Living Recovery

2011-12-01T13:35:00.001-06:00

Admitting Addiction

This was my share today on my OA link. I'm sharing it here because maybe it will enlighten you just a bit about what I deal with every day.

Hi, I'm The Diva, and I'm a food addict.Today is the first day I have said those words and understood what they meant when I said them. Last night - well, the wee hours of this morning, to be exact - found me in a food rage when the unplanned snack I was looking for was nowhere to be found. I stood hunched over the sink breathing hard and hanging onto the counter feeling like if I let go I would be choosing to give in to an uncontrollable rampage. I truly have no way of expressing the divine recognition that poured through me that (1) I was beyond all self-control, but (2) that I was also at a decision point - I could find some unsatisfying substitute food and go on a feeding frenzy until the demon was sated into submission, or I could open my hand and let go of the need. I kept remembering my therapist's words: the only way to change your behavior is to change your behavior.

I don't know why the words sank in just at that moment, but they did. I knew I could do exactly what I have done so many times before, but reality stepped in and quietly showed me mental pictures of just exactly what "satisfaction" I have ever received by doing that. I recognized in that moment that I did not have to give in to the monster inside me that was screaming for release. I could do something different.

So I did. I got that final grip on myself, walked into the living room, sat down in my chair, grabbed my journal for once and started writing. As I did, the enormous realization rose up and grabbed my throat. I knew in that instant what it meant to be an addict in desperate need of a fix, and it shook me to my core. The ranting and raving kind of died in my throat. And I felt better. One simple paragraph is all it took.

And that's where I am today. Thanks for listening.

2011-02-23T01:48:00.003-06:00

An Answer

A friend asked a really good set of questions on the "What's Eating Me?" post. He asked, "I've heard you discuss this behavior as self-protective in the past, and I've always been puzzled by that terminology. How is it self-protective? Against what (or whom) are you protecting yourself? Are there healthier alternatives available that will give you the same - or at least adequate - protection?"

That's a really good set of questions and I'm going to see what answers I have. The specifics are different for everyone, but eating disorders and other addictions in general are about control. In my case, it hearkens back to my high school years and even before when my entire life was controlled by my parents. I really never felt like I had any kind of autonomy and this was the way I exercised that for myself. They really did try to control my eating as well, but I found some pretty ingenious ways around that - like breaking into the locked freezer in our basement. Yes, they actually locked the freezer for the specific purpose of keeping me out of it.

I could go round and round with the blame game but that also doesn't serve a purpose any longer. It all just is what it is and I'm trying not to hold them responsible for choices I've made as an adult. I'll be honest - some days I still get very angry about things I remember, but I also remember that they did the very best they could. They never set out to hurt me - in fact I know that pretty much everything they ever did was what they felt was in my best interests. Sometimes that makes it worse because how can I be angry at someone who made choices they thought were best for me? It makes me feel like a horrible and undeserving daughter.

So...back to the self-protection issue because I've really not answered that yet. The shortest answer is the strangest - I protect myself from being hurt by hurting myself first. My brain follows a twisted and convoluted logic that is often paradoxical. I don't want to enter the labyrinth because there's a 50/50 chance that there just might be a minotaur at the center, so if I hobble myself at the outset then I never have to face that possibility.

My eating disorder provides me an excuse. "Well, it's not really ME they've rejected, it's my weight, which is clearly changeable, and I could change it any time I want to, so that proves that I don't have to." QED. Make sense? Yeah, not to me either, when I'm in my right mind, but when I'm immersed in my disease, this is a perfectly logical train of thought to me. In the end, I'm really terrified that someone - anyone - will reject ME, not just my weight. As long as I have the built-in excuse, I don't have to face reality - I can just live in that fantasy world where it's all the fault of my weight, not my choices. This is what Attila and I have been battling over for so long.

As for what are the healthier alternatives.... I'm not sure that "alternatives" are what I'm looking for. What I'm looking to do is combat that thinking altogether, not replace one bad choice with something a little less bad. First, I need to be able to recognize these thoughts for what they are when they come up. It's not as easy as it sounds because these thoughts are the disease speaking, and it's good at disguising its voice to make me think this is my good, solid logic speaking. Once I've recognized it, the second thing is to understand that these thoughts are, principally, lies. The next step is to combat these lies with the truth about myself. Then...believe these truths in the moment. This is the trickiest step because that voice is still there insisting that these lies ARE the truth - but I know they are not. I am not an ugly, horrible person. I am a nice, kind woman who has a lot of amazing and wonderful friends who are my friends because they LIKE me, not because they want something from me or because they pity me. (Yes, all these things are actual lies my disease tells me.) Sometimes I'm good at combating that, sometimes not, but every time I fight back, I get stronger and my disease gets weaker.

Does that answer your question?

2011-02-20T20:14:00.004-06:00

Another Diagnostic Moment

So tonight I'm having a few similar feelings to last night, but not to such extremes. My dinner was much more controlled than last night, but I recognized an urge that I can't remember recognizing before. Once I had eaten an appropriate plate of dinner, I went back to get the remaining portion of mashed potatoes. I realized as I was putting them on my plate that I could and should wait for a bit before having seconds so that my body could adjust to what I had already eaten. Immediately on the heels of that thought was the recognition that I did not want to wait because I was afraid that I would hit my fullness point and would not get to eat the mashed potatoes.

Why fear? I don't understand what I'm so afraid of. I have never wanted for food in my life. I was not deprived either as a child nor as an adult. I cannot understand this pathological need to fill my body with food to the detriment of the rest of my life. I want to know what drives my need because maybe if I learn that I can figure out how to stop it.

I know, though, that the answer lies not in the comprehension, but rather in the obedience to what I know to be right action driven by God's will in my life. It's hard for me to stop myself and ask God if this is His will for me right now, but I have to begin to do it. The funny thing is, the very need to ask that question generally indicates that I already know the answer, but I don't like it. Here's the kicker: neither God, nor OA, nor Attila have ever told me I have to like it; in fact all I have to do is do it.

2011-02-19T23:26:00.005-06:00

What's Eating Me?

I wish I had an answer for that question. Eating the way I did today makes me feel less than human. I'm really outing myself today and laying my vulnerability bare here by talking about the specifics of what I ate, which is not something I usually do to this degree except with my most trusted inner circle of friends, but maybe I can learn something or help someone else learn something by bringing my secret bingeing out in the open.

Lunch was leftover sesame chicken (about half a standard Chinese restaurant serving, sans rice) followed by a soup bowl of homemade chicken and noodles. I knew while I was eating the sesame chicken that it would be sufficient on its own. I knew this, and yet there was this odd fear in my gut - a feeling that somehow it would be insufficient and that would be A Bad Thing. My gut, however, couldn't tell me anything about why it would be A Bad Thing, it just did its utmost to convince me that my only path to survival lay in pretending I hadn't recognized my knowledge.

And so I did. In effect, I ate two lunches. This does nothing to convince me that I know what a proper portion size is, which was the topic of my latest conversation with Attila (my therapist). It also does nothing to convince me that I have any means at my disposal to actually defeat this ugly disease.

I followed the same foolish path with my dinner, only it was lemonade I filled up on, having not realized quite how thirsty I was until a large glassful had gone down. The funny thing is that that's a trick used by many dieters - drink a glass of water before eating so you will feel full faster. Ironic, seeing as I didn't want to feel full so I could eat whatever I wanted. Musta been the rebel inside me because I did it anyway and am really pissed at myself for it. I ate 3 mutantly enormous cheese-stuffed mushrooms, a bowl of baked potato soup, a large garlic cheese-stuffed chicken breast (and as if the cheese were not enough fat, the chicken was lightly breaded and fried), asparagus, and a mountain of mashed potatoes. I ate all but half the mashed potatoes.

I'm still unhappy even sitting here writing about it, but all I can do now is pray for God's forgiveness (done), try to forgive myself (or at least not beat myself up about it), and use this as a "diagnostic moment" as my nutritionist calls it. I can think about what moved me to do this today, pray about it, and plan for the next time I feel like this - for when I feel that need to eat past my levels of comfortability and fullness; past that knowledge that this is not what is best for me, not what I need, not even what I really want. I need to plan to think about what hole I'm trying to fill and find a healthier way to fill it. I did try to think about this today, but I was all too willing to do what was comforting and familiar - the behaviors I've engaged in for the past almost thirty years - the very behaviors that no longer protect me the way they I designed them to do.

What's eating me? I am.

2010-11-30T21:01:00.018-06:00

Perspective

I've been under siege for the last couple of days. It hasn't been anything earth shattering; just a constant barrage of small, irritating arrows fired in yet another spiritual battle. Some of those arrows - OK, many - have found their mark. My skin is spiderwebbed with tiny, stinging cuts. None of the individual arrows has been enough to stop me in my tracks, but when I start adding up all the little slices, I start to feel the pain:

Running late after work with no time for my planned dinner.
Having my deposit held for 7 business days (though I need the funds now).
Experiencing transmission trouble on the highway.
Doing laundry solo.
Washing only two loads of laundry because of a broken dryer button.
Getting home later than I wanted so I wasn't in bed at a reasonable hour.
Waking up to ~~a lovely cold morning with light snow flurries!!~~ (No, wait - that was a GOOD part!) a dead car battery.
Losing my wallet with my AAA card.
Finding that my AAA card is expired anyway.
My car battery not keeping a charge even after my neighbor jumped it.
Paying $250 for car work that did not fix the problem.
Waking up to a dead car battery, verse two.
Going in to work 2 hours late for the second day running.
Having to replace my alternator to the tune of $400.
Having my credit card declined because I forgot to transfer money from one account to the other so I can't get my car until tomorrow morning.
Having my eating completely off schedule all day.

Well, that's most of it. Like I said - nothing earth shattering, just ... a really bad couple of days.

Yesterday, when I recognized I was dealing with spiritual warfare, I called my friend Blondie. Blondie is truly a Godsend. An amazing lady with a wonderfully peaceful presence, she reminded me straight off that God is right there with me. She reminded me that I need to turn that worry over to the God Who carries me through all things. I was reminded of a favorite Bible verse:

"Be anxious for nothing, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God, and the peace that passes all understanding will keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord." --Philippians 4:6-7, paraphrase

I've kept that in the forefront of my mind and have recited that many, many times over the last 2 days.

Then something occurred that put it all in perspective.

A 28-year-old new mommy - a friend of a friend - had a massive heart attack while working out. She was taken to the hospital where it appeared she was brain dead. Her boyfriend and family have been preparing their goodbyes. As soon as I heard about this, I put urgent prayer requests on my facebook page: "Her chances of survival are impossibly slim, but we are the people of God and we know that, in the words of Max Lucado, 'He still moves stones.' Please pray for an outright miracle. With God ALL things are possible." In moments several folks had joined me in prayer.

It was Gideon all over. Remember him? God worked it out that Gideon's meager army of 300 water lappers defeated an army of well over 100,000. The reason? He wanted to prove beyond all doubt that this victory could only belong to God. He wanted there to be no question at all that He alone wielded Gideon's sword. Um, wait. Did I say sword? My mistake! There were no swords - only trumpets. God defeated an army of 100,000 + sword-wielding men ... with trumpets. Seriously. Does that leave any question as to Whom that victory belongs? It's absolutely unbelievable - impossible, even.

Or is it? This grieving man brought their baby girl to see her mommy, and her mommy ... woke up. Such a simple, yet unquestionably profound event. She simply woke up. The miracle we prayed for happened! In His omnipotent sovereignty, our ineffable God can and does do anything He chooses - His might is limitless! He took a situation that was completely outside the realm of human control and brought it to an amazing conclusion for the benefit of His children.

I am a woman of faith, and yet I find myself amazed at this result. I am a bit abashed at my amazement. I prayed for this result, yet even I did not truly expect that God would save this young woman. Oh, foolish me!

And yet I look at these minor irritations in my day - the car trouble, the cash flow, the little blips that don't even register on the radar - and I have the nerve to complain. I have the nerve not to trust that my Father, who held and healed the broken hearts of this woman and her grief-stricken family, will bring me through these momentary hassles. I repeat - Oh, foolish me! He brought Lazarus back from the grave, yet I worry about how I'm getting to work in the morning.

So. Perspective, anyone?

Yeah. Perspective. I haz it.

You know what? I choose to shift my perspective on each of these events in my life. I choose first, to see them as only minor irritations, not life-changing catastrophes. And let's go one step further: I choose to be grateful for each of these events, including the car trouble. I choose to see God's protection in that. He ordered it that I would experience these troubles here at home rather than in three weeks when I'm traveling through a probably-snowy Iowa. He ordered these events so that I would take stock of my finances; so that I would remember that life is about much more than having the perfect Christmas dishes; so that I would be reminded that my car is a gift, not a birthright. He ordered these events so that I would grow closer to Him - so that I would always be reminded Who has already won any spiritual battles I might encounter.

And that's what perspective is all about, Charlie Brown.

2010-04-12T17:40:00.008-05:00

Girl on the Couch

Some months ago I read Girl on the Couch: Life, Love, and Confessions of a Normal Neurotic by Lorna Martin. It was an eye opener.

p. 46: "...[W]hat I liked to call spontaneous and adventurous was really nothing more than reckless and irresponsible."

p. 47: "Do I value my life so little?"

p. 48: "Impulse drives the inner brat. Spontaneous people are flexible and like to do things on the spur of the moment. Impulsive people take spontaneity to the extreme. They are ruled by their inner brats. They don't think about the consequences of their actions. They can be naive, like children."

pp. 58-59: "...[T]he client's experience of psychoanalytic therapy was rarely easy or smooth."

p. 59: "For therapy to be effective, the client needed to be unsettled and challenged."

p. 65: "It's not pleasant discovering you're not the person you thought you were."

Conclusion: Therapy should be a disorienting experience.

Dandy. ><

2009-12-24T23:58:00.002-06:00

Christmas Peace

So I had a hard time at church this afternoon.

I pulled in to my sister's house at 1:40 with ten minutes to spare to change for their Catholic Christmas mass (I'm Lutheran, but I go to church with them because I want to be with my family). We get there and I have to walk in in the sleety rain with no umbrella and we parked way out.

Then, we get in the church and my nephew's father-in-law is ushering. He seats my sister and her husband in the pew with all the rest of my family - my nephew and his wife and their little guys, my niece's sister and her hubby and kids. There's no room for me.

Their pews are not squish friendly because they have barriers halfway down, so I get stuck back 2 rows on the opposite side of the church in the middle of strangers. After driving all morning to be there to be at church together, I am separated from my family by a gulf that felt so much more than physical.

The people in front and behind them had only 3 people in a pew built to accommodate four fannies. The people behind them said they were saving a spot for someone. Right. This person mysteriously never showed. In my opinion, it was completely rude. They clearly knew that we were family and just didn't give a crap.

Being across the aisle in the midst of strangers made me feel isolated, not cared about.... Silly maybe, but it brought home with Windex clarity the fact that I am alone in my world. I no longer have my mother to be my foil, my partner, my best friend and that grieves me to the soul. My sis tried to come sit with me but I wouldn't let her. She should be with her hubby and son, you know? I didn't want to split them up just so I'd be not alone. It would have felt really selfish to me and I would have had an attack of the guilts.

I couldn't help it - I started crying. I cried through the first half of the service. I knew Sis felt bad, but what could she do? It wasn't her fault. But there I sat on Christmas Eve, the most wondrous, joyous night, and all I could do was cry. I just sat realizing that I am completely ... superfluous. They were a complete family without me and I ... am not a family on my own.

It just hurt so much to recognize that.

When I told my dear friend Oregano (name changed to protect both the innocent and the horribly guilty - you'll have to figure out which one he is on your own) this later tonight, he responded, "Hon, you've got your own kind of family. We're your family."

Lord bless the man. He's right and I know it, but the family he speaks of is built from an online community of wonderful, loving people. Many of us have met in person and we are valuable to one another, certainly, but they are not HERE and it wouldn't disrupt their daily lives if I disappeared off the planet. I know if something happened to me they would mourn, but in very realistic terms, I am superfluous - peripheral, maybe - in the lives of everyone I know, online and in real life, including my own blood family. Not negligible, necessarily, but not intrinsic.

I did try to put my big-girl panties on and deal with it, and I mostly did because I reminded myself that the purpose of being in church is NOT being together with my family, but rather worshiping the God I love and serve and glorifying His name. Thus, I shook it off for a while, until I came home and started recounting the tale to Oregano this evening and then I cried through my mascara for the second time today. (Memo to me - buy waterproof mascara.) I kept telling myself earlier - it's NOT all about me. There are plenty of lonelier people in the world, and plenty of people who can't even visit a church on Christmas because Christianity is illegal in their lands. But there I sat revisiting the awful feelings I had in the church.

Sometimes just saying or writing things makes all the difference - sharing that awful feeling inside. It makes me feel so much less alone.

Oregano told me to "keep smiling." Right. Can't always smile on the outside when it's not true to the inside, you know?

And then it spilled over afresh, and the tears came anew and I realized I wasn't over it. I was bruised and lonely and hurting, and that's NOT trivial and I had no need to feel embarrassed, even though I did this afternoon. But it washed over me in a great wave and without thinking, for once in my life I did the right thing.

I looked up and said "I have to take this to You, Lord, 'cuz ain't nobody else can fix it. No one 'cept You." And then came the peace. The peace that passes all understanding. It was there and it filled me. And even if I cry with grief for my mother, I don't have to cry for my own loneliness. I am loved by the Lover of my Soul, my Father and Creator. And on this wonderful, beautiful, sad, joyous, sparkling Christmas, that is all I need.

I pray that each of you receives all the miraculous blessings of this holy season.

2009-07-07T14:19:00.005-05:00

Goodbye

I have been moved more than I thought possible by this last two and a half hours of remembrance of the life of Michael Joseph Jackson. It has been an elegant ourpouring of emotion and love, celebration and grief from the family and friends of this remarkable man. I was doing just fine until Jermaine sang Michael’s favorite song, “Smile,” from the Charlie Chaplin film, Modern Times, but when he choked up, I felt the tears. He wasn’t the only one who was choked with emotion. A very emotional Brooke Shields gave a very tender personal tribute, clearly remembering not a celebrity but a very, very dear friend and confidant. Her sense of personal loss was poignantly clear. She painted a picture of a boyish person who laughed and loved life and saw the good in the world. She clearly knew the man and the boy behind the legendary fame and reminded us that no matter how the world saw him, he was just a person. Thank you for that, Brooke.

Michael’s brothers all wore yellow ties and sported a single spangled glove on their left hands. A Gospel choir sang Michael in with a solemnly fitting “Going to See the King,” and provided subdued and appropriate backup to a number of performances. Maya Angelou wrote a very fitting poem and Stevie Wonder composed a blues piece which he sang with a slightly wavering voice. These people made their tributes to Michael in the venue they know best – and they did it with elegance, dignity, and respect. Magic Johnson spoke of fried chicken and Berry Gordy talked about Michael as a father would. Even the Reverend Al Sharpton spoke with grace and without an obvious political agenda about Michael’s contributions to black society and the world. The musical tributes were more subdued than I expected, and included new arrangements of several of MJ’s works – like John Mayer’s rendition of “Human Nature,” in which the electric guitar took the part of Michael’s sweetly pitched vocal line. Unexpected, and I believe it would have pleased Michael greatly.

The sweetest, most touching, and most tragic tribute came at the very end of the memorial when his beautiful daughter Paris spoke just a few words to let the world know that he was the best daddy in the world and that she misses him very much. Janet gathered her into her arms and comforted her as she burst into tears. Such a strong little girl in such a grown-up world. Her fragile little heart was shattered, and that grieves me most of all.

The most fascinating and important tributes, however, had nothing to do with Michael Jackson himself, oddly enough, and I can’t seem to shake the impact they must have had around the world. I heard the name of Jesus spoken or sung frequently throughout this service, and maybe that’s why God took this broken and resilient genius at this time in his life. This service glorified Michael Jackson, yes, but it also glorified the God and Father Who gave Michael the drive to be a humanitarian and a caring soul. God, and His Son Jesus were glorified through the words of the Gospel pieces, Lionel Richie’s song and in the words of Jermaine Jackson, among others, and that makes me very, very happy. There was meaning in his death, after all.

“There’s nothing that can’t be done if we raise our voice as one.”

--Michael Joseph Jackson, 1958-2009

Amen, Michael. Amen. Rest in peace, and may God bless you.

Goodbye.

2009-07-07T13:31:00.004-05:00

R.I.P.

“It feels good to be thought of as a person, not a personality.”

-- Michael Joseph Jackson, 1958-2009

I'm of two minds about the public memorial service for Michael Jackson. MSNBC keeps talking about how it's getting close to "showtime" and that there are performers, including (possibly) members of his own family, which makes it feel sordid instead of respectful and reverent - but is that my own prejudice speaking out? Who am I to put a restriction on anyone else's expression of grief? I simply pray that it will be a celebration of the life of a remarkable, if tortured, man and that it will be respectful and sincere rather than self-aggrandizing. I pray that tributes will be tributes and not self-promotion. I think I’d like to see folks singing his music rather than their own.

One of our librarians put it well when she called it a "cultural event,” which is how the media is viewing it as well. They're so fascinated by all the celebrities who will be attending/performing, and quantifying the number (30) and type (5 Rolls Royces) of vehicles in the motorcade as if an ostentatious display of wealth indicates a greater outpouring of love than 7 guys going to their best friend’s funeral crammed into a ’78 Olds because they don’t have gas money.

I guess it’s the spectators on the street and those watching by TV that interest me the most – our voyeuristic society at its worst and best. Are they truly there to be a peripheral part of a mourning public? Have they fallen prey to a false sense of grief brought on by the iconic celebrity status of the deceased? Are they there to be part of a global event? Are they there to watch grief and catch a glimpse of celebrity? Do they really care, or are they caught up in a mob mentality?

I can’t fault folks who simply want to be a part of a truly global event, myself included. There is an internal drive in all humanity which longs to be part of something greater than ourselves, and this international phenomenon will certainly unite countless individuals around the world even if it’s just for a brief moment. That is a powerful desire in our spirits, to be sure.

So I will be one with my world and take part in an event that is larger than myself.

2009-07-07T13:06:00.002-05:00

Bravo

I applaud the very classy Elizabeth Taylor who will not be attending Michael Jackson’s public memorial, stating, "I just don't believe that Michael would want me to share my grief with millions of others. How I feel is between us. Not a public event." Bravo, Ms. Taylor.

2009-06-04T12:19:00.004-05:00

Redefining

(This note was penned by Mandy Moore (no, not THE Mandy Moore). The only edits are for punctuation and capitalization. :)

The closer you get to recovery the scarier it may be to leave your disorder behind. Remember you have a full self and you DO know how to be satisfied and happy - without the guilt of your old behaviors. Emptiness is just an illusion - you are inherently full of ideas, thoughts, emotions, love and wishes. You were meant to love yourself and accept love from others. Look at old pictures
of when you were young - you will see it! Trust others that want to give you love - you do not have the right to judge negatively what others meant to give you as positive!

Recovery is not an "if," but a "when": you are by nature introspective, self-aware, intelligent. You are not destined to feel shame, disgust, or fear. It's time to start moving away from old definitions of yourself and writing your own. By replacing your old thoughts and behaviors about yourself with positive ones, you are taking control of your life. You are saying that no label will define you - you are believing in your right to be free of judgment and pain. That is the right you were given by God - in Christianity it is not your place to disown that. You believe in recovery, because recovery means you are taking control of your life, and not letting previous habits control you. And isn't control over your life what you are really seeking in the first place? Challenge yourself to own your recovery. it does not happen to you - you are working to claim the happiness that you deserve every day. I know you can do it! I believe in you!

2009-04-29T16:53:00.008-05:00

Girl of Glass

Photo: "Shards" by *ether
(from deviantart.com).

is a fragile piece of glass afraid of its invisibility
as i am?
in my mind i know i am loved yet
in my heart hides a scared lost little girl
so fragile, vulnerable,
afraid of losing
that precious love, that belonging
ashamed she does not deserve it but
scared of being pressed aside unnoticed
forgotten in the wake
of a real girl
prettier, brighter, gentler, sweeter,
more vivacious, sparklier, smarter, happier,
more alive
twirling around the floor in her shiny dress
drinking in all the attention
showing me as dull and drab and unimaginative
and i am convinced
once again
that i am so much less than others
so easily bypassed, forgotten
and dismissed.
i quiver in fear.
i am so afraid to be ignored.
my courage flees.
i am afraid to tell you i crave your attention
afraid that will run you away
and i will cease to be.

Photo: "The Invisible Girl" by Michael J. Armijo
(from redbubble.com).

2009-04-22T11:26:00.013-05:00

The Balancing Act

Fractal print: "Feelings" by Titia VanBeugen
(from deviantart.com).

This post started out as a response to someone else's blog posting on anger and the subsequent comments. You can find the original post and comments (I'm Diva) on Joyce Lee's blog.

The participants were discussing anger and how to live without it in their lives, but as I read along, I realized that what they were discussing was really what I would call reactionary behavior; not the feelings - the emotions - of anger, but rather the behaviors that often accompany it. Reactionary anger is very different than responsive anger. Reactionary anger lashes out; responsive anger seeks resolution. In reactionary behavior our emotions rule our actions; in responsive behavior our spirit (our wisdom) rules our actions.

Lots of folks seems to consider anger as a "negative" emotion, but that's a misperception. Emotions simply are - they are neither positive nor negative. We may not like how some of them feel in our bodies and spirits, but they are God-given and we need to embrace them, live with them, and work through them. That is “responsive” (and responsible) behavior.

Emotions are nothing more than gauges. They are highly intuitive and impart to us valuable information that we need to know. We have a responsibility to ourselves to listen and really hear what our emotions are telling us.

You walk into a room and suddenly you find yourself feeling sad. Why? What is it about that situation that brings out sadness? If you can identify the source of the feeling (hint: it’s probably something long past), you can work to resolve it and get back to the business of living.

Someone cuts you off in traffic and you get enraged, pounding on your steering wheel and shouting obscenities. Why? You know you've done the same thing yourself and probably will again. What is it about this situation that triggers such anger? If you can identify the source of that anger, you can seek a resolution and next time you’re in that situation, your actions will likely be less reactionary and your emotion less intense. Now you are regulating the gauge instead of it regulating you.

When you feel a strong emotion - not just anger, but any emotion: happiness, anger, sadness, loneliness, fear, etc. - explore it! Don't just take it at face value or bury it because you don't like it. Sit with it and let yourself really feel it for a little while. Usually it means that there's some unresolved issue in your life, sometimes even in the far distant past. Caution: when you're exploring it, don't let it become your sole focus. That's just as unhealthy as ignoring it. Find that middle ground - that balance.

Anger is no different than happiness. It's simply an emotion. We are the ones who charge it as "negative" or "positive." Truly, without anger, we have no motivation to change injustices, to rework unworkable laws, to find and punish criminals, to live a balanced life.

What if your child were molested? Would you feel anger at the molester? Would you consider that anger to be “bad?” Would you seek to put it behind you and move on?

If you did that, I would say you were deeply in denial about the issue and that you would need some very heavy-duty counseling to work through that intensity of emotion. In this circumstance I would consider intense anger – rage, in fact – to be an emotion perfectly fit to the disastrous circumstances and your powerlessness over them. You have to allow yourself to feel that anger, and work with it before it can release you from its grip. Anything less is burying it – which is just as unhealthy as dwelling on it. Burying an emotion does not mean that you stop having that emotion or that you are “at peace” or “balanced.” In fact, that is a misconception about peace, in my opinion, and a sure-fire way of UNbalancing yourself.

A peaceful person does feel anger (and other intense emotion), and does not deny it, push it aside, or bury it. The peaceful, balanced person recognizes that anger/emotion, investigates it thoughtfully, then digs up the courage to work on the issues it reveals. Sometimes those issues are incredibly painful, but you cannot live a life of wholeness without working through the rough parts. If you do, it's no different than a surgeon who closes up a gangrenous wound without cleaning it out. Just because you stick your fingers in your ears and say "lalala I can't heeear you!" doesn't mean it's not there.

What happens when you leave it untreated is that it festers and begins to infect the whole body. That is what happens to a spirit that does not confront whatever issues place them in the path of overly strong emotions. You will find that unresolved anger coming out in other ways, like the road rage I mentioned above. Unresolved emotions demand your attention with increasing intensity over time until you find that your every action has become reactionary rather than responsive.

A healthy life is lived in balance. That means experiencing all parts of it - good, bad, and indifferent – and working with and through those parts so that you can become a truly whole person.

In short:

Emotions are neither positive nor negative.

Emotions are a gauge and you need to be willing to listen to them.

You must be willing to investigate and feel your emotions to reveal their source.

Once you have revealed the source, you can seek a resolution to it in some fashion.

Choose responsive behavior rather than reactionary behavior.

Peaceful, balanced people feel intense emotions from time to time, but they treat them in a healthy manner.

It's a tough balancing act, but I have faith that we can do it!

People all have expressions
Upon each and every face.
Yet you are like a canvas,
A blank one, without a trace
Of any emotions appearing upon
The surface that I see.
You are about as readable as
A water drop in the sea.

- tiannangel from deviantart.com

Print: "Tightrope" by Vera Brosgol
(from gallerynucleus.com).

2009-04-20T11:39:00.010-05:00

Sam Levenson's Beauty Tips

Many thanks to The Yearning Heart for the correction - this poem was a great favorite of Audrey Hepburn, but written by Sam Levenson. Audrey read it to her grandchildren, and clearly took it to heart in her own life. Her beauty was far from surface only. I strive to be like La Belle Hepburn.

For attractive lips
speak words of kindness.
For lovely eyes
seek out the good in people.
For a slim figure
share your food with the hungry.
For beautiful hair
let a child run his/her fingers through it once a day.
For poise
walk with the knowledge that you never walk alone.
People
even more than things
have to be restored
renewed
revived
reclaimed
and redeemed
never throw out anyone.
Remember,
if you ever need a helping hand,
you will find one at the end of each of your arms.
As you grow older
you will discover that you have two hands
one for helping yourself
and the other for helping others.

2008-10-22T16:16:00.008-05:00

The Body Image Bear

Today I happened upon a Crosswalk.com Women's article called "Wrestling the Body Image Bear." Holy crap that struck a nerve. It's an amazing article about women and physical body image and how it affects their marriage relationships. As a single woman I don't get that part so much, but I surely could identify with the whole concept of feeling undesirable and ugly, yet having someone love me because of or in spite of those things - looking at the real me.

I've been very, very blessed with a wonderful community of friends who remind me daily that I am a beautiful woman. They remind me that beauty is who a person is, not what she looks like. Beauty is a product of love, and if that's the case, then considering all the friends who love me, I am the most beautiful woman in the world.

I have a God who places my worth above rubies. He showers me with blessings and gifts that I cannot begin to thank Him for. He loves me with an everlasting love and He designs all things for my best. Even in a situation as bleak as Monday's, He can bring beauty out of that ugliness. He has given me back my voice to speak words of pain and healing and power so that the evil done to me cannot rule me.

As I was researching images to use to illustrate this article, I came upon a blog called "fat feminism" which I plan to read religiously. The woman who writes it calls herself a "Rubens Woman," referring to Paul Rubens, the famous painter of curvaceous, voluptuous, larger-than-life beauties of a time long past. On her blog I found an article, "Spock Does Fat," about a wonderful photography collection by none other than the inimitable Leonard Nimoy. The collection, "Full Body Project," is online and fabulous.

My favorite photo is at the bottom of this page. It is a wonderful shot of sexy, vibrant women who are beautiful, joyful, and unashamed of who they are. I want to be that. I want to BELIEVE I'm as beautiful as these women. I want to BELIEVE I'm as beautiful as my friends tell me. And you know what? One of these days I will.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find a stairway and dance.

2008-10-21T13:30:00.002-05:00

Primal Scream

god is a son of a bitch
with a sick and twisted
sense of humor

i am too fat
for the people
who study fat people
i have no worth
and they can't see me

numb numb numb
numbnumb
numb
dead inside
screaming in my head
sound with no words
a shell echoing
my skin a shroud
an animated corpse
flesh sans anima
undead

what game are you playing
how many arrows will pierce
my armor

i died
and my body doesn't know it
yet

There's been a lot going on over the last six months. I have had periods of great joy and fun - like going on a cross country adventure with an internet friend whom I'd never met in person. We had a BLAST! I met Dave Barry, met a whole bunch of other internet friends and just exhausted myself with fun and pleasure. I didn't know I was gonna need such a storehouse of it to draw on.

More recently I have had a prolonged period of great despair, depression and grief. My mother died ... (I don't think I've written that just that way yet ... deep breath ....) My mother died September 1 of an acute attack of pancreatitis with renal failure. I have now survived the very worst day of my entire life, barring the death of a child or spouse. In fact, my mother was very much like my spouse in that she was the person I always went to first for everything. Her death has left a gaping, raw wound in my life and it can never be filled. Not ever.

Let's add insult to injury now, shall we?

I had my group therapy last night and it was going so well. I felt like I was getting so much out of it. Then our therapist (who is also my individual therapist now) mentioned that right as group was finishing, we were going to have a graduate student come in to talk to us about a study of binge eating disorder she was doing for her doctorate. It's a study on the brain's reward recognition system for binge eaters because there's been some indication lately that whatever makes up this system in normal eaters is lacking or missing entirely from binge eaters. I was so psyched because binge eaters are the stepchildren of the DSM IV. Or maybe it's V or VI now. Anyway, we're given really short shrift in the psychiatric community and I can't help but think that there's still some stigma, even among eating disorder specialists, that what binge eaters are lacking is simply discipline or willpower. That is not the case.

Anyway, I was so excited that finally someone was doing some work in this arena and I was really excited at the possibility of being a part of this survey. It would mostly consist of an interview and an MRI taken while engaged in two games with monetary rewards with the purpose of mapping the neural pathways used. Then she dropped the bomb. Participants have to have a BMI between 30 and 40 to participate. I was crushed and felt utterly humiliated - I was stunned because once again I was simply inadequate, incompetent, worthless. Here I was being given a chance to do a study on fat people* but, oh, so sorry, honey - you're too FAT for it. SONOFAFUCKINGBITCH!!!!! I mean WHAT THE HELL? You come into a group of eating disordered patients, get their hopes up and then tell them they're not QUALIFIED for your STUPID study?! What kind of a moron ARE YOU?!?! You claim to have six years' experience working in this field and yet it NEVER OCCURS TO YOU that you are preying on the minds of extraordinarily vulnerable people?!

(OK, so it's really not a study on fat people. There are plenty of folks out there with BED who are not fat like I am fat, but that's how I felt upon hearing this, so that's how I wrote it.)

Honest to God, I was completely numb for about 5 minutes. I knew that I was upset, but I didn't know how much. I did manage to ask why the limitations and learned that the MRI machine can only take a body so big and still have room to maneuver. THEN WHY NOT DO YOUR STUDY AT A LOCATION WITH AN OPEN-SIDED MRI so that you can actually serve the population you claim to be studying?!?! At this rate you're only going to get moderately overweight folks who will suffer from BED in conjunction with restriction and/or purging. How can someone suffer from BED alone without being my size? Maybe my view is narrow, but I can't see how that's possible.

I was furious, but well beyond that I was HURT. The adjectives that exist to describe the intensity of the pain that ripped through me over this are perfectly inadequate. I am well aware that I have extremely intense feelings, but I make no apology for that fact. As Monk would say, it's a blessing...and a curse.

By the time I realized how much pain I was in, I was in the car and driving away. I was WRACKED with sobs to the point I couldn't breathe. I had to detour into a parking lot and just sit there while I raged impotently and screamed and beat the ceiling of the car with my hand. It was some minutes before I was capable of anything remotely resembling rational thought.

One of the things we learn in therapy is that all emotion is the same - it comes, it peaks, it passes. Period. So I let myself ride the wave, as overwhelming as it was and as much as I felt like I was drowning in pain. And indeed that pain was made far more intense by understanding that the person with whom I would have shared it is no longer with me. My mother, my confidante, my best friend. My Significant Mother. I wept and wept for that loss as well.

How's that for a hideous fucking day?

Eventually, the pain did begin to recede, much as waves at the shore. They roll in until high tide comes and erases all the beach in its path, then it gentles and rolls out and each successive wave comes in a little less far than its predecessor. So it is with pain. We cannot live on a steady diet of pain any more than we can live on a steady diet of celery. We have to have joy to balance the pain, and that also comes in waves.

Today I am angry. The hurt is still there underlying the pain, but today I can work with it instead of feeling like an overused pin cushion. I will call my therapist. I will talk with her about how I felt about this. And I will tell her what I need from her, starting with an apology.

There is great embarrassment and shame in admitting to the depth of my emotion, but at the same time there is great empowerment in telling my story. Thank you for letting me.

No, I am not insane. Yes, I have issues - BIG ones. Yes, I am working my way through them. No, I am not generally violent. No, I am not as private a person as perhaps I ought to be. So be it. I apologize for nothing.

Pardon me while I comfort the beast chained in my heart.

2008-03-13T14:43:00.000-05:00

Lessons from the Grave

We buried my roommate's sister today. Nancy was a lovely, loving woman who smiled constantly, and I don't mean a simpering "Mona Lisa" smile; I mean a big, broad grin. She loved Jesus and she loved talking about him. She would tell you all about her Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and she meant every word. She honestly had the faith of a little child.

Nancy had cerebral palsy since birth. The last several years she lived in a nursing home and was confined to a wheelchair. Her right arm was virtually useless, and her vision was fading. It didn't matter - she smiled and laughed all the time. Her heart was simply overflowing with joy. Her circumstances just never seemed to matter to her.

One of her caregivers asked her a question once. "Nancy, you are always smiling, always laughing; don't you ever get sad or depressed or blue?"

Nancy's response was quite enlightening to me, and I intend to take her lesson with me. "Yes, I do get sad sometimes when people are not nice or when I think of my situation, but then I remember who I am. I am God's child. He is my heavenly Father."

Well said.

Enjoy your crown, Nancy. It is radiant on you.

2008-03-04T11:58:00.001-06:00

I'm Not Overweight, I'm Undertall

Some time ago I calculated my BMI index and figured out the extra weight that I'm carrying with me. Then I figured out how that weight measures out in terms of a person. Currently, I'm a 5'4" woman carrying an average 6'4" man on top of my body. To be sized appropriately at this weight, I'd have to be over 8 feet tall.

My friend Jeff (pictured below) makes a PERFECT foil for this because he's EXACTLY an average-sized 6'4" man. It's disheartening and humiliating to admit this in public.

I learned a couple of weeks ago that I now weigh 2 pounds more than I did when I went in for rehab 2 years ago, so I'm at my max weight this minute. BUT - today is the new day, Jan (my therapist) is my company clerk and Paula (my nutritionist) is my aide-de-camp. I also have Kori (my group therapist), my group, and my blogits as cheerleaders.

My goal is to make myself more conscious of every choice that I make. If, for instance, I'm buying lunch, I will say out loud to myself, "I am choosing the chicken salad because it's better for me and fits my program, even though I really want the artichoke casserole." Or, conversely, "I have had a bad day and I want to binge on McDonald's burgers and fries." I have found that speaking my choices out loud - positive or negative - makes me more aware of that particular moment. For now, that's part of the plan.

Also, I need to figure out some rewards for good behavior. If you have any suggestions, please send them along. Paula will be sending me a list of rewards that folks have given themselves when she finds it. I'll post it here for all of us!

2008-03-04T11:04:00.002-06:00

It's All About the Health

My university is getting with the program. They are getting involved in the fight against unhealthy bodies, unhealthy body image, and eating disorders. I applaud them! Several articles were printed in the most recent issue of the University News:

UMKC Counseling, Health and Testing Center celebrates healthy body image

Why are you eating?

American Women are dying to be thin

Here's my favorite quote thus far from the first article: "Health should be the overall focus of someone who is unhealthy. We want to focus on getting them to a healthy place so that their body can do all the amazing things it is designed to and capable of doing."

An outstanding point, that. HEALTH should be the focus, not size or appearance. Let's shift our viewpoint.

2008-02-17T02:26:00.000-06:00

Living Large

Today I read a Lenten devotion at Writings from the Wilderness that struck home for me in a BIG LEAGUE way. It should be clear to you all that I possess a highly addictive personality, which explains part of my eating disorder. I am very, very thankful to God that I have never been offered any kind of drugs and that I don't really like the taste of alcohol because I know what my path would have been, otherwise.

Even without drugs or alcohol, I know that the god of my life is pleasure. I have no idea how long it has been thus, but it's been for many years. I procrastinate on tasks I don't want to do in that "ostrich" sort of way - if I don't see it, it ain't there and I don't gotta deal with it. Stupid, yes; short-sighted, certainly, but I don't believe I'm the only one with my head in the sand.

Where has this pursuit of pleasure led me? To a sedentary life in front of a TV or computer; a life in which I do not feel fulfilled, with no husband or children (the deepest desires of my heart), a job that's just a paycheck and a house that's always messy because I can't be bothered to get up off my rump and do anything about it. And did I mention that as of Wednesday I weigh more than I ever have at any other point in my life?

I struggle on a daily basis to change my life. I have discovered a technique that is becoming an invaluable tool in my box. Whatever decision I need to make - what I'm having for lunch, whether I should wear my seatbelt, anything - as I'm making that choice, I speak my choice out loud.

Example One: "I'm going to have chicken salad for lunch today because it fits my food plan and I am NOT going to have the cheesy artichoke casserole, even though that's what I would prefer."

In this case, it is easier for me to stick to the choice because I have spoken it out loud which reinforces it for me. I try to do this in advance (and out of the hearing of those who would call the mental hospital).

Example Two: "I am choosing not to wear my seatbelt today because I don't feel like it. Besides, I am only going three miles to work and it's highly unlikely that I will have an accident on the way."

Put that way, it sounds rather absurd, doesn't it? Especially considering that I have HAD an accident on the way to work.... Putting it in this kind of language makes it easier for me to make the choice to do the right thing.

No, this is not an easy method. First, I have to be aware that I'm making a decision at the moment, second, I am a weak human being and I still face the temptations to go against my better judgment, but speaking and hearing it out loud means that I cannot pretend any longer that I'm not making a decision. I cannot stick my head back in the sand.

Even though recognizing the decision points is tough in the beginning, I know that with practice I will be able to spot them more readily and the more I practice good choices, the easier it will be to make one the next time.

2008-02-17T00:46:00.000-06:00

Empowerment

Some time back, I came up with a statement that I felt defined empowerment for me: "I think true empowerment (feministically or otherwise) is liking what you like and doing what you feel is right in any situation, and not merely in reaction to someone else's decisions, choices or approval. In other words - true empowerment is being and liking yourself."

I sent that around to some friends and got a response from my nutritionist: "I agree with your thought. The only thought I would add is something deep about knowing what is right-having an ongoing source of counsel and knowledge to learn and challenge yourself in this regard. Because I believe empowerment is also about truth, which can be very difficult to determine, both in the greater world and for oneself."

I agreed with her. So - incorporating her comments into my original thought, my definition of empowerment:

True empowerment (feministically or otherwise) is liking what you like and knowing and doing what is right in God's eyes in any situation, not merely reacting to another's decisions, choices or approval. It means having an ongoing source of counsel and knowledge from which to learn and challenge yourself in regard to Biblical Truth.

In other words - true empowerment is being and liking yourself, and it is about seeking and acting on God's Truth, which can be very difficult to determine for our human minds, both in the greater world and for oneself.

How does that hitcha?

2008-02-08T14:41:00.000-06:00

It Ain't Easy Bein' Green

Green is not my best color, yet I seem to be willing to wear it regularly. Jealousy does NOT become me. I have a friend - I'll call him Eric - whose behavior toward me has changed, and not for the better. Suddenly when we're in public, he's yakking with the "cool" girls and barely acknowledges anything I say. In private he'll talk with me about things, but when the others are around, he courts their attention and ignores me. Oh, he'll make a brief comment if I address him, but beyond that I might as well not exist.

It makes me really ache inside. I do not deserve to be treated this way, and I know that I have done nothing to warrant any kind of poor treatment from him. I have never spoken ill of him or said anything unkind to or about him. Not once. It hurts because he's supposed to be my friend.

If I say anything to him, I'll get pegged as jealous and needy, and right now I could not stand that. I'm extremely angry because I feel like my hands are tied and I don't know how to rectify the situation to my own satisfaction. At this point, I almost don't care if I hurt his feelings - that's how hurt I am.

Why do I allow other people's treatment of me to color how I view and treat myself? I won't stand up and say anything because I'm afraid of looking petty and insecure. And of course there's the chance that he's not even aware of what he's doing.

In the meantime, I'll be trying to rescind the green eyes from the monster and put them back in my own head where they belong.

2008-02-06T18:02:00.000-06:00

My Favorite Game

Motivation is as difficult for me as heavy lifting for other people. I can't seem to find my way out of the morass at times. I wish I could. Procrastination is the name of my favorite game of self-sabotage. I've been playing it since I was a kid, and I've nearly perfected it.

I do not do those things which I know I need to do if they are unpleasant tasks. I have a pair of refrigerators sitting in my kitchen right now, one waiting to be cleaned, the other waiting to be emptied. I don't suppose the dishrag fairy is going to come along anytime soon to wash the new fridge so I can transfer over my food, but it's something I hate doing, so I'm simply avoiding the task. Even writing this post is a clear avoidance mechanism.

I chose to go ahead and write, though, in the hopes that maybe putting my thoughts down here will help me find a way through the labyrinth that is my mind. The guilt that comes from NOT doing what I need to do, even coupled with the satisfaction of a job well done and complete, is insufficient motivation for me to get up and go do it.

At most I do these jobs in chunks. I wish I understood why they prey on my mind so much. Is my entire life merely the pursuit of some kind of pleasure? I hope not, but I rather fear it is, and that makes me sad. I don't know how to change that.

2008-01-25T09:54:00.000-06:00

Silence is Golden

Holy epiphanies, Batman! Some days you learn incredible amounts of information about yourself. I have always LOATHED the silent treatment and will talk to the silently angry person until I'm blue in the face in an attempt to get them to talk to me. Whenever I've done this, I've ended up feeling weak, angry, hurt, and desperate, and the other person is allowed to feel smug. They are relishing their victory over me.

No wonder I can't handle this - it's point-blank manipulation: withholding affection - even basic acknowledgement! - from someone until she is broken to your will. It is psychological warfare - torture. Don't respond to the person until she addresses you in some way that you deem worthy of a response. It's a guaranteed way to make her feel like she has no worth apart from you - that she has no right to any opinion different from yours.

This was my dad's big, bad trick. Of course, he really didn't understand that he was manipulating me and he DARNED sure wouldn't have agreed that's what he was doing, but that was the effect of this behavior.

I will say again as I have said elsewhere that I love my father, and I have a comfort in knowing that he is home with God. Now I believe that in his perfected state, he is truly remorseful for the wrongs he did while here, and that makes it easier to forgive him. I know in my heart that what he did was not intended to harm me. It was just the easy way out.

But it was what he learned at his own father's knee. At one point during my father's first marriage (to my sister's mom), his father refused to speak to him for one entire year. (I do not know the circumstances well.) When I realize that, my heart goes out to my dad - the man who didn't know how to break the chain.

Having friends write you off is just as painful when it's your family. Sometimes more so because you don't always have the benefit of knowing what makes them tick. It just kills my spirit when people will not permit me to be nice to them. It may sound crazy, but it's true. I don't want to be nasty to people. I think it makes me the better person to be able to speak to those who have done or meant harm to me.

NOT that I mean that in a superior manner. I am just the same as everyone else, but I will not allow myself to be diminished or demeaned by someone else's actions or attitudes about me, even when it means they react badly to pleasant comments from me. They do not have the right to make me feel unworthy or less than unless I provide them that right. I choose not to do that any longer. I do not like taking the silent road myself. I know that comes as a great shock to you. (Oh, REALLY?! We'd never have guessed!)

What I am, I am. I am kind. I have more love in my heart than I know what to do with. I am selfish in that I want things for myself. I feel young. I am not perfect. I spend more money than I have and I trust people from the start. I fall in love hard. I am generous with giving. I am protective of myself but still let myself be hurt because a life that has no pain has no love. I love my family and my friends. I am a person with hopes and dreams, just like you. I do not live up to my potential. I overreach my goals. I am a paradox, but that is part of human nature.

Mother Teresa said it best:

People are often unreasonable,
illogical, and self-centered;
Forgive them anyway.
If you are kind,
people may accuse you
of selfish, ulterior motives;
Be kind anyway.
If you are successful,
you will win some false friends and some true enemies;
Succeed anyway.
If you are honest and frank,
people may cheat you;
Be honest and frank anyway.
What you spend years building, someone could destroy overnight;
Build anyway.
If you find serenity and happiness, they may be jealous;
Be happy anyway.
The good you do today, people will often forget tomorrow;
Do good anyway.
Give the world the best you have,
and it may never be enough;
Give the world the best you've got anyway.
You see, in the final analysis,
it is between you and God;
It was never between you and them anyway.

2008-01-24T11:27:00.000-06:00

Creator Celebrated

O Lord, my Father
              Brother
              Beloved Bridegroom
When I am stilled
in awe-struck wonder,
bereft of speech and conscious thought
able only to feel
       to retain impressions;
when I gaze and reflect
upon each exquisitely crafted detail
of the creation of a single grain of sand
and cower at the terrible knowledge
of an incomprehensible visible dimension,
I see gases in planetary conflagration
reduced to a single glittering point in a
       black velvet heaven
and hear the collision of clouds echoing
       across the continent.
Your incomparable might
       celebrated outside time
       and space
then - ah, only then!
       will my spirit rise within me
       and give voice to the overflow of my heart
exulting with all the bowed
heavenly chorus: proclaiming
"My God - my Father - my
       Beloved,
Great is Your holy name and
greater is the Creator
than all His creation.
          Amen.
       and amen.

2008-01-23T12:18:00.001-06:00

Spilled Milk

Some days it’s laugh or cry, and I gotta laugh. I do need to say something somewhere about this whole mess I've been in because I realized last night that keeping the absolute rage bottled up within me is taking its toll in several ways. My eating has been demolished and my rage issues (gee? didn't I conquer those once?) have come screaming back, just to name two.

I got a chocolate frosty all over some books and papers last night and had a complete screaming meltdown that ended in childish, frustrated tears. Think about it – I was literally crying over spilled milk! Sooooo cliché! The news about my cousin losing her baby at the end of the first trimester came about 10 minutes later. Talk about perspective. It made me feel like an ass, but I have always been the one to hold anger and rage inside and let it fester because I’m afraid to let it out. That meltdown, however puerile in the moment, was a great catharsis for me. (I love the word "cathartic" this week!

It makes me think of the movie Hocus Pocus where Sarah Jessica Parker starts chanting in a sing-song voice, "A-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK, a-MOK!" before getting socked in the gut by Winifred, her witch of a sister. Such innocent fun. ;-P

Well, I had outstanding therapy tonight in the form of the world's most adorablest widdle chubby baby boy wif da CUUUUUUTEST teeny toes....nom nom nom. Man. Babies are therapy like nothing else in the world.

Perspective. I haz some.

2008-01-22T22:51:00.000-06:00

Living Recovery

I went to my group therapy yesterday, where I had a kind of weird time. I am suddenly in a new place.

Our first assignment right out of the gate last night was to come up with a title for whatever chapter of our lives we're in. Not surprisingly, perhaps, I titled mine, "Living Recovery." Once we came up with a title or a picture to describe it, we were to write for a time about where we are right now. Here's what I shared.

Standing strong. Facing the headwinds. I feel the force of the gale blowing in my face. It's refreshing, but I could so easily be knocked of balance if I'm not vigilant - if I don't keep taking steps forward.

I have so recently climbed to my feet after being keeled over by the buffeting winds. I do not want - will not allow myself - to be pushed back to that filthy and unforgiving ground.

I resolve to stand firm - my belt of Truth buckled around my waist, the shield of faith deflecting the blows of my enemies. The helmet of salvation covering my vulnerable head and mind. My feet don't want to move forward, yet, but I'm doing it anyway. They cannot remain rooted.

I have tools - blog, friends, therapy, medicine, and I have my God, my gracious and loving Savior Who watches over me and protects me from all evil. I know where I am blessed. This is my last stand.

I realized as I wrote it what that last sentence means. God has clearly told me that I will be free of this disease by the end of the year. It's very frightening to say this in print because of the fact that it makes it real. It makes me have to do something about it.

But I have to say it because it's real already. God is ready to move me. Oy.....

I have been undergoing a spiritual siege from satan. He has done so much evil against me lately that it makes me rejoice because it means that somewhere, somehow, I'm doing something right. You don't fight an enemy who isn't threatening you - you reserve your strength for the ones who will do the most damage to you.

Let me just disclaim here - I am in no way suggesting that I can conquer satan in my life. By no means! I am the weakest of the weak - but God, my protector is invincible. Actually, He's already defeated satan, so I can live victoriously in Him.

I have seen Eddie desperate to come out kickin' on my behalf. Bless my girl. She's in a deathly rage on my behalf for the injustice she sees, but her instincts are not so good anymore. I've been working to handle everything that's been thrown at me in the most Godly manner. I have fallen short of that, which just proves to me again that I need a Savior.

But, since I have restrained Eddie's sarcasm and rage, she's taking it out on me. I haven't eaten properly or right amounts in days. Those boots HURT when they come in contact with my gluteus. I'm suspicious that she's attached a pair of sharp cleats just to heighten the impact.

She's fighting mad, and frustrated and wounded. This poor, aching girl is so much my heart, and I grieve for what we have both endured. But I refer you to my Gloria Gaynor post. I - we - will survive. We must. Not to survive this is death, and I'm not ready to die.

This is my final stand.

2008-01-22T12:55:00.000-06:00

"Queen Sized" Quotes

Another friend saw the Lifetime movie, "Queen Sized," and she adapted a few relevant quotes. I think these are going in my permanent toolbox.

"_____________ doesn't get to decide how I feel about myself."
"What is it about me that is so threatening that they feel they have to beat me down?"
"Stay strong. There'll always be jerks out there. But they can't let you down unless you let them."
"Just because I'm ______________ doesn't mean I don't have qualities worth admiring."

I love my friends. They are the jewels in my crown.

2008-01-20T17:45:00.001-06:00

Fed Up!

What is wrong with me?! Last night I was fuller than I have been in over two years. I am really unhappy with myself, but all I could think about at the time was MORE food. This is reminding me all over that this is a sickness. My body was stuffed, but I wanted POPCORN This is so not normal! I'm sick and tired of having abnormal eating habits - of obsessing over a steak or compulsively eating whatever's in front of me just because it's in front of me!

I had a late lunch from Taco Smell yesterday. It was too much food, but I couldn't stop myself because it sounded so good. Plus two drinks (TWO!) from Sonic: one large cherry limeade (extra lime) and one strawberry cream slush (ice cream included, of course). I ate these around 2-3 in the afternoon, knowing that at 6:00 I was going to dinner and a movie with a bunch of girlfriends.

Dinner rolls around and there we are at the Longhorn Steak House. I ordered their basic fillet with a small lobster tail, baked potato and asparagus - no salad and only one piece of bread. OK. Not a problem, right? It clearly fit into my eating plan. So - what's the problem, you ask? I WAS STILL FULL FROM LUNCH! I couldn't believe that I was eating a meal when I was full. When we were done I felt like I was absolutely overbalanced because of my overfull stomach. It disgusts me that I have no control over this part of my life. I feel like the world looks at me and KNOWS that I have just given in to this damned and bloody disease.

Of course, none of my friends knew I was feeling like this. Like all ED victims, I'm good at hiding what's going on. I comforted myself with the thought that I wasn't going to even want to have popcorn at the theater. I would simply have something to drink - maybe even just water. I was proud of making that decision in advance and felt so confident about it.

We get to the theater. (By the way, if you have the opportunity to see "Mad Money," I highly recommend it!) I pick up the preordered tickets from the kiosk, and lo and behold, what do I find? A coupon for a free small popcorn. Well, CRAP. Suddenly, stuffed to the proverbial gills, all I can think of is, "YAY!! Free popcorn!!" My next thought is, "What the hell is WRONG with me?!" Here I am in actual physical pain and discomfort from rampant overeating and all I can do is be excited at the prospect of free popcorn. Suddenly I am so disgusted with myself I want to sit down and sob right there. At that moment I called upon every reserve of strength that God had in store for me and walked past the rear concession stand (of course we had to pass it to get to our theater) without even stopping for my drink.

I detoured into the bathroom where I stood in the stall for a moment, just catching up with myself. I couldn't believe - couldn't believe - that I had been contemplating that stupid popcorn simply because it was free. For the first time in a very long time I began to come to grips with the "sickness" part of this disorder.

I always felt it was weak of me to say that I am sick - that I was somehow absolving myself of responsibility for my physical state, making excuses for myself, playing perpetual victim. After several years of therapy, I am beginning to understand the very basic tenet that this is not true. I am not absolving myself of any wrongdoing. I am not using this disease to make excuses for continuing these behaviors. I am NOT playing the victim.

What I am doing is seeking a way to break a cycle of destruction and pain. It cannot happen overnight, but it will happen. I believe this because I believe in a God Who stands behind me and lifts me up.

"No temptation has seized you except what is common to man. And God is faithful; he will not let you be tempted beyond what you can bear. But when you are tempted, he will also provide a way out so that you can stand up under it." --1 Cor 10:13

This I believe.

2008-01-20T17:39:00.001-06:00

Just Like Gloria Gaynor...

Well. It's been some 20 months since I first wrote and I'm still fighting with this bastard Ed. Only, surprise! It's really not some "bastard Ed," but a leftover remnant of my rebellious teenaged self who's still asserting her existence and belligerently stepping in to protect me from the controlling world around me. She's got this sassy, "Hey! I'll show YOU!" attitude which I love, but which just comes out in the worst way. I call her, "Eddie."

I'm finding support in a wonderful group of women at Renew, where we laugh, cry, get pissed off, love each other and work our collective way through all the sludge and bilgewater that builds up in our lives and threatens to choke the breath out of each of us. I also have an amazing nutritionist with whom I work regularly, and a therapist I adore.

So - what's been going on since that first post? I can't honestly say. It's been up and down and up and down; compression, release, relax; reduce, reuse, recycle. Some days I feel like Typhoid Mary; others like Little Mary Sunshine; then, of course, there's Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, but my garden is overgrown and overwhelming. The very vagaries of day-to-day living are sometimes just beyond my ability to cope.

There's been a lot of upheaval and turmoil in my life in the last year - some good, some bad, as most things are. Some of it brought me new and wonderful friends, though (you know who you are!), and a few of them are wonderful helpers to me in my ongoing struggle for supremacy in my own life with Eddie.

Eddie is not all bad, you know. No, Eddie came along at a vulnerable time in my life and stood up for me in ways no one else ever had. She's feisty, yet passive-aggressive, angry, and boldly protective of me. And she's smart. This girl has a Mensa-level IQ. She figured out that control didn't have to be what others expected it to be. I could be in control of what I ate no matter what dictums others tried to place upon me - and believe me, plenty of others tried to control my choices.

My parents, naturally, tried to make sure my life was lived according to their standards and by their rules. Their standards weren't always mine, though. In fact, if my mother saw the complete dishevelment of my living room, she'd plotz. They tried to control everything in my life - my friends, my likes and dislikes of clothes, the layout of my bedroom. I think that my current laissez-faire cleaning style is still in direct rebellion to that, but it's still a choice I want to make differently. I would eat in secret from them as a passive-aggressive rebellion.

My friends also control(led) my life. I would do anything to be liked and accepted, for the most part. I let my so-called friends walk all over me for a long time. They dictated what was cool and what was not. I had so many nerves around them that I just ate lots when they were around. Some of the folks I counted as friends once upon a time weren't ever really friends to me. I know that now. They used me because I was needy enough to allow it. I probably knew that deep down, but again - there was no feeling of being able to stop it. I needed control somewhere in my life, and food was the only place I could find it for myself.

Enter Eddie. Feeling unloved? Eat! You'll be full, and you won't have to think about that. Feeling angry? Stuff it down with food so you can feel stronger. Sad? Eat! It'll comfort you.

Geez. Smart, smart girl, but not smart enough to see more than one solution for every problem.

The time is long past to help Eddie move on and mature. That is the only way she and I can continue to coexist. I am so grateful for all the help she has given me for so long, but we need to find other coping mechanisms now that fit both of us. It will be so difficult to tell her that she has to change, but she needs to know that her "help" is really not help anymore, but hurt. That she is damaging the very person she is intent upon saving.

So.
I think I'll write her a little letter. I'll let you know when I get an answer.

2008-01-15T11:20:00.000-06:00

Fathers and Other Hit Men

A friend watched a movie on Lifetime last night that made her think of me: Queen Sized. "It was about an overweight high school girl and they portrayed her negative thoughts as her mother. When her mother would say something that sounded innocent enough, the thought-mother would reword it to be hurtful and when the girl was alone, the thought mother would come and express all these negative opinions and then the girl would go on a binge. Despite the depressing sound of it, it was a really cute teen movie and of course, in the end, she is elected Homecoming Queen and all the nobody kids look up to her while all the mean girls still hate her and she gets a boyfriend too. I think."

DANGIT!! I'd meant to tape that one. I'd seen it advertised. Well, shoot.

Anywho, BOY is that me. Only difference is that the things come from both my parents. My dad was more image-conscious than he was comfortable being. He was saddled with two daughters with weight issues twenty years apart. Kay* and I rarely talk about it, and she's FAR less heavy than I am, but I know from my mother that one time he introduced her to a colleague as, "This is my fat daughter Kay." W T F ? ! ? ! ? ! WHO DOES something like that?! I could really never reconcile that person with the father who was normally such an extremely sensitive, kind and tremendously well-reasoned and compassionate man.

He had one on me, too, once. Probably the single most painful moment of my life. Christmas - I'm in my 20s somewhere. We're opening presents and I get a really nice new pants and blouse set from my folks. My dad has a "haha" look on his face, and asks mischievously - "Does it come with a pole?" I am mystified. I really, really, really don't get it - and neither does my mom. My sister and BIL are not forthcoming, although I think Kay gets it.

Finally, at dinner, I tell them I give up - I have NO idea what it means. My father doesn't answer (I think, perhaps he's ashamed of himself by this time). Kay finally responds sheepishly - and I know she's sorry about it. She says, "A tent pole."

I have never so much in my life wished that the ground would open and swallow me whole as at that moment. I have also never wanted to physically harm or humiliate my father as I did then. I wanted to pick up my dinner plate and smash it straight in his face - just grind it in. I actually had to mentally restrain myself from it.

What do I do instead? I laugh. God help me, I laughed so no one would know the damage I felt inside. At that moment, and for the only time I can recall, I hated my father.

And I can't say that "It's all good," or anything because when I finally confronted him years later, the bastard didn't remember it at all. He had the NERVE to forget it.

I am still trying to forgive him for that.

*Not her real name.

2008-01-13T00:17:00.000-06:00

Can O' Worms

WHOOO! Can o' worms time!! LOL. Beware, my buddy Dan says I write exactly like I talk with all these parenthetical phrases. :-D Forewarned is forearmed! ;o)

I am NEVER offended when people ask honestly about my eating disorder. I am willing to explain to anyone who really wants to know. That was part of my issue with a former friend. I received an email in which she decided to tell me that I use my eating disorder as "a crutch." She has never had an eating disorder, has no clue about what it does and how it wreaks havoc in your head, and I know that, but nevertheless it has preyed on my mind ever since she said it many months ago.

Part of that problem stems from the fact that I was trained by my parents that I was about the last person who knew what was right for me, so my knee-jerk reaction is to take whatever someone outside of me says about me as fact. Sort of "they said it, therefore it must be true." This makes me doubt myself SO much. I have worked VERY hard to overcome that part of things, but occasionally something either particularly vitriolic or something that comes from someone I've trusted still makes it through that wall.

I really kind of am two people inside - the confident woman who can speak out like I am doing here, and the timid, frightened girl who can't handle change or growth, make decisions for myself and take action on things I really want. That's the one who doubts everything about herself, including whether she has the right to exist and be loved in this world.

I'm fighting to reconcile these two sides of my character and my weight is a physical manifestation of an emotional wall. The person I am now is not the person I was a few years back. I have grown immensely through therapy with an amazing woman. A few years ago I was almost belligerent at times. I still have moments where that creeps back in, but usually when I feel like I'm being dissed for politics or something that doesn't strike at the core of ME.

The kind of abuse I suffered growing up wasn't the same kind of abuse as many others have suffered. I had parents who I know without a doubt loved me and wanted the best for me. The biggest problem was really more along the lines that I was denied many types of freedom as a child/teen/young adult. My father always tried to control my actions - often through shaming me. I wasn't allowed to be angry ("Listen, Kid. What've YOU got to be angry about?") or have emotions ("Stop that crying right now or I'll give you something to really cry about!") or express myself ("Don't you backtalk me, young lady!"). The worst thing about all of this was really that I wasn't allowed to be OK just being me. Whatever I did, my parents tried to change me, and somehow when faced with "teaching" me or "controlling" me, they always took the fucking easy way out. They simply felt they knew better.

Why did you like that awful rock music? We raised you on GOOD music! (40s-era tunes)
Don't think you're leaving the house with those long earrings on! (which, of course, was the rage)
Why don't you wear your hair the way your dad likes it? It looks so nice that way. (FORTUNATELY that one was pretty much OK because it was 80s big-hair days, but WHY was the way I wanted to wear it "wrong?!" The well-intentioned comments are really the most insidious.)
Hey - when I pay the mortgage, it's my house and you're just living in it. You keep your room NEAT! (I had the CLEANEST room of all my friends, not because I liked it that way, but because my mother forbade me from arranging it to my own satisfaction, even down to the placement of knickknacks on my dresser. Seriously!)
When are you gonna learn to save your money? (Yet...why did I need to? When I finally did have a monthly allowance instead of weekly, I overspent it, and they covered whatever I wanted while they bitched and moaned about it. THEN my mother decided that, instead of teaching me by making me deal with the consequences of not getting what I want and learning HOW and WHY one saves, she was simply going to go back to the weekly allowance because clearly I couldn't handle it myself. THEN TEACH ME, MOTHER!!!!! GRRRRR. Don't just take the control away from me. Oh, that's right, then you'd have to WORK at raising me and it wouldn't be the easy out you wanted. To this day, money is incredibly difficult for me to control. Even at 37 years old, my mother still bails me out, to my shame - and then mentions it IN FRONT OF MY FAMILY!!! It's not any of their FGD business!)

Anyway - those are just a few things that they tried to control. THEN THERE WAS THE FOOD. I was so cowed by authority (my parents, teachers, etc.) and the consequences that I might face that the only outlet I had for control in my own life was what I chose to eat.

Both my parents did everything they could think of to keep me from eating. In high school I was not allowed to eat too much of anything. I would sneak snacks in the kitchen, only to hear my mother holler, "What are you doing in there? Don't you think I know?!" BITCH. I wasn't allowed to have regular soda, butter, salad dressing, etc. They were so friggin' paranoid about my eating that they tamped down ever harder, not realizing that they were making a bad situation unfuckingbearable.

And, perversely, they kept the deep freeze on the lower level, just feet from my bedroom and living room! (I had my own space down there, which was cool.) They could MUCH more easily have kept it in the garage just feet from the kitchen, instead of where my mother had to make trips up and down the stairs. So many people I know have said that this was a kind of subtle challenge/sabotage to me. And they were right. It was a blatant attempt to show me who was boss.

It got so bad at some point, that I was getting in and eating the frozen Christmas cookies and fudge by the pound. She had a TON of it stored there. When they finally found out, they locked the freezer (MOVE THE DAMNED THING TO THE GARAGE, YOU POWER-HUNGRY IDIOTS!!). Well, I broke the lock. I ate whatever was at hand. At its worst (and yes, you may laugh! :-) ) I actually was desperate enough to pull out frozen hot dog buns and thaw them by sitting on them. IANMTU. Yes, it's damned funny when I tell it now. It was the nadir of my ED, in some respects, and what finally motivated my folks to get me some help.

They took me to a hypnotherapist and a psychologist, who I couldn't stand, in my senior year. The hypnotherapist psychiatrist is the only one who saw what was going on for what it was, but I freaked out when he wanted to medicate me. The hypnosis part never worked.

They also tried to convince me to do a hospital program then, but I was TERRIFIED to do that kind of thing at that age. If you only knew how sorry I am that I didn't go............. *grief* WHY is that the one place where they DIDN'T control me?!? :'(

So - that's why I see "Eddie," the rebellious teen, as my ED alter-ego. She's still the teenage version of me who eats when things are uncontrollable, or when I don't know how to cope with any given situation. Eating, in my case (or, depending on the disorder, restricting, purging, overexercising, etc.), is how she controls her environment - how I controlled my environment back then.

The sad part is that it most often takes YEARS of various therapies to train oneself on how to recognize what you're doing, when it comes up, how to rethink the process of coping with difficult or stressful situations.

Additionally, I am the adult child of alcoholics. Both of my parents drank to excess. It wasn't too bad until I was in high school, but we moved to a clannish area and my parents had a very difficult time making friends - for the one and only time in their lives, by the way. I was reduced to being their best friend and they became very selfish in some ways.

I was extremely isolated even without all this control. I lived 6 miles from my high school in a rural area, had no car, wasn't allowed to ride to school with the one girl in my area who I liked (most of them were cliquish and snobby if you didn't have the right clothes, etc.), was actually less than a MILE from the long-distance line, making ALL of my high school friends long distance for me. And my father was very tight with money. I wasn't allowed to make those long distance calls. My church was 20 minutes away, but I wasn't allowed to drive to events, so I had to rely on rides from my church friends. Yet, at the same time, my mother didn't like me being "beholden" to them - as if one is "beholden" to friends!!! The message I've always had from her is that you have to pay everyone back immediately for anything they do for you - which said to me very clearly that I was not worth enough for people to do things just because they liked me.

Insecure? CHECK!
Low self-esteem? CHECK!
Low self-worth? CHECK!

OMG - it's the trifecta!

So. That's a pretty nutshelled version of my life and what led to my eating disorder. Yes, it's a large nutshell, but then - it's gotta be big enough to fit this nut! ;-)

Enough for now. We'll talk more about some of these things as we wish, and I'll talk about how we can make changes, because part of it is just that I need to be strong enough to put into practice the tools that I have. I just don't have confidence in that strength.

But, this is one of the tools - reaching out to people. And this counts as journaling, too. I have written letters to Eddie. You'd be amazed at how your emotions change if you write longhand with your non-dominant hand. It's kinda freaky. I need to go back through all my materials from my rehab and redo some of the exercises as a recharge. But I am determined that I will not have my eating disorder past the end of this year. That is my promise to myself. It's a TERRIFYING goal, but I believe that God will see me through this.

Well. I've said a HELL of a lot more than I intended when I started, but the ball just kept rolling.

So. Any questions? ;-)

2006-02-15T00:15:00.000-06:00

Life without Ed

Ed doesn't live in my house any more. His bags are packed and sitting on the front porch. I've had a team of security experts evaluate my home for safety, change the existing locks, add deadbolts, glass breakers, alarms and cameras. My home is better protected than Fort Knox! Plus, the contents are much more valuable.

The biggest problem, I suppose, is that I keep listening when Ed talks. He has such a big mouth. He tells me whatever he needs to say to get me to do what he wants. Ed is really nothing more than a manipulative, self-centered abuser and I'm thrilled that he's out of my house.

Sometimes he hollers so loudly and smacks the door so hard I have to shove couches and other heavy furniture in front of the door to keep him out. Sometimes he whispers apologetic sweet talk in at the window. And sometimes I'm so lonely I convince myself that I just don't care that he's going to be abusive - I rationalize it by saying, "Well, at least he's there!"

Except that nothing changes the fact that he will be abusive and manipulative every single time. There are no exceptions with Ed. The eating disorder tells me that I can eat whatever I want just like the skinny chick next to me. He tells me that I will be able to stop this time, regardless of the fact that I have not been able to stop the last 4,387 times I have tried this. He tells me I am weak when I have to protect myself; yet in the same breath he tells me I'm strong enough to eat only one potato chip.

Do you see the paradox here? He tells me what he thinks will make me do what he wants me to do. And what he wants me to do is eat. Uncontrollably.

And he lies. Oh, how he lies. He tells me all the time how ugly I am; how nobody really likes me - they merely tolerate me out of politeness; how stupid or weak or selfish or useless I am. He points out every shortcoming and every failure or perceived failure. The perfectionist in me (which usually goes right along with the eating disorder) just sits back and nods her head. What a traitor! It's so difficult to refute these evil statements no matter how wrong they are, but it's vitally important to learn to do that, one moment at a time.

The answers are not simple. There are as many options for recovery as there are eating disordered individuals out there, both men and women. I journal when I feel the need to eat outside of my prescribed normalized meal plan. Or I find an activity I can do. Granted, this can feed the obsessive-compulsive fetish, but I prefer that to the alternative.

One of the most important activities in which I can engage is connecting with other people, most particularly my support system. I can pick up the phone when I'm feeling food-related anxiety or an urge to binge, go hang out with my friends wherever they may be or even pick up a pen and write a letter. Anything to stay in contact with the people who love me. This is most usually linked to the craving that I'm experiencing, so it's a healthy outlet for me to meet my needs.

And I can take my message to the world - that's you, my friend. Please learn something from me and don't follow in my footsteps. Besides, they're not my footprints right now because Jesus is carrying me through this recovery process.

I wish you all God's blessings in your recovery.