Dear Fat People (The Skinny on Skinny)

      

Dear Fat People,

Fuck you.

Chapter 55 of Diana Spechler’s novel “Skinny” is only five-words long. Five provocative words, don’t you think? How did you feel when you read them? What did you think?

But wait. This book is not about hating fat people or being skinny. Not really, anyway.

After a life of restrictive and controlled dieting, Gray Lachmann finds herself compulsively eating at the age of 26 following her father’s obesity-related death. Desperate to stop bingeing, she goes to work at a weight-loss camp even though she is not fat.

Do we hate her? Do we love her? Diana describes her as a “Not-Entirely-Likeable Protagonist.” As I read the book, I had no ill-regard for her at all. In fact, I could relate to the character in many ways.

She doesn’t hate fat people, she hates herself. In her words, “You are the visible manifestation of the parts of ourselves we hide.”

She doesn’t hate the players.

She hates the game.

I struggle with disordered eating in all its forms but I’ve never been overweight. Naturally, I was curious about this book and the issues it might address. Diana kindly offered to send me a copy to review. She’s on my list of awesome people.

The book is engaging, hilarious, honest and multi-themed. It’s a great read that, among many other things, poignantly chronicles the reality of compulsive eating in all its forms.

Here are a few of the many lines that resonated with me:

Bingeing on food is not like binge drinking. I was not the sad, mysterious girl at the bar. There is no sexiness in a family-size bag of Bugles.

I’ll admit there was something relaxing in it. I was consumed and consuming and unfit for public consumption. The things that normally moved me – love, money, a yearning to be remembered, a fear of self-absorption – were muted.

Toward the end of the day, the worst I had was a mild headache. A small pang of hunger. Or…not hunger. A longing to eat. But the longing was contained….in a structured environment. It wasn’t until nighttime that I felt the familiar pull of food.

I’d wanted to purge. Plenty of times. But I’d always stopped myself. I’d been afraid to do it, afraid that if I did it once – ate all I wanted, then vomited – I would spend the rest of my life doing nothing but eating and vomiting.

God, I wasn’t even that thin. I wasn’t as skinny as I’d been believing I was. I’d been walking around believing my arms were bony, that my clavicles were standing at attention, that my legs were skeletal. How shameful that I’d been imagining myself as skinny.

It seemed absurd that I had ever eaten two packages of cookies in one sitting. Who was that person?

I won’t say “as if in a hypnotic state.” I know how the Ouija board works. I know that nothing is magic.

Curious?

• Read Charlotte’s thoughts on the book and the website here
• Dr. Katie’s (Dr!) review of the book here
• Read Katie’s Interview with Diana here.
• Ashley’s thoughts on the website Diana started here
• Watch the trailer for the book here
• Visit the Body Confessions website

 

 

 

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Obedience School. “Sit…Sit…Down….STAY. Good Missy!”

Yuck. I have been feeling terrible! Call the HAZ MAT squad or something, my body and head just feel…toxic or something.

Frustrating. Because I’ve been spending a lot of emotional energy on “taking care of myself”  .  I made some steps in the right direction.

For example, I barely left my apartment on Sunday and even watched a movie in the middle of the day (it is very difficult for me to sit still and just veg, so this has been a goal of mine).

But still, I feel cruddy. Yesterday I called in sick but after a couple of hours I had to peel myself out of bed — even though the boss said stay home — my wonderful work ethic guilt/compulsions wouldn’t let me stay down. I was miserable all day and STILL had to fight myself from going to the gym, which irritated me because that is… INSANE! (No I didn’t go).

Maybe watching a movie or having a snack or taking another nap isn’t exactly gonna cut the mustard when it comes to “taking care of myself.”

Today, I am feeling beleaguered by my own body. It is sore and tired and shaky and, basically, forcing me to GIVE IN and TAKE CARE OF IT.

It is God saying — “you said you wanted to learn to take care of yourself –here’s a little encouragement.” 

He’s hilarious.  Isn’t He?

So. How to deal. My mind is already playing tricks on me telling me “a workout is just what you need, then you need to go to the store and vacuum when you get home….” and I can’t state for certain I won’t listen to it.

But *sigh* if I DO give in that does not mean I am giving up.  Maybe I don’t go home and collapse into bed. I can still do certain things to take care of “me” tonight.

Thank-you, Jesus,  for working your will in my life and giving me the opportunity to learn and grow and improve and be more of the woman you would have me be. I pray that you show me why my body is so unhealthy right now — illuminate those things in my life that I need to work on.

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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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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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