Happy New Year!

Um, Moms, New Years? I know what you are thinking…”Moms, we KNOW you have issues and are crazy, and well, you are, you know, oozing problems; now you can’t read a calendar? The official New Year starts January 1st at midnight. If you want to pop on a kippah, you could say the New Years starts…[pause as you consult the calendar app on your phone] starts at the beginning of next week.

“Momsgotproblems, What the f*ck are you talking about? Happy New Year?

Let me give you the skinny. (Ha, ha, HA! Like that is even POSSIBLE to put on the same page as me. I should say “Let me give you the big, fat, disgusting, cow-like, gigantic, huge, nauseating, obese.”)

I’ve been meaning to write to you, my loving (you ARE loving, right?) reader. I really wanted to write this specific entry seven days. The date was Tuesday, September 4, 2012.

And that date changes my life, Momsgotproblems, because…?

Well it doesn’t. Well I think it doesn’t change yours, but it signifies the possibility of a fresh start for me. The start of school.

All summer/Memorial Day/vacation/f*cking ______________(fill in the blank) I kept saying that I was going to start and lose weight. I was going to employ whatever tools that I had in my bag-o-tricks to have the poundage peel off.

Eat sensibly, exercise, get enough sleep, blah, blah. Ha. Like I’m going to do that.

Restricting, Fasting, Purging, Laxing (Taking laxatives to non-bulimics, but personally I think it is an easier and more flow-y way to say it), Rexing (Ok, that one I made up and I have never, ever heard anyone else use that abbreviation because it is…interesting. Personally if we can say “laxing,” why isn’t there a way to say taking diuretics. I tried other shorted versions that you will see just didn’t work–dieing, retting, wetting, ticking; hence rexing was born.).

Hello ADHD running wild!!!! Wait, let me re-read what the hell I was reading.

OK. All the sh*t I talked about above is my version of the blah, blah, blah people talk about as the “right” way to lose weight. Sure, if I wanted to spend the rest of the days with my own hair following a “sensible” plan, perhaps I would go from being a f*cking obese inhuman moose to a f*cking fat disgusting cow. (Well fat is better than obese, and a cow is better than a moose, right?) Anyway, you get the point.

Now if you have followed my wonderful, humorous, honest, and all-around best thing you have ever read in your entire life, you know that even though I want to stick with the “purging” stuff–whatever the purge du’jour is. But I screw up. Regularly. Always. In big, huge, mother-of-all mistakes screw ups.

I binge. (Betcha didn’t see that one coming.) I hate bingeing. More than anything. I feel weak and stupid and guilty and out-of-control, gutless, waste of space, fat, useless blob. I undo everything I had worked so hard to achieve!

But September 4, 2012 was my New Year; my fresh beginning. Have I been perfect? Yeah, right. Last week from Tuesday morning to Friday morning I was five pounds down! The only thing I remember eating was Thursday night my screwing up by eating pretzels and too many cookies, so by some kind of miracle I still lost the last pound, thus making up the total. I don’t think I ate the other days; I seriously can’t remember.

And then came the weekend. Can we say F*CK-O-RAMA???? Ate whatever. Didn’t really matter and I didn’t really matter. Well I did. A lot. But oh well. As soon as I took that first forbidden bite I had undone all of my fasting for the week. I deserved to be punished. And the best way to do that? Eat more. Binge.

Monday morning, get on the scale. I knew the numbers would not be easy to look at. I knew the weight would be so much higher than my pre-weekend weight; I just didn’t know how much of a disaster I caused. Bad, but not above where I was when I started my new year. Really, really close, but still down. Only by one. Still really sucked. Three days of starvation–well except for the pretzel/cookie screw up on Thursday night–to only lose one pound.

So we come to this week (be thankful I’m not going hour by hour!) and so far I’m down four pounds. Yes 4! I would be lying if I didn’t say I was psyched! Mostly fasted Monday but screwed up at night–ate dinner and then junk fooded it with a binged (how I lost is one of those crazy lunar-eclipse things). Tuesday I fasted; I can’t remember eating anything. And today I am sans food. Hopefully the scale will be nice.

Will it continue? Will I screw up over the weekend? Will I screw up before the weekend? Can I keep lying my way out of dinners? Is this the New Year that I really turn it around, lose the massive amount of weight I need to lose, and FINALLY gain a modicum of control?

I f*cking hope so!

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.

Sh*t or Get Off the Pot!

Ok, my blog readers, you must be wondering if I am using figurative language (remember, English teacher here) or literal language. At this moment I am speaking figuratively, but perhaps later today…

Yesterday I ended up bitching and without even looking back I know it was about a myriad of things, but I know the weight/size thing was a big part of it (ooh, pun!). That is ALWAYS consuming a huge (!!!) section of my mind and overtakes my thoughts. What do I do about it? One step forward, a hundred steps back. Clearly that is my MO. Bingeing is the behavior du jour and the one that I despise with every singer fiber of my being (and that’s a lot of fibers!!!)

So I need to Sh*t or Get Off the Pot!

Have you heard that expression? I’m sure you can figure out what it means if you haven’t, but just in case I’ll give you the ‘Cliff’s Notes’ version. Take action (that’s the you-know-what part) or get off the pot (stop complaining and just become as big as the planet and then take over the Milky Way–the part of space, not the candy bar!).

Well today, I sorta did both.

Huh? What? Momsgotproblems, you must be thinking, (have you ever wondered about my uncanny ability to read your mind?), how could you do both?

Well the “get off the pot” part happened first thing this morning, pre-work. I was a bad. I ate a banana. And I had a bowl of Froot Loops. And shockingly, it was a human-sized bowl. And while admittedly that is not a gargantuan amount of food, for me it sets the precedent. It opens the floodgates, if you will. Once I start–and it could be just ONE CHEERIO to be honest with you, and all bets are off. So, the fact that I had that early in the morning, I set myself up for eat-o-rama binge-o-rama. I hate me.

Did it lead to more? What do you think? Of course it did!

McD’s for lunch. But here’s where the “sh*t” part comes in; well to be accurate, I should call this the “purge” part. I decided before I grabbed lunch that I would purge it. I have made that promise to myself before and reneged on myself. Truly shows the “problem” part in “momsgotproblems” because if you can’t be honest with yourself… but I digress.

This time I kept my work. Lunch went in… lunch came out. I am glad. I am relieved. I am proud.

Today I acted rather than morosely accepting my fate as an obese lying failure. Is this going to be an anomoly or a daily ritual?

Please ED, allow me the strength to incorporate this back into my life! proud.

The 7 Deadly Sins…And a Couple of Extras

Ok, my faithful readers, most of us have seen the movie Seven which throws Morgan Freedman, the actor formerly known as Brangelina, the Bible (the first one), the seven deadly sins, irony, etc. into one psycho thriller. And psycho stuff I know! Anyway, I’ve been thinking about the bad things the Kevin Spacey (yeah I know, not him, but the guy he is portraying) punishes in his own murderous ways. And though I am usually a rule-follower and not a rule breaker…ok, I don’t always follow those posted signs on roads that tell me the speed to drive (but aren’t speed limits merely recommendations?), and is lying really lying if it is for a good cause and/or you don’t get caught, and, and, and perhaps there are a couple of other “rules” that I might have forgotten. But I digress…

Sadly some of the sins are Ed-related to which I fall victim, but I think there are a couple of sins that didn’t make the list.

I’ll go through the famous ones and link them to me.

LUST. I don’t even need to tell you what I lust after. But I will. I lust after skinny. I want a skinny body and will do just about anything to get one. Lately the lust part is true but the “do anything” part is severely lacking.

GLUTTONY. This one is even more obvious than Lust. And by obvious, I mean, eat every single morsel I can get my hands on and look and see how I no longer possess a human-sized body, obvious.

GREED. I want food. A lot of food. More food than exists on this planet, any planet. Even Pluto, which is no longer even considered a planet, but is called a dwarf. (I could sing you the Planet Song, but lucky for you, there is no audio attached to my blog.) Oh, if only I could get locked in a restaurant or a big *ss supermarket with a few of my bestest friends (me, myself, and I).

SLOTH. Wow, it seems to me that I don’t have to spell anything out to you! I am lazy. LAZY, LAZY, LAZY. As in want to do nothing (but eat) and have the weight ooze off my body. Clearly sloth ain’t working for me, but I am so slothy (remember, English teacher) that I can’t do anything about it.

RAGE. Ok, this one is trickier. I am mad at ED. Mad at myself. Really, really mad. How could I let myself get like this? Why the f*ck don’t I do anything about it? What the f*ck is wrong with me? Maybe if I got rage-ier I could kick that whole sloth thing to the curb and do something. AHHH! (And that is not a surprised or happy AHHH! That’s a pissed off–that’s not too swear-ish, is it?–I hate me and ED and being fat AHHH!)

ENVY. Really? Only an idiot (and please accept my humblest apologies to anyone reading my blog, to whom that applies) couldn’t see that one. I envy anyone who is thin. Everyone. Cartoon characters, actors, models, average person. I am even envious of the word SKINNY. How can you be envious of a word? Well I am, so I guess there is a way, but just don’t ask me to explain it.

Hey, Moms, you only talked about 6 sins; you forgot PRIDE.

Pride? Me? I am ashamed. Embarassed. Horrified.
Pride? Not even close.

I am so fat that I am bulging out of my clothes. Stuff that should fit, doesn’t. I hear groans from my bedroom scale whenever my fat frame steps on to view the damage caused by my gluttony. (Actually there are two groans: mine and the scale’s.)

Should I be proud of my lack of self-control? My inaction? Hardly.

And now the other sins that didn’t make the top 7…

BEING FAT. Though closely linked to some of the others, it deserves to be its own sin because the other sins might apply to me without specifically covering my immense girth. I think this is the worst one. It shows my lack of effort and my lack of action and disregard of what is socially acceptable. Being fat lets everyone in the sighted world that I am the epitome of disgustingness. Definitely a sin.

COMPLAINY. That’s when all you do is bemoan the problem and refuse to come up with, or participate, in a solution. I know what to do. I should fast. I should restrict. There are a lot of things that I should do, but I don’t. Comlain-iness leads to other sins.

WEAKNESS. I am not talking about physical weakness–from which I also suffer–but mental weakness. I don’t follow my own personal mandates. I don’t exercise. I don’t do what I should do to achieve my goal of being skinny. I give into myself so easily, without even a moment’s thought, without contemplation, without even having a good reason. I hate being weak. It defines my character and it is pathetic.

ALL THE OTHERS THAT CONTRIBUTE TO MY CONTINUOUS PRACTICE OF BEING FAT. This is the giant catch-all for all the other things that prevent me from being skinny. Actually this sin would be more aptly named MYSELF.

I am the biggest sin of all.

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.

Fail to Plan? Plan to Fail

Ok, so I know most of you have heard that saying before, and I am not claiming it as my own original title. I am hear to challenge that notion.

As in disagree with it.
As in disprove it.
As in I am so screwed up that I can’t make it my personal motto.

I usually believe it that saying; really I do. But recently I have realized that there is something wrong with me. Stop laughing, my dear blog readers! I know something–implying just one issue–is the biggest joke this century, but play along with me. I can’t seem to make the failing part connected to lack of planning.

I’m sure you have figured out that I do plan. A lot. I have indepth, often rigid plans of what I will do to thwart the “you must binge” ED and embrace the “do whatever it takes to get skinny” ED. I create rituals that I must complete and policies I must follow, and rules that are non-negotiable. That’s the PLAN PART of the adage.

I do NOT fail to plan. I fail to follow through.

Where is the disconnect? My thought, feelings, beliefs, yadda, yadda, yadda (ya know what I mean, Seinfeld watchers) are genuine and honest and critical. I want to be human-looking again and become skinny, but the slightest little thing tempts me and my plans fly out the window.

I hate it, hate it, hate it!!! Those are the days (um, yesterday in fact, and today has started out to be one of those days as well) when I really feel guilty and hate myself and feel like the biggest immature loser who can’t even behave as a responsible adult.

Fail to Plan?
Plan to Fail…my you know what! (Feel free to substitute “bum” or backside for those who appreciate a PG blog entry, and/or *ss” or “f*cking disgusting fat *ass” for you edge-ier readers)

Sadly, here is the motto that I pathetically apply to my life:

Fail to Follow through? Expect to Fail.

Having an Eating Disorder? Child’s Play!

Huh? What? No, dear blog readers, I have not lost my mind. (Well that would imply first finding it and then losing it.) Having ED and his disciples MIA and ANA in your life and head and body, 24/7/365, is child’s play.

Child’s play? As in easy?
No.

Child’s play as in mimicing certain favorite children’s toys. Which ones? For me the playthings are yoyos, jax, hippity hops (what the f*ck is a hippity hop? If you’re not sure, trust me that it fits in with the other things), johnny jumpers (again, ya gotta trust me on this one), pogo sticks, rocking horses, inflatable ball pits, even plain old slides). What do these things have in common? And what is the connection between these things and our close friends ED and MIA and ANA?

All of these things go up and down, back and forth, action repeating action.

Just like us.
Just like me.

Since January 2, 2012–ok since two years ago and then some–I have made it one of the main missions in my life to lose weight. A lot of weight. And how would I describe that elusive quest? Abysmal. Did I say abysmal? You bet my fat *ss I did!

Have I lost any weight during that long, long, long period of time? Yes, a meager 16 pounds. Now I know you are thinking, “Momsgotproblems, I know that is not the amount you have wanted to lose, but at least it’s something, right? A loss is a loss, right?”

I would never criticize you, my lovely friends, but in this case you are so very wrong.

A loss is not a loss; a step in the right direction is only a teeny tiny step. Besides, I have yet to drop the bomb on you:

I have over the two plus months that I had hoped to lose 40 pounds (which is only 20 pounds a month, 5 pounds a week), I have actually only lost 4 pounds.

Wait, what? I said 16 pounds and math says 16 does not equal 4.

I have bounced/rocked back and forth, gone up and down.
I am that yoyo, pogo stick, rocking horse, etc., etc., etc.

It is a cruel tease. It is frustrating to say the least. It is my fault. ED and MIA (And ANA for some people, but not for me) have been my playmates. “These things are fun,” they say, “and how is having fun ever bad? Let loose and feed (no pun intended–ok, pun intended) your inner child.”

Here’s the problem with that. I am not a child.
I am an adult.

Bingeing is very bad, but I do it anyway

My dear blog readers, I need to vent. There is no profound topic I wish to discuss, but I want to share what it’s like in my “head.” And for the record, I KNOW there is a working brain in there; the doctors assure me of that!

As you know I am bulimic. I am a failure as a bulimic. Now I engage in all the different behaviors that define a bulimic: BINGE, purge, BINGE, laxatives, BINGE, restrict, BINGE, diuretics, BINGE, fast, BINGE. Did I mention BINGE? Sadly these days, and for many, many days before “these days,”

I have bingeing like an f*cking pig!
No, a cow!
No, a moose!
No, an elephant!
No, a mastadon!
I’m not sure that I could find something bigger except for a dinosaur, but that doesn’t really capure my sentiment.

I hate bingeing with such a passion that I realize I would like to do anything, anything other than binge. Every morning I see the scale go up and up and up to the point that I believe it is one pound away from self-destructing.

I used to counteract the binges with other stuff: laxatives, diuretics, fasting, restricting (sadly not exercising). I don’t do those things now. Why not? I know I can because I have done them in the past. I want to do them. I am a failure at maintaining the will and self-control to do so. Every day I say I am going to do those. I say, “Today is the day that I won’t eat at all. If I do eat, (and I really, really, really don’t want to) I will purge until there is nothing left. I will make up so viable excuse to get out of eating when I am with my family. If I am out of the house I will NOT stop to grab lunch/dinner, or pick up a candy bar. But what happens? I do!

Why is it that I do the exact thing I hate? Why do I punish myself by getting fatter and fatter and fatter with every singly day? I think about all the small clothes that have been packed away in my basement. I think about my favorite outfits that I used to wear when I was smaller. I remember the sense of pride when I successfully fasted and faster for days on end. At that point in my history (and it was only two years ago) I was able to do so with ease.

I have learned to disguise my behaviors. Most of my eating is done in private. Even at home, Seth sees me eating a healthy-sized dinner (and by healthy I mean huge) and one dessert. He doesn’t see me eating that second/third/tenth dessert. He doesn’t see how many times I go to the pantry to grab cookies. He doesn’t see me fill bowl after bowl of dry, sugary cereal or pretzels or whatever I can lay my hands on. He doesn’t see me eat the bowlful of whipped cream and chocolate chips. He doesn’t see.

The good behaviors I like are harder to hide. I can a lot of times get out of the dinner I cook for the family by eating a salad and say that I was really craving one. Sometimes I will tell him that there was pizza or subs or bagels at work and I ate a ton. On occasion, and really not all that frequently, I can tell Seth that I feel really sick, and I think I should only have tea.

I lie to my therapist. When she specifically asks about ED I just tell her it is the same, and I have the usual ups and downs. She knows that I binge and binge hard (she does have eyes in her head). I will downplay it and “reveal” that I have purged a little, one or two times–even if it is much, much more. I don’t admit taking laxatives or diuretics or diet pills (when I am actually taking them and not being “bad.” The last time I talked about them, I had to go into residential treatment because of the frequent purging, laxes, and diuretics. I will not make that mistake again.

Why oh why do I do what I don’t want to do? And why oh why don’t do what I want to do?

That is a question for the ages.

Putting the Cart Before the Horse

Warning! Even though I did not intend this to be long, it kinda/sorta/a teeny bit long. Definitely worth it. Poignant and insightful, and FABULOUS!!!!!

I am sure you have heard the old adage of putting the cart before the horse. The way I interpret this problem is by fixating on future problems instead of the one in front of me. Another way I think about it is by putting the solution, or end result, before the problem. It’s putting the effect before the cause. It’s putting the reaction before the catalyst.

What the hell am I talking about?

The other day I was stressed and anxious. I know, I know; that is nothing new, and my dear blog readers have come to expect my neuroses and mental-ness to come out in my writing. But because an additional problem, a very serious personal matter (honestly it is so personal that I can’t share it with you. Sorry!), I was/am extra, extra, EXTRA stress and anxious and worried. I felt sick–literally sick. I had to do something because I really couldn’t handle it.

I wanted to purge. I needed to purge. The urge was so strong that it was killing me. But I had a problem: I was fasting and there was nothing in my body to purge.

What did I do? I had something to eat. The purpose? To purge. The cart before the horse.

Now that was the first (ok, not the first but not a regular thing by far as you know) time that I wanted to handle the pain by purging. Most of the time the purging is ED’s way of punishing me for eating. And I readily do it; often before he even insists. I know if I eat, and usually eat a lot, I need to rid my body of the food.

Usually my MO is to binge and binge HARD. A no-holds barred, anything goes, eat as much as I can and as fast as I can. I hate that. HATE THAT. I hate the aftermath. I hate the numbers on the scale. I hate the guilt that follows a binge. During the binge I have the ‘what the f*ck’ attitude; I think to myself that I have already scarfed down too much food, so what is the point is stopping? The damage is done so I keep going. Think of it this way…

Ok, this is weird. I cannot come up with a comparable example that isn’t totally ridiculous. I was going to talk about being late. If I’m five minutes late for an appointment, or 30 minutes to a doctor’s appointment, what is the difference. Here is the difference: if I am five minutes late it is no big deal and I will be seen by the doctor at the time she (all female doctors in my life) would normally see me. (When have you seen a doctor without waiting at least 5-10 minutes?) Now if I was going to be 30 minutes late, I would most likely have to reschedule the appointment because I would then mess up all subsequent appointments with other people. So that scenario won’t work.

Here’s another example I was going to use: if my principal (or assistant principal or department head) was formally observing me and giving me my formal evaluation, I would want everything to be perfect. If I got a “needs improvement” or an “unsatisfactory” (the rating goes effective/satisfactory, needs improvement, umsatisfactory), I would flip out and do my best to correct that area. She (or he or she–see above list of adminstrators) would most likely come again to see if I improved in all those areas. It would be so much harder and stressful to fix all areas. I would be under the microscope. Often. What if I got only one “needs improvement?” I would still flip, but I would only need to change one thing, which is easier than changing many things. (For the record, dear readers, both of my formal evaluations this year were absolutely glowing and made me out to be super teacher extraordinaire!) That example isn’t good to use.

Here was another situation to prove going over the deep end with bingeing is no worse than going over a little bit. Let’s say I have x dollars in my bank account. Ok, let’s be real; it’s x-1. But again x. Is it any worse to spend x plus $10 than x plus 1? YES! My overdraft protection will only cover so much and then I would have bounced check fees left and right!

Wait! Wait! Wait!!! I just thought of a couple of examples where bingeing a ton is no worse than bingeing a little. Say I am 9 months pregnant. (I’m not, but would like to be–how much harder can four kids be instead of three kids?) Now compare that to being 5 months pregnant, or 1 month pregnant. Is there a difference? No. A person can’t be “a little pregnant.” You are, or you aren’t. Pregnant is pregnant. Bingeing is bingeing.

Drunk is drunk.
Stoned is stoned.
The letter A is the letter A (ok, that makes no sense but I didn’t want to put another negative example.)

I’m pretty sure that I have conveyed to you that I hate bingeing. Loathe it! Despise it!

I know what you are thinking; “wow, Momsgotproblems really went off on a tangent and the second part of this entry has nothing to do with the title.

Let me reign it back in–see, that can be a horse thing! You already know I’ve got problems (if I haven’t convinced you of this, look at my name). Of course my writing, like my thoughts, will stray from the topic. Second of all, consider this whole issue of bingeing and the debate of whether or not bingeing a little vs. bingeing a lot makes a difference. It not an example of putting the horse before the cart.

It is an example of ME pushing the cart with the horse riding in it.

LOL, ROFL, BRB…Move on Over!!!

My faithful blog readers,

Let me start off by stating the obvious. We are living in a technological world. Everyone has Facebook. Everyone owns a mobile phone (well not Margaret, much to her chagrin), and the majority of those phones are “smart.” And yes, I am “man” enough to admit it is smarter than me!

Who doesn’t have a desktop/laptop/netbook/nook/kindle/e-reader? Who doesn’t have an ipod/mp3/other music player?

We text and email and IM and facetime and skype and google and other stuff that I don’t know how to do.

And there is a special language to do all these things. Standard written English need not apply because it doesn’t fit into these different modes of communication. Which brings us to…

THE LAND OF ACRONYMS!

I’m sure you know more of these code words than I do because I’m a dinosaur. I know the basics.

LOL= Laugh out Loud
ROFL= Rolling on the Floor Laughing
BRB= Be Right Back
ROTFLMAO= Rolling on the Floor Laughing my *ss Off
GTG= Got to Go
WTF= What the F*ck (and anyone who has read my previous posts knows that this is a particular favorite of mine)

As you know, there are some eating disorder acronyms and abbreviations that we use regularly. This is by no means a comprehensive list.

ED= Eating Disorder
MIA= Bulimia
ANA= Anorexia
B&P= Binge and Purge (Ok, I might have made this one up, but I’m not sure)
C&S= Chewing and Spitting (Pretty sure I made this one up)
Laxing= When one takes laxatives for weight loss purposes

I was thinking about this idea of acronyms and abbreviations over this past week when I fell off the wagon. I fell hard. Actually I didn’t fall; I jumped off and the wagon rolled over me and then ED backed the wagon up and ran over me again. (Sadly all of this wagon-rolling-over-me-ness did nothing to squish my body into a smaller size!)

I realized there were some very important sentiments that had been overlooked in the world of verbal and written short cuts, so I have taken it upon myself to create them!

TTT (which my be called Triple T)= Taking the Tea. This refers to taking green tea diet pills
SFF= So F*cking Fat. This one is frequently part of my vernacular (ooh, $100 word!)
FFA= Fat F*cking *ss.
NEH= Not Even Human. I use this one to compare my grotesque, disgusting body to normal people.
IIEP (Which may be called Double I E P)= Is It Even Possible. This describes the shockingly high
numbers my scale shows
CFMWATD= Can’t Fit My Wide *ss Through Door
ABTAB= *ss Bigger Than a Barn
MPDFF= My Pants Don’t F*cking Fit
FFC= Fat F*cking Cow
FFM= Fat F*cking Moose. This one is necessary when cow is too small of an animal for me to make a comparision.
NTFF= Need to Fast Forever
OMFGISFH= Oh My F*cking God I’m So F*cking Huge
ESTIFF= Even Shrink (as in psychiatrist) Thinks I’m F*cking Fat
YLH= You look healthy. People will use this acronym when they are too polite to say you’re SFF.

There are so many others I could create and list, but I think I’ve captured the general sentiment.

LOL you are SOO yesterday!

*Technical Note: For the first time I have inserted a poll (I think!) Vote! Oh, and as always I love to read comments–especially the positive ones!