I just had one of my weird- what surprise! breakdowns. They happen sometimes and suddenly and I don’t know what to do. I just lose the floor under my feet and fall on my knees and cry and cry and cry and there’s this pain inside of me and it’s so bad that I can’t breathe. And I just want it to go away, but it won’t. I don’t know where these breakdowns come from and what they wanna tell me, but neither the therapists nor I can handle them. They make me feel like dying. Like I’m drowning and gasping for air, but there’s no air. There’s just the water filling my lungs and I can’t even scream. I’ve been having these weirdos for 4 years now and they’re starting to drive me crazy. Literally. I can’t handle them. I just can’t. They’re killing me.

if i stay | Tumblr

The ex – the ass

I can’t tell you how I feel right now. All I know is I’m confused, exhausted and tired, but feelings? No clue. My anger and madness on my now-ex has faded. (Yeah I broke up a couple days ago.) It wouldn’t make sense anyway. He’s an egoistic asshole and won’t change. The only person that counts in his world is him. How couldn’t I notice that over the past three years? Because I was in love? Does it make this blind? But I wasn’t even in love during the first year we knew each other! Can love hide a whole personality? I’ve always known he’s dumb, never experienced this thing called parenting because his mom is a slut and his dad left him, I knew he often lies without even noticing it and he shows the whole world he’s the poor boy, but he was never narcissistic. He used to care about me. Be there for the ones he loved. He always said his friends meant the most to him. Did it change  so drastically or didn’t I notice what an asshole he’d actually always been? I don’t get his behavior. Why is he acting like this? Why does he treat me like a piece of shit? Because he’s scared? Because he’s a pussy? Because he’s immature? Because he still has the brain of a 4 y old? Or just because he’s a jerk? Maybe there are reasons for the way he acts, but no excuses. No matter how childish he is, there is no reason to treat a woman HE got pregnant like trash. He doesn’t answer my messages, he ignores me, he never asks for me, contacts me, asks for the child, nothing. He just treats me like nothing. All that matters is him. Even though he’s not even smart or handsome or something. There’s nothing special about him. 

He’s the poor little boy who can’t handle anything on his own. Who leaves when it gets creepy. Who’s scared of Slanderman. Who ALWAYS demands compassion from everyone. Who always thinks he has the most massive problems and he’s the only one people should feel sorry for or help. He’s always the victim. He doesn’t even imagine I may be actually the one with the problem.

I have mental disorders.

I struggle to make progresses and recover.

I need support.

I am having a baby.

But he somehow doesn’t give a shit. Is he really so stupid? So egoistic? So childish? Or what else is wrong with him? I don’t need him, not at all. I’ve never needed any guy, never felt lovesickness, never was broken up with. I just wanna know why- even though that wouldn’t be an excuse either. And I demand to be treated with some respect. And I want him to pay. That’s all I want from him. I don’t care about the other stuff. I wanna understand what is going on and why he’s been such an asshole for 2 months now- so far- and why he refuses everything I ask him for, even whatsapp messages. (Which is also asocial, btw. When someone texts you and you’re online and read it, YOU ANSWER. It’s called manners.) Damn, how couldn’t I notice who he actually is? Or did he really change so fast and extremely? I just want answers, but how am I supposed to get them? He wants me to understand, but HOW? And WHAT? 

Btw, I’ll already go back to the psychosomatic hospital tomorrow. (Instead of May.) All the shit about my ex made me completely forget to tell about it. 


About: moving on.

Save Me From My Demons

If there is anything that I have learned over the past few years, is that you can’t surrender yourself to your past. Our past doesn’t define us, we shouldn’t let our past hold us back so we can’t reach our future.

For some of us, our past can be pretty dark and scary. For others it can be bright and sunny and beautiful.

But the thing about our past is that…. it’s past us. No wait, we are past it. We are past it all, and the number one most important thing that we have learned… is that we can’t look back. When we look back, we begin to miss it because it’s the one thing we are sure about, when we look back we want to stay. But we can’t stay in the past.

We need to be able to grow, to be free.

No matter how dark and…

View original post 47 more words


Save Me From My Demons

When we were younger, we believed that there were monsters under our beds and in our closets. We believed they only came out at night. So we would make our guardians check to make sure the monsters weren’t there. We had a night light because we thought the light would scare them away. We hid under our covers because we thought that it would protects us. We believed in see no evil than there is no evil.

As we grow older… We stop checking. We go to bed with out checking. We sleep with no light. We no longer hide. We believe we are too old to believe in monsters. We believe that they do not exist.

But you see… monsters do exist, we have just been looking in the wrong places.

It’s hard for to find our monsters because they hide to well. They present themselves as angels. They…

View original post 189 more words

In the mind of the eating disorder

A therapist once told me: “You know, it’s kind of wondrous. Others try to lose weight over and over again, but can’t, and you? You just set your goal and do it. Where do you think is the reason? Where is the difference between you and the others, besides the eating disorder?”
At first I was really stunned and even taken by surprise. What did he want to tell me with that? That I was not a completely hopeless case and had at least enough discipline to starve myself by choice? Yeah, that must be true strength. Therapists like him are also the ones who like to ask you (the girl with the ED) during a therapy session that they are planning on losing some weight for the upcoming bikini season. 
Well, back to the topic. Why can some people lose so much weight so easily and others just can’t even after a hundred tries? And why do so many of them have eating disorders? There must be something about it. Some good anorexia tips. Who likes to change his lifestyle, eat healthy and work out? Crash diets and starvation are so much more effective!
Well… The thing is, anorexia and weight loss success don’t have much to do with discipline and willpower. It’s more about the motive (Latin motus = motion, driving). Most of the anorexic girls and women don’t actually want the perfect bikini body the media wants them to have. The motive has a much higher priority. It’s about control, power and the own ideals. But also about fear, austerity and perfectionism. And a lot of other (often unconscious) things like a missing self esteem. 
But whatever the motive is, the more priority it’s given, the bigger chance the person has to reach the goals. 
We don’t need motivation from the outside, no compliments or insults to strengthen the inner motivation. Who gets demotivated too fast, has too high goals or unrealistic expectations. We don’t consider bad days as relapses. We’re still on the way to the same goal. Every day, good or bad, leads us to where we want to be. And we know we’ll make it. There is no other option, there mustn’t be. Because otherwise we could lose much more than just a damn dress size…

My motivation wall!

Right in front of my room in the corridor, I have covered almost the whole wall with things to motivate me during my recovery. And because I added a new piece today, I’d like to show you the whole wall.

The new one: 

The old ones- and because I couldn’t get the wall on one photo, I took one of each piece. (WARNING: most of the stuff is in German cuz I am half German!) 


That’s it- for now. My way to remind me every day of staying strong and never giving up. I plan on doing more collages and similar stuff to fill the whole wall. 

Struggling to eat

Tomorrow I’ll be in the third month of my pregnancy and I feel fatter than ever before in my whole life. I’m tired, hungry and sick all the time and that’s driving me literally crazy. My belly has already gotten so enormous in my opinion and I can’t stand that. It’s so hard to eat right now. I wanted this summer to be a thin one. I wanted to go back to the state when everyone could clearly see my ribs and I had a lil thigh gap. But now I’ll be the fattest one ever in July. This is so awful. You know, the thing is, I don’t wanna sound like I don’t want my child. I’m really looking forward to having my baby. I’ve never felt happier about something than becoming a mother. I’ll be luckier than ever with my kid. I just wanna skip the pregnancy because that’s killing me. I mean like, if I could say I’m already almost done and there won’t be much time left I think it would be easier, but I still have about six months to go which is half a year. That’s like a lifetime. I mean, I really don’t wanna sound ungrateful… It’s an amazing feeling to have this life growing inside of the own belly and if that was all that’s happening inside of me, I’d be fine, but the problem is that I’m not just growing a baby belly. There’s also a lot of fat. No mother is as skinny as she was before the pregnancy when her child is born, that’s just an illusion created by TV. You don’t just gain a baby, you also gain baby fat and that’s what scared the hell out of me. I don’t wanna gain weight, I wanna lose it! I mean, I can still do that in 2016, but that’s still such a long time to live with… Being fat. I will definitely lose a lot of weight again next year, but without starvation, binging or purging, but I don’t wanna have to wait until then… Can I just skip the stupid pregnancy or at least the weight gain? Can I just have a baby and no unnecessary fat? Please? Damn. I’ll be the happiest mom ever once my baby is born, but I don’t wanna wait until the end of November or the beginning of December (they didn’t calculate the exact date yet)! By the way, I’m hungry again. And feel sick at the same time. My body is spinning like shit right now. Dear baby, can you just keep calm in there and stop creating such a mess inside of me? It’s really hard for me to keep going right now and eat because every time something touches my lips, I get scared and think about throwing it away and starving for the rest of the day. Which I can’t do because the baby’s health is way more important than my stupid disorders and what they want me to do.


Trying to move on

I really don’t know what to tell you. I feel like I’m stuck somewhere in my sadness. It’s like everything is frozen, my mind is cracked, my soul is numb.
Today I texted a friend and she said something that keeps haunting my thoughts.
This is not how we were supposed to be. How our life was supposed to be.
And I agree with her even though I hate to because.. She’s right. I don’t know what happened to us. When did we go down like this? When did we lose ourselves this way? How could this happen? How could the pain get so bad that Leo had to choose suicide for her release? Why did we break?
Look at us today. So young and yet so damaged.
I wish I was able to write something inspiring and poetic or pathetic or whatever, just something that makes sense somehow and sounds good, but I really can’t. None of this shit makes sense. There is no cure for the pain. We have to fix ourselves, probably we have to move on to do that, but most of us can’t. We need to figure out a way to live with it, with this hole in our hearts. But how?
Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.
You know, it’s weird. It’s been 2 1/2 years since and still there are days when I completely break down because I can’t take a world without you in it.
It’s so sad, I can’t even remember the sound of your voice anymore. The memories are fading away and even though I actually somehow want to move on, a part of me can’t and tries to hold on even though there’s no chance. I was once told it hurts so much because it was real. I don’t understand what that means. All I know is that I have to move on and let go. Not for me, for Jamie. I’ll have a baby in November.
A new beginning.
Another chance.
A new life.
Not as the sicko, as a mother.
And therefore, I need to be healthy. I need to recover.
For my child and for our future together.
Believe me, I do try and struggle as hard as possible. Whenever I feel the pain coming, I try to distract myself in any way possible and I focus on the positive things and my skills and people who are still alive and I can hold on to, but whenever I just take a short break to relieve, the sadness rushes into me like a wave that tears apart everything fragile in its way. Everything beautiful made of sand is being torn apart.
Turns to ashes. And there’s nothing left but the dark wasteland of eternity.
Why is it so hard to let go? Why can’t anything fill this hole?
I need to make it through, for god’s sake! I need to move on. Let go. Start fresh. Be someone new. I know I can do it. I just need to figure out a strategy.
It’s okay.
It’s all over.
I’m alive.
Jamie is alive.
I’ll be happy.
We will be happy.
I can do this.
I can let go.
For my child.

My story: 1998 – 2015

This is my whole story.

Shortened, cuz otherwise this would take ages.

I’m not really sure why I’m writing it down. I just thought it would maybe help me to figure out some shit in my life when I remember what actually happened. I think it will give me a chance to say goodbye to my past and finally move on. I think it’ll make me able to just consider it as a story that’s told and over.
It all started in 1998 when I was born. My parents wanted a kid, so they got one, perfect little family, we even had a dog and a cat. Everything was perfect and got even better when my sister was born a few months before my fourth birthday. Since then, she had always been the most important person in my life until I got pregnant in 2015.We moved right after her birth and again when I was done with the kindergarten and again when I was about eight years old. My mom is never really happy anywhere, so she loves to move. At that point of time, the cat was long gone and we had two dogs instead and even got two guinea pigs, but they died already after two years because of some illness. We even had a horse later.
On the outside, our family always seemed perfect, but never was.
Hell started when I had just finished elementary school. My father suddenly seemed to realize I was not the daughter he wanted. Since the day he noticed that, he’s never been satisfied with who I am. I will never be good enough for him.
He started to criticize everything I did or said and no matter how good my grades were, they weren’t good enough, no matter how pretty I was, I wasn’t pretty enough, no matter how thin I was, I was never thin enough, no matter how strong I was, I was never strong enough and so on. I assume you got my point.
But something else changed about him too.
His short temper first came up. He suddenly turned into a narcissistic, irascible, aggressive, impulsive, unrestrained, rampant, unbridled, violent person and he’s been like that ever since. Today I still can’t believe how my mother could marry such a person without noticing who he’d actually always been cuz I doubt he just suddenly turned into that person when I was a kid for no reason. He must have had always been like that. I don’t know why, but I assume something went terribly wrong in his childhood, but the only thing I know about that is that his mom never really gave a shit about him. Is that a possible reason for full time irascibility? He should really talk to a professional about that.
I think the thing that I’ve always hated the most about my father is not the fact that everything was always my fault, but that he always acted like we were the perfect family in front of the whole world. He was lying to me and to my mom and my sister and most of all to himself by creating this illusion. Sadly he was even able to keep it until his perfect little daughter finally fell apart when she was twelve years old and had to go to therapy for the first time. When I was ten, I already started to lose my mind, but was able to keep it all to myself for two whole years.
The first illness that came up in my today very crazy mind was my eating disorder.
I was ten and much different than the other kids at my age. I was much more mature and looked and acted like I was years older than them. I spent my time with completely different things and they were all too childish for me. Of course you can’t already be in puberty as a ten years old, but I acted like I was.
Not only I did that, my best friend too. At that point of time, we were like sisters. She actually looked like my twin while my real little sister even had a different hair color.
We did everything together, so when her big sister started to diet and she did it too, of course I also did it. She told me about all the teen shit with boys and weight loss and size zero and whatever and because I was a naive kid, I agreed with everything and suddenly, weight loss seemed to be the solution for all my problems.
Just some pounds and everything would be better! My father would finally appreciate me, I’d be popular at the new school, pretty, perfect, whatever.
And most important: my dad would finally be proud. That was all I had ever wanted him to be. The diet was the solution for everything.
But if it would have been only a diet, I wouldn’t write my story down right now.
It started slowly. No candy, low carb, all the typical stuff. But it wasn’t enough.
And I wasn’t strong enough. I lost some pounds, but right after my eleventh birthday, I lost the control too. And again my best friend had the solution for all of problems.
She had heard that all the models purged when they had eaten too much.
Wasn’t that an awesome idea? We could eat whatever we desired and were still gonna lose weight! The perfect plan! Okay, at the beginning, this plan completely disgusted me and I never wanted to do that. But then, when I had again a huge pack of ice cream with cookie crumbles, I changed my mind and threw up my food for the very first time in my life. Of course it was disgusting, but also so incredibly easy! 
I was really surprised how good it worked, so I decided it to become my backup plan whenever I’d screw up with the diet. Yeah, everything worked out just the way I wanted it to and I was doing fine and no one noticed anything. 
Of course thinking that was fucking stupid. Nothing was fine.
I started to destroy myself without even realizing it.
At the beginning, I purged once a week, but I did it more and more often until I did it every day. Then my bestie realized what I was doing and she said we would never throw up again because she suddenly seemed to get how bad this idea had always been. I didn’t understand her, but because we were best friends, I promised her to stop. She even did it. For her, it was always just a diet, just a part of pre-puberty.
For me it was so much more. I didn’t even realize I had become addicted to my eating (or not eating) habits, I just didn’t want to stop it, so I started to hide it.
I didn’t even know eating disorders existed. For me, it was just my little secret, my way to acceptance and the perfection I was craving for. The eating disorder started to run in phases. Every phase lasted a few weeks. There were basically two types: starving and binging (and purging of course). For some weeks, I dieted extremely, then I lost control and binged every day, but because I couldn’t live with the thought of having all the food inside my body, I vomited again. 
That was my eating disorder, bulimia and anorexia in phases. Sometimes I even starved for some months, but never much longer. I only managed it to have extreme underweight once in my life and honestly, I’m actually proud of it.
My little secret had become such an important part of my life that I couldn’t imagine living without it anymore. But I also started to realize how wrong it was.
I had expected perfection and acceptance, but the opposite happened.
With every minute of my life, the hate I felt for my body became more and more intense. Instead of a thin perfect body I was living in a nightmare and I didn’t know what to do anymore. My whole ‘perfect’ plan was completely falling apart and I couldn’t talk to anyone about it. I was all alone with my problems.
My mood started to get worse every day and I became depressed.
I started to hate my eating disorder, but couldn’t live without it neither.
And because my father had always thought me everything was always my fault, that was the answer to my problems again that time. It was all my fault.
I hated myself even more. Puberty actually started and I got small boobies and hips and a taille and all this shit and I had no idea how to deal with all the shit.
I just wanted it to be gone. To me, there was nothing feminine and mature about it, it was just disgusting fat I had to get rid of. My mood was getting worse every fucking day. Everything suddenly seemed to be so cold, dark, colorless and senseless.
I started to wonder about my life’s sense and the whole world’s sense and all that stuff and didn’t seem to find any answers. I was acting weird and being moody and didn’t know how to handle myself anymore.
I started to think about suicide because I just didn’t know what to do.
Nothing made sense. I hated life, myself, school, everyone.
When I was twelve, I started to plan my death, shortly after I had found new friends. Friends I loved more than my family at that point of time, but who actually weren’t friends. They didn’t just have a bad influence on me, one of them destroyed a part of me that could never be repaired again. He took my virginity when I was drunk for one of the first times in my life against my will, but I couldn’t defend myself because of all the alcohol. He thought I wouldn’t even really realize what we was doing down there because I was already basically half in coma, but he was so damn wrong. 
I realized everything. My skin felt like it was burning even months afterwards. I started to cut myself because I couldn’t live inside my raped body anymore.
Three months after my 13th birthday, I tried to commit suicide for the very first time.
I had been an outcast at school for a few months until that point of time because I had developed an extreme social anxiety. 
Of course I didn’t die (otherwise I wouldn’t be able to write this) and was instead sent to a closed psychiatric. A fucking madhouse, an asylum. The weirdest thing about my time there is that I met the best friend I had ever had before or would ever have afterwards in my life. Her name was Leo and from the first time that we talked we spent all our time in the nuthouse together. Until today she is the only person I’ve ever told everything about me. Isn’t that creepy? I mean, I didn’t even know her. I actually had social anxiety, the doctors even called it a phobia which it actually wasn’t (at least in my opinion). But with her, it was so much different. I still believe we were sort of connected. Our souls, you know. Sounds psychic and stupid, but I still feel like that.
We were both released from custody some time later and stayed in touch every day afterwards until I took a flight to Spain for a vacation with my mom and sister about a month later. During my time in the hospital, my mom had finally thrown my dad out and now she wanted to reunion our family. But this vacation would only make everything worse. 
Before I left, Leo and I promised each other to stay strong and not harm ourselves for that whole week. I really wanted to do this recovery thing with her and I thought she wanted it to. But I was wrong. A friend of mine and hers called me a few days later.
Leo had taken a hundred pills two days before. She’d been in coma for about 48 hours until… Until her heart just stopped beating. My hands were shaking so heavily that I let the phone fall. I couldn’t breathe. For some hours, I couldn’t react to that news flash.
I didn’t talk, grief, cry, laugh or do anything else at all. I couldn’t. I didn’t believe it was real. When everyone was sleeping, I got up again and went outside. 
The moon was sparkling on the pool’s water surface and made me realize what was happening: Leo was dead.
I cried the whole night. And every night afterwards for about a week. I didn’t talk to anyone about it. 
Losing Leo caused my biggest relapse ever. I got to know about her death at the beginning of September in 2012 and in the end of the same month, I took a drug overdose to kill myself. I failed again. They almost lost me in the emergency room, but only almost. They called my survival a miracle, I called it misfortune. 
Y’all know what happened then: psychiatric. Again. Closed until the middle of October and open until the end of January. The difference? You’re allowed to smoke and leave the property together with other patients for 15 minutes per day. 
I actually thought it helped me, but it didn’t. Psychiatric hospitals never help. All they do is lock you up and keep you busy to not make you think about your problems. And sometimes they talk to you to make you believe they care about you- which they clearly don’t. I’ve never met someone with real massive mental problems who recovered in such an institution. But I believed those bitches and left thinking everything was gonna be fine. We moved again and you wanna know what happened at the new school? I was the fucking outcast. The weirdo. The one everyone stared at. From the very first day on. I could stand their insults for almost two months every day until I needed something to relief me from the pressure inside. 
I bought some new razor blades and cut deeper daily- at school. In the rest room. Today the scars are still clearly visible because they were so extremely deep. I’m still ashamed of them cuz I’ve never met a self harmer with such deep cuts. 
Once I blacked out in the rest room because I had cut too deep and almost missed a whole class. My bruised legs were shaking that whole day and it wasn’t the last time.
When summer came, I was underweight and of course starved to lose even more pounds until I started to have black outs when I was running. 
Then even my knees were scarred because of all the shitty stumbling.
It was June and I was always cold, but even though I was more desperate than ever, I was proud because my ribs were clearly visible when I looked in the mirror.
But then my mom stopped everything when she saw my cuts one day and sent me back to the open psychiatric in July. Of course it helped me as much as it had before, but at least this time my mom realized that. But the solution she and my therapist had was nothing but bullshit. 
I had to move into a dormitory for teens with mental illnesses. Worst. Place. Ever. They didn’t give a shit about any of the teens there.
I got worse every day and nobody cared as long as I kept going to school.
It went so far that I had to go to a hospital because of cardiac arrhythmias. I had a normal weight, but my body was more fucked up than ever before because I purged ten times per day. So I stayed in there until they had given me enough infusions and injections so my heart would work normal enough so I could like without any risks in my beautiful dormitory. Sorry, but I can’t be objective when it comes to that place.
And it was not nearly as easy as I had thought to get out of there again.
A few days later, I had to go back to the emergency room because I had massively overestimated my body. The doctors in the hospitals had let me go home after they had given me the infusions, so I thought it would be okay to go party with some friends and get drunk, but thinking that was not so smart. My body completely broke down and I had an alcohol intoxication and of course everyone said it was my fault because of my own stupidity and ineptitude. Which was not true because it was my body’s fault and not mine. How was I supposed to know my heart wouldn’t be able to take some whisky? I was 14 years old.
But it was my fault. As always. 
At least that mistake helped me to get out of that place in January 2014 and I was allowed to move home if I would go back to a mental hospital in February.
So I did, but that time I wanted to be the one to choose the institution because the ones other people had chosen before had always turned out as bullshit.
I chose a special ward in a psychosomatic hospital for teenagers and young adults with eating disorders and depression and it was the very first one that really helped me in my life because they have real therapies there and don’t just keep you busy and lock you up. I stayed there until July and when I left, I definitely hadn’t recovered yet, but I was already much better and had even stopped thinking about suicide.
The rest of 2014 was just a bunch of weird ups and downs, but I made it through somehow. I went through days when everything was fine and I was happy and satisfied and sometimes I woke up in the morning and wanted to die. The worst relapse hit me in January 2015 and that time, I couldn’t get out of the shit on my own. All the great skills couldn’t help anymore, so I had to go back to the closed nuthouse for three days to save me from myself. Afterwards I decided I was not ready to live at home yet, so I applied for the psychosomatic clinic again.
Before I got there, something else happened that would change my life forever: I got pregnant. I thought about an abortion first, but knew I could never do that, so I wanted to keep my baby and started to change something about my life. I stopped smoking, eliminated all the eating disorder habits from my daily life, lived healthy and didn’t even take a sip of alcohol. I wanted to be a good mother for my child.
I considered it was a chance for me to change, start fresh, be someone new. 
The stay in the clinic should be the last one ever. I wanted to say goodbye to the sick life, wanted to show Leo there was another way.
I think my child is my cure even though it’s not even born yet cuz I’m still pregnant.
Jamie will be the center of my life and he or she (I don’t know the gender yet) will be my start into a normal, healthy life. A life as a loving mother and not a crazy weirdo.
I will be able to give my child the life it deserves even though nobody believes I’ll be capable of that. I will prove them all wrong.