V.I.B.

V.I.B. = Very Important Blogger

So I came home recently and found a package in the mail for me.  Now anytime it’s not a bill, junk mail, or a letter from my parole officer (jk) I am all too excited.  And my cause of excitement this day was due to this package from Clif Bar, my favorite, mostly organic, pre and post-workout fuel.

Now I would like to snow myself into thinking that I am a V.I.B. and that Clif Bar has read my blog and heard of my running endeavors. Thus being so, naturally they would want to send me their products to rate and review so I could let my massive readership know how great they are, too.  Yeah, right.  I know better.  I’m sure that one of the races or running groups to which I belong sold my information to Clif Bar, and I am one of many consumers that was mass marketed to promote their product and up their sales.  But if Clif Bar only knew how I subsist on their products, they wouldn’t have wasted their product or postage to preach to the choir about how great their products are. 

(Just a small sampling of my Clif products.)

But many of you are V.I.B’s to me, such as Ivory, Castorgirl, and Lisa.  You read my rampant ramblings, send virtual hugs when I need them, send words of encouragement for my recovery, and in general offer your support.  And for that, you make me a V.I.B. (very indebted blogger).  Many thanks to all those who read this insanity.

 

You're worth the effort. You're worth the battle.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.” ~ Oscar Wilde

“You’re worth the effort. You’re worth the battle.” Keep reading to find out who said that and why.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Needing some inspiration today after having such a bad day yesterday, I looked up the definition of hope and this is what I found:

• To wish for something with expectation of its fulfillment. (http://www.thefreedictionary.com/Hope)
• To cherish a desire with anticipation; trust (http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/hope)
• The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best. (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/hope)

Lately, even when I've been at my darkest and most desperate, I know that it doesn't have to last forever. I know that, as Julia Roberts says in Steel Magnolias, “There are still good times to be had.” And I always remind myself of what Colleen Dewhurst says in Anne of Green Gables, “Tomorrow is always fresh with no mistakes in it.” Each tomorrow can be a do over of today. And that is what I HOPED for yesterday: that today had the potential to be better.

And I can say as of this moment I haven’t struggled as much as I did yesterday. And that is for what I had hoped.

I’m still under the weather with the flu. No more fever, but my glands and throat still hurt, and whatever has invaded my body has decided to journey to my chest, causing me to wake the dead with my hacking. I’m still taking the Emergen-C and Benadryl and am impatiently waiting for the bug to run its course.

To add to the fun, I had an epidural this morning for my reoccurring back pain that I briefly mention here and here. It took the doctor several tries to get the needle in my back because I couldn’t stop coughing and sneezing. Good times.

Because of the epidural, I can’t run or work out today, not that I feel like it anyway. But being this inactive makes me feel so icky and gross. I feel very unhealthy right now, and I’m not used to that feeling. Without exercise and running, I feel psychologically dirty and unclean. In addition, I feel I’ve gained five pounds from lounging on the couch all day. Some would argue these are just mental distortions, and maybe they are, but they seem so real to me it’s extremely painful.

But I’ve had time to finish Catcher in the Rye (hope I never have to teach that to my students. The book has excellent literary devices, but I hate Holden Caufield) and started Water for Elephants.

Of special note, No More Bacon posted a blog today that really filled me with hope and positivity again. His words augmented me with motivation to know that I will get over the flu, I will run again, I will run a marathon, I will conquer my demons, I will . . . etc. He relates one of his personal struggles and how he overcame it. I suggest everyone run and read it. It made me cry, and I really wasn’t expecting that from a blog.

And with that I know I may be in the gutter right now, but his post made me want to look at the stars. . . again.

Just for tonight

Went to bed not feeling well last night. Woke up this morning feeling even worse. Fever. Sore throat. Glands hurt.

Being sick =

Which = bad body image

Which = unhealthy eating.

Which equals relapse:

I'm trying to keep this blog a positive place:

But today it's a struggle.

But there's always tomorrow:

And a chance to start over.

But for tonight, I am going to cry.

And cry.

See you in a better place tomorrow.

XOXO

Book Snob

I have one book left to read for the summer, and need some more. Now since I’m a pathetically poor college student, I’m on a tight budget. No bueno for someone who is a voracious reader and needs books to breath. So I went to a *insert shame* used book store with a bag over my head and picked up a few books.

Pictures of hollis woods. Patricia Reilly Giff. ISBN: 0-439-69239-3

Silent to the bone. E.L. Konigsburg. ISBN: 0-689-86715-8

Someone like you. Sarah Dessen. ISBN: 978-0-14-240177-4

One thing I’ve learned about myself is that I’m a book snob. I DON’T LIKE USED BOOKS. I don't like their smell, worn, tatty pages, or discolored edges. I don't like the idea of someone else's fingers touching my book. It's just not right. And I can save just as much money on Amazon.com.

I feel very passionately about his. Too passionately. I think I need a support group for people like me who can't stand used books.

"Hello, my name is Missing In Sight and I'm a book snob." "Welcome, Missing In Sight."

After I left the nasty, old, decrepit, never-to-be-seen-again used book store, I went to my university for a little running and yoga.

I did a five minute warm-up jog, 45 minutes of tempo work, and 20 minutes of the elliptical machine. My views weren’t as pretty as the trails, but here is what I stared at for about an hour.

While on the elliptical, I ditched obnoxious, bratty Holden Caulfield in Catcher in the Rye and watched Maria Sharapova win the semi-finals at Wimbledon. As she was graciously waving to the crowds

it reminded me of one thing I need to do:

Nuff said.

I topped my exercise off with some serious stretching in yoga. I love that we have the lights off in yoga and form a circle. It makes it so much more intimate and reflective.

Note to self: Nike Tempo Shorts are NOT appropriate attire for yoga class. I treated the class to a view of . . . well, you know. Embarassing!

When I got home I wasn’t feeling well. I feel like I’m coming down with a cold, so I took a nap. Guess who kept me company?

All in a days work

So what does an obsessive, compulsive runner do on her rest day without giving in to bad behaviors? She, along with her Crew, try on different perspectives and outlets to channel her running energy. So that’s what we did today. We explored our options.

The morning got off to a rocky start. We burned our bagel, spilled our beloved walnuts all over the dirty floor, ran out of almond butter *gasp*. But the day was looking up.

By 11:00 we had loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, including the dreaded silverware, folded two loads of laundry, went grocery shopping, and caught up on blogs.

We decided to try our hand at our once loved baking, so we baked a Chocolate Pudding Pie that turned out badly.

(Yes, it’s from a box. Don’t judge me.)

And made two burned pumpkin pies.

(Trust me. You don't want to see the other pie.)

While looking for our pumpkin pie spices we found an old friend.

Hi, there, you "intoxicating" Captain Morgan. (We have a date later. *wink, wink*)

We threw a little love in our day with Johnny Depp and POTC 3.

And gave our piggies some much needed TLC and paint.

And made time to love on these two ugly pound puppies.

So rest day was hard, but we made it a success with no misbehaving. All in a days work, my friends.

XOXO

1/2 Marathon Musings

*sigh* Okay. At the behest of Dietician, I am bowing out of the Atlanta marathon on October 30. When I told Dietician I had scheduled the ½ marathon for October 2 and would run the full marathon October 30, she literally laughed at me and told me I was crazy. It wasn’t the best idea to her. She said my body wouldn’t have time to recover from the ½ marathon and then get geared up for the full marathon. I disagree; I think it would only take me a couple of days to recover from the ½ and I’m very already very close to marathon mileage. But I thought maybe, just maybe, the diplomas lining her office wall might mean something, and maybe I should follow her advice.

So instead of running a ½ marathon and a full marathon in the same month, I’m signed up to race a ½ marathon on October 2 and another ½ marathon on Thanksgiving. There is a full marathon that I can race in March, and I will be better trained and experienced for it. At least that is what my recovery voice is trying to tell me.

In any case, Sundays are still my long run days. I ran 19.14 miles today at a 8:43 second pace. Why I’m running 19 miles when I have no full marathon to train for is a topic for another post. It’s excessive, I know. But in any case, my long runs are times when I think and meditate.

(Another favorite spot of mine. It's on a bridge over a golf course.)

And just like last Sunday when I compared a marathon to recovery, more similarities hit me again today.

When running today, one thing I noticed was how when I stop to refuel (eat my Gu gel or drink my Powerade), it is always so hard to get my legs running again. I stopped at mile nine to refuel and when I hit the resume button on my Garmin and started to run again, my legs weren’t having it. I even stumbled a few times before my legs obeyed my brain and got me back to my running pace.

I pondered how recovery is similar to this. When I stop in my recovery or slow down, when I miss a meal or a snack, it is so hard to get back on track. This past Spring and early Summer were prime examples for me. I started missing meals, not fueling for runs, and ignoring the advice of my treatment team. My recovery was glad because it didn’t have to work hard anymore. It could take it easy. But when I tried getting back on track and doing the things necessary for a healthy me, it was damn hard. My figurative legs wouldn’t move. I had rested in my recovery too long and it showed. But after considerable effort and lots of stumbles, I finally found my recovery legs again.

Another thing I noticed on my run today is how my pace slows down when there are no other runners around me. It’s not that I’m tired or feel I can slack off since other people can’t see me; it’s that there are no other runners to keep me motivated. When I see other people on the trail, it’s like a silent competition. I think to myself, She’s still running. Maybe I can keep going, too.

(Post-run fuel.)

(I think I was a little sweaty when I had my post-run fuel. What do you think?)

Recovery is similar. When we are by ourselves, when we cut ourselves off from other people, when we don’t have the support of a treatment team or friends, our recovery can slow down and lack the encouragement we need to keep on going. I know this very well.

For example, there is a recovery group that meets on Wednesday and Saturday where I live. I’ve noticed that when I stop attending these meetings, it’s the first sign I’m on my way to relapse. Without the support group, I lose focus. I lack encouragement, motivation, and determination to keep on going like my fellow support groupies. But when I attend my meetings, I’m filled with resolve and purpose to be active in my recovery and keep on metaphorically running for my recovery.

So don’t slow down. Don’t stop. Surround yourselves with others, on-line or in real life, who are like-minded and focused on recovery and getting better. Recovery IS a marathon. And as cheesy as it sounds, you can make it, one foot in front of the other, until you reach that finish line.

Clicks and shifts

Today something clicked in me. It was hard to obey the click. But I knew what the consequences would be if I didn’t listen to what the click was telling me.

It began last night when I decided I wanted to run early this morning. Normally my runs are around 11:00 or sometime in the afternoon at the apex of humidity. But my upcoming races are in the early morning, and I wanted to train myself to run between 7:00 and 7:30 to acclimate myself to my race runs. So to better my chances of running in the early morning, I slept in my running clothes, sans the shoes. I did everything I could to prepare myself for an early morning run.

So I got up at my normal time between 6:15 and 6:30. But I was just not awake enough to go running. At least that's what I told myself. I had a banana thinking that would give me some energy and wake me up. Foolish thinking. It’s not like a banana has caffeine.

I kept giving myself increments of time of when I would leave: I’ll leave in fifteen minutes. Okay, make that thirty minutes. I ended up falling back asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, I thought I just wouldn’t run today. If I couldn’t run when I wanted to, it was useless. It was just easier lying on the couch, sleeping, watching t.v., feeling sorry for myself that I once again couldn’t make myself run in the morning.

Silly, Missing In Sight. That’s black and white, all or nothing thinking. But I was all too complacent to give into it.

But as I lie there feeling sorry for myself, something clicked in me. I did a run through with my thoughts, predicted the outcome. I thought my actions, or rather inactions, through and tried to picture how I would feel if I didn’t get in my run. I knew I would feel depressed, would more than likely go off my meal plan, and I would feel fat. Not the best reasons in the world to exercise, but, it is what it is for now.

Then I thought it through as to how I would feel if I went running anyway, even though it wasn’t the exact time I wanted. I knew I would feel better. I knew I would be able to relax the rest of the day, read, follow my meal plan, and not harangue myself for not running two days in a row (I didn't run yesterday, which fed into my feelings of being a failure).

So it clicked in my head. I would go running anyway.

It wasn't a major shift in thinking. It didn't take away all my anxiety. It wasn’t earth shattering. It didn’t move mountains. It didn’t find the cure for cancer. But it was a little gesture toward breaking the black and white thinking that typically dominates my recovery. And to be honest, I will probably have those black and white moments again, where if my life isn’t structured just so, and I can’t follow my self-imposed rules as I set them, I will feel defeated. But just for today, I can celebrate that I didn’t give in to the negative side of myself.

If I hadn’t allowed myself to follow the click in my head, I wouldn’t have enjoyed having fro-yo with my husband (scary as hell, and ultimately not a good idea. Live and learn).

Or gone to see the dollar show with him.

Rango, by the way, was very disappointing, and you’re hearing this from someone who loves Johnny Depp.

So disband the black and white thinking. The all-or-nothing thinking. Recovery can take many forms. It may not look the way we want it, or act the way we want it, but it doesn’t mean we should abandon recovery because it doesn't behave according to our rules.

XOXO

A moment in time

I FAILED TODAY. It was EASY. No effort at all.

I’M AFRIAD THAT IS ALL THAT I AM MADE OF.

New Psychiatrist? Fail.

Disclaimer: you are about to read the ventings, histrionics, rudeness and foul language of MIS. Sensitive eyes need not apply to this information. Please scroll down for today’s gratitude. Thank you, and have a nice day.

So today I got up early (okay, 10:00) and went to see a new psychiatrist, at least I thought I was seeing a new psychiatrist.

We didn't get off to a good start. The front office gave me a freakin’ novel to fill out under the guise of paperwork. Page after page I completed. It took me an hour to fill in just a fraction of my history.

(Me filling out the damn mountain of paperwork.)

So a nurse comes and brings me back and begins to interview me. She must have seen the bewilderment on my face because she tells me once she had all my information down (isn't that what the novel was for?) she would “relay” it to the doctor and then make the recommendations regarding medication. Again, not a good start. Thirty minutes into my interview she says they don’t prescribe to and treat people like me. WTF? What kind of people would that be, I wonder to myself. People with pink streaks in their hair? People who swipe Splendas at Dunkin Donuts? People who think your hair is fucked up and from the fifties?

Apparently they, like the other two psychiatrists and nurse practitioners, don’t see people who have dissociative disorders, eating disorders, or people who have recently escaped from the loony bin. Well, in the words of the late Chris Farley, whoopty-freakin-do! Excuse the hell out of me. I didn’t realize I was so f’ed up and that I was such a safety risk that 3 out of 3 doctors couldn’t treat me. What the hell do I do now? I have been rejected by 3 doctors and 2 nurse-practitioners. *Insert sarcasm* Thanks, guys! I’m sure your patients are really lucky to have you.

In addition, after I was told they didn’t treat people like me, the bitch kept asking me questions about my history. She asked about abuse, parts, dissociative symptoms, etc. I asked her why she needed to know if they weren’t going to prescribe medication. That info is on a need-to-know basis. Dumb bitch. If you can't prescribe me medication, what the hell am I still doing in your fucking office?

So my attempt at finding a new psychiatrist was a flaming, fat, fucking fail. (My professor would love the alliteration. I digress.)

In other news, I saw Dietician last night (put me in a bad mood so I didn’t blog) and went to see Secondary Therapist today. I arrived at Secondary Therapist’s office early, so I drove around the neighborhood to kill time and found, to my delight, a Dunkin Donuts (no I didn’t swipe Splendas this time. The clerk was watching me.) So I crossed three lanes of traffic, cut a mustang off, and was the recipient of some very nasty hand gestures, but I didn’t care. I got my iced coffee fix.

(Nothing makes therapy more palatable than sipping an iced coffee while therapist tells you you’re a lost cause.)

(Finished with therapy! But out of iced coffee. Boo.)

Lastly, we miss Primary Therapist. He’s on vacay this week and we didn’t see him last week either. Not sure WHY we miss him, but we do. No wonder psychiatrists won’t treat us. We really must be sick in the head.

Today’s gratitude:

We set a new PR in our running today!

Got the letter today we made President's list for Spring semester!

Husband is continuing to improve with his ECT treatments. He even suggested seeing a movie tomorrow!

TMI

This is filed under the category of TMI, but, oh well. I’m going to share something with you I’m not proud of. Here goes:

The mess in the room is so bad, I couldn't even get in the room to take "good" pictures. And the lighting sucks, but I'm a blogger, not a professional photographer.

Recently Back in November we had a yard sale. What didn’t sell we tossed in my “daughter’s” room. Since I was working and in school full-time, my schedule didn't permit me to organize her room. The semester ended, I had more time, but I was on winter break and wanted to rest. So the room sat. And it sat. And it sat.

Until today. What is so special about today? It’s my rest day. After running over 17 miles yesterday, my legs mandated that they be given rest today. WTF? No exercise? Not good. I don’t do well when I can’t run. I was born without the gene that lets you figure out how to spend your day even when it doesn't revolve around running and food.

So in the vein of recovery and not giving into my self-destructive thoughts and behaviors when I can't workout, I stole borrowed a bookcase from birth mother and got my clean on.

Drum roll, please.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I spent my day.

The marathon of recovery

"If we did all the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves."
--Thomas Edison

This isn’t an ode to Father’s Day post. I have issues with Father’s Day. I have issues with fathers. I plain have issues.

But I digress.

As I think I’ve mentioned in other posts, I’m training for a marathon. In doing so, I complete a long run once a week where I train and add to my mileage. I will spare you the numbers, pace, speed, etc. I know many of you suffer with eating disorders, and I don’t want to trigger you. But I will say on my long runs there is ample time to reflect and think and meditate.

(When I’m in the middle of a run I don’t often stop to take pictures, but today was different. Want to see where I meditate?)

Beautiful, isn't it?

Anyway, as I was running, it occurred to me how much recovery (from anything, i.e. eating disorders, alcohol and drug addiction, OCD, BPD) is like a marathon. Recovery is not a sprint, nor is it over once you are weight restored, followed your meal plan, been self-mutilation free, or sober for X amount of days. Yes, that is an accomplishment, but recovery isn’t over at that point. That’s when the marathon of recovery BEGINS.

I was obsessively reading on-line recently that many runners train and race with injuries. (I’ve run on many aches and pains myself. I’m still waiting for the feeling to return to my legs after today’s run.) What I thought interesting about these runners was that they alter some aspect of their training to facilitate the healing of their injury. Maybe they include a few more rest days. Maybe they run their next jaunt a little slower. Maybe they do more physical therapy. But they do SOMETHING to ensure their health and their ability to continue to run.

Why should recovery be any different? We may have sustained our own injuries along the way. Some of us may be injured by abuse, poor family dynamics, relationship issues, or whatever. Why should that detract us from our ultimate goal of recovery? If anything, these “injuries” should be learning experiences that help us see what in our training we need to tweak. Just like the runner, these moments provide reflection to see what aspect of our training we need to alter so that we may continue our marathon of recovery.

Just like running, recovery also happens at different speeds. When I run a race, I make it a point to start out slow. I conserve my energy for later in the race when I’m getting weak and tired and need all the energy I can muster to complete the race. Sure, I will see people pass me in the beginning. That doesn’t mean they will run a better or more fulfilling race, because, experience has shown me, I will pass them later in the race since I’ve conserved my energy and they spent theirs in the beginning.

Recovery is the same. We may see people who pass us on the journey. It might appear that it is easier for them to follow their meal plan or to make friends or talk about painful subjects. But that doesn’t mean their marathon is more productive or they’ll reach the figurative finish line before we do. It’s been my experience that those who jump at the start of the race gun end up burning out and relapsing.

(My thoughts were so much more coherent and eloquent this morning when I was running. That’s what oxygenated blood flow and humidity will do for you.)

The point I’m laboring to make is that recovery is a marathon. We are in a rigorous, demanding, and challenging training program to lead a life free from our disease, our obsessions, and our disorders. It doesn’t happen overnight. It takes years of training to get recovery. But slow and steady wins the race. We may have to pace ourselves more than others. Take things a bit slower. But if we keep putting one foot in front of the other, we will eventually win the race.

Now go get your run on.