Jennifer Has Left the Body

I printed that last post. Shared it in group. Asked for nothing. They let me be.

ED is in full control today. ED says restrict, Jen does. ED says purge that SBUX drink, Jen does. ED says to say FU to the world, Jen does.

But Jen came through--I came through--just enough to come up with a safety plan for tonight. I'm staying with a friend. Maybe not all night long, but long enough to keep ED from consuming Jen for good.

Touch and go. Touch and go.

A slip up

My therapist said it's a slip up. I say it's a fuck up. But I managed to pull a major binge and purge fest yesterday, feeling like I had no other option in dealing with anxiety, self-loathing and unworthiness.

I had a traumatic experience doing "blind" yoga in experiential therapy. I got so connected to my body, but not in a good way, and then I couldn't disconnect and reintegrate with the rest of the group.

I managed to sit through lunch, undereating. I ate my afternoon snack and then grabbed another. Then went to Carirbou Coffee and afte a huge scone with a coffee drink. Then chomped on cheese crackers. By the time I got to my therapist's office, I was so uncomfortable. I could taste the first bite of the scone and I smelled like coffee, but my mouth tasted like cheese crackers. I was worried that my therapist would tell me she was cuttin' me loose for being so crazy. So I purged. Twice. At her office.

We talked about that. Examined it. I thought I felt better. But on my drive home I stopped at the store and bought some of those sugar cookies with think creamy frosting and a bag of cheese puffs. Four cookies and a half of a bag of puffs later, I had purged four times by the time I stopped.

I fell asleep on the futon. Then woke around 10 with severe abdominal pain and dizziness. I got to the bathroom and ended up purging via the butt. My body totally rejected everything I had put into it. I felt so dizzy and the lights were blinking green. I just took some drugs and went back to bed.

I woke up this morning feeling yucky. Feeling guilty. Feeling like a big fat loser who lets a fucking eating disorder control her life. Now I have to face the group today. Confess or not? I don't know. I want to clear my conscience, but I do not want feedback.I don't want support. I want to feel the pain and guilt of what I did so that maybe I won't do it again. I am not worthy of their support. The shame is stiffling.

Goddamnit. I couldn't even go a whole week without ED behavior. Damn.Fucking damn.

Today, I put on the the biggest clothes I have that still stay on my body in hopes of hiding the monster I see. They still aren't big enough.

Yes, I see that this is my ED writing this post. I don't feel strong enough to fight against it. I'm not seeing the things that I, Jennifer, do to fight against it. I don't see the progress. Why can other people see it, but not me?

I need to try to not beat up on myself today. I need to work on sticking with my meal plan. I need to ask for help and then accept it.

Puknz

"What's up with that?" you ask.

A loyal reader of this blog contacted me to let me know that the word verifcation for one of her comments came up as PUKNZ. And ain't that a funny thing with all the purging going on in my ED world?

So. No Puknz. No Bingez. No Restricshunz.

It's got some potentiality for mass merchandising. Word. (Or whatever thing is the cool thing to say these dayz.)

And she's on a roll...

I'm wrapping up Tuesday without purging. It was a difficult day, but with the help of my fellow ED patients and therapy team, I managed to get through it. I had great help with snacks and lunch. I even had a bathroom buddy...because I didn't trust myself enough to go in alone. My plan for a supervised dinner fell through, so I ate Mac & Cheese and with 2 chicken hot dogs while on the phone with a friend, then called my mom to keep me busy until the feeling of fullness passed.

My head is reeling a bit from the intensity of the day, both with my meal plan and with what was covered in various groups. I have so much to process...and no idea where to start. Not true. I do. I just don't want to go there tonight. Yes, I do. But then I'll be awake forever. Wide awake and thinking. Such a dangerous combination.

Things that make me want to purge

Feeling too full...smelling food on my hands after I've eaten...lingering food odors in rooms...feeling like a situation is out of my control...anxiety...disappointing food...sadness...something that tastes too good...looking the mirror or seeing my reflection after eating...republicans...tight clothes...people watching me eat...anger...binging...restricting (weird, but true)...standing on a scale...too many carbs in a day...and another million or so triggers yet to be discovered.

Some of these triggers are things that I've realized just within the past couple of weeks as I've been refeeding. The smells of food in a room (when the food's not mine) or after cooking it (even when it is mine) and the residual smell of food on my hands are strong influences on whether or not I'm going to want to purge if I'm already feeling full. Just a little bit of fullness and a smell will push me over the edge. And then it's a battle of the wills.

Monday was another no-purge day. No puknz for me. Not that I didn't want to after all three meals. Food disappointments were big today and didn't match my meal plan expectations. But I managed to get in about 1550 calories, up a couple hundred from my weekend meal plans, though still not at the 1800 goal.

Calories scare me. 1800 sounds like a TON of food. And gastric bypass surgery is no excuse. I know I can eat more (such as the time I chowed down 15 bags of 100-calorie snacks at the end of the day). But if I don't pay attention to them a little bit, I undereat. An exchange is not an exchange. And my brain knows it.

Changing directions...

I wish my depression would start to lift. I know I've only been on the new meds for a couple of weeks, but damn. How about some relief? I find myself somewhat motivated by the time I get home after treatment, but getting through dinner is hard enough that I just crash afterward.

I also wish I had a clear sense of what my treatment goals are. I don't. I'm not going to get very far if I don't come up with something solid. Maybe I hesitate because I really don't want to give up the bulimia. Honest to god. I feel like I've given up a lot recently and this is the one thing I can still control. Do you realize how sick that last sentence was? That had to be ED talking, not me. I hope it wasn't me. I can't imagine my life without ED, but I do know that I want one of my own, not controlled by binging, purging and restricting and repeat trips to treatment.

Small miracle

No purging since Thursday. Kind of normal meal plan for Friday, Saturday and Sunday.

A step in the right direction.

Friends in all the wrong places

I don't know how to write this, other than to say that I am lonely and feel abandoned.

It's been weeks since I've spoken with someone whom I've considered a supporter. For this person's own reasons, there has been limited contact. And while I can understand the reasons and the need for distance on this person's part, I still feel slighted. Inconsequential.

I'll own those feelings. No one MADE me feel this way. It's up to me to work through these emotions. It's up to me to find the support I need elsewhere. This I know. But it hurts. It makes me so sad that I can't even talk to the one person who's always been there. Just not this time. Just not this time when it feels the darkest.

I have my family, who has been so supportive and giving to me. I have some friends who check in on me because they know I can't always reach out. I have the readers of this blog who keep coming back and commenting. At the end of the day, though, I'm lonely. I don't mind being alone. In fact, I like it.

But I miss human contact, especially from the some of the people I care about the most. I am grateful for what I have. I would not be alive right now without the kindness of a few loyal people. The strange, painful part, however, is that those few people are not the ones I expected to step up.

Guilt

There's someone with whom I interact during part of my treatment program. She had RNY gastric bypass just one month after me. She said she lost 160 pounds and gained back 60. She calls her surgery a failure.

I feel guilty for having lost as much as I have and still not being satisfied with it. I feel dishonest for being able to pass as "normal" in a world where she would be judged by her appearance and I probably wouldn't be. I hate myself for be so ungrateful for what I do have and so disrepectful of my body.

Why can't I just be satisfied?

Falling off the scale

I have a scale in my house. Nuff said.

Tu es Day

I ache with the rawness of my emotions. I have never before in my life felt more vulnerable, more fragile, more terrified than I have these last few days.

But I let the emotions come. In quiet gasps, pensive pauses, roaring sobs, screaming, cursing, crying. There's no stopping them: sadness, anger, shame, fear, loneliness. My safety comes from a circle of strangers, long distance phone calls.

I am choosing this, I remind myself.

Today I feel small. Dwarfed by my eating disorder. But not defenseless, I remind myself, too. It is so much bigger, so much more insidious than I thought. Often I can't even tell if the voice I hear in my head is my authentic self or my eating disorder.

Tonight I let them talk, chat back and forth. Banter. I'll step out of their way. For the next few hours, I don't care. I can't care.

Just an update.

Discharged from inpatient this morning. Begin extensive partial hospitalization program on Monday for as many weeks as it takes this it. Tired. Might write later. For now, just taking it moment by moment.

Off to see the wizard

Anxious. Scared. Ashamed. Relieved.

Take your pick. Any of those words accurately describe my waking emotions as I contemplate leaving for treatment in a few hours.

Check in time is 11 a.m. No early arrivals. (The water park is closed for the season.) But I've plenty to do in the meantime. Such as not purging. Such as not fleeing.

I'm packed. Although I should wash this bathrobe I'm wearing and throw a few more pairs of socks into the suitcase. I have to pull together paperwork and phone numbers. No cell phone or computer while inpatient.

I dread walking onto the unit. Timing is such that I will arrive as lunch is being served. And sitting down to a meal with complete strangers is not my idea of fun or therapeutic. I worry that I won't remember names of any of the staff...but they'll remember me and think it's such a shame that that I fucked up so early on. I think about being the oldest person on the ED unit and being the fattest person. I worry that they'll take away my journal and pens and papers...even though I've painstakingly made the suicide or self-harm proof.

But mostly I worry that I will fail. I am not the kind of person that wants to do things more than once. Perfect the first time. Practice sucks. And here I am...at it AGAIN . And failure this time...well, you might as well just write me off as a lost cause.

(If I could have typed that last paragraph in black and white, it would accurately convey my screwed up way of looking at the world.)

Then there's the disappointment. In myself. What others feel toward me. I feel like I've let everyone down. I know that's not logical. But it's how I feel. How can I get the rational thought to better align with emotions? Inpatient challenge #1.

I know people will be checking this blog while I'm gone. I won't be posting for a week or so, but come visit any way.

A big shout out to the friends from my real life who love me. I love you, too.

Here's a hey to all the people at RDA Milwaukee who pop on during the day. I don't know who all of you are, but I can tell whether you log on with a Mac or PC. It's rather comforting to think of you as a silent shield of protection in the office. I hope I get to come back.

Sending thoughts of solidarity to all the brave people who also face ED issues and have come to this blog to offer me support or to seek your own. Your honesty has lifted a bit of my isolation.

Come on. This isn't a eulogy or a good bye...it's just an "until we meet again." But it does feel kind of final to me. I know that some of what I write, the self-loathing and distorted reality, the self-pity and anger, I will have to inch away from. That, in itself, scares me. Becoming the person I am meant to be scares me.

This. I would wish on no one. That. I think I want, but don't believe I have the strength. Worthy, capable, lovable. I whisper those words to myself in the darkest hours of my nights, not completely believing them or trusting them. Certain they are my truth. But so very far away. Maybe I'll find them 45 miles down the road behind the locked doors of 3F. Or maybe I'll open my eyes and find them right inside of me.

The Final Count Down

Today will be full of errands, last minute lists, packing. Tomorrow...well, I'll deal with it if I get there.

My therapist yesterday made a very astute observation about me. She told me that she thinks I am well-spoken, a good communicator and that I have a way with words. But...(because isn't there always a but in therapy?)...I use words, lots of them, to avoid the simple two or three that would adequately describe my emotions. Hmmmm.

I wonder if that's because I often have difficulty identifying emotions? Am I hiding from them? Or is it my fear of not being understood (and therefore not being capable and worthy) that leads me to over explain without really getting to the heart (or pit) of the matter?

So in the spirit of recovery, I offer these three words to describe my emotions early on this Inpatient Eve day:

afraid

ashamed

angry

Anyone who comes up with a spiffy haiku using all three words before 6 p.m. CST will receive a delightful eating disordered door prize. Seriously. Humor me, kids.

You don't understand

Actually, I don't know that many people understand some of the screwy things in my head unless they've felt the same way.

I was out with a group of my closest girlfriends last night. We made sushi and played an hilarious game. I ate fortune cookies and almonds cookies, sushi and wasabi sticks, even a pot sticker. And at some point, I decided I was going to purge.

Although I'd taken an anti-anxiety pill about an hour before we left, I still felt the need to quell the unsettledness, the worry, the fear with a purge. Quiet, discreet and neat in hostesses' bathroom.

Later, on the way home, when I told a friend that I had purged, she whacked me on the arm (rightfully so) and asked why the fuck I did it. It was hard for me to explain that, yes, I know those women, love these women, understand that they also know, love and support me to the nth degree, but the situation was still anxiety provoking. I still felt like an outsider. I still felt like a specimen floating in a petri dish waiting for the microscope to zoom in on me.

I realize that this is not rational thinking. I know that these friends were happy that I was there, genuinely concerned about me and willing to do anything for me to help in my recovery. But a part of me, the ED part that lay dormant for so long, just isn't ready to disappear. Or maybe I'm not strong enough to squelch it yet.

I have no explanation for people who don't "get it." I don't really get it myself. And if I do, I'm obviously have not been 100% ready to deal with it.

By the time we got back to my house, the anxiety from trying to be understood in regard to being anxious was over the top. My friend went to bed. I went to the cupboard and pulled a million calories of food to eat and purge, all the time justifying it with the knowledge that when I return home from treatment, I should not have these foods, triggers for certain, in my home. And why should they go to waste when a perfectly necessary purge could take care of them.

So today, I'm going to try not to purge. I'm going to eat what I can in normal amounts. I'm going to focus on admission in about 48 hours. Pack. Organize. Clean litter pans. And pray to god I don't face any more pop quizzes.

She has a plan

I'm entering the ED inpatient unit at Roger's Memorial on Monday. I hope to transition to the partial program by the end of the week, but we'll see. In fact, I had wanted to skip inpatient all together, but my erratic eating and escalating purging (probably assisted by the ER visit) took that option off the table.

Tomorrow I go into work to tell my staff. I check in with my PCP mid-morning for pre-hospital testing. The afternoon will bring some quick cleaning around the house in anticipation of my weekend guest (and unofficially babysitter.)

Yesterday I also saw my new psychiatrist who switched around some drugs. He's a nice guy...actually read my file before I sat down.

And everyone else on my support team is in support of this plan. Of course they are. No more worrying about what Jennifer's doing. Or what she's not doing. I know, that's not true. But having their blessing makes this easier. Knowing they'll be waiting for me when I get out offers peace of mind.

So from now until Monday morning, my goal is to take in more liquids and eat what I can without purging. My dietitian is cutting me a little slack in the quantity/calorie department in order that I at least eat something. I'm glad she understands that something is better than nothing. And something that I won't purge is the best of all.

Weight loss surgery. RNY. Dropping pounds. Binging. Starving. Purging. They've all become so enmeshed in who I am...but none of them are really me. I hope, I pray, that I can extricate a little bit of myself from that tangled mess.

Last night in therapy, Dr. G helped me come to this understanding:
I AM CHOOSING THIS. I am allowing help into my life in the form of hospitalization in order to bring greater structure and accountability around food and better understanding and acceptance of my emotions.

update downdate

I have news to write about. But not yet. I'm not ready. I just took a Xanax so I can chill.

Mom, don't call me. I'll call you.

what to say

I don't know. I feel like posting, but don't feel like there's much to say.

My car (and about 20 others) hit a huge pothole last night. My tire blew out. Some nice guy stopped and changed it for me. Today I dropped the car off to get it check out because it's making noises. I haven't even yet made my first payment on this car. Geesh.

I came home last night to a returned house key and some odds and ends papers. And today I signed the final paperwork at the lawyer's office. I guess this means my divorce is final.

I didn't purge much today, just once, kind of, but with poor results. I ate something this afternoon and didn't try to purge. That's good. Yesterday I purged whatever went into my body...diet Mt. Dew, coffee, water. Anything. So I'm thinking today was progress.

I don't have any clothes to wear to work. They're all too big. I put on a brand new skirt today and it nearly slid off my hips...and it should have sat at my waist. I don't want to buy anymore...what if I lose more weight?

I think I've convinced myself, given the last 12 hours, that I don't need anymore treatment. I'm sure I'm mistaken. But maybe not. I'll see what the psychiatrist says tomorrow. I pretty much know everyone else's thoughts are. I'm talking with someone from Rogers tomorrow. They may not think I need treatment either. Hmmm.

Monday. Funday.

I don't know what to say.

I leave for work in about an hour. I can't take a Xanax until I'm there, since driving is a no-no on the drug. I'm anxious. Overwhelmed by the thought of a full day around people, people who have a clue about this pit I'm in.

I tried to read lasers from a chapter on appetizers and beverages last night. Checking for style, design, content, copy. And I couldn't. I was in a safe place...sitting in an office at church while everyone else was having a good time. But near people. Not where I'd engage in ED behaviors...or drink. (However, I did think about the communion wine.) Anyway. I just couldn't read. I couldn't concentrate. And when I did catch a phrase or two, my mind started to do screwy things, go odd places, entertain dangerous thoughts. It's food--words about food--on a fucking piece of paper, dammit, and even that is the enemy.

I see one of my therapists tonight. Wednesday comes the final paperwork in the "divorce", a visit to my psychiatrist for delicious new drugs, another therapy session. And the decision of what to do next. Today, I'm just going to pray I don't purge. Pray I don't binge. Pray I don't restrict. Pray that food is food and I am Just Jen.

I get by

...with a little help from the whole universe.

With under 90 minutes to go until a new day, I've not purged. I don't plan on it. I'm sitting with the anxiety, the fear, the self-doubt. I'm trying to see what it feels like. So far, I don't like it. But my therapists both assure me I'll get through it.

I went to see "Juno" today with some friends. The perfect babysitting adventure...where they don't have to make uncomfortable small talk and I can escape in the dark. Seriously though, these two were lifesavers today, helping me to stay in the mix and not so much in the muddle.

I got home just in time to take a phone call from another friend. He offers me great comfort and hope. And familiarity. We've known each other so long, through so many stages in our lives. Our shared history, though painful at times, at least keeps me grounded.

This evening, I found a project for myself to occupy both mind and hands. It's worked.

I feel like today was a break from the depression and desperation. I have hope that a plan is taking shape, that relief will come soon, that if I can just hold out a few more days, all the planets will align accordingly and I will be okay. I don't care of the grass is greener or not...just let me get to the other side of this fence.

Preparing the way

I'm coming around to the idea that further treatment is what I need. Not happy about it. But I understand.

I know that a lot of people care about me. I don't want to put those people in a position where they have to do things they don't want to do just so that I'm safe. See, there are some positive things about never wanting to disappoint people.

I got some Xanax finally. I hope it helps.

But tonight. Not so much. All day I pretty much ate what I was supposed to when I was supposed to. But 8:30 rolls around and I turn into Pretty Purging Princess. Yes. I know I shouldn't. No. I really don't want to do it. But there it is and it feels good and it's so easy. It's what I know.

My head aches. My stomach is sore. My throat is burning. I'm calling it a night.

It only gets better...

On my way to the lawyer's office today to sign mortgage papers--after a hectic morning of trying to find someone, anyone to help with medication issues--running late because I had to eat a flippin' Lean Pocket for lunch, which I then tried to purge and couldn't, I got a speeding ticket. For $189.25 and 4 points.

Yep. It was a great day. The only thing that would make it better would be MORE medical bills in the mail. Oh. Those came, too.

But I'm here. Smiling. Because it couldn't get worse.

In the interest of full disclosure...

My choices last night were not good ones.

When purging didn't relieve the anxiety, when the rawness in the back of my throat wasn't enough to numb the feelings, I turned to a bottle of wine. And some rum.

The result was an ambulance ride and several hours in the emergency room. And an IV that was the most painful one of my life. I'm sure I deserved it.

Today took an extra vacation day. Called in the reinforcements. Ate. Didn't purge. Took down the Christmas tree. (I'm more than ready for the holidays to be over.)

Tonight, I have a few calls to make to "check in" so no one worries too much. And I'm waiting for Officer Rozelle, my handsome young escort from last night, to return my driver's license.

I joke about it now. I suppose it wasn't so funny last night. But if I don't try to brush it off as I write about it, I will melt into despair.

Should I go back to treatment? Will I? What does that mean? In my head, it means I'm a failure. Yes, I know it's not failure. It takes strength and courage to admit that I need help. But it doesn't erase how I FEEL. And that's ashamed, angry and sad that I couldn't be perfect like I thought I ought to be.

Mostly, I'm sorry for the worry I cause people. I'm sorry for the inconvenience this could cause. I'm sorry for wasting every one's time during treatment. If I try again, I promise to try harder. I'll be a better perfect.

Signs

Someday I may look back at this post and be able to smile at how far I've come since I wrote it. I guess you could call that hope.

The details of the last days of 2007 are painful, disappointing, depressing. I'm not going to revisit them, mostly because I don't want another onslaught of phone calls "checking in" from people who only marginally care. And because, why relive what I didn't even want to live the first time?

Although today was a new day, a new year, a new opportunity, I certainly didn't make much of it. Tomorrow, another chance. The structure of work, the commitments to appointments and other people...those may get me back on track. Or, they could at least help.

The actual navigating and movement must come from within. That I know. I don't trust it. I don't feel the strength. But since I know it is truth, then I must have a part of me--buried deep, hibernating, hiding--that is capable and worthy of such a journey. I wish the scaly self-doubt would fall from my eyes and I could see the signs pointing me to myself. I'm sure they must be in front of me. Obvious. Bold. I just can't see them.

So tonight. More choices. And I must admit that the ones I entertain are not the ones I ought to. But until that moment of action comes, my choice between right and wrong, good or bad, healthy or unhealthy remains unknown. Anticipated for certain. But not a firm commitment. I should be okay with that. Living in the gray.