Building the Yellow Brick Road

Oh, I almost forgot...

2009-07-08T00:29:00.002-04:00

I'm moving to Maine! Mount Desert Island. :)

I'm very excited to have a new job and I just love Maine summers...it's the winter season I'm dreading the most.

Now I'm just trying to have a good handle on things before I move. 2nd weekend in August. So we're looking at four and a half weeks.

I really want to challenge myself and eat three healthy meals a day, two snacks, with no behaviors whatsoever. But right now I'm just taking it day by day.

Honestly, this isn't the smartest move in the world. I'm still on shaky ground recovery wise but the opportunity has come and I'm really looking forward to it. So all that means is -- I have to GET ready so that it is a smart move.

On the one hand I'm doing well...

2009-06-29T14:49:00.002-04:00

But then there's always that other hand and it winds up slapping me in the face.

Things were going well for a while. The eating disordered thought had significantly decreased. I was acting less on impulse and emotion. I was actually taking note of my emotions and doing something constructive with them. And then -- I met with the nutritionist.

Maybe if I didn't have an eating disorder, I wouldn't have received the things she said the way I did. And I hold nothing against the woman, as she clearly knows what she's doing as a nutritionist for women with PCOS, and she is working with my outpatient team to make sure everyone's on the same page -- but she pissed me off.

Changing exchanges and saying that I don't need to drink juice but if I do to add water to it. First thought -- well, that's disordered. That's something we were forbidden to do at the residential program. And fruits and juices were encouraged! Milk and yogurt are clearly a dairy and can be exchanged as a protein. But not in her book -- it counts it as a carbohydrate. And that means -- according to this new deal she's got me working with here -- that I've been going days and days without protein (thinking I was getting sufficient amounts from soy milk and yogurt) only to find out that protein and fats are my friends and that I need to limit the starches even more.

Yeah. Angry.

But mainly sad because it brought back old memories -- bad ones -- of my father telling me not to eat this because I didn't need it, or not to eat that because of my weight. And she couldn't have known that so I don't fault the lady at all, it's just, I think had she been a bit more mindful that I'm an ed patient first and pcos patient second, that maybe things would have been different. I left her office resolved to do better as far as my eating habits go, but just a few days afterward the feelings I had surfaced in my old behaviors because I didn't deal with them as they came up. Funny how that happens.

I started skipping more meals and I hadn't felt guilty about just plain old eating in a really long time and then that came up when I felt like I had something that I shouldn't have had (because of the conversation with the nutritionist). And that guilt resulted in a purge.

First one in a really long time. Dare I say a month? Hmmm. It saddens me that all the hard work can vanish so quickly. That I can be in the exact same hole I was in two months ago and desperately clinging to the eating disordered thoughts against all reason. Dixie and I talked a bit today about why I continue to choose to believe in the eating disorder despite everything I've learned and I had no answer.

I just know that I do. I wish she understood that although I appreciate the past year and a half and I know that it's saved my life, that some mornings I wake up and absolutely hate my body. I hate it. I hate myself because I blame all my failings on this one thing and it's hard to live with that. It's hard to know that I could do something about it (like skipping a meal here or there) because it just makes me feel better to know that I'm not making things worse (even though I know I am). Being in recovery with an eating disorder is like living in a world full of paradoxes. I know the truth and yet I don't live it. I try and yet if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror during a bad moment in my day -- logic is tossed to the wind. Dixie said I lose all cognitive function when I'm in my body loathing moments. Maybe. But I want her to understand that it breaks my heart too when I slip up. I'm just as frustrated and disappointed in myself as she is. I just also feel, for lack of a better word...better, better about my body, better about myself, better about my life if I'm empty inside. Even if it's only for a moment and it never lasts, because it never does.

I wish I had someone to talk to who doesn't think I'm choosing to continue along with an eating disorder. I wish I wasn't always playing defense.

Whoever said life was fair?

2009-06-15T13:38:00.003-04:00

That's the way the pendulum swings, right? Back and forth? Well, it's been a R-O-U-G-H week, brought on by the fact that I weighed myself two Saturdays ago and it's just been a nightmare of restricting and dreaming about binges ever since then. Finally, I gave in to my eating disorder. I drove to the grocery store, bought binge food, and didn't even wait until I returned home to start the binge.

But you know what felt different about it this time? I didn't feel the need to purge. I mean -- sure I wanted to purge the entire cake I'd eaten in less than half an hour -- but there was no urgency. I didn't feel completely full or bloated. It didn't even FEEL like a binge. It just felt wrong. I did not feel out of control. I just felt disappointed in myself. And even with that disappointment I decided, "I'm not purging. I don't need to purge. And I'm still going to have dinner."

And that felt strange. The declaration that I would do the next best thing which meant eating whilst not even being hungry (which is always the case) but eating on a full stomach feels so contrary to everything I've known to be true. So I kept dinner light, but I still pressed on and this morning when I woke up I hadn't planned on having breakfast but then my therapist from residential called and there was something she said to convince me to have breakfast. Something about how it'd make me less jittery during my interview this afternoon.

All the while I was thinking, "This isn't fair! My life isn't fair. I shouldn't have PCOS. I shouldn't be fat. I shouldn't have an eating disorder." Then, I remembered something the dbt therapist said to me about two weeks ago:

"Where'd you ever get the idea that life is fair? People think it should be fair and then they're in for a rude awakening when they realize it's not. Who ever said it was supposed to be fair. It's not fair that you have this new diagnosis. It's not fair that the one other bulimic in the group is underweight and you're overweight. The two of you have the exact same symptom use and it shows up in different ways on your bodies. No, Erin, that's not fair. That's why you can't think about it in those terms of fair and unfair. The reality is that you have a diagnosis that makes it extremely difficult for you to lose weight and you engage in behaviors that cause your weight to fluctuate. Those are the facts -- and none of it is fair. But someone can look at your life and say it's not fair that she graduated from such and such college and had a shot at law school. Someone can always look at someone and compare their lives and see the injustice of a situation, but it doesn't do anyone any good to compare. The only thing you can do is accept that life isn't fair and keep in mind that no one ever promised you that it would be."

I think remembering her speech today has motivated me to go to group tomorrow. I skipped the last week's meeting because I was hanging out with friends but I need that group. I also need daily and weekly reminders that this isn't fair. And now what?

And now what? Well, now I get ready for my interview, wow them with my charming personality and competency, eat lunch, and continue on with my day, keeping in mind that there will be bad days and good days but that the power of turning a bad day into a good day always rests with the decisions I make.

a digression

2009-06-06T20:15:00.002-04:00

This is totally not related to eating disorders at all, but...

Don't you hate when there are songs that you once loved with another person and now it hurts to here them.

Here's my list:

Where Did My Baby Go - John Legend
Beauty - Dru Hill
Goodbye to My Lover - James Blunt
Lost Without You - Robin Thicke
Unbreakable - Alicia Keys
If I Was Your Woman - Alicia Keys
Stingy - Ginuwine

Oh there are many many many more...but I'll stop here.

It's like the song is tainted now by this other person and there's nothing you can do about it. Because I still love these songs -- but I'm completely caught off guard when I hear them (even though they're all on my itunes) and it drives me crazy because I want to call up the person and just talk. And I can't do that.

These are all love songs, duh, (as most songs are) but I don't think of past lovers. I think of BEST. Someone who introduced me to James Blunt and Robin Thicke and got me to love the song, Stingy. And when I hear Beauty, I can still hear her belting it out at the top of her lungs. There's so many memories we have around music...more than anything else I suppose.

I wrote her from the residential program. I hate ending relationships. I hate when something is over.

Even in my dreams

2009-06-06T12:10:00.002-04:00

It feels like I can't escape the eating disorder even in my dreams. Or rather, shall I say it was a nightmare. I gorged myself on pizza and cookies, cake, and alcohol. And for some strange reason, a roast beef sandwich that I actually fought a friend over. And I'm not even a roast beef kind of girl. The problem is that it just felt so incredibly real and that it felt so incredibly good to indulge myself. I'm not even sure what the word is past indulgence. But that's what it was.

Then suddenly, I was hoarding the food, bagels and donuts and it was such a ridiculous amount of food but I wanted it all. I wanted it all. Family members were around. I specifically remembers my maternal aunts and uncles all being there and seeing the binge and just being shocked that I actually do have a problem and that it was a bigger deal than they had thought.

But I suppose this is the worst of my problems. I'm not binging. I am eating regularly. I haven't skipped a meal since Memorial Day and I haven't binged and purged since last Thursday. I'm eating regularly and it's a struggle. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm doing it and this life is much better than the one with an eating disorder, but it's exhausting. It's frustrating to force myself to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner when I still don't have hunger cues. It scares the shit out of me because I'm afraid that since I'm eating just because that it'll turn into a binge because my satiety cues aren't working either. It just feels like any moment that I eat something when I don't feel physical hunger could end up in a binge because I don't know when to stop until I'm absolutely stuffed. But on the other hand, I'd probably be really overwhelmed with anxiety if I started to get hunger cues.

I just hate that my eating disorder is now attacking me in my dreams -- and there's no way to combat that. Just time, I suppose.

I'm stressed out to the point of tears

2009-05-30T17:33:00.002-04:00

It seems every time my mother phones (and it's getting to be everyday these days) it's always about how much money I owe her. A student loan payment is due or a car payment or phone bill or

I just want to scream, "LEAVE ME ALONE! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS! YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT!"

And she doesn't mean to I know. I mean she's not intentionally calling with such reportings because she's evil, rather she's inundated with medical bills (opps I forgot that one) and lab bills (for $2000) and wants to know when I'm going to contribute something. Anything.

And it makes me feel like I'm so incompetent. Like how I can't take care of myself or my own finances. Like I'm a failure. And it is NOT good for my anxiety. It's not even a cop out when I say to her, "Mother, you can't begin each conversation with topics of money" because it literally sends me into panic mode. My chest tightens and I start shaking and it's hard to breathe and I feel guilty about even being in therapy and continuing to rack up the medical bills.

And there's no better way to get rid of those feelings than to binge and she just doesn't understand that. Like I'm physically shaking right now because I'm so rattled and I can't binge because I'm sitting for the twins and there's no food in the house anyway and I'm just trying not to do that. So for the love of God, Mother, if by some divine chance you ever read my blog, please, please stop. I can't deal with making it through three meals a day, with keeping myself alive, when I'm constantly reminded that what I'm doing just doesn't cut it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I suck at life.

First fall forward, dust oneself off, get back up again.

2009-05-28T21:38:00.002-04:00

So I've decided for myself that recovery is linear. I know, I know. It was a real comfort to know that it's absolutely human to fall and fall back. But at this point, recovery keeps moving forward. If I fall, I fall down into a valley. I fall forward, flat onto my face (and my ego). But I'm not taking steps back. I'm not playing that two steps forward, one step backward game with my recovery anymore.

My first official face slam into the pavement occurred around 7 pm. I binged. And I purged. At the house with my 2 year old and 7 year old nephew around although thankfully they were napping during most of the incident. Thank God. Because there's really no explanation for why Titi has vomit in her hair.

Gross. I know.

And how did I end up binging and purging you ask after having such a fantastic run after leaving the Carolina House? Oh...because I decided that I was too fat today to eat meals so I skipped breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Uh huh. And I reasoned with myself that should the urge to binge occur, that I've had enough therapy over the past year and a half to coach myself through the binge and act opposite to the emotion.

There's where my ego was bruised. Silly me. I have an eating disorder. Sometimes I forget what that entails. Like, yeah, I'm going to wake up and feel fat, but I still can't skip a meal. And yeah, on that same day, I might actually feel physically sick to my stomach because of my prescription cocktail, but still, there are no sick days.

Have I learned my lesson? Hmm...I know it was a reality check of how far I've come and how far I still have to go on this journey. I do not like the person I am when I'm disordered. Not when I binge. Not when I purge. And interestingly enough, not when I restrict. I like being myself when I'm healthy, when I'm taking care of myself, when I'm not in pretend control, but really in control of my life.

I contemplated starting over in the morning but after talking to a friend who also fell forward this evening, we both decided we'd correct the damage that had been done. So I sat down to a lovely dinner of macaroni and cheese and decided that there's truly no better time to start over than the present moment.

Skipping Meals Already?

2009-05-28T13:20:00.000-04:00

I try to think about why I'm doing this. Why after a year and a half of out patient treatment and two months in residential I'm so hard wired to believe that if I skip meals I can keep it up, lose weight, and be happier. I can't pinpoint it.

Yesterday I skipped two meals and I know what that does to my body. It makes me ravenous for food. It leads to binging. And that leads to purging. Frankly, eating any amount these days sends my mind spiraling downward towards those purging urges and it just upsets me so much that I think that is why I'm so resistant to regular meals. Because as someone who is overweight I still don't believe I deserve to eat food. Period. And so eating food makes me feel guilty, even if it's not a binge, but especially if I enjoy it. Sometimes it's not even a concious decision I make to skip a meal. Mostly, I'm just not hungry. Somehow my eating disorder has convinced my brain that I seriously don't need to eat and I'm absolutely fine with that until my body starts to rebel.

So it's almost 1 pm here and I did consider lunch but it's just...so hard. Do the therapists and nutritionists get that? Does anyone understand what it's like to hate your body so much that you end up mistreating it to the point of possibly no return and yet you still continue on with your eating disordered ways.

It's discouraging and frustrating and tiresome and depressing and I'm so sick of it. I wish I could just be like all the so called normal eaters out there. I wish I could accept my body the way that it is. I wish I could battle my eating disorder every meal and snack time and win. But sometimes I don't put up a fight at all. Sometimes I'm just simply glad that I skipped meals and didn't end up binging or purging and that's when I realize just how mentally ill people with eating disorders can be.

It's insidious. It's scary. And yet it's also a way to escape one's life. Still though, if there's one thing I learned from being at the Carolina House it's that I hate the eating disorder more than I love it. So if I can just manage to hold on to that knowledge, maybe I can summon up enough strength and eat lunch (and dinner) today after all.

on a roll

2009-05-24T19:03:00.002-04:00

So I'm back at it again. Blogging, that is -- not eating disordered behaviors.

The transition has gone a whole lot better than I thought it would. It certainly hasn't been easy, for there have been moments that I've seriously contemplated purging. And well, I haven't exactly done three meals and two to three snacks each day. But I'm getting my needs met. (I think.)

That's the hard part. Figuring out what's restricting if I happen to have a bigger snack, then maybe not eating anything but a piece of fruit for lunch. Really all this means is that I'm in dire need of a nutritionist and the one at my outpatient clinic doesn't work there anymore and they haven't replaced her yet.

Head tilt.

An eating disorders clinic WITHOUT a nutritionist? How can this be?

The one at the residential program has her own practice but she charges $140 per hour and she doesn't take insurance. So umm...I may be battling that front (the WORST front) by myself for a bit.

There's also the issue of coming up with the finances to afford outpatient. Meeting with my therapist twice a week is $70. The dbt group and the body image group (a new one for me but let's just say I've needed to be apart of this group from the beginning) is $140. Meeting with the psychiatrist each week is $17. Meeting with the physician twice a month is $15 (and when there's a nutritionist that fits into the same bill assuming I see them on the same day). And then there's the outpatient group that the residential program has for alumnae (although they erroneously call it the alumni group -- but we're all women!) is $25.

The grand total being a little less than $1040 per MONTH.

So maybe I'll have to cut back to just the body image group and alumni group, once a week with the therapist, once a month with the psychiatrist and the doctor.

I need a job!

But I'm not letting this stress me out. For now I'm going to continue to fight this battle and let the money work itself out. Surprisingly, it has for the past 19 months and worrying does nothing to remedy the situation.

I've missed the sac and I'm glad to be back.

But I just have one question. Where is everyone?

(off to dinner. it's called self care!)

The grand total for the month is

on partial

2009-05-08T21:21:00.002-04:00

It feels different being back here. Or maybe it's merely that I feel different. I'm still at the C@rol1na House but for only twelve hours a day thanks to my wonderful insurance company, which I really do need to thank for even allowing me to go residential for as long as I did.

Monday night was my first night of partial and I'm staying with the family that I babysit for...I'm assuming you all remember. The two darling twin girls who've discovered Youtube in the past two months much to everyone's dismay. It's cute in the beginning to see the delight on their faces, to find them so giddy with sheer happiness as they wonder how Beyonce dances like that. "She must be really strong and healthy" (That's what one of the girls said. :) I could only smile.

Has it been easy? This transition into the real world which isn't quite so real as I am pretty much homeless come June and still unemployed and desperately not wanting to go back to PB although it seems as if that may be my only source of income for a while because I just feel that anxiety building as I think of the whole job search.

I'll be officially discharging a week from today, but going back to see Dixie and everyone else on the outpatient team earlier in the upcoming week so that there's no period in which I feel as if I'm doing this on my own. Because I'm not. I know that now. And I know that as much as I've been thinking of this community that -- well, I feel supported here and by people who know and may be further along in the recovery process than some of the girls at the house.

Oh dear! There are tales and tales and tales to relay to you all...about how arduous this really has been for me. But also about how I realized along the way I do have the strength to fight...if I'm willing to try 100% of the time. I know. That's asking a lot.

Prime example (and then I'll go) last night it was leftover night so I made a full portion salad, thinking that because it was "just" salad that it would be not as filling for me (the nutritionist has put me on 1/2 dinner portions -- which is kind of complicated to explain but essentially everyone in the house, no exceptions, has the exact same thing for dinner everyday except thursday, and everyone has the exact amount of exchanges. Except me. Because you know there was that thing with my metabolism being completely fudged up.) But I'm no longer bound by this "law" so to speak since I'm no longer on meal plans but on food journals where I'm supposed to document my food consumption and feelings and stay within a range (which is still pretty UNclear to me). Regardless, I felt extremely full afterwards and wanted to purge. I felt nauseas and disgusting and I was beating myself up for having too much SALAD.

But I tried using some skills. First I went to the nurse and told her what was going on and she asked me if I needed to take something to keep the food down. My eating disorder won that round because I walked away saying no; still thinking to myself that I wanted to purge. Then I did fruit therapy, which is where we throw spoiled fruit at trees and with all our strength and might. I threw two cantaloupes, three tomatoes, and an apple and the trees were decorated quite beautifully if I do say so myself. Then I started saying aloud, "Fuck off! Fuck off! Leave me alone! Fuck off!" A friend requested I stay at the house a little while longer having seen my struggles but I turned her down. Another one gave up the internet (a precious resource in our house) so that I might have more time in the house and feel less inclined to purge after leaving. I took her up on that offer.

Upon leaving though, I just thought about it...I just thought about how badly I wanted it and it happened. It scared me senseless. Because now I know, I really know, I can do it psychologically. No need for a physical purge. And I was just so fearful that all the hard work I'd done had come to an end because NOTHING about the way I think has changed. None of the eating disorder thoughts or feelings have been abandoned. The only thing is that I DO eat regularly and I've even cut back on my very scaled back meal plan as it is.

So I remind myself...People with eating disorders cannot skip meals. And purging is no longer an option. It's not. It's in the past.

Oh...and I was diagnosed with PCOS today.

Let's just say it's been one hell of a week.

for my readers...

2009-04-26T17:07:00.002-04:00

"How could anyone ever tell you
You were anything less than beautiful?

How could anyone ever tell you
You were less than whole?

How could anyone fail to notice
That your loving is a miracle?

How deeply you're connected to my soul."

We listened to this song in yoga on Friday afternoon and I first thought of you ladies: Ania and AE and Hayley and Fia and Z, and Kristina and everyone really. I thought of everyone out there who's connected to me through my blog and wanted to say that I do feel deeply connected to you all.

22 days in

2009-04-06T20:33:00.001-04:00

It's the beginning of the fourth week at the residential treatment program and this past week has been significantly harder than the first. I wasn't even sure that was possible. It's a daily struggle and time is winding down. Even though it's only the 22nd day and the minimum stay is 45, I feel like I need more time. I just need more time.

Dixie has been out to visit twice and the psychiatrist came out to visit the first sunday. I have a dear friend who flew out from Texas the very first weekend I was here because she was so incredibly freaked out by the whole situation and needed to know that I'm okay.

And I am. I am okay. It's just really hard. I'm still using behaviors although it hasn't been nearly as much as it was when I was out in the real world. I think the main concern right now for the clinical team is whether I'm 100% committed to the nutritional therapy and individual therapy. We all know how I struggle with emotional walls and so it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone to know that I've had a pretty flat affect the entire time I've been here. I don't understand why it's hard for them to understand that I've spent most of my lifetime living like this and it really should take a considerable amount of time for me to "open up"

There are also some medical issues that we've discovered. Something's wrong with my blood sugar levels and apparently there's some insulin resistance going on. It's hard to know which comes first...chicken or the egg. But I think the doctors were being careful to make sure I didn't attribute any fault to what's going on with my body.

I'm also having trouble keeping food down...you know, since I'm accustomed to purging. And I'm constantly at odds with the clinical team because they believe it's psychological. It very well might be. But it just really hurt to hear that they think I'm doing something to stay in the way of recovery. Or maybe it's just that my eating disorder is really intent on hanging on for as long as possible.

I miss everyone on the sac and think of you all from time to time. Thanks for being here.

week one

2009-03-20T19:39:00.000-04:00

It's a little shy of hell here to be completely honest. There are nine girls, including myself, with the entire range of possibilities for eating disorders, and anxiety, and depression. Before last night, I actually thought things were going okay. Or as okay as they go for someone like me. Someone who's fairly accustomed to restricting all day and binging and purging at night and is then put into an environment where she's more or less presented with food six times a day. SIX times a day. Three meals. Three snacks.

It's painful. At this moment, the source is more physical than emotional although I can feel the emotions rising as I type this. The day starts with a 7:30 weigh-in, shower, breakfast, clean up (yes, we pay this place and then we clean up. hilarious) there's the interpersonal effectiveness group or art therapy and then there's snack time then individual therapy than lunch then...oh yeah. Aren't you just exhausted by reading all of this. So besides those two groups there's food and feelings, dbt, mindfulness, yoga, and ed med. Oh right. There's a morning walk but I haven't been cleared for that because I have not completed 100% of my food on any single day.

Which is like...duh. Did anyone actually READ my intake information? Did they expect that I would be able to?

And I haven't even gotten into the drama. And there really is drama. But let me back up and use a little wise mind and say that initially I thought, "Oh God, I don't need to be here" and now I realize that I do. Very much so.
Just by the look of my struggle it seems I've truly been awakened by just how serious this illness or disorder or disease is. Not that I'm glad to be here. But I need to be. I want this out of my life. It's just hard. Capital H.

My psychiatrist is visiting Sunday. Thank God. Because I have no friends in the area who know where I am and it's so incredibly lonely here. Lonely because...oh yes, back to the drama.

Seven of the girls hate me. Or not necessarily me, but my eating disorder. Yeah. See, I don't exactly see it as restricting since I'm eating at the meals. But there have been times when I've finished less than 50% or 20% or 10% (although in this instance I firmly believe the nurse was abusing her authority and just really pissed off at me because I told her to never talk to me again. Ever.)

Yes. Personalities really come out when you're confined to a house and never allowed to be alone. Forced to eat -- or supplement meals with those boost or ensure shakes. Forced to go on field trips with the girls out to lunch at a restaurant or visit BIRDHOUSES.

So my anxiety is probably at an all time high based on a day to day basis. Thankfully they've increased my meds on that front so that I can actually eat the meals but I was backed up for THREE days which made eating physically uncomfortable for yet another reason. The directors believed I just needed some space away from the girls (because I struggle with eating in front of others because I believe I'm too fat to eat and don't deserve food) and while that worked, they sent me back to the table out of fear that they were encouraging the eating disorder voice.

My food consumption continued to dwindle (I know it seems like -- what? You've only been here a week, but don't forget, SIX times a day) and the girls were pissed Because they were eating everything and my restriction was triggering their eating disorders and so just imagine a house full of women, some of them menstruating, all of them with eating disorder personalities and there was a blow out so huge that MTV could have filmed here and made us all a lot of money.

Someone saw me hide and throw away a candy bar. (Yep. They force us to eat everything) and it really pissed her off. She started telling people in the group (not the therapists who stay overnight to keep watch) but the residents. Then an apple mysteriously appeared in my cubby. (NOT MINE!) And I was confronted about this and it was just awful. It turned into a screaming match and there were tears (none of which were mine of course) :) and ultimately after an hour and a half it ended with me calling her a bitch. Oh yeah, and saying that she was just jealous that she didn't throw her own candy bar out. Or maybe it was her eating disorder that was jealous.

In a rush of emotions she starts to pack her bags saying she cannot live in such a hostile environment and I ultimately apologized. Umm...like this, "I apologize for calling you a bitch. I shouldn't have said that. I don't think you should leave because we have a conflict. It's unavoidable. It's life." I left out the part where I felt like I still actually think she's a bitch. But I would have felt extremely guilty had she actually left for home after seven weeks and her second go around at residential.

The clinic director says my food consumption has to be at 100% next week or they'll just admit me to the hospital. Since apparently...they can do that. Because you know -- the not eating, the purging (it's only happened twice) -- puts the facility at risk of liability if I'm not actually doing what they claimed they could do for me.

My roommate was also one of the girls who attacked me in interpersonal group and so that makes things difficult. Although, I think, maybe I won't be so forgiving and I won't try to join the community since it's clear they're furious with me, that I won't continue to be a bitch. Or...at least I'll try. I'm afraid I've definitely inherited my father's rage and wrath. Not to mention, I'm totally unforgiving and it obviously makes things worse.

Not a fan of my therapist. But she's a hardass, which is of course, what I need at this point. I've talked to Dixie everyday (except today) and she's coming out to visit next week although the people who work here aren't happy about it. But I feel as if it's my only family, you know? And I need that. I need to be able to talk to her. To see her.

And finally, there's a cat here. Who's like a dog. Who curled up on my lap and let my pet him for twenty minutes while I cooled off last night after the mtv drama. And I opened my heart to a kind of furry little creature that I thought I hated. And while I suppose most of them still scare the shit out of me...this one brought me an incredibly amount of solace last night. And for that tiny bit of grace -- I am entirely thankful.

I miss you all. We only get internet access for an hour a day. There's one computer shared by all of us and so it takes some time to edge my way in here. But I really really do miss you all and I actually feel even more...I don't know. For those of you who are farther along in recovery...I admire you. I really really admire you. The struggle. And I'm so proud and in awe and of course, still concerned, because I know it's something that never completely goes away.

With love and hugs.

Erin

Monday, 10:30 am

2009-03-13T17:15:00.002-04:00

My check in time at the residential treatment program.

And may I just say that I am so overwhelmed about how I feel right now. Overwhelmed to the point of actually just not even being able to feel a thing. Which is pretty damned overwhelmed.

For almost three weeks now (well, come Tuesday at which point I'll be away) I've been staying with the twins and their mothers. I guess the old adage, "no news is good news" applies in this instance because things have been relatively easy here. Only two mothers have been in the house for three straight days during the entire length of time I've been here. But I haven't even sat for the girls very much. Just a few occasions when the girls were sick or parent needed to go shopping.

We've played endless amounts of Candyland (one of my all time favorites to be honest) and it's been, if not relaxing, certainly not chaotic. And I'm getting a lot of rest. Which begs the question, why isn't this little vacay from the trauma and turmoil of my family relaxing? Well, because even when you're away, they come right along with you.

I haven't seen Jay in almost two weeks, but we have plans to visit with each other on Sunday before I leave. He has no clue about what's about to happen (of course not, the plan was just finalized 90 minutes ago) but thankfully he's about to start spring break on Monday for THREE weeks. During which he will spend the entire time with his father. (Unfortunately, his father did call this morning and asked if I wouldn't mind keeping him during the day and I agreed not realizing things would happen so fast). But three weeks at his dad means it will be very easy for him to put his Titi in the back of his mind with all the four wheeling and monster truck rallying he's about to do.

The finances of this whole thing are just pretty amazing. There's no better word for it. The facility charges $900 per day and my insurance covers 80% of that. At a minimum of 30 days -- well, you can all do the math. I'm not even sure how my therapist worked this out with them because -- I'm only going to come out of pocket for a very very very small fraction of the expense. And so -- thank you PB for employing me for the last few months so that I could afford to do this. And a thank you to my mother as well, my sponsor, my therapist who I suspect really used up any stored favors on this deal, and everyone who's managed to sit with me during this really really difficult time.

I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack, which of course means that I'm not about to have one. Because you know, if you've had them, that it doesn't feel like a panic attack,it just feels like you're dying. And I don't feel like I'm dying. I feel scared out of my mind. About going to this place. And living with those girls. Or women, I suppose. About being in an environment where there's schedule activities from 7:00 am until 11:00 pm. Every single day -- except Sundays. The only day for visitation. I'm a little on edge about the fact that I am not allowed to bring my laptop. Like what the hell! Why not???!?!?! I'm a BLOGGER! I will definitely need my blog.

And there's no smoking allowed. Or gum chewing. There's only two hours of free time in there during that SIXTEEN hour day for me to use my cell phone and who even knows who'll be available to talk during that time.

I am not looking forward to three to four group meetings a day. Like, really? But -- here's the thing. I'm really looking forward to what happens afterwards. I'm really looking forward to being able to live my life. I'm really looking forward to having something to look forward too because it's been a really long time, you know. Gosh, that's what has my heart beating a little faster than normal. The excitement of seeing food as food and nothing more. Of being able to get dressed and go out into the world and claim what's mine. Of making peace with food and clothes and image and anxiety and my body and my mother and my father and my sister and MYSELF. Returning home (well, not my mother's house) and building a life for myself that I can appreciate. One with Jay. And Chewy. AND my laptop. And my cigarettes. :)

And then there are all the things I'm afraid of. Crying in front of others. Telling yet another therapist my story. The body image group. The meetings with the nutritionist who I'm certain will at some point experience my wrath. Or at several points. Of the doctors seeing my body. Of being the FATTEST one there. Yes, the capital letters were entirely necessary. Of that boulder on my chest being there and not being able to binge and purge it away. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. 100%. You have to eat 100%. How can they do that? I mean, really. We have eating disorders. 100%?

I'm really tired. But feeling a little hopeful. Eager to feel renewed.

As if things weren't bad enough right now

2009-02-27T04:36:00.002-05:00

Warning. Very upsetting post.

I've been feeling really awful for a while now. And scary awful for the past week and a half. I'm not even sure how this all sort of happened. However, last week in therapy I finally disclosed to Dixie just how bad things were depression wise but without mentioning the most important part. Maybe because we ran out of time? But immediately following that appointment I met with my psychiatrist who always asks the most direct questions and has this very frank way of putting things. It's something I would ordinarily hate in someone, but for some reason, it actually puts me at ease. There is no bullshitting this woman. Ever.

So I told her. The truth. That I'm tired of the never ending saga of my life. The eating disorder. The depression. The anxiety. The being stuck in this rut. That I dream about ending my life.

She upped my meds and has me coming back in to see her again on Tuesday.

So that's pretty bad, right? Well, I called Dixie after all of this because the psychiatrist said I needed to tell her and if I didn't she would. And Dixie has been a real trooper in keeping me in this moment. Right here. Right now. It's been really scary and sad and...a lot of other things. But I actually don't feel alone in all of this. She definitely has not abandoned me. I've seen her every day this week except Monday. And we have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.

But let me back up. Because things actually got a whole lot worse.

Tuesday afternoon Jay's dad decides to pick him up (and this turns out to be a blessing from above) which left me to spend my time napping. My mother walks into my bedroom in the early evening and invites me to join her in picking my dad up from the bus station.

HEAD TILT.

WHAT? No really. It seems like forever ago that she was pulling this same shit. So I pop up out of bed and listen to her rattle on about how he is my father and he's dying. How he wants to see me (even though I haven't heard it from him, nor would it matter at this point). Basically, I'm a selfish, self-centered, unappreciative, cold hearted, unforgiving, self-righteous daughter.

Well. You know. I won't even fight that. If that's what they think. Then so be it. I'll take that and whatever else they have (this is me clearly being the hard ass, as if I'm completely unaffected, right?).

Anyway, I ask her where she's planning to take him and she actually scowls at me and says, "I know! I know! He's not coming here. I'm taking him to so and so's house." But I'm pissed at this point. Pissed beyond repair because here I am -- yet again -- defending what I know to be true. Something that is about MY self care. And sometimes, if I start to listen to her or anyone in my family for that matter, I start thinking about him. And her. About how he has cancer and is dying and is all alone. And I'm sorry. But I can't think about that because then I will say, "Fine. I give up. He can come to live here and life will be 1000 times worse for me, but that's not important."

It is selfish, I suppose. Manipulative to force her to choose me or him. I am unforgiving. It's pretty cold-hearted, too, I suppose. At least we can all agree on that much. So imagine my surprise when I am later awakened by his voice. Coming from downstairs. Except, she just stood in my doorway and said that that was NOT going to happen.

You know that feeling you get when you're going up on a rollercoaster and you know you're about to shoot down at any moment. And your chest is tight and you're so afraid and it hurts to breathe and your heart is beating so fast and there's something lodged in your throat so you can't scream. Well that's how I've felt for the past 3 days. And I think the name for it is -- it feels like I'm about to die. There is no exhilaration as with a rollercoaster ride. You can't throw your hands up in the air and just embrace the wind because you know it will all be over in 90 seconds. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

And no one should hurt like this. If there is a moment when I'm not fully engaged in something (like playing 11 rounds of Candyland with the twins or baking 400 bagels at PB) then it hurts. I can't lie down to take a nap without it hurting. If I put down a book that I've been reading to distract myself -- two seconds later, when I return to my life -- without even going there and realizing what's just happened. It hurts.

I left the house immediately. I called Dixie. And then I came over to the house of the family that I babysit for because I didn't know where else to go. All of it hurts. The fact that he's here. That she didn't say anything to him at all about not coming to my home. That she cared more about not upsetting him than me. That I had to leave my dog. That now Jay is back with his parents because I don't feel comfortable having him here with me (especially since I'm still working at night). That it took her almost 24 hours to call me. And when I left, she asked if I was mad at her. It hurts that when she called, she called to talk about a bill from the clinic for $400.

I wanted to slit my wrists. I tried to slit my wrist. For many, many reasons. But I'm holding on...even though I don't believe Dixie when she says I can ride all of this out. I wanted to tell her -- I don't want to ride it out. I shouldn't have to ride it out. No one should expect me to ride this out. No one should ever have to ride this out. This hurt -- it's already killing me. It is. That's how bad it is.

But -- for now -- it's one day at a time. I have plans tomorrow that I'm committed to seeing through. A parent-teacher conference. A playdate at the pool for Jay and the twins. I know I'll make it through Friday. And I do have a place to stay...with this family, at least temporarily. I'll need to sit down and talk with the mother about an arrangement, but I'm afraid of doing that for very obvious reasons.

The signal at this house isn't very good so I may not be able to update. And I hate to say, "don't worry, I'll be fine" after writing all of this. So I'll try to find a way to post so that people know I'm okay.

2009-02-22T21:17:00.003-05:00

I didn't think it had been over two weeks since I last wrote -- but that's because it has not been! I just never got around to publishing anything.

I'm feeling a moderate amount of anxiety right now. At this very moment. And the initial thought was -- I could use a glass of wine -- and so I thought, "Oh no. Better go write!" Because I definitely don't need to go there. I feel quite certain that an eating disorder is more than enough to keep my busy these days. It just sort of worried me so that I instantly thought that, you know?

Why so anxious? Because I decided it's almost MARCH so I need to get serious about finding a job. And right now -- the recession is actually hitting our area pretty hard. So it would take a miracle and a lot of putting myself out there. And just the idea of all of that sent me into a panic and I suddenly got very hot and agitated and scared and decided to shelve the idea for a while. Except, I can't really do that. I'm ready to move. Like seriously. It's not anything specifically my mother has done -- it's just that I'm not able to thrive here. I know it. I get it. And I want to be better and do better and that means I need my own place. And that means I need to find a job that pays me enough to be able to afford living on my own (which is so incredibly expensive).

Backing up to yesterday...

I stayed in bed all day today. All day. I woke up and read a bit (in bed). Then I took a nap. Then I talked on the phone with half a dozen friends and family members (in bed). And then I took another nap. I wasn’t very content with it either. I felt compelled to take a shower in the very least. I had wanted to go out and do something. Read at the bookstore. Take a walk with the dogs. It’s been the first Saturday in a really really long time that hasn’t been devoted to taking care of someone else’s children. So while initially, it felt good to sleep in until 2 pm, it felt even better to know that I could curl back up under the covers and stay there for the entire day. I even asked my mother if she wouldn’t mind leaving the house – because I really wanted to be alone. Completely alone.

And to be completely honest – I know that I am losing it. I can feel it. I see it happening and I’m pretending that it’s not really going to be as bad this time around. It’s definitely harder to get out of bed in the mornings. More often than not, I’m picking up dinner for Jay rather than making it myself. The eating regularly is really at the bare minimum. And even with nothing at all to do with my day, I still don’t find the time to take a shower or wash my hair. I’m even late to therapy which of course was the major topic of discussion one day last week.

But it’s also true that I don’t feel overwhelmingly sad. I have intense moments of apathy – so much that I don’t do anything about it. But I’m not crying. I’m not sobbing myself to sleep each night. I do still function, although at a really minimal level. I also constantly feel my body. I’m constantly aware of my cheeks. The weight of them. Of my arms and thighs and hips and stomach. And that makes it impossible to consider starting the day off with breakfast. When I’m aware of the fat. When I hate it so.

I’ve been having thoughts of cleaning my room again.

Back to today...

It's pretty much the same story. I've been in bed all day. Reading. Chatting with friends. Pretty much avoiding life. Something I do quite well. The only difference is that today I actually something. Am I seriously calling this progress?

Sometimes

2009-02-05T08:48:00.000-05:00

...I feel like I'm way in over my head with raising my nephew.

...I wish I could ask him for a sick day and curl up under the covers when it feels like too much.

...I wish he were old enough to cook his own breakfast and dinner. Because seriously, it's the last thing I want to do.

...the perpetual stomachaches from binging and purging is enough to bring me to tears.

...I wonder when I'll make the shift from disordered to recovered. Wonder if I'll make the shift.

...I think things are worse the way they are now. Now that I know everything I know. If ignorance is bliss, then what's awareness?

...I think this really is just an incredibly long nightmare. A preparation of sorts for what's to come.

...And then I realize that sadly, I made every single decision that landed me here, which makes this whole ordeal so much worse.

...I wish I could go back to January 2003. Or really...before then. If this Erin today could go back and whisper into the younger Erin's ear at various stages in my life so that none of this would have happened.

Reflections upon January

2009-02-02T09:05:00.003-05:00

Thursday served as a reality check. Because I'd been coasting along quite well, in almost anyone's opinion.

Working? Check.
Sleeping? Check
Sleeping a little too much? Double check.
Eating? Check.
Decreased binging and purging? Check.

What's not to like about this progress report, eh? Except...I really don't feel good about it. Because...

Because...I can be doing more. And this isn't an instance of me thinking I need to be doing more with my life. Or I should be doing more. No. This feels a little more grounded. Healthier. As in...I want to be doing more. I can do more.

And it applies to basically every single facet of my life, I see.

I want to be doing more in therapy. I am twiddling my thumbs in there because I am so afraid to do the hard work. Afraid it will send me into the darkness. But I don't go in there alone. I really do know that now. And so while I may not be ready to go dive into the abyss. I certainly can do it. And I can come out of it. And it feels extraordinarily empowering to know this and say it with such certainty. Because a month ago I would have said, "Oh boy! Here we go again. I can't do this. I won't do this. This is too much." And now I think, "Oh boy! Let's do it."

I want to be doing more with Jay. I know that my schedule doesn't permit me to be as involved as I used to be in Jay's after school life because I'm usually really really tired. Except, that's just an excuse. I'm tired because I'm not giving my body the fuel it needs (and while this isn't some newfound insight) it's something I need to remind myself. Sometimes -- most times -- I feel really ill-prepared to be this seven year old's primary caregiver. This is such a huge responsibility and I didn't have that great of an example with my own parents which makes it all the more harder. I realize more and more each day that I have no idea what I'm doing with this kid. We're learning together. And while I wish I could say that I'm making an effort to eat more regularly for my own sake -- it's really so that I can be a better mother. So that I'm not too drained to help with homework or go bike riding or cook dinner. I've definitely been slacking in January and maybe we can blame it all on this cold weather! Boo winter. But he deserves better and I want to give him better. And the only way he gets better is if I start treating myself better.

This isn't a new one either -- but I do want to involve myself in other aspects of life that are more meaningful to me than this eating disorder. It feels like I'm living my life again when I'm fully engaged in an activity (be it work, writing, celebrating the inauguration with friends) and I can place the eating disorder on the back burner. I want to do that more. I need to plan to do this more, rather than just letting these instances occur. And that can be a little tricky, I know, because it means I actually have to add structure to my day. It means getting dressed and facing the world on a more regular basis. But it can only get easier with time, right?

Work for employment's sake -- I may not be ready to tackle that project yet. Just the thought of it makes me feel as though I cannot breathe. I remember the depression that overran my life when all I constantly worried about was finding a job and interviewing and being rejected and I do not ever want to return to that state again. But suddenly, this room...this house...all feels too small for me. I want to branch out a little. Grow. A life that's not the one I had all planned out. One that's completely different but still my own. And I really am wanting to figure out what this all looks like.

Oh...but going back. How was Thursday a reality check? I overslept for therapy. The 11 am appointment. Because it's been harder than usual to get out of bed in the mornings -- even if I haven't been working. Because I'm not giving my body what it needs. And so it all came into the light when I talked to Dixie later in the afternoon (still in bed and with no intentions of starting my day). I don't think she or I had realized that I was still pretty much in the same state with not doing anything with my day. I, personally, just sort of believed it was okay because I do work at night (but only until 2 am) and so I really shouldn't be sleeping past noon. Or taking naps for three and four hours after getting twelve hours of sleep.

So I think I have a thought or two about what will be on the agenda for tomorrow's session. For now though, the little voice inside, La Que Sabe (I'm reading Women Who Run W1th the Wolves...for the first time ever and it's obviously already having a positive effect) is telling me to go downstairs and have breakfast even though I'm full from last night's binge and definitely not in the mood for food right now. But I want to do things differently today -- so off I go.

And who knows...the dogs might just enjoy a late morning walk if they're lucky.

2009-01-27T14:23:00.002-05:00

Finally. A signal.

And even though there's something still wrong with my laptop. It's not horribly wrong. It's still working...

So right now...I feel very proud of myself.

The family I sit for asked me on Saturday if I could start sitting twice during the week -- on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but that they'd let me know when they needed me to start the following day. I agreed and felt like I was being really irresponsible as far as treatment goes because it means I would be missing group. But I also felt like it's a way for me to earn money on a regular basis and that's something I really really need. I should probably mention here that I didn't hear from the family on Sunday or Monday and so while I was seeing the psychiatrist this morning, I went ahead and paid for group because it's always crazy busy when I arrive at four. THEN I get a message from the family saying they do need me. So I called the group therapist to cancel. But then...I decided. Um, no. That's actually not cool. I don't mind having short notice for babysitting because things do come up. But the mother said she'd let me know the next day. Not three days later. And if I'm going to be sitting regularly from now on, then I'll just start next week, go to group as I planned, and try to work something out with the leader and Dixie, so I can still keep up with the lessons.

And I do feel guilty that I can't babysit for the twins this afternoon. But I'm not blowing off work to sleep. And I was just praised [somewhat] the other day for consistently showing up and not letting anything prevent me from my appointments.

I do, however, need to work on actually completeing my homework. I think for the past four or five weeks I've left my homework in the car. Assignments from group and Dixie. Not good, huh?

But I think more importantly than any of this is that I feel really great right now. I know I definitely needed a vacation away from home and Jay and even therapy. It allowed me to come back actually looking forward to carpool and timeouts and homework and my time with Dixie. And now we're devoting time to thinking about what I really want to happen next in life. I don't do well with these sort of assignments because I feel such immense pressure but I'll try to remind myself to take it easy. Maybe the food stuff isn't going so well. But I'm still trying.

Oh and! This is actually (never funny when I'm depressed) but Jay and I were cuddling the other night when I returned from D.C. and said..."I love your body, Titi. It's so soft and wam and squishy." And I just start cracking up because it's true. It's soft and warm and very squishy. THEN he says, "I love you, fat. Can I marry you, fat?" And this time, I'm finding it hard to breathe because my nephew is such a nut! So when I get it together, I said, "Jay. It's not nice to make fun of my body or anyone else's body." And he said...he wasn't teasing. He really likes my squishy tummy. And that when he gets older, he wants to marry someone fat just like me!

So clearly, I'm in a good mood if I think any of this is funny. Later, he was better at explaining himself. That he wants to marry someone like me, someone who loves him a whole lot, and cooks him his favorite dinner, and spends money on him (he's got it backwards, eh). And I suppose, someone that has a squishy tummy like me. Because apparently that must mean love.

A lot of love (because he said, Titi, you have enough fat BOYFRIENDS, so how come you don't have any?)

Anyways...strangely enough, I actually feel better about my body this week, even with things not fitting so well. Maybe it's all this fat adoration. Or maybe I'm starting to see other things as well. Or maybe it's a combination of both. Because I've always wondered how people saw me, and so it's good to see myself through my little boy's eyes. A squishy tummy yes -- but to him, it's something you'd wanna marry. Enough for two boyfriends in his opinion...and yet mine, it's too much for even one.

There's so much more to me than this body. And it's mine and I should love it and adore it and feed it and use it. But if something doesn't fit. If something doesn't look the way I want it to look, if it's not perfect...it doesn't mean that I can't love it or that someone else wouldn't.

i had a dream it was already May. Thank God it's still only January

2009-01-23T16:04:00.000-05:00

What are the odds that it would snow here the one weekend I'm away in D.C.? And it might actually seem like I'm one of those people who hate the snow (because I hate cold weather) but I actually don't even see the POINT of it being so cold if there is no snow. Not that I would want snow everyday. Or for longer than one week a year for that matter. But it just feels cruel to be below 25 degrees with no accumulation. No snow days. No sitting by the fire with hot chocolate. (Okay. I suppose I could do that one without the snow.)

D.C. was fabulous. I had goosebumps. I ate at least twice a day for five days and didn't purge the entire time I was in the city. Not to say that I didn't want to or didn't think about it. But it felt good to put celebrating Obama's presidency before the eating disorder. REALLY GOOD.

Reminds me of those days I spent canvassing or volunteering at the phone bank during the primary season. There really was something more important than restricting and binging and purging. And sometimes I forget that. Iforget that there are other parts of me. And so this morning I sat down and had breakfast with Jay. For both of us. Because he loves when I sit down to eat with him and although I seriously hate eating so early in the morning...I love feeling like I'm choosing something else over the eating disorder. My love for him. Or self care. And the truth.

So while it's been nearly eight hours since that "breakfast" -- and I'll just be accountable here and say that honestly, I only had two bites before the older dog jumped up to finish the rest and I actually felt rather relieved. So I probably shouldn't give myself a pat on the back. But it's friday night. Date night! We're going to dinner and then to a charity basketball game. And right now, I'm feeling that pull to run back up to my room and curl up under a few blankets and settle into a good book. But I think I'll fight that urge.

It'll be good to get back into the swing of things here. Not necessarily the swing of skipping meals and binging and purging at night. But Jay's finally back in school and I'm not planning any weekend get aways until summer. And I really do hope I'm ready to get myself back out there in the way of finding a career that doesn't involve having flour in my hair or getting home from work at 3:30 in the morning.

And like...can someone please fix my computer!?!?! I hate not being able to know what's going on in you guys' life. Not to mention I'm sure my inbox is flooded with junk and I'm suffering from facebook withdrawal.

I miss you all.

Clearly, I need to do better...

2009-01-18T04:27:00.002-05:00

There actually is something to report.

I'm in D.C.!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Can we tell how excited I am? Actually, no. We can't. The exclamation points do not do these feelings of mine justice at all.

And I'm really trying to put the feelings about my body and weight and thoughts about food on the back burner for the weekend. I'm really trying to enjoy my friends and the activities and the real reason we're here. I feel so PROUD right now of Americans and I'm so very hopeful that things will change for the better. Not immediately. Nothing miraculous. Just the undoings of the past decade. And it feels good to know that finally...our country gets a break.

And so I want to remember that I also deserve a break. From the checking behaviors. From the name calling. From the binging and restricting. Because I think -- it just breaks my heart that I keep on doing this. I hate it.

But the thing is, I can seriously understand why I do it. My friends and I were sitting around tonight. Four couples and a spare. Me. The spare. And it was okay. I really was okay. They weren't being those annoying couples who don't involve other people in conversations and they weren't even being all touchy feelings. It was just an observation that in a group of NINE (and there are MORE friends coming!!!) I was the only one who wasn't boo'd up. And it was because

I AM FAT.

And a host of other things that I don't even have the heart to go into tonight. But going through all of that -- even for a really limited time (because I did put a stop to it) changed the HELL out of my mood. It went from being about having a good time with dear friends to being about how I'm this or that or not this and that and how I'll never be this or have that and it's draining.

But I really do still believe all of this. For some reason I know that if I lose enough weight, fifty, sixty pounds...everything else in life will fall into place. Finding a great job, a place to live, a social life, a boyfriend, confidence, happiness. You name it. It's coming...

But not while I'm still FAT.

But enough of this, eh? The world is celebrating for the next 72 hours and I need to be ready for it.

I miss everyone so much. I just really wanted to say that. I've been absent because of my 1000+ virus messages that bombard my computer everyday. It's seriously more than 1000. I'm not exaggerating! And I feel really lost so I can't wait to get the computer situation resolved so I can get myself grounded.

hand squeezes.

2009-01-09T10:17:00.002-05:00

Do you remember what it's like to be forced to run the mile when you're in elementary school? The physical education component in public schools -- or at least in my distract -- struggled severely. Once a week we played jump role or learned to juggle scarves or walked on stilts. We played kickball and did push ups and jumping jacks and get this -- I swear, the saddest part -- the winning class out of any of these activities received a pizza party. Major head tilt, right? Or maybe not. Maybe if someone had just sort of mentioned health and nutrition alongside juggling scarves and jumping rope then it wouldn't seem so odd to me now to reward "the best athletes" with a pizza party.

I'm only bringing all of this up because at no point during the school year did we actually practice running or jogging or walking for that matter. I suppose we ran enough during kickball but mostly the time consisted of young children sitting on the gynasium floor impatiently waiting for their turn at eight whole minutes of physical activity for the week.

And yet, at the end of every year, our heights and weights were measured in front of everyone in our class. We were told we had to perform a certain number of sit ups and push ups and pull ups. And oh yes. We had to run the mile. I never minded the sit ups to be completely honest. It was sort of fun (back then at least) to throw my back down against the mat and then bounce back to my knees as fast as I could for sixty whole seconds. The push ups were the beginning of a horribly long nightmare as far as I was concerned. My wrists always ached. I was always out of breath (and apparently out of shape) after exceeding the required number of sit-ups. Silly me. I never learned to pace myself at anything, I suppose. But from there, we went to the pull up station, where I managed to successfully fail every single year. I dangled for a few seconds, dropped back down to the mat, with my second unsatisfatory (which kids seriously understand is like the worst mark you can get elementary school!, so why don't they just go ahead and write F?) and then proceeded to walk/run the mile at the pace of a crippled snail.

I think we had to run around the gy 21 times. And the cramps came running along with me before I was even a quarter of the way done. I would start holding my side and try to steal moments of relief if the teacher occupied with some other child. My chest became incredibly tight. It hurt to breathe. I was hot and tired, frustrated, crying, and pissed off that I couldn't do what some of the other kids could do -- without realizing at the time that it didn't make sense for me to be able to run a mile under ten minutes. I was not a runner. And it's probaby because of this yearly traumatic experience and being forced to run as a punishment enforced by my father, that I will never be a runner. Because I hate being in pain and I really hate feeling like I can breathe.

Just as a side note, our physical education teacher was morbidly obese, and was always pretty nasty to us kids who always lagged behind the rest of the group. One would think that she would have gotten it. Some kids are athletic. Others aren't and have to actually work at it. Instead, it' just torture. But whatever. I digress. This was just a really long and drawn out way of saying that yesterday in therapy, it felt like the end of the year physical fitnes exam. Ten minutes into the session I knew it was going to be one of those hour's. I was filled with such dread and anxiety that before we even made it to the difficult content, I was alreadying telling myself, "Don't blink. Don't you dare cry. Stop it. Just don't listen to her if you're going to end up going down that road."

I felt an incredible amount of anger and sadness. I could feel it throughout my body and I wanted to go home to binge more than anythng. And there I was, in therapy, and I couldn't talk about it. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't see the point in Dixie bringing up an upsetting topic, when we've learned from past experiences that I don't do well in the face of strong emotion. I clam up. I cry uncontrollably (mostly by myself) or I refuse to let myself cry.

I suppose it would help you all understood what was going on, huh? She asked if I had registered for my writing and I have not. I think as soon as I answered I knew she wouldn't let it go. She rarely lets anything go -- which I can appreciate as a good attribute in a therapist - but unfortunately she just doesn't have the best timing. And now I wonder if there's ever a good time for her to bring up anything unpleasant. Probably not. So there we were...or there she was, trying to figure out why it's so hard for me to get stuff done. Stuff as in register for my class, get my prescriptions filled, make doctor appointments, fill out job applicatios, go on job interviews, finish my play, etc. And then in a really quick shift she decided that for now it doesn't matter why there's so much anxiety and fear, just that she needs to help move through it. But seriously, I never feel like she help me move through it...unless she helps by allowing me to avoid the situaton.

So in that room I called my psychiatrist to have my prescription filled. And I was hurting inside so much because we both knew that that was the least of it. There are so many things I don't do because I'm afraid of what's going to happen or I'm afraid of being rejected or I just don't feel right asking someone to do something for me. Like having my doctor fill my prescription. I mean, is it too much to ask for the doctor to jot down in her calendar or my file that in three months I need a new prescription? And why can't I register for my continuing education class on-line? I think just hearing her talk about how I'm not living my life because I'm filled with so much anxiety hurt me so much. Don't you think I know that? Don't you think I wish things were different too? So why don't you help me? And talking about it doesn't help. Not with the shame or pain of fear. It doesn't.

I don't ask people who I know would help me find a job because I'm so ashamed of all. Leaving school. Not working for nearly a year. I don't do a lot...and I just sat there wondering, "How the world did this happen to me? And why is the list growing with every passing year?"

So I left in tears. My chest was aching like I had been sobbing and running for the past hour. And I wish I could tell her, I wish I had told her..."I'm safe right here. Please, don't push me." Because although I want things to be better, I wish I had a "real" job, that I wrote more, that I went out more with my friends and had a social life, that I dated someone, that I could express my emotions without falling into them, that I treated myself with love and respect...dear God, does anyone get that I really do want all of that? I'm as safe here as I've felt in a long time and I don't want to go rocking the boat. I can't go out more -- that's rocking the boat. That means I'd have to get dressed more, be seen more. I can't have a real job now because it mean the same, it means being worried about being good enough enough, bright enough. It means I'd have to go through the whole job search again. Putting myself out there only to be rejected over and over and over again. And that makes me doubt myself. It makes me hate dropping out of law school even though I know it was the only wise decision to make back then. It makes me cry. All the time. It makes me look around at other people and feel so ashamed. And right now...I'm okay. Or at least I'm trying to be okay -- and that makes me feel pretty shitty, too. Because really, how did this -- the way I live my life -- ever become acceptable to me? At what point did I say, it's better for me to fly so far below the radar, because otherwise I start to fall apart so much that I don't even want to be here.

My homework (which I didn't accept or refuse) is to go on twenty job interviews and practice getting rejected. And if I get a job (and this is about to sound really crazy, which should clue you guys into how nuts my therapist really is) I should refuse it. I'm only interviewing to interview and be rejected. I'm not interviewing to actually get a job. I think after having the day to mull it over -- that I could give it a try. Just thinking about one interview has me on the verge of a panic attack and even though I'm "safe" here...it's really no way to live. I do get that. I'm just scared is all. But if pushing Jay off the bike worked for him, then maybe I could try to manage one fear at a time.

2009!

2009-01-02T12:01:00.003-05:00

There's one song that seriously makes me smile every single time I listen to it. Okay -- that's not true. There are many songs that have this effect on me but I just listened to Each Day Gets Better and it's something I credit for getting me out of my first year of law school. I'm actually at a much better place starting the new year in 2009 than I was last year. I'm more realistic about what recovery actually looks like. I'm more optimistic that I'll continue trodding down this road even if it means falling multiple times a day and feeling absolutely defeated. Last year's resolution was that I would have no resolution. I didn't want to make any plans. I just wanted life to unfold and bear it. And that's exactly what I did! The first resolution I actually saw to the end.

I didn't think things could be any worse than they were at the beginning of 2008. I was in a sort of purgatory -- not knowing whether or not to remain in law school or move home and face the unknown. And it was probably one of the most difficult decisions I've made in a really long time. But I made the decision. To leave. And the aftermath was actually a little worse than I imagined it would be. But then I endured that, too. And the depression hit and it was scary and things were really bad at home and therapy hit a rough patch and I lost my footing and my resolve and started to believe that things would never be any better. And I slept for14 hours a day and I didn't have a job and I couldn't get out of bed. But then one day I did. One day I set an alarm and forced myself to look for jobs and then apply for jobs and I started going out with friends and that's how 2008 went. One step forward, two steps backward, two steps forward, one step backward. It was probably the longest year of my life. Feels like 800 days.

And I think I've learned over the past year that this is something that I might struggle with for the rest of my life. But I can still actually have a life that involves more than the chaos with food and my family. And while there are a host of other lessons I've learned over the past year, the most remarkable one is that I'm still here. Not just alive, although that's certainly something I can appreciate after being in some really dark places...but I'm still in therapy. I'm still trying even though sometimes it seems completely helpless. I'm still trying to build that life worth living. I still have hope that there's something more -- something better. And I'm really excited about the fact that I'm not completely broken. Sure, there were days it felt like my spirit was shattered. But it's not! I'm thankful for these moments of clarity when I recognize that each day gets better simply because it's another day to try again.

Jay's learning to ride his new bike and has been terribly afraid of falling. So guess what his Titi did? (Probably not the most conventional way to teach bike riding I'll admit...but) I had him hop on the bike and let him balance himself for a few seconds and them pushed him over. Oh yeah. The kid was pissed. But if the thing he was most afraid of was falling and hurting himself then I had to show him that he would fall. It's inevitable. For any level of riders! I had him falling in grass and on the street. In puddles. Downhill and uphill. And it was pretty frustrating for him at first because he kept pleading with me not to let go and then of course I would. I don't know...maybe it wasn't the smartest approach. But once he realized that falling wasn't as bad as he thought it was -- that he might hurt his knee or elbow but that he would still be able to get back up and ride -- then he stopped freaking out everytime he got his balance and actually started pedaling. And once the kid pedaled, the only thing we could see was his t-shirt blowing in the wind. (Yeah, it was like over 70 degrees on Christmas afternoon so we were all in t-shirts!) But then he'd start thinking about it. Thinking about how he was riding and how he might fall and how afraid of falling he was and BAM! He'd crash into someone's mailbox (or car!) and laugh hysterically on the ground. A little in pain but mostly on cloud nine because he'd just rode his bike down the street and it was such an exhilarating experience that it didn't matter that he'd just crashed or fallen two dozen times beforehand. That feeling of success was more than enough to get him back up on the bike for another round without any prodding from his mother or me. Now eventually he grew tired of only being able to travel for so far before falling and we were all pretty exhausted from the sheer chaos of Christmas and running after bikes in 70 degree weather...but when that happened he had people in his corner to cheer him on.

That's what this past year has felt like for me. A lot falling. A lot of bumps and bruises and getting hurt. Feeling like giving up and then having a brief glimpse of doing it-- flying in the wind. And it felt great. So I just hope that 2009 brings more of me feeling confident in myself. Feeling like I can do three meals a day -- feeling like that's something I really want. Feeling like I can do it. Everything. And that's mostly the scary part I know because then I'm afraid of fucking it all up. But that's going to happen. I'll fall. And when I'm dead tired of falling and ready to resign myself to a life of binging and purging and never believing that I can have anything I want in life, there are people in my corner. People who've been there from the very beginning, who didn't let go until I balanced myself. People who kept running alongside me waiting to catch me when I fell. People who ran only so that they could be there when I fell, who stood there and demanded that I pick myself up, who insisted I try again.

"Ain't No Mountain High Enough"

2008-12-26T05:59:00.003-05:00

1) If someone says, "Is this okay?" you say:
Paper Bag

2) How would you describe yourself?
Again

3) What do you like in a girl/guy?
The Way You Look Tonight

4) How do you feel today?
Complicated

5) What is your life's purpose?
In a Sentimental Mood

6) What is your motto?
Each Day Gets Better

7) What do your friends think of you?
I Did It My Way

8) What do you think of your parents?
My Way Home

9) What do you think about very often?
I'll Be Seeing You

10) What is 2+2?
Come Close to Me

11) What do you think of your best friend?
Nowhere Warm

12) What do you think of the person you like?
Close to You

13) What is your life story?
The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill

14) What do you want to be when you grow up?
I'm Here

15) What do you think of when you see the person you like?
Sunday Morning

16) What will you dance to at your wedding?
I Wanna Dance with Somebody

17) What will they play at your funeral?
Bitter End

18) What is your hobby/interest?
He Say/She Say

19) What is your biggest fear? Fool of Me

20) What is your biggest secret?
Neither One of Us

21) What do you think of your friends?
It Don't Have to Change

22) What song would you play during your first kiss?
Dangerously in Love

23) What will you post this as?
Ain't No Mountain High Enough

Copycat

2008-12-26T05:26:00.002-05:00

But before I do...

I really hate the gift giving part of Christmas to people who are really unappreciative. I actually love love love giving gifts to people who I know will absolutely adore them. Or just say thank you and really mean it. But OMG it seriously kills my Christmas spirit when someone (my sister) acts like an effing moron.

Case in point...Jay and his little brother seriously received the entire world for Christmas. A life sized stuffed Elmo for the baby and tons of clothes and toys. Santa brought Jay a bike & helmet, a sleeping bag, 2 remote control helipcopters, 1 remote control dragonfly, tons of clothes, a spiderman robe (which he's been eyeing for a while now actually), bedroom slippers, a flat screen tv, a portable dvd player, video games for his PSP, puzzles, games, coloring books, a dictionary, four dozen books, AND a CELL PHONE. Oh...and that was just at our house. Although I'm pretty sure Santa only brought a paintball gun to his daddy's.

Never in my life have I been so disgusted with Christmas as I have this year. Because do you know what the first thing the little boy said, "Titi! I told Santa I wanted a bike AND a scooter." At that point I wanted to walk out of the house because I was in such great disbelief. He hadn't even opened a SINGLE present yet! He was only looking at the big gifts that Santa couldn't wrap. And then after over an HOUR of opening presents the kid started pouting. Because apparently we were finished with Christmas and he hadn't gotten his cell phone. (His mother saved it as his last present).

The thing about this whole incident is that it has his mother's name written all over it. I don't even want to go into all the sneers and comments she made about how the baby's clothes didn't come from NORDSTROM'S (because umm...He's a BABY and he doesn't know any better and quite frankly it really should not matter). And the whole thing just infuriated me when she passed out HER presents. You know how they say it's the thought that matters? SHE DOESN'T THINK ABOUT IT AT ALL! I mean seriously folks. I received the most hideous sweater ever and a pair of black pants that I'll never wear because anyone who KNOWS me knows that I only wear pants that have pockets on the butt part (yeah I know...I'm really picky with everything, right?) but my point is...EVERYONE KNOWS THIS! Did I mention the sweater is a CHRISTMAS sweater?!?! Because you know...for some reason she thinks it's perfectly normal to buy her 25 year old sister a sweater with a blue and white snowflake design.

I did not want to exchange presents with her for this very reason. So Jay's behaving like a little brat on Christmas of all days and it makes perfect sense because his mother allows him to behave however he wants before she blows a gasket and then "disciplines" him and ends up crossing the line. I seriously lost it by 10 am and was planning a binge and I could feel myself about to L-O-S-E A-L-L O-F I-T because I was really tired and the kids were being brats and my sister was being herself and I just started bawling.

But after I took more than a few needed moments to myself and lectured Jay on good character and behavior I took him outside to learn how to ride his bike and we flew the helicopters around. Beautiful weather, too. Like around 70 degrees.

I'm feeling pretty sick though, now. Stuffy head. And it feels really really heavy. And my neck hurts as well too because imagine trying to hold up a really really heavy head...And I'm just really tired and I tried on a blazer to wear to last night's Christmas party and it didn't fit. As in -- the buttons were nowhere near each other and so instead of trying to "take care" of myself and deal with the situation objectively (ha!), I just headed straight for emotion mind and decided to

1. STOP EATING.
2. PURGE EVERYTHING.

And I actually did allow myself to hear what Dixie would say in response to my eating disordered mind taking full control of the situation...and then (in my head) I totally blacked out on her...like she has NO idea how that would feel being an XXS and she also has no idea how hard it was for me to maintain my composure during the whole too small blazer thing. I mean -- she has no idea how hard it is to live this kind of life. Where you're literally afraid to put any piece of clothing on because you never know how it will fit and how it will make you feel and how much you'll hate yourself that day or how far you'll act out that self loathing. It is hard to even think about self care when pants don't fit because you've been binging and purging like a mad woman. When you can't look at the mirror because you're afraid you might smash it because you hate absolutely everything you see. When you hate the eating disorder so much and yet you're still in it...and clinging to it despite everything you know.