Digging Deep

Years ago I fell down the rabbit hole. The one that led me to a hate filled world I found oddly comforting. I've spent time, energy, and money; I've sacrificed health and friendships keeping myself in a world nobody wanted to be a part of.

I tried over and over again to get myself out. Clawing my way back to the life I once had, to the voices and faces I had known before falling.

And I've come to realize this is the problem. I've been climbing backwards. Fighting to return to the places and people that were responsible for the fall to begin with. So I've changed course. I've gathered my pail and shovel and I've started to dig deep. Digging below the awful, terrifying world I'm currently in. And digging further away from the world in which I started.

I am learning that the digger I deep, the more I will lose. The terrifying, yet comfortable world has been my home away from home. Driving away all that was bad and scary in my life. But that's the problem, not everything was as bad and scary as I thought it was. This world used smoke and mirrors to turn my closest confidants into monsters. And in order to protect myself I ran them off.

Or, some just left. Tired of trying to convince me that they weren't the monsters. My mind was. Surprisingly, though. Some stayed. Some people didn't run for the hills no matter how hard I tried to get them to leave. And as I dig, I see that as wonderful as it was to have people not leave, some of the people that stayed were in fact, monsters of their own making. Ones that pretended to root for me while secretly hoping and praying that I would fail miserably.

That's hard. Knowing I will lose people that stuck by me. Even though I really and truly know their intentions were rarely, if ever, good. But as hard as it is knowing I will lose people, I hope that those who left will be waiting for me on the other side, arms wide open, welcoming me to my new home. One that is terrifying yet beautiful.

And as I dig and dig and dig I know that those who have truly stuck by my side will continue to do so. Shoveling when they can, trying to lessen the burden so I don't get too comfortable in this torture chamber. 

So no matter hard it gets I will continue to dig. And i know that people like, Julie, Shelby, Bill, Caitlin, Banana, and my sweet munchkins will all dig with me when I need their help the most.

Together they will help me dig deep into my new, happy life.

Small Stuff

"Don't sweat the small stuff"

We've all heard this phrase countless times. Have been lectured by nearly everyone on the planet about how the small things don't matter. It's the bigger picture that does.

This is incorrect. Life is all about the small stuff. And the small stuff is good and bad and ugly and beautiful and terrifying and comforting. Sometimes it can even be all of those things at once. 

And it's true, as you grow older you'll look back and all you will be able to see are those big, defining moments, at first. As you sit and reflect on one moment or another, thinking about how everything changed at this one pivotal point, for better or worse, you'll start to remember the smaller things that got you to those big things. Perhaps it was that one time you ran late. Or maybe you chose to deviate from your daily schedule. Whatever the reason every action changes which direction you go. 

And often it can change things for others as well. Because as much as we talk about not sweating the small stuff we also talk about how the smallest act can make the biggest difference. Even a simple smile at a stranger can alter everything. 

Sweating the small stuff gives you the power to change not only your future, but those around you as well. This is not to say you need to sit and ruminate on every misstep or failure. But sit there and think about those missteps and the good steps. Remember everything that got you to where you are, that shaped who you became. 

Because in the end sweating the small stuff is what shows you the big stuff.

Battle Cry

My body is currently in battle with my mind. Entrenched in this war my mind started. And to be honest, I don't know how much more my body can take. And then there's me. Being tossed about like a rag doll while those two bicker. I'm trying to find anything to hold on to. But there is absolutely nothing. Because for as much as I hate my mind and the monster that controls it. I also hate my body. I hate that it's weak. I hate that it looks and feels the way it does. But there is a part of me that wants to save it. That wants my body to win. Because as much as I hate it and am repulsed by it I know it can do so much if only I could give it a chance.

My body's latest cry was a kidney stone. Because my grandmother always had a problem with them I am more prone to getting them. And anorexia certainly doesn't help the problem. Metabolic abnormalities and dehydration from exercise just add on to the likelyhood of me continuing to get them. And if you've ever had a kidney stone you know they hurt like hell, it's been compared to childbirth- I don't know since I've never given birth. But let me tell you when I do I want ALL the drugs. I was literally laying on the floor in excrutiating pain cursing myself for causing this.

You'd think that would be enough. Enough motivation to start following my meal plan and fighting harder to recover. Unfortunately it just made the problem worse. I became less motivated and started to punish myself for being so stupid for restricting, by restricting. Eating disorders are so logical. 

But that did scare me. Scare me enough to keep from working out, it's been 8 days. And it scared me enough to search for that motivation I so need to recover. I'm searching, I'm getting closer, I think. It's still terrifying and I'm tired of it. But I know its my body's was of telling me what it needs. And I know that it's just as tired as I am. But for some reason it's still fighting. Using its battle cries to tell me it hasn't given up on me yet. But I do know that the next cry could very well be its last.

Find Your Voice

Julie wants me to read her a letter I wrote to my ED. But I won't do it and here's why;

I know part of getting better is speaking up- speaking out about the things that hurt and even the things that can heal you. And people with eating disorders tend not to speak very much at all. Our voices are drowned out by the monster in control. 

But there are those, like me, who have always been quiet. Who have never felt the need to say much, instead choosing to absorb the world around us and speak in different ways. 

And that doesn't mean not talking. It just means I speak differently and I choose to speak in writing. Letting my voice be heard through the scratch of my pen or the click of a keyboard. It is easier for me to articulate through a medium that is not my vocal chords. And that's OK. 

There are those who speak through paint and canvas. Or those who do open their mouths but let their words flow out in melodic poems.

But just because we aren't physically speaking doesn't mean we aren't talking. In fact, some of us are quite loud. You just have to listen a little differently to hear us. 

This doesn't mean I don't need to practice speaking up. I do. I need to stand up for myself when people put me down. Or let them know "hey, hearing you talk about how much skinnier my sister is, doesn't really help. Stop it." And I do want to learn how to speak up for those things. And one of the ways I can start is by explaining all of this to Julie.

By explaining I will not ever be the type to say what exactly is on my mind right in the moment. I will explain that I need time to process and write it out. And she is more than welcome to read those things but don't ask me to speak when speaking isn't really a part of who I am.

Flashback

 

This time last year I sat in the waiting room of my new doctor’s office. A doctor I had yet to meet, while my mind did mental gymnastics debating if I should stay or run out the door like I so desperately wanted. This doctor was going to determine my fate, the one who decided what exactly was going to happen to me. Continue seeing Jamie or be hospitalized, and I didn’t have much hope that I’d be allowed to continue with Jamie. I had weighed myself a few days before and tipped the scales at 96-freaking-pounds, aka hospital weight. Thankfully, or not, depending on which part of my brain you ask, I stepped on Dr. Lapidus’ scale weighing in at a total of 101lbs. Relieved and sad and angry don’t even begin to cover the thoughts racing through my mind. I was lectured about gaining and then sent out the door with an order for blood work that would be the final determining factor in my future.

Well, it’s been almost a year since that doctor’s visit and I have so far managed to avoid inpatient. I’ve gone from 96lbs to 108 to 110 to 106 to 104 and now I currently weigh around 112. And my weight is still not something I can comfortably handle. I want back down to 96, or lower. But my relationship with food is on the mend. I can somewhat comfortably consume 1,000 calories in a day without wanting to throw myself off a cliff. Unfortunately this is quite a bit less than the 2800 I’m supposed to be taking in. I have a meal plan that I’m supposed to follow but by lunch I’m over it. By lunch the voice that starts the second I wake up is tired of being ignored and just gets louder. And since I don’t like being yelled at I tend to obey.

While I did manage to avoid inpatient I did land in intensive outpatient. Though, thanks to insurance that’s ended. So now I see Julie and Marlena for individuals once a week. I went from 5 days of support and therapy to being almost completely alone, at least alone in ways that I need right now. But I’m contemplating a letter to the insurance company regarding their refusal to cover more treatment.

The hardest part of this year was also saying goodbye to Jamie who had to move on for school and could no longer see me as a client. It’s been a weird adjustment, not that Julie and all of the ladies at my treatment center aren’t great, but I had to leave a relationship I had spent over a year building. I still get to talk to Jamie sometimes and thankfully we live in such a small town I know it’ll only be a matter of time before I bump into her somewhere, especially since I work at one of her favorite restaurants.

Sitting here thinking about this past year brings up so many emotions. Because I recovered and relapsed and now hang somewhere suspended in the middle unable to decide which side of the rope I’m going to cut. I just know that whatever happens, and for better or worse, I am not in the same spot I was in this time last year. And despite my struggles, that’s something to celebrate.

Wolves

Just because you're not eating doesn't mean you aren't feeding something. Things like eating disorders, depression, and anxiety don't need calories to survive. They live and thrive off of the thoughts that make you not eat.

Julie talks a lot about the wolves. And she asks me constantly which wolf I'm feeding, more often than not I'm feeding the bad wolf. I fed the bad wolf by letting the anger I felt for being fed so much sugar in a short amount of time, just consume me. And I let it carry and fester and suck me in so much so, that I didn't eat for 42hrs. 

The seconds ticked by and as the anger, fear, and sadness grew bigger my appetite got smaller and smaller. And I paid dearly for feeding the wrong wolf. Because when I got so desperate and unable to control the wolf I ran to Marlena. And in order to make the wolf less scary that meant I had a lot of eating to do.

So that's what I've done today. I made up 42hrs worth of calories in 7hrs. And it's awful. It makes me want to start all over. But what does that accomplish? Nothing. Because if I have another moment like that the consequences could be much much worse. 

So somehow I must let those emotions out, the ones that feed the bad wolf. I have to learn how to feel those emotions instead of filling myself up with the emotions instead of food. From now on, I must feed the good wolf more than I feed the bad. 

Frozen

My wish came true. Kind of.

I wanted to be "cold as stone" to not have to feel any of the shitty things that I was feeling, even if that meant not feeling joy either. Yeah, I know that's totally fucked up thinking, but desperate times call for desperately insane ideas.

Much to my dismay I must've screwed up the wording because instead of turning off my feelings I just turned off my ability to show them. So that means I'm stuck feeling all of these crappy things and I can't even express them. And not only does this make me feel crazy it also makes my therapists a bit crazy. They want me to open up so badly and express how I'm feeling instead of constantly trying to hide it and remain so stoic.

And as much as I try not blame my parents for my problems, at least not all of them, I can blame my dad for this one. I can blame him because me showing any sort of bad emotion would just enrage him, especially crying. It's the one thing he can't stand more than anything. So I learned not to cry. And I learned to use those emotions I wasn't expressing to fill me instead of food.

But now I don't want that. I mean, I still don't want to be full of food, but I really don't want to be full of unexpressed emotions either. I want to be able to scream and cry and yell if that's what I'm feeling. But right now I just can't.

I came closer than I have been tonight. In group we did "family sculpting" where I positioned my therapists and fellow ED fighters in poses to resemble my family. And then I had to talk. I had to go to my "dad" "sister" "brother" and finally "mom" and say all of the things I haven't been able or allowed to say. 

Mom. That's what almost did it. Talking to her and getting out the things I needed to, almost broke down that wall. One of my therapists, Leslie, could see what was going on. At least in my eyes, my face remained passive. And she tried so hard to get me to just let it out. But I just couldn't I wanted it out as much as everybody else did but it wouldn't come. And I hate myself for not being able to cry. But I'm also proud of myself for not breaking down. And that's terrible.

So how do I do it? How do I let myself show everything I try so hard to conceal? How do I become unfrozen?