I’M A PECULIAR LITTLE PERSON

A friend asked today, How are you?

Now, this friend is not someone I bother saying, I’m fine to, because she knows better than to listen to that bullshit. Our journeys have crossed paths on more than one occasion and she gets it. But I didn’t really know what to say, because I kind of AM fine.

But I’m also not fine.

I’m not good. Or bad. I’m neither happy nor sad.

I feel stagnant to be honest. (I looked up a feelings wheel – it didn’t mention stagnant…) I don’t even feel flat (another non-feeling). So what do I feel? After a quick scan through I can identify the following: distant (mad), insignificant & anxious (scared), appreciated (powerful), pensive (peaceful), apathetic & tired (sad). So aside from joy, a little bit of everything. I’m the mongrel of emotions.

What does this mean? I’m not sure. But I do know I’m having a very – very, very – strong urge to slip back into restriction. It barely has anything to do with losing weight – although I desperately want that as well. I think it’s about identity. And success – peculiar as that sounds.

I’m an unsuccessful bulimic.

Too timid to do it properly and go the whole hog (well to be fair – I’ve eaten like a hog a lot of the time…). But throwing up sucks – big time – and I don’t want that any more. It hurts my back and neck, I get blood blisters in my mouth, it clogs the toilets up, destroyed my singing voice, and eating food then regurgitating it almost immediately is just a big fat waste of money! Plus bulimics find their way into eating disorder hell because they want to lose weight, but ironically, are usually a little plump.

But the siren song of restriction – aka starvation – is calling to me. Today I had no urge to binge whatsoever. Yippee! However I’m acutely aware the lack of urge is not progress, but a pendulum swing to the other extreme, and it is at this point I need to be careful. I repeated my little mantra throughout the day (restriction leads to binging leads to weight gain) because while you cannot recover from an eating disorder if obsessed with weight (light bulb moment – this is why I’m not recovered!),  reminding myself means I will force meals in at regular intervals. Today was two bowls of carrot & coriander soup, and two large glasses of breakfast smoothie. Lots of nutrition. Zero hunger.

So how to answer the How are you? question? I still don’t know. Freedom from food obsession requires looking forward – picturing myself in a future that has “stuff” in it. People, places, purpose. Identity. Slipping backwards feels comforting and has an enormous allure – I would be depressingly happy. If you’ve been there, you know what I mean. If you haven’t – I can’t explain it. Familiarity is comfortable, and comfort is happiness. In a morbid kind of way.

If you ask me how I am today, I can quite honestly say, Peculiar.
 

A STEP FORWARD

I’ve been farting around in recovery land for years now – and I’m still lost. I know I’ve made progress – and this is a jolly good thing – but change is minimal when it comes to the movement of fork to lips. My progress is more in emotional regulation than eating behaviours.

Why? What the fuck is wrong with me?!

I ponder this endlessly. Along with all the other things I ponder endlessly. I suspect I should spend less time pondering and more time being productive. There’s a big barrier though. I seem to look out into the world of good health and well being through a little portal. I stare longingly at something within my grasp and power. I stand frozen behind a portal I constructed myself.

After much pondering, I’ve found some insight into the origin of this obstacle.

While I never experienced horrific trauma, I collected little teeny bits of trauma and dysfunction all my life. Thousands upon thousands of little moments that stuck like glue, coiling themselves around me, carving dysfunction into my core identity. I was unlovable, destined to fail, here to serve, too big for my boots, too fat, too ugly, mean, self-absorbed, hedonistic. And you know what? I have been all these things – for small moments in time. These things were lessons to take on board. To build me into a better person. Not piteous moments to hide behind. To feel sorry for myself and wallow in misery. I’ve frequented a lot of pity parties and really, they’re very ugly. It doesn’t make for a very cheery outlook on life.

When conflict arises, I have always taken full responsibility. This is not helpful. It is as unhelpful as taking no responsibility. But I have made progress. In a recent encounter that led to conflict, instead of hiding in shame I reached out. I said, I feel so upset, words that have never crossed my lips before. Useful words because they acknowledge how I felt. I then discussed the conflict with friends and established where I had gone wrong, how I could do better, and what issues fell into the other person’s basket. I stopped believing it was all my fault. I contributed to the problem, but it wasn’t all my fault. And you know what? I didn’t binge/purge/restrict once in response to the upset. That is a new thing for me. It’s taken 51 years, but I managed a stressful event in a grown-up manner. Apparently old dogs can learn new tricks.

This is just a tiny example of progress I feel I’ve made in emotional regulation. I can’t articulate what a huge step this is for me. Historically, when blowing something out of proportion I have done so silently. In my head. Where molehills are routinely expanding into colossal mountains, and whole cheesecakes are soon devoured.

So moving into the world beyond – a task that simply requires me to take a step – is about emotional regulation. I don’t binge because it’s fun. I don’t purge because it’s trendy or restrict because I care for my wellbeing. I do these things because I lack emotional tools and skills. The answer lies in tearing way every single one of those thousands upon thousands of moments of trauma and dysfunction – analysing and accepting them. Believing I am who I choose to be, not who I was told I am.

So why is this journey take so freaking long? Because there’s so many little bits. And they’re all torn up and stuck all over me – protecting me from feeling anything. It is an ugly truth, but I find it easier to wallow in self-pity about how dreadful I am than to speak to a trusted friend. It is easier to curl up under a blanket, with a bowl full of ice cream and complain about poor me, than to accept what is, just is. To spend as much time seeking positives as I do expecting negatives.

In order to identify my defects in character, I have to recognise my strengths. I hear again and again, self-compassion is essential to healing. We cannot have compassion for the world, without compassion for ourselves. Or as my mother always said, charity begins at home.

My recovery is a long, dreary process because the issue is not the food – it never was and I always knew that. But today, I feel one step closer to knowing what the issue is. Or at least one of the issues. I’m almost ready to step up to that portal with my little toe outstretched.

THAT FINE LINE BETWEEN BRAVERY & STUPIDITY

I keep receiving lovely messages of support for my blog posts – thank you 🙂 I am very touched by every message, and moreso with the knowledge my innermost waffle is read and appreciated by others. It really is very comforting.

I also keep receiving lovely messages saying how brave I am for sharing so openly and honestly. For revealing so many of my ugly truths and personal struggles. Again – I thank you all for the support, but I’m also left wondering, am I doing the right thing?

As I’ve mentioned ad nauseum, I grew up in an emotionally dysfunctional and stunted environment.

There were tons of positives in my childhood, and I don’t mean to diminish their value, but unfortunately it is the negatives that left me drowning in recent years, and relearning how to function in society.

As I learned to deaden all emotions as a child – and I maintained this less-than-stellar approach for the first fifty years of my life – I have no sense of boundaries. The natural thing for me, is to talk about you. To tell you nothing more about myself than my favourite colour (pink) and how I have my tea (a dash of milk and no sugar thank you). Even discussing my favourite foods is problematic – I worry so much what I say will be judged, that now I’m not even sure I know what my favourite foods are. As I delved more and more into recovery, and searching for the self-awareness to identify my issues and how to remedy them, I gradually started learning to share stuff. ‘Stuff’ being feelings, thoughts, reflections on my actions and contemplations of future options.

I sometimes wonder if I’ve crossed a line. Am I oversharing? Does this impact those I live with? My husband and close friends read this blog. My eldest son has found it. My brother. I’m sure over time there may be other people who stumble upon it. Have I shared too much? I can say with absolute certainty, that if was asked about my feelings or about why I’m purging, or do I experience anxiety, I would be struck dumb. Staring at you with a slightly confused look of panic, desperately hoping the earth will open up beneath me so I can seek out a rock to hide behind. Discussing these things in real life borders on horrific. I just can’t do it. Or won’t do it. I lack the courage.

Gradually over the past couple of years I have shared more and more – initially in sessions with a psychologist, and then over time with different friends, then journaling and blogging. I now feel quite free sharing my innermost thoughts. It is quite comfortable. Perhaps this is how a smoker feels once they get used to those first god-awful cigarettes – it gets easier and easier the more you do it, and then before you know it, you’re comfortable with your new habits. Whether they’re healthy or not is a whole other story.

So why do I share? And potentially overshare? Number one – it’s all about me.

Journaling is the single most powerful tool I have used in recovery. It took me years and years to bother starting. I kept reading and hearing how it was a great tool but I just thought (in my holier-than-thou kind of way), Yeah whatever. I’m sure it’s great, but it won’t work for me. But I stand before you now – totally corrected. There is no better tool. There is no necessity for journaling to be read by others – in fact a lot of my writings will never be read by anybody else – but just the pure act of writing out thoughts and feelings is incredibly cathartic. I also like to understand the nitty gritty of everything – or as one of my gorgeous friends says, the ins and outs of a duck’s guts (poor duck 🙁 ) – and I understand my thoughts better with the written word. To be honest, I frequently fuck up the spoken word so I’m much more comfortable in this written world.

But aside from this sharing being all about me, there is a self-indulgent, ambitious part of me hoping it is helpful to others. To those who are going through any sort of recovery, I hope maybe a tiny snippet of something I write one day, will resonate and help you to know you’re not alone, you should never give up, there’s always another day and another way, hang in there. I understand what it’s like. I believe in you. You’re worth it. We can do it – together.

And to those who are trying to understand or support someone in recovery, I hope my little journey is a small window into one person’s world and that little window may shed a tiny bit of light and understanding. When you live with a mental health issue – be it depression, anxiety, addiction, or any of the myriad conditions – there is stigma and judgement and fear. And that’s just from yourself. If one support person develops a little more understanding or empathy, then the world becomes a kinder place.

And as for me being brave with my sharing? I don’t feel brave. Bravery is facing a fear head on, and doing it anyway. Writing and pressing “publish” doesn’t cause me any fear. Staying on the same side of the road as the chihuahua that’s coming towards me is terrifying, and that takes courage.

But blogging is not courageous for me – it’s cathartic.

I’m not sure if I’m crossing over into the land of stupidity? I have met a lot of people in my life – family and friends and students and colleagues and members in groups and orchestras and goodness only knows what else! And I suspect that over time, people will inadvertently stumble across this blog and all of a sudden know a ton of information about me. I am not sure if that is brave or stupid, but I do hope it is worth it.

So with every ounce of my being, I thank each and every one of you for reading my words. For allowing me to share my thoughts – without judgment. For letting me wallow in pity parties and catastrophise every day events. These things I need to do. And I hope that something I say helps someone some day. And I desperately hope that what I say, never negatively impacts somebody else. This is my story, and my story alone.

FAILURE

There is a magnificent quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson titled, Success. I found it many moons ago, had it printed and laminated, then stuck on the toilet wall for my children to read and absorb.

Now the mirror to success is failure. And it is so easy to fear failure.

What is failure?

To wallow in history, and relegate your identity to the past.

To basque in your miseries, like the rays of a glorious sunrise.

To seek life’s shadows and neglect the light.

To silence mistakes, with shame or remorse, and overlook the lessons proffered.

To fear reflection from inside or out, and cast aspersion upon the critic’s review.

To lose sight of contentment, in the simple gifts of the every day.

To abandon the search for the dream you seek.

This is to have failed.

I must not fail.

I HOLD YOU, IN THE PALM OF MY HANDS

You held me, in the palm of your hands,
When I was young, red-faced and new.
You held my hand, as up I grew,
Then held me in your heart.

From you I learned a love of words,
Of all things wild and all things free.
To nurture all the gifts we have,
Upon this earth called home.

Four score and more your heart once beat,
As life was lived and loved and lost.
So small and dark, and fair and stark,
Daughter, wife and mother.

No matter angst, or bitterness,
Forgiveness is a family trait.
I loved you all the days we had.
And cared as roles reversed.

I hold you, in the palm of my hands,
Your substance, strength, reduced to ash,
No wicked wit, no wise words left,
Now you are here no more.

BANDED

In April 2012 I was 46 years old. I’d battled weight my entire life and I was tired. All the weight I’d previously lost was back on – again. All the tricks I’d used before were failing. I tried eating less, exercising more, eating more, exercising less. Shakes and weird shit and anything I could think of. I was still fat and getting fatter. So in tears and desperation, I made an appointment to see an obesity surgeon on a Thursday. He had a cancellation the following Monday.

I booked in, had a gastric lap band fitted, and changed my life.

Now just to be clear, I was not morbidly obese at the time of the surgery. I won’t name numbers as I know they can be triggering for those with eating or body issues. I was in the obese range but not even close to morbidly obese. By Christmas I was close to my healthy weight range and stronger, fitter and healthier than I’d been for a very long time.

Immediately after having a lap band, you live on liquids, and over the following weeks and months food is increased in texture until eventually, you’re back to eating normal food. The surgeon monitors this period of time to check you’re healing well and to make adjustments to the tightness of the band.

For the first six months everything was fabulous. I had virtually no hunger, I was keeping food down, and I was losing weight. After about six months, I’d figured out how to purge. It wasn’t deliberate – I just accidentally ate sushi too fast and it was too painful to keep it down.

I had purged for years in my early twenties but once marriage and motherhood came along I just let myself get fat. Periodically over the next twenty years I occasionally purged but not for long.

Fast forward six months post lap band and I was purging a little, which quickly escalated into a lot.

In order to keep food down, you have to eat incredibly slowly. Just that one simple thing. I have never mastered it but will add it to my to-do list.

About 15 months after surgery I had increasing issues with the lap band. I was returning to the surgeon on a regular basis to have adjustments up and down. If the band is tight I lose more weight – because I throw up all the time. If the band is loose I gain weight – because I can’t throw up, and I had not at that point dealt with any of my emotional or mental health issues.

I was ending up in the emergency department more regularly and having periods of time where I couldn’t even keep a sip of water down. A few scans were done and eventually, it was discovered scar tissue had built up under the band and my stomach herniated through the top. I was popped onto a drip for a bit of rehydration and surgery scheduled to replace the band.

It was never explicitly said the scar tissue built up from excessive vomiting, but I suspect that is the case.

Post-surgery the lap band was good again. But life was becoming unbearably traumatic and my eating disorder issues escalating out of control. Within two years of having the lap band, I was deep into full-blown bulimia. I have been in that place since then – using the band to make purging easy. Too fearful of losing control over my eating to let go of the purging.

Stuck in a vicious cycle of negative behaviours and thought patterns.

Lap bands are also notorious for introducing reflux issues. And again as I wasn’t managing the band entirely well, I had significant problems with reflux, requiring hospitalisation on more than one occasion.

Fifteen months ago I had my breakdown and stopped eating altogether. Bingo – I learned the art of anorexic behaviours as well. Now I had a choice – I could starve myself, or I could binge and purge. And I was so tired of the binge/purge cycle I chose to starve. I lost weight rapidly then had the lap band tightened as weight loss makes it looser and it’s too easy to eat.

This year I am in a better headspace, making psychological progress. I no longer restrict food intake and have chosen to eat on a daily basis for over five months. I have also gained weight. I am reliably informed it was necessary weight gain, as I’d lost a lot of muscle. But it also meant the band felt tighter and tighter. I found myself once again using it as a tool to progress bulimic behaviour rather than safely lose weight. I was purging multiple times per day and finding myself having more difficulty keeping any food down at all.

I have known for some time lap band needs adjusting – as part of my recovery, and to enable me to eat nutritiously – but I was saving this big change for “later”. I had other bridges to cross first. Those bridges are now crossed (no more scales, no more restricting, no more self-harming) and today I returned to my surgeon to have one mil of saline removed from the band. One mil. Sounds absurdly tiny! I have a ten mil band and it had 5.8 mils of saline in it. Now down to 4.8.

The trouble with lap bands – if you’ve never spent much time thinking about it – is healthy foods are often harder to consume than unhealthy foods. Chocolate and ice cream slide down easily. Smoothies and milkshakes can be consumed in large quantities with no consequence. But a tiny bowl of salad or a chicken drumstick are incredibly difficult to keep down.

Every lap bander I speak to finds some foods easier than others.

But we’re all unique. Some don’t hesitate to eat steak, chips and salad – incredibly slowly, in tiny pieces and small portions. Steak, chips and salad look like pre-purge food to me. Nothing on the plate is going to stay down.

After today’s adjustment, I’ve had pumpkin soup and toast for tea. A pretty safe choice and the bread went down incredibly easily compared to recent weeks.

Tomorrow the real work begins. Now I can eat more easily. Now it is more difficult for me to purge – because I learned once food has gone past the band, it’s incredibly difficult to get it back out again. It’s like a one-way road. I have been working on eating five times a day on a regular basis – breakfast, lunch and dinner with two small snacks. It might sound commonplace but historically my inclination is always to figure out how many meals I can skip, not how many I can include. It’s quite a mind shift.

I’m ready to start prioritising fruit and vegetables and foods with high nutrition, rather than going for the easy option of lemon slices, lattes, yoghurts and smoothies. I’ve been moving towards this in recent months and it’s time for health to take precedence over hedonism.

Many people have asked would I recommend a lap band.

I can’t have an opinion. It’s an intensely personal decision – one that needs to be made over time, as a last resort, in consultation with several people and with lots of research beforehand. Despite the lap band bringing a resurgence of full-blown eating disorder, and the medical complications that came with it, I am personally glad I had it done. I have learned a lot. I am in a healthy weight range and I’ve been fairly fit and strong for five years now. Well – most of the time! I have not managed the band well and from the research I’ve done, most complications arise from not following instructions.

I do think anyone contemplating the surgery needs a support team – the surgeon alone is not enough. You need a dietitian, a psychologist, and an exercise program. You need a holistic approach to weight loss.

A lap band is not an easy fix. It’s bloody hard work and it messes with your head. From a surgical point of view, recovery is quick and easy. It is an effective weight-loss tool. But it is just one tool in the toolkit. So I can neither confirm nor deny the value of having a lap band. All I can say is that it helped me physically and harmed me psychologically. That is my personal, individual experience. Your mileage may vary…