Sent Home From Work

It is probably so cliche to say “I am sick and tired of being sick and tired.” Especially when I don’t give enough shits to actually do anything about it. I haven’t eaten and kept down anything substantial in almost a week.
Today hit me really hard, I ended up sipping on a Gatorade, all I could see was the “130 calories” staring at me, taunting me, the sugar passing through my teeth, sticking to my body. I also had a homemade muffin, slowly pulling pieces off of the top and allowing my weak, spinning body to consume it. Putting me at a whopping -168 calories at 5 in the evening. Still feeling no better, and after involuntary throwing up my muffin, my boss came down to check on me and informed me, “I’m pretty sure we can handle it, you need to go home and eat.”
la de fucking whoop, if only I could.
After getting home I managed to get a shower, which was spent mostly sitting on my ass because of my spinning head. This is the second time this week where I have had to go home early because of not feeling well. Oh well. I don’t want to eat. Don’t want to go back to work. Don’t want to do much of anything besides run and sleep,
but I don’t even have the energy to run.
I wish I had the courage to go back to outpatient.


ED and Others Just Don’t Mix

I wonder if I will eat today. This is one of the first thoughts that pop into my mind every morning when I wake up.
No, I’m not living in some third world country where clean water is difficult to come by, nor am I living in a poverty stricken town where homelessness is the norm. I live in the gorgeous mountains of North Carolina where the only thing that seems to be affecting the population is ignorance. My question on what I will consume on a daily basis is rooted by my struggle with food.
The list of “safe foods” I allow myself to eat is about as short as my patience, especially when dealing with people. Sarcasm oozes from my pores, I am a bitch who says stuff at the drop of a hat, I hate people, and even more I hate myself.
You know that voice that beats you down? For some it is the mere, “Why did you do that?” or “Damn, I did awful on that test.” This is similar, “You are dumb, why did you chose that?!”. Except, she likes to push me to the extreme. “You don’t have to eat today.” “Bet she doesn’t eat THAT.” Or the taunting challenge of, “You can’t make it until Wednesday without eating.” The name calling, the harsh criticism that I put on myself every day.
Then, the worst, when you tell somebody and they just EXPECT you to be fine. Like it is a choice, “Oh, just eat.” (If you have ever struggled with an ED then you have probably heard this, as cliché as it is.) or the “It isn’t that hard, just have something.” “Why are you doing this?” “Are you trying to prove something?”
Sometimes it is just a shitty blasé attitude of not giving a damn, you figure you aren’t really sick, or sick enough, or it can’t get worse, or you just honestly have no fucks to give because that requires energy, which you don’t physically have to exert.
Talking with others about this is pretty damn useless unless the person is actually ridiculously patient, loves you dearly and, at least for me, spends the majority of their time with you. Even then they will say the wrong thing and piss you off, it is inevitable. From various people I have heard:
• Just eat
• Knock it off
• You are selfish
• There are starving kids all over the world
• You just don’t WANT to stop
• Pray to get better
• You wouldn’t be so absorbed by this if your little brother ended up in the hospital with cancer.
Now, don’t get me wrong, I do believe in prayer, and I have heard amazing stories. At the same time I do think it is going to take way more than sitting on my happy ass praying to get better. Trust me, I have wanted a *POOF* moment for years, it isn’t happening. It took a lot of self restraint not to fly off the handle and say, “Well yeah, some people pray about having kids and get them…” (She has tried to have kids for a couple years now with no success)
The starving kids one royally pissed me off, along with the one about my brother. I am very protective over him, he is MY brother, and YOU do not drag him into this. Guilt trips “starving kids” just piss me off to the point of fucking exploding. The one about my brother I was very proud of myself, sitting there in silence…. Clenching my jaw and fist so tight to the point of shaking, seeing red and visualizing myself slamming her head through the front windshield. When she was done I got out of the car, got in my car and headed home. Later that evening I sent her a message, “I did not appreciate what you said about my brother at all. My little brother has nothing to do with the fact I have an eating disorder. Yes, it might temporarily take my mind off of my eating, but even then I would go right back to it, or in all honesty, it might get way worse because I would be so stressed out and scared about him.”
People seem to not really think before they open their mouths sometimes, I too am guilty of this. A question I want to ask people that seem to be so ignorant is, “Do you really think I want to stick my head in public toilets?!” I mean really. I have stuck my head in more public toilets than I even care to think about. It isn’t one of my favorite things to do:
Yes, I might have lost weight, but so what, it will never be enough.
• Chapped lips
• Always cold (It’s summer, I’m wearing a sweatshirt and cabin socks.)
• Blue/brittle nails (I have to get them done so they don’t look like shit)
• My hair’s health has gone to shit
• Sore throat
• Headaches that last for days
• Always (I mean always) tired
• I never want to do anything anymore. Work, gym, home. That’s it.
• Sensitive teeth.
If I do eat something I regret, even something small, I oh so attractive like go into the bathroom, and stick my ice cold fingers down my throat until I sound like a cat bringing up a hair ball. A tear and mascara blend of liquid rolling down my face, vomit slowly oozing down my chin to my neck, and the paranoia of being heard, as a mixture of regrettable food sometimes blood and always shame gets flushed down the toilet.

The 5 Stages of Grief- All Within an Hour.

If you have read anything I have posted before, you will probably recall that the relationship between my mother and I is, well, rocky. After a long run this morning, I checked my phone and she, Kathy, showed some slight concern (knowing I hadn’t felt good the past few days). I had mentioned “struggling with food”, Kathy ignored it, life went on. She would drop hints about “are you eating?”, but was done more as a perfunctory motherly routine than genuine concern. She sassed, I sassed, it continued. As it was going on this literally felt like the stages of Loss and Grief. Now, while I am well aware she has not suffered a “loss”, nor is she “grief-stricken”, it was quite amusing/stressful/annoying to watch her messages flood in and the varying emotions attached to them.
Much like the old email “You’ve got mail.” I wish my phone would have alerted during this hour, “You have a pissed off mother text.” and, “Text from a bargaining mom, coming in.”

Now, the definition of “grief” according to Merriam Webster is,
grief- noun
>a cause of deep sadness
>trouble or annoyance

The 5 stages of Loss and Grief are:

-Alright guys, stick with me.-
While I fall more into the trouble or annoyance category, please note the changing of emotions and tones through our conversation. It may not have been in the exact 1, 2, 3 order, but oh is it there. Our short “cliff note” version of our conversation toppled into place in such a fashion as this:

Kathy: Hope you are eating well. Especially with you working and running in this heat.
Me: I got up and ran before it got hot luckily.
K: Food?
M: Coffee. Priorities mother 😛
K: I worry about you and don’t want you in the hospital or passing out.
(My mother only has one volume, and that is loud. We yell. If I had personally been talking with her face to face this would have been screamed, with profanity, not texted.) (denial/anger)
M: More concerned with electrolytes than passing out.
K: Ok than up your electrolytes! And eat!
K: Are you trying to prove something or…?
K: Stubborn runs in family but ya still gotta take care of yourself.
M: Trying to prove something? To who? About what? It’s not just that easy to “eat”.
K: OMG! Yes it is dammit! (more denial/anger)
M: It’s like telling a depressed person to just “be happy” or an alcoholic to just “stop drinking”.
K: I understand… I do! But as the mom person you are scaring me! (acceptance)
M: No, no it isn’t. I’ve thrown up since 8th grade and now you are concerned? Just withing the past year or so I’ve heard all the time “You look so great…”
K: You are bringing your body to a ridiculous unhealthy state. You aren’t going to be unable to accept food and will get very ill!
K: I am so sorry you have an eating disorder. Go back to help. We will pay! I am sorry I didn’t realize. (depression, acceptance)
K: You have the choice to have a nice long life ahead of you…or not… choose a long life please!! (depression, acceptance)
K: Don’t punish yourself because I was a screw up as a mother please! What can I do?!?? I don’t have a time machine! How can we healthy like- go forward?
M: I’m running errands right now. I’ll eventually go back to outpatient. I hate the drive.
K:…or wind up in Er w/ organs shutting down… k gotcha
K: I am very scared for you and don’t know what to do! You are going to wake up in hospital w/ iv’s in you… please address this BEFORE YOU CAN’T! (Anger, depression, acceptance…)
K: Wanna move back home next year… senior year? While you apply for grad schools? (…bargaining)

While this all sounds fine and dandy, my mother’s emotions change like the weather. She may say this stuff now and tomorrow not mean a damn word of it. I feel like at this point I just don’t give a damn and I’m just not to the point of recovery.

Ultimatums, Pot, and Panic Attacks.

Fear tactics just don’t work for me. I just get pissed. No, don’t threaten me, don’t attempt to scare me.

Well, my mother tried to hit me with an ultimatum after our last conversation together. She was planning a trip out of the country but because of finally finding out about my eating disorder she hit me with a do this or I’ll do that.

Good ole Kathy told me that, “I will cancel my trip and have you put into treatment myself. Or, you need to show interest and go back into outpatient on your own.”
I did what any good daughter would do, “Oh, mom, you can’t cancel your trip, you have been looking forward to it so much. I’ll consider looking back into outpatient and making an appointment when you are gone.”…blah blah blah, bull shit bullshit bullSHIT.
So, mom is still out of the country for a few more days. She messaged me a few times on Facebook…”Oh, yeah, I just forgot. I’ll call C in a couple days, make an appointment.” “Oh, I’ve just been so busy with work.”

Then I began to feel the weight of the world fall on me, and my frail legs couldn’t hold it all up and together. I called out of work, spent time with my brothers, remembered how much I hate my step dad. I decided to relieve my grandmother, pick my brothers up and spend some time with them. My step dad is about as useful as a bike to a goldfish, no help to my grandmother, spending no time with his own sons… anyway. I picked them up, took them back to their house and decided to spend the night, we were planning a fun day together. My step dad refused to let me take them, even though he had given approval earlier that day, but then informed me he had to work the next day. He owns his own company, he is the boss, but yet he wouldn’t take one day off….?
So, I still decided to spend the night. I got up early the next morning and went on a long 6 mile run. Felt great, loved it, starting the day off with -500ish calories. Apparently step fuck went into my brother’s room raising all kinds of hell wondering where I was. His sleepy response was, “she went on a run.”, so I got home, hadn’t eaten in anything substantial in like 3 days anyway, and step fuck was gone. We laid around the house for a few hours, talking, watching a movie, etc, I wasn’t feeling too great after my run and no food. I decided I was not going to be some live in nanny who was told what she could or could not do with her brothers. I ordered them pizza, and went outside to shoot hoops with them while I was waiting for the pizza to come so I could head home. Then I saw it……
there, hidden under the morning glories, the basil, the cherry tomatoes… pot… marijuana, indica… that little step fuck was growing his own pot. His 21 year old daughter is getting her concealed carry permit, works with children, has two jobs, scholarship, and yet he is going to act like he is twenty with control issues, tell me what to do while he is growing pot… mature much? The pizza came, I paid for it, the sight and smell of pizza was enough to make me want to throw up- huge fear food of mine.
That was just more shit on the shit cake. Then I decided to go to Wal-Mart. I wasn’t even buying food, I got a planner, highlighters, a movie, coffee, and was standing in the candle aisle when I felt like I was spinning. I couldn’t breathe, the amount of people rushing past me was making me anxious, the mere thought of food was enough to send my body into a frenzy. There I stood in the aisle as one old lady, staring blankly at the candles.
Everything was just falling down around me. Rumors about me going around this small town, how fat I felt, how much I can’t stand my family, the fact that my 13 year old brother wanted to smoke his father’s pot, I couldn’t stand to eat, I can’t bring myself to go back to treatment. I felt so overwhelmed and all I could do was stand there, frozen, staring at the candles. People commenting on my weight, my relationship with people going to shit, wearing clothes and getting dressed was such a chore. I wasn’t sure if I was going to throw up, pass out, or start crying; my legs weak, and my head spinning. My cart, full of only 5 things, remained glued to that aisle floor, as my vision was just getting blurry, and the distance between the cart and I grew.
I made it to the entrance of Wal-Mart with nothing in my hands besides my keys, phone, and debit card. I got in my car and sat there, unsure if I would actually make it home.

Sitting in my car in the quiet I was able to focus and get my breathing back to a steady pattern, I finally texted C, (too afraid to actually talk) and messaged my best friend about the overwhelming, stressful day I had had. I made it home, and took a nap.

Any yet my mother tried to get me to move back home… over my dead body.