Merry Christmas

          It's Christmas!  Well, by 10 minutes.  Normally, I dread the holidays (family fights and drama, food anxiety, etc.) but I'm actually excited this year.  I put my lights up (well, two strands around my door), wrapped some presents, and sent out my Christmas cards two weeks ago.  I took a week off from work to head to Philadelphia in all of 6 hours to spend time with Allison and her family before she leaves the east to move in with me in Arizona.
          Today was my first good food day in awhile--I think the excitement and anticipation of seeing Allison, wrapping presents, and packing occupied my mind from 8 am to 11 pm.  Speaking of 8 am, I got a wonderful wake-up call today, which was the only day I could sleep in this past week:

Tigey thought it would be a nice way to say Merry Christmas Eve by sitting on my chest, pawing at me and meowing, until I woke up.  She calms down once she sees me open my eyes, hence her rocking the drugged look for the picture. 

          I'm both nervous and excited to meet Allison's family and spend Christmas afternoon plus a few days with them.  There's the general anxiety of meeting a girlfriend's parents, but then there's also the holiday anxiety.  Holidays with my parents have always been pretty rough between the drama and ed thoughts.  This year, I made the decision not to see them.  I don't think they're too pleased, but unfortunately for them, they don't get a say in the matter.  Even though I'm choosing not to see them this year, it will still be bittersweet on some level.  Like all kids, I always wished for the perfect Christmas, but of course, that never happened.  There was always some fight, yelling, harsh words, disapproving looks, something.  Yet every year, I always held onto the hope that "this year would be different."  This year, finally, it will be different.  Allison's family seems awesome and it will be such a change to spend the day around positive, happy people, but I know I'll still be thinking of my own parents and wishing I could have had that with them while growing up.
          To update the dietitian situation, this past Tuesday's appointment with my now former dietitian went as expected.  Telling her that I would no longer be able to see her was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do.  Luckily for me, my therapist gave her the heads up, so I didn't have to say much.  Good thing too, as I could barely get the words "I can't afford to see you" out.  We spent our time talking about the progress I made and what I can do to stay on track/get back on track during the next few weeks.  She also said some very kind words to me and commended me on my honesty, openness, and progress, which made me feel pretty good, despite everything, and then we parted with a hug.  I teared on and off throughout the entire session.  When I walked out of the building, although teary-eyed, I felt somewhat relieved.  I've been so anxious since she first told me she was leaving that I've been dreading saying goodbye to her.  Both she and my therapist have said this "ending of a relationship" is great for my personal growth, and while I agree, it still isn't easy.  Yet being able to move on is important, not just for me personally but for my recovery as well.  I'm excited to get back on track in a few weeks and hopefully meet with a new dietitian.
          As for now, I'm super excited to get out to Philly (even though it means trading my pleasant 50 degree weather and palm trees for snow), see Allison (who I haven't seen since October), meet her family, and then make the drive back out west.  The road trip will be a fun adventure and I plan on taking some cool pictures along the way as we travel through the states.  I'm waking up at 3:00 am to get to the airport with plenty of time to spare for my 1st leg of the journey--a 6:00 am flight to Houston.  Then it's a late morning flight to Philadelphia.  Time to get some rest before the trip!

The Perils of Food Shopping

          Food shopping is one of those activities which I have a love/hate relationship with.  As corny as it sounds, I enjoy cutting my coupons, scanning the sales fliers, making my list, and heading out to the store.  Yet even with the best intentions, oftentimes the minute I set foot in the store is where my ed rears its ugly head.  Some foods, the "safe foods," I have no problem buying, like fruits, vegetables, and diet soda (notice the trend?).  But then other foods, some legitimate fear foods, some "just kinda scared of" foods, are a completely different story.  Take peanut butter and ice cream, which happen to be two of the most troublesome foods for me to buy.  While I highly enjoy the taste and texture of both, I don't enjoying eating them frequently--they both rank pretty high on the "Under No Circumstances Will You Eat This" list.  I can't get through a peanut butter purchase without comparing at least five to seven different kinds.  That one fat gram or measely twenty calorie difference in different brands could clearly make or break my waistline!  Let's get real:  that's ridiculous!  (Of course, just because I know in my head it's ridiculous doesn't stop me from believing that those twenty calories or one fat gram does affect my size.)  After awhile, the nutritional facts become etched in my head to the point where I no longer need to read each label to know the contents of the food; however, the still doesn't stop me from standing in the aisle for a solid five minutes every time.  It's sad that I know how many grams of fat are in a typical serving size of peanut butter.  Actually, now that I think of it, I know the fat, calorie, and carbohydrate content of way too many foods--but who with an eating disorder doesn't?
          It might seem counter-intuitive to continue to eat foods such as peanut butter and ice cream since I spend way too long agonizing over buying them, both in the planning and selecting stages of purchasing.  Yet I know in order to get over this eating disorder, fear foods need to be conquered.  Foods shouldn't be labeled as "good" or "bad," and therefore there is no food that I need to be scared of.  Of course, this is much easier said than done.  On my shopping list yesterday afternoon was the dreaded ice cream, and I had a fabulous run-in with the ed thoughts as I progressed down the frozen dessert aisle at Safeway.  The ridiculous monologue that went on in my head, or rather, my dialogue with the ed, looked something like this:
Me: "Ok, just go down the frozen aisle, suck it up and just get the ice cream."
Ed:  "Are you sure you want to do that?  It's ice cream!"
(Momentarily ignored the ed, found the ice cream section, saw that the Safeway brand was on sale and they had flavors I liked...perfect.)
Ed:  "You know you shouldn't be getting ice cream."
Me:  "I'm getting ice cream.  I need to get the ice cream.  There's nothing wrong with ice cream."
(I was trying to convince myself that there was nothing wrong with ice cream since I wasn't quite feeling it in the moment, and it ended up working.  I pick up the ice cream, put it in the cart, take two steps down the aisle, where I see more ice cream.)
Ed:  "Here's the light ice cream.  Put the regular ice cream back and get the light ice cream."
Me:  "Okay, I'll give in here, I'm not too comfortable getting regular ice cream so I'll go with the light--it's not like I'm giving in to the low-fat/low-calorie temptations of sorbet or sherbet."
(Switch ice creams, then take two more steps down the aisle, where I see more ice cream.)
Ed:  "Are you crazy, stupid, or both?  Look, here's the "no sugar added"  and "fat free" ice cream.  What you really need to do is get a container of each and compare the nutritional facts, especially the calories and fat content."
I was literally reaching into my cart to put the light ice cream back into the freezer and compare labels on the "better" ice cream when the thought of "What the hell am I doing?!" ran through my head.  Imagine how ridiculous I would have looked (and quite honestly, how I often do look when I buy foods such as ice cream, peanut butter, cereal, crackers, granola bars, etc.) had I carried out this plan.  Even though the previous "conversation" between me and the ed lasted all of 60 seconds in my head, talk about letting your eating disorder control you!  Once I got out of the moment, and even looking back on it now, it's ridiculous to the point of being comical.  I was having a legitimate conversation withmyself over ice cream and debating a mere handful of calories.  It's not like I was fighting with myself over consuming lettuce compared to Crisco! It shouldn't be that hard to pick out some damn ice cream without battling inner food demons.

          As a random yet pertinent side note, I'm a nervous wreck for tomorrow morning, which is when I have to tell my current dietitian that I can't see her anymore because I won't be able to afford her private practice rates.  Since I'll be traveling the following week, tomorrow will be the last time I'll see her.  I'm scared for several reasons, but the most important being that voicing it to her will make it real.  I will be officially ending our working relationship.  As previously mentioned, she and I have come so far in the work that we've done and the thought of not having her support is painful and scary.  I already have major abandonment issues thanks to my parents and other people who have hurt me in the past, and while this situation is nobody's fault, it's still painful nonetheless.  With the relapse and food thoughts/actions much worse than they have previously been this semester, I need that last third of my support team (doctor and therapist being the other two-thirds).  With the holidays coming up and me being out of the state for a week, I'm going to be waiting longer than I'd like to for an answer.  I'm incredibly nervous and anxious to be officially without a dietitian, but I know it's what needs to be done since I just can't afford it.  If I wanted to pay a bit less to see her, I could do so by agreeing to meet in a public place, such as a coffee shop, since she doesn't have to pay to rent space for a session.  Another possible option was to only see her bi-weekly.  Frankly, I'm not comfortable with meeting in public nor only having appointments every other week--it's not what I need.  I'm eagerly and anxiously anticipating having a full support team again--I want to get better.  But in order for that to happen, I need to essentially suck it up, not chicken out, and tell her that in order for me to make full strides in recovery, I won't be able to afford the amount of support I'd need if I was going to continue to see her.

The Inside of My Head

          The below picture, made at Wordle, is comprised of the most commonly found words in this blog.  I find it interesting because when I look at it, I see the makings of the crazy and obsessive thoughts that surround my eating disorder.  A glimpse into what it's like to be in my head at any given time...

Two Steps Forward, One (Huge) Step Back

          Dan's little holiday gathering went well.  It was definitely awkward, but more so in my head than anything else.  I had the typical, "Oh my god these people must think I'm so fat" thoughts, but I was able to actively challenge them and realize the reality of the situation.  My nutrition appointment on Wednesday did not go too well (more on that below), yet my therapy session on Thursday went fabulously, thank goodness--I needed it to go well.  Today was the day of the office holiday party, and the ed thoughts were flat-out raging, fully encompassing me.  It was a typical eating disorder kind of meal.  I sat alone, in a corner, not talking to anybody.  I saw some people try to make eye contact with me, or begin to open their mouths to speak to me, and I immediately looked down.  Or looked to the left.  Or to the right.  Played with my phone.  Anything to avoid engaging in conversation.  I pretended to be engrossed with my food.  In a way, I was engrossed with it.  Trying not to think of how it tasted and trying not to obsess over how many calories I was putting into my body.  I dabbled between mindlessly eating--not tasting or feeling the food--and barely eating--moving the food around on the plate, trying to make it appear like I was eating, cutting things into tiny pieces.  I tried not to think about how I should have chosen mere salad and fruit instead of a more caloric option.  My whole body was fidgety.  I was bouncing both legs.  I probably looked ridiculous, keeping to myself, flailing around, not making eye contact.  I had to force myself to eat, and I did, but the second I was finished, I booked it out of there, back to my desk.  I couldn't do it.  I couldn't stand to be there, listening to everybody laugh and joke and enjoy their food with not a care in the world, while I was obsessing over everything.  I'm still freaked out about it.  I feel like, to calm my nerves, a binge will be inevitable.  They happen before I'm even aware of it.  It sounds so dumb, like it would be so simple to say to myself, "Just not eat.  Stop."  but I can't.  Not because I don't have the willpower to, or because I'm too weak, fat, etc.  But because it's overwhelming.  Just like purging, it's this overwhelming urge, and the realization of what you just did doesn't hit you until after it's all over.
          I'm relapsing.  Plain and simple.  Typing it makes it painfully real.  Makes my breath catch in my throat.  And with it being real, with me acknowledging it, means I have to acknowledge the fear of relapsing.  I hate to say it, I hate to admit it.  I didn't realize it when it first started, which was maybe 3 weeks ago.  It took me up until two days ago to realize it.  I feel like I'm back in the spiral of restricting and bingeing, or restricting and overeating, with crazy obsessive food thoughts accompanying the actions, and I haven't routinely checked my blood sugar in I don't even know how long.  I don't know what it is to eat normally anymore.  I thought I knew.  I had made so much progress since August, and then as of late, it's just all flown out the window.  I'm lost, confused, sad, depressed, scared.  It's been so long (months) since I was in a place where I felt like this.  It wasn't always good, or easy, but at least I knew I was making progress, and I had hope.  Hope to be able to eat normally.  Hope to be able to not obsess over calories and fat grams and carbohydrates.  Hope to not eternally debate over whether or not I should eat, how much I should eat, and what I should eat.  Hope to live a life free of the eating disorder hell.  Now, I no longer have that hope.
          I know recovery is a possibility.  I know it's out there, I know it exists.  But it no longer seems to be within my grasp.  It's no longer a tangible possibility for me.  For others, yes.  For me, I'm not sure anymore.  And that's the scariest thought of all.  That I might not be able to recover.  I'm scared out of my freaking mind right now.  I'm so scared.  I haven't felt this lost, confused, or out of control since the summer--when I had no support team or treatment.  Now, it's so much worse because I have the exact same feelings and thoughts as I did before, but with a treatment team.  Well, the majority of a treatment team...
          My dietitian dropped a bomb on me two weeks ago.  She's leaving ASU.  When she first told me this, I was  speechless and shocked, to say the least.  My first thought was, "What am I supposed to do?!"  I had been through so much with her.  She was the first person I let into my crazy world of ed thoughts and behaviors.  Although ashamed and embarrassed at first, I let her into the secrets of the binges, restricting, food rules, guilt, shame, embarrassment, and finally, the purging.  She and I developed a relationship I never thought I'd have with somebody who knew all of those secrets--one full of respect, care, understanding, and trust.  Now, all of that was going to be taken away from me.  Upon leaving that appointment two weeks ago, she assured me that she would still see me through her private practice and that we would "work something out."  My first thought was there was absolutely no way I could pay out of pocket to see her, but my anxiety was relieved by her words of "[working] something out."  When I saw her this past Wednesday, we talked more about upcoming appointments.  Once she told me how much it would cost to see her, I mentally freaked out.  With my parents refusing to pay for simple copays, there was no way they'd be willing to pay as much as it cost to see her.  I left that appointment on Wednesday feeling dejected, anxious, and hopeless.
          I am trying to come to terms with the fact that I'm going to have to switch dietitians.  If ASU does not replace her, I'm going to have to go out in the community and find one.  The thought of having to essentially "start over" with somebody new, go through another assessment, talk about the ed behaviors and thoughts, is terrifying.  I don't want to.  My chest is tight and I'm incredibly anxious just writing about it.  How am I supposed to open up again?  To allow myself to be so incredibly vulnerable when I don't feel safe yet?  To talk about the ed behaviors--the bingeing, purging, restricting--when I'm so scared?
          I don't know what's going to happen regarding a new dietitian.  I'm not sure if ASU will hire somebody new or if I'll have to go elsewhere.  Since the holidays are coming up, nobody seems too sure how quickly there will be answers.  At best, I'll have to wait two weeks.  On Christmas, I'll be flying into Philadelphia to meet Allison's family and spend a few days with them.  Then, Allison and I will be driving together back to Arizona, as she's moving in with me.  I hope, by the time of our return, I'll have some sort of definitive answer regarding a dietitian.  I know it's imperative for me to get my routine back--see my therapist weekly, a dietitian weekly, and my doctor bi-weekly or monthly.  As of right now, given the holidays and the dietitian circumstances, there is no routine.  This is especially bad when I need my routine back.  I need some sort of stability in my life.
          I hate playing waiting games, and I feel like that's what this is--one big waiting game.  But waiting is not going to help with the eating disorder.  It's not going to prevent relapse.  It's not going to allow me to get my life back.  It's not going to do much of anything, other than allow everything to spiral out of control.  I know recovery needs to be met head on, and I'm legitimately trying so hard.  But what can be done, what can I do, when I'm trying my absolute hardest and the things preventing my recovery are out of my control?  How am I supposed to know it gets better when I don't have the support or the team I need?  I'm trying so hard to survive, to manage, to keep my head above the water, yet I'm slowly slipping down the perilous slope of relapse and it's scaring the hell out of me...

Bring On The Uncomfortable

          Tuesday:  the worst, most boring day of the week.  Monday is semi-exciting as there's plenty to do at work and Intervention (one of my favorite TV shows, on A&E) is always on. Wednesday is the half-way point of the week and the day of my weekly nutrition appointments, Thursday is the day before Friday and when I have my therapy sessions, and Friday is self-explanatory.  I feel like I have something ed-related going on every day this week, which can provoke quite a bit of anxiety.  Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday are all appointments that I'm greatly looking forward to.  Yet today and Friday are situations that most ed patients fear, obsess, and worry about incessantly.  Tonight, my good friend Dan is having a small group of friends to his apartment for a little holiday get together.  Beer, wine, possibly some Trivial Pursuit and a movie, and of course, food.  The plan is that we all bake or bring some sort of dessert item to share, and then we'll each get a plate to take home with leftovers.  As if the food aspect weren't enough, I only know one or two other people who will be there as I have yet to meet the others.  It will be a night filled with food and eating in front of people.  For others, food, drinks, and friends means a good time.  For me, talk about major panic.  MAJOR panic.
          At first, I merely agonized over what to bake and avoided thinking of everything else I was fearing and why I was fearing it.  I decided on my fabulous cheescake bars, as they've been a crowd favorite in the past.  

          This presented another issue:  making them without eating any.  Desserts are at the top of my "Under No Circumstances Will You Eat This" list.  I see absolutely NO reason to include desserts in my diet.  Forget about the fact that they taste good, I'm allowed to have them, they're not "bad," etc.  To me, there is nothing good about them.  They're just full of calories I don't need, fat grams I never need (let's not get into my fear of fat--I had some fun nutrition appointments consisting of being called out on why what I'm thinking is downright ridiculous, although my fabulous dietitian was/is absolutely right), and talk about the guilt and shame of putting something like that into my mouth, tasting it, feeling it, swallowing it, and knowing my body will be absorbing it.  Treacherous task.  I managed to get through the making of the cheesecake bars just fine.  My fears about the actual act of eating in front of people began to creep in, and of eating desserts, but it didn't drive me to engage in any negative ed behaviors.  I didn't restrict.  I didn't want to purge.  It didn't bring on a binge.  At the end of it all, I allowed myself to eat one.  It was a huge debate, but I know one thing that's so important in the breaking of the ed cycle is to make yourself feel mentally uncomfortable.

***

          In talking with Allison the other day about all of this ed stuff, she brought up a fabulous point.  Dealing with the actions is easy.  Stop restricting.  Stop bingeing.  Stop purging.  Stop counting calories.  But when you stop all of those actions, you're left with all of the thoughts.  At first, it's the obsessive "I should...." and "I have to..." and "I need to..."  I should restrict.  I have to binge.  I need to purge.  I have to engage in that negative behavior in order to cover up and not feel the hurt, pain, fear, or whatever it is that you're using the ed behavior to control or avoid.  Then, after you realize, "Okay, maybe I don't have to engage in these actions" you're stuck with those feelings you were using ed behaviors to cover up.  Being in your own head, not just thinking but actively feeling whatever hurt or pain drove you to an eating disorder is terrible.  Having to deal with the hurtful, spiteful, and downright abusive words and actions from my parents the first time around, as it happened, year after year after year, was bad enough.  It drove me to internalize all of their negative words, hate myself, engage in unhealthy behaviors.  Dealing with all of that and treating yourself like that for such a long time is so incredibly damaging.  Having to relive those feelings again now, and with the absence of those very ed behaviors you used to cope in the first place, can be pure mental torture.  Yet it's what's necessary for recovery.  Skimming the surface and merely stopping the behaviors while refusing or not allowing yourself to get into the deeper mental aspect of everything isn't enough.  It took me awhile to realize this, but now that I have, I know how much work still has to be done.  I don't want to relive the hell my life has been, but I know it's necessary.  It's what will allow me to feel good for the first time in my life.

***

          Back to tonight.  I'm nervous.  I'm scared.  I HATE eating in front of other people, especially if I've never met them.  I know it's all in my head and most likely, completely untrue.  But I still think it.  I'm petrified, almost paralyzed by the fear, that they'll take one look at me eating (and whether it's carrots or chocolate cake doesn't matter) and think all of these negative thoughts.  As if me eating means I'm a bad person who should hate herself.  On the outside, they'll be smiling, enjoying their food, making small talk with me, the usual conversation.  Yet in their heads, they'll be collectively thinking, "Gross.  She's gross.  What is she doing eating?  She needs to go on a diet.  Of course she's eating, she's the fat one.  She should be ashamed of herself.  She has no self-control, no willpower.  How weak and disgusting.  Fat.  Good thing she's smart because she certainly doesn't have her looks going for her.  I'm glad I don't look like that."  The reality of the situation?  Nobody will be thinking that.  Yet in the moment, that's what I'm scared of.

          I hate admitting to myself that I feel fat.  But I do.  Probably on a regular basis.  At the best of times, a positive thought will sneak in, like "Wow!  You're really not as fat as you think!"  But those are few and far in between.  The most common is, "You've gained ten pounds overnight.  What is wrong with you?"  It's so easy to admit that I feel fat when I'm sitting behind the anonymity of a computer screen.  I feel fat. I just said it, pretty simple, right? Nobody can read the hurt in my body language, the emotion in my eyes, the sadness and fear in my tone of voice.  But sitting in a therapy or nutrition session and saying that?  A whole different story.  It leaves you incredibly vulnerable, open.  It's personal.  It's so much easier to only allow that thought to barely sneak it's foot around the corner of your brain, and then quickly slamming that door shut, while outwardly pretending everything is okay and you like yourself, how you look, and what you're all about.

          I'm so tired of choosing what I'm eating based on my fear.  Whether it's in a situation like tonight, or in general, I'm sick of it.  I just want to eat whatever I'm in the mood for and find appetizing in the moment and not have to worry about calories, fat grams, or carbohydrates.  Friday is a similar situation:  the office holiday party.  I'm thinking I'll be more comfortable there as I already know everybody I work with, and in addition to that, my boss knows about it all:  the eating disorder, the emotional abuse, the team I have here.  I definitely feel comfortable around her and that does a world of good on easing my nerves.  Yet there will be an absolutely plethora of food as everybody is bringing some sort of dish.  I'm going to have no idea the nutritional facts on all of the homemade food and I know I'll be agonizing and scrutinizing every choice I make.  I'll need to get out of my head.

          And with that, some of my favorite ways to get out of my head:

(My new obsession)

(My most calming hobby, in addition to writing)

(Anything remotely athletic that gets the adrenaline and endorphins pumping and brings out my competitiveness...including breaking in this early Christmas present to myself)

(Who doesn't love Rock Band?)

My Photography

Monday Mornings

          It's Monday morning.  For most people, including me, that means dragging yourself out of bed at some ungodly hour for the next five days (in my case, 6:15 a.m.), going to work, settling into your Monday to Friday routine, chatting with colleagues, looking forward to whatever hot show is on primetime TV in the evening, etc.  In addition to all of that normal stuff, Monday mornings usually bring along the raging ed thoughts.  Over the weekend, both my body and my mind are usually kept busy with enjoyable activities so I end up being too preoccupied to worry about how fat I feel or how much weight I'm convinced I gained or obsessing over food calories and consumption.  Once Monday morning hits, the ed thoughts hit too, like gale-force winds crashing into my body.


          The anxiety that these thoughts brings just flat out sucks.  There's really no other way to put it.  Some of the anxiety is just (positive) anticipation for my weekly nutrition and therapy sessions; however, the bulk of the anxiety is way worse than just some anticipation.  It's the obsessing about my body, how I look, what I'm wearing, what other people are thinking, what other people are thinking if they, heaven forbid!, see me eating, what I'm actually eating, if I should be eating in the first place, etc.  Crazy, right?  Why can't I just eat and be okay with it, and me?  It sounds so easy, and simple, and for many, it is.  For me and anybody else with an eating disorder, it couldn't be farther from that.  The worst part about all of that is that almost every weekend, I get a short reprieve from this obsessive hell.  I get a short-lived taste of what it feels like to be free.  I'm still undecided about whether this slight reprieve is a good thing or a bad thing.  On one hand, it obviously feels amazing to enjoy my day, mostly worry-free, and actually like myself for once. On the other hand, it's like a cruel tease which just makes the ed thoughts that much more depressing when they storm back into my head at full force on Mondays.


          So, back to Monday morning.  I've currently be awake for a full four hours, and I've yet to eat anything.  I normally always eat breakfast; I can't function without doing so and I know I need to.  When I woke up, I had high blood sugar (due to having low blood sugar in the middle of the night--it can be a crazy rollercoaster at time, especially when I'm half asleep), so I took my insulin and told myself I'd eat once I got into work to let my blood sugar settle to a better level.  I got into work one hundred and twenty minutes ago.  All I've consumed is a cup and a half of coffee and a packet of Splenda.  I know I need to eat, I just can't bring myself to.  I have my yogurt and pretzels sitting right in front of me.  I've actually been staring at them for the past sixty minutes.  I just have no motivation to put any sort of food with calories in my mouth right now.  Over the past week or so, I've had pretty terrible body image and a whole slew of negative thoughts about myself and how I look.  It's so incredibly confusing, and illogical, yet I still think, and most of the times, believe it all.  I wake up, look at myself in the mirror as I'm brushing my teeth, and scrutinize every inch of myself, looking for all of the imperfections and flaws I am convinced exist.  Starting your morning by telling yourself how fat you are, how out of control you are, how little willpower you have, and how gross you look really is not conducive to wanting to eat anything, let alone the number of calories you should be consuming in the day.  This morning was no exception.  Actually, last morning was no exception either, yet I was on my way out the door to play in two softball games (the last ones of the season, unfortunately) so I was too mentally preoccupied with thoughts of the games to worry about looking fat.  Today, ed thoughts are all I seem to be preoccupied with.  This morning wasn't too terrible, as I was too tired to focus on too much, but I didn't escape completely unscathed--I still managed to say to myself, "God, look at your stomach.  It's huge.  None of your clothes will look good.  You need to hide that."  Really not a great way to start a cold and dark Monday morning.

***

          It took me a long time to admit that I have control issues, but do I ever.  I remember sitting in sessions (note the 's'--we're talking multiple sessions here) with my dietitian, debating and fighting her when she would say I clearly had control issues.  I got more eyebrow raises combined with "you really think you don't have control issues?" looks than I care to count.  Now it's almost laughable, but I did NOT want to admit that okay, I have control issues.  I need to be in control.  I am a perfectionist.  But it's true.  I am a perfectionist, whether it's food related, school related, whatever.  I need to be in control.  It makes me feel...good.  Calm.  Like I can breathe again.  Empowering.  Strong.  When so many things in my life are raging out of control, the one thing I can control is food.  Yet I've come to realize that nitpicking over calories, restricting for "just another ten minutes" multiple times, until it adds up to hours, really is not me being in control.  I'm not controlling the food, the food is controlling me.  

***

          I sit here, still, staring at what was my breakfast, which will now turn into my snack, hopefully.  Still uneaten, still unopened.  With each passing minute, I feel a greater sense of control.  Of power.  Of being able to do it, having that willpower to not eat.  Eating would feel like failing, especially since I've now gone four hours without anything.  It's such a tough mindset to break because I won't want to "give in" and eat all day.  Yet I have to.  I know I have to.  My body has to have the fuel it needs to get me through the day.  I know not eating is perpetuating the ed cycle, both mentally and physically.  I need to eat.  I need to stop it.  But the thoughts are very strong.  I have an appointment with my doctor in fifteen minutes, and I know that if I hold off until after the appointment, I'll have gone six hours or so with absolutely nothing.  I can't do that to myself.  While I know I'll be under (not enough calories) for the day if I skip breakfast and a snack and then eat normally for the rest of the day, I know I can't.  I'm tired of living in this hell.  The only way to break the cycle is to force myself to eat this yogurt and pretzels and then deal with the uncomfortable, tight chested feeling during and after eating.  I know it's the right thing to do; I just don't want to do it.

The Hard Stuff

This is the stuff that nobody wants to admit. The nitty gritty of an eating disorder. The thoughts of self-hatred, the feelings of complete worthlessness. The restricting, the binges, the purges. Nobody wants to talk about that. It’s hard. It sucks. It’s embarrassing and shameful. Who wants to admit that they go on a several thousand calorie binge and then lean over the toilet and throw it up? Who wants to talk about walking up in the morning, taking a cursory glance in the mirror, and then telling yourself you don’t deserve to eat? I didn’t. I do now. I’m no longer ashamed of myself, as the emotional abuse and the eating disorder are not my fault.

I have a long history with ed behaviors, most likely going back to when I was 9. Over the years they’ve gone untreated and thus have worsened. Like I previously mentioned, I thought that since I couldn’t be officially diagnosed with either anorexia or bulimia, I clearly did not have an eating disorder. As of today, the words “You have an eating disorder” have still never been spoken to me, and in the beginning of treatment, that was very unsettling to me. I knew what was going on but I wanted, needed, some confirmation. My doctor typically gives me a “patient plan” after each visit which details our appointment and includes what needs to be done before the next appointment. It was on one of these patient plans back in August that I first saw the diagnosis that I had been both fearing and needing: “EATING DISORDER NOS.” This gave me the confirmation I needed, that yes, I really did have a problem, but at the same time, it was an eye-opening, sinking heart feeling of “Oh shit. It’s real. I have an eating disorder.” Once I was able to come to terms with this fact, I allowed myself to take a look at all of the unhealthy food behaviors I’ve exhibited over the years.

I’m going to talk in the present, as the below are things that occurred on a regular basis before I began treatment. Some of these behaviors still occur, while some do not; I’m trying my best to engage in “normal eating.”

I use food to comfort myself during emotional times. Having been emotionally abused and still having to deal with my parents, those “emotional times” are plentiful. I binge to quell the feelings of self-loathing, abandonment, and fear. I hate myself even more after a binge and tell myself things and call myself names one wouldn’t use for their worst enemies. I then restrict afterwards. Sometimes for just a meal, sometimes for a whole day. I’ve weighed myself daily for several years. I’ve tried to stay under one thousand calories for the day, or less. I have long lists of reasons why I hate myself, of foods I do not under any circumstances eat (aka my “fear foods”), and of crazy food rules. For example, I DO NOT consume liquid calories. No juice, regular soda, smoothies, etc. Only skim milk, and even that sometimes is tough. I hate eating foods that are high in fat, even though fat comprises a necessary part of our diets. Topping my list of fear foods is cheese, ice cream, french fries, and desserts. I prefer not to eat foods that I find enjoyable, mainly for the fear they will trigger a binge.

Most of my food behaviors are centered around bingeing/overeating, restricting, following (or trying to follow) a complex and often contradictory list of food rules. I have never used or abused diuretics or laxatives. For a period of approximately two years, on and off, I used (sometimes properly, sometimes improperly) Alli, the over-the-counter FDA approved weight loss drug. I dabbled in purging a few times over the past few years. I’ve legitimately purged three times, all within the past two and a half weeks (more on the purging to follow). I’ve thought that a small bowl of oatmeal was a suitable dinner. I’ve gone food shopping at three a.m. to go on a binge. I’ve told myself I was a worthless piece of shit who deserves all of the hurt and pain I’ve felt from my parents’ abuse. And more.

Listing the ed behaviors/thoughts makes it clear there is a big issue. The above statements do not stem from somebody with normal eating habits. My disordered eating, combined with being emotionally abused, has led me to an eating disorder.

So, more on the purging. I feel that this is a HUGE taboo—people do NOT talk about purging. It’s embarrassing. It’s shameful. You don’t want to admit you do it, you’ve done it, or you think about it. It’s not pleasant in any way, shape, or form. It’s a desperate act. The feelings I’ve had when I’ve purged are below. They describe the moment. My thoughts, my actions. This is a warning: you might not want to continue. But it’s the truth. It’s honest. It’s raw. It’s out there. I’m not proud of myself for purging, but I am not ashamed of myself either. My first (and second) legitimate purge resulted from a multitude of reasons which would take too long to get into. I’ve had the urge to purge (my dietitian first said that to me in one of our initial sessions and it took all I had not to burst out laughing right there—after she said it in one of our following sessions I had to tell her she could no longer say that. I couldn’t deal with the rhyming when talking about throwing up. Just no.) for the past few months, but never legitimately acted on it. I never ate with the intention of purging afterwards. I never purposefully walked into the bathroom, stuck something down my throat, and vomited. Never, until two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago, I was in a bad spot. Things with my parents had escalated yet again. One of their biggest faults is that they’re largely inconsistent. They were (and probably still are) convinced that I’m taking a trip to Sedona for reasons that are still unknown to me. I’m not. Due to that, and other “evidence” (still not sure what), I was told that they would no longer pay for my co-pays for my appointments, even though they had promised they would at the onset of the semester. Between seeing my team, my endocrinologist (for the diabetes), and my insulin prescriptions, my co-pays run well above $100/month, and being a college student, it’s more money than I have. I panicked when they told me that. Due to scheduling difficulties, sickness, and it being a holiday week (Thanksgiving), I hadn’t seen anybody from my team in what felt like an eternity (it was really only a week or two). All of this, coupled with regular ed stress, was too much for me. The following are excerpts from the journal I kept before this blog began. Again, read at your own risk.

“11/24

I don’t even know where to begin. So much has happened in the past 24 hours, let alone week, that it’s an everything and nothing situation. Well, was. So much going on in my head that nothing could come out.

So it’s now 10 minutes later, and I’m still avoiding saying what I’ve been dreading.

So I finally did what I told myself I never would do nor was allowed to do. I purged. Last night. It was overwhelming, yet thought-out and deliberate and I knew exactly what I was doing. It hurt. I binged before it. Afterwards, I was numb and calm. I cried. My head is spinning now, my heart’s beating, and I don’t know what to think. I was deliberate about it, although completely frenzied and overtaken by the feeling. It was finally okay in my head last night. So I did it. And I feel like it was (is) a desperate act. It’s not easy, mentally or physically. The pain made it better. I wanted, needed, to hurt. I already was. I’m not sure why. I stood there, in the bathroom, for a minute or two, before I did it, looking at myself. My eyes searching my reflection for what, I don’t know. Something, anything. I found nothing. Probably it was more like 5-10 seconds, actually, but felt longer, like time stood still. Still in that moment, looking at myself, I took one quick glance upwards, meeting my own eyes, in a last ditch effort, to find what I was looking for—I hated what I saw. I saw myself. I then made the conscious decision, the point of no return, and I started. Several times. I don’t even know what equals “one time.” In my head, it was several. I started. I stopped. I caught my breath, blew my nose, wiped my eyes. Asked myself if I was done. Laughed at myself in hatred and demanded I keep going. Started again. Repeated another 2 or 3 times. Each pause, each time I gathered myself and rose from my knees, I couldn’t bring myself to even glance towards the mirror; I couldn’t risk even the slightest glimpse of myself. When my throat burned after the third time or so, or third “instance,” I don’t even know, I realized I had to feed the cat. I stood up, facing the mirror, completely numb. Told myself to suck it up and just look up. In pure terror and shame, I raised my eyes to actually look at myself, in my eyes. They stared back at me, red, bloodshot, in hatred, laughing and mocking me. Asked me if I was finally fucking happy with myself, now that I really was worth shit. I hated myself for doing what I did. But I also felt so relieved, because I was able to finally give myself the physical and mental pain I had needed all day. I know that’s mad fucked up. I needed it. To feel like I was worthless, to feel like complete shit. To have somebody, anybody, beat me down and tell me exactly how fucked up and worthless I really was. To tell me what I already knew, already felt. I needed to feel the physical pain. And I did. In my stomach, my throat, my head. And every time I paused and it subsided I told myself “No. More. You need more. Keep. Going.” So I did. Until I was so numb that I realized I had to feed the cat. I was going to feed her, and possibly purge again. But then the phone rang, and it was Allison…”

“11/25

I’m tired of having to pretend. Of having to smile, to pay attention to people’s mindless chatter, as if I really care. I’m tired of being so good at faking it that everybody sees me on a daily/weekly basis and nobody has one fucking clue. Because I can pretend and fake it. Pretend like I’m okay, pretend I don’t have crazy food thoughts, pretend like I like myself, pretend like I think I’m a good person, like I deserve to have fun, like I deserve to relax, like the tear that trickles out is just an itch or a piece of dust I’m wiping away, like I’m not freaking out, like all of this is easy. I’m tired of pretending that I can do this when it’s all too overwhelming. I wonder who knows. Who takes the time or has the presence of mind to maybe look into my eyes for a quick second if they dare, and then acknowledge what they see. Probably not much. When I look now, I see nothing. Flat, glazed over, numb. Unemotional. Broken and beaten down. Loss. Failure. Fading hope. Helplessness. Do they see what I see?

I want to purge and feel the pain. It’s the only proper way to punish myself. Then I can feel how worthless I am. And the worst part of that? I feel at last, calm, at one with myself, when I feel that way. It’s so familiar, it’s calming.”

“11/28, 12:30 am

I purged again tonight. I knew I wanted to. And I did. It was much easier than Monday, and didn’t hurt as much. I wanted it to hurt more. I think I was just feeling so numb. I needed to feel something. That physical/mental/emotional shitty feeling. I wanted it. Allison called before I was able to fully accomplish those feelings. I still purged plenty though. I don’t even know how many times there were this time. Maybe more. Maybe not. Quantity was better than last, quality was not, to an extent. But the reasoning and motivation behind it were different than last, also to an extent. There was no binge this time.

I feel lost. Helpless. Confused. Sad, angry, frustrated. Trapped. Begging, desperate, pleading. Sometimes, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t know who I was, either.

Allison said it was obvious, and I thought I was doing a good job at hiding it. Not that I was purposefully trying to hide it from her, bur rather I didn’t want to admit it to myself: I am absolutely furious. Angry. Furious. I legitimately don’t really know at what. Everything, I guess. But specifics? No clue. I’m so angry that I’ve thought things that I’ve never thought before, or done. Like purging. On many occasions, I wanted to put my fist through a fucking wall. I’m not violent, at all. I thought to myself, if I didn’t need my right hand to write, type, or play softball, and if I had enough money to cover the co-pays, I probably would’ve broken my hand by now. I’m not sure why I’m on this physical pain kick. It seems to calm me down. Punch something. Purge until everything hurts. It’s like the ultimate “fuck you,” but to myself. It’s scary and frightening that that is who I am/have turned into.

I’m furious because of how all of this shit is affecting my life. I don’t eat normally. At times, I have a crazy voice in my head (not an actual voice, just the ed stuff). At times, I hate myself. At best, I can live with myself. In the past week, I’ve really hated myself. Purged until it hurt, and wanted to keep going. Both times, if I wasn’t interrupted by the phone, I would’ve kept going. I saw no end in sight. I’ve wanted to break my bones. I haven’t slept will in days. I can’t have a fucking decent orgasm. That’s how much [my parents have] gotten into my head. What the fuck. I hate it. Or myself?

I know the correct answer is “nothing,” but I’m still not sure what I did to not be loved. I know, I guess, that I need to be okay with now knowing the answer to that one, or knowing that there isn’t one. But there has to be. It doesn’t make logical sense. But I don’t know what does anymore. Why can’t [my parents] see me for me? Like the good person I am? Like when I was younger…

When my head was the size of a cantaloupe, like they always used to say, when I was a little kid. That had to be a good, happy time, right? I have pictures, so proof! Of me as a baby, and young girl, in their arms, and they’re smiling—they’re legitimately smiling. No fake smiles, no straight faces with signs of anger that I could tell. Real smiles. Like they were happy (happy!!!) that I was alive. I just wonder, where and how did it all go wrong…”

Whew, wow. It’s out there, it’s right above. It’s scary to see, but it’s even scarier to know that in those moments, that’s what I think and that’s how I feel about myself. I don’t have the above thoughts and feelings on a daily basis, or even a regular basis. But from time to time, they are there. They’re confusing, haunting. Painful. Scary. I don’t want them. I don’t want to hate myself; I don’t want to have a need for physical pain because I’m hurting too much mentally and emotionally. They can be the hell that I live in.