2 fucking pounds.

Today I went to the doctor, and emergency appointment. It's a personal matter. Yes I actually don't share everything here, not even half of everything here.
And I'm going to yet another doctor tomorrow.
Did I mention I hate hospitals?!
They are the dirtiest places on the planet. Totally gross. I always get sick from there. And I've been there a lot lately, sad to say.
So I got weighed today. I haven't been affected by being weighed in a long time.
I used to go into doctor's offices guessing I'd be at least 30 lbs overweight- so that no matter what I'd be pleasantly surprised. I know it's crazy, but that was my thing.
This brings me back to when I was in the hospital for my eating disorders, definitely a time I cannot ever forget. Every morning we would be woken up at 5:30 A.M. to get weighed. Actually correction, first they would make us go pee, check our urine ( the color), then weigh us. While we were still in our PJs. We'd never be allowed to see the number- only the nurses could. Then we would go back to sleep for an hour and a half- and go force ourselves to eat breakfast, within the given 45 minute time slot they gave us. The walls were covered in rules. Eating rules all eating disorder patients have created for themselves. These rules were the opposite of those, and all we HAD to obey. We could not cut our food into ridiculously tiny bits, we had to finish our plate, no matter what, there were hundreds of rules. All meant to make us better, not worse like we had been doing.
Anyways- this humiliation, was startling at first, but I got used to it quick. And picked on the newcomers when they pissed me off by bitching about the rules. I ran the joint when I was there. Me and my girl, Julia.
one night we went into the only boy patients room. He was a teenager ( turns out he didn't have anorexia, he had crohn's disease and that's why he couldn't gain ANY weigh no matter what)- back to the point, we went into the room and taught him about sex.
No we didn't demonstrate we just made it seem as gross as fucking possible. And just watched his face go white than green, priceless! Julia and I were trouble makers for sure. I miss her so much. Bipolar E.D. (eating disorder) sisters. She was my sister from another mother, for sure.
So here I was, today being weighed. Ten months after giving birth by C-section to my son Levi. I got on the scale and it said ...132 lbs.
It didn't affect me at first but while in the waiting room for a crazy long time. I heard "the voice". E.D. chicks know "the voice". It's the voice that tells you all the bad things about yourself. You're FAT! You're disgusting! And on and on.
This wasn't that extreme, it used to be that's for sure.
In my old journal that I kept during my hospitalizations there were pages of FAT written over them and just that.
The voice was telling me "You gained two pounds"
The response- in my head was then "132 lbs is nothing. Calm down."
"You gained two pounds!" it'd answer back
"But I thought you wanted to gain weight, you know for the modeling gig???"
To which it replied " You can't handle this. 2 pounds can't turn into more, you can't let that happen!"
So the end of this story. I'm broken. And I hate that. Being broken. I have so much baggage, so much crazy inside of me. I hate knowing I'm broken.
I can't stand broken BITCHES!
I got to fix me.
It has to do with the lack of control I have with all the fucking horse shit that's happening to my family.
I feel helpless. I don't like that feeling. I need to control something,right?
I don't believe ever that EVERYTHING is out of my control. I won't believe it.
I just won't.
I need to take back the control that's been taken from me, by doctors, by my landlord. Everyone that's making feel this pain.
I wonder what'll happen when a broken doll gets fixed. It might get angry.
In this case VERY angry.


To all my E.D. sisters out there. Being hospitalized, although it didn't CURE me, nothing ever does, it was one of the best decisions I ever made for myself. I only wish I would have stayed longer. When I came home, that's when everything fell a part again ( a whole other story). But if I had stuck to the plan and MADE my family stick to the plan for me, things might have been different for while. Just maybe.
If you are suffering from an E.D., know that I've experienced most of them- for over half my lifetime. I'm willing to listen, if you're willing to talk.
There is help out there, but of course it all starts with a decision made by you to change, finally, for the better, and fix yourself, ya dig?

Amen.

Kisses to all my different shapes and sizes bitches! I love you!