(I don't know what is up with the background and color and underline b.s. I tried fixing it but it's not working :( Sorry!!! )
When I was about 21, I went into therapy. Some of you know about this, some of you don't. After attempting suicide, I was hospitalized and diagnosed as being bipolar. My mom is bipolar, and being told that I was just like her in that way, was a hard pill to swallow. (I know there is a pun there somewhere..) I remembered growing up and seeing my mom struggle with her depression etc.. and telling my doctor he was wrong. I was put on some medication and he gave me some homework to research this disorder. I read a book called, An Unquiet Mind, by Kay Jamison Redfield. I believed after I read it, but I still didn't like it. Anyway, bring this up because a couple days ago, I remembered a therapy session. It was one of the first, my doctor said to me, "We have quite a bit of your history we need to cover, and we're going to chip through it all a bit at a time. You have a lot of stuff going on and I don't want to overwhelm you. Obviously there is a weight issue too, which I'm certain is tied to both being bipolar and ability to cope with your history." First of all, yeah, I had a few extra pounds, I think I weighed about 140 lbs. at the time. I remember being called chubby before that, like my friends called me chubby but in a cutesy way. I was not really overly concerned with my weight at the time like I had been years past. Hearing him say I had a weight issue was shocking to me for some reason. I felt like he just called me a fat cow. After 3 years of therapy, we never got around to discussing my weight issue. We talked about a lot of things, never my weight. Maybe he just saw where I was headed. and that's why he brought it up then. Over the course of those three years of counseling, I gained and gained a lot of weight. After a session, which at times was twice a week, I would go out to lunch and stuff my face to feel better. I would walk to my appointments sometimes, not because I wanted to get some exercise, but because I like walking. Sometimes I would leave a session shaking from crying so hard. My therapeutic hour would be up, and I would be shuffled out the door. I remember thinking, "I'm going to treat myself to lunch to feel better."....... and that's how it started out. Eventually, that walk home became less for "walking" because I like to walk, and more about how many places I could stop and eat on the way back home.
I was far too embarrassed to order ALL that food in one place, because I didn't want to seem like a pig. (Who was I fooling?) So I would order a meal here, a taco there, ice cream from Thrifty's, chow mein form $1 Chinese or what ever.. When I got home the eating didn't stop, unless my boyfriend was home of course. Then I was worried he would smell the stench of fast food on my breath and bust me for eating "twice". After these sessions, no matter how much I ate, I never felt full. When I think of all the food I was able to eat at a time, it makes me sick. I see now, that I wasn't feeding my stomach, I was feeding my broken heart.
By the time I was healed, ha! Kidding, but by the time my therapy was "over", I had put on over thirty lbs and was somewhere around 175 lbs. I see pictures of myself from that time, and because I still had that baby round face of youth, my cheeks looked like they were going to pop! I wish I would have learned how to cope during all those years of counseling, but I guess that's for me to figure out on my own now.
I thought about this because while I was stressing out, I was resorting back to my midnight munching. I starved myself during the day again, and started eating at night. I wasn't porking out, but two corn dogs at midnight are never a good idea for anyone. I know that once my baby is asleep, and I don't have someone to occupy my mind, I'm left with just me. Me and my thoughts, worries, etc.. I don't even like corn dogs is the sick part. I just wanted something to eat that wouldn't involve me being from earshot of the baby for too long. Corn dogs fit the bill.
Smoking was filling that void, but I accidentally quit two weeks ago. I didn't have the luxury to buy myself another pack after the Button Pusher smoked what I had left. I only smoked one or two a week, so I guess he accidentally did me a favor by finishing up my pack and being too selfish to buy me a replacement pack. Anyway my point is, I need to find a way to cope with my feelings of anything on the neg or bored or lonely side with something besides eating.
For that matter, I'm finding that my coping skills have really taken a back slide. Of course, my best coping skills have in the past involved ignoring things, pretending shit does not exist, being passive aggressive, forgiving without being asked for forgiveness and other variations of denial. I'm super edgy lately. Actually, I don't think it's lately. I think this has been coming on for a long time. I feel like I have a stick up my ass about a mile long and not enough lube to take it out. No, I'm not talking about PMS. I just feel salty. Like I'm putting up some front for everyone to see and one day they'll see the real me. The mean, hateful resentful person who shoves her face with food to feel better. Then I think, that's not me at all. Who have I become. What path did I take to get here and how do I find my way back...
BTW-
Week 11- 197.8
Week 10- 198.7
Lost- Seriously??
*I'm feeling really shitty about backsliding. Especially since my promise was that i'd shoot for 5lbs every four weeks. That pretty much leaves me with about two weeks to get the fuck off my ass and make it happen. I can do it. I can do it! I almost didn't post today because I was too embarrassedagain. I'm doing it though. I promised.
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