Weekend Thoughts
Now the title may have led you to believe that this might about some thoughts I had over this weekend. While in some ways this is true, it is also about the thoughts I have towards weekends and my recent history with them.
Weekends have been the bane of my existence since my eating disorder really kicked at the beginning of this year. When I was at school in the worst of it, I would "do well" during the weekdays, or most of them at least, for going to class, club meetings, and homework were the only distractions from food that halfway worked. Especially class. It gave me a chance to block time off that I would devote to not eating. It allowed for a schedule that I would dictate all my thoughts and energy trying to stick to. For instance, I would try to wake up and do a minimum of 30 minutes on the elliptical followed by 20-30 minutes of strength training, go back to my dorm, shower, and arrive early to my 9 or 9:30am class, depending on the day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I had a class from 3:30-4:45pm. During an ideal day (if I was not fasting) I would tell myself I wasn't allowed anything to eat until right before that class. This usually consisted of a cheese stick and maybe a piece of caffeinated chocolate with a diet coke. I wasn't allowed a meal until after that class: dinner. A sad excuse for a dinner that now would not even qualify for one of my snacks. Probably 80% vegetables of some sort and egg whites with two rice cakes, this dinner never left me close to satiated, but I would be determined to eat nothing else. This usually failed because unbeknownst to me, out bodies and brains have systems in place to protect us, even from ourselves. As you probably would guess, living like this is not sustainable. So how would I break the cycle? Well, it was go big or go home, people.
Saturday rolls around. The gym wasn't open at 6am like other days and by the time 8 o'clock hit it didn't take much to convince me to skip out on my workout. Instead, I told myself I would skip lunch entirely to make up for the calories I wouldn't be burning which, I promise, sounds plenty reasonable to someone with an eating disorder and is, therefore, malnourished. We somehow forget that there is an override that our brains have despite what we want if our choices are depriving the body of what it needs. Like a brick wall it would hit me, the urge to binge. It was like my body was telling me I had zero choice in the matter and even though I would wince at the thought of going to the cafeteria, my legs had already gotten me out of my bed and carried me half way there. In the depth of my disorder, once I started the day like this, which most weekends I did, I could not stop until my body gave out. I would binge and purge in what I call "marathons", taking little to no breaks in between until I was shaking and seeing black spots after a purge. I never actually passed out, but that just gave me another reason to brush off my problem as a whole because I wasn't "sick enough" to be losing consciousness. I couldn't do my schoolwork, I couldn't go be with friends, and some days, the only thing that could muster me the strength to get out of bed was this toxic relationship I had with food.
This roughly consistent binge-purge-restrict cycle sparked the beginning of my hatred of weekends, for they always seemed to align for the times I felt like I fucked up. So I blamed the weekends for these inevitable fuck-ups despite the real nature of the problem. So why now, in treatment 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, do I still hate the weekends? I should be excited for a break! But the about being in recovery is that the urges are still there. The weekends are still hard because I often find myself with nothing to do and this can still result into me coping with feelings that come up in this nothingness through eating disorder behaviors. I love having the support, or really the potential for support as I still struggle to ask for it most of the time, that is around you in treatment. Therapists to help you when emotions come up, dietitians to remind you that food is not the enemy, and clients to empathize and bond with over your shared struggles. Being surround by caring people definitely reduces the existential loneliness that weighs me down. Weekends throughout treatment, particularly during my depressive episodes, would look a whole lot like a whole little. Laying in bed, watching time pass until the next "allowed time" for me to eat (according to when we usually eat in program), trying to watch a TV show I wasn't at all interested to try and pass time. Overall I was just trying to survive until Monday.
As one can imagine, I was never all that excited for it to be Thursday or Friday again during program as the anticipation of these miserable days had become the worst part of them. Even if I had made a plan with my therapist of things to do to dig myself out of depression, I felt like I wouldn't have the will to do any of them and I often felt hopeless and stuck. I still don't really like weekends. Anxiety ramps up and the clock just feels like an lifelong countdown timer. I find I am still waiting for Monday, for a forced relief from the isolation.
Recently though, things have shifted a little bit. I have started to plan things to do with friends. Friends I really enjoy spending time with because they understand where I am at without me having to explain myself. It helps me be more compliant with my meal plan and more devoted to recovery. This weekend I went on a relatively impromptu girls weekend with a few good friends. Going into it I wasn't too worried about what my eating disorder was going to throw at me because I knew I would be around supportive people, even some who share mutual struggles. It wasn't perfect. I have had better weekends. My eating disorder voice that tells me I'm too fat and is always counting calories in my head trying to figure out when I am gonna make up for them was really loud. I did what I could to fight back. What that looked like this weekend was voicing what I wanted to do. My eating disorder wanted to get permission from others to engage in behaviors and when this was not granted it got upset and told me to do it anyway which left me with a a choice between conflicting values. Would I value my friends and their care for me (because it is greater than I care for myself) more, or would I value my eating disorder voice more. I chose the eating disorder this time. I am sorry to say that, but a few months ago I wouldn't have been sorry at all. It was a harder choice than it has been in the past. I am starting to see engaging in behaviors as wrong. I am starting to see that there is another way that most people do, in fact, take. I felt really guilty and gross for what I did among my friends. However, the act didn't come without it's glorious temporary euphoria. The feeling right after of sheer freedom and release. But like I said, it is oh so very temporary and as soon as the light dims, reality is then again painfully visible.
Glo
Weekends have been the bane of my existence since my eating disorder really kicked at the beginning of this year. When I was at school in the worst of it, I would "do well" during the weekdays, or most of them at least, for going to class, club meetings, and homework were the only distractions from food that halfway worked. Especially class. It gave me a chance to block time off that I would devote to not eating. It allowed for a schedule that I would dictate all my thoughts and energy trying to stick to. For instance, I would try to wake up and do a minimum of 30 minutes on the elliptical followed by 20-30 minutes of strength training, go back to my dorm, shower, and arrive early to my 9 or 9:30am class, depending on the day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I had a class from 3:30-4:45pm. During an ideal day (if I was not fasting) I would tell myself I wasn't allowed anything to eat until right before that class. This usually consisted of a cheese stick and maybe a piece of caffeinated chocolate with a diet coke. I wasn't allowed a meal until after that class: dinner. A sad excuse for a dinner that now would not even qualify for one of my snacks. Probably 80% vegetables of some sort and egg whites with two rice cakes, this dinner never left me close to satiated, but I would be determined to eat nothing else. This usually failed because unbeknownst to me, out bodies and brains have systems in place to protect us, even from ourselves. As you probably would guess, living like this is not sustainable. So how would I break the cycle? Well, it was go big or go home, people.
Saturday rolls around. The gym wasn't open at 6am like other days and by the time 8 o'clock hit it didn't take much to convince me to skip out on my workout. Instead, I told myself I would skip lunch entirely to make up for the calories I wouldn't be burning which, I promise, sounds plenty reasonable to someone with an eating disorder and is, therefore, malnourished. We somehow forget that there is an override that our brains have despite what we want if our choices are depriving the body of what it needs. Like a brick wall it would hit me, the urge to binge. It was like my body was telling me I had zero choice in the matter and even though I would wince at the thought of going to the cafeteria, my legs had already gotten me out of my bed and carried me half way there. In the depth of my disorder, once I started the day like this, which most weekends I did, I could not stop until my body gave out. I would binge and purge in what I call "marathons", taking little to no breaks in between until I was shaking and seeing black spots after a purge. I never actually passed out, but that just gave me another reason to brush off my problem as a whole because I wasn't "sick enough" to be losing consciousness. I couldn't do my schoolwork, I couldn't go be with friends, and some days, the only thing that could muster me the strength to get out of bed was this toxic relationship I had with food.
This roughly consistent binge-purge-restrict cycle sparked the beginning of my hatred of weekends, for they always seemed to align for the times I felt like I fucked up. So I blamed the weekends for these inevitable fuck-ups despite the real nature of the problem. So why now, in treatment 7 hours a day, 5 days a week, do I still hate the weekends? I should be excited for a break! But the about being in recovery is that the urges are still there. The weekends are still hard because I often find myself with nothing to do and this can still result into me coping with feelings that come up in this nothingness through eating disorder behaviors. I love having the support, or really the potential for support as I still struggle to ask for it most of the time, that is around you in treatment. Therapists to help you when emotions come up, dietitians to remind you that food is not the enemy, and clients to empathize and bond with over your shared struggles. Being surround by caring people definitely reduces the existential loneliness that weighs me down. Weekends throughout treatment, particularly during my depressive episodes, would look a whole lot like a whole little. Laying in bed, watching time pass until the next "allowed time" for me to eat (according to when we usually eat in program), trying to watch a TV show I wasn't at all interested to try and pass time. Overall I was just trying to survive until Monday.
As one can imagine, I was never all that excited for it to be Thursday or Friday again during program as the anticipation of these miserable days had become the worst part of them. Even if I had made a plan with my therapist of things to do to dig myself out of depression, I felt like I wouldn't have the will to do any of them and I often felt hopeless and stuck. I still don't really like weekends. Anxiety ramps up and the clock just feels like an lifelong countdown timer. I find I am still waiting for Monday, for a forced relief from the isolation.
Recently though, things have shifted a little bit. I have started to plan things to do with friends. Friends I really enjoy spending time with because they understand where I am at without me having to explain myself. It helps me be more compliant with my meal plan and more devoted to recovery. This weekend I went on a relatively impromptu girls weekend with a few good friends. Going into it I wasn't too worried about what my eating disorder was going to throw at me because I knew I would be around supportive people, even some who share mutual struggles. It wasn't perfect. I have had better weekends. My eating disorder voice that tells me I'm too fat and is always counting calories in my head trying to figure out when I am gonna make up for them was really loud. I did what I could to fight back. What that looked like this weekend was voicing what I wanted to do. My eating disorder wanted to get permission from others to engage in behaviors and when this was not granted it got upset and told me to do it anyway which left me with a a choice between conflicting values. Would I value my friends and their care for me (because it is greater than I care for myself) more, or would I value my eating disorder voice more. I chose the eating disorder this time. I am sorry to say that, but a few months ago I wouldn't have been sorry at all. It was a harder choice than it has been in the past. I am starting to see engaging in behaviors as wrong. I am starting to see that there is another way that most people do, in fact, take. I felt really guilty and gross for what I did among my friends. However, the act didn't come without it's glorious temporary euphoria. The feeling right after of sheer freedom and release. But like I said, it is oh so very temporary and as soon as the light dims, reality is then again painfully visible.
Glo
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