Tag Archives: eating disorder

Small Steps

16 Dec

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I drag my exhausted body into the house. Looking around the disheveled living room, I shake my head and sink into the nearest chair. I feel the anxiety in my chest rising. My heart is starting to race. I can hear an echo in my ears. I can feel a lump in my throat.
I am thinking about the next few days. The stress of the upcoming holidays. The waiting. I am always waiting for something better. My mouth becomes dry. I stand up and pace. My mind locks on to one thought. I look over at my husband and he already knows what is happening.

Fifteen minutes later, I slowly unwrap the brown greasy bag. I take out a item that is less like food and more like a drug. I shovel it in my mouth. There really is no taste. I am not eating this for the taste; I am eating this for the fix, the high, the ability to focus on something else.
The bag is empty. My hands shine with grease and my face shines with guilt. I am ashamed. I am embarrassed. My chest seems to be pounding again. My mouth hangs half open. How do I let things get to this?

After a binge, I want to restrict. I want to purge. I want to feel clean again. Or…I keep bingeing. I temporarily give up on myself.
Friday was difficult. I wanted to run more than the 3 miles my training required. I wanted to head to the gym. I wanted to eat only 900 calories. I tried to push these thoughts away. Restricting will only lead to a binge. Bineging more will just make me feel worse.

I was able to moderately eat and only do my training run. I was proud. I came out on the other side of a binge. I did not slide downhill for a few days, nor did I starve myself for a few days.

Yesterday, I ran my week 3 long run. I did 7.05 miles in 69 minutes. I was able to enjoy a cupcake, guilt-free, afterwards. I am trying to not let stress control my eating habits, but it is easier said than done. I have been focusing for almost three-years on fixing myself, but I do know a lot of it is mental. I eat to relieve the stress I feel over things I feel I cannot control. I eat to relieve myself of the obscene standards I place upon myself. I eat when I fail….or when I think I have failed.

Point of this post: this is one of the first times I can remember NOT letting one binge control me and alter my next few days or weeks. Progress is progress. I have to remember to be proud of the small things.

I add memes to lighten up a serious sounding post...

I add memes to lighten up a serious sounding post…

A Spoonful of Magic Helps the Anxiety Go Down….No, Not Really.

12 Dec
Even at 23, I run up to my favorite characters....

Even at 23, I run up to my favorite characters….

The interview at Disneyland is tomorrow and my anxiety levels are a peak. I have been wigging out now for about a week.

 

Last week, Tuesday to be exact, I came home from an invigorating run and my husband told me Fresh & Easy Neighborhood Market might go out of business between March and April.

Seriously, this meme does not even begin to cover it.

Seriously, this meme does not even begin to cover it.

First of all, I LOVE FRESH AND EASY. Words cannot even begin to make y’all understand how much I truly need Fresh and Easy in my life. I think Trader Joe’s is okay. As for Whole Foods? A little out of my price range and both stores near me are actually….not near me. Fresh and Easy has been the sole market for my shopping for three years now.
Secondly, my hubs is currently employed by Fresh and Easy. They give him decent pay and decent hours. Losing Fresh and Easy would be a big blow to my family.

When hubs told me the news, instead of losing my shiz (because that is totally what I wanted to do) I sat down at the computer and decided to apply at a few places.

Since I decided to go to school and do as much of the stay at home mom thing as possible, my work history is less than stellar. I have held down a couple jobs since I was 16 but I do not have many real employable skills yet. (Nothing besides my amazingly awesome personality and ability to beast it in the gym. Haha) The first site I went to was the Disney careers site. Luckily, they had a few positions open. I applied. Then, I received a web-based interview a few hours later. Then, I was asked to schedule an in-person interview.

At first, I was sincerely excited. For the past four years or so, I have wanted to work at Disneyland. I actually moved out to this state with that in mind. It had just never panned out. I went to bed that evening yammering to my hubs about how fantastic my job will be and how completely envious he will be.

The next morning was a different story.

i think i had that creepy face going on too....

i think i had that creepy face going on too….

I was pouring over Disneyland message boards trying to figure out what the interview would entail, how I should dress, what I should say, what the job would be like, if I would get hired, and a lot of other speculations that only the interwebz could grant me. I was starting to go nuts.

Do you think i’ll do well? Maybe they won’t like me? Should I wear this? If my hair is curly, will I look too edgy to get a job there? Do you think they’ll hire me right away or waitlist me? What if I do not get the job? Will we be broke? Will we become homeless? AHAHAHAHAHA!

I warned my husband when he first met me that I am crazy. In fact, I think my actual wording was something like this, “I am the kind of person that stresses out about being stressed out and then will become depressed about being so stressed out. I’m actually probably crazy enough to be committed, but I have been told that my neurotic mess of a self can be endearing and hilarious.” Somehow, he never ran off during any of our initial dates and then later proposed….and then actually married me. He’s probably the crazy one.

Anyway, this poor man has been bombarded with questions he could not possibly have the answers to. We have gone to the mall four times to return and purchase the perfect interview shirt. I have rehearsed my answers to interview questions at least half an hour a day and he is still lovely enough to pretend to listen. I have to give him kudos.

There is nothing magical about this right now. I have been to the point of pulling my hair out. I see my insecurities out in full bloom. I hate the possibility of rejection, no matter who or where it comes from. I am going to breathe today. The interview is tomorrow and I will sleep tonight. I will not scan Disney message boards. I will not try on the same five outfits over and over again asking if I look fat, dumb, or employable. They should hire me and if they don’t then they are crazy. I’ll be fine. I will not let it define me.

This is how i'll walk out of the interview if they do not hire me.

This is how i’ll walk out of the interview if they do not hire me.

 

That “Little Voice”

9 Dec

I cannot remember exactly when that little voice in the back of my head sprang to life and started talking to me, but I do know it has been a dominate force in my life for years and that it developed sometime long ago when I was a pre-teen. The little voice is that terrible narrator in your head telling you rotten statements that are not true. My little voice has always said things like:

you are not good enough
they do not like/love you
you are ugly, stupid, and fat.
you will never become anything.
you will never be important.
you, ultimately, do not matter.

Looking back on my childhood (because is that not where most of our little voices develop those strong vocal chords), I see a connection between my little voice and my mother. My mother has suffered from OCD, anorexia, and serve anxiety for years. The anorexia started when she was a teenager; the other two developed more and more as she became an adult.

I first started noticing my mother’s problems with herself when I was eleven. She would stare at herself for ten to thirty minutes multiples time a day in the mirror in my bedroom. My closet doors were mirrors. I loved dancing in front of them pretending I was Baby Spice, but my mother used them to pick herself apart.

How much older than your father do I look?
I am getting chunky.
Wow, I look haggard.
I am ugly.

She would ask me questions that, as a young girl, I thought were weird. My mom has always been beautiful. Even if she was not my mom, I would think that. She confused me. Why did she not see what I saw?

Hearing my mother’s negative self-talk made me start to look at myself more critically. Where the kids at school right? I was tall, pale, and overweight. I did not really focus on this anymore. I was no longer being teased. I had friends now. I was happy. Or was it all a lie? My mom’s self-hate was contagious. The voice was probably born sometime around here when I was between eleven and twelve.

When my mom would stop eating, I wanted to lose weight her. I wanted boys at school to look at me the way grown men looked at her. When I was between thirteen and fifteen, my mother and I went through an ugly time together. We spent a lot of time eating lettuce and drinking Slim Fast. We were unhappy and constantly telling each other just how shitty we found ourselves to be.

I also picked up on her perfectionist qualities. Anything below an A in school (with the exception of math) was disgusting. I was not going to hold myself to the slacker standards of my peers. I struggled some nights between all my honors/AP classes and extra-curricular activities. I wanted to be fresh and creative to teachers regardless of how long I had to spend on the assignment.

The thing about the voice is: I never was able to make myself happy. No grade was good enough. No compliment was true. No report card filled me with pride. No matter what I did. I was not enough. I always had to be better….but I never actually thought I was better.

Same as my mother, I hit a point when nothing mattered anymore. I graduated and decided to not go to college. I worked for a fast food place instead. I consigned myself to eating and working for barely over minimum wage. I hated myself and wanted to torture myself because I thought living that way was what I deserved.

For almost three years, I have been working on accepting myself. I came out of a major depression and have slowly started to work on things, like that little voice.

Having a child of my own has been a big part of why I want to fix my real flaw. It will not matter if i’m fat, skinny, average, beautiful, or ugly. What will affect my son is how I feel about myself and what I do with my life. I do not want to teach him insecurities and self-hate.

As I approach the end of my first full semester of community college, I am proud. I do not have straight As and, for once, I am alright with that. I worked hard for a steady 3.5, but I did not let the pressure of school, my family, and the little voice get to me. Yes, I had days that I felt like a moron. There were also days I told myself to drop all of my classes because I would never be able to obtain a degree. However, I was able to ignore those thoughts. I was able to push through and, for the first time in maybe…ever, I feel proud of myself. Long ago, I let the voice dominate me. Now I know that even though I will never be perfect, I can still be the most amazing me. (and it may sound cheesy but it’s a big step for me!)

Daily Fit Thought #13

30 Nov

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The fit thought today encompasses many parts of life.

There is much more to becoming healthy than just counting calories and going for a morning jog. A huge part of being healthy is working on the inside.

Shortcuts do not get you where you really want to be. We have all been guilty of shortcuts. I have vacuumed around a table, but not under. What did it accomplish? Nothing. Sure, the floor around the table was clean but eventually the mess needs to be completely vacuumed up. That is the problem with a shortcut: diverting from the right path leads to missing some key elements that you’ll have to take care of regardless.

Working out long and hard enough has not been my issue. My issue has been dealing with emotions. Throughout my fit journey, I have tried to take shortcuts. I have tried to over-exercise to make up for the other parts of myself that I could not control. What would happen? I would become fatigued, gain some weight, lose hope, and fall back into bad habits because I never worked on all of my problems.

Take the time and work on everything going on with yourself. Shortcuts will only rob you of the ability to fully evolve into the better person you really want to be, inside and out.

Die Hard: As in Old Habits, Not the Movies.

30 Nov

There are no memes, no attempts at jokes, nothing smiley or funny about this post tonight. I am worried. I am starting to see some habits developing again and I am desperately trying to stop them. I want to be done with some of my undesirable behaviors. I want to be physically and mentally happy.

Whenever I start to feel out of control, I grasp to something and become obsessed with it. When I was younger, it was school. When I was a teenager, it was writing and self-mutilation .When I was between 16-18, it was my first job. Then, I went a couple of years filling the void and trying to fix my lack of control in ways that I do not want to talk about at this time.  When I started my healthy lifestyle change, I slowly discovered a new way to feel in control: exercise.

I had used cycles of purging and starving in the past to feel in control, but I had never really seen exercise as something I could take control of. The summer of last year changed that for me. I had put some weight back on after a car accident. I had problems with my left knee all spring. I felt broken, but it all changed in the summer. I started to go to the gym. Then, I progressed to running to the gym and then doing an hour of cardio at the gym. Then, I started running to the gym and doing almost two hours of cardio (and some strength training) only to run back home. I was a mad woman, but I loved it. I thought I was in control of my body. I was able to eat minimal amounts and exercise away my pains, fears, and uncertainty. The added attention from people noticing my changing body helped me feel better also.

This week I have worked out harder than I should have. I did more cardio and did not eat enough. I am looking back at my food log (via MyFitnessPal) and see the biggest deficits I have seen since January. I had to stop myself from doing more cardio today. I did an hour Tuesday and an hour Wednesday. Each of those days, I also did New Rules of Lifting for Women. Today, I did New Rules again and immediately went to the cardio section to hop on the Arc trainer. Since my son did not come with me to the gym, I did not have a two hour maximum to abide by. After twenty minutes, I recognized the need building inside of me. I wanted to do an hour of the Arc and then do some intervals on either the crossramp or the stairclimber, even though I was already sore and tired. I wanted to prove to myself that I can do it. I can do all that cardio. Fuck those people who stole my running shoes. Fuck my husband’s jokes. Fuck my grandmother mocking what I choose to eat. But after thirty-seven minutes on the Arc trainer, I pried myself off of it. I could barely walk from three hard workout days in a row.

Realizing these old patterns re-emerging made me start to look at my life right now. What is making me feel so out of control? What is making me feel so empty? I need to take a step back. I need to look at the thing going on in my life right now. I need to focus on what is upsetting me instead of finding another way to cover it up.

I need to keep trying to grow and become healthy in my head and heart. Not just around my waistline.

The Aftermath Has an Aftertaste of Dirt

24 Nov

I am woken up by my husband before nine this morning. His face looks weary. He is hoovering over me like he has something to tell me that he does not want me to know. I ask him if he picked up the car. He has picked up the car, but he has some bad news along with the good news.

I get up and snatch the keys from his hands. I slide my feet through my blue slip-ons and rush outside. There is the car. The car looks just as it always has. Beige, used, and oddly reliable. I cannot bring myself to place the key in the lock. I cannot bring myself to open the car door. I think of the scumbag breaking open my car door. The scumbag sitting in the driver’s seat of my car.

My husband comes over and opens the car door for me. The car looks as if a mini-tornado ripped through it. I feel violated. My stomach feels sick and I struggle to look through the mess. My son’s bike is in the trunk, but it is the only thing that was left. My running shorts, knee straps, my sports bra, weight lifting gloves, my running shoes, the toys we were going to donate, and my husband’s tool set are all gone. I become slightly dizzy. Who steals a pair of used running shorts? Who steals ripped weight lifting gloves? I am at a loss. I scream out some obscenities and slam the car door shut.

I had my workout stuff in the car because I was going to the gym right after I spent the afternoon with hubs. Otherwise, I would never just leave those things in the car. I do not typically use the car as a chest of drawers.

I feel violated. I am angry. I am grateful to have the car back, but then disgusted because I should not have to be grateful about that. No one should have to be thankful for getting their car back after it was stolen from them.

The cops told my husband, last night on the phone, that what saved us is that we had a practically empty tank. The lowlife only made it to the next town over. When the cops found our car, the engine was still warm.

I was upset last night. Then, I was thrilled to find out we would get the car back today. Now, after seeing the car, I feel disgusting. Someone ripped apart my car, looked at the items, and decided what was best to steal. I feel like the turkey carcass after a big Thanksgiving dinner; People picking the last morsels of meat and then they throw out the bones.

The lowlife stole the laundry basket in the trunk and filled it with the stolen goods. I can picture him riffling through my car and then fleeing in the night. But I cannot imagine how he (or she) feels. How does a person like that tick? Clearly that car is owned by a family. The loser stole our registration, took my id out of my gym stuff, and threw my son’s Disneyland hat in the trunk. That scum saw parts of us and we will never know who he is. We will never know why he did it or what he did with our stuff. This is what bothers me most. He broke in, took our mode of transportation, stole most of what was in it, and disrupted my family’s life.

I want to forget about all of this. I want to sit in front of  the television and veg. I want to eat junk food. I want a big bag of Jack in the Box. I want to stop being angry. I wish I could be more grateful that we have our car back. I am disappointed in myself. I do not know what to do. Handling emotions is not something I have ever been able to do.

Food is Not a Shoulder to Cry on

24 Nov

My husband and I went out today. We never go out on Black Friday; “Why not see it for once”, we said.

Our first stop was Target. We saw many deals out still, even after 1pm. Surprisingly, we ignored the shopping bug nipping at our wallets. On the way out, however, we saw a box. Inside the box was a twelve-inch bike all decked out in Lightening McQueen decals. Our son, almost three, has been begging for the past few months for a bike. His birthday is a month after Christmas. We found the perfect gift. With smiles, we purchased the bike and bounced out of Target. We were so happy to find such a great deal on a bike for our boy! We place the box in the trunk and decide to walk the short distance to the mall. Earlier we saw that the parking lot was ridiculous, so why bother?

After a few hours at the mall, we headed back to the parking lot. After five minutes, my scanning starts to become frantic. “Hun, where is the car?” My husband walks down the next aisle of parked cars. I stand there while a lump grows in my throat. I can see he is pacing in between cars. There is a worried look coming over his face. My eyes begin to water because I know what has happened. “The car is gone, isn’t it?” I start to scream the first part over and over again. I begin to cry as I run between cars. I am silently praying that I am just being paranoid and jumping to conclusions. I always jump to conclusions.

But I am not being paranoid and I did jump to the right conclusion; the car was stolen.

I think of my son’s new bike. I wonder how will my husband get to work. I, selfishly, think of my running shoes. I think of the little things in my car, in my family’s car.

Jump to two hours later.
The police report was made. We are all at home. At the dinner table, I check the NBA game scores for the night. I watch my grandmother set up dinner. I immediately think of all the food I want to eat. I am not hungry, but food will fix my problem. I always tell myself that food will fix the problem.

How disgusting of me to go there. All the progress I have made, but I need to work on my relationship with food. Eating three slices of pumpkin pie will not bring the car back. Eating 5,000 calories will not make this turn into just a nightmare.

Luckily, before we start eating dinner, the police call and tell us our car is at a tow place. We can pick it up tomorrow. I hope my baby’s bike is still in there.

I am disappointed that I almost binged. Almost three years has past since I have actively decided to not emotionally eat. I need to take more time to work on this goal. Food does not cure emotional problems.