So, how's it going?

well, these past 2-3 weeks, not so good.

If I'm comparing them to how I was before, then anyone can see a grand improvement. But tell that to my stomach when it's screaming in pain or my eyes that won't stop cyring, or my nose that bleeds at the slightest thing. My very being is raw from the constant scrubbing of my emotions against my nerves and my nerves against my non-existant confidence.

Let me clarify: I am not binging and purging everyday.

My slip started slowly as they do with almost everyone. It snuck up on me. I got cocky, thinking I could handle being a little less focused because, after all, I had broken the addiction, right? But then, things started to get scary because now, I have to face up to the reasons have used the eating disorder as a coping mechanism. What was I hiding from? What was I trying to block out? All of the "stuff" started to make its presence known. It started slowly, but then it took on the shape of one of those awful language growth charts they show us in school.

I made the mistake of thinking that the withdrawl would be worse than feeling the actual feelings. Or maybe I was just confused thinking that the withdrawl was what those feelings felt like. What ever it was that I was thinking, well, it was wrong. Feeling can be very wonderful, but feeling can also be the thing that makes you do anything just NOT to feel it.

My best friend from high school was here for 6 days. It was so wonderful to see her and be with her. God, how I miss her! I had looked forward to her visit since summer vacation. About a week before her visit I started to get very sad. It felt like with every preparation I made, I was closer to her leaving again. (and I'm crying-again) It sucked! I couldn't even just look forward and enjoy that she would be here! I think its something that everyone struggles with, but for me it's multiplied.

I did, however, enjoy her visit very much. It was so great to be with someone who knows you well enough to finish your thoughts or can ask those really intimate questions that only a best friend would dare to ask. And the safeness you feel when you are with those people who are special to you is precious and priceless.

During her visit I slipped and had a major binge and purge. All day. (they were gone on a day trip) I haven't done that since April. I am so glad that I can say that, but I can't even express how much it terrified me. What do you think I was trying to block out?

When she left I cried. Not at little. A lot. Emma said, "Mommy, maybe you should get a Starbucks to make you feel better." (the only Starbucks in DK is at the airport) So, I thought, sure, why not. But I stood in line, felt sick, and couldn't stop crying. It was mortifying. And a little disturbing. I didn't want Starbucks? Call the paramedics.

I cried a little on the way home. A lot at home. Sobbing even. Really pathetic. I couldn't figure out why I was crying. I mean, I love my girl, she's the best thing since running shoes, but seriously, sobbing? Then it hit me. And out loud: "I'm lonely. I'm really, really, really just lonely." I knew that it would be a very long time before any one else who come and be with me in my world. And that is so hard to swallow. That is painful. It's nobody's fault, it's just a fact of my new life. And it sucks. And it sucks some more. And will suck again tomorrow, and next week, and next year. It's something I have learn to live with.

And this is where it gets really hard. How? And that goes for all of those nasty feelings that I have. A lot of them don't just go away. How do I move forward, move on, carrying the past into my new future?

That's where I'm at. That's what I'm taking to my sessions with me. And that's why I'm crying all the time. That and being terrified of myself and going back to the way I was.

I see the psychologist once a week, the dietician every two weeks, and the psychiatrist every 6 weeks. It's a process that I'm absolutely positive will work and that is a great feeling. But, getting there will be a much longer process than I had hoped for. But, did I really not know how long this was going to take?

Next post: My fear of failure and it's debilitating influence on my life.

The pigeon has a death wish. It sits outside my window and taunts me at ungodly hours with its "coo, coo, coo-coo. Co-coo, coo, co-coo." I have never wanted to hurt an animal before, but I would seriously like to pluck a few tail feathers from my morning foe. It's bad enough that the sun comes up at 3:30am. So here I am, up at 6am again on a weekend. I've been trying to sleep since about 5 and just gave up before I became so enraged at the pigeon that I actually threw something at it.

These past few days have been really good. I have had many temptations and tough moments, but I keep learning more as I go along. My stomach pain was getting better until last night and we are still trying to figure out what triggered it to be so bad.

In the past 5 weeks, I have learned:
* Breakfast is okay to eat. I will not get fat from eating breakfast. I love the breakfast that I am eating. It feels good in my belly and I have energy for my run if I choose to run after breakfast.

* Lunch can be very difficult if I don't make my food the night before. Some days I forget to pack my lunch and I have made it through, but not without unneccessary anxiety. Last week, I tried to buy "school lunch," but when I got to the canteen they did not have the salad that I was prepared to buy. The anxiety built up really quickly and I ended up having another panic attack. I got home, took a nap, woke up and then made myself a lunch at home.

* Weighing my food pisses me off. Not every time, but sometimes. And that's okay. It's okay to be angry, but not quit. The food scale gives me freedom from my disease in a way I have never known. The number doesn't lie. It tells me how much I should eat and tells me that it's too much or not enough.

* If I am more hungry, sometimes that is okay. Sometimes it's okay to still feel a little hungry after a meal. It's also okay to have to switch my meal plan around a little if it doesn't fit my day as long as I get in the right amounts. Yesterday, I went running first thing in the morning. After showering and getting dressed, I was beyond the "controllable hunger point." My husband had left for work already and I was faced with a very dangerous situation. I grabbed a banana and became very scared because of the way I was eating it. But, I noticed! I slowed down and then drank a big glass of water. And even though I had that banana, I still allowed myself to eat my complete normal breakfast. Before, I would have maybe skipped breakfast all together because I had already "screwed up my plan." But, I was able to realize that I had just been running and an extra banana probably was good for me! Later on in the day, I realized again that I had made the right choice because I was not hungry for my snack. So, my body, for the first time, told me what to do and did it right. I still stayed on plan! It was a big thing for my belly.

* I have missed so much. I have allowed this disease to take so much precious time from me, my husband, and my children. It feels awful to realize that.

* I am so much more appreciative now of my awareness and my ability to be present. The conversations that I had yesterday with my children while on our picnic were amazing and worth every shred of pain, anxiety, and fear that I have gone through during this recovery journey. I was able to just be and watch the ants crawl around on the ground with Emma as we pondered where they were going. We talked about the aqua colored bug and how it would be a great color for a dress. :) In the fog of my bulimia, I could not do that. They would talk, but I wouldn't really hear them all of the time. I was short and snappy. Our outings were tainted by my need to control my anxiety and my need for food. I am so sad about that. But, I have more fire and zest in me now to really BE there. So, I am making every second count.

* So, I am a little fluffy right now. So what? No, I'm not okay with it. So, what? Does it mean I can't enjoy myself now? No. Absolutely not.

* I still have a WHOLE LOT of work to do on being nice to me and my reflection.

Well, that's all for now and wouldn't you know the pigeon has flown off. The kiddos are getting up and it's cartoon time. Yes, I will be sitting WITH them watching cartoons instead of being caught in my disease. Maybe later we'll get out the water guns and find that pigeon...
Loving my new life...

Small Comforts

The corners of my couch are all wrong. It doesn't matter how much I back myself into them, they're just not right. I miss my old couch. It wasn't stylishly fabulous like our couch now, but it had great corners.

In stressful or uncomfortable moments, you find yourself looking for something that improves your situation. Sometimes that's talking over a cup of coffee with a friend, sometimes it's hugs or snuggles from your loved ones, or sometimes it's just eating chocolate or your favorite comfort foods. When learning about childbirth, I remember reading that you should start paying attention to exactly how you fall asleep. For instance, what position are you lying in, how does your breathing change, and what do you think of or not think of. (And as irony would have it, as soon as I started paying attention to this, I could no longer sleep.) The writer said it was important for when labor started because many women find comfort in this position and it helps them relax through even the worst contractions.

This got me thinking, what kinds of things do I do to make me feel better when I am feeling awful? Well as a person with a disease, I have chosen my disordered habits to numb out nervousness, pain, anxiety, fear, doubt, missing people, and all negative feelings. In recovery, it is difficult to find things that make you feel better because you have to change your habits and make new ones.

So what did I do before I started throwing up? For me a big one was sitting in the corners of my couch. There is something cozy about a corner. I've always liked corners. Either sitting in them or just looking up at the corners on the ceiling. I like how the lines converge into one place. Maybe it's because I can see the whole room from that spot. It gives me a perspective of the room as a whole. But now, when I try to cozy myself down into the couch, it doesn't feel the same. For starters, it's corners are shallow and I don't feel hugged just right. Our living room is really beautiful and I love looking around in it, but I get nervous. Why? Because it's different. The room, it is familiar to me now, yes, but when I look around and just allow myself to sit, just be, all of the feelings associated with moving come back to me. So, do I have to redefine these moments or should I just not do it anymore? Or do I try to associate positive feelings with all the anxiety and stress of moving overseas?

There are silly things we do that we don't even realize to find comfort. I've started to try to pay attention to these things to see when I do them and why. I fidget and hop my leg up and down when I am nervous. I do it because my insides feel like they are going to squirm out and bouncing around helps me to ignore that feeling. I also twirl my hair when I am nervous. I do that because that's what I used to do when I was little when I would go to sleep while I was sucking my thumb. (at least I don't do that anymore!). It's really interesting now when I consider this hair twirling phenomenon. If I really pay attention to it, I realize how pleasing it is and calming. I asked myself, what else did I do when I went to sleep as a child? I slept with my teddy bear. Guess what? L.A. Bear is back in business. Hey, don't judge, I gotta do what I gotta do to get through this. ;)

Bingeing and purging were also a way to feel better. I know that it has been to keep anxiety down and to make myself numb, even if it was just for a moment. Thank goodness that it stopped working, to some extent. The point in me noticing the small things right now is to become aware of what actually has a calming affect on me, but not an adverse reaction. There are things that I can do to feel better, but I have to be careful of what I choose.

I can choose to go for a run, but I have to make sure I do it within a healthy time frame. I can have a glass of wine or two, but also I have to recognize it's temporary and I can't do that every day. I can call and talk to a good friend, but I have to acknowledge that it has the potential to miss them more and make me sad.

As I look at this, it seems that the bigger the physical action, the higher the risk of an adverse reaction. But with something simple, like twirling my hair, I can relax in some ways with little or no adverse reaction.

In the next few days, I am hoping to find more small things that I do without noticing that have the potential to be used as calming devices. What do you do to calm yourself or make yourself "restful?"

30 days has September, April, June, and November, all the rest have 31 except for... May.

Yes, I know that doesn't rhyme. But, in my month of May, there were 27 good days.

Wow, 27 days!? How did I do that? Lots of hard work and support from my hubby. May is done now, but I'm not stopping here. May was my month, so what's June? ;)
Thanks to everyone that has messaged me and supported me through this month. I really appreciate it.
Hugs from me to you.

Fielding Questions

In yesterday's post I asked for questions. Here are a few I have gotten and my answers to them.

"How in the world do you hide this from people, especially with 3 kids? I haven't been able to take 30 seconds to pee without someone either sitting in my lap or screaming outside the door in years."

Bulimia is a very devious disease. It makes you act in ways you never thought you would. I have mastered the art of throwing up with virtually no sound. I have used plastic bags in the shed or even in the kitchen trash with my husband just in the other room, I have used the woods behind our house, thrown up while on walks, and I have even thrown up a little at a time behind my husband and children while we were on a walk. Yes, I did that. They didn't even know. I am ashamed that I did that. I am ashamed of many things I have done. The kids are oblivious to most things outside of themselves at this age and they are also older than yours (but, boy have I been there!!). They have also always been excellent at entertaining themselves. At the beginning of the disease, it didn't take as much of my time and I would only do it when no one was home. But as time progressed, it didn't matter if the kids were home. They were playing or running around outside. They probably know something, but I'm not sure what.

"Don't you feel like crap (physically) all the time? I mean, with the no eating and the no nourishment. I'm pretty sure I would have died long ago."

YES! It even got so bad that I was actually crying while I was eating and throwing up, in pain and hating myself through the entire process. I was shaky, my blood sugar was a mess, my head always hurt, my eyes were always aching, my throat would bleed, sometimes throw up would come out of my nose, my stomach would have cramps, and I was exhausted. I even ended up with a bleeding ulcer in my stomach. Lovely. The anxiety that either comes from it or stems from elsewhere adds to the overall hell.

"My question is if there's one comment or thing people said that made things worse. Like, did people telling you that you were beautiful actually make things worse?"

Wow, this is a great question. You know, sometimes it has the potential to make things worse. It depends on who it is coming from. If I know the person really well I know whether they would say things like that to everyone if they were feeling bad. It doesn't mean I think they are awful, or that they don't mean well. I just think that compliments are received better when you have a certain feeling about the source. Hard to explain, but can you feel me?
When it comes to a compliment, I, or my eating disorder, thinks it can tell when people are lying or bending the truth. If a compliment should come my way, I appreciate it and believe it more when it's specific. For instance today, I was in with my massage therapist. She is a righteously honest person and truly says it like it is, and loudly. She was rubbing my head and face and she told me that my skin looked beautiful, that it was glowing and healthy. She said that she could see the difference. As much as my eating disorder tries to convince me to take that as something else, I will not let the ed take that one from me. That girl is just too real! Does that make any sense???
There are definitely things I have heard from important (and some unimportant) people in the past that have stuck with me. *You just don't do it for me. *Jeans are getting a little tight there, girl. *Watch out for the freshman 15. *Every woman gains about 15 pounds when she gets married. *If you don't want to get fat, just don't eat. (yes, someone told me that.)The list goes on, but you get the point.
You asked about your neice and what you should or should not say. I would compliment for sure, but not on size or just beauty, although it is important that she hears she is perfect and beautiful. I truly believe that women need to be built up from the inside out. So compliment her on her inner gifts and beauty. I think it's really tough for parents and family to know how to do it "right." Is there really a right way? No. And we all make mistakes. Like with my little girl for instance. She has so much self confidence and she is so in love with her reflection that she practically lives in front of the mirror admiring herself. If you can't find her, it's because she's found a window she can dance in front of. She's even used the blank television screen. She knows she's perfect. Is that good? ha ha. I think so, but it's going to get her into some trouble! But, in all honesty, I hope we can keep at least half of her confidence up because that would be enough for anyone!

Thank you so much for your questions. I am open for more if you have them. :)

It takes and takes, then takes some more,

but it never gives back. There are so many things that my eating disorder has taken from me. It has taken my strength, my tears, food, security, my health, my sanity, money, my happiness and my time. It has taken my faith, a friendship, and tainted some of the most amazing moments in my children's lives. I have lived in a fog for 3 years. Bulimia feels like that. Sleep, binge, purge. You are always thinking ahead to how you are going to get rid the food you have eaten. So, even when you are not acting on your disorder, you are planning it. And if you aren't planning for it, you are trying to fight it and ending up in a circular battle alone in your own brain. You come up with the most despicable ways of deceiving people. I hate writing that. I hate admiting that I've lied. I am a liar. I have thrown up just about everywhere you can think of that I could get away with it.

There have been times in my life that I have eaten normally. When I was pregnant, I ate for the baby. It's funny. I know there were other times when I ate normally, but I can't really point them out. Most of the time I was restricting in some way or purging through exercise. I hardly ever ate breakfast and would not allow myself to eat until after 2pm, when the kids were napping. I didn't eat much either. I made it a game sometimes and would only eat what I could burn off through running or doing Tae Bo. When I went through my first separation in 2005, it was very tough and that was the worst it had been since college. Then the separation and eventual divorce in 2008 was also really tough. I was able to refocus myself when I started with the triathlons. It was easier knowing I was eating for a good reason. I was, once again, an athlete. It felt so good. It felt so good to be competing for me.

When Kasper came along and changed my life, I was doing ok. Not perfect, still restricting in ways, but ok. But something funny happened. This man, this perfect-for-me-in-every-way-man, fell in love with me. ME! Ha! What was he missing? I kept wondering if he was crazy. (he kind of has to be in order to be with me) I fought him pretty hard, trying to convince him that he didn't know what he was getting into. I told him how crazy my life was, what it would mean for him... I mean, he was a bachelor, living the high life in Copenhagen! (not to mention, a complete stud muffin who could get any beautiful girl he wanted!)

Ask him how many times I tried to cut and run. He probably can't even count. I was so scared of being hurt and I just knew that I didn't deserve someone like him. But in the in between times, when I started accept that maybe, just maybe, he really loved me and I deserved him, that's when the bulimia got me.

I know it doesn't make sense on the surface, so let me explain. Suddenly, someone loved me in a way I had been aching for since high school. He loved me fiercely and passionately and with an "I'm not taking "no" for an answer," kind of way. He knew what he wanted and that was me. I was in a tailspin! Here I am thinking that no one could ever love me that way and me feel the same way in return and BAM! The times when I let myself believe it were when I started to let myself eat because, I deserved to eat, right? But that is where bulimia gained its voice. "You're going to get fat and then he won't love you anymore. He only loves you because you are skinny. If you gain weight, there are a million other women out there he could have." I would go days without eating and then once in a while I would be so hungry I couldn't stop eating.

Then on Christmas day 2008, in my parent's bathroom, I learned how to throw up without using my finger. I could throw up before, but not much would come out. It was a very bad thing to learn. It started slowly. I was still mostly on the anorexic side doing lots of restricting. But when I would get too hungry, I began to eat as much as I wanted, knowing that I could get rid of it. I was actually a little giddy about learning this "new trick." I could eat and I didn't gain weight! I started doing it after meals though because I wanted to lose weight. It worked for a little bit, but by the time it stopped working, I could not stop doing it. I was hooked and could not break free. It didn't matter what I did, or what I tried. Most of the time I thought it wasn't that bad because I thought I could stop whenever I felt like it. Tommorrow. Okay, well the next day. Time kept going and I just kept getting worse. I was an addict.

In the midst of this, I broke my collar bone and traveled to Denmark just a week after my surgery. Standing in the customs line on the way home was when I found out about the abnormal test results that resulted in my cervical cancer.

It is a horrible thing. Once you start to really try to fight it, you gain weight. Immediately. And I know, logically, that there are real reasons why you gain weight. So, what do you do? You go back to it because it scares you. Every single thing that scares the bulimic is exactly what happens to you in recovery. EXACTLY. It is terrifying for me. But like I said yesterday: Recovery is scary, but dying is scarier.

I would like to have someone ask a question. Even a really difficult one. I want to answer even the most difficult questions. If you have one or several, post it/them or send me a message. I will answer. I think it will be good for me.

Dying is scarier...

The bathroom floor is where it happened. Lying on my face and smelling of vomit, snot, and tears, I couldn't breathe. My chest was aching, my head was exploding, my skin was cold but I was sweating, and my left arm was numb. I could no longer see. Over the course of a morning I had binged and purged myself right into this situation. Over the course of my lifetime I had been working toward this goal. To slowly kill myself. I'm here. Aren't I proud?

I moaned aloud to God because I could not speak. I just knew I was dying.
I had two choices. I could get to the phone and call for help or I could just let it happen. "I don't want to die," I thought. Wait, I don't? My body didn't understand that. I feed it and then make it give it back over and over again every day. My body thinks I want it to die.

I was scared. What would happen to the children? Who would find me? I tried to get up, but I couldn't move. A warm, wet sensation came over my face and I was losing consciousness. I didn't think I was going to wake back up.
But I did. Two hours later I woke up and I was fine. I think I had an anxiety attack. I've had them before and I've had more since I started recovery, but none of them had ever felt like that before.

Recovery is scary. But, dying is scarier.

That's what it took. I can't be a good mother with this disease and I definitely can't be a good mother if I am not here.

I'm proud to say that out of the 29 days of May, I have had a blessed 25 days in recovery.