IOP has been a strange experience, not at all what I expected. Yes, there were waifs and overweight people in the same room, although the bingers had their own program, so it was just Anas, Mias, and everyone in between. But people come and go in a flash – some are there for weeks, others drop in and out. Often it’s just me and one other person, or just me. Continue reading
You are a fat old woman, she says as I look at myself in the mirror. Fat and stupid and careless. You don’t deserve to eat, she tells me as my stomach rumbles. It rumbles because I purged tonight. I took my kids to dinner Continue reading
I liked my previous D. She was nice and friendly, although I found it creepy to meet in a room surrounded by photos of food and that little rubber play food that looks like a combination between vomit and bad Chinese food. Continue reading
I’m in a weird place. My depression seems to be better, and yet my anorexia seems to be getting worse. I feel lost, confused. I’m trying to envision what recovery looks like for me, and I realize that I have no idea. That’s just bizarre. I started on this path when I was 15/16 (I don’t remember exactly when or how) Continue reading
My weight has been bothering me as of late, which should not be much of a surprise. Although I came through my surgery ok, it took me really the last five weeks to fully recover, and even then I’m often tired. It’s also been the start of the academic year, my kids started a new school, and so everything for me is in turmoil. I look at my now pouchy stomach Continue reading
Oh, this is a big topic. It’s pretty much a requirement that if you write about an ED, you have to address Control. Everyone under the sun says that EDs are a response to a need for control in one area of our lives. I get it, I really do. I’ve read the books, I’ve seen the videos, I’ve heard the mantras. “Let go and let God,” or “You only lose what you cling to,” or a billion or so other quotes and phrases. I am a control freak, a perfectionist, an overachiever. I love control. I live for control. I love to track everything I do, from fitness to food to steps. I adore charts and all sorts of metrics and trend analyses.
I love the movie Mr. Mom. Yes, it’s an old movie and it’s dated, but it’s fun and harmless. There’s a great scene where the dad accidentally vacuums up the little boy’s blankie, which he calls his woobie. All sorts of things happen to his woobie – it gets smaller and smaller until finally the boy and his dad agree it’s time to let his woobie go. Sort of like in Peanuts with Linus’s blanket, but Linus is much tougher.
Through the work that I’ve done with T & D, I’ve given up a lot of woobies. I’ve stopped purging (mostly), I’ve tried to stop self-harming (eh), I’m trying not to eviscerate myself whenever I make a mistake, and I’ve started talking about my ED and my depression with a select few friends and my husband. With my team’s encouragement, I also gave up tracking my food and my online membership with Weight Watchers. I also gave up counting and calculating WW points.