(just in case you are not familiar with what Mardi Gras means-- aside from boobs, king cake, and beads-- it's French for Fat Tuesday)
There are several things on my mind, but I've been too tired and/or busy to focus and try and process. (Note that I still should be busy, but am not doing my work.) In no particular order:
I have been reacquainting myself with peanut butter, which used to be a trigger food of mine. It's been ok for the most part, but I had a little (subjective) binge yesterday, which was mostly out of boredom and desire to avoid work, plus anxiety about going out to eat with my brother and his wife (yes, I know, I never said my impulses were smart.) I'm trying really hard not to berate myself for it, and to remember that when I go for a run it's not to earn back calories but to enjoy myself and be healthy and present. This morning I remembered that Osho says something about removing yourself from thinking of whatever you're deriving pleasure from is the cause of your happiness, and recognize that it comes from yourself, not some external force. So my goal is to do that when I'm thinking about food and doing my usual quest for a specific taste.
In a similar vein, I was talking to my mom about how I feel like she's always sending me mixed messages about food, because at one point she'll talk about how skinny she thinks I am, and then the next minute she'll say something about me eating so much. She told me that the two are not related: yes, I eat a lot, but I am also skinny. She also went on to say something about how my brother thinks that I am a rail and he's worried about me still (he was extremely worried when I met up with him in April two years ago, which is when I was at my skinniest [and scariest]-- my other brother who, incidentally, also had an eating disorder, never said anything except a few snide remarks about being on a diet. You may be able to tell which brother I like more.)I told her that I have put on weight, which she acknowledged, and that it had gone past the point (for me) of feeling like it was good to gain weight, that I felt like I was as big as I was at the beginning of my second year of university. Which is true, that's how I feel. But instead of freaking out and doing what I did back then (restrict, over-exercise, hate myself) I am trying to make this into something new. I cannot sustain myself, hang my idea of myself on this image of me as something that is not healthy for me. And even in the thick of my eating-disordered haze, it was all under the pretense of being healthier. Now, I need to remember that I am healthy. I can run, jump, play... I am able-bodied and I want to be able to love my body for what it can do, what it does, what it is at this exact second. Wasn't that what I decided I would do around New Years? (I don't do resolutions, but I came to a realization that I need to love myself exactly as I am now, no preconditions, and no waiting.) While I have made some leaps (no more writing down everything I eat-- it's been just over 4 weeks!)I constantly feel like there's so much to do, so much "self-help". In reality, that's bullshit. I am worthy of loving right this bloody second. Yes.
(I'll keep telling myself that.)
Also in the category of leaps, I've been on half of the dosage I was on for meds for three weeks now. I decided to stick it out, and it feels good. Especially to think that I could potentially go off of them and not feel so freaking dependent on them all the time. As so many people forget, meds are not supposed to cure you, they're a crutch. And I've always been one to get off of crutches as fast as possible. I've given it since December '06. I'm in a much better place than I was then, so the time for this peach is ripe. (Ha! oh, I do apologize.)
Right. I'll admit I've been putting off blogging about this, because. That's right, just because. Sunday night was J's leaving party. First thing that happens: knock on door, door opened by SS (no, not Nazi brute force. It's just the way the abbreviating thing happened.) It's immediately apparent that both of us are appraising each other, familiar with J's proposition of a group encounter. We settle down on the couch for some awkward conversation (NB: surprisingly un-awkward considering my record.) Party proceeds, lots of fun happens. By the way, telephone pictionary rocks my socks. There's interesting people around, J is fucked up (remnants of last week's brownies, plus some booze.) SS and I interact for little bits at a time, mostly teasing J and acknowledgments of each other's taste/humor/whatever. At some point in the night, I start to get a horrific headache, which (I'll admit) was probably due to not eating. At the end of the night, we gave S a big hug and... stood around awkwardly. Commenting on the awkwardness, but not really doing much to dispel it (thus build-up of awkward, as Jeff from Coupling would put it, grows like the blob from space. There are no puppies trapped in a car in this case, though.) Eventually, things got awkwardly started (I don't know much about it, since my only other group sex experience went awry when one of the girls decided her boyfriend mackin' on her best friend was too much for her [might I add that her 'boyfriend' was not exclusive and that I was fucking him?], but I get the impression that there's not really many cases when there's not a little bit of awkward.) I won't give a blow by blow, but it was hot. I was reminded of quite how much I love women's bodies, of how much women freaking intrigue me all the time. --Ok, so I'm intrigued by so many people, not just women, but the whole women aspect of it was particularly present at that point. Might I also note that although I identify as not entirely straight (that's the easiest way to put it) I haven't had the opportunity to be with a woman except in this and the aforementioned foursome-gone-bad. So there's that aspect of not really knowing exactly how to do things, an element of exploration, if you will.--
I'll admit that I wasn't expecting that much. I wasn't feeling well to begin with, and I was worried [when I had been thinking about it before] that I would spend the entire time comparing myself to her and generally being anxious. Which was not true at all-- because it wasn't about (for me, at least) just sharing J, it was about sharing her as well. And that was amazing. The only thing that worried me were that she didn't get to come enough. How's that for anxiety? As for possible lamentations? a)we were all tired and/or messed up, b)other people not involved in the house [I like noise. Yes, I do.] c)not being able to do it again, because like with any lover [or at least, good ones] you learn more about how to please each other as you go along.
C'est tout. (I don't know whether you can use it in French, but in English slang translated, c'est chaud.)
I also heard from A last night, he was wondering why he hadn't heard from me in a while (which is weird because I thought I texted him on Tuesday and our communication is usually lots in one go and then nothing for a week. Which typically has to do with the kind of communication it is, really.) He's not the planning type, but I wonder if I could wrangle a rendez-vous from him during spring break... (wrangle, A's in TX, get it? waa-waa.)
Et maintenant, je cours. (Oh, que j'adore Francais)
I don't want to feed into my eating disorder, but I also need to get some balance, and if counting calories helps, I'll do it. I'm approaching it as taking care of myself, though. More of the tone of writing stuff down so that I am holding myself accountable and am aware of what I am eating, so that I am present in that moment and enjoying what it is I'm putting in my mouth. So far today has been very successful, and I'm hopeful for the rest of the week. The plan is to continue like this until I feel stable, and then by then I will have the body trust to not need to count or write anything.