Building the Yellow Brick Road

good news

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:34:00 +0000

I feel alive.

Life isn't perfect. Far from it. I'm struggling more these days with the eating disorder voice telling me to restrict or purge. But I'm fighting it. I'm tell it, "Fuck you." I'm eating anyway. I'm not purging.

Yes, I skip meals. I've drank more coffee in the past two months than I ever have in my life. I'm pulling out my hair. But I'm not depressed. I wake up in the mornings and I can get out of bed. It hasn't been so long ago that there were days and weeks and months at a time when I could not even do that.

I was telling my boss today that I go home after work and I'm usually asleep by 7 pm. She asked if I'm depressed and you know what...

I'M NOT!

I go to bed because I'm tired. Because I hate being lethargic at work and I honestly need about 10 - 11 hours of sleep. That's a lot of sleep, I know. But right now -- I can't stay up past 10 or 11 pm without binging and purging. That's playing with fire. So I go to bed. Recovery for me is about doing what's best for me in each moment and that means turning the lights out before Primetime begins. And I can live with that because I'm alive.

I'm alive!

And I'm really really appreciating my life.

I could use a friend right now.

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 22:18:00 +0000

So I didn't take my meds today because I was moving from one apartment to another. And that of course threw off my "eating schedule." I use the quotations because honestly, there is no schedule on days when I'm not working. Anyway -- breakfast occurred after I'd moved from the third floor to the second floor (with no elevator) and all was well. And then I started "snacking" which just sort of ended up as a really extended binge. And I'm feeling gross. And I'm contemplating jumping back on the horse (for dinner) because it IS dinner time but my body is just freaking out right now.

And I'm really anxious about work and getting this work done from home and it's reminiscent of things past and that worries me. And of course I'm afraid that I'm backsliding. And then that makes me think that I'm blowing things out of proportion.

But here's the truth:

I didn't get my work done on Friday. I took it home to do over the weekend but I didn't feel like doing it. Although I did do other things (none of them eating disordered). So today, I played hooky from work (and moved which was really important because I needed to move). But now I've got all these reports to start and complete and it's already 6:30 and I wish my boss were an easier person to deal with. I wish I hadn't been so tired and unproductive last week.

I wish I had taken my meds this morning because they anxiety is escalating. And I'm doing this now to keep myself from doing anything stupid (not to be judgmental).

I could use a friend right now.

short post

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sun, 11 Oct 2009 23:25:00 +0000

Remember when I couldn't get of bed because I was so depressed?
Remember when Jay used to tell me to go to the mall -- just to get out of the house?
Remember when all I could do -- day in and day out was to just exist in my eating disorder and depression?

I'm not saying that's all in the past. I'm saying -- I'm just different now. I woke up this morning and got dressed and walked to church (30 minutes late of course but only because of a logistical error on my behalf). No -- I don't really have the $15 for a movie and dinner -- but I've been in the apartment since 1 pm. And that's not good for me. So yeah, I'm gonna get dressed in less than ideal weather and walk the 5 blocks or so to the movie theater and see a movie that I probably won't enjoy because it's taking care of myself. And there's no price at which I'm willing to say "that's too much" or "that's not worth it."

Because I do remember those days. And they were sad and all encompassing and I hated my life. Absolutely hated it. And I spent so many nights contemplating just ending it all. And now, I'm in a better place.

Now I wake up every morning between 7 and 8. I work 8 hours a day. I talk to my family in very limited doses. I've maintained my boundaries by not communicating with my father (even though he's reached out to me twice since I've been in Maine). Now, I take of care of myself more often than I don't. Now when I don't take care of myself, I pick myself right back up again and keep trucking along.

It's not really in remembrance of who I used to be -- it's more like realizing this is it. This is my life. And I can spend it in the house doing sudoku puzzles 16 hours a day on the weekends (obviously I don't think there's anything wrong with that) or I live my life a different way. One that brings me a little bit more pleasure.

So that maybe when the chips are down, I'll be in a better place to handle it.

Wasn't so short, huh?

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sun, 04 Oct 2009 00:31:00 +0000

It wasn't even a binge. Just a late dinner. Not even "dinner" and yet I'm tormented by the urge to purge. It's been a trying week.

I miss home so much. I miss my nephew. I miss the younger nephew. I miss Chewy and the other doggie. I miss Dixie -- so much. I miss my bed and the couch in the family room. I miss my house. I miss my friends and my city.

I miss the first month of Maine -- when even though things weren't easy -- I wasn't doing the eating disorder thing. I miss that feeling of believing that this might actually be behind me.

I hate how it creeps in. I hate how it spreads.

Didn't binge today!

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Thu, 10 Sep 2009 02:36:00 +0000

Great news!

Yes. It's true. I broke the pattern. And even though I'm a little anxious right now [read very anxious right now] I'm staying out of the kitchen.

Breakfast: check
Lunch: half check
Snack: check
2nd snack: check

All in all, a very successful day in my book. There was no overeating. No emotional eating. In fact, the reason why I didn't finish my lunch was because I wasn't hungry and I didn't enjoy what I was eating. This didn't leave me craving anything else to substitute a boring lunch. It just made me stop when I was full (or maybe I don't know if I was technically full, but just done with eating.) I know this isn't the best method. I should be allowed to have things I enjoy for lunch without things getting out of control. But right now, I just have to accept that that's not where I am. At least not yet.

But there's one more thing. My chest is aching. I don't know if it's something going on emotionally. Or because I haven't been taking my night meds and thus haven't been sleeping well at night. Or maybe...homesickness? It happened once last week (I think it was a Thursday morning) but it was very brief. Now it's this God awful feeling throughout my chest and upper back and it feels like it's burning hot to the touch. Maybe it's anxiety about how little money I'm making (I did just get my first check today -- although there had better been some sort of clerical error).

Anyway, the feeling reminds me of really bleak days, so I hope whatever it is goes away.

ugh.

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 00:18:00 +0000

Today hasn't been the best day.

After a few morning errands this morning, I had an appointment with the new therapist who shall henceforth be known as the old therapist because she's transferring me to someone else. And I think -- just maybe, that had a lasting effect on the rest of my day. Like for some reason -- she doesn't want to work with me and while I know it's much more complicated than this -- it still hurts. I really miss Dixie.

I felt extremely fatigued and felt as if I could not keep my eyes open long enough to drive the 20 miles to work. Nevertheless, I arrived unharmed and proceeded to "work." But it was to no use -- I simply could not concentrate because I was so tired. So I left early and went straight to bed and didn't wake until almost 6 pm. Clearly, I was tired!

Oh but wait! I forgot to mention, before arriving at work I stopped at the market and picked up binge food and I think honestly and truly that's what also contributed to my short day at work. My mind wanted to things: food and sleep. So I came home and binged and then took a six hour nap. Then I woke up and proceeded binging.

I'm really trying my hardest not to go into that bathroom to purge. It's not worth it. I won't lose any weight. It doesn't help me. It makes me gain weight. These are all the things I'm saying to myself and yet -- this morning I couldn't fit a pair of pants that used to be quite baggy.

Do you know how much that hurts?

And there's a SCALE in the bathroom. I have yet to throw it out. I've just been torturing myself with it, in hopes that the more I see the number, the more I'll stay away from food.

I guess I didn't leave my eating disorder in North Carolina after all.

The First Seven Days

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Mon, 07 Sep 2009 00:44:00 +0000

This has been one whirlwind of a week. But things are actually fairing better than I had expected. My work at the community center is a little bit frustrating and very much different than anything I've ever done. I've been given a lot of freedom to create a program for high schoolers in the county -- one that will eventually be sustainable and self supporting. It's kind of complicated in the sense that the organization I volunteer for has differing views on what constitutes a program. Hopefully, it will all work out and our ideas will mesh well together to create something that looks a little like what everyone wants.

The apartment hasn't exactly gotten any better but I'm generally only here (and awake) for just a couple of hours during the week. This weekend has been a little difficult just because the weather isn't enjoyable for me (less than 70 degrees) and I have no money to do anything. Still, I forced myself out of the house and took a walk for some ice cream. (Crazy, I know!) I need to definitely find something to do for a significant portion of the day so that I'm not just lying around watching movies online and eating. Because that's exactly what I did today.

Which leads me to food. Honestly. It's going a lot better. Being at work really forces me to have lunch. Most times it has been the first meal of my day, but there were a couple of days when I challenged myself to have a piece of fruit on the way to work. I suppose the good thing about this is that my metabolism starts to kick in after I eat lunch and sometimes I feel the urge to eat something when I return home from work. There's not enough data from one week that indicates that I will absolutely eat dinner if I've eaten lunch, but I'd say more often than not I think I did.

But I also ended up binging the one day I went to the grocery store. I think I started out in Maine similarly to how I was living while in law school. So for seven whole days there was not a single item of food in my apartment -- only a gallon of water. I did this to prevent myself from eating period -- not just binging. After seeing the little money I have saved up depleted, I decided to just go to the market. Well, that was pretty much disastrous. It really seems like I just don't know when to stop. It's like once I start, I keep going. Not a good feeling at all, to still be like this after almost two years in treatment.

I met with the new therapist. She's very different from Shish and Dixie and I'm not sure if I like her well enough to continue seeing her but we have scheduled an appointment for Tuesday morning. She also gave me a homework assignment: my goals for treatment. Silly, therapist. I still really really miss Dixie. It helps a little that I've talked to her twice during this first week but I'm only allowed to call her once this upcoming week -- and after a month, I'm not supposed to call at all.

I miss Jay so much that I honestly force myself not to think about it. I didn't get to talk to him this weekend because he spent the night at a friend's house. Just typing that sentence, I experienced a great deal of tightness in my chest and tears came to my eyes. I really miss my boy so much. I hope he knows that I carry him in my heart.

And finally, I've made a friend. YES! One of my co-workers (the guy who supervises the kids at the community center) has the most delightful wife. Yes, I know. I just used the word delightful. That's exactly what she is though. She's a tad bit older than me and has three little kiddos with another one on the way. YIKES! They are so precious though! And really bright, too! We went walking around the downtown area where I live on Friday night after going to the local high school football game. This is seriously funny because outside of my one year in my high school's marching band, I had never ever been to a football game. In fact, I went four years in college without ever going to a single game. And I've gone down for homecoming three years without having ever stepped foot inside the stadium. Clearly, I'm a tailgater at heart. But the game was as interesting as high school football can be. I guess.

We were actually supposed to all go to some fair today but I had already obligated myself to volunteer. This whole volunteering thing on weekend mornings is going to get really old, really fast.

And my mood -- okay. There have been some days that I've forgotten to take my meds -- and other times I've purposefully not taken them because I'm running low and I haven't received my insurance card in the mail. BUT my mother phoned this afternoon to say that it's in the mail so I can be diligent in my efforts to be as mentally and physically healthy as possible. It gets very lonesome. I miss Chewy SOOO much. I miss my other nephew. I even miss my mother and sister. Ha! I miss the feeling of home. But I'm not depressed -- and while there was a little anxiety about the depression sinking in because there was one day that I woke up and just felt like I could NOT get out of bed and that there was something crushing my chest down and I could feel the blood in my body running cold -- it didn't stick around. (I also made SURE to take my meds that morning!) And that also could just be attributed to the fact that I had skipped a few days. That's just what I'm telling myself.

I'm having some body image issues -- surprise, surprise. It's not easy getting dressed in the morning but it hasn't brought me to tears, yet either. Lots of things aren't fitting and I'm avoiding the shower as much as I can so that I'm not faced with seeing exactly how my body looks. But I kind of feel like it would be good for me tonight to take care of myself in this way. I was just reminding myself earlier this afternoon to stop focusing on the negative, but to look at the entire picture so that I could see more good than bad (assuming that's the case!)

I think I thought of this because a friend from my IP sent me the most beautiful blanket that she started crocheting while we were there together. Four months later and she completed it! It's so beautiful, but I could hear her voice pointing out all the flaws in the blanket, when I couldn't even see them at all. I was so, I still am, so happy, and it's so beautiful, and she made it, so all of this means that I just absolutely love it. Now granted, after being pointed out the flaws, I couldn't help but to see them, but it never stood out to me before. And they still don't stand out to me now as flaws, but just something that's apart of my beautiful blanket.

Here's to an even better week number 2.

And I'd like to thank the Universe for a good new start in Maine. I really appreciate it.

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 15:50:00 +0000

It took three days and 21 hours of driving to get through 10 states and over 1000 miles. I'm tired. I'm stressed. I'm anxious. And already -- I'm ready to go home.

It's THIRTY degrees colder here in Maine than it is in NC. THIRTY! I feel like I've completely skipped fall and just landed in winter. Except I know -- it will only get colder and colder and colder. This does not make me happy.

And yes, to be truthful, I already feel really really really miserably sad. And I'm trying to do everything in my power to combat this feeling. But I'm just so alone and obviously I've been out of my mind to even consider moving here for a job that pays pennies. And I miss Dixie so much that I actually dreamed about her last night and it was a wonderful session. A goodbye session in my dream.

Did I mention that it's cold? Maybe I'll get used to it. I mean -- it was absolutely freezing in Nantes when I studied abroad. And it rained a LOT there, too. I think things will look up once I begin work. But for now -- I would not think it's a good idea to skip any of my meds (which has already started to happen because I have absolutely no routine).

The refrigerator here is really small. Like really small. I just don't feel comfortable in this place at all and I almost don't even want to feel comfortable here. I don't want to stop missing the people I love back at home as crazy as that sounds. I haven't cried yet...but as I'm writing this I can feel the teardrops forming.

I miss the warm weather and Jay. I miss my other nephew and the comforts of knowing my way around my own city. I miss Dixie and being able to call in a moment like this. I just don't like it here. Already. And I'm on the third floor of my building and parking's in the BACK so it's such a big deal unloading the car that I haven't even bothered.

But you know what? I'm being really negative right now. I haven't even been here for 24 hours yet. Like seriously. So on the bright side of things...it's really beautiful here. I'm away from the drama that is my family. I'm about to be doing work that I think I'll love. And everything (with the exception of the weather) that I dislike about this place can be changed. I can move to a new apartment which I may end up doing because I miss the Chewster. And I can make this into a little home. So I'll try.

friends

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 03:21:00 +0000

I just returned from a four day vacation with my college roommates and had a really good time. We partied hard and there were a few moments when I let myself live in the moment and didn't get too caught up in what I was eating and drinking.

Overall, I think it was a success. However, it was far from perfect. It was unimaginably hard to look through the pictures that everyone was taking on their digital cameras and/or phones and not notice how FAT I looked. I think that's probably the worst thing about pictures -- it's that I can actually get a good look at how others see me. It wasn't pretty.

Of course I purged. There was no way I could look through the pictures and see the weight gain and not go and do some sort of damage control. I felt absolutely horrible about myself a good 70% of the time.

At one point two of the roommates (one of them had the key to the bathroom as it was her house) barged into the bathroom and demanded to see the contents. Luckily, I was actually just using the toilet in that instance, but they sat me down and did their best attempt at an intervention as two loving friends who were slightly drunk could do. One minute I was on the toilet contemplating whether or not to tell them how horribly fucked up I felt about my life and the next minute they were in the bathroom and we were all crying and holding hands and vowing that we'd get through it together.

I think the combination of not taking my meds and having far too much to drink put me in a really bad predicament and I just felt -- well, shitty, for a lack of better words. But what I can't believe is that in the midst of (almost) having a meltdown about everything on my own, is that my friends came to the rescue and made me promise not to go through this shit alone.

Of course, they don't know how they can help. The closest any of them lives is 8 hours away. One works at least 60 hours a week, the other works full time and goes to graduate school part time, and the third is in graduate school full time so no one has any time on their hands and sometimes I do feel so incredibly alone. Sometimes I feel as if life isn't fair that things are going so well for them, while my life can't seem to get connected at all.

No. They don't get depression. They don't understand eating disorders. But I think it took a lot of love for them to unlock the bathroom door and bring me out of it -- if only for one day. It takes a lot of love to say, "You don't have to do this by yourself, anymore. You're not alone. Maybe you can't do it, but together we can."

Unfortunately, we didn't get an opportunity to have a heart to heart when everyone had completely sobered up because I had an early morning flight -- although I'd bet every red cent I have that there were a few conversations about my behaviors on Sunday afternoon after I'd left. That doesn't bother me at all, because I know my friends are just trying to figure out how they can best help me.

Clearly things are pretty chaotic here on the recovery front. Everyday is a struggle. I'm really stressed out with the move to Maine at the end of August, money, my body and weight, the PCOS stuff, and my nephew. I'm pretty worried about how he'll handle my big move -- but

Well, also...I'd been looking at Maine as a way to sort of fall out of treatment in a sense. I thought, great time to just move and LIVE my life with an eating disorder again. I'm just REALLY glad I've been reminded that that's NOT about to happen. I guess my eating disorder really loved the idea of the move and being away from my treatment team and from people who care and so now I have some hard work ahead of me tomorrow. Either I tell Dixie my fantasy about moving to Maine and we work on changing my frame of mind, or I reconsider the whole thing and stay.

The thing is -- I'm just really tired of living this life, you know? I want something better. I know I deserve something better. It's just really hard to stop the same old behaviors when there are so many grey clouds hovering over my every move.

Oh, I almost forgot...

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:29:00 +0000

I'm moving to Maine! Mount Desert Island. :)

I'm very excited to have a new job and I just love Maine summers...it's the winter season I'm dreading the most.

Now I'm just trying to have a good handle on things before I move. 2nd weekend in August. So we're looking at four and a half weeks.

I really want to challenge myself and eat three healthy meals a day, two snacks, with no behaviors whatsoever. But right now I'm just taking it day by day.

Honestly, this isn't the smartest move in the world. I'm still on shaky ground recovery wise but the opportunity has come and I'm really looking forward to it. So all that means is -- I have to GET ready so that it is a smart move.

On the one hand I'm doing well...

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Mon, 29 Jun 2009 18:49:00 +0000

But then there's always that other hand and it winds up slapping me in the face.

Things were going well for a while. The eating disordered thought had significantly decreased. I was acting less on impulse and emotion. I was actually taking note of my emotions and doing something constructive with them. And then -- I met with the nutritionist.

Maybe if I didn't have an eating disorder, I wouldn't have received the things she said the way I did. And I hold nothing against the woman, as she clearly knows what she's doing as a nutritionist for women with PCOS, and she is working with my outpatient team to make sure everyone's on the same page -- but she pissed me off.

Changing exchanges and saying that I don't need to drink juice but if I do to add water to it. First thought -- well, that's disordered. That's something we were forbidden to do at the residential program. And fruits and juices were encouraged! Milk and yogurt are clearly a dairy and can be exchanged as a protein. But not in her book -- it counts it as a carbohydrate. And that means -- according to this new deal she's got me working with here -- that I've been going days and days without protein (thinking I was getting sufficient amounts from soy milk and yogurt) only to find out that protein and fats are my friends and that I need to limit the starches even more.

Yeah. Angry.

But mainly sad because it brought back old memories -- bad ones -- of my father telling me not to eat this because I didn't need it, or not to eat that because of my weight. And she couldn't have known that so I don't fault the lady at all, it's just, I think had she been a bit more mindful that I'm an ed patient first and pcos patient second, that maybe things would have been different. I left her office resolved to do better as far as my eating habits go, but just a few days afterward the feelings I had surfaced in my old behaviors because I didn't deal with them as they came up. Funny how that happens.

I started skipping more meals and I hadn't felt guilty about just plain old eating in a really long time and then that came up when I felt like I had something that I shouldn't have had (because of the conversation with the nutritionist). And that guilt resulted in a purge.

First one in a really long time. Dare I say a month? Hmmm. It saddens me that all the hard work can vanish so quickly. That I can be in the exact same hole I was in two months ago and desperately clinging to the eating disordered thoughts against all reason. Dixie and I talked a bit today about why I continue to choose to believe in the eating disorder despite everything I've learned and I had no answer.

I just know that I do. I wish she understood that although I appreciate the past year and a half and I know that it's saved my life, that some mornings I wake up and absolutely hate my body. I hate it. I hate myself because I blame all my failings on this one thing and it's hard to live with that. It's hard to know that I could do something about it (like skipping a meal here or there) because it just makes me feel better to know that I'm not making things worse (even though I know I am). Being in recovery with an eating disorder is like living in a world full of paradoxes. I know the truth and yet I don't live it. I try and yet if I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror during a bad moment in my day -- logic is tossed to the wind. Dixie said I lose all cognitive function when I'm in my body loathing moments. Maybe. But I want her to understand that it breaks my heart too when I slip up. I'm just as frustrated and disappointed in myself as she is. I just also feel, for lack of a better word...better, better about my body, better about myself, better about my life if I'm empty inside. Even if it's only for a moment and it never lasts, because it never does.

I wish I had someone to talk to who doesn't think I'm choosing to continue along with an eating disorder. I wish I wasn't always playing defense.

Whoever said life was fair?

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Mon, 15 Jun 2009 17:38:00 +0000

That's the way the pendulum swings, right? Back and forth? Well, it's been a R-O-U-G-H week, brought on by the fact that I weighed myself two Saturdays ago and it's just been a nightmare of restricting and dreaming about binges ever since then. Finally, I gave in to my eating disorder. I drove to the grocery store, bought binge food, and didn't even wait until I returned home to start the binge.

But you know what felt different about it this time? I didn't feel the need to purge. I mean -- sure I wanted to purge the entire cake I'd eaten in less than half an hour -- but there was no urgency. I didn't feel completely full or bloated. It didn't even FEEL like a binge. It just felt wrong. I did not feel out of control. I just felt disappointed in myself. And even with that disappointment I decided, "I'm not purging. I don't need to purge. And I'm still going to have dinner."

And that felt strange. The declaration that I would do the next best thing which meant eating whilst not even being hungry (which is always the case) but eating on a full stomach feels so contrary to everything I've known to be true. So I kept dinner light, but I still pressed on and this morning when I woke up I hadn't planned on having breakfast but then my therapist from residential called and there was something she said to convince me to have breakfast. Something about how it'd make me less jittery during my interview this afternoon.

All the while I was thinking, "This isn't fair! My life isn't fair. I shouldn't have PCOS. I shouldn't be fat. I shouldn't have an eating disorder." Then, I remembered something the dbt therapist said to me about two weeks ago:

"Where'd you ever get the idea that life is fair? People think it should be fair and then they're in for a rude awakening when they realize it's not. Who ever said it was supposed to be fair. It's not fair that you have this new diagnosis. It's not fair that the one other bulimic in the group is underweight and you're overweight. The two of you have the exact same symptom use and it shows up in different ways on your bodies. No, Erin, that's not fair. That's why you can't think about it in those terms of fair and unfair. The reality is that you have a diagnosis that makes it extremely difficult for you to lose weight and you engage in behaviors that cause your weight to fluctuate. Those are the facts -- and none of it is fair. But someone can look at your life and say it's not fair that she graduated from such and such college and had a shot at law school. Someone can always look at someone and compare their lives and see the injustice of a situation, but it doesn't do anyone any good to compare. The only thing you can do is accept that life isn't fair and keep in mind that no one ever promised you that it would be."

I think remembering her speech today has motivated me to go to group tomorrow. I skipped the last week's meeting because I was hanging out with friends but I need that group. I also need daily and weekly reminders that this isn't fair. And now what?

And now what? Well, now I get ready for my interview, wow them with my charming personality and competency, eat lunch, and continue on with my day, keeping in mind that there will be bad days and good days but that the power of turning a bad day into a good day always rests with the decisions I make.

a digression

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sun, 07 Jun 2009 00:15:00 +0000

This is totally not related to eating disorders at all, but...

Don't you hate when there are songs that you once loved with another person and now it hurts to here them.

Here's my list:

Where Did My Baby Go - John Legend
Beauty - Dru Hill
Goodbye to My Lover - James Blunt
Lost Without You - Robin Thicke
Unbreakable - Alicia Keys
If I Was Your Woman - Alicia Keys
Stingy - Ginuwine

Oh there are many many many more...but I'll stop here.

It's like the song is tainted now by this other person and there's nothing you can do about it. Because I still love these songs -- but I'm completely caught off guard when I hear them (even though they're all on my itunes) and it drives me crazy because I want to call up the person and just talk. And I can't do that.

These are all love songs, duh, (as most songs are) but I don't think of past lovers. I think of BEST. Someone who introduced me to James Blunt and Robin Thicke and got me to love the song, Stingy. And when I hear Beauty, I can still hear her belting it out at the top of her lungs. There's so many memories we have around music...more than anything else I suppose.

I wrote her from the residential program. I hate ending relationships. I hate when something is over.

Even in my dreams

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sat, 06 Jun 2009 16:10:00 +0000

It feels like I can't escape the eating disorder even in my dreams. Or rather, shall I say it was a nightmare. I gorged myself on pizza and cookies, cake, and alcohol. And for some strange reason, a roast beef sandwich that I actually fought a friend over. And I'm not even a roast beef kind of girl. The problem is that it just felt so incredibly real and that it felt so incredibly good to indulge myself. I'm not even sure what the word is past indulgence. But that's what it was.

Then suddenly, I was hoarding the food, bagels and donuts and it was such a ridiculous amount of food but I wanted it all. I wanted it all. Family members were around. I specifically remembers my maternal aunts and uncles all being there and seeing the binge and just being shocked that I actually do have a problem and that it was a bigger deal than they had thought.

But I suppose this is the worst of my problems. I'm not binging. I am eating regularly. I haven't skipped a meal since Memorial Day and I haven't binged and purged since last Thursday. I'm eating regularly and it's a struggle. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm doing it and this life is much better than the one with an eating disorder, but it's exhausting. It's frustrating to force myself to eat breakfast, lunch and dinner when I still don't have hunger cues. It scares the shit out of me because I'm afraid that since I'm eating just because that it'll turn into a binge because my satiety cues aren't working either. It just feels like any moment that I eat something when I don't feel physical hunger could end up in a binge because I don't know when to stop until I'm absolutely stuffed. But on the other hand, I'd probably be really overwhelmed with anxiety if I started to get hunger cues.

I just hate that my eating disorder is now attacking me in my dreams -- and there's no way to combat that. Just time, I suppose.

I'm stressed out to the point of tears

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sat, 30 May 2009 21:33:00 +0000

It seems every time my mother phones (and it's getting to be everyday these days) it's always about how much money I owe her. A student loan payment is due or a car payment or phone bill or

I just want to scream, "LEAVE ME ALONE! I CAN'T HANDLE THIS! YOU'RE FREAKING ME OUT!"

And she doesn't mean to I know. I mean she's not intentionally calling with such reportings because she's evil, rather she's inundated with medical bills (opps I forgot that one) and lab bills (for $2000) and wants to know when I'm going to contribute something. Anything.

And it makes me feel like I'm so incompetent. Like how I can't take care of myself or my own finances. Like I'm a failure. And it is NOT good for my anxiety. It's not even a cop out when I say to her, "Mother, you can't begin each conversation with topics of money" because it literally sends me into panic mode. My chest tightens and I start shaking and it's hard to breathe and I feel guilty about even being in therapy and continuing to rack up the medical bills.

And there's no better way to get rid of those feelings than to binge and she just doesn't understand that. Like I'm physically shaking right now because I'm so rattled and I can't binge because I'm sitting for the twins and there's no food in the house anyway and I'm just trying not to do that. So for the love of God, Mother, if by some divine chance you ever read my blog, please, please stop. I can't deal with making it through three meals a day, with keeping myself alive, when I'm constantly reminded that what I'm doing just doesn't cut it.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry I suck at life.

First fall forward, dust oneself off, get back up again.

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Fri, 29 May 2009 01:38:00 +0000

So I've decided for myself that recovery is linear. I know, I know. It was a real comfort to know that it's absolutely human to fall and fall back. But at this point, recovery keeps moving forward. If I fall, I fall down into a valley. I fall forward, flat onto my face (and my ego). But I'm not taking steps back. I'm not playing that two steps forward, one step backward game with my recovery anymore.

My first official face slam into the pavement occurred around 7 pm. I binged. And I purged. At the house with my 2 year old and 7 year old nephew around although thankfully they were napping during most of the incident. Thank God. Because there's really no explanation for why Titi has vomit in her hair.

Gross. I know.

And how did I end up binging and purging you ask after having such a fantastic run after leaving the Carolina House? Oh...because I decided that I was too fat today to eat meals so I skipped breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Uh huh. And I reasoned with myself that should the urge to binge occur, that I've had enough therapy over the past year and a half to coach myself through the binge and act opposite to the emotion.

There's where my ego was bruised. Silly me. I have an eating disorder. Sometimes I forget what that entails. Like, yeah, I'm going to wake up and feel fat, but I still can't skip a meal. And yeah, on that same day, I might actually feel physically sick to my stomach because of my prescription cocktail, but still, there are no sick days.

Have I learned my lesson? Hmm...I know it was a reality check of how far I've come and how far I still have to go on this journey. I do not like the person I am when I'm disordered. Not when I binge. Not when I purge. And interestingly enough, not when I restrict. I like being myself when I'm healthy, when I'm taking care of myself, when I'm not in pretend control, but really in control of my life.

I contemplated starting over in the morning but after talking to a friend who also fell forward this evening, we both decided we'd correct the damage that had been done. So I sat down to a lovely dinner of macaroni and cheese and decided that there's truly no better time to start over than the present moment.

Skipping Meals Already?

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Thu, 28 May 2009 17:20:00 +0000

I try to think about why I'm doing this. Why after a year and a half of out patient treatment and two months in residential I'm so hard wired to believe that if I skip meals I can keep it up, lose weight, and be happier. I can't pinpoint it.

Yesterday I skipped two meals and I know what that does to my body. It makes me ravenous for food. It leads to binging. And that leads to purging. Frankly, eating any amount these days sends my mind spiraling downward towards those purging urges and it just upsets me so much that I think that is why I'm so resistant to regular meals. Because as someone who is overweight I still don't believe I deserve to eat food. Period. And so eating food makes me feel guilty, even if it's not a binge, but especially if I enjoy it. Sometimes it's not even a concious decision I make to skip a meal. Mostly, I'm just not hungry. Somehow my eating disorder has convinced my brain that I seriously don't need to eat and I'm absolutely fine with that until my body starts to rebel.

So it's almost 1 pm here and I did consider lunch but it's just...so hard. Do the therapists and nutritionists get that? Does anyone understand what it's like to hate your body so much that you end up mistreating it to the point of possibly no return and yet you still continue on with your eating disordered ways.

It's discouraging and frustrating and tiresome and depressing and I'm so sick of it. I wish I could just be like all the so called normal eaters out there. I wish I could accept my body the way that it is. I wish I could battle my eating disorder every meal and snack time and win. But sometimes I don't put up a fight at all. Sometimes I'm just simply glad that I skipped meals and didn't end up binging or purging and that's when I realize just how mentally ill people with eating disorders can be.

It's insidious. It's scary. And yet it's also a way to escape one's life. Still though, if there's one thing I learned from being at the Carolina House it's that I hate the eating disorder more than I love it. So if I can just manage to hold on to that knowledge, maybe I can summon up enough strength and eat lunch (and dinner) today after all.

on a roll

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sun, 24 May 2009 23:03:00 +0000

So I'm back at it again. Blogging, that is -- not eating disordered behaviors.

The transition has gone a whole lot better than I thought it would. It certainly hasn't been easy, for there have been moments that I've seriously contemplated purging. And well, I haven't exactly done three meals and two to three snacks each day. But I'm getting my needs met. (I think.)

That's the hard part. Figuring out what's restricting if I happen to have a bigger snack, then maybe not eating anything but a piece of fruit for lunch. Really all this means is that I'm in dire need of a nutritionist and the one at my outpatient clinic doesn't work there anymore and they haven't replaced her yet.

Head tilt.

An eating disorders clinic WITHOUT a nutritionist? How can this be?

The one at the residential program has her own practice but she charges $140 per hour and she doesn't take insurance. So umm...I may be battling that front (the WORST front) by myself for a bit.

There's also the issue of coming up with the finances to afford outpatient. Meeting with my therapist twice a week is $70. The dbt group and the body image group (a new one for me but let's just say I've needed to be apart of this group from the beginning) is $140. Meeting with the psychiatrist each week is $17. Meeting with the physician twice a month is $15 (and when there's a nutritionist that fits into the same bill assuming I see them on the same day). And then there's the outpatient group that the residential program has for alumnae (although they erroneously call it the alumni group -- but we're all women!) is $25.

The grand total being a little less than $1040 per MONTH.

So maybe I'll have to cut back to just the body image group and alumni group, once a week with the therapist, once a month with the psychiatrist and the doctor.

I need a job!

But I'm not letting this stress me out. For now I'm going to continue to fight this battle and let the money work itself out. Surprisingly, it has for the past 19 months and worrying does nothing to remedy the situation.

I've missed the sac and I'm glad to be back.

But I just have one question. Where is everyone?

(off to dinner. it's called self care!)

The grand total for the month is

on partial

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sat, 09 May 2009 01:21:00 +0000

It feels different being back here. Or maybe it's merely that I feel different. I'm still at the C@rol1na House but for only twelve hours a day thanks to my wonderful insurance company, which I really do need to thank for even allowing me to go residential for as long as I did.

Monday night was my first night of partial and I'm staying with the family that I babysit for...I'm assuming you all remember. The two darling twin girls who've discovered Youtube in the past two months much to everyone's dismay. It's cute in the beginning to see the delight on their faces, to find them so giddy with sheer happiness as they wonder how Beyonce dances like that. "She must be really strong and healthy" (That's what one of the girls said. :) I could only smile.

Has it been easy? This transition into the real world which isn't quite so real as I am pretty much homeless come June and still unemployed and desperately not wanting to go back to PB although it seems as if that may be my only source of income for a while because I just feel that anxiety building as I think of the whole job search.

I'll be officially discharging a week from today, but going back to see Dixie and everyone else on the outpatient team earlier in the upcoming week so that there's no period in which I feel as if I'm doing this on my own. Because I'm not. I know that now. And I know that as much as I've been thinking of this community that -- well, I feel supported here and by people who know and may be further along in the recovery process than some of the girls at the house.

Oh dear! There are tales and tales and tales to relay to you all...about how arduous this really has been for me. But also about how I realized along the way I do have the strength to fight...if I'm willing to try 100% of the time. I know. That's asking a lot.

Prime example (and then I'll go) last night it was leftover night so I made a full portion salad, thinking that because it was "just" salad that it would be not as filling for me (the nutritionist has put me on 1/2 dinner portions -- which is kind of complicated to explain but essentially everyone in the house, no exceptions, has the exact same thing for dinner everyday except thursday, and everyone has the exact amount of exchanges. Except me. Because you know there was that thing with my metabolism being completely fudged up.) But I'm no longer bound by this "law" so to speak since I'm no longer on meal plans but on food journals where I'm supposed to document my food consumption and feelings and stay within a range (which is still pretty UNclear to me). Regardless, I felt extremely full afterwards and wanted to purge. I felt nauseas and disgusting and I was beating myself up for having too much SALAD.

But I tried using some skills. First I went to the nurse and told her what was going on and she asked me if I needed to take something to keep the food down. My eating disorder won that round because I walked away saying no; still thinking to myself that I wanted to purge. Then I did fruit therapy, which is where we throw spoiled fruit at trees and with all our strength and might. I threw two cantaloupes, three tomatoes, and an apple and the trees were decorated quite beautifully if I do say so myself. Then I started saying aloud, "Fuck off! Fuck off! Leave me alone! Fuck off!" A friend requested I stay at the house a little while longer having seen my struggles but I turned her down. Another one gave up the internet (a precious resource in our house) so that I might have more time in the house and feel less inclined to purge after leaving. I took her up on that offer.

Upon leaving though, I just thought about it...I just thought about how badly I wanted it and it happened. It scared me senseless. Because now I know, I really know, I can do it psychologically. No need for a physical purge. And I was just so fearful that all the hard work I'd done had come to an end because NOTHING about the way I think has changed. None of the eating disorder thoughts or feelings have been abandoned. The only thing is that I DO eat regularly and I've even cut back on my very scaled back meal plan as it is.

So I remind myself...People with eating disorders cannot skip meals. And purging is no longer an option. It's not. It's in the past.

Oh...and I was diagnosed with PCOS today.

Let's just say it's been one hell of a week.

for my readers...

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 21:07:00 +0000

"How could anyone ever tell you
You were anything less than beautiful?

How could anyone ever tell you
You were less than whole?

How could anyone fail to notice
That your loving is a miracle?

How deeply you're connected to my soul."

We listened to this song in yoga on Friday afternoon and I first thought of you ladies: Ania and AE and Hayley and Fia and Z, and Kristina and everyone really. I thought of everyone out there who's connected to me through my blog and wanted to say that I do feel deeply connected to you all.

22 days in

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:33:00 +0000

It's the beginning of the fourth week at the residential treatment program and this past week has been significantly harder than the first. I wasn't even sure that was possible. It's a daily struggle and time is winding down. Even though it's only the 22nd day and the minimum stay is 45, I feel like I need more time. I just need more time.

Dixie has been out to visit twice and the psychiatrist came out to visit the first sunday. I have a dear friend who flew out from Texas the very first weekend I was here because she was so incredibly freaked out by the whole situation and needed to know that I'm okay.

And I am. I am okay. It's just really hard. I'm still using behaviors although it hasn't been nearly as much as it was when I was out in the real world. I think the main concern right now for the clinical team is whether I'm 100% committed to the nutritional therapy and individual therapy. We all know how I struggle with emotional walls and so it shouldn't be a surprise to anyone to know that I've had a pretty flat affect the entire time I've been here. I don't understand why it's hard for them to understand that I've spent most of my lifetime living like this and it really should take a considerable amount of time for me to "open up"

There are also some medical issues that we've discovered. Something's wrong with my blood sugar levels and apparently there's some insulin resistance going on. It's hard to know which comes first...chicken or the egg. But I think the doctors were being careful to make sure I didn't attribute any fault to what's going on with my body.

I'm also having trouble keeping food down...you know, since I'm accustomed to purging. And I'm constantly at odds with the clinical team because they believe it's psychological. It very well might be. But it just really hurt to hear that they think I'm doing something to stay in the way of recovery. Or maybe it's just that my eating disorder is really intent on hanging on for as long as possible.

I miss everyone on the sac and think of you all from time to time. Thanks for being here.

week one

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Fri, 20 Mar 2009 23:39:00 +0000

It's a little shy of hell here to be completely honest. There are nine girls, including myself, with the entire range of possibilities for eating disorders, and anxiety, and depression. Before last night, I actually thought things were going okay. Or as okay as they go for someone like me. Someone who's fairly accustomed to restricting all day and binging and purging at night and is then put into an environment where she's more or less presented with food six times a day. SIX times a day. Three meals. Three snacks.

It's painful. At this moment, the source is more physical than emotional although I can feel the emotions rising as I type this. The day starts with a 7:30 weigh-in, shower, breakfast, clean up (yes, we pay this place and then we clean up. hilarious) there's the interpersonal effectiveness group or art therapy and then there's snack time then individual therapy than lunch then...oh yeah. Aren't you just exhausted by reading all of this. So besides those two groups there's food and feelings, dbt, mindfulness, yoga, and ed med. Oh right. There's a morning walk but I haven't been cleared for that because I have not completed 100% of my food on any single day.

Which is like...duh. Did anyone actually READ my intake information? Did they expect that I would be able to?

And I haven't even gotten into the drama. And there really is drama. But let me back up and use a little wise mind and say that initially I thought, "Oh God, I don't need to be here" and now I realize that I do. Very much so.
Just by the look of my struggle it seems I've truly been awakened by just how serious this illness or disorder or disease is. Not that I'm glad to be here. But I need to be. I want this out of my life. It's just hard. Capital H.

My psychiatrist is visiting Sunday. Thank God. Because I have no friends in the area who know where I am and it's so incredibly lonely here. Lonely because...oh yes, back to the drama.

Seven of the girls hate me. Or not necessarily me, but my eating disorder. Yeah. See, I don't exactly see it as restricting since I'm eating at the meals. But there have been times when I've finished less than 50% or 20% or 10% (although in this instance I firmly believe the nurse was abusing her authority and just really pissed off at me because I told her to never talk to me again. Ever.)

Yes. Personalities really come out when you're confined to a house and never allowed to be alone. Forced to eat -- or supplement meals with those boost or ensure shakes. Forced to go on field trips with the girls out to lunch at a restaurant or visit BIRDHOUSES.

So my anxiety is probably at an all time high based on a day to day basis. Thankfully they've increased my meds on that front so that I can actually eat the meals but I was backed up for THREE days which made eating physically uncomfortable for yet another reason. The directors believed I just needed some space away from the girls (because I struggle with eating in front of others because I believe I'm too fat to eat and don't deserve food) and while that worked, they sent me back to the table out of fear that they were encouraging the eating disorder voice.

My food consumption continued to dwindle (I know it seems like -- what? You've only been here a week, but don't forget, SIX times a day) and the girls were pissed Because they were eating everything and my restriction was triggering their eating disorders and so just imagine a house full of women, some of them menstruating, all of them with eating disorder personalities and there was a blow out so huge that MTV could have filmed here and made us all a lot of money.

Someone saw me hide and throw away a candy bar. (Yep. They force us to eat everything) and it really pissed her off. She started telling people in the group (not the therapists who stay overnight to keep watch) but the residents. Then an apple mysteriously appeared in my cubby. (NOT MINE!) And I was confronted about this and it was just awful. It turned into a screaming match and there were tears (none of which were mine of course) :) and ultimately after an hour and a half it ended with me calling her a bitch. Oh yeah, and saying that she was just jealous that she didn't throw her own candy bar out. Or maybe it was her eating disorder that was jealous.

In a rush of emotions she starts to pack her bags saying she cannot live in such a hostile environment and I ultimately apologized. Umm...like this, "I apologize for calling you a bitch. I shouldn't have said that. I don't think you should leave because we have a conflict. It's unavoidable. It's life." I left out the part where I felt like I still actually think she's a bitch. But I would have felt extremely guilty had she actually left for home after seven weeks and her second go around at residential.

The clinic director says my food consumption has to be at 100% next week or they'll just admit me to the hospital. Since apparently...they can do that. Because you know -- the not eating, the purging (it's only happened twice) -- puts the facility at risk of liability if I'm not actually doing what they claimed they could do for me.

My roommate was also one of the girls who attacked me in interpersonal group and so that makes things difficult. Although, I think, maybe I won't be so forgiving and I won't try to join the community since it's clear they're furious with me, that I won't continue to be a bitch. Or...at least I'll try. I'm afraid I've definitely inherited my father's rage and wrath. Not to mention, I'm totally unforgiving and it obviously makes things worse.

Not a fan of my therapist. But she's a hardass, which is of course, what I need at this point. I've talked to Dixie everyday (except today) and she's coming out to visit next week although the people who work here aren't happy about it. But I feel as if it's my only family, you know? And I need that. I need to be able to talk to her. To see her.

And finally, there's a cat here. Who's like a dog. Who curled up on my lap and let my pet him for twenty minutes while I cooled off last night after the mtv drama. And I opened my heart to a kind of furry little creature that I thought I hated. And while I suppose most of them still scare the shit out of me...this one brought me an incredibly amount of solace last night. And for that tiny bit of grace -- I am entirely thankful.

I miss you all. We only get internet access for an hour a day. There's one computer shared by all of us and so it takes some time to edge my way in here. But I really really do miss you all and I actually feel even more...I don't know. For those of you who are farther along in recovery...I admire you. I really really admire you. The struggle. And I'm so proud and in awe and of course, still concerned, because I know it's something that never completely goes away.

With love and hugs.

Erin

Monday, 10:30 am

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 21:15:00 +0000

My check in time at the residential treatment program.

And may I just say that I am so overwhelmed about how I feel right now. Overwhelmed to the point of actually just not even being able to feel a thing. Which is pretty damned overwhelmed.

For almost three weeks now (well, come Tuesday at which point I'll be away) I've been staying with the twins and their mothers. I guess the old adage, "no news is good news" applies in this instance because things have been relatively easy here. Only two mothers have been in the house for three straight days during the entire length of time I've been here. But I haven't even sat for the girls very much. Just a few occasions when the girls were sick or parent needed to go shopping.

We've played endless amounts of Candyland (one of my all time favorites to be honest) and it's been, if not relaxing, certainly not chaotic. And I'm getting a lot of rest. Which begs the question, why isn't this little vacay from the trauma and turmoil of my family relaxing? Well, because even when you're away, they come right along with you.

I haven't seen Jay in almost two weeks, but we have plans to visit with each other on Sunday before I leave. He has no clue about what's about to happen (of course not, the plan was just finalized 90 minutes ago) but thankfully he's about to start spring break on Monday for THREE weeks. During which he will spend the entire time with his father. (Unfortunately, his father did call this morning and asked if I wouldn't mind keeping him during the day and I agreed not realizing things would happen so fast). But three weeks at his dad means it will be very easy for him to put his Titi in the back of his mind with all the four wheeling and monster truck rallying he's about to do.

The finances of this whole thing are just pretty amazing. There's no better word for it. The facility charges $900 per day and my insurance covers 80% of that. At a minimum of 30 days -- well, you can all do the math. I'm not even sure how my therapist worked this out with them because -- I'm only going to come out of pocket for a very very very small fraction of the expense. And so -- thank you PB for employing me for the last few months so that I could afford to do this. And a thank you to my mother as well, my sponsor, my therapist who I suspect really used up any stored favors on this deal, and everyone who's managed to sit with me during this really really difficult time.

I feel like I'm about to have a panic attack, which of course means that I'm not about to have one. Because you know, if you've had them, that it doesn't feel like a panic attack,it just feels like you're dying. And I don't feel like I'm dying. I feel scared out of my mind. About going to this place. And living with those girls. Or women, I suppose. About being in an environment where there's schedule activities from 7:00 am until 11:00 pm. Every single day -- except Sundays. The only day for visitation. I'm a little on edge about the fact that I am not allowed to bring my laptop. Like what the hell! Why not???!?!?! I'm a BLOGGER! I will definitely need my blog.

And there's no smoking allowed. Or gum chewing. There's only two hours of free time in there during that SIXTEEN hour day for me to use my cell phone and who even knows who'll be available to talk during that time.

I am not looking forward to three to four group meetings a day. Like, really? But -- here's the thing. I'm really looking forward to what happens afterwards. I'm really looking forward to being able to live my life. I'm really looking forward to having something to look forward too because it's been a really long time, you know. Gosh, that's what has my heart beating a little faster than normal. The excitement of seeing food as food and nothing more. Of being able to get dressed and go out into the world and claim what's mine. Of making peace with food and clothes and image and anxiety and my body and my mother and my father and my sister and MYSELF. Returning home (well, not my mother's house) and building a life for myself that I can appreciate. One with Jay. And Chewy. AND my laptop. And my cigarettes. :)

And then there are all the things I'm afraid of. Crying in front of others. Telling yet another therapist my story. The body image group. The meetings with the nutritionist who I'm certain will at some point experience my wrath. Or at several points. Of the doctors seeing my body. Of being the FATTEST one there. Yes, the capital letters were entirely necessary. Of that boulder on my chest being there and not being able to binge and purge it away. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. 100%. You have to eat 100%. How can they do that? I mean, really. We have eating disorders. 100%?

I'm really tired. But feeling a little hopeful. Eager to feel renewed.

As if things weren't bad enough right now

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Fri, 27 Feb 2009 09:36:00 +0000

Warning. Very upsetting post.

I've been feeling really awful for a while now. And scary awful for the past week and a half. I'm not even sure how this all sort of happened. However, last week in therapy I finally disclosed to Dixie just how bad things were depression wise but without mentioning the most important part. Maybe because we ran out of time? But immediately following that appointment I met with my psychiatrist who always asks the most direct questions and has this very frank way of putting things. It's something I would ordinarily hate in someone, but for some reason, it actually puts me at ease. There is no bullshitting this woman. Ever.

So I told her. The truth. That I'm tired of the never ending saga of my life. The eating disorder. The depression. The anxiety. The being stuck in this rut. That I dream about ending my life.

She upped my meds and has me coming back in to see her again on Tuesday.

So that's pretty bad, right? Well, I called Dixie after all of this because the psychiatrist said I needed to tell her and if I didn't she would. And Dixie has been a real trooper in keeping me in this moment. Right here. Right now. It's been really scary and sad and...a lot of other things. But I actually don't feel alone in all of this. She definitely has not abandoned me. I've seen her every day this week except Monday. And we have an appointment tomorrow afternoon.

But let me back up. Because things actually got a whole lot worse.

Tuesday afternoon Jay's dad decides to pick him up (and this turns out to be a blessing from above) which left me to spend my time napping. My mother walks into my bedroom in the early evening and invites me to join her in picking my dad up from the bus station.

HEAD TILT.

WHAT? No really. It seems like forever ago that she was pulling this same shit. So I pop up out of bed and listen to her rattle on about how he is my father and he's dying. How he wants to see me (even though I haven't heard it from him, nor would it matter at this point). Basically, I'm a selfish, self-centered, unappreciative, cold hearted, unforgiving, self-righteous daughter.

Well. You know. I won't even fight that. If that's what they think. Then so be it. I'll take that and whatever else they have (this is me clearly being the hard ass, as if I'm completely unaffected, right?).

Anyway, I ask her where she's planning to take him and she actually scowls at me and says, "I know! I know! He's not coming here. I'm taking him to so and so's house." But I'm pissed at this point. Pissed beyond repair because here I am -- yet again -- defending what I know to be true. Something that is about MY self care. And sometimes, if I start to listen to her or anyone in my family for that matter, I start thinking about him. And her. About how he has cancer and is dying and is all alone. And I'm sorry. But I can't think about that because then I will say, "Fine. I give up. He can come to live here and life will be 1000 times worse for me, but that's not important."

It is selfish, I suppose. Manipulative to force her to choose me or him. I am unforgiving. It's pretty cold-hearted, too, I suppose. At least we can all agree on that much. So imagine my surprise when I am later awakened by his voice. Coming from downstairs. Except, she just stood in my doorway and said that that was NOT going to happen.

You know that feeling you get when you're going up on a rollercoaster and you know you're about to shoot down at any moment. And your chest is tight and you're so afraid and it hurts to breathe and your heart is beating so fast and there's something lodged in your throat so you can't scream. Well that's how I've felt for the past 3 days. And I think the name for it is -- it feels like I'm about to die. There is no exhilaration as with a rollercoaster ride. You can't throw your hands up in the air and just embrace the wind because you know it will all be over in 90 seconds. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.

And no one should hurt like this. If there is a moment when I'm not fully engaged in something (like playing 11 rounds of Candyland with the twins or baking 400 bagels at PB) then it hurts. I can't lie down to take a nap without it hurting. If I put down a book that I've been reading to distract myself -- two seconds later, when I return to my life -- without even going there and realizing what's just happened. It hurts.

I left the house immediately. I called Dixie. And then I came over to the house of the family that I babysit for because I didn't know where else to go. All of it hurts. The fact that he's here. That she didn't say anything to him at all about not coming to my home. That she cared more about not upsetting him than me. That I had to leave my dog. That now Jay is back with his parents because I don't feel comfortable having him here with me (especially since I'm still working at night). That it took her almost 24 hours to call me. And when I left, she asked if I was mad at her. It hurts that when she called, she called to talk about a bill from the clinic for $400.

I wanted to slit my wrists. I tried to slit my wrist. For many, many reasons. But I'm holding on...even though I don't believe Dixie when she says I can ride all of this out. I wanted to tell her -- I don't want to ride it out. I shouldn't have to ride it out. No one should expect me to ride this out. No one should ever have to ride this out. This hurt -- it's already killing me. It is. That's how bad it is.

But -- for now -- it's one day at a time. I have plans tomorrow that I'm committed to seeing through. A parent-teacher conference. A playdate at the pool for Jay and the twins. I know I'll make it through Friday. And I do have a place to stay...with this family, at least temporarily. I'll need to sit down and talk with the mother about an arrangement, but I'm afraid of doing that for very obvious reasons.

The signal at this house isn't very good so I may not be able to update. And I hate to say, "don't worry, I'll be fine" after writing all of this. So I'll try to find a way to post so that people know I'm okay.

niretod@yahoo.com (Erin) — Mon, 23 Feb 2009 02:17:00 +0000

I didn't think it had been over two weeks since I last wrote -- but that's because it has not been! I just never got around to publishing anything.

I'm feeling a moderate amount of anxiety right now. At this very moment. And the initial thought was -- I could use a glass of wine -- and so I thought, "Oh no. Better go write!" Because I definitely don't need to go there. I feel quite certain that an eating disorder is more than enough to keep my busy these days. It just sort of worried me so that I instantly thought that, you know?

Why so anxious? Because I decided it's almost MARCH so I need to get serious about finding a job. And right now -- the recession is actually hitting our area pretty hard. So it would take a miracle and a lot of putting myself out there. And just the idea of all of that sent me into a panic and I suddenly got very hot and agitated and scared and decided to shelve the idea for a while. Except, I can't really do that. I'm ready to move. Like seriously. It's not anything specifically my mother has done -- it's just that I'm not able to thrive here. I know it. I get it. And I want to be better and do better and that means I need my own place. And that means I need to find a job that pays me enough to be able to afford living on my own (which is so incredibly expensive).

Backing up to yesterday...

I stayed in bed all day today. All day. I woke up and read a bit (in bed). Then I took a nap. Then I talked on the phone with half a dozen friends and family members (in bed). And then I took another nap. I wasn’t very content with it either. I felt compelled to take a shower in the very least. I had wanted to go out and do something. Read at the bookstore. Take a walk with the dogs. It’s been the first Saturday in a really really long time that hasn’t been devoted to taking care of someone else’s children. So while initially, it felt good to sleep in until 2 pm, it felt even better to know that I could curl back up under the covers and stay there for the entire day. I even asked my mother if she wouldn’t mind leaving the house – because I really wanted to be alone. Completely alone.

And to be completely honest – I know that I am losing it. I can feel it. I see it happening and I’m pretending that it’s not really going to be as bad this time around. It’s definitely harder to get out of bed in the mornings. More often than not, I’m picking up dinner for Jay rather than making it myself. The eating regularly is really at the bare minimum. And even with nothing at all to do with my day, I still don’t find the time to take a shower or wash my hair. I’m even late to therapy which of course was the major topic of discussion one day last week.

But it’s also true that I don’t feel overwhelmingly sad. I have intense moments of apathy – so much that I don’t do anything about it. But I’m not crying. I’m not sobbing myself to sleep each night. I do still function, although at a really minimal level. I also constantly feel my body. I’m constantly aware of my cheeks. The weight of them. Of my arms and thighs and hips and stomach. And that makes it impossible to consider starting the day off with breakfast. When I’m aware of the fat. When I hate it so.

I’ve been having thoughts of cleaning my room again.

Back to today...

It's pretty much the same story. I've been in bed all day. Reading. Chatting with friends. Pretty much avoiding life. Something I do quite well. The only difference is that today I actually something. Am I seriously calling this progress?