addiction – Brooke Lyn Landon

Addiction: Old Habits Die Hard

Today marks year 8 since I left a rehabilitation center for eating disorders. That’s not to say it’s all been smooth sailing since. In fact, at times the waters have been rockier than Chris Brown and Rihanna’s relationship.

The past few months, I’ve been having the time of my life. I have an incredible group of friends, I’m making money, having fun, and blah blah blah. Yet, unbeknownst to the world, there was still an internal struggle with my old friend ED. (Eating Disorder) Although I haven’t “relapsed” as many would say, I have certainly regressed in terms of my behaviors, feelings, and thinking.

I look at ED as some abusive ex partner that continues to slide back into my DMs. It’s like ED can see my glow up, and can’t resist swooping back in. ED sends out a message, and I ignorantly open the new inbox notification that says… “I miss you.” I want to respond with a poop emoji but next thing you know a heart has been sent and we’re talking till 2AM.

It’s clear to me that these moments come when something within me is out of alignment. Regardless of how good life is, when I feel too much uncertainty, or a lack of trust in myself or life… *knock knock knock* Here comes ED with his never ending list of food suggestions and criticisms to “help” and control me. Can you blame me for feeling like life has had a fair amount of uncertainty these days? #2020 #isthisreallyhappening

Eating disorders are all about control, so this is my sick and twisted way to cope with the lack of control I feel in my own life. Then, this coping mechanism turns into a habit, and if I’m not careful, a relapse.

It goes a little something like… “You know you want to try that cookie. Go for it. Treat yo’self! You should finish them. Thick is the new fit so I’ve heard.” … “Can’t believe how much you ate. You’re going to be able to feed a Mormon family with the amount of rolls you’re going to have on you tomorrow. You better find a meal to skip soon.”

More often than not, it’s quite counter productive as you can imagine. I end up feeling like Gollum without a ring, but much fatter. (I don’t know why I write so many references from The Lord Of The Rings when I haven’t even seen all of the movies.)

Do I worry about relapsing in the future? I’d be lying if I said no. Heck, I worried today at the vegan buffet. That said, I refuse to let ED win. ED has ruined relationships of mine, and nearly took my life. Yet ED has also taught me some of my most valuable lessons and insights. I do not hate ED. In fact, I love ED for all of the strength and growth it has given me, but I also do not want ED to be an active part of my life again.

I’m here to say It’s okay to not be okay. It’s okay to regrettably respond to a DM every once in a while. You learn from it all. Just make sure you don’t take the loser back completely.

Relapsing

Traveling the world the past 6 months has been the ultimate mode of healing in terms of transcending old beliefs, and addictive disorderly thinking and behaviors. I have never been less concerned about what I did, ate, or how I was perceived. However, it’s common to get to a point where we think we’ve done all the work we need in a certain area of our lives, only to discover there’s more we need to climb before we reach the mountains peak. That’s what happened to me this past weekend when I went to Ha Long Bay, Vietnam.

It’s everyone’s dream to get paid to party on a private island with guests for several nights. I knew my liver wouldn’t be thrilled, but I was. Then, things took a turn for the worse.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how I went from Lindsey Lohan pre Parent Trap, to her post Mean Girls. I’m kidding to a certain extent. I didn’t go crazy and go to jail, or whatever that chick did during her scandals. What I did was go back to my old ways of thinking and behaving.

I began to feel insecure, binge, and feel tremendous guilt for everything I ate or drank. I know I still have some reflecting and contemplating to do in order to trace back and acknowledge how this all manifested. There are however a few triggers that seem more obvious.

My co tour guide, Lu, is a sweet young girl from Germany. She’s also hot af. Standing next to her was the equivalent of super model Heidi Klum next to Snookie from her Jersey Shore days. All the guys drooled over her like they were on the Survivor reality Tv show, and they were about to eat their first meal since going off the island they had been stranded on for months. I felt utterly invisible, and undesirable. The large buffet style meals they served were something that took me ages to face again after rehab because that was my eating disorders happy place. As you can imagine, when that’s in front of me while I’m feeling like an ugly old fart, it’s a recipe for disaster. Also, the extensive drinking and empty calories certainly weren’t positively contributing to my body or mind. My self control and self esteem fell harder than a fat kid on a seesaw.

I’m looking at that temporary digression from a new and higher perspective. It’s an opportunity for growth, transcendence, forgiveness, and self love. In the past when I’ve relapsed I beat myself up. This time I’m more forgiving, accepting, and loving towards myself. Granted, it wasn’t nearly as bad, nor did I go as far as I did in the past when I went back to some of my old ways, but regardless, I digressed. Now though, I’m perceiving it more as a success because of how I’m handling it. I’m not saying having done that was a good thing. I am saying shit happens, and how you handle it can change your future. At the end of the day, I’m living my best life in Vietnam, but sometimes you have to go through ebbs in life so you can flow more smoothly after.

The Void of a Vice

photo-1486572788966-cfd3df1f5b42 My therapist told me when I want to emotionally eat, I should journal instead, so here I am. In an ideal world, I’d be double fisting granola on the kitchen island with no consequences or ill intent to mask discomfort. This, however, is my world, where my relationship with food is about as damaged as my friend’s iphone. She nearly needs stitches when she swipes the screen.

It’s interesting to me how we ALL have our vices to deal with during this crazy thing called life, yet some go unnoticed as an escape or way to avoid feelings. Overindulge in food, drugs, nicotine, alcohol, or sex, and it’s “You need help. You have a problem.”

Yet overindulging in television, social media, exercise, shopping, and caffeine, and it’s “You gotta do what you gotta do. It’s the 21st century.”

Sometimes, it’s even considered a form of self-care, when it’s anything but that. More often than not, it’s a way to escape feelings that are dying to be addressed and processed. Instead of becoming aware of our emotions and processing them in healthy ways, people go to processed foods or go through the process of picking the next Instagram-worthy photo.

The first step to avoid our vices is having the awareness that multiple times every day, we are using them to avoid something deeper. If we take a moment to pause each time we impulsively reach for our phone to scroll through Facebook, or call a friend because we’re “bored”, we may be surprised what comes up.

One day I opened the fridge to chow down on some carrots and paused.

“What am I really hungry for?” I asked myself when I took a moment to reflect and acknowledge I was acting impulsively and wasn’t hungry.

I closed the fridge and started to cry. “What the actual fuck?” I thought to myself in disbelief.

I became aware that my boredom and loneliness resulted in needing a vice before my consciousness could acknowledge my emotions. Feelings of abandonment and sadness surged over me. I felt like such a little bitch because essentially I started crying over carrots, but it was so therapeutic and enlightening.

Just because I have a vice does not mean something is wrong with me, and the same goes for you. Awareness gives you an opportunity to reclaim your power that is always available to you but easily forgotten. Be more aware when you act impulsively or reach for your vice. Pause, reflect, acknowledge, and claim your power.

Ultimately, the goal is being okay being alone with yourself, your thoughts, and your emotions. It’s being there for yourself like you’d be there for a friend, without a vice. So here I am, claiming my power and being constructive about it. But damn, that granola still looks good.

Welcome To Hell

pexels-photo-207858 Welcome to Hell. You may be wondering where the hell Hell is. Earth? The White House? The person in the White House? A town? Some mystical fiery land that has a creepy red tenant with hooves? The answer is none of the above.

You’ve been living there your whole life, but let me be the first to welcome you. Welcome to the hell created by non other than you, your mind.

Have you ever heard a little voice in your head bitch about wishing you had done something differently? Or question your self worth? If your answer is no, the little bitch in my head just told me you’re full of shit. That voice is the soundtrack in Hell, and the life you live will match the soundtrack you play. The more we positively change the tune, the happier hell will be.

Whether you consciously know it or not, you’re in Hell. You’ve done it to yourself, but here me out!! because understanding and acknowledging the hell you’ve created is such a critical step to improving your life and making it a little less hellish.

Don’t be afraid of Hell. Make peace with this place. It’s teaching us, and allowing us to grow. Plus, we’re going to be here a while, so might as well get comfortable while we work on our tunes.

A Food Junkies Journey

IMG_2428 (1) Life from my perspective was a complete tragedy. The only things keeping me from taking my own life at that time, was that it would cause my family so much pain, and this deep sense of knowing that I was going to somehow get out of this shit hole, and create an amazing life for myself.

I was lying on the floor in someone else’s house, crying as though I was a child who had just discovered Santa wasn’t real. Lost, lonely, relapsed, stranded, broken, broke, and confused, were just a few words to describe my state of being at that time. All I could wonder was why I chose to move to California because at that point it felt like the world was trying to tell me my time was up.

At that time, I had just crashed my car, and my plan to travel up north and find a place to live in the Bay area abruptly came to a halt. My destructive thoughts were running rampant, like someone trying to find their phone when they know their crush is waiting for a response. It was hard for me to do anything but pity myself and my circumstances, but I knew I had to keep going. Not in a persevering or heroic way, but because I literally needed to find another place to sleep.

After a copious amount of confusion and angst, I booked my stay at a retreat. Esalen is a retreat on the cliff of Big Sur, with hot springs full of naked people, food for days, and workshops mostly consisting of people who you would picture walking around barefoot with flower crowns, putting sage all over everything, and practicing kundalini yoga before sunrise. I went for a writers workshop in hopes to get out of the writers block I was in. With my insecurities bigger than my belly after a binge, I figured I’d keep my clothes on in the hot springs, get as much out of the food buffet as humanly possible, get out of my writers block, and have a place to sleep for a few more nights as well.

Next thing I know, I’m sitting there on a bench overlooking the ocean, but unable to appreciate its beauty. The sky was as blue as the cloth I would imagine a stork carrying to deliver a baby boy. The water washing up on the rocky shore below me, was crystal clear, like the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. With no home, no car, and resurfaced addictive thoughts and behaviors, I questioned what I had gotten myself into, and how much longer I had left to live if I kept this up. This leap of faith seemed to be turning into a leap of failure.

I felt a pain in my chest so deep and full of sorrow that it couldn’t be ignored. Sitting on the bench, I lifted my gaze and starred out at the magnificent cliffs of Big Sur, and the glistening water of the pacific ocean. With an aching heart, I thought to myself “My heart needs this.” I brought my awareness to the pain and acknowledged its presents without judgement. “Hello pain.” I thought to myself “I need to feel this contrast and pain to evolve and move forward, but I’ve felt you long enough, and you can go.”
The pain instantly vanished. I had caught my brain feeding me these lies that life was awful. It was as if my awareness made my ego flee in disappointment and embarrassment of it’s discovery.

Profound insights and circumstances were taking place, and it was only just the beginning. That night I took out my notepad and wrote “HELP” in bold letters, and closed my eyes as I prayed to the air and fell into slumber. Not soon after opening my eyes the next morning, help is what I got, but not in a way I was expecting.

Shortly after my fourth round of breakfast the next morning, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to survive another episode. I was legitimately scared for my life, and was under the impression that I would surly be rushed to the ER if I tried again. I was hoping that when I asked for help, a mentor would have miraculously come into my life, or I would have mustered the courage and strength to stop because I had enough. I asked for help, and that is what I received in the form of scaring the living daylights out of me, and causing my body to start falling apart.

After that, I stopped my addictive behaviors with my newfound determination. I’m sure the fact that I thought I would be dead soon otherwise contributed to the change as well. Wasn’t really the way I wanted to go out. I knew I came out to California to find more of what my heart needs to evolve and become a better version of myself, not to have my heart stop entirely. That being said, the destructive thoughts and behaviors didn’t end there. This was only the beginning of a very long journey of recovery.

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From interview to Intervention

jennifer-burk-118076 Fast forward exactly one year later from the day I relapsed at the festival, and my phone rang with different news. The editor of LEFAIR magazine called to inform me I would be interviewing an eating disorder specialist for my upcoming article I was writing titled “Our Society Has An Eating Disorder”. I enthusiastically agreed, but hung up the phone like the Grinch on Christmas day. Not wanting to have to change what I had already written, I reluctantly but willingly scheduled a time to meet with her.

It took me six months to miraculously claw my way out of the dark hole I had created a year ago, but I was still covered in dirt. I wasn’t bulimic or eating more in one sitting than a quarterback eats in an entire day, but my thoughts about food and looking at what I perceived as imperfections of my body, were about 100 times more frequent than the amount of times I go to the bathroom when I’m on a cleanse. Regardless, I thought I could figure it all out on my own until my interview turned into an intervention.

I felt about as prepared to interview her as I did taking the practice ACTs, where I randomly selected letters because I wasn’t having any of it. To be honest, I don’t really remember the questions I asked. I do however remember what came about as a result of meeting with her.

The door opened and I was immediately greeted by an old Boston Terrier with one cloudy eye. Standing tall by the side of the dog was Allie, the therapist. With her blonde beach wavy hair, and slender body, it looked like she should be featured in the next Target ad pretending to have fun with children. I nervously said hello and took a seat on her faux leather couch. Not long after we began to talk I told her about having relapsed shortly after arriving to California. I tried to make it seem as though I now had no problems with food, overeating, or my body image, but there was no fooling her.

“You know you wouldn’t have relapsed if you truly healed, right?” Her glasses were the only thing that stood between us as she spoke.

I forgot what my response was, but from how the she continued, I know I agreed.

“Look, I’m totally booked and am not looking to take on any new clients, but I feel like this happened too serendipitously, and I have to see you.”

“Damn it, she’s totally right.” I thought as I became aware of the work I was about to endeavor.

Long story long, here I am, doing the work, and ready to ride this out.

Journal entry after my first session: ” As much as I don’t want to admit this to myself, the reason I’m seeing Allie is because I’m not in alignment with who I truly am. My mind body and soul are not working in harmony with one another, and she made that clear to me by informing me about something that I like to call “The Loop” When one is not in alignment with their true self, soul, whatever you want to call it, they go through a cycle between the persecutor, victim, and rescuer.

The Persecutor is our fundamental limiting beliefs, that we may not even be aware of, such as “I’m not good enough”, “I’m not lovable”, etc. Then, the place where I’ve discovered (Rather Allie told me) I tend to reside, is The Victim, which stems from our limiting beliefs. “I can’t”, “Oh woe is me”, “something is wrong with me” and so forth. We then inevitably go to The Rescuer. We need something to take us away and relieve us from the stress The Persecutor and Victim are putting us through, and rescue ourselves by using other people, drugs, alcohol, social media, or, you guessed it, food. Until I heal myself, and change my beliefs and patterns, the loop will continue or come back when the going gets rough. The weird thing is I know I’m not those limiting beliefs, yet my brain is wired to believe it as truth. I don’t know how one goes about changing for good, but I guess I’ll find out. ”

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Hippies and Hyperventilating

goashape-61244 (For the beginning of the story, check out my previous blog post!)

Having had only a few months to help my mother with the estate sale, fill up the storage unit, and pack up my apartment, planning my life out once I got to California was like trying to button up my summer shorts in the dead of winter. It wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do was buy a ticket to a festival where I could camp out, in the hopes that the universe would orchestrate the perfect encounter to guide me to the place I was suppose to be. However, what was orchestrated there was no symphony, it was more like a catastrophe.

If Coachella and Burning Man had a baby, it would be the festival I went to. I found myself surrounded by people dressed up like they were about to go trick or treating, with pupils the size of gum balls. Every time I would meet someone, I would wonder if they were the one who would help me get out of this mess some way or somehow. I would check out a good looking guy in the hopes that he’d be my knight in shining armor, or knight dressed like Tarzan on acid. It didn’t take me long to start completely losing it and questioning my choices.

Terrified of my own state of mind, consumed by my thoughts of food, fear of relapsing, and desperation to figure life out, I chose to not experiment with anything that might enhance my state of being. Sober, I meandered around the wide dirt paths alongside the extravagant and colorful tents and booths, full of psychedelic t-shirts, onesies, and leather outfits. I started to cry as I walked across a wooden bridge that brought me to more tents with people laughing and enjoying their lives. A part of me resented them for rubbing salt in my large opened wound, and resented myself for not being like them.

As the sun set, I stared out onto the horizon and felt like I was looking at a real life version of the sunset from The Lion King minus the hundreds of tents. I turned around and saw half naked people drinking and doing drugs, so they could continue their momentum into the night. Having been a sober mess the past few days, I figured I’d join the party and have a beer or two. Nothing crazy, but just enough to give me a buzz and take the edge off. It still doesn’t seem like a horrible idea, so long as something horrible didn’t happen as a result.

Dancing like I had Spanish in my blood, or so I thought, I began to enjoy my time and buzz. Shortly after, I started not to feel so well from the alcohol, and decided to step away for some fresh air. As I made my way around the bend towards my campsite, I began to worry far worse than my mother does trying to make thanksgiving dinner. I felt so sick that I could tell I was about to throw up, but my ego assured me that everything would be okay if I did. Deep down, I knew this could easily be a floodgate for my old addictive behaviors to resurface.

I came out from behind the bushes, relieved that I physically felt a million times better, but that was the only thing I was relieved about. The flood gate was officially open, and my thoughts after that consisted of “uh oh uh oh uh oh” and “There, there, it’s okay. Eat this and you’ll feel better.” … to be continued

A Woman on the Verge of Everything

“Fuck. I can’t believe I ate that entire bag of chips at the barbecue last night, and waddled all the way home with a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego. It was nothing short of a scene from the walking dead. At least they were gluten-free. It doesn’t even matter though, look at me! I look like the offspring of a sumo wrestler and Melissa McCarthy before she lost weight. If I don’t eat too much for the next few days, I should look decent by the time I have to fit into my tight dress.” Welcome to a glimpse in the mind of Brooke-Lyn.

I struggled with a severe eating disorder for years. Though at this point one would look at me, or see what I do, and think I’m totally “normal” now, it is clear by my thoughts, that I have not healed that part of me. I’ve dedicated my life to loving and embracing every part of me, and it is time I love this too in order to truly heal and transcend these patterns of thoughts and behaviors. I have been documenting this journey of healing and self discovery, and I’m eager and excited to get this out there to inspire others to take action towards reaching a more desirable version of themselves.

You know the saying “Jump and the net will appear”? Well I did jump, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. This past year has been like a five star adventure/ drama /comedy movie, even though at that time, I saw it as a box office bomb. I’m ready to bare it all and finish this chapter of my life with an audience, because I’d rather take people along the journey, than write them a postcard once I’ve reached the destination saying “wish you were here.”

Though the journey has just begun, I’ve already been feeling like a mix between Britney Spears during her bald head phase, and Scooby Doo solving a mystery. Through uncovering and identifying parts of my past that I have held on to for decades, I am in the process of releasing myself of that bondage and false sense of self that has been created. It appears as though an eating disorder is about an obsession with food of some kind, but it’s really only the symptom of deeper rooted issues. While I’ve been dealing with the old wounds I have found over the past few months, sometimes I feel like a part of me is dying, but I believe it’s because a part of my identity is.

For me, I think a huge part of my healing process and inspiring others is being vulnerable, expressing myself (with a side of sarcasm), and accepting where I am in this journey of self discovery and love. It may take a few more months, or a year, but this part of me will heal. The deeper I go the darker it gets, but that’s where the best treasures lie, and I won’t stop digging until I reach gold.