Food confessions
In yoga, the pose that you are most resistant to is often the one you most need. Not to say that you have to force yourself into full lotus, just spend some time in asanas that challenge you – that perhaps you dread in an instructor-led class – that you never include in your home practice. I love forward folds – they are my yoga forte and I could do them all day. But their counter-poses – heart openers – I could live without. Interestingly enough, when yoga was just yoga to me I didn’t understand why I might be so resistant to bending my torso in a different direction, especially when it didn’t appear to be a physical limitation that held me back. Now, as I’ve grown in my understanding of the practice, I realize that heart openers release a lot of emotion. And I’ve found myself feeling very sad, even teary-eyed at the end of group yoga sessions that were heavy on heart openers. With time, I’m getting more comfortable with these postures and feeling less resistance to them, and perhaps to the emotions they unleash. So it seems the yoga + therapy model of ED treatment is working for me.
So all of this is a grandeouse introduction to the topic I so so so so have not wanted to broach – on this blog, in my head, or by any other means. But I can see that I need to face the discomfort in order to figure out what’s underneath. I have been struggling lately. Not with purging. Not with restricting. But with mindless eating. Ugh. Even just thinking about it makes me feel disgusting and powerless. I’ve never been one to “binge” thousands of calories in one sitting. But I’m a grazer who, lately has gone wild. Somehow a meal isn’t enough. I find myself following up dinner with 3 snacks. Some of them are even healthy – but obviously I’m not hungry for them in the physiological sense. Ew. I’m getting really anxious just talking about it because it is such a revolting display of lack of self-control, awareness, health and everything else that I value.
The beauty of blogging is that writing can bring me some perspective on what’s going on in my little world. And as I typed the paragraph above, a phrase popped into my head begging to be typed… “It’s like I have vacated my body”. The SAME phrase which has been my descriptor recently when describing how I am in the beginnings of relationships with men. I, me, my thoughts/desires/emotions just vanish leaving a large void to be filled…by men and apparently by food. Now I’m feeling quite self-conscious of sounding like a cheesy Intro to Psychology textbook’s paragraph about Bulimia. But it feels kind of true.
These snack-fests feel like binges and come with a wave of shame and disgust afterwards. They’re the same type of eating experiences that lead to purging — except that I haven’t felt strong urges to do that lately (HELL FUCKING YEAH, RECOVERY!). It is as if there is no “stop” button at the end of a meal. And I’m also snacking to the point that I’m not feeling hungry – pretty much ever. Hunger is a huge anxiety trigger for me – both because of ED and because of my long history of gastrointestinal problems. So there are probably multiple contributing factors to my grotesque eating patterns.
And not that I’m letting ED take back the steering wheel, but I hear it’s voice calmly stating, “see, this is why I have to purge. because if I just let you keep doing this, you’d be fat.” And my fear is, that it probably will. I’ve always had ED tactics to keep my weight in check but now that I’m “in recovery” there are no purges or 5 day fasts or half-marathon runs to combat this eating. So I’ve got to face the eating.
So where do I go when I vacate this body? How can I prevent it? Is it true dissociation or just cruise-control mindlessness? What’s triggering it?
Ugh. I can’t believe I talked about this. I feel like crawling in a hole now.
Breathing In and Out
After what feels like 4 days straight of “relationship talk”, J and I seem to have plateaued in a place that feels comfortable to me (and seemingly to him). After talk of calling off the engagement, ending the relationship and general doom and gloom out of fear, he’s come around to my suggestion to recommit to putting our energy, attention and “best selves” into our partnership. With no guarantees of happily ever after and with a lingering cloud of uncertainty and fear, we’re just pushing ahead as best we can not knowing where it will lead.
I think my biggest underlying concern is that I’m with a man who feels like my opposite. I’m an independent, social, academic, confident, well-travelled, adventurous, go-getter. He’s enmeshed with his family, dependent (financially and emotionally), shy, never travelled, fearful, hyper-sensitive, socially avoidant, chronically exhausted, depressed, and generally terrified of even the smallest risk. Parts of me always dreamed that I’d be with a man who was strong and independent, well-liked and easy in a crowd, exuberant and full of energy. The type you can host a dinner party with. The type to have career aspirations. The type who’d move across the country if the mood struck us both. J is more….stagnant, cautious and in many ways stuck. And I fear that it doesn’t bring out the best in me. I don’t like to feel stuck. I don’t like to spend every night at home and have no couple-friends to spend time with. I hate having to “protect” him and “apologize” for him in social situations when he has to wander off out of discomfort. I wind up feeling alone, fending for myself in his presence. I feel like I have to be the strong and responsible one, the one who pushes us to take risks, who reminds us that we have to save money in order to one day buy the house we dream of (or any house for that matter), who nags to get us out of the house.
So we’ll see what our “best selves” look like and if they mesh. It’s terrifying, this uncertainty. But I hope no matter the outcome, that it will be empowering and feel “right”.
In other news, I just saw my doctor for a rash and at the end of the appointment got up the nerve to ask her about the electrolyte concerns I’ve been having. She was really matter of fact but without disrespecting, minimizing or chastising me for my condition. Basically, the symptoms I described she said sound primarily like hypoglycemia but she was concerned that I’ve had some chest dicomfort on 2 occasions at the gym. Her ultimate advice was to go to the ER if eating didn’t make it better or if I was unable to eat. She took blood, primarily as a baseline (I haven’t been purging this week – hooodyfuckinhoo!!!) but said that only the ER could get immediate results and start an IV if necessary. Good to know. The odds of me going to the ER for anything short of fainting is slim to none and hopefully the need will never be there but the conversation at least gave me reassurance that it would be the RIGHT and SAFE thing to do if I’m in that situation again
Soliciting medical advice from experts in the field…
no not the medical field. the eating disordered field. Alright, so this post is going to feel much different from my usual thoughts, feelings, daily goings on…
As I’m working on all the head games and emotional issues, one of the side effects has been a recurrence of my lovely “symptoms”. Restrict, eat (a perceived binge but not textbook classification), purge, cardio exercise 1-2 hours per day.
I usually don’t worry too much about the physical effects of my disordered behavior. However in the past week I’ve been increasingly concerned and am turning to those of you who’ve been through this for some advice…
I’ve had a few days of Celiac symptoms acting up – which means increased…well, bowel movements. I think that’s setting some of the stage for feeling physically like crap after purging. Usually when my Celiac gets flared up I don’t absorb my food as well because my gut is inflamed. So add to that repeated purging and I’m getting a little maternal towards this “temple” of my body.
The thing I’m really worried about are the electrolytes. I know, I know my dental enamel and esophagus are suffering too. But it’s collapse or heart issues that are scaring me right now. Should I be having my potassium levels monitored? How frequently? I’m purging 1-2x every day with occasional weekend days of 3-7x. Lately I’m feeling swirly and unsteady on my sea legs after my little bathroom olympics. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you have to be purging in the double digits every day to worry about electrolytes. But I need some reassurance here.
I’m asking you guys because I’ve heard all the horror stories about medical professionals not being, well, sensitive to the plight of the eating disordered. But everyone in group tonight was talking about their experiences and I realized I have NEVER been under any medical care for my ED – only therapy. Should I be under some sort of supervision?
Also, aside from the obvious cosmetic drawbacks, any real danger to the swollen salivary glands?
I ask not for permission to carry on my merry way on the road of self-harm. Rather so that I can be as “safe” as possible while I’m battling this fucker.
thanks in advance! -nb
Desperately seeking therapy
So much has shifted since last Thursday morning’s therapy appointment. Perhaps I should use a different word than shifted – which to me connotes positive movement, improvement, progress. So much has gone down the shitter since last Thursday. So much has spiraled out of control. Has overtaken me. Possessed me.
I don’t even know what to say tomorrow morning to Bree. Even me – therapy-loving, IFS-believing me puts up some initial boundaries and it takes at least 20 minutes of “work” before I ever feel like I’m being fully open. I wish I could just plop down on her cream-colored couch, pull a blanket up around me in the fetal position and cry. Really wail and sputter and gasp – the way I do with J sometimes. Respond to her “how are you?” not with a courteous “been better”, “not so great” or “hanging in there”, but with primal gutteral screams and full body convulsions. I am so far from “hanging in there” right now. I’ve had about three days in a row of dinstinct “fuck hanging in there” mentality. Wherever “there” is…I ain’t anywhere close to it and am catching the next bus to as far away from it as I can get on my limited savings.
J’s expressing some frustration again with ED. That he feels disconnected and like I have this thing that is mine and that I don’t let him in on. He brought up the blog thing again – “you won’t even let me read your blog”. Yes, dear but it doesn’t seem to have stopped you now, did it? Of course this beast is mine and he can’t have it – even a little piece of it. That’s probably one of the main reasons why it is here in my life. Because nothing else feels like my own – safe from the greedy paws of others. I mean I’m having freaking visual hallucinations of my father harvesting my organs – clearly I have some boundary issues. I am just so angry and admittedly hopeless. It’s one of those days (or two or three) where I don’t want to get married, know that there’s no possible way I could handle having a kid (let alone two or three), and generally want to retreat away to a cabin in the woods and puke and starve all the rest of the days of my life. Clearly, ED is speaking for me today.
I feel a little frustrated that I’m not able to post bright, shiny, sparkly thoughts today. Usually I don’t feel that way or feel the need to apologize for my negativity. I aim not to write for an audience but to write honestly what I’m feeling - but for some reason tonight I’m thinking of how regular readers might feel disppointed or not want to read more of the hopelessness and sickness and general depths of darkness. Then again, that’s what keeps me reading at least a third of my blogroll.
J just woke up and plopped on the couch and started trying to snuggle and ramble on about tell me about some dream he just had. For fuck’s sake, can I not even blog in peace at 4:30 in the morning??!! I didn’t post last evening because we were engaged in this talk about his feelings and my disorder and blah blah blah and I didn’t want to then throw it in his face by going and “confiding” in my not-so-secret blog. But here I sit, crack of dawn in a dark house, sipping my tea and typing away only to feel interrupted, pulled away from it, like I’m not being a good partner because all I really want to do right now is blog.
And on that note, it seems about time to try to muster a few more hours of restless, hungry sleep before hitting the gym. Here’s hoping that therapy will help.
Dear Food,
You’ve been around since the beginning of time. Even the single-celled amoeba-type aquatic life found itsy bitsy food particles in the oceans before the whole Darwinian survival of the fittest reality show premiered. I know that you are made of complex amino acids and fats and carbohydrates and chemistry that at one point in my life I understood (or at least memorized and regurgitated in order to receive a degree in Health and Exercise Science). I know that you bring life and sustainance to this world. That millions are starving for you. That you are inequally distributed in this world. I know that at the core, you are good. But you’re really bringing me down. You’re all I think about. I hate you and need you and I hate that I need you. I crave you and am repulsed by you and am repulsed by my cravings for you. I have days where I am the master of the quality and quantity of you that goes in my mouth (or, more aptly, what doesn’t) and others where you seem to force your way in…and then I force you back out. We are really not getting along, you and I. Our relationship has been a long and difficult one. My mom frequently describes my feeding problems beginning with breast feeding, then finicky cranky eating in toddlerhood. And Lord then came the decades of digestive woes which led me to countless gastroenterological diagnostic procedures. Turns out, food, that much of you was poisoning me. Then came the gluten-free diet of deprivation and anxiety and questions and comments and pity from others about what was on my plate, what was not and why.
I’m really sorry to say this because I know you have the best of intentions. But I am just really, really frustrated with you. Angry, even. I need a break. I don’t want you in my life anymore. I wish I could just quit you – oh that it was that easy. I know that we just need to come to some sort of compromise and live communally in peace and harmony. But damnit you make it difficult.
Sincerely,
nb’s eating disordered brain
An 80% victory
I did it this morning – I actually picked up the phone and called someone for support. And that person, fabulous as she is, knows what it feels like to be where I am right now. She gave some good support, positive energy, solid suggestions and just general “being there” solidity. Thanks, K.
So today wasn’t perfect. I made it through the meal plan until about 4:00 (plan ended at that point because I wasn’t sure what we were doing for dinner). So with all that blank paper after 4:00, ED had some room to play. So I purged a “relative binge” snack (is that what it’s called when it’s not a textbook binge but feels yucky and out of control??). Grrr. Fuckin’ eh. But here’s a new perspective — 80% of my food today was a success. So I raise this glass of Cabernet Savignon to that. Better than yesterday. Movin’ in the right direction. (I’m digging deep for some positive thoughts, here, folks). I can’t lie and say I’m not both (1) feeling like a failure for eating so much AND not making it to the gym before it closed and (2) feeling like a failure for not having a “perfect” day. But I can readjust my lens and find some positives. Tomorrow’s meal plan will go all the way to bedtime. Lesson learned. And reaching out for some support was HUGE and turned out to be really helpful. I will repeat that for emphasis – REACHING OUT FOR SUPPORT TURNED OUT TO BE REALLY HELPFUL. Dear self, please refer back to this post when you’re feeling alone.
I wish I could do it without rules
Yesterday was.start.to.finish.horrible. I had such grand plans for a great Snow Day. Turned out in addition to being a s’no work day, it was also a s’no food staying in my belly day, s’no way I can stand up without being dizzy day, s’no way I should be on this treadmill right now day. And honestly, the first day I worried about acute health repercussions to my purging and restricting.
Thursday I ingested some gluten and my sensitive Celiac gut reacted, well, with some GI distress (I’ll spare you the details). But this always means that I stop absorbing the food in my gut, make many trips to the el bano, and wind up very hungry and thirsty. And in the lovely land of Bulimia very hungry leads down a destructive road. Yesterday was another one of my purging lows, in frequency, in intensity, in wobbly after effects. And because I was snowed in, there wasn’t much I could do to distract (this is an exaggeration, there were things I could do but felt so much at the mercy of my disorder that I forgot about them). At some point in the afternoon I crawled into bed and vowed not to get out until J got home from work (4:00, usually). By 5:15 I was panicking and hungry again and praying that he would show up soon so we could go to my favorite restaurant and get a crepe for dinner and keep it down. I could NOT eat another meal alone in this god-forsaken apartment. Phone rings. J is working late – until 7:30. Groan. You can imagine how dinner went (other than alone and in this god-forsaken apartment).
But hang in there, it’s not all doom and gloom. The road may be curving a bit, mainly because I felt so fucking scared and sick yesterday. Possessed, in fact, by this disorder. I know on so many levels it feels like it gives control, but this is a myth (at least for me) and there are those rock-bottom moments when you realize you are completely controlled by IT. Yesterday I felt like the only way I am going to have control of my life is to not have my disorder in my life. If I allow it to be there, even in small doses (what I like to call “dabbling” in my behaviors) – I guarantee myself that I will have these days, weeks, (hopefully not but possibly) months where it is my master and I its slave. Days where the moment I see J’s face I am a puddle of blubbering tears. Days where all there is to do is take a valium and go to bed at 8:00.
That Valium induced sleep lasted until about 3 a.m. at which point I began hatching a plan. Just for today. I’m not going to worry about a week from now or a month from now. Today, Saturday December 13, I have a meal plan in writing and stuck on the fridge. At the bottom of the meals and snacks listed are some rules.
-No eating on the couch. Sit at the table.
-Only eating off plates, not out of packaging.
-No multi-tasking. Pay attention to eating and how you feel (emotionally and physically).
I’ve tried meal plans before – a few weeks ago I had a few good days as a result of planning what I’d eat and sticking to it. My major concern is that it is ME that created the plan. So I’m just trusting that it’s coming from the healthy/recovery me and not the restricting/want-to-lose-weight me. At my absolute lowest in ED behaviors I kept very rigid (and unhealthy) meal plans and obsessed about them. I went to a dietician post-diagnosis with Celiac (in her defense she had no idea that I had an eating disorder) and holy shit – it fueled the fire BIG time. Part of me is wondering, though, if it would help to have my diet planned by someone without an eating disorder. Probably. But I’m terrified of that. Maybe should talk to Bree about it.
Next to the meal plan on the refrigerator is a big sheet filled with “Things to Do Instead”. Including specific tasks related to housework, being outside, playing with my dog, connecting with others (email, christmas cards, phone calls and a list of all the people who ARE in my life and WOULD at least chat with me about bullshit and Christmas and anything besides purging), relaxing.
My goal: To have a “good day”. Translation: To eat what my body needs, not purge, exercise a reasonable amount. Bonus (but this may be setting the bar WAY too high): Not be excruciatingly anxious and difficult to be around.
I really wish I could do it without rules. I wish I could just wake up, smile at the sunshine glinting off the snow and go along my merry way of normalcy today. Just set the intention and have it all pan out. But I just know that, right now, that doesn’t work. It did when I was 4 months into recovery. But not the day after one of my worst days ever. I need the structure. I think about the stories I’ve heard of residential treatment. It’s not like you walk in, they pat you on the back and congratulate you for making the commitment to recover and then send on your way to figure out what to do all day. They schedule your day and plan your food and keep you busy and take a lot of the choices and decision-making off your back (at least in the beginning, from what I hear). So I guess what I’m doing is somewhat aligned with that. I have the best intentions for today and it feels like it is ME and not my disorder choosing this path.
Off to shovel snow with a slice of toast with PB and a little smoothie in my belly. Off to shovel snow with a little bit of pride that I did it – one meal of the day. Off to shovel snow with the fear of disappointment if this day takes a turn for the worse.
*one last observation. That last line about fear of disappointment – it makes me want to beg, plead, bargain, pray with some power in the universe (not necessarily spiritual) not to let the disorder take over today. But acknowledging that feels like it’s taking the power away from ME to keep today on track. So is it better to rely on myself (thereby putting pressure on myself) to battle this today or to turn it over to the universe to keep the disorder at bay. Or maybe a bit of both – I’ll do my part today and hope the universe can give me a break?!
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.
I want to want to get better
and that, dear readers, about wraps it up for the day. “behaviors” galore. crazy disordered head. J pleading with me to reconsider meds. group tonight. can’t type. maybe later. apologies for the lameness of the post but it’s probably best not to ramble on today, polluting the internet with madness.
