Weight Weight...Don't Tell Me

We weigh first thing every morning. At least those of us on weight-gain meal plans do. Eating disorders range from binge eating ("too much") to anorexia ("too little"), with various combinations in between. So mandatory weigh-ins depend on the nature of your disorder and where you are in the process of recovery. The eating disorder center treats all varieties of eating disorder.

I learned very early to single-knot my shoe-laces when first tying them for the day, since this makes it quicker and easier to remove the shoes for the big event. When I arrive, I immediately take them off and empty my pockets in preparation. I feel a lot like I'm being booked in the county jail or passing through airport security. (I've only ever experienced one of these, and I'll let you guess which one.) I feel weird, a bit violated, childlike, distrusted, and angry. When finished with the scale, I tie the extra knot in my laces, reload my pockets, and then make my way to the kitchen for breakfast. Before I came here, my individual therapist back home weighed me similarly before each session. I may have felt just as uncomfortable, angry, or criminalized during those weighings, but I didn't see her five days a week.

We also weigh blindly, meaning that our backs are turned towards the wall opposite the scale, away from the digital screen and its electronic measurement. For someone who restricts their eating, this is not a terrible way to go about it. I stopped weighing myself years ago, because I knew that a pound gained would become two lost in the name of overcompensation. Except for when I initially began to "get healthy and into shape,” my eating disorder has never been about weight-loss. Rather, it has been one way to control something, anything, and I've used it more as a maintenance tool. My fear, on the surface anyway, has been weight-gain; my goal - constancy, predictability, security. Overcompensation is my gut reaction to a hike in the gravitational pull. This tendency can be more or less dangerous depending on how thin you are. Yet, now that I think about it, I've never overcompensated for weight-loss. Indeed, the lower weight has always become the new weight to maintain. I chase my tail only to let go once I've captured it.

So, maybe the eating disorder is about weight-loss - on the surface, anyway. Below the surface, prehistoric beasts are fighting to survive.

I worry that when I leave here...

...I'll find it hard to adjust to an unsupervised diet, to full weeks spent back home, to work - provided that my spot has been saved...

...because I also worry that I'll no longer have a job, that my first taste of "normal" life will be the bitterness of unlucky nose-to-grindstone, employment searches, interviews, bullshit résumés and bullshit job descriptions - an environment known well by so many people right now, an all-too-“normal” state of things...

...and I worry that, once left to myself, I'll succumb more easily to triggers, especially newer ones, like others noticing my more substantial mass, commenting on it with best intentions, but not realizing that stubborn, illusory perception often overpowers intention...

...for I further worry that, even if I maintain a healthy weight, I might also maintain an unhealthy tendency towards perfectionism, towards control, towards obsession and compulsion, towards both narcissism and pallid self-esteem – towards a much longer list of thoughts and emotions descending like stairs from surface to core – the same ones that got me here.

Worry may well be the parasitic worm of the mind. It does nothing for you. It takes much from you. Acceptance is its only effective exterminator. You can change neither past nor future. You can only change the now. And you can only change the you that is in it.

This is not original insight. So why is it so hard a principle to use, to live by?

Does anyone have Bobby McFerrin’s number?

Round 2: Me vs. The Cookie (Reprise)

Tuesday, we ordered boxed lunches again from the restaurant whose boxed lunch comes with a gigantic cookie. My anorexic mind thinks of it as the kind of cookie Godzilla might eat after an entree of human flesh. My reasonable mind thinks, "WTF is your deal, man?" Nevertheless, Round 2 of the epic duke-out goes to me. I ate the chocolate chip "treat" first - before sandwich or chips. I enjoyed its texture and taste (chocolate chip cookies were a favorite of mine in a past, less complicated life) but pretty well forgot about it once I moved on to the main event. That's right: Neither of us - my sugary opponent nor me - holds a title belt. No championships hang in the balance. We swapped our pugilistic licks before all your guests arrived for the marquis match, the one you dropped $59.99 to see. Our promoters still work nights at Publix; our trainers still bum cigarettes from the mothers with whom they live.

But, we're making our way up. I believe I am, at least.

The Saturday Evening Almost Post

I planned to post something yesterday. It had been a couple of days since the last dispatch, plus my mother was asking about the www.silence. I have a lot to talk about in general, but little to suggest where to start. So, yesterday I began to write about Jungian sand tray therapy, which is a little bizarre, sometimes off-putting (I broke down during one follow-on group interpretation...big, embarrassing tears), but kind of neat, too. I could have also written about how I became an unpaid (paying, with insurance help) music therapist. Or, I might have just written a little about the program's schedule, which even now I'm a bit sketchy on. Another topic fresh in mind was Thursday's attempt to down a milkshake without any ra-ra-ra group support (finished around 3/4 of a pretty large cup). These are all things I may eventually discuss.

But, I posted nothing.

Instead, I spent the better part of Saturday afternoon and evening searching the web for an answer to one of those grand, cosmic, philosophical, humanity-in-the-balance types of questions:

What kind of milk does Starbucks use as a standard in its Frappuccinos?

My daily meal plan includes four supplements, which can be any combination of Ensure Plus/Boost Plus (or generics), Cliff-type bars, and "fun" foods, as the nutritionist calls them. Fun foods include cookies, muffins, cake, pie, ice cream, milkshakes, etc. The supplements provide "energy" in addition to what I get from the balanced meal plan. The plan is more structured and manageable than "Eat, Eat, Eat! Gain, Gain, Gain!" But, I'm quite aware of the broader goal and its fight song. (I'm actually sipping an Ensure Plus as I write this - Supplement #2 for the day.)

Yesterday, I decided to have a Caramel Frappuccino (not a Caramel-Lite) at Starbucks, but not before going to their website and looking at the nutritional info. I would count it as one of my supplements for the day, but I wanted to ensure (no pun) that it was within the caloric range of the other supplements I've been consuming (nevermind any caffeine cancellations). The website confirmed that it was, and I assumed that, since the milk selection defaulted to 2%, 2% milk must be the Starbucks standard if you don't request something else. I couldn't remember what milk we used when I worked in a Starbucks-affiliated Barnes and Noble Cafe years ago. But it didn't matter, since the Starbucks website defaulted to 2%. Right?

If only I could have stopped there. I actually did stop long enough to order and drink a Caramel Frappuccino, which automatically came with whipped cream drizzled with caramel sauce (not considered earlier). I drank the entire drink except for what whipped cream/caramel sauce I could keep from mingling with the base below. Afterwards, I went back to the Starbucks website (they love repeat visitors) to see what whipped cream/caramel sauce might do to a man's supplement. Turns out - quite a lot, but, even so, I was still only 40-50 calories ("energy") over what I would have gotten from an Ensure Plus. By no means an End-of-Times issue, even for a recovering anorexic. Yet, I began to question whether 2% milk is the Starbucks standard. There were, after all, other choices  in the drop-down menu on the website, and I remembered seeing loud ads encouraging Frappuccino "customization." So, I nosed around the site a bit to see if it mentioned a standard type of milk. I had no luck finding a definitive answer, even after several site searches and a close-reading of the drink FAQs.

What to do? Google, naturally. I spent a lot of time with this, only to turn up some statements confirming 2% milk and others declaring whole to be the standard Frappuccino ingredient. I won't list my specific sources, most of which I don't even remember, but they included several forums, question-answering websites, press releases, news articles, etc. Why didn't I just call the local Starbucks? (Seriously, if you know, please get in touch.)

Suffice it to say that I did not get a chance to do anything worth really doing in Birmingham last night. Suffice it further to say that I haven't done much worth doing over the last 5, 6, 7 years. I lose count. This makes me a bit sad.

But, treatment is changing this, just at a pace that makes it hard to tell. As with the condition itself, it might be futile for me to attempt explanation, so  I won't. I'm getting better - believe it or don't.

How did you spend your Saturday night? Doing something worthwhile, I hope. Do tell. I want gritty details, people.

Silly Smoothie Pictures

I took these Tuesday afternoon because:

1. Why not?
2. I wanted proof to show the treatment team, group members, and others that I drank a smoothie (chocolate/banana) - a small thing for most but a significant stride for me. 
3. I could think of little better to do. 
4. I had a smoothie and a camera at the same time. Only fools squander the gifts of the Fates.  

The official documentation.



The first sip. On another note: Should I get those moles checked out?

Yay. Smoothie.

Uh-oh. Look who's drinking a smoothie.

Really becoming aware of the camera now. This will not end well.

Pssst...over here...behind the smoothie.

Smoothie. What fun.

Hard to tell, but that guy is either some sort of Catholic monk or the drummer for a Neo-Medieval metal band.

Nearly finished and fascinated by the Starbucks Siren. Reminded of Odysseus' encounter during his decade-long trip home following the Trojan War. My return home should come sooner than that.



No smoothie experience is complete without the brain freeze.


So, that's that. The smoothie was tasty and I didn't freak out. Next step? Whipped cream? Do I dare?

Peace.

Cloudy with Slight Chance of McFlurries

After last Wednesday's cookie episode (a kind of anorexic Episode I: The Phantom Menace), I decided that I would make up for it by drinking a milkshake or something similar on Thursday. When I mentioned that as one of my goals for the day during Thursday's Goals Group, the therapist and group members suggested a McFlurry from McDonald's. A McFlurry is essentially a thicker milkshake, I guess, and I didn't feel like arguing. I did, however, argue with myself throughout the day. I began to modify the goal to include the possibility of getting a smoothie instead of the more "dangerous" milkshake or McFlurry I had committed to. The therapist called me on it - she let me know that a smoothie was a safer option and helped me to realize that I was again talking myself out of taking a risk based on an extreme, perhaps unjustified, fear.

So, I ate an Oreo McFlurry. But I had generous backup. Knowing that I was anxious about it, the whole group (which is small right now) accompanied me to the Golden Arches during snack-time so that I could order my fear and eat it, too - with others enjoying desserts of their own. It was blown a bit out of proportion, as much by me as anyone, but I finished the McFlurry and enjoyed it at the time. I was thankful for the moral support the group provided, but my eating disorder wasn't as appreciative. So, later that evening I did some exercise - which is prohibited for me, or, at least, against recommendations. It wasn't too intense, but, still, the treatment team recommends that I refrain from any exercise besides yoga until I've put on enough weight to support greater physical activity without burning excessive calories and shedding hard-won pounds.

On one level, I think the McFlurry was a success. I ate it, which was my goal for the day. But, all the same, I subsequently engaged in "behaviors," as we call them here.

Either way, I've still some work to do...

On Feeling Like a Bit of a Slacker and Playing Eating Disorder Jenga

When you say, "I'm going to do a blog," or make similar claims, you sort of have to do it. At least, I feel obligated to follow through, even if that obligation is created and defined by me. No one told me I have to do this, nor has anyone vowed to hold me accountable. My obligation is just part of the too-hard-on-myself, perfectionistic nature of my personality and a key component of my eating disorder.

Which brings me to yesterday's game of Eating Disorder Jenga. Sometimes we experiment with therapy that seems a bit childish - like playing board and party games, or making hula hoops and then using them as intended (though, for me, even hula hooping is banned - exercise). But "childishness" and "play" are important parts of a lived life. Maybe even the best parts.

Eating Disorder Jenga is a variation on the popular party game that requires players to delicately remove one of the wooden blocks in a tower of stacked blocks, with each block numbered to correspond to a question about eating disorders. The player then provides an answer to the question. For example, "What are three of your eating disorder triggers, and what are some ways that you cope with them." The idea is to understand - more objectively - your condition and its associated behaviors as something distinct from you - the Hyde to your Jekyll. Perspective, you know.

I noticed that I always looked first at the most precarious blocks to pull from the leaning tower. For some reason, I wanted to pull off the grandest feat by pulling out the blocks most likely to bring the tower down. Why is this? Because I set unrealistic expectations, am often much harder on myself than on anyone else, and am prone to perfectionistic thinking. So, Eating Disorder Jenga, childish though it may be, did what it was supposed to do. It made me ever-more aware of this character flaw. It made me more aware that all character is flawed. Which sounds negative, but might actually be freeing.

More to come. I will fulfill my self-obligations!