Less

On the surface of things, anorexia and diets look very much the same.  The behaviors are the same.  The words that follow such thinking are the same.  The goals look the same.  The differences are subtle, and lurking beneath the surface; it requires a trained a eye to spot the variances.  Deep beneath the surface, however, the thoughts are vastly different...  While a dieter may believe that it would be healthier to lose a little weight, it'd be great to fit back into some smaller jeans, or maybe he/she wants to look amazing at an upcoming event, the anorexic tends to focus more on being a better person by losing weight.  And the goals are completely different.  While the dieter generally has a numerical goal, the anorexic typically wants to weigh "less".  The trouble with aiming for less?  It's an unreachable goal...  Ever shifting, and dangerously so... 

To an outsider then, it might follow that determining whether a loved one is on a diet or truly sick is a fairly simple matter...  Why not ask??  "What are you trying to do?"  "Do you have a goal weight?"  "What is it?"  But these are dangerously loaded questions...  All anorexics begin as dieters.  And even after the disease has begun to gradually sink its teeth into the sufferer, the anorectic will believe he/she is a dieter.  He/she will likely have a numerical weight loss goal...  Health benefits will be articulated with ease, even, and perhaps most markedly, past the point of any healthy kind of loss.  When the goal is to weigh less, eventually that line will be crossed. 

It takes time for the casual observer to notice the subtle changes.  The weight dips lower than a healthy weight.  Hair begins to fall out.  The sufferer is always cold.  Dizzy.  Prone to headaches and sickness.  Dry skin.  Shaky hands.  Dark eyes.  Probably lethargic much of the time.  Strangely hyper-active much of the time.  Depressed.  Anxious.  Ever vigillant.  Stepping on the scale repeatedly.  Driven to follow the same patterns of behavior; routine-bound.  The signs are varied and completely individualized.  Sometimes they're obvious.  Usually they're carefully hidden, noticed only by the careful observer. 

Denial is a real, dangerous, palpable thing.  Even when anorexia becomes obvious to the outside observer, the sufferer continues to experience wave after wave of conflicting fears and emotions.  In one moment, the sufferer is desperate for help, feeling the pain and depression dragging him/her further away from life and the living.  In the next, the sufferer once again feels that he/she is just a dieter; fear of being pulled from the safety of the routine behaviors begins to lull him/her into believing that everything is fine just as it is.  Neither belief is stable nor accurate.  Neither is based on any kind of objectivity, for the sufferer cannot be objective, much as he/she wants to be.  Tries to be. 

Deep beneath the surface, something else is always lurking...  Low self-esteem, self-hatred, fear, pain, depression, feelings of inadequacy, feeling out of control...  Something is always driving the belief that one will be improved by losing weight...  Others will feel admiration, or stop noticing at all...  The sufferer will earn others' love and respect.  The sufferer will demonstrate great control, self-discipline, and determination.  And to add to those feelings, every dieter initially enjoys these rewards, and basks in the glow of others' admiring words.  For the anorectic, these rewards only spur on the disease.  Even words of caution, warning, concern can spur on an anorectic...  For once the disease has taken hold, the sufferer lives in fear that either no one will notice (i.e. care), and the strangely opposite fear that everyone knows and will eventually force the sufferer to give up the behaviors and obsessions which feel so impossible to live without. 

When weighing less is the goal, there is always something more beneath the surface.

Progress Treadmill

Sometimes it's easy to see progress in recovery...  There are the big, blunt, obvious changes: weight loss halts; weight restoration completes; clothing sizes stabilize; calorie counting ceases, or at least eases up.  Then there are smaller, subtler, gentler changes: I find myself trusting others more; taking greater risks; opening up to people; making many new friendships and connections with fellow humans.  And then there are also the whispers of progress that fill in the rest of life; hints of movement so slight, it's difficult to see direction, and impossible to predict destination. 

I am tired this evening.  I skipped my kickboxing class, which in itself, might smack of progress.  In the past I would have forced myself to workout, without pausing to consider my own desire or energy.  Thanksgiving recently passed by, and I reveled in moments of pure joy...  I felt completely comfortable at my boyfriend's parents' house.  I took new risks.  I ate out!  A lot!  I tried foods that were new to me, and even discovered some new favorites.  Persimmons!  Yum!  :)  I was honest with my boyfriend about my struggles, and really put my heart out there.  I have been focusing on these triumphs, almost basking in the golden glow of success and the warmth of new love...  But it is hard to separate oneself from the shadows, especially those that have been familiar companions...  With my successes this holiday, came failures.  Freak outs.  Shame.  And while I can look at my life today and see its promise and hope and possibility...  It is hard to feel... worthy.  Guiltless...  Accepting.  Okay...

Sometimes things that don't look like progress really are...  Sometimes we need to settle on a nice stable plateau before we're ready to move ahead once again...  And sometimes we even have to back-track slightly before angling for a truer ascent.  But sometimes...  and this is where things become dicey...  sometimes things that look like progress are not.  How does one know the difference?  I do not wish to hold myself back.  I do not wish to misrepresent my recovery.  I do not wish to make things look easier than they are.  Or harder than they are.  And I'm not sure how to even identify my own feelings...  Tonight I feel like I'm in Limbo Land...  While my recovery feels on firmer footing than it ever has been before, there is something in me that remains unsettled; uneasy; cautious...

With my great successes over Thanksgiving, and I will acknowledge that they were great successes, I must also be honest.  I was there for five days.  And I didn't pass a single day during which I ate three square meals...  Generally I missed dinner.  Some snacks.  On Thanksgiving Day, I missed lunch in anticipation of dinner.  And while I was honest about this fact upon my return, and have gotten back on track, I can't help yearning at my brush against the familiar, cool, soft surface of what once was my world...  My clothes feel looser.  I do not believe that's possible.  I'm wearing different clothes for a cooler season.  Logically, I am combating these observations with cold, hard facts.  And yet, I'm drawn to the feeling of looseness.  More of my meals recently have been comprised of snacky foods...  I had two protein bars tonight for dinner.  Why??  Somehow guilt over the enormous amount of blueberries I consumed at lunch made me shy away from an actual "meal".  Blueberries???  And yet I justify my choices with reminders that my calorie consumption was adequate for recovery.  Hmmm...  Not quite a slip...  Not quite healthy, either... 

I've been reminding myself a lot lately of the joys of recovery...  The positive things that recovery has brought.  The terrible cost of my eating disorder.  Refocusing on my determination to recover and to live a life that is full and sweet and unimpeded by the drudgery, pain, and self-loathing that is an eating disorder... 

My mind is tired...  I wonder if I'm feeling the pull of depression...  And yet I'm thankful for my Prozac-gifted ability to separate myself from its vice-like grip.  I wonder if I'm feeling fear of life actually beginning to move as I always dreamed it could...  I'm retracing the same worn neurological pathways I've always used.  I have not succumbed...  But I feel like I've been gliding along a border, almost casually stretching out a toe before snatching it back in consternation.

Will it always be like this?  Will I continue to live a vigilant life?  Or will the vigilance eventually wear new pathways in my mind, so that someday I might follow them automatically, too...  Or, might I allow myself to settle into the familiar shallows that offer such promising relief and comfort.  Ahhh...  I know those shallows...  But I also know the black depths lurking just below their surface...  And I do not wish to visit them again...  It's hard to imagine this new life...  A life without sinking and fighting and trying to remain vigilant... 

I'm on a progress treadmill...  Running my intervals according to someone else's plan, and praying like crazy that I'm actually getting somewhere...