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.

Update

Notice: There are some details that you might say "eww," to. Sorry 'bout that. Honesty sometimes comes with a price tag. :)

My big appointment was yesterday. I was so nervous going in there. I had a rough start to my day. I was feeling naseous, anxious, and a little dizzy too. Bad combination when you are driving in downtown Copenhagen in the rain. I was really worried about parking, but it was too far to walk if I were to take the train. Fortunately, the hospital is on a really quiet street and I was easily able to park just outside of the building. It was really pretty. When I went into the reception area, I told them I was "here" and was delivered to the waiting room. They were very welcoming.

As I sat in the waiting room wiggling and shaking out of my skin, I began to get a little panicked because I had spoken Danish with the first two people I had met. Would I be able to do that the whole time? Would I have to? It was a silly thing to worry about because I knew that we had told them that I was English speaking. But, this crazy disease makes me worry unnecessarily about everything. It was actually telling me to get up and RUN! Crazy. But, I guess, even an eating disorder has a fight or flight response.

I met with a psychiatrist and a psychologist at the same time. They asked me about a million questions and I had a medical examination. My blood pressure was really low, which is normal for me especially when I'm nervous. I have a problem in my salivary glands from all that I have put them through. Somehow, my teeth are doing okay. I know it's because I read as much as I could about how to protect them. I have also been blessed with really strong teeth. No cavaties! They told me I was accepted and that I was granted 25 hours. This is at no cost. Beautiful. I am starting meds today as they believe that anxiety has been the major factor my whole life. They think my eating or not eating and even purging was my way of numbing out the anxiety. I agree. I just didn't think about how that could have even affected me back in high school.

I will be working with a team of people. The two I saw yesterday, a nutritionist, an eating disorder doctor, and my family practioner. They will all know what is going on at the same time. Wow. No more secrets. Good. Next week I go in and help to decide how to divide up my hours. How many hours with the nutritionist, with the psychologist, pyschiatrist, and even how many hours I want them to give to my family and their education. Wow.

At the end of the appointment they weighed me and measured my height. I didn't look, I can't! It was hard enough to let someone else look. In fact, it was quite nerve-wracking and I cried. Sound silly?

So now, I start the meds today and wait for next week. Keep doing what works, they said. They thought it was awesome that I have had so many good days in May and that I am so motivated. My fears of that being a reason for them to dismiss me are gone now. They told me they can see how much I need it. They see this every day and I have the face of bulimia. Do you know how much that hurts to hear? How much it breaks my heart that I have allowed this thing to take me over? I knew that my face had put on weight and I even read about the "bulimia chipmunk cheeks," but to hear a doctor tell you that they can tell by looking at you. That's really rough.

I am going to be dealing with a lot of pain in the next 6 to 8 weeks. I already have been. My face will start to go down ( it already has a little) and by 6 months I will have my face back. My stomach is a mess. It hurts so much. I have to teach it to do the right things. Every single cell in my body has been dehydrated. So now I am swelling up like a freakin' balloon! Also at night, my belly is the size of 6 months pregnant. I'm not kidding people. If you want to read about it, google "bulimia bloat." It is extremely painful. I am really glad to hear that it's normal though. I will have more withdrawl symptoms. I will shake, I will have more anxiety attacks, I will cry.

Tough things that I have to get over:
* I will gain more weight. It will come off, but I can't make it go faster.
* I will look like hell. A lot. I will look like this at my cousin's wedding and I will look like this at my high school reunion. I will also look like this on my cruise this summer.
* I will hurt. Throwing up will not make that better.
* Some people will tell me that I have gained weight. Even people in my family, who know they shouldn't say anything, will say it. They maybe don't mean it in a mean way, but they will say it. People do that. I will hate it and want to quit, but what good would that do? It's not like bulimia has helped me lose weight anyway!
* "It doesn't matter." "I don't matter." These two statements are huge for me. They resound in my head and are the number one cause of slips. It does matter. Everytime I chose to eat and nourish my body, it matters. I do matter. I have people who love me even if my bulimia glasses won't let me see that. Even if my anorexia tells me that they only thought I was pretty when I was skinny. Even if they both tell me that everyone is laughing and satisfied now that I'm heavier. It matters. It matters for my kids. It matters for my husband.

So, if you are reading this, I would like to ask you for support through these tough things. Help me think of positive things, listen to me when I whine, but most of all encourage me to continue... because, IT MATTERS.

Thanks for reading. I love you all.

Insight into my life 5 months ago...

It is night again. I have come to a point in my journey, where night means forgiveness. It is a time, when all is quiet and dark, that I have a real and clear choice about which direction I choose for my thoughts to go.
Some nights I choose the “higher road.” This is the road of healthy, life enriching and extending thoughts which include, “forgive the past, for it is past“ and “tomorrow is another day.”

I have an opportunity in the silence and the dark of my bed, away from…

the reflections in the mirror, my car window, the shadows on the street, holding myself a certain way when embracing anyone, the folds of my arms over my towel after I shower, tucking my stomach into my pants, the dreaded replica in the windows of my own home when it is dark out…
to breathe.

And I breathe……

In the dark, I can breathe, feel the life within me and appreciate the fact that I have life. LIFE! I have a heart that pumps and lungs that work even though I rid it of life’s essentials on a daily basis. I torture not only my body, but my soul with the very brain that makes it all function. Yet, somehow, it keeps working… I am grateful for that, or am I?

But that is not every night.

Some nights I choose the “tomorrow I will be better" road, but it is not as it truly sounds. Tomorrow will be better: I will only eat fruit, or only eat vegetables, maybe all fruit juice is the way. I will go to the gym and burn 1,000 calories. I will kick start my “new and better life!” The life of the skinny person I want to be. But it’s never been good enough before. Why would it be good enough now?
Other nights, I just cry myself to sleep after my husband is long gone to the land of sweet twitches and sighs. I ache to be as care-free and confident as he is. These are the nights when I feel the worst. For it is on these nights that I have no purpose, no future. I have nothing to drive me forward. I don’t have the energy to continue in my disorder and I don’t have the power to turn away from it! I don’t have the strength to tell anyone how my day really was and what’s worse; I don’t have enough confidence in anyone to trust they could handle it. That is so sad.
I don’t trust anyone enough to tell them everything, because I am afraid. I am afraid of being alone. I AM AFRAID OF BEING LEFT ALONE! I have no trust in anyone but myself and that leaves me in a very scary place. I am a scary person. I am afraid of me. I am embarrassed of me.

And so, I am back to the beginning again. I have revisited this place many times.
The first dozen or so times I found myself here again, it was awful. I beat myself up and berated myself for being a failure to have wound up back at the starting line again without ever having finished the race. There have been many times when, as soon as I started the race, I ran straight towards the woods. What kind of loser quits or gives in before finishing? -- But then I started to appreciate the fact that I kept going back to the race. I kept trying to do it again. I wasn’t actually giving up, was I?
Then, even though the rules seemed to change, I started to appreciate that I was learning things along the way. That each hole and divot had a name and a purpose. Each opponent had a defined name, even if I could not identify them at first. They each have their own intention, to make me give up, and they are all very clever. I have learned that if you pass one of them, it doesn’t mean that they are not going to overtake you again later. That is one of the things that is so frustrating about this disease. You are only as good as the training you put in and how healthy you are in your mind and body on the day you put yourself or something else puts you to the test.
And when your test is every day, you will fall. I fall. Every day now.
And I am killing myself, every day.

Tonight

I listen to him inhale and exhale. It’s so effortless. The body just does it all on its own. Miraculous. Wonderful. God. “Science,“ he would say.
If I just breathe like him, maybe I will fall asleep. Inhale, exhale, inhale… humph. Boo, hiss, I think as I listen to his quiet nighttime breathing.. Sometimes I feel like he’s teasing me with his talents of falling asleep so easily. He has been known to fall asleep mid-sentence. Being quite funny as he drifts off, falling off several cliffs every night, I have found I it more helpful and less irritating to consider it a small hobby. How many different ways and with what types of interference can my husband fall asleep?

When I realize that it’s been over an hour I make the decision to just get up. I swing my legs over, trying not to crinkle my dyne too loudly and place my feet silently on the floor. Maneuvering my way carefully around the dog’s bed I put my hand on the wall so I will not, once again, hit my shin on the edge of our bed. I have a permanent black and blue football shaped bruise on my shin. It looks fabulous paired with a nice pair of white shorts. Finally, in the dark, I reach the “gaderobe.” That’s what they call a big closet in Danish. My kids tease me and say that I can’t say it right. My oldest says, “gUArd- DER-RO-BA Mom.” I try and try again, but no matter my effort, I fail to impress the master of pronunciation.

I grab my night shirt and quietly close the bedroom door behind me. It’s quiet in the house except for newly hung coffee pot clock on the wall in the kitchen and the sweet sounds of my children sleeping. I look in on each of them. It is thrilling, the effect they have on my heart, upon my soul. I trace my little girl’s nose with my finger. I have always done this since she was a baby and every time I am blessed with her precious smile. I cannot help but be overwhelmed with love and gratefulness.

After I check and re-check on the children, I head for the computer. It’s never any use to lie in bed when I feel this way.

I’ve never been good at falling asleep. It either comes quickly, which happens very rarely, or takes a very long time. Sometimes, like tonight, it happens not at all. So, what do I do with all of those hours of lost sleep? In the past I have just laid awake in bed “counting sheep.” Those sheep are more like my dreams. Dreams of the future, regrets of the past, made up daydreams… the way I would like things to happen. My worst nights are the nights when I can’t break free from the could-have, should-haves. Those nights, I don’t sleep at all and I cry quietly in the bathroom so no one can hear.

Tonight, it’s just a night full of nerves. I am a ball of nerves lately. I’m snappy, irritable, up one minute, down the next. A real ball of fun, let me tell you. But, it’s for good reason. I have an eating disorder and this is my month. I’m going to kick this thing right in it’s most southerly end. It’s been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember and longer than I care to admit. I have given way to much of my time and wasted too much of my life in the fog of it’s anarchy.

It’s the 22nd of May and I have had 18 good days. When I say “good days,” it means that I have completely abstained from all eating disorder related activities. I have eaten at regular times, kept my food in my sweet belly, exercised within normal boundaries of time, and talked about my feelings. It has been sweet hell, to say the least. And if my husband sticks by me, then he is a saint.

On the 24th, I have my big appointment. I have finally been granted an interview with a private hospital downtown that treats eating disordered patients. It is very difficult to get treatment for this disease unless you look like you are on death’s door. I don’t look like that. In fact, most of my family and friends are quite pleased to see that I’ve put on quite a bit of weight. They think, just because of that, I am better. But, the fact is, I’m worse. My disease just jumped tracks is all. I went from the anorexia, to the bulimia. It took a while for the bulimia to take hold, but once it did, it was not letting go. I feel like bulimia is worse. Did I think anorexia was worse before? Do I have more right to say that now that I’ve had both? Hmm.

May 24th. What will they say? I am scared. I am excited. I am nervous. The ED is screaming at me. It says that I will never be able to enjoy food again and I will always have to be on “their diet.” But, I know, after having the clarity that good days afford me, that it’s just a lie. All of what ED tells me are lies. I am scared because it’s the end of something. Who am I, without ED? Does anyone know? I don’t even think my mother knows. And what is that person like? Is she nice? Is she strong or happy? But, as I cry about how sad this is that no one I am close to really knows who I am, and scream because I am scared and so tired of feeling this way, I have look forward to finding that person. So, May is my month and I’m going to find me. I wonder how long it will take.