“What does recovery mean to you?”
…this was the subject line on an email in my inbox today from… (drumroll)….
President Barack Obama. Yep. You heard right. During the campaign I was on a mailing list and received nearly daily emails from Barack and Michelle and the whole gang asking me to support them in various ways. HA -if only they knew how unable I was to support ANYone, including myself, this fall. So these emails keep coming as part of Prez’s plan to stay technosavvyconnectedawesome with his people. I didn’t even open the email, knowing it would spoil the illusion that MY PRESIDENT is so in touch with me and my needs that he wants to know how my ED recovery is going. So, B., I’ll tell you:
Recovery means:
I have much more time on my hands to make things and pet my dog and free-read for hours at Barnes and Noble. Sometimes this time makes me feel edgy and anxious. Other times lonely or sad. I am getting better at tolerating these feelings without my infamous “maladaptive coping strategies”.
My mother doesn’t call every day and ask how “my appetite is” and encourage me to drink Ensure if I “can’t keep solids down”. The phone rings less frequently than when I’m sick, but I’m more likely to answer it when it does.
I’ve begun the journey to figuring out who the real ME is, beneath the skin and bones and mountains of jiggly, soft flesh.
Ironically, I actually think LESS about my body and weight at my “healthy” weight than I do at my “sick” weights. When I catch myself in the mirror, I am, however, still mostly disappointed. Such is life. Things don’t change overnight.
I save water by flushing 75 fewer times per day.
The hopelessness has receded. I’m pretty sure on most days that I should be alive and that I may have things to contribute to the world.
I can eat most meals without acute distress. There is often regret and shame and self-loathing afterwards, but I don’t struggle to put fork to mouth or skip meals altogether.
I can choose not to go to the gym – if I’m tired or busy or want to take a long walk instead. The gym is not punishment for my last meal. But I have to go tonight because I didn’t go yesterday!
Looking skyward and whispering, “thank you” to whatever god, goddess, life force, quantum physics or nothingness has helped me make it this far. Pleading with it to stay near and keep helping.
Really really hoping that I never have to crawl out of the black pit of despair again.
No wonder it tastes so good…
Several of the blogs I read are of lovely ladies recovering and using their blogs to, amongst other things, document the scrumptious foods they eat. Well I was inspired to add some of these foods to my grocery cart today, including a tea made by Celestial Seasons called Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride – a holiday exclusive flavor. I had seen it on several blogs and thus was so motivated to find it that I ventured into three stores today. Let me tell you, I thought it was well worth it. I had two cups of that stuff to warm me up on a blizzardy Vermont day after shoveling the driveway. J came home and I showed it to him and proptly flipped to the ingredient list in search of the secret to its deliciousness. GLUTEN! Ack!!! Gluten in tea??!! Yep. Apparently to make it taste extra cookie-ish they add barley. You know what I have to say to that? Bah-fucking-humbug. No more delicious tea for me. And a bit of a yucky gut hangover from it. Moral of the story? Never stop checking labels. Even when you feel that you are a Celiac pro. Don’t get cocky. Just check the g.d. label.**
In other news. I had another successful day of eating, by which I mean that I feel really uncomfortable right now. I again had about 3 episodes of “urges” while eating but they passed. I swear starting the day with breakfast right off the bat is part of this key to success. I have always been one of those people who wakes up absolutely famished. And lately have been hop-skipping right through breakfast with only coffee in my belly. Not only does it start the day with my crankypants on, it definitely sets me up to eat more than I’m comfortable with or faster than feels okay later in the day. For anxiety’s sake I’ve been sticking with the same thing every morning. I can handle a little more flexibility and choice later in the day as long as I fuel my fire when I wake up. So a piece of toast with PB, or cashew butter or cream cheese and a small smoothie it is. Low volume, high nutrition (exactly the opposite of what women’s magazines tell you to do). I get what I need to start the day but don’t feel freaked out by the feeling of it in my tummy.
The thoughts are there to restrict tomorrow and it certainly is easier when I’m at work. But despite twinges of discomfort in this very moment, on the whole I felt physically, emotionally and mentally stronger this weekend. I snow-shoveled and went to the gym and ate healthy things. So I’m trying to reassure myself that I won’t have to exchange gifts for a size XXL anytime soon.
I had an interesting moment tonight while parusing a friend’s pictures on Facebook tonight. I worked with him at this fabulous summer camp for several years and the place is really the epitome of happiness and comfort in my own skin. It’s on the top of a mountain in my home state and is filled with the most authentic, energetic and loving people I’ve ever known. So this picture was taken what I believe to be the summer after I graduated from college. My senior year of college was the one time in my life when I actually gained some weight. Nothing unhealthy but it was probably the only year that anyone would not call me “petite” or “tiny” (words which I know realize I have incorporated deeply into my identity – how shallow. but true). Here is this picture of me and a friend, arms around each other , huge genuine smiles, skin glowing from suntans and peace. And all I could think about what how fat I looked. How I couldn’t believe I let myself get that way. How that’s the reason why I need my eating disorder. The strength of my visceral reaction of disgust at my own appearance makes me want to cry. I wish wish wish that I could see past the round cheeks and get joy from seeing my smile. I don’t judge others so harshly. I look at my yoga teachers with curves and think how they look healthy and confident. But I see myself with curves and it repulses me. Definitely need to talk to Bree about this. I want to know why my internalized image of myself is so thin and why it is so abhorrent to see myself any other way. It really rattled me and I’m glad I saw that picture a few hours after I’d eaten dinner.
**and yes, checking labels is something I wish I didn’t HAVE to do because it has a tendency to stir up some disordered parts who want me to restrict. but it’s just a necessary part of my existance. the whole eating disorder and celiac connection is so frustrating. for example – having an eating disorder often makes one paranoid that other people are watching what you eat, judging what you eat. well, in my case, they often are. At least when I eat around unfamiliar people (perhaps why I try not to do that so much). I got so “skilled” at restricting my food intake around the same time that I officially had to eliminate certain wonderful, delicious foods from my diet (bread, pasta, brownies, cookies, pancakes, rolls, pita pockets, crackers, etc…..). I became obsessed with food right around the time that I kind of had to for my health. Certainly I can’t be the only one in the universe with a similar experience of an ED exacerbated or triggered by Celiac or another dietary restriciton?!!
Just another day
Today was start-to-finish-BLAH. Not a lot happened. Gym, shower, dog to vet (unfortunately for my bank account and for my dog’s gastrointestinal functioning this is not out of th ordinary), work, home.
I did finish a project that has taken about 4 hours total – writing my formal insurance appeal to be reimbursed for $1200 worth of mental health visits which should have been covered under my plan. I have documented everything necessary (including a fabulous spreadsheet of every visit to my therapist since March and columns for whether it was pre- authorized, applied to my decuctible, reimbursed to me, etc.). Basically in America every plan is different in how they cover appointments such as mine. I have to pay out of pocket at every appointment ($80) and then wait patiently for a reimbursement check – that is after I met my $2500 deductible. Basically, for 15 sporadically timed and wholly random visits, I never received reimbursement. And believe you me, the insurance company makes a mistake when they screw over a healthcare professional. I dot my “i’s” and cross my “t’s” when it comes to my insurance coverage and I’m sure within the first 4 lines of the letter they will realize that I know of what I speak. As I saved the final draft I stood to do what can only be described as a touchdown dance and proclaimed, “Take THAT, Blue Cross Blue Shield of Vermont!” No one was around to laugh at the dance or find humor in the silliness of how good it made me feel to write it (but wouldn’t you feel good if you suspected a $1200 check might be headed your way for the New Year?!).
Here’s a little tidbit from yesterday’s staff meeting, courtesy of my disordered brain. You may remember that I disclosed to my officemates that I was in treatment for an eating disorder several weeks back. And with the exacerbation of my symptoms you could probably guess that my weight is in…well, a recession. With no signs of an impending bailout. So I got up halfway through our 2 hour weekly staff meeting to warm up my soup for lunch, leaving the table with my coworker in mid-gossip about Hugh Jackman’s 5 o’clock shadow on the recent cover of People magazine. When I returned from the kitchen about 4 minutes later, we attempted (for the eleven millionth time) to get some work done or at least to talk about clients.
“You know who else has lost weight? Suzy”
First of all I changed Suzy’s name because she’s a client and whatever whatever privacy and such. Second of all, Suzy has lost weight. She needed to and I’m proud of her. Third and most importantly of all to my point here is that the 83.2% of my brain that is disordered zeroed in on the word “else”. What did I miss while I was gone? Where was the beginning of that conversation from whence the segue originated? Were they talking about some celebrity in People magazine? Of course that gem of a brain of mine, self-absorbed as it is, assumed automatically that while I was off on my soup-warming adventure my co-workers were chatting it up about how I was losing weight. 46.7% of my brain was extatic that they noticed (pat on the back for me) and 36.5% was mortified that they might be talking about me in my absence. The 16.8% of me that didn’t assume they were talking about me then felt invisible and pathetic and unworthy of anyone else’s attention.
Sorry for the arbitrary percentages. Sometimes I overspecify for emphasis. But it makes me think of this really strange (perfectly harmless and greatly amusing to others) habit I have (compulsion?) to exclusively enter odd times on the microwave. I never cook things for a nice round minute or even forty-five seconds. Nope, that’ll be 0:58 seconds for a 100 calorie bag of Kettle Corn. 26 seconds to heat a tortilla. 39 to warm my coffee after my shower. And…(drumroll)…the twisted pinnacle of this weirdness? Entering values over 60 seconds! (Gasp!) Who needs 1:10 when you could enter 72 seconds? Oh the possibilities are endless and I am just crazy enough to relish thinking of each and every one.
Sigh. I’m so glad I have this blog – a sanctuary for all my oddities, freakish tendencies and overall strangeness. Most people think I’m exceptionally normal. Oh how they are misinformed.
What if today was a little bit normal?
What if I just ate breakfast because my stomach is growling. And then a snack the next time my stomach growls. What if I just didn’t purge and had a reasonable amount of exercise. How would my mood and outlook on life change if my body was feeling nourished today? I could do this. I know I could. Just for one day. Then tomorrow I could decide what to do with tomorrow’s body. I want want want to do that for myself today. But it would mean missing out on that feeling of pride when I eat my first morsel of the day at noon. When my stomach is growling on my 5 mile run on the treadmill tonight. What does that feeling mean to me? Why do I prize it so much? Where else is there a source of that feeling that I could access?
Beginning last night, I felt I was teetering on the edge of some sort of mini-breakthrough. Primarily emotionally but that always spills over into the ED behaviors’ territory. I’ve read Lola’s lastest post three times now trying to draw from the positive vibes. I’ve squinted and strained to decipher Lee’s letter to her ED. I want so badly for momentum to be on my side and for this consideration of a day of normalcy to tip the scales toward a few days of normalcy. But I’m scared. I don’t want to lose the ground I’ve made. Don’t want to be normal and unspecial as so many who deal day in and day out with these disorders report. A part of me is desperate to be sick sick sick. I don’t lose weight to look “good”. I lose weight to look “sick”. To elicit concern. How can I compromise with this part of me that needs concern and attention? How can I get it what it so desperately needs without the harm to myself.
Important questions are coming up. Not questions of coping strategies or distraction techniques. The big shit. The big WHAT IF’s that will help me in the long run. What if I could get these needs met from a source other than disordered self-torture? I really believe it’s got to be out there. Do I wait for it to come to me, find its way into my life? Do I “work” and “search” for it? How far away is it? Will I need help from others to find it or, once it’s in sight, to reach it?
One thing I am becoming acutely, painfully aware of is how alone I feel on the social front. I really really need some good friends. Relationships that are maintained weekly. Dependable folks to call and have coffee with. People who I feel safe to delve below the surface with and who do the same for me. People who allow the space for words like “scared”, “hurt”, “alone”, “suffering”. That’s why I love the Buddha – who unfortunately is not available for coffee any time soon. Because the first thing he wants to talk about is the suffering. The yuck. The pain. The darkness. He knows that acknowledging that shit is a prerequisite for getting to the good stuff. The hope and the meaning. I need friendships like that. That are based on the honest acknowlegement that life is suffering. And then that lead me around to the flip side – that life has value. Again – do I wait for these people to come to me, entering my life serendipitously? Do I seek them out and work at it?
For all those who’ve taken the curve today – around the bend of despair and are starting to see signs of life and normalcy and meaning up ahead – please share this energy. I really think I’m in an open space to receive it today and want it in bulk.
The contents of my stomach
…are distressing me at the present moment. I’ve had about a week of consistent restricting, exercising, purging and generally not taking care of this cursed body (which I hate but apparently am the only one in charge of taking care of — whoever gave it to me didn’t realize that I’m not ready for such responsibility). This afternoon I ate more than I was comfortable with (this is my version of a binge – nowhere close to a textbook definition but it feels “binge-y” to me when it’s more than I want, a food that feels instantly fattening or for longer duration of eating than I want) but was planning on (1) purging and (2) going to the gym. But a damn computer repair-guy came to look at our DSL connection (which has been slow and fritzy lately) and threw a large wrench in my plans. So here I am – angrily digesting. I’ve lost weight. That’s the hook I need to keep this slip going. And to add to that little guilty pleasure – J noticed. He’s “worried”. Granted, it’s not a large chunk of weight (obviously not enough to satisfy ED thoughts) but I guess J’s never seen me go through a series of “bad” days with no “good” days to balance them out. The result? Rapid change in body composition. I think my reassurances are useless and screwed up since they’re coming from such a muddled ED place in my head (“oh, honey, don’t worry, at this rate it’d probably take me at least 3 months to get to the point of needing hospitalization.”)
I really related to the post on Marine Snow about how the sick role protects you from the scary adult-type things of the world. My job challenges, the prospect of a mortgage in the not-so-distant future, a wedding, a marriage, children. I am so conflicted on these issues and go through these periods of blissful optimism and a false sense of readiness for them. Then I slide down into a pit of hopelessness, fear and escapism. On days when the “I want to be sicker than I’ve ever been before” “I want to run away and live alone in a cabin in the woods” and the “I don’t want to live anymore” voices get loud, I feel an urgency to do something drastic to remove myself from this adult life before too many people are counting on me. I’ve got one foot in the door of adult responsibilities and the other doing some serious toe-dipping in the waters of self-harm and relapse.
On the job front, after the initial “this is the perfect job for me and I’ll throw myself in 110% and have a life-changing experience” phase (oh, this is such a hallmark reaction for me and noticing it and waiting for it to pass is such a positive – and brand-spankin’ new – outcome from therapy), I started to realize that it’s NOT what’s best. I’m not in a place in my life where I can pour out energy into this fledgling project and lift it off the ground and make it soar. I don’t want to take sole responsibility for the success or failure of anything – not even myself (most of the time). The search for a new job was, in part, spurred by a desire for a job that wasn’t emotionally and physically draining. Just someplace I spent the day and came home to my “real life” (HA!). As much as my overly enthusiastic super-self would like me to be, I am not in the position to be a leader, a role-model, a teacher, a sole pillar of strength to an organization or division. I want to blend into the gray fabric of a cubicle somewhere and be a cog in a wheel. So that rehab position has the option of just giving me a one day break from my current job (8 hour position as opposed to my anticipated 16 hour with a transition to full-time). It’s still a consideration and the hiring owner of the rehab place seemed to very clearly understand the difference in commitment and energy between these two options. She called the 8 hour position the “safe option if I’m not ready to take on the leadership and administrative role”. I am working VERY hard to restrain myself from acting impulsively, as I am known to do in situations with unbearable amounts of uncertainty. Step 1 of this restraint was NOT sending the email to the hiring owner at 5:30 a.m. the morning after the interview. I waited until 10:00 a.m. Pats on the back for me. I still have another interview this week for another pediatric position which offers some promise. But again, I just need to slow my brain down before I commit to something from a frantic, panicked place and not a thoughtful and introspective place.
ED group starts Monday. I’ve committed to it. I am terrified. I feel the way I did the night before I started meds when I was at my lowest weight – “what if this takes my eating disorder away from me?” THEN, what will I do?
