It’s raining on a Saturday

I never know how to restart a blog after months, or years, of silence. It’s not like nothing has happened to me — tons, in fact, has happened. It’s just a matter of sorting through what is worth posting.

So I’m no longer controlled by an eating disorder. Good. That means that, a) I am no longer emaciated and b) I am no longer bloated from binging. So, what am I? Am I normal? Does my life take on the fetid appearance of any other? I suppose so. Yet, I constantly return back to my experience with ED. With the knowledge that, though now I am a “normal” weight, and that I am a fine-looking gentleman, I am defined somehow by it. When I play sports, I remember that once I could not, from being too weak and too malnourished. When I run to catch the subway, I wonder how it is my legs again work, pumping blood through my muscles to my heart, as they once shut down and I had to be wheeled by my mother through the airport like a quadriplegic.

It is with no little shame that I recall these events, and yet I am fascinated by them, completely delighted by how they changed me, defined me, and gave me experience. I suppose that is what I yearn for, more than anything, more than the friends I want and the money I need and the relationships I blunder; I make experiences for myself so I can remember, and learn from them. Maybe not even in a healthy way, but from the perspective of a well person admiring his fortitude during illness. There are days I do want to be once again defined by ED, or by drug addiction, or by one of those taboo topics in our society that people latch on to.

When I was going through recovery, and regaining all that weight, I wanted to be sicker yet. I needed to be in control, so that I could come out of this the sickest person they’d ever seen. Being a man was strong enough reason for their fascination — I got that in spades. But it was more to be the thinnest, the weirdest, the…

And now… and now, my girlfriend’s sister is going through bulemia, laxative use. She is killing herself, and her family doesn’t know what to do because her BMI is still within the healthy range. She binges often, and then purges, and now blood is coming up. And I want to help her. A few weeks ago we had a long conversation about how she needs to want to change, want not to be thinner than everyone else, or how it’s useless to be scared of gaining those three pounds, which has kept her pinned down by the binge-purge cycle (to eat and not purge is to gain weight. Simple). She doesn’t yet undertand this, and because she is still so new at being thin, all the attention she is getting is overwhelming any immediate need to begin recovery. I remember those days very well.

It’s raining this morning in Toronto. I have no idea what I’m going to do today. It’s just a grey day all round.

How were your last six months?

This is an empty question, since I’m talking to no one, but I’ve been fine, how bout you? I got an email from MTV wanting to do something about me on a new show they’re doing. Funny… since when did MTV ever promote healthy body image? All I can think about is Tila Tequila and her pert… pair… and that Hills show making people feel like it’s worthy to talk nonsense your whole life as long as your hair is blonde. I would love to talk about my struggle with an eating disorder as long as it wouldn’t be edited to make me look like the “before” version of weight loss program. I’ve been exposed to such documentaries, and whatever they do to humanize the diseases, contrasted to today’s views on what is the “right” way to look, it always manages somehow to glorify the illness.

These past six months have been really interesting. I went to Israel and learned a lot, but mostly how to control my illness. It just wasn’t all that prominent in my life when I was there. It lingered in the background, pulling at me every once in a while, but I was able to complete my adventure pretty much symptom-free, and discovered a side of life, religious and secular, that wasn’t presented to me before. I had much of my important documents stolen early on in my trip and was able to keep composed (despite a terrible hangover) and continue enjoying myself, whereas before an act like that would have devastated me and I would have shut down completely. It was a testament to how far I have come, and how far I still need to go.

I am back in school now, and am moving in with my girlfriend, someone who I love very much. She has not seen me as my worst, but has been a catalyst to normalcy, making what was once impossible, like eating three meals a day without concern, and preparing your own food or going to the grocery store, something I look forward to, something that is exciting and delicious, and does not come with all the anxiety that it did merely a year ago. Two years ago in December I had no friends, no girlfriend, nothing except the desire to restrict, to escape from this hell of a life. A year later I wanted nothing but to binge my heart out, and my heart was working too hard to keep up. I looked bloated and was disgusted with myself, I ate alone all the time and had no hope to get better. I did not like the person I was.

Right now, things are good. I am not the person I want to be, but am working towards him. He is a motivated, athletic, dependable person. Someone who people want to be around. I am not all those things yet. I am cranky and lazy sometimes, I spend too much time on the internet, and not enough time working on my school assignments. I know what I don’t want to do — I do not want to be a lawyer. I know that ED education is central to my life, and I do want to help young men with anorexia and binge-eating disorders in the future. I think I have a lot to share with them.

More than that, I am going to write about my travails and get the article published so that others can see how terrible a disease an ED is, and how preventable it is if you put some things in place. I almost died trying to prove to myself I could. It’s never, ever worth it!

a binge

I binged this morning, not out of control, but badly enough that I feel disgustingly full and shameful. I knew it would happen. I almost wanted it to. Because I haven’t in so long, and because I’m feeling great about myself and my looks, and then this morning I looked at myself in the mirror and saw something different, a snap of the neck to one side and I saw the double chin still there, the man breasts, diminished yet visible, the slight bloat of an ex-binger, and I knew that’s what I needed to do, like a sadistic necessity, it floated in my consciousness and would not subside. So I gave into it. I made food, and then I ate the food, and then I made more food, and I ate all of that, too. And when I was full I said to myself that I should stop, put it back in the fridge and go to work, but I didn’t; I kept reading the paper and eating my food and wondering why I could not stop myself. Why, because everything has been so amazing, this was the hardest thing not to do. I feel like I have regressed 100% before I leave for six weeks and will need to find other ways to fill my time. This is not the way I want to do that. I am not happy being overweight, not happy being overly indulgent, bitter and alone.

I want to continue this happy path, this positive road, but, alas, these things right now, at this very moment, seem inexorably out of reach. They literally disappeared into the great fathom that is the eating disorder, and I wonder if it will ever fully leave me.

the urges, the horror

I am dying here, with these urges, trying to keep my mind occupied so that I don’t fall off the deep-end. I have no real support at the moment, and it’s really trying. I have been putting things in place, intending to attend support groups, and go to the gym, or at least take walks, go outside, but it doesn’t work, I just end up sitting at home watching YouTube, and though I’m not binging, I’m no better prepared for my trip, and I still think about food and still want to do nothing but something. You know that feeling when you feel incapable of something so the next best thing is better than the worst thing? So I intend to go to the gym, which is the best thing, and to avoid binging, which is the worst thing, I do a middle thing, which is to sit and avoid eating, which in itself is trying but not what I really want to be doing. So, all in all, it’s good progress to the middle, slowly but surely, but it’s still better than the bottom where I was. Does that make sense?

The anxiety, though, is astronomical. I feel vaguely like I’m constantly hanging off a girder by my fingers, blue and taut from lack of blood. It’s a sinking ship, a violent shake, anything but peaceful. And coffee, my one indulgence, worsens the symptoms, so what else is there to do? I should be outside enjoying the day, so right after this post I am going to get into the shower, put on some clothes, comfortable and walkable, which make me feel attractive, and take a nice walk to the library and then get on the subway to go visit my girlfriend for lunch. It’s a good day for things like that, eh? It may rain later, so take an umbrella.

I put a granola bar in my bag last night knowing I wouldn’t be home for breakfast, and was at a coffee shop this morning and wolfed it down. These are things that annoy me, the inability to stop something once I’ve started it. My goal was to eat only one of the two bars, but by the time the first was finished, my appetite was whetted, and I struggled with the crossword, the free daily’s crossword which is incredibly easy and makes me feel like a fool for not completing it, but alas it’s not in the cards. I need a real job, real ambition; to see all these other youngers, thin and confident, walk in and out of this place, makes me so envious, I wonder if there is something biologically lacking that keeps me from finding fulfilment in what I have. It’s not my fault I have an eating disorder, not my lack of something, but nevertheless, it’s my lack of drive that keeps me locked in this self-destructive mindset. How do I know? Because give me a goal and I’m all about it, and forget about everything else. Give me something I am truly passionate about and it’s over, no doubt, I don’t care about anything but the task ahead.

That probably means I should be learning some hebrew or getting in touch with people in Israel to see if they can accommodate me. Hmmm…

alone for the weekend, and Happy Mothers’ Day (warning: could be triggering for anorexics)

Not really, but spiritually… food all around me. Dinner on Friday at our place, for my brother’s birthday, and it was such a struggle not to just eat and eat and eat during the day while we were cooking. And eat I did, a bit, but it was with my mom, and we were in a great mood, and it was social and pleasant and positive. I didn’t feel out of control, and didn’t really stop what I was doing to eat. So in a way it was a reminder of what ‘feast’ means, what family exemplifies, and not what disordered eating means. Sure, I am not losing weight because I am still eating plenty, but it is reserved to certain social times, and I am trying only to eat when I am hungry, and to eat healthfully and moderately.

I have a problem with having to finish everything on my plate, because when I was sick that’s exactly what I didn’t do. I would eat a bite or a nibble and push the rest around, until it came to the point where anything was too much. Any amount of food that was not green vegetables was verboten, any protein was far too high in calories, and certainly there was no carbs. I didn’t touch any sort of carb for months, for almost a year, and the rate at which I lost weight was extraordinary. Now, sure, I would love to lose a few pounds, but it needs to be through activity. I am not willing to walk again down that treacherous road, because it happens so fast. First it started with cutting out carbs, then restricting high-calorie protein, and then protein completely, then fruits, until I was subsisting almost completely on vegetables. Then it was no more carrots, no more colour… only broccoli, cauliflower, spinach, etc. Nothing. It was awful. I couldn’t even look at dessert, couldn’t understand how people could poison their bodies the way I thought I wasn’t. But I was poisoning my body because the things I wasn’t eating were the things that I knew deep down were going to keep me alive.

In some places, in some ways, I wanted very much to die, but it didn’t matter, because I was so far down that path that there was no intellectual way to come back from it. By starving myself my brain wasn’t getting any glucose and therefore I couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate.

I apologize if this is triggering for anyone but this is my story and if you are strong enough to resist the urge to run in that direction, you can be confident that you may still be able to run. Because after starving myself I couldn’t run anymore, and eventually I couldn’t walk, found it hard to climb stairs. All it seemed I could do was cry and snap, the only strength I had was explored in aggression towards anyone and anything. I was a walking skeleton, a dead, androgynous wasteland.

This is a better place, regardless of how much I weigh. I cannot ever again starve myself, and writing this is just affirming that fact AGAIN for me. Thank GOD, wherever, whomever, HE is, and thank you to my mother for ostensibly saving my life. Because when I was anorexic, I couldn’t take care of myself, and she lived my life, and my recovery for me, until I was strong enough to do it for myself. But that took months, and if there are any mothers of anorexics reading this, I implore you to stay strong for your children and to take risks, to talk to anyone who will listen, because that is the only way to build a network of support when it is seemingly you alone against the world. It is impossible to know what is the right thing to do for your child when she or he is sick, but merely doing something is the bravest, most fantastic thing you can do. Desperation doesn’t lead to a level head, but when you understand the life of your child is on the line there is nothing left to do but anything.

My mother saved my life, my soul and I am looking at her right now across from me on the couch, and I am smiling inside and out because I would not be here writing this treatise if it wasn’t for her.

a while gone, a long rehearsal

So I’m leaving for Israel in two weeks, on a seven week stint, alone, and it’s scary as hell. Scary because I don’t like change, but also terrifying because I won’t have any excuses to binge, to restrict, to not live because, frankly, it’s compressed time, it’s a trip, and on a trip one must take advantage of time. I have not been doing that at all in recent months, just sort of sitting around waiting for something to happen to me, something to change. I gain and lose weight, I binge, I restrict, but ultimately the eating disorder is what keeps me grounded to routine, subordinated, unmotivated, stressed and alone.

But recently I have found someone who temporarily lifts me from that sinkhole, that dark place. I haven’t really binged in a few weeks, and when I have overeaten, it is nothing I cannot shake off because this person, P, loves me (I think) for who I am. She never knew me underweight, knows what happened, but has not seen me symptomatic because when I met her I was in a better place, and those feelings have propagated, and I am better able to manage urges, symptoms, and am seeking support when I need to. It’s a good feeling, stressful yet satisfying, like I am finally moving in a forward direction after being glued to one spot seeing others move so quickly past me. Sure, I am still in the same job, the same ditchweed rituals, but they do not seem oppressive, relentless, awful, as they once did.

Perhaps it is because I am trying to align myself with faith, with positivity, with forces beyond my control. P is convinced we met for a reason, that all things happen on purpose, and I am one who believes that more now than I ever did. It’s fascinating, discovering the spark of something bigger than oneself, which has lied latent and unmoving for so many years. It was, I suspect, always there, but I am using it now to battle a disease that has left me as paralysed physically as any disability. Mental illness can be a silent, invisible killer because many suffer alone, as I was for so long. No one understands that because I am not a regular sized person, I still can have an ED. My eating disorder is still very much a part of me, and even though I am on my way up and out, its presence is constant, and as a result I am on the defensive all the time. It’s incredibly difficult to prevent it from showing through the cracks in my personality. But lately, for whatever reason, I have found a way.

Here’s to no more binging!

consistent

So I’ve been put on Celexa, 40mg, which is meant to try to deal with anxiety and my depressive episodes, as well, she assured, my binging at higher doses. I’m worried, though, because the drug has a history of weight gain among its takers, and it’s leading me to want to restrict quite badly — I really am doing my best not to, but it’s difficult when all I can think is, ‘Well, sure, I may feel less anxious, but it’s also going to kill my sex drive, my social life by making me fat, and my confidence…’ This sure is a worst-cast scenario, but it’s one that is causing me more anxiety, rather than helping it abate at all.

I am going to Israel in a month for six weeks, returning on July 13th. I don’t know if that’s a good idea, but it’s what’s happening, and I’m proud of myself for taking those steps towards freedom and self-discovery. I know I won’t have time to binge there. As well, the food in the Middle East is rather much healthier than here, along with the plentiful exercise I will inevitably get, so I’m feeling good about the trip. Nervous, but good.

I haven’t binged for a few days, actually. Being with this new person, whom I care for deeply, and who cares for me, has taken my mind off my eating disorder. She knows about it, but doesn’t, I think, understand that it’s come full circle. I am trying to not let it affect my life at all, because I am so ready to move beyond it. This anxiety is paralyzing, but it’s also given me a lot of new perspectives on how I am in the world; I need people around me to bring me up, and when they do, I find it a lot easier to stay there, to prosper and to be a good person.

I’ve done a lot of bad, morally questionable things in my life. Lately, it was sleeping with people who are in a relationship. That being said, I justified it because they were not happy in that companionship, and that almost made it alright. But it’s never alright. Being happy one day and completely shockingly mean the next, that is not OK. I do not want to be that inconsistent person, the one who let’s work bring him down, let’s school work pile up and never gets done, to never clean my room or do the dishes, or feel inadequate and eventually end up alone.

To feel positive, happy, healthy, it takes work, and commitment to the self, the the maintenance of the mental and physical self. That is why I feel so strongly about trying to get past this eating disorder, why I want so badly to feel good in my own skin again, and to not feel out of control. The control brings me peace, but I want control is areas that I should have them in, like my social life, my lifestyle, not my food. When it manifests through food, the whole world turns topsy-turvy.

good yesterday

So I wasn’t symptomatic at all yesterday because I was distracted, because I had three square meals, and because my mind was on recovery and not on self-harm, something that, for the next few weeks until I leave for Israel, I would like very much to practice and make a part of my life. I feel greatness coursing in me when I am in this motivated state, and every time I get here it’s too good, and my battered self-esteem cries out, “You aren’t allowed to enjoy this!” and so I back off, I retract into my self-destructive shell, and I ruin whatever good there is in my life.

But not this time, because I am at an important crossroads. I feel very strongly towards someone, and need to be on my A-game.

bliss

it’s amazing, with bliss, the sun shines brighter

the ear attunes to birds, to glinted glass, rebirth.

I awake exhausted and in the state of peace I could

only dream of months ago, this catalyst so unaware for change

a person, a great being connected with some strange earth.

passover binge

So I tried not to overeat before the seder tonight because I knew it would be a feast, plentiful and delicious. And I didn’t actually overeat but during dinner I had one or more servings of everything, plus a second helping of dessert. I was full but moreso I was comparing myself to everyone there, to my fat waist that used to be thin and all my family whose thin waists used to be fat.

I’m convinced that my eating disorder has had an impact on their eating; I don’t mean to say I gave them eating disorders but I certainly made them more aware of their tendencies.