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.

Keeping my Head Above Water

I’ll let you in on a little secret: even though I know good and well that Kendall is gone, I can still feel her moving. Every day, sometimes several times a day, I feel her kicking and squirming inside me. My therapist tells me that it is a normal part of grieving; to see or hear someone that you’ve lost, and that since feeling Kendall was the only way I ever got to physically interact with her, it makes sense that I can feel her, still. And I don’t understand how something that feels so tangible cannot be REAL.

So I feel her kicking. And for just the tiniest, most infinitesimal split second, I think that what I’m going through is all a nightmare, and that she’s alive, and still with me.

But then the reality of the situation sets in. The nightmare is real. And I am heavy, and drowning.

And then. And then I feel nothing.

And that is perhaps the worst feeling of all.