Trudging On

I’m really not so good at the waiting game. When there is a crisis I want to know what to do RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW RIGHT NOW. So sitting on my hands and waiting for the immigration attorney to formulate the game plan is kind of killing me. My Canadian is in a similar funk. But where mine is more anxiety and restlessness, his tends more to the depressive sort that involves a lot of self-pity and wallowing and “I’m gonna go eat worms” hysterics. As you can imagine, listening to it does little else but increase my anxiety and restlessness. This is a bad combination.

I totally know what PhD Smiley would say right now: what about trying some deep breathing?

How about trying to remove my molars with a potato peeler? That seems like it would do about as much good! I feel like an ass for thinking that, but that’s how it is right now.

What about you? What do you do in a crisis? Are you calm and measured, or psychologically catastrophic?

Watching: Lost - Season 5
Reading: “City of Glass” by Cassandra Clare
Playing: Ratchet & Clank Future: A Crack in Time (SO beautiful….)

The Descent

Tuesday’s Group was another great session with Eating in the Light of the Moon by Anita Johnston. We went over Chapter 15, The Descent: Meeting the Shadow. Johnston describes the descent as the point a woman reaches when “she realizes that complete recovery requires a willingness to descend deep into the depths of her being, to confront all those aspects of herself that she would just as soon leave hidden in the dark.”

The story that goes along with this chapter is so lovely that I want to share it with you:

In an ancient Sumerian myth, Inanna, the Queen of Heaven and Earth, decided it was time for her to replenish her powers since she was feeling them waning. She knew that in order to do this, she needed to descend into the underworld. Her people pleaded with her not to do this for the underworld was ruled by Inanna’s vicious sister, Ereshkigal, Queen of the Great Below. It was a very dangerous place and many of those who journeyed there never returned. Inanna insisted, however, and so her closest assistant devised a plan to send help in the event that Inanna did not return in three days.

Even though Inanna was the Queen of Heaven, Ereshkigal insisted that she enter the underworld the way everyone else had to: by passing through seven gates. At each gateway she had to remove a piece of her magnificent regalia and be judged by the gatekeepers. She arrived in the kingdom of the Great Below, naked and judged by the seven gatekeepers. Ereshkigal, true to form, killed her and hung her body on a peg.

After three days had passed without Inanna’s return, her assistant set in motion a plan to rescue her. When Inanna’s parents refused to interfere with the ways of the underworld, Inanna’s assistant sought help from Enki, the god of waters and wisdom. Enki sent two little creatures, neither male nor female, both endowed with the gift of empathy, to rescue Inanna. The creatures were able to slip through the gates unnoticed, carrying the food and water of life.

When they encountered Ereshkigal, they found her mourning the recent death of her husband. The two creatures sat with her in her grief. Ereshkigal was so touched by the empathy they offered and was so grateful for it (since no one before had ever approached her with compassion), that she granted them their request for Inanna’s body. They took her body and revived her with the food and water of life and Inanna to her kingdom with her powers fully restored.

I really like this story quite a bit. The idea that in each of us, there is this underworld where we hide our shame and embarrassment and guilt; feelings of worthlessness and abandonment. I like the idea that traveling to that place and seeing and caring for that injured shadow self can, in the end, be the very key to my own….well, salvation.

Leaving the Group, our therapist moderator reminded us that the descent isn’t something beyond our reach; that, in fact, we’re IN IT right now. Being in that room, being in recovery, means being in the descent.

I, for one, can’t wait for the ascension.

The Sex Thing

This week Group tackled the sexuality chapter of Anita Johnston’s book, Eating in the Light of the Moon. I was looking forward to this for a couple of reasons. One, I could talk about sex All. Day. Long. Ask Ellie. She’ll tell you. And second, when our past conversations have moved in the direction of sex and sexuality I’ve always been very interested to see that the folks in Group are all over the spectrum in terms are where they are at sexually. Some have no sex drive at all and haven’t had one for 20+ years. Some had a sex drive and miss it now. Some are openly confused and scared about the “sex thing” because they’ve internalized shame and guilt about enjoying your sexuality.

When the conversation first began to look at the idea of intimacy and sensuality with food, there were a lot of heads nodding in the room. I know that I’ve had more than one torrid (and ultimately unfulfilling) affair with food, and I felt such an immediate high from the closeness of eating that food and immersing myself in the experience. But I’ll tell you that what surprised me was the anorexics in the room copping to the same obsessive search for intimacy. They thought about it endlessly: when they would eat, what they would eat, eating slowly so as to drag out the experience. Restriction was still the goal, but their whole lives became centered around what they couldn’t eat, and HOW they were going to consume what they did allow themselves to eat. I realize now that I was stuck in that assumption that binge eating is my particular poison because I love food and eating so much, and anorectics must be so successful at NOT eating because they don’t love food. They hate food so they don’t mind not eating it. Yeah, that was a pretty big misstep. I wonder if anorectics actually think about food MORE than I do.

Another big topic that came up was the idea of overwhelming emotions that come up around sexuality and how to manage those. There is so much that can come up around body image and relationships, I don’t doubt that this is as big a challenge for others as it is for me. Have I ever broken down in to huge racking sobs right in the middle of some fantastic sex? I totally have. Believe it.

In an unexpected way, I think I have actually become more comfortable with my sexuality in a way that has happened independently of improvements in my body image. That is to say, as I’ve become more sexually confident my body image has improved, but  the sexual confidence has way, way outpaced the body image confidence. Why is that? Some mornings it takes everything I’ve got to get dressed without a freakout, but  I could talk about sex all day long. I love reading sassy sex advice columns; reading about other people’s interesting kinks and how they navigate them. I think I would be a great addition to the Smitten Kitten staff. Surely even a part-time job will get me a discount on toys and lube, right??

I think part of it is also that I have a strong feminist component to my soul.  Looking at popular culture, the orgasm has been in the male domain for way too long, and that’s gotta change. Maybe I come across as agressive, but dammit, ladies, we deserve what’s comin’ to us! (Get it? =^_^=)

WallowFest

It hasn’t been a strong weekend. Symptom use is way up, and even now as I write this, I’m wishing my stomach would hurry along and empty so that I can eat some more. I keep thinking about where I want to go and what I want to order.

Here’s my thing: my eating disorder and I absolutely LOVE going out to eat. We l.o.v.e it. There’s something about being seated in a comfy booth, and my needs being the center of attention. I love the idea of a meal - whatever I want - being prepared just for me and served to me. I enjoy bringing out whatever book I happen to be reading at the time, and immersing myself in someone else’s life while eating a meal that was made just for me. You might think that paying for this experience, or the fact that it is a total stranger cooking for me, might detract from the experience, but it doesn’t. The eating disorder part comes in when I can’t decide what I want or where to go; I get flustered and mad that I’m not hungrier. When it gets like this inside my head, the eating disorder wants a perfect experience, so if the Diet Coke doesn’t taste just right, or if they are out of my favorite dessert, it’s easy to dismiss it as a waste of money and time; a ruined day. Cue the guilt.

Yesterday, I had big plans for myself on Sunday to take care of the apartment: remove and store the A/C units, shut all the storm windows, scour the place from top to bottom, reorganize the second bedroom where my sewing supplies and the Canadian’s tattoo workspace resides. But instead I got up, walked the dog, got a fast food breakfast, and then went back to bed for another three hours. When I woke up I didn’t have anything nice to say to myself. I wanted to punish myself for being this way, but really all I want to do today is wallow. I want to wallow in missing my husband, in having such a long string of bad luck, in feeling so helpless about these situations. I want to lay on the couch and flop around in bed and move back to the couch. I want to sigh. Deep sighs. A lot of them.

So I made a deal with myself that if I picked one thing - any one thing to do - that would be a sign of taking care of myself and my home, then I could spend the rest of the day wallowing. I chose the cat box. Or rather, the Cat Box of DOOM. I emptied it out, scrubbed it down, and filled it up with fresh litter. And then I apologized to Ray Charles for not taking better care of him, and thanked him for taking such good care of me these past few days. (And since I hear some very enthusiastic scratching going on in the bathroom right now, I hope that means he accepted my apology.)

Today is for wallowing. Tomorrow I can do better.

I cannot live on cat food alone!

So the verdict on the car came in - radiator goo - and the solution came right behind it: new radiator needed.

Price for New Radiator: $500

New Balance of My Savings Account: $25

Dreams of Seattle Despite Impending Poverty: Priceless

I had a bit of a meltdown on Tuesday. I felt so overwhelmed and pushed to my limit. It’s so disheartening to work so hard; to try, and try, and try, and still not get a break. I’m tired of waiting my turn. I’m just gonna cut in line at this point:

UNIVERSE! I need a break. Right NOW, please!

Booze was created for days like this.

I’m a big liar, of course, because my little eating disorder-bedeviled soul has always believed that days like these - days in which you are quite sure someone SOMEWHERE is pulling on your strings and having a fucking good laugh at your expense - were made with dessert in mind. Lots of dessert.

So, can we call it a step in recovery that I thought of a stiff drink before a slice of key lime pie? No, I didn’t think so either.

The day started and I felt completely off balance for no apparent reason whatsoever. That doesn’t often happen. Generally I know e.x.a.c.t.l.y what is bothering. Doesn’t mean I’m going to be a big brave girl and deal with it, but I do know what the IT is to begin with. Not so today, adventurous readers! Today I was driving the Canadian to work, tears running down my face, and my poor husband asking, “Are you SURE you don’t know what’s bothering you?” I was kind of a mess.

But here’s where the Canadian gets big props: he swooped in like a devoted mother hen and took control of things while I was floundering. He told me I was taking the day off from the world, and he stopped the car, put me in the passenger’s seat, and turned us around for home. The plan was to tuck me in to bed with some movies and a bottle of Diet Coke. I started to feel a bit better, just feeling cared for. I can tell you that one of my favorite parts of being married - besides having someone to clean out the catbox because I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than do it - are those days where I’ve just had enough and there is someone there to say, “You need a break. Whatever you’re carrying around right now, let me worry about it for a while and you just rest.”

I was nestled in the passenger’s seat, kind of glowing; we’re two blocks from the video store, and then….steam begins to pour from under the hood of the car, and I cannot open my eyes wide enough so great is the shock. “Pull over! Pull over! Pull over! Now! Now! NOW!”

We caught a ride with the tow truck and hauled my poor baby in to the garage. Kudos to the Canadian for dealing with a woman who is not only temporarily emotionally unhinged, but also completely pissed off because the car had been in for an 80,000 mile tune up just THREE WEEKS BEFORE!

After hearing more than I care to admit about the considerable marital problems of my mechanic, we headed over to the tattoo shop to kill some time while they checked on my car, affectionately know as Beast Jr. And the day just kept getting better:

1. One of the tattooers put too much water in the autoclave and it sounded like a steam engine horn going off periodically. At first I thought it was a damn pressure cooker. Are they cleaning tubes or canning jam in there?

2. One of my terminal charity cases called from an apt. building and wanted to make a deal about rent. The BEGGING! The PLEADING! The SOBBING & SNOTTING! And all I really want to say is, “Would you mind terribly just fucking off for awhile? Thanks ever so much.”

3. Got a hold of my mechanic. Turned out my radiator is full of goo! And in the pause after delivering the news, the only response I could think of is, “Dude, I did NOT put that in there!”

Reading: City of Ashes by Cassandra Clare
Watching: Cities of the Underworld on the History Channel
Playing: Trivial Pursuit for PS3

DBT….easy as 1, 2, 3!

Eating disordered thoughts can quickly become a chaotic and emotional whirlwind in the brain.  They fly hard and fast and it’s so easy to become overwhelmed and completely swept away. I’ve also written about this in the past as a Hamster Attack - that hamster wheel spinning, and spinning, and driving you further into frantic and obsessed thinking around food and eating. Now imagine throwing your arms in the air and yelling at the tornado to STOP!

How did that go for you? Yeah, I don’t have much luck controlling the storm either. But it hasn’t stopped me from looking for mental stop signs that I can throw out and try to curb the damage. Right now I’m in a place where I’ve really begun to notice when my thoughts start racing. Before it was just a near constant state of being and I had no idea what a quiet mind really felt like. These days, as I’m trying to rest, I can see it for what it is now: my thoughts feel like a crowd of 6 year olds in bumper cars, sugared to the hilt with pizza and ice cream, and let loose in my head. My first response is exasperation, frustration, impatience….and then I yell out loud, “Stop it! Stop right now! Slow down! Keep your hands inside before you poke someone’s fucking eye out!”

Of course, noticing the racing thoughts doesn’t really do much towards slowing them down or ending them, it’s just an important first step before you can do any slowing or stopping. I feel ready to tackle some strategies for slowing down my mind and overwhelming  emotions, and to do that I am looking towards Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT). DBT uses a number of strategies and exercises to address four key components: distress tolerance, mindfulness, emotion regulation, and interpersonal effectiveness. What it does is essentially ease you away from destructive coping mechanisms, bingeing in my case, and give you a new set of power tools to use.

I’ve picked up a DBT workbook that I’ll be working through on a weekly basis with PhD Smiley and you’re invited along to see what happens. Anyone else out there have experience with DBT? How did it go for you?

Tattooing and Therapy

The maneki neko shoulder piece that’s been in progress for over a year is finally finished- 3 sessions and 7 hours later.  Many thanks to Kyle Franklin at the Aloha Monkey for the great work! I love this piece.

As I was sitting in my discussion group a couple of weeks ago, I was asked an interesting question as people looked over the finished piece. I was asked what it was about tattooing that enjoyed, and it was something like cutting for me.

I like the personal sovereignty that comes with tattooing. I am in complete control of what is applied to my skin and how it looks - something I feel like I have very little of when it comes to my size. My body size feels out of my control most of the time.

I can remember one clear instance of running to find the Canadian at the shop because I was feeling so horrible that I was totally lost - had no idea what to do. (And when a girl with compulsive disordered eating doesn’t even think EATING is a good idea, that’s a pretty distracted state of being.) I asked him to please have someone tattoo me. Please, please, please. I wanted to feel anything else but what I was feeling at that moment.

And it did work. By the end I was calm, breathing normally again, and I didn’t feel like I was about to take a tumble off a very high cliff. It is what I needed in that moment and I took it. But the majority of my tattoos are not like that at all. I spend time thinking about them, planning, and talking with the artist because I want each piece to be personally pertinent. My story, if you will.

But this question in group threw me a bit because even if I didn’t use the pain of tattooing as a coping mechanism, the question was there for me as to what I might, if anything, be using the tattoos for. And I did have an answer:

Walking down the street, if people are looking at me they are going to see the ink first. And when I’ve been out and feeling particularly vulnerable, I’ve told myself over and over again, “They’re looking at the ink, not the fat. They’re looking at the ink, not the fat.” In a sense, my tattoos are acting as a diversion, the bells and whistles that say, “Look over here! Look over here!” before people have a chance to look anywhere else like my belly or arms. They feel like a suit of armor, in a sense, and right now I’m glad for the protection.

Tidbits

Today I took one step closer to realizing our relocation to Seattle: I registered to take the GRE. My first step towards applying for the Masters of Library and Information Sciences program at the University of Washington.

I took the GRE once before in 2002, but the deadline has long since passed so I will be enjoying that 4-hour thrill of multiple choice at the end of October. I’m not too worried about it. In fact, 2002 was the first year they replaced the logic section with the essay section and I was in h.e.a.v.e.n. I love me some essays, and you can believe I totally killed that part of the exam. I’m expecting a repeat performance again this year. So I’ll be spending some quality time over the next month memorizing Latin and Greek root words and brushing up on my Calculus.

You know how some decisions, once made, just snap into place? Like the satisfying snap of lego bricks. I love that, and it’s been a long time coming.

Reading: For a Few Demons More by Kim Harrison
Watching: Lost: Season 1
Playing: Ratchet and Clank: Going Commando for PS2
Listening: Lungs by Florence + the Machine (courtesy of Christina the Self-Righteous Drunk)

Fatter Than a Speeding Bullet

New site design. New slogan. New ways to bring you even more fat.

Actually, no, it’s going to be a lot of the same fat as before, but I hope you’ll find it as charming as ever.

The hiatus stretched out a bit longer than I expected, but I can tell you that the time didn’t go to waste. I have been doing more in the way of recovery, and making myself the top priority was definitely the right move to make.

I joined a group at the Emily Program that is a discussion group based around the book, Eating in the Light of the Moon by Anita Johnston. Think the title sounds a bit hippy-dippy? Wait till you read the first chapter! It starts off a little on the She-Ra side with a heaping dollop of good ol’ fashioned 1970’s consciousness raising, but if you can look past that rhetoric, there is a lot of great stuff in this book. It really pushes the idea of recovery for women through the use of myth and metaphor - seeing yourself and your struggles in stories that are often hundred, even thousands, of years old. What really makes it work for me is having the discussion to go along with it, and there is a great group of women tackling this with me. I really look forward to this group each week.

PhD Smiley has returned from maternity leave, thank the stars! Had a great session today and am feeling pretty empowered.

The Canadian and I, after many a discussion, have decided to set our sights a bit closer to Vancouver in order to wait out the (achingly, ridiculous, murderously snail-paced) slow processing of his immigration application. We settled on Seattle as it would be a relatively short drive for him to pop up to Vancouver to visit his son. I can tell you that I am absolutely in love with the idea of being back on the west coast. Not to mention that I am getting a serious grad school itch. Master of Library Sciences…..here I come! I will be the bad-assiest librarian. Just you wait. And I’m curious to know if any of you FatGrrl frequenters happen to be Seattlites? I would love to get the low down on moving strategies, neighorhoods, tips and tricks, etc.

Related to that is the issue of money. Alas, we can’t move without it. I had a few heart to hearts with Ellie and we threw around the idea of working with an ad network. We agreed that the top priority for FatGrrl was to remain a fat-friendly and eating disorder recovery-oriented site, so the presence of diet ads is a total No-No. But I wanted to tap your brains and get your ideas and thoughts. If I have the means to produce interesting and compelling content, would you mind the presence of text ads on the site? Would you find that it ultimately detracts from the site, or do you think it could be handled in a way that complements the site without getting in the way? Let me know!

Clearly there was much to say, so I will end here for now. It’s good to be back, and thanks for hanging in there with me. And for those of you who have particularly missed the Hound, here she is hanging out on the couch with me one day: