standing on bittersweet

I read this passage while finishing up a marvelous book, The Book of Bright Ideas, by Sandra Kring. Lately I've been feeling a knot coming up in my stomach slowly releasing an anxious murmur as it rises to the surface...

"Who will you be without me? Do you really want to let me go? Will you be able to control anything? Will you run in the other direction and make me a puffy stomach? Will you spin out of control and wind up the same way… confused and not knowing which step to take next, because you are so wildly out of control? Do you really want to say goodbye to me as a friend… when you are not sure you have someone else better to spend the day with? Do you really want to do this to yourself? Are you ready to live with the consequences of letting me wither away and wash thorough your system just like that breakfast you just enjoyed? I made you think didn't I? …. you didn't think about what it would be like to lose me as a companion. Bad companion or not… when I leave, I will still leave a void. Some kind of void. Actually, a pretty damn big one. Who will console you when you are sad, worried or having a pretty shitty day? Are you ready for the empty hole I will leave when you let me go? Oh… and you were so anxious to bid be farewell. A little bittersweet, eh? A little more bittersweet than you were prepared for… "

~ ~ ~

From The Book of Bright Ideas by Sandra Kring: 

"…I realized that I wasn't standing at the magic tree anymore. I was standing at the place they call "bittersweet". That place that, if you could find it on a map, would be the mountain that sits between happy and sad. And I thought bout how when you stand on that mountain, you can almost feel God's hand on your head and you just know, deep down inside, that even if you don't understand everything that happened to cause those mixed feelings, you still know there was a good reason for them happening.

…then I smiled and reminded [Aunt Verdella] of what she and Winnalee had both once told me. That you have to go on believing anything's possible, or else, what's the point?"

on the mountain of bittersweet.

and believing anything is possible.

it is, it is, it is, it is, it is, it is...

C 

    

surfacing stains

decide.

decide with me,

C

the control of a mess & the mess of a control

I read this post this morning from Carrie.

words I found to be an echo of my rant to my therapist yesterday.

A much more eloquently written echo.

"It was like I found a volume knob for all of the noise in my brain and to turn down that chatter, I just had to turn down my eating and turn up my exercise. I knew that the eating disorder didn't help me cope, not really, but it was how I made a crazy, anxiety-provoking world kind of cohere. It gave my world organization." -ED Bites

so much control,

one more hour and maybe I'll have something. maybe.

so predictable,

carrot sticks = good mood, brownie sundae = you feel like shit, easy as pie.

so manageable,

no, sorry I can't go out for your birthday dinner I have…ehh, homework.

so "harmless",

oh come on, it's not drugs or alcohol.

so validated,

I'm being so healthy eating spinach, it iron! I feel just great!

so dependable,

I follow these rules, I shall feel like this all the time.

also known as… feel nothing.

Life is messy. And painful. The eating disorder, while painful in its own way, is neat. It has a type of "payoff." -ED Bites

for a quite lengthy period of time,
this is how I made sense.
this is how I functioned.
this is how I lived.
well, existed at least.

it was the same everyday, so much "the same" that I can now hardly
remember a single "good day"
yes, I can remember the times I was scared out-of-my-mind
I probably didn't even feel those moments at the time
but I now remember
and as I gain more and more of me
I feel more and more of
where I have been
what I have been through
and even scarier…
what I am leaving behind.
the control I am leaving behind.


there lies the question: who will I be without this?
what will I look like?
sound like?
talk like?
feel like?
dream like?
or even smell like?
the E.D. makes all those answers unimaginably clear.
it's like magic.
everyday, every hour, every minute.
it's the same. it's neat. it's not messy…messy, like life.


messes terrify me.
even recovery has its own pattern, if-you-will
though how you will feel, what emotions may come up the next hour,
and how you will react when "the sh*t hits the fan"
is far less predictable,
there is still:

Monday: Nutrition meeting

Tuesday: yoga

Wednesday: email follow-up food diary

Thursday: therapy

Friday: catch up on life, REST night

To-Do Every night: Journal: 

how food made you feel,

when you felt comfortable

and when you didn't.

During the day: notice when you are anxious

when you are happy, 

when you are feeling the best

and the worst.

everyday, every hour, every minute
it has been recovery.
my top priority.
it can be an excuse for being "tired"
(IT'S A HELL OF A LOT OF WORK!!!)
it can validate a whiny mood,
the process can provide structure
and the thoughts of controlling food are ironically similar
only this time, food = increased health.
DUH. we're learned this already.


but this week I've been wondering.
what comes next?
what will I do with this messy
wild, glorious world without
the E.D. and then… without the life of recovery?
It's like losing a job,
divorcing a husband,
moving locations,
going back to school late in life.
Who will I be now?
What kind of world am I jumping into?
When is it right to let go…
… to let go even of hiding behind recovery.

When I come out from behind the curtain
what will I look like?

sound like?

talk like?

feel like?

dream like?

or even smell like?

I hope I look like Beyonce, 

sound like Adele, 

talk like Ellen Degeneres, 

feel like a warrior, 

dream like Mother Teresa 

and smell like fresh ground coffee.

Just for kicks. 

I probably won't be any of these things.

because they are not me.

they are tangible, real-life examples for comparison.

but they are not me.

I know they are only an example of a maybe 

to give my mind and body peace of the unknown.

since I let go of the volume knob

since I threw the file folder out the window

since I took off my armor

since I decided to see

what a messy world of mistakes 

and sadness 

and imperfections looked like.

up close, without any protection or secret hideout.

but also since I let go,

I also get to see a world of
beauty

compassion

giggles

& miracles.

it's give and take.

give and take.

but seeing one miracle just

may be the thing that makes 

feeling,

eating the brownie sundae

instead of carrots for once,

chuckin' out the file folder,

and stepping out utterly vulnerable

completely worth it.

this week I hope you join me 

in fighting to let go of 

the control,

the control of a mess.

which turns into a mess of control.

this we have learned.

be encouraged.
this too shall pass,

C

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.