Split personality

So much has happened since I sat down and wrote at the computer screen. I to,d myself no one read this stuff anyway -- so why on earth waste my time writing. I'm trying to remind myself that I write because I love it -- and for no other reason than that.

Quick update of a list before I spill my guts:
1. Took a two week long term sub job to end in the school year at a charter school.
2. Signed a contract to teach at said charter school next year.
3. Apartment hunted.
4. Signed a lease and am moving out on my own on July 19th.
5. Spent the one week of summer vacation I had with my girlfriend, yes girlfriend, maybe ill blog about that issue sometime, but for now, it is what it is. We mostly did nothing but we did go to an amusement park and I ate pizza, thing crusted, and not much, but still pizza for the first time in two years,
6. Yesterday was my first day of my summer nanny job in which I spend 48 hours a week with the two most love able little boys anyone could ask for.

A lot happened -- a lot should have been exciting and it was...

But yesterday and today made me realize just how uncertain I am, how I am still fighting a battle with my eating disorder and how no, contrary to my bełief I am not out of the woods yet. You see, I am two distinctively different people. I am me, Zoe Torres, a happy go lucky nature loving sun abosrbing athlete who works with children out of the depths of passion in her heart and I am my eating disorder. That cannot go to the pool without counting calories, without working out, who can't go to the playground without running laps or doing pull ups. Who gets light headed and celebrates.

Both of these personalities exist in my head at the same time, and I am not sure which one is stronger, that scares me. Today for instance, I skipped breakfast, duh, that's what I do, and was walking around t the nature and science center sick to my stomach and light headed because I was so hungry. Half of me panicked and thought -- hell no -- I'm not doing this all summer again. The other half thought -- good you fat ass maybe your burning some of this fat off.

I suck -- and I'm ready to give up.

It's Not Me it's You

Eating Disorder, 

I met you when I was five, I spent seven years getting to know you, developing a friendship, and mastering the art of sucking my stomach in. I spent the next four avoiding you, putting our friendship on the back burner as my athletic career took off in huge ways. Then when that went to the wayside you began flirting with me and I flirted back and for the next three and a half years in a friends with benefits role as you never gained my complete attention, other things still deserved parts of me. Then it happened, and over night, it became a co-dependent relationship, that for the next two and a half years I relied upon in order to survive. 

But today, May 17th 2013, I'm ready to be done, I don't want to flirt, I don't want to date, and I really don't want to be friends. I don't ever want to hear your voice again. However, I know it isn't that easy, a relationship this long, a relationship this intense, doesn't just disappear. Even if as i completely walk away from you today, your voice will still echo in my head, still mock me in the dressing rooms as I gain HEALTH to reach my goals, you one-liners will still pierce my brain as I sit down in front of a full plate at meals or try to conquer one of your "forbidden" foods. Your voice in fact will grow louder as you watch me begin to stumble away, realizing that you maybe are losing control, so you will yell louder and louder because you know me and you know how to scare me into submission. But the things you will yell, they are lies, pure pure lies, I will not become fat, losing weight does not make me happy, or show how strong I am, and it certainly doesn't make me more lovable. 

You have broken me down and made me weak, my physical body almost unable to handle the functions required of me daily, so as first it will be a crawl, crawling away from your demanding ways as you voice screams loudly in my ears. It will take reminders, visual, mental, and sometimes outside reminders that your screams are lies and unlike others you cannot hurt me as I crawl away. Soon, I will gain the strength to walk, by giving my body the proper nutrition and vitamins, walking is faster than crawling and I will begin to truly escape then. Your screams still loud will begin to soften and then after nutrition and weight restore my body I will run, running far from you and your abusive, lying ways, your voice become a distance whisper seldom heard in the wind. 

You convinced me for the last two years I was ugly and ugly person and an ugly being. You convinced me that both my need for food and my need for help were uncalled for and made me weak. You convinced me that I was useless and had no talents besides losing weight. You convinced me that losing weight was the only way to show people the pain I was in. You convinced me that the number on the scale, in the grade book, and in my bank account defined me more than anything. You convinced me that needing help was my fault, because I wasn't good enough at not eating to make it work, and therefor made me feel my "punishment" for my being weak and getting help was watching the money come out of my account for services that I used to try to make you go away. You convinced me I didn't deserve to feel beautiful unless my bones showed through my clothes. You convinced me every time I looked into the mirror that the person looking back at me was hideous. You convinced me that I could live on pickles and flavored water and that calorie counting was a game, a game in which negative numbers were the only way to win. You convinced me that if I ate foods I liked, if I broke your rules, my punishment was to spend money, you knew how much I valued money, on laxatives and waste the few hours I may have slept on the toilet, in miserable amounts of pain, suffering because I broke rules.  You watched as I spent night after night, day after day, with my head in the toilet, throwing up every food I ever loved, and you didn't even hold my hair back. You watched as I withdrew from friends, yelled at people I loved, and sobbed over plates full of food, and you heckled "this is how you catch perfection, this pain will be worth it." 

But you were wrong. Nothing would be worth what you put me through. The only thing ugly about me was you, my past didn't make me ugly, who you turned me into, that made me ugly. I am full of talents, many of which you stole from me. I am a runner, a passionate, racing runner, you stole that away even before the doctors did. You stole the joy from running. I am a writer, but you stole my words leaving numb and emotionless unable to connect pen with paper as I always have. I am a dreamer, but you stole my ability to see the future past the next "meal". I am far from useless, I am a teacher inspiring young minds to greatness, convincing them they are much more than the battles they face. I am a nanny, flexible and dependable loving my way into the hearts of children and families alike. I am a coach teaching my athletes about so much more than the X's and O's of the game I love. I am a friend, a listening ear, a confident, much more than useless; much more than a number. My bones are meant to hold my body up, enable the structure I need to stand up, they are not meant to be seen, they are meant to be protected. I have words, spoken and written words that express my pain in a much safer and rational way. I do not need to be punished for eating, and not for enjoying what I ate. I deserve to enjoy it. Nothing was worth the person you turned me into. 

It's a messy battle, and my knees are going to get beat up from crawling, from the pushing and pulling to get away from you, the grist few steps will be the hardest, but It's time. It's time to take whatever life is throwing at me and going forward with it. To make sure I eat, to use my words and not my body to express my feelings. To make sure I take care of my body and appreciate what it can do for me. It is time I start dreaming again, and reaching for those dreams everyday. I

It is time for me to leave you. There is a brighter future out there for me, one where I can smile and laugh without concentrating on calories or pant sizes. I've been told, by people I trust more than the world, that I deserve all the happiness  in the world, and I'm not getting that from you; it's time to look in a different place. 

-- Zoe

Personal Hell

It's been a year, twelve long months since I walked into a doctors office to prove to everyone that they were wrong. That I wasn't sick. And instead my life went for a ride, an up and down battle between pretending to be okay, being okay, and just downright being a mess. I'm tired, it's a year later, and I'm just tired. Tired of making excuses, tired of feeling stuck, tired of living is shadow of the life I set out to live. 

I went through a phase where I ate ice cream every night, one where I lived on rice and beans, one in which cereal kept my heart beating, one in which I survived merely on pickles and flavored water, one where I ate grilled cheese and goldfish, and even one made up simply of chicken tacos. In none of those stages was I more healthy than in the past, I just did things the same way, over and over and over again. 

Cognitively I know I'm sick. I know that eating one meal and two snacks a day isn't helping my heart beat return to normal. I know that finding my head in the toliet multiple times a week, regardless of the reason, isn't normal. But I don't feel sick, I feel like an attention seeking whore who is too afraid to life live so she hides. Those are strong words, but they are how I feel. 

I don't remember what life looks like before an eating disorder. I don't remember a time in my life where I ate what I wanted without something making me second guess it, whether it be the safety of the food, the calories, of the weight it would add to my body, food hasn't ever been a normality for me. But this, this is living in hell, a hell designed in a special way just for me. A hell that knows my biggest fears and my worst insecurities, a hell that can build upon my weaknesses and minimize my strength. 

A hell however with a key, somewhere. It used to belong to me, my strong willed and stubborn hands never letting go, never entering into the hell filled with memories of neglect, loss, abuse, and pain. Avoidance at its best as the death grip I held on that key, hiding it from sight removing it from my titled reality. The world however kept turning the hell of pain opening as I threw new demons in one by one until the moment when in with the demons went the key. And now in the midst of the hell is the only key to lock the door. Instead of fighting the demons to find the key, I run.

I run from the hidden secrets and the pain. I run from the past. I run from my demons. I run from my hell. But I'm tired. I'm tired of running and I'm running slower and slower. Hell is inching in, gaining more control of my days with each passing second. So I fought, I fought them, and I cried, and I kicked and I screamed. But, now I'm tired, I'm done fighting. I smile and I laugh and the demons of my personal hell rip apart my heart. 

The worst part is, no one sees the demons killing me, no one can see my own personal hell except me. With each passing day I get better at taking the beatings, something I have always been good at, taking the beatings, taking the blame, and doing so with a wink and a smile. 

I've been through so many phases. I've eaten the same food, I haven't eaten, weighing myself twenty times a day, never weighing myself, weighing myself everyone other day,  I've been completely dedicated to recovery (for like 2 days, but still a stage), I've cried, I've smiled, I fought, and I've given in but now I'm just tired. I'm tired of the stages, I'm tired of it all, and after all the stages, I'm back where I started. 

The key is hidden and the only way to find it again, the only way to be able to close the door of hell, is to fight back, to dive head first into the demons and find the key. Find the key and fight for it back, so I can be in charge of opening in closing that door. Right now my demons open it, they hold the key, and with loud noises, or scary food they open it, raging their ugly heads scaring me into a dark dark place where light barely shines in and I am left to hope and pray I make it through this attack. 

I think it's time to find my key. 

Where Am I Going?

I spent a good portion of this morning talking about vision, the kind you plan with, not the kind you see with. I was trying to explain and teach this concept to 7th and 8th graders at what was my 1st sub placement, and my first day getting paid to use my degree. But really, the lesson I feel, was more important for me to hear, than their wiggle ears could even understand.
I'm a new college grad, my career path opening up in front of me to a world of waiting for phone calls, praying for interviews, and hoping with fingers crossed for call backs. I have nothing solid in my future, my vision, however is what I have to hold onto.
Some moments I feel like I've come along way, like the days of starving myself so near death I didn't know if I was capable of walking up stairs are long gone, like the days of tears so heavy and so deep I can't get out of bed are a thing of the past. And others, I feel like that little girl, weak and afraid of the future. The other days are getting smaller, and I'm realizing that when I'm doing what I love I'm a much stronger person.
This is where my vision comes in, where the vision to provide students with an education and a future and a safe learning environment is so important; not just for the children that will soon be entering into a classroom all my own, but for myself and my future. I believe that every student has a right and desire to be successful, and that if they are not reaching that goal there is a roadblock in the way. It is my job as a teacher to help them discover that roadblock, remove or navigate around it, in a safe way that allows for them to view failure as an oppurtunity for growth.

I've lost -- I've gained -- I've lost again.
Yet somehow in the midst of it all, I'm starting to find myself again.
Remembering life beyond calories and life beyond pounds.
Remembering when I cared so much about others, and so little about my apperance.

There is a spring returning to my step, a smile on my face, remembering who I am and what makes my heart beat. Remembering there are things you love -- things besides finding the balance between intake and excerise.

Embracing them.
Admitting them.
And most of all, allowing myself to enjoy them.

-- with love, Zoe