Storytime: There’s No I in Try (but there should be)

Gather around boyfriends and girlfriends…settle down and grab a seat. Criss cross applesauce.Shhh….inside voices.

It’s time for a story. Today’s share?

Interpreted by Miss. Caterpillar

That would be me.

We have to learn a whole lot of stuff during our lives. Growing up, we had to master skills that now come naturally to us. Like walking and talking. And making cereal.

But even when we’re grown, life continues to require us to learn. Sometimes we learn things that aren’t good for us. Bad habits like spending too much, having a short temper, smoking or eating too much.

We find ourselves flat on our backs.

 

Sometimes we have to re-learn skills that should be natural to us but aren’t — like how to do life without a vice.

There are people to help us get on our feet, books to read and support meetings to attend, prayer to be done. But even God wants us to succeed on our own so we are stronger.

Ultimately we’re on our own.

Change takes a lot of practice. We find ourselves flat on our backs again.

And again.

Loved ones can encourage us, but they can’t do it for us. Even though we know better, we continue to do the things we don’t want to do. We’re clumsy.

But we’re not defeated. We try again. And again.

One day something’s going to click.

We’ll find the motivation we need – even if it means being scared shirtless. You go bankrupt, your marriage falls apart, your health deteriorates. Your motivation to change becomes stronger than the will to stay the same. 

Something will click, I have faith. Sooner or later…

We nail the landing. Score a perfect 10 and take home the Gold.

That victory will be worth all the time spent on our backs wondering how the heck we’re gonna get it right. Amen?

You can learn a lot from a beetle.

• What’s one change you’ve made that you’re proud of?
• Is there something in your life you are being clumsy about?

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Paradise With a Price

So. My last post detailed a wonderful, spirit-renewing vacation in the keys,  Just What The Dr. Ordered (in this case the “Dr” being God.)

It was ocean breezes, sunshine and bliss. Yes! I felt ready to live and enjoy life again!

I left something out. The story did not end there. 
That’s not all God wanted to show me — he took special care to drop some serious logic on me by serving-up some pretty serious awakenings.**

By the last day of my trip I was completely SPENT. EXHAUSTED. WEAK. DIZZY. NOT WELL.

And very scared.

I’m talking — I can barely crawl…CERTAINLY cannot drive home…contemplating a visit to the ER…YUCK.

I figured out, I was severely dehydrated and had to spend the next two days marooned in the condo moving from bed to recliner to bed again. I over-did it.

I realize that I am suffering complete disillusion of proper health. I noticed when I was with my friends that I had a marked lack of vitality compared to them. Less energy and strength.

And then, when I got so sick — I was forced to recognize the fact that I AM NOT WELL, and I AM IN DANGER. 

My mom said “your body is tiny — the sun takes it out of you really fast.”

How much longer before THE LIFE is taken out of me…”really fast?”

I am scared.

SO…I did what I felt God telling me to do. My first step was to start attending the meetings I had been “meaning to go to” and to try to book a nutritionist. I am also fervently praying for God’s help.

And…so far…so far. I know I am doing the right things and for now that is the best I can do.

 It’s been two weeks and I am not sure what will come next but….SOMETHING needs to change.

I am the only one who can make that happen.

And, God? I’m listening for my next orders.

 

**It was as if he waited until I was in a good mood so that I could fully contemplate the message, ya know?

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Recover, Discover, Uncover

I read a fabulous post from Lana about the meaning of recovery – more specifically the word recovery. This is a topic I’ve pondered often – especially because I am a wordophile…(Hold on, let me google. There might actually be a word for that….) logophile. Hmm. I like wordophile better. ***  

For Lana,  Recovering is more about Discovering. I relate to that. I accept my experience with ED is an integrated part of my life – one I can’t erase, forget, or deny. Yeah. Part of recovery for me IS discovering who I am now. Ex-post facto. My experience and struggle changed me (in good ways and bad).  Now that I no longer starve myself into a stupor, I need to discover my place in the world again.  

But for me, Recovering has even more to do with Uncovering.   

 

 

 

 

   

  

I mean...come on. Does this not look like a girl who was all set to enjoy the good life?

 

  

   

You see, anorexia pretty much buried “me.” It pushed “me” into a deep hole within myself and filled it with so much sludge I was stifled. Suffocated. Eventually, silent. If you didn’t see it happen,  you wouldn’t know I was in there.  

Hard to describe what this long process was like — particularly because at my worst, around the time I was hospitalized, I have swiss-cheese brain. I have little recollection. Starvation will do that. I DO remember crawling up stairs, being so weak I could not press the gas pedal or steer, going to the gym only to have the manager call the ambulance 5 minutes later for a very public ”intervention,” and one time I overheard teenage boys laugh and call me ‘skeletor’ in Target…AWESOME.  

I didn’t do anything for fun. I had no idea what ’fun’ even was. I didn’t dance. I didn’t socialize. I didn’t date. I didn’t do yoga. I didn’t make any friends. I lost the ones I had. I spent birthdays alone. Thanksgivings alone. In fact, I was ALWAYS alone. Even though I had invites all the time, my acquaintances and friends  at work, the neighborhood and gym – many who I love dearly – could not penetrate my inner world (guarded by anorexia). I was living in Austin, TX — far away from any family. My relationship of 6 years had failed. He and his friends were estranged. I began to “sanitize” my life– obsessing with keeping my apartment immaculate, my clothing ironed, everything just “so.” Gone were all the kitschy, funky, fun wardrobe items and home decor. No more glitter nail polish. I gave away a lot of Sanrio stuff (for shame!), I remember that! I wanted everything to be ”plain and clean and simple.”    

BUT. There is TOO much about “me” that is not plain, clean, and simple!  

As I am starting to do this work of recovery — clearing out the sludge bit by bit — I am uncovering “me” again. I am able to breathe. Like emerging from underwater. Or ice, more apropos.   

Yeah. For me — recovering is all about uncovering the girl I left behind. I miss her.   

I’ve had an eating disorder for decades and it was a gradual disappearing act…it was at rock bottom when I was all but gone.   

I miss the me when anorexia was something I rode like a bike. Even when I became tethered to the pedals, then bound by chains. Anorexia eventually threw me from the seat, took control of the handlebars and Iwas left, still tethered, dragging behnd on the concrete. When you are that beat down, it’s hard to think about anything else but survival.   

But I’m back in the saddle again and learning to rip the covers off, unpack some of the sludge holding me down and let ”me”  breathe and BE and come alive again and —sigh.   This just feels so good!   

 Perhaps this is the time for me to lose the c0coon and unleash that inner butterfly of mine.   

***Entirely unrelated but worth a peek is this website I just found. Labeorphily – the collection and study of beer bottle labels. Who knew?***  

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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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Vicious Cycle of Stupid

Ever been to a zoo or circus and seen an elephant with a chain around it‘s ankle? And the poor thing  just continually rocks back and forth, back and forth, not going anywhere because he is tethered to the chain?

If an elephant never forgets he must be thinking, with each step, “this time will be different” but then…nope. Still stuck.

                I AM that elephant.

Thanks to Einstein we all know that doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results is insanity. Insane? Sure. Stupid? ABSOLUTELY.

I am stuck in a vicious cycle of stupid.

For a while now, I have woken up feeling miserable and vowed that “today will be different,” only to proceed to do the very things which make me feel miserable.

Today I am just miserable. And fat. Elephantine.

And it’s not okay. I am terrified. My body feels so foreign to me. The fat is suffocating.

I am done.

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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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