Tag Archives: food issues

The Love/Hate Challenge! Part 2: I Hate Cantaloupe and Toothpaste Food

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Because of my inability to “keep it short”, this is a continuation of the Love/Hate Challenge I started in my last post. If Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly is still reading, she’s probably regretting nominating me.

lovehatechallengeDA RULES:

  1. List 10 things you LOVE
  2. List 10 things you HATE
  3. Nominate a few suckers to do the same

I got through three of these in my last post…seven to go.  So…let’s talk about FOOD!

10 THINGS I LOVE and 10 THINGS I HATE (in unranked order) – PART 2:

4a.  I love ice cream…

Ice cream is kind of a no-brainer.  What’s not to love here?  It’s creamy, it’s cold, it’s sweet, and if it’s done right, it has lots of chunks of candy, fudge and peanut butter in it. If it’s done wrong….wait.  Ice cream is never wrong.  Never mind.

I have a long history with ice cream.  Growing up, we always had some in the house.  It was a staple, just like eggs, cheese, and peanut butter.  It was Dad’s favorite late night snack; if the container was mostly empty, he’d just sit in his recliner with the thing, scooping along the sides as they melted with a sleeve of Ritz crackers.

We rotated through a few flavors in the freezer – chocolate, Rocky Road, Neapolitan (with the chocolate gone and the vanilla half-eaten, leaving the freezer-burnt, Barbie-pink artificial strawberry third left to fossilize.)  Typically, we also had Breyer’s vanilla, which is absolutely the best vanilla on the planet.

Now, I KNOW what you’re thinking – “Vanilla?  Isn’t that kind of…dull?”  Well, Breyer’s was born in 1866 and they do vanilla right, with real cream and flecks of vanilla bean (OK, for all I know, it’s dirt and cockroach legs, but it tastes so good I really don’t care.) And vanilla is ONLY boring if you don’t have a can of Hershey’s syrup handy, or a jar of peanut butter, or even some REAL maple syrup to put on it.  (Yes, my Pennsyltuckey roots are showing.  But if you haven’t had peanut butter on ice cream?  You are seriously missing out on genius culinary artistry.  Life is short – put it on your shopping list, like, NOW.  You’re welcome.)

I didn’t meet Ben and Jerry until college, and while they work their hippie labels, trendy names, and boutique flavors to tempt me into an illicit threesome of debauchery, I will always have a spot in my heart for my boy-next-door Breyer’s.

4b. …and I hate cantaloupe.

You know how sometimes, life chucks you an unexpected curveball, and people halfheartedly attempt to demonstrate their superior coping skills by saying, “Well, God is showing us He has a sense of humor”?

Well…yes.  Yes, He does.  I have proof. It’s cantaloupe.  Which is CLEARLY the practical joke of fruit.

I mean, look at it.  First of all, it totally looks like a giant eyeball wearing fishnets, which SHOULD be cool, right?!  Check it out.  It’s totally watching you when you don’t look directly at it:

Picture borrowed from http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20676415_15,00.html

Picture borrowed from http://www.health.com/health/gallery/0,,20676415_15,00.html

And then you slice into it, and SURPRISE!  Bright orange – my FAVORITE COLOR!  So far, so good….this should be AWESOME!  And BONUS – it’s one of the healthiest foods out there, solving world hunger, complex math equations, and leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

So you taste it, anticipating deliciousness.  And…

MOUTH ASSAULT!  MOUTH ASSAULT!  ABORT! ABORT!

Because you’re a dignified, refined adult, you run to the garbage can and hork the slimy blob directly into the trash.  You proceed to scrub your tongue with a nearby napkin, alternating with water to flush the residue away.

Obviously, this melon has gone bad.  I mean, people can’t be eating this and actually ENJOYING it, right?  You write off the horrific experience as an exception and go on your merry way.

And then, a few years later, you see a group of people digging heartily into a fruit salad.  The offending chunks of orange toxic waste are present, as are normal fruits you DO like – grapes, pineapple, watermelon.  You shrug, scoop out a serving, and dig in.

Nope.  NOPE.  NOPENOPENOPENOPENOPE NOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE

<ptoo>

You look around.  No one’s eyeing you sideways, stifling a giggle.  People are just standing around…EATING this stuff.  They look perfectly, disturbingly normal.

This has gotta be Candid Camera, right? Or the Twilight Zone?  BECAUSE YOU CANNOT SERIOUSLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THAT PEOPLE ARE CHOKING DOWN THIS SHIZ AND ACTUALLY ENJOYING IT.  Unless, like, there’s a case of alien possession or mind-altering radio waves zapping around from cranium to cranium.

Because what you’re ungraciously spit out tastes NOTHING like fruit.  Fruit is sweet and cool and juicy and makes your face smile.  This?  This is nasty.  MY FACE IS NOT SMILING.  This is NOT FRUIT.  It’s clearly the mutant forbidden love child of a lonely skunk finding comfort in an abandoned gym sock in a compost pile.  (This could TOTALLY happen, yo.  Totally.  Happen.  Compost piles can, like, spontaneously COMBUST – you add the heat energy to some genetic material and BOOM, foot fruit is born, and you chuckleheads are actually EATING THIS STUFF voluntarily.)  <gags>

5.  I love chocolate, but I hate mint chocolate.

Totally uncreative to say I love chocolate, I know.  But since it’s self-explanatory, perhaps I won’t need 1000 words to describe it.

(I make no promises.)

Chocolate is serious yum.  It’s a hug for the brain.  And it plays so nicely with, like, everything.  Peanut butter.  Oats.  Coffee.  Fruit.  Chili flakes.  Orange peel.  Ice cream.  Nuts.  Ants. (Yes.  Ants.  Seriously, try ’em.  They’re like little Rice Krispies in cocoa bathrobes.  Just don’t think about eating the legs and you’re good.  I swear.)

Chocolate is never an inappropriate reaction.  Bad day?  Good day?  Tax season?  Lottery winnings?  Delayed pizza delivery?  Basement flooded?  Found a quarter?  ALL CALL FOR CHOCOLATE.

I love it all. Dark, milk, everything in between.  Heck, I’ll even eat white chocolate.

Now, in the spirit of full disclosure, I should mention that a few years ago, I thought white chocolate was an abomination.  I mean, technically, it isn’t really chocolate at all.  Sure, it has cocoa butter in it, but so does suntan lotion, and we all KNOW that THAT is not something you want to be eating, no matter HOW good it smells.  (Seriously.  Don’t eat it.  Smells good, tastes like a candle.  Please do not ask me how I know this.)

I was convinced that white chocolate was an impostor, taking the good name of chocolate in vain, using the label to front its political agenda to the masses to push for acceptance.  But then Reese’s came out with a white chocolate peanut butter cup.  And, well, peanut butter, so I ate one a few.

And, you know what?  Not bad.

White chocolate will never be my first choice, but as I’ve matured, I’ve come to accept its place on the confectionery spectrum.  So I promote tolerance for chocolates of all shades and hues.  I frequently and enthusiastically celebrate diversity with chocolate.  And you should, too.

Except….DO NOT BE PUTTING MINT IN MY CHOCOLATE.

Mint in chocolate makes me cry.  Why would you do something so terrible to something so good?  Mint does to chocolate what Westboro Baptist did to Christianity.  The combo is an abomination that has no place in civilized society.  END OF DISCUSSION.

I mean, let’s be logical here.  Mint is the flavor of mouth-cleaning things.  Toothpaste.  Floss.  Mouthwash.  (Although I much prefer cinnamon for these things, you can hardly find them anymore – seriously, was there a boycott, or a cinnamon shortage/bark blight or something? –  so I’ve resigned myself to the sub-par mint varieties.)  We use mouth-cleaners to signal the end of eating for the day.  No more food, the meal is over, time for bed.

So you get chocolate – the food that you can never, ever get enough of – the food that you ALWAYS have more room for – mixed up with mint, the food finish line?

So, so wrong.

You’re sending your brain a damaging mixed message, not unlike the one that most women’s magazines send you, where the cover blares the incongruous dual signal that you’re supposed to drop ten pounds this month while baking this delicious coconut chip 3-layer cake for your family.  IF YOU LOVE THEM.

So don’t be putting toothpaste in my food.  It sends a sick, twisted message to our impressionable youth.  Plus, that shiz is nasty.

Five down, five to go.

P.S.  Speaking of hybrids – did you know there’s a cat breed called a Cheetoh?  FOR REALZ.  And I totally want one.  BECAUSE KITTENS.  Go to HERE and look!  (It’s like an embedded petting zoo, yo.)

Today’s select victim nominee is Heather at peaceof8 – because she writes pretty much how I think I sound when I talk, although after this rant she may not find that terribly flattering.  Ha.  😉

The Courage to Change, The Patience to Persevere, the Guts to Grow

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I am thankful today to have not one, but two, nominations from the gracious Chelise at Caterpillar to Butterfly.  I’m thankful because these awards and challenges give me something different to think about – and therefore WRITE about.  They give the repetitive, demanding voices in my head a new sound bite to discuss.  They’re a nice respite from thinking simultaneously about how fat I am and WHAT IS THERE TO FREAKING EAT IN THIS PLACE YO

Sigh.

This first nomination was super-sweet of Chelise, because while I’ve been trying to pull myself out of a lifetime of food issues, and sometimes I feel like I’m making progress, it’s certainly not been a beeline target.  More often, on good days, it’s like I’ve been sitting on a precarious perch in a dunk tank, blissfully oblivious to the pool of denial swirling below me, until life lobs a hefty, matted tennis ball squarely at the target, sending me plunging back into the muck and leaving me to clutch at any floating debris I can find.  Sometimes it’s a life preserver; others, it’s a crocodile.

Two steps forward, one step back, and sometimes, all we can do is keep treading water and looking for a safer buoy to cling to.

But that’s what makes us courageous – it’s the ability to keep going.  It’s what gets us through the day, worn and weary, but alive.  It enables us to get out of bed the next day to face the same demons and confront the same pain.

Yeah, sure, some days we don’t actually GET out of bed.  And that’s OK – because we’re doing we need to do to recharge for the next battle.  We’re still breathing.  We’re still alive.

Courage doesn’t mean you don’t rest.  Being brave doesn’t mean you don’t admit you’re tired.  I mean, even heroes need to take a break from saving the planet once in a while.

Being strong just means you don’t quit.  Every valiant knight and crusader has felt fear – they just haven’t let it stop them.  And sure, occasionally the bad guys – anxiety, fear, hopelessness – temporarily take us down, but the joke’s on them, because we’re slowly, gradually learning from each and every battle, bruise, and scar just how to throw a carefully placed sucker punch right back.

There are a lot of folks on WordPress who struggle with a variety of things. In reading the challenges of others, you see incredible strength.  It’s inspiring.  It’s contagious.  You also see the heartache – the beauty and the pain in the raw, unfiltered honesty.  And that’s where we all support each other – if we all lean on each other in a circle, nobody falls down.  (Or we all fall down.  Especially if wine was involved.  But at least we do it together.  And it would be freakin’ hilarious, as long as no one spills the wine.)

couragetochangeaward

The “Courage to Change” Award

  • I want to acknowledge that it takes courage to put ourselves out there for the world to see.
  • It takes courage to work through the pain that binds us.
  • It takes courage to make changes in our lives.
  • It takes courage to leave behind everything you have always known (mentally, emotionally & sometime physically) and do things differently.

Courage is:

  • the ability to do something that frightens one
  • strength in the face of pain or grief

The guidelines for this award:

  • Award it to whomever you chose and let them know
  • No questions to ask
  • No questions to answer
  • If you receive the award, there is nothing you have to do but KNOW others support and believe in you! However, I hope you to pay it forward and encourage someone who is on their own personal journey to freedom (from whatever they may be struggling with).

My picks for the “Courage to Change” Award:

Nikki at Undiagnosed Warrior and Cass at Indisposed and Undiagnosed – these two young, strong women are very talented writers who have been kind enough to share their quests to get diagnoses for debilitating, undiagnosed illnesses.  Their strength, their perseverance, and their tenacity as they struggle to get well are amazing.  They are brave and show continued courage.

Zoé at gathering the pieces of me – I have said it before; this is some of the best writing you’ll read online.  Her writing is art; it’s poetry, and it’s raw and beautiful.  She has been incredibly inspiring as she outlines her struggles to be well.

THANK YOU, ladies, for putting it out there.  You help me, you help countless others – you make WordPress a better, richer place.  We’re all in this together – lean over when you need to.  I pray for peace, healing, and laughter for you every day!

Next up:  The Love/Hate Blogger Challenge!  (Thankfully.  I can only take so much of this warm and fuzzy goo.  Tree’s dry, no more sap for awhile.)  😉

The Liebster Award! a.k.a. Cube Cat, Aliens, and Grammatically Correct Memes

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I am embarrassingly late in responding to this generous nomination from Chris at Surviving the Specter.  Which is actually OK, as I am never on time for anything.  If I’m ever on time, or early, please assume what you are seeing is an alien apparition of me, and blast me to confetti with lasers.  For the planet.

Anyhoo….the award.  Chris was kind enough to link to some history behind this, so I’m stealing that to share, too.  GO TO HERE FOR HISTORY KTHX

liebsterpicSo, like all awards, this one has some rules, too:

liebsterpic_001OK, if we’ve met…that is too many rules.  And I get to the middle of #2 before I suddenly remember it’s been a REALLY long time since I made pie, and speaking of pie, my cat is so fat that he’s no longer round…he’s…a box.  I know cats like to SIT in boxes, but…WHOA MY CAT IS MAGICAL AND MORPHED INTO A SIZE 14 NIKE AIR BOX

OllieboxAdmittedly, without the swoosh.  Seriously, though, the dude needs backup lights.  I’m a terrible cat momma.

<slap> Focus.  RULES!

OK…did #1 already.  Here are Chris’s questions for me:

1.   In what state and/or country do you live (if outside the U.S.)?  I commute daily between the state of Confusion and the state of Denial.  Geographically, I grew up in PA, but nine years ago, moved here:

stay-for-the-car

 AND EVERY JANUARY I QUESTION MY SANITY.  <sigh>

2.   What is your favorite genre of music and THE band that goes with it?
OK, there is NO WAY I can pick just one.  What I like depends on the barometric pressure, the moon phase, and how much I weigh today. 

When I sing (did I mention I’m in a band?) I love ballads and good, throaty jazz.  On the radio I love P!nk and Ed Sheeran – I totally want to fix up my daughter with him, so they can have a flock of adorable redheaded baby girls and start a traveling quintet.  (She’s seventeen; it’s almost legal.  I just want what’s best for me her, ya know?)

3.   What is a life quote of yours?  I posted about this before – it’s also my favorite shirt:

shirtfront4.   Where do you find solace?  Like that corny Johnny Lee song, I look for it in all the wrong places – at the bottom of a giant bag of popcorn, inside a cereal box, in the arms of Ben and Jerry.  I don’t ever FIND it there (you’d think I’d learn to look somewhere else first….)

Where I actually FIND it varies.  In nature, it’s around water, or around giant rocks.  Sometimes it’s at the end of a run, hike, or a bike ride.  Sometimes it’s on the clearance rack at the shoe store.  Oh – and in butterflies.  Seeing a butterfly makes me feel peaceful.  I have convinced myself that butterflies are spirits coming to check on me to make sure I’m doing OK. (Sorry, Grandma, for bouncing you off my windshield the other day.  Love you.)

5.   What are three triggers you have?  Well, if I’m in *that* mood, I can make anything a trigger.  But through therapy (and wild guesses) I have identified some common triggers that make me feel fat AND give me an insatiable desire for ice cream, popcorn, and an entire jar of peanut butter:

  • Feeling irrelevant among my loved ones (especially the kids when they don’t “need” me.) 
  • Feeling self-conscious or un-confident. 
  • Any of HALT:  Getting too hungry, angry, lonely, or tired.  Or hormonal.  But that ruins the cool acronym.  THALH?  HALT-H? (uh, no, that sounds like a hemorrhoid cream.  Let’s just stick to HALT and assume hormones are in the mix.)

6.   Insert your favorite meme in the space below- Well, it’s NOT the one above.  That one just makes me sad.  And cold.  I like this one better:

helltoupee(Note that I got the little booger thing over the E there.  I keep it classy, yo.)

7.   What is a coping mechanism you use to combat your mental situation? I do my best to take care of myself – getting regular exercise and adequate sleep (or trying; some nights it’s more like “well, just lie here and rest….SHUT UP, BRAIN, your ONLY JOB for the next seven hours is to BREATHE.”  Suffice it to say it doesn’t always work.  OK, it hardly ever works.) 

I also try to remind myself that it’s cyclical; I know Sunday nights will be bad, as will every 4th or 5th week.  I just keep repeating to myself, “In a few days, this will be better….” over and over again.  I really should write myself some Post-It notes or something, right?

Oh, and I swear.  A lot.  Violently, rapidly, and voraciously.  F#@% YEAH!

8.   When you sit down to write a blog post, where does your inspiration come from?  Alien probes, subliminal messages from the government, pesticides, and high fructose corn syrup.  Or the hubs, my Facebook feed, funky shoes, and my cats.  (I’m not anywhere near as deep as a Pennsylvania pothole.)

9.   Right here, right now, say something to the person who has hurt you the most, beginning with, “I promise to…”  I promise to not junk-punch you if I ever see you again.  Mentally (as I mentioned elsewhere today) I’ll be dumping week-old clam chowder on your head, but I promise to appear to be cordial.  You KNOW that’s generous; I suggest you take it and back away slowly.

10. What one regret do you hold onto that you wish you could let go of?  I sincerely wish I had been kinder to my college boyfriend. 

He was my first relationship after a badly broken heart, and I used the relationship with him to play out all my anger, anxieties, and frustrations of the prior one.  I relentlessly messed with his head and repeatedly broke his heart – simply because my former boyfriend had broken mine.  Essentially, I used the poor guy to get my revenge on my prior love.  I know it was a crappy thing to do, but I was far too broken myself to recognize it. 

So Dean, if you’re out there, I’m sorry – you were a decent fellow who always deserved so much better. 

11. What’s the most valuable piece of advice someone has given to you?  “You miss all the shots you don’t take.”  Apply for that job, ask that guy out, bid on the shoes!  The answer is always NO unless and until you ask!  

OK, so now I have to list some folks to take on my questions list.  I’m sure you’ll find this stimulating and thought-provoking.  <snort>

  1. What is your favorite shoe?  (If you can’t answer this, we cannot be friends.)
  2. You won a million dollars.  What random gift would you send me?  (Wine is never the wrong answer)
  3. If you were going to go to a deserted island, and could only take three things, WHY WOULD YOU GO IN THE FIRST PLACE?
  4. What’s the scariest thing on your bucket list – and when are you doing it?
  5. What movie, song, or comic book hero most closely represents YOU/your life?
  6. What did you want to be when you grew up?
  7. You have to give up one of your five senses.  Which do you sacrifice and why?
  8. You have a seven-week sabbatical from work – paid time off.  Whatcha gonna do?
  9. What skill do you wish you had?
  10. What do you find most intimidating?  Most motivating?
  11. Do you believe in ghosts, spirits, the afterlife?  Why or why not?

NOMINEES:

whereshappy

tatisgalaxy

sinsandsecrets

peaceof8

8 + 3 = 11 so I think we’re all done here.  School of Close Enough gives me a B+, so…peace out, y’all.  🙂

The Unproductive Habits of Food Disordered People

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We all have bad habits.  Right?

I have a lifelong habit of biting my nails.  Lest you think I’m a freak – only fingernails, and only my own.  And more specifically, I’m really just chewing off ragged cuticles and evening out chips.

But still, I know it’s kinda gross.  It’s unsanitary (dude, hands touch EVERYTHING.)  Plus, I had braces not once, but TWICE as a kid – and I’m sure the gnawing and chipping does nothing for proper tooth alignment.  And, most importantly, try as I might, I can’t seem to find nutritional information for fingernails.  (Most likely because I haven’t looked.  Because if I look, I might find out that fingernails actually HAVE calories. And if this is true, I’ll have to log it on my food tracker.  And heaven knows I don’t need one more thing to obsess over in the eating department.  I can totally see me looking at my hands at day’s end, going, “I bit off FOUR nails today!” and proceeding to run maniacally around the block and frantically doing 50 jumping jacks to burn it off.  Or saying “eff it” and diving headfirst into a bag of popcorn and hating both myself and the fat sad sack I have become.  Yeah, probably the latter, since it’s bikini season.)

The hubs has noticed.  He knows better than to complain about it (Obviously, I bite.)  But one day, we were wandering through a drugstore, and he hands me something and says, “Look, honey – snack chips!”

snackchips

Har dee har har.  <eyeroll>

Part of the problem was that my nails just wouldn’t grow all that much before they made like fashion denim and ripped, chipped, and tore.  Once you have an uneven nail, or a ripped cuticle, you sort of have to address it, right?  I mean, it’s like having your slip showing, except on your hands, and it’s a ratty, tatted slip that really SHOULD have gone in the garbage, but you forgot (read: fell asleep in front of the TV) to do laundry, so….Easiest answer is to bite it off. <snap> <ptoo>

Over the years, I’ve made several attempts at ending the phalangical feast.  And I am proud to say I am doing better:

growingback See that ONE ragged cuticle there?  I DIDN’T BITE IT OFF.   yet  GO ME!

(On a side note – I had some stomach/malabsorption issues a few years ago; I was pretty low on a lot of vitamins, iron, etc.  After over a year of testing, poking, prodding, and biopsying, my doctor threw up her hands and said “Try giving up wheat.”  And after about six months of a wheat-free diet, the above pic is how much the whites of my nails have grown in about eight days.  So, while medically, I very clearly didn’t have celiac….something was glitched up in glutenville.)

As I work toward recovery for a lifetime of food issues, I have come to realize that I have a ton of really unproductive food habits.  I’m going to list them here – one, for self-awareness; two, to hold myself accountable…to some of them, anyway.  (I’m not freaking Mother Teresa – give me a C for effort here.)

1.  Eating in front of a screen.  Yes, I know what all the studies say – if you eat while you’re doing something else, you won’t “notice” your level of satiety.  But, darn it, I LIKE entertaining my mouth when my brain is pigging out on the televised version of junk food.

Plus, during the week, I eat my lunch while I’m working – I can get out of the office a little sooner that way.  Since I often have to work until 7, every minute of daylight counts.  So, in the spirit of full disclosure, I won’t be working too hard on this one.

However…when we bought our house, we actually built an addition on it to make sure we had ROOM for a dining table.  The construction loan’s paid off, so maybe I should use the space for more than storing Kohl’s coupons and scrapbooking supplies.

I don’t cook every evening, but on the evenings I DO make dinner, I’m sure it wouldn’t kill me to sit at an actual table with the hubs and eat, undistracted, and chat about our day.  Heck, it might even nourish our marriage a bit.

So how about I shoot for two dinners a week at the table?

2.  Eating out of a giant bag.  Curse you, Costco, and your ginormous sacks of salty and sweet munchable deliciousness.  Some of your snacks are packaged in such a way that one bag has- wait, lemme look….

ZOMG

TWENTY-TWO SERVINGS.

WHAT.

HOW IS THIS EVEN LEGAL.  Didn’t Obama pass something addressing this with the Affordable Care Act?  I mean these suckers are larger than most airlines allow for a carryon (and NO, I will NOT be checking my popcorn, thankyouverymuch.)

Give me a standard, grocery-store bag of popcorn, and I can EASILY chomp my way through it in a single sitting.  NOT EVEN A CHALLENGE.  Chip clips are for QUITTERS, yo! This means I can do some SERIOUS damage on Costco’s monster face-troughs that I swear I am NOT BUYING THIS TIME but somehow inexplicably make it into my house anyway.

While I haven’t plowed through an entire bag in one sitting yet, I can certainly polish it off in two sessions, and I think the only reason I HAVEN’T finished one in one swoop is because I’m mortified that I actually COULD.  (Plus, here’s what happens when I get dangerously close to doing so.)

So what I’m trying to do is not sit down with one of these things, because that’d be like sitting on the sofa next to Adam Levine and promising to look, but don’t touch.

(Adam Levine…mmmm….did I mention I bite?)

<cough> Sorry.  BUT HE’S SO PRETTY.

Anyway, I’ll measure out a reasonable portion and sit down with that.  One day, maybe I’ll just haphazardly pour out a bowl WITHOUT measuring it….but that will be after the genie grants me three wishes (a billion dollars, the ability to fly, and the ability to cancel out calories on any foods I wish.)

3.  It’s all or nothing.  Ladies?  You’ve done this, right?  Meticulously followed the diet for several days, and then dared to sample a Hershey’s Kiss or a peanut butter cup, and the entire dam broke, flooding your gut with whatever you could rapid-fire throw down your pie hole?

Why do we do this?  I mean, when I get a flat tire, the smart thing to do is call AAA.  The stupid thing to do is pull over, get out my gun, and shoot out the other three tires, the headlights, and the windshield.

BUT WE ALL DO THIS.

While I think AAA has had stranger calls, I won’t plan to bother them with my tales of unharnessed gluttony.  But I do need to find a way to interrupt the broadcast.  I can:

  • Go for a walk, a run, a bike ride.
  • Drink water (see below.)
  • Plan out the next day’s healthy food.
  • Go pull weeds.  (There’s ALWAYS something to rip out of the ground….)
  • Do my nails (hard to eat with wet nails!)
  • Whine about it here.  🙂

4.  Drink enough water.  During the week, I’m pretty good about this.  I drink two twelve-ounce glasses in the morning, adding a third if I went for a run.  I drink 20 oz of herbal tea and 20 oz of hot water (because I’m chronically freezing) while at work.  I’ll try to get 1-2 more glasses at home in the evenings.  Also, I need to keep up the fluids on weekends (besides wine.  WHY CAN’T THAT COUNT <sobs>)

It’s been said that it takes 21 days to break a habit.  Frankly, I call BS on that (and so does this article, which states it can be upwards of 245 days or more.)  And I’ve been trapped in this food funhouse since I was ten years old, so maybe it’s me, and not the habit, that needs breaking.

But if I can do just one thing a tiny bit healthier than how I did it before?  That’s progress.  Some days, I might be hanging by a fingertip from the edge of a cliff – but as long as I don’t let go – as long as I keep hanging on – I have a shot at getting two (well-manicured) fingers up there tomorrow.

I’ll get there one finger at a time.

Sanctuary on a Sunday

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Sundays are hard.

I don’t know why this is – I mean, I don’t hate my job, so it’s not a dread for Monday or anything.  Could be something as simple as a couple days off from the regular routine, I suppose – differing hours of sleep; variation in eating patterns (and more likely to be consuming things I shouldn’t be eating, like fat, sugar, salt, sugar, and sugar.  Oh, and sugar.)

So today, I was visiting the in-laws with the hubs and all of our kids.  I feel like I need to clarify something here – my in-laws freaking ROCK.  I married their only child, and they’ve totally adopted us – not only me as a daughter, but my kids as their grandchildren.  (Which means that my kids have way, way too many Christmases.  Three sets of grandparents will do that for you.  Lucky them.)

My mother-in-law is the sweetest person ever, and she spoils us rotten.  Unfortunately for me, this usually means she’s got our favorite treats prepared when we come to visit.  This weekend, for example, she had at the ready two batches of cookies, a pumpkin pie, a sheet of apple pie squares, chocolate pudding (the good kind that you have to cook, not that crappy instant pseudo-pudding that tastes like sad puppies), and vanilla ice cream AND whipped cream to top them off.  WE WERE ONLY GONNA BE THERE FOR 24 HOURS.  Sigh.  Oh, and there was wine. 

I walked into this temptation trap after a week of overeating – and yesterday, when I took a picture of my tattoo, I saw how fat and squishy my back has gotten, and…just…ugh.

Boom.  And there it goes.

It’s no surprise that I overate, right?

So today, I’ve been anxious and restless.  My mind has had more deer flies than the standing water in a swamp.

You’re so fat. 

Your thighs are HUGE. 

Look at that back fat. 

Everything squishes where your clothes touch you. 

You look pregnant in that shirt.  All the lumps show.

I tried batting them away, attempting to distract myself with something – anything.  But you can only swat so many away before you’re drained, sore, and defeated.

And, as bizarre as it sounds, while I’m degrading myself for taking up so much space, I simultaneously CANNOT STOP THINKING ABOUT FOOD.  I want ice cream.  Popcorn.  Pudding.  Ice cream.  Pizza.  Cookies.   Ice cream.  Peanut butter.  ICE CREAM.

I’m in the uncomfortable, illogical dichotomy of wanting to eat and wanting to be thin.

I hate the wanting.

I decided that I needed to get out of the house for a while.  Because it was sunny and bright outside, and the sun makes me feel better.  It was really warm, which meant no one else would want to tag along.

(Side note:  Midwesterners are weird.  They’re absolutely stoic in January when it’s 26 degrees below 0 – they actually SIT OUTSIDE and go ice fishing and drink beer and stuff AND THINK THIS IS FUN – but turn the heat up above 80 with just a TOUCH of humidity and they wilt like a puff of cotton candy at the State Fair. I’d like to see them survive a DC summer, where we counted 90/90 days – over 90 degrees and over 90% humidity.  Being an orchid, that’s my kind of weather.  But the locals whine and complain, and I return the favor when the temperature dips below freezing.  Or below sixty.  Like I said, I’m an orchid.)

(Additional side note:  26 below 0 is stupid cold.  I mean beyond OMG and WTF.  This is a new level of cold.  You can actually throw a pot of boiling water in the air and it freezes before it hits the ground.  And one time?  A friend of mine took a deep breath outside on one of those mornings, and his PORCELAIN TOOTH SHATTERED.  Like I said.  Stupid cold.)

Recently, the hubs installed a trailer hitch on my truck, and we invested in a really good bike rack so we could take more rides in more interesting places than around our neighborhood.  I had brought my bike along for this overnight trip thinking that I might need some exercise (because food – see above.)

I was so glad I did.

I headed out, not having any clue where I wanted to go.  The in-laws live in a very rural area; while there aren’t really many landmarks, or road signs, if you don’t turn you can’t get lost, right?

It was hot, but there was a great breeze.   There were lots of hills, but the sun warmed my skin and sweetened the bitter messages my brain had been telling me.  I pedaled faster.

And it was a gorgeous day.  Plenty of gorgeous wildflowers:

lake2I saw some bulls – with REALLY intimidating horns – chilling right next to the road.  Clouds of butterflies and flocks of ducks scattered as I rode past.  A wild turkey crossed the road a few feet ahead of me.

And there were lakes everywhere.

Lake18.6 miles later, I felt a bit better.  With that sort of scenery, how could you not?

I’m home now, and unfortunately, I’m still fat.  I really need to hunker down and focus on eating healthy amounts of food, and eliminate some bad habits (OK, destructive patterns.  I’m trying here, people.)

But my journey to seek the sun nudged the beat-myself-up-meter just a little to the left. I’m disappointed in my body, sure.  I wish I hadn’t indulged in so many treats.  And I certainly am not looking forward to this week’s weigh-in.

But despite its flaws, my body did something well today.  I rode hard and rode well, uphill (yes, both ways were uphill, you weren’t there so you don’t know) in the hot sun.

I rode my way to just a little piece of sanctuary for my soul.

Despite all the things I still need to work on, I can be thankful for the ability to do that.

The Road to Recovery Has Potholes and Pitfalls

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I haven’t written anything about food issues in a while.  This wasn’t intentional, nor was it any sort of avoidance.

I just haven’t had anything dramatic to write about.

It’s been nearly three weeks since I wrote about food – at the time, I had a pretty typical binge, followed by a couple days of pretty hardcore restricting (for the uninitiated, that’s where you really don’t eat….anything.)

But since then?  It’s been…fairly quiet.  While I recognize that this isn’t exactly “recovery,” it’s still progress.  There are a lot of things I’ve done right these last couple of weeks:

1.  I’ve been eating a fairly healthy 1200 calories a day.  I do want to drop a couple of pounds, so yes, I’ve been tracking and measuring my food…BUT I’ve been doing it in a way that I’m sure the Weight Watchers Wizards would approve:

  • I’ve started most days with a smoothie – made with REAL food, thankyouverymuch, no Frankenfood or lab-created powders.
  • Mid-day, I’ve had a healthy lunch AND a snack
  • In the evening, I prepared a sensible dinner followed by a SMALL treat (vs. an entire bag of treats.  Do NOT underestimate how big this is.)

2.  I have been running 3-4 times a week.   Regular exercise helps me burn off all that extra angst/cortisol so I can think, focus, and eventually sleep.

Side note:  If you don’t know what cortisol is, CLEARLY you don’t read the same magazines I do, because it’s the Cristiano Ronaldo of hormones these days. 

Wait…you don’t know who that is, either?  HE ONLY HAS LIKE A HUNDRED MILLION FACEBOOK FRIENDS YO. 

Sigh.  Cristiano Ronaldo’s boring page about sports and why you should care.  (Go directly to #4.  YOU’RE WELCOME)

<snaps fingers>  Focus?  FOCUS.

Back to cortisol.  Essentially, it’s the fight-or-flight hormone.  Your body makes it as a response to stress; it prepares the body physically to handle running from (or stabbing) a rabid bear, or a tough jungle swing over the swamp to avoid alligators or whatever.

Nowadays, we don’t have too many legit physical stressors.  Instead, we valiantly fight things like rush hour, IT issues, or Facebook drama.  So our bodies pump out all this cortisol, prepping us for battle…and we don’t burn it off.  Confused, our bodies make us crave sugar, build abdominal fat, and give us a lot of stomachaches.  YAY.  (Read more about cortisol here.)

3.  I was BEING KIND TO MYSELF.  I bought a couple of new dresses that, if I may say so, make me look fabulous.  And I FEEL fabulous in them.  <struts runway-style in front of picture window and checks self out>

In all the above, I wasn’t getting crazy sauce all over the walls DOING any of this.  I actually didn’t measure out my lettuce for my salads.  (Yes, people with eating disorders do this.  Because lettuce DOES HAVE CALORIES and THEY ADD UP.  OK, I’m still measuring mustard, BUT THIS IS STILL PROGRESS SO SHUT IT)  And on a couple of days, I actually went OVER 1200 calories by a few, and I – miracle of miracles – just shrugged and figured it’d all even out.

Whoa.  Who is this goddess of zen?

I was feeling pretty victorious at this point. CHAMPION WARRIOR MODE

catunicornwarriorToday I was PLANNING TO WRITE about how great I was doing – and last night – LAST NIGHT – this happened:

badguysposter

<sigh>

The frustrating thing is that I don’t know what triggered this.  I wasn’t hurting.  I wasn’t angry.   The hubs and I haven’t fought – nor have I fought with him in my head instead of out loud – in several days.  I was a little tired, sure, but show me any woman in her 40s with teenagers and a full-time job who isn’t, right?

I suppose I may have simply just been too hungry.  Hmm…actually, the more I think about it, the more this makes sense.  I was playing a variety of sport-like games outside with my son – Wiffle ball, kickball, basketball –  and I remember feeling completely out of gas.  I mean, I’m not normally channeling Michael Jordan or anything – remember, I’m no athlete – but I could NOT make a SINGLE basket yesterday.

When we came inside, I thought maybe I needed a snack.  And that’s precisely where the dam broke.

It started with the popcorn – yes, the king-sized pillow bag from Costco; WHY DO I LET THESE INTO MY HOUSE – and half a bag and a Concrete Mixer later, I was filled to the brim with junk food and regret.

This morning, I feel pretty sick (well, DUH, what exactly were your expectations after eating half a silo of cheese popcorn, Princess?)  It’s a veritable food hangover.  I’m bloated and headachy; my stomach is rebelling like a cat who’s been trapped in a closet for fourteen hours and recently got out and promptly shredded the curtains.

It’s my own fault, I know.

But instead of hanging my soul on a hook in the basement and using it as a punching bag, let me see if I can learn from this.

What can I do differently next time?

When I get past the point of being hungry, I should start with a small, measured snack (measured simply so I don’t finish the entire package of whatever) to see if that alleviates the feeling.

I need to accept that some days I’ll be hungrier than others, and I need to trust my body to TELL me that it needs food.

Right now, my body’s so accustomed to being ignored, it only whispers, so I’ll need to pay really close attention.  That’s the hard part; I’ve spent so much of my life telling myself to shut up and denying the basic need for food that I truly have little idea what genuine hunger feels like.

This morning, I’m determined.  I had a couple of really, really good weeks running on the road to recovery.  But sometimes, you get distracted by the scenery and forget to watch for potholes.  So I tripped and fell.

Today, I’m brushing the dust off.  Taking a couple of tentative steps.  Hmm.  Nothing’s broken. It stings a little, but it’s only a skinned knee and a lightly bruised ego.

It’ll heal.  I think I can keep running.

The Sisterhood of the World Bloggers Award (and All About My Cats)

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SisterhoodAwardThanks so much to Nikki at Undiagnosed Warrior for this nomination!  If you, or someone you know, struggles with chronic illness – one that frustrates the medical community in the diagnosis and/or treatment – this is one of the many blogs you should be reading, because you’ll find someone who understands.  (You should follow all the blogs on the nominations list, too.  Because I only read awesome stuff.)

The Rules:  Answer 10 questions, and then nominate 7 other bloggers for this award (asking them to complete these 10 questions, too.) 

First, the questions:

Why do you have a blog? 

My first post goes into more detail on why I started writing, but here’s a summary:

I started this blog a few months ago as a “brain dump.”  I was in a pretty dark place with my “food issues” (let’s be real here – it’s an eating disorder, even if I’m not hooked up to an IV at the moment, right?); I was suffering some spiritual attacks from my spouse; and then my dad nearly died and I was quickly sucked into a whirlpool of self-destruction and I couldn’t keep my head above water anymore.

So I committed to getting well.  As part of that, I needed a safe place to let my brain work out what was really bothering me – after all, it’s never really TRULY about the food.  And now, a few months later, I’m not entirely sure what “well” will look like – but things look markedly less bleak from this end.  And when the shadows do come, they don’t stay for quite as long.

I think that’s progress.

What inspires you the most? 

Wow, great question.  I think, sadly, I’m often inspired (or, rather, motivated) by success – or by the ability to stay in control.  (Hello, part of the problem, maybe?)

But I’m also inspired by the incredible beauty in nature.

DSC03099

lillies

Favorite animal and why?

I’m two cats shy of Crazy Cat Lady status.  I have three.  In true CCL form, let me talk about them a little too much:

This is Carrot.  (Because how cool is it to have an orange cat named Carrot?) Carrot (Yes, I know.  I don’t make my bed.  Judge if you must.  Just not gonna happen.)

I got him in 2005; he was two or three at the time and his past four owners had…died.  I was newly divorced, had relocated for a job, and wanted a “forever friend” – so we rescued each other.  (Aw.  Barf.)

He’s my intuitive cat; he comes to me when I need emotional support.  This one seems to be a thinker.  The hubs tells me “there’s a lot going on in that cat’s head.”   You can see it when you look at him, ya know?  He’s also the only cat in the house without an eating disorder.

Then we have Eileen – Lena for short.  BECAUSE SHE ONLY HAS THREE LEGS.  (I kill me.)  LenaLena is sometimes referred to as “the fat sack of basement hate.”  She HATES, with a fiery passion, our other cats.  She’s always hissing at our 3rd cat (to be fair, he is quite literally sniffing up her butt much of the time; I’d hiss too.) She loves people, though, and will snuggle and purr for weeks at a time.

In addition to being obese, she’s also bulimic.  She binge-eats when she can get away with it, and on many a morning, I wander into the basement and stumble upon the aftereffects of Barfageddon.  (Note – Baby wipes do a nice job spot-cleaning carpet. You’re welcome.)

Oh, and I’d say she’s as dumb as a post….but no post ever insulted ME, so I won’t go there.  Sweet purring ball of fur….nobody home when the doorbell rings.  Complete and total mental vacancy.  Intellectual abyss.

And then we have….Oliver.

OliverOliver is also obese.  Of no help to his appearance is that he has a disproportionately small head.  But he’s totally adorable.

He’s kind of…special.  On one hand, he’s the only cat that I was able to teach tricks to – he can sit up and beg for treats.  But then on the other hand, simple devices like doors completely baffle him.  In his mind, doors are push, not pull.  ALWAYS.  He’s locked himself into many a bathroom when the door was open….<push> <click>

Oh, and on more than one occasion, we’ve come home to find that he literally could NOT find his way out of a paper bag – he’d have his legs stuck in the handles, flying around the room with the bag flapping and crackling like a has-been super hero cape.

Oh, and (TMI WARNING:  If you’re easily grossed out, and/or you don’t think puke is funny, skip ahead.)  He thinks Lena is a vending machine.  He hears her starting to gag (which sounds like “bluck, bluck, bluck, bluckbluckblubulck <splat>) and he comes running like an overzealous janitor to perform Cleanup in Aisle 5.  WARM MOIST TREAT TIME!  YUMMO.  It’s disgusting…and hilarious.

(OK, squeamish delicate types can resume reading now.)

What is your favorite color?

Orange – no question.  (I’ll bet you intuitive types have figured that out.)  I’m told that this is unusual….but I love the bright, optimistic energy of a rich orange.  Fall leaves and orange lilies are my favorites!  (Which explains my profile picture.  We went out on a sunny day with a camera seeking the perfect shade of orange and came back with over 100 shots of trees and leaves!)

Do you prefer the ocean or mountains?

That’s a tough one.  I don’t like to be cold and I don’t care for sand.  But both are truly soothing to the soul, and I always feel refreshed and re-energized when I go.

Sunset1Honestly, I think I just like really big rocks.  (That sounds dirty, but trust me, I mean it in a nature-y way.  Which still sounds dirty.  Never mind.  NEXT QUESTION.)

Tea or coffee?

HOW IS THIS EVEN A QUESTION.  COFFEECOFFEECOFFEECOFFEE

Actually, to be fair, I HAVE cut back considerably. I only have ONE cup of coffee a day now.  (Yes, it holds 24 ounces.  It STILL COUNTS AS ONE CUP.  SHUT UP.  I NEED IT.)

I drink it black, because anything else isn’t coffee, it’s dessert.  Plus, I don’t want the metabolism of sugar and cream to slow down the slap-yo-momma-HELLO jolt I get from my morning cup of personality.   (And OK, yeah, calories are an issue, obviously.  So I drink it black and look like a badass.)

After my AM coffee, I do switch to herbal decaf tea, and I do like it.  Sleep is often elusive, so I cut out the caffeine after noon.

How many languages can you speak?

Before coffee?  Caveman.  After?  Much closer to English.

What made you happy today?

This year, the hubs and I bought some Adirondack chairs for the yard – for the sole purpose of sitting outside and reading.

I spent some time today doing just that.  How can this view make you feel anything but joy and peace?  I mean – look at that sky:

OutsideWhat is your dream?

Usually, it’s one where I’m not prepared for something.  Like, college starts tomorrow, and I haven’t registered for classes, nor found a place to live.  Or I have my senior recital tomorrow, and I haven’t finalized the songs, OR the program, and don’t have an accompanist yet.

Wait.  What?

Oh. You mean my personal wish-for dream.  Okay.  I want to win Powerball. The first thing I would do?  Take my alarm clock out to the driveway and back over it repeatedly with my truck.  Then I’d learn how to play guitar and I’d perform in coffeehouses singing folk songs and ballads and donate the money to charity.  Would I quit my job?  Not actively, but after a few days, I bet they figure it out.  😉

What is your favorite food?

Pizza is the shiz-bomb-dealio. END OF DISCUSSION.

Oh, and to be PERFECTLY CLEAR – it has to be “real” pizza.   None of this arugula, water chestnut, pineapple, and broccoli crap.  That is NOT pizza.  That is disappointment pie, and we are NOT having any of THAT in THIS HOUSE.

Red sauce (or white, I’m all about diversity!), cheese (do not even THINK of messing with this) and a host of other toppings will work.  But don’t be going freak show on my pizza.  I will get REAL ugly up in your oven, yo.

Aaaaand my seven nominations:

karmasarma (love her drawings!)

Mermaid in a Mudslide (love the variety)

Remember the Good Stuff (very uplifting)

The Persistent Platypus (I keep saying this – contagious energy)

Living with Confidence (great messages, makes me think)

Fixed on the Son (I love her look and her energy)

Living to Thrive (Positivity with chronic illness)

Thank you all for being an inspiration in so many ways!  Hugs, love, glitter. Barf.  🙂

Self-Improvement, Interrupted

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After coming off of your last therapy appointment, you spend a week attempting, once again, to be thin.  You’ve lost relevance with your spouse, and with your kids, and really, with life in general, and punishing yourself by starvation seems to be the only appropriate action, the only thing that will make a discernible, desirable difference.

At the end of the week, you fall off the wagon just a bit (OK, a lot) with a leftover half-bag of Doritos (which you don’t even LIKE, but whatever.)  This is followed by your childhood favorite, a Reese’s peanut butter cup sundae from Friendly’s, the five-scoop, which, incidentally, has more calories than you normally permit yourself in a single day.

You catch your breath.  Refocus.  This isn’t working, clearly, and you WANTED to get WELL this year, right?  Beating yourself up with hot fudge and a maraschino cherry when your soul is starving for meaning isn’t exactly super effective towards the desired result.

You remember recently downloading a book that you thought at one time might help you. It’s sitting on your Kindle, in the front of the queue of books.  You have a two-hour plane ride ahead of you, so why not?

Resolutely, you drive to the airport, drinking lots of water to flush your system of the excess sugar.  Upon arrival at the airport, you notice just a touch of hunger.  Instantly, your stomach reminds you of the food court.  There’s pizza there.  You decide that you’re going to do a better job of LISTENING to your body, instead of mentally flogging yourself every time it asks, very politely, to be fed.

You peruse the pizza.  Even though you know you’re not supposed to eat wheat, if it’s pizza your body wants, you shall have it.  You look, and are surprised to discover that the pizza actually doesn’t look all that appetizing.  Wait – pizza doesn’t look good?  Nope. What you really would like is some cheese popcorn.  You stand there for a moment, amazed.  This listening to your body actually works!  You find a small bag of all-natural popcorn and eat every kernel.

Once you’ve boarded, you dive into the book. Meh. It’s OK.  It doesn’t tell you anything earth-shattering – trust your body, listen to what you need.  Get some sleep, exercise.  Focus on what you’re eating, and what makes you feel good – and what doesn’t.  Once you detox, she says, your body will TELL you, definitively, what it needs.  Except the author’s pretty sure you don’t need sugar, dairy, wheat, corn, soy, or caffeine.  (Hmph.  She’s clearly never tried to listen to MY body at 7 AM.)  Experience your emotions; don’t eat them away.

You finish the book quickly on the plane.  Despite the anti-coffee stance (she will pull the coffee out of your cold, dead hands, after a battle where both sides will be hurting, BAD) and the lack of depth, you actually feel…pretty good.  A bit re-energized.  You decide that you CAN get better.  You CAN have feelings. You CAN express your emotions instead of eating them.

And you’ll start tonight – instead of turning inward, sulking about how difficult Sunday nights are – instead of binging on the contents of your pantry while hating yourself and the fat, sodden mess you’ve become – you will, in a very mature fashion, tell your spouse what you need to help you cope.

You can do this!

Head held high, you pick up your luggage (it’s actually arrived, and in a timely fashion – this is a good sign!)  You walk out to the pickup area where your loving husband is waiting for you.

You get in the car.

And, rather quickly, it becomes clear that he is NOT in a good mood.  At all. Issues with the ex, you know.  She’s admittedly giving him a hard time, but….

You let him rant for the full twenty-minute ride home.   You can give him this; you can speak up later.

And once you get home, he insists you look at some artwork he’s getting for his car.  Now.  Before the bags get unloaded, before anything else is tended to.

You take a deep breath.  You have needs, and you need to respect the relationship enough to let him know.

You start to speak.

Instantly, you’re scolded.   You physically recoil as his words slap you – he’s had a rough day, he’s EARNED this rant, he doesn’t NORMALLY rant about this but he NEEDED to today!  And so on.

Chastised, you retreat. You apologize.  You reassure him that OF COURSE it’s FINE to rant; that you truly appreciate him picking you up from the airport and OF COURSE he doesn’t usually rant for the whole ride; that you’re sorry; that it isn’t him, it’s just your issues, and you are sorry he’s dealing with this, sorry you interrupted when he needed you, sorry, sorry, so very, deeply sorry.

Inwardly, you apologize for having needs.  You apologize for existing.

He goes on to spend the evening preparing for a “discussion” (read: showdown) with his ex later in the week – of course, on one of the nights you both normally have free.

Desperate to fill the empty, gaping hole that the reprimand left – the raw place created by you daring to not only have needs, but express them – with something, anything – you reach for an industrial-sized bag of treats from Costco.  It’s about half-empty.

You finish the entire thing.

And you hate the fat, sodden mess you’ve become.

Clearly, this isn’t working.

You catch your breath. You drink some water to flush out the onslaught of sugar.  You weigh and measure a two-hundred calorie portion of food to take to work the next day.  You lay out your running clothes so you can start your day with a calorie deficit.

The next day, after determinedly sticking to your meager rations, you come home from work, where you find your husband feeding rich ice cream treats to his two (very thin!) boys.  He asks you if you want any. Of course, the answer is “no thank you.”  You quickly plan to skip dinner, as your spouse will be so involved with planning his “conversation” with his ex, that he won’t even notice.

You measure out two hundred calories for the next day’s meals.

You lay out your running clothes for your AM calorie burn.

You resolve, once again, to be thin.

Conceivably, then you’ll be worthy of feelings.

Perhaps then you’ll be deserving of the needs you have.

And maybe, just maybe, you’ll have earned your husband’s love.  Or attention.

But if not, at least you’ll be thin.

That may have to be enough.

I Was in It for the Frosting

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Today, I need to write about something different.

It’s about a darker time in my life.  A time I’m not proud of; a time where I’d use an “undo” button if there ever was one.

But as I work on recovery, I feel the need to purge my soul of this.  I don’t pretend that simply writing it out has any impact whatsoever in undoing any hurt or pain I may have caused.  I acknowledge that it’s probably selfish of me to post about it at all; I really should carry the pain to my grave.

I hope in reading this that you will be able to continue to accept me, warts and all, as a flawed, damaged human being who royally screwed something up.

And perhaps – just maybe – I can reach someone else who’s toyed with making the same mistake.  And if I ask the universe for forgiveness, maybe I can finally start to forgive myself.

Affairs are like this: Imagine that you love cake.

Cake is sweet and moist. It comes in a variety of flavors. It’s a treat. It’s something you have for special occasions; on days worth celebrating. Cake highlights and underlines events, transforming them from “ordinary day” to “celebration”.

And the reason we eat cake? FROSTING. Gooey, sweet, decadent. It comes in many colors. It adds beauty, flavor, and pleasure to your cake experience. Let’s face it: Cake is the avenue by which it’s socially acceptable to eat spoonfuls of sugar and fat mixed together. Casually nosh on a stick of butter rolled in sugar, and people will raise eyebrows; whip it and place it artistically atop three layers of cake, and you’re a genius.

And you love frosting so much that not only do you covet the corner piece with the largest frosting flowers, you also, when no one is watching, run the spatula just a little bit to the side to pick up the frosting borders that others have left behind, saying, “It’s too sweet, it’s too much.” You also pick up that super-thin, extra-moist layer of cake often left on the serving board. That smear of cake, mixed with forkfuls of frosting, is absolutely heavenly. It’s the very best part of cake.

Imagine now that you have heard, through a friend of a friend, that there is an elaborate tea party planned at the fanciest local hotel. Many prominent members of the community will be attending; it’s rumored that some well-known celebrities will be there. You know the venue well; it’s a glamorous space, replete with luxurious, graceful silk drapes and chandeliers rich with sparkle and shine.

You didn’t receive an invitation, but your friend says that he knows someone who is working the event, and he’s quite sure he can get you in. There will be cake, he says, and he knows how much you love cake.

The day of the event, you don your prettiest dress. You fuss with your hair and carefully select jewelry and shoes that communicate sophistication and quiet glamour.

When you arrive at the event, you notice the other attendees. Ladies are dressed in their finest frocks, complete with pearls, slingbacks, and even gloves! You look down at your outfit and wonder if you’re underdressed.

You glance at a passerby and notice, in her hand, a richly embossed invitation that exudes understated refinement. A bellman, impeccably dressed in a crisp uniform, begins to admit the patrons. The attendees start to enter the hotel, handing their invitations to the bellman.

You glance around wildly. You don’t, of course, have an invitation of your own, and you can only stand outside for so long before others start to stare. After most of the guests have gone inside, you finally see, out of the corner of your eye, your friend waving to you from the side of the building. Relieved, you go to him.

Your friend takes your elbow, and walks you around the side of the hotel. He guides you down a side alley, which is littered with an empty fast-food bag and a few abandoned fries. You notice a skittering as a small mouse scampers away from the scattered crumbs.

Your friend turns the corner, and you find yourself at the back of the building. The wall is the same gray, stained, industrial concrete as the stoop, beside which is a dumpster.

“Wait here,” your friend says, as he enters the back door.

As he enters the building, you stand outside, waiting. There’s a window in the door, and when you peer through, you first see the kitchen on the right. It’s clean and bustling, as servers and chefs perform their elaborate waltz.

You continue to watch, taking your gaze to the left. You gasp. The hotel is elegant, beautiful, refined. The chandeliers are shining, sending glittery twinkling sparkle all around. And the flowers! Copious volumes of the whitest, fattest blooms are everywhere, adding to the gorgeous, glamorous picture.

It’s magical. It’s breathtaking.

You watch the guests as they are seated. The staff gracefully begin to serve tea. You notice the ringing of spoons stirring sugar into delicate fine teacups; you hear the sophisticated laughter of happiness and delight.

And then you see the cake.

The cake is absolutely stunning. It’s at least four feet tall, and eloquently decorated. Opulent layers of rich, pearl-white frosting cascade over the many tiers.

You watch as the cake is cut. One by one, the slices are distributed. You can see the guests’ faces light up in sheer pleasure as they take delicate bites of the decadent treat. You watch, longingly, as the cake slowly begins to disappear, piece by piece.

You shift your weight from one foot to the other, noticing the pinch in your heels. It’s hot out here. You suspect that your makeup is beginning to melt a bit; your hair is surely wilting. An unpleasant, decaying odor hits your nostrils. You turn and see the dumpster just a few feet from the door, sticky puddles underneath it, oozing into the sidewalk.

You continue to wait. You hear the clink of plates as the serving pieces are cleared. You desperately want to sit, but you’ll surely get dirt on your dress, and it can’t be much longer now, can it? Has your friend forgotten that you were here, waiting in the alley with the mice and the dumpster?

Finally, your friend emerges. Relieved, you step towards him. He holds up a hand to stop you from entering the building. You pause, confused. But he’s smiling.

“I have something for you,” he says.

He hands you the nearly-empty serving platter. You recognize the hotel’s logo on the heavy, expensive tray. On the plate is one small slice of cake, broken from handling and travel, and a thin, filmy layer of cake from where the pieces were incompletely served. Around the edge of the plate are several abandoned lumps of frosting.

“It’s your favorite. I brought this out just for you!”

A dark wave washes over you; the air escapes your lungs as your stomach clenches. You swallow back bitter disappointment as you attempt to smile bravely.

He hands you a fork, and returns inside to the celebration.

Resolutely, you sit on the stoop, no longer caring about your frock. You take the fork and begin to eat, tears rolling onto your feast. You realize you have absolutely no right to cry, because you’ve received exactly what you thought you wanted, and nothing that was ever yours.

 

Two Steps Forward…Three Steps Back

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Last week was a hell of a week.  First, work was absolutely frantic, and I was feeling substantially and simultaneously overwhelmed and underqualified.  Even though I’ve been in this field (Human Resources, super duper exciting, right?) for over twenty years, and I know, intellectually at least, that my boss appreciates the work I do, I kinda have this imposter syndrome thing going on where I’m sure one day someone will notice that, like the infamous Emperor, I’ve essentially been parading around naked, and they’ll all realize that I’m woefully inadequate for the gig and will hand me a box to pack up my things.

Anyway, in addition to work being a chaotic mess, I’ve been sucking wind on the recovery/eating side, too.  I’ve essentially been on a week-long binge that started when I was trapped at the airport last week.  By day, I ate healthy snacks, but once I got home, I was a human backhoe, shoveling food directly from the pantry into my pie hole at an alarming rate.

Which, of course, did nothing for my weight, and hence my self-esteem.

So I ended the week anxious, stressed, and exhausted.  And to top it off, my birthday was Saturday, I had nothing special going on, and I WAS GOING TO BE FAT FOR MY BIRTHDAY.

(Yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds.  I really do.  But suffice it to say it was causing me a great deal of heartache. Rational thought be damned.)

I had another therapy appointment scheduled for Friday.  I came very close to cancelling it.  I mean, by this point, I’d been in therapy for just over three months, and all I have to show for it is a two-pound gain.  WHICH IS UNACCEPTABLE YO

But since I’ve already met my deductible, it wasn’t going to actually cost me much to go.  (And how often can you say THAT regarding ANYTHING involving health care anymore?!)  I decided I’d show up, and if I wasn’t getting anything out of that session, I could always leave…right?

So I went.

And she wished me a happy early birthday (SHE didn’t forget.  My auto insurance company called me to wish me a happy birthday, some clinic where I received two facials in 2008 sent me an email birthday wish, and my THERAPIST noticed it was my birthday.  But my husband?  STILL NOTHING. And yeah, STILL BITTER, party of one, sitting here typing.  But I digress.)

Dr. P asked me what I had planned for my birthday weekend.  I told her that I don’t really “do” birthdays…but that I was kind of disappointed that the hubs hadn’t really planned anything for our upcoming weekend together.  Again.

(One of the things that’s been weighing me down is hubby’s hyperfocus on everything BUT me these days – he’ll spend hours working on projects or playing video games…but when it comes to dates?  Nada, zip, zero.  Even though Saturday and Sunday come at relatively the same time every week, in his world it apparently pops up out of nowhere and he’s struck with the brilliant, innovative plan of “uh…I dunno….I got nothing…what do YOU feel like doing?”  Sigh.)

So, as a preemptive strike, I did some Googling and found that there was an art fair in one of the suburbs.  I love art fairs.  They close the streets and regional artists come to showcase their wares.  You can find pottery, jewelry, handmade clothing, paintings, jewelery, fantastic metal sculptures, jewelry, photographs, leather goods, and jewelry.  Did I mention jewelry?  PRETTY SPARKLY THINGS EVERYWHERE that you just can’t find at Mall of America.

So, since the hubs hadn’t planned anything, I decided that I was going to the art fair. The hubs said he wanted to come along.  I knew he’d be bored in short order.  But, dammit, it was MY BIRTHDAY and he certainly hadn’t offered up any alternatives.  So that was MY plan and he was welcome to join me.

Then, we talked about my week-long binge.

Dr. P:  So, how many calories do you think you ACTUALLY ate last night?

Me:  <panicking at not wanting to say THAT NUMBER out loud>  Um. Well.  1500?  Maybe?  <ha, well over 2000, easy>

Dr. P:  Uh…are you sure?  Because that’s a lot of calories, and…

Me:  Well, fine.  Let me tally it up for you.  First I got home and made a turkey sandwich.  200 calories for bread, 75 for turkey, 110 for lowfat cheese, and I didn’t measure the mustard this time but it was easily 4 teaspoons, so let’s say 20.  That starts you with 405 calories. Then came the chips, 130 calories per serving, 7 servings per bag, I ate over half the bag, so about 500 calories in chips. Then a half jar of salsa, which is 15 calories per serving, 14 servings per jar, that’s 210 calories, so say 100 more, where are we, 1000 right there, and then I ate these little chocolate blueberry things, 5 of them are 230 calories, and I know I ate at least three servings, probably four, so 690 calories if it was three which is 1690 calories but could have been more.

Dr. P.  <blink>  Oh.  So you really DID eat 1500 calories.

I don’t know how anyone can specialize in treating folks with eating disorders and have any doubt that WE KNOW EXACTLY WHAT WE ARE EATING.  I’ve been counting calories for thirty-four years by now, chica.  Trust me when I pitch you a number that I’m not embellishing for the sake of added drama and glitter.  (Interestingly, on my initial intake form, she said I didn’t have an “official” eating disorder.  She may be eating those words now.  Hopefully with some crow and chocolate syrup.)

The good news is that, although I’ve been binging, I’ve been keeping it down.  Not that I haven’t been tempted by the calorie-cleansing benefits of a good hurl – but that’s a very dark alley I can’t even peer into – once I stick a toe in THAT whirlpool, I may as well give it up because I’m gonna drown.  It’s a black hole…a point of no return.

But I DO need some tools to help me stop a binge before it skates off the rails and into the wall – some sort of virtual air horn that bleats “STOP” before I’ve eaten enough food to keep a room of gamers full on a tournament weekend.

Dr. P reminded me of HALT – don’t let yourself get too

  • Hungry
  • Angry
  • Lonely or
  • Tired

While I’ve known of that acronym for forever, and actually rattled it off with her, it’s a good reminder; I think this week’s been a combo platter of all four, and I need to start helping myself to a different buffet.

She gave me some excerpts from a book called Hunger Pains, too.  I asked her if I should read the book, or if it’d be “triggering.”  She hesitated – I think she was a little surprised that I knew that word (thank you, pro-ana sites, for educating me so I look at least somewhat legit when I clearly weigh too much to actually have an eating disorder.) She said she wasn’t sure, and that she’d review the book before recommending it to me fully.

So far, the excerpts aren’t exactly mind-blowing.  They’re useful tips like “think about your feelings before you eat” <eyeroll> and “exercise daily and buy nutritious foods” <are you for real?> and “learn to use hunger to regulate your eating.” <choke> HAHAHAHA WHAT?  I suppose the “Smoking Pains” book is equally useful, telling you not to buy cigarettes and to avoid lighting them?

Much like quitting smoking, I don’t need someone to tell me my food issues are bad for me. I don’t need someone to tell me to stop.

I need someone to tell me HOW.

But, as of today, after my non-birthday and the resulting disappointment, I’ve done a full 180 from stuffing my face uncontrollably, and I’m back on the restricted-food bandwagon.

Binging is SOOOO last week, anyway.

I’m over it.

For now.

Sigh.

Can someone bring this emperor a kimono?