Rain Stick


FRIDAY:   I made a rain stick today.  Yeah, it was kind of like a kiddie craft time with a “mindfulness” lady before the holiday dinner prepared for the residents of this building, but it is all cool.  There is a history to rain sticks, but the purpose of these rain sticks is to soothe your mind with the sounds of rain.  It does sound like rain, when you tilt the stick one way or the other, as the little pellets inside travel over obstacles in their fall.  We each decorated our own cardboard tubes, using the stick on foam shapes that  came in the group activity kit.   It was a good, non-committal way to find out about the “mindfulness” meetings as she talked about what they do.  I might start going. 

I noticed something odd with the local lingo… no one “lives” here; they “stay” here.  It sounds so temporary, as in my mind, you “live” at home, and “stay” places on vacation.   Maybe no one really feels at home here, or maybe it is an alternate universe and we are all caught in a time warp.  Okay, so I have a wacked imagination.  I have been asked several times if I stay here now so yeah, I stay here, too.

SATURDAY:   FedEx Smartpost (shipped by FedEx to the local post office, delivered by USPS mail) online tracking thing tells me that items ordered on Wednesday to be delivered “within seven days” will arrive today.  Yikes!  I don’t know what the Saturday mail proceedure for packages is here in this building.  On weekdays, the USPS mailman will leave packages with the ladies in the office for safe keeping, who then telephone the resident to come down and pick it up.  I really like that, as I have had too many packages stolen when I lived (or stayed) in other apartment buildings.  Now I don’t know what is going to happen today because the office is closed on Saturday.  Will the mailman leave it in the office anyway?  (Not likely, the door is locked.)  Will he leave it in the mailroom?  (Its locked, too… but that is his room behind the rows of locked mail boxes.)   Will he leave a slip in my box and make me go pick up my package at the post office?  Will he leave it with the security guard or bring it to my door? Or will he leave it – hopefully not – on the floor in front of the mailboxes for anyone to steal?  Nah, I think he knows better than that, there’s bound to be a reason why packages go to the office, a history of vanishing packages or something.  So, I don’t know if I will get my package today, on Monday, or not at all. 

What did I order? 

Chocolate denim leggings and violet purple jeans.  And what else?  Oh yeah, a beaded gauze dress on clearance dirt cheap.  The purple jeans were also on clearance.  It is a light violet shade.  I had to think a minute about that color, but I have no problem wearing light blue demin so why not light purple?

I made a decision this week… it is time to stop wearing jeans that are two sizes too big, which meant that I only had one pair of jeans that actually fit me and one pair of jeans that are only one size too big.  As for sloppy tops, they’re okay for around the house, but too big to wear in public anymore.  It is time to accept the fact that I am not going back up over that line.  Those “fat clothes” will never fit me again.  The mind takes so long to catch up as I really don’t feel smaller than I felt fifty, or even eighty pounds ago.  The only time I feel skinnier is when I wear the jeans that actually fit, so maybe if I only wear jeans that fit, maybe it will be a good thing.

Well, maybe I should get dressed proper enough to go out in public and go talk to the security guard, ask him if he knows what the mailman does with packages delivered on Saturdays.


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.

RC #5

Yeah, it’s a weekend thing to step on the scale to verify that I haven’t binged since the last Reality Check and here it is Wednesday or actually Thursday.

Yes, I stepped on the scales last weekend and down two pounds, no big deal, didn’t have anything to say about it… oh, started a post but it was all happy butterflies and moon beams. Then I read the Sunday paper and did not feel like posting smiles and daisies fluff.

So, here it is Thursday in the wee hours of the morn, not even 4am, and I want to bake and eat a zillion cookies, call a taxi to find an open all night store that sells ice cream and chocolate sauce. I already ate a bag of chips.

WTF is going on with me?

I am tired but can’t sleep. That has become a frequent problem, not getting near enough sleep, some nights only 4 or 5 hours.

I have a shrink appointment next Tuesday, postponed from weeks ago till the end of June to give me a chance to pay off a stack of medical bills without adding to them. I am nervous about this and I don’t know why, dreading but looking forward to it at the same time. I debated about blowing it off, do I really need therapy?

I ordered clothes that don’t fit… knew I had dropped sizes so I measured myself and consulted the chart but should have dropped it one more. (Yes, returning loose jeans and capris and shirt that hangs too baggy, keeping a couple tops shaped well so loose is comfy.)

I shopped in stores, trying things on… almost bought a white cotton sundress until I noticed a rip in one of the fake macrame shoulder straps.


LATER (Thursday afternoon)

Stopped writing in the night when it hit me… I have clothes in some of the same sizes that I was trying on in the stores stashed up in my “skinny clothes” box. So, I dragged out the box and tried things on.

I no longer have a skinny clothes box.

Oh, I still have three pairs of vintage jeans cira 1990 and one pair of leftover jeans from popping diet pills in 1998, which was the last time I wore the vintage jeans (got strange looks then, the styles are so dated). Those jeans can stack on a shelf as it is only a matter of time, ye maybe forty pounds, before I can wear them again.

I stepped on the scales this morning, against my better judgement… never weigh yourself the day after consuming 1120 calories worth of salty chips.

WHY did I buy them in the first place?

This is where it gets messed up.

First, let me share this: I have no problem keeping chips in the house – there’s an opened bag ye over half full of tortilla chips up in the cupboard right now. They’ve been there for oh, weeks? I’ve ate out of it several times, making mini tostadas for supper or crushing a few on a salad. If I want to eat chips, I eat chips, nothing is forbidden. I’m not dieting. So its not like oooo, that’s bad, not allowed or anything. So, eating an entire bag of these chips had nothing to do with an inability to have things like that in the house.

I bought the chips because a neighbor asked for a couple bucks the night before and I didn’t have the change so I sent him up to the store. I gave specific instructions of what to buy, including this particular type of chips and where to locate them in the store as they are in their own display rack over by the coffee pot and NOT in the chip aisle. He did not listen to me. Insteading of using my money to buy me what I wanted, he bought me what he wanted to buy me. I wanted “Munchies” (snack mix of doritos, cheese curls, pretzels, and sun chips) and sliced cheddar cheese from the deli. He came back with cheddar flavored potato chips and an ice cream candy bar.

I asked what happened. He forgot about the cheese. And they just didn’t have those chips I wanted. Yes, he looked where I told him they would be… none there. Okay, maybe someone came in and bought out the entire display rack, all four shelves? I let it slide, knowing that he just did not listen to me. Men. Generalization, yes, but typical problem with sending men to stores, they rarely return with what the woman asked for. Fresh spinach? Bring back a can. Ask for beans, lucky to get peas. Oh well.

I should have tossed the chips I didn’t want, but I ate them anyway, crunching down the irritation of not being heard, my instructions ignored. Then the next day, when I was walking past the store, I stopped in to see if he flat out lied to me. The display has obviously not been restocked overnight. I bought them out of spite, bit childish… but irritations simmer. It had nothing to do with chips and everything to do with feeling like I talk to the wind, my words ignored, as if what I say or what I want does not matter, ya-ya so what… so I ended up eating two bags of chips (and that ice cream bar) in attempt to crush those emotions instead of following my original intention… to eat ye about one serving of what I wanted and stashing the rest up for another day. I didn’t even enjoy eating them.

Oh well… it could have been a LOT worse… combined chip calories over two days still way less than than how it used to be, since writing and trying on clothes in the night stopped me from turning it into a full blown binge.

Damage? Temporary, mostly an OD on salt thing, as total calories consumed does not equal enough for a five pound gain. I feel puffy and miserable.

So, it’s a be kind to myself day.

Binge eating disorder has very little to do with food and everything about repressed emotions, how to do deal with things that are “inappropriate” to express. I cannot take out a lifetime of feeling ya-ya’d what I think or feel or say does not matter on a man who screwed up on a store run.


People have told me that my blogging about it has helped them, which came as a shock as I had no idea that they even read my blog. I’ve been asked to be more specific, share what am I doing… what I eat, etc. Straight up, its not about food. Thanks for listening.