To My Anorexic Readers

I don't know how many of you are bloggers yourselves. Aside from a few regulars, you seem to be the "lurk in the shadows" type of readers who frequent Zoloft and Coffee, but don't comment. I know this because Blogger.com has this nifty tool you may not know about that allows me to see how many people are viewing my site, what outside site they are being directed from, what country they live in, and, for those of you coming from Google, Bing, or Yahoo, what you typed into the little box to get you sent my way. And that is what I am here to talk about today.

Months ago, way back in December when I was brand new on the blogging scene and freshly out of the mental illness closet, I put up a post titled Top 10 Benefits of Being Anorexic. Of course, it was totally facetious. There is nothing good about anorexic, and the post was meant to be a total joke. I figured if I made fun of the issue before anyone else had a chance to do so, I the upper hand. I also thought, "Who the hell is going to read this anyways?"

Well, it turns out, a lot of people. Since December, I have gained a small following. I'm no Perez Hilton, but I have a blog that actually gets read every time I post. And that list that I thought would be read by a few friends who could laugh along with me is being seen by hundreds of people who search "Benefits of Being Anorexic," "Pros of Anorexia," "Advantages to Anorexia," and similar phrases. Aside from "Zoloft and Coffee," these are the top keywords used to find my blog.

This breaks my heart. I imagine young girls sitting alone in front of a computer desperately looking for something to cling to, some way to take control of their lives when another aspect of it is spinning out of control. I picture a slightly overweight girl in high school searching for a solution to end the bullying. I think of my sisters and younger cousins, at such impressionable ages, typing that into a search box and not making it to my page but instead to one of those awful pro-anorexia community sites.

I used to be one of those girls. I used to be involved in the web-based Pro-Ana community. I would spend hours trying to figure out how to make the hunger pangs disappear. How to hide my illness. How to burn more calories. How to barely survive. I would talk to other girls who were going through the same thing I was, girls who had the extreme desire to be skin and bones, rid of the sin that is fat. We fed off each other's illness. I am not proud to admit that I was an active member on these sites, but the fact of the matter is that when you are in that situation, you want nothing more than to be with someone who understands.

This is to all those girls hoping beyond hope that anorexia is a friend to lean on: I understand. I know what it is like to be that desperate, feel that alone, hate your body that much. I have sought comfort in that empty feeling, trying to make myself pure. I have craved the power and control that comes from denying basic human needs. I understand. I do.

I know there is nothing I can say that will change your mind. I am not a therapist. I am not your friend. I am a stranger over the internet, but so are the people promoting Ana. Even though I know there is nothing I can say, I am going to try anyways.

I am not going to tell you you're beautiful. I used to read that on the internet all the time, and I had the typical, "You don't even know me response." I'm not going to spout cliches like "It gets better" and "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." In my case, shit got way worse before it got any better. (But, ahem, it did get better.)

What I can say with absolute certainty, no matter who you are or what your situation is, is that your body does not deserve that kind of treatment, and your mind does not deserve to be in the jail you are creating. Anorexia is like using extreme methods of torture on yourself that would have anyone else who tried using them on someone else locked up for life. You are depriving yourself of the happiness and health you do deserve.

In an ideal world, you would now make an appointment with your doctor, therapist, find a support group, and head to McDonald's, but I know that is not how this works. It will probably still be a struggle for you to put dressing on your salad. The words I said maybe resonated for a few seconds, but the rumbling in your stomach was louder than me. I understand. I am not asking you to change your life overnight. I am just humbly requesting that you think about what you are doing to yourself for a moment. Write about it in your journal. Meditate on it. Ponder it over next time you go for a run. I don't care; just give it a moment.

And if in that moment you decide that just maybe you want to fight back, do something with it. X out of your diet pages, and go to RecoverYourLife.com. Put away your daily calorie journal, and open up to a friend. Hell, you can even message me. I am a good listener.

Victory is Mine!

Ladies, never underestimate the power of a nice blazer and classic pumps. Seriously. This week, I went to my doctor's appointment not looking like I got run over by a freaking dump trunk. Instead, I was in the one business outfit I own (purchased no less than 2 weeks ago) in preparation for an interview I had after the appointment, and let me tell you, this was the best trip to the doctor's I've had yet.

You ready for this? My doctor actually listened to me! She took what I said into consideration, trusted my judgment, and came to reasonable solution that I was ok with. Here's how this all went down:

Doctor: Wow, Mary. Do you work today or something? You look very nice.
Me: Oh, it's just this interview thing later.
*Nod of approval on her part. Nervous twitching on mine*
Doctor: So, tell me how things have been going.
Me: It's speech time. Just like I practiced in the car. Well, I have been thinking, I mean... Ok, so here's the thing. I have been doing not bad. I mean, I have been, like, good and stuff. And I'm sick, and I mean really sick, of the side effects or whatever of my pills. Low libido. Loss of creativity. Sleepy, like, all the time. Ya know? It's.... hard and shit. I think maybe I want to... stop. Stop taking the pills. Maybe. Good lord, Mary. That was nothing like the car. What is it about these doctors that make me feel so small?
Doctor: *silence*
Me: I mean, I have been preparing with, um, lifestyle changes. Meditating. Journaling. Exercising. Ya know, mind-body stuff that is supposed to help with the bipolar. So maybe... I don't know. I don't like my pills.
Doctor: Normally we like to see the patient well for 6 solid months before weaning down, but you know yourself better than I do.... *blah blah blah, medical jargon, risks, but we can try, blah blah*

And then, victory was mine!!! She gave me a thread of hope, I bucked up like a champ, and my pills got lowered by a quarter. Instead of a full pill at lunch, I get to cut that fucker in half. Boo-yah!!!

This may seem like a small win, but this was 3 days ago, and I can already notice a difference. Boyfriend even noticed a change for the better. Part of the old Mary is back. I felt my creative energy rise up when I was at an art fair. I didn't feel like I was talking through a fog when socializing at a party. The look of an old, tattered barn inspires a yearning to explore again.

But I wasn't just feeding the doctor bullshit. No, I really have been making some serious lifestyle changes in preparation for this request. I am doing three tangible activities. First, I am writing in my journal every day. Even when I don't think I have anything important to write. I am not going to let those damn thoughts pile up in my head until I explode. Nope, they are getting released on the daily.

Second, I have renewed my commitment to meditation. I sit on my pillow for at least 10 minutes per day to repeat a positive mantra, reflect on my inner being, and be at peace with the world. Sure, the word "fuck" may get peppered into my mantras every now and then, but that's just a sign that it's still me. I am not a hippy. I am no Buddha. I am just a girl who is trying to make her mind stronger than her monsters.

Finally, exercise. I am getting off my ass for a minimum of 30 minutes a day to shake off the excess energy. To boost my self-confidence. To shed those hated pounds I put on thanks to those forsaken pills. This one is certainly the hardest, and I have to admit, I'm doing damn good. I have made it to the gym 4 days in a row and worked up a sweat. Not my usual walking on the treadmill while watching Boy Meets World. No, I actually run and lift weights and hardcore shit like that.

Before I end this "Woo hoo, I'm getting off my pills!" post, I need to say something. I need to let it be known that these pills I hate so much, these pills that have killed my creativity, dulled my personality, and made me fat, are honestly the best things that have ever happened to me. Without them, I almost certainly would have killed myself. Even though I have blamed them for taking away parts of life that made it worth living, they are the one thing that gave me a second chance. And for that, I am eternally grateful. I will probably keep a bottle in the back of the medicine cabinet, a safety net in case shit hits the fan again, but for now, I am ready to part ways.

A final fond farewell to Risperdal will hopefully be coming in the next couple of months. Soon to be followed by the Prozac. Off to join my Zoloft and Lithium and Lamictal and Seroquel to the land of discarded meds. Wish me luck.