the caged bird sings.

written, designed, and edited by Bee Butler

ALL OF THIS Requires Backstory.

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Short, or TL;DR... I entered eating disorder treatment in October of 2014 and graduated in April. Since then life has been pretty... challenging. A lot of moving, a lot of financial stuff, and a lot of medical problems that surfaced post-recovery. The biggest of these was depression, because I moved away from my treatment center and thus, my support group of girls in the area, and right now I'm rocking the housewife life (house-girlfriend life?) for a little while as boyfrusband and I make the transition to our semi-permanent living space. Okay? Okay.

This morning, I woke up with boyfrusband's alarm and nudged him out of bed. We did our usual morning goodbye routine, he left, and I was wide awake. And HUNGRY. So, I got up, made food, ate it, and BOOM.

Stomach in knots, nausea, and a lovely trip down barf lane later, I sat in bed thinking, "that felt like an eating disorder moment". When my love affair with ED (eating disorder personification) first started, I woke up in the middle of the night throwing up. I was eleven, mind you, so we thought it was a gastrointestinal thing, and I started moving my meals back to earlier and earlier times so that I wouldn't get sick after I went to bed. One thing led to another, and I had a full-blown case of anorexia in an attempt to fend off what felt like anxiety-induced bulimia. There was nothing wrong with my stomach. All the tests came back negative. My anxiety was causing me to throw up, and in turn, feel empty, and then I could sleep. Once I "solved" that by not eating, the nausea went away.

This morning was exactly like those nights when I was little. It scared the hell out of me. I was able to go back to sleep after I got sick, and when I woke up, my mind immediately screamed, "DO NOT EAT ANYTHING TODAY. YOU WILL GET SICK. WAIT TILL BOYFRUSBAND COMES HOME AND YOU MAY EAT SOMETHING SMALL THEN". 

Uh, no. Fuck you. I'm not about that life anymore. I don't take orders from an illness that will kill me. Bye. 

So I got up, made a small, protein-packed lunch that I hoped would give me energy after a rough morning, drank a water and a gatorade, and attempted to continue my day. Then it hit me. That voice.

"THROW IT UP. GO. THROW. IT. UP. NOW. FEEL THAT POOCH ON YOUR BELLY? IT'S BECAUSE YOU ATE. FATTY. GO PURGE, LAY DOWN, DON'T TELL ANYONE, AND WE'LL BE SQUARE. GO. NOW. GO!"

I cried. I sat on the floor and repeated to myself, "What I ate was good for me. My body needs it. I will not get fat from eating lunch. I did not binge. If I purge, it's all down the rabbit hole. I need to rest and rethink." and I got in bed.

I had to get up to pee a few minutes later, and I had to walk backwards into the bathroom so I wouldn't be tempted to praise at the altar of the porcelain throne.

 

I know why this is happening. I am in a stagnant place in my life. I have no car or means of transportation, I'm not able to take classes yet, I have no friends or hobbies here, and my day revolves around boyfrusband getting home so I can get out of the house and do things. Those are not excuses, by the way - we're in a weird spot with where we live and it's neither safe nor really possible for me to go anywhere or even walk the grounds right now, so I'm inside until around 4 when he gets home. And my depression and anxiety are full throttle. 

I'm taking my meds like I'm supposed to, on schedule, and I'm writing again to combat the mental chatter that anxiety brings. I'm talking to my family and texting friends back in Texas, as well as back in San Diego. I am really, really trying. But that isn't enough, and I'm going to have to make a change. We will be moving again soon, hopefully sooner than later, and I've got to get out and do things. I'm dying to start working again. I'm ready to find my community in the place that I live and to make friends. I know what I need to do.

And just now, for this meal, I told ED to fuck off in the loudest way possible. I ate,  I combatted the voice, I kept it down, and I wrote like hell about it. I am accountable for my actions to everyone who reads this, as well as my social media, and I will not go down this road again. 

Until I get a chance to explain further,