, but offers you nothing.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">And you have traded the greatest gifts in your life for those cheap lies.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I know “recovery” often seems ridiculous. But I have chosen to implore you to try.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Why? Because I’m fed up. I’m sick to death of being slapped in the face by Ed when I need my sister!</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I hate that he is keeping you from being here for me, and that because of him, you have nothing to offer your family in a time of need. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I hate that the other night, you could have been having a blast with me and my crazy friends at the party, but instead you chose to spend the night in the bathroom.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Try to tell me that doesn’t hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But that is the reality of our EDs. Not the beautiful, thin, fulfilled models you posted as thinspiration. That’s the lie that Ana promises but never delivers in a way that is satisfying.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Trust me, as someone who was married to Ed for ten years, he’s a fucking loser who warps your perspective of the world and sucks every ounce of color and joy out.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Ed promises you beauty, perfection, love, acceptance, and that you will be valued. He delvers misery, depression loneliness, despair, self-hatred and death.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">It’s not beauty - It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I wish you could open your eyes and see that here before you is a family absolutely in love with you. Desperately in love with you. Tragically hurt by your actions. But this is what Ed does.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">wants</span></b></span></i><b><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></b><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">you</span></span></i><b><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></b><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">isolated.</span></span></i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">wants</span></b></i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">dead.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">He wants you lonely, and depressed. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">love</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> you. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I want </span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">you. </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I even need you.</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> But as long as you continue in your self-destructive tendencies, you will continue to fail us. How long can this go on? How many will be casualties before you stop? I am here for you.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">As I said in one of my blog posts, I feel like in a lot of ways, I have yet to even </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">meet</span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> you.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">The fact is, you are an adult now and it’s 100% your choice how you want to live your life. No one can or will stop you. I just urge you to think long and hard about what you want in your life, and if you are on a path to achieve it. They say hindsight is 20/20. In so many ways we are similar. If you extrapolate the hindsight theory, I look into your future and see utter personal disaster if you don’t reach out and accept the true love and help you deserve and need.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I see you breaking relationships. Missing the beauty in life, and perhaps even losing your future husband - simply because you chose the bathroom option.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I of all people know that it isn’t easy.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">But you are loved. You have support. You need to act. Please reach out and stop missing everything. We need you. You do have a choice. No one is making you hurt us – it is you.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">* * * <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Things seemed better for a while. Then, two weeks ago, she left home for good, leaving my mother with only a note. Since then, Kat’s been shutting everyone out. She unfriended the whole family on facebook, even me. Aside from one text, I haven’t heard from her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">There’s been a lot of erratic behavior. I get that. I know it’s a part of this whole thing.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I also know that I’m oversimplifying here – and a lot of shit has gone down, and it’s not easy to explain.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of worrying.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I can’t concentrate on anything.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">I’m ANGRY that I don’t have a sister present when I need her.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Kat’s obviously pushing everyone away, but even I feel like the limits of my patience have been tested. How many times can someone (metaphorically) hang up on you before you give up trying to call?</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Judah and I love Kat a lot, but hey, even we are human.</span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">To quote Shakespeare, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">“</span></i></span><em><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-style: normalfont-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">If you</span></span></span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">prick us,</span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><em><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-style: normalfont-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">do</span></span></span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">we</span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><em><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-style: normalfont-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">not bleed</span></span></span></em><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">?</span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><em><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-style: normalfont-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">…If you</span></span></span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">poison us,</span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><em><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-weight:bold;font-style: normalfont-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">do</span></span></span></em><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><i><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">we not die?”</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span></span></i></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi- mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-mso-bidi- font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="font-size:10.0pt; mso-bidi-mso-bidi- font-family:Calibri;font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">I guess I need to figure out how to love her without continually getting destroyed in the process.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;">I’ve been on the sidelines with a few injuries.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-size:10.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /></span></span><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></span></span></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style=" text-decoration: none;font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;color:#330006;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">free hit counter</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"> </span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-8792664059784661972?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-87306250987543425132010-02-04T10:03:00.000-08:002010-02-04T10:04:17.997-08:00Hi there,<div>Just wanted to let you know that I haven't fallen off the planet. I was called out of town unexpectedly, but now I'm back. It's been busy. Hope you are all doing ok.</div><div><br /></div><div>xoxo</div><div>kate<br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-8730625098754342513?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-72227659508330599472010-01-15T06:45:00.000-08:002010-01-15T06:52:56.557-08:00<p class="MsoNormal"><span><b>When I was 12, I made a deal with the Devil.</b></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Even back then, for as long as I could remember, I had a lot of anxiety about my body. <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I remember worrying about the leotards I wore to gymnastics class when I was only 3. I remember hating the way my thighs spread across my school room chair if I wore shorts in 3^rd<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>grade. I remember being put in the row of tall girls on picture day, and assuming that it was because I was fat. There were a lot of factors, but by the time I was 12, I felt like my life was completely out of my control, and I wasn’t happy.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>That’s when I met Ana. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>There she was. I will never forget that radiant vision of beauty: a delicate, willowy apparition of perfection. Totally beautiful. Totally perfect. Everything I longed for. <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>I absolutely worshipped her. She told me that if I followed her, I would have everything I wanted – beauty, perfection, happiness, security and control.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>It was around that time that the Devil himself appeared, reached over and offered me a single, perfect apple. “If you do as I say, and obey me, I’ll give you everything you want. You’ll be perfect. You’ll be like a goddess. Ignore everyone else. I’ll show you the way.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>I had to have that. I knew that I would never truly be happy until I had that life. That body. That control. While there were many aspects of my life that made me feel powerless and ugly, here was a goal that I could fully immerse myself in – and no one could stop me! I gave over my heart and mind. I was strong enough to put off the temporary rewards of today because I had a much higher goal. <span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>And that goal became my life.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal">* * *</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Chasing Ana was like chasing a mirage in the dessert. I would chase her to the horizon, only to find that she was still 10 more miles away. I’d look in the mirror, and remind myself how dissatisfied I was. I’d catch her clearly in my sights again. I’d chase her again. Beyond the edge of the horizon – across the sea – over the mountains, down into the valley and back again.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Almost ten years went by.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>One day in college, I looked in the mirror and realized that the 12 year old inside of me was thoroughly angry. After all of those years of loyal service to Ana, and following her every command, I only hated myself more. Instead of the radiant image I should have seen by then, my skin just looked gray. My eyes looked dull, and my once thick, shining curls were a dry, straw-like mess falling out by the gobs. Bouts of starvation ate away my muscle, making me feel flabby and weak. When I did become exhausted by the merry-go-round routine and try to eat normally, my body rebelled and my confused belly would swell up horribly. “Tisk tisk. <span> </span>Follow me,” said Ana. Always back to the drawing board – back to Ana. I never felt the satisfaction. I never experienced that confidence – but there was Ana again, promising it just beyond the next hill, the next pound, the next landmark.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Not just my skin, but LIFE was thoroughly gray.<span> </span>I needed to feel something, so I cut.<span> </span>I needed to want something, so I starved. I needed to love someone, but there was too much deep, deep sorrow that needed comfort. It was the deepest, darkest sadness: the one I call despair – which means to be without hope.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>No one in the universe can understand despair unless they have experienced it. It is in fact, the very worst kind of sorrow. It’s like the never-ending wail of a person in deep, deep mourning, but carried secretly in your own soul day by day. The person who has no hope feels no reason to exist. No value in being. No motivation to carry on. No reason to wake up in the morning or do something as simple as walk up the stairs. It’s just. too. heavy. <span> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">* * *</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>You see, devils rarely keep their promises.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>Where I had been promised success, I only experienced<i> </i></span>deeper feelings of failure. Where I had been promised glamorous beauty, I had received a broken body. Where I had been promised control, I became more powerless… Where I had been promised love and admiration, I received a string of broken relationships… and then the despair.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>Oh no, no escape! No comfort!</i> I wailed in deepest agony, driving my clunky old Honda down a bleak midwinter country road. The sky way gray. Tears, snot and drool all gushed down my gray skin. So much sorrow. <i>Trapped.</i> I could not live any longer with Ana – I wanted to die. But I also felt I could <b>never</b> live without her. <i>How would I face life without her? Could I ever face life without her?<span> </span></i>I did not believe I could. I thought there was no possible way I could ever be happy by giving up her invisible promise. I was afraid I would become everything I hated. She was so tightly engrained in my being. I felt no escape. No hope. Utter despair.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span>As someone who has taken your path to the ends of the earth and beyond, </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span>My dear, dear sisters – </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span>Warning ahead! </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span> </span>It’s just a mirage<b>.</b><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></span></span></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style=" text-decoration: none;font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;color:#330006;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"> </span></span><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;">free hit counter</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FFFFFF;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"> </span></span></span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-7222765950833059947?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com35tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-24818462137534278512010-01-09T22:07:00.000-08:002010-01-09T22:13:23.807-08:00<p class="MsoNormal">I can’t sleep. I’ve been laying in bed for an hour, feeling my heart roll around, thumping and buzzing in my chest painfully. It’s my cardiac arrhythmia. Benign in my case, but something we suspect to have been another parting gift from Mia. It feels like a jack hammer. I hate it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’m so sorry it’s been over a week since I posted.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Last week I dreamt was standing on the seashore on a cold day, feeding bits of my soul to the seagulls. They kept coming back for more. It really stuck with me. It’s one of the reasons I haven’t been on. I think I’ve had some internal conflict about how to proceed with this blog.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>While I feel strongly that I need to be here – that there’s a missing voice on these blogs – I can’t deny that it introduces an element of danger for me. And I also can’t pretend not to be affected by some of the more negative comments I’m getting. This whole thing really makes me quite vulnerable.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So the question remains – what to do.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">This has been a hard week. There’s so much I want to tell you about what’s going on (both with me and with Kat.) But I can barely bring myself to write. It’s all I can do to get up in the morning and get my work done. I can’t focus. Yeah, I’ll admit it, I’m a bit depressed. But by now I know that tomorrow, or maybe the next day, things will be better. I’ve learned a lot about coping, and living life after Ana and Mia. Sometimes you drag your feet. Sometimes you fall on your face. But I cannot – will not – let it take everything from me again. Because other days, I fly.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The way I see it right now, I’m in a battle. We all are. It’s a battle with ourselves. It’s a battle over what we want versus what we want. (Yes.) It’s a battle about success and failure… and their definitions. It’s a battle about life and death, and a question of how much we want either of those. Unfortunately, we are not the only casualties. Our friends. Our families. It’s a war out there. I’ve got some pretty impressive scars. But I’m here now to fight.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Forgive me, if I need a few days between posts from time to time to recover. I think if I’m going to keep this up, I need to give myself some safety nets. Some additional accountability or support. I know myself too well and have fallen too many times. If I’m going to keep this up, I want to make sure I can do it without backsliding myself. I hope you can understand. But I’m not going anywhere. I told you I love you, and I meant it. And I do battle for people I love.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Oh PS - I accidentally stumbled across a few so called recovery blogs that really freaked me out! It’s amazing how some people can misunderstand and be so judgmental of eating disorders. It’s not some switch you can just turn on and off at will! If you’ve ever gotten to a point where you wanted to or tried to stop, you know what I mean. (But I promise, when you are ready for it, there is a really good life on the other side of this. It just takes a lot of blood, sweat and tears to get there.)</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The victories in my life may seem small and insignificant to people who have not experienced an eating disorder. But you know, I think I’m a much stronger person than they’ll ever know for having accomplished something as simple as disobeying ana and mia again this whole, particularly trying week. But man, am I exhausted from battle.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I think I need to try to sleep now.<br />I hope you are sleeping ok tonight. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">xoxoxox<br />Kate</p> <p class="MsoNormal">PS - *winces/laughs a little* Please be nice – I’m feeling a bit fragile. <span style="font-family:Wingdings;mso-ascii-font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-hansi-font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings"><span style="mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings">J</span></span> G’night.</p><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-2481846213753427851?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-11091822550198240132009-12-31T06:06:00.000-08:002009-12-31T06:12:23.452-08:00<p class="MsoNormal"><b>Note: I took this blog post down after writing it last night because I felt it was written from a very post-recovery perspective, which I know many of you are not ready to hear. But based on the feedback and comments I got after taking it down, I've decided to go ahead and put it back up...it will be interesting to hear how you all react to this. :) I had a bad night. Ok here goes!<br />* * * * * </b></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Wow - Some Days it’s JUST as Hard.</i></p> <img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_IQBMvIslXTA/Szyw-sff0DI/AAAAAAAAABI/YMPF3mgMW4I/s200/falling-756226.jpg" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 179px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5421402642588880946" /><p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I remember this. In a huge way, it’s humbling for me to experience this tonight, and to write it down for you. But then again, I promised to be honest with you, and I know you can relate, so once again, here are all of my guts. The good, the bad, the ugly… the completely flatly humbled. If you had asked me yesterday if I thought I would come within an inch of relapse today, I probably would have said “no way, not me.” Yet here I stand, on the edge of the cliff, looking out into the abyss of nothingness once again.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">“Do it.” Ana says to me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br />* * * * * * * * </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p>Three years ago I married my best friend. We were both actors – and met on the stage. We still love the theater, but find it harder and harder to fit the demanding rehearsal schedules into a more “normal” life. We tend to still get our annual fix though, (in fact we just closed the DC premier of one of our favorite musicals together.)</o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tonight, my husband, let’s call him <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region>, received an out of the blue casting call from a Director friend of ours looking for a last minute replacement for a show that opens in 3 weeks.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That’s great – I’m really happy for you, Judah” I said as I was driving home, genuinely excited for his opportunity, but feeling a twinge of sadness knowing I would miss him over the rigorous rehearsal weeks ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I had just hung up the phone when I began to feel a completely unexplainable sense of anxiety. What would this mean? Three weeks alone? What am I going to do with my evenings? Of course this blog came to mind.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">A mischievous little devil popped up inside of me that I haven’t heard from in a while and pointed out “You’ll be home alone. No one will be watching you or what you eat. You’ve made a few friends on those pro-ana sites… come on, give it another whirl – for old time’s sake - it’ll be fun!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I pushed the thought out of my mind, as I have become so accustomed to doing for the past few years. But I continued worrying about the impending loneliness of the weeks ahead, and what I might do if left alone.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region> is my world – he is absolutely the light of my life. I began to feel worried and incredibly anxious as I pulled into our parking space, pushed my way through the icy December air and into our house.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The warm, sweet air hit my face like a fireball. <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region> was waiting at home to kiss me goodbye before leaving for his first rehearsal.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I didn’t mean to get into a fight, honestly, I didn’t. But sometimes I really suck at verbal communication and I think I ended up sounding really selfish. Maybe I was being selfish. I want him to go do the show, but I really will miss him, and his being gone is going to be hard in a lot of ways.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And, out of the blue, Ana stepped in to my aid.<br />“Let me handle this” she said as she breezed by me confidently. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The next thing I knew, <st1:place st="on"><st1:country-region st="on">Judah</st1:country-region></st1:place> was gone and I was sobbing on the bed, screaming with my face in the pillow like I haven’t done in years.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ana was there, sitting on the bed next to me, stroking my back with her fragile little hand saying “There there. If he doesn’t care, don’t worry – you know <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">I</i> do.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that’s how I got back on the edge of that damned cliff.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I stayed on the edge there, feeling claustrophobic in my own skin for a good twenty minutes. It felt like hours - tears streaming down my face and soaking my pillow as I stood on the precipice. What to do. Ana was telling me to starve myself. Mia was telling me to empty the fridge. And, for the first time in a good 3 years, I could not even hear <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Kate</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Just then, the phone rang.<br />I ignored it.<br />It rang again.<br />I silenced it.<br />It rang a third time.<br />I looked to see that it was <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region> calling repeatedly.<br />I did not pick up.<br />Ana and Mia were still in my head.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I got a voicemail from a rather frustrated and sad sounding <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region> saying:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">“I just wish you would talk to me. It’s really not fair to me or to you …obviously I care about you, and I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. I try, I really do – to help you and support you and to give you what you need. And if something conflicts, we need to talk about it, but I just wish you would actually talk to me. I love you.”</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it dawned on me what had happened – again.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You see, Ana is a very jealous friend. She doesn’t allow me to love or pay attention to anyone more than her. I sat bolt upright in bed and wiped the tears away. I replayed our fight in my mind and listened, with horror, to the alien words coming out of my mouth in slow motion, instant replay:</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">“…Because I suck as a wife.”<br />“I’m sorry – apparently I’m just not good enough…”<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "> </span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And it dawned on me: that’s not me talking.<br />That’s Ana doing what she does best:<br />1) Telling me what a big, gigantic fuck up I am and<br />2) Pushing away real love since I’m not worthy of it “yet.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rest of this evening is history. Did I restrict instead of eating dinner? Did I purge my brains out? I’m not sure the answer really matters. The important thing was that I recognized that Ana was, once again, attempting to destroy my relationship with my husband, and I resolved not to let that happen. I picked up the phone. I called him back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">To tell the truth, I didn’t starve, binge, or purge tonight. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal">(And I deserve a freaking trophy for that, am I right?!)</b> But I almost feel like that is beside the point.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Five years ago I resolved to recover because of the havoc Ana and Mia had wreaked over my life and over my relationships. Since then, it’s not been an easy road. Have I relapsed? Sure. I’ve fallen on my face over, and over, and over. In a sense I think I will always be in recovery. But that is OKAY! I’ve learned a lot about accepting myself, flaws, failures, relapses and all. Sometimes we forget that we need to forgive ourselves just as much – if not more – than we need to forgive others who hurt us. I chalk tonight up as one big win for Kate, for <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region>, and for the happiness I’ve built in my new recovered life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Can any one of you out there in cyberspace celebrate with me?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Tonight is a big night, and no one knows it but me (well, and now all of you <span style="font-family:Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;;mso-hansi-font-family:&quot;Times New Roman&quot;; mso-char-type:symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol;mso-symbol-font-family:Wingdings;">J</span></span>).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Because when <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Judah</st1:place></st1:country-region> comes home, I’ll be present here – waiting for him, ready to be here for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">him, </i>too. I could very easily have missed that, as I have missed and lost so many nights and relationships before.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I really wonder what you will say to this.<br />xoxoxoxox<br />Kate</p><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tbody><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" /></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><span style=" text-decoration: none;font-family:Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;font-size:9px;color:#330006;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-1109182255019824013?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Katehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07723090714475770510noreply@blogger.com47tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-2939591359286031192009-12-29T15:16:00.000-08:002009-12-29T16:29:01.271-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_n6AzbWDDC50/SzqO0tD-wmI/AAAAAAAAACM/9WFPH8ZE7Fo/s1600-h/EDNOS.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_n6AzbWDDC50/SzqO0tD-wmI/AAAAAAAAACM/9WFPH8ZE7Fo/s320/EDNOS.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420802137594446434" /></a><br />I've been quiet today, reading your blogs and getting to know the individual members of this community a lot better. <br /><br />I feel a deep sense of longing, of loss that I can't fully explain. Most of the time, I don't think in words - I feel things, I hear music, I see colors. I paint. <br /><br />I painted this. <br /><br />Your blogs have touched me. I feel like I've known you my whole life, at the same time we've never met. It reminds me of being in that underwater place, looking up at the sun through the ripples...wondering what it's like to breathe. <br /><br />I know that some of you don't trust me because of my claims to be in "recovery." This painting will always hang prominently in my house as a reminder to me. Never forget, and never give up hope. <br /><br />It feels strange to say, but, I love you. <br /><br />Sleep tonight, little anas, if you can. It always helps.<br /> <br />xoxoxo<br />Kate<br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" ></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><font style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </font></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-293959135928603119?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-26777876779484153392009-12-28T07:43:00.001-08:002009-12-28T08:26:07.426-08:00Almost exactly ten years ago, on a snowy December evening, I was at my lowest weight. There were other things going on that day besides my existing as a thin person, but I didn’t realize it until last night when the memories came flooding back.<br /><br />I was babysitting an adorable, bright-eyed, 8 year-old Kat. Yes, the Kat you all know and love. Our parents were out for the evening. Kat was 8 years old, snuggling under a blanket on the couch watching a holiday figure skating program, and I was in the kitchen getting dinner ready. Of course <span style="font-style:italic;">I</span> wasn’t going to be eating, but mom had left specific instructions for a dinner that had to be made, and the job of making biscuits fell on me.<br /><br />I was feeling particularly elated that day, having reached a new low weight, and particularly proud of my own self control for having fasted for an extended period of time undetected. <br /><br />Yes, things were going great. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">I just paused for about 5 minutes after writing that last sentence, trying to decide if I really want to expose one of my least proud moments to you… but I have decided, as I promised, to be honest with you, so here goes.</span><br /><br />I had just finished making the dough for the biscuits when an intense craving to eat hit me. Insistent to resist the urge, I kept my eyes on the doughy mass, pulled out the rolling pin, and started cutting out biscuits. “Just don’t eat, just don’t eat” Ana kept whispering in my ear. <br /><br />Somewhere in my clouded mind between Ana’s whispers not to eat, my blurring vision, and heart racing as decision time came – another voice, tiny, subtle, weak said “just eat a little – you can eat just a bite. It can’t be more than 30 calories.” <br /><br />I grabbed a small piece of the floury dough and took a bite. It was gross, but I had to. I will never be able to explain why I had to – you have to experience that to know what it is, just like you have to experience an ED understand it. <br /><br />Kat breezed through the kitchen, curls bouncing, pretending to be a figure skater, blissfully unaware of the internal crisis I was facing at the counter. She plopped herself back on the sofa with a cup of ginger ale. <br /><br />I continued with the rolling pin. Just making biscuits. This should be easy, right? I needed another bite of dough. Just a small one. Then another. Then another. Then ANOTHER! Soon, another voice I had never heard before was screaming in my head “EAT THE DOUGH – EAT ALL OF IT <span style="font-weight:bold;">FAST</span>!” meanwhile Ana was saying “Just step away – don’t eat! STOP! You are such a failure!” And a third voice, much quieter and weaker was whispering, “what <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> this madness?”<br /><br />The dough was gone. <br /><br />I was shaking. I looked over at Kat, who had moved onto the floor with a small picnic she had made of ritz crackers and soda. <br /><br />That was the day I met Mia. <br /><br />At the end of the night, I made another (successful) batch of biscuits, made sure Kat had had the dinner mom had planned for her, and made sure she was bathed and in bed. I went to my room early to spend some quality time hating myself. <br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Why</span><br />I am starting with this story because in order to be transparent with you, you need to first hear my confession – the confession that hurts me more than any other wound.<br /><br />I owe Kat an apology for a wound that I can never heal. I introduced my best friends Ana and Mia to Kat. The three of us (myself, Ana, and Mia) were the cool big kids with the glamorous life and the skinny jeans and the dysfunctional eating habits Kat watched and learned from. Yes, Kat’s eating disorder is her own, and I’m not even sure how consciously aware she ever was of my own issues with Ana/Mia and EDNOS, but I also know that it could not have been easy for Kat to have been left at home alone while Ana and Mia babysat. <br /><br />How many times did Ana, Mia and I sneer at that little girl Kat for happily eating her spaghetti dinner? Did we judge her for her weakness of eating, knowing we were better? I know we did. I remember that little girl – 4 years old - happily playing in the bathtub, caressing her round belly with water and loving herself just the way she was. I am sorry, Kat, for all of the times I left you home alone with Ana and Mia. KATE wasn’t there. I missed it. <br /><br />EDs, if you hadn’t already noticed, tend to put you in your own little door-less glass box – “safe” from the world, but where no one can really touch you. I began the process of pulling myself out of the rubble of my shattered box of ice and glass, bleeding and gasping, around the same time Kat checked into the glass hotel, ready for her makeover.<br /><br />Kat and I are 7 years apart. Kat has been experiencing her disorder about as long as I have been in recovery, which means that, we basically missed each other. I’m sorry that, in many ways, I failed you, Kat. And whenever YOU are ready to check out of that glass hotel, I’ll be waiting here. And while we both know I can’t help you chisel your way out, I promise I will be waiting here with oxygen, towels, band aids and gauze to apply pressure to your wounds and keep you breathing through the long and hard recovery process. I won’t let you down again.<br /><br />I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry.<br />And I can’t wait to <span style="font-style:italic;">really </span>meet you someday.<br /><br />Kate<br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" ></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><font style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </font></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-2677787677948415339?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-25827288743889484012009-12-28T06:09:00.000-08:002009-12-28T06:12:04.271-08:00Dear beautiful little Anas,<br />I appreciate all of your feedback - positive, angry, and everything in between. <br /><br />I'll be blogging more about what happened to kat, more about our lives together (there's a reason she's not said much about me in her blog, which i hope to begin address in the next blog post), my life with my best friend Ana, and some of the thought processes that brought me where I am today: happy, safe, and free from Ana's tyranny over my life. That said, I have a unique perspective to share with you since I've been on the inside looking out, and was able to find a path to happiness. I used to get so pissed off at shrinks, pastors, and "friends" who thought they had the "easy answer." <span style="font-weight:bold;">I know a hell of a lot better than that.</span> I know the many different places all of you are in in your own journey, and I therefore have a TREMENDOUS amount of compassion and understanding for the difficulties you endure just in your day to day existence. My hope is that, in time, you can view me as the big sister you never had, and the one I have, in many ways, failed to be for Kat.<br /><br />I hope Kat is reading this. She left my house on Christmas eve and we haven't spoken much since then. I love her. I miss her. I'm heartbroken. But I'm a fool in love and I have to see this through. <br /><br />And, just to set the record straight for those of you who missed the earlier posts, Kat took down the blog of her own free will - deleted her posts, and all. No one made her do it. I went to her blog and saw the URL was free. I knew I had to tell my story now. You all met Kat in chapter 3. I'm Kate, "Kat's" big sister, and I'm going to start with Chapter 1.<br /><br />i love you "kat."<br /><br />xoxoxox<br />kate<table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" ></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><font style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </font></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-2582728874388948401?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-7135998802369695422009-12-26T19:27:00.000-08:002009-12-26T20:00:14.272-08:00Dear little Anas.<br />You are all so beautiful, and I am looking forward to getting to know you better. By now you know that Kat is no longer operating this blog, so I wanted to do the right thing and take a moment to introduce myself. <br /><br />As you may have picked up on from the flurry of comments, I am Kate, "Kat"'s sister. I have intentionally chosen to use my real name here rather than a pseudonym because I have decided, after a lot of internal debate, to go ahead and be completely honest with you. Yes, I've made my decision and I am going to make my most private inner thoughts vulnerable to you in the same way my sister has. I know a lot of you are angry, frustrated, hurt and confused by what is going on here, so I'm ready to step out and talk.<br /><br />I welcome your comments - all of them. Your anger, your frustration - your pain, your anxiety, your despair. Life with an ED, as you well know, can be a pretty lonely path. I know because I ate slept and breathed it for so long. It's true, Ana and I are no longer on speaking terms, but boy do I know her well.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">For now, I'll be brief, so here is my thought for tonight:</span><br /><br />When Ana was my best friend, she made me a lot of promises. Promises that I would be happy. That I would be loved. That I would be beautiful. That I would be worthy... if, if, if... when, when when... Just another 5 lbs, THEN I can be happy. WHEN I am thinner, I will be perfect. IF I was lighter, that thing wouldn't have happened to me or that person wouldn't have hurt me. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">A CURIOSITY:<br /></span>Has Ana ever delivered on her promises to you? She never did for me. Don't get me wrong, there were temporary rewards and thrills for meeting a goal weight or refusing that dessert... but at the end of the day, I discovered that the more I gave into her demands, the more ferocious her "appetite" to consume my life became. (Pun intended.) <br /><br />One day nearly 5 years ago I decided to "break up" with Ana for good. <br /><br />And I discovered that I couldn't. <br /><br />This is my story.<br /><br />xoxoxo<br />Kate<br /><br /><br /><br /><table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" ></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><font style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </font></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-713599880236969542?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com36tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-8445729599016766182009-12-24T20:26:00.001-08:002009-12-24T20:26:27.353-08:00<table width="133" border="0" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="3"><tr><td align="center"><a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.website-hit-counters.com/cgi-bin/image.pl?URL=282596-4313" alt="hit counter" border="0" ></a></td></tr><tr><td align="center"><font style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #330006; text-decoration: none;"> <a href="http://www.website-hit-counters.com" target="_blank" style="font-family: Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 9px; color: #555556; text-decoration: none;" title="free hit counter">free hit counter</a> </font></td></tr></table><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-844572959901676618?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1318997602908928886.post-50895633719824973152009-12-24T19:39:00.000-08:002009-12-24T23:52:18.320-08:00To those who have found this blog,<div><br /></div><div>I am a recovered anorexic, and I offer you this. Ana destroys relationships. It wounds the family members you care about. It stifles friendships. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is not the answer. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is not control. It is weakness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ana may not kill you, but the people you love will be lost to you. Your husbands. Your boyfriends. Your children. Your parents. Gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ana is torture. Loneliness. Hatred. Despair.</div><div><br /></div><div>You deserve more.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is life beyond Ana. Joy. Love. Laughter. </div><div><br /></div><div>Peace.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is within your reach.</div><div><br /></div><div>Try.</div><div><br /></div><div>Please. </div><div><p>I am telling you today that I never thought recovery was possible, and it is. <p>But you have to want it, and be prepared for a fight to the death. <p>It's ana or you. <p>In the end, ana was not the friend I thought she was. <p>I turned to her in every time of despair.<p>But she was my abuser. She didn't offer me control.<p> She controlled me.<p>It took me 15 years to realize that.<p>I lost everything learning that lesson.<p>I will never say recovery is easy. <p>But I want you to know it is possible. </div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1318997602908928886-5089563371982497315?l=proanaquest.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>Riesl1noreply@blogger.com23