I Regret Everything

As most of you readers know, I’ve been struggling with a spectrum of eating disorders since an early age. I exhibited signs and symptoms of behavior from around 6, and actively began restricting knowing full-well what I was doing at age 11.

I’ve been in and out of treatment centers, inpatient, and have seen so many therapists and psychiatrists it’s a wonder I even think there’s hope for me at all. Especially on top of my many other ailments (both mental and physical).

Last September I started seeing an eating disorder therapist. In December she referred me to a psychiatrist. This has been my care team.

Today was the first time Matt came with me to a therapy appointment. I’m desperately trying to remember everything that I said.

For those of you who may not be aware, eating disorders are at least 95% lying and keeping secrets, avoiding the truth, over-justification, and investment in our own secret “safe” world inside our eating disorders. Some of us are more enmeshed in our secret eating disorder worlds than others. It’s to the point, after decades, that I literally do not know what’s my personality coming out or if it’s my eating disorder talking. About almost anything? I can make any life situation about how fat I am etc. And I always could! Not just since I’ve gained all this weight. All this fucking weight. How did I gain so much weight? “RECOVERY?!” You fat fucking joke.

I’m getting off track.

Today I spilled some secrets. Just last time I admitted to a friend that I’m not ready to give up my disorder. I don’t want to recover. I want to lose weight. Now that my eating disorder has swung from undereating and purging to overeating and purging it seems so hopeless.

My therapist tries to assure me that it’s a common swing, and actually confided in me that this means I never actually recovered when I thought I did. The disordered thoughts and thought patterns along with behaviors and mindsets followed me all this time and manifested itself differently over the years. So that’s real comforting, as you can imagine.

So what secrets did I spill? Big ones. My secret dinners. That when I joke around about food or “I went to the gym last week I deserve a treat” seemingly off-the-cuff jokes are really just me being good at making things normal and ok in appearance for what I think are others’ benefit.

I’ve talked about that wanting things to be normal before, too. In another post I qualified it with “I don’t want to be a drama queen” around friends, and I want to be seen as normal. Not broken. But…. I think I knew which side is showing its prevalence recently. Stupid fucking fatass piece of garbage.

Oops lost my train of thought.

I don’t want to let go of my secrets. Because once I start undereating full time again (restriction is easy until I feel pressured (mostly by my own self) to act normal or fun about food) then I’ll desperately need these secrets back.

They’re usually the cliche “I already ate” or “I don’t feel well” or “I didn’t even go to the gym today I can’t have toast” you get the gist.

Eating disorders are fucking impossible and I feel horrible. The worst part? “You don’t have an eating disorder. You’re just weak.” Not just from my own brain, but this happens in others’ minds as well. I know it does, because I read it online when I see mentions of Binge-Eating Disorder.

I think now I’m just ranting? I feel so lost. If eating disorders are part of my personality then I’m almost okay with it staying. I like to think I’m pretty down to earth and easy to hang out with. I’m empathetic and my-own-brand-of fun. I’m hardcore but nice? I don’t know I don’t know. Just like the anger. That’s me too.

My therapist called me defensive and I said “NO I’M NOT” as a joke, but…

This has become almost incoherent.

Happy Monday.

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I’m On Top Of The World

Everything is going great. I’m exhausted, but so? Down one-point-four. I’m clean, I’m ready to go to work, and I’m pouring my soymilk into the glass thirty-five when suddenly I’m reminded externally that I’m an inconsiderate low-life incapable of common decency. I pour my breakfast down the drain negative thirty-five and spin the cap on the carton for 5 minutes staring at the sink and wow look how normal and well-adjusted I am.

All of the Inadequacy

From the start, I was destined to be independent. I always went off my own in the store, always used my allowance to buy things and learned money management early. I was obsessed with wallets, purses, organizers, and the things important people used them for. (All those company credit cards and appointments!) I wanted to wear my hair down in a convertible with shades on and drive to my important job, have lunch with other important people, and send important emails all day. Of course I’d also be wearing a pencil skirt or its equivalent, and workout every morning then cook healthy meals for my family every night.

Did I want to be a lawyer? A doctor? A pharmacist will do. No, not just a pharmacist at the local drugstore. Maybe I wanted to be a pharmacologist, study pharmacokinetics, or toxicology. Do something that took time, patience, and super important chemistry skills. The problem was that I still wanted to play viola. I was already best in my class, I might as well do something with it. Problem solved! Audition for the local symphony (no way would I stay in Omaha. I have far more important places to go) and participate in all the ground breaking performances. What about singing? I loved singing and everyone told me I was good at it. Done. Be music director at my eventual church (yet another symbol of having my shit together).

Now that life has killed my dreams (overly dramatic?) I’ve decided I want to be a stay-at-home cat lady. I’ll still have a job, but it will be a safe job I can do from my house completely eliminating the need to deal with people outside. I’ll have internet access to perform my job, and communication lines to talk to (relatively) important people. I want to be a pharmacist/pharmacologist/toxiologist so, so badly. However, that would require a lot of money/applying for things, leaving my house a LOT, and having a real life career with all these real life responsibilities that would just be way too much to handle.

I think I’ve accepted all of this. My current career path as a work-from-home is promising enough, and it’ll get me to a very stable point in my midlife years. I just wish I could ever be as important and independent as I wanted to be. Blame it on the agoraphobia.

I really wanted to go further with this post, but my brain-thoughts-hands system is under construction. Just insert thoughts of failure regarding college degrees here.