Author Archives: foodobsessed79

An Achievement

Something to celebrate, a small achievement, but one I am proud of.

Though, I don’t know how best to describe it and I don’t post pictures of myself on here so not like I can show you…lemme try to explain…

You know when you lay down on your back and lift your head to look down the length of your body to see how flat and bony it looks?

Well, when I got home today I stripped out of my clothes in order to put on some cozy sweats but I lay down on the bed first. As I was laying on the bed in only my underwear I started feeling my ribs and hips with my hands.

No, I wasn’t feeling myself up or anything, I just like to test out my bones, see if they are getting more prominent. I don’t really see myself as I am most of the time so I find I can get a better idea of how much I am losing (or heaven forbid, gaining!) if I feel without looking.

Anyways!

My hip bone felt bonier, I was laying on my side though so it doesn’t really count. So I rolled over onto my back and was feeling my hips and thought “yup, they do feel more pronounced” so I decided to chance it and I looked down the length of my body to take a look at my hips.

Normally when I do this all I see if fat so I don’t like doing this.

Today though I noticed my rib cage is sticking out farther than my breasts (don’t take that as being too impressive, my bra was off and my boobs were flattened from gravity, stupid gravity, sigh) but the big thing, the exciting thing, the thing I am proud of is that there was a gap between my skin and my panties because my panties were held aloft from my body by my hips.

I had a panty gap!

Which I don’t know if that is what it is actually called but who the fuck cares? I have one!

Aaaaaand since my explanation makes nooooo sense I’m gonna try to find a pic…

tumblr_n3gz1dyRLP1syke28o1_250

Ok so see in the picture above how the waistband isn’t touching the torso cuz the hipbones stick out? That is what mine are doing now!

Only I don’t look as good as in this picture cuz this girl is way skinnier than me. But hey, I’m getting there! *crosses fingers*

I’ve been getting better with keeping my calories low and my binges less frequent. I think I sorta inadvertently reset when my friend died. I was so upset that I lost my appetite completely and when it started to come back I was better able to be ruthless about not giving in to it.

I’m going to have to be extra strict for the next week or so as I hurt my knee and can’t run until it is a bit more stable. I’m going to try the bike at the gym tomorrow, see if I can manage that ok, if so then I guess that’ll be my cardio for a while, which sucks balls cause I get a way better workout from running (even though I hate running with a passion) but it is either take it easy for a week and then be ok or push myself and hurt my knee even more which then prevents me from working out at all, for months. It has happened. It is horrible. I really can’t go through that again.

I think I’ll be able to maintain the strictness though, now that I have that panty gap, it’ll be great motivation. After all, I just got it, I don’t want to lose it!

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Tired

I’m tired.

All. The. Time.

I wish I was a cat who could just sleep my days away, but unfortunately I have responsibilities to deal with that force me out of bed much earlier than I want and make me stay up later than I would like.

Then there is the whole problem of not getting a decent sleep when I am finally in bed.

What’s with that?

Seems like some mean trick, not being able to get a decent sleep even though I am so tired.

It was recommended to me I cut out some of my caffeine, so my last drink of the day is now decaf.

It sucks balls.

It also makes me feel tired earlier, which was sorta the point I guess.

The lack of caffeine in that last drink of the day has not magically made it so I can sleep better, or get to sleep faster, or really had any affect on my sleep.

All I notice is I now have more trouble functioning during the day because I am low on caffeine, or at least lower than my norm.

After my friend died I had a two day binge fest. Since then I’ve been a bit more in control of things. Some days I am eating more than I think I should, but not as much as my dietitian wants me to eat. Most days I am still under eating by quite a bit more than I tell my dietitian, I don’t want her to freak out at me. I am also going to the gym more – although that is partially a lie cause last week I was hardly there. A combination of grief, a change in schedule, and really bad cramps kept me away. I plan on recommitting this week though.

I had hoped by going to the gym more I could lose a dress size in time for my one work’s Christmas party but that binge, plus the lack of gym time, has screwed that up for me. So I’ll be as fat as I am right now at the party, which sucks.

I haven’t lost my collarbone, or my shoulder bones, which pleases me. And my hip bones are more noticeable but not as noticeable as I want. I’m getting there though! I’m worried Christmas, well, the month of December really, will derail me, it did last year. The gym will be handy for that, to offset extra food I might eat. I have to be careful though, don’t want to eat more because I think I have a buffer or something.

This post is all over the place, because I am tired and can’t seem to keep a single thought in my head for long before it gets replaced by a new one.

Seriously missing my caffeine right now.

ribs and hips

Goals

Goodbye Friend

My friend died.

Not just my friend, my teammate, a person I counted as family – but the family you choose, not the one you’re stuck with cuz of birth.

I spend more time with my sports team than I do with any other people. I train with them, compete with them, socialize with them, chat with at least some of them daily. They don’t know about my struggles with food, and I may not go to them when I have problems, but that is on me not them, choosing to keep certain parts of my life separate from them is because that is how I am made, not because they wouldn’t accept me.

He died in an accident while on vacation.

I can’t get his face out of my head. I keep seeing him smiling, joking, doing these goofy push ups that he does…did. fuck. I have trouble speaking of him in the past tense.

It just doesn’t seem real. I keep hoping someone will say there was a mistake, he was confused with someone else and is actually fine.

At the same time I keep getting over whelmed with thoughts that one of his family members had to pack up his stuff in the hotel, and make arrangements to get him back home, and give notice to his landlord, and he shares a business with his long-term girlfriend, what’s gonna happen there? His dying affects so many people in so many ways, the hole where he is supposed to be hurts so many.

This past summer he was in my suv when the team was car pooling to an away festival. He brought a ridiculous amount of fresh fruit and kept feeding me while I was driving (not actually putting food in my mouth but just making sure I kept taking some), I ate almost the entire ride, it was crazy. He insisted I keep eating the fruit because it was important for the driver to stay nourished. lol. He was odd like that. And he always wore this hat, blue baseball cap style, but it has this piece of fabric that comes down from the hat to cover the ears and neck, he got it on one of his previous trips to Hawaii. It is a goofy hat, but he had a great smile and he didn’t care that his hat looked goofy, just that he had sun protection, so he’d wear it with flair. And he wore the same jacket for practices and during crap weather on race weekends for years, this blue and yellow water/wind resistant jacket. It was horrible, but so him.

He was full of life, and so nice, not just friendly but honest to goodness nice. He’d help out anybody with their technique, but not in a jerk way, just in a helpful way. He was all about the team, and what was best for it. He was easy going, and had a great smile, and was generous, and sporty, and up for a challenge, and loved to live life.

I hate the idea that his last moments on earth might have been filled with fear, or pain, or confusion, or despair. If ever a person deserved to live to a ripe old age and die peacefully in their sleep, it was him.

I don’t know the circumstances of the accident, none of us do, the family is keeping that quiet and we are respecting their privacy. I don’t know if I want to know, I want to pretend he died in some non horrific way, but a snorkeling accident doesn’t make that likely.

I’m going to miss him. I’ve been crying since I found out last night. I basically alternate between crying and sleeping so I can escape the pain.

The team is getting together Tuesday for dinner at a restaurant he loved so we can all be together. I don’t know how to share my pain, how to not hermit when something horrible happens, so I’ll have to figure out how to maintain my composure by then. For now though, I’m going to go cry some more, because he is now a person I write about and talk about in the past tense, and that is just not ok.

Intrusive Thoughts

I’ve heard a lot in recovery about this whole “ed voice” and “intrusive thoughts” deal. Basically, there is your voice, and there is the eating disorder voice, your voice gets drowned out a lot by the eating disorder voice. The eating disorder voice is pretending to be your friend, pretending to want what is best for you but it is actually telling you to do things that are bad for you, it is hurting you.

When you think about engaging in any of your eating disorder habits, that is your eating disorder voice. When you have negative self-talk, or you hurt yourself, or you resist getting healthier, that is also your eating disorder voice.

Some people in group have described their eating disorder voice in such a way that it sounds as if they legit have a second voice in their head, a monster scary voice, that orders them around and they either succumb to the voice’s demands or they fight back.

I have never really understood this idea because I don’t have some scary monster eating disorder voice yelling at me to do or not do things. I just have my own thoughts, my own ideas, my own thinking in my head, and that is what guides my choices.

Because of this I often wonder if I really do have an eating disorder, I mean, how can I have one for real if I don’t have this scary voice in my head, right?

For the last couple weeks I have made a ground meat, mixed veg, pasta, mix, all combined with a tomato pasta sauce. It is boring as fuck to eat, but it does take away the decision on what to eat if I am supposed to be eating but am tired, or can’t make a decision, or just plain don’t know what to do. If I top it with a bit of shredded cheese it becomes a miracle meal in that it contains all 4 food groups. It is something my dietitian approves of, even if I hate eating it because of the pasta, and the bland taste…I suck at cooking, sigh.

So I have a tupperware container filled with this meal in my fridge, just waiting to be eaten.

Mondays after work I usually have enough time to go home, chill for a bit, have a cup of tea, then head out to a weekly drop-in group. A couple Mondays ago I had to stay late at work and didn’t have nearly as much time. On my drive home I was calculating how much time I would have at home before having to leave again to get to group and I remember thinking I had the perfect reason to not eat before going, because there wasn’t enough time to make anything. Then out of nowhere I thought “good thing I have that pasta meat dish I made, I have enough time to warm up some, eat, and still get to group”.

Where the fuck did that come from?? I don’t think things like that. If anything, I think the opposite, I think “hey, time is tight, perfect reason to not eat!” and I am glad I have a justifiable reason to skip eating. A reason that I can use as a defense if anybody asks me what I ate, or if I ate.

So it would appear that if I have intrusive thoughts they come in the style of thoughts encouraging me to eat.

That is so messed up.

Next thing you know I’m going to have a random thought to throw out my diet pills, or not binge, or not burn myself.

I don’t know what, if anything, having this intrusive thought means. Does it mean I am getting better? Does it mean all the thoughts I feel are just me are actually my eating disorder and this one random healthier thought is the real me breaking through? Is it just a fluke thing that will never happen again?

I dunno. And I don’t know how to figure it out. I just know it freaked me out and has left me wondering, and ruminating, and dissecting, what happened ever since.

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.