Strength in Numbers

There is no reason for me to not be writing. Since I have gotten “home” (which is in “” because although its where I came from its a very new home) I would like to chalk up the silence to just being very busy, but that would not be completely true. I am also compelled to say that everything is just normal, the average day-to-day, blah blah etcetera…but this is also not the case.

One of the many "Recovery Rabbits"

Sure I am busy, working 6 days a week for the time being and moving/unpacking/getting settled in the few hours I am not at the tattoo shop, but I’m really not too busy to write when it comes down to it. In my chosen “down” time I have been furiously stitching my sock rabbits for the annual Christmas donation to UVA Hospital’s Pediatric Ward but I am pretty sure I will not have quite as many as last year. Regardless of amount its a good thing though – on many fronts.  More on the Rabbit front in the future.

Being back at work has been nice. Being able to tattoo without my muscle-lacking wrist getting sore, being able to stay awake throughout the day, being able to actually think about and focus on the art and not the bottomless pit of hunger that occupied so much of me for so long. I have cause to my actions now. There is logical reason behind what I do and, most of all, I feel sane in my decisions. I may have gained some weight but its a small price to pay for happiness and sanity. This process shows more every day that there is strength in numbers in more ways than one.

Speaking of which I also have a roommate sharing the lovely new apartment with me. Benji moved cross-country about 3 weeks ago from his home in Las Vegas for a new start. He drove for 3 days with his Dad, got a job within the first week of being here, and has been adjusting to the change in lifestyle nicely. We live well together. The 2 bedroom apartment fits us perfectly and, although we don’t rely on each other for recovery, we definitely help each other out.

Benji and I at the 9-11 "postcard" memorial on Staten Island

This shift in my life that has taken place over the last 5 months, from being in NY to the major differences in my circumstances upon the return home, would have been indescribably more difficult without Benji making his own recovery-induced changes. Every day the sense of how lucky I am that he included me in this part of his life is renewed. Sure, we both still have our own hang-ups and trials, but having a friend that knows exactly what you are going through is beyond amazing.  This is just another way that recovery has proven again that there is strength in numbers.

 

Be Tough to Beat the Tough

I will start with saying that every day is a battle. Don’t get me wrong though – its not necessarily a bad thing. It has to be tough in order to truly be successful. All of this food stuff, staying on track with meal plans, getting in calorie counts, all the hard work in New York, it doesn’t end when you leave the building or even the state. The institute was a sanctuary that only bestowed its best benefits through the time served in the trenches. It took effort to break old habits but, being in an entirely different situation, the edge of impossibility was sanded down. It took less time than I would have thought to form a new routine that incorporated a new calorie and meal regimen befitting of the hospital setting.

Here now, out and about, trying to fit my new way of seeing things into the old setting that I came from, is proving the difficulty that the professionals have been claiming. I have been doing well so far but I feel in my heart that I could be doing better…doing more. I know its a matter of baby steps and I have by no means relapsed in any sense of the word but just moving forward and pushing beyond claims so my of my being on the very minute daily breakdown levels. Each hour, each minute, I have to plan the next move while simultaneously facing the eating disorders ever-present voice of illogical reasoning. It does try to sneak its way in consistently.

I want to look forward to a life without its voice and yearning for influence but I can’t foresee that happening at the moment. I’m not at all trying to sound pessimistic about it all…just realistic. There may come a day when my head it quiet and food can be entirely enjoyed without a din of rebuttal but I know that day is not today. Being so conscious of that fact actually makes me proud at this point. I’m choosing to face these demons head on. I know its a tough situation but I have faith that I can be just as tough in my own personal food fight.

 

 

Gloves on - its another day in the ring!!!

 

 

Not an End but a Beginning

I know its been a little while since I have written and I don’t like that fact. Circumstances out of my control arose as my life, once again, readjusted itself. Sometimes it seems like a constant state of fluctuation, these days, months, years that we live. Sometimes for the better and sometimes with a hope for ease in the future, but always for the purpose of carrying on.

I have left New York. The return trip back to Virginia was reminiscent of the trip north back in July. My bags, despite having shipped 2 boxes of things I acquired in the city back early, were just as cumbersome and heavy as ever and I occupied my time on the train much the same way as before with writing and audio-books. My Mom picked me up from the station near her house and we made our way back to her place through the dark, still night.

Things are different though. I feel like my journey has quite a stretch to go from here. I am not returning to the situation I had expected when I first left for treatment. There is a reason I am staying this first night with my mom instead of driving back to the house I share with my husband. There is a melancholy sadness surrounding that situation combined with an extreme hope for things to come. I don’t know how much more I can say right now but I have decided to keep the blog up as my recovery and my life continue to unfold.

I’m not exactly sure where all of this will take me but I know the road will be beautiful in all the possibilities that line its way.

Naked

With CRT’s 4-week criteria having run its course I am now just over a week into the second of the two 12-session therapy studies. Exposure Therapy lays out everything that you dont want to touch. Your fears are just there – naked – and you are expected to stand them down. To put it lightly its hard work. To get a little more in-depth with description its both exhilarating and terrifying, anxiety-provoking and stress-reducing, disorder-revealing and rationality-impelling all rolled into a plate of pancakes. With syrup and margarine the stack of three buttermilk griddle drool-enticers sat in front of me on a clean white plate at breakfast this morning.

Dr. Cristopane spread out her notes on the table across from me as we waited for the food to arrive. “What would you say your anxiety level is right now?” she asks in all seriousness. Most of the time I don’t know. I have a SUDS (subjective units of distress scale) list of things I associate with different levels of anxiety in front of me for help but its still tricky. I will generally either do something or I won’t and I very rarely exhibit outward expressions of anxiety. I tell her that I’m probably a 7. To me that is the equivalent of being on 42nd street in Manhattan with crowds, having an argument with a friend, or getting called into team meeting on the unit. My list is actually more like a level of difficulty in making the choice to do something sort of scale. Once I have decided on a course of action the actual movement it consists of isn’t so hard.

As I alternately munched on my pancakes and sipped the iced apple juice to my right Dr. Cristopane continued to ask how I was feeling and discuss the various resistances and disturbances of demeanor that came up throughout the meal. The pancake breakfast was a level 8 on my pre-built hierarchy of fear foods. In general my hierarchy primarily consists of carb-based items. For some reason they seem to be the things that I not only like the most, bagels, muffins, pastas, pancakes, etc, but also the main thing I have cut out of my diet through the eating disorder. Its hard enough for me to consume one carb component at a meal and two is virtually unthinkable when I’m eating out by myself. It was originally VERY difficult to admit that I even had issues with those foods to Dr. Cristopane because I knew that I would be faced with them if I did. I am here for a reason though, and, if I can’t come head to head with these things within these walls then I know I will have that much more of a hard time once I get home. If I don’t before then I don’t know if I ever will.

I mopped up a bit more syrup with the last bite of golden-brown goodness and smiled. Tasty, filling, and satisfying in more ways than one. The meal took effort but it was entirely worth it. Exposure is very much a roller-coaster. As Lia says: “If how helpful it is is measured by how shitty it is then it’s extremely helpful.”

Cheers to that!

Float On

The days have just been rolling along lately. It seems that they go faster and faster and by the time I look back a whole week has turned its page. I have now passed the three-month mark, which is also the original time span that I told work I would be away,  and am now counting down. Nine days left at this point. I bought my train ticket today for October 29th to return home. I’m trying my best to not let the sadness of departure trickle through my cracks but it gets harder with each sunset.

Right now I am unbelievably inclined to start rambling on about how we go through life and some things happen, other things change, we both meet and lose people, etc…but I think I will spare us all. Its not like any of us are unaware of all of that anyways. For me, however, the main idea behind that enlightenment is a great thing to be reminded of every so often. Yes, I have met and said goodbye to people that have helped me through such a tough time in my life, and I have experienced some things that would have never crossed my mind even 5 years ago, but I wouldn’t let go of any of it for any price named.

This is my life and, like all the rest of my past, I know full well that I wouldn’t be who I am today without even the smallest part of what makes that ongoing quilt. I do not regret anything I have been through yet and I can’t foresee anything of that nature in the future.

There any a lot of changes that I have felt recently within myself. Changes about the way I feel about different things and people, about how I view and approach certain situations. Even changes in strength, both mental and physical. There are about a million more I could list but it would put me in front of this computer screen all night. All I can really sum it up as is that I’m going to continue to float through it all. I will float along whichever tide chooses to take me and do my best to make the most of it.

I will float on.

Raw

A new darkness slips behind my eyes into the void of fog that has planted itself in my head. It settles, steady, rising and falling in breath and waiting. Just waiting. I breathe harder before choking. Its caught in my throat. It sits there keeping me, holding me in the moment, refusing to let me carry on with the life that will only let this moment pass through a continued rhythm.

There is an intensity that I am supposed to be feeling and I wont be released until I accept that fact. The fragile fix-it job that so tenderly held what was left of my innocence together has crumbled through the actions of my own hand and now I am forced to live with it.

There is no end to this. Not this one. Not this time.

As things change so do I and the darkness    releases an unexpected calm that I don’t know what to do with. The scream thats building up inside me, the part that needs so badly to be crumbled, just can’t find a footing for launch.

I think I might be taking my life back.

Emotions can be stronger than words and not always easily expressed. They don’t always make sense and they sometimes can’t be identified. They can save us as we lose ourselves in them and they can cause irreplaceable emptiness at the same time as they fill us with light. At the same time as they fill us with life. They are the essence that makes up the give and take of being alive and we ALL have them.

It can be tempting, even easy, to try and box them up but the gilded ribbon tying that box shut will eventually rot. They have to be dealt with sooner or later. To be here is almost like an awakening. Sometimes I am so flooded with the rising tied of emotions that it can feel like a physical drowning. To go though this is at the same time overwhelmingly consuming and energy reaping.

It takes guts to keep this kind of work up and I commend each and every girl here for taking on the trial of a lifetime. When we work we work do it with everything we have and we entirely deserve the outcome.

Numbers Don’t Count

There is proof, again, that weight is just another number. What it comes down to is the balancing out of how we really feel within ourselves. That doesn’t mean we have to always feel good and it doesn’t mean that we have to always like what we see in the mirror. All it means is that we can’t let our self-images revolve around a couple of little digits. The value we need to find is one that cannot be defined in numbers. They, in reality, are obsolete and the last few days have really highlighted that fact for me.

Ever since I reached my 90%, and eliminated the 2 Ensure Pluses, I have stuck relatively close to that number. Some days I’ll go up a quarter to a half a pound only to find that the next time I am weighed I have lost it again. Overall I have been more comfortable in my body as of late since I got here in July. This past Wednesday, however, added a little more perspective. When you have reached your 90% but then drop below it you have to be under it two consecutive weight days in order to catch any consequences. On this last Monday I checked in at a half a pound above the magic 90 which has been normal for me recently. Wednesday, just two days later, neither the nurse weighing me nor I could believe our eyes when I stepped on the scale – I had apparently lost 5 whole pounds!

I have no idea how that happened and, although I’m generally in tune to my body enough to be able to feel if I have lost or gained, I felt the same as I had on Monday. We blinked at the scale, blinked at each other, I got off, and we tried again just in case it was a fluke, but wound up with the same result. It was written in the book and I signed my name next to it as usual to show that we both saw the same thing on the scale and then I went on to worry about whether or not my passes would be revoked due to the loss. Thankfully, since that was only the first time, nothing was affected, but I was warned that if on Friday it happened again I would not be able to use the passes I had written up for the weekend. Not only that but both the Ensures would be added back into my schedule.

Now, this weekend is the only weekend out of my whole stay here that I have a visitor. My mom was able to come up the coast from Virginia for two nights and we had lots of plan for the short time she would be here. It would be a real shame if, for any reason, I wasn’t able to leave the center.

I was anxious when I got up on Friday – fuzzy with anticipation. It turned out though that I actually had nothing to worry about. Just as I had inexplicably lost the 5 pounds two days earlier, I managed to gain that plus another 1 and 1/2 back. Now, through all this neither my diet nor my activity level has changed in any way that could be described as more than minor, and yet the scale seems to have a mind of its own. For as surprised as I was, yet again, at the numbers I was even more surprised at how comfortable I felt in my skin even knowing the amounts. Just as I hadn’t felt any different the day that I had lost weight, I didn’t feel any different this day that it jumped either.

So, in the end, I got to keep all my weekend passes. I really don’t fee like I have anything to complain about through all this. I just goes to show that the numbers don’t have to make sense. They don’t have to rule your life or even just ruin your day unless you let them. Today is Saturday and I feel just as good today as I have the whole rest of the week…and I thnk thats good enough to rely on.

Spare Me!

Today we bowl! Our group of  10 that included both recreation directors, Talia and Carly, all piled into the van with the non-existent shocks and headed out to Queens. The alley was small and more crowded than I would have expected for 11 am on a Tuesday but we got 2 lanes and settled right in. Amongst the sorting out of shoes and registering of names we all found ourselves in a horseshoe around the facilities only snack machine. A seemingly strange place for a bunch of eating-disordered patients to convene, but yet there we were ogling the goodies. We were actually owning up to our true likes and dislikes while letting the caged sweets run away with our imaginations to new horizons. A passer-by would have thought that none of us had ever seen a contraption such as this before.

Back at the lanes we divided into two teams of five and begin the mass shop-swap. Each in turn, with constant support and cheerleading with each roll of the ball, we played for about 20 minutes before breaking for lunch. We took plastic seats around a few of the small tables that littered the main floor area and let loose a torrent of white paper bag meals. We unpack like kids in a school cafeteria to inspect the loot.

General consensus amongst the group was that the 900 calorie lunch guideline had definitely failed to be met. Each of us had about 2 ounces of turkey on wheat bread with no cheese or condiments. Other than that there was 4 ounces of juice, a small apple, and a bag of sunchips. Mostly we just shrugged, ate, and went back to bowling after disposing of the remains. It was common knowledge that if any of us wanted more we could drop some money at the alley’s little cafe. Some opted for snacks, some for drinks, but it wasn’t until Elise came back with a cup of coffee that we all knew what we wanted.

The single cup was worth the $1.75 price on such a damp and chilly day right up until Talia and Carly realized that artificial sweeteners were in use. By the time they got over to the counter most of us had dressed our drinks and returned to the lanes. only myself and Molly remained at the prep station. That was when we remembered what we were in reality – essentially a bunch of psych patients on a field trip from the hospital. Its a little disheartening to be having a great time out with friends just to later be reminded that we are actually being baby-sat.

With all the ‘tsk’ of an elder to an out-of-line child Carly informed me that sweeteners were not permitted. I tried to explain that we were not only off the unit and spending our own money but that others had already done it without getting scolded. She told me that, while she hadn’t gotten to them in time, Molly and I were not allowed to follow in their footsteps. When I am treated like a child, instead of the adult that I am, first instinct is to act like one and rebel. I promptly told her that if that were the case then I just didn’t want coffee and dropped the entire cup in the garbage.

I understand how this looks and, in the past, a situation like this would have let in a cloud of grumpiness that would likely last the remainder of the day. This time it didn’t though. I didn’t realize the difference until we were headed back to headquarters in the old rickety van. Thats the point of all this though – The amazement at my subconscious dropping of a grudge. After the incident we went back to enjoying the game and generally having a good time. It may take baby steps but its just more proof of how things are changing.

 

On All Accounts

There is something to be said for going out to eat by yourself. It is one of the hardest things I’ve had to do yet. Its the test of accountability taken to the height of the eating disorder. Sure, on our passes we write down meal plans, where exactly we will go and what dish we will be consuming, but that doesn’t mean that the staff will know if we actually did it or not. To go out on a pass meal with someone is to work with that person and keep each other in check with the agenda. Without that it is almost unbelievably easy to find yourself with your butt in the dirt and the wagon rolling away without you.

On the unit my eating disorder knows full well that it can find no balance. I checked it at the door when I entered this treatment center only two short months ago. Unfortunately, each time I go out though, its still right there waiting and wanting to know where we are off to today. So I go, trying to ignore it, trying to leave it behind, hoping that it will realize that its really just not wanted and I have had success with that many times now. Most of those times though have been when out with other people.

So far I have done two meals out completely by myself. The first of them wasn’t a total disaster per se, I just came out of it relatively disheartened. The main point was that I should have followed the plan I had written. Instead I got out there and got overwhelmed, second-guessing the original choices I had made, and just had a lot of trouble coming to a decision. It was a frustrating venture but a learning experience at the same time. My mini-shmorgashboard included an egg salad sandwich with tomato on wheat, a bag of sea-salt multi-grain chips, a banana, and a triple berry yogurt muffin with a water and a soda.

I wound up eating about half of each item and calling it lunch. Its hard because we are supposed to get about 900 calories per meal but its gets really difficult to estimate the amounts for items without labels. I know its not supposed to be a strict science but in the beginning nerves get wracked because we haven’t yet learned the flexibility, intuitive eating, and general friendliness of food that should be the end result of all this.

Today was dinner. It was a  dark, rain-soaked, two-block walk to Reme’s up the street. This was the first time I had been there and the little restaurant with the red awning was the exact opposite of its foretold crowdedness. It could have been the dreary weather or the early meal time but, whatever the reason, I had my pick of tables and chose a booth in the corner. The pass meal was written for a Hawaiian ham steak with sides but the price on the menu was a good $3 over what the unit menu said so the plan changed. I wound up getting a hot open brisket sandwich with fries and a dish of green beans. Not so keen on the sandwich bread I ate all the meat and beans. I gave the fries a fair shot too but they were very much lacking in the flavor department, even with catsup, so I gave up.

Out int the rain again I rounded the corner to University Deli for a dessert. It had to be enough to make up for the uneaten fries. I stood in the little carry-out eatery deliberating over the sweets until I was uncomfortable with my own actions. In frustration I made a grab for whatever and wandered back to the atrium with my goodies. I have to say that, although delayed, my final decision was a pleasing one. I munched down a good-sized chocolate chip cookie and half a peanut butter Twix which turned out to be just as amazing as I had dreamed each time I ogled it at the store.

All in all the practice of a second time wasn’t perfect but it was just the tiniest bit easier. I’m learning to be accountable to myself. It does help to have someone there with me but, in life, thats not going to be the case all the time. I realize that the harder something is the more I need to do it. Its taking on the challenge thats key and thats the whole reason I’m here.

Do Not Cross

There is this thing called the “Buffer Zone” that has infiltrated the morale of the unit. The phrase gets tossed around casually, almost with and air of laughter, but its not what it seems. In actuality that one combination of two little words holds more weight (literally and figuratively) than one would ever deem possible upon first hearing them.

The term “Buffer Zone” can make or break you if you let it. What it refers to is the 4 pound difference between when you hit your 90% and when the team comes to the group decision to start reducing the 3,000 calorie daily intake. At this point the Ensures are already gone. Out of the two prescribed per diem they take the first off the schedule when you get to your 90% the second time, the same day they grace you with the holy passes, and the second Ensure goes the following weight day. All of this, the Ensures, the buffer zone, passes; it all pertains to the most important stage of the recovery process – the weight maintenance phase.

My problem with the buffer zone is that people here seem to give it an immense amount of power over them. Its a cause for over-analysis with eventual freak out potential. We all feel at least a minute amount of hesitance as we approach our 90%s because its the universal do not cross line for gaining here. In truth though, what so many people often fail to recognize, is that even at our 90% we are still not 100%. We are still considered underweight according to the standards set by our heights and ages. Even within the 4 pound buffer zone, above our 90%s, we are still not at our ideal body weights yet, in many people’s minds, it seems to become a glass ceiling. Elle was one such thinker. There were more than a few weight days before her final departure that prompted the morning to begin in tears. I know that its hard to see the scale numbers rise. I’m not at all trying to say its easy, even for me. Its just putting that name, that label, to it turns it into a boundary. Would it really be that bad to go above the buffer though? If any of us leave here believing that we have limits to our recovery process we are just going to damage our chances for success.

My view of it all is that I remember, very clearly, that only a handful of years ago I was right below the middle of my normal weight range and I felt really good about myself. I was 123, a good 10 pounds above my 90, and I was happy. Sure I had problems but they weren’t about my looks. It was only later, when I realized I couldn’t control some of my problems, that insecurity translated itself into an eating disorder. I guess what I’m saying is that I just don’t want to go there. Its for my own safety. If my mind lets the standard get set to a lower bar I won’t get through this.

Self protection is a must right now.