She was a total stranger to me. Well, I say total stranger but I had seen her on numerous occasions manning the self-checkout stations. She was always very attentive to those self-scan machines and there had even been a couple of times when she was beside me before my red light even came on for assistance (I don't know why I do those things--- I always need help). It was like the other times- she was busily pushing in her little code to make the machine happy again and then she asked the question. You know, the one that no woman EVER wants to be asked unless they are glowing from actual with childness. "Are you expecting?" I think I surprised her with the heartbroken look on my face. We both stared at each other awkwardly because she realized I was not. "No. I'm not." I couldn't see my face but I couldn't imagine it being more red than hers. She stuttered for a minute and then said in an exceptionally obnoxious southern accent "Don't take offense, hun, I was just going to help you lift your groceries." I said something ridiculous afterward like "Oh, no problem. Thank you for asking!" (Who says that??) And then I left in a hurry for both of our sake. Man, oh man, was my Ed going crazy. That was grounds for so many behaviors and all of them were running through my mind. Just a laxative or two, go for a run in response to that question, drink a boatload of water to flush some of that "pregnancy" away, eat a big giant brownie because I already look pregnant so it doesn't even matter. Yep, I gave them all consideration. But, in the end I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered why it mattered so much. Why did I care so much what that lady thought? I was pregnant. 7 months ago. For 9 months. And it was worth it.
I did put that shirt in the back of my closet.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Two Years Later...
Two years since I started treatment at Renfrew. That seems impossible.
When I started, I wondered what it would be like to say "two years
later".
I relapsed. Not yesterday. Or last week. But, I relapsed. I can't even really clearly define when the thoughts started happening again, but they did. It was kind of like that annoying fly you can't get out of your car. You roll your window down when you notice it's there, but it keeps buzzing around, dodging the exit you've provided. Eventually you get tired of the noise from the outside so you just roll the window back up and try to forget about the fly being there. I did that. I started hearing Ed. At first I fought it, but after a while, I just got tired and let him stick around for a while. Unlike a pesky fly, Ed was actually serving a purpose during a stressful few months (or so I thought). A new baby, our 7th move in 7 years, dealing with breastfeeding failure again, 2 weddings, living around old triggers again, the list went on and on.
Luckily, I created a lifelong bond with some amazing girls while I was in treatment. During my relapse, I met up with a couple of them at different times. I wasn't intending to talk to them about my behaviors because I wasn't ready to give myself up, but both girls pegged it. When I started telling one of them about my laxative use, her face fell. I was trying to brush it off. I told her it was minimal and had only been going on a short while, and I tried to justify using them to get through all of the "tough stuff." As she was listening to me, I could tell she wasn't buying any of it. In treatment, I quickly learned that part of my healing style is to talk openly about everything. It's almost like when I say things out loud it breaks a spell. It breaks the silence the and the grip my eating disorder has on me. This happened as I was talking and watching my friend's face. Hearing the words come out of my mouth almost shocked me. I started bawling. My friend asked me what was going on. I told her I was scared because I liked the way I was feeling taking them again. I started explaining all of the stressful things going on in my life that led me to that place. She listened. She nodded. Without skipping a beat, she then proceeded to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She reminded me about how good I felt taking laxatives in the beginning because it was like a drug. It was pushing down the stress, the emotion, the worry, the anxiety. She then reminded me about my trip to the emergency room. She reminded me that I didn't want to be back there and that the story where I take laxatives excessively just doesn't end well no matter how good it feels in the beginning. She told me she had come to realize in her own journey with an eating disorder that life happens. Life will always happen. There will always be stressful events. The question is, how will we cope? It was true. I could either continue in the downward spiral that would soon spin out of control, or I could make a plan, and back up. I didn't like it. My emotional self wanted so badly to believe that my eating disorder could offer the most comfort, but my logical self knew it just wasn't true. Logic won. My friend made a plan with me. I was to check in with her at my typical "laxative taking time" and talk through wanting to take them. Within a week, I was back on track. I feel like myself again. I'm working actively to work through emotions that were causing me to want to take laxatives again. And here I am, over two months since my relapse, and I'm feeling great.
I don't think I ever would have guessed that my 2 year post would be about my first true relapse. I wish I could say I never think about my eating disorder. I wish I could say that I am completely healed, but what I can say is that I am 2 years later and relapse or not, I am stronger than I was when I started. Some of the ladies I was in treatment with asked how I got to where I was when I left. I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that we have no control. While those of us with eating disorders don't choose to have a disorder, we can choose to fight it. Part of my fight has been learning from the hard times, the relapses, the bad body image days. It's learning that perfection is unattainable but progress is not.
I wonder what two years later will look like...
I relapsed. Not yesterday. Or last week. But, I relapsed. I can't even really clearly define when the thoughts started happening again, but they did. It was kind of like that annoying fly you can't get out of your car. You roll your window down when you notice it's there, but it keeps buzzing around, dodging the exit you've provided. Eventually you get tired of the noise from the outside so you just roll the window back up and try to forget about the fly being there. I did that. I started hearing Ed. At first I fought it, but after a while, I just got tired and let him stick around for a while. Unlike a pesky fly, Ed was actually serving a purpose during a stressful few months (or so I thought). A new baby, our 7th move in 7 years, dealing with breastfeeding failure again, 2 weddings, living around old triggers again, the list went on and on.
Luckily, I created a lifelong bond with some amazing girls while I was in treatment. During my relapse, I met up with a couple of them at different times. I wasn't intending to talk to them about my behaviors because I wasn't ready to give myself up, but both girls pegged it. When I started telling one of them about my laxative use, her face fell. I was trying to brush it off. I told her it was minimal and had only been going on a short while, and I tried to justify using them to get through all of the "tough stuff." As she was listening to me, I could tell she wasn't buying any of it. In treatment, I quickly learned that part of my healing style is to talk openly about everything. It's almost like when I say things out loud it breaks a spell. It breaks the silence the and the grip my eating disorder has on me. This happened as I was talking and watching my friend's face. Hearing the words come out of my mouth almost shocked me. I started bawling. My friend asked me what was going on. I told her I was scared because I liked the way I was feeling taking them again. I started explaining all of the stressful things going on in my life that led me to that place. She listened. She nodded. Without skipping a beat, she then proceeded to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She reminded me about how good I felt taking laxatives in the beginning because it was like a drug. It was pushing down the stress, the emotion, the worry, the anxiety. She then reminded me about my trip to the emergency room. She reminded me that I didn't want to be back there and that the story where I take laxatives excessively just doesn't end well no matter how good it feels in the beginning. She told me she had come to realize in her own journey with an eating disorder that life happens. Life will always happen. There will always be stressful events. The question is, how will we cope? It was true. I could either continue in the downward spiral that would soon spin out of control, or I could make a plan, and back up. I didn't like it. My emotional self wanted so badly to believe that my eating disorder could offer the most comfort, but my logical self knew it just wasn't true. Logic won. My friend made a plan with me. I was to check in with her at my typical "laxative taking time" and talk through wanting to take them. Within a week, I was back on track. I feel like myself again. I'm working actively to work through emotions that were causing me to want to take laxatives again. And here I am, over two months since my relapse, and I'm feeling great.
I don't think I ever would have guessed that my 2 year post would be about my first true relapse. I wish I could say I never think about my eating disorder. I wish I could say that I am completely healed, but what I can say is that I am 2 years later and relapse or not, I am stronger than I was when I started. Some of the ladies I was in treatment with asked how I got to where I was when I left. I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that we have no control. While those of us with eating disorders don't choose to have a disorder, we can choose to fight it. Part of my fight has been learning from the hard times, the relapses, the bad body image days. It's learning that perfection is unattainable but progress is not.
I wonder what two years later will look like...
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