If anyone had told me - at virtually any point over the last 2.5 years - that I would be able to go one month without binging I would not have believed them. But, here I am!
Here are some good stats:
1. I have not binged since May 10th. I overate pretty consistently between May 11 and May 30, but I did not binge once. There is a significant difference between overeating and binging. Overeating is 3 or 4 slices of pizza when 1 or 2 would be enough to satisfy you. Binging is eating an entire pizza by yourself followed by ice cream, cookies, and whatever else you can cram into your mouth. Binging is doing all of that as fast as possible, with as little thought as possible, until you truly feel ill.
2. I have been eating "like a normal person" since May 30. I have tracked calories without becoming obsessive, and I have maintained my perspective. Going over my calorie goal has not been an excuse to binge.
3. I have been exercising consistently. I am still not ready to run outside, go to yoga or the gym - - basically I do not want anyone to see me working out. But, I have exercised ten of the last twelve days. I have been walking for one hour on the treadmill while watching episodes of The Americans on my phone. Good show, by the way!
4. I made the decision to add my exercise calories to my calorie tracker so that I could have a more accurate picture of things. I want to make sure that I do not look back in X weeks (when I have forgotten which days I exercised and which days I did not) and think that eating 2000 calories a day three out of five days allows me to lose weight when I burned a few hundred exercising but did not log it. I was concerned about logging exercise calories for fear that it would motivate me to eat back exercise calories just because they were there, but so far this has not been the case.
5. I have lost five pounds in just over two weeks. My current weight is 151.6
6. I have not been excessively preoccupied with thoughts of food, or with negative thoughts about my body. This alone is wonderful. To be able to have space in my head for ANYTHING other than food and self-hatred is wonderfully freeing.
My new goals are:
1. To continue my binge free streak
2. To continue to track my calories without becoming obsessive
3. To continue to lose approximately one pound a week, but not to allow this goal to dictate my entire life. If it happens more slowly, that is fine. I just want the general trend to be downward.
4. To increase my exercise intensity. I would like to work running back into the mix. My current plan is to run 2-5 minutes (whatever feels right; no less than 2 and no more than 5 on the first day) at a 10:30 min/mile pace and to increase my running time by one minute each day. The rest of the time will be spent walking and watching The Americans :)
My intentions here are to start off super slow and easy so that I do not lose motivation. When I was running consistently and seriously a few years ago, I was able to keep a pace of between 8-9 mins/mile for up to six miles. I do not need to be at that point in order to start back up. More accurately, I am not going to be at that point when I start, and letting that be a barrier to getting started will mean that I never get back there.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Day five (sorta)
D was out of town most of last week, and that would usually have been a perfect opportunity for disordered eating. Knowing that I had a few days (or hours) without anyone 'watching' (not that D does watch me) was often a trigger for me. If I was able to leave work early, or had an extra bit of time traveling between my two jobs, I often used that time to binge. It would start off "innocently;" I would tell myself that I was just going to grab one cookie, or eat just a little bit of popcorn, and then all hell would break loose.
But this week, I was fine. I had the kids Wed and Thurs night, and did not even feel tempted to "get them" pizza or another treat (which I would then enjoy, too. Until I stopped enjoying it because I ate all the things), drinks Friday night with CT and EM (CT is the woman who married us two weeks ago today!) and then dinner with my friend DB. On Saturday, I did some errands and work around the house with my friend MB which made me feel organized and productive, went to a graduation party for HG and had dinner with CA. And on all of the occasions, I was fine! I did not eat cake at HG's party just because it was there (I was not hungry at the time), and although I totally enjoyed myself at drinks and dinner on both days, I did not lose my mind. I exceeded my calorie goal on Friday, but not by a ton, and I did not use that as an excuse to go crazy.
I think having a goal for calories, but not seeing it as an absolute because I am trying to lose X pounds a week, is helping. Right now, I have only two goals: eat "like a normal person" (no binges and a rough calorie goal of 1500 per day) and try to get some exercise. When I exceeded my calorie goal on Friday, I was able to keep perspective (this was helped by the fact that I was a bit under my goal on Thursday, and by the fact that I was not over by 1000 calories) by reminding myself that it is a marathon. If I stay on track more often than not, I will slowly feel better about myself.
I have been struggling with exercise. I feel unworthy of exercising. I know that makes little to no sense, but I feel like I am so out of shape, that I just can't imagine being out in public (running or going to the gym or yoga) and working out. As if everyone would be looking at me, thinking 'there's another fat girl whose body will never change'
I did exercise yesterday, though. It was an absolutely gorgeous day here, and in the past, I would have gone for a run outside, but I just could not bring myself to do it. Instead I used the treadmill in my building for 50 mins. I walked 99% of the time (3.7 mph at 5 incline), but I got my ass in gear, and that is what matters.
I am using MyFitnessPal to track calories, but I am not using it to track exercise. I do not want to see exercise as a means to eat more. I want my eating to reflect my hunger only; if I am hungry, I will eat, and if I am not, I will not. Knowing that I have X "free" calories has too often meant eating them just because I might not have those tomorrow.
But this week, I was fine. I had the kids Wed and Thurs night, and did not even feel tempted to "get them" pizza or another treat (which I would then enjoy, too. Until I stopped enjoying it because I ate all the things), drinks Friday night with CT and EM (CT is the woman who married us two weeks ago today!) and then dinner with my friend DB. On Saturday, I did some errands and work around the house with my friend MB which made me feel organized and productive, went to a graduation party for HG and had dinner with CA. And on all of the occasions, I was fine! I did not eat cake at HG's party just because it was there (I was not hungry at the time), and although I totally enjoyed myself at drinks and dinner on both days, I did not lose my mind. I exceeded my calorie goal on Friday, but not by a ton, and I did not use that as an excuse to go crazy.
I think having a goal for calories, but not seeing it as an absolute because I am trying to lose X pounds a week, is helping. Right now, I have only two goals: eat "like a normal person" (no binges and a rough calorie goal of 1500 per day) and try to get some exercise. When I exceeded my calorie goal on Friday, I was able to keep perspective (this was helped by the fact that I was a bit under my goal on Thursday, and by the fact that I was not over by 1000 calories) by reminding myself that it is a marathon. If I stay on track more often than not, I will slowly feel better about myself.
I have been struggling with exercise. I feel unworthy of exercising. I know that makes little to no sense, but I feel like I am so out of shape, that I just can't imagine being out in public (running or going to the gym or yoga) and working out. As if everyone would be looking at me, thinking 'there's another fat girl whose body will never change'
I did exercise yesterday, though. It was an absolutely gorgeous day here, and in the past, I would have gone for a run outside, but I just could not bring myself to do it. Instead I used the treadmill in my building for 50 mins. I walked 99% of the time (3.7 mph at 5 incline), but I got my ass in gear, and that is what matters.
I am using MyFitnessPal to track calories, but I am not using it to track exercise. I do not want to see exercise as a means to eat more. I want my eating to reflect my hunger only; if I am hungry, I will eat, and if I am not, I will not. Knowing that I have X "free" calories has too often meant eating them just because I might not have those tomorrow.
Thursday, June 2, 2016
Day Four (kinda)
I am hoping the recent trend towards not obsessing about food is going to continue. It has been remarkably refreshing to have space in my head for other things. First among these "other things" has been considering the implications of my postpartum bipolar diagnosis.
On the one hand, it is like being given a pardon for a life sentence. I was convinced that I was a terrible monster because of the way I behaved after both my kids were born. Being manic is hard to describe to anyone who has not been there, but it is sort of like being in the eye of a storm. You know there is a storm, but you can't see it from where you are. I recognized that my behaviors were risky, impulsive, potentially disastrous, but I had no ability to stop them. I felt that I *had* to do what I was doing; it was compulsive, lacking any reference to the outside world (other than at least having sufficient self awareness to not broadcast everything I was doing to the world), and seemingly necessary. Even at the time, I remember thinking that if I *could* behave otherwise, I would. But my brain and my body were humming along at a million miles an hour. I slept two nights out of every five or six, and even then it was for a few hours. My thoughts raced, and in the absence of anything particular, it would revert to song lyrics on a loop. I could not turn it off or tune it out. The antidepressant I was prescribed after both kids were born (because of immediate anxiety issues after my first child was born) exacerbated all of this, but I had no way of knowing that. I believed that I had just managed to evade my genetic destiny (most members of my family struggle with mental illness and addiction), but now things had changed. I also truly, truly believed that what I was doing was necessary. It was what I needed to do in order to live the life I wanted. If you had asked me at the time to define what this life was that I wanted, I would not have really been able to tell you, other than some vague but intense declarations about freedom and happiness.
In retrospect, it all seems so obvious. Looking at clinical definitions of manic behavior is like looking at a snapshot of how I felt after the birth of both kids - with my second postpartum experience being much, much more intense. After my older son was born, I struggled with anxiety and then some impulsive, irrational behavior, but it was more controlled. The birth of my second child was almost immediate chaos. I had about two-three months of (what I now recognize as) a slow build to a manic break, and then the storm hit.
Why it never occurred to me to ask a medical professional about whether my behavior - so completely and utterly out of character for me in a million different ways - might have a better explanation than "you are an irredeemable monster who decimated a kind and good husband and missed crucial bonding time with both of your children just because," I do not know. I just know that for a very long time now (over three years), I have hated myself. I have hated myself for the infidelity, the dishonesty, the recklessness, the inability to be present with anyone, but especially my children, and I have hated myself for the way I hurt others, most particularly my ex-husband. I had no explanation, no justification, just a slag heap of self-loathing. No matter how many times I told my ex-husband that I was sorry, that it was all my fault, that he did nothing wrong, and that I was totally responsible for the end of our marriage, I knew it made no difference. Not to him and not to me.
I did not want my marriage to continue for many reasons, but I wished to God that it could have ended differently, without the bomb scarred no-man's land I created at the end.
And now I am told that there was a chemical reason for my actions - that I was clinically, diagnosable-y bonkers. I am not a horrible monster, but rather someone who fell into intense mental illness as a result of the postpartum hormone tidal wave and a mis-prescribed anti-depressant.
Does this feel good? It feels mostly like a relief. That is different from good. I am relieved that I can stop hating myself (or, at least, hate myself less). I am relieved that knowing this means it will very likely never happen again. The next possible time it could happen, since I am done having kids, is menopause, and knowing how hormonal shifts of that magnitude affect me, I can prepare and have medical professionals ready to help me if I start to shift into a manic phase. It does not feel good because I still did things that hurt people. Yes, there was a reason, and no, I am not a monster, but how much does that matter to the people you have hurt? Do the families of drunk driving victims feel less pain because they understand that alcoholics are suffering from a disease?
The only people who know about any of this so far are my psychiatrist, D (although I spared him a lot of detail about my exact behaviors because there seemed to be no need. I was honest about the infidelity and the manic-ness), and my mom. In order of detail, my psych knows everything, my mom knows less, and D knows the least, but given that I have never, ever told another human being any truth about what went on for me, telling my psych, D and my mom is a massive, massive step forward for me.
Eating disorders thrive in an atmosphere of secrecy, and I am hoping that allowing light into the part of my life that I am so overwhelmingly ashamed of, will allow me to bring light into the dark corners of binge eating, too. It has been 22 days since my last binge.
On the one hand, it is like being given a pardon for a life sentence. I was convinced that I was a terrible monster because of the way I behaved after both my kids were born. Being manic is hard to describe to anyone who has not been there, but it is sort of like being in the eye of a storm. You know there is a storm, but you can't see it from where you are. I recognized that my behaviors were risky, impulsive, potentially disastrous, but I had no ability to stop them. I felt that I *had* to do what I was doing; it was compulsive, lacking any reference to the outside world (other than at least having sufficient self awareness to not broadcast everything I was doing to the world), and seemingly necessary. Even at the time, I remember thinking that if I *could* behave otherwise, I would. But my brain and my body were humming along at a million miles an hour. I slept two nights out of every five or six, and even then it was for a few hours. My thoughts raced, and in the absence of anything particular, it would revert to song lyrics on a loop. I could not turn it off or tune it out. The antidepressant I was prescribed after both kids were born (because of immediate anxiety issues after my first child was born) exacerbated all of this, but I had no way of knowing that. I believed that I had just managed to evade my genetic destiny (most members of my family struggle with mental illness and addiction), but now things had changed. I also truly, truly believed that what I was doing was necessary. It was what I needed to do in order to live the life I wanted. If you had asked me at the time to define what this life was that I wanted, I would not have really been able to tell you, other than some vague but intense declarations about freedom and happiness.
In retrospect, it all seems so obvious. Looking at clinical definitions of manic behavior is like looking at a snapshot of how I felt after the birth of both kids - with my second postpartum experience being much, much more intense. After my older son was born, I struggled with anxiety and then some impulsive, irrational behavior, but it was more controlled. The birth of my second child was almost immediate chaos. I had about two-three months of (what I now recognize as) a slow build to a manic break, and then the storm hit.
Why it never occurred to me to ask a medical professional about whether my behavior - so completely and utterly out of character for me in a million different ways - might have a better explanation than "you are an irredeemable monster who decimated a kind and good husband and missed crucial bonding time with both of your children just because," I do not know. I just know that for a very long time now (over three years), I have hated myself. I have hated myself for the infidelity, the dishonesty, the recklessness, the inability to be present with anyone, but especially my children, and I have hated myself for the way I hurt others, most particularly my ex-husband. I had no explanation, no justification, just a slag heap of self-loathing. No matter how many times I told my ex-husband that I was sorry, that it was all my fault, that he did nothing wrong, and that I was totally responsible for the end of our marriage, I knew it made no difference. Not to him and not to me.
I did not want my marriage to continue for many reasons, but I wished to God that it could have ended differently, without the bomb scarred no-man's land I created at the end.
And now I am told that there was a chemical reason for my actions - that I was clinically, diagnosable-y bonkers. I am not a horrible monster, but rather someone who fell into intense mental illness as a result of the postpartum hormone tidal wave and a mis-prescribed anti-depressant.
Does this feel good? It feels mostly like a relief. That is different from good. I am relieved that I can stop hating myself (or, at least, hate myself less). I am relieved that knowing this means it will very likely never happen again. The next possible time it could happen, since I am done having kids, is menopause, and knowing how hormonal shifts of that magnitude affect me, I can prepare and have medical professionals ready to help me if I start to shift into a manic phase. It does not feel good because I still did things that hurt people. Yes, there was a reason, and no, I am not a monster, but how much does that matter to the people you have hurt? Do the families of drunk driving victims feel less pain because they understand that alcoholics are suffering from a disease?
The only people who know about any of this so far are my psychiatrist, D (although I spared him a lot of detail about my exact behaviors because there seemed to be no need. I was honest about the infidelity and the manic-ness), and my mom. In order of detail, my psych knows everything, my mom knows less, and D knows the least, but given that I have never, ever told another human being any truth about what went on for me, telling my psych, D and my mom is a massive, massive step forward for me.
Eating disorders thrive in an atmosphere of secrecy, and I am hoping that allowing light into the part of my life that I am so overwhelmingly ashamed of, will allow me to bring light into the dark corners of binge eating, too. It has been 22 days since my last binge.
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