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.