Moving On

This has been a particularly hard couple of weeks as I guess I should expect.  Last Friday was Will's funeral and I could not be there as I wanted to be.  I considered how I could make it happen but my daughter's birthday was the next day and it would have just been logistically too difficult.  I also didn't want to intrude on Will's family.  This has to be devastating for them and I wanted to give them some space.  During his service, I wrote to Will.  I told him I was thinking a bout him and his family.  I'm pretty sure he would  have understood my not being there.  I was with him in spirit all that day though.  I could not stop thinking about my friend.

With Will's passing, I have had re-open some issues and revisit some painful memories.  Not all have been bad though.  Death has thankfully been a rare occurrence in my life.  But that also means I forget how it feels, how it hurts and how I am supposed to grieve.  This has also been the first death in my life that has been someone so young.  I've had grandparents die and co-workers and acquaintances.  Each loss has been painful in its own unique way.  The fact that Will died from his eating disorder, which was treatable, and the fact that Will was so very young, has been a new type of loss that I have not experienced before.  It has brought up a lot of feelings:  Deep sadness, intense anger, irritability, guilt, and moments of refection and happiness in remembering him.  I had forgotten some of Will's antics and it was so wonderful to be reminded by others who knew him.  His Bon Qui Qui imitation could not be matched.  And it repeatedly brings a smile to my face to think of him shouting "BOOM!  YA DONE!"  Remembering him dancing in an open field with a toilet brings me to laughter.  What a character he was.  He truly was a piece of me that I will hold on to forever.

In the  last week I have talked to many people I have lost contact with from Denver.  It has been comforting and healing.  The community immediately came together to support each other in the ways we were able.  Texts, e-mails, gatherings and Skype sessions served as a reminder that we were not alone in our loss and sadness. I took the day off last Monday to process, think and grieve.  I went to my favorite place to be alone; the cemetery.  Yes, I know it's weird.  But I have always had a love of cemeteries.  They are quiet, beautiful, sad and full of life all at once.  Being among the forgotten names and wondering about the histories underneath brings me peace and comfort.  And, if I couldn't be with my friend Will, then I could be with my friend Robin (whom I have never met but who has the most beautiful headstone in the cemetery I visit).  I wrote, I listened to music, I walked, I lay in the grass, I prayed.  I even sang.  Some people when they  experience a loss say they feel "numb".  I suppose I did at some point.  But in that cemetery on that beautiful day, I felt more alive than I had in a while.  I was reminded of how precious life is.  How very short it can be.  I watched nature move on.  The bees were buzzing in the flowers next to me.  Birds were chattering.  I noticed the smallest things around me like the tiny ants climbing the blades of grass.  The sun was blazing hot.  The clouds seemed infinite and I felt so small.  Everything felt so real in that time I had alone.  It was lovely and sad all at the same time.

I went back to work.  Started moving back into my normal routine.  Eating the food that Will would have wanted me to eat. "Will would kick your ass if you gave up," one friend reminded me.  I got in to my dietician appointment two weeks early.  I cried and cursed in her office while she sat calmly and looked on compassionately.  I actually contacted my therapist whom I haven't seen for six months.  I took special care of myself.  Listened to what felt right in regards to grieving and recovery.  I did (and am still doing ) exactly what is right for me.  I cry at random moments, and I swear a lot.  I still have anger with no where to direct it.  Last night on the drive home from Seattle, I  got ridiculously mad.  Mad at the disease.  Mad at how miserable people are with it.  Mad at how many lives are destroyed or wasted because of it.  Mad at the system for failing those who need help.  I felt helpless and small.  Right now I have two mentees who are struggling and several friends.  What can I do?  I can't do a damn thing!  I was so very angry.  I eventually remembered; I can only take care of myself and offer comfort to others.  I can feed the fight against this illness.  I can speak out.  Loudly if I must.  I can be the truth behind the lies that ED feeds its sufferers.  It is not always the easy way, but still I fight.  Not only for myself but for my family, my friends and for those who can no longer fight.  The people who die because of their eating disorders.  My fighting is the only way I can shove back.  I don't want to be lonely, afraid, sick, tired, numb or empty.  I want to be full of life and sometimes that includes anger, sadness, pain and regret.  I'll take it.  All of it.

Live on,

-Kristy

Losing Will to Anorexia...

I met Will Brooksbank nearly three years ago.  We were both patients at a eating disorder treatment hospital in Denver, CO.  The community was especially gossipy the day he arrived.  We were getting in a new admit and it was a guy!  In a treatment facility filled almost exclusively with girls and women, this was big news.  I remember seeing him for the  first time.  He was in the hallway of the center with his treatment team.  He had white-blonde hair and fair features.  He was small.  Not just thin, but small like a child.  His face looked so young.  Like maybe he was 12.  In actuality he was 19.  An adult.  And, something about this guy was immediately likeable.  Even though Will was sick, seriously, visibly sick with anorexia, he still carried a radiance about him.  Somehow he was still full of energy.  He had a theatrical charisma.  The class clown.  He settled in so easily with the established community.  I remember him saying on his first day in group, "I know a lot of women here have had issues with men.  I'm sorry that happened to some of you.  I'm not one of those guys.  I understand, please accept me."  It was this statement along with actually being one of the very few men there, that made my heart tighten and my eyes well with tears.  Where has this man been in his life?  What has he seen or been through that has given him such sensitivity, insight, kindness, compassion...and anorexia.

William Arthur Brooksbank the IV was hysterical.  So very witty.  Always there with a warm, genuine smile and a lilting laugh.  He was constantly saying funny, ridiculous things to make us all laugh especially there where we needed to laugh a little.  He was deeply religious and faithful to his God, but he didn't push it on anyone else or try to convert anyone to his beliefs.  He believed in God and Christ, passionately but it was his relationship, not a belief to be forced on anyone else.  He would sing.  He would dance.  He would play with anything that was available to play with.  A pencil could be made into a sword.  A piece of paper into a cape.  Sometimes after program a small group of us would bus it (because most of us had no other form of transportation) to either Target or the Mall, or a park.  He would play and laugh and put on silly hats while in the stores.  He'd use outlandish accents which he had perfected over the years.  He would come in program in the morning, look me straight in the eye, touch my arm, and ask me how I was doing.  He genuinely cared about others, their feelings, their struggles, their recovery.  He was the light of the hospital.  The beacon.  The hope.

Underneath all of the playfulness though, occasionally, one could see something deeper.  I remember him having trouble with the food.  I remember him getting angry and frustrated.  Of course we all did in treatment.  It was as if there was a little boy in there.  Confused, lost, afraid.  He was so smart and quick and determined.  And my heart aches for him now.  Because dammit, anorexia won.  An eating disorder actually beat someone, and this someone was special.  I am so sad and angry, with no place to put my anger.  Anorexia is not a person I can swear at or punch in the face.  It doesn't have feelings that I can hurt by silent treatment or screaming.  The only way I can show my hate for this disease is to continue to fight my own battle.  To keep eating the fucking food.  With each bite, I can have my say.  And I can say it for Will.

For a while today I had "the thoughts".  The "I miss being skinny" thoughts.  How can I get it back just a little.  All I want are thin arms, a thigh gap, I miss my bones.  Oh my ribs, my long-lost shoulder bones...I recognized the thoughts and felt fear.  It has been a long time since I've though deeply about my feelings about my disorder.  I have been so busy with life and advocacy work.  I suppose I have forgotten to take time out to get mad and sad and fearful.  I guess I need to remember how truly terrible being trapped in the ED is.  This is not a game as it has often felt to me.  "I can play a little."  No, this kills people.  They are here and then they are gone.  The family and friends are devastated and hurt.  It's not romantic or beautiful.  It's insidious and ugly and mean.

I have regrets.  Will and I did not stay in contact over the last couple of years.  Occasionally a Facebook "hi" or something.  But we lived far apart and he had so many friends.  And I was so far along in my own recovery.  I can't help but think, what could I have done for him?  What could I have said?  I guess we all feel that way when someone passes away.  What would I have done differently?  What did I miss?  Why didn't I call him?  What the fuck just happened?
This is my first friend to die.  The first person I have known personally to die from an eating disorder.  Sure, I had head about it.  I have seen the statistics and read the memorials.  But this hits home.  What's worse, is that I don't think it will be the last.

For Will Brooksbank, I eat the food.  I fight the fight.  And I win.

Live on,

-Kristy

And Now I'm Going to Eat Pie

I'm here!  I know.  You've all been wondering where I am.  Where are the posts?  What is happening?!  I've been slacking on the writing I'm afraid.  But I am here...and there; everywhere!  The last couple of weeks have been BUSY!  That is a good thing for me since I was kind of in limbo for a while.  I felt a little lost and unmotivated.  I didn't feel like I had much going on and I was starting to panic.  Apparently I need a certain amount of stress in my life to function.  I had to remind myself that sometimes not having "something" going on, is a good thing.  It is life's little way of saying "Chill the eff out!  RELAX!"  It appears I don't know how to do that very well. 

Now I am back with a full plate (so to speak).  I have been putting in some extra time at work, taking care of the short people who live in my house, and preparing for the next few weeks  The sun has been out and I have been taking time out to get my fingers filthy in the garden, (don't look at my nasty nails) watching the neighborhood kids play, (or try to kill each other.  However you want to look at it) and relaxing with their parents.  I love B.S.ing with grown-ups while the plethora of kids play, cry and make us laugh.  It's been a good start to the spring/summer season.  Bring on the outside world!

The month brings on a bunch of things.  The kids are finishing up school and my daughter is turning 7.  In less than two weeks I will be hosting my own booth at a local Wellness Connection Expo.  I will be speaking, telling my story and talking to the public.  This whole thing has brought up some mixed emotions and thoughts.  I have contacted every single local eating disorder treatment provider I can find in the Western Washington area.  The response was swift and sweet.  NEDA sent me a whole box of information and flare to pass out.  Opal has given me a bunch of goodies.  Vibrant Health has given me info to share as well as The Center for Discovery.  I feel pretty confident that I have enough "stuff".  My fear is doing this alone.  I will be at my own booth talking to the public about a very personal topic.  A sometimes embarrassing topic.  I thought I might have a partner with this but now it looks like I am going solo.  My self-critical mind takes over.  Thoughts of inadequacy flood in.  "What are you doing?!  You are not a professional!  You don't have a degree in this!  You are not a healthcare provider.  What are people going to think?  You should not be doing this."  I fight back with a self-inflicted mind smack.  I should be doing this, and I can do it alone.  I have to remind myself that sometimes people aren't looking for a "professional"  sometimes people are needing to hear from someone who has been in it.  This is a perfect time to show myself what I am capable of and that I am enough just as I am.  I'm educated on the topic.  I can do this. 
 
On another note, I was selected to be a MentorCONNECT mentor.  It was quite a process!  I had to apply and then answer some tough questions.  I have to say I'm very proud to be chosen and I can't wait to get started.  This scares me a little too but I know I have the support of the program and help is always available.  I have been doing a little of this type of work on my own, now I am part of a group which feels pretty dang good.  I also decided at the last-minute to participate in the Seattle NEDA walk.  This year I am not quite as involved as I was previously.  I am taking a backseat and trying not to get too competitive about it, which is really difficult considering I'm the most competitive person I know.  I am am going to do what I can, but not overextend myself too much.  My own recovery, life, happiness and family come first.

Well that's an update.  I'm going to go eat a pie.



Live on!

-Kristy

Just a Taste of Rehab- part 1

**Trigger warning If you are currently struggling with an eating disorder, the following post could trigger strong feelings.  If you choose to read on, please do so at your own discretion.**

Véronique Godbout

At 7:00am we would wait with the other patients for the van to pick us up.  We were staying at an apartment complex about a mile from the treatment facility.  It was chilly that early in the morning in Denver.  Even during the summer.  We would try to find a spot in the sun.  We would make awkward small talk.  Some would smoke a cigarette.  We would talk about the previous day's drama or about the staff.  We'd all keep watch for the white van and try to guess who was picking us up that day.

This, was PHP

PHP stands for Partial Hospitalization Program.  Those of us in this program were out of critical medical care and participating in treatment  all day, every day.  Monday through Sunday.  It was mandatory we show up if we wanted to stay in the program.  If we wanted our insurance companies to continue paying for our treatment.  If we wanted to be released home to our families and friends.  Most people who were in the PHP came from the In Patient/Residential Program.  A place were they were monitored 24 hours a day.  Others were "Direct Admits" and were brought directly into the PHP.  This program allowed us to leave for the night, only to sleep in a strange place with people we didn't know, and were constantly changing.  But at lease there was some freedom and a reprieve from constant watching eyes.

When we arrived at the facility we were immediately separated into male and female groups and led to the bathrooms.  I would always feel a twinge of sympathy for the one or two guys that were thrown in with this group of women.  What must it be like to be a man with an eating disorder?  It's often considered a "woman's problem."  The men I met always handled the overbearing population of women so well and gracefully.  Form teens to  the elderly, all different races, religions and economic backgrounds, we were all in this together.

Some mornings we would have to take a breathalyzer test.  I had never had to use one before  "Keep blowing until it beeps."  We were then asked to pee into a cup.  Every morning.  The sink would often be running for those that had performance anxiety.  We stripped naked.  Put on a see-through mesh gown.  Chatted amongst ourselves, made jokes, tried to lighten the mood to comfort each other while we waited for a staff member to join us.  The staff would test our urine.  They were making sure we were not water-logging to up our weight, taking any drugs we were not prescribed, and checking our general health.  We would be weighed backwards on the cold digital scale so we could not see the dreaded number.  We could wear nothing.  No socks.  No jewelry other than the basic wedding ring or stud earrings.  We sat and waited for our blood pressure to be taken along with our pulse and temperature. On Mondays we would shuffle down to the lab.  We had to give some blood before breakfast.  I fainted the first time even though I was already laying down.  I would chat with the nurse and crack jokes from that point on to keep distracted from the needles and vials of blood.  A profile picture was taken on our first day for our files.  I looked gaunt, gray and resolved to my situation.  Broken.  I remember the purple striped shirt I wore in that picture.  My collar bones protruding.  My face sunken and miserable.

After vitals were taken we would each find our own spot in the facility to prepare for our day.  There were a couple of common rooms with TV's, couches, chairs.  We would meander, or chat, or isolate, or sleep while we waited for the breakfast call.  Our anxiety would grow with each passing minute.  We were dreading it.  Begging for it.  Afraid of it.  Starving.

The staff would announce our meal was served and we would trot like sullen lambs to the dining room of doom.  A place that brought up such fear, such anxiety, that it was palpable.  Our crafty name tags would be laid around the  circular tables like we were in kindergarten.  A staff member was assigned to each table along with 6 or 7 other patients.  We would stand at our named spots and recite a prayer of sorts.  A non-religious mantra about accepting things we cannot change.  I would hold my breath as I sat.  We set an intention for the meal we were about to have.  "My goal is to not make faces at my food."  "I am not going to clock-watch today."  We looked at the food that was prepared for us carefully by the kitchen staff.  Everything precise.  Everything exact.  Everything according to our specific meal plans devised by our respective dieticians in the previous meal planning session.  We could have nothing more...and nothing less.  Everything was calculated down to the amount of butter, syrup, ounces of milk, salt.  We looked at our plates examining, re-calculating to make sure nothing was slipped to us that wasn't' supposed to be there.  People knew down to the ounce how much they agreed to have.  Some of us would moan and grumble as we picked over our food.  Nothing could be changed.  Meal plans which we signed off on were often dug out and analyzed.  "No, see you did order your egg scrambled, not hard-boiled."  "You didn't specify you wanted melons excluded."  Often we would take a big breath and accept the reality of our plates  Sometimes a patient would lash out or desperately try to find a way to get around eating something in front of them.  No jackets, purses, bags or hooded sweatshirts were allowed.  Hands were to be above the table.  Occasionally a breakfast bar or muffin was able to be slipped up a sleeve or hidden in a pocket, but this was hard to spot.  We would glare with anger or jealousy at the whomever was able to get away with such a move.  Why did they get to sneak away their food while we had to eat ours?  We reverted back to children.  We had become experts at concealing food.  But the staff had become experts at watching and seeing.  Our plates were over-turned to make sure we didn't hide a morsel.  Little purple orchid blossoms were placed on each of our meals to...I don't know, bring a smile to our face?  Give us something other than a pile of calories to look at?  A time was written on the whiteboard in the room.  A time we could leave our seats.  Exactly half-an-hour to eat our food.  Many of us struggled with the clock.  We had to learn how to eat at appropriate speeds.  Not too fast, not too slow.  The digital clock would tick by.   As we choked down our food, we tried to play games with each other to pass the experience.  Name that celebrity or alphabet games.  Anything to distract us from our plates.  When someone was struggling we would leave them be or ask how we could support them.  Sometimes one or two people could set the mood for the whole table or the room.  Some would finish early while others would cut down to the wire and desperately shove the last bites in just the nick-of-time.  Those that did not finish had a choice:  Drink the calculated amount of calories of "Boost," a dietary supplement drink shake, or sign off as non-compliant.  We would have to do whichever we chose alone with a staff member after the others left the dining room.

Each day started like this.  We learned what to expect quickly.  The routine became both irritating and comforting at the same time.  This was just the beginning of the day.  The real work hadn't really even started.

Alone on the Stage

I am considering giving my fist public talk on eating disorders and my road to recovery at a wellness conference in June.  I have thought of extending my advocacy work to public speaking for a while.  Perhaps talking with teens at schools.  Or joining a group that supports positive body image and speaking.  Perhaps a panel answering questions on the topic from a patient perspective, along with professional providers.  After all, I already blog, have written my story of hope for the National Eating Disorder Association as well as Hungry for Change UK.  I have been open and honest with family, friends and acquaintances.  I have helped others find treatment that works for them.  I have been an advocate for recovery in many ways for a couple of years.

But this terrifies me.


It's not so much about getting up in front of people.  I was a competitive figure skater as a child and in theater in school.  I have no problem speaking in a crowd.  This is a different kind of fear.  My inner voice tells me I am a fraud.  I have contradicting thoughts.  One says I have never truly experienced an eating disorder.  This is not a new thought.  I have had this argument for years within my own head.  I have invalidated myself even while I was in treatment.  "I don't belong here." I would tell myself while in a locked down eating disorder facility.  I have said straight to my dietician's face, "I don't have an eating disorder."  Then there is this other side that tells me I am not well enough to help others.  Why on Earth should I give a speech on eating disorders when food is still such a battle for me.  How can I have both of these thoughts at the same freakin' time?!  It's all part of the disease of course.  Contradicting facts and lies.  It never makes any real sense.


With all of this doubt, why should I give a talk?  Why should I put my face and my body in front of a crowd to expose myself.  Writing is one thing.  I can hide behind a screen and a keyboard.  I don't have to look people in the eye or answer the tough questions face to face.  Even blogging and "coming out" has been incredibly scary.  I see people at the grocery store who know how messed I have been.  I get texts and e-mails from people asking for my help and opinions.  I have people coming up to me and saying, "I read your blog.  I get it.  I know what you're talking about."  It has been extremely eye-opening to see how wide-spread the problem with food is.  I feel honored that people trust me enough to talk with me.  And I really don't think I would change anything at this point.  I have come to terms with the embarrassment and the shame and turned it into helping others reach out.  Sometimes I just miss the anonymity of being quiet.


So I have a big decision that I pretty much need to make in the next day or so.  Do I get up in front of a crowd and tell my story?  What do I say?  Where do I begin?  How much do share?  What do I hold back?  What if I have to answer hard questions?  What if I don't have the answers?  On the other hand, what if one person, one mom or young girl or husband can relate?  What if I can get one person to seek treatment and live a healthier, happier, more free life?  What if I can get a family member or friend to understand?  Is that worth it to me?  I think it is.  I think my decision has been made.


Live on,


-Kristy

Is This All There Is?

Awwww crap.  It's happened again.  I was just sitting here, bored out of my freaking mind, trying to come up with something that I am looking forward to.  What do I have to get excited about?  What is going to keep me motivated to stay healthy, happy and optimistic?  Come on, what's going on this summer?  Fall?  I've got to get pumped!  What is it?  There has got to be something coming up.  Anything?  The thought smacked me in the face; a whole heaping pile of nothing.  Nada.  NOTHING!  I don't have jack to be excited about.  In fact, if anything, I have things coming up that are bound to make me mores stressed than usual.  This is always very dangerous.  Stress + boredom often = eating disorder behavior.  This is true for me anyway.  I'm trying to think if I have anything coming up.  A trip?  An event?  Life plans?  An adventure?   My sister is visiting at the end of August but her trips always come with mixed emotions.  I'm looking forward to seeing her but I always think about the unavoidable loss I will encounter when she leaves.  And of course her trip back home is more about her than it is about me.  What do I have for myself?  Ok, now I am feeling selfish.  Is that bad?


The only thing I could come up with is my trip back to Australia...in another two years.  The saving for this trip is going S-L-O-W.  I am feeling discouraged and sad that it is so far off.  I don't want to have to wait two years.  I need something sooner.  I need to make some plans immediately to keep me going.  Living life day in and day out the same way is suddenly not doing it for me.  So what am I going to do about it?  What am I going to do to keep me grounded and looking forward to the future with excitement.  Life is short.  What am I going to do?


I dunno.  (Insert pouty face here.)  Sigh...whine...woe is me.


Perhaps it is time for me to dig out my bucket list and actually complete (or start) some of things on it.  I keep getting stuck.  I can't.  I don't have time.  I've got kids to think of.  My husband needs me to do this and that.  I'm to old to learn, do, try something new.  It is time to stop throwing my own pity party.  Nobody is showing up to this shit show.  It's time to get off my ass.  I need to see things I've never seen before.  Expose my kids to the world.  Try something new!  My son is learning how to play guitar.  Why can't I learn too?  I've wanted to know how to speak Spanish for years.  So why am I not learning it?  Why am I not actually not doing that photography project I came up with a year ago?  Why am I not going to those yoga workshops I have thought about?  Can we not take a road trip down the Oregon Coast this year?  Why have I not bought those ticket for my son's first rock concert yet?


Something has been holding me back.  I have been sabotaging my own plans.  Plans I have conjured up on my own.  I suddenly don't feel good enough or up to the challenges.  Going in and out with the ebb and flow has been easier.  Safer.  No trying, no failing, right?  How boring is that?  How boring am I?  This is how depression begins for me.  It starts off here and goes down hill at an accelerated rate until I am really, really unhappy and sick.  At least this time I can notice it.  A step in the right direction!


So, my goal tonight after the kids pass out is to have an open discussion with my guy.  I need to do something.  We need to make some plans and get excited about the next few months.  Even better, maybe he'll read this post and know just how much I need this to stay healthy.  What is the whole point of it all if there is no excitement or passion?  Maybe he's feeling the same way too.  Our lives have gotten pretty monotonous and routine.  Same shit.  Different day.  Perhaps it is time for a change.


*Do you ever get stuck in a rut?
*What do you do when life is feeling ordinary and dull?
*How do you motivate yourself?

-Live on!


-Kristy

Eating and Thowing Away the Croissant

This morning I had an epiphany.  An "Oh my God!" moment.  A real eye-opening experience.  Are you ready?  Here it is:  I can throw food away.

I didn't know it could be done.


The story begins last night.  I skipped dinner yesterday because I just was not hungry.  I had a bowl of cereal as a snack in the evening but that's about it.  Come this morning, I was hangry (hungry enough to make me angry).  I ate one hard-boiled egg from the Easter batch we dyed last night.  It didn't cut it.  I wasn't about to kill anyone anymore but my hunger was definitely not satisfied.  On my way in to work I stopped by Starbucks to get a breakfast.  I do this pretty regularly but it is almost always a mind-battle:  "What do I get?  Should I get something healthy?  What sounds good?  What is good for me?  What do I plan to have for the rest of the day?  How many calories is in this vs. that?  I should get oatmeal.  That is healthy.  Fruit, grains, protein..."  BLAH BLAH BLAH!  Today I just drove up and didn't think.  I got my usual drink (tall caramel macchiato) and a chocolate croissant.  I love them.  I haven't had one in a while.  It was what sounded good.  Gooey, warm, chocolaty.  Yum!

I got to work and did my thing.  Clocked in, turned on my music, looked for my debit card that I thought I lost again.  Sipped my sweet, creamy coffee.  And I started nibbling on my croissant.  Normally I would scarf that sucker down like it's going to run away from me.  After all, I don't know when I am going to have one again.  It is sooooo good.  So forbidden.  So bad.  So not allowed in my diet a couple of years ago.  And if I did "fail" and eat one, right back up it would have come a few minutes later.  Along with some other compensatory actions.  Food like that had a power that no food should process.  The calories were calculated and the ingredients judged like they had done some terrible crime.  Over time, by allowing these types of foods back into my world as only what they are: Food and fuel, the power of them has decreased.


Today I ate my croissant at a normal speed.  You know, take a bite.  Put the rest down.  Chew it.  Taste it.  Swallow it.  It took me much longer to eat it.  I chatted with my co-workers, checked my e-mail.  Not distracted.  Just doing what I wanted to do while eating.  When I came down to a couple of bites I was full.  Satisfied and happy.  No longer hangry, I had a different kind of battle with myself.  This time it was, "Do I finish, save or throw away?"  Typically that thing would have been gone instantly and I would have wanted more.  This time I was listening to my body.  Feeding it slowly but not too slowly.  I'm full.  I don't really have enough to save.  l can throw the last couple of bites away.  "What?  NO!  You can't do that!  It's precious!  Special!  There are children starving!  You don't know when you will be able to get one of these things again!"  Guess what?  I can get a chocolate croissant tomorrow if I want one.  Yep.  Two in a row if that is what I feel like.  I tossed the last couple of bites.  I have never done that before.  I had never even considered it before.  If it was something "special,"  If it was right there in front of me,  It was going down.  It's been a few years since my food came back up.  But the battle in my brain has always been there.


Someone asked me this week what "Normal Eating" is.  It's a question many of us who do and even those who don't have disordered eating think about.  What is "Normal" anyway?!   I love Ellyn Satter's take on it.  She explains it so perfectly:

What is Normal Eating?

by Ellyn Satter, MS, RDN, LCSW, BCD


Normal eating is going to the table hungry and eating until you are satisfied. It is being able to choose food you like and eat it and truly get enough of it-not just stop eating because you think you should. Normal eating is being able to give some thought to your food selection so you get nutritious food, but not being so wary and restrictive that you miss out on enjoyable food. Normal eating is giving yourself permission to eat sometimes because you are happy, sad or bored, or just because it feels good. Normal eating is mostly three meals a day, or four or five, or it can be choosing to munch along the way. It is leaving some cookies on the plate because you know you can have some again tomorrow, or it is eating more now because they taste so wonderful. Normal eating is overeating at times, feeling stuffed and uncomfortable. And it can be undereating at times and wishing you had more. Normal eating is trusting your body to make up for your mistakes in eating. Normal eating takes up some of your time and attention, but keeps its place as only one important area of your life.
In short, normal eating is flexible. It varies in response to your hunger, your schedule, your proximity to food and your feelings.

So yeah!  I can throw something special away.  Or I can eat the whole damn thing!  I just have to listen to what my body and soul are needing at that particular moment.  I just need to listen to those things rather than all the extra junk going on in my head.  If I do this consistently I will be a normal eater and my body will know just what to do.


Live on!


-Kristy

I Wish I Could Fix Her- how even a recovering anorexic doesn't have all the answers

Photographer unknown

Through this disease I have met so many others who struggle with food and other substances.  I have met some  truly amazing people both in the treatment center where I stayed, and through my advocacy work.  I have encountered others  with eating disorders and addictions all over the board.  When I left the hospital, it was advised by the some of the staff to cut off all ties with other patients I met at the facility.  I have lost contact with a large number of the people I met during my three month stay in Denver.  However, there are few I have chosen and feel safe enough to stay in contact with.  Social media has made it easy to know how others are doing, or to keep my distance.  At the treatment center there were many patients that came from my neck of the woods since at the time treatment in the Pacific Northwest was very limited for eating disorders.  A small community consisting of others who know this battle has been helpful in my own recovery journey.

I care deeply about the people I have met through this recovery process.  I see similarities and differences and respect the struggle these men and women are going through.  There is a certain empathy I have.  A compassion and a patience that perhaps people on the outside might not have.  After all, people who have never had an eating disorder or an addiction problem often find if very difficult to comprehend.  I have felt and thought the very same things as these people who struggle.  I get it.  All the twisted thoughts and behaviors, I understand.  I have been there.  And it has been a huge support to me in my recovery to know I have never been alone.

However, the fact remains, that even though I have been there, starving, purging, shoving donuts in my mouth,  stepping on that fucking scale obsessively, abusing myself, even after all of this: I still don't have the right words.  If I could save someone, I would.  But I can't.  This is hard for me to come to terms with because I feel like I should be able to.

This brings me to the present moment.  I currently have a dear friend who is drowning in anorexia.  I am afraid for her.  Over the last couple of years I have seen her deteriorate at an alarming rate.  If she doesn't get more help, I am certain she will die.  The thing that surprises me is that I don't know what to do.  I cant' fix her.  I can't convince her.  I cant' make her see what I see.  I feel like I should know just what to do, and still I try.  I keep thinking if I say the right combination of words and commit to the right actions, she will miraculously see the truth from the lies her eating disorder tells her.  She will recover.  I could be the one to help her.  I figure since I have been sick, and since I am doing so well in my own recovery, I should know just what to do.  I don't.

Even though I worry every day that she could die from this, there is nothing more I can do except pick up the phone when she calls.  Listen to what she has to say and know the pain.  I don't have to try to fix it.  Though, that is what I feel like I should be able to do.  Ultimately this journey is hers and has to be.  She has to want life.  She has to choose to fight for herself.  I can only tell her how much I care about her.  I can tell her the truth I see.  I can be the honesty that the eating disorder is hiding from her.  That is all I have the power to do.  It is hard for me and the ones who love her to watch her suffer.  It makes me think of what my friends and family must have gone through when they watched me disappear.  I now understand the fear, the frustration, the sadness, the anger and the helplessness.  I know her as a person who is incredible even when in the grips of anorexia.  I just wonder if I will ever get the chance to know how amazing she could be out of it.  I hope I get this opportunity someday.

For all of you who wonder what to do for their loved ones in this disease, I wish there were a straight and exact answer.  We only have actions over ourselves.  All we can do is show we care, and be honest about our own feelings.  In the end, it really is up to each of us to choose recovery.


Live on,


-Kristy

I Could Change My Arms, But Then What?

I hate my arms.  There.  I said it.  When I look at the reflection of my arms all I see are wobbly and soft appendages.  To me, they are not strong or beautiful.  And, as usual  I see them (along with many other things) as too big.  Over the fall and winter my awkward arms could be hidden and concealed.  I have been able to kind of avoid seeing myself.  But spring has arrived with a vengeance here.  The sun is out, the temperature is warm and I want to get outside.  I want to get away from the stupid sweaters that I've been hiding in these past few months.  Logically I know that I am way more critical of my arms, and every other part of my body, than anyone else is.  I apparently tend to see things that aren't necessarily there in the scope I believe them to be.  "But I SEE IT!"  This is part of the dysmorphia element that I struggle with.  My typical pattern would be to "fix" my arms.  Easily done.  Start working out obsessively.  Doing yoga with weights on.   Starving myself.  The problem is, once my arms are "fixed" then what?

I'll tell you what.  I will dislike another part of my body.  No matter how much I weigh, how much I lose, how little I eat, how much I exercise, there will always be something.  And at some point I will eventually  hyper-focus on something I can't do a damn thing about.  First my arms, then my legs, then my tummy, then my thighs.  Next I will criticize my face and all it's permanent flaws.  It's never ending.  And it is also not the real problem.  There is something much deeper.  My job at this point is to notice it's happening and try to figure out what the real issue is.  When I go down the road of physical self abuse, there is always, ALWAYS, something else going on.  This is also where people who do not suffer with Eating Disorders or Body Dysmorphic Disorders get the wrong idea.  The issue is not about vanity, (and I was called "vain" this week) it's about other stuff.  Deeper, not so superficial crap.  This is just how it manifests itself.  Perhaps I am struggling with fear, shame, sadness, anger, stress, boredom, and or none of the above!  My brain tries to protect me from looking at the uncomfortable or painful issues.  After all, it's easier to fix my arms right?

So back to the job at hand.  What's going on in life that has me so focused on my body, and not looking into my feelings?  I realized that the last week or two there has been a lot going on around me.   I have taken on too much emotionally.  But then again, that's who I am and what I do.  I crave that connection with people during times of stress.  But how do I take care of myself in the midst of chaos?  How do I take a step back?  What if I don't want to?  What if my compassion fatigue sets in again and I just turn apathetic?  That could happen if I don't remember that I come first.  My world does revolve around me.  My well being and healthy state of mind have to comes first to me.  I cannot be the effective and compassionate person I want to be if I am not these things to myself first.  I need to give myself the oxygen before I can help anyone else.  This is very difficult for me to actually put into place.  I feel like I always have to give, give, give.  Perhaps I need to give to myself too.

As I look at this deeper and try to find the reasons why I start hating on my body I take a deep, patient breath.  I try to remind myself that I am lucky I have my arms.  I don't like to look at them.  But I am reminded to think of all the things they do for me.  They carry my children.  They hold on to my daughter as she tries to ride her bike.  They wrap around my kitty while I nap.  They embrace my best friends genuinely.  They carry trays off food to people in need during a disaster.  They're not beautiful, but they are perfect for me.  Who knows how long I will be able to have them, or any other part of my body for that matter.  They don't need to be corrected.  Just respected.  I have other things to work on.

Live on!

-Kristy

Study of Arms
by Leonardo Da Vinci

My Sexy Evening

When you’re 36, married for 16 years, have a full time job outside of the home, have two crazy kids and a few pets, nothing says wild, sexy, crazy night like…crashing at 10:00pm in a deep, drooling, doze.  Bring on dreams of Ryan Gossling.  Ahhh…..there you go.  The perfect sleep.  Warm sheets, a nice pillow.  Yes.  I have waited for this moment all damn day!

Now, what can snap your ass awake from a make-out session with the above mentioned?  The following 4 words:  “Mom, my tummy hurts.”  Shit!  What?!  “Are you going to throw up?”  All of you parents out there, you know that when a child confirms that vomiting will commence, that means you should have been ready for this 20 seconds ago.  “THE POT!  GET THE POT!”  The pot you ask?  Our 6 year old is overly dramatic about the act of yaking and insists it be done only in “the pot”.

My snail-like husband stumbles up to find the blessed receptacle.   I hear him looking in cabinets, then the dishwasher as my daughter proceeds to spew.  I desperately try to catch the chuck in my futile hands.  It was hopeless to even try.  The warmth hits me.  The smell hits me.  I yell for my still absent husband!  “FASTER!  HURRY UP!”  I hear him pick up the pace.  Any damn pot would have done at this point.

Apparently when you are a cat, you don’t have to do a damn thing when someone is sick.  You can continue sleeping and dreaming about whatever the hell you want to dream about!  Lucky.

I sigh, my little angel looks at me scared.  “It’s ok.”  I soothe her.  “It’s alright.  Let’s get you cleaned up.”  I strip the bed trying to beat the seeping into my mattress.  My cat finally moves.  I stumble dizzy and adrenaline filled to the washing machine trying to not actually touch any more sick; as if it matters, the girl threw-up in my hands for God sakes!  I get the machine going on hot, hoping the noise does not wake my 10 year old.  He’s obliviously in dreamland.  Lucky.  I sort out the laundry while I am at it.  putting in the soap, the softener, checking the settings.  I am there for a good few minutes trying to compose myself.  My husband stumbles over after remaking the bed.  “How is she doing?”  he asks me.  I glare at him, “I don’t freakin’ know!”  I snap.  “I have been here doing the laundry!”  The poor man backs off.  No question is a good question when you have just been puked on.  I think he understands.

I try to clean myself off as best I can.  Nope.  A shower is the only thing that can get this smell off.  One does not simply wipe off the smell of spew.  This is a smell that must be scrubbed off.  I get in the steaming water.  Might as well wash my hair while I am in there.  I finally make it back to my bed.  It is clean and fresh, thanks to my sexy man.  My little girl lay between us, feverish and innocent.  I kiss her goodnight.

My sexy evening.

What did you do?

Live on!

-Kristy

Letting Go- my journey into Radical Acceptance



Girl with the red balloon by Bansky

My thighs touched this morning.  I accept this.


As a woman who has struggled with an eating disorder for most of her adult life, the idea of Radical Acceptance seems foreign.  Crazy.  Impossible.  After all, the main function of an eating disorder for me and for many others, is a fight to not accept reality.  It is a way manipulate or avoid the facts.  If I don't like what is going on in life, if I don't like how I feel, if I can't accept and let be the world that is, well damn it all I can lose weight!  That is what I can control.  That is what I can change.  I can put my blinders on.  While to the unknowing population an eating disorder is a vain attempt to "look good", this is not it at all accurate.  In reality, it was a way to pigeonhole or disengage from everything.  The world is too scary, chaotic and out of control.  If I can focus on what I eat, how much I eat, how I eat, where I eat; then I don't have to really think about the deep shit I don't want to think about.  The hard stuff.  If I can focus only being the perfect version of myself, if I can focus only on getting that number on the evil metal and plastic square down, down, down; then I don't have to think about the world around me.  I don't have to think about my fears, my failures, my hopes or  my dreams.  There are none.  There is only a shell of a woman, and her eating disorder.  The never-ending plight to go lower.


I can no longer feel my bones.  I accept this.


Now that I am this far into my recovery, I am having to practice something new; something besides the strict behaviors and rituals of an eating disorder.  I am having to see.  I am having to experience.  I am having to practice Radical Acceptance.  It's weird.  It's scary.  What is it?  Psychology might describe Radical Acceptance as the letting go of control.  Letting be what is.  Not trying to change, alter, hide, manipulate reality.  Things are what they are.  The good, the bad, the pretty, the ugly.  They just are.  So what am I having to accept in myself that I previously was not able to?  Well, Before I was only able to hide or change the things about myself that I did not like or accept.  Now, they are all in my face.


My body is what it is.  In recovery, I am obviously having to let my body find its natural balance.  It is doing what it needs to do.  I am learning to accept that.  If I want to be fully well, I have to let my body be.  I cannot fight to change its shape and size.  I cannot fix that lump here or starve away that bulge there.  I cannot purge away arms I don't like or the tummy that has carried two babies.  I have to look myself in the mirror and say to myself, "Yes.  That's me.  That's what I look like under my clothes."  I have to take a deep breath and take it in.  It's hard.  Sometimes it SUCKS!  Sometimes I can't look for very long.  But the next day might be different.  I accept.


My age is what it is.  Now I know you may roll your eyes.  I know I am not an old woman.  However, I am not young woman anymore either.  This is a recent realization for me.  We all come to this conclusion or will at some point in our lives.  I will be 36 this month.  I am closer to 40 than 30.  And it's ok.  We're all going the same direction.  None of us are moving back into youth.  I am getting wrinkles around my eyes.  I have tinsel in my hair that I am not dying away.  I have made the conscious decision that I am not going to fight this process.  I will not let my daughter see that I am desperately trying to turn back the clock.  I will show her that I accept and respect myself.  I will not cling to the past.  I will not dwell in my youth.  There is something beautiful in letting nature take its course.  I do not want to play into the culture of fear.  I do not want to buy jars of hope and clothes of fantasy.  I want to age as gracefully and as beautifully as I can.  I'll still wear a little make-up because it makes me feel pretty.  I'll wear my hair long or short whatever suits my fancy.  I will get a tattoo because it tells my story and feels real to me.  But I will not try to alter myself to stick to something that is passing away for everyone.  I accept.


Who I am is who I am.  This one is tricky.  I'm not entirely sure who I am yet.  I am still trying to figure it out.  I suspect I will always be trying to know myself.  Accepting myself as I am inside is hard.  Forgiving myself  for past mistakes is hard.  Letting go of expectations of myself is hard.  Putting away the individual masks I wear for each person is hard.  I have to come to terms with the parts of myself that I don't really care for.  I can be loud.  I swear like a sailor.  I am often judgmental.  I can be immature.  Sometimes I have the patience of a 2-year-old.  I am often kind of scatter-brained.  I can be terribly lazy.  I am extremely gullible.  I don't say theses to berate myself.  I say them only to accept them and remember that everyone has characteristics about themselves that they don't' like.  I just happen to be writing mine down today.  There are great many other things about myself that I think are pretty badass!  Instead of trying to fix or ignore, or deny these things about myself, I am going to say, "Yes.  Those things are there."  They are only pieces that make me who I am.  The are not all of me all the time.  They don't' need to be denied or shamed.  I accept.


My world is what it is.  I have a depressive organized brain.  I tend to lean into the sadness of the world.  I can relate to sorrow.  I have immense empathy and sometimes it all feels too much.  An eating disorder was a way to turn off that part of myself.  I cannot change the atrocities of the whole world.  I cannot make children come back to life.  I cannot make the "bad guys" disappear.  Natural disasters are not up to me.  I have to understand that sometimes bad things happen without any rhyme or reason.  Things are out of my hands.  I can do the best I can in my own little space, but I cannot be responsible for the world.  I can see it and learn lessons from what I see.  But it is not all mine.  There is great beauty in the world and in people that often gets overshadowed.  The good and the bad exist.  I accept.


My middle is round and soft.  I accept this.


So this is my journey right now.  I have to remind myself to practice of Radical Acceptance every single day.  There are some things that can be changed and should be.  There is a great many things that just are what they are and need no altering.  I accept.


Live on,


-Kristy


For more reading on Radical Acceptance try
http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/pieces-mind/201207/radical-acceptance

Emotional Yoga- moving the body and mind

Yoga in a train station.  Brisbane Australia

I went to my first yoga class in months last Thursday.  For those of you who know me, you know that yoga used to be my "thing."  I practiced pretty much every day.  Sometimes even twice a day.  In 2006 I awkwardly took my first class.  I was hooked from day one even though I was uncoordinated, falling down, and was extremely ungraceful.  Imagine a flamingo trying to do yoga, all knees and awkward.  That was me.  Even though my first few classes were challenging and I felt like an idiot, I still really dug it.  I stuck with it even though it felt weird.  I had actually found a form of movement that I liked!  I eventually felt strong, confident, determined and beautiful.  This was my kind of exercise.   It was slow and calculated.  Calming.  I could breathe and concentrate on only me and what my body needed to do.  I could turn my thoughts inward and connect with myself.  I craved it.  I was even considering becoming a yoga instructor.

Then something happened.  Once I relapsed back into my eating disorder, yoga turned into something very different.  I started focusing on the wrong things.  Instead of loving what my body was capable of doing and accepting that, I started to worry rather than relax:  What did I look like?  What body part wasn't right?  Why were my arms so big?  Who here is thinner than I am?  Damn it, why couldn't I do this pose?  Why wasn't I perfect at this yet?  I wasn't good enough.  Like many other things in my life, if I was not perfect, if I was not the best, I didn't think I had any business doing it at all.  My practice became more about what I should be able to do and my expectations of myself rather than an authentic experience.  It was no longer a release for me, but another thing to stress about.  My mat got shoved in the back of my car under the jumper cables; forgotten.

I would occasionally go to a class here and there.  I even got to do light yoga while I was away in the hospital for treatment.  I didn't stick with it as I had before because it fell second to the eating disorder.  I didn't fully appreciate my body.  Inside I loathed its weak boundaries and  incapability.  But last week I gave it another go.  Those true, original thoughts came back.  The appreciation, the patience, the acceptance.  I couldn't do everything I once could do but I was ok with that.  I wasn't quite as flexible, I needed some adjusting, I had a little trouble following instruction.  But it was alright.  I accepted my imperfections.  I accepted where I was that day.  I didn't put any pressure on myself and it was an amazing practice.

During the final pose (savasana) I started to cry.  Not a sobbing, earth-shattering wail, but fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I lie face-up on the floor.  I figured they might.  I could feel them rising up even before the pose and this wasn't the first time this has happened.  Having an emotional release during yoga is actually quite normal, especially during that final pose.  Even so, I was really hoping no one else would notice.  After at first trying to stifle them back, I decided to let go and be gentle with myself.  Instead of judgmental and critical of myself, I became curious as to why I was crying.  I came up with this:  I have been mean to my body.  Awful to it really.  I have been terrible to myself.  While the kind words of my instructor pierced my consciousness, I took her words to heart.  What I have done in the past, is past.  I am forgiven.  I forgive myself for how I have treated myself.  I have abused my body both in the physical sense and the mental.  No, my body is not perfect, but it is mine to take care of.  It is the only one I have been given.  Why have I punished my body so?  Why have I denied it care, fuel, love and compassion?  What has this body done that is so wrong and unforgivable?  Nothing.  It doesn't deserve the treatment I have dealt it.  I don't deserve it.

So yeah!  Wow!  How could I not cry while coming to this realization?  Now I wouldn't say that this one yoga class "healed" me.  I have had a difficult time with my ED as of late.  But, if I can bring this up again, if I can be gentle, curious and non-judgmental of myself, maybe I will be heading in the right direction.  More yoga, more emotion and more connection.  Namaste.

Live on!
-Kristy

From Funk to Friends- finding reconnection

Let's see how many of my friends read my blog!  Haha!

I'm in a funk.  Yup.  A compete funkfest.  I'd love to blame it all on the season but I am afraid it 's more than that.  The weather here has been beautiful with the exception of today, so it's not just the fall blues.  I'm not feeling down all of the time.  I have moments of funklessness.  But for the most part, I am feeling low and melancholy.  Oh, and when I say melancholy I mean I could totally spend this dreary day at my favorite cemetery reading Sylvia Plath and listening to my poor-me playlist.  "Did she just say her favorite cemetery?"  The thing is, I think I could fix this.  I know what I need to do.  It's just getting my sad ass up and doing it.  What I need to do is eat, (obviously, duh) and connect; both with others and myself.  These two things seem so simple.  Eat and connect.  Voila!  The problem with depression is it likes to keep me idle and detached.  It disables me from moving forward.  The role of the depression is to lock me up and throw away the key.  Logically, I know what to do.  I just have to shake this devil off my back.

Friends Under the Rain 

by Leonid Afremov

 

So, here is a shout out to all of my friends:  you will most likely be getting a call from me.  I know, sit by your phones, have your Skype up and running.  I'm coming out of my hole.  I have some amazing life-long friends and some incredible newer comrades.  One friend in particular has been in my life just a few years and in that time she has always been there for me.  I know if I needed her she would come running.  I just have a hard time asking.  She needs me too.  However, since I hit these patches, I tend to isolate and hermit myself.  In short, I haven't been putting out the effort.  I have not been the greatest friend.  What do I expect in return?  I have friends I haven't heard from in a while and I take that personally.  Maybe I am too much.  I am too overwhelming.  I have outworn my welcome.  Used up my friendship card.  This can't be true for all of my friends.  The phone works both ways.  The people who don't want to be here will show themselves out and some have.  But not everyone.  The people who have been in my life have proven that they don't mind that I am...well...me!  I have to remind myself, it's not always about me.  The friends I haven't heard from might be going through their own "funk" and I would know that if I put the effort in and connected with them.  Instead, I tend to turn it into a "me" thing.  No more.  Phones will be ringing, texts will be sent, reconnection will be established.  If any of my friends are reading this, you have been warned.

What I  also need to do is go over the list of people I have in my life and the people I want in my life.  I must let go of the people who have made it clear that a relationship with me is not a necessity for them, and really focus on the people who do what to know me.  For too long I have been wasting my time forcing relationships with people who don't need it as much as I do.  I have to let those go.  I have to quit trying to change me for them.  I will never be everything for everybody.  Kristy is not everyone's cup of tea and I truly have to accept that.  I need to put my energy back into the circle of people who are important to me and those I want to have a relationship with.  Those who really want to be in it with me.

I think once I make that human connection with that important circle again, the eating part will come more naturally.  An eating disorder really wants its host to be alone.  It's easier to survive if there is no one around to challenge the rigid and crazy rules and behaviors.  One is so much easier to control when there is a disconnect with people and feelings.  Connection is the eating disorder's enemy.  If I can force myself to take that step, accept me as I am, and see that my loved ones do too, I believe the food piece will fall back into place.  So here I go, one reach-out at a time.  I'm calling.

"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you.  You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."  -Bob Marley

-Kristy

What The? -10 random things I learned while traveling abroad-

I just returned home from visiting my sister and brother-in-law in Australia.  The two of them moved there three years ago and I finally made it out to see them.  I brought my 9 year old son on his first trip anywhere.  We had an amazing time.  I have to say, I learned some interesting things about myself and the world on this first trip abroad.  Here are some of my random realizations, in no particular order:

10.  I am not as prepared for world travel as I thought I was.  Go to Bali?  India?  Brazil?  Of course I can.  After all, I now have a passport!  I would love to!  However, after this first international trip, I have learned that perhaps it is not as easy as I thought to seamlessly slip into another culture.  I mean, I was in an English-speaking country for crying out loud!  I still had issues figuring out which coin was which.  What was the woman with the accent was saying?  Which direction is north?  Driving on the right hand side?  Terrifying!  Finding food I recognized? Help!  Grams?  Litres?  If all of this was a shock to me in Australia, what on earth would I do in a significantly different foreign country?  Australia is a great place for me to practice being out of my comfort zone.  I realized I need to get out more!

9.  Skip looks on a 24 hour travel mission.  Go for comfort!  From my house to my destination we were traveling for 24 hours.  One flight alone was 14 hours long.  Now, I don't want to go into a lot of detail about this, but let's just say my yoga pants were fine during the long travel.  What I was wearing underneath the yoga pants was not fine.  And a bra?  Oh heck no!  A supportive tank top or sports bra is the way to go.  From now on it is comfort over cute when traveling.

8.  Study up!  A "napkin" means something completely different in Australia than it does in the US.  A "fanny pack" is apparently not a little purse-like pouch one wears around their waist.  I could have spared myself some embarrassing moments if I had studied up on my Aussie lingo a bit more prior to my trip.

7.  I am not a pleasant person on a 6 hour drive in a cramped car.  I don't like waking up from naps or riding in a car for long periods of time.  On this trip I had to do both simultaneously. I later had to apologize to my hosts for any foul language I may have spouted out and for calling my brother-in-law a jerk.  Thank goodness we're all family.

6.  What? I have an accent?   "I'll have the raspberry muffin please."  Apparently my accent was difficult for the baker to understand.  "Oh you mean rosburry?"  "Ummmm yeah. ROSBURRY."

5.  I am not actually afraid of flying.  In a previous blog post I wrote about my fear of flying.  I discovered though that while I don't particularly care for take-off or landing, what really makes me nervous is the navigating of the airport.  The process of getting through security, customs, passports, boarding passes, baggage, lines, strange airports.  All of the chaos of getting from here to there is the real issue.  I don't like turbulence or the loud noise of the plane.  But I am not particularly afraid of being up in the air once I am there.  Once I am up, it is actually a sense of relief!

4.  I don't need any stinking makeup!  I for the first time since I was probably 14 years old I went completely makeup free for two weeks.  Granted I don't normally wear a lot of makeup but consciously not bringing any with me was slightly nerve wrecking!  I have to say, I spent much less time in the mirror while on this trip.  My hair got combed at best.  There was just too much to do to worry about how I looked.  I noticed I was much less self-conscious.  It was all sand, sun and adventure.  I really didn't care what I looked like.  What a relief!

3.  The world is really big!  Since I have never been anywhere besides the US, I finally got to see another piece of the world.  I mean, I knew the Pacific Ocean was big but when one is flying over it for hours and hours...and hours it is monstrous!  I felt so small and insignificant while flying in that huge, yet small and insignificant jet.  It has never taken me more than 7 hours to get anywhere.  This journey around the planet was eye-opening and awe-inspiring.

2.  The world is so small.  On the other side of the world there were so many differences: Styles, accents, geography.  Yet, there were a great many similarities as well.  I would notice all the things I recognized from home: kindness in people, some of the same songs on the radio.  A sign for Coca-Cola or a Subway sandwich shop.  It reminded me of our unity and humanity.  We are so far apart from each other, but so much the same.

1.  Don't touch it!  It will probably kill you!  From poisonous toads to extreme electrical outlets, this place was deadly!  All the things I was comfortable with at home went out the window in Australia.  See that spider?  DON'T TOUCH IT!  That kangaroo there?  IT COULD KICK YOU!  My sister actually had to tell me to back off from the 5 ft (1.524 m) wild carpet python.  Cars have the right of way over pedestrians so even crossing the street has to be thought about more carefully!  Apparently I feel safe at home and all common sense was lost.  It really is a miracle I survived.
So there it is.  Just a little of what I learned.  These are strange things that I did not take into consideration before.  Now I know some helpful tips that will make my next adventure go so much more smoothly.  Oh, and I had better start brushing up on my metric conversions before returning to Australia.

Live on,

-Kristy

On Coming Out

Just about every day, it hits me:  I went public with this.  Everyone who knows me, everyone on my Facebook list, anyone who reads my blogs, my neighbors, my kid's teachers, my boss, my former classmates, they all know the secret I've kept for years.  Some have known much longer than others.  But it's all out there now.  The voice in my head criticizes my decision.  "You should have kept your mouth shut.  This is so embarrassing.  You can never hide.  This will follow you forever."  I get a sense of panic.  Oh my God.  What must people think of me?  I know what some think because some say whatever pops into their head.  That is almost better than wondering what people are thinking.  I've heard everything from, "I wish I had that!" to, "But you don't look that skinny." I've heard, "Put Kristy in front of it.  She'll eat anything!" to, "Oh you look great!  Are you trying to lose weight?"  I've even had a physician say, "Lift up your shirt.  You look fine."  And another tell me, "You're going to die."  I have heard it all.  It is still much worse wondering what people are thinking and not saying out loud.

So why did I "come out" about this anyway?  Why not just keep the secret?  Looking back, I guess it just sort of...happened.  Two years ago I had to take a leave of absence from work for an undetermined amount of time.  I was being sent to a hospital halfway across the country.  I had no idea how long I would be there but the average was about 6-8 weeks.  I ended up staying there for 3 months.  I figured it was better to start letting people know why I left town.  There had to be a reason why I was away all summer.  Why I wouldn't be taking my kids to their first day of school.  Why I never showed up to cub scout meetings.  My husband had to take time off from work.  My parents and in-laws had to take the kids for weeks at a time.  I knew the rumors would start flying.  People would think I left my husband and kids.  People might think I had a drug or alcohol problem.  People might assume I had some other disease.  I didn't want to put the pressure on my family to lie for me.  So the truth came out.  More so than I initially wanted.  I posted a letter to all those I thought really needed to know.  Friends, family, co-workers.  Some knew already but most did not.  Word spread and I became more and more open and comfortable with honesty.

When I fist opened up about this I was surprised at the response.  I felt so much love, compassion, support.  Some friends became closer.  A few, more distant.  It was a truly eye-opening experience to find out who really wanted to be a part of my life.  Others started sharing.  They knew someone else.  They didn't know anyone else.  They had a sister, a friend, a mother who had bulimia, anorexia, binge eating disorder.  I talked to people all over who struggled with food in one way or another.  This natural, basic need has turned into a big problem for so many people.  I met others like me.  I met families like mine.  I was not alone.  Sure, some didn't have much to say to me or took a step back.  But for the most part, opening up was the most beautiful way to find out who and what was important in my life.

There are times when I wish I didn't have this plastered out there.  I sometimes think that the disorder is all people see when they look at me.  Do people see that I am creative, funny, smart, and basically just pretty awesome?  Or do they just see Kristy, the loud-mouth anorexic chick who just wants attention?  I'll never  truly know what others see in me.  I suppose it only matters how I see myself.  I try to focus on who I want to be and the journey I have been on.  When I get asked for help, when I hear stories from others, I know I did the right thing by being open.  Honest.  Me.

-Live on,

-Kristy

Oh...I Am So Going.

I had a wake-up call yesterday.  I was sitting in "D's" office (my dietician) and I was irritated about something my husband had told me last week.  If I don't get my crap together quick, I might not be allowed to board the plane to Australia in three weeks.  What the #$%*?  Now I know he didn't come up with this on his own.  "Dr. H" must have planted this in his head last week when he saw her.  I was hopping mad!  Or rather, my ED was.  Just wait until I get in a room with "Dr. H."  I am going to give her a piece of my mind.  But after talking with "D" a few minutes she explained their combined concerns.  She gently informed me it would not be ethical for them, as professionals, to let someone who was sick slip through and board a plane for a huge trip with a clean bill of health.  Reality check Kristy.

I hate to admit this but...they are right.

While the airline will not let people fly who are too ill, there is no way in this situation for the airline to know if I am too sick to fly or not.  That's not really the point though.  "D" really had me thinking yesterday.  What kind of trip do I want to have?  How long have I wanted to do this?  Didn't this illness take this opportunity away from me before?  Do I want to be sick on this wonderful adventure?  Do I want to be dizzy, shaky, fainting or more susceptible to other illnesses?  HELL NO!  In three weeks a lot can go wrong in this disease as I have seen first hand.  I have got to get it going in the right direction.  I refuse to let this ED take something else away from me.

My dear, sweet husband also shared his fears with me.  I could see the emotion he often tries to hide written all over his face.  He told me he was afraid to let me go in the state I am in.  I am not only going without him, I am solely responsible for our son.  Who is going to be there if I am too confused to figure things out?  What is my 9 year old going to do if I pass out?  It's all on me.  I need to get well not only for myself, but so I can safely get our son to the other side of the world and back.  I have got to make my health my number one priority.  I've got to be the grown-up.

So, "D" put me back on a strict meal plan that I simply must follow.  And, I am all over this.  I made breakfast my bitch.  I licked lunch.  Dinner is a done deal.  This is happening.  I have to say, while eating my egg, toast and berries this morning I was cranky as all hell.  I think I told my poor husband to go eff off (don't worry, he can handle it) when he came to see how I was doing.  He patted my shoulder in encouragement.  After 16 years of this, off and on, he knows that my ED is the one who is angry, not the real me.  After breakfast I felt..well...freakin' great actually!  I was excited, energized (imagine that?) and motivated.  This trip could be a triggering point (see last blog post Fear of Flying) but this can also be a catalyst for something good.  I am going to fight for this.  I want this for me.  I want to live life.  In ED there is no life.  Only emptiness, loss, and loneliness.  Screw that!  I am going to Australia a healthy sheila.  Watch me!

Fear of Flying

My dad has worked for one of the biggest airplane manufacturers in the world for the last 30 years.  He is always trustworthy, extremely intelligent and kind.  And yet, when he has tried to scientifically explain how a huge, metal tube with wings can soar thought the clouds effortlessly, my mind shuts him down.  Nope.  Nothing that big should be hurtling through the air.  It's just...well...not right.  For me it defies nature.  It is wrong.

I have to bring myself and my son aboard one of these blasted things in three weeks.

Not only do I have to calmly sit myself on one of these terrifying tubes, I have to do so without any help of pharmaceuticals or alcoholic beverages.  My 9 year old will be with me for his very first flight.  Mom has got to be cool.  Chill.  Sober.  RELAXED.  I don't want to crush the poor boy's hand during takeoff.  I don't want to turn into a melting pile of anxiety.  I definitely do not want to make him worry right along with me.  He asked me last night if planes crash into the ocean and if anyone has ever died in a plane crash.  Oh &%@#!  I could feel my heart racing as the image of a plane aflame crashes into the icy cold ocean.  Ok, breathe.  Be calm.  Logically I know that the likelihood of my dying in a car-crash is way more plausible than a plane crash.  But a car is at least on the ground already.  The fact that this thing is thousands of feet in the air mocking God is what terrifies me the most.

Bridesmaids, 2011

This will also be the largest jet I have ever been on and my first trip out of the country.  Not only that, but the flight will be so very, very long!  We will be on our way to Australia (where about a million other things could kill me).  Needless to say, there is a lot of anxiety arising with this pending adventure.  I am an anxious person to begin with.  Throw in some stress and you've got a big, hot mess right here.  I've got to get this under control, and quick.

Now don't get me wrong.  I am excited to visit my sister in Australia!  I am sure we are going to have beauty of a time.  This is a trip that many people dream of!  If only I could just turn that part of my brain off that brings up all of the nonsense.  I am not worried about getting bit by a poisonous spider, or a eaten by a shark.  I am not worried about toxic snails or drop bears.  I am worried about a number of other things.  The flight over the vast oceans is only one of my concerns.

What if this huge trip does not live up to all the hype?  People of told me they have wanted to visit Australia their whole lives.  It's on bucket lists and savings plans.  I just get to go.  Largely due to the fact that my sister and bro-in-law paid for my (death) ticket.  Sure, we had to save quite a lot too for our son's passage but for the most part, this should be a pretty stress-free visit.  No need worry about a place to stay or a car or getting lost.  All of that is taken care of.  So why am I so freaked out?

Well here's another big reason:  My inevitable departure (if I live that long of course).  Saying good-bye to my only sister and best friend is extremely hard.  I did not realize just how close we were until she moved there almost three years ago.  It was devastating.  She tries to visit once a year or so but each time we part it is like a scab getting torn back open.  I miss this person.  I want to be with this person.  And she moved across the planet.  I do not see her moving back anytime soon or ever really.  She is extremely happy there and I want her to be as happy as she can be.  I just long for those conversations over coffee that do not transfer well via Skype or text.  I cannot wait to see her.  I am so very blessed to have this amazing opportunity.  I am just going to have to have my band-aids ready for the wound it will surely open when I leave.

There is also a tremendous amount of pressure to get well before I go.  My eating disorder has flared back up a bit in the last couple of months.  I do believe this trip has brought up some issues.  Issues that are easier to deal with by dabbling in my disorder rather than facing my "feelings" about them.  I have got to get this this going the right direction.  Otherwise, my trip could be severely compromised.  I also don't want my sister to see me like this.  I want her to see me healthy and happy and excited!  Not picking at my food and getting light-headed.  Nothing like a little recovery deadline to add some nerves!

As the days tick down I get more and more excited.  Both the good and the bad anxiety.  I know I just need to take one step at a time.  My intelligence will take over and get me from point A to point B to point C and so on.  I just need to take a deep breath, and step aboard.

Food for Thought 


How do you cope with anxiety?

What are your fears?

Any advice for my travels?

-Live on (and no worries mate)
-Kristy