God, grant me serenity to accept the things I can not change.

********Trigger Warning for talk of sex and abuse*********

The world feels like a dream. There are things I wonder if I dreamed about, or if I actually did them. Such as feeding the dogs this morning. I thought I fed them, it felt like I felt them, but I couldn't remember at all if they were fed. It’s one o’clock p.m. as I write this. This morning doesn’t feel real. Did I got to the dermatologist or did I dream it? Did I have physical therapy today, or was that yesterday? I am accidental to this world, and my presence is not needed.

Sometimes I will make off-handed comments to Therapist about killing myself, but he really doesn’t know how often and seriously I think about it.

School is hard for everyone, but this semester has been a sheer, diaphanous nightmare for me. Every corner turned has been a hardship and I am so burned out. I’m not on top of my assignments like I need to be.

So Therapist and we talked about some serious issues last night. I can’t believe I told him what I did. I can’t believe I’m even broaching the subject with you. The topic of sex has been brought up and what is involved in receiving pleasure from sex. It’s always a miss with me. Sometimes one of the young ones just cries and cries inconsolably afterwards. I don’t know who she is, but even as I type this I feel her tears crawling fearfully down my cheeks. Her age seems to be young adolescence.

For me to receive any type of pleasurable feelings, I have to imagine that I’m being taken sexually assaulted and taken advantage of and abused. This makes me feel like a freak and ruins the sanctity of “love-making” with my partner. I haven’t had an orgasm in forever. And I think I might want to just to feel connected with my husband. But orgasms scare the hell out of me. It feels dirty and out of control. Sometimes I’ll get close, but stop myself. It’s not that I don’t feel like I deserve an orgasm, but I don’t want to deal with the guilt and other consequences.

I don’t think I’m fair to Husband. Sex is so complicated. I have a member that is gay, and a member that wants to cheat on Husband. I don’t know what to do with this. It all seems too overwhelming to untangle.

I told Therapist about a memory regarding abuser A. The way abuser A forced my legs apart. What am I supposed to do with that now? So now Therapist has a piece of the puzzle. What the fuck now? Does just verbalizing it make it any better? It doesn’t make it any easier to talk about it. I’m surprised I revealed it on here. It doesn’t make me feel any better. I’ve never felt like this before. True, I’ve had moments of hoplessness, but this seems like there really is not hope behind my past. I hear Therapist disagreeing with me. Tough shit. He truly doesn’t know what it’s like to live a particle of a life.

I’ve been thinking more about what I want to do when I get my undergrad. I think I would like to go on and get my Master’s in writing. I really want to write. Poetry to be specific. But I don’t know how I would do it. My words get lost in the head, sometimes taken for hostage, ransomed, and then maybe given back to me.

I have so much schoolwork to do but I can’t focus. The anxiety is too over bearable. And I feel nobody in this whole world has any idea what I’m going through. I know all who live with D.I.D. can relate on some level. But I feel so far gone. It feels I am completely and truly alone with my symptoms. Everyone struggles, but this defies the explanation of a struggle. To get through each day takes superhuman strength, and I don’t have it in me anymore to keep fighting.

Unfortunately, I have a dream ~ speech

Thank you to everyone who read and posted before! I truly didn't think anyone would remember me1 It reminds me of how much I love and miss my on-line community. Thanks, again.

I had a dream about abuser "A" last night. Birth-mother and birth-father were in the dream, and I think the girls may have been there also. In my dream abuser "A." was still trying to smooth things over without confessing what he did. I kept fast to my stand that he did it. I just couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t admit to it. I told him we both know he did it, but he denied. There was a sense of chumminess and a wanting him to like me in the dream. A sense of friendliness had developed between us. I wonder what the real life message is in that a. Did I give in to abuser "A." because I wanted him to like me the way he did the brother? Did I submit to him so he would like me, or maybe because it was affection and I liked feeling special? It sickens me.

In the dream we kept trying to go off by ourselves so to talk, but the “family” members would not let us. It wasn’t out of concern for me. It was because they were so damn nosy. The brother was in the dream. He kept eavesdropping, but that was his only role in the dream, other than being vicious to me.

These dreams are maddening. They wouldn’t be as bad if they stopped in the night but they carry over into the day and re-alert me to their presence. I will forget about the dreams and then suddenly something brings it back to mind. The internal switching is bad right now. I have taken a tranquilizer and sometimes that helps them calm down, but not so much right now.

I have noticed that a lot of the internal switching, which I mention here, happens when I’m doing schoolwork. Normally, schoolwork has been given to one of the members, but lately it seems a different member is helping out. Maybe that’s because of all the writing we have to do.

I am excited to say that on Thanksgiving I will be jogging a 5k with a friend, maybe two, from EDA. We just want to have fun with it. I’m not much of a runner or jogger, but I look at it more like a social experience than anything. I think we might dress up in costumes. It’s just another chance for me to be around people and try to be social. We can carb up the night before, that is if three people with intense fear of food will carb up. If I have to , I can run on adrenaline alone.

Internal Switching and Milestones

I’m trying to write through the anxiety. Right now I’m about to jump out of my skin. Not sure why. I was reading for school when I first noticed the anxiety welling up in my chest. Then come the switches. And these aren’t regular switches. They feel more internal than external. Like, I know when I’m switching on the outside because I feel my face change shapes; I notice my body language change; there is a different tone in my thoughts. But I have other switches that are less explanatory and more mystifying. They way I view them is more a conversation in my head that I’m not privy to. How I know this I can’t answer. It’s just a gut feeling. These “internal” switches are far more violent, jarring, and blazon their arrival and disruptiveness. Cold ice, heating pads, hot showers, and drives in the cars do nothing. I have to take a tranquilizer and then, mercifully, they quiet down. They have gotten worse of late. Everything has gotten worse of late.

Some might argue with me and tell me I had a milestone today, but it doesn’t really feel like it. I went out with a “friend” to the mall and shopped for work clothes and we then had lunch. This is a big deal on so many levels. It was nice to do something with a girlfriend. We tried on clothes and gave opinions on what we thought about what the other was wearing. The conversation flowed easily, and when there were gaps, it was an easy and comfortable silence. It scares me to death. I’m not used to starting to care about friends. And I could potentially see myself becoming close with her. I’m just not sure how she feels about me. The signs are there that she likes me, but there are always doubts with me. Why would she like me? What is there to like? I’m moody, temperamental, neurotic, wishy-washy, and when I feel someone getting close I put the brakes on and don’t let them in any farther. But on the other hand, I do think I’m caring (although I assign selfish motives to myself for that), concerned about others, and I can be thoughtful. But I am not experienced having friends so I hope I don’t blow this.

I have so much homework to do but can’t find the motivation. All I want to do is go to bed and not ever get up.

The Irrelevant

Since nobody reads this I feel I can be quite open and honest. I am doing better than I was, but still not okay. School is extremely difficult. I made a B on my test and it depressed me for the rest of the day. I hate feeling like this. It is really disheartening to try so hard and nothing good comes from my effort.

I fantasized about what I would write when I logged on here tonight, but now my courage has evaporated into nothing. There is something particularly bothering me and I can't tell anyone about it. I have been having disturbing sexual dreams about someone. These are dreams where I'm making out with someone I really don't want to, or dreams where this person is trying to have sex with me and I'm trying to stop it. These dreams include being spied on in the shower. I don't know why I would dream of this person. This person hates me and I hate him, although I don't know why.

I feel like I desperately need to reach for my eating disorder. It's the only one that can understand me. We're getting along okay. There are moments or restriction and moments of purging. Before this past summer I was getting to a place where I was growing more comfortable with my body and my eating was more normal. I was working-out and feeling good. I don't realize what's going on with me.

My life has become totally irrelevant to me. I don't live it; i just watch it. Watch in horror as someone else takes notes, does homework, cooks, drives, and plays social. I share this with no one. I ate tonight and now I must punish myself with fire.

If I just pretend nothing happened, then nothing happened. I want to reach out to somebody and cry right now and share my scary dreams, but I can't. What would it mean to tell? I would be wrong and look stupid for talking about something that didn't happen. It would make me look like I wanted something to happen, like I was trying to make things worse than they are. And I'm really not. I just want to find the me that got lost so long ago. I want to become pertinent, relevant to my life. I want to walk down the street and feel like I belong among the human race, and not some freak who can't cope or maintain friendships or fake like she is normal.

I feel a little left out and rejected right now. There are a group of ladies who seemed interested in me. We have some things in common. Every time I asked them for coffee there was a reason why they couldn't go. I don't bother asking them anymore. Now they don't seem interested in me at all.

That's all I have to say tonight. Just that I'm scared.

The Revival

Recently I was contacted to give an update to my blog, so here I am obliging. It has been difficult for me to get back to writing because I don't always remember the posts, and the last thing I need is to be reminded of events going on in my life of which I have no detail. I have also been arduously practicing denial of having D.I.D., and that is not easily done when the whole design and theme of said blog is about you missing somewhere in between the identity of "the others."

In my lapse of writing I returned to school, and by all outward accounts I am doing well. Grades are solid and there have been no missed classes. For the most part I am keeping up. But underneath the show things are grim. I anticipated my reaction to the stress, but I felt like I would be able to counter the anticipated backlash. And maybe I am still handling it. I don't know that I've abandoned all hope. But my historical mechanics of stress management have manifest again and self-destructive means are the end. For me, the smallest amount of negative stress makes me physically ill. I break out in fever blisters, endure hot and cold flashes, and an untamed panic wails from the abyss. I can't sleep, I'm too exhausted to blink, and my thoughts commit suicide in their infancy. This reaction is as natural to me as breathing.

When I last left you in the Summer, communication with one of my abusers was imminent. The disaster that was to be our correspondence didn't fail to disappoint and unnerve me. And even after I imploded, he exerted a continual presence in my madness and undoing. He continues to resurface in my daily thoughts, though how prolific the damage I am not willing to say at this moment.

One of my biggest obstacles is what to disclose to Therapist. My theme right now is denial, denial, denial. If I deny it long enough, loud enough, and hard enough, then it didn't happen, it doesn't exist, and the devil made me do it. (For future reference, reader, it is not a good regular practice of denial to overtly confess your thoughts to your therapist.) But I also don't want to sabotage myself, and I can see my epic denial failing me. Nevertheless, it is what it is, and for now, I'm just not ready.

Mary, Mary

I’m feeling quite sad. I found out my friend, Mary, lost her battle with Anorexia and passed away. Mary and I were good friends in treatment. Mary was a little naughty in the hospital and was not allowed to be away from the nurse’s station, so she always asked me to join her at the table and to play Uno with her. We talked a lot, and Mary would always make me laugh. She was spicy and colorful. She would make fun of the staff and the doctors till I was in stitches.

Since treatment, I had seen Mary at the support groups. She looked sickly and frail; I told her I was afraid for her. A few months ago the group therapist told Mary that if she didn’t get better she would die very soon. I remember Mary shaking her head in acknowledgement, saying, “I know. I know.” But I don’t think she truly believed it.

If Mary knew then why didn’t she get better? Most of us with eating disorders never think we’ll die from them. “That won’t happen to me”. Mary is proof that it can happen.

When I found out Mary had died I sobbed so hard I surprised myself. So many questions went through my head. Why Mary? Why not me? Why did Mary let this happen? Why am I so special that I can recover but Mary can’t? Why couldn’t I stop Mary from dying? Why wasn’t it enough to have so many people rooting for her and wanting her to live?

But I know the answers to those questions. At least some of them. When I am deep in my disorder it isn’t enough that people care about me; the only thing important is being in my disease and seeing how far I can take it. I know that nothing I could have said or done could have prevented Mary from dying, but I would like to believe it. What I don’t know is why Mary couldn’t be saved. Why did it have to happen like this?

I feel guilty. I feel like because Mary couldn’t get better, I don’t deserve to get better. And I don’t know what to do with that. The irony is that Mary’s death has made me want to get back in my eating disorder again. This disorder is so cruel and twisted.

Knowing that Mary is gone has left a black hole in my heart. I can’t believe this has happened. I will never see her again. I will never hug her again. I will never tell her I love her again. I miss her, and it will never go away. I don't know what to do with this, and something sick in me wants to punish myself with my eating disorder.

I'm sorry, Mary. I miss you.

Got Apology?

A couple of weeks ago I posted here about contacting one of my abusers demanding an apology. After listening to everyone’s feedback, I decided it would not be in our best interest to instigate any type of contact with him. I didn’t think he would ever apologize, and I didn’t want to set myself up to be even more hurt by him.

Last week I found out he contacted someone I know (hereafter called X). They discussed me, including how I had thought about contacting him. After discussion, the abuser apologized to X, but X told him his issue was with me. The abuser said he would contact me and would apologize. X said he never admitted to what he did, but said he would contact me, if I wanted him to, and he “would make it right.”

I was effing stunned. Was this man who made my life Hell really going to contact me and apologize? I checked outside to see if pigs were flying and to see if Hell had frozen over. It hadn’t. So I first told X to give him my phone number. I thought the asshole would be more inclined to contact me and apologize by phone, thinking he’s too much of a coward to apologize where there could be a record of it printed out as in e-mail. I figured he would be too afraid I would show it to people he knows.

But then I thought to myself, do I really want to hear the sound of his voice? How will my members/alters/parts feel at the sound of his voice? Will having my phone number give him some power over us, as if we were waiting with baited breath for him to call us when he wanted to? Will it give him control over us? Will it give him the upper hand, again? So I changed my mind and told X to give the bastard my e-mail address.

That was a week ago, and like all abusers, he is too selfish and cowardly to e-mail me an apology on my terms, when I want it. He knows I was thinking of contacting him, he knows I want an apology. So what’s he waiting for? Perhaps he’s waiting to get drunk on Jack Daniels again so he can muster up the liquid courage to write an apology.

Frankly, I don’t want his fucking apology. If he can’t ADMIT that he did it, then what the hell is he apologizing for! Freak!

When we first found out he would contact us, we checked our e-mail even when our phone wasn’t beeping. The anticipation that we would finally be validated was intense. But now that a week has gone by, there is a sense of resignation. We almost hope he doesn’t contact us and apologize. It brings forth a lot of questions.

Do we owe him anything if he apologizes? What about the F-word? Forgiveness. Do we have to forgive the m-f-er? How will our “relationship” change? Will we begin to sympathize with him? What about the people we mutually know? Will they want to start associating with the son of a bitch? Will they accept his apology and invite him to functions I might be attending? And most of all, will he be conciliatory enough to let us say what WE want to say? If he apologizes, we want and have the right to ask him questions and tell him how his actions hurt us. Will he refuse to listen?

IF we do get an apology, it will be a small victory for us. But it’s true you better be careful what you wish for. An apology brings up a slew of questions we just don’t have the answers to.

One thing is for sure, he’s a piece of shit and nothing can make up for what he did to us.

Tears, fears, and wasted years

She went to her A.N.A.D. meeting. She cried through the entire group. When she gets in these group situations, she can’t help but feel so hurt in her heart.

People entered the room of A.N.A.D. in groups of two’s, three’s, and four’s. She entered all alone. The roar of talking and laughter before the group started was deafening. But she sat there quietly in her shell, shrieking from every opportunity to break in.

The meeting started with a group check-in of everyone’s name. She had them all memorized, hoping for the courage to go up to someone and call them by name after the meeting. She introduced herself, but, to her, nobody seemed interested in who she was. The meeting began with someone sharing a funny story about recovery. Everyone laughed, except her. Shrunken inside her own private world, she could not relate to what was being discussed. Feeling isolated and alone, the tears began to flow. Her heart burst in pain. She wanted to stop the group and tell everyone how lonely she was feeling, but her bravery never materialized. She was afraid everyone would laugh at her.

She compares herself against every single body in the room. She believes she is alien, different. Her body is covered, head to foot, in scars and burns. There is no absence of self-abuse anywhere. Silently in group, she mourns the loss of unblemished skin, of a body not so damaged and ravaged by self-destruction. She studies the weights of the girls intently, hoping to find someone the size and shape of herself. Again, she is alone. No such group member exists.

She eyes the cliques of girls in the room, remembering the years in school when the popular girls shunned her. Some things never change. She again concentrates on the comparison of bodies. All the other recovering anorexics are smaller than her. What is she doing wrong, she wonders. Why is her body betraying her? She condemns herself to destruction because she can’t measure up.

She is wrapped in self-hatred, with no chance for self-esteem, self-worth, or self-confidence. She is a fragile shell, splitting and cracking each day. It really is pitiful and sad. The only thing she wants is the very thing that’s eluding her.

Her mind shifts to people in the blogging world. It is a mirror to her life. The “popular group,” who e-mail, call, and text each other, ignore her. She tries to reach out, share how she feels through her blog, but is afraid people will laugh at her. She wants to comment and reach out to other blogs, but she is stripped of anything valuable or worthwhile to say. She is alone in the blogging world as she is in real life.

Her mind comes back to the meeting. She is so scared to say how she feels that she sinks back into the imprisonment of her head. She thinks she may blog about her alienation but is sure no one could understand the depth of her sadness and hopelessness.

The meeting wraps up and she leaves behind the sound of friendships and laughter. Through the sting and blurriness of her tears, she finds her car and cries to herself all the way home.

The Resurrection of Anger

Today has been a different day for me. While I’m normally stoic and unemotional, today I’ve cried more than usual. I’m sure it’s no coincidence that my emotions have been a little sensitive since I’ve had one of the perpetrators on my mind today. In fact, the image of the closet I used to hide in has been flashing in my mind.

All of this turmoil is because of a decision we’re trying to make. One of the parts wants to stalk him and haunt him. She looked up his information on-line and found his address, phone number, e-mail, high school, the date of his 30-year reunion, and the name of the company his wife owns. So we’ve been thinking about sending him a letter or an e-mail telling him to give us an apology, fuck off, and drop dead.

This wouldn’t be the first letter we’d have sent him. About fifteen years ago we sent him a letter acknowledging what he did to us and scaring the shit out of him by telling him we told his family members what we did. Other circumstances later brought us face to face with him, and he refused to talk to me. .

I don’t know why there is this pursuit of him again. I am without doubt that he will refuse to talk to us and will NEVER give us an apology. But, for whatever reason, there is a resurrection of anger, and we can’t let this go. We want him to know we aren’t going away; we will stay after him until we get an apology.

But then again, we don’t want him to have the satisfaction that we are still bothered by him, that what he did to us still affects our lives.

So we wrestle with the decision: do we e-mail him, or just stay quiet.

Maybe we are trying to find our voice, trying to stand up for what was taken from us. We aren’t afraid of him. In fact, if we were ever face to face with him again, I would sort of worry for his safety. I know what some members/parts/ alters are capable of. But we just want some satisfaction when it comes to him; we NEED some sort of acknowledgement. Otherwise, we may never have peace.

What would you do? Letter, e-mail, or silence?

Silent Screams

Things are quiet, but they're not. There’s not much to talk about, but there’s so much to say. I haven’t been posting or taking photos of my food because the words aren’t there and neither is the food.

The eating disorder is a little bit louder these days, and I’m having a hard time with my food.

A dichotomy is growing inside: those who are pro life and those who are pro eating disorder.

The recovery voice is still speaking, alerting us there is life worth living outside of an eating disorder. I listen closely, praying she is right. She says there are things in life worth living for. She reminds us of school. We start back in August and she reminds us of the trouble we will face if we are still engaging in eating disorder behaviors. She tells of the good times we can have in our class if we aren’t focused on food and weight.

She reminds us of other things we want: laughter, friendships, teaching kids, exercise. She speaks of attaining things we don’t know we even want yet.

But there is the other side of me that can only speak the language of eating disorders. A lonely, broken, sad girl who relies on the eating disorder to say everything she cannot say. If she could, she would say that she’s scared, that bad men come and find her. She would say she’s hurt. She would say she feels lonely and no one would help her then. She would say there is nowhere else to hide, that she is not safe. She would say she wants someone to help her. She would like someone to notice her.

Her sadness gives birth to my tears. I don’t know where to go from here or what next to say. Hopefully, this is enough for now. The lonely, broken, sad girl is feeling her tears.

Good Enough

I’m in a bit of a slump right now. I haven’t written much lately because I haven’t been in a good place. I’ve been feeling down about myself. I’ve been feeling insufficient.

This spring, Husband and I purchased season passes from Water Park and thought a splash of the water, a ray of the sun, the chimes of laughter would do well to get rid of the winter blues and help us relax a bit. But for me, relaxation hasn’t been the story. At Water Park, I’m dangerously playing the comparison game, and I always end up the loser. I compare myself with every girl there. Every girl who is thinner than I am, every girl who is darker than I am, or every girl who is just different than I am, becomes better than me. And I end up hating myself. I never measure up. It doesn’t matter what the other girls look like: fat/skinny, pale/tan, tall/short, old/young. I will always feel second best in every respect. I am never good enough for myself.

Yesterday was a particularly bad day for comparisons and self-hatred. I was at Water Park and because I didn’t measure up to the comparisons between myself and the other girls, I felt the commanding need to injure myself, to punish myself for not being better. Not having the “normal” tools I might need to self-injure at Water Park, I decided to burn myself in the sun. I stretched myself out on the lounge chair, opened myself up to the sun, and collected all of his powerful beams of light in my skin.

In this instance, sun burning myself was like agreeing with the world, “Yes, I know I’m inferior.” It’s as if I want the world to know that I know that I’m not good enough, I know I’m ugly. I have to put myself down before other people can do it.

The redness of a sun burn goes away, but the feeling of being secondary stays behind. I am embarrassed to be me. I know I’m hideous; I just want to say it before others can.

Resurfacing

I am now able to breathe again. This past weekend was indescribable, involving all the temper tantrums, self-deprecating thoughts, and histrionics a lapse in recovery can bring. Lying in the abyss of hell, one doesn't feel that life can get better if you just hang on a little longer. Face down in despair, it feels like you will never find the other side of unbearable. I don’t feel the stirrings of hope today or the awakenings of promise, but I do know I’ve felt them before, and if I can keep working my recovery, I’ll feel them again.

I’ll post more soon on my lapse over the weekend, if I can bring myself to own up to things. Until then, I’m still hanging on.

I want to die, but I won't.

I want to cry, but I won't.

I need to laugh, but I can’t.

A curvy woman

The drama of this past weekend has subsided a little.

I met with Dietician today and explained to her how I felt I couldn’t trust her because she was making me fat. When she weighed me, my weight had maintained over the past month, so she may not be making me as fat as I feel she is.

An area we talked about was the subject of curves on a woman. I said to her I felt I was gaining weight primarily in my hips and thighs and she asked me what was wrong with having curves. When she asked this of me I sensed a great stirring inside my system. Then I heard a voice cry, “We don’t want curves!” I immediately recognized this voice when I heard her and when she gave me images of an eleven year old girl playing at the house of someone that would hurt her.

This is one of the members/alter/part that has the eating disorder. I am so frightened of her and what she has to tell me that I hardly want to think of it.

I don't know what to do with this.

Oops! I did it again...(Trigger Warning for ED talk)

Oops…I did it again. I binged and purged today.

I won’t lie; I felt better afterward. All my anxiety had been lifted, and I felt clean.

It all started this morning when I went shopping for a swimsuit and a dress. I took six dresses, 3 swimsuits, and what little self-esteem I had into the dressing room. I thought there was a conspiracy with the dresses to accentuate every ounce of fat on me. The swimsuits were even more malicious. Nothing fit like I thought it would. And I then I realized why; I was used to seeing myself with smaller eyes. I was used to trying on clothes for a smaller frame. When I looked in the fitting room mirror, I didn’t recognize the body staring back at me. I wasn’t prepared for the insult.

Coming out of the dressing room I felt as if I had been wearing blinders all these months, and they had finally come off. I was finally able to see myself for the size I really am. It was as if this past year I had bought into a lie. Everyone has been telling me I’m at an appropriate, healthy weight. And I started to believe it. I feel like such a fool. How could I not know what size I am? And I am wary of Dietician now. I trusted her not to make me fat. And now I’m the very thing I feared.

So after shopping I dejectedly came home, upset over my weight. I needed to eat lunch, but I was too tired to fix a meal and I wanted to restrict anyway; I decided to make myself a smoothie. The smoothie was good, but it didn’t satisfy me. So I nibbled on something else, then something else, and then another something else, never feeling satisfied. Then Husband went and took a nap and all of a sudden I realized what I could do: I could purge and he would never know. And so I did…and I finally felt satisfied.

I don’t know how I feel about it. I can’t say I’m sorry for it. I should have done the next right thing and eaten my afternoon snack, my dinner, and my bedtime snack. But I didn’t.

There’s a lot going on inside of me. I know we should use our words, not our symptoms, to express how we feel; I don’t know how I feel, so my symptoms will have to speak for me.

The Reveal

Today Husband, my daughter, her brother, and I went to a water park, which meant bathing suit time, which meant The Reveal.

Breakfast this morning was different. I've heard good things about steel cut oats so I decided to try them. I like the oats themselves. They are chewy and a bit grainy. I didn't like the toppings I threw in, such as the soy milk. However, oats and almond butter is always an exceptional choice together.

I felt incredibly self-conscious. I could feel everyone’s eyes boring into me, passing judgment on my hideous form. Still, I tried not to care. I told myself that what everyone thinks of me is none of my business, but the self-talk didn’t last long.

After a long, hot day at the water park, all I wanted was something cool and refreshing. A goat cheese and cucumber sandwich was all the trick, in addition to my salad monster and mango.

Standing in line for the rides, I felt as if I were on display. The crowds come pushing in to take a look, to stake their claim on a good stare at me. I tried to reassure myself that they weren’t staring at my generous scars or my “healthy” body weight. I tried to think of everything else they could be looking at. Maybe they were looking at my flawless fair skin or my awesome tattoos or my highly coveted muscles or my tricked out swimsuit.

But I couldn’t make myself believe it. I know why they were looking at me, and I have no one else to blame.

I was all over my snack tonight. Oikos honey yogurt, and Pumpkin seed and Flax granola. Someone else enjoyed the Oikos, too.

My doggie.

How to cope when you want to act out

The question was asked of me on Formspring what I do to not act out when I’ve eaten something risky. I thought I would address this question here because I’ve heard from many readers who deal with dissociation and also have eating disorders. I believe it is worthwhile to address this here because coping extends not just to eating something risky, but also to other behaviors, such as restricting, bingeing, purging, over-exercise or binge eating.

Crisp, cold watermelon on a hot, humid day equals relief. And a mighty tasty snack. Stick a fork in the watermelon...I'm done.

The worst part for me in trying to not act out is sitting with the uncomfortable feelings. I try to tell myself that even though the feeling is so intense and overwhelming, it won’t last forever. I can handle the pain and anxiety if I know there is an end in sight. If I can ride out the proverbial wave, then I can buy myself time for when I feel more in control.

Husband and I were at a local mall and made the decision to eat there. He steered me to a store called Fresh to Order and it was so, so good. I don't know every thing that was in my sandwich but it was some thing like Kalamata olives, avocado, cucumber, and roasted red peppers. I even could have an apple instead of chips as a side. I normally hate eating out, but I'll make an exception next time for this sandwich.

Another thing I do is tell someone that I’m at risk for acting out. That person can be anyone. I’ve even tweeted before that I wanted to binge and purge. Stating the fact of wanting to act out won’t necessarily make the behaviors go away, but it does take some of the power and sting out of the feelings.

Steamed broccoli, sweet potato with pecans, and fake riblets. Husband bought my littles a Barbie cup and they were tickled pink to use it. It also comes with a bowl they'll use later.

I also utilize a “goody” bag that is filled with activities that help me distract. I do latch hook, Sudoku, crossword puzzles, listen to my iPod, read a book, take a shower or a warm bath, and color. These are things that have helped me.

I got my sixty day chip on Saturday. I’ve been focused and successful in recovery for over sixty days now. I wouldn’t have made this much progress if I didn’t learn that sometimes I just have to sit with the feelings and let them pass through.

Slowly coming back

I do not even know what to write. Silence grips me. I try to speak but only gasps for air come out. I lay down my life with the memories, sensations, and flashbacks luring me back to childhood. I feel eight years old. I feel eleven years old. I feel too much.

Thank you for everyone who e-mailed me or dropped a comment. I’m overwhelmed at your support.

A question has been posed on my Formspring page and I will answer it as soon as I get my words back.

I don't want to talk about it

But I want you to hear everything I'm not saying.

Silence of the dead

I don't want to talk about it.

I don't want to talk about how heavy my heart is.

I don't want to talk about how hopeless I am.

I don't want to talk about how lonely I am.

I don't want to talk about how fat I feel.

I don't want to talk about how I broke my heart.

I don't want to talk about how I'd rather be dead.

I love my dog.

Sweet potato fries (yummy!), Quorn chik'n patty with avocado, homemade banana bread, salad with Edamame, Jicama, greens, carrots, and red bell pepper, and pineapple.

Kiwi fruit for a snack. I find them so strange, but appealing.

Lunch - homemade mozzarella and tomato salad,

green salad, Egg Beaters with mushrooms, baked salt and vinegar chips, Doritos, and an orange that said, "Eat me, I'm good 4 you." I love it when my fruit talks to me.

More mozzarella and tomato salad, chik'n wrap with Jicama, avocado, and swiss cheese. Honey yogurt for a sweet touch.

Swedish "meatballs, noodles, MORE homemade mozzarella and tomato salad (I was getting sick of it at this point), green salad, and my fave: honey yogurt.

Veggie burger, THE LAST of the mozz. and tomato salad, green salad, salt & vinegar chips, and strawberries. (I bought a huge tray of strawberries. I'll be eating them forever.)

Breakfast - Organic oatmeal, almond butter, soymilk, and strawberries.

Snack - Strawberries and cocoa almonds. The combination is delish.

Lastly, tofu, sweet potato, salad monster, and the perfunctory honey yogurt (not shown.)

There's no spot in my heart for anymore words. Only the sounds of cries being muffled.