hit the restart.

I keep restarting this blog post like one of these times, the magic will fly through my fingertips and I’ll finally get what I’m trying to say onto this page – the answer is that it won’t. No matter how hard I try to be poetic about what I am feeling these days, it comes out as if I just write ‘blah’ over and over again. So I guess this is starting over. And over. And over.

I’ve found some good music recently so that’s cool. A lot of new stuff came out on January 26th which was weird but I’ll run with it. That’s also the day that things restarted again. I left home on January 15th and returned on January 26th. I did a lot of thinking and searching while I was gone. I mean I wasn’t really gone but I was gone. I went to a youth shelter and tried to sort some parts of me out. Except I didn’t really sort anything out other than to realize that I have been pretending for so long that I know exactly what I need and don’t want to give that power to anyone else. And that I’ve been running for a while from anything that might actually help me.

Hard to explain but the only solid diagnosis I can run with right now is my eating disorder. I was never fully diagnosed with depression and my GAD (anxiety) was diagnosed at a very young age. So really, nothing is set in stone because mental health fluctuates with time…as does anything else !! really !!  So now I am home and hoping to get a real solid diagnosis and some direction of what to treat it with. I’ve been throwing towels on a flood FOR YEARS and let me tell you something, it’s NOT working. So I’m looking for something that might work better. Something that might hold.

I’ve been losing faith in myself, my parents, the system and God for a while now. I’m really unsure of where I’m going or what I’m doing right now. I’ve been running from what I think is one answer to another and its just making things worse right now. Nothing is getting better and it’s exhausting and all I do is KEEP IT TO MYSELF. How are people so open with everything except what is really happening???????

This is about the time in a post where I would pledge to something but I can’t because I’m not sure what tomorrow will bring or the next day or the next day. I’m not sure how to live for the day but I sure as heck cannot live for whatever life is going to throw in my face. It’s just not ideal.

I just want to be #livingmybestlife and right now, that’s just taking small steps forward. Kicking ass slowly. 





sobriety is not just not drinking.

Today I am going to write the way I have not been able to write in the past few weeks; honestly.

I went to a meeting this evening, only knowing a few familiar faces. I am new to sobriety. No matter how many months I have under my belt, I do not consider myself significantly sober nor do I think I may ever. Tomorrow is my 6 months sober. Something I definitely never saw coming before today. These past months have been just that, the past. I can no longer look back and think about all the things that I did wrong because those cannot be changed.

Tonight, I opened up about something I had been dealing with for weeks, maybe even months; willfulness.

I have been halfassing my sobriety for months now. There is no other way to put it. In treatment, I was only sober because I had to be. Honestly that was the only thing that kept me from picking up a drink. And after that, it’s only been because of the amount of time that has lapsed since I stopped. But back to the willfulness okay?

My sobriety has not been about taking my will back from a higher power. It has been blaming every bad thing that comes to me on someone else. I have blamed my family for all my shortcomings. I blamed my early discharge on my lack of control & the team for believing my lies about being safe that weekend. I blamed my parents for the lack of control I have in my life right now. I blamed my friends for wanting to drink at a party. I blamed the guy who brought his beer into the crowd. I have blamed everyone except myself and my addictions for my own shortcomings.

These past two weeks have certainly not been easy AND I have not done anything to make it easier on myself. I have purposely put myself in vulnerable situations and continued to risk my sobriety for others to have a good time. No matter how many times I try to justify my actions, there is no good that comes from any situation.

On Friday, I attended a friends birthday party knowing alcohol would be available. And although I can attest to staying dry, I did use as a way of feeling something else.

On Saturday, I attended an all ages concert knowing alcohol would be available. And although I did keep my sobriety, I was offered it multiple times. I know that without the friends who knew of my sobriety being there, I probably would have accepted it.

On Sunday, I celebrated my birthday with 10 other people of whom I was the only sober person and decided upon as the designated drive. I did keep my sobriety but not without constant thoughts of relapse.

Finally tonight, I got myself to a meeting where I honestly shared these faults with others at AA. I shared about my shortcomings, the untimely struggles of my sobriety, and my lack of willingness to commit fully to the program. Sharing is hard. I don’t enjoy sharing my struggles with others.

Step 3 is accepting the help of God or of a higher power. I like to pretend that I have done so, yet I struggle to ask for support when needed. I can only fully commit to this rigorous program when I start to work wholeheartedly towards my own sobriety. This belief that all is well if I attend meetings and admit my powerlessness goes nowhere if I don’t work towards a better life value.

Today I am accepting the help I deserve. Today I am making a self-conscious decision to stay sober. Today I am grateful to be sober.

Gratitude List (December 25, 2017):

  1. Tonight’s meeting
  2. The ride home a kind soul gave me
  3. My warm bed
  4. A hot meal
  5. My sobriety

“Cast all you anxiety on Him because He cares for you.” – 1 Peter 5:7

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” – Philippians 4:13

addict? alcoholic? both.

I’m home this weekend for a change. This time it’s different though, I’m not trying to figure out what I want out of treatment and I’m not neck deep in an eating disorder. I am home because I am doing well, I am recovering. And it’s strange, I feel heavy yet light. I feel like my hopes have been lifted, that my dreams are no longer muted.

I’ve been reading the Steps in hopes that I will begin working towards something more. I haven’t been able to say it in a meeting yet. I can’t even fathom saying it to my therapist but I can put it here. Something to look back on in a few years.

Back when I came home in November, my mother had gone through my room and searched for all the things that I had hidden. And when I came home, I found the items that she had not found; the blades and laxatives. So this time, she came to my room and I took it all out, I handed it all over. I surrendered to recovery, whole-heartedly. It was hard. So hard that I wanted to cry or scream a few times. It was when I found the last cigarette that her trust in me really crumbled. She was disappointed and worried; I understood. I had been smoking on and off since grade nine, I was relying on alcohol to get through some days since grade eleven, and I was using marijuana just to cope with the underlying chaos. All of this took a toll on me, all the missing memories, empty wallets. If you thought just having an eating disorder was bad, imagine restricting so hard and then getting high just to eat before coming down and purging just to light another cigarette to ease the empty feeling and drinking to forget it all again. This was my life for a while; on and off for years.

The worst is the justification: “I’m a responsible addict. I’m a responsible alcoholic.”

There is no way to be both responsible and an addict. There is no way to be responsible and an alcoholic. It’s not a lifestyle worth living. It’s fucking hell. It’s planning out your day just to use without being caught or needing to go home. It’s missing social outings because you’re too weak or hungover to move. It’s having to do more and more each time just to numb any feelings. It’s the pain you feel when you come down.

I was warned for years of the dangers behind addictions. I was first addicted to the pain, and then to the numbness. I was never able to believe that I was worthy of anything else but the pain. I still struggle to see that I am worth it on a day to day basis. I was told it was hereditary, and I replied that it “wouldn’t happen to me”. I was the good kid. I was the responsible kid.

Addiction and mental health walk hand in hand. Both are deadly. Both can be silent killers. But they are best friends. At some point, I forgot what it was like to actually feel anything. I’ve missed so much because I was just working to numb the pain; a full time job. Something I couldn’t quit, EVER.

Somedays I am ashamed of what I have done and the fact that I can never pick up a drink without falling down a rabbit hole. I’ve dug myself out as best I can by myself and now I surrender everything to a higher power and begin a journey to feeling. I know I can’t do it alone any longer, too many slips and relapses to point it out. I can only be me; unapologetically. I can’t reminisce for who I was in the past and I can’t worry about who I am going to be tomorrow but just for today, I can be myself.

I was 4 months sober last week. It’s going to a long and hard journey but here I am, doing it.

“But if we confess our sins to him, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all wickedness.” – 1 John 1:9

Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.” – James 4:10


goodbye ed. you are no longer a friend to me.

How? How did I end up here?
Neck deep in my sorrows, drowning in empty tears.
Mind battered with lies and deceit.
How did I not notice for so long?
Why did I continue on this path to self destruction?
You. You with the sharp cheek bones and sunken eyes.
You, with the bony fingers pointed at my body and pale lips kept in a tight smirk.
You, caused me pain instead of happiness.
Broke my spirits down to pebbles.
My thoughts and behaviors no longer ensured my safety.
When I was weak, I was weak because of you.
There was no strength hidden in your words,
My bones were achy, constantly twisting, testing how small I could warp my body.
All I wanted was to disappear but you, you made me stand out.
My body was a battlefield.
I tore my skin and poured sadness onto paper.
Journals filled with the dark tales of how I managed to hold myself together,
as I fell apart almost simultaneously.
You pit my anxiety and depression against each other.
Made the world seem too heavy most days.
Filled my lungs with concrete.
Held me under.
You kept my secrets, buried as deep as the earths core.
I sold my mind to the devil, when all I wanted was to find my soul.
And so my soul aches, ebbing and flowing with sadness.
Thoughts flood the dams, my mind no longer a vault.
You sucked breath from my lungs and nourished yourself with my tears.
Liquid calories are okay anyway.
You stole glances in any reflective surface and absentmindedly touched
Finger to thumb, finger to thumb.
wrists dainty and magical.
You were a death trap.

Masking failure and pain with the promises of accomplishment and happiness.
You weakened my body.
No longer a warrior in your eyes.
I was too weak. To fight you. To please you.
A pain I could not silence.
You awaited my courage and then struck with grief.
Reminded me that my self worth compared to that of a tiny speck of dust.
I was already dead on the inside and you smiled.
You followed me into dressing rooms.
Disappointment filled my ears, wisps of hair grew brittle.
Waiting rooms held secrets.
Shaking and crying, screaming and shame.
Subtle glances or pitied looks.
Darkness always loomed overhead.
Outside, sun shone lightly.
Waistband held room against skin.
Too much leeway, too much space.
Not enough space.
A disappearing act, I knew too well.
A prized possession I would never hold.
Thumb and finger, too much room.
But room was good. Room meant growth.
Room meant recovery.



I have struggled with finding the reasons for my recovery recently. It might have been due to the conclusion that being a touring photographer might not be the healthiest & recovery-centred career right now. It might have been the realization that late nights spend on buses instead of sleeping or driving for 7 hours, sleeping in the morning and working late into the evening, isn’t ideal. Maybe in the future but not in the Spring or the Summer or next Fall for that matter. A few years down the road when things are changing fully for the better and I’m no longer holding onto my demons in a way that “protects” my soul.

As I ponder these things, I create a list of Reasons To Recover. Something I should have made so long ago and sure I did, here and there. But this is concrete. This is real. This is why I need to continue to fight for my freedom.

  1. To return to school.

I was in a program that was detrimental to my mental health before this treatment visit. But I had also been accepted to a program to further my craft in digital media – something I so badly wanted to persue. For treatment, I had to withdraw from the program and have to reapply for next Fall. This time has given me the time to ponder on whether or not that is exactly what I want for my life.

2.  Be able to travel.

Something that has been a trigger for so long. Going on vacation has never felt like a vacation with constant thoughts of how to be productive, how to lose weight, how to restrict meals, how to hide my body. All of this energy put into “protecting” myself instead of enjoying what life has to offer. My dreams to travel to the UK and other countries have been put on the back burner for life because of this eating disorder. I know that not eating means I won’t have the energy to exist outside of my hotel room. So I leave this fear behind, and jump into wholesome recovery.

3. Regain interests I have left in the dust.

Yeah, that’s right, I had interests and hobbies once upon a time. Sometimes I forget that someone existed before my eating disorder but it’s true. There was once a girl who twirled in skirts and who smiled to light up a room and doubled over in laughter. And that girl, was me. I used to play guitar and sing all of the time; the radio was just really intense karaoke…I used to play soccer and basketball. I enjoyed snowboarding on days off and walking the dog with my parents. All of these things that I lost interest in because my eating disorder decided what was okay and to what intensity. I want that girl who laughs so hard her stomach muscles ache and twirls in skirts back. I want me back. And I’ll leave my eating disorder in the dust this time.

4. Experience and describe real emotions.

One of the biggest losses of this relapse is that I forgot what it felt like to feel real emotions. I hid behind my hair and sarcastic remarks. I listened to my thoughts when they told me to arrange my place setting properly and eating in alphabetical order and make sure my liquids were at matching amounts. It was exhausting and heart breaking and I saw it as a safety net. Nothing could go wrong if I did these things. I didn’t feel immense sadness or shame or guilt because everything I tried to control could be justified by any thought. I was using my wise mind against itself. Feelings aren’t meant to be buried and forgotten, they are meant to be felt and shown. So why did I try to suppress so much, for so long?

I write these reasons out as I dive back into the worksheets I need to complete. As I take time to think about all I have accomplished even while my demons have tried to silence my thoughts. I am no longer just a diagnosis or walking, talking zombie. I am a human. Almost 20 and still piecing myself back together. It might take some time but at least I’m starting to move forward. Again and again and again.

I will fight for this. 

‘And David danced before the Lord with all his might.’ (2 Samuel 6:14)


I’m home. Oh boy, I am home. And I am terrified. A 48hr therapeutic pass is not how I wanted to spend the rest of the week but it’s also not something I wasn’t expecting. Yeah I’m struggling. But struggle is just another word for GROWTH. So I guess you could say that’s exactly what I am doing; growing. It only fits that the card I chose earlier this morning in Horticulture was “growth” and what I wrote while I had felt drawn to this card, speak for themselves. That’s the cool thing about vibes and stuff, they really speak to you when you need them to.

I guess it’s the same thing about God, eh? He’s there when you want him, and there when you might not but He doesn’t push His wisdom upon you. He lets you wander without worry or fear but He also lets you make choices that may make life harder. It’s all a learning process. Honestly I’m not processing as I write this post; something a staff member told me to do while I journaled during these next 48hrs.

While I recount today based on when I awoke to now @ 10:30pm, here are some victories I’d like to share and remember:

  • got out of bed and dressed before breakfast
  • wasn’t late for groups
  • took team meeting well and was mature about decision
  • called mom and asserted my needs about needing a ride home
  • figured out 2 days of meals & most of my pass plan for 48hrs
  • owned up to mistakes and told the rest of the community
  • fucking pissed ED off and ate dinner!!!!!
  • talked to mom in car about recovery needs/goals
  • went grocery shopping with mom
  • had snack on time (+extra fruit) cause hunger!!!!
  • felt full & planned on showering but instead did some work and didn’t isolate
  • used “check the facts” skill effectively
  • refrained from body checking in mirror when i went to shower
  • did not body check after shower or follow urges to find scale & weigh myself
  • did my laundry
  • took nighttime meds!!!!

Yes the car ride home was over 2 hours long and it pushed some things back but I still managed cause sometimes that’s what happens and you just gotta roll with the punches!! So yeah, ya gurl is back.

FUcking 4 hours home and the motivation is already building. Also did something cool and reached out to my youth leader, J, about coming by to talk/visit this weekend since I won’t have a pass once I am back!!!!

Also getting my hur did tomorrow morning #recoverygoals


/little/ girl.

I picture myself as a little girl, smiling…no…tight lipped, almost a frown and not happy being at school. A place I never really fit in but did I really fit in anywhere as a child? Camp? No. Home? No. With others? No. I guess there’s the answer. Constantly as a child I was condoned for being tall and slim. It was a constant compliment. And all I wanted to do was stay that way. So when the comments stopped, my first thought was to become small again. If I could just go back to being a little girl, others would want me present again. To be honest, thinking about those statements make me tear up. Is there trauma hidden behind that statement? Why am I no longer my parents little girl and why does that thought bother me sososo much?

I question this a lot now. Specifically the more I think about how much I dislike being stuck somewhere. Especially now that I don’t like being home. I can’t be a little girl when I constantly want to escape. Why do I want to escape from here so badly? What is keeping me stuck here like a magnet? A negative attraction that I so badly want to escape. What is this pull?

Recently my mum asked me about the underlying issues behind my eating disorder. Why had I turned to restricting so harshly and tearing my body apart all those years ago? Why did I start attacking my skin with a blade? Why was I so upset with myself? She thinks that I know the real reason and I’m not telling anyone. And as much as I almost wish that was the case, I know it not to be the truth. I wish I could understand why I am so anxious and paranoid all the time. I wish I could understand my feelings and thoughts and some how piece together this puzzle to reach an understanding.

What trauma did that little girl face all those years ago? What hit me so hard that my mind needed to hide me from it? What is my eating disorder protecting me from? All these questions I want to ask yet I am not sure I really want the answers to. Do I want to open this can of worms and reach around in the darkness? Not really. Do I want to stay invisible and long to be a little girl again but also long to escape from this city completely? No.

The more it weighs down on me, the more I become tight chested and choked up. It’s exhausting and emotionally testing to believe that something happened as a child that has caused me to become a shell of a person. I am no longer a shell but I am because all I want is to be their little girl again.