History in the Making

I used to write all the time. Mostly journaling. Nothing too fascinating; just the typical musings of an emotionally distraught teenager.

Then I turned 20 and they became the musings of a girl caught up in the battle between life & an eating disorder.

But that’s neither here nor there. I could get into a historical overview for you but I think it’s best that such things unravel in a more organic manner.

I had a blog or log or journal or whatever back when I was part of an online fitness community (O2). Over-exercising and not-eating had consumed my life up to joining this community. I had a lot of knowledge but it was significantly twisted by my own neurosis. My #1 consuming thought back then was THIN. BE THIN. MUST STAY THIN. DO NOT GET FAT.

I slowly healed from 7 years of pure hell: Anorexia Nervosa. Heavy on the Nervosa.

The Cinderella part of the story is that I went from a 97lb bag of hypothermic bones to a 145lb fighting machine over the course of about 10 years. That sounds like FOREVER but it came in chunks of time that we could group accordingly:

Life Pre-Chunks of time: I’m going to exercise every day for hours and go months without a day off and only eat 2-3 times per week. It’s going to be great. I can’t wait until sleeping hurts my bones.

Chunk 1: I’m going to become a Yogi – hey, maybe I’m not focused, maybe I have an eating disorder. Fuck.

Chunk 2: I think I might be killing myself – I should probably start eating once a day. But I think exercising for 90-120 minutes is still cool. Fuck.

Chunk 3: I think living off Diet Coke & Cigarettes is maybe not the best daily diet plan. Let’s try an apple & protein bar once a day. Fuck.

Chunk 4: Eating is difficult. Let’s read about why I’m so fucked up. Fuck.

Chunk 5: Let’s learn about nutrition and get fat  because I destroyed my metabolism with 7 years of complete insanity. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Chunk 6: Let’s work with some specialists and read more and more and more and more and more and more and more. Why was I so fucked? Fuck.

Chunk 7: Let’s start doing things properly ie: quit exercising like it’s actually the zombie apocalypse. No one is coming to kill you. Except maybe you. Fuck.

Chunk 8: Hey look – you’re good at punching people in the face and throwing them around. Let’s try this MMA Fighter thing out. Shit ya.

Chunk 9: You’re a legit athlete now. You’re ranked #2 in the world at your weight as an amateur – how did that happen. Train, train, train, train, eat, sleep a bit, train, train, train, train. Look you’ve been offered an Invicta contract. Shit ya.

Chunk 10: Devastating injury. You have to quit competing. Identity crisis. Depressed. How are you going to workout? Hello chronic pain for 1 year and counting. Resist urge to become alcoholic…or chocoholic….anything with ‘olic’ at the end.

And here we are today. 2 weeks out from being forced into ‘retiring’ from my sport aka driving force behind my whole life (MMA). Still in pain everyday. Still wondering what the fuck is going on in my life. Still feeling sorry for myself.

Where am I going with this?

Well, I don’t want to flood my facebook with boo-hoo, emo ramblings about pain and struggle and loss and mourning and re-birth and purpose and all the other shit that I seem to be wading through because I HATE those facebook posts. All I want on facebook is a few laughs, cute pictures, etc. If you’re posting your problems on facebook, I’ve probably blocked you.

I also realize people don’t want to necessarily wade through all my tumblr nonsense, which is mostly images. Of me. Crying into a box of dry cereal. Listening to, “All By Myself” by Celine Dion. *kidding* *or am I*

This blog will be focused primarily on my journey through this injury: I’m facing more intense rehab that will hopefully progress faster since I won’t be setting myself back with MMA training.

Being an MMA fighter has been a significant part of my identity. It became a large part of who I am, how I see myself, who I am in the community, how people see me, how I see myself, & the purpose in my life. Now that I’m not training to compete, there is a significant hole left in my life and, as Oprah as this sounds, in myself.

I’m facing a lot of tough questions. A lot of difficult feelings.

So that’s where we’re going.

There will also be a lot of ranting. Philosophizing. Some whining. Some inspiring. A little bit of everything….or a whole lot of nothing. Depends on your interpretation, I suppose.

So read or don’t. Comment or don’t. I just need a place to share and I lack the patience to write in a journal…my hand cramps.

Posted on November 28, 2013, in General Topics and tagged , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. Excellent! Just bookmarked your blog, so I can keep up. Great time for you to be writing again. Xo.

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