Lessons learned this week:
1 – If you “call out sick” from work because you’re an emotional wreck – it’s not truly a lie because physiological sickness is likely soon to follow. Burning sinuses, flushed cheeks, prickly eyes and subtle body aches through my neck and shoulders tell me that this body is fighting off some germs after being beat up mentally at the start of the week.
2- My “Self” (with a big ’s’) doesn’t just have to be an innocent bystander. It can calmly assert itself and ask other parts to tone things down a bit (“I know you’re feeling really hopeless right now but I need you to step back for a moment so that I can think clearly about my next step.”). It can negotiate with parts (“I know that you really feel like dissociating because you’re exhausted from this week, but if you can just step aside so that I can be present for group tonight, I will allow you to totally ‘check out’ all afternoon tomorrow.” – impeccable timing for the Netflix delivery of season 3 finale disk of Grey’s Anatomy for just this purpose). It can ultimately play the role of a compassionate parent – listening to each parts needs but also asserting some of its own for the benefit of the whole system.
3 – I miss lifting weights. I felt so strong and powerful Wednesday night after lifting a bit and then slept like a baby for 8+ hours. This is one gym activity that has never really had to do with my appearance as much as just feeling active and strong. Yes, please.
4 – I have no idea what to do about my job. Maybe that’s okay. The options around here are quite shockingly limited and I interviewed today at a skilled-nursing facility. Blech. I’ve been arguing with myself all day about it. Parts of me wanted to cry and run away just upon entering the building – warm and smelly, lines of wheelchairbound slumping elderly with food on their shirts, mumbling to themselves. I just don’t do well with old people like that – never have. Sure I like the 90 year old in the back pew at church but she’s, well, still functioning pretty well and coherent. She doesn’t make me sad and squirmy and in search for a sink to wash my hands. And most importantly, her bodily fluids are contained. I have parts that want to prove to myself that I can do this job as a sign of achievement and strength. But deep down I know I’d be miserable. I’ve done a 12 week clinical rotation in a comperable setting and hated every day of it. I never relaxed or got over the awkwardness of naked grown-ups who can’t remember how to put a shirt on. At least with kids it feels developmentally close-to-appropriate to poop in your pants or be naked or snot or drool. Maybe I am just a kid person afterall. I inquired about one other position at a hospital but it’s an hour away and probably wouldn’t allow me to get to my therapy appointments – the whole reason I’m not relocating out of VT right now. So maybe I’ll just stick it out where I am. It works for my therapy schedule. Who knows, maybe our financially dysmal little non-profit can hold on for 6 months until I’m ready to move??! Maybe that’s a wishful thinking part? hmmm.
5 – I have finally accepted my mom for who she is and what she can offer me in terms of support. On Tuesday night, I was devastated and panicky, overcome by the yuck bubbling up, overtaking all sense of self-control. I sobbed and heaved and thought my chest would implode. I hyperventilated and paced and clung to my Aunt Julie blanket and hoped I wouldn’t die from the sadness. And the whole time I had the phone nearby, ready to call mom to rescue me. But I waited – for longer than I ever have before. I tested the waters a bit – afterall, all this time, energy and money on therapy is supposed to be allowing those exiled parts and their feelings to unburden and be heard. So I let it go until it was unbearable and then called, knowing full well that my mom’s tone would be directive and cold. That she would attempt to talk sense into me and would quickly shift me into the intellectual and analytical mindest that protects me from the yuck. I didn’t call expecting warm and fuzzy or even empathy. Just a rescue.
6 – There are many, many websites, blogs and support groups for the adult children of parents with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. I thought my dad was so crazy and unique and hard to describe or understand. Turns out – he’s in a very special club of crazies who are astonishingly similar.
7 – Mentally rehearsing a plan of what to do if I come home to find my dad on my back porch makes me feel a little bit better.
8 – Sometimes my granddad knows just what to say, “[your mom] told us that your engagement is off. From here I can’t tell if that’s good news or bad news, but whatever its much, much better to break up before getting married. Finding the right mate is a very dicey deal and surviving a few “loves” is good experience!”
9 – Body dysmorphia seems to peak just before my period. My brain is having a field day checking body parts in the mirror, running my hands over them, trying on various pants to see how snug they are, pulling, pinching, squishing, etc. Hormonally exacerbated craziness.
When you’re hurting, just go Yurt-ing
After a little bit of stressful indecision this week about “what to do this weekend” (amazingly I had two offers on the table!), I opted to stay close to home rather than travel to Boston. Largely because I couldn’t find a dog-sitter. But it turned out to be a wonderful decision because the local option was to join an old friend on a winter women’s weekend. Her mother rented a yurt, which I admittedly googled after the invite was extended. And I learned that a yurt is a large, round semi-permanent tee-pee type structure. This women invited a bunch of friends and her daughter to escape reality, do some winter camping in the yurt and partake in some snowshoeing and cross country skiing in scenic Vermont. I joined for the afternoon, which was quite brave considering I don’t know this woman’s mother or her friends. But I have been absolutely dying to do some winter sports – well, all winter.
After parking my car, I stared at my chicken-scratched directions on the back of a receipt, took one look at the wooden sign pointing straight up a snowy hill towards “Maple Yurt” adjusted my backpack straps and started hiking. I was carrying borrowed snowshoes and a grocery bag with wine and gluten free snackies. My boots sank in the powdery white stuff and my legs felt as if I was walking through molasses. And then it hit me – THAT’s what the snowshoes are for. After fumbling with the straps a bit and muttering something about hoping I’d put them on right I began trekking. A successful endeavor for a Southern girl, I must say. And I got to chuckle at myself for being so silly carrying the snowshoes as I waded through the snowbanks.
The afternoon was really wonderful and just what I needed. A mini-adventure complete with outdoorsy activity, a sense of adventure, wine and warm and welcoming people. Turns out many of the women didn’t know each other well, if at all. So I wasn’t the only unfamiliar face. My one regret is not bringing Sam the dog. Turns out he would have been totally welcomed and I know he would have been on cloud 9 hiking up the mountain off-leash. In the yurt he may have cleaned up spilled trailmix on the floor and then settled in for a nap near the wood-burning stove.
I’ve recently been craving a retreat. I’ve been twice to Kripalu for yoga and meditation weekends which completely revitalized me. I’ve decided that it would be a supreme act of self-care for me to just budget for one to two retreats or workshops per year. And like I said, I’ve been itching for one lately. So I’ve found a weekend yoga workshop in Boston related to yoga for anxiety, depression and insomnia. I thought it would give me some good tools to deepend my practice and tailor it to my mood on any given day. So I’m trying to register and plan for that. Also it will be my birthday weekend so a little gift to myself.
Off for a bath to soak what will undoubtedly be some sore legs tomorrow. I have the borrowed snowshoes until Tuesday, though, so I’m hoping to take Sam out for a trek.
a disjointed little post
I’ve been really sleepy the past few days. Like hardly holding my eyes open at 6 pm. Now, I’m doing a lot of things right – like, uh, eating. Plenty. Not purging (holy cow this is a major streak I’m on – and my OCD perfectionist personality luh-huvs a good streak). Normal amounts of exercise – 1 hour of dogwalking per day plus a “normal person” gym workout. Is this emotional fatigue? Is this exhaustion from the swirly whirly thoughts in my head?
When my brain is pathologically repetitive (obsessive.compulsive.yuckness.disorder), I call it “hooking”. I get hooking thoughts that snag my brain as if with a barb and then they start looping. And the looping recurrences of these thoughts starts to speed up – which I refer to as “the hamster wheel”. Quite often there will be 2 or 3 hooking thoughts fueling the hamster wheel to spin faster and faster and faster. No work can get done. No meaningful interaction can take place. Only festering and manic hamster cardio can take place. Any time the hamster tries to get off the wheel, or if I successfully lure him off, the moment four paws are on solid ground he remembers, “oh shit – my wheel!” and hops back on and gets busy spinning. Damn hamster. I want to shoot him. Except that he lives in my head and that could be a little messy.
I “stole” a fitness magazine from the gym tonight. Lovely – should we be adding klepto to my list of crazy disorders? Maybe I’ll bring it back later in the week so that it was only borrowed. But it had lots of delicious eye candy and weight loss articles. Why am I gravitating back to that and trying to fuel that awful fire? Because I’m not happy with the events of the week and my brain and it’s rodent inhabitants are driving me bonkers. The cover model was this girl who grew up near me and who’s dad and step-mom were my mom’s neighbors for years. Don’t get all excited, I’ve never met her (but I’ve heard she’s a slutty bitch which makes me smugly satisfied – fame and fortune and slender thighs can’t make you pretty on the inside). But there’s a little sidebar in the article about her “battle with bulimia”. Apparently all she had to do was hire a trainer to help her shed weight “the healthy way” (from her perfectly healthy 118 pound frame, might I add) and she was cured. Perfect. What a sweet little story that perfectly reflects to SHAPE readers what an actual eating disorder is like. Bah fucking humbug. I want to write a letter to the editor – leave a comment on whether you think this is a good idea.
I’m grouchy. I’m lonely. I’m tired. I need therapy tomorrow big time.
A momentous, historical day
Oh, you thought I was talking about the inauguration? Well, that was pretty fuckin’ splendid, too. But, no, I was referring to the fact that today, for the first time in ages, decades even, I thought and sincerely felt in every inch of my flesh …
I am beautiful.
I know, it’ s cheesy. But the stars were aligned for me to feel comfortable in my skin and at peace in my heart. I felt really grounded and solid and content. It didn’t last all day – just a fleeting moment of bliss; but it was surrounded by some pretty comfortable moments. I got 8 hours of sleep, drank 8+ glasses of water, probably indulged in too much food but didn’t beat myself up about it because maybe my body needed it, walked the dog twice (definition: venturing further than the pee-colored snowbank at the end of the driveway), spent a bit of the evening at the gym, worked my ass off at work in a very busy and productive way and generally rocked the day. I also got chills listening to my new President (technically he’s our’s but I’m not quite ready to share my new toy on Christmas morning here) speak.
I’ve been meaning to mention also how good it feels that every day the word RECOVERY in my “tag cloud” gets bigger and relapse gets smaller. I keep expecting recovery to just eat relapse. Bulimia and eating disorder are still pretty bold but they’re useful ways for others to find this blog so I’ll allow them to sit as rotund tag-cloud-bystanders of recovery laying the smack-down on relapse, WWF-style.
My body feels yucky.
My neck hurts. As if I got in a fender-bender yesterday. Actually, worse than that – as if this weekend I competed in the World’s Strongest Lady contest and pulled a firetruck with a rope clenched between my teeth. I just finished date #2 of the day with a heating pad wrapped around my shoulders. But my head has been achy too. And my glands are starting to throb a bit. No snot. No sore throat. But more insidious signs that this body might just be fighting a little bug of sorts. Groan.
Being sick is like a big fat sign of weakness to me. Dashes all feelings of strength and vitality on the rocks. And the last thing I want is to be home alone sick with no one to make me tea or coo empathetically over my bed head and flushed cheeks peeking out from the Northern edge of the comforter.
My body is also a bit frustrating today because it is…curvier. These courderoys are snuggly hugging my hips and derriere. It’s beautiful, it’s womanly, it’s sexy. But I keep having to tell myself those things because they’re not the first thoughts that pop into my head when I catch my reflection in the shiny door at Starbucks.
Plans to go to the gym have been aborted. I’m trying to start a new plan of walking Sam the dog twice per day on most days (especially weekends). He’s been desperately under-exercised because of the cold and Cesar Milan says every dog needs good daily walks. So two long pup walks and some weights at home while I watch Oprah are about as much as this struggling body wants to sign on for today. Glad I can be flexible and responsive to my body’s needs. This is progress.
Friday in a nutshell
-up early
-half-day at the old place of employment
-nap
-shopping for pretty undies (gift cards are wonderful motivators to splurge on lacy things)
-dinner cooked & eaten (love those sweet potatoes)
-gym workout completed (“normal person” workout plus weights)
- bubble bath taken
-wine drunk
-nails painted
-Grey’s Anatomy DVD watched (vague recollection that I HAVE seen season 3 before)
-chapter in novel read (NYT bestselling “Special Topics in Calamity Physics” by Marisha Pessle)
All in all a good day. A bit lonely but kept myself meaningfully occupied with less ruminating and obsessing than in recent days. I did have one of my “kids” (by which I am referring to a 16 year old boy – 6′1″ and 200+ lbs. ) attempt to physically attack me twice. Cue the adrenaline and surges of want for a different job. I had “backup” and was safe (the same kid has successfully attacked me before so I knew the cues and activated my most effective plan for dealing with aggressions – RUN like hell. Attempt not to squeal – detracts from your professionalism).
Not much content here, apologies. Will undoubtedly delve deep into philiosophy, religion, psychoanalysis and psychic premonitions tomorrow.
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.
