I know what I want.

On September 26, 2005 I was 41 years old and I weighed 324 lbs.
I had gastric bypass surgery on that day and I lost 183 pounds over the next 18 months.

For the first whole year, I followed the rules to the letter. I ate NO sugar ever. I ate slowly and didn't drink while I ate. I always ate my protein first. I gave up all carbonated drinks and drank no alcohol. I worked out a minimum of 5 days a week and weighed in at least once a week.

A little over a year post op, when our daughter was about to head off to college, I went back to work in the hospital. That's when I began to flirt with sugar. This would mark the beginning of the end of my extremely strict eating. Someone was always bringing something yummy to work and I resisted as long as I could. The job was so stressful. I was emotionally triggered and slowly, I gave into temptation.

It didn't affect my weight at first. I continued to lose weight and I continued to exercise a minimum of 3 times a week. I leveled off at about 150 lbs. Then I had major surgery; three of them within a year. I had two plastic surgeries on my body and one for a bowel obstruction. I lost even more weight and ended up at 141 lbs. This was too thin really. I’m 5 feet 9 inches and I was wearing a size 4/6. Before my bypass I was in a size 30/32. After I recuperated from my other surgeries, my weight bounced back up and stayed right around 150 lbs. or so for another year.

I became very depressed and my child sexual abuse trauma symptoms really flared up. The job was too stressful, so I left. Once I stopped working I was eating sugar fairly regularly but I still didn't notice much difference in my weight. Soon I was an 8, then a 10. I remember that because I was so sad to be double digits again. Then I was a size 10/12. The depression was in full swing by this time and I was on 5 different psyche meds; none of which were working.

I went back to work at a local nursing home when our son went off to college.
I was wearing size small scrubs at the time. I got put on the night shift and started eating really badly. I began munching all night long on crackers, lifesavers and doughnuts or cookies. I went up to a medium in my scrubs. At first I was still active. I'd fast walk up and down the hallways or go walk around the parking lot.

I started therapy about this time and weaned off the psyche meds. I started doing EMDR and getting into really scary incest and trauma stuff. I left that nursing home in search of 12 hour shifts so that I could have more days off to do therapy. I went to another nursing home to work in their geriatric psyche unit. This was a big mistake. I worked 7 pm to 7 am as the only RN for my unit and often covered another unit on another floor. There were residents there who triggered me so badly, I truly thought I might snap and hurt one of them. I had never experienced this level of anxiety at work before. I was in a constant state of high alert anxiety. To cope, I ate high carb foods NON-STOP for 12 hours 3 to 4 times a week.

Even when I was off duty, I continued this raging carb addiction. I left there after only 3 months because the local nursing home offered me a day shift position if I would come back. I was so stressed working in the psyche unit that I was willing to leave after such a short time and go back to 8 hour shifts.
Within 2 weeks of going back they put me back on nights again. I negotiated a 16 hour shift from 2:30 pm to 7:00 am 2 times a week plus one additional 8 hour shift. This was VERY hard but gave me more days off to focus on therapy. Now I was eating non-stop for a 16 hour shift. I left there about 4 months later wearing X-large scrubs.

I went from a small to an X-large in less than a year.
I have gained another 20 pounds in the last 4 months.
I have now regained 119 pounds.

I would rather have never lost it in the first place, than to feel the shame and agony of such a massive failure. My back hurts again and I have pain in my legs and knees. I have dependent edema with pitting edema of the left ankle and foot. I'm having more migraines too.

About 3 or 4 weeks ago, my niece Rachel called me, out of the blue, to tell me that she had been eating according to the Atkins phase 2 plan and had lost 15 pounds in 2 weeks. We are no strangers to eating disorders and dieting in my family, but they all know that I don't do the "D" word and they are careful never to raise the subject with me. Food, eating, weight and dieting have always been major triggers for me. I'm especially sensitive since I gave in, broke down and had the gastric bypass that I swore I'd never have.I have essentially been in hiding since I regained. This is a VERY delicate subject with me and Rachel respects that. So, it was really unusual for her to make a point of calling me to tell me this. She felt that God put it on her heart to share this with me and I agree that He did.

Last week while on vacation with my family, I ordered two of the Atkins books on my Kindle. I shared this with my husband, who isn't one for the "D" word either.
To my surprise, he immediately agreed to do it with me and essentially gave me "permission" to purge our house of all non-Atkins approved foods. We made an agreement to do it right away.

We got home from vacation yesterday and I went right to work cleaning out the pantry, the fridge and freezer. I was feeling very anxious and guilty over "wasting" so much money and getting rid of perfectly good and expensive food. He was so supportive. Before pitching things like real maple syrup, I asked him, "Are you sure? Even if it's expensive?" His response was so reassuring. He simply replied, "Why not?" He was right and I felt free to go for it.

I bagged up 4 or 5 bags to go back to the dorm with our son's fiance, 4 or 5 bags to go to Manna's food pantry and another 4 or 5 bags of expired or not very good food to go to the dump. I washed out my refrigerator so it sparkles and smells so clean. I worked on that for several hours. Then he and I made a grocery list according to the Atkins guidelines and bought $176.00 of fresh, whole, Atkins-friendly foods. I was tuckered out with very swollen feet by the time I sat down last night, but I feel inspired and ready, albeit a bit anxious.

I am a carbohydrate/food addict. There is no doubt about that. I purposely use food, especially carbs to self soothe and self medicate. I eat to avoid and to numb out. I've been doing this my entire life. The only exception to this was that period of "sobriety" after my gastric bypass. If I was using alcohol instead of food, I would have been a "dry drunk" during this time as my relationship with food and my feelings about it and about myself never really changed. I was essentially forced to eat well by altering my insides. Sort of like forcing a raging alcoholic into rehab and giving them the drug ‘Antabuse’ to make them sick if they drink again. They may be alcohol free but they are far from real sobriety.

At 47, I am finally committed to healing from my child sexual abuse trauma. I believe that if my food addiction is in check and I'm not self medicating and eating to avoid my feelings, the pace and quality of my trauma recovery will be improved. My memories have been very slow to emerge and I have been extremely frustrated by the snails pace. It makes sense that by continuing to use food and weight as a way to avoid feeling and remembering, I am my own worst enemy for remembering, feeling, dealing and ultimately, healing.

I believe that the Lord did put it on Rachel's heart to call me and tell me about this way of eating and because I believe it came from Him; I trust that He will give me the strength to do this thing. I am terrified of being hungry and I feel powerless over my cravings. The thought of restrictions on my eating sets off a chain reaction of negative thoughts and fears inside of me.
I am praying that God will give me His strength to resist temptation and to follow this eating plan. I want there to be no idol before God. I want to turn to Him and not turn to food for comfort. As long as I'm still using food, that can't happen. So, I'm trying to see this as the gift that He intended it to be when He told Rachel to call me.

I know that I want a more intimate relationship with God.
I know that I want a deeper and more loving relationship with my husband.
I know that I want to recover my lost memories and discover all the parts of myself.
I know that I want a lean, healthy body and I know that I want an active lifestyle. Because I have faith in Him, I also know that I will have all of these things and more as I become free from the strongholds of food addiction and eat the way God intended.

“Dear Lord, please carry me through the scary and hard parts of this journey and give me the strength to make good choices. In Jesus' name” ~ Amen.

"Taking the Trigger Train to Crazy Town!"

I woke up this morning feeling good. Hubby has the day off,
the sun is finally shining.
The coffee was already made when I got up...
A great start to this Independence Day!

Last night, our 20 year old son was supposed to have loaded the dishwasher, (with mostly all his own dirty dishes), but instead he fell asleep on the couch. Before I went to bed, I woke him up to send him to bed and tell him to get up early in the morning and get them done.

Today, when I got up, my son was still asleep in his bed.
I came downstairs, got my coffee and came in to see my husband,
when I noticed that he had done the dishes himself.
I was so mad!
My husband is always so nice; he’s a very thoughtful man. Unfortunately,
he enables our son and we fight about that more than anything else.

I went to the landing of the stairs and hollered up to our son to get up.
I scolded him for not getting up early to do the dishes as he had said he would.
He made a wise remark and I reacted by hollering
at him to get out of bed and contribute something to the house.
He made a wise crack and then I really yelled! 


I came out to the sunporch and reamed out my husband.
I began to feel some familiar feelings from my childhood
that have repeated into my adult life.
I felt disregarded and unheard.
I could feel something escalating inside and I fought against it at first,
trying to communicate my feelings in a controlled, adult way.

The next thing I know I'm SCREAMING at my husband to "Do something!"
"Don’t just stand there, do something!" Of course, he just stood there...
I’m sure he was stunned!
It began with one good shove; then I hit him. Then, all hell broke loose.
I started wailing on him as hard as I could with both fists.
I hit him over and over again, screaming
at him. I kept telling him how much I hate him. 

Neither one of us is violent and hardly ever even yell or anything.
He was stunned, teary eyed standing there letting me pound and pummel him.
I don't remember some parts of it but suddenly, I came to the realization
that none of this had anything to do with my husband.
I don't hate him-I adore him.
Although I realized that the rage was misdirected, I still couldn't stop.
I continued the raging and punching and screaming.
I just kept screaming over and over, "Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Goddamn it!" 

Then I turned it on myself and pulled my hair and began to punch myself
in the head. I was like a crazy woman!
Then I just screamed but no words-just screaming and crying.
My husband stopped me, held me by my wrists and hugged me tight to keep me from hurting myself.
I fought until I was exhausted.
He tried to get me to sit down, but I resisted and then came ‘round two’ of the screaming and more crying. I backed away from him and cried some more. He just stood there until I calmed down. I kept saying, "I'm sorry" over and over. He held me for a long time.

By then I wanted to sit down because I was shaking and exhausted.
I sat and put my head on his belly while he stood beside me,
holding me for a long time.
To some, my husband standing there allowing me to unleash on him
might seem like weakness,
but let me tell you, he showed such strength and compassion in that moment.
Don is my rock and my safety.
Almost like he’s magic, Don has a calming affect on me.

Then he said, as if to lighten to mood,
"If I'm ever involved in a brawl, I want you on my team!" 
He always knows what to say to make me feel better.

Other than some tired, achey muscles, a really sore hand, a sore throat
and pulling out some hair, I'm OK now.
I keep sighing. I feel relieved and exhausted.
This feels as if it came out of nowhere
and although, I'm a bit embarrassed, I’m grateful.
I'm grateful for my husband and for getting rid of some of that rage
that I’ve carried around for over forty years.
My husband helped me explain triggers and flashbacks to our son,
so it turned out to be a good opportunity for bonding and healing
and I am also grateful for that!

Rage peeks out, then hides again.

    I’m supposed to reflect on what we talked about in therapy this week and then, stop thinking about it on Friday or I’ll mess up my whole week. On Wednesday when my therapist said that it sounded plausible enough.
    Here it is Friday and I feel as if I missed my opportunity to mull it over and get any mileage out of the EMDR we did 2 days ago. When I was supposed to be thinking about it, I barely got any alone time to do it. Now, here it is Friday and I’m alone. I can neither think of it nor not. I’m fog bound and stuck ... again!
    Goddamn it! I hate myself and I feel like I’ll never get it right. My therapist tells me that I can’t trust my compass right now and part of me understands that. My feelings are messed up and I’m confused. All I know is that I’m MAD!

***Warning Possible Triggers***
    I feel so MAD! I want to kill. I want to stab, rip, tear and destroy! Smash, stomp and scream. FUCK YOU!!! I want to bite, kick and spit. I want to rip flesh from bone with my teeth! Snarl and growl. Back off! Get OFF of me!
    I hate you. I hate your mouth. Your tongue. Your smell. You devil. You Satan. You pig! I’m disgusted by the very thought of you. You make me want to vomit. I want to tear at your face with my claws and laugh at you. I feel like I have a demon inside and I’m evil-just like you.
    I hate you! That smirk. That filthy lusty look on your face. The way you lick your lips. I want to slash your face to bits and stab your eyes out! I don’t want your DNA-your blood-your smell-your spit-your breath-your filth. You make me sick. I detest you. I want to kill you! I want to draw back my legs like a kangaroo and send you flying onto hell where you belong!
***End Possible Triggers***       

    I sat here silently for a while and then I reread what I had written. I feel confused and numb. I don’t know who I wrote this about. I think it should be about my father. I can’t even remember my father right now. I can easily get this mad at my husband but part of me knows it has absolutely nothing to do with him. I feel this mad at myself-a lot! Why do I see my mother’s face then? I’m so confused. I feel queasy. I feel tired and numb.

Triggers and Learning To Do Things Differently.

     Last night I was triggered and ended up feeling helpless and cornered which led me quickly to rage and the familiar feeling of wanting to run away. I felt like I hated everyone and wanted to throw things and scream.  I wanted to run away from home. I became short tempered and it felt like my nerves were raw. Noise bothered me even more than usual and I was seething inside. I snapped at my daughter for making too much noise while doing the dishes and was furious with my son for unplugging the wireless router by mistake. I pushed the dog away from me and wished I could disappear.
     However, I didn't run away from home or scream or throw things and I didn't allow myself to disappear.  I toughed it out and talked about it. The difference for me these days is that I can recognize triggers sooner and talk about it which helps it go away quicker and not to escalate. Last night was a good example of how choosing not to act instinctively on my feelings, but listening to my head is a much better choice.
     My feelings last night were not really rooted in the “here and now” anyway. These feelings had much more to do with the "back there and then." My usual emotional reaction has been to feel cornered, get mad and then to run away either physically or emotionally. If I had listened to that and reacted as I'd always done, I'd still feel badly today and be fighting with my "here and now" family.  In reality, it was really my "back there and then" family that I was mad at.
     Because I did what I knew to be right rather than what I felt like doing, I was able to talk to my husband and even to apologize to my daughter for biting her head off. I decided to post it on Facebook, (which I NEVER would have done before), and got some good support from people I wouldn't have expected it from. I told the truth about how I felt and I didn't die! That might sound silly, but that's really how I used to feel. I was so afraid of letting anyone see the ugliness I had inside that I actually thought it might kill me to do so. In the past, I always pretended I was alright, no matter how bad I felt.     
     Today I am learning to be real with myself and others, so, today is a whole new day and I'm OK just as I am!

Setting Healthy Boundaries

I was reading one of my favorite online blogs today and the topic was
“Setting boundaries with abusive family.” This was my comment:

“My parents are dead. 
They are buried about one and a half hours west of where I live. 
My aunt is angry with me for not tending to the grave. 
This is just about the only boundary left for me to set. 
My father stole my innocence, my sexuality and very nearly, my soul. 
My mother did nothing while it was happening. She refused to help or believe me when I did disclose to her. I can think of NO good reason why I should drive an hour and a half to a town that I hate to pick weeds and plant flowers for them. 
I will NEVER get on my knees for him again! 
PS-I think I'm starting to get in touch with my anger.”
I started thinking about the way that my idea of boundaries has changed over the years. As I was growing up, I thought people who were clear with their boundaries were mean, scary or selfish. I had absolutely no idea that it was OK to say, “No!”  The notion that I didn’t have the right to set limits also extended to the emotional. I didn’t even have the right to FEEL what I was feeling! 
I had to say, “Yes” and I had to LIKE it too. Well, I didn’t like it. As a matter of fact, I hated it! I hated that I wasn't allowed to get mad. I hated that I had no right to privacy, individuality, safety or my own feelings.
Even the air I breathed was contaminated. I was subjected to all manner of pain and humiliation and I was subjected to a house and car filled with cigarette smoke. I couldn’t protest my abuse, (in fact, I couldn’t even THINK about it.) However, I did do my very best to protest the stinging, suffocating air I had to breathe.
What happened when I did speak up? I was ignored at first, and then belittled and called “a pest.” When I was in the fourth grade, I presented my mother with materials I got from school that talked about the dangers of smoking, but I was laughed at. I begged for an open window in the car and sometimes they would crack it open about half an inch or so, hoping to shut me up. Eventually, I would be punished for continuing to complain about the smoke.
Smoking remains a big issue for me to this day. For me, it symbolizes the years of abuse and rejection I endured and how helpless I was. I didn't even have air! My buttons are pushed and I recognize how I am triggered right back into the role of that helpless child when I’m near a smoker. I absolutely hate it! I remain militant about not allowing anyone to smoke near me or my children.
As an adult, I have gone overboard in setting this boundary.
Never learning healthy boundaries can be very confusing when it comes to setting or keeping them today. Like so many things in my life, I have been very “black and white” with boundaries. I have often found myself vulnerable with no limits whatsoever, or locked into an unbending ideal with no room for compromise. I was angry, but didn't know that I was allowed to feel that way. This has led to depression that comes when you are not allowed to feel your feelings. Rage that has been buried, now needs to come out.
Several years ago, I took a class at the Baptist church called “Boundaries.” It was good for me and I learned a lot; but one thing really stayed with me. Healthy boundaries are loving and necessary. It is loving and kind to say, “No?” Wow! Now there’s an idea! Children need healthy boundaries to feel safe and secure. They need loving limits to know who they are and where they fit into the world. I never got that growing up. I’m learning how to be real with people and speak up about how I feel and what I think. I am finding that the clearer I am with my boundaries and the sooner I set them, the easier it is to navigate through the twists and turns of life. I'm starting to get in touch with some of that repressed anger. I can see now that I have a right to be angry. It feels good to be real and I like myself better this way.

Working Harder Than I Ever Have Before.

Yesterday, I woke up with a flicker of an image in my mind. I saw a foreskin being retracted. It was disproportionately large compared to me and I felt nauseated. I feel certain that this was a memory fragment. I am not aware of any personal experience in my adult life with an uncircumcised male, although as a nurse, I have taken care of male patients like this.
I believe this is a memory for two reasons. The first reason being how large the penis was and how close it was to my face. Even though it was only a flash of an image, there was movement and it was quite detailed. Which leads me to the second reason I believe it is a memory; the way it made me feel. I felt repulsed, nauseated and disturbed. I held my breath and I winced. Clearly, this would be the reaction of a child being sexually abused and not the reaction of a registered nurse caring for a patient.
You might think that as a survivor, I’d have difficulty dealing with people’s personal hygiene and handling various body parts. However, I have become very good at compartmentalizing. The “me” that goes to work has had absolutely nothing to do with the “me” that was sexually assaulted. These parts are distinctly different and until recently, they had never even met.
This really got me thinking about the part of me that functions out in the world. The one that raises a family, manages a home and goes to work. I realize now how much mental energy is required to pull that off and that I have always struggled to find balance in my life.
Of course I don’t do “balance” well in my “black and white” world. I have one foot in the past and one TRYING to stay in the present. I’m like one of those Irish River Dancers jigging around trying to stay here and function while simultaneously trying to run from the past AND the present. All the while, not moving anything above my waist in an attempt to look “NORMAL!”  Honestly, it’s exhausting...and not very attractive!
I have spent a great deal of time living in my head completely detached from my feelings and my body. This has served me well in my work life in so far as being able to work 12 to 16 hour shifts on my feet, running from patient to patient, (often without a break to eat or go to the bathroom). In true “care giver” fashion, being detached from myself has allowed me to put the needs of my patients above my own.
This worked well for me throughout my professional career EXCEPT, while in therapy recently, I cracked open the Pandora’s Box of feelings and memories. Having used up every drop of mental energy trying to stay in my head so that I could function at work has really taken a toll on me. I started dissociating more and found myself being triggered badly at work. What used to invoke compassion, concern and empathy now caused me tremendous anxiety, lots of non-hunger related eating and sometimes overwhelming rage. I have always been the type of nurse to sit with my crying patients, holding them and praying for them. I now found my heart racing and imagining I could cover my ears and scream to drown out my patients moans and cries!
I just couldn’t STAND it anymore! Something had to give. I had a choice to make. Therapy or work. For now at least, I just can’t manage to do both. For two decades, I put the work of healing on hold in order for me to function but now I found myself depressed, dissociated and barely existing. I want to live my life. I want to heal and feel and the only way to get there is to do it.
I have had to take some time off from working so that I can focus on the excruciating work of feeling and healing. I am working harder now than I ever have, but this time, I’m working on myself. I am so grateful to have my husband supporting me and encouraging me through the fight of a lifetime. I want to make him proud and I won’t let him down!