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.


I did not write about last week’s Reality Check weigh-in because I got scared and did something on my no-no list.

No, I did not gain weight. I lost just enough to land on a “new” low number, which pretty much explained why an oh too familiar, deep throbbing ache had settled into my spine.

Some numbers are just bad. I assume it is a distribution thing, how the body carries itself as a weight loss or gain can change the stress factors on the spine. All I know is I hurt and it was not the “normal” bull from doing too much. I push my limits to the edge of pain all the time, back off, pay for it with “hobble days” and do it again. That’s how I have improved bodily function, increased mobility, etc. Oh geez… I am already saying too much.

Perhaps I should explain?

SHORT VERSION: I live with disability. In the best of times, it is no big deal. The worst? Pure unadulturous torture. I will do anything to avoid “killer” spasms as I am a big ol’ chicken-wuss, a little-wittle baby when it comes to pain that rocks right off the frikkin charts. No joke. Killer spasms make me scream involuntarily.

So you see? I can deal with the normal bull, but the kind of ache that pre-curses horrid spasms scares the hell out of me.

Desperate times call for drastic action. After weighing myself for the Reality Check last weekend, I made the harsh decision to put myself on a diet even though dieting is my number one binge trigger.

So far, so good… that bad ache is starting to fade. It is no longer constant throbbing, just comes and goes, so maybe diet one more week? I just want to get as far below that bad number as possible ASAP, then I can go back to doing the intuitive eating thing.


LATER: I saved this as a draft, walked away debating between posting or deleting. I must be wacked in the head as it is so bizarre to be willing to talk about the messed up secret world of binge eating disorder but unwilling to talk about disability. I think it is the pity factor. It pisses me off when people look at me with sad eyes. I don’t have time for other people’s self pity directed at me because that is precisely what it is: people saddened because I can’t do whatever it is that they like to do, going weird on me imagining how they would feel if they couldn’t do it anymore, and most of the time it is something I would never have taken a notion of doing anyway. So what if it takes me longer to do some things, if I stand crooked, or come off looking like a frikken cartoon now and then? Life is what it is, roll with what comes, play the hand as dealt. What’s my choice here? Wallow in misery or find the humor? I prefer to laugh.

Tell you a twist on something my grandma Goldie used to say: “all you get out of this world is what you eat, drink, or smoke…” and if you are really lucky, you might just get to love someone along the way.

See, that’s it. Simplistic view of life, what really matters. Love, peace, art, laughter… I feel blessed.