Eating Disorder Links for Boys and Men?

I was looking over my Google Analytics info for this blog today, and noticed an interesting trend: out of the top 10 keyword searches that lead people to BBBB, 4 of them involve the words "boy anorexic."  This is interesting and sad, because I know males are vastly overlooked in the ED literature and public awareness. I visit quite a few ED recovery blogs, and I can't think of one that is written by a male . . . if you know of a POSITIVE eating disorder recovery blog/website that shows a male perspective, please leave a comment with the link. I think it would be useful to try to help people connect to those if they are looking for support/insight for men or boys that are struggling.

Something Fishy has some good basic info, basically a validation that yes, men do have legitimate eating disorders.  Gurze also has a good page with some resources.  The SF page also quotes Arnold Andersen, who has apparently written several books focusing on male EDs that look worth checking out.  If you know of more good links/resources, put a comment in and we can start compiling a list!

Image Issues

Lately I have been doing a lot of pondering about identity and image. Pretty much everyone these days has some kind of cyber-image, whether it is a blog, Facebook, Twitter, a personal website, any number of other social networking sites, or all of the above. The neat thing about the internet is that you can craft your own image. You choose what pictures and information will represent you, and (to some degree) you choose who you will allow to see them.  You have the ability to filter yourself so that only the best is presented to the world.

When ED thoughts are in the equation, it's kind of complicated. Take Facebook, for example. I have both personal and professional contacts on FB, so I make an effort to keep my profile as clean (not that I have a bunch of lewd party pictures to hide) and uncontroversial as possible. That means no crazy pictures (again, not that I have any), no obnoxiously political or trivial status updates, etc. Sometimes I leave books off my iRead list if the titles are very obviously related to eating disorders or atheism. In spite of moderate censorship, do feel like I am genuine, though. I never add anything that isn't true, or try to craft any kind of false image. I just exercise the right keep a few personal details to myself, things that are really no one else's business but my own. People I trust and am close to will know those things anyway, and people who don't, well, they don't need to. In the real world I do not go blaring my private thoughts and issues to the public, and the cyberworld is the same.

Then comes the issue of pictures. I make a very conscious effort not to post any even semi-sick looking pictures. I just can't afford for my contacts to look at my photos and think there is something wrong with me. I make sure that I am sufficiently healthy (or sufficiently clothed to pass as ok), no big deal. But at the same time, there is always that disordered voice that wants the Skinny Pics on there. Especially since I have a lot of friends from high school and other people who know about my ED. Every time I add a picture, I wonder what they'll think when they see it. I weigh more than I did in high school, so does Friend X see the photo and think "Wow, she's porking up nicely, must have outgrown that ED thing"? And why does the it bother me that people might actually think I am well? I am friends with a few people I know through ED blogs, but to be quite honest that gives me occasional waves of anxiety (no offense to y'all! I promise the issue is me, not you), because I always feel like they will look at my pictures and think I am a fake, that there is no way I "really" have an ED, not if I look like that. I refuse to use numbers in blog posts, because I am terrified of triggering people, but part of me wants to scream "I promise I am underweight! This is legitimate, and I am dying to be taken seriously!"

Of course, that is bullshit.  Apologies for sounding incredibly shallow, just being honest about those default thoughts that run through my mind.  Objectivity, which I touched on in my last post, seems ever elusive. I know, know, know that you can't judge someone's ED status by her weight. Disordered thoughts are every bit as painful no matter where you are on the BMI charts. The body is not the issue, the mind is. Would I ever doubt that someone had a "legitimate" disorder based on their weight, or a picture that I saw online? No way in hell, and that is the absolute truth.

Going back to pictures, I also know I am a terrible judge of my own status when it comes to pictures.  I can look at pictures from years ago, when I know I didn't feel thin, and be shocked at how ill I look. Please, can that girl has a cheezburger?  Or I can see a shot from when I know my weight was low, and think I look completely normal.  I honestly don't know what from what when it comes to assessing myself.  By my stats, quantitatively I know that I can't be overweight, that I am in fact still significantly underweight.  But in current pictures, I am the bulkiest I have been in years, and it freaks me the hell out.  My face is fuller, my butt is bigger, my collarbones are less razor-like.  I don't feel like it's me.  As I discussed above, for image reasons I only let myself post "decent" pictures, and I am painfully aware of the ridiculousness of being embarrassed about looking healthy.  

Double standards seem to be such a big part of EDs. Other people deserve nurturing, other people can indulge sometimes, other people can take time to give their wellness priority. Other people are allowed to be unique, and to be proud of their individual brand of "normal."  Other people are beautiful when they are healthy.  Other people don't need a number tacked to their pain in order to validate it. 

When I grow up, I want to be an Other People.

Tribal Outcast

This weekend I read Natalie Angier's Woman: An Intimate Geography, and it has given me a lot to think about.

First of all, she is an amazing writer.  She can turn even the ooeyist-gooeyist of physiological processes into poetry.  I love her NY Times column.  I think her college degree was in chemistry, but she combines the incessant awe of a scientist with the soul of an author.  Woman is basically Femaledom 101, with everything you could possibly wonder about your body, and then some.  It is actually extremely empowering; pride saturates every word as Angier describes everything from X chromosomes and fallopian tubes to breast-feeding and psychological theories on matriarchy, all depicted as a rich tapestry of womanhood that is a legacy to be cherished with the utmost pride.  Being a female is painted as an exquisite privilege, a tribe with a rich cultural and physiological history that half the world's population is excluded from.

If you are a normal female, that is. Instead of being enthralled by her excellent prose and the mind-bendingly awesome science of our bodies, though, I got more and more depressed as I progressed through the book.  Beyond the basic double-deuce set of X chromosomes, there was little I could relate to.  She talked about the wonders of the ovaries, all the rites of womanhood, etc.  She spent three chapters on estrogen and all of its amazing qualities.  The theme of the book is all of these physiological processes that literally make us who we are--the hormones and other chemicals essential to sex differentiation affect the brain as well as the other organs.  What an astounding thing to be a part of.  I wonder what it's like.

I have never menstruated, my bones are equivalent to Jiffy Pop, I wear the same bra size that I did in the 7th grade, and I have little hope of ever reproducing.  And I can't whine about it, because I did it all to myself.  Every single day for almost a decade, I've woken up and chosen this path.  So why the sorrow at not being part of the in-crowd with the Sisterhood of the world?  You can't have it both ways, Cammy, you created this reality and have no right to pity yourself. If you throw away your key, you can't cry injustice when you come to a locked door.

  

But it still hurts.

And it's ironic, because I am in this position because I feel chained to thinness, and yet I don't feel thin.  I've undermined my health and kept myself in an unnatural physical state, and to what end?  Frankly, the cost-benefit analysis is roughly equivalent to that of putting your hand on a hot iron.

Don't get me wrong, I highly recommend the book, and I am trying to transmute my alienation into inspiration.  The book is an exultation of the way our bodies are supposed to work.  Angier explains the way we are formed while also celebrating the form itself.  It has really given me a lot to think about, and provides a reality check for anyone who thinks they can skate along at subclinical levels indefinitely. The debt will come due, and what will you have gotten in exchange? We all have bodies, whether we like it or not.  We may not be our bodies (or we may, this is philosophical issue beyond the scope of this post), but our lives would be much better if we'd respect our bodies for how they work instead of how they look, for what they do instead of what we can get away with doing to them.

EDIT: I just wanted to respond to something brought up in comments, that I should have been more sensitive about.  I do not want to imply in any way, shape, or form that I think people are to blame for their mental illnesses.  I whole-heartedly believe that EDs qualify as a true disease with many biological underpinnings.  When I read other accounts of EDs, I never think "Wow, she sure brought that on herself."  As I'm sure many of you understand, though, sometimes it is just difficult to apply that objectivity to our own situations, I guess by definition our own personal cases are subjective?  Anyway, I felt guilty that I may have come across as demeaning mental illnesses and just wanted to issue this disclaimer.  Thank you, as always, to commenters, for their insights and support.

Resignation Creeping In

My life is profoundly, painfully out of balance right now.  And it appears that I lack both the skills and the energy to stay on track for any significant period of time.

All I want is to rest, physically and mentally, really that's all I want.  Just one day of internal quiet would be priceless.

Winter Ruins My Day

Today was the COLDEST day we have had yet.  I am aware that it's nowhere near as bad as some places in the country (our high was 37), but we southern girls are just not used to this climatic abuse.  I was less than halfway through my evening walk with G and I HAD to turn around.  Keep in mind that I never, ever truncate exercise voluntarily.  Not only was I freezing, but I had to pee (did you know that being cold makes you need to pee more often? It is slightly complicated, cold alters some of your hormones, see the link or google "cold diuresis").

Now I am home, having relieved hydrostatic pressure and esconced myself from the vicious arctic winds...but having major full-stomach anxiety.  I will make up for the walking easily tomorrow, I have a crazy schedule that involves lots of shuttling across campus.  But right now I just feel disgusting, I ate too big of a lunch too late in the day and it is sitting like a boulder in my belly.  It would be so incredibly easy to go do a few loops on the workout DVD to 1) warm up my poor hypothermic system and 2) vent anxiety . . . but I won't let myself do it.  Just this morning H. and I were talking about how much exercise still controls my life, and my frustration over how much time it monopolizes.  Beyond my southernized whining about the cold, which may seem petty, it really does stress my heart (thanks to ED I have had issues with weakend/irregular heart in the past). I've had chest pains on and off all day, and I doubt that doubling up my evening workout will help matters.

So, sitting here, entering data and listening to the director's commentary on my Lost DVD, trying to distract myself. Counting hours until my normal evening workout (which won't be lengthened to compensate for this afternoon) and wondering what it would be like to be a normal person snuggling under a blanket with hot chocolate on a cold day.

Bone Blues Affect More Than Your Skeleton

Of interest to anyone with depression and/or bones ravaged by an ED: link between osteoporosis and depression.  I am crunched for time and didn't get to look up the primary literature they cited, but the conclusions drawn in the article are intriguing.  There have been a lot of studies coming out recently that show the skeleton is much more than a simple framework, it is actually a major participant in hormonal regulation (including fat metabolism, and, apparently depression).

"Your Own Shape and Countenance"

It is disturbingly easy to fall into patterns of subjecting ourselves to profound physical neglect, deprivation, abuse.  We numb out, and tell ourselves the physical needs aren't important. We forget that mind and body exist in a constant feedback loop, and the well-being of the two are inevitably linked (it is so tempting to go off on a neuroscience tangent about how the mind ultimately arises from physical structures of the brain, but I'll refrain).  Thus, a reminder to be kind to yourself and appreciate the corporeal vehicle that is your one and only method of transport through life:

Was somebody asking to see the soul?

See, your own shape and countenance . . .

Behold, the body includes and is the meaning, the main

Concern, and includes and is the soul.

~Walt Whitman

The Biggest Loser Loses

Thank you, PsychCentral, for reminding me of why I am glad I have never watched this show.

The Danger of Being Out of Danger

One of the ironies of an eating disorder is that making some progress can almost be a roadblock.  Getting yourself out of imminent danger, restoring yourself to a functional level, can be a really precarious and confusing position.  You are just healthy enough to trick yourself into thinking things are ok, and yet the ED is still unquestionably hijacking most aspects of your life. 

My sessions with H. moved from Thursday to Tuesday this semester, so I had another appointment with her this morning, not too long since the last one.  We agree that I am at a plateau in terms of thinking.  Basically, I need to decide whether I'm going to do a half-assed job of this recovery thing, letting myself linger along at the "getting by despite the ED" stage or if I'm going to go the entire distance to get by without the ED.  I have gained some weight in the year I've been seeing her, and am healthier.  No more heart palpitations, no more numb fingers, less outrageously sensitive to cold, hair and nails look better, etc etc.  But I'm still a good ways from the goal weight, and I still haven't gotten a period (no, not ever. sorry bone density, you got screwed), and my day is still pretty much dictated by the ED. 

It seems like this is where a lot of people get stuck.  Things are at a tolerable level, life is manageable, the ED is still in control but gives you the freedom you need to be successful at work/school and your weight is just high enough to stay out of the hospital, without having to enter the dreaded "normal" zone on the BMI charts.  So the ED stays on, for weeks, months, years, decades.  H. said that she sees a lot of women in their 40s and 50s that have keep themselves just barely subclinical for years, using all kinds of justifications for refusing to let go completely.  It's like living purgatory, you're not in full-blown hell but you also aren't allowed to reach the fulfillment and empowerment of truly shedding the disorder.  It's ironic that being "just healthy enough" can let us delude ourselves into staying sick for decades.  Even though your vitals may not be critical, the smaller, subtle debts to your body do add up over years of abuse, and all debts eventually come due.

 I am more than a little frustrated with myself, because even though I've been in therapy for a year and have gotten myself out of the critical zone in terms of health, I don't feel like my life has changed all that much.  My day-to-day routine hasn't altered significantly.  I still eat and work out with the same frequency, at the same times of day, I just have more calories plugged into those mealtimes than I did before, and I've gone up one size in jeans.  How many thousands of therapy dollars have my parents paid for that? I don't have to work out the calculations to conclude that they're probably getting ripped off, and it's not H.'s fault.

One of the most common excuses I use on myself, to tell verify that things are fine, no need to increase food or decrease exercise, etc, is that I am worlds better than I was at some points.  No question.  I truly am a different person than I was when I bottomed out, in many ways.  I have hit two or three major low points when I know I really should have been hospitalized (the worst and most critical was when I was 13, then again at 16 and 20).  I eat more for breakfast now than I used to consume in an entire day.   Who would believe this is anorexia if they had seen how far gone I was few years ago?  Compared to that, today's Cammy is a very robust specimen indeed.

Ok, I'm still underweight, I still exercise compulsively, I still count all my calories, I still have trouble eating in social settings, and the list goes on. X, Y, and Z behaviors are still a way of life.  But don't I get points for progress? 

Not really, not if I am going to take this thing seriously.  I guess I am realizing that you can't judge your status by comparing yourself to what you used to be, you have gauge your status in relation to what you need to be in order to live the most fulfilling life possible.  

So, being out of the "critical" danger zone doesn't mean someone is necessarily out of chronic danger in the long run.  Back to the drawing board, I guess.

In Which I Break My Own Rule

As I have mentioned multiple times, I don't do crying. That's just one of my rules. I have been in therapy for a year, and the only time I've crossed the tear barrier was just due to frustration, and it was dignified, silent tears.

Until last week, that is. H. finally broke the dam. It was the full-on Ugly Cry, with sobbing and snot and everything. Have I mentioned I hate crying? I do not appreciate body fluids taking on a life of their own like that.

So I cried. I hadn't expected that. Another thing I hadn't expected: H. cried with me.

The issue that brought on this unintended emotional display:

I was telling H. about what a hard time I had at home over the holiday break, and how lonely/misunderstood I felt (I still need to do a post about that Talk I had with my mom, sorry guys, things have been busy). I had planned to tell the whole family about my tattoo, I thought it would be funny to tell my mom and dad first, then tell my brothers-making them promise to keep it a secret-to see how long it took them to go spill to the parents.

I scrapped that plan, though, after I told my mom. She really didn't seem to get it at all. It was a recovery tattoo, it was supposed to be significant, empowering, something to be proud of. Look mama, look what I'm committing myself to. Instead, she of course was shocked and then did the whole "well, you're an adult, it was your decision, I will forgive you" spiel. No. You are missing the point. I don't want you to forgive me, like I'm a child caught with my hand in a cookie jar. I want you to be happy, to take it seriously, to see how significant it is, because this symbolizes the hardest goddamn thing I've ever tried to do in my whole life. And instead I just felt like I was being treated like a naughty child.

After that invalidating episode, I decided to keep the tattoo to myself instead of telling the rest of the family as I'd originally planned. If even my mom, who knows me better than anyone else on the planet, didn't "get" the significance, surely no one else would, so I decided I'd just keep it to myself. That's what I usually do anyway.

Fast forward a week, when I am back home from their house and having the Talk. I tried to explain to her how I felt about the tattoo, and she insisted she was proud of me, that she was sorry she hadn't expressed that to me. Ok, that's fine. In a different part of the (extensive) conversation, I told her how disturbed I had been to learn that my brothers have been kept 100% in the dark about my ED. More on that later, but the result appears to be that after our conversation she told my dad and brothers that I got a tattoo, intending, I guess, to open the issue up for discussion? I don't know.

So all of that resulted in this text message conversation with my 13 year old brother, which is what ultimately brought H. and I to a mutual tearfest in last week's session:

Littlebro: hey mom said you got ink done.

Cammy: Yes indeedy. [sends picture taken with Blackberry camera]

Littlebro: haha awesome. what is it?

[At this point I realize Mom told them that I had a tattoo, but nothing about what it was or what it meant. I sat for 5-10 minutes and debated on how to respond. Finally decided to just suck it up and do it.]

Cammy: It's the eating disorder recovery symbol, Littlebro.

Littlebro: cool. im proud of you [Cammy].

Of all people, he got it. And that was all in the world that I wanted, for someone that I love to get it. And now that I am typing this the tears are starting up again, I cannot let this develop into a habit, I'm signing off now.

What Do You See in Your Landscape?

It will soon be apparent that even though we gather together and look in the same direction at the same instant, we will not--we cannot--see the same landscape.  We may certainly agree that we will see many of the same elements--houses, roads, trees, hills--in such denominations as number, form, dimension, and color but such facts take on meaning only through association:they must be fitted together according to some coherent body of ideas.  Thus we confront the central problem: any landscape is comprised not only of what lies before our eyes but what lies inside our heads.

~D. W. Meinig

"Vacation" is Over

When classes aren't in session, my eating/exercise pattern changes.  In a nutshell, I eat less and work out more, in order to "make up" for all the calories I usually burn zipping around campus all day.  Then there is always this awkward transition period at the beginning of a semester, when I am thrown back into the hustle of classes, but still find myself clinging to the patterns I had reverted to over the break.  I end up doing the Vacation Regimen on top of spending all the school energy, and I end up feeling terrible just when I need the strength the most.  I've had three days of classes, and I already feel worn out and unhealthy because I've pushed too far.  There is no reason to do my usual stuff in addition to the stuff I would do to make up for not doing the usual stuff, because I am indeed doing the usual stuff.  Right? Usually I have zero tolerance for inefficiency and nonsense, and yet that seems to be the overriding theme in my life.

This year I'm not allowed to do that.  Beginning tomorrow morning, extra stuff comes to an end, it has to be curbed.  By curb, at this point, I mean take it back down to a milder, less lethal level of insanity, and then assess what I need to do to improve things from there.  I will burn that bridge when I come to it, I guess. 

There is little point to this post, except that putting this in writing will make me more accountable.  I know that tomorrow I'm going to have major battles with myself over whether to stick with it and resist pulling the double time work I've been doing the past few days, or whether I should just give in and calm the mental anguish by indulging in exertion.  I just have to tell myself that there is no use in considering alternatives, I just need to do what I need to do.  Sorry if this post is less than coherent, I'm struggling to try to express the significance of a decision that probably seems mundane to outsiders.

So, tomorrow, the main objective is to behave slightly more like a human, even if it is one of those "fake it til you make it" type situations.

More Spontaneous Success

So, for the second weekend in a row, I was invited out on a Saturday with less than 24 hours notice.  And, for the second weekend in a row, my internal neurosis wailed and stomped its feet and forbade me to break my normal routine.  And, for the second week in a row, I ignored it and ended up having a great time as a result.  I think that a big factor in this is that it is my last semester here, and I am already getting more than a little nostalgic about leaving the places/people I have come to love so much.  I have tons of regrets from high school, about how much I isolated myself and all the experiences I let the ED steal from  me.  I just don't want to leave college with the same feeling.

My goal for 2009 is to work on being more spontaneous . . . would it be undermining my efforts to just plan on being spontaneous every Saturday night?  I will have to think about that.

I Never Did Like Physics Class

Dear Cammy,

The laws of physics mandate that when a structure made of low-density, malleable, semi-gelatinous material of a fixed volume, having a relatively constant surface area, is subjected to forces which change its shape through compression, bending, twisting, or other distortions of form, bulges and/or folds will indeed form as a result.  Such are the wonders of nature.

So quit obsessing over your belly rolls and get on with your life.

Sincerely,

Your sanity (yes, I'm still alive! why don't you ever return my calls?)

Mary Lou's Weigh Scale

Has everyone heard about Mary Lou Retton's new "Weigh Scale," and if so, any thoughts on it?

Get a clue, Dr. Phil

The Philster majorly pissed me off today.  He did a show featuring a young boy (13, I think?) with an ED, and paraded his ignorance about the issue all over the stage.  I didn't sit down to watch the show, but I had it one as I was doing things in the house and heard a couple of comments that really had me fuming:

Example:

He asked the boy if he ever "just woke up hungry."  The boy said yes, but he just told himself to ignore it and that was it.  Phil chuckled and said "I'm sure there are plenty of women that wish they could learn how to do that!" 

Example:

Later, they were talking about causes of EDs in males vs females (Rachel had an excellent post about that issue today, by the way), and he said "for females it's all about control," and then had some other comment about how it's entirely different for males.  I disagree that it's all about control for females and that none of it is about control for males, you just can't be that black and white when you're talking about people.

Ok, this was a rant post, but I have been disgusted with the way he has dealt with ED shows in the past and today was no exception.  I admit I didn't watch the whole thing, maybe he spouted gold nuggets of wisdom when I wasn't looking, but I wouldn't stake a bet on it.

EDIT: In retrospect, I didn't mean for this to come across quite so vitriolic.  I have just always felt like Dr. P has ED sufferers on his show more for the shock value of the skeleton-pictures than for anything else, I have been really disappointed in similar episodes of the show in the past, and I probably should not rail too strongly against a show I didn't watch in its entirety.  Apologies.  But I still don't like him.

Oops

So, I somehow managed to misinform myself about the day that classes start for the spring semester.  I was convinced that the first day back was Thursday, but I found out around 9:00 tonight that it is actually tomorrow.  Oops.  It's funny because I've talked to/gotten together with friends every day this week, it's not like I've been living under a rock.  I guess the starting day of classes is taken to be such common knowledge that it was never specifically mentioned.  

So now I have to overhaul my gameplan for tomorrow, just minor details like when to wake up, workout, etc, when/how much to eat, blah blah.  I hate sudden changes of plans, but I'm much better about handling it than I used to be.  The only major problem will be that I had an important vet appt for G. at 11, which I won't be able to make because I have class from 10-12.  Hopefully they'll let me bring him in the afternoon instead, the appt is just to have blood drawn so they can run pre-op tests, he's having a small mass removed from his hip on Thursday.  I am so incredibly nervous about having him under the anesthesia, and anxious that they'll discover the lump is malignant or something...can't let myself think about that right now, though.

Anyway, I can't believe I flaked out on knowing the first day of class.  I can now officially blame it on senioritis, though, it seems crazy that this is my last semester here!

Keeping Afloat

I came across a quote today that was rather thought-provoking, just felt like sharing.  The source was actually Michael Oakeshott, writing about politics military/diplomatic activity, but I think that you could apply the same idea to life in general.  Sometimes I think we spend too much time looking for easy outs, the quick fix to everything, instead of focusing on finding balance and internal stability.

"...there is neither harbor for shelter nor floor for anchorage, neither starting place nor appointed destination. The enterprise is to keep afloat on an even keel."

Bumbled Attempt to Communicate

So, the Talk did not go Well.  Immediate tearful meltdown (not on my side, I don't do crying), various messy defensive tactics (on both sides), lots of muddling for that ever elusive phenomenon, communication.  Articulation, articulation, wherefore art thou, articulation . . . not here, that's for sure. I'm not sure which is worse, how much this situation sucks or how much I suck at dealing with it.  More details later after I have done more processing.

It brings to mind one of my favorite Lost quotes, one that is simple and probably pretty mundane, but still really struck home when I first heard it.  Juliet tells Jack she had a therapist on the island, and he gives her a weird look, then she responds:

It's stressful being an Other, Jack.

No shit.

And Now for Something Completely Different

What is a blog without an occasional Monty Python allusion in the title, right?

First, thanks so much for all the support people gave after my last post.  I always feel guilty after doing purely vent posts, but I think writing it out provided some much-needed relief.  Goal for tomorrow is to try to have a Talk about all of those issues with my mother, we'll see how that goes...

So anyway, to take a break from my whining and rambling about ED stuff, I had an interesting experience this weekend.  On Friday (yesterday) I got a Facebook message from a guy I literally hadn't talked to or seen in over a year (he was a master's student here, but graduated and moved on to do his PhD at Huge Far Northern University), asking if I wanted to go out today.  

My gut reaction to any such invitation is always a big fat NO.  No, I don't want to disrupt my routine, no, I have X, Y, and Z to complete for school/work, no, I have already planned what and when to eat for the day, no, that would interfere with a workout, etc etc.  I rank a big fat zero on the spontaneity scale.  Plus, I don't know the guy all that well.  We were friendly, but never got together outside of class while he went to school here.  Is this semi-stranger really worth rearranging my day?

But then I stopped to think about it.  Classes aren't in session, I've made good progress on the latest batch of grant applications, and no one else is really in town to hang out with.  Except for walking G., I hadn't left the house in two or three days.  Why not spare a couple of hours of my weekend?

So, uncharacteristically for me, I agreed to go, on less than 24 hours notice.  And I went.  And I actually had a great time.  So yay for breaking 'rules,' maybe I'll do more of that in 2009.

Frustrated with Denial

As I'm sure everyone is sick of hearing, I have a great relationship with my mom.  But the ED has always been a wall between us, and after my brief foray to my parent's house for the holidays, I am really frustrated and almost disturbed with the degree to which my parents just don't seem to "get it," even nine years after I first got sucked into this hellhole.

I get the feeling that now that I have H., my mom feels absolved of having to worry about the ED so much.  I finally sought help, it's in a professional's hands, woo hoo. Problem solved, mission accomplished.  If only it were that simple.

Also, my mom loves to think that the sun rises and sets on her kids.  And usually I oblige and perform.  You want a precocious kid?  I'll learn to read at age 3, do the accelerated classes in grade school, zip through AP courses in high school.  You want SATs? I'll give you perfect scores. You want extra-curriculars?  I'll run myself into the ground with volunteering, organizations, etc.  You want college credentials?  I'll deliver a dean's list certificate every semester. You want a kid you can trust?  I'll pay for my own car (which I won't crash), I'll work three jobs, I'll always meet my curfew, I'll date nice boys that call you ma'am.  You want cool pictures and stories?  I'll apply for internships all over the globe so you can show your friends how your daughter has chased critters across various continents.   You want a built-in best friend? I'll be personable, funny, and companionable. I'll send witty e-mails and call you every day, I'll sparkle when I meet your co-workers and friends, I'll be your shopping/cafe pal when I visit.  

You want a mental health problem? Probably not.  But when I develop one anyway, I'll have the one that is associated with type-A high acheivers, with people who are driven and successful despite their daily daliance in self-destruction.  It could have been much worse.  I could be on drugs, I could be pregnant, I could have contracted a terminal STD, I could have any number of other mental illnesses that rendered me unable to function.  Thank god for anorexia, right?  Even my psych problems have been as optimal for you as possible, given the alternatives.

But wait, you want recovery?  Here I stumble.  And fail.  Again, and again, and again.  After everything I have done right, is it too much to ask for you to acknowledge that I lose sometimes, to give me permission to be human?  If we pretend I'm not losing, what's the incentive to learn how to win?

But you're so used to seeing me deliver, that by default you assume that I'm a champ.  So you assume any attempt at recovery, no matter how feeble and half-assed, is yet another victory. You pay the bill from the psychology office every month, occasionally ask how I'm feeling, and congratulate yourself on producing a daughter with the perseverance and strength of character to overcome such an insidious disease.  I've put on some weight, I go to my sessions every week, of course I'm coming through this with flying colors.  I try to let you know how much I'm struggling, but you just frame it as a sign of progress that I'm opening up to you about the things that used to hurt me.  One more accomplishment underway, now let's just forget about that nasty old ED and think about daisies and rainbows.

Guess what? I haven't excelled at this.  In fact, I totally suck at this.  You may not want to believe it, but I'm a mess.  I still spend X hours a day exercising, I still weigh myself multiple times a day, and I still tally calories obsessively.  I still have skinny jeans lurking in my closet, because I'm not confident enough in this whole recovery thing to be sure I won't need them again.

But it seems to be too much to ask for this to be acknowledged.  

Example 1: Last week my mom told me she'd never mentioned my ED issues at all to my younger brothers.  They have witnessed me acting strangely, looking sick, etc, and have never had any of it explained to them.  I guess I had just assumed that at some point it would have warranted being addressed, and that it had been done privately with them to avoid putting me on the spot. 

Example B: While I was at home, I told my mom I was only eating about X% of my normal daily calories while I was at her house.  The response? "Oh, you shouldn't be self conscious, this is your home too."  Then an immediate change of subject.  The issue wasn't mentioned again.

Example 3: Just this morning, I told her how much weight I'd lost at her house.  Response: "I'm sorry, honey...I know you must be frustrated..." And then she started talking about her hair appointment for later today.  I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.   Yes, it's more of a gut than I've had in years past, less than in other years, but the sinking, twisting feeling of disappointment and invalidation is worse than any hunger pain that said gut has ever felt.

Yes, mama, I'm frustrated as hell, but not about the weight loss.  I'd love to lose twice as much if I wasn't inconveniently aware that it might kill me.  I'm frustrated because she seems to have a fundamental lack of understanding about the degree to which the ED is still a huge destructive force in my life.

In all other areas we get along great and she is an attentive, intuitive mother.  The ED is just this black box of an issue that she can't seem to penetrate, or doesn't want to, or both.  I think that when H. is back from vacation next week I will ask her about doing a phone session with my mom, I just hate this feeling of being misunderstood and invalidated.

This post has become way too long, and I'm exhausted in more ways than one, so further thoughts and news from the holidays later.