Dissecting the Ultimatum

When W, the T, gave me the ultimatum: to gain the last of my weight by Sept 1st, or else I'm fired, I was in shock.  Aghast.  Floored.  It seemed like such an overly dramatic way to get me to gain a little weight.  I mean, couldn't she look at me and see how fine I was?  How, like, big?

So I spent awhile being mad.  Like really mad. 
And then I spent a little while (okay a long while) being really scared.  Because I know that I can't maintain my recovery YET without my trusty T and D.  I was terrified of losing them because I know that at this point, without them, I would very likely slowly lose weight and end back up at square one: severe anorexia.  I understood that I stood to lose a lot more than just my therapist if she fired me.

But after I got mad, and then I let myself feel the fear, I got ready.  I prepared myself to do whatever it took to reach my goal weight.  I readied myself for some really awful days ahead, and a lot of discomfort and anxiety about gaining weight, then just decided, quite simply, to do it.

And so I am.  And you know what?  IT'S SO HARD.  I've cried a lot.  I've been in physical pain because of how much I have to eat (and drink Boost) to gain.  But I'm so glad I'm doing it.

Because by reaching my goal weight in a couple short weeks, I also stand to gain a lot more than just being able to keep my treatment team:  I'll gain the confidence to know that I can do this recovery thing without having to go inpatient.  I think I'll gain a little self-respect and hey, maybe even a little self-esteem.  And I'll finally prove to myself and everyone else that I can do this.  That I can stop the games and the bull crap and just commit to recovery.  And that feels so freaking good.

So, three weeks ago, when I was given this ultimatum, I was cursing my therapist for her pure, unadulterated EVIL.  But now?  Now I think I might just be thanking her for her genius. 

Funny how that works, eh?

So Where the H Bomb Have I Been?

Hey friends!

So much has happened.  Let's do a little quickie:

I quit my job!  This is momentous!  I worked at [Healthcare Company] for over three years, and, in June, I was like, "I'm bored!  Work is lame!  The Man can suck it!"  So...I put in my three weeks notice (an extra week cuz I"m so generous) and, in the first week of July, I said goodbye to my job forever.

What have I been doing in the meantime?

Going to the pool.  Seriously guys, I'm so effin' tan.  You should see my knees.  Yes, my knees.  For some reason they tan a wee bit more than the rest of my bod, and they are now 9/10 African American.   Cade, Bestie, (that would be Whit) and I go usually 4-5 times a week and soak up the vitamin D.  It's been glorious.  :)

I've also just been having a really fun time being a stay at home mama and focusing on mommy-hood.  Cade's never really had a chance to have his mama home full-time.  I went IP at CFC when he was four months old, and then when I got out, I started working right away, so the little guy has never had a real chance to hear his mama in the morning say, "Whaddya want for breakfast, kid, and don't make it anything hard like OATMEAL or PANCAKES  ...What?  You want cereal?  Coming right up!"  ...And, I think he's really loving it too, though I'll admit he misses going to my sister's house to be babysat every day because her kids are his besties and he misses his "fwiends" (and pancakes).  But all in all life in our little house on the prairie is going swell. (Although the downside to staying at home all day?  THE CLEANING.  OH.MY.YUCK.)

ED-wise, I'm doing fricktastic.  "Frick" meaning I've gained a lot of weight and am kinda sorta panicking about that maybe a leeeetttle, and "tastic" being that I know it's a great! and fabulous! and wonderful! and necessary! thing.  It royally sucks bizalls though; my treatment team gave me an ultimatum about 3 weeks ago that entailed me HAVING to gain the rest of my weight by September 1st or else this chick is CANNED.  Fired.  Finito.  Done. 
Effers. 
I was so pissed.  It's not like I was deathly underweight or anything, we're talking I was under by only a few ell bees, so to be given an ultimatum was kind of embarrassing.  But my therapist was getting tired of me gaining a little, then losing a little, so, she said, quite bluntly, and I quote, "SHIT OR GET OFF THE CAN."
So I'm shitting. 
I mean this literally.  I'm drinking over 2000 cals a day in Boost on Steroids ALONE.  My metabo is so revved up I'm pizooing like TWICE A DAY.  It's INSANITY.

I think I decided to start blogging again because, yeah, I miss you guys, but you know what I think I miss even more?  Writing.  Holy moly with some guacamole I miss sitting at my laptop and letting the words just flow outta me.  Writing is soooooo therapeutic for me, and I think I lose touch with part of myself when I stop writing.  And, the support I get from all of you is HUGE.  You guys seriously give me like a little more than half the self-esteem I've got.  You're da raddest.

So I'm back.  I missed you.  Let's hug and never part again, m'kay?
LOVE YOU.

Breathe Baby Breathe!

I miss you guys.
This whole not blogging thing is a giant bucket 'o yuck.
Tomorrow? (or the next day...)
A full recap updating you on everything that's been going on.  I think Blogxygen needs to start breathing again. 
It's been far too long.

Some Words, When There are None

I read an amazing blog post this morning, by Lisa Belkin, from the NY Times, talking about grief.  I wish I had been able to say this myself, back in November, when I lost Kendall and my world came crashing down.  Please take a moment to read it and let me know what you think.

Snot-Nosed Horror

Just as group therapy was starting last night, I stood up to reach for the box of tissues, as I always do. “Are you like allergic to my office or something?” W, the T, asks me. I laugh, say, “Probably. I’m allergic to 63 other things so I’m sure there’s something in here that’s slowly killing me.”

Time passes. I’m sniffling and clutching a tissue to occasionally wipe my drippy nose. I look very attractive doing this.

Later: and now the attention is on me.

I’m talking; I can’t remember about what. I’m looking down because me making eye contact in these parts is about as common as the Pope playing beer pong at Mardi Gras. I wipe my nose. Apparently not good enough, because a little snot comes dripping out of my right nostril. And not the goopy snot. Like water snot. I am a leaky faucet. I look down at my shirt, and right before my very eyes, in between my boobs, I have an Oreo-sized snot blossom.

And everyone’s eyes are trained on me. Trained on the chick who can’t keep her snot in her nose or on her tissue. What am I, 5? And the room is silent! And that’s worse than everybody laughing because I know they’re trying not to laugh. Hot damn I’d be laughing hysterically if I wasn’t me, if I wasn’t frozen with snot-nosed horror.

“Um I umwhatwasIsaying,” I stammer. “Sorry, my nose is runny. Words. Clumsy remark.”

I pull my cardigan over my blooming booger. And blow my nose resolutely.

Grrrrrrrrrr. Ouchy.

• I don’t know what my deal is, but I am SO.EFN.GROUCHY.
• I’m tired.
• I look like some scaly prehistoric BEAST because I’m all dry and full of peelage from my sunburnbutreallyitwasmoreofaglowingtanbecauseIhavesuchniceoliveskinREALLYoneoftheonlynicethingsaboutme.
• My allergies are so horrible - my face has hives all over it and my nose has scabs on it from how often I’ve had to blow my nose on that tender oh so tender skin.
• It is June. Summer. The flowers are a’bloom and the grass is green. Now we just need our weather to get, like, THE MEMO.
• My body image is bad. Like BIG BAD.

And…

•  I feel a little hopeless.
• Sigh.

A blog worth your time.

My beautiful niece, Ali,  just started a blog - she's graduating from high school and is about to embark on Real Life.  Her blog is adorable and inspiring and I wanted to share it with you all.  Check out Ali-Gories here.  (So proud to be related to this beautiful chica!)