Obviously, I need to get checked out, but at what price? I don’t think Dr. K or any regular doctor can really help me to improve anything, first of all, because most of what I am experiencing has to do with my eating disorder, which seems to be running my life. You can’t snap your fingers and make it go away, and even if I were to make drastic improvements in my behavior, my body would take years to catch up, if ever.
I am scared to go to the doctor because of my weight gain. It will be a demeaning experience for sure. Of course, I will self-protect and refuse to step on the scale. I already know what I weigh. It’s not that. It’s stepping on the scale in front of a doctor that kills me. All the memories of the “weekly weight checks.” Ugh. I’m not even underweight anymore, so I don’t think she should make a particular number her immediate concern, thus treating me like a height and weight (and insurance number) instead of like a human being.
Just about everyone who doesn’t have an eating disorder has no clue. For those of you who have experienced severe depression, maybe you can relate to this feeling of being misunderstood. How many times have people told you to “snap out of it”? It’s just the same with eating disorders. I read in many places that if someone with anorexia “recovers,” it takes nine years to get your body back to fully functioning…if you’re lucky. If you’ve had anorexia for a short period you will bounce back faster, especially if you are young.
This so-called “weight recovery”….at what price? My weight falls within normal range but I am more miserable than ever. I still do horrible things to my body worse than ever, desperate to lose this weight. I think of suicide all the time. I have started to make “suicide plans” a handful of times, but I still haven’t been able to get the details worked out cuz I’m too damn tired.
It’s all about my weight 24/7. A constant battle to hide my body every time I go out. I have to wear just the right clothes to hide my pot belly. Today I had to wear “fat” jeans because the usual pair, which is probably filthy cuz I’ve worn nothing else, seems too tight. A possibility is to wear them completely unzipped and hope they don’t fall off of me. If I wear a shirt a certain way, you can’t tell I’ve got unzipped jeans underneath with a pot belly sticking out. I have done this on many occasions. I have loose dresses but I look immense in them now, just a tiny head and huge body.
I sat in church with my jeans completely unzipped and a shirt covering this up last Sunday. Actually, I walked to church with my pants unzipped. I swear people were calling out from cars, “Fat pig!” while I walked along, or, shall I say, waddled along. It was hard to focus during the service cuz all I could think about was my weight. When I went to social hour, I first went into the bathroom and zipped them up. But I couldn’t walk down the stairs at church to get to the place where they have social hour. I don’t remember why this was but I know it had to do with my weight. I walked outside, then around to the back of the church, and re-entered where the bathrooms were.
When people saw me, I guess it showed how miserable I am cuz someone told me to sit down and she got me a cup of coffee and just sat with me. I didn’t want to say much because her adolescent daughter was nearby. Even though she probably couldn’t hear the conversation, I am afraid my eating disorder will “rub off” on kids, so I was careful about what I said. On the other hand, I love seeing the kids at church cuz we treat our kids well. Most seem to have incredibly healthy self-esteem. But it breaks my heart comparing these kids to myself at that age. Another person came and we talked, and she offered me a ride home. Actually, I had been hoping to get a ride, even though it’s just a seven or so minute walk (walking fast). I was afraid to walk down the street and be seen in public yet one more time, afraid to be seen as “fat.” When this person dropped me off, she gave me her phone number, but I’m afraid to get too friendly with people at this point for risk of becoming friends and then losing that friend.
What I go through physically from day to day is miserable. I wake up with a screaming headache and aching all over like I am in the throes of the flu. Often, I have a bad headache and flu feeling all day that won’t quit. I am constantly bloated and feel full even when my stomach is empty. The pot belly makes me feel bad emotionally.
My ankles are filled with fluid from edema worse than ever. The skin is stretched and shiny and seems to be getting cracks in it from stretching too much. My ankles and calves have places on them that appear to be bruised or reddened from the stress on my skin. If I keep my shoes off for a long time, my feet appear puffed up on top. It has already caused physical pain in this area. I am lucky that I can still transport myself on foot and walk the dog.
While I sleep, and when I’m trying to wake up, I get bad cramps, or shall I say Charlie horses, in both legs. These are not the usual Charlie horses people get, but cramping up of every muscle below my knees. I have occasionally also had thigh muscles cramp. In addition to my calf muscles, every foot muscle cramps. If I try to turn my foot to relieve the cramp, my foot cramps up the opposite way. This happens maybe 50 to 75% of the time whenever I lie down to sleep.
I’m scared cuz I have very few clothes left to wear. There are some in the laundry, but I can’t go downstairs to do laundry unless no one is in the room, for fear that someone will comment on my weight, or look at me funny cuz I’ve gained so much. The one pair of jeans that I’ve worn to death I’m afraid of putting in the dryer for fear that they will shrink, so I hang them up. This means I have to wear the “fat” jeans while the one good pair is drying. I have one shirt left. I plan to wear it to church tomorrow, if I make it to church, and I hope I do. These are special shirts that are loose on me and long. Of course, I can no longer tuck things in. My entire torso spills out over my jeans, never mind that if I were to tuck in a shirt, I would look pregnant. While I am walking and the wind blows, I hold the loose shirt away from me so that it doesn’t touch my pot belly. This way, someone walking by or driving by can’t see this protruding thing. Here, breasts are to my advantage because they keep the shirt hanging away from my body. Another option is slouching so that my belly doesn’t show. A stiff shirt is better because it doesn’t blow onto my body easily, or cling to me. It has been damp out, so I don’t worry so much about static electricity causing clinging. I can’t wear a knapsack because my shirt stretches and presses against my body, showing my entire enlarged torso. Of course, I wear long sleeves, even when it’s hot. I am embarrassed that my arms seem jiggly, which is probably a misconception because they aren’t fat. I miss my skinny anorexia arms like you wouldn’t believe.
Of course, I aim to change all this. I have already lost some weight, never mind how much. Every day that I lose is a victory. I would do anything to be as skinny as I was last summer, when I looked like I came out of a concentration camp. I feel such nostalgia for those times. I want that back like you wouldn’t believe. Even if I die.
If I could be x pounds for only a day, and then die, I would trade it for my current life in an instant.