#it's a miracle i never got diagnosed with an eating disorder

[allramnostorage]

sunday dinner is great because sometimes your mom will simply admit that she put you on a diet at the ripe old age of 3 years old and then your entire life just makes more sense

#it's a miracle i never got diagnosed with an eating disorder #but boy is my relationship with food whack #tw disordered eating #tw diet culture #and it was exactly 3 years old btw #she saw how big i was at my 3rd birthday party and started restricting my food the next day #like i was genuinely fat but also. 3 years old #she claims i was just never full which is probably indicative of you know. an illness. a disorder #but no just don't let a toddler eat when she's hungry i'm sure nothing could go wrong

[cleoselene]

tw suicide, cancer

My Uncle Art, who married into the family when he married my Aunt Leslie, he's a great guy. He wasn't always, I'll be honest, he was a real dick for most of my childhood, but he was an alcoholic. And when he quit drinking, it was like a personality switch was flipped and he became this gentle, loving, helpful, compassionate person when he was none of those things before he got sober.

This last month alone, Art has been down from Ohio where he lives to visit his sister, who lives in the same town in Florida as me, three times. He comes down from time to time because he owns the condo she lives in (and pays all her bills and expenses... while she goes through a fifth a vodka a day. How she is alive, not one of us can comprehend. But while he was here, Art took time to A) install a new hot water heater for us and haul the old one out, B) do the same for our dishwasher (and then he went to the grocery store and bought us a huge tub of detergent pods and a bottle of rinse aid, because he's thoughtful like that and noticed we were low on pods when he was fussing around under the sink), and C) fixed the garbage disposal. He didn't have to do any of these things, he volunteered because he's one of those old guys that likes to, as my mom says, "putz around and fix things" because it's his love language, honestly. Acts of service.

Her daughter is a little younger than me? I'm almost 45, I wanna say she's 35. Anyway, I didn't know her super well, but I know her. We shared an aunt and uncle, not quite like a cousin, but she was nice. Chill. She sold me weed at cost (she was a weed dealer) a few times, we smoked out together a few times. She had survived leukemia, and we bonded over being in the Terribel Illness Club, right down to the fact that my disease-modifying drug is Kesimpta, which was used to treat leukemia under the name Arzerra. Bonded over the joys of poisoning your body to save your body.

Well, she unfortunately succumbed to mental illness yesterday, taking her own life. My poor uncle, he is devastated. So is my aunt. It never makes sense when these things happen, and it's sticking with me a little not just because I knew her and considered her a friend, but because she had been in the Awful Illness Club with me and she's beaten hers! I love when people get the diagnosis and beat it! It's one of my favorite things! My roommate had spinal surgery last year and he has recovered so much more mobility than he could have possibly dreamed of and I see him thriving more and more each day and it warms my heart, and he told me he feels bad because he knows there's no miracle procedure to make me suddenly turn around and feel better. But I don't want him to feel that way! I love living off successes like this vicariously!

Anyway, it turns out that leukemia was the one she could beat. Mental illness she could not. I'm so sorry, Emily. I hope you've found peace.

It has been a bad week for uncles. My Uncle Chris was diagnosed with prostate cancer. They think they caught it early, but given that he's 78 years old they have to look everywhere to make sure that's the only place the cancer is. I gotta admit, I'm scared. I know prostate is one of the more survivable cancers, one of my other uncles had it and the treatment was so fast and effective that the extended family didn't know it had happened until he was already in remission. But Chris is not Bob -- he has a much more fragile constitution, and probably an eating disorder? All his life he's been scary skinny and obsessive about his weight. Bob climbs mountains and stuff, Chris sits on his porch and sips vodka and watches the ducks. There's just a whole different level of healthiness here.

Also, to be frank, Chris's wife is a wretched succubus. She is AWFUL to be around because she is one of those people that just CREATES stress out of thin air. It's like her magical power, creating stress out of nothing at all! She has alienated him from all three of his sisters (well my mom not as much, but she also doesn't spend nearly as much time with him as she used to? They used to go to the beach and see the sunset 2-3 times a week. Now it's like. 2-3 times in the last year) .

I am not on speaking terms with the wretched bitch or her daughter (this child has been a brat since birth, and continued to be. Last I talked to her was an argument because she thought I was vagueblogging about her on Facebook, which, lol? I do not care enough about her life to be passive aggressive to her like that. She also accused me of being jealous of her life, which is HYSTERICAL because she has three small children (that she cannot handle and honestly didn't want more than one, but well...) and a Republican husband with the personality of damp toast. He's like 6'7" and I think she fell prey to the "he's not hot, just tall" trap. Anyway my cousin accusing me of being jealous of her life, really funny stuff, she's probably projecting? But sure, she can imagine that i'm jealous of her 3 children under 6 and her ugly inside-and-out husband and her exciting career shilling cleaning products for an MLM scheme.

But I love my uncle and I really am worried between his wife and his daughter they are going to stress him to the grave. They have stressed him out constantly for 4 decades now, don't see any reason they would change when they can both enjoy walking all over him. Which they do. It's depressing. My mom worked with DV offenders for 3 decades and she says their relationship has all the hallmarks of verbal and emotional abuse, and I believe it. Sometimes the things my aunt would say about my uncle would make me tilt my head because it would be some outrageously offensive thing that my uncle would never, ever say.

It goes like this: Aunt Beeyatch: Your uncle told me I looked fat Me: *head tilt* Really? That doesn't sound like something he would say. *turns to uncle* You didn't really say that, did you? My mom: Say what? Me: Aunt Bee just said Uncle Chris said she looked fat, which i thought was really weird, because it doesn't sound like something he would say it all. My mom: Of course he didn't say that, *dismissive as all hell, turns to Aunt Bee* Why would you make that up? Aunt Bee: I'm just joshing you (I kid you know she says "joshing" all the time -_-) Me; *politely* Oh okay. I knew it didn't sound like something he would say!

some version of this conversation has been had MANY times over the decades

all this to say I'm worried about my uncles :( send good thoughts to them both.

#mehh tbd probs idk family stuffff

[alixx-black]

2010-2023: A #BodyAppreciation & #BodyPositivity Post

I am 5’2” and weigh 248 lbs. I wear an XL shirt and size 18 jeans, size 2XL in leggings, and size 2 in professional pants. My shoe size in female sizing is a size 8 adult and my shoe size is male sizing is a size 6 children’s. My bra size is a 40DDD, and I usually buy hipster underwear in a size XL.

My blood work has me as far away from diabetes as I can be, and my healthy cholesterol is in perfect range every time I get my blood work done. Everything that is in my control, is always in the healthy and normal ranges.

The things that I am diagnosed with are independent of my weight. Sure, some of them might be less hard if I were smaller, but they wouldn’t be cured if I was half my size. The biggest change losing weight would award me besides more clothing options is that doctors would stop blaming my weight for everything when they meet me for the first time.

But I have never, ever been a tiny person. Growing up, my friends worse and shared their size 3 - 5 jeans, while I bounced between a size 8 and 10. Wearing even numbered jeans were for “fat girls.” When my peers rolled up their shorts, I kept tugging them down because my thighs rubbed together and it hurt. In elementary school, girls were stuffing their bras with tissue or getting padded bras, while I wore a sports bra over a regular one just to make my C-cups look flat. In the summer, my peers wanted to sport their barest bodies to show off how fit and thin they were. I got into arguments with my mom because I wanted to wear goth pants and hoodies.

By some miracle, I never developed body dysphoria. I never had unhealthy eating behaviors. I never struggled with the extremely damaging experience of an eating disorder. I had people, friends and family, comment about my breasts and weight. I was always given clothes that were too big or too small. My body was sexualized by everyone - and I do mean everyone.

In middle school, a friend told me I was too fat to have short hair. In high school, I was told nobody would ever be intimate with me because I had rolls and a double chin. My first employer told me I was too fat to work the register because he had to put the pretty girls up there so that customers came back to look at them. As an adult, I was told during a job interview that I almost wasn’t called in for it because my cleavage made me look to sexy for the brand.

I have fallen for the toxic beauty standards. I have body shamed people, and made comments about females being too sexy when it wasn’t my business. I have been the “I am not like other girls” and “one of the guys” brat that every friend group hates. By no means am I innocent in this strange world of our bodies being perceived as public property.

But I have also been someone else’s idea of beautiful. I have been someone’s else’s idea of fashion bravery. I have been someone else’s idea of strong. I have a body that has made others feel safer in theirs. I have made others want to be more free in their skin.

Sometimes I hate my body just like everyone else, but more than ever - I love this body for all I have put it through. I love what it has allowed me to do. Even when it doesn’t work right and leaves me crippled in bed, it keeps doing what bodies are meant to do - keep me alive.

Fat isn’t a bad word. Not in my house, not in my conversations. I encourage you to start changing the way you see your body and the way you describe it. These bodies have done a lot for us, and we should love them before anyone else gets to.

#body posititivity #love your body #fat is not a bad word #body appreciation #be good to yourself

[the-pregnancy-experience]

I am currently pregnant. In high school I was diagnosed with anorexia. I am 35 and long recovered from that, but have had periods of being overweight and losing it, to gaining it, to trying to lose it again. I got pregnant at 25 lbs overweight while just getting back into the gym and tracking my calories seriously, and am now 22 weeks pregnant.

I will say that my body image has had ups and downs since I got pregnant. It was actually more difficult in the beginning, because I began seeing changes very rapidly, such as my pants not fitting at 8 weeks and shirts being too tight around 12 weeks (my boobs grew a cup size, and my band size 4 inches from my ribs expanding). It was, and still is, difficult to process these changes that you have very little control over. There's also bloating and water retention going on, which can shift from week to week. I feel like my face is very puffy right now which really bothers me when I see photographs of myself. However, I do think some of these changes are more obvious to me than others.

Conversely, and paradoxically, I have felt *better* about my body in recent weeks than I have in a long time. This began when I really started to show. You know how you've spent all those years trying on clothes and hoping they don't highlight your stomach or make you look pregnant? Well, when you are actually pregnant, that isn't a concern anymore. I've always opted for looser fitting tops, but while pregnant, a tighter fit is actually more flattering on me. And I like what I see! I actually purchased a tight dress, sort of body con tyle, for a wedding, that normally I would never feel comfortable wearing, but it's very flattering due to my new shape.

Fortunately, I am still able to work out, albeit modified, which makes me feel good about my body as well. Pregnancy truly is a miracle and a feat of strength of endurance (seriously, look it up; it's basically the equivalent of doing an endurance sport every day for nearly 10 months) and I've started to truly appreciate just how well my body is doing at making a totally new life.

In terms of weight gain, I'm about 5-10 lbs up from where I started. I have tracked calories this entire time. While it is not advised, generally, to restrict calories during pregnancy, I upped my calories but have still been tracking. My doctor said that *gentle* calorie restriction, given that I started overweight, is okay. However, depending on your history, this can lead to disordered eating so I would caution anyone to have a conversation with their doctor about this. As for me, I have certainly not deprived myself, and always eat at least 1700 calories a day and more often 2,000. My husband has remarked on my rear and legs look smaller, so I believe that some of my pre-baby fat has been used to create the baby and its accoutrements, leading me to actually slim down in some places. I actually like my ass more now than I did before pregnancy! My baby is currently in the 85th percentile for size, so there is no concern that I am not eating enough.

Another thing that keeps me positive is that when you hear weight gain normally--you think gaining excess fat. But weight gain during pregnancy is different. You are gaining weight because your blood volume increases, you grow an entirely new organ (placenta), your breasts typically grow larger, and of course, the baby itself. So when I see the scale increase, I remember that much of the gain will be released upon birth--the baby, the placenta, etc. I am not strictly gaining fat from being poorly disciplined--this is a gain that is intended to happen.

With all that said, sometimes I do struggle with my body image. Sometimes I have days where I feel like an absolute planet. I only wear yoga pants now, with the exception of some loose dresses that still fit. I bought some maternity shapewear that smooths things out. And sometimes it's not really about my body image, but the fact that I can't wear the clothes I *want* to wear and I'm not sure when I'll fit into them again--it's like part of my life is on hold, so to speak. I wasn't much of a shopper, but clothes shopping just like, doesn't apply to me right now? And I kind of miss the idea of just browsing in a store and finding something cute and buying it--but I know I'll be able to do that again soon.

Reddit poster 2023

#ed #body dysmorphia

[mycroftrh]

I would like to posit that it's not that eating disorders are more common in women, it's that the diagnosis of eating disorders is based around how they tend to look in women, so men who are in just as much distress and whose bodies are experiencing just as much damage aren't diagnosed

My mother had extremely severe, horrible life-long anorexia. She was in and out of hospitals/mental health facilities/ED rehab facilities her entire life and it's a miracle she lived as long as she did - and "as long as she did" was to her mid-forties. Near the end of her life she weighed so little I could (and did) quite literally pick her up with one hand.

Her own mother also has major eating issues, but the parent whose issues come closest to hers was her father, my grandfather.

As long as I knew him - up to, very literally, the day he died - he engaged in hard exercise for several hours a day; he woke up before dawn to row until he went to work, went back to the lake to row as soon as he got off work, and for most of the time once he got home, he was on his exercise machine.

For most of the time that I remember his diet was far more restricted than my mother's was. We'd go to a restaurant and she'd order something without significant fat or sugar, or if it was a better day she'd consider that her """"cheat"""" meal; he'd ask for "steamed vegetables, no sauce, no seasoning, no oil" and if they brought it to him with any sauce or oil or god forbid salt (salt is an Evil Mineral that will Ruin Your Health) he just wouldn't eat that day. He got most of his food from smoothie-things that he'd make himself in the blender.

He passed away in his early 60s from heart damage.

He looked like a skeleton with some lean muscle stuck on.

He wasn't diagnosable with any DSM-approved eating disorder.

I see men just like him - only younger, so the damage isn't as visible - all the time.

They live off protein shakes or kale-and-egg smoothies and spend every spare second breaking their bodies "training to failure" and avoid eating just as hard as my mother did. They build their lives around obsessing about eating the right thing and making their bodies look exactly the right way (which isn't a way possible for most humans) and destroying themselves however necessary to achieve that.

But while people are getting the hang of "dieting is culturally acceptable, but when taken "too far", where you're wrecking your body and mind, it's anorexia/bulimia", the diagnosis of that is extremely gendered, and there's no established system for "gym bro-ing is culturally acceptable but when it's taken "too far" and you're wrecking your body and mind, it's ????"

My brother, a professional violinist, had a friend who was getting a degree in music until he get obsessed with muscle-building, overdeveloped his muscles unevenly, and one day while lifting weights he snapped one of his own ligaments. The damage was permanent. He'll never be able to play music at a professional level again.

Diagnosing a man with anorexia is very difficult because the diagnostic criteria are very specifically built after how restrictive eating disorders tend to present in women. (Eg a lot of it is about specific body weights/weight gain; my grandfather's restrictive eating disorder meant that while he was skeletal he weighed a "normal" amount, because muscle is heavier than fat.) Until a few years ago, out of the four (4) diagnostic criteria, an entire criterion was about fuckin menstruation. I kid you not.

But there's no equivalent diagnosis for how eating disorders tend to present in men. The closest diagnosis to what many men experience would probably be "body dysmorphic disorder, with muscle dysmorphia" - which is classified as an Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder not an eating disorder, and treated accordingly. What my grandfather had was probably "orthorexia" - which is NOT in the DSM, at all.

So. Yeah. My mother had an extremely severe, life-long, life-threatening eating disorder, and was in and out of assorted institutions as a result. My grandfather had an extremely severe, life-long eating disorder that ended his life, and was NOT assisted with it by any institution, because it wasn't recognised as a disorder.

#I'm fully aware I'm not the first person to say this #but I'm gonna keep saying it until people like my grandfather can get something better than 'uhhhh maybe it's ED-NOS?' #eating disorders #orthorexia #ed tw #eating disorder #misc #mine

[aesthetic-with-anxiety]

Bit of a vent, but I really wish somebody had told me when I was little that being “gifted” meant my mind worked differently then everybody else. That it meant sometimes I’d take to things like a fish to water and others id struggle with for my whole life, but that it was okay. I wish they told me it was no fault of my own that I’d never be good at some things like everyone else was, but they would still be there to support me and hold my hand. That just because I was different didn’t mean I was any less. Instead, I grew up always feeling alone and confused, like I was supposed to be good at everything because I was “a gifted child” Like I wasn’t allowed to ask for help because gifted kids shouldn’t need help. I was reading stories to my baby brother at three years old and was functionally bilingual at five. Nothing hurt. And then things fell apart around fifth grade. I feel bad for my teachers. I wasn’t diagnosed until I was maybe eleven or twelve, and by then I had fallen behind my education by at least two years, had severe depression and generalized anxiety, and even an eating disorder dropped in to say hi. And all I’ve got is ADHD. I’m aware there’s a lot of confusion surrounding it, but it’s a learning disability that will never go away, and it effects all aspects of my life, big and small. It’s genetic, and my dad has it too. when he was a boy however, his mother got him tested. At the time it was poorly understood, but by some miracle they found a doctor who must have been at the cutting edge, because the doctor knew that stimulants can help with the symptoms of ADHD. My dad still consumes something with caffeine in it every day. Unfortunately, mine is a bit more of a handful, so meds every morning. I lost almost three years of my life to that stupid disorder and all it’s friends, and I just wish I hadn’t felt so alone. I still do. My dad gets it to some extent, but my poor mother has no idea what it’s like. I know it’s unfair for me to hold a grudge, I know she loves me and it’s taken an ENORMOUS amount of strength for her to break the cycle of abuse in her family, but it’s not perfect, and I know it never will be. It’s been a bumpy ride, and it has been for years, but I just wish we knew what I had sooner. We knew my old man had ADHD, and the school knew from the start I was different. I know there isn’t much about it I can do now except press on, but I think it’s reasonable I feel just a little hard done by, you know?

#Small vent #tw vent #adhd #I guess I just needed to get this out of my system #sorry for invading your dash #thanks for coming to my Ted talk

[boy-porridge-vent]

september 10 2019

god i cant take it anymore Im so tired of everything

having traumatic memories flow back through my head every fucking night??? Im fucking tired of it. I cant sleep anymore because either I go to bed crying & miserable, or I get no sleep/a couple hours each night so I dont have enough time to dream. Recently, every time Ive had a dream, it’s involved my ex & how she treated me. Every fucking night. I literally can’t sleep without crying & freaking out/self harming because I get scared of what repressed memory is going to reemerge in my dreams this time

Ive tried to block so many things, it’s been years, but every night for nearly 2 weeks anytime I sleep I dream of her, her calling me names, the things she would say to me, when she would get physical, her sexual assault against me. I can’t fucking do it anymore

Im so exhausted, Ive only gotten about a total of 8 hours total over the past 3 nights because either I cant sleep from being scared, or because I force myself to stay up.

she’s fucking ruined me, she abused me, I was used, yet all these years later, Im the one that continues to suffer from the thoughts and words she forced forever into my mind, while she got away completely scot free with no consequences, so she still continues to harm and manipulate people to this day because she got away with it when it came to me.

I feel like it’s all my fault and I should be the one trying to stop her, but I have no control, Im legally not allowed to have any contact with her. Im seen as the bad guy. Why? Because I reached out for help one too many times and the school thought it was annoying & clingy. They thought I was obsessive over her.

It’s not obsession. It’s called fucking trauma. It’s called being emotionally unstable because of abuse that I was never able to properly heal from. I was forced to move on quick and pretend it never happened so I could move on with my life, and in that period of my life I had no time to properly think over everything and heal, I had nobody to professionally talk to. Ive been denied therapy by the school and by my parents because they think therapists are ridiculous, that I don’t need one.

Im sorry, but I genuinely do think Im going to end up killing myself in the next 2 years, maybe even within a year if shit keeps spiraling downward like it has been. I need help. Im not trying to self diagnose here, but it almost feels like I have ptsd or something because I cant stop thinking about what she did.

Im not obsessed, I would know if I was. I dont think about her as in I miss her/want her back; no, not at all, I wish she wasn’t around anymore. I think of her everyday, multiple times a day, cry over her every night & stay up wide awake in fear because of her almost every night because of what she did to me. This is every fucking day. Every fucking night. I can’t get her out of my head. The same horrible experiences & verbal blows come back to me every day, and I can’t make it stop. Once it pops into my head, it’s there for hours, and it weighs me down severely.

I want to get better. Im tired of relapsing into my eating disorder over and over. I relapsed into it while I was dating her because of how miserable and emotionally strained I was, I relapsed after we broke up, and I relapsed again a few weeks ago ever since the memories & nightmares started flooding into my mind much at a greater extent than ever before. 

Im tired of relapsing into cutting. I started cutting only 8 months into our relationship because I had nobody to talk to, nothing was getting better, I felt helpless. I relapsed over and over the next couple years, it became an addiction, and now it’s becoming almost deadly. I relapsed in August when these memories started to pop up again and now everytime I get an urge when she comes into my mind, I go deeper and deeper. Im so tired of all this. 

I want to remember what she did to me so I can grow from the experience & help others who may go through similar situations since I have a large understanding of these types of abusive people;

but I also want to erase all memories I have of her. Everything. Even hearing her name or hearing certain words makes me think of specific situations in time & makes me have to leave class or put in earbuds to drown out any noise to try and distract myself. She’s ruined me, and it hurts even more knowing that she’s still doing this shit to other people, and getting away with it. She gets away with it because I’ve been told by my school that I need to keep my mouth shut & never talk about her. If someone is her friend or she talks to people, I have to stay away and just let it go. Meaning she could have another victim right now, someone exactly like me, who’s vulnerable & overly trusting, thinking she’ll be a good friend, and they’ll end up being hurt, insulted, used, treated like absolute fucking shit and they may start to self harm or contemplate suicide because of how negatively it effected them, just like it’s effected me. And that. Fucking. Horrifies me.

Knowing someone else could be in my exact position because of her is one of my worst fears. I dont steal her friends, but rather they usually come to me after a few months. Why do they come to me? Because they see her true side & are smart enough to get away while they still can, because she’s told everyone she could about how she thinks Im the bad guy because I came out about my abuse, so logically when they see her true abusive nature, they come to me to see if I really am what she’s described me as, or if it was all just lies, just like her supposed goodie-two shoes mask was all a lie to cover up her true deceiving manipulative personality.

I can only look forward to the day when she leaves this town and has nothing left, or the day when finally the consequences finally come around and ruin everything she has, so she feels the torture and suffering Ive silently been going through for 5 fucking years. Im not religious, but I pray God have the tiniest bit of mercy left on her fucking soul when her time comes around, because she’s going to need a miracle to get into any kind of heaven with the things she’s done to the dozens of people she hurt.

[the-real-tc]

Review! Heartland Ep. 1207: Running Scared

Super-late with my thoughts on this episode, but better late than never. Tim's prize pupil has been cleared by the docs after her concussion, so she's initially eager to get back bustin' those broncs. Easier said than done. Jade's apparently got a touch of PTSD: she bails the first time she sits on a horse in the chute, blaming a "sore shoulder". Georgie is growing steadily more intent on becoming the top jumper, worthy of Coach Kim's tutelage. Since Ms. Price planted the notion that the only thing standing in Georgie's way of becoming that top jumper is Georgie herself, the kid has taken it to heart. Except that has translated into vigorous workouts and shrinking meal portions devoid of fatty meats. She's also weighing herself on the sly, and always seems disappointed with her results. Side note: it's been my concern since Day 1 that without guidance, Georgie could develop an eating disorder, so hopefully someone in her life notices the unhealthy extremes and intervenes before it's too late. (Jade? Amy? Wyatt? Jack? Lou? Anybody?!) 

At dinner, Tim wants to know what's up with the hard-core training Georgie's been doing with Jade as her side-kick; Georgie changes the subject by asking how Jade's doing now that she's cleared by her doctor. Tim admits Jade is all workout and no bronc; says he thinks she's scared. Jack picks up on that and suggests Jade needs to get her confidence back. He thinks an event involving horses might help Jade slowly work her way back up to broncs. Tim agrees it's not a bad idea. Says he's even been thinking of putting on a team penning clinic at the school. Jack reminisces about a team penning event that saw his team of "old timers" best Tim's team. Eli Stark and Will Vernon were on Jack's winning team. (On a somber note: RIP, Donnelly Rhodes, who portrayed Eli.) That leads to a discussion about a little friendly, "family" competition. The team penning idea starts off as just a simple Guys vs. Girls (Tim, Jack & Caleb against Amy, Jade & Georgie), with the losers buying a fancy dinner for the winners. Tim morphs it into a "Fun Family & Friends Day" to be held at Heartland with lots of events for everyone attending. He's even going to sell tickets with the proceeds going to the winning team's charity of choice. He also changes the bet: Losers don't have to buy fancy dinner: they must dig a new hole for the outhouse. The Guys' side seems to have one problem: Rusty the horse. Caleb wants Amy to look at Rusty who isn't performing as expected. When she does, she diagnoses the problem sitting squarely with the rider, not his mount... Caleb's "problem" is revealed later when after a Guys' poker game the night before the Fun Day, he tells Jack how he and Cass are having great difficulty conceiving. Doctors aren't any help, and it's weighing heavily on the couple. Jack reveals that he and Lyndy had similar problems; were told they'd never have kids, but Marion came along (their "miracle baby") when they just relaxed and decided to let life come to them, whatever it might be. At the team penning event, the Girls predictably win (by one second). They raised $2000 with the ticket sales, and Amy suggests they split the winnings so both their charities of choice benefit. Another benefit? Jade feels she's conquered her fears and wants to get back on the broncs again. Final thoughts: Okay, everyone knew that after all the goading and trash-talking that Team Amy was going to beat Team Tim. Because Jade needed the win to get over her issues, right? Disappointing that for the 200th episode of Heartland things couldn't have been more "epic". Ty, Lisa, and Lou were no-shows. There was nothing especially memorable or special about this episode, to be honest, but it wasn't a terrible episode, either. Jack's talk with Caleb was unexpected, but welcome, as it fills in some of Jack's own backstory about why Marion was an only child. That said, sure wish we had learned stuff this like TEN SEASONS ago. (Sheesh.) I mean, I guess it's the sort of normal quiet, canon information the whole family knows (but the viewers aren't privy to) so the Writers don't think it necessary, but it feels like it was conveniently written in for this specific episode and not something that was always on the page. I found Amber Marshall and Chris Potter to be especially great and entertaining as their characters heckle each other over the team penning event. My, how Amy and Tim's father-daughter relationship has grown over the years! One negative: The one-liner about Ty's absence about a camping trip with Luke. Not a "good look", Heartland. I mean, Ty is clearly not a sicko, but a single man who is not the parent or legal guardian with a minor out on a camping trip? Alone? That does not work for me. I hope it is explained that perhaps it was a big foster kids' camping event with other kids and camp counselors and so forth.

#Heartland #Season 12 #Episode 1207 #Running Scared #Episode 200 #georgie fleming morris #Jade Virani #amy fleming #tim fleming #Jack Bartlett #Caleb Odell #Baby Lyndy #Rusty #Grandma Lyndy #Marion Fleming #Luke #Ty Borden #Kim Price #Review #my reviews

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Five Days (Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader) *TRIGGER WARNING! EATING DISORDER*

Characters: Tony Stark X Daughter!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

SERIOUS WARNING: EATING DISORDER

Other Warnings: Bullying/ teasing

Request: Hey love! I was wondering if you could write something along the lines of where the reader has been in recovery from an eating disorder and then has a hard relapse? Maybe with a platonic or father Tony Stark?

Your eating disorder came to light just last year for the public, though they didn’t know that you had been suffering from it for nearly three years by now. It was a miracle they hadn’t figured it out before that.

Your dad was Tony Stark, so attention from the media was bound to happen. However, your father was a determined man, and from the day of your birth, he was determined to provide the privacy you needed to grow up as normally as you could, and if you wanted to become part of the public eye, then he’d allow it. There was always those few times when you went out with your dad, either for bonding, errands, or you just wanted to go out, or at a party you showed up to. However, in the past 3 years, there was very few images of you popping up from further security. Everyone was sceptical of what had happened- had you got pregnant and Tony was hiding you and his grandchild? If so, who was the father? Were you took off him? Were you dead?

They got their answer when you were spotted returning to your home with your father, looking rather thinner than the last time they saw you, and it became very obvious what had happened, and Tony explained it briefly. Due to pressure from the press with every image they got, some horrible things said about you, both online and to your face by people who recognised you, as well as your own stress and low self-esteem, you had been diagnosed with an eating disorder and had spent the past few months in recovery, and when on your breaks out, spent it with your father in a private owned home in the middle of nowhere.

It hit headlines, and though there was a few negative comments from sources, most sent their regards to you and the ones who picked at it got backlash, before you became a silent subject. One year later, and though there was a few reports on your ‘recovery’ here and there when you were spotted, it was mostly silent. Your father was amazing through it all. He noticed almost immediately when it got visual enough. He had been worrying about you when you started having meals separate from him, and noted your rapid weight loss. He kept a closer eye on you, and eventually realised you were skipping meals, sat you down and talked with you, before having a doctor diagnose you, and paid for your treatment while doing his part when you were out of rehab.

He set up a sort of diary for you both to keep. You would mark down what you were due to eat at each meal time, and then write down what you did and didn’t eat. At the end of the month, Tony reviewed it, saw what you avoided, and changed your diet so it was more food you liked, so you’d be more interested in your food. He also liked to check in on it every so often to make sure you were eating. If you completed a meal in its entirety, then you would be praised with a gift, whether it be that dress you wanted, or something you collected.

Today turned out to be that day that he decided to check. The book was stationed at all times on your bedside table, since you’d mark down what you ate at the end of the day, and meant you didn’t forget to do it. You had total trust in your father, who never peeked into your privacy without your consent anyway, so you had given him total consent to come into your room and check the diary at any time he wanted, and you had often told him how you’d been feeling on bad days. It was nice knowing your father was there every step of the way. However, he had noticed you had been quiet about these feelings the past week, and while he hoped with was a sign of improvement and you didn’t need to, he just had a gut feeling something was wrong, and it was the same gut feeling he got the day he found out you weren’t eating.

You had left a while ago for school, so he entered without knocking. He turned on your lamp, stationed next to the book, before sitting on your bed, and grabbing the book, flipping through the pages. You had a new red book every year, and he had kept the past two to show your improvement. During the flicking to find the last page you wrote on, he caught sight of blank paper, before writing started again. It immediately made him stop, going back through each page carefully, till, he saw the pages. They were dated, but nothing else. He counted each page, until he reached writing again.

Five days. Nearly an entire week.

There was no way you forgot to write in it. He remembered back in the first year with your first book. There was dates but little to not writing. You were honest when it came to your notes, even sometimes apologising to the book a few pages later after a relapse, and when he read some writing before and after the relapse, he gulped.

Someone in school said I’m not even skinny enough.

I’m sorry. I couldn’t. Whenever I saw food I just couldn’t bear the thought of getting bigger.  

He noticed how even after your relapse, you ate only a little bit for a good week after, before starting to get back on schedule. You’d been nearly a year clean, and it broke his heart knowing why you hadn’t told him.

“JARVIS, call the school tell them I want a word with the principal.” He announced suddenly, getting up and going to grab his jacket.

It didn’t take long till you were sent out of class, and met with your father in the principal’s office. As soon as you sat down, your dad had your hand, and was squeezing it so tightly that you looked over at him, and he sent this smile to try and show reassurance, but it was clear he was worried. “Mr Stark, may I ask why you’ve come here?” Your principal asked. Tony didn’t show up often at the school usually only for parent’s evenings and when needed, so for him to show up seemingly out of nowhere and with such short notice, it was clear something had happened, and no one wants to piss off Iron man.

“As you know, my daughter has been going through a rough patch the past three years.” Tony started, and it just clicked with you what was going on, and your head lowered, and your dad squeezed your hand even tighter, as if to silently say to not be ashamed. “We’ve been keeping note of her meals through a diary, and when I had a look I noticed that she’d been getting some comments about her weight, eating disorder and so forth from students, and it’s actually caused her to relapse, for five days. Five days.” Tony’s professionalism had started to vanish, showing his true concern as a parent. You could see your principal had understood the severity of the situation, and since it was coming from a Stark, he doubled the urgency in his head.

“Y/N, are you able to tell me who these students are?” Your principal asked, and you nodded, keeping your head down and remaining quiet. “Alright then. You tell us who these students are, and I promise you, this will stop, and they will be disciplined for their behaviour. You can take as much time off as you need to recuperate, or at least until we have this sorted.”

You left the school silent, got into the car silent, and your father copied, coming and sitting beside you, also in silence. “I’m sorry.” He heard you apologise to him in a whisper.

“Hey, you’re not the one that needs to be apologising.” He reminded, putting his arm around you, holding you close to him.  “You can’t help it. I’m your dad, it’s my job to keep you safe and happy, and I’m not gonna let you down.” He promised, keeping you in a tight hug the entire drive home.

Hope you like it! If the theme has affected you or you want to rant to someone, I’ll happily listen. If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

TAGS:  @courtneychicken  @graysonmalfoy @bellero​  @loserporg​ @captain-peanut-at-your-service @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @marveloussupernatural @aesthetjic  (all) @imbuckypositive @abbybills22 @waywardemo @httpmcrvel @mutantjediavenger @theoraekensnotsosecretlover

#marvel #Avengers #Iron Man #tony stark #tony stark x reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #tony stark x fem!reader #ironman x reader #ironman x fem!reader #ironman x daughter!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #x daughter!reader #reader #Female reader #daughter!reader #one shot #writing #story writing #question #request #Questions #ask me anything #ask me questions #send me questions #Please send me stuff #please send me asks

[freaksneedfriendstoo]

My name is Julie and I have a very real and moving Testimony I would like to share with you. Please share this with anyone struggling with mental health, abuse or addiction so that they can know Gods power.

I was born in Toronto in 1983 and taken by CAS at 3 months old. The details surrounding this are sketchy for me but basically my mother got arrested and she got my aunt to watch me who then gave me to a lady she met on the street. I had a very bad cough and the lady took me to the hospital who called CAS because apparently I had bruises. I spent 10 months in foster care and was then adopted. I had psycological problems from the start and would destroy and rip everything apart. I think its because I never had normal bonding or was traumatised. I spent my youth very bullied and I would usually just walk around by myself all recess watching the other kids play. I liked to be alone and at 11 I was taken to a psychiatrist because I became so reclusive and stopped wanting to even eat. I would just listen to my micheal jackson tapes over and over on my walkman with my face buried in the couch.

I started cutting myself at 14 and smoking weed and cigarettes. I got sent to a psychiatric ward the summer after grade 9 and would never live with my adoptive parents again. I got passed through such facilities as Youthdale, Whitby psyc, Thistletown in Etobicoke and Crossroads run by Kinark. In the hospitals I was frequently left alone in restraints tying me to a bed and given so many drugs my personality was gone. My adoptive parents didnt even know me anymore when they visited.

At Whitby I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder by a team of psychiatrists. I frequently would run away from the group home crossroads and once in a fit of rage I climbed the fire escape and threw myself off the roof. An ambulance arrived and put me on a board. I had hairline fractured my lower back.

Shortly after this I ran away from there for good and met up with a 25 year old man named Andrew. I was 16 at the time He was homeless and I stuck to him like glue as he showed me how to live on the street. He had a terrible temper and would beat me especially when he was drunk. I spent 11 months with him living on the street in abandonded houses, under a bridge and for a short time in an apartment in Bradford they we got through a worker. The police would get called to the apartment because people would hear me screaming from him hitting me. I was abusing cocaine and would use anything I could to get high.

After we left there we stayed on the street again and one night around 2am Andrew was drunk and he was literally beating me to death. He was sitting on me and just going at it. He put his hand in my mouth and tried to break my jaw. When I looked in his eyes it was like he didnt even know me anymore. The thought came into my mind to yell at him and desperate I started yelling at him to get away from me. To my astonishment he actually walked away from me yelling at me. I got up and ran pausing for moment to gaze a my reflection in a store window. My face was all swollen and bruised. I ran behind a mall and found a man making deliveries who called mall security who called the police.

I got placed in a group home in Newmarket called Heritage Lodge. I met a 26 year old drug dealer named Doug and started dating him. He got me into using needles shooting cocaine and oxycitin. I would abuse any pills to get high such as Gravol. He would also hit me and I got kicked in the head by him 2 times in a row with shoes on so hard I blacked out for a moment. He got arrested for this and then I went back to him about 6 months later. I had no feelings of self worth or real love.

When I was 18, I took an overdose of pills and went to the hospital and told them I was suicidal. They put me in a small room to wait and see someone. The room had a framed picture on the wall and sadly I broke the glass in the frame and I slit my wrists so badly up and down my forearm that my arm is disfigured by scars for the rest of my life. 4 thick, ropey scars.

At 19 I got pregnant by Doug and went with the baby to a womans shelter when the baby was around 3 months old. We went to Rosalie Hall in Scarborough and Sandgate womans shelter. I recieved emergency housing and was given a one bedroom apartment in a co-op. So now it was just me and my baby. My adoptive parents lent me a small black and white tv and a sleeping bag and I would camp out on the floor snuggling my baby until I got furniture.

After about a year I felt this urgency to find out the truth in life. I went to a used book store called Random Books to see what I could find. I found a book called There’s A New World Coming. The title sparked my interest so I bought it. I took it home and read it right through. It was all about Bible prophecy. At the end of the book was a prayer to recieve Jesus as your Saviour. I recognized that I was a terrible sinner and jumped at the chance to have a Saviour. I prayed for Jesus to be my Saviour and to forgive my sins. I confessed my faith in Him.

Then I tell you the truth I felt God’s indescribable, powerful love washing over me like gentle ocean waves. I spent like a week crying and praying. Confessing my sins. You see having borderline disorder the only thing I had ever felt was desperation. Desperation to be loved but I had no idea what love was nor could I express it. I had felt rage, I had felt pain like there was a giant hole in my chest.

In that moment God filled that hole with His love and peace. He gave me His Holy Spirit and great faith. He forgave me for all my wretched sins because of His great mercy. I have never been the same.

I began distributing Bible tracts and going to church. I got baptised on June 12 2005 and my baptism certificate sits by my bed. Instead of self destruction and self hatred I can by the power of the Holy Spirit feel love and compassion for others. I will help anyone and am moved to express love for others in whatever way I can.

God has filled me with His great compassion for the homeless as I know what it is like to sit panhandling. This new creation He has made in me prepares packages with Bible tracts and gift cards and treats and now I go seek out the broken and the lost on the streets of Toronto every two months.

This Christmas the Holy Spirit moved me to prepare gifts for the homeless and I set out Christmas morning with a hockey bag filled with wrapped packages of pot of gold chocolates, gift cards, handmade cards filled with Scriptures about hope and belonging. ‘No Greater Love Then Jesus’ is what the covers read. God uses me to bring His love to them. God’s love and compassion are the most beautiful things I have ever felt and He fills my heart in an indescribable way. This is just one example of what God has done in my life.

So when people dont believe in God I can tell them without a doubt that God is real. He has done a miracle in me. Everything in the Bible is true. God is good. He is pure in everyway. He is light and He sent His Son Jesus to destroy the works of the devil. The devil devours kids like I was but the Lord rescues them. He saves them.

My name is Julie and I am a living testimony that God is mighty to save and with His Spirit, He can transform even the most broken, hopeless person. Its all about having faith in Jesus and surrendering to His Spirit. Chris Tomlin music has helped me greatly with this as it is so soothing to my soul.

The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentless, faithfulness and self control. I really rely on God’s Holy Spirit as apart from Him I cant feel love, peace, compassion or joy. It’s not things I can or have produced on my own. The works of the flesh (me without Jesus) were all destructive and led to death. Here is my poem called broken that I wrote 12 years ago during the first week I was saved. It poured from me like water.

BROKEN I look at my wrists, I see the scars I search my soul, I know my shame I’ve been led by the blind and beaten down by sin I should have died, but You wouldn’t let them win I see Your hands, the holes in Your palms I know your glory has overcome all pain I turn to You Lord, in my broken suffering A love unimaginable, how can this be In all my wretchedness, You reached out to save me A soul so pure, my hero, Your truth The word of God that whispered to my heart and set me free As I tripped over trials, in this deathly darkness I looked for the way Your light opened my soul and my eyes lit up with hope You showed me a path that I can now take Thanks to Your selfless sacrifice This girl will never fade away I toddle like a baby, into Your strong hands I am Yours, You have made me new again Paralized with tears, my repentance shakes my being Then You kiss my tears away and I am no longer unclean Thank you Father, my cross I’ll bear 'Till the day I go home, when You shout from the sky All Your children will run to You with a happy cry And there I’ll be, tucked safely under Your wing As we fly away, this life will have seemed like a dream I will never forget how You gave Yourself for me I love you Lord Jesus

#testimony #Jesus

[macabre-megan]

It’s been awhile...

It’s been awhile since I’ve really used my tumblr account. I pop on every now and then to scroll through stuff, but I really haven’t been active in....a couple years? I feel the need to ramble a bit and right now this seems to be the best place to do it. So here is my venting. I have rambled about it a million times to people, but being able to get everything out in one go just seems therapeutic to me right now. So here we go... the past two years have been strange to say the least. Both involved lots of weird shit, but this past year was hell. It is the year I learned what it’s like to be passed around and ignored by doctors and other healthcare personnel. Back in May I began developing a weird pain in my right upper abdomen. It started one day out of the blue and progressed over a week and got stronger and more intense. I also began to feel chronically nauseous. That’s when my whole life was put on pause. First my gallbladder and appendix were checked out. Everything came back normal. Then my stomach. I was given extra strength ant acids and told to watch my diet and that I’d probably feel better in a few weeks. I began to feel worse. I fought with my own primary doctor to refer me to a gastroenterologist, she finally agreed and I had an endoscopy done. Everything from that was normal. I was growing increasingly concerned because no matter what I was still in near constant pain and could barely eat due to nausea. By the end of summer, I had been to the ER 3 times, had 4 CT scans, and endoscopy, every other GI imaging test that was available, only one ultrasound, and all with normal results. I grew frustrated because scans revealed a kidney stone and a small ovarian cyst, neither of which i was informed about. I was angry because I began to hear eyes rolling when I called my doctors office with concerns and bringing up that I was still in a lot of pain and could barely eat. I basically was at a point of giving up trying to figure anything out after my 3rd ER visit in august....when I was told nothing was wrong and that I should follow up with my “psychiatrist.” While this was going on, my manager at work luckily believed me and was on my side. Which was good because a couple co workers decided I wasn't really sick and was clearly faking it. Or that I was just going out and getting drunk every weekend, then complaining about being sick at work. I began to trust them less and less. I stopped talking about my personal life at work and began just hiding my pain from them all. Even the ones who weren’t causing problems. I just couldn’t deal with the drama that came out of nowhere and that had no reason to it ( it literally felt like I was in high school or some shit. I knew the specific people were constantly whispering behind my back and I could feel the vibes in the air. especially on days where I was really hurting and couldn’t do much more than sit at the computer and do clerical work) But my manager suggested things I hadn’t thought of because of the location of my pain. She mentioned ovarian cysts and endometriosis. I was skeptical at first, but when I kept running into dead ends, I looked into things more. That’s when I started keeping better track of when my pain was worse and what accompanied it during those periods of time. She mentioned my symptoms to a couple of the pathologists we work with (I work in the histology department in a hospital laboratory, as a lab technician/histotechnician and diener) and they both said it was very possible that endometriosis was the culprit. My doctor didn’t agree and chose to not look further into my pain, saying it was probably somehow a muscular thing and basically just completely wrote me off. Jump forward to the end of September.....I was having a horrid couple days of pain. I came into work and could barely stand up straight due to my lower back and abdomen hurting so much. I couldn’t lift anything, the fact that I even got to work that day was a miracle. My manager was not working, so I didnt really have a safety net either. I was told there was an autopsy that no one else could cover so I would have to assist. I began crying. Just flat out bawling. I couldn’t hold it back. I was told to just do what I could and let Dr. T. (the pathologist who does all the autopsies and has worked there for a super long time and was the head of the pathology department and lab director up until he partially retired recently) know what was happening. I still couldn’t hold back tears and began crying in his office trying to explain that I was in too much pain. He told me everything was okay, he told me to not worry about the case. He felt so terrible and I felt awful for making a scene because it was the last thing I wanted to do especially with the on going scrutiny from my co workers. He said something along the lines of “I’m going to make a phone call for you. I will talk to you after I’m done with the case. You will hear back from me and I’ll let you know what to do. Just hang tight.” He got me in that same day to see the top gynecological surgeons in the area. The doctor who specializes in fertility problems and reproductive disorders. I still to this day can’t thank Dr. T enough for that phone call. Every time he asks about progress or anything involving stuff with that doctor, I tell him how much I appreciate what he did. That day I went home with an unofficial diagnosis of endometriosis and was told surgery would be the best option due to how extreme my symptoms where. I agreed. I didn’t question it. I wanted a definite answer and I wanted this shit gone from inside me. I was desperate. Now fast forward to last Thursday (January 11th). I went in at 9 am for a diagnostic laparoscopy. I had so many fears....that they wouldn’t find anything....that things would be worse and they would have to take more out....that I’d lose my uterus or some other extreme situation. When I woke up from surgery.....when I was taken to the recovery room and wheeled in to see the faces of my husband and mom, I heard the most relieving thing in the world. They found endometriosis. They found it scattered right around where all my pain was. It was removed. I had an official diagnosis and a name to put to what has made my life a living hell for nearly a year. My appendix was also removed, along with an abnormal lymph node. It seems weird to be so happy about it, endometriosis is a chronic disease and it can very likely come back any time. Surgery is not a cure......there is no cure. I now am labeled with this for life and everything from here on out is anything to try and suppress the tissue from growing back and managing any symptoms that pop back up. And it is possible that I may have to have surgery again at some point in life. It’s hard to predict. But I have an answer. I have a reason for why I was in so much pain. Why I felt so awful all the time. I have an answer. I no longer feel like I’m crazy and I can look doctors right in the eye and prove to them it’s not all in my head. I have a endometriosis. I have a chronic illness. It took just about a year to be listened to and diagnosed. I missed out on so much. Slept so much. A lot of strain was put on my marriage and on friendships because I just couldn’t do the things I used to do. I came close to giving up so many times. The frustration, anger, tears, arguments, loneliness, pain, depression, doubt......here I am on the other end. Still recovering from surgery, but I’m optimistic and filled with just so much relief, I can’t stress that enough. This experience has been a roller coaster.....and it felt like I was never going to be able to get off of it. I have Endometriosis. I have a chronic illness....

#endometriosis #chronic illness #long post #my story #endowarrior #chronic pain #diagnostic surgery #worst year of my life #i'm not crazy #light at the end of the tunnel #i have endometriosis

[molliesloan]

sghqtask  n i n e ;

it's everything you ever want, it's everything you ever need. and it's here right in front of you, this is where you wanna be.

The mirrors that surrounded Mollie rattled on the walls. Her music was too loud, and she knew that, but she didn’t care. The studio was closed for the night, and was nearly empty, so she knew she wasn’t bothering anyone. She just needed to run through the number one last time before she locked the place up and headed home for the night. She wanted to make sure it was perfect for tomorrow. But once she was a few eight counts in, she noticed someone hovering by the doorway. She couldn’t hear what they were saying over the music that blared through the studio, but she knew what the gist of it was. It was time to be done for the night. Stopping mid-arabesque, Mollie padded across the floor to the stereo to turn it off. And the second the music stopped, a seemingly exasperated voice took it’s place in the studio.

“Can we leave now? Please?” the petite blonde standing in the studio doorway huffed. “You’re taking forever, mom, and I’m starving. I need food. Like, now,” she insisted, her hands placed sassily on her hips.

“We can stop and grab you something to eat on the way home,” Mollie assured her daughter, turning off the studio lights before slipping on her jacket and making her way over to the door where Isabella was standing. “But only if you take the attitude down a few notches. If not, you’re just getting a big bowl of steamed broccoli and carrots when we get home, Belly,” she teased.

“Okay, okay, fine. No more being grumpy. And it’s Bella, not Belly,” the young girl corrected.

“Oh, right. I forgot. We’re too old for nicknames now,” Mollie rolled her eyes playfully, slipping her arm around her daughter and placing a kiss on the top of her head. She knew Bella was fighting the urge to wriggle out of her grasp, but she wouldn’t. Not with the threat of vegetables for dinner being on the table.

Ten year old Bella was the spitting image of Mollie. She had been from the moment she was born. She had big, brown eyes, and curly blonde locks that seemed to be turning into waves the longer her hair got. She was stick thin and had beautiful, porcelain skin. But their looks are where their list of similarities seemed to end. Bella was worlds more outgoing than Mollie was. And worlds sassier, too. Sure, when Mollie was a teen, she had her stubborn moments. But as she started to enter her pre-teen years, Bella’s whole life seemed to be one big stubborn moment. Each morning, her daughter seemed to wake up in a new phase. That morning was when she’d announced the no more baby-ish nicknames rule. And the morning before that, Mollie was informed that she’d no longer be called mommy or mama, because that’s what little kids called their parents. Now, she was strictly mom. And earlier in the week, the no hugging or kissing in public rule was put into place. And any time one of those new rules was broken, Bella’s bubbly, happy demeanor took a quick turn, and Mollie had a grumpy, back-talking ten year old on her hands.

But despite all the trouble she’d been giving her lately, in Mollie’s eyes, Bella was perfect. As headstrong as she could be, she had a list of amazing qualities that was a mile long. She was so, so smart. Mollie hadn’t been lucky enough to inherit her mom’s photographic memory gene, but Bella was. She ended up skipping fourth grade, just like Lexie had skipped third. She was also extremely compassionate. If she ever got wind of the fact that Mollie was having a bad day, she instantly dialed back her sass, and was there to meet her with a hug and a kiss (even if there were other people around to witness it). She loved to snuggle before she went to bed, though she’d never admit that to anyone outside her family. And she was an incredible gymnast. She hadn’t exactly taken to dance like Mollie had, and that was perfectly fine with her. When she saw her daughter insisting on hanging upside down from the ballet barre on her very first day of dance class, she knew Bella wasn’t going to love it the way she did. So she put her into gymnastics, and she’d been thriving ever since.

To Mollie, Isabella was a miracle. And not just because she’s her daughter, and every parent thinks that their child is a little miracle. But because she changed the entire course of her life. And with the path she was headed down, that’s exactly what she needed. Mollie was only twenty two when she had Bella, which definitely wasn’t part of her plan. Kids weren’t ever a part of her plan, really. The plan had always been to move to New York after graduating high school, dance with the New York City Ballet, and when she had to retire, teach at the American School of Ballet. Of course, being diagnosed with anorexia toward the end of her sophomore year in high school derailed that plan a bit before Bella did. At first, Mollie’s treatment was completely outpatient. She was also pulled out of her ballet studio, because with the weekly weigh ins, and her teacher’s insistence on her girls being underweight, it wasn’t a great environment for her. But the therapy seemed to help at first. She was able to continue dancing at her old studio, and even attend a ballet program in New York for a few weeks that summer. But while she was away from home, she resorted back to her old ways, and ultimately had to be placed in an inpatient treatment program for eating disorders when she came back to Seattle.

Once she was released, she started doing better again. Until she had another relapse. And that seemed to be the vicious cycle she got stuck in. Taking five steps toward recovery, but then ten steps back. She was in the midst of a particularly long good period around the time she graduated from high school, and opted to continue with her plans to audition for the NYCB, even though quite a few of her doctors advised her that the best thing for her would be to stay out of that environment. When she found out she made it in, though, she was too excited to take their warnings into consideration. She immediately packed up her life and moved to Manhattan, and just like everyone had said, it was hard. She was dancing all day and working as a barista at night to help pay the rent, and her eating disorder was still rearing it’s ugly head. But Mollie wasn’t, and never had been, a quitter, so as mentally and physically exhausting as the life she’d chosen was, she kept powering through.

It was just a few months after her twenty first birthday that she discovered she was pregnant, and it caught her completely off guard. At first, she was in denial. She was always under the impression that her eating disorder would make it nearly impossible for her to conceive, so in the beginning, she was convinced that there had to be some sort of mistake. But her doctor explained that while it made it harder, it wasn’t impossible, and the news finally sunk in. She was devastated. Kids weren’t ever in her plan, let alone that early, and she knew that there was no way a baby was going to fit in the life she’d created for herself in Manhattan. She was barely able to support herself there on her salary. Plus, she wouldn’t be able to dance through the entire pregnancy. She’d have to take a break, and she had no idea if she’d be able to get back in the swing of things after giving birth.

Mollie seriously considered all her options, and ultimately decided to leave the NYCB and move back to Seattle. Walking away was hard, because for so long, it was all she thought about. It was the only goal she had for herself. It was her dream. But deep down, she knew she wasn’t happy there. Money-wise, she was barely getting by. She was exhausted all the time. And after years and years of dealing with the eating disorder, it didn’t seem to be going away for good. As hard as it was to admit, she knew there had to be something better. So when the baby’s father decided that he didn’t want to be involved (which wasn’t too shocking, given she hadn’t known him all that long), she packed up all her things and headed back to the west coast.

Once she got there, things started turning around. She loved having her friends and family close. She knew that regardless of where she went, she had their love and support, but having it close after being so far away for a few years made things a hell of a lot easier. She got a job as a teacher and choreographer at her old dance studio. She went to therapy on a regular basis. And the pregnancy really helped to change her relationship with food. She wasn’t just eating for her anymore, she was eating for her baby girl, too. Her eating wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely better. Isabella was born at thirty four weeks, which was earlier than they’d hoped for, but after a short stint in the NICU, she was perfectly healthy.

Today, Mollie’s still living in Seattle working at her old studio. Once Isabella started kindergarten, she went to community college and got her undergrad degree, and is now finishing up an online psychology graduate program. She hasn’t had any other kids, and she’s still single. Since having a baby, she’s a lot more particular about who she dates. She doesn’t want to bring anyone around who won’t be around for awhile. She also hasn’t had any relapses since once when Bella was young, so after so many years of struggling, she finally feels like she’s past that part in her life. Of course, those thoughts still creep back into her mind, but she’s able to ignore them.

“Hey, mama?” Bella asked. Mollie snapped out of the daze her train of thought had put her in, and her eyes shifted down to meet her daughter’s.

“Yeah Bells?” She paused. She wasn’t sure if Bells was an acceptable nickname. Bella didn’t say anything, so she figured it might be. But she also called her mama, so, she could’ve just let it slide because she wanted something.

“I wanna stop at McDonalds. And I want ice cream. Can I get ice cream?”

“Yeah. You can get ice cream, babe,” Mollie smiled.

Sixteen year old Mollie never would’ve imagined this is how her life would turn out. And if someone told her what she had in store, she’d be mortified. But as thirty two year old Mollie padded across the studio parking lot with her arm wrapped tightly around Isabella, she knew that she wouldn’t change a single thing about where she’d ended up.

#sghqtask09 #sghqtask #eating disorder tw #this got a lil long #oops #my b

[howtobesinglela-blog]

A Story of a Fangirl and Her Mental Health

I can recall the exact time in my life where I experienced my first bought of clinical depression. I was thirteen years old. I walked out of my house one night and walked down my street completely dazed. My best friend was my neighbor and saw me from her office window and ran out to ask me what was wrong. I couldn’t tell her. I didn’t even know. I had gone from feeling every emotion to absolutely none at all. I didn’t even know what I was doing outside. It was like a switch had been clicked off inside me and I shut down. My grades started slipping because I couldn’t pay attention in class. My guidance counselor regularly found me curled up in a ball under her desk hiding. She never got me in trouble for it. She’d simply pull out her chair, sit down and wait for me to talk. I never saw a doctor or was diagnosed because the circumstances in my life at that time made a sad kid make sense. My grandmother was terminally ill. My mother was in beginning stages of menopause and didn’t even recognize herself. My brother was battling his own demons. My father had not figured out yet how to be a father that did anything other than pay the bills and sit quietly at the end of the table. I was brutally mentally and physically abused daily by my peers at school. Of course I was sad. But this wasn’t sadness. This was nothing. I felt nothing.

The only time I felt anything was when I put on my headphones and pressed play on my Backstreet Boys or NSYNC CD. I didn’t know these boys and they didn’t know me, but loving them made me immensely happy. It gave me a freedom and safety that I couldn’t let go of. I’d spend hours watching their music videos and MTV specials. I’d obsessively set my VCR to record TRL anytime they were on. It made getting through the day easier knowing at the end of it I’d get off the bus and be able to race home and sit on my couch and be taken away.

Boy Bands became my anti-depressant. Sappy and cheesy and catered to appeal to the raging new hormones of early pubescent girls like myself. The dopamine in my brain went wild. It bonded me for life to my best friend of twenty years. We’d pour over magazines and dress like them and pretend to be them in her living room, trading off who got to be Nick or Justin just because they got the most solos. We weren’t hurting anyone, yet anytime I went to school in a BSB t-shirt my day was made exponentially worse by my peers. My simple enjoyment of something was ammo to ridicule me and tear me apart further. It conditioned in me to be ashamed of innocent enjoyment.

When my depression waned when I started high-school, my need to constantly be enveloped in pop music did as well. I still enjoyed it but it didn’t take up my time. I didn’t need it to feel. I was happy. Still, whenever “I Want You Back” came on the radio, my nostalgia would trigger all of those sensors in my brain that would flood me with happiness. Through my mental stability I found gratitude for the music I found solace in.

I hit my second round of depression in college. I regularly slept less than three hours a night. I couldn’t function in social environments so I rarely left my apartment. I’d curl up on my bathroom floor near vomiting with my desperation to breathe. I was rushed to the emergency room at all times of the night because I was convinced I was having a heart attack. Instead of feeling nothing, this time I felt everything all at once and it was crushing me. I was barely capable of getting dressed and to class. Graduating—with honors no less—was a miracle in and of itself. This time, there was no logical reason for my sadness. My family was well. I was a new aunt. I lived in a gorgeous high rise in downtown Chicago with my best friend. I had a hilarious group of friends. I was a talented writer getting daily feedback from authors and peers. Yet I was a complete mess. This time, I was diagnosed with clinical depression and general anxiety and started to see a therapist that changed my life. But in the meantime…there was the Jonas Brothers.

Three brothers with curly hair and tight pants doing backflips on stage that were catered towards a demographic ten years my junior but I didn’t care. If I found myself in my apartment sobbing uncontrollably for no reason and unable to get off the couch, hitting play made that calm in four minutes or less. Now there was YouTube and laughing at their ridiculous antics would numb me for hours. I admittedly watched a video of Joe Jonas trying to open a chocolate bar while wearing a helmet far too many times and laughed every time. Again I bonded with a newly found best friend over them. We got to be childish and silly and we’d sit up well into the night watching videos and scrolling the internet.

My nephew was young at the time and the first time I pressed play on “Burning Up”, his little legs went wild. I had a common ground with him that made him excite with the thought of getting to spend time with me. He’d knock his little fist on my bedroom door when I stayed with my parents and ask for me to play music and we’d dance around in absolute bliss. He didn’t know how to hurt yet and for the time being, neither did I. When I came out the other side of that period in my life, again I found myself letting that go but feeling immensely grateful to those idiotic three brothers (who I still believe are wildly underrated).

My third round found me in LA after packing up my life and moving across the country away from my family for the first time in my twenty-four years of life. I wasn’t having any luck finding a job. I was broke and alone and the feeling of worthlessness defeated me. I rarely got out of my pajamas or opened the blinds. But then came the boy band I will always feel the most grateful for. These five British floppy untrained puppies who gave more to me than I can express.

One Direction.

Two weeks into listening to Up All Night on repeat I was showering daily, working out, job hunting and singing on the top of my lungs. Over the course of those three years battling on and off with my depression and an eating disorder that made me constantly forget to feed myself and dropped my weight to 97lbs, I met some of the funniest most amazing women I could have ever dreamed to meet. I made memories one summer as I went to seven different shows that I could never replace. I danced in parking lots with strangers. I spent four days straight at the Staples Center laughing harder than I’ve ever laughed with my best friend and a new friend I had made through the band while we danced to their music. I shared a hat with Harry Styles and a conversation that made me internet famous for a day. I got to take my nephew to his first concert ever and watch as he burst into tears at the sight of them and shook with happiness. I healed slowly while laughing so hard tears streamed down my face. I became the friend my friends went to to indulge in their “guilty pleasures.” We’d sit in onesies and watch videos and shout at the screen at how adorable these idiots were. On the days when I couldn’t stand to eat or get dressed or go outside, they coaxed that tightness from my chest. I made friends with someone from across the world who I’ve shared road trips and concerts and memories with over the last three years. As silly as others found it, the memories and people they gave me are irreplaceable. They didn’t make me whole, but they eased the pain long enough for me to get there myself.

So when I found myself newly diagnosed with PTSD after witnessing the slow and agonizing death of my beautiful strong father and I found I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I didn’t even feel like a person. I didn’t find it that surprising when YouTube showing me a random video of Shawn Mendes sparked that familiar feeling of nostalgia and safety and happiness that had become a pattern for me. Hit depression, find a cute boy with catchy songs to hold my hand through it.

It is how I cope and I make no apologies for it. If watching videos of boys that remind me of when I was happy and safe helps me in anyway, there’s no shame in that. I’m hurting no one. Yet it never ceases to amaze me how often others feel the need to comment on it. To belittle me and make me feel pathetic for it. To judge how I choose to cope with my mental health and the methods I use to feel even artificial happiness.

I hurt no one liking these things, yet others feel the need to hurt me for liking it. For what reason? Because they’ve decided it’s lame? Because they think they’re too good for it? People have been vile towards me and taken any opportunity they can to shred me for having a simple innocent pleasure. They have no idea what they’re doing is ripping the doors off my safe house. They’re huffing and puffing and blowing my house down for no other reason than entertainment to shame me for happiness. For enjoying something they think I’m too old for. Even when I was the “right” age for it, I was tormented for it.

What is it about pop music and boy bands particularly that makes people so vile towards the fans? What is wrong with girls and women and boys singing pointless love songs and dancing in their bedrooms without worry? Where did you become so jaded as a human being that you have to tear apart others for what makes them feel happy and safe? Do these people think they only like things other people like? That there’s nothing in their lives they take an excessive interest in that others would find pointless but that they thoroughly enjoy?

My brother is obsessed with Star Wars. He wears Star Wars merchandise. Drinks from Star Wars mugs. Reads the books, sees the films over and over. Builds custom light sabers in his garage. He’s nearly six years older than me. I love that. I love that part of him is still that attached to something he’s loved since childhood.

My mother is still every bit the fangirl who happily sits on the couch watching YouTube videos of my latest pop crush and sings every word to their songs and shakes her adorable butt around to their music and asks me to take her to shows. In those moments she’s sixty going on sixteen and we are without shame and happy. Two months after burying my father, I sat on the couch watching her and my niece and nephew dance and sing at the top of their lungs to One Direction. It was the first time I’d seen them smile and sing since he’d passed. It was a moment I treasure. I had never felt more grateful than in that moment when for four minutes, the man they loved more than anything wasn’t gone and they were free to express joy.

I am a fangirl. Always have been, always will be. It is my solace and my escape. It is my safe house. It is not the dirty word others have made it. I am not a groupie who has deluded themselves into thinking they’re going to be with them or who stalks their every move. I listen to their music. I watch their videos. I go to their shows. It is how I cope with my mental health until I am capable of overcoming it. When I have children I will be my mother, dancing with them in the living room and singing every song and holding them up to see every second at their concerts. And I’ll love it just as much as them. When their friends complain that their parents hate their music and tease them for liking it, my kids won’t be able to relate. I get to be the cool mom, just like my mom had been for my friends. I get to be part of those memories that they’ll never forget or replace.

I feel bad for the people who punish and ridicule others for loving something so trivial.

Let your children sing-a-long without shame.

Let your friends indulge in something nostalgic.

Let your mom dance and feel like a teenager again.

You never know if your comments are taking something from them they need greatly just to get out of bed in the morning. Loving boy bands and pop stars doesn’t make me mentally unwell. Loving boy bands and pop stars, if anything, greatly aids my mental health in a positive direction.

I am a fangirl. Happily.

#mental health #depression #anxiety #fangirl #one direction #jonas brothers #shawn mendes #backstreet boys #nsync #harry styles #niall horan #louis tomlinson #zayn malik #liam payne #joe jonas #nick jonas #jobros

[heavyweightheart]

as someone deeply immersed in eating disorder recovery when i was diagnosed i never vibed with the ~awareness~ culture around cancer that talks about like “beating cancer” or “kicking cancer’s butt”  or any other martial language. even slogans like “cancer sucks” (which is certainly true) don’t sit well with me. 

maybe it’s because as a recovering anorexic, all my work required a truce with my body, and compassion for it. i had to reframe all the ways in which i blamed my body for my problems, from the early-recovery phases of blaming it for its size and shape to the later phases of frustration w my brain for its chronic struggles with eating. but finally, for the most part, we had peace.

but then my body got cancer. for some unknown reasons, the cells in my thyroid started dividing too much and too quickly and now it’s put my life at risk. are those cells my enemy? are they not my body? what had i or the world exposed them to that caused them to behave that way? did my body turn on itself? even if by the miracles of modern medicine i kill all those cells, they have changed my body forever. i’ll never have a thyroid again, i’ll always be trying to replace that organ with pills. did cancer beat me if i barely get through this and am never the same but i don’t die (yet)? 

the language of victory and defeat is not helpful here; i need body compassion to survive both my ED and my cancer. cancer does suck, but it’s absurd to blame the cells in question or the body with whom we must live (which is keeping us alive also). what sucks is death and our relationship to it, grief and how it isolates us, the oppression of a merciless for-profit healthcare system, illness and how we make no place for it. there is no winning, even if winning were definable and desirable. there are only relationships

#i'm in my feelings today #cancer #eating disorders

[thereisnoneedtocallmesir]

Tag thing

Tagged by @1runw1thwolves212 LAST…
[1] drink: water
[2] phone call: cailey
[3] text message: text is cailey, tumblr is wiz
[4] song you listened to: pretty little psycho [5] time you cried: last night
HAVE YOU EVER…
[6] dated someone twice: not even once
[7] been cheated on: in games yes, but for relationships, go back to 6
[8] kissed someone and regretted it: no to both parts
[9] lost someone special: I am not sure, also depends on what you mean with lost
[10] been depressed: probably(I never got diagnosed so….(or even asked any questions around such shit because health care people and my parents are only able to blame autism for shit, but if I say that I have problems with something because of autism, man then I get a lot of shit))
[11] gotten drunk and thrown up: have never been drunk so no
LIST 3 FAVOURITE COLOURS…
[12] black(I will fight)
[13] blood red
[14] some kinds of blue
IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU…
[15] made new friends: yes
[16] fallen out of love: not even in so no
[17] laughed until you cried: yes, I am actually pretty sure that that never happened before this year(I count in school years by the way, so summer vacation to summer vacation, and for me it is now summer vacation)
[18] found out someone was talking about you: I don’t know
[19] met someone who changed you: yes, more than one person(I joined tumblr this (school) year)
[20] found out who your true friends are: no idea dude, someone could fucking be in a google hangout with me for weeks or something and I still wouldn’t know if I was their friend
[21] kissed someone on your facebook list: go back to 8
GENERAL…
[22] how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: I don’t know, never really used facebook and lost the password a loooong time ago
[23] do you have any pets: sadly not
[24] do you want to change your name: I don’t know, probably not but I am not sure what might happen in the future(because like it is a thing that my parents named me jessica and call me jessica and such)
[25] what did you do for your last birthday: nothing, I did thankfully have my friend sleep over later but that wasn’t specifically for my birthday
[26] what time did you wake up: around 10(I had around the 5-6 hours of sleep but details)
[27] what were you doing at midnight last night: cursing in my head and overthinking shit because I couldn’t sleep but couldn’t do ANYTHING at all to distract myself either
[28] name something you cannot wait for: moving out of my parents house
[29] when was the last time you saw your mother: a minute ago
[30] what is one thing you wish you could change about your life: where and with who I live(it is one thing now okay)
[31] what are you listening to right now: nothing
[32] have you ever talked to a person named tom: yes
[33] something that is getting on your nerves: MY PARENTS(3 weeks in a caravan with them to go….)
[34] most visited website: okay so I never close the tab with tumblr so in what way? Either tumblr or youtube
[35] elementary school: which one was that again?
[36] high school: I am now in that(well, our version of high school)
[37] college: not yet dude, not yet
[38] hair colour: brown-ish but the bottom part and one strand is now dyed orange-red
[39] long or short hair: long(not long long but like long)
[40] do you have a crush on someone: no
[41] what do you like about yourself?: 
[42] piercings: I have 2 holes in my ears(normal earrings) but you gotta stab me again to use those, there are 2 that I want later though….(septum or whatever it is called and lip….)
[43] blood type: no idea
[44] nickname: no!jess, PLP, grumpy and jess
[45] relationship status: non existing
[46] zodiac sign: cancer
[48] fav tv show: I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! DON’T MAKE ME CHOOSE SUCH SHIT!
[49] tattoos: got none, want some(later of course)
[50] right or left handed: right
[51] surgery: if you leave out me being born, never happened
[52] piercing: I already answered this at 42 okay
[53] best friend: cailey
[54] sport: not killing classmates
[55] vacation: disaster(not even hell, hell would be more fun)
[56] pair of trainers: what does that even mean?
RIGHT NOW…
[57] eating: nothing
[58] drinking: nothing
[59] I’m about to: walk with my parents
[60] listening to: nothing
[61] waiting for: death
[62] want: Sleep, constant good wifi and physical friends, as in friends, right here, right now
[63] get married: I CLAIM THE CAKE
[64] career: I mean I was once paid in food to sit in front of someone’s window and eat popcorn in front of someone’s window on halloween, so pretty good
WHICH IS BETTER…
[65] hugs or kisses: hugs(I am not good with hugs but still)
[66] lips or eyes: Eyes
[67] shorter or taller: For what?
[68] older or younger: if this is for dating, that means todler or grandparent, and neither from those because one is illegal and both are very wrong
[69] romantic or spontaneous: As in for dating or what I am? No idea for dating, for what I am it is probably spontaneous
[70] nice arms or nice stomach: For what and no idea dude
[71] sensitive or loud: Again, no idea for dating, for how I am, probably loud and annoying
[72] hook up or relationship: donuts
[73] troublemaker or hesitant: IS THIS FOR DATING OR NOT? I don’t even know and care anymore…. if it is for how I am, probably parr of the time overthinking everything while being a trouble maker
HAVE YOU EVER…
[74] kissed a stranger?: no
[75] drank hard liquor?: yes
[76] lost glasses/contact lenses?: Mine: no(don’t need them yet), someone else’s: yes
[77] turned someone down: Do you really think that I ever even got in a situation where that would be possible?
[78] sex on first date?: No thank you
[79] broken someone’s heart?: go back and read 77
[80] had your own heart broken?: what heart?(Not romantic that is for sure, other ways I don’t know)
[81] been arrested?: I THINK not but no fucking guarantees 
[82] cried when someone died?: I don’t think so
[83] fallen for a friend: I have a coordination disorder and am clumsy so literally speaking: yes, romantically speaking and such shit, no
DO YOU BELIEVE IN…
[84] yourself? No
[85] miracles? Probably not
[86] love at first sight? Depends on if you mean love love or “some chemicals are released in the brain because the brain goes HAVE BABYS WITH THEM, IT WOULD GO GOOD” , for the first one no, later one yes 
[87] santa claus? No
[88] kiss on the first date? How is that something you believe in? And idk, do what you both want and feels right or something
[89] angels? No
OTHER…
[90] current best friends name: Cailey
[91] eye colour: Brown
[92] favourite movie: I DON’T FUCKING KNOW

I tag(if you want and can): @nik