As my husband loves to say, I have a lot of noise in my head. I don't think there is a better way to describe someone who has anxiety issues because it's true, my mind is racing at all times. It just more or less depends on how fast its racing. What I do know is this: when I need to write, I need to write. No matter what I am doing needs to stop and I have to sit down and type. This can be challenging when you're a working full time mom but I try to grab on to it when I can.
Every day, a close friend and I say to one another "Today is going to be a good day." She and I both have had somewhat challenging times in the last couple of years and we decided that we need to be more positive. Believe it or not, it does work. The whole giving off positive energy can really bring positive energy back to you. The repetition of this mantra works but.... not everything works all the time.
Today is not a good day for me-- mentally. I'm feeling uneasy, tired, weak, anxious, sad and lonely. I know this all stems from shopping for jeans the other day. I addition to the fact that too much time alone with myself is always a bad thing. I think way too much and look for distraction. I was able to do that today, not with work but in other ways. My husband has been away on business for a few days and is pretty much on his way home from the airport as I type. I truly can't wait to see him.... I need to see him--- I missed him so much and he was gone for such a short time. Yet, at the same time, I'm excited he's home because all I can think about it going to bed and forgetting the day. When he gets home, I just want to get in bed and be left alone-- which is a contradiction, I know.
I'm either on the verge of a nervous breakdown, again or just hitting a bump in the road. I won't know until I'm sorted out. Since he was away, I didn't take all of my medication because it interferes with me being 100% and I needed to be 100% for my daughter. I can't drive on most of my medication and refuse to take the chance of being on it and an emergency happens. I never take my medication without telling my husband I've taken it, what I've taken and know that he is going to be there. As a mother, I can't be alone with her on my meds. That's the decision I have made as a parent-- good or bad.
So this need.... this desire.... this feeling of jumping out of my skin could be from a combination of all of this. But right now, what I want more than anything is to go to bed. Get under the covers and not wake up until tomorrow in the hopes that it's a better day. There are days I can't deal --- with anything and today is one of them. Right now I am totally stream of consciousness writing and may not be making any sense but I wonder if there is a way to make sense of this.
This emotional roller coaster I'm on reminds me of those times I would get the urge to just sit in the closet floor. Not my walk in closet, but an actual closet. It never made sense to me why I needed to do it but for some reason, I felt safe and happy sitting on a closet floor in a small space. Even that sounds better to me right now than being awake and dealing with my thoughts. Clearly the eating disorder is out of control. It's not like I'm blowing the lid off an exclusive story. I'm anorexic. It's really bad. I can't stop. Pretty much that's it in a nutshell. I'm not blind to it--- I see it. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it.
Again, today I've had nothing but coffee which is know is fucking stupid. Everyone says, "You can eat, you just choose not to." That's starting to really grate on my nerves but that's not the case at all. I know my husband is going to be pissed and I know that the friends I have who read this are going to be pissed and I know my therapist is going to tell me I need to go away to get help. I'll eat dinner-- I always do. It's just the other 23 hours of the day that I don't eat. A huge problem I'm having is its becoming physically difficult to work. Some days I'm on fire and get shit done and shine like a star but other days, like today, I get stuck. It's interfering with my ability told hold down a job but based on my reviews, I'm fooling everyone.
Wait-- the best way to describe how I feel right now is this: (some of you may or may not get this reference but here goes...). One of the best movies Tom Hanks has ever made is The Money Pit. The movie is about a couple renovating a home and essentially keep throwing good money away to turn this disaster into their dream house. My all time favorite scene is when Tom Hanks is walking through the house, in the dark looking for his girlfriend, and sinks into a huge hole in the floor covered by a Persian rug. He sinks so far down that all you can see is his head and his hands. He can't move at all and is stuck there until his girlfriend finally comes home and pull him out. Obviously, what makes this funny is mostly the one liners Tom throws out since the actual scene I just described doesn't sound nearly as funny as it is. My long winded point is--- I feel like I'm stuck in a hole waiting for someone to pull me out.
I'm tired. I can't fight this anymore. I don't have the strength or the will in me to try. Telling me I'm going to die should be enough. Telling me to do it for my daughter should be enough. Again, I'm having a really rough day and there could be a million reasons why today is how it is because in all honesty, it's not like this every day.
One of the reasons I love this blog is it allows me to unload without burdening anyone else with my problems. I know they are tired of hearing about it-- even though they say they aren't. And really, they have their own lives to life and problems to deal with that the anorexic friend becomes more of an annoyance than anything else. My intentions have been to limit my discussions of the eating disorder in order not to place stress on anyone, but I may be way off. I could be talking about it to the point that they want me to stop and I can't see it. Even though, I still want to go upstairs and sleep, I at least know I didn't bore anyone with my venting of frustration. By the time one of my friends has the time to sit and read this, I'll be out of the funk I'm in.... I won't be better but I'll be having a better day and will get through the day by myself.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Monday, February 6, 2012
People are Assholes.... and Let Me Tell You Why
Speechless. Not a word that's used to describe me- ever. I not only have an answer for everything but I also have to get the last word in all the time. Some may say it's a spoiled brat thing, I say it's an only child thing. Although I may not actually be speechless, I am completely numb from the ignorance and outright cruelty of those around me. Let me first say, there are some AMAZING people in my life who I know would move the sun and the moon to help me get better right now. Even though I've probably bored them to tears with listening to me over and over and over again, they still remain a constant. Probably unknowingly to them, I've actually pulled back and talked about my anorexia less because I feel as though I'm burdening them with my problems. It's funny because, in my mind I've pulled back whereas they may be thinking, "Is this bitch ever going to shut the fuck up and get help? I can't listen to this nonsense anymore." Well, it's funny to me, porbably not so much to them.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
The truth is, I'm struggling with an eating disorder for the SECOND time in my life. There is no doubt that the second time around is much more intense..... scarier.... and lonelier. I've overheard conversations that my anorexia is "attention seeking behavior:. Me just being a diva looking to be in the spot light. Writing those words make me feel like bursting into tears. NO ONE and I mean NO ONE understands this is an addiction unless they have gone through it themselves. Bottom line? I'm sick. I know I am and I don't know how to get better. The ignorance around me is by far, mind blowing. There is gossip, whispers and speculation which drives me insane. Am I ashamed? Of course I am. Does talking about me behind my back make it worse? 1000%. Should I give a shit? No. But I do. Since my stint in "rehab" life has become difficult to say the least. I have, without a doubt, learned who my real friends are, but not only that, I've learned that when you least expect it, someone in your life surprises you....
In the beginning, this blog started out as a cathartic way to express my feelings about my mom being sick and along the way, it's clearly taken a different turn. When it was more about my mom's illness, the blog was much more sacred and private and few knew of it. Now that I'm writing more about my anorexia, I'm sharing it--- not by posting it on social networks but by writing down the web address with good old fashioned paper and pen for someone. I've given this site out to many people and I really only know of a handful that read this religiously. To the point where they ask me when the next blog is coming :).
People I thought cared about me and had my best interest at heart, don't. Instead, they gossip, whisper and speculate. At a time when I crave support the most, I have been let down. But, then there are the good surprises too. People I may not talk to everyday or haven't seen in years or live hundreds, even thousands of miles away will make a gesture that chips the ice off my heart just a little more. They don't realize it, but sometimes getting that look or an email or even a simple silent "I got your back" restores your faith in the human race. There are days when I don't think I can feel much lower then I do and one of these little surprises pops up and it saves me from myself.
As cynical as I am, I'm happy to see a kindness come from those who may not get it, but instead they get you. And like the others in your life who truly love you, they genuinely want to see you get better. For a person struggling with an eating disorder, that may be all you need. It goes without saying that I have certain people in my life who worry about me every single day. What I eat and when I eat matters to them but given the nature of our relationship, I expect it (and yes, I know I shouldn't expect anything from anyone).
Being let down by people you thought gave a shit hurts. It makes you want to shut yourself off from the world. Like the 00 jeans--- after that I wanted nothing more to go to bed and sleep for a 100 years. Knowing people are gossiping about you.... knowing people have a misconceived perception of you.... knowing all this hurts. My husband tells me some of it is my own fault. I make jokes and say things that people take seriously, even though it's my dark twisted humor. I'm not a functioning alcoholic and I'm not addicted to prescriton drugs but I seem to be the butt of those jokes in some circles. Sometimes it bothers me but other times I could give a fuck. I strongly believe that you can say .anything to anyone but it's the WAY you say it that makes it hurt.
It makes my husband shudder when I say most of what I say, but I guess my line of thinking is if I reallty were a drug addict or an alcoholic I wouldn't say the things I saw. A great example is, I never joke about my anorexia--- and if I do, it's around my husband or a close friend. A person I know is loyal to me and to this friendship.
I've been writing this blog for nearly a year and a half and some of the most important people to me don't read it. Then there are those who do read this blog and use it as fodder for their gossip. I could mention names, even though I never do, because the people I'm talking about in this blog entry are either a) not reading it or b) know exactly who they are. And to those people I say: I see you, I hear you and what you say really does matter.
An Eating Disorder is an addiction and it's powerful. Just as powerful as drugs and alcohol. If I was addicted to heroin, you wouldn't gossip about it. If you were born with a heart and I mattered, you would come and try to talk to me. You would try to help me. I am not angel when it comes to words-- believe me. I know I have said shit about people that is pure evil--- and what I can say to that is, well, karma is a bitch. Yet, at the same time, the Italian in me immediately is charged up with respect loyalty. I respect my friends and my family. I'm loyal -- to a fault. It's wrong but I hold everyone up to those standards, only to be consistently let down.
People are assholes. Plain and simple.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
00 Minus the 7
You know those bumper stickers that say, "I'd rather be golfing" or "I'd rather be fishing"? Mine would definitely say "I'd rather be shopping." Anyone who know me, even just as an acquaintance knows how much I love to shop. Well, today shopping officially turned into a nightmare for me. A complete nightmare.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
I haven't bought jeans in quite some time-- no, I'm serious. I decided when I lost weight just to buy a few pairs of every day type jeans. Prior to the anorexia, I had at least 20 pairs of jeans-- boot cut, wide leg, dark wash, regular wash, etc. A few days ago, I was getting dressed to take my daughter to a birthday party and was planning on wearing jeans. A couple of my newer pairs of jeans were either dirty or didn't "have the look" I was going for that day. I wanted to wear a pair of boot cut, dark blue jeans and I didn't have a pair. This is when the madness began to set in.... Given that I have all these jeans I thought at least one of the pairs I have that fit this description would fit. ...wrong. Nearly 11 pairs later, I realized none of my jeans fit me. OK, well, time to go shopping then.
Online shopping is actually my favorite. The excitement of coming home from work and seeing a box on the front steps is like Christmas morning to me. Certain stores I can buy without trying on because I've been shopping there so long. During a lull at work this week, I perused the Banana Republic website and found the exact pair of jeans I was looking for. Fantastic. Now, the last couple of pairs I bought were not huge on me but they could have fit better so I decided to go down at least a size. I checked out the handy dandy size chart and saw waist sizes and their numbered size counterpart. The last pair of jeans I bought were a 25 inch waist and thought, I could use the 24. And there it was 24 inches = 00. No fucking way. There is no fucking way I fit in a double zero. I was in shock and started to get anxious so I stopped the shopping immediately. This had to be wrong and I clearly was going to need to try on the jeans.
Like I said, I don't really know what I way (...sort of) but decided I had to check out this 00 bullshit out for myself. I went shopping. In the car ride over, I thought about all the things I ate today. That took about .0006 seconds. I hadn't eaten anything. Per usual, I had my coffee with an extra shot of espresso (or as I call it, breakfast and lunch) in my hand and walked my way into The Gap. I perused the merchandise, found exactly what I was looking for and pulled the size 2 off the shelf. A kind sales person let me into the changing room where I tried I jeans that were too big. Um, OK so I guess I try the zero. Moments later, she knocked on the door to ask how I was doing and I asked her for the 0. I asked in the lowest voice above a whisper--- as though I was asking for a size 26.
She returned with the 0. I sat on the bench, put one leg in each side and began to get knots in my stomach. I couldn't bear the thought of standing up and buttoning them. Fuck me. These were too big. This wasn't happening to me. I literally started to feel like Lily Tomlin in The Incredible Shrinking woman. After some time, the same patient sales person returned and asked how I was making out. I told her,"Oh not so great. These didn't fit either." I was waiting for her to suggest I go next door to Gap Kids but instead she said, "Well, they come in a 00." Of course they fucking do.
While I waited for the 00's to arrive, I sat there thinking I bet it's the cut of the jeans that runs big or maybe they were jeggings but finally came to terms with the concept that it doesn't matter if the 00 jeans are a 10 in another store or 6 in that store, they were 00. Period. When she handed me the jeans, I tried them on quickly. They fit perfect. I looked at myself in the mirror and thought "wow, I have really big hips." Then I noticed my thighs weren't touching. MY FUCKING THIGHS DON'T TOUCH. Most women's dream was my nightmare. I began to cry. This wasn't right. In fact, it's really bad.
I got dressed, bought the jeans and ran out of the store. I got in my car as fast as I could. Sat down and threw up by the side of the car in the parking lot. It was my anxiety. Fortunately, I got sick instead of having a panic attack (yes, believe me this is so much better). Even though there was a possibility I was a 00, I never knew for sure 100% until now. I used to see the size in the store and think, "who the fuck fits into those pants?" Now I know the answer to that question.... and it's scary. What's even scarier? I still thought I looked fat in the jeans.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
I Think I Can
Imagine yourself on a train.... not as a passenger but as the train operator. You are carrying precious cargo and need to guide the train to safety. The mission is yours not for the money, not because it is your job but because people are counting on you to get there. Aside from the safety of the train, the precious cargo you carry with you are your mom, your husband, your child, your best friend of 28 years, your Will yet this immediate inner circle extends beyond them. It goes without saying they would be considered precious cargo, but they aren't the only ones on the train...
Your cousins are there--- the two who have been like a brother and sister to you and have been by your side since the day you were born. A beautiful neice and nephew play on the train with your daughter. The same neice and nephew who are auspicious reminders of you and your two cousins playing togheter at that age. Watching the three of them together brings back memories and you can only wonder if they will be as close as you three are. Your godparents are on the train, the ones who promised to take care of YOU if something ever happened to your parents. Your step-father, the man who never tried to fill your father's shoes but loves you, your husband and your child like his own but most importantly, has loved your mother more than the own air he breathes. Lastly, there are friends. There are those who shared your Donnie moments from when you were 14 or older (cruise 2012 here we come) or the college roommates who loved you enough to hold your hair back. Even the one friend, whom you count on having a good time with no matter where you because, she is a walking party. There are even your law school friends who know if you could survive law school, you could survive anything.
Although these friends have been around for decades there are ones that also showed up in your life when you were an adult and thought, I don't have anymore room for friends, I'm all set now. Yet, one day you met someone who knows all the same movie lines and watched the same reality shows which have you both screaming with laughter and gossiping like 12 years olds. The ones who have had trauma and sadness of their own but have persevered through the odds and even though they may not know it, inspire you to be a stronger person. Your train carries military heroes and everyday heroes, like teachers and police officers. Most importantly this train carries the memories and laughs you have shared with all these people.
The train is filled. I challenge you to sit down and write the names of all the people who you love and who love you unconditionally back. The ones that you can still laugh to the point of tears with over the good memories. I have always said people come in and out of your life for a reason. Once they are out, they're gone. They're a memory- good or bad but most importantly, that person is just a memory and no longer play a role in the story of your life.
With a full train, your destination is up ahead, but you are sitting at a crossroads. There is a loud noise from the warning lights on the track that a train is coming. You can choose path A which is dangerous but shorter, faster and easier. Then there is path B which is 1000% safe. It's longer, more arduous and even a bit intimidating at times, even though you know it's safe. Path B will get this train and all the precious cargo on it to the destination without a hiccup. Not only are you trying to choose the path, but you are running out of time FAST. Your anxiety explodes. If you don't move soon, another train is going to come and there will be an accident. You will may be able to get all your passengers safely off in time but the train will be destroyed and you, the engineer may not make it out alive. Yet, you sit here at the crossroads and you don't know what to do.
Destroying this train and the life of the conductor will ruin the lives of each and every person who are passengers. Although they will always remember you and you will have an invisible string tied around their hearts, this cargo you deem so precious will be left to mourn the death of someone they love all because you chose easy Path A. Everyone on this train may not have signed up for either path but they love you and given the choice, even though it is longer and harder, they want you to choose Path B. Not for them, but for yourself. For you happiness.
Right now- this is the best way to describe how torn I feel about treatment again. Yes, again. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and finally beginning to see an image of my former self. It's been nearly 18 months of full on war but I've been battling this eating disorder for 18 years. Now I realize it is like any other addiction. It will be something I live with every day. I see a tired, pale, thin woman who can no longer wear her wedding rings without the fear they will fall off. Path A may get me somewhere but it's no where safe and the road is most likely never ending. Maybe this time, Path B will work. It will set the spark in me I need to recover and say no to this roller coaster of emotions. This time I hope I can find the reason to eat and maybe even find the reasons why I don't want to eat.
I am going to do this. Not one day at a time... but one bite at a time.
Your cousins are there--- the two who have been like a brother and sister to you and have been by your side since the day you were born. A beautiful neice and nephew play on the train with your daughter. The same neice and nephew who are auspicious reminders of you and your two cousins playing togheter at that age. Watching the three of them together brings back memories and you can only wonder if they will be as close as you three are. Your godparents are on the train, the ones who promised to take care of YOU if something ever happened to your parents. Your step-father, the man who never tried to fill your father's shoes but loves you, your husband and your child like his own but most importantly, has loved your mother more than the own air he breathes. Lastly, there are friends. There are those who shared your Donnie moments from when you were 14 or older (cruise 2012 here we come) or the college roommates who loved you enough to hold your hair back. Even the one friend, whom you count on having a good time with no matter where you because, she is a walking party. There are even your law school friends who know if you could survive law school, you could survive anything.
Although these friends have been around for decades there are ones that also showed up in your life when you were an adult and thought, I don't have anymore room for friends, I'm all set now. Yet, one day you met someone who knows all the same movie lines and watched the same reality shows which have you both screaming with laughter and gossiping like 12 years olds. The ones who have had trauma and sadness of their own but have persevered through the odds and even though they may not know it, inspire you to be a stronger person. Your train carries military heroes and everyday heroes, like teachers and police officers. Most importantly this train carries the memories and laughs you have shared with all these people.
The train is filled. I challenge you to sit down and write the names of all the people who you love and who love you unconditionally back. The ones that you can still laugh to the point of tears with over the good memories. I have always said people come in and out of your life for a reason. Once they are out, they're gone. They're a memory- good or bad but most importantly, that person is just a memory and no longer play a role in the story of your life.
With a full train, your destination is up ahead, but you are sitting at a crossroads. There is a loud noise from the warning lights on the track that a train is coming. You can choose path A which is dangerous but shorter, faster and easier. Then there is path B which is 1000% safe. It's longer, more arduous and even a bit intimidating at times, even though you know it's safe. Path B will get this train and all the precious cargo on it to the destination without a hiccup. Not only are you trying to choose the path, but you are running out of time FAST. Your anxiety explodes. If you don't move soon, another train is going to come and there will be an accident. You will may be able to get all your passengers safely off in time but the train will be destroyed and you, the engineer may not make it out alive. Yet, you sit here at the crossroads and you don't know what to do.
Destroying this train and the life of the conductor will ruin the lives of each and every person who are passengers. Although they will always remember you and you will have an invisible string tied around their hearts, this cargo you deem so precious will be left to mourn the death of someone they love all because you chose easy Path A. Everyone on this train may not have signed up for either path but they love you and given the choice, even though it is longer and harder, they want you to choose Path B. Not for them, but for yourself. For you happiness.
Right now- this is the best way to describe how torn I feel about treatment again. Yes, again. I'm looking at myself in the mirror and finally beginning to see an image of my former self. It's been nearly 18 months of full on war but I've been battling this eating disorder for 18 years. Now I realize it is like any other addiction. It will be something I live with every day. I see a tired, pale, thin woman who can no longer wear her wedding rings without the fear they will fall off. Path A may get me somewhere but it's no where safe and the road is most likely never ending. Maybe this time, Path B will work. It will set the spark in me I need to recover and say no to this roller coaster of emotions. This time I hope I can find the reason to eat and maybe even find the reasons why I don't want to eat.
I am going to do this. Not one day at a time... but one bite at a time.
Thursday, January 12, 2012
Monogamy is Overrated
(after the heaviness of yesterday's blog, I needed something fun)
Merriam Webster defines Monogamy as : the state or custom of being married to one person at a time. This blog has nothing to do about sexual relationships or open marriages. I have three husbands and I wouldn't have it any other way. Delusional? Possibly but important none the less. There are three men in my life, one way or another, and they all serve a different purpose. They are not all of equal importance but they all do something important for me. The best way is to start off talking about them in order of importance.
1. Legal Husband This is the man I am legit married to.... wore the white dress exchanged vows, twice and have a child with. He is um, AMAZING. I could go on about all the wonderful things he does for me but if you follow the blog consistently, you know how great he is. Do we have a perfect marriage? No, but it's pretty fucking close. He loves me unconditionally. I'm going through a rough patch in my life and he still comes home to me everyday. In his own words he's said, "It's my job to take care of you." That's exactly what he does. I complain more than I should about the hours he works but really, it's because I miss him. I want him home with my daughter and I. Sunday is my favorite day of the week because we are together as a family. It reminds me of MY childhood. And now that football is coming to an end (as Melissa Gorga says, "Thank you Jesus.") there will be more fun times. He started out as a boyfriend, became a husband and now is a best friend. I can't imagine my life without him. Not many people would put up with my shit and he does--- more than anyone. Not only that, but he does it with a smile on his face. His positive attitude and love of life motivates me to be a better person-- even though he doesn't know it. I still get excited when I heard the garage door open every night. And nothing melts my heart more than when I see my daughter run into his arms saying "Daddy!!!!!" It's moments like those that I'll treasure for the rest of my life. Aside from the Anorexia there is just so much shit he deals with.... My constant anxiety. My obsession with Donnie Wahlberg. My need to own fucking fantastic shoes (FYI, in case anyone is interested, he created that obsession although it takes much goading to get him to admit it). I tease him a lot--- he's not a very emotional person. Didn't cry when he proposed, when we got married, when I told him I was pregnant, when his mother died or when our child was born. He does cry at Rudy but apparently I'm told that's normal. ....this crying thing is going somewhere, I promise. It illustrates again what an amazing man I married. It's no secret that I have had the shittiest fucking year of my life. I never really look forward to Christmas and the holidays but I try hard (despite what he says). Yet, he made this the best Christmas ever. Christmas morning he handed me a small tie box saying, "here's a gag gift." I open it only to find a picture of me and Will. In the picture, there is a cartoon balloon next to Will's face saying, "Merry Christmas." Underneath the photo was an itinerary..... He flew my gay husband out for a week as my Christmas present. Not many men fly another man to spend the week with their wives.... I of course began sobbing-- tears of joy for a change only to notice, he was crying too. I think at that moment I fell madly in love with him all over again.....
2.Will: Perfect segue into husband number 2. We were Will and Grace before there ever was a Will and Grace. Call me a hag, call me a beard, call me whatever you want but in the end I am Grace. I am the Grace and he is the only Will. Will and I go back.... um..... fuck! 18 years. Holy shit. That's a long ass time. Will has been there for me through the death of my father, my graduation from college, law school, my first real breakup, my marriage and the birth of my child. Through it all he's been honest and supportive. Given the fact that he is gay, there are certain voids he fills that my husband doesn't fill. Sounds silly, but being able to quote movie lines from "Mommie Dearest," as cliche as it may sound, is part of our bond. Will and I lived together for nearly three years. I remember a lot of laughs. He ironed my clothes and kept the bathroom bleached -- which was the extent of any stereotypical gay tendencies he may have. He's not an interior designer and although he has great style, he still looks to me for my opinion. Will is funny. Plain and simple, he's hilarious but other than me, not to many people find his jokes amusing. I still laugh at the same stories, the same jokes, the same pitfalls he's been into for years. He's the only person I know that can sit and watch as much mindless reality TV as I can. I don't mean, good reality shows like Intervention or RHOBH but trash like, Strange Sex or I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. Good shit like that. We are mesmerized by them.... shocked and ultimately hysterical at the nonsense. Um, hello? My Strange Addiction. There's more to Will's contribution to me than reality TV. Even though we have up and downs like most married couples, I can't imagine life without him. He serves a purpose in my life, as I do him. We may not have a piece of paper saying we're married but we have definitely made a verbal declaration of our love and have promised to spend our remaining years at PRC. Most importantly, Will has the daunting and important task to spread my ashes at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I trust him whole heartedly-- even though I can foresee SOMETHING going wrong since everything always does.... Dances with Dark Clouds. He is proof that you can have love and marriage to someone without a sexual relationship. He's not just a best friend and brother never seemed to fit to describe him. He's my gay husband. It's the only the only way I can see him. He's just as irreplaceable as my legal husband.
3.Donnie Wahlberg : Ok. I know what you're thinking. He's NOT my husband. Not even close. I may even sound delusional. Although, let's not forget we've kissed, somewhat passionately, and snuggled on the couch while watching Blue Bloods together so in my mind, that accounts for something. I like to think of him as my imaginary husband, you know, like we're friends in my head. He recognizes me and no, it's not in the "I'm scared. Security!" way but more of the "Now, we've met before haven't we?" Let's face it, the man told me he is in awe of me. It's a line but I'll fucking take what I can get. No doubt. So I'm sure the question is, since he really ISN'T part of my life, what does he do for me that a husband would do? Ok, not much on a personal basis but his D-Dub persona is filled with nothing but unconditional love for all of his fans no matter color, size, ethnic background.... People can say he gets paid to do it but once you're in his company, you feel the energy and the love. It's not something you can believe unless you feel it. He allows me to retreat to a time when I was 14 and I wasn't anyone's mom or wife or employee and life was about having fun. Dancing with your girlfriends. Screaming at concerts. Pure bliss. It's not even his D-Dub persona--- it's Donnie himself. Watching Blue Bloods or his occasional appearance on a talk show makes me giddy. He's hot too (notice how long it's taken me to add that). He's a crush and has been for nearly 23 years--- which honestly, is longer than I've loved my husband. I enjoy him-- whether he's acting, singing, dancing or just present. He's my fantasy football. Both Will and my husband bring me joy but there are times when even they can't but hearing "Single" puts a smile on my face and my mind clears-- even for just three minutes. Oh, and he loves me. I know because he's told me so.....
There they are. The men in my life. I cherish them all. They are all there to celebrate the good times (whether physically or just at arms reach) and they all cheer me up in my own way when I'm sad. Every girl needs each of these. It will complete her.
Merriam Webster defines Monogamy as : the state or custom of being married to one person at a time. This blog has nothing to do about sexual relationships or open marriages. I have three husbands and I wouldn't have it any other way. Delusional? Possibly but important none the less. There are three men in my life, one way or another, and they all serve a different purpose. They are not all of equal importance but they all do something important for me. The best way is to start off talking about them in order of importance.
1. Legal Husband This is the man I am legit married to.... wore the white dress exchanged vows, twice and have a child with. He is um, AMAZING. I could go on about all the wonderful things he does for me but if you follow the blog consistently, you know how great he is. Do we have a perfect marriage? No, but it's pretty fucking close. He loves me unconditionally. I'm going through a rough patch in my life and he still comes home to me everyday. In his own words he's said, "It's my job to take care of you." That's exactly what he does. I complain more than I should about the hours he works but really, it's because I miss him. I want him home with my daughter and I. Sunday is my favorite day of the week because we are together as a family. It reminds me of MY childhood. And now that football is coming to an end (as Melissa Gorga says, "Thank you Jesus.") there will be more fun times. He started out as a boyfriend, became a husband and now is a best friend. I can't imagine my life without him. Not many people would put up with my shit and he does--- more than anyone. Not only that, but he does it with a smile on his face. His positive attitude and love of life motivates me to be a better person-- even though he doesn't know it. I still get excited when I heard the garage door open every night. And nothing melts my heart more than when I see my daughter run into his arms saying "Daddy!!!!!" It's moments like those that I'll treasure for the rest of my life. Aside from the Anorexia there is just so much shit he deals with.... My constant anxiety. My obsession with Donnie Wahlberg. My need to own fucking fantastic shoes (FYI, in case anyone is interested, he created that obsession although it takes much goading to get him to admit it). I tease him a lot--- he's not a very emotional person. Didn't cry when he proposed, when we got married, when I told him I was pregnant, when his mother died or when our child was born. He does cry at Rudy but apparently I'm told that's normal. ....this crying thing is going somewhere, I promise. It illustrates again what an amazing man I married. It's no secret that I have had the shittiest fucking year of my life. I never really look forward to Christmas and the holidays but I try hard (despite what he says). Yet, he made this the best Christmas ever. Christmas morning he handed me a small tie box saying, "here's a gag gift." I open it only to find a picture of me and Will. In the picture, there is a cartoon balloon next to Will's face saying, "Merry Christmas." Underneath the photo was an itinerary..... He flew my gay husband out for a week as my Christmas present. Not many men fly another man to spend the week with their wives.... I of course began sobbing-- tears of joy for a change only to notice, he was crying too. I think at that moment I fell madly in love with him all over again.....
2.Will: Perfect segue into husband number 2. We were Will and Grace before there ever was a Will and Grace. Call me a hag, call me a beard, call me whatever you want but in the end I am Grace. I am the Grace and he is the only Will. Will and I go back.... um..... fuck! 18 years. Holy shit. That's a long ass time. Will has been there for me through the death of my father, my graduation from college, law school, my first real breakup, my marriage and the birth of my child. Through it all he's been honest and supportive. Given the fact that he is gay, there are certain voids he fills that my husband doesn't fill. Sounds silly, but being able to quote movie lines from "Mommie Dearest," as cliche as it may sound, is part of our bond. Will and I lived together for nearly three years. I remember a lot of laughs. He ironed my clothes and kept the bathroom bleached -- which was the extent of any stereotypical gay tendencies he may have. He's not an interior designer and although he has great style, he still looks to me for my opinion. Will is funny. Plain and simple, he's hilarious but other than me, not to many people find his jokes amusing. I still laugh at the same stories, the same jokes, the same pitfalls he's been into for years. He's the only person I know that can sit and watch as much mindless reality TV as I can. I don't mean, good reality shows like Intervention or RHOBH but trash like, Strange Sex or I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant. Good shit like that. We are mesmerized by them.... shocked and ultimately hysterical at the nonsense. Um, hello? My Strange Addiction. There's more to Will's contribution to me than reality TV. Even though we have up and downs like most married couples, I can't imagine life without him. He serves a purpose in my life, as I do him. We may not have a piece of paper saying we're married but we have definitely made a verbal declaration of our love and have promised to spend our remaining years at PRC. Most importantly, Will has the daunting and important task to spread my ashes at the foot of the Eiffel Tower. I trust him whole heartedly-- even though I can foresee SOMETHING going wrong since everything always does.... Dances with Dark Clouds. He is proof that you can have love and marriage to someone without a sexual relationship. He's not just a best friend and brother never seemed to fit to describe him. He's my gay husband. It's the only the only way I can see him. He's just as irreplaceable as my legal husband.
3.Donnie Wahlberg : Ok. I know what you're thinking. He's NOT my husband. Not even close. I may even sound delusional. Although, let's not forget we've kissed, somewhat passionately, and snuggled on the couch while watching Blue Bloods together so in my mind, that accounts for something. I like to think of him as my imaginary husband, you know, like we're friends in my head. He recognizes me and no, it's not in the "I'm scared. Security!" way but more of the "Now, we've met before haven't we?" Let's face it, the man told me he is in awe of me. It's a line but I'll fucking take what I can get. No doubt. So I'm sure the question is, since he really ISN'T part of my life, what does he do for me that a husband would do? Ok, not much on a personal basis but his D-Dub persona is filled with nothing but unconditional love for all of his fans no matter color, size, ethnic background.... People can say he gets paid to do it but once you're in his company, you feel the energy and the love. It's not something you can believe unless you feel it. He allows me to retreat to a time when I was 14 and I wasn't anyone's mom or wife or employee and life was about having fun. Dancing with your girlfriends. Screaming at concerts. Pure bliss. It's not even his D-Dub persona--- it's Donnie himself. Watching Blue Bloods or his occasional appearance on a talk show makes me giddy. He's hot too (notice how long it's taken me to add that). He's a crush and has been for nearly 23 years--- which honestly, is longer than I've loved my husband. I enjoy him-- whether he's acting, singing, dancing or just present. He's my fantasy football. Both Will and my husband bring me joy but there are times when even they can't but hearing "Single" puts a smile on my face and my mind clears-- even for just three minutes. Oh, and he loves me. I know because he's told me so.....
There they are. The men in my life. I cherish them all. They are all there to celebrate the good times (whether physically or just at arms reach) and they all cheer me up in my own way when I'm sad. Every girl needs each of these. It will complete her.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
The Anorexic Voice
Most likely I have admitted this before, but I'm stuck in a hole and can't get out. ....don't want to get out really. The past six weeks I've been trying to battle this anorexia on my own, but it has been wildly unsuccessful. I knew the next option they (husband, therapists, doctors) were going to put in front of me. In patient residential treatment. For lack of a better term, rehab. The topic of rehab has monopolized just about every therapy session, conversation and thought in my mind for weeks. Sadly for me, it only increases my anxiety which leads me to restrict food even more. I'm having a difficult time separating out whether or not I'm afraid to go or if it's just I don't want to go. There is still time to decide but from what I'm told, not much time.
There are now two parts of me. There's the general internal monologue that everyone has and now there is the anorexic voice. The anorexic voice is beginning to scream louder than my internal monologue. It's hard not to obsess about food when it's the only voice I hear. I look forward to the nights I know I'm alone and don't have to eat dinner in order to placate those around me. The work week is my best friend right now--- no one is here to watch me (aside from those who silently watch and gossip) to make sure I eat. It's become my freedom. My safe place.
By going to rehab, I'll lose this anorexic voice which is has become my crutch, my safety blanket, my friend. It's scary to think about giving it up. I've lost all sense of who I am because I've learned to live my life in secret and rely on this voice. There are very few who are near and dear to me that know of this addiction. I live in secret. There is speculation, whispering, and gossip all around me. The only positive I can draw on is, I've learned who my REAL friends are. The disappointment of some of the rest of these friends isn't really shocking but mostly sad. We're not kids and hearing "some people don't know how to deal with this" is a fucking cop out. They just don't give a shit. To think anorexia is attention seeking behavior is weak. It's ignorant and it makes me angry. I'm very approachable and if someone, anyone were to come to me and ask a question or even to talk to me about being anorexic I will. I would. At times, I wish I was more private. Then maybe I'd feel safer from my own secrets.
The pressure of being the best is getting to me. I've always struggled with having to be number one. I'm OCD-- I admit it. The anorexia has lost the mystique of being a badge of honor and turned more into a badge of shame. I spend hours trying to hide it with perfect hair, perfect make up, expensive clothes or expensive shoes. Shopping is a tool I use to fill a void in my life. The void being food. No matter how I try to mask it, I still look sick. I still look skinny. I'm still anorexic.
I know where the triggers come from.... I haven't been the same since my mom got sick. I've never accepted my father's death. I don't like the long hours my husband works. I was raped and pretended it never happened and at times I just blame myself for it. And of course, we can't forget the grand finale of triggers: my grandmother. I thank her for instilling in me at the age of 5 that in order to be beautiful you had to be thin. I have a terrible body image and don't think I'll ever be comfortable in my own skin. I'll never see how pretty people tell me I am. I never met her standards with my appearance. She always made it clear to me that it was a shame I was overweight because I had such a pretty face. Who recovers from that? Can you recover from it?
The new plan has been my husband brings me breakfast and dinner and hopes I am "a big girl" by choosing to eat lunch. I don't fault him and I appreciate his efforts but now, I don't feel like he's my husband but more my father. He's done anything and everything he possibly can. We've spent hours discussing this eating disorder. I'm tired. He's tired. I'm not the wife I once was--- he's told me this and it breaks my heart. I want to be her. I really do but I truly have no control anymore. The contempt I feel for my body has affected our sex life. I can't possibly feel comfortable having sex when I hate my body so much. At times, I hate the fact that I can see bones protruding and other times I feel bigger than big. There is no middle ground and it's extremely unfair to him. What is even more sad is aside from my mom, he is the first one to finally love me for who or what I am. He shouldn't have to take this problem on and honestly, I feel like a bitch for putting him through this.
Secrets such as this can only make your general mood worse. There are days I just want to announce to the world that I'm anorexic. I need to admit I have a problem because I am so tired of living a lie. Every day is a challenge to get dressed. If something doesn't fit, whether its too small or too big, it dictates the mood of my whole day. I'm a walking contradiction. I hate that I'm so thin but I don't want to gain weight. I'm sure it's the addiction or disease-- however you define it. In the end, I'm so tired of all the noise in my head. I want to get better, I truly do but I don't want to have to go away to do it. The two voices in my head fight all day long--- the anorexic voice says don't go, stay thin and the realistic voice tells me to try harder to beat this, eat because that doesn't mean I'll get fat, it just means I'll be healthy.
What I find the most interesting is the lack of tears. I don't cry about it. It's almost as if I can't cry. The best way to describe how I feel right now is like I'm isolated on an island all by myself. I know my husband is tired of talking about it. I can only imagine my friends are tired of hearing about it. My therapist is probably tired of hearing about it too. They know I need to get better and it must be frustrating to watch this.... I've begun to feel as though I have no one to talk to about it anymore. My friends/family have reached the point of exhaustion with this. They try to hide it but I can tell. ....and I don't blame them. Who wants to hear about it? Everyone has their own shit to deal with and no one wants to hear about how I can't eat. Even I think it sounds ridiculous.
What I'm doing to myself doesn't make me feel good. Not at all. The power only lies with me though. I have the tools, the support, the knowledge. I should just be able to do it. I really don't know what's stopping me. There are times I am hungry but I truly don't know why I won't eat. The anorexic voice convinces me I don't have to eat. This voice gives you a false sense of control and power. The reality is, the anorexia has all the control. The voice has all the power.
There are now two parts of me. There's the general internal monologue that everyone has and now there is the anorexic voice. The anorexic voice is beginning to scream louder than my internal monologue. It's hard not to obsess about food when it's the only voice I hear. I look forward to the nights I know I'm alone and don't have to eat dinner in order to placate those around me. The work week is my best friend right now--- no one is here to watch me (aside from those who silently watch and gossip) to make sure I eat. It's become my freedom. My safe place.
By going to rehab, I'll lose this anorexic voice which is has become my crutch, my safety blanket, my friend. It's scary to think about giving it up. I've lost all sense of who I am because I've learned to live my life in secret and rely on this voice. There are very few who are near and dear to me that know of this addiction. I live in secret. There is speculation, whispering, and gossip all around me. The only positive I can draw on is, I've learned who my REAL friends are. The disappointment of some of the rest of these friends isn't really shocking but mostly sad. We're not kids and hearing "some people don't know how to deal with this" is a fucking cop out. They just don't give a shit. To think anorexia is attention seeking behavior is weak. It's ignorant and it makes me angry. I'm very approachable and if someone, anyone were to come to me and ask a question or even to talk to me about being anorexic I will. I would. At times, I wish I was more private. Then maybe I'd feel safer from my own secrets.
The pressure of being the best is getting to me. I've always struggled with having to be number one. I'm OCD-- I admit it. The anorexia has lost the mystique of being a badge of honor and turned more into a badge of shame. I spend hours trying to hide it with perfect hair, perfect make up, expensive clothes or expensive shoes. Shopping is a tool I use to fill a void in my life. The void being food. No matter how I try to mask it, I still look sick. I still look skinny. I'm still anorexic.
I know where the triggers come from.... I haven't been the same since my mom got sick. I've never accepted my father's death. I don't like the long hours my husband works. I was raped and pretended it never happened and at times I just blame myself for it. And of course, we can't forget the grand finale of triggers: my grandmother. I thank her for instilling in me at the age of 5 that in order to be beautiful you had to be thin. I have a terrible body image and don't think I'll ever be comfortable in my own skin. I'll never see how pretty people tell me I am. I never met her standards with my appearance. She always made it clear to me that it was a shame I was overweight because I had such a pretty face. Who recovers from that? Can you recover from it?
The new plan has been my husband brings me breakfast and dinner and hopes I am "a big girl" by choosing to eat lunch. I don't fault him and I appreciate his efforts but now, I don't feel like he's my husband but more my father. He's done anything and everything he possibly can. We've spent hours discussing this eating disorder. I'm tired. He's tired. I'm not the wife I once was--- he's told me this and it breaks my heart. I want to be her. I really do but I truly have no control anymore. The contempt I feel for my body has affected our sex life. I can't possibly feel comfortable having sex when I hate my body so much. At times, I hate the fact that I can see bones protruding and other times I feel bigger than big. There is no middle ground and it's extremely unfair to him. What is even more sad is aside from my mom, he is the first one to finally love me for who or what I am. He shouldn't have to take this problem on and honestly, I feel like a bitch for putting him through this.
Secrets such as this can only make your general mood worse. There are days I just want to announce to the world that I'm anorexic. I need to admit I have a problem because I am so tired of living a lie. Every day is a challenge to get dressed. If something doesn't fit, whether its too small or too big, it dictates the mood of my whole day. I'm a walking contradiction. I hate that I'm so thin but I don't want to gain weight. I'm sure it's the addiction or disease-- however you define it. In the end, I'm so tired of all the noise in my head. I want to get better, I truly do but I don't want to have to go away to do it. The two voices in my head fight all day long--- the anorexic voice says don't go, stay thin and the realistic voice tells me to try harder to beat this, eat because that doesn't mean I'll get fat, it just means I'll be healthy.
What I find the most interesting is the lack of tears. I don't cry about it. It's almost as if I can't cry. The best way to describe how I feel right now is like I'm isolated on an island all by myself. I know my husband is tired of talking about it. I can only imagine my friends are tired of hearing about it. My therapist is probably tired of hearing about it too. They know I need to get better and it must be frustrating to watch this.... I've begun to feel as though I have no one to talk to about it anymore. My friends/family have reached the point of exhaustion with this. They try to hide it but I can tell. ....and I don't blame them. Who wants to hear about it? Everyone has their own shit to deal with and no one wants to hear about how I can't eat. Even I think it sounds ridiculous.
What I'm doing to myself doesn't make me feel good. Not at all. The power only lies with me though. I have the tools, the support, the knowledge. I should just be able to do it. I really don't know what's stopping me. There are times I am hungry but I truly don't know why I won't eat. The anorexic voice convinces me I don't have to eat. This voice gives you a false sense of control and power. The reality is, the anorexia has all the control. The voice has all the power.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
When We Last Left Our Princess.....
It's hard to believe that I haven't written anything in nearly two and a half months. I wish I could come up with a better excuse than I have been busy but thinking about it, honestly, I have gone through another stint of avoidance.
I wish I could report back and say things have been better but they haven't. Mom has been in and out of the hospital (still cancer free :)) but now experiencing unknown medical problems which may or may not be complications of her surgery. The positive is I have practiced some of the skills I learned in my first outpatient program and remained calm. It wasn't until they decided to do a catscan of her brain that I lost my mind. Thankfully, that came back clean. Where do we stand now? Well, I wish I had the answers. Her doctor's words were "I'm baffled." I guess you could say that it's time for a second opinion? I don't know. I have resigned myself to the fact that she is being taken care of and isn't alone. There is nothing I can do and this is completely out of my hands.
I guess the biggest struggle has been the EDNOS (I still prefer anorexic but who am I to fight with the DSM IV). I was ok for a bit. Maybe the first month out of treatment but things have taken a huge backslide. Alarms on my cell phone go off to remind me to eat and I don't... I skip meals intentionally and completely survive on coffee/lattes with an extra shot of espresso. I can only imagine that my stomach is screaming for help at this point but I don't hear the noise.
My husband and I made a deal when I started the EDP (eating disorders program). He would take BOTH of my scales and hide them. I promised not to look for them and when he and my therapist decided I could have them back, they would be returned to me. Fortunately (or unfortunately) depending on how you look at the situation, I found them. It was all very innocent. I was looking for slippers under the bed and there they were. He admits that he moves them from time to time but now I know where they are. For days it was all I could think about.... I shared it with my therapist-- which as much as I adore her, I regret since she threw me under the bus by telling my husband I found them.
.....it was almost like the gravitational pull the moon has on the ocean waves. Knowing they were there. Easily accessible..... I broke down. I haven't weighed myself since August 2, 2011 until one morning when I couldn't take it anymore..... I just had to do it. I always had strict rules-- I wouldn't weigh myself unless it was after the first pee in the morning, completely naked (including no jewelry), the scale needed to be placed on the same exact bathroom tile and I could not have my period. You would think having my period that day would have stopped me but it didn't.
I carefully removed the scale from under the bed, making sure I knew the exact position so when I placed it back, no one would be the wiser. I brought the scale to my trusty bathroom tile, disrobed and stood on it only to be scared, ashamed and guilty of what I had done. Prior to being admitted to the EDP I had a goal weight.... I never hit it. But now, here I was nearly 3 months out of the program, below my goal weight. I actually weighed less then I did before I sought help.
I just opened a Pandora's box of emotions. I felt guilty. Not only had I lied to myself, but I betrayed the trust of some of the most important supporters, especially my husband. In my EDA (eating disorders anonymous) group, i shared this but right now I am writing/saying it out loud for the first time. I'm sick to my stomach over it but it's done-- and I have to move on and I fear I will lose my scale as a result of this blog but I can't live with the guilt anymore.
In the fairy tales I read to my daughter, the princess always lives happily ever after.... but not this princess. A wise member of my EDA group told me to sit down, write about my daughter and all of the reasons I love her and then think about how I would feel if another woman raised her. It would kill me. Instead I am intentionally killing myself but I don't know how to stop.
My fairytale would end like this: ".....and one day the princess began eating again. She learned to love what she saw in her mirror. No magic, no tricks, just her own inner and outer beauty. The princess realized that the numbers meant nothing. She realized she had no control. Control is an excuse for out of control behavior. It's something she told herself to feel better. Yet, she finally realized how important it was to be happy, healthy and eating and being a size 0 is nothing to be proud of, but ashamed of and then, and only then did she live happily ever after."
I wish I could report back and say things have been better but they haven't. Mom has been in and out of the hospital (still cancer free :)) but now experiencing unknown medical problems which may or may not be complications of her surgery. The positive is I have practiced some of the skills I learned in my first outpatient program and remained calm. It wasn't until they decided to do a catscan of her brain that I lost my mind. Thankfully, that came back clean. Where do we stand now? Well, I wish I had the answers. Her doctor's words were "I'm baffled." I guess you could say that it's time for a second opinion? I don't know. I have resigned myself to the fact that she is being taken care of and isn't alone. There is nothing I can do and this is completely out of my hands.
I guess the biggest struggle has been the EDNOS (I still prefer anorexic but who am I to fight with the DSM IV). I was ok for a bit. Maybe the first month out of treatment but things have taken a huge backslide. Alarms on my cell phone go off to remind me to eat and I don't... I skip meals intentionally and completely survive on coffee/lattes with an extra shot of espresso. I can only imagine that my stomach is screaming for help at this point but I don't hear the noise.
My husband and I made a deal when I started the EDP (eating disorders program). He would take BOTH of my scales and hide them. I promised not to look for them and when he and my therapist decided I could have them back, they would be returned to me. Fortunately (or unfortunately) depending on how you look at the situation, I found them. It was all very innocent. I was looking for slippers under the bed and there they were. He admits that he moves them from time to time but now I know where they are. For days it was all I could think about.... I shared it with my therapist-- which as much as I adore her, I regret since she threw me under the bus by telling my husband I found them.
.....it was almost like the gravitational pull the moon has on the ocean waves. Knowing they were there. Easily accessible..... I broke down. I haven't weighed myself since August 2, 2011 until one morning when I couldn't take it anymore..... I just had to do it. I always had strict rules-- I wouldn't weigh myself unless it was after the first pee in the morning, completely naked (including no jewelry), the scale needed to be placed on the same exact bathroom tile and I could not have my period. You would think having my period that day would have stopped me but it didn't.
I carefully removed the scale from under the bed, making sure I knew the exact position so when I placed it back, no one would be the wiser. I brought the scale to my trusty bathroom tile, disrobed and stood on it only to be scared, ashamed and guilty of what I had done. Prior to being admitted to the EDP I had a goal weight.... I never hit it. But now, here I was nearly 3 months out of the program, below my goal weight. I actually weighed less then I did before I sought help.
I just opened a Pandora's box of emotions. I felt guilty. Not only had I lied to myself, but I betrayed the trust of some of the most important supporters, especially my husband. In my EDA (eating disorders anonymous) group, i shared this but right now I am writing/saying it out loud for the first time. I'm sick to my stomach over it but it's done-- and I have to move on and I fear I will lose my scale as a result of this blog but I can't live with the guilt anymore.
In the fairy tales I read to my daughter, the princess always lives happily ever after.... but not this princess. A wise member of my EDA group told me to sit down, write about my daughter and all of the reasons I love her and then think about how I would feel if another woman raised her. It would kill me. Instead I am intentionally killing myself but I don't know how to stop.
My fairytale would end like this: ".....and one day the princess began eating again. She learned to love what she saw in her mirror. No magic, no tricks, just her own inner and outer beauty. The princess realized that the numbers meant nothing. She realized she had no control. Control is an excuse for out of control behavior. It's something she told herself to feel better. Yet, she finally realized how important it was to be happy, healthy and eating and being a size 0 is nothing to be proud of, but ashamed of and then, and only then did she live happily ever after."
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