Eating Ghosts and Body Image

I haven’t been diagnosed with body dysmorphic disorder, and I don’t really think I’d qualify since I’m actually a physical mess- no imagined defects. But I don’t like my body at all right now.  I need to lose weight, and I have to admit, I have had times when the ghosts of past eating disorders start to haunt me.   It’s been three years since I stopped the chemo for leukemia that lead to weight gain. I’ve lost some of the weight, but not where I need to be to not feel so ‘inflated’.   I’d FINALLY gotten to a place where I could tolerate what I looked like, and then BOOM.  Nineteen months of heavy duty chemo to keep me alive gave me jowls and a gut that I hadn’t seen since the 90s before the last anorexia relapse.   Throw in what seems like some diabetic complications that makes food stay in my stomach for longer than normal, with horrible, very visible bloating (and often bad diarrhea when it finally starts to ‘move’), and food is becoming something that is causing some bothersome battles .

I know way too well that once anorexia or bulimia gets a foothold, it is extremely difficult to get rid of.  I’ve also been through some times with abnormal weight loss when I had undiagnosed GERD (gastroesophageal reflux disorder).  So, on one hand, I’m terrified of an eating disorder relapse, and on the other, I really, really need to lose the chemo weight.  And, the discomfort from the stomach sluggishness adds to the feeling of ‘fat’ (yeah, I know, fat isn’t a feeling).  I don’t know how to lose weight without getting into trouble (I did Nutrisystem for a while, and it is very effective, but I had some sort of reaction to something in the products).  Nobody takes me seriously, when I show up at this weight, and mention a fear of getting trapped in those cycles again.

I’m 50 friggin’ years old, and an RN (disabled, but I’ve still got my license).  I’ve never felt ‘normal’ in terms of emotional developmental stages- partly because of the eating disorders disrupting normal emotional growth (which began by the time I was seventeen, in earnest, so part of me is still stuck there- as with any addiction, emotional progress halts at the time the addiction kicks in), and also because I’ve never gone through the ‘normal’ marriage, children, love, etc. that the vast majority of 50 year old women have been through (thank you rape in 1987, and working a lot of hours, and also hours that greatly sabotaged any chances of meeting someone to have any sort of relationship with).  My brain still has that craving to have the body I had in the past (during the un-fat years), and it’s  so much more complicated than that.  I don’t really care what I look like in someone else’s eyes.  I like that I no longer have to deal with peer issues with clothing and external appearance… the battle is with how I see myself more than anything.  Since I’m rarely around anybody else, my opinion is always the ‘loudest’.

I don’t want to be scrawny.  I find that incredibly unattractive. I’ve been on the lighter end of my weight range for my body type and height… I don’t like bone protrusion, but I do remember liking to be able to feel them not too far away.   My ‘good’ weight in terms of looks, and how I feel in my own skin is actually higher than what most people would probably be OK with.  When I began my last relapse with anorexia, I was seriously fat, give or take an ounce… so when I lost %40 of my starting weight , it was a huge difference (that I couldn’t see). While I didn’t look anorexic, my mindset was entrenched in disorder.  I looked like a ‘normal’ person.   I want to be at the weight I was when I got out of treatment last time- or where I settled out at when my eating stabilized for about 11 years.

I think that’s why it’s been so hard- I’d finally been relatively accepting of my body until the chemo blow-up.  Staying alive is a good thing; I’m thankful for that.  And yet the mechanism to do that has created some really miserable feelings about this carcass I lug around.  I was extremely ill with the leukemia- six weeks on isolation in the hospital, then 50 doses of IV arsenic given while I was connected to monitors (I did get to go home afterwards, but it was about 10 weeks of daily trips to the hospital for either the arsenic, or shots to increase my white blood cells; there were 2 5-week cycles).  There was no option but to go with the treatment plan, or I could have literally dropped dead at any time (know of two people with the same form I had who did just that- though it took them about 24-36 hours for docs and their families to know they were not coming back from the bleed in their brains from such deficits in blood clotting; one was 11 years old, and the great-nephew of a friend).  In so many ways, I’m SO incredibly fortunate.  Does that make me a shallow jerk for focusing on my weight?

It’s not really about my looks. It’s about feeling physically uncomfortable in my own skin.  The photo isn’t a great angle, and my usual jeans/t-shirt ensemble isn’t very flattering – but you get the idea.   At least I wasn’t gross.  I was also somewhat miserable in this photo from the GERD… but I didn’t feel fat.  I was 43 in that photo…

I could live with this... c. 2007-2009; leukemia diagnosed in 2010.

I could live with this… c. 2007-2009; leukemia diagnosed in 2010.

SO, how to figure this out.  I don’t want to get sick.  I don’t want the torment of being ruled by calories and food.  I don’t want to be a slave to the scale.  Those years (which were on and off for about 22 years) were horrific.  I see people  (media, wherever) who have been engrossed in EDs for decades, and what merit is there in that?  My identity is in being an RN… not a stick, or something that others know is unwell.   I don’t want the mental fog as it relates to everything but the ED.  There is no life outside of an ED when someone is IN it.  Relationships with anyone and anything else are half-assed at best.  I don’t like the victim mentality of being caught up in anorexia or bulimia.  It’s so incredibly selfish, and I know that.  People want to either ‘rescue’ (those people are nowhere to be found when things get better) or run like hell from the chaos of someone who is ruled by numbers (that really mean nothing).

I go see my MD in a couple of weeks for a flu shot, and to discuss the bloating issues, as well as some other things that have been unpleasant.  If some of that could be managed better, I might feel less inclined to have to restrict a lot  in order to just feel ‘comfortable’, which will lead to weight loss, which is good, but can also lead to getting swept up in cutting back even more.    I know the cycle.  But looking at me now, I’m not taken seriously- so will have to approach this with my doc from the physical standpoint of the horrible bloating.

Ramble, ramble, ramble….  now back to regular programming.  :/

 

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Suicide… It’s Not About Dying !

Tonight we learned  that Robin Williams is dead, and the consistent information is that he took his own life.  Social media being what it is, there are many comments.  Most are of shock and acknowledging the incredible talent and genius of a brilliant actor and comedian; another  who is gone too soon.  There are some  comments that are just rude and clueless.  But there are also those who just don’t understand how someone could get to the point of feeling that it was just time to give up on life, that it was too painful.  That there is no hope in sight, and that the people closest to him/her would be better if he/she was just gone… Thank God most people don’t understand what it’s like to be so far down in a pit of ‘no hope’ that suicide makes sense.

Suicide isn’t as much about dying as it is about wanting the pain to stop.  The cause of the pain isn’t really that important, though addiction is often a component.  Alcohol, drugs, eating disorders, gambling, etc. are ALL ways to numb some sort of emotional pain.  I worked as an RN in drug/alcohol rehab and adolescent psych for years, and nobody ever listed death as the main reason they considered suicide.   I had a good friend (also a co-worker) who was so solid in his sobriety and recovery  when I knew him.  He became a well-known therapist in the city where we worked.  Recently, I found out that he killed himself a few years back , while  I  was searching for him online, hoping to reconnect.  He had great local resources about where to get help (including where he could get away from town for treatment).  He knew the warnings… and yet, he relapsed into drugs, and overdosed in an amount that was said to be inconsistent with an accident.   I was able to find a close friend of his who could help me fill in the blanks, enough to know that something happened to take him into that dark hole of depression and relapse. Those are never good together.

With Robin Williams, he had resources and had recently gone back to treatment for a ‘tune up’ of sorts, knowing that he was feeling a need to protect his sobriety, not that he’d relapsed  (common knowledge).  He was getting help.  None of us know what his pain was from.  We look at the professional aspect of the man and can’t make sense of what could have been so bad in his life that he decided to give up.  But even if we knew the ‘reasons’, for most, the decision to end one’s own life will never make sense.

In 1982, I was battling an eating disorder, and got to the point of feeling very overwhelmed and unable to see that things were going to get better.  I don’t remember wanting to die.  I overdosed and was in a coma for 3 days.   I was lucky to have survived, and was able to get past those feelings of just wanting to go to sleep so I didn’t hurt (in my situation, nutritional ‘rehab’ was a huge part of clearing up my thinking).  I remember taking the sleeping pills, but don’t remember ‘death’ being my goal.  I don’t remember taking the 50 antidepressants.  I don’t remember the ambulance trip, or anything else until  I woke up in ICU three days later.  At other times, always when dealing with eating disorders, I would find myself in a mindset that didn’t see an end to the overwhelming hopelessness I felt.  I would feel myself on the edge, and yet I didn’t ever want to die.  I just didn’t want to feel so much pain.  It’s an incredibly dark place to be… and there’s a feeling of loneliness that has no words to adequately describe it.  Even with people in my life, they didn’t understand what was going on in my head, and the surrounding circumstances made things more isolating.

For those that don’t understand, please be thankful that you have no frame of reference for that kind of despair.  Please look around and see if there is someone who might need a quick phone call or note to say that they matter, and to just check in to see if they’re OK.  If someone you know has changed and either seems really down, OR suddenly ‘up’ after a period of severe depression, see if they’re really OK.  When someone makes the decision to give up, sometimes they are so relieved at making the decision, that their mood improves.  That type of ‘improved’ mood (sudden) is an alarming sign.  Gradual improvement is more likely due to good treatment ( medication for the biochemical issues, and/or psychotherapy to resolve emotional pain).  Don’t be afraid to ask direct questions.   When someone approaches from concern, it’s unlikely that it will make a situation worse.

Clinical depression isn’t sadness.  It’s not about ‘reactive’ grief that many people will feel during their life when they lose a friend or family member to death, or the loss of a job, pet, or if someone moves away who had been a part of daily life.  Clinical depression is often a biochemical disruption to normal thinking and feelings.  Hopelessness and helplessness become so pervasive that the ‘normal’ way of seeing solutions to problems just doesn’t work.  While suicide is a permanent solution to temporary despair, it doesn’t feel that way to someone who finds it  worth considering.  It doesn’t feel temporary.  It’s kind of like being too far underwater after falling off of a boat, and wondering if getting to the surface is ever going to happen… like there’s no air left in life, and no ability to feel that the surface could be reached with just a couple of kicks to reach the air that restores hope. Even if getting back on the boat is a ways off, at least there would be air.  It’s like treading water UNDER water, and never getting closer to the surface.  It’s hard to withstand that type of hopelessness and helplessness for a long time, and each person has their own threshold for how long they can hold on.

People can’t snap out of it.  They can’t just go pop in a funny movie and everything is OK.  It’s a disease, that needs treatment, and  support of friends and family that understand that the person is doing the best that they can.  And when the ones who are depressed are finding themselves going further from their normal way of looking at life, they need someone who can help them hang on…

But sometimes, it just isn’t enough.   And those left to make sense of the loss  will never have a good reason to satisfy the ‘why’ questions that inevitably come up.  It definitely isn’t fair to those left behind.  And while it’s something they have to live with for the rest of their lives, it really wasn’t about them.  Sometimes, there is nothing that will redirect a tragedy.  But nothing can take away the good memories the person leaves behind… always remember the good.

Intervention and Treatment Memories

I gained a lot of weight during the time I was on chemo for leukemia.  It’s been very hard to get rid of it, as I’m also perimenopausal, and limited physically as far as what activity I can safely do.  Add a history of eating disorders, and the idea of losing weight is actually rather frightening at times.  I guess in some ways that’s good, since I don’t take for granted how bad things got the last time I relapsed in 1995-1996.  It took years to put my life back together so I could eat normally, and longer than that before I could accept my body without being disgusted by it.  My oncologist told me just to be thankful I’m alive (which I am), and don’t focus so much on the weight.   Easier said than done.

The last time I started to relapse coincided with being diagnosed as diabetic, and suddenly having to account for everything that passed by my lips. I lost about 50 pounds over several months prior to, and after being diagnosed (not noticeably abnormal ), and was holding my own without any eating disorder behaviors (purging- laxatives were my vice, restricting, excessive exercise, etc).  I ended up with pneumonia later that year (November 1995), and lost quite a bit of weight in a few days, and the sensation of being ’empty’ and seeing the scale numbers drop was enough to trigger the old eating disorder stuff that started when I was in my late teens and twenties (early 80s).  I’d been free of the anorexic end of things for many, many years.  It didn’t take long for being around food to cause anxiety, and for numbers on the scale, calorie books, and blood sugar meters to drive my entire life.  I lost another 50 pounds in about three months.  Other people noticed.

I worked at a drug and alcohol treatment center as a detox RN (and weekend charge nurse of sorts- if anything was wacky on campus, I had the last word if it was OK or not, though with serious stuff, I had plenty of folks to call for feedback and input) , so my coworkers were very aware of what addictive behavior looked like.  And denial.  And refusal to listen to rational feedback.  I coasted for a bit, but by the time a formal intervention was done, I was in bad shape.  Eating anything was excruciating.  Every night, I was asking God to just let me wake up in the morning.  And I literally crawled up the stairs to and inside my apartment.  Chunks of skin fell off of my heels.  Things weren’t good.

The day of the intervention was on the day after having worked a double shift.  I got off at 7 a.m. and went to rest for a while in one of the cabins my coworker had (she lived a few counties away and stayed on campus when she worked- we worked weekends and Mondays) while she went to do some discharge summaries, which I planned to do as well once I got some rest.  She came and got me at around noon, and asked me to come with her to get something to drink, and also drop off something in the Operations Director’s office.

I never saw it coming.  Inside the Operations Director’s office were my boss, her husband (who also worked there with the clinical staff), the medical director, day charge nurse, and several other people, including clinical staff who I worked with as well. There were 8-10 people there.  When I saw them all in the office, I knew what was going on.  I was terrified, but also wanted to stop fighting the wars in my head over something as ‘stupid’ as food.  It’s never about food, but that was what was going on mentally.  I was told of the plan to take me directly to my apartment to pack (supervised), then driven to the San Antonio International Airport to be put on a plane.  Someone would take care of my dog (that’s a whole different story), and my car could stay on campus where it could be monitored.  I’d fly to Houston, where an outreach employee would meet me, and be sure I got on the flight to Los Angeles.  That was the only way I’d be allowed to come back to work. What I hadn’t told them was that my primary doc had told me that I probably wouldn’t last a month, tops, if I continued as I was.  Their timing was perfect.  I wouldn’t have been ready before then.

So, off to Los Angeles I went.  Scared to death… I knew they made people EAT in eating disorder treatment.   But, I figured the sooner I got with the program, the sooner I’d get out of there.  So, in a feeble way, I’d begun to surrender on the plane.  By the time I got there, I was so exhausted from the double shift, then the intervention, traveling, etc, that the guy who picked me up thought I’d OD’d on something that made me semi-coherent.   I was just flat-out tired, and told him I was there for not eating (I never looked like I was starving as much as I was- curds of cottage cheese were something I worried about).  I was also exhausted from the battle fatigue from what had been going on in my head for months.  I’d been ‘confronted’ a couple of weeks earlier by a former coworker from another place I worked, about my weight (she was dropping off her child for treatment), and she asked if there was anything wrong with me.  I didn’t know how to answer.  It didn’t register that losing fifty pounds would be visible to anyone.  Seriously.  That jarred me a bit, but the intervention had the biggest impact.

I went to the treatment center in California (they no longer ‘do’  eating disorder treatment, thank God), and it was horrible.  The facilities were pleasant, and the food was really good (which amazed me, since I didn’t like much of anything, but all of the fresh produce ALL THE TIME was great) !  A few of the staff were decent, but eating disorder treatment it was not.  And the primary ‘assigned’ therapist I had was bad news… I was not allowed to speak about some things that seemed therapy-worthy to me. The ED patients had a table segregated from other patients in the dining room (and we were often like an exhibit in a zoo for the other patients who wanted to see if we ate), and one OA meeting a week (otherwise we went to AA).  That was the ED program. They may have been great for chemical dependency and/or dual diagnosis, but I was a generic eating disorder NOS (not otherwise specified) patient.  They didn’t get that right either.

When I first got there, I was so weak that when I went on the ‘beach walk’, I could barely make it.  Walking in the sand was exhausting, and I was having a lot of trouble even keeping a visual on the rest of the bunch who opted to do that activity.  My jeans were falling off, so they gave me a trash bag to tie two belt loops together, then trimmed the excess so it didn’t violate the safety rules about plastic bags.

The day before I was sent there, I’d packed up a detox patient to go there for more dual diagnosis issues than we generally dealt with at our facility, and then I showed up as a patient. Surprised her !   We sort of stuck like glue together, trying to make sense of the place.  Then another patient, AND person who worked where I worked showed up… They were both dumbfounded about the detox and treatment  process (so had a lot of questions), but come to find out one hadn’t told them all of the things she’d been taking. I told her she needed to fess up for her own safety.  They’d come to me (their former nurse) before talking to the staff there.  I wasn’t licensed in CA, and I was off the clock out there- but I was glad to be of some support.  We all needed each other out there.

There were a few of us ED patients, and we stuck together between groups, wondering where the ED services in the brochure were.  But, I managed to survive 36 days out there. The last 10 days, I had a virus of some sort, and wasn’t allowed to participate in any groups or meetings (but wasn’t sent home). They’d taken me to an ER, where they had me pee in a cup, and then decided I had a BLOOD virus- from a pee test…  The group would literally come to my room at the end of the session to say hello.  I could go outside and sit in the sun (or smoke), but no activities anyone else was doing. I could go to the dining room with everyone else, so it wasn’t like they were worried about me giving bugs to someone… but whatever.   I had a few roommates, some ED and one alcoholic,  (at different times) who were nice enough.  But I left there feeling totally unprepared for going home and making it OK.  I had no aftercare.  I was more scared leaving than when I got there.  But it was a great motivator to not want to ever end up in another situation like that was.

One really funny thing happened one evening, during my ‘banishment’ from groups, when I was outside  smoking.   One of the techs (fondly called the ‘clipboard jockeys’) came running around the corner asking if I’d seen the REST OF THE PATIENTS.  All of them !  😮  I told him no, and he was sure I must know something, even though I wasn’t allowed in groups. I really didn’t know. Come to find out that the rest of the patients were doing the evening community group, and after the tech checked everybody off of his clipboard, they went to another room to mess with him, and hide.  Eventually, all showed up, and the tech laughed, but I can imagine the thoughts going through his head about how he’d lost the entire lot of patients, except the puny one not allowed to go to groups.   That would have been a serious pile of incident reports and phone calls.

In the meantime I’d been told that I would NOT be allowed back to work where I’d been working at the time of the intervention until the director of nurses OK’d it (she had some serious boundary issues, and was also a neighbor of mine who had been in contact with my therapist in the treatment center- acting like some sort of information verifier.  The treatment center wouldn’t let me talk about being raped until my boss had reported to them that it had actually happened when she found the info and news clippings in my apartment when I was gone). Anyway,   I really liked that job, so that was a huge loss until I showed I was doing well enough to come back.   Eventually, I did get to go back, and stayed another couple of years until things started feeling unsafe with a huge increase in census, and no changes in detox/nursing staffing for several months.    But I’ll always be incredibly thankful that I got to work in that facility.  I learned a lot, and am a better nurse for my experiences there.  I still am in contact with several people I worked with there.

The intervention likely saved my butt, even though I had a lot of work to do ON MY OWN when I got back.  I got every professional book on EDs I could find, and did an ‘as if’ thing.   I looked at what I needed to do ‘as if’ I were carrying out orders for one of my patients.  I had to detach for a while.  Eventually, I was able to make it about me, and feel like I was doing OK. (The one OA meeting/group in town was ‘lead’ by someone who brought specific diets to show to the group- nothing 12-step about it, so I passed).  Whenever I see the show ‘Intervention’ or someone getting nailed on Dr. Phil, it brings back a lot.  Interventions are terrifying, but there was also a huge sense of relief at not having to go it alone any longer.

For those who think it might happen to them, just go with it.  Let everybody talk, and then be thankful that you don’t have to get well by yourself, and it doesn’t have to be perfect.  One step at a time, even if they’re baby steps.  A slip doesn’t have to become a relapse.  It beats being tied to an addiction that wants to kill you !  Things can get better, IF you are willing to let someone nudge you on your way (feels like an emotional sledge hammer, but in retrospect, it’s more of a send-off to the rest of your life 🙂 ).

Blowing Off Steam About Love and Respect

I need to blow off some steam. Some stuff has been bugging me for a while.  And in some ways, even writing this is making me guilty of what I am so deeply saddened and frustrated by.  For that, I ask God to search my heart for my core beliefs and motives,  that can be so hard to describe in words.  I hope I make sense with this and come from a place that pleases Him.

I’m a fairly conservative Christian,  though I don’t consider myself to be an ‘extremist’ – I don’t believe extremism is beneficial for anything. (Matthew 6:1…”Be careful not to do your ‘acts of righteousness’ before men, to be seen by them. If you do, you will have no reward from your Father in Heaven.”… ‘Appearances’, and not compassion, scream hypocrisy, and push people away from us- and the chance to share Jesus….Matthew 5:22 talks about anger, and the emotions that destroy relationships and spirituality – we’re to be in control of our actions, but our thoughts can also degrade our relationships spiritually… Life Application Bible notes).

It’s one thing to have a firm belief in God and His Word, and quite another to use it as a weapon against those who are either struggling, or have different beliefs- or are not Believers at all.   Nothing about God is  a weapon for destruction.  We’re instructed that our relationship with God is to be used for GOOD, not divisiveness.  Divisiveness is a tool of Satan.  James 3:5 “Likewise, consider the tongue as a small part of the body, but it makes great boasts. Consider what a great forest is set on fire by a small spark. The tongue is also a fire, a world of evil among the parts of the body.  It corrupts the whole person, sets the whole course of his life on fire, and is itself set on fire by hell.”  And it can be incredibly difficult to figure out how to love the sinner and hate the sin, and do it from a place of love and compassion for the person, without being judgmental.

Every week there is something else in the media (not from God) that turns on the “judgement switch” of a lot of Christians… and that’s not our job as Christians. I see it in people I know,  people I don’t know in articles and interviews, and I see it in myself at times, and must stop and ask God to help me deal with the situation in a way that pleases Him. I’m not always very good at that.  Every time ‘WE’ judge ‘the other side’, we do *exactly* what we accuse ‘them’ of doing.  I’m so tired of it!  I strongly believe in having a solid core belief system, and mine happens to be that of a conservative Christian. My goal from my heart is that  I become stronger with the  characteristics of a Biblical Christian (not humanly manufactured judgement spewers).   Living the Fruit of the Spirit is my daily goal (and I fail regularly)  😦  … Galatians 5:22… “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”  When I disagree with someone, or feel I’m not being heard or treated fairly, those are the responses I am to have.  And it ain’t easy!

I have enough of my own character defects to work on to have ANY right to call out someone else.  Even if something is in the Bible as sin (and we are ALL sinners), I can only live and grow my own relationship with Jesus.  Even Jesus didn’t come to point fingers and judge- He came to save us; judgement will come at its due time, only known by God.   If Christians are so busy worrying about the actions/thoughts/beliefs of someone else, who is left to love them to the Lord?  Matthew 7 is a great chapter on judgement and forgiveness.

We have all sinned (Romans 3:23).  There is no hierarchy of sin.    I believe we  ALL need Jesus- every single day for our OWN spiritual lives. I understand that not everybody believes that- and God gave us free will to believe or not, so who am I to demand more than God? He wants genuine believers- not robotic, loveless stalkers!   We are commanded to go into the world and spread the word of God… How can we do that if we’re so busy condemning others?  Romans 12:18… “If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.”   Salvation, and a relationship with God is a choice- we can’t earn it, we can’t lose it… but we must sincerely desire and choose it.  And I can only choose for myself.

Does that mean we condone everything? Of course not !  But we aren’t responsible for the actions and beliefs of others- and if we’re so busy being pious and judgmental, who is left to share the Gospel?  We are known by our actions first.  And there are many Christians who send non-believers running for the hills from the hypocrisy and absolute intolerance of various groups of people, or those who even believe differently. Some send ME running for the ‘hills’, and we’re supposed to believe the same thing !
There is not one person on this planet who can truly know what is in the heart of someone else- their struggles, pain, frustrations, BELIEFS, etc.  Christians are generally taught to appear like everything is wonderful- which is VERY hard to do 24/7.  And it’s disingenuous.  God gave us emotions.  But we do have to be careful about not directing them AT others, and instead using them to encourage and uplift others.   ‘Loathing’ is not from God.  Constant mockery, negative comments, and complaining are in direct contrast to what we are told to do in Philippians 2: 14-16… “Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God , without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the Word of Life- in order that I may boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor for nothing.”  That’s hard !  But it lets me know that getting involved in negative ‘conversations’ isn’t anything I’m doing to praise God.  It’s purely self-serving when it’s not done out of love, and to offer something positive and encouraging.
I believe that there are a lot of Christians who truly love the Lord, and are still struggling with various issues.  When I worked drug and alcohol rehab, we saw a LOT of Christians… and had a special sub-group of recovery options for them in addition to the traditional  12-step treatment (which is completely spiritually based, and strongly reflective of the Sermon on The Mount).  Christians are not immune from continuing to (or starting another)  sin; for some it’s easier than other to ‘reform’ and/or recover. Some have condemned themselves much more than anybody else could- and are afraid God couldn’t possibly want anything to do with them. (So let’s throw some disdain their way, eh?) And some have lived their entire lives believing that they are guilty of something that was done TO them.
I’m so glad that the  God I know is more loving and forgiving than many of my fellow Christians- known personally or not. And HE knows MY heart!  He has access to the secret corners of my being, and loves me anyway!     Other humans only know what they assume- and that is dangerous ground for basing a relationship (or opinion) with anybody.   John 8: 2-11 is an outstanding example of how Jesus dealt with a woman accused of sexual sins.  He came from a place of love.
I spent many years with severe eating disorders –  clear abuse of the body God gave me, and where the Bible says the Holy Spirit dwells in Christians.  I was living in a state of daily sin by focusing on the flesh– and yet I still loved God deeply, and dealt with the shame of not living fully for Him when I was focused on something so destructive, and felt so stuck.  It’s painful to see Christians assume that because someone is ‘pro’ this or that, or in some sort of addiction (food, drugs, alcohol, etc.)  that they aren’t Believers.  “Let he who is without sin cast the first stone”… remember that one?   I’ve met a lot of Christian addicts (recovering, and  just going through detox)… some of the most solid Christians I’ve ever met.   Being a Christian never removes the fact that we’re still human.  We fail. We get up. We move on. And sometimes (a lot of times) we fail again, with the assurance of a loving God catching us in His arms.
Some (a lot of ? ) folks do appear to be clearly anti-Christian.  There’s someone on the news, other TV shows, radio, Facebook, Twitter, etc.  pretty much daily that come  only to verbally mock and shun Christians.  (one program last night had me fairly heated !). God has that covered !  We’ve been told about those who persecute Christians- it’s been going on for a couple of thousands of years now !   And it’s not our fight.  God will take care of those who harass His Children in due time.  I find comfort in that- I don’t have to waste time being angry or even hateful !  I can try and find things to be thankful for.  We’re instructed to be thankful in ALL things.  We’re instructed to have a very specific mindset about our ‘enemies’. ****  It is so much more freeing to not be worn down by things that I have no control over, that will be dealt with by God in HIS timing, and to look at the wonderful things I’ve been blessed with- however great or small… they are more uplifting than the negative people and situations :
****1 Peter 3:9…” Do not repay evil with evil, or insult with insult, but with blessing, because to this you were called so that you may inherit a blessing.”  
Matthew 5:44… “But I command you all, love your enemies and pray for your persecutors.”
Romans 12:14… “Invoke blessings on your persecutors, blessings- not curses.”
1 Peter 3:15…”But in your hearts, set apart Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander.  It is better, if it is God’s will, to suffer for doing good than for evil.”    Hmm… ‘in your hearts’ (don’t need a billboard).  Gentleness and respect…. (wow- don’t see much of that).  Is it good or evil to single out assorted ‘hot topics’ and make them a thermometer of morality and gauge of someone else’s heart?  Or would it be more in keeping with Jesus, being the definition of love, to reach out and show compassion?  I don’t have to agree with anybody to  be kind to them.
I can anticipate some who read this getting upset that I’m not focusing on pointing out  specific ‘hot topic’  sins of others  that they feel are clearly stated in the Bible.  I’m really not interested in pointing out someone else’s sin nearly as much as I am showing them the love that Jesus came to show us; the Holy Spirit  will convict someone of sin- I’m not that powerful, so why not show love and compassion?  I’m not always good at it- but that is my goal.   When anything comes across as hate, it will drive someone away who God loves, and wants a relationship with.  That’s not being obedient.  I don’t have to change my beliefs to show someone else what I believe- and I don’t have to do it with condescension or spite.  Neither of those are from God.  I don’t have to jump on every bandwagon that comes along to ‘prove a point’.  I know what I believe… I don’t have to repeatedly and frequently drive the point into the skulls of anyone I encounter.  My friends know what I believe, and IF someone asks me, I will aim for the gentle and respectful explanation.  🙂
Sometimes, there are people who will only know one or two ‘known’ Christians… do you want to show someone the love of God, or tear them down by talking about specific sins?  We are all sinners, and Jesus came for all of us.  There are no prerequisites for loving Jesus.  He takes us as we are.  All of us.  As. We. Are.  The miracles of being new creations happens after someone discovers Jesus, and the ultimate meaning of love.
So, what is my hope that I show people?  It’s very clear…  🙂  And it’s an ongoing process.  So, I’m really not at liberty to judge someone else.  I’ve got my own work to do.
I Corinthians 13:4-8a….”Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no records of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.
I wish everyone a very Merry Christmas, and New Year filled with peace, compassion, and joy of knowing that God supplies all of our needs.

 

 

 

Dieting With An Eating Disorder History

When I started Nutrisystem 80 days ago, I had some nagging concerns about how to lose the weight I’d gained on chemo without going nuts and ending up in a bonafide eating disorder relapse.  I’m not sure that concern ever goes away.  I haven’t done any purposeful eating disorder behaviors since 1996-1997 (it was a process), and no purging since March 1996.  Yet, there were so many years of my life, starting at a young age, when disordered eating was the only way I knew how to eat at all.  It was what I was taught.

I’ve lost 43 pounds in 80 days. That’s faster than the advertised 1-2 pounds/week on the Nutrisystem literature (and any healthy weight loss plan). I’m not purposely eating less than I’m supposed to- and when I tally the calories, fat, carbs, fiber, and protein (which is more for diabetic/insulin reasons),  I’m not compelled to cut back to crazy low numbers.  There have been days when I don’t eat all I’m supposed to, but it’s because of headaches and the accompanying queasiness.  I think some of that is because of the sucralose/Splenda in some of the Nutrisystem products (they don’t use aspartame/Equal)- so this week I called Customer Service, and was able to arrange to send back all of  the Cinnamon Buns and some of the Honey Wheat Bagels (had to do with the 30-day exchange policy).  They are sending me some Granola Cereal- no artificial sweeteners, low fat, and good protein (for granola).  I really liked those Cinnamon Buns. 😦  But, I’ve had a headache every day since I started eating those with the last order. It has been a constant 6 day headache.  I’m still not sure why bagels need an artificial sweetener.  Sure, the yeast needs honey or sugar, but adding sweetness just to make them sweeter?  Yuck.  They did still work with the salmon spread I came up with, but I’ll just have to find a store bagel that has good fiber and protein.  But I digress.

I still have the body image issues. When I look in the mirror, I don’t see 43 missing pounds. I know my clothing fits differently (or in the case of 3 pairs of shorts, just falls off).  I know the ‘numbers’ say I’m losing weight, but I don’t ‘feel’ it.  My ‘old’ pajama bottoms fit again. My t-shirts fit better. My bra doesn’t make me look like the Michelin Man.  But, I’m still waiting for my rings to fit again.  And I’m waiting to see the change in my appearance.  I took ‘before’ photos, so I will have something to compare myself to.  I hope I can see it.

I’m not sure how to see myself normally.  That part of the recovery puzzle never did work itself out.  My dad asked me how much I plan to lose, and I don’t know. I told him I’d know when I got there (which can be a scary thing to think about- those with eating disorders are never happy when they reach one goal). I have a BMI number I want to get under, but it’s not anywhere near unhealthy thinness.  When I was in the worst part of any given eating disorder period, I thought that the low 70s was a perfectly reasonable weight to aim for, at 5 feet 6 inches tall.  I do know that anything below a BMI of 18 isn’t good- and for my body type, I don’t want to go below a BMI that is much higher than that. I know I have to be careful not to keep looking for some ‘magic’ number- and that I have to be vigilant about not getting into numbers games in my head.

To look at me now, ‘eating disorders’ (the ‘thin’ ones)  are not what someone on the outside would even consider being a issue of mine , but I’ve been nearly 100 pounds heavier than I am now, and 70 pounds lighter during my adult life (18 or older). Between the relapses with anorexia, I’ve also been a compulsive undereater- people don’t talk about that. It’s not quite as bad as the internal demands of anorexia,  but the focus on food and weight is still abnormal enough to affect functioning around food and eating; social events with food are very difficult, even though the diagnostic criteria for anorexia aren’t all there.

I ate a lot when I first moved away from home in 1985, and no longer had the imposed restriction of my mom, or the original ‘diagnosed’ anorexia onset in 1981.  I’d been through inpatient psych hospitalization, and was ‘allowed’ to eat.  That led to unhealthy eating, and what I don’t really call bingeing, but more like finally being set free from a noose of thinness obsession.  My metabolism had to be messed up from so many years of dieting and starvation, which just made the weight pile on faster. “Normal” intake equaled weight gain.  I got morbidly obese- which is like a death nell for someone who has been anorexic/bulimic.  I relapsed a couple of times before the last one in 1995. Each time got worse faster.  The last one was really bad. But only those who saw what I was doing knew that I was in trouble.  To most people, I was too overweight to even consider that I was starving.  I lost 50 pounds in 3 months, and a total of 120 in about a year.  Some of that was from diabetes before it was diagnosed (weight loss is a symptom of undiagnosed high blood sugars), and then after the diagnosis I became very obsessed.

Now, I’ve lost 43 pounds in 80 days.  I  let my doctor know (that’s definitely not something I would have done during the ED years).  I know that the huge reduction in insulin is probably also a factor in how ‘easy’ this has been (when nothing I did before Nutrisystem helped budge the chemotherapy weight).  I am eating more protein than before NS.  The glycemic index of the food is much better.  Even the ‘junk food’ on NS is formulated to be healthy.  The Cheese Puffs, cookies, pretzels, and candy bars are tasty enough to order after I reach my goal weight.  It’s hard to find 8 gms of protein and 6 gms of fiber in 1 ounce of regular pretzels.

I still have a problem with feeling full. I loathe that feeling.  There is a lot to eat on NS.  Most days, I don’t get it all in, but it’s not about the numbers game- it’s about feeling really uncomfortable.  Gas-X has become its own food group.  On ‘headache days’ (whether from sucralose or not- I have chronic headaches), it’s hard to pack in every meal.  But on days when I don’t have the headaches or other pain, I like the NS food.  NS food is quite good for ‘diet food’.  I go off plan now and then and have restaurant food (and it hasn’t affected my weight loss). Some people on NS (per the discussion boards) must stay very rigid so they don’t end up in long binge cycles- kind of like alcoholics can’t have a drop of booze.  I understand that from my years of working drug/alcohol rehab, but I have to be less obsessive, and go ‘off grid’ now and then to keep some sort of balance with the real world.

One of my other reasons for wanting to lose weight (besides the chemo weight) is that I’ll be 50 years old later this year.  I didn’t want to hit that milestone at such an unhealthy weight.  I want to stack the odds in my favor for the ‘senior years’ (geez, I’ll get my AARP card soon- when did THAT happen?) 😮 . I plan to eat restaurant food on my 50th birthday in November, and I can pretty well guarantee there won’t be a carrot on the plate 😀  And I will have cake.  I don’t normally enjoy restaurants (mostly from the heat intolerance and dysautonomia), but I’ve been told the sky is the limit by my dad, since a 50th birthday doesn’t come around but once.  I don’t feel like I’m almost 50… no husband, kids, etc- I guess I bypassed some of the other milestones in life, and have a different frame of reference for a lot of things.  But, I don’t want to be fat when I turn 50.

So, I’m doing well on Nutrisystem, but I don’t think I’ll ever feel like a ‘normal’ eater.  I think that the risk of anorexia is always there once it’s ever taken hold.  It takes over very subtly at first, and then everything crashes and burns.  Being aware of this has been helpful.  The ultimate goal of being healthy has surpassed the desire to be ‘skinny’.  That part of my brain has finally grown up.  But the part of my brain that remembers the horrible years of torment from anorexia, bulimia, and other variations of those doesn’t want to get ‘close enough’ to the edge.  Ever. It has scarred me in many respects.  I guess that’s probably good.  Now to get rid of the rest of this unhealthy weight, and then maintain it like a ‘normal’ person.  I’m more than half-way to my random goal, set when I started NS  (I had to put something down) but people adjust them once they reach their original goals all the time.  I’ll just have to see what feels right.

Running on Empty

The fall of 1981 was one of isolation, hopelessness, and being totally overwhelmed.  I was supposed to be having a wonderful time as a freshman at the University of Illinois- Urbana-Champaign campus.  I was 17 years old when I got there, and had become seriously anorexic the summer before when working as a nature counselor at a summer church camp I loved.  I wasn’t super skinny, but my mind was a total eating disorder trap.  Every thought included how to avoid eating, how to ‘get rid’ of food (I used laxatives- 10 of them 4 times a day), and how to avoid being noticed.  I bombed that last one pretty quickly.

My roommate and I didn’t last long. She thought I was too quiet, and requested to move out (which she did).  Looking back, I can’t blame her; watching someone self-destruct and be so consumed by the eating disorder had to be miserable for her.  We both had double rooms to ourselves- which just meant more isolation for me.  Outside of classes, I spent a lot of time walking around campus, or taking the bus to various parts of town, and just walking.  When I was in the dorm, I’d look out of my 12th floor window, and follow the lights of cars as they drove through the countryside at night.  I played a Christian radio station for comfort, and just wondered if I’d get better.  Then I’d get scared that ‘getting better’ meant eating, and I’d fall back into the ‘starvation’ mode with even more determination.  Other than the background music, and the fighting in my head, most nights were eerily quiet.  Those who know the insulating effect of heavy snow, and how it mutes most sound, will understand what my head ‘sounded like’ for the many months I was there.

I’m not sure how I lasted as long as I did.  My weight was relatively stable, but the starving/bingeing/purging patterns were also how I was ‘living’.  I’d take 10 laxatives at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and bedtime with a 16 ounce glass bottle of Diet Rite cola.  If I ‘had’ to be seen eating at dinner (only meal where I’d be noticed- missing, eating, or acting weird), I’d have an apple or half of a baked potato. That would trigger intense guilt, and I’d run up the 12 flights of stairs to my room.  Then I’d get homework done, and go back to watching the lights of the cars in the night.

When I did try to get to sleep, it was another battle.  There were many nights when I’d watch one specific star as it moved across the sky out of my window.  Many times, I’d get up to go to the bathroom (spent a lot of time in there with 40 laxatives per day), and pass out before I could get back to my room.  I’d be sent out by ambulance, rehydrated, and sent back to the dorm.  They’d lecture me about how unhealthy eating disorders were, and I’d nod, then go back to my crazy routine.

What stands out the most from that semester, besides being so sick, were those nights of such ‘silence’ as I watched those car lights (and occasional police car’s red flashes ) move across the view I had from that 12th floor dorm room.  I’d wonder what those people were doing, and if they were in their own living hell.  I’d wonder if I’d ever get out of the mess in my head.  I’d wonder why I couldn’t just snap out of it and eat, without the blinding feeling of guilt for having fed myself.  It was like I was punishing myself for existing and having human requirements to survive.  But I had no good reason why.  I’d been born there (and placed for adoption), but the starvation (and diet contests) had been brewing for a few years- so the whole adoption/birthplace thing didn’t really pan out.  My mom had been constantly on me about my weight (when I wasn’t fat).  Maybe I just picked up where she left off.  I don’t know.  I eventually did ‘click’ with the explanation given by Peggy Claude Pierre- that the ‘negative mind’ was the one in control during eating disorders, and refused to allow the anorexic/bulimic to tolerate self-care and survival.

But those nights were so muffled and eerie.  I won’t ever forget those.  Or how scared I was.  And alone.  I had several people looking after me from their assigned ‘roles’ (therapist, resident director, resident advisor, and several dorm-mates), but nobody understood.  They each tried to help in some way, but I was on my own, with something I couldn’t handle. I refused to tell my parents (I saw that as failure, which wasn’t allowed).  So I tried to just keep going… but how long could I go on fumes?  Many days I had fewer than 300 calories.  When I binged, it was a disgusting amount of food, but it possibly gave me enough of a ‘boost’ to keep going. Laxatives don’t remove food; they remove water- so some nutrients got in… but I was running on empty, and running OUT of time.

And it was so, so quiet when I looked out at the world from that 12th floor dorm room window.

University of IllinoisOctober 1981

University of Illinois
October 1981

Eating Disorders and Suicide

This time of year stirs up memories of my first year at the University of Illinois (Champaign-Urbana campus).  I’d arrived there with anorexia well entrenched, after losing 45 pounds in about 6 weeks while working at a church summer camp as  a nature counselor.  I didn’t want to get to college ‘fat’.  And I didn’t (though I thought I was grotesquely huge), but I was already a slave to the eating disorder (ED) voice in my head that made eating absolute hell.  People who haven’t crossed the line to an actual eating disorder don’t get it. I don’t expect them to- and I’m thankful they don’t know what it’s like to have a war in their heads over the number of curds of cottage cheese that are ‘acceptable’.  Yeah- it gets pretty weird.

By the beginning of the Spring semester, and returning from Christmas break, I was a mess. Being home for the holidays had been very difficult- I’d done what I could to avoid being around family by working at the University during a missions conference (‘Urbana ’81’).  Ironically, I worked in the food service area. But I had to be at home at some point (and in Florida with my parents for Christmas itself- that was a battle I lost).  Trying to hide an active eating disorder and starving/purging isn’t easy- and caused even more havoc in my mind.  I didn’t return to school at all well.  I’ve never been clinically depressed unless I’ve been starving/malnourished.  And I was a mess when I got back to my dorm.

I’d been seeing a therapist since I had arrived on campus the fall of 1981, as my resident director, resident assistant, and dorm-mates had found me wearing 6 pairs of socks and a winter coat in late August in central Illinois… humidity with the heat was probably stifling- but I was freezing.  The RD could actually feel the cold coming through the socks. SO she called 911 and I was hauled off. I was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa the next morning, and ‘ordered’ to start therapy or leave school.  I had no clue what to think about therapy, but I knew that going home wasn’t an option. It would mean I’d failed.  SO I went to therapy.

That therapist ( a very nice youngish woman) probably never heard me say much more than “I don’t know”- and I didn’t !  I had absolutely no insight, and no clue what could have gone on in my past to lead to the eating disorder.  By the Spring semester of 1982, I was really falling apart, and had a plan to kill myself.  My roommate had moved out long before (because I was too QUIET !!), so I could be isolated for quite a while before anybody would have noticed I’d been missing.  I had planned to take the tranquilizers (Thorazine- supposed to chill me out enough that I didn’t care if I ate) I’d been given at the university health system pharmacy,  and lock myself in my room, IN my closet (with the keys), and just wait.   I’d become fairly resigned to the idea that I wasn’t going to  live all that long with the anorexia (which had included periodic bingeing at that point, and daily purging via 40 laxatives spread out throughout the day), so it was more about just dealing with the inevitable.  I didn’t really want to die– I just didn’t know how to get out of the ED.  I felt trapped, overwhelmed, ashamed, and hopeless.

The emotional pain had hit the tipping point.  For some reason (like wanting to live maybe?), I spilled my guts to my therapist, who promptly had me escorted to the university health system (via the University Fire Department….. subtle), where I stayed until arrangements could be made to have me shipped to Forest Hospital in Des Plaines, IL.   It was a nut house.  Back then, there were no eating disorder ‘treatment centers’… if you had a nutty problem, you went to the nut house. That in and of itself was terrifying, but I was even more afraid of facing my parents- and being a disappointment- so a longtime adult friend and her daughter (former babysitter) came to get me…once the blizzard passed, some 3-4 days later.  The therapist and health center folks had wanted me out of there much sooner, but the weather was a big problem.  So, I waited at the health center ‘hospital’ as dorm friends came and went, both trying to cheer me up and also to say goodbye.

Suicide  attempt averted. That time. The next fall, I returned to the university, and the pressure build-up was almost instantaneous.  More on that later….