The Llama Truth

It’s hard for me to pinpoint the exact start of my eating disorder: the day I slid into the pathology. There are flashes, memories: changing seats on the school bus so that I never sat next to a girl whose thighs were thinner than mine, using food for comfort when I was upset, the painful sense  that I wasn’t as fit as other girls. While I can’t recall the exact moment my thoughts, my mind, my heart slid fully into the disorder, I can identify the turning point, the second I shifted into an eating disordered free-fall. 

I was fifteen and on another diet. I had decided to REALLY commit to this one: no matter what I would lose weight. I was invigorated and excited but I gave in and ate a quarter of a granola bar at lunch time. My mood dropped. I became hungrier and hungrier. Somehow it felt like those two bites of sweetness awakened a monster inside me.

Later at the bowling alley, I watched my friends snack on popcorn and candy. I tried to contain my desire to partake: I was not going to be weak. Then suddenly I found a snickers bar in my hand. I took three bites. Three sticky, sweet, chewy bites. I panicked. What had I done? Ruined. Everything was ruined. How many calories did I just consume? Crap. Crap. Crap. CRAP. 
I was in the bathroom stall just trying to breathe. Trying to calm the storm inside me. I looked down at the porcelain toilet bowl and genius struck. Without a second thought, without a look back I stuck my fingers down my throat. I was flooded with relief. Everything was wiped clean. I felt as though my sins were gone. I washed my face and strutted back to my peers. I nonchalantly grabbed a few kernels of popcorn and tossed them into my mouth. I was relaxed for the first time all day. I had found the secret and my whole life was about to change. 

Little did I know, however, I had taken a head first dive into what would be my own personal hell. An imprisonment that would threaten my well-being, my relationships, and even my life. 

I’m not sure what changed between 7th and 8th grade but somehow a switch flipped. I lost my confidence. In a way, I lost my true identity. Suddenly, it was vital that I do well. Perfection became my goal as I decided I had to make straight A’s. I didn’t understand what was going on but things at home felt tumultuous and unstable. Our house was for sale, we were soon moving away from the house I grew up in.

I don’t remember why it happened or what put the thought in my head, but at thirteen I cut myself for the first time. It was shallow and barely broke the skin, but it provided some sort of relief.  One part of me knew it wasn’t okay but another part of me was just grateful to be feeling some relief and some calm in the wilderness of my mind. 

I hurt myself a few more times while we lived in Abingdon; barely broken skin, no more than scratches on my arm. I didn’t loose control yet: that was yet to come.

To be continued…  

It is no secret that I had an eating disorder for over six years. During that time, my body image was severely distorted. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone overweight and repulsive. Worst of all, I honestly believed everyone saw that image of me. I hated that reflection. It was too fat, too big, too imposing. I bought clothes that were too big partially to hide my body and partially because I could never believe how small I was. 

Thankfully, as I worked through recovery, I learned that reflection was a lie projected by my eating disordered mind. Slowly, I learned to see the truth. Slowly, I began to accept that the mirror and I slowly began to heal. 

What is more of a secret, is that I began self-harming at age 13. Where eating disorders are an acceptable illness (horribly enough) self-harm/cutting is seen as something repulsive that “emo” kids do. Not something children, adults, and teenagers do because they don’t have the coping skills to handle life. This is part of my story I haven’t gone to extreme lengths to hide but I also haven’t shared it anywhere near as openly as I have my eating disorder. My goal this year is to stand up and speak about my suffering from self-mutilation as much as I have my eating disorder. People need to know recovery is possible. Not just that they need to hear a story from a real person. So stay posted: my story will show up here over the next few weeks. 

I recovered from self-harming behaviors. 

  So this isn’t going to be a very festive post, but it is one that I feel the need to write. I  preface all of this  with the admission that I am not a biblical scholar; this post is just one girl’s understanding and convictions. 

      I have read a lot of prayers on Facebook and Twitter recently. Not prayer request or statements that one is praying for something, but prayers addressed to God. For example (these are based on ones I’ve seen but are not direct quotations) ‘Lord, guide and protect us as we serve you.’ or ‘God, bring salvation into your Church this Christmas”. 
     I haven’t thought to much about it in the past, but reading these ‘prayers’ has often left a bad taste in my mouth. Today I was hit with a seemingly simple thought, God doesn’t have a Twitter or a Facebook page. Are these ‘prayers’ about speaking with God or are they about something else, something more self-serving.

Matthew 6: 5 

 “And when you pray, do not be like the hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the street corners to be seen by others. Truly I tell you, they have received their reward in full.” 

     Is social media our modern day street corner? Does this admonishment from Jesus apply to our twitter posts? 

     In my mind, the answers are yes. We live tweet everything from Christmas parties to trips to the dentist. Should we also tweet our spiritual interactions. If so, just the positive interactions? What about when I am mad at God or feel far away, do I declare that to my hundreds of friends to? 

I am not claiming to have this figured outL there is so much gray area, so much that depends on intent. I would love to hear other opinions on this matter. 

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(Source: missindiedesigns.blogspot.de)

“Congratulations, Alanna. We were able to find some additional fellowship money and have recommended you to the Dean’s Office to receive a 12 credits/year fellowship, 24 credits total.” 

Let me spell this out for you:  GWU graduate programs are $1,310 per credit. So I was just awarded *drum roll please* $31,440 over the next two years. That takes the impossible costs of the program down to possible. The program will still cost me $5,000-$10,000 more than some other programs would, but it is the TOP rated program in the country and  it has been my dream for 5 years now. 

I was just settling into the letting go of GWU. I had just made plans to move forward in other directions and to trust that this was going to happen on a timing other than my own. Then I opened this email. Money was “found” and someone I have met once decided I was who they wanted it to go to. This has been simultaneously both the most humbling experience I have ever had and the biggest boost to my confidence I have had in a long time.