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And the Fire of Recovery was Kindled

April 24th 2017. I remember waking up that morning and just having the thought in the back of my head that I should go to the temple sometime soon. It was a Monday. There was a large YSA picnic in an adjacent stake and our ward was invited. Contrary to my norm, I decided to go. I was leaving the activity later than I had anticipated, maybe 10:30pm when I got in my car and had the very distinct impression to go to the temple. Now. I was very confused because 1) it was 10:30 at night and 2) it was Monday. The temple would not be open. I drove a couple more minutes and the prompting got increasingly stronger. I remember thinking to myself about a lesson I had where it was discussed that ANY good prompting was from the Lord. Obviously going to the temple is a good prompting, even if the time and circumstances didn’t seem to make much sense to me. So I pulled into a nearby gas station and entered the Temple’s address into my gps. I said a prayer something along the lines of, “I do
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I (mostly) Hate Doctors

     Today is National PTSD Awareness Day. The whole month of June is actually PTSD Awareness Month.      I was diagnosed with PTSD when I was 15. It causes a lot of anxiety, panic attacks, flashbacks,  paranoia, depression and was a large contributing factor to my eating disorder. I'm working on getting it under control. And in the past several months I have made a VAST improvement. But as soon as I saw that today was National PTSD Awareness Day, I knew I wanted to share an experience that I had 2 days ago.      Ask just about anyone that knows me and they can attest to the fact that I absolutely ABHOR medical personnel; doctors, nurses, surgeons of any kind, except maybe a handful that I know personally. Monday I had 4 doctors appointments all back-to-back. I was scheduled to get an EKG, ultrasound, lab work, dexascan, xrays, an MRI, and a general follow-up exam. I got my labs done, my EKG, and my ultrasound done with only minor kinks (the phlebotomist had to stick me 6 times
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She's a Runner

"You can't outrun your feelings."-Larry (aka the coolest therapist ever. The Larrapist) I have a little bit of a problem with running. When my life feels a little out of control, I run. I either pack up my belongings and move away on a whim, or I put on my tennis shoes and I actually run. But I run. When it boils down to "Fight or Flight", I am most definitely flight. I started with moving around a lot. The first time I ran, I wanted to get away from everything I knew at home. I thought maybe if I left, it would be like all the trauma, mistakes, and horrid memories were never real. I could start over new and it would be like they never even happened. Moving 60 miles away wasn't enough. 500 miles wasn't enough. 1,600 miles away and I still couldn't seem to shake it. It was still there. So I kind of gave up on that for the time being. The urge to leave was still there, but instead of packing up and running, I started lacing up and running. Fine, I
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Be Your Own Storyteller

     I've been hearing a lot lately about how we should be careful with who we are vulnerable with. We should be careful who we share our story with. People need to earn our vulnerability. This is often accompanied by hearing that, under certain circumstances, it is alright to blatantly lie about huge aspects of my life.       I'm struggling with that. Yes, I believe that people do need to earn my vulnerability. However I also believe that there is a difference between being vulnerable and being authentic. And I believe in being authentic. I want people to know who I am and I'm not going to lie to people just to appease their narrow sense of comfort.       Let me give you a brief example of the difference between authenticity and vulnerability I'm talking about here- Authentic -If someone asks what I spend all day doing I will openly tell them, "I am in day-program getting treatment for an eating disorder." Vulnerable -Someone asks what I do all day
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Dear You, You Are Not A Number.

Dear Little Sisters, Dear Future Daughters, Dear Younger Me,      I wish there was a way I  could keep you from seeing the ads on television. From seeing the front covers of magazines in the check-out lane at the grocery store. I wish you never hear the word "diet" or "weight loss". And even more than that, I hope you never associate those words with "worthy". I hope you never look at the label on the back of your juice box or granola bar and ruminate on the numbers you see. I hope you never get introduced to photoshop and that you know that most of those Instagram pictures are so very, very fake. I hope you never go for a run thinking the whole time of how much weight you can lose. I hope you never feel like you are unloved. I hope you never have to question whether or not you have friends or if they really care about you.  And I pray to God above that you never reach a point where you look in the mirror and don't like what you see. Or don't r
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Welcome To Inpatient- An Original Poem By The Ginger

Welcome to Inpatient Anonymous Ginger Welcome to inpatient, take a look around Are you surprised by what you see? Or maybe more by what you don’t see? Because where are the girls with Paper-thin skin and crumbling bones Hunched in corners, curled into balls With their knees to their chest? Where are all the sunken eyes And hollow cheeks? Isn’t that what they are supposed to look like? Did you think you’d see more tears? Hear more hiccupped crying? So where is all that? Welcome to inpatient, take a second look around In fact, let me be your tour guide. Follow my eyes to the far back right, Perched on the windowsill Pink hat, sketchpad balanced on knees Hands flying across paper, Creating magic with nothing But a ballpoint pen Life shooting out of fingertips. Welcome to inpatient, step with me here to the left now Three more, crouched intently All sides of the old coffee table A thousand small puzzle pieces Scattered around, and
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The Ginger Just Wants to Set Some Things Straight

     After I had opened up to a close friend about my eating disorder, she said to me, "If you think you're fat, you must think I'm obese." NO. JUST-NO. Let me please take a moment to discuss this for everyone.      My body image and my self-esteem is a reflection of MY BODY ONLY. Not only does my disorder distort what I see in the mirror, but it also limits what I see about myself as a person.      When I look at you I see you, not your body. I see someone who is good with children, who makes me laugh, who loves to dance, who is good at sports. Someone who has a stubborn streak, but a compassionate heart. I see a person who will go out of their way to serve those around them and a person who is kind and loving and funny and crazy and amazing. I see YOU. And I can say with 100% certainty that your body doesn't define who you are, and that what you look like will never change what I think about you or how much I love you.      But for a reason unbeknownst to
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