Eating Disorder Talk

My New Year’s Resolutions are for once, shaping up nicely and have not all been thrown in the toilet immediately. Yes, I realize that it’s only the fourth day of the year and so, I haven’t technically had much time to break up with them, yet; but you’d be amazed at my ability to back out of plans I’ve made for myself. It’s astounding, really.

Last year, I made 27 resolutions. I didn’t keep a single one of them. Nothing, seriously, even lasted past the first couple of days.

So here’s the deal: every day, I snack liberally. If I’m hungry, I eat. I generally share whatever my daughter is having, then eat a big dinner (fast!) and then, once toddler bedtime has come and I’m reading and updating blogs, I sit with whatever catches my fancy and I eat. Until I’m like, overfull but satisfied, psychologically. I don’t feel guilt because of how I eat during the rest of the day and especially because of this one little fact:

I’m not gaining weight like an anorexic who is binge eating croissants, chocolate, ice cream, chips and pasta should. I’m not really gaining weight at all, besides the usual period-related water-retention. Sure, I’ve got some inches on my waist - I am truly confident that those damn tortilla chips and the five-layer dip I ate them with caused a catastrophic sponging of water to make up for the massive salt influx - but the scale? Not so much as the five pounds I hear other women complain about, women who have normalized metabolisms and have not convinced their body that they may never eat again.

In fact, since writing the above paragraphs, I needed to put my toddler back to sleep - in the room where the scale lives. Keeping in mind that in the past two hours I have eaten half of a 230g bag of Reese’s Miniatures, you might be as shocked as me to know that my weight is currently 98 pounds. My waist and hips? 23.5 and 34 inches, repsectively. Meaning an overall loss of two pounds and an inch off of my hips, and a gain of half an inch on my waist.

It’s been five and a half weeks and I’ve made little physical progress. Really, I’ve back-slid. Yet, I find myself much more comfortable with my eating choices and just the fact that I can, am allowed, and should, eat. Until another day.

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.

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.

Obsession. That is the word of the day. I wrote yesterday about having that half of a croissant - something forbidden for over a decade. And I’ve thought about it all day, off and on. I can remember it’s texture, taste, the guilt it inspired and the pride I felt upon eating it, despite the guilt.

I walked past that grocery store again, and I thought of going in, just to buy another one. I contemplated finding a recipe and making my own. I could add flavours! I could make cheese! Or apple-cinnamon ones with raisins! I could never actually buy one croissant at a grocery store and only that - that’s something a fat girl might do.

These mental dialogues are what plagues you. What drives you to restrict, deny, work off food.

I remember being pregnant and switching to whole milk in my daily Starbucks visits (I would get a chai, or occasionally a decaf white mocha) - the first sip I had of a yummy steaming con dolce beverage made my heart sing. I even commented that it was so much tastier with whole milk and that I had been an idiot for years. I had not had anything fattier than 1% milk for about 15 years and it was a revelation of flavours once I was ‘allowed’ to indulge.

But I didn’t allow myself today. I didn’t buy that croissant.

A step in the right direction though, was when my blood sugar started to crash and I bought an egg salad sandwich. Sure, it was on 16-grain bread and half made of lettuce, but just knowing that another third of it was mayo and butter and still inhaling it, for my health - that was a gold star in the recovery column.

We’re missing a star in the weight column though. I’ve been all-too-aware of the 2.5 pounds I gained, and whether they all stuck or not. They didn’t. But, I just have to remain conscious of the fact that weighing yourself more often than once a week, for instance, is not truly indicative of weight gain (or loss). So, we’ll see what Monday’s verdict is.

In Recovery Journal: Entry 2, I broke down a 1,900 calorie intake day and talked about being paranoid that my jeans won’t fit me in 10 days. Today, I’m not even going to go into what I’ve eaten today or yesterday. Let’s just say it’s very safe to assume that I came up short, though yesterday I did eat a very fat-laden dinner of butter chicken (made in my crock pot and ever so yummy). It’s not all bad, since today I actually ate half of a croissant - something I’ve not tasted since I was about 15. My god, they’re heavenly.

I don’t know what to say besides that this is a constant fight I’m having with myself. I can only seem to convince myself that it’s okay to eat when I’m around my daughter and she’s eating. It’s like, a family event. Other than that, there’s been some evening snacking, but it’s minimal and nowhere near the midnight munchies that I know a lot of people give into. I accidentally weighed myself today and it seems that my 2.5 pound gain has been reduced to only one. My stomach was uber flat again this morning and has remained so all day. It’s not bloated like it’s been the past week or so and it was so freaking hard to talk myself out of an internal happy dance. Because I know the only reason it’s back to concave between my hipbones is that I wasn’t filling in that space with food.

I also find myself questioning my body in the sense that other women, even women who have had kids, manage to have flat stomachs without the need for starvation or their hip bones protruding. So if I am capable of this, why have I never seen evidence of it; if I’m not, then why was I screwed with this waif-frame and ability to look round, at the same time? Seems like opposing forces to me.

Or at least like God, if there is one, is a bit of a jerk.

Stay tuned tomorrow for another journal entry. Tonight, I am beyond bagged and still have a few things to do before I retire to bed. Note to anyone applicable out there:

If you have a friend that you’ve known for a little while, and you’re aware of her eating disorder and that she’s trying to make some positive progress but is struggling with it emotionally, please don’t say to her, "you look much healthier," in light of a two pound weight gain.

It will make her feel on display and magnetized. She will worry that if two pounds shows, maybe she should only gain a few more or she’ll end up being a whale. It will mess with her ability to continue making rational eating decisions. Additionally, she will feel like a complete tool later on, when she realizes how much she is blowing it out of proportion.

But it will still sit on her mind and make her feel…noticed. In a not-so-positive way.

Yesterday was a negative one. Today, though I should be feeling very negative with daily life’s products and a medical issue that is blowing out of proportion, I am feeling alright, I suppose. I think it’s got a lot to do with my friends and their support. Two people told me today that they’re proud of me and well, I haven’t even succeeded. What will that say about when/if I do? A party, obviously.

So, I’ll be posting a weekly progress update on my stats. Daily, I’ll give some sort of indication of the food I’m managing to eat, though prepare to be unimpressed with my choices; I’ll also just let you all know my random thoughts and feelings of the day.

Onward.

Calorie intake and Expenditure:

Today I’ve eaten half a slice of banana bread, half of a gigantic oatmeal raisin cookie, about four ounces of meatloaf, a half cup of mixed vegetables, about 20 multigrain Ritz stix, one Smirnoff Ice Ultra, one double tall non-fat white mocha and a regular non-fat white mocha, in addition to my normal two cups of instant swiss mocha coffee at home. The damage? Somewhere around 1,900. That is working hard to throw calories in, though almost 1,000 of them came from drinks of some sort.

As far as exercise, today was a normal as it gets. My daughter and I walked a few blocks to her playtime class, I sat on the sidelines and talked mommy crap whilst drinking my coffee. Then we walked a few more blocks to the doctor’s office and then home for her lunch and nap. Later, we met a friend to walk a few blocks in a little block-sized park area and then a few more blocks were walked to, inside and home from the grocery store. Not a lot of activity, though I am pushing a 25 pound child in a stroller during those walks!

How I am Feeling:

Like it’s kind of okay. That freaking out about less than three pounds yesterday was ridiculous. But also that I will be between jeans’ sizes at my birthday party and maybe I should just postpone this until after then. Wait, no. I don’t want to do that. Now! is the time to strike!

Mostly, I’m feeling a little tired and overwhelmed at thought of whether future me will have the ability to deal with this.

So, I started over a week ago. I made the decision that I would eat a couple of meals a day and I would cut back on my coffee consumption. I took a picture of the soon-to-be old me, weighed myself and took my measurements. My beginning stats were 100 lbs at 5′6+”, with measurements of 33-23-35. My BMI was 15.9, not that it means much, other than I won’t be working a few different catwalks.

Now, it’s actually been ten days and though I started with trepidation and mixed emotions, I’m already on the negative side of the fence. It’s comparable to attempting to quit smoking, because I may want to quit, but after a little while of feeling pretty awful, I’m thinking, “Why did I want to do this again?” My current stats? I didn’t get any taller, I’ve gained 2.5 pounds and 3/4 of an inch on my waist.

I’ve managed to cut my coffee consumption down to three or four cups a day and I’ve been grazing during the days and eating meals at night time. An honest caloric intake estimation falls somewhere around 1,800. I’m used to under 1,000, if not closer to 500, so this is drastically different to me. And how am I feeling?

Like this is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. As if, this time next week, I’ll be 110 pounds and the week after 120 and then after that, who knows? The world could explode. I feel like my face is getting fatter, the sculpted cheekbones I’ve worked so hard for, disappearing. My stomach is bloating and I’m losing the outline of six-packs I had two weeks ago. My butt, gravitationally-affected and my thighs will soon touch. My thighs didn’t even touch when I was pregnant and I gained 36 pounds!

Yesterday, my sixteen month old, who has officially learned to give kisses, was focused on my tummy. She was poking her finger way down deep, into my belly button and giggling at how her finger would disappear, then she would kiss the puffy part of my lower stomach and smile. And I know, she’s just enjoying a softer, more comfie mommy, but god! it made me so uncomfortable that I cut her off after the 10th time and yanked my shirt down in shame.

And that is the really sad part. That logically I know, there’s no way less than three pounds has changed me much. But still, I am embarrassed for my toddler to show how much she loves me, 2.5 pounds heavier.

I’m going to go full-on, here at Eating Disorder Talk. Effective immediately, I’ll be writing a daily post on the progress of my non-diet, what I have been calling my attempt at recovery. I wrote about the beginning of this anti-diet here.

To estimate, this is probably my 12^th attempt or so. To be honest, most attempts in the past were based on covering it up, not healing, and they were inspired by how my disordered eating affected others – mostly family and very close friends.

What’s the difference?

This time, it’s really about me. I mean, in the past, I have been tired of the constant uphill climb that anorexia provides. You’re always working to avoid it seems: life, people’s comments, emotions, mirrors. The list could continue until I am long in the ground, I think, that’s just how deep a true eating disorder goes.

This time, I’m tired of being tired and not doing anything about it. This time, I’d like to feel okay. Not merely appearing and acting okay. Not okay because I’ve reigned in the control that I felt was missing elsewhere via fasting and manic behaviour. This time, I’d like to look in the mirror and not try to talk myself into thinking that other people are bigger and so it’s okay that I’m bigger than I would like to be. This time, I’d like to get to a point where I want to be bigger. This time, I’d like it to be the last time.

I’ve got tons of motivation in outside people. Friends, who I consider family; my daughter, who is watching me for 12 hours a day, everyday, and has this amazing love for me regardless of whether I am carrying 15 pounds of pregnancy weight or my pants are falling off; readers who write to me about their hopes for my health and happiness. Honestly, I’ve got everyone to be healthy for.

Now I’ve just got to want it for myself…