Take a Picture, It’ll Last Longer!

What’s wrong with this picture?

Um, long story short; my tube is out. (No I didn’t yoink it!) I have to go in, like, an hour to get it placed again. Thought I’d capture the tubeless moment while I could.

I feel so nakey, but in a good way!

(Ah, this feels so good...extra motivation to put on the poundage so I can feel like this again soon!)

Kick Me

I survived! I’m alive! I am proud to say that my dental experience was alllmmmoooooost panic attack free. I had A Moment just as he was beginning to putter around my mouth; I was all tensed up and like shaking and blllaaarrrrrgh and so he asked me,

“Are you having a panic attack?”
And I said
“YES.”
And he said,
“Do you need five minutes?”
And I said
“YES.”

And then I don’t remember a whole lot more, but my dear friend Teffie who stayed with me the ENTIRE time to make sure I stayed alive, said that I kept telling the dentist that he was “Sooooo nice, thank you for being soooooo nice, I was sooooooo scared but you’re like totally soooooo nice.”

So apparently the guy is nice.
I wouldn’t know.
Because I don’t remember.
I was really high.

However I’m kinda like BALLS because I guess I got like a temporary crown molding and am supposed to go back in three weeks for the permanent one (yeah gonna repress that appointment too) but yesterday when I was in group therapy ONE OF THE FAKE CROWN THINGIES CAME OFF IN MY MOUTH. And I didn’t want to like spit it in my hand in front of everyone so I made an excuse to go to the garbage can (quick grab a tissue and pretend to wipe a fake tear!) and then acted like I needed to throw it away so I could go SPIT OUT THE TOOTH THING in the garbage. So I HAVE TO GO BACK TO THE DENTIST really really soon and I’m like great kick me while I'm down why dontcha.

Speaking of kicking me while I’m down my tube is totally buggin’. I have like a sore on my nose from it and my sinuses and allergies are in a really unhappy, weird place right now and I’m getting rashies on my face and it keeps trying to come out and every morning I try to like shove it back in and everyday is like a Let’s Stare at Brie Convention and it’s just getting old. And then today in therapy W told me that at the rate I was going with weight gain, I was scheduled to have the tube for oh you know only about another year. Seriously she literally said that.  She thinks she's so funny.

Speaking of the tube (I guess, man I’m going everywhere) yesterday I was talking to this really NICE and POLITE and GENUINE lady on the phone about sending me more supplies, and she just kept telling me I was so special and she hoped I was feeling GREAT and then she said M (who is my regular case manager) was showing her a picture of me and they both agree I’m beautiful.

Can we hold the phone for a minute? How have these people procured a photo of me? Home health does not regularly come to my house and I have never given them photo ops, I swear. My blog? The internet? M’s creepy voyeur boyfriend? I mean honestly. I feel dirty.

Why must these things happen to me? (kickmewhilei'mdownyesyeskickherwhileshe'sdown!)

Dental Doom

I have to go to the dentist today. I haven’t been to the dentist in over a year.

Because I have Dentophobia. (Dun dun dun!)
Don’t laugh! I’m serious.
In fact I’m so serious I have to be sedated.

I kinda wish I could knock out all my teeth and wear dentures for the rest of my life to avoid going to the dentist EVER.AGAIN. And I’m half serious. I have dreams about this.  Thinking about someone peering into my mouth and putting tools in there gives me shivers.  Shivers.

But on the flip side, stay tuned for some funny stories. I’m always hilarious on sedatives! (MERRY BOOBMAS anyone?)

(In)glorious

This afternoon when I saw Hairy, my beautifulperfect pussy cat, I said,

"Oh Hairy!  Get in my arms now!  You're such a GORIOUS KITTY-BEING!"

And then my mom kinda muttered, "More like an INGLOURIOUS BASTERD."

I'm so tickled.

BUT

Why am I the only one that worships the ground this amazingola Hairyola walks on?

Biggest Loser Blurb

I’m sorry. I’m sorry for this post. But I have to do it.

You know I do.

So it’s no secret I love Jillian and her eyebrows. (Collective, yeah, yeah, we know!)

What might be more of a bit of a secret is that Husband does, too. I mean not that it’s a secret that a heterosexual (or, even, a metrosexual) man-species would have a giant celeb crush on Jill, cuz she’s hottt, but I’ve never mentioned specifically that he does, usually because I’m too preoccupied with my own love of J and her facial hair. (Er, her eyebrows.)

So last night, we were watching, of course, Biggest Loser. And they cut to a scene where they were interviewing Jillian about something that was going on, and she was much more gussied up than usual; she had some shiny eye-shadow totes goin’ on, and lip gloss, and uber curly hair, and suddenly Husband and I had a convo that went something like this:

Bran: Jillian! Why you lookin’ so hot? Are you waiting for me to pick you up for the ball? Don’t worry Babe, I’m coming!
Me: (Pouts.) Dooooon’t!
Bran: Why?
Me: I’m jealous. I wanna go to the ball!
Bran: I’m glad you’re jealous. That means you love me.
Me: Yes it does and don’t ever go to a ball with Jillian because I can’t compete with her. She’s too perfect and too gorgeous!
Bran: Compete with her? Breezy, I can’t even compete with her, and you’re not even a lesbian!

Teeheehee. SO.TRUE.

BTW, Jill and I are like in a tight circle of friends on Facebook.
With approximately 300,000 other people. And I guess I’m not technically a friend, I’m a fan.

But at least Big B still wants to take me to the ball, right? There will be no ballage between Husband and J. Just Husband and ME.

Oh my ♥ her eyebrows!

Write Now, Baby

Oh yeah. This is happening. See this? This is my flash drive. This flash drive has the workings of my novel on it. See this? This is the netbook (it’s sooooo cute and leeetttle and oh so most importantly ORANGE!) I will procure when I get my tax return so that I can write and tote my book (in the works) around with me so that I can be one of those eclectic geniuses with 15 pens in their hair who will randomly stop and do their Work because it’s so important and cool it can’t wait.

I’m really excited about this, bros.

I’m doing it. I’m really doing it. Writing the book I’ve dreamed of writing since I was five.

It’s weird but so beautiful to see a dream come true in the making.

It’s really something. It really is.

I'm such a loser.

Running to the Dark v. the Light

Saturday was kind of a doozy. I’d been riding a high for about two weeks. I was feeling okay with weight gain. Yes I felt a bit like a freak in a sideshow what with the tube on the faceage and the bod gainage, but I was okay with it (“okay” being an entirely overwhelming and relative term). I was putting my recovery in my treatment team’s hands, trusting them, and letting them run with it. And run with it they oh so very much wow were. And it was making me nervous.

And, as per usual, and is entirely normal for me, I totally flipped a Diet Coke lid.
And I wanted to do some runnage away.

Brandon could tell I was upset. I was stuck in my head a lot, and when I do that, he makes eye contact and says, “Where are you, Baby Girl?” And I didn’t really know… I was off in Gooey Lame Brie Brain thinking of some destructive things, prolly. Like quitting treatment and running away, to be exact.

And I told him I was doing my “usual.” I wanted to run away.

And Brandon didn’t get mad at me. He didn’t threaten me, or make me feel bad. He didn’t start to cry or get all emotional. He just matter of factly sat down, started to rub my feet, and said he knew I was scared. He knew that I wanted to cancel my therapy and dietary sessions with E and W this week. But he said that he knew it would be so easy for me that once I cancelled that one time, it would be so deceptively easy to cancel a second time, and a third, and so on. And then quit.  Run away for good.

And then he had said that what I had told him re: me wanting to run run run away, had reminded him of last week’s Celebrity Rehab. The team had worked so hard to get a guy to come IP. And once he was in, he started to freak out, because he was realizing that he couldn’t use, he couldn’t get high, he couldn’t “escape” in so many of the ways he used to. He was freaked that he had just made this huge decision to change, and he lost it. He begged to leave, promising them he’d come back that night or in the morning, but he really just needed to get out of there NOW. They all knew it was so he could go use. And you know what? That dude probably really did believe that he was going to come back. And they couldn’t convince him to stay. So he left. They couldn’t convince him to stay to save his life.

And then Dr Drew was so sad. And he said that people like that are usually the ones he buries because they just cannot commit to change, they cannot face the fear of the unknown and what life can be after drugs and alcohol – even though it can be AMAZING.

Brandon told me to not be like them. To not run away this time. And for whatever reason, it clicked. And I felt calmer. So I ate a granola bar, and hooked myself up to the tube feeds.

I don’t want to be the one that anyone has to bury.

So I’m not going to run away. But this time I’m going to run to it: run to recovery, and the fear and change that comes with it. I’m going to run to the LIGHT. I’m going to run to publishing my book, and smothering my boy with kisses, and having a body that is strong and beautiful and worth taking care of. I’m going to run to LIFE. To light.  I've always been a fabulous long-distance runner.  Because I've got stamina.  I've got endurance.  So.
ON YOUR MARK
GET READY
set, GO!
(But take it easy my lungs are bad!)

I'm Obnoxious!

Today at church, a six-year-old boy approached me. And this is what he said:

“That tube (pointing at my face) is really freakin’ me out.”

I laughed, pretending like I thought he was adorable. He was not. Seriously he wasn’t.

Observe this video clip: (only 25 seconds, I promise)
Nemo = Brie
Nemo’s itty bitty retarded fin = Brie’s tube
Yellow and purple fish = Obnoxious Six Year Old in church today


Oh don’t worry I SWEAR this clip was the first thing I thought of after such an oh so unpleasant encounter. At any rate I laughed it off, because punching a small kid I think is like a crime.

Son of the Year Award

I walked in the door from work.

"Mommy's home!" Daddy yelled.

"Mommy's home!" Cade echoed.

"Mommy, guess what?  I went POOP IN THE POTTY and I didn't want Daddy flush it cuz I wanna show you."

I looked.  Oh wow.

His joy was priceless.

He pooped. He flushed. He conquered.

Um. PROUDEST.MOTHER.EVER.

Reality TV Ruminations: Celebrity Rehab

I am in love with Dr. Drew. I have become a fan of him on Facebook, so this love is legit. I am also in love with his show, Celebrity Rehab. It should perhaps be called D-List Celebrity Rehab, but whatevs.

It is hilarious. And sometimes, it can be touching. [Cue violins.]

This season, Dennis Rodman is on the show. He is sentenced there by a court ruling; it was either rehab or prison. He does not think he has a problem, though if you watched him on Celebrity Apprentice, you will remember that the dude was never sober, not once. (And if I remember correctly, his poison of choice was cranberry juice with vodka. Oh hold on don't worry my memory capacity for remembering useless information is INSANE.) He talks like Ozzy Osbourne; it’s insanely hard to understand the man. A conversation he had with a fellow resident went something like this:

Mindy: So why are you here?

Dennis: Court.

M: That’s all?
D: Yeah I don’ have no poblem.

M: So you have no consequences from your drinking? I mean, you were sent here by COURT. That sounds like you have an addiction and consequences from that.

D: I’m not here cuz I havea poblem. I’m here bcause I’m famous. Dats all.

M: Hrmmm. ??

D: I’m not gonna quit drinkin. I can quit ifi wan, I don’ wantchoo. I don’ have no problem.

DENIAL. Love it!

Another gal on the show is a model named Lisa D’Amato. I am particularly interested in her story because I have modeled with her. She doesn’t think she is an alcoholic, yet when I worked with her, she was not bein’ sober EVA, no siree. (What’s with my lingo? Dennis must be rubbin’ offa me.) It’s weird to see someone on the show that I know. I mean I don’t know know her, but you know what I mean. Yeah? Also I’m bummed because I was just searching Myspace for a pic of Lisa and I taken together, but it was no longer there. Damn my one tie to fameawesomeness is gone.  Fameawesomeness is not a word.

Sigh.

At any rate, if you don’ watch the show, you should get on it. It tickles me at the same time it fondles my heart strings.

Thursday nights give me a reason to live. Along with Tuesday night, when I get to partake of Jillian’s eyebrows.

The invention of reality TV is right up there with mustard and Mac lipstick.

Bearing All & Being Alive

So W the T has given me an assignment. She wants me to write out a list of alllll my secrets. Secrets I’ve kept from her, my family, my cats, my besties, myself; whatever. They can be beliefs I have about myself, ED secrets, a pinch of this, a dash of that, whateva. I do not have to share the list with her right away. I do not have to have the list finished in a week, or even a month. She eventually wants me to complete it though, and then share it with her – she believes that getting the shame out of keeping the secrets will be liberating, and she can help clear out some of the smelly shame I’m dealing with. Kind of like opening up the windows after a cheek-rippling fart.

So I’ve hesitantly began. I have written down a few secrets, and they have all been ED-related. Not sure if I dare to go down the Other Embarrassing Secrets Road, but at least I’m thinking about it. And as I was ruminating about this, I was kinda feeling miserable, and didn’t really want to air out my dirty ranky laundry for all to mock or be dumb-struck. So I decided to counteract this list by beginning a list of reasons I want to live. I’ll be honest, sometimes that list seems short. But as I write down a secret, I also write down a reason to live – kind of like I’m not just focusing on my shame, but focusing on the fact that if I can get rid of that shame, I will have all my reasons right at hand to do just that and move on.

I am not going to share my ED secrets with you, suckas. Never will. This is a pro-recovery and anti-give you tips or ideas about ED behaviors blog. Plus, I keep my secrets close and my other secrets even closer. Right.

But. I will share with you some of the reasons that I want to live:

1. To take Cade to his first day of Kindergarten, and wipe my tears away as I watch my big boy walk into school oh so bravely with his too big backpack bouncing on his shoulders and a smile on his face.
2. To attend his high school graduation. To hug my then-almost-man and reach up to give him a hug because he will be so much taller than me. To kiss him on the cheek, even if it embarrasses him, and tell him how proud of him I am.
3. To keep my marriage intact. To maintain a relationship with Husband that is in harmony, and equal.
4. To go back to school and finish my degree.
5. To have another child.
6. To finish and publish my book. I am working on this currently.

What are your aspirations? Why do you want to rid yourselves of the obnoxious flatulence that is your secrets so you can LIVE?
Do tell.

You know, the whole gas/secret metaphor is a little off the wall.
And gross.
Ha! *smirk* But you know me! Would you expect anything different?

Feeding Tube Frustrations

Hello friends and devoted readers and stalkers—

Today I am not going to cry and wail and and hiss and rent my clothes over the fact that I have the tube and am gaining weight. Today I am going to cry and wail and hiss and rent my clothes over the fact that I hate hate LOATHE with a fiery passion other people’s reactions to it. Now, I can understand that seeing someone with a white tube coming out of their nose arouses curiosity and intrigue. However, I’d hope that your average human being that has the IQ above that of a toaster would have the sense to not gawk and ask the most idiotic questions about it one will ever hear.

Today I have heard:

So is that to give you oxygen? Do you see an oxygen tank, you morononic tube goggler?  No, (nervous laugh) this is a feeding tube. (Avert eyes, politely make an exit.)

Wow, you look just about as miserable as the last time I saw you. How long do you have to have that thing stuck up your nose? Just because I am absorbed in my work and think you are a mean fleshy douche monster does not mean I am miserable. Oh, I don’t know, a few months I think.

So did you get jaw surgery? Cuz when I did, I had to have a feeding tube and it sucked. Do you see my jaw wired shut? I’m talking to you aren’t I, as much as I loathe this very uncomfy moment with you. Wish I could wire your jaw shut again so I don’t have to endure another convo with you, loser man.

So it looks like you’re not feeling good again. Why the tube? I’m feeling fine. Why do I have to be physically ill 24/7 to have a feeding tube? And also I’m not entirely sure why I have it. Ask my therapist.

I have also been asked if I have cancer. And Chrone’s Disease. Who would ask someone if they literally shit in a bag? I mean really? REALLY?
Holy moly guacamole.

I guess I just don’t understand how people have the gall to ask about it - with not even a note of concern in their voice - it's more just like some sort of sick awe or something.  I literally feel on display, like some smelly tiger at the zoo or a clown at the circus. If I saw someone with a feeding tube, I’d have the decency to just leave it alone. I mean isn’t it just common sense, common courtesy?

Next time someone asks me something idiotic about it, I’m going to yoink out my tube and STRANGLE THEM WITH IT.

My Dad's "Real Brie"

A few days ago, when I wrote the post Time to Move On, my dad sent me an email. In it he attached a poem that he had written for me seven years ago, telling me that he believed I was ready to read the poem again, to really read it. At the time, back then oh so many years ago, I read it and I appreciated it, because I knew he loved me and wanted so much to reach me, to contact any part of me, however small, into believing the words he had written. But I don’t think I did. Back then, I was too far gone in ED-Land.

So I read it again, for the first time in seven years. And it brought tears to my eyes. Because my dad is a good father. An amazing human being. He has more love for people than I’ve ever known or seen. He is a humanitarian. (Here he is, pictured in Africa, delivering aid to those in need.)  He is humble.

And he has a beautiful way with words.

The Real Brie Brown

The name, Brienne, is quite oft spoken,
For those who see her always inquire,
Who is that girl with grace and beauty
Who captures our minds as embers of fire?

She’s smart and classy – she’s quite demure,
A leader, a teacher, a friend to all.
She’s kind and caring and sensitive to others,
Dignified, loving and cute – and tall!

Those who love her know that they know her,
The Real Brie Brown who we vigorously applaud.
Not bent or broken or cast away,
But noble and good – a child of God.

Her response, of course, is to set us straight,
To convince us surely of scar and wart,
But our eyes, less judging, perceive more clearly,
The great eternal good in this young heart.

Look at the goodness – acknowledge your beauty,
Cast off the shadows that darken your way.
The Savior, Our Father, Our Friend and Redeemer
Knows of the trials, the sunshine and grey.
He understands problems, unfairness and error,
He sheds tears of sorrow for those whom he loves.
But he’ll never abandon one of His children,
Precious as angels that dwell up above.

Take time to consider the past with its problems,
Deal with frustration and tears, and with anger,
But never forget the truth our dear daughter,
Your worth is eternal forever and ever.

No matter the reason for doubt and for sorrow,

No matter the fears and the worries you feel,

Time with its healing has ways in its making

To restore in your mind the former appeal.

One may have beauty, the other compassion,

And each with his weakness plays out his day

Brie as our equal, our sister and daughter,

Eternal, forever and ever will stay.

Written by

H.B.

June 2002

Love you Dad.
(Pictured in January, 2005, in Indonesia, after the major tsunami in late December 2004, delivering aid to the survivors and refugees.)

Gaining Weight, Gaining Perspective

Click! Clickity click click dinga linga ding dong. Click CLICK!

That’s what my brain has done. And usually my clicks! last only a day or two, but really, lovers, with the whole like recovery and life thing, I’m still totes on board.

I am gaining weight. It isn’t a matter of speculation now, it is a legit fact. Am I scared? Yes. I haven’t weighed as much as I do since November of 2005. Am I having some body image blues? Yes, blue; so blue, not even a nice baby blue, or a cerulean blue. Just dark dark sad midnight blue. But am I fighting through it? Yes bam kow ka-tcha! Am I thinking a bit more clearly now that my brain isn’t being, like, eaten by my ravenous ‘lil self? Yes, I do believe so (she says, intelligently). Do I have more energy? Balls, yes! Do I smile more – even with the tube? Yes, although tubes+smiles=awkward/scary but whateva! Am I regretting my decision to get the tube, as it has significantly aided in my weight gain? No, actually, I’m really not. Do I feel fat? Yes. But that doesn’t mean that I am. Perspective is a tricky thing, and I am starting to get a healthier viewpoint than thin emaciation gross bones lalala blah blah blah yakkity schmakkity is beautiful and desirable and a MUST HAVE. Nah, my perceptions changing. I think I can be strong. Powerful. Use my body to get strong and healthy instead of weak and damaged. Madame Brie perceives that in the near future, things are about to change…
[Anyone else want their fortune told? ...] (5 bucks a pop.)

Therapy the past few sessions have been loverly. Like, we’re not just bitching (me) and talking (my T, frustrated) about food and how much I need to gain. We’re getting into the stuff that needs to be cleared out, all the garbage in the way of me loving myself and keeping myself alive. And it feels really, really good.

I’m gaining. In so many ways.

"By persisting in your path, though you forfeit the little, you gain the great.”

-Ralph Waldo Emerson

Bear Lake in Review

I've adored taking walks lately.  Bundling up in the cold, blasting my iPod, and just thinking.  Just giving me time to think that isn't fraught with anxiety or fear.  It really clears my head and makes me calm.  So this weekend while we were at the Lake that is Bear, Brandon and I went on a beautiful walk by the lake.  Here are a few pics we took.  So lame to say, but the one hour we were out together felt magical.

Walking from the cabin, getting ready to make the trek to the lake...

This was a wave that had frozen just as it was cresting.  We were walking on what we thought was the beach, only to realize that...

We were actully walking on the frozen lake.  We heard a huge CRAAAAAAAACK and realized we better get back on the sand before we were waist deep in frozen lake water.  I felt all adventurous!

Where the ice met the lake.  Brandon wouldn't let me get any closer, but isn't it beautiful?

Shadow games.

I love him.

The trip was amazing.  Here are a few more pics of the weekend.

Boys and their acrobatic shenanigans.  Cheerleaders.  Hrrrm....

Here they are shooting.  They shot targets and clay pigeons and had all sorts of guns to practice with.  Shot guns, rifles, snipers...I'm proud to say my hubby was the Shooting Master.  Must be all that Halo...haha.

Here's me and twinner cuddled up by the fire, chatting away...

Steve, Jonny, and Ryan acting like proper idiots and JUMPING IN THE LAKE. We caught it on video, but unfortunately as of yet have uploaded it onto the computer.  I think the icing on the cake was when all three were booking it back to the truck, and Stevie was clinging to his shorts to keep them on his skinny bum bum, and he yelled so loud it echoed, HOOOOOLY BAAAAALL SAAAAACK!  Ah-maz-ing!

Some of the girls I played with: Sis-in-law Angela, Stacy, and Haley.

Thanks Brett 'n Ang for letting us frolic with you and your kick arse friends.  :)

Bangs & Bear Lake

What do we think of the bangage? (My hair, not the sex, you dirty mind-in-the-gutter dwellers.) I’m thinking it totes hides my tube, plus makes me look hot! I'm havin’ a good hair day, which is always a fun little self-esteem booster, and is super rare in these parts, seeing as I’m Lazy Miss Pony-Tail Rawr. Getting ready is totally overrated.

This weekend I will be frolicking in Bear Lake with husband and Twinner and a couple old friends from hike school (Billy Madison, anyone?) with their spouses. With a rock climbing wall and a movie theater in the cabin, how can it not be fun? Oh wait it can totaaaalllllly not be fun when one has a grumpy three year old to tote around. LUCKILY FOR US, my mom is masochistic, and therefore has volunteered to watch the man-child so that we have a fun weekend. So I’m excited, even though numerous people I don’t see super often will take ganders at my tube. Sigh. Such is life. I shall persevere!

Anyway, have fun at home, bitches!  (Or losers.  Or suckas.  Take your pick!)

P to the S: I recently found this article online about my foray into the morning show life about pregorexia (boo hiss groan hate that term). I think it was written awhile ago, but it’s quite interesting. You can also go back to a post I wrote in regards to it -->here<-- to refresh. So. Read. Peruse. Mull. Let me know what you think.

Time to Move On

Everyone, I have good news. Startling news. News that I wasn’t sure would ever come out of me; news that I hoped I would feel and know, but have as of yet to ever feel this way. And…even though this broad is good with words, I’m not sure I can adequately explain just what I’m feeling. So be patient with me while I mull around, trying to figure this out.

I have had anorexia for just about ten years. I would say a good 5 ½ of those years were spent with me messing around, and literally having ZERO desire to recover, to restore my weight. I went to therapy and to dietary and inpatient then again and again and again, had several feeding tubes, blah blah blah yakkity schmakkity, because I had to, but I secretly knew I’d never gain weight; never really follow through with my treatment team’s recommendations, because there was nothing more that I valued more than being skinny. You catch that world – VALUE? Values are important. They are the cat’s meow, they are The Shit. Values shape our lives and our personalities and the courses we take in life and influence every decision we make. I literally VALUED my pant size over my family. I VALUED losing weight over keeping my job. I VALUED being emaciated over staying alive. I had been raised to have good, honest, solid values, yet I threw those out like worthless trash in my effort to be thin, to slowly die. I soiled my integrity. People lost their trust in me, because I lied about food – how much I ate, no I didn’t throw it away or hide it, I promise.

It wasn’t until Cade was born that I really began to figure out that anorexia is a serious blow job, and that it was time to get over this selfish, meaningless, USELESS and NEEDLESS disease. And it wasn’t easy. I mean, obviously. But I realized, once I had my perfect sweet angel man in my arms, that there was more to life than how far my collarbones jutted out, and the number on the scale. Cade gave me perspective; he gave me a new set of values. That being a mother - a present mother who is healthy and there unequivocally for her children, and teaching them to be honest and good people, was something that I valued. Finally FINALLY I had something I cared about more than being thin.

So I finally started to do the real work, the nitty-gritty stuff that gets under your fingernails and leaves a bad taste in your mouth. And it sucked a lot of the time. And it hurt(s) like hell. I have been underweight since November of 2005. That is a long time to acclimate to being where I am, and the idea of getting to a normal weight is terrifying for me. And yet. Since I’ve had this tube for a whole, what, 5 days?... I’ve been more committed to just finally freaking making some significant gainage and just DOING IT. It’s time, you know? I mean, it won’t be easy. And I’ll freak out a lot. But there’s something that’s finally just…I dunno….CLICKED in my brain. Like, the idea of looking and being healthy (gah loathe that word!) isn’t so repulsive to me. I’m beginning to nurse the idea that I could even be pretty, acceptable, and even liked at a normal weight. And the fact that I’m starting to be okay with this idea terrifies me in and of itself!  I have a lot of work to do.

Anorexia was my everything. When God failed me, Anorexia stepped in and saved me, in a warped and twisted way. When I learned I couldn’t depend on others to keep me safe, and that the world was uncertain and scary, Anorexia took care of me, never left me, and certainly never failed me. And, irony of ironies: it was saving me just as quickly as it was killing me, yet I refused to let go. But that is changing.

Why is it changing, you ask? I think a good portion of it is my treatment team. I’ve never had a group of individuals care so damn much about me; be so invested in my health and well-being and recovery, and that really rubs off on me. I think it’s because Cade is getting older, and soon he’ll be old enough to see Mommy acting like a crazy psycho D-bag. It’s because I want to have another baby, not to replace Kendall, but so that Cade and Kendall can have another brother or sister. I want to have strength and energy to run and use my body without nearly stopping breathing. Maybe I want to recover this time because my life hasn’t changed in so long, and I’m realizing that I’m not happy much of the time. Maybe trying on Normal won't be so scary. So. I’m going to do it.

Time to stop revering anorexia, and revere a healthy body. A healthy me. Time to value family and friends and life. Time to restore my integrity. Time to breathe, and be okay with it.

Time to move on.

This Post is Totally Swear-worthy

...specifically, the S word.

So, SHIT.

My D just emailed me my new mealplan (click to enlarge).  Now, keep in mind that I have to eat all this PLUS run Larry at night.

Holy oh my moly with extra fatty guacamole this is pure, stark-raving INSANITY.  They're trying to torture me.  Are they dancing in my tears right now?  Oh, make it stop make it stop make it stop!

Now who wants to help me eat all this?  Pwease?

Interweb Interactions v. Real Life Liaisons

My therapist thinks it’s more comfortable for me to have relationships with people via Blogging Land than in Real Life, because I can project whichever image I want to be on Blogxygen’s screen: I can be happy and chipper and the class clown, or I can have my rare (but starting to become more frequent; sheesh sheesh bo beesh) moments where I am a ragin’ hot mess. I can pick this and this and this but oh not this on any given day, don my persona, and let you all partake of it. Nom nom.

I don’t have to talk or interact physically with most of you. I do, of course, have my DDF’s and BFF’s in the real world, but even then, a lot of me is restrained, and I am making an active effort to be real with them more oftensies, too. Apparently I am lonely and need to break down my GD walls. I’ve been told that in real life, I can be intimidating. And that’s sad, because I’m, like, the NICEST PERSON I KNOW. I’m not even kidding. So while people don’t want to approach me because I scare them (WTF, man?) I am on the sidelines feeling like a floozy and that there’s some inherent flaw in me that is keeping me from having friends.

She isn’t saying that blogging is bad, or that I should stop, because she knows how much Blogxygen has saved my life and helped me begin to form an identity other than Sick Brie that One Girl with Anorexia. I guess she just wants me to be aware that it’s necessary and healthy to actually talk on the phone or face to face with people, too. And I’m like, lame lame lamazoid.

But…okay. Time to work on that.

This is really hard for me.

Anyone else find themselves in the same predicament?

Is this a joke?

Trying to squat over this thing made my thighs burn like fury, and I nearly toppled into the fetus sized potty. 

Not one of my finer moments!
Weird.  Agreed?

The Tube Sitch: a Cautionary Tale

Therapy on Friday morning

W: You’re digressing. Your weight has been going down steadily for the past couple weeks.
Me: I’ll try really hard this weekend to make it up, and when I see you on Monday, you can weigh me then and see what kind of progress I’ve made.
W: We’ve done that too many times. Your weight might be up on Monday, but history shows that by the following Monday, it’ll be back down.
Me: La la la, twiddle thumbs, avoid eye contact …Okaaaay…?
W: Is it time to think about inpatient?
Me: NO! The lady-lady tells shady lies!
W: Then it’s time to talk about a feeding tube.
Me: NO! She lies, she lies!
W: There is no other choice, Brie. Either you get the tube, or you go inpatient.
Stare stare stares at me with those piercing green dagger eyes
Me: Are you serious?
W: Yes. I’m dead serious. Something has to happen TODAY. Unless, of course, you want to tell me I’m crazy and fire my ass. But that would make me sad. And that wouldn’t do you any good. You’d just prove to yourself AGAIN that you can’t recover by taking yourself out of the game too early.
Me: Lame. …Erm…I…guess…I dunno…I mean, I’d rather have a tube than go IP, because I refuse to do that.
Evil Brie: Fire her fire her then dance in her tears!
Angel Brie: Do it sweetie, you know you need to. Listen to your treatment team, humble yourself, you can do this…
Evil Brie: Blah blah blah yakkity schmakkity.
And finally…
Me: Sigh. Okay.
W: Okay. Good. F I N A L L Y.  Good grief some compliance at last.  Let's call Dr. P.

According to my treatment team, if I do not gain and maintain weight quickly, The Recommendation will be inpatient. I need to get my weight out of a “critical level” soon. I guess.

So, kids, be prepared for some fattening of the face in some pictures. You should also be prepared for rants and raves and oooooh my craaaaps I’m soooooo biiiiiigggggs.

Moral of the story: an insanely hardcore treatment team + a low body weight + a weakened flight system telling me to STAY PUT instead of RUN RUN RUN FROM THE SCARY LADIES and telling me to listen to my treatment team and do what they say instead of deciding I know best (weird, weird!) = a tubed Brie.
That’s one complicated equation.

Don’t be the next.

Meet Larry

Larry is devoted to me.  Larry is tall, silver, and handsome.  Larry is keeping me alive.  And even though he's skinnier than me, I still dig him.  :) 

Except when he's an a-hole and beeps at me.

And I am Bitter

Okay, so I need two minutes. Don’t talk. No interrupting. I just need to, like, vomit up some of this WTF’ness.

Two months ago today, at least when I woke up to get ready for an appt with my OB, I was pregnant. My skin was glowing and I was getting ripe with baby and happiness. My weight was low but stable, and slowly increasing, and I was secretly pleased with my baby bump, because I knew it meant my child was growing strong and big. Two months ago today, while sitting on a cold and scratchy examining table, with ultrasound goo all over my abdomen, all of that was shattered.

Two months have passed. And today, I have a dead daughter and a feeding tube.

And it isn’t fair.

And the injustice of this seems almost poetic.

And I want to rage and scream. But instead I put my hair in hot rollers and smile and say I’m fine and Yeah, this feeding tube kinda sucks but its okay; hopefully it will be out soon. Smile smile crack a joke fight back tears. Smile some more yes I’m fine.

And, so, I am bitter. And I so fucking desperately want to be the old me, the Two Months ago Brie. I want everything that I lost.

But life doesn’t work that way.
And I am bitter.

I am bewildered.

How the hell did I get here today?  I woke up this morning; everything was fine.  I went to therapy, everything was not fine.  Three hours later, I have a tube.

Yakking Yesterday

I hate throwing up. LOATHE it. There is something about getting your face really close to a toilet, then having to deal with the rebound splash, and the saliva that abundantly flows, and the gagging, and eye watering, chest heaving; just EVERYTHING, that makes me ill even thinking about it. Purging has never been an issue for me in my eating disorder, probably solely because I abhor nothing more than said above.

But yesterday.
Yesterday I just could not get away from puke. It was like an unwelcome house guest that parks it on your sofa and then poops in your toilet and clogs it. And hogs the remote. In other words, smothers you with its gross company. Get it?

It started in the afternoon, while I was waiting for Doc P, my ED doc. I was kinda pouting because I was totes being ignored and had been waiting like an entire era in there, probably while they dealt with someone more important than me, who I deduced to be the Puking Person next door. I could hear her retching. Loudly. And groaning. And a few curses. And scrambling nurses. All while I waited. Quite impatiently. And I thought, “What do I need to do to get some attention from them?” Puke? Faint? Have a heart attack? Do the Macarena? …And the pukage length and volume of the poor soul next to me was, like, worthy of an Olympic medal. It was really grossing me out, because the exam room they were in is one that I am often placed in, and I just thought, “Eewwwys. Um. Totes gonna refuse that room from now on!”
So yeah. Finally, finally, the doctor sees me. Says she is “concerned,” draws my labs, and scoots me on my way.  The end.

Later that day, I had an appt with The Ferr Bear, my psychiatrist. I saw him directly at 6 pm, and he is in the heart of downtown SLC, and so getting there during rush hour was not entirely the easiest or most calming thing I had to do. I kind of hate everybody else on the road but me, because I feel like they all suck at driving. Everybody but me. I’m serious. It’s, like a legit issue I have. But Brandon was going with me, so he was driving, and Mom had made dinner for us, only we sat down to eat when we needed to be leaving, and so I literally shoveled in my chicken and potatoes and green beans (just kidding I left the green beans on my plate, NO THANKS) in 4 minutes. I swear. I timed myself. And then we booked it out the door to make it on time.

It was starting to snow, and everyone was trying to get home from work, and the freeways were awful, and I was having an anxiety attack, and the food in my tummy was like, “Yeah, I wanna peace out,” and I just thought, “Holy no. Oh crap. It’s going to happen. I am going to puke up an entire bucket o’ yuck, right here.” So I scrambled around in the backseat until I found a crumpled up plastic grocery bag, held it open in front of me, and started to do the preliminary hiccups that come before the storm of stomach contents. I tried reaaaaaal hard to keep it in. I focused on the road, kept my eyes in front of me. I blasted cold air on my face. I prayed to the Car Sick Gods to keep in my cals, because I needed them. And then – and then – they stayed in! No puking for me! I still felt a tad uneasy though, so I kept the sack with me and scurried into Da Ferr Bear’s office. I still felt nauseous, and my anxiety was still totally molesting me. Throwing up was still definitely something I felt could happen, and retching up my stomach contents on my psychiatrist’s lap was definitely not an aspiration of mine. Funny, I know, odd, yes; but true.

After our sesh was over, I wandered into the bathroom and had a major #3, all while keeping the sack open in front of me, ready to puke. AGAIN. But I didn’t. And I was happy. Due to all the reasons in the first paragraph.

But then we started driving home. And I was still having anxiety. And then the car made me sick again. And I came home and was suddenly and violently involved in unintentional pukage. And I felt horrible. HORRIBLE. …But slightly grateful that my stomach waited to revolt against me in the privacy of my own home. That was nice.

I totally lost dinner. And my T is making me MAKE IT UP. With Boost.
That’ll pry make me want to yak
AGAIN.

I blame it on Puking Person in the exam room yesterday. She started it.
Pfffft.

Links 'n Tags

Hello, Friendly Folk. Just a few things for you to ruminate on:

Check out my friend Teresa’s blog -->here<-- She is my coworker but totes cool enough to be my friend, and she started a blog, and I’m kiiiiiinda in love with it. You will be too. ;)

Secondly, please go -->here<-- to join The Phenomenon. My supercool blogging buddy/phone friend/amazing human being has started this blogging sisterhood – The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pad. And I promise it’s not as gross as it sounds. You must read the blog and become a follower. Soon you will be one of us!

And now, my friends, I have been tagged by my new buddy Sara, over at Sprinkled with Cinnamon. Totally had A Moment when she loved me enough to tag me. ;)

So. Here gosies:

The instructions are to: list 10 things that make me happy, do at least one of them today, and pass it along to 10 bloggees.


1. French fries from Red Robin. In combination with their fry sauce, I practically have a ‘gasm!
2. Curling up under my heated blankie with a good book. I thought the Snuggie was the cat’s meow, but the heated throw is now soooo 2010. ;)
3. Chillin’ with good friends. I mean the ones who really get me, who I can be around with and laugh and goof off with but also fart like a cave troll around them and then cry with (not about the farts, about the sucky things in life). They are few and far between but I am a lucky girl to have them (you know who you are)!
4. Gah. As.much.as.I.hate.to.admit.this: my treatment team. Most of the time I am angry with them rather than happy with them, but they make me happy because they are keeping me alive and they care about me, and that’s starting to rub off on me. Go team!
5. But of course mi familia. Senor Brandon and Nino Caden are the Boooomb Diggity. ‘Das right, man.
6. The prospect of becoming something other than an anorexic – like a guitarist! Lessons start today, baby.
7. Blogging. Duh.
8. Biggest Loser. And the premier was last night! I decided I was happy I was alive solely because I was partaking of the premier and also OMG Jillian’s eyebrows nom nom I wish they were mine…
9. Walking. I can’t really do cardio, but lately I’ve been walking a lot. I bundle up in my winter gear and blast my iPod and think about Kendall and life ‘n stuff. On Sunday I walked six miles and it felt SO.GOOD.
10. My cats. They are huge. They are killing me slowly with their allergenic fur. They are needy. But I love them. Le happy sigh.

What will I do today? Well, I have guitar lessons today, and I’m blogging, and I’m going to partake of my husband’s and son’s wicked presence. Oh! And I’m going on a walk after work, and before my ED doc appt. So. Four happy things in one day. That’s legit!

Who will I tag…hrrrmm…I thought I’d tag some of my new friends, and a few old ones, oh and family for good measure:  (sorry, I'm lazy and not linking to their blogs - but most of them are set to private anyway...hrrrm...)

1. Allegri (Kate)
2. T
3. Whit
4. Stephy
5. Betsy
6. Teresa
7. David
8. Kerrie
9. Amanda P, The Cousin
and
10. My amazing niece Marissa, who just returned from the Middle East bearing love and fun and a sweet scarf for me.

Go. Now!
Have a good day, friends!

humorED

I passed this residential street just now, pulled over, and made Whit snap a quick pic.

Set Point Circle, the sign says.


And then I thought to myself, This is totally where my body wants to live.

And then I roared.

Keeping Ya'll Informed

Okay, I’ve decided, my friends, that you are a Godsend. Let’s get real and say that my life has kinda been the _pits lately, but writing my blog – especially lately, and then reading all your comments, have not only entertained me endlessly, but actually given me a reason to smile – and get this – laugh, even. I truly truly adore each and every one of you. We should have a Blog Buddy convention and do a ‘lil meet ‘n greet. How cool/creepy would that be? [happy emoticon]

I also realized to myself that I haven’t given anyone an actual treatment update (i.e. how my beast of burden aka eating disorder) recovery is going. I’ve done this knowingly, of course, because while recovering from anorexia is a big okay huge part of my life currently, it’s not the only thing I am or do, and I wanted to explore other sides of me and get to know them and have ya’ll meet them, too. (OMG I sound like I have DID haha!) At any rate, here’s a little about what’s been going on lately:

My dietician, E, went on maternity leave, so I got to have the mortifying experience of having W, my T, weigh me 2x/week. For almost all of November and December, I was very nearly put in the hospital on more than one occasion due to my low body weight. I have now gained x lbs, and yes I know what that x really is, because yesterday in frustration W actually told me the real number (an omg shriek “No she di-n’t!” in ED recovery land) and said that I have to gain by next week or my butt will once again be threatened with either going to the hospital or some lame IP facility in Ogden, because apparently maintaining and not gaining for 2 weeks in a row means I’m “digressing.” Um, no. Lame. This of course I am not okay with, and thus; I have stuffed a banana and a Hot Pocket in my face just now (not at the same time, mind you. Eew!)

So mostly we’ve been doing damage control since Kendall’s death. I kiiiiiiinda stopped eating when I found out she was gone. I am definitely picking things back up though, but as my husband says, “It takes a lot longer to fix a car than it takes to break it. Rawhr I'm manly and use masculine metaphors to get across to my wife." Ho hum dee dum. It’s amazing what 4 weeks of restricting has (once again) done to my body. It’s sad and tired. I’m trying to make amends (both physically and emotionally) with the little bugger.

But things are looking up, right? I start guitar on Wednesday, I have several people who would probably email me a cleavage shot, (guffaw!) I’ve got a great treatment team who, admittedly, a lot of the time feel like the proverbial thorn in my ass but really care A LOT and only want me on the road to recovery a little more, errrrr, stably. (Wait. Is there a proverb about a thorn in one’s ass? Hrrrm. Must. Google.) And even though my daughter is no longer living, I do have an incredible son and husband who are, and for that I am blessed.

So now I just need to start that recovery band, and life will be complete! Court’s in for drums, I’ll do guitar, so we need like a bass and a keyboard and a singer? I’ve already decided we’ll call ourselves the Almighty Bitch (in reference to how much Ana sucks) and we will be amazing and healthy and millions of recoverees and wannabes will come to our concerts and swoon.

I’ve got Francesca and my black fingernails waiting…

Guitar lessons start Wednesday.

"Back to school! Back to school, to prove to Dad that I'm not a fool!

Back to school! Back to school! I got my lunch packed up, my boots tied tight, I hope I don't get in a fight!

Ohhhh, back to school! Back to school! Back to school!"

You're so lame if you don't know where this song/quote is from. First reader to tell me where it's from gets something from me I don't know what but it'll be grand!

And...if you're one of The Unfortunates who don't know what movie this is from, I'll forgive you. Maybe. If you email me a cleavage shot or something. ;)

Raw Raw Raw Resolutions!

Dammit, it’s time for a resolution post. I hate them because really, let’s be honest, my self-esteem is already pretty _low, and me just giving myself goals that I most likely will not achieve is not going to help it or the world or my cat's obesity, right? I mean, it’s not rocket science. Le pish. But I guess I’ll try to think of a few since apparently I'm a follower, not a leader:

1. No quitting el guitar! I start lessons on Wednesday, and I’m seriously, like, psyched. Like I’m 7 years old and waiting for my Christmas presents psyched. I haven’t felt this ridiculously excited in a long time. Maybe I can strum out my anxiety and bad feelings ‘n stuff. Francesca is so beautiful. I’ve even prepared myself for my first lesson by painting my fingernails black. Why am I so cool? I don’t even know!
2. Get to a place where my low body weight and lungs don’t stop me from working out. I’d love to be able to run (or hell man, even walk up a flight of stairs) without getting all winded like a senior citizen and pissing off my treatment team because I am expelling more calories than I am like taking in or whateva.
3. Drink more water. The last water I had was yesterday, only that doesn’t count because it was in the teensy tinsy sacrament cup. Before that, I had about 4 oz on Christmas. Shutup. I know.
4. Continue to edit the novel I am writing. Make significant progress, whatever that may be.
5. Keep Blogxygen alive and well and breathing.
6. Try not to either fire another treatment team or get my own arse fired. This be bad.
7. Somehow, some way, get to a place in my grieving process for Kendall where I don’t cry at the sight of pregnant women, baby clothes, babies themselves, maternity clothes, baby headbands and tutus, etc. Which, in Utah, this means that basically half the population makes me want to cry or scream or bitch slap them. It’s not their fault. It’s mine because I’m weird and broken.
8. I don’t have another resolution, but stopping on a number 7 is icky. So, stop being so lame.
9. And really, we should just make the list go to a nice clean 10, right? How many lists stop at 9? OCD much? No! Never!
10. Lose weight. Ha! Just kidding, bitches!

2010, here I come. And how I am so, so, so very much not looking forward to you. Gross groan moan boo double boo. So far, you pretty much suck. Sorry, but I say it like it is.