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.

 

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.

Ahoy, Room-matey!

I guess I got my wish. With 2 more new patients in just 2 days the beds are filling up and rooms are getting switched around. Jeanette broke down saying her goodbyes in Community Meeting today and her beautiful French accent was apparent even through her tears. Having grown up in Paris she is now 24 and has been making her way in New York for almost 3 years now, going to school and actually working in a different part of Columbia’s research building.

Thursday is her last day and she has already packed up most of her room. It takes a few minutes for her to catch her breath and her voice warbles when she does so, but through it all she is still able to express, even while explaining that she can’t find the right words, how immensely thankful she is for this program. Elle, who will be moving out of our room and into Jeanette’s single bedroom once shes gone, puts her hand on Jeanettes shoulder. No one can say that bonds haven’t been made here.

Once Elle leaves I will be figuring out cohabitation with a new roommate for about 6 days or so, until Carrina goes home as well. At that point I will be moving into the twin of Elle’s new room. The two bedrooms are smaller than the doubles but have more than enough space for one person. Once I move Elle will be in the room next door and we will be sharing the bathroom that links the suites together.

I definitely got lucky having my awesome roomie...

Its going to be a bit hard losing her as a roommate since we have grown so accustomed to each other and work in a balance of quirks and moods but at least I’ll be getting my own place in the end. It will be nice to have that extra privacy and she’ll still, at least, be near by for the occasional late night chat.

When I first got here, if I had been asked, I would have probably voted Elle as the person I would be least likely to really become friends with. She was very quiet and seemed to regard me with, what I thought at the time was, contempt. I read her silence as though I was an annoyance to her. Something like a gnat on a balmy summer night. As it turned out that was just me though, my mind jumping to assumption, thinking that whatever anyone’s problem is it must have something to do with me. Elle has a quality of neatness that is consistent with OCD. The compulsion to organize and color-coordinate her perfectly folded laundry is the same one that insists she eats things in a certain order and doesn’t allow her to pick up food with her hands. Recently she has been doing much better at mealtimes but, when I first met her, it was these issues of her own plaguing her that caused my misguided interpretation.

At the age of 29 Elle is the proud head manager of a large clothing store. Its a chain store and her branch is located in Seattle where she lives with her Shih tzu puppy, Sisko. Born in Guatemala and adopted into the US as a baby she has lived in Washington most of her life. She stands at least 4 inches taller than me and has an amazing fashion sense that i have found completely suits her the more I get to know her. She is a lesbian and constantly gels her short black hair into various styles of mohawk-esque spikiness but her clothes are more femenine than the items I have hanging in my own closet. She pays pique attention to picking outfits and matching jewelry, somehow wearing whatever the choice comes to for the day with comfort and grace.

A roommate classic.

She is unique. Its something about the way she carries herself in front of others. There is a strength and determination of almost stoic relentlessness behind her dark eyes and yet, when she opens up, shes got a beautiful laugh and an astounding singing voice. I like our late night talks and I’m glad she feels she can confide in me. It just goes to show that sometimes the people you least expect can make the biggest difference.

Mid-summer fun

I awoke late thinking it was Tuesday. Completely forgetting about morning weights I went about the business of getting dressed and attempting to regain the composure that consciousness called for. A few minutes later Elle opened her own sleepy eyes with a look of groggy confusion and asked if i had already been weighed. As I scuttled down the hall, sliding along the linoleum floor in my bare feet, I tried to remember what was on the agenda for today now that I was assured it was indeed Wednesday and not Tuesday. There was my pre-breakfast appointment with Griz in about 45 minutes, CBT group at 10:30, a couple of afternoon groups, oh yea…and the unit BBQ at lunch. They have tried to arrange these twice since I came here but, both times, they were cancelled due to extreme heat and/or rain.

At 11:15 CBT ended and lunch was just over the horizon. I was a little bit anxious, just because I didn’t know what to expect, as I chatted with Laura, Amy, and Benji in the day room killing time. Finally the call was made and the group of us were escorted down to the second floor and ushered outside into the noontime sun of the fresh air park. I couldn’t help but notice the beautiful weather right off the bat but, as soon as we rounded the corner, I got an eyeful of the setup they had laid out for us.

There was a horseshoe shape constructed out of multiple 6-foot folding tables with the large grill that had been used to cook the food in the center. Rectangle tinfoil trays lined the table keeping warm hot dogs, hamburgers, veggie burgers, and turkey burgers. Once claiming the appropriate but for our protein of choice we filed on, one by one, to select our toppings from the fresh vegetables and bowls of condiments. Eventually came the extras and it was up to each of us to figure out how much of what things we needed. There was potato salad, macaroni salad, watermelon, cookies, and non-diet soda laid out with Sally, th dietician, to check out what we had put on our plates at the very end of it all.

I realized that apparently the BBQ was for more people than I had thought as I looked around at my surroundings once I had found a seat at one of the green metal mesh tables. There weren’t just patients and the normal unit nursing staff but there were also the various medical students, resident doctors, and various therapists that worked with us as well. I turned out to be a good time as we all intermingled, eating and chatting, staff with patients, and the level of relaxation was much higher than I had anticipated. On my own plate I had a turkey burger and bun with lettuce and tomato, a generous helping of macaroni salad, and 3 cookies with a glass of water. The only thing bothersome about the whole experience were the bees that showed up to join the shindig towards the end.

Once a majority of people were done eating Talia and Carly, the two main BBQ organizers, rolled out the completely unexpected. Hearing wheels on the cement I looked up to find them steering a TV cart in our direction with not only its intended TV but also 2 microphones and a karaoke machine. Binders filled to the brim with song options were passed out and selections were made as the temperature grew cooler and the wind picked up a little in preparation for the forecasted late afternoon rainstorms. Everyone had a great time for about half an hour more as we were regaled with warbley renditions of hits from the 60s and 70s. Unfortunately the microphones didn’t work so some of the crooning was inaudible but the funky dancing that accompanied more than made up for that lack.

Now the sun is setting as I sit at my desk and write this. Dinner is over and its almost snack time. We never got the showers that had been called for but the day is not over just yet. Its been a long one and I’m tired but I’m really glad that the BBQ plan was such a success. I bet I’ll sleep like a log tonight.

At the table

For some reason we have been processing after meals a lot more recently. Its a basic exercise that really just involves the group of us sitting around the large dining room tables for a chat. After loading our more or less empty trays back into the trolley to be taken downstairs we kill the radio that livens up our mealtimes and settle back into our seats.

With this being an eating disorder treatment center it goes without saying that there will inevitably be some issues surrounding meals. In processing generally someone starts the group off, lately this job has fallen to Elle, and from there we go around the circle and discuss anything from the dining experience that might have been difficult for us. Usually any staff with us at that point remains pretty quiet and we do our best to offer each other support for our various issues.

Just because I have been tacking each meal with an ease and acceptance thats surprising even to me doesn’t mean that everyone else has such a relaxed time with it. Different meals have different components that create different amounts of anxiety in different people. For some of us its been so long since we have eaten in a natural social setting that we aren’t even sure what a “normal” way to eat certain things might be. Questions, like weather or not you would use a fork to eat a brownie and how many pieces one would usually cut a hamburger into before picking each one up and biting in, do come up. These quarries may seem silly to someone looking on but, to my peers, they are legitimate and the search for the answers is real. We just want to get back to a societal normality because our versions of table manner are so bizarrely skewed.

Elle, for instance, has problems touching her things. The idea of something being a finger food is not a concept that is easy for her to accept. Once she touches a food she gets the feeling that its crumbs, oil, or other remnants are all over her face and hands. In the beginning she wouldn’t pick up any of her meal with her hands. Now, after some time and a lot of encouragement, she still cuts things up a bit more than other people but she will pick up the pieces to eat. She has also been doing a great job fighting the urge to wash her hands of the imaginary debris the food has left after each bite.

Another one of the girls, Carrina, has issues with peanut butter. It’s a fear food of hers and she doesn’t want to be around it because it used to be the main thing she would binge on when she was back home. The other day she explained to some of us that, before she came to Columbia, she cleaned her room and dug up about a month’s accumulation of jar from its depth. She admitted that there were 26 cleaned out peanut butter jars that had been stashed in various spots. Here though she still has to face her fear. She doesn’t have to tackle the peanut butter issue everyday but she’s not allowed to avoid it either.

Other issues surrounding our meal table include things like cutting food into miniscule bites, putting salt on literally everything, the compulsion to eat things only in a certain order, or chew each bite a certain number of times. We are all trying though. Its hard but we are doing our best to overcome these things which can be so baffling to the average public.

Processing after meals helps all this and, although I don’t always have a whole lot to add myself and sometimes people say the same issues over and over, its good to help. As far as providing support goes we are a good little family. I’d be more than happy to have any of these girls on my side when and if I ever need that extra help.

Thought provoking

Two sentences creep their way into my head like thieves as I walk around the small yard after dinner. I don’t know how they got in and I don’t know where they came from. All I know is that they are taking something from me by even just being there. They are:

1. I don’t have any friends.

2. I have people who will forget about me as soon as I’m not around.

Soon the first two are joined by a third and possibly the most scary of the trio:  3. At least I have a daily schedule I can rely on.

I try and drive the sentences out but each time I cut one off another starts fresh. i can feel them stealing life from me.

I know they are wrong though, they have to be. There is just no way something like that could really be true…but doubt is a devious monster. I watch the ground as I walk and adjust my comfy weekend pajamaish pants so they don’t drag in the newly wet grass. Elle and Benji are playing catch again and Molly, Carrina, and Tiffany are halfway around the same loop that I’m on, chattering away. For once its not stroke-inducing hot out and Sunday winds down again as Monday prepares itself for dawn.

I know I have friends. I’m 30 and its almost ridiculous to be reassuring myself of such a basic statement. If wisdom comes with age then I would think I shouldn’t really need to be even forming those words into a sentence. Its something I know – I have friends. I also understand the meaning of the phrase “out of sight, out of mind”. Its not a hard concept to grasp and perfectly understandable with us all being human and what-not.

The guidelines for friendship are something I have had trouble defining my whole life and what I feel it comes down to is that there aren’t really any. many people have many different definitions of what a friend should be but I’ve come to realize that, for me, a definition of that word shouldn’t be made. If I were to sit down and make a list to answer the question “what is a friend?” I would be following that criteria every time I met someone new whether I was conscious of it or not. Then, inevitably, something wouldn’t fit. Anxiety would set in and I’d start stressing out about the validity of people I considered my friends and thats a hole I know I don’t want to have to try and get out of.

The scarier thing though, the one about the routine, really snuck up. I can’t help but question the subconscious validity of that statement. Is that why I’m so strict with my schedule? Is it so that I don’t have to rely on people to do what they say they will because I already have the daily structure so definitively planned out? A routine is not a replacement for a friend. Again, a basic thought. It doesn’t matter that I know I can count on it to do what its agenda says it will. Its hard to differentiate because I know I can trust the routine. I can rely on the fact that it will be there when I need it and it won’t let me down, but does that really mean that I don’t have to rely on anybody else?

People are fallible. They will make mistakes just as I do on a regular daily basis, but that does not mean that they are not deserving of trust. A lot of thought has gone into this and I think more is needed still but, for now, I have enough to work with. The sun is setting. Its time to head back inside. As I meander up the stone walk to the double doors a comforting calm sets in and I smile to myself before jogging ahead to join my friends.

Through the doors

Its been done. I’m here. Now it will just take some time for things to fall into place. Through the expected amount of stand-off-ishness the other girls (and one guy) have slowly extended tentative feelers of friendliness. There is a hesitance that lingers like mist around each attempt at outreach as we try to mask our individual fragility in not-so-subtle ways. personal experience has shown me that the act of normal conversation can require more effort than one might think possible, but we try. The toe-hold we have on common ground will get firmer with time. We are really not so different, them and I.

Promptly at noon, having already been tapped and drained of the necessary bodily fluids for analysis, I sat down to lunch with the group. The food arrives on hospital trays with the heated plates hidden beneath their thick plastic domed shells that have always reminded me of the top of R2D2’s head in Star Wars. We are each provided with a labeled list of the exact tray contents including portion sizes and the precise amount of pre-packaged condiments that have been deemed appropriate for the specific meal being served. Each is individualized in accordance with its intended’s needs. Mine is just the right size for someone who hasn’t been presented with a hot meal in longer than she can remember. Or at least hasn’t been accepting of a hot meal in that time. I surprise even myself at the speed with which I gobble it up. Not messily or chaotically, but it does make me reflect on post-war POW footage.

To me the menu was different for obvious reasons but apparently its items varried from the norm for the others as well. The main component was a grilled cheese sandwich on pumpernickel bread that was stuffed to the gills with red and green peppers, carrot slices, and onions. It wasn’t something I would have normally ordered on the “outside” but it wasn’t bad…even with the onions. The sandwich was accompanied by lentil soup, which I don’t remember ever having had before, and a small bowl of red grapes.

For the most part we chewed away in silent concentration, consciously aware of the rate/time/quantity ratio. Conversation was sparse and I was lightly peppered with the usual get-to-know-you Q and A.

After the meal we stayed where we were for whats known as “process group”. Its something that happens a few times a week and is basically what the title calls it. We process our feelings, thoughts, and questions about the previous meal. It is a lot like the other groups, in which what people contribute reflects the level of interest anyone would find in it.

General admission activities filled out the time block between lunch and dinner with required paperwork and doctoral meet-n-greets.