When Good Diagnoses Go Bad

Sometimes when I’m desperate that people know “I used to be skinny, I swear” I’ll often jump right into telling them how when I got my bipolar diagnosis they threw a bunch of drugs at me that made me gain a lot of weight very quickly. Also I started using a steroidal nasal spray (that no one told me not to use every day for 2 1/2 years) around the same time.

My appetite soared, I got more busy with my professional life, I got married and moved out, and suddenly I’m 60-70 (ish? timelines are hard) pounds heaver than I’ve ever been.

Even my fingers got fat. I look at my hands and I have slobby fat person hands. 10% of my clothes still fit, and I’m constantly wondering just how my thighs compare to all the other thighs. Who has the bigger thighs? Life’s biggest question. (I do. Easy answer.)

Now I’m looking at old selfies I had taken back at the weights I wish I still was wondering how the fuck I didn’t just enjoy it (because eating disorders), and I’m realizing that this recovered/fat me just isn’t sustainable.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it, and I’m going to do my best to not fall back into the super-disordered behaviors, but I’m so full of self hatred I could scream. Bipolar made me fat.

Also my school life is shit and work life is hard and personal life is 50/50 shit/hard and I just. And I just.

LESS THAN A WEEK UNTIL MY BIRTHDAY and I don’t feel festive at all. Goddamn life circumstances.


Criticizing Nostalgia

*Contains BMI-related numbers. I don’t normally make trigger warning announcements, but I also do not usually mention my own BMIs. Do with my warning what you will.*

Admonishing my reverie for my bathroom scale’s golden days. The slightest of gravitational strains. The purest state of ingesting.

I have never been truly sick. That is to say, I’ve never been “on death’s door” because of my eating disorder. I’ve only ever flirted with the idea of living dangerously. My blood tests and vertigo were terrible. My pallor profound and my eating only precise. But I always skated away when doctors and therapists started to wonder. Dodged and ducked my way into an EDNOS diagnosis and unmonitored food trays during most of my psychiatric ward stays. That’s good, right? It’s kind of bad. It’s bad-good. They didn’t even make sure I didn’t purge. *high five?!?

I’ve only ever maintained a normal or slightly under normal weight. BMI of 17, rest in peace. Now that I’m fat and old I can’t help but look back and miss it. I don’t miss the crying and the late night, long-winded workouts before I was old enough for my own gym membership. I don’t miss passing out or almost getting caught sneaking out to the gym.

That’s right. At 15ish I snuck out to go the gym. When I wasn’t secretly boozing. Ahem.

When I could see my ribs and my hipbones protruded too much to lie on my belly at night I didn’t even get to appreciate it. Even a few years back when I was BMI 21 I didn’t have a belly “pooch” wearing spandex running clothes and I could wear TANK TOPS without hating my life. TANK TOPS. And shorts. Ugh, I miss shorts.

And swimming! Haven’t swam in years. Last time was in a gym. Before that?…. I don’t even remember. Probably childhood.

Even when I met the standard for “thin” I thought I was too big for the world. But I guess that’s usually in people with a literal disease preventing them from knowing their relative size.

Did you know there’s a euphoria that can come with not eating as much as you should? No wonder eating disorders (restriction, mostly) are such a slippery slope after recovery.

None of this was supposed to mean much. I just wish I could go back in time with a decent body and/or get skinny again.


Bike Ride Around The World But Not Actually

Blogging has gotten so intimidating lately. Which is stupid. It’s not like anyone here expects quality from me. This is blog not goodly for read.

Moving on!

Growing up, my mom, stepdad and I were fairly active. I loved to rollerblade around the neighborhood. My stepdad was a hockey player (and likes sports in general) since forever, and Mom was a personal trainer so she would help me avoid injuries and taught me necessary techniques for working out in general. Like how to squat correctly, breathing tips, ways to just stay active, etc. So I was very lucky in this respect.

I also remember playing outside by myself very often growing up, and once we moved into a house with a garage and a yard I remember making obstacle courses out of ladders, making tracks for scooter/rollerblades/bike/sprints, then the skip it toy (whatever it’s called), occasionally some hopscotch…

What I’m trying to introduce here is the fact that every once in a while we would go on bike rides. I usually rode my bike around the neighborhood (which is saying something because Omaha is hills hell. Hills everywhere. So good luck biking), but Mom and sometimes my stepdad would go with me on the local bike trail in town, the Keystone trail for you Omaha natives. We lived across the street about 2 miles down from the beginning of the trail, and I remember 2 specific times when we rode, I’m not sure, maybe 6? 7? miles down the way to when I didn’t recognize buildings and street names anymore.

I was around 8 or 9 at the time, I believe.

My grandma lives further down that trail and diagonally a little, so my mom used to say we should take a day trip, pack a lunch, and go visit “Gramma” via biketrail, then have Darrin pick us and the bikes back up that evening.

We never got around to it.

Now that I no longer even own a bike -because it’s not a purchase I can currently afford to make since it’s not a necessity but it is hundreds of dollars -I’d really like to take a similar trip. Even if it’s not specifically to see my grandma, and even if I can’t get a ride back.

It’d be terrifying to go alone, but I don’t know anyone who’d be willing to go with me. Mostly because it’s kind of an difficult affair to convince someone into… what with the hardly talking, desire to ride a lot of miles, needing to own a bike, etc. Plus, I don’t know many people who bike outside of the occasional machine at the gym.

Either way, one day I’d really like to try this on the trail near where I live (Omaha is pretty good for trails. Now I’m by the start of Big Papio trail). And hopefully I can get several miles in without getting anxiety-ridden or dead. 



Recently it’s been a bit difficult to make myself talk about things in blog form at least once a week, but right now I’m a few beers in and figured I’d just go for it. Let’s start by complaining about things!

All I want to do is play tennis and read books. Why do I have to do all of this adult stuff? Why doesn’t Matt want to share just one car with me to save money when we grow up? Why do white strips make my teeth hurt so badly?

Who controls the traffic light by the gas station? Honestly sometimes I think I wait there for 3-5 minutes like, I need to go home. Why am I such an obnoxious drunk?

Why do pill bugs like my basement so much? Why does my mom always take my little vacuum and not tell me? I can’t find it. I don’t know where it is.

Why doesn’t my Marauder’s Map prop actually make sense? Why can’t I portion control? Why am I so anxious all the time? Why do people think tipping $4 on $74 is okay?

Maybe I should stop with the why’s. I have a stack of mail from the last two weeks I’m too afraid to look through. And a growling stomach begging to be stuffed with goodies and no calories left to do so today. I have homework to be done and a concert to go to in two days and sweater to buy for the dress I need to fit into. I have to unpack my overnight bag and get ready for bed and start a load of laundry and maybe journal a little about my insecurities and my frustrations and my goal weight.

I need to dust and organize and vacuum and plan how many calories a day I’m allowed to have this week to get down to where I was last week. I need to work out again because I’m anxious and I need to complain to my journal about being anxious and hate working out and I need to finish that one episode of Merlin that I never finished from that one time I forgot I had to take a test.

Have a happy Wednesday. Sorry for the rambling. See ya later.