That’s Messed Up

There is a blog I follow that is exerts from a book written by a guy who had cancer. Each post is from a different chapter in the book and includes pictures from that time. It starts with his diagnosis and as of the newest chapter I just finished reading he is in round 2 of chemo and basically living in hell.

Along with the text he includes pictures from the time he is writing about. So the post I just read is written about Christmas eve and day and has a picture of him by the Christmas tree. He is gaunt, he has lost a third of his body weight by this time, he is a skeleton (his description). It can be hard to tell what his body looks like because he is always wearing 4 layers of clothes due to always being cold but you can see the changes in his face,

This most recent picture, I guess because of the lighting, he still looks super thin, underweight, an all that, but the dark circles under his eyes aren’t as apparent and he doesn’t look sick, just really thin.

And I realized, as I stared at that picture, that I was a bit jealous that he was that thin.

I also wondered if he, as someone who is now healthy, ever looks back at these pictures and longs for the days he was that thin.

That my friends is some messed up thinking.

I highly doubt he looks at those pictures and sees anything beyond how sick he was, how sick he looked, they probably bring back to him how crappy he felt, the hell he was living through, things like that.

But do I think that?

Nope. Not me. Not messed up me. I think how sad I would be if I was him, looking at those pictures, missing how skinny he was.

I have some pictures like that, where they really show how skinny I was, and I love and hate those pictures. I love them because they show me being skinny, they show that I was once able to get skinny and give me hope I can get there again. I hate those pictures because they taunt me, they make me scared I’ll never be that skinny again, they make me mad that I was skinny and screwed it up and got fat. It is so hard to get back there, and those pictures remind me of how far away from that I am.

Me looking at pictures from when I was skinny and longing to look like that again, to me that isn’t messed up.

Me looking at pictures of a man sick with cancer who is in the midst of chemo treatments and wondering if he misses being that skinny because I am jealous of how underweight he was, that is crazy messed up.

 

My Line

Everyone has a line that when they cross it they go “shit, this isn’t good, I’ve gotta fix this”. Or something to that effect. I crossed my line so accidentally that I didn’t realize I had done it until the damage was done.

And now I feel I have to do something about it. Well, sorta. I felt more strongly about needing to do something about it yesterday, when the pain and injury were worse, today, as it is healing and less painful I’m not quite ambivalent but close to…I imagine tomorrow I’ll be even less inclined to take action…I wonder if eventually my line will move?

Maybe that is how it happens…you cross your line by accident, have a day of “gotta fix this shit”, then the next day comes, you realize the world hasn’t ended and you’re still able to function and are less worried, and over time your line moves, so that next time you get to that same point that caused panic only yesterday you don’t even feel a twinge of worry.

That should be unsettling, but I sorta don’t care…

This probably doesn’t make any sense, lemme explain.

I don’t cut myself, that’s not my thing, but I do burn myself, which when written down like this sounds horrible but it really isn’t. I make sure to not burn so bad I will scar, or impede my ability to function, I don’t burn myself where people will see, it’s not a big deal.

Except apparently it is? At ED recovery it got discovered by my case worker and my dietitian and they didn’t take it well. Not that they freaked out or anything, but it became this thing that required more meetings and talking, and it is what ended me up having to go see the shrink. They take it way more seriously than I do.

A couple months ago I burnt my arm more than intended, second degree, and ended up with a small scar. It is annoying and I don’t like it. I have extensive first aid training so I am able to competently tend to my own burns, but even with tending, I got that stupid scar.

I told myself I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t second degree burn myself again, I’d not take the risk of another scar.

Notice I don’t actually care about being injured or what it is doing to my body, it is pure vanity driving this decision. That and if my case worker notices I am bandaged up again it might open up more intense discussions etc and ugh, no thanks!

Well, two nights ago I accidentally second degree burned my arm, different spot, but still…not good. I didn’t mean to, I swear! And I didn’t realize how bad it was until Friday morning when I was at work, I scratched my arm and hit this massive blister that is surrounded by smaller blisters and a hella lot of red skin.

sigh.

So I tended to it.

Today when I took the bandage off to wash the wound I discovered that the freakin massive blister that was hard only yesterday has burst (I probably bumped it and didn’t realize) so my chance of a new scar is pretty high. Oh, and infection, the chance of infection has increased also.

Yesterday, after discovering it, I was upset. Upset with myself for doing this. Even though it was by accident I was still upset. I don’t want another scar. The blisters are in a spot that make it easy to bump and cause more pain. I’m going to have to wear long sleeves for at least a week to keep the bandage hidden. Basically, I am upset because this injury will affect my day-to-day life for 3-14 days (depending on speed of healing). It is one thing to burn myself when the damage is minimal and I am not affected the next day but this, this is affecting me and I am annoyed by it.

The whole being upset thing caused me to seriously think about my whole burning myself deal and I was motivated to want to make changes to stop the burning. I didn’t know what to do and I just kept thinking I should talk to my case worker, tell her what I did, tell her I want to change, ask her for help. I don’t want to go on meds but maybe there is something else that can be done.

Today, with the blisters healing, the pain less noticeable, my being over 24 hours from the time of injury, I care less about stopping myself from doing this again. I am more inclined to think that since this was an accident it doesn’t really count and what is the big deal, don’t blow things out of proportion, stuff like that…which may be my brain trying to rationalize irrational behaviour so as to stop me from recovering (and if that doesn’t sound like a sentence made by someone who is in treatment I don’t know what does! lol)

But yeah, I crossed my line by accident, and now I’m wondering if my line will end up moving as a result…something to ponder as I go re-bandage my arm. *rolls eyes*

War

I feel like I am at war with myself and I don’t know which side I want to win.

Lots of people talk about the whole eating disorder voice, how you have this voice in your head that tells you what you can and can’t eat or how much to exercise, or whatever – it is different for everyone.

But…I don’t really get that, I’ve never connected with that whole “voice in my head” thing. The choices I want to make, the rules I have about food and exercise, the way I look at food, it doesn’t sound in my head like a different voice trying to take over, it sounds like my voice, my thoughts, my choices, it is just me. Plain ‘ol me. Not some internal demon trying to take over.

I am the one making the decision to eat, or not eat, and if I do eat deciding what I will eat. I am the one in control. I don’t feel at the mercy of some voice in my head.

Sometimes this makes me wonder if I don’t really have an eating disorder, because I don’t identify with this idea of having a voice that sounds different than mine in my head.

This uncertainty, combined with my natural defensiveness and instinctive rebellion against authority is making this whole recovery deal a bit hard to grasp, or believe in.

Hence the war.

The dietitian I am seeing wants me to eat certain amounts of certain food groups daily, spaced out on a loosely timed schedule.

I don’t like it.

But do I not like it because I don’t agree with the plan on a nutritional level, or because I don’t like being told when and what to eat, or because I am feeling judged for how I do eat and feel like being given this framework to follow is a set-up for showing how flawed my choices are? They are all viable options for answers.

Every time I try to follow the plan the dietitian made I fail. Actually, not true, I managed it for two days, and I became permanently bloated, my abdominal area was distended, my stomach hurt all the time, I was miserable, so I stopped. I had to stop, what she wanted obviously wasn’t working. There is a flaw in her plan and no point in continuing with it when it is doing me damage.

That is my rational reasoning behind not doing what she wants.

I feel she won’t agree with that reasoning though…

This is getting off topic, mostly because I don’t really know how to put in to words what I am feeling, sigh.

I feel…

hmm…

I feel like I am at war, with myself, with my dietitian, with my case worker, with the world. I feel like I know what I want to look like and all I really want is help getting there but instead I have people trying to sabotage me and take me in the other direction.

I am getting fatter every day. I’m scared to step on the scale but I can see the fat in the mirror. I am losing some of my bones. I am getting rounder. I am contemplating joining a gym again even though I can’t afford it because winter is here and I won’t be able to run outside soon. I am terrified all the time, terrified to get dressed because any day now my clothes won’t fit. Terrified to look in the mirror because I am so fat and disgusting. Terrified people are going to start commenting on how big I am getting. Terrified my recovery team will somehow force me in to eating more – I’m not sure how they could, I’m out patient, and an adult, so they can’t force admit me, but the fear is there. I am terrified to be left alone near food because I feel I’m losing control and will just eat everything visible if given the opportunity. I am terrified that I’m losing my willpower. I’m terrified that I’m going to hurt myself again even though I said I didn’t do that anymore and I always keep my word. I’m terrified I’m going to get so desperate I’m going to pull out my laxatives and diet pills again, even though I said I’d stopped using them, because desperate times call for desperate measures. I’m terrified for the chest pains that come with the using of the pills, I’m more terrified that every day I am more and more ok with the chest pains coming back if it means the pills are working.

I am terrified.

And I hate it.

This battle is internal, and I don’t feel it is against some weird outsider voice that is in my head, it is against my own voice. The battle is me against me, the weak me and the strong me. The me that wants to be skinny badly enough she’ll do anything to get there, and the me that forgets the end goal and caves when she sees a pastry.

Why is how I think about food so wrong? Why am I supposed to look at it as fuel, or enjoyable, or as something that makes me healthy and strong? Why can’t the way I see food be ok?

If the things I think about food are my own thoughts, not some random voice’s thoughts, how do I know which is the right or wrong choice to make? When I think “I ate twice today, that is plenty, no more food for me” it seems like a perfectly rational decision. A decision that is my own. Not an invasive thought from my eating disorder. Just like when trying to follow the nutrition plan the dietitian gave me I struggle with doing what she wants because my thinking doesn’t align with hers and why is my thinking wrong and hers right?

I know I am not making sense, I told you I don’t know how to put what I am feeling in to words *rolls eyes*

Maybe I’ll figure out a better way to describe what I am feeling another day, shrug.

For now I guess I’ll just stay confused and at war.