I got laid...

...off.

That's my best attempt at humor right now. I'm not feeling all that amused/amusing because I DON'T KNOW WHAT I'M GOING TO DO (yes, I'm shouting. I'm the first to admit that I don't do well with situations involving The Unknown).

I got the call yesterday, from some higher-up and an HR dude. I've never met either of them. My first thought was, "See, this is why I worry. Bad things happen. Life sucks." Actually, that was my second thought. My first thought was not very eloquent and would be bleeped, in its entirety, on television.

I guess you could say I was angry. Um, yeah, that's a fair assessment. I'm angry at big corporations who promise there won't be layoffs, then go down a list of people they don't know and start crossing off names. I'm angry that I don't have any control over this situation. It would almost be more comforting if I got fired because I screwed up. That would "make sense." This doesn't make sense. I'm angry at people who say not to worry so much. My sister always teases me about how I fret. Her joking refrain is, "...and then you'll lose your cat and your job." So, if I say, "I'm worried my car will break down," she says, jokingly, "and then you'll lose your cat and your job." I suppose she should be silenced for a while since I've lost both my cat and my job within weeks of each other now.

Obviously, there is reason to worry! Look what happens in life! It's better to crawl in a hole and subsist on my own fingernails! That was my mindset yesterday. Then, Larry came home for an early lunch and calmed me down. Somehow, I don't scare him, even when my eyes are all red and buggy, my hair is standing on ends, and I'm screaming like a lunatic. I told him my theory that everything sucks and that my worrying is warranted. He said, "Well, ya, bad things happen, but they would happen if you worry about them or not."

Hm. Let's file that under "Interesting."

I really don't know what I'm going to do. I know it's not all bad. I get severance pay, and I have hours of vacation saved that will be paid out to me. I have a couple freelance jobs that owe me money. It's not really the money I'm worried about (shockingly); it's that I don't know what I want to do. I feel no desire to go back to working for a big company. I don't really want to do the sitting-at-a-desk thing, though I only have work experience in that. I feel like a loser. I've never been laid off. I'd be lying if I said anorexia wasn't whispering to me, saying, "I know a place that's safe and predictable, where you can have accomplishments every day!" I mean, I'm "good" at anorexia. It IS something stable and certain. But, I know I don't want that. I just don't know what I do want.

The best thing that's come out of this so far is enhanced gratitude for my husband. He has been completely supportive. He doesn't seem nervous for us, or doubtful of me (and my sanity) at all. He came home last night with these:

Let's zoom in on the card, shall we? (I hope he doesn't mind).

He said there were no "Sorry you got laid off" cards. I think Hallmark should really consider this, especially in these economic times.

I know he got this because 1) he knew it would make me laugh and 2) he really, honestly, genuinely believes this is a weird life promotion for me. He thinks better things are ahead. He doesn't necessarily have to be right for me to be happy; but I think I need to believe he's right to avoid depression in the immediate future.

I know many of you have had jobless spells, accompanied by "What am I going to do with my life?" questions. What's helped you?

***

Today's gratitude:

1. My husband.

2. I have a hair cut appointment tomorrow. I thought about canceling it to save money, but...no. I'm thinking bangs. Is this a bad move?

3. I have time to trim the trees today...since I have no job.

4. Therapy today.

5. A little bit of peace, upon realizing that maybe there's no point in exhausting myself, making plans, perfecting details, as if the current situation I'm in will remain the same forever. Change is always right up ahead.

What is recovery?

This past weekend, I had what I like to call "A Recovered Weekend," meaning I felt recovered. I don't know how to describe this, really, except that I felt like I did what I wanted to do, confidently, and didn't have much anxiety about anything. Saturday, I was able to sleep in (and I never do that). I was able to walk slow with Larry because, as he reminded me, our weekend walks are about talking, not exercise. I made banana bread (and ate two pieces). I tried a new salad with dinner (and the next day with lunch) -- with nuts, avocado, feta cheese and full-fat dressing -- and I enjoyed it. I let Larry pick out some new snacks at Trader Joe's and I had some of the chocolate-covered pretzels and kettle corn without reading the label. Oh, and I woke up on Sunday deciding that yoga class "sounded good." I hadn't been in probably 7 months and it just occurred to me. It wasn't on a list of things to do. I just felt like it. Maybe this isn't revolutionary to most people, but it is to me.

Also on Sunday, I met up with a friend, L, at YogurtLand. I know her thanks to blogland, so we have eating disorders in common, though we hardly ever talk about that. We spend more time talking about boys and work and families and pets and books and "Entourage." Anyway, on Sunday, she asked how I'm doing with recovery and I found myself struggling to answer. The thing is that, for all practical purposes, I'm doing well. I've got my period back. I can go out to eat without much worry. I don't count much. The only thing I measure is oatmeal (because I hate when it's too runny). I can skip a day of my exercise routine without hyperventilating. My exercise routine involves a walk and some stretching -- far less extreme than my dark days. Instead of patting myself on the back for these thing, I harp on what's still left on my Recovery To-Do List. I think, "I still freak out about dinner parties with mystery menus. I still have a thing about juice. I'm still pretty thin -- I'd like to fill out more. I get nervous if I don't know when/where/what I'm going to eat. I get cranky if I don't get to go for a walk. I'm so DISORDERED." My attitude is pretty negative when it comes to assessing myself. I don't see accomplishments; I see things yet-to-be accomplished. Does this make me a happy person? Um, no.

I've been noticing lately that I have some weird feelings toward a friend of mine, J, who was my treatment buddy several years ago. She's at a healthy weight now, though at the low end for her. Any time we go out to eat, she gets the same salad. At a BBQ she hosted, she ate only a small piece of fish and a pile of spinach leaves...without dressing. Yet, she is very optimistic. She loves her life. She says she is "recovered" and, judging by her attitude, you'd believe her. Stilll, it irks me. I have this little tantrum in my head: "Why does she get to be 'recovered' and still have food issues?" My conclusion is this:

Maybe recovery is all in the eye of the recoverer.

L and I talked about this on Sunday. Maybe recovery is more an issue of perception than anything. What IS "recovery" after some health has been restored and life has some balance again? To me, it seems very individual, dependent on individual goals and attitudes. There are DSM criteria, but I think meeting these (or not meeting these) does not mean much. It's not just about weight (though that's important); there's a whole mindset. I don't know what's realistic, mindset-wise, in my recovery. Will I ever see food (or life) the way I did before I developed anorexia? I don't know. If not, is that such a terrible thing? I mean, I used to eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast. For me, recovery doesn't mean eating macaroni and cheese for breakfast again. I've grown up since those days, I've expanded the foods I like, I've learned how to feed myself to feel good (and daily Kraft is not so good). Of course, if I really, really craved macaroni and cheese for breakfast, recovery means I can have it. But, just because I eat peanut butter toast and omelets and oatmeal for breakfast now doesn't mean I'm "not recovered."

I think it's a matter of choice, and perception of that choice. For J, when she orders the same salad (dressing on the side), she does so happily. Her thought process might go something like this: "I'm choosing this salad. I'm so glad I can go out to eat and enjoy something on the menu." If I get the same salad every time I go out to eat, my thought process is this: "I'm such a loser. Why do I have to eat the same thing? I'm still so far from being recovered." I don't see it as a choice; I see it as a "have to." She is empowered; I am not.

For J, maybe she's on a high because she feels more energy than when she was really sick, she's no longer purging, she has a boyfriend and a job she likes, and she can "deal" with food pretty well. That gives her reason to smile. I have plenty of reasons to smile too, but I often criticize myself instead. I'm not saying I want to get complacent. I still want to gain some weight. I still want to let go of some rules. But, I'm doing pretty well. I think I can dance the line between complacent and content successfully. I've started to wonder how it would be to start thinking of myself differently. What if I "let" myself be content? Larry is constantly telling me that there is not the gap between my current self and "ideal" self that I think there is. What if I accepted this? I have a feeling that if I did, some of the lingering habits I want to change would change, the way they tend to do when I accept them as they are (funny how that works).

What does recovery mean for you?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. I'm putting a stop to the excessive list-making. I used to write down EVERYTHING in my day planner -- not just appointments and meetinsg, but, like, "take a shower." I guess it's the accomplishment whore in me. Anyway, this yoga class thing on Sunday made me realize that I kind of cheat myself of listening to my desires because have this damn list to tend to. There's no need for most of the things on my lists. So, my day planner is just for appointments and meetings now :)
2. "Bored to Death" on HBO. I love this new show!
3. I think the heat wave is over. Maybe.
4. I'm reading at the West Hollywood Book Fair this weekend!
5. I'm halfway through an ED book that I actually like (I'm not a big fan of ED books, usually). It's called "Insatiable" by Erica Rivera. I'm not sure if it's out yet; I was sent a copy. I'll do a review soon :)

That's why my friends call me Whiskers.

If you know that the title refers to this Will-Ferrell-as-Harry-Caray sketch, I like you.

In my therapy session this week, we talked about how when I feel something (anger, sadness, worry, etc), I go straight to judging it, telling myself I shouldn't feel that way for some reason. I'm not sure why or when I learned that my initial feelings are somehow wrong or inappropriate. It's strange to me that most people just feel something, accept it for what it is, and react accordingly. I twist my instincts into something I think is more acceptable, i.e. "Kim, don't be upset about that. That's silly to be upset about that."

My therapist's suggestion was that I be curious about my feelings, before drawing any conclusions about them (and definitely before changing them). I like this idea. It involves adding an intermediary step to my usual thought process, an opportunity to ask myself, "Hmm, what is this feeling? Where is it coming from?" I suppose that's a little kinder.

Acceptance of this kind and trust (in myself and the world) seem to be my two big "things." My therapist is calmly convinced that I won't have so many rules and fears as I start to trust that the universe will take care of me, as esoteric as that sounds. If I let go a little bit, there won't be chaos, there will be freedom. She seems to think that all will be well once I believe in myself and trust that I'll land on my feet, no matter what.

So, here's what I'm getting from this: Be curious. Land on feet. Reminds me of some creatures I know.

On that note, the new kittens are adapting just fine. There's still no sign of my outdoor, older cat (boo), but the kittens make me smile. Pepper Potts is a bit camera shy, but Dr. Spaceman is a ham. Here he is, doing yoga with me.

And here he is eating my tortilla chips.

Being a cat sounds pretty cool, though I don't think I'd want to poop in a box.

***

Today's gratitude:

1. Banana nut bread is in the oven.

2. I actually slept in (until 9:30, which is very late for me).

3. Last season's "30 Rock: Disc 1" arrived in the mail.

4. Grocery shopping with Larry = much more fun than grocery shopping alone.

5. Possible friend plans tomorrow.

Happy Blogiversary to me!

It's been one year since I started this blog. I feel the need to be introspective and say things like, "Time really flies." I'm also tempted to do what I usually do and lament what I could have done better this past year. But, I'm realizing more and more that criticism of this kind is never constructive for me. I get so caught up sometimes in seeing myself as "in need of fixing" that I lose sight of the fact that 1) I really have learned quite a bit this year (and most years since 1998, when I was diagnosed), and 2) No human being is perfect (except maybe Joel McHale...who's with me?).

Larry and I talked last week about how I make it seem like there's this huge space between my current self and my "ideal self." I'm so incredibly hard on myself. I'm constantly berating myself for not being "over" my food issues, my money issues, my socializing issues, my writing issues, my sleeping issues, my working-for-Corporate-America issues, my mood issues, my holey socks issues. Larry has this bizarre ability to look at me and say, "You are perfect as you are," almost with this laugh and shake of the head that says, "I don't know why you can't see it." Larry doesn't take life too seriously. He can be content in the moment, without fixating on possible improvements and changes. He sees the best and hopes for the best. It fascinates me.

Sometimes, I think I don't gain the rest of my weight because I'm afraid to realize that he's right -- there isn't much space between my current self and my "ideal self." What if I'm xxx lbs. and I'm still anxious and worried and introverted? What if I'm xxx lbs. and I still have writer's block and occasional insomnia and bouts of depression? Truth is, that will probably be the case...and THAT'S OK. I'm not going to transform into a different being, nor should I. But, I think I should, and I sort of hope I will transform. Deep down, I know I won't, so I just stay where I am weight-wise. This way, I keep alive the idea that I'm flawed, unacceptable as I am right now. I also keep something else alive: The fantasy. The fantasy is, "When I weigh xxx lbs., I will ________." Fill in the blank with every dream I have tucked away in my mind: socialize more, take trips, buy short shorts, spend money, publish a book, take more classes, bake.

It's a little unnerving to realize that recovery isn't one moment in time. It's not a number on a scale. It's a continuous journey. No matter my weight, I will be a work in progress. This is a human thing, and it's a good thing. Instead of seeing myself as perpetually incomplete, it's nice to consider Larry's belief: I'm perfect as I am. Yes, I would like to be more in touch with my body. I would like to be a little more secure and confident in my choices. I would like to be more patient, less impulsive (yes, I'd say I'm impulsive, which is weird since I plan most things obsessively). I would like to be more expressive. I would like to give less of a shit about what others think. I would like to enjoy the money I earn. I would like to be less afraid for all the "what ifs." I would like to remember that phrase: "Live like you'll die tomorrow, act like you'll live forever." But, instead of being depressed that I'm not "there" yet, I can take comfort in remembering that, really, there is no "there."

This blog started with me keeping food logs, as a way to stay accountable to people I didn't even know. This wasn't successful at first because nobody was reading my blog. Ha. Over the year, I've stopped logging all my food. I've started realizing that I have a lot to say about recovery with anorexia, and it helps me (and others, I hope) to share. What's most interesting to me is the effect of anorexia on relationships. I'm lucky to have someone who stands by my side and wants to see me through everything. Life is messy. I'm going to stop apologizing for that.

Thanks for reading up to this point. I can't wait to see what the next year has in store.

***
Today's gratitude:
1. I have therapy today :)
2. I have not killed anyone I've encountered in my Craigslist dealings. We're trying to sell things from Larry's apartment. Let me just say that Craigslist gives me very little faith in humanity.
3. I'm actually busy with work. Busy = job security.
4. Autumn. This is by far my favorite time of year (though, it's still too hot here).
5. Kittens as alarm clocks.

Anorexia and the pursuit of happiness

This is where I continue praising "Stumbling on Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert. If my last post bored you, don't read this one.

Gilbert states this: "People want to be happy, and all the other things they want are typically meant to be a means to that end. Even when people forgo happiness in the moment -- by dieting when they could be eating, or working late when they could be sleeping -- they are usually doing so in order to increase its future yield. The dictionary tells us that to prefer is 'to choose or want one thing rather than another because it would be more pleasant,' which is to say that the pursuit of happiness is built into the very definition of desire."

So, what's the deal with a lifestyle of anorexia? To me, anorexia is restriction of desire in the hope that the feeling of control/security/safety/stability will bring happiness and calm.

I engage in restrictive behaviors (with eating or money, among others), and my engagement in these behaviors suggests that I find it more pleasant to engage in them than to not engage in them. If they weren't pleasureable, I wouldn't do them, according to Gilbert. If you looked at my life, you would think that I value the illusion of control over anything else. I forgo the happiness of a splurge (with eating or purchasing) for the "happiness" of control. I put it in quotes because the truth is that there is no true happiness with anorexia. There's a rush at the beginning of the disease, that feeling of power, of being above needing. That vanishes though and we're left chasing a dragon. But, by the time we realize that, we're stuck in an illness that perpetuates itself because the brain is malnourished. As Carrie said in a recent post, though the behaviors of anorexia are initially rewarding, they become punishing. What was once so empowering has power over us.

I remember who I was before I developed anorexia. I could relish a day off, without wondering how to fill the hours most efficiently. I could eat towers of Eggo waffles with whipped cream and watch re-runs of "Hunter" for hours. I knew what I wanted. I wasn't overly adventurous in getting it, but I wasn't restrictive by any means. Now, it's hard for me to know what I want because what I want is quickly shushed by rules and "shoulds." I can make guesses at what I want. I can do what Carrie suggests and ask, "What would a recovered person do?" That seems to be the only way -- experimentation, and tolerance of resulting anxiety.

My question for you: Do you feel like you know what makes you happy?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. Craigslist. We're trying to sell some of Larry's stuff at his apartment. People come out of the woodwork for the strangest things.
2. Full fridge.
3. New recipe to try tonight: Honey mustard chicken.
4. I'm actually motivated to work on this freelance assignment...sort of.
5. Home remodeling to ponder. Let's just say this would be a pretty big opportunity to test my money-spending abilities. I'm having bouts of hyperventilating.

Human beings are the only animals that...

I'm reading "Stumbling on Happiness" by Daniel Gilbert, in which he says that every psychologist attempts to complete that sentence -- "Human beings are the only animals that.." -- in some clever, unique, revolutionary way. His sentence is this: Human beings are the only animals that think about the future.

In studies, people with damage to their frontal lobe become calmer. This is why treatment for mental disorders, like anxiety, often involved removing the frontal lobe. However, people without a frontal lobe had a weird quirk -- they were totally perplexed by the question, "What are you going to do tomorrow?" They couldn't think ahead or plan or imagine. As humans, we use our frontal lobe to ponder the future. Without it, we are just here, in the present. While that sounds fantastic (for me, as someone with anxiety), it would also be pretty depressing not to be able to fantasize about tomorrow. What I find most interesting is the link between anxiety and future-thinking. I do very little worrying about the present. I don't ruminate about the past. But, I think a ton about the future. It's the primary source of my uneasiness.

According to Gilbert, I'm not alone. He says that the most important reason we insist on thinking about the future (even when we'd rather be "in the moment") is that "our brains want to CONTROL the experiences we are about to have." Gilbert asks why we want to control the future. Why not just let the future happen as it will and experience it as it unfolds? The answer?:" "People find it gratifying to exercise control -- not just for the futures it buys them, but for the exercise itself. Being effective -- changing things, influencing things, making thing happen -- is one of the fundamental needs with which human brains seem to be naturally endowed, and much of our behavior from infancy onward is simply an expression of this penchant for control." So, what happens if humans lose their ability to control things? Gilbert says that's a main cause of unhappiness, hopelessness and depression.

What's really interesting is that Gilbert says our desire to control is so powerful, and the feeling of being in control so rewarding, that people often act as though they can control the uncontrollable. For example, we feel more certain that we'll win the lottery if we pick the numbers on our ticket, and we feel more confident that we will win a dice toss if we throw the dice ourselves. Perhaps the strangest thing about this illusion of control is not that it happens but that it "seems to confer many of the psychological benefits of genuine control. In fact, the one group of people who seem genuinely immune to this illusion are the clinically depressed, who tend to estimate accurately the degree to which they can control events in most situations. These and other findings have led some researchers to conclue that the feeling of control--whether real or illusory--is one of the wellsprings of mental health."

I guess it's some comfort to know that I'm not crazy to want control. We all do. I've always seen my sister as this easygoing person who doesn't have to make plans or stress about anything, but I've come to realize that being that way is her way of controlling things. By not making plans, she has control over every moment; she can do what she wants, essentially, because she's kept commitments to a minimum. We all want control. This is why I think it's silly to say that anorexia is a disease of control. Humanity is a disease of control, if you ask me.

For me, anorexia is a disease of extreme fear, which gets projected as "desire for control." When I restrict my food (or my money), it is to create an illusion of control, yes, but also to create a feeling of safety and security. As a child, I'd say, "If I pull the blanket over my head, nothing bad will get me." As a teenager, I'd play similar games: "If my history teacher is wearing a red shirt, Josh likes me" or "if the phone rings before the second hand hits the 12, Elvis is really alive." I've always been one to play games, to make up my own rules. Over the years, it morphed into, "If I eat X, I'll be ok" or "If I save $X, I'll be ok." Over the years, I've asked myself why I persist in this when I know, logically, it's not true. After all, no matter how perfect my carb/fat/protein balance is, or how much I have in my savings account, I could get hit by a bus while crossing the street.

So, why? I do think anorexia is biologically-driven, but what is it in my make-up that makes anorexia feel oddly "right." It feels like I'm self-medicating, reducing my anxieties, by engaging in anorexia. Gilbert gave me this insight: Maybe I'm sort of warding off depression. I've always had this sense that if I wasn't busy doing my rituals and routines, if I just came to terms with the fact it was just an illusion of purpose, I would probably fall into despair. While "letting go" sounds liberating sometimes, it also sounds totally terrifying. I'm hyper aware of the fact that, as humans, we don't have control. But, I haven't come to peace with that yet. Janis Joplin can sing "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose" in a happy (sort of) tone, but I'm not Janis Joplin...and I'm not sure I'd want to be, as she overdosed on heroin and booze.

What are your thoughts about anorexia and control? Have you read Gilbert's book?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. It's Friday!
2. Z Pizza coupon in the mail (to be used shortly, I think).
3. Appointment tomorrow to see 3D models of possible home renovations.
4. Friend's birthday party tomorrow night.
5. TV! Who else loved the episode of "The Office" last night? Larry and I are a bit worried about the Jim/Pam storyline though. It's becoming very "Everybody Loves Raymond" if you ask me (and I hate that show).

Dad, escaped cat, Kanye West, scapegoat, $$$, learning to drive.

The title is my best attempt to sum up today's therapy appointment. Usually, I like to have some structure in my therapy sessions (surprise, surprise). I've been known to have topics on a post-it affixed neatly to the check made out to my therapist. Today, I had no such post-it. Today was really random.

Dad
I went into the session saying that I'd taken her advice and talked to my dad. I'd been feeling weird since my sister's wedding, seeing him toast her and express feelings toward her that I just didn't think he had for me. Of course, when I called him, we both started crying in that father-daughter way that makes me cry just thinking about it. In a perfect world, I would classify this as a lesson in "Speaking Up and Getting Needs Met" and refer to it many times in the future. In reality, I will forget about this lesson and need to re-learn it over and over again. In any case, I feel really good about things with my family lately (though I'm wondering if my sister is ignoring my recent emails on purpose... I see another "Speak Up and Get Needs Met" lesson in my future).

Escaped cat
After discussing the dad accomplishment, I confessed that I've been feeling a bit "off" lately. I told her that I go to sleep feeling kind of melancholy and wake up feeling melancholy-er. I said there was nothing significant I could think of to cause this recent bout of melancholy-ness. That's when she asked me if there was something "insignificant." Smart lady. Much to my surprise, I started bawling as I said that my cat disappeared. Yes, the cat I got right after treatment (8 years ago, almost to the day), is missing. She's an outdoor cat and likes to jump the fence and go wandering, but she's always come back. I've put up signs. I've been to the local shelter. Nothing. I can't help but feel guilty. Maybe the new kittens pissed her off (though she disappeared before they even arrived, so I don't know). I'm just...sad. I keep thinking, "It's just a cat, Kim. Get over it." But, I'm really upset about it. It sucks. It's been almost 2 weeks and I'm sad every time I go out to feed my other cat (morning and night). I'm nowhere near "over it."

Kanye West
This is the point when my therapy session got really weird. I told my therapist that I'd been so emotional since my cat disappeared, emotional to the point that I cried when I saw Kanye West steal the spotlight from Taylor Swift at the VMAs. I don't know a single Taylor Swift song. I don't really care about her at all. But, she won an award and Kanye West was the very definition of a douchebag (Larry's Russian co-worker asked him, "What is this word, douche?" so we've been throwing around this term quite often). Anyway, then I started crying IN SESSION about this. About Kanye West's interruption of Taylor Swift! Then I decided to relate it to my cat and how I feel terrible that she was shoved out of the spotlight by the new kittens. I slept great last night, so this random association is not the result of sleep deprivation. I am not on any mind-altering drugs either. "Maybe this is related to you feeling like your sister got more of the stage than you" -- my therapist said that, not me. Is she saying my sister is Kanye West-like?

Scapegoat
As I was talking about how Larry has been so supportive with my cat sadness, I continued to say how supportive he is in general. His attitude has been great lately. He's very affectionate, very optimistic. He plans things for us to do. He makes sure I know I'm loved. I'm very, very lucky. When I think about how we got so stuck before, I can see the influence of my anorexic thinking. I blamed him a lot for our stagnation, but the fact is that I contributed. It was just easier to criticize him than to look at myself. Now, he's more than willing to go out to a meal, do a random activity, plan a trip, get excited about condo renovations. It's me that's hesitant, and it's usually related to fear of food involved, or fear of money involved.

$$$
Which brings me to this. I'm the same way with dollar bills as I am with calories. There are all these "shoulds" in my life, all these rules involved: I should not spend money on a new haircut until we save back the money "wasted" while separated; I should not eat pizza for dinner because I had a quesadilla for lunch and that's just way too much cheese. I spend so much time and energy trying to "figure out" how to perfect my finances and my eating. I hardly ever go with an instinct with a purchase or a meal. There is all this thinking about it -- planning, strategizing, calculating. I'm sick of it. I realize that if I continue to be this way, it will interfere with my happiness and, inevitably, with the happiness Larry and I have together. That's a huge motivator for me to let go.

Learning to drive
My therapist is really big on metaphors. Today, she said that whether I hold the steering wheel tight or a little looser, I'm still going to get to my destination. I treat life like it's so precarious. I search for safety in predictability -- a controlled meal plan, a designated balance in my savings account. I'm always holding on. I notice this when I realize I haven't taken a deep breath in a long time (and lately, I notice that I have a really hard time taking a deep breath when I eat). Loosening up on the steering wheel seems to be a matter of having faith in myself and the mechanisms of the universe. I don't have much faith right now. My therapist's suggestion? Experiment. Challenge the rules of the road to realize I'm not going to veer off and go flying into a canyon. Yikes.

***
Today's gratitude:
1. My dad called me today for no reason but to say "hi."
2. I've finally started reading "Stumbling on Happiness." Great so far.
3. "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia" Season 4 is out on DVD.
4. "The Office" is back tomorrow (right?).
5. I'm thinking Indian food tonight. Mmm...

My 9/11

It's not until I started reading some "Where was I on 9/11?" posts that I stopped to remember what 9/11 was for me. When I woke up that morning, it was the day I was "graduating" from Monte Nido, the inpatient treatment center I was at for a few months. I had gained about 30 pounds. My anxiety was way less. I was excited for what was ahead -- a few months at the transition house, starting grad school, dating, writing books. The ceremony would consist of some testimonials, Bob Dylan's "Forever Young" (picked by me), a wreath of flowers on my head and a beautiful dress on my body. I remember shopping for the dress, feeling good in my skin for the first time in years.

After breakfast, I turned on the TV with some of the other patients and saw the towers collapse. This was no longer my graduation day from treatment; it was something much bigger. It took me about five seconds to decide to postpone my ceremony. Still, I spent much of the day moving my things from the treatment center to the transition house a few miles away. I remember crying in the car and marveling over my tears. In the worst of my illness, I felt zero emotion. I just could not cry. It was like my body had given up on all basic functioning, like producing saltine droplets required energy I didn't have. I cried a lot on 9/11 though. And I'm an embarrassingly big crier to this day.

My time in treatment and the events of 9/11 seem like part of another lifetime, while also seeming like they just happened yesterday. I reflect on both of them pretty frequently, without really noticing it, which tells me they're part of my subconscious, part of who I am. Larry says he often notices the time when it's 9:11. I don't think this is an eerie coincidence. I think this date will always linger in our minds.

Funny enough, I don't even remember my actual graduation date. It must have been the week after. I do have this picture though. I look so young. Check out those full cheeks :)

***

Today's gratitude:

1. Grocery shopping is done. I've come to the conclusion that, contrary to previous belief, I DETEST grocery shopping. I have no patience for people maneuvering carts with children in them. Sometimes, I just want someone to shop for me and I'll eat whatever is brought home (because I don't waste food, damn it).

2. I've been really enjoying going out to eat lately. Larry and I went to the burger place we like (which included some sweet potato fries) and I got gelato for dessert at the place next door.

3. I've also been really enjoying socializing. My knee jerk reaction is always to say "no" to social invitations, but I've been experimenting with just saying "yes." We're going to a Japanese restaurant tonight with some friends. Larry organized it :)

4. I have a reading at Laguna Beach Books on Sunday. The story I'm reading is actually 9/11-related, quite on accident, actually (or is it?).

5. I had a great talk with my dad yesterday. I'd been wanting to talk to him for a while because we're not really that close. I don't usually reach out, but I did this time, and I'm glad for it.

Easy vs. Simple

I feel like the last person on the planet to read "Julie & Julia." When the actresses from the movie are on the cover of a book, I've waited way too long. I'm surprised I didn't read it sooner, considering it's about a woman who is obsessed with food and starts a blog. Granted, my obsession with food has more nefarious roots, but I do consider both blogging and enjoyment of cooking to be positive inheritances from anorexia. Anyway, I cringe at most of the recipes the author (the Julie) discusses. I'm not that adventurous of an eater, anorexia aside. I've never liked meat, for example. At one point, Julie must extract the marrow from bone for some kind of sauce. For a lobster recipe, she has to put the poor crustaceans in a pot of boiling water and listen to them hiss. I am not this brave. When discussing why she honed in on such a project, she says because it was simple -- 365 days, 524 recipes. With all the chaos of life, it was a simple mission -- not easy by any means, as evidenced by the marrow extraction and lobster murder, but simple.

I find this distinction important -- easy vs. simple. Often, I'm overwhelmed and burdened by things in life. Everything feels so difficult, so all-consuming at times. I forget that just because it feels so difficult doesn't mean it's not simple. Focusing on the simplicity kind of grounds me, removes all the extraneous complexity. For example, gaining weight is simple. It's a matter of math -- more calories in than calories out. It's not easy for someone with anorexia, but it is simple. I complicate it with all the emotions I have around it, so it's good to remind myself that, at its core, it's simple. Similarly, speaking up about how I feel and what I want (which is as much of a victory as eating dessert) is simple. It's literally just constructing some sentences and uttering them. No, it's not easy for me, but it's simple. This calms me in the same way as telling myself, "It's just life," calms me. I take everything so, so seriously -- whether it's a meal, an uncomfortable confrontation, whatever. I'm very good at making something convoluted, with lots of distracting "ifs" and "buts," so if I simplify it, reduce it to just what it is, it's somehow easier to conceptualize and manage.

What are things for you that are difficult, but simple? Am I having one of my space cadet days, or does this distinction actually matter?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. I am sleeping amazingly well. This is usually a sign that all is good in my life :)
2. Larry and I are in the process of moving back in together and...so far, so good. There is still furniture and things in random locations, but this is just temporary.
3. We've brainstormed some things to look forward to (because we both agree this is good to keep us out of ruts) -- road trips, some updates to the condo, new marriage vows.
4. I got a random refund from the IRS. I guess I overpaid on my federal taxes. That's so me.
5. Company meeting this morning. No layoffs in sight. Phew.

Missiles vs. fly swatters

Sometimes, I think I've learned all there is to learn in therapy. I think I'm "therapy-savvy." Then, the therapist cracks some wisdom eggs (as Larry likes to say) and I fall from atop my high horse.

Case in point: Saturday's couples therapy session. Larry has seen a therapist since he was a kid. As the therapist puts it, his parents didn't know what to do with him because he was smarter than they were. I like to think of him as Bart Simpson. Anyway, his therapist specializes in couples counseling and we've found he's a great resource for the two of us. I didn't think we'd have much to discuss on Saturday because things are going well. What we talked about was when things weren't going so well. We agree there was a storm of factors -- my anxiety about merging life with someone, his depression and reclusiveness (and denial of it), and general lack of communication (I hate to reiterate what every self-help book says, but communication really is all-important). And, the therapist said to me, "You're very all-or-nothing." I just nodded. I've heard this before, obviously. Blah blah blah. Black or white thinking. Blah blah blah.

Then he said something I hadn't heard before: "You use atomic missiles when you could have used a fly swatter."

Granted, this means pretty much the same thing as, "You're very extreme/ You're all-or-nothing/ You're black-and-white," but this phrasing clicked with me much better than those other conclusions. I DO use atomic missiles. I start constructing them when I realize I have an emotion that's uncomfortable. As that emotion grows, I prepare to file my missile. Then -- bam -- DESTRUCTION.

My parents have often said that I'm a "flip flopper." I'm very confusing (and confused) because I'm always at the extreme end of something -- very happy in my marriage, or headed for divorce, for example. And I seem to launch myself from one extreme to the other without realizing that I could just take a leisurely stroll between the two, enjoy the "in between," aka "the gray area."

When I read other blogs, I see I'm not alone in the way I think. This seems to be classic anorexia. Anorexia is contingent upon extreme thinking. Certain foods become downright evil, while others are sacred. That's all there is: Downright evil and sacred; supremely right or dreadfully wrong. Someone told me once that recovery is when you can look at food without attaching a moral judgment to it. I think this is true. Recovery is about tolerating the in-between. I think we jump to extremes because it's comfortable. With an extreme (even a bad extreme), there is little uncertainty. Everything is very defined and clear. I'm either absolutely, totally in love, or I'm completely miserable. I KNOW those two places. What I haven't been familiar with is the wandering road between those two places. Thankfully, Larry is willing to go with me on the journey.

My goals lately revolve around letting go of some of the extreme thinking -- with Larry, with food, with my relationship with my mom. Things are not "all bad" or "all good." There is a "sort of" category. I'm trying to become acquainted with it.

***
Today's gratitude:
1. GOT MY PERIOD!
2. I've been in some kind of weird cooking mood. I made (and ATE -- I feel the need to make this distinction) blueberry pancakes yesterday and egg scrambles (basically, failed omelets) today.
3. I've been way more lenient about my exercise routine. I realize that I still feel calmest when I get in a walk and/or yoga, but I don't HAVE to do it.
4. Larry likes HGTV. I've developed a love of "House Hunters," "Property Virgins," and various other shows on the network. I didn't think he'd have any interest, but he does. We may go to Lowe's with our newfound inspiration.
5. That brings me to this news: We're going to live together again. 2 humans, 4 cats. This should be interesting.

Dropping anchor

As you guys know from past posts, I've been pretty close with my mom over the years. Multiple emails per day, several phone calls each week. That kind of "close." Something breaks, I call her. I have a weird rash, I call her. I can't remember how long to put the salmon in the oven (and is it 400 degrees or 425?), I call her. She's always there for me, and I love her dearly for that. What I've been seeing lately is that I think I've gypped myself when it comes to building self-confidence because I always go to my mom for what she thinks. I feel like I need her approval. I can't sleep at night if I think she disagrees with something I'm doing. I don't feel calm unless she tells me it's ok: "Mom, my cat is getting fat. Do you think she has diabetes? Do you? Do you?!"

It's like this: my anxiety reaches a certain level, and I go to her to bring it down, missing the opportunity to show myself that the anxiety will either a) come down on its own, or b) be brought down by talking to myself (not in a creepy, insane way, but in a cognitive behavioral therapy way). From my perspective, what happens with my mom and I is we create this dynamic of worrying together. We're both somewhat anxious people and, together, we can create a hurricane of stress and "what ifs." I don't think it's her fault. I don't think it's my fault. It's just something we do together. We can stir up a storm.

When I saw my mom at my sister's wedding, it was a little strange because we haven't talked much in the past couple months. It hasn't been intentional. I didn't set up a rule like, "I'm only going to email once a week." It wasn't like that at all. I just haven't been going to her as much. I guess I'm trying to get to know and trust myself, to see what I want and how I feel, removed from what anyone else thinks.

My therapist says that when we know ourselves, we have confidence. We are anchored by what we believe and what we want. I don't think I've really known myself or what I believe or want. I've been an unanchored ship in the harbor of life, easily swayed by the opinions and thoughts of others. I mean, I'm even easily swayed by the thoughts of strangers. I worry what you (yes, you) think about the way I live my life -- my weight issues, the fallout with Larry, the reconnection with Larry, etc. When I go on a walk in the morning, I pass the same maintenance guy every day (I do a very boring loop around the community college campus). I wear the same sweatshirt and jeans every day. If I see him ahead, I find myself looking for another route because I think, "He's going to think I'm so weird -- walking every day at 8-ish in the morning, in the same outfit. I'm such a dork." (This self-consciousness was drastically worse when I still had a Discman). The point is I don't even KNOW this man! This goes to show that I live my life too much according to what others think. I take different paths (quite literally) according to what others think (or, rather, according to what I assume they think). I don't want to do that anymore. I want to be ME. And I think I haven't been sharing much with my mom (and some other people in my life) because I don't want to create waves that will capsize me. In effect, I'm sheltering myself in my harbor until I'm comfortable dropping my anchor.

I'm not too worried about my relationship with my mom. I think with some time, we'll figure out how to relate to each other, probably when I feel more confident in myself, as the almost-30-year-old woman that I am. I feel like I was supposed to learn this separation of self 15 years ago, but, oh well, I'm a slow learner.

How have you developed a sense of self apart from your parents? Do you feel confident in your choices, or do you have people in your life whose approval you seek?

***
Today's gratitude:
1. Sorting through old crap and throwing it away.
2. Lots of progress on my side job (writing a website about cancer diagnostics).
3. Girl time and "Entourage" on DVR tonight.
4. Air-conditioning.
5. Good talk with my sister this morning :)