Weekend Watch

My weight on Saturday morning...99 pounds.  I had officially broken into the double digits, and I felt...thin... I suppose you could say.  One of the tasks I had put on my to-do list for the day was to organize my closet in order to make room for the new clothes I had recently bought on a shopping excursion with my sister.  I barely had room in my closet to hang them and figured I could get rid of some of the clothes that no longer fit me or that I would no longer wear.  I ended up removing 95% of the pants in my closet.  It almost shocked me, standing in front of the mirror, as I tried on slacks, jeans, shorts, skirts, that had fit me TIGHT only months earlier.  Clothes that had hugged a curvy woman's frame now fell to the floor still zipped and buttoned.  Would not even hang on my frame...they simply fell to pool around my ankles.  The three pairs of jeans I managed to keep in my closet were once tight and were now loose, but I kept them as they at least stayed on without falling to the floor.  My mother happened to call my cell phone at the moment this was all occuring.  I know that she and the rest of my family (and friends and colleagues as I have already expressed) are worried sick about me.  At first, it is easy to hide an eating disorder.  You can pass it off as a "diet" to lose "a few pounds" or a "lifestyle change" to get "in shape and healthy."  And when the first few pounds of weight loss become noticeable, it is usually met with admirable looks and compliments that you have managed to stay dilligent and "my, you look great!"  However, the longer you keep at it and the more obsessed you become, with the less you eat, the more foods you restrict, and the more pounds that come off, the eyebrows that once were raised in esteem are now raised in a mysterious and quizzical look.  People begin to wonder when this "diet" of yours will stop, or how it is possible to retain a "lifestyle change" that has altered your very way of life in every aspect.  People begin to notice that, what started as a few excess pounds that could afford to be shed, are now becoming pounds that are essential and necessary for your body's vitality.  And your aversion to food screams forth from the circles the food makes as it parades itself around the ring of your plate like an animal at a circus for all the raptly engaged spectators to witness. 

Typically, any time my mother brings up my weight loss or her concern, I get incredibly defensive and my wall of denial (that even I see straight through) rears its ugly head.  I usually tell her to lay off and storm off.  However, this time something propelled me to answer her questions candidly (expect her inquiry into how many calories a day I consumed which I flat out refused to enlighten her with).  After an insightful and heartfelt conversation with my mother which explored the (surface) depths of my current struggles (the full extent is better kept to oneself) and the possible logical and psychological causes of them, it was decided I should seek some professional help.  This is of course the moment when your healthy self and your sick self enter in a lengthy and heated debate with each other.  The healthy side of you says that the fact you are questioning whether you need hlp to begin with should be indicative of the fact that you actually DO.  However, the sick side argues that everyone is in fact overreacting and being quite melodramatic.  She scoffs that any psychologist will clearly SEE you don't have a problem as you are in no way, shape, or form "too" thin.  She argues that if you really wanted to stop, were ready to, that you could easily do so.  The logical side of you fights back that every addict says that and questions when you WILL want to stop...when your heart's about to?  It is scary, embarrassing, and the first tangible admission that you yourself have acknowledged you are officially "weird."  That there is in fact something wrong with you as you had always somewhat suspected.  It is decided that tomorrow I will call and schedule an appointment with a therapist.  Now, I am making no promises to myself or anyone else that I am going to miraculously snap out of this after my first visit and suddenly come to love myself and be okay with gaining fifteen pounds.  I know that as much of a daily annoyance this has become to my life and my health (mental and physical), I am in no way ready to quit.  I KNOW this.  So what am I seeking therapy for then, you and I both ask.  If I'm not ready to get well, why take the first step in that direction?  A part of me wants to hear what the therapist thinks, whether she will diagnose me as having an eating disorder...as if her "approval" will make it any less real.  A part of me wants to unburden myself onto someone other than my boyfriend, my family, and my friends.  I am hoping therapy, at the most, will enable me to divulge my secrets to a third party and learn to keep my mouth shut around those who matter.  I am hoping therapy, in short, will help teach me how to keep my own secrets.

Saturday I did not consume anything and exercised (half-assedly I will admit as my energy was rather low).  I showered and got ready for my date that evening which I was incredibly nervous about as I had no idea the direction the night would go in.  Surprisingly, when I arrived at my boyfriend's place, he gave me a huge hug and a kiss and told me he missed me, that he likes me a real lot and just gets frustrated with me as he knows I am a far better person than I give myself credit for and the abuse I subject myself to.  This eased much of my tension and a couple of hours later, we ended up at a sushi restaurant.  The Japanese hostess who led us to our table chatted with us a bit after we had been seated.  After some banter about the restaurant's recent opening, she turned to me and complimented me on how pretty she thought I was, "those eyes" she exclaimed!  She then said, "you are SO skinny.  Do you eat?"  My first thought was, "great," I am trying to make my boyfriend forget my abnormality, not be reminded of it by randon Japanese hostesses in East Bum Fuck.  I shyly laughed and said I did eat.  I conveniently avoided looking at my boyfriend's face during this exchange as I was too nervous to see what I'd find there.

I ordered a rum and diet, to which I only drank half.  I ordered miso soup to start (I was shivering in the restaurant with a tank top, sweater, and jean jacket on) and two maki rolls.  One was smoked salmon with cream cheese and cucumber, the other spicy tuna with avocado and roe.  After all this I ordered a pina colada.  Ironically, my fortune cookie (which I only ate half of) told me I needed to learn the golden rule of keeping my mouth shut.  And the Chinese word I was given to learn translated into English as "refrigerator."  I smirked.  Of course my word to learn was fridge and I wondered at the correlation between this and my fortune...was it stating I needed to learn to keep my mouth shut so as not to consume the contents of the refrigerator, or learn to keep my mouth shut and stop telling people of my infrequent trips to said location.  I settled on both.

Over dinner, my boyfriend and I discussed various topics and finally nestled into the one I knew would be broached eventually.  I told him of the worry and concern expressed to me earlier that day by my mother and earlier in the week by my colleagues and various other things, and finally told him I had decided to seek help to which he seemed pleased yet doubtful of.  Long story short, we are staying together and taking things in stride.  I think he is waiting to see how therapy and getting back to work will affect me.  Starting tomorrow, I am making it a point to not discuss my eating disorder with him any further.  I know it is difficult when I am physcially around him to hide it as my neurosis is pretty obvious to anyone with a brain in their head.  However, I am hoping that being at work throughout the week and seeing him mainly on the weekends will help alleviate some of it as he will not be around me as often to see it and will not hear more of it from me. 

After leaving the sushi restaurant, we ended up at a gas station mini mart.  My second goal I have put in place for myself moving forward after this weekend (the first being to take my fortune cookie to heart and keep my mouth shut) is to not venture into gas station mini marts anymore.  These are dangerous places for me.  I purchased a box of Milano cookies and my boyfriend bought Keebler crackers with cheese.  Of course after we made amazing love and he passed out, I snuck downstairs, bingeing on the entire bag of cookies and too many crackers and cheese.  I began to panic that right as I had finally made it to 99 pounds and broke through the invisible tape of triumph, I was sabotaging my own progress on cookies I didn't necessarily even want.  When the thought of having to punish myself by fasting or over exercising the following day kicked in, I knew this would be impossible and that I was far too tired to do this and settled on the solution that I would have to purge.  Now, keep in mind here, I do not consider myself to be bulimic.  Bulimia scares the hell out of me.  However, when in Rome, one is forced to do as the Romans.  My own problem then was that the one bathroom was upstairs where my boyfriend was currently resting.  Only other solution...brave the elements.  Thus I found myself, in the middle of hurricane Irene, crouching behind a tree outside of my boyfriend's building, yacking whole chunks of cheese, globs of cracker, and swirls of milano cookie onto the trunk of said tree.  It tasted disgusting, it smelled disgusting, my nose was backed up with puke, and my hands were covered in saliva and chunks of throw up.  After throwing up the cheese and crackers and some of the cookies, I knew that I had to get rid of the evidence.  If my boyfriend saw it, he'd know what I had done and I am supposed to be on the mend, remember?  In addition, if he didn't see it of his own volition, I knew his dog surely would.  I ran inside, grabbed a handful of paper towlels, blew my nose, washed my hands, and grabbed a bottle of water.  Running back outside again I tried to wash away the throw up coating the trunk of the tree; however, it was too thick and would not run off.  I then grabbed a stick and mushed it up with the dirt like I was making a damn mud pie.  I then threw the paper towels I had used to blow my nose and wipe off the spattered throw up on my hands and mouth into the dumpster and ran upstairs breathless and panicky.  I thought that any girl who is voluntarily and self-inducing throwing up behind a tree in the middle of a hurricane and burying it with sticks must be severely demented.  When I went upstairs to use the bathroom to wash up, my boyfriend was just waking up.  "Hi" I quickly muttered, swiftly walked into the bathroom, washed my hands, blew my nose, and looked into the mirror to note, with horror, the chunks of throw up splattered across my chest...well if that ain't a dead give away!  I cleaned myself up, urinated, stuck a stick of gum into my mouth, and wondered if he knew.  If he could smell it.   I have an inclination he did know yet wondered how and/or where.  For the rest of the night, my throat was in excrutiating pain and my glands were swollen. 

Sunday, today, I slept for most of the day.  Boyfriend ate left-over Chinese food for breakfast/lunch; I consumed nothing.  Later we went to a restaurant...ironically, the power went out shortly after we arrived and regardless of the generators, the kitchen was no longer taking food orders.  I ordered a cup of coffee at the bar while my boyfriend drank beer and chomped on bar room popcorn. He asked me what I was going to eat as I had to eat something.  We eventually ended up at his parents' house who were down the Cape and I consumed one cracker, two walnuts, ten blueberries, one baby carrot stick, a peach, and half a bowl of Ramen noodle soup.  All the while I ate very slowly and visibly was freaking out while actively trying to keep my composure.  My boyfriend kept asking me if I was alright and I kept cursing myself for being so fucking obvious.  I tried to make myself throw up the soup but couldn't (I think he thought I tried to get rid of it as I took a little too long in the bathroom "peeing" with the tap running) and rummaged around his house for a scale which I eventually found.  I threw my clothes into a heep on the floor and weighed myself.  101.6.  BULLSHIT I screamed.  It scared me how fast an anoretic can gain weight.  So used to not eating much of anything, when one does consume a normal meal, the body clings to it like a baby to its mother's teat.  I had a brief conversation with my boyfriend who was visibly becoming upset with me again.  We left off on good terms for the night and as I stated before, I am making it a point not to discuss this issue with him furthermore.  I figure my disorder will continue to be evident to him as my body increasingly gets smaller and smaller, so there really is no need to have to discuss it.  I am also going to make it a point to try and be normal.  It really is quite hard though to stay over his house and be away from my scale and "safe" foods.  It causes me quite a large amount of anxiety to be teared away from my tools and routines.  I don't think he quite understands this, and I am going to have to figure out a way to stay with him on the weekends without my weigh-ins.  I may keep the extra scale I have at my place at his place (sneak it into his cabinet) and some snacks at his place.  Thus when I start to get hungry I can eat my "safe" foods and when I start to get anxious can weigh myself in secret.  It is restaurants I now have to watch out for and mini marts I can longer accompany him to.

Tonight I weighed in after digestion and urinating at 100.9 pounds.  I am going to wake up early tomorrow, exercise, take a few diet pills which I have not consumed all week, and see what the damage is.  I have a busy day tomorrow to keep me occupied and will try to fast.  I am also going to go grocery shopping for the first time in months and buy some food that I will allott myself for the upcoming month.  My goal is to be 97 pounds by the end of this week.  This weekend is a long one for me as, due to labor day, I have Friday and Monday off from work.  In addition, my boyfriend will be gone Thursday to Tuesday as he is flying out to California to visit his brother.  Therefore, I will have tomorrow off from work to starve in peace, Tuesday through Thursday to consume around 200 calories a day to get me by, and this weekend alone without prying eyes and temptations to drop weight.  My only qualm is Saturday which happens to be my birthday.  I will see what my weight is by then and if it is deemed acceptable, I will take myself to a diner for breakfast and allow myself a birthday treat of chocolate chip pancakes and get some work done.  We shall see....