I wanted to give an update on how treatment is going for my binge eating disorder. Why? Because this is a humor blog, and therefore I like to be depressing as fuck. IT’S WHAT I DO.
Anyway — um….treatment is fucking hard.
Seriously — I’ve been relying on food to get through my life for about 20 years now. I don’t mean in the normal “need food in order to live” way, I mean in the abnormal “need food so that I won’t feel any bad feelings oh god all of the feelings THE FEELINGS!” way. Trying to stop doing that is not easy. It’s like if I told you it was in your best interest to live your life with one hand behind your back. I wouldn’t cut your arm off or tie it back or anything, you were just asked to hold it back there, not use it, and go about your daily business. How hard would it be not to just say, “Aw, fuck this. This is too hard” and use the damn arm? How hard would it be not to just sneak that arm out from time to time to get through the hardest tasks?
That’s how this feels…but with chips.
I am an all-or-nothing kind of person. I am either all in, or not at all. I am either perfect, or a failure. So, three weeks into treatment, the fact that I have not been able to be a perfect patient makes me feel fucking terrible. I really feel like: I am in treatment, I have been given some tools, I should be using them and following through 100%. And I’m not. And that sucks.
I think I was under the false impression that once I was “in a program,” and got professional help that some switch would be flipped and I would be able to fix this. Instead, I am learning just how entrenched this behavior is in my life. I am learning how incredibly difficult it is to change a behavior that should be very easy for me to control. How hard is to just NOT eat something?! Very, as it turns out.
Because it isn’t about the food, it’s about these feelings that I can’t deal with.
Before my first day of treatment, I had not cried for a long time. I had gotten teary-eyed, but I had not “boo-hoo” sobbed in ages. Now I cry every Monday when I go to therapy — this past Monday I was crying so hard that I couldn’t talk for the first 10 minutes of my individual therapy session. Then I got to group thereapy and guess what I did when it was my turn to talk? “Cry,” you say? Give that man a cigar.
I had no idea I had all these tears in me, and I am still not sure where they are coming from. But apparently instead of crying them all these years, I’ve been eating instead.
(Side Note: Idea for a country song — “Eating my Tears”)
I was reminded over and over again that this is only the beginning of the process. That it’s going to be brutal and emotionally exhausting. But the program I’m in is awesome and I am very, very hopeful that when these 12 weeks are up, I might not be cured, but I will be in a saner and better place.
Now, shoo! Someone go write me that song! I’m thinking of a line that goes something like: “if my tears were like raindrops and those raindrops were frosting…”
Weekly Wrap Up
Blogger Idol!! BLOGGER IDOL!!! I wrote another serious essay this week, this time about exploitation on the internet. I think I was in the middle of the pack this time, and with only 5 of us left, things are getting hairy. Maybe I mean, “tight.” Or hairy AND tight. Oh my god, this just became a disgusting sexual innuendo that I did not intend to have at all, but now I can’t delete it. It’s the writing equivalent of not being able to look away from a train wreck. I apologize.
I will update later with the results!!