I'm having one of those days when I need to be reminded of the ebb and flow of life. I'm having one of my days when I want to overuse the words "always" and "never" (i.e., "I'm always going to wake up with one of these allergy headaches," "I'm never going to feel good again"). The Challenge is going well, but I don't really feel any different or better. I know enough to expect that though...It's only been a week!
Anyway, I got this idea from Sarah's blog. I like the word "sometimes."
sometimes i just need: a good night's sleep.
sometimes i want: to go back to school and become a forensic psychologist.
sometimes i like to: make lists of all the places I want to visit.
sometimes all it takes: is a good song on my iPod.
sometimes i picture: my dad's smiling face, telling me to chill out because everything will be ok.
sometimes i wish: something life-changing would happen -- bad or good -- to make me take my head out of my ass.
sometimes i find: comfort in "Fresh Prince of Bel Air" re-runs.
sometimes i take: things for granted.
sometimes i look: more confident than I feel.
sometimes i hate: how fickle I am.
sometimes it’s nice: to say what you mean.
sometimes it hurts: to say what you mean.
sometimes it makes me happy: to read blogs and feel understanding (and understood).
sometimes it’s sad: to feel lonely while living with someone.
sometimes i listen: to my loud neighbors and wonder if we'll ever move.
sometimes i sleep: ...sometimes I don't.
sometimes i like to watch: my cat try to jump over the 5' fall (she makes it 90% of the time).
sometimes i feel: like I'm destined for discontent.
sometimes i rant: about how stupid the media is.
sometimes i never: see the forest for the trees.
sometimes i really: miss drinking wine with my husband (he stopped drinking completely almost 7 months ago).
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Scrambling eggs with a bunch of other stuff (potatoes!) and digging in.
2. A new episode of "The Office" tonight!
3. http://www.realtor.com/. Hey, a girl can dream.
4. My name on the Dimestories showcase flyer :) I'm reading this Sunday.
5. Snack time. That would be now :)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
This is why I don't tell people I'm anorexic.
I received a comment in response to my last post, saying I should feel bad for my friend because she has a disease, as compared to me who "voluntarily puts limits on my diet."
This is the exact reason why I don't tell people I have an eating disorder.
Anorexia is seen as a stubborn failure of willpower, a shameful weakness of character. A woman with anorexia is to blame for her state. She thinks she's better than everyone else, with her pretentious food preferences. She's a snob. She's a bitch. She could stop if she wanted to.
Eating disorders are biological illnesses. When are people going to get that?
It took me a while to accept, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that people without eating disorders can't accept it. For years, I told myself, "You're such a fucking idiot. Just eat. Fork to mouth. What's your problem?" Or, I would channel my dad and say to myself, "There are starving people in Africa!"
The media portrays anorexia as a disease of vanity, of attention-grabbing. The common understanding is that it's a choice. I sure as hell didn't choose to develop anorexia. I didn't even know what it was. Suddenly, I just cut back, started counting calories. I knew I didn't need to lose weight. It was a total mystery to me. All I knew was life felt unbearable and starving made it better. Sure, in recovery I can choose to feed myself, but I can't choose to want to feed myself. Hunger and fullness are complicated for me. I wish it was simple, but I've accepted that something in my brain is wired funny. I can be healthy regardless, but I've stopped pretending I can just wake up tomorrow and not be anorexic. It doesn't work like that. Being anorexic is not like "going vegan."
Sometimes I wonder if I'm too sensitive to have a public blog.
Update: Day 6 (yesterday), I got back on track. My stomach isn't feeling 100% better, but it's good enough :)
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Peanut butter.
2. I'm finally looking into setting up my retirement accounts. I hate dealing with "adult" stuff, but I always feel good once I do it.
3. "Step Up." I don't know much about dance, but this movie was entertaining.
4. Wind chimes.
5. My friend's suggestion to clean my wedding ring with baking soda and a toothbrush. This works wonderfully!
This is the exact reason why I don't tell people I have an eating disorder.
Anorexia is seen as a stubborn failure of willpower, a shameful weakness of character. A woman with anorexia is to blame for her state. She thinks she's better than everyone else, with her pretentious food preferences. She's a snob. She's a bitch. She could stop if she wanted to.
Eating disorders are biological illnesses. When are people going to get that?
It took me a while to accept, so I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that people without eating disorders can't accept it. For years, I told myself, "You're such a fucking idiot. Just eat. Fork to mouth. What's your problem?" Or, I would channel my dad and say to myself, "There are starving people in Africa!"
The media portrays anorexia as a disease of vanity, of attention-grabbing. The common understanding is that it's a choice. I sure as hell didn't choose to develop anorexia. I didn't even know what it was. Suddenly, I just cut back, started counting calories. I knew I didn't need to lose weight. It was a total mystery to me. All I knew was life felt unbearable and starving made it better. Sure, in recovery I can choose to feed myself, but I can't choose to want to feed myself. Hunger and fullness are complicated for me. I wish it was simple, but I've accepted that something in my brain is wired funny. I can be healthy regardless, but I've stopped pretending I can just wake up tomorrow and not be anorexic. It doesn't work like that. Being anorexic is not like "going vegan."
Sometimes I wonder if I'm too sensitive to have a public blog.
Update: Day 6 (yesterday), I got back on track. My stomach isn't feeling 100% better, but it's good enough :)
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Peanut butter.
2. I'm finally looking into setting up my retirement accounts. I hate dealing with "adult" stuff, but I always feel good once I do it.
3. "Step Up." I don't know much about dance, but this movie was entertaining.
4. Wind chimes.
5. My friend's suggestion to clean my wedding ring with baking soda and a toothbrush. This works wonderfully!
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Food and socializing
I feel much better today. There is still something weird going on in my stomach, but I'm going to chalk it up to mild food poisoning, appreciate the irony, and move on. Breakfast seemed to agree with me. I'm pretty sure I don't have swine flu ;)
I met up with my friend yesterday, after warning her that I could puke in public, which is something I haven't done since I was 10-years-old, in Hawaii, on a glass-bottom boat going 5 miles per hour. What can I say? I get very seasick.
Anyway, we were talking about my wedding reception and the presence of one of my old friends, C. Some background: C and I became friends in high school, way before I developed anorexia. She was born with a very rare genetic disorder called hyperlipidproteinemia, type II. Don't even try to Wikipedia or Google it because it's extremely rare and I've never seen an accurate description online. Basically, she doesn't have the enzymes to break down fat. She almost died as a baby, drinking her mom's breast milk. When the confused doctors did a blood test, the tube was mostly yellow, fatty solids. Because of her condition, her parents were told she couldn't eat any fat. At all. Today, she can eat up to 4g fat/day. She relies on pretzels, plain pasta, apples, and her mom for sustenance. Yes, at almost 30-years-old, she lives at home. Her mom is basically a fat-free chef.
C has never had a french fry, she's never had real ice cream, she's never had chocolate. She used to ask if she could smell my food. She would grill me about what "nougat" was (that mystery stuff in candy bars). As teenagers, this didn't seem like too big of a deal to me. We worked around it. Her mom made fat free pizzas and things when I came over. We ventured to the Souplantation, instead of Denny's or the latest fifties diner, for dinner outings. It was fine. But, as we grew up, she started to seem more and more separate from everyone else. At my wedding party, she was downright socially awkward. She jibbered and jabbered about how she couldn't eat anything I had served (as if this is my fault?) and how the bruschetta probably had "soooo much oil." Maybe I should feel sympathy, but I don't. The hard truth in our culture is that it's really hard to relate to people when you can't/don't/won't eat. It just is. Food restriction is very isolating.
I've always been somewhat of an introvert, but my eating disorder made me really introverted. In recovery, I still have a lot of anxiety about social events. It's not easy for me to go out with people. I defer to staying at home most of the time. I've done so much thinking about this, wondering what kind of chemical changes occurred in my brain to make me a social misfit. BUT, then it hit me that it's not that complicated. It's quite simple, really: Socializing often involves food. In our society, and in most societies, spending time with people is usually associated with a meal or a snack or a beverage, and the ENJOYMENT of that meal/snack/beverage. When you have a disorder involving food, you quickly fall out of the norm. And it's difficult to come back. I have to say that one of my biggest motivators for recovery is to come back, to fully enjoy food and socializing again. I may always be content keeping to myself, but I know I do like spending time with people. It just became scary somewhere along the way...
Update: Day 5, yesterday, was a bust. I did not meet my calorie goal. I barely made it past 2000 calories. Liquids and anything remotely sweet did things to my stomach that you don't want to know about. For some reason, I felt compelled to make nachos (with beans) for lunch. My friend laughed when I told her this. I guess I really didn't want to believe that I wasn't feeling well. In any case, I'm better today. Not totally better, but better enough to get back to The Challenge. I think I'll just add a day on to the end to make up for yesterday.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I don't feel like puking. This is pretty self-explanatory.
2. New "Twilight" series books. My friend and I did a book exchange yesterday. She gave me the last 2 books in the series. I'm ashamed to be reading them. We did the transfer via an old Banana Republic shopping bag. Who wants to be seen with teenage books about vampires?
3. Doggie thoughts. My friend and her husband have the cutest doggie, Shasta. We were talking about dogs yesterday and the seed was planted in my mind -- I want a puppy! It's perfect timing, isn't it? I work from home so I can train. We have hardwood floors, ideal for "accidents." My cats have lived with dogs before (at my parents' house) and they got along just fine. Now, I just have to express this want to my husband..... Anyone have any suggestions as far as breed? My condo is on the small side. I have a very small side yard/patio thing. Oh, and I'm not a fan of tiny, yippy dogs.
4. My husband was in a good mood this morning. He's not a morning person. He's not totally in the swing of things with his job schedule yet. But, this morning he was, well, chipper.
5. I don't feel like puking. I really had to express this again. Yesterday was awful!
I met up with my friend yesterday, after warning her that I could puke in public, which is something I haven't done since I was 10-years-old, in Hawaii, on a glass-bottom boat going 5 miles per hour. What can I say? I get very seasick.
Anyway, we were talking about my wedding reception and the presence of one of my old friends, C. Some background: C and I became friends in high school, way before I developed anorexia. She was born with a very rare genetic disorder called hyperlipidproteinemia, type II. Don't even try to Wikipedia or Google it because it's extremely rare and I've never seen an accurate description online. Basically, she doesn't have the enzymes to break down fat. She almost died as a baby, drinking her mom's breast milk. When the confused doctors did a blood test, the tube was mostly yellow, fatty solids. Because of her condition, her parents were told she couldn't eat any fat. At all. Today, she can eat up to 4g fat/day. She relies on pretzels, plain pasta, apples, and her mom for sustenance. Yes, at almost 30-years-old, she lives at home. Her mom is basically a fat-free chef.
C has never had a french fry, she's never had real ice cream, she's never had chocolate. She used to ask if she could smell my food. She would grill me about what "nougat" was (that mystery stuff in candy bars). As teenagers, this didn't seem like too big of a deal to me. We worked around it. Her mom made fat free pizzas and things when I came over. We ventured to the Souplantation, instead of Denny's or the latest fifties diner, for dinner outings. It was fine. But, as we grew up, she started to seem more and more separate from everyone else. At my wedding party, she was downright socially awkward. She jibbered and jabbered about how she couldn't eat anything I had served (as if this is my fault?) and how the bruschetta probably had "soooo much oil." Maybe I should feel sympathy, but I don't. The hard truth in our culture is that it's really hard to relate to people when you can't/don't/won't eat. It just is. Food restriction is very isolating.
I've always been somewhat of an introvert, but my eating disorder made me really introverted. In recovery, I still have a lot of anxiety about social events. It's not easy for me to go out with people. I defer to staying at home most of the time. I've done so much thinking about this, wondering what kind of chemical changes occurred in my brain to make me a social misfit. BUT, then it hit me that it's not that complicated. It's quite simple, really: Socializing often involves food. In our society, and in most societies, spending time with people is usually associated with a meal or a snack or a beverage, and the ENJOYMENT of that meal/snack/beverage. When you have a disorder involving food, you quickly fall out of the norm. And it's difficult to come back. I have to say that one of my biggest motivators for recovery is to come back, to fully enjoy food and socializing again. I may always be content keeping to myself, but I know I do like spending time with people. It just became scary somewhere along the way...
Update: Day 5, yesterday, was a bust. I did not meet my calorie goal. I barely made it past 2000 calories. Liquids and anything remotely sweet did things to my stomach that you don't want to know about. For some reason, I felt compelled to make nachos (with beans) for lunch. My friend laughed when I told her this. I guess I really didn't want to believe that I wasn't feeling well. In any case, I'm better today. Not totally better, but better enough to get back to The Challenge. I think I'll just add a day on to the end to make up for yesterday.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I don't feel like puking. This is pretty self-explanatory.
2. New "Twilight" series books. My friend and I did a book exchange yesterday. She gave me the last 2 books in the series. I'm ashamed to be reading them. We did the transfer via an old Banana Republic shopping bag. Who wants to be seen with teenage books about vampires?
3. Doggie thoughts. My friend and her husband have the cutest doggie, Shasta. We were talking about dogs yesterday and the seed was planted in my mind -- I want a puppy! It's perfect timing, isn't it? I work from home so I can train. We have hardwood floors, ideal for "accidents." My cats have lived with dogs before (at my parents' house) and they got along just fine. Now, I just have to express this want to my husband..... Anyone have any suggestions as far as breed? My condo is on the small side. I have a very small side yard/patio thing. Oh, and I'm not a fan of tiny, yippy dogs.
4. My husband was in a good mood this morning. He's not a morning person. He's not totally in the swing of things with his job schedule yet. But, this morning he was, well, chipper.
5. I don't feel like puking. I really had to express this again. Yesterday was awful!
Monday, April 27, 2009
"It's probably something you ate."
That's what I've been told by my doctor-in-training friend when talking to her about my feelings of being on the brink of barfing.
"It's probably something you ate."
Well, isn't that just peachy. And ironic.
I don't feel good, to say the least. Any time I start to get a bug, I do all kinds of things to talk myself out of it. I call up my denial defenses. I go about my business as usual, trying to disregard the fact that I'm sick. I guess I'm good at it. Most of us probably are.
I noticed that I felt a little weird yesterday, but I still took myself to a movie and ate what I planned to eat. Today, I woke up and went through my morning routine. I forced a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese (oh, cream cheese, I shouldn't have neglected you so long!), and a juice smoothie. By 9am, I decided, "Ok, no, I don't feel good." I'm not really sure what to do, as my appetite is completely shot.
What do you do when you're sick, eating-wise? Ugh, I really hope this is a 24-hour thing...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. The dollar movie theater. I went to see "Confessions of a Shopaholic" because it was brainless and I felt tired and off and needed something like that. It was funny enough. I really like the dollar theater. Not only is it a dollar (!), but they have an employee dressed up in a hot dog suit who dances and sings about their $1 hotdogs.
2. Work is not busy today. This is good, considering sitting up for longer than 10 minutes is not agreeing with me.
3. My good friend is in town, planning for her wedding in June. I'm supposed to see her today. I really hope I don't have to cancel.
4. Cream cheese!
5. Day 4 of The Challenge (yesterday). It was good! I met my goal. I put cheese and avocado on my turkey burger. I had a big bowl of cookies and cream ice cream. Those were the real highlights :)
"It's probably something you ate."
Well, isn't that just peachy. And ironic.
I don't feel good, to say the least. Any time I start to get a bug, I do all kinds of things to talk myself out of it. I call up my denial defenses. I go about my business as usual, trying to disregard the fact that I'm sick. I guess I'm good at it. Most of us probably are.
I noticed that I felt a little weird yesterday, but I still took myself to a movie and ate what I planned to eat. Today, I woke up and went through my morning routine. I forced a cinnamon raisin bagel with cream cheese (oh, cream cheese, I shouldn't have neglected you so long!), and a juice smoothie. By 9am, I decided, "Ok, no, I don't feel good." I'm not really sure what to do, as my appetite is completely shot.
What do you do when you're sick, eating-wise? Ugh, I really hope this is a 24-hour thing...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. The dollar movie theater. I went to see "Confessions of a Shopaholic" because it was brainless and I felt tired and off and needed something like that. It was funny enough. I really like the dollar theater. Not only is it a dollar (!), but they have an employee dressed up in a hot dog suit who dances and sings about their $1 hotdogs.
2. Work is not busy today. This is good, considering sitting up for longer than 10 minutes is not agreeing with me.
3. My good friend is in town, planning for her wedding in June. I'm supposed to see her today. I really hope I don't have to cancel.
4. Cream cheese!
5. Day 4 of The Challenge (yesterday). It was good! I met my goal. I put cheese and avocado on my turkey burger. I had a big bowl of cookies and cream ice cream. Those were the real highlights :)
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Guilt vs Shame
The latest issue of Psychology Today has some great articles. One that really resonated with me was about failure, and how different people respond to it. Some people fail and experience guilt; others fail and experience shame. Here's the difference:
Guilt -- which occurs when you chalk up a failure to something you did -- can be beneficial. Shame, on the other hand -- which is present when you attribute failure to something you are -- casts a generalized depressive pall on you that's harder to face, let alone fix.
I can remember way far back, as a little kid, thinking, "I'm a failure," as opposed to something like, "I'm a good person who made a mistake I can learn from." My parents tried to encourage the latter mentality, but it didn't ring true for me. Mistakes were to be avoided at all costs. As an adult, I notice how much I tend toward thinking, "It's all my fault." Even things that are obviously not my fault become my fault in my head. This happens quite frequently at work. My self-confidence is tested on an almost-daily basis. A client asks me to do a job. I do what they say. They get mad because they didn't communicate the project correctly at the start. Whose fault? Mine.
This applies to recovery too. So much of my recovery has involved the same self-berating that anorexia involved. When I don't meet a calorie goal for the day, or when I have trouble going out to eat at a restaurant, I think, "Kim, you are such a loser. You couldn't do anorexia. Now you can't even recover right. Can you do anything right?" That, right there, is shame. Like the article says, if I felt guilty about not meeting a calorie goal, that could be beneficial. It could motivate me in some way. But, shame is not constructive at all. Drawing these gigantic conclusions about my character and my capabilities is not constructive at all.
I told my mom (via email) about my 3,000 calorie challenge. I prefaced it by saying, "I know you're probably rolling your eyes at yet another one of my attempts to eat more and gain the 10 lbs or whatever that I think will make a difference...but I felt like I wanted to tell you anyway, to be accountable." I had it in my head that she was sighing an exasperated sigh, as sick of my recovery "failures" as I am. But, no. She wrote back saying something like, "I'm always supportive of you. I assume there are many false starts. I read that smokers 'quit' 11 times before they finally quit. I love you exactly as you are, but will always hope that you can have total health."
So, once again, I'm my worst critic. I'm harder on myself than anyone else would be. I'm not a failure, damn it. I've come a long way. I have a biological illness. An illness! Most people with most illnesses don't feel ashamed. I know there is still work for me to do, freedom (and weight) to gain, but I haven't failed at anything. In fact, I'd say I've been quite a success :)
Update on The Challenge: Day 3, yesterday, went well! I discovered the joys of hiding things like protein powder and peanut butter in my oatmeal. I decided that mixing up a whole can of tuna for a sandwich (instead of half a can like usual) is just fine. And, hey, mixing in avocado along with the mayo is also pretty cool. When anorexia got mad at me for my lasagna portion at dinner (I literally ate half of the 8"x8" pan), I said, "What? It's just one piece. One big piece, but one piece. The 'one-scoop rule' is in effect -- whatever I can get with one lift of the spatula can't be too much. Shut up."
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Amends with my sister. We talked it out. Wow, what a concept -- talking things out.
2. More sunshine! The weather in California is beautiful right now -- bright blue skies, 70-something degrees.
3. A good night of sleep. No night sweats or racing heart. Yay!
4. The baby article in Psychology Today. In addition to the failure article, this one really hit home for me. It was about the effects of the mother's anxiety/depression and her eating habits on the unborn fetus. I don't even know if I want kids, but if I do, I sure as hell want to be healthy physically and emotionally before I get pregnant!
5. Appetite. I just ate a hefty peanut butter and banana sandwich with a glass of milk, but I'm hungry again. I guess I'll go with it. I got some good granola with chocolate flakes. That sounds good...
Guilt -- which occurs when you chalk up a failure to something you did -- can be beneficial. Shame, on the other hand -- which is present when you attribute failure to something you are -- casts a generalized depressive pall on you that's harder to face, let alone fix.
I can remember way far back, as a little kid, thinking, "I'm a failure," as opposed to something like, "I'm a good person who made a mistake I can learn from." My parents tried to encourage the latter mentality, but it didn't ring true for me. Mistakes were to be avoided at all costs. As an adult, I notice how much I tend toward thinking, "It's all my fault." Even things that are obviously not my fault become my fault in my head. This happens quite frequently at work. My self-confidence is tested on an almost-daily basis. A client asks me to do a job. I do what they say. They get mad because they didn't communicate the project correctly at the start. Whose fault? Mine.
This applies to recovery too. So much of my recovery has involved the same self-berating that anorexia involved. When I don't meet a calorie goal for the day, or when I have trouble going out to eat at a restaurant, I think, "Kim, you are such a loser. You couldn't do anorexia. Now you can't even recover right. Can you do anything right?" That, right there, is shame. Like the article says, if I felt guilty about not meeting a calorie goal, that could be beneficial. It could motivate me in some way. But, shame is not constructive at all. Drawing these gigantic conclusions about my character and my capabilities is not constructive at all.
I told my mom (via email) about my 3,000 calorie challenge. I prefaced it by saying, "I know you're probably rolling your eyes at yet another one of my attempts to eat more and gain the 10 lbs or whatever that I think will make a difference...but I felt like I wanted to tell you anyway, to be accountable." I had it in my head that she was sighing an exasperated sigh, as sick of my recovery "failures" as I am. But, no. She wrote back saying something like, "I'm always supportive of you. I assume there are many false starts. I read that smokers 'quit' 11 times before they finally quit. I love you exactly as you are, but will always hope that you can have total health."
So, once again, I'm my worst critic. I'm harder on myself than anyone else would be. I'm not a failure, damn it. I've come a long way. I have a biological illness. An illness! Most people with most illnesses don't feel ashamed. I know there is still work for me to do, freedom (and weight) to gain, but I haven't failed at anything. In fact, I'd say I've been quite a success :)
Update on The Challenge: Day 3, yesterday, went well! I discovered the joys of hiding things like protein powder and peanut butter in my oatmeal. I decided that mixing up a whole can of tuna for a sandwich (instead of half a can like usual) is just fine. And, hey, mixing in avocado along with the mayo is also pretty cool. When anorexia got mad at me for my lasagna portion at dinner (I literally ate half of the 8"x8" pan), I said, "What? It's just one piece. One big piece, but one piece. The 'one-scoop rule' is in effect -- whatever I can get with one lift of the spatula can't be too much. Shut up."
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Amends with my sister. We talked it out. Wow, what a concept -- talking things out.
2. More sunshine! The weather in California is beautiful right now -- bright blue skies, 70-something degrees.
3. A good night of sleep. No night sweats or racing heart. Yay!
4. The baby article in Psychology Today. In addition to the failure article, this one really hit home for me. It was about the effects of the mother's anxiety/depression and her eating habits on the unborn fetus. I don't even know if I want kids, but if I do, I sure as hell want to be healthy physically and emotionally before I get pregnant!
5. Appetite. I just ate a hefty peanut butter and banana sandwich with a glass of milk, but I'm hungry again. I guess I'll go with it. I got some good granola with chocolate flakes. That sounds good...
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Who said fat isn't a "feeling"?
...because I'm pretty sure that's what I'm feeling right now. Fat. I'm glad I'm doing this 3,000 calorie thing because it's forcing me to face the demons that have been lingering for years. I've said, "Gosh, I just want to gain some weight," but I haven't really meant that. After all, if I did mean it, I would have eaten 3,000 calories/day...and I didn't. I strategized and analyzed and maintained my body and my food consumption in a safety zone -- no weight gain, no weight loss. No movement. Nothing.
I know it's only been a couple days, but I'm having those anxieties already, the ones I had the last time I went through a concerted weight gain effort, which was, oh, 8 years ago. Holy hell. I'm having the irrational thoughts that I won't stop gaining. I'm calling myself names. Logic enters and says that gaining is just an experiment for now, to see if I feel better physically and mentally. Logic and Anorexia have it out until the wee hours of the morning. I haven't slept well the past couple nights. I keep breaking out in sweats and my heart is racing. Is this my body's response to eating this much, or is it my mind's?
I told my husband about my plan and he said, "Well, you're not totally weird. Anyone would have trouble eating as much as you do. I sure would. I'd feel sick." Um, thanks? Then he suggested I make it easier by just eating a large order of chili cheese fries from Del Taco three times a day. Riiight. Does this man even know me?!
Anyway, I'm doing okay. I'm hoping there is some kind of hump and that I get over it soon. I really do want to try this, if for no other reason than it terrifies me. It's like that Eleanor Roosevelt quote: "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." In my case, you gain weight too. Heh.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Trip to Home Depot. I've had all these ideas for how to re-do some things in our little condo, to kind of celebrate being married and making our space more "us." Of course, walking into Home Depot is almost as terrifying as eating 3,000 calories a day. I was instantly overwhelmed. There's the picking out of things, the installation process, the cost. After a half hour, we left, with a brochure about deck staining. That's it. On the way home, my husband said that now that he's working, maybe we should focus on saving for a house instead of working on the condo. I'd love that goal.
2. Peanut butter and olive oil. Give me a meal and I can add one of these to it for some extra calories. Easy.
3. Sunshine!
4. Fight with my sister. Yes, I'm grateful for this because I rarely fight with her. I hate conflict. But, I'm kind of sick of some old patterns. She was always the loud rebel, while I was the quiet, obedient "good" child (shocker, right?). We're close now, but there is still this sense that she throws tantrums (adult versions now) while I just sit back and say I don't want anything. I've helped her with all these damn papers, so I dared to ask her for a return favor -- cropping the picture for my headshot for the newspaper article. She "forgot." I told her I was pissed. I normally don't tell people I'm pissed. It felt good.
5. I was interviewed for the paper yesterday! The article will appear Friday, May 1st :)
I know it's only been a couple days, but I'm having those anxieties already, the ones I had the last time I went through a concerted weight gain effort, which was, oh, 8 years ago. Holy hell. I'm having the irrational thoughts that I won't stop gaining. I'm calling myself names. Logic enters and says that gaining is just an experiment for now, to see if I feel better physically and mentally. Logic and Anorexia have it out until the wee hours of the morning. I haven't slept well the past couple nights. I keep breaking out in sweats and my heart is racing. Is this my body's response to eating this much, or is it my mind's?
I told my husband about my plan and he said, "Well, you're not totally weird. Anyone would have trouble eating as much as you do. I sure would. I'd feel sick." Um, thanks? Then he suggested I make it easier by just eating a large order of chili cheese fries from Del Taco three times a day. Riiight. Does this man even know me?!
Anyway, I'm doing okay. I'm hoping there is some kind of hump and that I get over it soon. I really do want to try this, if for no other reason than it terrifies me. It's like that Eleanor Roosevelt quote: "You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face." In my case, you gain weight too. Heh.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Trip to Home Depot. I've had all these ideas for how to re-do some things in our little condo, to kind of celebrate being married and making our space more "us." Of course, walking into Home Depot is almost as terrifying as eating 3,000 calories a day. I was instantly overwhelmed. There's the picking out of things, the installation process, the cost. After a half hour, we left, with a brochure about deck staining. That's it. On the way home, my husband said that now that he's working, maybe we should focus on saving for a house instead of working on the condo. I'd love that goal.
2. Peanut butter and olive oil. Give me a meal and I can add one of these to it for some extra calories. Easy.
3. Sunshine!
4. Fight with my sister. Yes, I'm grateful for this because I rarely fight with her. I hate conflict. But, I'm kind of sick of some old patterns. She was always the loud rebel, while I was the quiet, obedient "good" child (shocker, right?). We're close now, but there is still this sense that she throws tantrums (adult versions now) while I just sit back and say I don't want anything. I've helped her with all these damn papers, so I dared to ask her for a return favor -- cropping the picture for my headshot for the newspaper article. She "forgot." I told her I was pissed. I normally don't tell people I'm pissed. It felt good.
5. I was interviewed for the paper yesterday! The article will appear Friday, May 1st :)
Friday, April 24, 2009
Just when you think you've heard it all...
I saw a headline on MSN about Australia's Miss Universe contest. It said something like, "Contestant healthy or too thin?" Of course, I clicked. One day, maybe I won't click on such things. Anyway, I'll just say that this woman is emaciated. Um, yeah. She defends herself by saying she eats 6-8 times per day and she has a fast metabolism. Blah blah -- heard that before. Then, the Pagenat director stepped up and said something I haven't heard before:
"[She] has Macedonian heritage, which accounts for her thinness. They have long, lithe bodies and small bones. It is their body type, just as Asian girls tend to be small."
There are so many things wrong with this sentence, I don't know where to start. Actually, yes I do. Let's start with the Macedonian heritage nonsense. What the hell is this? Did she just pull this straight out of her ass? And, the "Asian girls tend to be small" bit is just as equally dumb and insulting. There is no culture where all women are a certain size.
Just had to vent.
To update: Day 1 of "The Challenge" went pretty well (then again, first days of any challenge are usually the easiest. Motivation is fresh and all). Still, by the end of the day, I felt a little sick to my stomach. I couldn't sleep because my heart was pounding and I was breaking out in sweats. This always happens to me when I eat a lot. Hypermetabolism? Whatever it is, it's annoying. I'm sure it'll level out after a few days...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday. I'm actually looking forward to the weekend. Maybe we'll go out to eat at our favorite lunch spot. Maybe we'll browse Home Depot since I have this bug up my butt about doing home improvements.
2. Cool weather. California is confused. Just when it thought it was ready for summer, it decided to revert back to January. It's in the sixties. There may be drizzle today. Drizzle!
3. "Quinceanera" -- another good movie. Now that I work from home, I watch a movie almost every single day, as my "lunch break." I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can't do compulsively (except recovery, apparently -- haha).
4. Grocery list. I love making lists. I live for lists. Grocery lists are especially fun for me. I'm going to stock up on ice cream, smoothie stuff, cereal, and nuts. I figure those are all snacks I can add fairly easily without feeling too full.
5. I sent my headshot and some info to the newspaper dude. Putting myself out there, in any capacity, is never easy.
"[She] has Macedonian heritage, which accounts for her thinness. They have long, lithe bodies and small bones. It is their body type, just as Asian girls tend to be small."
There are so many things wrong with this sentence, I don't know where to start. Actually, yes I do. Let's start with the Macedonian heritage nonsense. What the hell is this? Did she just pull this straight out of her ass? And, the "Asian girls tend to be small" bit is just as equally dumb and insulting. There is no culture where all women are a certain size.
Just had to vent.
To update: Day 1 of "The Challenge" went pretty well (then again, first days of any challenge are usually the easiest. Motivation is fresh and all). Still, by the end of the day, I felt a little sick to my stomach. I couldn't sleep because my heart was pounding and I was breaking out in sweats. This always happens to me when I eat a lot. Hypermetabolism? Whatever it is, it's annoying. I'm sure it'll level out after a few days...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday. I'm actually looking forward to the weekend. Maybe we'll go out to eat at our favorite lunch spot. Maybe we'll browse Home Depot since I have this bug up my butt about doing home improvements.
2. Cool weather. California is confused. Just when it thought it was ready for summer, it decided to revert back to January. It's in the sixties. There may be drizzle today. Drizzle!
3. "Quinceanera" -- another good movie. Now that I work from home, I watch a movie almost every single day, as my "lunch break." I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can't do compulsively (except recovery, apparently -- haha).
4. Grocery list. I love making lists. I live for lists. Grocery lists are especially fun for me. I'm going to stock up on ice cream, smoothie stuff, cereal, and nuts. I figure those are all snacks I can add fairly easily without feeling too full.
5. I sent my headshot and some info to the newspaper dude. Putting myself out there, in any capacity, is never easy.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
3,000 calories for 30 days
I'm a bit hesitant to post this. It involves committing myself to something rather frightening.
If I had to summarize most of my recovery in one line, it would be this: Two steps forward, two steps back. I'm doing okay -- not bad, not great. I've been maintaining a particular status quo (in terms of not only weight, but attitude) for a number of years now. Every so often, I get inspired to face my remaining demons. I go see a nutritionist. I go see a therapist. I am very frank with them. I tell them, "Look, I can talk the talk, but when it comes to walking the walk, I've got a big rock in my shoe. It's very possible that a year will go by, and we'll be sitting here, staring at each other, talking about the same issues I'm about to tell you today." They nod. They assure me that we'll make progress. A year passes. Not much has changed.
There is nothing inherently wrong with where I'm at. I can live this way. I'm not on the verge of collapse. I'm thin, but not unhealthy (according to my doctor). I have weird food quirks, but I've kind of incorporated them into a relatively "normal" existence (is that sad?). The thing is that I have a sneaking suspicion that my life could be fuller -- in so many ways. I wonder if I'm just used to being where I'm at, so used to it that I don't realize I could feel so much better. I wonder what kind of brain chemicals would change if I gained weight -- 10, even 20 pounds, maybe. I wonder if the weight gain would help my anxiety. Of course, I can go on wondering about these things until the day I die. I can hypothesize that my anxiety would be reduced if I gained a little weight, that my thoughts about food would diminish if I gained a little weight, that my hormones would be more even if I gained a little weight. What about testing these hypotheses?
I can't really blame any of the professionals I've seen. It's not their fault at all. Really, this is up to me. I can go on as I am which, like I said, is not terrible by any means; or I can experiment with something new, just to see how it feels. I think about this experimentation quite often. But, I also think, "Well, I can start that tomorrow." What's strange is that I'm not this way about anything else in my life. I'm a very "line 'em up and I'll shoot 'em down" type of overachiever. I don't really procrastinate when there is a project with a clear goal. What's the deal?
I'm a little tired of thinking and wondering and navel-gazing. While on my morning walk, I decided that I would do this: 3,000 calories for 30 days. That is, 3,000 calories every day, for 30 days (ha -- I just realized how it could be interpreted differently). When I consider such a thing, I get goose bumps -- is it excitement? fear? I don't know. Here is what I do know:
--I've only successfully gained weight while inpatient at a treatment facility. I have no intention of returning to a treatment facility (I'm starting to see a meaning to the dream I wrote about in my last post).
-- On my own, I make progress for a while. Then, I lose motivation or stop paying close attention to calories in the name of stubbornly "eating what I want," and I end up back at the same place I started.
-- I need to count calories for now. It takes a lot for me to gain. I can't "eat what I want." At some point, I'll be able to eat intuitively, but not for now. That's ok.
-- I can only count calories. No fat grams. Nothing else. Just calories. I've learned enough about nutrition to know that's all that really matters anyway.
-- Why 3,000 calories? In my experience, that's what I need to gain. End of story.
-- I can do my usual exercise -- light yoga, a walk, some weights for my arms. That's it.
-- No body checking for 30 days.
-- No weighing. I don't have a scale anyway, but I just have to remind myself of this. I'm sure there are days I'll be convinced that I've gained 30 lbs, magically. I will seek out a scale, in some crazed frenzy. It's amazing how fast an anorexic chick can find a scale.
-- The grocery bill will be higher. That's just a fact. I'm not even going to tell myself, "don't worry about" because I will.
-- I can go out to eat as part of "the plan." I'm pretty good at estimating calories, and if I'm off, it's just one meal.
-- It won't really be that hard to eat that much. I always whine about how hard it is to gain weight. I'm a master excuse-maker. The truth is that a simple smoothie or bowl of ice cream would get me from where I'm at now to the 3,000. I can put cheese and avocado on my sandwiches (instead of choosing one or the other). I can have a glass of juice with every meal. It's just not that hard.
I'm thinking that I'll take myself shopping at the end of the 30 days. That would be...May 22nd. Yes, this means I'm starting today, though I'd really like to say, "I'll start tomorrow" ;) I have vain inspirations -- one of my best friend's weddings is in June, and I'm a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding in August. I want to look nice, damn it.
I can already feel my heart racing. Ok, it's just 30 days. I can always go back, if I want. I sure have before. I have a feeling I'll gain a bit though, and feel better. I won't want to go back. But, hey, I always can. There's a weird comfort in that.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. This post.
2. My always-comfortable, stretchy yoga pants.
3. My cats. I feel like a big dork for how they always make it to my gratitude list. I just love 'em. They don't give a shit what I weigh. They just want to sit on my lap and purr.
4. The website my husband and I are creating. We're making a site to keep in touch with our friends and family members -- to share pictures, let them know what we're up to, etc. The truth is it's more for us. It'll be like an online scrapbook, something for me to look at when I forget to be grateful for our relationship.
5. Silence. When my husband was at home with me, it was always noisy -- computers whirring away, air conditioning trying to keep up with the heat his computers put out. All I can hear right now is birds chirping outside.
If I had to summarize most of my recovery in one line, it would be this: Two steps forward, two steps back. I'm doing okay -- not bad, not great. I've been maintaining a particular status quo (in terms of not only weight, but attitude) for a number of years now. Every so often, I get inspired to face my remaining demons. I go see a nutritionist. I go see a therapist. I am very frank with them. I tell them, "Look, I can talk the talk, but when it comes to walking the walk, I've got a big rock in my shoe. It's very possible that a year will go by, and we'll be sitting here, staring at each other, talking about the same issues I'm about to tell you today." They nod. They assure me that we'll make progress. A year passes. Not much has changed.
There is nothing inherently wrong with where I'm at. I can live this way. I'm not on the verge of collapse. I'm thin, but not unhealthy (according to my doctor). I have weird food quirks, but I've kind of incorporated them into a relatively "normal" existence (is that sad?). The thing is that I have a sneaking suspicion that my life could be fuller -- in so many ways. I wonder if I'm just used to being where I'm at, so used to it that I don't realize I could feel so much better. I wonder what kind of brain chemicals would change if I gained weight -- 10, even 20 pounds, maybe. I wonder if the weight gain would help my anxiety. Of course, I can go on wondering about these things until the day I die. I can hypothesize that my anxiety would be reduced if I gained a little weight, that my thoughts about food would diminish if I gained a little weight, that my hormones would be more even if I gained a little weight. What about testing these hypotheses?
I can't really blame any of the professionals I've seen. It's not their fault at all. Really, this is up to me. I can go on as I am which, like I said, is not terrible by any means; or I can experiment with something new, just to see how it feels. I think about this experimentation quite often. But, I also think, "Well, I can start that tomorrow." What's strange is that I'm not this way about anything else in my life. I'm a very "line 'em up and I'll shoot 'em down" type of overachiever. I don't really procrastinate when there is a project with a clear goal. What's the deal?
I'm a little tired of thinking and wondering and navel-gazing. While on my morning walk, I decided that I would do this: 3,000 calories for 30 days. That is, 3,000 calories every day, for 30 days (ha -- I just realized how it could be interpreted differently). When I consider such a thing, I get goose bumps -- is it excitement? fear? I don't know. Here is what I do know:
--I've only successfully gained weight while inpatient at a treatment facility. I have no intention of returning to a treatment facility (I'm starting to see a meaning to the dream I wrote about in my last post).
-- On my own, I make progress for a while. Then, I lose motivation or stop paying close attention to calories in the name of stubbornly "eating what I want," and I end up back at the same place I started.
-- I need to count calories for now. It takes a lot for me to gain. I can't "eat what I want." At some point, I'll be able to eat intuitively, but not for now. That's ok.
-- I can only count calories. No fat grams. Nothing else. Just calories. I've learned enough about nutrition to know that's all that really matters anyway.
-- Why 3,000 calories? In my experience, that's what I need to gain. End of story.
-- I can do my usual exercise -- light yoga, a walk, some weights for my arms. That's it.
-- No body checking for 30 days.
-- No weighing. I don't have a scale anyway, but I just have to remind myself of this. I'm sure there are days I'll be convinced that I've gained 30 lbs, magically. I will seek out a scale, in some crazed frenzy. It's amazing how fast an anorexic chick can find a scale.
-- The grocery bill will be higher. That's just a fact. I'm not even going to tell myself, "don't worry about" because I will.
-- I can go out to eat as part of "the plan." I'm pretty good at estimating calories, and if I'm off, it's just one meal.
-- It won't really be that hard to eat that much. I always whine about how hard it is to gain weight. I'm a master excuse-maker. The truth is that a simple smoothie or bowl of ice cream would get me from where I'm at now to the 3,000. I can put cheese and avocado on my sandwiches (instead of choosing one or the other). I can have a glass of juice with every meal. It's just not that hard.
I'm thinking that I'll take myself shopping at the end of the 30 days. That would be...May 22nd. Yes, this means I'm starting today, though I'd really like to say, "I'll start tomorrow" ;) I have vain inspirations -- one of my best friend's weddings is in June, and I'm a bridesmaid in my sister's wedding in August. I want to look nice, damn it.
I can already feel my heart racing. Ok, it's just 30 days. I can always go back, if I want. I sure have before. I have a feeling I'll gain a bit though, and feel better. I won't want to go back. But, hey, I always can. There's a weird comfort in that.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. This post.
2. My always-comfortable, stretchy yoga pants.
3. My cats. I feel like a big dork for how they always make it to my gratitude list. I just love 'em. They don't give a shit what I weigh. They just want to sit on my lap and purr.
4. The website my husband and I are creating. We're making a site to keep in touch with our friends and family members -- to share pictures, let them know what we're up to, etc. The truth is it's more for us. It'll be like an online scrapbook, something for me to look at when I forget to be grateful for our relationship.
5. Silence. When my husband was at home with me, it was always noisy -- computers whirring away, air conditioning trying to keep up with the heat his computers put out. All I can hear right now is birds chirping outside.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Anorexia Correctional Facility?
I'm not really a New Age-y type person. Though I think dreams are interesting, I don't really care to interpret them too much. Mostly, I think my brain picks up on certain things during the day and dreams are the result of a conglomeration of those things. It's like when a computer goes into archive mode -- sifting through files and bits of information, consolidating where necessary. Every now and then though, I have a dream that makes me stop and think. Last night, I had one of those.
So, in my dream, I am convicted of "petty theft." In my dream, petty theft is way worse than any other crime. I am sent to prison. However, when I get to this prison, I realize that it's actually an eating disorder treatment facility. I have this feeling of being trapped with a bunch of other women. Some have been there for years. I get to go home at night. My mom picks me up and tries to tell me that everything will be ok. I can't believe her though. I am thoroughly depressed that I am in this prison, for an indefinite period of time.
That's it. I woke up feeling...weird. Anyone care to interpret?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. http://www.celebrityenglish.com/. I visit this site, along with http://www.fmylife.com/, when I'm in need of quick amusement.
2. I might be in the paper! The Orange County Register is doing a piece about DimeStories. We have a showcase coming up on May 3rd. I'll be reading. I may be interviewed for the news piece. A headshot may be involved. The requirements actually said, "Just your head, please. No body." Word. The closest I've ever come to fame before is winning a bicycle raffle at El Torito restaurant and having my name and picture on the wall. I was eight.
3. In a groove with the husband. Things are going well on the homefront. He doesn't seem to enjoy waking up and going off to work, but I sure do. He's home by 3 or 4. I play computer games with him for a couple hours because, hey, I'm cool like that. I make dinner and we watch a DVD. It's nice.
4. "White Teeth" by Zadie Smith.
5. Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler." What a moving performance. I just watched it last night.
So, in my dream, I am convicted of "petty theft." In my dream, petty theft is way worse than any other crime. I am sent to prison. However, when I get to this prison, I realize that it's actually an eating disorder treatment facility. I have this feeling of being trapped with a bunch of other women. Some have been there for years. I get to go home at night. My mom picks me up and tries to tell me that everything will be ok. I can't believe her though. I am thoroughly depressed that I am in this prison, for an indefinite period of time.
That's it. I woke up feeling...weird. Anyone care to interpret?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. http://www.celebrityenglish.com/. I visit this site, along with http://www.fmylife.com/, when I'm in need of quick amusement.
2. I might be in the paper! The Orange County Register is doing a piece about DimeStories. We have a showcase coming up on May 3rd. I'll be reading. I may be interviewed for the news piece. A headshot may be involved. The requirements actually said, "Just your head, please. No body." Word. The closest I've ever come to fame before is winning a bicycle raffle at El Torito restaurant and having my name and picture on the wall. I was eight.
3. In a groove with the husband. Things are going well on the homefront. He doesn't seem to enjoy waking up and going off to work, but I sure do. He's home by 3 or 4. I play computer games with him for a couple hours because, hey, I'm cool like that. I make dinner and we watch a DVD. It's nice.
4. "White Teeth" by Zadie Smith.
5. Mickey Rourke in "The Wrestler." What a moving performance. I just watched it last night.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Change theory
Late last week, my sister sent me yet another paper to review/edit. This one is about Kurt Lewin's change theory. Again, I wonder what the hell this has to do with a career in nursing, but I've renounced frustration in favor of gratitude for the fact that she graduates on May 8th.
So, this Kurt Lewin guy says there are three components of change:
- Unfreezing
- Moving
- Refreezing
The first phase, unfreezing, consists of both the recognition of the need for change and the readiness to change. The second phase is movement. This is when the actual change occurs. The idea of change matures from a belief into an observable behavior. In the final stage of change, refreezing, the change that occurred is integrated into one's value system.
Of course, this got me thinking about recovery from anorexia. That is all about change. It's all about leaving behind a system of rules and regulations and restrictions. It's not just about learning how to eat. It's about learning how to manage anxiety. It's coming to terms with our own brains and figuring out which demons to accept and which to fight. It's a whole hell of a lot of change.
The reason anorexia is such a bitch is because I think it can take years of illness to even begin to "unfreeze." Yep, I was pretty much frozen from 1997-2001. I was moving, even refreezing healthy behaviors after my treatment stint in 2001. Then, I had a bad break-up around 2002-ish and flirted with anorexia. I had to unthaw all over again before I was moving, until 2005, when another break-up sent me back to my former lover, anorexia. Since 2005, I've been moving. I'm thawed. Sometimes, I refreeze a new, healthier way of thinking. I've made changes. There are the obvious food-related ones (like I welcome fat into my diet every day and I can go out to eat without much issue); but there are the other ones too, like I can speak up when I'm upset, and I don't commence total self-punishment when I make a mistake, and I can buy myself something and feel justified in it, most of the time. It's all related. It's all a part of "the change." (Oh my, I think I've just revealed that I read the first two "Twilight" books).
I know I still have a lot of thawing and moving to go though. I don't really trust my body yet. I don't always know what I want to eat (or, in general). Spontaneity isn't easy for me. I assume the process is more complicated than Lewin implies -- unfreeze, move, refreeze. I think there's a lot more back-and-forth involved. In my life, for instance, I've got the unfreezing thing down. I want to change. I'm ready for it. So, I start moving. I break a rule/try something new/gain a little/relinquish some exercise compulsion. This is the point when I'm thawed. This is the point when I can refreeze with my new way of being, or I can get scared and refreeze back to anorexia. In 2002 and 2005, I chose the latter.
I've seen people who have recovered fully, and refrozen with their new, healthier values and lifestyle. I have to believe that's possible. The integration of new beliefs could take years, but that's okay with me. I'm learning to accept the process of it. I didn't become anorexic overnight; and I doubt I'll recover overnight. Waiting for that magical day, expecting a parade with trumpets blaring, has only held me back. There is no parade. There is no magic to it. I think it's just work.
What are your thoughts on unfreezing/moving/refreezing? Where are you at in the process?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Weekend getaway! We drove up to my parents' condo, near Ventura Beach. I remembered how much my husband and I like road trips, even if they're just a few hours. We seem to have so much to talk about and laugh about, always. Here's my view from the condo couch:
2. Sponatenous ice cream stop. Ok, so it was a sort-of-spontaneous ice cream stop. It's not like I just saw the ice cream shop off PCH and said, "Wait, stop the car!" I knew it was coming. My treatment center back in 2001 was near Malibu. I used to frequent the ice cream shop. I mentioned wanting to go when I knew it was approaching. Yes, I said, "Hey, can we get ice cream?" This is big for me. The shop is more known for their frozen yogurt. I don't know, regular ice cream is so much more fulfilling to me now.
3. Beach walk. It was beautiful this morning. I went by myself, while my husband slept in (his last hooray before starting work tomorrow). Apparently, for this weekend getaway, there is a foot fetish. I don't know.
4. Keeping my cool. Last night, as my dinner was cooking, the power just went out. My first thought: "Ugh, see, every time I suggest a fun outing, something goes wrong!" I was worried dinner was going to be ruined since I had the oven and stovetop going when the power went out. But, instead of going down my usual negative road, I thought, "Ok, we can go get pizza. There's a Papa John's up the road. It's ok." About 5 minutes after I had that thought, the power came back on. Dinner was delicious.
5. My hubby starts his new job tomorrow! I can't wait. I'm going to pack his lunch. Ha.
Patience
Now that I've titled my blog as I have, that Guns n' Roses song is in my head. Anyway...
I was driving to the pharmacy yesterday, feeling agitated by the dirt on my windshield, and cursing the makers of the windshield spray. It only shoots up a few inches. This doesn't help me! When I stop at a red light, I actually consider getting out and pouring a bottle of water (that's been in my cupholder since 2007, I think) over the windshield because I just can't stand the dirt. Then I stop myself. I realize I have some OCD issues. I also realize I'm very, very impatient.
I don't think I've always been impatient. I've always preferred instant gratification (who doesn't?), but I remember days when I could "let things slide." Can I have those days back? It seems to me that impatience and anorexia go hand in hand. After all, recovery is all about having a hell of a lot of patience. I mean, it feels like shit for months and months, until it starts to feel a little less like shit, and then, maybe, it starts to feel kind of normal. I have to think that it's years before it feels "good." Being impatient, I get very irritated when I'm not suddenly better. I'll eat wonderfully for a few weeks and think, "Ok, this is it. Are we done yet?" Then, I'll have a bad day, feel no motivation to go near the pantry, and my mentality becomes, "F&$%#@ it." And we're back at square one. Anorexia loves square one.
Patience is a virtue for a reason, right? And being virtuous is pretty cool, right? I'm trying. Wait, I hate that word -- trying. It's so passive. I'll say that I am becoming more patient. There. That's active. I'm understanding the ebbs and flows of recovery. In fact, I'm understanding that it's not just recovery that ebbs and flows -- it's life. Everyone has good days and bad days. It's no reason to get rash and throw in the proverbial towel.
The thing is that I don't really like myself as an impatient person. I'm not happy about this trait. It makes me very bitchy. It makes me very negative. If I'm going through a hard time, I just want it to be over. I can't appreciate anything about it. I'm just mad and annoyed, and I will make the lives of everyone around me hell until things get better. I will not be happy until my windshield is clean, damn it!
It's not all bad. I'll admit to that. My impatience is what makes me a good worker, for example. I don't like to sit on assignments. I'm impatient for that rush of accomplishment and completion. The second something hits my work inbox, I'm on it. It's done in two hours. The voice in my head that tells me I'm worthless and inept can shut up. And, maybe that's the issue -- maybe impatience comes from perfectionism. Maybe impatience comes from an inability to tolerate things that are unknown or incomplete or "up in the air." Maybe impatience is the result of how uncomfortable I am with just sitting back and trusting that things will get done, or a solution will come to me. After all, much of my days (and meals) are based on a to-do list. I just want to check things off and get on with it. What a sad way to live!
In being more patient, I think recovery will offer more opportunities for growth and reflection. It won't just be this task, this other thing on my to-do list. In being more patient, I won't get so stuck in the moment. I'll likely have more patience for others. Seriously, I swear at strangers way too often within the confines of my head. And I'm a total bitch to my husband sometimes. In being more patient, I'll give my brain time to process the things that really matter. Sometimes, things have to sit on the to-do list so I can see that they're not really that important. Or, I'll make better decisions if I take a night or two to sleep on them (even if I can't sleep because I'm a restless insomniac when things are on my mind).
If you're wondering, I waited until I got to the pharmacy parking lot before pouring water on my windshield, and letting the wipers do their business. I know, I know, it's still very weird, but it would have been weirder to do it at the red light.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I f-ed up and accidentally missed a payment on my credit card. I realize this is not something most people would feel grateful about, but I'm trying to appreciate the fact that I'm human. I mean, I was on my honeymoon in Japan. I wasn't really aware that my bill was due. It's forgivable, right? Well, even my credit card company seemed to think so. They say they'll clear the fee. Of course, my OCD will have me refreshing the web page until I see the fee actually cleared, but that's another matter. Anyway, the point is that I'm not perfect, and while that upsets me, I think I can be ok with it.
2. My husband took the job! It's 30 hours/week, but with full-time benefits and a decent salary. I could not be happier! I slept like a baby last night. I don't think I realized how much this was weighing on me. Well, I did. I knew it was weighing on me, but the relief I feel now is just so amazing. I think it'll do him (and us as a couple) good for him to be out of the house, on a regular schedule, making some money, feeling productive. Considering I work from home, it's been hard sharing the office, listening to him play games. I really can't believe one of us didn't kill the other in the last 6 months.
3. We're going to the beach this weekend :) We're leaving tomorrow. I'm in a tizzy, of course. When did I start stressing about "fun"? I remember looking forward to fun up until the age of about 23. Then something happened. I dwell on logistics -- packing, traffic, food, weather. It'll be fine. We'll watch DVDs and be lazy and walk on the sand in the morning.
4. Grocery day! I'm loading up. I do this once every couple weeks. Having all the food in the fridge causes me anxiety, but I'm trying to be patient with that. The food will get eaten. It's not all going to rot. The electricity is not going to go out. The fridge is not going to die. I really do think about these things. Do I need medication?
5. Weights. My mom (she's a physical therapist) showed me a few exercises to do to strengthen my arms, legs, and back. I'm worried about my bones and want to do whatever I can to keep them strong. I get enough calcium with all the freaking dairy I eat, but I know weight-bearing exercise is important. I can barely handle a 5-lb dumbell. How sad is that? Ha.
I was driving to the pharmacy yesterday, feeling agitated by the dirt on my windshield, and cursing the makers of the windshield spray. It only shoots up a few inches. This doesn't help me! When I stop at a red light, I actually consider getting out and pouring a bottle of water (that's been in my cupholder since 2007, I think) over the windshield because I just can't stand the dirt. Then I stop myself. I realize I have some OCD issues. I also realize I'm very, very impatient.
I don't think I've always been impatient. I've always preferred instant gratification (who doesn't?), but I remember days when I could "let things slide." Can I have those days back? It seems to me that impatience and anorexia go hand in hand. After all, recovery is all about having a hell of a lot of patience. I mean, it feels like shit for months and months, until it starts to feel a little less like shit, and then, maybe, it starts to feel kind of normal. I have to think that it's years before it feels "good." Being impatient, I get very irritated when I'm not suddenly better. I'll eat wonderfully for a few weeks and think, "Ok, this is it. Are we done yet?" Then, I'll have a bad day, feel no motivation to go near the pantry, and my mentality becomes, "F&$%#@ it." And we're back at square one. Anorexia loves square one.
Patience is a virtue for a reason, right? And being virtuous is pretty cool, right? I'm trying. Wait, I hate that word -- trying. It's so passive. I'll say that I am becoming more patient. There. That's active. I'm understanding the ebbs and flows of recovery. In fact, I'm understanding that it's not just recovery that ebbs and flows -- it's life. Everyone has good days and bad days. It's no reason to get rash and throw in the proverbial towel.
The thing is that I don't really like myself as an impatient person. I'm not happy about this trait. It makes me very bitchy. It makes me very negative. If I'm going through a hard time, I just want it to be over. I can't appreciate anything about it. I'm just mad and annoyed, and I will make the lives of everyone around me hell until things get better. I will not be happy until my windshield is clean, damn it!
It's not all bad. I'll admit to that. My impatience is what makes me a good worker, for example. I don't like to sit on assignments. I'm impatient for that rush of accomplishment and completion. The second something hits my work inbox, I'm on it. It's done in two hours. The voice in my head that tells me I'm worthless and inept can shut up. And, maybe that's the issue -- maybe impatience comes from perfectionism. Maybe impatience comes from an inability to tolerate things that are unknown or incomplete or "up in the air." Maybe impatience is the result of how uncomfortable I am with just sitting back and trusting that things will get done, or a solution will come to me. After all, much of my days (and meals) are based on a to-do list. I just want to check things off and get on with it. What a sad way to live!
In being more patient, I think recovery will offer more opportunities for growth and reflection. It won't just be this task, this other thing on my to-do list. In being more patient, I won't get so stuck in the moment. I'll likely have more patience for others. Seriously, I swear at strangers way too often within the confines of my head. And I'm a total bitch to my husband sometimes. In being more patient, I'll give my brain time to process the things that really matter. Sometimes, things have to sit on the to-do list so I can see that they're not really that important. Or, I'll make better decisions if I take a night or two to sleep on them (even if I can't sleep because I'm a restless insomniac when things are on my mind).
If you're wondering, I waited until I got to the pharmacy parking lot before pouring water on my windshield, and letting the wipers do their business. I know, I know, it's still very weird, but it would have been weirder to do it at the red light.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I f-ed up and accidentally missed a payment on my credit card. I realize this is not something most people would feel grateful about, but I'm trying to appreciate the fact that I'm human. I mean, I was on my honeymoon in Japan. I wasn't really aware that my bill was due. It's forgivable, right? Well, even my credit card company seemed to think so. They say they'll clear the fee. Of course, my OCD will have me refreshing the web page until I see the fee actually cleared, but that's another matter. Anyway, the point is that I'm not perfect, and while that upsets me, I think I can be ok with it.
2. My husband took the job! It's 30 hours/week, but with full-time benefits and a decent salary. I could not be happier! I slept like a baby last night. I don't think I realized how much this was weighing on me. Well, I did. I knew it was weighing on me, but the relief I feel now is just so amazing. I think it'll do him (and us as a couple) good for him to be out of the house, on a regular schedule, making some money, feeling productive. Considering I work from home, it's been hard sharing the office, listening to him play games. I really can't believe one of us didn't kill the other in the last 6 months.
3. We're going to the beach this weekend :) We're leaving tomorrow. I'm in a tizzy, of course. When did I start stressing about "fun"? I remember looking forward to fun up until the age of about 23. Then something happened. I dwell on logistics -- packing, traffic, food, weather. It'll be fine. We'll watch DVDs and be lazy and walk on the sand in the morning.
4. Grocery day! I'm loading up. I do this once every couple weeks. Having all the food in the fridge causes me anxiety, but I'm trying to be patient with that. The food will get eaten. It's not all going to rot. The electricity is not going to go out. The fridge is not going to die. I really do think about these things. Do I need medication?
5. Weights. My mom (she's a physical therapist) showed me a few exercises to do to strengthen my arms, legs, and back. I'm worried about my bones and want to do whatever I can to keep them strong. I get enough calcium with all the freaking dairy I eat, but I know weight-bearing exercise is important. I can barely handle a 5-lb dumbell. How sad is that? Ha.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
A peculiar flirtation
Warning: Weird thoughts ahead. I have a superstar headache (meaning, I think it deserves a starring role in an Excedrin commercial).
Being a writer, I'm often asked to read and edit papers/letters/whatever for friends. This past year, my sister has been in an accelerated nursing school program, and there have been A LOT of papers. I mostly edit, but I did write a rather opinionated essay on stem cell research (which, apparently, did not please her very conservative teacher). And I wrote something about euthanasia. I don't really understand why a nurse-to-be has to write all this crap, but I guess there are hoops to jump through for any degree. Anyway, her most recent assignment had to do with an advance directive, which basically asks you to designate how you want your death to go down. Some questions to consider:
-Who will act as agent to make health care decisions for you, if you are incapable?
-Do you want measures to be taken to prolong your life if you have an incurable condition, or if it's unlikely you'll regain consciousness?
-Do you want to donate your organs?
My sister says that most people consider it "creepy" to fill out this form, and have it notarized, but I'm rather intrigued by it. The thing is that I've had a strange fascination with death ever since I developed my eating disorder. I don't mean this to be depressing or morose. In some ways, I think anorexia is a flirtation with death; and, in some ways, I think you have to flirt a little with death to realize you want to live (kind of like how you have to flirt with a loser at a party to realize the qualities you want in your husband...but I digress).
My flirtation has involved a love of the shows "Six Feet Under" and "CSI." It has involved putting my name down to volunteer at a hospice. I was never contacted, but I did have a brief stint at a cat hospice where one feline, Charlie, was said to have the ability to predict death's coming (if he spent the night with a cat, that cat would expire within the week. So, Charlie = Grim Reaper). I love books like "Stiff." I scan news sites and find myself drawn to stories of people who meet their end in some strange, unexpected way (like a meteor falling out of the sky). It's like -- bam -- all their thoughts, all their anxieties, all their wishes, all their fears GONE. Just like that.
Am I really morbid and macabre? I don't think so. I think it just keeps me in check to have some perspective. My sister says most people don't like to think, "Wow, I'm going to die some day," but I have this thought pretty regularly, and I welcome it. With that thought, things like calories seem like such a silly preoccupation. For a second, I think of my body as just a vessel. I realize that treating the vessel well is part of having a happy life. I realize that having a happy life should be a pretty big goal because life is freaking short, even if I do live to be 100. Practically speaking, we're all dying a little every day; but, with anorexia, I die a lot every day -- physically, emotionally. Frankly, there are times when I've felt more dead than alive, if there were a spectrum for this. That's sad. When it's "my time," I want to feel like I really lived. I want to feel satisfied with my life. I know I won't reminisce fondly about my carb-protein balance, or my exercise routine. That stuff is nonsense. I want to find what truly matters.
What do you think? Do you think about death often? Am I a nutjob?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I think I can take back control of my backyard today. For the past few days, I have awakened to find strange men in my yard. Apparently, my Homeowners Association neglected to tell me of this project, involving "power washing" the walls and windows at 7am and invading my patio to paint all the exterior surfaces. Nice. My cats are not pleased.
2. "Tortilla Curtain" by TC Boyle. Good book.
3. Husband's interview went well. I know he doesn't want to go back to a "regular" job. I know he wants to hold out hope for his company. He wants to work at home. But, the reality is that his company lost two major clients. He hasn't had work for more than 6 months. We need income. He interviewed yesterday. I'm hoping he takes a position. I'm trying to be gently encouraging. I have to trust he'll make a good decision. After all, he knows how I feel.
4. Appetite. It's raging lately. I'm pretty close to giving up on "understanding" my appetite. It doesn't make any logical sense. What fills me up one day doesn't hold me over more than 5 minutes the next day. My body will do what it wants. It will give me very bad headaches if it wants, for example.
5. Weekend getaway? I told my husband I wanted to do more fun things. My parents have a condo at the beach. I'm thinking we should go this weekend. I'm always worried that things I suggest won't go well. What if there's traffic going there? What if we have nothing to do but stare at each other? What if the weather's bad? This is why we end up sitting at home on weekends. My husband is a content homebody, and I'm too afraid to venture out and test "fun." I think I should test it this weekend.
Being a writer, I'm often asked to read and edit papers/letters/whatever for friends. This past year, my sister has been in an accelerated nursing school program, and there have been A LOT of papers. I mostly edit, but I did write a rather opinionated essay on stem cell research (which, apparently, did not please her very conservative teacher). And I wrote something about euthanasia. I don't really understand why a nurse-to-be has to write all this crap, but I guess there are hoops to jump through for any degree. Anyway, her most recent assignment had to do with an advance directive, which basically asks you to designate how you want your death to go down. Some questions to consider:
-Who will act as agent to make health care decisions for you, if you are incapable?
-Do you want measures to be taken to prolong your life if you have an incurable condition, or if it's unlikely you'll regain consciousness?
-Do you want to donate your organs?
My sister says that most people consider it "creepy" to fill out this form, and have it notarized, but I'm rather intrigued by it. The thing is that I've had a strange fascination with death ever since I developed my eating disorder. I don't mean this to be depressing or morose. In some ways, I think anorexia is a flirtation with death; and, in some ways, I think you have to flirt a little with death to realize you want to live (kind of like how you have to flirt with a loser at a party to realize the qualities you want in your husband...but I digress).
My flirtation has involved a love of the shows "Six Feet Under" and "CSI." It has involved putting my name down to volunteer at a hospice. I was never contacted, but I did have a brief stint at a cat hospice where one feline, Charlie, was said to have the ability to predict death's coming (if he spent the night with a cat, that cat would expire within the week. So, Charlie = Grim Reaper). I love books like "Stiff." I scan news sites and find myself drawn to stories of people who meet their end in some strange, unexpected way (like a meteor falling out of the sky). It's like -- bam -- all their thoughts, all their anxieties, all their wishes, all their fears GONE. Just like that.
Am I really morbid and macabre? I don't think so. I think it just keeps me in check to have some perspective. My sister says most people don't like to think, "Wow, I'm going to die some day," but I have this thought pretty regularly, and I welcome it. With that thought, things like calories seem like such a silly preoccupation. For a second, I think of my body as just a vessel. I realize that treating the vessel well is part of having a happy life. I realize that having a happy life should be a pretty big goal because life is freaking short, even if I do live to be 100. Practically speaking, we're all dying a little every day; but, with anorexia, I die a lot every day -- physically, emotionally. Frankly, there are times when I've felt more dead than alive, if there were a spectrum for this. That's sad. When it's "my time," I want to feel like I really lived. I want to feel satisfied with my life. I know I won't reminisce fondly about my carb-protein balance, or my exercise routine. That stuff is nonsense. I want to find what truly matters.
What do you think? Do you think about death often? Am I a nutjob?
***
Today's gratitude:
1. I think I can take back control of my backyard today. For the past few days, I have awakened to find strange men in my yard. Apparently, my Homeowners Association neglected to tell me of this project, involving "power washing" the walls and windows at 7am and invading my patio to paint all the exterior surfaces. Nice. My cats are not pleased.
2. "Tortilla Curtain" by TC Boyle. Good book.
3. Husband's interview went well. I know he doesn't want to go back to a "regular" job. I know he wants to hold out hope for his company. He wants to work at home. But, the reality is that his company lost two major clients. He hasn't had work for more than 6 months. We need income. He interviewed yesterday. I'm hoping he takes a position. I'm trying to be gently encouraging. I have to trust he'll make a good decision. After all, he knows how I feel.
4. Appetite. It's raging lately. I'm pretty close to giving up on "understanding" my appetite. It doesn't make any logical sense. What fills me up one day doesn't hold me over more than 5 minutes the next day. My body will do what it wants. It will give me very bad headaches if it wants, for example.
5. Weekend getaway? I told my husband I wanted to do more fun things. My parents have a condo at the beach. I'm thinking we should go this weekend. I'm always worried that things I suggest won't go well. What if there's traffic going there? What if we have nothing to do but stare at each other? What if the weather's bad? This is why we end up sitting at home on weekends. My husband is a content homebody, and I'm too afraid to venture out and test "fun." I think I should test it this weekend.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Fighting 101
Is there a course by this name, perhaps at the local Anorexia Community College? If so, I would like to enroll.
It amuses me that my major in college was "Communication." It amuses me more that I graduated with straight A's...in communication. Like any good anorexic, I am very bad at communication (i.e., "Oh, no need to share my thoughts. I'll just eat my opinions for dinner, thanks"). I am even worse at fighting.
Here is me in a conflict scenario: "I am upset about X. Should I be upset about X? Probably not. I'm stupid to be upset about X. I should not have these feelings. Instead, I will bring up Y and see where that gets me."
There's a phrase for this: Walking on eggshells. When you don't weigh much, it's pretty damn easy. You're light on your feet. When you're recovering, it doesn't go so well.
On Friday, my husband and I had a fight. It started as most of our fights do -- in fits and starts. I usually blurt out something that is somewhat related, but not really related, to the core problem (this is the "Y"). Case in point: I am upset that he has been so complacent and passive, playing computer jobs while I earn an income that doesn't really allow us to save money for, you know, car insurance. This is what I say: "So, have you talked to any job recruiters?" He tries to get at what's really on my mind, because it's quite obvious I'm bothered. I manage to say that I'm stressed about money. I manage to admit that I'm worried about his attitude. But I won't just say what I WANT -- which is for him to get off his ass. In fact, I'm so afraid to say this, to express this want, that I actually end up leaving for the weekend to visit my parents.
This is what we call "conflict avoidance." I guess going to see my parents is better than skipping dinner, but still.
I came home today, after gathering my thoughts. I felt more confident, more validated in my feelings, after talking with my mom and dad. When did I acquire such insecurities? When did I decide that the way I feel is "wrong"? My husband and I talked. I expressed myself, so much so that I had a ravenous appetite for dinner (always a good sign). He is looking into some job leads tomorrow. I also mentioned wanting to do fun things more often, and he said, "Just ask, then. I want to do whatever you want to do." Just ask? Novel concept.
I've always thought that recovery and communication go hand in hand. Like I say, recovery is all about "use your words and eat your food" (in opposition to anorexia, which is "use your food and eat your words"). I'm still learning, but I get better and better.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. My voice. See above.
2. I read one of my short stories in public :) I do this about once a month, and it doesn't get any easier for me. I don't like public speaking. I'm convinced that when I step up to the podium and open my mouth, English will not come out. It's like I think I'm just going to start speaking in tongues. But, I read my story, in English. I've been chosen to be part of a special showcase on May 3rd too. I'm proud of myself. For more about the readings, you can can check out this site: http://www.dimestories.org/ My stories may be in the archives soon.
3. Parents. They always know just what to say. And the white wine they have in their fridge is really quite good.
4. Perspective. A friend of my parents' passed away this past week, from cancer. I didn't know him, though his daughter bartended at my wedding party. Death saddens me, and it kind of wakes me up to the fact that I'm still alive, though some days I feel dead, or some days I want to be dead. Happiness, whatever that means, takes effort. I only live once (I think), so I want to make the effort.
5. More perspective. When my sister and I were in high school, her friend, Shannon, died in a car accident. It was my first real encounter with death. The anniversary of the accident was yesterday. Shannon is my sister's age; her older sister is my age. I think about it all the time. I think about how grateful I am to have my sister, and how sad I would be if she wasn't here to share stories and make jokes about boys, our parents, the strange nicknames we had for our pets, etc.
I guess my main gratitude is realizing, for today at least, that life is much bigger than my eating disorder.
It amuses me that my major in college was "Communication." It amuses me more that I graduated with straight A's...in communication. Like any good anorexic, I am very bad at communication (i.e., "Oh, no need to share my thoughts. I'll just eat my opinions for dinner, thanks"). I am even worse at fighting.
Here is me in a conflict scenario: "I am upset about X. Should I be upset about X? Probably not. I'm stupid to be upset about X. I should not have these feelings. Instead, I will bring up Y and see where that gets me."
There's a phrase for this: Walking on eggshells. When you don't weigh much, it's pretty damn easy. You're light on your feet. When you're recovering, it doesn't go so well.
On Friday, my husband and I had a fight. It started as most of our fights do -- in fits and starts. I usually blurt out something that is somewhat related, but not really related, to the core problem (this is the "Y"). Case in point: I am upset that he has been so complacent and passive, playing computer jobs while I earn an income that doesn't really allow us to save money for, you know, car insurance. This is what I say: "So, have you talked to any job recruiters?" He tries to get at what's really on my mind, because it's quite obvious I'm bothered. I manage to say that I'm stressed about money. I manage to admit that I'm worried about his attitude. But I won't just say what I WANT -- which is for him to get off his ass. In fact, I'm so afraid to say this, to express this want, that I actually end up leaving for the weekend to visit my parents.
This is what we call "conflict avoidance." I guess going to see my parents is better than skipping dinner, but still.
I came home today, after gathering my thoughts. I felt more confident, more validated in my feelings, after talking with my mom and dad. When did I acquire such insecurities? When did I decide that the way I feel is "wrong"? My husband and I talked. I expressed myself, so much so that I had a ravenous appetite for dinner (always a good sign). He is looking into some job leads tomorrow. I also mentioned wanting to do fun things more often, and he said, "Just ask, then. I want to do whatever you want to do." Just ask? Novel concept.
I've always thought that recovery and communication go hand in hand. Like I say, recovery is all about "use your words and eat your food" (in opposition to anorexia, which is "use your food and eat your words"). I'm still learning, but I get better and better.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. My voice. See above.
2. I read one of my short stories in public :) I do this about once a month, and it doesn't get any easier for me. I don't like public speaking. I'm convinced that when I step up to the podium and open my mouth, English will not come out. It's like I think I'm just going to start speaking in tongues. But, I read my story, in English. I've been chosen to be part of a special showcase on May 3rd too. I'm proud of myself. For more about the readings, you can can check out this site: http://www.dimestories.org/ My stories may be in the archives soon.
3. Parents. They always know just what to say. And the white wine they have in their fridge is really quite good.
4. Perspective. A friend of my parents' passed away this past week, from cancer. I didn't know him, though his daughter bartended at my wedding party. Death saddens me, and it kind of wakes me up to the fact that I'm still alive, though some days I feel dead, or some days I want to be dead. Happiness, whatever that means, takes effort. I only live once (I think), so I want to make the effort.
5. More perspective. When my sister and I were in high school, her friend, Shannon, died in a car accident. It was my first real encounter with death. The anniversary of the accident was yesterday. Shannon is my sister's age; her older sister is my age. I think about it all the time. I think about how grateful I am to have my sister, and how sad I would be if she wasn't here to share stories and make jokes about boys, our parents, the strange nicknames we had for our pets, etc.
I guess my main gratitude is realizing, for today at least, that life is much bigger than my eating disorder.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Hey, body, do I know you?
Every night, with dinner, my husband and I watch two episodes of our favorite show-of-the-moment. We impose a two-episode limit because, otherwise, we run out of DVDs too fast. So, last night, we're watching our latest favorite, "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." I pause the show at a point when this one actress is on screen.
Me: "Ok, so I'm about her size, right?"
Husband laughs. "Um, no."
Me: "Really?"
Husband: "No, she's filled out."
I'm far past the point of this offending me in any way. After all, this is my husband. He's told me he'd be happier if he had more to grab. Anyway, I'm more fascinated by the inaccuracy of my body image.
Me: "Really?"
Husband: "Yeah, I mean, she's lanky like you, but you have a ways to go before you're her size."
Me: "Really?"
We resume watching the show, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm thinking about how I've eaten two helpings of lasagna for dinner, along with a glass of chocolate milk and a protein bar. I'm thinking, "How much is this gonna take?" I'm thinking about how off my self-perception is, after all these years of ignoring/betraying/abusing my body. I have this almost surreal detachment. Sure, there are moments of clarity, when I see myself in the mirror and I think, "Do I know you?" In these moments, I'm aware that, yes, while I'm 20-ish pounds heavier than I was in the depths of anorexia hell, I still need to gain 10, 15, even 20 more pounds. But, more often than not, I'm just used to the way I look. I'm used to the way my body feels. That scares me.
For a brief phase, I thought it would actually be good to weigh myself, to keep myself "on track." Ha. We all know what a rabbit hole the scale is. I ditched that, and I'm happy I did. But, I still feel kind of lost. I don't have the scale to tell me if I'm "doing ok." I don't fully trust my hunger and fullness signals. I guess there's the trusty (and rusty) meal plan. I just really hope I can achieve some peace with my body. I hope I can know when it's hungry, and when it's full. I hope I can feel comfortable in my skin -- and, not just comfortable, but connected to that skin. People who have recovered say this is possible. Is it? Really? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Success in the kitchen. My recipe experimentation is going well. What's great is that the recipes I'm tinkering with have no calorie information, which is liberating. I made fried fish tacos and a bean salad on Tuesday, and this Indian version of lasagna last night. I done good.
2. I finished "A Homemade Life" by Molly Wizenberg yesterday. I love her writing, as I've said before. She has never had issues with food (unless you consider appreciating it an "issue"). The only reference she makes to calories or fat is to say, "Ok, so this recipe demands that you don't care about your waistline." I love her. She writes about food in the context of life experiences, which is how it should fit, right? The stories read like fiction. I highly recommend it.
3. I'm getting used to not exercising. I realize now that I've stopped that while my exercise was never excessive, it was compulsive. A week or so without my routine, I'm getting more comfortable with not doing anything that I don't WANT to do.
4. I may get a little side job, writing an email campaign for a medical supply company. I always like extra cash.
5. Baseball season. I grew up with a forced appreciation for baseball, that evolved into a lovely, unforced appreciation for baseball. My dad was a pitcher in the minor leagues. He threw out his shoulder, dropped out of baseball, went to physical therapy school, met my mom there, and then I came along. I joke that I'm grateful for his baseball failure. In any case, baseball makes me think of my dad. I love going to games. I love having the games on TV. Even if I'm not watching them, the sounds comfort me.
Me: "Ok, so I'm about her size, right?"
Husband laughs. "Um, no."
Me: "Really?"
Husband: "No, she's filled out."
I'm far past the point of this offending me in any way. After all, this is my husband. He's told me he'd be happier if he had more to grab. Anyway, I'm more fascinated by the inaccuracy of my body image.
Me: "Really?"
Husband: "Yeah, I mean, she's lanky like you, but you have a ways to go before you're her size."
Me: "Really?"
We resume watching the show, but I'm not really paying attention. I'm thinking about how I've eaten two helpings of lasagna for dinner, along with a glass of chocolate milk and a protein bar. I'm thinking, "How much is this gonna take?" I'm thinking about how off my self-perception is, after all these years of ignoring/betraying/abusing my body. I have this almost surreal detachment. Sure, there are moments of clarity, when I see myself in the mirror and I think, "Do I know you?" In these moments, I'm aware that, yes, while I'm 20-ish pounds heavier than I was in the depths of anorexia hell, I still need to gain 10, 15, even 20 more pounds. But, more often than not, I'm just used to the way I look. I'm used to the way my body feels. That scares me.
For a brief phase, I thought it would actually be good to weigh myself, to keep myself "on track." Ha. We all know what a rabbit hole the scale is. I ditched that, and I'm happy I did. But, I still feel kind of lost. I don't have the scale to tell me if I'm "doing ok." I don't fully trust my hunger and fullness signals. I guess there's the trusty (and rusty) meal plan. I just really hope I can achieve some peace with my body. I hope I can know when it's hungry, and when it's full. I hope I can feel comfortable in my skin -- and, not just comfortable, but connected to that skin. People who have recovered say this is possible. Is it? Really? I'd love to hear your thoughts.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Success in the kitchen. My recipe experimentation is going well. What's great is that the recipes I'm tinkering with have no calorie information, which is liberating. I made fried fish tacos and a bean salad on Tuesday, and this Indian version of lasagna last night. I done good.
2. I finished "A Homemade Life" by Molly Wizenberg yesterday. I love her writing, as I've said before. She has never had issues with food (unless you consider appreciating it an "issue"). The only reference she makes to calories or fat is to say, "Ok, so this recipe demands that you don't care about your waistline." I love her. She writes about food in the context of life experiences, which is how it should fit, right? The stories read like fiction. I highly recommend it.
3. I'm getting used to not exercising. I realize now that I've stopped that while my exercise was never excessive, it was compulsive. A week or so without my routine, I'm getting more comfortable with not doing anything that I don't WANT to do.
4. I may get a little side job, writing an email campaign for a medical supply company. I always like extra cash.
5. Baseball season. I grew up with a forced appreciation for baseball, that evolved into a lovely, unforced appreciation for baseball. My dad was a pitcher in the minor leagues. He threw out his shoulder, dropped out of baseball, went to physical therapy school, met my mom there, and then I came along. I joke that I'm grateful for his baseball failure. In any case, baseball makes me think of my dad. I love going to games. I love having the games on TV. Even if I'm not watching them, the sounds comfort me.
Monday, April 6, 2009
A day is just a day.
I really am working on banning the words "always" and "forever" from my vocabulary. I tend to think in such extremes. Yesterday, when I posted, I was in a crappy mood. Some days, I'm convinced my chemicals are just off in their mysterious way. Today, I feel much better, and I wonder what all my fussing was about. I kind of shake my head at myself sometimes.
It was good to get out of the house yesterday. I realize that our home is one big mope-fest as of late. It's not fun. My friend, J, was condo-sitting for her Aunt in Corona Del Mar. She'd said, "It's a cute place. We can just hang out." I drove out there, with my Japan scrapbook. As I got closer to the beach, my mood just got better. By the time I saw her, I forgot why I'd had such a crappy morning. First of all, it was not a "cute condo." It was downright luxurious (and right next door to a condo owned by Tiger Woods, by the way). The sky was clear, the ocean blue. It couldn't have been a more perfect day. We talked on the couch, with the balcony door open. I told her about what I'd been thinking and she just smiled and said, "Yeah, it sucks now. But it's not going to suck forever. You aren't always going to feel this way."
Always. Forever.
She's right. Like she said, in a year or so, or maybe even a month or so, I'll look back on this negative thinking and say, "Wow, that was unnecessary." Perspective is so hard for me. I have a difficult time accepting the flux that is life. Things are changing, every day. Heck, my brain chemicals aren't the same from one day to the next. Neither is my appetite, my feelings about my husband, my initiative with my writing career, my desire to socialize, etc.
A day is just a day. Bad days -- caused my a loud eating disorder voice, a bad night of sleep, screwed up chemicals, loss of faith in a loved one, worries about work, whatever -- pass. They just DO. Good days pass, too. Anorexia loves rigidity. Anorexia wants to put the brakes on everything (appetite included) and just have everything be still. What is still is controlled. However, what is still is also, well, dead. Life is movement. Accepting that feels like a huge letting go, but I'm doing it in little ways, every day.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. My friend, J, and our beach time together. I don't have many girlfriends, so I really appreciate the ones I do have.
2. Renewed faith in my husband. I love him. I want to support him, however I can. I believe in him and want to know we can get through anything.
3. Stuffed bell peppers! I was nervous to try another new recipe for dinner. The recipes I'd tried so far hadn't gone so well. These were GREAT though. I did improvise a bit because I could tell the recipe version would have been a little bland for my liking. I made risotto, sauteed some mushrooms, then added some marinara sauce and topped with a bunch of cheese. They were great.
4. Two-books-at-a-time. This is a true example of my nerdiness. I've started leaving a book in the kitchen, to read while I'm standing, waiting for the oven and whatnot; and a book on my bedroom nightstand. As if my brain isn't scattered enough.
5. My body isn't so achy. I think the jacuzzi helps whatever is going on with my back. I'm using it again today :)
It was good to get out of the house yesterday. I realize that our home is one big mope-fest as of late. It's not fun. My friend, J, was condo-sitting for her Aunt in Corona Del Mar. She'd said, "It's a cute place. We can just hang out." I drove out there, with my Japan scrapbook. As I got closer to the beach, my mood just got better. By the time I saw her, I forgot why I'd had such a crappy morning. First of all, it was not a "cute condo." It was downright luxurious (and right next door to a condo owned by Tiger Woods, by the way). The sky was clear, the ocean blue. It couldn't have been a more perfect day. We talked on the couch, with the balcony door open. I told her about what I'd been thinking and she just smiled and said, "Yeah, it sucks now. But it's not going to suck forever. You aren't always going to feel this way."
Always. Forever.
She's right. Like she said, in a year or so, or maybe even a month or so, I'll look back on this negative thinking and say, "Wow, that was unnecessary." Perspective is so hard for me. I have a difficult time accepting the flux that is life. Things are changing, every day. Heck, my brain chemicals aren't the same from one day to the next. Neither is my appetite, my feelings about my husband, my initiative with my writing career, my desire to socialize, etc.
A day is just a day. Bad days -- caused my a loud eating disorder voice, a bad night of sleep, screwed up chemicals, loss of faith in a loved one, worries about work, whatever -- pass. They just DO. Good days pass, too. Anorexia loves rigidity. Anorexia wants to put the brakes on everything (appetite included) and just have everything be still. What is still is controlled. However, what is still is also, well, dead. Life is movement. Accepting that feels like a huge letting go, but I'm doing it in little ways, every day.
***
Today's gratitude:
1. My friend, J, and our beach time together. I don't have many girlfriends, so I really appreciate the ones I do have.
2. Renewed faith in my husband. I love him. I want to support him, however I can. I believe in him and want to know we can get through anything.
3. Stuffed bell peppers! I was nervous to try another new recipe for dinner. The recipes I'd tried so far hadn't gone so well. These were GREAT though. I did improvise a bit because I could tell the recipe version would have been a little bland for my liking. I made risotto, sauteed some mushrooms, then added some marinara sauce and topped with a bunch of cheese. They were great.
4. Two-books-at-a-time. This is a true example of my nerdiness. I've started leaving a book in the kitchen, to read while I'm standing, waiting for the oven and whatnot; and a book on my bedroom nightstand. As if my brain isn't scattered enough.
5. My body isn't so achy. I think the jacuzzi helps whatever is going on with my back. I'm using it again today :)
Sunday, April 5, 2009
If you don't have anything nice to say...
You know how that saying goes...
I feel like I shouldn't be posting, because I really have nothing encouraging or wonderful to say. But I'm posting anyway, because using words tends to help.
On Friday, I started feeling a bit down, and I realized it's because I've come to hate weekends. There's all this downtime, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't feel like working on my book. Reading holds my attention for about 45 minutes these days. I've been told I can't exercise for a while (I have to wait until I'm pain-free, then wait ANOTHER two weeks after that). My husband is in some kind of funk. It's like the longer he goes without having a job, the worse it gets. He's depressed, I think, but men don't like to use this term often. All I know is that nothing excites him, except for the computer game he plays 10 hours a day, straight. We never DO anything. We don't make any fun plans. We have no "fun money." I make enough for us to "get by," but I didn't really envision my life as being one of "getting by." I didn't really envision using my hard-earned money to pay my husband's business taxes. Is this my life? I'm going to visit my friend today and I had to tell her that it'd be best if we did something that didn't cost money, like sit and stare at each other, because I don't have $40 for lunch and a movie. It just...sucks.
I've been trying to get excited about food. I really love this Trader Joe's cookbook. I made a trip to the grocery store yesterday and got all the ingredients to try about 12 new recipes -- stuffed bell peppers, portabella mushroom sandwiches, eggplant parmesan pasta, fried fish tacos, macho nachos, and more. Of course, after the initial rush of getting everything came the anxiety of possessing all this food. I have major OCD issues with having a lot of food (especially quickly-perishable produce) in the house. I start worrying about how to use it all efficiently, so as not to waste anything. I hate wasting. HATE IT. Yesterday, I made one of the recipes -- a lentil salad -- to have with my tuna sandwich for lunch. The salad was gross. I realize I hate parsley. For dinner, I tried another recipe -- angel hair pasta with bruschetta and some fresh mozzarella balls and basil. Again...bleh. It kind of sucked. I tried an egg souffle thing this morning, but failed miserably. It turned into scrambled eggs with some feta cheese and vegetables. I ate it anyway, with a big bowl of cereal and banana...but, I don't know. Bleh.
If you're still reading, you realize that I really have nothing nice to say. But, still, I'll try for some gratitude...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Jacuzzi. I used the jacuzzi in my complex yesterday. I hardly ever use the thing, and I really should. It helped my weird back injury, and it was just relaxing in general. I'm going again after I post this.
2. My friend, J. Because of her, I will get out of the damn house this afternoon. Maybe she'll be able to help me get out of my damn head, too. She says she's met a new boy and is head-over-heels and all that stuff of movies. That will make me smile.
3. The freezer. I'm trying to remind myself that I can freeze most leftovers. This doesn't totally reduce my anxiety about the abundance of food, but it's a minor consolation.
4. Sunshine. It's a beautiful day here. I don't know what would happen to my mood if I lived outside of California.
5. Tomorrow is Monday. I know that's sad to look forward to the work week, but I don't know what else to do with myself.
I feel like I shouldn't be posting, because I really have nothing encouraging or wonderful to say. But I'm posting anyway, because using words tends to help.
On Friday, I started feeling a bit down, and I realized it's because I've come to hate weekends. There's all this downtime, and I don't know what to do with it. I don't feel like working on my book. Reading holds my attention for about 45 minutes these days. I've been told I can't exercise for a while (I have to wait until I'm pain-free, then wait ANOTHER two weeks after that). My husband is in some kind of funk. It's like the longer he goes without having a job, the worse it gets. He's depressed, I think, but men don't like to use this term often. All I know is that nothing excites him, except for the computer game he plays 10 hours a day, straight. We never DO anything. We don't make any fun plans. We have no "fun money." I make enough for us to "get by," but I didn't really envision my life as being one of "getting by." I didn't really envision using my hard-earned money to pay my husband's business taxes. Is this my life? I'm going to visit my friend today and I had to tell her that it'd be best if we did something that didn't cost money, like sit and stare at each other, because I don't have $40 for lunch and a movie. It just...sucks.
I've been trying to get excited about food. I really love this Trader Joe's cookbook. I made a trip to the grocery store yesterday and got all the ingredients to try about 12 new recipes -- stuffed bell peppers, portabella mushroom sandwiches, eggplant parmesan pasta, fried fish tacos, macho nachos, and more. Of course, after the initial rush of getting everything came the anxiety of possessing all this food. I have major OCD issues with having a lot of food (especially quickly-perishable produce) in the house. I start worrying about how to use it all efficiently, so as not to waste anything. I hate wasting. HATE IT. Yesterday, I made one of the recipes -- a lentil salad -- to have with my tuna sandwich for lunch. The salad was gross. I realize I hate parsley. For dinner, I tried another recipe -- angel hair pasta with bruschetta and some fresh mozzarella balls and basil. Again...bleh. It kind of sucked. I tried an egg souffle thing this morning, but failed miserably. It turned into scrambled eggs with some feta cheese and vegetables. I ate it anyway, with a big bowl of cereal and banana...but, I don't know. Bleh.
If you're still reading, you realize that I really have nothing nice to say. But, still, I'll try for some gratitude...
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Jacuzzi. I used the jacuzzi in my complex yesterday. I hardly ever use the thing, and I really should. It helped my weird back injury, and it was just relaxing in general. I'm going again after I post this.
2. My friend, J. Because of her, I will get out of the damn house this afternoon. Maybe she'll be able to help me get out of my damn head, too. She says she's met a new boy and is head-over-heels and all that stuff of movies. That will make me smile.
3. The freezer. I'm trying to remind myself that I can freeze most leftovers. This doesn't totally reduce my anxiety about the abundance of food, but it's a minor consolation.
4. Sunshine. It's a beautiful day here. I don't know what would happen to my mood if I lived outside of California.
5. Tomorrow is Monday. I know that's sad to look forward to the work week, but I don't know what else to do with myself.
Friday, April 3, 2009
To count or not to count
I've instigated a few minor revolutions lately. I didn't feel like doing yoga, so I didn't do it. I didn't feel like going for a walk, so I didn't go. I didn't feel like eating my usual oatmeal bowl AGAIN, so I've had a different breakfast every day this week. And, the other day, before bed, I realized that I hadn't counted -- calories, fat grams, etc, etc, etc. This is something that, unfortunately, I do rather mindlessly much of the time. Often, I wonder what I would do with the space in my brain that does all the food math if I was fully recovered. I could replace all that nutrition information, all that calculating, with so much more. I could probably discover the cure to cancer.
What's worked for you, as far as having a meal plan? Do you still count in some way? Can counting be healthy and conducive to recovery? Ideally, I would like a general plan, with some flexibility. I probably need to have a general idea of how many calories I am eating, while still allowing myself experiments here and there. This, folks, is what we call a "gray area." I don't inhabit these often. I would love to know what works for you!
Anyway, because I'm still trying to gain weight, my question for you is whether or not I "need" to count. Yes, not counting feels good, but I'm not at a place where I can eat intuitively. If I ate what I "felt" like eating, it would be way less than what I need. Many times, after eating something, I feel full, but then do the math and realize it's not enough, so I eat more. The fact is I need a lot of calories to gain, and I tend to like to deny this. Oh, denial, how I've loved you so! In some ways, I think I need to count to make sure I'm on track, but counting can become confining and compulsive, as in, "I can't eat that because I don't know how many calories are in it."
This comes back to my thought that recovery is all very confusing. Counting feels wrong, but not counting feels wrong, too. Being diligent about eating enough calories feels wrong, but not keeping tabs feels wrong, too.
What's worked for you, as far as having a meal plan? Do you still count in some way? Can counting be healthy and conducive to recovery? Ideally, I would like a general plan, with some flexibility. I probably need to have a general idea of how many calories I am eating, while still allowing myself experiments here and there. This, folks, is what we call a "gray area." I don't inhabit these often. I would love to know what works for you!
***
Today's gratitude:
1. Roxy. I realize I have not introduced my cats and this is just wrong. This is Roxy and she is 10 years old. She is plump, but she doesn't give a damn. I mean, seriously, does she look like she gives a damn?
2. This is Lil' Kitty. She had an actual name for about a week -- Bella -- but this didn't seem to fit her. She's kind of not "Bella." She's rugged. She jumps my 5-foot fence (well, sometimes she misses, which makes me gasp, then laugh, every time) and goes on adventures that she will never tell me about. I rescued her from a pound 8 years ago (shit, I'm old). I picked her because she had a crooked tail. They said it probably got run over by a car.
3. Lillies. I guess my gratitude is somewhat pictorial today. These are blooming in my little yard. I've lived here 3 years now, and I didn't even know I had plants with the potential to produce these.
4. "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia." Has anyone seen this show? I'm into it. It's another one of those TV casualties that can only be appreciated on DVD now.
5. Sleep. I got a good night's sleep last night, which makes me so much saner. My husband has decided to give up his weird hours and come to bed with me, which also makes me so much saner.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Playing hooky
One of the downfalls of an anorexic brain is the hyper-perfectionism. I have a hard time not feeling guilty when I'm away from my work computer for a couple hours (either napping or eating or running a miscellaneous errand). I'm an employer's dream. I never have to be reprimanded, because I'm likely to reprimand myself before I've done anything wrong. When I worked in the office, I made sure my lunch breaks were almost exactly an hour, so as not to appear irresponsible to my coworkers. Now that I'm at home, I take a few more liberties, but I'm still very conscientious. Too conscientious, probably.
Random childhood story: When I was in seventh grade, I got a "C" on a British history quiz. I was so upset with myself that I locked myself in a closet for hours and read the encyclopedia. I don't think my parents knew what to do with me.
Today, I played hooky (for a few hours at least). And it felt GREAT. My mom came down to visit (my parents live about 1.5 hours north of me). We went to Laguna Beach, had lunch, and talked and talked and talked. I didn't think about work at all. When I got home, I had some emails and assignments to review, but nobody seems to have noticed my "indiscretion" (except for me). I'm the one with the impossibly high standards. I'm the one with the ridiculous expectations. There is no mysterious Wizard behind the curtains; I am the Wizard. Sometimes, I just need to remember that.
Here's mom and me, with her reluctant permission (aka "I guess you can post my picture, but don't say anything weird"):
And the beautiful ocean:
***
Today's gratitude (this will be easy):
1. Mom.
2. The ocean.
3. A delicious lunch at an outdoor Mediterranean cafe.
4. I did not get fired for disappearing for a few hours (contrary to the evil wizard's warnings in my head).
5. I'm eating a snack as I type this, rather mindlessly. It's hard for me to have snacks on days I go out to eat. This is one of those little, big accomplishments.
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