Vocal Censorship

“She almost looks normal, doesn’t she?” Hank, Diane’s husband didn’t even try to keep his voice down as he addressed the oldest of their 6 children. The boy nodded slightly, with a hint of embarrassment in his cheeks, as his father continued to voice his train of thought. “She doesn’t look so…Well, she’s got some meat on her bones anyways; some umph to her face.” He turned to look at his object of description. Diane was across the room getting her evening vital signs done in the little red chair next to the nurse’s station. Her eyes didn’t reflect whether she had heard her husbands comments or not and, although I don’t think he particularly meant for her to catch wind of them, He hadn’t censored his observations either.

Open mouth - insert foot...

So many people it seems just don’t know what to say to a person recovering from and eating disorder. Then again there is no right thing to say because even the basic “you look so healthy” can be taken the wrong way. I don’t know when exactly the term “healthy” started translating into “fat” but, somewhere along the line it morphed in our brains to take the shape pf something undesirable. Our friends and family just want to support us, and they really do mean well, but when one of them jokes over the phone “So, you getting chubby?” somehow the laughter is lost.

Sometimes we are able to brush it off. Sometimes it can take a little while and some contemplative processing of the situation. Sometimes, too, it just depends on where our heads are at in order to evoke some positivity from the compliment. It is inevitable though; these comments will happen. Just the other day a man, talking to one of the patients out in the fresh air park, patted his own tummy and exclaimed with a grin: “They’re fattening you up, huh?” He was kidding around. He didn’t know the reason she was here at the institute. A comment like that though could be a potential major setback.

Amy, who has recently reached her 90%, went shopping with her mom and sister the other day. Amidst the racks of colorful fall clothes and warmer winter jackets they chatted ideally. Amy doesn’t remember what the conversation was about though. What stands out for her was her sister exclaiming: “Hey! You have your butt back!” and her mom following that up with: “That reminds me; we should get you a few new bras too, now that you can fit into one. Amy doesn’t like that those were the words for the day that stood out for her almost as much as she doesn’t like that they were said in the first place. Its so easy to just wish that everyone else had a little more sensitivity to the situation and vocal censorship while simultaneously wishing we ourselves could grow a thicker skin. Even that common phrase though translates differently for us. Thinking of growing a thicker skin denotes the gaining of something in our minds and gaining always translates to a weight issue.

All of this is why longer treatment for an eating disorder, to be in recovery, doesn’t mean just putting on the bodyweight you lost. In fact, most people say thats the easy part. The real challenge comes after the physical gain; its about really changing the way we think. Restructuring a mind is a difficult thing in a healthy person, let alone one who, at a diminished weight has lost brain matter and the ability to focus through starvation. There is pretty much no sense in trying to break through in therapy until the person has put on enough weight to really start thinking clearly.

All of this is why I’m here though. They are constantly trying to find new and improved ways in which to fight anorexia. Thats part of the drive for me to get better myself – being able to help in the success ratio for the disorder with the highest mortality rate on record. I’m using my experience to help make things better and that makes in one of the most important jobs I have ever done. Another reason to feel proud.

Creatively Written (part II)

Picking up from yesterday here were my own responses to the questions we had each been given…

Why do bunnies have pink noses? Because of jelly beans.

How do birds fly? Because they have wings.

What makes the pictures in my TV? Modern invention.

Where does the color blue come from? A wheel of balance.

Why do we have two ears? To hear better.

Where does our thinking go when we sleep? The recesses of our minds.

Why are our teeth white? We don’t smoke or drink coffee.

What do wild monkeys eat? Oatmeal in children’s bowls.

Why is the sky blue? It’s light out.

What makes the subway cars go? Motors and wheels.

Why do we have fingerprints? So we can leave a mark.

How do fish not drown? They have filters.

How do lightbulbs work? Energy through switch flipping.

Why is dirt brown? To make mud pies.

How do planes stay in the air? Due to a disillusioned altitude.

Why do we have fingernails? We will claw our way out.

What are dreams? Different versions of reality.

Why is today Tuesday? It wanted to be.

Why is water wet? What is wet?

What do worms do all day? Tunnel through the tough spots.

How does ice get to be ice? It froze when it was ready.

How does the refrigerator stay cold inside? We close the door and stay plugged in.

How (or why) do trees grow leaves? Its the next step in the process.

…And now this is the paragraph that I somewhat haphazardly put together before I knew what its theme was supposed to reveal:

Modern invention. Its the next step in the process; a wheel of balance so we can leave a mark. We close the door and stay plugged in due to a disillusioned altitude. We don’t smoke or drink coffee but the recesses of our minds tell us that the light is out. To hear better we have filters; different versions of reality. We have motors and wheels to create energy through switch-flipping. It froze when it thought it needed to but we do have wings and there are jelly beans, oatmeal in children’s bowls, and the makings of mud pies. All of this to tunnel through the tough spots. We may not know what wet is but we’ll claw our way out if thats the way we want things to be.

…Once I read this aloud, with the idea of it being a view on how I look at life, it just really caused me to think. I’m not sure yet what I fully make of it but somehow it fits for me. Somehow it makes sense. The response I got from my peers was mostly that it showed that I saw life and what is going on around me as something to question. They didn’t mean question in a bad way…more so that I apparently have an optimism to change and I see that as a good thing. For some reason, though, I see the writing as more. I agree with what they said but it hits me personally on a different lever. Maybe its just a different intensity. I have to sort it out a bit more but, above anything else, it makes me feels good and if thats all I take from it then thats enough but I think I will still do some exploring.

Creatively Written (part I)

For the most part, unless the instructor is out for some rare reason, we have a creative writing group each and every Tuesday. Shes pretty reliable, only out a few times, and I definitely miss this set aside time when we don’t have it. Its not exactly what you would think of when you think “creative writing group”. Its not about how to write better, more descriptively, or grammar corrections. The instructor really knows her stuff and what she does is gives urging through prompts and then, after a few minutes of wordplay, we read aloud and analyze what we have written. Its almost like art therapy but with writing instead. We work on trying to find out what our writing says about us. Often when we each read aloud the others around the table hear hidden messages and meanings in the words that we never realized were present.

This week she gave us a list of simple questions and we were told to reply to each one with whatever came to our minds when we read the question. What we came up with didn’t necessarily have to be a direct response to the question itself but, at least preferably, a semi-complete thought or part of a sentence that had to do with what we thought about it. After we had written down our answers she then told us to find a blank sheet of paper and write down only what we had written as reply to each question but we were supposed to turn it into a paragraph that had some flow to it. It didn’t have to make complete sense but it couldn’t be totally disjointed. When we read our paragraphs out loud it was supposed to invoke a view into the various ways we looked at life. It was a lot of intrinsic translation that could only be seen through the eyes of a bystander.

The questions:

Why do bunnies have pink noses?

How do birds fly?

What makes the pictures in my TV?

Where does the color ——- come from?

Why do we have two ears?

Where does our thinking go when we sleep?

Why are our teeth white?

What do wild monkeys eat?

Why is the sky blue?

What makes the subway cars go?

Why do we have fingerprints?

How do fish not drown?

How do lightbulbs work?

Why is dirt brown?

How do planes stay in the air?

Why do we have fingernails?

What are dreams?

Why is today Tuesday?

Why is water wet?

What do worms do all day?

How does ice get to be ice?

How does the refrigerator stay cold inside?

How (or why) do trees grow leaves?

…the answers tomorrow.

Yes, Stomach, I hear you

Score one point for getting through things that I didn’t want to do. My tally must be pretty high right now but this time I think I will count double points for the added factor of having to do it 2 days in a row. These back to back trials of perseverance that I refer to are the long-awaited research meal days. I was too anxiety-ridden to write about it while in the midst of the experiment but, now that I can breathe with the assuredness of it being over, hindsight has again set my thoughts in motion. part of me, the forgiving part, wants to shrug and chalk it up to just having been an experience. The other part, however, would love to riddle the telling of the last 2 days with some very colorful language. I think I’ll try to find a happy medium.

The anticipation on Tuesday, the morning of reasearch meal #1, was quickly dropping like a fog over my world. When I sat down to breakfast I knew what to expect on my measly tray – two 4 oz. apple juices, a yogurt and an apple. Everyone else got the pancakes we had been asking for fervently through the last two months. Balls. I missed out on that one. I was told that they were really good though. After that I was okay until about 9:30 or so…until the hunger started to claw its way into my consciousness. Then it was all over. I couldn’t think about anything else except the pending lunch. The others did their best to help distract me but the anxiety grew to an all-consuming high. Its strange to think that I used to eat so little when my body craves so desperately now. At this point there is no denying what it wants. No confusion.

Finally, just before noon, one of the research assistants came up to get me. I followed her, in her white lab coat, downstairs and back to the same tiny room I had done both the exercise study and the sweetener test in. Everything was the same except this time there was a little round table with a plastic tablecloth ala “Lady and the Tramp” in the middle of the room. She sat on the bed while I sat at the table and in front of me was placed a sheet with a 1-10 scale and varying degrees of anxiety provoking situations listed throughout as a guide. We sat in silence for a full 3 minutes while I was instructed to think about the upcoming meal. At every one minute interval she asked me to rate my anxiety level on the scale.

Before the meal came I was repeatedly scoring quite high. I was anxious because I just wanted to eat. There were no guidelines as to how much had to be eaten. It was just whatever I wanted to do while the video camera in the corner taped my actions and her voice buzzed in over the monitor to periodically rate my levels. The tray that was finally placed in front of me had only a few items on it but they were large. I was suddenly staring at a large bowl of regular potato chips, an 8 oz. bottle of water, a family-size tube of real mayo, and a footlong turkey and swiss Subway sandwich on wheat. Other than the meat and cheese there was only lettuce and tomato on the sandwich.

That was it. Once I got the go-ahead I dug in. That first day it was excellent but I think I would have eaten just about anything they had put in front of me. I only ate 2 or 3 chips but I got through almost all of the sub, eating all of it’s insides and leaving about 1/3 of the bread; all the while my anxiety slowly decreasing. It felt great to just get some substance. After that they had some paperwork for me to fill out, some questions to answer, and then I could go about the rest of my afternoon as usual. That didn’t stop me, though, from dreading to have to do it all again the next day.

When I awoke the next morning I was calmer. The exact same test two days in a row so I knew what to expect. I was armed with knowledge. Then they threw a wrench in my gears. I was hungry going into breakfast and actually looking forward to the small amount of bulk I would get from the meal. Something, anything, to fill me up just a little. When I got in the dining room and saw my tray my jaw dropped. Apparently all I was to consume today was one lowly toasted English muffin and a 4 oz. container of apple juice. I grudgingly ate, trying to make it last as long as possible, and then spent the remaining time at the table not only hungry and anxious but pissed off as well. No one else who had done the same study before had gotten the English muffin version of research breakfast.

I got through it though. Lunch and a twin meal to the previous day was placed in front of me. I ate, with less anxiety this second go-round. I’m going to have to ask at research group next week what exactly they are looking for in this study but, for now, I’m okay. For now I can go back to enjoying my normal size expected meals.

At least until I have the third research meal day just before I head home.

Know Thyself

Sometimes around the unit things fall into a sort of sync that is what I can only imagine having a whole houseful of sisters feels like. Games are played, secrets are shared, clothes are handed down, hair is styled, and comfort with understanding is doled out on an as needed basis. It was gorgeous out all weekend. We really couldn’t have asked for better through the 3 day hiatus from groups and meetings and, with the great weather, came high spirits and a not always apparent sense of comraderie.Elle, getting ready to leave in a few days and dealing with her own troubles surrounding that, got the shoulders she needed to lean on and some friends to panel as sounding boards. A nail-painting party ensued during a lull on the bright Sunday afternoon. A multi-player game of scrabble roared into competitive action on one side of the room after the day’s visitors had gone. It was busy. Busy in a calmly balanced sort of way.

The best thing, for me, to come out of the weekend was the great clothes swap of Labor Day morning. Each of us here struggles with body image in one way or another. Its more or less a multifaceted battle that creates conflicts on a daily basis. within the confines of such tumultuous inner struggle thats different for every person it is hard to find the solace needed to break away. Mirrors become gateways to depression, the clothes that once were so a part of us become the enemy, and the practice of body comparisons morphs into a second nature. Its hard to fare and hold our own when we each have such distorted views of ourselves that are apparent to our eyes alone. Its a hard beast to keep on a leash, this negative body image issue.

The great clothes swap started just after breakfast with a knock on the bathroom passageway door from Elle. I had been feeling somewhat crummy (thats putting it lightly) about the small amount of clothing items I had shown up with. This was purely to do with how they now fit on me even though I had attempted to bring things that could “grow with me”. Shirts were awkward and tight in places they hadn’t been before, pants required a little squirming to pull up, and all of it had been making me self-conscious enough to wheedle my wearable wardrobe down to just two outfits. I wasn’t thrilled.

When I opened the door for Elle I was surprised at the large stack of clothes in her arms. It was all items she knew she wasn’t going to wear anymore and we stood together, sifting through them on my bed, as I got first pick. I sorted out what I liked and tried on what I could. Keeping what worked for me in one pile I sorted through my own clothes to add to the donation heap before it got shifted off to Amy who was next in line. This went on through most of the girls on the unit, the clothes pile decreasing and then growing again to varying degrees. In the end, each of us getting a few new items, we all had new wardrobes that held articles we could actually feel good in.

By the time it was all over I wound up with 4 new pairs of pants, 5 new shirts, and a good new attitude as to my appearance. Elle didn’t take anything new, because she already had so much, but she got to see her clothes find loving new homes. In turn I gave away the pair of jeans I had arrived in and they wound up looking great on Brynn who, being orthodox, had never owed any denim. In this fashion the cycle went on and, at the end of the day, it seemed that the overall self-esteem of the unit had risen a few notches. Its back to routine tomorrow but at least we’ll all be comfortably happy in our new attire.

The Cloisters

Holy hand-stitched intricacy!

The hard seat is chilly beneath me, its orange plastic not yet warmed by previous human bodies on this commuter-sparse Sunday morning. We are on the A train, Nurse Greta, Diane, Molly, and myself riding just a few stops to avoid the uphill trek to the Cloisters Museum and Gardens. We get off almost as soon as we sit down and exit the station into a world that could be countries away from the Manhattan I have come to know in these last few weeks. The stone stairs, as we emerge from the city’s underground, unfold and climb through more foliage than I have yet seen in New York.

We pop out into the daylight of Fort Tryon Park. It is astounding. The multi-level layout with its granite walkways, walls, tunnels, occasional short sets of stairs. It provides a beautiful view of the Hudson from almost all of the different paths and trails and apparently we are not alone in thinking its weather-perfect day to be out here. If it wasn’t for Greta there is a good chance I would have done my time in the city without ever knowing that any of this existed.

The paths through Tryon Park weave gracefully along as we pass people with dogs, babies in strollers, yoga on the lawn, and a weekend game of ultimate frisbee before opening up to the base of the museum. A cloister itself is an integral part of a monastery. The name was given to a square or open-air courtyard surrounded by covered passageways. It was basically a sheltered, sunny place where the monks or nuns living there could enjoy nature without leaving the confines of their home and place of worship. The Cloisters Museum contains 4 different cloister gardens, each with its own theme, time period reference, and sculpted fountain designating the center. They are placed throughout the two floors of the structure. Medieval art of all different times and origins, collected in bits and pieces all over the world, grace the rooms and hallways throughout. As a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art it has been open to the public since 1938 and teems with architectural fragments of antiquital beauty incorporated into the fabric of the building itself. As we wander through, our allotted 50 minutesof touring time flying by almost unnoticed, I am nothing less than bombarded with jaw-dropping works of art. Here there is everything from ceramics, metalworks, stone carvings, wood sculpture, stained glass, immense hand-woven tapestries, and much much more.

Going in I know instantly why Greta has said several times that she wishes we didn’t have to be back so soon. Its not a huge museum but, with such a magnificent and well-kept collection, it deserves more of our attention than we can give it today. Sooner than I would have thought possible its time to scuttle outside and catch the bus back home…

But I’ll be back. I can guarantee that.

Hunger Games

Today is the day! I just made it this morning with the scale balancing right at the 3/4 pound gain that has occupied my line of vision for the past 2 weeks. Not only am I not RTU for the weekend but I am finally at my 85%. The next step is to put in a privilege request form to move up to level 4b so I can roam the building at my leisure. I could, potentially, be annoyed that I have to wait through the Labor Day holiday weekend before they approve the request at the next staff team meeting on Tuesday…but I’m just not feelin’ it. I’m too happy that I got to where I wanted for so long to be at to let it frustrate me.

It was before lunch, only a few short hours since I had been weighed and realized my goal in the scale clicks, when Dr. G pulled me aside. With 85% comes the two major therapy studies that Columbia is doing right now: exposure and CRT. There are 4 weeks of each, 12 sessions apiece and each person eligible does both. Its a random draw as to which one you start with but I’ve got my fingers crossed for exposure.

First things first though. I won’t know which will be kicking me off until I’ve done whats known as research lunch for two days in a row. From what I’ve seen and the details I have been told by other patients who have already been through it I am curiously anxious to start. The breakfast and morning activities (or lack there of) prior to research lunch has me a little nervous towards my mixed emotions.

Its all very moderated so that each person doing the meal has the exact same thing for the breakfast leading up and the standard that they serve is much less than what our bodies are used to having. Every person I have seen with the diminished breakfast on their chosen research day ambles around the whole morning try their darndest to not gripe too much about the every persistent stomach pains growling audibly.

Aside from the miniscule meal, in order to keep everyone’s physical exertion and intake in check, there is no morning coffee allowed. So there goes the once daily caffeine boost we are each allowed and then we also omit the 10am morning Ensure as well. It may seem that being on so many calories each day would cause us to kneel and thank the ceiling at the cutback but thats just not so. All there will be is annoyance and hunger, hunger, hunger. We need all of those calories right now! Our bodies want them. They crave them! To top it off, on research lunch day, we are RTU till the afternoon meal is over. That means no fresh air, no trips to the store, no nuthin’.

Thankfully all of this only goes until 1:30 in the afternoon and, with my newly approved 4b status I already know where 2 pm will find me. I’ll be sitting in the upstairs cafe with my Boston Globe Sunday crossword book lounging in full relaxation mode. Oh, and one more thing, my nice caramel-colored steaming cup of coffee will be my teatime guest of honor.

Movin’ on up

I am sitting at my desk looking out the window. This would be the new, large, double window with its own built-in book shelf ledge that I am speaking of. I’ve got blinds that are mine to adjust and enough floor space to comfortably accommodate my slowly growing turrets of miscellany. I already know that i will be sending some of these things home with my mom and Chris when they come to visit. There is just no way I am going to make it to the train station, let alone all the way back to Virginia, with all these extras. What I was getting at though, what all of this amounts to, is the announcement that I have officially moved into my single bed suite. Are those trumpets sounding in the distance that I hear?

Its been a bit of musical rooms here recently. Elle moved out, Heather moved into Elle’s spot, then Carrina went home and now I have moved into her old room. Next Thursday Elle goes home and I will be sharing a bathroom with either Molly or Amy. Its all in the rotation. Even though I had told Elle that I would be taking the single room that adjoins hers as soon as I could I almost didn’t when it became available yesterday. When she had moved out of our double room and I had the chance to have the space all to myself and I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. I was wary though of which new patient might be coming to fill that space before Carrina’s room opened up. Then along came Heather.

At 5’11” her stature was a bit intimidating at first. Upon initial impression she struck me as someone who could hold her ground. She was friendly when approached but wore a no bullshit expression as she seemed to take in her surroundings with all seriousness. It wasn’t until the evening of her first day that we actually had a chat while getting ready for bed in our newly shared room. We exchanged the basics, her being a 33-year-old bartender originally from California but living in New York for the past couple of years, and then moved on as the conversation flowed.

After a while I found out that we actually have quite a bit in common. One of the main things that we share are the roots of our eating disorders. For both of us the restriction of food stemmed from the act of becoming sober from previous alcohol abuse. Shes got 5 and 1/2 years of sobriety time and October 4th will mark my third year. With the realization that sobriety was achievable we had each decided that to start eating right and getting in shape was the next step to a healthy body and clear mind. Then, for each of us, that desire to achieve health just spun out of control without either of us realizing it. We had each basically traded one addiction of another.

This relevation was amazing to me. In all my years of dealing with eating disorders, learning about them and having one myself, I had never met anyone who could really identify with where I was coming from. To say that it felt really good would be a severe understatement. With what we had in common and us getting along I almost didn’t want to move out of the double room. It was actually a tough decision but, in the end, the pros of moving outweighed the cons. I needed more space and it wasn’t like I was going very far. I know for a fact though that I want to get to know Heather better, and there will definitely be time for that in the months to come.

The Slow Climb

Okay. I am officially frustrated with my weights. Not because they are going up but because, despite my best efforts, the gaining process has slowed to the speed of one of those living statues that are seen all over Europe. You know, those people whose movements are so fractionally minute that you can’t tell they have done anything at all unless you leave and don’t come back for a few hours. That is what my metabolism is doing to me at this point. Still, each meal, every single time, I’m eating 100%. Beyond that I have not only drank my 2 daily Ensures but I have also taken the one additional PRN Ensure for the last 5 days. Its almost like the more I give my body the more it uses.

I know that for many anorexics those last 5-10 pounds needed to reach a healthy weight can be the hardest to put on. I have heard that many times, and part of me is very glad to see my body complying to the laws of reality, but I’m so close. My next goal is reaching my 85% and, right now, I am 3/4 of a pound away. At 85% I will be able to go out with Sally’s lunch group on Wednesdays and do shopping for cooking group along with various other things. I think most on my mind though, what I’m most anticipating, is the upcoming level change that 85% brings.

Level 4b, the ‘b’ standing for ‘building’, is the next step. Its not much really. All it means is that I will get to go out and walk around without a staff members accompaniment so long as I stay inside the institution. There are a couple of things this allows, such as being able to visit the fresh air park when I want, the invitation to explore the building’s multiple floors, and the freedom to hang out in the cafe with its beautiful view of the Hudson. Its hard to find alone time on the unit these days and I think that, too, just being able to get away for a few minutes will make a big difference. With so many new patients, their emotions running amok, still trying to get settled in, its pretty hectic around here lately.

Originally I had wanted to reach my 90% by now but I can see that thats going to take longer than I expected. I would have thought, if someone had asked when I first got here, that I would have been more adverse to the gain as I watched the scale rise. Its a daily surprise each morning when I find that I’m actually relatively comfortable with my body and am actively trying to gain more. I don’t want to say its easy because its not. At all. It takes more work than is explainable to someone who hasn’t actually gone through the recovery process themselves.

The reason I had wanted to be at my 90% by now is because all the patients that I have known since I got here are now getting ready to leave. Elle, Benji, Laura, all 3 are going home within the next 2 weeks and I’ll be the patient who has been here the longest. I wanted the level 4a change that came with my 90% so I could start going out on passes with my friends, even just a few, before they left. Well, things are what they are. As much as I may feel somewhat stagnant at this point in the program I know my body is smart. It will get there when it needs to.

It will be good to go on passes when I am able. I know that thats the next thing I am going to need to practice with – picking my own meals out of a lot more diversity and not being held so accountable for my actions. I know its going to be though, too, and I want as much time as possible before going home. I think I’ll just chalk up this whole snail’s pace of progress as a practice in patience. Yeah, theres meaning behind everything.

Balancing Act

Brynn is a clean-cut Jewish girl from a large orthodox  family. Maybe I should rephrase – with somewhere around 100 cousins and 12 siblings just in her immediate household, her entire family is more like gargantuan. In her time not spent inhabiting hospitals due to her anorexia she is a 30-year-old teacher of mentally challenged children. Originally from Canada she moved to New York just a few years back and was hospitalized for 5 weeks and then transferred here with us almost two weeks ago. In another week one of her brothers is getting married so many of her relatives are in town for the event. They call, one after another after another, at all hours keeping Brynn so busy at the payphone that she rarely has time to settle down into any sort of leisure activity.

With multiple visitors each day and not being able to take 10 steps from the phone I would be desperate for solitude after about a day and a half. Its all just further proof though of the diversity that walks through these double locked doors. Brynn, on the other hand, loves her family without abandon and does nothing to hide her excitement of their, both announced and unannounced visits. Heck, she doesn’t hide her excitement about anything and it seems that everything, from a french braid in her hair, to a new TV show, to a big brownie, gets her excited. Brynn is something of a 1,000 watt eternal sunshine and proud of it.

Occasionally the exasperation over what so many of us would deem mundane gets overbearing but thats only because most people are just not used to it. She talks incessantly and exudes an extreme polite friendliness consistently. Admittedly, through the mindfulness teachings of our weekly DBT group, she reacts at this point primarily with her emotional mind. Impulse following impulse in a strange indecisive governing of actions. We all do this though when we are underweight. Without enough nourishment the rational side of the mind loses focus and its ability to think things through falters.

The drive of the emotional mind will change as we regain health and the ability to practice finding a balance between the two becomes more available. The balance is known as “wise mind” and it just means taking both sides into account. All of Brynn’s exuberance is the best she can do to rationalize her emotional mindset. For many of us, when we try to do this, the result of the rational mind’s exertion just causes us to be numb to our emotions but is not usually enough to gain any sort of wise mind balance. For Brynn, her rational mind allows her to mask her outward expressions of unhappiness with an attitude so constantly positive that it seems fake sometimes, but only because we aren’t sure how she can stay so upbeat.

Things will change with time though, as always, and for myself, I’m finding I’m more and more in control of my decisions these days…and all I can say is that it feels great.

(That last statement may have come from my emotional mind but I don’t think it needed any rationalization. )