When clothes don't fit

Today I was picking out my clothes for work and I realized I hadn't worn a pair of dress pants in awhile. They are one of my favorite pairs and I remember the many days of them fitting loosely.  But today, they didn't fit.  It's probably one of the most embarrassing things I could share, but whether I share it or not the fact is these pants are too tight.

My first initial reaction was to freak out.  My meal plan is for weight maintenance (not weight restoration) and I've been doing my best to follow it.  This is my worst nightmare: that eating food made me gain weight.  Do I really know if I gained weight?  No because I don't have a scale, but if my scale was back in my possession the first thing I would have done was hop on for good ol' times sake.  And then plan out how I would combat the "fat".

ED definitely had a lot to say about this, of course.

ED: See, I told you not to trust them.  You can't trust food and you certainly can't trust your body.  What if you gain more and everyone will notice and judge you.  You can't be pretty and wear a larger size.  You can always come back to me, you know.  I'm always here for you.

I agree with ED.  I don't feel like I can trust food or my body.  Or maybe control is a better word.  Right now what my body does is completely out of my control.  I have to continue to follow this meal plan and I have no idea what the future brings.  I have no idea what my body will do next.  I don't like the unknowns.

Maybe normal people don't freak out when they realize something doesn't fit like it used to.  I'm sure they don't obsess about it like I do.  In the past, I would have made those pants my goal.  It's not uncommon in the eating disorder world to pick an outfit that's too small and make it your goal to fit into.  The big motivator is when you leave the article of clothing out in the open so it will constantly remind you when you feel hungry that food is the enemy.

I really wish I could restrict for a week and see how the pants fit and keep doing it until they are loose on my hips again.  It's a bit addicting when your clothes are a bit too big.  It's a milestone marker for all the hard work you put into your body.  This "hard work" is really what you took out and left out of your body.

Even though I want to take back beauty, there is this part of me that's not ready to let go of ED.  Am I saying I'm going to start engaging in all my behaviors and forget about recovery?  No.  I am saying that I'm not going to easily forget about my brown dress pants and how they are now a part of my past instead of my present and future.

You might wonder what's next for these pairs of pants.  For right now, they're going to stay in my closet.  Myintent is not for self torture, promise.  I'm just not ready to say goodbye and let them go for good.

 

I have hips

A few years ago I went shopping with a friend.  My mission was to get nice black dress pants for work.  So we went to store after store not finding pants that were comfortable or fit or that I liked.  At last though, I found the pair of pants.  I showed my friend to see what she thought:

Wow, I didn't realize until now, but you have wide hips.

I said sadly, I know...

She said that is was a good thing because I'm a woman and women are supposed to have hips.

That didn't make me feel much better and I knew her intention was never to make my already low self esteem plummet even farther down the rabbit hole.

Years before this incident I was visiting Colombia with my dad.  We were staying with a friend of his who had a daughter around my age.  We went shopping and I had a mission: I wanted a skirt.  I love dresses and skirts, but I never seem to find the right fit for my curvy body.

There we are standing in one of the stores in a huge mall: my dad, his friend, his friend's daughter and me.  I didn't speak Spanish very well at that time, but as Laura asked the sales lady about skirts I knew enough Spanish to know that "ancho" means wide.  The sales lady was looking me over and speaking too fast and putting her hands on her hips...that Spanish word I will never forget.  Ancho.  

Yes, thank you very much, I'm very well aware that I have hips and that I'm curvy.  Only a select few people don't define me as curvaceous, but the rest of the population seem to have to come to the same conclusion: I have hips and I'm curvy.

Some people make curvy look hot, but if I ever try the styles I see work on other beautiful ladies I'm looking back at a disaster in the mirror.  Why does it work for them and not me?  I can't do thin right and I can't do curvy right.  I'm in some weird limbo that nobody makes clothes for.

I haven't gone shopping in a long time.  I know I'm not ready to expose myself to all the different clothing sizes and pictures of happy-go-lucky models wearing the clothes I want to try on, but seeing their long, flowing limbs I know this might not go well.

Last night I was talking with the costumer who I'm working with for this most recent show.  We talked about all different kinds of topics and it landed on it matters how you look in theatre.  Of course that hit home because I know that I don't look right for theatre.  I sometimes pass for "white," but with my brown eyes, black hair and a very light hint of "something" in my pigment I don't stand a chance against the other "American" girls.  I mentioned to her it doesn't help that I'm curvy too and that did it for her.  She became so passionate about making me see that I'm gorgeous, that my body is perfect just the way it is.  I almost wanted to start crying because I could feel those words like I've never felt before.

Thank you, Sharon.  I'm filing away your wonderful words to repeat to myself when I'm having a rough day or I think my hips are too wide.

The war has just begun

Yesterday I shared a meme: 

I consider this a trigger for myself.  Do I have a problem with the quote?  No, it seems inspirational.  Do I have a problem with the model?  Not really, but her picture is a trigger.  The combining of the quote and picture makes it even a bigger trigger.  Why?  Because this meme is telling me that I have to look this way and that if I don't I'm considered a lazy person.  This is how I interpret it.  You can agree or disagree, you can think I'm too sensitive or too harsh.  I don't care and I found out I don't care after caring too much.

On Facebook I said I viewed this ad as body shaming and I asked if anyone agreed.  I was quite surprised at the response I received.  There was a mix of people who agreed and people who didn't.  It doesn't bother me to have different opinions, but how the different opinions were brought up was quite hurtful. I was told I'm too sensitive and that I make weak arguments.  Soda was compared to heroin and Oreos to cocaine, some were inspired to exercise by the ad, some thought that this was a failure to our society, etc.  The conversation got way out of hand and I even apologized for making such a fuss.  I was literally crying because I never meant for this to go so far and I didn't understand the rudeness that was arising.  Don't get me wrong, I still had people who agreed with me, but it was hard to focus on the positives when an opposed response kept going and going and going.  I don't know what they thought they were achieving by being so rude and harsh.  I needed time away from the argument, that I never meant to be an argument but a place to discuss something I thought was important.  I wanted to take back beauty.

Later I realized that I have nothing to be sorry for.  Why should I be sorry for having an opinion on how the media portrays their product?  Why should I be sorry for not agreeing with someone?  Why should I be sorry for having thoughts and feelings?  Why should I be sorry when someone doesn't understand my struggle?  If you think I'm full of crap or don't give a shit about my struggle then I don't need you in my life.  I need positive people in my life, people who will be there for me when I'm having trouble eating a meal, people who when I see something triggering and want to purge talk me down, people who will eat with me because eating alone isn't the smartest thing for me at this early stage of recovery.  If you want to take ED's side of things and want a thinner society then farewell.

If you find this ad to be inspirational, then good for you.  I hope you love and accept yourself as you are.  Unfortunately I feel this kind of ad produces more harm than inspiration, but again that is my opinion.

The war has just begun.  Suit up and prepare for more battles because I'm not done fighting.

Bumps in the road

Dinner is almost done and even though I agreed to have what John is currently cooking, I'd rather just not have it.  Why?  I'm not hungry, I'm feeling anxious about the first cast meeting for Annie, I feel like I ate enough today, I'm worried I've gained weight, and blah, blah, blah.  I could continue on with all my excuses of why dinner shouldn't happen.

This week I can't count how many times I wanted to just give up.  Recovery seemed too complicated and impossible.  I had made plans how to make it look like I was recovering, but really going back to what I used to do.  Thankfully this week I met with my psychiatrist and therapist.  Since my anxiety has been so high the psychiatrist made a med adjustment and talking things out with my therapist was super helpful.  My family has made steps in helping me create more structure to my day and checking in with me to make sure I'm continuing in the right direction.

ED has been getting louder and more persistent.  There are times that what he says is comforting and makes sense so it makes not having a snack seem reasonable.  But as we like to say when in doubt follow the meal plan.  

My mom said she didn't quite understand after going through treatment and accepting I have a problem why eating was still difficult.  It's a good point she brought up.  I've been starving myself for so long that eating six times a day is still a foreign concept.  Also, I'm usually not feeling any hunger cues or I may feel very anxious and my stomach is in knots.  The biggest part though is that the thoughts and emotions don't go away.  They will be there for the rest of my life, except they won't affect me like they do now.  I know people have recovered and are in a much happier place in their lives.  They are my inspiration.

Putting my life back together is like doing construction on the worst road ever.  It's going to take time and it's going to be hard manual labor.  It's going to take a lot of people and equipment.  Before the road is successfully finished it's going to be uncomfortable to drive on with all the potholes and bumps.   My car may run out of gas on this road, which currently doesn't have a gas station, debris could cause a flat tire or create dents, my car may get stuck in a pothole, etc.  

ED is going to do whatever it takes to slow down my progress and keep creating potholes and bumps on this broken road, but he doesn't seem to quite get that I have a whole construction crew helping me repair it.  

I'm still going to have days I don't want to eat dinner.  Tonight I took a break from blogging and ate dinner.  Why?  I need to have energy to go to my meeting tonight, I have ballet tomorrow morning, I have things to do around the house this weekend, but the biggest part is wanting to take back beauty and kick ED to the curb.

Sharing is caring, not comparing

Let's face it, we all compare ourselves to others.

He makes more money.

She always gets a better grade.

Why does it seem like his life is perfect?

Why am I not married yet?

I don't have a thigh gap like her.

That last example is usually how I spend my day comparing.  Are they:

Shorter?

Taller?

Skinnier?

Bigger?

About the same?

It's like a math equation.  If her jeans are size 0 plus 2 inches taller minus any body fat equals I need to lose 20 pounds.

Huh?

I'm okay at math, but somehow that equation never seems to compute right...

In treatment one of my challenges was not comparing myself to the other patients.  Everyone is so beautiful and it always seemed like they all had something that I didn't.  I'm sure they felt the same way, although ED loved telling me how much I didn't belong.

If I think this over with my logical mind, I can see that everyone has a different frame and body type.  Just because someone has a smaller frame doesn't mean that I'm fat.  It means I have a different frame.  I can't make myself grow a few inches or push my hips in or thin out my thighs or change my eye color to blue.  

I came with this body and I have to find a way to accept it as it is and not compare myself to how others turned out.  I remember taking a bathroom break with one of the other patients and telling her how much I felt like an alien.  Looking at everyone else's skinny limbs was getting to me.

"You're not an alien!" was her reply.  

This is when I need to remind myself that eating disorders aren't about how we look, but how we think and feel.  If we could all take out the tapes playing in our heads and listen to them one at a time, I'm positive we'd hear the same ideas, doubts, fears, etc.  

ED wants us to feel so alone, but we aren't.

ED wants us to feel so ashamed because we don't look like her.  You know who I mean, the one in class, at the mall, at work, the one who takes her dog for a walk, your neighbor, or even the one in your family.

But the truth of the matter is, I'm never going to look like her.  I'm not supposed to.  Somehow I got the wrong memo about that.  

I'm only supposed to look like the one person I know:

Me

"When in doubt follow the meal plan (Damn it, Janice)"

While in treatment we spent most of our time in the process room, which had comfy chairs and a couch and we did a lot of our group activities in this room.  On the wall hangs a painting a previous group had put together.  It is very colorful and even glittery.  It says:

When in doubt follow the meal plan (Damn it, Janice)

Janice is the dietician at the hospital.  Although we don't really have a problem with her, ED has a big problem.  Janice is there to tell us why food is good for our bodies and that it's okay (more like spectacular) to eat all different kinds of food, even the foods we put on our fear list.

Now I have Sarah as my outpatient dietician and ED is damning her name for a change.  I met with Sarah this week and I found out that I wasn't really following the meal plan.  I wasn't trying to not follow it, but it started to happen gradually.  I slid a little bit and although that's frustrating, it's also a part of recovery.  This is going to happen again and again.  ED is persistent and he's not going down with a fight, which means my weapons have to be sharp at all times.  It means that I need to keep building my army of support.

Sarah told me she was unsure if I was ready to get rid of ED.  And she's right.  I'm not even sure if I'm ready to completely give up this illness.  Once I give it up...who am I and how am I going to deal with life?  That is the big question we all face in the early stages of recovery and we might not figure it out for months or years.  

While in treatment I was very pro recovery and right after I got out I decided I was going to fight!  I got this!  The further away I've gotten from being partially hospitalized to being in the real world, it's become more apparent that this is really hard.  I already knew it was going to be hard, but I thought as long as I keep open communication, as long as I follow the meal plan, as long as I use my coping skills, etc...the easier it will get, the quieter the thoughts will become, the more I will accept my body.  That will come eventually, but I wanted results right now.  

I don't have the results I want.  I've kept things from John (and told him later), slipped up on my meal plan and don't always turn to coping skills when I really need to.  I'm beginning to feel that "not good enough" sentiment all over again.  Today ED told me I am better off dead.  I hadn't heard that one in awhile and it still hurts like it did before.  With these miserable feelings I want to curl up in bed, hide under the covers and never come out again. 

It seemed to work before... 

The problem is it never worked.

Then I visualize the painting in our process room or hear one of the other patients say:

When in doubt follow the meal plan.

Anxious thoughts and theatre

I've been a bit quiet for a few days and partly that's from feeling very anxious recently.  Do I know why I'm feeling anxious?  Not always.  Anxiety, like any mental illness, can be time consuming.  ED isn't the only one who likes to talk in my head, my Anxiety and Depression do also.

Let's say...John asks me to stop at the store on the way home:

Anxiety: What do you mean go to the store?!  You can't just go to the store.  This isn't a part of the plan.  Nowhere in the plan did it say to go to the store.

Me: I know we usually don't, but John does this kind of stuff all the time.

Anxiety: Nope, nope, nope.  We cannot go to the store.  First you have to drive there and park your car perfectly, then you have to walk in and make sure you're not in anybody's way, then you have to decide cart or basket, then you have to figure out where the hell you need to go in the store without looking like a moron and you better not ask anybody for help because they will think you're stupid and a waste of their time, then you have to pick the right items, then you have to go to the checkout line and not look awkward, then you wait for your stuff to ring up and the clerk may want to make small talk, then you pay and have to be as quick as you can because there is a huge ass line waiting for you to leave, then you walk out to your car, but you can't effing remember where you parked it.

Me: Yeah...you're right, that sounds too complicated.

My anxiety loves to make everything sound complicated because it's afraid of everything.  I hardly ever do errands on my own.  I make sure someone is with me.  Of course there are times I have done an errand on my own and I'm still living to tell the tale.  Sometimes it doesn't seem bad at all and other times my heart is ready to pound out of chest, I can't slow my breath down and my stomach has bats flying all around inside.  Phew...

And my anxiety doesn't just affect me outside the home, it likes to bother me inside the home too.  I want to be a productive human being and actually make my house look nice, but more than half the time just the thought of doing one task throws me for a loop.

Anxiety: Laundry?  Why do you have to do that right now?  We are so not ready to do laundry.  You have to take your dirty clothes downstairs and separate them, then you have to turn the washer on and put in the soap and your clothes, then you have be around when it's done so you can put the laundry into the dryer and then you still have to be around to bring the dry clothes upstairs and put everything away perfectly.

Me: Yeah...you're right, that sounds too complicated.

Most of you know I love theatre!  So how in the world am I able to get through auditions and be in shows?  I don't know...  

Auditions are a killer.  Last night I auditioned for Annie.  I ran my audition piece in my head all day.  This wasn't by choice, this was my anxiety telling me I wasn't  prepared enough and this was my first  audition since the fall (and since being in treatment).  What if you forget your lines?!  Waiting to leave for the audition was horrible.  I couldn't focus on anything and I was so nauseous that I could hardly eat my dinner.  I was glad and terrified when it was time to leave the house and go to the audition location.  I always feel a little better once I'm there, but the more people who come to audition the more I'd like to sneak out the door and run for the hills.  While we were waiting to begin, the accompanist came by and retrieved everyone's music...and then I forgot all the lyrics.  I was the second person to go and I had no idea what were the lyrics to my song.  I could remember the first few, but I couldn't concentrate hard enough to get very far and then I looped back to the beginning.

Omigodomigodomigod....

Once it was my turn I walked up to the table to give the four production staff members my info sheet and I introduced myself.  The music started and...I sang the right lyrics!  I didn't know what was going to come out of my mouth, but miraculously I sang the song correctly.

I find out tonight if they would like me to return for a call back.  I know the high anxiety I'm feeling today is because of that call.  (I have no patience).

It's very exciting to get the call that you were cast in a show though!  It means you were good enough.  And depending on what role you get you may feel you obviously weren't that good since you didn't get a bigger role (that's not always true, but it's hard not to take casting personally).

Being in a show is a lot of fun.  You meet new people, catch up with old friends and laugh about the crazy theatre antics you got into before.  (Theatre is a small world after all.)  The best part is becoming someone else.  I no longer am Emily, but I'm someone new and I like creating this new person to be on stage.  

On the nights of performances, I love arriving to the theatre early to put on my makeup, do my hair and put on my costume.  If no one else is around it's even better.  It's just me and silence.  Just me and deep breaths.  Just me and taking time.  If there are other actors around I most likely will keep to myself until I'm all ready.  I feel bats in my stomach right until I walk on stage and then it disappears because I'm a new person.

So...tonight I hope I get a call and receive an invitation to call backs, but I keep reminding myself the reason I auditioned was to bring back a sense of normalcy into my life and to challenge myself.  I have to prepare myself for the chance of not getting in and that means it wasn't meant to be.  I also have to prepare for the chance that I do get in and have a lot of fun.