Be Kind

Kindness.  I show it to others willingly, even happily.  One of my life's motto's is "In a world where you can be anything, be kind."  It's really not that hard to be polite and show kindness.  There is so much ugliness and hatred in this world that I choose to show kindness to others.  And yet, I do not show kindness to myself.

I'm actually quite mean to myself.  I would never be friends with anyone who spoke to me the way I speak to me.  My counselor told me I need to become friends with myself.  To show myself the kindness that I show to others. This has been my homework this week, so to speak.  If I were to grade myself on this homework assignment I would be give myself about a C-.  It is incredibly difficult to break old habits and to get rid of that negative self talk.

The boyfriend and I went on a walk this weekend, several actually (yay!).  While we were walking up the hill from our place to the main road I got very discouraged.  Now mind you, this hill is not a gentle sloping gradual slight hill.  This is a hill that knocks the wind out of even the fittest of folks. So, we're climbing up this monster to go get lunch.  I'm heaving, wheezing and very nearly out of breath.  I say out loud something akin to "God (pant) damn (pant) I'm outta (pant) shape (pant pant)".  But what I was saying to myself in my head was far worse than what I said out loud.  "How could you allow yourself to get so fat and out of shape?"  "You're such a loser for being so fat." "Everyone is staring at you, the fat person struggling to get up the hill.  They're laughing at you too."

But at this moment a light started blinking in my head. It blinked "Be Kind", "Be Kind", "Be Kind" over and over in bright red letters. So I pulled in a ragged breath, pointed to myself with my little finger and said out loud "Be kind to yourself. Be proud that you are moving your body. You are doing some good by being out and about." Or something like that, I can't remember the exact phrasing but that is the gist of the message that I told to myself.

It seems so frou frou doesn't it?  To simply be kind to yourself.  It doesn't really seem like it would make that much of a difference in ones life.  And yet, on that beautiful spring day, while I was gasping for breath and feeling like garbage, hearing myself be nice to myself made a gigantic positive impact.  Instead of being crippled by an anxiety attack brought on by my own self loathing I was able to enjoy the gorgeous sunny day. We had a delicious lunch and fantastic conversation.

Please know that I have not perfected being kind to myself.  I am not yet friends with myself.  I'd say we're acquaintances who are bonding. I am testing the waters of trust that friendship is built on.  I am allowing myself mistakes, the room to make them and forgiveness.

Practicing kindness towards myself is a new experience. I'm 39 years old and I've never thought to be friends with myself.  It just never occurred to me.  Be Kind.  It's a new motto that I've added to my repertoire.  I hope it's one that stays.

Eating

I'm not anorexic anymore.  I no longer starve myself.  I feed myself.  And often.  Much much too often.  I never really had a true diagnosis of anorexia.  I had/have what they call "Eating Disorder Unidentified". The definitions of anorexia and bulimia are very specific so if your symptoms deviate at all, you can not be diagnosed with either disease.  And I wasn't.  I was diagnosed as having an Eating Disorder Unidentified.  I would starve myself all day and then binge at night.  I never purged.  I just could never make myself do that. So the calories I deprived myself of during the day would be packed in every night when I binged.

I thought when I was released from the outpatient eating disorder program at the hospital that I would never need the help of any one again for an eating disorder.  I thought that disordered eating was in the past and I could charge ahead with life.  It's funny how one can pull the wool over their own eyes.

I still have disordered eating but it has swung in the other direction away from anorexia into over eating, which, for me, has so much more shame attached to it.  I have gained 100 pounds since leaving the treatment program. And yes, I know what they experts say about not weighing yourself, and size isn't a number blah blah blah but let's face it being seriously under weight or over weight isn't healthy.  And that's what I want, to be healthy.

So, years later my war continues.  I'm sick to death of essentially using food to slowly kill me.  At first I wasn't using it enough so I would slowly starve over time. Now I'm over using it and facing a whole host of issues that comes with being obese.  

Obese.  Now there is a word I never would have thought I could use to describe myself.  But I have to face the facts, I'm no longer just overweight, I am obese. I can no longer do simple stretches like I have done all my life because my fat gets in the way.  I can no longer wander aimlessly about town all day because I get winded so easily. I can no longer just walk up a flight of stairs without getting completely winded and end up breathing big huge heaving breaths.  None of that makes me happy and it does in fact illicit an enormous amount of shame.  How the hell did I allow myself to get to this?

I need to extract myself from living this unhealthy lifestyle.  I do not want to live life this way.  Using food to stuff myself so I don't feel the feelings.  

I've started counseling again.  I hope it works.  I hope I truly listen and learn this time around.  

Lack of Passion

As I was driving to work this morning a thought crossed my mind. "I don't really have a passion for anything anymore."  And I don't.

 I mean, I love dogs and seeing them get rescued from a shelter brings tears to my eyes.  I love seeing their happy tails wag back and forth when they are out on a walk.  I adore seeing an elated pup bounding down the beach.  It pains me to know that there are so many who suffer but I'm not volunteering anywhere.  I don't care quite enough about it to actually go out and do something about it.

I love theatre.  In fact, I got my degree in theatre.  I adore the creative process behind putting on a show.  I enjoy figuring out the minutiae of costumes, sets, colors, lights, sound and then seeing it all together on stage.  There is a rush I get from knowing it is opening night and knowing that tonight's performance will never be replicated because it's live theatre.  But I'm not auditioning for anything.  I'm not looking for stage managing opportunities. I don't want to do it badly enough to go out and do something about it.

I adore makeup.  The shades available to play with to create different looks based off moods and emotions intrigue me.  I know I'd be an amazing makeup artist.  I know I could rock some socks off being the go to gal for new eye look tutorials on Youtube.  But I'm not doing anything about it.

And that last sentence seems to sum up my life right now.  I'm just not doing anything about it.  About any of it.  I'm just letting my life pass me by as I sit beside it.  I'm too tired to do anything about it.  I'm exhausted. all. the. time.  There isn't any energy left to have passion for life.  I'm lucky I can get through the day at work unscathed by the monotony and the fluorescent lights.

Work.  Oh, God.  That's an entirely different subject completely.  One that I don't have energy to get into right now.

Don't get me wrong.  I want to have passion in life.  I want to wake up excited with my feet ready to hit the ground running.  I long for that.  The question is how do I get there from here?  How does one find a passion for life when one is too tired to go looking for it?  Where do I start?

The first thought that comes to mind is to quit my job.  It is soul sucking. It is energy depleting.  It is devoid of reward or inward gain.  It pays the bills.  Am I willing to continue to endure this mind numbing job just so I can pay some bills?  However, if I quit this job then I'm back where I was 2 years ago.  Jobless.  Which seems frightening but also liberating.

I need something to move me forward.  I need something to ignite my passion.  I need someone to slap me and tell me to "snap out of it" ala Cher in Moonstruck.  The thing is though is that I know it isn't up to someone else to snap me out of anything.

I'm the only one that can figure out my passion.  I just don't' know how to do that quite yet.

Early Bird

About 9 years ago I was able to get up at 5am every morning and head to the gym. I never liked waking up that early but I always felt amazing after working out. I also didn't have to worry about it for the rest of the day. It was done. No more thinking about it. Until the alarm went off the next morning. I have myself weekends off. I did cardio 5 days a week and lifted weights 2 days a week. 1 day focusing on upper body the other day the lower body. 

I have often thought of going back to this model of working out. I stuck with it for such a long time. Yet, lately when I plan to go to the gym in the morning I always find a excuse not to go. (Big surprise to all of you, I'm sure.). A big reason why I choose not to go is because I now have these two adorable heaters that sleep with me, otherwise known as dachshunds. How can I leave them?  They're so warm?  Also, I hate that I'm already gone from the house 9 hours everyday, go can I leave them alone for that much longer. 

So, I don't go. Instead I lay in bed with them while Denali squeezes as close to me as she can and Porter hugs my neck by laying his face on mine. 

And then I get up, get ready for the day, put on my clothes and wished I'd gone to the gym. 

However, I love that time in the morning with my pups. I don't want to give that up. So, instead of getting up at, what now seems like an ungodly hour, I'm going to be heading to the gym after work. I know I can do it. It just means turning left instead of right when I leave the parking lot after work. 

I may not be the early bird anymore but to be honest, I don't really like worms that much anyway. 

Baby Steps

I need to start working out.  There's just no other way to look at things right now.  Walking up a flight of stairs has me gasping for breath.  I don't like how I look in my clothes and to be honest, not a lot in my closet fits and I'm not going out to buy a bigger size.  So....

This leaves me with the option of continuing to make smart choices towards leading a healthier lifestyle.  Earlier this week I set a goal of drinking 100oz of water everyday.  I have met that goal every day but one.  In one week I have consumed 600oz of water.  I'm extremely proud of myself for meeting my goal for the past 6 days.

So I'm going to add a goal on top of that.  I am going to walk 30 minutes everyday for a week.  I will start this goal tomorrow and post my progress and updates both on this blog and on Facebook.  If I can commit to just walking 30 minutes everyday I know I will get even closer to my healthy lifestyle goal. 

I'm looking for support.  If anyone has any negative comments, criticism or anything snarky to say please say it to yourself and refrain from posting it on either my Facebook page or here on my blog.  This is hard enough to do without facing any negativity. 

I'll be updating this blog for more then just these updates but I wanted, no needed some way to hold me accountable and this is a good way for me to do it.

Thanks in advance everyone!  Tonight I rest, tomorrow I walk!

Just Plain Exhausted

I sleep a lot anymore.  It just seems easier to sleep then to put energy towards actually living life.  I get so exhausted by going out and doing things.  I get so emotionally exhausted by having to make conversation.  I don't spend time with a lot of people.  I have a handful of close friends that I spend time with.  These close friends I know care about me and enjoy spending time with me.  I don't really understand why they like spending time with me.  I don't see myself as someone others would want to spend time with.  Yes, I know that is a negative statement but I don't really like spending time with myself so I wonder why anyone else would want to spend time with me.
That is telling isn't it?  The fact that spending time by myself is so difficult for me and yet I spend a majority of my time alone, by myself.  It's not that I hate myself.  It's not that I don't think I'm a cool person.  It's that I have such a lack of motivation to want to do anything.  And yes, I do mean ANYTHING.  The last time I took a shower was on Thursday.  Today is Sunday and I could really care less if I showered today.  It's not that I don't want to be clean.  It's not that I don't know that it wouldn't feel amazing to take a hot shower.  It's that I think, "what is the point?  I'm going to have to take another shower tomorrow."  And for some reason that thought in itself exhausts me.
Exhaustion seems to run my life right now.  Hence, why I rarely do anything.  And yes I mean, rarely do anything.
I've had this entire weekend off.  My roommate has been gone this entire weekend.  I have had the whole house to myself.  I have had the chance to do yoga and zumba in the living room.  I have had the chance to invite friends over for a movie night.  I have had the chance to clean my room and make it feel more like my bedroom rather than just a room I sleep in.  But I've done none of that.  I have opted to sit in the living room filling my brain with tv and movies.  It's easier on me mentally to be fed what to think then to face the reality of what it is I'm actually dealing with.
I'm dealing with depression.  Medically diagnosed severe clinical depression.  This is no surprise to those of you who have followed my blog or my life.  (I still think it odd that there are people who are interested enough in me to read about my life.)  What really confuses me is I have no idea why the depression is harder to deal with lately.  Why it has become a more ruling factor over my life.
I don't want it to be this way.  I do not want to spend the rest of my life fighting this blasted disease.  Just like I don't want to spend the rest of my life fighting my eating disorder.  And I'm struggling with both lately.
I have gained a lot of weight these past two years.  I want to live a healthy life.  I want to be active and feel good about running up a flight of stairs.  I want to embrace the beautiful woman that I am instead of constantly shunning away from the person I could be.
The problem is, I don't know where to start.  I feel like I'm stuck at the end of recovery and the beginning of healing.  I've overcome what I thought was the most difficult part only now to realize that perhaps the most difficult part is finally dealing with those things that keep me in pain.
I know that people will read this and think "oh jeez Tamara, stop feeling so sorry for yourself.  You have a great life and are very lucky."  I am not denying that.  I do have what appears to be a good life.  What I don't have is the energy to understand how to move forward from being in pain to embracing life again and all that I used to love to do.
So I sit.  And I think.  Even when being fed the stream of media, my brain still thinks.  Whether I want it to or not, my brain still thinks.  And it ponders how to get out of this depression.  That constant thinking is what exhausts me so much.  The ever persistant thought process of ignoring the pain and masking it for others.
That's why I sleep a lot.  Well, that's why I try to sleep a lot.  The never ending thinking tends to hamper the ability to even do that.  
It's exhausting, I tell you.  Just plain exhausting.

sigh

Breakfast, you unappealing little thing...

Breakfast.  It is the one meal I have always eaten.  Through the eating disorder and through the stress and through all the strife, it is the one meal I never allowed myself to skip.  Granted sometimes breakfast was only one little old egg white, but I still ate it.  I prided myself on eating breakfast.  It was what kept me thinking "I don't have an eating disorder" for as long as I did. 

Lately though I have no interest in breakfast.  I'm not hungry for it.  Nothing sounds good.  Nothing tastes good.  Consuming anything I cook or make for myself for breakfast is difficult at best.  Most days it is a struggle to finish it.  I eat a few bites, put my fork down and I don't want it eat anymore of it.  Sometimes I try to finish it, sometimes I don't and sometimes I actually do finish it.  The latter is the rarity anymore. 

At first I became very concerned with the fact that I wasn't interested in breakfast anymore.  "Am I regressing to old patterns?"  Well, no I'm not. I've always eaten breakfast.  "Am I going to starve myself?"  No, because I am eating other meals.  "Am I heading back down the road of having an active eating disorder."  My answer to that one was, "I don't know."  Which scares the hell out of me.

I have assured everyone I know that this lack of interest in breakfast is not serious and not related to an eating disorder at all.  But honestly, I'm not so sure.  I have had a ton of stress enter my life these last few months.  The kind of stress like I've never faced in my before.  Divorce, moving several times, unknowingly living with a drug dealer, being with out home and not having a source of income.  Any of those alone can cause stress.  I look at all of them together and wonder how I haven't had a mental breakdown. 

That is why I wonder if ED is trying to use this mega stress overload as a way to grip me back into his clutches. I've had so much stress lately that perhaps I am too weak to have the strength to keep ED at bay.  I know in my heart of hearts that I don't want to go down that road again.  But I never intended to go down that road in the first place. 

Here is what I do know.  I have fabulous friends.  In fact, I have more people that care about me than I ever thought possible.  So I know I have friends to lean on.  I have the tools now to defeat this before it gets too big.  And I have the knowledge of my past and what it was like for me to ever want to go there again. 

And I know this as well.  I am aware of what is going on right now.  I am aware that I want to skip meals.  I am aware that nothing tastes good anymore.  (that has always been the sure fire way for me to tell when it's kicking in.)  When food starts to taste that saw dust I know I need to wake up and ask for help.

Here's the thing to all my friends reading this who may be concerned.  I am very open about this disease.  So your comments, questions and thoughts are welcomed.  Please feel free to share whatever it is you feel like sharing with me.  I just ask that you remain respectful and kind in your comments.  I'm posting this more as an accountability thing on my part than to alarm any of you.

Now, off to find lunch.  I just hope it doesn't taste like saw dust. 

From Sound to Music

Today is one of those days where I really want to write something extremely profound and thoughtful and yet nothing is coming into my brain that seems worthy to share.  Which, of course, is such a silly thought because I know that I have many worthy thoughts to share.  So I think what I will share today is that I am starting to actively listen to music again.  For about 10 years I chose not to listen to music.  I would have silence in the car.  I would have silence while playing around on the internet, or cooking or just hanging out.  I couldn't handle having the additional noise. 

I suppose I couldn't handle all the additional noise because I already had enough noise in my head to begin with.  I didn't need to add to all the crazy that was living in my head. 

But now that I don't have all that crazy up in my head.  Well, okay, let's be honest, I still have crazy in my head.  I mean, I wouldn't be me without some level of crazy.  But I am no longer bordering on insane.  I no longer have voices shouting at me in my head.  I no longer have constant static blazing through my brain.

So now when there is silence, it truly is silence.  Not that I have a problem with silence.  I'm totally fine with being lost in my own thoughts.  However, what I am enjoying is discovering music and finding out what kind of music I like.

My life has gone from one of just constant noise to one filled with the beautiful sound of music. 

So, my friends, what musical artists do you enjoy?  Share with me!  I'd love to discover more!

For My Family and Friends

I can't believe that I haven't written in a post for over 6 months.  I must apologize for not doing a better job of keeping up this blog.  I think I allowed it to be on the back burner for awhile because I've been going through some personal changes.

It has been 3 years and 3 months since I checked myself into the hospital for recovery from my eating disorder.  I really should say that it has been that long since I've made the choice to live.  I know that statement may seem dramatic to many of you.  I mean, who wouldn't choose to live, right?  However, for anyone who has ever grappled with the trap that is depression/eating disorder, it is a legitimate choice that one must make before heading into recovery.  And I must say that I am extremely thankful for choosing to live.  I am elated to report to the world that I am no longer in recovery.  I am now fully recovered.

So, enough about the past.  Onward to the future.

What I am most excited about this new phase of my life is learning and discovering who I am.  For so many years, for as long as I can remember actually, I have followed the thoughts of others.

"Oh, you like Nirvana?  Yeah, me too!"
"Yeah, that presidential candidate is a total fool.  I agree with you."
"No, I don't like that lipstick either."
"Nah, I don't want to live downtown either."

I could go on and on but I digress.

I am starting to discover what it is I do like.  I like rain.  I do not like hot weather and no ac.  I love clothes.  I don't like shopping.  I love dogs, cats and creatures of all sorts.  I do not like pickles.  I do not like driving in traffic but I love driving.  I don't like mayonnaise or homemade sandwiches.  I love cake but not icing.  I love Velveeta, even though I know it is horribly processed.  I adore long conversations with friends while sitting around a bar and drinking.  I do not like blatant rudeness.  I am selfish and at times selfless.  I think charity is great.  I think hand outs are crap.

Once again I could go on and on.

My basic point is that I am ready to discover who I am.  I am ready to face life, no not face it, run towards it, embracing every mistake, choice and experience that comes my way.  I will always listen to the advice of my friends and family but I may not agree with you or listen to you.  And that is okay.  I am eager to live a life filled with regrets, or maybe none at all.  I am thrilled to be able to call myself an artist and will never shirk from what others think of me when I state that I am.

So, friends and family, I ask for your patience.  I ask for you to understand that I am going to be fully living life from now on.  I may make decisions that you do not agree with.  I may make decisions that you think are the result of a conversation we had.  All of this is okay.  Please know though, that any decision I make is mine to make and mine alone.  I will confer with those who may affected by my decisions but my decisions are still mine to make. 

I cannot express to you, my loved ones, just how excited I am about the life that is ahead for me.  Please understand that I am going through a growing spell equivalent to an early 20something and provide me love, understanding and support.  Because this life that I have ahead of me is something that I'm grabbing by the horns.  And I'm not letting go.

Two and a Half Years

It has been two and a half years since I graduated out of the hospital for recovery from an eating disorder.  Two and a half years.  Some days it seems as if the time has flown by.  Other days it feels like it has taken a century for me to make it this far.  With all the work I've done to heal myself, two and a half years later, I'm still in recovery.  I no longer restrict myself from eating food but ED still has power over me because even though I don't restrict I've realized recently that my view towards food hasn't really changed much.  I still use food as punishment or reward.  Mostly as a punishment.
I in no way eat a balanced diet of fruit, vegetables, lean proteins, carbs and fats.  Processed food seems to be what I crave nowadays.  Mostly because it's easy and I don't have to expend too much energy into thinking about what I'm eating.  Which in turn actually causes me to over think the negative aspects of what the food I'm eating is doing to my body.

I thought that by not really thinking about what was being put into my body that I would be able to get over being obsessed about food.  Looks like I was wrong.  I'm still inherently obsessed with food. But instead of being obsessed with restricting myself from it I'm obsessed with the next thing I will put into my mouth.  Lately I seem to crave salty, carb rich, fatty foods.  Not that there is anything wrong with eating those types of foods but in no way does a diet rich in those foods create a healthy person.

The catch though, so it seems, is that my mind is still stuck in the idea that if I don't eat these types of foods then I am restricting myself from "normal eating".  Normal eating is my ultimate goal.  I truly want to be able to look at a food and see it as food and base my wanting to eat it from if it is sounds good, not if I should eat it or not.  Sound confusing?  Yeah, it pretty much is.

I'm reading a book by Jenni Schafer called "Goodbye Ed, Hello Me".  It's about reclaiming your life back from an eating disorder and reach the ultimate goal of being recovered, not in recovery. Ms. Schafer states in her book, as long as I keep giving ED power I will still be in recovery.  I'm stuck right now in that weird place of not wanting to give ED power but not knowing how to reclaim my power back.

Like I said, it's been two and a half years since I graduated from the hospital program.  I thought I would be further along in my journey to being fully recovered.  But I'm not.  I'm where I am, which is, I guess, exactly where I am suppose to be in my recovery.  But not for long.  I don't want to be in recovery anymore.  I want to be recovered.

There is so much that I want to do that it is a little scary at times.  I don't necessarily have the energy to do all I want to do right now, because, well, I'm still not fueling my soul in a healthy way.  But I've reached my limit of playing the victim of ED having this power over me.  I think that is the basic point that is frustrating me.  I'm still playing the victim to ED.  I don't want to play the victim anymore.  I want to just play.  I want to explore life without this following me around like a dark stormy cloud.  I want to be able to just live.  Not live with an eating disorder.

It's taken me two and a half years to make it this far.  I wonder where I'll be in two and a half more years?

What defines me? Not a number!

I weighed myself the other day.  It has been two and a half years since I've known the # of what I weigh.  And now that I know that number I don't really know what to make of it.  I've known for quite a while now that I've gained weight since leaving treatment.  I didn't need a scale to tell me that.  I don't need some foreign abstract number to tell me the obvious in life.
Yet, to be honest, when I saw that number I didn't feel sad, I didn't feel hatred towards myself and I didn't immediately fall to pieces.  What I did feel surprised me because I felt indifferent.  I didn't feel nothing, I just didn't really care what the scale said one way or another.  I didn't sit down and automatically start calculating the amount of weight that I've gained, in fact I still haven't and most likely won't.
It is what it is.  Just a number that has nothing to do with who I am as a person.  It has nothing to do with my health and well being.  It has nothing to do with who I am and what I can contribute to society.
Now let me be clear on something.  It's not as if I'm completely happy with how I look.  I think that the world we live in has caused it to be extremely difficult to be happy with yourself.  (But I'll save that conversation for another day.)  I've wanted to start losing weight once I realized I was gaining weight.  Yet all that does is create and inspire the never ending spiral of dieting, bingeing and self hatred.  So, I'm not dieting.  I'm not really exercising. And in the long run I now realize that I'm not doing much in the way of physical self care.  I don't really have the desire to exercise.  I certainly do not have the energy to be all consumed by food, calories and fat grams.
So why did I step on that scale in the first place?  I'm not really sure.  I guess curiosity got the best of me.
My point of this very scrambled post is this;  Who cares what someone weighs?  It does not inform anyone of what their contribution to society is.  It does not dictate who they are.  Caring about someone's weight does nothing but objectify them.  And no one is an object.
It is high time that we stop looking at the surface of what someone looks like but allow ourselves to look deeper and find out who that person is.  I know I'd surely appreciate that.

Dwelling

I'm a dweller.  A worrier.  A ponderer.  A thinker.  I can dwell on a subject for hours, days even.  My husband can tell the second I start dwelling on something.  "You're dwelling." He says in a singsong impatient but loving voice.  It amazes him how I am able to keep at a subject until everything little item has been scrutinized at least a dozen times.  My high school English teacher, Mr. Doody, would say that I'm a pro at beating a dead horse.  I must agree with Mr. Doody.  I am a master at dead horse beating.
I don't want to be.  It's not like I set out to over think everything.  I just do it.  It is in my nature.  I could say I blame my parents but that seems so passe nowadays.
Lately, my dwelling has gotten so bad that it induces panic attacks.  I'm no stranger to panic attacks but we aren't friends either.  I've learned how to cope with them using healthy habits but I'm perplexed as to why it seems lately I've become an uber dweller.
The ironic twist to all of this is that now I'm dwelling on the fact that I'm a dweller.  Sort of seems redundant, right?
So how does one become a non-dweller?  Is it possible to really learn to just let things be?  Am I capable of just letting go of the habitual worrying?  Only time will tell.  At least this gives me something to think about.

Processed

Cheetos.  I have loved them since I can remember.  The crunchy, salty, cheesy goodness that comes from indulging in a bag of these delicious treats has always been a comfort to me.  Licking off the built up cheese goo that has stuck to my fingers is to me, what licking the bowl after a bowl of ice cream is for people with a sweet tooth.  Cheetos have been my go to comfort food since I was at least seven years old.  My favorite kind of Cheetos are the original crunchy kind.  Don't get me wrong though, I'll take any kind you give me and completely make myself sick off of them.
That right there is the problem folks.  I have actually been making myself sick off of them.
From reading this blog you all know by now that I suffer from clinical depression, anxiety and anorexia.  I have now been out of the hospital for a little over two years.  Yet I feel as sick as the day I left.  I know that some people reading this will think the last statement is an exaggeration.  But I tell ya, it's not.  My symptoms of depression have not lessened.  I do not feel like I have a healthy diet plan.  I suffer from anxiety on an almost daily basis.  Each of the three issues above cause me to not feel well.  When I don't feel well, (sad, blue, lethargic), this gal does not want to cook, engage in interactions with others and dont' get me started on how just the thought of exercise makes me want to curl up in a ball on my bed and never leave.
So, when I feel crappy like that I reach for a bag of Cheetos.  Or any other overly processed food-like product.  (I say food-like because, let's face it, most of what is in these foods isn't food.)  I go to processed cereal, pastas, pizzas, Chinese food, and the list goes on and on.
Then I eat one of these oh so non-nutritious meals and low and behold would you believe that I feel even crappier afterwards?  Which causes my depression to deepen, my anxiety to creep up and my eating disorder to come back.
Last week I had one of my lowest lows since entering the hospital to seek treatment.  I couldn't even manage to make myself breakfast, get dressed or bathe.  Instead of taking care of myself, I would drive on down to the old McDonald's and get any old thing off their menu.  Drive back home, devour it and feel even that much more crappy, then I would take a nap.  After waking up I'd walk to the kitchen to grab a bag of Cheetos (insert any type of crappy processed snack food here).  Consume enough Cheetos to feed a football team... Well, by now I think y'all see the pattern here.
Realizing that I wasn't feeling better, and in fact worse in some cases, I figured why not put my time of sitting in my red leather chair to better use and research the foods I was eating.  What I found out blew my mind.  And at some point I will share what I've learned with you.  However, I have learned far too much this past week to be able to detail it here.  I'll save it for another blog.
However, the positive thing I have learned is this: in the same way I use food to hurt myself, I can also use food to heal myself.  I am slowing switching my diet from almost an entirely processed diet to one full of micro-nutrient rich food, no gluten (for now), no sugar (starting tomorrow) and full of lean healthy proteins.  I will eventually cut out caffeine but let's not get too crazy here to start.  I mean, I am the owner of a coffee shop!
I just started this new way of eating yesterday.  I am going to enter into it slowly and carefully.  This isn't something that I'm falling head first into.  I have friends and family who are extremely knowledgeable in this area.  I have a doctor and therapist who I use to advise me in all things physical and mental.  So, I'm entering this new lifestyle safely.
Today I have been craving a bagel or Cheetos or muffin or (insert any gluten laced food here) like crazy this morning.  But then I remember why I'm doing all of this; to reclaim my life back from depression, and the craving nearly melts away.
I'll be sure to post more regarding how this new healthy eating plan works for me.  I don't intend to make this a "diet".  I plan on changing my diet so I can reclaim my life.  Depression, anxiety and anorexia have robbed me of too much of my life.  I have so much to be thankful for.  It's high time I feel good enough to appreciate all that I have.

Bad Food! No Donut for You!

I am so desperately tired of hearing people complain about not looking "good enough", "thin enough", "young enough" or "attractive enough".  The women that come into my coffee shop berate themselves on a daily basis.  I don't even think that they realize that they are doing it.  Honestly, I truly don't.  It breaks my heart when I hear women state, "Oh, I'm trying to be good today."  Or any similar form of that statement.  What qualifies as being "good." What qualifies as being "bad."

It appears that these women truly and whole heartedly believe that if the coffee drink they get is nonfat, sugar free, with out whipped cream and void of all things caloric they then feel that they are being good.  Heaven forbid they decided to get 2% milk or, gasp, whipped cream.  Oh no, they can't, as that would constitute being bad.  They can't be bad because that would mean they might actually consume some calories!  Eeeeek!

Men are not devoid of this behavior.  I have heard many a man say, "I'll be good today."  So they decide not to get the apple fritter, the whipped cream or the largest size available.  (Don't even get me started on the ridiculous portions my coffee shop offers. As that is for another blog post another time.)

I used to be one of these people.  I used to consume as few calories as possible.  There were days that would go by where I would not eat one gram of fat.  That last statement is no where near an exaggeration.  If a food had fat in it I would avoid it at all costs.  I used to base my value on how well I ate that day.  "Well" being defined as how few calories I consumed.  I was bad if I had too many.

But I'm not that person anymore.  I now have a healthy relationship with food.  Well, at least healthier than it used to be.  I'm still working on my relationship with it.  Food and I are on this understanding.  I now know that there is no such thing as "bad" food.  Food, in turn, now holds no power of me.

What I eat does not effect my personal view of myself.  I am not bad if I eat a piece of cheese.  I do not need to run on a treadmill for 20 minutes longer just so I can have whipped cream.  (Treadmills, ugh, there is outside for a reason!!!)  I will not abstain from having my delicious black and white salted caramel mocha.  I instead have a lovely little 8oz size.  I have what I want and my day goes on.

My love for myself is not affected by what I put in my mouth.  My love for myself is based upon what I am able to do.  I judge the health of my body by what it can do, not the size it is.

I wish I could pass this knowledge on to those who come into my store and berate themselves on a daily basis.  I wish there was someway I could help them to see that they are doing damage to their psyche not encouraging a healthy lifestyle.  But their problems are not mine.  I cannot take on their issues.  I have enough of my own issues to deal with!

Instead I will live my life as a healthy example for others.  I will continue to love myself for what I am capable of doing and for who I am.  Who knows, maybe it'll catch on!

Cleaning vs Clean

When I was growing up my mom was very big into Saturday being Cleaning Day. She always seemed so super excited about cleaning. My sister, it seemed, was always assigned the duty of vacuuming while I was always honored with the task of dusting all the wood furniture and cleaning the mirrors and glass. When we got older my sister also got to help clean the bathrooms and I helped clean the kitchen.

It was awful. At least it was awful to me when I was a child. The last thing I wanted to do on a Saturday, after a long hard week at school (haha my life was so tough!), was to wake up and do chores on a Saturday.

What made it truly awful was that I never understood why we had to clean again when we just cleaned everything, and yes I mean everything, just the week before. It never computed in my little child brain that by keeping things clean made it that much easier to clean them!

So now as an adult I avoid cleaning at all costs. Now don't get me wrong, I do not live in filth. I definitely like having a tidy kitchen. (Casey will read that last sentence and laugh as I hate to clean the kitchen). I enjoy having a bathroom that is nice and clean and smells beautiful. Yet, even though I love having things clean, I have the hardest finding the motivation to get my butt up and moving to do what seems so tedious.

I mean really, who enjoys scrubbing the toilet? Everyone loves a clean toilet, but truly who enjoys cleaning it? And by all means, if you are one of those strange, rare, extraordinary individuals, like my mother, who loves and adores cleaning please do not be offended by my following statement: Those who love to clean have always confused me more than just a little.

I do not enjoy cleaning. I enjoy the end result. It feels wonderful to walk into the house after a good cleaning to it smelling clean and not like dog stench. (It is a miracle to me that we can eliminate the dog stench from our house in the first place! (yeah I know, gross.))

I dream of the day where I can be in a financial position to hire a maid. It would be truly lovely to come home to a spic and span house without having to lift a finger. This is where my mother would ask me if I would enjoy the clean house as much if someone else cleaned it as if I cleaned it myself. In all honesty, I would love it more! To never have to scrub another toilet seat, or mop another floor or vacuum ever again would be heaven.

I realize that this dream of mine most likely will not come true. I can think of so many other valuable and long lasting experiences that I would rather put my money towards but just the thought of a maid is delicious.

But my current reality is such that I clean my own home. I take pleasure when what I've cleaned is nice and I'm proud to show it off. I'll continue focusing on the end result, not the task at hand to get it to that result.

Either that or while I'm cleaning I'll day dream of someone cleaning my house while the cabana boy fans me and feeds me grapes.

Now that would be heavenly!

The Future? hmmm...

What do you want to be when you grow up?

It's a question that every little kid has an answer for. A nurse, an actor, a cowboy, a lawyer and sometimes they'll even say astronaut. But what do you do when you're asked that question at 34? If you're me then you deflect the question by saying something like, "What I want to be is happy. I'm not really concerned about a career." While secretly inside you think, "Oh man, I feel like such a heel. I can't believe I don't know what I want to do at this age!"

So for the past year I've been living my life with no set goal of what I want to do with my future. I've been working away at Starbucks and working on my recovery. I've been happy I can pay my bills. I've been super pleased that I'm getting myself out of debt. I've been thrilled that I've been able to afford a few trips here or there. But deep down inside I knew something was missing.

I graduated from college with a degree in theatre. Yet once I graduated I realized that theatre was not something that I had the energy to pursue full time. I knew that I did not have the passion for being an artist that lives, breathes, eats and sleeps theatre. And I am comfortably okay with that. In fact the longer I've been out of school the happier I am that I'm not really involved in theatre all that much any more. But I'm not okay with not having a dream to strive for. I don't like not having something that I'm working towards.

Recently I've discovered a new desire. It might turn into a passion. I'm allowing myself to explore that possibility. What is wonderful is that this new adventure will allow me to influence women around me to feel good about themselves. It will help me to promote positive self images in women.

This society is so very sick with it's ideas about what is beautiful. I can't express how much I want to be a part of the movement to turn that idea around. I want to encourage all types of women to love themselves as they are instead of hating themselves for what they aren't. This has been a goal of mine since I entered my rehab treatment. This country would be a far healthier country if it stopped focusing so much on what people "should" weigh and started focusing on living for health.

So I have this new adventure stirring a desire inside me. I'm going to allow it time to marinate. I'm going to allow myself time to sit with the thoughts that come with this idea. I'm going to nurture these thoughts and allow them to grow into a passion. Because I don't want to live a life of just getting by and paying the bills. I want to live a life of passion, creativity and purpose.

I'm off to marinate.

No More Drama

As I sit here thinking of something to write about I realize that I have no tale of desperation to share. I have no overwhelming desire to share a new discovery. It seems as if I have nothing to write about as I have no fabulous new juicy detail to share about my life. And that alone is what I realize I must write about.

For so many years my life has consisted of drama. And no I'm not talking about the kind of drama that you go to the theatre to see. (and yes you must say theatre as such: Thee-ah-Tarrr) Instead I'm talking about the kind of drama that I have allowed to exist in my everyday life. The drama that ensues when one is so focused on dieting, exercise, defensiveness and self-loathing. It seemed that everyday I would come up with some new way to hate myself, either by spewing disparaging remarks about myself, or becoming involved in poisonous relationships or by allowing myself to be a part of unhealthy situations. (Oh to be 22 again and to know what I know now!)

I'm 12 years older than that age now and yet I feel brand new. Still the same old silly, ornery, laugh out loud girl that we all know but with a calmness and serenity that surrounds me now. I guess I don't really feel brand new, maybe just updated and improved. (and now I'm gonna sound like a perfect dork) but I feel like I've been uploaded with new operating software that has gotten rid of the virus infected one from before.

My life is no where near as "exciting" as it once was. (Thank goodness!) And yet my life now is so much more fulfilling and rewarding than it has ever been. I am enriching my life because I see myself as so much more valuable than I did when I was 22. Granted, my life is pretty routine. (well as routine as it can be when I get up at 3am on some days and stay up till 12am on other days) I go to work, I come home, I clean house (haha), I spend time with my fiance and find time for hanging out with my best girlfriends. This life that I am enjoying now has it's own excitements that are so much more long lasting than any night of desperation from before.

I have the excitement of coming home to the most amazing man in the world! (I even get to marry him soon!) I get to play with the 3 best dogs in the whole world. I am fortunate enough to have a yard to go out and garden in, when it's not raining! I am re-immersing myself in arts and crafts. I forgot what it was like to see one of my hand-made creations come to fruition.

So today as I sit here in my red leather chair and look out the window I smile at my contentedness. While others may think my life is boring and pretty standard, (please feel free to judge me all you want, it doesn't bother me anymore), I am more in love with my life and myself than ever before. I'm enjoying the contentment. I'm truly am enjoying living in this moment of my life.

8 1/2 x 11

I was not prepared to uncover the emotions that crept up on me today. They grabbed me out of nowhere. These emotions held me surrendered in my own body. A day off from work, there I was sitting in front of the wood stove, innocently searching through some old boxes I found in the spare room closet. I'd forgotten they were there. They've been resting there for two years. Waiting for me to rifle through them. Waiting for me to fall siege to the emotions that come along with uncovering artifacts from my previous life. A life that molded a box around me so small that I was unaware of the minuscule surroundings that were my life.

When I broke free of that box. When I finally found the courage to bust through the barriers that were keeping me in that life, I realized that I was alone. There was no one there to soften my fall. There was no one there to guide me out of the mess my life had become. At this time it became so blatantly obvious to me just how controlled I had been. I was used as a puppet to manipulate my own life into something that I could not recognize.

So, as I was sitting there, sifting through the mountain high pile of paperwork, photos, letters, cards, folders and notebooks, it never crossed my mind that I would find something that would bring up strong negative emotions. But I found something that did. I was reading a card from my sister. Smiled at the sentiment. Then placed it in the "put in souvenir" pile. Picked up the next piece of paper. A college ruled piece of notebook paper that was folded into quarters. I unfolded the paper, first once, then twice. I saw the handwriting on the paper and froze. Stunned. Held in place by fear and just more than an ounce of hatred.

It was his handwriting. Jotting out some plan of what file he'd worked on that day. What was written there didn't matter. What mattered what the insurmountable feeling of fear, hatred and repulsion towards him. Hatred because of what he did to me. Repulsion because I get sick to my stomach thinking about having spent time with him and almost marrying him. And fear that somehow, someway he will find me. That he will be able to build that box up around me again.

I put the piece of paper down. I look up to my surroundings. I am comforted by my dogs, who are passed out on the sofa and their beds. They have a peacefulness about them. They have an innocence about them. They are unworried by this piece of 8 1/2 x 11 notebook paper. It poses no threat to them. They are no more concerned about this piece of paper then they are lint on the floor. What threatens them are mean dogs, strangers knocking on the door and not getting dinner.

I look down at that piece of paper that somehow has found it's way into the "souvenir" pile. I pick it back up. I see that handwriting. The emotions run over me again. I feel my face contort into a sad painful expression. I can feel my heart beating faster. The tears in my eyes are forming. I think to myself, "I do not want this piece of paper in my house. It is negative. It sucks my happiness from me." I place the paper in the "to shred" pile.

I sit back. Momentarily content with my accomplishment. I look up at the fire place. One of my dogs has moved to roast his belly in front of the wood stove. He's quite content. See? Not worried one bit about that piece of paper. I look back at the fire. A grin forms on my face. I take the piece of paper off the "to shred" pile. Open the door to the wood stove. Place the paper on top of the log that is burning. The paper lights up in a milli-second. The mini inferno it creates turns my grin into a smile. Within a minute the paper with the handwriting on it has been consumed by the fire.

As I sit here and reflect back to this afternoons event, I am quite happy with what I've accomplished. I am very pleased with myself for coming up with such a creative way to destroy a very poisonous prop to my unhappiness. Might I even say I am proud of myself?

The box has been finished. All of the paper work has been sorted into stacks to deal with at another time. The negativity from the box has been purged and all that is left is memorabilia and financial items. I'm looking forward to turning the rest of my house into a no negativity zone as well. I'm looking forward to building up the happiness in my life. After all, we could all use a little more happiness, right?

Journey

I've noticed lately that it has become increasingly difficult for me to keep up this blog. When I started this blog I decided to choose a topic that was very close to home to me. I wanted to use this outlet as a way to express the many difficulties and realizations that have come my way during my quest to overcome an eating disorder. I wanted to share my ordeal with others in a way that didn't involve me chatting on the phone and describing in detail all the things that no one needs to hear. I wanted to be able to share what I chose without receiving questions from inquiring minds.

However, I have avoided this blog a bit lately because my life does not revolve around an eating disorder any more. I have more going on than that. (Did anyone else just read that?) I'll say it again. My life does not revolve around an eating disorder anymore!!! Wow! I never in my life thought that I would be able to say that. Yet here it is in black and white. I typed it before I even knew what I was writing. Is it possible for me to say that I am healed? Can I really be free from this ED that has over taken the last 7 years of my life?

The answer is a resounding: Yes!

I no longer associate myself as being someone who is sick with this disease. Yes I know that I'll still have struggles in this area. And don't get me wrong I know I still have many issues. But my life no longer revolves around being sick from an eating disorder or having my day consumed with healing from an eating disorder.

There is so much more going on in my life than just one thing. I work, even though some days I hate it. I play with my dogs. I go out with friends. I voluntarily spend time working on the house. I involve myself with crafts. I am becoming interested in dance and theatre again. Now that I realize that there is so much more going on with my life then just one, albeit very difficult, thing I think I need to expand the topics in my blog.

I have read several of my previous posts. Many of them are posts about self discovery. So I will continue down that path for my writing. I'm changing the focus from "my journey of an eating disorder" and instead I'm changing it to "my journey to self discovery". It'll give me more to write about. And lets face it, I think we all were getting a little tired hearing me whine about ED anyway!

So onward and forward. Here's to more posts that no longer focus on what disease I am sick with but will focus on who I am and who I am becoming.

Eight Legged Wonders

I have become fascinated with spiders. They are captivating little creatures. It's fascinating to watch them spin their webs. I am filled with wonder and awe over how such a small creature has been equipped with such amazing capabilities. To be able to create the material that one builds its home from is astonishing. Watching one crawl across the ceiling in the house makes me wonder how they can defy gravity. Seeing them descend from that same ceiling with what appears to be an invisible rappelling rope has become a sight for me to behold. Seeing them sit in their web in wait is patience personified.

Recently two wood spiders who have made themselves at home just outside our front door. They each have their own well constructed web. They each silently sit in the middle of their web waiting and watching every time I walk by. I feel lucky that I get to walk by them at least two times a day, sometimes four and then sometimes I just stand there and watch them. I stood and watched in awe for twenty minutes a few days ago while one was efficiently working on rebuilding its web. It didn't rush. It wasn't frantic. It instead went about its work in a calm methodical way. That was what amazed me the most. The calmness it had in rebuilding its own home. Astonishing.

I remember going to my grandmere's house. My sister and I slept downstairs in the craft room that was in the basement. It was inevitable that when you walked down that small ell shaped stairway that a spider, namely a daddy long legs, would be ready to great you on the way. I would hug the wall on the other side of the stairway to avoid getting any closer to the spider than I had to. I hated that my grandmas house always had so many spiders in it. Though it never seemed to bother anybody else.

The beds that my sister and I slept in remained unused when we weren't there. Every night before crawling into the covers I would roll the bed sheets all the way to end the of the bed to ensure no nests of spideys had made a home while I was away. Only after checking every square inch of bed and sheets was I able to crawl in and fall asleep.

Recently, though, I've noticed I feel a sense of comfort when spiders are around. Especially the two that reside just outside my front door. There is something that calms me when I watch a spider go about its daily activities. They don't show signs of frantic-ness, or stress, or self consciousness. They go about their tasks not caring what others think or about what needs to be accomplished next. I think the trait that I admire most about these eight-legged new friends of mine though is their ability to sit for hours on end. They don't feel the need to find themselves some busy work to do, or go to the fridge and eat simply because they are bored or create a blog to express themselves. They simply are content to sit, wait and watch the world.

I would love to learn to have the ability, to sit and wait and watch the world. I have no idea what I would be "waiting" for but their is an appeal to me in being able to be content with just sitting with my mind not running a thousand miles a minute. I'm always thinking of the next thing I should do, what needs to be done next, how soon I have to be at work, etc etc etc. Many of the reasons why my mind is running a thousand miles a minute is because I'm trying to figure out what is next for me. I want to get myself to decide on what I should do next. Maybe that isn't for me to decide though. Perhaps if I just sit with the quiet that is around me I will be better able to hear my true calling. If I don't make myself decide on something but wait for God to provide me with the answers, I most definitely won't have as so much stress in my life.

It's not every day that one realizes they have over come a phobia such as being afraid of spiders. I feel lucky that I have over come this fear. I'm learning a great life lesson from these magnificent eight legged creatures. The ability to sit with the quiet is a gift to be treasured.