It’s amazing how I used to never really feel anything. Everything was fine fine fine overthink overthink overthink (rats burrowing, scalpels dissecting sentences words furrowed eyebrows body language ANYTHING that might tell me something about what other people might have thought I maybe was), but it was absolutely always imperative to remain stoically calm in the face of AN-Y-THING.
And alonetime was eatingtime and that was that. I got to be my crazy Self; that is, I got to be the gal who had passion and drive and appetite and anger that couldn’t be met in any way other than compulsively overeating. I had an edgy side, a darker, secret suffering side (which, to me, then, was a generally attractive quality in just about anyone), a private Alone ritual.
And now alonetime is opening a Christmas gift from family friends and finding money, and sitting down to cry because is it really so hard to pick out a gift? and now that I’m finally an adult and in recovery and I’m the most knowable me I’ve ever been, parents and family friends alike don’t actually know me? (but whose fault is that?) and feeling shameful because did I actually pick out or attempt to send a gift or a card to anyone but a very VERY select few? (no.) and does this mean that my parents and family friends think I’m terribly strapped for cash–can’t support myself? and REALLY? I’m crying because I’ve received American dollars? which are arguably some of the most universally useful gifts there are?
And today was a fourth consecutive Leotard day (I’m a dancer by vocation, for those of us joining in late) and I am surrounded from 9-5 by other bodies in leotards and thinking that just about everyone looks fat (but I am definitely without question the fattest–we’re still in my head, though, so just bear with me, these are all lies) and hmm, that girl over there who looked skinny a minute ago now looks fat and what does that make me now? and that girl has hips and an ass like mine, but she’s also about a foot shorter, thank God for proportions and HOW IS A PERSON SUPPOSED TO LEARN ANYTHING WITH THESE THOUGHTS RACING THROUGH HER HEAD? Seriously, it’s like I have no control over them. They’re just there, like when the neighbors play really loud rap music at midnight (or ten) and I’m trying to sleep.
And then things get tricky, because unquestionably thoughts about bodies lead to thoughts about careers lead to thoughts about food and disease and relationships and shame. Obviously, my mind is speeding down a highway with several lanes, so many I can hardly see across it to verify the count, and pardon me for all my metaphoring (I really needed to write tonight), but let me just wrap this one up: all lanes lead to Bingetown. Ha! Didn’t see that one coming, did you?
I have wanted to scream (and eat) all fucking day long.
Actually, though, I think I ate a reasonable amount of food today. A miracle. Here’s how I did it: 1) I left work an hour early in the interest of mental health and self care, and because my presence there was no longer necessary for anyone’s sake but my own. 2) I called program people. Actually, one particular close friend with whom I am building a recovery-plus relationship. [Recovery-plus: def. In the interest of recovery, but also in the interest of life and actual friendship. Because we connect. But, being diseased addict people, we have to take it easy so as not to become obsessed with each other. And of course now this is just my side of things. She may or may not be so sick as to need such a lengthy definition. Okay. Moving on.] We talked on the phone after a bit of phone-tagging, and she convinced me to try a phone meeting. 3) I did a phone meeting. Which was actually pretty cool. I was totally multitasking and zoned out for part of it, but I did get something out of it, and I even shared. 4) I am writing now. I’ve had my dinner, a reasonable dessert, and after I finish here 5) I’ll do my dishes. Which, for me, is a good way to signify the official end of eating for the day. And, actually, I feel a lot better now.
Thanks for letting me share, Cyber Universe. Good night.
recoverydiscovery 
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Oh my. Having a career that u must stay light and having an eating disorder must be so very hard. I got fast enough in triathlon mid year to get 2 sponsers. Then i gained 50 pounds in three months… now they’re wanting to see me race to see if they are going to keep me. I’m postponing, but obviuosly will lose my sposers the minute they see my new physique.
Thank you for sharing such a difficult post. I am amzed and incouraged by your day & how you still ate well. I seem to keep repeating this everytime I read your (and a few other) blog(s), but your honesty & encouragement is helping my recovery! Thank you.
I forgot to put a comment in when I actually read this. I got hit with an enlightenment moment while I was reading about “Leotard days”, where I’ve found my perspective shifts and warps moment by moment. I didn’t have faith that others might see it as I do, but right when I needed to hear that I was not alone in this whole weird “She’s thin/I’m fat/she’s fat, too/I’m a house” perception shift that can happen any time when emotions are kicked into overdrive, you brought it home.
I’ve been facing off with a fear of being both too fat and too thin at the same time. This? Not what I expected whatsoever. I mean, I always expected that I would only really feel the “too fat” feelings, but I have found myself in pushbutton moments of fear that I am getting too thin–despite my perception of my body telling me that I have 20 to 50 lbs. to go. That 20 to 50 lbs. would leave me in a hospital bed, dying of malnutrition even as the BMI chart promised I was normal or just slightly undernourished. In reality, the ideal weight for my large-framed body has put me into the “underweight” category.
But I don’t see it. Thank you for reminding me that I am not alone in this, that I am not the only person who is fighting with an unrealistic perception that some day I will have willowy bones and will look like a runway model, thereby finding a perfect life and blah-frackity-blah. My inner addict is a liar because it can’t believe that I can survive post-childhood-trauma without the coping mechanisms I’ve used since the whole mess started.
Here’s to making 2011 the year of Self-Truth and Self-Care, allowing myself to finally feel those primary emotions I’ve kept locked up in order to keep the people who’ve hurt me on the outside looking in. And keep me wanting to have them hurt as bad as I do for even having this haunt me at all in my life.