Tired and Bored

Tired and Bored

"Man I'm tired, I'm just tired and bored with myself." (Bruce Springsteen).

 Usually I find my writing coming from the words God sends to me through scripture or sometimes just to me through prayer and writing.  Today I find the words of the "Boss" reflecting how I have been feeling the last few days, and wonder, "if I am tired and bored with myself, I can only imagine what those living with me or around me must feel?"  I am sure they are thinking "get on with it already!  We are tired of waiting for you to let go and get over the eating disorder.  Frankly Liz you are boring us to tears."  I am in a slump, and find it easier to succumb to purging over the weekend, then fight the good fight.  Last weekend I had the strength to fight the desire to get the food out.  I also had a little heart to heart with God as I was trying to decide what I was going to do with the food.  He had my back, and as promised, gave me the strength and courage to keep the food in.

Last week I was with my son viewing his award winning artwork.  We took him out to dinner and I was filled to the brim with pride.  This was his day, and I believe that God knew I would so regret the stain purging would leave on it, so he short of sent me an audible saying "DON"T DO IT, DON'T DO IT!"  I listened and in the end knew that by taking the eating disorder and laying it as his feet, he gave me strength and peace.  As I drove home that night my pride in my self for heeding God's warning was eclipsed only by the pride I felt in my son.  It was in his pleasure and genuine surprise at this award that I not only saw what joy looks like, but felt it pricking at my heart.  I love that God is using the everyday things that I once missed to reveal the joy he intends for me, for all of us.  I find that trying to stay "in the moment for me" takes practice and training just like running a race.

I feel like I am in crisis of faith season.  One when I ask why, where is God, is He who he says he is, and if he is there, then why am I here?  Why am I still entangled in this mess?  Why do I even have to sit and debate with him as I stare into a toilet basin to vomit or not to vomit?   The next time the media throws a waif like model in your face, remember how many of us throw up to measure up.  Yet do not be deceived, it really isn't about the weight at all.  Although I say it is my body image that seems to be my final strong hold, it is really my self-image.  It is what, in my opinion, all of us who battle this illness becomes the real battle.  We find ourselves not fully knowing who we are on the inside so we keep trying to perfect the outside.  When reach the ideal image of body and beauty, but still don't find our true identity, we find ourselves identified by the eating disorder itself.  Somehow this becomes better than no identity at all.  Maybe that is why recovery is so long and arduous.  Finding yourself means losing the one thing in which you have finally found your identity and replacing it with your true identity takes faith and courage to believe you really are unique, special, and more than okay.

I know that God wants me to find my identity in him and the person that he created me to be, to see me through the eyes of an adoring father that created me to love and be loved by him.  This week I allow the eating disorder to speak louder than God's voice again.  Two weeks have passed, and I step carefully on the scale at the gym hoping that no one is around to witness this sacred moment. I hold my breath as I move the scale to 117lbs and slowly bump it down one pound at a time.  My weight is down from 116lbs, almost 117lbs, to 114lbs.  I would love to say that I am disappointed, but I am not.  I am not entirely honest with my husband or therapist as to how relived I am to have lost and not gained. I imagine this would probably not surprise my therapist; after all she is the professional. My husband, I am not sure?  I don't mean to be deceitful.  Both seem to think I am doing much better, and I am, but maybe I am not as far down the road as they think.  Maybe I am not as far down the road as I think.

This weekend I am out for dinner and instead of laying down the eating disorder at God's feet, my mind keeps going back to setting my feet on the sacred altar of the scale.  I have plenty of wiggle room.  So what if I move back towards 117lbs.  I was okay there, but not quite comfortable.  A friend, a comment from someone at the gym, feeds the eating disorder this week and I lose the battle once again, as I sit and enjoy my meal, I become aware of how much food I have taken in.  Did I really need the bread? Will this one real meal with the bread send my weight right back up?  Who the hell cares? I sill do. Before I can think about it, I panic and purge.  "Dang this stupid illness!” That is what happens time and time again when I forget Psalm 46:1 "God is my refuge and my strength, always ready to help in times of trouble" (NLT) I get sucked back into worshiping the sacred scale instead of my sacred father.  I am tired and bored with myself.  The eating disorder finds an opening and I let it right back in instead of taking it back and handing it over to God. 

I must have said fifty times in the last few days that I didn't think that I'd be dealing with this at the age of fifty.  "I am too damned old for this!  How can this middle aged woman keep fighting?"  Somehow I find the answer to this in his word.  Joshua 14:10-11 "Now as you can see the Lord has kept me alive and well as he has promised for all these forty five years since Moses made this promise - even while Israel wandered in the wilderness.  Today I am eighty-five years old.  I am as strong as I was when Moses sent me on that journey and I can still travel and fight as well as I could then." I try to remember this after I purge this weekend.  Even though I feel old, weak and helpless, maybe there is some more fight in this old dog.  If only this old dog would remember the strength of her master Jesus Christ.

Twice in three weeks I have purged, and it cuts me to the core.  I beat my self up with a vengeance.  At least this time I leave my hands off my own body.  I am overwhelmed with; you name it, guilt, shame, embarrassment, and humiliation, anger, disappointment, and regret.  I am sorry and sad I have let myself down as well as God.  He has kept me alive for a reason.  He cannot fulfill that in me if I keep chipping away at myself.  So I just come straight with him that I am helpless right now.  "I don't know how to do this!!"  "That's okay" I hear him through scripture. I will not only be your refuge and strength, I will teach you. Psalm 143:10 "Teach me to do your will for you are my God, may your gracious spirit lead me forward to firm footing." ( NLT ) I don't need to know how to do this; He will teach me if I yield to his will.  

Labor

Labor

John 16:21 “it will be like a woman suffering labor pains of labor.  When her child is born her anguish gives way to joy because she has brought a new baby into this world”

The last couple of weeks have been difficult as I admit to myself, my therapist, husband, and pastor that I spend so much mental, as well as physical energy on the eating disorder.   There is part of me that feels so defeated, and child like as I recognize the parts of the eating disorder that hang onto me as I am trying to let it go.  I hate it, I really do.  Even with words it is hard to describe how small and child like hanging onto being small makes me feel.  And then there is that look of pity that is thrown my way.  Pity is for the pitiful.  I am not pitiful.  The eating disorder, it is pitiful.  I am brave to wrestle with a beast that has the highest mortality rate of any other mental illness.  I am brave as I let go one finger at a time.  Releasing each symptom one at a time, and replacing it with more of me, more of who the Lord intends me to be.

It is hard to fix something you don’t know is broken, or remove something when you don’t see it taking up your space.  That is why this painful realization holds hope for me.  I have at least acknowledged uninvited distortion of what I see in the mirror, and the exhausting mental gymnastics.  Maybe now I can begin the process of ushering them out of my head, leaving room for my authentic self to unfold.  As I allow myself to unfold I hope to embrace the woman I see in the mirror, connect with her and know her.  The woman in the mirror still seems a little like a stranger to me because the parts of her that are emerging have remained dormant for so very long.  Some are good, some are bad, happy, sad, funny, and beautiful and some are downright ugly, but they are all a part of her, a part of me.  They are all okay.(I think?) 

I feel like a baby must feel like when they begin to walk and talk.  They are awkward clumsy and you never know what will come out if their mouths.  I am trying to become comfortable with so many things.  I am learning to be comfortable with feeling full and keeping in the food and my weight shifting here and there as my body re-sets itself.  I am also trying to be comfortable with all the parts me.  The good, the bad, the beautiful, and the ugly can all exist in this beleaguered body, and a brain that hurts from thinking.

As I think about how spent I am, I remember how tired I was when I was pregnant as it takes a lot of energy to grow another human being inside of you.  Sometimes I feel like, in essence that is what I am doing.  Growing a new person……me and laboring to give birth to the person I was intended to be.

It is not fair that at 50 years old I have to work so hard to rid myself of the burden of this eating disorder, but what other burden would I prefer?  There are so many choices.  As I am transparent in sharing my story, struggle, my burden (like people couldn’t see it), I find that no one escapes burdens in this life.  There is no “charmed” life being lived out there.  Some people like myself are just better concealing there burdens and pain behind pink lipstick a wink and a smile. I am tired of hiding behind the barrier of the eating disorder, so that is what causes me to be appropriately  honest.

All of us fear the protective wall, whatever it is made of, crumbling down around us exposing who we really are, and what goes on inside our walls.  So we are constantly getting out the bricks and mortar to repair our walls, or keep them from crumbling in the first place. It is exhausting, endless work.

So I ask myself again, “What do I want to trade my eating disorder for?”  Hey, at least it is fashionable.  It isn’t ugly like alcoholism, drug addiction, sex addiction, but just as painful, seductive and deadly.  If my eating disorder were a drug addiction, I would have overdosed a long, long time ago.  Maybe that is why the weight of this burden is as fair as any other.  God gave me the burden that I could battle, grow from, and ultimately come out on the other side looking like, and feeling like the best me I can be, and that will just have to be enough.  

Burdens

Burdens

Ecclesiastes 3:10-13  “I have seen the burden God has placed on us all.  11 Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time.  He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so. People cannot see the scope of God’s work from beginning to end.  12 So I conclude there is nothing better than to be happy and enjoy ourselves as long as we can.  13 And people should eat and drink and enjoy the fruits of their labor, for these are gifts from God.

I have grown weary and tired of bearing the burden of the eating disorder.  It steals my mental and physical energy from things that are much more productive and joyful.  It is in my prayer and study time that God speaks to me through his word and through my writing.  I somehow feel the scripture he leads me to addresses both my burden of the eating disorder as well as my desire to feel joy, true joy in my life once again.  I find it so intriguing how many times God uses food, thirst or taste to demonstrate his love. 

He also seems to have a clear message for me as I run on a cold, but beautiful sun drenched day.   I almost audibly hear “two weeks” and I see it before as though looking at a calendar.  What the heck does this mean?  I am pretty sure that God is asking something of me, but I don’t get it until I begin to write and the words flow from pen to paper.   “Your transformation isn’t by your power Liz, it is by My power that the way you think will be transformed.  I will transform the way you think about your weight and your body.  Begin by staying off the scale for two weeks.  Two weeks, that is all I am asking for now.  I do love you, but I need you to trust me.  I am not into punishing you for not trusting me, but you will receive so much more if you do.”  Ok, I get it now, but I am not sure I like it. 

A sense of panic came over me as I basically weighed my self on three different scales within a day or two.  My weight is all over the place.  This even includes my doctor’s scale with clothes on.  Which one is right?  How do I know?  Maybe I should get on all three in one day to figure out which is right?  It is in this moment that I realize how much of my time I give to the eating disorder, time that I could give to God or relationships.  As it consumes my thoughts it takes me out of the moments with my family, friends, and God.  So, two weeks I will stay off the scale, and just like the purging, weighing in isn’t an option. (For two weeks)

Recovery is such a fucking tedious process.  Yet, it is the details that I let go of one at a time that I will find freedom once again. Surrendering by faith that God’s plan may just be better than mine.  It actually feels safer loosening my clenched fist I have wrapped around the eating disorder one finger at a time than just opening my hand and handing it over. I get the sense that God is okay with this, and there is a reason it is a slow healing instead of the sudden healing I desire.   This is especially true right now when I have the uncertainty of Brad and Kelsey’s starting a life of their own unsettling my heart, as well as Mitchell's future plans and discussing how I want to celebrate my 50^th birthday with my twin, or on my own. All beautiful and positive changes, but changes for my life non the less.

A sandwich?  It is just a sandwich, but to me it must mean so much more.  Why can’t I eat or finish a whole sandwich?  I can eat a banana after part of the sandwich, or even a small treat like a square of chocolate, but not the whole damned sandwich.  My therapist suggests it is because of the parts of my life that are out of my control right now. Like the baby, my relationships[s with my siblings, turning fifty, and wondering if I should keep working or not.   I think it is possibly a remnant of fuck you to my mom forcing me to be a member of the clean plate club even if I was full or just not fond of the food before me.  Actually, other than fruits and veggies, since I have been on my own I never finish off any food.  Even if I plan (which I seldom plan it) to purge I still don’t clean my plate.  A sandwich used to be one of those things that I could eat in its entirety. Now it feels like climbing Mt, Everest.  Like I can make it almost to the summit, but settle for just looking at the peak.

I continue to try to process what this means.  Is it my fuck you, my fear of letting go and letting God?  Could it just be my new normal?  I have no clue and am tired of wasting time on it.  I decide it may mean nothing at all, and try to think about anything that doesn’t relate to my weight and food.

Even though I battle the desire to remain small every day, I am still staying a head of the eating disorder by not dropping wait.  It is the small battles won that in the end wins the war.  Letting it go by opening one finger at a time I trust that God will transform my heart and how I see my body as well as the fear of the weight just as he has done with the purging.  My desire to purge has drastically decreased.  I am grateful for this.  And just like he has changed my desire to purge over time, I trust he will do the same with the remaining symptoms.

“I am tired of being patient in affliction.”  I find myself saying this daily, but it appears to be my only choice.  I am tired of the eating disorder.  I am simply tired.  I worked a long day and wanted nothing more than to go home and rest, but felt compelled to haul my butt to the pool and get my planned 2,000 meters in.  I was going out to dinner and knew this was a better option than risking a purge.  Do I wish I could take a break to honor my physical fatigue?  Yes, I wish I could do this, but the mental gymnastics I put myself through doesn’t seem worth it.

I share all of this with my therapist and how I am tired of it sucking away so much of my time.  Somehow this appears to be a huge step.  I am not sure if the amount of time I spend on it has increased, or if I am finally recognizing how much time I have wasted on wasting away.

Many Gifts = One Body

Many Gifts = One Body

John 14:12 (NLT)  “I tell you the truth, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done and even greater works, because I am going to be with the father.”

I look back on my past three years and know that God has saved my life for a purpose.   It is in this that I put my hope and continue to eat by faith despite the fear of the weight and the constantly changing image I see in the mirror.  One minute I see that I am thin, the next is see a bloated grotesque creature, ironically, neither of which I recognize or connect with as me.  Yet God must see me, recognize me, and needs me to somehow be his hands and feet to those around me.

I find myself less frequently asking why me; why do I have to bare this burden, and more frequently asking why has God saved my life?  What are the “works” he has spared my life to do in his name?  Greater works than he has done because he has gone to be with the father, that is what he has promised.

“Greater works” I say audibly to God and myself.  “What is my gift?  What works have you equipped me to do?  When I think of greater works and spiritual gifts I often want my gift to be something huge ,one of the biggies, like prophesy, or sudden healings as I lay my hands on the sick and the wounded.  How do I expect to heal others in his name when I myself still struggle to be well?  Do I doubt when there is no sudden healing?  Yes, I do doubt, but then he brings to mind the small miracles that have occurred when laying my hands on the sick, the wounded, the dying.  I remember Elizabeth writhing in pain, begging for pain meds that she couldn’t take for another hour.  She was crying, her mom was crying, I put my hands on her calling on the Holly Spirit to blind her to the pain.  I left the room only to have her mother tell me “I don’t know what you said, but she is calm, she is quiet.”  Wow, he used me to do this, to ease her pain just as he used me to comfort my dying father, and build up a friend whose husband had left her.  Small miracles?

This week, my hands and prayers may not have performed sudden healings, but they began a process of healing the beautiful people of Belize moving them towards health and wellness.  It may have been treating an actual physical illness.  It may have been healing their hearts and souls, as some seem to come just for a touch of compassion, to feel a connection to another human being, to feel a connection to God.  I hope that I showed them this.  There is nothing more powerful than feeling that you are valuable and feeling someone not only touches your body, but your soul.

One of the greater miracles of the week was that I survived conditions that would usually repulse or scare me.  I even survived sharing my room with a tree frog, geckos, and odd looking bugs that prove to me that God must have a sense of humor in his creativity.

He allowed me to look past the grimy hair, the rotting teeth, and people that rarely bathe wearing clothes that never get washed.  Most of the time I wasn’t even aware of how bad these people smelled.  Every once in a while God would send me a quick whiff to remind me of what he wasn’t allowing me to smell.  I was struck by the universal want and need for the love and touch of other people.

 They are people that really work so hard for so very little, while we, in reality work so little for so much.  Not that we in the US don’t work hard, but we take so much for granted in our surroundings.  Our schools keep our children warm in the winter, and cool in the spring and fall.  We have doctors to go to that specialize and practice in real offices.  Yet we complain when we wait too long, or the office is too hot, too cold, or crowded. These people arrived in the early hours long before we did waiting with the patience of Job as they were moved from station to station like the cattle being herded in the farm next door. Some, never even made it inside the gate. I reminded myself of this as I complained of no hot water in my hut like room,  yet I at least had running water.

San Victor, I am one of the few that don’t mind this village.  Maybe it is because I had no preconceived notion about it.  I felt useful in the mundane, like holding a door closed so that a young boy could be thoroughly examined to make sure he wasn’t being abused.   I had the honor of praying with a little girl and rubbing her back as the doctors performed surgery in the field on a previously botched surgery.  I like that I could freely pray aloud in the spirit as there were many languages spoken in the same room, and that God could utter through his spirit the words I didn’t know to say.  My tears of compassion flowing like the words from my lips.

She was muy bonita, her long shiny black hair clinging to the sweat and tears on her face.  Terry was amazing, looking into her eyes to calm her cries of fear and pain.  I took at least four of us to hold her tiny body down and when her aunt couldn’t bare it any longer she handed me the leg she had been holding away from the “sterile field.”  I was keenly aware of the universal heartache of watching a loved one in pain or suffering.  I was ashamed that, because we treat so many, we sometimes loose track of their humanity.

The doctors were impressive and all of us felt a little like McGyver setting up a make shift OR using a table from the alter to lay her on, any flash light we could find to illuminate the field, and a roll of paper towels to support the damaged leg.

By then I had dried my own tears, realizing that I had shifted in the past year by allowing myself to feel more on this trip, no longer numb from the eating disorder.  I cried for this precious child, her pain, her fear.  I thanked God for all of our gifts.  Maybe we had pulled off “sudden healing” by using our individual gifts? In this moment there was not one gift that was greater or one that was less.  We were all working together as one body…The body of Christ.

I Am Alive

I’m Alive!

Isaiah 30:20-21 “ and if you leave Gods’ path and go astray, you will hear a voice behind you say, no this is the way; walk here.  And you will destroy all your silver idols and gold images and cast them out like filthy things you hate to touch.  “UGH” you’ll say to them “be gone”

I wake this morning to freshly fallen snow transforming the dirty pools of slushy water and barren gray trees in to pristine coat of white and light.  I am not sure if it is the snow covering yesterday’s filthy view from my window or the scripture I read today, but I sense a peace.  I am growing stronger and more confident each day that I am going to be okay.  Yes, I deliberately stepped off God’s path on to the hazard filled road of the eating disorder, but if I listen closely enough, I hear him say “ no, this is the way.” All I have to step out in faith and follow his voice, and let go of my idol, the eating disorder.  It is harder than it looks to destroy those things in our lives that, even though destructive, somehow become our friend.  The eating disorder is becoming more and more filthy and unappealing to me, but I still fear the weight I am asked to gain or at least maintain.  So, for now while it is still something I hate to touch, I still need it within arms reach.  I am not quite ready to say “BE GONE”, but I know that Jesus’ death on the cross has left me as pure as the winter wonderland I gaze upon.  That is what God sees in me despite the filthy things I reach to touch, instead of letting him reach out and touch me.

I remind myself that each day is a new day, be it covered in brilliant white, abundant sunshine, or driving rains.  Even while stomping in the mud puddles of life, I have a chance to approach my Lord with pure heart, because that is what he actually sees in me.  This morning I was struck by an unusual emotion; one I am not quite familiar with – contentment.  Could it be that I am moving towards the joy the Lord promise me?  Joy, I am not even sure what joy looks like any more, let alone feels like.

I have spent so much of the past two and a half years on a dark path of self-loathing that manifested itself, once again into anorexia, so I am happy to settle for contentment.  The contentment is my light at the end of the dark lonely path, so while the path is still dark I can now see a light to guide my way.  I am not walking this path alone.  Even when I stepped off the path he has been walking beside me on this journey making sure that I did not die along the way.

I am strongly aware of this as I stand in church to sing “and its all because of Jesus I’m alive” I am alive!  Despite my best efforts to fade away, he has saved my life for today, for eternity.   I am surprised at this point that I am not dissolving, as I sing, into a river of tears.  I feel a great sense of God’s presence, anticipation and, dare I say, joy because I know that he has spared my life for a reason yet to be fully revealed.  I will wait on him.  I will continue to eat by faith even on the difficult days.  There will still be days that I am not sure I like how my body looks or feels.  There will be times that feeling the fullness of food in my body will be uncomfortable.  There will be days that I can’t keep it in.  I know I still live in fear of the scale, but at least I live, and am grateful for this.

I feel called, as I am still and listen to The Lord to re- visit the darkest days of this journey.  I think it is to remind me that my journey is one that is slowly wandering away from despair towards hope. It feels like I am climbing a hill to get a better view, and just when I think I can see the top, I hit another obstacle or switch back, but it is in the steep curves of the switchbacks that I often get a glimpse of the view from the top. 

I begin to slowly look back at down the path I have traveled.  I open my journals and read the words, my words, of despair the sprawl across the pages, like looking into a rear view mirror God reminds me “objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.”   I understand that while I am out of the woods, I am still in the dark shadow of the eating disorder even though it seems so far away.  Is it good that I feel as disconnected from the eating disorder as I did (and sometimes still do) from myself?

Falling back into the eating disorder left me feeling so broken, shameful, as well as physically a mess.  I tried daily to remember that I was not alone in this.  Psalm 34:18 ( NIV)“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”  There were dark very dark days that I went to the Lord by pure will and faith, not always sure that he was close to me.  There were also days that questioned him, raised my fist to him, and cursed at him.  Why me God?  His answer “why not you?”  My answer “because God I want out and if you don’t take me home I will take myself out.” 

Death seemed so much more palatable, than food and the emotional and physical pain it caused me.  It also seemed like, in the long run, my family would be better off. They could grieve me and then get on with their lives.  As much as I tried to disguise my anguish, they saw it and felt it.  Kurt lived in fear of coming home to find me lifeless.  I still don’t think I was really capable of deliberately taking my own life, but if I accidently injured my self in one of my self-loathing rages, it would be fine.  There were actually moments that I hoped to hurt myself just enough to go into the safety of a stark hospital room, but I also feared giving up control.  I was fine with losing control, but giving it up, not so much.  I just wanted someone to understand that I was emotionally hemorrhaging, and the rage was my uncontrolled bleeding.

Was I afraid?  Damn straight!  I was terrified that I would seriously hurt my self.  I remember my therapist asking me if I was suicidal, or would hurt myself.  I told her no, but I honestly had no idea what I was capable of doing in my deepest moments of despair.  I don’t think I had revealed the scars left from clawing at my own body with my own hands.

Would I make the leap?  There were days that I felt as though I was stuck on the Tea Cups at Disney.  My world was quickly spinning deeper into the depression and the eating disorder.  I felt like my only two choices were to spin and spin, or jump from the cup just to stop the dizzying effects of the eating disorder, and we all know what can happen when you leap out of a moving object?

So was I suicidal?  I didn’t have a plan like the few people I know who made the leap.  I somehow think mine would have been spontaneous, just like my purging.  It would be a knee jerk reaction, with the only note being the journals that I write in.

I danced around it, but another therapist says to me and to Kurt “let’s just call it what it is.” “ What, what is?” I ask as if she has insulted me. “Suicide,” She says. “And that would be a very selfish thing to do to your family” I knew that in the depths of my soul, and hoped that it was enough to hang onto.

My pastor was the calm in my storm as he told me he felt that I wasn’t going to take my life.  He told me of other times that the Holy Spirit had alarmed him to literally wake and check on someone preparing to end it all.  He instead kept reassuring me that I was going to be healed of all of it; the anorexia, the depression, and the painful gut issues.  So, yes I was scared, but I knew my pastor well, and was beginning to know more and more of God’s truth and that he loved me.  I was able to some degree, to rest in this.

It was a very scary place that I wouldn’t want to visit again.  Maybe that is why God called me so strongly to visit it again.  Am I in recovery?  I hope so, but again I wish for the tangible litmus test, like a last round of chemo and follow up scans that would reveal any small threat of the illness becoming full blown again so I could plan my counter attack.

Thinking/Over Thinking

Thinking/Over thinking

I returned from Walloon Saturday after a week of being with guests.  I have realized that summer is great, beyond great and fun, but winter is a different story.  I, after years of believing I was an extrovert, I admit that I am indeed......an introvert.  I love being with people, especially those I love, but lacking the ability to find a quiet private space to write, to read, and talk to God made me a little unsettled and anxious.  I even cancelled my phone appointment with my therapist because there was no place for me to speak privately for an hour.  Yet, I needed to touch base with her because I was beginning to  to slip again into the little pressure release purging and I wanted it to stop there and not take on a life of its own.  I didn't want it to suck me back in with guilt, shame and the voice of Satan saying "go ahead, purge, your almost fifty, you will never get out of this."  We talked briefly, then I was on my own.  Well I knew I wasn't truly on my own as I had the Lord with me and had e-mailed my pastor a prayer SOS!!!  I am so tired of being  dependent on my therapist and my pastor.  Romans 12:12 "be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."  I know God's timing is perfect, but I am so tired of fighting this.
So, affliction, he is refining me through affliction, but I am running out of patience.  I finally check in with my friend, the scale, and am truly surprised to see that my weight still hovers around 114lbs-115lbs.  I am both relieved and disappointed. There is part of me that thought  if my weight did go up a little it would mean that I had survived the extra pounds and my life didn't come to a halt.  And maybe, just maybe, I would be able to try and become comfortable in my body with the weight.   I try to explain this to my therapist.  She acts like I am crazy to even entertain the idea that I could have been okay with it. "Thanks for the vote of confidence" I think to myself!

 I had prayed for God to confirm whether I am seeing and feeling my body accurately.   So, this and the fact that I take back a Christmas present that I had asked for in a size medium only to exchange it for an XS indicates that I just don't see myself with any accuracy.  Fuck!  How do I change this?  Is it possible that I do see myself accurately, but don't like what I see?  Or do I really just not see it?  I am so confused and frustrated.  I sit here trying to think my way out of this whole skewed body image.  I feel like Winnie the Pooh taping my forehead over and over saying "think, think, think"  My attitude today morphs into Eeyore and I feel like the whole world is against me.  Okay, not the whole world, but I do leave my therapist's office once again feeling so defeated and sounding defensive.  She says she believes in me, but she doesn't seem to believe me.


Every year except the past two years part of my pre-skiing fuel has been a huge glass orange juice mixed with cranberry juice.  It helped hydrate me, tasted great, and give me a little boost of energy.  I gave up my pre-ski potion once I stepped onto the slippery slope of the eating disorder.  I tell her how this year without even thinking about it I, before I left to ski each day, I had my pre-ski potion.  Instead of seeing it as a sign that I was evolving through the eating disorder, she brings it back to habits and rituals, and how I need routine.  This is true.  I like routine.  Is that a bad thing?  My point was that I had what I wanted and needed without the great anorexic want vs need/how many calorie debate.  If she saw this is a step forward, I sure didn't catch it.

I entered the room drinking a Vitamin Water the purple one because of the potassium.   My feet and legs had been cramping when I swam earlier, so after a hot yoga class, it would be wise to replace some fluids and minerals.  She was drinking an orange one.  I asked her if it was as bad as the purple one I was choking down.  She thought there was something wrong with the fact that I continued to drink it even though I didn't like it.  "Well, it was what I had" I said.  "you could have dumped it for some water" was her response.  Somehow I was thinking that by drinking something that I needed even though I didn't love it was taking care of my self.  "You said the same thing about the protein shakes, yet you still drank them?"she seemed to ask as a question.  "Again I was just trying to comply with my meal plans."  I am starting to feel a little damned if I do, damned if I don't.  She even suggests that I allowed my self chips instead of pretzels because me weight was "safe"  Can't I get just a little positive
feed back (no pun intended) for my food choices  possibly evolving past the eating disorder??  Do I  get credit for eating the sandwich I packed even though I briefly thought about all the carbs I had already had today. Nope!  Six months ago I would have had a running debate about it and probably not have eaten it.   But she does point out that I had any second thoughts about it.

I try to get some kind of clue as to what she is expecting of me.  Where if anywhere in recovery does she think I am?  I ask because I had just spoken to a group of senior high girls about eating disorders and that was one of their questions.  "are you over this?"  I explain to her that it was hard for me to do this year because some of there questions were more personal, and because of my continued reading and research yield answers that may not be as palatable as it is simply our cultures fault.  "You can say no if it is going to set you back or unsettle you" She tells me. No shit?  Really?  I do know I can say no, but I believe that God puts you through what he will use you through.  I also think that he calls us to step out of our comfort zone in faith.  And yes I do realize the irony of not fully stepping out in faith with my weight, yet fully stepping out in faith to speak about it.

I ask her if by defining myself as anorexic, or an anorexic but in recovery means I hold onto the behaviors because that is how I am defined or  am I defined as anorexic because of the behaviors?  She looks perplexed, and I am continuing to grow increasingly frustrated.  The more I do my Winnie the Pooh impression, the more my head begins to ache.  I just want to go home.  I keep reminding myself how far I have come in the past 6 months, and the few positives I hear her say, but maybe it is because of that Perfectionistic temperament, I focus on where I am falling short, rather than succeeding.  If I continue to define my self as Liz an anorexic in recovery,  then I feel like it will always continue to be who I am.  She asked me what I meant or how I would define myself.  I am so defeated and discouraged by self doubt, I am unable to get out that this is what I mean.

I leave the office and by the time I pull out of the drive way, I am feeling the sting of tears welling up and then cascading down my cheeks.  Now what?  If the changes I have tried to make with my food are meaningless or still part of the eating disorder, where do I go from here?  Home is where I know I am physically going and I can't decide whether to write, take a nap, or bum a smoke off my friend.  Am I supposed to feel this shitty after therapy?  Maybe, maybe not, but what the fuck do I know; she is the professional and I am just a fucked up client with, right now, a bad attitude missing her daddy.  I try to cry it out and work it out before Kurt comes home.  He has such a hard time with me falling apart.  It isn't like I will spiral out of control (anymore), but I believe that is his fear.

I call Rich which leads to a few more shedding of tears.  He tells me to really start praying that God would open my eyes to see myself accurately, and the revelation of the root of my fear of the weight.  I open my journal and piece of my writing falls on the table.  "Yet it is these moments of strength that I panic. 'who am I with out the eating disorder?'  And then I read who God says I am.  1 Peter 2:9 (NLT) "But you are not like that, for you are God's chosen people.  You are a royal priest, a holy nation, God's very own possession.  As a result, you can show others the goodness of God, for he called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.  So there is at least one answer of where the root of my fear is deeply embedded, but also who I am.  I am his chosen one.

One look at me and Kurt knows I have had a bad, no, terrible day.  I can't conceal it, even though I once again try to choke back my tears and steady my voice before I turn to see him come through the door.  One lone tear sliding down my cheek becomes a flood.  I hate having him come home to me like this, and on top of it all I have totally lost track of time as I have become engrossed in writing and talking with God.  I haven't even thought of dinner let alone prepared anything. Is it really 6:45 PM already?  By now I am knee deep in the whole gamut of emotions and attitude so now,  sarcasm.  I like it and I am good at it.  I can be sharp and funny with it, or bitter and caustic.  "Oh wait, if I didn't have an eating disorder I wouldn't have lost track of time and forgotten to make dinner!"  I think, remembering something my therapist says to me today.  "Right,"  I think aloud, "I would make time for it other wise.  Oh come fucking on!  Seriously?  All the people I know have days like this and lose track of time and when to eat, and most of them have no known food issues."

We end up at the club for dinner.  I am not sure I have much in me for talking and am as irritated as glad that the old people behind us are talking so loudly that a real attempt at conversation would have been futile.  I am determined to eat a decent meal an keep it in despite my mood.  To do other wise would just offer up more proof that I am way sicker than I believe I am.  And I know I am right!!!

Broken

Broken


Psalm 51:12 "Restore me to the joy of your salvation and grant me the wiling spirit to sustain me" 17"My sacrifice is a broken spirit; a broken spirit a contrite heart you, God will not despise"

My sacrifice is one of a broken spirit one that was broken in my youth and has continued to break apart as I allow the eating disorder to chip away little pieces of it. It still serves a purpose in my life.   God is still at work using my brokenness to form his masterpiece.  Just as an sculpture sees his masterpiece in a misshapen piece of marble, God sees me, his masterpiece, in the chunk of gunk I call my life.  Where God allowed the eating disorder to initially carve away big chunks of my spirit, now it is just chipping away at me a little here and a little there.  Like the artist begins to break off big pieces of marble to rough out what he sees in his minds eye, so God has done through the eating disorder and I like to think that now is the time for him, like the artist, to continue to allow the eating disorder to chip away small pieces of me, not to shame me or destroy me, but to refine me. Isaiah 48:10 "See, I have refined you, though not as silver; I have tested you in the furnace of affliction" (NIV) Isaiah 48:11"I will rescue you for my own sake, yes for my own sake! I will not let my reputation be tarnished and I will not share my glory with idols!"

As I entered the Holidays the seductive call of the eating disorder started as whisper in my ear "it would be ok to just purge a little, after all you probably have taken in more food and drink than you need. So, releasing some of it what be ok."  I came back at it with my new mantra "PURGING ISN"T AN OPTION!" "Oh yes it is."  The eating disorder spoke back to me, only this time it spoke louder, then louder still, until it began to drown out my new mantra.  I listened for the mantra, but I could no longer hear it over the crescendo of the eating disorder.  I asked for Jesus Christ to strengthen me, but I am not still enough or quiet enough to hear him.  So, despite long runs and eating modestly, my body felt thick, disgusting and foreign to me.  I see that it reflects how I feel in my family.  I feel like a foreigner among my extended family, and the darkness of my mother begins to weigh on me.  It would all be ok if I would just fall into the role I have played in my family before I began to change and evolve into the person that God is creating me to be.  I kind of like who I am becoming so I don't want to play the role anymore, but the pain and darkness that surrounds me becomes more than I can tolerate and I purge. 

Ah! Back to the familiar once again. It isn't just the little purge I had planned like letting off a little steam from a pressure cooker.  No, it is a full-blown purge expelling not just the food and drink that I have swallowed, but the grief, pain, and darkness I have choked down.   All of it was sitting in the center of my gut and soul churning like a bitter potion I had been forced to swallow and the only way to not be poisoned by it was to get it out; ALL OF  IT!  Although I had purged numerous time since my father's death, it had been a very long time since I had purged with such desperation, vengeance, and completely.  Some how watching the dark remnants of my food and drink swirling in the vortex of the basin as I flushed did just as I had hoped, and momentarily stopped the swirling of my emotions.  I should have been sorrowful or remorseful at the time, but somehow I felt that by emptying out the darkness, I had made some room to take in the light and energy of the family I, along with Kurt, had created.  I was elated!

The elation was, as it always is, short lived, and by the time my own beautiful family dispersed for the day,  I felt the shame and guilt begin to rise as I knew I had blown it once again.  I had let myself down.  I was sure I had let Rich and Laura down, and if my family knew they to would be disappointed.  My greatest sorrow was that I had let God and myself down by turning to the eating disorder instead of him.

I drag myself to the gym hoping that a hard pounding run would raise my serotonin enough to make it through the day.  Kurt and I are both as emotionally and physically spent as we had been when my father died.  We made it through the remainder of the day emotionally holding each other, and literally, physically holding each other up.  Thank God for my husband and his willingness to stay on this sordid ride with me.