Tag Archives: fat

I Can’t Even…

Every Friday, without fail, I go to the gym. I don’t think it is an ED thing so much as it is a time slot that fits well with my schedule and it became a habit to go then. That and I enjoy it.

With my one-on-one counselling we decided to change my workout plan a bit because after some delving in to shit in my head we discovered that while my weight workouts are enjoyable and don’t seem to feed my ED the cardio part of my workout does feed my ED. So as a challenge I shortened my cardio.

It sucked. I hated it. I felt like I was cheating on my workout. But I did it. I didn’t die or get instantly fatter and well, maybe it was a thing I could do again.

Thing is, the past 2 Fridays I go to the gym, I work out, then the next day or two I am sick. I mean, I am sick already, I’ve been battling a bug (or possibly two) for a couple weeks now and it seems that every time I work out after work it flattens me for a couple days. I work weekends and can’t afford to keep missing work because I am kicking my immune system in it’s ass with my workouts. I was toying with not working out tonight after work, in an attempt to be self-caring and all that crap, ya know, baby the body in the hopes it finally gets healthy again…well, as healthy as it can get considering how I eat I suppose. 😉

I was leaning on the side of still working out, because I didn’t want to miss my Friday evening workout – the gym is nice and quiet, it’s the best workout of the week!

And then shit went down.

There is a swinging door at work with the tiniest window and massive blind spots on either side. I was just about to push the door open, so my left foot was up mid-step, when another staff member pushed the door from the other side, really really hard. It smashed in to my foot, pushed my toes back really far, and as a bonus spilled the just made cup of tea I was holding so I burned my forearm.

Just. Fucking. Great.

Do you know how much paperwork is involved when a staff member gets injured? I do because I’m usually the person handing it over to the other staff members when they get hurt and threatening them with me in their face at every moment of their next shift if they don’t fill it in asap and get it back to me.

I’m not worried about the burn, I sometimes self-harm (real winner of mental health over here!) and my chosen method is burning, so I know how to handle that just fine.

My foot though is another story. The more I walked on it at work the more it hurt. Even when I sat and rested it, it hurt. By the time I got home my limp was pretty impressive. I had a shower, propped my foot up, and have been babying it all night. It still hurts though, which sucks balls.

The bigger problem for me though is…I didn’t go to the gym.

Now, ok, part of me, a teeny tiny I think rational part of me, is saying it is fine I didn’t go. In fact it is probably good I didn’t go because I would have definitely made the foot worse.

The larger part of me is saying I am a failure for not going. If I was really dedicated, if I really wanted to get to my goal, if I really cared about my fitness levels, if I really wasn’t a loser, or lazy, or pathetic, I would have pushed through and gone to the gym. Now I might as well give up. I will be a lame ass next week and find a reason to not go then too I bet, because that is what I am, a lazy, disgusting, fat, weak, loser who was just waiting for an excuse to not work out that they can then use for weeks and weeks until it was like they never went to the gym. This is the beginning of the end. May as well give up now.

I couldn’t get my brain to shut up. It was circling with these thoughts, I couldn’t make them go away, I couldn’t fight them, all I did was believe in them. Whole heartedly, 100%, believe them.

So I ate.

I ate my feelings away. I squashed them down under ice cream and cookies. I ate and I ate and I ate and for a little while my brain was quiet. All the insults, all the stressing, all the fear, it all went away. Then after a brief, too brief, quiet moment in my head, it was all replaced by guilt over what I ate, shame over letting myself go, horror at how much I ate, disgust at how much of a pig I am, hatred over my actions, realization that I am not dedicated, I am not strong, I am not a fit or on the way to being a fit person.

I am nothing.

I am a slob of a person who literally ate their feelings in to submission, only to be swamped by new, worse, feelings. Feelings that I earned, that I deserved, because our actions show what we truly want. Our words can say anything, our actions are what we should pay attention to. And my actions showed who I really am.  All the horrible things I am.

I say I don’t want to be those things, but if I truly didn’t want to be them I would have sat with the first batch of uncomfie feelings rather than indulge myself, eat all that food, and now have to deal with the consequences.

I am glad I got injured tonight, I deserve the pain. I deserve every pound of weight I gain. I deserve every stomach ache I get. I deserve every single drop of guilt I feel. I did this to myself, I deserve punishment.

And trust me, tomorrow, it will be meted out.


Not Helping

I wrote a bit ago about how I had been sick (well, when I wrote that post I was currently sick) and as a result lost 3 pounds in 3 days.

When I went back to work I had lost a total of four and a bit pounds and apparently it was noticeable. I don’t understand how, but people said they could tell, and asked if I was ok, and did all that concerned questioning nosy thing that people do. When I said I had been sick they switched to concerned but not as nosy, which is a bit better I guess.

This also seemed to open up the gateway for them to comment on my weight in general.

I’ve lost weight this past year. People love talking about that shit. I lie, and tell them I lost it in a healthy way. They have no reason to not believe me, so they nod and say I did a great job.

Then they proceed to tell me how I shouldn’t lose anymore weight because “you’re wasting away!” but in the next breath they say how great I look. Even when I came back to work after being sick people were saying how great I looked…right after telling me I looked sick *rolls eyes* People!

This is not helping me get back to a more “normal” way of eating.

When I was sick I was living off of chicken noodle soup, tea, and very small amounts of apple juice. When I’m sick my appetite, the sad little thing that it is, goes right out the window, and it takes everything I can muster to remember to drink the tea, let alone eat the soup.

I knew I had lost weight. And because I always want to lose weight I was happy with this loss. My ribs were more prominent, I felt lighter, stronger, more capable, smarter, better. I feel a lot of great things when my weight goes down…which makes it reeeeally hard to be ok with staying at this weight or gaining. When I went back to work I had zero internal incentive to go back to eating anything other than my soup and tea.

My first day back at work I worked two jobs, then went to the gym, then went home and ate nothing post-workout, then woke up the next day so much sicker that I had to call in and miss two days of work. Apparently I went back to the gym a tad too soon. Oops! Since I spiraled back down in to the world of being sick I also spiraled back in to the justification that it is ok to eat only the chicken noodle soup and the tea. Oh how easy it is to think like that.

So now I’m basically over the cold, just some sinus stuff. It is the first day of my work week, I worked two jobs, went to the gym after work, and am about to head to bed and I am realizing I am having a very hard time with eating. Not just eating in general, which I always have, but eating foods I used to be ok with. I used to be ok with eating oatmeal. I didn’t eat it when sick cause it was too much for me. Now I can’t bring myself to eat it. Just the thought of it makes me cringe a bit. I don’t know why. I like oatmeal. I was totally fine with eating it before…hell, it was one of my few food staples, but now, well, I went without it all that time I was sick so obviously I don’t need it, so why eat it?

A lot of foods have turned in to dilemmas like this for me.

Eggs? Yup.

Bread? Yup.

Oatmeal we already discussed.

Fish? Yup.

Certain vegetables? sigh, yes, even those.

Now, that list may not seem long but it basically all the food I allowed myself to eat on any regular basis.

Right now my list of ok foods seems to consist of chicken noodle soup. Even I know that isn’t a good list! Though part of my brain thinks it is brilliant. *rolls eyes*

I don’t know how to integrate my old foods back in to my rotation, I didn’t really anticipate them leaving my rotation ya know?

My screwed up brain, combined with all the compliments I am getting from people about how great I look is making it hard to see the logic of eating again. If I look so great after what turned out to basically be a soup diet, why not continue?

I know the people at my work don’t mean harm, they don’t know what I am struggling with, they don’t know that by telling me I look great and skinny and all that they are re-enforcing that not eating is a good choice and strengthening my fear that eating any other foods will result in my becoming immediately fatter.

I know it’s not their fault. I know it. I swear I know it! And I know I have to control how I respond to people’s comments and I have to control how I internalize what people are really saying. Someone saying I look good doesn’t translate to I should never eat again, not in other peoples brains anyways, and I have to break that connection in mine.

But c’mon, I got called skinny today. Me. The fat girl with a good 30 pounds left to lose. I don’t want to lose that compliment and right now my brain is saying I’ll lose it if I eat.

Messed up. My head is so messed up.

Does Recovery Equal Fat

My treatment plan is all group therapy based. I’ve never done inpatient, or residential, and I never will. I know, I know, never say never, but seriously guys, never.

So my experience with recovery, both mine and other peoples is quite limited.

Something I have noticed over the past year is the weight fluctuations of the people in my various group sessions. I find it troubling…

Hitting a bump in recovery and going down makes sense to me, especially if you are anorexic or have restricting tendencies. Even going up makes sense if you are a binge eater.

But someone who is supposedly doing really well with their recovery and the treatment team is pleased with their progress and they are now imparting their recovery wisdom on to the rest of us who has gotten fat, um yeah, I can’t get behind that.

Now granted, I may not be the best person to be judging if someone is “fat” but even I can tell when someone has had a significant weight gain…and if it is in the name of recovery, well, what the hell?

This guy from one of my groups went to residential treatment, or maybe it was inpatient first then residential…whichever it was, he was out of the group treatment for a while and doing a more intense treatment. I’ve read people’s blogs about inpatient treatment, generally you aren’t allowed to exercise, you have strict meal times, and strict meal plans.

This guy, I’m gonna call him J, he used to run a lot and ate once a day. I don’t know what he ate so I don’t know for sure how much or little he was consuming. He is in his mid-forties and had been doing this most of his life. When I met him in group he looked to be in great shape. Yes, I know, looks are deceiving, but I’m just trying to give you a picture here.

So in shape guy, goes to more intensive treatment, when that treatment is done J comes back to group, and J is fat. And I don’t mean a little bit extra but not really all that noticeable, I mean like, lots extra. Lots.

I feel so sad for him. That people he meets now who never knew him before will only know him as this over weight mid-40s guy instead of the runner, the athlete, that he was.

Maybe he is healthier inside, physically and mentally, I dunno, I can’t speak to that.

And he’s not the only one! There is a girl in group who ballooned up. She got so big! Both these people are considered to be doing oh so well with recovery, we are supposed to be impressed with their progress, they are sharing nuggets of wisdom to help guide the rest of us, but all I can think is that they failed. They fell in to the trap. The trap that is recovery makes you fat.

There has got to be a way to recover without becoming over weight! There has to be *stomps foot* because I refuse, abso-fuckin-lutely refuse to go any further with recovery if it means becoming over weight.

I work hard to understand and believe that when my dietician asks me to add a new food to my list of foods I will eat, or to eat more than one meal a day, or to consider drinking a glass of milk, that she is thinking about nutrients, and fueling my body, and stuff like that. But I always think she is trying to sabotage me and make me fat. And I kind of, in a vague way, grasp that my thinking she is trying to sabotage me is probably my ed trying to scare me or trick me in to not changing. On my good days I kinda get that.

But…it doesn’t take away from my fear that she is trying to make me fat.

Now I have two people who have actually gotten fat from recovering and omg the panic I feel whenever I think of either of them. That panic can take me from contemplating having a snack to ordering myself to not eat anything else for the rest of the day because all food will make me fat and who knows which food will be the tipping point that takes me from what I look like now to looking like them.

Envision a big ass wall slamming down and blocking off all food, that is what it feels like in my brain. I panic, that wall slams down, and boom! No more appetite. No more willingness to try to eat. No more openness to the idea that my treatment team is right.

Just a big ass black wall that stops me from getting to any of the things that are on the recovery side of my brain…heck, not even an entire side, more like a little itty bitty section eeked out in a corner with one tiny fluorescent light that barely works swinging over a battered desk and some figure huddled under the desk trying desperately to get work done without being noticed and kicked yet again.

When that wall slams down it takes so freakin long to get it open even an inch, and it is exhausting to try. And part of me doesn’t want to try, because, well, if forcing it open, and working this whole recovery deal is going to end up with me fat well, no, just no, that is not an ok end result for me.

Does everybody who recovers from an ed get fat? Or is it just coincidence that I am seeing it happen right in front of my eyes to people I know? Are they the exception or the rule?

…I just realized that a lot of my posts lately have been very negative and “screw recovery-esque” which has me wondering why I am so defensive all of a sudden…yet one more thing to ponder…

Body Image

I hate being asked what I think about my body image. Like seriously, what doctor thinks that is an okay thing to ask a person? I never know how to answer.

Uh…well, I know I am fat, so I guess that is how I think about my body image?

I have sucky body image.

I don’t want to talk about it.

Those are my instinctive responses but none of them seem to be the right answer. sigh.

In case you hadn’t guessed, I was asked that recently. It makes me stumble every time I am asked, makes me screw up the rest of the conversation, makes me want to punch a wall and look down at my feet at the same time. That question makes me so incredibly uncomfortable.

It also got me thinking about body image. Which is a pisser.

I know I am fat. I see myself in the mirror every damn day don’t I? And not just in clothes, clothes that I choose specifically to try to hide my many flaws, but naked, or in just a towel, or just underwear, when none of the flaws can be hidden. I see it all. I know where all the problem spots are. I see where all my failures are etched on my body. I see where the evidence of my laziness and being prone to over indulgence show.

I see how fat I am. Daily.

I don’t want to have to put that in to words for some doctor.

I fly to a different province for Christmas, a province that has less tax than I do, combining the smaller amount of tax with Christmas and Boxing Week sales, and birthday discounts, I tend to buy clothes when I am there because it will save me money. I needed to replace all my work clothes because none of them were fitting properly, they were all too big. I figured they all got stretched in the wash, and were a bit old, so no big deal. Well imagine my surprise when I am trying clothes on and am going down 2 to 3 sizes before I find things that fit, and those items fit loose. I prefer my clothes loose but I think if I preferred form fitting clothes I could probably have gone down another size. Crazy!

I know I have to take in to account vanity sizing and all that, but…it appears I have shrunk, and it isn’t that my clothes got stretched out.


Now, I am not at all unhappy that I have gotten smaller, in fact I am thrilled. I am also confused at how this happened and I didn’t notice.

I look at myself every day. I see my flaws, my fat, every day. How did I not notice some of it went away? I mean yeah ok, I had noticed my ribs were more prominent and my hip bones, but my stomach and thighs are still just as fat, my ass still just as big, my face still just as round.

Before that shopping trip I would have said I 100% know what I look like and I 100% know I look the same, am the same, as this time last year. I have not changed in size, no matter how badly I want to.

Apparently that statement would have been wrong.

And I’m struggling because if I didn’t see that I was losing weight, then what if I start gaining weight and I don’t notice? What if I start getting even fatter and I don’t see it, and nobody tells me, and I just get fatter and fatter until there is no coming back from it?

Also, if I don’t see myself as I truly am, if I did get smaller and not see it, but was so sure I knew exactly what I looked like, well, what if there are other things I don’t see clearly? What if there are other aspects of myself, my eating disorder, my attempt at recovery, that I think I 100% see as they are, but, I don’t? And if I don’t see other things clearly, and other people don’t tell me what is the truth, or they tell me but I don’t believe them, how will I ever see things as they truly are?

How can I trust anything I think, or feel, or see, when it comes to me and how I look and my health and my eating disorder, if I somehow went down 3 sizes in clothes and can’t see that change?

How will I know what is real, what I can believe?

It reminds me of when you are driving in the fog. The area right around you doesn’t seem that foggy but farther down the road the fog looks thicker. You go farther down the road and realize it still doesn’t seem so thick around you but a bit farther down the road it looks thicker. Eventually you realize the fog around you is just as thick as the fog down the block, only you can’t see it because it is too close to you for you to perceive, because you are in it.

I am in the midst of my eating disorder, I vaguely knew about it before but chose to ignore the knowledge. Now, now I am aware, and see some things more clearly, but not all things, because I am too much mired in the eating disorder to see things beyond a certain point. Maybe one day I’ll be able to get clear of the fog, but for now, it is around me, blocking me from seeing the truth about who knows how many things, and even though I am aware of it now, it is fog, and I don’t know how to fight something I can’t touch.



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


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.



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…


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.