the damn cookie diaries

there are so many things I could write about tonight.
but honestly, it would probably all come streaming out from
my hands in a jumbled disaster that I would not even be able
to put a title on, other than "shit my eating disorder says"
(let's hope no one ever makes an incredibly offensive parody on this one)

I've been wanting to write for days, but all I get is crazy little snid-bits of thoughts
that are literally now scribbled all over my planner,
my post-it note stash, grocery receipts, frequent buyer cards,
basically any form of paper I could get my hands on in the moment
when a thought hits.
Yes, I have an iPhone, but I don't believe in writing what truly matters
with your thumbs… you gotta put your whole hand into it sis-tah!
Anyway, one of them turned into a list entitled:
The (Infinite) Commandments of an Eating Disorder: Thou shalt not
That one got a little touchy though and is still in the
"let me sit here and think about this in a couple of days" phase, 
so you may get to munch on that in a few days.


Another longer spontaneous rant came as
the product of a cookie.
yes.
only in recovery world will one 
ever be compelled to journal about
a freakin cookie.
at what point does this become funny?
I'm leaving this as is: a stream of consciousness, if you will.
I only share this because I am sure that most of you
reading have been assigned to keep a "food journal" at some point
or another (or will do so in the near future)
that includes both a record of nutrition and… feelings. oh the F word.

I will warn anyone before reading this that this post does discuss

a simple "snack" (a cookie if you have not already guessed it!) and

a bit about the struggles of gaining weight. 

So please do not read any further if you think it

may be a trigger for you… I certainly do not intend to trigger anyone

by any means. Yet, I know that I had benefitted greatly from reading/hearing

raw, unedited thoughts of someone else who has struggled with

the battle before… and it made sense to me, it helped me make sense

of my own rants, it helped me know it was okay to rant, to get angry,

to write every SINGLE thing you felt and most of all it helped me realize

I was completely and utterly not alone.

...

~March 4, 2012~

After having lunch today it was like all of the "hunger" just disappeared. I knew this was reality and that it would come and go as any normal person expereinces but it just got really frustrating again, because I knew unlike any other "normal" person… I had to push through it, I still had to eat… I couldn't trust my body's hunger. This was my medicine.

It was difficult to dismiss the "oh you've really let yourself go now" thoughts that began to come : "Oh no wonder you're feeling full and a little gross right now... you've been sustaining for days... what did you expect after eating all that and cheering yourself on for doing so well?" I knew they were lies, I knew in my heart that I had done well, I had done my body a favor... but I also was reminded of the discomfort. The discomfort that will come with gaining weight. It sucks quite frankly. Absolutely sucks. Gaining weight doesn't fell good to anyone, no matter if you need to or not! It feels tight, cramped, uncontrollable, yet controllable at the same time… strange, indescribable, unpredictable… and completely against everything I have ever practiced or set out of achieve. Let's face it, never in your life have you picked up a magazine that says, "GAIN 10 LBS THIS SPRING! GET READY FOR BATHING SUIT SEASON! SHOW OFF THAT CAKE! WE'LL SHOW YOU HOW!" 

HA! No. 

And now I am sitting here waiting on a friend to get coffee knowing I will have to get a cookie or something to go with it because its right around "snack time". I want to want it. I do. But I don't want it right now... it feels forced, uncontrollable, uncomfortable, so. not. hungry... but I know I have to do it, because if I don't... I will feel guilty for giving in, I will have to write it down for my therapist to see, I will have thrown in the towel and said "YOU WIN TODAY" and I won't do that. I want to right now and it seems tempting… maybe just this once, you've earned a slack. No. I won't. 

I got the damn cookie and it was good. Yes, I was full and it took about every grain of strength I had to decide to do it, but I did. I pushed through it. Because it had already been a day of struggle I, of course thought about it for an hour… cookie, cookie, cookie, Mr. Cookie in your tummy. But it passed. Just like everything else has in the past. I feel okay at the moment... not great, I'll admit, but I'm here. 

I'm here fighting off the frustration (for the millionth time) of "why do I even have to do this, how did I get here… are you really writing about a freakin cookie right now?" And I transitioned into just being grateful. I have what I need to fight through this.... everything I need. I'm not great, but I'm okay. I ate the damn cookie and I won't go to bed feeling guilty tonight. I'd say it was damn good too... and big. Enormous, giant, with sugar on top...so what? I don't curse much, but I'm feeling particularly infuriated towards the E.D. tonight… oddly and uncharacteristically bitter, but I don't hate the feeling. Who else has to sit here and write their feelings about a damn cookie? This freakin sucks. 

And that's all I have to say about that. Humph. I will win.

next time I'm bringing him with me.

love and damn cookies,

C

a stranger driving

I read something this week written by another 

blogger that compared anorexia to riding in a car.

cliche as it may sound, 

it made more sense than anything else I thought all week.

and so, I wrote a story.

Someone asked me to go for a drive in their car.
an intriguing , yet strange car
I'd always seen on the road but never been in.
I was curious, It seemed like such an appealing interior.

Momma told me to never get in the car with a stranger.
And I had listened my whole life up until this day.
Always stayed away from trouble and knew exactly what to say "no" to.
Never said yes to drugs and never drank a day in my life.
Stayed away from reckless boys and put on my best behavior at school.

But I'm a big girl now, I can at least decide who I ride with.
where I go and what car we take.
But I can only determine
           where we go
                  how fast we go
         and how safe we get there
                       if I'm the one driving.


And the driver of the pretty car didn't ask me 
if I wanted to drive.
They just said, "get in."
And I did.


And so here I am in the recovery room bed.
I can't even remember if it was fun at first
if I enjoyed the ride at all.
That's the thing about fear
and about being in car accidents
they both have the ability to make you forget
to make you lose all your memory.
The terror of the terror just erases everything.
Or maybe I even hit my head that hard. I don't really know.


I wonder what I forgot.
All I have now is
the aftermath
the consequences to live with.

The sling on my arm, the stitches in my head
the bruises on my hips.
I don't even know if the driver of the car is okay,
if they lived.
I don't really know if I care.

The last thing I remember is them asking me to get in,
and I did. 

More often than not, car crashes are out of your control
especially when you were the one in the passenger seat.
Maybe the driver was distracted,
maybe they didn't have your best interest in mind,
maybe the breaks had a malfunction
maybe some other car didn't see you
and came speeding through the red light at full force.


It was out of your control
yet you're the one paying.
but you did say yes to getting in the car, 
you do remember that, yes you do. 


The rest, I guess I will have to figure out.
The doctor said it will take time.
I don't know if I'll be the same person I was before,
I can't remember who she was.
I can't promise my friends that they will like the new girl
who has been given a second chance.
I can't promise myself I will ever know who I was.
But I do remember saying yes to that car ride,
or I wouldn't be sitting here now.


I'll call this my first lesson in (my new) life,
before I even know my name:
Whatever the cost, don't get in that car again.
You remember what it looks like. 
You can't trust the driver, whoever it was.
You do know that. 


I looked up, "Hey Sweet Pea, how are you feeling?"
the tearful face of a woman that looks like she knows me
more than I know myself right now.
Maybe she knows my name.
I bet she does.


And then another: "OH MY GOD YOU'RE ALRIGHT!!!!!"
I guess that is… a friend?
A best friend maybe?
I hate to tell her, but I don't know,
I hate to wonder what part of me she remembers and I don't.


"Holy cow you look worse than my freshman yearbook picture"
and she exploded into a fit of hysterical, emotional laughter
I guess that was funny,
I guess we had known each other for that long.
I guess if I remembered, I would laugh. and so I did. 
I laughed with my friend. I don't know what I was laughing at
but it felt good to laugh.
I do know that.


"Who were you with when it happened? Are they okay? Who was driving?"
Questions. questions.
I don't know who I was with and I don't know if they are okay.
Male, female… I don't know.
But I do know I wasn't driving,
I don't know who was.
I didn't choose this accident,
I didn't choose to crash,
I didn't once steer the wheel or press the accelerator to the floor,
I just opened the passenger door
and I got in.


I don't remember why
and now I have to relearn everything I knew.
If only I had not opened that door.
Maybe someday, this will all be a memory.
only a memory.
until then...


a man enters, "There's my CHLO BUG!!!!!!!"


Oh, well,
They must call me Chlo Bug.
we will start there.