On Integrity (Part 2) -- Word-playing, Coconut Cream Again

In my previous post, I requested your indulgence in allowing me to explain my circle picture in the context of integrity.
You know I love words and etymologies, right? Promise not to be bored if I play with them for a bit?

Entire=Intact=Integrity. 

Yes. "Entire" comes into English via French, but all three words come from the same Latin roots. "Intact" has the closest meaning to the literal Latin--Untouched.

So, "Entire" comes from a root meaning "Untouched," and so does "Integrity."

How does that work? Interesting to consider that entirety--a sum total--and integrity--a moral characteristic--could be the same kind of thing.

Try this on for size:

Something can be Entire because it is untouched--nothing has been taken away from it. Also, nothing has been added to it. Both kinds of 'touching' are relevant--subtraction and addition--if you put too many pencils in the pot, you might break the pot (or the pencil), or warp its shape. Entire means not too much, as well as not too little.

Someone can be in Integrity because their intent/affect/character is untouched--unmoved by circumstances, concepts, intentions. Perhaps it's a case of entire congruence between a person's attitude and that of external circumstances. Perhaps, Integrity is a kind of wholeness. That's a good way for me to understand it, even without the etymological connection. Integrity is a kind of wholeness in the same way as Entirety: it's being untouched--no pieces missing, no extraneous pieces added.

Then I find myself moving to circles within circles, and some subversive thought patterns. Who says what elements make me whole? And of what whole am I, in turn, a part?

Is drinking all that coconut cream part of being in integrity, if I do it? Is it touching me by making me entire, or is it squishing me outward like the pencil pot?

Is drinking pints of extra liquid before weighing in part of being in integrity? Is it making me entire by allowing me to present the required weight? Or is it out of integrity because it's squishing me outward in a fictitious manner?

Are my intentions sufficient to define integrity? For example, does my intention to show the required weight on the scale by the end of the month so that I can stay on a vital medication mean that making up a lot of that weight with water is in integrity, given that I didn't state the intent to actually gain weight? 

At which level of existence is integrity defined? Microcosm--Am I out of integrity if I pull the skin off my fingers, 'touching' myself by removing parts of myself? Or are those parts unnecessary? What about brain cells that get wiped out by lack of glucose and fatty acids?

Macrocosm--does my presence, absence, alteration, or death affect the integrity of my family, my social circles, my MFA program, my employers? Does it make those groups incomplete? Or does it remove a small appendage, easily cauterized; symmetry easily restored with just a little shuffling? 

And--am I just a member of family, social groups, etc? Or am I also a member of the universe of the hallucinations? I'm in and out of their world all the time, but I don't see a lot of my friends and family every day either. Would they miss me? Do they need me to be there for integrity? Do I have to pick which universe I exist in, for integrity's sake? (Hallucinations get worse if you're in ketosis...Yes but they were pretty bad in treatment at times, being stuffed...)

I went from playing with words to speculation about the cosmic implications of those words and their meanings but that's all pretty abstract for a life and I'm starting to doubt that I make sense here. 

My naturopath had me sign a contract today that I would get all that coconut cream down, so as I start to find excuses not to do so and fudge around, as of course I've done already today, I will have a piece of paper as a prop to consider my integrity and impeccability of word. I already called him once to clarify a loophole I'd found. Phil said "Of course he didn't mean that" but getting the clarification rather than just using the loophole may have been an act of integrity.

Here, I stop. I had a clear idea of what I wanted to say, but clarity has fled today.
I even managed to close this window, thankfully without losing the entire post. Please bear with me. I continue working on being impeccable with my word.
Perhaps the magic word is that coconut cream and food will help me be better in integrity, in whichever universe I exist, however I am present.

"It's Not Healthy; It's Not Attractive: Post-Treatment Part 3

Whether we want to look like a supermodel or to disappear in strict observances like an early Christian saint, we have some consciousness of appearance.

I'll get back to the 'face' rock in my next post. It's a little placeholder for the dazzling deceptiveness of appearances. Before I get on to the aesthetic/beauty aspect of anorexia, with which I screeched to an embarrassed halt in my previous post, let me make this very clear:
(it's not healthy)
How someone looks tells only part of the story of how they are doing. This is true for eating disorders. This is true for cancer. This is true for many ailments and malaises. In the eating disorder sphere, however, since extremes of appearance are how most lay people even recognize them, I feel I must emphasize the point particularly. Someone could be at a 'normal' weight after treatment and be in utter anguish. Someone could be at a 'normal' weight and still have to take various medications for damaged organs. Someone could look 'normal' and have a brain tumor. Someone could be at a low weight and steadily pulling together all aspects of their health and life. Someone could be at a higher weight than they've always been and starving themselves to maintain it because of undiagnosed hypothyroid. Someone could be overweight and starving themself. Someone could be underweight and making up for it. At any given moment, you might encounter one of these 'someone's. Someone could be bulimic with decades of practice in making sure you would never guess. Someone might look stunning and be suicidal. Don't make assumptions. When insurance companies won't cover treatment for someone because their weight isn't low enough, it makes me want to scream.

When treatment centers insist that weight restoration to 80% of your 'ideal' weight is essential and non-negotiable: that without this weight, physical and mental problems both will persist, it makes me want to scream. From my own experience, excepting times when things have gone out of control and I've had to go to treatment, I've felt worst and most in the thick of the disorder when I've been at a more 'normal' weight, especially in the wake of a masochistic 'experiment' five years ago to make myself gain far beyond my comfort level. Flip side: it's true, I've never had a regular menstrual cycle--I menstruated maybe a half-dozen times in the whole of my twenties; since then, only with progesterone pills and some other things and more weight--but, frankly, so what? It makes sense for not all women in a society to be set up for child-bearing. And since I'm thirty-five now, for heaven's sakes, that's all moot. Of course, there's a whole host of other reasons why progesterone's important, and many other physical issues in the mix too. Whatever my weight is, the internal damage is still there. I don't mean to be glib. With this condition, as with any relationship, balance, and even health, involve compromise.

(and frankly, it isn't attractive)
Moving from appearance as health-related to appearance as beauty-related, not a lot of people with eating disorders simply 'went on a diet' and took it too far because they wanted to look like/be a model. There are people who fit in that stereotype, but I'd have to say they're the minority. Far more common for someone to have heard their parents constantly commenting about other people's sizes, or for someone to have been bullied and had unkind things said to them regarding their body. And for there to have been trauma of some kind, lack of love, too much love of the wrong kind...Yes, the body takes the brunt; yes, some of us consider 'thin' the most aesthetically pleasing way for our bodies to be--we tend to be accepting of other people's bodies; we even don't understand someone wanting to lose weight if we think they're beautiful how they are.

But this isn't a twisted distortion on die(t)ing to be pretty.
Is not, despite the jumbles of beauty products that have to be kept as contraband behind the nurses' station, the banks of various fancy blow-dryers going early in the morning; the eyelash curlers, the specially approved electric shavers, the tweezers, the creams and lotions. Hair straightened, hair curled, nails painted to match clothes. I never normally get to hang out with girls in such an intimate setting, and, as my mum lamented a while ago, I'm kind of a feral girl--all I brought was a carry-on size tube of Dr Bronner's--so mornings in treatment feel like the green room behind the set for a play. Or for a masked ball? Being in treatment feels like being in a play in more ways than one.
A few of us covered up, barely showed skin, definitely not legs, didn't wear make-up, basic hair-brushing; but we were a tiny minority. Everyone else had an elaborate routine to 'get ready' in the mornings. I do see that a lot of it's cultural. Girls watch their moms, learn from each other in high school, read magazines. But doesn't it look like a vanity routine? I asked someone how she could care so little about herself and still spend so much time on her appearance. She replied that she had lost so much, including especially self esteem, and that spending time on her appearance felt like taking care of herself, felt like one thing she could feel good about.

You shrink and swathe yourself with baggy clothes. Or, you wear tiny cute clothes and a mask. Even though most of us didn't get into this because of focus on appearance, and despite all denials, there is some b.s. around clothes and clothing sizes, people trying to compare with other people. This can be especially crazy-making in treatment, gaining weight and self-conscious about it as new people come in.
I discovered how unusually laissez-faire I am about the whole clothing issue--I didn't bring many changes of clothes for the length of time I was 'inside.' And the whole idea of buying new clothes as your size changes is just beyond me. It's true, back in February I did post about doing precisely that, but although I still believe that conflating different goals can help with success in each, I think that was an ill-conceived, perhaps stupid, post. It was also inaccurate: I could have worn that size all along, but I shop at thrift stores, and just hadn't bothered to find the right size. I favor leggings generally, and with jeans it's just a matter of how tight my belt is, although depending on the cut there may be one or two pairs that simply don't stay up. But everything I just said shows that despite my laissez-faire around clothes, I too have some sort of issue about clothing and appearance. Perhaps I don't get the right size jeans because I like being able to slide them on without undoing them. I say I won't wear white because I'm a dirt magnet, which is true; but perhaps I also won't wear white because I think it makes me look fat, and the converse is why I wear so much black.

Perhaps this is just normal for any female, disordered or not. But if I, who would really rather disappear and be completely disembodied, have some clothing hangups, imagine how it would be for someone with an eating disorder who desired to be a model or a dancer.

There's more to be said on this. I'd love to hear the experience of anyone who cares to share--about the aesthetic aspect of the (your) disorder, to what extent a desire for thinness drove it, what you believe about the health implications, Whether you have/had/never had an eating disorder, it'll be an interesting conversation.

So...Am I "Better"?

Sinking back into the bubble and bubbling awesomeness of the residency--how can it feel so familiar and comfortable when a whole year has passed since the last time? Welcoming the new cohort with equal delight to getting back together with my favorite people here, and getting to know better some other folks too; diving into workshops and classes: yes, we're getting into our writerly bubble, but it really is also a ferment of productivity and connection.

It's tempting just to submerge, immerse, forget and scar over my life experience of the past ten weeks. Additionally, my preference is generally to talk about things that pertain to more people than just to me. However, since family and friends are reading this blog and, no doubt, wondering; since there's a pretty horrendous price-tag attached to the experiences of the past ten weeks that places a burden of responsibility, I should briefly address the question: 

AM I BETTER?

Starting with the most superficial: I haven't weighed myself, but judging by how my clothes fit, I'm not a whole lot bigger than when I started at the Sandwich Academy, although that's still a very lot bigger than when I went to Foie Gras Farm. A bit smaller than I was at the residency last year, and some comments about that. I don't think this is a problem at all: my energy is great, my focus is good, I'm not obsessing or compulsing, my pulse stays steady if I sit up suddenly...everything feels good.

I carefully planned my raid on Whole Foods for when I arrived in Tacoma, scoping out which food items and non-food items I wanted to get, planning bus routes--all while still in Bellevue. I took the long bus ride and discovered that in Tacoma, "Whole Foods Market" is a tiny little hole in the wall 1980's-era healthfood store with a few ranks of supplements single file, and a few overpriced allergy-friendly products, some of which I bought out of sheer disappointment and mortification. There was a Fred Meyer close by too, but a ghetto Fred Meyer, half of the natural/allergy-friendly products of a normal one. Nonetheless, even with the smaller selection, I shopped.

I tell this story because it shows two significant ways in which I'm better. First off, I didn't totally freak out at the thwarting of my well-made plan. I did beat up on myself a bit for assuming that "Whole Foods Market" was the chain and not verifying it from their website, but I still went ahead and did my shopping as best I could under those circumstances, whereas many times before I'd have bought nothing out of sheer embarrassment and frustration. Second, and here's a way I'm likely considered "better": I bought products I'd never have dreamed of touching before these last ten weeks. Gluten free baked goods? Why yes. Whereas before I would read the ingredients list and find several reasons they were not 'healthy' enough or overly caloric, and would insist on buying only 'raw material' ingredients, which I then didn't eat; now, I've accepted that in situations like this, food that's easy both to eat and in terms of zero preparation are wise choices, even if they do contain some evaporated cane juice or safflower oil.

I'm better in the sense of keeping on my radar the need to be well fueled, and making plans to ensure that, even if I feel it's weird or awkward. So far, I've also avoided the burning the candle at both ends behavior that made the last residency so luminous but also so exhausting.

Best of all, a few people whom I trust have told me I don't seem to have lost my 'spark'. These stronger medications definitely allow me to be more even and less crazy, but I feared they might damp that spark down too, and was waiting to be around people who know me and can evaluate whether I'm 'altered'. This is a huge deal.

In summary, I'd say I'm not 100% cured and perfect, but who is? I am pretty sure I won't ever need to go back to treatment yet again: I've put a lot of thought into how to ensure I avoid that. I did meet some great people there whom I hope will continue to be my friends hereafter, but that's a very welcome side effect; not the stated goal of the exercise.

I'm still having some odd confusions--around the unmonitored bathrooms, the cafeteria sans latex gloves, the dinner buffets with no plate laid out showing the portion sizes in terms of grains and proteins, no mandate to plate the food wearing rubber gloves and display the plate to a monitor before proceeding; the ability to walk off down the hall without an escort and to sit in a workshop without suddenly being pulled out for a therapy appointment...These are welcome absences. People--these simple freedoms are so valuable!

Sound good? Any questions? If so, I'll edit to add...

No Longer a Patient--Aftershocks, Heartstrings and Playing with Food

This is the first day for almost ten weeks that I'm not in treatment. Today is many other things too, but it's hard for me not to see it mostly in terms of that milestone--except for the fact that it's also the day I head over to PLU for my MFA program residency! How's that for a transition? From Foie Gras Farm to Sandwich Academy direct to my beloved MFA program...


I confess, although I've been eagerly counting the days until the squeezing of this constricting experience plunge me into the light and sound and freedom of regular existence, I have some apprehension as well. When I arrived here, straight from the desert isolation of Foie Gras Farm, it was like emerging into the light after being down a mine. Streets with cars driving them, buildings, the experience of going into a store, a new program organization to get the hang of--all these were overwhelming. But even here, we're not quite on the loose, and I suspect that being on my own cognizance around food, medication compliance, and various other issues, will offer some similar overwhelm if only to a lesser degree. And that's without the glad ecstatic overwhelm of being at Residency.


Add to the ambivalence the fact that, as always, it's the people that make the program. Because we had evenings and weekends free, and many people went home at those times, we didn't get quite as intensely close as at Foie Gras Farm, where we were all squished up against each other 24/7. But for those of us out-of-towners who stayed at the Annex, there was the opportunity to get to know one another better, and there were a couple of wonderful people I got to share space with there, with whom I'm looking forward to continuing friendship, and whom I'll be missing right in my heart these next days.


Am I ready to be out on my own cognizance? I hope so. I certainly have 'treatment fatigue.' There's little danger that I'll fail to take my meds, because I don't want to be crazy at the Residency and it would be a bad time to play doctor. The food? Granted that's always a challenge for me in this kind of situation, my intention is to take better care of myself in that area, including smarter shopping later today in preparation. My metabolism is chugging along right now, so there's no way I'll go back to my previous patterns.


Just a couple random thoughts about the food thing. I haven't been very forthcoming in my descriptions of what went on in the institutions where I've spent basically my whole summer, partly because there are some folks who read this that might draw adverse conclusions from what I say. However, there are going to be communal meals at the Residency, so let me say something about the associations there. The hardwood floors and black tables at the Sandwich Academy represent excellent planning, as both of them make any of the throwing food on the floor/trying to hide it on the table-type efforts instantly obvious and thus futile. On my first day, there was such a mess all around me, very obviously around me, not blending into anything--just embarrassing. However, those hardwood floors are also an excellent acoustic device for amplifying the clomp-clomp-clomp of feet in heels as the 'meal monitor' patrols the tables, alert to pounce on someone to correct their behavior. Behaviors deemed worthy of correction were not only things like hiding nuts in your leggings or attempting to purloin plastic cutlery with ill intent; there was also a strong emphasis on 'normalizing' food behavior, both choice of food and how it was eaten.


So, don't eat that with silverware; eat that with silverware; don't eat the bits that fell out of your sandwich--eat the sandwich first; no, you can't eat that open-face, you have to put the whole thing together, even though gluten free bread doesn't stay together and what's in there isn't typical sandwich fare and the whole thing's going to implode as soon as you pick it up; don't take two bites off of the spoon; don't eat that with the spoon; no, you can't have sauce with that rubbery tofu and dried-out rice: that's not normalized... Very frustrating, very stressful. There were days I'd break out in a sweat every time I heard feet clomping; times when every time someone made a move toward me, I'd jump, wondering what I'd done this time. My thought, of course, was that if their main concern was to get me to put the food inside me, they should let me do so in whatever way worked for me. Looking back, though, why was it that the person getting corrected for trying to lose excess food was also the person doing the 'wrong' things with her food? It's hard to find dignity in one's 30's and being corrected for table manners and sneakery.


Where that leaves me, going into a situation where we eat together a lot, is very self-conscious indeed. Relieved that there will be no clomping around and embarrassing correction in front of everyone; anxious as ever about seeming weird/not normalized if I bring some different food to a meal because of my allergies; worried about making sure I don't play with my food in weird ways or put weird things together; mortified to think of some of the weird ways I ate at Residency last year--one favorite lunch that I recall was salad drenched in hot sauce, covered with spirulina I'd brought from home, which stayed powdery and painted my face green because there was no dressing to damp it down. My face is red now!

What Can Pass, and What Is Needful

It may not be surprising that over the past few weeks of semi-participation in regular life, I've been thinking a lot about what is essential in life and what can come to seem essential but may not be.

For two months I have NOT:

• Driven a car--or ridden a bike.
• Taken a photograph. True fact! The camera was in storage while I was inpatient, and its battery fared better than the computer battery, but now I have it with me, and have seen many beautiful plants and interesting buildings and scenes worth recording, but I simply haven't wanted to use it.
• Talked on the phone, except to Phil, my parents, or healthcare professionals. We had long-distance calling while inpatient, but very little time to do it, and I was happy to write letters.
• Paid a bill.
• Used my Vitamix, or made or drank a smoothie (some more thoughts on this in a post soon). Or my dehydrator.
• Fixed food for other people
• Watched TV--but then I never watch TV
• Eaten spirulina or other green powders--and I survived!
• Seen a movie, except one or two documentaries we were shown as part of treatment
• Been obsessive about what is/is not organic and whether it's in the "dirty dozen" or not
• Weighed myself--ooh, except for one whoopsie time early on in this phase of the adventure
• Taken a beach hike
• Stayed up all night working (although there were nights at foie gras farm that I didn't sleep hardly at all).
• Weighed my food
• Sat in our cabin and looked out at the ocean
• Slept in our bed with Phil
• Planted herbs or vegetables
• Been to one of my writing groups
• Participated actively and assiduously and daily in the blogging community
• Bounced on my beloved rebounder. They don't want us to think about exercising, or to exercise much at all, but I like to imagine they would make an exception for this wonderful, relaxing, fun form of exercise that I miss so much.

Some of these things seem pretty sad absences; some of them may be husks, discarded skins or exoskeletons, to be left aside and grown out of; some may be growth opportunities, offering the realization

that life can continue without certain rigidly held lifelines. I can go without spirulina and chlorella; I can even go without many vegetables or much fruit, and I'm still here! I managed without clinging desperately to the internet, one more page, one more page making time pass and keeping me here. I'm still here. I even survived having to drink the nasty Ensure Plus, which lacks lactose and whey, but does have some dairy-derived protein. I'm still hacking it out, still feeling its effects, but I'm still here. Thank goodness I'm having coconut cream rather than Ensure here--when I resent having to drink it, I just remind myself of Ensure. 

Another thread that comes across is the tendency to be busy busy busy. In this in-between life right now, I'm looking for ways to remind myself to pay attention, take a breath, slow down; to focus on what is really needful. "What is needful" is a phrase from the King James Bible version of the story of Mary and Martha, where Mary simply sits at Jesus' feet, while Martha fusses around getting everything ready. Jesus says Mary's choice is "what is needful." 

Religion, Christianity in particular, was a big thing at foie gras farm, whereas at this treatment center it's practically taboo because of its potential for division. But scripture, not religion itself, is periodically very useful to me as a word-based reminder of what's important. Anything can be a talisman to call us back to the moment--more thoughts on this soon also.

Staying in the moment, my body is asking for a shower and soon, sleep, as we prepare to greet Monday morning and a new week.