Being a Brat Today

I think every girl working intensely with a treatment team reaches a point where she reverts back to the bratty teenage version of herself. Today, the mature, positive, pleasant version of myself did not get out of bed. But the bratty, rebellious, defiant 15-year old did. The nice thing about being in eating disorder therapy is that it is perfectly acceptable to take this version of myself to my appointments today, as it will allow LA and Dr. Joe to "explore" what is currently going on with my emotional side.

But wouldn't it be nice if it were acceptable to take this version of ourselves to work,  to meetings, to a family gatherings? Maybe it would take away some of the pressure we all feel to be "mature", "put on our happy faces", and "play nice."

Although most of us would end up in timeout and nothing productive would come of that.

I usually don't blog before my appointments, but I am, as stated earlier, feeling like a brat today. I don't know why, and I don't really care. I do not have to be the perfect patient all the time, and today I have chosen to throw a little bit of a tantrum. I'm entitled to. I've been a good girl for the last three days, and now I can be a brat if I want to be.

Hmph.

Here are some of the reasons I am feeling bratty today:

1. Dr. Joe wants me to bring my lunch to his appointment. I don't want to eat in front of him, and I won't be able to talk if I'm eating. And he is paid to get me to talk. Seems counterproductive to me.

(I still have yet to decide if I'm taking my lunch to his office, and I have to leave in about 15 minutes. This will be a last-minute decision).

2. The Mr. implied I was being a bum this morning when I just wanted to lie in bed. Um, hel-lo...last time I checked I've been working my butt off to fight off physical pain, play with plastic food, and ward off the demons that tell me not to eat dinner. It's been a rough week so far, I can lie in bed if I want to (love you, The Mr! I know he reads this blog sometimes...) :)

3. I am supposed to email Dr. Joe if/when I have to go to the ER or experience anything out of the ordinary. I followed the rules and fired off an email to him when I was leaving the ER two nights ago. In it, I told him I was scared and this seems very real right now. He never wrote back. This confirms the Voo-Doo Doll Theory I referred to yesterday. I don't want to talk to Dr. Joe today. He sucks.

4. Yesterday's assignment from LA was to go 24 hours without thinking about food. In plain speak, I was supposed to just eat what I wanted within my own house (because I know all the foods we keep are healthy and safe). I did just that. But today I am obsessing over the fact that I probably did not eat enough fruits and vegetables during that 24-hour timeframe. I think that counts as "thinking about food", so I probably just failed that challenge. Damn.

5. My dog is obnoxious and does not let me rest. I want to send him to doggie day camp for the remainder of my leave, I no longer care about the price.

6. I really, really, really want to run. I've continued to cycle, lift, and swim this week, but I'm over it. I am a runner. Runners need to run.

7. The GI specialist I am meeting with at 3:15 is probably going to have me come back for the actual scope procedure, which means I will have to fork over my $30 copay twice. I hate it when they pull that. Greedy, money-sucking assholes.

8. I miss my work friends and I hate knowing they are in the office and I am not. I'm probably not missing a damn thing, but I love them all the same and am starting to miss the day-to-day ridiculousness that is my crazy office. LA and Dr. Joe are my BFFs this week, and I'm not sure that is a healthy thing for any of us to continue...good thing there is a two-week window for this bonding time.

Please do not interpret my throwback teenage angst as a slip into negativity. Somewhere inside I remain positive about this process, know I am doing what I should be doing, and am making huge progress. I just want to be a brat today.

You can almost hear the foot stomping, door slamming, and "f##k you, I  hate you and never want to talk to you again!"'s, now can't you?

Off to share my angst with the doctors. Good thing they can take it in stride and they have no ability whatsoever to ground me. I guess they should be happy I'm not perfect all the time...isn't that what we're working on, anyhow?