standing on the rooftop of the PC Bureau, looking out at the skyline of the Zone du Bois neighborhood in Ouagadougou. The air was hot and dry. We both had that perpetual sheen of sweat and orange dust stuck to our skin. We don't even notice anymore. Drunk on the magic of seeing lights, and being up above ground level, spying down at the world below (all 4 stories). Feeling the thrill of being where we weren't supposed to be. Kissing, kissing hard and deep and passionate as we laugh under the stars and bask in the halogen moonlight. Dancing to the disjointed beats of music playing from the shanty restaurant on the corner and from the radio of the security guards outside. Bodies pressing together, being together, forbidden, in love, here. Love blossoms even in the desert where no one speaks your language, when you meet someone who reads your heart.
It seems like the least romantic of places, objectively.
But when something calls up that image of a West African city at night, this is what I remember. And it fills my heart with soaring flights of bittersweet longing.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
passage of time
Tomorrow is my birthday. I'll be 28 years old. I was born on a Thursday, premature. Back in the day when they reported estimated gestation as a range of weeks, instead of as a week and a day. I was born at 29-30 weeks. I spent the first month of my life in the NICU in an incubator. It sounds like a rough start, but I was the lucky one. Some of the preemies born that day who shared the NICU with me didn't get to grow up.
This past year has been...well, a hell of a year. More struggle than I knew I could survive. More joy than I knew I could experience.
- I was trying to make sense of my breakup with Natalie.
- Started getting close to three amazing people in Memphis.
- Was the experimental second partner for a friend seeing if her relationship could handle being poly. (It could not, and I will not be putting myself in that situation again unless I'm very invested in the relationship I'm building with that person. Romantic favors are not the way to take care of people you love but don't love like that).
- Experienced overwhelming anxiety and panic.
- Admitted that I have an eating disorder and reached out for help.
- Survived nurse boot camp and loved working as a floor nurse.
- Moved back to Tucson.
- Finished my pre-specialty year and passed the NCLEX.
- Faced my fears of Natalie's emotions, over and over.
- Tried to end my relationship with the person in Memphis.
- For the first time in my life, had to be very honest with myself and someone else, and had someone else be very honest with herself and with me. It was a hard struggle for a while.
- Started a whirlwind relationship that went from "hello" to planning when we would get married within a few months
- Contracted herpes, surprised by how self-judgemental I was of something I had studied as a student but never thought I could get
- Regained a sense of closeness with my former lover in Memphis. Became confidantes and eating disorder/therapy support for each other. An unbelievably strong tree growing from the ashes of brutal pain
- Ended whirlwind relationship as I came back to my sanity and realized that said relationship was incredibly unhealthy for both of us
- Felt like I was part of a beautiful nebula family that could grow and change with each of us
- Still struggled with food, and anxiety, and depression, and low sex drive.
- Experienced moments of such pure joy and delight - I never knew life could be like this
- Admitted to myself that I'm poly. I need people in my life who celebrate and encourage me to pursue things that make me happy, and who are genuinely happy for that, and who expect the same from me.
- Started clinical hours. I adore my primary care role, and my awesome teacher/mentor
- Began to process my shame around herpes, re-started a sexual relationship with my Memphis partner
- Became comfortable thinking of her as my partner. It feels like she kind of sneaked in under the radar, but it's true - in all senses of the word she is my partner. The person who I expect to have as an important person in my life forever. The person who I want to share my joys with, and who will help me get up after being knocked down.
I've never been one to celebrate my birthday since I was a kid. The party with the little gift baggies and the games, the cake my mother would make shaped like a rabbit head. Sleepovers with a pile of giggling girls in sleeping bags in the living room. In high school my friends would organize something for me since they knew I wouldn't. My first year in Tucson I brought a cake to La Cocina. I was sleeping with Mariel. Was I still sleeping with Sami? Natalie came even though we didn't know each other well. I flirted with Diane. The next year I hosted my party at Natalie's house and baked my own cake. Things were a little rocky with Mariel still, but she did stop by to say hello early. Last year I was in Nashville. I honestly don't remember what I did for my birthday. I know I binged on the brownies that a friend baked for me that morning. Probably binged and purged. Tomorrow I will go to work and see patients, then go have dinner with my parents. I feel a little melancholy about this, but I'm ok with it. This weekend I can spend some time with friends. Maybe convince someone to go to a movie or on a hike. Get out in nature and remind myself why life is joyful, even when I'm not safely wrapped in the arms of my partner, planning our next scene at the club, cooking food, and snuggling the cat.
This past year has been...well, a hell of a year. More struggle than I knew I could survive. More joy than I knew I could experience.
- I was trying to make sense of my breakup with Natalie.
- Started getting close to three amazing people in Memphis.
- Was the experimental second partner for a friend seeing if her relationship could handle being poly. (It could not, and I will not be putting myself in that situation again unless I'm very invested in the relationship I'm building with that person. Romantic favors are not the way to take care of people you love but don't love like that).
- Experienced overwhelming anxiety and panic.
- Admitted that I have an eating disorder and reached out for help.
- Survived nurse boot camp and loved working as a floor nurse.
- Moved back to Tucson.
- Finished my pre-specialty year and passed the NCLEX.
- Faced my fears of Natalie's emotions, over and over.
- Tried to end my relationship with the person in Memphis.
- For the first time in my life, had to be very honest with myself and someone else, and had someone else be very honest with herself and with me. It was a hard struggle for a while.
- Started a whirlwind relationship that went from "hello" to planning when we would get married within a few months
- Contracted herpes, surprised by how self-judgemental I was of something I had studied as a student but never thought I could get
- Regained a sense of closeness with my former lover in Memphis. Became confidantes and eating disorder/therapy support for each other. An unbelievably strong tree growing from the ashes of brutal pain
- Ended whirlwind relationship as I came back to my sanity and realized that said relationship was incredibly unhealthy for both of us
- Felt like I was part of a beautiful nebula family that could grow and change with each of us
- Still struggled with food, and anxiety, and depression, and low sex drive.
- Experienced moments of such pure joy and delight - I never knew life could be like this
- Admitted to myself that I'm poly. I need people in my life who celebrate and encourage me to pursue things that make me happy, and who are genuinely happy for that, and who expect the same from me.
- Started clinical hours. I adore my primary care role, and my awesome teacher/mentor
- Began to process my shame around herpes, re-started a sexual relationship with my Memphis partner
- Became comfortable thinking of her as my partner. It feels like she kind of sneaked in under the radar, but it's true - in all senses of the word she is my partner. The person who I expect to have as an important person in my life forever. The person who I want to share my joys with, and who will help me get up after being knocked down.
I've never been one to celebrate my birthday since I was a kid. The party with the little gift baggies and the games, the cake my mother would make shaped like a rabbit head. Sleepovers with a pile of giggling girls in sleeping bags in the living room. In high school my friends would organize something for me since they knew I wouldn't. My first year in Tucson I brought a cake to La Cocina. I was sleeping with Mariel. Was I still sleeping with Sami? Natalie came even though we didn't know each other well. I flirted with Diane. The next year I hosted my party at Natalie's house and baked my own cake. Things were a little rocky with Mariel still, but she did stop by to say hello early. Last year I was in Nashville. I honestly don't remember what I did for my birthday. I know I binged on the brownies that a friend baked for me that morning. Probably binged and purged. Tomorrow I will go to work and see patients, then go have dinner with my parents. I feel a little melancholy about this, but I'm ok with it. This weekend I can spend some time with friends. Maybe convince someone to go to a movie or on a hike. Get out in nature and remind myself why life is joyful, even when I'm not safely wrapped in the arms of my partner, planning our next scene at the club, cooking food, and snuggling the cat.
Saturday, April 2, 2016
food
I'm about to click on my 3rd frontline documentary, after watching a movie, and a few episodes of a TV series. I realize that I'm distracting. I just finished a glass of wine and now my brain thinks writing is a good idea. Non-drunk brain thinks writing is a good idea fairly often, but for some reason I just don't seem to do it. Distraction is much more attractive than introspection.
I've noticed a pattern that I have, particularly with food, in that if I retroactively notice that I've been "good" recently, it makes me proud and almost certainly heralds a stretch of time when I am "bad". This guilt feels overwhelming.
Today I didn't want to go to therapy. I was embarrassed that, despite my promises to myself, I had binged and purged at least once a day every day of the week. I miss the beginning of my time in treatment when "behaving" felt so easy.
Food is complicated. We eat for many different reasons. I eat for many different reasons. Food can be accepting or showing love. Cooking can be emotional, connecting, erotic, mechanical, loving. I eat with people for the joy of their company. I eat alone to fuel my body, or to fill an emptiness that I know from the first bite is not one of hunger. Sometimes a beautifully presented plate in a restaurant that contains only a few bites is somehow satisfying despite it's initial appearance as woefully inadequate. Sometimes a huge bowl of food still leaves my stomach feeling empty, and I don't know if it is emotional or physical. Sometimes I eat when I'm hungry. Sometimes I eat when I'm bored. Sometimes I eat when I'm stressed. Sometimes I don't know why I'm eating until after the fact.
As a child I guess food was both a reward and a punishment. Special occasions or good behavior deserved "naughty" food that was special and reserved as a reward. Day to day eating meant that I ate all of the food that I liked, and once I was full I was faced with the prospect of eating the thing I didn't like. And this always lead to disapproval. One particularly memorable dinner was when I had a friend over. I think I must have been somewhere around 6 or 7. I could feel my throat close as soon as I finally put the peas in my mouth, gagging, already afraid I was going to throw up and be so embarrassed in front of everyone I know I didn't throw up then, but I don't remember if I ever finished the peas.
There are times now when I can enjoy eating. There are foods that I feel pleasure about consuming. But a lot of my pleasure still seems tied to this story of guilt. If I eat things that are on my meal plan, things that are generally considered to be "healthy", I feel proud. Maybe I even eat a few extra bites after I realize that I am satiated, because after all I've been so good about eating "good" foods and it tastes good. So I eat a few more bites, and feel justified but still guilty, because now I haven't been listening to my satiety cues. If I eat things that are "bad" foods I either try to justify it ("I haven't eaten much today") or I tell myself that I'm going to do it anyway and just go for it.
I'm tired of feeling guilty about food. About how much I make, about how much I eat. Even when I enjoy it, I'm still feeling pride or guilt over some aspect of the meal.
What would it be like to see things differently? To not identify myself as an eating disorder, or even as having an eating disorder. What if I started seeing myself as a scientist, as an experimenter, who is playing with food? I'm trying to come at this with fresh eyes, to try and find the combinations of foods and portions that actively bring me joy. To not just be mindful of my food, but to find happiness in my meals. I won't hold myself to doing it all the time, because absolutes tend to be ripe for "failure". There is no failure. There is just new knowledge and confirmations or challenges to that knowledge.
For later: reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect
I've noticed a pattern that I have, particularly with food, in that if I retroactively notice that I've been "good" recently, it makes me proud and almost certainly heralds a stretch of time when I am "bad". This guilt feels overwhelming.
Today I didn't want to go to therapy. I was embarrassed that, despite my promises to myself, I had binged and purged at least once a day every day of the week. I miss the beginning of my time in treatment when "behaving" felt so easy.
Food is complicated. We eat for many different reasons. I eat for many different reasons. Food can be accepting or showing love. Cooking can be emotional, connecting, erotic, mechanical, loving. I eat with people for the joy of their company. I eat alone to fuel my body, or to fill an emptiness that I know from the first bite is not one of hunger. Sometimes a beautifully presented plate in a restaurant that contains only a few bites is somehow satisfying despite it's initial appearance as woefully inadequate. Sometimes a huge bowl of food still leaves my stomach feeling empty, and I don't know if it is emotional or physical. Sometimes I eat when I'm hungry. Sometimes I eat when I'm bored. Sometimes I eat when I'm stressed. Sometimes I don't know why I'm eating until after the fact.
As a child I guess food was both a reward and a punishment. Special occasions or good behavior deserved "naughty" food that was special and reserved as a reward. Day to day eating meant that I ate all of the food that I liked, and once I was full I was faced with the prospect of eating the thing I didn't like. And this always lead to disapproval. One particularly memorable dinner was when I had a friend over. I think I must have been somewhere around 6 or 7. I could feel my throat close as soon as I finally put the peas in my mouth, gagging, already afraid I was going to throw up and be so embarrassed in front of everyone I know I didn't throw up then, but I don't remember if I ever finished the peas.
There are times now when I can enjoy eating. There are foods that I feel pleasure about consuming. But a lot of my pleasure still seems tied to this story of guilt. If I eat things that are on my meal plan, things that are generally considered to be "healthy", I feel proud. Maybe I even eat a few extra bites after I realize that I am satiated, because after all I've been so good about eating "good" foods and it tastes good. So I eat a few more bites, and feel justified but still guilty, because now I haven't been listening to my satiety cues. If I eat things that are "bad" foods I either try to justify it ("I haven't eaten much today") or I tell myself that I'm going to do it anyway and just go for it.
I'm tired of feeling guilty about food. About how much I make, about how much I eat. Even when I enjoy it, I'm still feeling pride or guilt over some aspect of the meal.
What would it be like to see things differently? To not identify myself as an eating disorder, or even as having an eating disorder. What if I started seeing myself as a scientist, as an experimenter, who is playing with food? I'm trying to come at this with fresh eyes, to try and find the combinations of foods and portions that actively bring me joy. To not just be mindful of my food, but to find happiness in my meals. I won't hold myself to doing it all the time, because absolutes tend to be ripe for "failure". There is no failure. There is just new knowledge and confirmations or challenges to that knowledge.
For later: reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect
Thursday, December 17, 2015
desires and needs, revisited
I'm in a new relationship. It was a hard and fast fall, a feeling of recognition, a spirit of possibility. Intoxicating. So very different from anything I've experienced before. I threw caution to the wind and let myself wallow in the joy and delight. It hasn't been without bumps (mostly in terms of the effect it has had on others in our lives), but it has been eye opening and budding with possibilities.
Now we've known each other a few months, and when I'm with her everything is right in the world. But when we're apart I suddenly feel these doubts creeping in, and that worries me. Do I stay and work to make this a reality? Or do I end things and keep looking for that ever-possible "perfect" partner? What is my perfect partner?
Things I think I am/need/want:
- I'm not monogamous. I always want to experience, to explore, to fall into that feeling of attraction to a new person. It doesn't mean I can't be loyal or strongly connected to one primary partner, but it does mean that my partner needs to feel secure in our connection to be able to handle feelings that arise from these desires I have.
- With that, I'd like my partner to either also be poly, or to be willing to accept that my relationships will always be multiple, even if that's more emotional than physical sometimes.
- I'm kinky. I'd love to have a primary partner who enjoys it (as a top or switch), or at least is interested in my enthusiasm. At the very least I need my partner to trust me and generally give me free reign to navigate that world as I desire. I'm perfectly content keeping it strictly non-sexual without previous clearance by my partner, but I really chafe at feeling controlled by someone else's desires in this arena in particular.
- Wanderlust. I want to travel, to explore the world, to be flexible to opportunities as they arise. To have someone who is willing to live on a budget and take a leap from time to time.
- Confidence and strength - I need my partner to be secure in themselves, to know that I don't live for them, that they don't live for me, but that we choose to share our lives together. I need my partner to appreciate me being there when we are together, but also be ok being on her own when I'm not there.
- Communication. I struggle with this, so I need someone who is either experienced in bringing up difficult subjects with honesty, or who is willing to rapidly learn along with me. That said, I also need someone who knows when a subject has been talked to death, or when some passing emotions don't need to be stated right away. Someone who can step back from a situation and discuss it calmly, not by storming off or shutting down.
- Self-awareness. Another thing I'm learning for myself, and something I need in a partner.
- Social grace. Not perfection, but the ability to fit in to many kinds of settings with relative ease.
- Creativity and adventure. I sometimes have great ideas, but I need someone who also generates ideas and enthusiasm, and has the energy to put them into motion.
- Honesty. God do I need this. No one is 100% honest with themselves or with others, but to the best of someone's ability I need them to be honest with me about what is going on, and to have the trust that I can be honest with them and that they will hear me out, even if it's something that hurts. I want to practice leaning in to discomfort, to be willing to talk about anything in our lives and to support each other.
Now we've known each other a few months, and when I'm with her everything is right in the world. But when we're apart I suddenly feel these doubts creeping in, and that worries me. Do I stay and work to make this a reality? Or do I end things and keep looking for that ever-possible "perfect" partner? What is my perfect partner?
Things I think I am/need/want:
- I'm not monogamous. I always want to experience, to explore, to fall into that feeling of attraction to a new person. It doesn't mean I can't be loyal or strongly connected to one primary partner, but it does mean that my partner needs to feel secure in our connection to be able to handle feelings that arise from these desires I have.
- With that, I'd like my partner to either also be poly, or to be willing to accept that my relationships will always be multiple, even if that's more emotional than physical sometimes.
- I'm kinky. I'd love to have a primary partner who enjoys it (as a top or switch), or at least is interested in my enthusiasm. At the very least I need my partner to trust me and generally give me free reign to navigate that world as I desire. I'm perfectly content keeping it strictly non-sexual without previous clearance by my partner, but I really chafe at feeling controlled by someone else's desires in this arena in particular.
- Wanderlust. I want to travel, to explore the world, to be flexible to opportunities as they arise. To have someone who is willing to live on a budget and take a leap from time to time.
- Confidence and strength - I need my partner to be secure in themselves, to know that I don't live for them, that they don't live for me, but that we choose to share our lives together. I need my partner to appreciate me being there when we are together, but also be ok being on her own when I'm not there.
- Communication. I struggle with this, so I need someone who is either experienced in bringing up difficult subjects with honesty, or who is willing to rapidly learn along with me. That said, I also need someone who knows when a subject has been talked to death, or when some passing emotions don't need to be stated right away. Someone who can step back from a situation and discuss it calmly, not by storming off or shutting down.
- Self-awareness. Another thing I'm learning for myself, and something I need in a partner.
- Social grace. Not perfection, but the ability to fit in to many kinds of settings with relative ease.
- Creativity and adventure. I sometimes have great ideas, but I need someone who also generates ideas and enthusiasm, and has the energy to put them into motion.
- Honesty. God do I need this. No one is 100% honest with themselves or with others, but to the best of someone's ability I need them to be honest with me about what is going on, and to have the trust that I can be honest with them and that they will hear me out, even if it's something that hurts. I want to practice leaning in to discomfort, to be willing to talk about anything in our lives and to support each other.
Monday, September 14, 2015
the letter i've tried to write in my head a dozen times
Dear N,
How do I make this a civil letter? How do I balance my desire to take the high road, to keep things as logical and cool-headed as possible, with my hurt?
I want to show you that pain. It seems like you don't believe it's there, that I have a heart, that our breakup was anything besides a way of hurting you, tricking you into being vulnerable and smashing your heart when it was out in the open.
I want to tell you about the panic and anxiety that overwhelmed my thoughts when I contemplated moving back here. The binging and purging to keep my feelings of anxiety and shame at bay by giving myself a different kind of shame to focus on, another way to blame myself. The tests I did badly on because I couldn't focus on pathophysiology when the mere potential of your hate overwhelmed the here and now.
To come back here, to this place that I love, and find out that it's true has been devastating.
I thought I would be ok to see you in public. To interact with you.
I would have been able to, I think. It would have sucked, we would have both been putting on a brave front. I didn't ever expect you to love me again, or maybe even like me again. But I didn't expect you to hate me, to fear me. I didn't expect to come back to a town where people who I used to consider friends won't acknowledge me. Where it's better for me to introduce myself in a way so that people don't realize my connection to you, because I'm "that girl."
The one who broke the cool butch who everyone wants to be or be with.
Frankly I'm glad that you're now experiencing some of the popularity I enjoyed. That you're finding your acclaim and welcome in the community where you wanted it the most.
And I'm glad that when you were hurting, you were able to open up to friends and find support. Truly I'm impressed - I still struggle with that, with asking for help in my hurt instead of keeping it all inside. Because despite all of this, I can't find it in myself to even contemplate that you might be at fault for any of this. That maybe this could have had a different trajectory if one of us had ended it sooner. If I had just called you any of the times when your fear was overwhelming, when my inability to make you happy was at it's most panic-inducing, and said it was over. Maybe by now we could have at least patched together some kind of...well, not friendship, but at least a level of non-hate?
Look - I have no intention of stomping all over your "turf" or of trying to force you away from events you want to attend because I'm going to be there. Hell, I hardly have time to go to any - I'm either studying or in therapy or in Tennessee. When I thought you might come to Kate's party I almost went home because the thought of sitting next to you and feeling your anger was overwhelming. When I realized that you were at Fluxx last night I almost bolted. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just wanted to leave. If I had been on the end of the row I would have. If I hadn't had to walk in front of you I would have.
This sucks. Hard. For both of us. At this point I have no fucking clue what would help - you made it pretty clear the last time we talked in person that you'd really like to have nothing to do with me.
I do want to apologize, one last time. I don't know if this will help, but here's my perspective of it. I hope one day I'll finally get the chance to better understand yours. Until we met in person, I genuinely didn't understand what was the root of your pain. If I learned one thing about you it's that your emotional safety is paramount. You don't open up to someone totally, ever. Your trust in people is cautious, with conditions, and once someone violates that trust you are never able to see them the same way. And we did, we opened up to each other. We were vulnerable, but I think you felt like I was always less vulnerable than you were. My desires for things outside of our relationship made you feel too exposed, not good enough. I think you were trying to tell me that, trying to reach out for reassurance that you were enough, that you were the person I loved. I thought it was so obvious that it didn't occur to me that you might need reassurance - I didn't see it. The more insecure I made you feel the more hurt you were. I didn't understand why, but I felt a crushing guilt over your pain. So there were rules, restrictions, ostensibly to protect our relationship and connection, but really I think it was to protect you from me. And I felt restricted, even if it was a cage I willingly chose to enter. I tried to maneuver in that cage, to still listen to that independent confident person I used to be, but everything I did still hurt you. And I agreed to smaller cages. And you still felt like I didn't love you enough to listen, to hear what you needed and to stop hurting you.
When I came back to Tucson last March, you were right - I did suspect it was the end of our relationship. I was tired of hurting all the time, of feeling this sense of panic over our relationship. I was tired of feeling like the villain who hurt you, of blaming myself because I couldn't become the person you needed, the person I wanted to be for you. But even with all the pain and hurt, I still was conflicted. What about the magical moments of beauty that we shared? The way my heart soared when I heard you sing. The joy I got from listening to you teach me about plants and birds that filled the landscape you so clearly loved. That feeling of triumph and connection as we navigated our entry into the sometimes treacherous emotional waters of kink and poly. The safety of sleeping next to you. The comfort of our routines - how we woke up, making breakfast and coffee, groping eggs and little love notes scattered in bags and computers. The ease of hosting parties together, happy to welcome our friends into our love and companionship. All of the challenges and scared moments we had worked through already. Was I ready to give that up? I truly didn't know. If it had been all bad it would have been easier. But it wasn't.
So I made a choice. I made a choice to show you that indecision. I can see now that I wanted you to be stronger than me in that moment, to help me by showing me that we could find our way back. That even if I was expressing these doubts, these hurts, that you could see things clearer. You always seemed to see all the other things outside our relationship so clearly. I admired your ability to argue your viewpoint and to hold to your convictions, even if I disagreed. I wanted to emulate the way you stood up for things you believed to be right, and constantly challenged yourself to think in new ways on hard topics like race and poverty. When you were unsure of things in our relationship I had always been the one to reach out, to write or speak the reassuring words to convince you that I didn't love Jenn more than you, that having had sex with Sam was not something I was trying to maliciously hide from you, that a scene with Mary that went into new territory didn't mean that I had any more of a connection with her or any less of a connection with you. I wanted you to reach out to me. I just didn't know how to ask except by showing my insecurity.
When we kept trying to talk it out and you kept being angry with me, blaming me, I tried to take that blame. I realized it was unfair to shoulder all the responsibility, but I still loved you. I still wanted to believe that maybe something could survive this fire. I'd successfully rebuilt at least a cordial relationship with Sami, and even a friendly one with Mariel. Surely with the woman I loved, the woman I had thought I would spend my life with - surely she would see what I was seeing. I thought we were two imperfect people who loved each other but just couldn't quite line things up, and kept wounding each other instead. That our insecurities and weaknesses were just too close, or maybe too far apart, for us to truly understand each other's driving force. I mourned for that, because shouldn't it work if we both wanted it to? If we just tried harder? But the rational part of me saw it as a case of wrong place, wrong time. No one was at fault. It was just a tragedy that had gone on for too long. So I wanted to take your blame, to absorb your anger, because I thought it would help you see that I still loved you, that I wasn't doing this to hurt you. That this break up was breaking me too.
When I reached out in email and you asked for space, I was concerned that lack of contact would breed fear and resentment. A forgetting of each other as complex people, warping the other person into a monolith. But you asked for space, and I loved you and wanted to have you in my life, so I wanted to respect that. It hurt like hell when you blocked me from your Fet account, changed your name, hid your information, but I understood. You were hurting. I needed to give you space. It would be ok. It cut so deeply as you kept removing me from your life. Unfriending me from facebook. Deleting photos of us together, erasing our history. The way our friends, now your friends, stopped responding to me too. I was feeling ostracized from a community that I had loved, that I was already physically distant from. So I threw myself into school. I realized I was depressed and so panicked I couldn't function. I was killing myself with bulimia. I was scaring myself with my hopelessness. I started therapy. More therapy. Meds. Biofeedback. Distraction from the hurt. Focus on anything, anything else.
I was trying so hard in those emails I sent when I was in Florida. I miss you. I miss your family, and hearing about your life, your friends, your work. Your life felt like my world, and to have it stripped away was a loss on top of the loss of your love and the earning of your hatred. I wanted to reconnect, to hear where you were. Even if it was going to hurt, even if I had to listen to you blame me for everything that I was already blaming myself for. I hoped that even if we decided to never speak again, that we could at least have a conversation where I could express all of this, and where I could hear how this all happened from your point of view. That maybe, finally, we could do one last thing as a team, have one more victory of good and civil and loving communication. I never, never, in a million years could have ever wanted to hurt you as badly as you seem to be hurt. And I never in a million years could have pictured you wanting me to hurt this badly either. I think you're a better person than that. At least I hope you are. The person I loved was.
I was a very different person when we met. I became a different person when we were together. Our relationship and the end of it changed me into yet another person.
Now I'm being consciously selfish in my time and energy. I'm focusing on myself, on re-learning who I am, on building who I want to be. I'm re-learning how to be in my own body instead of trying to destroy it. I'm trying to learn to listen to my own thoughts and desires instead of constantly worrying about what others will think. I don't say that to be "holier than thou" or anything. Just to help hold myself to it. You seemed to see me as strong and powerful, but I still see myself as weak and confused.
I still want to be a part of the Tucson community without both of us having a panic attack every time we might be attending the same event. I hate that people feel the need to warn us when we might be in the same room together - that sucks for us and for them. I still, somehow, believe that we can build at least a civil "we're in the same community post-breakup" relationship. I have no intention of trying to steal people from you. I have no intention of talking with people who know you about what happened. I don't need to share "my side of the story" because no matter what I say it won't portray either of us in a good light and I won't do that to you. The feeling of being ostracized from a community full of people who I don't even know is possibly one of the most hurtful, especially knowing that it came from someone I love, even as I understand that you were reaching out to friends to support you through a hard time. But having a stranger realize that I was "that girl" and accuse me of breaking you? I've never considered moving to escape the end of a relationship but I'm still not entirely certain that I have the strength to survive this for the foreseeable future.
Please take this letter as it's intended - to help you see my perspective, to reach out, to express my sorrow and my anger and my hurt and my guilt. Please. Explain this to me - what this has meant to you, what you've felt. If you can, please do it in a way that doesn't rip me to shreds, but if that's what you have to do, please don't send it. My first reaction was to ask you to tell me anyway, but I don't think someone who respects herself would invite that kind of abuse instead of insisting on at least an attempt at being thoughtful and productive and considerate. I promise to read it generously, as I hope you've been trying to read this generously. And if after that you still want to avoid me, still want to divvy up events like battle lines so that we never have to see each other or learn to get along, then I guess I can't force you to choose otherwise. But I hope you do. I hope I do.
Still with love, despite it all, always,
-Me
How do I make this a civil letter? How do I balance my desire to take the high road, to keep things as logical and cool-headed as possible, with my hurt?
I want to show you that pain. It seems like you don't believe it's there, that I have a heart, that our breakup was anything besides a way of hurting you, tricking you into being vulnerable and smashing your heart when it was out in the open.
I want to tell you about the panic and anxiety that overwhelmed my thoughts when I contemplated moving back here. The binging and purging to keep my feelings of anxiety and shame at bay by giving myself a different kind of shame to focus on, another way to blame myself. The tests I did badly on because I couldn't focus on pathophysiology when the mere potential of your hate overwhelmed the here and now.
To come back here, to this place that I love, and find out that it's true has been devastating.
I thought I would be ok to see you in public. To interact with you.
I would have been able to, I think. It would have sucked, we would have both been putting on a brave front. I didn't ever expect you to love me again, or maybe even like me again. But I didn't expect you to hate me, to fear me. I didn't expect to come back to a town where people who I used to consider friends won't acknowledge me. Where it's better for me to introduce myself in a way so that people don't realize my connection to you, because I'm "that girl."
The one who broke the cool butch who everyone wants to be or be with.
Frankly I'm glad that you're now experiencing some of the popularity I enjoyed. That you're finding your acclaim and welcome in the community where you wanted it the most.
And I'm glad that when you were hurting, you were able to open up to friends and find support. Truly I'm impressed - I still struggle with that, with asking for help in my hurt instead of keeping it all inside. Because despite all of this, I can't find it in myself to even contemplate that you might be at fault for any of this. That maybe this could have had a different trajectory if one of us had ended it sooner. If I had just called you any of the times when your fear was overwhelming, when my inability to make you happy was at it's most panic-inducing, and said it was over. Maybe by now we could have at least patched together some kind of...well, not friendship, but at least a level of non-hate?
Look - I have no intention of stomping all over your "turf" or of trying to force you away from events you want to attend because I'm going to be there. Hell, I hardly have time to go to any - I'm either studying or in therapy or in Tennessee. When I thought you might come to Kate's party I almost went home because the thought of sitting next to you and feeling your anger was overwhelming. When I realized that you were at Fluxx last night I almost bolted. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. I just wanted to leave. If I had been on the end of the row I would have. If I hadn't had to walk in front of you I would have.
This sucks. Hard. For both of us. At this point I have no fucking clue what would help - you made it pretty clear the last time we talked in person that you'd really like to have nothing to do with me.
I do want to apologize, one last time. I don't know if this will help, but here's my perspective of it. I hope one day I'll finally get the chance to better understand yours. Until we met in person, I genuinely didn't understand what was the root of your pain. If I learned one thing about you it's that your emotional safety is paramount. You don't open up to someone totally, ever. Your trust in people is cautious, with conditions, and once someone violates that trust you are never able to see them the same way. And we did, we opened up to each other. We were vulnerable, but I think you felt like I was always less vulnerable than you were. My desires for things outside of our relationship made you feel too exposed, not good enough. I think you were trying to tell me that, trying to reach out for reassurance that you were enough, that you were the person I loved. I thought it was so obvious that it didn't occur to me that you might need reassurance - I didn't see it. The more insecure I made you feel the more hurt you were. I didn't understand why, but I felt a crushing guilt over your pain. So there were rules, restrictions, ostensibly to protect our relationship and connection, but really I think it was to protect you from me. And I felt restricted, even if it was a cage I willingly chose to enter. I tried to maneuver in that cage, to still listen to that independent confident person I used to be, but everything I did still hurt you. And I agreed to smaller cages. And you still felt like I didn't love you enough to listen, to hear what you needed and to stop hurting you.
When I came back to Tucson last March, you were right - I did suspect it was the end of our relationship. I was tired of hurting all the time, of feeling this sense of panic over our relationship. I was tired of feeling like the villain who hurt you, of blaming myself because I couldn't become the person you needed, the person I wanted to be for you. But even with all the pain and hurt, I still was conflicted. What about the magical moments of beauty that we shared? The way my heart soared when I heard you sing. The joy I got from listening to you teach me about plants and birds that filled the landscape you so clearly loved. That feeling of triumph and connection as we navigated our entry into the sometimes treacherous emotional waters of kink and poly. The safety of sleeping next to you. The comfort of our routines - how we woke up, making breakfast and coffee, groping eggs and little love notes scattered in bags and computers. The ease of hosting parties together, happy to welcome our friends into our love and companionship. All of the challenges and scared moments we had worked through already. Was I ready to give that up? I truly didn't know. If it had been all bad it would have been easier. But it wasn't.
So I made a choice. I made a choice to show you that indecision. I can see now that I wanted you to be stronger than me in that moment, to help me by showing me that we could find our way back. That even if I was expressing these doubts, these hurts, that you could see things clearer. You always seemed to see all the other things outside our relationship so clearly. I admired your ability to argue your viewpoint and to hold to your convictions, even if I disagreed. I wanted to emulate the way you stood up for things you believed to be right, and constantly challenged yourself to think in new ways on hard topics like race and poverty. When you were unsure of things in our relationship I had always been the one to reach out, to write or speak the reassuring words to convince you that I didn't love Jenn more than you, that having had sex with Sam was not something I was trying to maliciously hide from you, that a scene with Mary that went into new territory didn't mean that I had any more of a connection with her or any less of a connection with you. I wanted you to reach out to me. I just didn't know how to ask except by showing my insecurity.
When we kept trying to talk it out and you kept being angry with me, blaming me, I tried to take that blame. I realized it was unfair to shoulder all the responsibility, but I still loved you. I still wanted to believe that maybe something could survive this fire. I'd successfully rebuilt at least a cordial relationship with Sami, and even a friendly one with Mariel. Surely with the woman I loved, the woman I had thought I would spend my life with - surely she would see what I was seeing. I thought we were two imperfect people who loved each other but just couldn't quite line things up, and kept wounding each other instead. That our insecurities and weaknesses were just too close, or maybe too far apart, for us to truly understand each other's driving force. I mourned for that, because shouldn't it work if we both wanted it to? If we just tried harder? But the rational part of me saw it as a case of wrong place, wrong time. No one was at fault. It was just a tragedy that had gone on for too long. So I wanted to take your blame, to absorb your anger, because I thought it would help you see that I still loved you, that I wasn't doing this to hurt you. That this break up was breaking me too.
When I reached out in email and you asked for space, I was concerned that lack of contact would breed fear and resentment. A forgetting of each other as complex people, warping the other person into a monolith. But you asked for space, and I loved you and wanted to have you in my life, so I wanted to respect that. It hurt like hell when you blocked me from your Fet account, changed your name, hid your information, but I understood. You were hurting. I needed to give you space. It would be ok. It cut so deeply as you kept removing me from your life. Unfriending me from facebook. Deleting photos of us together, erasing our history. The way our friends, now your friends, stopped responding to me too. I was feeling ostracized from a community that I had loved, that I was already physically distant from. So I threw myself into school. I realized I was depressed and so panicked I couldn't function. I was killing myself with bulimia. I was scaring myself with my hopelessness. I started therapy. More therapy. Meds. Biofeedback. Distraction from the hurt. Focus on anything, anything else.
I was trying so hard in those emails I sent when I was in Florida. I miss you. I miss your family, and hearing about your life, your friends, your work. Your life felt like my world, and to have it stripped away was a loss on top of the loss of your love and the earning of your hatred. I wanted to reconnect, to hear where you were. Even if it was going to hurt, even if I had to listen to you blame me for everything that I was already blaming myself for. I hoped that even if we decided to never speak again, that we could at least have a conversation where I could express all of this, and where I could hear how this all happened from your point of view. That maybe, finally, we could do one last thing as a team, have one more victory of good and civil and loving communication. I never, never, in a million years could have ever wanted to hurt you as badly as you seem to be hurt. And I never in a million years could have pictured you wanting me to hurt this badly either. I think you're a better person than that. At least I hope you are. The person I loved was.
I was a very different person when we met. I became a different person when we were together. Our relationship and the end of it changed me into yet another person.
Now I'm being consciously selfish in my time and energy. I'm focusing on myself, on re-learning who I am, on building who I want to be. I'm re-learning how to be in my own body instead of trying to destroy it. I'm trying to learn to listen to my own thoughts and desires instead of constantly worrying about what others will think. I don't say that to be "holier than thou" or anything. Just to help hold myself to it. You seemed to see me as strong and powerful, but I still see myself as weak and confused.
I still want to be a part of the Tucson community without both of us having a panic attack every time we might be attending the same event. I hate that people feel the need to warn us when we might be in the same room together - that sucks for us and for them. I still, somehow, believe that we can build at least a civil "we're in the same community post-breakup" relationship. I have no intention of trying to steal people from you. I have no intention of talking with people who know you about what happened. I don't need to share "my side of the story" because no matter what I say it won't portray either of us in a good light and I won't do that to you. The feeling of being ostracized from a community full of people who I don't even know is possibly one of the most hurtful, especially knowing that it came from someone I love, even as I understand that you were reaching out to friends to support you through a hard time. But having a stranger realize that I was "that girl" and accuse me of breaking you? I've never considered moving to escape the end of a relationship but I'm still not entirely certain that I have the strength to survive this for the foreseeable future.
Please take this letter as it's intended - to help you see my perspective, to reach out, to express my sorrow and my anger and my hurt and my guilt. Please. Explain this to me - what this has meant to you, what you've felt. If you can, please do it in a way that doesn't rip me to shreds, but if that's what you have to do, please don't send it. My first reaction was to ask you to tell me anyway, but I don't think someone who respects herself would invite that kind of abuse instead of insisting on at least an attempt at being thoughtful and productive and considerate. I promise to read it generously, as I hope you've been trying to read this generously. And if after that you still want to avoid me, still want to divvy up events like battle lines so that we never have to see each other or learn to get along, then I guess I can't force you to choose otherwise. But I hope you do. I hope I do.
Still with love, despite it all, always,
-Me
Tuesday, September 8, 2015
things i've noticed 3 days in
Actually I've been in the IOP for a week as of today, although we didn't have group because of the holiday. But I'm three days in on my eating plan and I realized a few things that feel important to write down.
- I'm still putting off breakfast, but I'm hungry when I wake up - gently rumbling. Then, two hours later when I get around to eating, I'm kind of "eh" until I start to eat and my stomach starts feeling hungry again.
- Sometimes eating every 2-3 hours feels too frequent - I look at the clock and realize it's time to eat again before my stomach seems ready.
- More frequently my stomach is just starting to make little hunger signs around 1.5-2 hours after my last meal and I kind of have to ignore it or drink another cup of tea to delay things a little bit more, because eating that frequently makes me feel like I'm binge grazing and I'm trying to avoid anything that is reminiscent of an unhealthy pattern.
- I actually kind of enjoy planning out my meal to fit these meal plan "rules." Good girl syndrome for sure, even when I'm just repeating or slightly modifying the plan from the day before.
- Fairly often today I would finish my meal or snack and still feel a little hungry. But after I sat and did something for 20 minutes, I'd start feeling quite full.
I think that's what makes it weird when I'm hungry again soon after that full feeling. Because normally when I feel full like that I'm stuffed full and not physically hungry for a good while after that. Psychological/emotional hunger being an entirely different thing of course.
I had a panic moment last night when I thought I was going to end up eating out with my roommate and her friend. It worked out that they picked up pizza and I was able to eat my planned food, but I do need to learn to be more flexible. I think part of it was that I had already written down my plan on my food diary sheet for my nutritionist. Don't count your chickens before they hatch. I still counted the calories of my food today, but only once - I'm trying to stick to the exchange system even if I still generally know what each individual item is. It kind of freaked me out a little that I'm eating about 1,800 calories when my only activity is some morning yoga and then I sit on my butt all day. I'd feel much better if I was doing any kind of exercise, but going to the gym feels so difficult when so much of my schoolwork involves a computer, and there's just so much work to get done any time I'm not in therapy or with friends.
12 days and counting. I can do this. I am good enough. I am worth this.
- I'm still putting off breakfast, but I'm hungry when I wake up - gently rumbling. Then, two hours later when I get around to eating, I'm kind of "eh" until I start to eat and my stomach starts feeling hungry again.
- Sometimes eating every 2-3 hours feels too frequent - I look at the clock and realize it's time to eat again before my stomach seems ready.
- More frequently my stomach is just starting to make little hunger signs around 1.5-2 hours after my last meal and I kind of have to ignore it or drink another cup of tea to delay things a little bit more, because eating that frequently makes me feel like I'm binge grazing and I'm trying to avoid anything that is reminiscent of an unhealthy pattern.
- I actually kind of enjoy planning out my meal to fit these meal plan "rules." Good girl syndrome for sure, even when I'm just repeating or slightly modifying the plan from the day before.
- Fairly often today I would finish my meal or snack and still feel a little hungry. But after I sat and did something for 20 minutes, I'd start feeling quite full.
I think that's what makes it weird when I'm hungry again soon after that full feeling. Because normally when I feel full like that I'm stuffed full and not physically hungry for a good while after that. Psychological/emotional hunger being an entirely different thing of course.
I had a panic moment last night when I thought I was going to end up eating out with my roommate and her friend. It worked out that they picked up pizza and I was able to eat my planned food, but I do need to learn to be more flexible. I think part of it was that I had already written down my plan on my food diary sheet for my nutritionist. Don't count your chickens before they hatch. I still counted the calories of my food today, but only once - I'm trying to stick to the exchange system even if I still generally know what each individual item is. It kind of freaked me out a little that I'm eating about 1,800 calories when my only activity is some morning yoga and then I sit on my butt all day. I'd feel much better if I was doing any kind of exercise, but going to the gym feels so difficult when so much of my schoolwork involves a computer, and there's just so much work to get done any time I'm not in therapy or with friends.
12 days and counting. I can do this. I am good enough. I am worth this.
Monday, September 7, 2015
worksheet #1
Typing is easier than writing, and if I'm going to write this for my group therapy I'm sure as heck going to give myself credit by blogging it.
1. Please describe the progression of the eating disorder, beginning with the first time you engaged in disordered eating. Describe what it felt like and your first thoughts associated with the ED.
The first time I had the conscious thought of being overweight and feeling ashamed for it was in 3rd grade, 9 years old. Kids compare everything, and most of the time being the most extreme of anything is the best - the last name that is closest to the start or end of the alphabet, the biggest or smallest shoe size, etc. But I knew that I weighing almost 90 lbs was much more than my classmates, and that this was a bad thing that would not win me accolades. (I didn't realize until much later that I was also 4'6" at that point - I wasn't slender, but I was perfectly within a normal weight for my height).
The first time that I engaged in disordered eating was maybe when I was 10 or 11? I was staying at my Dad's apartment for the night, so that meant that we had bought dinner at the grocery store because he didn't know how to cook. I had finally convinced him to give up the Tuna Helper or frozen kids meals, and selected a nice healthy salad for myself. We ate in front of the TV. As I had been taught, I "cleaned my plate," or in this case, my bowel.
My dad had gotten up to go work on something in the other room, and when he came back he made some comment in surprise at how much I had eaten, that "a salad that big is usually supposed to be shared by 2 people." I don't know if he had expected to have some too or what the motivation behind the comment was, but I do remember feeling ashamed, and distinctly afraid that having eaten too much was going to make me fat, which was something I definitely didn't want. So how could I get some of that "too much" salad back? I went into the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. It was gross, but I was proud of myself for figuring out a solution. My dad caught me, of course, and told me to not do that to myself. He seemed so upset, so I promised I wouldn't.
For a long time, I didn't.
I continued to be very self-conscious about my weight and body shape, but somehow I didn't connect that to food choices. In middle school when I was home alone, particularly in the summers, I would binge - cheese melted on toast became cheese melted on rice (when I ran out of bread), which became just a bowl of melted cheese eaten with a fork when I ran out of leftover rice. I would feel a little guilty, but the food just tasted so good. Halloween candy would be pilfered, spoonfuls of peanut butter and honey, butter and sugar sandwiches...I wouldn't do it with other people in the house, but when I was alone I just grazed continuously. I was painfully embarrassed by my body, by the way that "cool" clothes and brands that fit my classmates never fit me, but I didn't know how to ask for help or what I could possibly do about it.
In high school I pretty actively started engaging in overtly disordered behaviors. I was self injuring, and around 16 or so I started consciously restricting and purging. I read "thinspo" blogs and tallied up my calories for the day on my own blog, collected images of bony-thin women and dreamed of the day I would live alone so I could put a lock on my fridge to control myself. I was jealous of those girls who could eat 300 calories a day, ashamed at the 900 calories I just couldn't seem to stop eating. I would be mad at myself if I ate something I didn't plan on eating, and would be entranced by any available foods in group settings where someone had brought snacks (almost always something delicious and sugary, like cookies or cupcakes). I would eat pizza at a lunch meeting at school and then sneak away to the bathroom to purge, choosing the one that was the most out of the way, the least likely to be disturbed.
It worked. I was losing weight, I felt more confident in my body. People were noticing. I only remember one person seeing it as a negative, the school administrative assistant. Clare was like everyone's favorite aunt. She had a ready smile and welcoming hug, tampons and ibuprofen stashed where we could get it ourselves without having to ask, and the answer to almost any question about school or life. I don't actually remember what she asked or said, but I do remember blushing and ducking the question, but suddenly being afraid that maybe she had heard one of my bathroom purgings - I tended to favor the one that happened to be closest to the teacher's lounge. I was afraid she would stop me, but kind of also glad to think that it might mean that she cared, that someone saw what I was doing and made me acknowledge to myself how unhealthy it was.
Then I went to college. And the food was amazing, and unlimited, and I was on crew so that meant I could eat whatever I wanted, right? I hadn't weighed myself for years at that point, but I'd estimate that I easily gained 40lbs my freshman year, if not more. Some of that was muscle, certainly. But a lot of it was not. When our coach asked us to get a weight so we could do weight-adjusted rowing scores, I was shocked when the scale went over 200lbs. In later years when I worked at Target over the summers I would routinely lose about 15-20lbs over 3 months. At that point I didn't know a quantity but I did know that I had lost weight, and I still was 205? I told my coach 197. I had been purging occasionally my freshman year, but now I was more aware of what I was eating, and purging much more frequently. That just became how I managed my weight. I would try to make good food choices, I obsessed over the calorie counts for the online menus and tried to plan my meals in advance, tried to listen to my body's needs. Then I would find myself going back for thirds at the dessert bar. It truly felt like it wasn't a choice, it was something I just did. Because.
At graduation I was probably around 170-180, only a bit more than my high school weight. I was even fitting into some of my high school pants! And then I left for Peace Corps.
I did binge frequently (or rather, I overate, but it felt like binging) when I was in Burkina, but I only purged twice in 2 years - I just felt such guilt when hunger was too close to be ignored. I gained weight and felt self conscious about it, but I was a little more gracious to myself - I had been prepped to expect this by some of the more seasoned volunteers, that this is just what happens when all you eat is pasta and fried dough and rice. Somehow being deliberate about letting food be my emotional comfort in this very foreign place made the weight gain slightly less of an emotional burden.
When I got back to the US I was newly single and heartbroken. I was starting to take community college classes to prepare for grad school, I was living in a town where I knew no one but my parents, so I decided that I was going to get in shape. I dramatically changed my eating and exercise habits, and as I progressed in my required nutrition class I refined my diet on a constant basis to hone in on the "right" diet for me. I was closely in control of my intake, and exercising 1-3 hours/day almost every day - going to the gym between classes, going to zumba and yoga, going for hikes and walks. I lost a lot of weight quickly, going from 190 to 160 over about 4 months. It wasn't unreasonable weight loss, but a lot of that happened very quickly and then plateaued - it wasn't a steady decrease of 1/2 - 2 lbs/week. Every time the scale went down I was elated. Every time it went up I was depressed and tried to restrict even more, although I did soon realize that my body needed at least a minimum amount of fuel to be happy.
I was skinny, I was confident, and I was suddenly the new queer darling of Tucson. I was the center of attention and even though it was mind-bogglingly strange for me, I embraced it - hadn't I worked hard to get to this point? This must be what it was like to grow up skinny and pretty! But then as I stopped losing weight and even started gaining a few pounds I got scared - I couldn't ruin this. So whenever I would eat something I "shouldn't" I would purge. And then I started thinking that I could eat anything I wanted as long as I threw it up.
It got particularly bad when I was living at home alone over the summer. My parents wanted me to eat up their uneaten foods? Throw out the things that were expired? It felt wasteful to just throw out the food, but somehow it was acceptable to binge and purge that same food, sometimes over and over in a day. I would buy food at the grocery store specifically to binge and purge - cookie dough and ice cream were favorites. I would petsit for people and binge and purge their food, then have to go and buy more to replace the foods I'd stolen. I dreaded meeting a new family and hearing them say "please help yourself to any of the food," when if they had told me to leave their food alone it would have helped me so much. I couldn't control the part of me that had to eat that food, but it was so much easier if there was a voice in my head telling me that I was disobeying a rule.
When I went road tripping I gained some of the weight back, to the point that I had to buy new pants near the end of my 5 months. I was embarrassed and ashamed, but honestly didn't have many opportunities to purge. So when I got home, I did. It was a little harder, I was living at home and with my girlfriend while going to school and working, but I still had time to be alone in one place or another almost every day. There would be stretches where I wouldn't do it for days, weeks even. But then I would have that binging urge in a time and place where I knew I would be able to purge, and would start again. Stopping was so hard, but once I started up again after a break it just escalated faster and faster.
It got particularly bad over the last year. I would get home before my roommate and binge, then either purge and feel guilty, or she would come home and I'd be stuck with this almost overwhelming anxiety and guilt of having binged without the relief of having purged. When she would go to bed I would sneak food out of the kitchen, going back and forth over and over before finally bringing the container of food in with me and eating it all, purging as my stomach got painfully full. I was so full of shame and guilt - the weeks when I didn't b/p I was always so amazed at how much less my groceries would cost because I still had food in the fridge and cabinet from the week before. After the first time I gave myself a minor sinus infection I swore I was finished - the thought of going to student health and asking for antibiotics for my self-induced infection seemed too embarrasing to contemplate. And I promised myself I was totally finished after the first time I looked down in the toilet and saw a little bit of blood from where I'd scraped the back of my throat and irritated it with stomach acid. I said the same thing after the second time, and the third, and the fourth, and the times after I stopped counting. I promised I would stop after I found myself throwing up in friends houses, or scouring campus for an out of the way bathroom, or going into a store to throw up, or driving somewhere specifically to purge. After I threw up in a bag in my car because my roommate had come home. After my grandma caught me in a lie on vacation as to where I had been after dinner. I finally had to admit to myself that I was never able to stop.
I've told this story to about 2-3 people in the program now, so it's a little easier than it was, even though saying it out loud (or writing it down) is still majorly embarrassing and feels shameful in a way that is hard to describe.
2. List 5 ways that your life has become unmanageable due to disordered eating.
I spend too much on food that I intend to binge and purge - it's wasteful and it's killing my budget.
I obsess over what I eat and feel guilty over deviating from my plan, which is a baseline worry I don't need.
I have to lie to people about where I am or what I'm doing.
I isolate myself in order to avoid being around food or to be alone with food.
I have a hard time concentrating on other people and their needs when I'm so focused on eating/not eating/finding an excuse to leave to eat or purge.
3. Give 5 examples of ways you have attempted to manage the disordered eating, ie diets, programs, eating at certain times, etc.
Delaying breakfast/eating as long as possible so that I "save" calories for the end of the day when I tend to binge
Making promises to myself that I will stop, starting Prozac again
Planning out my meals and calorie tracking obsessively
Only buying "healthy" foods so that if I don't have binge foods in the house
Living with roommates to have someone around so I can't purge and thus decreasing my ability to satisfactorily binge
4. Give 5 examples of when you lied, distorted, or manipulated the truth about the disordered eating behavior.
All the time. To myself, to friends, to family. Telling myself I will never do this again. Lies to explain the missing food. Lies to explain why I can't go out with friends. Lies to explain why my voice is horse or my eyes are watering. Lies to explain why I need to leave the party early (I really do feel sick, but it's because of guilt, not because of the ceviche). Manipulating family members to explain where I disappeared to.
5. Give 5 examples of how the eating disorder has affected your health.
Weakness, dizziness, vomiting blood, gum and sinus pain, headaches, constipation and diarrhea. Probably some dental problems. A very sore jaw the next day. Guilt compounding depression and anxiety.
6. Please describe your food rituals.
Buying food to binge. Making sure that there was going to be a way that I could purge. Serving myself small reasonable portions but over and over until the whole container was gone. Thinking of food and my current calorie tally all the time. Planning my meals for the day in advance, which gives very little flexibility and would make me panic if I did eat something off my plan. Limiting my access to food. Watching TV while I purged to distract myself from what I was doing.
7. Give 3 examples of when you avoided family, friends, or social events because of the eating disorder.
Frequently - I would say I felt sick and couldn't go out. I would avoid events with potluck style meals because it was too easy to graze. There were times when I had the opportunity to go out and see friends, but I preferred to stay home and binge and purge instead (?!)
8. List 5 times you belittled, or were critical of yourself related to disordered eating.
I still do this a lot. When I told my therapist. And my psychiatrist. And my PCP. And Rachel on intake. And myself, when I would purge. I think it's ridiculous that I'm such a stereotype - a type A, privileged, upper middle class white girl who has very little to be upset about in life, but who is still somehow depressed and feels like she's never good enough so she takes control of the only thing she can - her eating. Except clearly I'm not in control of that either. It feels like I should have the self control to stop this.
9. Describe 2 times that you have felt spiritually bankrupted because of the eating disorder.
I don't know how much I agree with the wording of that question, but I have felt guilt over my binging and purging regarding the waste of food and resources that it represents, and the waste of time when I could be doing something productive and enriching instead of mindless and self-destructive.
10. Describe what you have given up to maintain a relationship with the eating disorder.
The ability to eat without analyzing it, to have a guilt-free meal. Time with friends. Money for other purposes - socializing, traveling, etc. My sense of self as self-determining, as having a strong self-will and the ability to depend on myself for help. I haven't gone to a dentist in 2 years because I've been too afraid that they would know my secret.
11. List any secrets you have kept associated with disordered eating.
The fact that I have a problem. I've hinted to a few friends that I struggle with food. I told my ex that I "used to be bulimic" but that I had stopped when that was really more of wishful thinking and hoping that if I said it I could make it true. I've told one person that I'm in this program, a lover in another state. I've lied about where food has gone.
12. How do you imagine your life will be different without the eating disorder?
I'm not sure. Right now I haven't binged or purged in 11 days. And I'm very proud of that. But I'm still anxious about food, although it feels better to be doing it in order to "stick to my meal plan" instead of just to obsess over the number of calories going into my body. I hope that I will get to a point where I can enjoy food for the sake of it being delicious without the accompanying guilt. I would like to be able to realize when I am full and then have the ability to stop eating without feeling guilty for not finishing, or feeling the urge for "just one more bite."
1. Please describe the progression of the eating disorder, beginning with the first time you engaged in disordered eating. Describe what it felt like and your first thoughts associated with the ED.
The first time I had the conscious thought of being overweight and feeling ashamed for it was in 3rd grade, 9 years old. Kids compare everything, and most of the time being the most extreme of anything is the best - the last name that is closest to the start or end of the alphabet, the biggest or smallest shoe size, etc. But I knew that I weighing almost 90 lbs was much more than my classmates, and that this was a bad thing that would not win me accolades. (I didn't realize until much later that I was also 4'6" at that point - I wasn't slender, but I was perfectly within a normal weight for my height).
The first time that I engaged in disordered eating was maybe when I was 10 or 11? I was staying at my Dad's apartment for the night, so that meant that we had bought dinner at the grocery store because he didn't know how to cook. I had finally convinced him to give up the Tuna Helper or frozen kids meals, and selected a nice healthy salad for myself. We ate in front of the TV. As I had been taught, I "cleaned my plate," or in this case, my bowel.
My dad had gotten up to go work on something in the other room, and when he came back he made some comment in surprise at how much I had eaten, that "a salad that big is usually supposed to be shared by 2 people." I don't know if he had expected to have some too or what the motivation behind the comment was, but I do remember feeling ashamed, and distinctly afraid that having eaten too much was going to make me fat, which was something I definitely didn't want. So how could I get some of that "too much" salad back? I went into the bathroom and tried to make myself throw up. It was gross, but I was proud of myself for figuring out a solution. My dad caught me, of course, and told me to not do that to myself. He seemed so upset, so I promised I wouldn't.
For a long time, I didn't.
I continued to be very self-conscious about my weight and body shape, but somehow I didn't connect that to food choices. In middle school when I was home alone, particularly in the summers, I would binge - cheese melted on toast became cheese melted on rice (when I ran out of bread), which became just a bowl of melted cheese eaten with a fork when I ran out of leftover rice. I would feel a little guilty, but the food just tasted so good. Halloween candy would be pilfered, spoonfuls of peanut butter and honey, butter and sugar sandwiches...I wouldn't do it with other people in the house, but when I was alone I just grazed continuously. I was painfully embarrassed by my body, by the way that "cool" clothes and brands that fit my classmates never fit me, but I didn't know how to ask for help or what I could possibly do about it.
In high school I pretty actively started engaging in overtly disordered behaviors. I was self injuring, and around 16 or so I started consciously restricting and purging. I read "thinspo" blogs and tallied up my calories for the day on my own blog, collected images of bony-thin women and dreamed of the day I would live alone so I could put a lock on my fridge to control myself. I was jealous of those girls who could eat 300 calories a day, ashamed at the 900 calories I just couldn't seem to stop eating. I would be mad at myself if I ate something I didn't plan on eating, and would be entranced by any available foods in group settings where someone had brought snacks (almost always something delicious and sugary, like cookies or cupcakes). I would eat pizza at a lunch meeting at school and then sneak away to the bathroom to purge, choosing the one that was the most out of the way, the least likely to be disturbed.
It worked. I was losing weight, I felt more confident in my body. People were noticing. I only remember one person seeing it as a negative, the school administrative assistant. Clare was like everyone's favorite aunt. She had a ready smile and welcoming hug, tampons and ibuprofen stashed where we could get it ourselves without having to ask, and the answer to almost any question about school or life. I don't actually remember what she asked or said, but I do remember blushing and ducking the question, but suddenly being afraid that maybe she had heard one of my bathroom purgings - I tended to favor the one that happened to be closest to the teacher's lounge. I was afraid she would stop me, but kind of also glad to think that it might mean that she cared, that someone saw what I was doing and made me acknowledge to myself how unhealthy it was.
Then I went to college. And the food was amazing, and unlimited, and I was on crew so that meant I could eat whatever I wanted, right? I hadn't weighed myself for years at that point, but I'd estimate that I easily gained 40lbs my freshman year, if not more. Some of that was muscle, certainly. But a lot of it was not. When our coach asked us to get a weight so we could do weight-adjusted rowing scores, I was shocked when the scale went over 200lbs. In later years when I worked at Target over the summers I would routinely lose about 15-20lbs over 3 months. At that point I didn't know a quantity but I did know that I had lost weight, and I still was 205? I told my coach 197. I had been purging occasionally my freshman year, but now I was more aware of what I was eating, and purging much more frequently. That just became how I managed my weight. I would try to make good food choices, I obsessed over the calorie counts for the online menus and tried to plan my meals in advance, tried to listen to my body's needs. Then I would find myself going back for thirds at the dessert bar. It truly felt like it wasn't a choice, it was something I just did. Because.
At graduation I was probably around 170-180, only a bit more than my high school weight. I was even fitting into some of my high school pants! And then I left for Peace Corps.
I did binge frequently (or rather, I overate, but it felt like binging) when I was in Burkina, but I only purged twice in 2 years - I just felt such guilt when hunger was too close to be ignored. I gained weight and felt self conscious about it, but I was a little more gracious to myself - I had been prepped to expect this by some of the more seasoned volunteers, that this is just what happens when all you eat is pasta and fried dough and rice. Somehow being deliberate about letting food be my emotional comfort in this very foreign place made the weight gain slightly less of an emotional burden.
When I got back to the US I was newly single and heartbroken. I was starting to take community college classes to prepare for grad school, I was living in a town where I knew no one but my parents, so I decided that I was going to get in shape. I dramatically changed my eating and exercise habits, and as I progressed in my required nutrition class I refined my diet on a constant basis to hone in on the "right" diet for me. I was closely in control of my intake, and exercising 1-3 hours/day almost every day - going to the gym between classes, going to zumba and yoga, going for hikes and walks. I lost a lot of weight quickly, going from 190 to 160 over about 4 months. It wasn't unreasonable weight loss, but a lot of that happened very quickly and then plateaued - it wasn't a steady decrease of 1/2 - 2 lbs/week. Every time the scale went down I was elated. Every time it went up I was depressed and tried to restrict even more, although I did soon realize that my body needed at least a minimum amount of fuel to be happy.
I was skinny, I was confident, and I was suddenly the new queer darling of Tucson. I was the center of attention and even though it was mind-bogglingly strange for me, I embraced it - hadn't I worked hard to get to this point? This must be what it was like to grow up skinny and pretty! But then as I stopped losing weight and even started gaining a few pounds I got scared - I couldn't ruin this. So whenever I would eat something I "shouldn't" I would purge. And then I started thinking that I could eat anything I wanted as long as I threw it up.
It got particularly bad when I was living at home alone over the summer. My parents wanted me to eat up their uneaten foods? Throw out the things that were expired? It felt wasteful to just throw out the food, but somehow it was acceptable to binge and purge that same food, sometimes over and over in a day. I would buy food at the grocery store specifically to binge and purge - cookie dough and ice cream were favorites. I would petsit for people and binge and purge their food, then have to go and buy more to replace the foods I'd stolen. I dreaded meeting a new family and hearing them say "please help yourself to any of the food," when if they had told me to leave their food alone it would have helped me so much. I couldn't control the part of me that had to eat that food, but it was so much easier if there was a voice in my head telling me that I was disobeying a rule.
When I went road tripping I gained some of the weight back, to the point that I had to buy new pants near the end of my 5 months. I was embarrassed and ashamed, but honestly didn't have many opportunities to purge. So when I got home, I did. It was a little harder, I was living at home and with my girlfriend while going to school and working, but I still had time to be alone in one place or another almost every day. There would be stretches where I wouldn't do it for days, weeks even. But then I would have that binging urge in a time and place where I knew I would be able to purge, and would start again. Stopping was so hard, but once I started up again after a break it just escalated faster and faster.
It got particularly bad over the last year. I would get home before my roommate and binge, then either purge and feel guilty, or she would come home and I'd be stuck with this almost overwhelming anxiety and guilt of having binged without the relief of having purged. When she would go to bed I would sneak food out of the kitchen, going back and forth over and over before finally bringing the container of food in with me and eating it all, purging as my stomach got painfully full. I was so full of shame and guilt - the weeks when I didn't b/p I was always so amazed at how much less my groceries would cost because I still had food in the fridge and cabinet from the week before. After the first time I gave myself a minor sinus infection I swore I was finished - the thought of going to student health and asking for antibiotics for my self-induced infection seemed too embarrasing to contemplate. And I promised myself I was totally finished after the first time I looked down in the toilet and saw a little bit of blood from where I'd scraped the back of my throat and irritated it with stomach acid. I said the same thing after the second time, and the third, and the fourth, and the times after I stopped counting. I promised I would stop after I found myself throwing up in friends houses, or scouring campus for an out of the way bathroom, or going into a store to throw up, or driving somewhere specifically to purge. After I threw up in a bag in my car because my roommate had come home. After my grandma caught me in a lie on vacation as to where I had been after dinner. I finally had to admit to myself that I was never able to stop.
I've told this story to about 2-3 people in the program now, so it's a little easier than it was, even though saying it out loud (or writing it down) is still majorly embarrassing and feels shameful in a way that is hard to describe.
2. List 5 ways that your life has become unmanageable due to disordered eating.
I spend too much on food that I intend to binge and purge - it's wasteful and it's killing my budget.
I obsess over what I eat and feel guilty over deviating from my plan, which is a baseline worry I don't need.
I have to lie to people about where I am or what I'm doing.
I isolate myself in order to avoid being around food or to be alone with food.
I have a hard time concentrating on other people and their needs when I'm so focused on eating/not eating/finding an excuse to leave to eat or purge.
3. Give 5 examples of ways you have attempted to manage the disordered eating, ie diets, programs, eating at certain times, etc.
Delaying breakfast/eating as long as possible so that I "save" calories for the end of the day when I tend to binge
Making promises to myself that I will stop, starting Prozac again
Planning out my meals and calorie tracking obsessively
Only buying "healthy" foods so that if I don't have binge foods in the house
Living with roommates to have someone around so I can't purge and thus decreasing my ability to satisfactorily binge
4. Give 5 examples of when you lied, distorted, or manipulated the truth about the disordered eating behavior.
All the time. To myself, to friends, to family. Telling myself I will never do this again. Lies to explain the missing food. Lies to explain why I can't go out with friends. Lies to explain why my voice is horse or my eyes are watering. Lies to explain why I need to leave the party early (I really do feel sick, but it's because of guilt, not because of the ceviche). Manipulating family members to explain where I disappeared to.
5. Give 5 examples of how the eating disorder has affected your health.
Weakness, dizziness, vomiting blood, gum and sinus pain, headaches, constipation and diarrhea. Probably some dental problems. A very sore jaw the next day. Guilt compounding depression and anxiety.
6. Please describe your food rituals.
Buying food to binge. Making sure that there was going to be a way that I could purge. Serving myself small reasonable portions but over and over until the whole container was gone. Thinking of food and my current calorie tally all the time. Planning my meals for the day in advance, which gives very little flexibility and would make me panic if I did eat something off my plan. Limiting my access to food. Watching TV while I purged to distract myself from what I was doing.
7. Give 3 examples of when you avoided family, friends, or social events because of the eating disorder.
Frequently - I would say I felt sick and couldn't go out. I would avoid events with potluck style meals because it was too easy to graze. There were times when I had the opportunity to go out and see friends, but I preferred to stay home and binge and purge instead (?!)
8. List 5 times you belittled, or were critical of yourself related to disordered eating.
I still do this a lot. When I told my therapist. And my psychiatrist. And my PCP. And Rachel on intake. And myself, when I would purge. I think it's ridiculous that I'm such a stereotype - a type A, privileged, upper middle class white girl who has very little to be upset about in life, but who is still somehow depressed and feels like she's never good enough so she takes control of the only thing she can - her eating. Except clearly I'm not in control of that either. It feels like I should have the self control to stop this.
9. Describe 2 times that you have felt spiritually bankrupted because of the eating disorder.
I don't know how much I agree with the wording of that question, but I have felt guilt over my binging and purging regarding the waste of food and resources that it represents, and the waste of time when I could be doing something productive and enriching instead of mindless and self-destructive.
10. Describe what you have given up to maintain a relationship with the eating disorder.
The ability to eat without analyzing it, to have a guilt-free meal. Time with friends. Money for other purposes - socializing, traveling, etc. My sense of self as self-determining, as having a strong self-will and the ability to depend on myself for help. I haven't gone to a dentist in 2 years because I've been too afraid that they would know my secret.
11. List any secrets you have kept associated with disordered eating.
The fact that I have a problem. I've hinted to a few friends that I struggle with food. I told my ex that I "used to be bulimic" but that I had stopped when that was really more of wishful thinking and hoping that if I said it I could make it true. I've told one person that I'm in this program, a lover in another state. I've lied about where food has gone.
12. How do you imagine your life will be different without the eating disorder?
I'm not sure. Right now I haven't binged or purged in 11 days. And I'm very proud of that. But I'm still anxious about food, although it feels better to be doing it in order to "stick to my meal plan" instead of just to obsess over the number of calories going into my body. I hope that I will get to a point where I can enjoy food for the sake of it being delicious without the accompanying guilt. I would like to be able to realize when I am full and then have the ability to stop eating without feeling guilty for not finishing, or feeling the urge for "just one more bite."
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