Sitting with the Emotions

When 9:30 rolled around this morning, I found myself sitting in LA's office for my regular weekly appointment with tears rolling down my face. What a way to kick off the new week.

I was relieved to be seeing LA this morning. In all honesty, it wouldn't have mattered which member of the team it was: Dr. K, LA, or Dr. Joe- whichever one saw me first would have been faced with the waterworks. Lucky LA intercepted the emotional mess that is Me.

On paper, the weekend was not a bad one. The Mr. had been out of town visiting his best friend in New York City, but I ran with the group and once on my own, I went to a bonfire with friends from the running community, and saw a movie with my neighbor. I ate according to my meal plan and stuck with all "safe" foods to resist the urge to exercise for hours or stick a finger down my throat (sorry- graphic...but true).

In between those activities, however, I was in bed under the covers. There was the laughing, carefree, talkative version of Me who showed up at the social engagements. Then there was the exhausted, depressed version of Me who had, at times, become one with the sheets. I had, basically, forced myself to interact with others in an effort to 1. get my runs in (can't miss those...obviously), and 2. keep me from staying in bed for 72 hours straight without so much as a shower.

It has officially hit me...The Great Depression. The Big D. Or as LA called it this morning: The Blackness in the Middle of the Mountain.

LA- not a therapist, but a nutritionist, mind you- explained it this way (hang on for the ride...it's a little out there, but I listened anyhow):

The Blackness in the Middle of the Mountain (aka My Great Depression According to LA):

In the worst moments of my eating disorder, I had been running through a flat desert. Sure, the conditions were brutal, as I was restricting, starving, purging, overexercising, but in my mind, it was a still a great race. Suddenly I came to a mountain. There was no road going around it. There was no way to climb it (no climbing gear...I was running remember...). A group of people (she refers to herself, Mama K., Dr. K, Dr. Joe) showed up, gave me a spoon, and told me to start chipping away at the mountain to get through it. At first, I looked at them like they were crazy, not fully committed to their insane idea of chipping away at something so large with a spoon. But I started the process nevertheless, and, inch by inch, cut into the side of the mountain.

Now, according to LA, I've finally committed to using the spoon. As crazy as it sounded at first, I'm making progress using what they gave me. And now, I've come to an interesting place: the middle of the mountain, where it is dark and black and cold. In too far to go backwards, but not in far enough to see light at the other side.

So we keep chipping, even in the blackness when I can't see a thing.

In LA's words: "You're eating again. You're not focusing as much on food. That leaves you just sitting with the emotions."

Today, I left work early (rare for me- to say I have a strong work ethic is a grave understatement) because I'm in that darkness. I needed one more day in bed, to give into the exhaustion and emotions that are sucking the life out of me. I'm starting to leave anorexia behind, outside the cave. But, as LA pointed out, I'm left sitting with the emotions as I continue to chip away at that giant mountain in my way.

There is a line in Nichole Johns'  "Purge: Rehab Diaries" that perfectly illustrates the link between control over food and emotional despair, self-hatred, and pain. She writes: "Only seventeen more pounds until I was officially underweight, and underweight was my ultimate goal because then I could start over- my body reduced to its bare essentials, and everything would be ok" (pg. 67).

I hate to admit that I felt the same way, especially when I was gripped tightly by my eating disorder and the self-hatred that goes along with it- get rid of it all. Then, I could start over and rebuild.

Today, I told LA and a supportive friend or two that I feel broken. Not sure who I am anymore, or who I will be when I come out on the other side of that mountain. I know now that I am no longer the girl who purges everything that goes into her body, or starves herself to skin and bones. I am no longer the girl who feels faint when standing for longer than five minutes or attempts to function with an astronomical calorie deficit each and every day. That girl, for the most part, is gone.

At the same time, I'm not entirely sure who I will be once I get to the other side of the mountain. But what I do know is that getting through a mountain using a spoon is a hell of an accomplishment, so I hope I am able to appreciate it when I get there.

So here I sit, back in bed with my emotions. It's been a rough day (who am I kidding- rough week), but LA is right. There is a point in the middle of a mountain where darkness is all around, and I am in it right now. It's making it hard to get out of bed, to concentrate on work, and to live the happy life I once knew (but also know I will one day get back). But it's a place I need to pass through, no matter how painful the process.

I'm always thankful to those who help me and support me. But today, I am especially grateful for LA for so eloquently explaining to me my own emotions.

For now, back to the darkness and under the covers. Giving in tonight, but I'll be picking up the spoon again tomorrow.