Weighty Matters

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Extended Funk Part Deux – and the “D” Word

First I want to say that you all are terrific and I am grateful for your concern.  I appreciate you checking on me. This funk and the food relapse have really taken hold and I’m having more trouble than I anticipated fighting my way through it all.

I haven’t wanted to post because it’s been difficult for me to face facts and talk about them, but my agreement with this blog, myself and everyone that reads it is that I don’t come here and post bullshit.  I’m not going to come and lie that all is great with sunshine, roses, and sparkles when all is not great.  This blog is my gut-check honesty place.    So, rather than lie, I emotionally isolated.

My relapse continues and it’s the worst it’s been since before my weight loss surgery.  I’ve gained weight, although I don’t know how much because I haven’t stepped on the scale.  I can feel it in my clothes and in the way my body feels.  More than the physical results, the emotional and mental effects are the worst.

I know I’ve said this all before and I’m like a broken record right now, but there isn’t anything original about binge eating disorder.  Relapsing sucks.  Feeling out of control messes me up in a myriad of ways.  I’m unhappy and that also has an impact in other areas of my life.    Also shared before is the chronic heel pain from which I’ve been suffering which severely limits my ability to exercise.  Not only do I not reap the physical benefits, but I’m lacking those uplifting endorphins.

At least I took positive action for that condition and saw a doctor last week.  I’d properly self-diagnosed the condition – plantar fasciitis.  I am now following the doctor’s instructions – wearing good sneakers, stretching to loosen the tight calves, taking over-the-counter anti-inflammatory meds, using a splint at night.  I am mostly following the no bare feet/no flip flops directive although that’s honestly the most challenging.  I hate wearing anything on my feet when I’m home.  However, he told me I can wear original Crocs so I truly am trying to be better about this too.  I want the condition to get better.  Constant pain is, well, a pain, and limiting the types of exercise I can do interferes with my recovery plans.

Yes, I do have recovery plans.  I can’t let all of my hard work and effort fall apart.  It is never too late to begin again, unless I’m dead, and good Lord willing, I’m not going to die anytime soon.

I need to go back on a diet.  The dreaded “D” word used to describe programs and methods of eating and making food choices to result in weight loss.  That runs counter to a lot of my accepted knowledge about having an eating disorder and being in recovery.  Heck, it runs counter to a lot of popular medically-influenced thought these days.

On the other hand, it can also mean, to me, an actual plan that embraces healthy food choices  with frood eaten in planned-for, structured, non-binging, non-compulsive ways.  That’s the kind of diet I need.

However, I also know that, as much as I hate admitting it, I need that validation of seeing pounds come off of my body, seeing the number go down on the scale.  Sure, keeping to my food plan of healthy eating and abstaining from compulsion should be enough positive reinforcement and engender the feel-good spirit and emotions that keep the abstinence rolling.  But, I’m human.  At least in the beginning, if I see that I’m losing weight again, I will feel better.  I am less likely to then engage in attacking myself with ugly thoughts, angry labels, and shame-inducing negative comments about my weak character.

So, here I go again, my friends.  Once more into the breach.  This really is a never-ending journey, an eternal process and, to be honest, a constant effing struggle.

It isn’t easy and never will be.  However, it is always and absolutely worth it.

Thanks for hanging in with me.  How are all of you doing?

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Ten Day Break? Wow.

I’m stunned that it’s been ten days since I wrote a post.  Time flies when one is incredibly busy at work, has numerous after-work commitments, and generally gets home too tired to think straight, yet alone coherently write.

Mea culpa.  My apologies!

In addition to the reasons listed above, I’ll also cop to a subconscious need to avoid admitting some things.  I believe so strongly in keeping it real on this blog that when something came up that I wasn’t ready to talk about, I stayed away.  I also hate feeling like I’m whining about the same old same old.  I haven’t been feeling good about my progress.  A lot of diseased thinking has taken hold of my brain.  So, it all added up to me not feeling good about me.  However, I didn’t want to come on and say that, partly because of that “no whining” preference and partly from denial.

My behavior feels like the internet blog equivalent of avoiding class reunions or other gatherings because I didn’t want old friends to see me looking like a cow.

Pffffffffffffffft.  (The typed equivalent of blowing a raspberry at myself.)  Honestly, that’s junk thinking on all counts.  I work on my issues here.  I process crap through writing.  So, not blogging here means I wasn’t dealing.  Not dealing means not being honest with myself.

Still and all, I might have been away for 10 days, but I certainly have been thinking about my disease and food issues.  A lot.  Some might say I’m thinking too much about them and doing too little.  I don’t disagree.  I’ve felt like I’m not in control of my food choices.  I hate it when I feel like I can’t control my eating.  I hate it even more when I know that stressful situations are triggering the eating.  It’s my coping mechanism.  Harmful as compulsive eating is to me, it’s still a tool that I use to cope when my emotions are rocketing around.

This old behavior makes me think that I haven’t learned a damn thing in almost three years since my weight loss surgery.  Then I start feeling like a failure, which is total, steaming  bull crap.

That’s the problem with stinking thinking.  We start to believe, or act as if we believe, the crappy things we say to and about ourselves.  I know perfectly well that I’m not a failure and I’ve learned a helluva lot about my disease, my issues, etc.  Like Hope and others said, even if I never lose another pound, I’ve still succeeded.  That might be is true, but it takes a while to absorb that into my psyche and truly believe.

The last few days have been better.  Less stress, less compulsive eating.  Not always eating as healthy as usual, but I’m improving.  I got physically lazy too, particularly with the time change.  The last few days I’ve pushed myself to walk even when the weather is less than conducive for the activity.

While my control might be shaky, I don’t feel helpless, or hopeless.  This is a bump in the recovery road.  The highway to health didn’t suffer a washout.  I’m not lost.  Today was better.  God willing, tomorrow will be a good, new beginning too.

 

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Not Letting Disease Win

Yesterday at work I experienced a scene with a person (not a co-worker or friend) who went from 0 to 25 on the anger scale in the space of three heartbeats. I tried to diffuse it, did my best to work with this person, but the bottom line was that I could not give him the one thing that he wanted and nothing else mattered to him. He was completely unable to see reason.

I’m a fairly tough cookie when needed. I’ve had people yell at me and attempt to bully and intimidate me and it doesn’t work. I have my coping strategies firmly in place. (This wasn’t the case 20 some years ago, but I’ve learned since then.) For whatever reason, maybe it was the lightning fast reaction of his, this situation really got to me.

It affected me all day. I could feel it in my clenched gut and the constant ache behind my eyes. Driving home with a friend, we talked about it and I mentioned that I’d love nothing more than to dive into a half of a pound of chocolate walnut fudge. My friend wisely reminded me that doing so would mean letting the guy and the situation win.

I’m trying to hold onto the concept of not letting my disease win. (I didn’t dive into a vat of fudge last night, but did indulge in some cookies, unfortunately.) I think it will do me good for the time being to think of my disease as an opponent battling me for my health and envision myself as a warrior. I like that kind of self-empowerment.

So, for today, I am waging war against my disease, against the compulsion to eat inappropriately. I will not let my disease win.

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