Thinking about Body Image

The last two weeks at group have been focused on body image, which is particularly hard for me. I have always said that I don’t have low self-esteem. I have high self-hatred. That makes having any appreciation for my physical self incredibly difficult.

During week one, I was pretty furious, honestly. We watched a documentary about women’s body image called THE STRENGTH TO RESIST: Media’s Impact on Women and Girls. I fully recognize the impact media has on female body image. It’s terrible and real. But I have two major complaints about the movie:

1. There was not a single “obese” woman in the film. The lack of representation of real women and real bodies was really disheartening to me. The one woman who did talk about her “curves” was a professional boxer with arms like Mohammed Ali. I did not feel represented or understood at all by the creators of the movie. How can they possibly understand the emotions that I feel about my body when they do not experience what it is like to be in my body? Who knows what their body history is, but in that time, while make that movie, they were thin. And with thinness comes privilege.
2. The movie does not acknowledge the reality of fat-phobia/fat-bias. Not really. Yes, it acknowledges the existence, but it felt sugar coated in a “We are women, we are invincible” kind of way. I am working hard to do everything I can to stop my own judgment of people based on weight (including myself), and when I hear hate speech directed at people, I speak up. However, it is real. And my actions cannot change the world. There was a particular scene that really just pushed my buttons. Gale Dines, an AMAZING lecturer and associate professor of Sociology and Women’s Studies at Wheelock College in Boston, was speaking to a lecture hall of typical students. During her presentation she uses a lot of slides, mostly of models in various poses. She points out the inherent violence/racism/sexism/etc-ism in each. The audience listens intently, seeming to really appreciate everything that she is saying. And then she puts up a photograph of a woman, who by today’s medical standards would be considered morbidly obese. The woman is wearing a tiny blue bikini. And the audience breaks out in hysterical laughter. To the point where Dr. Dines has to change the slide before she can speak about how awful it is that this woman, no matter how comfortable she is with her own body is ridiculed for her size. THAT, my dear friends, is reality. Reality is that people pretend to not care. People pretend to not judge. People pretend to be truly and honestly interested in the horrors of media bias. And then they see a woman that doesn’t fit the standard that very same media has taught them is attractive, and they break out into laughter. I can’t even imagine what it would be like for the woman in the photo to be in that room when the fits of giggles began.

I will give the movie some credit because beyond the issues with weight bias, they also discussed the media’s representation of women of color. This was where the documentary hit the nail on the head about privilege. (I’m fully aware of my own white privilege, and try to keep that in mind when I get angry about any –ism that I am subjected to.)I will never fully comprehend the experience of a woman of color; I have a great appreciation of Jean Kilbourne’s attempt to shed some light on this media bias. Not trying to “unpack my invisible backpack” or anything here, just acknowledging the one good and direct thing that I saw in this movie.

This week, we talked a bit more about the movie, but it seems that my opinion didn’t change and the group leaders just weren’t all that interested in having a politically charged debate with me. I’m just not willing to swallow the “one person can change the world” pill that they want me to, at least not on this particular topic. I will be judged for my physical appearance. That is just the harsh truth of the society we live in. It sucks. And I do what I can to change myself, and I can try to change my own reactions to the rooms full of laughing college students, but I cannot make anyone else see things the way I want them to. That’s just life.

We moved on to a discussion about all of the things that we have put off or will not do because of our weight/body. My list is immeasurable. But the therapist said two very heavy and emotionally weighty things that made me start really thinking about it.

“The Eating Disorder will not give up until you’re dead.”

and

“What would life look like if this was it? What if you never lost another ounce?”

That second one scared the shit out of me. I cannot imagine being the size that I am for the rest of my life. None of the “future fantasies” that I dream about have ever had me in this body. I don’t know how to go about changing those images in my head.

I have always put off going to school, because I want to become a traditional midwife. I cannot imagine expecting anyone to respect anything I say about their physical health if it is obvious that my physical health is not visually excellent. I’m “obese” according to the medical industry, and I worry that working in a health related field, I should have my own health under control before I try to give advice to anyone else about their health.

So, in my ED controlled mind, never losing one more ounce means that I will never fulfill a lifelong dream of becoming a midwife. I will never catch babies. I will never get to watch the joyous look on a woman’s face when she holds her child to her chest for the first time and know that I was there to assist and witness her own personal miracle.

There are a million other things that I could list that I’m not doing until I lose weight (going to Europe, shopping at real stores instead of thrift stores, etc).

I’m trying so hard to find a way to wrap my mind around the fact that I may never ever be anything other than the size I am right now, but I cannot seem to accept it.

To sleep…perchance, to dream.

One of the very first mental illness symtpoms to pop up and rear it’s ugly head was sleep disturbance.  For as long as I can remember, I’ve woken up on a regular basis gasping for breath, screaming, or with all of my muscles tensed up to the point where I physically strain to move them and massage them until they relax.  I try to have  “good sleep hygiene” and do all the things that you are supposed to do.  The one thing that I cannot change is leaving the television on when I sleep.  I need the noise to cover up any creaking and settling our house does in the middle of the night, because the slightest sound will wake me up.  I’ve attempted it a few times in the last few months and it is really touch and go on whether or not I will sleep in complete silence.  So, for now, I leave it on.

I’ve worked with so many psychiatrists trying to get my sleep regulated.  I’ve tried every drug out there for sleep.

Ambien made me do crazy things in the middle of the night, like register for an entire semester of college, and when I would wake up, I had no idea I had done anything until I would find some clue somewhere in the house.  I drove while I was asleep.  Cooked while I was asleep.  It was a disaster.

Seroquel worked for the sleep, but it left me a zombie most of the next day and I managed to put on forty pounds in the short three weeks that I was on it.

Rozerem did nothing for me.  I laid in bed for hours waiting for the urge to sleep, and it never came.

The little green butterfly of Lunesta never showed up in my bedroom.  It was useless for me.

Currently I take melatonin and valerian root.  It relaxes me, but it definitely doesn’t make me sleep or keep me asleep.

So, after years of asking for one, I finally got a referral to a sleep clinic.  Honestly, the sleep issues are most likely psychological.  I know this.  My doctors know this.  But it’s another step in the process of getting everything goign on with my body figured out.

I have a sleep study tonight. I go in at 8:30.  They’ll hook me up to a bunch of machines and monitor me throughout the night while I try to sleep.

Last night, W said she was going to be sad tomorrow sleeping alone in bed and I jokingly said that she could take my place in a bedroom full of cameras with strange men watching her sleep. And as soon as I said it, I started having a panic attack and sobbing. I hadn’t realized how scared I am about this. I can’t seem to get myself to calm down. The idea of sleeping in a strange room, with strangers all around, watching me, able to come and go in my room as they please.  I’m feeling so incredibly vulnerable and unsafe about the whole situation.

I don’t know how to make myself feel safe and at ease. I know that the sleep study is an important part of my healing process physically (and somewhat emotionally, because being tired all the time makes it very hard to keep it together), but I’m so, so scared.

Today I’m spending time finding ways to make the night easier.  I’m going to buy a new pair of pajamas that make me feel covered and protected.   I’m going to pick up the next book in the series I’m reading so that I have  good distraction material.  I’ve been reminding ymyself over and over that I’m safe and that this is a safe environment.  One hour, one minute, one second at a time.

Processing

I’ve spent the last few days processing all of my therapy sessions for the last week and a half or so.  Between the therapist at Melrose and H, my regular therapist, I’ve been challenged to the bone and left very raw on numerous occasions.

We talked about redefining “health” about a week ago and this week we started out with talking about how changing that definition is going to take away my “finish line”. That by giving up a predefined idea of where I would have to be physically/emotionally to be “healthy and happy” I’m leaving things up in the air and more spontaneously flexible. Part of what has made me feel safe for so long is having a “finish line”. It gave me a way to add protection and structure and planning into my life. If I had a goal to work towards or some distant horizon, it was easier for me to focus on that instead of the every day. At that point, I would be at ease and “better”. Without a plan, there is no protection. It leaves me feeling so vulnerable.

That vulnerability really makes me feel unsafe and open to a lot of pain and that is why I have always lived this way. The “plan” keeps me safe. It keeps people at a distance and it makes life more predictable.

We talked through some hard stuff about how I deal with people and how i always feel like a victim and that when the people who hurt me take advantage of me, I assume that it is something fatally flawed about me, instead of something about them. And that in order to get to the level of peace and happiness I want, I’m going to have to start being real with people.  But that means that I am vulnerable to being hurt. Because literally everyone I have ever trusted has taken advantage of me and hurt me in some gigantic way, I have come to think that everyone will always hurt me because I deserve it. By blaming myself, I’ve always been able to maintain the idea that people as a whole are generally good and safe, since it was my fault. By taking the blame off myself and putting it on the people who have done it, I start to feel like everyone is unsafe.

So, I guess I’m in the place where I’m trying to figure out how I can let people in, because I’m not “flawed” and I deserve to have people in my life, without constantly getting hurt. And I’m trying to figure out how I can re-adjust my thoughts about the world as a whole, because right now I’m feeling like if I’m not the unsafe/unhealthy/broken person causing all the problems, then everyone else is unsafe/unhealthy/broken, and not to be trusted. I’m feeling like without the safety net of my overly planned life and “finish line” in the distant future, I have lost the only thing that helps me feel safe, and then I’m also trying to be “real” with people, which leaves me even less protected.

I started thinking about it some more this morning though and I realized that I have locked myself inside this little box of perceived safety, and in reality…that box is made out of lead.  I’ve been slowly poisoning myself with my own protection.  Time to open the box, as scary as that is.  Maybe I can replace the walls of the box with screen and let some air in.

It’s all about control, right?

It seems as though the new medications are working.  I’m not sure if they’re all working or if just one or two of them is working fantastically, but things are going well whatever the situation.  My energy is fantastic.  I can exercise without draining myself.  My mood is really good.  I don’t need to nap during the day.  I’m eating three rounded meals a day and a snack.  I haven’t had the urge to binge even once.   AND I’ve lost six pounds this week!  SIX pounds!

I have my very first therapy appointment at The Melrose Institute tomorrow morning.  I’m a nervous about that.  I’ve been so therapized to death in my life, that it’s not the therapy that scares me.  So, I don’t know what it is about it that’s make me a bit scared.  I’m sure it has something to do with losing the control that my ED has always let me feel.  Or atleast that’s what therapy shoudl tell me.  Honestly, I don’t know how it has helped me feel in control.  But that’s the theory, right?

The results are in

I had an appointment at MN-COME to follow up on my test results today. The verdict is in.  My testosterone was incredibly high.  My glucose is out of whack.  I had literally not a single drop of Vitamin D in my blood.  My vitamin B12 was very low as well.  So she added a shit load of medications to my already heavy  cocktail.
This is what my new medication regimen looks like:

Morning:

Phentermine 37.5 mg
B-12 15 mcg
Fish Oil 1200 mg
Aldactone 25 mg

Afternoon, just pre-dinner:

Fish Oil 1200 mg
Multi-vitamin
Lexapro 10 mg
Metformin 2000 mg
Aldactone 25 mg

Bedtime:

Valerian Root 450 mg
Melatonin 3 mg
Cymbalta 60 mgs
Klonopin .5 mg

There were no issues with my thyroid function.  There are a number of small cysts on the actual thyroid itself.  We’re going to keep an eye on those over the next six months or so.

Wow.  Supposedly all of this will work together to make me a happy, not “tired all the time”, able to process my food correctly, non-panic attack having individual.  It will also help the crazy hair growth on my chin and help me lose some weight.  And I might even have some energy again.  Between this and the eating disorder clinic dietitian helping me figure out the food stuff, I might have some semblance of a life ~!