I am happy

Just like that.

A little vent

Hey there,

I'm sorry. I gotta vent a bit. Just to get it off my chest.

So. I've moved back in with my father. That is slowly sinking in. And it sucks. Memories come back. Of me growing up. When I am in "my" living room (I actually got two rooms, so at least I have lots of space), I look at the corner and see my bed. And I see myself. Crying myself to sleep. I hear my thoughts of back then. "Just 6/5/4/3/2/1 more year/s and you'll be free. It's just eighteen years. Then you have a whole life in front of you. You can do this. You just have to live through x more years." 

I feel like the spoiled little daughter. I mean, after all, I don't have it so bad. I have a roof over my head. I am financially rather well-suited. I now live in a big house with a big lawn and a big TV. There are people out there who are going through a lot tougher shit. But still.

A talk with F brought up some of the memories I had carefully sealed in the back of my mind. I don't like walking down memory lane. I don't like how I actually took some reassurance in the fact that there are railroad tracks just some 300 feet from our house. That the possibility of ending my life was there, and that it calmed me down. I feel like the development that I fought my way through over the past couple of years is gone. Because I cannot be myself anymore. I have to fit in again. I have to pretend again.

In the past five years, and even more so in the past year, I've started to grow into the woman that I am. Going to munches and play parties has actually allowed me to embrace who I am. Yeah. I admit it - I am into protocol. I actually love kneeling in front of a Dom because it feels like it's the place I am ... complete. Content with myself and the world. I belong there. It makes me happy. I believe in the idea of collaring. A collar really means something to me, it's not an accessory. Now I have to hide my toys and parts of my wardrobe. I have to be careful what I talk about. What jokes I make. Have to watch my every sentence - and yeah, that actually is quite some effort. I grew used to having my own apartment where I could have the flyer to the next fetish party attached to my fridge, my toy box next to my bed, my corsets prominent in my closet. I came home - and I was home. Now I feel like a child again, like a visitor. Like someone with no say.

There was something next Sunday that I've been looking forward to for more than a month. And the closer my move got, the more important it got. My friends and I wanted to go to the BDSM studio nearby - it's a fucking great studio - and C wanted to come, too. I've really been looking forward to this. Not only for him to mingle with my friends, but also because it's a huge studio and I was sure that he'd lose his shyness and reluctancy and we'd actually play. 

But the reason why I love attending munches and play parties is not because of "just some fun" but because I can really be myself there. You don't have to pretend. As a vanilla, you can go to the movies or a restaurant or something - and you can show what kind of relationship you have. Being kinky, it's not so easy. At play parties, you actually don't have to pretend at all. You're welcome to kneel in front of someone. It's okay to wear a collar. Everyone understands.

So I was really looking forward to next Sunday. Because it was a place and time where I finally could be myself again. And now that's gone because C has to work. He forgot about it. Just forgot.

I try to take the drama out of it. I don't like drama. But I was supposed to go to his place tomorrow after work. And I just don't feel like seeing him. It hurts that he forgot. And it hurts that I lost that opportunity to be myself.

That's it. Just a short vent. Had to get that out of my system.

xoxo

Kiwi

I am absolutely in love with that song and listen to it on repeat and have it stuck in my head and it's just a lovely song that I love love love love love

Don’t do as I have done

Win where I have lost

Have where I have none

Don’t let your demons drive

They’ll just steer you wrong

You won’t get out alive

Because you can’t unlive the pain

You can’t rewind to yesterday

You might never find your place

In the time that remains

So if tomorrow never comes

From living fast and dying young

I hope the best is yet to come

In the time that remains for you

Don’t get me wrong

The mistakes I’ve made along the way

Made me who I am today

The time is gonna come

You will wake up and realize

Just how fast your life goes by

Because you can’t unlive the pain

You can’t rewind to yesterday

You might never find your place

In the time that remains

So if tomorrow never comes

From living fast and dying young

I hope the best is yet to come

In the time that remains for you

Because you can’t unlive the pain

You can’t rewind to yesterday

You might never find your place

In the time that remains

So if tomorrow never comes

From living fast and dying young

I hope the best is yet to come

In the time that remains for you

The time that remains for you

For you

The time that remains

The time that remains

Yet another insight. Or: Why I need to go hiking in Scotland

Hello there,

I've had another epiphany - I'm on a roll, am I not? (Slightly sarcastic here. And slightly not.)
It's been a long time that I've actually sat in front of my computer and typed this. I mostly blog via email these days because the need to write something down usually doesn't come over me when it suits me well. It either happens when I'm typing on my phone, or when I'm at work. The whole blogspot-interface looks unfamiliar by now.

So. Two things happened. And they came about in conversations with the two people that have the most insight into, well, me. M and F.
When M talked to me and told me that she didn't think that any sane and healthy person could fall for an eating disorder and that she could very well understand why I acted the way I did. Not only was that a huge relief - but it also got me thinking about how I've been around food and myself as a kid.
There's this book. Which is intended to help people overcome their eating disorder. But honestly, it's a huge motivation/thinspo/role model of how to really fuck up. "Wasted" by Marya Hornbacher (see an article here - an article that actually motivates me to get an updated edition, though the thought of re-reading it terrifies me because I know of the book's possibly triggering influence). Anyways. So there's this book. And it begins with a flashback. Marya at a very young age. I remember envying her. Having felt like that this early, and I only began developing my ED at 15-ish, 16. She was like the ideal - the role model, the idol - all that I wanted to be. (Yeah, we're going deep down into fucked-up-wonderland here.) And she had started so early! It was like her path had been laid out in front of her all along. And I struggled so hard to be fucked up. I could never be as sick as her. It was unfair, really, that I hadn't been ED'ed at a young age. - I really remember thinking and regretting that. M's words made me have a look at my childhood again. And there's some truth in her words.
But it needed another conversation with F to open my eyes. We weren't talking about anything of much substance. Like, only chatting - not touching issues on purpose. We were talking about a hiking tour that I wanted to do in September. Scotland. Now, I'm not much of an outdoor person. Like, I have my dog and I walk him and I enjoy walking him in the forest for two hours or so, but that's about it. I don't like camping much, I have no orientational skills whatsoever. I'm not too fond of nature, growing up in the city. Like, I don't panic when I see a spider, but I guess you get the idea. I'm also not really in shape. I'm also not extremely adventurous. Like I have to do this or that. All these new trending activities that apparently you have to do when you're in your twenties. Like surfing. Or hitch hiking. Or traveling with no plan where to go. I'm a boring person, to be honest. Or, let's phrase it somewhat positively: calm, reasonable, down to earth, content with my every day life.

But for a couple of months now I'm having this idea of hiking through the Scottish Highlands for a couple of days. On my own. Well, with my dog.
London has been some kind of trial for that. Of course, going to a city is quite different from the Scottish highlands, but still. I was there somewhat on my own. Well. With WhatsApp and my friends and a stuffed cow to take pictures with.
Anyways. We were talking about him teaching me how to read a map and use a compass, because I have no clue at all how that works. And we were joking. About how he really needs to teach me those skills or I might never come back. Now, I know that I'm not a quick learner when it comes to these skills. And I was jokingly asking him how big his wish was to hike through the Scottish Highlands (to guide me). And when he said that if we really got along as well in real life as we do online, then I could ask him again and maybe he'd say yes to accompanying me. That's when it really struck me that I needed to at least walk part of the way completely on my own. To really find my own way. To learn to listen to my body. Rest when I need rest, eat when I'm hungry, turn left when I feel like turning left. Camp on my own. Really be self-sufficient. Just me and nature.
I always knew that Scotland was a challenge that I needed to master. That it was something I have to do. But only by casually dropping the comment that I need this trip to learn to trust and rely upon my own body because I have never ever done so, I realized why I needed it so much.

Turns out I've been fucked up all my life. Oddly enough, this is some kind of relief. It lifts some of the guilt of enforcing my ED off my shoulders. I've always been estranged from my body. Always. Stories my parents used to tell me come to mind now.
I don't recall much of my childhood. I'm always impressed when people are able to tell you what they did with 6 years, or even last week. I have a bad memory when it comes to these things. Not that I don't pay attention, or that things are not important to me - I just tend to mix them up. Anyways. My parents like to tell me how when I was a toddler I would be really, really careful when getting into the sandbox. Other kids would run into it, sometimes falling face first into the sand. But I would walk to the edge of the sandbox, then turn around and, gripping the edge, first step into the box with one foot, then the next. And if I fell, I'd fall on my butt. - Sounds cute, doesn't it? Like a really, really careful child who doesn't want to get dirty. Who looks out for herself.
I think the reason for me acting that way is a different one. I think that I didn't trust my body. I think that I took the most "elegant" and careful way so as to not humiliate myself and because I didn't trust that I'd not fall on my face. That explanation just feels ... right. I'm not saying that I can recall climbing into that sandbox, hell, no. But I can see myself. And I just feel like that's the reason.
I also remember not climbing fences. Because I was afraid I wouldn't make it. I didn't trust my body enough to pull me up. I remember physical education. How I wouldn't do any of the more risky exercises. Like it took me weeks to dare to try the forward roll, and some more till I had enough courage to try the backward roll. Because I didn't trust my body that I could do it. As a teen, I took trampoline classes before I started playing Basketball. And I always sticked to the easy exercises because I didn't dare try a flip or something alike.
It all falls into place right now. All these memories. These little bits and pieces that I've never connected.
I don't think I ever thought of my body and mind as a unit. As belonging together. That my body is a part of me. And that I can rely upon it. That it'll carry me. That I can actually achieve something. On my own. It's sad, really.
But I've always been fucked up.

The bottom line is: I won't go hiking this September. I'll go next year, in May or something. I'll go hiking in Germany, and I'll try to get into shape to manage the Highlands. And while I don't fucking want to be alone for eight days or something, I also need to be alone for some days. Maybe a friend will accompany me for half of the way. I thought of combining two hiking tours. It's all just an idea so far. But one that needs to become reality. Soon.
I feel that I am getting closer to getting better. Somehow. Seeing these connections helps me understand and reflect and get better in the end. But if I ever want to become one, I need to learn to trust my body.

xoxo
Kiwi

Another brief remark

As much as I dread that I have to move back in with my father, as much as I'm afraid that it'll risk my mental health, that I'll transform back into the 16 year old girl who couldn't stand up for herself. As much as these fears haunt me - I'm also kind of glad. It may allow me to focus on establishing eating habits and routines again.
I developed me ED under that roof and I know that I can perfectly hide it. But it can't get as out of control as it does when you're the only one checking the fridge. And I also kind of feel that the identity thing set something in motion.

M said something ever so helpful. I was so afraid that other ED'ed people might judge me for actively jumping into this mess. But she said: "Healthy people see pro Ana and judge it for the bullshit that it is. But if there is already something wrong with you, if you already have a glitch in your brain, it seems appealing to you."
(Sorry, M, for raping your words like this. But they meant a lot to me!)

Moving my first things to my Dad's tomorrow.

xoxo
Kiwi

Just to clarify

I love the previously posted "manual" on how to love a broken girl. Every single line is true. Every goddamn line.
Everyone except one. I refuse to accept the term "broken". Yeah, I'm damaged goods. There's parts of me that might never heal and that might be mended but not completely. Linkin Park has a wonderful phrase for that: when the paper's crumpled up, it can't be perfect again.
But broken? I refuse to identify with that.
I felt it was somehow important I said that.

xoxo
Kiwi

How to love a broken girl

Hey there,

I just stumbled across this on FetLife. Someone there copied it from tumblr, so I have no idea where it comes from. But every single word is so true that I just have to post it here, too. 

How To Love A Broken Girl

How to love a broken girl. How many would benefit from an instruction book for that? Its easy to love the carefree girls, the "normal" girls, the confident girls next door, but what about the broken girls? The girls with fortresses around their heart and shields in their eyes? The girls whose souls have aged beyond their earthly years? The girls with bodies and minds that have survived wars which would break the strongest of men? Sometimes these girls should come with a warning label. The warning pendulum swings both ways. This warning is not only for how you must treat her but for all the ways she will ruin you.

1. You cannot love her gently. She does not realize she deserves to be loved. You must love her with a force that can crush mountains. You must burn her soul so hot with your love that doubt melts away. Your love must be unconditional and you must show her on her very worst days.

2. She doesnt know shes beautiful. She can get compliments all day and she wont believe it. There is a demon on her shoulder whispering that its not true. It takes a dozen compliments to erase one hurtful torment from her past. Shower her with compliments, be her cheerleader, until your words are her heartbeat instead of her doubts.

3. Chase her. I know we often have the attitude of not chasing anyone. I know it is said to be weak if we chase someone who walks away, but we need to see you are weak for us. Sometimes a broken girl needs to see how much you need her. She needs to.see that vulnerability in your eyes to feel ok. We need you to need us.

4. She needs routine. Broken girls over analyze everything. They notice everything, too. Did you stop asking her for pictures after some time passes? Did you stop using a pet name? Every broken pattern to us means the end of the only thing we have ever wanted and it terrifies us.

5. Smother us with affection. Touch us. Kiss us. Touch us some more. Broken girls have not experienced enough positive affection in their life. We will absorb every ounce as a person dying of thirst demands water. You cannot shower us with enough of a good touch.

6. Be honest and keep promises. Broken girls have not dared to dream much. Every vow made to us has been broken. Every promise has been a lie. We would rather you never let a promise escape your lips than have you utter false ones.

7. Prepare to drown. If we let you inside our chaotic soul, you will be immersed in a madness you will not understand. We sometimes walk the balance beam of insanity and sometimes we fall.

The biggest warning we should have is this.. if we love you, it is forever. We will love you with a loyalty that will amaze you. We will be committed and our heart will beat your name. While we are still broken we will try to devour all of your pain. We will be perceptive to your wounds and eager to heal your soul. If we love you, please be prepared that we will forever stay.

The identity shell

Hello world,

Long time no see. And this post was actually not planned. I'm currently in London. Right now I am on my way to crystal palace. And it's really inconvenient - I don't want to deal with the kind of thoughts that I'm dealing with, yet once set in motion my "reflective brain" won't shut up. So I kind of have to face it. 

And it's all F's fault. Fault in a good way ^^

Some words to F because I haven't mentioned him yet. Part of me wants to refer to him as FF - I wonder if he gets the joke. Because I'm sure he is going to read these lines just as I know that M will read these lines. (M, I love you :-*) That is a really weird feeling, to know that this is going to be read by people, but at the same time it's really just for my sanity that I write this down. The fact that I am just walking and typing on my cell phone at the same time instead of taking in my surroundings and appreciating London kind of shows just how important this is to me. I really wish I could just press pause and not think about this until tomorrow when I'll be on the train for four to five hours - but sadly that's just not how it works. 

Uhm. But I was about to say something about F. I met him in a BDSM channel. Imagine me walking for a while without typing because I just don't know what to say. We've been chatting a lot throughout the last couple of days. He likes to remind me that we exchange up to 450 messages per day. So I'd say it's rather intense. Apparently he's read my complete blog or the majority of it. And he's rather sensitive and insightful and really helping. I like to mock him that he just has to help people - but I mean that in the most positive way. He's the kind of person who - up to a point of annoyance ^^ - asks those kind of questions that make you think and reflect and grow. Which is a pain in the ass. But also healthy and good and important and I'm really thankful for having met him. So that's the friend part. I'd lie if I'd say there wasn't a D/s part and that I wasn't interested or curious about playing at some point. Though I'm also already freaking out at the thought of meeting someone that I've exchanged so private thoughts with. That makes me really uncomfortable. While at the same time I want to meet him. It's ... weird. Awkward. Complicated. Whatever. 

Not the point of this post.  

So last night he was telling me about a friend of his with whom he had had a fallout. She's suffering under depression and some other mental health issues and she's been venting and whining and everything when chatting with him. Something that he's totally okay with for an amount of time. And I do believe that he's really the kind of person that you can call in the middle of the night when you're freaking out and just need someone at the other end of the line to listen to your thoughts or to tell you jokes or whatever it is that you need. After all, on some smaller level he's been that person for me already. Sometimes knowingly so, sometimes probably not. Not that I would've called him - I haven't yet. But - and this feels really weird - even though we know each other for a short time, he is one of those people who I consider messaging when I need company. Though mostly I still go with others because ... I'm uncomfortable accepting help or needing someone or burdening someone with me, basically. I'm much more comfortable turning to C - though I mostly then can 'just' distract myself from those thoughts instead of really coming closer to saving the issue. But I'm intimate with C. Sexually. Which makes it so much easier for me to accept his help or 'demand' some of his time. 

But I'm zoning out. 

So he told me about how frustrated he was with his friend because she was making unhealthy choices and even though he made several suggestions of what she could change to improve her situation, she wouldn't do any of it. And she was having suicidal thoughts. And I could hear his frustration and pain of watching someone close to him suffer and destroy her own life and he tried to help - but it was all in vain. 

At the same time I could see why she acted the way she did, though. I understood. I understand both him and her. And I tried to shred some light on her behavior for him. Not that I thought he really needed it - he's good at empathy and looking at situations from the other person's perspective. But still, I tried to explain because I'm similarly fucked up as his friend. Maybe I'm more 'lucky' to be rather reflective and to try to work through my issues or at least ... Well. I always at least try to understand why I am thinking or feeling the way that I am. Narrow it down. If I then want to or actually am able to solve it - that's not the point. But I like to know why I am as fucked up as I am and what made me be that way. And sometimes even what I can do to change it. 

Drifting again. 

So I told him about how she might - consciously or unconsciously - refuse to take his advice because she doesn't think she deserves to get better. I can relate to that thought. So very fucking much. We then drifted from her to me. 

And I made some discoveries. So far I only thought - or rather had the strength to admit - that I didn't want to see a shrink because of a) the reluctance to talk about my most inner thoughts with a professional, a stranger, and b) because deep down I didn't think I deserved happiness. That I didn't think I deserved to be well. And good. And not fucked up anymore. 

But there's actually a c. And it's a big C because it's most likely the real reason why I can't or won't change. And F made me see that. And he set the thoughts in motion so that I couldn't run away from that insight anymore. C) is, well, all about identity.  If you look back at the introduction in this blog, it says "hello, I'm a student, Wordie, etc etc etc - and I'm eating disordered". That issue is a big part of me. It's part of who I am. Part of my identity. For seven years. If I changed that - who am I then? What becomes of me? My eating disorder affects my daily life. So many things. It's a routine almost. It's ... Let's try and compare it to a dog. I'm a dog owner. It's part of who I am. And that dog is reason for a lot of missing out and a lot of work and a lot of misery, but that dog is also responsible for some good things. For having made friends - to mention Sam and Nasimyu here, or connecting with two of my dearest friends at the munches -, for some pride and a lot of positive things that are really hard for me to explain. I have some kind of love-hate relationship with this dog. And every morning I get up and walk him and feed him and cuddle him and spend time with him. Every day. For seven years. If that dog now died - even if it was a long process of going to the vet and having the opportunity of saying goodbye, or even if I decided to give that dog to another family to make this metaphor somewhat less cruel, even if I knew that the dog would be better off and that I would be better off without that dog, I would still get up in the morning and miss the routines. They'd just be gone. And what is there to fill that time? And if I met someone, I couldn't say then "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm a dog owner" because I am not anymore. 

And that fucking scares me. This uncertainty. This "who am I?" and "what comes next?"

That's how far F and I got last night before I shut down. It's really tough facing these inner processes and thoughts and everything. Especially without my real dog to cuddle with me and make me feel not so alone. And I just tried to run away from those thoughts and the conclusion because I just didn't want to face it. But - once set in motion - I couldn't run away. Even though I stopped messaging F, I pretty quickly came to what the issue really was. 

I remembered how I got my ED. And that is one of the toughest things for me to write down now. Actually ... I think I'm going to make a break here and run away from that confession some more and talk to M for a while to procrastinate. 

...

Alright. Talking to M didn't work out because she's at work. But I distracted myself some by talking to another friend about a guy who's messaging lots of girls in my FL friends list and who apparently doesn't consider that we - subs especially - talk. And that if someone strikes one as weird, the others are going to listen to that person. And that if one - me, in this case - invites that other person to munches for several times and really tells him about all the different munches and stuff, but he never shows up, that it'll strike the others as weird too, if they give him the same speech. That guy apparently needs someone to babysit him and take him by the hand and talk him through a munch. But none of us is willing to do that. We are all like "if he shows up we are happy to talk to him, answer questions and stuff, but he is not going to get us to date him privately and show him the ropes and go to him to a munch together". 

But enough on that. Enough procrastinating. The more I prolong this and keep running away, the harder it'll get. 

So. I remembered how I got my ED. I mean, I've been ED'ed the majority of my life. But rather in the common way of having food as a substitute for love and affection. I've always been chubby (now chubby is a real euphemism for my weight haha) and I actually can't remember a time in my life that I haven't tried to drop weight. Even as a kid. I remember lots of diets, lots of unhappy mirror moments. And I remember a lot of lines my Dad dropped on me that just made it worse. I don't want to blame him here. It's not solely his fault. This is merely me analyzing why I've become this way. Without much judgement. I let go of my anger a long time ago. And it's really not like he did it on purpose. I don't think. 

So. I cannot recall what he said exactly. But I knew that he disapproved of me eating sweets and everything - which on the one hand I did to fill this emptiness and to feel better and to, well, be loved (this is a common human behavior, right?) and then, on the other hand, I did it to kind of ... Well. In the sense of a self-fulfilling prophecy. He told me it was bad to eat sweets and that I was stupid and chubby and fat and whatnot - so I behaved in a way that proved him right. I became the worst person that he projected on me because he already showed me the worst image of myself. And he was my father and if he already didn't love me because of what he THOUGHT I was, I could just as well be that person. When someone tells you how little you're worth, well, then you might as well become that person. There's no use, really, because you can do what you wish - you're not going to change the picture that person has of you. I don't think I have to mention how fatal that is when it comes to the relationship of a child with its parents. 

So I probably always was ... not healthy around food. But a lot of kids have that. And even though it's not good, it's by far not as fucked up as a "real" eating disorder. Real as in ... worse. 

When I developed my "real" ED (and here I mean the one that orientates towards anorexia as opposed to just a disordered relationship to food), I was with my boyfriend. I was chubby. But that was it. I was 16. Trying to figure out the person that I was and wanted to be and become. Looking for my identity. And even though I was already not "normal" around food, I remember this documentary that my ex and I watched on television. I can really still see us. I know he was on the couch and I was in the kitchen. 

- I am listening to music on shuffle and "The Real You" is just playing, by Three Days Grace. How fucking fitting. Listen to that song, it's so fucking awesome. I know it'd be healthier to be self sufficient enough to not need another person to tell you that you're fine the way you are ... But ... Ugh. That song is just ... Anyways. Drifting again. -

So there was this documentary on anorexic girls. On a movement called Pro Ana. Girls who supported each other in dropping weight unhealthily, who were Pro Anorexia. And how dangerous all that was. 

I'm ashamed to confess all this. Just by the way. 

I remember firing up my laptop and googling one of the online communities mentioned in the documentary. Signing in. Introducing myself. Wanting to be part of that. WANTING to be eating disordered. As some kind of diet. Completely underestimating the danger and the impact that an ED has on your life. But also ... Wanting to be sick. As a cry for help and attention. And affection. Now I see: it was some kind of identity I could take on. 

I remember my frustration when I got denied access to the community because the girls felt that I wasn't really ED'ed. They advised me to stop  to pursue down that path, get help and drop weight healthily. They were doing the fucking right thing. But it only encouraged me to do more research and really become ED'ed. Up to the point where I really developed an ED. Throughout the years I founded my own online community. And I helped other girls. And I denied others access just like I had been denied access. It's a weird world that I got sucked into. And that I loved. It's really hard to explain. But you look out for each other. You really do. You know what the other is going through and you try to help as best as possible. You can't be gentle to your own body because you despise it. You can't love yourself. But you can love others. You can tell them they deserve better. Or you can help them achieve goals. Though it's highly unhealthy, also a lot good comes from it. 

It was a lot of time and nerves that I invested in those online communities. My ex was strictly forbidden to access my computer. I told him a girl needed some secrets. He knew I was leading a forum but he thought it was for girls only. He didn't know it was solely about EDs. He knew I was on a diet constantly and even to some level how poorly I felt about my own body, but he never saw how bad it was. Now, don't be like "he must've been blind" or something. We are really cunning when it comes to disguising that kind of behavior. When you're ED'ed, you see when another one is the same, you kind of recognize your own behavior in them. But to someone who doesn't know what signs to look for ... It's not his fault at all he never saw it. 

There was so much stress - I won't go into detail now because it's really a fucking long story - that one night I couldn't sleep. And I took my phone. And I deleted the website. The community. And I slept like a baby afterwards. This weight had been lifted off my shoulders. 

I woke up to a lot of messages of the other girls in the community wondering what had happened. I told them it was a cyber attack. I was sorry that I had taken that safe haven from them. I really, really was. I knew how terrible it was to lose it. We've been hacked several times before. It was always horrible. But I also knew that it was the only thing that was healthy for me back then. The best decision I had made in a long time. 

I focused on getting better then. I started eating according to weight watchers. I really got better. I had some setbacks. But I dropped weight. Healthily. I started to be proud of my achievements. I got better. Really. 

And then I broke up with my boyfriend. After such a long time, I wasn't only dealing with the emotional stress of being single, the pressure of suddenly having to compare myself to other girls again on the "single market", a scene that is  focused on sexuality and looks and your outer appearance. I was also confronted with myself again. Who was I? When you're suddenly single again, you have the great opportunity to focus on yourself again. No compromises. Do what YOU want. Find out who YOU are. Work towards becoming the person YOU want to be again. 

But whilst this is a great opportunity, it's also a lot of pressure and stress. Just imagine dating someone. "So, Kiwi, what are your hobbies? What do you like to do for fun?" - "I have a dog. I like to read. Music." You end up sounding like the most boring person on the planet. Especially when you're taking to guys who like hitch hiking and surfing (that seems to be the new default hobby) and have travelled to 300 countries already. And you're like "well, I've been in a relationship for 7 years". I started seeing a lot of mistakes I made. But that's fine. I don't regret the time. I intend on learning from them for the next relationship(s). 

But suddenly I was back to being the 16 year old girl that I was before my ex. Not all the way through. I was more independent of my father. I wasn't that convinced of my worthlessness than I was with 16. Things like that. Of course I had grown and developed and everything. But I was again confronted with that identity crisis. And I jumped back to someone that I was for a long time. "Hi, I'm Kiwi and I'm eating disordered." And I was both taking on that identity actively again and falling back into old habits and routines and patterns. 

Long story short: i think my ED was once and is now again an identity shell that I am "wearing" so as to not have to figure out who else I am or might be. 

That's the first insight. It's a long way now of really figuring out all the details. And an even longer way of taking little steps towards getting better. I guess one major thing would be to no longer introduce myself as ED'ed person. Which is so contradictory because I have just let myself accept that it's a part of me and that I'm never going to be another person. Not meant as in that I won't ever change but that my past is MY past and I won't ever wake up being someone else. So I mean this in a positive accepting way. 

So. I think a healthy thing to do now is both accepting my ED as part of me and stopping to identify as an ED'ed. 

I have a lot of figuring out to do. Perfect for a day in London, huh? 

I feel that this post is long enough already, and to be honest, I'm exhausted. I feel like I'm done reflecting for now. But I also know that this is just the beginning of a long process which will consume a lot of time and nerves. I hope I'll be ready for it. 

xoxo

Kiwi