Ana says my best friend is dying.

Ya know, there are times I think I am doing so well. Look at me! I haven't counted calories since June 30th. I ate a ponza rotta over the weekend (pizza, folded over and deep fried) without becoming hysterical. And I haven't cried about missing the last 16 workouts I scheduled in my head. Woop woop, success!

But then, my scale. My damn Achilles heel. That 14 inch piece of plastic and springs that I love in a really fucked up way.

She's dying.

At first, I thought it was just a battery dilemma. I thought I could resuscitate her by popping in two fresh AA batteries. When it didn't work, my denial told me that the batteries weren't qualified to power such a personified machine. But even the freshest Energizers couldn't completely revive the one I affectionately call "Scaley."

Sure, I can get a reading, if I want to step on and off of her 4-5 times, waiting approximately 25 seconds between each attempt. But this has significantly hindered my ability to know my weight at all times. I can't hop on when I am half asleep, having woken up because I love drinking all the tea at night. I don't have the time to check my weight real quick before I run out the door to work, for the third time that morning, or when I'm home on my lunch break, trying to take care of the puppy and household cleaning duties.

I can't weigh myself - shower - weigh myself- get dressed - weigh myself - do my hair - eat breakfast - weigh myself. Now, if I want to know my weight, I need to dedicate a solid 2 1/2 minutes to accommodate my dear friend's ailing health.

Thankfully, even I realize that spending 25 minutes per day standing on a scale is a little ridiculous, so I have reduced my weigh-ins from about 10 per day to maybe 3. I know, so normal, right?

The turmoil extends beyond not just being able to know my weight to the tenth of a pound all day, every day. A part of me seriously fears that maybe I'm not getting the accurate numbers anymore. I have depended on this scale for over 6 years. And because it's me, that is probably over 20,000 registered weights. I am not ready to part with the consistency of using the same scale. I am not ready to give up what has validated my success and condemned my failures.

I don't think I could ever love or trust a new scale, but I don't think I could ever live without one.

This puts me at a crossroads, one that I feel like many people could relate to. It's not going to be a scale for everyone. But maybe it's an abusive partner. Or a bottle of Jack. Do they take that brave step away, into a scary life of self-reflection and freedom? Or do they turn around only to find themselves looking for the next jackass or next bender - different, but somehow exactly the same - because it's the only way they know?

What am I if I don't have the tangible proof of my gravitational pull on earth?
How will I be judged if not by that number?
Am I ready to find out?

I may be anti Anti Ana...

Well, some things never change. After spending weeks thinking about how I could breathe new life into my blog, I kill it. I change the name, making it impossible for old followers to find me, and then stop posting altogether. Good job, Mary. Way to reach the people!

And now, here I am, 2 months later, wondering if the reason I haven't been inspired to write was because the idea of counteracting individual pro-ana myths didn't spur enough passion in me. Yes, I want to be on the front lines, in the trenches of this war against eating disorders. Yes, I feel compelled to share my story and experience. Yes, I know my purpose in life is to provide hope and eliminate loneliness for those suffering. 

But how?

Maybe the answer isn't going to come from bright lights and interrogation of pro-ana sites. I could dissect the horrible, ridiculous, sickening lies that bounce around that shadowy corner of the internet by relaying all the honest realities that I learned from my team of medical professionals. But does anyone really care? I mean, seriously. There are cazillions of articles on the internet meant to educate readers about the proper way to calculate macronutrients. The benefits of healthy fats. Moderation. Sweet jesus, the moderation.

This leaves me in a pickle. I don't know what to write about partly because I have lost most of my readers. So whatever I do next either has to be entirely therapeutic for me, knowing that the best I will get is a few people who will accidentally click on my link thinking that it is something super cool about the volcano in Ecuador, Antisana.

Or I need to put in shit tons (yes, "shit tons" is an actual measurement) of effort reviving Zoloft and Coffee The Anti Ana.

You will not get an answer in this post. Yes, I'm talking to you, you adventurous volcano climber, you. This is going to take some thought. I am going to have to analyze how I want to spend those 13 minutes of freedom I get per week. How to maximize them for my enjoyment and, potentially, other people's advocacy.

But in the chaos that is my life and the quarter century crisis that is going on far too long, if you ask me, soul searching galore is happening in my head on an hourly basis. Somehow, I always end up back here.

Stay tuned, folks.

Welcome to The Anti Ana

Welcome to the Anti Ana!

For a while now, I have been thinking about how my blog needed new life. I think I stopped posting on a regular basis because, well, my life got boring and normal, which is great. But no one wants to read stories about how I got my fiance a sweater at Kohl's for 83% off. (That's what qualifies as exciting for me, and I wouldn't have it any other way.)

But my current happiness and stability does not mean that I can't be an advocate. I still have all that experience behind me that I can use to maybe support someone else who is struggling today. After pondering what I could do via this blog, the idea of the Anti Ana was born.

Have you heard of pro-ana websites? They are horrible sites disguised as helpful and supportive communities of (mostly teenage and 20-something) girls trying to lose weight. In reality, they share awful tips on how to hide and fuel your eating disorder. Instead of encouraging each other to get help, they provide tips on how to purge, trick doctors, and alienate questioning friends.

I have told you all before how I used to be an active member on a few of these sites. Not proud to admit that. But now that I am in good health mentally and physically, I can see the damage it causes, and I want to help. My goal isn't to get these sites shut down or arrest the creators. I want to give these girls a safe place to go to for healthy alternatives to the harmful tips that they are receiving from their "friends" on the pro-ana sites. This is the Anti Ana.

Each blog post will feature one tip that floats around on those sites. Instead of berating anyone for trying it (lord knows I probably did), I will provide a healthy and effective alternative. No, I'm not an expert. But I have tried my fair share of dangerous weight loss techniques and have spent countless hours with professionals teaching me the safe way to sustain myself. I want to pass that on.

Sorry to all of you who enjoyed my late-night, psychotic rambling rants. Good times, huh? I won't be deleting them, so you can still reminisce by browsing through past posts. Have fun!

I hope that this new (and improved?) version of my blog finds its way to girls in need.

"How to Become Anorexic"

 Morbid curiosity gets the best of me sometimes. I like to delve deeper into topics that make me feel uncomfortable, as illustrated by many a blog post that I have written.

Well, remember this blog post? I decided to explore things a little further. If my humble little blog is getting thousands of hits from people who I assume are suffering, looking for the bright side of their dark situation, whatever it may be, via the soft glow of a non-judgmental computer, what is all of Google getting?

Ask, and you shall receive, no matter how dismal, dark, and depraved, when it comes to the world wide web. I took to Google Trends to plug in a couple keywords. After researching the Google stats on some highly important terms, such as my full name and a few phrases that would probably get my AdSense account revoked, I got down to business.

"Anorexia" is a highly searched word. As are phrases, such as "symptoms of anorexia." No surprise there. But the volume at which they are searched meant nothing to me unless I had something compare it to. And these were my awful findings:

"How to become anorexic" skyrockets over "How to recover from anorexia." How ridiculously heartbreaking is that?! The searches for recovery are barely a blip on the radar. 

To make it even worse, there is a lower section, that I did not take a screenshot of, that lists other relevant searches. Under "how to become anorexic," there were a dozen other top searches, such as "become anorexic fast," "how to not eat," and "anorexia tips."

Under "how to recover from anorexia," it gravely said: Not enough search volume to show results.

People aren't even googling the topic of recovery enough to put it on Google's map. Granted, this was not the most scientific study that has even been performed, but it spoke pretty loud and clear to me that more people want to become anorexic than recover from it.

Why? 

Why is society still glorifying the deadliest psychiatric disorder? 

How many people heading to the internet for tips on how to feed their anorexia never lived to ask for help? 

What needs to change before people will stop treating asking for help as weakness or shameful?

These are not rhetorical questions. 

I'm on a Drug Called Life!

I thought about going back to count just how many of my blog posts were mostly me bitching and moaning about my drugs. I think rounding to an even 50 out of my 63 is sufficient to make my point, yes?

So, umm, sorry about that. Even I was rolling my eyes when I looked them over.

Thankfully, all that is over! And it has been for about 6 months. In a pretty risky move back in October or November, I weaned myself off those nasty pills. All of them, save for the Loraz and the Ambien. Rather speedily, I should add. Whoops.

This was back when I had been stable for 9 months or so. This was back when I had started my grown-up career. I couldn't afford, financially or emotionally, to not function appropriately. Those pills, those damn pills, either had me slugging along, having to coax each foot every time I took a step. Thanks, Risperdol. Or, per my doc`s remedy, I was tripping over my words, unable to make my tongue keep up with my mind. Not so great when the majority of my job included talking to people and giving presentations.

That was my Adderall experience, which will be elaborated on later. Seriously, why do people like that crap?

Anywho, I am, for the most part, drug free. And yes, it is everything I was hoping for and more. I get happy, sad, angry. My creative energy makes an appearance every now and again. And, the best part, I know that I am in control, not being controlled.

Happy Tuesday

You'd think after not writing since December, I would be overflowing with topics to write about. Seasons have passed. Loved ones have passed. Valleys of sorrow and mountains of joy, I have passed. (Wow, how freaking cliche.)

Despite all that, my thoughts at the moment, at 5:30 on a Tuesday morning, are filled with my family and coffee. But last night, with pen in hand and journal on my lap as I wrote down some ambien-fueled dreams before falling asleep, the feeling that I could maybe make a difference in the world slowly rose up in my belly. I think my peach tea drowned it slightly by the end of my writing session, but 8 hours later, there is still a bubble of hope.

No, I can't change the world. And I don't even think I want to. What I do want, and maybe think I can do, is lend my voice to those whose have been silenced by stigma and fear. Those who blame themselves. Those who can't put into words the monsters' attacks. Maybe it will give life to a movement of thousands of dead spirits who have been resurrected. Maybe I will get a single one-word email saying, "Thanks."

Hopefully tonight, when I'm back in bed writing the words I don't let the world read, I will be struck with the inspiration and motivation to take those words public, and let them know, they're not alone.

Whelp, I can try again in 10 days

We are 9 days away from all those fabulous New Year's Eve bashes, and 10 days away from 2014. Which means that it is about time for me to start thinking of my New Year's Resolution. Usually, it goes something like this:

This year, I am going to lose 10, no 25! pounds by exercising every single day and eating nothing but the absolute healthiest foods. I'm also going to take up meditation, to center my mind, which I will do every morning and every evening. I am going to volunteer my time and talents to an organization I care about once a week. And I'm going to write a book. And keep my house clean. And meticulously organized. And save money. And see friends more. And pick up an instrument. And. And. And.

I joke about people who drop their New Year's resolutions in March. Hell, I don't even make it to noon on January 1st with the extraordinary goals I set for myself. You'd think I would learn. But nope, I'm on the path to making the same mistake again this year. When will I learn that I'm not superwoman? Maybe that should be my resolution for 2014. This year, I vow to be a little lazy and to not put too much pressure on myself to be so perfectly flawless in every conceivable way.

As tempting as that is, my warped brain won't allow me to settle on it. I went another route. I took to Google, and did a bit of research as to what "normal" people plan for their year. Here's what I found:

• Only 45% of Americans actually make a New Year's resolution.
• Only 8% of people who do make one actually achieve their goal.
• But nearly half of the successes are achieved by people in their 20's.
• The most common resolution is to lose weight. (Shocker!)

I am choosing to focus on that third point. Statistically, I have the best chance of making a resolution and following through on it, if it is actually in the realm of possibility. There is a good chance that I may not fall into the 25% that drop their goals in the first two weeks. So, I did a little more research to find out what the most common resolutions are for my age group. I was pleased to find out that I could actually check quite a few off. I have found love. I am more than satisfied in my career and financially stable. I quit smoking years ago. Where do I shift my priorities now?

After a long 45 second debate in my head, I quickly realized that I cannot narrow my goals for the new year down to one idea. But I can contain it to three.

1. Alright, I'm not that original. In 2014, I want to get in shape. I want to drop the weight I put on with these bleepity bleep pills, and I want to tone up so that I don't threaten to stab the mirror when I try on shorts come June.
2. I want to spend the year focusing on my writing. I need to flesh this out a little bit more. Maybe commit to narrowing the focus of my blog and actually contributing to it once a week. Or maybe I want to seriously invest some time on that novel I've been working on. (And by working on, I mean mentioning about once every 2 months. Yeah, progress.)
3. I need one goal that isn't all about me and my dreams. But I need to realize that I might not be able to take on the world. So my third New Year's Resolution is to help Boyfriend achieve his goals in whatever way I can. Whether that means playing an active role in his ambitions or being a cheerleader as he does the brunt work, I can't say yet. But after all the encouragement he has given me these past 2 years to build me up to what I am today, damn, does he deserve it.

I have 10 more days to draft schedules and implement strategies and Google patterns of successful people before this yellow light turns green on 2014. Until then, I have some solid time to do all the bad things I promise not to do in 2014. How many trips to Kopp's do you think I can fit in?