Eating Disorder Talk

I’ve been missing for awhile, I know. I hope at least one person will see this entry pop up on their feed reader and say, "finally!"

My last entry, I talked about my daughter and I both having the flu and what that means for my lifestyle: it becomes about making her feel better and medicating myself as heavily as possible so that I can do everything possible to make her feel better - and sleep. Which doesn’t happen for me, if she’s sick. Anyways.

She was hit with ear infections and bronchitis, then that cleared up to leave tonsilitis. Once that was done, then I got to be sick, but by that time, I was already on the mend. I still have a bit of a spontaneous barking cough, but really, I’m all better.

Unfortunately, the three day hangover prior to getting the flu brought about some weight loss. Then the flu and it’s subsequent digestive distress - well eating didn’t produce pretty results - led to further weight loss. It’s been about a week that I’ve been able to eat without concern for intestinal implosion and a well-timed week, too.

Cooking Christmas dinner for six adults when you’re a single mom to a spirited toddler means a lot of prep work, which generally translates to a lot of snacking as you go and a lot of leftovers because being over-prepared, food-wise is definitely a priority over not having enough to go around. I probably had enough for a second dinner. Which means I did what? Oh, right, binge-ate leftovers with the excuse that I have weight to gain back and that they’re perishable.

And this is where the medical issue comes to light. I’ve been eating so much the past few days, more than 4000 calories daily, I’d assume and enough to add two inches of bloat to my waist. Yet my hypoglycemia is rearing it’s head. In actuality, it’s not been limited to the past week.

For the past six weeks or so, really since I intentionally started eating more, a couple of times a week my blood sugar plummets. This is worrisome for a few reasons, the two most important being: when I was diagnosed as having low blood sugar, my doctor at the time predicted that without maintenance and dedicated care of it, I would be diabetic within five years - it’s been over eight, now; I’m experiencing these plummets after eating, not in response to a lack of food - this means my condition is heightened by regular consumption of fats, proteins, sugars and starches - which leads me to concern over what a maintenance diet would entail.

I suppose a visit to my doctor is needed, to get blood work done and assess the damage I’ve done to my pancreas. Now, if I could just stop procrastinating about it.

Last week, I was doing pretty well, updating regularly, eating regularly and then Saturday happened.

I had been looking forward to my birthday party for a variety of reasons, mostly the fact that I hadn’t been out, sans child, in months and it was to be her first sleepover night with her grandmother. This meant so much to me, having a night away, that of course, I overdid it.

Three days later, I still had a smidge of a hang over. I wasn’t able to eat much for those three days, dropping about seven pounds from the period bloat weight. Back under 100 pounds. Sigh.

Then just when I thought I was recovered, Wednesday evening reared it’s ugly head, bringing the flu with it.

Both my daughter and I were struck simultaneously, her in the form of a two-hour wailfest while we were downtown shopping and me in the form of muscle weakness and headache to the point of doing anything possible to get her to stop screeching, to save my brain from exploding.

So now, it’s been about two days and she’s got full-on ear infections and the beginning of bronchitis. Me? I don’t even know now, since I am so sleep deprived and under-nourished that I’ve got a buzz going. I’ve slept about five hours in these two days because I have a "spirited child."

Spirited kids feel and express things deeply. They’re either clamouring for cuddles or slapping you in the face. They’re screaming or staring at you blankly. This has been my life for the past year and a half, almost, living in the shadow of infant (now toddler) mood swings, always tiptoeing and shhshing other people. And it’s manageable - hell, it’s even fun most of the time - until she gets sick.

Then the world ends and it is all my fault while at the same time, I’m the only one who can make it all better. I don’t get to sleep because she will not sleep on her own. This means I spend most nights alternating rocking and soothing and trying to sleep upright in a chair with her in my arms, my palm making small, soft circles on her back. She is both inconsolable and needy of consoling at all times - leading to it being 110% Zoë time and no such thing as mommy time (even in regards to me eating and going to the bathroom).

Moral to this story: I’ll be back when everything else is back to normal.

I was hesitant to post today because I’m in such a yucky mood. Then I realized that in not posting, I’m not being authentic about what I’m going through and though I’m a lot of things, half-truths are not an aspect of my makeup. The point of this journal is to show both the ugly and beautiful parts of my recovery (because I will, this time, recover. Twenty years is just too long to spend on a diet.), the hardship and celebration. The point is not to mask it, because really, who am I doing a favour to, by doing that? Not myself or anyone who might read this, questioning their own ability.

Today is the opposite of yesterday. Yesterday, it was all about positivity and wonder at my new-found strive and pride in my recovery; today I feel down about what I am blaming on period-bloat. It’s been a frustrating day, emotionally, in part because three pounds have been inherited in the past two days and though I know, logically, it’s because of the usual monthly water-weight, I can’t help but regret the late-hour chocolate party I had last night.

The moodiness of recovery is enough to make you not want to recover, sometimes. Yet, the moodiness of being an active anorexic is just too much to handle, as well.

It seems a lose-lose situation, wherein I will make the wrong choice, regardless of the question at hand and ultimately, I will end up unhappy with the result. So I’m trying to pull the focus away from my weight or my lower tummy and put it towards something much more useful, manageable and healthily malleable - my hair.

I recently dyed my naturally auburn hippy coif blonde. I intended on what I call rocker-blonde - that shade a touch darker than bleach, yet, whiter than light golden. I’ve ended up with what I have termed Mattel blonde. It’s the texture and colour (mostly) of Barbie’s mane and it’s the opposite of my intention. I wanted different, not what every third girl on my street has. So the quest begins to go dark reddish-brown. A gothier version of chestnut, if you will.

This is what I’m focusing on. Instead of the real problem(s).

The question of whether I should involve my doctor has come to mind. I was referred to him a few years back because he has a certain specialty within the female mental health field. He knows eating disorders, depression and addictive behaviours and in me, he’s found a gold mine. But I’ve been hesitant to see him about this, since his recommendation will likely involve treatment (not a lifestyle or personal possibility) and regular monitoring. There’s no guilt like having your doctor weigh you every two weeks and then tsk at you, asking why you’ve fallen off the wagon. That’s something I’m not sure I’m prepared to sign up for.

But this wavering, this unknowingness of whether I’m doing this right, the thought that maybe it could be easier - it weighs on my mind.

Until tomorrow, when I will likely have a whole different perspective, yet again…

Last week, I talked about obsessing over a food I wouldn’t allow myself for the past decade, croissants. I’m happy to report that I’ve made it through a 4-pack of croissant in just as many days - sharing them with my toddler, but still, eating them and best of all, enjoying them. I’ve been careful to not focus too much on what I’m putting into my body - right now it’s more important that I take in food, than what I choose to take in - and because of this, I can bet that my caloric intake for the past few days has been around 2,400.

Blame it on the croissants, a gift basket my client gave me (oh truffles, you’re exquisite) and the cookies my daughter and I baked today with a friend.

I think that baking and holiday meals are going to be a caloric godsend, because it’s so easy to give in, I barely even fight myself about it, when it’s something I’ve prepared myself. And especially when I’m going to be sharing it with others, there’s a certain amount of taste-testing and recipe-revamping necessary. So, logically, I’m thinking I can bet on an easy five pound gain over the holidays.

The past few days, I also have an advantage - the bloating that comes with my period. I know that when I wake up in the morning with a gently-rounded tummy, it’s not obesity creeping up on me; I feel secure that I look and mentally am fine, just a little moodier than usual.

Another positive thing is my overall outlook. I’ve never been quite so okay with doing what I am - eating freely and regularly, intentionally - in the past 15 years, at least. This is astounding me, making me take pride in my actions and also, changing my thought from, "I can do this," to, "I am doing this." Big change from the past. Huge, really.

On January the first, I’ll be launching a new blog. A small part of it’s focus will include this recovery, but that will not be the main issue. If you’d like to take part by providing a quote for the sidebar (unrelated to eating disorders or me and including a link to your blog, if you’d like), please email me for further information.

This week brings us up to day 12 of me attempting to recover from anorexia. I’m doing this without therapy, guides or really, anything other than the support of friends and readers and my (often receding) willpower. Last week, I talked about how I’d gained a total of 2.5 pounds and 3/4 of an inch on my waist and this week I’ve slid back. Such is the case with unmonitored, non-structured recovery and I’m not going to beat myself up for it. I’ll take it like AA suggests, "one day at a time."

Overall Gains:

Weight: 0.5 pounds

Waist: 1/4 inch

BMI: 0.1

Progress:

I’ve managed to maintain a lowered coffee intake, from about eight cups to maybe four a day. I’ve also been eating at least one full meal and a couple of small snacks during the day, minimum. Obviously, it’s still not as much as I should be getting, but it is a step in the right direction. I’m also feeling semi-celebratory, since the first of the month marked my fourth month without incident of depression. Sure, you can look at a relapse in eating disorder as depression, but when you’re cyclothymic, no depression means you do a happy dance.

Thoughts:

I can only do the best I can. If I go into this with a defeatist mindset, or feel like a failure from the get-go, well, it will be quite hard to maintain my motivation. Last night, while reading in bed I had the thought, "this time next year, I won’t be thinking about how I should be proud of myself for eating before bed because I was hungry. I’ll just do it because I won’t have any reason not to."

That meant a lot, having that thought, because it didn’t involve an ‘if’ or disclaimer of any sort.

Also, I bought a four-pack of croissants yesterday and shared some of one with my daughter. Meaning, I ate one and she had a few bites. So, yes, I’ll keep patting myself on the back, now.

Yes, I know that title came across as genuinely arrogant, and trust me, I only half-meant it. Back in 1999, I started college as a mature student (ha) because I had dropped out of high school and was without the diploma that might guarantee my intake. I got in and spent the next five semesters with too heavy a course-load, reading text books the day of the test and writing 10 page psychology papers.

I took the lower-level classes required so that I could get into the really interesting stuff: adolescent and abnormal psych. adolescent was my niche, with my given history of ultra-extreme, uber-problematic teen years. there was sexual assault, drugs, drinking, smoking, self-image and eating disorders all wrapped up in a broken package in me, and I thrived on learning the scientific reasoning, having been a precocious reader from the tender age of seven and being well acquainted with the social ones. Add to it my penchant for planning far into the future, my future (down to what classes I would take so as to be granted a double-honours degree and therefore a potentially superior master’s program application), and I started to think about what I would do my master’s thesis and doctorate papers on. My masters was to be the direct effect of various pictures on women’s body-images; the doctorate, a study of various neural models of women with, without and recovered from eating disorders.

my theory was that since the hypothalamus was an area identified to be associated with pleasure, satiety and appetite, those with anorexia might show a different firing pattern or even a reduced hypothalamic size. Those with over-eating and binging tendencies might show increased activity in these areas; those fasting would show decreased activity.

Lo and behold, it’s eight years later, and scientists have released the results of a study that showed anorexics as having increased activity in the regions associated with anxiety and perfectionism using the results of a functional MRI.

Interesting is that anorexics showed little difference in brain activity between a win or loss in the game they played during observation - something indicative of an apathy towards pleasure and distress. Another brain area was shown to be more active in the anorexic group, the caudate. This area is linked to planning and linking actions to outcome. This intrigues as the anorexic group showed a heightened concern for the effect of their actions and for hidden rules - to the classification of obsessive.

This could mean so much for the treatment of eating disorders - in the very least, for the diagnosis of them (unless you choose to self-diagnose, via Internet tests). Imagine if you could use a similar test to find a predisposition? It also means that I’ll need a more original theory for my doctorate, should I ever get there.