Tag Archives: mia

Cauliflower and Crazy

 

I restrict all day to counter the bingeing of yesterday. I am determined not to eat until tomorrow. Somewhere around mid-evening my resolve snaps. I decide that I can eat cauliflower and hummus rather than go on another binge. Once I have made the decision to allow myself to eat, I cannot wait. It is urgent, serious, life threatening.  I drive to the grocery store. I am frantic. I hit every red light. It is the longest drive in the history of driving. I grip the steering wheel. I want to bang my head against it out of hunger and rage. I am on edge knowing that I could lose control and buy anything, everything except that cauliflower. It is my sole focus.

In the grocery store I run crazily looking for the damn cauliflower. An old man is shuffling in front of me and I am shaking. He blocks the aisle and I want to shout from frustration. There has to be a faster way to get food than this. “Don’t binge. Don’t Binge. Please, don’t binge.” I mutter like a mantra as I start to panic. There is no cauliflower anywhere. I must be delirious. How can there not be the one food that I am allowed to eat? I ask the store clerk for cauliflower. He says he will check in the back. I stand amongst the vegetables ready to weep. I will lie down by the lettuces and sob if there is no cauliflower. I am so terrified of going on a binge if I cannot find the one safe food I crave. I must eat a cauliflower. My existence has been narrowed down to this.

Eventually he returns with one and I am beside myself with relief. I take it, ecstatic. I know I am sick. I am so excited about this cauliflower that I want to cry. I try to rush out the store. The line ups to pay are agonizingly long. Another old person is strolling in front of me. I will not make it. I will not survive this. It will finish me. I will die of this starvation holding a f**king, miserable cauliflower in my hands like it was the holy grail.

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Moderation

When I was growing up, my mother told me often that “everything in moderation” was good for me.

Perhaps she could already see my extremities even then. As a Libra (represented by scales), I am perpetually amused that my life is not balanced at all.

Today I ate 2lbs of mini cucumbers for breakfast. I was so hungry that it felt like I would die from it. I woke up full of bile and acid.  I binged and purged my way through uncountable amounts of food last night. Never full enough to be satisfied; never empty enough to be loveable. To look at me you would never know. My fat rolls negate any signs of illness; the cellulite and stretch marks blind everyone to how sick I really am.

I left ballet untouched by my overdose of vegetables and raced wildly for dinner. Obsessed, demented, focused: all I could think about was tofu and rice. It is all I want to eat at any given time. It is on my safe list. Sometimes I can almost justify it.

I start eating and cannot stop. I register that I am full and continue to shovel anything-drowned-in-soy-sauce and acceptance down my raw, sore throat. When I am done, the panic sets in immediately. What have I done? What was I thinking when I imagined not throwing this back up? I pay and run from the restaurant like I am fleeing the hordes of hell. My demons keep pace.  I have about half an hour before I am meant to meet my boyfriend at home. I drive with purpose – agitated –  run inside and start purging the calories that are sloshing around my insides. The relief is instantaneous. I have minutes to spare before my boyfriend is home. I wipe my face, fix my makeup.

I find a bottle of wine and settle outside on a beautiful, end of summer evening. No one will ever know. Too empty, too full…all I know is it is not enough. I am not enough.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Alive But Not Well

Thank you for all your lovely comments and for checking up on me. I will get back to all of you individually when I am feeling better. I have recovered from the trip to emergency, but I haven’t been doing well with my ED. I promise an update when I get a chance. In the meantime love and peace to all of you and, above all else, freedom from this tyranny.

Tagged , , , , , , ,

Post Op

 

I had foot surgery yesterday. It was very traumatic.

The surgery was done with a local anesthetic and no sedation. I am the kind of person that needs to be sedated heavily because I have such high anxiety. On the way to the hospital my heart rate started climbing and as I sat in the waiting room, I started shaking uncontrollably.

As soon as the surgeon came near me I started crying; ugly crying. He did my last foot surgery and I trust him implicitly, but for reasons I can’t explain, I just lost it. They same thing happened last time and it is embarrassing. For almost an hour I sobbed and shook and hyperventilated while the surgery took place. My dear friend who had driven me to hospital was allowed to stay in the room during the surgery and held my hand and tried to calm me down. I am so grateful to him for being with me. I apologized over and over to the surgeon and the nurses and my friend for my behaviour. The nurses tried very hard to get me to relax. My blood pressure sky rocketed and my heart rate hit 276bpms. I could not control myself.

When it was finally over, I was allowed to go home with a cast and crutches. Now the reality of having had foot surgery again has hit me: six weeks of no activity. No ballet or yoga or gym. I am terrified of how fat I will get so yesterday I ate as little as possible. I didn’t even have much appetite. It is hard to get around and do even the simplest tasks including going to the kitchen and making something to eat. I am hoping I will enjoy a restricting phase now.  I am lying on the couch feeling a bit depressed and in a lot of pain. Luckily I have been blessed with good friends who are taking care of me.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

The Darker Side

 

“There are some  f**ked up people in dancing,” my brother informs me as if, after 27 years of ballet, this is news to me. “Believe me it is just another conversation you don’t want to have with me. They are crazy.”

I don’t dispute his claims. They come after his 4 year old daughter did her first dancing show. “First and last,” he tells me. “Never again.”

I can’t blame him. He watched me as we grew up obsessed with ballet from a young age to the point that it was all I cared about. I spent evenings and weekends at rehearsals. I never stopped stretching or practicing or reading ballet books. I lived it, breathed it and most of all did not eat because of it.  He watched me disappear into a world of eating disorders, distorted reality and injuries. He lost me to a place he did not know and couldn’t understand. My big brother fought against the constant self-loathing and body hatred. He lost. He witnessed first hand the dark side of a beautiful art that consumed me, his little sister and he has not forgotten it.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Foot Surgery

 

I am supposed to have a second foot surgery this Saturday and am obviously anxious about it. Not least of all, I will not be able to do ballet, gym or yoga for 6 weeks afterwards. Naturally I am most upset about how much fatter I will get. I have managed to drop 7lbs since the infamous weigh in at my doctor’s. I still have a long way to go and being on crutches is not going to help. Also, my feet are the only thing about me worth looking at. They are the only thing that makes me look remotely ballerina-like. I hope they don’t botch it.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Disgusting

 

I asked my ballet students to watch themselves in the mirror (a tool I hate, but have to use from time to time) and to tell me what they saw at the end of a jumping exercise.

One beautiful, blonde, 16-year-old girl with a body that many of us can only dream of, put her hand up.

I nodded at her to answer.

“Disgusting,” she grimaced. “We are disgusting.”

I felt a flash back to my life as a young dancer. The never ending self hatred and loathing. The mirror always reflecting back my failure, relentlessly; torturing me. I was haunted. I still am.

After I reassured them that none of them were disgusting, that they were in fact very talented, promising dancers, I asked them to think of constructive criticism. I asked them to give me technical corrections that they could actually improve upon. After a few minutes they came up with the correct answers: rolling knees, pelvises tipped, backs collapsing forward . Then they told me how they could correct those things.

I walked past the dancer disgusted with not only herself, but the whole class, “darling, I can’t correct ‘disgusting’ because it doesn’t exist in any of you.”

I have been bothered by the incident all week. I cannot shake it off. I understand all too well what she meant. I think it to myself every time I see my reflection.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Fat As Usual

 

I am fat. Nothing changes. I gave up purging for a few days after getting strep throat. I got very ill before I was smart enough to go and get antibiotics. Another 2 weeks in which I was too sick to go to the gym. The scale doesn’t budge. I under-eat but it is not really restrictive enough to make a difference. I loathe the numbers, the size, my reflection. I am huge. I am annoyed by myself all the time. I am fat. Always. Fat.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

SICK (in the head, the heart and the body)

I am sick. Again. There was just a week in between one throat and chest infection before the next one started. Once again I am coughing, my tonsils are swollen and covered in white spots and I wake up every morning with my eyes crusted shut. On top of that I have a migraine from purging. I am too tired and weak to exercise. On the bright side, I have lost 5.5lbs since my doctor weighed me 12 days ago. I jump on the scale every morning and hold my breath. Or, more accurately, I creep onto it tentatively (one toe at a time) while repeating a mantra under my breath: “Please, please, please, please….please. Let today be the day.”

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,