Body Image Backslide

Why now? Why, for the past two weeks or so, has my body image _plummeted? While it may not have been what you’d call good body image, desirable body image, it was, at least, more or less accurate – 70% of the time, because I am still recovering here, my pretties.

And now, now all I see is how big I am. I went from thinking about my body and my weight maybe 35% of the time to nearly 85% in any given day. What’s with the preoccupation? What’s changed?

My weight really hasn’t. Technically, I still have quite a bit of weight to gain, if we’re going strictly by BMI, here.

So you could argue that since anorexia is largely about feeling out of control and needing to re-claim it somewhere, that I’m feeling out of control again and want to restrict or get thinner to fill some control-less void inside me. Maybe. But why? Like I said, nothing’s changed. Holy osmosis, I almost wish it would – it’s kind of a snooze fest over here.

Still working, still being a mother, still not being a very good homemaker, still worrying worrying worrying, still trying to gain weight, still not living up to my sky-high potential, etc.

Maybe I’m just PMSing. You never know with me. But is that normal? For 2 weeks? I don’t know my flow! Nah, I don’t think it’s my P word. For some reason or another, anorexia is rearing its ugly head and I’m like, what, supposed to fight it? This used to be easy, like two weeks ago. Not even kidding, my little kittens, it hasn’t been this bad in years and years.

And don’t worry, I’m eating – I haven’t let it control my intake. But the preoccupation of it all scares me.

So many questions in this post, no real answers…

Weekend highlights included

• Coming up with witty, sarcastic texts to my niece’s (Who is 17!! Gasp this girl is too beautiful…haha I wish I could say she got it from me but I G U E S S she got it from my sister ;) boy-toy who’s kind of a nerd – she needed my writing skills, after all…
• Preparing (i.e. weeding, cleaning, etc) my parents home for their return after THREE YEARS…(an official post to come)
• Going to le pool with Big B and C. Becoming even blacker.
• Dinner with some oldies but goodies…Alana and Whit.
• Two movies! Mama Brie never gets to see movies anymore! I saw My Sister’s Keeper (a total sob fest, don’t get me started on the fact that the ending was the exact opposite of the book, totally ruined the meaning/irony of the whole thing) and also The Proposal, which was quite the guffaw-er. Loved it!
• Coloring with Lil C in church to keep him quiet.
• Reading nearly a dozen Dr Seuss Books to C. Him sitting in my lap, putting his cheek to my lips so I’d kiss it, and then snuggling on my shoulder, until reaching back up with his cheek for another kiss.


• Facebook telling me I’m “Chunkylicious” OH WAIT that wasn’t a highlight. What a lame quiz!! Facebook also informed me that I am vain, and that also if I was in a horror movie I’d die in the middle. All valuable information. All of it.

Napping with my kitties.

Discovering the magic of childrens’ books again. Did you know the book Are You My Mother? was the first book I ever read completely by myself, before I was even in Kindergarten? While reading it to C, I was totally having A Moment.

Bitching about life with my sissy, Brooke. She’s my person.

Allowing myself to journal a bit. Sometimes I need an outlet for the stuff I don’t say on my blog, you know?

Having A Realization. A good one.

Yup, it was a good weekend. After my last post about my mothering (or lack thereof) skills, I really had some good bonding moments with the mini-man. He’s still a weirdo who likes to scream and hold in his poop, but he knows I love him unconditionally, and I can see he knows he’s safe and well taken care of and loved, and really, that’s about the best you can give your child, no?

More later. I have a crazy full busy day, but totes in a good way. Be nice to people!

Hungry Tiger

First off, random: does this make me a bad person? When I heard that M.J. had died last night, (from surprisingly my dad, as he doesn’t follow Hollywood and wouldn’t know who Paris Hilton was if she came right up to him and said, “That’s hot”) the first thing I thought was,

So if M.J’s ancestors are presumably like welcoming him into Heaven right at this minute or whatever, are they asking him why the hell he’s white?

I wonder, oh, I wonder.

Well, the grumpies aren’t as bad today, even though my body was solicited yesterday – gah that makes me mad all over again! That dude – man, talk about being a hungry tiger! And this broad will NOT be feeding him…
Anyway, my grumpies post actually really cheered me up yesterday, because it was utterly ridiculous. It’s good to laugh at yourself.

Hopefully this weekend should be rad. Whit and I are going to see My Sister’s Keeper tonight, and then tomorrow Big B and I are taking Lil C to the pool for some hardcore family bonding, which will consist of him playing with C in the water while I broil on my beach towel. I love bonding.

Glad it’s Friday. I need the break; need Big B to be home to help me with C. He’s kind of being a monster right now, and my limits are getting precariously close to their breaking point. The little fiend knows how to push my buttons, that’s for sure. Motherhood is a blessing, truly cheesy – but true - but sometimes I wonder why I allowed some jerk (aka my husband haha) to inseminate me. Obviously I don’t really mean it, I love my mini-man, but there are times when I want to throw up my hands and give up.

That’s not an easy thing to admit.

I’m not one of those perfect mom bloggers out there whose kids are always in clean, ironed clothes who eat organic vegetables and never get in fights. I’m not that perfect, my child’s not that perfect, and I’ll never presume to be. It’s just hard right now. Mama Brie needs a break.

And Big B? If you were thinking of being a hungry tiger tonight – you are so gonna be starved. Wifey Brie needs a break too. ;)

Re: Manslut

This afternoon I was headed to downtown SLC to meet my sisters at the mall. I was waiting at a stoplight to get on the freeway, and heard someone to my right honking. I looked over, and saw a guy gesturing to me to roll down my window. I thought that maybe I'd left my gas cap open, or something, and rolled it down. I swear to you on something really important like Hairyola and my boobies that this is exactly as the convo ensued:

MAN: Hey, do you wanna sell your car?
ME: ?? No.
MAN: Well do you wanna sell your body then?
ME: NO!
I start to roll up my window
MAN: Are you sure? I pay really well.

What a dick. Seriously, no words. Can't believe I was actually solicited. I always wonder to myself if I have the she-balls to be a whore, and now I know that I do not. Talk about being offended. I wish I had told him to go F himself. Literally.

Grumpies

You hear a knock at the door. Who’s arrived? Oh, just the grumpies. And then they walk in, uninvited, park it on your couch, and ask for a beer. They sidle into bed with you at night, make you wonder if you need anger management skills while they whisper how much life sucks in your ear, and tell you throwing a phone book or gummy bears at your neighbor across the street who never wears a shirt and stares at your boobies while simultaneously looking like he’s going to have a stroke is a good idea.

The grumpies make me restless. I start reading, only to realize I can’t focus on the storyline. I do the laundry, only to decide it’s an exercise in futility. I start doing my hair, and then realize I’ll look ugly today no matter what; a ponyfrickintail will suffice. Just a cycle I’m going through, like a Pekingese chasing its tail for hours in a big un-fruitful circle of This Sucks.

Today, everyone around me is cute and chipper and happy and talking about how much the Special K diet, if they could just stick to it, would help make their world a better place. And then there’s me, with my nasty grumpies. I am the rancid meat between adorable Special K bread. And no one wants to eat this sandwich.

I don’t even know what that means.

Gross, Brie. Just LET.IT.GO.

On Nicknames

I love giving people nicknames. There’s something so fun about it, so personal, a connection that means, I like you, I’m close enough to you that I can call you something special. Maybe I love it so much because I was never really called by a nickname, hardly ever. See, Brie actually is a nickname, as my full name is Brienne. (Pronounced Bree-N) But because NOBODY has ever called me that, even just saying it to myself sounds really foreign and off. I’ve always been just Brie, from day one, so even though technically Brie is a nickname, it’s not to me. It’s just me. My name.

Brandon has many nicknames from me, the most common of which is simple: Bran. Then there’s Big B, which you all are quite well acquainted with, but also Brandonius Maximus, Husband, and Branny Boo Boo Bear, which he doesn’t like, as he’s a real manly man that wears plaid and wrestles in the mud ‘n stuff.

But currently, I’m quite fascinated with coming up with nicknames for my darling kitty cat, Hairy. Now, Hairy’s kind of a mental kitten. She’s very odd…I’ve had many cats in my nearly twenty-five years on the planet, and I’ve never had one quite like her. She likes to talk to me; I’ll ask her how her day was, and she’ll look right at me and meow quite satisfactorily. “Reallllllly?” I’ll say, and she’ll look right back and meow again. In fact, she talks so much that at least once a day, usually more, I'll hear Hairy over by Branny Boo Boo Bear trying to strike up a convo, and he'll mutter, "Shutup, Hairy, I'm busy -- or Go away, I don't have time to talk right now!" Seriously, she’s totally legit. She’s also like a lapdog, always wants to be sitting on me and near me and really we love each other very much.

So I have so many nicknames for the girl, and they’re just brimming, going to overflow, and I had to share them with you. As you read the list, please do keep in mind that I’m not insane. I just really love her, that’s all!

So, recently, these are the names by which I call her. They change in any given week; I can’t help it that I’m both creative and a little dirty:

Horny Hairy
Hairyola (rhymes with areola) – I use this one a lot
Hairsticular Cancer (use this one a lot too)
Hairy Winston
My Little Thicket
My Favorite Sexually Based Offense
Hairy Bush
Hair Bear

Brandon’s thrilled with all these, I’m sure, haha. :)

I bet if Hairy could give me a nickname, it would be full of love but also dirty goodness as well! Until then…I’ll still be…just Brie. Sigh. ;)

Little Debbie Gives me a Little Anxiety

Little Debbie is a little fiend. Little Debbie and her snack products can suck it.

Why all this anger Brie, why? I’ll tell you why!

On Friday night, Big B and I went to Redbox and then the grocery store afterward for a movie and some treats. I was happily humming while I plucked my chocolate licorice and saltines from the shelves, but Big B was much slower in his decision. Wheat Thins or Ritz? Or Vegetable Thins? The poor man just didn’t know.

And then he saw the Little Debbie display. He impulsively reached for some cake-like object that rather disturbingly looked like a Twinkie, until I firmly took it from him and put it back on the shelf.

“You are NOT getting fake twinkies,” I declared.

“Well then what do you want,” he asks me? “You can pick.”

I scanned the items dubiously. Finally, I sighed. “I don’t care. Get whatever you want, I pry won’t eat them anyway.”

So he reaches down on the bottom shelf where I swear the products were all like gross and dusty, and grabbed these:

STAR CRUNCHES.

“NOOOOOoooooo!” I honestly screeched this throughout the whole store. “You can’t buy Star Crunches,” I said fiercely. “Anything but Star Crunches.”

Big B’s annoyed by now, but also kind of amused; I can tell he isn’t really angry, but tolerating me as he would a yipping teacup dog.

“And what’s wrong with Star Crunches?”

“THEY TASTE LIKE CHILDHOOD ANXIETY,” I wailed.

FLASHBACK TO 2ND GRADE:

Me, a sack lunch, and a Star Crunch. I farted at the lunch table.
People laughed.
I took a bite into that Star Crunch and tried to laugh wile I desperately wanted to cry.
Star Crunches, to me, taste like farts and sadness.
And I was never the same.

What tastes, smells, or looks like CHILDHOOD ANXIETY to you?

Also, I really loathe this smell. Adolescent anxiety much?

Stable

Good morning, my little kittens! I hope you had a fabulous weekend.
I did.

In fact, Friday was so, just…made of Hell, no! that this weekend couldn’t have possibly gotten worse – and it didn’t – it got better. :) Saturday I went to Provo and did some major shoppage with my mom. I bought Big B his Fathers’ Day gifts, and Cappa-Tade was so glad to see Gwandma Penny. :) It was rainy and lame, but shopping always alleviates weather (and other sorts of) woes.

Today I only work till noonish, and then I’m totally hittin’ the pool. To strangers who look at me, I’m quite dark; very tan-looking. But when all my sissies see me, they laugh at me because they say I’m so WHITE. Those fools are almost black with tan-ness. Don’t you love my new wordage? I need to copyright all this amazingness…but anyway then after the pool I’m headed to the-rapey (anyone ever see Girl, Interrupted haha?) at 4. I’m thinking I’m going to get a giant red stamp that says C U R E D in my file today. You know.

Speaking of cured…I’ll update you a bit on how things are going: my weight is still lower than it should be, but stable. Did you read that word…that STABLE word? You understand the meaning and significance of this, right? STABLE means that I’m not losing weight or wanting to tear off my clothes and run around the neighborhood nakey sobbing I DID MY BEST, I DID MY BEST, I DID MY BEST because of anxiety. Stable means I’m eating enough to maintain. Stable means you don’t hear embarrassing hungry tummy growls when you’re with me. Stable means that I am full of near-curedness. And that I’m also classy and fabulous, and that I do have proper grammar and spelling skills when needed. Absolutely. I should call Mr. Webster and update him on some of the finer details of the definition, as apparently STABLE and I are quite acquainted. ;)

Okay, well, have a good day. I’m going to go back to drinking my Diet Coke and noshing on my granola bar. Have fun doing something not as cool as me when I’m at the pool, suckas! Bye!

My Man

To a hardworking husband who is both hot and manly,

I love you for so many reasons, it's just insane. I never would have thought that the man I was going to marry and have children with would be that chillax guy wearing that tacky Where's Waldo shirt on the first day you introduced yourself to me in History class. (Please burn that shirt if you ever find it again...)

I really believe that you are It. The One. Hand-picked for The Briester by Heavenly Father. I sometimes don't think very highly of myself, but God MUST, for giving both me and Cade YOU. If I ever think that my life was in vain, or a failure, I need only remember that I was given you, and together we made something priceless: our son, Cappa-Taden.

You are passionate and resourceful, logical but forever optimitic. You are patient and kind. You are my rock, my foundation, especially when my body image gets out of hand and I start to freak out and feel like a fatso. :) Caden will grow up "normal," if not because of his slightly unstable mother, then because of his honorable father.

Thank you for your jackhammer spermies giving me Caden, and I can't wait until you give me more!

I love you, I love that ony you can turn me on, and still give me butterflies in my stomach, after all these years.

On this day I celebrate you - today, and always.

Love you, Baby-

Brie

Green River & Moab, Utah 2009

Here's some pics from our mini-vacay last weekend. We detoured before Green River to look at some petroglyphs and dinosaur prints. Here you can see Bran and Lil C and lots of my fam climbing the rocks; me and The Peg Hole decided to hang back.

Cappa-Tade throwing rocks with Lighning McQueen.

They're both cuter in real life.

So am I. I think.

Bored and snapping (more) pics while yet another hill was climbed that wasn't Peg friendly.

Cave fun.

Cade caught unawares.

Cade loved the big rock. He said he was "king of the rock!"

I love this pic of Daddy and C on the bridge that looked like it was momentarily going to collapse. A total framer, if you ask me.

Later that night, we all went to a park for a BBQ and games.

My hole didn't like playing football, either.

My nerdier family members played a riveting game of Red Rover. C LOVED it which surprised me. Here he's standing between Aunt Ambie and his cousin Makaylee, getting ready to run.

Playing Big Booty with my sisters and older neices. This game is so lame, but addictive. You can tell my family doesn't drink, haha. Wholesome games are fun though!

Doing the much anticipated Booty Dance. I'm so good at it.

This year Big B and I opted not to hike Delicate Arch due to my hole, but instead hike Landscape Arch, which was short and relatively flat. It's the longest free-standing arch in the world. Here I am with my nieces Marissa and Madison and my sis-in-law Ang.

Cappa-Taden stayed behind while Cappa-Gwandma watched the little kids so we could hike. He loves Gwandma Penny more than anybody, including me and Bran, seriously. Cute shirt, Mom!

And, well, no more pics were taken after that since the rest of the trip consisted of me sleeping, puking, and sleeping. It was uber fun though, promise! Thanks M and D for the fabuloso trip! Until next year...

Sometimes my Blog Weirds me Out

I remember back in October of 2007 when I started this blog, I only did it because Alana and Whit told me it was “da cool thing to do.” I’ve of course always had a totally pash for writing, but was going through an emotional fight with myself over writing…blah blah boring blah not going into that right now.

So I began hesitantly.

And then Blogxygen blossomed…and…snowballed. And I find myself writing almost daily, things that in a normal setting, if I were in front of you talking, would never ever say.

With strangers, it’s easy peasy. You don’t know me, you can read how much I suck or struggle or whatever and it doesn’t really faze me. I’ve found amazing strength and courage and insight from so many amazing blogger turned real friends. There is an amazingly strong support group of truly fabulous men and women who love me and care about me in this internet world, even though they don’t even know me.

And then there’s so many of you who know me (at least, sorta). Who see me daily or weekly or every once in awhile. You who maybe know me through a friend, or a friend of a friend’s aunt’s dog or whatever, or maybe through a sister, (Hi Kim! Haha) or because you are in my ward, or whatever. And you see how much I struggle, you witness my small victories…you know (of) me.

But I don’t know many of you.

And then there are many who know me, and I you, but I don't know you read my blog. I find out from one way or another almost daily of people who read it, who I know, but don't tell me, and I'm like eeeek that information might have been useful YESTERDAY before I wrote that incredibly personal/embarrassing/revealing post, you know? I mean, I don't even want to imagine what many think of me. [cringe]

And while I am so grateful for Blogxygen, for how it’s helped me in my recovery, and helped me find my own quirky immature writing style, and I hope hope hope helped many of you in some small way, it’s like having a one-sided relationship. So many of you are all there…but you’re not.

And please don’t get me wrong. Don’t stop reading; don’t stop laughing at my ridiculous posts or small victories.

I guess I feel nakey. Vulnerable. Like a reject. Possibly judged?

So today, it’s just really really weird. My blog, I mean.
But tomorrow? I’m sure I’ll be back to regaling you with tales of my unadulterated love for my kitties, or my squeaky farts or whatever.

So stay tuned. If you dare.

Let’s just call me Picasso

You know how when babies are born, and the doc has to cut the umbilical cord, and a little nub of it sits in the baby's belly button until it like crustifies and falls off? (BTW I love babies but hate that. It looks like a giant boogie. Plus I dry heave whenever I see one, even my own child’s. I’m not immature, just…delicate.)

So anyway, my hole (the PEG one) has been reminding me of that since it’s been yoinked. My FAT CONGEALED over it (plus other things like tummy tissue and mucus) and it’s begun the process of healing. It had a big red thing on it that kind of looked like a bloody umbilicus volcanic reaction, but yesterday, it fell off (most of it, anyway). It’s still definitely healing, but let’s just say I feel as if I’ve been born again, (don’t you love metaphors?) and have not one, but TWO belly buttons.

They almost look identical. I was studying it last night in the mirror, and Brandon decided to say in a teasing tone (I found the whole thing rather unflattering) that my stomach looked like a Picasso painting. See, I have a really big scar on my tummy from Appendicitis and Peritonitis, and it looks like a smiley face. Well, more like a grimace, but whatever. Anyway, then I’ve got these two lopsided bellybuttons that are the eyes, and well, you have an uneven face.

On my abdomen. (But better than LITERALLY on my face, am I rightsies?)

I’m more than a little distressed. But also find this hilarious since I have little or no dignity left to be sufficiently mortified.

HOWEVER, to remain positive about this and realize that just because I have Picasso on my stomach, I'm still waaaaay better off without being tubefied. Here are my top reasons why, in no particular order:
1. Three (no make it four) words: tight tight tight shirts.
2. Bikinis (my stomach, after all, is a work of art. This needs to be displayed. The world should not miss out on what an eating disorder can do to you!)
3. I can hold ‘Lil C again. It used to hurt too much to have him hoisted around my hip and tubular area.
4. Pretty sure my bowling average will go up by at least 5 pins. I don’t know why. It just will.
5. I can now sneeze, cough, sleep on my stomach, have sex, walk/run/hike, laugh, and booty shake without any pain.

Anyway, stay tuned for my Picasso exhibit, in a rat-hole studio near you. I’ll call it my Blue Bloody Umbilicus Volcanic Reaction Period.
And you will love it.

Life’s about the journey, not the destination.

The trouble with clichés is that they’re usually annoyingly true.
(Ahhh HATE that.)
I’ve been thinking very much about what many consider “destinations.” Graduating from high school, college, getting married, having babies, losing 10 lbs, gaining 10 lbs, getting rich, getting that svelt car…so often I have thought, if I can just get married, or do this or get that, then I’ll be happy, I’ll be cured, I’ll be there, and everything will be perfect. But marriage, socially acceptable and expected accolades, and all of the above things I mentioned…these are not destinations, but rather, in my opinion, landmarks. A place where you can stop and rest, and be proud of what you’ve done to meet your goal. A place where you can put your feet up, and bask in the sun, maybe get a smokin’ tan, but then get up, and keep going, keep forging ahead.

This particular cliché I am currently learning is true in recovery, and also forgiveness, as well. Forgiving myself for past offenses (real or imagined) isn’t a one time happenstance. I’m finding that every once in awhile, I need to sit, and breathe, and remind myself that I am good and have good intentions and that I deserve food and happiness and taking up space in this world. I’ve never been able to say to myself (or even to others who have hurt me in the past) yep you’re forgiven, the end. No. Sometimes that hurt or that anger or that shame or that fill in the blank swells inside me, and before it can overcome me, overwhelm me to go back to my compulsions of not eating, I have to think, and have sympathy, and remember that I am good, that people, in general, are good. If I don’t believe this, if I can’t, then I cannot survive in this world. It would be too cruel.

Similarly, recovery is not a destination, either. I am finding that I am in many ways recovered one week, or one month, but the next, take a few steps back. Recovery is a constant process of changing and learning and growing and moving back and forth on a spectrum. It’s about allowing yourself to be imperfect, make mistakes, learn from them, and move on. Recovery, love, forgiveness…all of these things require constant maintenance and nurturance to thrive. It’s a never-ending journey. But it doesn’t have to be painful.

And because that darn cliché (that is SO sickeningly Chicken Soup for the Soul) is totally true ‘dat, remember that patience and self-love is involved. Your journey is gonna be one hell of a long, desperately unhappy voyage if you don’t allow yourself some lovin’, patience, and like I mentioned above, forgiveness. So give yourself a rest today, will ya? Enjoy yourself.

I’m totally having a kum-ba-ya moment. Love it.

An Update, and 10 Things

Good morning, Readers. I hope you all had a wonderbubble weekend. I had a great time on our mini-vacay (post and pics to come) but then spent pretty much all of Sunday hurting from my tube and watching movies. Pretty sure the owner of Red Box paid his mortgage this month from how many movies I’ve rented alone this week, no kidding. I watched He’s Just Not that into You, Fired Up!, Passengers, High School Musical 3 (1 ½ times, yes, my two year old really enjoys the show, haha) and not to mention like 4 episodes of Law & Order SVU. I still have Grand Torino and New in Town to watch, but seriously ran out of hours in the day. I was so lazy, and I usually feel guilty being lazy, but really I don’t this time because I hurt and whatever it just felt nice. Back to the daily grindage today, so no more laziness.

Getting my tube taken out today after work!! Isn’t that fantastic? It really made having a fun time this weekend hard, and it gave me the pukies Friday night, (poor Bran had to go to a gas station in the middle of the night in Green River to get me Coke and some Pepto Bismol) and I have eczema and hives on my face from the reaction to it and really I swear I’ll stop complaining in all my posts once this thing comes out. But really I’m so excited to get it out…tight shirts and bikinis, here I come! ;)


10 things lately that makes me happy:
1.The return of Project Runway on August 20th!
2. The ump in Iowa that kicked out the whole crowd of spectators during a high school baseball game, I mean really, how unruly can a crowd get at a high school baseball game?
3. Scooby Doo fruit snacks.
4. My nieces.
5. My little darlin’ C that kisses my tummy better.
6. My parents coming home from their 3 year mission call at the end of this month.(FINALLY.)
7. Making tube-less plans.
8. So You Think You Can Dance. I call it SYTYCD, which sounds like an awfully juicy STD, seriously.
9. Racher being in town.
10. My blog; all of you.

What makes you happy?

Questions 8 & 9

Weird, two posts in one day, look at me go, woot woot!

Question 8, from Kara: What is my most embarrassing moment while modeling?
A: Okay, I totally know this answer, hands-down: I was doing a runway show for Jared Gold, and I thought that something felt, weird, different – wrong, if you will – down in my nether regions, but we were about to start the show and I didn’t have time to think about it or deal with it just then. After I had walked the runway the first time, you have a personal dresser who helps you yoink off your clothes really fast and puts the next outfit on before it’s your turn to go on the runway again. You CAN’T care about showing your undies, (or other things) there’s too much commotion and honestly if something like that bugs you, then modeling isn’t for you. So anyway, as my skirt was being pulled off me, I looked down…and…well, my thong was on backward. Hence the weird, (and well justified!) uncomfy feeling down south. I was mortified, and had a total frontal wedgie, and quite a few peeps got a little peep themselves, haha.

But thinking more about modeling…really and truly…almost every moment, whether at an audition, a shoot, or a runway show, was humiliating. Just being there, being watched, being judged; I was always self-conscious, always painfully self-aware of my flaws and limitations as not just a “beautiful person,” a model, but as an individual, a decent human being. Sometimes I was too tall, or too skinny, or my teeth weren’t straight enough, or my skin wasn’t clear enough…they said I was beautiful, but there was always a big BUT following that statement. So all of it – ALL OF IT – was humiliating, really. Sometimes I miss modeling, miss the rare, short moments where I felt beautiful and okay, and the power that came with that, but when I remember all of it, all the experiences…I don’t miss it. Not at all.

Question 9, from Keely: When am I going to write another From Behind Bars installment?
A: I don’t know! What do you guys want me to write one about? I need ideas…

Question 9 ½, also from Keely: How did I meet Brandon?
A: Brandon first saw me at a history class we both had on Tuesday and Thursday mornings at the U of U. It was a super early class, and it was just a few credits to get generals out of the way, and I remember it was the first day of class, and I was horribly late, I couldn’t find the right building, and it was snowing, and I was wearing stilettos (WHY WAS I WEARING STILETTOS?) and I was running around in the snow for over 30 minutes, feeling like the Freshman I so, so unfortunately was. Finally, 45 minutes into the lecture, I burst through the doors, freezing cold and breathless. The classroom was huge, auditorium style, and there were a lot ‘o peeps in the class. I started to walk forward, only to totally slip like a moron – ice had gotten stuck to my stiletto, and in front of everybody I totally lost it. Of course I’m mortified, and grab a seat in the back. After class was over I pretended to talk on my cell phone on the way out so no one would try to talk to me or anything, seriously so embarrassed. After a few classes, B finally came and talked to me. He loves this memory though because he said I looked so hot (and a little ridiculous) wearing stilettos during a snow storm, and then I come in…and wow, sure do make quite the entrance.


But hey, at least it caught his attention, right? ;)

Infection Does Not Equal Allergic Reaction

Oh barf the past couple of days have been kind of lame. So I left you last on Tuesday, telling ya’ll I was headed to the ER because my tube was infected. So I get there, in lots of pain, and they gave me fluids and electrolytes and tried desperately for about 15 minutes to get some blood; poked me profusely, gave me morphine and an x-ray, then announced that I didn’t have an infection, but that my tube was indeed messed right the bloody hell up. My ER doc told me that I needed to go back to my old GI, even though I didn’t want to, because no other doctor would want to mess with a tube that already had complications; a liability, you see. (Damn that L word again!) So he told me he’d already called Doc K and had an appt scheduled for me to go in the next morning at 9 am.

I get there yesterday, and Doc K, after hugging my legs and calling me a “sweethot,” looked at my tummy and told me that I was allergic to my tube. Yes, folks, that’s right. The Briester, who is adept at becoming allergic to pretty much the whole world, is now also allergic to feeding tubes. He said that it was reaaaaallllly hard to even be allergic to this stuff, but I did it, wow I’m proud.

So the redness, the blood, the leakage, the pain…not an infection, but an allergic reaction. Isn’t my tummy grody? You're dazzled, I'm sure. ...And you’re lucky I didn’t show you the nastiness underneath the tubage…I had some discretion, lucky you! (And don't make fun of my band-aid marks. They wouldn't wash off!)

And the tube’s fate?

It’s OUTTA HERE!!! (Well not yet, but soon…)

So what do I have to do?
Eat Eat Eat Eat Eat but I already know that, and I already do. But even more so, since I’m conveniently allergic to every other form of “aid” I could get in that area. Man…

So tomorrow I’m leaving on a mini-vacay with the fam. And when I say fam, I mean the whooooolllle fam damly. Here’s the post from last year’s trip…yes it’s a tradition to go to Moab, Utah. (We’re on year two of that tradition, haha.) Anyway, I’m excited, but also a little nervous because I’ll still have my tube at that point and I know it’ll hurt pretty badly. Oh wellsies it’s not like I’m not used to it paining me so…sigh…so tomorrow, nothing but SUN, FUN, HIKING, TUBE LEAKAGE, and FAMILY SCUFFLES. Whee!

Infection Blargh

Pretty sure I should be President of the Shameless Headband Wearers Club. I think this one’s quite the doozy. I lurve it, but if you like neither pink nor the 80’s, I wouldn’t recommend it (unless you were going to a costume party or somethin’.)

Eew guys I think my PEGgy is infected. It’s really red and I have sharp pain that comes in waves and it’s bleeding and all sorts of bodily things seem to be leaking from it…I have an appt with the ED doc, since I refuse to go back to my GI doc, but I have to wait till tomorrow. Meanwhile, the pain and gunk and blood are no bueno. It’s at times like these that I really wanna yoink it out. (But I won’t, chill!) I’m waiting for a call from my doc, I think she may want me to get it checked out today rather than wait till tomorrow. This sucks rocks.

I’m so hungry right now I could totally murder a maple donut.

Well, it looks like I’m headed to the ER, the doc just called back. Please don’t freak out (read: MOM) I’m sure by the time you read this I’ll be home and fine. :)

I’m totally going to pick up a maple donut en route to el sucko hospitalo.
And I will murder it.

Unbroken

The painting reads, Un-broken wings, discovered. Isn’t that phenomenal? My mom bought me this painting, because I am here, I have nearly made It.

The painting reminds me of one of my favorite poems, written by my favorite modern-day (meaning not yet dead) poet, Carol Lynn Pearson. I know I know I’m actually posting a poem on my blog but get over it and read it! (And this is all from memory so if a word or two is off, woopsie!)

The Healing

A bird
once broken
can never fly, they say
quite so high
again.

Perhaps.

But as for me,
now desperately in need of mending
I have a Healer
who would fix these foolish wings
without a scar.

I will lie quietly
beneath His touch.
I will listen, as he says
“Rise, and fall no more.”
And then –
then
I shall soar.

Go here to look at all of Kelly Rae Roberts’ art. I’m already salivating over a few others I’d like to have. And until you have bought your own, you can totally covet mine, I don’t mind!

Now go and like, recover or discover something really cool about yourself or something!

Lagoonerrific!

Had SO.MUCH.FUN at Lagoon yesterday. I felt like a 12 year old going to his first amusement park or something, only the first time I went, I was much younger, and also when I was 12 I was pretty depressed so I guess that wasn't a good example. Whateva you get what I mean. :) We stayed for nearly eight hours, and by the end of the day, I was exhausted. My hole (the PEG one) was hurting terribly, I was doing everything I could to try not to stretch and move it around too much, but all the whipping and jostling around kinda made it mad at me, but despite all that I didnt let it get in the way of my fun-having.

Here's Big B and I on our way to Lagoon. I am in mid-chew of a granola bar, and my nostrils are quite the large ones from this unfortunate angle. The granola bar was awesome, by the way.

I wanted to get a shot of the rollercoasters from the parking lot. Brandon told me I was an adoradork (adorable+dork) but these things must be documented!

Here we are, waiting in line for the Bat or Spider or Wild Mouse. I think. I'm still trying to figure out why almost all their rides are named after rather small creatures that aren't too scary except for spiders. Weird? I think they should name a ride You'll Crap your Pants! or something, that would scare me more than a wild mouse. Pish. But anyway don't we look cute and happy in this pic? I really lurve it.

My cute twin bro and his darlin wife Angela, while waiting for the Bat/Wild Mouse/Spider or whatever.

Here's a pic of me and Ang and my cute Boss J with her adorgeous (adorable+gorgeous) daugher, C. My whole work got together for a catered lunch that consisted of hamburgers and hot dogs being served by rather sullen teenagers.

OKAY. Big B HAS NEVER HAD DIPPIN' DOTS before. Can you believe this monstrosity? Here's his first bite, while we were in line for the Rattlesnake Rapids (yes another animal!) and he loved them. I got freezer burn on my tongue from gobbling them so fast, which for some reason makes me feel fat. No worries I ate them anyway, haha.

So funny story about the Rattlesnake Rapids. Obviously it is a ride you can get wet on. I was a little hot, so I decided I didn't mind getting too wet, but I didn't want to get sopping. The four of us were in a raft with two like 10 year old boys that we didn't know. They were sitting in their own seats across from the four of us. The ride was nearing its end, and I was so relieved that I'd got no more than my crotchal area a little wet. But then looming up ahead I saw these gigantic water falls ahead , and I knew that if the raft turned the right way, I'd be under the falls and get thoroughly drowned. And, OF COURSE, as luck would have it, the falls were turning so that Big B and I would get most wet (although they were big enough pretty much everyone would catch some of it) but I thought OH NO YOU DON'T - I AIN'T GETTIN THIS WET! So I leapt across the raft right next to a startled 10 year old boy, and like tried to cower behind him. I practically humped the poor kid, no kidding. He seemed to be a good sport about it though.

And I still got soaked anyway. :)

This is the ride in my aforementioned post when I told you I was holding Brett's hand and crying because I just knew I was going to die, and I wanted to let him know I loved him? Yeah, it's The Rocket. No rollercoasters actually freak me out, where I think I'm going to die. I get excited, and exhilerated, and get a surge of adrenaline, but none of them actually make me nervous while I'm waiting in line. The Rocket does. And I kept cursing myself, wondering why I had allowed myself to once again come near the jaws of death and put myself through all that again. So as we were strapped in, I was holding (well, more like CLAWING) Bran's hand for dear life, and I STARTED CRYING.

I almost died guys. Seriously.

Here's the product of my fear. Unfortunately the marks didn't photograph well, and they'd faded because I took this shot hours after our Rocket ride, but you can see many of the red scratcheds on B's (hairy) hand while I was blubbering and waiting to die.

One last kiss waiting in line for the last ride of the day, Dracula's Castle. Big B was most especially looking forward to it because I told him I'd make out with him during it.

I didn't let him down, haha.

Anyway, it was awesome. No ED to worry about with food and body image, just fun and family and coworkers (yes I had fun with coworkers, weird! ;)

Life was good yesterday. Not so good today, though, as I'm paying for my fun. I came home last night and my PEG had totally bled and there's this really nasty, like, growth on it, and it hurts and is bleeding and I think I need to go to the doctor. Maybe I shouldn't have amusement parked it up with a PEG? Whatever, I HAD to! Ed no longer is controlling my life, and I had way too much fun to pass it up.

Be jealous. I know your Saturday wasn't as good as mine! ;)

On Change

Change is inevitable, we know that, and some of us welcome it, and some of us, well, loathe it. I used to be in the latter category, especially while in the throes of my anorexia. Change meant an upset in my schedule, and what would happen if I couldn’t pop a piece of gum in my mouth at exactly 9 am, or what if I was asked to lunch and couldn’t eat my scheduled Special K with water instead of milk? (Eew eew gross gag blech) Change at that time always meant weight gain, and it meant eating different foods other than my safe foods, which were so few that I could count them all on one hand. The only change it seems that I welcomed was a lower number on the scale, or a smaller pant size. There is so much change one can make in this world, and it’s so wasteful that for so long, that is the only changing I strived for: smaller numbers, a dwindling body.

I would think that according to our society’s standards, I have not made many grand, socially acceptable and applauded changes. Instead of busily completing my degree in American Lit with an emphasis in writing, I was busy doing well crap I don’t even know WHAT in treatment. Not once, not twice, but my hell, THREE TIMES – I could have long since added up all my time spent in treatment and much more quickly completed my undergrad. Instead I got a diploma in Almost but not Quite Recovery. (But with Honors, of course. :)

…I chose very recently to take a DEMOTION at work. I have one child, who most of the time is grimy and screechy and mischievous. I heavily rely upon Xanax and anti-depressants to keep me functioning. I am not a good homemaker. I’d rather read than vacuum, rather nap than organize.
BUT.
I’ve managed to stay out of treatment for more than two years, which is a biggie for me. I’ve changed, learned that I’m a big girl and I can save myself – I don’t need to go to a treatment facility to do the saving for me. I smile more. I no longer give a rat’s-A what other people think of me or my friggin’ jean size. I’m spontaneous, I’m funny. I have no “safe foods,” because everything I eat is safe to eat – and I don’t even chew gum anymore, haha.

I have time to think about how much I love my husband and my mini man, not how much I love my ed. I’m a good friend and sister and daughter now. I’m not manipulative, and I don’t lie. People can trust me, because they know that I have changed – and they love who I am, who I am becoming, and what I am discovering about myself.

And that undergrad? It can wait. I have time, now. Ed’s not taking me anywhere.
Because I’m no longer afraid of change, and Ed, you suck, so BOOM, take that.

Dangly

Hello Blogxygeners, I’m back to being not super blah. Yay! My hair is in a supercute braid, I’m wearing dangly earrings, and I NEVER wear dangly earrings, and I kind of think ‘dangly’ is a weird word, and I can’t stop repeating it over and over in my head, in cycles of eight. YES, I still have a bit of OCD lurking in the corners of my brain. dangly dangly dangly dangly dangly dangly dangly dangly.

Luuuurved all the comments I got from my last post, every one of them tickled me. I especially was happily reminded that the phrase “THAT’S NOT YOU, THAT'S YOUR EATING DISORDER TALKING” is pretty darn bad, and I should have put it in my top 10. Ooh and also “FAT IS NOT A FEELING” is pretty rank. Haha. Anyway, thanks for cheering me up yesterday, I needed it – and also the mood stabilizer I had to pick up from the pharmacy. I’m feeling better now, thanks to you and modern medicine. :)

Mini fill in:
NOT going to write to the GI, but instead call him. My brother is a surgeon and says that if you get a formal letter like that, they automatically think lawsuit. I don’t want to sue the guy, just figure out what the H bomb was going on in his head.

Slowly gaining weight. Since being in the hospital 9 weeks ago, I’ve gained X pounds since then. Still have a ways to go, but the Briester is making progress with her weird, wrecked body, so points for me, for both weight gain and alliteration – you know how much I love alliteration!

Lungs are doing better, too, though summer is always the best time of year for them – allergies aren’t as bad, once spring passes. The dry, hot air of Utah, mingled with the sharp scent of Chlorine, seems to help my lungys. Summer is a Beautiful Thang.

I now work just as a receptionist at work, and not as a Contract Coordinator. The work was too demanding, and I didn’t have the time or energy to devote to that when my health was in such bad shape. I now have minimal stress at work, and only work 4 ½ hours a day. I think it’s better this way, though I miss being important at work, haha.

What else? Oh yeah. I think you all are neat.

Have a good day, please. Be nice to people.

Top Ten Most Hated Therapy Phrases

And they are, in no particular order,

1. Not to discount your emotions or anything, but…
2. Is what we’re talking about triggering you?
3. Let’s just call a spade a spade.
4. Are you feeling unsafe right now?
5. Your body language is telling me you’re uncomfortable.
6. Why do you hate saying the word ‘vagina?’ (Well, durrr. Who likes hard I’s?)
7. Are you engaging in negative behaviors?
8. I feel like I’m being verbally attacked.
9. You just need to listen to your body.
10. I don’t think some of your thoughts have been properly integrated.

Yikers. You know you’ve been in therapy for awhile when you begin to loathe every therapeutic term out there, which I have bolded. In Real Life, wouldn’t we say something like this?

1. I don’t want to make you feel bad, but…
2. Do you not like what I’m saying?
3. Let’s be straight.
4. Dude, are you okay?
5. Are you uncomfortable?
6. Just call it Virginia. Or in my case, Buuurginia.
7. Are you restricting/purging/self-harming/becoming attracted to your dog again?
8. Shutup you’re making me mad.
9. Are you hungry or tired or what?
10. I think you have the emotional tolerance of an 8 year old.

Gah! Last night Big B was a little stressed, and I literally said #1 to him. The therapeutic #1, not the regular people #1, and OMG it stressed me out. What am I becoming? If I ever use such phrases in Blog Land, feel free to slap me. Well, rhetorically, at least.

Which is your least favorite? OR, Heaven help you, favorite?

I Seem to be Losing Momentum

I was in a really good mood yesterday. I’d had a great weekend swimming and lounging outside in the hot(ter the better) weather, and I’d felt relatively okay, and had some energy, and that carried over to Monday, but my nice evening – and good mood - at my parental unit’s with not only fun BUT ALSO meatloaf bombed spectacularly by 11 pm or so, as I was going to bed, and I began to feel pretty miserable.

I slept fitfully, and my eyes are all poofy and aesthetically depressing, and my neck hurts, and I feel like I have a hangover, no doubt from the painkillers I took late last night to help my hole not hurt so much, but it does, it still does, my PEG hurts and I’m so frustrated I want to pull it out, and Big B got a traffic ticket today, and did I mention my eyes are aesthetically depressing?

I seem to be losing momentum.

However, I do have a couple things to look forward to this week:

1. So You Think You Can Dance. I’m not ashamed to admit I love this reality show. There are a few things I can do.

However, there are many more things that I only TRY desperately to do, without much success. Dancing is one of them. I live vicariously through all these short, limber people who don’t have limbs as long as hockey sticks.
2. Lagoon on Saturday. Yeah baby! I haven’t been to Utah’s Very Own Amusement Park for six years. Last time I went, Twin B and I went on our 19th birthday, before he went to Brazil for a couple o’ years. I don’t remember much of the day, but I do remember thinking I was going to die on The Rocket and squeezing his hand tight and saying “IloveyouIloveyouBrettyIjust – deep, sobbing breath – wantyoutoknowthatbefore – breath, gulp – we,we—DIE!” To which he would reply, “Shutup! You’re not going to die! You didn’t die on the last ride, you’re not going to die on this one, let go – you’re clawing my arm” – and all the while I’m blubbering, “Ihopeyoutakemetoheavenwithyooooooouu!! ILOVEYOU!!”

Anyway it was kind of an emotional time for me.

But yeah, it’s my work’s Lagoon day, so Big B and I are going with Brett and Ang, and I swear Brett, I won’t sit next to you and claw your arms and proclaim my last moment’s love for you, I will entirely reserve that all for my own husband and his patience.

Okay, time to go back to being grumpy.

Too bad I don’t have any meatloaf.