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.

Talkspace

I’ve been using Talkspace for my therapy component to this process. It’s a texting therapy service that links you up with a therapist that you can text every day, 24/7. You can send photos, videos, and even voice recordings when things are too hard to type out…which is fun because my therapist knows I work in radio, and she enjoys listening to me rant and rave and tell her funny stories about my day. And IT’S PERFECT. Seriously. No appointments, no phone tag, I can just word vomit alllllll over the app, and within a few hours I have a response to where I can fix the mental block.

Don’t worry, I looked her up (like a creeper), she IS a therapist out of Pittsburgh. And traditional weekly therapy is great, don’t get me wrong, but the fact that I can shoot off a text the VERY moment I’m struggling, and I get a response within a reasonable time to deal with it is INVALUABLE to stopping my cycles. She’s of a very similar spiritual bent, and she specializes in Eating Disorders, Health at Any Size, and Intuitive Eating.  She’s just the bees knees, folks.

The problem is: it’s not covered by insurance. And it’s expensive. I accidentally let it run an extra month last month (which was rough considering I was already stretched thinner financially than I’d like. Why can’t I be stretched thin physically? Is that a thing? Why is it the only thin thing about me my bank account?)

SOOOOOO….. Here’s my dilemma: Is this a thing that I should just continue to pay for because it’s actually working and chalk it up to self-care? Should I try to find a therapist that is covered by my insurance that will work with me in this kind of format? Should I suck it up and just do traditional therapy knowing its not as effective?…Ugh. I really wish taking care of myself in this way wasn’t so difficult.

Perfection, Panics, and Peeks

Well. I didn’t know I could have a panic attack in my sleep. That’s…. new. Clearly going to bed upset not only makes it hard to sleep in the first place, but it can also make your brain go to terrible places as you let your guard down for rest. I sort of “woke up” screaming and crying, I didn’t even know it was happening until Ben rustled me and tried to hold me as I sobbed… at 4am.

I couldn’t even begin to tell you where my head was at. It started out as something simple… it always does. A mild irritant or upset that somehow my brain gets ahold of and warps it into the same old shitty song:

• You’re not good enough for you, how the hell are you going to be good enough for someone else? Like a twisted RuPaul cliche.

• All this work will amount to nothing, you will remain this way at best, and return to your old weight at worst. And remember what Josh from 7th grade said, “Even if you lose weight, you’ll still be ugly”

• It’s ok for other people to be flawed or mess up, but they are prettier, smarter, and better in every way. You don’t have wiggle room. You will be judged more harshly.

• Any accomplishments you have made are out of pity or dumb luck. Everyone eventually realizes you aren’t worth the time. And if by some miracle you actually managed to make anything right in your life…It will go away. They will leave. You will fail.

And so on, and so on, and so on….

So yeah. I’m a perfectionist with more than likely an (un)healthy serving of imposter syndrome.

I found this pattern that has been causing me a lot of problems lately. It’s painfully obvious that I struggle with perfectionism to a toxic degree, and it manifests as an overcompensation for my weight and lack of physical beauty. Here’s the breakdown:

I practice self-awareness, and recognize that I’m obsessing over something. It could be at work where I can’t figure out a case and feel stupid to keep asking more questions, or I didn’t clean a thing immediately, or drive a way the that’s the most efficient, or I don’t put something away in a “logical” spot for someone else to find…or in the case of diet and exercise, I screw up trying to do something out of my comfort zone (exercise), or I eat something… or eat anything. I’ve been a “food sneak” my whole life.

I try to focus on completing the task, it might not be perfect, but it’s done and I can address it when I not obsessing and ruminating in an unhealthy way.

I “get caught” in my imperfection. It’s brought up, in any way…even jokingly. Getting my hand caught in the proverbial (or actual) cookie jar, so to speak.

I start creating a narrative (true or toxic, I’m unable to tell at this stage) where I’m being punished for my imperfection.

Anger ensues. Everyone else gets to live their lives without perfection. I watch the world around me (and even people I love) shirk responsibly, lie, and cheat any system they can, and I get in trouble for making a tiny mistake.

I recoil in shame and embarrassment. I should have done it right the first time instead of cutting a corner and leaving space for my sanity. Or I’m just too lazy, stupid, and have no willpower. I then abandon all notions of recovery, and spiral out of control.

Obsession begins again.

So that’s what gave me an hour of sleep last night. Fibromyalgia pain is worse this morning unsurprisingly; panic attacks make me feel like I’ve been hit by a truck for the next few days. I should have gone to work, but I called off hoping to be able to take my meds and sleep before the weekend inevitably blows up. But now I’m afraid to let my brain relax.

Quick Confession: I did a bad thing. Well, a thing that’s dangerous if I’m not careful. I stepped on the scale and took a peek at the progress (or lack there of depending). What’s worse was I was expecting to see the number stay the same, thus reinforcing my spiral. See why it’s a bad thing? (See! See! You’re a failure! Screaming in my head)

… I lost 10 pounds. In five days.

I know it’s all water weight, but it’s ten pounds gone. I have ankles again, my sagging skin feels slightly less plump (more jiggle in my wiggle… ugh, like it wasn’t bad enough), and the whole thing hasn’t been terrible so far. I’ve managed physical discomfort as best I could, and the mental shit never goes away. Now the hard part, we break from the routine and enter not just ANY weekend. A holiday weekend.

I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t make everything impossibly hard on myself… buckle in.

Chopped: Lewisburg

Time for a funny story. My fella got a new job, so I wanted to celebrate by making him a nice dinner. I was already starving from fasting all day, so I knew going to the grocery store was going to be a challenge (WHY DO I ALWAYS DO THIS?!?!) but I did really well! Pro-tip: stay out of the aisles. Go out around the edges of the store and don’t go in the middle unless there is something specific you need for a recipe. Everything in my cart was low-carb, and good deals too!

That being said, I definitely went a little crazy with my plan, I settled on:

• Dill Shrimp and Cucumber Salad
• Garlic Parmesan Zucchini and Squash Noodles with Shrimp and Mushrooms
• Chocolate Cheesecake Mousse

I got home and started cooking ALL the things… and I burned my fingers. Badly. I pulled one pan off the stove to work on something else, so the handle of another pot filled with boiling water was now sitting over the VERY hot, uncovered burner. Of course, I couldn’t let go (dropping an entire pot of boiling water all over myself and the kitchen…. So I had to commit until I scrambled to the sink. It immediately started to blister, and I had barely even started. Ouch.

And of course, it was my left hand…Well. Now what? I wanted to surprise Ben, I committed to make a huge meal, and I only had ONE, NON-DOMINANT HAND. It might not be finished in time, and I might need to spoil the surprise… but there’s no turning back now.

GOOOOOOD LORD–You should have seen my stupid ass trying to use a hand mixer, lining my body with potholders and using my boobs to carry stuff back and forth, and chasing shrimp around on a cutting board with an absurdly big knife in the wrong hand. The kitchen looked like a bomb went off, but I’ll be damned if I wasn’t scooping chocolate mousse into glasses and adding sprinkles (no, they aren’t keto, shut up) by the time I heard the door open. BOOM! *drops a mic* It took me about three hours, but I managed to make a Keto-friendly, three course dinner basically with one hand tied behind my back. My GOOD hand, no less. So bring it, Alton Brown, I’m ready for an episode of Chopped!

My fingers are still blistered a bit, but at least I didn’t have to pop anything, and I can type, no damage to anything of value, just my pride LOL.

Let it flow…

Swelling is a big thing that I’ve been contending with because of months of carby crap I’ve eaten not to mention the Pennsylvania JUNGLE climate this summer (Seriously?! I’m not a damn Toucan). My legs and feet feel like one of those sandy stress relievers– if you press hard enough, you can feel the fluid being displaced and it leaves a finger shaped dent in my skin for quite a while. Not good. It’s painful. When I was at my heaviest, I somehow got a stick stuck in my leg while I was camping… and it “bled” WATER. FOR THREE DAYS. I didn’t even know I did it until I realized my sock and shoe were completely soaked with fluid.

That being said….Diuretics, diet pills, and laxatives can sometimes be my drugs of choice with a cycle of restriction and violent binging. Knowing I’m dipping my toes into a pool that can be toxic, I tried to be VERY mindful about taking my prescribed diuretic yesterday. I kept repeating to myself like a little weirdo:

“I am taking this because the swelling in my legs and feet is painful. It will help me walk easier. It is not a way to lose weight, and for the love of the gods don’t get on the scale.”

I am also aware that low carb/high protein diets cause impressive weight loss at the start because of water weight. That’s a good thing, I won’t need to rely on the medicine for long, and it will only help me keep my little paws away from taking things I don’t need. I’m already seeing a difference over the last few days. HOWEVER…I have to work hard to stay hydrated during fasts, low carb eating, taking water pills, and MAN the side effects are annoying.

Like…. Every hour. At least the keto-flu like symptoms aren’t as bad…. some nausea, major headache, but no dry heaving today! Hooray!