My Super Bowl

I don’t know why, but I like to eat things out of bowls.

 Now I don’t go nuts and eat things like sandwiches out of bowls or anything, but if it can conceivably be eaten out of a big bowl, I will go that route. Not so surprising when you consider that most of the things I eat are generally eaten out of bowls, but when it comes to things like Amy’s Lasagna or fish and potatoes…

 Yeah, they get put into my own big super bowls.

Part of it is that I’ve always had a thing about using the littlest amount of space/utensils as possible. I know that sounds nuts, and it kind of is, but it’s just part of my, ahem, charm. Another part of it is that considering I never just pick something up and eat it “normally,” I usually spill at some point in the consumption process (I long for the day when pesto and avocado don’t wind up on my clothes.)

If it’s in a bowl, there is less chance that when cutting or forking it, it will fly off the plate and end up in my lap. Let’s just call it being proactive instead of reactive, shall we?

Actually, I know that another part of it goes back to the comfort of routines. I eat my sandwiches the same way every time, I eat a big rice bowl the same way every time, cut my fruit/veggies the same way every time and I find comfort in this routine. Even though I know it wouldn’t, it’s almost as if eating in any other way would make it taste different, would take away some of the “pleasure” of the experience.

At any rate, admitting that I really don’t look forward to anything other than food or exercise was a bit embarrassing, but alas, it’s true. I often feel like I’m just killing time in between when I can eat, always watching the clock until I feel like I can eat, planning how I can workout or be active so that I will have mental permission to eat more again.

While I rationally know that these obsessions will go away with weight restoration (actually, I just hope to heck they do), I feel rather powerless against them now and have for some time. Increasing the intake also increases the anxiety, therefore causing me to keep grasping for control—enter back to where we started from with the routines and the obsessions.

I think I have worn my eraser out. 

I keep reminding myself that if I want to control things in my life so bad, I can start by controlling my own mind. That’s the only thing I should be trying to control, because if I can’t master my own thinking and how I react to the things I can’t control, I’m stuck in deep trouble—or stuck in my life the past 10 years.

So in a particularly anxious moment yesterday, I sat for 10 minutes and did nothing. Just sat. When my mind started to wander—as in every millisecond—I tried the whole, "stop, take a deep breath, imagine erasing the thoughts, refocus” thing. Let me tell you, the silence lasted for spans of about 10 seconds at time before I was thinking about this or contemplating that.

As soon as I realized this was happening (I don’t even realize half the time, it’s so routine), I tried to reel myself back in, admit that I was having racing thoughts, not analyze that they came up and temporarily dismiss them.

I wasn’t comfortable with this, even for 10 minutes.

Yes, I know these aren’t helpful thought patterns, but it’s a sacrifice to try and let them go. They are comfortable, they are familiar, they are reassuring. Replacing the obsession is a lot of work, a lot of mental effort and something I’m going to have to be consistent practicing. 

As soon as I start counting or itching to exercise, I want to hurry up and make it stop. I try and “sit” with it and because after two minutes I still feel the same way, I summarize that it didn’t work, it didn’t “fix” the anxiety or make it go away.

But I guess the question is, why do I have to make it go away? Why can’t I just feel it, acknowledge it and throw it all into a “super bowl” of scraps to be discarded out behind the fence?

Much easier said than done, especially considering I’m at home and not at work, but it’s a step. Tomorrow it’s back to reality, but I can try and control those anxious thoughts about “sitting” that pop up every 3.2 seconds or so. Really, what choice do I have?  With no control over what others will do tomorrow, it’s a waste of energy to worry about it.

I would rather spend that energy doing something else—specifically, anything else.

What would be in your perfect Super Bowl? Do you have certain foods that you always eat the same way?

or

What thoughts would be the first to go in your scrap heap super bowl?

Everyone deserves a Peter

I rented Paper Heart last night, and I highly recommend it, if only because it spurred me to write this rambling post. But being as it’s almost Valentine’s Day, I thought I would switch things up a bit.

So needless to say, I’m not a very emotional person, pretty cynical on the whole idea of romance, dating and trust. While I won’t delve into the disastrous examples of relationships that adults have presented to me my whole life, or even my own minimal but painful history, I would like to give you a piece—a piece that keeps me believing in something that I once regarded as elusive as a unicorn.

As is obvious from my posts, I have a hard time identifying exactly what I’m feeling. Even if I’m not sure what the feeling is, I usually doubt it, overanalyze it or question why it’s happening. In fact, there is probably only one thing that I have felt so strongly about that I have never doubted it.

I loved Pete.

The only way I know that it was love is that I never, ever doubted it for a second and have never felt that way again. So what happened? Why no happily ever after? Our timing was off, horribly off, and as with perfect eggs or a really great joke—timing is everything.

There are many times it makes me sad, resentful, bitter, insert adjective here, but you know what overrides that completely? The fact that I know I can feel that way, the fact that I know I can feel — in general.

So the first time I saw Pete, I went with a boyfriend to work with him—he tutored at the community college—and Pete came in on his bike, sunglasses on his head, eating a Dannon light yogurt. I saw him, and “I knew.” What I knew, I had no idea, but I “knew”  that everything I thought I “knew” was wrong. Maybe “wrong” is in fact the wrong word, but I just knew this was something different.

From that moment on, I was never the same.

While that sounds overdramatic and cheesy and like everything I make fun of and roll my eyes at, it’s true.

Yes, he was completely hot physically, but it was everything else that drew me in the second I looked in his eyes (blue with a small spot of brown in the left—perfect in his imperfections.)

He was into exercise, went to culinary school and loved food, had similar family circumstances and shared my thoughts and views on pretty much everything—but not so much that he didn’t challenge me on a regular basis. When I took myself too seriously, he lightened me up.

It was like he was the cooler male version of me. I couldn’t believe that someone else could feel that way about me, but he did, and I let him—and I never doubted it for a minute.

From the first time that I met him to the last time that I saw him—a couple years ago–he could look into my eyes and completely melt my soul. That pleasantly nervous fluttering heart, the unsuccessful urge to wipe that stupid smile off my face, the scent of his cologne on my clothes—clothes I would wear the rest of the day just to keep it close (looking back, I probably smelled like a dude for a couple semesters in college, but whatever.)

He knew everything about me—saw me at my worst—and didn’t care. Yup, he had flaws, and I won’t pretend things were perfect, but  the things that annoyed me when done by everyone else seemed like nothing more than faded background noise with him, leaving me completely unaffected.

I was in love.

That much I know for sure. I also know that even though our timing was off, that things would be completely different today if different decisions were made, I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything in this world.

An e-mail from him still makes my heart skip a beat, as does hearing his name or seeing someone who slightly resembles him as I walk down the street. I find myself visiting the men’s cologne department on occasion when walking through the mall, spraying a sample of his cologne on a tester and carrying it with me—letting myself enjoy the scent and the memories again only until they both fade away.

I don’t know that I’ll ever feel that way again. I’m cynical, I’m self-doubting and I’m currently a bit lost and confused, but I know that I’m capable of happiness, capable of vulnerability and capable of love.

Everyone deserves a Peter.

How about you? It doesn’t have to be something as cheesy as a play on words for male genitalia and a love in your life in an attempt to get people to read your humble blog…what decisions have you made that you made with absolutely no doubt or regret?

or

Do you think it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all?

The Eraser

Last night I was lying in bed trying to get to sleep, which usually isn’t a problem. But for some reason, my mind was in overdrive with thoughts of food, what I had, counting, planning—you name an obsessive thought and I’m pretty sure it was hanging out up there more than usual.

I have no idea what made last night so much worse than normal, but I decided to try the whole “become conscious that I’m having these feelings” thing instead of totally getting pissed that my mind was racing (after all, it’s not like I had anything better to do at that point.)

Realizing my mind was racing like a tape on fast forward (then rewind), I tried to catch myself right in the middle of the routine. I took a few deep breaths and—totally cheesy confession time—tried to imagine a big eraser just clearing my head, erasing my thoughts.

Did it work? Not really, but I’m pretty much a “mindfullness virgin” and ended up falling asleep anyway.

And if you remember your first time, you know it’s awkward and you can’t expect miracles.

But most days are like that, with 95 percent of my thoughts fixed on food and exercise, with the leftovers a stew of the random remains.

I take a shower, but space out for minutes at a time, suddenly drawn back to reality only by my pruning hands and confusion over whether or not I’ve already shampooed my thinning hair.

Some days I drive to work on auto-pilot, as my mind shifts to auto-pilot as well—what I have to eat that day, when I can go to the gym that night, what I have to do at work, what I anticipate everyone will do, say and feel throughout the day, back to the food, back to wanting to move, move, move…anywhere but where I am.

Completely irrational, but thoughts pop up in to my head at random times about whether I turned the oven off—last night—or if I remembered to do something at work that I know has been done for days. Did I set the alarm, lock the door, clean the shelves?

I sleep like a rock most of the time, but am tired nonetheless. Mentally, physically, emotionally spent even without exerting the effort it will take to drag myself out into the world, to function as I need to.

While I plan on exploring this a bit more in-depth on a night that’s not right now, I think part of my issue is that I don’t really know what I have to look forward to—today, tomorrow, healthy, stuck. I look forward to food, exercise, tea, the next piece of gum, when I can go to bed, a TV show—until it actually comes on and I’m thinking about something else—and not the “normal” things like social stuff, relationships and the future, in general.

Like I said, another post for another night.

But there are a couple little things that are positive in that I was totally ready to bail out of a freelance writing feature that I was initially excited about (I do this with most things.) The reason? I hate the phone, and the majority of people I have to talk to don’t have a Web site or e-mail (and no, I’m not writing about the Amish or prisoners or anything.)

I hate having to call people. A lot. But I decided that it would be a good challenge and I was just being an ass, as the social anxiety was taking over and by giving in I would resolve nothing. So, I will chip away at it this month and share when I’m done.

Second, I will look for the source of this (great reporting), but I read something along these lines today and will remember it tonight if I have to perform eraser duty again. I share because it’s not applicable only for me, but for anyone who struggles with disordered thoughts or behaviors:

“You’ll discover that these problems shouldn’t really be called disorders at all (our mind and body are totally ordered in what they are trying to do)
and they certainly aren’t irrational – they develop for the most rational reason there will ever be … for our self-protection.

Every single person on the planet (indeed every animal) can develop excessive anxiety, for it lies within us all. It is a part of how the mind and body works and it only takes a certain combination of experiences to bring it out.”

I guess it’s just a matter of how we handle it when those experiences bring it out. As for me, it’s time for light’s out…enjoy your Thursday!

Feelings, schmeelings

When asked how I am feeling at any given time, I’m not sure I could give you anything more than a knee-jerk, superficial answer—fine, tired, frustrated, OK—and this isn’t because I’m being difficult or purposely evasive (this time). I just don’t know.

Even though I know that I’m feeling something, I really have little contact with what I am truly feeling. If a feeling tries to make itself known, I usually suppress it with thoughts of food or exercise or any other distraction I can concoct given the time and place (sort of a mental MacGyver, if you will.)

Even positive emotions are often suppressed, as at times I think I’m just as afraid of getting what I want or celebrating a victory as I am of the failure. In fact, it’s easier to be negative and pleasantly surprised when things go OK than to be excited for something and quickly disappointed.

With this thinking, even done subconsciously, I maintain the negative circumstances I am trying to avoid.

This is negativity at it’s finest my friends, and the reason I’m currently sick is because of negative emotion. Now I’m not blaming myself or anyone else, but instead simply acknowledging that these feelings exist, whatever they are.

It’s not my job right now to deny or eliminate these feelings, to make them go away,  and to be honest, I don’t even know what they are right now. Right now, today, I’m just acknowledging that they’re there and I will have to deal with them in time (and subsequent posts, most likely. Yippee!)

Whatever crap I feel will just become more engrained in my mind if I try and suppress it, so I have to acknowledge it, let it hang out awhile and then try and figure out why I think it’s there. Eventually I hope to be able to identify a “real” emotion and replace it with something more healthy, more positive.

Do I think this sounds like a bunch of hokey shit?

Yup, that’s one feeling I can pinpoint right now. However, I also know that the second I start to feel anxious and uncomfortable, I want to take action. I want to try and make it go away any way I can—exercise, restriction, cleaning, routines, brushing my teeth (don’t ask)—anything to take my mind of actually feeling the discomfort.

So, like the annoying Facebook friend that comments on your every. freaking. status update with something thought-provoking like, “LOL!” or “Yeah!” it hangs around. It may be able to be blocked for a bit, but it’s still lingering and is bound to resurface eventually.

A Mini-Revelation (like, really mini)

This all really kind of hit me last night when I was doing yoga, in that I wondered just why in the hell I do feel so anxious and where this pressure comes from. There really is no one forcing me to go to my job every day, telling me I have to go workout or restricting my food options to a few basic things.

Yes, there are basic things I have to do to be considered a functional human being, obviously, but I guess I automatically default to thinking I “have” to do things according to someone else’s plan. Who am I worried about disappointing? Who sets these standards that I feel I have to achieve?

Who that person is, I have no idea, but they’re really f-ing me up…oh wait, it’s me.

Anyway, I did think about it a bit and I can honestly say that I have no idea what I was feeling. Then I got bored and impatient and moved on to something else equally important, like dusting my hearth or plucking my eyebrows.

But, I did realize that I am unsatisfied living the life I lead right now. True, I can’t do what I really want to do—move to some island, live with a spiritual guide/yogi, sell organic produce/witty writing/art/baked goods to the locals and tourists before going to meditate in the sun, feed the animals in my rescue shelter and dustbust the hut before falling peacefully asleep with the windows open—but I guess just knowing that I want something else is a step.

So, to summarize, I am just going to take the first step and try to figure out what I’m feeling. Yes, I know I’m anxious and want to get the hell out of there and go workout when I’m at work, but that’s just the surface. What’s really going on?

Hmmm…feelings, schmeelings, but I’ll give it a shot.

Diagnosis Determined?

One thing I don’t like about posting journal-like blog stuff is that I always feel like I have to reply right away, argue my case or explain things  I feel I left out, which I know is not the case. However, I once again find myself feeling that way after this post, so I will explain just a bit more (for my own sanity, possibly at the cost of yours.)

An actual diagnosis wasn’t what I was going for, and to be honest, I have never put much stake in “labeling” any condition, given the fact that I have never been a clear-cut case of anything. I know I have valid struggles that shouldn’t be dismissed as insignificant or inane, but I guess it goes back to the fact that I need hard evidence.

And evidently the fact that my BMI is critically low and I can see how crappy I look is not enough evidence to quell the tremendous urge to over-exercise and restrict more than I should.

Despite this blog at times, I don’t reach out much, and I just wanted someone in “real” time to acknowledge a problem. At the root of things, I wanted her to see me and say, “What have you done to yourself? You need to get on a loaded meal plan and cut out all exercise until you’re at a reasonable weight. Only then can begin to work on the cognitive aspects of your anxiety.”

It’s not that I want to be sick, because trust me, I don’t. It’s that for once, I wanted someone to get it, to crack my shell and tell me I wasn’t wrong for feeling the way I felt.

Why I think I have to have outside validation, I have no idea, but without it  I end up talking myself out of things, telling myself just to shut up and move on, that there’s nothing wrong and I’m just using it as an excuse, etc. And once again, right now at the root of things, I am still so obsessed with the food and exercise  that I wanted permission to “get on a loaded meal plan and cut out all exercise until I’m at a reasonable weight.”

This is not me, or at least, this isn’t who I want to be.

I may not fit in any neat box of anything, but I know that I am not weak and dependent. There may have been a time in my life when I was — when I was forced to placate others instead of truly engaging, when my perceived maturity and strength were achieved at the expense of truly exploring who I was —but that’s not who I want to be today.

Maybe I truly do like just staying at home more often than not, doing yoga instead of a run and eating ridiculous amounts of veggies, oatmeal and yogurt every single day. If that’s so, then there’s nothing wrong with that and there’s nothing any therapist or doctor could say to invalidate that.

But if it’s anxiety that’s keeping me home instead of engaging, hoofing it to the gym instead of doing yoga and forcing me to restrict my food for a sense of control, then there is something wrong with that.

I think you see where I’m going with this…

Without a diagnosis, I can say that I’m not healthy. The obsessive thoughts, the mental marathon, the fixation on feeling safe and clean and controlled—this isn’t normal for anyone. I may not trust myself completely, but I do trust you—those who have been there and are looking from the outside in.

Now without shame, without doubt and without feeling like a dependent 12-year old weenie, I will say that I have to face my fears—fear of the unknown, fear of discomfort, fear of that uncontrollable itch of anxiety and fear of a future without this crutch.

I always wonder, “what’s next?” and then when that thing arrives, I’m too busy planning the next thing to even enjoy it. I have to admit that I don’t know what’s next and sit with that uncertainty. Maybe I will find a different job that leaves me more spiritually sated, maybe I will finally gain the weight I need to think more clearly, maybe I will be the next American Idol…

(OK. This picture of us dancing on stage proves that will never, ever happen.)

But I know this is not me, or at least, this isn’t who I want to be.

Thank you for kicking my ass.

I promise, no more posts today. Can’t guarantee what tomorrow will bring, so you’ll just have to sit with that.

 

 

Diagnosis: Confusion

(While I try and avoid posts that are just general rants and recaps, I feel I need to get this down just so I have a record and timeline of events for future reference.)

Unfortunately, some things aren’t as easy to figure out as airport restrooms.

I didn’t expect to be “fixed” or even left with any sense of direction after my first therapy session in over two years, but I also didn’t expect to be annoyed and even more confused and frustrated than I was when I walked in.

That’s where I am now—pretty much the same spot I was, only out $100 and even more convinced I’m inventing a new level of dysfunction somehow—so this may be a bit scattered. However, I will try and be succinct.

Once we started talking, I immediately remembered why I had stopped seeing her a couple years ago (it’s like that ex-boyfriend you forget all the bad things about, meet for a drink and catch him immediately doing “that” annoying thing that made you break up in the first place.)

I’m sure she’s very helpful to many other patients, but for me, it doesn’t work. She knows my history, and not much has changed the past two years other than a gradual slide down hill, and still:

I was greeted with, “What’s the problem? You look as cute as ever!”

• Nice compliment, but I look sicker and balder than I was two years ago.

Every time she would ask me a question, she would interrupt me the second I started to answer with another, unrelated question.

• Eventually I told her to let me finish, as I can’t get my thoughts organized under normal circumstances.

After hearing what I eat in a day, commenting “That should be enough for anyone to gain weight, so what’s the problem? Why can’t you just logically put together the fact that you hate how skinny you are and need to eat to gain weight with eating more and not working out? ” And she acted incredulous that I eat a whole avocado on a sandwich every day.

• First of all, even though it’s not about body image, never act incredulous that I eat a whole anything, as I will immediately begin to doubt the validity of this consumption. Second, if I knew the answer, I wouldn’t be there.

Asked why I was there, I told her I wasn’t even sure, that I was just stuck, confused and wanted to be accountable to someone other than myself. She then told me that she wasn’t the one to go to for accountability, as I knew what I had to do and it was just a matter of doing it myself.

• While I get her point, in that I hate being told what I “have” to do, I don’t feel like I can truly do this alone. I wasn’t asking her to be a doctor, dietitian, therapist and food/exercise police, but rather to help me figure out how to deal with this anxiety in other ways.

Once  I actually started telling her some of my thoughts, routines and behaviors, she remembered the level of my OCD and the anxiety that’s truly behind all this crap. At that point she suggested that instead of working from an ED angle, which has never worked for me in the past (as I don’t relate to body image issues, fear of food, etc.) that it be approached as treating the anxiety behind the routines, rituals, behaviors and obsessive thoughts.

Agreed. I knew that going in.

At any rate, that’s just a couple of the points and I may be being too sensitive, but I honestly started feeling like there really wasn’t a problem and I was wasting my time with “recovering” from something non-existent. I was feeling like I had to convince her that I didn’t feel “normal” and I needed help.

She did bring up a past trauma and reminded me that until I work through that, I would probably continue to feel the pull of these behaviors. However, I wonder how useful it really is to go so far back into the past when I want to try and be in the “now,” controlling things that can help me move forward…

Like I said, I wasn’t looking for someone to “fix” me in any way, shape or form, but in all honesty, I guess I was looking for someone to validate my feelings, if that makes sense.

I’m a person who needs to actually “see” things and have certain things spelled out for me—I want to see numbers, hear facts, get “permission” in a way to accept that there may (or may not) be a problem. Since my bloodwork came back “normal” and my GP didn’t seem alarmed at anything, and now the therapist didn’t seem too worried, it had me doubting the validity of my feelings.

Do I have a “real” problem, or am I just a skinny person with anxiety that needs to shut up, eat more, exercise less and move on? Am I using the guise of this disorder to justify staying stuck in “real” life, giving myself an excuse for any shortcomings or failings? Maybe this is just really who I am, and no label or diagnosis will change that…

That’s kind of where I am.

Even though I hate needy, whiny and vulnerable with a passion, I guess I wanted permission to eat more, exercise less and validate the time spent working on my anxiety/OCD issues. I wanted someone to tell me that “yes, there is a real problem and you’re not crazy.”

Instead, I feel like once again I shouldn’t listen to myself, as listening to myself is what got me to this point in the first place. The physical and mental discomfort, the obsessive thoughts and actions, the fatigue, the itching anxiety, more of the compulsions…if no one else seems concerned, should I be?

So, I don’t know if I’m going back. The indecision isn’t really motivated by financial issues, but more so by frustration. I’m still on the fence, a place I seem to have taken up residence at lately.

Once again, apologies for the stream of consciousness here, but I figured I should record how that session went. I plan on my next post being a bit more coherent and helpful, actually touching on the anxiety side of things—as that’s what drives so much of my behavior—but I had to vent a moment.

It is Sunday, so share with me one great thing you either did or ate over the weekend—with no confusion or doubt about it.

Peeing and pizza

Three posts in two days? Am I nuts? Possibly, but it’s also five degrees outside and I have officially declared myself in hibernation. So, no apologies, no regrets, just going with it…

Another realization while traveling: Automation

Traveling is hell to those with OCD, in more ways than one.

Being the hand-sanitizing freak that I am, I am thoroughly thrilled with the idea that due to automation I can pee, get soap, wash my hands and dry them on a paper towel without actually having to touch anything. However, it adds an element of pressure and stress to the event that I often find, well, stressful.

First, in the interest of full disclosure, I am a hoverer in public facilities. To those uninitiated with this practice, ones naughty parts never make contact with the germ-infested porcelain posing as a toilet, (requiring considerable quad strength depending on the length of elimination.)

A shift to the left or right and the sensor feels the urge to flush away before I’m ready, causing me to jump up in an attempt to avoid a bidet-like experience. I then have the task of “tricking” the sensor into thinking I’m a new person coming in, blocking the eye and then moving away so that it will once again flush. (It’s quite labor intensive.)

But have no fear! I did come up with a simple solution in an airport some time back that I’m willing to share. If you put a piece of toilet paper over the sensor, it will not flush until you remove said piece of toilet paper, therefore eliminating premature flushation and frustration. (I have my moments of genius…)

The soap is another story and also a practice of both timing and control. There seems to be some sort of random delay between the time one sticks the hand under the soap dispenser and the time when the soap actually arrives. It’s almost as if the dispenser is deciding your worthiness of cleanliness and the aroma of lemon-scented disinfectant. (Kind of like when someone asks you if you want a bite of something, then pulls it away right before you take a bite—just cruel.)

While I decide how long to wait for the soap, I pull my hand back and there it goes—plopping down in a blob on the countertop. I have missed the window and am once again at the mercy of the Dial dictators.

However, it does get better as you move on to the drying process. Barring any paper jams, simply placing ones hands under the sensor light (as instructed on the dispenser with both words and pictures) produces one to two disposable towels for your drying pleasure.

And if you’re lucky enough to have a trashcan located by the door, an additional paper towel can be procured to open the exit door before being tossed in said trashcan. If this is not an option, as the trashcan is located out of free throw distance, one must often resort to the “pinkie” opening—using the smallest finger possible to escape.

It is circumstances such as this that mandate the presence of hand sanitizer on one’s person at all times.

Changing Gears

And because I’m on a motivational kick of sorts, I am indulging in this whole pizza right now (I know no moderation) even though I have had all my meals and everything like normal, it’s not the weekend and I haven’t “earned” it in any way, shape or form.

I will enjoy it, wake up tomorrow and resume everything else like normal with no restriction.

I know it’s my favorite, so no apologies, no regrets, just going with it…

Restoration Realization

I had a much longer post written, but have decided to condense my stream of consciousness into “back home, back at it.” As anxious as I was for the trip—and by the way, there was definite boss skeeviness and an additional loss of respect for said skeever—at least it was a different anxious, if that makes sense.

Back home, back left to my own devices, back stuck “sitting” all day at work completely distracted and unfocused—I am back to the old anxiety that has hugged me like a thorny blanket for so long.

Welcome back.

But I did have a minor realization while in Houston, brought on by the fact that I had to travel with someone who has recently lost 50 lbs and is currently obsessed with talking about diets and exercise, constantly on her iPhone adding up points and steps taken and openly musing how she will exercise next and ignore her craving for bread.

She was understandably excited to have people see her this year, as she has worked very hard and looks much different than she did last year at this time. I’ve always had the opposite feeling.  I’m nervous if someone hasn’t seen me in a long time in that I know how different and unhealthy I look.

(This doesn’t stop me from dancing on stage or having fun when need be, but I digress…)

 So I guess I had what you might either call an “aha” or a “duh” moment when I realized that I have been at this weight (give or take 10 lbs) for more than six years. Through all my reading, my treatment, my writing, my complaining…I have never restored my health to a point of sustainable double-digit gains.

I have never been excited for people to see me—healthy and restored—as much as I ache for that day to arrive. It may be hard to believe, but I would love to be at least 20 lbs heavier and shock the hell out of everyone. Yet sitting at work, all I can think about is when I can move, when I can get to the gym or what I ate/will eat in the future.

I am the opposite of everything, apparently.

While I know numbers don’t matter, in a way they do when it comes to restoring health. For me, there has never been actual progress I could concretely track. The past few years I haven’t had those moments of anxiety when my clothes are too small or I feel I’m gaining too fast. Instead I have those moments of anxiety when my clothes are too big or I know I’m losing again.

But this is comfortable and familiar, and as much as I might hate playing it, I am used to this game. I know I can push myself to a certain point before counteracting with a play to cancel forward progress out. I know I can try a different strategy, but that I will always be ready with a safety net of sorts, ready to settle back into that comfort zone of “wiggle room”.

So the moral of the story is that even though I bitch about it, I have never really given myself a chance at health.

I’ve never written posts about how I’m uncomfortable with my weight gain, how people have noticed and made pleasant comments (that I would be sure to overanalyze, no doubt) because I’ve never restored my weight. Therefore, I have never restored my cognitive function that may be suffering as a result.

This would be Exhibit B as to how I make no sense—enter anti-restoration realization.

Anyway, Friday afternoon I do have my first appointment with my old therapist, but it may just be my last. It turns out my insurance has a $2,000 deductible, so I’m not covered like I thought I was—as in, at all. There’s no way I can afford to see her regularly, so I’m bummed. She wouldn’t let me cancel and at least wants to see me Friday, thinking maybe something can be worked out.

So, I’ll pay for Friday, at least touch base with her and go from there.

So to wrap things up today class, have you had any “aha” or “duh” moments lately? Any realization of sorts?

Along with this lame-ass realization above, I have many that I never say out loud due to the fact that it would only strengthen the stereotype of my Polish heritage and occasional blonde highlights.

Enlighten me.

My feeble attempt at pictures

I just got home last night and  I’m still catching up on, well, life. However, I didn’t want to neglect the blog completely, so I’ll share a few pictures instead of multiple ramblings at this time. (Those, dare I say, will be back soon enough.)

This is how I roll in the hotel, as in, this is only half the “supplies” I brought.

I may or may not have bought travel cups for tea and tooth brushing and consumed usually-taboo Larabar.

I will spare you most of the first event, but here’s a picture of me at the aquarium (where first dancing experience occurred).

We’re still waiting for the professional pics, but here’s a picture of our party Friday from up above. 

One of our ice sculptures.

Some of us girls pre-party.

A too-big cake to celebrate our 25th Anniversary.

I will only share a few pictures that may be of interest. The whole show itself was quite impressive, but I don’t want to bore.

Scrabble costume, because I like Scrabble. And wearing short dresses.

       She is not wearing a costume, but rather is painted to look like she is.             No top. No kidding.

I am wearing a costume.

I took this picture of a huge wall of socks for a certain someone who has quite the collection. 

And I love shoes, so the next few pics are just that…in all their glory.

 

And finally, the best meal I ate the whole trip (but really, there wasn’t a lot of competition).

  Sunday night I had planned on dining down in the “fancy” hotel restaurant, as we ate their last year for our celebration dinner. Remember I’m not a food blogger, so the pictures don’t do it justice, but let me just say…scallops, roasted asparagus and roasted cauliflower.

 This meal was expensed and I saved money eating my own crap most of the time, so no financial guilt on this indulgence!

 And as you can tell, I hated every single bite.

The Party’s Over–all three of them

I get to go home tomorrow.

I wish today was tomorrow, as I’m tired of being in a hotel, having limited food options, no routine and no formal workout regime other than walking the show floor. However, I get to go home tomorrow.

And I promise pictures once I get home and have time to go through everything! For now, just a quick recap:

• Thursday—my last post kind of summarized this day, so we’ll move on.

Friday
• I had breakfast in my room, lunch at the same great place in the mall food court nearby and then to the House of Blues around 1:30 for the final bit of set-up for our gala.

• Around 2 p.m. I was mired in intestinal hell. I don’t know if it was the broccoli, beans, etc. in the massive salad I consumed, normal IBS or just the amount of different foods, but I was not feeling well. Went back to the room, had tea and made a big bowl oatmeal with bananas before going back to the venue for the event at 5 pm.

• Event was once again a HUGE success—over 600 people, ice sculptures, open bar, a 10-sheet sheet cake and an extended performance from the band that was even better than last year.

• There was tons of dancing and us girls may have ended up dancing on stage with the band and singing backup for a couple songs (there are pictures of this I’ll post later. And yes, I was completely sober). Fun times.

• Around 10 pm I started to get hungry and played the stupid game in my head—why don’t you just wait until you get back to the room and have something then instead of eating the snacks you brought? I always think it’s better to wait—in case something else happens?—I don’t know, but this time I didn’t.

• I figured it would be a while before I got back, I honestly (physically) felt like I got hit by a truck already and I didn’t want to be anxious/cranky/in a hurry to get out of there if there was a snag in closing things down (as I usually am—in a hurry to go eat something boring.)

• So, I suppose that was a minor victory, in that I listened to my body instead of to my head and prioritized the present event over satisfying something that may or may not happen in the future.

Little things.

Saturday
• Morning came entirely too early, as I had a 7:30 am meeting after going to bed around 1:30. The day was nothing to really talk about—an overpriced omelet and fruit down in the hotel restaurant (I was craving a good one), a full day at the trade show and lunch back at the salad place once again. After a completely unnecessary walk around the block that I felt compelled to take for some reason, I returned back to my hotel room to get cleaned up for event #3. Had to get all fancy, actually wearing heels, silk and nylons.

• Back to another dilemma. Our dinner (to be quickly consumed in between duties at this gala of 300) was tentatively scheduled for 8 pm. So…I was very leery to eat something “bigger” around 4:30 pm (not hungry anyway) because I knew I would be “sitting” most of the night, etc.

• Instead of being stupid, I decided to have a big bowl of oatmeal and the rest of the Newman’s Apricots, not really caring if I wasn’t hungry later. Tried to prioritize the event and connections more than the food or meal times involved. So, I wasn’t anxious and constantly checking my watch to see if dinner was on it’s way and if we could get away to eat, as I wasn’t really hungry anyway. When it was a little late, I was OK with that. I ate a large meal again and moved on, albeit with another bad intestinal episode of cramping and gas (TMI, yes, but it has been annoying.)

Now I’m just getting done with my lunch and about to head back to the show for a bit. The weather is crappy, so no outside walk today and I’m too cheap to pay $15 for a day in the hotel gym, so that will be a challenge (plus I’ll be traveling all day tomorrow, so no exercise). However, I made a solo dinner reservation at the nice seafood place here and am looking forward to dinner, a quiet night working in my room and packing to go home.

Random thoughts

• It’s so weird that people know me when I’m walking around, mostly from my picture each month in the magazine. Hearing them tell me they enjoy the publication I put together each month—although fleeting—was satisfying.

• If I was home, I would never have tried—much less consumed the whole bag of—Newman’s dried apricots. Because I have limited veggie options, as in almost none, I have been eating more fruit than normal. I’m pretty sure I’ll end up defaulting back to my “normal” when I get home, but I’m glad I ate these and tried something new (and delicious).

• Part of me keeps telling myself this can be viewed like IP in that I really don’t have a lot of choice in my food and am forced to pretty much eat “normal” and a bit more than I am comfortable with (or just more stuff I am uncomfortable with). Plus, no workout. So, I keep telling myself this is “normal,” temporary and I will be home soon.
• Dealing with the OCD/germ thing is always a challenge when traveling as well, as along with the food discomfort I always feel so “dirty” using so many public things—hotels, restaurants, cabs, etc. However, once again, trying to rationalize that it hasn’t killed me before, and if millions of people do it every day, I will survive.

This was quite a boring recap, but I plan on more actual insights with depth —and pictures—in the next couple days. Just kind of wanted to get this out of my system before journeying back on for the day.

Looking forward to my twisted version of normalcy resuming and catching up on blogs, so I’m clicking my heels…

"There's no place like home..."