Fair trade

Liam likes me better when I'm sick. He's got issues with self-confidence, mostly because he's too intelligent and that makes him socially awkward. He tends to over-think things, and he's terrible at filtering the truth to make it more palatable. He's also pretty judgmental. Ironically, this all makes him a fantastic therapist, because he's excellent at getting people to recognize the reality of their situations. I wouldn't have thought that were true, except his clients actually recommend him to friends and family members.

But back to what I said before. It's true. I remember him saying at one point last semester, "I'm afraid that if you get better, you won't want me anymore."

My illness, obsessions, whatever-the-hell, has always been a good way for him to...not control me, per se, but to know how I'm feeling. It makes me very predictable. And he likes that. His ex-girlfriend cheated on him after a 5-year relationship, and it's all made him rather paranoid about my faithfulness, especially considering we live in separate states. It's completely ironic that the dissolution of our relationship was what it took for me to recommit to losing weight. And doubly ironic, the fact that I've gotten sick again makes him want me back. He always loves me, but I think my being strong and confidant scares him, because when I'm at my best, I easily outshine him. I'm incredibly sociable and dedicated and passionate. I can honestly say that I look for the best in people. I'm an optimist at heart. In general, I love people and I'm always eager to make them at least a little bit happier for having known me. That's my fair trade for the privilege of being alive.

The only thing I'm excessively negative about is my weight, and the only person I'm really hard on is myself. And Liam, he pulled me out of it before. And when I got better for a few months, he started to see me as independent and unpredictable, and all his irrational worries just got worse and worse. Officially, he broke up with me because he'd "rather be my therapist than my boyfriend," and he didn't feel like he was happy with me anymore. If this sounds psychologically manipulate and controlling, yeah, I suppose it is. And I've come to terms with that.

Now, one month later, I'm losing weight again, and I regularly talk to him about it instead of hiding it. Whenever I'm having false or excessively negative thoughts, I call him and he tries to help me rationally assess my behavior. The fucked up part is, that's what he loves me for. As much as he says that he fell in love with me because I'm a strong, independent woman with morals and positive ideals, I don't think that's true.

He loves the broken little girl, who wears white lace and never combs her curly hair and can't stand to be touched.

I should be upset, but I like it better this way too. It's probably sick, but it's comforting.

A midnight conversation with Alice

(Alice is one of my best friends from home, also 23-years old. She's about 5'4" and weighs around 118 pounds, currently. We both got sick around the same time. This is a conversation we had last night on Facebook. I feel like it explains a lot about our thought processes and habits. And I want to know if any of you can relate to these thoughts.)

Rachel:

I got in trouble for not grading the discussion board posts fast enough. I'm depressed because I got "yelled" at by my professor via email. It wasn't even that bad. Only the first time I screwed up.

Alice:
What's "not fast enough"?

Rachel:

She wanted us to start on Wednesday; I didn't start until late Thursday night, like at 3am, and she'd already gone through and done most of them. But apparently her other CA was late too, so I don't feel so bad. And my first thought after getting scolded was: "Oh my god, I feel so fat right now."

Alice:

Well, you both DO have lives and classes and shit.

Rachel:

And the stuff with Becka just took up my whole week, not that I'm complaining at all.

Alice:

Yeah, I wouldn't blame you. Dealing with someone's personal life with events that traumatic are more important than two days late grades. No offense.

Rachel:
My thoughts exactly. So I'm trying to completely get fixated on the latest episode of The Ultimate Fighter, trying to remind myself over and over that 1. It wasn't that bad, 2. The other CA got in trouble too, 3. It was my first offense, and 4. My lateness was totally justifiable because trauma trumps grading, even if my professor doesn't know what happened to Becka.

But I'm still so fucking upset with myself that I want to cry. Do you recognize that feeling?

Alice:

Yes.

Rachel:

I hate disappointing people. I can't fucking handle it. I hate when things are my fault. I feel fat. Failing = feeling fat. Doesn't matter what I failed at. Got a bad grade? Feel fat. Boyfriend doesn't wanna fool around? Must be because I'm fat. Miss a deadline? Fatty.

Alice:

Well, even though it's perfectly logical to me, most people probably see that as some disconnected cause-effect relationship. I would recommend not letting this bother you. Yeah, your teacher's upset with you both; clearly she's got high standards that neither you nor the other CA could satisfy as of late. Some of the blame lies with her requirements or requests.

Rachel:

Liam nailed it. One second...

Alright, ready? Being fat is easier to deal with. It's safe, because when something goes wrong that is totally out of your control, or too late to fix, you're so neurotic that you can't handle the fact that you can't do anything about it. So, you go through the mental gymnastics necessary to translate it to: I feel fat. Which you can always do something about (you can lose weight) which is comforting. So that's how irrational/uncontrollable perceived "failures" get translated into feeling fat.

Alice:

Completely makes sense.

Rachel:

Makes sense to me too. He's having me try something called "thought-stopping," which sounds basic and hokey, but whatever, we'll see if it works. Basically, failing and thinking that you're fat, however irrational it sounds, is actually rewarding to your brain. It's like saying, "See! You can fix this!" So, you have to consciously clear your mind before you have fat thoughts. Just for, like, 30 seconds. And then you can go ahead and think whatever. But theoretically, it stops your brain from forming a link between the mental reward and the fat thoughts so eventually your brain ceases to associate the two. In theory, eventually the fat thoughts will diminish because the brain no longer associates them with feeling responsible or in control. I don't honestly think thought-stopping is very effective in the cause of eating disorders/body dysmorphic disorder, though. More so with phobias and other panic disorders. But it's worth a shot.

Alice:

Hmm...I don't know if I like that. Doesn't seem very effective. It demands a lot of self-control; like, perfection.

Rachel:

An awful lot.

Alice:

Which no one has.

Rachel:

No, it just asks for 30 seconds of quiet for little periods in a day. It's kind of like asking yourself not to think about pink elephants, only instead, you just literally think about nothing...which is a mental hoop in and of itself. I like to think about puffy white clouds getting tickled.

Alice:

lol That'd be a good place to be.

Rachel:

I'm really sick of being miserable. But the misery all revolves around everything else. Maybe I just need to change my dosage, I don't know. I feel like I did last semester again. Even though my diet and my relationships are more stable right now, my head is in total chaos. When I'm doing everything right, that's when I feel the most worthless. I don't get it.

Alice:

Can you pinpoint the problems and start small with fixing one? Or are they interrelated and uncontrollable?

Rachel:

I feel like I never get enough accomplished in a day.

Alice:

Do you have a planner/organizer of some sort? Calendar?

Rachel:

Yeah, three. Maybe I just ask too much of myself.

Alice:

Fuck, you sound like me. I have a diary for my workouts, one for random thoughts, one for my schedule work/training and then my to-do lists I make when I'm bored, plus a tumblr.

Rachel:

I have a tumblr, a blogger, a calendar for events/dates, and a calendar for weight/measurements/exercise, a to-do list, a shopping list, and a marker board...

Alice:

So what if you tried to do the opposite? Don't write things down. Just do one thing at a time.

Rachel:

Yeah, right! Haha. I can try that.

Alice:

Well I mean write less, lol. Instead of like...hourly planning or exact times, just make a simple list and cross it off. Reduce the restrictiveness.

Rachel:

I can do that. Actually, I think I need more hourly planning. Don't fuck around from 11am to 2pm. Just work on (x). Then, stop fucking working on it or thinking about it. You're done with it for today.

Alice:

Try both. Do one this week, do one next week. See when you're more "productive" or "successful" in your own eyes.

Rachel:

I'll try it.

We both realize it's just a band-aid though, right? I mean, my problem is the needing to "feel" productive and general perfectionism. So, I'm treating the symptoms without treating the cause.

Alice:

So in your own eyes, what exactly is the cause?

Rachel:

My mother. 100% my mother. My perfectionism is completely and totally cause by my mother. I'd like to blame the Catholic church, but that was just her tool. And yes, an eating disorder is a million times easier to deal with.

Alice:

Well then you can't really be too upset with yourself. It's a learned/inherited thing. You can try not to be so perfectionistic, but I think you'd just end up worse because you've already established that lifestyle.

Rachel:

It's fucking comforting. Always. I'd rather starve myself than deal with my control issues. And now I don't know what to do right now, in this moment. Because I want to go eat something, because that would be good, because then I'm in control of the food...But I can't eat something because it's too late at night and if I eat something I, that's bad, and I obviously have no self-control.

Alice:

Well although it's late, have you eaten a full 1200 calories? Because if you haven't you could still eat something small.

Rachel:

I've eaten 1235, but my limit is around 1400, since I'm only trying to lose 1 pound per week.

Alice:

Well if I were in your shoes and not up to 1200 (still my cut-off), I'd eat a piece of bread or a single fruit serving. Something wholesome. "Pure," basically.

Rachel:

Solution; Drink a big glass of water.

This is a slow suicide, Alice.

Alice:

Well save me a seat, 'cause I'm right behind you. You know, I'm dissing myself, but I think I'm probably the worst possible person to talk to in this situation because I think and feel almost the exact same way.

Aftermath

Becka overdosed last night. Ativan and alcohol. I broke into her apartment around 10pm when she hadn't texted or called me back. After I threatened to call her little sister and she still didn't answer, I knew something was wrong. Her front door was locked so I got in through the screen door. She was passed out in bed. I woke her up and kept waking her up for a few hours. After I let her sleep, I just kept checking her breathing every few minutes until about 4am. Then, one of her other friends came over and we traded shifts. I slept for a couple hours, until she called me to ask about what happened. She doesn't remember how many pills she took. Half the bottle. I know she wasn't trying to hurt herself. She just wanted so desperately to be able to sleep.

I called a couple of our colleagues last night to let them know the basic idea of what happened, just not the full story. Right now, she doesn't need to worry about project deadlines. They were perfectly fine; just worried about her. She's got crippling social anxiety as it is. Getting her to go to the police is basically out of the question. Getting her to go to the doctor's will be painful. Getting her to call a crisis hotline, at the very least, is my next step. Once she starts feeling less disoriented.

Why Becka? Out of all the people for this to happen to, why tiny, lovely, shy little Becka?

If you never read any of my posts, read this one.

It's getting to the point where I think I know more women who've been raped than I know ones who haven't. It's that common, isn't it? Common as dieting. Every single one of us known someone it's happened to, if it hasn't happened to you yourself.

And it almost feels like we just accept it. I mean, think about it. Did you report yours? Did your friend/cousin/sister report hers? It's like, they take a day (if that) to sleep it off and then go back to life like it never happened. Maybe bring it up with a girlfriend over a late-night conversation. And she nods her head and tells you that it happened to her too. And that's all the counseling we get. I think as a gender, or maybe just my generation, we're almost completely numb to it. "Oh yeah, I was raped." How much more casual can we get about it?

So, I know this is completely off-topic from my normal blog posts. And I hate to talk about this in particular because the automatic response (from everyone, friends, counselors, complete strangers) is "Oh, she has an eating disorder because she was raped and that's her way of getting control over her life."

No.

That's not it.

That's not the answer for me and it's not the answer for you. Well, maybe it is for you. But for me, I can honestly says that it was almost trivial. Yeah, whatever, rape happens. It happened. Shit happens. That's been my attitude since I was nineteen and it's still my attitude today, four years later.

So yeah, something triggered this post. Becka. My friend, my best friend since I've moved, my training partner and confidant. The girl I talk about most in these blog posts. We went out to the bars last night to babysit her newly-21-year-old little sister. Becka saw a guy at the bar and thought he was cute, but she's always always too shy to make contact. So I went over and introduced myself and brought him back to talk to her. They hit it off. She was so excited. They went out for coffee this afternoon. Tonight, he came over to her apartment to watch a movie with her. And she didn't want to have sex with him. But she's five feet tall and she weighs 105 pounds and so what, right? And now, at 2am, she can't sleep and she just wants so badly to sleep. And she's not going to talk about it because no one ever talks about it. And it all feels like one giant gray area, and I respect her too much to move without her asking me to.

So for my part, I'm asking you to stop pretending it didn't happen and don't just fucking accept it and don't treat it as common or casual. Talk to each other.

I swear, I'm not some kind of liberal feminist. I don't hate men. I don't hate anyone. And I don't try to understand why people do the things they do.

I'm just a woman who's sick of seeing her friends get hurt.

Bikini

I had my first training session with Marina last night. We did mainly shoulders and abs. She pushed me hard. My favorite part was when she commented on how shockingly perky I was. I can't imagine anyone not being perky when working with a trainer. It's such an endorphin rush, just being in the gym in general, without having a professional working with you. My training session was over by 8pm, but we both stuck around just talking to each other for an extra hour. She invited me to come watch her first bikini competition in March. Becka and I are going together.

I had, like, 1600 calories yesterday. And my waist was smaller this morning. I've now officially under 28 inches. 27 and 3/4. Yay! So far today I've had cereal, a sandwich, a huge salad, tilapia, vegetable soup, lots of water. I'm taking today off from the gym since I worked out hard and lifted the last four days in a row.

Becka and I are going night hiking tonight. I have know idea what that entails, but I'm assuming it's just hiking at night, yeah?

I'd love to do a bikini competition some day. What say you?

Allergy head clouds

I've had almost a week's worth of steady, focused training session. If only you could out-train a shitty diet. I've been taking in too much sodium (damn ramen noodles) and I've been eating entirely too late (anything past 8pm is too late). Still, it's better than I was eating back at my Dad's place, if for no other reason than the fact that I don't buy ranch Doritos (because then I would eat all of them in one sitting).

Right now it's almost 2pm, and I'm sitting in my office drinking green tea and working on a spreadsheet for a research project/watching The Biggest Loser. It won't take long. We just have so many researchers running this one project (it's a 3-year process) that we need a lot of ways to hold them all accountable, mostly the undergrads. My general annoyance isn't helped by the fact that I've develop desert allergies and cannot breathe through my nose. Ironically, the only time I don't feel like cutting my own head off is while I'm in the gym. My head completely clears and I can actually speak well enough to be understood.

Last night I watched The Hunted. It’s one of my favorite movies. I’ve always been interested in survivalism, the wilderness, tracking, hand-to-hand combat. Check it out if you haven’t. It’s worth a look.

I already went for a run yesterday morning; half an hour of HIIT. Lifted legs between classes with Becka, which lead to some mild awkwardness. Not between me and her, but with the rest of my cohort. I hung out with a completely different group of grad students last semester, but when it started to become evident that none of them were interested in working out or eating healthy, I started hanging out with Becka more and more. Coming back from the gym, we ran into either other members of our class who just stared at us across the courtyard, all sweaty in running shorts and tank tops. The girls I used to spend time with know I'm in treatment, and the rest probably suspect if (if they haven't been outright informed). None of them know that Becka's ever been treated for an ED, but looking at it as an outsider, it would be hard to spend that much time with me unless you were just as much of a gym rat as I am.

Becka tries to isolate herself on purpose, and I think that just by hanging out with her, I'm starting to do it too.

Gonna work out again later tonight. Lifting upper body, and at least half an hour on the elliptical. I finally rented a locker on campus so I can stop toting my gym shoes back and forth. I have a pair for outside running and a pair for inside training. I don't like to mess up the machines by using gym shoes that are wet or have gravel in the bottoms. Treadmills are not cheap.

I have my first meeting with an ED specialist (like, a real doctor) tomorrow morning at 9am.