I am resigned to the fact that my anorexia isn't going to go away anytime soon

I am resigned to the fact that my anorexia isn’t going to go away anytime soon.  Or should I say I am resigned to the fact that my anorexia most likely won’t ever go away.  Or mostly, I realized today the fear I have in my heart that my anorexia will kill me.  And although this emotion, which I’ve felt before in various forms, hasn’t always been sadness, I have felt sad all day.

Walking Puzzle is generally a joyful activity for me.  I can feel incredibly high while I’m in synch with my dog and we’re zooming down the sidewalks at top speed every morning and evening.  I get out before the dreaded vertigo starts, before the drudge of the day begins.  The vertigo wears off in the afternoon, and is gone by her afternoon walk, but I’m often not up to snuff for that walk.  It depends.  But the mornings are awesome.

This morning, however, was different.  I was listening to Evanescence.  This was not the best music to have on, it turned out, because it was what I listened to at the time that I was raped in 2008.  Whether I wanted it or not, I was brought back to this time, the time that the germ of my relapse was implanted into me, if you will, and life was never the same after that–I was dirty, contaminated, damaged goods.

I thought of my character in my novel, I am So Cold, and Hungry in My Soul, May, who tosses out her clothing after she is raped.  I did the same damned thing.  I scrubbed myself over and over in the shower to cleanse myself of the horror of the deed.

So I was thinking these things, walking Puzzle, just getting sadder and sadder about my life, while Aimee Lee sang the songs, “Lithium,” and “Lacrymosa.”  The music pushes and pulls against itself and twists and turns.  Her voice is full of turmoil.

You couldn’t say what I felt was turmoil this morning.  Just sadness, a deepening feeling that my life isn’t going to go on the way it would if I didn’t have anorexia, that I am already past the edge, and I am falling, falling into an abyss that I can’t get out of.  I see all the Fourth of July celebration around me and this makes me feel even sadder.

Last year, I walked past barbecues and drooled because I was so starved.  I am starved this July as well.  Now, though, I think the smell of burgers would make me gag.  I haven’t smelled any, though.  Guess I instinctively avoid big yards with  grills and picnic tables and toys and coolers full of beer of all types, and bags of chips, bags of corn-0n-the-cob, bags of burger patties, hot dogs, paper plates, cups, punch, coke, burger rolls, pickles, ketchup, mustard, spatula and tongs, and charcoal and lighter fluid.  Guess it’s any trace of family, friends, and celebration that I avoid.  Or should I say, someone else’s family, friends, and celebration.  I don’t want to see it, smell it, or taste it.

Yesterday, I went to a Staples store and shopped up a storm.  I put it all on my credit card.  I had coupons and a Staples card.  I carried it all home in my rolling backpack.  I bought mechanical pencils, two little boxes to keep things in, a three-ring binder, a little notepad, ink for my printer, a pencil box, a box nicely shaped for knitting needles, wipes for the computer monitor, and a box for 4×6 note cards.  I stopped at Petco for necessary dog toothpaste, three tubes of it, and three toothbrushes for Puzzle.  I bought a bunch of produce.  And this morning, after Puzzle’s walk, I was at it again, online, at Staples.com.  I went to CVS this afternoon and got two bottles of mouthwash, two thingies of soap, and dental floss.  I’m all set for financial ruin.

It was a comfort to me to have these little things.  To be a hunger-gatherer in this big, scary world.  Yesterday when I came home from my big shopping spree, I went on another spree: I cooked.  I cooked a zillion things that I didn’t eat.  I put things in tiny containers and labeled each container.  I think I spent three hours doing this.  Afterward, my apartment smelled of onion and peppers.  Everything I cooked was made only of vegetables.  When I chopped and stir-fried the onions, I cried.

As time goes on, I am becoming so organized, so compartmentalized.  I write down everything that I’m going to do for the day, and then I do it.  I write these things on a spreadsheet.  I write down everything I eat.  After the day is over, I print out the spreadsheet.  I write down how well I starved myself.  Of course, there’s a special place on the spreadsheet where I write my weight.  I thought about this, and I thought about the boxes I bought, and I thought about the databank watch I’ve owned for years, and I thought about the pop-up reminders I’ve set up on my computer for everything, and the labels in my refrigerator, everything organized, the post-its telling me exactly what to do, the way I get upset if I don’t follow my routine perfectly, how I eat what “normals” wouldn’t call meals but I do at the same time every day….This is getting damned scary.

Who am I becoming?  I think about my anorexia all the time.  I think about it from the moment I get up until the moment I go to sleep.  I thought about it the entire time I was walking to CVS today, and during the time I was shopping at CVS, and for the entire walk home.  I think of it while talking to people.  I even think about it during my joyful walks with Puzzle.  It never, ever leaves me alone.

I don’t remember this happening in all the years that I have had this illness.  I remember forgetting about it and thinking about my studies. I remember, even during this relapse, thinking about my thesis.  Now, I am lost, buried in it, and I can’t get out.

I am afraid that I will blurt it out.  I was afraid that I would tell the pharmacy person, while paying for my prescription today, “I am anorexic.”  I was afraid that I would lose control and say this.  I held my lips tightly shut.

When I see my T on Wednesday, I will tell her about this writing.  Maybe I will read some of it to her (not all of it–or should I say I won’t read the majority of it).  I will tell her that I am going to die of this disease and that I may not make it to my next birthday.  Of course I don’t know this.  No one knows.  But it is her job to disagree with me.  It is her job to not let me die or resign myself to dying.  It is her job to help me find the will to live.  It is her job to help me find a way out.  I wish she wasn’t going to bother trying, though.  It isn’t worth it.  I am too far gone.

So I will see her  Wednesday, and tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and the next day is the fifth, and then Wednesday.  It seems far off because she’s been on vacation.  She’s been on vacation and I have lost weight.  Guess when the cat’s away, the mouse will play.  On a treadmill going nowhere.

I have taught myself continental knitting…at last…no more need for the "Julie method"….

I don’t know what happened.  I’ve been wanting to learn Continental knitting for a while now.  Suddenly, I can do it!  I’ve been using the “Julie method,” which I invented, for years, because I knew no other way.  The “Julie method” is slow, but I make very few if any errors.  Like Continental, I hold the yarn in my left hand.

About an hour ago, my hands started doing Continental knitting.  Just like that.   I’ve been trying to do this for years.  Right now, I’m working on the ribbing for a hat.  So I’m doing K1P1 in Continental.  I’m using two strands of yarn at the same time.  You’d think this would be really, really challenging for a beginning knitter in Continental.  It is.  But I’m doing it.

I have never been able to do the “conventional” method of knitting that is done in the US, called the “British” or “English” method, I forget which.  It is also called “throwing.”  For this method, you hold the yarn in your right hand.  To me, that seems…well, backwards!  People watch me knit and go cross-eyed.

People look at me cross-eyed, anyway.  I know I look like a freak, zooming around Watertown with Puzzle, who herself looks like a freak right now with her scraggly fur (she needs a groom).  I am just a crazy skinny girl walking a little scruffy white dog a mile a minute around town, blasting the headphones, paying attention to no one (including traffic).  Sometimes, she and the dog wear matching knitted outfits.  Crazy.  You wonder what she is laughing about.  You wonder what she is talking to herself about.  You wonder why tears are in her eyes.  But she keeps on zooming with that crazy dog, that happy little dog, telling her not to pee on the flowers, but that darned dog pees on them anyway, just like a boy dog.

Yep, that crazy girl has a secret today.  Wow.  Wow wow wow.  She can do CONTINENTAL KNITTING.  What a treat.

Update: News About Me

Last night I cut my dose of Trilptal in half, from 300 mgs each night to 150.  My doctor still doesn’t know that I cut it from 600 to 300 in March.  I cut it down further because of the return of the “swaying” a few days ago.  I plan to get off Trileptal in a few days, or maybe week.  I don’t see any point in taking 150 mgs, because that I know of, it is not a therapeutic dose.  I could be wrong about this.  Don’t take my word for it.  I feel okay about this because I am also on two other anticonvulsants, Lamictal and Topamax.  I take all these three medications for mood stabilization.  They also help me with bingeing (that is, an eating binge).  I found that the Trileptal lost its anti-binge properties after maybe six weeks after I started taking it, though initially it was quite effective.  Mood stabilizers are the only medication that help me with bingeing.

Right now, I am working on not bingeing by behavior techniques, and my special friend Frank has been very supportive and helpful to me.  We have hopes that I can stop bingeing, at least for a long, long time.  After I have not binged for 21 days, we are going to have a binge party!  We are going to binge together–on nothing!  We are so excited about this celebration!  Of course, I have no clue as to whether I will be able to do 21 days, so we are taking it one day at a time.  I am celebrating x days today.  This morning, I am listening to a Daughtry CD that I borrowed from the library, and celebrating.  I have never heard Daughtry before, because I don’t listen to the radio, but I understand he’s quite popular these days.

I will probably not keep you posted on my progress.  It will be too embarrassing if I screw up.

Today I will meet my case manager from the Department of Mental Health for the first time.  This will be mainly yet another intake meeting–the third.  We are meeting with the director at my home.

After that, I am seeing an orthopedist about my knee.  It is time.  It’s been three weeks now that I have not been able to walk 1) without pain, and 2) without a mobility aid (crutches or cane).  Frequently, I have pain even when I am off my feet.  I have spent little time outside my home.  I have been miserable because of this injury.  I can no longer do this alone.  I need specialized, professional help with it.  I got an appointment very quickly.

As to my anorexia…I am still restricting…eating mostly vegetables….My weight is dropping…again….

I still have edema and I hate it.  But it is lessening.  Today I said to myself, “Fuck it.  It is going to be hot out. I’m wearing shorts.”

I have developed these incredible upper body muscles from using crutches.  Forgive me for boasting, but last time I was at the gym, I was nearly able to lift my entire body off the floor using the triceps pull.  My muscles are larger now (muscles really show when you are very skinny) and I am absolutely positive that I can lift myself off the floor entirely now.  Next time, I’ll give it a try when nobody’s looking.  Of course, I’ll take the pin out of the resistance thingy after I’m done!

I still get vertigo. I get it about 75% of the time–that is, I get it ten minutes after the first morsel of food I put in my mouth in the morning, and it lasts for several hours, 75% of days.  There seems to be no pattern.  On Sunday, it lasted all day.  I swear I am not making this up.  I know it comes from my anorexia.

I have been keeping Microsoft Excel charts of my food.  I have been doing this obsessively.  I spend hours at it.  I print them out at the end of the day.  These are secret charts that I plan on showing no one.  I think the only good thing about it is that I am learning Excel!  More on this later.  I intend on writing an entire entry discussing these charts.

Okay, enough.  Have a nice day.

My running is improving

I ran five miles again today.  It wasn’t hard.  It very well may have been 5.25.  When I got to three laps, there was a possibility that it may only have been two, so I added a lap at the end, making the total 21, or possibly 20, depending.

Life is good.  The weather is fabulous.

I am getting stronger.
I can run faster.
I can run farther.
My weight is improving.
My eating is improving.
I am taking better care of myself.
I have a life filled with love and goodness.
I look to the future with hope in my eyes, and joy in my heart.

Frank and I will have our cupcake party soon.  And celebrate.  I have a lot to be thankful for.

Happy Easter

Party!

Frank and I are having a party.  We are having cupcakes.  He is baking his chocolate cupcakes from a mix at his place on Maui, and I am buying a chocolate cupcake from Kick Ass Cupcakes in Davis Square, Somerville, MA. I will bring the cupcake home, and then we will eat our cupcakes together at our respective homes.

Frank has always wanted me to eat chocolate cake when I celebrate something.  He had suggested it for my birthday, but that didn’t happen.  I was in McLean Hospital on my birthday this past January.  My birthday sucked.  Even the staff at McLean forgot to get me a cake.  Not that I would have eaten any.  Actually, when they finally remembered the cake, days later…nope…I didn’t eat any.  And no, it wasn’t chocolate, not that that would have made a difference.  I have spent a number of birthdays in hospitals.

But now, we are celebrating something new and special: Frank is legally changing his name.  He is keeping Frank and changing his middle and last names.  The name change should go through very soon, and when it does, we will have the name-change cupcake party.

It is also the beginning of spring, of rebirth.  Snow is melting, and in case you were wondering: yes, it does snow in Hawaii.  Even though it hasn’t dipped under freezing very much lately, we still have a huge pile of snow back in the patio where I can see it from my living room window.  What a view.  It will take till mid-May to melt it all.  But now, the time of the name-change, can be the starting point of this melting.

It is the time to welcome in a new, fresh way of seeing the world, to cast off old ways, and to step into the sun.  It is the time to be strong and healthy.  It is the time to run like we’ve never run before, whether the wind is behind us or against us, because it is always within us.  It is the time that our age will not stop us from living our lives.  It is the time to be happy.

I am not going to worry about how many calories are in the cupcake.  I will set my eating disorder aside.  I will set aside all negativity I have around “junk food.”  There is no “junk food.”  There is good food out there.  There is food in every flavor you can imagine, some food in interesting shapes, food wrapped up in boxes, food with candles, food with funny names you can’t pronounce, food you drink or slurp, food that melts in your mouth, and food that melts everywhere and gets all over your clothes and makes you laugh.

So why should “fattening” come into the picture?  What creep invented the fact that if you eat certain foods in certain quantities, you will “gain weight” and “get fat”?  What a concept!  It is time to change the name of “Diet” to “Die.”  Let’s just kill it, okay?  Maybe we should change “Weigh In” to “No Way In.”  Because very, very soon I’m going to barge my way into Kick Ass Cupcakes and buy that chocolate cupcake and bring it home and eat it with Frank.  And we are going to have a grand celebration.