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.

RC #4

Reality Check day… OMGosh… it’s down again. I am safely below that “bad” number and edging on the next. The only thing to do is keep on going. What’s a little walk through fire now and then when the end results are worth it? Someday, there won’t be any “bad” numbers of poor distribution putting too much stress on old bones.

I have to admit that I am tickled by the number on the scales, even though weight loss is just a SIDE EFFECT of recovery, not the be all do all of anything.

By today’s number, I have lost a grand total of 73 pounds.

I have a hard time claiming that as I’m embarrassed about how fat I was considering how fat I still am. And it is not like a steady drop either. I had lost fifty pounds by my 50th birthday, gained some back, up and down repeatedly, so it has only been about thirty pounds since last Fall, when I started on this path of recovery.

I’m starting to think of binge eating disorder in past terms, catch myself using WAS instead of IS, but I will not consider myself fully recovered until the symptom of excess weight is gone. By then, the unseen symptons should be gone, too. It is really a mental thing more than physical, another reason not to focus on numbers. It’s not about vanity, it’s about sanity.

Instead of rewarding myself for good behavior again (kind of redundant when living binge-free has become the norm), I decided to start wearing a necklace my sister gave me when she returned from wandering years ago. It is a little circle of Black Hills gold, no bigger than a half inch, on a “used to be too short but fits fine now” delicate chain. She got it for me because she’s really into the meaning of circles and knew I liked Black Hills gold. I think it makes a nice symbol of recovery, a trinket to remind me that I am whole, unbroken, and dwell within a circle of peace and harmony, if that makes any sense.

In other words, it’s going to be okay. Thanks for reading!

RC #3

It’s #3 as I think it is the third time to write about doing a reality check, nice to have some kind of consistancy to title posts.

Losing a couple pounds this week eased my pain levels, so I eased up on dieting. I don’t like being hungry. Dieting is too much of a binge trigger without that ache to keep me in line.

Reality checks may be stepping on the scales as numbers can reveal things I don’t want to admit even to myself, but it is also in the jeans… black jeans purchased in 2004 before hopping a jet to visit a friend for the holidays, the same jeans boxed for years because they were too small to wear now fit loose in the legs. Even new capris purchased for this summer fit too loose. That drives me nuts! I can’t stand wearing baggy pants.

Most of all, reality is the slow process of recovery from binge eating disorder. And what is recovery?

Recovery is time passing, moments gathered into days fading into weeks. Months have passed.

Recovery is knowing recovery is possible. Someday, living with B.E.D. will be a thing of the past.

Recovery is awareness that bingeing is a negative reaction, an attempt to repress “unacceptable” raw emotions, and finding other ways to cope. It is “okay” to feel things, to express emotions, but it is “not okay” to harm yourself or others. Art is a blessing as it allows me to express anything without fear.

Recovery is eating intuitively, trusting myself to feed myself without fear of going beserk.

Recovery is the ability to enjoy the flavors, aromas, and textures of food without one iota of guilt.

Recovery is shedding layers of insecurities in all aspects of my life. (That one surprises me.)

Be glad my SD card died… my treat for good behavior this week was a pedicure. The photo snapped was like wow, scary old lady feet with toenails fancy painted black with white floral stickers, clear rhinestones, and silver glitter.

Hey, it is okay to be your own outrageous self. Truth be told, no one else really cares.