Something to prove

Today was terrible. This past week has been terrible. The ultimatum of weight gain was enforced. It was heartbreaking, and this past week has been extremely difficult to endure with the absence of Cross Country in my life. I want to gain the weight, because logistically, I want to and need to run so badly. My parents did permit me to continue cross training daily and continue my attendance at daily dance classes. I did increase my intake, at first, I simply added a milkshake onto my daily diet. That gave me a bit of cushion, but it didn't last for long. By Thursday morning, my weight was only a pound heavier. I then increased my caloric intake once again, bringing myself up to a daily total of 3000 calories through the assistance of milkshakes, strawberry sundaes, and an abundance of peanutbutter. But even Friday brough pain, simply from sleeping in. Yes, I said it- it was painful to sleep in. It hurt so bad knowing that my team was out there doing a fartlek, when all I had to wake up to was my jump rope. My anorexia. It's still there. I wish it wasn't, but it's still grasping the ends of me. Each time I get so close to my dreams, it comes on in and robs me of happiness. It desires my misery. The worst part of this whole hell is that it's my decision, it's my price to pay. I could very well miss my entire season over a few pounds. That scares me to death. Something so very close to my heart could be taken away by something that wants to rip me to pieces. I've been having extreme conflict, epiphanies, all these moments of clarity and confusion alike. This morning brought on some more challenges, ones which I was not expecting. We made a trip to Clelveland today, to see my physcaitrist. My mother was origionally set to take me. I woke up at 6:00 am to cross train, and my mom informed me that she was ill with a fever. Thus, my dad would have to take me. And they really do mean it when they say everything happens for a reason. On the journey up to CCED (cleveland center for eating disorders), I bought a margionally dense second breakfast (I had already eaten once at home). This consisted of a South Beach Living meal replacement bar, yogurt, and an apple. It was delicous, but my nerves prevented full pleasure of anything. We entered the cold and heartless building as my physcaitrist greated me with a psuedo-warm wave. Then the surprises came. Apparently, he wanted to get my weight on their scale, for whatever reason. This was far from routine, for we took weights independently on a weekly basis at home. And the verdict came about, before I could voice my major thinking shifts. Before I could state that I had entered an extinction burst, before I could express the trigger I was so close to pulling. I am ready to kill this. I am so ready. But Dr. Warren usually has his mind made up before you enter his office, before you voice your past few months. He stratigically plans out his whopping 10 minuts with you so that it consists of conversation upon his terms. And then it all began. "Your weight is down, Julia. You are in a very bad place. I am very concerned. You need therapy, your family needs therapy. No more food choices, no more exercise. Take care." And that was that. Within ten minuts, my world was flipped upsidedown and spun in several directions. My father and I talked in the car. The CCED scale has always ben significantly lower then ours, and I am willingly eating as much as it will take to gain this weight. I know that I need to gain, because I know that I have another life to live. This other life is the happiness I had felt prior to the anorexia. I cross over to this other side when I run. I retrun to that side also when I dance. This side is where I'm meant to be, this side is where I want to and need to stay. So I took in 4,000 calories today. I need to start running again, but I know that I need to earn that privilage. I must prove the doctor wrong. He says that I can never recover on my own, but he doesn't know how far I've come. I love to prove people wrong. I've been told so many times that I "couldn't do it". I've heard that I couldn't come back to dance after a medical leave. And I returned stronger and stronger three seperate times, loving the art even more. I've been told that I couldn't keep up with the Varsity team. But I did and beat many of the most talented girls on the team. Hardwork beats everything. I've been told that I could never come back. I've been told that my life could not be saved. Where would I be today if I would have listened to all of the doctors who said that I would die? Where would I be if my family and I would have given up on life altogether? So now I'm being told that I can't escape this. I know the falicy in this statement. I feel the angst burning within. I will escape this. It will be grueling, but worth it, for I have passion that lies ahead, I have success waiting to be sought. I have a life to live. But if anyone actually reads these things, please, I ask that you keep or add me to your prayers. I'm usually not all needy like this, but I am very frightened. I want more than anything to sustain and improve in athletics, for I desire running and dance so very much. So please, just pray that I can earn the right to achieve new heights in my athletic endevours. Thank you.