Pastels

Hey, are you busy right now? It will only take a minute, I swear. And you wouldn't say "no" if you knew where we were going. Because we're going to City Park, and it's around 7:40 p.m. Have you ever been to City Park at 7:40 on April 28th? It's beautiful, you've got to visit. The birds are silhouetted against the lake, but the lake doesn't look like a lake: it looks like the sky, which looks like a painting, in every form of pastel purple and pink and blue and gray. It's perfect: nothing is the same shape or size. The sky is positively breathing, inhaling the world like oxygen, and we are just a piece of the whole. It nestles the Denver skyline; the cash register building looks like a curved robot, facing the sunset, just like us. The ducks dive in the water, and as the sun sinks they move to higher ground to settle down for the night.

Are you almost ready to settle down for the night? Me too; let's head home.

But wait, stand there for just a moment. Do you feel that? Can you hear it?

That's the feeling of forgiveness, of gratitude. That's what "time-is-on-your-side" feels like. That's the sound of acceptance and love.

And on the ground is a little toy soldier. Pick it up! Keep marching, my friend.

Shakti

This corresponds with my newest post, which for some reason put itself after yesterday's post. The name of the post is "My Lesson."

The Daily Grind

The advent of summer is usually accompanied by a change in schedules, and many of you have asked to come visit or meet with me. I am so grateful for all of your support and would love to see you, but they keep us on a pretty strict schedule here. At first, I felt irritated by the offers because I hated trying to explain exactly how I am so busy when I'm in treatment under the basic premise of learning how to relax. Yes, my day's are full of "mindfulness" activities (i.e., trying to meditate) and group therapy (i.e., trying to explain and listen) and eating (i.e., eating...a lot). What I didn't take into consideration was the fact that I haven't really explained to you just what it is that I do all day. Here I am, divulging my deepest, darkest treatment secrets, and yet I haven't even given you the basic information! And I call myself a blogger...

Our days are grouped into the same time periods every day. This is the pattern:

So, I intend to give a brief description here.Our days are grouped into the same time periods. This is the pattern:

(I eat an extra snack in the morning)
7:15- Van picks us up at the apartment
8:30-9:15 Breakfast
9:30-10:30 Group Therapy (Recovery Skills, like Communication or Emotional Acceptance)
10:40 Snack
11:15-12:30 Group Therapy (like Real World or Meal Planning, where we buy the items that we use to make our own meals once per week)
12:45- 1:30 Lunch
1:45- 3:00 Process Group or Community Meeting (Process Group is with 4-5 other patients and our therapist; Community Meeting is with the whole group)
3:15- 3:30 Snack
4:00-5:00 Group Therapy (like Psychodrama or Art Therapy)
5:00- 6:00 Free time
5:45 Thought Log (where we talk about our Intentions for dinner/ the evening)
6:00-6:45 Dinner
Around 7:15 Van drops us off at the apartment
(Almost everyone has another snack at night. My roommates and I host tea time, inviting the other patients over to eat their snack and have tea with us. It helps a lot of the patients who struggle to eat alone.)

Of note: Everything runs late and ends on time. This may or may not be the treatment team's way of enforcing flexibility.

This is a very basic structure. After every meal we also process our thoughts/ feelings and discuss intentions. Also, we are constantly being pulled out of group therapy to have one-on-one sessions with our therapists (two times/ week), our family therapist (one time/ week), our dietitian (one time/ week) and our psychiatrist (one time/ week).

We get to leave program by asking for "passes." Most of these passes occur during a snack or meal-time, where we test our skills in public. It's also a great time to get to explore Denver and visit with friends. Passes must be approved by our therapist and are often discussed with the dietitian.

The only change to this schedule is on Sunday, when we don't need to be in program until 10:00. We are expected to eat breakfast on our own. Some patients go out to eat; some make food at home.

Also, Level 3 patients (that's the last level before Outpatient; I am a Level 3) get to plan and cook their own meals once a week. The group also goes to a restaurant once a week, accompanied by a dietitian. This Thursday I'm going to Snarf's for lunch!

I hope this helps to alleviate some confusion. I am in therapy seven days a week, 11+ hours a day. I swear, learning to relax is a lot of work!

My Lesson

Every Tuesday and Thursday we have our largest group therapy session, called "Community Meetings." Lasting about an hour and a half, these sessions bring all the PHP patients and a variety of therapists and aides together. We "check-in" about current struggles, discuss how we can help one another in recovery, hold ourselves accountable for behaviors, and more. On the IP/Res side we appointed a leader for each session. That person was encouraged to start the meeting out in a creative way- a lot of patients share songs or poetry that will get the group thinking and set the tone of the meeting. Unsurprisingly, the PHP patients are much less willing to engage in this sort of therapeutic mood-setting and positivism; they lead their groups like G.I. Jane.

So, I decided we needed a little perking up (or maybe a little pissing-off) and I asked to lead one of our community sessions. I opened the group with a discussion of the Hindu principle of Shakti, the divine female force that male deities require in order to act. I related a discussion of Shakti to a couple Hindu principles and quotes that I remembered from my time in India. Afterward, I used discussion questions to open the group.

If success is measured by personal satisfaction, a feeling of accomplishment, and reaching out to just a few patients, then I was definitely successful. If it is measured by the number of eye rolls employed by the less spirituality inclined, then I was equally successful. If it was measured by awkward silences, the success meter goes off the wall. It was a lot of fun.

Process Group 4/28/2011: Shakti and the Ocean

1.) Shakti description from wikipedia
Shakti (Devanagari: शक्ति) from Sanskrit shak - "to be able," meaning sacred force or empowerment, is the primordial cosmic energy and represents the dynamic forces that are thought to move through the entire universe in Hinduism.[1] Shakti is the concept, or personification, of divine feminine creative power, sometimes referred to as 'The Great Divine Mother' in Hinduism. On the earthly plane, Shakti most actively manifests through female embodiment and creativity/fertility, though it is also present in males in its potential, unmanifest form.[2]

Not only is the Shakti responsible for creation, it is also the agent of all change. Shakti is cosmic existence as well as liberation, its most significant form being the Kundalini Shakti,[3] a mysterious psychospiritual force.[4] Shakti exists in a state of svātantrya, dependence on no-one, being interdependent with the entire universe.

In Shaktism, Shakti is worshiped as the Supreme Being. However, in other Hindu traditions of Shaivism and Vaishnavism, Shakti embodies the active feminine energy Prakriti of Purusha, who is Vishnu in Vaishnavism or Shiva in Shaivism. Vishnu's female counterpart is called Lakshmi, with Parvati being the female half of Shiva.

2.) Quote:
"Merge into the Maha Shakti. This is enough to take away your misfortune. This will carve out of you a woman. Woman needs her own Shakti, not anybody else will do it...When a woman chants the Kundalini Bhakti mantra, God clears the way. This is not a religion, it is a reality. Woman is not born to suffer, and woman needs her own power."
-Yogi Bhajan (Harbhajan Singh)

3.) One important Hindu principle:
All rivers flow into the same ocean. Or, No matter the trail to the top of the mountain, the view is the same.

Questions for Discussion:
1.) How does the description of Shakti make you feel?
2.) What does the description of Shakti make you think?
3.) Does this description remind you of any recovery skills, other religious teachings, memories, etc.?
4.) Specifically, how does the second paragraph relate to the pillars and skills of recovery?
5.) Do you feel like the quotes relate to recovery? How?

A Mad Education

There has been a burden hanging over me for the past couple of weeks, and I'd love to get your feedback on the matter. In late 2009 I received about $4,000 in grant money to complete an independent research project. During my time studying abroad in India I missed the deadline to apply for a thesis. Believing thesis to be "proof" of a well-earned education, I decided to undertake the independent research project as comparable a display of my progress in education.

The entire thing quickly ballooned into a much bigger, more difficult endeavor than I foresaw. The application process was tedious: in order to work with human subjects, I had to apply to a national committee, who decided whether or not my project protected subjects against undue harm. Only after their approval could I actually begin working in March of 2010. The aim was to discover the short-term adjustments made by refugees their first 90 days in the United States. I worked with the Emily Griffith Opportunity School's Colorado Refugee English as a Second Language Program (CRESL). There, I volunteered in the classroom, garnering information through participant observation. I also interviewed refugees and other professionals. Finally, I did a lot of background research.

This project would have been difficult regardless of any other pressures. Naturally, I was not operating within a void, and the project seemed to coincide with so many other stressors in my life. It really took off in June, during the time when I had two mental breakdowns, got a new apartment, broke up with my boyfriend, had a computer crash, etc. It also has been, in a nutshell, an endless pain in my behind. Over a year of effort led me to produce the piece of work I am most proud of in the entirety of my academic career (all 100-some pages of it) but I cannot enumerate the number of times I almost gave up. Even my ED had a hand in it: I tried to volunteer a lot because it forced me to stand and move with little time to eat. I look back on those hours and feel regret: I struggled to keep up in class and to be patient and obsessed about whatever workout or meal I planned next. I would have been a much better tutor had I been truly present.

Why did I keep working on the project, despite the burden it placed on my life? I needed the credits, yes, but I didn't have to discipline myself within it. The project became a standard at which to measure myself and my entire college career.It was silly, because I had very little experience in refugee studies or anthropology, teaching myself a lot along the way.

On the other hand, working with refugees has been one of the most fulfilling activities I have ever done. It began my sophomore year to meet a community service requirement and I never let it go. Working with them was a gift; it provided perspective and introduced me to some of the most compassionate and courageous people I have ever met. I really love them. But locked in my self-made prison, it was hard to feel much love at all.

Fast forward to today. The final grant requirement that I present my project with other students at a symposium on May 5th. It is a half-day event that also consists of a keynote speaker and luncheon. My presentation is a 10-minute speech with Powerpoint and I have invited my parents, grandparents, professor, and two staff of the Emily Griffith Opportunity School to attend. The thought of going back to DU in less than two weeks paralyzes me.

I am so afraid of what it will feel like to stand in front of a crowd and present a project whose grid work outlines my personal digression. I am afraid of people noting my weight gain. I am afraid of looking stupid, standing between other students who studied rare diseases and created minor miracles. I am afraid of the luncheon. At this point I can't even bring myself to make the Powerpoint!

However, I am proud of my project (mostly, I'm proud of not giving up on it) and I would feel worthless if I didn't see it through to the end. I have a responsibility to the granting organization, to the refugees at EGOS, and to myself. Once again, this project can be a way for me to prove my inner strength.

Yet, my therapist says some things are never resolved, and that's OK. So she has challenged me to work on it for one hour every night, at which point I will journal how I'm feeling. If the project is still a "should" than it "should" be dropped. Otherwise, I've got my answer.

May 5th will be tomorrow any day now. If you were me, what would you do?
(You can always e-mail me at emilytonellistewart@gmail.com)

Easter ED Style

My roommates made these adorable little rabbits out of socks! I watched. Happy Easter!

Peasant Revolt!

A Brief Political History

I have always loved the study of politics and history. I find the evolution of government a fascinating topic, especially when diplomacy (read: argumentation plus muscle) are involved. One of the most interesting transitions is the change from feudalism to constitutional monarchy or democracy in many Western European nations. This phase is a fundamental step in the establishment of national identity and sustainability.

With the recent events in the Middle East and North Africa, plus our own filibusters, health care reforms and economic woes, government has been on my mind. History is playing and replaying before our eyes: how many times have we seen dictators overthrown, to be replaced by others? On the other hand, how many times have we seen serfs rebel, establishing their own representative democracy? At some point it seems that every country reaches that decisive crossroad, wherein the level of representative power allowed to the people (the heart and soul of the country) determines the fate of that nation-state.

For the past few years I have been living under the unjust rule of Lord Ed's feudal cronies. His cronies, Vassal Exercise, Vassal Restriction, Vassal Achievement, and Vassal Control, have led me to believe that this whole feudal system was some sort of reciprocal, fair relationship. They "protected" me from outside pressures- those dangerous foreigners of Fun, Friendship, and Food. In return I devoted myself to their governance. I fed the Vassals with the fruits of my labor: my muscles, clear thinking, life's pleasures, and imagination. The system perpetuated itself. They protected me from the potential failure accompanied by risk and I continued to empower them. Without foreign influence, my food was bland, my mind ignorant, and my body crippled.

Somehow, foreign influence leaked in. Maybe it was the printing press, enlightening me with modernity? Maybe it was education, when I graduated from college and asked, "What now?" And maybe it was fatigue, being tired of being tired, of feeling worthless and fighting for my right to live in peace. Whatever the source, my peasants rebelled.

The civil war inside of me waged its most fierce during the week before and first week in treatment. Both the peasants and feudal lords gained and lost, pushing at one another with extreme intensity. There were faulty weapons and foreign influences and traitors and deaths. The blood-letting has subsided. Yet, the rebel troops have broken into two fronts, the Constitutionalists and the Liberals.

You see, having an eating disorder is living a life through rules and rituals. If I work out for this long, I can claim a successful day. If I go to bed at this time, I will feel great tomorrow. If I stand instead of sit, I will alter the way my weight gain feels.

Old habits die hard, and in treatment I've already created so many rules to live by. It is true that the old rules are losing ground, but my ritualism still demands attention. I find myself walking the same routes, choosing the same foods, trying to stand instead of sit, and more. The Constitutionalists support these sort of regulations. They demand that recovery be mandated. Yes, the rules are voted on by a representative body; unfortunately, those parties include former cronies from Lord Ed's crew. They tell me that I must be successful every day in treatment, that I must create rules to ensure this success, and that violation of these rules will lead to failure. Their intentions may be good but their system is a relic of the past. The peasants support the Liberals.

The Liberals don't believe that rules can dictate recovery. They use values to determine right and wrong, good and bad. Yes, there are restrictions and regulations; for instance, no side could argue that going for a run is a good idea right now. But they support flexibility. They want to allow the peasants to experiment, to grow and flourish, creating new national boundaries. They understand that Lord Ed will always have some sort of influence because no country is perfect. But there is a new, modern culture to be formed, and the more foreign influence the better. Liberals support immigration. They support amendments and modernity. And they will use social welfare to be sure all peasants have a chance.

Like all Liberals, my Liberals have the theory but lack the military. They could use some more weaponry, if Lord Ed decides to flex his monarchical muscles again. Fortunately, the Liberals have one key resource: treatment. A growth in foreign influence (Fun, Friendship, Food)will further stimulate the creative economy, creating a positive upward spiral. This is a new nation and it will surely suffer setbacks. But, from a historical perspective, it's well on it's way to democracy.

Most Wanted

Frenemies

I've been planning on doing another vow of silence this week. I felt that it would be a beneficial way for me to internalize some of the struggle, progress and insight I'd gained over the last week and a half of PHP. I wanted a break from trying to make friends, vocalizing my often negative thoughts and really have some quiet down-time with myself. In all honesty, I kept thinking of what a respite being quiet again would be.

I don't necessarily think this is the best way to look at being silent. Eventually, I will be silent as I need, when I need. Reflecting on this, I began to wonder what I could do instead of silence. Riddle me this: What else might serve the purpose of keeping me engaged in the present moment, helping me to connect on a different plane with the people around me, and explore my inner psyche?

It's a wonderful anomaly when someone is actually good at their job. Luckily, my therapist is one of those people. When I requested her feedback on another vow of silence, she responded with a different proposition: a day of without the written word.

A day of not writing? I stared at her blankly for a moment. No journal, no blog, no to-do list?!

For as long as I can remember my planner has been my second thumb. We are great friends, At-A-Glance LifeLinks and I. It goes wherever I go and notes everything I like, want to do, and wonder. Along with Journal, I track nearly every detail of my day, deriving great pleasure from doing so. However, there comes a time when a girl must admit that she's let things get a little out of hand.

In group yesterday we worked on identifying irrational expectations of ourself. For the first time, I realized that I have developed this ridiculous expectation that I should remember everything I hear, from the news report to a piece of spiritual insight. Moreover, I should be able to recall that information to promote conversation and excel in my own pursuits. Writing is a function of this expectation.

My therapist believes that writing is another way for me to live in my own mind, rather than the present moment. Noting leads to strategizing; strategizing is the desire to control. Control enables fear of the unknown. Right now, it is the unknown that I need most.

So, I'm not going to write a dang thing tomorrow. No blog, no journal, no planner, no to-do list. I might forget everything that happens. I might let an errand fall by the wayside. I might even let some brilliant idea leak out my ears. But I'll be there, really there, all day. Or at least I'll try.

I look forward to re-convening with you on Sunday.

My New Haiku

Right now, I sit down.
Me, trying recovery.
Habits die hard. Argh!

KAPOW!

From Kryptonite to Secret Weapon

Yesterday, I had a coming-to-Jesus moment with my therapist. The scripture? "Thou shalt admit thine still has an eating disorder, and if thine wants to recover, thou must drop all silly actions, ASAP." She was right, but that didn't make the pill any easier to swallow, and I've been gulping ever since.

Yesterday marked the one-week point of my having been in PHP. When reflecting upon the last week, the extent to which my eating disorder permeated my thoughts and actions is evident. In treatment we like to celebrate the successes, so I will start by saying that I conquered many fears last week (confronting the group, finding new coping strategies to get through urges, spaghetti and ice cream, a triggering outing, solo meditation). Yet, these successes did not bring me the deep satisfaction and pride from successes past. Some dark creature was gnawing on them in the back of my mind.

That dark creature was all the ways I was allowing ED to dictate me. In PHP we have little 10-15 minute breaks throughout the day and two long breaks in the morning and before dinner. Every break presents to me the overwhelming opportunity to go out and move around. Sometimes, I can deny those urges, staying inside, limiting the scope of my movement, or practicing mindfulness techniques (like meditation). However, each break is it's own beast, and in reality I can find far too many excuses to move.

I haven't felt like myself in a week. Actually, I haven't felt like myself in a year and a half. For a snippet of time in IP/RES, though, I started to feel really good. I felt connected to my inner creativity and those around me; I felt strong, inspired, and motivated. And I was sitting still. I haven't felt like myself this past week because I haven't been acting as myself; I've been acting as ED. My subconscious was trying to tell me, but I just kept walking right past it.

Because of my actions, I can expect an increase in my meal plan this week. I probably haven't gained any weight. My therapist explained just how important it was for me to reach the maintenance stage (my goal weight): that's when I can actually learn my own hunger cues, work on body image and practice healthy exercise. The need to rectify the week's damages, both physical and emotional, have made me feel disappointed in myself, guilty, unworthy and weak. The battle rages on.

When I explained all of this to my mother, she completely identified with me. When she got pregnant with me she was in a toxic relationship with my biological father. She was depressed, desperate, and operating in combat mode, acting in a way completely contrary to her basic character. She said, "I looked at you and realized that, in order to be a good mother, I had to stop." She broke relations with my biological father and became the best mother on the planet.

In a sense, I was my mother's kryptonite: she was living a life a lot like someone with ED, using habits to function, rather than listening to emotions and acting by values. The relationship with my biological father was kryptonite to her life, the toxic demise of even the strongest superhero. I represented their union.

And then, my mom made a change. She saw the kryptonite and decided that it could be a secret weapon. Through me she discovered her values and committed to living her life by them. She admits how difficult it was, and that she still struggles today. But when she starts to feel the walls closing in, she reminds herself that she will never go back to that way of living.

Right now, ED is my kryptonite. I have the opportunity to turn it into a secret weapon, but I must commit to the struggle. I know my values. I want to recover. So it's time to call out the big guns. I am Superwoman; KAPOW!

Words of Wisdom

"What's Comfortable is not Always What's Good"- my psychiatrist

The Speech

Fed up with the negativity and advised to speak to the group about my support needs, I delivered this speech to the entire PHP and assistants in our group meeting yesterday:

I’d like to start by saying that this is about me and my recovery; I am by no means judging what’s best for any of you, or your personal treatment plans, or your recovery. I am only explaining my point of view, my story, and wondering if you would like to join me.

As you know, I recently came from IP/RES, where we follow rules that alleviate some of the triggers of meal-time and general interaction. These rules are things like not complaining about your food, not engaging in food/ exercise talk, not referencing specific body parts, and being respectful to one another in communication by offering check-ins and using “I” statements. We tried our best to be careful and facilitate an environment that best supports everyone’s recovery needs.

From the moment I stepped into PHP I felt it was different here. Obviously, there is more freedom, more temptation, and a whole new group of people. These were the types of changes I expected, the types of changes that I knew I would need support in dealing with. On the other hand, there are many factors that I think are not necessarily part of PHP, but of the environment as a whole. I have felt so much negativity in this group. I see it in things like not participating in groups, complaining about food during dinner, talking about exercise, actively using behaviors and discussing them, and isolating from other group members. Not only do I often feel like I need to close up in order not to be triggered, but I’ve come to resent the program. I also feel sad when I see others engage in behaviors because I know that this is not conducive to any type of recovery.

PHP is supposed to be the next step into the “real world,” I know. And in the real world people will talk about exercise and food. I will be triggered in the real world, and PHP is meant to prepare me for that. However, I have come to treatment because I need support. The negativity and behaviors remind me of when I came here and my life was ruled by ED; I had lost my friends, my health, my mental capacity, and my joy of life. I have promised never to return to that and went to the ERC to show me how. I want to know you all; I want to learn from you, and help you in your recovery, and in return receive the love and support that I know we can all offer one another. I hope you see in yourselves what I see, and I humbly request, now, that we take on recovery together.

The Response

Delivering that speech to this new and rather intimidating group of people took a lot of guts, but I had the support of my friends and believed that many other group members felt the same way. For the last few days I had become so dejected in the PHP environment. I resented having to take control of my treatment because I didn't feel like I knew enough or was strong enough. I resented the other patients for not creating a supportive environment. I resented the triggers, because the situation was already difficult enough despite their complaints and competition. But mostly I resented that fact that I felt the PHP system and patients pulled me so far from my values and goals in treatment. I wasn't sitting still or being creative or exploring my spiritual self; I was only struggling to get a hold on this new, less-than-perfect situation.

However, I felt myself beginning to use the PHP system as an out. If I was feeling anxious or scared, it was foremost a result of the situation. I was deterred from sitting with, accepting and reforming my thoughts because it was much easier to exclaim, "unjust!" In order to return to my pursuits in treatment I had to attempt a change in the system. Whether change was achieved was not the point; what mattered was that I had made an effort to take hold of my treatment and act as a good citizen patient. Without realizing it, I chose a fitting attitude, because the response from the other patients was not at all what I was hoping for...

Having made the mistake before, I attempted not to form too many expectations about the response I might receive. Still, I was hopeful that the other patients would hear my opinion and heed my requests. Was that too much to ask?

As soon as my speech had been delivered, I was honored with a swift kick in the butt, PHP-style. The other patients informed me that I was not attempting to break out of my group of roommates (my roommates and I have bonded as partners in recovery); that I needed to suck up my sensitivity about triggers, because with PHP came options and freedom, and other people had the right to choose their actions; and that some people were working on emotional expression, so they needed to practice being negative and sitting with it. After two responses, and into four or five, I felt myself shutting down. I wanted to grab a Harry Potter portkey and send myself elsewhere, even if I got spiltched (split into parts) in the process. I wanted to listen to them and take their criticisms with grace but I felt like nothing I said had resonated. Worse still, I had ruined any potential relationship I could have formed with them. I was desolate, sweating, and totally non-receptive.

Luckily humans have been granted the gift (and curse) of memory. In reflection, I can enumerate some of the positive statements they made. They are right; other patients at the PHP level are granted the right to exercise and may need to process this right by discussing it. They were correct in calling me out on grouping up with my "safety net" of PHP friends- even if I do not have a rapport with the other PHP-ers, I can still learn from them. They told me that most people feel the way I feel when they enter PHP, and although this made me think they weren't really listening to me, I think it valuable for me to realize that this is just a part of the learning curve. Whether or not I feel comfortable here I am a member of this system, and this system is meant to prepare me for the real world.

In speaking to the group I took a huge risk and did what everyone from my treatment team to the other PHP members advised me to do: take this stage of treatment into my own hands. I commanded the support I needed and received feedback on it. In life, we might not always want to hear what we're told, but we're fools not to listen at all. I might be depressed, dejected and angry, but I will not be a fool.

Just keep swimming!

Morning Muffin Saga

With the way these blogs post, start from the bottom of the next 3, and work your way up (i.e., Part 1-Conclusion)

Morning Muffin Saga, Concluded

Dear ED, you are not in a muffin. You are not in pasta. You are not at the gym. You are in me. And I don't want you there anymore.

Morning Muffin Saga, Pt. 2

(5 minutes later)
Dear Muffin, I am sorry I spoke to you that way. I know that eating you will help me to gain weight, which will propel me toward my recovery goals. I unfairly impose my warped food paradigms onto your sweet, sugary self. I love you, muffin, and will gobble you up.

Morning Muffin Saga, Pt. 1

Good morning, Muffin. You're my snack increase. You with your gooey muffin top, your sugar, your blueberries; I hate you, and especially in the morning. I am going to eat you because I'm supposed to, but that doesn't mean I don't hate you.

Bonding Through Bitching

Excuse the language, but sometimes curse words are the best way to say it. The irony lies in the fact that there are a lot better things to talk about than bitching. So far, I feel like all I've heard in PHP is bitching. In treatment, the impact one person's attitude or demeanor can have on those around them becomes magnified ten-fold. If one person walks into a room with a smile on their face the whole room brightens. We often do "mindfulness" (centering breathing exercises) before group meetings, instantly relaxing even the most anxious patients. Then, there is the impact of bitching, wherein one complaint lights the room like a wildfire in the wind, until the everyone has been charred. PHP has been a major reality check. The rules so carefully observed in IP/Res have flown the coop, and I finally understand why they were so important. Complaining and and negativity are the norm, as is food and exercise talk, giving in to behaviors, and arguing with one another. During snack time at IP/Res all the patients crammed together at one table; in PHP, the patients spread out into small groups or cliques. PHP-ers often complain about the food, bringing down the mood of the table and inciting other complaints. When I had spent the last two weeks being the perpetrator of triggers much less detrimental, I felt like a dart board, poked and prodded by triggering actions at every moment. Ouch. Reviewing my time in treatment, the chronology goes a little something like this: for the first few days, I was in the honeymoon phase, practically drowning in motivation; over the next couple days I doubted my need and place in treatment; then, on day seven, I stood at my window with my hands on my hips and thought, "This is it. I accept this. I want this, I need this, I love this." A few hours later I was told that insurance was pushing me to PHP. I learned how to overcome my nerves about PHP during my vow of silence and was blessed with an additional weekend in IP/Res. Then, I entered PHP yesterday and felt like the halo had been stripped from my Angel-of-Recovery. What do I want instead of PHP? When I entered treatment, I wanted to be taken care of. In my quest to be Productive and Efficient and Responsible I ran myself to the ground. I wanted to curl up in the arms of people I trusted. And on Day 7, I realized that for the first time in a long time I felt safe again. I just want to stay in that safe, warm place for a little while longer. Let's talk about the Real World. In the Real World, people talk about exercise. In the Real World, people complain about food. In the Real World, people need to take their lives into their own hands. After venting to my therapist, she laid down the facts: of the people who seek treatment (by the way, 1/3 women have or are currently suffering from ED on college campuses right now) 30% never recover, bouncing in and out of treatment centers and behaviors. The next 30% become functional, showing some behaviors, obsessing, and suffering in secret. The final 30% recover. Period. The percentile that I fall into is my choice. I can choose which crossroads will lead me there, which trees to plant in my forest, and the actions that best support my values. I can choose not to bitch and not to behave. My prospects are good: I got into treatment early on in my ED, have a massive support network, and plenty of hope for the future. I don't ever want to be in treatment again- it's a gift that keeps giving, not a re-gift. I don't want my life to limited by my obsessions. And I do not want to bond through bitching. I choose the top 30%.

St. Arbucks

Reeling

Long time no post!

For being limited to about a square mile of space, it's amazing how much activity I can shove in. This weekend has been one of the most challenging yet, and I still don't feel like I've gotten a hold of it (we call the act of breaking down emotions/ thoughts and getting feedback on them "processing"). Strap in, folks; this post might be a little muddled...

On the stretching, snack and lunch challenges:

I am proud of report that I have not stretched since last Friday! Although my therapist's challenge only lasted through Monday, I didn't stretch this morning, either. Resisting the urge has gotten easier every day, until this morning when I barely remembered my habit. Can I tell you a secret?I feel so much lighter. I feel more flexible. I feel liberated. And I feel proud.

The snack outing on Saturday went imperfectly perfect. A friend and I shopped and then went to St. Mark's coffee, an independent cafe with a great vibe and hipster crowd. My dietitian and I had decided my snack the day before, and I had been practicing the order in my head all day: Grande dirty soy chai. Grande dirty soy chai. I got to the counter, looked the clerk in the eye, and sputtered, "Um, 2% Chai grande with a shot, PLEASE." Spitefully, the clerk replied, "What's that?" I stammered, "You know, it has a shot of espresso in it?" He said, "No, what's a grande?" Zing!! The stupid hipster wanted to throw my Starbucks lingo back in my face, and I wanted to throw my ED in his. Instead, I told him I chose St. Mark's because I hated Starbucks and flipped him off when he turned his back. Take that, snack challenge debacle!

The lunch pass presented considerably more challenges. A friend and I got a ride from my Mom, who had come for family visit. We arrived at Thai Basil to realize that it was closed. Having my plans foiled is a big trigger; I had talked with my dietitian about my options, carefully chosen the location, prepared the itinerary, and memorized the plan. Thank God I was with my mom and a very flexible friend. We redirected to the Swing Thai down the street, chose what we deemed was in line with our dietitian's guides, and dove in.

I spent a lot of lunch comparing the content of my meal's to my friend's. Comparisons are ED's best friend and completely defunct in promoting recovery goals. I thought mine had more oil and was thus fattier. Then, to counter my nerves and match my friend's order, I requested an iced green tea (as you know, caffeine is not recommended for patients in recovery). I did a relatively good job of not feeling guilty for my choice and trying to limit the comparisons, but I would lie if I said it was easy.

After lunch we walked Broadway for a while, stopping by the gas station for gum and Bardo's coffee shop. Here I was, "indulging" in everything that had been off-limits: caffeine, gum, comparisons, walking. In the throes of ED, going out to lunch or an afternoon coffee stop were indulgences. I lost my ability to be flexible in social eating, making these events extremely triggering. I want to learn again how to enjoy a lunch and not treat it as an indulgence, and here I was doing exactly that. When we arrived back to treatment, I breathed a sigh of relief. Excitement, pride and satisfaction were my primary emotions post-snack challenge; post-lunch, I felt exhausted, hypocritical, and a little hopeless. As my dietitian said, they don't call these "challenges" for no reason. The thing for me to do now is not self-deprecate but to process the reason why I gave into those urges. I didn't "lose control" or "indulge;" I simply chose one path over another path.

The goal in any situation is to choose the path that most promotes my values in recovery, and that is not the decision that I made after lunch. My new intention, then, is to reestablish my goals, understand my options, and my forward-pointing inner compass. I'll keep you updated.

You Know You're in Treatment When...

My Sunday morning breakfast included a delicious lil' turkey sausage. I carefully cut my sausage, peppering the pieces to further enhance the meaty delight. A little too eager to indulge, I poked the sausage nib at such a velocity that it flew off of my plate, bouncing off of my chest and onto the carpet.

My table-mates chuckled. Aw, shucks!

"Not to worry!" exclaimed Pat, the PCA (food police/ table babysitter).

She ran to the kitchen.

A moment later, the head chef returned with a small bowl. Inside the bowl, hot off the grill, was a perfectly sliced turkey nib.

I was tempted not to eat it; I simply could not fit even another nib in. Somehow, I pushed through.

One Weekend, Two Days, Three Challenges

To prepare for the transition to PHP I've decided to get really down-and-dirty with recovery this weekend. I've undertaken three big challenges: 1.) I will not stretch in the morning- Although stretching does not burn calories like doing push-ups would, it is still something that I've routinezed to the point of becoming a "rule," something that I feel the urge to do and therefore lack some control over. My therapist and I agree that if I can get over the urge to stretch in the morning, it proves that I deserve to be allowed to stretch as a form of meditation in later days. Stretching as meditation, to get centered with my body, is something that fulfills my goals in treatment. So I've got to prove to myself, my therapist and my eating disorder that I don't "have" to do it. 2.) A coffee date with another patient- Today I am going to St. Mark's Cafe with another girl here. I feel great about it. Yesterday I sat down with that jerk, ED, and wrote a little letter. First, I wrote the letter from him to me, that told me about all the horrible ways he was going to try to stress me out and ruin my trip. He said he was going to make me try to burn extra calories and order a "light" chai and stress about every little thing. I, Emily-in-Recovery, wrote a letter back to him, letting him know that I was going to walk nice and slow, enjoy the conversation with my friend, and sip that soy chai like it was nobody's (especially ED's) business. I showed him! 3.) A lunch date to Thai Basil- tomorrow I am going to lunch with a very good friend of mine from treatment. One thing I've rarely let myself eat in the last year has been ethnic food. It's funny, because I have restricted all the things that I really like. I can't wait to get a little spice in my life but am considerably anxious. Going out to eat and trying new foods used to be one of my favorite things to do, but over the last year doing it had to be such a special occasion. It felt like an indulgence, and if I didn't find it satisfying enough or couldn't categorize it's calories/ fat I felt extremely let down. This time, I asked my dietitian to give me three options that work. Before I would have gotten online, analyzed the menu, and spent the whole time at lunch doubting my choice. This time, when I get there I'll decide, and know that it's what my body needs and tongue loves. I also will remind myself that I don't have to "deserve," either because of a workout or celebration, a fun, different meal. So, that's my weekend. It's full of challenges and fun and I already feel better about it talking to you. In reality, this just the type of weekend healthy Emily, or anyone without an eating disorder, would have. I'm living my weekends again, one day at a time! By the way, Not-Stretching-in-the-Shower Challenge, Day 1= CHECK.

"Learn to Look"

Sarah Casewit Photography

The Way Things are Meant to Be

Last Sunday, my grandparents came to Mass with myself and some other patients. They walked with us to the Chapel, and along the way my grandpa fell behind. He struck up a conversation with my roommate. They chatted for a while, and none of us thought much of it. Later that evening my roommate received a call from her family: her grandfather had passed away earlier that evening. What are the chances that, of all the patients there that day, my grandfather chose to reach out to my roommate? I'm conviced that some grandfather ju-ju and divine intervention were at work that day. I can't get that beautiful coincidence out of my mind. The more I sit back and watch it, the more I notice how the world seems to work itself out. I finally accepted my PHP worries, and then the impossible happened: I was granted more time. I accepted treatment, and then I began progressing within my goals, discerning insight without even meaning to. The more we wait and wish and manipulate the further our hopes get; once we simply accept the natural course of things and continue to act within our own equilibrium, everything just seems to fall into place. The world works in mysterious ways, my friends.

Second Edge of the Sword

I am pleased to report that I feel the best physically that I've felt in a long time. My medical health has evened out nicely; I've almost gotten to a "normal" state. My muscles have received a much-deserved break, and for the first time in months I don't have pain and fatigue in every part of my body. My mind is humming with clear, concise, consciousness, and I'm getting plenty of sleep. I've got energy, humour and excitement. I even started a new book (The Island, by Huxley!!). Being in treatment exposes you to emotions and fears that you never expected or knew that you had. One might imagine that this reinvigorated body encourages purely positivist thinking, but it's actually brought a whole slew of unexpected emotions. Foremost, the eating disorder caused me to recognize symptoms of malnutrition as being "hunger signals." The dizziness and fatigue that I've experienced over the last year were the way that I gauged my hunger, and I would put off eating until I felt near starvation. Now, I don't ever feel that hungry, and because of some digestion issues, I usually feel stuffed. When I first entered treatment I was excited about choosing foods that had formerly been off-limits and now I catch myself digressing to the "healthiest option." This is ridiculous; my dietitian portions and measures my meals to be the proper mix of carbs/fats/proteins, and our bodies are non-discerning in the breakdown of nutrients. Still, in the gulf between logic and my emotions lies good ol' ED. In opposition to my gratitude for health is also the urge to exercise. For the first time in a year my muscles don't quiver from fatigue, my mind doesn't buzz with exhaustion, and my body feels ready for the day. More than ready; I've got so much energy that my psychiatrist wondered if I was manic! (This was quickly refuted, although I am willing to bet many of you beg to differ). Not being able to release this energy through exercise makes me agitated, often to the point where I can't even begin to try to redirect my energy. It's times like these when thoughts like, "I don't need treatment" taunt my recovery. And it's getting through times like these that prove I can recover. Finally, feeling this healthy makes me nervous for the future. Feeling good means that I'm getting better. Getting better means that I'm moving through recovery. Being recovered means I'm going to re-enter the "real world," where words like networking, income, grad school, and restaurants, and free time are again applicable. Who would have thought that in such a short period of time I've already attached like a barnacle to the safety of this ship, a bouy in the ocean I made for myself. I loathe the dichotomy between wanting so badly to get better and being afraid of returning to my life. Talking to my treatment team has really helped me to navigate these feelings. They've equipped me with a couple sayings and ideas that help me remember why I'm here. The first is, "Look at the forest, not the trees." If the forest is my goals in recovery (my future plans, the desire to live a more fulfilling life, control over my exercise) then little bumps in the road are the trees. The trees deserve attention; they are the day-to-day matters, positive or negative, the compromise the forest. On the other hand, they are only a small piece. For instance, my therapist has challenged me not to stretch in the morning. Fighting this urge feels like pulling teeth. But if I see it as merely a tree in the forest of my proving myself capable of overcoming my urges, then I more readily garner the willingness to overcome it. Another saying is, "What's comfortable is not always what's good." I'm sure all of you can internalize that message. How many times have you taken the easy way out rather than more effectively, creatively or productively challenging yourself? I have become comfortable in my eating disorder and this has caused me to lose so much of the good in my life. So I choose not to be comfortable so that I can reach genuine good. I'd like to note the fact that I started this post at the beginning of the day, when I was still bitter about eating. By now, at the end of the day, I am proud to report that I really did feel hungry at my meal-times, even with an increase in calories during my snack time. I listened to my body and it requested food. The miracle is not that I was hungry; it's that the body functions, and now I feel it! A little faith goes a long way.

In Relation....

The Little Mermaid, my favorite Disney character whose voice was taken by the wicked Ursula.

Shut Up and Listen

Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She and her mother were good pals. The little girl had a lot of energy, more than most little girls, and sometimes this made her mother very tired. Sometimes, it made her so tired that she got throbbing pains in her head and wanted to send the little girl to preschool in Norway. So she invented nap-time. One day the little girl and her mother were hanging out at home. The little girl had been particularly hyper that day, and her mother was fantasizing about a quiet bedroom and some much deserved R&R. She suggested nap-time to her daughter. The little girl, wise beyond her years, responded, "Mom, the only reason you want me to take a nap is so that YOU can take a nap." The mother responded, "Exactly. Go to bed." I know it's hard to imagine, but that little girl is in fact me. Although I am somewhat more mature I still have a hard time shutting up. I am aware of the fact that this may be overwhelming to those around me. Nevertheless, there are many benefits to being quiet, which I recently learned in an experiment... Yesterday, I decided to observe an afternoon of silence. From lunch until the end of dinner I did not speak to anyone. To me, this was an integral part of treatment. Because I know that I am skilled in conversing, I often feel pressure to be funny and keep conversation (especially during meal time). Whenever I have a new thought or emotion my first response is to share it with someone else. This can be helpful when I need to be held accountable for my actions and as a part of my recovery. It can, however, hamper my ability to sit with my feelings, respecting and observing them. Talking all the time necessitates a lack of listening, and one of the most powerful aspects of group therapy programs like this is the ability to learn from others. For all these reasons I decided to shut up for six hours, and it's one of the best decisions that I've made yet. First of all, I had a beast to conquer: the possible move to PHP was driving me mad. I felt the need to create some sort of "game plan" to deal with it and desperately signed up for a meeting with my therapist to talk through how I was going to "handle" the transition. To meet with her, I would have had to cut my silent time short. About an hour into the experience I decided to forgo my meeting with my therapist and extend my silence, a scary decision that I am proud of having made. I had been fretting about the move to PHP with the other patients. Every time I mentioned it I felt fear, anxiety and negative thoughts course through my mind and body. In the Hindu religion, the act of chanting alone conveys power to the words, regardless of whether you understand or believe them. I was granting the same power to my nerves about the PHP program by talking about it. Silence forced me to sit with these feelings, so I furiously journaled through them. I examined them, understood them as different than my thoughts, and came out six hours later feeling ready and willing to make the transition. I would never have accomplished that task if I had been inclined to speak through it. And still, my silent treatment wrought other beautiful observances. Before silencing I asked the other therapists and patients for advice on how to get the most of my quiet time. They suggested that I regularly check in with how I'm feeling and note the body language of those around me; that I paraphrase what others say in order to check my comprehension; that I look at my feelings when I want to speak, observing the link between the thoughts and feelings that arise; and that I breathe (because, according to that therapist, when I speak I become visibly energetic and out of breath. Haha!). I took all of this advice. While silent I found that I didn't have to say every thought that came to my mind; often, these ideas were eventually delineated by someone else. I thought it a shame that it was only when I didn't speak that I felt the urge to observe others- the desire to interact often deterred from the value of my actual observing from, and learning from, those around me. Another interesting effect was that being silent distracted me from urges to stay standing and moving around during break periods, which draws a lot of attention to myself. I wanted to be a wallflower. Meal times were difficult, forcing me to sit through the "awkward silences." Lo and behold, the silence wasn't so awkward, and was actually kind of nice, and the others got through their meals (or didn't) and life went on. Simply knowing that I didn't have to talk made me feel so much lighter. In reality, the whole experience was vastly liberating. I felt and watched and listened and learned, and emerged full of new energy. Just what I needed! While not all remotes have a mute button, they do have a pause. My silent time felt like pausing one aspect of myself, zoning in, and looking at all the little squares that make up the whole image. It was so powerful that I think I'd like to make it a bi-weekly or monthly thing, and I may consider observing a period of silence the next time I've got a big decision to make or challenge to work through. P.S.- I confess that I did break the silence once. I farted in one of our group therapies and had to excuse myself. I'm telling you, this refeeding thing is a whole new beast... ;)

GRACIAS!

Good News! I get to stay in the in-patient program through Monday at least, and possibly through Wednesday! All of your prayers came true, and my wish on a dandelion, and wearing the lucky socks my grandma gave me (thanks, Penny!), and every wish you sent! Thank you so much! Read my next entry to hear more about the unique way that I came to terms with the PHP transition...

Please Pray

It's a good thing that one of the principles of this program is flexibility, although I wish I wasn't being called on to test it so soon. Since this treatment center is not in my insurance network, my amazing mother negotiated the single-case coverage that allowed me to come here. Today the agency informed us that I am no longer covered. Unfortunately, we do not have a plan that protects us from these sorts of decisions. This came as a huge shock to my treatment team, my parents and myself, especially because I am still physically unhealthy. My pyschiatrist and the business office are attempting to finagle some sort of deal with insurance, but the prospects of my staying in in-patient treatment are bleak. It looks as if I will be moving to the Partial Hospitalization Program (PHP) on Thursday evening. PHP is similar to my current treatment in many ways. Patients spend all day in group therapy, meeting with their treatment team (therapist, dietitian, psychiatrist, etc.), eating every major meal and two snacks at the program, and recovering within the same theoretical framework and programming. On the other hand, PHP patients live in apartments off the hospital grounds. They are shuttled to treatment at 8 a.m., spend all day here, and then are shuttled back home (with a packed snack) at 7 p.m. They are allowed to eat without being watched, take outdoor breaks when they feel, get coffee, and more. By going straight to PHP, I miss out on some key transitional steps. The general in-patient process consists of the following: 1.) Inpatient (Level 1)- a Personal Care Assistant (PCA) sits with you during meals and snacks; you're checked when you go to the bathroom; you can only shower in the morning; you have your vitals taken every day; you have no priveleges. 2.) Residential (Level 2)- You eat snacks without a PCA present; you can pick up your own snacks (rather than having them pre-set); you don't have to have your bathroom checked; you can shower in the morning or night; you get special passes to go out on snack and meal "challenges." The snack and outing challenges are the biggest part of moving from Level 1 to Level 2, allowing the patient to test out some of their progress in real-world situations. They allow the patient to leave, at first with a nurse, then with other patients, then with a friend, to get a snack or meal. Being able to conquer these snack challenges without giving into urges or mismanaging anxiety is a signal that a patient is ready to move to PHP. Missing out on stages like snack challenges is part of the reason I do not at all feel ready to move to PHP. I also don't feel like I know enough; I still can't explain all the "pillars" to treatment (like mindfulness, the topic of my last blog) and give into my urges, like stretching. I have formed such a strong bond with the other patients here, and after spending so long isolated from friends, it feels almost impossible to make that sort of friendship again. I am petrified about the morning as a PHP patient: I have the vast expanse of 5:30 until 8 a.m. to sit and try to battle the urge to exercise or make a to-do list or fret about the day. And I don't want to face all the decisions of the free-world: should I get coffee? Should I get gum? Should I go for a run? What will I do if I get bored? I am afraid of the break-time, when I can do "whatever I want." I am afraid to leave the safety net of this 5th floor, its staff, and my fellow patients. Just this morning I stood in my room, looked out at the beautiful Denver skyline, and thought, "This is it. I need this, I am happy to be here. I can spend the next weeks of my life on this floor, only going outside for breaks, and not give into my urges, because this is a beautiful experiment and I deserve it. I ask for it, I need it, and it is safe." Then they dropped the bomb. Right now I can also tell you all the reasons why this could be a positive situation. I love a challenge (although the love for being pushed is one of the reasons I landed here). I already know some people in the PHP program and others will follow me there. I don't have to leave this program or switch treatment centers completely. And any treatment program is beneficial, if I take as much as I can from it. Still, I am so scared. It is with the greatest humility that I ask for your prayers. Pray that there is some way for me to stay in inpatient a little longer. Then, pray that PHP is a blessing. Pray that this new opportunity is better than the last and that I can take from it whatever I could have taken from the inpatient process. Pray me some strength, because right now my eyes and head hurt from crying. Just as I'm learning to ask for help, I feel there's nothing that can be done. Also, say a prayer for my loving parents, who came to family therapy today after hours of fighting for the best possible care for their oldest daughter. I am so grateful to them. Thank you.

Dagnabbit!

I have a terrible habit. Every time a birthday draws near, I get so excited about it. I prepare the present, remind the person constantly of the upcoming festivity, and generally look forward to celebrating. Any excuse for a party is a good enough excuse for me (I'm working toward the day when I don't need an excuse to party!). Then, on the actual day of birth, I totally space the event. I forget to call or leave the gift at home. I have NO IDEA why this always happens but I do it almost every time. Yesterday was my Grandpa, Grumpy's, birthday. I was bummed that I missed out on his party on Saturday, so I crafted him a present. He and Grammy came to Mass with me on Sunday where I kept reminding him about his impending special day. Yet, April 4th came and went, and I forgot to call. So, here's to Grumpy!!! Happy Belated Birthday!! You're the best Grandpa a girl could ever wish for, and I am grateful for all your support during this process. I love you!

Inspiration

A happy, spontaneous Harley babe (70's style); the better fight; being a role model, whether I want to or not

Contextualization

I see my psychiatrist every day. Since I'm not taking prescription medication, we get to spend the time talking about the mind's limitless functions (his insight was the source of my entry on dreams). Today we discussed the development of feelings into thoughts, thoughts into actions, and actions into traits. Unfortunately, our traits do not always work well for us.

In order to know the usefulness of anything that shows up in your mind, you have to have a context for the thought. Here in treatment values are the context used to interpret our thoughts. Within the first week we are asked to map our values, and within the first two weeks we delve deep into where these values come from, how we act upon them in our daily lives, and how getting healthy will help us to achieve them. Some of my values are social relationships, friends/ family, spirituality, employment/ education/ training, and physical health.

Many of the patients here struggle to name their values. They might be able to name what they like or don't like, what they've lost to the disorder, what they want in life. But labeling specific values can be very difficult for someone whose mind registers multiple emotions in minutes and whose mental alarms ring at the slightest ED trigger.

I have no problem naming my values, and can rattle off the unhealthy actions that I take within my ED to detract from those values. I can also clearly delineate the healthy ways to pursue these values. And I do not lack the motivation to achieve them. Why, then, can I not follow through on them? Why, then, do I revert to the "safety" of my ED habits? That's what I'm here to figure out.

One of the pillars of treatment is "Mindsight," which is the ability to recognize your own and others mental states and recognize them as different from behaviors. It's looking at thoughts, rather than through them. We're constantly asked to identify our feelings from our thoughts. When I have feelings I use my thoughts to fight them or propel them, but I seldom sit with them. It's the feelings of fear or insecurity that create the urges (thoughts) to eat less and exercise. Values are context in which feelings arise.

My psychiatrist advised me to use my mindsight to see when my thoughts apply to my values. For instance, when I think, "I need to do push-ups even while I'm in treatment," I should then see if that thought functions in a healthy or unhealthy way in the pursuit of my values. Does doing ten push-ups help me get better, become more social, show my family that I deserve their care, or propel to my standards of employment? Surely not. In fact, it functions on the unhealthy side. The context that this thought emerges from is fear: I am afraid of the weight gain, afraid of not feeling strong, and afraid of the massive commitment that treatment is. Those are thoughts that turn into unhealthy actions; by focusing on my values, I can alter the course of my feelings.

Now, I ask you: What are the contexts and functions of your behaviors? What values guide your life? And how do your traits work to help or harm the pursuit of your values?

P.S.- This whole re-feeding process seems to have caught up to me, and I've felt really yucky (sometimes tired, sometimes hyper, bloated/ cramped, dizzy, full, hungry, etc.) all day. This is definitely a different physical challenge from anything I've ever done!

Claro

Sarah Casewit photography

Flurries with a Chance of Clarity

Today's "fresh air breaks" were indeed fresh, in that every time we filed down to the Einstein's parking lot we were surprised by a different type of weather. In the morning heavy snowflakes floated down, melting before they hit the tarmac; during mid-morning the clouds cleared; during break three it sprinkled the new buds with mist, and just after dinner the world finally calmed down, tucking the sun in between rising towers of mist from the hospital heating vents.

As the day's weather-woman, I observed that the changing atmosphere passed like my thoughts this weekend, and wondered, how am I going to blog about this?! The emotions, activities and thoughts that encompassed my mind's sky were as varied, powerful and serene as any moment of today's weather, changing equally as frequently. At times I resented the program and gave in to my old habits, looking up the nutritional value of my snacks and stretching in the shower. At other times I felt so invigorated, so committed to my goals that completing this program seemed too easy. Then I felt tired because I realized that I needed to reach my goals, that just coming here wasn't enough. I had a lot of work to do and I hadn't even reached the surface of all the things I needed to learn to break my habits and form new mentalities. I felt itchy, like I wanted to go for a run and skip out on snack. This all happened in the span of a 20 minute break, and again ten minutes later, and again after that. Snow rain sleet shine.

The weekends are notoriously dangerous for all patients. On the weekends we look forward to visits from family, special outings (we went to Ceramics in the City- I highly recommend it! And when you go, order a glass of wine for me), arts and crafts, and unplanned leisure time. It's the free time that makes us nervous. Too much time to think can lead to too much thinking, which is a problem most of us have even when there's not enough time. It's also the opportunity to test our new skills, get "homework" done (like completing self-reflections and values assessments), and spend time with the other patients. Free time presents limitless opportunities and nearly as many obstacles.

On Fridays we set goals for the weekends. My goals centered around calming down, finding focus and quiet time, and allowing myself to live in the moment. As my emotional responses to treatment waged war in my mind I struggled to complete these goals. Alas, I have success to report! Over this weekend I found myself spending whole pockets of time completely lost in a task. As my therapist explained, fulfilled and happy people often completely lose themselves in activities, focused so fully on the task at hand that time's mandates disappear. They devote themselves to an enjoyable activity and then genuinely live in the enjoyment of it. I haven't been able to do this in well over a year.

When I sat down at the table to do ceramics, I told myself that I had nothing more to think about; my meals were planned, my workouts could wait, my to-do items were not pressing, and I had a birthday present in my hand to paint. Two hours later, I looked up. My mind was full of energy and yet totally at peace. I saw the pottery in my hand and felt proud of the gift I crafted. I hadn't uttered a word in at least an hour, a phenomenon that I'm sure my table mates appreciated as much as I did. And I felt really, really nice.

Then it happened again today, more frequently even! I spent an hour decorating a picture frame, and another arranging the items I scavenged during fresh air break into a scrapbook (I'll tell you more about interesting litter in another entry!), and thirty minutes making a card for a fellow patient. It felt wonderful and natural to find a task, complete it, and then do whatever next task that inspired. I felt alive and productive, similar to the way I felt after a good workout. Was this what a hobby felt like?

Frankly, that's enough arts and crafts for me for a while. I think this is more ripping, gluing, and bejeweling than I've done since Kindergarten. My name may not be Martha, but when I look at the things I've made, I get the same feeling of tranquil focus and pride, remembering the way I felt when creating them. The mental trigger that causes me to deem certain foods "bad" or exercise "good" is merely a habitual thought process. Calmness through focused activity and the ability to achieve this state is the exact same mental task. All I need to do is refocus, rinse, and repeat.

Every once and a while the sun bursts through the clouds. For those moments the world sighs, breathing in the vitamins, the warmth, and storing this heat in the city tar and tree leaves. Every time the sun shines the world becomes warmer and stronger for longer. It is better prepared to absorb the next heat wave. It's starting to get the hang of things.

This is weather-woman Stewart, predicting sun.