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!!!

 

 

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.

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.

To Dine Out

Today was my second lunch group outing. Sally, who normally runs it, has been on vacation for about a week now so it has been presided over by her protegé, Calista, and the rec director, Talia. Now Talia has been working here for years and knows her dietary ED info pretty well even though her main focus is recreation. Calista, however, is another story. She is new, still in school, and here for the purpose of completing her dietetic internship. Granted, shes still learning the ropes a bit, but she has been here long enough to at least have figured out how to eat meals around a bunch of eating disordered patients.

Talia is excellent to eat with. When we are out she gets roughly the same amount of food as us and she eats all of it without a hitch. Calista has been consistent as well but not in such a good way. In fact, many of my peers here would much rather not dine with her at all. She is a naturally thin woman of indian origin who, personally, I think is quite beautiful. The problem is that she doesn’t eat enough. There are many dietitians with food issues but they have jobs working with people who are trying to lose weight, not gain. If there is one thing a dietician should do when eating meals with us its to be a good example. One of Sally’s mantras is that we should model our plates after hers.

To make a long story just a bit shorter, Talia asked me a question as we walked back to the inst, ahead and out of ear shot of the rest of the group. She wanted to know if the amount that Calista had left uneaten on her tray had bothered me. After an honest “yes” on my behalf Talia then asked me if I would bring it up at a short meal process group when we got back. Hesitantly I agreed so long as all the others who had similar complaints would back me up. She asked why no one had addressed the group about it before and found that, although most of us were irked by it, none of us wanted to rock the boat. We are generally a pretty passive bunch.

So I did it. I said it made me uncomfortable that she didn’t practice what she preached on a routine basis. Others agreed with head nods while Calista immediately got defensive. On that note Talia wrapped the group up and too Calista in back. Since it was Talia’s idea and urge to air out the dirty laundry I can only assume that they had a chat about the issue. Hopefully things will change. Just as we are doing our part learning here the is learning as well. In one way or another we are consistantly helping eachother – it just depends on how accepting of it we are.

Everybody has them

Things happen here that you wouldn’t expect. Things forgotten, things remembered, ways of force by means of will we dig deeper than we would have thought possible. There is no real right or wrong way to go about discovery because its only the outcome of the experience that is tangible.

I never reall understood the term “you are as sick as your secrets” and yet it seems to be a common theme for the day. Dr Vanhalen says that I keep them but I don’t really think I really have any. I generally believe that I have only truths and just a lack of people who really care enough to ask me about them. I’ll open up, I have no problem with that, but I’m not going to readily offer up my soft underbelly if I don’t think its going to be treated with fragility by those around me. I figure that if people want to know something about me they will ask and if they don’t then I think its safe to assume that they don’t perticularly want to be burdened with my problems. Thats what therapists are for. Thats why we pay them. Its their job.

I don’t know where this idea that I have to be some sort of pillar of strength came from. I’m not sure why truly breaking down and asking for help seems so out of my nature. Maybe my true feelings on this subject were a secret I was keeping from myself.

So, it wasn’t singularly Dr. Vanhalen that spurred this inner diving session. Creative writing group had a free write seesion with the theme being secrets. Most people seemed to write on the topic with ease but, for some reason, I just couldn’t come up with anything. Naturally I was discouraged because I have been recently priding myself in my written words. I feel like I am going to have to think more on this subject. On the surface, if asked about secrets and the like, I’m sure I would off-handedly say something about trust or truth but after this I believe sompletely rethinking my ready-reply answer is in order.

Grapes

*I will preface this with the statement that life is not always roses. It has been suggested to me recently that I might want to try and throw a little more my personal emotions into my writing. That this is a tough time and its not always just about whats going on around me, but whats also inside as well, that matters. Its just that its not so consistently as positive as I make it seem here. This next entry is something that I wrote because, at the time of writing it, that is how I felt. It doesn’t mean that its a constant struggle or that I’m not doing well in the long run, just that this revolution is not as easy as I would like it to be…and its hard admitting that.*

Maybe I should start doing some of the exercises in the body image workbook thats been sitting on my desk for the last two months. Its just been staring at me collecting dust without even so much as a single crack in its glossy spine. I have it because I thought it would be helpful but its sitting there almost as a trophy of strength and triumph. Do I think I don’t need the same lengths of help that others do? Am I really that much better if somewhere in my disillusioned mind I still think I’m tougher than everyone else? Why does it become second nature to feel I’m not allowed to show my weaknesses? Its difficult enough to even let leak that I have them. All I know is that right now I don’t feel pretty. I don’t feel myself. I’m not even sure what that would feel like if I did. I feel more nauseous than anything else…or maybe its that I’m hungry. I can’t even tell anymore.

I wish I knew if there was an end to this or not. It sometimes seems that the healthier I get physically the more often I feel confusion mentally. I’ve just been getting this common undermining sense that some part of me is lost. Its not that I felt any better in the depths of the eating disorder, its just that at that point I had something that I could actually pin my sadness to. The emptiness had a name then. There is no way in hell I would want to revisit that misery but I’m not real keen on how I feel right now either. Its troublesome but worth contemplation.

The Creative Outlet

There is no art therapy on the unit. When I fist got here there was sort of hap-hazard art group that was halfway organized for the weekend slot but mostly we just sat around reading the newspaper. The woman who was supposed to be there for the purpose of the group never had anything specific planned. She was presumably around my age and, although very pleasant to be around, seemed as though she was only with us for the means of filling a quota. One day though, about three weeks into my stay here, she came in and announced that she would be replaced with someone better suited to the eating disorders unit. Its been almost two months since that announcement now and the scant, bedraggled, art supply remnants sit collecting dust.

The general consensus around here seems to be that the lack of an art therapy group, a real art therapy group, is not the ideal. There are few select groups that art therapy seems to be very beneficial to and one of those is the treatment of eating disorders, especially where body image is concerned. All of this, not so much taking it but counseling with art therapy is something that I am extremely interested in. It is something that has caused a whirling excitement of hope for a while now. Every time I think of being able to help others in that way I can’t help but feel almost a giddy centering sensation.

I’m scared too, of course. I can prospectively see myself getting passionately woven into the thick of art therapy dynamics but there are aspects of this dream that I am not so solid on. First off is how the get there. I can’t readily be of any accountable access to others if I’m still engulfed in an eating disorder myself. I have taken that step though. I am on my way to recovery and, although I wouldn’t feel comfortable really practicing with potential clients until I was at least a year in, I now need to bring some focus onto whats next. What scares me about the whole thing is the possibility of disappointment. I’m terrified of wanting something so badly and having it fall through like so many other miscellaneous dreams. If I expect the worst and prepare myself for possible failure then it surely will be laid to rot but if I hold hope too tightly then I’ll be broken if I can’t achieve.

I’ll need help. I know I’ll need help with this just as I’ll need help with recovery once I get home, but it’s hard to say so. I’m so used to not relying on people. sometimes I say that if I’ve learned anything in life it is how to be self-sufficient but thats not always a good thing. In general I don’t like to believe that people will do what they say and, because of that, I try to do everything myself. Past experiences have just taught me that its easier that way so I don;t have to be mad at people if they do let me down. I’ll work something out though. Asking for help may very well be the hardest part of this endeavor.

The lack of descent art therapy here versus the heightened interest in it from the group has put a new and unexpected spin on things though. It seems that I have been voted the unofficial leader of a new impromptu art therapy group. I have checked out project ideas and inventoried the supplies at our disposal so I think I’m at least somewhat close to prepared. Its another new adventure and it kicks off tomorrow morning. I have my fingers crossed.