I'm not sure that I'm writing to anyone anymore...But hey, why not? I'm relapsing, whether I like it or not.

I remember the good ol' days. I had over 220 followers and I followed them all, and more. And now... Well, I was forced to make my blog private. Though now, I'm thinking I might just change that.

I miss the camaraderie and the support (a bit redundant, but hey, I'm buzzed). I miss knowing what was going on in my girls' lives. It helped so much.

A is waking up (I use her initial because I soon plan to make this public again). I realize that I may have mentioned her full name before, but I don't care at this point. I just ... I miss my girls.

What does it mean that I miss you? The lifestyle, the friendships that span across oceans and continents and age? We all share and have shared so much. I don't know where I'm going. I stray from the path of recovery and feel guilty, horrid, lost and... liberated.

I have been gone for so long. I recall fondly the days in which I woke up and checked my blog first thing in the morning. At lunch. When I got home from school. During the day, when I had a spare moment. Every night. I had such a supportive and loving circle of friends I'd never met. And yet you meant so much to me.

This seems, in rereading, a post about nothing. How am I to regain my friends when all I do is type out my current thoughts, rather than getting down to business?

All right.

Here it is.

I am a 25-year-old mother and I am STILL eating disordered.

I have been through a partial recovery and still, to this day, cannot forsake everything that I lived for so long.

I am damaging myself and my family by descending into this once again. I realize that. ... Shouldn't that be enough for me to stop and seek help?

I just...

I want and NEED to be thin again. I suffered so deeply and for so long, just to get to that point. I've lost it now, and I want it back. All of that time and effort cannot be wasted.

Help me. All of you. Any of you. Please.

Stay lovely.

P.D.

Drunk Driving is Illegal... But What About Drunk Blogging?

I had about 400 calories today before I started drinking. Wine and vodka can be taken into consideration, of course, but I feel that I am probably still ahead. I shouldn't be allowed near any device sporting an internet connection.

Thank the gods for the squiggly red lines. You probably wouldn't be able to read this otherwise.

The upkeep of an entire house, the care of a four-month-old baby and the constant entertainment and education of a five-year-old all SHOULD make me so tired that I fall asleep as soon as possible (I just typed "poosible" and it made me smile internally... thought you should know...). But NOOoooOOoooOOOOOoooooo...

P.D. wants to get drunk every night. Lots of unnecessary calories? Check. Impaired judgement? Check. Forgetting about all of my problems? YES. Please. PLEASE.

Thank you.

My screen is spinning. I pride myself on the ability to function somewhat normally while in this state. I am so tempted to eat.

I can't. I must. I can't stand this recovery shit.

I love and miss you all.

-P.D.

Ana is calling me back... WTF, stupid brain...

I know it's been quite a while since my last post. Now, as I reread the last few posts that I made, I realize that I've been on more of a roller coaster than I have let anyone know.

Thing is... YOU guys... You wonderful, beautiful beings with whom I share so much... YOU were some of the best friends I have ever had. And we've never even met.

I am now four months postpartum. My newest daughter is the perfected image of myself and my fiancee. She makes me smile more than I ever have in my entire life.

And yet... I'm bothered. My disorder has been creeping in, and not slowly.

I gained about 60 pounds with this pregnancy. That put me, on delivery day, at 198 pounds. Granted, I was lower than what I should have been when I became pregnant, but that is of no consequence at the moment. I am simply devastated with the way I let myself eat throughout those nine months. I gave in. I decided to consume everything that the life inside of me needed... and more.

And now? Four months after giving birth, I am still only 30 pounds lighter. Over the past three weeks, I have given in to my disorder full-force. I have let it take me over once again. I have reach a point at which I no longer wish to eat, even when hunger is cramping my insides. I just don't want it. A fridge full of food and I don't want a single thing.

I grow dizzy and remember that I am a stay at home mom, breastfeeding an infant and supporting the constantly growing imagination of a 5-year-old. I must be PRESENT for them.

The wake-up call came earlier this week, when I realized that, as I attempted to nurse my 4-month-old, my milk supply was drastically reduced. Why? I'm sure you can guess. That's right. When you don't eat, your body stops doing things it would normally do on a normal diet. Fuck.

In light of this discovery,I've worked on re-normalizing my diet... AGAIN. I try to drink more water and eat even when I'm not hungry. I get drunk nearly every night now (for a number of reasons) and this allows me to eat dinner without gut-wrenching guilt and dismay.

My fiancee took away my scale. He said he's only helping, and I know this to be true. I will henceforth try my hardest to judge my success based on the way my clothes do or do not fit. This will be difficult, but after a year of no scale (as ordered by my ED therapist), I think I can do it without going too crazy.

I miss you all, my beauties, and I hope your lives are treating you as well as can be expected.

Stay lovely...

~P.D.

I'm not dead, I promise.

I'm just pregnant. Very very very pregnant (6 1/2 months, to be precise). And in "recovery," if you'd believe it. Ha. Still. After what seems like forever, I still can't NOT look at calories and hate my body. Even while it's big and beautiful because it's carrying a life.

I am slightly frightened of what I will become when I begin the journey of losing the baby weight. Until then, though, I revel in the beauty of tiny kicks and jabs in my belly and eat everything I'm supposed to in order to keep this little angel healthy.

I hope you all are doing well. I do miss you so.

-PD

I miss my disorder. (fucked, right?)

Fuck.

How twisted is that? I can't believe I'm saying that.

And yet... It's true.

To be honest, I knew this would happen. I figured out from the very beginning of recovery that I'd have difficulty in feeling like myself without the obsession, without the hate, without the CONTROL.

Everything's out of control now, and it's absolutely... insane.

I don't even know if I could survive my current life (school, my daughter, two jobs, social life, etc.) if I was still constantly preoccupied with killing myself slowly. It did take up so much of my time and energy. But... So much of me wonders if the pieces wouldn't fit more perfectly if I were just... perfect.

Looking at photos of myself from October and November (right before I started gaining again), I can hardly believe how far I've let myself fall. I don't know the number, but it's gotta be bad. Probably close to 145 or 150. I don't know if that's true. It could be just 140. Who the fuck knows?

I feel so... fail.

I'll stop now. I just wish I knew what was to become of me, and my mind.

I hope you ALL are well. I miss you muchly, and think of you often. <3

Well, then. This is recovery, huh?

I'm doing it.

Yeah.

And I'm feeling horribly fail and fat so often that I frequently question this move. As in... hourly. Minute-ly. Yes.

I've no scale at the moment (as prescribed by my lovely ED therapist), so I don't actually know how much I've gained. It feels like fifty pounds, but I know better. Realistically speaking, it's probably closer to eleven.

The freedom I feel, though, on the whole... It's unimaginable. Indescribable. I'm not happy yet, no... But damn... I think I must be on my way.

Having lived through all of this, I feel... so many things. Lost, without my disordered habits. Out of control, without the calorie-counting and constant weighing. FAT and unattractive, without my beautiful bones pushing through my skin everywhere.

I love that body. I miss it so much.

Looking in the mirror is literally like looking at a stranger's body. A stranger's... healthy, supple, feminine... body. My ass is back in full force, and I've gained two cup sizes since I stopped purging and restricting. My belly jiggles a little, and my thighs touch.

And yet...

The letting go of all of my self-loathing (a work in constant progress) is something so very ... priceless. Invaluable.

I am learning... (can't believe I'm actually saying this...) ...to love my SELF.

It's really quite insane, I know.

I still contemplate purging every single time I overeat. This is often.

I still look in the mirror and struggle to fight back the thoughts of relapse. That temptation is so sweet, and yet, somehow, I know that I will beat it.

This disorder will forever be a part of me. It has changed my life eternally. I will always be a part of this disorder, as well. My mind doesn't know how to think without it, and so it will continue to plague/help/torture/bless me as I continue my life.

One day at a time.


... Miss you, lovies.

<3

It's been a while. I've much to share, but...here's something different.

Washing dishes, making dinner, doing my homework, helping her with her homework, doing laundry, getting the bath ready, cleaning the kitchen, feeding the dogs... When do we have time to take a second and press a pause button somewhere? Has anyone invented that yet? Someone's dropped the ball on that one...

And then...the high-pitched little voice that brings anyone back to Earth, because...well, you can't effectively clean up spilled macaroni and cheese from all the way up there in La La Land...

"It's very important, Mommy...

'Kittethn'... How do you spell 'kittethn'?"

The tiny lisp (that isn't quite a lisp) is uniquely Britton's; it lilts lyrically throughout her sentences as if it almost doesn't exist, and yet its presence has always somewhat concerned me, a mother with a keen ear for linguistic accuracy and appreciation for all things grammatical, syntactical, etc... I always was an English geek, and proud of it. My daughter, only three years of age, already uses her adverbs in their proper tense, correcting the boys at school when they're being too "loud"... Oh no, they're definitely "speaking too loudly." I love it. Never too early. If she learns it this way the first time around and manages to retain these principles throughout her years of public education without picking up too many bad habits, we'll be all set.

About that lisp? It only makes its appearance, so to speak, in a few "s" words here and there, and sometimes in the nasal "n" beginnings and endings when that sound is soft; it's like she's trying harder than is necessary to force out the air needed to make that sound. So what does a Mommy do? Well, off we go to the pediatrician, of course. No, no, not right away, of course. Growing kids will go through these things, and it's normal. (Not that I'm not prone to overreacting a tad; I *was* the first to toss everything in the car and rush off to the ER the first time she rolled off the bed as an infant, only to be told by a very sweet and serene nurse that ALL babies roll off the bed at some point...it's kind of what they do.) However, now that this nose issue has obviously affected her speech to a noticeable degree, it seemed the appropriate time to investigate further.

After a quick glance up her tiny nostrils and down her little throat, we're given a prescription for an inhaled steroid (Veramyst) and a liquid allergy medicine to clear up her congestion (which very well could be the reason she overcompensates with the "n" sounds). We've yet to see what the long-term use of these will do for her, but I'm optimistic, and Britton is just happy that the allergy medicine tastes of cherries. We'll see how we go. In the meantime, life goes on as chaotically and as normally and as beautifully as ever. As she approached me in the dining room the other night with a sheet of notebook paper in her hands, pride beaming in her face like sunshine was made for her, I had to smile again at what she had called so very important: scrawled in her favorite purple crayon were the carefully crafted letters K-I-T-T-E-N, perfectly printed across the top.

That's my girl.