Well, in Poopville they say - that the Ashley’s small bum pooped three poops that day. And then - the true meaning of Pooping came through, and the Ashley found the strength of *ten* Ashleys, plus two!
I did a lot of damage to my body when I was a teen. Aside from the years of starvation and over-exercise, there was the physical and emotion self-harm that came along with Body Dysmorphic Disorder, Anorexia, and Depression. As a grown-ass woman, I can look back on those years without the judgement I held onto for so long. I hated myself for having an ED (hold your laughter kids, I wasn’t talking about penises). I hated myself for believing I was never going to be thin enough, and for “seeing” an image of my body that never was. Hell, I still struggle not to see a monstrous figure peering at me from the mirror. But when you’re told, from an early age, that you are a fat, ugly, lesbian girl by your peers, eventually you believe it (except for the lesbian part… never did believe that).
I saw a disaster.
Despite going through some pretty harrowing experiences, I can say with pride that I didn’t let the assholes, disorders, or my own actions defeat me! The monster I thought I was never existed. But with all the abuse my body took, I am beginning to realize that I will always live with reminders of my former self.
Over the past few years I’ve developed some pretty annoying health issues. Hypoglycemia. High blood pressure. Rapid pulse. Tremors. They are not life-threatening by any means, but from time-to-time the effect they have on me is frustrating. For example, I cannot go more than a few hours without eating something before I began to shake and feel my blood sugar drop. When that happens, my pulse quickens and I get light-headed. This has been happening a lot since I got sick last week. I also get lots of migraines. Lots. And the shaking this past week has been making things hard at work. But it sounds like I’m complaining. So I will stop.
Truth be told I am a very fortune woman to be able to say I’m recovered. Five years strong. No relapses. No hospitalizations. No self-injury. Just little reminders of a dark place I never want to go back too. Oh, and cellulitis is a bitch.
The End.
And my my leg feels like it weighs a ton. Which is bad. Since I need to use the bathroom. But that’s what I get for watching a documentary about Boudica and her Rebellion while writing about being a badass woman in my journal.
being short is a way of life.
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