Hunger games

Read the Hunger Games series? It's pretty good, though has nothing to do with eating disorders like I thought it did.

I hear the clock in my living room ticking and tocking. The ticks remind me it’s dinner time, as if I needed the reminder. I don’t. I’m painfully aware that it’s time to eat. My stomach rumbles. Something inside of me smiles at the emptiness, at the depletion. Hunger is a comfort. Hunger is safe.

I’m probably using this blog posting as a stalling technique. “Can’t eat now. I need to finish my post, get out my feelings” I think. I know what I’m doing: forestalling the inevitable. I will eat. I don’t know what, or how much, but I will eat.

Today was a “rest” day. Yesterday we ran 15.4 miles, so today we are doing what the coaches tell us to do and resting our body so it can repair itself. Resting is a hard thing to do, especially when I feel I can run again today. I itch to run. Running has become a need. It’s dangerous NOT to run. On days we don’t run we have a greater need to binge and purge. We’ve already alerted Husband of our current need to binge and purge, and we’ve asked him not to let us go to the store alone, or shower with the door closed. We’ve told on ourselves, called ourselves out. Hopefully that will be all that is needed, because we know deep down, when push comes to shove, if we want to purge, we will. Nothing he can say or do can deny us.

Therapist thinks we give in to the urge too easily. I say forget that. We’ve sat with the feeling now for three hours. It doesn’t go away.

But we’re trying to think about the good things of the day. We went to Water Park today, and it was bliss. We spent four glorious hours reading our book, basking in the therapeutic rays of the sun, cooling off in the lazy push of the water, and riding the man-made waves. The evening will be about stroking my doggy’s fur, reading my book, catching up on blogs, and chasing the moments away ten minutes at a time.

Trouble Ahead

The content of this post is frightening me. Rereading it, I can't believe I'm going to hit the "publish" button. It serves to show how desperate I am.

This is the only place I have to turn to right now. I have no friends to talk to. No therapist to listen to me.

I knew I was in trouble earlier. I wanted to binge and purge. I don’t know why. I had been dreaming of it ever since last night. I managed to stave it off last night but this morning I was unaccountably anxious, so I took two of my tranquilizers and one of Husband’s. It did put me to sleep, but only shortly, and, sure enough, I was dealing with the same feelings of anxiety and punishment. I text four friends and FB’d that I was having a hard time and wanted to meet for coffee. But by the time the first person got back to me it was already too late. I was at the grocery store, pj’s on, buying supplies. I got home, didn’t stop till I was nauseous, and gave it all to the toilet. I made sure every bite was gone, throwing up till there wasn’t even bile left. It was a b/p with a vengeance. Now I feel sick and weak and don’t know how I’m going to work tonight.

At least I’m not vanilla anymore. I cried real tears, felt real emotions. I don’t know why I cried. Perhaps because I feel like crap, perhaps because I feel hopeless, don’t see a way out this time. I’m not in control of this behavior. I’m the puppet and they are pulling the strings.

I really do want more for myself. But these feelings get turned on and off by remote. Not by me. Someone else is pulling the strings on this disordered eating and I don’t know why. My abusers killed me so long ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever see the light of day.

My primal instinct is to not allow Therapist to see this. I hope I can make one small step toward health and recovery by sharing this with him. It won’t be easy at all. He doesn’t understand.

How to cope when you want to act out

The question was asked of me on Formspring what I do to not act out when I’ve eaten something risky. I thought I would address this question here because I’ve heard from many readers who deal with dissociation and also have eating disorders. I believe it is worthwhile to address this here because coping extends not just to eating something risky, but also to other behaviors, such as restricting, bingeing, purging, over-exercise or binge eating.

Crisp, cold watermelon on a hot, humid day equals relief. And a mighty tasty snack. Stick a fork in the watermelon...I'm done.

The worst part for me in trying to not act out is sitting with the uncomfortable feelings. I try to tell myself that even though the feeling is so intense and overwhelming, it won’t last forever. I can handle the pain and anxiety if I know there is an end in sight. If I can ride out the proverbial wave, then I can buy myself time for when I feel more in control.

Husband and I were at a local mall and made the decision to eat there. He steered me to a store called Fresh to Order and it was so, so good. I don't know every thing that was in my sandwich but it was some thing like Kalamata olives, avocado, cucumber, and roasted red peppers. I even could have an apple instead of chips as a side. I normally hate eating out, but I'll make an exception next time for this sandwich.

Another thing I do is tell someone that I’m at risk for acting out. That person can be anyone. I’ve even tweeted before that I wanted to binge and purge. Stating the fact of wanting to act out won’t necessarily make the behaviors go away, but it does take some of the power and sting out of the feelings.

Steamed broccoli, sweet potato with pecans, and fake riblets. Husband bought my littles a Barbie cup and they were tickled pink to use it. It also comes with a bowl they'll use later.

I also utilize a “goody” bag that is filled with activities that help me distract. I do latch hook, Sudoku, crossword puzzles, listen to my iPod, read a book, take a shower or a warm bath, and color. These are things that have helped me.

I got my sixty day chip on Saturday. I’ve been focused and successful in recovery for over sixty days now. I wouldn’t have made this much progress if I didn’t learn that sometimes I just have to sit with the feelings and let them pass through.

Hell hath no fury

I am not in the best of moods. I am very angry at myself. It was a whole weekend of being angry at myself. There is a picture I keep as my wallpaper on my computer of a time when Husband and I went to Charleston. In the picture I look very happy, big grin on my face. But I don't look thin. While nutritionist would argue, argue, argue that I'm at a healthy weight in the picture, I don't feel thin, and if I don't feel thin then I feel dirty and vulnerable. I want to feel thin and invisible. I want to disappear in my clothes so no one can find me.

So Saturday morning when I got out of the shower I accidentally saw myself in the mirror and my collar bones look just like the collar bones of that fat slob in the picture in Charleston. This sent me on a tail spin. From that moment on, I wasn't myself. Both the good and bad sides of my eating disorder kicked into high gear. I was interminably berating myself for being such a loser. In an instant, my clothes didn't fit, as if the mirror had really put weight on me. My whole weekend continued this way.

I was not myself. I was compelled by another member and I don't know who she is. That's the suckiest part of this whole thing: I can't connect with another god damn member. I can't know who's persecuting me.

Today we see Therapist. With every generous fiber of my being I don't not want to go in. He's going to want to know how the weekend went. I can't give specifics. I know the mirror and collarbone incident. I know I binged this weekend. I know I went and helped O. with a paper due on Monday. I can't tell the inches of time in between that made up my bad mood; that made me so worthless. He might ask me to read my journal. I don't want to do that. I just want to go exercise, but I know that won't solve the internal dialogue going on inside.

Even though it's Monday and a new week, I'm still carrying into it the same bad feelings from the weekend. Sure, I got up and showered, did my hair, applied my face. But someone won't let it go. And I've learned it's never about the food; it's always about something else. I fucking don't want to know what the something else is. Therapy has been hard enough lately. Maybe that's the reason for the freak out in the bathroom. Who the hell knows?

I wish I didn't feel so fat. Food seems dirty to me right now. I know I'm not being rational, but try telling that to an eating disorder that's been in existence for 24 years.

So where do I go from here? How do I exorcise these feelings from my conscious? How do I not hate myself so damn much? Most, most, most importantly, how do I feel not so fat? Time will have to take care of me, because no one inside sure as hell will. Enough is enough.

Too fat to die

I need help stopping my downward spiral. I know of at least one alter that is suicidal; some are apathetic, and others don't want to die this fat.

The last statement is really silly, I know. But that is how this mind works. I cancelled my therapy appointment today because I didn't feel pretty enough to put on my nice dresses, which, incidentally, make me feel more attractive and like I want to wear my maxi dresses.

I've had a hysterectomy and I have no idea where I am on the cycle (they left my ovaries), but I think I'm PMSing because of the emotional fluctuations and the sensations in my chest. Tenderness in my boobies! There I said it.

I've been in bed all day, save for going to the kitchen to eat. My alters and I have to be on the same page because it feels like we are working for different things.

I keep a card inside my journal that reads this way (bear with me): I beg you...to have patience with everything unresolved in your heard and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked in rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answes, which could not be given you now, because you would not be able to live them, and the point is, to live everything, live the questions now, perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually without noticing it, live your way into the answer. ~ rainer maria rilke

I read this card at moments like this because I am totally unaware of my outside surroundings or my internal landscape. I don't know why I act the way I do or think the things I though. And I feel like a little baby in a highchair, plastic utensils in both hands, and banging on the tray table (thank you Victoria!) demanding, "We want answers now! We want answers now!" I wouldn't hate the child, just the behavior, and I need to look at us that way; we may not collectively or individually have the answers as to why we can't get our of bed, but there is a valid reason and we will "live our way into the answer."

I sound all hopefull and optimistic. Bunch of bull shit. One of the alters was really thinking about death earlier. She has the patches she needs. A half-cocked plan is formed, but we would hate for our current weight to be listed on the death certificate. So if we lose fourty pounds we might be safe. I truly don't know what I weigh. I do know the dietitian, who was supposed to call me after I e-mailed her multiple times, never followed up with me and I've written her off. It's very professional and I would rather fuck it up cross country and back than have her as dietitian. I know I needed one.

My brain is so fucking tired I couldn't figure out what to eat if I had every restaurant and grocery store at my disposal.

Fatigue. When have I not been so damn depressed and lethargic? But no one can help me out. Sad, sad, sad part is I want out. These are the moment that paralyze my breath and choke off all meaning to life. The only time I'm every really happy is when I'm starving or burning myself.

Trigger Warning
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Burning is an addictive coping mechanism. Used to be cutting for me. It would only take a little trickle of blood and I would feel relief and satisfied. Then it moved on to severing veins and leaving huge, purple scars that would garner attention between disgust and disgust. I literally had a picture that I would hand out to people asking them to keep it because the view would last longer.

Burning seems a whole new level of self harm. Cuts, depending on how hollow, can heal up quicly and aren't messy in the healing process. I'm staring at my left wrist and it's pretty messed up. How sick am I for saying that I am ashamed for all the flicks of razor blade or knife, but the flame is a badge of honor, a symbol of courage. Almost like anorexia. Not everyone can do it; it takes a certain masochistic personality to refuse food, especially when you love food.

My stomach hurts as it is and I feel depressed. Sorry to be such a downer.

Welcome to the party

I had decided not to write, and the words just weren't in me. But I can not be silent for my own sake. My heart hurts. My soul aches and I can't do a damn thing about it. I'm stressed beyond tolerance; I'm broken down inside. I don't know how much more I can take.

I've been reduced from the full day program to the half day program and I am scared out of my mind. What will happen if I'm only half present? What will I do when the craving to binge and purge is beyond my ability to resist? I wasn't ready to go half day, but it is the reality. Now I just have to deal.

I'm so impatient with myself. I want to be recovered yesterday. I can't waste any more time. I look on the Internet at recipes for foods that I want to make, but I don't make them because I will eat them and I'm not ready for that. Recovery is a long and arduous process. In five minutes I am supposed to have my evening snack. I don't want it, but I know I don't have to want it in order to eat it. It will go down just the same.

I'm resigned to do what I need to do just for this moment. I can't worry about my next meal or my next snack. Only what's right here in front of me.

There is a tremendous sadness that is aligned with my thought processes tonight. I don't know why. Maybe it's just because I know I've lived with this disorder my whole life, and pile on a dissociative disorder that complicates the eating disorder just makes it worse. Life could be so much more than I know. Miley Cyrus may not think it's about what's "waiting on the other side" but for me it is. I'm climbing and it sucks every second of the way.

I know this sounds like a pity party, so welcome! I don't mean for it to. I guess I'm just trying to think outloud on the Internet.

Thanks for letting me share.