Pigeonholed

There are so many roles that I play. So many categories that I fit into. Among them are the following:

-Recovering anorexic/bulimic.

-Recovering self-injurer.

-Periodic depressive.

-Sexual abuse survivor.

There are also these identities:

-Wife

-Mother

-Daughter

-Sister

-Friend

And then there are these:

-Volunteer

-Student

-Church-goer

-All-around cheerful person.

There are many, many more. Too many to list, perhaps. And everyone has their own list. So many people in just one person. How do you choose, then, which of them is your primary Self? Or is the very definition of "Self" a combination of attributes, experiences, personality traits, and memories that form one cohesive individual?

Maybe when people ask me who I am, I'll just say "Cassie," and that will be enough.

"Fat Is Not A Feeling."

I don't know how many times I've heard the treatment-ism "Fat is not a feeling." I also don't know how many times I've uttered the words, "I feel fat." I still do.

In fact, I was getting dressed just yesterday, and in my utter exasperation, I declared to my husband, "I feel fat!" Being a man, and a well-adjusted one at that, he replied, "What does 'fat' feel like, exactly? Because you certainly don't LOOK fat." I was unsure how to respond. "I don't know. It feels... big. Wrong. Overflowing. Excessive." He raised an eyebrow and resumed his morning routine.

I started analyzing the feelings, in true recovery fashion. Just what am I experiencing when I "feel fat?" Sure, sometimes I just don't like the way my pants fit. More often, though, it's a lot more complicated than that. Perhaps it's a response to my own confusion. Maybe "fat" isn't fat, exactly, but more like fear. Instead of "I feel fat," maybe the truth is more like, "I feel afraid."

That's okay, too. It's okay to feel afraid. It's okay to feel uncomfortable. It's okay to feel like things aren't quite right. As long as you can keep yourself from turning your emotions into negative behaviors, you're still on the right track. I know I am.

One Day at a Time

Very interesting sermon in church today about the phrase, "lead us not into temptation." The basic gist was that in order to truly overcome temptation, you have to subit to a higher power. Give up your feigned image of self-control and accept that you need guidance, absolution.

Relevant, wouldn't you say? The pastor made many references to AA, and I sat there thinking how similar alcoholics are to people with anorexia and bulimia. I thought about some other AA sayings that relate to our recovery experiences:

"It's easy to talk the talk, harder to walk the walk."

"Fake it til you make it."

"F.E.A.R. - Face Everything And Recover!"

"Try it for 90 days, and if you don't like it, we'll refund your misery."

"We have a disease that tells us we don't have a disease."

"There's no gain without pain."

"If you don't want to slip, stay away from slippery places."

"Progress, not perfection."

And finally, my favorite of all - "Change happens when the pain of holding on is greater than the fear of letting go."

Lonely

Sometimes recovery is very lonely. The people around you have deemed you "recovered," and no longer look upon you as a person with needs. The thing is, we're all needy sometimes. Every once in awhile it would be great to say to someone close to you, "I'm feeling down. I need to talk." But it's out of the question; once "well," you forsake the right to admit vulnerability. Any indication of negative emotion leads people to believe you've slid back, relapsed.

I haven't relapsed. I'm as healthy as ever, and my life truly is great. But sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a weird sort of limbo... better, but not quite 100%. Unable to express my loneliness for fear that some red flag will be raised. I do not want to attract any scrutiny. I do not want to be eyeballed at every meal. I simply want a chance to act like a human being once in awhile. Fragile, imperfect, fallible.

I am a human being, after all.

Life Story

I just finished writing my "life story," with an emphasis on the events that led to my eating disorder. In the beginning, it was really hard. It's not fun to revisit all of the traumatic events that warped your psyche. It's not fun to write the words on paper that you rarely ever speak out loud. It's not fun to remember.

However, when I got into the meat of my illness, my attitude towards the project changed. As I detailed the extremely disturbing behaviors of a very sick person, I started to feel better. Not because the memories were pleasant; they were anything but. Rather, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of how far you've come.

Sure, I still struggle with my share of unhealthy thoughts. But I'm lightyears away from being the girl who threw up into garbage bags and hid the bags in the closet. I'm not the perfect picture of recovery, but I'm not sick anymore, and that's enough for now.