Family/Heavy Update

I got the phone call. The one I was half-expecting to come at three am from a sobbing girl. Instead it was an afternoon text message: Can you please call me when you have free time? So innocent, so politely distant. This is how my family works. We all do this. We all downplay our feelings and refuse to take up anyone's time or emotions or ask for what we need.

I called my niece right away and she was in tears on the other end of the line. "I told my mom and she just - she thinks that if I go out with my friends for a night it's going to go away and I'm going to get better!" I let her cry while I analyzed, processed, and also because she needed to get it out. She's so worried that by asking for help she's going to break up her family, cause her parents to divorce, be branded as a screw up for the rest of her life. "-and then she said 'What, do I need to worry about you committing suicide, too?' and she just spat it at me!" my niece sobbed.

This is where being an aunt puts me in a difficult position. I am, in age, between my brother and his daughter. I am at a point in my life where I can understand both points of view, and it doesn't seem very long ago that I was dealing with my own high school/college issues. His wife, K, and I are so close, probably the closest of all my siblings, (plus or minus Ladybug) and her relationship with my niece is so reminiscent of my own with my mother.

I know that K feels like a bad parent, that she is trying to help/love/comfort her daughter, but has no idea how to handle this situation. I also know that my niece is trying to protect her mother, trying to lock away all her emotions, because she feels like by being honest she is ripping her foundation apart.

So I'm flying out to see them and I honestly couldn't be happier about it. I want to take my niece in my arms and check that she's okay with my own eyes. I want a late night conversation with my sister so she can talk to me about everything she feels overwhelmed by and can't process.

I want to walk into the doctor's office with them and assure them that it doesn't make us lesser people. I want us to walk out of there as a unit and I want my niece to go to sleep at night knowing that her family is rock solid and 100% behind keeping her well and happy, above and beyond everything else.

This is the definition of being family. I am more than happy to live up to the parameters.

Heavy

When Christmas gets heavy:

I skyped with my brother's kids late Christmas night. They're cute kids, 15 and 8, but they're a little overemotional. My nephew is funny and biting but can be sensitive, and so can his sister. My niece is a junior in high school, after she skipped a grade in middle school, and she's been dealt some heavy cards lately: her best friend died from cancer last year, and her other best friend went to jail for molesting younger boys after he himself was abused. Her life has sucked the past few years.

She wanted to talk to me about it this summer, but couldn't find the words, and being raised in a family where we don't push to communicate, I held her as she cried and told her she could come to me when she was ready. Last night's call was tense, grumpy, and awkward, and finally she kicked her little brother out of the room and broke down.

She's been anorexic for the last year. She has emotions she can't understand - feeling happy and normal one day, grumpy and depressed and introverted for no reason the next. She feels anxious, paranoid, stressed, and she doesn't want to tell her parents because she doesn't want to be a fuck up.

I'm pretty good at being calm and reasonable and compassionate when people come to me, but after the fact, when I'm writing about this, I can't help but start to cry. Should I have told her about my anorexia years ago? My depression as an early teenager? The year when I'd been lost and confused and tricked into thinking I'd fatally hurt one of my best friends? Should I be talking about these things to my other nieces and nephews who might be feeling the same way?

Luckily, her mom, K, is the sibling I talk to most, and she knows, briefly, about my struggles with anorexia. After ascertaining and making sure that my niece is not suicidal, I convinced her to talk to her mom. She's struggling, she's drowning, and she needs help and understanding. Maybe it's a conversation I will be part of, maybe I will end up flying out there to help, or maybe she'll find the courage to say something and then call me later. And I understand her hesitation, because she can be emotional and now her parents tend to brush her emotions off. But now I'm worried about her. Because this is what leads to drugs and sex and suicide.

I know there's a stigma against getting help, especially in our family - I mean, hell, I never got help or talked to my mom about any of my issues for that very reason. But I'd rather get her help than see her all over the papers. I'd rather she learn that help is okay than to lose her forever. She's my baby girl who is sarcastic and funny, who lights up at Disneyland, and wants to be a singer and has so much talent, who plays the guitar with me and can sing Katy Perry better than Katy Perry can. I refuse to see her light go out because she won't tell her parents or a doctor that something is wrong.

Screaming

I want to talk honestly. On four different websites this past week, the topic of anorexia has come up, and I've tried to throw my two cents in because hey, I've been there for a good part of my life. Instead of opening any sort of dialogue, I feel like I've been ignored, condescended to, and viewed as a fuck up all because of my anorexia. Now I just feel like I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and no one is listening. Good thing I have a blog :/

Let's start with the myths: 1. I'm fat-phobic. My anorexia didn't start because I wanted to be thin, and that's true of more than half of people with eating disorders. 2. I wasn't raised with loving parents. My family always told me I was pretty. In fact, they built up my self-confidence and independence so much that I consider myself to be a fairly vain person. I've mentioned this before. I love how I look. I love my eyes and my nose and my smile and my laugh and how smart and funny I am. Not an issue. 3. I need attention. No one in my personal life ever found out about my anorexia except for my drama teacher, so I think the attention thing is out. 4. It's a phase. I started food refusal in high school and I've been out for years. My life has stabilized, I'm more comfortable with myself and my paradigms and my world, but I still struggle with my anorexia.

One of the reasons I stopped eating was because my dad has a neurological disease. He regressed and started behaving like a raging alcoholic by the time I was seven (sweet one minute and would smack you the next) and morphed into a toddler by the time I was 19, and he actively pushed to instill in me this phobia that I was going to inherit his disease. My mother tried to keep me away from him as much as possible, and it's because of her and my other family members that I am so self-assured. But, this fear ate at me, and I felt helpless, powerless against my fate. I began failing out of school, falling into depression, writing poems about death and perfect suicides.

Then, I started restricting and refusing food and everything changed. Not eating gave me something else to think about, because hunger was always on my mind, and all my other worries went out the window. I finally had absolute control over something - over myself and my body and my fate. I finally felt free. I finally felt amazing. The depression stopped, my grades picked up, I was more social and exercising all the time.

It only takes a few days of me not eating to have a positive effect on my emotional climate, which is why it's so hard for me not to go back. It allows me to not worry about anything. It allows me to be in control. It's not that way for everyone with an eating disorder, but it's not just about looking thin. There's always something under the surface, so please don't brush it off like someone needs to be told they're pretty twice a day and their anorexia will clear up. It's hurtful and offensive, and eating disorders are about so much more than that.

Bra Strap Thing

I can always tell when it's December because of the bra strap thing. You know, when your body is changing and your boobs are shrinking and all of the sudden you have to tighten all of your bra straps because they keep falling off your shoulders and it's really annoying? October-January is the time of year when I start losing weight automatically. I don't get much sleep, there's not much time to eat, and I'm running around working overtime at two jobs and stressing out. Packing on the pounds during the holidays has never been an issue for me.

It's also the time of year that people take lots of pictures. I'm going to admit, I take lots of pictures of myself and like having my picture taken. I think I'm pretty. I got complimented a lot as a kid and now I'm vain. Sorry, it's a flaw :)

When I was going through my serious bouts of anorexia, I used to keep picture logs (from what I've learned after-the-fact this seems to be fairly common). Instead of weighing myself obsessively, I would take pictures, measuring how small I could whittle my waistline. I have hundreds of these pictures I can't seem to trash.

Size 1/3, unhealthily. Eating less than 300 calories a day. Hips are still huge.

 However, no matter how much weight I lost, the bra strap thing would happen, but my hips never seemed to shrink in proportion.

Hips down to size small/x-small. Unhealthy. X-small pants are loose, sweater falling off shoulders. Arms too thin.

This is me at 108 pounds, a size one, still with some serious hips compared to the rest of me. I don't know what it is about my body, but that's just how it works for me. For an anorexic, it was seriously frustrating.

One year later. Less than 90 lbs. Pile of clothes are because nothing fits. Boobs are nonexistent. Pants are children's size. Sweatshirt is x-small and is far too big. A few months after this, I began eating again.

So, despite all the pictures being taken this holiday season, I have to make the conscious decision to not begin this unhealthy behavior again. It's one thing to lose a little weight because there's hardly time to eat and I'm so active, but it's another to actively seek out anorexic behavior. This is the time of year when my battle gets harder. I will fight.

But man, I still miss fitting into size zero jeans.

Day 28 Changes

30 Day Letter Challenge

Day 28 — Someone that changed your life

My fifth grade teacher was a bitch. She made me hate school and I started flunking out and not wanting to do my homework. I was a pretty great student before she came along, so she definitely changed my life. I could be a lawyer or a marine biologist, or a zoologist. Or a cop - I think I'd like to be a cop.

My high school drama teacher changed my life. He gave me a therapeutic outlet when I needed one, he got me into theater, which got me into college, he was the only person who noticed when my anorexia was getting out of control. He founded the GSA club at my school and convinced me that I should join, even before I knew I was gay, though I was a huge gay rights activist at 14.

He grounded me, gave me balance, gave me a safe space to scream and cry when my world was crashing down and then taught me how to rebuild. He could turn a drama class into a playground for two year olds, or send us drifting high above the earth like astral projection. There were no limits as to what our bodies were capable of with him. After college, he gave me a reference for a steady job. He looks out for me, he laughs with me, he tells me to cut the crap when I'm holding myself back. He's everything a teacher is supposed to be.

Baggage

I just want to start out by saying that this is not a cry for help. This is communicating.

Everyone has their own baggage, whether it's mental illness, criminal records, bad dating history, abuse, violence, drinking, drugs, addictions of any other sort, or whatever else. When you have an eating disorder, like all other baggage, it never goes away. It's not like one day you wake up and you can eat everything and anything and in the back of your head you're not thinking of all the calories adding up in big piles.

This is my baggage. It's not so much baggage for other people because it's really an internal awareness. Do I eat junk food? Yes. Do I eat and not feel guilty? Yes. But I've come a long way since I was really sick in high school, and for some people it's a very daily struggle. I still drink at least fourteen glasses of water a day - it's a habit I haven't been able to break.

I haven't been eating much lately. At first I think it was time management, I've been working two jobs and trying to get things done, and when I finally have time to eat it's been four hours since I was first hungry and I can barely choke down a granola bar without feeling sick.

I've been doing it for a while now, so the idea of eating a whole meal makes me nauseous. I don't think it's my eating disorder talking. It doesn't feel like forcing myself not to eat by drinking ice water and looking at pro-ana posters. I feel physically ill. That's not to say that those feelings couldn't stem from something psychological in nature, which is why I was getting worried again. There were four days over this past week that I only had an energy bar (bagel type thing with nuts and fruit) or a granola bar over the whole day, which is not normal eating behavior.

Stuff I moved

Today, though, was my first full day off since last Sunday, and it felt so good! I moved some stuff, cleaned some stuff, moved some more stuff, and climbed around in the rafters to repair some stuff.  All in all, I got a lot of things done, and worked up an appetite!

So, I made flautas for dinner! Yes, flautas! You know, those delicious things made from flour tortillas with meat or tofu (chicken, in my case) sauce, cheese, sour cream, guacamole, lettuce, and salsa? Which means today I had breakfast and a full dinner, which eases some of my worry. I try to be good, I try to be healthy, so I need to make sure to stop and take time to eat, no matter how many jobs I'm trying to do.

Stuff I found, but not at my house.

I found a very old Rainbow Brite doll tucked in a cabinet full of other dolls, also not at my house!

Lez Get Real

Okay, I want to talk about something that I'm not sure many people talk about, mostly because it's a little uncomfortable.

Do you go the restroom in groups?

Seriously.  The whole taking-other-people-with-me-to-pee thing is sometimes necessary to avoid becoming a social outcast, but I have never felt comfortable with it.  The whole idea of someone being able to hear every move I make in a stall half an inch from someone else is a little creepy.

When I was ten my best friend liked to come into the bathroom with me (like the ones in our houses) and would fiddle around in front of the mirror while I tried my hardest to ignore the fact that she was there and simultaneously keep her talking so she couldn't hear me pee.

Those were some of the most uncomfortable moments of my life.  But I loved her in the way only best friends can (the sleep in the same bed for three weeks straight, borrow clothes so you wouldn't have to go home, and cry when your parents ripped you apart after a month and forced you to sleep alone in your own bed type of love) so I let her do whatever she wanted.

However, I still get bladder shy when I feel like someone is listening in.  Is this normal?  Men's public restrooms have urinals, no stalls necessary!  They just whip it out like "whatever" and it's fine, but if I feel like someone is within 30 feet all urge to pee just dissipates.

So lately whenever I visit my mom, I've noticed she'll linger outside the door of the bathroom when I'm inside.  She'll answer a text message or write a note or talk to herself or god-knows-what else, but I feel like I'm on Vomit Watch 2012.

Never mind that I've never enjoyed throwing up and my issues with anorexia are totally different than bulimia, but I feel as if she's purposefully keeping an ear out for me.  Which, naturally, makes it hard to find time to pee!  I don't care if she's my mother, I still have this weird aversion.

Am I nuts?  Is she really just there by chance?  Is she coming from a good and helpful place? (I don't doubt this one at all.)

More importantly, do you feel this way?  Or do you invite your friends into the bathroom with you and one person straightens her hair while you pee?  It's not about being naked.  I don't care if friends are in the room while I shower- it's the privacy of the act that I wish to keep intact.

P.S. Someone explain full parameters of NSFW- is it only sexual, or is it stuff like this?  Because I'm never sure but I thought I should give fair warning if you don't want your boss to know you're reading about some girl's insecurities about being in the restroom with other people.

Stopgaps

Crap.  I went away for two years- just stopped writing.  I'm so sorry.  I don't think that I can do anything or say anything that would make you understand.  When I started this blog *gulp* three long years ago, I was still so broken.  Every time I tried to write about what was truly eating at me, I couldn't.  I put it off and put it off because I was still in love with, still heartbroken over, the first girl to bring down all my barriers.

By starting this blog, I tried to give myself a space to explore all the other things that were going on inside me.  All of my daily gender struggles, my issues with my sexuality- I turned to you as a community for strength, guidance and compassion, and I'm thankful for all you've given me.

When I left, I had just had surgery.  It was hard for me to eat, physically, and I could feel the old habits of my anorexia creeping back up on me.  While I've never been diagnosed or hospitalized, anorexia is never very far from my mind.  The opportunity handed to me on a silver platter, to relapse with a perfectly good and unquestionable excuse, was too hard to pass up.  I lost forty pounds.  I felt amazing.  As with all things, it was a cycle.  I had to eat eventually and am now back up to my former weight.  It's been an interesting two years.  I've dated, I've learned, I've grown, I've started to heal, and I think I've become more comfortable with myself.

All those thoughts that were constantly plaguing me about who I was, about labeling myself, have faded into the background.  I am who I am and I enjoy the person I've become, for the most part.  There are always things I'm going to want to change about myself, but for now I'm not so focused on how I want to be labeled in a relationship or should be labeled.  I just act, and let things go from there.

When I started the blog I said I was going to write about being gay, because it was so new and overwhelming that I felt obsessed with it.  I feel like it overshadowed all else that I was, and sometimes it still does, but more and more sides of me are stepping into the spotlight, and that's the way I want it to be.


If you'd read my initial post from last night, you know that I had a relationship end.  She was a sweet, charming, raunchy girl that made me laugh constantly.  I don't know why I let her go, but I think that part of it was that I'm not quite healed.  So I've started something that I ached to do a long time ago, but never had the courage or conviction.

I've started writing about first:girl.  I feel like I've referred to her enough that I owe you my story, and maybe I owe it to myself to tell it.  It doesn't hurt me anymore to think about it.  I still occasionally get shivers when I think about her, or feel a warm glow when I remember her smile, but it was four years ago- long enough to feel like it happened to another person.  I'm so different now than I was then.

I hope, in telling it, the remnant of longing will disappear, and I can finally shut that door.  And perhaps all of you will finally feel like you know me as more than just words on a backlit screen, because every part of who I used to be was wrapped up in her.  I want you to know me.  I'm so sorry I disappeared, but I'm back and baring my soul for the world.

More Ugly/ Truth

I have a confession. I may have mentioned it before, or maybe I left it in a dark corner of my mind to deal with at some other point in time. I have dealt with an eating disorder for the last seven years of my life. For the first three years I was in denial. I was still eating, so obviously I didn't have anorexia.

I never got down to 80 pounds, I never looked like a skeleton, but I was depriving my body of the nutrition it deserved. After I dropped to a size one, and mind you, I'm built like a Viking, so a size one was pretty spectacular, I realized something was wrong. I wasn't eating the foods I liked, wasn't eating hardly anything at all. I forced myself to eat, slowly, gradually, stretching my stomach so I wouldn't throw up if I ate normal sized portions.

After three and half years of depriving myself, everything tasted so good. I went on a two year binge. I gained weight without realizing. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a size one girl when I clearly wasn't. I still see that girl in the mirror, and don't understand why I can't see what I look like now.

Last year was a turning point. I ran out of money, and eating out less often helped me drop a few pounds, temporarily. I came home to take care of my family, and could afford to eat like I had been. I gained back the fifteen-twenty pounds I had lost.

Last week was another turning point. I had to have a minor surgery, and it effected my ability to eat. I've been eating next to nothing for a little over a week and already lost five pounds. I feel better than I have in a long time. I feel more energetic, feel the urge to exercise and take care of myself. The way I felt when I was anorexic.

I can feel where this road is headed. I look ahead and see where I will be walking in a few weeks, a few months. I understand, intellectually, why anorexia is wrong and unhealthy, but it always feels so right, so comfortable. I feel happier when I choose not to eat.

I see where this is going and will do nothing to stop myself. Anorexia has best my best friend for so long, been my coping mechanism, been the only rock I have to lean upon, and even though it is unhealthy, it makes me feel good. Right now, after so much rejection, so much pain and stress, I need to feel good. I need to feel this. I wish I could be stronger, but the reality is, I am not.