how anxiety affects orange

My anxiety has been really high for the past month or so.  Last week it caused me to call in sick to work one day.  Something needs to change.  I need to be fully functional.  As anxiety mounts, it becomes increasingly easier to not eat enough.  I'm still eating, don't fret.  It's just easy to not eat as much as I should.  My stomach is so twisted in knots that eating is actually difficult.

I'm saying this not to make you worry, but to hold myself accountable.  I have found a natural supplement called Confianza that helps tremendously with the anxiety when I take it.  I need to start taking it regularly again.  I let the anxiety get so high that I am incapable of getting up and going to grab it out of the cupboard.  Hubby has a few times asked if I needed it, grabbed it and brought it to me when I can simply nod with tears flowing down my cheeks but can't move to get it.

I need to start taking it daily again to help bring the anxiety down and make my life functional again.  I need to stop waiting until I'm hyperventilating and starting to go into panic mode to take it.  What's the phrase, an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure?

I most definitely need to get the anxiety under control, anxious thoughts also make orange thoughts really loud.  It seems so easy to try to gain control through food.  Though I know fully that not getting proper nutrition makes the anxiety worse, sometimes in the midst of it that is hard to remember.  Just because I know this doesn't seem to mean that is how I handle it in the actual situation.

I am grateful for the prayers.  I can tell you there have been days that I am certain it was God's grace through the prayers of others that has carried me through the day.  I know this too shall pass.  I also know the longer it takes to pass the harder it is to wait for the light at the end of the tunnel.  This has been longer than usual and standing strong is getting harder.  Please pray that the peace of God that surpasses our understanding will guard my heart and mind.

I am still recovering, although I hate that fact.  I want to say 3 years should equal full recovery but I know that isn't true.  The healthy times are easier and not usually a concentrated effort.  The hard times are still a struggle though.  A struggle that I had hoped I'd be past by now.  I'm trying to be patient with myself. I'm trying to be patient with the work that God has started in me because I know He will carry it through and not leave me stuck in the middle.

I love you guys.  And I love the role you have played in my recovery.  Thanks.  Let's keep recovering together.

uninsurable

My insurance agent made a mistake and didn't switch my bank account on my life insurance when we changed banks.  He switched it for my car and home insurance, he didn't get the life insurance policy switched.  It lapsed, I realized, I panicked.  He told me reinstating it  was easy, just fill out these forms.

I fill out said forms which ask  questions about physical and mental health within the last 5 years.  Well, you can't lie, that is insurance fraud, and I do have things on my medical record that weren't there when I first got my policy.  Things like an eating disorder and a stay in the mental hospital.  Things like suicidal ideations, Major Depressive Disorder, anxiety, and PTSD. 

Apparently insurance doesn't like those things.  They asked more questions.  I answered them.  Yesterday I received the letter stating that my request for policy reinstatement was denied.  I have no life insurance anymore.  I am not insurable anymore.  And I lost my coverage all because of a clerical error.

I have a myriad of emotions about it.  The first was anger.  And let's be honest, I'm still pretty hot about it.  I felt a little bit of overwhelm.  And I also feel a bit like Marshall in the episode of How I Met Your Mother when he is imagining bears jumping out at him in NYC and attacking him.  Ok, so that last one makes me laugh so at least when I feel the pit in my stomach growing I can switch gears and laugh for a moment.

One more thing that this eating disorder has taken from me, insurability.  I don't know if I'm most angry at my agent for the error, at myself for not catching it sooner, or at Orange for stealing one more thing from me.  I'm going to get better.  I'm going to prove them wrong. 

And now I need to take a deep breath, finish getting ready for work and take this day one step at a time.  I will trust myself to my Creator, both physically and emotionally.  He sees it all and He is here with me, even here, even without insurance.

live free or die trying

My day started yesterday with scripture going through my head.  Thank God that it did because I needed that to carry me through the rest of the day. (I'm just writing right now, not looking up the reference because I'm on a limited amount of time.)

"It is for freedom that Christ has set you free."

Hmmmmm, freedom.  What does it really mean to live free?  I pondered the question through the morning.  I looked up the definition of free in my lovely Webster's Dictionary on my desk. 

 

free: adj  1.not imprisioned or constrained 2. not under necessity or obligation .....

4a.not affected by a specified circumstance or condition......7a. not being occupied or used

freeing 1.to set at liberty 2. to release or rid 3. to untangle or clear

 

Free.  I'm not feeling very free right now.  How do I live in the freedom that Christ has given me?  How do I live not imprisioned to eating disorders?  What exactly does that look like?

 

Ok, now fast forward to later in the day.  I'm surrounded by people who have decided that mexican is the fare for the day.  Already struggling, this was a bit of a freaky choice for me but I was bound and determined to get over myself and enjoy the time together.  But then they talked about weight, hunger cues, body image, NUMBERS, and everyone had an opinion about eating disorders that they felt the need to share.  It isn't what you think it is.  It isn't about what you think it is about. 

 

Is it about weight and size?  Yes, but not in a vain sort of way, because it isn't actually about weight and size at all.  I don't care what the measurements say, what society says, what friends say, I am convinced that my hips are huge.  What I see when I look in the mirror, though not truth, is still what I see! It isn't really about society saying skinny is good, but it is about the fact that I feel like the less physical space I take up then the less people will see me.  I sometimes really do long to be invisible and let no one see the hurts inside of me.

 

I texted Hubby, I told him that I wanted to run and hide.  I told him that I wanted to curl up under the covers.  I told him that I just wanted to get drunk.  Yes, go ahead and hold that shocked face and wag your finger at me.  Good Christian girls sometimes just want to get drunk to escape their reality too!  I wanted to escape but there was no where to escape to. 

 

Did they know that the voices in my head were already loud?  Did they know that the conversation made the voices turn to screaming and demeaning?  The orange inside of my head hates that I still ate with them.  The orange inside of my head is telling me that I'm not worth taking care of.  The orange inside of my head is angry, really really angry.  And she is letting me know it.

 

And somehow in the midst of it all, I still find a little part of me that really wants freedom.  There is a little part that wants to not live affected by a specified condition.  There is a part of me that wants to live not under necessity or obligation.  That voice needs to start talking louder than the voice of slavery and quickly.  That seed of longing needs to produee something bigger than the seed of hatred that demands that I am not good enough and that I need to be punished.

7 almonds a.k.a. screw the new health class

I swear that if I hear one more person tell me that you can only eat 7 almonds for your liver to function properly, that I will scream!  If I hear one more conversation in the lunch room about sugar grams, fat grams, appropriate forms of protien, I may pull out all of my hair! But hey, at least I could make bald a new fashion statement, right? 

I think that for the next 6 weeks of this stupid health class I will be enjoying lunch anywhere but the lunchroom!  Sitting at my desk with my oatmeal and facebook suddenly seems like the best option EVER.  I want to scream at the top of my lungs.  I want to tell people that sometimes there is such a thing as "too healthy".  I want them to know that sometimes people like me take knowledge of health and distort it and use it as a weapon against my body instead of a tool to help my body.

I still read labels.  I still refuse certain ingrediants.  And I also am trying really hard to balance that with moderation.  You know, the kind of moderation that says it is ok if someone brings in cookies to work to have one in spite of the fact that there is no label for me to read.  The kind of moderation that that knows that homemade veggie lasagna is still a healthy option, even though it has noodles in it.  The kind of moderation that has lacked in my life for a while now.

For the record, work is very orange enabling right now.  I could count my almonds like they recommend, or I could trust that my nutritionist knows what she is talking about when she tells me that 1/4 cup is a serving and to not measure or count but instead trust my intuition.  My health depends on trusting my nutritionist right now and not letting other voices interfere with the plan that she has laid out for me.  That is so much easier to say than to do.

HR confessions and more

I've had so many thoughts attacking my brain that I haven't even known where to start or the words to say to debrief.  Sunday was a beautiful day of worship at church.  For a while I was able to bask in the presence of the Almighty.  I was able to worship without reservation.  For a few moments and for a few hours later, I felt at peace.  I felt that my life really mattered.  I knew that my sole purpose in life is to bring glory and honor to the Lord, to reflect Him and the work He is doing in my life.  For a few moments, the size of my body didn't matter and didn't even cross my mind.

Today was a rough day.  Nothing specific, just felt like going through the motions was like waking through mud today.  I am so grateful for those moments in time, like Sunday, when I feel the Lord's presence so profoundly.  Those moments carry me through the rest of the days when I struggle desperately.  Today I didn't feel God, not even once but times like Sunday remind me that He is there even though I don't feel His presence.

Is it completely wrong for the girl who loves God, who believes He is good even when life isn't, who works for a Christian ministry, to say things like I didn't feel God today?  Does that mean, as was so often told to me growing up, that I don't really trust Him because I don't always feel Him?  Does it make my faith less if I share my doubts and fears?  I don't know the answer.  I do know though that on days like today, I have to hold on to what I know to be true not what I feel to be true.

Today brought the opportunity to talk to the HR person at my work.  I really like her and I trust her.  I went into her office and told her about my concerns with the health class that our work is sponsoring being either triggering or enabling to me.  She is the only person at my work who I have told that I struggle to eat, that I have major depressive disorder, and that some days going though the motions is overwhelming.

I told her I don't want to make this public knowledge at the moment.  I don't want my plate analyzed by every person in the office.  I don't want the calorie police hovering over me and worrying even when I'm doing ok.  (I told Hubby that calories are the little bastards that hide in your closet and sew your clothes smaller while you sleep.  He laughed.  And that is completely off subject and random. :)  )

On a food note, I'm both struggling and doing well.  I'm maintaining but at the moment the thoughts are pretty aggressive.  Like for instance, I had my physical recently.  My weight was satisfactory.  My ideal however, I realized in reading through my journal, is 5 lbs lighter than what my ideal was this time last year.  I feel the viciousness of the cycle that insists that no matter how much you lose, it isn't good enough for Orange.

My doctor allowed me to opt out of the metabolism screening which is good, that is always very triggering to me.  So I didn't have the extent of numbers to contend with that I usually have but I still had the scale numbers to contend with.  I still had questions from the new nurse wondering if I'm eating enough calories.  I told her yes.  And then I told her that I'm not counting them so I suppose I'm getting enough.  When I'm counting them I know I'm not getting enough.

For the TMI part but it does show how distorted Orange can be.... Before my physical I had a severe kidney infection.  The medicine I had to take for it backed up my bowels a LOT.  The doctor recommended some different products to help cleanse my colon without being laxatives.  It took several days to get back to being able to go.  Then for a day it turned into diarrhea and I stopped taking the supplements.  Today I contemplated starting them again.  The conversation in my head went something like this:

You should finish the full 14 days

No, I don't want to deal with cramping stomach and emergency trips to the bathroom

Yes, but think of the weight you are losing in cleansing

But the goal of cleansing is to be healthy and get my system jump started a little to get back in the swing of things, it isn't supposed to be about the weight
Keep taking it.  A little diarrhea shouldn't be enough to stop you.  You can still be in control but really, isn't the diarrhea worth it for what it will do to flatten out your stomach?

And just that quickly the battle is raging again.  In my actions I am still pursuing recovery.  I am still striving to beat the voice in my head.  Sadly though, that voice isn't little and it torments me day and night right now.  I covet your prayers right now as the voices are really loud.  Please pray for strength for the battle and peace for my heart. 

There is still so much more  but I've already made this really long and also it is getting very late and I need to attempt to sleep.  I need rest so I can be productive at work tomorrow.

Swearing at Orange

It is amazing how a habit can suddenly become a trigger, a rule, a stumbling block.  I typically have the same thing for breakfast.  There are a lot of reasons, but the biggest ones:
~taste --> yum
~time --> quick
~cost--> cheap

It is also approved by my nutritionist.  It is safe, doesn't produce guilt.  It is easy to fix and easy to eat. Hmmm, did anyone catch how orange that reason of "safe" sounds?  I never had until this morning.

My body wanted something different than my usual and my mind actually recoiled.  I wanted eggs.  I had a full out, swearing battle with the voice in my head.  Suddenly my normal breakfast felt like a "have to".  I was shocked at the intensity of the argument in my head.  I was shocked that eggs didn't feel safe to me.  I was shocked that I felt that it had to be my normal breakfast or nothing at all.

I finally told orange to f*** off and made the eggs.  Then I had to tell her to f*** off again in order to allow myself to eat them.  It was a victory, I made and ate what my body wanted.  It was also a shocking realization of how much power that voice still holds.  It was a sobering awareness that recovery is still a lot of work, even when I am stable.  And it was encouraging to know that I have the strength to stand up to that voice now.  Eight months ago, I didn't.

Honesty

                                               








Honesty has always been easy and hard for me.  I tend to naturally lean towards being honest and yet I have been very burned by being honest.  I sometimes roll my eyes and tell Hubby that I'm a thirty something woman, on my own, married with a family of my own and yet I STILL lie to my parents. 

Growing up, honesty was frowned upon.  I realized early that my mom didn't want the truth, she wanted what she wanted to hear.  I got in trouble for any idea, opinion, or emotion that she didn't feel was the "right one".  I still to this day don't talk politics or religion with my mom.  I got tired of being told my thoughts are wrong, so I stopped sharing them.

I have for a long time though, with other people, held an open heart policy.  I may not always offer information but if you ever want to know anything about me, just ask, I won't lie.  I'm pretty open about most things in my life.  I tried to be honest when relapse hit.  I told some people I wasn't eating.  I didn't care that they wanted me to, I just cared that I had said it and therefore felt clear in my conscience because I wasn't lying.

I was still lying though.  I was claiming 200-400 more calories a day than I was actually consuming.  I was insisting that I wasn't sick.  I was sneaking exercise because Hubby had banned me from exercising.  He told me I wasn't getting enough calories to fuel my body for exercise and told me I wasn't allowed to exercise.  I would wait until he was in bed and then exercise for a couple of hours.  It was a lie but I couldn't make myself tell the truth, even though I still valued the truth and longed for the openness and honesty I had once lived.

In the early days of recovery I was honest with someone.  I was honest with my best friend.  I told her what I was doing when I was struggling with recovery.  I told her what I was doing that was keeping me trapped in my ed.  I told her what I did to hurt myself.  I told her because I desperately needed to verbalize it, to loosen its grip on me, to not let the secrecy build and become my enemy and the ally of my illness.  She left.  She was so angry with me, with how I was destroying my body, that she couldn't take it and she left me high and dry.  Being honest left me very broken.  I have only just last week ever told another person what kept me in bondage during that time.  I was afraid to be honest about orange, being honest had cost me my dearest friend.

I still treasure honesty.  I still tend to naturally lean toward the side of being too honest.  I know sometimes that will hurt me, but I also know that it isn't something that I ever want to change about myself again.  I don't ever want to get back to the point that I lie to everyone, even myself, to cover the pain I was feeling and the control that orange was gaining. 

In being honest, in sharing my struggles, I have grown.  In being honest, I have been able to talk to my dear friend who is battling her own food demons right now.  I have lost a lot, but I have gained so much more through honesty.  And I never plan to return to that girl who lied to give something the power to slowly kill me.

Power

This post really devoured me.  When I saw the word was power, everything inside of me recoiled.  And like that, with one word, I am now two days behind instead of one.

To me, power was what was used against me.  "If you don't do what I say the police officer in my family will tie you up naked on the swingset and leave you there."  "If you don't do what I say, first I'll beat you up and then he'll beat you up."  Power, in the form of sheer force, was how my attackers subdued me.

To me, power was what was far too often abused.  Power was the church telling me that my depression wasn't real but rather an indication of the sin in my life.  Power was the religious force of the day that used to tell me that I was not good enough, nor would I ever be good enough for the church or for God.

Power was what stole from me.  Power stole my innocence.  Power stole my voice.  Power stole my identity.  Power stole my desire for living.  Power stole my control.  And when power stole my control, orange came along by my side and gave me control again.

I gave MY power away to my eating disorder.  I let her abuse me just as much as other power had abused me.  Even as I have been recovering, I still saw power as a bad thing.  It has always meant the abuse of power. How could I blog about something so evil as power?

I had to read everyone else describing power in a positive light to have insight that I have never had before.  I suddenly realized that I have power, and it isn't bad or evil.  I have the power to recover.  I have the power to use my voice.  I have the power to live my life, not the life someone else dreams for me. 

Thanks Blogosphere.  Until I had to think about power, about how the word itself made everything in me pull back, I would have never realized what an important word it really is.  If I hadn't heard my friends talking about power as a good thing, I may not have stopped to really think about power and the true role it plays in my life.

Post It note frenzy

Today I sat outside in the sun with my lunch and my thoughts.  The weather was beautiful and the fresh air was needed.  The problem was that  I didn't really want to eat my lunch.  I sat trying to remember why I needed to eat it.  I sent my friend a message telling her that I couldn't remember why I needed lunch.  She sent back the perfect words.  So perfect that I copied them to a Post It note and put it on my computer.

It has been really hard to remember lately why sick was bad.  I keep trying to remember the things I hated about being sick, but much like delivering a child, time has a whiskey effect and it doesn't seem as bad as I know it was.  Orange seems like a comforting friend holding her hand out to me and it hurts to turn my back and keep walking.  I know she can't really comfort me but she keeps promising that she can, that this time she has really changed, that she won't abuse her power anymore.

So tonight I made more sticky notes.  I made more notes of why I need to eat.  I have notes to put in or on that adorable new lunch bag I just got.  I have reasons that eating is important.

How about you?  Anything to add?  What reasons do you eat when you desperately want to avoid food?  Do you write them down?

lunchroom chronicles

I'm trying so hard and I'm so tired.  Office lunch hour I must figure out how to do healthily.  After 2 days of being able to skip the whole horrible affair, today I tested the waters again.  At first it was manageable with the anxiety not being overwhelming.  I made sure to sit with the 2 ladies who were in the lunchroom.  After all, my job is with a Christian ministry and much of my job revolves around cultivating relationships.

Shortly before my lunch time ended, several other ladies came into the lunchroom.  Someone pointed out that everyone had a salad for lunch.  I had already finished, but boy was I glad that I had brought salad, wouldn't want anyone to think poorly of me based on my lunch choices.  And then it started, fat talk.  Diet talk.  I'm not good enough just the way I am talk.

"Are you doing THE diet again?"  "Yeah, but only for ten days."  "I need to do IT again."  "You shouldn't do it, you are supposed to be training and you need the extra protein and calories."  "I'm just going to do it for swimsuit season and then get back to training."  "Yeah, I'm doing it too, I need to lose about 10 more pounds."

The talk was swirling around in my brain and I just wanted to scream "STOP" and run from the room and hide.  I guess I had hoped that working in this office, though filled with women, would be different from other places.  I thought a place of ministry would be my refuge from the storm of orange inside of me.  I so wanted a shelter from the storm, a safe place, a place where orange would be easier to keep at bay.

I guess it turns out that women are women and we all battle this perfect body bullcrap, even in places that should be safe.  My anxiety skyrockets just thinking about lunch tomorrow.  Do I eat at my desk, like I did on Monday, just to avoid the triggering conversation?  Do I keep trying to make friends and build bridges and eat in that lunchroom? 

I've had a hard time wanting to eat anyway but I have been putting one foot in front of the other, making myself stay present and in the moment, and making the choice to eat anyway.  Everything in my head is screaming at me.  I want to say that the voices aren't bothering me, but I'd be lying.  The diet talk in the lunchroom has my head spinning.  I'm wondering what food games will be played here and wondering how I can minimize their damage to a firm and yet very shaky recovery place.

feeling insecure and unsafe

So this morning's news had the answer to my question last night.  The ridiculously large amount of police activity near my work last night was due to an armed robbery.  The robbery happened at a restaurant that is seriously just around the corner from my work, a restaurant that I frequent, one that I have walked to from my work building. The man had a gun, the restaurant had 8 people in it, one of them being a teenager. It happened at the exact moment I was punching out.  I was leaving work, walking through my parking garage, while the police were unsuccessfully trying to find the suspect. 

Now I know I wasn't involved in any way.  By the time I pulled out of my parking garage, the police had already blocked off several side streets and the entrances/exits to all of the surrounding parking lots.  I was never in any real danger.  But for some reason I cannot convince my emotions of that.  No matter how many times I try to remind myself that I was not the one traumatized, my body and emotions are telling me differently.  I am being bombarded with feelings of insecurity about my safety.  I work in a great neighborhood.  I (usually) feel very safe there.  I have walked around in this same area at night with my son or with a girlfriend.  My husband and I have gone on walks or played on playgrounds at night in this area.  It's a good part of town.  And it's a good part of town that right now I don't feel very safe in.

I don't really feel safe at all, anywhere, right now though.  I don't like that someone stole (once again) my feelings of safety and security.  I feel vulnerable.  I feel scared.  And for some reason, I feel weak again.  And I have realized that my natural reaction to feeling vulnerable is to double up all of my protections.  And food, or I should say the restricting of food, is one of the areas that I want to run to to protect myself.  It doesn't make sense.  I'm healthy enough to run if I needed to.  I'm healthy enough to put up a good fight if I needed to.  I'm healthy enough for my brain to remember details like descriptions and directions.  And yet my first line of defense that I want to run to is to take away those advantages and go back to the girl who wouldn't stand a chance other than sheer adrenaline if put in a dangerous situation.

I drove out to see Hubby at work this morning for his lunch break.  It was how I kept myself from restricting.  Eating with him or not eating at all, I chose to eat and to feel safe in his presence for a few extra minutes.  I know it was a healthy choice, but it wasn't an easy choice.  It seems that when being healthy is a choice, it is rarely the easy one.  I want to put my heart and body in lock down to protect it.  The problem is that it isn't really protecting me.  I hate that.

I want my sense of safety back.  I want to not feel like a frightened little girl again.  I want to not feel weak and powerless.  I want my control.  Control, maybe that is why restricting feels like the right answer, because life is not controllable but food is.  I'm in a better place in my recovery simply because I can identify that.  That doesn't really make it an easier place of recovery, just a stronger one.

I'm strong enough to fight the orange in my head that swears she is the way to be safe and protected.  I need to find safety and protection somewhere else, not in her arms.

i can do hard things

 Several of my friends on Facebook have been linking this blog recently.  It really is wonderful.  Tonight I was browsing the blog and in the stores section I saw a sign that said, "we can do hard things."  It's true.  And I have to remember that now. 

Right now I have to do something hard.  I have to learn new coping skills, and quickly!  My old coping skills are knocking at my door, tissue in hand ready to comfort me.  We had a family tragedy this week.  Hubby's cousin fell 18 feet at work and landed on a concrete floor.  The doctors removed two parts of his brain in effort to stop the swelling and hopefully save his life.  The swelling never stopped and yesterday Cousin passed away.

He was young, early thirties.  He had a wife and three very young children.  He had so much life ahead of him and now he has left so much behind.  Hubby grew up with Cousin.  They saw each other all the time growing up.  They played Star Wars together.  They started collecting sports cards together.  They talked about girls together.  Hubby is devastated.  I am in shock.

I really never felt hungry today.  I had a Cliff bar simply because I knew I should.  As the day wore on, reality started sinking in.  I didn't want to eat.  I wasn't trying to numb or shut down.  I know that not eating will lead me to that, but today it was different.  It just feels so dang good, especially at the beginning.  I wasn't trying to feel nothing, I was enjoying my body feeling euphoric when my mind was begging for the new reality to not be true.  When my circumstances are informing me that nothing can feel good, my body said, "But this does."  And it did.  It felt really, really good.

But as my dear Southern Belle reminded me, not eating is only prolonging the hurt.  Numbing myself says that Cousin's memory is not worth feeling over.  Right now, Hubby needs me.  He needs ALL of me.  He needs to know that I will comfort, not give him more to worry about.  And I desperately want to give him that.  He has given me so much, the least I could do is give him all of me, to give him the best of me.  I have to eat to be my best me.  I have to be my best me right now because that is what spouses do for each other, we hold each other up when the other can't stand.

Against the voices in my head and the endorphins in my body, I had cereal when I came home from work.  And I'm going to start by honoring Cousins memory by feeling every feeling of grief that comes up.  This is life.  This is hard.  Life is hard.  But that doesn't mean it's impossible.

I can do hard things.

exercise, bulima and a girl I love

Thumb better?  Not quite but not throbbing anymore either. I'll take my chances with it hurting tomorrow from typing because I have a lot on my mind tonight.

I have a friend who is a Beach Body coach.  Hubby has been wanting to do P90X so I had asked her if we buy it off of her website if she would get a commission.  (See?  I'm cool like that.  Help out a friend while I buy what we are going to buy anyway.) Long story short, she sent me an email saying she had an opening in her 90 day boot camp that she is doing and asked if I wanted it.  Then later that day she sent an email saying given my history that maybe right now is not the time to engage in this type of exercise.  I am grateful for someone being honest and getting in my face about it.  Orange, however, is PISSED OFF that people around me who love me are keeping me accountable.

On Christmas Eve, my niece (yes, the same one I blogged about recently) confessed what I have suspected for some time now.  She is bulimic.  While in the mental hospital, she was caught purging and her parents were told.  Her dad's response is oh so helpful, "Well just don't throw up."  Ugh!  If only it were that easy!  If it were that easy, it wouldn't be called a disorder. 

I took her out last week for coffee and then a trip to the mall.  She ate, an average amount or slightly above average (I'm not sure now that I say that what an average 17 yr old girl portion would be) in a very quick manner.  When we got to the mall she asked if we could stop by the restroom.  I didn't think much of it, after all, we had been together for over an hour and had just had coffee.  I stood at the sinks with the coffees.  When she reappeared she was pale and shaky (more so than she usually is) and her eyes were watering.  It didn't take an expert to realize she had just purged.  I didn't say anything.  I didn't know what to say.  I just ached for her and wished I could make it better and make this stupid disease go away.

She knows I have dealt with eating disorder but she doesn't know in what way or that I still battle my eating disorder.  As far as my husbands family is concerned, I have dealt with an eating disorder but I'm sure no one has ever really thought it was serious.  Maybe my mom in law because she was too observant when I was relapsing but she does think that it is behind me now that I am weight restored.

Now take all of that information and intro tonight's conversation with Niece:

Will you go running with me?

Running like errands or running like exercising?

Exercising.

No.  I won't.  I don't run.  I'm not a runner, nor do I wish to become one.

Well, will you at least exercise with me?

Maybe, what are you thinking?

I don't care.  I have gained 7 lbs this week and I have to lose it.  Please exercise with me!  Would you go on walks with me?

I don't know.  Maybe.  I'll have to figure out what to do with the kids (my easy out when I don't know what to say to her) but I'll get back to you on that.

I seriously want to cry.  Here I am doing what is right and taking care of me even though it is rather annoying right now and not engaging in the kind of exercise that I am desiring.  I know my motives are not to get fit but to burn calories.  I know my intentions wouldn't be pure.  And then Niece goes and asks me to exercise with her, to fuel her own disease.  I can't.  It would hurt us both.  It would further the disordered voices in both of our heads.  And it makes me want to cry.

I'm not at a place that I want to share the current stage of my journey with her.  I don't mind telling her that I've struggled with an eating disorder.  I don't feel safe enough with her to tell her I'm still struggling.  Besides, she has an emotionally overloaded plate.  She needs to know there is some kind of stability in this world and right now, we are the only stability she has ever known.  She has so little hope, so little joy.  She doesn't need the weight of my journey resting on her right now.  Right now, I think it would be more triggering than helpful.

I don't know what to say though.  My demons are different than hers.  I have tried to purge but as I have mentioned, I can't.  And for me purging is a last resort.  It is what I reach for when nothing else will make the voices shut up.  I would be lying if I said that I understood what she is going through.  I understand the viciousness of ed.  I understand the berating voice that insists you will never be good enough.  I understand the force that pushes her, but I don't understand the method in which she indulges that force.  And I feel lost.  She wants me to give her answers but I don't have them. 

Her parents don't believe she is sick.  Though I cannot imagine why!  The girl shakes like a leaf and the shaking has gotten significantly worse in the past 6 months.  She has circles under her eyes.  She just shaved her head.  At EVERY meal she runs to the bathroom before she is even finished eating and then again when she is done.  She comes back to the table pale and shaking uncontrollably.  But she is not sick, no she is just playing the victim.  I want to shake them.  I want them to wake up and see the little girl who is killing herself to get them to say they are proud of her.  I want them to see the devastation that she is causing to her body through this eating disorder and burning and cutting.  But I want them to do more than see it.  I want them to do something about it and they never will.

I am even more angry about my eating disorder tonight.  I see what Niece's bulimia is robbing her of and I'm tired of being robbed myself.  I'm tired of the abuse that orange puts me through. I'm tired of living my life for a tyrant of a mistress instead of for myself.  And I'm tired of seeing those I love get robbed of being able to fully live as well.

where does my voice end and hers begin?

 I'm fine.

Lately the line between my voice and the voice of orange has gotten a little hazy.  It is hard sometime to know if I'm full or if orange thinks I've had enough to eat.  I know the voice above is orange simply because I feel like screaming it.  It is said in a poisonous way, filled with the venom of its hatred.  It has become a phrase that I have used multiple times with my dear Hubby, though not ever in the way it sounds in my head.  In my head it is snarky.  In my head it is angry.  In my head the voice screams, "I'm fine, quit asking!" every single time he asks about the amount of food I've taken or if I've had lunch that day.

That's not fine.  Fine has no problem telling him what I ate for lunch, because I did indeed eat lunch.  Fine doesn't resent him for asking.  Fine doesn't feel like tearing his head off for trying to take care of the woman he loves.  Fine would let me have a peanut butter cup without remorse, guilt or tears.  Fine wouldn't know how many calories are in each banana and each glass of milk.  *sigh*   I'm not really fine.

I'm not even sure when the line between our voices started to blur.  I only realized it was happening when I constantly felt like yelling "I'm fine, leave me alone!"  I'm not a yeller.  I usually can't stand the idea of yelling so when the voice in my head starts yelling drill sargeant style, I know it isn't my voice.  So the voice telling me I'm fine, can't be mine.  But the problem is that I'm not sure which voice is mine at the moment.  If orange keeps yelling, I'll know it's her.  By the same token, when she keeps yelling, it gets really hard to hear anything else. 

I'm thankful Hubby had to work an overnight shift today.  He didn't notice that I wore a belt with my jeans.  I tend to not be a fan of belts and he knows that.  They aren't that comfortable and they draw attention to the waist.  But today after the billionth time of pulling my jeans up, I went for the belt.  I has been months since I have needed a belt.  I don't feel like I have lost any weight though.  I don't feel like I am any smaller.  I don't feel like I look any smaller when I look in the mirror.  Hubby hasn't commented and neither had my mom-in-law.  Doesn't that mean I'm in the safe zone still?

Grrrrr.......I'm just confused and tired and well apparently not really all that fine after all.

my house is a cootie factory :(

My head and throat hurt really badly.  Blah.  I hate not feeling good.  And it is worse because my middle child is not feeling good either.  He is awake, throwing up.  Fast times at cootie high.

I understand the drill sergeant, task master that orange can be.  She's been beating me up pretty badly lately.  I couldn't stand up to her tonight at a Christmas party so she won and I had only coffee.  I was too scared to even eat the fresh strawberries.  Lame.

I had an interesting conversation with my mom today.  And when I say interesting, I really mean disturbing.  I need to process.  I am annoyed with her but even more so a little concerned at her ready acceptance of all things with out cross referencing her sources.  Pretty sure my head would have exploded if I hadn't had to cut the conversation short to go pick up my son from school.

And I got an update on my niece.  She is still at the hospital because she has refused to go home.  She said if she goes home, she will just run away because she will not live with her step mom.  So since she is a minor, they are keeping her, meeting with a social worker and trying to figure out what to do.  You know it is bad when you are halfway hoping that she will become a ward of the state so they will pay for her to go to the home for troubled girls (at least for a few more months until she turns 18). 

I'm very weary tonight. I'm feeling crappy.  I'm awake taking care of a sick kid though I'd love to be in bed myself right now.  I'm worried about my niece. I'm just weary.  I just want to sleep and sleep and sleep. 

forgiven

Obviously on Monday I blew it big time.  Yesterday was only slightly better.  I spent my morning feeling sorry for myself.  I spent my afternoon feeling guilty.  Food was not high on my priority list.  I was too busy beating myself up for giving in to my addiction.

See this is how orange works.  Doing well.  Doing well.  Then the voices.  You really don't deserve that nice meal that you just had.  Food is for sustenance not for fun.  Your husband shouldn't have spent the money to buy something special for in house date night.  It is frivolous.  How dare you enjoy that food?  You don't deserve to be taken care of.  You don't deserve to eat. The lies keep attacking until finally in a sheer panic, I give in and try to purge.  Maybe purging will shut them up. But it doesn't.

Then the next morning when I cannot swallow without feeling raw scratching in my throat, I realize what I've done.  And the voices start again but this time even more accusatory.  Look at yourself!  Look what you've done.  You know better than this.  What is wrong with you?  You're a worthless piece of sh*t.  You spent your night trying to get rid of food that your body needed.  If you aren't going to try to keep it down then why on earth should you eat it?  You have to pay for last night.  No you can't have breakfast.  How can you trust yourself to not go running to the bathroom to get rid of that breakfast?  No, better to not eat, at least until you can trust yourself again.  See, it's true, you are not capable of recovery.  You will always mess it up.  Just give in to it.  You aren't going to beat me so why not just surrender to me? Just let me destroy your body.  You are stuck.  You are mine.  You will never be free from my grip.  Even when you think you want something else, I will always be here waiting to hold your hand and take you back.

The lies of orange attacked me so viciously that I couldn't hear anything else.  I shivered my way through a miserably cold night at work.  I joked with my customers that it was ok that it was only 54* because shivering burns calories.  Who needs exercise when you work in an icebox?  They laughed.  I ached that I had seriously just said that.  I had hoped for time with a good friend after work but in God's grace and wisdom, she didn't get my message asking if I could come over for a bit. 

I decided as I neared home to turn on the radio.  Once again God used music. The only song I heard before arriving at home was Forgiven by Sanctus Real.

I love the end that says, "When I don't measure up to much in this life, Oh I'm a treasure in the arms of Christ."  See that is the amazing part of grace.  I blew it.  But God gently calls me back.  He reminds me that I don't have to carry the weight of what I've done because He has already carried it. As I thought of this, I remembered a verse that was very dear to my heart during my first go round with recovery.

Micah 7:8 (NIV)

  ⁸ Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
   Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
   the LORD will be my light.

Though I have fallen, I will rise.  Though I gave into darkness, the Lord will be my light. I blew it but He redeemed it.  I can't say I'm feeling perfectly fine right now.  But I can say that I am allowing God to minister to my pain and my guilt and my self condemnation.  I don't know how to do this but I do know that God knows how to carry me through this.  I know that His grace is sufficient to cover me.  I know that sometimes the lies will win in my heart but I know that His truth is bigger and can break through those lies.  If I know nothing else, I know this
HE IS FAITHFUL.

the morning after

It is late afternoon and my throat still burns when I swallow, though not like it did this morning.  I had forgotten the morning after feelings.  The feelings of a sore and raw throat.  Knowing it burns because of my own actions not because I'm fighting a cold.  And mostly the overwhelming feelings of guilt.  Guilt that I listened to orange again.  Guilt that though I know what is truth, the words in my head are still orange.  Guilt that I know what I need to do but for some reason still act out compulsively at times.  Guilt that today I sat at MOPS and affirmed how important it is for moms to take care of themselves also all the while hearing the orange rant in my head insisting that I don't deserve to be taken care of. 

Will I ever get this?  Will the voices ever shut up?

good news bad news

In case you wanted to know, it doesn't matter how far I stick my finger down my throat, I cannot throw up.  It doesn't work with a toothbrush either.  I have a faulty gag reflex.  I have proved that once again.  Sometimes the panic just gets to be too much and I have to try.  I still can't purge.  I guess that is the good news.

The bad news is that it is still an urge, one that tonight I couldn't make shut up no matter what I did until after my fingers had been jammed repeatedly down my throat.  The bad news is that orange just won't get out of my ear tonight.  The bad news is that in my shower tonight I contemplated scrubbing my skin till it bled like I used to.  I wondered if I could find an area to cut that my husband wouldn't notice tomorrow and ask me what happened.   

I wonder why these feel so strong tonight. 

Um, yeah, can't postpone feeling until after Thanksgiving afterall

Tonight on the way to work, those feelings hit me full force.  Yeah, those yucky ones I haven't known what to do with.  Yep, those are the ones.  My anger actually graduated to rage for all of a few minutes, but then I arrived at work and had to pull myself together.  I don't know if that raging moment felt unbelievably good or if it felt absolutely terrifying!

I did the good girl thing I always do.  I pushed the feelings back and settled for just plain grumpy and annoyed.  My body feels very awkward to me.  I feel like the pounds are packing on around my middle.  My clothes all feel uncomfortable to my body.  My son got in trouble at school today.  A professor was rude to me tonight at work.  I had other customers who were thoughtless tonight.  I came home to 2 of my kids still awake and had to put them to bed.  I ran a hot bubble bath but ran out of hot water before I realized it so my bath was warm not hot.  And throw in what seems like PMS symptoms and you have my night.

I'm so hungry.  The tiger is clawing at my tender insides (read this amazing post from Jenn, you'll understand what I am saying) but the pain won't let me give in.  How long will this hurt?  I feel like every time I get through one hard thing, within days something new comes up in my heart.  I have a day, maybe two where I can breathe, then WHAM something else hits my heart and mind full force.  I'm tired of feeling like I always whine.  I'm tired of feeling like orange is winning, or at least that she is not losing.  I hate the days of feeling hungry and not being able to give in.  I much prefer those handfuls of healthy days or even the days when I'm just sick, no hunger, no arguing with myself, and no guilt.

It is a sad day when my desire is to still be sick so that I wouldn't have to hear the dialog in my head.

emotional rollercoaster

Wow, if ever there were a day of ups and downs, today was it.  My morning started out on a lovely note, hubby went in early last night so when I woke up, he was already home from work.  That was a nice surprise :) !  I took my kids to the park where I met up with several other mom friends from MOPS.  I had asked a friend if I could leave the kids there for a bit so that I could go with hubby to his "result of findings" appointment at the doctor.  Though she agreed and I know her to be the type of person who doesn't say yes when she thinks no, I still felt guilty as I drove away.  I felt guilty that of the 5 moms who were there, none of them are in the school age kids stage of life yet.  One has 5 kids and is pregnant with her 6th.  One has 3 kids, one of whom is still an infant.  Another one is pregnant, due in a week.  They have their hands very full (I know, I remember those days so very well!) and I added 3 more kids to watch in addition to the 12 kids they already were watching.

As I drove away my guilt quickly transformed into worry.  The doctors office had called and asked hubby to come in because his labs came back abnormal and needed to be discussed.  What was this doctors visit going to bring? 

Worry gave way to relief when the doctor informed us that hubby's cholesterol was high but still (just) below the point where he would need medication to correct it. She had us come in so that we can manage his health now while it is still managing rather than playing medicinal catch up later.

My relief was short lived before anger and jealousy kicked in.  The doctor was informing us that hubby is in generally good health and his numbers all look pretty good, except the boderline cholesterol.  Enter jealousy.  He eats like crap and doesn't exercise and yet his body is tolerating it and is still healthy.  I adore him, as you know if you are a regular to my blog, but I wish he would take better care of himself.  His body fat percentage is just slightly above mine. WTH?  How on earth do I eat healthy or not eat at all and have a body fat percentage that is nearly the same as my hubby's who eats like a good old boy (lots of meat, hardly any fiber or veggies).  The doctor left the room for a minute and during that time hubby looked at me and informed me that there is no way he should be getting a clean bill of health with the way he takes care of himself.  That is were the anger came in. I wanted to yell at him.  Thankfully I didn't.

When I left the appointment, my head was spinning.  I didn't understand how I could be so relieved and so hurt in the same breath.  I'm so glad my hubby is doing well and that as far as his health goes, he won't be leaving us anytime soon.  And I also ached.  I needed to process my own emotions.

I arrived to pick up my kids and realized I also needed to cry.  My friend understood.  I wish she didn't, I wish no one understood what this feels like (though I am grateful to not be alone).  She reminded me not to obsess over the stupid body fat percentage.  I didn't know until today that she too has struggled with eating issues. I look at her and always see what I wish I looked like only to hear her say to me today that she feels the same towards me.  Huh?  How on earth could one of the world's most beautiful people hate her body and wish for a different one, especially mine??????  What am I missing here?

A little time with the family was enough to nearly pull me out of my funk.  Work is such a nice break for me, usually, so I was happy (enough) with having a bit of time with the fam and then an evening at work.  Work was mostly good but there was a disturbing thing early in my night.  I pretty much work in a fishbowl, windows all around.  I was sitting at the register and a couple was making out in the lobby right outside my window.  The problem was that the guy and girl were facing the same direction and he was kissing her neck but making eye contact with me.  EEEEWWWWWW!   I thought maybe it was one of those weird coincidences where you just happen to look up at the same time.  I was weirded out so I moved to a different part of the store.  Again, can we say fishbowl?  I moved to the other side of the store and started doing my candy inventory.  I looked up because I felt weird, only to notice the couple had moved in the lobby to right in between my door and the main lobby door and the guy was still kissing her and still looking at me.  By this point I was feeling icky and starting to feel very vulnerable.  Did I happen to mention that he bore resemblance to my abusive ex-boyfriend?  Yeah.

I am so grateful that, though I don't get any signal in my store, for some reason I can get and send texts to one person.  I don't know why I can't get calls or send texts to anyone else.  I guess my store must just like her because I don't have problems getting a signal when it is her.  Thankfully texting her helped me to stay calm, well calm enough.  I really wanted to lock up the store and go in the back room with an oversized sweatshirt, curl up in a little ball, and cry. I wanted to hide.  I find that I think I've passed an issue, I seem to be doing well and then something silly like tonight makes me realize that I really haven't actually worked through the emotions of the abusive relationship.  I felt scared of this guy who was kissing someone else and watching me.  I felt overwhelmed.  I felt panicky.  I felt extreme anxiety.  And I wanted nothing more than to have them leave.

When they finally did leave, I did lock up the store and went upstairs to the college to grab a cup of coffee and I talked with the gal at the desk.  She told me to call her if I'm ever uncomfortable like that again and she will come down or call building security to come over.  I learned something new tonight.  Our part of the building is for the college only and is not to be used by those not affiliated with the college.  If they come back, I can call security and have them asked to leave.   Great, now I know how to handle the situation.  I'm glad of that, but it doesn't change the fact that I am experiencing some pretty powerful negative emotions that were dug up that I have to figure out how to deal with.

Of course the easy way would be to not deal with them and to cope by restricting. Tempting, not going to lie .  But then I realized that my friend was struggling to eat dinner and how much that made me ache for her.  I so wanted to make it all right in the world again.  I wanted to make her better, even though I know it isn't my job to make her better.  I wanted her to eat for herself, to listen her body and to take care of herself.  I wanted her to eat for the man who loves her.  I wanted her to eat for me, because she is the only her we have and I would hate to lose her.  She ate.  She inspired me to listen to my own advice.  I had dinner, against the voice in my head that begged me to shut down instead.  Maybe this is what recovery is all about, doing what you need to do instead of listening to that voice that tells you what you "should" do.