Constant Change

The last time I wrote here was when I started to apply for new jobs… a lot has happened since then, so I thought it might be good to update. There were plenty of other things that have exploded.

I hit a pretty low point of eating restriction at that time, and when I could no longer stay awake or stop crying at literally everything, I slowly started eating again. I’ve of course gained a bunch of weight as my body tries to recover, which of course, has sent me into a deeper depression. I’ve been fighting my therapist for weeks about wanting to fast, and now I’m just in an angry, sad, ugly, even fatter and more disgusting body. Great. Tell me how this is going to help me. She keeps telling me eating disorder recovery is a process, but I’m having a really hard time watching my body just get worse. I can’t afford a dietician, let alone being able to find one that won’t take one look at me and tell me to starve myself again. I’m in a holding pattern… a shitty, confusing, and terrifying holding pattern.

Thanksgiving weekend, the costume store flooded from a pipe leak in the bagel shop above us. The problem is, the water was dirty and therefore for insurance purposes, it’s technically considered “sewage.” Now, there was an insurance policy, but the dry cleaning alone would have maxed it out, not to mention the time and energy it was already taking to move everything out. Ben made the decision to close the brick and mortar location, and now we will just rent holiday costumes, mascots that were salvageable, and things that he saved for his own collection. We still have one large push to get rid of the excess, but I truly believe that in the end it was the best decision for him to make. Teaching full-time has given him a different trajectory, if he wants it, and that alone has changed his perspective on trying to run a business at the same time. I’m sure he will be relieved after this weekend, when everything will be gone and disposed of.

The day after the flooding, I started my insane Talk to Santa schedule. It was unnecessarily stressful because of constant equipment issues and inconsistent information. I’m working on a plan to take on all the responsibilities for the show, including scheduling the kids, updating imaging, branding, and creating registration and information files that keep everyone on the same page in Santa’s Big Book (see what I did there? North Pole humor) Communication… it’s a thing that NEEDS to be on point with over 100 children and their families coming up to the station expecting to be dazzled by the magic of Christmas cheer.

We also lost a dear friend in our circle over the holidays, too. I loved this friend, but I wasn’t particularly close to her, she was already very sick when I entered the scene. I do Talk to Santa to keep myself distracted because of my mother’s sudden death Christmas night, but this was an unkind reminder. I tried my best to be strong for everyone else who needed to grieve. But the “mom’s dead” phone call and sound of my own screaming kept playing on loop whenever my brain was too idle, which was of course right as I woke up in the morning, like the day it happened, in a total PTSD episode, a surefire way to ruin my day. Triggered, so fucking triggered. I didn’t want to fall apart, and I did fine as far as what most people could see, I hope. Ben ended up with one night terror of mine he had to contend with, but most of it I turned inward, eating everything in sight, like I do.

I didn’t get the job that I interviewed for in the last post. Which is fine, because traveling to Harrisburg everyday is NOT something I could handle right now. And the vibe I got was… yes, just not yet. I think if I get some supervisor experience and apply again, I could get it. I’m just happy I had the guts to even interview. But, I DID get a job offer at another office. Same pay, same job, but a different location that cuts about 3 hours of travel a week and gives me more human interaction that I desperately need to end my stagnation. I started this week, and I haven’t been able to do much because they messed up transferring my access to our systems. So, lots of twiddling my thumbs peppered with trainings, reorganizing, and setting up my desk/files/etc. I also did adulty things like paying my bills, filing my taxes, creating some forms for Talk to Santa to get myself ready for next year. It hasn’t been a total loss.

Ben and I are traveling to New England for a couple of fun events that will allow us to catch up with old friends. I also have my boudoir shoot with Mitzie, and that’s my thing I’m scared about. I was restricting when I made my appointment, and now…not so much. My beached Jabba the Hut body isn’t going to be very cute to bare all, so I might have to change up my game plan. Ugh… the disappointment and sadness descend lower.

I also start rehearsals for a show at CTL in two weeks. I was SUPER proud of myself for getting my lines written out, recorded, edited, and on my phone to start getting off book as soon as possible. It’s another line intensive lead, so I’m looking forward to having something else to focus on, maybe get my confidence back a little.

And I was asked to take on the Afternoon Drive shift on the Valley from weekdays from 3-7pm. That will give me more work to do, but it evens out with the time I’m saving in traffic alone, PLUS I negotiated for a raise and modification to my proposed schedule for no weekend commitments like a big girl. In the end, I’ll actually make out WAY better than I started.

I clearly have a lot to process, and there are plenty of other things weighing on my mind, heart, and my shitty body… none of the typical “cheer up” tactics seem to be working. All I want to do is sleep and cry. Winter is here, and unless I figure this shit out…. It’s gonna be a long, rough couple months.

Big Job for a Big Girl

Whelp. I did it. I started applying for new jobs, and I had an interview last Thursday. Ben helped me as I tried about six dresses on (I don’t have “professional” clothes– it’s either “boho”, “hobo,” or “cocktail hour”), but I was pretty happy with my choice. It’s just an interview, but I’m cautiously optimistic. Ben also bought me flowers and wants to take me out to dinner to celebrate when our schedule finally calms down (all the girly gushing).

The interview went really well, and even if I don’t get it, it’s fine. I did the thing. That’s a good first step. When I finished answering all of their questions, the first thing the director said to me was “I can tell you are a theater person, and that’s a great thing.” I mean, I know I’m animated, but the idea that I have a strong presence is a strange concept for me to grasp. I spend so much time trying to make myself smaller in every way, because life has told me I take up too much space.

I’m unaware that my presence takes up a large space, and that is unrelated to my size.

It freaks me out. I don’t want to be “too much.”

But something has changed. Getting this interview seemed to have help “flip a switch.” Tech week was crazy and I didn’t have time to think about it… But I’m eating again. Not bingeing. Just eating. I’ve been taking time to make yummy food that’s still healthy, but I can get excited about. I’m not crying all day, falling asleep at my desk, and some of my pain is subsiding. What a novel concept, I know.

I’ve listened to “Health At Every Size” twice now, and so many podcasts. I feel like I’m trying to un-brainwash myself. But I swear, I think it’s working… My brain still feels like it’s on fire, but instead of the screaming— it’s a dull roar.

“Autonomy” is the magic word of the day. I’m allowed to make choices about my life without the imposed restrictions. I’ve spent way too long accepting whatever is given to me just because society has told me I should be grateful for any recognition of my existence at all. I am still grateful, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed make choices that honor who and what I am.

Imposter syndrome is yelling pretty loudly, but in this moment, I’m excited to give myself a shot at something that is more in tune with my needs for communication and fulfillment. It’s uncomfortable, but nothing worth shooting for is ever squishy and cozy.

Deep breaths. Keep Going.

Raspberries

I want to extend a huge thank you to everyone who helped me with my homework assignment last week. My therapist was SUPER happy. She wants me to take all the messages I received and put them into a little book or stick them on the wall of the bathroom (the place where I have to confront my body at its worst). That might be a little extreme because it’s uncomfortable on principle, but I did take screen shots, so I have them if I need a reminder that I’m not a huge disappointment to everyone around me for not being the “right” size.

There was a rough couple of days in the middle of last week. I’m not even that hungry anymore most of the time. I ordered a pizza for Ben last Wednesday and I just stared at it. By 9pm on Thursday, I had 3oz of chicken and I got a little sick from it. Ben had gone to the gym and came home with a few groceries to get us to the weekend…

Raspberries. That boy plays DIRTY. He knew I was upset with myself for eating too many raspberries last weekend, but ALSO how much I enjoyed them. I playfully scolded him about it, gauging what I should do, because I’ve lost all autonomy when it comes to food.

“You brat! I’m not supposed to have those and I’m gonna wanna eat them all!”

“Good.” He shoved them in my hands and walked away.

It made me laugh, and then cry. I want to marry this man someday. Of course, the raspberries were amazing. I ran into the kitchen-I had me an idea. I had made an keto almond cheesecake mousse a few days ago, so I added some fresh raspberries into it and made a nice evening treat for us. The pure joy of making my new creation was toxicating…

Guys, I just like food, ok? I like to make it, I like to give it, and yes… I like to eat it. *gasp*

Something felt like it switched in my brain after that. I ate whatever I wanted this weekend with scattered results. I feel bad for the poor woman who had to listen to me puking in the Perkins bathroom, but this is my life right now. And as far as how much I ate, I don’t know if I’d really consider it a binge, per se, but it definitely fell into a “grazing” category. Panicked, of course, I grabbed the fucking scale… it went up.

Well, that can’t happen. 

Here is the sticking point. If I stop restricting, allow myself to eat and fully embrace the concepts my therapist wants me to… I will have failed in my weight loss goal, I will not achieve a body size that is acceptable, and worse, I’m probably going to gain some back.

• I know that people around me will be disappointed.
• I know that I will be seen as weak, letting myself go.
• I know that I will have failed, after everything I’ve been through.
• I know that if I’m not actively pursuing weight loss, I am judged.

Am I safe stop to this? Because I sure as hell don’t feel safe. I’ve never felt safe to be exactly what I am. That’s why I’ve worked to hard for over 30 years to change it… and I still can’t seem to do it. And now it’s become this sick game to see how far I can push my body, to prove to the world I can stop eating all together, let myself waste away… because I’m only valuable if I’m a success story.

And then what’s worse is the rejection of the help I’m trying to receive even by my therapist. NOW I feel like I’m being tricked to stay fat by a bunch of thin privileged dieticians in order to keep me in my place. It’s to make sure I stay the DUFF (designated ugly fat friend) so I will never be able to be seen as a person with value. “You’re beautiful just the way you are!” But silently judged and patronized.

I’m paralyzed by fear and I don’t know who or what to believe anymore. I feel like everyone is lying to me about EVERYTHING.

So, I’ll just sob into my mug of tea.

It’s 4pm, and I’ve had 40 calories. Fuck.

Permission to Peacock

I’m feeling a little numb. I had a rough week again last week, I was in the hospital Tuesday (I’m ok, just a scare), but I gave up on sticking to low-carb when we went to the Bloomsburg Fair on Saturday and Ben’s parents on Sunday. I bought raspberries this weekend and couldn’t leave them alone. I’m mad that I feel like raspberries are sinful.

I’m hungry, feeling defeated, and I don’t want to deal with ANY of that right now. Let’s work on a therapy homework assignment, shall we?

I have a problem with accepting anything positive that comes my direction. Successes, compliments, praise… all of that bullshit is hugely uncomfortable. No, for reals. I have no idea what to do with it. I USED to negate it directly TO the person (and sometimes I still do without thinking), but after coming to the realization that it might hurt the other person’s feelings, I’ve leveled up to a nervous “thank you” in adulthood.

I have VERY vivid memories of watching videos from concerts as a kid. We’d come home afterwards and watch the tapes immediately. I was always excited, but it never turned out to be the positive thing I had hoped for. I would pick out EVERYTHING I did wrong and especially how shitty my body looked (reinforcement of how I should never be on camera). No matter what, every performance was the shittiest performance I’ve ever done.

It’s not like I didn’t get praise from people. You know, everyone wants to encourage little kids. I didn’t accept a word of it. I still can’t. My ears feel like they plug up with cotton balls at the exact moment praise or applause begins. The ONLY reason I became aware of this weird phenomenon was when I DID start watching videos of performances. I realized I didn’t hear anything in the moment (like, as I was on stage), but it would distort the tiny microphones in the old VHS tape recorders. All the years of singing, speaking, acting… I can’t hear a peep. Silence.

It’s even worse if I talk about things I’ve done or say anything that could be viewed as being confident or acknowledging a job well done. I have REALLY tried to make an effort to talk about my life in a more positive manner in the last few years, but this discomfort continues to be a problem. I automatically apologize for saying something positive about myself, and I shallow it down to the point where I become physically uncomfortable, and even nauseated if I sit with it for too long.

• Step #1–Lose the weight.
• Step #2–Everything else.

“You already did thing. At this size, and heavier. What the hell are you waiting for?”

Ben cornered me about this concept the other night. There have been so many goals I’ve had throughout my life, and even though I’ve accomplished things that I never thought possible, I automatically negate them because they were achieved as a FAT person. In my mind, they don’t count. I didn’t finish Step #1.

So, my therapist asked me to make a list or chart (because I’m an organizational nerd) of the skills and talents that I am supposed to give myself “permission” to own or feel confident about. But I’m stuck. All of the things I might have a reason to be proud of are attached to an excuse.

1. Opportunities give were out of PITY, because I’m fat…

–They know I’ll never make it anywhere else, so they give the fat girl a bone.

2. Recognition was given because my weight was UNKNOWN to the benefactor…

–I wouldn’t have been chosen/awarded/etc. if they had *known* I was fat.

3. The talent or skill itself has it’s own engrained shame attached to it…

–Of course I’m good at this skill… it’s BECAUSE I’m fat.

See what I mean? How dare I be proud of anything I’ve done? I don’t allow myself to embrace anything, it’s always able to fall into one of these categories. Not only that, but the “so-called skills/talents/etc” I do possess don’t seem like that are particularly valuable to most of society. “Being nice” isn’t exactly something I can put on a resume. And while physical beauty, athleticism, etc. might not show up on a resume either—they are most important things you can be.

So here’s where I need some help. Because I can’t figure out what skills and talents I have, let alone what I am allowed actually feel confident in without shame, so I’d like some outside perspective. What is something you know, for a fact, that I’m good at? Because I can fill my little excel sheet with things I suck at, but the plus column is empty because of those three qualifiers above.

Anyone want to help?

Tunes and Trials

We were invited to a intimate house concert last weekend. What I didn’t know (until I had already committed) was that it was going to be filmed.

Shit.

I really wanted to go, and I was honored to be invited in the first place, but now there was another concept I was trying to fight my brain about. The concept that pretty people are the ones that go in front of the camera, I’m the one that is supposed to hold the camera, or just never been seen. That’s how my most of my career has gone, and I can’t complain in the sense where I really enjoy the production end of media, but still.

I RESISTED the temptation to freak out and message the host, asking if he was ABSOLUTELY SURE he wanted me there, for fear of potentially ending up on camera and ruining the cool people vibe they were going for. I should get a “Power Over Paranoia Point” for that… I dressed up as nice as I could and hoped for the best. When we got there, I did the thing I ALWAYS do…I volunteered to give my film friends a hand (which is also terrifying, because I’m SUPER out of the game nowadays as much as I miss it). No dice. They didn’t need help with filming. They needed audience folks and it was a small project.

SHIT.

I still think I dodged the cameras by sitting off to the side…hopefully.

Now, the only thing I had eaten before the party was a one link of sausage with sautéed peppers and onions at breakfast. I am not doing intermittent fasting on weekends but I keep to the low-carb/keto thing. I wasn’t very hungry throughout the day, and the invitation for the concert mentioned dinner, so I thought I would just wait until we got there, eat like a normal person, and I’d still be fine. But before the filming started, I had another run in with the same friend from the food shaming incident two weeks ago, creeping on me at the food table.

SHIIIIIIIIIT.

Put down the pitchforks a moment (pun intended). Hold your fire. Just let me just get this out.

This is not an effort for anyone to be mad at anyone else. I can handle my own battles, and I swear to you, this ISN’T a battle. The whole reason I’m writing about it at all is to address how I ended up handling the situation (spoilers: no binge, but not any better):

Everything I reached for came with free nutritional commentary from another skinny attractive person (Yipee! What I’ve always wanted). I smiled and nodded, but at the last comment I could stand about portion size, I accidently had a nervous giggle/sigh escape my lips. Instead of risking having him lean in harder, I ran out the kitchen to safety (buried my head in Ben’s arm for a minute) and attempted to calm down…piled at the very center of my plate (making it the smallest size I could) were three slices of lunch meat, three florets of broccoli, and a tiny cube of cheese.

I also didn’t go back later on. He kind of stayed in that area most of the night, and I didn’t want to be caught eating. I’m really hoping he means well, and I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, but SERIOUSLY. And THEN I ended up drink two glasses of wine…so I was instantly drunk. It was helpful to take the edge off, but this is why so many people who have bariatric surgery end up abusing alcohol instead. It’s acceptable for the fat girl to have a drink, but not a plate of food.

I know I should have said something, but here are the things I got stuck on:

1. I had no idea what to say without spewing venom like a viper.
2. I don’t want to hurt his feelings if he IS actually trying to be supportive or show concern.
3. There is a huge part of me that says I should just be grateful someone interacts with me.

I’ll handle it, I promise I will. But I really couldn’t deal with it in the moment– I was too hungry, upset, and ashamed for being caught with food. It was a nice night otherwise, really. Great music, great people, and even made some new connections. I met the wife of a former professor of mine who listens to Talk to Santa, so that made me REALLY happy. It’s nice to be recognized every now and then for the work I’m still doing within my field. I ate a little more when I got home, but it still only added up to about 500 calories for the day.

Oh well, I won’t waste away anytime soon. Onward, and (hopefully) downward.

Breakdowns and Breakthroughs

I had a breakdown Friday night.

Shocker, I know.

At 10pm, I had eaten less than 100 calories…coffee, tea, about 3oz of pork, and four baby carrots.

Self. Control. Right?

And, because not only am I clearly a “glutton for food”, I’m also a glutton for punishment… I started watching this show called Dietland, about an OVERWEIGHT GIRL WORKING MEDIA. Holy shit, this woman is me with a higher paying job. The things that happen to her are mirror images of conversations and situations I’ve found myself in throughout my career.

It’s an amazing show, but it’s so triggering that Ben and I have actually started watching it together so I can go through some of the issues with him. It’s been validating for me, and really eye-opening for him. We will actually pause it sometimes when I need a minute, talk about some of the things that have happened to me, and it’s been helpful for him to see what I’m up against.

We’ve had quite a few breakthroughs like this lately. It’s been trial by fire (poor soul, gods love him), because it’s been so intense the last couple of weeks. He’s never quite understood what this whole thing is about…like so many people who have never dealt with severe weight issues or eating disorders up close. He now realizes that it’s not about lack of willpower or lack of knowledge about nutrition, and more importantly—it’s NOT something he can help me with by dismissively spouting “You know what works for me?” platitudes. SO IMPORTANT.

So, he watches stuff like Dietland along with me, holds me when I need it (which is a LOT), talks with me about what I’m struggling with, reminds me constantly that he loves me and thinks I’m beautiful. Which is hard for me to process, because the narrative I immediately form in my brain is he’s placating me. I’m working on it. Baby steps.

Anyway, after my huge meltdown, AND inspired by our new TV show binge (pun intended), Ben volunteered that we should dress up in creepy purge masks, smash the scale, and throw it off the balcony of our apartment. It made me laugh, and I totally would have been down with the plan if I hadn’t JUST bought the stupid thing a few months ago.

So instead, he hid it. Well, he didn’t hide it, but he put it up on a really high shelf, which is a great deterrent for this 5’2 hobbit girl. We’ll bring it down once a month. I either need to ask him OR I’ll need to get my step ladder out… which is annoying enough to stop me from acting on impulse and jumping onto it every time I use the damn bathroom. Yes, I was weighing myself multiple times a day (I pooped! Did the number go down?!?) No wonder I’m losing my mind.

So far so good. I instinctively went looking for the scale in its usual spot Saturday AND Sunday morning, but then I remembered where it was and walked away–it bugged me. I want to keep track, but clearly the obsession with seeing the number go down is destroying me. Me and that fucking scale need some time apart.

That, my friends, is what support looks like….Not telling me what you *think* I should do based on ZERO experience with eating disorders. Not hovering over me at a food table and shaming me for eating something you’ve deemed unhealthy even though it might contain something important for me based on a complicated, compound diagnosis. It’s about making me laugh when I’ve done nothing but cry for weeks as I work through this. It’s checking if I have eaten today at all, because contrary to what you you think… the answer might very well be no. It’s helping me apply the tools I actually need when my brain is on fire and won’t allow me to think clearly….And trust me, it has VERY LITTLE to NOTHING to do with what I’m putting in my mouth.

3 More Failures

I had to fight with myself to get to 1000 calories the last two days. But I did it! And my reward?

I gained three pounds OVERNIGHT.

So much for that idea. I even bought ketone detecting strips hoping if my progress didn’t show on the scale, it would at least do up there.

Nothing.

I know weight fluctuates with water retention, so of course I took my diuretic. I restricted so hard all week just to counter my 5-pound, 3-week menstruation escapades. I finally got that back down, only to gain another three the moment I ate more than 500 calories a fucking day.

Just put me in a coma. I can’t get near a scale, and I’ll be unconscious so… no worries about eating! And I won’t be constantly crying and bothering anyone anymore with my bullshit. Bonus!

It’s all about self control… right?

Paralysis

I’m exhausted, but can’t sleep.

I’m freezing.

My resting heart rate has dropped about 10 beats per minute.

I’m still menstruating for the third week in a row.

My whole body aches.

I’m crying all day long.

My therapist keeps trying to gently suggest eating more.

Everyone I talk to is telling me I need to eat more.

But they all sound like a million little devils on my shoulder. I can’t distinguish which ones I can listen to and which ones are a trap.

The chanting is loud, rhythmic, persistent.

***

“Eat….eat….eat…”

But eating is what makes me fat.

“Eat….eat….eat…”

I’m not going to lose weight if I eat.

“Eat….eat….eat…”

Eating is shameful.

“Eat….eat….eat…”

If I eat, it proves I have no self-control.

“Eat….eat….eat…”

Showing compassion for myself is weight loss, not food.

“Eat….eat….eat…”

Everyone will see me eat and know I’m not strong enough to finish this.

***

I know the science, I promise I do.

According to every doctor I’ve ever seen, it’s calories in, calories out.

I burn 2,600 calories a day without exercise.

I’m eating 500-700 calories a day.

It takes about 130 calories to operate my heart.

I should have lost more by now, but my period made me gain 5 pounds.

I still should have lost more to counteract that.

So now…I’m sitting here listening to The Obesity Code about severe intake reduction being ineffective. It was suggested by a trusted friend.

It all makes sense; but eating more and taking the risk that I’ll gain weight is terrifying.

I don’t trust anything or anyone.

Everything feels like a trick to keep me fat, sad, inferior.

I’m scared.

So here I sit, hiding in the bathroom again, paralyzed by fear.

Stupid, irrational, powerful fear.

I’m starving myself.

…Funny, I’m not even that hungry anymore.

What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?

The weekend started on such a positive note.

I made a big effort to practice self-care on Friday after a very difficult, emotionally draining week. I went to the grocery store, filled my cart with food I was allowed to have, made a big pot of chili in preparation for a cold weekend, and snuggled with Ben watching a fun comedy. Life was ok. I was sad and tired of fighting myself, but I was in control of things, and content.

And then, Saturday night came along. We ran into a friend who lives out of town, and we decided to throw a little shindig so she could see all her friends at one time. I was hungry, and ready to make a healthy dinner… but suddenly emergency pizzas were ordered, brownies made, I flew around the kitchen like a tiny tornado making it all happen. I love to entertain, it’s one of the few things I’d like to think I bring to the table. I wasn’t happy about the temptations, but I also didn’t want to kill myself trying to make something I was allowed to have so quickly… and I did set myself up for success by ordering a pizza I liked that I could scrape toppings off of without feeling too wasteful (a trigger of mine, I hate wasting food and I will binge to prevent it).

Then it happened. Another friend started talking to me about choices and how important self-control is with my diet…and I saw red. That was it. Another fucking person talking to me about how I clearly can’t stop shoving food in my big fat face. I WANTED to slug him. Not his fault. He doesn’t get it. I ordered pizza, made a huge pan of brownies…. But no. I didn’t have ANYTHING. Can please just have a gold star and be left alone? Until someone perfect and thin decides it’s important to mention to the fat girl that my struggle is about self-control.

“Yep. Look at you, Amy. You can’t help but shove food in your face. Let’s practice a little self-control, because you are clearly a child. You’ve been eating at most 500 calories a day for the last two weeks, but that’s clearly not enough. You’ve had your period for the last two weeks because of it, but still gained 5 pounds back from menstruation soooooo Ms. Fatty McFatFat isn’t restricting enough.”

I stayed for a moment, respectfully listened to the lecture. And then I had to leave the room. My heart was pounding and I couldn’t heard anything but screaming. Back in the kitchen where the fat girl feels both safe and a war all at once. I shoved two slices of my thin crust pizza in my mouth in about 30 seconds. I ran into the bathroom and tried to puke it back up. (I’m sorry, and I just get a redo?) No dice, if I tried harder I would get caught, everyone was too close to the bathroom, and I’m a violently loud puker if I need to start purging. Even with the water running, another trick the pros use. It sounds like a demon being released, no lie. Fitting, food is a demon. Forced purging is different than dumping syndrome purging. Dumping is nice and quiet. Should I eat more so I can purposely cause dumping? Fuck.

There goes ketosis. Everything you cried about and worked for all week. All gone. He’s right. You’re worthless. *ding* Brownies were done.

All told, I probably ate half of the pan over the course of the weekend. The next day we went to dinner at Ben’s parents. Lasagna and more brownies. I already failed, no point in trying now. I went to work this morning and shoved a handful of candy in my mouth before I could think about it.

Since I’ve cried all morning again…now you are going to get a real confession. I wish my life would end so I can stop fighting myself. But don’t worry, my lovely readers, the thought of all those people struggling to carry my coffin stops me from suicide. That one final embarrassment, the big fat joke punchline. Remember the movie What’s Eating Gilbert Grape? I have this deep seeded fear of being cut out of a house and craned out. That’s what stops me from taking too many pills, slitting my wrists, or running to my dad’s house, grabbing my gun and blowing my brains out. Someone will have to deal with my body. My fat, half wasted away, shitty body. That’s what stops me. I’m protecting all of you from it. Aren’t you lucky? If I can’t have a gold star for self-control, can I have a gold star for that instead?

Family and Food

This is going to be scattered… but here it is. I was pretty sad last night, and so, so hungry. I can’t tell what is emotional hunger and physical hunger most of the time, because I’m ashamed to be hungry. I’m keeping under 1000 calories a day mostly, but most apps start yelling at you for not eating enough. So that’s unhelpful. It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t thing. I’m supposed to be thin, so I do what I’m supposed to, but then I’m conflicted when calorie counters and other tools say I’m not eating enough.

Well, isn’t that the point?

Stop me from shoving food in my big fat face?

…I’m making my therapist nervous, I can hear it in her voice.

The problem is… I don’t lose weight unless I restrict myself drastically, and losing weight so I’m acceptable to everyone around me is the entire POINT of the thing. If I could just count calories and see results, then I wouldn’t have gone to Tijuana to have a life altering surgery. And even with that extreme action…I didn’t lose everything that I needed to. I failed. My life turned upside down and I reverted back to eating my feelings.

I remember when Mom died. I stood in the kitchen with the mounds of food that friends and relatives brought for us. All of the family’s favorite recipes…to comfort us. To make things easier. I had been soooooo good about eating before then. I was eating like I should, losing like I should. Mom was so proud to keep having to put more tucks in my pants so they wouldn’t fall off of me. She grab the back of my pants when I bent over and giggle.

She was gone. And I stood there. Staring at alllllll that food.

“There is nothing you can have here. But just eat, Amy. You are grieving. You haven’t eaten in days. Eat what you want.”

And that was it.

I haven’t lost anything since.

I was roughly 245 then, I’m 265 now. I failed.

Overeaters anonymous taught abstinence. And that’s fine when you’re a 60-year-old church lady who wants to give up chocolate for three months, but not for me, when every food is a trigger. I’m better off giving it up altogether.

Do you realize how many times I’ve actually wished I had the courage to DO something terrible to my stomach so that I would need a G tube or J tube… and just cut food out of the equation altogether? More times and I would care to admit, even now, as I spill my deepest, darkest thoughts here for the world to see.

My grandmother did it. She had an eating disorder before there were clinical words to describe it. Before my surgery, my mom told me about the time she and my aunt got into some of Nana’s “special chocolates.” They were laxatives. She was always eating salads, restricting herself, and in the end, she developed gastroparesis. I still to this day believe it was self-inflicted. She just wanted to be thin, too. She was NEVER big enough to ever be considered a problem.

She talked to me about getting fat, and how I’ll never get the leads in plays or solos in concerts if I wasn’t skinny, had nice long hair, looked like the other girls. She is still alive, but dementia has taken it’s toll. I’m not mad at her, she felt trapped too. Trapped by the pressure to be something you’re not. And hey, she’s skinny now…

It all seems pretty impossible… *sigh*

Based on the Robinson formula (1983), ideal weight is 115.5 lbs

Based on the Miller formula (1983), ideal weight is 123.1 lbs

Based on the Devine formula (1974), ideal weight is 110.5 lbs

Based on the Hamwi formula (1964), ideal weight is 110.0 lbs

Based on the healthy BMI, ideal weight is 101.1 lbs – 136.7 lbs

140 lbs

That’s what I want.

That’s what I’ve dreamed of since I started this.

300 pounds lost…. TWO WHOLE PEOPLE.

It’s just so far away. And I’m so tired of fighting.