A Year of Courage - April 4, 2014

WARNING: This post may trigger sensitive readers.


As I anticipated the good to come in the new year, I was struck by an aggressive attack of Dermatitis, more commonly known as Eczema. It quickly covered about 70% of my body including my scalp. My hair started falling. Everyday more hair lost. I didn't lose it all. What I did lose was significant. I was beyond mortified and heartbroken. Everyday I'd stare into the mirror wondering if I'd lose more hair. Sometimes hair would fall to floor where I stood. I started thinking God or maybe some evil force was punishing me. For what? It didn't matter. I must have done something awfully wrong for this to happen out of the blue...right? That's what it felt like. Could I have been punished because I was beginning to see myself as pretty?


As a young child, even into adulthood I was not allowed to feel pretty or think I was pretty. People would often complement me. Dad discouraged the compliments. He'd say it would only go to my head, but he didn't mind if men thought I was pretty, as long as they were willing to pay.


I've had patches of eczema most of my life. The rash developed when I was a toddler. My mom used laundry detergent in my bath water. Tide laundry detergent to be exact. Don't ask... I don't know why regular soap was not sufficient for bathing, according to her. Perhaps she liked the rich, thick lather laundry detergent produced. There couldn't have been any thought to the almost certain harm laundry detergent could do to young skin...could there? She did apologize and gave me bar soap for bathing instead. My skin has never been the same.


I've always struggled to see something good about myself. Never pinpointing beauty per say, but I did have some interesting attributes. I had a nice smile, pretty eyes (if enough mascara was applied) and numerous cool hair styles. That's about it. Oh, and I was told that I had a nice walk. I let my nails grow and wore my clothes tight in an attempt to display curves as my college counterparts did. Weight issues were still prominent, but I carried my weigh well or so I was told. Customers at our store or even family members would say, "You're still heavy, but you carry it well," or "You’re such a pretty girl. If only you'd lose a little weight.  No matter how 'well' I carried my weight it was still not good enough for my parents. I was just under the bar of having an acceptable exterior. As a matter of fact, according to my parents, being heavy or fat was cause for my having to work harder to make friends. Hmm, and to think all this time I thought it was my general misunderstanding of social behaviors and oddball quirkiness. Oh well, nothing about me would ever be good enough for them.


Last year I felt pretty. I'd grown my hair for 8 years, it's getting pretty long and healthier than ever. My skin was clearing nicely and my face glowed. I'd already started losing weight a few years ago and felt that I was on a clear path for success. There are a couple health concerns, but nothing unmanageable. Still not willing to date, but starting to appreciate the occasional stare accompanied by a smile. It was at this point everything changed.


My hair is growing back. I've made peace with the loss. I fear seeing myself as pretty again. It's gonna take time to get over this last episode before I can do that. My skin is starting to clear a little, even though I’m having trouble keeping up my regimen. Don't worry, I'm working on it.


I am thankful that I've gained the courage to look in a mirror and deal with what I see. I have gained the courage to face some of my fears. I have gained the courage to have more than hope for my future, but to actively do something about it. I have gained the courage to be completely honest with myself even when it hurts. And I’ve gained the courage to tell my story no matter how it sounds.


Courage


The ability to fight one's own instinct to run or cower by focusing on a larger deed that must be done for the greater good. - Urban Dictionary


Today I had breakfast at 10:37am. I ate two packs of cheese crackers. For lunch at 2:30 I ate 2 scrambled eggs with toast and water. For dinner I made a skillet dish with ground turkey, pasta and tomato sauce. I did not have a late night snack last night nor did I have a snack this afternoon.


My eating schedule is as follows:


Breakfast between 10am-11am


Lunch between 2pm-3pm


Dinner between 6:30pm-7:30pm


Many thanks to my lovelies for calling in reminders to eat.

February 28, 2014

It's 3:24pm. I finished eating about 10 minutes ago. I continue to make progress, even if it's baby steps. Better to move forward than backwards. It's a slow climb, but I don't think it will take too much longer. So far, the optimum time to begin eating is 10am. If I am able to eat a reasonable breakfast around that time my body will naturally cue itself for lunch, a snack and dinner. Of course I still have my premeasured snack set aside for night time. If I stay on track with my eating I'll begin feeling normal hunger sensations again. Right now I don't feel anything. I have mental cues telling me I should eat. These cues generally come much later in the day, usually around 1 or 2pm. The cues are easy to overlook. I have gotten up to get something to eat and forget to eat by the time I reach the kitchen. 


It's so easy to ignore the signs and fast forward into binging regularly. Too easy. It's been over 30 years since this disorder developed in me. In a couple years it will be a 40 year struggle. I guess that's more than enough time for something to become deeply ingrained. I don't understand what causes me to lose my ability to feel normal hunger and why the mental hunger so strong. It's always lurking. Waiting. In addition to my unhealthy relationship with food, I am still sorting out my past. My past is the beginning of this hell?


I want to paint a mental picture of the experience for you. And here is my disclaimer so you not think me insane. What I am about to describe is not an actual occurrence, but a metaphorical description of what my binge experience feels like.


I am sitting in the living room (usually) and it's late night. Unable to sleep, I mindlessly watch tv. There is an awakening of sorts. It's like an additional awareness comes into play. Now there's a feeling of hunger, but it's not a physical hunger, it's more mental or at least that is where the general location of the sensation is. My mind's eye (as I can best describe) begins to travel through the apartment, making it's way to the kitchen. It examines every inch of space as it moves towards the cabinets, drawers, pantry, fridge, freezer, every corner of the kitchen. Searching. I am still sitting on the couch. Anticipation builds as the search continues. Cravings begin. Thoughts of various foods and tastes emerge. I want something comforting, sweet, sticky, savory, maybe even warm and soothing ...I want to feed. When the mind's eye lands on something desirable, I get up to prepare the food, but it doesn't stop there. As I sit down to eat the food, the mind's eye revisits the kitchen looking for the next item to eat. If my mind's eye is not satisfied with what's available in the kitchen, it seeks other food sources, fast food restaurants, grocery stores even convenient stores. Whatever the case, I must move at its will. The hunger is insatiable. The binge takes on a life of its own. At it's worse, hours of binging will occur before satisfaction. It doesn't care how bad I feel about eating so much, as a matter of fact the binge uses my emotions to fuel it's desire. The cravings leave and the binge subsides. I am left gorged. My ribs expanded and hurting, I'm having difficulty breathing. I contemplate going to bed, but wait, there's one more thing. One more item to be eaten. Something sweet. Something quick. Just a little something to top everything off. And then I'll crawl into bed and go to sleep.


There are other times when I go through the evening purchasing and hording foods for my late night binge. I often feel an sense of excitement when hording different foods. When I get home I lay all of the foods out and fantasize about the order they will be eaten. Even though I've purchased foods throughout the evening, I will still cook a meal. Usually something like hamburger helper. I am pleased and feel a great sense of accomplishment now that I am prepared for the binge. I play with my son, give him his meds and put him to bed. And then the binge begins.


I speak of binging as a separate entity because that's how it feels. It's something outside of myself propelling myself into an action that I cannot control. It is for this reason that denial is so easy. In a way, it's like having an alter ego or another existence that you're only aware of on an as needed basis. Just enough to function for the cause. Otherwise, it is as if it never happened. By the next day, I'm starving myself again. I function completely oblivious to the binge I had the night before. I spend time with my son before going to work. My food and drink intake is at it's lowest. I may eat 1 potato chip or nibble a cookie for an hour or so before work. That is, if I have a sensation of hunger. My denial was so deep that I've even caught myself saying, "how can I be so big, I eat like a bird?" It makes sense. I only acknowledged the minuscule amount of food that I'd eat during the day and nothing else. I just didn't see it.


My most difficult time with binging was during my son's first year of life. The stress was extreme and my motherly duties endless as I had to give him medicines and care around the clock. He was so sick and frail. My will to give my son everything I had to give as a mom was the sole reason for my being able to function at all. The binge, well, that was my bonus for a job well done. It was my comfort. My mommy time that didn't mind the occasional interruption. My second life, far removed from the stressors of the day. It would always be waiting for me. I gained 100 lbs. that year and didn't realize it. I blamed the dryer for shrinking my clothes.


I imagine this will be a life long struggle, like alcoholism. There is no cure, only the count of days between binges. My gut tells me that the binging will get much better as I maneuver through my mottled past and make peace with the demons that dwell there.