Post-therapy wrap-up
Therapy (on the phone) was really helpful today. I gained some nice new understanding of:
(1) how badly some of my parts want to reach out to others with authenticity, a touch of vulnerability and needs
(2) the protector part that jumps in the way of the above coming to fruition. the people-pleasing impulsive talking part who betrays all the vulnerability, the emotion, the “true” me in an effort to keep the whole system safe
(3)the reinforcement that the protector part receives each time I welcome into my life the types of people who will replicate the patterns of my youth.
What I’m left with is this: I want to do it differently this time. I want to figure out first how to distinguish those people who are NOT like my family of origin and who are safe to be me around and then how to let those people in a bit. The first part is crucial to remember because I definitely have “good therapy” parts who think that experiencing my emotions and being vulnerable is the end goal of therapy. But what’s the point if I finally get to that place with people who mistreat me again? No, I have to figure out before hand if my parts feel safe. B. says it’s just a process of being aware of what parts are most “in the living room” when I spend time with people. Examining what comes up when I’m with them. Awareness is not something I’ve been cultivating a lot of lately. I’ve been busy and distracted and ungrounded. Kayaking and yoga are top priorities for the week. Maybe listen to a guided meditation. Best of intentions…we’ll see how it works out.
Chronicles of the Digestively Challenged
It has been a trying week for me. A sudden and severe onset of Strep Throat had me bed ridden Wednesday and Thursday and then I developed a stomach ulcer of still undetermined severity as a result of excessive ibuprofen (ab)use. Neither the strep nor the stomach pain kept me from travelling to the beach for a friend’s wedding. Where I continued my suffering in a more public venue and wound up in the Urgent Care. Travelling is always difficult because of my gluten-free diet, social gatherings can be emotional because of the emphasis on food and to top it all off, my body was staging a revolt of epic proportions. The stomach pains came in scorching waves which increased in intensity with hunger. Combining the lack of available gluten-free foods with the fact that a near empty belly was excruciating with the fact that I feel like a pig when I have to eat every 1.5 hours left me absolutely depressed. It doesn’t take much these days to stir up the pity party about how I fucking despise food. I hate everyone talking about it and eating it and enjoying it and I can’t eat anything but dry lettuce because I’ll have explosive diarrhea in the shared hotel bathroom if I so much as look at a french fry or marinated piece of chicken. “My body hates me.” ” It doesn’t work right. ” “I’m just allergic to food.” “I never want to eat again as long as I live.” And then it starts crossing the lines from frustrated Celiac thoughts to eating disordered thoughts. The hopelessness, the frustration, the grief that I’ll never be able to have a normal life. And for some that may sound like an exaggeration because lots of people have food allergies and what’s the big deal about not eating bread? But at this point I feel like I will never again be able to eat food prepared by anyone but me. I will undoubtedly have explosive diarrhea the morning after I spend the night with any new love interest (which leads to anxiety which means I am unbelievably anxious for approximately the first 6 months of all relationships that my stomachwill make some other worldly noise or I will stink up a bathroom). I will never be able to travel without a grocery bag of food (which totally fucks with my eating disordered voices). I will never be able to be spontaneous. I will never be able to eat Thanksgiving dinner prepared by others.
I am sorry. I am just really downtrodden about the whole thing and I’m not totally sure why it’s coming to a head lately.
andsome more…
i just re-read whatIposted aboutmy thoughtson my crazy brain in relationships andIhad another revalation (damn,i’mon a roll).
I see parallels betweenthe anxiety and build-up of speedof thoughts andtheimpulsivity and the methodical planning that I experience surroundinganew relationship and the same types of thoughts andbehaviors aroundmoving. As Iread the last post I recalledthe anxiety I felt after C. andIhooked up this weekend.I wound up saying I wanted to sleep on the couch because I couldn’t fall asleep. He tookthecouch instead (chivalry is alive and wellin the South,folks) and I could finally relax and fall asleep. That awfulanxiety. That avoidanceofclose contact of stillness of quiet. It’s likeI’mgoingto explode if I have to sit with my feelings. And so I don’t. I bet ifI rereadsomeof my posts prior to moving I’d hearechoes.
And then it occurred to me
**warning: my space bar is reallyfeeling sticky and not cooperating. apologies.
Iwas putteringalong inthis newlife prettywell with a hefty doseof avoidance ofthe whole “relationship” challengesthatI face.Laughingly callingmyself a “trainwreck in relationships” (self-deprecating humor issuch a thin veilfor self-consciousnessorself-loathing). I wasenjoying my “single time” – afirst forme. I hadn’t joined a monestary and enjoyed eye candy as much asthenext girlbut I’djust put the wholethought ofdating onthe back burner.
Untilthis weekend.When Iwent tothe beachtovisit mychilhood bestfriend, her baby and her husband. She informed me that another girlfriend wouldbethere but I hadno idea untilI approachedherhusband atthebeachupon arrivalto give him a bighug that also joining us would be a guy thatIhave known through mutualfriends foreverandwho I hooked up with last December (J wasin the picture butwe hadn’teven kissedyet).So I almost swallowed my tongue whenC. turned aroundnext to my friend’s husband – shirtlessand holding a fishingpole. Gulp. “oh hey, what’s up?” That soundedcasual, right?
Fast forwardthrough aday of group activiteies and anevening of sexual tension and multiple drinksand finally some extendedalone time and conversationsaboutboth ofus having been engaged- and what thehellhappened last December (Imay have un-friended him on Facebook afterour encounter) (andavoided histexts)(andignoredhisphone call)- and where are you sleeping tonight and suddenly the bedroomdoor is closedandsex.sex happened.multipletimes. and itwas reallyquitegood.granted I’mout of practice and there’s always the initial awkwardnessandthe what do youlike andno, what do youlike and the getting usedto someone’s faces and noises.But Iwasbeaming whenIdrove away the next day afterasweetgoodbye kissandre-exchange ofnumbers (funny,I don’tremember deletinghimfrommy phone).
And the beaminglastedapproximately 3/4 of a mile of my 4 hour drive home. The rest was consumed withcrazy brain:
-would he make a good father
-whatifI got pregnant andwe had to get married
-howlong would Ihave to date him beforehe’d propose
-wouldI move to raleigh for thisguy?
-wouldhe move to charlotte?
-whatdoeshe do for christmas?
-whatwould meetinghisfamily be like?
-would my brother likehim?
-whatsortof house wouldwe live in together?
-whowouldgive me away at the wedding
And so on….soembarrassing toactuallytype those things ontothescreenasthey are indeed a reflection of how insanely obsessive and,well,crazy I get whena man enters mylife (even for 24 hours).
Ihad therapy on the phone withB. againtoday (didthatlast Tuesday as wellbecause I’veyetto find a therapisthere that willwork forme) and whilethe partsthatwe worked with are not theprimary players in this “anchoryourselfto a man asfast asyou can-craziness”, afterwordIhada moment ofrevelation. After spending the bulk of thesession working with a very young, very bruised andhurt andskittish childpartwho wants someonetocomfortherbut is terrified of it,I realizedhow fucking terrified I am of love. Loveisn’t something that canbetrusted.I loved my ownparentsandthey hurtthe fuck out of me.I often wonder now if I would bea happier healthier person if I hadn’t had my father in my life because of the boatload of hurt hegave me for years and years.So afterlookingat this partwhodesperately wants love butfeels that love is what hurther I wondered…
What ifallthe obsessive thoughts and the planning far far into the future and pushing things fasterthan they are ready to go…what if it’s a protective mechanism to avoid actually falling inlove. Love = hurt.Lonliness = hurt. Therefore,find a way to not be lonely while also not feeling real (dangerous, terrifying, powerful) love.
Just a thought. But it resonated.
downward dogging again
I checked out a new yoga studio yesterday which seems already like potentially a better fit. The energy of the place was good – I didn’t feel anxious the way I did at the other place. I went to a beginners class that was only myself and one other student and the teacher, which makes it intimate and personal and great. The other was a guy – approaching middle age – who was taking his 3rd yoga class…ever. It made me so happy knowing the journey he had no idea he was in for. I was also glad that his first classes were in what was a slow and gentle grounding practice. Some of the postures were new to me or variations of old favorites but I really liked it and it was easy enough for me to modify things to avoid the ole wrist.
afterwards went to my friend, T’s and we got drunky skunky on 2 bottles of wine and stayed up way to late gabbing and psychoanalyzing our friendship. felt like total shit this morning so I’m off to sleep now. i’m not sure if it qualifies as “self care” when going to bed at 9 is a result of “self-destruction by alcohol” the night before. But whatever it is…it’s gonna feel great to crash.
just say no to isolation
Lately, I’ve been really fighting these dark insidious whispers of disordered thinking. I’m well beyond my comfort point in my body – I am conscious of lumps, bumps, curves and rolls for what seems like every waking minute of every day. My brain bounces between the following 3 lines of thought:
1) okay, so you’ve gained some weight and it feels yucky. so just get a little more active and watch the sweets and alcohol. just focus on being healthy and you’ll be fine.
2) this is what recovery is. it feels gross. if it feels disgusting to your ED brain then you must be at a healthy weight. relax and forget about it.
3) ewwww. must. lose. now. i know how. i can drop back down to a comfortable weight in 3-4 weeks if i try.
Note the unintentional use of the second person in the #’s 1 and 2 but the first person in #3. Interesting. I don’t quite know what to make of that but I’m sure a psychoanalyst would have a field day.
In an attempt to combat the deep urges to isolate into my cave of sickness, I joined a large outdoor adventure club in hopes of some kayaking, hiking and general get out of the house activities. Went for a group run tonight which was pretty good. I met a few people who seemed nice, got some exercise and came home hungry for a home-cooked dinner. But it always feels like “recovery” and “health” require such deliberate effort and intention on my part. Like if I let my guard down and stop putting myself out there I’ll slip back into it. If I give myself “down time” then these thoughts will take over. It’s making me cry right now just typing that. It just hits me sometimes how unending this fight seems to be. Even when I’m not struggling outwardly I’m fucking fighting on the inside.
On that note I’ve been crying a little bit lately, which I guess is good. I wept on the car-ride home from a “new therapist” appointment Friday. I didn’t like her. We didn’t click and I felt uncomfortable with her banter and her comments about what I had said. I also felt really really gross having spilled a huge steaming pile of my historical shit on the floor of her office at our first meeting. It’s not what i want. I want to wait until I’m comfortable. I want to wait until there’s trust and all parts are ready. To wait until I feel ready to commit to a therapeutic relationship with her. But I’m not good at that……
(insert 40 minute pause from typing) …..and now back after sobbing head down on my desk, emailing B. to request a phone appointment and then climbing into a hot bath to cry some more. I’m not sure which comes first – the hopelessness or the eating disorder. But I feel brainwashed by the hopelessness right now. I just feel like I’m wandering aimlessly through life. I’m 28, single, in a new city, new job. Just feeling unanchored and meaningless. What AM I healthy for? What AM I fighting so hard for? Some days I forget. The only answer I can pull is Sam the dog. I’d never let him down. But I look at my friends with husbands and children and exotic vacations and well-decorated homes with manicured lawns and they seem so…permanent and settled and…real. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have those things. Some days I feel like I’m too messed up to have them.
The last thing I want to put out there in this jumbled headspace of a post is that I am so sad from talking about food. Being in a new place and being out to eat with people I don’t know well and being offered cake at work on someone’s birthday and having a great italian place recommended to me on tonight’s run…it’s just all too much. It’s hard enough to have an eating disorder but to have a ridiculously restrictive food allergy that fucking EVERYONE wants to ask 10 billion questions about is just downright cruel. I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT FOOD. I DON’T WANT TO TELL YOU WHAT HAPPENS IF I EAT GLUTEN. SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE AND EAT YOUR CAKE IN PEACE. Okay. Maybe there’s an angry part in addition to the sad part. I just have never been able to come up with a script of what to say in such situations that doesn’t (a) sound rude, (b) let on that I have an eating disorder, and (c) discuss my bowel functions to perfect strangers.
I’m trying not to isolate. But how do you NOT isolate when all anyone seems want to do or talk about is EATING!
good night. thanks for listening.
