Spinny Dizzy Around and Around

I have no balance. I am spinning dizzy.

My work and personal life have never been better. I was elected the president of my board.  Meanwhile, my eating disorder is back with a vengeance.  I starve and purge, with no binge in between.  Weight is dropping off.  I feel great. My bones are starting to protrude.  Let's keep this party going.

October is My Favorite Month

Wow, twice in one year.  I am on a roll.

Why am I here?  Why. Why. Why.  I have decided not to eat today.  Maybe not ever again. I think my depression is back.  That cold rider, fingers digging into my spine, telling me I have no self-worth.  Everything I do is wrong.  I am a failure.  Everything - and everyone - I touch is worse for the experience. 

Maybe it’s because I don’t sleep anymore. My darling (monster) of a toddler has decided to throw out all her good sleep habits and not rest for more than a few hours at a time.  She crawls, screaming, into her sleeping bag every night – carefully laid out in the corner of my bedroom.  A concession.  A compromise.  Better than me sleeping in her bed, or spending the night – half slumped with back aching – in her room’s rocking chair. 

I can feel the exhaustion like a brick, filling up my head with rough sand. Grinding down all my thoughts and emotions until they are smooth and hazy around the edges.

Last week I spotted an old friend at the park. A once-upon-a-time best friend. One who is too busy for me now, or perhaps just in a different place.  I am married with a kid.  He is pseudo-single, living it up with two girlfriends.  It was a perfect fall day.  Crisp and sunny, with color exploding on the trees before drifting down to blanket the ground.  He was standing by the lake, idly watching a duck, and my heart skipped. Like seeing an almost lover. I reached out to him but pulled back after two steps.  Things are awkward now.  We made an attempt at keeping the friendship alive after my daughter’s birth. Brief lunch dates filled with pauses and missed shared experiences. It breaks my heart. 

Last weekend my dress split right up the back seam.  I had been so proud to squeeze back into my favorite pre-pregnancy cocktail scuba sheath.  I teased up my hair; was meticulous with my makeup. I felt pretty for the first time a long time, and then my fucking dress ripped in half. 

Last night my husband crossed the neutral zone in our bed and made me into a little spoon.  His hand cupped my breast as his breath warmed my neck. I pretended to be asleep, both internally screaming at being touched and fearing he would stop.

So many small things that add up to a crushing sense of defeat.  Today I try not to cry and decide not to eat.  

I Keep Running Back To You

Wow, nearly three years since my last post.  It doesn't seem that long ago.  Memories of my ED consuming every waking and sleeping thought are still so close.  Like a dream, or maybe nightmare.  I think if I reach out, eyes closed, my fingers would brush the past.  In a way they do.  That's why I am here.  This blog is still my secret sanctuary.  It is still place I run to for comfort from [inspiration for] every disordered thought.

Obligatory update: I have purged exactly once since my last post. After a binge and bout of self pity.  My weight is exactly 29.7 pounds higher than my pre-pregnancy low weight.  Which means my self worth is exactly 29.7 pounds lower. 

I gained a total of fifty fucking pounds during pregnancy.  I quickly dropped thirty of that, but my weight (if you do the simple math) is creeping back up. 

Is that why I'm here? Fuck you brain. Sweep up the scattered pieces and put them in neat rows. Work. Child. Chores. Sleep. Eat. Eat. Eat. You fat fucking pig.

Through the hazy [edge-blurring] filter of time, I miss the cold embrace of Ana and Mia and sometime Bed.  I miss the dizzy, head-floating-away feeling of starving. Of being cold, shivering, and bruised. I miss feeling strong enough to tell chocolate-and-bread-and-hummus-and-fruit-and-vegetables-and-air to go fuck themselves.  I don't need you. 

Now seven hours without food feels like a fast. Weak. Pathetic.

Even knowing these are disordered thoughts, I can't seem to push them aside. I feel them. I want them.  Maybe just a little fast. To see if I still can. Then I will stop.

Because I can stop any time I want. Right? I can choose to make these voices stop. Make these feelings go away. I won't be broken forever, right?

Right?

Monty Python Had It Right

Hello world, I am still here!  I post so infrequently I doubt anyone actually reads my blather anymore.  Still, it feels good to put a piece of myself out there.  Cathartic.

Why am I posting? I AM PREGNANT!  Seventeen weeks today.  It is so unimaginably weird, and surreal, and... I don't know, amazing.  I have never felt less sure of myself.  Or more sure of myself. I am elated. I am terrified.  Mostly I try not to think about trying to squeeze a watermelon out of my body through a hole the size of a lemon. 

Onto obligatory ED news.  I am still 100% purge free since spring.  Amazingly, I am also mostly binge free as well - can't even remember my last true binge.  It is liberating being able to tell my ED to fuck off, mate.  But, to be completely honest, there is a sense of loss.  It was so easy and convenient to have something to embrace anytime life became difficult.  Bad day?  Nothing a giant carton of ice cream won't cure.  Husband piss you off?  There's always a trough full of mac and cheese to make you forget.  Never mind the high must be followed by the low of purging.

So what to do when your coping mechanism is taken away?

I haven't figured that out completely yet.  My support system helps me through the worst of it, even if they don't fully understand what they're helping me through.  I found that compartmentalizing life helps.  I was recently passed up for a promotion at work.  It was strictly political. My department is falling apart, and they needed to hire someone who could help shoulder the burden.  Unfortunately, the person they wanted would not accept my current pay-grade (give me the promotion, hire her to replace me).  So after stringing my along for six months, promising me the position, they gave her the promotion instead.

On a strictly unemotional standpoint, the move makes sense.  The person will be an incredible asset to the department.  She currently works for a department under my purview, and I am continually impressed with her abilities.  That doesn't stop the hurt. 

I have stepped up for this department every time it was asked of me.  My entire time here has been spent completing duties above-and-beyond my pay-grade.  Maybe that was the problem. I made myself into a doormat, and now my organization thinks I will lie here quietly and continue to let them walk all over me.  Or... maybe they don't care if I leave.

And there is the kicker. With the announcement I lost all self confidence. Maybe I am not capable of continuing the duties required for the promotion.  Maybe when I stepped into the role six months ago, I did a shitty job and no one told me.  Maybe I don't deserve the promotion.  Maybe I am not as important to the structure of this office as I thought.  Everyone is replaceable, right?

Things got dark for a while.  I am a worthless failure.  I am incapable of doing right.  Why bother trying, it won't accomplish anything.  My first instinct was to starve, starve, starve.  Which leads to binging and purging and more starving - because oh god, the emptiness feels so good and the binging comes with such glorious numbness.

Then I thought of Little Peanut, now the size of a turnip all cozy in my womb.  I thought of my husband, who tells me every day that I am beautiful (despite my protests that I am turning into a fat cow) and that he loves me.  I thought of the dream home which I now own, and live in, with my wonderful husband. I thought of my amazing and loving parents who live down the street.  Of the brother who has become a cornerstone of my life.  I thought of my two happy, incredible dogs who adore me above all else.  Everyone I love is in good health.  I have food in my fridge and enough money in my bank account to live comfortably if not extravagantly.  All things considered, my life is picture perfect. 

So here is where compartmentalizing comes into play.  Being passed over for a promotion sucks.  But it is not the end of the world.  My life is not ending.  Everything does not suck.  Everything is awesome.  So my career has stalled a bit.  No worries, I can recover from that.  Maybe not here, in this department, but elsewhere.  Meanwhile, I will put in my eight hours and then go home to snuggle on the couch with my silly poodlie-face and old scruffy-butt before going out to play in the snow.

If you need a little pick me up today, I recommend this video.  Because, as in most situations, Monty Python says it better than I ever could.

Just Like a Delicious Chocolate Bunny

I have not purged in several months.  I rarely binge.  There are days that will go by with no thought to my ED.  If you have not tried therapy, and you actually (really, truly, completely) want to recover, it may be just the thing to help you get you on the right path.  At least, it worked for me.  Is working for me.

There are still bad days.  It is difficult sometimes to separate normal thoughts and reactions from the niggling voice of my ED.  Today has been rough.  I have not eaten yet, though I have tried.  Everything is too much, and the one bite I managed tasted both bland and overwhelmingly awful.  There is a spike of fear at how good it feels to be empty.  My hollow stomach matches my flat affect.  It is so hard to care.

I'm Not An Expert, But...

Telling your patient their ultimate goal weight is perfectly reasonable and attainable probably isn't the best thing to say to someone suffering from an ED.

So Horrifyingly Gross I Had To Share

Well, I had a truly disturbing experience at the gym this morning.  While getting ready for the day, a woman was prepping for a swim next to me.  Not unusual.  Except this lady was so large (400+ pounds, easy) she had to sit while doing her prep work.  She sat in a chair, butt-naked, in the middle of the main walkway letting out these, almost constant, loud grunts of exertion.  Tie back her hair, grunt.  Bend over, grunt. Lift her arms, grunt.  Step into her swimsuit, grunt.

At this point I’m thinking, “okay, she’s a little obnoxious, but good for her getting to the gym!”  Then she stood up.

There on the chair was the largest, nastiest, skid-mark I have ever seen.  Thank goodness she had put down a towel first, or the chair would have been ruined.  I waited for the lady to deal with the issue, but she just walked off and left it there!  Chair in the middle of the walkway, huge skid-mark for everyone to see.  The implications are horrifying: a) what if the cleaning staff just wash the towel and throw it back into circulation, b) how much feces is this woman going to leave floating in the pool water?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of any person who pursues fitness.  And I’m sure it must be extremely embarrassing to be so large you can’t properly wipe your behind, but to leave your soiled linens in the middle of the locker room for someone else to clean up?  That’s disgusting and inexcusable.

I was so grossed out by the sight and smell (YES, THE SKID-MARK WAS SO LARGE IT FILLED THE LOCKER ROOM WITH ITS STENCH) that I wasn’t able to stomach breakfast.  Ick.

Ahem.  So that’s how my day started.  Hope yours is going better than mine...