So, I imagine that most of us are in a similar position this time of year. Christmas has been and gone, the Boxing Day sales, and now...the wasteland that is January. The rates are due, the car rego is due, and I could easily spend stacks of money keeping Alex and myself amused during the holidays.
Finances are often a source of consternation in our household, with me sure that I am not contributing to our rapidly dwindling resources. I am sure that I live frugally. I am sure that I live to a budget, even if it's not written down. I am a frugal gal. Ahh, who am I kidding. Actually ,my attitude towards money is kinda like my attitude to cake. I think that I'm impervious to cake, that I should be able to eat whatever I like, whenever I like...and that there should be no consequences. I'm always flabbergasted when I put on weight.....there is actual incredulity when I step onto the scales and they've moved upwards. Like, what? I should be able to eat whatever I like and never put on weight.
Well, this is similar. I think I should be able to spend whatever I like and the finances should still be the same. There should be an endless supply of money that I should be able to fling about with wild abandon, and still have plenty of money to pay the bills. After all, I'm a princess. Rules don't apply to me. I am a special snowflake. I shouldn't get sick, and if I do, I feel worse than anyone has ever felt in the entire history of illness (you may recall hearing about my morning sickness recently?)
Anyhoo, we rejigged our finances recently, and I cut up my card to the joint account and allowed myself a small allowance fortnightly. Heaps of money. Should be able to live on it easily. So, it's kinda shocking and appalling to realise that I can't throw a Kinder Surprise Egg and a Bottle of water in every time I fill up with petrol. I'm not entitled to a new shirt from the Op Shop every time I have a shitty day. Alex doesn't always need to be compensated for making it through the school day with a little treat. I may feel that a Diet Coke or a piping hot cappuccino from Degani should be my right, any morning that I choose. A pretty nail polish or a magazine should be mine whenever I feel the urge. After all, I get through the day, don't I? Yes, like every other human being on the planet. But, somehow, due to my belief that I'm secretly an enchanted princess......when I do it, there should be either a parade, flowers, applause, or appropriate financial compensation.
So, there was a hole in the budget, dear Liza. I'm a dirty rotten spender and I spend every cent in my possession. I was wrong, Richard dearest, it was me. The hole in the budget is me!! And you want to know the really shocking thing? When I told Richard of my findings, he was completely unsurprised. Seems he may have known all along that I am a Spendy McSpendpants. The only one in denial was me!!
Thankfully, there are lots of things that come for free. Smiles. Love. Contentment. The groceries are done and none of us are going without. And I might slip back into denial again, but just for today, I see my part.
:)
Monday, January 20, 2014
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Gossip makes me a bitch
Gosh, I love a good gossip, a good salacious slander of someone else. But it's terribly terribly toxic for me and it's something that I just can't indulge in today.
Thing is, I have way more to lose these days. I have self respect, I like who I am, I'm in a good relationship. I have a son and an unborn child on the way. My family and friends have been gracious enough to let me attempt to repair the damage that my years of oblivion have done. I have a purpose today that is directed by God.
But what trap have I fallen into more often than not in my recovery? Gossip. And it's so bloody addictive, and it's so so so so bad for me. The more I judge you, the more I judge me, the more uncomfortable I am in my life and the more I reach out for answers that seek to numb that judgement. I gossip enough, and I find that I don't want to have conscious contact with a Higher Power, I don't want to do the right thing. I want to lay in my bed, sending gossipy texts about how I hate everyone,and "did you see what she was wearing!?!" surrounded by copious amounts of drugs, food, magazines and alcohol and numb the heck out of myself. That's where my disease takes me... sometimes my emotions are too much for me to handle and I fall back into old ways of self medicating.
I always feel like crap, though, and it's funny how my friendships with those I gossip with tend to end badly. I made friends with a pair of besties a couple of years ago,and I was thrilled to be invited into their funny, fashionable, bitchy, gossipy circle. They were both younger than me, and we would complain about other people, and how mundane and crap they were, how wonderful we were and how they should just get it/stop using incorrect grammar/stop wearing bad fashion/stop being a bitch. We loved sending little pithy text messages and emails with new and interesting ways to insult the idiots who dared to be less fabulous than us. It was horrendous, but it was wonderful. I was in a lonely place in my life, where the fog of Post Natal Depression had lifted, and I felt better, but I'd yet to find myself a new place in the town where I was living. So I let myself be defined as fabulous by the company I kept. They are both very talented people, and I felt kinda important by association.
Can you guess what happened? I couldn't have predicted it, but I fell out of favour. I started not getting the invites to the after parties. I started to be too needy in pursuing their friendship and started meeting a brick wall in response. I felt a sense of slowly mounting fear, because I knew what would happen to those who weren't invited to the post-event McDonald's sessions. They'd be seriously torn to shreds by witty gossip. I knew that was going to be happening to me. I felt afraid and cast adrift, and in that madness, I clung onto my friends. It ended badly. I cried and begged in a way that no self-respecting thirty-something woman should do. But, it ended. I had to respect their silence and that my repeated attempts to contact them were just digging my own grave of loser-dom.
You know what, though? I ran into one of them the other day. It had been years since I saw her, and three years ago, we were closer than close. It was nothing for us to text each other several times a day. She made me a series of mix tapes when she moved away for uni.... but running into her in the shopping centre, it couldn't be more clear that she found me repulsive. I was surprised to see her and said "Hey!!" She didn't even glance up from her phone, and uttered a disgusted "hey". I was shocked and surprised and struggled for words. "how are you?", I trembled out..... Her phone received another few scrolls, and then she deigned to answer me with a muttered "good". I stood stock still, not sure what to do, then I realised that the best thing to do was to walk on. It really was over. I couldn't win her back with a funny aside or a bitchy comment. The casket of our friendship had slammed shut while I was still trying to ressuciate it. Time to let it go.
Do you know the funny thing, though? I still miss them. I still miss their amazingly witty sense of humour, I miss the warm glow of their talent, I miss their fashion and style. But, I don't miss the gossip. Much as I want to run after them and assure them that I'm still cool, I know it's healthier for me to pursue friendships where I don't talk about others. Sometimes it's quiet and lonely when I don't talk about other people...and I've realised that is what gossip gives us...a sense of belonging...a sense that other people don't belong and don't get it, but we do. It's a false belonging, though. Our belonging rests on others not belonging, and that is no belonging at all. Today, I belong in that I am true to myself. I belong in that I try to be the best me that I can, and support and applaud you for being the best me that you can. :)
Thing is, I have way more to lose these days. I have self respect, I like who I am, I'm in a good relationship. I have a son and an unborn child on the way. My family and friends have been gracious enough to let me attempt to repair the damage that my years of oblivion have done. I have a purpose today that is directed by God.
But what trap have I fallen into more often than not in my recovery? Gossip. And it's so bloody addictive, and it's so so so so bad for me. The more I judge you, the more I judge me, the more uncomfortable I am in my life and the more I reach out for answers that seek to numb that judgement. I gossip enough, and I find that I don't want to have conscious contact with a Higher Power, I don't want to do the right thing. I want to lay in my bed, sending gossipy texts about how I hate everyone,and "did you see what she was wearing!?!" surrounded by copious amounts of drugs, food, magazines and alcohol and numb the heck out of myself. That's where my disease takes me... sometimes my emotions are too much for me to handle and I fall back into old ways of self medicating.
I always feel like crap, though, and it's funny how my friendships with those I gossip with tend to end badly. I made friends with a pair of besties a couple of years ago,and I was thrilled to be invited into their funny, fashionable, bitchy, gossipy circle. They were both younger than me, and we would complain about other people, and how mundane and crap they were, how wonderful we were and how they should just get it/stop using incorrect grammar/stop wearing bad fashion/stop being a bitch. We loved sending little pithy text messages and emails with new and interesting ways to insult the idiots who dared to be less fabulous than us. It was horrendous, but it was wonderful. I was in a lonely place in my life, where the fog of Post Natal Depression had lifted, and I felt better, but I'd yet to find myself a new place in the town where I was living. So I let myself be defined as fabulous by the company I kept. They are both very talented people, and I felt kinda important by association.
Can you guess what happened? I couldn't have predicted it, but I fell out of favour. I started not getting the invites to the after parties. I started to be too needy in pursuing their friendship and started meeting a brick wall in response. I felt a sense of slowly mounting fear, because I knew what would happen to those who weren't invited to the post-event McDonald's sessions. They'd be seriously torn to shreds by witty gossip. I knew that was going to be happening to me. I felt afraid and cast adrift, and in that madness, I clung onto my friends. It ended badly. I cried and begged in a way that no self-respecting thirty-something woman should do. But, it ended. I had to respect their silence and that my repeated attempts to contact them were just digging my own grave of loser-dom.
You know what, though? I ran into one of them the other day. It had been years since I saw her, and three years ago, we were closer than close. It was nothing for us to text each other several times a day. She made me a series of mix tapes when she moved away for uni.... but running into her in the shopping centre, it couldn't be more clear that she found me repulsive. I was surprised to see her and said "Hey!!" She didn't even glance up from her phone, and uttered a disgusted "hey". I was shocked and surprised and struggled for words. "how are you?", I trembled out..... Her phone received another few scrolls, and then she deigned to answer me with a muttered "good". I stood stock still, not sure what to do, then I realised that the best thing to do was to walk on. It really was over. I couldn't win her back with a funny aside or a bitchy comment. The casket of our friendship had slammed shut while I was still trying to ressuciate it. Time to let it go.
Do you know the funny thing, though? I still miss them. I still miss their amazingly witty sense of humour, I miss the warm glow of their talent, I miss their fashion and style. But, I don't miss the gossip. Much as I want to run after them and assure them that I'm still cool, I know it's healthier for me to pursue friendships where I don't talk about others. Sometimes it's quiet and lonely when I don't talk about other people...and I've realised that is what gossip gives us...a sense of belonging...a sense that other people don't belong and don't get it, but we do. It's a false belonging, though. Our belonging rests on others not belonging, and that is no belonging at all. Today, I belong in that I am true to myself. I belong in that I try to be the best me that I can, and support and applaud you for being the best me that you can. :)
Friday, January 3, 2014
Up the duff
I have one child, who is 7. He's an amazing, busy boy and I am finally adjusting to parenting and still being me, not having to be a cookie cutter mama who wears sensible clothes and doesn't swear. I'm not saying I'm a badass, but I like fashion, philosophy, relationships. I like me today. I'm happy with my life.
The second child thing.....well, there was a fleeting thought from both of us, usually at different times, and not strong enough to do anything about it. So, I thought the factory must be closed, the shop is shut....the assembly line produced one boy and said "that's it!". I made my peace with it, and also made an appointment to have my tubes tied.
That appointment was on Monday, but I'm not going through with it. I'm not, because at the eleventh hour, at the last possible moment, a teeny miracle has occurred inside of me and I'm somehow pregnant at 37. Not something I envisaged.
I was shocked but thrilled, in a state of disbelief. Over Christmas and New Year, the reality has sunk in and I've figured out I'm scared. Why? Well, not long after I had Alex, a double decker bus of Post Natal Depression drove through my life and the lives of all of those around me. I wanted to hard to do it right, that I sucked all the joy and life out of being a parent. I was terrified of something happening to him. And that fear took on a life of its own, mainly because I wouldn't, or couldn't, admit what I was going through. I became severely depressed. I suffered what is known as a nervous breakdown. It's not as much fun as it sounds. It involves hospital stays, suicide attempts, overdoses, ECT (shock therapy), multiple medication changes, and intense strain on the lives of those around me as they helped me pick up the pieces of my shattered psyche.
I finished my last hospital stay when Alex was 9 months old, and started trying to pretend to be his mother. I felt suicidal and desperate each day, for most of the day, and had to learn how to fake it til I made it. And eventually I made it, the fog cleared, I found a great psychiatrist and started repairing myself.
And I was pretty happy with the job that God and I had done, until my biggest fear loomed large. A baby. A pregnancy. The fear. For a long time I tried to deny that I was afraid of this baby. I told everyone "It'll be different this time - I'm older and more together. It won't happen again".
But I'm still a little afraid. And do you know what helps? Admitting that I'm afraid. That's something that I never did the first time around. I said "I'm fine" for so long, until I wasn't fine. My fears and feelings only have power over me if I keep them secret. They say in twelve step programs that you're only as sick as the secrets you keep, and that's so true.
The more I say "I'm afraid", the less power that fear has over me. The more I talk to professionals and put things in place to help me work through why I'm afraid, the better I feel. The more I see that my feelings are not facts and they can only hurt me if I let them.....the better and stronger I feel. Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems today. Not denial. Denial is what makes me sick. Acceptance, makes me better.
The second child thing.....well, there was a fleeting thought from both of us, usually at different times, and not strong enough to do anything about it. So, I thought the factory must be closed, the shop is shut....the assembly line produced one boy and said "that's it!". I made my peace with it, and also made an appointment to have my tubes tied.
That appointment was on Monday, but I'm not going through with it. I'm not, because at the eleventh hour, at the last possible moment, a teeny miracle has occurred inside of me and I'm somehow pregnant at 37. Not something I envisaged.
I was shocked but thrilled, in a state of disbelief. Over Christmas and New Year, the reality has sunk in and I've figured out I'm scared. Why? Well, not long after I had Alex, a double decker bus of Post Natal Depression drove through my life and the lives of all of those around me. I wanted to hard to do it right, that I sucked all the joy and life out of being a parent. I was terrified of something happening to him. And that fear took on a life of its own, mainly because I wouldn't, or couldn't, admit what I was going through. I became severely depressed. I suffered what is known as a nervous breakdown. It's not as much fun as it sounds. It involves hospital stays, suicide attempts, overdoses, ECT (shock therapy), multiple medication changes, and intense strain on the lives of those around me as they helped me pick up the pieces of my shattered psyche.
I finished my last hospital stay when Alex was 9 months old, and started trying to pretend to be his mother. I felt suicidal and desperate each day, for most of the day, and had to learn how to fake it til I made it. And eventually I made it, the fog cleared, I found a great psychiatrist and started repairing myself.
And I was pretty happy with the job that God and I had done, until my biggest fear loomed large. A baby. A pregnancy. The fear. For a long time I tried to deny that I was afraid of this baby. I told everyone "It'll be different this time - I'm older and more together. It won't happen again".
But I'm still a little afraid. And do you know what helps? Admitting that I'm afraid. That's something that I never did the first time around. I said "I'm fine" for so long, until I wasn't fine. My fears and feelings only have power over me if I keep them secret. They say in twelve step programs that you're only as sick as the secrets you keep, and that's so true.
The more I say "I'm afraid", the less power that fear has over me. The more I talk to professionals and put things in place to help me work through why I'm afraid, the better I feel. The more I see that my feelings are not facts and they can only hurt me if I let them.....the better and stronger I feel. Acceptance is the answer to all of my problems today. Not denial. Denial is what makes me sick. Acceptance, makes me better.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Like Bonnie Tyler said - "I need a hero"!
"Let's face it, every woman wants to be rescued", I stated with supreme confidence to a collection of my shocked female friends.
Let me explain. I'd spent many, many years looking for love in all the wrong places (Mooseheads Canberra, I'm looking at you), and in a series of unfortunate events, completely caused by me, I had crashed my car, joined AA and met the love of my life. He was trustworthy, honest, loving and he was my Prince Charming. I thought that I deserved a little rescuing after what I'd been through and he didn't seem to mind.
The real problems started when I needed rescuing on a daily basis. I was in early recovery, and after removing the substance that had been my hero for a decade, I needed someone or something to become addicted to. My husband became that, and I read a lot of books about the fairytale and how to keep it alive.
Hence me being in Melbourne, catching up with a group of girlfriends and lecturing them on what being married was like. I was painful. I was horrible. But I moved to a small country town and stopped wearing high heels, joined a bible study and quickly learnt how my husband liked his everything, because the other wives kept asking me and I didn't have a clue.
There were cracks forming, though...I'd stopped swearing and laughing at rude jokes, I tried to force myself into the square peg of a doting, conservative wifey. I did all the housework and forced myself to join craft groups. This would have been ok for a while, but we had a child. As the famous quote goes, "A child is a landmine thrown into a relationship", and ours was more shattering than most.
Suffering from undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder, I had no idea who I really was, and when people kept telling me to trust my instincts with the baby...I couldn't cope. Trust my instincts? My inner voice? I'd been trying to shut that bastard up for years with drink, drugs, food and impersonating what I thought other people wanted of me. I couldn't cope. I couldn't find me and I became lost in a prison of 2 years of suicidal thoughts and crippling depression.
Coming out of this, I was angry. I had suffered. I was miserable to be around. I spent a lot of time in blame, but the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder opened my eyes to the fact that I could get better. I'd already swallowed and digested some big chunks of truth about myself, and I was set to chow down on several more.
This year, as my child turns seven, I am finally beginning to find myself. I mean, for the first time ever. I am starting to ride the wave of my emotions and feelings, to surf instead of being dumped by a big wave. I can see that I am the only one who can fix me. Nobody else can walk this for me. I've found this through the strength of 12 step programs. I've let go of the anger in me about life not being fair, started to grow up and see that I can be my own hero.
And my relationship? I don't need rescuing. You gals were right. I try to accept and love myself for who I am. I try to do that for my husband. I try to ask for that in return...even though it's easier to get mad about the things he didn't do that I didn't ask him to do. Asking for what I want has been scary, but people aren't mind readers.
If I look to anyone to rescue me from what is, I don't deal with my feelings and emotions. If I look to my parents, my friends, my family or relationships to rescue me, I deny myself the chance to sit with my feelings and get to know myself. I'm starting to fall in love, with me. I show up, I say sorry when I'm wrong, I tell people if I don't understand things or don't get the joke. I try to accept when people don't like me and realise I can't change the people who take exception to me. I try not to panic when things don't work out...because if I understood God, I would be God. No point in pretending....and every time I am true to myself, my self esteem grows, and I become who I was put on this earth to be. The hero starts with me.
Let me explain. I'd spent many, many years looking for love in all the wrong places (Mooseheads Canberra, I'm looking at you), and in a series of unfortunate events, completely caused by me, I had crashed my car, joined AA and met the love of my life. He was trustworthy, honest, loving and he was my Prince Charming. I thought that I deserved a little rescuing after what I'd been through and he didn't seem to mind.
The real problems started when I needed rescuing on a daily basis. I was in early recovery, and after removing the substance that had been my hero for a decade, I needed someone or something to become addicted to. My husband became that, and I read a lot of books about the fairytale and how to keep it alive.
Hence me being in Melbourne, catching up with a group of girlfriends and lecturing them on what being married was like. I was painful. I was horrible. But I moved to a small country town and stopped wearing high heels, joined a bible study and quickly learnt how my husband liked his everything, because the other wives kept asking me and I didn't have a clue.
There were cracks forming, though...I'd stopped swearing and laughing at rude jokes, I tried to force myself into the square peg of a doting, conservative wifey. I did all the housework and forced myself to join craft groups. This would have been ok for a while, but we had a child. As the famous quote goes, "A child is a landmine thrown into a relationship", and ours was more shattering than most.
Suffering from undiagnosed Borderline Personality Disorder, I had no idea who I really was, and when people kept telling me to trust my instincts with the baby...I couldn't cope. Trust my instincts? My inner voice? I'd been trying to shut that bastard up for years with drink, drugs, food and impersonating what I thought other people wanted of me. I couldn't cope. I couldn't find me and I became lost in a prison of 2 years of suicidal thoughts and crippling depression.
Coming out of this, I was angry. I had suffered. I was miserable to be around. I spent a lot of time in blame, but the diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder opened my eyes to the fact that I could get better. I'd already swallowed and digested some big chunks of truth about myself, and I was set to chow down on several more.
This year, as my child turns seven, I am finally beginning to find myself. I mean, for the first time ever. I am starting to ride the wave of my emotions and feelings, to surf instead of being dumped by a big wave. I can see that I am the only one who can fix me. Nobody else can walk this for me. I've found this through the strength of 12 step programs. I've let go of the anger in me about life not being fair, started to grow up and see that I can be my own hero.
And my relationship? I don't need rescuing. You gals were right. I try to accept and love myself for who I am. I try to do that for my husband. I try to ask for that in return...even though it's easier to get mad about the things he didn't do that I didn't ask him to do. Asking for what I want has been scary, but people aren't mind readers.
If I look to anyone to rescue me from what is, I don't deal with my feelings and emotions. If I look to my parents, my friends, my family or relationships to rescue me, I deny myself the chance to sit with my feelings and get to know myself. I'm starting to fall in love, with me. I show up, I say sorry when I'm wrong, I tell people if I don't understand things or don't get the joke. I try to accept when people don't like me and realise I can't change the people who take exception to me. I try not to panic when things don't work out...because if I understood God, I would be God. No point in pretending....and every time I am true to myself, my self esteem grows, and I become who I was put on this earth to be. The hero starts with me.
Friday, June 14, 2013
Grammar nazi no more.
It's been said that I was reading books when I was 4. I was the eldest of three girls, and loved to read, I loved words, spelling, English. I loved comprehension exercises. I loved reading the dictionary and finding new, cool words. I started school at 4 and 9 months and I loved the work....even if I was terrified of the kids.
Some of my favourite words are "nebulous", "ephemeral", "zeitgeist","supercilious" and "cathartic". When I was 12, we moved to a much smaller town, and I struggled to fit in. I didn't really enjoy puberty and resented having to try to fit in again, so I escaped to a world of books and language and daydreams.
I might not have been the prettiest girl, I might not have been popular, I might have been terrified of boys, but by heck, could I spell. I loved to punctuate, and considered a sign with a misused possessive apostrophe an abomination. I considered a boycott of the local shop that advertised "Pizza's", or "Video's".
No, no, no. You're wrong. And I can hide in my ivory tower of correctness and judge you. I can make it be about the words, and use them to make me more and you less. I judge you when you use poor grammar. I can actually remember just about having a panic attack if I ever sent out an email that was incorrect. It was a lofty standard to live up, and judgement breeds fear. I was always looking for ways to prove that you were wrong and I was right.
I didn't think I'd ever be able to consider someone who couldn't spell or punctuate a friend or boyfriend. How shallow and misguided I was.
I met my husband, who is smart, funny, honest and loving. And you know what? He is much more of a do-er than a writer. And I love the heck out of him.
However, I didn't really begin to see the error of my ways until my beautiful, beautiful, amazing son Alex started school. In the middle of his first year at school, his caring teacher alerted us to some potential problems with his learning. We needed to help him more and we had his learning assessed. I'm not going to go into too much detail, because that is Alex's story to tell, not mine - but the upshot of it was, that he will have to work a lot harder to have a level of learning that some kids find second nature. The reading and learning that I found so easy, he will probably always struggle with. And at first, I took that hard. I didn't want my boy to struggle, I wanted him to find life easy... but I quickly realised that my job as a parent is not to wrap him in cotton wool and protect him from circumstances...but to build in him resilience and the ability to face tough things piece by piece, and without running from challenges.
Sure, I may have found learning easy, but there are many life skills that I struggle with. Seeing Alex learn, and the hard work that he puts in to every concept that he learns, makes me realise that this is just the way his brain works. Accepting him for who he is and how he learns has been paramount to helping him. I can't make him a different child any more than he can make me a different mum. And I wouldn't want to make him different to the beautiful boy that he is. The strength and resilience that he has shown in the past eighteen months make me realise that he is building character, and that triumph over his circumstances has made him grow a lot more than shielding him from troubles ever would.
So, if someone misspells a word or uses grammar incorrectly, I try not to judge them. We all have different talents and abilities, and for some, language comes easier than others. Do I judge you when you use poor grammar? No. I celebrate that you are using language, I try to accept you and I hope you will do the same for me. These days, I see that we are all a work in progress...no better than, no less than. On a good day, I try not to judge at all.
Love,
Deb :)
Thursday, June 13, 2013
I didn't regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it.
I did it - I went to my 20 year highschool reunion.
I didn't go to the 10 year reunion, as I'd just met Richard, and I was living in Canberra, he was living in Finley, and the reunion was in Taree. Love of your life versus awkward chit chat? Of course, I took off to Finley and spent the weekend in a love haze.
This one was different, though, 20 years had gone by. I got an invitation to the Facebook group last year, and was undecided whether I'd go.... my best friend Jennie was moving back to Wingham some time soon, so I knew that we could hang out. I'd also reconnected with a lovely girl called Shauna, who I was never friends with in school (we both thought the other hated us!) but have become firm friends with her over shared experiences and thoughts on Facey. I was hoping that Kristy, Liz, Renae and Richard M would come, as they were part of our posse in Year 11 and 12, but the distance was too great for them. There were lots of lovely people there that it was great to see.
It's hard for me to talk about my schooling without mentioning that I was seriously depressed and anxious for a lot of it. I suffered terribly from low self esteem, and I didn't know who I was, or who I wanted to be. The most I thought I could hope for was to be a housewife - I knew how to do housework and I felt sure that I couldn't fail at that. I was terrified of trying new things, terrified of seeming silly and wrong, terrified of myself and sure that other people had the answers that I was lacking.
I wouldn't say that I took part in much of my schooling - I'd say that I was an observer. I have the keenest memories of all the events that happened in school, probably because I was so aware of others and watching what they did. I thought other people had the answers, and watched how they interacted and talked and joked. If my friends were away, it wasn't uncommon for me to spend the entire day not talking to anyone. Yet, the moment that I came home from school, I'd come alive, I'd start performing. I'd laugh and joke and talk and express. I had so, so many feelings and thoughts, but I somehow thought that they were too intense and too much to share with other people. I was furiously angry at popular people, thought they were sheep, and clung to disdain of those who dared to be happy.
I can't imagine why I didn't get invited to more parties.
In the 20 years since then, I've grown into myself. I've become more me and less me at the same time. I'm aware of my boundaries and my limits. That is such a good and healthy thing. The times when I say "no, I'm sorry, I need help", empower both me and the person I am asking for help. I alone can do it, but I don't have to do it alone. There have been many many wonderful and amazing people who have shared my journey of self discovery and my quest for the prize of contentment.
I was surprised when people recognised me at the reunion, because the girl that I was at that school is someone who I don't feel like. Apart from the red hair, brown eyes and tall frame, I feel like I have little in common with her.
She agonised over what she said - I mostly let it go.
She was terrified of what people thought of her - I realise that I can't control what others think
She was angry at the cards fate had dealt - I realise that gratitude and acceptance are the only things I need to make sense of life
She didn't know who she was, but was sure it was wrong - I know exactly who I am, and I know that I am enough.
She hated people because she hated herself - I love people today (imperfectly), because I love and cherish myself.
She thought life wasn't fair - I know that life is what you make of the things that happen.
She hated Taree because coming there had ruined her life - I saw that Taree is a beautiful town, with beaches and lush green valleys. I saw that the sadness that was in me was what had ruined my outlook.
I know I've still got a long way to go, but just for today, I am happy in the journey, and contented in who and where I am.
There is a passage in one of my favourite books, where it says "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it" - and that's exactly how I felt. No, I didn't feel the need to stick around. It was nice to see people and hear some stories of what they were up to..but there were no lightning bolt moments that resolved any deep seated issues. I realised that, as always, the answer is not in other people. It never is. Other people don't have my answers. My answers come from deep with in me, in a higher consciousness that I choose to call God. I carry this with me at all times, and wherever I go...there I am. And I like that.
I didn't go to the 10 year reunion, as I'd just met Richard, and I was living in Canberra, he was living in Finley, and the reunion was in Taree. Love of your life versus awkward chit chat? Of course, I took off to Finley and spent the weekend in a love haze.
This one was different, though, 20 years had gone by. I got an invitation to the Facebook group last year, and was undecided whether I'd go.... my best friend Jennie was moving back to Wingham some time soon, so I knew that we could hang out. I'd also reconnected with a lovely girl called Shauna, who I was never friends with in school (we both thought the other hated us!) but have become firm friends with her over shared experiences and thoughts on Facey. I was hoping that Kristy, Liz, Renae and Richard M would come, as they were part of our posse in Year 11 and 12, but the distance was too great for them. There were lots of lovely people there that it was great to see.
It's hard for me to talk about my schooling without mentioning that I was seriously depressed and anxious for a lot of it. I suffered terribly from low self esteem, and I didn't know who I was, or who I wanted to be. The most I thought I could hope for was to be a housewife - I knew how to do housework and I felt sure that I couldn't fail at that. I was terrified of trying new things, terrified of seeming silly and wrong, terrified of myself and sure that other people had the answers that I was lacking.
I wouldn't say that I took part in much of my schooling - I'd say that I was an observer. I have the keenest memories of all the events that happened in school, probably because I was so aware of others and watching what they did. I thought other people had the answers, and watched how they interacted and talked and joked. If my friends were away, it wasn't uncommon for me to spend the entire day not talking to anyone. Yet, the moment that I came home from school, I'd come alive, I'd start performing. I'd laugh and joke and talk and express. I had so, so many feelings and thoughts, but I somehow thought that they were too intense and too much to share with other people. I was furiously angry at popular people, thought they were sheep, and clung to disdain of those who dared to be happy.
I can't imagine why I didn't get invited to more parties.
In the 20 years since then, I've grown into myself. I've become more me and less me at the same time. I'm aware of my boundaries and my limits. That is such a good and healthy thing. The times when I say "no, I'm sorry, I need help", empower both me and the person I am asking for help. I alone can do it, but I don't have to do it alone. There have been many many wonderful and amazing people who have shared my journey of self discovery and my quest for the prize of contentment.
I was surprised when people recognised me at the reunion, because the girl that I was at that school is someone who I don't feel like. Apart from the red hair, brown eyes and tall frame, I feel like I have little in common with her.
She agonised over what she said - I mostly let it go.
She was terrified of what people thought of her - I realise that I can't control what others think
She was angry at the cards fate had dealt - I realise that gratitude and acceptance are the only things I need to make sense of life
She didn't know who she was, but was sure it was wrong - I know exactly who I am, and I know that I am enough.
She hated people because she hated herself - I love people today (imperfectly), because I love and cherish myself.
She thought life wasn't fair - I know that life is what you make of the things that happen.
She hated Taree because coming there had ruined her life - I saw that Taree is a beautiful town, with beaches and lush green valleys. I saw that the sadness that was in me was what had ruined my outlook.
I know I've still got a long way to go, but just for today, I am happy in the journey, and contented in who and where I am.
There is a passage in one of my favourite books, where it says "We will not regret the past, nor wish to shut the door on it" - and that's exactly how I felt. No, I didn't feel the need to stick around. It was nice to see people and hear some stories of what they were up to..but there were no lightning bolt moments that resolved any deep seated issues. I realised that, as always, the answer is not in other people. It never is. Other people don't have my answers. My answers come from deep with in me, in a higher consciousness that I choose to call God. I carry this with me at all times, and wherever I go...there I am. And I like that.
Monday, January 28, 2013
I broke up with dieting...because it was making me crazy
What goes around, comes around.
This time about 4 years ago, I weighed 122kg. I hated myself. I felt revolting and inadequate, like I didn't have any value. It was hard to get around, I didn't have much energy, my size was 20....my self esteem was minus one thousand. I felt ugly and unattractive and that I was taking up way too much space. I felt that whenever anyone interacted with me, they'd whisper "you fat cow", under their breath. I was totally paranoid about my size.
So then, I decided to go to Weight Watchers. I embraced it with all the control freakery that is in me. I weighed and measured and counted points. I walked and thought and lived for my weigh in. I set up a reward list for when I lost the weight. I felt that people were more interested in me as I shrank. I became an inspiration. A thinspiration. And I kept it up, for a good year. In that time, I lost 24 kilos. I was, if not a shadow of my former self, looking pretty good. My friends and husband told me how great I looked. The doors of chain stores were open to me. I could wear Cotton On, Target,Sportsgirl and I was in a size 14, sometimes size 12. I was winning at life.
I lived and breathed Weight Watchers, I saw lives changed in those rooms as we shared our worries and our challenges about the week coming. We heard inspirational stories, we talked about strategies like filling up on vegetables so we wouldn't overeat. We exercised so that we could eat. Or, perhaps only I did.
I started working as a WW volunteer, handing out cards and helping. The next thing you know, I'd asked for, and received, a job as a weigher. Slight problem. Although I felt reasonably good about my weight, I was still 12 kilos outside my healthy weight range. People were coming through the doors at my height, wanting to lose 5kg, weighing less than I did as a weigher. I felt totally inadequate and that I should be at my goal weight if I wanted to take this shit seriously and become a leader. Which I totally did. I have a background in amateur theatrics (both on and off stage), and love the thrill of being in front of an audience.
So, because there was no manager in the area at the time, and as the other leader had quit, I got through as a Leader on a technicality. As long as I was committed to losing weight, I could become a leader. I had to submit to monthly weigh ins, as I did as a weigher. No worries, thought I. I've got this in the bag. I'm good at losing weight. Or so I thought. Until I had to.
My journey had stopped being about me and started being about numbers. I put a lot into my meetings, and would think about the clients and ways to help them. It was seductive to think that I had the capacity to help other people with their problems. Me, who only 4 years prior, had been suffering from crippling Post Natal Depression/Nervous Breakdown. I was useful. I had a function, other than mother, which often, I thought I did a pretty bad job. Sure, I love Alex, but I wanted something for me.
So, a couple of things happened. I started doing a lot of extra work to get my meetings going. I had to receive and count stock, and store boxes upon boxes upon boxes of stock in my spare room, and transport it to and from the meetings. I had to manage staff. I was really really crap at managing staff. I wanted them to just know what I was thinking and would feel annoyed if they didn't do things the "right" way, but felt unable to tell them, as by then, they were my friends. Awkward.
I had been struggling with my weight for a while. At 181cm, my goal weight is between 64-82kgs. At my lightest with WW, I reached 93kg. Still a way to go....and so I set about it. Only, I was a bit sick of counting so much. I was sick of being organised. Of weighing and measuring and counting and converting. My brain was full with so much information about food. And meetings, and ways to encourage people, the sales targets that I had as a leader, the information talk that I had to give to the new people, and what the product of the week was. I gained and lost the same 4kg many times. The leaders meetings that we had every second month became painful, when all my staff were at goal weight, and I wasn't. Worse still, the very thinnest, prettiest one of them all had decided that she would train as a leader. I was very supportive of her, but noticed that she had started to bring me up on some of the procedures that I wasn't doing properly. I should have talked to her about it, but I didn't know how to. I didnt' want to admit that I was jealous of her and her figure. She was getting married and I was jealous of that. Marriage is amazing and life changing, but at times it can be a slow plod, especially with young kids. I knew my husband loved me and that I loved him, but we were far from lovebirds, especially with my brain so full of weight watchers and points.
My son Alex was starting school and I was full of anxiety about him leaving me. He had been bullied at his kinder(preschool) and I was worried that the same thing would happen. School was not a pleasant place for me, and I couldn't help but project some of my fears onto him.
In short, my brain was too full and too busy. On top of that, I was a recovering alcoholic who hadn't been to an AA meeting in over a year. I had a nasty little secret too. After my sleeping tablets were ceased in 2008, I rediscovered my old friend codeine. I'd hurt my back and noticed that after I took the tablets, I was much more able to sleep. I filed that away for future reference.
In the midst of all this cray cray, mid 2011, I'd developed a horrible sinus infection, with a crippling headache. I started taking aspirin/neurofen based codeine painkillers along with panadol based codeine painkillers. I only took them 2 at a time, because that's what it said on the packet, but I totally ignored the part where it said "no more than 6 in 24 hours" and "do not take for more than a week at a time", and especially not "WARNING: Codeine is addictive". I was washing the painkillers down with lashings of Diet Coke and Skinny cappuccino, and hating myself for not losing more weight.
I told my coworkers at WW everything. Warts and all. (oh, except about the painkillers!!) I told them the things that I should have revealed only to other AAs, things about my past and my present and behaviours that I had that were far from healthy. I didn't really know much about appropriate conversations.
And so, it all came to a head. One Saturday morning in January 2012, all the hate and fear and anger that I felt towards my body, for not losing weight, my mind, for obsessing over how fat/thin I was, and how I compared to those around me, all the nasty, black, disgusting thoughts and feelings I had, erupted. A couple of things happened. I felt that the Thin and Pretty Leader in Training was disrespecting me. I felt that she wasn't listening to me. I felt jealous and horrible and ugly and fat and stupid, and I unleashed all of that on her. And she fled the room. The other girl looked at me in horror and said "This changes everything". I was still angry, so justified myself. Then a trickle of fear crept in. I went into the bathroom, where Thin and Pretty had fled to....and found her with a nosebleed, weeping in the aftermath of my vicious attack. I apologised, and we hugged. We all went out for a rather subdued coffee. Oh. And it was her birthday. Happy birthday - sorry for the verbal abuse, let me pay for your coffee.
Are you surprised to hear that they never spoke to me again? Are you surprised to hear that I was fired? They cut me loose and I was angry. I was embarrassed and ashamed and felt awful.
But, at least I could eat what I wanted now. Or could I? I pushed so much crap into my body in the next few days, that I almost immediately put on 3 kilos. Didn't worry about them too much. As long as I could still fit into my cool clothes, I was golden.
February came around, and I was anxious and twitchy at home. One of my friends got me a job at a fast food cafe. This was good news for the bank balance, but very bad news for my food. We were allowed to eat whatever we liked from the Bain Marie.... and so I did. The habits that I'd picked up over 2 years of WW were still ingrained and I binged on fruit and vegetables, but ate quite a few burgers from the shop, as well as the enormous fatty fries that tasted like heaven.
I joined a gym, because my pants were starting to get tight. This was April. My weight had hit 102kg and I was a little worried, because it wasn't coming off like it used to. I started drinking protein shakes from the gym and still eating crap. It didn't work. By the time I quit the cafe, in May, I weighed 105kg and was busting out of my size 16 pants. I had to go and buy a few size 18s. I couldn't fit into my size 12 or 14 tops any more. I started to feel paranoid about my size.
In June, I stopped going to the gym, and decided to go back to what had worked for me. Weight Watchers. I signed up for three months of online tracking so I could get back to tracking my points. But something was wrong. I couldn't control myself any more. I resented having to stop eating. I kept bingeing. I even threw up. The painkiller usage had continued on, with my headaches and backaches a part of everyday life. I had a hole in my tooth, so sometimes used that as an excuse for buying the daily painkillers. I started visiting different chemists after a chemist asked me "Have you been to the doctor for this? You've had a lot of painkillers recently!". I was full of fear, and self-righteous anger. He had no idea how I suffered! (Yeah, right).
Weight Watchers wasn't working. I took a couple of kilos off, but they'd keep coming back on. I started going back to AA meetings, as well as a new fellowship to help with some of my emotional problems. I quit another temping job, as Alex had got Scarlet Fever. I wanted to be at home looking after him, but I was resentful at having to give up my life for him. I felt trapped. Food, and painkillers, were my reward.
In September, I started Tony Ferguson. I was now up to 107kg, I hadn't been able to lose any weight long term with Weight Watchers. I decided that I needed a quick loss in time for Christmas, and that this would help me. It didn't. I was 107kg in the bathroom at home, but 110kg when I weighed in at TF. I managed to get back down to 108 on their scales, but as soon as I had a week where I put on weight, I decided that it wasn't working and stopped. I had a friend who was doing intuitive eating, where you listen to your body and eat whatever you like, as long as you are hungry.
I decided to start doing this, however, I kinda skipped the "as long as you're hungry" part. I was full of fear about my weight, and my brain was constantly telling me that I was revolting and disgusting. I stepped on the scales one day and saw 113kg. Disaster. I had a friend who was doing Jenny Craig, so I decided to go there. They were absolutely lovely and talked me through everything. I started doing all the things that I'd done with WW, and binged on vegetables and fruit. Even when I wasn't hungry, in case I got hungry. But for every 500g I lost, I put 600g on. I was getting bigger and bigger. When, after a particularly bad weekend, I saw the figure "115kg", I became fearful.
Over Christmas, I restricted what I ate and took a bag of snow peas with me everywhere. I hardly ate any chocolate. I went back to JC and I had put on 300g.
This was the point that I went...you know what? This is just not working for me. I read a friend's book about intuitive eating, again, and embraced the part about "only when I am hungry". What good is bingeing on lots and lots of vegetables when you are hungry for a bowl of popcorn? Why am I fighting my body so much? So I decided to stop fighting. I broke up with dieting. I'd love to tell you that I lost lots and lots of weight, and have the answers to all your questions. But I don't. I only have my journey. I have my body and my appetite and I have to honour that. I have to accept the way that I feel about my body. At the moment, I am a size 18, and I don't like that. I feel unacceptable. I saw myself on a video that my husband took today and my first thought was "My goodness, I'm fat!!". And I accepted that. I am practicing listening to my body....because when I was a little girl, I was skinny. Before the emotional minefield that was puberty, I listened to my body. I ran, I walked, I jumped and I ate. I didn't think about what to eat or when to eat, I just did it. And I was healthy. I wish I was smaller, but I have to accept that I don't know what is good or bad for my body.
I'd get so angry before weigh ins, when I'd eaten loads of vegetables and they wouldn't clear out. I became obsessed with my colon and because of all the codeine had blocked me up, I would take laxatives. I wouldn't drink or eat before weighing in, and I'd wear the lightest clothes I could find. It was no way to live long term - I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did.
So, I've broken up with dieting. My weight may not have changed much, but I am still adjusting to the "eat when you're hungry" thing. I still eat a lot when I'm not hungry, but it's getting less. I am practicing being loving and tolerant of myself and I think that when I feel that I am not going to be deprived of eating, that perhaps I will begin to have a regular relationship with food. I've done it a few times, not eaten til I was hungry, and the food, the food is so much nicer. So much more delicious on an empty stomach, than force feeding more comfort into a body that is already stuffed with the meal before.
My codeine addiction is quite common, especially among those with addictive personalities. There's a reason why it says "WARNING: CODEINE IS ADDICTIVE". Cause it blummen well is! I went to see my doctor to get some help with it, and have been slowly coming off it. In a week, I will be totally painkiller free. I realised that I couldn't tell if I was hungry or not if I was constantly fuzzy from painkillers. I thought I was in genuine pain....turns out the neck pain can be fixed by a hot shower, dencorub or a wheat bag. The headache - that was a rebound headache from taking too many painkillers - a sign that my body was dependent on them. I feel clear, happy and free. I had a lot of fear around giving them up and whether I would be able to sleep or not...and although it hasn't been the best week of sleep that I've ever had in my life, I accept that I am an anxious type of person and I need to do things like writing and exercising and talking to other AA members about my addictive personality, in order to sleep peacefully.
My mind is emptied of fat, kj, points, propoints, fats, grains, etc etc. I practice trying to love and accept myself. I soothe the voice in my head that tells me I am a fat loser and nobody wants to be my friend. I tell it that I am doing the best that I can and I am worthy. I have come so far. I know that the damaged, skeptical, addictive part of me still wants the Duromine that another doctor offered me, but the well, sane part of me, just wants me to be me. I am practicing loving myself back to health. How can I stay overweight if I eat only when I am hungry? It is a scary journey, but one that I am sort of excited about being on.
When I'm fully off the codeine, I will be picking another sobriety date. And instead of thinking that I've lost nearly 10 years of sobriety and being hard on myself, I will see that not drinking, one day at a time, for nearly 10 years, is an achievement....and that this is another phase of my recovery. Instead of thinking that I've lost and then regained 16kg, and that I am a failure, I see that I have learnt a lot through my weight loss journey. I was just as obsessed and crazy at 93kg when I was dieting. I didn't focus on life - I focused on food. It was my obsession and all I wanted was to be thinner, because perhaps then I would feel worthwhile. I am no better or worse than anyone who has an addictive nature. I am no better or worse than anyone who has ever struggled to lose weight and hated themselves because of it. I'm moving away from judging other people, because it makes me judge myself too, and I don't like that. I am no better or worse. I'm just me. Becoming Deborah.
This time about 4 years ago, I weighed 122kg. I hated myself. I felt revolting and inadequate, like I didn't have any value. It was hard to get around, I didn't have much energy, my size was 20....my self esteem was minus one thousand. I felt ugly and unattractive and that I was taking up way too much space. I felt that whenever anyone interacted with me, they'd whisper "you fat cow", under their breath. I was totally paranoid about my size.
So then, I decided to go to Weight Watchers. I embraced it with all the control freakery that is in me. I weighed and measured and counted points. I walked and thought and lived for my weigh in. I set up a reward list for when I lost the weight. I felt that people were more interested in me as I shrank. I became an inspiration. A thinspiration. And I kept it up, for a good year. In that time, I lost 24 kilos. I was, if not a shadow of my former self, looking pretty good. My friends and husband told me how great I looked. The doors of chain stores were open to me. I could wear Cotton On, Target,Sportsgirl and I was in a size 14, sometimes size 12. I was winning at life.
I lived and breathed Weight Watchers, I saw lives changed in those rooms as we shared our worries and our challenges about the week coming. We heard inspirational stories, we talked about strategies like filling up on vegetables so we wouldn't overeat. We exercised so that we could eat. Or, perhaps only I did.
I started working as a WW volunteer, handing out cards and helping. The next thing you know, I'd asked for, and received, a job as a weigher. Slight problem. Although I felt reasonably good about my weight, I was still 12 kilos outside my healthy weight range. People were coming through the doors at my height, wanting to lose 5kg, weighing less than I did as a weigher. I felt totally inadequate and that I should be at my goal weight if I wanted to take this shit seriously and become a leader. Which I totally did. I have a background in amateur theatrics (both on and off stage), and love the thrill of being in front of an audience.
So, because there was no manager in the area at the time, and as the other leader had quit, I got through as a Leader on a technicality. As long as I was committed to losing weight, I could become a leader. I had to submit to monthly weigh ins, as I did as a weigher. No worries, thought I. I've got this in the bag. I'm good at losing weight. Or so I thought. Until I had to.
My journey had stopped being about me and started being about numbers. I put a lot into my meetings, and would think about the clients and ways to help them. It was seductive to think that I had the capacity to help other people with their problems. Me, who only 4 years prior, had been suffering from crippling Post Natal Depression/Nervous Breakdown. I was useful. I had a function, other than mother, which often, I thought I did a pretty bad job. Sure, I love Alex, but I wanted something for me.
So, a couple of things happened. I started doing a lot of extra work to get my meetings going. I had to receive and count stock, and store boxes upon boxes upon boxes of stock in my spare room, and transport it to and from the meetings. I had to manage staff. I was really really crap at managing staff. I wanted them to just know what I was thinking and would feel annoyed if they didn't do things the "right" way, but felt unable to tell them, as by then, they were my friends. Awkward.
I had been struggling with my weight for a while. At 181cm, my goal weight is between 64-82kgs. At my lightest with WW, I reached 93kg. Still a way to go....and so I set about it. Only, I was a bit sick of counting so much. I was sick of being organised. Of weighing and measuring and counting and converting. My brain was full with so much information about food. And meetings, and ways to encourage people, the sales targets that I had as a leader, the information talk that I had to give to the new people, and what the product of the week was. I gained and lost the same 4kg many times. The leaders meetings that we had every second month became painful, when all my staff were at goal weight, and I wasn't. Worse still, the very thinnest, prettiest one of them all had decided that she would train as a leader. I was very supportive of her, but noticed that she had started to bring me up on some of the procedures that I wasn't doing properly. I should have talked to her about it, but I didn't know how to. I didnt' want to admit that I was jealous of her and her figure. She was getting married and I was jealous of that. Marriage is amazing and life changing, but at times it can be a slow plod, especially with young kids. I knew my husband loved me and that I loved him, but we were far from lovebirds, especially with my brain so full of weight watchers and points.
My son Alex was starting school and I was full of anxiety about him leaving me. He had been bullied at his kinder(preschool) and I was worried that the same thing would happen. School was not a pleasant place for me, and I couldn't help but project some of my fears onto him.
In short, my brain was too full and too busy. On top of that, I was a recovering alcoholic who hadn't been to an AA meeting in over a year. I had a nasty little secret too. After my sleeping tablets were ceased in 2008, I rediscovered my old friend codeine. I'd hurt my back and noticed that after I took the tablets, I was much more able to sleep. I filed that away for future reference.
In the midst of all this cray cray, mid 2011, I'd developed a horrible sinus infection, with a crippling headache. I started taking aspirin/neurofen based codeine painkillers along with panadol based codeine painkillers. I only took them 2 at a time, because that's what it said on the packet, but I totally ignored the part where it said "no more than 6 in 24 hours" and "do not take for more than a week at a time", and especially not "WARNING: Codeine is addictive". I was washing the painkillers down with lashings of Diet Coke and Skinny cappuccino, and hating myself for not losing more weight.
I told my coworkers at WW everything. Warts and all. (oh, except about the painkillers!!) I told them the things that I should have revealed only to other AAs, things about my past and my present and behaviours that I had that were far from healthy. I didn't really know much about appropriate conversations.
And so, it all came to a head. One Saturday morning in January 2012, all the hate and fear and anger that I felt towards my body, for not losing weight, my mind, for obsessing over how fat/thin I was, and how I compared to those around me, all the nasty, black, disgusting thoughts and feelings I had, erupted. A couple of things happened. I felt that the Thin and Pretty Leader in Training was disrespecting me. I felt that she wasn't listening to me. I felt jealous and horrible and ugly and fat and stupid, and I unleashed all of that on her. And she fled the room. The other girl looked at me in horror and said "This changes everything". I was still angry, so justified myself. Then a trickle of fear crept in. I went into the bathroom, where Thin and Pretty had fled to....and found her with a nosebleed, weeping in the aftermath of my vicious attack. I apologised, and we hugged. We all went out for a rather subdued coffee. Oh. And it was her birthday. Happy birthday - sorry for the verbal abuse, let me pay for your coffee.
Are you surprised to hear that they never spoke to me again? Are you surprised to hear that I was fired? They cut me loose and I was angry. I was embarrassed and ashamed and felt awful.
But, at least I could eat what I wanted now. Or could I? I pushed so much crap into my body in the next few days, that I almost immediately put on 3 kilos. Didn't worry about them too much. As long as I could still fit into my cool clothes, I was golden.
February came around, and I was anxious and twitchy at home. One of my friends got me a job at a fast food cafe. This was good news for the bank balance, but very bad news for my food. We were allowed to eat whatever we liked from the Bain Marie.... and so I did. The habits that I'd picked up over 2 years of WW were still ingrained and I binged on fruit and vegetables, but ate quite a few burgers from the shop, as well as the enormous fatty fries that tasted like heaven.
I joined a gym, because my pants were starting to get tight. This was April. My weight had hit 102kg and I was a little worried, because it wasn't coming off like it used to. I started drinking protein shakes from the gym and still eating crap. It didn't work. By the time I quit the cafe, in May, I weighed 105kg and was busting out of my size 16 pants. I had to go and buy a few size 18s. I couldn't fit into my size 12 or 14 tops any more. I started to feel paranoid about my size.
In June, I stopped going to the gym, and decided to go back to what had worked for me. Weight Watchers. I signed up for three months of online tracking so I could get back to tracking my points. But something was wrong. I couldn't control myself any more. I resented having to stop eating. I kept bingeing. I even threw up. The painkiller usage had continued on, with my headaches and backaches a part of everyday life. I had a hole in my tooth, so sometimes used that as an excuse for buying the daily painkillers. I started visiting different chemists after a chemist asked me "Have you been to the doctor for this? You've had a lot of painkillers recently!". I was full of fear, and self-righteous anger. He had no idea how I suffered! (Yeah, right).
Weight Watchers wasn't working. I took a couple of kilos off, but they'd keep coming back on. I started going back to AA meetings, as well as a new fellowship to help with some of my emotional problems. I quit another temping job, as Alex had got Scarlet Fever. I wanted to be at home looking after him, but I was resentful at having to give up my life for him. I felt trapped. Food, and painkillers, were my reward.
In September, I started Tony Ferguson. I was now up to 107kg, I hadn't been able to lose any weight long term with Weight Watchers. I decided that I needed a quick loss in time for Christmas, and that this would help me. It didn't. I was 107kg in the bathroom at home, but 110kg when I weighed in at TF. I managed to get back down to 108 on their scales, but as soon as I had a week where I put on weight, I decided that it wasn't working and stopped. I had a friend who was doing intuitive eating, where you listen to your body and eat whatever you like, as long as you are hungry.
I decided to start doing this, however, I kinda skipped the "as long as you're hungry" part. I was full of fear about my weight, and my brain was constantly telling me that I was revolting and disgusting. I stepped on the scales one day and saw 113kg. Disaster. I had a friend who was doing Jenny Craig, so I decided to go there. They were absolutely lovely and talked me through everything. I started doing all the things that I'd done with WW, and binged on vegetables and fruit. Even when I wasn't hungry, in case I got hungry. But for every 500g I lost, I put 600g on. I was getting bigger and bigger. When, after a particularly bad weekend, I saw the figure "115kg", I became fearful.
Over Christmas, I restricted what I ate and took a bag of snow peas with me everywhere. I hardly ate any chocolate. I went back to JC and I had put on 300g.
This was the point that I went...you know what? This is just not working for me. I read a friend's book about intuitive eating, again, and embraced the part about "only when I am hungry". What good is bingeing on lots and lots of vegetables when you are hungry for a bowl of popcorn? Why am I fighting my body so much? So I decided to stop fighting. I broke up with dieting. I'd love to tell you that I lost lots and lots of weight, and have the answers to all your questions. But I don't. I only have my journey. I have my body and my appetite and I have to honour that. I have to accept the way that I feel about my body. At the moment, I am a size 18, and I don't like that. I feel unacceptable. I saw myself on a video that my husband took today and my first thought was "My goodness, I'm fat!!". And I accepted that. I am practicing listening to my body....because when I was a little girl, I was skinny. Before the emotional minefield that was puberty, I listened to my body. I ran, I walked, I jumped and I ate. I didn't think about what to eat or when to eat, I just did it. And I was healthy. I wish I was smaller, but I have to accept that I don't know what is good or bad for my body.
I'd get so angry before weigh ins, when I'd eaten loads of vegetables and they wouldn't clear out. I became obsessed with my colon and because of all the codeine had blocked me up, I would take laxatives. I wouldn't drink or eat before weighing in, and I'd wear the lightest clothes I could find. It was no way to live long term - I'm surprised I lasted as long as I did.
So, I've broken up with dieting. My weight may not have changed much, but I am still adjusting to the "eat when you're hungry" thing. I still eat a lot when I'm not hungry, but it's getting less. I am practicing being loving and tolerant of myself and I think that when I feel that I am not going to be deprived of eating, that perhaps I will begin to have a regular relationship with food. I've done it a few times, not eaten til I was hungry, and the food, the food is so much nicer. So much more delicious on an empty stomach, than force feeding more comfort into a body that is already stuffed with the meal before.
My codeine addiction is quite common, especially among those with addictive personalities. There's a reason why it says "WARNING: CODEINE IS ADDICTIVE". Cause it blummen well is! I went to see my doctor to get some help with it, and have been slowly coming off it. In a week, I will be totally painkiller free. I realised that I couldn't tell if I was hungry or not if I was constantly fuzzy from painkillers. I thought I was in genuine pain....turns out the neck pain can be fixed by a hot shower, dencorub or a wheat bag. The headache - that was a rebound headache from taking too many painkillers - a sign that my body was dependent on them. I feel clear, happy and free. I had a lot of fear around giving them up and whether I would be able to sleep or not...and although it hasn't been the best week of sleep that I've ever had in my life, I accept that I am an anxious type of person and I need to do things like writing and exercising and talking to other AA members about my addictive personality, in order to sleep peacefully.
My mind is emptied of fat, kj, points, propoints, fats, grains, etc etc. I practice trying to love and accept myself. I soothe the voice in my head that tells me I am a fat loser and nobody wants to be my friend. I tell it that I am doing the best that I can and I am worthy. I have come so far. I know that the damaged, skeptical, addictive part of me still wants the Duromine that another doctor offered me, but the well, sane part of me, just wants me to be me. I am practicing loving myself back to health. How can I stay overweight if I eat only when I am hungry? It is a scary journey, but one that I am sort of excited about being on.
When I'm fully off the codeine, I will be picking another sobriety date. And instead of thinking that I've lost nearly 10 years of sobriety and being hard on myself, I will see that not drinking, one day at a time, for nearly 10 years, is an achievement....and that this is another phase of my recovery. Instead of thinking that I've lost and then regained 16kg, and that I am a failure, I see that I have learnt a lot through my weight loss journey. I was just as obsessed and crazy at 93kg when I was dieting. I didn't focus on life - I focused on food. It was my obsession and all I wanted was to be thinner, because perhaps then I would feel worthwhile. I am no better or worse than anyone who has an addictive nature. I am no better or worse than anyone who has ever struggled to lose weight and hated themselves because of it. I'm moving away from judging other people, because it makes me judge myself too, and I don't like that. I am no better or worse. I'm just me. Becoming Deborah.
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