One week plus one more.

I have completed a full week of 100% meal plan compliance and abstinence from eating disorder behaviors. While not a record, nor a point for future comparison, it does cap off a week of great change and progress. A week of aggravation and empowerment. I'm proud of myself. I'll claim it as a victory. And I'll use it to move forward. If I did it for seven days, I can do it for one more. One more. One more. One more.

I can almost taste the possibility of health. Wholeness. Whole me. I feel stronger than I have felt in a year. I feel more capable and confident that I have felt in a year. It's like meeting myself for the first time and knowing right away that I'm a person I want to get to know. Need to know.

Not to say there won't be bad days. Bad moments. Doubt. Regret. But that's part of my humanity. I can choose to accept it or not. And I guess if I choose me, if I choose a new life, then I also need to accept the not-so-hot, quite ordinary and often boring parts of myself, too. Without them, maybe I'd never have had a glimpse of how extraordinary I will be some day.

It sounds like I'm high. Maybe. Or rather, just alive, aware. Present. A presence of mind that is undeniably real.

Maybe that's why I can write again. Why the words fit better, sound better, make more sense. Why they hold emotion instead of echoing it. Why they catch my breath when I repeat them, even silently, even from memory.

My life is full of promise, not promises. Full of me. Well fed, loved, content. Not so hungry. Satiated. Significant.

A different direction

Notice anything new on the page? I've been wanting to change this for a while and just didn't know what to do. This morning, it came to me. I like it. I like it a lot.

Found Poem

The process of found poetry is to use the words from a source, eliminating phrases and making changes in punctuation to create a new story, a new poem.

This found poem, yet to be titled, was inspired by a photograph and article[click for original text] in a Nat' l Geographic article on Acadia National Park.

For this, I ripped out the page in the magazine that also had this photo, then "wrote," inspired by how the sky was reflected only in the water. It seemed so enticing, yet so deceptive.




The two of us go back a long way.
She scared me half to death that first time. Then,
she seduced me. And I found myself
over the years, going back to search out
her secret places.

She'll hook you, too, if you give her a chance.
And watch yourself, in particular,
if you should happen that way:
you fall almost every time.

Her outlying parts--granite ledges,
small offshore islands linked by causeway to the mainland--here
you find a place called no.

And now, my journalling on the found poem, as it relates to my recovery:

Sometimes I am too quick to jump in the middle, deceived by surface colors and the illusion of depth. As if I have something to prove. As if I must suffer before I succeed. Not as interesting, not as enticing are the far off edges with their unpredictable curves, tenuous connections. But. If I explore the nooks, the crevices...if I take on the intimacy of fear, forgiving...forge through the bramble to better appreciate the whole, then. Then I discover strength, sustainability, courage. A voice that says NO as often as it shouts YES or mumbles MAYBE. I stand knee-deep in just myself and realize that I am bigger than what surrounds me.

It should go without saying, but I know I have to say it: Steal any of these words or thoughts and I will hunt you down and smite you and your children until 6th generation. Go get your own recovery if you want to be creative.

Recovery

• I have the power to control my life and my emotions.
• I have the power to change my thoughts and my way of thinking. I have power over myself.
• If I do not take care of myself and my thoughts, who will?
• I create my own world: spiritual, mental and even physical. I always live in the atmosphere I create with my thoughts.
• I create the world I think about. No one else does. I am responsible for myself and my choices. What I am, I made myself become.
• I am now creating a new woman, the woman I always wanted to be but I never thought possible.
• I am capable and competent, caring and compassionate.

--adapted from WFS.

J-E-N-N-Y

For the first time in forever, my mom and I got matching t-shirts. I'm wearing mine today. She promised she would wear hers, too.

Yes, I do look like a dork. It's 6 in the morning, no make-up and I set my camera for self-protrait. Plus I have a sea monster coming out of my head. But did you notice the smile?

Good Morning, Readers!

Good morning, Steven! I imagine you with your cup of coffee and a cigarette. And now you just did that litle smile/smirk you do when you know you got made. I love you.

Hey Dagny, how's the back?

LAURA! Still kicking ED in the ass? I'm cheering for you!

Beth, my dear, what's shakin? Oh, wait, I KNOW what's shakin. And I still think you're hot.

Hello Assurant readers!

Whassup Reiman readers? I know you're there...all day long...you could call me, you know.

Miss Candace...your ass looks FABULOUS!

Deluzy, you're delovely! Thanks for always checking on me.

Who have I missed? Lady in India (sorry, can't remember your name), KY, TN, IA, CA, WA...all my regulars...I like that you stop in.

Tel???? Tel???? Is that you?????

MKE...Jo, Margaret, Lisa...who else is peeking? I'm going to try to make it to the Saturday meeting.

Hope everyone has a great day! I'm excited about today...surprised at how excited and eager I am to jump into it. Let me know how your days are going.

Frank's last day

Counting leaves on trees,
I number them with patience:
each a gift of love.

Affirmations

Everything I do is by choice.

Every thought I think is creating my future.

It's only a thought and a thought can change.

How it's going to be...

I am not strong enough to deal with some of the comments coming through. I don't have time to second guess what the "real" meaning is behind them. I don't want to censor what I write because of what one person or another thinks I should or shouldn't say. Free speech, kids. If I'm willing to pay the price for it, then that's my call.

I'm tired of people telling me what my treatment protocol should be, how I should spend my time, who I should confess to and why. I'm a big girl. Maybe you don't like how my life is going, but I don't care. It only matters what I think.

Those of you who read regularly also know how to contact me. Feel free. For now, I'm disabling comments. And if any of you read regularly in an attempt to actually avoid contacting me and just ASKING me how I'm doing, then you're not really concerned. Don't read this blog and then call me, pretending that you don't know how I'm doing. Just call and tell me that yes, it must suck. I just want people to realize that this is not easy. Give me credit for trying. If I was perfect, I wouldn't be in recovery.

I am tired. I am sick of being in this spot. Don't tell me to eat or not eat. Don't tell me to drink or not drink. If it was really that easy, I would have done that by now. This is fucking hard. Harder than anything else I have ever done. Ever.

So I'm done for now. Right now, I never, ever want to post again. But, as some of you so kindly pointed out, my narcissism keeps bringing me back. What does it say about you that you keep coming back to witness it? Waiting for the train wreck? Sorry, you'll have to wait. Keep watching, but you will not see it here.

Adios.

Struggling

I've been fighting my ED since Friday night, after a phone call with my HR department. My FMLA protection ends on 2/17. And after that, they may decide to fill the position and I would be without a position...though still being paid.

None of this was information I didn't already know. But hearing it. Talking about it. That was a slap of reality I didn't want. So ED took it and ran.

Friday night I left the house and did stupid errand things to distract my mind. Saturday morning, I stepped on the scale. And despite all my best intentions, that number affected me. Throughout the day, I kept thinkingt hat someone as fat as me wasn't ever going to be able to find a new job. And to combat that thinking? Binging. No purging, though. Because binging without purging is a bigger punishment than purging.

Shit. Now today, despite how insane this all sounds and how illogical it is, I want to restrict. Especially after I stepped on the scale again. My head said that maybe sometimes I am more than a number on a scale, but not really when it comes to other people. ED is in full swing. I hate ED. But I'm still giving in. Graham crackers and coffee for breakfast.

I am scared about not having a job. I know that I shouldn't worry. I probably will have something even better come my way. But ED is all over it and I am being squashed by ED right now.

And tomorrow I get weighed at the program. Crap.

Serenity Scale

I have struggled with scale obsession since I had gastric bypass surgery in August 2005. Before then I rarely stepped on the scale, mostly because many of them didn't go past 300 pounds.

Once I started losing weight, the scale became a friend. It reinforced my success, rewarded my hard work, ticked off my goals in ten-pound increments...and slowly, silently seduced me every single day, then hour, then with specific restrictions and expectations. At one point a few months back, I had 3 different scales in the home and would use all them to weigh myself at various stages of undress, bodily fluid content and nutrition intake. Usually 20 to 25 times a day. Sometimes more. Rarely less.

As the weight loss slowed, especially during the 18 months, the scale became my judge. My jury. Every morning I appeared before it, receiving the same judgement and sentence: FAT LOSER, WEIGH AGAIN.

I thrived on the hope of lower numbers and lived in fear of escalating ones. I felt damned if I stepped on the scale, damned if I didn't. So I just kept stepping.

In October when I did my first round of treatment for bulimia, the scales were removed from the house. They returned to my property in November...but in the garage. By Christmas time, two of them were in the house. One in the kitchen and one in the upstairs bathroom. The kitchen one was confiscated by a wise friend, but the bathroom one remained.

And every morning, I weighed myself naked before emptying my bladder and then after. Once again when I stepped out of the shower. Once more when I was clothed. And then a final time when I left the upstairs for the morning. In case I had gained weight in that 25 minutes span.

In the evening, I'd weigh myself naked before emptying my bladder and then after, always just before bed. I got off easy on the evening schedule.

Now that I'm in treatment again, I find myself engaging in eating disorder thoughts and behaviors the evening before and the morning of hospital weigh-ins. How much should I eat. How much water will I retain. Did I piss or shit enough to lose a half of a pound. Can I have another cup of coffee and will my body be ready to eliminate it in the hour. Crazy. But my life.

Tuesday of this week was difficult. Lunch time presented a MAJOR trigger, actually two. And then during the following nutrition class, where the discussion was on scale power, I left to purge in the bathroom. A friend came in and talked me through it, so I didn't. However, I returned to the class in full ED mode, belligerent, pissy, not willing to budge. So I declared my love of the scale, my need for its consistency and honesty, my unwillingness to ever let it out of my life. It made me who I am.

Thankfully, I recovered from that episode in just a couple hours. And that evening was the one that led into my exceptional Snow Day Wedsneday, that flowed into my Amazing Thursday.

When I woke yesterday, resolved to have a good day and be well, I was still faced with the scale. So I took matters into my own hands. I made a CHOICE to CHANGE.

I grabbed my sharpies and started writing affirmations on the scale. (I had long justified keeping this scale because I was also going to use it as an art project.)

I started...

YOU HAVE A CHOICE. YOU ARE MORE THAN A NUMBER ON ANY SCALE. And I just wrote. Affirmation after affirmation thatI truly believed or wanted to believe. The words switched from second to first person. My statements became bolder.

When I was done, I felt so POWERFUL. I felt VICTORIOUS, infused with strength. And I promised myself that I can step on that scale any time I want...with the only condition being that I must accept with grace and hold true in my heart all the statements I wrote. If I didn't buy into the words, I couldn't step on the scale. Deal.

So I set it aside. Finished shovelling the gazillion pounds of white bricks that fell from the sky during the night, returned to the house, stripped my clothes and accepted my chosen words. I stepped on the scale.

I felt like the color soaked into the soles of my feet, the words rooting them selves in my bones, fortifiying them, reaching upward until I felt the words twinge in my chest, reverberate in my head. And then I looked at the digital display. I don't remember what the number said. I only saw words written in light green ink, visible only upon illumination. Words that I hadn't remembered writing: I AM BRAVE.

I was. I am. The only thing I wasn't was a number on a scale. My Serenity Scale.

The words in the photo might be hard to read, so here's what I've written:

You have a choice. You are more than a number on any scale. The number on the scale does not determine the nature of your day or the worth of your person. Sometimes a number is just a number. The sum of who I am is never reflected by the weight on the scale. I have a choice and the strength to make it. I can step on this scale anytime I want...but I choose not to let the number dictate my mood or my behavior. I accept responsibilityfor my reactions to that numbers and if does affect me--if I do let it affect me--then I also hold the power to change how I feel. I am a strong, confident, capable, compassionate woman. I am acceptable. I am lovable. I am worthy. I am at peace with my weight. I listen with love to my body's messages. I have a CHOICE. I am MORE than a number on this or any scale. I release all crticism of my body and myself. A new day is just a step away--on or off the scale. I accept myself and I LOVE my body and who I am and who I will be. The number on the scale is temporary. As it changes, I remain the same spirit. The essence of who I am is only reflected by the deeds I do, the good I create, the love I am willing to release back to the universe. When I step on this cale, I accpet the number that appears as just a number. And I accept myself without question. JENNIFER or JEN, and sometimes JENNY...creative, inquisitive, unpredictable; daughter of hope who feels fragile, who needs courage, who gives, who fears, who chooses to live.

Too good to be true?

NO!

I think yesterday was one of the best days I've had in the last six months. And the only thing I did differently was to try to be present every single second of every single hour. I CHOSE to take responsibility for myself. I CHOSE to fight my ED every step of the way. I CHOSE to make it a good day.

Today will be just like yesterday. Only better. I deserve better. I want better. I want to be better.

Snow Day

Program was cancelled today because of the gazillion inches of snow being dumped in the area. I didn't mind since I knew I had a double therapy session today at 4. I called my therapist early and left a message that since I was free, I could come in at any time if she had cancellations. Since I didn't hear back, I assumed I was on for 4.

WRONG. No show. No phone call. I'm irritated.

ED is telling me to punish her by binging and purging. She hates me so I should show her. How flipping stupid is that? Screw ED! I've had such a good day so far with my meal plan, I'm not screwing it up because of the weather or someone not following up. Besides, what if she got in an accident and is dead? And what would making my body suffer do to her? NOTHING. Nothing at all.

Today, Jen's in charge. Not the happiest with her destiny, but in charge, nonetheless.

So I saved myself a few hundred bucks, got a great head start on shovelling, and had fun spinning a few donoughts in the parking lot. Not bad.

Going to make dinner according to my meal plan. FU ED.

So why?

Someone asked me yesterday why I felt the need to post the photos below.

Because...

• I hide beneath clothes...
• I have a distorted sense of pride in my bones...
• My bag of skin causes me shame...
• That skin represents everything about me that I am ashamed of and for which I feel the need to be forgiven, accepted, healed...
• I think many people I interact with on a daily basis don't really know me because I hide from them...
• I'm tired of having this secret body...
• I hate my body...
• If I don't take pictures of myself, I don't know what I really look like...
• I want other people to tell me how ugly I am...
• I don't feel worthy and the pictures prove why.

Now, I understand that these aren't all logical or realistic. I'm telling you this is what I perceive, think and feel. Yes, I know I shouldn't accept some of these statements as truth. But in my current reality--skewed by an eating disorder, mapped by gastric bypass surgery, guided by desperation--this is my truth.

Please don't discount that. I know it's negative. I know there are good things about me. And I'm trying to see them. So, in the spirit of someone who I respect greatly and who posed that question yesterday, I offer this:

3 Positive Things @ Jen

1. I have an infinite capacity to love and am learning to accept it from others.
2. I speak from the heart--to family, friends, co-workers and gradually to myself.
3. I have strength beyond measure which is constantly being revealed to me.

Bones & Skin

I like my bones.

When I see them, I feel normal.
I feel thin.

These are the bones other people see.

It's what they don't see that I hate so much...

I hate the drooping flesh.

The wrinkles. The puckers. The swag.

When I look in a mirror, even when I'm clothed,

the skin is all I see.

I wish I could just see me.

Weekend Weigh In

All in all, an okay weekend. Really.

My food was off a bit. Not really restricting. And definitely no purging. Not really binging, since my calories never topped out. But just not where the overall meal plan should be. Not clean eating by any means.

But my head seems to be dislodged, at least temporarily, from lower orifices. I made good choices: Friday night I kept busy with stuff around the house. Saturday I drove north (through more crappy Wisconsin snow) to visit my family, including my grandparents. Today I went to church, joined a potluck lunch and then spent the afternoon with a friend.

A lot of time for introspection. Opportunities for setting boundaries. Reaching out. But, like my meal plan, not quite yet there.

This all sounds like I'm simply trying to write something to put everyone's minds at ease. Maybe my own, too. I don't know. I want to assure myself that today I am not just my eating disorder. Keeping my fingers crossed it's really true.

New Day. New Opportunity

Hi, this is Jen. I think I'm back. Stronger than ED. Refueled by the love of a 5-year-old boy who thinks I'm cool because I like to color. Loved by a friend who accepts me for just the way I am...and is willing to take the risk to keep me safe.

I am not restricting today. I am not binging or purging today. I am going to treat my body with all the respect that ED wants to steal from me.

I am worth it. I am worthy.