Feb Res 2014

Today’s blog in a nutshell:  February Resolutions (practice art, revive BeesATC blog, get wet, ID anti-social behaviors) and a BED Reality Check (weigh-in)

Last first… pulled the scales out of the closet today for a “reality check” on that binge eating disorder thing.  I don’t talk about it much anymore as it is not such an issue anymore.   The anniversary of seeking treatment quietly came and went three months ago.  Weight loss has slowed down to a snails crawl, but it was amazing to enter the New Year weighing less than I have in years even after eating all of those holiday goodies.  Breaking free of the scales was kind of scary as going by how I feel and how my clothes fit can be deceptive so I was half tempted to close my eyes today.  But, I weighed myself.  Then stepped off the scales and weighed myself again.  Huh.  Three pounds down both times.  I want twenty to add to that previous eighty, but I am not yet willing to diet.  I’m not strong enough for that yet.  I am still learning moderation, finding the happy medium somewhere between under-eating and overeating.  I think it is called NORMAL.

Okay… February Resolutions!

1.   Practice art:  get back into the daily habit of making art in “practice size” again.

I bailed on my goal of 1000 practice pieces at #334,  or at least that was the last numbered piece that I posted.  Yes, I am reviving BeesATC with a few changes… new template, cleaner look, and a self-imposed rule of NO RAMBLING!   It will be as it started out to be… an art blog.  I can ramble here, no need to ramble there.  I want to try some new techniques and different things, so it might get interesting.  At least for me… maybe you will find it interesting, too.

2.  Get wet:  go to the Y at least once a week.

The water pressure helps my circulation, even if all I can do is a little deep water walking.  When I went to a pool regularly, I got so I could float on my back so I’m thinking maybe someday I will be able to swim again.  (Previous attempts resulted in spasms.)  They have a water exercise class for people with arthritis, so maybe I can do that, too.

3.  ID Anti-Social Behaviors:  am I becoming too anti-social?

I am resolving to think about that this month.  Then, if warranted, come up with a strategy to remedy the situation.  The thing is, I don’t know if I am becoming too anti-social or just getting  more weird about my personal space.  I very rarely invite anyone over. Friends and family have always known to call first, to give me at least an hour advance notice.  I have to mentally prepare for guests and sometimes, I have to put my toys away.  My nest is my nest, my personal private space, not a place to hang out.   I don’t want people knocking on my door.  When I feel like socializing, I go out.   It works for me… but I’m afraid it may offend people who are more socially inclined.

 

Sneak Peek of last night’s “first new post” on BeesATC (otherwise this post is just words):

a335

Thanks for reading!  Hopefully, I will catch up on my reading this weekend.

Ye Done

I think I am done with therapy.  The big debate question now is:  should I go to my next appointment and tell this psychologist that I’m not coming back OR simply call to cancel the appointment?

The real question is:  do I care what this intellectual type, with whom I have had serious communication problems, writes on my permanent electronic file? 

If I call to cancel, he will assume that I quit my recovery, that I am too defiant to accept help, there’s no hope for me, and all sorts of nonsense. Good psychologist, bad client.  Fact being as they are, therapy right now is a waste of time and money. 

I signed up for five sessions of cognitive behavior therapy last fall, first appointment on Halloween.  He told me on day one to look it up so I would know what to expect.  I think HE needs to look it up, as this is “talk therapy” without any clear purpose or direction. 

Okay, so my last visit was on the same day that my daughter opened a keg of worms.  I walked in baffled and confused, so I wasted my visit talking about it.  Walked out just as baffled and confused.  Then I spent a couple weeks mulling it over in my head and on virtual paper, writing endlessly only to delete. 

There was a lot of other stuff going on, July was a busy month.  I had art on display in three places, events to attend, things that had to get done, a shoulder that bailed out for a couple weeks requiring doc visits and X-rays to see if an injury had caused losing ye 70% use of that arm (it is fine now, so it was either an unknown muscle sprain or wacko nerve games, who knows? Ten days of pain and loss of use, wha la all better?  I keep telling these docs that there has got to be something else going on, the jab points and odd things that come and go.  Oh, it could be arthritis?  It is above the bad discs in my spine, which gets blamed for everything south.)  Anyway… July was a busy month for me.  By other people’s standards, maybe not… but my life goes in slo-mo because of the spinal crap.  July ended with going out of town for a wedding, doing the old auntie thing by baking a zillion cookies, then coming home to leftover cookie ingredients and nearby convienience store, a momentary lapse on the “not an option” as that is the problem, so when I went back to the doc for follow-up on the arm thing, my weight was up.  Down 75 on the day I went to the shrink, up 9 at docs on Monday, and today down 11 by my scales.  So, yeah, I screwed up but its okay.  Life goes on.

The only way to kick this binge eating disorder is to  convince myself, and maintain that conviction, that bingeing is simply NOT an option.  But it is… it always is, and that is the problem.  Like any drug or addiction, it is there.  It is my choice to make it an option.  It is me who has to say to myself: not an option, don’t do it.

Therapy did NOT help me… yes, I talked to him about what went down with my child.  I talked to everyone else, too.  Sisters, friends, my dad… so baffled and confussed to discover that my adult child was embarrassed of me.  Yes, the wild child who loved drama so much that she had huge comedy and tragedy masks tattooed on her arm has morphed into my mother, an all prim and proper lady caring about how things look as she nears the age of 30.  She was embarrassed of me.

I’m not going to get into the details of my “behaving badly in public” as that would only serve to embarrass her more. 

What baffles me is how easily she was embarrassed over something that did NOT embarrass me at all and then how mad she was, expressed later via text and phone calls over several days, and her coldness towards me on my birthday.  Oh, she sent a “happy bday” text wee early in the morning and she did say “happy birthday” when I called her late that night asking where’s my cake, I don’t get a card or nothing?  Oh yes, she was and maybe still is, really mad at me.

Maybe I should move, go live someplace else. 

Odds are that I will, repeatedly and unintentionally,  accidentally embarrass her again just by being my own damn self.  

OH WELL…  I am her mother and parents come “as is” so she best accept me “as is” and go on.   I am NOT going to play pretend by slipping on a public persona every time I step out the door, taking precious care to guard everything I do or say or simply BE or AM in a misguided attempt to avoid embarrassing my adult child.

I ain’t got it in me to do it again. 

Again?  Oh yeah…  that’s in my keg of worms, the why I can’t do it, not even for my own child. 

I’m not ready to write about it yet, partly because I became intensely aware that not all people who read things on the internet are, in a word, SANE.  Stir in anything about religion and the nutcases go off in an uproar. 

Besides, I have rambled on long enough today. 

Shrinking into Me

Who is that person who kind of looks like me? 

As I stare at the image in the photograph, a strange thing starts to happen.  I begin to expand.  I begin to feel the dimensions of my body, bare my own weight.  It feels puffed like a overblown balloon about to burst.  Or a surgical glove.  Pop!  Air into fingers.  So much pressure swelling outward.  I don’t like it.

I study the photograph.  Where’s my sharp chin line? My skinny neck?  The dent between my collar bones?  How can this be?  That’s not what I see in the mirror. 

The swelling into myself continues.  Oompa or is it umpha?  Please Mr. Wonka, please, oh please ask your little friends to roll me to the juicer.  I can’t stand this anymore.  It feels awful.

Do I really look like that?  It looks like I haven’t lost an ounce, must less 72 pounds.  Oh sheez… people are asking me all these stupid questions about my weight loss so this is obviously smaller than it was before?  Oh gosh, what did I look like before?

That sexy lace trimmed shirt looks… matron-ish on me.  I felt like how the model looked when I put it on.  What was I thinking? 

It took several days to feel like me again.  When I feel like me, I look like me, the me only I can see.  The image is not toothpick thin, so it is not too far removed from reality. 

I don’t understand how this happens.  It is more than an optical illusion because I can feel it.  I don’t “live” inside my entire body. 

I signed up for five sessions of cognitive behavior therapy to help me stop bingeing.  The objective has been met, yet therapy has resumed and shall continue as I’ve got to learn how to deal with some things that I never really learned how to deal with before.

The questions make me feel exposed.  It is not a secret anymore.  Someday, the symptom of excess weight will be all gone, then the world will see what I see in the mirror.  I cannot imagine my inner self skrinking as my body shrinks so I am thinking the image thing will merge with reality when my actual physical dimensions reflect with how I see myself in the mirror.  I don’t know yet.  Guess we will find out.

Thanks for reading.