I am sitting on the bed wondering what happened. How did I get to this point, again? I was moving forward, doing well. I define, "doing well" by having no ED behaviors. I've been doing well for about 7 months. Given, 6 of those 7 months were spent in treatment, but I've done it so I know I can do it again. I should be able to do it again. That 7-month period should have been the hardest time in my recovery, considering its temporal closeness to my lowest point. Or should it have been? Was I just in the initial gung-ho-I'm-all-about-recovery period? Was it beginner's luck?
It's interesting because I was very depressed until about a month ago, but I was having no behaviors. I was doing well. About a month ago, I started taking my meds again because the depression was getting to be too much. Now I'm happy (still uneasy about that word) and more emotionally stable, but compulsively exercising, bingeing, and purging almost daily.
It could be the fact that I have a 3-week break from work, but that only accounts for last week when the break started. What about all the weeks before that? What was going on then? I know. Things were beginning to be too normal, too mundane, too boring. I need to live in the black and white. I crave it. I am drawn, and used to the chaotic, extreme hour-to-hour, day-to-day living. I don't know how to be comfortable in the grey. When things start to be too normal, I feel so much anxiety an pent up energy to stir things up, usually for the worse.
"I have been in treatment. I know better.", is what plays in my head over and over. It has passed the point of being encouraging, and is now only discouraging and mocking. I have been in treatment, I know how therapy sessions are going to go, I have all the insight I need. Then why am I sitting here writing about these things? Why have I taken so many steps back? Why do I still need to write in order to let the urges pass? Why do I still have urges? Why can't I eat without dissecting the ingredients and counting calories? I know better.
I just had a cobb salad with less dressing than was in the package (370), toast (110), ice cream (90), m&m's (50). 620. The entire time I was eating, I was debating between whether or not I should binge/purge. I thought about all the food I don't have at home, and that while I'm cooking or buying food, the calories I've already consumed will be absorbed. I thought about how I have more than enough time to b/p before going to support group. I thought about how shitty I'd feel telling my boyfriend I b/p'ed yet again, and about the pain and exhaustion that comes from purging. It was the most mindful I have been in a long time. Yesterday, the same debate happened, except I actually b/p'ed. Today, I am able to listen to the con's and make them outweigh the pro's. One pro is that I will lose weight. Another is that I will get to eat everything I want without gaining weight. On a point system, those 2 have a greater total than the con's combined. But, somehow, I am able to stop myself in my tracks and put an end to my ED voice.
The urge has passed and I have 1 hour until I leave for support group. I'm proud of myself.
Monday, December 30, 2013
Sunday, December 15, 2013
..........
"The tendency toward excess veered out of control into bulimia, that state of fear and desire, that violent crashing back and forth between hunger and the abortion of hunger, between taking in and throwing back what is most needed and instinctively desired: food...Fearing the constant thunder in the mind that bulimia brings, I turned toward the silence of anorexia. Afraid of the explicit passions of bulimia, I sought out what I mistook for the passionless state of starvation." (Marya Hornbacher, Wasted. Pg. 94)
I don't know what happened. I was doing so well when I was in treatment, but gradually, I've been having behaviors. Frequent behaviors. I've been restricting, binging, purging, body checking, compulsively exercising, negative self-talking. I met with a therapist for the first time in a long time, and for lack of a better word, it was depressing.
Therapist: You think you're defected. You think no one can help you.
Me: Well, yea. I do think I'm defected. I've had therapists tell me that they can't help me.
T: You know, you might be recreating the situation for yourself.
M: If I am aware of that possibility, why would I let that happen. Why would I let myself recreate the situation. I don't like being like this. I want to be helped.
T: Why are you here [in therapy]?
M: I want to want to get better.
T: That has to come from you.
M: [DUH] I know. I guess, I just wanted to be able to talk to somebody without judgment, with no strings attached.
T: Can I be completely honest with you?
T: You are so far from being connected with your body, you are so far from being in touch with yourself.
M: ......
T: It is unethical for me to see you every week and try to help you while I watch you self-destruct.
M: ......
T: Have you considered going back to treatment?
.........
T: Do you want me to refer you to another therapist?
So what does this mean. I want to go to support groups so badly, but they take place during my work hours. I desperately want to meet with my dietitian, but she takes appointments only during my work hours. I can't afford to lose out on a whole day's worth of pay, so my only choice is to wait until school is on winter vacation. But even when I do meet with my dietitian or go to a support group, what will I gain from it? What more insight do I need? Insight doesn't get you anywhere; It's the actions that make the difference. But if I have the insight on how to recover, know what actions to take in order to recover, but still desire to engage in behaviors to reach my goal of getting thinner, what can I possibly gain from therapy? Will I ever get better? Yes, I do think I'm defected. And I sound pathetic and like a complete self-loathing crybaby, but I honestly can not see myself living a "normal" life, let alone having the mentality of a non-eating-disordered person.
I can't imagine myself looking at my meal without seeing numbers. Counting calories is so second-nature to me, I can not imagine shutting off that part of my brain. I know how many calories my meal plan calls for, and if I go over that number, even by the tiniest bit, my fear of gaining weight would outweigh all other rational thought.
This blog doesn't reach many people, but to those that it does, any thoughts?? Suggestions?? Anyone there??
ANYbody??
I don't know what happened. I was doing so well when I was in treatment, but gradually, I've been having behaviors. Frequent behaviors. I've been restricting, binging, purging, body checking, compulsively exercising, negative self-talking. I met with a therapist for the first time in a long time, and for lack of a better word, it was depressing.
Therapist: You think you're defected. You think no one can help you.
Me: Well, yea. I do think I'm defected. I've had therapists tell me that they can't help me.
T: You know, you might be recreating the situation for yourself.
M: If I am aware of that possibility, why would I let that happen. Why would I let myself recreate the situation. I don't like being like this. I want to be helped.
T: Why are you here [in therapy]?
M: I want to want to get better.
T: That has to come from you.
M: [DUH] I know. I guess, I just wanted to be able to talk to somebody without judgment, with no strings attached.
T: Can I be completely honest with you?
T: You are so far from being connected with your body, you are so far from being in touch with yourself.
M: ......
T: It is unethical for me to see you every week and try to help you while I watch you self-destruct.
M: ......
T: Have you considered going back to treatment?
.........
T: Do you want me to refer you to another therapist?
So what does this mean. I want to go to support groups so badly, but they take place during my work hours. I desperately want to meet with my dietitian, but she takes appointments only during my work hours. I can't afford to lose out on a whole day's worth of pay, so my only choice is to wait until school is on winter vacation. But even when I do meet with my dietitian or go to a support group, what will I gain from it? What more insight do I need? Insight doesn't get you anywhere; It's the actions that make the difference. But if I have the insight on how to recover, know what actions to take in order to recover, but still desire to engage in behaviors to reach my goal of getting thinner, what can I possibly gain from therapy? Will I ever get better? Yes, I do think I'm defected. And I sound pathetic and like a complete self-loathing crybaby, but I honestly can not see myself living a "normal" life, let alone having the mentality of a non-eating-disordered person.
I can't imagine myself looking at my meal without seeing numbers. Counting calories is so second-nature to me, I can not imagine shutting off that part of my brain. I know how many calories my meal plan calls for, and if I go over that number, even by the tiniest bit, my fear of gaining weight would outweigh all other rational thought.
This blog doesn't reach many people, but to those that it does, any thoughts?? Suggestions?? Anyone there??
ANYbody??
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Welcome to my mind.
Do 40 minutes on the treadmill like yesterday. Yesterday was a good first day back at the gym. How many calories did I burn yesterday?
I beat myself up for not remembering.
Let's do 45 minutes just for cushion.
"The Biggest Loser" is on TV. What a shitty show to play at the gym. Subtitles read, "I burned enough calories to eat a cookie". Go to hell.
Start off walking at 1.5 incline, 3.7 speed. Run at same incline, 6.0 speed. Walk 5, run 5, walk 5, run 5.
30:00. 277 calories. Portia de Rossi wrote in her Unbearable Lightness, that she ran at 6.0 on a 1.0 incline for 30 minutes. I feel good already. Almost past my day's intake. Let's break 300 for the banana I ate before the workout.
35:00. Walk at 3 incline at 3.7 speed. It's a little tiring, so I grab the handles. Then I think, moving my arms back and forth has to burn more calories than grabbing the handles.
44:00. 377 kcal. Back at 1.5 incline. Want to break 400 even if it goes past my earlier decision to do just 45 minutes. A nice round number, 400. 48:10. 400kcal. I reached my goal. I can stop now, but what kind of number is 48:10. Might as well go to 50:00. Why stop at 50 when I can go to 60?
54:20. Feel so powerful. People coming and going on the machines on either side of me. I feel stronger, more intense, more superhuman than those people who give in to their body's signals (there are too many parallels here to my food behaviors). I tell myself, today is the only day I will exercise like this.
55:00. Walk these last 5 minutes. 55:43 470 kcal. Want to break 500. Will this ever end?
59:33 488 kcal. So close, keep pushing. Increase incline to 3.0 because it burns more calories faster. 61:38 500 kcal. Take that, Portia de Rossi.
It's only 8:55PM. Too early to go back home and do nothing so might as well stay and burn some more. Move on to the bicycle. Cigarettes in my bag look so tempting and rewarding. My tendency to delay any sort of gratification, tells me that waiting is going to make them that much tastier.
Damn. 2:46 16 kcal. What is this. Shit, I forgot to suck in and tighten my stomach.
Got a call to open the front door of my apartment. Thank goodness it's only half a block away. I get off the machine. But wait, I forgot to read the kcal burned. I panic a little. Get back on to check and am relieved to see that resuming the workout will show where I left off. 35 kcal. Total of 535 kcal for 1.5 hours. I run to apartment to continue workout. Why walk when I can run? This feels like it's about a 5.0 incline. Open door, run back. I deserve a cigarette, and damn, the wait did make it tastier.
Get back in the gym on to the bicycle. 3:15, 16. Reading my beloved book, Wasted, by Marya Hornbacher. Who the hell reads a memoir about eating disorders at the gym. I do. It reads, "We speak as if there was one collective perfect body, a singular entity that we're all after. The trouble is, I think we are after that one body. We grow up with the impression that underneath all this normal flesh, buried deep in the excessive recesses of our healthy bodies, there was a Perfect Body just waiting to break out. It would look exactly like everyone else's perfect body. A clone of the shapeless, androgynous models, the hairless, silicone-implanted porn stars...As Andy Warhol wrote, "The more you look at the same exact thing...the better and emptier you feel." (p. 47)
19:02, 95 kcal.
"Recent research suggests that an extremely strong desire for academic achievement may be as significant as sexual maturation, if not more so, in the development of eating disorders in young women. There is a combination of...a family that has high expectations of achievement...a child who is prone to excessive self-imposed pressure; and a child who exhibits unusual levels of academic ability and intelligence. The combination often results in mental paralysis.The child may defect from expectations - her own above all else - and take refuge in an entirely antirational set of behaviors that have, in fact, a highly organized structure." (p. 54)
Marya Hornbacher: she is my hero. It's called Wasted. Everybody should read it, whether or not they have an eating disorder. It's a great parenting book.
25:00 126 kcal.
28:30 147 kcal. Need to break 150.
Pedal harder.
30:00 151 kcal.
686 kcal not including the run to and from my apartment.
Time for some arm exercises.
Get on the fixed pulldown. 40 lb (pitiful). 5 sets of 15. I wish these had calorie counters.
I walk to a more open area to stretch and do some crunches. It feels good to be at the gym.
2.25 hours, around 700 kcal burned. I don't want to exercise like this again. Too many memories. But, if I don't do it again or even raise the bar next time, I'm going to feel mentally weak and physically larger.
I am starving.
I get back home, take an amazing, long shower, and I feel weak, shaky. The hot shower leaves me even more hungry, and I contemplate not eating anything to keep up my caloric deficit. I catch myself getting caught up in my old ways and grab a banana. I think bananas are literally the quietest foods, from the peeling, to the chewing, to the disposing of peel. Well, I guess yogurt and pudding are similar in noise-level. I'm not a big banana-lover, partly because it's not juicy at all, partly because it's so dense and has so many calories. But I think, "I burned enough calories to eat a banana" and try to eat as quietly as I possibly can. This takes me back to my bulimic days when I used to binge in the kitchen when everyone was asleep, trying to make as little noise as possible.
But this time I don't purge.
Because I already did.
I beat myself up for not remembering.
Let's do 45 minutes just for cushion.
"The Biggest Loser" is on TV. What a shitty show to play at the gym. Subtitles read, "I burned enough calories to eat a cookie". Go to hell.
Start off walking at 1.5 incline, 3.7 speed. Run at same incline, 6.0 speed. Walk 5, run 5, walk 5, run 5.
30:00. 277 calories. Portia de Rossi wrote in her Unbearable Lightness, that she ran at 6.0 on a 1.0 incline for 30 minutes. I feel good already. Almost past my day's intake. Let's break 300 for the banana I ate before the workout.
35:00. Walk at 3 incline at 3.7 speed. It's a little tiring, so I grab the handles. Then I think, moving my arms back and forth has to burn more calories than grabbing the handles.
44:00. 377 kcal. Back at 1.5 incline. Want to break 400 even if it goes past my earlier decision to do just 45 minutes. A nice round number, 400. 48:10. 400kcal. I reached my goal. I can stop now, but what kind of number is 48:10. Might as well go to 50:00. Why stop at 50 when I can go to 60?
54:20. Feel so powerful. People coming and going on the machines on either side of me. I feel stronger, more intense, more superhuman than those people who give in to their body's signals (there are too many parallels here to my food behaviors). I tell myself, today is the only day I will exercise like this.
55:00. Walk these last 5 minutes. 55:43 470 kcal. Want to break 500. Will this ever end?
59:33 488 kcal. So close, keep pushing. Increase incline to 3.0 because it burns more calories faster. 61:38 500 kcal. Take that, Portia de Rossi.
It's only 8:55PM. Too early to go back home and do nothing so might as well stay and burn some more. Move on to the bicycle. Cigarettes in my bag look so tempting and rewarding. My tendency to delay any sort of gratification, tells me that waiting is going to make them that much tastier.
Damn. 2:46 16 kcal. What is this. Shit, I forgot to suck in and tighten my stomach.
Got a call to open the front door of my apartment. Thank goodness it's only half a block away. I get off the machine. But wait, I forgot to read the kcal burned. I panic a little. Get back on to check and am relieved to see that resuming the workout will show where I left off. 35 kcal. Total of 535 kcal for 1.5 hours. I run to apartment to continue workout. Why walk when I can run? This feels like it's about a 5.0 incline. Open door, run back. I deserve a cigarette, and damn, the wait did make it tastier.
Get back in the gym on to the bicycle. 3:15, 16. Reading my beloved book, Wasted, by Marya Hornbacher. Who the hell reads a memoir about eating disorders at the gym. I do. It reads, "We speak as if there was one collective perfect body, a singular entity that we're all after. The trouble is, I think we are after that one body. We grow up with the impression that underneath all this normal flesh, buried deep in the excessive recesses of our healthy bodies, there was a Perfect Body just waiting to break out. It would look exactly like everyone else's perfect body. A clone of the shapeless, androgynous models, the hairless, silicone-implanted porn stars...As Andy Warhol wrote, "The more you look at the same exact thing...the better and emptier you feel." (p. 47)
19:02, 95 kcal.
"Recent research suggests that an extremely strong desire for academic achievement may be as significant as sexual maturation, if not more so, in the development of eating disorders in young women. There is a combination of...a family that has high expectations of achievement...a child who is prone to excessive self-imposed pressure; and a child who exhibits unusual levels of academic ability and intelligence. The combination often results in mental paralysis.The child may defect from expectations - her own above all else - and take refuge in an entirely antirational set of behaviors that have, in fact, a highly organized structure." (p. 54)
Marya Hornbacher: she is my hero. It's called Wasted. Everybody should read it, whether or not they have an eating disorder. It's a great parenting book.
25:00 126 kcal.
28:30 147 kcal. Need to break 150.
Pedal harder.
30:00 151 kcal.
686 kcal not including the run to and from my apartment.
Time for some arm exercises.
Get on the fixed pulldown. 40 lb (pitiful). 5 sets of 15. I wish these had calorie counters.
I walk to a more open area to stretch and do some crunches. It feels good to be at the gym.
2.25 hours, around 700 kcal burned. I don't want to exercise like this again. Too many memories. But, if I don't do it again or even raise the bar next time, I'm going to feel mentally weak and physically larger.
I am starving.
I get back home, take an amazing, long shower, and I feel weak, shaky. The hot shower leaves me even more hungry, and I contemplate not eating anything to keep up my caloric deficit. I catch myself getting caught up in my old ways and grab a banana. I think bananas are literally the quietest foods, from the peeling, to the chewing, to the disposing of peel. Well, I guess yogurt and pudding are similar in noise-level. I'm not a big banana-lover, partly because it's not juicy at all, partly because it's so dense and has so many calories. But I think, "I burned enough calories to eat a banana" and try to eat as quietly as I possibly can. This takes me back to my bulimic days when I used to binge in the kitchen when everyone was asleep, trying to make as little noise as possible.
But this time I don't purge.
Because I already did.
Saturday, December 7, 2013
Dear Body,
I am in a much different, much better place than when I last wrote to you. I still consider my eyes "distorted, conniving lenses". That's never going to change. Just because I am in recovery doesn't mean I'm going to like you. It means I'm going to learn how to look at you in different, more positive ways. Rather than seeing you as a flaw that needs countless fixing, I see you as a thing that moves me and enables me to accomplish tasks. At least, I'm working on it.
I'm learning how to be comfortable in you. I stop to appreciate the warm smell of books. I listen to songs that are soothing to my insides. I mindfully enjoy my dogs' kisses. I enjoy the taste of sugary things without feeling like I've lost total control. My arms don't feel weak anymore when I brush my teeth. I can walk up flights of stairs without getting chest pains. I don't get fainting spells anymore.
Like I said, I'm probably not going to like you, but I can like what you allow me to do. So often, I wish I could regain the space between my thighs. I wish my thighs were the size of my calves, but I am thankful that they allow me to walk long distances without getting weak. I wish my arms didn't look so gelatinous, but that means I can hold my dogs for much longer. I wish my belly didn't protrude so much, but that means there's more to protect what's inside it.
Even though I acknowledge, logically, what you can do for me when properly nourished, I have been slowly tip-toeing back to my old ways. However, I know that I will be OK because "recovery is a process, not a destination." Sometimes, my mind gets the best of me and I don't make pro-recovery choices and it's scary how instantaneously a switch can turn on/off in my brain to get caught up in a behavior. Honestly, I can not envision a life where I don't count calories or not feel like a complete and utter failure when I grab seconds at a Thanksgiving dinner. I can't imagine myself eating out at a restaurant and just ordering whatever sounds good at the moment, instead of choosing the least-caloric meal on the menu. I can't conceptualize giving up my measuring tools, and I definitely can not visualize a life where I don't weigh myself. I wish I could be like those who eat whenever and whatever they want without worrying about their weight.
I have betrayed and deserted you for 11 years, so I understand that it will take a while to earn your trust back. But I will not give up just like how you did not give up on me.
Sincerely,
Liz
I'm learning how to be comfortable in you. I stop to appreciate the warm smell of books. I listen to songs that are soothing to my insides. I mindfully enjoy my dogs' kisses. I enjoy the taste of sugary things without feeling like I've lost total control. My arms don't feel weak anymore when I brush my teeth. I can walk up flights of stairs without getting chest pains. I don't get fainting spells anymore.
Like I said, I'm probably not going to like you, but I can like what you allow me to do. So often, I wish I could regain the space between my thighs. I wish my thighs were the size of my calves, but I am thankful that they allow me to walk long distances without getting weak. I wish my arms didn't look so gelatinous, but that means I can hold my dogs for much longer. I wish my belly didn't protrude so much, but that means there's more to protect what's inside it.
Even though I acknowledge, logically, what you can do for me when properly nourished, I have been slowly tip-toeing back to my old ways. However, I know that I will be OK because "recovery is a process, not a destination." Sometimes, my mind gets the best of me and I don't make pro-recovery choices and it's scary how instantaneously a switch can turn on/off in my brain to get caught up in a behavior. Honestly, I can not envision a life where I don't count calories or not feel like a complete and utter failure when I grab seconds at a Thanksgiving dinner. I can't imagine myself eating out at a restaurant and just ordering whatever sounds good at the moment, instead of choosing the least-caloric meal on the menu. I can't conceptualize giving up my measuring tools, and I definitely can not visualize a life where I don't weigh myself. I wish I could be like those who eat whenever and whatever they want without worrying about their weight.
I have betrayed and deserted you for 11 years, so I understand that it will take a while to earn your trust back. But I will not give up just like how you did not give up on me.
Sincerely,
Liz
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Thank you, Marya Hornbacher
When I was deep in my eating disorder, I was desperate to feel a connection to anything and anyone. I felt alone and isolated from the rest of the world because, well, that's the nature of eating disorders. So ever since I was young - and even now - I found comfort in books and movies about suicide, abandoned children, broken families, and betrayal.
The day I entered treatment was the first time I read about somebody with an eating disorder. Before that, I've never spoken openly with anyone with any sort of mental illness. Many reviews said the book may be triggering, but to me, it was my refuge, my sanctuary. I can read this passage now and see so clearly that I am in a much better place than I was just several months ago.
“People with eating disorders tend to be very diametrical thinkers – everything is the end of the world, everything rides on this one thing, and everyone tells you you're very dramatic, very intense, and they see it as an affectation, but it´s actually just how you think. It really seems to you that the sky will fall if you are not personally holding it up. On the one hand, this is sheer arrogance; on the other hand, this is a very real fear. And it isn't that you ignore the potential repercussions of your actions. You don't think there are any. Because you are not even there.”
-Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia
The day I entered treatment was the first time I read about somebody with an eating disorder. Before that, I've never spoken openly with anyone with any sort of mental illness. Many reviews said the book may be triggering, but to me, it was my refuge, my sanctuary. I can read this passage now and see so clearly that I am in a much better place than I was just several months ago.
“People with eating disorders tend to be very diametrical thinkers – everything is the end of the world, everything rides on this one thing, and everyone tells you you're very dramatic, very intense, and they see it as an affectation, but it´s actually just how you think. It really seems to you that the sky will fall if you are not personally holding it up. On the one hand, this is sheer arrogance; on the other hand, this is a very real fear. And it isn't that you ignore the potential repercussions of your actions. You don't think there are any. Because you are not even there.”
-Marya Hornbacher, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Not so smooth-sailing
Recovering from an eating disorder takes a difference approach than recovering from alcoholism or drug addiction. Substance abuse can be reduced to the deceptively simple focus of keeping away from the crack. But you can't keep away from food even if you wanted to. When you go to rehab for an ED, you are taught how to eat "normal" portions like a "normal" person, how to feel about and around food, and how to monitor your hunger/fullness, among other things. When you go to rehab for drugs and alcohol, you are closely monitored to make sure you stay clean during your stay.
What does getting help with depression mean? Learning to keep away from your own mind? It would be a whole lot easier to get rid of Jameson than Liz.
When I was in treatment, it was easy for me to go through the motions; my motto was "fake it 'til you make it." I thought eating healthily and having psychotherapy sessions for hours on end day after day would help with my depression. But I found myself having no ED behaviors for 6 months and still hating myself. Drug addicts, alcoholics, and people with eating disorders have the crutch of a tangible problem, so there are places they could be taken to for help. There are no halfway houses for depressives, no Depression Anonymous that I know of. Instead, depressives are under-treated by psychiatrists. I think this may be a reason why depressives go so far as adapting a tangible problem or committing suicide to get some "real help".
Rehab of any kind is not like a conveyor belt that you ride for 30 days or 30 weeks or however long it takes to get better. You're not pushed off the assembly line all fresh and spanking new, ready to start all over again. It's not a fairy tale where things get worse before they get better and there's a happily ever after. Things get worse, get better, get a little - or much - worse, get better, get worse...you get the picture. It's not like a college course that you take for months, prepare for the exam, pass the exam, and move on with life like it never happened.
Being in recovery is like being a used car. You have to take it to the shop to make sure all its parts are functioning well enough to take on the road. You have to be very gentle and cautious with it to make it last as long as possible before inevitably returning to the shop for something that never really stays fixed. It will always be a used car. You will always be in recovery.
For me, the most infuriating thing about eating disorders is how accepting society is of them. The American definition of "beauty" is so skewed and fucked up, and I do not see it ever changing. People are reduced to merely their looks. On TV and in movies, the attractive ones always end up winning the man/woman and the ugly ones are stupid and lonely. If 2 different people are applying for the same job, the employer will hire the more "attractive" one because people are socialized to believe that attractive people are smarter, more approachable, more successful, and overall, better.
If somebody looks thinner (I'll use a female example), her friends compliment her on how much prettier she looks. Little do they know that that person became thinner by restricting and vomiting, and this positive reinforcement only motivates the person to continue in her eating disorder. After all, receiving acceptance due to her eating disorder is better than no acceptance. Because she is now "prettier", she has friends - or people who never knew was alive, now acknowledges her existence - and is invited to social events. They all go drinking and she, being already so self-destructive, begins to out drink everyone. This calls for even more positive reinforcement as she is considered fun, down-to-earth, sexy. She tells her friends she has to pee, which the friends don't know really means, "I'm going to go purge because alcohol has calories". She stumbles home hungry because of the purge and the drunkenness so she binges and purges, then wakes up the next day only to remember how much excitement has entered her life due to her new thinner look. So she continues to do what she knows brings acceptance. You see the cycle?
Ugh. Thanksgiving's coming up.
What does getting help with depression mean? Learning to keep away from your own mind? It would be a whole lot easier to get rid of Jameson than Liz.
When I was in treatment, it was easy for me to go through the motions; my motto was "fake it 'til you make it." I thought eating healthily and having psychotherapy sessions for hours on end day after day would help with my depression. But I found myself having no ED behaviors for 6 months and still hating myself. Drug addicts, alcoholics, and people with eating disorders have the crutch of a tangible problem, so there are places they could be taken to for help. There are no halfway houses for depressives, no Depression Anonymous that I know of. Instead, depressives are under-treated by psychiatrists. I think this may be a reason why depressives go so far as adapting a tangible problem or committing suicide to get some "real help".
Rehab of any kind is not like a conveyor belt that you ride for 30 days or 30 weeks or however long it takes to get better. You're not pushed off the assembly line all fresh and spanking new, ready to start all over again. It's not a fairy tale where things get worse before they get better and there's a happily ever after. Things get worse, get better, get a little - or much - worse, get better, get worse...you get the picture. It's not like a college course that you take for months, prepare for the exam, pass the exam, and move on with life like it never happened.
Being in recovery is like being a used car. You have to take it to the shop to make sure all its parts are functioning well enough to take on the road. You have to be very gentle and cautious with it to make it last as long as possible before inevitably returning to the shop for something that never really stays fixed. It will always be a used car. You will always be in recovery.
For me, the most infuriating thing about eating disorders is how accepting society is of them. The American definition of "beauty" is so skewed and fucked up, and I do not see it ever changing. People are reduced to merely their looks. On TV and in movies, the attractive ones always end up winning the man/woman and the ugly ones are stupid and lonely. If 2 different people are applying for the same job, the employer will hire the more "attractive" one because people are socialized to believe that attractive people are smarter, more approachable, more successful, and overall, better.
If somebody looks thinner (I'll use a female example), her friends compliment her on how much prettier she looks. Little do they know that that person became thinner by restricting and vomiting, and this positive reinforcement only motivates the person to continue in her eating disorder. After all, receiving acceptance due to her eating disorder is better than no acceptance. Because she is now "prettier", she has friends - or people who never knew was alive, now acknowledges her existence - and is invited to social events. They all go drinking and she, being already so self-destructive, begins to out drink everyone. This calls for even more positive reinforcement as she is considered fun, down-to-earth, sexy. She tells her friends she has to pee, which the friends don't know really means, "I'm going to go purge because alcohol has calories". She stumbles home hungry because of the purge and the drunkenness so she binges and purges, then wakes up the next day only to remember how much excitement has entered her life due to her new thinner look. So she continues to do what she knows brings acceptance. You see the cycle?
Ugh. Thanksgiving's coming up.
Monday, November 11, 2013
Trustworthy Relationships and Unconditionally Safe Territory
Trust is a scary thing. It comes with such a high cost - betrayal. The effects of betrayal can be so damaging.When somebody trusts you me, I feel like so much is expected of me. Sometimes too much. Not that I don't believe I can live up to those expectations, but just the fact that those expectations exist, is scary and nerve-racking.
Maybe they're not so much as expectations as they are standards. A person trusts me because that person holds me to a certain standard - reliable, competent, and honest. In other words, trustworthy. Like when I trust the doctor to prescribe me the right medicine, or my sweater to keep me warm. When someone trusts me and confides in me, it triggers anxiety and makes me think about past instances in which I provided evidence of reliability, competence, and honesty. It makes me second guess myself. I do believe I am trustworthy. I do.
Maybe it's not so much the standards that scare me. It may be the confiding that I am scared of. The confidential information that person tells me that causes me to worry, dwell, and obsess about the person's well-being.
Today someone trusted me and told me a piece of information that I have been obsessing over ever since. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for receiving his trust, but I am more grateful that he has found the comfort that comes from trusting someone. It really brought to the forefront the things we have in common and opened up the way to more meaningful conversation and connection. But at the same time, it brought on other emotions like fear, sadness, helplessness, guilt, and resentment. They're so strong that I almost wish he hadn't told me - I guess that makes me selfish and cowardly. Almost. However, the strongest emotion was relief because we were finally able to put our guards down and invite us to get to know each other better.
There should be more trust in the world. But that only comes from having more trustworthy people and that's where the problem lies. I feel like people are becoming increasingly manipulative and self-serving - in other words, unethical. How do we create trustworthy people? Let us start with ourselves.
Maybe they're not so much as expectations as they are standards. A person trusts me because that person holds me to a certain standard - reliable, competent, and honest. In other words, trustworthy. Like when I trust the doctor to prescribe me the right medicine, or my sweater to keep me warm. When someone trusts me and confides in me, it triggers anxiety and makes me think about past instances in which I provided evidence of reliability, competence, and honesty. It makes me second guess myself. I do believe I am trustworthy. I do.
Maybe it's not so much the standards that scare me. It may be the confiding that I am scared of. The confidential information that person tells me that causes me to worry, dwell, and obsess about the person's well-being.
Today someone trusted me and told me a piece of information that I have been obsessing over ever since. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful for receiving his trust, but I am more grateful that he has found the comfort that comes from trusting someone. It really brought to the forefront the things we have in common and opened up the way to more meaningful conversation and connection. But at the same time, it brought on other emotions like fear, sadness, helplessness, guilt, and resentment. They're so strong that I almost wish he hadn't told me - I guess that makes me selfish and cowardly. Almost. However, the strongest emotion was relief because we were finally able to put our guards down and invite us to get to know each other better.
There should be more trust in the world. But that only comes from having more trustworthy people and that's where the problem lies. I feel like people are becoming increasingly manipulative and self-serving - in other words, unethical. How do we create trustworthy people? Let us start with ourselves.
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Valuable member of society
That's me!!
Recently, I got a job as a substitute teacher for an awesome company and after less than a week of working, I was offered a permanent teaching position. I am one of the few people who can honestly say, "I love my job." My mom was bathing one of my dogs when I told her the news and she screamed with excitement and clapped her hands like a little girl. I haven't seen her so happy since I got accepted to college 6 years ago. Her reaction and a friend's willingness to celebrate really make me feel good about myself. Having loved ones' support is my biggest motivator and I'm very fortunate to have such people in my life.
Although I love teaching kids, I'll only be doing it for a year. I've decided to go back to school next year to study psychology. I'm so so SO excited to go back to school!! Being around driven students and passionate professors, learning about various cultures and theories, writing papers after papers after papers. I love and miss everything about school - even pulling all-nighters during finals weeks and my compulsive obsession of planning every hour of every day. Plus, it feels good to finally have something to look forward to.
Oh, and I quit smoking cigarettes! It's been nearly a month and I still can't believe it. After 11 years of smoking, I have turned to the patch. The smell of cigarette smoke makes me weak but, surprisingly, drinking helps with the cravings. The worst part about quitting is the sleep. It once took me 4 hours to fall asleep and it feels impossible to lie comfortably. The best part is also the sleep. I've read that wearing the patch to sleep causes vivid dreams so, of course, that's what I decided to do. I like waking up to the thought, "Oh shit, that felt so real!!!" Mostly my dreams are nightmares, but I like having my adrenaline rush, even if it's when I'm asleep.
So, back to being a valuable member of society, I feel pretty damn proud of myself and I will not let anyone make me feel otherwise or stop me from what I want to do. :)
Recently, I got a job as a substitute teacher for an awesome company and after less than a week of working, I was offered a permanent teaching position. I am one of the few people who can honestly say, "I love my job." My mom was bathing one of my dogs when I told her the news and she screamed with excitement and clapped her hands like a little girl. I haven't seen her so happy since I got accepted to college 6 years ago. Her reaction and a friend's willingness to celebrate really make me feel good about myself. Having loved ones' support is my biggest motivator and I'm very fortunate to have such people in my life.
Although I love teaching kids, I'll only be doing it for a year. I've decided to go back to school next year to study psychology. I'm so so SO excited to go back to school!! Being around driven students and passionate professors, learning about various cultures and theories, writing papers after papers after papers. I love and miss everything about school - even pulling all-nighters during finals weeks and my compulsive obsession of planning every hour of every day. Plus, it feels good to finally have something to look forward to.
Oh, and I quit smoking cigarettes! It's been nearly a month and I still can't believe it. After 11 years of smoking, I have turned to the patch. The smell of cigarette smoke makes me weak but, surprisingly, drinking helps with the cravings. The worst part about quitting is the sleep. It once took me 4 hours to fall asleep and it feels impossible to lie comfortably. The best part is also the sleep. I've read that wearing the patch to sleep causes vivid dreams so, of course, that's what I decided to do. I like waking up to the thought, "Oh shit, that felt so real!!!" Mostly my dreams are nightmares, but I like having my adrenaline rush, even if it's when I'm asleep.
So, back to being a valuable member of society, I feel pretty damn proud of myself and I will not let anyone make me feel otherwise or stop me from what I want to do. :)
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
I guess you could call this my bucket list.
This is what I came up with in under 10 minutes:
1. Cook all the recipes in one of Gordon Ramsay's cookbooks.
2. Compose a piano piece.
3. Sponsor a child through an NGO and visit him/her.
4. Knit my own winter socks.
5. Foster dogs.
6. Run my own eating disorders support group.
7. Attend one of Ellen De Generes's shows.
8. Have sex in a swimming pool (private, not public, of course).
9. Go to India, France, and Lebanon, and EAT.
10. Quit smoking.
1. Cook all the recipes in one of Gordon Ramsay's cookbooks.
2. Compose a piano piece.
3. Sponsor a child through an NGO and visit him/her.
4. Knit my own winter socks.
5. Foster dogs.
6. Run my own eating disorders support group.
7. Attend one of Ellen De Generes's shows.
8. Have sex in a swimming pool (private, not public, of course).
9. Go to India, France, and Lebanon, and EAT.
10. Quit smoking.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
I'm bored and restless, but is that a bad thing?
The American culture pushes people to be in constant motion. People always have to be somewhere, always have to be doing something. I feel like the human relationship with time had changed radically since the rise of the Machine during the Industrial Revolution. Humans no longer move at nature's pace, by the passing of the seasons, and the natural cycles of life and planets. Everything is so sped up and discombobulated. And that's how I feel - frazzled, out of synch, disconnected. For me, these time pressures disconnect me from my natural rhythm and leave me feeling further and further behind. In this advanced, highly complex society, I find myself rushing to keep up, destroying my own sanity.
I want to reconnect with my natural rhythm. Like animals. Animals accept their own state of being and that of others; they live for the moment. Likewise, plants cycle gracefully through life as they emerge, bloom, flourish, then wither away. Humans have such a violent need for control and a crippling inability to accept their own state of being. Anti-aging cosmetics, plastic surgery, "mid-life crisis", all imply the incapability of acceptance - a need for change.
America is all about making money and keeping busy. It makes many people, including myself, feel a sense of diminished success. It pathologizes idle, resting time, calling it "laziness" and a "waste of time". In Nepal, people dedicate 8 hours of their day gathered around drinking tea, appreciating another day of life and togetherness. America doesn't even want to take a break to eat, being the largest fast-food consumer in the world. Even communication is harmed by the technologically-crazed culture and the need for "efficiency". The problem with that in modern culture is that efficiency is synonymous with speed. This affects people's tolerance and the quality of language and communication. I'm going off topic.
Back to the idea of keeping busy, I have been having trouble doing so. I spend the majority of my days watching Netflix and journaling. I've watched many episodes and many seasons of many TV shows, my journal is running out of pages, and the couch has a crater where I sit. Recently, I started practicing more piano, but it's been difficult due to lack of inspiration. I need some inspiration. I should be getting a response from my job interviews within the next couple weeks, and IF I get hired, I will have a work schedule which means I will be able to commit to volunteering for an amazing organization called School on Wheels. Maybe that will get me inspired. Who knows. Basically, this fast-paced, "efficient", and need-to-be-busy culture causes me anxiety and distress. I just want to move at my own natural pace, free of guilt.
I want to reconnect with my natural rhythm. Like animals. Animals accept their own state of being and that of others; they live for the moment. Likewise, plants cycle gracefully through life as they emerge, bloom, flourish, then wither away. Humans have such a violent need for control and a crippling inability to accept their own state of being. Anti-aging cosmetics, plastic surgery, "mid-life crisis", all imply the incapability of acceptance - a need for change.
America is all about making money and keeping busy. It makes many people, including myself, feel a sense of diminished success. It pathologizes idle, resting time, calling it "laziness" and a "waste of time". In Nepal, people dedicate 8 hours of their day gathered around drinking tea, appreciating another day of life and togetherness. America doesn't even want to take a break to eat, being the largest fast-food consumer in the world. Even communication is harmed by the technologically-crazed culture and the need for "efficiency". The problem with that in modern culture is that efficiency is synonymous with speed. This affects people's tolerance and the quality of language and communication. I'm going off topic.
Back to the idea of keeping busy, I have been having trouble doing so. I spend the majority of my days watching Netflix and journaling. I've watched many episodes and many seasons of many TV shows, my journal is running out of pages, and the couch has a crater where I sit. Recently, I started practicing more piano, but it's been difficult due to lack of inspiration. I need some inspiration. I should be getting a response from my job interviews within the next couple weeks, and IF I get hired, I will have a work schedule which means I will be able to commit to volunteering for an amazing organization called School on Wheels. Maybe that will get me inspired. Who knows. Basically, this fast-paced, "efficient", and need-to-be-busy culture causes me anxiety and distress. I just want to move at my own natural pace, free of guilt.
Sunday, June 9, 2013
Free but not really
I have finally completed my time at treatment. 5 months of it got me where I am today: healthy, assertive, self-loving, a little constipated, and about 20 pounds heavier. My hair and nails grow much more quickly, my heart rate is no longer that of a chihuahua's, and I can eat at restaurants like a semi-normal person. Of course 5 months haven't reversed all the damage I've done to myself, and I still have issues with food, but for what it's worth, I've made pretty damn good progress. 159 days of abstinence, 159 days of resisting urges, 159 days of clarity. I am living proof that people can change.
Now that I am out of treatment, I have to begin planning. Ideally, I would like to travel and couch-surf until my heart's content, but my future will be unstable. If I get a job and live a structured set of months, I will be secure - financially, at least - but I think I will feel unsatisfied, emotionally. I want to treat myself. I want to allow myself to relax and take a mental vacation. Plans, expectations, and obligations are what brought me to my addictions in the first place. A break sounds like a good idea, but sometimes I think I'm being naive. If I live the other way - making decisions based on how they will affect my future - I feel like I will remain stuck and fearful. I've missed out on so much of life and now, I want to take advantage of and celebrate my new-found health and happiness, but would that be irresponsible/naive/impractical? Even though I wonder all this, my fear of being unstable in the future will immobilize me, which is why I have already turned in a couple job applications. I'm not unhappy with my decision because I have accepted the sad truth that we need financial stability, but I am a little bitter of having to be stuck with obligations. On the bright side, I can save up the money I make from my job and work on plan B: take classes at a community college, re-start my child-sponsorships, adopt a dog, and buy a piano.
In treatment, I felt like a newborn who just opened her eyes for the first time, and now, out of treatment, I feel like I've just learned how to walk on my own. I will be with my eating disorder for years to come, and without the help of a treatment facility to go to, I'm ready to test my strength and determination. I'm excited for what the weeks and months ahead hold for me.
Now that I am out of treatment, I have to begin planning. Ideally, I would like to travel and couch-surf until my heart's content, but my future will be unstable. If I get a job and live a structured set of months, I will be secure - financially, at least - but I think I will feel unsatisfied, emotionally. I want to treat myself. I want to allow myself to relax and take a mental vacation. Plans, expectations, and obligations are what brought me to my addictions in the first place. A break sounds like a good idea, but sometimes I think I'm being naive. If I live the other way - making decisions based on how they will affect my future - I feel like I will remain stuck and fearful. I've missed out on so much of life and now, I want to take advantage of and celebrate my new-found health and happiness, but would that be irresponsible/naive/impractical? Even though I wonder all this, my fear of being unstable in the future will immobilize me, which is why I have already turned in a couple job applications. I'm not unhappy with my decision because I have accepted the sad truth that we need financial stability, but I am a little bitter of having to be stuck with obligations. On the bright side, I can save up the money I make from my job and work on plan B: take classes at a community college, re-start my child-sponsorships, adopt a dog, and buy a piano.
In treatment, I felt like a newborn who just opened her eyes for the first time, and now, out of treatment, I feel like I've just learned how to walk on my own. I will be with my eating disorder for years to come, and without the help of a treatment facility to go to, I'm ready to test my strength and determination. I'm excited for what the weeks and months ahead hold for me.
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
Somebody has to say it
1. Noisy kids and their parents.
If you are in a public space, watch and discipline your kids. I love kids but I can't stand the obnoxious, inconsiderate ones especially in a mall, restaurant, or a grocery store. Yea, screaming and bawling is their way of expressing themselves but have some manners, you little fucks. And parents, have some consideration and manners yourselves, before I snatch your little "big guy" or "princess" away and shove them into oncoming traffic.
2. Baggy pants.
The purpose of pants is to cover you from the waste down, not from the bottom of your ass down. They buy pants that are 5 sizes too small, they look like blind paraplegics who tried to dress themselves, and they waddle like they've just been gang-raped. They're a shame to the supposed "civilized" human beings.
3. Mustache.
What's the deal with mustaches lately? Hipster or not, it's ridiculous. First it was the high-rising 80's pants that girls brought back, now you see mustaches on everything, even the fuzzy, pink ones on car grills. What's next? Overalls? Platform shoes?
4. People who say "bless you" after someone sneezes.
Who is blessing whom? Unless you are the one and only "chosen one", you do not have the power to bless anyone or anything. What are you blessing them for? And why do people get offended when someone doesn't say "bless you" after they sneeze? Do they really need an ethereal affirmation after a natural bodily function? If you believe in that kind of stuff and have the power to bless others, bless yourself and get on with it.
5. "I like your outfit".
First of all, it's not "their" outfit. They didn't design it. Second, if you say "I like your outfit", don't get offended when the person doesn't say "thank you". Because they didn't design it. If the person does say "thank you", both of you are stupid. Third, if you want to say something positive about someone's outfit and expect a "thank you", say something like, "I like your taste". Fourth, don't be so vain.
First of all, it's not "their" outfit. They didn't design it. Second, if you say "I like your outfit", don't get offended when the person doesn't say "thank you". Because they didn't design it. If the person does say "thank you", both of you are stupid. Third, if you want to say something positive about someone's outfit and expect a "thank you", say something like, "I like your taste". Fourth, don't be so vain.
6. Talking loudly on the phone.
The person you're talking with can hear you just fine. In fact, the person might be holding his phone away from his face because you're so damn loud. Not only can the person on the other line hear you clearly, but so can everyone around you in a 40-foot radius.
7. Women who wear too much perfume or smell like makeup.
8. It's "caramel", not "carmel".
Is it so hard to pronounce that extra vowel? Who started saying "carmel" anyway? It's caramelized butternut squash, it's caramelized onions, NOT carmelized.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
5 years in recovery
In 5 years, I'll be 29: young enough to travel, old enough to know how to file my own taxes. What will my life look like? 5 years in recovery seems like nothing compared to 10 years in my addictions. Ideally, I would be in school studying a foreign language (maybe German), education, and cooking. I would work in a music library, as a piano teacher, or in an animal shelter, and on the weekends, I would either stay home with my husband (?) and kids (?) in our pajamas, or take all of us to the zoo or a theme park. I would have already traveled to Greece, Germany, and Ireland, and I would be an amazing cook. During spring/winter/summer breaks, my kids and I would not be in school, so we would spend a lot of time in the kitchen baking things like peanut butter cookies and blueberry muffins that my husband would enjoy after a long day at work. I would be able to have just one drink and be satisfied, and I would know how to swim and ride a bike. I would be able to read scary stories to my kids in the dark with just a flashlight. I would teach my kids to be open-minded and know right from wrong. I would be able to sit with happiness, sadness, and anger without isolating or acting out. I would be accepting of my body, and be fully present during sex. I would have quit smoking cigarettes and I would be recycling responsibly, not littering, and flossing every day. I would take yoga classes and go on runs/walks every morning with my dog, not to maintain or lose weight but to be physically healthy. I would appropriately let go of grudges and forgive myself for mistakes. I would not have much material possessions, but my heart will be full of joy and contentment. Now that I think about it, I won't be able to do much after I have kids..unless I get a nanny.
Monday, May 20, 2013
News flash
It's all real. I sometimes forget how real this is. I was in so much pain for the last decade. I deprived myself and abused myself so much, so violently. I isolated and separated myself from my own potential. I put guards up and used my sharp edges to keep people out. I've not allowed myself to make deep, real connections with people and only roamed the earth making casual acquaintances. And for that, I'm friendless and detached. I forget how much damage I've done to myself and it feels unreal. I'm surprised I didn't have a heart attack from all the purging and from my body having to constantly be in over drive to compensate for my starving. I'm grateful for having started treatment before it was "too late". Treatment just seems like repetitive, monotonous social skills-learning, but taking a step back, I realize, "I have an eating disorder. I got myself here. I can't have a "normal" life without going through intense psychological repair, and I will probably be forever enslaved to food." I've put myself through a 10-year suicide and it's come down to treatment, or death.
FYI: Eating disorders are the most fatal forms of mental illnesses, and it's a shame that its research is the least funded among all others'.
FYI: Eating disorders are the most fatal forms of mental illnesses, and it's a shame that its research is the least funded among all others'.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
If I were a soul without a body
I've been in treatment since the beginning of the year, and I've come to the point where I have to make plans for what to do once I'm out. My insurance has bumped me down to 4 days a week, by my request. I feel ready for discharge and I never thought I'd be able to say that. Being in treatment has provided a safe, valid excuse for avoiding "real world responsibilities." "I can't pay bills because I don't have a job"..."I can't get a job because I'm in treatment"..."I'm in treatment because I'm not mentally stable". I think I'm almost ready to join the rest of society, but only in terms of eating like a normal person. When I'm out of treatment, I want to allow myself to live life. I want to travel and take a break and get out of my head. I've been trapped in my addictions, I've been trapped in my destructiveness for so long. I want to take healthy risks, I want to just get away. It doesn't sound very realistic. In order to be stable and successful in today's society, I know I'll need to find a job and all that stuff, but realistically, I want a break. I want to go camping and roast marshmallows for the first time. I want to go to the airport and get a one-way ticket to Bali and immerse myself in their culture, go to Italy and visit vineyards, go to Greece and lay on the beaches. I want to travel the country in a Winnebago with my boyfriend and a dog. I want to give healthy attention to my body and I want to nourish my soul. When I'm out of treatment, I don't want to find a job right away. I don't want a 9-5 lifestyle. My whole life has been structured chaos. I want to break free from rules, obligations, and the societal chains that restrict me from being a free spirit. I feel like I've wasted so much of my life isolating and self-destructing. I feel like the characters in "Dogtooth": aware of nothing outside of the home, indulging and making best of what is known, completely wasting away the preciousness of exploring the outside.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Dear Body,
You have been my vessel for nearly 24 years. I'm sorry for letting you be violated and abused for so long. I'm sorry for neglecting you for many years and causing irreversible damage. I feel so disconnected to you. I always have. Ever since I was a child, especially since "those particular incidences", I thought of you as a target of pain, something that never goes away and is an unwanted reminder of something horrible, like bedbugs or herpes. I marvel at others' bodies and others' abilities to accept and show off their bodies. How can some people carry themselves so elegantly through this world and place themselves in social situations so gracefully. I see you as the product of 2 people who, I would like to believe, loved each other, but I don't want to fool myself. You are a physical, tangible representation of the ugliness of my parents' relationship. You're nothing but a shameful object to me. But you have protected me from diseases and cold weathers, although poorly. Slowly but surely, I'm entertaining the idea of your physical fluidity.. your malleability. And I'm starting to take better care of you. I'm nourishing you with food - something I have deprived you of for nearly half my life. I've taken away harmful substances and I'm not hurting you as much. I feel like I'm just getting to know you, the real you, without the misinformation my malnourished brain has been giving me. My eyes, which I consider distorted, conniving lenses, are not kind to me. I wish I could replace them with those who tell me, "I wish you could see what I see in you." I'm stuck with you. Unless I do some morbid limb/boob/skin/eyeball transplant. But that's highly unlikely. I need to be comfortable in you, or at least be comfortable in my dissatisfaction with you. This is as good as it's gonna get.
Sincerely,
Me
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Blahhhhhhh
To follow up on the last post, I'm still freaking out and I don't know what to do with all this pent up energy. My fears are more prevalent, I don't know if being here at my parents' is even a healthy choice for me. I mean...it is, right? I'm in a "safe environment", not acting out, and being around my family...sober. My staying here is bringing up such strong feelings of guilt and shame. I should've been a better daughter when I was younger. I should've been a better sister. I should've spent more time at home. I shouldn't have hurt my family so much so badly. I have so much guilt in me and I can't help but dwell in the past because the past is what created the present. My present.
I feel so bad for my parents because they don't have the family they've dreamed of. Every couple fantasizes about having a happy family that gets along, shares special traditions, and feels unconditionally accepted and loved. My parents didn't get anything close to what they wished for. Of course, there are a lot of dysfunctional families...why does mine have to be one of them. I want to be able to go to my dad and brother directly, rather than having my mom be the liaison. I want our family to be together in the same place at the same time without fighting. I want to be able to hold a conversation with my dad for longer than 5 seconds I want so badly to give my parents the family they've always wanted, but I don't know where to begin. I could simply tell them, "I want to give you the family you've always wanted", but I'm too ashamed and afraid to say such a bold statement. I want to be able to honestly express my emotions around them without feeling burdensome. I want to see my mom and dad laugh.
I want to tell my dad that I understand his pain and that I forgive him. That it's OK to feel left out of the family and that things will get better as long as we try. I want to thank him for bringing me up and for being so patient with me. I want to tell my mom that she's the strongest woman I know and that I'm sorry for all her distress. I want to tell her that I understand things are, and have been, excruciatingly difficult. I want her to know that I'm thankful for her relentlessness and for being the glue to our family. I want to tell my brother...so many things. That I love him, that I am thankful for his believing in me, that I admire his strength, and that I believe in him as much as he believes in me.
I feel like there is not enough time at all to make up for all the wrongs... to outnumber the bad memories of the past with pleasant memories moving forward. This scares the fuck out of me. I don't want my mom to die never having truly lived. I don't want my dad to die without having gotten to know his children. I don't want my brother to die without having gotten to know me or our dad. I feel helpless.. Is my family ever going to change? I don't remember the last time I had a meal with any one of them. I don't remember the last time I laughed with any one of them. A real, meaningful, hearty laugh. I only remember fights and long periods of awkward silence. I feel like I'm on a blind date or a job interview whenever I'm with my family. Curious, anxious, nervous about saying the wrong thing, nervous about talking too much or too little, putting on a facade, taking on a "role". I want to feel secure. I don't want to feel lonely. I don't want to feel self-conscious and hide in my room all day to avoid conversation. I hate that that's what our family has come down to.
I envy others and their ability to communicate so openly with their family. Or even communicate at all. It baffles me. Honestly, it angers me a bit because I want what they have so desperately. It makes me so sad and angry because it feels so out of reach. And I'm distraught that my family will never become the kind my parents had hoped for, and that I hope for. I want to be able to cry and release my emotions. There isn't much time left. I want to cry but all that's going on is anxiety attacks. Once I'm done with this entry, I'll still be hiding in my room, sitting on my bed, staring off in to space.
A family of snails.
Monday, April 22, 2013
"Like an Ancient Bruise"
So my boyfriend's out of town for the week and I've decided to stay at my parents' to keep me "safe" and make it inconvenient for me to act out. It's only my 3rd day here and I'm having anxiety attacks.
The climate here is better than it used to be. There are more conversations going on and just an overall sense of calm. Re-connecting with my family and being in this physically close space is increasing my awareness of the fleetingness of life. Everything is fleeting and that frightens me. Like me being at my parents'. I'm going back to my apartment in a week. I know, I know, I can visit my family whenever I want; but I won't be living here anymore. I won't be sleeping or waking up here or eating the food here. And I moved out so abruptly, without a word. My parents weren't even aware of or prepared for it. And my dogs. Yooni's old (she's 7) and Tori won't stay energetic and playful forever. They're going to die eventually and that scares me. It almost makes me regret having bought them to begin with. Similarly, I'm not always going to have my family. That saddens me. I don't want to miss out on anything. I feel like I've been absent in their life for so long and now's my chance to be ever present. Binge on life. Sounds good and well but it will undoubtedly dig myself deeper into depression and self-neglect. I feel stuck and frightened. I feel like I'm drowning in guilt and anxiety and there is no life raft in sight.
Maybe this is what I need. I don't know if that'll be unhealthy though...it is motivation to try my best in recovery, but what if I get too carried away by these fears that I just become a ridiculously anxious wreck? That's totally possible. What if I become overly cautious and care about things TOO much? What if I appreciate life TOO much that my biggest fear becomes death? I have so many regrets and worries about the future. I wish I could just accept everything the way they are but it's so damn difficult. And the more I think about it, the more it freaks me out.
I want my family to be healthy and happy.
I want to feel secure.
I need to relax.
But then again, maybe it's good that I'm accessing these feelings and allowing it to change my perspective on life. I still believe that the things we do are ultimately pointless because we're all going to die; but now, I want to do things more deliberately and purposefully. Spending time with my dogs and my family has opened my eyes to the preciousness of life and the sacredness of connection. These fears are the same ones I had when I was a little girl - fear of my death and the death of my family. I remember looking out the window at the night sky hoping a meteor wouldn't come crashing down and obliterating everything. The fear that I wouldn't have enough time to get the best things out of life. The fear that sleep will somehow eradicate all the good things - that it will be the end of everything, that nothing and no one will be left behind.
For the past several years, these emotions have catapulted me into a deep depression. Using imminent death as a reason to be selfish and act out on all my urges. Using "having not enough time" to do whatever the fuck I wanted without thinking of the impact it might have on others, especially on my family. Now I feel overly cautious. What if this sends me into a whole new world of depression and anxiety?
I don't want my anxiety and guilt to be my motivations. First, it was the guilt I felt towards my boyfriend. All the time and money he spent on getting me in to treatment - not to mention the emotional costs. Now I have another layer of guilt and pressure...to not have a negative impact on my family for as long as they're alive. I don't want them to experience hardship because of me or anything else. I've already done a lot of damage and them knowing that I'm in treatment is burdensome and shameful enough. I want to protect them and their emotions. That's what led me to self-neglect in the first place but...I don't know. Is that something wrong? Caring about their emotions? I guess I'm taking it to a different level, of controlling situations surrounding the emotions.
The nonchalance and indifference I've had towards life have shifted to feelings of extreme remorse for all my past fuck-ups and unbearable anxiety of ensuring security for the future. I feel like all these feelings and thoughts have been buried deep inside me for so long by tons of anger and resentment. And spending time here has dulled my sharp, heavy edges and allowed my guards to lift. Times like these, I wish I were religious. A religion to soothe my anxiety and fear of the unknown, a prayer that can lift my regrets and bring me a sense of peace and oneness. A reliable figure/force/whatever I can depend on to make things all work out for the best...for all the pieces to fall in to place.
Does anyone read this?
Hello? Is anyone there? Help!
The climate here is better than it used to be. There are more conversations going on and just an overall sense of calm. Re-connecting with my family and being in this physically close space is increasing my awareness of the fleetingness of life. Everything is fleeting and that frightens me. Like me being at my parents'. I'm going back to my apartment in a week. I know, I know, I can visit my family whenever I want; but I won't be living here anymore. I won't be sleeping or waking up here or eating the food here. And I moved out so abruptly, without a word. My parents weren't even aware of or prepared for it. And my dogs. Yooni's old (she's 7) and Tori won't stay energetic and playful forever. They're going to die eventually and that scares me. It almost makes me regret having bought them to begin with. Similarly, I'm not always going to have my family. That saddens me. I don't want to miss out on anything. I feel like I've been absent in their life for so long and now's my chance to be ever present. Binge on life. Sounds good and well but it will undoubtedly dig myself deeper into depression and self-neglect. I feel stuck and frightened. I feel like I'm drowning in guilt and anxiety and there is no life raft in sight.
Maybe this is what I need. I don't know if that'll be unhealthy though...it is motivation to try my best in recovery, but what if I get too carried away by these fears that I just become a ridiculously anxious wreck? That's totally possible. What if I become overly cautious and care about things TOO much? What if I appreciate life TOO much that my biggest fear becomes death? I have so many regrets and worries about the future. I wish I could just accept everything the way they are but it's so damn difficult. And the more I think about it, the more it freaks me out.
I want my family to be healthy and happy.
I want to feel secure.
I need to relax.
But then again, maybe it's good that I'm accessing these feelings and allowing it to change my perspective on life. I still believe that the things we do are ultimately pointless because we're all going to die; but now, I want to do things more deliberately and purposefully. Spending time with my dogs and my family has opened my eyes to the preciousness of life and the sacredness of connection. These fears are the same ones I had when I was a little girl - fear of my death and the death of my family. I remember looking out the window at the night sky hoping a meteor wouldn't come crashing down and obliterating everything. The fear that I wouldn't have enough time to get the best things out of life. The fear that sleep will somehow eradicate all the good things - that it will be the end of everything, that nothing and no one will be left behind.
For the past several years, these emotions have catapulted me into a deep depression. Using imminent death as a reason to be selfish and act out on all my urges. Using "having not enough time" to do whatever the fuck I wanted without thinking of the impact it might have on others, especially on my family. Now I feel overly cautious. What if this sends me into a whole new world of depression and anxiety?
I don't want my anxiety and guilt to be my motivations. First, it was the guilt I felt towards my boyfriend. All the time and money he spent on getting me in to treatment - not to mention the emotional costs. Now I have another layer of guilt and pressure...to not have a negative impact on my family for as long as they're alive. I don't want them to experience hardship because of me or anything else. I've already done a lot of damage and them knowing that I'm in treatment is burdensome and shameful enough. I want to protect them and their emotions. That's what led me to self-neglect in the first place but...I don't know. Is that something wrong? Caring about their emotions? I guess I'm taking it to a different level, of controlling situations surrounding the emotions.
The nonchalance and indifference I've had towards life have shifted to feelings of extreme remorse for all my past fuck-ups and unbearable anxiety of ensuring security for the future. I feel like all these feelings and thoughts have been buried deep inside me for so long by tons of anger and resentment. And spending time here has dulled my sharp, heavy edges and allowed my guards to lift. Times like these, I wish I were religious. A religion to soothe my anxiety and fear of the unknown, a prayer that can lift my regrets and bring me a sense of peace and oneness. A reliable figure/force/whatever I can depend on to make things all work out for the best...for all the pieces to fall in to place.
Does anyone read this?
Hello? Is anyone there? Help!
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
Groundhog Day
Wake up, obsess over food, boyfriend goes to work, go to the store with some change I steal from him, rush back home, frantically make food, binge while watching Netflix, purge, binge and purge again, boyfriend comes home, watch Netflix, all the while obsessing over food, go to bed planning next day's binge, dream about food.
My every day was this chaotic, yet rhythmic sequence of extremes with an undertone of food-obsession and self-loathing. Every day fulfilled my longing for thrill. Everything from stealing money to madly stuffing my face to violently vomiting it all out. Bulimia scares me. It scares me more so than anorexia. My story will undoubtedly be different from everyone else's, and in my experience, I found anorexia to be kind of dull and boring. Sure, I starved myself for weeks and believed I was an omnipotent superhuman for denying a fundamental aspect of survival, but eventually my hunger cues would completely be muted and the most exciting things to occur would be famine-induced dizzy spells and faintings. Bulimia was much more stimulating, terrifying, enticing, all at the same time. Like waiting in line for the world's most bad ass roller coaster, or like running from an avalanche. It's a never-ending battle within myself, with my body. I'm emotionally famished so I eat as fast as I can, as much as I can, as if my body knows that that would be the one and only opportunity to have food. Like when a bear stuffs itself for the entire winter before hibernating. Then I purge out all my emotions. I flush them down the toilet believing I'm saying "good bye" to my emotions once and for all, but like the vomit splashed on the wall, there are always some residual feelings left behind.
This daily, hourly ritual has been taken away from me. For 105 days to be exact. My whole life is bulimic. Alcohol, drugs, writing papers, studying, isolating, expressing - everything is a binge/purge cycle. And not being able, or choosing to not act out on my urges has been a battle as well. I want to act out, I want to feel excitement. My boyfriend's going out of town this Saturday for 7 days and it's the perfect time for a relapse. I've been fantasizing about relapsing ever since I've known about his trip and I've been rationalizing it to its minute detail. I'm bound to have a relapse sooner or later - I'd rather plan it out than have it occur spontaneously on one stressful day; I'd rather have some sort of control over it. I just want one day of fuck-it's. That will be my relapse and I'll get it out of the way, and get back on the recovery train. I know the "one day" will lead to more days, but it's so hard to get unstuck in my temptations. I want my urges to go away. Things haven't gotten easier, yet. I just want so badly to stop having these ever-growing temptations so that I can live presently. I feel ashamed because I need a babysitter for 7 days. I'm 23 and I need a babysitter. Maybe I should just take sleeping pills for the week because I feel like the easiest way out of this mindset is to be asleep.
If I fuck up, I don't consider it an indication as to how much I value sobriety. My therapist says it is. And I absolutely hate that she sees it that way.
"Life is like an extended-release acid trip."
My every day was this chaotic, yet rhythmic sequence of extremes with an undertone of food-obsession and self-loathing. Every day fulfilled my longing for thrill. Everything from stealing money to madly stuffing my face to violently vomiting it all out. Bulimia scares me. It scares me more so than anorexia. My story will undoubtedly be different from everyone else's, and in my experience, I found anorexia to be kind of dull and boring. Sure, I starved myself for weeks and believed I was an omnipotent superhuman for denying a fundamental aspect of survival, but eventually my hunger cues would completely be muted and the most exciting things to occur would be famine-induced dizzy spells and faintings. Bulimia was much more stimulating, terrifying, enticing, all at the same time. Like waiting in line for the world's most bad ass roller coaster, or like running from an avalanche. It's a never-ending battle within myself, with my body. I'm emotionally famished so I eat as fast as I can, as much as I can, as if my body knows that that would be the one and only opportunity to have food. Like when a bear stuffs itself for the entire winter before hibernating. Then I purge out all my emotions. I flush them down the toilet believing I'm saying "good bye" to my emotions once and for all, but like the vomit splashed on the wall, there are always some residual feelings left behind.
This daily, hourly ritual has been taken away from me. For 105 days to be exact. My whole life is bulimic. Alcohol, drugs, writing papers, studying, isolating, expressing - everything is a binge/purge cycle. And not being able, or choosing to not act out on my urges has been a battle as well. I want to act out, I want to feel excitement. My boyfriend's going out of town this Saturday for 7 days and it's the perfect time for a relapse. I've been fantasizing about relapsing ever since I've known about his trip and I've been rationalizing it to its minute detail. I'm bound to have a relapse sooner or later - I'd rather plan it out than have it occur spontaneously on one stressful day; I'd rather have some sort of control over it. I just want one day of fuck-it's. That will be my relapse and I'll get it out of the way, and get back on the recovery train. I know the "one day" will lead to more days, but it's so hard to get unstuck in my temptations. I want my urges to go away. Things haven't gotten easier, yet. I just want so badly to stop having these ever-growing temptations so that I can live presently. I feel ashamed because I need a babysitter for 7 days. I'm 23 and I need a babysitter. Maybe I should just take sleeping pills for the week because I feel like the easiest way out of this mindset is to be asleep.
If I fuck up, I don't consider it an indication as to how much I value sobriety. My therapist says it is. And I absolutely hate that she sees it that way.
"Life is like an extended-release acid trip."
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
What to do...
Today's my 99th day in sobriety and abstinence from my eating disorder. It surprises me every day knowing how long it's been. This is the longest I've ever gone without acting out on my urges. I think I broke the record after 14 days. I mean, I sometimes do compulsively exercise but I'm not counting that. Abstinence is fucking hard. Everyone talks about the positive outcomes of recovering from addictions, but no one ever talks about how difficult and painstaking it is to discover yourself and to actually deal with the emotions you've been numbing yourself of for so long. When I was not sober - which was all the time - I was outgoing, seemingly confident, spontaneous and well-spoken. I was known as the fun, light-hearted, happy girl. That was my identity. That was all I knew. My low self-esteem was heavily masked by substance-use. Now that I'm no longer relying on my addictions to tolerate myself and life, it is no surprise that my self-esteem has seemingly decreased. In reality, it hasn't. The main things treatment did was leave me with stronger anxiety and behavior-free. But that's expected.
I only know the non-sober Liz. I don't know how I am otherwise, and I feel nothing but anxiety, embarrassment, and nervousness. I feel dull and confused. I feel like a newborn - learning everything from scratch. It would be much easier if this affects only me, but it doesn't. My boyfriend who has been around since pre-treatment and has seen my self-destruction at its worst, is seeing noticeable changes in my persona. It hurts and scares me to hear him reminisce about how "playful" and "flirty" I used to be. I don't want to go back to my old ways but I fantasize about it when I think of how much more attracted to me he was then. I've deserted and neglected myself for so long and I'm finally becoming aware of myself without my addictions, and so far, I've only found shortcomings. It's like trying to restart a car that has been buried under junk in the garage for years: tedious and unpleasant. We're almost 10 months into our relationship and I feel like he and I are finally getting to know me. The work that needs to be done seems daunting. I'm infinitely grateful for having his love and patience throughout my ongoing transformation but I can't help but feel guilt, shame, and helplessness. I'm so exhausted and frustrated with myself. I know this is going to be a ridiculously long and arduous process, but I just want this self-discovery shit to be overwith already.
I only know the non-sober Liz. I don't know how I am otherwise, and I feel nothing but anxiety, embarrassment, and nervousness. I feel dull and confused. I feel like a newborn - learning everything from scratch. It would be much easier if this affects only me, but it doesn't. My boyfriend who has been around since pre-treatment and has seen my self-destruction at its worst, is seeing noticeable changes in my persona. It hurts and scares me to hear him reminisce about how "playful" and "flirty" I used to be. I don't want to go back to my old ways but I fantasize about it when I think of how much more attracted to me he was then. I've deserted and neglected myself for so long and I'm finally becoming aware of myself without my addictions, and so far, I've only found shortcomings. It's like trying to restart a car that has been buried under junk in the garage for years: tedious and unpleasant. We're almost 10 months into our relationship and I feel like he and I are finally getting to know me. The work that needs to be done seems daunting. I'm infinitely grateful for having his love and patience throughout my ongoing transformation but I can't help but feel guilt, shame, and helplessness. I'm so exhausted and frustrated with myself. I know this is going to be a ridiculously long and arduous process, but I just want this self-discovery shit to be overwith already.
Monday, April 8, 2013
My Day Job vs. My Passion
OK, so I don't exactly have a job right now. I guess going to treatment is kind of like having a job but not really because I lose money rather than earn money. I used to be a bartender and canvasser and also volunteered for lots of different organizations. I loved the bartending jobs because I got to drink as much alcohol for as little as possible, but hated it because of the sleazy customers. Canvassing was awesome but it's not a job one can do for an extended period of time. Standing in front of stores and talking with strangers non-stop for 8 hours a day can get pretty exhausting. 9 months into it, I consider myself a veteran. My passion - aside from wanting to become a concert pianist - sits somewhere in line with canvassing. I want to be involved in the community, both in America and overseas.
I would love to join the Peace Corps and do so many things to help families in need:
Dehydration and water-borne illnesses are the leading cause of death in impoverished countries. I would like to dig wells and build water catchment systems for those countries and also teach the people how to dig/build them. I want communities to have sustainable, long-lasting clean water supply near their homes. We complain about having to get out of our chair to pour ourselves a glass of water, when these people have to walk miles and miles in the blistering heat to a contaminated water source. .
Women are scrutinized and made subordinate to men, and this makes it difficult for them to take part in everyday life. I want to teach them vocational skills so they can start their own basket-weaving business and produce income or sources of income. I want to offer them micro-loans so they can buy supplies to build a canoe which, in turn, would allow them to go fishing and bring back food for their village. We need to learn to be grateful and take advantage of the social interactions we have access to.
I want to educate little girls, especially little girls in India: I want to give them knowledge and skills for opportunities outside of an arranged marriage. How would you feel if your parents denied you formal education because they have arranged for you a life partner before you could even spell "life partner"? You would be stuck in the home making babies and doing housework for the rest of your life before your life had even begun.
For little boys, I want to take away their guns and machetes and give them books and crayons. What were you doing when you were 7 years old? Not being thrown into the military.
America needs some work too:
I would like to build homeless shelters in which I, along with volunteers, offer homeless people makeovers so that they are presentable for job interviews. This will increase their self-esteem and hopefully reduce the social stigma attached to the homeless. Haven't you thought while walking past a homeless person, "Why don't they just get a job?" Think about it.
I would like to build a home for battered women and children and work to reduce their shame and guilt, and empower them by putting them in school, offering psychotherapy, and weaving them back in to society. Being a victim is a tough spot to get out of.
I would also like to build an orphanage for Chinese girls and adopt them out to deserving Chinese families so that their race doesn't die out. I feel like the world is eventually going to be filled with dominantly white, Caucasian people. What happened to appreciating our roots and living harmoniously among different cultures?
I believe, especially in today's technologically-crazed age, children are not given the space in which they can explore their creative potential. I want to teach kids art and music so they can discover their potential through different means and hopefully help better express themselves. If I were to be born several decades from today, I probably would not even have discovered the beauty of piano. That scares me.
Literacy is a huge issue. I would like to visit inner cities and teach parents about the importance of education, starting with literacy, so they can better monitor their children's educational progress. Children can also derive motivation and incentive to improve their performance in school, from their parents' interest and support.
Now, do I call this "goals I can realistically work towards" or "dreams I want to see come true but never will"? Because they are, in fact, kind of overwhelming and daunting to conceptualize into one life. I don't know. Maybe the first one, if I tried really really really hard.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Blackberry Jelly and Cottage Cheese
I consider myself a very easy-going person, maybe too much so. I don't see the use in dwelling on things I'm not happy with because I'll just drive myself crazy. The world's a fucked up place and I can't always have things go my way. But I constantly catch myself wishing and hoping things were different. Those two contradict each other... I have high expectations about situations that very directly effect me. When I'm on the bus, I wish I had a good book to read. When I'm waiting at the bus stop, I wish I'd brought an extra sweater. When I'm in group, I wish I had worn sweat pants and I hope I can wear a T-shirt out in public like the other girls some day. During meals, I wish for the time to pass so I don't have to sit there awkwardly. In bed, I hope to not have nightmares or wake up a million times in the middle of the night. When I'm in individual therapy, I wish I knew how to fill the 45-minute session. When I visit my mom on weekends, I hope she doesn't comment on my body. I wish she would eat. In AA meetings, I wish there weren't so much talk about a "Higher Power". Walking down Hollywood Blvd., I wish I weren't an alcoholic. I'm dissatisfied with so many things, it keeps me from living in the moment. I got my "Carpe Diem" tattoo back when I was deep in my ED and using heavily. I thought I was seizing the day by enjoying being fucked up every chance I had. But looking back, I realize I was just wishing to run away from reality and lose all sense of civility. I dwell in the past and trip about the future, so I forget about the present. I've missed out on so much of life these past 10 years, and being abstinent hasn't changed much of that. I want to put a stop to my unquenchable yearning for contentment and let go of my need to control situations and their outcomes. According to AA, that's what a "sane" life looks like. "Sane" sounds boring so I'm replacing that with "normal", "structured", "non-chaotic". I want to come to terms with who and where I am, and learn to accept the cards I've been dealt. I mean, I'll still bitch and whine; I just won't get stuck on the bitching and whining. Because that's exhausting, annoying, and pointless. I'll be able to find ways to live productively. I don't want to grow up to be a bitter, cringing old lady. I want to be a sassy one with good taste in music and perhaps a pair of blue Crocs and a purple cane.
Monday, April 1, 2013
Try Harder
I'm having a hard time... I'm hesitant about sharing in group. Everything that comes out of my mouth is dark. I am being authentic but I feel like it's not getting me anywhere. I'm not trying to be difficult; I just can't say positive, hopeful things at this point in my recovery. It's my recovery. The more I'm honest and authentic in groups, the more I'll get out of them. I'm sick of writing what I think sounds like a "good answer". I need to be blatantly, painfully ME. I need to not care about how that will affect other patients. They're being honest and so should I. Just because I'm not at the same place as them, motivation-wise, doesn't mean I have to keep to myself.
No matter how hard I do this, I catch myself being the "perfect patient" too often. I'm a great liar and actress: perfect daughter, perfect friend, perfect employee, perfect patient. I haven't gotten anything out of it. No wonder it's difficult for me to see value in relationships. No wonder I'm so uncomfortable in my skin - I don't know who the fuck I am. And the patients in treatment are my guinea pigs. It's difficult to find the balance between passive and aggressive. I'm always either a people-pleaser trying to avoid conflict at all costs, or a major bitch who is irritable and pessimistic. I'm tired of it. But then it comes down to my philosophy in life: "Why stress out about anything if I'm going to die anyway?" Why do I care to find a balanced state of being? Why do I care to be a people-pleaser when I, along with those I please, are going to die anyway? It's hard for me to find motivation because this thing called death is, and always will be, imminent. And no one's going to remember anything or anyone. No one will remember their greatest accomplishments or the pain of their loved ones.
But I want to believe in the goodness of relationships. I want intrinsic motivation. I want to stop looking at the world through these pessimistic-existential-crisis lenses. It's exhausting for me and everyone I deal with, especially for those in therapy. And this is when I have to remind myself again that I must be authentic to make progress in treatment. But I'm sick and tired of being negative. I feel like the outsider among these patients. They all seem to be gung-ho about recovery. They all seem to have life figured out, except for the eating disorder part. They're good at socializing unlike me who either stays silent or force myself to talk, causing extreme anxiety. I don't understand how these people can seemingly be so comfortable with themselves. They laugh, share stories, exchange numbers, while I sit in my seat freaking out hoping the conversation will not be directed towards me. When I do honestly share my thoughts, I feel like I'm interrupting the positive flow of the rest of the group. I feel like the therapist has to pause whatever's going on in order to give suggestions that are only catered to me. And then I think to myself, "I should have stayed longer in residential treatment" or "Maybe this eating disorder is a lesser problem than I thought. Maybe I just need to focus solely on self-care and motivation".
I feel helpless. I've been patient with myself about this since I entered treatment because that's the most I can do. 10 years of struggling isn't going to be treated in just a few months. A lifetime of self-loathing and non-motivation isn't going to be reversed anytime soon. But I'm doing my best. I really am. This is frustrating. Remember to breathe and take it one day at a time.
No matter how hard I do this, I catch myself being the "perfect patient" too often. I'm a great liar and actress: perfect daughter, perfect friend, perfect employee, perfect patient. I haven't gotten anything out of it. No wonder it's difficult for me to see value in relationships. No wonder I'm so uncomfortable in my skin - I don't know who the fuck I am. And the patients in treatment are my guinea pigs. It's difficult to find the balance between passive and aggressive. I'm always either a people-pleaser trying to avoid conflict at all costs, or a major bitch who is irritable and pessimistic. I'm tired of it. But then it comes down to my philosophy in life: "Why stress out about anything if I'm going to die anyway?" Why do I care to find a balanced state of being? Why do I care to be a people-pleaser when I, along with those I please, are going to die anyway? It's hard for me to find motivation because this thing called death is, and always will be, imminent. And no one's going to remember anything or anyone. No one will remember their greatest accomplishments or the pain of their loved ones.
But I want to believe in the goodness of relationships. I want intrinsic motivation. I want to stop looking at the world through these pessimistic-existential-crisis lenses. It's exhausting for me and everyone I deal with, especially for those in therapy. And this is when I have to remind myself again that I must be authentic to make progress in treatment. But I'm sick and tired of being negative. I feel like the outsider among these patients. They all seem to be gung-ho about recovery. They all seem to have life figured out, except for the eating disorder part. They're good at socializing unlike me who either stays silent or force myself to talk, causing extreme anxiety. I don't understand how these people can seemingly be so comfortable with themselves. They laugh, share stories, exchange numbers, while I sit in my seat freaking out hoping the conversation will not be directed towards me. When I do honestly share my thoughts, I feel like I'm interrupting the positive flow of the rest of the group. I feel like the therapist has to pause whatever's going on in order to give suggestions that are only catered to me. And then I think to myself, "I should have stayed longer in residential treatment" or "Maybe this eating disorder is a lesser problem than I thought. Maybe I just need to focus solely on self-care and motivation".
I feel helpless. I've been patient with myself about this since I entered treatment because that's the most I can do. 10 years of struggling isn't going to be treated in just a few months. A lifetime of self-loathing and non-motivation isn't going to be reversed anytime soon. But I'm doing my best. I really am. This is frustrating. Remember to breathe and take it one day at a time.
Friday, March 29, 2013
Happiness-anxiety
Happiness is a foreign concept. I've been taking my meds consistently, so i'm less depressed. I'm no longer on an emotional roller-coaster of extreme rage and extreme lethargy. That must mean I'm happy, right? I don't know how to sit with this balanced feeling. Depression and anger weigh down on me so heavily; I'm grounded. Happiness lifts me up. There are so many possibilities in happiness. This loss of control, this infinite space is daunting. I cringe when I simply say the word, "happy". The internal voice that resounds is "You don't deserve to be happy", "Happiness doesn't last". The world is not a good place. It's full of distrust, manipulation, and corruption. If I'm happy, if my emotions aren't congruent to this world-view, I must be crazy. I must be in a psychotic episode. Eventually, soon enough, I will be hit with reality and will be thrown back into a state of depression once again. How can I be happy amidst all the shit going on in the world? Because logically, I feel like I make sense. The world is fucked up -> I live in this fucked up world -> How can I not be perpetually angry? -> I must be crazy. "You don't deserve to be happy". I feel like I'm doing something wrong when I'm not feeling negative emotions, especially when I think of my mom. I pissed of my mom my entire life. How dare I be happy while the one who brought me to this earth is debilitated by depression? I feel like I don't deserve to feel this way. It will be easier to accept happiness if my mom could accept happiness. I feel like I'm cheating her...if that makes sense. Am I making any sense? Blahblahblah.
I have trouble being honest with myself about how I'm feeling. In the mornings, I'm not particularly in a good or bad mood. I just am. Somewhere in the undefined middle. But I tell myself and others that I'm anxious and irritable not only because it's easier to say, but also because I want to set the tone for the rest of my day. I want to feel anxious and irritable. I know them very well and I know hot to carry myself. If I say I'm happy or even "content", I feel like I have to behave in some sort of way that's not natural for me. I'm used to pretending I'm OK, but when I really am OK, I get lost. I feel like a phony, like I'm playing some kind of character. I feel like I'm going to throw my arms up and scream like a hysterical idiot, then combust into confetti. Just kidding. That's impossible. But you know what I mean. Right? I feel crazy. Is this what "normal" people feel on a day-to-day basis? Is this what it feels like to be alive? Or am I getting way too ahead of myself? Yea, I probably am. But I'm so confused, curious, fascinated, and overwhelmed by this surge of...increasing positivity.
I feel like a completely different person. I almost feel like I've missed out on something, like I haven't been living. I thought all the drugs, alcohol, and ED behaviors meant I was really living. Not giving a flying fuck. I mean I guess I was. Just in a different way. I feel like I've been opened up to a whole new range of possibilities. Healthy possibilities, potential for sustainable satisfaction. I feel like a kid who made friends on her first day of school and ran home to tell her parents, except I'm rambling about it here. I'm almost embarrassed about feeling this way. Like positivity and hope are things to be ashamed of. So to my boyfriend who may read this, I'm sorry if I act funky. It's because I'm feeling something very unfamiliar and I don't know how to sit with it without being totally confused and bewildered, or exploding in uncontrollable laughter. You are awesome and I love you.
I have trouble being honest with myself about how I'm feeling. In the mornings, I'm not particularly in a good or bad mood. I just am. Somewhere in the undefined middle. But I tell myself and others that I'm anxious and irritable not only because it's easier to say, but also because I want to set the tone for the rest of my day. I want to feel anxious and irritable. I know them very well and I know hot to carry myself. If I say I'm happy or even "content", I feel like I have to behave in some sort of way that's not natural for me. I'm used to pretending I'm OK, but when I really am OK, I get lost. I feel like a phony, like I'm playing some kind of character. I feel like I'm going to throw my arms up and scream like a hysterical idiot, then combust into confetti. Just kidding. That's impossible. But you know what I mean. Right? I feel crazy. Is this what "normal" people feel on a day-to-day basis? Is this what it feels like to be alive? Or am I getting way too ahead of myself? Yea, I probably am. But I'm so confused, curious, fascinated, and overwhelmed by this surge of...increasing positivity.
I feel like a completely different person. I almost feel like I've missed out on something, like I haven't been living. I thought all the drugs, alcohol, and ED behaviors meant I was really living. Not giving a flying fuck. I mean I guess I was. Just in a different way. I feel like I've been opened up to a whole new range of possibilities. Healthy possibilities, potential for sustainable satisfaction. I feel like a kid who made friends on her first day of school and ran home to tell her parents, except I'm rambling about it here. I'm almost embarrassed about feeling this way. Like positivity and hope are things to be ashamed of. So to my boyfriend who may read this, I'm sorry if I act funky. It's because I'm feeling something very unfamiliar and I don't know how to sit with it without being totally confused and bewildered, or exploding in uncontrollable laughter. You are awesome and I love you.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Orange and Almonds
Sometimes I get random bursts of "this-isn't-too-hard-I-think-I-can-recover" feelings. Like on Wednesday when the dietitian discontinued one of my daily supplements because I'm in my goal weight range. That's 360 less calories I'm consuming every day. Threehundredsixty. How is goal weight range determined anyway? I know height is one of the factors, but what else? Can't I be at a healthy weight if my blood work comes back normal? As I look down at my body now, I see all my hard work flushed down the drain (pun intended). It's a loss I'm not sure I'm ready to grieve. The "dieting" I've done for 10 years that gave me the body I wanted, has nothing to show for except psychological damage and "paper thin" enamels. But this random burst of "this-isn't-too-hard-I-think-I-can-recover" feeling is pretty cool, I guess.
I've stayed in my eating disorder for many reasons, one being my thrill-seeking personality that led me to see how close I could get to death and live to tell about it. For how long I could deny myself of a basic need that others seem to weakly give in to. For how long I could have this intense and endless binge-purge-engulf-restrict battle with myself. And it's definitely been a satisfying thrill. Now, I kind of want to see and explore the uncharted territory of healthy, "normal" living. That's thrill-seeking too, right? How much weight can I gain and be accepting of my body? How much self-care can I do to be comfortable in my skin? How much self-exploration can I do to accept compassion from others? These are questions that I've just recently become curious of. I think the meds are helping me keep my head above waters in that respect. Other days, I want to stay nestled in my familiar, much-known territory of self-loathing. But I look down at my body today and think, "This isn't too bad." I'm nowhere near the size I would like to be, but I know that's my eating disorder talking. When people tell me, "You look better", "You look healthy", I cringe. Healthy=not skinny=fat=failure. But I think I can grow (pun not intended) to accept my physical self. My dietitian will probably discontinue my 2nd daily supplement and eventually decrease my meal plan, then I will lose some weight and be thinner again. That isn't the best rationalization, but it's working in my favor, so I'm going to stick with it.
I've always analogized myself in sobriety/abstinence to a new-born who just opened her eyes: scared and vulnerable, yet fascinated and curious, always in need of supervision to make sure I am safe and stable. Seeing things a bit more in-depth than the grown-ups. It's a weird feeling that I think I'm willing to continue sitting with.
Now, for an awesome picture:
I've stayed in my eating disorder for many reasons, one being my thrill-seeking personality that led me to see how close I could get to death and live to tell about it. For how long I could deny myself of a basic need that others seem to weakly give in to. For how long I could have this intense and endless binge-purge-engulf-restrict battle with myself. And it's definitely been a satisfying thrill. Now, I kind of want to see and explore the uncharted territory of healthy, "normal" living. That's thrill-seeking too, right? How much weight can I gain and be accepting of my body? How much self-care can I do to be comfortable in my skin? How much self-exploration can I do to accept compassion from others? These are questions that I've just recently become curious of. I think the meds are helping me keep my head above waters in that respect. Other days, I want to stay nestled in my familiar, much-known territory of self-loathing. But I look down at my body today and think, "This isn't too bad." I'm nowhere near the size I would like to be, but I know that's my eating disorder talking. When people tell me, "You look better", "You look healthy", I cringe. Healthy=not skinny=fat=failure. But I think I can grow (pun not intended) to accept my physical self. My dietitian will probably discontinue my 2nd daily supplement and eventually decrease my meal plan, then I will lose some weight and be thinner again. That isn't the best rationalization, but it's working in my favor, so I'm going to stick with it.
I've always analogized myself in sobriety/abstinence to a new-born who just opened her eyes: scared and vulnerable, yet fascinated and curious, always in need of supervision to make sure I am safe and stable. Seeing things a bit more in-depth than the grown-ups. It's a weird feeling that I think I'm willing to continue sitting with.
Now, for an awesome picture:
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Troll Bogies
Harry Potter marathon + tea + exercise = pleasure + pain
I was not allowed to check in to treatment today for arriving late from the DPSS office. I was seen as "being disrespectful" and "giving attitude". I couldn't care less what the staff think; I just hope my insurance company doesn't fuck me over for prioritizing.
So I got back home with a strong urge to binge and purge. After all, I received an EBT card today. I don't have to feel as bad about binging since I'm technically using my own money. I fantasized about having my 2nd final hurrah with ED ever since I became abstinent. However, instead of binging and purging I exercised. Nothing intense...I think. But it was compulsive. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was playing while I sipped tea and did crunches and ass exercises. Surprisingly, I ate dinner but not according to my meal plan. Why am I confessing my behaviors on this blog? Don't I fear being held accountable? Yes I do, but my fingers are typing on their own and I'm too lazy to delete it.
I wish my life was like Harry Potter's. Own a sweet pet owl, fly around in a broom stick, and kiss Hermione Granger.
Anyway, I'm going to be home alone for several hours because my boyfriend has lots of things to take care of tonight. Binging is still on my mind. What's stopping me? It's not having to restart my abstinent count-up; it's not the feeling of guilt that should follow a slip-up; it's the disappointed look I will receive from my boyfriend, which will be followed by feelings of incompetence, shame, hopelessness. Hopeless about our relationship moving forward and no longer remaining stagnant. Shameful about being a shitty girlfriend. Incompetent about being a shameful, hopeless, self-loathing human being. Guilt is my driving force, and I hate it. It's too much pressure, too much frustration. I feel pathetic. I don't want pity or sympathy. I just want to put my thoughts into words in hopes of lighting some kind of fire under my ass to do something about it. But I'm trying my best. At least, I think I am. I'm attending treatment everyday (with the exception of today, but today doesn't count because I had a forgivable reason), participating to the best of my abilities, saying positive self-affirmations, using coping tools, and all those other therapeutic hoo-has. They don't seem to be working. So I tell myself to be patient and remind myself, "progress, not perfection".
Boredom
kills.
I was not allowed to check in to treatment today for arriving late from the DPSS office. I was seen as "being disrespectful" and "giving attitude". I couldn't care less what the staff think; I just hope my insurance company doesn't fuck me over for prioritizing.
So I got back home with a strong urge to binge and purge. After all, I received an EBT card today. I don't have to feel as bad about binging since I'm technically using my own money. I fantasized about having my 2nd final hurrah with ED ever since I became abstinent. However, instead of binging and purging I exercised. Nothing intense...I think. But it was compulsive. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone was playing while I sipped tea and did crunches and ass exercises. Surprisingly, I ate dinner but not according to my meal plan. Why am I confessing my behaviors on this blog? Don't I fear being held accountable? Yes I do, but my fingers are typing on their own and I'm too lazy to delete it.
I wish my life was like Harry Potter's. Own a sweet pet owl, fly around in a broom stick, and kiss Hermione Granger.
Anyway, I'm going to be home alone for several hours because my boyfriend has lots of things to take care of tonight. Binging is still on my mind. What's stopping me? It's not having to restart my abstinent count-up; it's not the feeling of guilt that should follow a slip-up; it's the disappointed look I will receive from my boyfriend, which will be followed by feelings of incompetence, shame, hopelessness. Hopeless about our relationship moving forward and no longer remaining stagnant. Shameful about being a shitty girlfriend. Incompetent about being a shameful, hopeless, self-loathing human being. Guilt is my driving force, and I hate it. It's too much pressure, too much frustration. I feel pathetic. I don't want pity or sympathy. I just want to put my thoughts into words in hopes of lighting some kind of fire under my ass to do something about it. But I'm trying my best. At least, I think I am. I'm attending treatment everyday (with the exception of today, but today doesn't count because I had a forgivable reason), participating to the best of my abilities, saying positive self-affirmations, using coping tools, and all those other therapeutic hoo-has. They don't seem to be working. So I tell myself to be patient and remind myself, "progress, not perfection".
Boredom
kills.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Fuck it
3/25/13
Damned anti-depressants are giving me results that I am not very fond of:
--crazy, vivid dreams
--headaches that feel like a balloon is being inflated behind my temples
--restlessness- I have all this pent up energy in me and I don't know how to exert it. It's not caffeine-induced.
--a strange non-desire (is that a word?) to obsess over negative thoughts or glorify suicide
I find the last one to be particularly bothersome. I'm a habitual Debby Downer, and have been for most of my life. Unsurprisingly my alcoholism, drug-use, and eating disorder have perpetuated this comfortable cloud of a depression into a frenzy of careless debauchery which I have grown to accept and appreciate. Yes, I appreciate my depression. It's the only thing that I am familiar with. Of course, it encompasses neglect, isolation, episodes of extreme emotional bouts, episodes of staring off into space for hours, but it's what I'm used to and I'm hesitant to letting it go. It's like my guardian against the world. And the damned anti-depressants are like invaders trying to wring it away from me, leaving me feeling cold and vulnerable. I haven't had the chance to sink into my comfortable cloud for a while now. And as the days pass, I feel like the cloud is getting thinner and thinner, and the invaders are fighting to have me fall through and join the rest of the earthlings in a place where emotions are dynamic and human-interaction is necessary. Painfully. I don't like communicating. I don't like conversing with people, especially with other clients. I don't mind so much communicating with therapists or doctors because there is a clear role for me to play.
But with clients, I don't have a role. I'm one of them. The eating disorder connects all of us, and so does the fucked-up daddy issues. I was comfortable in my ED and in my depression until the prescriptions came along. Taking the meds is part of my treatment plan and my boyfriend would kill me (not literally) if I came off them, so I am playing the role of a "good client". I thought if one takes anti-depressants when having suicidal thoughts, the suicidal thoughts may increase? My ST were intense..shouldn't they definitely increase? This not-particularly-depressing mood leaves me confused. I don't feel like being a hermit anymore. I can't be a hermit even if I wanted to because it's part of my treatment plan to actually attend treatment 6 days a week. I'm actually beginning to share more in groups. ME. The fucking Debby-Downer-don't-talk-to-me-I-hate-people attitude is slowly fading away just like the comfortable cloud that has held me up and protected me.
So this socializing tendency is creeping in on me and I'm freaking out because I have gnarly social anxiety. I bounce from talking about one subject to another, forget what the original topic was, and find myself talking about things like crayons and squirrels. Even writing this post is taking up so much of my mental energy. It's been 2 hours since I've started writing. Not so much editing what I've written so far, but just stopping myself from writing totally nonsensical, irrelevant rambles. What was the purpose of this post anyway? Oh yea, damned anti-depressants.
Fuck it.
Damned anti-depressants are giving me results that I am not very fond of:
--crazy, vivid dreams
--headaches that feel like a balloon is being inflated behind my temples
--restlessness- I have all this pent up energy in me and I don't know how to exert it. It's not caffeine-induced.
--a strange non-desire (is that a word?) to obsess over negative thoughts or glorify suicide
I find the last one to be particularly bothersome. I'm a habitual Debby Downer, and have been for most of my life. Unsurprisingly my alcoholism, drug-use, and eating disorder have perpetuated this comfortable cloud of a depression into a frenzy of careless debauchery which I have grown to accept and appreciate. Yes, I appreciate my depression. It's the only thing that I am familiar with. Of course, it encompasses neglect, isolation, episodes of extreme emotional bouts, episodes of staring off into space for hours, but it's what I'm used to and I'm hesitant to letting it go. It's like my guardian against the world. And the damned anti-depressants are like invaders trying to wring it away from me, leaving me feeling cold and vulnerable. I haven't had the chance to sink into my comfortable cloud for a while now. And as the days pass, I feel like the cloud is getting thinner and thinner, and the invaders are fighting to have me fall through and join the rest of the earthlings in a place where emotions are dynamic and human-interaction is necessary. Painfully. I don't like communicating. I don't like conversing with people, especially with other clients. I don't mind so much communicating with therapists or doctors because there is a clear role for me to play.
But with clients, I don't have a role. I'm one of them. The eating disorder connects all of us, and so does the fucked-up daddy issues. I was comfortable in my ED and in my depression until the prescriptions came along. Taking the meds is part of my treatment plan and my boyfriend would kill me (not literally) if I came off them, so I am playing the role of a "good client". I thought if one takes anti-depressants when having suicidal thoughts, the suicidal thoughts may increase? My ST were intense..shouldn't they definitely increase? This not-particularly-depressing mood leaves me confused. I don't feel like being a hermit anymore. I can't be a hermit even if I wanted to because it's part of my treatment plan to actually attend treatment 6 days a week. I'm actually beginning to share more in groups. ME. The fucking Debby-Downer-don't-talk-to-me-I-hate-people attitude is slowly fading away just like the comfortable cloud that has held me up and protected me.
So this socializing tendency is creeping in on me and I'm freaking out because I have gnarly social anxiety. I bounce from talking about one subject to another, forget what the original topic was, and find myself talking about things like crayons and squirrels. Even writing this post is taking up so much of my mental energy. It's been 2 hours since I've started writing. Not so much editing what I've written so far, but just stopping myself from writing totally nonsensical, irrelevant rambles. What was the purpose of this post anyway? Oh yea, damned anti-depressants.
Fuck it.
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