Keeping my mind off my body

I'm trying to stay away from the infernal scale and this does make it harder to obsess. I pinch fat and examine muscle and bone, but numbers really make me nuts with their objectivity. I truly feel they measure my worth. Musculature and clothing size and bones, these are far more subjective. Because my perception of these things are often distorted by my mind, I can still assure myself that I am likey not as fat as I see myself. With the scale, all I see is a cold hard number that is too large and can be reduced. It is always too large and always should be less. It always reminds me I used to be thinner and that I should be thinner. When I'm not weighing myself, I think less of my old body and my mental pictures of how I used to look are fuzzy--I never really thought I was thin even at 20 or 25 pounds less, so when I look in the mirror, I see pretty much the same problem: areas of fat surrounded by areas of bone. I always want less fat, 70 pounds or 120 pounds. I know the mirror plays tricks and I can refuse to be caught up in the reflection of my imperfections because I'm busy and there are better and more interesting things to think about. I spend little time in the mirror and less on the scale and this is what is saving me from deterioration.

Restricting and exercising, my Default mode

My default mode is being obsessive about how little I eat and how much I exercise. What has kept me relatively healthy the past two years is keeping busy. Often, I have more than one job and I have tons of hobbies keeping my mind off anorexia. Photography, hiking, visiting museums and gardens, music, art, writing--this keeps me sane. I currently go to school and work two jobs, in addition to volunteer work. But the minute my brain has a chance to relax, it is instantly wondering how my calories I've eaten versus my much I've burned, how I can lose all my fat without burning away my muscle, how thin I can become without anyone noticing, how thin I can become and still function. . . and these thoughts are hard to stop. They are automatic. I dream about my pelvic bones bursting through my skin, I have nightmares of hospitals and becoming fat. I dream of gyms and running and food I won't eat. Even in my dreams I am afraid to eat and afraid people will point out how fat I am. Keep in mind that my BMI is under 17--that is pretty underweight, not remotely fat, but I still see fat everywhere. I never stopped seeing the fat. Even at my thinnest, I scarily looked at the bones of my hips, thought they were too wide, thought I needed to lose another 10 pounds before I would not be fat. I was 72 pounds and saw bone everywhere, but I also saw fat everywhere. I don't quite understand how this works--how could I possibly see my tailbone and pelvic bones and think my hips were fat? I called myself a voluptuous skeleton. The same distortion, to a lesser degree and with more insight is applicable today--I see my cheekbones and eyesockets are unpleasantly fleshless, my neck is revoltingly sinewy and bony, I see my ribs and vertebrae even through clothing (depending on what I wear and how many layers) and my hips are sharp with bone. It is not extreme, but it is not healthy. But I also am preoccupied with all the fat--the fat layer covering my arms when not in use (the skin is tight and veined when I execs) and the fat area on the back of my thighs. I see fat on my stomach, too, though this layer is close to disappearing. Fat breasts--surrounded by bone, happily. So what do I do when I see this? Do I think I need to boost my calories even though I logically know that is what I should do? No, I think "pudgy, need to get some more exercise and eat less." Emotionally, I react like I'm seeing a fat person that need to get in better shape for health and aesthetic reasons. The chubbiness scares me because I associate extra fat with cancer, death, disability, mental illness, hospitals, diabetes, heart failure, lymphatic disorders and suffocation. A fat body is a dangerous body to live in, is my visceral reaction. The same part of me (this is not my logical conscious thought) thinks that skinny is healthy, the less flesh the better. Extremely emaciated people don't look healthy to me, but people ranging from 10-40 pounds underweight look very fit to the diseased part of my brain. I'm trying to figure out how to integrate what I know with these weird emotionally driven ideas about what type of body is healthiest. I believe it started extremely young and was uncorrected for so many years that it is ingrained. Therefore, I am doing battle as an adult who knows better with a nine year old girl that thought no amount of exercise could be too much. She thought she needed to see bones to be healthy, she thought bones were beautiful, light, free, energy. She equated mass with fat, even if the mass she saw was muscle mass. Anything not bone needed to go. And since she didn't reduce herself to bone, although she became too thin and bruised and cold with flaky skin and brittle hair, she never thought herself thin. Never. If I saw what others see, perhaps I could be kinder to myself. My fat phobia is very strong and I seem to act on the misconception that I am fat. If I saw thin, I could better feed myself without feeling like I was doing something harmful.
Feeling a little down on myself today because I've tried to ignore anorexia all week, only to have it crop up unwanted in my dreams and aimless thoughts.
Begone anorexia! Flee--you are not wanted here!

wrestling with anorexia--winning right now

Well I feel I weathered a possible relapse. I was feeling sucked into that anorexic mentality that I don't deserve to eat, don't deserve to speak to people, everyone hates me, they are looking at my fat, etc. I think that my dog's death triggered this, as well as a new job and the associated pressures. I do need to be more vigilant when I see triggers coming.I can't be so cavalier; I can't assume that I will stay on the recovery road when I've gotten sloppy with my eating. I need to learn from this--I could have gotten sucked in again. Easily. I'm being careful not to further trigger myself right now because that was too close. I am eating real food, not junk and I am weighing in only twice a week. I won't go into a grocery store or go clothes shopping for a few weeks (for some reason, those situations trigger me badly.) I also need to go to my group--but it is tough because I am still new and already, a request to come in later one day was denied. I will try, though. It is all I can do. I think my crazy schedule does contribute to bad eating, but it doesn't need to and I certainly can't have the attitude that a skipped meal is a good thing. Like I was thinking, last week, that this crazy schedule would get me thin because it is so easy to not eat and I was thinking about how good that is. That is not my thinking--it is kind of like being possessed, weird as that may sound. But my mind is mine again and I know that weighing 80 pounds is unacceptable and extremely unhealthy. I want health, so I don't want to weigh 80. Of course, last week I really wanted to go back to my skeleton days. Life was less complicated. I got up, ate a few bites, exercised for hours, felt like I might die, ate a few bites, exercised again, weighed myself, took pictures (so I'd see exactly where that fat was lurking) and measured myself and read nutrition books and tried to calculate my basal metabolic rate and made spreadsheets of my caloric intake versus my calorie expenditure. And ate a few bites (maybe) and exercised some more before lying in bed awake all night, pinching and prodding my fat and my bones. I was a professional anorexic. Professional anorexics are basically treated worse than prisoners--they are essentially slaves, actually, (and I use that term to emphasize the seriousness of this illness, not be be cavalier about slavery), earn nothing and work all day until they are tired and ragged and they have nothing to show for it but being tired and ragged. They don't eat and sleep, they are denied love and friendship and warmth and health and comfort; they can't think clearly enough to enjoy beauty or to be interested in anything not pertaining to their affliction. God is diminished for them, or He is absent. They might feel unworthy of God, unworthy to pray or to worship.
Why is a body that looks pitiful and sick and revolting to 99.5 percent of the world sometimes worth everything to me? I know that my old body, be it the 70 or 80 or 85 pound one, with its cruel ribs and sharp hips and meatless ass was an ugly one. I hated it and I loved it. I thought I was ugly in it--in my present body, the 96 pound one, I usually feel okay--average, a little chubby but not hideous. Why would I want the hideousness again? I know that debasement helps no one and is not productive; I know God does not want that for me, no one wants that for me (except, sometimes, me).
Am a wrestling with this demon and sometimes it pins me down.

I went too far

Yesterday I went too far with my exercise and restricted too much. Consequently, I've had heart palpatations all day and managed to wear the skin off my tailbone. I guess I'd forgotten that can happen even at a fit and healthy (haha) weight. Plus my vertebrae are bruise and swollen to the size of prunes. NO MORE SIT-UPS!!!! (Unless I do them on my padded exercise mat.) I also tweaked my right hip which has bothered me off and on for ten years-- thanks to all those leaps and jumps. Sure, I had fun doing it, but I am not Nastia Liukin, I don't have the conditioning to perform these moves, I cannot be doing these things with weak joints and brittle bones! When will I learn, when I'm wheelchair bound? Why am I always pushing the envelope when it comes to my body? I wish I could learn to push where it counts, like in school, at work, in relationships (oh wait, what relationships??) I used to be a high achiever in music, art, and school. I play my instrument or pick up a paintbrush once every few months now. I used to spend 20 hours a week (at the very least) with my art and music. Now all the energy is siphoned into something that doesn't matter and actually harms me. Even though so many positive things have happened in recovery, the exercise is still a problem, though a lesser one. The good news is, I have a LOT of energy, if I could only redirect it.
Hey, I should volunteer for Habitat for Humanity! That way, my energy could be channeled into something worthwhile :)
Good idea. . .

Good day for Anorexia, bad day for Calliope

Today I've been very good, if you ask my anorexia. I've consumed 580 calories and 2 grams of fat, I've exercised 2 hrs (including some super-grueling circuit training, did loads of chin-ups and push-ups and back flips and sit-up and ran between each station like a maniac). I really should exercise more. . .
BUT!! This is NOT what I wanted when I woke up--I wanted to be a human being today, not an anorexic. I didn't even weigh myself this morning. WTF????
I think I look really ugly when I'm underweight, I hate the way I don't feel, I hate the OCD (all the stupid counting, the meaningless rituals which really get time-consuming when I'm not eating enough). I think I'm meaner, less intelligent and less creative and I LOATHE ANOREXIA I FUCKING HATE IT.
So why is it still here inside me?
There are so amny wonderful things I could be doing and I wasted a lot of time stuck in my rituals, stuck in my head. I feel like a zombie today. I feel I'm stuck again.
The anorexic part can't wait to get home and weigh in.
I need an exorcism!!
The power of Christ compels you, anorexia, get the fuck out of me.
Sorry for the vulgarity, if anyone is reading, I normally don't talk like that.
Cheers.

Intake has risen mood has fallen

Well I've forced myself to eat more the past week and didn't let my business be an excuse to not eat. But this made that manic energy I had the previous week disappear and now I feel the exhaustion from head to toe. It is so tempting to not eat because I feel better when I don't eat. Eventually it catches up with me, but when I don't eat much on a consistent basis, it takes months for me to feel the pain and exhaustion. When I starve a few weeks then eat again, I feel drained. I have less energy when I consume mnore energy. I believe this is because my body is confused and trying to repair the damage done.
I want to fight my desire to starve, but starving seems so appealing right now. It is like a shot of adrenaline, like pure oxygen. It is euphoric. Without it I feel listless and depressed. Of course, I'll feel that all the time if I get deeper into the anorexia.
The weather is turning cold which is really bad--I have little insulation to fight the cold. My joints get super stiff and it takes me several hours to move freely when the weather is in the high 60s or cooler. I live in a very temperate region--it doesn't snow and rarely gets cooler than 50 degrees during the day. I'm geographically lucky because even these mild winters are hell. I feel and move like I'm ninety rather than 29.
Ugh, this post is a downer. Guess I'm kind of depressed right now because one of my pets is very ill and she is getting put down tuesday. I've had her 10 years.
I need some good news, like starving is actually good for your health :) Yeah, I wish.
Toodles