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.

 

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.

Venturing Adventure

The stars stretch northward from my gaze as I lay on my back beneath them. Consumed by their expanse on this straggling last day of summer the green metal bench is only slightly chilled under my back. To the south are the frilly borders of the slowly burning treetops that build the natural wall between the fresh air park and the highway. East of me is the Inst Center, home sweet home at the moment, and wast is the top of the tall wire fence surrounding the yard. The others are still strolling slowly, pacing the perimeter, but I feel like I have walked enough today. Its finally a time that I can kick off from all the bustle and open up to reflection. I am here, now, and this is what I see. With so much going on its rare to get a clear view in the city.

Its been a long day but a good one. Abound with adventure things didn’t entirely pan out as I had expected but the time had was no less exciting and new. To start there was the very first makeshift art therapy group. If you go by the true bare bones definitive it was actually more of a themed art collective since I had to leave before any therapy really came into play. The project I had come up with involved glue, large heavy paper, scissors, and the immense amount of old magazines we have piling up everywhere. Because of the scissors we had to request the watchful eye of a staff member but Victoria was happy to do it. The instructions were self-interpretive and basically called for the creation of words and pictures to create a self-portrait.

Not everyone on the unit participated but the six who did later reflected on how much they enjoyed it. I had to leave at 11:00 to begin the day’s pass outing but they were all still working diligently even as I stepped out the door. I would have liked to look at everyone’s creations in the end but it just didn’t happen this morning. Actually, that sort of brings up a wall for me. O one hand I would love to hear how people would interpret their self-portraits but, on the other, even though I was asked to lead this group, I don’t want anyone to feel like I am overstepping my bounds by acting like a teacher. I don’t want to be resented. All in all though I have been told by each who attended that it was an enjoyable success. I have been assigned to head up the same alloted time with a new project next week.

As the morning wore on our pre-lunch departure time gained bearing. First things first, upon leaving the building Benji, Amy, and I happily pardoned the Starbucks that had successfully positioned itself kitty corner to the subway entrance. As good as Starbucks coffee is though I am truly seeing its money-consuming potential. I will have to remember to ask Molly which sidewalk cart she frequents in the mornings. Apparently, whatever shes getting as her coffee fix is just as good, if not better, than Starbucks and its only costs the same $.75 as it does in our regular 6th floor cafe.

After we had armed ourselves with caffeine and ice water the three of us trek towards the underground. The subway station’s lower platform has the heat of a snake pit but we are lucky. The train that is meant to carry us to the Washington Square Park Soho area of Manhattan pulls within a minute of our descent into the dank. We board the A-train express and begin to 40 minute bullet shot to the day’s unfolding agenda.