Bad News

I’ve been distant, I know.

I won’t let it happen again.

You see, I’ve been getting kicked in the gut over and over again. 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. I think I can.

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. But this is the first time I’ve ever been the one on the other side of the door. It’s no fun. I’ve often made the parallel between an ED and an abusive relationship. In my own recovery, I refer to my eating disorder as a person, “Ed.”

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.

I don’t know how to write about all that’s transpired since then, because I can’t process it fully myself yet. I’ve been trying to verbalize so I could share with you, but I don’t know how yet.

I’ve been really torn up since recently; Kat started shutting everyone out, including me. She’s been behaving really erratically and making a lot of crazy moves. She stole from Judah’s workplace. She stole from my friend at a party. She dropped out of High School. She was staying at my house for a few weeks, and picked up and left one night without warning. Back at my parent’s house a few weeks later, she ran away from home. She’s been lashing out and hurting everyone around her, honestly being kind of a jerk, and busting up her relationships.

I’ve cried a lot. For a week all I could think about was “Speechless” by Lady Gaga. The Lyrics totally expressed my feelings. The day after she ran away from home, I wrote her a letter. Here goes.

Dear “Kat”,

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.

I love you. And I’m a fool in love because it’s destroying me emotionally. I feel so useless as I write this at my little table at Starbucks.

How long do you think relationships can handle going through the meat grinder that is Ana and Mia? You are missing so much.

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.

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.

It makes me want to scream, or shake you because you are stuck in an addiction that promises everything, but offers you nothing. And you have traded the greatest gifts in your life for those cheap lies.

I know “recovery” often seems ridiculous. But I have chosen to implore you to try.

Why? Because I’m fed up. I’m sick to death of being slapped in the face by Ed when I need my sister! 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.

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. Try to tell me that doesn’t hurt.

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.

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.

Ed promises you beauty, perfection, love, acceptance, and that you will be valued. He delvers misery, depression loneliness, despair, self-hatred and death.

It’s not beauty - It’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.

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. He wants you isolated. He wants dead. He wants you lonely, and depressed. I love you. I want you. I even need you. 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. As I said in one of my blog posts, I feel like in a lot of ways, I have yet to even meet you.

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. I see you breaking relationships. Missing the beauty in life, and perhaps even losing your future husband - simply because you chose the bathroom option.

I of all people know that it isn’t easy. 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.

* * *

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.

There’s been a lot of erratic behavior. I get that. I know it’s a part of this whole thing. I also know that I’m oversimplifying here – and a lot of shit has gone down, and it’s not easy to explain.

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of worrying. I can’t concentrate on anything. I’m ANGRY that I don’t have a sister present when I need her. 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? Judah and I love Kat a lot, but hey, even we are human. To quote Shakespeare, “If you prick us, do we not bleed? …If you poison us, do we not die?”

I guess I need to figure out how to love her without continually getting destroyed in the process. I’ve been on the sidelines with a few injuries.

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Sorry!

Hi there,

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.

xoxo

kate

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A Deal with the Devil - Part 1

When I was 12, I made a deal with the Devil.

Even back then, for as long as I could remember, I had a lot of anxiety about my body. 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 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.

That’s when I met Ana.

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. I absolutely worshipped her. She told me that if I followed her, I would have everything I wanted – beauty, perfection, happiness, security and control.

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.”

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. And that goal became my life.

* * *

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.

Almost ten years went by.

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. 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.

Not just my skin, but LIFE was thoroughly gray. I needed to feel something, so I cut. 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.

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.

* * *

You see, devils rarely keep their promises.

Where I had been promised success, I only experienced 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.

Oh no, no escape! No comfort! 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. Trapped. I could not live any longer with Ana – I wanted to die. But I also felt I could never live without her. How would I face life without her? Could I ever face life without her? 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.

As someone who has taken your path to the ends of the earth and beyond,

My dear, dear sisters –

Warning ahead!

It’s just a mirage.

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Dial Tone

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.

I’m so sorry it’s been over a week since I posted.

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. 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.

So the question remains – what to do.

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.

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.

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.

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.)

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.

I think I need to try to sleep now.
I hope you are sleeping ok tonight.

xoxoxox
Kate

PS - *winces/laughs a little* Please be nice – I’m feeling a bit fragile. J G’night.

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“Ding-Dong: Relapse Calling!”

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!
* * * * *

Wow - Some Days it’s JUST as Hard.

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.

“Do it.” Ana says to me.

* * * * * * * *

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.)

Tonight, my husband, let’s call him Judah, 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.

“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.

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.

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!”

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.

Judah 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.

The warm, sweet air hit my face like a fireball. Judah was waiting at home to kiss me goodbye before leaving for his first rehearsal.

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.

And, out of the blue, Ana stepped in to my aid.
“Let me handle this” she said as she breezed by me confidently.

The next thing I knew, Judah was gone and I was sobbing on the bed, screaming with my face in the pillow like I haven’t done in years.

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 do.”

And that’s how I got back on the edge of that damned cliff.

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 Kate.

Just then, the phone rang.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
I silenced it.
It rang a third time.
I looked to see that it was Judah calling repeatedly.
I did not pick up.
Ana and Mia were still in my head.

I got a voicemail from a rather frustrated and sad sounding Judah saying:

“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.”

And it dawned on me what had happened – again.

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:

“…Because I suck as a wife.”
“I’m sorry – apparently I’m just not good enough…”

And it dawned on me: that’s not me talking.
That’s Ana doing what she does best:
1) Telling me what a big, gigantic fuck up I am and
2) Pushing away real love since I’m not worthy of it “yet.”

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.

To tell the truth, I didn’t starve, binge, or purge tonight. (And I deserve a freaking trophy for that, am I right?!) But I almost feel like that is beside the point.

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 Judah, and for the happiness I’ve built in my new recovered life.

Can any one of you out there in cyberspace celebrate with me? Tonight is a big night, and no one knows it but me (well, and now all of you J). Because when Judah comes home, I’ll be present here – waiting for him, ready to be here for him, too. I could very easily have missed that, as I have missed and lost so many nights and relationships before.

I really wonder what you will say to this.
xoxoxoxox
Kate

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Words, Illusions and Paint

I've been quiet today, reading your blogs and getting to know the individual members of this community a lot better.

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.

I painted this.

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.

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.

It feels strange to say, but, I love you.

Sleep tonight, little anas, if you can. It always helps.

xoxoxo
Kate

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Dear Kat, I’m Sorry.

Almost 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.

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 I 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.

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.

Yes, things were going great.

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.

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.

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.”

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.

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.

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 FAST!” 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 is this madness?”

The dough was gone.

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.

That was the day I met Mia.

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.


Why
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I love you. I miss you. I’m sorry.
And I can’t wait to really meet you someday.

Kate

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