Lessons I have Learned

Anorexia is not my friend. 

Just because two people love/care about each other, doesn't mean they belong together.

Replacing one default with another still gets me to the same dark and lonely place.

Happiness is not outside of me.  (I don't need someone else to make me happy).

Everyone is hurting.  Everyone has pain.  It's not all my fault.  I didn't cause it all.

Some people can say, "I love you" and not mean it. 

I am not always a good judge of character.

I CAN do it alone.

 I have the ability to reach out to others who are in pain, and help them. 

Even though I am flawed, I am still someone worth knowing.

Sometimes, people are just going to let me down.  They are doing their best.

I can be mom AND dad.  Because he chooses not to be.

I have to ask for what I need sometimes.  And that doesn't make me weak.

Sometimes, people truly suck ass.

Doing what makes me happy isn't selfish.

Guns N Roses suck.

Money doesn't make me happy.

Someone who understands that I want to fight my own way,  and other times,  I need to be taken care of will forever win my heart.

Donuts make CO's happy.

Some people are truly, just mean.

It's OK to ask for help.  But don't stay stuck there.

Facebook/Instagram don't always tell the whole (true) story.

Our children need us.  Even when they don't.

I need someone who will drop everything when they see me, and hug me like they have missed me (even if I just saw them ten minutes ago).

Dogs will never hurt me.

If I try to become someone else in a relationship, to please my partner, I lose (everything).

We.All.Have.Pain.

Parents' and pets' love are the truest form of unconditional love there is.

If who I am is not who you want, it's OK if you keep on walking.

Mens' jeans are simply more comfortable than skinny jeans.  It's true (Julie).

Partners who dig you do not seek affirmation/attention from others (digitally or in person).

People can leave scars.

Some men truly know how to be "men".

The love of your life will probably show up when you don't want him to.

Just because I clean the sink, doesn't mean it will stay clean.

Healing is a deliberate choice.  So is staying sick.

People genuinely want to help.

Men who ask for (have) photos of (other) women  on their phone/fb/instagram, aren't good enough for me.

Restricting/drinking prolongs the pain.

Guns N Roses still suck.

Love is a two-way street.  And it takes effort.

Life is good.

Healing takes time.

When I can notice (and help mitigate) others' pain, I am healing and growing in my own recovery.

Sometimes when people leave, they clear the way for your happiness.  (And you should write them a thank-you note).

One Year Ago Today...

Exactly one year ago today, I woke up in the ICU after failing miserably to tolerate the loss of my (then) partner.  It was the 4th (and final) time I swallowed enough of my prescription medication, along with copious amounts of alcohol, because I wanted someone else to take over for me for awhile.  I didn't want to die, as I have stated before, I simply wanted to make the pain stop.

I missed my daughter's first High School prom.

I spent Mothers' Day (and the next five days) in ICU

One year ago today, I decided that no matter what happened in my life, I would never, ever, ever be so selfish and risk my life again, in an effort to nullify the pain I thought so unbearable.  That I would be here to be the best mother I could be, as I have always been.

One year ago today, I decided to re-enter Mercy's partial hospitalization program for Eating Disorders for a second time, because I was at the lowest weight I had ever been as an adult (and I dipped even lower prior to being admitted to the hospital).

One year ago today, I made changes to my life that even those closest to me wouldn't trust (and some still do not) until this time, one year hence.

One year ago today, I made a commitment to reach the "midpoint" weight my nutritionist demanded in order for me to be considered a "healthy weight" and not to ever dip below it again (and I have KEPT that commitment!)

One year ago today,  I started to take my recovery seriously, for the first time. (Though not without relapses).

Today, my life resembles my life of one  year ago in some ways.

Ken has stepped aside from our relationship a second and final time, leaving me to fight this without his support, having given all he had to the process.

I am waking up daily with the sorrow of the loss of the man I thought I was going to marry, due to my failings a second time,  feeding the demons who assure me I am not enough.

I am the sole, present parent of my daughters.

But today, my life is very different than it was one year ago.  In ways I never dreamed possible when I was staring out the ICU room window, trying to figure out how I was ever going to be normal again.

I have maintained my midpoint (or higher) weight since being discharged from Mercy the second time (something I have NOT been able to do in over five years) in spite of some recent relapse issues.

I love, love, love my job.

I have decided to abstain from alcohol with the support of treatment and will attend a full evaluation this Wednesday, and I am committed to taking whatever steps are recommended to close this final loop that leaves the door open for Anorexia to remain a part of my life.

I attend AA meetings a minimum of 3 nights per week.  In my own community, clients or acquaintances in attendance or not.  We are all human beings.  We are all there for the same reason.  Vulnerability is a part of my healing process.  I needed to suck it up.

I am working through the pain of the loss of Ken without trying to numb it away, without making this painful situation worse, and by taking deliberate steps to mitigate the painful encounters/communications that threaten my recovery.

I am committed to weekly meetings with my Eating Disorder therapist and make getting there each week a priority over everything else in my life.

I am enrolled in a 6 month, weekly group for Dialectical Behavior Therapy (which I LOVE because it replaces all of the coping mechanisms I have had to give up in order to be rid one day of Anorexia and alcohol abuse).

Because I am nourishing my body the best I can, without excessive exercise and restrictive behaviors that get me into a dangerous thinking state, I am able to cope with the distress that once threatened my life.

By no means is this an "anniversary" for celebrating.  There are many things in this past year that went very, very wrong.   One thing I am learning is to be as gentle with myself as I would be with a friend in my same situation.  (Olivia hates that, which strengthens my resolve to keep at it).

I have come a long way in a year.  I dare to call myself strong now.  I have a long way to go in this coming year with many hard lessons and reflections to explore.

This year, I am focused on authenticity.  Vulnerability.  Doreenability (yeah... I made that one up). 

One day at a time.  Keep watching.

And please, don't give up on me.

Raw Words for Dinner

I wrote this blog this morning.  Long before my day unfolded.  I have no idea how things will turn out.  But this is my blog.  Where I get to be real.  Be me. Be seen.
So far it works, if I keep things real.


(Oh, and where the words actually come from...whether they were ever spoken out loud or not, matters not.  They are owned by Olivia.  Tomorrow is another day)


Anorexia.

Alcohol Abuse.

Loud Screaming!

SHUT UP!

We have something good.

I believe in you.

I can't trust you.

You are so special.

Don't eat...don't lose control!

You are awesome!

I don't know if  this is even worth going forward with.

Drink.

I know you will do this, I have no doubt.

Do NOT tell about the drinking!

Disappear! You don't deserve all this space.

I knew all along you were drinking.

I love you, now and forever

Don't drink

I never expected this.

Restrict.Disappear.Don't eat.

You have a special reason for being here

You weren't honest with me.

Just be normal.

I didn't even care about our relationship then.

Let me fill your glass for you.

I'm leaving the country.

How do you think I feel!?

You can trust me now!

How could you lie to me?

I love you with all of my heart.

You deserve to be confused!

What will it take for you to believe me some day?!

Healthy means you failed.

From now on, we only talk regarding the kids.

If you restrict, you will feel better.

You lied to my face!

It's not the same.

I'll take you just the way you are.

You have to be mom AND dad.

Do it ALL.

Do it RIGHT.

I didn't dare tell you how I really felt back then.

I won't increase monetary support.

You're beautiful.

You were too skinny. 

I'm in.  1000 percent.

You're a great mom.

Don't wallow in self-pity, see your friends.

You are only special when you control like no one else can.

Let me know when you make it safely.

I don't believe you.

Why are you so upset?

Your disease is the only thing special about you.

You have to handle the health ins., Dr. visits, broken hearts, broken ankles, don't fuck it up.

I don't even know if this is worth it.

One day you will believe how much I love you.

Loud Screaming,

SHUT UP!

Alcohol Abuse,

Anorexia,

...thoughts that leave little room for dinner.

Let's Try Something New...

Maybe I've been doing it all wrong.

(Ok, well not all of it...I have been doing some of it right).

But this past weekend I learned something.  It wasn't my greatest weekend in recovery by a long shot, but then again, it wasn't the worst either.  And I have to keep looking for the lessons in each of the trials or else what is the point of the suffering really?

What I learned is that maybe my focus has been in the wrong place.  You know?   I mean really... I have been therapized, counselized, group-therapized, hospitalized..... focusing sharply on what's wrong.

ENOUGH!

Now, I'm not saying that all of those things aren't valid or that they aren't an important part of my process.  It's a fact that I am still standing because of all of those things.  I am grateful and lucky to have been able to afford them as part of my treatment to-date.

(Please, those of you who know me, don't worry that I have decided that I am now "better" and I don't need to continue counseling or treatment.  I know some of you are thinking that....and with good reason).

I know that I have miles to go still and I am not talking about eliminating any of the current support I have in my life.

But what if I can add something that makes my healing progress?

This past weekend, I was really struggling.

A lot.

I did some things right, and I fell back into some old habits to try and avoid the pain of losing the trust and relationship of the man I believed I would be living out the rest of my life with.

For three weeks I have been desperately trying to hang on in a space where there are no handles.

The words I was left with from Ken, that he was so hurt by me,  he can't even figure out if he still wants to proceed with our relationship, are fanned over the burning anxiety in my heart by Olivia, like dried reeds over an open flame.

Making eating next to impossible.  

Threatening to send me back to what is comfortable, what takes away the pain of rejection, of disappointing people, of getting it horribly, terribly wrong.

By design of my own doing,  because I let the demons that convince me I am not good enough already, (so whatever you do, don't TELL anyone that you have this one other thing that you have to recover from that you have been hiding from everyone in your life).

I am here once again in a space that feeds this disease who wants me dead.

I own what I did.  I will never blame Ken for needing time and space away from all of this chaos that I bring.  I was wrong and it caused this place we are in.  I am making no excuses and Ken has no role in what happened.  (I didn't give him a chance to).

For three weeks I have been applying with all of the strength I can scrape together, without the support of my once biggest cheerleader, all of the things I am learning to fight with, to this distress.

Fighting is exhausting.

Like talking about Anorexia, like disclosing my difficulty with alcohol since giving up eating disorder behaviors, I wasn't ready before now, for the information I learned this weekend.

If you know me, (Hi Mom!) you'll know that until I own an idea (that is....somehow it was my idea all along) it is difficult for me to grab onto.

I have a friend.  A very dear and special friend, who I haven't really known  for all that long, but who has firmly become an important asset in my life and recovery journey.

She is one of those people who shows up in your life for a reason.  (Hi Julie!)

She also tends to be one of those selfless friends who stays connected enough to realize when I might need support, and who shows up.

Every time.

In every way.

These past few weeks were no exception.

Reading my blog, Julie realized that I was in trouble.  She barraged me with text messages to "stay positive!" and that I'm "strong!" and "worth it!".  None of which penetrated the thick layer of  black tar Olivia had already begun covering my vulnerable, shiny, newly-formed, healthy self with.

Julie can be really, really (did I say really?) annoying persistent when it comes to helping.

"Did you watch the movie yet?!"

"I did, but I was drinking".

"Well watch it AGAIN! And this time I am going to ask you questions to make you prove it!"

So, I did.

Once I got over myself at how hokey and simple a thing like "changing my thinking" to embrace feeling good couldn't possibly help that much, I stayed up half the night last night, listening to just exactly how to do it.

It's actually a little deeper than thinking positively.  But in treatment and counseling and twice-hospitalized, I have been extolled the value of controlling my thoughts.  Turning my mind.  Think about what I want, not what I don't want.... and I just wasn't ready for the information yet I guess.

Until now.

This morning I woke up committed to the idea that I might as well try this because wallowing in misery leads me to the liquor isle at Hannaford faster than Trump can incite a riot at a pep rally. (I know, but I'm leaving it there...get your own blog :)

I know that none of this "positive thinking" is going to undo any of the egregious mistakes I have made in my past.  But I really want to like who I am and start forgiving myself for them.

Today I focused on being grateful for all of the goodness in my life.  I didn't get out of bed until I was sure I had named everything.

It's amazing how really difficult it became  to feel sorry for myself once I got to the end of the list.

Then, I promised myself that I would work hard to feel good.  It seems that is the first step to be able to start taking back control of my thoughts (from you-know-who) .  It sounds silly to say it here.  But that's exactly what I did.  I thought of something really simple that always makes me feel good.

The one thing I kept coming back to, is how good Sandy (the dog) makes me feel when she nuzzles me for attention or snacks, or both.

This is what happened:

I laced up my sneakers and walked (because I need to gain a few pounds back before I should run again) all around this beautiful place I get to live and watched the sun rise from all of the different angles in the Harbor.

I smelled the ocean and the early morning mud-flats beneath the foot-bridge.

I said out-loud "I want to stay out of my head and notice the beauty around me" and a cardinal flew by in front of us.

Then Sandy looked up at me with her sweet, happy smiling face as if to acknowledge this change in what I was giving off.

It sounds silly maybe.  But I noticed it too.

What's more, after leaving Hannaford with my jar of real peanut butter this morning, a woman I don't know smiled at me and said out loud, "you are just beautiful".

I'm not making this up.

It felt good to be able to feel in control of my thoughts and feelings today, rather than reacting out of pain and misery.

I'm going to do it again tomorrow.  Because what I have learned is that my life is where it is today because of what I have attracted to myself over the past.

I can't change any of it for all of the wishing in the Universe.

But I can change what lies ahead and focusing my mind on gratitude and positive thoughts might just be the switch I need to flip to kick this recovery shit into gear.

And it's starting to make sense.  (And in the brilliant words of Julie Roberts. "..even if it DOESN'T work...how bad for you can thinking positively be!?")

HELP!!

"Change can be scary. But do you know what is scarier?  Allowing fear to stop you from growing, evolving, and progressing."  -Mandy Hale

That's the quote scribbled on the white board in front of the receptionists' station at the center where I am a walk-in for assessment this morning.

Being here is all at once both terrifying and settling.

Sitting in the chairs, filling out the paperwork, checking little boxes to explain the extent/amount/type of substance(s) I fear might be an issue for me, I can't keep the tears from spilling out of my eyes.
Partly from an earlier, upsetting exchange with Ken, and partly because I am sitting here, in this unfamiliar waiting room,  filling out the same assessment form I have been administering to others in my occupation as a helper:

Do you sometimes drink to alter the way you feel?  YES
Do you sometimes drink more than you intended?  YES
Have you had problems in your life caused by alcohol but you continued to drink anyway? YES
Have you tried to stop drinking but you couldn't? YES

Each time I completed this evaluation with inmates over the past months, I answered along in my head. This morning, for the first time ever, I carefully considered each question, circled the truthful answer (despite Olivia's chiding),  handed them to someone, and asked for help.

The literature regarding co-occurring disorders has just recently been made known to me. It is not uncommon for people recovering from Anorexia Nervosa (and other eating disorders) to also have tendencies for problem-drinking, alcoholism or addiction.

Two disorders...co-occurring.

My grandmother would have called this a double-whammy.

(Because Anorexia on its own doesn't suck enough.)

As a general rule, I try and stay away from cross-posting eye-glazing statistics and facts.  In addition, I am not one to make excuses for my behavior.   

Ever.
 
Not as an excuse, but as a measure of understanding, here are some sobering facts to help keep me accountable  while also beginning the process of forgiving myself for my failings.

These statistics (only a few, I promise) make my journey more clear...my focus sharper. 

And make me feel less alone in this fight. 

According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA),

"...women that have either a drug addiction or an eating disorder are more than four times (emphasis mine) as likely to develop the other disorder compared to women who had neither disorder..."  

 I did not abuse any substances prior to developing Anorexia five years ago.

"...the relationship established between substance abuse and eating disorders creates a vicious cycle where they feed on each other and increase their destructiveness." 

Read that one again.  I'll wait.

"...when painful situations arise, food and drugs often become the means for managing stress, especially in the absence of positive coping skills.  A person who is seeking recovery from an eating disorder, for example, might turn to drugs or alcohol to cope with the difficulties encountered in recovery.  (emphasis again mine) In the same way, an individual recovering from a drug or alcohol addiction might develop disordered eating habits to compensate for the lack of chemical reinforcement they once received."



Because I chose to be dishonest with Ken on numerous occasions about drinking when he asked me about it, I may have caused irreparable damage to his trust and ultimately, our relationship,  and now have to face this part of recovery in the midst of the suffering of us both. The context of this suffering emerges from two places.  First, the morally-high standard I held Ken to in terms of honesty with me about absolutely everything going on in his life.  Citing that we live such a distance apart and that he owed me a life of transparency.  Ken, without fault, lived up to his end of this one-sided standard.  Second, upon reuniting with me again last summer, he never asked me to do this perfectly.  He did however, ask me to trust him enough to be honest about my failings in recovery, so he could be there to help, rather than pick up the pieces of some carnage he could have helped prevent.  It is easy to understand why Ken would feel betrayed, lied to and frustrated with my dishonesty.  It is a painful place to be, knowing I caused this lack of trust and anger that I may never be able to repair.

Had Ken, my family and myself, known about the commonness and collusion of these disorders,  I believe it might have been easier for me to come forward with not one, but two stigmatizing, embarrassing and feel-like-a-complete-loser illnesses, from which I must now redouble my efforts to recover from.  

Please know I don't wish for that to have happened as an excuse for lying to everyone about abusing alcohol.  It is just the understanding that might have helped me forgive myself so I can stop with the shame and self-hatred that feeds Olivia and threatens to send me spiraling back to the beginning of this uphill climb.  

I (Olivia) hate the very idea/action/feeling/ evoked in me to admit failure.  To admit that I have been weak and imperfect.  It is a curse of Anorexia that implores one to be in complete control of everything ~ emotion, eating, perfection...everything. 

It makes asking for help a herculean effort.  And I (Olivia) convince myself that I can fix it and that I  do not need help.

And if you know me, I am very convincing.

Olivia demands perfection.  Ironically, she even disparages my failings at recovery, convincing me that Ken (especially) and others will too.  

For me, admitting I am failing and asking for help (especially from people I don't want to disappoint) is like standing at the edge of the highest, rockiest cliff, trying to convince myself to jump, without knowing if there is a safety net below.

Because this thought is so disordered, Olivia endorses it by stabbing logic into my head like knives:

"Don't tell about your drinking! You are failing so badly and this proves it.  If you tell them they will know it too and judge you.  Keep lying to them about it because if they find out how weak you have been they will give up on you.

"If you tell anyone about this, they will think you are a bad mother and your girls will think so too".

"If you tell anyone, they will be so disgusted with you for being so stupid and weak." 

As I work at overcoming this part of my eating disorder, I believe my healing will progress so much faster.  Because when I am thinking with my clear and healthy mind, I realize that so far on this journey, when I do muster the strength to "jump", and trust others to help catch me, it has been true that the net has always been held at the corners by Ken, my mother, my counselor and my community.

So far, the facet of recovery that has been hardest for me to learn, and ultimately has caused the most damage in my life, is to let people hold the corners of the net who want to,  and stop devaluing their roles in my life by not giving them the choice to. 

To this end, I am pressing forward up the ladder(s) of recovery, seeking and receiving help to extinguish this new barrier to full recovery,  to rebuild integrity and trust in my relationships, so I can be a woman worth loving, with the goal to create a life before me worth living.  

I have what it takes to make this happen.  

(But I can't do it alone).

We've got this.

Fuck you, Olivia!

I am worth it.

I Hate My Railroad Train Pajamas!!

One of my favorite stories to read to my daughters when they were little was Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, by Judith Viorst.  It was one of those stories that was SO good, we (still to this day) quoted our favorite lines.

 "...It was a Terrible, Horrible, No good, Very bad day. There were lima beans for dinner, and I HATE limas. There was kissing on TV, and I HATE kissing. My bath was too hot, I got soap in my eyes, my marble went down the drain, and I had to wear my railroad-train pajamas. I hate my railroad-train pajamas..."

Often, on a day when things just didn't seem to go in our favor,  I would kiss the girls and tuck them in and remind them that "...some days are like that. Even in Australia".

You'll have to read the book to get the meaning but the gist is, no matter where you live/move, there will always be tough days.

It was the best way I could think of to say to them that tomorrow was a new day.

Today was a terrible, horible, no good, very bad day.

First, I got stuck in a traffic jam on the way to an important meeting.

Then I had to drop off the dog I love dearly and had to say goodbye until next time.  (I hate saying goodbye to her).

Then, I was unable to speak effectively to someone I desperately needed to be able to, and it went worse than I ever could have imagined, in the parking lot of my important meeting.

Then I had to sit through an intake to address my problem with drinking.  As a client, not the social worker.

Then I cried all the way to my parents' house for an unannounced visit, because sometimes a girl just really needs her mom.

Then I struggled through (but finished) my lunch, choking back tears with each bite, thinking about the exchange in the parking lot this morning and how I wish what was in my head would actually come out of my mouth. 

Then, as I was getting ready to go to my DBT Skills training class, I got a call from my daughter's track coach telling me they were on the way to the ER because she had badly injured her ankle jumping a hurdle in the hallway.

Then I saw the relief in my daughter's eyes when I arrived.  A telling wash of emotion overcame her that she was saving for the comfort of ME.

Then I got to care for her the way only a Mom can, helping her breathe through the painful parts when the Dr. set her in an air cast, holding her hands and wiping her tears.

Then, I forgot all about my terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day as my daughter and I left the Emergency Room with her in tears, wondering if she would still get to leave in 10 short hours on the trip she had been planning for months to Costa Rica.

We got our favorite dinner from our favorite restaurant and (dessert too) and we ate it on the couch with her foot propped and iced, watching a favorite show.

She even held my hand.

Then I helped her to carefully go over her list of items that still needed to be gathered and packed, putting each one carefully exactly where she wanted in her suitcase, as she directed from the sofa.

When she wanted to shower, we figured out how to carefully get the job done without further injuring her still-swelling ankle.  She had to trust my strength to help get her in and out of a raised edge tub.

Getting ice one last time before bed, ibuprofen for the pain and tucking her into bed with pillows carefully propping her ankle, this child who is full of joy and rarely ever weeps, tearfully looked up at me.

Hugging her tightly I asked her if she was unsure about going on the trip in the morning.  She nodded and said, "what if I feel like this when I'm there and I need you?"

All at once the trials of the day faded, in the shadow of the thoughts:

I am a good mother.
I have a damned good mother.
I was able to stay healthy and make positive recovery choices during one of the more stressful/sad days I have had in a long time.
I received numerous calls/messages from concerned friends about my daughter.  Including from the person I failed to communicate with in the parking lot, who earlier walked away in frustration.

My daughter and I decided to table the decision about the trip  until morning.  

Because some days are like that.

Even in Australia.

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly Part II. Unedited and Expanded

This morning,  I received a phone call from a  person who cares enough, even through his anger with me, to point out the fact that I might have "minimized" in my latest blog posts, some of what has been going on, and for how long it has been going on, which brought me to where I am in my journey today.

I spent the afternoon thinking about his words because it has been my experience so far that Ken's observations are generally spot-on.  And I know that they come from a place of caring and not judgement.

Olivia hates this.

Truthfully, so do I sometimes.

What I arrived at is that I sacrificed accountability for brevity.  I glosssed over the details to protect people (myself included) from losing face (i.e. I must try and look perfect...even when I am describing my failings).  I took a glancing pass at accountability, and went against my original promise to get real.

He was right.  I need to try again.

Apologies in advance if I offend/insult/anger anyone in this writing.  Please know it is not what I intend.

My expansions upon the original post are in blue.  

This one is going to take stamina...you might want to get comfortable. 

First, the bad/ugly.

I have allowed some old Anorexic habits to creep back into my life.  

(For added accountability, I will even tell you what they are, not in any particular order).

 ~Body checking This one has never really gone away yet.  If I am honest.  I have been doing it for years.  Anything reflective still reveals a less-than-acceptable image which perpetuates the longing to be smaller.  More perfect.  At all costs.
~Sticking largely to "safe" foods I have been getting much better at this one.  Ken and Summer are tremendous supports in normalizing eating for me.  But I still have work to do here.

 ~Restricting food intake (purposefully) AND
~Using alcohol to numb the anxiety of a larger body and for the courage to come clean about it AND
~Lying to my best friend and partner about it, more than once, when asked point blank AND
~Giving in to the disease and letting the negative voice win so I could hang on to the parts of Anorexia that I haven't been willing to give up
These began at Thanksgiving, when I ran into some old, painful emotions that I didn't feel equipped to handle.  I reached out to my supports but I didn't tell them everything.  Just that I was having a hard time. 

I usually do tell them everything, eventually, but not until I am in crisis.  Until that time, I believe that it isn't a problem or that I am doing the best I can, or that I can just hang on to this one last piece of Olivia to mitigate distressing emotions.

I began drinking again.  In secret. 

I told no one until it got to the point where I was hiding alcohol and drinking most evenings, so I could quiet the demons and fall asleep at night.  

The demons of failing my family by not letting my daughters have a normal, nuclear family for their childhoods. 

The demons of somehow taking responsibility for my ex-husband leaving the country before his youngest daughter finished high school.  The pain of knowing what it must feel like to have been left behind. 

The unrelenting negative thoughts planted by Olivia, about failing by gaining the weight I was prescribed to.  

I found myself sneaking upstairs even when Ken was visiting, unable to resist the lure of taking the edge off the unresolved pain that lingered in the background.  Always.

I even drank in the morning once.  That scared the hell out of me.

The Holidays were brutal. 

Olivia: "You can drink.  No one understands but me, that you are trying to get through the holidays. You deserve a little extra help.  Don't tell anyone.  They won't understand and will think you failed and they will leave you because you are weak.  At least you aren't restricting or purging or over-exercising like last year.  You are just drinking.  It's no big deal."

This went on for about 2 weeks until one night when Ken was over,  he commented that I smelled "boozy". 

Olivia: "DO NOT admit it to him!  He won't understand and will reject you.  He thinks you are doing everything perfectly and that is the only reason he loves you.  He won't love you the same way if you tell him you failed.  It's our secret.  I won't judge you.  You need this to get through the pain. You are weak and this makes you strong.  He will take it from you. Then he will leave".

So I listened to her.   I lied to him and denied drinking. 

I also lied to my therapist about it, fearing her judgement as much as Ken's.

And as it usually happens, the lies to cover up Olivia's bullying are gasoline for the fire of  a re-kindled self-loathing, causing me to dig in deeper to destructive behavior that manifests itself in lashing out at those I love, with impatience and certainty that I have to work harder at covering up my failings. 

I made the decision one morning about 2.5 weeks after beginning drinking again, to somehow confess it to Ken (and my therapist).  At this moment my healthy-self took over briefly, letting the thought build  the confidence to take action.  

Until the moment came to actually tell him.  

Olivia:"WHAT are you thinking?! You can't tell him! He is going to leave you.  You are so weak you can't even do this right.  You are SO stupid!  If you tell him he will walk out of here in the morning just like he did before.  He has limits.  I will never leave you.  I will always be here for you. If you tell him, he is going to try and take me away."

After Ken had already gone to bed, I got up to drink.  Then I drank some more  until eventually, I passed back out in bed. 

Most often what happens to me in this state is that the traumas of my past have no barriers to cross to infiltrate my sleep.  I was awakened by a horrified Ken, who all at once realized what was happening.

He didn't leave.  He supported me throughout the evening, into the subsequent days where we worked things out together in counseling and I redoubled my efforts to stay sober.

As always, he was my biggest cheerleader. 

And I did stay sober.  Without fault.  Until I convinced him in early January that I could have a couple of drinks with him while we were in Florida, because I was in a good space, I was my goal weight, and it was....well...vacation.   Ken replied with what he always does, as he has learned to do for his own self-care, that it was my decision, my recovery, my choice.  

We discussed how things went the next day, with Ken pointing out that he felt uneasy with how much and how fast I drank.  

Olivia quickly took over, assuring him that I was simply enjoying the day and that nothing bad happened.  

Upon returning home, back to our daily lives, back to our own homes where we raised our own daughters with the commitment not to move until they were done with school, Olivia soon convinced me that I could handle drinking again.  And no one would know.

Just at night.  To take the edge off all of the background noise of how hard it had become to continue to eat, with the weight of this new body I still could not get used to.

It sounds petty.  (And this is the sickness) but when things feel out of control (Summer's father in another country, being stressed about money, etc.) Olivia turns the focus to my weight.

Olivia:"Everything else will fall into place when you get your eating back under control.  You cannot control even what you eat- you are FAT and USELESS.  Nothing is going to go right for you again, and you are not going to feel right again until you get this back under control and lose the weight you gained.  You are a pig.  You are a failure.  You can succeed at being thin again...thinner than anyone else is able to be.  Once you are, you will have the courage again to fix the other parts of your life.  And people will love you again."

It doesn't happen all at once.  It began in early February.

February turned into March...

One morning when we were performing our weekly exchange of Sandy, I noticed he was smelling my breath when he kissed me.  

I (Olivia) roared with an indignant bellow that if he wanted to know if I had been drinking, he should just ask me.  (A reaction by this point, Ken is likely to recognize as coming from other than my healthy, recovery side). 

Making a bad situation even worse (my specialty), I implored him that I didn't drink that night before.

I had.

On St. Patrick's Day, I drank so much (and didn't eat...always the reason for drinking) that I left Ken at the restaurant, somehow made it home to bed (walking, never driving) waking up the next day with only a made-up story in my head to present for my reasoning.

As I tend to when I have not eaten, and I have had too much to drink, I cannot recall the actual events of the evening.  

This same scenario played out again last weekend.  Our first weekend at our newly purchased camp.  On my birthday weekend.   Almost exactly as it played out as described above.  (Restriction of food on purpose...playing with the timing of it....then drinking to prolong the restriction and cover up the pain of it....so I can do it more). I ruined what was to be a beautiful first night in OUR camp we purchased together, and would be getting ready for all of the memories to come.  I passed out.  Have no recall of the evening's events and made something up to cover my tracks, still trying desperately to convince Ken that I had this all under control.

Then again two nights later when the grief and pain of lying to Ken about what a problem drinking had become for me to numb the feelings of shame for my size, I decided to "tell" him the truth.

Much like the first time I came clean to Ken about using alcohol to cope with recovery from Anorexia, I let the anxiety of what would happen once I told him become an excuse for not being able to eat and subsequently becoming so intoxicated that I couldn't finish telling him until after I passed out asleep for hours after he figured out what was going on.  

I woke up at midnight, saw the unintelligible text messages I sent him and the subsequent desperate calls from him to make contact with me, and "told" him via text, what he had likely known all along, that I needed more help.

This was last Tuesday evening.  

This is really hard. Excruciatingly painful.

Vulnerability is not my cuppa.  scares the shit out of me and I will avoid it at all costs.  It incites Olivia's ire and fight like nothing else.


However, it is my experience that sharing the journey helps me both to own it and to address it.  For me, vulnerability is accountability.  It is the hardest thing for me to grasp.  Yet most of the time on this journey when I do,  I am propelled further down the road.

So I'll keep trying. I will.  Because I want to win this battle.


Here's the good. (That I have only begun since Tuesday evening mentioned above).

I want to share them because Olivia might start to shut the fuck up if I do.

Perhaps I should make this a regular, weekly posting...Both the good and the bad.  For accountability and healing.

~I have reached out to my support person (hi mom) more than I ever have.  Because I need her. I have called her hyperventilating and in tears at least 4 times since Wednesday evening.  I have called her in calmness.  I call her when I need a (virtual) hug from my mom.  She is my rock.  She listens (I can't imagine how frustrating this must be for her).  I HATE reaching out to my mom.  Olivia HATES it.  That is why I have to. 
~I told my daughters that I am struggling...but safe.  No more dishonesty with them either. This is just as hard if not harder, than being honest with Ken and my mom.  But necessary because I want them to see the struggle.  And the strength.  And ultimately, the victory.
~I reached out to someone who understands the tendency towards using alcohol in Anorexia recovery and will follow up with whatever assessment/treatment that is recommended. Without excuses.
~I have fought the urge to numb my emotions with most Anorexic behaviors over the past few days as one of my most important relationships is damaged, possibly beyond repair.  Eating is hard.  I am not doing it perfectly, but I am doing it.  Without alcohol too.  That's the good. It isn't that difficult for me not to drink once I have made up my mind not to.  It's when I (Olivia) convince(s) me that it's ok to drink again because I have control.  I don't.  
Even though eating is hard, I AM using what I learned in treatment.  I am having multiple,  small, calorie dense meals that are easy to get down (mostly in the form of power bars/smoothies and high calorie add-ins to oatmeal like nuts and peanut butter and raisins.  When it gets to be too difficult, I call my support person and tell her my plan for the evening.  Accountability.  
~I have turned to the distress tolerance skills from DBT that truly work for me in these times.  Not just a glancing look.  I have carved out specific time for them each day. AND I use them when unexpected anxiety/emotions emerge from the current status of my relationship with Ken.  Who is angry/frustrated with me for all of the reasons listed above. Rightfully so.  The waves of emotion and anxiety about our future are difficult to ride out because it is a reality that he has possibly reached his limit.  No one would blame him.  And this is the possibility I am trying to "radically accept."
~I followed through with a difficult commitment to a friend today that had the potential to raise my anxiety (and called my mom...twice). And it was good. I had to get Sandy from Ken's home to keep her for the weekend while he worked.  Knowing he would not be coming to see me like always after his shifts.  It is THE toughest space for me to be successful in... this limbo and uncertainty.  But I am here because I let Anorexia become more important than my relationship.  Period.
~I changed my picture on my blog that was me at my lowest weight.  (I was hanging on to that for a reason...and it wasn't healthy). The reason is that it is the last picture I have of myself at that weight.  Giving it up is like putting away the smallest jeans I should NEVER fit into again.  Months ago, Ken commented about the picture.  I balked heartily at removing it, with a reason I cannot even recall (because it was an excuse).
~I wrote an inventory of what I like about myself (Olivia hates that).  I might even hang it up.
~I am practicing Radical Acceptance for real. I am here because of a history of actions that I cannot change now.  The choices I have are to reject the reality and continue in its misery.  Accept it as it is and be patient with the process, or change it.
~I have been able to ride the wave of some painful emotions.  THIS is probably my most important victory thus far.  It is one of the gifts that have come from the trials.  To date, I have not been able to find coping mechanisms other than restriction/excessive exercise/drinking to deal with emotions.  DBT is heaven-sent.  I am gaining the confidence to tolerate emotion successfully, not to act on it, and as a result, am becoming more effective.  I need to keep practicing because Olivia can convince me that I don't have the tolerance/patience and I forget sometimes and act quickly from emotion rather than fact.
~I am posting this most humbling way too long, but exponentially more accountable blog.  And I already feel the relief vulnerability brings when it is authentic void of bullshit.

If you read this entire post, you must truly be a saint.  

If you read it without judgement, you must truly be a friend. 

The Good. The Bad. And the Ugly (Of My Recovery This Week)

I'm going to take some literary privilege and reverse the order.  I doubt Clint will mind.

First, the bad/ugly.

I have allowed some old Anorexic habits to creep back into my life. 

(For added accountability, I will even tell you what they are, not in any particular order)

~Body checking 
~Sticking largely to "safe" foods
~Restricting food intake (purposefully)
~Using alcohol to numb the anxiety of a larger body and for the courage to come clean about it
~Lying to my best friend and partner about it, more than once, when asked point blank
~Giving in to the disease and letting the negative voice win so I could hang on to the parts of Anorexia that I haven't been willing to give up

This is really hard.

Vulnerability is not my cuppa.

However, it is my experience that sharing the journey helps me both to own it and to address it.  For me, vulnerability is accountability.  It is the hardest thing for me to grasp.  Yet most of the time on this journey when I do,  I am propelled further down the road.

So I'll keep trying.


Here's the good. 

I want to share them because Olivia might start to shut the fuck up if I do.

Perhaps I should make this a regular, weekly posting...

~I have reached out to my support person (hi mom) more than I ever have.  Because I need her.
~I told my daughters that I am struggling...but safe.  No more dishonesty with them either.
~I reached out to someone who understands the tendency towards using alcohol in Anorexia recovery and will follow up with whatever assessment/treatment that is recomended.
~I have fought the urge to numb my emotions with most Anorexic behaviors over the past few days as one of my most important relationships is damaged, possibly beyond repair.  Eating is hard.  I am not doing it perfectly, but I am doing it.  Without alcohol too.  That's the good.
~I have turned to the distress tolerance skills from DBT that truly work for me in these times.  Not just a glancing look.  I have carved out specific time for them each day.
~I followed through with a difficult commitment to a friend today that had the potential to raise my anxiety (and called my mom...twice). And it was good.
~I changed my picture on my blog that was me at my lowest weight.  (I was hanging on to that for a reason...and it wasn't healthy).
~I wrote an inventory of what I like about myself (Olivia hates that).  I might even hang it up.
~I am practicing Radical Acceptance for real. 
~I have been able to ride the wave of some painful emotions
~I am posting this most humbling blog.
~ I watched this video again by Brene Brown about vulnerability that my Eating Disorder counselor suggested.   Because I need to welcome vulnerability to my recovery journey, and my life.

 ~And I am here to fight another day.

Blogging for My Life...

 The opening quote rings true.  Especially when there is crisis.  So this night, I blog...

 I am learning.  

When I move away from the basic facets of recovery, minute fissures in my protective, healthy self, (which I have worked so fucking hard to build) give way to cavernous vortexes, beckoning me with the enticing (fallacious) promise of calm...peace...control.

I am learning.

I am impulsive, intolerant of distress and (Olivia is) impudently willing, and always ready to lie to and isolate me from people I dare to love and care about.  

I am learning.

I am responsible for letting Olivia take a wrecking ball to my life.
I am responsible for the aforementioned fissures.
I am responsible for convincing myself that I can eat/drink/exercise/ like a "normal" person.
I am responsible, this far into my recovery from Anorexia, for relapse.


I am just starting to learn.

(S o   v e r y  s l o w l y)  

That I still can't do this on my own.
To try and trust that when treasured people offer selflessly to help, that they mean it.
That these same people will not judge me or disappear from my life, for my failings in recovery.
And that I betray those people who have put their trust in me, by the lies I am responsible for telling, to cover up the failings.

I know that the basic measures of my own personal recovery are:

Accountability (this blog...to myself...to those I care about)
Eating three meals and two snacks. Every.Damned.Day.
Exercising only in moderation
Abstaining from alcohol.
Steering clear of "safe" foods/counting calories/scales.
Embracing "fear" foods/intuitive eating/health.
Reaching out to my supports with honesty and vulnerability, before I am already in crisis.
To keep learning how to manage distress without making a bad situation worse. 
Fighting the obvious (and not particularly so) handiwork of Olivia.  And believing others who see it, long before I do.
Waking up tomorrow, acknowledging and taking responsibility for the previous day's successes and failings, and keep.moving.forward.

Vulnerability is Strength

When I began writing this blog, I promised to be honest.

Brutally honest.

Honesty is Olivia's Kryptonite and it has become more and more certain to me since beginning this journey, that the more difficult it is to share something about how this disease manifests itself in my life, the more loudly and expeditiously I should share it.

Anorexia is a disease that demands perfection...not just physical perfection (which, for people with Anorexia, is like a mirage to a weary desert-traveler) but in ALL aspects of being:

In my sickest times, Olivia demanded perfection in:

Being the smallest person in the room.

(If not) Having the most chiseled muscles in the room.

Getting an A+ on everything I attempted (school, work, life) without exception.

Eating the least amount of food of anyone at the table.

Running the farthest, fastest, more often than anyone.

Being loved by everyone I love.  No exceptions.  No rejection.

Controlling everything that happens to me.

(When I can't) Controlling my feelings about it ("I'm fine").

Being the smallest person in the room....being the smallest person in the room....being the smallest person in the room.

In recovery, we learn that ideas that pop into our streams of consciousness that demand  we cause ourselves harm, are thoughts to be discarded, stepped aside from, and replaced with positive, opposing thoughts and subsequent action.

Having been a slave to Olivia's constant tapes for so long, this is proving to be one of the most challenging facets of recovery for me.

And it could hold me back if I am not accountable to it. 

My healthy brain, now nourished and restored to a level of functioning that affords me ammunition with which to fight negative thoughts, still fails at times to recognize when Olivia is steering the ship.

Recovery is a lot like chipping away at an archaeological site.  The earth being encouraged by the diggers to give up its treasures, known only to it.

The very nature of the characteristics of those of us seemingly predisposed to the disease of Anorexia, are the very same which make it so difficult to give in fully, to recovery.

Pay attention.

The perfection that Olivia demanded of me, when I was active in my disorder and even now sometimes in recovery, requires that I disappoint NO one in my life, at all costs.

This includes my children, my parents, my partner, my ex-husband and his family, my therapist, my co-workers and employer, casual acquaintances, the person in front of me in line at the grocery store (and let's not even START on God).

Rejection and disappointment are intolerable emotions that must be avoided with a tenacity equal to that of someone fighting for their life.

Anorexia was the furnace stoked by the shame and fear of rejection and disappointing others, that Olivia stacked neatly in abundance along the shelves of my mind.

Now, in recovery, I am encouraged to be open about triggers and blind spots, weaknesses and failures.

That.  And to embrace the (enormous amount) of weight which steals the one (and only) trait that was once "special" about me.

It's almost like a trick really.  Sometimes it even seems cruel, when I am working so desperately to embrace "living" (eating).

In my best, most solid moments of recovery (which I am proud to say honestly at this stage, outnumber the weak ones) I can remind myself that what is special about me is the mom I am, the friend I am, the partner I am, the social worker I am, and not the size I am.

But sometimes, I catch a glimpse of my plumper cheeks, my fuller figure or how I now fill out the jeans that once hung victoriously loosely, declaring my success at disappearing.   And for a moment, Olivia re-emerges with her vengeful, vicious and venomous efforts to sabotage the progress that advances my commitment to recovering.

At this stage, I  cannot even feign acceptance of this uncomfortable weight that seems to be what threatens any further advancements towards recovery from here.

I am being told to "trust the process" (what if the process doesn't work for me!?)

"Trust your body" (what if my body is pissed at me and never stops gaining weight!?) 

"Be honest about how you are feeling" (if I people know how much of a daily struggle this is they will think I am failing...that I am a failure.  I'll disappoint them and they will reject me").

Don't miss that last one.

It is the reason I continue to be ever-vigilant against Olivia's desire to reunite me with the power gained from her sickness, with the seduction of her duplicitous promises to restore my strength and dignity.

The tariff for her restoration of command is all of the joy in my life, my relationships, my work, my soul.

So tonight I am saying,  fuck you Olivia! (sorry mom) and staying honest about what I need in order to stay healthy and decidedly on the path of recovery.

I need to be aware of my thoughts as they pertain to my own size.

And how I compare me to you.

I need to stop looking at images of "too thin celebrities" or body builders, telling myself that I am only trying to embrace my new body (I'm not.... I am comparing and it is one of my biggest triggers).

I need to be honest with my support person and my partner when I am struggling with something they might be able to help with.  Rather than concealing it so I can continue to stay stuck in my ED or out of fear of disappointing or rejection.

I need to stop making comments to my workout partners about "...running with a 25 pound weight strapped to my ass".

Like the skinny jeans in my closet, I need to rid my digital archives of photos of myself depicting a "me" I should no longer strive for.  

I need to be honest with my counselor rather than trying to be perfect in my recovery.

I need to be patient with my body as it recovers from the abuse I inflicted over the past 5 years.

Like the Earth to the Archaeologist searching for answers, I need to expose the indiscernible vestiges of Olivia that only I am privy to, in order to understand her historical presence in my life and ultimately supplant her strong hold in my journey.

I will beat this.

With your help.  I will beat this.

This is Living....

Having spent the better part of the last five years living a secret hell that that nearly convinced me that I deserved nothing more, I have begun through recovery, to not only notice the moments of light, but to embrace them.

Most people do this without even thinking about it, rewarding their bodies for a successful run or soccer match, with a nourishing meal or even a special treat.  

When you are sick with an eating disorder, constantly derided by the voice of Anorexia telling you that you do not deserve the gifts life can bring, that you aren't worthy of reward or pleasure or love, you internalize it, gobbling up instead, the promise of becoming worthy by shrinking, restricting, punishing your body with a discipline that makes you special and strong and invincible. 

The first time I went through Mercy Hospital's partial residential treatment program for eating disorders, my counselor explained that some people "recover" to a certain "level" where they stay stuck for long periods of time, even for good~ buying into most of the program of structured eating and gaining to the point where they are comfortable, still controlling the process of gaining by never fully trusting the process (thereby using eating disorder behaviors to continue to control weight gain and emotion and pain). 

This type of recovery is much like leaving one foot in the boat and one foot on the dock, never fully committing to staying stationary nor moving away from the dock.   

It isn't living. 

It is allowing the illness to continue to hold you hostage, resulting in the type of recovery that perpetuates the lie that because one looks "healthy" on the outside, they are free from Anorexia. 

But this place is still just one or two extra workouts a day, or a couple of days of restricting away from a dangerous relapse. 

It is easy to do because many of our family/ friends wouldn't notice the small nuances of the disease that can linger, like constant body checking or calorie counting or secretly restricting/purging.

Full recovery requires a total and complete commitment to living a full life.

I didn't commit the first time through recovery.  I believed (like many do) that I was "special" in some way and that I could control the amount of weight-gain to appease both Olivia and my loved ones.  That I could straddle the dock of illness and recovery for life. 

A short 2 months out of my first stay in treatment, I was already exhibiting all of the Red Flags for Relapse. 

 It didn't take long before I was in full-blown relapse, firmly and defiantly planting both feet decidedly in the boat. 

I didn't give myself a chance to live.  I couldn't recognize happiness. 

Now, I can.

This, is living...

~Holding the hands of my beautiful daughters, who are 19 and 15, and still hold my hand occasionally. 

~Being honest with them about my disease and showing them both the strength and vulnerability of recovery.

~Allowing my parents to see that I am not perfect and fine and solid all of the time.  And embracing the joy when I am!

~Participating fully and equally in a relationship that I can trust and feel worthy of.

~Learning to allow the vulnerability that comes with recovery to be seen by him and trusting him when he says he is committed without expectation.

~Acknowledging the confidence in my work that once drove me to perpetually seek advancement.  Embracing the feeling of duty and purpose outside of myself that I bring each day to my job. 

~Eating ice cream cones during the afternoon.  On a weekday :)  (more than once)...

~Wearing a bathing suit on the beach in FLA in January.

~Going to a New Year's Eve party and drinking club soda, TRULY enjoying the company of friends I have not dared to face in a long time.

~Enjoying a meal with family while on vacation, ordering what I want without adding up the calories...then eating every bite while listening to and for the first time in a LONG time, paying attention to, the important stories of others' lives. 

~Skipping a workout to enjoy sipping coffee with my partner in the early morning hours before he has to leave for work.

~Making dinner according to the actual recipe, rather than substituting and omitting everything that causes me fear. 

~Enjoying a variety of foods, shunning the familiar and safe foods that keep me stuck in my disorder.

~Sitting quietly on the beach, watching a sunset, with a quietness in my head that has long since been elusive. 

~Looking forward to eating at a favorite restaurant with genuine earnest.

~Resting easy after a rich meal, without thoughts of purging or the guilt of the calorie load. 

~With the quietness of Olivia, being able to focus on important tasks or even trivial puzzles without distraction or the confusion of being malnourished.

So easy for healthy people. 

So long forgotten in my illness. 

As recovery continues, so too does true living.