Dear Baby Robert,

I will try to keep this short... It has been 16 days since the day we met you and were taken from us too quickly... but who's counting, right? I'm just writing to let you know how much I love and miss you. Nine months ago your mommy came to Plano to let us know that you were coming... That day you became our little glimmer of hope. You were our bundle of joy. You were going to put this torn family back together again.

Baby Robert in our weakness you have made us stronger. Your Mommy is facing challenges she never imagined she'd have to face. I hope that from above you take your little hands and wrap them tight around her heart and let her feel your love. I hope you do that with each of us because we need it. We need it now more than ever.

I keep thinking about all the things I planned to do with you. I was so excited to be Crazy Aunt Bella who said 'yes' when Mommy and Daddy said no. I was going to introduce you to the world and all the wonders it has to offer. I thought about teaching you how to swim and how to play sports even if I'm no good at them. I thought about having you as my ring bearer at my wedding (which is nowhere in sight) and I thought about holding you, letting you feel how much love I have for you in my heart. Thinking of you filled a void in my chest that nothing else has been able to fill and now that you're gone that's all I feel. I feel empty, needy. I look at your pictures every day because I don't want to forget you. Deep down I know I never could forget you, but I want you to know that there will never be anyone like you, baby boy. Nothing could ever replace you.    

I think about the day we met you, when you were placed in my arms and I was rubbing your back just praying that somehow, someway you would come back to us. I think about your little hands and feet and those precious little lips. I think about how grateful I am that as the nurse took you away she stopped and let us kiss you and tell you how much we love you. You had so much to offer this world. We didn't get to have you for very long, but every second we got to spend with you felt like a lifetime. You knew nothing of the evils of this world and for that I am thankful. You are our little angel baby, and that's the way you'll always be. Our hearts are heavy now that you're gone. We miss you. We love you. 

Goodnight, my Angel. 

Love, 

Your Crazy Aunt Bella

What's on my mind.

A little over a month ago I picked up a pen and paper in my apartment and I started to write what I thought would be my last words to the world, but by the time I was halfway through I wrote a promise to reach out before doing anything. I read through a list of things that I had to do before I could take my own life. I had to say good-bye to everyone I cared about, I had to write a will and make sure I had someone to take care of my dog, I had to do at least three of my favorite things, go out to my favorite restaurant, talk to my therapist one last time and several other "last minute" things. After I did all these things, I told myself I could take my own life. Turns out that after spending less than five minutes looking into my puppy's eyes I changed my mind. She's worth more to me than I am to myself and I know I can't leave her.

See, I wish I could explain to you how depression works but I can't. I can't explain how I wake up one day full of life and the next I can't get out of bed. I can't explain how being off my medicine for more than one day makes the suicidal ideation come back full-force; I can't explain it but it does, it happens almost in the blink of an eye and I absolutely hate it.

I keep reading things that talk about how suicide is "the most selfish thing a person can do" and it tears me apart inside because this thought process is so so wrong and so distorted. A suicidal person is not thinking about what will happen after they die. They just want the pain to go away. They want the brick that is constantly weighing down their chest to be lifted. They want to see colors and light again. They want to enjoy food and not just eat to survive, if they can even do that. I used to see the commercials on TV advertising anti-depressants and think how cheesy they were, but really, depression is just like those commercials. It's a constant dark cloud over your head, it's a weight tied to your body that makes it near impossible to move. It's a knot in your throat that you can never choke back. It's nightmares every night, insomnia, loss of appetite, it's a living hell... So sure, to the people that have never experienced depression or suicidal ideation, suicide is selfish, but to those of us that live with this shit every damn day, suicide may seem like the best thing we can do for ourselves and those around us. We feel like no one likes to be around a person that constantly needs help or support, no one likes to be with someone like us and we realize that it's really not fair to put our family through so much grief. So that's why suicide may seem like the best option. In our reasonable mind we may know it's really not, but our emotional mind blocks out our reasonable mind and that's where we better hope that our wise mind speaks the fuck up. To those who actually go through with suicide, it's probably the most selfless thing they can think of doing. They are probably thinking about their loved ones up to the very last second... so please, I know our opinions may differ, but please stop saying that suicide is selfish...

The death of Robin Williams is tragic. It shouldn't have happened but it did and there is nothing we can do about it now but learn from it. Our mental health system is fucked up and it's about time we realize it and do something about it before we lose more and more people. Robin is not free, he is dead. The greatest (arguably) comedian of our time is dead, and no amount of money or fame could change that, nothing can change that. What we can change is how we talk about it and how we educate both the public and professionals when it comes to suicide and depression.

The first time I went to a psychiatrist almost seven years ago, she told me that purging was a part of growing up and that cutting was just "something that some teens do". She didn't put me on medications, refer me to a therapist, nothing. THIS WAS A PROFESSIONAL! After seeing her, I went to a doctor (MD) and I let him know I was purging, he weighed me and since I was not below a certain BMI he told me I would be fine and sent me on my way. It wasn't until about a year later that I found a therapist who I admitted to that I was  throwing up blood before someone told me that what I was doing was not okay. It took over a year for me to get the help I so badly needed and deserved.

I don't have the solution to this problem. I don't know that anyone does, but it's something we need to talk about. We need more people to share their stories and experiences, we need to make it a bigger issue instead of minimizing how big of a problem it truly is. We need to STOP SHAMING those who struggle. 

STOP FUCKING SHAMING US! 

It is absolutely okay to ask for help and I encourage you to do so. It is okay to take your medicine, pray all you want to pray, but unfortunately praying will not fix chemical imbalances in your brain... Take the meds that are prescribed to you. Go to support groups. Call the Hopeline, 1-800-394-HOPE. Call your best friend and let them know you're struggling. Show this to someone you need support from. Share this with your friends so they know you support them no matter what. 

People can tell you to "grab the bull by the horns" all they want, but they obviously have no idea what it's like to be thrown off that bull time and time again. I do, and I think you need a break. You deserve a break. So please, if you're having a difficult time pour yourself a glass of water, take some deep breaths and do something to take care of yourself, force yourself to do something that used to make you happy, you never know what could happen when you do. 

Tonight I forced myself to write this blog and share it with the world although it's been over a year since I shared anything on my blog. I didn't want to do it, but I knew it could help... and it did! Do something nice for yourself during the next few days. 

Remember that I love you, I care about you more than you can imagine. I need you to be here with me.

Peace to you tonight,

Bella

PS: Here's a link to some self-care ideas.

Confessions/MIA

Well folks...

As much as I'd love to be superwoman and say I can do it all, I've got to admit that I can't.

I've been doing well for the most part. I signed a lease for an apartment in April, I havent acted on self harm or eating disorder symptoms since I can remember... (not purposefully at least).

I have found a job as a nanny that I absolutely love. For over two years now I've been out of treatment and just working with an outpatient team. It's ridiculous how quickly time goes by.

Two years. More than that actually.

I don't think that anyone will understand until you've been through it what PTSD is like and what body memories are. Until you feel someone touching you and hurting you in your most private places you can't tell me that "you know".

So here is my confession. My PTSD symptoms have been acting up, especially at night. I feel the touch of man who isnt there and should never have been there. I get panic attacks. I don't sleep.

I've also been keeping secrets that aren't mine to keep. But those will come out on their own time.

To deal I've been turning to my klonopin. I've been relying too much on my klonopin and am up to 8-12 mg a day. I know this isn't healthy, and I know that quitting cold turkey is even more dangerous..

Which is why I've decoded to admit myself to the Seay Center to withdraw from the benzos altogether. I'll be gone for hopefully 3 days maybe 4.

Your prayers and well wishes are more than appreciated.

Love,

Bella

PS. I am a warrior... Stronger than I've ever been. -Demi Lovato "Warrior"

This is my public confession.

Before I go into the details of this post, I want to let everyone know that I have been MIA from writing lately but it's because I'm starting to enjoy life again. My social life is "thriving" (using that word only because that's where I feel I should be rather than where I actually am). On the real though, I am being more social as well as working and going to school. Who would have thought I'd be here a year ago?! ...A big thanks to the people that believed in me!

Okay. So. I can't really avoid what this post is truly about for much longer given that the title is probably cause for concern. 

Breatheeeee...and I say that not only for you but myself as well.  This post is really not as alarming as it sounds. 

I'm struggling, but DON'T FREAK OUT.

I'm not in a "bad" place. At least not compared to where I used to be. In fact, I'd say I'm doing fairly well all things considered and I'd like to think my treatment team agrees. (I don't know how they'll feel after reading this, but I also don't think it'll be a game changer). I've been pretty honest with them.

I'm coming up on my one year mark for cutting and I'm nervous. Not because I don't think I'll make it; I know I will. I just know that in the past things have not worked out for this long and part of me is bracing myself for the worst. Like they say, prepare for the worst and hope for the best. ...I guess?

But honestly, that's not really what I'm struggling with. I'm actually just struggling with food and body image. And I know the word "just" minimizes the situation but what can I say? I'm a minimizer.

My nutritionist is on maternity leave. She actually just left about two weeks ago. We have been preparing for this for over a month and it's not something that was new to me. In fact, we did the best we could preparing for this gap. It's only for a couple of months so I'm really not looking for a new nutritionist or anything of the sort, just support.

Part of me knew this was coming, but I wanted to believe I could do it on my own. As some of you know from experience, and others through reading this blog, Ed is a sneaky bastard. I was doing good at quieting his "voice" in my head (y'all know what I mean by voice right? I'm crazy, but not THAT crazy), but lately I can't get him to shut up. 

I haven't been following my meal plan. I have been restricting, and I'd like to think it's not on purpose (i.e. I'm too busy to eat), but that's a lie. If everyone else can find a way to eat three meals a day then so can I. 

Also, I'm feeling really guilty when I do eat. Every part of me wants to purge but I've been fighting that off as much as I can. It hasn't been perfect, in fact I'd be lying if I said I haven't done it in the past month, but I'm trying really hard. 

Many of you might think I'm doing this for attention or to try to lose weight but really, my nutritionist and I have figured out that on the weeks I use behaviors, my weight tends to go up. Now that could be water weight or my body starting to go into survival mode, but part of me wants to think that's my eating disorder talking... but factually, my weight does go up. So no, I don't do this for weight loss. I really don't know why I do it.

I've heard all the explanations, from "purging emotions" to "control" to whatever else. I know all about it. At this point, it's not anybody's job to figure that out but me. I don't want you to tell me that I'm beautiful just the way I am or that I can do this. I know I can.

I guess I don't really know what I'm looking for when I say support. Maybe it's just someone to listen or probably even someone to read this post. Maybe it just shows me you care.

Whatever the case, whatever "support" means to you, I could use some of that.

Hope everyone is doing well and know I'm always here to listen. I don't have the answers and I may not even know how to respond, but I know that someone listening helps a lot.

Peace,

Bella

<< In treatment, that one creepy patient.

Word Purge

I want to write a beautiful poem; 

There are so many things I want to tell you. 

I want this to be meaningful, 

But not just full of shit 

Because we all know half the stuff we hear goes in one ear and out the other quickly forgotten or not believed. 

Listen to me. 

As the sun sets, and darkness starts to fall, 

I'm once again reminded and I relive it all. 

And I know I'm not the only one who feels the way I do, I'm not the first or the last to say that I'm with you. 

Listen to me. 

I've been there. 

Leaning over a toilet wishing to be thin, hoping that your heart will stop, 

Wanting to give in.  

And I, I have been there. 

Crawled up in a ball at night, as the monsters call my name, 

I've felt their hands around me but still I've taken all the blame. 

And I've carved into my body 

To forget that I was used, 

I've left my temple burned and scarred, terrified and bruised. 

I have been there. 

And I want this poem to be about redemption. I want it to tell our stories from the inside out so others can feel what it's like to want to crawl out of your skin. 

Because living in a shell, puking and eating and puking and cutting and eating and starving and cutting again, 

That's not a life worth living. 

And I've been there. 

I've stared at a bottle of pills for hours debating how many to take. I don't want to die I'd tell myself as I committed suicide. 

"I'm not sick enough," I'd say,

"I've been worse before." 

God I've heard this so many times from people I adore. 

And I've been there. I have felt your pain, 

And I know how to appreciate the sunshine when all you get is rain. 

Because I'm here now. I still wake up to sweat and tears and I sit here quietly facing all my fears.

But I know how to smile, and I know how to laugh and if I could give you a reason to keep fighting I'd say that these two are the greatest gifts of all. 

Because seeing a smile on a strangers face and hearing a giggle or a cute embrace makes the sunsets beautiful and the dark nights bright, 

Makes the shadows quiver in the moonlit night. 

And it brings new memories to cloud the old, and I know these are all things that you have been told 

But you've never seen it so how could it be? And you're stuck in the same place as yesterday and the day before and the day before and the day before. 

And I've been there too, just as lost as you. And I know I'm not the only one who feels the way I do, I'm not the first or the last to say that I'm with you. 

But if I could dry your tears and show you how to live, I'd do it in an instance and have nothing left to give. 

If you could see yourself the way that I see you, you'd understand when I say that I have been there too. 

You're beautiful and wonderful and have so much just ahead, 

And together we can fight it, we won't ever be misled. 

And I want to write a poem that you can relate to, 

Forget the bells and whistles, and the sappy "I love yous". 

I don't know how to end it since the future's so unsure, 

I don't know and can't promise that we will be secure. 

But I know I'm not the only one who feels the way I do, 

And I know I'm not the first or the last to say that I'm with you. 

Cause for a celebration.

Six months ago today, I was readmitted into inpatient treatment at Presby Dallas. I drove myself to day treatment that morning and fought my demons as hard as I could... I had been up all night fighting actually, but it wasn't enough. Right there in the hospital parking lot I picked apart a razor feeling it slice through the tips of my fingers as I tried so desperately to get to the blade.

I sat in the drivers seat hiding the stained paper towels for almost an hour before wrapping my arm up and going into day treatment. The nutritionists and therapists knew I had had a rough day yesterday so they asked how my night went and I told them it went well. I told them it had its rough spots but I made it through the night okay. I wasn't lying to them. I mean, technically I had made it through the night just fine. After breakfast that morning I thought I was in the clear, all the 'important' people thought I was fine and they'd pass the word along. I had nothing to fear. 

Three hours into the day Dr. Pennington came to visit with me and asked how my night had gone, "I heard it went well," she said. I told her that it was hard but I made it through the night without hurting myself. She said she was proud, but I could tell she wasn't fully convinced. 

"So no self-harm at all yesterday?" 

"Nope. None at all yesterday," I replied. 

I saw the way she looked at me, almost like she could see right through me. "But..?"

I came clean. 

Dr. Pennington knew almost right away that it needed stitches even though I tried to convince her that it was fine. She wasn't born yesterday and I was not her first patient. I was taken to the ER and although I thought I had convinced the doctor that I was okay to go home, she thought otherwise and gave me the chance to sign myself in voluntarily. 

This was October 2nd. I was inpatient at Presby until 11pm on Oct. 30 and had until 11am on Oct. 31 to be admitting myself to River Oaks Hospital in Louisiana. Twelve hours. If I didn't make it there in twelve hours my insurance would refuse to pay for treatment. 

Treatment was not an easy choice. It wasn't a way out for me and it wasn't an excuse or an escape as some might say. Treatment took hard work and dedication. It was a daily battle. It's difficult to explain because a lot of people think that it's about being doped up, fed three meals a day and sitting through groups. Some treatment places even have weekly massages. That's living the life there! ....Not. 

Essentially everything I stated above is true. You are fed three meals a day plus snacks, you do get your meds when you need them and yes, you go to groups all day everyday, but it is so much more than that. I just don't know how to explain it but I'll do the best I can. 

At work today, a guy friend asked me if I wanted to get lunch with him. Before he even finished asking me I said, "I already ate." I hadn't eaten and my insides were yelling at me to quit lying. So I told him, actually I hate some hours ago (I had six fruit snacks) but I'm not really hungry. Lie #2. "Well," he said, "why don't you just come with me then?" I wanted to go. You are too fat. You look disgusting. He's going to be embarrassed to even be seen with you. You might actually have fun, and then what? Abort. Abort. Abort! "I don't think I can go today, maybe tomorrow?" I asked knowing I wouldn't see him the next day. 

So imagine having someone follow you around literally 24/7 bullying you, telling you things that not even your worst enemy would say to your face. I'm not schizophrenic, bipolar or have multiple personalities (not at all bashing on those who do, many of them are my bestest of friends) but there is always a voice inside my head telling me I'm not good enough. It tells me that I deserved the things that happened to me (even typing that feels weird because the voice inside tells me that they didn't 'happen to me', I brought them upon myself). Things will never change. 

This is what treatment is about. It's not truly about getting through the meals or staying safe throughout the day, that's just the stabilization period. Treatment is about finding YOUR voice and quieting the other. It's about learning to take control again starting from realizing that you do have a choice in taking a shower and brushing your teeth to major decisions like going to school or moving away. 

I got out of the hospital on December 7th. The first decision I had to make was whether I was going to fly home or have my parents pick me up. I went back and forth on this for almost two weeks. Finally, my therapist looked me in the eyes and said, "Bella, you have a voice. Make your decision and let everyone know what YOU want." 

I have faced many obstacles since leaving the hospital. It's very important for me to remember that although I have left the treatment facility, treatment is not over yet. I have made good decisions and bad decisions. My thinking is so much clearer and for the most part I feel happier. Not all my symptoms are gone and you know what? Maybe they never will be. I just have to remember that it's about progress not perfection. 

I feel like this post focused on a lot of 'negative' things, but really it's just part of my journey that got me to where I am today... and 212 days free from cutting is a great place to be.

Thank you Kyla, Stephanie, Dr. Pole, Dr. Benigar, Shele, Kirsten, Ingrid, Gillian, Dr. G, Bridget, Dara, Katie, Dr. Symons, Whitney, Megan, Sandy, Dr. Pennington, Darce, Dr. Harris, Jeff, Dr. Lavigne and finally Jessica and all finally all my friends and family for believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. 

Dear Me.

Dear 30-year old me,

     Woah. These past ten years have gone by so fast haven't they? It seems like just yesterday you were getting ready to celebrate your 21st and start living your "adult" life. I want to write you this letter because I don't want you to look back at the past ten years with regret.

     Yes, you've fucked up a lot. You made your fair share of mistakes when you were my age, but never forget that you also learned so much from them. When you look back I want you to remember all the hard work you put into your treatment and recovery. YOU did that, no one can take that away from you.

     I know you're going to want to forget your early twenties, they were rough, but I don't want you to be too hard on yourself. You worked really hard and that's not something that should be forgotten. I want you to remember what it was like to feel down and out and how empowered you felt when you picked yourself up again.

     Your brain is going to cloud your memories and bring out all the negative things, but I want you to remember that not every day was bad. In fact, even your 'bad' days had something good in them. I want you to remember days like today, March 3, 2013.

     It's a Sunday. You're regretful because you went gambling last night with your family even though you know that's not a good coping skill and your therapists have told you not to do it. You had some trouble with eating disorder behaviors this past week and you were trying to forget it even happened at all. You also struggled with urges to self-harm. Because you went out last night and didn't get home until this morning, you didn't wake up in time to see one of your treatment friends who came in from out of town. You woke up feeling like a fuck up and wanted to stay in bed all day and drown in self-pity... but you didn't.

     You got your ass out of bed, met up with Taylor (yes, the Taylor that you met at Renfrew... your sister Taylor) and she took you horseback riding for the first time in your life. Your day started off badly, but you ended up LOVING today. You were out with Taylor most of the afternoon and you were both able to look back at the past year and say, "Fuck yeah! We've come so far!"

     You had lunch with her and didn't even think about the calories or the affect it might have on your body. You got on that horse and you fought the disordered thoughts about exercise and "burning off" what you had eaten. You enjoyed yourself, you had fun. Most importantly, you reached out for support and found a healthy outlet for your feelings. I hope you're able to put those moments at the forefront and not beat yourself up for the past.

     Thinking of you... well, me at thirty, I feel now like you're going to feel old and jaded. But really, you have many friends now that are in their thirties and their still a kid at heart. I hope you're able to be that way too. Don't be too hard on yourself if you don't have it all together yet. You have a lifetime to figure it all out.

     I do hope that by now you've found someone you can settle down with, but if you haven't that's okay too. Just remember, it's better to take your time finding a 'forever' than to rush for a 'for now'. Remember what they taught you in treatment about relationships, 1+1=3... you+me= we. The formula for a good relationship starts with the PRAISES model. Physical, Recreational, Aesthetic, Intellectual, Spiritual, Emotional, and Sexual intimacy both with yourself and your relationship... but always start with yourself first. You have to love yourself before you can love anyone else. You've struggled with that a lot this past year.

     Your past self is almost twenty-one right now and as I'm writing this I'm looking on the walls and seeing all the positive affirmations I've put up for us. I'll end this letter with reminding you of your "Daily Recovery Plan" sheet and some of the affirmations your friends have given you.

Daily Recovery Plan

EVERY DAY I WILL...

• Spend time with God.
• Acknowledge I am valuable because I am.
• Set boundaries and let others know what they are.
• Set limits for myself.  
• Be aware that others' needs do not come before mine.
• Be still and listen to my inner voice.
• Only sweat the biggies.
• Laugh.
• Be flexible. 
• Forgive (myself and others). [...yes, that's a hard one!]
• Live in the present.
• Do something special for myself.
• Try to have an optimistic attitude.
• Give love. 
• Receive love. 
• Take care of my physical needs.
• Share myself with others (because I want to). 

Affirmations (from friends)

• I deserve to love myself.
• I forgive myself. 
• I am beautiful.
• I can learn to appreciate my body.
• I am compassionate and have many gifts. 
• I am unique.
• I am strong, wise and beautiful inside and out.
• I am kind and gentle.
• I can love myself.
• I am worthy of love and respect.
• I am funny, caring, unique and Cuban. (Thank Kevin for that one!)
• I love my body; I know I deserve for everyone to respect me and care for me. I am Bella Beautiful.
• I'm so beautiful from top to bottom, from inside and out. I deserve the best... always.
• I will NEVER NEVER NEVER give up.
• I am the best daughter a mom could ever want! (Thank Heidi, your treatment mom.)
• I am a special caring woman. 
• I deserve to live life and experience joy!
• I am an epically wonderful person to be friends with.
• I am a special, fantastic, caring, and beautiful woman.
• I can love and accept my body.

Take care of yourself. Nothing that is worth it will come easily, but it's definitely worth fighting for. 

With Love,

Your 20-year old self. 

P.S. If you read this and realize things are not how you expected them to be ten years ago, remember that it's never too late to start over.