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Posts Tagged ‘eating disorder’

Breaking Point

I hit it yesterday. I saw it coming and kept right on going and have the swollen glands to show for it. Oh yeah, it got that bad.

So here’s the deal. I’m doing a companion workbook to a book my shrink gave me. I got to the chapter on shame yesterday, and it took me apart. I’d answer a question, go eat some almonds. Answer another question, have a cookie. And on and on until I’d hit a 1400 calorie binge in less than 2 hours. It was ghastly.

What’s worse, I was eating a bowl of cereal and having these thoughts that I haven’t had in years, in almost a decade. Within three minutes I went from, “Wonder if I could still do it” to “Yep, as soon as I swallow this last bite.” Almost before I knew it myself, I was in the bathroom puking up the bowl of cereal.

The beautiful part of the situation, if there is one, is that I realized simultaneously how easy it would be to go back there and just how absurd it is. I mean really, what grown woman decides it’s better to throw up rather than deal with her stuff? And what grown woman pursues a cookie rather than Christ? Hopefully not this one, at least not anymore.

So I’ll bring it up in therapy Monday, but I don’t honestly see this being a problem anymore. Today my appetite has been moderate, but nothing compared to the roaring lion that been consuming my gut for the last two weeks.

The tag line for this blog is, “Because knowing myself is harder than I expected.” Indeed.

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I’m going to whine for a minute, ok? Actually, I don’t care if it’s ok, it’s my blog and I’m just going to do it.

I’m tired of trying to lose weight. I want to eat when I’m hungry and stop when I’m full. I want to stop weighing everything, counting everything, logging everything. I’m so freaking tired of going to the gym every night, stepping on the scale every morning, trying on the same dresses that don’t yet fit every week “just to see if I’m making progress.” It gets old.

I’m not sure if it’s just this particular weight that makes me feel this way. This is within three pounds of my high school weight, a weight that I easily maintained from age 14 to 25 (until I was pregnant with the Firecracker Princess). My body doesn’t seem to want to release any more pounds without a fight, and I’m too tired to want to fight.

I want it to just stand down and drop the fat and be done. I want it to just STOP feeling hungry and STOP holding onto the belly bulge and STOP looking how I don’t want it to look all the damn time.

And yet because I’m in the middle of some pretty intense counseling, all I can think when I say that is, “Why are you so angry at your body? What are you blaming it for? What’s really under all that rage?” It’s the right set of questions at the very wrong time. It’s so freaking annoying. My gut says that someone needs to suffer for my feelings of fear, failure, inadequacy, and that “someone” has always been this body. I have a hard time even connecting this container for my brain to an integrated self.

And we wonder why I have a hard time feeling. Ahem.

Someone did suffer for my feelings of fear, failure, and inadequacy, and sometimes I can take those feelings to Him, but most of the time I grit my teeth, suit up, and punish myself for every perceived flaw. It can be a dangerous neighborhood here inside my head.

Lest you be concerned about me, I’m eating. I’m not puking. I’m not working out too much. I’m accountable in counseling, and I’ve been super honest with the Not-So-Casual Observer about my history. I just needed to try and let some of the steam escape from my pressure cooker heart before it turned on itself again. This feelings business is no joke!

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Are you singing with me? “Highway to the danger zone. Take a ride into the danger zone.” If not, you weren’t born in the late 70s/early 80s.

I haven’t talked much about my history of an eating disorder because it’s generally a non-issue. I get a little grippy with my thoughts a couple days a year, but I think that’s pretty normal. The Not-So-Casual Observer and I have had some conversation regarding how much I exercise and how much I eat. She thought that my 10 hours of exercise (with no more than two per day) plus 1500-1800 calories (because I’m nursing) was reasonable.

Ahem.

I’m now at a weight where I really need to do more than that for all-around strength and fitness to reach my goal on time. I can’t get the calorie burn I need from just one hour of cardio per day. I need four hours to lift each week, and I’d like to get some yoga and Pilates back into my schedule. Fourteen hours should help, hopefully.

Until now, I’ve been pretty consistent with a 10-11 hour gym week, but I need to bump it up. I’ve lost flexibility because I don’t have time to get to yoga. My powerhouse isn’t as strong as it should be, giving me back pain because my abs aren’t strong enough to carry the load. My hip flexors are holding up, but I really need to get some cross-training in (preferably in the pool for my joints). There’s just a lot to do, and 10 hours a week ain’t cuttin’ it.

Having limitations put on my gym time stresses me out and makes me want to stop eating. That’s not really an option, what with nursing a little one, which drives me back to wanting to work out more. It’s a vicious cycle. It seems natural to me that, when faced with obstacles, one should just work harder and do more to overcome them.

Last night in The Ragamuffin Gospel, a guy was talking about how he’d gone on a drinking binge after seven years of sobriety. He confesses, and the addiction counselor replies, “Relapse spells relief…let’s figure out what you needed relief from and why.”

So here I am…confessing that I’m struggling with obsessive thoughts, wishing I was losing more weight than I am, faster than I should. I’m falling behind my goal line on Sparkpeople, and that never feels good.

I guess I need to figure out what I need relief from, as well as where I’m going in terms of fitness hours, because this is dangerous territory for me. Off to plan!

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