#and i wanted to see april continue her journey to med school

[detectivereyes]

oh...

[z-007]

A Journey of Sadism (mental and physical)

I was born in the 21st of April 1992, in Jableh-Latakia. But, since my father was an employee for Total French company in Syria, I grew up in Damascus. At the age of 4, I was diagnosed with Diabetes type 1. It was very hard for me at the beginning when I was a child, and my mother suffered a lot, giving me insulin injections, which I found painful at that time, and analyzing my blood sugar to inspect what did I eat if the result was soaring sky high. I hated her at the beginning, simply because as a child, I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation. At 8 years old I went to a school that is Sunni Islamic Pre-Historic School in Dummar called -Young Scientists- something that I discovered later on to be ironic. In Syria, If you weren’t good at school, you were cursed, you became like a Boxing Heavybag. They also used Falakas, the art of whipping feet. It didn’t stop at that, simply because parents became part of this process too, using any tool at their disposal in beating their child, chair, water hose, hammer, clothes hanger, electric cables, let alone being slapped on the face in a way that I started feeling my bones were shaking, and my eyes will throw fire, or kicked in your head and started bleeding. All of this, was because my marks in Arabic, mathematics, history and geography were not good except in English. It was the best language to understand for me, and the subject in which I saw myself to be a good student. As a consequence of that, I started losing control and cause trouble to my so-called teachers at that time. Luckily in 2001, I found my sanctuary that took to a completely different world. It was the first time I saw James Bond in GoldenEye. I was so thrilled by the action sequence, the theme of betrayal and everything about it was cool. This was a turning point in my life to become a Bond fan. I also learnt how to sing rap songs like Faint for Linkin Park, and Bleed It Out. And all of my father’s friends who were French, British and Americans were impressed. It was something that I remember with a loving memory to those people. Later I watched the rest of the Bond films and the happiest moment in my life was when I found the complete DVD set in Tartus. Simply because no DVD store in Damascus had the complete set except one who was also our neighbor. The curse of buying films in Syria was that they were badly used CDs at the bloody beginning. It was very rare to have a CD converted from an original DVD. This greatest franchise in the whole world has sealed my internal wounds for not being a good student. Ironically, the mental case of mine came back to me when I was at High School, especially it was a time that determined who I am, luckily it passed with no harm to me, because a single mark changed future to some students .I forgot to mention, that the school principle when I was at the ninth grade, didn’t stop calling my parents and telling them not to spend a single penny on me, because he thought I will never be successful. But I brought a mark that was better than his children’s. In 2010, I became a student of English Literature in Damascus University, I remembered that I was not a bad student at that time with an average of 80 percent. But the Syrian Crisis began in 2011, the press was already screaming for blood and the political unrest escalated to the extent that we had to change residence. This was the bane of my existence to open my eyes and find myself in Latakia. I was simply cursed and hostile, because I didn’t speak like Alawaits, their accent felt like starving dogs, in other words, they bark. They are trivial, shallow minded wankers who had nothing inside their heads except clothes, mobile phones and narrating a fairytale about themselves having sex with girls and a horny 40-year-old women they come across and imagining penetrating their vaginas and sucking their nipples. I registered in Tishreen University at third year, I managed to transfer my documents to that platonic place. The professors didn’t like me, simply for participating in their lectures, and the fact that I spoke French, Spanish and a little bit Russian. As a consequence, I kept failing at University over and over. Moreover, I had different ideas, and University Professors are bigots and snobbish. Their opinion was the only one that matters. The impact of the mentioned earlier, had made my pain started with breakdowns, screaming my head off and security gathering around me like” what happened to you?”. Added to that, emotionally speaking, I had a horse sex drive in that Mohammadian society. Girls dressed in a way that said to male students, “come to me.”. The majority of women at that city showed their breasts, waist, legs, and what attracts me most their feet, especially, high heels, that gave them a very elegant look. For my good fortune, all I had in front of me was Pornographic DVDs and websites, so I kept masturbating from 11:30 pm until 10:00 am from night to daylight. Still wondering, how men attracted them, I didn’t have any idea, and the question kept circulating. I also hated the idea of marriage, especially that I always loved to live my life the way I fathomed. I didn’t like the idea of getting buried alive by being a bloody father and spend the rest of my life with only one Angry Factory, aka, one woman. The psychological problem kept increasing and started with depression; taking anti-depressants for a while and go back to my normal life when soothed down. I kept taking them every now and then. Students were not allowed to know about their mistakes at any cost, this was a University rule. Self-doubt has caused me to go to a neurologist who started doing me brain scans, simply, I just wanted to know why am I that stupid, for failing continuously and still I didn’t get an answer. I was always deprived of sleep, studying my arse off and my professors didn’t care seeing their students DIE and SUFFER in front of them. Everybody panicked from me, always avoided seeing me, treated as unusual man. At that time, due to the fact that I kept taking anti-depressants, they became ineffective and stopped giving me relief. Part of what killed me thousands of time when I’m still alive was realizing that I cannot become an MI6 agent at any cost. I simply wanted to do 1 % of what James Bond did, take notice, that I was not pursuing women, I was looking for action and suspense. I wanted to be stationed in the heart of ISIS or Spectre and operate in the shadows to protect Queen and Country. I didn’t like Hasan Nasrullah, Vladimir Putin who looked like a Bond villain or Ayatollah bloody Khomeini, even Ali Bin Abi Talib himself, and that’s why I was also crucified for being a James Bond fan. Family and friends made a laughing stock out of me. I started dinking excessively, and suicidal thoughts kept recurring to me. They didn’t stop driving me to bring a razor and wound myself to death, it wasn’t the MI6 job that destroyed me the most. It was self-doubt. Doubting my brain efficiency and abilities, and especially that I saw students whom I thought less capable to express themselves in English than I am. My family tried to see the professors in Tishreen University-Latakia, unsuccessfully. I simply couldn’t have any idea what is the main reason I kept failing over and over. How could I develop myself without knowing my mistakes?!!, I later told some people that I wanted to be an MI6 operative, I thought that might sooth my tension, however, it got things worse. I started attacking the professors while giving their lectures orally and physically. I also broke the classroom washbasin, and the entire classroom windows, then security staff gathered around me after 3 minutes, they were about to send me to an unknown destiny, later, everything stopped after the head of the English department told them not to take any action. The last problem I did was with World Literature professor, whose name is Noor AL Araby, she was a real bitch, I remembered studying her syllabus for a month, she told us that Virginia is not required for the exam, and she brought it. As a result of that, I wrote her three pornographic stories on the exam paper. Stories people see in Brazzers and Naughty America (Porn films companies). Everybody got pissed off, the story was about to be dragged from my house to a security branch for torture. Luckily, my uncle who was a Colonel in the Republican Guard he had connection to the President of the University, told the professor to drop out the case, but she was persistent to have my balls for Christmas decoration. She spread what I wrote her on the internet and about to send them to newspapers. My parents begged her not to and we had medical reports that proved that I had neurological and mental case. Then I was suspended from the University for years, from 2016, till now. She did all she could to destroy me to the utmost level. I was happy when I realized she got very agitated. Especially, there were students confirming that exam questions were paradoxical to the things she lectures about.

Suspension Time

At the time I was suspended it was a slow killer for me. Literary, I realized that I was the worst student in the history of the planet. I decided to follow Boxing, I remembered that I was fit enough for the game. I found out that I did well at round bouts on the ring. I could do sparring sessions, shadowboxing…etc. I was able to run at least 10kms per day, 300 sit-ups, 80 press ups and 20 pull-ups. I tried to be a champion but every time I kept persevering, in addition to that my left palm was broken and my right eye was wounded. I got cold and sick, and I realized that I had to spend at least 2 months with vaporizers, fertilizers and strong meds. I kept striving in Boxing with no success. I lost confidence in myself and felt humiliated. I said to myself, why didn’t I choose to work for the Syrian Secret Service, I went to the branches, and when they saw that I was discharged from the military because of diabetes type 1, they asked me to get lost. I was surprised when I found out that my dentist was an officer in the Ariel Intelligence in Syria, I told him the story, he said “this is not your fight, you might think that you can do well in the field, but your enemies are smarter than you, they know how they can take you down and destroy you once and for all. Second, we had people who kill targets, who can do silent killings, detonate and sabotage, whether male, or female, but they have nothing to lose, their parents are killed and very poor, working to make money, and you are a discharged, rich bastard and you want to join us. I’m surprised when you told me that. I was a James Bond fan like you, but believe me my friend, that the real intelligence work will never come up to your expectations. Once the film you watch finishes and the novel ends, go back to reality, what you look for does not exist. I realized that I couldn’t become an asset for MI6, or any spy agency in this world, I felt that I was under surveillance by my country. I knew that they could look at my messages, trace my location any time they wanted. That was not the real problem, suicidal thoughts and self-punishment ideas didn’t leave me. So, I talked to my uncle to send me to the Special Forces, or any Military Barracks to become a martyr, to take the bullets to my chest. I remembered when I drank wine bottle on my own, I told my parents that I wanted to wear a C4 charge belt and blow myself up inside ISIS. They were horrified, then I was unconscious and within minutes, I found myself inside the clinic, after I told my problem to the psychiatrist, about MI6 dream and the doubt that I’m under surveillance. He told my mother that I’m a Psychotic. I was injected with needles and medications that made me feel like cutting my head off. He also sent me to Damascus for electro-therapy (to take electricity directly to my brain). I also became a field of therapy by my Doctor, he was testing medications on me like Invega that made me shake while standing up. Hence, he decided to give me Zeldox 60 mg, second generation anti-psychotic. My only comfort was when I slept. Waking up to life while taking those meds was a curse. I lost my sexual drive (libido), I remember feeling dizzy all the time, I remember calling the doctor every time when I tell him about the side-effects concerning dizziness and loss of sexual drive, he kept telling me that what you say is incorrect and that it didn’t have any symptoms. By miracle, my father brought me lower dosage medication, life changed for me. I knew cat-houses in my city, every money woman I went to for an intercourse, they took a lot of money. They were abusing me. The sluts didn’t make me enjoy the intercourse the way I wanted. They were controlling me as well, and this is why I left them. After I told my psychiatrist that I reduced the dosage, he said that my condition will deteriorate. He confirmed to me that Chemistry in my brain was not right, then I told him to screw himself. Reducing the dosage had an effect as well. I remembered at a certain time that painkillers were like a bag of peanuts for me. And when night came I felt incredible fever in my head. I felt like being boiled alive. And I kept seeing nightmare afterwards, voices telling me that I will pay the price of reducing the medication dosage. Complete terror and horror kept chasing me for a very long time. After recovery, I logged into the James Bond groups on Facebook, they made me trivia to answer, did me a test about the James Bond 24 films from Dr.No 1962 to Spectre 2015. After I answered them all correctly, they called me Agent 00Zein. Made me an admin, and I had many friends from all around the world. In the 5th of October the global James Bond day , I celebrated with millions of the franchise fans. My great father, brought me a modern computer and IPhone X to follow up with these groups.

Nowadays, I’m not looking for immigration, nor women or anything else in this world. I have chosen to help my parents when they grow old, and help them. This is the best way I can pay them back. I decided to watch films about espionage world, read books, imagining the events and enjoy it fully and get my arse back to reality.

This is the only way; I cannot be punished.

I can imagine myself a soldier of 30 Assault Unit in Ian Fleming’s room 39 in WW2, or talking with Sir Alex Younger about my mission in VX or Whitehall. If not Sir Alex Younger, it could be Admiral Miles Messervy, Admiral Hargreaves, Madame Olivia Mansfield, or Lieutenant Colonel Gareth Mallory. And realize that” It was a matter of pride that the 00 Section has been chosen for this test. This painful experience kept coming back sometimes, notwithstanding, I have chosen to take with a pinch of salt, lol.

[arclightbutterfly]

2017: Year In Review

2017 was a crazy year for me on my transgender journey. Here’s sort of a recap, as I read through all of my old posts, I guess?

January 9th: Took my first dose of medication; the start of my journey officially transitioning into a biological female. Very exciting.

January 10th: First day on meds! No morning wood! Basically no erections!

January 16th: One week in. Dysphoria subsided. Felt like I could finally start living.

January 21st: No sexual changes that I could tell of yet.

January 22nd: Had some religious contemplations. Decided to continue on with my journey.

January 25th: Two weeks in. Definitely softer skin. Novelty wearing off a bit.

January 31st: End of three weeks. Differences in smell becoming noticeable. Decided I wanted to go to senior prom in a dress, but was unsure whether it was going to happen (@ past me, don’t worry-- it’s definitely going to happen now)

February 1st: Lost my job as a tutor bc mom made me stop. Needed new way of getting money.

February 7th: One month in (Even though I think I started on the 9th??). Some depression returns.

April 13th: Big update! Ran out of estrogen pills. Running out of money. Thighs are now sensitive! Chest still sensitive! Which is an issue because korean males like to hit each others’ chests a lot. Told my school counselor that I was trans.

June 3rd: Lost track of how long I’ve been medicating. Getting better at changing my voice (as of date, I am now very good at this and am very happy with my voice). Smoller wrists! More feminine face! Existential crisis regarding whether or not I’ll ever find someone who loves me!

June 20th: Somehow scraped together the money to buy meds again. Ordered an asymmetrical hoodie while I was at it (my first self-bought feminine article of clothing!). Everyone thinks I’m 14, and I love it.

June 27th: Brother called me “she” by accident. Little happy things.

July 2nd: Went to Korea! Korean grandmothers all thought I was female! Pissed off my parents but I was happy

August 5th: Came back from church retreat. Met some very accepting freshman girls who I talked with until 4 am in the morning. Am still friends with them! They’re so great and I’m v. happy. My brother found my meds on this day, but I managed to bullshit my way to safety.

August 8th: Plucked out facial hair by hand. Ouch. Got catcalled for the first time, and told a cashier my name was Alina. Evan Low, California legislator, referred to me and my friends as “girls” when we were running our non-profit c: also got an ID photo for school and looked like an ugly girl but still a girl >>

August 16th: Started taking medication sublingually. Lots of angst about pronouns and people treating me like I’m trans rather than as a girl

August 19th: Doctor confused as fuck regarding my sudden change in BMI. No one at school seems to have noticed much.

August 24th: Took senior photo in a fucking tuxedo. Felt disgusted. Still feel disgusted four months later.

August 31st: Got a new job. $35 an hour starting salary, for two hours a week. Enough money to buy meds and some clothes. Very stressed out and tired.

September 6th: Someone who didn’t know I was trans heard me make a squealing sound when I fell and told me that I wasn’t a girl so I kicked him. Felt a little bad about it, but didn’t regret it. Mom found my jewelry, so had to bullshit my way out of that one.

September 7th: FUCK TUXEDOS. Also fuck my brother for finding out that my friends call me Alina. And teasing me about it.

September 8th/9th: FIRST TIME PRESENTING AS FEMALE IN PUBLIC. Went to a cross-school mixer. No one suspected anything and I was just,, so happy,, and I never could have imagined that I’d make it this far. Sucked going back to “normal” life at school.

September 24th: Mom found recommendation letter draft. Saw part about being transgender. Had to bullshit out of that one too.

October 3rd: Planned to buy a dress with friends!! Finally starting to feel successful.

November 5th: Friends all flaked on me; couldn’t buy a dress. Still watched No Game No Life: Zero with them, though.

October 12th: hahahaha fuck all my friends I had a mental breakdown because they made fun of me for being trans

October 17th: Spent all of my remaining money on a dress and makeup and facial hair removal cream. Sort of like a “treat yourself” kinda thing bc honestly fuck my life

October 21st: Homecoming!!??!!?!?! Possibly the best day of my life???!! Basically came out to everyone who was there and people told me I looked pretty and I felt pretty and people hit on me and it was fucking amazingasdlfjflgaldsf

October 22nd: Posted homecoming pictures on instagram!!! Lots of positive reactions!! I love my friends

October 26th: I hate my friends theyre dicks and they make fun of me for being trans and I cried during a friends date I don’t hate all my friends just some of them sometimes most of them are actually pretty great

November 6th: Decided to double my dosage after like 10 months or something! Old people have started to double take on my gender! All around good stuff except for the fact that I ran out of money and am going to get meds two weeks after I run out

November 8th: Being off of meds starts getting to me. Dysphoria is coming back. 

November 11th: Church sleepover thing. Hated being there. Didn’t feel like I fit in with any of them. Still don’t.

November 15th: Bought a razor!! Basically a magic hair removal wand!! Am very amazed. Everything feels so smooth. Medication arrived!! Happy girl is happy.

November 19th: I suck at shaving and I cut myself everywhere but its worth it

November 23rd: Aunts and uncles came over. Transphobia ensued.

November 30th: College apps asdfhjlgashdlfjadfhl?? But also bought shittons of clothing!!! Met someone who made me feel super insecure because she was so naturally cute!!

December 5th: Someone sent me $1100 in bitcoins what the actual fuck is this angel

December 7th: I feel like my mom knows. I can sense it. (Spoiler alert: I was right)

December 17th: Had a joint bible study at church with girls and guys mixed. Felt very resentful that I was denied a childhood with the girls class at my church. Hated being there. Once the class was divided by gender, I just left. Didn’t come back.

December 18th: Feeling okay. Voice is still high. Am glad I practiced it since seventh grade.

December 22nd: Mom bought me cute clothes! Also speaking of cute clothes someone moved stuff in my drawer it looks like?? (Spoiler: it was my mom)

December 23rd: Mom found out I was trans. GG rip. She took it better than I thought she would, where shes definitely not supportive, but told me she couldnt stop me. Still, going to be a long ride

December 26th: Went to a counselor that i was set up with to see if I was “really” trans (spoiler: i am). He was pretty nice and understanding.

December 27th: The first of what would turn into weekly talks about my transness and my mom reconsidering her leniency. I hate my life. Also, met an old childhood friend before I went on my church retreat. Was very surprised at how feminine I’d gotten. Was very happy.

December 29th: People at my church are so accepting its great. I should come out to the senior girls class but idk how :/

December 31st: Mom walks in again, complains about how much she hates that I’m trans and whatnot. Fuck that noise. I’m going into the new year; new year new me. I don’t care what my parents think or what happens. This is who I am. This is how far I’ve gotten. I’ve gotten this far without them, and I will continue to go on as such. This is my life y’all.

[copiouscouples]

Japril Appreciation Week - Day 7

Free Choice - College AU

Title: Pre-Med Society

April hummed as she straightened the pillows on the couch. All that was left on her mental to do list was to make some lemonade and set out some snacks on the kitchen counter.

“Got plans?” her roommate, Reed, asked. Reed was a sophomore just like her. They’d been paired with two other pre-med students in their four bedroom campus apartment. Out of her three roommates, Reed was the one she was the closest with. They’d clicked last year at freshman orientation and had been good friends ever since.

“Not really,” April replied as she made her way to the tiny kitchen the four girls shared. Taking out the fruit salad she’d made earlier that day, she said, “Jackson’s just coming over to study for the Organic Chem test we have later this week.”

Reed nodded. “So your boyfriend’s coming over. Got it. I’ll get out of your guys’s hair.”

April picked up a grape from the bowl and threw it at her friend. “Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend and you know it.”

“But you want him to be.”

“I do not! We’re just close because we’ve been friends for so long. Since Kindergarten. That’s a long time. It’s kind of like we’re brother and sister.”

Reed snorted. “You don’t look at him like he’s your brother. You look at him like he’s a pint of Ben and Jerry’s. Like you could gobble him up in one sitting.”

As April began to mash avocados for the guacamole, she tried her best to ignore Reed. She didn’t know why her friend always brought up this topic, but she wished she would stop.

“Why won’t you give him a chance? You clearly care for each other. I think you guys would make a great couple.”

“I think his girlfriend would think otherwise.”

Reed hoisted herself on top of the counter and watched as April prepared the rest of the food for her and Jackson’s study party. “He’s not really that into her. I think it’s all about  the sex with them.”

April scrunched up her face. She didn’t want to think about that.

“I know you think you and Jackson are oh, so platonic, but I’ve observed you guys over the past year. I think if you made a move he wouldn’t be opposed to it. In fact, I think he kind of wants to make a move himself but is too worried about what you might do.”

April poured the gummy worms she knew Jackson loved so much in a bowl. Trying to change the subject, she said, “You know that guy Alex?”

Reed made a face. “Yeah, what about him?”

“He asked me out after class yesterday. I think I’m gonna say yes. He’s kind of cute.”

“April, you don’t want to do that. He is SO not your type. I know you’re going to school to become a doctor but I know you’re also looking to get your M-R-S degree as well while you’re here. The only thing you’re gonna get from Alex is an STD. Don’t do it, girl. It’s not worth it.”

April shrugged. “One date couldn’t hurt. Maybe he’s not as bad as everyone says.”

Reed rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

Hearing a knock on the door, April said, “That’s Jackson. Are you sure you don’t want to study with us?”

“Positive,” Reed said, hopping off the counter. “The awkward sexual tension between you two is too uncomfortable to watch. I’ll be in my room.”

Reed laughed as a carrot sailed past her ear.

Exasperated and more than a little flustered, April walked over to the door to let Jackson in. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” he said back. Looking at her slightly reddened complexion, he asked, “Are you OK? You look a bit…bothered?”

April shook her head and waved it off. “It’s nothing. Reed being Reed.”

Jackson grinned lopsidedly. “I still can’t understand how you two became friends. You’re the girl next door and she’s…well, the opposite of that.”

“She’s been a good friend to me and I won’t have you talking bad about her,” April warned with a little bit of finger wagging.

“OK. OK,” he said, putting his hands up. “Where are the snacks? I’m starving.”

“How do you know I made any?”

“You’re April. You always have snacks.” Walking past her into the kitchen, he grabbed a plate and loaded it with chips and guacamole, pizza rolls, and gummy worms.

“That is not study food,” April lectured. “Fruits, veggies, and lean proteins are best for optimal studying.” Grabbing his plate, she added carrots and hummus, fruit salad, and some almonds to it before handing it back to him.

“OK, bossy pants,” Jackson said, before shoving a pizza roll into his mouth.

April exhaled loudly, a little annoyed by Jackson’s behavior. Making a plate of her own of fruits and veggies, she joined him on the couch. “Let’s start with Chapter 2,” she said, grabbing her textbook.

“What is the simplest alkane?” April asked.

“Methane.”

“You’ve got them all right so far! Now, you quiz me,” she said.

As Jackson was about to ask her her first question, the door to her apartment opened and another roommate of hers walked in.

“Hi, Cristina!” April said cheerily. “We’re studying for the Organic Chem test this week. Want to join us? I made snacks.”

“I already know all the material. The test should be a breeze.”

Cristina walked into the kitchen and took three whole chickens out of her grocery bag.

“Are you making us dinner tonight?” Jackson asked.

“No, but I’m sure your wife will if you ask her. No, while you two are busy reviewing 10th grade science I’m going to work on surgical skills.” Taking a butcher knife, she chopped each chicken in half. “These chickens did not die in vain. I’m going to use them to practice my stitches.”

Jackson and April watched for a few minutes as Cristina began to sew to halves of a chicken back together.

Leaning over, Jackson whispered, “We should start doing that.”

“I know!” April whispered back. “But we really should get back to studying. I want to make sure I know all of this from A to Z.”

After a few minutes of quizzing, the sound of Cristina’s singing reached their ears. April recognized it as some Madonna song. Normally, she wouldn’t mind it, but she was trying to focus.

Noticing her distress, Jackson said, “Hey Cristina, the singing’s a little distracting. We’d appreciate if you’d stop.”

“I’m sorry that my singing is bothering Mrs. Avery, but it helps me concentrate.”

Cristina being her usual self continued to sing. April closed her book. “I can’t focus in here.”

“We could go to my place,” Jackson suggested.

April crinkled her nose. “Ew, gross. No. You and your roommates don’t know how to pick up after yourselves.”

“That’s not necessarily true. Owen always washes the dishes on Mondays and I unclogged the toilet just yesterday.”

“I’m not going over there. Let’s just go in my room. At least it’ll be quieter there.”

April plopped on her bed. “Why is she always like that? I try to be so nice to her and it’s like she doesn’t even care.”

Jackson joined her on the bed. “Don’t let her get to you. Just get through this year and if you want, next year we can get an apartment off campus together. It’ll be nice to finally eat properly. Man can not eat on Ramen and sub sandwiches alone.”

“So we’d live together so I could be your servant?” she asked. “What would be in it for me?”

“First of all, my stellar company. Also, you wouldn’t have to live with strangers. And my family would pay for it so you could live there for free.”

Shaking her head, April said, “If we were to live together, I’d pay my share. Besides, I wouldn’t want to live with you because your terrible girlfriend would be there all the time. I much prefer Cristina over her.”

“She’s not that bad,” Jackson half-heartedly protested.

April shot him some side eye. “Let’s just get back to studying,” she said.

An hour later, Jackson stood up and stretched. “Hey, you still have any of that mint chocolate chip ice cream in the freezer? I could use a break.”

“You’re going to have to slow down on those sweets,” April teased in a mock warning tone. “You’re starting to get a little pudgy.”

“Are you fat shaming me right now?” he asked incredulously.

“I’m just saying you could spend a little less time snackity-snacking and a little more time jogging.”

“I am not getting pudgy. Take it back,” Jackson growled, approaching her slowly, threateningly.

“I was raised not to tell lies.”

His hands at her waist Jackson began to tickle April. “Take it back. Take it back!”

Being extremely ticklish, April couldn’t help but laugh. Her body fell backwards as her arms and legs flailed about. One knee caught Jackson square in the stomach. He oofed in pain. Grabbing her wrists, he pinned her down on the bed. “You are out of control,” he said as he continued to hold her down. “Now, tell me I’m not fat.”

April shook her head. “Unh-unh.”

Jackson stretched her arms above her head and engulfed her wrists in one hand. He used his other hand to tickle her armpits mercilessly.

“Tell me I’m not fat.”

“You’re not fat! You’re not fat!” she gasped.

Smirking, Jackson let go of her wrists but still hovered over her. April stopped laughing and stared into his eyes, his beautiful blue-green eyes. This close she could see the light smattering of freckles across his cheekbones and nose. Her eyes journeyed down to his mouth and in particular his full bottom lip. His breathing had slowed and his gaze upon her was intense. She felt like his focus was zeroed in on her lips.

As his face lowered towards hers, April remembered where she was and who she was with. “I think we’ve had enough studying for today,” she laughed shakily.

Jackson got off the bed and nodded. “You’re right. I should go. I think we’ll both do a good job on the test. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah,” April replied a bit breathlessly for she was still trying to recover from the moment they’d just had. “See you around.”

After Jackson closed the door, April flopped back down on her bed. What in the world had just happened? Did she almost just kiss her best friend?

[mrlongkgraves]

Stories from the transplant journey

PHOTO COURTESY OF ERIN

On April 11, transplant recipients and their families gathered at Boston Children’s Hospital to speak about their transplant journeys during a special nursing grand rounds. As Donate Life Month draws to a close, we share excerpts from their stories, made possible #becauseofadonor.

Erin – heart recipient

When Erin was just 6 months old, she was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, which severely weakened her heart. At age 1, she was listed for a transplant — and received her new heart just nine days later.

“My heart was only expected to last about eight years. I am beyond thrilled to say that I am 22.5 years post-transplant. I have been able to keep up with all of my siblings, classmates and friends and live a completely full life. I played sports all through school, stood next to both of my sisters on their wedding days, helped my brother move into his first house, graduated from UNH with my bachelor’s degree (after taking a semester off to go through chemotherapy for cancer), accepted a full-time job doing early intervention, became a godmother to the best little boy, welcomed two nephews into the world, and met an amazing guy that I’m getting married to this summer! We love to camp, hike, kayak and go on adventures together. No words will ever begin to express how fortunate I am to be the recipient of this wonderful heart.”

PHOTO COURTESY OF MAE’S FAMILY

Mae – lung recipient

Mae was born with a rare genetic form of childhood interstitial lung disease. Although she was listed for a double-lung transplant shortly after her birth, her mothers, Courtney and Maura, hoped that she, like some children with this disease, would outgrow her symptoms. But after nearly a year without improvement, they decided to relist her. Just 30 days later, she received her new lungs.

“As we were anticipating the one-year “lungaversary” of Mae’s transplant, we were very aware of the pending milestone. To our surprise, our emotional energy that day was focused less on Mae’s miracle, and more on the donor family — what it must have been like for them in that moment, on the anniversary for them of what we assume was a tragic loss of their little miracle.

It is hard to comprehend that someone else’s loss and pain led to our freedom and joy. We remind ourselves that the donor did not die because of Mae, but since the donor’s life had come to an end, our gratitude is immense that the child’s legacy could live on in every breath Mae takes, and every heartbeat of another child somewhere out there and of the other organ recipient to whom this donor gave a new lease on life. Maura has said she always thought she would have three kids, and now she says she kind of feels like she does in our older daughter, Rosie, Mae and Mae’s donor.”

PHOTO COURTESY OF BOALVI

Boalvi – kidney recipient

When Boalvi was a sophomore in high school, he began feeling sick and weak. He was eventually diagnosed with nephotic syndrome caused by focal segmental glomerulosclerosis (FSGS), a pattern of kidney damage that occurs over time. In October 2016, he began dialysis three days a week while he waited for a transplant.

“The treatments were long and painful and I never adhered to the necessary liquid restriction. That’s when Dr. Nancy Rodig gave me a wakeup call and temporarily took me off the transplant waiting list. Months before, they had called me in for a transplant; however, there were complications and I wasn’t able to get the organ. I had been at the top of the transplant list and now I was taken off because of my lack of responsibility. The team suggested I entered a program called Med Coping. Dr. Shannon Hourigan was my therapist and she guided me throughout the rest of my dialysis and transplant. She made it much easier to understand why I was doing the things I was doing and what I could do to solve those problems. My outlook changed and I began to do right. They took me off of the waiting list in March and by late June, I was back on. On August 17, 2017, I received my new kidney. I’m grateful for everyone who made this possible for me, including the family of the donor.

Life after transplant has been amazing, I’m healthy, working and looking forward to going back to school in the near future. I learned to cherish my worst moments because they only make me stronger. As long as I’m breathing and living, I’m good.”

PHOTO COURTESY OF RILEY’S FAMILY

Riley – liver recipient

Riley was diagnosed with hepatoblastoma when she had just turned 7 months old, says her mother, Jill. Soon, her parents learned that she would need a new liver and she was listed for a transplant.

“Doctors determined that Riley’s father, Keith, was a match for living donor. This was such a relief, but I was also extremely scared to have both Keith and Riley go through this major surgery. We got the date of surgery and started to prepare. 

But surgery came sooner than we expected. We received news from Boston Children’s that there might be a potential deceased donor match for Riley. That was a long afternoon, thinking of the possibility of Keith not having surgery and Riley getting the transplant and feeling sad for the donor family. But on May 24, 2018, Riley received her new liver, when she was just 10 months old. It was still a few months until we knew what life would be like after transplant because Riley had to finish two more rounds of chemotherapy to be sure all the cancer was removed. It was a long year for our family, but we all made it through and are very grateful for that. Riley is now a very curious, wild toddler who loves her big sister, her bubbas (bottles) and stealing cookies from the cabinet!”

PHOTO COURTESY OF JORDI

Jordi – multivisceral recipient

When Jordi was about 13, he experienced pain that was ultimately diagnosed as liver cancer. After undergoing chemotherapy, he was listed for a multivisceral transplant, which he received relatively quickly.

“If it wasn’t for my donor, I wouldn’t have been able to graduate from middle school and high school, or to attend UMass-Lowell, pursuing a career as a doctor. I want to help other children out by becoming a pediatric oncologist. I know it’s a lot of work, but I’m determined. As a cancer survivor, I think I will be able to relate to these kids and inspire them.

I’m very grateful to be alive and to be 20 years old. I will keep pushing to live my life as much as possible — for me, and for the donor who is no longer here. Ever since this happened, I know I want to help out other kids, and I’m going to do that.”

PHOTO COURTESY OF KYMANI’S MOTHER

Kymani – lung recipient and organ donor

At age 10, Kymani received a double-lung transplant after being diagnosed with primary pulmonary hypertension three years earlier. He enjoyed nearly a decade with his new lungs, says his mother, Carolyn.

“Prior to transplant, Kymani’s life was very limited. He was not able to attend school due to being on oxygen 24 hours a day, and spent all or most of his time at home. After receiving his donated lungs in 2010, he returned to school. He was so happy to be able to do all the things kids his age were able to do. The nine years post-transplant were his best years, and he lived each and every day to the fullest.

Life took on a whole new meaning for him as he was able to try different activities. In high school, Kymani went from being somewhat of an introvert to becoming a gregarious person, whose presence was felt the minute he entered a room. He loved to dance and spend time with friends. He got involved in chorus, he ran track and even trained me to run around the track. He attended his prom accompanied by all his friends and graduated with them. He was forever grateful to the nurses who cared for him during many of his hospital stays. He decided that he wanted to be a nurse so he could give back what he had so graciously received. Kymani was a full-time student at Quincy College, where he was pursuing a nursing degree.

Unfortunately, Kymani gained his angel wings in October 2018 prior to seeing that goal come to fruition. However, in his dying he continued to make me proud. He had become an organ donor himself. Kymani’s story is truly rare, as he was able to play both roles in his short life. Without organ donation, Kymani would not have lived nine additional years. Although Kymani never met his donor family, he was forever grateful — and I am sure that it’s from that place of gratitude he chose to become a donor himself.”

Learn more about our Pediatric Transplant Program or share your story made possible #becauseofadonor.

The post Stories from the transplant journey appeared first on Thriving Blog.

from Thriving Blog https://on.bchil.org/2WcpNa1

[carmeninguanzo]

My Biggest Break Through...

I woke up on the morning of April 25, 2018 with plans to go to the gym. I had a light breakfast, but it didn’t sit well. My stomach felt queasy and unsettled with cramps throughout the entire morning. Again and again I went to the bathroom. What’s going on? It was only toast and tea? I had all intentions of working out but, I knew I couldn't. I couldn’t figure out what was going on with my body, and after going to the bathroom a fourth time, I realized in that moment I was having a full blown anxiety attack that lasted almost the entire day! My heart was racing - ripping its way out of my chest, my stomach was in a knot - that unsettling intuition you feel when something bad is about to happen, and I was having difficulties breathing - as if someone had their hands over my nose and mouth. Oh my God, I’m having an anxiety attack! How could I have missed the signs? I was taken off guard, the way an anxiety attack usually happens, but I missed the signs because it had been a very long time since I felt this way. I’m going to fight through this. Taking an anxiety pill is not an option! It had been almost seven months since I last took an anxiety pill and I was determined to ride this feeling of unbalance and chaos on my own with prayer and meditation. Though I was intentional about what I was doing to self regulate my emotional and psychological state, it wasn't helping, however, I was completely drawn to the words of Sarah Blondin in her guided meditation. I was desperate to calm myself down and because I am a visual learner, I decided to write down the words - writing and pausing, writing and pausing; trying to take them all in.  

Why am I feeling so anxious? How did I get here? Throughout this debilitating episode, I was determined to figure out what caused my anxiety attack and finally, it all made sense. I had become lazy and had discontinued my morning rituals, and despite trying to teach myself not to be judgmental during this process of self-evolution and to love myself exactly where I am, it had been on my mind daily for the past three weeks. How I did I get here? How did I let go of all of the habits I had been cultivating so that I could live my best life? I was no longer getting up at 6:00 am. I was no longer meditating, reading and writing. I was no longer being intentional about my days and the things I was focused on mastering. I was no longer on my vegan diet; a diet I had incorporated because I wanted to see if it made a difference with my bad sinus, though I really hope I can remain vegan one day. I know in my heart I should be eating healthier? Should I become a vegetarian instead? Or perhaps I can’t do either and I should just call it conscious eating? I struggled wondering if I had made the right decision of going back to my old lifestyle. Or maybe I should be moderate instead of going cold turkey? This was obviously something that was consuming me and I couldn’t let it go. Also, I hadn’t been consistent with the things that have helped me with my depression and given me the strength and courage to ween myself off of my anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds. I had done all of this on my own with no medical consultation or supervision. I made the decision and I followed through. Period. What happened with all I’d been trying to cultivate in order to master my mornings and be more productive? I hadn’t continued to work on getting together everything I want to include on my new vision board. I hadn’t been reading as much. I hadn't been listening to the motivational videos and books I had been listening to every day. It was all of the things I’d stopped that will give me the necessary discipline and routine to live my dreams that was building up in my conscious and subconscious. It was no wonder I’d been feeling heavy and so down lately? Yes, I was feeling depressed! I had gone back to my old ways. I had gone back to ignoring my passions and what I knew was bringing me purpose and fulfillment. It was everything that had helped me feel complete. It was all of the exact things that caused me to remain depressed throughout my life. All of it. Inside of me. Manifesting into complete pandemonium. And there it was, I made the biggest discovery ever! The things that make me happy are all inside of me? I’ve been looking outside of myself for my happiness? I can’t slack off! I can’t go back to my old ways... 

This anxiety attack happened one week ago to be exact and since then, I’ve started my morning routines again and feel 100% better. What I learned from this experience is that it’s ok to slack off and not be so hard on myself. It’s ok to be where I am today because I can start over. I’m not perfect and I must remain grateful for the journey and embrace the lessons throughout the way. I am learning to be careful with the labels I put on myself; careful with the feelings of inadequacy I was so use to clinching on to, and I am understanding that it’s ok to still love myself during this process with all of my imperfections. So each time a negative thought comes to mind because I didn't do what I planned out to do, I simply say to myself, “it’s ok Carmen, you can start over tomorrow.” I am learning to love and appreciate myself even when I slack off. I’ve come such a long way and these are all lessons that will only make me a better version of myself. I must be gentle and embrace the process of evolution. My evolution. I am learning to focus on the good things I have going for myself instead of dwelling only on all the negative things. I remind myself of my accomplishments as big or small as they may be. It is important. Carmen, you have not given up on school no matter how difficult it’s becoming. This June makes three years since you enrolled back in college and you haven’t dropped out! You are still holding the above 3.7 gpa you said you would all throughout this time. You just finished writing your second piece to be published on Proud to Be Latina magazine. You have an essay being published in an upcoming anthology this year. You have a child with special needs whom you give so much love and attention to because his needs are nothing little or can be unattended to. You have a life and so much on your plate woman! 

You see how much easier it is to fall into old patterns and feel inadequate? You see the importance of learning self-care? You see the process? It takes SO much, and it can be so difficult at times, but it’s worth the discipline. It’s worth the struggle. I’m here to show you my journey. The good, the ugly, and the in between. With so much love and with zero judgments :) 

I’d like to share with you one of the most powerful words I’ve ever heard. Here is the guided meditation I said I wrote, Learning to Surrender by Sarah Blondin. I hope and pray this helps someone, the way it helped me... Here is the link from the Insight Timer app, http://insig.ht/gm_3393. Here are all the words:

The night comes, and we give ourselves permission to dissolve, into the rest of darkness. We let go of all the values and rivers we wish to cross, and our dreams for some distant future. We allow ourselves the gift of rest, returning to the calmness of our breaths. The silence of our minds, and the heavily dance with the night’s curious dreams. When we wake in the morning as our eyes open we slowly begin to step back into our minds voice. We dress ourselves, not just in clothing, but with all of the things we neatly placed at our bedside while we slept. We look outside our windows longingly for our place in the stars, not noticing we are the ones weighing ourselves down. Subconsciously we adorn ourselves in yesterdays news, and the rejuvenation we have earned from our sleep is quickly exchanged, for heavy and worn out ideas of what our lives couldlook like, if only we could somehow get to where we were going. We walk invisibly cocooned, with all of the things we wish to control. We think that by keeping these things close that, we will be able to manage them. If we keep our worries in plain sight, we will have less of a chance of them coming true. When in fact the very act of doing so is causing us to live in the places we are trying to avoid. Surrender means to give up, abandon, relinquish, to wave the white flag. What a beautifully divine word. A word we should choose at every chance we can remember, for as the story goes, we are not in control. We are floating on a cosmic river carried from the stars into our mother’s wombs, out into the world, where we then resume the same course only now grounded in body. If we continuously release our needs for controlling the flow, and stop ourselves from worrying about rocks we mayhit, we allow divine grace to enter our lives. The more we trust, the journey, itself, the more fluid and joyful life becomes. The more we constrict, the more worry and burden we pick up along the way, the denser we become. The more we sink like rocks to the bottom of our river, we then ground ourselves in the turbulent waters rather, than allowing ourselves to be carried to the calm, cool waters. Instead of feeling fear of all that may come bouncing forth from the unknown, feel intrigued, delighted even that something new is being born at every second. What we are trying so hard to avoid or hold in place, may in fact be our dreams, trying to come into form. There will be moments in your life where all will seem in chaos in disharmony, and in those moments you must remember the universe is, reordering in your life to match more of what you are calling forth. Wait not in fear while this happens, for it is a necessary part of the birthing process. Keep faith, trust. Work with continued heart intention, but let go when it asks, and take peace in the unfolding that will soon come. Fear, is useless in these times. Trust, however, is paramount. While we are co-creating with our life force, we are also, at its mercy, and must learn to trust, it is in our favor. This does not mean we stop trying to create our best life. It does not mean we give up in the face of adversity or stress it means, we simply let go of the hold it has on our physical body. We see what is coming forward and remain working with focused intention, yet release the stress and grip it has on us.    

Do this in meditation- Close your eyes and take three deep breathes. Release a little more dropping down closer and closer to the earth. Feel how it loves you, and you love it. Notice how good it feels to be in your skin, present to the life living within you.  

Notice any tension in your body, in your neck, in your lower back or your shoulders. Take the shallow breath in your chest and make it more full, and pleasure-full. These places of tension, is where you are holding a secret fear, that you are not supported, that you have been forgotten, that life does not love you, that you are failing. See how these fears, do not serve you. Let them go. Acknowledge that you are being weighed down and choose, even if just for this moment, to surrender. Take a moment to notice the peace trying to lovingly hold you. Now imagine cutting the ties to these tense places, and allow yourself to be carried into the mysterious and nourishing waters raging around you. You are being asked to surrender to the beauty trying to unfold, the beauty trying to bring you to that far off land of dreams you’ve been looking outside of yourself for. Understand that it has been trying to take you there all along. Now get out of your own way, and allow it to. And when you open your eyes in the morning, and you feel the rush of consciousness flood back into your body, sink not into the old, worn out ideas you have been holding. Let yourself be relieved, by the journey that is your life, unfolding. Rest, in knowing, that same peace you experience as you sleep is still with you when you wake. Surrender dear one. Surrender…

[roadtohappiness101]

My Story

I had just turned 17 when I realized I had spent the last 6 years of my life mentally and physically abusing myself. I was a smart, outgoing, sensitive young woman who cared nothing more than about helping people and doing good.

This is the story of how eating disorders tore my life apart, and how I found the courage to put the pieces slowly back together and change my life for the better.

Although this story is unique to me, it is not uncommon. Hundreds of thousands of women across this country could tell you how they developed eating disorders while struggling with the cult of thinness in our culture, their battered self-­esteem, and a need to control their turbulent lives.

Early struggles

My childhood was happy and pleasantly uneventful. I was the oldest of 3 kids and grew up in a middle-class family with loving parents and siblings, grandparents and a close uncle. I was a good student, a dedicated student council member and a happy and well­-adjusted child.

Somewhere in the middle of Grade 6, however, my safe and simple childhood world began to unravel – and I didn't know how to react.

Once puberty hit, it felt as if the game had changed but no one had explained the rules to me.  Social structures at school became complicated, and peer pressure became unbearable. I regularly felt intimidated and belittled by my peers for not doing or saying the 'right things'. I was never bullied, and it was never verbal discussions with my peers. Just watching the and seeing how they dressed and acted that caused so much anxiety and self-consciousness. The pressures of fitting in and dealing with appearance swirled around me. The world in which I had once been so secure and confident no longer felt safe.

As puberty took hold and my body began to change and develop, I panicked. I felt as though my body was getting bigger while the images in the media all around me were getting smaller. I rationalized that if I could just be thin and perfect, I would be accepted and happy again. Unconsciously, I sought to regain some semblance of order in my life. I tried to control my body and, at the same time, suppress all of my emotions and feelings.

So began the beginning of restrictive eating and laxatives in search of my ultimate goal: perfection.

I saw the problem at first and told a few of my closest friends. They believed me. They kept telling me to tell my parents, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t because I thought it was petty. I thought no one would understand. They all told their parents. I remember going to my friend’s house before the dance and her mom made chilli. They just sat and watched as I ate my bowl of chilli. It felt as though it was fake. I ate at home, just wouldn’t eat in public unless I couldn’t avoid it. The summer of grade 7 we had a “end of school” party and I remember my friends telling my dad about how I didn’t eat. I remember him laughing and telling my friends I ate a lot. I was mortified.

These friends decided that I was lying and they went on with their lives and left me out of it. I lost them all. I felt terrible. I began to believe that maybe they were right. Anorexia wasn’t a real thing, and I didn’t have it. I was normal.

For the next few years (grades 7-10) I didn’t notice my eating disorder, but my depression was bad. I would occasionally cut myself. Think about suicide. Plan suicide. It was a terrible time. I needed to find my place in the world and it just wasn’t happening.

Grade 10 is when I got super sick. I did not know what was wrong and because I had made myself believe it was not an eating disorder, I started thinking it was something else.

For over a year, my family doctor tried to find the cause of my pain, steady “period” (spotting), and plummeting weight during my early adolescence, when I should have been naturally gaining weight. I insisted that I simply couldn't eat because of pain in my abdominal and steady nausea. I had no idea what was wrong with me. Test after test came back negative. I got to the point where I was missing more school than I was attending. I had no concentration or focus, yet my doctor never recognized that my body was losing weight on purpose. I was starving myself, and suffering from anorexia nervosa. I tried gluten and dairy free diets, I cut out all sugars, I went to see gynecologists and gastrointestinal specialists. I had seen an ear, nose, throat dentists and my orthodontist thought it was because of my TMJ. I was being tested steady, with EKGs, blood tests, CT scans, ultrasounds, and even a laparoscopic surgery in the summer going into grade 12. Nothing was working. I was just getting worse. Now, I was passing out after every shower, my license was taken away, and I had been to the hospital for fluids from being so dehydrated. I was taken 2 T3s every 4 hours, 500 mg of naproxen and any other pain meds I could get my hands on. I started smoking with my friends. Drinking like it was my day job. Things were bad.

I had a terrible immune system, always getting colds and those flus. But I never got so sick I threw up, until the end of grade 11. I plowed through high school full steam ahead, hiding my insecurities and obsessions, and became a top scholar at the school and student council vice-president and later co-president. I would muster up enough energy to go to meetings at lunch and as many of my classes as possible, and then work in the evenings and then I would collapse in the evening, exhausted and famished. I started to hate myself with a passion, believing that I was a fraud.

Until September 2014, when Dr. Fast (a psychologist) diagnosed me with the eating disorder. It all made sense. But there was nothing for them to do until I was hospitalized, so it just kept getting worse. And worse. And worse. I didn’t really know what was happening, but it just couldn’t stop. I felt so helpless.

January 15th, 2015, I went in to see my doctor and I had gotten significantly worse. I didn’t know what to do but I knew I wouldn’t last another day. I just cried and cried and cried. She called my mom and we went to the Children’s hospital. We got there and waited for hours and hours to see the doctor (like literally 10 hours) and then waited another 4 hours for a room to open up in the Psych ward.

I walked into the psych ward with mum at around 3 in the morning and we did the intake forms. I’m sure I could tell you all about what happened in the hospital but that doesn’t benefit this conversation. 2 weeks into my stay I met with the eating disorder professionals. I cried and begged for help. When they couldn’t give me the help I needed right aways I got mad at them. I yelled and screamed and stormed out. I know it wasn’t the most mature reaction but mentally I was dead. I needed that help and I needed it then. Thankfully they pulled some strings and a week later I was in CH5 beginning my journey to recover. I can’t say I left at the right time, I should have stayed past when I was discharged. But I needed out of there, it was driving me insane going to program and not seeing the people I cared for back home. But they discharged me April 15th, 2015 after demanding them to get me out of there with a supply of medications.  

Road to recovery

Facing up to the truth was scary and overwhelming. I didn't really know who I was or how I felt. I was fortunate to find a therapist who worked patiently and diligently with me for many years. Slowly, like an onion, I began to peel away the layers of my eating disorder.

Learning how to feel again

I had been out of touch with my true feelings and emotions for so long that I didn't know how to express them without hurting myself. I believed that showing my emotions, especially crying, was a sign of weakness or that I was not in control.

Accepting responsibility

At first, I thought that taking responsibility for my eating disorder meant that it was my fault. I felt like a failure for having let it continue for so long, for not knowing what was going on. I felt terrible that I couldn’t tell that I was starving. I was ashamed to be going through all of the testing and a surgery. Worst of all, I knew the stigma behind eating disorders. I knew everyone thought you just up and decide to stop eating. That wasn’t the case for me, and it took a long time to accept it all. Over time, I began to understand that responsibility meant something different – that I could choose to recover. I realized that recovery was within my reach and that there was no one who could stop me from getting there.

Gradually, I learned that I couldn't blame anyone else for the way I felt – it was all about how I chose to react. I had the power to change my behaviours. Instead of feeling frustrated that someone had made me feel guilty, I learned that I had chosen to feel guilty and that I could choose to react differently next time.

Appreciating my sweet imperfections

Perfectionism pervaded every aspect of my eating disorder, my bouts of depression and my anxiety. It was and continues to be the most difficult issue that I have had to deal with.

For years, I had lived with the irrational belief that nothing I ever did was good enough, which I translated into the belief I was never good enough. I always wanted to be the perfect child, the perfect student, the perfect athlete, and have the perfect body ­ I had thought if I could be perfect that I would feel adequate. Ironically, the more I tried to be perfect, the more inadequate I felt.

Even when I began my recovery process, I was determined to recover perfectly. In the crazy­ making world of perfection, I dreamed that once I had recovered, I would never have a negative feeling about my body. I would always eat complete and healthy, balanced meals and would never binge or restrict my eating in any way. Of course, in reality, this was impossible.

It took me a long time to adjust my idea of recovery so that it was realistic and attainable.

Changing the BIG voice to a little voice

I had this voice in my head and as I learned more about myself, I found that whenever I became anxious or nervous about a certain situation, there was a little voice would take over. As I was sick, this voice took over to the point where it was no longer a little voice. It was loud, and it was controlling. I consider this my irrational voice. This was the voice of fear talking, telling me that I was stupid or unworthy. Over time, I learned how to stop that voice dead in its tracks by asking one simple question, "What's the worst thing that could happen here?"

As I began to heal physically, I noticed this voice started changing back from a BIG voice to a little voice. I don’t know exactly what I did, but it never really goes away completely. I am still steadily fighting this voice back, but it is getting quieter.

A work in progress

I cannot tell you the exact day that I recovered because it was a process of change that happened over a very long time. It has taken many years and I am still not looking at a complete remission (as you know from my most likely frequent outbursts). Recovery for me was not about reaching a certain weight or size. It was about learning to accept and appreciate myself the way I am. It was learning that I can enjoy the pleasure of eating without feeling guilty. And it was learning that I can be healthy and beautiful without having to be a 'size 6'.

Today, I continue to work toward my goal of being a more balanced and mentally healthy person, which I would not be doing so well at if it wasn’t for you. Keep in mind it is a struggle to eat every day, and I have those days where I just mentally cannot feel good about anything. Don’t feel like it is your fault because it isn’t. Just understand it isn’t me. It’s the irrational part of my brain trying to kick me into a relapse, and I am always so drained just trying to keep that from happening.

I've learned to accept that my life has ups and downs and that even the most difficult situations can provide me with opportunities to grow spiritually and mentally. Today, I have a new inner voice – one that encourages me to celebrate myself as an imperfect work in progress. And I hope everyone is able to see that side of me too, and help me to celebrate the good (no matter how small).

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