And then people come into our lives unexpectedly and make such an impact because we let them. Just by knowing they exist and care, we begin to seek opportunities to create an environment for change. Change stimulates motivation. What used to be for others, becomes improvement for ourselves.
I want to shrink into nothingness again. And I'm scared that nothing in me is warning, bad idea.
It's after midnight and I'm dedicating this post to announce... 24 hours purge free!!!
Over time, my mindset on being sick has evolved. For the first year of my eating disorder, I sought extreme thinness through strange eating rituals and extreme exercise. When I went to college, I lost more weight, to a dangerous and perceptible degree. I denied any problem.
As I numbed myself through the first and second semester, people commented. Are you anorexic? Why are you so skinny? I glowed.
Thn I drank. And gained about 30 pounds by the start of my second year. My family noticed and didn't shy from telling me. I hated myself and my body and I definitely didn't have an eating disorder or substance abuse issues.
Something clicked. I had to shrink again. I tried purging. Then eating less. Then running. I was back to almost underweight by the end of my 4th year of college, purging multiple times a day after consuming huge or normal portions of anything I could get my hands on and running 8-10 miles. But I am not disordered because I am not 70 pounds.
Except that bulimia is an eating disorder too. Despite the shame and embarrassment, it is dangerous and disruptive, even deadly. It took me 9 years to accept anything was medically or emotionally wrong with me. That I needed help before dropping below 100 pounds. That's what it finally took to take my disorder seriously. Bradycardia and a heart murmur.
Now that I am halfway weight restored though, it's so easy to consider myself fixed. But I still meet and exceed the criteria for bulimia, purging every day and binging more than I can admit. So how long do I continue my long standing habit of denial? I'm not anorexic so I'm not sick enough to get help.
I've been tired lately. Not the kind of tired that is remedied with a good night's sleep, the kind of tired that shows in my posture and my face and my mannerisms.
I think I use tired to numb. I float around from meeting to task to desk to school to meeting. Too busy for appointments, too tired to care.
I want to be numb. When I have something I love to keep me wanting to feel, I don't seek out the tired. It's when I have myself and work, and that's it, that I can't sit with myself without wanting to be anywhere else.
Why yes, I'm walking 1.5 miles each way to campus to teach today. The traffic on North Decatur makes it much slower to drive of course, and I'm reviewing my lecture on the way.
Why no, you haven't seen me eat anything but coffee today. I'll eat on the way! See... here's an apple.
Dark circles under the eyes? That's allergies like everyone else, certainly not starvation, bulimia, or sleepless nightmare nights.
Just justify. It works. But for how long?
for relapse.
At least I have my wits about me enough to contact my therapist and dietitian again. I had been taking a little break from treatment, other than my psychiatrist who gives me meds to mix with booze. But it's time to get back onboard.
This time last year, I was so enthusiastic about getting over these god damn disorders and now I crave their high. I found nothing in sobriety or partial recovery that compares to the feeling I have right now. A mixture of hangover and starvation and empty that makes my brain go numb, staving off the overwhelming loneliness, hopelessness, and fucking boredom.
I need a challenge or major source of stimulation or I'm going to lose it soon. Right now it's drinking to blackout with strangers who make me feel beautiful and fun, but who I don't give a dick about. That'll last me until I get the DUI dangling 2 centimeters from my fucked up head.
Fingers crossed my therapist responds to my email and takes me back...
I have been diagnosed with anorexia nervosa, bulimia nervosa, anxiety, and depression. It's so interesting, and equally devastating I suppose, that I define recovery from these demons based on a set of criteria that are appealing to me.
For example, I feel recovered on days:
1. I kill my 6-mile run.
2. I sneak in another 2-4 miles throughout the day.
3. I do not purge, because I do not binge.
4. I stick to my strictly defined food allowances that I estimate provide around 1600 calories.
5. I achieve something that resembles a good mood and, now that I consider it, bears a strong resemblance to a starvation high.
This is what happens when we choose our own rules and definitions for recovery. I won't even begin to list what happens the next day...
In the spirit of celebrating recovery, I'd like to give a shout out to my 6-month anniversary with Prozac. Our first months together have been full of surprises, mostly not good as of late, ups and downs with a strong inclination towards down, and extremely volatile, bordering on unstable. So, Prozac, consider this a break up call.
But really, while I'm notoriously quick to make excuses, I'm honestly questioning my emotional and physical wel-being after the past six months. Everything seemed to prove dramatically during the first month of treatment and even in the real world after, but I think I was too quick to attribute changes to the Prozac, instead of giving myself some credit.
Now, as I'm starting to seriously struggle, the benefits I once assumed were directly related to meds, have disappeared. Instead, I've adopted a case of crippling depression and anxiety. Mostly anxiety. I'd like to think it's just a result of 6 months of sobriety, a transient stage that soon will pass. Instead, I'm forced to face physical evidence including blood pressure high enough to qualify me for pre-hypertension, severe mood swings causing ends of precious relationships, and a complete ack of care about anything at all, including any progress I've made in eating, drinking, and exercising.
I've read several memoirs recently about young women with eating disorders exacerbated by co-occurring mental disorders like borderline personality disorder or bipolar disorder. I've also always wondered if my issues, particularly my fondness of exhausting routines, may stem from obsessive compulsive disorder. Medications management of these disorders is NOT Prozac, and I'm wondering if some of my recent symptoms could be related to misdiagnoses.
I still remember questioning my initial diagnosis of depression because while I do feel sad, lost, and hopeless sometimes, these emotions are rarely overwhelming. Instead, my physical reactions to certain situations (for example, shaking when I'm forced to face foods I'm not comfortable with or feeling my chest tighten if my schedule changes to impact my planned exercise) indicate anxiety.
Fortunately, I have an upcoming appointment with my psychiatrist (who is about my age and seems way uncomfortable around me... I don't bite dude, and definitely not you). I'm going to compile some evidence documenting my recent even further decent into madness, that may coincide with the Prozac and see what happens.
Anyone out there have any particularly good luck with meds? Please help...
I wish I never learned to purge. If that option was completely off the table, I wonder what my recovery would feel like.
Purging has (again) become the equivalent of a compulsion, a need, an overwhelming sense of I have to.
I don't have to anything.
You know what's interesting? I'm about to give a 15-minute presentation on my dissertation data to an entire conference of people. I should be really nervous and anxious, right?
Things that make me more anxious than this very important talk: I haven't run yet today, I didn't purge dinner last night even though I wish I had, and the mini banana bread slice I just ate.
What's wrong with me? I can't seem to get my priorities straight for the life of me...
I've abandoned this blog as of late and I'm trying to pinpoint the reasons why. I'd like to say it's because I'm doing wildly well, skipping through recovery and sobriety without anything to document. Instead, the opposite is happening. I'm slipping and I'm scared to get help because I was doing well. I was moving forward, gaining weight and not caring, addressing issues in my life, accepting appointments and goal as requirements. And now I'm stagnant, choosing the aspects of recovery that fit into my life and plans instead of changing myself and my thoughts to accommodate progress.
Sometimes I want to give up and start drinking, starving, binging again. I do not look like a person with an eating disorder but I sure feel like one. Why not use the excuse that I'm still purging - why not conclude, fuck it?
My mom says, "great job, Katie! We are so proud!". My dad says, "you look healthy! Substantial! Keep it up!". Neither ask why I drive alone to get ice cream after our family dinner, purging on the way. My sponsor says, "you're killing sobriety, I'm so proud". Gives me homemade cookies. No, please.
I don't know how to let these people down. I cannot bring myself to admit to my parents the $4 grand we dropped on Renfrew should be considered an expense, not an investment given my current state. I cannot bring myself to tell my sponsor how I find sobriety pretty damn easy right now because, hellllllo people... alcohol = calories. I cannot tell my closest friends that they still need to follow me around or you better believe that 2% milk chai latte and yogurt ain't staying nowhere.
It's frustrating. I've been seeking help for almost a year now and while I've mastered the art of being therapized, I don't know where to go from here. I guess the only option is opening up, becoming completely honest with the people I haven't driven away, and putting in some major work.
My mom was in town for the weekend and while it was great to see her (I hadn't since before going to rehab), a lot of issues tend to come up.
She's a compulsive exerciser like me and doesn't seem to recognize it as a problem at all. She's around 110 pounds at 5'4", but looks very underweight for her age. While she does eat, she runs 4 miles, plays hours of tennis, and takes an exercise class every day. Unfortunately, I'm afraid my parents don't get how their behavior may inflence their kids, and that it inevitably does.
Yesterday, mama didn't say anything about me not eating breakfast til 2 pm, running and then walking several miles with her. I dont know if I was testing her to see if she'd say anything or simply putting on the old competition hat and needing to always do more than her.
I hate this competitive nature. Especially now that I'm owning up to it as a possibility for why I ran 4 miles this morning and just ran 2 and am walking 3 more as soon as she left. I don't know what's wrong with me, but it's the only action I've found that reduces the horrible amount of anxiety that's built up over this weekend.
At least the view from my walk is lovely.
Sometimes my family drives me nuts, but sometimes they truly save me from myself. As I'm trying to put my life back together after all that's happened this year - from taking a medical leave from my gradute program, to treatment, to sobriety, to the recent breakup - they've been so important.
Especially my sister who is currently sharing my apartment. She keeps me honest and accountable in a way that is much more productive to me learning how to keep myself accountable. I settled into a routine with P that was completely codependent and left me worse off really.
I'm simply glad to be where I am today - laying in the grass at Piedmont Park with my sister and mom - than almost anywhere else.
Happy weekend!
Sometimes, you don't realize anything is wrong until you take a step away and acknowledge the possibility.
I will admit, it is the weekend and I've kept myself particularly busy, but I am happier than I've been in quite a while. With P, I was always sacrificing something, compromising more than I intended, and working my already overworked self to death to keep things in line. Expending enough effort for the both of us wore me the hell out and I lost myself and my sense of independence completely. Now, I'm forced to keep myself accountable and make my decisions for myself and only myself. Now, I understand just how much I'd abandoned myself.
I am looking forward to my new freedom, and taking care of myself with the same intensity I put into my relationship. One must put themselves first or else nothing else matters.
On Wednesday, Peter and I broke up. I'm not sure how I'm still sober or how long it will last, but I'm giving it my best shot.
Update: I started this post yesterday after locking my keys in my car and finding out one of my best friends and co-workers is pregnant. I felt a huge sense of failure and while I am still very sad and regretful about losing P, I feel much better today. I understand that post-breakups have their ups and downs, but I'm on the up right now and want to focus on that.
The breakup happened right after we got back from vacation. Neither of us expected it or were planning it, but as we fought most of the car ride home, I think we both realized how many underlying issues there are beneath the already volatile surface of our relationship. We both love each other and make each other happier than miserable, but there is a general incompatibility that we've known from the start. He is much more low key and happy with doing nothing while I will always want to be on the go and busy - especially in sobriety.
I want to stay friends with P because we do have a blast together and everyone loves our dynamic. I'm certainly going to let time pass before easing into a friendship though, because he hurt me pretty bad by saying he doesn't see us ever taking a next step. After about a year and a half, I'm glad he's thinking about long-term, instead of simply being happy to be with someone for companionship now.
I argued and cried so much at first, pled for forgiveness, and apologized profusely for my mood swings, stubbornness, and doubt of his feelings for me. But now, as I relish in my newfound independence, I think this is the best thing for me. I have to learn to live for myself, by myself, instead of finding one codependent relationship after another. I'm going to go steady with myself for a while.
My sister being in Atlanta has been a godsend. I'm not sure how I would have handled this without her ear to listen and her overwhelming and unwavering support. To thank her, I've put together a surprise birthday present for her 20th birthday tomorrow. It made me so happy to do something for someone I know cares about me regardless of my mood and current situation in life. Happy birthday kid sister!
I'm discovering good influences come in all shapes and sizes. While I want to maintain recovery momentum without the influence of others, I cannot trust myself and myself alone just yet.
Something that's really surprised me on this beach vacation is the impact hanging out with kids can have. My little teammates have been instrumental in getting me through this week so far and the best part is, they're so oblivious about what's going on. While the adults drink on the beach, we collect shells and string together jewelry. When I want to leave a lot of food on my dinner plate, I see an 8-year old watching me with reverence. When I want to skip breakfast, I see the plate of fresh fruit prepared by that same 8-year old, up since 7:36 am, and who am I to say no?
It's amazing how comfortable I am with my afternoon snack of homemade trail mix, hand picked with input from my girls. Of course, it's delicious, and knowing I made this with a little girl who would never expect me to be afraid of eating it, nevertheless throw it up, helps me tremendously. Considering others actually helps me.
And now for the trail mix (granola, banana chips, raisins, craisins, cashews, and walnuts) and, of course, a mug o' joe.
