A Helluva Year

I’ve been thinking about this blog, and thanks to Apple Keychain, I still had my login info (one must be diligent about not reusing passwords). There’s been much of my life that has changed, and much that is still the same.

I don’t count triscuits anymore. I eat ice cream on occasion, and even my kids’ sugary cereals. But this list of foods I cannot eat is still long and absurd, like non-diet soda, cream sauces, full-fat yogurt, most pasta, cheesecake, and others. I try not to think of that list. I try not to count points or calories. Instead I give myself points like I gave my kids when they were young. Get up out of bed – 1 point. Get dressed, brush teeth, put dirty laundry in the hamper, make bed – each of those are 1 point. Have breakfast (anything): 5 points. Force myself to eat lunch: 5 points. Eat anything other than a Lean Cuisine for lunch: 1 point. And so on. At middle age, I have to bribe myself to eat. Granted, I don’t total my points, it’s more like getting a gold star in Kindergarten.

Ana and Mia never leave, they just wait in the back seat for something to hit, and then they come forward and show “Aha! Told you you couldn’t do it! Now can we go have fun?” So when Covid hit just as my gallbladder threatened to explode (I do not joke about such things), Ana and Mia really wanted to come over and quarantine with me, my husband, my kids, and my dog.

Thankfully my psychologist and psychiatrist Zoom, and even now I don’t think I’ll go back to in-person therapy. Meeting virtually gives me no excuse to be late, to skip a week, etc. My therapist is ballsy and knows me well enough that she doesn’t have to see my wringing my hands or pinching my palms to know that I’m self-harming.

I’ve been reading some wonderful works that people have written about Covid as we begin to emerge from the pandemic. Full disclosure: I and my entire immediate family are fully vax’d, I think it’s absurd that the vaccine and masking became political and I chose to make them apolitical for me. It’s very simple. I dally with a deadly disease – the deadliest psychological illness out there – on a daily basis. My body does not respond to anything well. When I had my gallbladder surgery, they wanted to admit me afterward for complications but for Covid. When I change meds, it takes twice as long to adjust. Just as I’ve felt that my body betrayed me by having big thighs and wanting food, I now feel that my body betrays me when I take days to recover from visiting with extended family, or from going on a long-ish drive.

So for me, balancing the risk/reward of Covid vs. the vaccine is a no-brainer. I get that everyone is different and I’m not here to preach about the vaccine. But as I write, I am writing from someone who feels very safe because she and her kids and husband and elderly parent-in-law are vaccinated.

As I begin to socialize, to hug people, to visit instead of FaceTime, to not have to mask up (though I keep one with me)… it’s starting to hit me like PTSD what we’ve been through. We’ve been through a tremendous trauma, and somehow, I managed to do it while avoiding relapse. Second full disclosure: I can’t say the same for self-harm.

My depression has been horrid the last several months, I struggle to complete the most basic of tasks and to get through the day. My sponsor told me back in March that she couldn’t work the Twelve Steps with me for the time being because my depression was so acute, I had to get help before we could continue to dig through my past. I left my toxic job just before Covid (BC), hired a career coach, networked, applied, interviewed less than a week after my surgery!, had a verbal offer….which was then pulled a week later with all new positions because of – yup – Covid.

So to sum up – still anorexic but fighting it, still dealing with body dysmorphia and self-harming, as well as chronic headaches/migraines and neuropathy from the car accident I was in a few years ago. Still lost, but modestly hopeful. Older, but definitely not wiser. Mired in a major depressive episode that is at least several different posts. And writing. Blogging. Starting eventually a freelance writing & advising business as well as writing fiction. Still trying to keep my friends Ana and Mia from the rest of my life though not always successful at it. Still hoping tomorrow will be better. Still here.

I hope you are still here, or you are stumbling upon my blog. Either way, I will still be writing about recovery, growing older, parenting (and spousing – is that a word?), and living with chronic physical and psychological illnesses. And though it is hard for my addled mind to focus, I will try not to ramble. Emphasis on “try.”

It’s been a long & winding road…

I stopped blogging awhile ago. I’m not sure why – just time had passed, I was busy, I was working on other things, and I was trying to write my blogs in my journal. But the issue is, so much of my recovery history is here. It’s here because I wanted to be public in a non-public way. I wanted my experience and pain to help even just one person. I wanted this disease to mean something.

To catch up – I’m older, duh, but not wiser. After a disastrous episode on Abilify where I gained 20 pounds in a month (and no, I’m not exaggerating), I was able to lose 10 but the last 10 have hung around. So I’m 10-15 over where my set point weight was. To look at it another way, I’m only 8 pounds less than I was when I started Weight Watchers because I didn’t fit in size 10 pants with Spanx. I’m not a 10 – still a 6 (I miss 2 & 4 but not 0), but shapewear when I’m not in jeans is my friend. I have a belly pooch I cannot lose, but my breasts look decent, and I think my face looks okay, but not as good as it did when I was at my old set point.

I am also “sober” since June 6, 2015 (my last purge) with AA. Nope, not an alcoholic, but a self-described anorexic/addict, my addiction being compulsive behaviors (eating, exercising, self-harm, self-abuse, and many different types of avoidance from running errands to calling people to video games, TV, and even reading). Addicted to reading? No. Addicted to avoiding. Addicted to hurting myself. Addicted to hating myself. Because I’m not addicted to alcohol, I only attend open meetings. Did you know that anyone can attend open meetings? And that each meeting is very different? I have a great and supportive home group that keeps me going. And one of the things I’ve learned is that when I don’t think I need a meeting, or I’m tired, or I don’t want to go = I need to go to a meeting. Even a crappy meeting is better than no meeting at all.

While I’m sober, I am not fully sober but my new sponsor says that’s ok. It’s ok because she gets it, as an anorexic/bulimic, depressive, alcoholic, drug addict, self-harmer. And I think I have issues! She lost so much because of her compulsions, but then again, so have I. I still self-harm, restrict, hate my body, etc. but I don’t purge, and that’s something.

I’m still married, although my husband is currently checked out of our marriage (i.e. we rarely talk about anything non-transactional, sex is rare if ever, and he’s asleep before I come to bed, and gone before I wake). I’m cutting him slack right now since MIL had a mental breakdown, complete with hallucinations and delirium, this past week. Still I miss him, and with feeling fat and hideous, I’ve been shopping around and flirting with men. I’m not sure I could bring myself to meet someone, let alone screw them, but I think about it. I really do.

I see my shrink once a week mostly because I can’t afford twice a week, and my nutritionist once a month, because she really doesn’t help me much but my insurance pays for it. She helps me come up with ideas to eat but I’m not on an eating plan. I just don’t skip meals. I skimp all of the time, especially as of late, because I am so disgusted with my body and my weight.

My work contract is up for renewal and I’m freaking out and avoiding. My dad is still dying, between his stage 4 melanoma and advanced dementia. My sibs are pretty much checked out of the whole dad-thing, but they think they aren’t. I’m behind on everything, am avoiding doing work right now, yadda yadda.

The hardest thing right now is that I was in a car accident three weeks ago and hurt my neck, shoulders, spine, and right arm even though it was pretty low-speed (I was rear-ended). So I have doctor’s visits, orthopedists, physical therapy, and constant pain. CONSTANT pain. I’m not supposed to lift, exercise, do yoga, walk the dog (he pulls and weighs 90 pounds), drive more than 20 mi… really do anything except be. By the end of the day I am in so much pain I have no choice but to take a vicodin, but I try to avoid that as much as possible. Being numb is not a good thing for me.

And of course, not exercising is aggravating my anorexia. And yet I dismiss my disease because I feel fat and am nowhere near a dangerous weight. My depression is – eh. I’m now on so many uppers it’s bizarre. I’ll do another post on the meds that I take and why – it’s hilarious.

I doubt I still have my followers, but if you are there, or you read this, please leave a little comment. This world is too scary and overwhelming to be in it alone.

Now that I’m a post-grad…

I “graduated” IOP two weeks ago. I didn’t realize it was such a big deal (very few people graduate – they either move down, or move out/quit). There was a rock ceremony which sounds silly but it was very humbling, hearing people I thought I barely knew say wonderful things about me. Afterwards, I felt like celebrating, only I didn’t know who would understand why I’d want to celebrate. So I drove home, stopping for a hot fudge 

The evils of disownership

My husband came downstairs after going to be to show me something. His brother was renting his family’s beach house. Correction – his brother was renting his beach house. Somewhere in the mix of all of the things my hubby and I have done to fail my mother-in-law,

Twisted in the weeds

I haven’t posted in quite awhile. I’ve thought about it, but I’m really having a hard time of late, and keeping a sane train of thought is a struggle. A few months ago, I thought I was doing pretty well. I wasn’t purging (much), I was eating (fairly) normally, I had a sponsor, went to EDA calls, and was working the steps. I even found a new nutritionist who specializes in ED. I stopped tracking (and deleted MyFitnessPal from my phone) and was considering tossing my scale.

Humor and recovery

I’ve always been a serious person. I had fun – I remember laughing and goofing off as a kid, even in college. But somewhere along the lines I decided not only is it my job to tell myself what I should and shouldn’t eat, I also decided what feelings I should and shouldn’t have. Categorizing food as good and bad translated into categorizing emotions and feelings and experiences as good and bad. Because of that, I’ve missed out on life.

Evicting my inner critic

I haven’t been posting in quite awhile because I’ve been afraid to come back here. I started this blog out of desperation and loneliness, out of a desire to connect with others like me. It’s embarrassing to be 40+ years old and battling an eating disorder. We watch the stupid after school specials and either it’s a young girl who dieted too much and became obsessively anorexic, or a competitive athlete trying to shed a few pounds who became bulimic. But I’m not 16, I’m not a gymnast, and I don’t eat a single carrot stick with my girlfriends. 

My inner child, my core, me?

So on EDA everyone [ok, not everyone, but a lot of people] talk about their inner child and I’ve been thinking it’s a bunch of hooey. But T has been saying I need to find calm in my life and it has to come from inside of me, that there is a calmness and a core that I need to find. I’m not into metaphysical stuff – I’m a professor for pete’s sake – but it’s odd that everyone around me is essentially saying the same thing.
And I know I need work. GOD I need work. I can’t do a single thing without becoming completely overwhelmed. So last night,

Eating Disorders Anonymous – First Meetings

I’ve been frustrated that so much of the information about ED recovery out there seems to be targeted to teenaged girls. There are a billion misconceptions about ED that someday I’d like to correct, but that day isn’t today. Part of ED is the shame, guilt, and secrecy. We know what we do isn’t right or healthy, but we’re afraid of admitting we have a problem because we don’t want to be judged. We don’t want anyone to see we are less than perfect, and most of all, we don’t want anyone to know how much we hate ourselves.

Is someone in awe of you?

I was talking with my husband the other night, and I told him how much I am in awe of our children. It isn’t what they do – or what they can do – it’s who they are. They are good kids. Really good. DS1 is so bright he scares me, he furrows his brow when he reads, and he makes breakfast in bed for people just because. DS2 went up to a teammate of DS1’s and hugged him after their team lost in the playoffs. He never leaves me without a giant hug and a kiss, and he is unashamed at being nutty and daring and funny and just himself. He prays for strangers.

My kids play Jingle Bells together before school. They love life so much, not just their lives but life in general. Everything is shiny and new and when I try to pull myself out of the fog of “and how am I going to screw them up” I can just enjoy, for the moment, two independent lives who just love living.