A White Flag Waving

Thank you all for the support and encouragement you offered on my last post. It is very, very much appreciated. I've been trying hard this week to get a handle on my emotions, to slow down and breathe, to think rationally, calmly, to nurture myself, to stay positive, to smile. I would be lying if I said that it wasn't challenging. I've been suppressing so many emotions and memories and ill feelings deep inside me now for last few months-- even the last few years-- and I guess they're all finally spilling out, whether I'm ready to cope with them or not.

I've written here before about the terrible rift in my family. I will spare you the details. What is important is that my brother and I almost never speak. My father is dead. My mother is remarried (as of last month) and she doesn't call me anymore. We don't speak unless I call her, which my pride won't let me as often as I want to. My mother and I grew very close after my father's passing. But now that she's remarried, it's like she's a totally different person. I've only met her new husband once. From what I have observed and from what she has told me, he is very controlling. I don't know if he simply won't let her contact me, or if she just doesn't want to. Either way, I feel brokenhearted, betrayed, abandoned, alone.

Maybe it's silly for me to feel that way. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'll be 27 in a few weeks. But I feel utterly abandoned. Orphaned.

A few days ago at work one of my coworkers asked me whether or not I missed living in Las Vegas (it's been almost a year since I moved from there). I told her yes, I missed it very much. She asked if I still had family there. I meant to tell her that I didn't have any family there. But the words that came from my mouth were, "I don't have any family." I didn't even realize what I'd said. She placed her hands on my arm and said, "Honey, what do you mean you don't have any family?" I felt tears rising up in me but I held them back. Talk about the Freudian slip of the century.

I know that I do have family. I know that they love me. And I love them very much. But our relationship is so wounded that none of us communicate with one another. We don't see each other. We don't call each other or speak to each other or e-mail each other or text each other.

I do have family. But we are no longer the family we once were.

All of these negative emotions have been fueling eating disordered thoughts. And I have been using them as an excuse not to eat, to lose weight, to funnel all of my energy into letting myself feel pain instead of forcing myself to fight against it. I know that's not okay. I've been praying very hard for God to mend our broken family, to soften our hearts, especially mine. I've been asking him to help me to not hold grudges, to not be bitter. And I realized that we don't have to stay broken. But we will stay broken until one of us takes the first step forward, a peace offering. A white flag waving.

I've never been one to surrender. I can hold a grudge longer than anyone. But so can my brother and so can my mother. I guess we're more alike than any of us realize.

Someone has to give in.

I don't know if I can do it, but I have to try.

Letting Go

Today marks the 8th anniversary of my father's death.

I don't think I need to explain how I feel today. Or maybe I do. People assume, myself included, that once the grave is dug, the body is buried, the mourning period has passed, and the griever has returned to what appears to be a normal life again, that the pain is over, or that it's less somehow. But that isn't true. I miss my father terribly. I miss him more than I'll ever be able to explain. 8 years seems like a long time. It seems like it should be easier by now to cope with his passing. But each year that goes by, instead of learning to deal with his absence and miss him less and less, I miss him more and more. I am constantly reminded on days like today that he's never coming home. And then I grieve all over again.

I wrote a post a couple of months ago in which I had a major epiphany. I had always assumed my eating disorder was my unintentional way of coping with the death of my father. But I realized while writing that post that my eating disorder was actually my way of not coping with the death of my father. Shortly after he passed away my eating disorder began. I had no time to think of him. I had no time to approach and deal with the emotions that followed his death. I kept myself busy with diet plans and calorie counting and constant weight loss.

So, 8 years later, I still haven't properly dealt with all of this. I still haven't faced the issue head on. Every time I think of my Dad I either smile and then think of something else very quickly, or I feel the knives in my throat and the sensation that I'm going to cry, and then think of something else very quickly.

After my father's funeral, everyone commented on how well I was taking his passing. Considering how close he and I were, I suppose everyone thought I would fall apart. And I did. It just took a few months to manifest itself. Of course I cried at his funeral. I did nothing but cry for days and days and days. And then I went numb. According to those who believe that there are 5 stages of grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance) I have never made it past stage 4. The denial, the anger, and the bargaining all happened when he was so sick with cancer he could no longer talk or walk or function, when he became bed-fast and the doctors told us he'd never recover. The depression set in too, but after he died, it skyrocketed. Then the eating disorder kicked in. And the acceptance, well, I suppose I haven't gotten there yet.

I've always thought of the depression and anxiety I feel due to losing my father as something completely separate from the anxiety and depression I feel due to my eating disorder. But I'm learning very quickly that perhaps they're related. And perhaps I can never recover from one until I'm ready to recover from both.

I have to admit my food intake has been low for the last two weeks. I've been anticipating today for a long time. I've been thinking about Dad a lot. I've been thinking about the collapse of our entire family structure. I've been thinking about lots of sad things. I haven't been thinking of recovery. I've also been working a lot. I've worked 7 shifts in a row, many of which were doubles. Most days I returned home from work about 10 or 11 pm. I've eaten breakfast every day but that's it. No lunch, no dinner. I justify this by telling myself that I don't have time.

But that's not true.

I don't think that this is a relapse. And I know that my behavior is not okay. I know I need to eat. I know how vitally important it is. I know all of those things. But I'm so overwhelmingly sad that I don't even have an appetite. I also know that's no excuse. Like I've said before, recovery has to be a conscious effort. You have to actively think about it and pursue it if you want to accomplish it. Unfortunately for me, I haven't been, at least not lately.

I have a lot of work to do to get myself healthy. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. I have a lot of work to do, but I still know I can do it. I don't know how, but I have faith.

Each year on the anniversary of my father's death I can think of nothing but the Emily Dickinson poem "After great pain a formal feeling comes." In the final stanza, she says

This is the hour of lead
Remembered if outlived,
As freezing persons recollect the snow--
First chill, then stupor, then the letting go.

Here's to letting go.

How to love yourself

Christmas was better than I thought it would be, seeing as though I spent it virtually alone. I had my cat, my miniature Christmas tree, and even a touch of snow. My mother shipped the presents she bought me overnight so that I had something to open on Christmas morning. It was sweet of her. I called home and spoke with my nieces. I miss them so much. They're growing up so quickly. They asked why I didn't come home for Christmas. They don't understand the tension that exists between me and the rest of our family. Then again, it's better that they don't.

This is the first time in 6 years that I treated myself to a special meal on Christmas. And, I did it all for myself. There was no one else to cook for. There was no reason I should eat anything at all. For the past 6 years, I ate nothing on Christmas, or at least very little. This year I made myself some vegan lasagna, some garlic bread, and vegan chocolate chip cookies. I only ate one, but I can't even begin to stress the progress I've made. I've never felt like I was worthy enough to eat. Maybe that sounds strange, maybe it doesn't. I always thought I didn't deserve food. I hated myself so badly. I realize now there is no reason to hate myself. I shouldn't torture my body. It has done nothing wrong. It has never failed me. It has never asked for anything other than to exist as it is, without me torturing it. I decided to treat myself out of respect. I respect my body. I want to feed it, nurture it, and keep it strong.

I've spent too much time and energy being sick. Now, I'm focusing all that time and energy on being healthy.

I know that respect for our bodies is something a lot of people struggle with, even those who have never had an eating disorder. Most women and girls especially hate their bodies. They starve them, nip them, tuck them, tan them, criticize them, torture them, overexert them, abuse them, hate them, loathe them, wish and pray for nothing else but to change them. Why is it so hard for people to see how beautiful they are?

Why was it so hard for me?

I don't have the answer, but I have the solution: love yourself the way you love those dearest to you. Treat yourself. Nurture yourself. Believe in yourself. See the beauty and divinity and strength that exists naturally in yourself, just the way you are.

I've posted this before in another entry, but I've been thinking about it a lot today. At my old church in Las Vegas, one very memorable sermon was about self-respect. The pastor spoke about how critical people are of themselves, especially of their bodies. Then he asked:

How do you think God feels when we criticize his creation?

Because that's what we are: his creations. Beautiful. Holy. Special.

As is.

Pray for Recovery

I know that it has been a few days now since Thanksgiving, but I'm just now finding time to write about it. My boyfriend and I made the 9 hour drive to Kentucky to see my family. My brother and his wife and kids were out of town, so my mother prepared Thanksgiving dinner for my boyfriend and I, herself, and her new fiancee. It was my first time meeting him. But I'm not writing about that. Since I'm vegan and no one else in my family is, (not to mention a recovering anorexic) any situation where food is involved singles me out. No one knows how to cook for me, except my boyfriend, so we made some vegan lasagna the night before and brought it over so I could at least have something. Before I met him I would have eaten nothing. I've spent 25 out of the 26 Thanksgivings I've lived through with an empty plate and a room full of family staring at me. It isn't only because of my eating disorder, although when I was really sick, I did enjoy Thanksgiving because it was an excuse not to eat. But even before that, I didn't eat on Thanksgiving. I've been a vegetarian since I was a little girl, so even then I would eat nothing but green beans and maybe a dinner roll. When my eating disorder began, I wouldn't even eat that. This year I had the lasagna and green beans and bread, which may not sound like much, but it's the most I've ever eaten on Thanksgiving in my life, so I'm counting it as progress.

Every year I look forward to spending Thanksgiving at my grandmother's house, but this year, given the 9 hour drive and all, we arrived too late to make it. My boyfriend and I visited her the next morning instead. My mother wouldn't come with us. I don't know why. She promised me twice that she would, and then she went back on both promises. It had something to do with her fiancee, but I don't know the full story. 99% of me wants to be a baby about it and get upset because she's putting the needs of this man over my needs. But how can I blame her? I'm a grown woman, not a child. I made my decision to pack up and move away from home, all the way to Las Vegas, literally putting the entire United States between us. Can I blame her for doing the same thing?

Needless to say, family issues abound. Our entire family structure is cracked and shaking. We all love each other but the atmosphere is more than tense. No one really speaks anymore. It's awkward being around my mother, and it's awkward being around my brother. It never used to be that way and I wish that it weren't now. It all happened after my father passed away, my mother couldn't pay for our house, and my brother moved in to take over payments, and we moved out. My mother dating again also has a lot to do with it. But that's not all of it. I know my eating disorder plays a part. Back when it was first developing, I pushed everyone away. I locked myself in my room and spoke to no one. I declined dinner invitations, all invitations really. I pushed everyone away and turned into myself. And now I'm unfolding for the first time, six years later, only now realizing the bridges I burned won't be rebuilt easily. But I want to rebuild them.

On the way back home on Friday my boyfriend and I stopped to see my brother at his wife's family's house. I wanted to see my nieces. I love those little girls so much and I don't get to see them very often. They didn't know I was coming. My brother told them someone special was coming but they didn't know it was me. When I rang the doorbell and they answered it, their little faces lit up and they stared jumping up and down screaming and hugging me. I only spent an hour with them but it was so good to see them. My oldest niece (she's 10) hugged me before I left and said, "Seeing you for only a few minutes was better than not seeing you at all." She's so sweet. A few days later my brother sent me a text that said basically the same thing. Maybe bridges can be rebuilt. Here's to rebuilding them.

Once we left and were on our way back home, my boyfriend drove and I sat in the passenger seat feeling sad and miserable. I was glad to see my family but I was also sad to leave them. And I was still fuming about what happened with my mother. My boyfriend wanted to stop for lunch but I lied and said I wasn't hungry. In reality, I was starving. It was 3:00 in the afternoon and I hadn't eaten anything all day except a banana and some black coffee. I was letting my eating disorder feed off of my unhappiness and anxiety without even realizing it. A few minutes later we passed a church just off the interstate. There was a billboard out front that read in big, bold letters:

PRAY FOR RECOVERY.

It was like a punch to the stomach. Had it been put there just for me?

Pray for recovery.

That's exactly what I did. We stopped for some sandwiches and soy lattes.

I know that I have a lot to be thankful for, and I'm eternally grateful for each and every blessing in my life, big and small. Even when things get crappy and I get depressed, I have to remind myself there is so much to be thankful for. It sounds cliche but it's true.

I have a roof over my head.
Food and water.
People that love me.
Breath in my lungs.
A heart beating in my chest.

That's all I really need, but I have so much more. I've come very far.

God is good. Life is beautiful. We're all beautiful.