This week I felt like a crazy person.
I rollercoastered all over the place, from feeling like I was totally fine to wanting to tear my skin off because I hated myself so much. I went from "I can handle this" and giving myself permission, to justifying not eating, and feeling like I had to either go straight to McDonald's and eat until I got sick, or never ever ever eat ever again. (Instead of either option, I took a very angry nap, then very angrily ate dinner. I didn't think you could eat angrily, but my body was very mad at me.)
I kept up my reading, and highlighted things that could be helpful; did all the exercises in both books, and even read from my devotional (for lack of a better term). I bought a pair of jeans that fit, and told myself that I could have them because I was rededicating myself to healthful, normal eating. I disregarded, then regarded, then disregarded, etc the notion of intentional weight loss. I even walked on our elliptical machine for about 20 minutes on Friday and decided that I would like to go swimming* on Monday; that I wanted to do these things because my body feels like crap and moving around will get it back to feeling better. After my moderate exercise, I even felt the emotional buzz of the neurotransmitters produced by the increased blood-flow to my brain. I told myself that exercise makes your brain work better, and that that was the goal, not being thin because, let's face it: I, Rachel Setzer, will never be thin.
Meanwhile, a slew of men-folk have been so kind as to say (paraphrasing) "ERMAGERD YOU'RE PRETTY", which I can't deny makes me feel pretty awesome. And yeah, I know that there are guys who find me attractive, but it's nice to know that someone thinks I'm stupifyingly pretty. And (and and and), this is the first time in my life that this has happened. Kind of ironic, don'cha think?**
My insides are starting to normalize-ish, after being sick for so long; although I still can't seem to handle flesh, dammit. And for the first time in a long time, I both wanted, and ate, a piece of fruit. I think my rational mind has decided it's okay to have some asparagus this week too. I've had salad this week (which I was avoiding because of the, let's say, discomfort, that had previously resulted from too much ruffage).
I worked this week. It wasn't a banner week, by any means, but I did work. I've kept my promise to myself to have 1-2 appointments a week, and while not all of my appointments have been profitable, getting back into the swing of things is a lot better than focusing on what I'm not doing.
I celebrated the election returns with friends and fellow liberals, and even went to a birthday party where we made an epic blanket fort for my friend who was turning 31. I reconnected with people I hadn't seen in months, and made social plans for this coming week. And saw Skyfall with The Emperor.
The week was okay. I had some wins, and I thought about things that weren't related to food or eating or hating myself for eating/not eating. I still haven't called either of the therapists that my doctor recommended, but I will do that eventually. I do want to get better. I do want to develop normal eating habits (and know the difference between hungry and nauseated... or nauseated and full), and I want to move on with my life. What's more, I realize it's going to take more than two weeks and a few exercises from a book about eating disorders to get to the point where I do have normal eating habits and the ability to live my life rather than spend it obsessing on food, eating, not eating, and hating myself for any of it.
Where I'm at sucks pretty hard, but I've been reaching out for loved ones and they've been reaching back, so I'm pretty sure I'll be okay.
*Year-round pool, bitcheeeeeeeez
**Aside: but then I see all these things on Facebook "seduce my mind and you can have my body blah blah blah", and I think, no, you know what? I want to be objectified sometimes. By guys whom I also find objectifilicious. And that is the difference in the ERMAGERDs of late.