Animal instinct

In order for a species to survive, they must reproduce. Male birds often have beautifully colored feathers to find their mate. Gibbons mate for life. Chimpanzee’s will mate as often as they can and sometimes, it’s a bit rough. Male sea otters are very aggressive and will rape, bite, and hold the face of a female sea otter. All of it is so innate and so different for all species but people, well we are a little different. We are one species but at the same time, have the mating habits of many other species. Some consensual, some not, sometimes sensual and takes time, sometimes, rushed and rough, sometimes with the same gender, other times not, sometimes alone, or with one, or more than one. it’s all based on one’s desire. A ridiculous strong desire to create life and continue our species.

Sometimes, sex is kind of like with sea otters. And sometimes, like the female otters, it’s too hard or too frightening to fight back. Or in some cases, such as mine, too young. Too young to really understand that need, too young to make sense of their feelings, their fears. Leaving someone who is confused and hurt. Someone who is scared to trust. Someone who starts to lose sight of who truly owns the body that you are in.

Someone told me once that when someone is sexually abused, it alters their understanding of love and sex. You’re confused on who to love, who to trust, and who to touch. They say someone might become more permiscuse and sexual while another might fear it and avoids it. I think I’m been on this sexual see saw my whole life.

Now, and for most of my life I’ve been on the end of the spectrum of I don’t want it and don’t care about. Don’t get me wrong, my body itself reacts the way it should. It’s innate, it’s what my body was made to do and that is why I feel a constant struggle between mind and body. 

If asked, I would just say it doesn’t interest me too much. That I’m too anxious about  my body size. But there is so much more to this. The whole act of sex makes me feel ill, uncomfortable, self conscious, embarrassed, so many emotions that I can’t seem to name just one. It’s like a swamp of emotions that end with me questioning what’s wrong with me. For this post I’ll use the word disgusted because that can be anything we see, smell, or taste. It’s an uncomfortable feeling that you want to avoid.  

We are SURROUNDED by the ideas and acts of sex. Each time I see it or if it’s mentioned I cringe with disgust. I can’t watch sex scenes on TV without feeling disgusted and embarrassed. When people talk about it, I shut down and avoid the conversation. When I see men drooling over a woman I’m disgusted and feel ill. An older man following every young bikini clad girl on TikTok makes me wonder if I’m sitting next to a pediphile. The way we look at others, what we wear, the things we will do to attract someone else makes me feel weird and uncomfortable. If I was to check out a male younger than myself I feel dirty and ashamed. I’m not comfortable looking at a naked body. It’s everywhere from the ads on TV to the songs on the radio. The way teens dance and the songs they all love to sing are often about sex. The TV shows that most popular with teens are also about teens, who are having sex.  We base our first thoughts about someone based on how  attractive they might be. Sex sells is what people say. 

I get it, without sex we would cease to exist. Without the pleasure we feel we would cease to exist. The problem is me. 110% ME. I’m not the normal one. I’m leaving in a sea of normalcy and drowning because I can’t stop judging people who stare at twenty year old girls in bikinis. I can’t just watch a movie or enjoy a song. I question why a sex scene is important. I’m not normal and I hate it. And lately, the feelings of hating myself get stronger every day. I want to be normal but how. It’s like having a color you hate and trying to avoid that color every second of the day but you can’t. But how, how the hell do you go from hating that color, that pea soup greenish yellow color that disgusts you. Do you submerge yourself in it? Do you paint every wall you have that color? Will that really work?

All that I know is that I’m tired of living this life like this. I’m tired of trying to avoid it

Ball and chain

The theme for me this summer is, think about all the things you want to do but don’t do because of the people around you who love you. Now, I know this is a crock of shit, ridiculously irrational but, 90% of my thoughts are.

For example, my hair is long and it’s 89 degrees out. Yes, I could put it up into a cute bun or pony tail, or even better, the so called ‘messy bun’ that only looks good on girls under twenty five. Why is that anyway? Ted likes my hair long which means, I can’t cut it. What if I do, is Ted going to be irritated? No. Probably a little disappointed but mad, no. It’s not like I’m going to shave my head. I just down have the head for it, a bit too bumpy I think. But in my head, I let it fester that I CAN’T get my haircut because Ted WON’T LET ME. Ridiculous. Irrational. 

Tattoos. I have 6 and only one is hidden from view. I have one on each wrist, on my forearm, both ankles, and my hip. My hip one is technically a clover but it depends on where I am with my eating disorder. It can look like a tree at times or a scrawny wilting clover. Ted hates tattoos, especially on the face and the legs. Now, I’m not interested in a face tattoo, except maybe one on my forehead that says, DON’T FEED ME. The tattoo on my right forearm matches one of my daughters, the other forearm is waiting for me to make an appointment to have a daisy tattooed on it. This daisy will be about 4 inches long. Nothing huge, nothing that people are going to look at and think, did she just get out of prison. Nope. Like I said, Ted doesn’t like tattoos. I had them when I met them so it’s not like some big surprise. In fact from day one I told him that I was going to get a tattoo that matches my youngest. So does the fact that he doesn’t like tattoos prevent me from getting on. Yes, but it shouldn’t. Again, so irrational. He wouldn’t do a thing. He probably wouldn’t even say anything, but again, in my fucked up brain I think, he’s going to hate it and it will piss him off.

Vaping, most people don’t like it, so why would Ted. I like vaping, usually bum a drag off people but I want my own. Apparently Ted thought they would smell like cigarettes but they don’t. He finally said, what ever, if that’s what I wanted to do, go ahead and do it. Sooo, I’ve got the permission. It will be great for my appetite. Yes, I know, there is tons of research on why I shouldn’t. Many of those reasons are it might someday kill me. If you’ve read any of my blog, you know this doesn’t bother me at all. I’m on the fence about this one, a decision I need to make myself but I’m leaning towards getting one. I know one of my readers thinks it’s a bad idea, especially using it to help with my appetite, but oh well. We can talk about it again next week. 

And the most irrational, binging and purging. I say that I can’t binge and purge because I’m never alone. My therapist calles bullshit on that. If I really wanted to do it, I would find a way. I thought about it a little and I’m not totally in agreement. He will notice if all of a sudden I’m eating tons more. I would have to hide the trash somewhere. Throwing up is easy but when I’m done, it often looks like I was punched in the face, which is extremely noticeable. I could throw up before I get in the shower, but again, he’s going to notice that the gallon of icecream and half the oreos are gone. He notices, believe me. As far as when, I’m home with him all day in the summer. He doesn’t leave unless it’s the two of us. 

I did take the time the other day and told him about these things that I feel I can’t do. He reminded me it was all my choice. I asked him if there was something he doesn’t do because of me, and he said nothing. 

I’ve just been crazy lately feeling the summer is flying by, I have work I want to do, and writing I want to get done. My eating disorder is loud, but right now, more of a suggestion. Don’t get Dunkin Donuts, eat yogurt, have some cherries, ditch the gold fish…. This type of stuff. Also, throwing every insult it can at me about being fat and lazy. Ohh… how much fun it is in my little mind. All roses and unicorns. Dead ones. 

BUT there is a little tiny bit of my mind that recognizes what I’m doing. I’m looking for an out. If I do all these things than Ted might be made enough to just kick me out. Without his support, a roof over my head, and more, I would spiral into a bottomless abyss. Why would I want that? I don’t. I think I don’t. I’m just trying to make sense of it all. 

I’ll just blame it all on Ted.

Driving them away

It’s been so long since I’ve written a blog or anything else just for fun. Blogging, as much as I use it to share my feelings which sometimes can be upsetting, it’s still more of a pleasure thing. Lately it’s been all about grad classes and creating lesson plans and blah blah blah. (Creating lessons can be fun too but I’m an over thinker and an over planner.) Other things that I’ve put to the side are my free writing, learning the guitar, and getting out to walk. Lately it’s been sit on my ass, fighting with my feelings about food. 

So today I write. (My therapist thought I should too) 

The thing that is on my mind a lot lately are my girls. They’ve decided to move with their boyfriends and their father, 1300 miles away. They are on their way there now, I’m tracking them on their phones, with their permission. I send texts and get texts in return. If I don’t think too deeply about it, I let myself believe that it’s just a vacation. People keep telling me that they will be back, as if they can predict the future and I want to remind them, all kids are different. You don’t know and I’m allowed to be upset about it. Knowing that they “might come back” does nothing for my feelings right now. It doesn’t make it better.

My oldest wrote me a three page letter that had me in tears. She described her love for me, the things she remembers most, and made me cry. So in return, I sent them both letters as well. I did the same thing, wrote about the good memories, what I will miss, how much I love them, and how excited I am for them and that they have my full support. 

Two letters that were unfinished because I couldn’t tell them really how I feel. First, they are my life line. I breathe this air because they expect me to. I get up and go to work because it’s what they want me to do. I’m supposed to be okay while they are gone. What I didn’t add was how I feel responsible for them moving. How every decision I’ve made since my divorce in 2012 led up to this move.

Happy holidays!

Five days until Christmas. Five days until I kick myself in the ass and get back onto that treadmill, scale, and count the calories. Yes, it’s maybe early for a “New Year’s Resolution” but if I give myself permission to wait that long, I’m letting  my eating disorder down. It has been working over time the last few months to convince me that I need to get my fat fucking ass in gear and I’ve been unwillingly, ignoring it. Basically, as much as I want to be thirty pounds lighter, my will power is lacking. So on Christmas morning, after I text the family the traditional, Merry Christmas with a bitmoji, I’ll stand on that scale and take the plunge.

Now, the end game is to lose weight but I’ve decided to award myself along the way. I’m in need of new sweaters, which I will award myself at the -5 pound mark. I’ve started horseback riding again and would like a pair of britches but not until I hit the -10 pound mark. -15 pounds, maybe some new pants. -20 pounds… who knows, but I have to make it good.

Last year I was in Miami for Christmas, it was one of the best Christmas ever. https://libbyanded.wordpress.com/2020/12/27/residential-christmas/It wasn’t about the food because the food was controlled by someone else. If I felt overwhelmed, there were recovery coaches to lean on. I was surrounded by people I loved, people I got, and people who got me. I miss those people. I miss Miami, I know this Christmas will be different and it’s supposed to be. I also know that going back today does not mean I will have the same Christmas as last year. Different people, different experiences.

What will my Christmas look like? Well, I moved in with Ted, yes, I know, but I did. He loves me and I do love him, most of the time. I’ll call my girls to wish them a Merry Christmas. I’ll see them on the 2nd to celebrate with them. It should be fun. Each breath I take is for them. My friends and family don’t understand it. I’ll give Ted his presents and he will give me his, and that’s it. I didn’t decorate, there’s no point. I’m not a real festive person. My dad remembers it differently, he remembers my smile, I do remember too, but I remember the tears as well. I’m not sure why I have such sad memories or why I was so sad. Maybe, psychologically, it was because of the trauma that I endured as a kid. Maybe it was Christmas let down. You are excited for days, looking forward to Santa, the presents, the tree and all, and within a couple of hours, it’s all over. 

I would also like to take this moment to complain about my job. I teach seventy five 8th graders who have not had a normal school year since 5th grade. Basically, I have a bunch of kids who act like 5th graders but have the hormones of 8th graders. Tik Tok trends are happening. We’ve replaced soap dispensers, bathroom doors, and paper towel dispensers. We had one teacher recorded while getting hit with a ball to the back. And Friday, the threats came in and the police jumped on everyone but still, only 60% of the students in the school actually showed up. It’s ridiculous at the pressure we are under and we have virtually no support. Since school began, I may have seen my principal a dozen times outside of his office. Four of those times, he was on the way or way back from the bathroom. Students know that whatever they do in the classroom will have no real consequences. To contact parents is a waste of time. The students who have support at home are not the parents we need to contact. Don’t even get me going about the lack of support we get from downtown. We do not pay enough for subs like other districts. Our bus drivers are quitting to work in districts that pay more. We’ve had to cancel three bus runs all together. When teachers are out we lean on the teachers aides which we are already seven short. Students who have IEPs and 504’s are not getting the true support they should be getting.

What I do know, when stressed, I look for order. I look for something I can focus my attention on. Something to ground me. Latching on to my eating disorder is one of those ways I find most helpful.

Have a happy holiday people!

Goal for the week, DONE

My therapist’s goal for me last week was to post on my blog. Which I didn’t do. This week she again set the same goal. Apparently she thinks writing my blog can be therapeutic, and I guess, in a way, she’s right. I can just write and write about whatever the hell I want. I used to love writing my blog. Ideas used to come to me all the time, lately, my ideas or thoughts are just blahh.  Maybe it’s a sign that everything is going really well or maybe it’s not. I guess I’m a little depressed, which is not a surprise. But come on, if you look at my posts from last year at this time, compared to that, I’m doing incredible. Or I’m not doing incredible and should be where I was this time last year but I haven’t tried to take my life for them to send me there.

The suicidal ideations are still there, kinda. They are more passive, you know, please please someone run me off the road, type of thoughts. Are they dangerous thoughts, I absolutely don’t think so. 

I guess the big thing going on with me now is that Ted’s dog passed and now I have no real excuse not to move in with him. Do I love him, I do. Do I enjoy being around him, I do. Does he drive me insane sometimes with his narcissistic behaviors, oh yes. In fact, sometimes, my opinion goes unheard because if I disagree while he’s venting, it must be because I just want to make him mad. Actually, it’s the opposite. It’s my way of trying to smooth things over so he’s not so mad. It’s that whole devil advocates thing. He’ll complain about someone and all I point out is maybe why a person did or didn’t do something. This might get old after a while.

Not having a place to run to when I’m pissed off will also be challenging. And let’s point out the obvious, it’s hard to have a binge/purge ED when you are living with someone. I can be sneaky, but not that sneaky.

You know how in the movies they show the clip of a bathroom with the sound of someone wretching from behind a stall door. Then they come out, their eyes are slightly watery but they just dab their mouth and move on. That is not me. My face gets red and puffy and might stay like that for an hour. If I walked out of the bathroom looking like that, people would ask questions. 

So… I’m slowly moving my shit. What I’m looking forward to most is being able to spend more time with my cat. Also, this whole going back and forth is getting old too. 

Unfortunately, well maybe unfortunately isn’t the word to use, but because I’m overwhelmed, hesitant, and anxious, to make myself feel better, I remind myself that I have 9 different medications at my disposal. All the worries will go away.

So there’s my blog post for this week. Is it insightful, I don’t think so. Ahhh well

Hey! Where’s Libby?

So, as you know, I do have a therapist. A wonderful one, may I add. She puts up with my shit. I’m stubborn and annoying. I’m in denial and try very hard to hide my horrible ways but she reads me like an open book. Well anyway, she convinced me to join a group with a few other women who also have an unhealthy relationship with food. FINE I’ll call it what it is, an eating disorder! Are you happy now!

Anyways, as a group we are all reading the book, The Body is Not an Apology: The Power of Radical Self Love by Sonya Renee Taylor.  Yes, in the past I’ve complained about these types of books and refused to read them but hey, I’m trying. 

The book, well it’s not that bad. It points out the things that I refuse to see. The beliefs that I refuse to believe. As well as, it raises the question, who the hell am I and why do I do the things I do?

The most recent thing I read that made me go.. Hmmfff.. Was an inquiry question about what I have denied others because of my “eating disorder”. I’m all about what I’ve missed out in my life because of my food issues. I know what I give up but until the other day, I really just looked at the way these things impacted me. The question asked is directed at others. How has it really impacted my family and friends?

Obviously, they worry about me. That is a given. Yes, believe it or not, I do have a few people who love me. What I forget is, I’m not the only one missing out here. Let’s see….

So you can see. My choices of isolation really do impact others in my life. I guess I was too selfish to see it. Will that make me become this socialite that I know I can be. Haha… nope. But it will make me think about things a little different.

Denial Island

I live on an island, you may have heard of it. The Island of Denial. Some of you have stopped by to visit. Maybe a day trip or two. Some of you have a condo that you might visit more often or a seasonal cottage in the woods. But I, well, I live smackdown in the  middle of the island in a penthouse apartment. I am the mayor of Denial Island!

Right now, I’m in denial that I have a real eating disorder. Notice I put the word “real” in there. DENIAL. I’m eating less calories but I wouldn’t consider it actually restricting. I’m walking a few miles a day but it’s all because I LOVE walking. It’s okay that I skip a meal here or there. It’s really no big deal. And binging and purging once or twice a week really isn’t all that bad! 

Oh man…. I can hear my therapist now… DENIAL!

What has happened, I’ve allowed myself to get very comfortable on this island. Sometimes, so comfortable I’m in such denial that I’m sometimes forgetting my own common sense.  

Example. I’ve been trying to lose weight. Walking more, eating less. You know… being healthy and all. ***INPUT Side eye from therapist here.**

Anyway, the scale hasn’t made much movement. Oh yea, did I mention that my scale is very much needed. Without it I would be so lonely. 

I go out to eat at least 3 times a week, at the same bar, eating the same boiled chicken and broccoli. Along with that meal, I’ve been drinking a few drinks. At first, it was just one or two of those 100 calorie flavored club soda/vodka drinks. 100 calories here, 100 there. No big deal. 

But soon, I stepped out of my penthouse and sat my ass on denial beach and started drinking margaritas, fruity vodka drinks, long island ice teas…. Yummy yummy..

Yesterday, sitting at the bar with a friend, drinking just water, frustrated that the scale wasn’t moving, I decided to look up the calories of my favorite drinks. WOW! It’s common sense, we all know there are calories in alcohol. A lot of calories but I let myself bathe in the waters of denial and forgot about it. Soo.. let’s just say, I’ll allow myself to have one or two Truly’s but the other stuff, I just can’t do it!!

Let me give you another example of how rooted I am to this magic denial land. Today, I was exhausted and really didn’t want to go for a walk. But  you know, I had to because I love walking so much (LIAR). Anyway, I was talking to a friend as I’m huffing and puffing and complaining how tired I was when somewhere above, I heard my therapist’s voice. 

“You can’t walk if you don’t fuel your body.” 

So here I was, complaining of being tired. Not coming up with one reason why I should be so tired. In total denial of what was really going on. 

Oh don’t worry. Living on Denial Island impacts more than just my ED. I think I’ll be able to teach school, take grad classes, and coach soccer no problem. 

The other day when I had to deal with my daughter and her boyfriend, I would rather believe that his picture on Tinder was a mistake. My ex wants to hang the boy. But guess what? On  Denial Island, that all gets brushed under the rug.

And Ted, well you all know, he’s the constable on the island. 

Wait, before I convince you that Denial Island is a bad place, it has its good qualities too. For years I hung out on that island, denying the abuse I was enduring. I walked the trails in the woods, forgetting the marriage that was disintegrating around me. Sometimes, denial has saved my life. Sometimes, denial has given me some peace.

So, if you found yourself on Denial Island, give me a ring. We can meet for zero calorie drinks and zero calorie burgers. Maybe, we can even go for a long enjoyable walk in the 100 degree heat and love every bit of it. 

My number is (464)-633-6425 or I’M IN DENIAL

All in the family

If you’ve been reading past posts, you know that I am the victim of a victim of sexual abuse by a priest. Basically, a priest abused my older brother who in return, abused me. How I’ve dealt with it over the years, for the most part, hasn’t been good and explains my mental health issues.  

It was a long time ago and I was about six and he was about thirteen. He was young, I get it. He was a victim too. I get it. 

You might be thinking, it was a long time ago, he was young, he wasn’t to blame, well let me put this in perspective, he was thirteen. I work with thirteen year olds all the time. They know better. He was to blame. But again, long ass time ago. Oh and remember, I wasn’t his only victim. 

Anyway, I’ve really tried to deal with my past. I confronted him thirty years ago. He apologized and reminded me that he was young and I forgave him. He was my brother. We had some great memories too.  

Buttt…… I can’t figure out if he’s a true pedophile, just a pervert with a sick sense of humor, or just fucking stupid. 

Yesterday I had a high school graduation party for my youngest. First, can I acknowledge that in the last year, she was 100% remote. Had to process my suicide attempt. Had to say goodbye to me so I could go to Florida for treatment, then cry as she watched us force her sister into the hospital for psychiatric care. All this while working as a CNA with a bad back. And still graduated TOP TEN!

Anyway… back on the farm…

I’m one of those moms who thought it would be cute to put a picture of my daughter, when she was around four years old, on the cake. It was a silly picture, one of my favorites. Well, she was looking at the cake with her sister, her boyfriend, and my dumbass brother. Her sister made a comment stating that she USED to be a cute kid. Hhahahah… and what does my brother say, “Yea, when she was a baby and naked.”

I probably should let you know that my brother isn’t an idiot. He’s got a great job and has his masters in business. 

And my girls, well, three years ago when I had ended up in the hospital, I had sat down with them and explained to them why I struggled so much. They were fully aware of what their uncle had done. At 13 and 16, I was worried about how they would act around him, but they just stayed clear and didn’t say anything to anyone. So this time, they smiled at him awkwardly and walked away in disgust. 

I did talk to them after and reminded them that I had NEVER left them in the care of my brother.

Anyway, what he said was inappropriate to say the least. Right? Or was he just trying to be funny and I’m overreacting because of our past. 

Well let me throw another one your way. Two years ago, my brother, a die hard Mets fan posted on his facebook, “Rooting for the Yankees is a guilty pleasure like sleeping with your sister.”

You should have read the comments. Let’s just say not one person found this amusing. A few comments were from friends who were once altar boys too. My sister saw this before I did and demanded he take it down. But it was up there for a while. He thought about it, wrote it down, and left it there…… That’s not an oops!

Do you still think, maybe, just maybe, he just doesn’t get it? Or maybe he’s really got a warped sense of humor? 

Let me bring you back about 22 years. I was engaged. Most of my family was in town. We went to a club to have a few drinks. My family is really really really good at consuming an extreme amount of alcohol. So there was my brother sitting with my brother in law, drinking some fruity drinks. Both, intoxicated. I was tired of dancing so I plopped down on a chair next to my brother in law. That’s when my brother decided it’s time to be honest and said…”I’ve done some terrible things to my sisters when they were little…” I know right, he sounded remorseful.  

My brother in law got up from the table leaving us alone. My brother looked at me and stated, “If you weren’t my sister I would bring you home and fuck you.”

Yes people, this was his drunk statement to me! So, you be the judge…

A guy with horrible sick sense of humor, a pervert, or a straight up pedophile???? 

(Wait, I’m pretty sure that my last post was about judgement but judge the fuck out of him, he deserves it!)

I Need a Redo

I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for years and years. Struggle for me was never being really okay with my weight. Hating my body. Constantly thinking of food as either good for you or bad for you. I worried about calories, carbs, and fats. Three years ago, my eating disorder got its fangs into my depression and threw me into a life of restricting, binging, and purging with no care about the damage it did. I was 5’2” and went into treatment at 103 lbs. Sorry if numbers are triggering but if you know my writing, it’s what I do.

At that time, they said my ideal weight was between 125 and 135. I maintained that weight for a while, I’m not sure when it went wrong, but eventually I gained weight. Last year, Covid hit, and loneliness and depression came back along with my eating disorder. I was 143lbs. When my eating disorder came back. The depression worsened. When I tried to kill myself and went away to a residential treatment facility I was 129 lbs. Reflecting now on that weight, I actually liked my weight. I wasn’t in love with my body but I didn’t feel the need to hide it either. I was fine wearing a bathing suit and comfortable in shorts. I didn’t need weight restoration but they packed the pounds back on me. They wanted my body to decide it’s size. My body is a toddler, you can’t trust it to make the right decision. 

So now, I’m back up to 145 lbs. And some would consider me in total relapse. My behaviors have all returned and I’m out walking every day. I want that 129 lb. body back. I want to get that body back and work on keeping it that way. The only reason I even went into treatment last time was because of the botched suicide attempt. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have bothered to go. I wasn’t sick. My labs weren’t perfect but they weren’t horrible either. But, they wouldn’t allow me back to work until a doctor said it was okay, and none of my doctors or therapists were willing to sign me off as someone who’s got her shit together. 

Now, here I am again, trying hard to latch onto my eating disorder. I don’t have the patience and will power to do this the right way. I’m someone who likes results and if I can get there sooner by using behaviors that I’ve grown to trust, then that is what I’m going to do. 

I’m not relapsing, I’m just looking for a redo

I need a nanny 😭

Being a parent is both rewarding and challenging. You don’t have to be a parent to know this. You witness it anytime you go out. You see the polite kids in the stores, helping their parents and siblings and you think, how cute. The toddlers give you a big smile while man handling a lollipop. Their hands and face are covered in sticky candy. You think, how adorable. Little sweet angels. But, when you go out to your car you see the mother struggling to get that sticky hand child’s body to bend enough to buckle them into their carseat. The child is screaming as if being murdered, hitting the mom in the head with the lollipop, each time more hair gets entwined. In a ten minute period the child had gone from an angel to a monster. You think, thank god that’s not my kid. You might even come up with a list of, “if that was my kid….” If you are one of those people, screw you. I hate it when people say that. What if that mother was exhausted from working a double shift, her parents both died in a car accident the night before, the child was sick, and…. You get the picture, just don’t judge. Like a friend of mine stated, “Kids are like Sour Patch candies, sweet one second, sour the next.”

Kids control your life. Parents will say, no, but we know that’s not true. Especially that first child. Your plans revolve around this little creature. This creature needs to eat, shit, and nap. The shitting you can’t control or schedule but you do try to schedule meals and naps. Usually you get into a routine. Usually this routine is set by the child unless he/she attends day care, then they set this routine for you. Sounds simple? But, no two days are ever alike and you are raising a Sour Patch Kid.

My ED is just one of these critters. No, I can’t physically keep it in line but every waking hour, what I do for the day has to be thought out and planned. Starting with meals. If you are going to take your toddler out for the day,  you need to plan what they are going to eat for the day. Do you pack it ahead of time? Do you swing through the drive thru and get them a Happy Meal? Do you just wing it? With an ED, winging is not an option. You have to plan. I think first, what type of day am I planning for. Did I indulge too much yesterday and need to be careful today? Is tomorrow a day that might be a future problem and might impact my plan for today? Where will I be all day? Will there be times throughout the day that I can eat? Do I pack something? My eating disorder needs these questions answered. If plans are changed I get super cranky. If we plan on eating at five and five thirty comes around and we still aren’t eating it’s a problem. Inside I’m screaming at everyone around me wondering what the fuck is going on. What I eat throughout the day also has to be considered. Too much sugar is not allowed. I watch the carbs as well. Fruit and vegetables are a must. 

Taking my Ed shopping is also a hell of an experience. It’s sour the whole way. Like I did with my own girls, I try my best to avoid the cookie aisle. I race through the bakery chanting, ‘don’t look, don’t look’.  I walk fast past all the sugar cereal. When I linger too long near the crackers and chips I get nervous. Sometimes I’m throwing a mini tantrum in my head as I debate what cookies to buy and if I’m allowed them at all. I might really want Oreo’s but they are often a binge/purge food so instead, I look for a cookie that I like, but not so much that I can’t stop eating them. A good one for this are Fig Newtons. At the checkout line I face away from the candy and try hard to distract myself. Instead, if I had a good day, I’ll reward  myself with a pack of gum. Sugarless of course. 

At home, I make sure not to have too many sweet or salty snacks. I only allow one of each. I can’t open a salty snack before I consume the last. Too many options are not a good thing and can be overwhelming. I purposely buy individually wrapped packages so I’ll be less likely to binge. Usually, this works out okay. Of course, if I do find myself opening multiple packages I have to throw it all away. My Ed is on my case about listening to my own hunger cues but at the same time, forgetting I really don’t have any. 

Taking my Ed to a restaurant is a pain in the ass. Variety is not something that makes my Ed happy. I only have two real places that I am comfortable eating at. If we go somewhere new I need to look at the menu on the website to prepare myself. With other people at the table I’m always comparing my meals to theirs. Why can’t I have french fries? Why do they get to eat a bun on their sandwiches? It makes me irritable. I play with my food, dragging it around the plate. I cut it up into tiny little pieces. If I could order off the childrens menu I would but most places frown upon that. Meals are often over portioned and I fight with my Ed to allow me to eat at least ½. When done, I ask the waitress to take it away before I start nibbling again. If we sit too long without ordering I get antsy. I go there to eat and the minute I sit down I’m thinking about it. Oh and if they change my order or they are out of something I get super pissed off inside. I sometimes even say ‘forget it’, and don’t eat anything. People around me are like helicopter parents, watching what I eat and making sure I eat enough. 

Do I have to explain to you what happens when I go to a barbeque or a family event? The word No is what I tell myself constantly. No, you can’t have another cookie. No, you can’t have more chips. No, you can’t have the biggest piece of cake. Stay away from that food table! Stop feeding the dog! Don’t waste food! You’ve had enough! 

My Ed has many different personalities. Sometimes it’s my best friend who gives me support and sometimes my worst enemy who is out to hurt me. Sometimes we are happily married and committed to each other, sometimes we separate because we just can’t agree. Sometimes it’s a pouty, needy, greedy, teenager who struggles between doing what’s right and what’s wrong. Sometimes it’s an adult who can make healthy decisions. It’s constantly changing and evolving depending on how close or far away I am towards recovery. The closer I get to recovery, the more evil my Ed becomes. What was once rational thought will turn irrational. I hate everyone around me. I hate food. I hate exercising. I’m just a ball of hate and don’t want to do anything. 

Today, my Ed flips flops between being the stubborn toddler and the over anxious parent. Right now, it’s 9:30 in the morning. My Ed had a big breakfast and is super cranky because snacks before and after lunch are banned. The teachers room has a box of cookies that I can’t allow myself to eat. I avoid the room all together, walking by it quickly, telling myself ‘no, no’, the whole time. What I eat today here at work will impact what I eat tonight at home. My schedule today is already fucked up. 

FUCK ME!!!!  A coworker just dropped two miniature Twixs and a miniature Snickers on my desk. 

Is it nap time yet? I need a nanny.