Chin Up, Buttercup

This week has been miserable.  And I’ve only really been making it worse by isolating and staying away from people.  Then, of course, I freak out that everybody hates me because they don’t want to hang up with me when…uh, I’m the one who refuses to hang out?  Or who is a total Debbie Downer while doing so?  Get a grip, kid.

The flashbacks on Monday really, really shook me up.  I honestly think that has played a big role in my mood this week.  I’ve never had such intense, uncontrollable flashbacks before.  Not even in the months after the rape.  And while I did talk about it, I also found myself ruminating on the thoughts and the images and the fear I felt in those hours.  This has made me a not-so-fun person to be around.  A friend phrased it today as my being “melancholy” as of late.  I think he was kind in that assessment and didn’t want to say, “You’ve been a fucking pain in the ass to be around the past week, please cheer up.”  But I digress.

A friend of mine led a conference call tonight for Good Friday and we went through the stations of the cross.  I didn’t know how much I needed it.  I love old spiritual practices and the rhythm that liturgy provides to the year.  It has been a long time since I have done the stations of the cross, and all those times, they were self-led.  My friend read the stations to us and I just laid back and absorbed the reality of what this day commemorates. I contemplated Jesus on his walk to his death and how many times he stumbled, how he had to humble himself not only to death on a cross – but to accepting help with someone else.  I was struck by the the level of human suffering he endured – by choice – and how the walk to the hill made him even more acutely aware of the human condition and human suffering.

He’s been through it.  He’s been beaten down and stripped of his honour and dignity and died a shameful death.  And he overcame it.

He went through it so that he could walk us through it, knowing exactly the depth of that suffering. He desires to be with us, to lead us, ultimately, to our own crosses – to kill self and take on the resurrection life that we celebrate on Easter.

13 Days

Exactly 2 weeks from this moment, I will be in Utah having just completed my first dinner of treatment.  I will be waiting in line for vitals and anxiously awaiting the hour that I can finally change into pajama pants.  I will be choking down my calcium supplement on a too-full stomach and trying my hardest not to fight with the nurse on duty about the utter lack of necessity of such a supplement.

I haven’t had much in the way of words lately.  I am exhausted.  Tired all the time.  Drinking diet soda like it is a life line.  You may as well just put an IV in. 

This week has been particularly rough, having begun with a night of panic on Monday after flashbacks invaded my brain for over an hour.  I shook, cried, jumped at any noise, had to keep a light on in my room, and tried my hardest to not even blink, for fear of the images that might appear in those dark moments.  I hate that I have to make it through an entire weekend (and a holiday weekend at that) before I can hash all this out with my therapist.

With every day closer to treatment, my self-harm urges are rising, no doubt due to the additional anxiety and the knowledge that I won’t be able to do these things when I arrive.  I’m trying to hang on, but man alive — it is not easy.

It’s happening too quickly and not nearly quickly enough.

Countdown

I have an assessment with Center for Change next week.  I’d been avoiding the treatment talk as long as possible, always blowing off the possibility when my dietitian mentioned it.  But my therapist brought it up on Monday and challenged me to talk to my parents about it.  I talked to my dad on Tuesday and he said he’d been wondering for a month whether or not to push me to go back.

So I have an assessment on Thursday with my old therapist there.  And honestly, I don’t quite know how I feel about it.  While a lot of my eating disorder is wrapped up in my desire to avoid “real life” and escape the pressures that come with it, I’m not all that thrilled at the prospect of putting my life on hold again and going back to treatment.   There will certainly be some comfort in returning to a place that I know so well (it was my home for a third of last year, after all), but it’s not as if I’m all, “Yay! Another break from life! More treatment! More friends!”

When I called to make the assessment I told them I was interested in their “inpatient short-term stabilization program.”  Basically, just three or four weeks to get you back on track so you can go back home to your program or outpatient team.  My outpatient team here is fabulous, y’all.  In six months with my therapist, we’ve nailed down three of the major underpinnings of my eating disorder.  My mood is stable for the first time in YEARS.  My dietitian pushes me as hard as she can and sometimes, I even comply.

I would love to kickstart the process and then come back home, back to work, back to friends, back to my team and finish the work here.  I’m just beginning to wonder how realistic that is.

While my mood is VASTLY improved over this time last year (as we come up on the one-year anniversary of my week long stay on a locked psych ward), the eating disorder stuff is…worse? Different? More entrenched?  I’m not really sure.  I like to imagine that I’ll be able to go back to CFC, immediately comply with my meal plan and eat everything and not have any self-harm urges and be ready to go home in less than a month.

I just don’t know how realistic that is.  I’m thinking specifically in terms of the weight I need to gain to get back to where I was when I discharged last August.  Am I really going to go, get put on a weight gain meal plan posthaste, gain for a few weeks, then come home and be totally okay with it and ready to keep working on weight gain at home?  It’s a nice idea, but…what are the chances that I come home x pounds heavier and head straight to the gym and start restricting again?

From the way my mother worded it, my parents are expecting me to go back for an extended period of time.  I was assured that they would cover the cost [again] if I agreed to “stay through to the end of the program.”  At the end of the day, I’ll agree to whatever the CFC team thinks is the best option for me.  I have no intention of going in trying to control the process or fight like hell like I did last year.

Which is, in itself, progress.  My therapist noted this as one of the reasons that this trip could be even more beneficial than last year.  I’ll go in wanting to recover and knowing some of the areas that we need to hit HARD in therapy (as opposed to spending 2 months trying to figure out how to keep me off Caution Status). Potentially, I could stay a shorter period of time (not 4 months, anyway) and derive a lot more benefit.

I get pissed at the idea of going back to treatment again. I get pissed at the thought of spending another birthday in treatment. I get pissed at the long, winding, road to recovery, when I wish God would just HEAL ME ALREADY, DAMMIT!

And part of me fears that I won’t go back to treatment at all.  I fear that I’ll have my assessment on Thursday and the team out there will think that I am not “sick enough” to need inpatient or residential. I mean, my weight’s not THAT low, my restricting isn’t THAT bad, my exercise is far better than it was, and I’m not really a safety risk to myself.  I fear that I’ll be told that I should be able to do this outpatient and that I just need to pull myself up by my bootstraps.

Three totally different scenarios: being told I’m not sick enough, being told I could just stay for a few weeks, being told I need to stay long-term again.  They’re all terrifying, honestly.  And while my eating disorder would love for one of the first two to come to fruition, the part of me that wants so desperately to recover knows that my best shot is another long-term stay. A long enough stay to completely weight restore and then settle into that body while dealing with the shit in my past.

It is scary for me to admit that I want to go back to CFC for an extended period of time.  I’m not sure if it makes me feel “weak,” or “attention-seeking,” or “avoidant,” or what.  But I DO want it.  I want this disease out of my life for good.

Assessment is on Thursday.

I could be back in treatment in a month.

A Week in Pictures

All recreated in the last 20 minutes, because I am bored and anything’s better than acting on behaviours, right?

Monday: 

Therapy Assignment

Therapy Assignment

Tuesday:

How I felt upon finding out I did, in fact, gain weight.

How I felt upon finding out I did, in fact, gain weight.

Wednesday:

SO COLD this week.  Probably exacerbated by poor nutrition.

SO COLD this week. Probably exacerbated by poor nutrition.

Thursday:

How I felt after therapy

How I felt after therapy

Friday:

Things not helping weight gain? Buy a case of this delicious  (calorie-free) nectar of the gods.

Things not helping weight gain? Buying a case of this delicious (calorie-free) nectar of the gods.

Saturday:

Video bonus!  Had a friend send me a song that he wants me to sing to audition for his band.  A glimpse into my highly overdramatic and not so great vocal attempts.

The Weight Restoration Mindfuck

I gained weight this week.  Not much.  Certainly not as much as if I were in PHP or residential or inpatient, where they expect you to put on multiple pounds each week.  My dietitian was, on the whole, unimpressed.

And me?  Well, let’s ask the two conflicting sides of my brain.

Rational Brain, what do you think of this weight gain?

This is good!  It’s still not even close to where you need to be, but it’s inching closer and it’s making progress.  And hey, weren’t you worried that you were going to have to eat more if you *didn’t* gain?

Eating disorder brain, what do you think about this weight gain?

Well, thank God it wasn’t more, you fat ass.  You’d better watch out or you’re not going to be able to fit through the doorway pretty soon.  Sure, it starts out with fractions, but then it becomes multiple pounds and then you’re fucked.  Do better, work harder kid.  You should still be losing at this stage in the game.  Or at least maintaining, you fucking idiot.

So, as you can see, gaining weight is wrong.  And right.  And good.  And horrible!  And all of these things at once!  My brain is tired and it’s only been 2 hours since my appointment.

I don’t want to eat any more.  I don’t want to gain weight.  I want to huddle in my room and cry over this small gain.  I want to run to the gym and burn off a few hundred calories immediately.

But weight restoration is good.  Vital.  Good.  Vital.  I just need to keep reminding myself of that.

Image

 

Don’t let the smile fool you.  It’s really hard to be happy about this sort of thing.

Dinner Time? Again?!

It’s not like I should be surprised by dinner. It does, after all, occur every day. But some days it sort of sneaks up on me. I will be doing what I do and all of a sudden it’s six, or seven, or eight o’clock at night and I have to consider some sort of meal.

Meals have been difficult lately. Not in the sense that…no, scratch that. They’ve been difficult in every sense.  I have very little appetite, so nothing sounds appealing.  I am too tired (and often depressed) to put together a full meal that actually looks like a meal.  Some meals lately have been bizarre mish-mashes of what I’ve got in the snack box.  And, of course, my eating disorder is screaming at me that a meal is completely unnecessary, why not just a nice salad (hold the dressing and everything else) or a piece of fruit?

I haven’t updated in weeks, mainly because there’s nothing to say.  I haven’t even really been trying to recover for the past two weeks.  I’ve just been coasting.  Oh, not really hungry and don’t want to eat that snack?  Eh.  Why bother fighting it, just go with the eating disorder.

Furthermore, when I do think of things to post, I quickly reconsider when I take into account my readership.  I don’t want to be triggering to anyone, so hearing about how I’m engaging in x or y behaviour or have lost z pounds is not helpful to any of us.  It triggers those who are vulnerable, and it allows me to bitch and whine without actually doing anything about it.  It allows it to appear as if I’m concerned about these behaviours when, in fact, if I were actually concerned, I’d be doing something about it.

Treatment is always a possibility.  One of my friends was shocked to hear that my therapist didn’t insist on sending me to residential again after another week of weight loss.  My dietitian said I need to start fighting or I’ll be back at CFC in the near future.

Let’s be clear:  I like treatment.  It’s easy.  I thrive there (well, after a few stays on Caution, anyway).  I don’t have to deal with real life.  And while I’m dealing with tough stuff in therapy, my therapist in Utah never pushed me the way my therapist at home does.

My therapist here at home is also very good at reminding me the role God has to play if I ever expect to be fully recovered.  Do I believe that a full recovery is possible without God?  Sure.  But at my core, I am a spiritual being and I am desperate for Jesus and trying to ignore that while recovering from my eating disorder is a joke.  I feel like shit and hate myself and hate walking through shame and I’ve got the cushiest landing anybody could ever ask for in Christ and I ignore it.  I refuse to talk to Him about it, refuse to take Him up on His offer to walk with me and comfort me.

What kind of idiot must I be?

But that kind of self-defeating thought isn’t helpful either.

My therapist held a mirror up to me this week (not literally — God let us never do that sort of body work please!) and basically repeated back all the bullshit I’ve been telling her for a month.  That I’m fine.  That my eating disorder is not that bad.  That my set point is huge and fat.  That it is totally okay to keep losing weight.  That I don’t need to work on my recovery, I just need to work on those parts of my life that I’m unhappy with.  Hearing her say all that, play devil’s advocate, pissed me off, quite frankly.  And when I told her how frustrated I was, she intimated just how frustrated and angry she was.

All this to say, I’m fighting again.  I’m sitting on my ass instead of going to the gym.  I’m drinking a supplement (sometimes two) every day.  I’m cooking food and eating it, even though sometimes it feels like I’m choking as I try to get it down.

And I’m wrestling it out with God.  Telling Him how pissed I am.  Telling Him how much I need Him.  Coming to Him broken and hurting and hoping He’ll show up.

I Cannot Control Everything

Small and powerless.

 
I have felt that way since kindergarten.  As my therapist pointed out yesterday, I have been trying to avoid that feeling ever since.  It started with an event in kindergarten, which I don’t speak of often (in fact, never truly talked about and processed until therapy in Utah), and which I never thought had anything to do with anything.
 
But it does.  Do I think it’s the root of everything?  No.  Family dynamics, my personality, my brain chemistry — all of these played into it as well.  But that feeling of being small and powerless.  That has stuck with me and I hate it.
 
It is the reason that I avoid talking to God when things aren’t going well.  It is the reason that I avoid really opening myself up and being vulnerable with other people.
 
In either of these cases, it is not so much my fear of judgement that prevents me from speaking up.  It is my fear of having to face myself and feel like I am, again, small and powerless.  Admitting that I am not doing well is saying that I am small and powerless — that I cannot control everything, that I cannot fix everything.  I hate hate HATE that idea.  I like to believe that I am all-powerful, at least in my own life.  I like to believe that I can fix things on my own, that I can be completely independent of needing others.
 
I’m can’t.  I’m not.
 
I wasn’t built to be.  I’m not God.  I was made to rely on other people, to trust them to help me.  I was built for deep, lasting relationships, which can only occur if I allow myself to be vulnerable and admit that I need others.  Admitting that I need others and God is admitting that I don’t have all the answers.  It is admitting that I do not have control over everything.  It is admitting that, in the grand scheme of things, I am small and powerless.
 
I am small.  I am powerless.
 
It is only through embracing that and allowing others to walk the road with me, hold me up when I cannot do it myself, that I can begin to empower myself to take control of my recovery and my life.
 
I need you. 
 
Even if I don’t want to need you.

Secrets and Questions

My HealthyPlace blog this week is about Secrets in Eating Disorder Recovery.  Ohhhhhhh, how my eating disorder loves secrets.  I could ramble on for thirty minutes with secrets that my eating disorder is currently keeping, but if I do that, how will I ever hang on to my eating disorder?!  Which, as my team has pointed out lately, some portion of me is damned determined to do.

Current secrets:

  • I’ve lost every pound I gained in Utah (and maybe a little more).
  • I’ve been on exercise restriction since November, yet still find myself in the gym 3-5 days a week.
  • I keep a box of laxatives in my car.  I don’t use them, but it’s nice to know there’s the option.
  • I’m ace at “meeting” my exchanges while choosing the lowest calorie options possible.
  • I’m still counting calories.
  • I (my eating disorder?) get insanely excited every time my dietitian weighs me and I’m down a little more.

 

How’s that for honesty?

In other news…

My friend (and music video co-star) Jill over at Lost and Not Found has been having a lot of fun with creating vlogs lately.  You should seriously check out her hand puppet one because it makes me laugh every time.  EVERY. TIME.

She did one this week with Frequently Asked Questions that she gets from readers of her blog.  She gets frequently asked questions?!  She has clearly made it to the big time.  Why don’t you guys ask me questions?!  Lame-o.

Kidding.  But really.  I want to join in the fun and make a vlog with FAQs.  So ask some questions you’ve been dying to know the answer to (they don’t have to be relevant to anything!).  I’m a fairly open book and slightly narcissistic to boot.

Fire away!