Welcome to my side of the fence. . .

Welcome to my side of the fence. . . Here you will
enjoy some good laughs, maybe some frustrations,
and hopefully (if I'm a good enough writer), a few tears.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Getting to the Root.

I wonder why I am here. I'm physically getting better because I am supervised/forced to eat. But if I were released today, I know I would relapse. So that tells me I'm not getting better mentally. The point of being here is not just to fatten me up, but to find the reason, or root, of why I have an eating disorder. I feel like the surface hasn't even been scratched on that. Why do I have an eating disorder? What triggered it?
I do have possible theories. One, Scott and I have been doing A LOT of talking about what we're going to do when he retires from the military in 2 years. The what-if's and what-are-we-going-to-do's permeate my thoughts and race through my mind all the time. We have what we want to do in mind (farm) but we don't have the resources to quickly get to that goal so we can make a living off from it. We need money, land, operational equipment, barns, milking houses, it seems like an endless list. To get to our goal, Scott will have to find another job so we can apply for an operational loan. Which means we should eliminate some debt now for the loan to come. And he would have to keep working until we start pulling a profit from what we want to do. So, that leaves me to do all the work on what we are working towards. I've never been able to hold down a job due to bipolar and PTSD. Ever. So what if my passion dies and it starts feeling a job? Will I fail?
Between the needed job for Scott, the resources, the what if's of our goals, how to achieve those goals when we have so many obstacles and doubting myself has caused a great deal of stress. And anxiety. And loss of control. I'm projecting so far into the future I have no control over. My anxiety has increased to the point that I'm on meds for it. I'm worried, stressed, and unsure. The panic attacks are daily. I theorize then, that maybe my anorexia stems from the unknown and loss of control. And by controlling my own body, I have control of something.
I don't know. Because then I think about my weight and obsession with it from the bariatric side of things. I weighed 275 pounds before I had the bariatric sleeve surgery. In my mind, the further I get away from that 275, the better chance I will never be there again. When I was at what the doctor called my "ideal" weight, I was told by someone I could stand to lose a few more pounds. Then I gained a pound. And that sent me off the deep end. I started setting goals for myself: lose 5 more pounds, now another five more, another five more. . . It just kept going and then the exercise. I started to run. I ran for a half hour. Then 35 minutes. Then forty-five minutes. Then an hour. I ended up with runner's knee, so I climbed on my elliptical and before I knew it, I was exercising almost two hours at level 5. And then I would only eat 300 calories of actual food a day. Then some days I would not eat at all but still exercise. I just kept pushing the limits. How far could I stretch myself? At what point would enough be enough? I was almost willing to die to find out. I was self-harming, I guess. But why???

I processed in group this morning some of the before-mentioned thoughts and it ended up that the whole group felt the same way: WHY DO WE HAVE EATING DISORDERS???

I asked my parents, sister, and brother-in-law to come visit me next Saturday to a family process group (they kinda get educated and are able to ask questions) and then I could visit them with me getting a pass to leave the hospital. But they can't. It's my niece's birthday. My mom says maybe next week, but not to get my hopes up. That felt like a serious rejection-slap-in-the-face. One it irritated me that I was told not to get my hopes up. I am here, confined with an eating disorder for who knows how long and I have nothing to hope for, so when I asked, OF COURSE I got my hopes up. And then I got a no and a "don't get your hopes up". It was like saying, "we'll fit you in when we can". I felt like a squashed bug. Then immediately after that thought process I felt an enormous amount of guilt. Was my thought process selfish? I don't know. Was it fair to them to perceive it that way? I don't know. But I also felt so guilty because I was asking them to take up an entire day of their travel and time to come see me. And I was also anxious because if they couldn't come this next weekend then Ayla, my pregnant sister, probably won't be able to come at all because she will over 32 weeks pregnant and long distance traveling isn't encouraged this far along. So it makes me very, very sad.
I feel like I shouldn't have asked in the first place because it's just made a mess of things in my head and in family politics. I feel like I screw everything up. Damn it.

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