You put your right foot in...

My life. A little like the Hokey Pokey.

I'm back with my eating disorder nutritionist. Scary stuff...admitting backsliding, binging, purging and restricting. Failure. But she didn't yell. She didn't berate me. She didn't do anything but ask what I might be able to do to get going again. So the basics it is:
1. Eat breakfast within an hour of waking.
2. Eat every 3 hours.
3. Eat protein at least 4 times a day.
4. Stay hydrated.

Sounds easy enough. But when you've not been doing ANY of them, each is a hurdle. Some days I hit them all...some days I manage to make the mark on a couple (or one).

This week I've also added the goal of exploring how I can better my self care through my eating habits. I used to enjoy planning my meals and putting them together. I found great satisfaction in preparing a meal for myself, eating it and knowing that I did that simple act for just myself. Sometime in the last couple of months I lost that. Sunday I felt a twinge of it as I prepped veggies for munching. I had such a sense of completeness when I had finished washing, cutting and putting away the veggies that I could enjoy later, knowing that they would be ready for me when I wanted them. This week, I'm going to make a meal. Not a frozen meal. Not a restaurant meal. Something that I have to put a few things together to create a final taste. For myself. For my own satisfaction.

And now the left foot...

Working on my resume. Crocheting my meditation shawls. Taking my meds on a regular schedule. Chomping on my vitamins--all of them. Reading a book. [What? Reading a book? Yep! Hasn't happened in nearly 7 months. My concentration is back a bit.] Coming out of my self-imposed exile. Or trying to.

My social calendar looks like all I do is meet for coffee and lunch. Um...yes, that would be correct. But it gets me out. It gets me eating. It puts me in the real world, not just the cocoon of my home and my mind. I didn't realize how much I've isolated myself the last six weeks until nearly everyone I know has said to me "where have you been"..."what's going on"..."why don't you call"... Busted. I've seen people. But only a couple. Maybe because those people that I could be/should be talking to would know that something is/was up. And I wasn't ready to be exposed. I love those people. I miss those people. I will be in touch with them when I'm not so tender.

In the midst of my own drama, I watch and participate in the lives of others. Because I must. Because I cannot completely disengage my emotions. I have friends struggling with depression--and I can only offer words of "I know how you feel"...because I do. My grandfather has had a stroke in his eye that left him partially blind and led to the discovery of a more serious heart issue. My mother fears my grandmother is having small strokes. My dear friend burns the candle in "five spots" she says...and we all know what happens when we burn it from just two ends.

The world is bigger than me. My problems are not the only ones. I travel these crooked roads with others, each burdened in their own way. In the end, I take comfort in knowing that we are all each others angels.

Duh, Jennifer.

I need to go back and read my posts from the last three months or so. I was just looking through the early part of May and realized this:

I occasionally write things that I really ought to remember.

Things that make a lot of sense. Things that I've already learned (the hard way). Things that I could use RIGHT NOW.

If I'm not going to listen to anyone else, maybe I should try listening to myself. Not that I know it ALL...I just lose sight of how much I really have learned.

Then she asked...

What are you willing to do?

And I responded...

[pregnant pause]

[deep breath]

?

[truth or dare]

Is it the beginning or the end?

I'm trying to decide if right now is just a leftover yesterday or if it's already tomorrow. There's something to be said for a new day...but if it's still the old one, is there a possibility to salvage the parts you don't like? Someone tell me, please.

I think I wrote about this before, but it's still in my head: I want to go on retreat. Time to myself. Away from the house, the familiar, the phone, the computer. Just me, myself and I...and whatever divine spiritual force happens to show up and enlighten me.

The only problem is that this endeavor requires hours of solitude. Yes. Just what I want. Exactly what frightens me the most. What happens if I get myself in the middle of me and I find out that I am not enough? I know that sounds so flipping egotistical. But come on. This IS about me. And the retreat would be about me. And I honestly don't know if I could handle myself 24/7.

My therapist, close friends, all say to do it. There are local retreats, far off spots, isolation opportunities and guided spiritual programs. I just know I'll end up thinking this to death, spinning the little beach ball in my iMac brain and never really doing it. I wish there was a travel coordinator to call and do this for me. I could turn over my list of needs and wants and then disappear. I should google that.

Other tidbits I need to say: I am purging and drinking; my baby cat went to stay with her other mama because she keeps peeing on my personal belongings; I need to have a rummage sale to make some quick cash; the water is finally disappearing in my backyard, but it's nothing compared to the flooding further out from the city.

Finally, don't swim in Lake Michigan this summer. Milwaukee's been dumping raw sewage into the lake for the past week. That's not a candy bar floating along the shore.

Around the block again

It's been a difficult day. I'm not really sure why. I can't pinpoint any specific triggers. No big dramas. Nothing tragic. Just feeling off.

It's been a few weeks since any binging/purging or outright eating disorder behavior. Maybe the signs were there. I've not wanted to eat because of the dopamax, which is supposed to control the B/P urges. And I've had this horrid taste in mouth. The only foods that taste good are starchy, bready, carby things.

So I've been eating them. And my body's been hungry. Today, that hunger became a binge. A shop to get what you want to gorge on binge, followed by intentional purging for the purpose of continued binging. Yep, classic ED. Crap.

I feel guilty. But not enough to stop eating. Not enough to stop purging. If I've already screwed up today, I might as well go all out...at least until the clock strikes midnight. Hey, I didn't crack into the vodka. And I didn't buy wine. Crap.

Please. I'm not trying to romanticize this. I'm just trying to understand it. Why now? What's going on? Maybe nothing. Maybe it's just a physical reaction to the pharmaceutical starvation. Maybe it's me freaking out about gaining weight. I bought that scale. Damn it. Maybe I just let my guard down, got too comfortable. Maybe.

Labels

All my life, I've wanted to be some thing or some one. I've wanted labels, categories. I've needed titles, tags, compartments. I've sought definitions for every single aspect of myself. And I think it all came down to this: if someone slapped a label on me--even if it was one I didn't like or agree with--it took the responsibility off my shoulders to really know and accept for myself who and what I am.

Labels have been easy fall backs. Sister. Daughter. Partner. Manager. Employee. Friend. Strip them all away and what's left? I need to know that. I want to know that. It's not like I'm walking away from those roles. I just don't want to be those things first and foremost. What would it be like if I stepped into those roles first as myself? Only as myself?

All this brings me to this realization: I don't want to work. I don't want to sit behind a desk and manage people. I don't want to be in charge of things that don't contribute to the greater good of the world. Recipes? Sure everyone needs to eat. But half the world can't get clean water and rice. They don't need another recipe for tater tot casserole.

I've been working on my professional website. Ok. So I started my professional website and it has sat untouched for over a month. Maybe that's a sign. I'm not ready. I don't want to start defining myself for or to anyone. Not even for or to myself. Can't I just be?