I don't know much. I'm not usually right, please know that. For some reason these thoughts, things, and ideas have been on my mind and heart throughout the years. I am silly, sinful, and make many mistakes every day. God's grace and love for me is my only Hope. His grace gives me strength to forgive myself each day, start over again, and fills me with the desire to show others how much He loves, forgives, and delights in each and every one of us. His children.
I've come to my lowest of lows again and again and again and again. I never imagined I would ever eat another dorito after yesterday, yet today I ate bags and bags. When I sit down to this stupid basement computer I feel compelled to crunch and crunch and crunch and crunch. It is not me. It isn't the Abby who loves fruit. Who loves to be 100 pounds. Who likes only healthy food. It is weird.. As I pop that first gross fatty chip into my mouth, I think: I want to lose weight, why am I doing this? It is like I know what I'm doing but can't control it.
30 pounds in one year--a ton of pounds in a few months--AAAAHHHHHH! I am so embarrassed. This is not me. I WILL be skinny by the time I go to college. In less than a month.
We wonder. Is it the medication? I will call that stupid lady tomorrow. Those stupid ladies are the ones who made me fat in the first place. They say I have an eating disorder. anorexia. They made me eat and eat fat to gain weight. But I just won't stop. Last time I saw them they were so happy....little did they know.
I felt okay today. Not as bad as yesterday, even though I ate way more today. But deep down I MISS DANCING. It tears my heart to pieces. I cry with fear. Will I ever soar again? will I ever beat my legs? Will I ever jump off the ground? AAAAHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! I NEED HELP.
I don't want to do this again tomorrow.
One piece of fruit, one lean cuisine, and a tiny bit of supper, and more fruit, that is IT.
This isn't me.
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"Did you feel, feel it break? From all the weight of your mistake? You never knew how much it cost. Feels like your innocence is lost. So much for the perfect life! So much for the perfect day! It’s like no matter how you try, Perfection’s just too far away.
So lift them up, to Me. All the broken pieces. All the broken pieces of your life. To Me. All the broken pieces. All the broken pieces of your life.
Did you hear what I said? Did you read the words I wrote down in red? I was broken once for you. And no one loves you like I do. That’s the beauty of this grace. It can put the pieces back in place. And shine reflections of forgiveness In a million different ways.
I can take even your greatest mistake. Every scar, every tear, every break. And I can turn it in to something more beautiful Than you have ever seen.
"I feel lost. I constantly think about how "messed up" this year has been and how I just want to rip it out of its sockets and forget it even existed. I am not me. I sacrifice day after day and minute after minute of my life to taking pictures, editing them, designing pages, brainstorming, searching, questioning, etc. for the yearbook. This 40 hour or more weekly commitment has been both what keeps me sane and what causes stress, fatigue, sickness, and meltdowns.
I have become a whirlwind of expectations from my parents: driving my sisters everywhere (I don't have any control of my time which leaves me constantly worried and unhappy), cleaning my room and the basement, not leaving anything around, not eating or drinking on the computer, gaining weight/eating a lot, only exercising three hours a day max with a day off, eating supper with my family, sleeping more, etc.
I have a constant worry and fear about displeasing my family or making them angry. I can't wait to be out of this house. I know my problems won't disappear, but I can only imagine how nice it will be to not suffer under expectations.
Due to this stress, I am never able to practice dance at home because my body doesn't want to move in the perfect way I want it to. I have begun terrible eating patterns with barely anything eaten in the morning and a huge binge at night. Last night I ate at least half a bag of cheerios, five servings of soy nuts, two granola bars, one jar of salsa, and I don't remember what else, but probably plenty more. As I write I am munching, even though I want to reverse this trend with big breakfasts and little snacks through out the day to keep my energy high.
This lazy person with a layer of fat all over her body (and with a much fatter stomach than ever before) is not me. I want to be active and to DANCE and live my way!"
Tears streamed down my face as I walked out of the room toward my mom, embarrassed, unhappy, and disgruntled. I was almost fourteen years old and hated myself for crying in front of all the girls I had just met. I guess I hated myself for crying, period. My perfectionistic wish to do everything right had really kicked in on that first day of ballet. I did not try to cry, but the tears came. I was frustrated by the fact that my body wasn’t moving the way it was supposed to and by the fact that everyone else knew what they were doing, while I no clue about a single step. Even though the only reason I was taking ballet was to move up in jazz, during the next semester I constantly annoyed my sister with questions about ballet and was frequently frustrated. I had no idea it was going to be so complex! I could tell ballet was not easy for me at all. By the time I moved up to my first 90 minute long ballet class in the middle of ninth grade, I was starting to realize my love for the art. I loved how I could feel my muscles growing as I relevéd again and again at the barre and how my adrenaline soured as I spun, slid, jumped, and leaped across the floor. Christian music flowed through my veins as I lifted my whole body into praise for the Lord. Even though dancing brought so much joy, I understood perfectly well how far behind I was from everyone else who started when they were tiny, including my sister who is four years younger than me. I made it my goal to practice as much as I could in order to catch up to all the girls my age and pass up my younger sister.
The more I practiced the better it made me feel. Working hard at school and other things had never made me feel as good as improving at this most challenging endeavor. As I started to try summer dance camps, including the seven hours of dancing a day experience at International Music Camp, I realized dancing all day made me the happiest girl on the planet. I started making lists of little goals for every day such as jumping higher, turning out more, improving my arms, etc. All of this dancing only brought one downside: it ripped me away from enjoying anything else in life. The desire to dance completely plagued my brain day in and day out, making me unable to enjoy any time spent away from what I wished to accomplish (dancing and homework). I was unwilling to spend any time helping my family with chores, watching movies with them, eating supper with them, talking to them, etc. without unhappily wanting to dance at the same time. I constantly worried about my parents or sisters getting angry at me for dancing through the kitchen, and I constantly tried to plan out every little minute of the day in my head and became frustrated as my plans never worked out. Most days out of the week my little sleep and large amount of exercise made me feel energized and happy. However, at least one day a week I would be miserably low from tiredness and would breakdown extremely easily. My parents began to worry about my weight and other health aspects and constantly tried to limit my amount of dancing. Their concern made me even more determined to work as hard and long as it could.
What started out as a few innocent hours of dancing, eventually turned into a full-fledged intense six hour a day workout a few years later. This all seemed fine until about the beginning of senior year, when I began to feel tired and weak all the time. I was miserable as I walked around, unable to dance and feeling sad and angry much of the time. I would try day after day to eat a ton of food and to rest so that I could dance, but no energy would ever come. Finally one day I realized I needed to put praying and helping my family first and then God would bless me with the ability to dance for as long as He wanted. I now have learned to pray and to help with chores first and to trust in God with my dancing. I have more energy than I have for a long long time and am dancing at my best ever. This is by only going to dance classes for 1-3 hours during four days of the week. I now use my life to explore all my talents: photography, school, helping others, loving God, and dance. I choose not to go overboard with any of them, but to find balance in my life. I teach dance now and have come to realize that resting is more important than practicing in terms of performance. I know that I should stop practicing, as I usually have classes to assist the next day.
Each day is still a struggle, as I long to feel that adrenaline rush and as I long to feel like I am improving every day. When I feel sad, busy, or tired I turn to God and pray that He will help me dance. I am learning to trust in God and not in my practicing. As long as I am making a difference in the world by helping out my parents, sharing my faith, making people smile with my photography, and teaching little girls to worship God through dance, I know my day has been worthwhile.
