Pumpkins & a Group Therapy Pickle

Hope all you kids are going to have a great Halloween weekend. Because the most scintillating thing I do nowadays is shave my legs and take C to the library for story-time, I have of course been invited to no parties. BUT it will be fun taking C trick ‘o treating. I will post some pics later this weekend of our foray, so stay tuned.

So last night I had quite the interesting experience in group therapy. I will admit I am not a fan of group. According to my T I cannot handle “normal human emotion,” which means if you start crying in group I will be mortified for you and consequently want to get up and leave, or stare at the wall and pretend that I am in Fiji parasailing nude. In fact I had sent my T an email last week after group and told her that I wasn’t going to group anymore because when [insert name of cute lady] started to cry last week I kind of wanted to die, and also it’s really hard for me to talk about serious stuff in there and not crack some joke or something; preferably a DIRTY one. …So then she looked at me with her piercing green dagger eyes and made me feel like I’m never gonna recover or whatever if I don’t go, so I guess I’ve decided I’m going to give it a try. Again. Well, at least until last night happened…

We had a new group member. I will call her S, when actually I was so freaked out by the whole thing I’m pretty sure I’ve repressed her name, and that’s not her first initial anyway. She’s just a little baby – only 13. She just got out of treatment in Argentina (don’t ask I don’t know) and has started OP with my T. Well, in productive group therapy, it’s important there be rules, you know? And the GIANT-no-shit-Sherlock rule that should be a no-freakin’ brainer should be no talk about your lowest weight, or what you weigh now, or no talking about specific ED behaviors, etc, because that could get triggering (peew! peew!) and really that’s not helpful or the real issue, anyway.

I don’t think she got it. At first it was funny because she was talking about how in her old group, “There were like ladies that were sooooo old, like TWELVE years older than me!” And I looked at her, and said, “I AM twelve years older than you. Yeah, sorry.” I can’t believe this little toddler had an eating disorder – it made me sad and just seems insane, you know? And then she talked about how she cries when she even has to eat carrot sticks, and then another girl interjected that she’s cried eating marshmallows before, and then they HIGH-FIVED. (and I threw up in my mouth) And I was really anxious and wishing I was nude parasailing and please should I walk out no my T will KILL ME but this sucks what should I do aaeeeeehhhhh…? (shiver.) (and whimper.)

She also asked another chick, “What do you have?” (Meaning are you A or B?) Holy oh my moly if I could have taken a picture of my T’s face and somehow kept it anonymous and posted it on this blog I would have. Because it was a classic.

So now I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go to group because I especially felt last night that it wasn’t beneficial at all, it was more just listening to this girl’s bragging rights regarding her anorexia. And she’s young, and probably inexperienced, so I probably shouldn’t be too hard on her, and my poor T kept trying to bring it back from “Eating Disorder Land” but really this little fetus gave her a run for her money! And Brie was suuuuuper uncomfy. Like, very much so. What should I do regarding this whole sitch? Discuss.

I will now leave you all with two photos that my sis-in-law texted me last night around midnight. IT MADE MY NIGHT. And even my 3 year old could see how ridiculous Twin looked. See, Brett’s decided he wants to be a pumpkin for Halloween, which really just tickles me because most people over the age of three think that’s really lame. But not Bretty, oh not Bretty.

I especially like the part that snaps under his crotchal region. And getting off pants is hard.

[sorry Brett!]