Absent, But by No Means Gone

The title of today’s entry refers to two different people: ED and me. Let me be egocentric and start with me, because doesn’t it all start, and end with me, right? I haven’t blogged in quite a while. Sorry, readers. Things have been crazy–yeah, like always.

Even though I am on summer vacation.
Even though Margaret is at overnight summer camp.
Even though Beth is at day camp.
Even though Ann is at preschool camp.

So what the hell can be crazy?

Um, me? OK, stop laughing.

So what my mind is still getting pulled into 150 different directions and my thoughts are bumping into each other. So what I can’t get out of my own way. So what I can’t sleep even though I am really sleepy all the time. So what I am bitchy as hell. So what I am sore and still and cranky and I can’t even get out of my own way. So what I am pissed off at myself for doing nothing constructive with my time and I keep telling myself to channel that frustration and anger into a mass session of productivity and then I sit on my *ss in extreme laziness and become more and more pissed.

I feel more and more absent from everything. I am barely going through the motions. Laundry is piling up. The mess is more than piling up. Meals have been reduced to pathetic affairs; cooking is a thing of a past, but just whatever foodstuff can be gathered quickly and tossed on the table. The only thing I manage to do that is remotely responsible is taking Beth and Ann to and from camp.

As I said absent–just like my daily blog entries–entries.

And ED.
The other person referred to in the title of this blog entry. He has been absent, but not gone. Absent from my thoughts? Hardly. He is never absent from my thoughts. ED is ALWAYS with me, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, “You’re fat. You’re disgusting. You’ll never be skinny because you are always stuffing your face with food. Stop lying to yourself.”

But ED has not really been with me to help me become skinny and happy. He has kept skinniness absent from my life. He’s been absent with his help.

But not gone. Over the past week or so, ED has peeked through the curtains. He guided me to my knees (you can guess why) I think twice. That’s it. Just twice. Just enough to say, “I’m not gone for good, just absent.”

ED, prove to me that you are really, really back. Stop being absent. Be present. Be present. Every day.

And I will try to be present. Not sure if, not sure how, but I will try. Both in my life and in my blog.

Therapy Can Only Do So Much!

Dear Blog Readers,

I am so very sorry that I haven’t written in so long! Lately there has barely been a second for me to catch a breath, much less for me to blog. Seriously. I am gasping for air as I type this! (That hissing noise you hear is the oxygen slowly flowing out of my portable oxygen tank that I keep in one of those wheely carts.)

Anyway, today I am returning to therapy after an extended absence…a couple of months? Does that sound about right? Lately I don’t even know what day it is, much less the last time I did something.

I have been over-therapicized. With all the sh*t going on with my sweet Mags, I am seriously occupied almost every single day with appointments. I am so tired.

Mentally, Emotionally, Physically.

So what am I doing? Going back to therapy. Adding yet another “talk about your problems and let’s work together to find a better way to come up with strategies and coping strategies…blah, blah, blah.”

Why the f*ck am I doing this to myself? Good question.

I feel like it is the thing to do. I honestly think it will change NOTHING. I honestly think I will change NOTHING. I think I will feel the same strain in my life and the same drain in my life. I think my life and its issues and problems and stressors will still exist with the same potency.

Everyone says I need self-care. Even after my trips to treatment, I STILL don’t believe in self-care. It helps nothing and does not make me feel any better. It makes me feel worse. I feel guilt. I feel selfish.

Therapy is not self-care; therapy is self-exposure and self-vulnerability and self-weakness.

Which Came First, the Chicken or the Egg?

Ok, so this entry has NOTHING to do with a chicken or an egg; if you are farmer, butcher, grocer, or vegetarian, I’m sorry. This really isn’t written with you in mind. I’m focusing on the question itself, of how to choose, of how to get one thing and have it lead to another, and not the specific choices. Forgive me if I have mislead you (but hey, that’s what tags are for, right?).

I just finished reading and replying to a blog entry written by truthandcake entitled, “What Did You Give Up, To Get What You Got?” It got me thinking (yeah, I know, the smoke coming out of my ears is preventing light from filtering into the room…) about my own life and what I have and what I want.

A lot of what I am going to say is not new information to those who are avid readers of my blog. (And if this is the first time you are learning this information, it means that you have been denying yourself immense pleasure and satisfaction by NOT reading and following my blog faithfully–no time like the present.) I am married to Seth, a great husband and father. I have Margaret, Beth, and Ann, my three wonderful daughters. I love teaching and have been doing it for seventeen years now, and I’ve been in the same school for the last thirteen years. I love my house; it’s not large, but we all know that is not everything. I even adore my minivan, even though none of my daughters play soccer. Seth and I are not rich by a long shot, but we don’t have to worry about being able to pay our bills. Friends? I wish I had more than the number of fingers on my hand, but we can’t have everything.

Can we?

If admittedly I have so many treasures in my life, why am I not happy? A lot of people would kill to have the things–and by things I don’t just mean things, but people as well–I have, but I do have them and it’s not enough.

Not enough?

Not enough? Really? What the hell do I want? There are the things I want, and the things I WANT. (Huh? What the you know what is momsgotproblems talking about? This makes no sense?) Somethings I want, I really don’t want, but I say I want. (Bear with me, here.) I always say that I want to get away and not be doing the same old thing I always do. In my mind’s eye, I see myself dancing in a packed club (I’m always skinny in these “visions”), sampling the fares in a fabulously expensive restaurant in which the kitchen is run by a famous chef who creates his daily menu based on his momentary fancy, bathing in the sun on a white sandy beach in some tropical place (again, I am not only skinny in this one, but wearing a teensy, wheensy f*ck-me-red string bikini with the strap half untied), etc., etc. Oh, and before you say anything, I KNOW that was a really crazy long run on sentence.

What else do I want, but really don’t want (but would be happy if I had them anyway, even though I won’t ever get them)? I want the body of Catherine Zeta Jones. I want Harrison Ford and/or Antonio Banderas to walk to my door and sweep my very skinny, light body off my feet. You get the point? For one reason or another, NONE of these things will ever happen. Even the whole having a good time without a care in the world stuff is moot; I have too many anxieties, allergies, and…dare I say it? FAT! for these things to happen. (Hey, grammar police! Yeah, you! Lay off here!)

And then there are the things that I really want but seem to elude me. I want a group of good friends that have time for me in their lives and really want me to be there. I want the acquaintance friends that are good for a drink and a chat. I want improvements on my house; minor things that we would be able to do with a significant amount of elbow grease and careful research. (Gotta love the web that is the source of my limited knowledge.)

Oh, did I mention I want to be skinny?

So compare the things that I do have to the things I want, and not the Antonio stuff. I have a lot and I should be so very thrilled. The things I want are not so drastic that they may never, ever happen. Well you know me, they won’t ever happen, but still, right?

So I ask again, why am I not happy? Why? And how do I feel about having so many things that should make me feel happy and not feeling happy? Depressed.

Depressed? Really? I’m depressed because I have so many things to be happy about but I am unhappy because I am unhappy when I should be happy because I have so many things I should be happy about?

You read me right, my blog readers. I talk in circles.
I go in circles.
I think in circles.
My life is a circle.

I’m always spinning my wheels, knowing where I want to go, how to get there, having the means and the mode (not in math language, that I almost flunked, I’m sorry to say) to get there, and not going.

I have the road map and the GPS and the backseat driver, but I choose to turn to continuously go around the rotary. (For those of you who are from New Jersey, I think it is the round-a-bout and for the rest of you non-New Englander’s, it is the traffic circle.

What is wrong with me?

I don’t know which came first, the chicken or the egg.
All I know is that I am hungry.

*Big, huge, after-the-fact, disclaimer: I went all over the place with this entry. Hopefully you found a kernel of insight that made this incredibly honest, witty, well-crafted, enjoyable, intelligent, yadda, yadda, yadda entry profoundly touching. Share with me. I want to know what kind responses this invoked in you, because, like, we know that such amazing writing did.

Just a Good Ol’-Fashioned Rant

Ok, I should warn all the millions of you reading my blog (I can dream, right?), that there is nothing fascinating or witty or insightful in today’s entry. It’s just a rant–no holds barred, anything goes spewage of what’s in my head.

Where should I even begin? My life is a hot mess. I know this is nothing new and you’ve seen this phrase from me before, but it is what it is; my life is a hot mess.

I am tired of things going in circles and I’m tired of rehashing the same old sh*t to no avail. “Getting it out” has not been helpful. I am frustrated with hearing my own voice blab about my same problems.

I take one teeny baby step forward, and I am vilently pushed back several yards. It’s stupid and such a waste of time and effort. Why bother? Is there a point? Am I accomplishing anything?

No. No. NO!!!

Things with my family are so screwed up, no amount of twisting will fix the problems. What are the issues? I just can’t get into them again. Again? I knew I haven’t shared them with you, but everyone else in my life have heard my tale of woe; I am beyond sick and tired of talking about them. Needless to say, HOT MESS.

And ED? He is pissing me off on such a grand scale. If you have been keeping up with my blog, then you already know my thoughts about him.

And me? I hate me. I am frustrated with me. I am a failure. I am a hypocrite. I am a liar. I contribute nothing spectacular to anything. I fill a void in life–not my life, mind you. Other people’s lives. Again, I am not talking about bringing happiness or joy or anything special like that. I’m talking about basic kinds of needs stuff. The stuff that other people could be hired and paid to do tasks. If it weren’t for money and expenses, I would be completely expendable.

What do I do? I drive the kids around–pick ups and appointments and the like. I sometimes cook dinner. I am supposed to do laundry, but my laziness usually prevents this from happening. I can comb hair and play with toys. I should clean up the kitchen and the bathroom and the toys, but I don’t. I should do a lot of things, but I don’t.

Let’s not forget that there are things called nannies and cleaning services and housekeepers and drivers and cooks. Couldn’t they do all the things I’m supposed to do? Wouldn’t they actually do a better job than I do. Yes and yes. If it weren’t for things being so expensive in this world, those tasks would be “outsourced” and I could do what I do best: NOTHING!

The thing, or one of the things, that really piss me off is that even with doing NOTHING I am not happy. If I could say that I was doing other things to better myself and make me less depressed during that time, it would be one thing. But I can’t. I am not concentrating on curbing my bingeing. I am not getting out there and exercising. Hell, I’m not even using that time to purge or take pills–which I would like to do.

I am bitching and moaning and “woe-is-me” ing and nothing changes and nothing gets better. Let me strike that. Things do change.

What is it?
What is it?
What is that light in my pathetic dark tunnel of my being?
What is the catalyst that breaks up the depressing monotony of my life?

The only thing that changes is my weight. Sort of.

Sort of? Either it does or it doesn’t.

Well if you look at it that way, it does change. It goes up. And for the briefest of moments it goes down. And then up. And then up. Then slightly down. Then a big jump down and a little step up. And then a giant gain and a microscopic loss. And then equal gains and losses. And then gains. Big, stupid, hated gains.

All my fault. Who’s fault could it be?

I got on my scale today–as I do every day, unless I realize that there is no point because the numbers will be bigger, rounder than before. But just about every day I weigh myself. And I knew it was going back up into dangerous territory. I knew things were getting very, very bad again even without the number confirmation. I was bingeing and bingeing more with temporary disregard of what that binge would look like on my scale, my stomach, my thighs, my hips, my *ss. Every day I would see the reminder of my actions and realize that I would soon be back where I started back in January when I (along with 80% of humanity) decided to get serious about weightloss and drop pounds and lose inches. And I suppose along with 78% of the people deciding that, I am a miserable failure. Nobody’s fault but my own.

And guess where I am today? Go ahead and guess.

I’m right back to where I started on January 2, which was the day of my getting serious and doing what needed to be done to shed this fat, disgusting body and take the necessary actions on my journey to looking like a person. I weigh exactly the same as I did on January 2. The same!!!!!

Now my therapist would say that clearly what I am doing isn’t working and I should try to eat balanced throughout the day, week, month. Yeah, that’s not going to happen. There is no “balance” in my life. I do or I do not do. I eat or I don’t. There is no happy medium. There is no boundary that is observed. Coping skills and distraction and diversion and strategies and satiety cues are all lost on me. I don’t use them, for whatever reason. Congratulations for those who do, and f*ck you to those who don’t (um, me!).

I have heard so many cliche’s from people–therapists, co-workers, friends, family–no I’m not sure if family really cares enough to bother.

“You didn’t gain all this weight overnight (as in recently and quickly), so you cannot expect to lose it overnight (as in soon and quickly).” Um, yes I did and I do.

“Failure (or stupidity) is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.” Well, yeah, I get that, but I am not trying to do the same thing over and over and over–aka bingeing– and I’m trying to do different things–aka consistently restricting, fasting, etc. And before any of you say that I am setting myself up for a binge, I have shown that regardless of what I do or don’t eat, when I decide to eat, I binge. The only cause is me choosing to binge and the effect is, well you know what the effect is.

“You don’t look like you have an eating disorder.” All I can say to that is anorexia is only one type of eating disorder. There are others that do not make you appear very skinny. Trust me, I wish anorexia was the only eating disorder and I was blessed with having that disease. How many people would say to others, “You don’t look like you have diabetes/internal bleeding/one kidney”? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“You are being so selfish.” Not sure how to combat that one, really.

“You are doing it for attention.” Ironically enough, I hear this one from the people who are close to me. First of all, the last thing I want to do is draw any attention to me and this fat f*cking mound of flesh that I call a body. Second of all, there are a lot better ways to get attention than by eating more than an oversized mammal. And finally, what kind of attention is “it” getting me? Anything good? Or uplifting? Right.

And I saved my favorites for last.

“Just stop it.”
“Cut it out.”
“Just stop eating.”
“Eat in moderation.”
Oh my goodness! The answers! If only I realized! I could have been rid of “it” (and yes, people refer to ED as an ‘it’ as if I was accessorizing my life with a new handbag or designer heels). I never knew that it was so simple! Shame on me for searching out a difficult solution, when the cure was in front of me all the time! Seriously?

For now, I am going to continue kidding myself and lying to myself and saying that I’m going to really do it now. I’m really going to get serious and make ED work for me, rather than me being led blindly by him. I’m going to not eat on certain days and eat very little on some days and exercise almost all days. If I eat, I will purge. I will take whatever pills I can find that will help me achieve my goal of weighing a reasonable amount.

Ha.
Whatever.

I’ve got a bridge to sell you in New York.

Important Things

Here I sit, in my jammies at 11:09 in the morning. I am listening to “The Backyardigans” as Ann watches and colors with markers. (Why is it that we have 5,000 crayons in a bucket and the kids want to use markers–the more permanent the better!)

I’ve been tracing hands and playing flying matchbook cars and cutting waffles (after Ann did some of it) and making scrambled eggs and then eggs over because I made Beth the wrong kind–of course she didn’t eat them because she now doesn’t like the yolk.

I keep thinking about getting up to make some coffee, but right now I seem to be too lazy to do it.

I’ve got a load of towels in the washer and cleared out all of Ann’s small clothes and will restock with winter wear that fit.

Mundane, yes. Ordinary, yes. Nice, yes.

Problems with this little slice into my simple little life (ok, stop laughing since you know I’ve got more issues than Oscar the Grouch has trash.)? My house is a mess. Not a little need to “tidy up.” You know on “Law and Order,” when the cops enter a residence and say, “wow, the criminal really ransacked this place”? That’s my house. Actually I would have to tell Briscoe that I think the bad guys cleaned up some. My doorbell rings and I literally cringed that someone will see my disgusting house.

My house has big huge issues. It bothers me. A lot. I am horrified to think of anyone seeing my place.

I want to have friends over. I want to host holiday dinners. I want to use the good china and crystal glasses and fancy serving platters. I can’t. My anxiety prevents me from doing this. It kicks into overdrive when I think of friends and relatives entering my home. It makes me feel sad and frustrated and incompetent.

Why can’t I keep a nice house? Is it because I have 3 children, like everyone says? I don’t think so. Would my house look like a trainwreck if I didn’t have kids? Probably. I am lazy and inept and useless. Seriously. Does add to my stress and engagement into ED behavior? Most likely.

What is important to me? How do I want people to remember me when a pass? That my house was immaculate? Not bad. That I gave amazing dinner parties? Good memory. That I was skinny and looked great? I could definitely handle that. That I raised terrific kids? That would be really sweet.

My goal in life is for my kids to better than me and leave THEIR marks on the world. That’s how I woyld like to be remembered.

Where does ED fit into my ultimate long-term goal?

HE DOESN’T

Light and Fluffy

OK, my last few entries were “hot and heavy,” so I am determined to write a post that is “light and fluffy.” But here is the catch; can’t think of a damned (gosh-darned for those people which are offended by such strong vocabulary) topic to explore.

What to write? What to write? What to write? Ooh! I know!

Next Wednesday is my birthday. I will be xx, closer to big round numbers. What do I want for a gift? I am pro-gift, but at the same time I am a “don’t bother to get me a gift because we can use the fundage other things.”

And for the record, fundage is a word. After all I am an English teacher so I should know.

Wanting a practical gift that will benefit the family is the “mom” thing to do, while desiring a gift that will benefit me is the “momsgotproblems” thing to do. So I am always torn. Not to sound shallow, but I really love getting gifts, especially if they are really tailored to me, regardless of the cost. As the Beatles sang, “I don’t care too much for money.”

Oh, did I mention that Ann can sing that whole song after hearing it twice?

And my final thought on gifts for now (not for later in which I may change my mind), is my gift from ED. What will he give me? A “good” day? A “bad” day? A “good” day AND a “bad” day in the same 24 hour period? I suppose it depends upon his whim.

While I “shiver with anticip…pation (someone PLEASE get the reference),” I think about what I really want for my birthday and what I will really receive. I guess I will find out next week!

Oh, and for all of you out in “Blog-Land” who are racking their brains, trying to think of the perfect present to give me, just remember MONEY ALWAYS FITS!