Posts tagged ED

I’m really trying here not to shoot off on some drunken tirade about what a shit night and shit morning I’ve had and how shit shit shitty I’ve been feeling for the past few days. Oops, there I go. Let me just compose myself for a second…

OK. I’m OK now. Back to our regular programming. I’m not drunk really. However, I woke up this morning tipsy, but that’s subsided and now I’m hungover. I’m lightheaded, dehydrated, bloated, out of breath, weak-kneed and whatever else you can associate with the morning after a night of drinking and staying up late. I was out with honey B last night. I’ve probably mentioned her somewhere in my tumblr. She’s my best friend, my partner in crime. We’re Thelma and Louise or Bonnie and Clyde (minus the male addendum and romance, of course) Anyway, I brought a bottle of wine to her place; half of which we finished in her flat and the other half we finished while driving around the city going from place to place. B and I went to two places last night, but most of the fun we had was goofing in the car drinking wine out of the bottle. (Yeah, we’re classy like that. Urgh.) Remind me to thank God for drivers. Er, they’re both a blessing and a curse. You don’t have to worry about drinking and driving, but you do have to worry about letting yourself go and drinking too much because hey, you have a designated driver so yeeeah let’s get sloooshed right? Wrong.

Anyway as you can see I’m not in the right state of mind to type out some melodious and lyrical post that’s easy on the eyes; you know, my usual inspirational recovery posts and whatnot. However, we’ll see how this post progresses but for the time being, I’m free-hand typing. I’m not feeling too good. My mood has dipped significantly over the past few days, even if I’m taking my medication everyday. I feel the change in me. I feel weighed down. Pardon the pun. Why? For a number of reasons. Well I’ve gained weight. 5 pounds to be exact. Trigger. I haven’t really been taking care of myself these days. I haven’t been going to the gym like I used to, for lack of time, opportunity or energy. I’ve been going out too often, drinking too much, smoking more. I don’t get enough sleep either because I go out late at night and come home early morning. I don’t even eat regularly anymore. Sometimes I go the entire day without eating, surviving on water, caffeinated beverages and cigarettes, and then eat at dinner. Trigger. I suppose by now you’ve gathered that this makes for a messy cocktail (Really, urgetopurge, more puns? Really?) Not going to the gym puts me on edge. Trigger. Going out late at night and drinking makes me peckish in the wee hours of the morning, and I’ve developed this sort of need to binge and purge when I get home. Sometimes I manage to purge, oftentimes I pass out from exhaustion. That doesn’t do well, does it? That happened last night actually. Got home, binged, passed out from exhaustion, woke up bloated, had an episode. Trigger, trigger, trigger. Funny word, by the way. Trigger. Sorry, not making sense. It’s all triggering my old habits of needing to starve myself. Hence the not eating and surviving on water, caffeine and cigarettes. Buuut we all know that doesn’t work.

God this post isn’t working out for me. I’m all a mess right now. I’m going to pop out for a bit, but I’ll be back (hopefully with something more insightful for you all). I’m meeting S in GH. He says we’re going to talk. Sounds serious, I know. Catch you later, lovelies. I hope your days are filled with love, laughter and happiness.

Last night one of my best girlfriend’s told me that she had an ED. She didn’t say it outright. We were discussing tattoos and she asked me what mine meant. I said it was a recovery symbol for an ED, and she said, “Ohhh, really? I have too.” It didn’t really come as a shock to me. I wrote about her once in a post, but we weren’t that close at the time. She was the one I bumped into in the bathroom, where I saw the toilet swallow the last few remnants of regurgitated food, where the cubicle reeked of the unmistakable odor of vomit. I told her that I’d always known, and that I just didn’t know how to approach her, or if I should; who knows, she could have a stomach disorder or just happen to vomit because she was pregnant or something. I didn’t know at the time, but now I do.

I never thought I’d end up talking to her about her problem, or even my problem, but I’m glad she opened up to me.  She told me a bit about herself and I told her a lot about myself. I didn’t censor my stories or sugar coat them to make them sound better. I gave her the cold, hard and cruel facts because truthfully, nothing about this disease is pretty. She seemed a bit hesitant and doubtful of herself but that’s normal; even if she wants to get better, she can’t let go of the weight thing. 

I told her that what I learned from my psych is that people like us are control freaks. We thrive on perfectionism and control. Whenever something chaotic happens, something out of our control, we freak out and we try to exert that sense of control on our weight, on ourselves. Whenever something bad happens to us it translates into us being fat, and therefore undisciplined, invaluable, undeserving, worthless. She needs to learn that she is more than her bodily composition of skin, bones, muscle, organs and adipose tissue. With help, in time, she’ll realize that and believe it.

The fact that she is willing to tell me about her issue means that somewhere deep inside of her is that little spurt of yearning and desire to get better. It might not be a full-blown, relentless need for recovery, but it’s there. Flowers just don’t pop out of nowhere, you know? I gave her the office and contact number of my psychiatrist. I told her that whenever she’s ready to see someone, my psychiatrist will be open to her. She thanked me but said that for the time being she’ll see if she can handle it on her own first. I have my doubts about that. I’ve heard that so many times before, not just from myself but other people in the blogosphere. Do I doubt her? No. She’s strong. But sometimes the disease is stronger.

Hopefully in time she realizes that she needs help, and when she does, she takes the necessary steps to embark on her path of recovery. Until then all my hope, faith, love and prayers are with her.

Another episode today. I feel so exhausted. My face is swollen, my heart is pounding and my hands are shaking - the usual symptoms of a post-binge purge session. I was so tired the whole day because I went out last night. I only had several hours of sleep. Maybe 3 or 4. I can’t go without an average of 7.5 hours. I took a nap around 3 and woke up at 4. I had this urge to eat and I stormed the kitchen. I even raided our helper’s ref and pantry. I found cake and chocolate candy bars, saltine crackers and caramel sauce. Peanut butter, too. Where the hell did that come from? A secret stash of leftovers from weeks or months ago. We don’t buy that for the family. We stopped buying that years ago. I purged until my throat stung and burned with stomach acid. 

I was thinking too much about what I’d eaten, and if I should have eaten or should not have eaten. Too many thoughts bouncing around in my head preventing me from really connecting my self and my body.

Breathe.

Two days ago I signed up for a one week unlimited yoga sessions at a yoga studio nearby. I’d done yoga in the past, but I wasn’t sure if the modified yoga at the gym counted. I’d never done bikram yoga, either. Imagine constantly being in movement for an hour and a half in a room nearly as hot as your internal body temperature. Who knew you could sweat that much? I go to the gym regularly but my heart has never beaten that hard or that fast nor have my muscles have felt that stretched or worked.

What I love most about bikram yoga, or yoga in general, is the fact that I am actually learning to appreciate my body. I saw photos online of what people usually wore to bikram yoga (which was near underwear or bikini-like outfits) and I definitely wasn’t confident enough to wear that. I remember the first day I went. I wore running shorts and a fitted racerback. I was already feeling quite conscious of myself, and I was pretty covered up compared to the beer belly guy in the tight spandex shorts. I kept thinking my thunder thighs were jiggling, or that my fat rolls spilled over my shorts every time I bent over or sat down. Mirrors ran across the two walls, and I couldn’t stop staring at myself. However, when the session began, all my thoughts and insecurities quieted down. As I engaged my mind and body in the yoga, I wasn’t thinking anymore about the way my body looked. Instead, I focused on how my body felt and if I was doing the poses correctly. Although I still wobbled and sometimes fell over, I felt centered. Although I wasn’t as flexible as the yoga master in the corner of the room, I marveled in the way my body moved. At the end of the session, we finished in corpse pose. The yogi left the room, turned off the lights and invited us to stay for as long or as little as we liked to enjoy the last breaths of our yoga session. I opened my eyes feeling tired, but calm, collected and surprisingly refreshed.

Yesterday I went back for my second session. I mustered enough courage to wear a black sports bra and leggings. It wasn’t so much as showing off because really, I was still quite conscious of myself. It was just more practical considering how I soaked through my racerback the other evening. As we engaged in the yoga, I couldn’t help but feel extremely conscious of myself. There I was, sweating to the point of shriveling like a raisin, in a black sports bra - my stomach, arms, chest, hips, waist exposed for everyone to see. There is one instance where I learned quite a valuable lesson. Every now and then I’d steal a glance to my side, wondering if my back fat was exposed, or if my tummy stuck out. I realized that if even for a split second I allowed my focus to falter, it threw me off kilter and nearly crashing into the person next to me. I’d stand up, start the pose over and focus on staring intently into my front reflection. I could feel all my effort and energy was focused on making sure I was equally balanced in the stretch and pull of my dancer pose. I realize now that that instance is quite reflective of my life. If I worry so much about the way I look, it’ll throw me off kilter and crashing to the ground. Rather, I should focus all my efforts and energy on what feels good and what feels right for me. I’ll have a stronger core and stronger foundations. I’ll be centered, focused on recovery and ultimately at peace.

“Yoga From The Inside Out: Making Peace With Your Body Through Yoga” by Christina Sells