Friday, January 28, 2011

Am I really going to publish this? LHM

I can not believe I’m going to write this.

I need help. I have a dilemma and I would like feedback on this. Of course I will take it up with Therapist, but I need second and third opinions.
Last night I saw Dietician. My weight dropped. I thought I was doing better, but, according to Dietician, I’m not replenishing myself enough after my runs. (I’m training for a 10K.) It’s also the reason the constant desire and thought to eat and purge is so, so strong. In our conversation, she warned me as soon as I started giving my body what it needs I would gain a few pounds because I can not maintain my weight and give my body the nutrients it wants. (This sets up a whole different post for a different time.)

I am not happy about this. I hate my weight, and, more specifically, the shape of my body. I am pear shaped. I perceive more fat around my hips and thighs than other women have. I’ve done body tracings and this has only confirmed what I know. I am extremely curvy in the region. I don’t like the way my body looks in spandex. I feel like my thighs just jut out. (so embarrassed to be writing this.) I hate the way I look when I do lunges. Again, my thighs form a peak on the outside of my leg and it looks unattractive. I’ve always had trouble finding jeans to fit me because my waist is extremely small in ratio to my hips and thighs. And my hatred of this area also fits into not wanting my thighs to touch, which the eagerly do. I hate, hate, hate this part of my body. This part of my body is what makes me fat.
Dietician thinks my body image is just distorted, but it’s not. I’ve hated my hips and thighs since I was ten years old. I remember the exact moment and what I was wearing when I realized my hips and thighs were too big.

Dietician asked if I talked about my body image issues with Therapist. I told her no. When she asked what we talked about, I thought hard but couldn’t come up with an answer. I really don’t know what we talk about, but it’s not body image. The reason I know it’s not body image is because it’s something I don’t feel comfortable discussing with him.
That feels wrong to me on so many levels. Shouldn’t I be able to tell him anything? The man I trust most, second to my husband? But it feels too personal and I don’t know that he’d understand. Maybe I should try and discuss it with him…force my way through the awkwardness. I don’t know.

But Dietician was insistent I discuss my body image issues with someone. So she recommended I add an additional therapist to my lineup. She said I would never get better unless I got over the shame about my perceived body flaws.
So here I am, not knowing what to do. Of course I’ll discuss it with Therapist, but it seems like a betrayal to imply he’s only qualified to help me in certain areas and inadequate to help in other areas. And don’t you think the two go hand in hand? Eating disorders and DID? How can I talk about my body to a therapist without revealing something about the DID? I’m not willing for another therapist to know about it. But what if it would help? That’s the question I keep going back to. I’m so tired of struggling with my body and food. This last venture into the world of disordered eating was sparked by the meeting with Abuser X over the summer. I don’t want to talk about abuse issues with a body image therapist. But what if it would help?

So I don’t know if I’m not giving Therapist enough credit and me enough room to be vulnerable, or if it would be better to add another therapist to my treatment team. I’m in a conundrum. Any thoughts out there?

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Cuts like a knife

I don’t feel well today. I don’t feel well any days.

Could it be for purging this morning? Probably.

Could it be for having lunch with a “childhood” friend ? Probably.

Could it be for just having lunch? Probably.

Could it be the anxiety over due dates and deadlines? Probably.

Could it be the anxiety over feeling like a failure? Probably.

Could it be the sadness over a wasted life? Definitely.

I cried in writing class yesterday. We had to draw memory maps, make annotations of things we remembered from when we were nine and ten years old. I was never nine or ten, but someone was and they cried over drawing the neighbor’s garage. They said bad things happened there.

I just put my head down and let the droplets of tears hit the floor, praying no one would notice. I couldn’t get up and leave without people noticing me. I just looked down and waited for the tears to finally stop.
And today my assignment is to work on a writing piece based on when I was nine years old. And all I can do is cry and cry by my lonely self. And I’m sobbing like a nine year old that can’t catch her breath and whose chest is heaving up and down, trying to find breath.

And I’m all alone. And I hurt so deeply it cuts like a knife. But nobody knows it but me.