I don't like taking medication. I don't even like taking Advil. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's part of the sick pride I get out of "not needing." When it's cold out, I don't need to turn on the heater, damn it; I'll just wear 3 sweaters and wool socks. When the soles of my shoes start to fall off, I don't need new shoes, damn it; I just need some duct tape. When I have a headache, I don't need a pill, damn it; I just need you to stay out of my f-ing way. I suppose I took this whole stubborn charade a bit too far when I thought I didn't need food. Food schmood. Pish posh. These pretzels are more than enough for lunch, thanks. Oh, former version of self, how wrong you were.
But there's a present version of myself that still thinks it's weak to need. I still think I should be able to will myself out of pain -- physical or mental. When I'm sick, I'm not mopey and lethargic; I'm extremely pissed off. I have no patience for things that remind me of my vulnerabilities. I think I should be all-powerful, superior, strong.
With this mentality, it's not surprising that I've been skeptical of psychiatry. It's easy for me to support others who take medications for mental issues. After all, diabetics take insulin, cancer patients use chemo. Depression is a disease, blah blah blah, it should be treated as such, blah blah blah. I understand all of this, logically, yet it's been very hard for me to apply this logic to myself. I still judge myself. I still feel like I'm not trying hard enough.
Yet, I've run the gamut when it comes to non-medication remedies for depression. I've read self-help books, which really only depressed me more because the theories for feeling better sounded so simple, and yet I couldn't get them to work for me. This led to the familiar "Kim is a failure" refrain. I've done yoga. I've breathed deeply. I've pet animals. I've pet Larry. I've gone for walks. I've got my diet in a healthy place. I'm the picture of perfect health, physically, according to my doctor. I've been in therapy for a decade. Therapy has helped me, that's for sure. But, what seems to happen is that I feel great the day of the session, and I feel good the day after, then it's a steady decline until the next week. Achieving any long-standing stability with my mood has been difficult.
I had my appointment with the psychiatrist today. Let's call him Dr. M because, well, that's the first initial of his actual last name (I'm not that creative, contrary to popular belief). He's great, very thorough. I was surprised when he said he felt my depression was very severe. Really? I consider this just sort of normal. Severe? I've always thought of severe depression as lethargy -- lying in bed, having crying fits. I don't lie in bed with crying fits. I stand up when I have crying fits. Duh. Seriously though, he says there are many people with "anxious depression." The anxiety keeps them functioning, in a way. I think I've had mild depression (dysthymia) since I was a teenager. I have vivid memories of myself in high school, making deals with myself to be in a good mood more often. I was always perplexed when I felt unable to do this, when I had spells of very low moods. I told Dr. M about last month, when I had a very real plummet. It was the first time in a long, long time when I doubted my ability to function, when I had trouble leaving the house, when I felt like I should be in one of those commercials with the wind-up toy and the sad-looking lady. He said lots of people with dysthymia have drops. They call this "double depression" (double your pleasure, double your fun...). I come out of these drops, but I still hang out in the mild depression state, where it's hard work for me to enjoy anything, I don't sleep well, I get very thrown off by minor things, my appetite vanishes, I feel like life is pointless and I write lots of short stories in which someone dies.
Long story short, he gave me a prescription for Lexapro. I thought that if I was going to go this route, I would get a non-SSRI. I must feel the need to be special in some way. Apparently, Dr. M does not think I am so special. An SSRI it is. I was on Celexa when I was in treatment way back when. I like to think it didn't do anything, but objectively, while I was on it, I was the happiest I'd been in my whole life. It's hard to tell if it was the daily therapy, the structured meals, the Celexa, or Malibu scenery, but the Celexa didn't hurt. I went off of it in grad school since I felt better (a rookie mistake), and I do remember "the moods" returning, slowly but surely. Lexapro is the distilled, improved Celexa, so we'll give it a go (and by "we'll" I mean "I'll"; I don't have multiple personality disorder, I just like using the royal "we").
Tonight, I lift my glass to serotonin, cautiously hopeful. I'll let you know how it goes...in 4-6 weeks.
I would like to have a question of the day, but I feel it's invasive to ask about medication sometimes. If you have any medication thoughts to share, I'd love to hear them.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Larry cracked a great wisdom egg today (this is the phrase I use when he says something that triggers an epiphany for me). Our boss suggested we all eat lunch in the office together on Wednesday and Larry said, "No, thanks. Kim and I are doing lunch together that day." I said, "Oh my god, aren't you afraid he'll be mad?" (Of course, he wasn't mad, but I hate declining things, even if they don't sound fun to me). Larry said it's better to be upfront. I'm always wishy-washy because I feel bad saying "no." His wisdom egg: If you're wishy-washy, it just encourages people to try to persuade you further. They assume you're just indecisive, not that you're trying to be nice.
2. My sister and her husband got the cutest Boxer puppy. They did it on a whim yesterday. Very spontaneous. Again, I'm not sure we're related, except we look awfully similar.
3. I just remembered the Winter Olympics start this Friday. I love watching the Olympics.
4. My 3-month "probation" is up at work this week, meaning I'm eligible for benefits.
5. It's snack time.
Monday, February 8, 2010
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Oh, come on, have a drink.
I've never been much of a drinker. When everyone else was experimenting with alcohol in high school, I was making flash cards and reading the encyclopedia for fun. Before I left for college, my dad suggested that we have a few drinks together, so I could become aware of my tolerance. I refused. I doubt he was surprised. I also used to ground myself. Anyway, I think he was afraid of sending me off to Notre Dame, the university of booze, without proper knowledge and practice. Maybe he was afraid of seeing his daughter two sheets to the wind, dancing with the leprechaun mascot on a televised football game. Beer bongs and boys -- these were probably his worries. I don't think he thought, "Hm, I hope my daughter doesn't go off to college and become anorexic." What's ironic is that when I passed out in my dorm room from the lovely combination of starvation and a fever, my RA called an ambulance, under the assumption that I was intoxicated.
If only.
I didn't drink at all during my college years. I mastered the art of holding cups in my hand, taking fake sips. I fed many houseplants tequila. I watched margaritas swirl down many-a-toilet. Drinking just didn't interest me. It wasn't only a calorie issue; it was the loss of control. The fuzzy-headedness. The lack of anxieties (when I was so used to having anxieties). The too-easy laughter. It was weird to me.
Further into my recovery, at a job I loved, I made some great friends and found myself at bars, bowling alleys, and parties with them, letting go with a beer or two...or three. It was fun. There were lots of firsts -- Jagermeister shots, throwing up in a cab, you know. I guess I'm a bit of a social chameleon. I kind of adapt to the people I'm around. I just gave up on defending my "I don't drink" declaration. Plus, I met Larry during this phase (we worked together), and I knew he liked to drink. So, we drank.
Until we didn't. It's been one year and four months since Larry quit drinking. I admire him for the decision. He knew it was becoming a problem. I admit I was worried about how it would affect us. He went through a funk (and, chameleon that I am, I went through a funk too). I often say that it's only when he stopped drinking that I realized how much he'd needed it. To be honest, I was happy to stop drinking. I didn't really enjoy it. I don't sleep well when I drink, even if it's just a glass of wine. I feel sluggish the next day. It's just not fun for me. But I knew it was fun for him, and I knew it would take a while for our life together to feel normal again.
Now, booze-less, we feel normal again... until we leave the house. It's only when I go out in the world -- to parties, restaurants, wherever -- that I remember how prominent drinking is in social situations. When it's just Larry and me hanging out with each other, I don't really care or notice what other people are doing; but when we're around drinkers, I get that familiar "am I a weirdo?" self-doubt.
Yesterday, we went to my sister's house to celebrate her husband's birthday. She said it would be a "small gathering." My sister's definition of small turns out to be 20 people. This is another situation when I wonder how we are related. Anyway, within 30 minutes of entering the house, a drink was put in my hand (umbrella and all). I took a polite sip, then put it down. That's when I got the, "Oh, come on, Kim, have a drink!" It's like I time-traveled back to college, young adult insecurities and all.
We didn't stay long. I felt out of place. I get very easily overwhelmed by crowds (yes, 20 is a crowd to me), and don't feel like I can talk to any one person in-depth. That's when I become a flower on the wall (and Larry becomes a flower on the couch, watching the news on TV -- it was one of our infamous Los Angeles "Storm Watch" days). Everyone looked to be having fun, a kind of fun that isn't my idea of fun, but fun nonetheless. My dad, under the effects of a couple drinks, karate-chopped a corn on the cob, splitting it in half successfully. If we stayed longer, someone would have broken out into song and a grown man would have been shirtless. These are good times, I assure you, but I wanted to go home, put on my pajamas, watch "Zombieland," and eat an entire pizza. So that's what we did.
What role does drinking play in your life? Do you feel pressure in social situations?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's been a perfect Sunday. I cleaned, watched a movie ("Cold Souls" with Paul Giamatti), read a bit, and cuddled with the kitties.
2. I have my psychiatry appointment tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, actually.
3. Sleep. I went to bed at 10pm and woke up at 9am. I guess I was tired.
4. I started organizing more stuff for our taxes, so I feel less on edge about that. I hate dealing with money.
5. My friend-in-France surprised me with the sweetest e-mail today, telling me she read my book while stuck indoors on a rainy day...and she loved it :) That's always good to hear.
If only.
I didn't drink at all during my college years. I mastered the art of holding cups in my hand, taking fake sips. I fed many houseplants tequila. I watched margaritas swirl down many-a-toilet. Drinking just didn't interest me. It wasn't only a calorie issue; it was the loss of control. The fuzzy-headedness. The lack of anxieties (when I was so used to having anxieties). The too-easy laughter. It was weird to me.
Further into my recovery, at a job I loved, I made some great friends and found myself at bars, bowling alleys, and parties with them, letting go with a beer or two...or three. It was fun. There were lots of firsts -- Jagermeister shots, throwing up in a cab, you know. I guess I'm a bit of a social chameleon. I kind of adapt to the people I'm around. I just gave up on defending my "I don't drink" declaration. Plus, I met Larry during this phase (we worked together), and I knew he liked to drink. So, we drank.
Until we didn't. It's been one year and four months since Larry quit drinking. I admire him for the decision. He knew it was becoming a problem. I admit I was worried about how it would affect us. He went through a funk (and, chameleon that I am, I went through a funk too). I often say that it's only when he stopped drinking that I realized how much he'd needed it. To be honest, I was happy to stop drinking. I didn't really enjoy it. I don't sleep well when I drink, even if it's just a glass of wine. I feel sluggish the next day. It's just not fun for me. But I knew it was fun for him, and I knew it would take a while for our life together to feel normal again.
Now, booze-less, we feel normal again... until we leave the house. It's only when I go out in the world -- to parties, restaurants, wherever -- that I remember how prominent drinking is in social situations. When it's just Larry and me hanging out with each other, I don't really care or notice what other people are doing; but when we're around drinkers, I get that familiar "am I a weirdo?" self-doubt.
Yesterday, we went to my sister's house to celebrate her husband's birthday. She said it would be a "small gathering." My sister's definition of small turns out to be 20 people. This is another situation when I wonder how we are related. Anyway, within 30 minutes of entering the house, a drink was put in my hand (umbrella and all). I took a polite sip, then put it down. That's when I got the, "Oh, come on, Kim, have a drink!" It's like I time-traveled back to college, young adult insecurities and all.
We didn't stay long. I felt out of place. I get very easily overwhelmed by crowds (yes, 20 is a crowd to me), and don't feel like I can talk to any one person in-depth. That's when I become a flower on the wall (and Larry becomes a flower on the couch, watching the news on TV -- it was one of our infamous Los Angeles "Storm Watch" days). Everyone looked to be having fun, a kind of fun that isn't my idea of fun, but fun nonetheless. My dad, under the effects of a couple drinks, karate-chopped a corn on the cob, splitting it in half successfully. If we stayed longer, someone would have broken out into song and a grown man would have been shirtless. These are good times, I assure you, but I wanted to go home, put on my pajamas, watch "Zombieland," and eat an entire pizza. So that's what we did.
What role does drinking play in your life? Do you feel pressure in social situations?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's been a perfect Sunday. I cleaned, watched a movie ("Cold Souls" with Paul Giamatti), read a bit, and cuddled with the kitties.
2. I have my psychiatry appointment tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it, actually.
3. Sleep. I went to bed at 10pm and woke up at 9am. I guess I was tired.
4. I started organizing more stuff for our taxes, so I feel less on edge about that. I hate dealing with money.
5. My friend-in-France surprised me with the sweetest e-mail today, telling me she read my book while stuck indoors on a rainy day...and she loved it :) That's always good to hear.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Are we having fun yet?
I think my last post got more comments than any other post I've written. I guess we have a lot to say about food blogs. And the consensus seems to be this: While others' habits and definitions of "healthy" may be annoying or triggering, it really does not matter what someone else is eating (with a sub-consensus of: Spinach in a smoothie is disgusting). Whether or not someone's decision to eat 1/3 cup of oatmeal is restrictive is not my business. Whether or not someone's torrid love affair with antioxidants is really orthorexia is not my business (though I have the right to use the adjective "torrid"). I have a hard time trusting myself and separating myself from this idea of "an absolute right way." But, really, there is no right way that applies to everyone; there is only a right way that applies to me (or you).
So, yes, it doesn't matter what someone else is eating. Additionally, it doesn't matter what someone else is DOING.
Is it just me, or do bloggers seem to have the most exciting lives ever? Maybe it's just that people with exciting lives tend to blog. Whatever it is, in reading some blogs, I start to feel like the most boring human on Earth. Why is someone always going on a road trip? Or eating shellfish at 4-star restaurants? There seem to be all these courageous job-quitters, book-deal-getters, mountain-climbers, trip-goers, marathon/triathaloners, all-out explorers, kiss-and-tellers, social-gathering-havers. Is everyone entertaining people with wine and Jenga in their living rooms on a nightly basis? Am I missing something?
Of course, as I've said in many past posts, I am always wondering if the way I live is "right." Am I doing enough? Am I on my way to being a weird cat lady? Why is there no objective scale for this? People say that what matters is if I'm happy. To this I say, exasperated, Hello, how can I be happy when I'm constantly wondering if the way I'm living is making me happy?
(Do you see my neurosis? Is it clear? Is it any wonder that I like Woody Allen movies and that I'm seeing a psychiatrist on Monday? Okay then.)
The truth is that I find happiness in very small, mundane things. When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, I was told that I would "always see things small," and I think this is true. Just like I get depressed over minor details, I get happy over minor details. If I were to take pictures of my daily life excitements, blogger style, here are some things you would see:
Boring? Maybe. While I admire the adventurous spirit of many blogs I read/skim, I just don't live that way. Larry and I are very excited at home. Would you like me to post screenshots of the computer game we play? Our characters are frogs. Mine is named "Amphi."
Maybe "seeing things small" is not all bad. For example, today, my entire day was made by a little gesture from one of my bosses. As I said in my last post, he gave me this little yellow envelope with what appeared to be a hairy acorn inside. He told me to put it in hot water and see something beautiful. I feel like people hear directions like this at events like Burning Man. Anyway, I followed his instructions, and this
(hairy acorn, right? Apologies for bluriness. Photography is not one of my daily life excitements)
became this
It's a flower, in a wine glass. Yes, we have wine glasses at work. Several, in fact.
And now I'm home for calzones and NBC TV. That's a perfect day to me.
What are your daily excitements? Do you see things small, or big?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Tomorrow is Friday! We're going to my sister's house on Saturday and I'm half-way looking forward to it, which is good, as I haven't been looking forward to many non-homebody activities lately. We may be having dinner with our boss and his wife on Sunday too. I can't decide if I'm anxious about this or not; depends when you ask me. Right now? No. Earlier today? Yes.
2. "Important Things with Demetri Martin" and "The Sarah Silverman Program" are back on Comedy Central! Tonight at 10pm :)
3. I have a potential side job that sounds fun. Something to do with editing baby product manuals.
4. After a weeks-long debate, I re-subscribed to Yoga Journal and Poets & Writers. I have such a hard time buying things fr myself, it's ridiculous.
5. Did I mention it's Friday?
So, yes, it doesn't matter what someone else is eating. Additionally, it doesn't matter what someone else is DOING.
Is it just me, or do bloggers seem to have the most exciting lives ever? Maybe it's just that people with exciting lives tend to blog. Whatever it is, in reading some blogs, I start to feel like the most boring human on Earth. Why is someone always going on a road trip? Or eating shellfish at 4-star restaurants? There seem to be all these courageous job-quitters, book-deal-getters, mountain-climbers, trip-goers, marathon/triathaloners, all-out explorers, kiss-and-tellers, social-gathering-havers. Is everyone entertaining people with wine and Jenga in their living rooms on a nightly basis? Am I missing something?
Of course, as I've said in many past posts, I am always wondering if the way I live is "right." Am I doing enough? Am I on my way to being a weird cat lady? Why is there no objective scale for this? People say that what matters is if I'm happy. To this I say, exasperated, Hello, how can I be happy when I'm constantly wondering if the way I'm living is making me happy?
(Do you see my neurosis? Is it clear? Is it any wonder that I like Woody Allen movies and that I'm seeing a psychiatrist on Monday? Okay then.)
The truth is that I find happiness in very small, mundane things. When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, I was told that I would "always see things small," and I think this is true. Just like I get depressed over minor details, I get happy over minor details. If I were to take pictures of my daily life excitements, blogger style, here are some things you would see:
- An empty laundry basket
- A book cover
- My iPod
- The list of saved shows in my DVR
- A couple red Netflix envelopes
- Cats, in various states of repose
- My favorite knit blanket that my mom's friend's mom gave us for our wedding
- My husband's side profile, with his curly hair at the bottom (he's growing it out in an attempt to look like Jesus or Charles Manson; I'm still not sure which)
Boring? Maybe. While I admire the adventurous spirit of many blogs I read/skim, I just don't live that way. Larry and I are very excited at home. Would you like me to post screenshots of the computer game we play? Our characters are frogs. Mine is named "Amphi."
Maybe "seeing things small" is not all bad. For example, today, my entire day was made by a little gesture from one of my bosses. As I said in my last post, he gave me this little yellow envelope with what appeared to be a hairy acorn inside. He told me to put it in hot water and see something beautiful. I feel like people hear directions like this at events like Burning Man. Anyway, I followed his instructions, and this
(hairy acorn, right? Apologies for bluriness. Photography is not one of my daily life excitements)
became this
It's a flower, in a wine glass. Yes, we have wine glasses at work. Several, in fact.
And now I'm home for calzones and NBC TV. That's a perfect day to me.
What are your daily excitements? Do you see things small, or big?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Tomorrow is Friday! We're going to my sister's house on Saturday and I'm half-way looking forward to it, which is good, as I haven't been looking forward to many non-homebody activities lately. We may be having dinner with our boss and his wife on Sunday too. I can't decide if I'm anxious about this or not; depends when you ask me. Right now? No. Earlier today? Yes.
2. "Important Things with Demetri Martin" and "The Sarah Silverman Program" are back on Comedy Central! Tonight at 10pm :)
3. I have a potential side job that sounds fun. Something to do with editing baby product manuals.
4. After a weeks-long debate, I re-subscribed to Yoga Journal and Poets & Writers. I have such a hard time buying things fr myself, it's ridiculous.
5. Did I mention it's Friday?
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Food Blogs: Let the Comparing Begin
When I posted my BBQ pizza recipe, I was surprised to see comments in reference to what I said about eating the whole thing.
The basis of most of my surprise was this thought: People read that far? I know I'm wordy sometimes, so thank you for sticking with me. In all seriousness though, I didn't realize so many of us were slightly perturbed by the projected norm of "1 or 2 slices with a side salad."
I read a fair number of food blogs. Or, I should say, I skim a fair number of food blogs. There was a time when I would drool over food pictures and commit recipes to memory, to try one day, "when I'm better." Now, I eat what I like and I don't pine for any particular food, so I don't get as much pleasure from food blogs. It's not so dangerous and thrilling and porn-like for me anymore. I'm not really a foodie, though I appreciate good food. I tend to form blogosphere attachments to the authors, and I skim the food blogs for updates on their lives, or for intriguing questions-of-the-day, that kind of thing.
Still, the fact that I felt the need to mention that I eat the whole BBQ pizza, none of this 1-or-2-slices-with-a-side-salad business, tells me that I still DO care what others eat. I mean, I notice. I admit that I feel a bit gluttonous when I read some food blogs. I'm not up on all the health kicks. I'm not familiar with the latest in antioxidants. I don't even like salads. Never have. When I was in treatment, we got three "exception" foods. Many listed eggs or cheese or something like that. I listed vegetables. I'm not kidding. Raw vegetables hold no appeal for me unless they are buried in pasta, on a pizza, or in some sort of bread product (like a wrap). I do like big salads where the lettuce is barely visible beneath piles of beans and avocado and cheese and dressing and stuff. But, I don't like side salads. When I see them, I think, "Why? Do I have to?" My inner 5-year-old comes out, and I have memories of my sister as an actual 5-year-old, sucking Newman's Own off her lettuce and setting the leaves aside. Maybe this is why I don't like salad. Anyway, here's some internal dialogue when I read food blogs:
You only use 1/3 cup of dry oatmeal for your breakfast?! Does that even fill a bowl? That might fill my cat's bowl. I use a whole cup (yes, dry)...with toppings and whatnot.
What the f&*k is Kombucha?
Chia seeds look like something I used to feed my parakeets.
I don't understand 60-calorie tortillas. Please explain how this is not cardboard.
When did hummus become salad dressing?
Ditto for salsa.
And hot sauce.
I have a question more philosophical than, "If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?": Is a burger really a burger if you don't eat the bun?
I'm looking through my emails for the memo re: quinoa, and I don't see it. Help?
I guess I'm kind of a sarcastic bitch. I know everyone's needs are different...and maybe that's just it. I feel like food blogs imply that there is one way that we're all supposed to be. There are all these trends! Copious amounts of "overnight oatmeal " are usually involved (someone please clarify for me -- is this COLD oatmeal?!). There are all the flavored nut butters, multitudes of vegetables, minimal bread products, and various condiments for flavor. (Don't even get me started on the topic of exercise. I never felt like a sloth until I started reading "health" blogs). I think the fact that I'm so snarky (my mom's favorite word for me) in reference to some food/health blogs shows insecurity with my own habits. I still have a slight hang-up over how much I eat (and an even bigger hang-up over the fact that people who eat way less, and exercise way more, are said to be so "healthy"). Don't worry, food bloggers, it's not just you who make me uneasy. I used to get really pissed off when I finished all my dinner and Larry didn't. Ask him about this. I'm sure he has plenty of memories of me passive-aggressively slamming kitchen cabinets while doing the dishes and seeing that he left half of his bowl of tortellini while I licked up my marinara like a greedy puppy. Nobody is immune from my comparing, not even my poor husband.
The main problem here is not trusting myself and my choices. Why compare? I think I'm searching for the "right" way, the ultimate "best," though I'm realizing this is entirely arbitrary. Some people may really love side salads and a couple slices of pizza. That's cool. I like my whole pizza, no salad, and a snack a couple hours later. There really is no reason to compare what I eat -- or anything I do, really -- to someone else. I know what works for me, and that should be all that matters.
Do you read food/health blogs? If so, why? Do you get stuck in comparing? If you share daily meals on your own blog, how does it help you? I can see how it might be great for accountability. I started my blog with that in mind, but I lost interest with the food stuff.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. We had our "pet sitter consultation" last night and it went really well. I liked them and feel good about them caring for our kitties when we go on vacation :)
2. Earrings. I wore some today. I don't know why I forget to adorn myself so often.
3. "Hawaii" (the book, not the state in quotation marks for no reason). I finally started it. So far, they are talking about how the islands formed. Lots of lava references. Sacrifices have been made to a god. My mom assures me that there is a story involving people, and I'm grateful for this possibility.
4. The return of Demetri Martin and Sarah Silverman on Comedy Central this Thursday! I love these comedians.
5. Whatever is in this little yellow envelope one of my bosses gave me. I wish I had a camera with me. It's like a hairy acorn. He told me to put it in hot water and watch what forms. Then he said it's not edible. He's Russian. Maybe I'll explore this tomorrow.
The basis of most of my surprise was this thought: People read that far? I know I'm wordy sometimes, so thank you for sticking with me. In all seriousness though, I didn't realize so many of us were slightly perturbed by the projected norm of "1 or 2 slices with a side salad."
I read a fair number of food blogs. Or, I should say, I skim a fair number of food blogs. There was a time when I would drool over food pictures and commit recipes to memory, to try one day, "when I'm better." Now, I eat what I like and I don't pine for any particular food, so I don't get as much pleasure from food blogs. It's not so dangerous and thrilling and porn-like for me anymore. I'm not really a foodie, though I appreciate good food. I tend to form blogosphere attachments to the authors, and I skim the food blogs for updates on their lives, or for intriguing questions-of-the-day, that kind of thing.
Still, the fact that I felt the need to mention that I eat the whole BBQ pizza, none of this 1-or-2-slices-with-a-side-salad business, tells me that I still DO care what others eat. I mean, I notice. I admit that I feel a bit gluttonous when I read some food blogs. I'm not up on all the health kicks. I'm not familiar with the latest in antioxidants. I don't even like salads. Never have. When I was in treatment, we got three "exception" foods. Many listed eggs or cheese or something like that. I listed vegetables. I'm not kidding. Raw vegetables hold no appeal for me unless they are buried in pasta, on a pizza, or in some sort of bread product (like a wrap). I do like big salads where the lettuce is barely visible beneath piles of beans and avocado and cheese and dressing and stuff. But, I don't like side salads. When I see them, I think, "Why? Do I have to?" My inner 5-year-old comes out, and I have memories of my sister as an actual 5-year-old, sucking Newman's Own off her lettuce and setting the leaves aside. Maybe this is why I don't like salad. Anyway, here's some internal dialogue when I read food blogs:
You only use 1/3 cup of dry oatmeal for your breakfast?! Does that even fill a bowl? That might fill my cat's bowl. I use a whole cup (yes, dry)...with toppings and whatnot.
What the f&*k is Kombucha?
Chia seeds look like something I used to feed my parakeets.
I don't understand 60-calorie tortillas. Please explain how this is not cardboard.
When did hummus become salad dressing?
Ditto for salsa.
And hot sauce.
I have a question more philosophical than, "If a tree falls in the forest and nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?": Is a burger really a burger if you don't eat the bun?
I'm looking through my emails for the memo re: quinoa, and I don't see it. Help?
I guess I'm kind of a sarcastic bitch. I know everyone's needs are different...and maybe that's just it. I feel like food blogs imply that there is one way that we're all supposed to be. There are all these trends! Copious amounts of "overnight oatmeal " are usually involved (someone please clarify for me -- is this COLD oatmeal?!). There are all the flavored nut butters, multitudes of vegetables, minimal bread products, and various condiments for flavor. (Don't even get me started on the topic of exercise. I never felt like a sloth until I started reading "health" blogs). I think the fact that I'm so snarky (my mom's favorite word for me) in reference to some food/health blogs shows insecurity with my own habits. I still have a slight hang-up over how much I eat (and an even bigger hang-up over the fact that people who eat way less, and exercise way more, are said to be so "healthy"). Don't worry, food bloggers, it's not just you who make me uneasy. I used to get really pissed off when I finished all my dinner and Larry didn't. Ask him about this. I'm sure he has plenty of memories of me passive-aggressively slamming kitchen cabinets while doing the dishes and seeing that he left half of his bowl of tortellini while I licked up my marinara like a greedy puppy. Nobody is immune from my comparing, not even my poor husband.
The main problem here is not trusting myself and my choices. Why compare? I think I'm searching for the "right" way, the ultimate "best," though I'm realizing this is entirely arbitrary. Some people may really love side salads and a couple slices of pizza. That's cool. I like my whole pizza, no salad, and a snack a couple hours later. There really is no reason to compare what I eat -- or anything I do, really -- to someone else. I know what works for me, and that should be all that matters.
Do you read food/health blogs? If so, why? Do you get stuck in comparing? If you share daily meals on your own blog, how does it help you? I can see how it might be great for accountability. I started my blog with that in mind, but I lost interest with the food stuff.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. We had our "pet sitter consultation" last night and it went really well. I liked them and feel good about them caring for our kitties when we go on vacation :)
2. Earrings. I wore some today. I don't know why I forget to adorn myself so often.
3. "Hawaii" (the book, not the state in quotation marks for no reason). I finally started it. So far, they are talking about how the islands formed. Lots of lava references. Sacrifices have been made to a god. My mom assures me that there is a story involving people, and I'm grateful for this possibility.
4. The return of Demetri Martin and Sarah Silverman on Comedy Central this Thursday! I love these comedians.
5. Whatever is in this little yellow envelope one of my bosses gave me. I wish I had a camera with me. It's like a hairy acorn. He told me to put it in hot water and watch what forms. Then he said it's not edible. He's Russian. Maybe I'll explore this tomorrow.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Recipe of the week: BBQ tofu (or chicken) pizza
I like to consider myself a progressive female. However, nothing makes me happier than being housewife-ish. I love cooking for my husband and me. I very rarely feel burdened by the need to make us dinner, especially when I know he's going to enjoy it. And he always enjoys BBQ pizza night.
I'm a pretty good wife, cutting the veins out of his chicken chunks and giving myself extra dishes to wash, huh?
Stick it back in the oven for about 6-7 minutes.
This is a pretty easy pizza to make, on the assumption that you have a Trader Joe's near you where you can get the ready-made pizza dough. If you do not have this, I know there are other refrigerated pizza doughs, but I have no idea what to do with them. I'm loyal to Trader Joe's, forever and always.
What you need for 2 pizzas:
-1 package of Trader Joe's pizza dough (I like the whole wheat one for this recipe)
-Extra firm tofu (I take a block and quarter it, then use however much tofu looks right. I know, I'm a horrible recipe-giver. Sorry)
-(For Larry, I unthaw a chicken breast to use in place of the tofu)
-BBQ sauce (whatever you like)
-Olive oil
-Red onion
-Tomato
-Mozzarella
-Cilantro
What you do:
-Set the oven for 450.
-Take out the pizza dough and let it sit near the oven. It's easier to work with if it's nice and warm-ish.
-I like to cut up the red onion and tomato at the beginning. I use about a half of a red onion, sliced into slivers. I cut about 10 tomato slices.
-Now, get going on cooking the tofu (and/or chicken). First, press your tofu with paper towels to get the water out. Then, cut your tofu into cubes. Do the same for the chicken, if you're using chicken. In a sauce pan, put a little olive oil (1-2 TBSP) and a couple tablespoons of BBQ sauce. Set to medium heat. Throw in the tofu (or chicken). I have to use two separate sauce pans for Larry and me, like this:
I'm a pretty good wife, cutting the veins out of his chicken chunks and giving myself extra dishes to wash, huh? Ok, so your tofu/chicken is in the pan (s). While it's getting nice and cooked, face the dough. To make 2 pizzas, I cut the bag in half with scissors. You could throw one half in the freezer if you're only making one pizza. It freezes/unthaws well. Take your half and press it into a circle on a lightly oiled baking sheet. I don't have to use a roller. I just press it until it resembles a circle.
Now, stick the baking sheet in the oven for just THREE MINUTES. I realized that this is the best way to make sure the crust is cooked through at the end (I had a soggy problem for a while...that sounded like a Depends commercial...Moving on).
After three minutes, take out the baking sheet and put on your toppings: A swirl of BBQ sauce, red onion (as much as you want), tomato slices (4-5), cooked tofu/chicken, and mozzarella.
Stick it back in the oven for about 6-7 minutes.Take out and top with cilantro.
Delicious!
I eat the whole thing, as does Larry. I realize most healthy food bloggers would have two slices with a side of salad, but I don't like salad, and I do like pizza, so there ya go.
Enjoy!
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I made an appointment with a psychiatrist for next Monday. I'm trying to just look at it as an "information session." If I think too far ahead and start calculating costs and considering side effects, I freak out.
2. I did not totally flip my shit over a snafu with my taxes; I only sort of flipped my shit. It'll get resolved, I think.
3. Anthony Bourdain in Prague. I love this guy.
4. Skype. This is gratitude in theory, as I have yet to successfully download Skype. I will though, I will. My friend is in France and I want to talk to her!
5. This blog: Beyond Blue. I think she has some wonderful things to say about dealing with depression and anxiety.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
I wish...
I find myself wishing quite a bit these days.
I wish I went out to brunch more often.
I wish I saw more movies in the theater.
I wish I did more "activities": Indoor climbing, hikes, whatever.
I wish I splurged on the expensive make-up at the Nordstrom counter.
I wish I bought nicer clothes.
I wish I traveled more.
I wish I had the guts to move to a new city.
I wish I'd gain 15 pounds so my ass would look better in jeans.
I wish I used my free time to write more.
I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl who looked good, I would call her. (I wish someone else remembers that song).
I used to criticize wishing. I had a boyfriend once who was a perpetual wisher, a hoper, a never-doer. He used to say, wistfully, "I hope I get this school assignment done so we can hang out this weekend" or "I hope I can restrain myself from buying old records so I can take you out to dinner and we don't have to eat ramen noodles that you stole from your parents' house." I hated this. I told him once, "You can't wish for things like this. You can wish it will rain, because you don't have control over that, but stop wishing for things you can control. It's passive and wimpy and unattractive."
I dumped him shortly after this conversation.
So, how did I become a wisher, someone passively hoping for a different life? Most of the things I wish for are totally in my control. I mean, yes, I can't spend thousands of dollars on a new wardrobe and make-up from the Nordstrom's counter, but I have enough financial freedom to make most of these wishes a reality. However, I feel inhibited by my anxieties. Going out to eat, spending money, caring for my appearance, daring to go after a goal (with my writing, for example), traveling and leaving my comfort zone -- all of these things cause me anxiety. Just this weekend, I thought maybe I'd like to go ice skating, but then I came up with a number of reasons why it was better just to stay home. And I'm happy at home, but I still wonder if I would do more if I wasn't paralyzed by so much anxiety. Maybe I wouldn't, maybe I'm just a homebody. That's fine. Like I said, I'm not sitting on my couch, pining for something to do. But, then, what does my wishing mean? Does it mean that anxiety is playing a bigger role than I realize? Or is it just me aspiring to be someone I think I should be? This is where I get confused.
Larry is encouraging me to make an appointment with the psychiatrist, a no-pressure chance to just talk about my anxieties and how all-over-the-place my moods have been. I'm a little nervous about this. I remember the first psychiatrist I saw, over ten years ago. He said, "You will always see things small," which made me think there is no hope for someone with my wiring. He prescribed me an SSRI, which did nothing but make me a zombie, and that was that. The thing is that I don't really know what my problem is (if there is a problem; sometimes I think this is just me). Given that I have days, like today, when I feel perfectly fine emotionally, I don't think I'm clinically depressed or whatever. I'm not anorexic, technically. I don't have OCD, technically. Larry said, "Why does it matter what the label is?" I flashed to all the memories of looking at nutrition facts, doing the math, making my life as "orderly" as possible. I love labels! Gimme labels! But, Larry went on to say, "If there are things you want help with, just talk about those and go from there."
I guess. And I suppose I do feel more confined by some anxieties than I'd like to be.
I wish I felt completely free.
I wish I believed complete freedom was possible.
Do you have any wishes? Do you wish for things that are within your control? If so, what prevents you from making these a reality? Fear? Anxiety?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. ELEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP. This is very strange for me, but I enjoyed it thoroughly and woke up refreshed.
2. Hard shell tacos last night were a success. On the menu tonight: Almond-encrusted tilapia and sweet potato fries. I'll post a recipe if it's a success.
3. Yesterday's full condo clean was a success. Multiple loads of laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing. Feels good.
4. I finished "Belong to Me" by Marisa de los Santos. It was a good read. I'm starting "Hawaii" by James Michener. I'm told it's a shock that I haven't read it yet, and I figure it'll be good to read before our trip to Maui in April.
5. I made another "Rock of the 90's" CD for my sister. I'm obsessed.
I wish I went out to brunch more often.
I wish I saw more movies in the theater.
I wish I did more "activities": Indoor climbing, hikes, whatever.
I wish I splurged on the expensive make-up at the Nordstrom counter.
I wish I bought nicer clothes.
I wish I traveled more.
I wish I had the guts to move to a new city.
I wish I'd gain 15 pounds so my ass would look better in jeans.
I wish I used my free time to write more.
I wish I was a little bit taller, I wish I was a baller, I wish I had a girl who looked good, I would call her. (I wish someone else remembers that song).
I used to criticize wishing. I had a boyfriend once who was a perpetual wisher, a hoper, a never-doer. He used to say, wistfully, "I hope I get this school assignment done so we can hang out this weekend" or "I hope I can restrain myself from buying old records so I can take you out to dinner and we don't have to eat ramen noodles that you stole from your parents' house." I hated this. I told him once, "You can't wish for things like this. You can wish it will rain, because you don't have control over that, but stop wishing for things you can control. It's passive and wimpy and unattractive."
I dumped him shortly after this conversation.
So, how did I become a wisher, someone passively hoping for a different life? Most of the things I wish for are totally in my control. I mean, yes, I can't spend thousands of dollars on a new wardrobe and make-up from the Nordstrom's counter, but I have enough financial freedom to make most of these wishes a reality. However, I feel inhibited by my anxieties. Going out to eat, spending money, caring for my appearance, daring to go after a goal (with my writing, for example), traveling and leaving my comfort zone -- all of these things cause me anxiety. Just this weekend, I thought maybe I'd like to go ice skating, but then I came up with a number of reasons why it was better just to stay home. And I'm happy at home, but I still wonder if I would do more if I wasn't paralyzed by so much anxiety. Maybe I wouldn't, maybe I'm just a homebody. That's fine. Like I said, I'm not sitting on my couch, pining for something to do. But, then, what does my wishing mean? Does it mean that anxiety is playing a bigger role than I realize? Or is it just me aspiring to be someone I think I should be? This is where I get confused.
Larry is encouraging me to make an appointment with the psychiatrist, a no-pressure chance to just talk about my anxieties and how all-over-the-place my moods have been. I'm a little nervous about this. I remember the first psychiatrist I saw, over ten years ago. He said, "You will always see things small," which made me think there is no hope for someone with my wiring. He prescribed me an SSRI, which did nothing but make me a zombie, and that was that. The thing is that I don't really know what my problem is (if there is a problem; sometimes I think this is just me). Given that I have days, like today, when I feel perfectly fine emotionally, I don't think I'm clinically depressed or whatever. I'm not anorexic, technically. I don't have OCD, technically. Larry said, "Why does it matter what the label is?" I flashed to all the memories of looking at nutrition facts, doing the math, making my life as "orderly" as possible. I love labels! Gimme labels! But, Larry went on to say, "If there are things you want help with, just talk about those and go from there."
I guess. And I suppose I do feel more confined by some anxieties than I'd like to be.
I wish I felt completely free.
I wish I believed complete freedom was possible.
Do you have any wishes? Do you wish for things that are within your control? If so, what prevents you from making these a reality? Fear? Anxiety?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. ELEVEN HOURS OF SLEEP. This is very strange for me, but I enjoyed it thoroughly and woke up refreshed.
2. Hard shell tacos last night were a success. On the menu tonight: Almond-encrusted tilapia and sweet potato fries. I'll post a recipe if it's a success.
3. Yesterday's full condo clean was a success. Multiple loads of laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing. Feels good.
4. I finished "Belong to Me" by Marisa de los Santos. It was a good read. I'm starting "Hawaii" by James Michener. I'm told it's a shock that I haven't read it yet, and I figure it'll be good to read before our trip to Maui in April.
5. I made another "Rock of the 90's" CD for my sister. I'm obsessed.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Defining normal
I do quite a bit of worrying about what's "normal" (and the fact that I put it in quotes just emphasizes that I have no idea what an objective definition of normalcy is). Years of disordered eating kind of threw off my self-trust. I mean, not knowing if you're hungry or what you're hungry for or how to feed yourself is pretty basic. It's like not knowing how or when to pee.
I tend to reminisce about the pre-anorexia days when I ate without much thought. I didn't analyze my cravings. I didn't think that it was weird to eat a bowl of white rice with a side of french fries for lunch. I didn't balance my protein with my carbs and fats. I didn't compare my plate to my friend's plate. I just ate. Pre-anorexia, I was much better with decisions in general. Granted, I wasn't really wiser (I once decided to write expletives on the bottom of a cup when selling lemonade to a neighborhood kid I did not like), but I was decisive. I was efficient. I knew what I wanted, and I wasn't bogged down by doubt. But, when you've had a disease that takes you completely out of yourself and then almost kills the remaining shell, you struggle a bit with trusting yourself again. You question your motivations and intentions more. Are they coming from a healthy place, or that pesky destructive place? You ask yourself questions like this until you don't know up from down anymore. You second guess. A lot.
This has been the longest, hardest part of recovery for me -- coming to peace with who I am, separate from anorexia, and trusting my choices. This applies to food, of course. I bug Larry pretty frequently with questions about what's normal: "Is it normal that I'm still hungry after eating this calzone?" "Is it normal that I just don't like pork?" "Is it normal to worry about what's served at a dinner party?" But, it applies to more than food, too. I wonder if the way I socialize is normal, if the way I dress is normal, if the way I think and feel is normal. I'm stuck on this word -- normal. I'm constantly aspiring to it, though I have no idea what it means. It seems very arbitrary. Normal, like beauty, seems to be in the eye of the beholder.
I got an automated message from my doctor's office yesterday that I should call in for the results from my physical. I did. And I got a whole lot of "normal." Blood sugar, normal. Kidney function, normal. Liver function, normal. Estrogen levels, normal. Thyroid, normal. Cholesterol, normal. Triglycerides, normal. Normal, normal, normal. I'm writing the word so much that it's starting to look weird to me (does this ever happen to you? I got very stuck on the word "what" once. It just looked so strange to me. I was not high).
So, maybe I'm more normal than I think. Maybe there's nothing drastically wrong with me. I was waiting for the doctor to tell me that there was. I've been feeling just fine this past week. My mood is good. Maybe I'm just more prone to depression and anxiety, and it's something I have to work harder to manage. Maybe that's my "normal." I think I can learn to be okay with that.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday!
2. I'm very much looking forward to calzone + "Project Runway" tonight.
3. We have a free weekend ahead of us. I'm pondering ice skating...
4. We got my sister's husband a birthday gift I think he'll really appreciate ;) That's my favorite kind of gift-giving. We get to see them next weekend!
5. Blue Buffalo cat food. Larry is obsessed with giving our cats the best in feline nutrition. It has flax seed in it. I'm pretty sure they eat as well as we do. He's so funny.
I tend to reminisce about the pre-anorexia days when I ate without much thought. I didn't analyze my cravings. I didn't think that it was weird to eat a bowl of white rice with a side of french fries for lunch. I didn't balance my protein with my carbs and fats. I didn't compare my plate to my friend's plate. I just ate. Pre-anorexia, I was much better with decisions in general. Granted, I wasn't really wiser (I once decided to write expletives on the bottom of a cup when selling lemonade to a neighborhood kid I did not like), but I was decisive. I was efficient. I knew what I wanted, and I wasn't bogged down by doubt. But, when you've had a disease that takes you completely out of yourself and then almost kills the remaining shell, you struggle a bit with trusting yourself again. You question your motivations and intentions more. Are they coming from a healthy place, or that pesky destructive place? You ask yourself questions like this until you don't know up from down anymore. You second guess. A lot.
This has been the longest, hardest part of recovery for me -- coming to peace with who I am, separate from anorexia, and trusting my choices. This applies to food, of course. I bug Larry pretty frequently with questions about what's normal: "Is it normal that I'm still hungry after eating this calzone?" "Is it normal that I just don't like pork?" "Is it normal to worry about what's served at a dinner party?" But, it applies to more than food, too. I wonder if the way I socialize is normal, if the way I dress is normal, if the way I think and feel is normal. I'm stuck on this word -- normal. I'm constantly aspiring to it, though I have no idea what it means. It seems very arbitrary. Normal, like beauty, seems to be in the eye of the beholder.
I got an automated message from my doctor's office yesterday that I should call in for the results from my physical. I did. And I got a whole lot of "normal." Blood sugar, normal. Kidney function, normal. Liver function, normal. Estrogen levels, normal. Thyroid, normal. Cholesterol, normal. Triglycerides, normal. Normal, normal, normal. I'm writing the word so much that it's starting to look weird to me (does this ever happen to you? I got very stuck on the word "what" once. It just looked so strange to me. I was not high).
So, maybe I'm more normal than I think. Maybe there's nothing drastically wrong with me. I was waiting for the doctor to tell me that there was. I've been feeling just fine this past week. My mood is good. Maybe I'm just more prone to depression and anxiety, and it's something I have to work harder to manage. Maybe that's my "normal." I think I can learn to be okay with that.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday!
2. I'm very much looking forward to calzone + "Project Runway" tonight.
3. We have a free weekend ahead of us. I'm pondering ice skating...
4. We got my sister's husband a birthday gift I think he'll really appreciate ;) That's my favorite kind of gift-giving. We get to see them next weekend!
5. Blue Buffalo cat food. Larry is obsessed with giving our cats the best in feline nutrition. It has flax seed in it. I'm pretty sure they eat as well as we do. He's so funny.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
