Physical Allergy

I finally got my Handbook last Friday and spent much of the weekend completely absorbed by it.

*goosetingles* It is by far the most soul-fully TRUE thing I have ever read about eating disorders (and I have read ginormous amounts).

It is hard to find the right metaphor to describe exactly how deeply this text just….I don’t know… TELLS IT LIKE IT IS. Wow.

I am looking forward to studying this book but have already gotten some amazing insights, one of which explains to me why I feel so confused about “where I’m at” after losing my appetite three weeks ago (see my last post).

What we do know is that once we begin restricting our food, exercising, or binging and purging, we experience an overpowering need to continue doing so. This need is not a psychological desire but rather a physical compulsion ……….[the book goes on to describe this as a physical allergy]

 

If I’d been wearing socks they would have hit the fan.  I was floored!

…and ENTIRELY overwhelmed by the realization that I have made very little progress on this brick road of recovery. I’m still in munchkin land with the lollipop kids and Glenda’s happy little thoughts and I’m dancing “off to see the wizard” ….

I thought I was a little farther along.

So. This Book. Me. Recovery. WORK IN PROGRESS. Pardon my dust.

At least I SEE the yellow brick road and I know where I am going. My feet are facing the right direction. There’s that.

 

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It Ain’t Burger King, Baby

You can’t always have it your way.

Last night this phrase randomly popped into my head. I don’t know what I was thinking or doing (besides listening to my incessant inner monologue…Radio KFCD* and maybe washing my hands because I was in the bathroom.)

Suddenly I eye myself in the mirror and think “This ain’t Burger King, baby. You can’t have it your way.” Huh?  Then it hit me. 

It also made me smile.  I always feel these moments are insights from God -  and if this was God speaking,** he sounded like a large black woman who meant bid-ness, ya heard? Like Tracy Morgan doing a Madea impersonation.

(Or maybe God impersonating Tracey Morgan doing Madea.)

But all levity aside….it was a really heavy moment.

In recovery we were asked about our willingness to let go of “MY WAY.” Let go…and Trust God.  Let Go..and Trust the Dietician. Let go of believing all the twisted thoughts, feelings and beliefs our eating disorder tells us are real.

At the time,  I was all “Of course I am! MY WAY is what got me here in the first place!”

Which is still true. BUT…..the mind is a curious monkey.

The concept of “letting go” is difficult to grasp when you don’t really know what you’re still grasping; if you can’t recognize you are still Holding On – let alone what you are Holding On TO.

 ”It Ain’t Burger King, Baby! You Can’t Have It Your Way, Child”

Last night, I realized letting go of  “IF-I-HAD-THINGS-MY-WAY” isn’t anything more than a reality check. I just can’t have it my way. That’s it.

Especially not when Anorexia is still a back-seat driver. She’s not exactly holding the map to the real world.

I won’t stand around trying to compromise the sky out of being blue!

Today I was thinking “…excess flesh on arms due to lack of swimming and more fat consumption…yarkety snarkety…” and was able to:

Stop. Sigh. And say “It Ain’t Burger King, Baby.”

Seriously. They’re arms. With Skin. They’re Fine. Move On.

* Thank You Anne Lamott

** I never hear an audible voice of God by the way, He sounds like my thoughts. When I think of words sometimes, the thoughts have sounds. It’s normal. I think. Like when you remember something your friend said– you can “hear” it? Or think of a celebrity catchphrase- You can’t think “whachooo talkin bout willis” without…you know. “Hearing” it.

 ANYWAY….

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Take Good Care of My….

 

One week ago today [it was a dark and stormy night..] Anyway– last week I decided to   Clean Up My Act   and so it seems appropriate to “check in” with myself. Accountability and all that.  

My main focus was to get back in the habit of weighing and logging all of my food - mission accomplished. (yay!) I’ve been lenient with myself in terms of getting back on a locked-in plan. “Baby Steps”….”crawl  before you walk…etc.”  I feel ready to take another step.  

 I’ve felt weak, fatigued, achy, tired and queasy for a few days.  This could be illness, allergies, improper diet, lack of sleep, dehydration….whatever. The problem is:  I am not taking care of myself.  

   Take Care of Yourself 

“….girl-who-has-no-concept-of-what-that-means-because-eating-disorder-has-annihilated-her-mind SAYS WHAAAT?”  

God is laying it down – Missy, you need to figure that out. Like, soon.    

SERF — Spirituality, Exercise, Rest and Food  are the basics of recovery at the treatment center I attended. (For more on SERF read here.) Essentially, you focus on attending to these basics every day. I will continue to work toward this.   

 I also need to honor my body and emotions.   

 i.e…..If I am tired, rest. Weak? Skip the gym. Too lazy to mop? Tomorrow. Not hungry? Don’t eat. Hungry? Don’t wait to eat.   

To not need to follow my schedules rituals.  Find another way to be.   

Move beyond force of habit compulsion addiction and do what I WANT to do, what my body FEELS like.   

(I am about to batch my pants just thinking about that because….then what the heck am I gonna DO with myself*?)

* the never-ending loaded question.   

PHEW. Lots to focus on this week. Taking Care of Myself and working toward a more structured meal plan.   

  

Everything I Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten

 

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Seriously ♥ (¯`*•.¸,¤°

A few things I take seriously…..  

Gushing Oil Disaster in the Gulf – Seriously Disturbed  

Toddlers and Tiaras – Seriously Freaked Out  

Michelle Obama – Seriously Love Her  

All Natural Organic Peanut Butter – Seriously Devoted  

My Brother – Seriously Miss Him  

Little Boys in Glasses – Seriously Cute  

So You Think You Can Dance  – Seriously Moved  

People who think High Fructose Corn Syrup is “fine in moderation” – Seriously Misinformed  

Eating Disorders – Seriously Suck  

My Niece Jenny – Seriously a Kindred Spirit  

Music – Seriously Mandatory  

Whole Foods Market – Seriously My Utopia  

Vacuuming – Seriously Compulsive  

My Nephew, Tyler – Seriously Cool Individual  

My Social Life – Seriously Lacking  

Butterflies – Seriously Inspiring  

Kathy Griffin – Seriously Hilarious  

Lady GaGa – Seriously Don’t Get It.  

Reading – Seriously Second Nature  

Thinking I’m All Alone – Seriously Mistaken  

The word Seriously – Seriously Getting Old.  

 

   

 

  

 

 

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On a scale of……

On a scale of 1-10 where 1 is “having a moment” and 10 is “completely bananas,” yesterday I came in at around a solid 7.5 which is somewhere along the lines of “Dude….seriously?”

Here’s why.  I came home after work and the gym feeling OKish and pretty content. I cleaned up a bit and showered and then…I discovered I left my scale at work. DUN DUN DUN [queue twilight-zone music].

Oh the thinks I can think!

Almost immediately all sorts of squirrley thoughts came and brought all their nuts with them.

“Just wing it…just don’t eat at all…maybe this is a sign to not eat…maybe this is a sign to stop weighing…just eat one yogurt…etc”

About a week ago I would not have gone into such a frenzy…I’d have just pretended like I was in a restaurant and gotten over it. (Eating in a restaurant took me a while after recovery, too).

But dinner at home was one meal I ALWAYS weighed.   After my new re-commitment to log all my food, I just knew I couldn’t let it slide. So I sucked it up and drove to three different stores looking for an electronic food scale all the while becoming increasingly upset and annoyed at myself because …..really?

I should have/could have been – I don’t know – having cocktails with friends, watching a movie, doing yoga, working toward a future, ANYTHING normal 30 something single ladies would do….

But here there I was, panicking because I can’t put food in my mouth without weighing it. Running from store to store…saying an actual prayer that I would be able to find one. So I can feel safe. There is safety in numbers.

It was one of those moments when I realize how completely chained I am by this disease. And I feel robbed. I only have myself to blame.

I did find a scale; I really don’t have money to throw around but I bought it anyway and managed to calm down. An upshoot?  It’s PURTY. (See above).

Oh, and it’s a four day work week. That’s a happy think.

** I plan on examining the meal plan given to me in recovery in this blog. Is it really a good idea to give an anorexic a strict and restrictive food plan? Do we, in recovery, become too dependent on our meal plans to the point where it becomes a deviation of the eating disorder. I don’t know. Whatever works, I guess.

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Caterpillar Crawl

 

After the long weekend [in which she re-commits herself to a meal plan and recovery] I am SO amazed at how much better I feel so soon. I feel my inner butterfly again. I feel hopeful and so much more comfortable in my own skin. Thank-you Jesus!

I am still doing my caterpillar crawl …. which is faster than a snail’s pace or a sloth … and so I’m content with that.

I wrote down all of my food, though I can say I need to step it up a notch in terms of eating. But it’s all good, I got my swagger… “I got this!”

I cannot blog over the weekends since my computer died (also referred to as the day the earth stood still). I did start a new journal. It’s my full-frontal, no-holds barred journal and, let me tell you this thing is UG-GA-LEE.

Why? Because I just let out all the crazies in my mind. Radio KFKD (K-F*cked), as Anne Lamott so brilliantly describes.  (google it because I do not know how to incorporate links)

So it goes a little something like this *blushing*

me, me, me, I am fat, my pants feel like this, it is 2:45,today at the gym, I ate this, I cannot eat this, blah blah scales, blah blah weight, me, me, me, fat, fat, fat, food, food, food, weight, I want to be comfortable in my own skin….

 

You get the picture. Pathetic. But it is SO incredibly helpful. Because:

Reason 1.) It is like purging on paper. I can’t really share or verbalize this stuff with anyone else because it’s insane and boring and not really recoverically-correct*  — but it feels good to just put it out there.

The thoughts/feelings are gonna be there – I cannot deny them, I can only choose how I respond to them.  And with recovery they will get quiter and littler  and widdler and probably sound more and more stupider (which is not a word but so fun to say).

Reason 2. )When I read it – it is like I can SEE the INSANITY rather than BE the INSANITY**. I can see the ED voice and face it and – most importantly – recognize it as separate from ME***.

So, If anyone is reading this I suggest you try it. Let your Freak-Flag Fly no matter how pathetic it looks on paper and DONT rip out the pages!

*I coined the term — and by the way I FEEL THE FAT THAT IS NOT A FEELING thank you. I just wont say it out loud.

** Hmm…That just came out of me but it sounds like a self-help mantra. Missy likes it!

***mental note — next step: figure out who ME is.

 

 

 

 

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Skinny Chicks Have Feelings Too

I was Miss. “Gung-Ho Recovery” yesterday as I made my way to the gym — I swam my laps and stopped when I wanted to, because I exercise on my own terms (take that anorexia– Boo-Yeah).

And then.

As I was headed out, (still in my bathing suit) I saw a friend I hadn’t seen in a few weeks and after exchanging  pleasantries he goes…..”You look like you’ve put on a little weight!” 

*#!!**~##!!** 

Okay, this guy KNOWS my issues, too. I gave him a little look and just walked away sort of laughing cause I just COULD NOT DEAL and waved goodbye to him as he calls out “wait….wait…that’s a good thing…right?”*

This is not the first time this has happened and –to my credit– I did not cry this time. But……..sigh. Yeah, so my Gung-Ho from yesterday went down the drain. 

***Note to self*** I must truthfully examine my answers and feelings toward that question at some point. But not now. Answer = No.

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I’ll get you my pretty….and your little dog, too.

The past two months have been pretty rough –particularly on the ED front. The wicked witch of eatingdisorderville has been relentless in her pursuit. I guess I just didn’t have the energy to fight back. In fact, I pretty much climbed on her broomstick with her and let her take me for a ride.

For a while now, God has been working in my heart, leading me to recognize that (a) not only do I  need treatment,  but (b) I actually want treatment. I have been thinking about it a lot, imagining what it would be like for me to be inpatient, reading recovery stories…trying to imagine all my life might be and all the while becoming more and more aware of how bereft and empty it is now.

But, you know the game. “When…but….maybe….if….tomorrow.”

The universal truth is: tomorrow never comes.

There are only todays.

Today I am thinking about ruby red slippers and yellow brick roads. Except I know better than to think some wizard can help me find my way home.

The tin man recognized his heart, the scarecrow discovered his wisdom, and the lion found his courage and strength. But all they needed was to be themselves and put aside their insecurities.

I’m thinking I can put on my big girl panties (and my ruby reds) and uncover who I am inside. Uncover, discover, recover my self.

So for now….let’s see what I can manage on my own.

I just need to take my steps forward and keep my focus…”there’s no place like home…there’s no place like home…”

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Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone…..

Enough is enough. You see, I had decided that the most painful and frustrating part of going around being a sad-hag is because basically I am not a “wah-wah-wah, doom and gloom” kind of girl. It’s just not my nature. I like butterflies and rainbows and clouds and drawings of honeybees. I love Jesus. 

  I like being ridiculous. I like to eat peanut butter and pickles. 

All you need is Love. Peace. 

So I was going around like….what is wrong with me. Where is my “me”-ness?Sheesh. 

So I developed the brilliant plan to just “give in”  to the depression rather than trying to fight it.  

I scripted a new inner-monologue. 

“I’m not okay and I’m okay with that ”…. “I have run out of pretend”….I like to just sleep all the time and numb myself out in my apartment. That’s my “happy place.” 

Problem is, I’d be feeling like a cruddy, dirty, grey slug and then all of the sudden I find myself making little jokes with my neighbor and smiling or thinking happy thoughts or something. This is really incongruous with what is going on in my life, but I can’t help it. It is not fake. It’s me. 

I am sad happy girl. Or happy sad girl. Is there a word for a happy sort of sad or a sad sort of happiness? Not ambivalence…. 

Maybe I am like the sunshine peaking out of a cloud. Or — my favorite time of day -twilight- when the world gets really glow-y and everything is oddly illuminated.  It is pretty rare and when it happens it feels like magic. 

See what I mean? I am the girl who goes outside and says “Yay! It’s twilight…it’s like magic!” and yes, when there is a rainbow in the sky I want to let everyone in my vicinity know about it (for instance – a complete stranger in the parking lot). 

But I’m also a big, fatty-fat pants failure who can’t get it 

My avatar?

 

 together. 

 See what I mean?

 

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Cocoon

Main Entry: ¹co·coon

Pronunciation: \kə-ˈkün\

1 a : an envelope often largely of silk which an insect larva forms about itself and in which it passes the pupa stage b : any of various other protective coverings produced by animals
2 a : something suggesting a cocoon especially in providing protection or in producing isolation

Because I choose to believe that complete transformation is possible, I consistently latch onto the symbolic metamorphosis of the caterpillar into a butterfly — which I also liken to the caterpillar’s journey into becoming the butterfly. Because there is work involved.

The whole scenario abounds with metaphor….the caterpillar confined to the leaf and then undergoing a true soul-transformation into a creature full of color and light and life. A creature that can fly toward the light.  But first the caterpillar must face the darkness of the cocoon…go within itself until finally it is ready to begin the beautiful struggle and fight the darkness…..you get the picture.

So, this sort of malaise I find myself in of late, while extremely painful and disturbing, also feels quite functional. I don’t have the energy to run away from my issues right now. I have sunk to my knees in the sand and just watch as the water washes me over and recedes again and again.

Cocoon “any of various other protective coverings produced by animals….something suggesting a cocoon especially in providing protection or in producing isolation”

So as I slink home, preparing to bury myself in a novel and make a sport of sleeping just to avoid being awake, there is a sense of comfort. That I am doing something that I need to do. I am in a transition period right now. It’s scary and dark and confining and so lonely but perhaps that is exactly where I need to be.

Just a thought.

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