Trying to Move Past

I’m trying to push through the barrier still holding me in this relapse.  But I can’t seem to figure it out.

I’m really trying here:

  1. I’m talking more in therapy than I ever did.  I’m telling the majority of my secrets (probably 1 big one left, but that’s a story for another time).  I’m being honest about my behaviors.  I’m making connections that I never have before.
  2. I’m back on a meal plan.  I’ve got specific times and food that I have to eat.  It’s not pleasant at all, but I don’t feel like I can trust myself to go back to eating intuitively right now.
  3. I’m putting speed bumps in for then I have urges to act on behaviors.  I have a list of things to do and I go through them one by one until either the urges pass or I have to start it over again.
  4. I’m actually taking care of my medical issues.  Working on the digestive issues.  Got my eyes and teeth checked.  Regular doctor appointment scheduled for next week.  And lady doctor scheduled for mid-June.
  5. I’m not hiding things from my husband.  I’m being super honest with him.  He knows what I’m going through and is there to help or just hold my hand.

However, because everything is so multifaceted, there’s also this to consider:

  1. I am HUGELY apprehensive about talking about my “big secret.”  I’m really scared that it will be too much for me to handle and I won’t be able to function.
  2. I’m skimping and rearranging my meal plan.  I know it’s really not okay, but it’s the only way I can make it through the day without wanting to punish myself.
  3. Sometimes, I can tell beforehand if the speed bumps won’t work.  Even if they have in the past.
  4. I really don’t mind the digestive issues.  Actually, I do–when I’m in the midst of them.  I kinda miss them now.
  5. He also doesn’t know when/how to challenge when the eating disorder side is more in control than the healthy side.

I understand my fear of #1, but I also know at some point, I’m just going to have to jump.  And #5 can’t really happen unless I tell him.  But #2-#4, I don’t really get.  I know it’s all still very disordered behavior, but I had previously been able to get past it.  The last time I went into treatment I didn’t mess around with my meal plan.  I don’t think I’ve been this pessimistic about alternative coping skills.  (Not that I’ve ever been gung ho about them, but just not so negative.)  And when have I ever wanted to feel like crap for days on end?

It’s just very frustrating to want to hurry up and get back in recovery, but not be able to because I’m standing in my own way.

 

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The Express Train Around my Brain

I am really, really, REALLY anxious right now.  I’m not too sure why.  I think that’s what frustrates me most about having having anxiety and panic attacks.  I rarely know the reasoning behind it.  It just comes at me.  My legs start to tingle and I feel like I’m going to pass out.  (Well, I think that’s what about to pass out feels like.  I never have, thankfully.)

My thoughts just race around.  I really can’t hang on to one long enough to make sense of it or think about it deeper because another one quickly speeds through to take its place.

I don’t mind so much if this happens when I’m home.  I know exactly what to do.  Get out my phone and play games.  Tie my hair back.  Turn on all the lights.  Make it as cool as I can.  Watch mindless TV.  It works.  I sometimes takes some time, but it works.

If it happens when I’m out, I have to look realistically at the situation.  If I’m on the way to work or the way home from wherever, then I just keep on that journey.  Knowing that I’ll get a reprieve soon, helps.  But if I’m just out for fun, then I’ll almost immediately go back home.  I feel safer doing that.

The tricky time is when I’m at work.  I can’t exactly leave (although, I’m pretty sure if I explained it to my boss, she would let me go home), but I’m not exactly present enough to get real work done.  I have to distract myself enough to get through the anxiety, but not so much that I dissociate completely.  That’s a hard line not to cross.

Even harder is not succumbing to the eating disorder thoughts.  Just now I really had to push myself to eat lunch.  I had to take a break in the middle.  But eating when the anxiety is this high just doesn’t feel good.

It’s just really hard.

And the more this is happening, the more I’m realizing that going back on meds will probably be a good idea.  Maybe I’ll just be one of those people who has to be on meds for a while, every couple of years or so.  I’m totally okay with that.  I will green light anything that makes me feel better.

The Numbers Game

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One of the first things I do each morning is step on the scale and record my weight.  I’ve done this for the better part of 12 years.  And it’s probably been a positive thing for the majority of those 12 years.  It was a reality check.  I could look at the number and see it was basically the same as the day before.  So in reality, eating the ice cream (sandwich/dinner/extra cookie/etc.) did not make me magically gain 15 pounds overnight.  I had the proof right in front of me.  And as much as I may have wanted to, I can’t dispute the proof.

But since the start of this relapse, getting on the scale has been much more ritualized.  I get up.  I play on my phone for 10-15 minutes.  I go to the bathroom.  I take EVERYTHING off, including my rings and any stray hairs that might cause the scale to not tip in my favor. I step on the scale.  I close my eyes and breathe until I hear it beep.  I look down.  I step off.  I record my weight on my phone.  I curse myself because the number isn’t magically 15 pounds lower.  I step in the shower and try to wash away the nastiness.  Rinse and repeat again tomorrow.

I get so upset if the number isn’t lower than the previous day.  I spend the majority of the day trying to figure out where I can restrict my intake a bit more and not have my husband notice.  Or if I want to punish myself for a particularly ugly number, I’ll have some dairy.  It does the same thing as laxatives, without the laxatives.  (And this way I can honestly say I’m not taking laxatives.  Look how I can rationalize anything…  ::rolls eyes::)

Now, if for some reason, the number is lower than the day before, I just stand there in disbelief.  I get on the scale again to double check.  When it’s still the same, I logically tell myself that, “It’s just water weight,” “Don’t be too happy with it,” and the ever popular, “You could have lost more.”  But I’ll have a small smile on my face when I record the number.  A small part of me is proud the number went down.

It’s never enough though.  I want the number to be lower still.  And probably even lower than that.

But for right now, I’ll settle for tomorrow’s number being lower than today’s.