A threesome with ED
As most ED-ed people probably know, it’s very very very difficult to maintain a relationship while in the throes of disorderliness. Even our queen-size bed is a tight squeeze when it’s me, J and the thirty-three thousand voices in my head. Most days we get by without a whole lot of drama but yesterday apparently someone added baking soda to the vinegar .
How did it start? Well, not to put J in a bad light or anything but I gotta vent…and hopefully to my friends in blogland who likely have had similar struggles..it won’t sound as crazy as it does to him. J is more playful than he is sexual. He touches me and looks at me but it’s more in a “hee hee, you’re naked” way than a “come hither my vixen” way. Okay, so he does this thing where he grabs me in various areas and… well.. jiggles. It’s loving, it’s not meant to tease…there are no accompanying “hey fatty fatty” comments (other than those produced between my own two ears). I know he loves my ass. Men love asses. Fine. Slap it when we walk up the stairs – that feels okay with me. He slaps it and it sounds – tight and firm. But when he grabs and jiggles – ugh I just want to lop off my derriere with a kitchen knife. Okay, so there was much much much jiggling yesterday morning for some reason (in my head coinciding with the fact that eating monstrous amounts more successfully for a few days has added a few pounds. At one point he had both hands jiggling while he sang the Sir Mix-A-Lot favorite “I like big butts”. Okay – I have to say that any female probably wouldn’t relish this little display of, ahem, affection. So I raised my point. “It makes me feel really disgusting when you do that jiggle thing to me and grab my flabby parts.”
J is sensitive. I love him for it. It makes him a wonderfully compassionate partner and just generally insightful to talk to and observent of the world in a way that I admire. But he doesn’t take comments that begin with “I don’t like it when you….” or “I feel ____ when you….” very well. I am advocating for myself with an “I” statement and he hears, “you are a disgusting pig of a man. I am so disappointed in you that you would even consider doing something as offensive and abusive as that to me.” It seems we both have our own disordered filters for incoming information.
So that started the day off pretty strained. I also got skeevy about him watching me change in the bedroom. Usually this doesn’t bother me but with the jiggling and the weight gain and just general volume and intensity of ED voices in my head – it was uncomfortable. All this me feeling yucky about myself got to be too much for him and we plummetted into the conversation of medication again. He is a long-time dysthymic who depends on anti-depressants to function and has for decades. He’s in therapy but more for maintenance as far as I can tell.
His points:
-you are depressed. it feels like you are getting more depressed. it hurts me to see that.
-anti-depressants help people feel better.
-you were on anti-depressants when we met and you were happier.
-therefore, you need anti-depressants again.
My points:
-i hated being on meds and was “fake” happy.
-i have horrible starting and stopping side effects that render me unable to function and then continue to have such glorious side effects as insomnia, no sex drive, weight gain, tremors and panic attacks while on meds.
-meds dampen my emotions and will make the therapeutic process that I’m working on now and which I trust damn near impossible.
-I may seem more depressed but I’m making some progress (at least in my own view and according to my therapist).
-depression is not my primary issue. my sadness is not the same as your dysthymia.
Bonus Zingers he threw into the conversation:
-You’re just being stubborn and willful
-I was willing to take meds for you, why aren’t you willing to do the same for me?
-You can’t do this on your own. I know you’re trying your hardest but it’s not working.
-I want to be able to say what I want, touch you however I want and look at you whenever I want.
My points were not made until hours later when we revisited the topic. The initial interaction involved me laying on the bed face-down in a pillow while he went on and on, each sentence seeming to contain something more stinging and accusatory than the last. I went into shut-down mode where the sounds of my own self-hatred and desperation rendered my own speech paralyzed. When I shut-down like this (a sign that I am feeling extremely hurt), he gets very insulted that I’m not talking – deems it rude and hurtful. There is nothing quite like feeling like the powerless victim of hurtful comments for half an hour, not being able to speak to comment or defend myself and then being accused myself of being hurtful.
By bedtime we had at least come to a place of less tension, maybe a touch more understanding from both of us. I think he understands that I don’t want him to stop touching me or looking at me but that I need the space to speak up if, on a particular day, Sir Mix-A-Lot serenades aren’t feeling okay.
But it’s hard. Being in a relationship when an ED is in the mix is fucking tough – on him and on me. The “poor, pitiful him” part has to be tempered with the “have a little sympathy for yourself too” part. I’m sure I’m not the only one with these challenges.
Any suggestions or thoughts from either experience or merely from viewing things (told completely subjectively by me) from a different vantage point?
A Book I’m Reading
So I finished The Lovely Bones – despite the fact I was racing to the finish, I was quite disappointed to hit that last page. It was so good, I wish there were more. Made me realize that’s part of why I love blogs – if you get hooked on a good “story” (does someone else’s life and recovery and mental health being called a “story” bug anyone besides me?) or attached to a clever, skilled “narrator” – you can just keep coming back. The story gets updated every few days, hopefully more.
So I picked up Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim by David Sedaris last night. Should be a good read. And then, I couldn’t help it – I found myself on the self-help and psychology aisles, parusing. Wound up getting Women Who Hurt Themselves by Dusty Miller. It seems (in the first 45 pages) to be interesting, disturbing, somewhat informative with a compassionate and understanding tone. It uses a specific psychological frame of reference called Traume Re-enactment Syndrome which I both “get” and hope doesn’t totally apply to me.
As previously mentioned, I have very limited childhood memories and a mentally ill father who has admitted to sexual inappropriateness with me but never any actual abuse that I know of. It has, in the past year and a half, become the single greatest fear of my life that I will “uncover” memories which contain discrete trauma, abuse, or other yuckiness that I wish to never ever think about. So reading a book about all these women with similiar symptoms as me but as a result of abuse is freaking me out. I prefer to think of my childhood on the whole as traumatic, rather than having actual trauma events.
One interesting thing that Miller brings up is the idea of “parts” (ha ha…thought I’d make it through a post without mention of IFS therapy, didn’t you?) splitting off and a fragmented sense of self in women who self-harm. She specificially mentions three major parts which mirror childhood trauma experiences – the Victim (“wounded child within”), the Abuser (an internalized representation of the abusive adult) and my mother, I mean, the Nonprotecting Bystander. She talks about in each episode of self-harm that a women’s mind has each of these represented. The disorder, abuser part leading you to hurt yourself, the victim who doesn’t want to engage in self-harm but doesn’t know how to stop it, and the part that says, “Sorry I can’t help you. This is inevitable.” Those three parts ring true for me so I thought it was an interesting way to frame it. Later in the book, she’ll talk about how to develop a protector part to replace the Nonprotecting Bystander – which sounds an awful lot already like the Self that I am supposed to be developing through IFS.
Sorry if any of this was triggering or upsetting for people. I know that childhood trauma is, well – shit that you don’t want to be slapped in the face with on a Saturday morning.
J and I had a date night last night, which was fun. We went to one of my favorite restaurants where I can get Gluten-free crepes and, to my delight, the Avett Brothers were rockin’ in the background. It actually made the dinner so flippin’ enjoyable that I didn’t purge or restrict. I love getting out of the house with J – he makes me feel safe and comfortable. I also got out yesterday to have coffee with my old yoga buddy – who I haven’t seen in for-ever. She’s one of those souls who you feel you can talk to about anything so I did. She didn’t get awkward or uncomfortable. She didn’t brush it off as not a big deal. She offered her support and was honest about her own struggles right now and came up with some good ideas for fun things to do. Like having a little yoga time just me and our other female yoga friend and her once every few weeks. No rushing home to make it to a class – just pick a time that works for us and DO it. She also offered workday lunch or coffee breaks (not hugely feasible given my schedule) but it was such a sweet thought, especially since lunch used to be the worst meal ever for me before I moved here. I wish I’d had her offer then!
So I’m feeling okay this morning. Lots of very loud restricting voices. Utter lack of energy to spend time with them and figure out “what they need” and blah blah blah. I can’t do this around the clock – even if it does work. That’s my current frustration – that I’ve found something that works a little bit but that I don’t really want to do it all the time.
Would everyone in my head just please SHUT UP?!
-who eats pumpkin pie for breakfast you disgusting food whore?!
-way to start the day with a purge; does recovery mean nothing to you?
-proud of you for having a normal workout
-that didn’t even count as a workout, come back later and work off more of yesterday’s grotesque calorie-fest
-that scale can’t be right
-the number on the scale isn’t important
-that mirror can’t be right
-you look healthy
-fuck healthy, i want to look sick
-good for you for calling a friend for support
-you are such a burden to people in your life
-give up on life; it clearly will be an endless battle for you
-call your dad, just for pure self-harm purposes
-take a bunch of Valium and sleep for a few days, you need it.
-good job eating a healthy and nutritious lunch. see, don’t you feel better now?
-no dinner for you now that you ate lunch
-let’s do something fun tonight – date night perhaps?
-J would rather sleep and look at stock prices on the computer than do anything with you – you and fun do not currently fit into the same sentence
-your stomach is growling because you deserve it. go to bed hungry and let it keep you awake all night…maybe then you won’t go eating a holiday massacre of calories again any time soon.
Stop my brain, I want to get off.
I am disgusting but I am okay.
How is it possible that I made it through Thanksgiving without purging??? I worked my disordered brain’s ASS off this morning and noon to get a healthy breakfast and lunch in me. Dinner was with in in-law-to-be’s (who I love) and I ate more than I was comfortable with. My mantra? “This is the one day of the year when everyone eats more than they are comfortable with. Give yourself a break.” Came home, smoked pot and munched my face full. But when I smoke I don’t purge…even when I legitimately binge. Not that I would describe this as healthy eating, but it doesn’t really feel ED-y either. So 2 consecutive nights of smoking and eating lead me to feel disgusting. I won’t subject you to the ongoing IFS dialogues in my divided mind, but I’ll let you in on my new strategy of typing these dialogues out – a quicker and more “real time” way of recording thoughts for me. But I found it really helpful yesterday and today to do that. Also gives me oodles to talk about in therapy.
Basically the IFS stuff before meals led to a sort of hesitancy and crazy appearance to my food preparation (If you’ve seen Ratatouille from Pixar, it was as if Little Chef was in my hat, guiding my every move). Staring into the fridge, reaching, balking and reaching for something else. Asking a part or two if this food felt “safe” and then checking back in for quantity purposes as I scooped or poured various items onto my plate, revising my measurements several times. I guess it was something akin to some components of mindful eating – trying to listen closely to what my body needs. Although, in this case, it was trying to listen closely to what my eating disordered parts were willing to tolerate when pushed to compromise with mySelf a bit. Being mindful of my eating disordered parts seems counter-intuitive…like it would make me sicker. But somehow, giving them a chance to speak up and explain themselves makes them a little more willing to trust me and attempt to compromise a bit. As long as they know I’m not trying to just banish them from the whole system.
I’m not sure what tomorrow brings. My bloated, full belly is triggering lots of RESTRICT and OVER-exercise thoughts. That I don’t deserve food tomorrow because of how I’ve acted last night and tonight. But really, I deserve food every day. I will eat every day. Even if I give my parts permission to limit it only to really safe foods tomorrow. I guess my not being Anorexic gives me this option since my safe foods all have SOME nutritional value (I mean, Carnation Instant Breakfast is one of them…so…). So some of my parts are wanting to restrict to only a C.I.B. for breakfast, one for lunch and a small super-healthy dinner – I’m actually okay with giving them that. I don’t know what I’m rambling about…stuck in my own head TOO much today…where is the middle ground. I kind of felt today like in order to make this approach work – I might need 20-30 minutes of computer time/alone time to process what I’m feeling and thinking before each meal. Which is hard to make functional in a normal life. But when I give it that time and space, it seems to be helping. Must remember that when consider what’s “functional”.
Anyways, I know Thanksgiving is generally a shitpile of a day for anyone with an Eating Disorder. So I’ve been thinking a lot today of the other people out there working their asses off to survive today. As someone at group said “Happy Thanksgiving. Safe Thanksgiving.”
Self-therapy Part 1
Okay, with as good as I felt Monday night, I would have anticipated having a bit longer to rest on the laurels of my newfound perspective and optimism. But apparently there’s a lot more yuck where that bit came from. I’ve had a few meals without purging but on the whole, yesterday and today weren’t pretty. Today I was just on the prowl for food all day and hadn’t packed enough of it for work (apparently my holiday from restricting was brief as well). Which, (because I work with kids) led to lots of candy. Which (because I am human, specifically female, more specifically eating disordered) led to a significant sense of guilt, shame and regret. Oh, and hunger. And you can see where this is going….eating too much too fast, knowing full well where it would end up. Despite that truck-load of perspective and Self energy and therapy this and therapy that – I am right back where I was. Okay, maybe not RIGHT back…but close.
The difference being that this morning I started out with some good intentions – downloaded a bunch of yoga podcasts (from Bow Down Yoga – a local teacher whose classes I love in person), and some short guided meditations. Hoped to fit some mindfulness or downward dogedgness into my day. Thought about eating a healthy and nutritious, yet filling breakfast (nuts even entered my mind – gasp!). But somehow an empty belly full of coffee happened. When did that shift occur? I went to the gym and had a normal person workout (normal people stare at their collarbones in the mirror for 45 minutes straight, right? ahem. at least the intensity and duration of the physical activity was normal). I came home and had my vitamin C supplement and felt healthy. The shower may have been where the turn came. When ED is really cranking, my checking definitely carries over into the body arena and, looking back, my shower was quite long with lots of checking. So perhaps whatever thoughts I was having about my body were coming from a part that needed my attention. That part that wants to lose and lose so that people notice and become concerned. I really empathize with Lola’s post today about ED and weight loss and thinness making one feel special. But I also know with every fiber of my being that my ED cares not about the girl across the gym from me or the guy on the street – it’s target is specifically my family and perhaps close acquaintances. As much as I want to be healthy because my sickness hurts my brother….I’m seeing him next weekend and want my body to reflect suffering and hurt. It’s not enough to tell him on the phone that I’ve relapsed, that I’m sad, blah blah blah. I know bulimics don’t have to be skinny to have a fucked up disorder. But I want the people who know me to hurt at the sight of me. Okay, part, I hear ya loud and clear. So WHY?????
Part: Because I don’t think people will believe me or pay attention if I just tell them I’m hurting and sad and sick and miserable.
Self: When did you start to feel this way?
Part: When I was little – 4, 5, maybe 6. I would tell my mom I was scared of the creepy neighbor and she accused me of being paranoid. I told my brother I was sad because my parents were fighting and he told me to go away. My dad used to listen when I was really small but then he stopped listening, too.
Self: …..I don’t know what to say….Seems like you have good reason to feel that the most important people in your life won’t listen or pay attention to your feelings….I don’t know how to do this process on my own…..I’m just sorry that you feel that way. I wish you could just call someone crying and not have to purge and lose weight and then visit them in order to get the reaction you need. You’d probably get a more immediate reaction.
(that last bit sounds like another part talking. a little condescension and an agenda. could that part please take a seat in the waiting room, it’s untrusting of other’s reactions part’s turn right now. you definitely deserve an appointment but please schedule it with the receptionist so I can focus on untrusting of other’s reactions part.)
Self: look, untrusting of other people’s reactions part, I’m new to this whole IFS thing and as much as I believe in it, I don’t know how to do it without Bree. So I’ll do all I know how to do right now – I’ll do a little yoga. I’m not quite sure how that will help you but it’s the only thing I know how to do right now to take care of myself – and you’re a part of myself. Let’s give it a shot and see how it feels, okay.
Part: (hesitant and befuddled) uh…okay. will you check back in with me afterward, though? I don’t want you to leave me alone (crying).
Self: oh, oh, don’t cry. you don’t have to leave. stay right here – um…I have two mats and I’ll put them side by side. We’ll do it together and J will wake up and think I’m crazy.
(that’s another part jumping in. Worried about what other people think part, there’s a seat in the waiting room for you right next to Wish you could just fix it part.)
Self: We’ll do it together and you’ll be safe, okay. Let me know if it doesn’t feel right. I’m just trying my best here but I really want to help you.
Part: Okay. I think I trust you a little bit.
Okay. So there you have it folks. I’ve officially gone IFS crazy on the internet. ha ha. but you know what….I feel a little better having gotten that out. And I’ll email it to Bree to talk about on Monday.
Tagged
Feeling quite like a newly initiated member of the “cool girls” in 6th grade for being tagged by Kate over at Blue Skies and Green Grass for this. And then the pressure sets in. Keep telling myself, “there are no right answers, there are no right answers”.
1. Do you like blue cheese salad dressing? Can you believe that it’s not gluten-free? I had just developed a liking for high quality BC dressing when it got nixed from my list of GF foods.
2. Favorite late night snack?
Kettle Corn
3. Do you own a gun? HECK no. I have touched one 2x in my life and cried both times. Terrified weeny at the mere mention of them. I can’t believe I dated a Navy SEAL for nearly 2 years!
4. What’s your favorite drink at Starbucks or other specialty coffee shop?
Frappucino Light (pumpkin spice latte but apparently they stopped that after Halloween 
5. Do you get nervous before doctor appointments?
OH yeah – had one today. iPod is my best friend in waiting rooms.
6. What do you think of hot dogs?
LOVE ‘em. #2 favorite food…..after CORN DOGS!
7. Favorite Christmas song?
not in the mood for Christmas this year so they’re all feeling icky
8. What do you prefer to drink in the morning?
Diesel fuel strength coffee – with a splash of milk.
9. Can you do push-ups? a few. out of practice.
10. What’s your favorite piece of jewellery?
Vintage engagement ring – a family heirloom.
11. Favorite hobby?
I have a lot of “used to be”s for this question. How telling. Currently….blogging.
12. Do you have A.D.D.?
Nope.
13. What’s one trait that you hate about yourself?
That I can’t pick just one.
14. The last disease you contracted? I’ll be honest…HPV…hence the uncomfortable gyn appointment today…but that’s clearly waaaaay too much information.
15. Name 3 thoughts at this exact moment.
What are shreddies? I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow. I love my dog (who just walked into the room and licked my knee).
16. Name 3 drinks you regularly drink? Coffee, water with Vitamin C powder (boosts the immune system), sugar free Red Bull (embarassing but true).
17. Current worry right now? How long will the positive energy last?
18. Current hate right now?
“Greyvember” weather in Vermont; and my neighbors.
19. Favorite place to be?
An Avett Brothers Concert
20. How did you ring in the New Year?
J and I had our first kiss at midnight (much anticipated due to my “not ready for a relationship” mantra)
21. Like to travel?
Yes and no. In theory, yes. Always gets me very very anxious, though.
22. Name three people who will complete Sunday Stealing this week:
Is this a British thing so I wouldn’t understand??
23. Do you own slippers?
Yes. Just got really fun new ones – blue moccosins with lime green tie. Finally tossed my enormously unflattering and grossly dirty ones from college.
24. What color shirt are you wearing? grey hoodie sweatshirt.
25. Do you like sleeping on satin sheets? Never have. The idea sounds icky and very Vegas.
26. Can you whistle? Yes, I’m quite talented at it, like my grandfather. My whistling hole is always distinctly on the left side of my mouth. Weird.
27. Favorite singer/band? Obviously the Avett Brothers.
28. Could you ever make it 39 days on the show Survivor? Yes. That show was MADE for people with ED’s. And my friend was on it…if he can do it, I can do it.
29. What songs do you sing in the shower? I don’t.
30. Favorite girl’s names? Lilly, Lydia, Ava
31. Favorite boy’s name? Townes, Cabot.
32. What’s in your pocket right now? Have none.
33. Last thing that made you laugh? A silly joke with J tonight related to my gyn appointment.
34. Like your job?
Used to. Feeling drained of it right now. Have been restless in it lately but it affords the time to go to oodles of therapy and I just got a raise so…..probably shouldn’t complain.
35. This was empty, was I supposed to make up a question for this slot?
Yes, you were. Lovely job.
36. Do you love where you live?
Not the actual apartment or even town but I love Vermont.
37. How many TVs do you have in your house? usually 1 – but it’s broken. Don’t have cable…only Netflix.
38. Who is your loudest friend? Hmmm… I don’t know b/c I haven’t socialized much lately
39. Do you drive the speed limit or speed?
speed…have been called “zippy” behind the wheel.
40. Does someone have a crush on you?
Not that I know of….probably some of my younger boy clients.
41. What is your favorite book?
Right now I’m loving “The lovely bones”
42. What is your favorite candy? Does Ben and Jerry’s Ice cream count? 3 muskateers bar, if not.
43. Favorite Sports Team? Boston Red sox.
44. What were you doing 12 AM last night? trying to go to bed and wishing I hadn’t stayed up so late.
45. What was the first thing you thought of when you woke up today?
“I wish I hadn’t stayed up so late.”
My turn to tag….Let’s see….many of the blogs I read have already featured this so if I repeat, my apologies. I pick Erika because I’m curious if she’ll do it. Tiptoe. And Lee.
My parts – the protectors, the exiles, the female parts…
Okay, that last item in the series was in reference to my crampy achy insides which just underwent a minor female procedure. No further details are needed but suffice it to say the heating pad and the brown faux suede couch are my best friends right now.
Yesterday – whew – yesterday was a doozy. I surfaced from the cold, dark heavy depths of the ocean floor to the surface gasping for some much-needed air. Now, a part of me is wanting to give all credit for the renewed – uh, will to live – to my therapist, to spontaneously readjusted brain chemistry, to President-elect Obama’s rescue package, to anything other than myself. But it’s about time I start taking a bit of credit for more than just my fucked-up-edness. I worked my ass off yesterday. I showed up at therapy with my lunch, listened to my iPod in the waiting room to calm my crawling skin, rapid heart rate and desire to bolt (Confession: When said therapist failed to mention the lunch {concealed in my oversized purse}, which she had suggested I bring in the event I was still struggling to eat without purging I didn’t exactly volunteer my hidden meal and wound up NOT eating lunch with her – but I brought it and it was freaking me out in the waiting room before hand* regardless of the outcome). I cried and worked through some heavy, dark stuff. I get very panicky and self-destructive when I begin to have access to memories – access that so many protector parts work overtime to prevent. So to really “go there” and feel some of those old feelings and cry and squirm and feel sad and lonely and hopeless and desperate is quite a feat.
The clarity that yesterday brought – there are feelings inside of me that I don’t want, memories I don’t want to see, hurt places that want to fester without intrusion, exiled young parts of me that are curled in a ball and spitting and hissing at anyone (including me) that try to come near. They’re starting to get stirred up – by life circumstances (wedding planning, holidays, my mom’s visit) and by therapy. And my protector parts (self-harming purging parts, “to do list making” and freaking out when I can’t do it all parts, perfectionist parts, anxious parts) are trying to work overtime to avoid the yuck. And everyone in my head is screaming and not making sense and forcing me around like a marionette with 27 drunk blind people manning the controls. And it really scared me this weekend. There are things I could do that would patch all this up a bit – get back on anti-depressants, have a symbolic beginning to my “recovery” with a plan and rules. And I’m certainly not knocking anyone who needs those things. But I know that for ME – recovery won’t stick (clearly it didn’t) if I don’t face these underlying dark places and learn to comfort myself when I feel the yuck. Medicine can reduce the urges and dull the pain but past history shows that once you take the meds away, the hurt comes back into focus and the disordered coping is soon to follow.
I don’t know how much any of this makes to anyone who does not reside inside my cranium (which, I assume, is most of you). But a perfect example is this….I purged my brains out all weekend. Per Bree’s request, I spent some time writing down the crazy thoughts as they poured through my synapses in disjointed and frantic spurts. Yesterday we looked at what I wrote just before a purge and while there were many many parts speaking quite loudly, one that kept coming up was an exiled part that feels completely alone in the world. And when that part would speak …. “everyone else is off living their lives and I’m stuck here face in the toilet” another would jump in to respond “well, you’re here puking because you can’t handle living an adult life” (thanks for your brutal honesty, self-critical part) and then another “as long as you live, you will have this pathetic disgusting disorder – it will win so just give in” (welcome to the conversation, hopeless part). And the only thing that can stop the chain of part reacting to part reacting to part reacting to part is some Self stepping in. No agenda. No plan. Just some curiosity and interest – some attention to pay to those parts that need it. The alone part was one I spent a lot of time with in yesterday’s individual session. How old is she? 10. What is she doing? Spending time with my dad. Why does she feel alone? Because everyone else is off taking care of themselves while I’m stuck taking care of my crazy father. What does she need? Someone to understand that she’s trapped and alone. Validation that the situation sucks and isn’t fair. Someone to wonder what her life would have been like if she hadn’t been burdened with the responsibility of keeping her father stable so he didn’t become erratic and dangerous. And somehow through this exploratory process, there is a quiet Self that enters the room feeling curious and empathetic and nurturing toward the 10 year old lonely part of me. And THAT is what I need….not loud reactive parts, not purging, not sickness, not the right words from my mom or dad, not an escape from life. I need ME to comfort my own hurt spots – to visit them, to explore them, to be curious about them and then to ask them what they need.
After about 70 minutes of individual therapy along these lines, I wiped the mascara tracks off my cheeks and returned to work. Only a few hours later, it was time for group therapy (like I said – it was a doozy of a day). The yoga portion was taught by my therapist and felt MUCH more therapeutic and intentional than when led by the regular instructor. During the final Shavasana (the resting part at the end), I felt the sadness pulling at the corners of my mouth. When my therapist moved to each of us, adjusting our bodies I started feel a bit vulnerable, like I might not be able to fight the yuck that was bubbling up. When her hands were on my neck and scalp, the sobs erupted, heartbeat racing and gasping and sputtering for breath with hot tears rolling down my temples, puddling in my ears. I never moved or opened my eyes, but she remained there with her hand solidly on my forehead and gently moved my own hand onto my chest. I don’t know that I have ever felt so nurtured or comforted or safe while feeling so unexplainably sad. I wish that everytime the yuck overtakes me I could be guaranteed that response but I know it’s not realistic. But it brought more significance and understanding to her assertion that I CAN come to a point where when the yuck bubbles up and the protector parts start yelling and forcing their way in, that I can ask them to step aside knowing that I can handle the yuck.
So yesterday brought much perspective, insight, pain and comfort, challenge and growth. But I’m not setting any lofty goals that I’ll be recovered overnight and all this will go away. That today is the first day of the rest of my life without purging. It’ll happen again. I’ll go for another dive to the depths and need help to make it back to the surface. I can’t banish the protector parts and at times I have to thank them for working so effectively (even the self-harmful ones work in the short-term). But I’m more and more appreciating how the IFS work can have some practical applications that ultimately will lead me to be able to help myself.
*extra freak-out points because I had to pee before the appointment and had to take my purse in the bathroom. And despite the fact that I have frequent intimate face-to-porcelein meetings with my toilet – and on occasion others – I was terrified that the bathroom air particles had contaminated my food.
Updates…
morning post, pre-work, no time for anything insightful. in a nutshell, 3 and a half hours of therapy yesterday seemed to do their trick and I’m feeling a bit more sane and stable. have a really embarrassingly short work-day and then a lovely….uh…gyn procedure…..YES _ JUST WHAT EVERY GIRL DREAMS OF ON A RAINY TUESDAY. So I’ll have plenty of time to post later today. Until then….
little tiny drops of inspiration
Seth Avett spoke to me this morning as I was brushing my teeth. This is from the song “When I Drink”, which as I listened to it 8x in a row…and might as well be called, “When I restrict and purge and overexcercise and just generally engage in eating disordered behaviors” but apparently it doesn’t fit as nicely as DRINK and offers much more challenging rhymes…
“But if I think
I just might get something out of this
My parents taught me to learn when I miss
Just do your best
Just do your best
It’s the only way to keep that last bit of sanity
Maybe I don’t have to be good but I can try to be
At least a little better than I’ve been so far”
-The Avett Brothers, When I Drink, The Gleam album
Also, I just ate a bit of oatmeal – inspired by For the Love of Peanut Butter. I don’t feel like I have many “safe foods” right now and I just can’t face a salad for breakfast so I took a cue from her and dug out the old Gluten Free Oats (yeah, oats can have gluten, too). Since it’s not a distinctly “unsafe” food – I gave it a whirl. And now I’m off to distract…at *gasp* church!! I know, I know, it feels a bit odd to me too. But my mom and brother have been advocating for it for awhile now and I’m willing to try anything. Pass me the Kool-aid, Mr. Jones**.
**Oh my, not that I am in any way insinuating that revisiting my Episcopal roots on a Sunday morning is analagous to a cult.
Where I am and where I want to be. Now, who has my roadmap??!!
There is, in my ED experience, this honeymoon period when you have all the behaviors and some nice pleasant weight loss but you’re still functional and nobody really notices that anything’s going on. Your body feels okay with it and it seems temporary – something you can snap back out of if something important was on the line. Then suddently that important stuff starts to be on the line. You stop functioning so well – at work, in relationships, in day to day getting out of bed and showering. Your body starts to fall apart and you realize that the “snap-out of it superpower” was only a figment of your imagination.
I placed an “emergency” call to Bree today after a difficult conversation with J. I haven’t kept anything in my stomach since Thursday and couldn’t see an end in sight to that and was starting to panic. She was supremely helpful and understanding, trying to gather all the pieces of the puzzle and put together a plan for the next 2 days until I see her Monday. She gave me some “homework” – both practical (find a safe food – even just 1. eat it and then use distractors as much as I need to avoid purging) and emotional (spend some time doing the IFS work that she feels I’m ready to try on my own, journaling of whatever jacked up thoughts are racing through my head right now). The bottom line, she said, is that my purging part is trying to work overtime to protect me right now. My job is to listen and figure out what it’s protecting. What do my parts have to tell me.
While on some days (especially ones with that lovely looseness in the waistband of my pants) I have a love affair with my eating disorder, today I am just plain angry at it. It has nothing to do at all with LIVING. My best friend since second-grade delivered her first baby last night. All the joy and excitement was tainted by silent grief that I don’t know when I’ll be well enough and stable enough to have that experience. J and I are rethinking the details of our wedding and putting official planning on a sort of “hold” pattern until I can sort things out.
I have GOT to get back on board with recovery. HAVE to. I feel this weird need for it to be a momentous occasion. That somehow just deciding at 9 pm on a random Saturday in November that I’m going to get better won’t work. I need pomp and circumstance. I think in some ways that must be one of the benefits of residential treatment. Clearly it is the beginning of a change. When you step out of those doors, your life of recovery has begun. The other thing I’ve been pondering is how would recovery feel different if I just really owned it – let ED and my recovery be a part of my identity and be honest and open about it with people who are important to me. It feels too vulnerable on so many levels but I wonder if it would help. I’m not ordering a magnetic ribbon for my car or anything but what if I was able to call on a friend and say “hey, I’m alone this weekend while J works and I need someone here when I eat lunch.” I’ve even contemplated going to church. I need something bigger than me to step in here – whether it be a higher power or just a support system. I cannot do it on my own – clearly.
The other thing I know, which will sound so fucking corny and therapy-ish is that I have GOT to come up with some coping strategies. No matter how momentous the re-entry into recovery (i could throw a god-damned party), I’m still going to have grief, fear, panic, anger. I’m still going to feel paranoid that my dad is hiding in the bushes outside my house on Christmas morning. I’m still going to talk to my mom and feel mis-heard and lectured to. I’m still going to get feel my arms jiggle when I drive over speedbumps. The triggers will be there. So I need to stockpile some ammunition to fight back. Not sure what that really means.
I ate a salad for dinner and immediately J and I went to Barnes and Noble – a perfect place for a pacing, indecisive, distracted and uncomfortable girl to get out some restless energy. And the bathrooms are pretty gross so I felt safe against a purge there. And you know what I did….I bought a book. A real book – not a self-help, change your life in 6 easy steps, perfect wellness and nutrition, find Enlightenment overnight book – the “Lovely Bones”. My short-term plan is to drive my little red car to a coffee shop, a bookstore or even just a parking garage and read read read if I am alone and need a distractor from purging. That’s the plan for tomorrow as J has to work and I’ll be here alone.
At some point, I feel the need to hatch a formal plan for recovery a la Lola at Marine Snow. But I’m not there quite yet.
