I've been hearing a great deal about how lucky/fortunate I am. There is no reason to be depressed, anxious, stressed, unhappy, etc. I've said it before, on paper, my life is pretty spectacular. I have a beautiful healthy daughter, an understanding husband, a gorgeous house, a nice car, a closet filled with Louboutins, designer clothes and Chanel purses.... I could go on and on but all of those material items really mean shit to me. No matter what people believe, they mean SHIT to me. I will not deny that being an only child I've always had nice things--- it's much easier with one child to give them that sort of stuff. When I was younger, I know that my parents made sacrifices for me to have those things but those sacrifices, while I was aware of them, never interfered with me.
When I met my husband, he was successful and driven. Never, in MY wildest dreams did I think we were going to have the life we have. That he was going to make the money he makes. I'm sure he knew.... He set his goal, he works his ass off, and accomplishes anything and everything he put his mind too. It's beyond being a hard worker.... It could be the military brainwashing.... It could be the fact that his dad set a good example of working hard to get what you want.
Now, my husband is very successful in a competitive industry. He doesn't save lives--- although he can make an argument that he does but it's fucking bullshit. Does he take time off? Rarely. Very rarely. I'll admit, vacations this year were put on hold due to my mom's illness but has he ever taken the day off to spend with me? Nope. Just me. During all of this shit that I've been wading through for months on end, has he stopped to think that the one thing he could do is to take a day off? No.
So here we are--- I'm on medical leave, about to enter an outpatient psychiatric hospital and I'm told that he needs to work over an entire holiday weekend. Have I told him I'm upset? Sure. Does it matter? No. It's his job which is tied for first place with our daughter. He's an amazing father. When I watch him with her my heart can almost explode. I can see the bond forming right before my eyes-- that daddy's little girl thing which I had. It's hard to even write about without crying. On his days off, he spends time with her doing "fun" stuff...... (ie, daddy plays outside not mommy).
Now, where do I fit in? who the fuck knows. I know I'm up there somewhere but maybe in the top 5. It's a bold statement but I HATE HIS JOB. I would be happy driving a Toyota, living in a small house (provided we were still in a good school system) but being TOGETHER. He keeps asking how he can help me. I know he's put up with a great deal of verbal and emotional abuse from me and most men would have left by now (only during the last few months, not the entire marriage). I don't want him to leave his job- he loves it, he's good at it and it makes him happy. I'm jealous. I don't have that kind of job. I wish I woke up excited to go to my job.
I knew what his job entailed when we met. He's been in the same line of business for as long as we've known each other. But, at the end of the day, all these material things don't mean anything to me if I have no one to share them with..... I love my husband very much. So much that I WANT to spend time with him. Right now, I NEED him more than I ever have before but I don't think he gets it-- even though I've lost my shit trying to explain it to him. I really NEED him. But he's not here.... sometimes I feel like he's never here......
This leave was a big decision. I'm trying to get my head straight and making plans to do things that I haven't had time to do because of work, being a mom, being a wife, being a daughter. Most of all, I just want to be with my husband. When I said I do for life, I meant for life. But I can only compromise so much. I can only accept so much. "It is what it is" doesn't cut it anymore.... "This is my job" doesn't cut it either..... Right now, as selfish as it sounds, I need to be FIRST (well, second to the baby) but I need to be his only concern and I'm not.
So, to all those who think I have a picture perfect life, I do, on the outside. But, on the inside, the walls are starting to crack.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
And Away We Go...
After weeks.... sorry, months.... of agonizing over taking a leave of absence the day is finally here. It's my last day at work for 4.5 weeks. (BIG EXHALE). Right now I have knots in my stomach, I feel like I need to vomit, and I'm scared. But I am doing the right thing. Not for my husband, not for my daughter but for ME. Everyone knows now-- including my mom. Her husband told her, which went against advice I received but I had to trust my gut. She was upset initially that I didn't tell her but I think her concern overshadowed that and I received the phone call I was hoping for.... She told me she loved me (which I've obviously never ever doubted) and that she's going to support me. As for the EDNOS--- she was not pleased and this is going to be a battle with her. She was pissed the first time around and she's not any better this time. She questions what I eat, adds food to my plate,etc.... You know, all the things a mom would do in this situation. But I'm not mad. I'm not even annoyed. I told her that sometimes a girl needs her mom-- no matter how old she is.... I'm sure that I will work on this codependency issue ad nauseum when I enter (drum roll please) The Psychiatric Hospital.
Yes, I sat through a two hour evaluation and was recommended to TWO programs. I think that means I'm super crazy. Anyway, I was recommended to one for my EDNOS and another "women's program." My response to the ED program was simply "I do not want supervised meals, I am not going to be escorted to the bathroom and I am not meeting with a nutritionist because I don't give a shit about the food pyramid." Yup. That pretty much sums that shit up. She quickly realized that wasn't the program for me and honestly, at 119 lbs (depending on the scale), I'd be the fat chick in the room. Who wants that stigma??
Oh one very important piece of advice, when being evaluated by a mental health professional for placement in an outpatient psychiatric hospital, and you're asked if you have homicidal thoughts, don't respond with, "Only when I'm driving." They take that shit seriously. I thought it was pretty fucking funny to be honest. I was wrong..... Either that or she didn't have much of a sense of humor.
The evaluation was PAINFUL and EXHAUSTING. It caused a great deal of money to be spent on some serious retail therapy. Have I mentioned that I've bought 4 pairs of shoes in the last 2 weeks??? And that's not counting the Louboutins that I scored in NYC. Yup. I see lots of shopping in my future but I may just stick to Old Navy. My program, which will include cutters, crack addicts and prostitutes consists of 7 hours of intense therapy for 5 days. Are there desperate housewives types (a la me) there as well, sure but we're the minority for sure.
There will be HOURS of one on one. There will also be workshops and group therapy. I'll need a pen and notebook but somehow I think showing up with my Donnie Wahlberg notebook wouldn't be perceived well. Unless of course there is a huge D-Dub fan in my group. She may appreciate it. In the time it's taken me to decide to go, share my decision and come to terms with it I have accepted that I have an eating disorder. I'm a grown ass woman with an eating disorder. I'm not 22 looking for attention. I have an addiction... and it's real. Sadly, I have people in my life who I consider good friends who can be judgmental and I've told them I've been under stress when asked about my rapid weight loss but I'm not going to hide behind that anymore.
My father in law is a recovering alcoholic. I've recently spoken at length with him about this and he tells me I didn't relapse.... that it never goes away and it's a demon you fight for ever but every morning he wakes up and says, I didn't have a drink yesterday and that keeps him going. He's been sober 25 years now. No matter how we slice what's going on with me-- depression, EDNOS, anxiety..... I need help. I'm taking the first step on a long journey. I've gained support in places that I didn't know about. People in my life who love me and care about me that I just didn't know. I don't mean my mom or husband but random people who have suddenly appeared in my life. I thought by accident at first, but now I believe my dad lead them to me to help me.
I'm scared as fuck. I really am. I'm about to dig deep into suppressed feelings that have been stuffed to the bottom of the barrel. The unknown causes a great deal of stress to me and I don't know what's going to happen as a result of this. During the evaluation I was told that a great deal of the women drop out before completing the 5 days. She asked that I give it at least 2 days before making that decision. Well, if I can give it two, I can give it fucking 5. I'm not going through all this shit for no reason.
A big questions weighing on my mind is, does my being so fucked up have anything to do with being an only child? The answer is yes, loud and clear. I don't blame my mom. She was the best mom and did everything to protect me but I think I was protected too much. I've said it before, being an only child comes with a great deal of self imposed perfectionist pressure. Now that's NOT my mom's fault. That's mine. I've created this world of stress and anxiety.
What do I hope to accomplish? I have no goals. I am going in open minded, clear headed and ready. ....but come and talk to me after day one.
Yes, I sat through a two hour evaluation and was recommended to TWO programs. I think that means I'm super crazy. Anyway, I was recommended to one for my EDNOS and another "women's program." My response to the ED program was simply "I do not want supervised meals, I am not going to be escorted to the bathroom and I am not meeting with a nutritionist because I don't give a shit about the food pyramid." Yup. That pretty much sums that shit up. She quickly realized that wasn't the program for me and honestly, at 119 lbs (depending on the scale), I'd be the fat chick in the room. Who wants that stigma??
Oh one very important piece of advice, when being evaluated by a mental health professional for placement in an outpatient psychiatric hospital, and you're asked if you have homicidal thoughts, don't respond with, "Only when I'm driving." They take that shit seriously. I thought it was pretty fucking funny to be honest. I was wrong..... Either that or she didn't have much of a sense of humor.
The evaluation was PAINFUL and EXHAUSTING. It caused a great deal of money to be spent on some serious retail therapy. Have I mentioned that I've bought 4 pairs of shoes in the last 2 weeks??? And that's not counting the Louboutins that I scored in NYC. Yup. I see lots of shopping in my future but I may just stick to Old Navy. My program, which will include cutters, crack addicts and prostitutes consists of 7 hours of intense therapy for 5 days. Are there desperate housewives types (a la me) there as well, sure but we're the minority for sure.
There will be HOURS of one on one. There will also be workshops and group therapy. I'll need a pen and notebook but somehow I think showing up with my Donnie Wahlberg notebook wouldn't be perceived well. Unless of course there is a huge D-Dub fan in my group. She may appreciate it. In the time it's taken me to decide to go, share my decision and come to terms with it I have accepted that I have an eating disorder. I'm a grown ass woman with an eating disorder. I'm not 22 looking for attention. I have an addiction... and it's real. Sadly, I have people in my life who I consider good friends who can be judgmental and I've told them I've been under stress when asked about my rapid weight loss but I'm not going to hide behind that anymore.
My father in law is a recovering alcoholic. I've recently spoken at length with him about this and he tells me I didn't relapse.... that it never goes away and it's a demon you fight for ever but every morning he wakes up and says, I didn't have a drink yesterday and that keeps him going. He's been sober 25 years now. No matter how we slice what's going on with me-- depression, EDNOS, anxiety..... I need help. I'm taking the first step on a long journey. I've gained support in places that I didn't know about. People in my life who love me and care about me that I just didn't know. I don't mean my mom or husband but random people who have suddenly appeared in my life. I thought by accident at first, but now I believe my dad lead them to me to help me.
I'm scared as fuck. I really am. I'm about to dig deep into suppressed feelings that have been stuffed to the bottom of the barrel. The unknown causes a great deal of stress to me and I don't know what's going to happen as a result of this. During the evaluation I was told that a great deal of the women drop out before completing the 5 days. She asked that I give it at least 2 days before making that decision. Well, if I can give it two, I can give it fucking 5. I'm not going through all this shit for no reason.
A big questions weighing on my mind is, does my being so fucked up have anything to do with being an only child? The answer is yes, loud and clear. I don't blame my mom. She was the best mom and did everything to protect me but I think I was protected too much. I've said it before, being an only child comes with a great deal of self imposed perfectionist pressure. Now that's NOT my mom's fault. That's mine. I've created this world of stress and anxiety.
What do I hope to accomplish? I have no goals. I am going in open minded, clear headed and ready. ....but come and talk to me after day one.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Glimpse into a Dream Job
I'm writing a great deal about depressing shit but there has been something exciting that's recently happened (and about to happen which I will blog about at a later date). Not sure when it happened, but I think that I was about 22 years old, when I thought DB and I were going to get married, that I became obsessed with weddings. Not actually getting married but having the most unique wedding down the very teeny details. I'll admit, I bought bridal magazines when I was single just to see the trends in dresses and what was being over done at receptions.
Then came my moment to shine. My husband proposed and although some may disagree, I was not "bridezilla" but rather detail oriented. There was not one piece of my wedding that didn't have a special connection to us as a couple or each of separately. Luckily my husband trusted my judgment since he had such a hard time picturing my vision but in the end, I have no complaints. Granted, I chose the best vendors around. Flowers and photography were number one after venue and in my opinion, I chose the best of the best. And beyond. The day came and went but my obsession continued to linger.....
The stars pretty much aligned for me and I was able to maintain a great friendship with my photographer and as for flowers, I refuse to use anyone else. These relationships have paid off in a way I never dreamt was possible. A few weekends back, I was able to actually attend NYC Bridal Fashion Week. OK, so some people have never heard of it but to me, I'd rather be there than watch some whacked out Marc Jacobs fashion show in a tent at Bryant Park.
For a brief two hours, I was able to pretend that I didn't have a boring desk job but that I was a wedding planner. Not just a wedding planner, but THE wedding planner. I attended only a few shows but they happened to showcase the designer who designed my gown, Amsale. I may not have had a front row... or even a second row for that matter. Okay, truth be told, I was the asshole standing in the back BUT I saw Martha Stewart's team. So it made it all worth it.
Each fashion show happens so fast that if you even blink you'll miss something..... But the rush of when the lights go down, the spotlights blare and the music blasts is incredible. I had chills everywhere and then the brides starting strutting down the runway.... Looking wispy and romantic.....Covered in satin, tulle, delicate beading..... ranging in colors of stark white to champagne.... And as I'm watching this, I'm picturing the wedding where the brides would be wearing them. The flowers they would carry.... As a side note, until you've seen a real model, no one has any business calling me skinny. These girls looked like heroine addicts covered in make up. That aside.... the beauty of the dresses outweighed the scariness of their bodies.
It was an experience on my bucket list that I can cross off and maybe someday I will be the wedding planner I dream of..... Although my patience is thin, to say the least, I think I can handle brides. I felt important being there--- in a weird twisted sort of way. There were definitely the wedding elite in attendance but there were also people who clearly didnt' belong there. I made sure to carry my Chanel to look important. I even used my iPhone to take pictures.
The opportunity may never present itself again but it brought me a great deal of happiness. It's an experience that will stay with me forever. Unfortunately, for my husband, the simple Vegas vow renewal we were planning has turned into another way hone my skills and let my creativity go wild. Not sure how I'm going to break THAT news to him.
Then came my moment to shine. My husband proposed and although some may disagree, I was not "bridezilla" but rather detail oriented. There was not one piece of my wedding that didn't have a special connection to us as a couple or each of separately. Luckily my husband trusted my judgment since he had such a hard time picturing my vision but in the end, I have no complaints. Granted, I chose the best vendors around. Flowers and photography were number one after venue and in my opinion, I chose the best of the best. And beyond. The day came and went but my obsession continued to linger.....
The stars pretty much aligned for me and I was able to maintain a great friendship with my photographer and as for flowers, I refuse to use anyone else. These relationships have paid off in a way I never dreamt was possible. A few weekends back, I was able to actually attend NYC Bridal Fashion Week. OK, so some people have never heard of it but to me, I'd rather be there than watch some whacked out Marc Jacobs fashion show in a tent at Bryant Park.
For a brief two hours, I was able to pretend that I didn't have a boring desk job but that I was a wedding planner. Not just a wedding planner, but THE wedding planner. I attended only a few shows but they happened to showcase the designer who designed my gown, Amsale. I may not have had a front row... or even a second row for that matter. Okay, truth be told, I was the asshole standing in the back BUT I saw Martha Stewart's team. So it made it all worth it.
Each fashion show happens so fast that if you even blink you'll miss something..... But the rush of when the lights go down, the spotlights blare and the music blasts is incredible. I had chills everywhere and then the brides starting strutting down the runway.... Looking wispy and romantic.....Covered in satin, tulle, delicate beading..... ranging in colors of stark white to champagne.... And as I'm watching this, I'm picturing the wedding where the brides would be wearing them. The flowers they would carry.... As a side note, until you've seen a real model, no one has any business calling me skinny. These girls looked like heroine addicts covered in make up. That aside.... the beauty of the dresses outweighed the scariness of their bodies.
It was an experience on my bucket list that I can cross off and maybe someday I will be the wedding planner I dream of..... Although my patience is thin, to say the least, I think I can handle brides. I felt important being there--- in a weird twisted sort of way. There were definitely the wedding elite in attendance but there were also people who clearly didnt' belong there. I made sure to carry my Chanel to look important. I even used my iPhone to take pictures.
The opportunity may never present itself again but it brought me a great deal of happiness. It's an experience that will stay with me forever. Unfortunately, for my husband, the simple Vegas vow renewal we were planning has turned into another way hone my skills and let my creativity go wild. Not sure how I'm going to break THAT news to him.
10 Ten Reasons Why I Don't Want to Go
10. Not sure I'm ready to face all the emotion/problems/denials I have been stuffing down for 35 years
9. Eating still isn't on the list of priorities
8. Afraid of meeting crack addicted whores who have lost their kids to DCYF
7. Looking like "Poor Little Rich Girl" (see previous entry)
6. Fearful of digging up more under the surface than needing to
5. The exhaustion may put me over the edge
4. Not excited about people escorting me to the bathroom and watching me eat (although this is still unconfirmed.
3. I'd rather go to a foreign country and hide under a bed until I become hungry again
2. Unsure if I am going to get the support of everyone in my life or if they are going to look at me differently
1. I'm scared beyond belief.
9. Eating still isn't on the list of priorities
8. Afraid of meeting crack addicted whores who have lost their kids to DCYF
7. Looking like "Poor Little Rich Girl" (see previous entry)
6. Fearful of digging up more under the surface than needing to
5. The exhaustion may put me over the edge
4. Not excited about people escorting me to the bathroom and watching me eat (although this is still unconfirmed.
3. I'd rather go to a foreign country and hide under a bed until I become hungry again
2. Unsure if I am going to get the support of everyone in my life or if they are going to look at me differently
1. I'm scared beyond belief.
New Directions
When this blog started out, it was to document my struggle with my mom's illness.... it's clearly beginning to take a turn of its own at this point. I am happy to report that I have made a decision to get help with my EDNOS (see previous posts) before it turns into full blown Anorexia. I've realized that I have the support of friends, co-workers, my husband, etc and I can do this. I am going to be entering a program of intense 7 hour a day therapy at an out patient facility and plan on blogging--- a lot. At least that's my thought. I'm still unsure how emotionally draining this process is going to be but I plan to write about it--- as much as I can.
So my mental checklist is almost complete. I've informed work, my close friends, my husband (obviously) and a close family member.... But my mom doesn't know. This is agonizing to say the least. Based on our relationship over the past 35 years, I've been able to talk to her about anything and everything-- even things she DIDN'T want to know. Yet, I sit here with a pit in my stomach thinking about the best way to approach her on this. So far, the coward route is coming out and it's looking more and more that either my husband or her husband is going to tell her. I've played out several scenarios in my head as to how this is going to go (again keep in mind I won't be here when these go on):
Scenario 1: My husband, who can be brutually honest, decides to tell her. Explains to her that while she isn't the sole problem here, she plays a role. How the last nearly year of my life has been a roller coaster of emotion and I've stuffed it down to remain positive so she has the support to get better. That he's tired of the guilt and manipultion she puts me through (which she doesn't see), that I'm pretty fucked up and I've totally relapsed back into what we now call EDNOS (again, see previous posts). He'll continue to go on to tell her that after begging, pleading and threats I've finally realized that I need help. That it's not pretty anymore. That I look horrendous and that he can't understand WHY she hasn't noticed how I've fallen apart.... and accuse her of being in denial. This discussion only turning into her hating him.
Response A to Scenario 1: She gets angry, defensive and accuses me of acting like a 12 year old seeking attention. Then possibly may hit below the belt with I'm being a bad role model for my daughter. And right there are the reasons why I don't want to be the one to tell her because hearing either of those responses will set me back even further. Then her anger turns to me for not telling her and things become more contententious and stressful between us.
Response B to Scenario 1: She is shocked, upset, sad and appalled at what is going on and cries (she tends to be a crier). The she realizes that sometimes, a girl still does need her mother and wants to help me get better. Hopefully lots of hugs and I love yous would ensue.
Scenario 2: Her husband tells her, in a gentler, kinder way everything my husband would say. Tries to impress upon her the seriousness of what's going on and although no one can understand what goes on in my mind, it doesn't mean it's not happening. He'll present the situation without taking sides or placing blame (which is a concern I have with my husband). He has a way with her to see things from a different perpective.
See Responses A and B as possible responses.
Scenario 3: I tell her. There is shock and awe. Also, refer back to Response A to Scenario 1.
So where does this leave me? I have no idea. What makes me the saddest is that I can't talk to her about this. That I can't tell her. One of the reasons: fear it will cause her to be more sick. Not with Cancer obviously but with everything else including her anxiety and nerves.... but most of all, will it drive her to start smoking again??? I don't know. There's no denying that I don't do well with the unknown because I'm a planner.
Her husband suggested I just tell her over the phone sort of matter of factly--- "Oh, by the way, I decided to take a stress leave from work and I'm going to enter a treatment program to help with the stress." Clearly he's delusional if he thinks the conversation would stop there. My mom would want to get to the bottom of it and once again, see Response A to Scenario 1. Of course, she's been sick the last few days so to get her on the phone and actually listen would be a triumph.
I realize, and don't begrrudge her for being wrapped up in herself to get better. Honestly, I'm not looking for anything from her. Maybe a hug and an I love you but this isn't something she can do for me. I need to do it myself. I'm not a big fan of telling her at all but as a mother myself, I would want to know. Besides, I think she'd pick up on the fact that I'm not working.
I fear this is going to ruin my relationship with her even more. In the end, it's the chance I have to take to save myself and my family.
So my mental checklist is almost complete. I've informed work, my close friends, my husband (obviously) and a close family member.... But my mom doesn't know. This is agonizing to say the least. Based on our relationship over the past 35 years, I've been able to talk to her about anything and everything-- even things she DIDN'T want to know. Yet, I sit here with a pit in my stomach thinking about the best way to approach her on this. So far, the coward route is coming out and it's looking more and more that either my husband or her husband is going to tell her. I've played out several scenarios in my head as to how this is going to go (again keep in mind I won't be here when these go on):
Scenario 1: My husband, who can be brutually honest, decides to tell her. Explains to her that while she isn't the sole problem here, she plays a role. How the last nearly year of my life has been a roller coaster of emotion and I've stuffed it down to remain positive so she has the support to get better. That he's tired of the guilt and manipultion she puts me through (which she doesn't see), that I'm pretty fucked up and I've totally relapsed back into what we now call EDNOS (again, see previous posts). He'll continue to go on to tell her that after begging, pleading and threats I've finally realized that I need help. That it's not pretty anymore. That I look horrendous and that he can't understand WHY she hasn't noticed how I've fallen apart.... and accuse her of being in denial. This discussion only turning into her hating him.
Response A to Scenario 1: She gets angry, defensive and accuses me of acting like a 12 year old seeking attention. Then possibly may hit below the belt with I'm being a bad role model for my daughter. And right there are the reasons why I don't want to be the one to tell her because hearing either of those responses will set me back even further. Then her anger turns to me for not telling her and things become more contententious and stressful between us.
Response B to Scenario 1: She is shocked, upset, sad and appalled at what is going on and cries (she tends to be a crier). The she realizes that sometimes, a girl still does need her mother and wants to help me get better. Hopefully lots of hugs and I love yous would ensue.
Scenario 2: Her husband tells her, in a gentler, kinder way everything my husband would say. Tries to impress upon her the seriousness of what's going on and although no one can understand what goes on in my mind, it doesn't mean it's not happening. He'll present the situation without taking sides or placing blame (which is a concern I have with my husband). He has a way with her to see things from a different perpective.
See Responses A and B as possible responses.
Scenario 3: I tell her. There is shock and awe. Also, refer back to Response A to Scenario 1.
So where does this leave me? I have no idea. What makes me the saddest is that I can't talk to her about this. That I can't tell her. One of the reasons: fear it will cause her to be more sick. Not with Cancer obviously but with everything else including her anxiety and nerves.... but most of all, will it drive her to start smoking again??? I don't know. There's no denying that I don't do well with the unknown because I'm a planner.
Her husband suggested I just tell her over the phone sort of matter of factly--- "Oh, by the way, I decided to take a stress leave from work and I'm going to enter a treatment program to help with the stress." Clearly he's delusional if he thinks the conversation would stop there. My mom would want to get to the bottom of it and once again, see Response A to Scenario 1. Of course, she's been sick the last few days so to get her on the phone and actually listen would be a triumph.
I realize, and don't begrrudge her for being wrapped up in herself to get better. Honestly, I'm not looking for anything from her. Maybe a hug and an I love you but this isn't something she can do for me. I need to do it myself. I'm not a big fan of telling her at all but as a mother myself, I would want to know. Besides, I think she'd pick up on the fact that I'm not working.
I fear this is going to ruin my relationship with her even more. In the end, it's the chance I have to take to save myself and my family.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Use Only As Directed
For weeks I've been trying to ignore to decent into the dark past of my history with food. I was personally vindicated when the therapist I'm seeing wouldn't exactly classify me as anorexic. I've just been saying that all along.... I'm not anorexic but apparently, there is a "label" for me. It's called "Eating Disorder NOS (not otherwise specified)". LOVE IT. Why do I love it? Because it is vague. It has no meaning to me. NOS? If it's NOS then it really doesn't exist. There isn't a name for it. So, if there isn't a name for it, then I clearly don't have a problem..... awesome. Issue solved.
But not so fast. In the midst of all this new drama and depression in my life I thought buying a more accurate scale would be a fantastic idea. Um, eating disorders 101--- don't weigh yourself. Not only do I weigh myself in the morning, but I weigh myself every time I go to the bathroom to see if it gets more accurate. Well, my handy dandy super accurate fucking scale had me gain a pound. GAIN. FROM WHAT? There was no possible way I could be gaining weight. I put barely anything into my mouth.
So from there, I needed a plan. I needed to lose the pound (I have to point out that in the .00001% of my rational mind, I know it's just water weight). Plan A wasn't working so I moved on to Plan B--- which was to purge it out. I'm so over the whole vomiting thing--- mostly because I vomit almost all the time from my anxiety. Laxatives have always worked in the past for me so that was my first way to go. Everyone needs a good cleaning. Normal dose is 2, so of course, I take 8.
Where does that leave me? SICK. My stomach feels like it's been punched. But, even though I know I shouldn't, I tell my husband. That went well.... and I don't mean that sarcastically, it did go well. He didn't get upset. Actually he had very little reaction so that's good (but not surprising). I know this is really a bottom. I mean, 8 laxatives? What the fuck was I thinking? I'm all set with that and plan to throw out the laxatives. Feeling this sick right now isn't worth the good, if any, it was suppose to do.
The interesting part to me is this blog started as way to deal with my mom's Cancer diagnosis.... so how did I get here?
But not so fast. In the midst of all this new drama and depression in my life I thought buying a more accurate scale would be a fantastic idea. Um, eating disorders 101--- don't weigh yourself. Not only do I weigh myself in the morning, but I weigh myself every time I go to the bathroom to see if it gets more accurate. Well, my handy dandy super accurate fucking scale had me gain a pound. GAIN. FROM WHAT? There was no possible way I could be gaining weight. I put barely anything into my mouth.
So from there, I needed a plan. I needed to lose the pound (I have to point out that in the .00001% of my rational mind, I know it's just water weight). Plan A wasn't working so I moved on to Plan B--- which was to purge it out. I'm so over the whole vomiting thing--- mostly because I vomit almost all the time from my anxiety. Laxatives have always worked in the past for me so that was my first way to go. Everyone needs a good cleaning. Normal dose is 2, so of course, I take 8.
Where does that leave me? SICK. My stomach feels like it's been punched. But, even though I know I shouldn't, I tell my husband. That went well.... and I don't mean that sarcastically, it did go well. He didn't get upset. Actually he had very little reaction so that's good (but not surprising). I know this is really a bottom. I mean, 8 laxatives? What the fuck was I thinking? I'm all set with that and plan to throw out the laxatives. Feeling this sick right now isn't worth the good, if any, it was suppose to do.
The interesting part to me is this blog started as way to deal with my mom's Cancer diagnosis.... so how did I get here?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
What an Only Craves
Only children are very easy to stereotype and I can say that 99.9% of it is true. We're all the same. The more I meet, the more I see it. I refuse to list the littany of problems people thing we have. I know we're weird. I've been told that by some of my dearest closest friends. It's true-- we are weird. There are variations of what we share as characteristics but there is one thing we all crave: ALONE TIME.
Growing up in a household without chaos of siblings, you become accustomed to a certain calmness. I grew up in an extreme case. My dad believed children should be seen and not heard--- which I thought was fine. But some of my fondest memories are sitting in my room with a book and not a peep in the house. Or as I grew older, having the house to myself. College was a difficult transitiion for me because I actually, for the first time ever, had to share a room and was around people ALL THE TIME. There was no alone time-- unless I went out for random escapes--- which I did.
Alone time is more than just a time to decompress. It's a necessity to my survival. I was able to experience it more before my daughter came along. I miss those Saturday afternoons when my husband was at work and it would be the middle of February and I'd be curled up in a blanket watching movies and taking naps. Ahhhh...... Heavan. I wouldn't change my Saturdays now but I miss those days.
I have no issue going to the movies alone, eating alone, being alone-- for a period of time. As a mom, my only me time is when I lock the bathroom door and take a long bath. Sometimes my favorite time of the day, as brief as it may be is when my daughter is in her crib and my husband isn't home yet. It may only be 20 minutes but it's 20 minutes of QUIET uninterrupted me time.
As an only, I didn't have to share my time with anyone if I didn't want to.... My mom would tell you that I complained about being bored-- all the time. I guess that's accurate but there were those moments of pure bliss when I'd be on my bed, reading a Sweet Valley High book from beginning to end, and NO one interrupted me. Now adays, I get excited when my husband takes the baby out for a little one on one time. Because I have the house to myself. Again, I don't think people who aren't onlies can relte to this on the same level. We crave it like we crave air.
I still get my quiet alone time.... it's just few and far between but, it's cherished more now. Some day, my daughter will be grown up and I'll think back to this, and be sad because I'll miss her being around all the time. That being said, I'm sure my mom is pretty happy that I'm grown, out of the house and she doesn't have to deal with me and my neurosis on a daily basis. Alone time can work in the opposite for me, especialy lately but I think I'm at a point where alone time is what I need to get my head straight.
It's amazing to think how fucked up I really am. I wonder how many onlies think they are fucked up. I'm ok with being fucked up though. I have one child and she's going to be the same way--- probably. I'm not maladjusted.... nor do I live in a state of denial. I chose to live in a world of alternate reality. In that world, the sky is always sunny, Donnie Wahlberg is just there (no purpose necessary) and I have lots of quiet time. Is that really so bad?
Growing up in a household without chaos of siblings, you become accustomed to a certain calmness. I grew up in an extreme case. My dad believed children should be seen and not heard--- which I thought was fine. But some of my fondest memories are sitting in my room with a book and not a peep in the house. Or as I grew older, having the house to myself. College was a difficult transitiion for me because I actually, for the first time ever, had to share a room and was around people ALL THE TIME. There was no alone time-- unless I went out for random escapes--- which I did.
Alone time is more than just a time to decompress. It's a necessity to my survival. I was able to experience it more before my daughter came along. I miss those Saturday afternoons when my husband was at work and it would be the middle of February and I'd be curled up in a blanket watching movies and taking naps. Ahhhh...... Heavan. I wouldn't change my Saturdays now but I miss those days.
I have no issue going to the movies alone, eating alone, being alone-- for a period of time. As a mom, my only me time is when I lock the bathroom door and take a long bath. Sometimes my favorite time of the day, as brief as it may be is when my daughter is in her crib and my husband isn't home yet. It may only be 20 minutes but it's 20 minutes of QUIET uninterrupted me time.
As an only, I didn't have to share my time with anyone if I didn't want to.... My mom would tell you that I complained about being bored-- all the time. I guess that's accurate but there were those moments of pure bliss when I'd be on my bed, reading a Sweet Valley High book from beginning to end, and NO one interrupted me. Now adays, I get excited when my husband takes the baby out for a little one on one time. Because I have the house to myself. Again, I don't think people who aren't onlies can relte to this on the same level. We crave it like we crave air.
I still get my quiet alone time.... it's just few and far between but, it's cherished more now. Some day, my daughter will be grown up and I'll think back to this, and be sad because I'll miss her being around all the time. That being said, I'm sure my mom is pretty happy that I'm grown, out of the house and she doesn't have to deal with me and my neurosis on a daily basis. Alone time can work in the opposite for me, especialy lately but I think I'm at a point where alone time is what I need to get my head straight.
It's amazing to think how fucked up I really am. I wonder how many onlies think they are fucked up. I'm ok with being fucked up though. I have one child and she's going to be the same way--- probably. I'm not maladjusted.... nor do I live in a state of denial. I chose to live in a world of alternate reality. In that world, the sky is always sunny, Donnie Wahlberg is just there (no purpose necessary) and I have lots of quiet time. Is that really so bad?
The Point of No Return
There isn't anyone out there who sees themselves the way others see them. For a long time, I would look in the mirror and still see a chubby teenager. I've dealt with it and play tricks (it's amazing what tilting a mirror can do) on my mind. I know the difference between overweight, average and underweight. There are all three variations of that in my family and circle of friends. I will always classify myself as overweight-- but again, it's an issue that I don't is ever "fixed" but more "kept under control."
Control in an A Type Only Child is definitely a weakness. We take it to extremes-- more so than A Types with siblings. There is a self imposed (at least in my case) pressure to be the best. All my parents ever asked of me was to be the best me I could be. That's not an extreme request by any means, but to me, or someone like me, it's a tall order to fill. Here I am still NOT eating. I've lost about 22 lbs and people are noticing--- but my mom hasn't noticed, still. I find that to be interesting because I don't see her often but I guess to her I've always been small... But now I'm almost as small as I was when I was first diagnosed with having an eating disorder ( I still refuse to call myself anorexic since there are no bones sticking out). Oh and FYI, at 5'1" I should weight between 105-118 lbs. I weigh more than that, not by much but I still fall in the normal range of my BMI--- all that combined means, I am NOT anorexic.
here's the problem: Now I can't eat. It's physically difficult to get food down. This is new to me..... My first time around with this, I never had trouble eating, I just didn't eat. Now, I can't. I started keeping a diary of what I was eating and when so I could remember the last time I ate. That didn't work out well because there are days I don't eat so I would forget to write it down. So, I'm faced with this dilemma: how do I start eating again?
The answer should be simple but, I don't want to eat. Not interested in food at all. I'm back into a size 2-- and it's been a long time since that happened. I like being a 2. I don't know why I give a shit but I do. This control over my eating started as my way to cope with the stress but now it's spiraling out of control. My Type A is sneaking in and I'm challenging myself.... Can I get to 115? Can I get to 110? When will I stop? I feel weak, I feel tired but honestly, I'm too fucking depressed to care.
Sadly, on paper I have a great life. Beautiful daughter, wonderful husband, terrific family and friends, great job and even the material things are there. But somewhere, somehow, the switch went off and I lost my mind. The possibility of a Leave of Absence from work has been hanging over my head since December.... but then I think, people have stress every day and work. How lame of me to go out of work for being stressed, right?
My husband has given up out of frustration, my friends are concerned and my co-workers are telling me that I'm "withering away." Right now, I feel as though I am in the middle of a hurricane, hanging on to a branch for dear life. I wish it was easy to just eat, but each day, it gets harder and harder. When and if my mom realizes what's going on, she's going to be pissed for several reasons:
1. She's been sick all these months on a feeding tube and couldn't eat but here I am choosing not to eat when that's all she wanted ( I thought about saying I'm on a hunger strike in support of her-- that when she can eat I will eat, you know, like solidarity.... but then rethought that plan since it sounded, um, unrealistic.)
2.She's still not feeling well herself and this isn't something she is going to want to deal with now-- and I can't blame her. Although there has been a push to tell her, and threats by my husband, I still can't lay this on her.
3. She's going to yell at me--- she's Italian and I'm an only so she talks to me like I'm 12 still..... then she'll tell me I'm acting 12 and to cut it out. Then I'll get a speech on what a bad example I'm setting for my daughter (statistically she is genetically predisposed to this so it's my job to make sure she is never triggered).
I fear telling her. I really do. I know it don't want it to be me..... At this point, I'm fine with her finding out with me in a hospital. I'm not doing this because I think I'm fat. Could I have lost those last 5-10 pregnancy lbs, sure. I bought an elliptical and was committed to it. Then I had my own version of a nervous breakdown. I don't blame anyone but myself. I kept my emotions inside for 9 months and only let them out on this blog.... so I'm not surprised that I relapsed. This time is different though.... I don't know if I am going to be able to stop.
Control in an A Type Only Child is definitely a weakness. We take it to extremes-- more so than A Types with siblings. There is a self imposed (at least in my case) pressure to be the best. All my parents ever asked of me was to be the best me I could be. That's not an extreme request by any means, but to me, or someone like me, it's a tall order to fill. Here I am still NOT eating. I've lost about 22 lbs and people are noticing--- but my mom hasn't noticed, still. I find that to be interesting because I don't see her often but I guess to her I've always been small... But now I'm almost as small as I was when I was first diagnosed with having an eating disorder ( I still refuse to call myself anorexic since there are no bones sticking out). Oh and FYI, at 5'1" I should weight between 105-118 lbs. I weigh more than that, not by much but I still fall in the normal range of my BMI--- all that combined means, I am NOT anorexic.
here's the problem: Now I can't eat. It's physically difficult to get food down. This is new to me..... My first time around with this, I never had trouble eating, I just didn't eat. Now, I can't. I started keeping a diary of what I was eating and when so I could remember the last time I ate. That didn't work out well because there are days I don't eat so I would forget to write it down. So, I'm faced with this dilemma: how do I start eating again?
The answer should be simple but, I don't want to eat. Not interested in food at all. I'm back into a size 2-- and it's been a long time since that happened. I like being a 2. I don't know why I give a shit but I do. This control over my eating started as my way to cope with the stress but now it's spiraling out of control. My Type A is sneaking in and I'm challenging myself.... Can I get to 115? Can I get to 110? When will I stop? I feel weak, I feel tired but honestly, I'm too fucking depressed to care.
Sadly, on paper I have a great life. Beautiful daughter, wonderful husband, terrific family and friends, great job and even the material things are there. But somewhere, somehow, the switch went off and I lost my mind. The possibility of a Leave of Absence from work has been hanging over my head since December.... but then I think, people have stress every day and work. How lame of me to go out of work for being stressed, right?
My husband has given up out of frustration, my friends are concerned and my co-workers are telling me that I'm "withering away." Right now, I feel as though I am in the middle of a hurricane, hanging on to a branch for dear life. I wish it was easy to just eat, but each day, it gets harder and harder. When and if my mom realizes what's going on, she's going to be pissed for several reasons:
1. She's been sick all these months on a feeding tube and couldn't eat but here I am choosing not to eat when that's all she wanted ( I thought about saying I'm on a hunger strike in support of her-- that when she can eat I will eat, you know, like solidarity.... but then rethought that plan since it sounded, um, unrealistic.)
2.She's still not feeling well herself and this isn't something she is going to want to deal with now-- and I can't blame her. Although there has been a push to tell her, and threats by my husband, I still can't lay this on her.
3. She's going to yell at me--- she's Italian and I'm an only so she talks to me like I'm 12 still..... then she'll tell me I'm acting 12 and to cut it out. Then I'll get a speech on what a bad example I'm setting for my daughter (statistically she is genetically predisposed to this so it's my job to make sure she is never triggered).
I fear telling her. I really do. I know it don't want it to be me..... At this point, I'm fine with her finding out with me in a hospital. I'm not doing this because I think I'm fat. Could I have lost those last 5-10 pregnancy lbs, sure. I bought an elliptical and was committed to it. Then I had my own version of a nervous breakdown. I don't blame anyone but myself. I kept my emotions inside for 9 months and only let them out on this blog.... so I'm not surprised that I relapsed. This time is different though.... I don't know if I am going to be able to stop.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
My Dirty Little Secret
It's become clear to me that I've sunk into a deep hole of depression.... After 9 months of being an emotional punching bag, I think it's finally caught up to me. I've talked about this before, I love my mom more than just about anything.... but I realize now, she's in denial. Deep denial. She either truly doesn't recall the hurtful things she's said to me or the ways in which she guilted me, or she wants to pretend they never happened. I'm pretty fucked up after this whole experience-- because it was a lot to handle as a person who a) already lost one parent and b) has a severe fear of death and anxiety. I can finally say that my mom is feeling better. For months I wished for my old mom back and I think we're almost there. But what about the collateral damage? How do we handle that? I guess I made excuses--- good ones too-- for what she would do or say. She wasn't feeling well-- actually, it was beyond not feeling well. She was the sickest she had ever been in her life. So I tried to be strong and get through. Yet, I tend to dwell on what happened, which is my fault.
I dwell on some of the most hurtful things she has ever said to me. For those who know my mom would never believe she is capable of saying anything hurtful, especially to me.I am her world and in my heart I know that.... but some of what she said will impact me forever. Although my husband and her husband would say, that she didn't mean it I still wondered why she said it.... where did it come from? But on occasion, I've tried to bring it up and she says its all in the past. OK. That's fine. I can work those issues out in the multitude of therapy sessions I'm now in, including: two types of one on one counseling, marriage counseling and possible outpatient treatment at a mental hospital. Because, well, I've hit rock bottom. I know I have because I've relapsed. I've lied when I said I don't have a coping skill, because I do. Everyone has something they use to cope--- everyone resorts to something that makes them feel they are in control. Control of the bad feelings, the depression, the anxiety, the despair....
As with any addict, there is always a possibility of relapsing. It's called hitting bottom. And I'm here. I've had a dirty little secret for years--- to which I still deny. Anorexia Nervosa is defined as "People who have anorexia have an intense fear of gaining weight. They severely limit the amount of food they eat and can become dangerously thin." Is that me? Nope. Not at all. But AN has also been defined as this: "A person with anorexia may also feel the only control they have in their lives is in the area of food and weight. If they can't control what is happening around them, they can control their weight. Each morning the number on the scale will determine whether or not they have succeeded or failed in their goal for thinness. They feel powerful and in control when they can make themselves lose weight. Sometimes focusing on calories and losing weight is their way of blocking out feelings and emotions. For them, it's easier to diet then it is to deal with their problems directly. " Is that me? Yup.
So, depending on what you choose to believe, I'm an anorexic. I don't fit the first profile at all. I also don't think I'm sick. Yet, I'm not eating. As of today, I have lost 19 pounds. It started off slowly but I think the relapse really occurred in February. Countless people have noticed the weight loss-- that is except for my mom. But in all fairness, I hide it pretty well when I'm around here. I've become an expert at hiding my feelings around my mom since July. She has enough to worry about and I don't see the need to bring her into the loop now. Obviously, the last time I dealt with an "eating disorder" was in college. I started as bulimic when my dad got sick (with a little push from a family relative on my college weight gain) and then once he died, I guess anorexia (I still disagree) set in... I went through treatment. Friends thought it was diet pills or just me looking for attention.... Maks me wonder if they ever knew me at all. But, I suffered for my addiction. My stomach is fucked up. Mostly from taking 20 laxatives at a time but I really did a number on myself. Eventually, I stopped.
I remember clearly I was out shopping with my best friend, Lilijohnson (who I've mentioned in earlier blogs), and I kept trying on clothes that were zeros and twos and telling her that I looked fat. For the first time in all our years of friendship, she got MAD. I mean, MAD and looked at me and went off. That was a turning point. I don't think that's what stopped it, but it made an impact. That was 11 years ago.
Now, I can't eat. Even when I try, I get sick. I feel tired all the time but I also feel in control. Control of my life. For months, everyone said to me "Stop worrying about things that are out of your control." So I did. Then I found something in my control. And here I am 19 pounds later. At 5'1", it's a noticeable difference. But I don't look sick and I don't feel sick so I don't think I am sick. My friends know what's going on. I don't hide my not eating. At first I said, I'm stressed out and there isn't enough room in my stomach for food with all the knots-- which was true. But it's moved beyond that now. My husband is worried all the time and I hate myself for it. I'm worried too-- mostly because I don't want nor do I think I need help. I cry alot..... my husband has been carrying this around by himself for months now and it makes me sad. He's an amazing man. He's willing to go to the moon and back for me on a moment's notice and I'm hurting him. He tells me he's watching me kill myself. That hurts. I wish it were enough to make me stop though....
The biggest obstacle now? I've seen results and I feel good about the way I look. I haven't been this thin since before I got married. So how do I stop? I don't know. Do I tell my mom to get support? I don't think that's a good idea. She's trying to get better. I feel terrible guilt for the little I've told her about the depression I have going on because I don't want her to not worry about me. She shouldn't have to worry about me--- because I'm almost 36 years old. But apparently emotionally I'm 16.
As my husband says, baby steps. And I guess that's all I can do right now.... My problem is I don't want to stop. So, I keep this secret to myself. I know I am the only one that can fix it, but deep down, I think I want someone to fix me without asking for help.
I dwell on some of the most hurtful things she has ever said to me. For those who know my mom would never believe she is capable of saying anything hurtful, especially to me.I am her world and in my heart I know that.... but some of what she said will impact me forever. Although my husband and her husband would say, that she didn't mean it I still wondered why she said it.... where did it come from? But on occasion, I've tried to bring it up and she says its all in the past. OK. That's fine. I can work those issues out in the multitude of therapy sessions I'm now in, including: two types of one on one counseling, marriage counseling and possible outpatient treatment at a mental hospital. Because, well, I've hit rock bottom. I know I have because I've relapsed. I've lied when I said I don't have a coping skill, because I do. Everyone has something they use to cope--- everyone resorts to something that makes them feel they are in control. Control of the bad feelings, the depression, the anxiety, the despair....
As with any addict, there is always a possibility of relapsing. It's called hitting bottom. And I'm here. I've had a dirty little secret for years--- to which I still deny. Anorexia Nervosa is defined as "People who have anorexia have an intense fear of gaining weight. They severely limit the amount of food they eat and can become dangerously thin." Is that me? Nope. Not at all. But AN has also been defined as this: "A person with anorexia may also feel the only control they have in their lives is in the area of food and weight. If they can't control what is happening around them, they can control their weight. Each morning the number on the scale will determine whether or not they have succeeded or failed in their goal for thinness. They feel powerful and in control when they can make themselves lose weight. Sometimes focusing on calories and losing weight is their way of blocking out feelings and emotions. For them, it's easier to diet then it is to deal with their problems directly. " Is that me? Yup.
So, depending on what you choose to believe, I'm an anorexic. I don't fit the first profile at all. I also don't think I'm sick. Yet, I'm not eating. As of today, I have lost 19 pounds. It started off slowly but I think the relapse really occurred in February. Countless people have noticed the weight loss-- that is except for my mom. But in all fairness, I hide it pretty well when I'm around here. I've become an expert at hiding my feelings around my mom since July. She has enough to worry about and I don't see the need to bring her into the loop now. Obviously, the last time I dealt with an "eating disorder" was in college. I started as bulimic when my dad got sick (with a little push from a family relative on my college weight gain) and then once he died, I guess anorexia (I still disagree) set in... I went through treatment. Friends thought it was diet pills or just me looking for attention.... Maks me wonder if they ever knew me at all. But, I suffered for my addiction. My stomach is fucked up. Mostly from taking 20 laxatives at a time but I really did a number on myself. Eventually, I stopped.
I remember clearly I was out shopping with my best friend, Lilijohnson (who I've mentioned in earlier blogs), and I kept trying on clothes that were zeros and twos and telling her that I looked fat. For the first time in all our years of friendship, she got MAD. I mean, MAD and looked at me and went off. That was a turning point. I don't think that's what stopped it, but it made an impact. That was 11 years ago.
Now, I can't eat. Even when I try, I get sick. I feel tired all the time but I also feel in control. Control of my life. For months, everyone said to me "Stop worrying about things that are out of your control." So I did. Then I found something in my control. And here I am 19 pounds later. At 5'1", it's a noticeable difference. But I don't look sick and I don't feel sick so I don't think I am sick. My friends know what's going on. I don't hide my not eating. At first I said, I'm stressed out and there isn't enough room in my stomach for food with all the knots-- which was true. But it's moved beyond that now. My husband is worried all the time and I hate myself for it. I'm worried too-- mostly because I don't want nor do I think I need help. I cry alot..... my husband has been carrying this around by himself for months now and it makes me sad. He's an amazing man. He's willing to go to the moon and back for me on a moment's notice and I'm hurting him. He tells me he's watching me kill myself. That hurts. I wish it were enough to make me stop though....
The biggest obstacle now? I've seen results and I feel good about the way I look. I haven't been this thin since before I got married. So how do I stop? I don't know. Do I tell my mom to get support? I don't think that's a good idea. She's trying to get better. I feel terrible guilt for the little I've told her about the depression I have going on because I don't want her to not worry about me. She shouldn't have to worry about me--- because I'm almost 36 years old. But apparently emotionally I'm 16.
As my husband says, baby steps. And I guess that's all I can do right now.... My problem is I don't want to stop. So, I keep this secret to myself. I know I am the only one that can fix it, but deep down, I think I want someone to fix me without asking for help.
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