food is B-A-D!!!!!!!!!!!

This is CrAzY! The amount of food I'm consuming is making me sick and I still keep eating. Looking back on my previous "binges" lets me further know that I had taken quite a break from objective binging for a while. THIS is binging. This is not good.

I did a chain analysis last night before bed that corresponded to the series of binges on Monday. I thought that waking up with an upset stomach and horrible plaguing thoughts of guilt and shame and fatness would stop me from eating a single thing all day. Instead I've spent the entire day (literally almost TWELVE hours) binging and purging. And I'm not sure why. I even had a wonderful conversation with a friend who reminded me that the path to law school was not a road I needed to be on. That I didn't like where that road was headed and I had every right and DUTY to myself to get off even if I didn't know which road to hop on next. (She's unaware of my need to recover but she knows I have an eating disorder.) Anyways, she was so comforting and reassuring and wonderful. That what is in store for me is so much better than the other road. That the law road was a great road to be on for many people. But just not my road. I NEEDED TO HEAR THAT. TO INTERNALIZE IT. That she sees something so breathtaking and awesome for my life that she's so happy I'm taking the non-traditional route. That I had the balls to say, STOP! I made a MISTAKE. But I can fix it.

I hung up and BINGED. Why would I do that? I felt great. I felt secure in my decision again. I felt like YEAH, I dropped out for a REASON. IM NOT A LOSER. MY LIFE IS NOT OVER. Because let's get real here. Everyone I hang out with (when I have the opportunity to hang out with someone) is doing SOMETHING with their life. SOMETHING = GRAD SCHOOL. And they have their own apartment. And they LOOK happy. Things APPEAR like they're going oh so well for them. I'm going to my roommate/best friend's graduation from law school in like ten days and I'm SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy for her. (Seriously. I am) But it's exam time. In the FOUR months that I've been sleeping and eating and binging and purging and "recovering" I could have been doing ALL of that and been just two more semesters away from having that JD.

Yeah. That's whats been on my mind. For a while now. I don't know how long. Maybe I never really dealt with it. Actually, I know I never dealt with it. I told Shish back in January that I felt guilty. That I felt like a loser. That I couldn't live with my decision because the uncertainty of it all was so overwhelming and I feel like I have an obligation to do so much with my life and I actually do think I could do anything...but I don't know what's stopping me. Fear? Yep. I think it's fear. Fear of failure. Fear of making a mistake again. Fear of not being good enough. Fear that they'll (my parents) will still hate me. That they'll never see whatever it is that I end up doing as good enough because its not medicine or law. Fear that I've bought into those notions for so long...that I won't think it's good enough until he says it is.

And she said...push those thoughts away. Notice them, and then say there's no time for that right now. And yeah, we were in crisis mode...I was having a ROUGH time so it made no sense to discuss those thoughts but....they're back.

It's like when she asked how I could BUY into the idea that I needed to be thin. How I could believe what society or my family has told me about the way I should look. HOW COULD I NOT? WHO CAN COMBAT IT ALL when it comes from inside your HOME and outside in the real world? How could I NOT value everything about my life based on what my parents have beaten into my brain for majority of my life.

The saddest postsecret...this guy said be converted to Buddhism (I think) and it's the happiest he's ever been in his life. But he still thinks he's going to Hell because he was raised Christian. When I read that...I completely understood. You really can find your own way...and be HAPPY. Isn't that crazy? And then you will not let yourself fully enjoy it because of all the shit you've been taught about WHO to be, what to believe, what career to have, what schools to go to, what clothes to wear, what size to be. I could get to that wonderful wonderful place but all that SHIT will still be inside of my head. I can't get that OUT. I'm TRYING sooooo fucking hard.

Trying so hard to find my own way and be happy and love myself and be at peace. But because it really goes against everything I've been taught by my family (and a little by society) I'm AFRAID it's not worth it because I'll still end up in hell.

All of that to say...I guess I know why today's been such a horrible food day. I really miss Shish and I'm also pissed about that. I wish I didn't miss her. I wish she wasn't leaving me. I wish I had my new therapist so I wouldn't have this longing that's sure to just overwhelm me for the next two months. I wish it were all just a LITTLE bit easier.

Thanks for the JOY dg...I really needed it. And just so I can end up on a more positive note here about things that are truly important in life. Ha.

I applied for SEVEN jobs today. Two of which I really really like and hope I get an opportunity to interview for. I won't jinx it by saying what positions they are until I get some feedback. But I'm excited about it. And I'm SETTING the alarm tomorrow to run some past due errands, work, apply for more jobs, and then do something FABULOUS for myself that I've been putting off for way too long. YEP. I'm actually looking FORWARD to tomorrow. Hopefully, food will be better.

not even sure what to call this

Not a fan of Mondays anymore. Today's group has really started my week off on a bad foot. I think I really needed a solid positive experience to repair some of the damage that I did this weekend. Y'know...eleven shots in 90 minutes. Drunk dialing Shish. Having a nuclear meltdown over the whole "what to wear" thing before the party and before hanging out with a friend. And let's not forget actually screaming at the party "What about me?!?!" (That was in reference to a lot of things. When will I figure out what to do with my life? When will I have a boyfriend? When will my life stop being like this?)

I actually really tried today too! Last night I went to Trader Joe's and bought tons of "safe" food for the week and decided to do a list of everything I could eat for each day. And I wasn't as exclusive as I normally am. Before class/group whatever...I had a bowl full of fresh fruits and vegetables and I wasn't even hungry. But I did it just so I wouldn't be setting myself up for a binge. I was actually a lot more talkative today (strange since Shish wasn't there and I assumed I'd be mute) but I think it was just because I really don't like the whole emotion regulation lessons for some reason. Anyways...I think I was bummed out because I had a really bad food week last week. I definitely binged and purged more than I did during the previous week. It was a pretty intense week with the fighting with my sister and talking about sadness and family stuff early in the week with Shish and the whole clothes thing just made the week end on a bad note. And this is going to sound just awful...

But the girl who basically outed me as the FAT girl in the group last session didn't binge for the entire week. I am totally happy for her. It has absolutely nothing to do with who she is. It's really about me. I had a shitty week. I had the worst week. I don't think I've ever been the one in the group who's been in that hot seat. The other two girls just had really great things to share. They'd made progress. Significant progress despite some really tough weeks as well. So it was just a slap in the face really. The other therapist said it was really good of them to see that they could still have really painful things happen during the week and still be committed to the goal. And it's true. It's easy to have a good food week when life's good. It just made me feel like I need to step up and do better. I'm not working or in school like the other two. And I'm not trying to invalidate what's going on with my family, but I honestly cannot use it as an excuse to hang out to this eating disorder. I need to do better. I want to do better. But sometimes I wake up and I'm so hateful to myself because I'm so fat that there's not even a thought of recovery minded anything.

All that being said. I was pretty bummed out when group let out. The two girls made plans to hang out tomorrow night and it really hurt my feelings. I know it's okay for them to not want to be my friend. I know I shouldn't take it personally. But I feel like they don't like me. Like they don't want me in the group. I know I'm not even making any sense. But it's real in my head. It really PISSED me off to hear them making plans for tomorrow night and later in the week. Really pissed me off was something I could deal with...what I can't deal with, is the fact that I really am saddened. I didn't know what to do with that. So I binged as soon as I got home. And purged. And I felt HORRIBLE about it. And so the cycle continues. Once you start...the next thing I knew I was just itching to binge and purge. And then I was off to the store. Ugh...

A member from my EDA group called when I was shopping for food. Perfect opportunity for me to STOP what I was doing. Perfect opportunity for me to use some skills, to breathe, to write out my feelings about what had happened in group...Sadly, I feel better now. It worked the way I hoped it would which was probably the worst thing that could have happened today. I meet with the nutritionist on Thursday. I really want to try to be good to myself for the next three days. I really don't want to see Shish next week and inform her that I completely fell off the wagon in her absence. I really miss her though. I wish she had been in group today. I wish I could see her on Thursday. And that longing for her comfort...for that one hour when it's okay to experience it all...I feel ashamed about it. And angry that she's leaving. So angry it makes me want her to not ever even come back. I don't like the feeling of needing or wanting someone to be there for me and then knowing that I can't.

im freaking out

I hate this. How it fucks with your mind. How one moment you can really be normal and then the voices start in. And they're loud. And I don't know how to make them shut up.

I was invited to go shopping today. And after spending last night drunk and belligerent (not my finest) I said yes because I was too excited not to have a hangover. And I have MONEY!!!

But I'm fat. And I've tried on so many clothes from the closet. So many shirts...too many pants. And I look gross. I feel gross. And I've already tortured myself enough today (and last night...when I cried to my friend "what's wrong with me!?!? why am I still single.) I'm sooo embarrassed.

Shopping will push me OVER the edge. I will cry. I will want to die. But I've cancelled on this shopping friend three times in the past two weeks. Because now she's going to the gym. Am I really that pathetic? I love my friend. She looks great. I'm happy that shes being healthier. I'm angry that I have an eating disorder. That for me...there was no hesitation. I stuck my fingers down my mouth. And now ...it hurts all over to be this person. Who can't get dressed to go to the mall and enjoy her friend because the size six isn't fitting perfectly. Because she just spent able last evening drinking and the afternoon binging (for NO reason). And her mind is completely fucked up because she doesn't see anything but FAT.

I can't even bear to look at me. I don't want the world to look at me and see what I see. God...I hope no one sees what I see.

and then there were two...

My sister called our mother last night and said that she wants nothing more to do with me. That she's never visiting our house again. That I'm not allowed to see her children (I don't expect that one to last) and that the only thing I'm good at doing is "driving away the people who love me."

Yesterday was supposed to be a really good day. I had written out a food plan. I wrote out a to do list (none of which got accomplished). And I didn't wake up with a headache. After lunch time my sister called and invited me over for dinner. I didn't feel much like going out with gas topping $3.55 here nor did I feel like I should go anywhere because I had a lot of work to do. But I did want to see my nephews of course so she picked me up and I took my laptop over which solved the first two problems.

She immediately locked herself in the bathroom with beer and cigarettes and left me to look after the kids (even though she said she would entertain them while I worked). I should have known better honestly. I should have known better. (An appropriate usage of the word should, I assure you). Jay needed his mom to find some foil for him and she cursed him out. He's SIX. I can't believe sometimes the things that come out of her mouth when she's talking to her children. I won't even go into everything that happened yesterday evening but it resulted in Jay being sent to bed without dinner (abuse in my opinion) and being slapped across the face because he wanted to go home with me. At that point I intervened and I probably shouldn't have made things worse by getting physical with my sister but I was so angry with her and I didn't know what else to do!

Long story short, I called Jay's father (who was at work) and asked him to come over as soon as possible because my sister wouldn't let Jay stay with me for the night and I did not trust her to be alone with him that night. She was angry at me because she didn't like the way I was undermining her authority. That she can discipline her sons anyway she wants to. And I can't imagine being a mother and doing what I know to be right and having my sister tell me that I'm fucking my kids up...that would certainly piss me off. But it didn't come from a place of I think I know what's best, or I want to prove that I'm better at loving her children or disciplining them or providing for them. It was just a matter me being heavily involved in these children's lives and seeing a scene reminiscent of our childhood days. My nephew has always known that he can come to me for protection, for understanding, for support, for love, for fun, for homework, to talk, and yes...to be disciplined. I'm a big fan of time out. I'm a big fan of manners. I'm a big fan of kids being respectful and following the rules and I'm the first to call Jay out when he crosses the line. We've even started to come up with new ideas for discipline because time out doesn't work. But cursing at your child is never appropriate. Slapping your child in the face is abuse. Sending your child to bed without dinner is unacceptable. And there's nothing more important to me in the world than letting this child know that no matter what he does, no matter what is done to him and who does it, that I am there for him. I will not let anyone mistreat him. I will stand up for him. I will let him know when he's made a mistake or broken the rules but that it's still okay to do those things. We're human. I can't turn my face away. I will not have him growing up in a home where he's afraid of his mother. Unsure of whether he's going to be mistreated simply because she's either having a good day or a bad day.

He was clinging on to me, hoping that I could protect him, and she was grabbing his arm and trying to rip him away from my hold. And the entire time I was thinking, I hope he never remembers this night. I hope he forgets it as soon as it happens. That he's clinging to his aunt because he's afraid of his mother and of what she might do to him. That he has to make that choice at six years old. That he already knows he can't find comfort with her. That he broke down in tears when I told him I couldn't take him with me. That he was more afraid for his little brother and pleaded for me to just take him instead. That he would stay behind. And she has the most appropriate excuse for being like this. She was abused. She lived her life in fear. Our house was hostile and erratic and angry and unpredictable. But that's not good enough for me.

Fortunately Jay's father went to pick him up and Jay will be spending afternoons and evenings here until the end of the school year. His father lives in another town and Jay will have a new school district so I suppose that means I'll see less of him next school year but I'd rather that than know what's going on behind closed doors with his mother. My sister, furious as all hell with me for intervening, knew exactly what to say to get under my skin. "Fat, miserable, pathetic, gay, law school dropout, desperate for a man (which kind of goes against being a lesbian, but whatever), someone with no life, with no friends, who has to get involved in her life as a mother because I'll never have kids because I'm unattractive and fat and ugly and I have acne and....)

My sister. And I've yet to cry over these words. But they hurt. They hurt almost as much as the words that my father spoke to me back in February. She's someone I'm not close to at all. I can literally count on one hand the number of times I talked to her while I was in college for four years. I don't even need an entire hand. But she's still someone who sees me...sees that in me. Thinks that about me. I've never told her about these thoughts, or feelings, but apparently it's something she knew to use. And I sat there and I just took it. And I realized why I hate the feeling of sadness. It's paralyzing. I can react to my anger. I can explode. I can make someone else cry. I can't do anything but take the sadness. It hurts on a much deeper level than being angry. It hurts because you know what the person really thinks of you. Anger is real...I think that's why it can cut you. People say what they don't mean to say, but they thought it. They meant it. They only regret telling you because no one wants to hear something like that from someone they love.

how can they PROJECT the race with THREE percent of the precincts reporting??!?!?!

Another headache. Another bleh day.

Interestingly enough, last week this time I was telling Shish that my mood had seemingly improved. I wasn't exactly honest today in telling her that I've been finding it really hard to get out of bed again. I'm not sure what's prompted this intense level of apathy but I hope it passes soon. Ugh. I'm not even sure where to begin. We started out just going over my food log over the past few days and really talking about the feelings about the really bad binge last week. At some point during the next few weeks I need to really sit down with Cruella and do a meal plan with things that feel 100% safe for me. I'm saying 100% safe even though there's no such thing. But it's really hard to tell myself that I don't deserve 1/2 apple for breakfast when that really will not make me fatter. Still not enough calories which I knew Shish would say but I can't even believe I'm at this place where I'm considering it (without purging). I only get antsy when I don't absolutely know what I'm going to eat and I have to make a decision once the hunger (or emotions) surfaces. Then it means I might be liable to eat pasta or bread or junk food or really...the only things I am okay with are fruits & veggies & hummus & cheese. The only thing is...that gets really really old.

So here's what I discovered about the binge and purge episode after today's session. I really hate fighting with people. Not like being argumentative (which I thoroughly enjoy...or being difficult) but I hate when people make me angry and then the yelling ensues. It reminds me of the everyday life I experienced as a child. So whenever I witness an argument I get really tense and upset...but then if I'm involved in the argument then I just feel (not sure. haven't been able to articulate or even experience those feelings.) Still we came to the conclusion that anger is something I am able to express quite well whereas I feel very uncomfortable about expressing sadness. Which makes sense. I saw my father very unhappy and angry for very much all of my life. I saw my mother completely in denial about what was going on. Even now...she isn't sad or mad about anything. She feels nothing. It's pretty hard to believe how she's able to contain everything going on in her life...but maybe she's not containing anything. Really she may just accept it. Anyways, the fight with my sister (in front of her kids) really made me feel like shit. I felt like I was being ridiculous (although she really was out of line) and blowing things out of proportion and it just wasn't good of me to show them to deal with anger in that way. When the little one started crying, I literally thought to myself, "OH! I'm going to make a great mother!" It's not just about not being like her. But also making sure that I'm not him and that's really hard for me to do when I get angry. I can fight the similarities my mother and I share (and Shish was good enough to point those out as well today) but that rage is there. I unleash it and it's ugly and scary and I don't even think that I should not let it get that high. (The problem is also that I usually contain the anger for a while as well and then it BOILS over at the smallest incident).

Either way...that was tough. It was tough learning about how I just instantly went to the food to make myself feel better. I never ever accepted that it was a way to soothe myself. I never accepted that I was stuffing down my emotions because I really had never taken the time to draw the connection. I knew sometimes I would do it when I get angry or sad or whatever...but I buy into it now. And we also discovered that the sadness is something I never get out. Completely. Maybe I'll shed one tear. Two. Maybe I'll cry during a movie. But (and I didn't share this with Shish) but because it's so overwhelming. My life was unbearable in the first few months of the year and I still didn't let any of it out. What would I do? What would that look like? How would I D-E-A-L with that. There's a lot to be sad about. It's tough containing it. It's a burden to live with...but some days really aren't all that bad. Can I even work through it? Shish asked if I thought it would be something that never ended and I answered no. Because that's the logical answer. My another logical answer that I have is...it might. It really might. It could always be there on the surface and that's no way to live. That's not functional. I'm not even hopeless or helpless right now. I honestly feel so much better than I did a month ago. And I know she wants me to get it out. The sadness, the shame, the disgust, the feelings I have about myself, my family...it's palpable in the room with her. But it's also so very much unknown to me. Like I just really don't know what that looks like and the uncertainty of it all does make me afraid.

Now switching subjects. And I'm actually glad I brought this up. Shish mentioned last night's meeting and the comment that was made about wanting to purge because the girl with bulimia in thin. And I think it's interesting that Shish thought I would be upset for different reasons. She thought I might have felt offended because the girl brought up purging as something bad and horrible and uncomfortable and it made her sick. So that because I also purge, it was also a comment about me. I smiled. And in that moment I knew the major difference that exists between us. She empathizes. She research. She has so many plans and she has all the hope in the world. And she's really good and I appreciate her. But she doesn't get it. She had no idea that the comment would be offensive to me in the way that it was because quite simply...she doesn't have poor body image or low self esteem or an eating disorder. And the girl who made the comment told the therapists that yesterday and I could tell they were a bit taken. But it's because when they walk into a room they don't check to make sure they're the thinnest or the fattest. They don't sit there and secretly wish all the self destructive habits would make their bodies thin like the other girl. There is no sigh of relief when you win. There is no overwhelming sense of despair and frustration when you are the fat girl. Something we all went over many many times in our mind I know. So although I think it's fine that the girl made her comment because one should be able to speak truthfully in group...it was also a low blow on her behalf. I know that. I know it has absolutely nothing to do with me. But I also know...because of how sensitive I am...that most women are sensitive about these issues, but especially women with eating disorders. And I would have never outed someone as the fat one in the group. Trust me. The fat girl already knows who she is. She also knows that you know she's the fat girl. It doesn't have to be said. It just makes her feel worse.

Now I'm better. I'm still pretty anxious about being at the next class because it's out there in the air and...y'know. But I think this was one of our best sessions so far. I was able to talk about things that were clearly painful and upsetting for me (and although I completely destroyed my shoe by ripping it apart...yeah, taking the rage out against my shoe because I was with Shish and not at home) but I really did feel safe. I wanted to talk longer about other things and I would have...if I had an idea of how to do that. And it just felt good to walk out finally and have an aha! moment.

We won't see each other for about two and a half weeks. I'm just going to cross my fingers that nothing too crazy happens between now and then. It's also good for me to have this break since I know she's leaving in two months. :( A good reminder that this will not last forever and I'll have to rely on myself (and you guys here!) to get me through whatever life throws my way.

im vulnerable...tired...cranky...uh oh

I have a really bad headache. I figured it might be because I only had half an apple by the time my dbt group was over at 6:00 pm. It could have been the pollen. I've been waking up with these headaches so it could be a combination of my sinuses, my increased smoking habits, and my blood pressure. Of all the weeks to run out of pills, it happened last week and I was pretty stressed out with my sister. Apparently, consistently waking up with a headache is a sign that my blood pressure is too high in the morning. (Although that doesn't actually make sense to me...but the headaches definitely weren't as bad when I kept up with my meds.)

So today was group and it was the most talkative I'd been so I'm pleased in that sense. We're doing chain analysis for our binges to determine our vulnerabilities and prompting events and I had a pretty good chain to share. Personally, I'm more vulnerable when I'm in a bad mood which could be prompted by any sort of thing but particularly when I'm hot, cold, or tired. So my sister woke me up because I caught her moping around in my room and I was furious. We got into a verbal altercation and I headed to the kitchen. I believe my capitulation (or as we like to call it...our FUCK it moment) actually occurred when I grabbed the cereal box because I that is a no no. Once I've thought fuck it...it's over. I don't have to even have started eating yet...I will binge. It's that automatic. One of the girls pointed out to our "coaches" in class today that they can't understand that there is no reason mind during a binge because the capitulation has already happened. There might even been a chance that I could do something before the prompting event and the capitulation (if there is one...because sometimes I'm not able to identify where that is). But not after. And in this scenario there was like this:

1. Me, rudely awakened.
2. Seeing her in my space...violation!!!
3. FIGHT!
4. Feeling disrespected, violated, pissed, angry
5. I walked to the kitchen and grabbed the food.
5. Capitulation.
6. Binge.
7. Sleep.
8. Wake up
9. Binge & purge.

Initially I said that I capitulated after the cereal. That I felt guilty because I shouldn't have eaten that. But I think now in hindsight...I said fuck it when I grabbed the cereal box. There was no other "logical" thing I could do. I wasn't thinking logic. I was ANGRY. I wanted food. That day had been shot to hell and if I wanted to make sure that the next day would be a GOOD day...then I could go ahead and binge/purge the day away because I had already screwed up.

Anyway, Shish and I are going over the chain analysis in detail tomorrow (which I am not looking forward to doing.) We also talked about my meeting my next therapist sometime soon. The woman is her supervisor (She's is almost a Ph.D. This is her internship year) and she doesn't see very many clients now as she's busy with research but Shish said she thinks it's a really good fit for both of us. Hopefully...

And on a more depressing note. I SPENT THE FIRST 45 minutes of group COMPLETELY JUDGING MYSELF. All because one girl (of three, although there used to be four of us) said that she started purging last week (she is a binge eater) because the other girl is THIN. I think now that I write it out...it's really not as bad as it felt in that moment. But the thing is, she was certainly comparing herself to me. And yes...this girl is slightly smaller than me. And she doesn't purge. And the other girl really is thin...as are Shish and the other therapist. So I really am the biggest person in the group. Not my imagination and I really did a fabulous time last week of not calling myself every name in the book. But I allowed that comment to completely strip me of everything I had come into the meeting with. She basically called me fat.

And apparently they're friends now too! Which is fine. I mean, I don't think I would want to be friends with them...except it's never fun to be excluded. To see the girls coming together and leaving together (and now I think to myself how I did that very same thing in my EDA group back in Virginia.) I had friends. We even hung out outside of EDA. We sat together at meetings and stayed after to talk and I didn't realize how mean that was until this very moment. I realized it was going on...we're girls. We know how to form these little cliques...and yet back then I didn't care because I was in the clique and I needed friends. I really do like both of the girls. Sure one made a really insensitive comment last week...but it's really good to be understood. It's really a wonderful class experience for the most part because someone says something and it's like we were all thinking the same thing. We speak an entirely different dialogue than the therapists.

So now it's the therapists on one side, the thin girls on the other side, and I'm all by myself. A real part of me wants to restrict hardcore to lose weight of course, but also to let that girl know how it feels to be the fat one in the group. And the other part of me says I should quit the group. No big deal, I'll still have Shish for the rest of spring. And then I guess the wise mind part (ah ha! here she comes) says...her comment had nothing at all to do with me. She walked in there with her own shit and saw that there was someone in there who was smaller than she is and she wanted what that girl had. Not recovery. Her body. And she looked at me and thought...well I don't know what she thought. But I imagine she thought, I don't want to do what she's doing...and that's the right thing to think. She doesn't want to do what I'm doing. Only thing is...me and the other girl are doing the same exact thing. You just can't look at us and tell.

"You don't seem like the type of woman..."

That's how she started it. That I don't seem like the kind of woman who buys into the idea that I should be judged on my size and my appearance or my weight. And although she didn't exactly say what I'm about to type...I feel like it just went unsaid. That I don't seem like the kind of woman to have an eating disorder. Not just on the surface. But on a real and deep and personal level. Anyone who knows me would just downright not believe it. It would be a lie. And I felt so very ashamed when she said that because I KNOW. I see the irony. I really don't believe that people should be judged by anything that meets the eye. Not their skin color. Not their gender. Not the way they wear their hair. Not how beautiful they are. Not their weight. Not their size.

One of the girl's in group on Monday was talking about some kid she tutors that's going to Stanford in the fall. He received a full scholarship. That's incredible. The first thing I thought was..."Wow! I'm impressed. That's hard core." And then she made it less than what it was by saying, "But yeah. His family is really poor." I didn't understand what she meant by that. That the reason he got a full scholarship is because his family has no money? Because he's disadvantaged? Not because he worked his ass off for four years and is able to compete against the best and the brightest kids from across the nation (some of whom had the best education money could buy!) And I didn't want to get defensive and I didn't even say anything but in that one moment she was entirely representative of what someone would look at her and judge her to be. Some poor little rich girl that daddy sends to college, an overachiever of sorts, completely void of any real direction in life, paralyzed by her fear of becoming fat, spending her days and nights binging and purging and avoiding any meaningful interpersonal relationships.

And well, I'm not really sure why I threw that in there. Because...well I guess because things really aren't what they seem. Or sometimes they are. Sometimes people live up to the expectation. Sometimes you look at someone and they really are just all you see. And so while I would never want someone to look at me and think...

I guess it's just disappointing. I know I shouldn't be like this. God, I shouldn't be like this. And yet I am. Best wrote me a card a few years back and said the only problem people would think I ever have is making a B+ instead of an A. Up until now I've done a fabulously wonderful job at deceiving them all. Making everyone think that everything is really really ok. My mother still maintains she had no idea...because I was the good daughter. The smart one. The one with all the friends. The outgoing one. A social calender you wouldn't believe. You would NEVER think under all of that...that that girl lost it. (Or never had it.) You would not believe that she hates herself. You would not believe that someone who took women's studies classes could be so disconnected from her body...from herself. Someone who really sees the natural beauty of people...It would not make sense to you. An aunt who goes to the parent-teacher conference because she cares about what kind of future he has...who had the best time of her life interviewing inmates at a regional jail coming up with legal arguments to get clients out of jail...

You would expect more from her. You really would. You would shake your head in disbelief the same way I was so appalled that the girl from group could just be so...so very typical.

Do I worry about what people will see and think of me? All the time. I really wonder how I appear to others...how I come off...how well I'm playing this game. And I guess I have an answer. I don't know...I just don't know. Like what am I trying to be? What do I want them to see? Why is that so important? What is it that I see? What don't I like about it... The thing is I really don't care what random people think of me. Someone passing on the street? I don't care. But for people I love...people that love me...I don't want them to be disappointed. I don't want to not meet their expectations. I want to be everything they want me to be. I don't want them to look at me and see fat. I don't want them to look at me and think undisciplined, gluttonous, lazy, disgusting. Because those things really do detract from what's really important about the person. Look at me and see someone who cares about the social injustices of this country and someone's who's trying to balance a responsibility to better our society and go back to school and be a writer. Look at me and see someone who...blows you away. Not...look at me and think what a waste. Look at what she's done with all this talent.

What's worse? Someone looks at you and thinks oh yeah...you're exactly the way one would expect you to be (in a bad way) or someone looks at you and gets it soooo wrong. They think you're this self aware, responsible, articulate, educated, talented person...and inside you know it'll just be a matter of time before they find out the truth.

The thing about my fantasy of being thin...it isn't that I think I will be this incredible person once I've lost 50 pounds. It's that I don't think I deserve to be the incredible person I am in this skin. I feel guilty...because I let this eating disorder take over my life and I know I have the world in the palm of my hands. But it's the one thing I want most. And failing at it...failing at this thing that I've wanted for practically my whole life...means I'm not confident enough to take on the world. It means I'm not accepting or sure of myself or my capabilities. I'm glad I don't seem like the type of woman who would buy into the thought that my life will be better once I'm thin. But sadly I am. And honestly, that's what's so shaming about it all.

I GET SO MAD WHEN I SEE OTHER PEOPLE OUT THERE JUST LIVING THEIR LIFE! WHY THE FUCK DID THIS HAPPEN TO ME?!?! WHY COULDN'T I HAVE JUST ACCEPTED MYSELF. LOVED MYSELF ENOUGH. HOW DOES MY SISTER HAVE A DATE ON SATURDAY NIGHT? HOW CAN SHE BE IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH SOMEONE? WHAT IS SO WRONG WITH ME? I CAN BLAME ALL MY UNHAPPINESS ON THIS WEIGHT BUT IN MY HEART I KNOW ITS NOT BECAUSE I'M FAT. IT'S SIMPLY BECAUSE IT'S ME. SO WHAT GOOD IS THAT??? GIVING UP THE ED...IT WILL STILL BE THE SAME MISERABLE LIFE. STILL A DISAPPOINTMENT. STILL NOT MEETING EXPECTATIONS.
it's not fair.

committed to making this day a good one

I think I've managed to sprain my ankle which is not putting me in the best of moods today. Yesterday after a physical fight with my sister in the back yard (she attacked me because I wouldn't give her a cigarette) I felt so completely on edge. I was furious with her and so I ran after her into the house, grabbed a soccer ball, and threw it at her head only to slide into the doorway and bang my foot up against the wall before landing on it the wrong way.

So add that to the equation of being awakened by my father (who was dropped off this morning by my sister!) and we all can tell how that left me feeling. Surprisingly, I made really good choices for the first meal of the day. Fresh strawberries, blueberries, 1/2 apple & 1/2 orange. It was filling and satisfying and I felt really safe with that choice. But not even an hour later I was smacked in the face with the urge to BINGE. I didn't know where it came from honestly! I'd done a little work and felt proud of myself for having accomplished something. I ate a healthy meal and honestly did not feel an ounce of guilt or remorse about it. But I think there's really something to be said about unexpected events interrupting my day. I already know to expect a fight with my sister (and yes, most times it still leads to a binge). But nowhere in my core did I expect my father to pop up today (or yesterday for that matter). As much as I hate the anticipation of it all...the nightmares, the chest pains, the cold sweats...it really throws me completely off balance to wake up to someone in your doorway telling you to, "Wake up!" There's an invasion of space here (similar to when my sister was here for what seems like an eternity...last night she finally went home!) and I feel like I cannot move around the way I want. I cannot sleep til noon or let the dogs out when I want to or smoke a clove or binge and purge. I cannot B-E.

The really good thing about this is...I haven't exactly capitulated. I haven't said I've completely RUINED the entire day. There's a real part of me that wants to keep trying (even though I've already messed up) and turn the day around. I want to keep working. I want to finish a chapter of the book I'm reading. I want to listen to a few more Sedona lectures. I want to do whatever I can to make sure I don't binge anymore for the rest of the day. And that's where I see the progress. Because although I'm not quite yet willing to say I want to eat lunch & dinner & snack. I really DO want to do whatever I have to do to make sure I don't binge and purge today. I have a feeling that it's going to be tough...it's already been such a crazy day. But I'm just really thankful that I'm not depressed anymore. I mean...that's something I can really appreciate now. It makes me more hopeful...knowing that I'm not as hopeless and helpless as I once felt. I also really want to work on my dbt skills (since I haven't really devoted anytime to doing things when that urge hits.)

at least I finished my taxes today...

Last night's dbt group wasn't too insightful. I'll just attribute this to the fact that I hadn't prepared my homework and so I didn't have too much to contribute. Although I did leave with a few questions that I'll need to ask Shish on Thursday.

She compared the loss of control during a binge to the same out of control state that one has when they're really drunk. I think she specifically said that when you've had too much to drink you'll take the car keys in an attempt to get home. That you probably know you're not capable of driving and so the reason (or wise?) mind tells you to chill out and let someone else drive. For me, it wasn't a good example because I've never attempted to drive when I'm completely out of my mind. But Lord knows I've done other things that are just as equally if not more destructive and when I'm in that moment there is no voice of reason or wisdom pumping through my veins. I'm drunk. I'm liable to do anything. It seems unfeasible to me to say to myself "I am out of control. I have had way too much to drink. I need to stop." Just as when I'm in a binge...or BAM that 100% urge to binge smacks me in the face...there is not a moment when I think maybe this isn't such a good idea. If it's 90%...there's hope. 50%...even better. When I am binging and purging with fury and madness and it's out of control...it really is because I am out of control. Yes...there are somethings I can do to make sure it doesn't get to 100%. I can eat regularly. I can get plenty of rest. I can make sure I don't get sucked into fights with my family. I can do my work and feel good about myself. Just as when I'm drinking I can make sure I drink water in between drinks. I can not take tequila shots every ten minutes for an hour. I know that will lead me to blackout. I know I will wake up the next morning full of regret about the things I cannot remember that I did the night before. But once I'm smashed. I'm smashed. I've jumped out of a moving car. I've almost been arrested for public intoxication (more than once). I've gotten into a physical fight with Best (only because she did drive under the influence and we got into an accident...) so I guess by the time I actually grabbed a wine bottle and chased after her with intentions to knock her out, I had given myself enough TIME to gain a little control. Reason mind kicked in and said, "Don't kill her. Don't hit her in the head."

Lately, the urge to binge hasn't been at 100%. A wonderful feeling...Seriously. It means that I'm allowing myself to recognize the force within which is telling me that I can stop shoving the food in my mouth. That I can do something else that doesn't provide the same immediate relief...but it's healthier. It's safer. If I wake up in the morning and the urge to restrict is at 100%...there is no reasoning against that. I'm just happy it hasn't been as strong. And then on the other hand, I'm sort of missing that voice that says "don't eat. don't eat. don't eat." I feel more in control then...because I'm winning. And I know if someone else told me that I would frown and tell them not to listen to that voice. To eat. To take care of their self.

But it's because I know what happens when I start to eat. Yesterday was perfect! For breakfast I had 1/2 apple. And then I had a salad with fruit & bread for my midday meal. I felt exhausted after group and went to bed as soon as I got home. I know I sleep more than 12 hours a day to avoid the food and the thoughts that constantly over flood my mind...But today. I woke up and had cereal for breakfast. I felt bad about it. Just like that. As soon as I grabbed the bowl I knew I shouldn't eat that. So there's that feeling of FUCK IT! You just ate cereal. I tried to shut that out of my head...so I went back to bed. Four hours later I'm in the kitchen again. Bread & butter. WHY WOULD I DO THAT?!?! An hour later...I ate the entire loaf of bread. THE ENTIRE LOAF. No one else had a single piece. And more cereal.

If it's not something absolutely safe...I will tell myself I suck at life. I will beat myself up over it. I will end up binging. I will do it the whole day. The urge was not at 100%. I can't even place the urge. It just happened. I wasn't even hungry. But I ate an entire loaf of bread. Sadly...I wanted MORE food. But the process of going downstairs and having stuff ready just seemed not worth the effort. I purged and went back to bed.

I think one thing that certainly helped with yesterday's food intake is that I actually wrote out the night before everything I was allowed to eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I forced myself to eat half the apple for breakfast because I knew I needed to not wait all day before I began to eat. By lunch time, I wasn't necessarily hungry but I realized that I still needed to do it...to prevent the late night binge. And it was so easy to just know, that for lunch I was supposed to have romaine lettuce with blueberries & cucumbers and strawberries (and a piece of bread). I didn't want any more food after that. And no, it wasn't satisfying. It wasn't what I wanted. But it didn't leave me wanting more. I felt very much in control.

Festival of Colors

It's been another sort of hell with my sister and the two kids being at the house pretty much 24/7. She takes Lee to spend the night with our father at night but because I "work" from home it means I'm around them all day and all night. I told my sister last night that I don't think I've seen this much of her in the past ten years. And I truly don't think I'm exaggerating. I mean I've seen her everyday for over a week now. For H-O-U-R-S on end each day. The last time we've "lived" together was 1997. And even then she spent most nights out of the week at her boyfriend's house. This is getting out of hand. She wants me to give in. She wants me to say that our father can come here so that she can go home. But oh no. You see, the difference between the two of them is well...I can curse my sister out. I can throw apples at her. (Yes. I threw apples at her today). I can throw potting soil in her hair. (I don't think either one of us could act any more immature). I can pull knives on her. (Sad to say...this was actually my third time doing that...in my lifetime though. Not this week). So now I'm sure you're all thinking, what the hell did she do to make you pull a KNIFE on her. Yeah...nothing really. It just builds up. She's always here. She's wearing my clothes. She's eating MY food. My safe food. Or she's letting her kids eat it. She's smoking my cloves and clove cigarettes are not cheap! She watches television. And she's very moody. Very moody. She's quick to hit the kids. She yells at them all the time. And today for lunch I made tortellini and she said, "No thanks. Only fat people eat pasta. Skinny people eat salads." And I knew I shouldn't let that get to me. I knew I should just ignore her because I know what she's doing here...but it just pissed me the fuck off. And then she's like, "you don't like salads, huh? Well I love salads."

So I ate my pasta (and salad) by the way and after I'm done eating she says, "So how many grams of fat is in that? I watch my fat intake..." And I'm all like...this bitch! She's such a mean spirited person! AUGH!!!!!!!!!!!!! And I was angry and frustrated and I should have just left the house. Instead I took a bouncy ball from Jay who started screaming like a two year old (even though it's MY ball) and I refused to give the ball back to him. I know. I know. I totally started it. But he's almost seven years old. He needs to do just a little better about handling conflicts. Wailing and shouting and crying is not going to work. I was actually about to give him the ball back because I asked him to just behave like a big boy and ask for the ball (and an apology from me) and I'd give him both. But my sister gets in it and starts YELLING at me to GIVE HIM THE DAMN BALL SO HE CAN SHUT UP. And she's like two feet away from me and I'm like whoa! Don't you talk to me like that! So the arguing goes on for hours and hours. Back and forth. Me and her. Seriously. Then she just stands up and slaps me across my face.

It didn't hurt. She didn't slap me hard. But the AUDACITY. I felt so bad arguing in front of the kids like that. Fighting in front of the kids like that. Lee's crying. Jay's asking to leave because we're giving him a headache. So what did I do? I threw an apple. A banana. Then she pulled my hair and I went in for the kill (with the knife). And then...get this. She apologizes to me and then asks for a clove. Yeah...she says she's just going crazy because she's never had both boys for more than two or three days at a time and it's killing her and she's around us and the dogs and it's just too much for her. And I was like, well you're killing me too so just go home.

I figured I needed to get out of the house, so I lured Jay into coming with me for the Festival of Colors (Hindu Spring Festival). I learned about it from the independent newspaper and the listing promised a lot of fun: Indian food, dancing, and live music. Oh and even better...throwing dry colors at the each other. Jay and I had a blast. There was a little arts and crafts section. We passed on the Indian food because we had already eaten and I'm not the most adventurous when it comes to foreign cuisine. Or vegetarian cuisine. He played with tons of kids while I watched dancers and singers (& chanters?) on stage. And I got to talk to three people and I actually felt very welcome there. It's really strange because apparently there were only a handful of newcomers. Most people belonged to the faith and so they were all like, "How did you hear about this!" And I was all like..."It was in the paper." And they couldn't believe it! One that it was in the paper and ...I guess that we actually went.

At the end of the throwing of the colors you could not see the color of anyone's skin which was really amazing. It was just awesome looking at groups of people completely covered with green, pink, orange, and blue powder. My glasses were stained. My hair looked awesome. At first I had a really easy time picking out Jay when he was playing with the kids while I watched the dancers because we really stood out. But it took me a long time to find him after everyone looked like a rainbow...which was an interesting feeling. I can't even put words to it. I was alarmed because people were running around and I couldn't pick him out of the crowd of little ones. But it was also like...wow. This is how life works when there aren't any physical differences between humans. Everyone's running and smiling and throwing colors (and sharing colors to be thrown) and quite possibly very comfortable. It was weird. Maybe they felt comfortable right away. Maybe I felt a little displaced because we'd never been to a temple before. It was just a wonderful evening and we had a lot of fun.

We took pictures when we got home (after I cleaned Jay up a bit though because they were no way he was getting in my car looking like some creature from outer space!) and he's been raving about the temple all night. I met a really cute guy out there too! He started talking and the kids would just run up and throw colors on us (I'd wince and he's just take it like a man) and even though nothing came of it at all...it was nice to talk to a man that I'm attracted to. It was nice to have that feeling again. Like...whoa. He's cute. A little older...definitely not my type, but just that...I went out. I had fun. The kid and I did something so very new for us and made a date to go back next year (and to check out the Temple sometime soon).

I realize now that I didn't do my assignment for group...I was supposed to eat mindfully three times during the week. Record the experience. And practice some skills. I haven't even been keeping up with my diary card. I think it's because by the time I get into bed after a long day with my family...the only thing I can do is sleep.

friday will be a beautiful day.

How weird is it that Shish thought we had a great session today and I walked away just feeling...eh? I think that might be a good thing though. I didn't leave with great urgency to binge and purge which is normally what happens so I won't look a gift horse in the mouth. We briefly covered the food log and I shared that I do believe it to be beneficial because I get to take a step outside of my disordered thinking and just look at the facts regarding what my intake looks like and how daily events along with restricting play together and lead to a binge. Of course she was thrilled to hear that. T-H-R-I-L-L-E-D. I will say this though. I actually talked during therapy today. No script. No notes. I was a little closed off during the first part because we were talking about the food and I had to let her know (with appropriate body language) that that discussion is not going to ever be open for discussion. But it evolved into us talking about other things. Namely...my sister...the kids...my work...what I see myself doing career wise (which was as always -- I HAVE NO IDEA!!!) and how I felt about her leaving. I was so open about how devastating it was for me to hear the news! How things would have been different for us in therapy had I known (i.e., never telling her anything about Jack. And actually, never having told her anything at all) but we didn't really go into why. I kind of dismissed it as...oh you know. Because you wouldn't be with me for forever, so why let myself get attached...

I guess in retrospect, it actually was a good session. I didn't have my usual sinking anxiety. I never had to suppress the urge to cry. I never refused to answer any questions. And I did more of the talking and that never happens. She was really funny too! Like so, how can we repeat this again next week? What should I do? What should I force you to do? I didn't mention that I had a tiny drink before hand and maybe it made me feel more relaxed. (It really was a tiny drink). The recovery plan for the next three months will remain the same: tracking, the dbt group, and getting me to a point where I can eat regularly. Ugh...this feels like one of those goals that I've been given for the past six months that I haven't yet embraced and quite frankly...one I'm still not ready to take on. We'll start the transition onto another therapist near the end of all that. And I think I'll be okay. That's what my wise mind told me and I just need the emotional and reasonable mind to shut up every once in a while so I can actually listen and accept wise mind. I really don't want to think about a Thursday without Shish. It's going to be hard, I know...but she's really confident that if I don't get too caught up on how horrible things will be when she leaves that we can make a lot of progress in the time we have together. And that's a good thing!

She said today she felt sad about leaving too. Because we started a race together and she won't be around to physically be with me at the finish line...but she knows I'll get there. And guess how far along in the race we've gone so far? She said we're just getting to the middle! I really hadn't thought we were near the middle so I'm pretty excited to hear that! Very excited. Excited about being closer to Oz (ha ha) but I know there's so much work to be done. I've eaten a lot more this week than I did last week and I know I have been losing weight but today I looked in the mirror and my eyes and my mind were not playing tricks on me. I saw weight gain. It freaked me out. I purged immediately. I told myself this is exactly what happens when you eat more than once a day without purging. You will gain weight. I'm not sure if this is true. She did bring up my weight today (because there's a noticeable difference in the way my clothes fit now...a little too big even for my liking) and I told her that I just couldn't tell. I did sort of weasel my way out of the truth: I don't need to step on a scale. I don't need to know. That number is poison. That number lives on through everything I do in my life and if I step on the scale...I must know. It takes a lot of willpower some days to not drive to the nearest drug store and just buy a scale. It takes a lot of strength to refuse to get on it at the doctor's visit. But that road is one I am seriously not interested in getting on. In the meantime though, it means I really have no idea what my body is doing unless I gauge it somehow by my wardrobe and that's a little dangerous for me to do as well. It can be very debilitating to test out a lower size and find out that it doesn't fit as well as it did the previous week. It can send me straight to the toilet.

One thing's for sure though. I'm hopeful that tomorrow I'm going to be productive. I'm about to write out a to-do list and try to take some control over my life. Sounds crazy, but I'm actually excited about ALL the stuff I need to do tomorrow. Maybe I'm in such an improved mood because I ate more. Maybe I really haven't gained weight? (ehh...maybe not) Maybe this dosage of zoloft is perfect...or at least better than the others because although I'm pretty anxious and tired most days...I'm definitely not feeling like a zombie. Or maybe it's the group? Whatever it is...I'm glad to take it. By the way I'm reading Appetites: Why W0men W@nt (recommended by Amalia) and the truth is flooring. Gut honest. Real. True. Every page ends with me screaming, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" and she was such a damned good writer! It's a lot to take in though...I definitely think I couldn't have committed to reading as much as I did before this time in my recovery process. Sometimes it's so real I have to shut the book...But I'm co-signing along with Amalia (thanks friend!)

the food log

The food log is overwhelming. There really is no other way to describe how sick it makes me feel to look at everything I eat in a day. On really good days there are just two entries and it's such a small amount. And then there are days where the binges are just absolutely repulsive and I felt so much more comfortable doing the log when I knew I wouldn't list what I'd consumed during a binge. What prompted me to make such a huge leap of faith and write everything down this week? I have no idea. But I know the anxiety and tension I feel just knowing that I emailed Shish the log three minutes ago is going to make for an unpleasant session this afternoon. I'll be taking a step backwards next week and I really feel fine about it. I don't like looking at everything I ate during a binge. It makes me sick. I cannot have someone knowing that part of me. The diary card, on the other hand, I find to be a relatively easy task. At the end of each day I just fill out a form with numbers (0-6) to indicate my urge to binge, food craving, food preoccupation, and how intense these feelings were: anger, sadness, fear, shame, pride, and happiness. I have noticed that I don't feel much (which I already knew) but it's just looking at it on paper that shocks me a bit. So many 0's in the happiness & pride category. Very intense feelings of anger, fear, and shame. Rare...but when it happens, it's off the chart.

I'm supposed to be using certain skills but I've noticed that it's not something I think about doing throughout the day. Take this evening for instance. My sister was over with both boys and Jay and I had a...I'm not sure what to call it. He was riding his bike in the cul-de-sac but it was around 5:00 pm and I was on the phone and in the lawn playing with the baby. So I asked him to only ride his bike on the driveway or head to the backyard because I wouldn't be able to watch him with my undivided attention. He was upset but I couldn't do three things at once (and I hadn't talked to my cousin who just had the baby since she got home). Anyways he agreed but two minutes later I look up and he's in the street! Smart kid. He knew I couldn't watch his every move but that's precisely the point! He didn't need to be in the street if I couldn't do that! So I asked him what the rules were again for riding the bike and he apologized and told me and even told me why he wasn't allowed to ride the bike in the street. So then why did he two minutes later go out even further into the street...to the point where I couldn't even see him. I should have hung up the phone and put the baby in the house because disciplining him then and there was more important but I tried to juggle my conversation and Jay and the baby. I'm soooo not ready for motherhood. I asked Jay to bring the bike up to the house and to sit next to me for 6 minutes in timeout. He laughed. So then I told him to put the bike in the backyard and go in the house for 7 minutes to do timeout. Basically, the kid was up to 10 minutes before he got inside and then he wouldn't go to timeout. His mother told him he didn't have to!!! There's the problem. He does not listen when he's around his mother. I assume it's because she feels guilty about never seeing him and so when he acts out she either does nothing at all or she goes overboard with the punishment and so he never really knows what to expect. She also feels like because she is his mother that she can override any decisions I make and he knows that. So Jay's excited because he runs out of the house through the back door and tries to get my attention. I'm pretty upset because this wasn't just a case of Jay being a brat but a very real and dangerous situation and he needs to understand that rules are in place for good and safe reasons! I absolutely hate doing the silent treatment but I just had to ignore him because I had to let him know that I was unhappy that he wouldn't do his timeout. He did apologize which I appreciated, but a ten minute timeout isn't a big deal! About an hour later he wants to go back outside to play soccer (and because he knows his mother will not watch him) he asks me. Ha ha! I said we could go outside after timeout. Oh my gosh! You would have thought I had asked him to go get a switch from a tree and get naked!!! The kid started wailing (but he did go to timeout!) He wasn't sitting still or being quiet or thinking about what he had done wrong so I kept increasing the time. After a few minutes he gave up and just decided he didn't want to go outside anymore. So I went upstairs for a nap because I had a splitting headache. All I wanted to do was binge and purge. Right then and there! And that made me feel like, whoa! I can't even handle a six year old without feeling like I need to binge and purge.

I should have done some breathing exercises. I should have tried to listen to my wise mind instead of feeling like an irresponsible caregiver. I should have dealt with his behavior right then and there but I just wanted to get away. Actually, I wanted them to go away. Two hours later the kid is still being a brat! Drinking juice from his brother's bottle right in front of their mother! So I told him to give the bottle back and get some water if he was thirsty. Nope! He wanted juice so he finished off one carton and then filled another glass to the brim. I couldn't believe him! I was mad at myself for not getting up and serving him myself but he is old enough to do that much! It was well after 8 pm at that point and we never let Jay have anything but water after dinner (and he knows that! But he also knows his mother doesn't care about our rules). I yelled at him (felt bad about that one too!) and he ran off crying. I couldn't even bear to follow him because his crying spells last for at least 20 minutes and my head was still pounding. And then when he returned...he gave the dog bubble gum! Yeah.

I went into the kitchen at that very moment and just started to eat and eat and eat. I couldn't even wait for them to leave. I didn't care. I just wanted lots of food and I wanted a nice cleansing purge. Just admitting that the clear trigger for this episode was being around the kids and my sister all day makes me feel very guilty. I love my nephews but I really cannot handle having them both or having either one of them with their mother. Jay and I have a really good system that works 80% of the time. I rarely have to send him to time out. I hardly ever raise my voice. We have lots of fun and enjoy our time together. But when his mother is around, he is another kid and that kid (who really isn't even all that difficult) is just a handful.

Funny. Because now I see the benefit of the log (especially seeing how my emotions and the context of the binge play into how much I've eaten beforehand). I mean...maybe if I'd actually had breakfast and lunch before the kids came over I would have been in a better mood and had more energy...maybe I would have handled the situation with Jay better. Maybe I wouldn't have felt like I was about to have a meltdown over one minor incident. Maybe I wouldn't have needed food to make me feel better. Or to get rid of the horrible way I felt near the end of the evening.

I'm toxic.

Actually he said, "we're toxic." But I interpreted that to mean that I'm toxic (because I already know that he is toxic). I wrote a six paged letter to my father (I tend to go overboard with the writing but in this instance there was nothing left unsaid) and he replied with "I agree with you 100%."He came over to the house this afternoon because my sister had a flat tire and he looked so emaciated. It was pretty devastating to see and I felt so conflicted about what to do. Tell him to come home? Say nothing? And then he just said, "You're right. We're toxic."

Imagining that I make him feel the way he makes me feel is...You can fill in the blanks. There's a build up of a lot of things resting on my shoulders, in my chest, on top of my neck, and none of it feels good. But I am thankful for having another opportunity to see him and talk to him and really have no anger in my heart. It was awkward in the sense that so much had been said...that then people don't know what quite to say. Or where to start. But I sat with him while he ate lunch and I baked him some cookies because ironically, sweets are the only things he doesn't end up vomiting and I would say we have that in common but...we don't. We just share a great love for homemade goods.

It is actually ok now for me to see him for limited amounts of time. He still cannot live here. We still cannot communicate on a daily basis because we really do not have clear boundaries for one another. I understand that it is difficult for a father to see his daughter in this situation (without fully knowing the extent of everything; particularly the eating disorder) but I also know that I am not willing to have that kind of relationship with him. A toxic one. And I said that in the letter. It's true and I don't feel bad for it anymore. What's amazing is that he actually gets it too. He gets that he has put his entire life into me. He gets that I want to be everything that he is not. He said that..."You are anti-me. I know. It's okay." I also know how hard it must be for a parent to see that their entire world wants to be completely opposite of them. Actually, I don't know how hard that is. I have no children. But I appreciate the fact that he sees it, that he's known it, and that he's coming to terms with it. I really do. He has lived the past 24 years through me: his daughter. And I have lived the past 24 years (more or less...a few head butts along the way) through him to make him happy. Neither of it works. There has to be a balance. And so yes, he wants me to do things my way in the same sense that I want to do things his way. To make the other person happy. But here you go: none of our life's goals or dreams or state of beings should depend on the other. That's hard. It might not even truly be doable but the only way I know how to try is to say..."I need some space. I need some time. I understand that you may not even have much time. But it's still want I need to breathe and live. So give that to me."

I need to let go of the guilt I feel about being toxic. Because there truly is so much guilt wrapped up in this body of mine just about the fact that I am not who he wants me to be. And that's not fair to myself. I am allowed to say no. I deserve to say no. I deserve to make that decision with confidence and remain unwavering in my decision. I need to let go of a lot of things...the pain of it all. How much they each hurt me. The unmet expectations, even though I considered them to be completely realistic...I need to allow them to be human and failures and still love them anyway. But still say, "I will not be in this relationship anymore. It isn't healthy. There is still a chance that maybe one day I can forgive you -- but only if you don't hurt me anymore. And the only way I know you can't do that is if I distance myself from you."

Now if I could just manage to kick my sister out of the house all would be well again! She is UN-believable. Really and truly. I've written a post about it and will publish it soon but...this is what she said to me last night. "Would you say I'm fat or skinny?" Me: "Um. Well, you've had two children. You're not skinny. But you're certainly not fat." Her: "But if you had to choose. If you had to pick one or the other." Me: "If I had to throw you in the spectrum of all the people in the world, I think I'd err on the side of skinny. But you aren't skinny. And you know that. You also know that you're not fat." Her: "Yeah, I guess you're right. I mean, it's not like I'm in double digits or anything!"

The issue here is...as someone with an eating disorder I understand how people have crazy rules about what classifies as the definition for fat. I get it. However, I also know that those rules only apply to me! I have rules about myself that I don't apply to anyone else! Someone could be a size 18 and I would never guess that size for them. I would think they're thinner than they are. I wouldn't say that was fat! However, I also know that a size 6 for me is still too fat. Fucked up. I know. But it's just the way she said it. Like anyone who is a size 12 is F-A-T. When that's not true. THAT'S NOT TRUE!!! My sister is an eight. I'm bigger than her. So when she made that comment she knew she was being a malicious bitch and calling me fat. Which is fine. I agree with her. And I didn't want to be a bitch so I said nothing...but my sister is also shorter than me. She definitely weighs less than me but we carry our weight much differently. Whereas anyone might suggest I take a run around the block a few days a week...they would think she's expecting a baby! And I'm not saying this to be mean and I hope I'm not offending anyone out there. It just boiled my blood beyond the boiling point that she could be so hurtful. But I guess I need to let that go too. I think one day I might be willing to accept that my natural body size isn't supposed to be a 4 or 6 or 8. Oh shit. I'm not ready to accept that yet. I think I need to stop comparing myself to my mother's body (who by the way is a comfortable 2) and my sister's body (a model before she had Jay). Like it or not (one day I'll like it) those aren't my genes. And maybe she wasn't being a malicious bitch. Maybe she realizes that for her frame and size, it would be unhealthy for her to be in double digits. Maybe she wasn't implying that I'm a fat ass.

But I still want her out of this house...

where i belong

Amusing isn't the word for it. Disbelief is more like it. My sister is living here for the time being while our father lives at her apartment and takes care of her son at night. And she's so self-righteous about it. I'm the better daughter because I'm allowing him to live with me after all the years of abuse. You were the favorite daughter and you want nothing to do with him. The classic example of biting the hand that feeds you.

My sister and I are half sisters but we didn't really know it until much later in life. My father and mother met when my sister was just six months old and have for better or worse (or worse and worser) been together ever since. In a nutshell, my sister's father wanted absolutely nothing to do with her and that's a tough pill to swallow when you're a child. Still, my father took care of her and loved her and while he lavished affection on both of us, it was quite obvious that we were treated differently. Although he'll never admit it...And that's okay. I know it. She knows it. My mother knows it. Sometimes I thought it was all in my sister's head. In my opinion my father had to "prove" his love to her because he wasn't her biological father. They were a lot closer before I was born true, but that could be any first child's experience.

I really don't remember much about my sister's behavior for the first part of her life. She was always getting into fights at school. She had trouble making friends. She was pretty and blossoming and interested in boys and that all made for trouble. She invited boys over to the house in middle school, went swimming in the pool without our parent's permission, and hung out with a different crowd. My father couldn't stand it. Really, he couldn't stand it. From the ages of 12 - 18 they never shared any kind words. She didn't get Christmas presents (with the exception of fruit, nuts, and coal) and he never remembered her birthday. She was a talented runner but wasn't very disciplined. She could never get past the whole thing with her natural father and she sought love from other sources. It's textbook and sad but so very real in our family. She couldn't accept the fact that my father loved me enough to stay and she resented me for it. She still resents me. For years she was referred to as a whore, she did all the cleaning in the house. She got a job at age 15, solely to get out of the house, of that toxic environment. Our father wasn't present at her baptism. He didn't attend her high school graduation nor did he move her into college. He did, however, insist that she go to college and not pursue her career goals which had absolutely nothing to do with academia. She was physically abused and I can't even imagine the pain she felt living in that house with me (the princess, the one who could do no wrong), our mother who said nothing to our father about his insane behavior, and him. I couldn't understand it at the time but I also resented my sister. I felt like she was the reason why our family was falling apart. Anytime my father tried to discipline (in a normal way) my sister, my mother would run to her defense and say enough. Yet, he could call her a whore and spit on her and unleash his rage upon her because he was "tired of raising another man's child."

Yet he chose that life. He chose to stay with my mother and essentially forsake the relationship with his son who is (10 months older than me). It was hell for her growing up. No doubt about it. I would never in this life or another choose to walk in her shoes and she would have sold both kidneys for a day in mine. It's for this reason that we have this intense love/hate relationship because she has every reason to resent me, and I have many reasons to resent her. The basis of the majority of our parents marital conflicts stemmed from problems with my sister. The thing is, she is his daughter. She doesn't realize that it has nothing to do with genetics. Really, it doesn't. I will never know what it is like to have a parent physically walk away from me, but I still know a different type of pain that's wholly emotional and I can only imagine that it's just as bad on either side of the fence.

This is her time to shine though and I will give her that. Her forgiveness, maturity, insanity (whatever it is) is allowing them to be closer and relive the days before I was born and I am sincerely happy for her. This is what she has always wanted. To be the apple of his eye. To be better than me. To be his favorite. She doesn't know the price she will pay for that though. Only time will tell. But her motives aren't even that sincere. She wants him to take care of her son. She's using him but I think at this point he's just willing to be used in this way.

Does is absolutely break his heart that I have nothing to say to him? It must. But it breaks my heart too. I was his favorite. I probably still am because I'm not sure my sister can undo the damage she's done to this family in a short amount of time. I've been the princess for a long time. My fall from grace is completely unexpected and is taking its toll on this family which needs to answer some very serious questions. Who's to blame?

It's simple. Everyone. I was on a pedestal for 24 years and I chose to jump down, fall, and live with the scraps and bruises that may take a very long time to heal. The perfect opportunity for my sister to jump in with her adorable two children and forgiving heart to reclaim a beloved role in this family. If she wants to be the glue that holds this dysfunction together, I want her to know that it's a full time position and it's grueling and hard and while it appears the benefits outweigh the demands -- they don't. Do I feel guilty about it all? It's such a loaded question.

The guilt eats at me because I was the favorite. The most likely to succeed. Honor roll student every quarter throughout high school. Internships during the summer. Cystic fibrosis research the summer before my senior year in high school. Private college. Study abroad. Not a single day's work during the entire four years of my undergraduate study, but four years of socializing and drinking and partying and living the life on my parent's dime. I only had to ask and it was given to me. She could never ask. She knew not to. The answer would always be no. And so yes, in that respect, I hate myself for what my life has become. Sitting in my mother's house, financially fucked up, emotionally fucked up, battling an eating disorder, and contemplating what I should do with my life. There is no question in anyone's mind. I should be a lawyer. That was the plan.

But I don't feel guilty about leaving law school. I was unhappy. Let me repeat that so I can sit with it for a minute. I was miserable. I hated my life. I cried every day for the entire first year. I was alone and sad and my behavior was spiraling out of control. I didn't want it enough and that is what hurts my father. Because he gave me everything he had to ensure that I would be successful and make him proud and this is not ever what he imagined I would be doing. This is what my sister does. Nothing.

Oh how the tables have turned. I accept the fact that she has forgiven him for the years of abuse. I also accept the fact that at 24, I'm simply not ready to do that. It's unfathomable for her, my mother, or my father to believe that it would be me...the golden child who would break his heart in this way. But he has broken my heart too. I understand that my father could die any day now (which also begs the question, why would my sister "let" him stay with her if he'll watch the baby at nights when she's out and about with friends.) I don't quite understand how I will be affected once my father is gone and we haven't made amends. I suspect there will be a load of regret and guilt about me being so stubborn and not "forgiving" him for his transgressions.

Hopefully, I'll come around before he passes. But I have no hopes for it either way. For me, I can say "I forgive you" and "I love you" and still in the same breath say "I need some space. A lot of space. And I need more time." Maybe that seems contradictory but it's where I am. For me, I can bring my sister to tears and then head of to sushi with her the next day because we understand that that's how our relationship is and that there really isn't any love lost. We can repeatedly stab each other in the hearts and it's not healthy and it's completely fucked up but we get it. I can't articulate it very well but...we get it.

I would say that it's not about forgiveness but I think it is. But it's not entirely about forgiveness. What do I have to forgive that is so much greater than my mother and sister? Nothing. By far...I had it the easiest. Without a doubt, I see everyone's point of view. I really do. I understand. I get it. But here's mine.

You can't tell me you love me more than anyone else in the world and then break my heart. You can't. You can't tell me you want me to be happy and then say you want me to go to law school. You can't tell me you resent favoring me because I've turned out to be such a disappointment because...that hurts me. You can't do something for someone and expect something in return. It's not just about making me feel like I have to please you, it's about me being at a point where I don't know what I want. It's about wrapping my identity so much into your ideal of who I should be and then pulling out all the cards when I get a hunch that I want something different. It's about not having enough faith and love that I will be ok even when it clearly looks like I might not be okay. It's about saying things for the past decade or so about my appearance and my weight and my clothes and my hair and my studies that make me feel like that's what's really important. That you would love me more if I were perfect. It's about putting me up on the pedestal in the first place. It's about me realizing that I am not accepted by the person who loves me the most because I am not really who that person thought I was.

Because that hurts to the core. It hurts inside my heart. It hurts because I have really tried to be that person and now I'm opting not to be this person at the expense of someone else's heart. Someone hurts either way. Now I'm settling the score. Everyone hurts. He put all his eggs in my basket and left no room for any of my own. So now I've thrown out all those bad eggs and here I am...empty handed. I have no idea how to even find new eggs, never mind the eggs I want. My basket was full before I even latched on to it.

It seems that would be easier to forgive than what my sister and mother forgave. It doesn't even compare really to what they went through and yet...here I am, holding on to this grudge because it really does allow me to avoid looking for new eggs in the meantime. I do not hate him. I love him. I forgive him. He was only doing what he knew to do. I am only saying that because our relationship has always been about me trying to please you that if we get back into this little dance we do...I will end up in law school this fall. I will end up trying to make things right. And that's not what I want. I will be miserable and he will be happy and if there is any lesson I have learned in life -- I will not be miserable so that someone else can smile. I will resent him for it. I will hate myself for it. And let's not kid ourselves here. It will not end at law school. There will always be something else that I have to do for my father. To make up for the fact that he left his son for me. To make up for the fact...for anything.

That is not my cross to bear. This isn't just about forgiveness. It's about healthy boundaries and healthy relationships and we do not have that. We can never have that. We do not know how to do that. I do not know how to start over with him without blurred lines. I do not know how to be around someone and know that I make them unhappy and sad. I cannot live with being the greatest disappointment of someone's life. And their greatest joy. It is too hard being both of those things.

I just took a little break and sent an email to my dad. I think it came from my emotion mind but I'm not regretting the decision so far. I think a part of me also did it just because I really don't want to feel any sort of guilt should anything happen. I didn't apologize at all about anything, I just let him know how much he hurt me, how hard it has been for me to deal with someone loving me so much attacking me like that, and still knowing that it's possible. Human. Sad. But it happens. My body is completely H-O-T right now because I've been crying but the heat is also blasting upstairs so that might be a contributing factor along with my early morning night cap. I really don't know what to expect from him in terms of a reply or a what to do next move. I'm really ok with the distance. I just wish I were okay with where I am in life but I spent a good deal of time talking with my sponsor and she was so reassuring that I am exactly where I am supposed to be in life. Talk about a sigh of relief. It felt so good for someone to come outright and say that. And I know you've all wrote it here before and I've had moments of acceptance but it was particularly freeing to hear those words tonight.

I will know a new freedom. I am already experiencing a new freedom that has come only from my willingness to build and walk down this road of recovery and I am exactly where I need to be.

looking forward to sunday

Well it's been a long day but I'm thankful for the fact that I can even say that! I woke up at noon and realized that my dear friend had called earlier in the morning to invite me over to watch movies and the NCAA semi finals. I was overjoyed! I rarely have "plans" these days and so it was exciting to know that someone was thinking about me and wanted to spend time with me. I sort of planned to do work all day today and do my taxes but that's been put off for tomorrow and after having such an eventful day I think I can chill out and be productive. That'll make me feel a lot better going into next week if I've checked some important things off my to do list.

It took me a really long time to get ready. It was pretty bad. After just having had a "good" day with clothes I really set myself up to feel bad about my body because I was sooo excited about being able to fit a certain size. I organized all my closets this past week and felt good about being able to go into the closet and pull out any pair of pants or shirt and feel comfortable about wearing them the entire day. Something happened in the course of 48 hours and I felt absolutely FAT in anything I put on. I didn't want to wear jeans because it was raining here (and there's nothing worse than wet jeans) and so I chose a pair of pants that I used to love to wear. And they fit...but not my kind of fit. Meaning they weren't two sizes too big. Or even a size too big. I logically know that wearing clothes that are too big don't make me look any smaller. In fact, it doesn't look good at all. But I also know that I cannot bear to look down and see the exact shape of my body, especially when I know I'm going to be around other people. Except, I really wanted to wear these pants because it's a certain size and it felt GOOD to know that I could wear them. But then I couldn't find a shirt that didn't make me feel like a stuffed sausage with those pants. So it started...the thoughts about how I don't need to eat. I want to lose more weight. I want these pants to fit the way they used to fit. And I started crying because I realized that restricting does not work. And I don't know what does work. I just don't. I want to not eat and lose weight and it would make sense that if my body needs 1000 calories just to maintain itself and I eat less than that...that I would lose weight. But no...it holds onto any fucking calorie I consume because I've abused my metabolism for so long that my poor body is confused. It really doesn't ever know when I'll feed it again and so eating just a little bit will ensure that I will NOT lose weight. It's a losing battle.

So I threw a hissy fit. And called myself names. And looked at my body with disdain and disgust and hate. I want to literally just take a knife (a really sharp one) and just slice off my stomach! And I sat there thinking...well if it's just fat, then I won't hurt any major organs. And the skin will grow back and yes it will look disgusting for a while but...and I know that's crazy. I know. But it's also something I think about all the time. I could just cut it off. No plastic surgery. I could just get really drunk and cut it off and bandage it up and then have a very nice flat belly. And then I'd never have to be bulimic again.

Unless of course I got fat again.

Eventually I threw on some safe pants. Very safe pants. And a shirt that my mother bought me "just because" (just because she was feeling guilty!) and I cried with that too. Because it's a medium. And I would never ever buy myself a medium. Not ever. And the only thing I could think was...everyone will SEE how fat I am if I wear this shirt. Everyone will think EWWW she doesn't need to eat THAT. So I threw a safe (very safe) sweater on top of the shirt and felt very comfortable during the movie/game. No one could see how fat I was. Only I knew. And it was somewhat hard during the game when more friends came over and they were thin and in grad school and they all brought over their boyfriends. And they all ate chicken wings and shrimp and chips and salsa and candy and drank tons of alcohol and enjoyed themselves. But I ate and I did enjoy the food actually...I enjoyed the company. I enjoyed the drinks. But in my mind I knew I would have to make up for eating chicken and having peanuts and drinking rum runners. I knew I would look at my body and scream hateful things to myself for being so weak. And I hate