What I'm Missing

I HATE DOING THIS.

I want to scream, cry, bang my head against a wall, throw things, yell at people who are not even remotely at fault.

Two lorazepam a day, that's how I'm getting through this. Barely.

My body image is shit. It's been ages since I've actually thought I looked legitimately *fat* in something, and now I find it happening.

I'm working at an office for the next few weeks. That means a dress code. My eating disorder hates dress codes, because it has its own dress code, which changes daily (per body image rating) and typically conflicts with other dress codes. Anything that conflicts with the eating disorder's given dress code does so because the ED dress code is designed to keep me from looking fat. Therefore, if it's not ED-approved, it makes me look fat.

Oh my God.

I miss being alone and able to not eat in peace. I can't believe I have to do this for three more weeks. Fuck trying to maintain in England. I feel like a damn whale. I mean, yes, I still have been keeping my calories low, but the mirror evidently does not know that. I do all my body checks every day and nothing's changed. But I feel I look different. Fat now. Actually fat. Noticeably heavier than when I arrived.

I get so fucking short with everybody. Everybody pisses me off. It doesn't help that I hate my damn job. It's not quite Motherfucking Courage revisited, but it's a similarly miserable situation. I have a bloody desk job and nothing to do for 7 hours but monotonous computational activities and feel my ass engorging by the second.

I'm supposed to be enjoying my summer vacation. Every day I want to cry because if I can't settle down around food, I should at LEAST be able to wear the cute clothes I want (yes, my ED says it's okay to wear the current trends as long as it shows that bone/covers that lack of bone) and have fun and laugh and shop with my mom. But I can't do that either. And that makes me more anxious, and more distorted toward food/body/weight, and brattier/shorter tempered by the minute. Does nobody fucking understand that, aside from these three weeks, I HAVE no fucking vacation? I mean, don't get me wrong, I really am excited for Oxford, but that's not vacation. That's work. I want SOME vacation. That's what I do. I work and work and work and don't stop and then I need like a month of down-time where I get to do my own pet projects and then I start working again. Lather, rinse, repeat. That's a year. Now I don't get my month of down-time because I'm trying to make money so I don't feel like a total financial drain on my family. Instead, I'm no fun to any of them. I'm not the daughter they were looking forward to seeing. I'm a grouchy, overworked, brooding, isolative bitch. I was that former daughter for the first three days, before I started the desk job of doom. Not so much anymore. I don't know if I'm making enough money to compensate for the emotional burden I am to them. We'll see.

This lorazepam isn't doing jack shit and it should be kicking in by now. It's my second dose of the night, plus half a beer. I don't feel drunk. I don't feel relaxed. And no, I'm not some fucking idiot that's going to have another beer or pill to see how that works out. I'll just suffer through the rest of this. I deserve it.

I wish I could go to rehab.

I wish I wanted to go to rehab.

I wish I could afford to go to rehab.

I wish my school would force me to go to rehab.

If I wanted to get better, I would go to Monte Nido. My miraculous dietitian used to work there and it's kind of perfect for me. Long-term, loads of aftercare and step-down options, great location, very near my life, their philosophy with regards to therapy, causality, and nutrition is in line with mine, there are a few holistic and woo-woo treatments but not so many that it's too hippie, they take a small group of women at a time, and while they don't take weight gain entirely at the patient's pace, they'll go slow if they think that's the most effective way to have the patient adjust and work through it (that's my method). They're also very individualized with goal weights.

Why am I talking about Monte Nido? It's okay; I can fantasize about it. I'll allow it. It's not the same thing as going. Hell, I'd never go to Monte Nido. I'd never go to rehab period; but if I were forced there, we're talking Rader or Casa Palmera or some easy ass fucking shit where I can get away with murder.

Sometimes I do think about this stuff. It's good to be prepared. Good to know what's out there. Good to know what I'm not missing.

I'm fat and I hate everything and everything sucks and this is bullshit.

My dad is here, helping me move out.

This means I have to eat, and I don't get to eat nice little calorie-controlled perfectly portioned frozen meals and measured out servings of Boost and grapes.

It means I got to have a panic attack -- literally a panic attack -- over a tofu sandwich today.

Let me give you a second to let that sink in.

A tofu. Fucking. Sandwich.

I had to go to the bathroom and hyperventilate so he wouldn't see. I wanted to cry. I felt like a three year old. I wanted to throw things. It's ruined my entire day, that fucking tofu sandwich. I've been an emotional wreck since noon.

This is why people in 12-step programmes have sponsors. I wish I had someone that I could call and say, "I ate a tofu sandwich. I feel like shit. I feel like I gained a million pounds. When I look in the mirror all I see is fat now. I can't do this."

I really just wanted to put the damn thing down and run away.

And now we're about to go to dinner. I just, I seriously cannot do this. I have no idea how I'm going to.

He has no idea I'm struggling, my dad. No idea at all. If he knew I couldn't go to England. That's why I have to keep lying to him. Plus it would break his heart. I mean really.

I hate food. I hate my body. I'm on the verge of tears but I have to go pretend to enjoy myself at fucking dinner now.

If you pray, pray this gets better.

Nothing Else I Can Say

Things with Michael are heating up... again. And I don't know how to feel about it. Honestly, I'm so hot and cold about the entire thing. I don't know if it's hormones or the eating disorder or something else or what, but it's like half the time I'm really excited and giddy about the prospect of having a romantic relationship with him, and the other half I'm like, "this? Again? Really?"

I feel it's not fair to him, but I don't want to go move forward or backward with anything between us when I still have no idea of how I feel. But the guy is so boyfriend-y it's crazy. We fuck, we do date stuff, and then we do random couple bonding-type shit, like texts just to check in and domestic monotony. He threw a housewarming party last night, and we set it up together, made drinks together, and did the dishes together. Very frequently we'll shower after sex (one of the best things in the world, p.s., if you're doing it right). And he likes to cuddle. Who the fuck likes to cuddle? What have I gotten myself into here?

Sometimes I'm incredibly happy and excited to see him; other times it feels like a chore. Sometimes I'm physically attracted to him; other times I'm not so much (and it's nothing he is or isn't doing). I will say this: I think he's a really cool guy. He his his romantic streaks and his nihilistic streaks, he digs good music, he plays good music, he writes good music, he reads a lot, he's a political dork and, like me, finds talking politics to be a huge turn-on (again... if you're doing it right). He thinks it's brilliant that I'm so into Machiavelli and geeky things. He's definitely infatuated with me. Crazy about me? He certainly acts like it. In love with me? Probably not quite (fortunately). He's always wanting me to stay the night. I've only done so once, because honestly, I've got to be pretty mad about you if we're going to take the whole "sleeping together" thing literally. I've only ever spent the night with three guys; I was in love with two of them, and the other one I was well on my way to loving.

So yeah. I'm not sure what I should do. It's not just so cut-and-dry as "I like him but I don't want a relationship with him." I really like him, and half the time I do want this to keep going deeper. And I don't know whether the fact that I'm so on the fence is ED-related, and if so, I don't know whether the ED is what's making me want to leave or making me want to stay. I just don't fucking know.

I've been maddeningly tired all day. It would be awesome if my body could re-learn the concept of insulin. Yayyyy, bringing this all on myself.

This Is Harder Than It Looks

So far, RF (yeah, it's that fucking time again) has been an epic fail. Well, maybe not an epic fail, but it definitely ranks towards the more heightened end of the fail spectrum.

Whenever I finish eating, I feel about ready to jump out of my skin. I'm anxious, I can't sit still, I can't stop thinking about what the extra calories are doing to my body, I start to panic. I take Lorazepam -- if it's night time and I can afford to be drowsy. It calms me down a bit, but it also makes me say, "fuck that shit, I don't really need to eat, do I? I'm not hungry, nothing terrible is going to happen if I don't eat. I'm just going to bed."

That's the other thing. I'm not hungry. Not really, anyway. At first my body was really confused and exhausted (even though I only increased by, at most, 100 calories a day -- usually less). It does that when my calories go up. The way I've had it explained to me, it has something to do with insulin. My body gets all "OMG WTF I DON'T EVEN" and then has a big insulin party, and afterward my energy levels are depleted for the rest of the day. I've let the anorexia convince me that gluten makes this worse, so I won't eat white flour even in re-feeding. Keep in mind that when I'm not re-feeding, I'm a "raw foodist" who only eats, like, five things, so I'm not used to white flour or anything that's not rabbit fare anyway. But no, it's totally better for you to limit gluten, everyone says so. Uh huh. Who is this "everyone?" Um, some commercial I think.

I also still try to eat as many un-processed foods as possible. Which makes things difficult, seeing as most of my RF calories in the past have come from Lean Cuisine. You can't eat that it's got sodium and it's soooooo bad for you! Sodium's good for me. You'll feel really bloated and gassy and sick. You might even get an intestinal obstruction. Wait, from sodium? Uh... yeah. Besides, your body image will get even worse because it makes you retain water. Okay, well, I've gotta get these extra calories in somehow. How about Boost? It's low in sodium, and nutritionally balanced. Ah, Boost, the re-feeding anorectic's manna. No! Boost is processed too! Can you even pronounce half those ingredients?

I'm not saying I never drink the Boost or eat the low-calorie gluten-free organic vegan frozen entree. (And, by the way, I can only imagine what everyone else at the grocery store is thinking when I spend half an hour hyperventilating in the frozen foods aisle because THIS HAS 10 LESS CALORIES BUT A 2% HIGHER DAILY VALUE OF SODIUM AND MORE NET CARBS I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.) I do win, sometimes, but it's a long and exhausting battle in my head. Fortunately, I've managed to find something higher-calorie that my anorexia, masquerading in the guise of "just doing this the healthy way," can approve of. They're fruit and nut granola bars whose only ingredients are raw fruit, raw nuts, raw granola, and raw honey. They're scary because they're calorie-dense, but they have no sodium, just a few carbs (most of the calories come from fat and protein, which really don't scare me), and it's kind of fun to pick them apart and nibble on them granola by granola.

My calories are still "too low" but they feel too high. I never surpass that pleasantly-gnawing hunger, that hunger pang "sweet spot," and I don't like to eat because then it goes away. It's not just feeling full that gets to me. It's not feeling hungry. Or not being somewhat aware that, hmm, my body could really do with a bit more food. Stress makes me lose my appetite. Being busy/distracted makes me lose my appetite. Being anxious DEFINITELY makes me lose my appetite. As of right now, it's 8:45 and I definitely don't think I'm going to meet my calorie goal for today. I'm way too far under.

I really need to pull all of this crap together because my dad comes to help me move out very soon.

Willing and Working Together

The past while has been okay. It's finally starting to sink in that I'm going to the England, and I don't think I could be more thrilled -- I went to apply for a passport today and on the line where it says "intended destination" or whatever I wrote "United Kingdom" and I got all giddy like a schoolgirl. It's actually happening, I thought. I'm actually going to the U.K.!

Again, I've been before, but I was 14 then, and did not enjoy it at all because I was so ill. This time, my BMI's a little lower than back then, but I don't feel as terrible and I'm going to do my best to be sensible when it comes to food while I'm over there. I told my therapist what my calorie plans were and she said that wasn't going to be enough, and then I freaked out on her because "if I'm already having panic attacks when I try to eat an extra cracker, how the hell do you expect me to eat X calories?" I'm just as angry with myself for all this, you know. I have a lot of shame when it comes to the eating disorder. I'm so pissed off that I can't "just eat" like a normal fucking human being. And that I almost didn't apply for my passport because the photo "made me look fat." I don't think that's actually possible, AJ. It is possible, because the photo's only from the shoulders up and I have a thick neck. I thought yesterday you called it one of your "acceptably thin" body parts. That was yesterday; I've clearly gained 5 pounds since then and it's all gone to my neck.

(This is what I have to live with.)

*

Anyway, I've been doing more work on third-stepping. Not because I actually am a stepper, but I like to pull from different addiction/recovery models and see what works. When I've been forced into 12-step work in the past, I've never surpassed numero trois because the thought of "turning my life over to [insert name of higher power here]" is terrifying. It's like the third step prayer literally gets caught in my throat. I can't say that, I think. Thy will, not mine, be done? What the hell? I thought I had free will. I thought this was my fucking life.

Then it occurred to me.

God's fucking will is going to be done anyway. It's God. It's called the third step prayer, not the third step spell. If I don't say it, or agree to it, there's no magical force barring God from reaching into my life and doing whatever He wants. If I do say it, He doesn't gain any special ability to fuck up my shit that He didn't have before. (Don't you love this? I'm talking about God "fucking up my shit." I'm sure He's thrilled up there.)

The third step is just a way of saying, we're going to work together now. I'm not going to fight You. I'm not going to try (in vain), waste my time and energy fighting Your role in my world. In my language, it's sort of like saying, "let's merge our powers for good and for awesome and then things will really take off in my life." Things move a lot faster when you let God in, because He's going to do His thing anyway, and instead of spending your time resisting that, you could be communicating with and letting Him help you instead.

The secret of the third step is that it's actually not about your higher power at all. It's about you. It's not about giving your higher power "permission" to enter your life. He/She/It's already there. It's about giving yourself permission to focus on other things.

Is there any guarantee that God's will for me is the same as my will for me? Career-wise? Money-wise? No, but there's a damn good lot of evidence. I've been tallying up a mental list of all the things that have happened in my life, outside of my control, that point to God wanting the same things for me as I do. And let me tell you, the list is long. It's a lot longer than the list of things that indicate otherwise -- which is really, really comforting. In fact, some of the things that I used to want, because I thought they would get me closer to my ultimate goals, but that I didn't get, I now see would have hindered me in my pursuit of those same goals if God hadn't stepped in and made something different happen. Made me mad, for a little while. Because I thought He was ruining everything. Instead, I learned later... He was fixing it. Allow me to explain this concept algebraically:

If my ultimate goal was Z, then I wanted A to happen because I thought A would be the best way to get to Z. Instead, despite all my best efforts, A didn't happen -- but by "chance," B happened instead. Looking back, I realise that B is a much more direct, much surer route to Z than A was/is.

So maybe -- maybe -- God wants the same things for me that I want... and maybe, just maybe, He has a better idea of how to set me up for the opportunities whereby I can succeed.

Underlying Thoughts and Beliefs

Note: For a short (I promise) summary of what the fuck this is all about (which is probably critical), read the post below.

Things to Keep in Mind: My mother, at the time of these formative beliefs and until a couple years ago, was an emotionally/psychologically/physically sadistic, abusive alcoholic. My sister was -- and still is, coincidentally -- seven years older than me.


Underlying Thoughts/Beliefs
(What made AN easy to adopt as a solution and hard to let go of):

1. It is bad to want and need. I should neither want nor need.
- Because... When I want it is not usually given. When I want, I stand out, and when I stand out I am an easy target for Mom. When I want it is ignored at best, belittled in between, and punished at worst. When I want it makes me The Baby. It shows I am immature, stupid, and incapable.

2. I must always be perfectly mature and capable.
- Because... Then I will be grown up and responsible and Mom will be proud of me like E. I will have a happier, freer life like E. I will be a better, more talented person like E.

3. Something is defective about me and I have to hide it from the world.
- Because... I can't do anything right.

4. I am inherently flawed.

5. I demand too much and give nothing back. I am The Baby, I am helpless, and that makes me a drain on my family. I am spoiled. I take and take and take and give nothing satisfactory in return. Mom shows me this.

6. I am melodramatic. I over-play EVERYTHING. I overdo my emotions and difficulties of my circumstances. Mom tells me this when she yells at me and hurts me and I cry.

7. I am a bad daughter.
- Because... I am always making Mom yell at me. When I do something good, it never seems to be received as "good enough," and it is quickly forgotten. I am scared of my own mother, I try to avoid her, sometimes I wish I could live without her, and I rarely make her happy.

8. I am annoying.
- Because... I am too needy and Emily looks down on me. She does not like to have me around. I am constantly WANTING something and that is bad.


My Solutions/Survival Mechanisms, Based on These Beliefs...

- I have to nurture myself. I have to be my own mother.

- I rely on myself and myself alone for protection and survival. I will fix all these problems all by myself; I will never ask for help.

- I will be Perfect. I will make myself happy and please myself; I will soothe myself by being Perfect.


Later in Life, I Also "Learned"...

9. My eating disorder is the only part of my identity no one can take away from me.

10. When I try to recover, I always fail and things get SO MUCH WORSE SO FAST.

11. Attempts at recovery bring misery.

*

I think my next step will be devising baby steps to challenge these beliefs, but I'm not exactly sure what those would be.

A New Angle

Note: Please read the links provided in this post, or at least skim them. They're brief, helpful, and an incredibly good explanation for what I've chosen to focus on therapeutically.


There are two things I want/don't want in terms of my eating disorder. First, I want to understand its pathology -- its roots, why it continues to have such a profound and inextricable hold on me today, and how I can arm myself against these beliefs and triggers when I decide I'm ready. Second, I want to keep losing weight. (Shocking, I know.) Not being in hospital or residential allows me the capacity to pick and choose what elements of recovery I want to work on, so I figure I should take advantage of this while I still can and attempt a psychological, emotional, spiritual recovery without actually, um, eating.

(Yes, I know this isn't possible to do 100%. But I figure I can at least get my foot* in the door as far as mentality is concerned. And who knows? Maybe my insights will prompt me to find more motivation.)

So with this goal in mind, I've been trawling the web for treatment professionals' recovery blogs, taking my cues from therapy, and journaling on things that might hold some value to me. Having explained that, I went and made a list of underlying thoughts and beliefs that make it easy to cling to/difficult to let go of the eating disorder. (Inspiration: therapy topics and this.)

Bullet points one and two on the link, as well as their "solutions," are of particular relevance to this assignment. (Further explanation here.) It actually helps to think of my anorexia as the product of some very well-intentioned survival mechanisms that I devised in the first few years of my life, rather than some parasitic demon named "Ed" or "Ana." Possibly because the first is much more, well, scientifically accurate. Start talking about my evil abusive boyfriend and I feel like we're playing make-believe. Personification of things that aren't actually people creates impenetrable cognitive blockages between the metaphor and the reality of the situation. That's just how my brain works. (I understand that for many others, the result is the complete opposite. To each badger his own cheese, as they say**.)

So on to my next post -- the list itself.


*Originally I typed "food." Freudian slip much?
** "They" = I.