A Little Late to the Party

Yesterday, two incidents sent me into a bit of an eating disordered frenzy. I woke up this morning ready to let them go and face a new day, but they are most certainly carrying over into today despite my best efforts to just let them go...

While these two incidents may seem like nothing to an outsider (normal people), both are Big Deals (note the capitalization) when you're trying to train your brain to shut the hell up about all things food/eating/body related. Unfortunately for me, two Big Deals hit in one day...the first was totally out of my control. The second, well, was sort of my fault.

Incident #1: The Realization Your "Sick Size" No Longer Fits

Yesterday morning, I went for my favorite pair of work pants (Express Editor pants...have been wearing them for years, I have gone through literally hundreds of them in the last decade), only to realize the smallest size was a bit...snug. They still "fit". They were just no longer "roomy".

I have mentioned in other posts that while I have absolutely no idea what my "real" body looks like, I have been forced to believe that I must be rather skinny (so they tell me). I am socially aware enough to recognize that a skinny girl bitching about her size is a little off-putting to most people. Therefore, the trauma this incident invoked was only shared with a few trusted individuals. In a moment of panic, I texted Mama K, LA, and a few close friends who would "get" the profound seriousness of the eating disorder crisis at hand (which to most people does not qualify as anywhere near a crisis).

Here are some of the responses I received:

• "You're really upset about this?! You got to that size by PUKING. Look how f-ed up your body has become because of it!! Now you're just makin' me mad...Ok, ok, CALM DOWN. My true mother bitchiness is coming out." (Yep...guess who fired off that response!)
• "That is ok. You are getting your health back and that trumps everything." (Ok, a little more supportive and mothering on that one).
• "Strong is the new skinny!" (These responses are so indicative of the senders' personalities...wow).
• "WTF? That doesn't even make sense..." (It makes perfect sense...these crazy people are trying to make me fat!)

Incident #2: Finding Out You Weigh Way More Than You Think

After inwardly cursing LA for making me eat and shoving the latest version of my ever-changing body into those damn work pants, I found myself driving to GI Guy's office. You may be thinking "Oh! GI Guy! We haven't heard his name in a little while...thought that was all taken care of!". And you would be wrong. More consults, more tests, gallbladder removal surgery still looming on the horizon. Thanks to my host of eating disorder-related gastrointestinal issues, GI Guy is still in the picture.

At Dr. K's office (which I frequent regularly since she is part of my original ED Recovery Posse), the medical assistants know to weigh me blindly. Therefore, I have been blissfully unaware of my weight for over two months now. It truly has not bothered me to not know the number, as I tend to use the way I "feel" to gage whether or not I'm "packing on the pounds" (which I have been assured is not happening).

In a split second yesterday, I decided I could handle the truth. I suddenly desperately wanted to know the number, and convinced myself I would be okay with whatever it was. With false bravado, I stepped onto the scale and watched the number appear. For a moment I was calm and at peace. I thanked the medical assistant, who left me in the room to wait for GI Guy.

Then, of course, I started to obsess. The number was seven pounds higher than what I had convinced myself I weighed, and two pounds over the recommendation Dr. K had provided in the very beginning. It was about seventeen pounds over my weight upon discharge from the hospital during the summer.

When I told several people (only within a very, very close circle) the number, they all reacted in the exact same way: big, giant smiles spread across their faces. They could not contain the the sheer joy produced by  me packing on the pounds. I know I should interpret this as a sign of love and caring. But their pride does not replace the fact that I still wanted to strangle them all for being so giddy about something that feels like the end of the world to me. Ah, how I love these classic eating disorder recovery moments.



I tried to remain calm in light of these realizations and just do what I am supposed to do: eat according to the plan, do my work at the office, teach my normal class at the gym, do my typical Tuesday workout and nothing more. I tried to implement Dr. Joe's "relax!" mentality, shut my office door a few times, and regroup. I did everything I could to push the eating disorder voice out of my head. But the truth is, the realization that I am gaining weight (no matter how healthy it is) and going up a size still haunted me all day. The result was a psychological tennis match in my head, during which all of the messages from my treatment team got jumbled and mashed together with the overpowering eating disorder thoughts. The result was a little something like this:

"You're getting fat, just like they want you to. It's distorted, you're not really fat. The scale doesn't lie, you weigh a ton. Just stay at the gym longer to run after your cycling class. Tell the ED voice to shut up. Find a coping skill. Distract. Distract? We could distract by working out more...let's go run! You are getting healthy. Size doesn't matter. You are hungry. Just eat. Eat and then purge. LA will never know if you skip dinner or purge. But you can't lie to her. These people are there to help you. You can't let them down. Pretty soon you will realize you have gained 50 pounds. You need to reign in this weight gain before it gets out of control. You are letting the weight  gain get ahead of you. You promised yourself you would put weight on if it went on the "right" way. Time to lift more and tone up. It's going on as flab. You look lazy. Your self-worth is more than a number. No one will want you to train them if you are fat. Your stomach is already messed up. Just lose two of the pounds. Purge what you ate today and then restrict for a few days. No one will notice...."

By 9:00, I was completely exhausted from it all, and sent a pretty desperate text to LA alerting her to the fact that I would either 1. not be eating dinner, or 2. be throwing dinner up.

I ended up eating a light dinner. It took about 30 minutes, and I didn't taste a thing. Then, I went to bed.

That brings me to this morning. I did not want to get out of bed.

"Everyone can tell you are getting fat."
"Your clothes look like crap on you."
"You've lost control."
"Too many indulgences. Time to get back on track."
"How can you possibly go into work looking like this?!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Make it stop!

I had a whiney, childlike moment this morning during which I told The Mr. I hate that people are getting such satisfaction from my weight gain (even though my wise mind tells me I should be thrilled about this too...I'm getting healthy! Yay!). He said he highly doubts that LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K are all high-fiving and popping champagne behind closed doors, relishing in the fact that another anorexic has blown up like a balloon.

He's right. Perhaps they are, actually, sipping champagne together somewhere. But it's not because I've put on a few pounds; it's because I'm becoming healthy again. It's a success. Deep down I know that it is.

But I still am angry about it.

Go ahead. Smirk. I know you all are just as excited as everyone else about the fact that I am no longer emaciated. I'll join the party too, as I know it's where I should be. Save a glass of champagne for me. I may just be a few minutes late to the celebration, but I'm coming. Just let me sulk for a bit and mourn the loss of my former body, the one I felt I worked very, very hard for (regardless of the methods).