Body Ideals

I was watching one of those free credit score report commercials, and the latest one is set on a beach. There’s this girl they show a couple of times in a bikini, and I caught myself saying that if I could have the “perfect body,” it would have been hers. And what was interesting was she wasn’t even ultra-thin. If I could pick out my “perfect body,” I think it would look something like this:

Britney Spears, 2001

I’ve always admired Britney’s body during that time period, and I spent countless nights doing crunches trying to get a stomach that looked like hers. As you can see, she’s clearly not underweight and actually looks quite healthy. I think if I didn’t have an eating disorder, I would be quite pleased to have that body. But given that I’m only 5’0, I’ll never be able to attain any “length” to my build. My breasts are very big for my height, so they hang lower than the average person. I don’t have a lot of space between my breasts and bellybutton, so it almost looks as if someone cut out my waist and glued me together without it. My hips are also big for my height, so everything is very disproportionate. I’ll never have that long, tall frame like the model below:

As you can see, there’s quite a bit of room between her breasts and bellybutton (granted she does have her arms up, but still). Also, her hips naturally meet up with her upper thighs. If you were to look at me in a bikini, my hips curve out, then in, then my thighs curve out. So there’s this weird indentation I have; almost like a permanent fucking muffin-top that I can’t stand.

So, you may be asking, if Britney Spears (back in the day) is my body ideal, then why do I want to be underweight so bad? Realistically, this is actually what I want my body to look like:

I admire the sharpness of the anorexic girl; the smallness, the angles. There’s a sort of beauty that I see that normal people don’t. People would ask me why I would want to look like that, but I wouldn’t be able to give them any answer that they would understand. Reaching an emaciated weight would mean so much more than just “being thin.” It would be a direct representation of my dedication, hard work, perseverance, and control. If I ever got to that weight, I wouldn’t feel hot, or sexy, or pretty. I would actually probably really hate it; even now at the weight I am, I can’t find clothes that fit my frame. I’m so short that my only real option is to wear children’s clothing, and when you are a woman of 25 walking around in clothes made for kids, it’s hard to feel womanly. And the funny thing is is that I do have curves; my breasts and hips are so rare for someone of my size, and yet, I still can’t fill out any of my bras anymore, nor do I have any pair of pants that will stay up without me tucking in my shirt or wearing a belt.

Ideally, if I didn’t have an eating disorder, I would kill to have either body in the first two pictures. But the fact that I do have an eating disorder, if a genie came down and magically granted me the ability to choose which body I could have, I would pick the third in a heart beat. Not to please anyone else’s idea of what beauty is. Not to pick up guys. Not to be like a model. But to alleviate my sick and twisted ideal of what “perfect” is…what “pure” is. PUREFECT. (See what I did there? lol)

What if I Was Pregnant?

So after talking with my boss yesterday and receiving a comment on my last post regarding possible pregnancy, I went to the pharmacy to pick up a pregnancy test. At the last minute I saw candy bars on sale for 79 cents and hit that up, buying two to bring home. I placed them on top of the pregnancy test for no reason other than convenience, and the guy (who is in his early 20s) ringing up my stuff says the following:

Him: You staying out of trouble?
Me: *Awkward laugh* Yeah…
Him: I don’t know, that grin tells me differently. I see what you tried to do there, hide this under the candy bars.
Me: *Awkward laugh*
Him: So, are you hoping or no?
Me: *Awkward laugh* ….we are trying.

Then he goes on to say how he’s seen much “worse” being bought, like “rope for hog tying” and that he was “waiting until he was older” to have babies.

I was so appalled and embarrassed that I forgot to slide my card in the ATM slot. He was borderline flirting and affirming me that I shouldn’t be embarrassed for buying a pregnancy test. The fact of the matter is is that I wasn’t embarrassed in the first place until he asked such inappropriate questions that were none of his business!  Like, what if I wasn’t hoping to be pregnant? Did he really expect me to share that information with him? Granted he was young and we all put our foot in our mouths at some point in our lives, but I’m just glad there was nobody else in line with me. That would have been mortifying.

Anyway — I’m sure you are wondering if I’m pregnant or not. Well, after taking two tests, apparently I’m not. I will, however, take another test in two weeks if my period doesn’t come first. There is an off beat chance that I conceived a couple of days after that weird period (two weeks ago) and it could be too early to detect the HCG hormone. They say you can start feeling your breasts hurt one to two weeks after you conceive, so it would make sense if that were the case.

I should just not weigh myself until my breasts stop hurting, because today I weighed again and I’m back up again. I did eat more than I intended yesterday (probably in the 1500ish range) but I’m trying to get out of the habit of thinking that is “bad.”

This stage in my disorder, regardless if I’m really pregnant or not, has got me thinking about my priorities. I think what I’m doing (restricting my food intake) is just as bad as if someone were drinking alcohol while they were trying to conceive. If someone thought they may be pregnant, they would probably stop drinking until they knew for sure. So if I think I’m pregnant, I should probably start eating a normal amount until I know for sure. That would be common sense and the right thing to do. But honestly? I’m struggling with this. I’m struggling with the idea to eat more, even with the slim chance of being pregnant.

On the way home last night before buying the test, my hopes were high and I asked myself, “Okay, what if I really am pregnant?” My fear almost slipped away and I told myself, “Well, I would make an immediate appointment for a doctor and probably see a nutritionist to put me on a weight gain plan.” And I was okay with that. In that moment, driving home, I was okay with that and was almost excited by the idea. Excited that for once, I could eat food in ample amounts, food that was good for me, food that would make me feel better and give me the best possible chance of carrying a baby. I felt okay about weight gain, and my body changing, and numbers like “2500″ or “3500″ didn’t make me anxious. In that moment, if it was something I had to do for a baby, I would have done it in a heart beat.

But this morning is different. With two negative pregnancy tests and a number on the scale that I’m not happy with, the devil on my shoulder says I should keep my food intake the way it has been this entire week. So I’m struggling. It’s not easy to admit that. Could I possibly put ED aside for the next two weeks until I know for sure? I don’t know. In the end I could have had just one fucked up cycle this month and I could be worried for nothing. On the other hand, the one-in-a-million hand, I could be putting a little person’s life at risk for my own selfish reasons. And given that it’s the one-in-a-million hand, if I was pregnant, this could literally be the only time I am/was able to conceive naturally. That should be the decision maker, right there. And yet, even now, trying to convince myself to eat like a normal person today, my mind keeps saying one thing: No.

I’m a big believer in fate and signs, and there’s three scenarios going on in my head right now:

1.) God is going to help me get pregnant and then have me lose the baby to punish me.
2.) God is going to help me get pregnant in order to save me from my eating disorder.
3.) God is going to fuck with my head and make me think I’m pregnant in order to set my priorities where they should be.

Either way, all three would teach me one valuable lesson: stop being so selfish.

I can do this. I can eat normally for two weeks until I know. Right? Just for today, as they say in program, I can eat normally. I say it, but I don’t feel it.

Sigh.

Rules, Rants, and Worries

I think my breasts have been sore for about a week now. To back this story up, my period was a week early this month and came on with no usual symptoms I’m used to. Usually my breasts are sore a week before it’s due, and I also suffer from bloating. I was pleasantly surprised because, for once, my period didn’t affect my weight and I was able to relax the morning of my weigh-ins without worrying about whether or not it was “fake weight.” Anyway, a week later after my period ends (shorter than  usual), my  breasts begin to feel sensitive, itchy, and sore. Now they are just sore and heavy. I’ve typed in all sorts of stuff into google, like “breasts sore after period” or “breasts sore during ovulation” or “breasts sore, not period, not pregnant” and I got what’d you’d expect from a google diagnosis: PREGNANT!, HORMONES!, STRESS! CANCER! DEATH! So the hours spent searching for an answer really got me nowhere. If any of you women out there could give me personal experience in relation to this issue, that would be great. I’m assuming my body is just off balance (possibly ED related?) and for some reason this month, my boobs are sore during ovulation. Worse case scenario in my head is that my period wasn’t really a period, but a miscarriage (possible or unlikely?).

Day two of my “new and improved” meal plan has gone well. I judge how “well” I am doing on certain rules…how hungry I feel by the time I get home from work, how flat my stomach is in the morning, how weak I feel once I get out of bed. If I don’t feel hungry between the time I get home (8:30) and midnight, I did bad. If I have to flex to make my stomach flatter in the morning, I did bad. If I can walk down the stairs without feeling like my legs are filled with sand, I did bad. Basically, anything that makes me feel like a normal person makes me feel bad.

Today is day three and so far, I have no binge cravings. Let me rephrase that. I do wish I could sit and scarf down some food, but the physical urges to do so haven’t been there (yet). It’s only Wednesday, so we’ll see. I had to fight the urge to weigh this morning. I’ve done it before (gone days without weighing) but those times were because I had no access to a scale. The fact that I could go upstairs right now and weigh as I please? It sucks. But again, I have to keep telling myself the following things:

o Weighing daily will make you crazy, especially due to the fact that your breasts are swollen and heavier.
o The fact that you look slightly pregnant due to being bloated is only due to whatever your body is going through and all the vegetables you’ve been eating.
o Your chances of losing weight are better eating this meal plan that what you’ve been doing.
o It’s okay to eat the amount of food you’ve deemed safe; it’s still a lot lower than what “normal” people eat.
o You physically cannot gain weight off of the amount of food you are eating. At worse, you will maintain.
o Most of your food is vegetables; it just looks like a lot.

But let me tell you, last night was difficult. My stomach pooched out and it was hard to just sit in it. It was hard to just sit with the fact that my stomach looked fat. But anyone who pressed on my stomach wouldn’t have had to be a rocket scientist to tell me it was full of gas. A normal person would say, “Eh, I’ll just pop some Beano before I eat dinner tomorrow and I won’t have this problem.” But instead, I yelled, “My stomach is FUCKING BLOATED!” to my husband, my hands up in the air, with an angry look on my face. He slowly backed out of the bathroom to give me space and uttered a casual “Woah” as if he was Joey from Blossom. But I dealt with it; I had no choice. I can’t give up eating vegetables, so Beano it is!

Alright, this entry has been put together all helter-skelter and I’m not a fan so I’m just going to off to Farmville land.  Actually, I’m off to visit some of your blogs to comment. I read your entries on my phone and the mobile version of WordPress will NOT let me leave comments! Any help on this issue would be great as well.

Life of a Former Wannarexic

A lot of people who truly deal with anorexia or other eating disorders have extreme disgust towards those people out there who “choose” to be ana or mia and post pictures of “thinspiration” all over the place. I don’t blame them. Not understanding the concept of an actual eating disorder can be very offensive to some and very dangerous to the person praying to the Ana Gods and crying that they “gave in” and had that entire bag of M&Ms. As for me, I don’t really hold much resent towards people like that, even though I know they are very naive. Why? Because I used to be one of those girls:

When my anorexia began at age 15, I started an online diary at www.opendiary.com. It was 2001, and the internet was a social playground for those twisted minds to come together and encourage each other’s bad behaviors. The title of my diary was “EATING IS OVERRATED” and I had a picture posted of Kate Moss, nude, on her knees, facing the opposite direction of the camera. She looked over her shoulder with her pouty facial expression, and below her was written “Hunger Hurts.” I had my weight stats (OF COURSE!) and a little blurb about me and my sob story. I had “diet buddies” and made pacts with girls to fast for three days straight. I asked for tips and tricks. I scoured the internet for hours and visited web sites like The Underground Grotto and Blue Dragonfly. I wore a red bracelet, secretly showing off my pride to be ANA. I cut out pictures of models and pasted them into my journal. I taped all the eating disorder movies off of Lifetime (VHS, Holla!) and watched them over and over, admiring Tracy Gold (For the Love of Nancy) and Amy Jo Johnson (Perfect Body). I labeled myself as pro-anorexic because I wanted to be anorexic. I encouraged other girls to engage in dangerous dieting behavior and congratulated them when they lost weight. I graciously pushed aside my gigantic plate of Hamburger Helper as I watched the Oprah special on eating disorder and pro-anorexia. I carried around THE LIST of reasons why you shouldn’t eat (I’m sure you hardcore people know which list I’m talking about. Bonus points for someone who can find the original.) I walked around school and smiled every time my stomach growled. I carried around eating disorder books from the library so I could garner attention from fellow classmates. No wonder my friends eventually ratted me out to the school counselor — I seldom did anything to HIDE the behaviors from anyone.

So was I a wannarexic? Yes and no. Because despite all the typical wannarexic behavior, I was struggling, very much, with restricting and bingeing. I really was going six days straight without eating any solid food. I really was compulsively weighing myself. I really was bringing a can of (DIET!) soda to school so I could chew and spit my food into it. I really was hiding the bagel my aunt made me every morning in my closet, eventually having to get rid of all 30 of them when my family left the house. I really was hiding chewed and spit food in baggies. I really was bingeing from 7:00 in the morning into the night, spreading peanut butter onto pop-tarts and inhaling boxes of donuts. I really was chewing and spitting an entire package of Oreos and flushing the acidic mound of cookie down the toilet when everyone else was sleeping. I really was a paranoid mess when the laundry room where my bathroom was started smelling of rotten meat, thinking the toilet had finally backed up with all the food I flushed down (in reality, it really was rotten meat my dad accidentally left out on top of the fridge). I really was stealing laxatives from my dad and using them weekly. I really was underweight, with a BMI of 15.6, chastising myself because I was not yet emaciated. I really did lose my period for a couple of months. I really was depressed and angry, hoping that my eating disorder would kill me so I could get back at my dad for dating my mom’s sister so soon after she died.

So was it a fake eating disorder just because I was pro-anorexic? Or was I just a naive, little girl who didn’t know better? I had this front like I enjoyed everything that came with anorexia. But in truth, behind all the smiles and magazine cut-outs of waif-like models, I was suffering quite a bit. My mom was dead and I had nothing to grasp onto. I latched onto this romantic idea that anorexia was going to save me from everything, so I literally ditched God and prayed to ANOREXIA, a beautiful, thin, Goddess who would reward me for starving and punish me for eating.

That phase eventually ended as I got tired of being sick and tired…the anorexia eventually turning into binge eating disorder and the binge eating disorder eventually turning into depression and self-harm. Since then I’ve relapsed with all three here and there, now struggling with the same behaviors I struggled with between the months of my sophomore year in high school.

I still have those wannarexic tendencies…posting stats and pictures when I know better. But the high of the attention is what my body really craves. Not food. Not emaciation. Attention. I got hate/praise comments everyday, saying I was a stupid bitch who needed to eat a sandwich, or that I was going to die because I was so thin, or that people wished they could have my willpower and ability to lose weight. These comments only fueled the fire and kept me going on a path of destruction. Even with this blog, despite writing as an adult now and receiving mature criticism and support, I still get giddy when my stat count goes over 500 people.

If I was a real wannarexic, I think these behaviors would have left me a long time ago. So with that said, I try not to judge “wannarexics” because they could be dealing with the same things I dealt with. Ten years from now, when the pro-ana sites (tumblrs in this day and age) get shut down, the models get old, and the diet buddies fade away, there still could be that one girl who ends up in a casket somewhere because she couldn’t stop.

I am upset wannarexics give anorexics a bad name, but in the end, it is what it is. Eating disorders are glamorous to a lot of people and with that glamor comes misunderstanding, misuse, and misinformation. For those of you who advocate against this, I applaud you, because despite the pro-ana movement not being as booming as it was in 2001, it’s still very much alive and kicking.

Compulsive Overeater VS. Anorectic

When I started this blog, it began as a tool of my recovery as I continued my journey with Overeaters Anonymous, a 12-step program for eating disorders. If you are a new reader, and you go back to the beginning of this blog, you’ll see that the entries I wrote in 2007 were very different than the ones I write now.

I don’t talk much about the program anymore, even though I do occasionally post 12-step work. I feel disconnected from the program, especially now that I am in relapse, but even more so because the majority of people in the meetings are compulsive overeaters. What is strange is that I felt such at home with OA and never saw the differences of compulsive overeating and anorexia. I never once thought that the people there were lazy, or fat, or struggling with a problem lesser than mine. I never once thought that maybe, on some level, those who saw me secretly resented me for being underweight and not having issues with food as they did. I never saw those things, because recovery was too important for me to let those things get in the way. If people had issues, those issues were no business of mine, and if I had issues, then I wasn’t following the OA tradition of putting “principles before personalities.”

Now that I am in relapse, I see things totally differently. I don’t like talking about my relapse. I don’t like “complaining” about how hard it is to eat normally. I don’t like saying how I feel like I’m fat. Why? Because I know most of these overweight people who struggle with binge eating disorder are probably offended in some way.

I started the first OA group on facebook and a fellow member said she wished she could shake those who were underweight in order to convince them they weren’t fat. She went on to say how jealous she was of us, and how we had nothing to complain about until we knew what it felt like to be 200 + pounds.

Without going into too much detail and breaking anonymity, I responded by stating that posts like hers are part of the reason why I don’t feel comfortable speaking up about anorexia in an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. She then responded how she understood because she “used to be anorexic” but that it still frustrated her to see underweight people complain about being fat. For an “anorexic” who “understands,” I find it hard to believe she would get frustrated at someone who legitimately felt they were fat. She justified her rant by saying how people like me make her feel like crap because she wishes she could look like us. Last time I checked, how YOU feel is YOUR responsibility. I’m also pretty sure my weight, all 80 whopping pounds of it, does not have the power to make you feel like crap.

I can see how one can get frustrated. I, too, get frustrated when the Abercrombie-wearing, big sunglass-sporting, bleach-blonde, duck-lipped teenager complains about how fat she is when clearly, she knows she isn’t. But there’s a HUGE difference between that type of person and a person who sits in an OA meeting who may be desperate for help and in need of support.

If I could go to Eating Disorders Anonymous or Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous, I would. But unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of living in LA or San Francisco where all those meetings are held. So until then, I will continue to attend OA. In the end, we ALL have issues with weight and food regardless if we are underweight and restricting, overweight and bingeing, or a mixture of both. I may not understand what it feels to be overweight. You may not understand what it feels like to be underweight. But regardless of what weight we are, we are all judged in one way or another. Being overweight sucks. But being very underweight isn’t a party either. Please don’t tell me you wish to be like me. An eating disorder is an eating disorder, and regardless of what we look like, we ALL feel like SHIT in the end.

Edit: BRILLIANT! She went on to say how anorectics don’t overeat (as in, AN ANOREXIC WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE!). I kindly let her know that I binge quite often. Her response? “But you only overeat because if you don’t you will die! I am fat and don’t need to overeat but I do anyway!”

*face palm to the highest degree.*

My Flaws (Step 4)

So I’m working on Step 4 of the 12 steps. The first part is to write about my flaws and then come up with assets that refute those flaws.

My list was pretty extensive and included being afraid, avoidant, careless, conceited, deceitful, dependent, dishonest, envying, exaggerating, forgetful, impatient, insecure, justifying, lazy, pessimistic, procrastinates, and rationalizing.

With these though, I was able to think of assets that refuted them. For example, in terms of my dishonesty, I’m actually quite honest when doing step work and writing in here, not being afraid to tell the truth about who I am or what I do.

However, there were four flaws that I literally could NOT think of assets to, so I’m assuming those are the ones I need to work on most:

Gossiping
Inconsiderate
Self-destructive
Selfish

Gossiping: I talk way too much about people behind their back, especially at work. When someone is talking crap about someone that I don’t like, I don’t hesitate to join in on the conversation. When I know something “juicy,” I seldom keep it to myself and tell it to anyone I know who would appreciate the information.

Inconsiderate: I rarely take other people’s feelings into consideration.  My husband often surprises me with little romantic things and I never do. When people ask me how I am, I often answer and forget to ask them how THEY are doing. I often zone out when people are talking to me about something I don’t care about (even if they DO care). I don’t put my clients first nor do I really care where they go after they graduate from my program. I don’t send birthday cards to those who send me one.

Self-destructive: I almost didn’t even circle this one, but then I figured restricting my food intake and severely limiting my vegetable and fruit intake is doing damage to my body in the long run. The emotional toll it takes is pretty high as well. I’m angry/irritable more days than not.

Selfish: Putting my life in danger is selfish and unfair to my loved ones and potential children. I often get upset when our money is spent on unnecessary things but don’t think twice when I buy binge foods or new shoes or make-up. All of my actions are usually for my benefit.

Even when I was in hardcore recovery, I still struggled with these behaviors. But when I was in recovery, I had a better grasp of what was reality and could stop myself when I recognized the behaviors. In my eating disorder, I fully give into these things and don’t think twice. It made me feel like shit when I couldn’t think of an asset to go with these four flaws, but at the same time, at least I recognize them in this mind frame (seeing them as negative) vs. the ED mind frame (not giving a fuck).

They say you can’t fully work the steps unless you are abstinent from your eating disorder. That’s probably true. When I ask myself, “Can you stop yourself from being inconsiderate?” I think so, but at the same time, I’m more likely to be considerate of others when I’m thinking straight and not irritable from starving. I’m more likely be concerned with others when I’m eating healthy and taking care of my body. I’m more likely shut my mouth when I can be secure with myself and not needing the constant attention of others. And that is all easier when I am content, present, and well-fed.

So can I continue with the steps while I’m still restricting? I can try, but I’m not so sure how beneficial it will be, especially because I’m only really on Step 3 in my heart. Step 1, admit you have a problem. Check. Step 2, came to believe in a Higher Power. Check. Step 3, surrender. I’ve got nothing for you there.

Step 3 for me would be to eat three, moderate meals a day and to surrender my weight.

I keep saying, “Well, I’ll surrender my weight once I hit below 78 pounds.”

Which goes completely against what surrendering actually means.  Surrendering means no conditions or terms, and unfortunately, I can’t do it yet.

This is me Bingeing

I often sit and wonder if I were ever on Intervention or some other show that exposes (exploits?) eating disorders, what would I tell the cameras that would follow me around all day? Even though I have an eating disorder, the bulk of my life really doesn’t scream “EATING DISORDER” as some may think. With anorexia, I’m restricting most of the day, so what are the cameras going to do? Record me sitting there, not eating? How interesting. And even when I binge, unless the camera crew were lucky and got me on a day where I gave into one, I’d almost have to re-create a binge just for television entertainment. They’d probably have to send my husband away, which is barely realistic given he is with me more days than not, but the most bingeing I do is when I’m alone. I suppose they could get shots of me preparing my food, although that in itself isn’t too exciting: “For breakfast I put 13 grapes into 1 cup of lite vanilla yogurt. Then I eat it like a normal person.” Then, of course, to make it seem more dramatic, Intervention would switch to a black screen and write, “The average woman [my name]‘s height should be eating 1800 calories a day. [My name] eats 500.” So they’ve got me eating food and bingeing, but what else? Are they going to record me playing Farmville for two hours before work? Or watching an episode of One Tree Hill I recorded on my DVR? Or reading the latest Stephen King book before I fall asleep at night? If they did, I’m sure they would work in into my disorder somehow, saying that people with anorexia often withdrawal from friends and family, preferring to be alone. Although that may be true, it’s a crock of shit for me, because I’ve always preferred spending my time doing meaningless things by myself. But if they didnt’ work it into the show SOMEHOW, I would probably be the most boring character they ever had.

Anyway — last night I DID have a binge, and against all normal binges, my husband was there while it happened:

BEFORE: I was driving home, slumped down further into my seat than usual, peering over the steering wheel. I was dead-tired despite not having done anything productive at work. It was more due to the fact that I had been starving to death and my body was feeling the results full force. By the time I got home and hugged my husband, I was about ready to collapse and fall asleep.

THE TRIGGER: But no, my husband was cooking dinner. My lower abdomen was hurting and I just KNEW I was about to start my period. Thoughts started swirling through my head: “I NEED TO EAT, physically I’m feeling pretty shitty.” And it was true. From a realistic standpoint, my body needed nourishment. But I was in the danger zone by then. Anything I put in my mouth would tip me over the edge and I would inevitably binge.

THE JUSTIFICATION: My body needed this, and I was about to start my period anyway. My period would put some weight on, and I have mad crazy urges to eat when I’m menstruating, so I might as well eat (BINGE).

THE URGE: The cravings kicked in. For some reason a cheese quesadilla sounded superb, and I opened the fridge.

THE BINGE: I piled shredded cheese onto a small tortilla and nuked it in the microwave. It was too hot to eat, but my mouth craved it so bad I ate it anyway, burning my tongue and barely tasting anything. As it cooled, I begin to eat slower, trying to convince myself I could stop at this. I could stop eating after this quesadilla and there’d be a good chance I’d still be 79 pounds in the morning.  But no, a quesadilla wasn’t DESSERT, so I went back into the kitchen and took out a mug. I paused to think if I should use one of the giant mugs, but for then, a small mug would do. If I wanted to go back and get more, I would. One layer of ice cream followed by a layer of Andes Mint chips. Then another layer of ice cream and another layer of chips. This went on a third time, and I smashed down the ice cream to make room for more. I sat down with my husband and in a moment of pure insecurity and crudeness I started ranting about how overweight a cousin of mine has gotten and complained about how disgusting it was that she would let herself get that way and how she would die and early death due to obesity. Ironic considering I was doing the same thing, only backwards. I finished the ice cream and felt like I could stop there. Plus, if I went back to get more, my husband would be suspicious, if he wasn’t already.

An hour or so passed, and I asked him if he still had some Girl Scout cookies left. He did; the short-bread kind (really? The shortbread kind? Weak.). I took eight and dipped them in milk. Not as satisfying as if they were Thin Mints or Oreos, but they would do. An hour or so after that, I piled more shredded cheese onto another tortilla and ate it cold. Cheese fell out of the tortilla all over the plate, and I ate that. I didn’t finish the cheese burrito thing as I hadn’t realized just how gross it was cold.

And that’s where the bingeing ended. The damage would have been worse had my husband not be there, but I wonder now if he knew, or if he was oblivious.

AFTERWARDS: Afterwards I’m always filled with tremendous guilt and shame. I checked my stomach in the shower. Still flat, but I knew the reality of it all: somewhere in my intestinal track, disgusting food was digesting and making me fat. I checked my bones in the mirror, making sure they hadn’t magically disappeared during my derailment, but they were all still there. Not as prominent as I would like, but still there nonetheless. I couldn’t sleep knowing what I had done, but when I finally did, the night sweats came as my metabolism kicked in.

By early morning, even before I officially woke up, the cravings for water came and I couldn’t wait to get up and drink something. I’m always are incredibly thirsty the morning after a binge, and I’m not sure why.

When I woke up, the usual routine commenced. I urinated (at which I found that yes, I did actually start my period), took my clothes off, and weighed myself. 80.4 lbs. Whether or not this is period related, food related, or just something corky my body did (going from 79.6 lbs. to 80.4 lbs.), I sighed in somewhat relief. It could have been worse.

And in an ironic twist on things, it seems my eating disorder has regulated my period vs. stopping it. My normal cycle is usually 35-40 days (weirdly long) and the last two months it’s been a 28-day cycle, on the dot. At least this explains why I have broken out so bad.

My stomach this morning feels full and bloated, making it easier to fast all day until dinner, which will consist of a salad.

Next week we leave for LA on a four day trip where I will inevitably eat like a normal person and gain any weight back that I lose by Sunday. I know this will be true, because that is what history has taught me in the past. I know it to be true, and yet I can’t (won’t?) do anything to stop it.

Truth is a Dirty Word

People don’t like it when we lie and pretend we are something else that we’re not. But when we finally open up and say who we really are, we are chastised for being immoral. We are looked down upon because of our selfish ways or our values or the way we live our lives.

A classic case of damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

I could put on a smile and pretend like my life is all in order. Why shouldn’t I? I could blog about my two-story home, my loving husband, my job,  our gated community with hardly any crime, our great marriage, etc. But then people may get upset because that would be bragging.

Or I could talk about how when I got together with my husband, he wasn’t legally divorced yet and our small, Bible-thumping town just about exiled us out of the county. Or about how when our small, two-bedroom house burned down I was on the verge of going completely insane, cutting up my legs and starving myself to death. But then people would get upset because I was being overly dramatic.

It’s a lose-lose.

My life has both good parts and bad parts, but regardless, it’s no better or worse than anybody else’s. And when you take morals and ethics out of the equation, no matter what I do, as long as I’m not hurting anybody else, it really is what it is. There’s no room for judgement, because at the end of the day, whatever I’ve done has happened and I can’t take it back.

People are so damn curious about eating disorders, and then when they finally read about how they really are, they point fingers and say how selfish we are. They blame us for damaging impressionable young girls who think they are fat. They balk when reading about how we are able to eat a dozen donuts and more in one sitting and then puke it all back up when we’re done. They ask stupid questions, like “You know you are killing yourself, right?” They almost always see it as a choice we are making more than a mental illness that has the highest mortality rate of all mental disorders.

So I have an eating disorder. Does that completely take away my right to dream of having children? Until I actually have children of my own, my thoughts and dreams are just that: thoughts and dreams. We are not our thoughts until we put those thoughts into action. Regardless if we are thinking of having children, thinking of having a one-night stand, thinking of slapping someone upside the face, thinking of downing a whole bottle of pills in order to kill ourselves, our thoughts are not our actions, because thoughts can be changed. So why the judgement? It’s like, what do you want me to do? Magically stop myself from wanting to have children? Let me take my magic wand out of my asshole so I can do that for you.

I work as a substance abuse counselor and 100% of my clients are court-mandated to be in my program. That means 100% of my clients were caught either selling or doing illegal drugs. The courts like to label them all addicts or junkies. The normies of the world like to think of them as second-class human beings. People who know nothing about drugs and drug addiction like to assume anybody who does an illegal drug must be an immoral person. When in truth, the majority of my clients are actually very kind, and some of them are better parents, spouses, or friends than some of my own family and friends.

Do I make bad decisions when I’m active in my eating disorder? Yes. I won’t deny that, and I will accept personal responsibility for the things I choose to do. But I never chose to have an eating disorder. Unfortunately, those were the cards I was dealt, and those are the cards I’ve been playing with for the past ten years. Some years I’ve been able to play fairly well. Other years I’ve been able to get out of the game completely. But others I’ve been drawn in, like the gambling addict who loses all his money and desperately tries to win it all back. In the end we only dig ourselves deeper into debt, or in this case, the never-ending cycle of an eating disorder.

Am I a bad influence to those younger than me or those who “want” anorexia? Possibly. But that’s not my fault. I may be co-dependent, but I’m not THAT co-dependent. It’s not my responsibility to “save” anyone, nor is it my responsibility to censor what I say in case someone stumbles across my blog and chooses to follow in my footsteps. That’s on them, whoever “they” are, and I will NEVER omit something that may be damaging to someone else. I don’t have the power to make anyone do ANYTHING, so I will not be ashamed of what I write in here.

You want to know about eating disorders? Read me or any of the blogs linked in my blogroll. Eating disorders ARE selfish, and I’m sorry for that, but it is what it is. If you can’t handle the truth, then look elsewhere for your reading material.

Holy Site Stats, Batman!

So yesterday my blog hit an all time high in terms of visitors: 802 people.

I’m not sure why given my entry yesterday wasn’t of particular importance and ironic considering for the amount of people who visited my blog yesterday, I only received two comments (the other two are me). Sometimes I think WordPress lies and ups my stats to boost my morale.

I have a feeling the sudden jump was because I left a comment in another popular ED blog, and I’m assuming the bulk of visitors came from there. But according to my WordPress stats, only 30 or so came from that other blog. But thanks other blog, you know who you are, for referring more people to mine, lol.

So, weird.

Anyway — 80.2 today. If I can get through today without overeating at the end of the day, I should be where I want to be tomorrow.

PS: If anyone would like to be added to my blog roll, recovery blog or not, please let me know in the comments (or email me).

Stash

When my husband threw out the scale in November, I went out and bought another one and hid it in a drawer at work. I eventually ended up buying an entirely new one and hiding that one in a drawer at home, but I figured I’d keep the old one as a “just in case” scale. So there it has sat, in a plastic Safeway bag, untouched in the bottom drawer of my desk.

Until today.

I walk to my office and the door is wide open; the president of the company has been in setting up my new computer. I set my things down and realize my bottom drawer is slightly open. Immediately I panic and ask myself if my new boss (not the president) has been in yet and if she’s seen the scale. She thinks I’ve been “recovered” for six years now; if she knows I have a scale in my office, I may lose my job.

I open my drawer. I think, “Maybe they didn’t look through this. Maybe they started to open the drawer, realized there was nothing of importance in it, and didn’t close it all the way on accident.”

But then I take the scale out. Not only do I notice it’s facing the wrong direction, but the handles on the bag are neatly tied. I didn’t tie them.

I take it out and stick it in the back of an empty file cabinet.

I look around the office building — my new boss has yet to arrive.

Questions swirl through my head: Will the president tell my boss what he found? Who actually found it? Why did they bother to tie the handles together? What did they think when they realized what it was? Does the president even know I’m a recovering anorectic?

My boss finally arrived and didn’t say anything, so I’m assuming nobody told her they found a scale in my office. So my job is safe…for now. What would I say if she found out? What God awful lie could I concoct as to why a recovering anorectic had a scale hidden in her office like a drug-addict hides his stash?

And that’s how I felt. I felt like a drug-addict who just had someone find his drugs. I felt like I had been doing something highly illegal. I felt exposed and embarrassed.

I should probably get rid of it now.