On the edge

Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’m always one step from crumbling and it only takes one tiny thing to push me that last bit off the edge. One moment I’m fine, the next one I’m losing my mind. And the worst part is that nobody knows or will know about it. I’m tired of always needing to be fine, but I can’t change anything about it. I love my son more than words could describe it, but there are certain awful things about motherhood nobody ever tells you about and the worst one is that you always need to function. And when I say always, I mean it. When you have a baby, you can’t even take a minute off because as soon as you sit down, there’s the possibility that your child might start crying. You always need to be in control, calm, smiling, careful. Everyone believes I’m doing great, and on the outside, I really am, taking care of everything, getting all of my work done, never forgetting anything- but on the inside, things are different.

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I’m constantly torn apart between happiness and desperation- literally. It’s like there are those two sides in my head and I never know which one will win because while one tells me how great I’m doing and sees everything positive, the other one finds a thousand reasons to break down the next second. My mood is really fragile and even though I manage to cover it up with my typical slightly bitchy attitude mixed with casual kindness (yes, it works) and keeping myself busy all day, I’m praying in my head to be able to keep my goddamn shit together and not lose it again. It’s incredibly exhausting and making me feel really anxious. There’s nothing I can do about it, though. I need to figure out a way a deal with it despite how much it pisses me off on a regular basis. Sometimes I think I’ve got a pro’s and con’s list in my head that refreshes every minute to keep me up to date. Right now it looks like this:

+ I: managed an entire week with my son and my dogs in the house without my mom or sis around really well; work out every morning; am an awesome mom to my son; will put him in daycare the upcoming week to start studying again; am really strong and apparently not heartbroken and make my way through everything without falling apart; am holding on and have great plans for my future

– I: am fragile; am having flashbacks from the past; had to cancel my vacation because I couldn’t take it; still need to face the walking problem named my ex because he’s my son’s dad and I can’t just cut him out of my life like I’d love to; still suffer from relapses; don’t eat like normal people do anymore again; can’t talk to anyone about everything; usually don’t know what’s going on with me and whether I’ll go to bed happy or crying tonight; struggle with my self-identify* and body image very hard again

*About the self-identity-problem: Well, when my son was born a little more than nine months ago, I decided to start to dress like a mom (you know, the whole thing with blue jeans, decent jewelry, heels and blouses like classy moms do it) and strongly distanced myself from the stuff I used to like (smoking, drinking, partying, concerts) and instead act like a role model. Also, I stopped admitting when I feel bad because that’s something parents unfortunately are not supposed to do. Parents need to function and not feel, unfortunately. I still listen to the same kind of music with my earbuds and still like the same things, but I don’t really show it anymore. I only wear my band shirts and batman stuff when I’m home or walking my dogs, wear normal makeup and have a bright room with blue and photos and stuff now.

And I’m not sure if that was the right choice. Sure, if I made the choice again, I’d still never actually smoke or drink as a mom during the day and still only attend parties or concerts on special occasions with a babysitter at home, but the whole appearance thing seems to not be a smart thing now that I live with it. To be honest, wearing that stuff makes me feel really uncomfortable. Sure, it’s all really pretty (I wouldn’t have bought it otherwise), but it’s not me, you know? It doesn’t feel right.

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Okay, so I feel like I kind of lost my train of thought. Where I was actually going is that I’m sure if this is who I really am and want to be anymore. Do I want to be this perfect inspirational ideal showpiece teen mom? Yes, I want to keep being respected and admired for how well I’m handling everything because I am, but do I want to be this perfect fake? Do I want to pretend that I’m always fine and never struggling, always wearing that smile and confidence I’ve never truly had? Do I want to wear nude lipstick and red blouses and hide my studded leather jackets? Do I want to keep all of my feelings and fears to myself and my counselor?

I honestly don’t know what I’m doing here anymore. I don’t feel real anymore, you know? It’s like I’m fine and horrible at the exact same time, all the time.

Who the hell is this person in the mirror? When did I become her? Is this how it’s supposed to be? Am I happy this way? Because, honestly, I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is a dream or a nightmare. I don’t fucking know.

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This speaks from my soul…

I’ve always had this obsession with the idea of perfection, mostly because it’s so unachievable. Not just in my eating disorder, but in my academics, social life, and more. Perfection was what got me in the hospital. Perfection was what got me sick. I emulated perfection only to make myself vulnerable to its destructive temptations. […]

via How Perfect — Angie’s Blog

Things nobody tells you about mental disorders

Today’s pop culture has created a certain image of the life with mental disorders, but there are many parts all those books, movies and songs never mention, things even people with the illnesses often don’t even realize.

1. Choosing recovery
Yes, recovery is a choice everyone can make, but people always make it look like you do that once and for all and then there might be this or the other relapse and then you’re on a rollercoaster that only goes up, right? Well, that’s not how it works. Recovery is not something you decide for once, but every day. And that’s what makes it so hard. Every time you’re being confronted with the triggers of your disorder, you need to make the choice again. Will I choose the easy way and just give in to the voice in my head or will I do the right and hard thing and fight it? You know that giving in will give make you feel relaxed, comfortable and peaceful for a while (unlike fighting it which will make you feel stressed and anxious), but you also know that it will destroy you. That’s why you chose recovery in the first place. You don’t want the disorder to destroy you. But it’s so much easier, isn’t it? For instance, one of my biggest triggers is food and I need to make the choice to either starve, binge, purge or eat healthy and normal every single day and it doesn’t get easier. Not at all.

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2. How hard the simplest things can be

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One example: summer. It’s July, really hot and sunny, and everyone I know loves spending their spare time swimming, tanning and relaxing at the lake. Well, everyone but me. I love swimming and spending time with my friends and family, but besides the fact that I hate the heat, tanning and sunshine in general, short clothes make me feel nothing but terrible. I hate my body. The stretch marks, the weight, the scars… I can’t wear anything that shows more than my arms and decollete, and therefore shorts or, even worse, bikinis, are absolutely impossible. Sucks. And the hardest part will be our vacation at the end of the summer which will be, yay, in Italy. One of the most beautiful countries in the world, but also one of the countries where you can’t wear jeans in August, especially not at the beach or pool. Thanks, eating disorder. Everyone is excited about their vacation and I’m scared as hell.

3. The magical cure named counseling
Isn’t it what everyone expects? You show up for your appointments, cooperate, do what the therapist wants and then you’re automatically better because, you know, that person has studied this and is getting a shit load of money for treating you. But unfortunately, that’s not how it works either. Yes, counseling will help you, but it will not cure you. Regardless of how much time you spend with your therapist, you still need to work on yourself even more. Those people can only listen to your problems, give you advice and make you realize what you’re doing and why you’re doing it, but they can’t solve anything. Unfortunately, the only one who can save you is you.

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4. How hard living with such a disorder is
Mental illnesses don’t take breaks. They don’t show up and disappear when it’s convenient. They’re always there, every second, every minute, every hour, every day, and it never ends. Why don’t people realize that there’s nothing harder than fighting a war inside your own head all the time?

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5. No, just because I’m fine doesn’t mean I’ll always be

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Yeah, there are good days, but there are also bad ones. I might be okay today, but I’ll probably break down tomorrow because one good day doesn’t mean that everything is over and will always be awesome. That’s not how it works. That’s not how easy it is.

6. That there’s nothing romantic, beautiful or glamorous about it

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Depression is not sitting on the rooftop at night with a cigarette Lana Del Rey songs. It’s lying in your bed at the middle of the night wondering how long you’ll be able to handle feeling so frozen inside, like there’s nothing left of you.

Anorexia is not a skinny pretty girl refusing a piece of cake for her bikini body. It’s a voice in your head that makes you feel like you will never be good enough until you’ve starved yourself to death.

Anxiety is not burying your face in your lover’s chest being told that everything will be okay. It’s a constant terrifying fear that makes even the smallest things impossible to handle.

Oh, and then there are those people who post their self harm wounds because the blood is so inspiring and beautiful and whatever.

Like, seriously?

Why the fucking hell do people think it’s cool or special to suffer from a disorder? What. Is. Wrong. With. You?

Holding on and letting go

Years ago, I lived in a village where I attempted to commit suicide twice, lost a friend when she killed herself, sank deep into several mental disorders for the first time, was hospitalized for the first couple times and completely lost myself. Today, I went back to this village to see the last friend from this time I’m still holding on to. I’d gone back there before and hadn’t been able to handle it at all which had resulted in a mental breakdown, but I promised myself it would be different this time.
I promised myself I’d make it through.
And guess what?
I did.
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Can’t say it wasn’t hard, though, because it was. I took a train and therefore passed by all those places I’ve tried so hard to forget but couldn’t. There is the school where I was bullied and where I wrote my name on a wall a day before trying to kill myself, the train stations where I thought about throwing myself on the tracks, the spot where I actually almost succeeded, the streets I wandered lost at night, the house where I binged, purged, self-harmed and starved for the first time while living there at the age of eleven and the houses of friends who left me alone when I needed them the most.
I saw the place where I went to die for the first time.
Can you imagine that?
Almost nothing has changed where my life once fell apart. One of my old school buildings where I used to take some classes is gone, and they’ve built several shelters for refugees near the train station, but that’s it and that’s what almost tore me apart- again.
But I swore to myself I’d hold on this time and would not give in to the pain inside of me. When I felt the first tears burning in my eyes like acid, I swallowed hard, lifted my chin, closed my eyes and held on. And I managed to spend all day in this village without falling apart. I kept telling myself I’m different today, a different person living a different life. I’m not weak anymore and I don’t hide anymore either. I’m strong and I know I can make it. Hell, I haven’t recovered, not at all, and I need to admit that I’m afraid I’ll never be able to recover completely, but today I know that there’s always a reason to keep going and nothing is ever so bad that it’s not worth staying strong.
I realized that, no matter how terrible many days have been again lately, I can still get better and there are still good days worth fighting for. I still hate myself and I could cry every time I look into the mirror, but I don’t let that stop me.
I’m different today.
Stronger.
Alive.
I’m a mom, a young woman, recovering and relapsing, strong and independent, I know what and who I want and need and how to get it. I know what’s good for me and what’s not and what’s most important…
Unlike back then, I know when I need to hold on and when it’s smarter to let go.

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Just remember, even your worst days only have 24 hours.

 

“I’m okay” That’s what you need to hear, isn’t it?

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I never thought it would be so easy to slip back into an eating disorder. Everything was fine during the whole pregnancy and while I was breastfeeding and then… Then they came back, all those thoughts about my body. Small and quiet at first, but then louder and more painful with every single day until I couldn’t resist it anymore. And now, well, I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’m bulimic again. Not nearly as bad as it used to be, actually ridiculous compared to what I went through before my son, but still I binge and purge between five and ten times per week. Like I said, nothing compared to the fifty to hundred times per week I was used to two or three years ago, but yeah, it sucks. And it scares the shit out of me. I know what it did to me once and what it might do to me again and even more important, that it could get worse again.
And the scariest part is telling someone because that would mean admitting that I’m not as strong as I am on the outside and I don’t want anyone to see my weaknesses. It would mean admitting that I have a problem again.
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I don’t know what to do. Whenever I eat, my thoughts start racing and I feel worthless and guilty. After everything I’ve gone through, this is where I end up.
Ah, and I keep thinking about starvation again. Not that I’ll do it, I can’t because I know people will notice. They will because I won’t just stop ‘there’. That’s not how it works. Sure, you think you know how far you can go, where your limit is, where you reach the point when you’ll be like ‘now I’m skinny enough’, but that won’t happen. You’ll never realize it. You’ll set your goal, reach it, tear it down and build it again five pounds lower on the scale, over and over again, without even realizing you’re killing yourself. An eating disorder is basically slow suicide without noticing it.
You believe the lies that one day, you’ll be enough, but that won’t happen. It won’t be enough for the eating disorder until you’re six feet under. So why am I doing this? I know where it gets people and where it got me once, but I do it anyway.
Maybe the idea of accepting my body the way it is now (which is normal and healthy, but not skinny anymore) is even more frightening than the idea of destroying my body all over again. I actually want to accept and love myself the way I am because I know that there’s nothing wrong with me and that self hate is wrong and useless, but I just can’t. Deep down, I’m afraid that accepting things as they are will make me weak, lazy and incapable, so no matter what I do, I can’t get the idea of never being good enough out of my head. I spend the late evenings binging and purging until I’ve got red eyes and a runny nose, hoping that, at some point, I’ll be able to accept things I can’t or I’m not supposed to change.
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But I’ll probably never reach this point. There’s this barrier in my head my dad built the foundations for and I built the rest of it brick by brick over the years and this barrier makes it impossible for me to settle down and just be satisfied. It’s this thing in there that tells me that nothing is ever enough and even if I was able to tear it down, I’d be to scared to do it.
Two days ago, I was told that I’ve passed all of my finals and will graduate at the end of the month (but that’ll be only for 10th grade because I’ve missed a whole school year a couple years ago and because Germany’s school system is far more complicated than the American and to get a real high school diploma I’ll need to apply for college, I’ll have to continue studying from home for four more years – which means I won’t be able to attend college till I’m 21 – in September while my son will be in daycare until noon on weekdays).

Anyway, I’ve taken a huge step and reached a huge goal by graduating from this school already and I actually did a really good job and everyone is proud of me and I was looking forward to being too… But I’m not. I don’t know how much time I’ve spent trying to convince myself that I have every reason to be proud of myself and that I’ve accomplished more than half the people I know who have half the problems I have, but the barrier won’t ever let me be proud of myself because it tells me there’s still something missing. And I keep telling myself I’ll feel this pride after the actual high school diploma and college and stuff, but who am I trying to convince here? It doesn’t matter what I do. I won’t love myself.
So I keep fighting and hoping and until then, I’ll have to deal with feeling worthless. But I’m okay, right? “We’ll just have to act like everything’s fine.” That’s all that matters. I focuse on the positive things and swallow the emptiness that makes me feel like dying inside. Smile, stay strong and don’t give up. There’s no other way.
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In the hardest times we grow the most

So many worries

Do you know this feeling when you have a thousand thoughts on your mind and don’t even know with which one to start? That’s kinda how I feel right now.Let’s start with the most important thing: Jamie. I’ve been a mother for almost eight weeks now and I gotta say, I think I’m doing pretty good. Jamie is cuter than I could have ever imagined, continuously growing and gaining, he’s a good boy, doesn’t cry much and sleeps a lot at night. Of course he has vapors sometimes, can’t sleep, is grumpy or hungry all the time, but, hey, he’s a baby! That’s just part of having children. And I’m happier than I’ve ever been with him. Is it possible to recover so quickly from diseases I’ve had for so long and nearly destroyed me? I can’t even remember the last time I was depressed, haven’t thrown up on purpose or been suicidal in about a year and haven’t self harmed even longer. And I don’t feel the need to either. Just the ED thoughts… Well, they’ve come back. After you’ve given birth, of course you’ve gained some weight. That’s one of the pregnancy side effects (that’s how my midwife calls it). And I wanna lose that weight again. Which is, I guess, relatable. But since I had an episiotomy during childbirth (Jamie’s head wouldn’t have gone through otherwise), I couldn’t practice any workouts the first two months (hey, I couldn’t even sit on a chair without crying until Christmas!) and that made me feel even worse about my body. So today I did the first workouts again (after almost a year) and it felt like the ED thoughts had never been gone. They were there. Immediately. I did the first exercise and everything crashed down like a huge wave that buried me. All the fears, all the self-doubt, all the hatred. But I resisted. I kept telling myself: None of this is real. The eating disorder won’t help you, it will destroy you all over again. These thoughts aren’t mine, they’re sick and disturbed and terribly wrong. I’m struggling with my body really hard right now, but I won’t relapse. I haven’t come so far just to make all the old mistakes again. I haven’t reached so much to throw it all away. And I am responsible for my son whom I love more than anything and to be a good mother, I have to be healthy. He makes me so happy and I’m not gonna let some stupid disorder take all that happiness away from us. I will lose weight in a normal and healthy way. Without any stress. I’ll make it just like I’ve made everything else. But I’m scared of a relapse anyway. Very scared. The words relapse and recovery are so close and even though I’m strong, I’m not sure if I’ll always be able to stay this way.

  
But those are not the only things keeping my mind busy right now. Also I’m still more worried than ever about my future. I’ll have my 10th grade’s final exams (I’ll go to school again on February 29 and yes, I’m only in 10th grade because of stupid nuthouses) in a few months and I don’t know what I’m gonna do afterwards. Actually I planned on finishing high school at school and graduate there, but I now realized I can’t leave Jamie every morning for three more years. It’s already terrible enough that I’ll leave him from March until July (Monday – Friday, 7.30 AM – 2 PM) and I can’t do that any longer. Our nanny is great, but I wanna be with him. What if he’ll take his first steps while he’s with her? And what about his first words? What if I’ll miss all those important moments? I need to graduate high school, that’s 100% sure, but I wanna do it at home. There are only two problems: 1, the fees are €4140 / $4509 and 2, I’ll have to study at home without a teacher and a thousand distractions. So what he hell am I gonna do? I’m so fucking desperate. I just wish things were easy in my life- just once! Only once I wanna be one of those girls who don’t have to worry about anything. I mean, it’s not just the high school graduation, college is a problem as well. It’s fucking expensive, I don’t know if a college will accept me and if I’ll even get the necessary visa (and Jamie needs one too!). How the hell will I pay the flights? Where will we live? What about Jamie while I’ll be studying? I’m not even sure what to study. I can’t become a doctor, that would take way too long, I can’t study criminology because I won’t get a job and I’d like become a historician as well, but I don’t know if and which jobs are available there. But why am I even worrying about things so far away? I don’t even know if I’ll pass the exams in spring. Everything sucks right now- everything expect the beautiful little baby next to me.

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.

Strong

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.