Denial

"'Be what you would seem to be' -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- 'Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.'"

"I think I should understand that better," Alice said very politely, "if I had it written down: but I can't quite follow it as you say it."

-Lewis Carroll, Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

I can feel myself doing it. I can actually feel myself going into denial mode. One would think if I could feel it, I would stop it. Yes, to a normal functioning mind, that would make perfect sense. But I would argue my mind is not entirely "normal functioning" or rational for that matter.

I look at myself and think "I'm not skinny" so I'm not extreme on that front. I get severe heartburn, but so what? Lots of people without eating disorders have heartburn. Maybe mine has nothing to do with that. My gums get swollen but that could just be from stress. Maybe I have glands that are swollen but to be honest, I have no idea what normal glands are as I have not stopped throwing up for years. Life has slipped back into the "comfortable" unacknowledgement that I have grown accustomed to. I have gotten over the horror of what I'm doing to myself. A few months ago, I was so terrified at what I was doing to my body. The realization that I stick my fingers down my throat sometimes daily to barf up food became absolutely disgusting to me. Now, it has lost its horror. I'm almost comfortable with it again. "So what?" I keep asking myself. Is it really that big of a deal?

I'm sitting here on a Monday morning with just terrific heartburn. I woke up with it this morning. I had it last night too and my normal cure of Zantac did absolutely nothing to heal it over night. I'm trying to drink tea to get some caffine so I can wake up. Tea is slightly better than coffee on beverages that upset my stomach. Even as I'm sipping tea and reading the paragraph above, I'm not as upset by this comfortableness as I know I should be. Disconnecting, disengaging, and separation. I'm not feeling it. I'm not feeling anything except tiredness. I am so damn tired all the time!

My counselors keep asking me what its going to take for me to act? To put to a halt the facade. To force change. To start being me again. Hell, I don't know. I had a bad relapse of vomiting this weekend. I did okay yesterday but the day before I went to eat with my parents, husband and cousin visiting from Chicago. She had brought her roommate as well and they were staying with her mom and step-dad in a neighboring city. We went to this southern cooking restaurant. We all ate ridiculous amounts of food. Appetizers, crab cake, bread, cheesy broccoli-rice casserole, green beans, dessert... It was ridiculous. And here was my skinny-ass cousin sitting next to me talking about how much food she eats. I was so annoyed. So I ate and ate and threw the whole damn thing up. It was a lot and I felt terrible afterward. But of course, I've perfected the art of doing it quickly, quietly and fixing myself so I look "normal." My mom was standing outside the bathroom when I got out. I think she knew something, but she didn't say anything. And life just rolls on...

So what is it going to take? Hmmm...Sometimes I have a fantasy of doing something drastic. I feel like its not bad enough for anyone to care. I still look normal, I still act normal...so maybe I am normal. But I'm not. And I keep rationalizing it away...

In A Rut...

Hmmm…I haven’t posted in a almost a week. I’ve been feeling stuck in a rut, in all parts of my life. I’m in a rut at work just waiting for decisions to be made at a higher level that will perhaps directly affect me at a lower level. Of course that is always the case isn’t it?

I’m in a rut in my counseling and in my personal life. Both father and daughter of the counseling duo think most of my eating disorder stems from my relationship with my husband. We’ve been together since I was 16. Growing up together, we developed some good habits but also some very destructive habits as well. I have basically been “kicked out” of my sessions until I am able to “confront”/communicate some of my feelings to my husband. Of course so many things are welling up in me that I want to come out, but they have yet to do so. We’re getting along so well, I just don’t have the heart. And selfishly, I’m just not ready to be the “bad guy” yet.

And now, after reading the previous paragraph, I realize how ridiculous I sound sometime. Why is everything my fault? Why can’t my brain process that other people have hurt me and I am not to blame for their stupidity? It’s like there is a short circuit somewhere. What frustration!

I’m in such a rut, I can’t even think what to type. Maybe tomorrow I’ll go off on a social subject and leave me out of it. After all, it’s not all about me. Sometimes I feel like such a whiner! I also have three drafts saved. Maybe I'll finish my thoughts on one of those.

Until then...

All By Myself...

I am home by myself tonight. My husband is working some overtime at work. While it may not be on purpose, I am somewhat amused by the fact that all of a sudden he has all of this overtime to work. Avoidance? I'm beginning to think so. So, I have now eaten two bowls of noodles. I'm now in a danger zone because I perversely love throwing up anything pasta. All that starch and butter! It's just the best. I'm feeling especially ornery tonight as I've had almost an entire bottle of wine. Yes, almost a whole bottle. I plan to finish it off. Why the hell not? Oh yeah... I'm cooking now. Maybe I'll even have a glass of amaretto after that just to top it all off. I found the best combination is actually some wine and a muscle relaxant. I know...bad, bad, bad. I get so stressed out and aggitated at times that a nerve in my back will start spasing out. Very, very painful! Anyway, they prescribe me wonderful pain killers and things to make me not so damn tense.

Anyway, back to what I actually wanted write about. I'm getting off track! I'm procrastinating! Maybe I shouldn't drink and blog at the same time!

So I read on some eating disorder recovery site that I should look to my family history because the tendency to develop and eating disorder could be inherited. Well, that would be just peachy if I KNEW anyone in my family. Unfortunately, or fortunately, I am adopted. Of course, the first thing people ask if I decide to share that bit of myself with you is "Do you know who your birth mom is? Have you met her?" I'm not going to answer those questions on this post. I suppose I am want to keep something for a later post as this post continues to go nowhere. I better just publish it.

The Need ToBe Heard

It occurred to me that the need to be heard is probably one of the most fundamental needs a human can have. We need acknowledgement. We need someone to look at us. We need to know that others know we exist. We need to know that not only do others know we exist but that our existence means something.

I used to judge my husband’s mother a lot. She left my husband’s dad for several months and then decided to file for divorce. She left three children, however, getting custody after the divorce. I used to sit there and think, “How could a mother do that to her children? Was her life so bad? She’s so selfish!” One night though, I let her talk about that situation and I tried to listen with an open mind. I had heard plenty from my husband’s dad. I heard how he tried to get her to stay and think about the children, etc… He always found a way to not take responsibility for the situation and make it all about her. However, that night I listened to her. What she had to stay didn’t register with me until just recently as I’ve been acknowledging my own thought deficiencies.

Her problem boiled down to the fact that she felt she was no longer heard. And in fact, knowing my husband’s father, I would wager she was not. The one person she wanted most to support her as a person, support her goals, support her dreams, etc… was not listening. She had grown and changed as a person and wanted different things out of life than before. She no longer felt safe to become the person she felt was brewing inside. She felt stuck. She felt UNHEARD and therefore, unimportant and invalidated. That feeling can drive people to do really crazy things. She didn’t know what else to do so she left. She left to be heard. She left so she didn’t do the one thing that she had rolled around and that was ending her own life.

I look at my own situation right now and what I have been doing to myself and it really boils down to the same thing. I am not being heard. I feel like I am screaming and screaming. And everyone is just acting like nothing is wrong. I finally feel like I understand where my husband’s mom was coming from. Invalidation makes me feel like a caged animal. It must have made her the same way. Desperate. Asking “What do I have to do to get someone’s attention?” Her answer may have not been the best one, but when you are that desperate to feel “normal,” anything seems better than where the mind is at in the moment.

The need to be heard. The need to feel validated. The need to feel like you are free to be yourself. Yes, those needs are so important. Most importantly to feel all those things from the person who is supposed to love you more than anything. And the feeling of total rejection and emptiness one feels when that person doesn’t even acknowledge that there is so hurtful.

New Favorite Movie Quote:

Last night I watched the movie "Upside of Anger." It was a delightful movie full of sarcasm, cynical humor and truth. And also a little bit of a viewpoint of life that was a bit hard to watch... But that's another post.

Within this movie is quote that had me in stitches. Maybe part of it was the 4 glasses of wine too...I don't know but here it is. A mother is confronting a 40 year old on why he is dating her 19 year old daughter...

Adam "Shep" Goodman: Who should I sleep with, Terry? Women like you? Your age? My age? I don't. You know why? 'Cause younger women are nice. You take them out, and they're actually grateful. "oh look, a steak. Yummy." You go for a walk after dinner and the air smells nice, they say, "Thank you. This was nice. This was fun. You're funny. Tee-hee-hee." What should I do, Terry? Settle down and marry some pissed-off thing like you?

...and here's the best part (could be applied to anything unpleasant in life)...

I'd rather have someone come over and do dental work, EVERY DAY, from my backside, through my ASS!

Classic. Just classic, I say.

Another good one is when Kevin Costner's character is with Terry (the mom who's husband has left her) and is fed up with her antics. He rants,

I am so SICK of being your bitch. I put up with your shit because I know how much PAIN you're in! But it's ENOUGH! It's a tall order for a patient motherfucker, and I am the furthest thing from that you're ever going to lay eyes on.

Hahaha. People really aren't allowed to be in too much pain. Others get sick of you. It is sadly true. A woman mopes around a little too long after her husband dies and she "just needs to start moving on with life." A guy struggling with depression after a divorce and he "just needs to get laid." Anyone struggling just needs to be put on happy pills. It's sad really. Sometimes I don't know why Hollywood gets paid so much to act when everyday people in their everyday lives act so often and so well. We go to work and snap-to-it regardless that personal lives are falling apart. We go home, kiss our kids, make dinner, have lively conversation for the family's sake and then weep silently to ourselves at night. Is it right? Is it good? Is it really healthy to sacrifice ourselves for the sake of others to the point of harming ourselves? Does God really want people to be miserable but stay with things because society has deemed it the "right" thing to do? Because by God, we have responsibilities! I don't know. I'm rambling at this point.

I guess I will leave you with this... If you know someone that is going through something, maybe listen for a change. It might not be something they can "just get over." Plus, you never know when you are going to need the listening reciprocated and I guarantee you, the friend you helped will never forget what you did and therefore will be very willing to return the favor.

Java Addiction

So, I have a coffee addiction. Seriously. I resigned myself when I started getting massive heartburn everyday as well as just general nausea, that I was going to eliminate as many foods and drinks known to upset my stomach as I could. This meant coffee as well. I didn't even make it one week. The three mornings I attempted to be good, I was all out of sorts. So I caved and suffered through my heartburn just to feel normal otherwise. I can't decide which is worse...no coffee means no morning heartburn but then I get headaches and my brain is foggy but then coffee means heartburn but I feel energized and fine otherwise. What a dilemma. Damned if I do, damned if I don't. So I'm going to say damn it all and just have my coffee.

I'm not sure where I got this quote or anything else about it such as context or author, but I found it when going through my e-files and thought I would post it. I think it is very true.

"I suppose anger drives people to extreme measures, just like passion does. Human emotion has strange needs beyond the logical."

One last thought...

I am chuckling right now because I did a little reverse spying on our home computer to see what my husband got into of mine. He found some old poetry I had written and typed up to keep. He didn't know I was the author because it wasn't listed on the page so he was Googling every single poem trying to search for the author. I laughed and laughed when I saw that. Here's one I wrote in college.

Something is wrong
when I have to remind you to write,
say goodbye before I leave,
tell me good night and sleep tight
and to have sweet dreams.

Something is wrong
when you seem more excited
to stay away with newfound friends
than to fall into my waiting arms
and be kissed by luscious lips.

Something is wrong
when someone I've barely met
cares more about how I am
than you who is so
so tightly wrapped inside yourself.

Secrets and Lies

Yes, bulimics are highly secretive people. I am a highly secretive person. An unwelcome invasion of privacy is one of the fastest ways to upset me. My husband continues to invade my privacy unwelcomed. It is starting to really grate on my nerves...and to be honest, I don't have many left. I am getting many sarcastic remarks about the things I keep hidden. Sometimes I just want one place that I know is safe. Once place I know that is all mine and will go untouched by anyone else. One place where only God can see. Is nothing sacred anymore???

Sadly, I have taken to hiding a few precious things in my office because it is the only place that goes undistrubed. My husband's admission to spying on me was just devestating. Now, I am not saying that there are secrets I have kept hidden and lies that I have told that are not in their own way destructive. But a big part of my illness is a struggle with control. If someone tries to take what precious little control I feel I have, I am just going to find another way to hide. I will get more inventive. I will perfect a new art of secrecy. Throwing it in my face is only going to succeed in making me more and more angry and resentful. More so than I am already.

If he would actually research my illness and try to understand it, he would learn these things, but alas, he lives in his own delusion and I remain in mine. I am still alone. I am still unheard. I continue to silently scream and scream.

I found this poem on a recovery site for people suffering from eating disorders. I related to it so I thought I would post it.

The Porcelain Doll
by: Courtney

A perfect little girl, the picture of grace
Everyone is fooled when they look at her face
They think she's content and worry free
Not caring at all about who she should be.
She hides inside of herself, protected by a shell
Pretending she's fine so that other's can't tell.
"If they knew the truth, that i am really unsure,
Then they would take care of me, trying desperatly to find a cure.
I can't be a burden, so i'll just lie,
Laughing it off when i really want to die.
"Her bright shiny eyes only sparkle with glass
And her painted red lips never let true feeling pass.
Is this really the girl that she wants to be?
Why can't she say, i just want to be me.
Because she is scared of what others will do
Will she be accepted or considered taboo?
Her sweet china mask will keep her safe
But she has forgotten how easily china can break.
So they fix her up with a dab of glue
Not really caring if that's what is true.
It never really matters if she's truly herself
As long as she looks perfect when placed on the shelf.

I am reading a book called “Wasted” by Marya Hornbacher. It is a memoir of dealing with anorexia and bulimia. While I have never been anorexic, I am relating to this book. The following is a passage that hit home. It was written while she was in a bulimic stage.

“And we did not mention, or perhaps we did not notice, that not only was I the problem, but that I had a problem. I knew, by then, that I had a problem. I knew it the way alcoholics know in the back of their brain that they have a problem. They know, but they don’t believe it’s out of control. The convenience in having an eating disorder is that you believe, by definition, that your eating disorder cannot get out of control, because it is control. It is, you believe, your only means of control, so how could it possibly control you?

You know, for example, that making yourself an entire box of macaroni for dinner one night, drowning it in butter, and shoveling it into your mouth is being out of control. But it’s really okay, you say to yourself, because you’re going to puke, you’re going to be overcome by an uncontrollable-oops-urge to throw up, thereby taking back control. You’ll breathe easier, your stomach will no longer be distended or your face bloated. Your soul will be at ease. You’ll get the bright idea to have a drink. You’ll go into the kitchen, drink bad red wine until you’re bombed and happy as a pig in clover, and walk up and down the hall juggling oranges, and then remember that wine has calories. You’ll return to the bathroom, throw it up, and go to sleep. A problem? Yes, eating is definitely a problem. Got to stop eating.”

Before I read this particular section, I wrote the following after a particularly bad night last week. I have not cut myself since my freshman year of college…almost 7 years ago. I was treated like such a freak after that episode, that I turned to hurting myself in a much more secretive way; throwing up. However, I was so agitated after an episode with my husband that I cut myself again. I cut myself ten times to be exact, five on each arm. Oh I was a mess doing it. I rationalized at the time that I was too upset to eat. Therefore, I had nothing to throw up. I had to make myself feel better. I cried and cried. Afterward I decided to write about it. I wrote the following:

“I’m sitting here watching welts form on newly broken skin. I find it terribly satisfying to feel my arms burning with delicious pain. To watch little beads of blood form above each welt and feel the sting as my nerves regain feeling. I am also simultaneously crying because I have given in yet again to the need to inflict pain on myself. I feel like such a failure. Yet strangely, it feels so good to feel so miserable. Maybe I will feel well enough to go to sleep. I must deserve such pain. Pain is comfort.

I haven’t felt this kind of pain in years. Tonight I didn’t eat dinner. It was not my original intent but the events that transpired over the course of the evening prevented me from having an appetite. Sometimes I wish I disciplined enough just to stop eating. At least if I stopped eating, I would stop throwing up because there wouldn’t be anything to throw up. What I really wanted that night was pasta. Pasta with just butter and parmesan cheese is one of the easiest things to purge. I love the way the pasta fills me up. Even more satisfying is emptying that fullness into the toilet.”

At this point, I am interrupted at 11:30pm by my husband who walks out in his bathroom demanding to know what I was writing. I was crumpling up one writing attempt. I said nothing and he went back into the bedroom. I threw the crumpled sheet away but stuck what I had just written into the book “Wasted.” My husband must have seen me do it because the next morning, when I got up, I noticed that the book and paper had been moved.

My therapist once told me to keep a journal. Her father, also a therapist and sitting in on some initial sessions, answered for me. He said, “She doesn’t trust enough to write anything down on paper.” I looked at him and said “yes.” That is true. I don’t trust to write down anything because it immortalizes it. And people can intrude on your privacy. My privacy is one of the few things that I can have control over. So, of course, the one fucking time I write something down, actually put pen to paper, my privacy is violated. I was so angry. So, if anyone ever asks why I anonymously blog? That’s why.

So back to what I wrote that night…Reading it now, it does sound very messed up. A friend asked me how I would actually throw up and do it so often without anyone knowing it. The answer to that is simple. I am by nature a perfectionist. I perfected the art of throwing up. I perfected the art of throwing up in secret. I perfected the art of throwing up silently. And if it wasn’t going to be silent, having other sounds around to drown out the sound of gagging. If I was having a bad day and I knew I’d want to throw up later, I would eat foods that came up easily. It all sounds so sick, but as with the book passage, I felt I was in control. I couldn’t be further from the truth.

RECONNECTING

Last night, I decided to get back on to My Space and search for people. I haven’t been on My Space for awhile, but I was bored, my husband was playing some video game and hogging the TV. So I decided to look up my old schools again to see if other people had signed up. I was astonished at how many more people were on from my high school. I was overjoyed to see two people that I had lost touch with after I got married and moved away.

One was one of my best girlfriends from high school named Steph. The other was a guy friend I had known since 6th grade named Andy. I sent both of them friend requests and was overjoyed to get a request to Instant Message from Andy. I spent the next hour catching up with him. It was awesome.

The best part was getting transported back to a time in my life when I was really, truly happy. Before I began cutting myself and throwing up. Before I quit fully being myself. Andy and I were part of a larger “artsy” crowd that hung out most every weekend in various group combinations. Without sounding like too much of a nerd, I will say that the choir and orchestra rooms were right by each other and the drama rooms were just down the hall. I was entrenched into all things music and art related so we all hung out a lot. We all had a lot in common. Much of my Sr. year was spent hanging out at coffee shops listening to local live bands and discussing life as we knew it back then. Some nights, we would all go to the local retro ballroom and dance. Wednesday night was ballroom, Thursday night was swing, Friday night was latin and Saturday night was club. By the end of the year, I was quite the swing dancer. Oh I do miss that. Happy, happy times.

I saw that Steph replied back to me on My Space but I am now at work and blocked from that site. Smart on our company’s part. We’d all be wasting our time with My Space instead of working. I can’t wait to talk to her. Sometimes all of this technology is a good thing…

EDNOS
(Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified)

I have so much to say
But no voice to be heard
So all of my thoughts
Lie just under the surface
Bubbling and stewing
Just waiting for the opportunity
When I find myself
And I can finally scream out loud

Technically, I cannot be categorized as someone with true bulimia so my disorder falls into the EDNOS limbo. As stated in my earlier blog, I was in denial over having an eating disorder mostly because I do not gorge myself on snack foods or sweets. I do not sneak or hide food to pig out on later. I actually eat normal foods. However, I eat higher quantities than needed. If I were to not purge and continue to eat the way I do, I probably would have gained more weight. I guess you could call that a "binge." There have been times I have purposefully eaten more than was comfortable because I knew I could throw it up later.

Purging disorder
Not yet a formal diagnosis, but seems to be separate from bulimia nervosa. At present, falls into the category of "Eating disorder not otherwise specified: EDNOS."
The person purges (vomits, abuses laxatives, diuretics, emetics, etc.) but does not binge eat.
Person maintains normal or near normal weight.
Researchers suspect that purging disorder may be more common than anorexia nervosa and bulimia combined.

I know I should go see at doctor. I have now asked my therapist for the names of recommended doctors that won't look at you like a freak when you talk about having an eating disorder. That's all I need right now is to feel more ill at ease with myself than I already do. I am starting to feel some physical effects. My acid reflux is out of control. I have had to stop eating on several occasions because of the pain.

Additionally, maybe a more formal diagnosis would help the people I have reached out to (i.e. family) to take me more seriously. My husband wants to flat out ignore everything. My mom keeps trying to relate the problem to just depression. I got the whole "this is how I dealt with depression" and "you just have to push through it. The grass isn't greener on the other side" speech. No Mom. Not the same thing at all. The way I cope isn't simply feeling sad. I THROW UP! I've thrown up 5 times in one day before. I've done this for going on 6 years! I purposefully eat foods that feel good to throw up. That is not normal. A happy pill and a few therapy sessions are not going to make it go away. I know people mean well, but sometimes their responses are just wrong! How bad does it have to get before people pay attention???

More Thoughts

"Then you should say what you mean," the March Hare went on.
"I do," Alice hastily replied; "at least - at least I mean what I say -- that's the same thing, you know."
"Not the same thing a bit!" said the Hatter. "Why, you might just as well say that, 'I see what I eat' is the same as 'I eat what I see'!"

- Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland

I was in denial over what I was doing to myself for a long time. I would argue that maybe I still am in denial. When people hear of eating disorders, two images come to mind: 1) Women that appear to have stepped out of a post-WWII concentration camp and 2) Women running to the bathroom leaving behind a trail of chip bags, candy, cookies and other various junk foods. I do not fit into either picture.

I love food and always have loved food. I guess you could call it a love-hate relationship. On my mom’s side of the family, we talk about food a lot. My grandma would write letters about company coming over and lengthy descriptions of what meal she prepared and how it tasted, etc… I remember when I was about 19 years old, my then boyfriend, now husband commented that he had never been around a group of people (my family) that could spend hours discussing food.

While I have never been “fat”, I always remember being labeled a “healthy eater.” I was somewhat famous in my family for being able to pack away a 12 oz steak with no problem at the age of 10. Most of my high school was spent slightly overweight for my height. I still had my “baby fat.” Towards the middle of my Jr. Year, I started losing weight. I ate healthy, I worked out constantly and I started to look good. I honestly relished the attention I received as I dropped from a size 8 to a size 0. For as much as I loved bread and pasta, when my family got on board with the Atkins Diet Craze, carbs became a mortal enemy and soon my diet consisted of lots of eggs, cheese, meat, salad, and other various no carb vegetables. Desserts became sugar substitute puddings and custards. But I looked great.

I went off to college that year determined not to pack on the “Freshman 10.” Although to be honest, 10 lbs would have looked good. I was at 105 lbs entering college and my best weight is around 118-125 lbs. The trauma that happened my freshman year became a recipe for my struggle with food that haunts me even now. Food became a sanctuary, a way of coping. But then dealing with the amount of food I was eating became one more thing for me to feel depressed and guilty over.

It never occurred to me to throw up my food at first. No. What came to mind was a different kind of self-injurious action. One night after a blow up with my boyfriend, I got so upset that I went back to my empty dorm room and proceeded to cut myself with a kitchen knife over 50 times on both forearms. You would think after maybe cut 1, 2 or 10 that I might have stopped due to pain, blood, or just the sheer realization of what I was doing to myself, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel a damn thing. It took a long time for feeling to set in. It was like I was some other person; detached and completely separated from my body. There was a feeling like I was hovering over myself watching what was happening and not connecting at all with the pain. In fact, I remember at one point starting to pay attention to the design of the cuts.

I’ve asked myself over and over again what possessed me to do that to myself. I am at the door trying to unlock that secret. Generic answers of feelings of unworthiness, self-loathing, etc… do not quite encompass what was in my head. You know what? I’m going to save the rest of this for a different day. The story is too long and arduous to continue to write at this point…