Eating Disorders Aren’t About Food

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Fat Ballerina

Eating Disorders Aren't About Food

“Emotionally dysfunctional family patterns also play a role in manifesting the symptoms of eating disorders: families who do not share their feelings or resolve their conflicts in healthy ways; perfectionist families who stress appearance and status; food-focused families who use food for reward or punishment, or who obsessively count calories and fat. All have the potential for creating negative feelings that can predispose their members to unhealthy eating patterns.”

http://www.gloucestertimes.com/lifestyle/x1927823756/Eating-disorders-arent-about-food

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Sick Day- I Threw Up

“I threw up yesterday at work, I’m going to call out.” Hah, oh that’s funny. Technically it isn’t a lie, but still. 

Woke up today feeling awful, stomach hurt so bad, in such a slump. Looked in the mirror and just cried. Read a text message from someone who actually cares, just cried even harder “…you can rupture your throat with all the stomach acid you insist on bringing up your throat on a daily basis and you don’t give a shit.”  Damn, the truth hurts, and she is spot on. I hate that while I’m hurting myself I am also hurting her.  “I’m just your friend who wants desperately for you to get better so you DON’T die, but until you give a shit- none of his matters. You think it’s fun to fit into your 5th grade sister’s clothes, THAT my dear is just scary.”  Granted, it was a skirt that was a little big on her, but still. 

I talked to one of my guy friends yesterday. We were going to go to Atlanta, Asheville, somewhere, go explore, get into shenanigans, do something. He was drunk last night and still hasn’t responded to my messages. So I gave up. 

I woke up, showered, had intentions of doing SOMETHING today, but can barely get myself out of bed. I’m in sweats and just laying in bed. I began to leave the house, got a couple miles down the road and turned around. The thermometer on my dash read 68 degrees F, yet my feet are freezing, my heat was on high and I just wanted to go back home. I looked cute for all of ten minutes. I hate just laying around the house, but I feel awful, I’m so damn cold, I hate myself so much, eating isn’t even an option today.

Think I’m gonna have another cup of coffee and go to bed. 

 

You Wouldn’t Scream Fire In a Crowded Building; Why Say Rape?

I have many pet peeves, numerous ones of them pertain to food in some form or fashion. One of the many things that get under my skin is the made up connotation that society has attached to certain words and believe to be synonyms. 

The first is gay. Yes, this annoys the ever loving shit out of me. Gay is not interchangeable with “stupid”, “dumb”, whatever. It is a way of living, I have no right to judge anyone for who they love. Yes, I am a Christian. Yes, I am a sinner who has royally screwed up (if you don’t believe me, read my other posts). I also believe that if I don’t want to be judged, why judge others? Jesus had dinner with tax collectors, sluts, etc, why can’t I be ok with how others live their life?

The next is rape. I’m not sure if it is as prevalent where you live as where I live, but holy shit. I want to smack every shit head that uses this word in a nonchalant, lackadaisical, everyday way. I’m not talking about speaking on the importance of getting help, support, etc. I’m talking about the high school kids who use it all the time. 

If you haven’t heard it, you are about to. I’ve heard it in many circumstances, “Oh man, that algebra test raped me.” “I just raped that game.” It isn’t cute, it isn’t funny, and in all honesty I want to punch you in your ignorant face. Rape is not interchangeable with “owned”, “dominated”, “kicked ass”, etc. While these terms seem to be appropriate in the actual use of rape, as in that guy tried to “own” that girl, or “dominated” her body (since it is all about control and power). 

Using the term “rape” so nonchalant and casually, in my opinion, lowers the significance and urgency attached to the word. Society will soon become so immune and desensitized that I wonder what will happen to this word. Women, and men, both, struggle with so many conflicting and intense emotions. Whether it is blame, anger, nausea, worry that people won’t believe them. If people become so numb to using this word what will happen to the victims?

Even worse is the sting that must carry to someone who has been sexually abused. To hear young, ignorant, high school students use this word when referring to a video game; to them it may be harmless. To the lady trying to eat her lunch that became triggering, she wasn’t able to finish her lunch and spent the rest of the day on high alert in panic mode. 

Getting a Refund on Recovery?

Recovery is expensive. 

A lot goes into recovery, mentally, physically, financially.

Inpatient, outpatient, residential, doesn’t matter, they are all expensive. 

I am stuck in a slump. The haunting thoughts of “You aren’t skinny enough to have an Ed”, “You aren’t sick enough.” “Too fat, too big, too healthy….” they keep getting louder and louder. 

I could pay for outpatient again, and part of me is so tempted to do so. The other part is the voice that keeps repeating the thoughts of not enough. I am discouraged because I feel like treatment didn’t help last time, so why try again? 

I could go to treatment and drop hundreds of dollars a month, or I could:

  • renew my gym membership to keep me able to purge myself daily on miles upon miles.
  • buy my plane ticket for Thanksgiving so I can spend it with family I actually like that won’t be triggering.
  • get my nails done since mine are chipping, flaking, and look like hell.
  • buy more make up since my entire complexion looks like shit.
  • pay to have my hair done, that way I have an excuse why my hair is falling out.
  • purchase more running shorts and sports bras so I don’t have to actually wear real clothes.
  • register for numerous runs and races that will exhaust me.

All of these sound way more enjoyable than actually going to treatment, sitting down, talking about my feelings, listening to “why I feel that way”, and trying to get me to eat shit I don’t want to eat. 

Is it possible that recovery just isn’t for me?

 

My Adventures On Planet Apathy

I have been in such a slump recently, it is awful. Today my best friend and I took the day off and went shopping.

I realized how much I just don’t even give a damn, and it is kinda scary. I have prayed for my esophagus to rupture, prayed for a heart attack, to pass out at work and get hurt… Anything. 

As for outpatient everyone thinks I should schedule and get back in…. but me. I seem to genuinely just have no interest in recovery right now, which kinda scares me. I am stuck in the indescribable hell of my eating disorder, but fighting takes so much effort lately, and I am in just such a slump I don’t even care. 

My best friend really wants me to get back into treatment, but just hours later she was telling her dad about how she “Has to go back on her diet.”…. great. 

My mom thinks treatment is wasteful and unnecessary. The other people who know all think it is a good idea. 

Everything is just falling aside lately. My religion- Haven’t prayed, read, church, anything in a while. Eating disorder- Well, that’s kinda kicking my ass. My day consists typically of Waking up, gym, work, gym, home, shower, repeat. Myfitnesspal can kiss my ass, my boss can bite me, church I have no interest in, clothes all fucking suck-I do love my Nike shorts though they are the best.  Outpatient is like an hour away, expensive, and didn’t help the first time. Plus, if my own mother doesn’t give a damn about me, why should I give a shit about my own health?

“That is why you look like this….”

“That is why you look like this….” 

She meant it as a compliment. I didn’t take it that way. I wish I gave a damn. Wish I saw myself how others see me. 

As I was at the gym for the third time today, my coworker was there and came over to talk. She asked what I was doing as she saw the barbell weighed down, laying there at my feet taunting my spinning head. I told her I was doing dead lifts, and that I had just got done doing plank with a 25 lb plate on my back, if she wanted to do either of those with me. She laughed, declined my offer, gestured to me and said, “That is why you look like this….” What she meant was, “I can’t do that stuff, and that is why you’re smaller than me.” I took it as, “Yeah fat ass, you are here for the third time today and still look like THAT.”  

Now, as we all know, there is a huge difference between what she said, and how my eating disorder manipulated it into taking. 

I have also begun to step on scales. It isn’t to get an exact weight, but mainly so I know what I’m under. It’s one of those doctor scales. As I stand there in the gym, it feels like a stage that I’m stepping onto. Everyone is judging, waiting for me to forget my lines, waiting for me to trip up, get stage fright, cry, run off stage.

I slide the main bar down to some number that I couldn’t reach if it was Thanksgiving, I had drank five gallons of water, with my book bag on, and ten layers of clothes on, 180, 200, something. I stop at a certain point “Let’s see how close to the edge I can go without falling off the cliff.”  So I know I weigh under x… of course I wanna weight x-10, even though I don’t even know what I weight besides UNDER some number x. 

I got home and had a motivated moment. I’ll call C, set up an appointment, get help, maybe do more appointments, look into other places. Then it faded…. “You are not emaciated.” “You are not sick.” “Look at you, you’re healthy enough to go to the gym, you’re fine.”  I told a friend about this faded motivation, she got irritated, said I was emaciated, and I need help.  Everyone else sees something I don’t. I see a bloated stomach, love handles too wide, boobs too big. Yes, I lift, I squat, dead lift, run way too much, stay on the spin bike until I can barely stand, etc, unfortunately I have realized my weight won’t be low enough to be in what Laurie Halse Anderson called, “Dangerland“, until I just completely stop working out and allow my body to eat all of my muscle. I cannot just sit around and do nothing though. The irony of realizing that I feel the most alive when I am practically dying during my runs. 

Sometimes I just wish I would pass out at work, get hurt, throw up large quantities of blood, lose a tooth or two, SOMETHING to wake me the hell up and scare the shit out of me. Am I doomed to remain where I am, stuck on this hellish merry go round, until I am ready to “wake up”, acknowledge I need help, accept I am “sick”?

If that is the case, I am royally fucked

Same Time, Same Place, Less Weight.

Im still stuck in my vicious cycle, and work is no help. Work has been incredibly stressful. It shouldn’t be, but it is. Today was slow, but I feel so down in the dumps and stressed. I wanna cry.  I put up my hammock at work since I’m outside and curled up in it. 

I hate how cold I am- always. Wearing three shirts, socks, etc. So here I sit, in my hammock, with my frozen runny nose, my blue nails, sensitive teeth, reading wintergirls. 

I know I should go back into treatment or therapy or something. I don’t want to. I know I need to eat. I don’t want to.  I have noticed I’m just getting worse. I’m where I was last year, just smaller and not as healthy.  Surgery, sensitive teeth, blood work and numerous Dr appts later, I’m where I was last year, just less weight, less calories, more running

Double Standards & The Fact I’m Probably Going to Hell

I just got off of work and pissed off as all get out, mostly at myself. This will be an interesting post. 

I hate how much I hate myself. Seriously. Never good enough, skinny enough, happy enough, quiet enough. I say the wrong things all the time, do shitty things. What gets me though, is the double standard. I mean this in a few ways. I’m jealous of the girls that pull off and wear the cutest things, whether they are smaller than me or twice my size. I lack their confidence and I am so jealous of that. I want to dress cute, feel confident and happy in my own skin; but no. I hate myself too much for any of that. 

The next double standard has to do with my best friend, Emily. She knows about my eating disorder for a while, read a few posts back about the mexican food if you don’t remember. Anyway, Emily struggles with depression. When explaining my eating disorder to her I compared the comment of “Just eat” to someone telling her to just “Be happy”. That seemed to resonate with her. So, for weeks, months, years, I have always heard her cry, fuss, whine, moan, bitch, complain. Everything from being single, to the school she goes to, to her nose, etc. I have listened, and tried to help. Today was a difficult day, I’m not sure what it was, but today just sucked. As I was leaving work I was trying to vent to her. She took the other person’s side, didn’t even try and let me finish my story, and when I finally gave up I said “Right now all I want to do is go home and throw my guts up until I have a heart attack.”  She didn’t try to help, stop me, anything. She said some smart ass comment under her breath and got in her car.

So you will sit there, bitch and moan and I will listen to you cry over the fact that you have never had a boyfriend, but I’m not allowed to vent?!?! I hate that I don’t have anyone to turn to. I hate that I hate myself. 

Next topic, is the fact that I am probably going to hell. Some lady came in today, the first thing that I noticed was how thin she was. Her chest bones visible, her extremities fragile, part of me was extremely envious. Around her I wanted to put on my enormous hoodie and hide my disgusting body. She was tiny, I was jealous. I wished I was that thin, that fragile, that skinny. Later, when they returned, I noticed she was bald. I had failed to notice that earlier, being so entirely consumed by her tiny body and protruding bones. I had wished, envied and gawked over someone’s tiny body, somebody, who had been consumed by cancer. How sick is that?! I had wished and wanted to look like a cancer patient. 

God I hate myself so much. 

Getting a Grade in Food Logging 101

My senior year research is this month, what I want to know is Why in the hell did I choose a research that involves me keeping a food log?!?! 

At this point I think I’d rather drop out and become a pole dancer, at least I would get abs. 

One of his first emails said something to this effect, “You should make an A in this class, do not fudge any of your data or food logs, and read all of my emails.”  So this is where I felt like I was in a predicament. Do I: A) Not say anything and cross that bridge when I get to it. B) Just hope he doesn’t think my food log is incomplete or lacking and give me a bad grade. C) Hope he doesn’t pull me into his office because he is “concerned”. or D) Briefly mention it in an email, and also get a doctor’s note. 

Well, my best friend advised me that A was probably a bad idea. I wanted to avoid C at all costs because I’m so tired of these dumb lectures. The perfunctory routine lectures of “You’re so pretty.” “What you’re doing isn’t healthy.” “You need to eat.” the even more halfhearted “Im concerned”s. If it was this easy to recover I’d be 100% by now, it is so frustrating to hear the “Just eat.” or the “Don’t skip meals.” As you probably guessed, I went with option D…. Which also led to numerous stressors in itself. 

First, involved calling the doctor. I called and spoke with her nurse, and told me that she have the doctor call me back so she could help. So then, all day I was afraid to be on my phone, nervous I’d “Ignore Call” by accident while scrolling through Twitter or Pinterest. Also, I was at work, I was anxious nearly all day, waiting for the call, and knowing the moment we got busy is when she would return my call. It was about two o’clock, we weren’t busy, I was reading Wintergirls, then came the twinkling ringtone of my phone. The conversation was stressful enough and I wasn’t even sure what I wanted or how to go about all this stressful research crap, much less dealing with the food logs. So the conversation went something like;

“This is Dr. X, trying to reach Susie.”

This is her.

“Hey, Susie, my nurse wasn’t exactly sure what was going on or what you needed from us?”

Yeah, being honest, I’m not quite sure either…

“….ok?…”

As I briefly mentioned at one of my appointments my senior year research involves food logs, numbers, and keeping track, so I feel like I’m in a predicament… *I explained options A, B and C* 

“Ooohhh, alright, now I understand.”

Yeah, I’m not even sure if a Doctor note would do anything or help. I just don’t want to email him, and him get belligerent or sassy, question me or anything. 

“Well, that is kinda his problem, not yours, isn’t it? I don’t think he is going to doubt you, you have anorexia, it is a medical issue and concern. Nobody with anorexia is going to say it, even people who don’t have anorexia don’t say it.” *my doctor is kinda brutally honest and sassy…..*

True, I guess it is like a “here is what I eat… or don’t eat…” 

“Tell him you had surgery, that it’s messing your diet up, and depending on how honest you want to be, just tell him you struggle with anorexia.”  (I swear, if that woman could have used the term “anorexia” anymore.)

Oh, great idea, I forgot about surgery.

“I’d be more than happy to write a note explaining that you had surgery, and struggle with ongoing anorexia.” -_- “but, if I were you, I’d just be candor and tell him you suffer from anorexia. If he has a problem, that is all him, not you. I’ll write the letter and leave it up front, I’m going to be very honest, but if it says something you don’t like just let me know.”

Ok, thank you. 

Well, step one was complete. Every time she said the term “anorexia” a flood of emotions hit me. Ana’s voice herself, defending, “You do not have anorexia, you are not skin and bones.” A jab of pain from the brutal honesty my doctor hit me with, a remarkable amount of stress realizing I have to do this logging all month and anger/denial, not sure if that was Ana or me, just wanting to scream, “I do not have anorexia!” 

Step two was to let my professor know. I once again was tempted to rely on option A, that way if option C emerged and I was pulled into his office I would at least have a tangible note. Once again Emily said not to do that. So I hunted for every microscopic ounce of courage and humility I had to email him. I briefly expressed concern for my grade and my food logs. Even more brief, I mentioned struggling with “food related issues” and not wanting to be deducted for a poor food log. 

Attached to the email was my doctor note, she had written and I had picked up that read:

To Whom it may concern:

Ms. Susie has recently gone through gallbladder surgery and also struggles with anorexia. Please be advised.

Sincerely,

Dr. X

The last and final step will be to send the email to him, and see how he responds to it.