Masochistic Gratification, and What I'm Going to Do with the Gifts

(morning on the road; likely will be edited)
The Gifts, you say? What gifts? 
Well, let's see. 

• Sandblasting of the cocoon keeping me safe from my fears of myself and other people
• Energy and Optimism, both of which push against fear
• Spatial awareness
• Lithium, two ways.--(1) continuation of the prescription, and (2) it had quit working below a certain weight (I could feel it stop) -- not enough myelin sheath to transport in the brain -- it's working again, which is awesome for the whole world of nuances it allows me to perceive (as mentioned before)
• Generally, feeling less "frail," less likely to break if I ran into something (which I'm doing less now anyway)
• Yet more experience going through this 'plunge,' coupled with strong motivations not to let things get out of hand again, aided by my careful and consistent journaling of the process. Somehow, this time, I'm seeing my way toward using those journals to recognize danger signs, guard against them...and write about it!

So many gifts--but in order to receive them,

Masochistic Gratification was necessary

(How's that for a Purgatorio-Paradiso model? I'm not sure I care for it, but that's how events occurred)

I regard every act of eating as damage limitation--the less I can get away with, the better.

And yet--I've worked as a chef and a farmer; I have a fantastic palate and enough food allergies to encourage my native flair for recipe development. I know how to taste good tastes!

Inevitably, then, there are hankerings I don't gratify. Desserts I make and feed to everyone else but barely nibble myself. Things made to my own peculiar specifications, that I love, that sit in the freezer forever. Fruit sniffed and inhaled and not eaten. Recipes or preparation techniques pored over but not made; prepared 'store-bought' items scorned.

Then suddenly these past couple weeks, all those hankerings, gratified en masse, ad nauseam (literally, to the point that I almost lost it all at my appointment!)

Not only that, I had to make recipes with the full complement of fat and sugar, whereas the first thing I usually do is sub out all or most (of the sugar in particular).

My green powder and marine phytoplankton in juice, not water.

Two persimmons at breakfast, not one, and something else like oatmeal, besides my coconut oil.

The gratifying brownie had to be eaten after a big lunch including a cup of coconut cream in a smoothie and some sweet potato fried (!!!) in coconut oil (never had them fried, always wondered). Then another brownie mid-afternoon. As well as fixing, I had to eat some of the raw cheesecake (with persimmons) I'd made for dinner with friends, even though once again, I almost lost the whole thing. Then, when we got home lateish, another brownie.

Another evening, having bought some Daiya nondairy cheese (!!! I had this in treatment and, to my surprise, liked it quite a lot. But 'prepared from scratch snob that I am, I couldn't have imagined buying it)... I wanted it with cauliflower, but had to have it with cauliflower and gluten-free pasta. And some sort of dessert afterward.

The aim wasn't only volume, although that was essential with the amount to do in such a short time. Perhaps even more important was density. Every bite or sip I took had to have as many calories per bite as possible. So, gluten free bread with almond butter; not apples or carrots as I would ordinarily prefer. Pasta and cauliflower; not instead of. Basically, I was reversing many of the most obvious weight loss tips you'll see everywhere, all the way down to eating some packaged foods. This reversal felt very very weird for my identity.

Yes, the food tasted good, but since I was eating until it hurt too much to eat more, then eating more as soon as it would stay down, the "tasted good" part was pretty much eclipsed. A few nights, I couldn't lie flat. Of course this was better than refeeding in treatment centers, being unable to lie down but in my own bed at home at least, and being able to choose foods for which I'd hankered or had curiosity, rather than bland treatment center pabulum.

Still, after all the virtual gratification of recipe gawking, food fixing for others, making things for myself and eating them by the crumb, making myself ersatz versions minus the density, it felt absolutely masochistic to be having tasty, aesthetically satisfying foods in such an aesthetically repulsive food situation. I actually wonder whether "the tube" would have been better, to remove the association between food and discomfort. Right now, I just want to eat carrots and lettuce again: I know with vivid visceral gut knowledge how awful "those" "naughty" foods can make me feel.

But, see above, slamming them down for a short period has also enabled me to feel so much better.

Now I need to learn to maintain. Now, 'polar girl, time to find some balance!

Rock Jockey Gets to Keep Riding--Toward Where?

Yesterday was the other end of the ultimatum that's been causing me so much anxiety for the past month or so. I know I have the potential for leaving things to the last minute, but the combination of last minute-ness, physical and physiological effects of full-on masochistic foie gras action, and anxiety, was indescribable. 
Yesterday's drive to Anchorage was cold, but not freezingfreezing; the radiator was managing to put out at least a modicum of heat.
In my pocket, my most special of special rocks...

...in my cooler, wrapped in down pants, my scale: I couldn't bear the idea of losing this bid because of some
"nearly but not quite" owing to dehydration from a long, cold drive. As stupid and arbitrary and imprecise as I know scale numbers to be (especially in the afternoon with clothes on), I had to respect the "minimum" with the inflexibility of a Lubavitch rabbi or a Roman flamen (no disrespect to them).

I'm so glad I brought the scale. I was right about the dehydration: who knew you could lose three pounds driving less than three hundred miles? So, a big, hurried lunch. Anyone who knows me at all knows that "hurried" and "eating" cannot co-occur. I showed up to my appointment, head spinning; had my vitals taken...all very good. But then, let's say, my rabbit almost came out of the hat! I had to excuse myself from my appointment before it had even started. Not the start I would have hoped for. 

I was much better after that, and was able to offer my psychiatrist enough confidence that I had seen a full spectrum of reasons why it's worth it to me, even lithium aside, to stay physiologically stable, so she's willing to let me continue--but still under the same rabbinically strict stipulation.
Relief...

Rock Jockey keeps on riding!
Why "rock jockey?" -- Lithium means "made of rock." 
-- For as long as I've been taking medications to help stabilize my moods, whether naturopathic, homeopathic, or conventional, I've had a visceral perception of myself as riding the medication. Sometimes it's a better ride than others. Sometimes I'm just running alongside; sometimes the mount is bogged down and I'm running ahead. Sometimes I'm bogged down and the mount is out of sight.

This picture is as much about the rocks as it is about the persimmons.

Obviously, it would be ridiculous for me to imply that everyone who loves rocks has bipolar disorder or schizophrenia!

However, I'm working on an essay about water as an element. I'm writing a section on elements (earth, water, fire, air) as used to categorize people's natures and characters, including my own. Where I'm getting to (although I didn't know it when I started) is that I'm predominantly an "air" person, and greatly lacking in "earth." So I'm floating away on my helium (= of the sun, element #2) balloon, and am grounded by being tied to my lithium (made of rock, element #3).

Oh, and the "jockey" part reminds me not to put myself on a guilt trip for imagining anyone who doesn't have to live with me would be interested in my cliffhanger over enforced and significant weight gain, or in whether I got to stay on my meds. Jockeys have to put on or off weight all the time.

I have to go finish that essay. On Monday, I'll have written a post both about the "masochistic gratification" I keep going on about, and about what it means to have met the ultimatum--what scary places of growth it's hurled me into, what I was hiding from, how I hope to utilize and share the renewed positivity and energy. What am I riding for now?
A beautiful weekend to you!

Happy Birthday Phil; Not Much About Refeeding

It's Phil's birthday and I'm eating enough for two people living through an Arctic winter. In a tent. What was that, Phil? Distorted who???

I'm going to save feeling sorry for myself with refeeding woes for another post--although it is really uncomfortable and scary, and I've discovered a new oxymoron (as my friends are exhausted from hearing): masochistic gratification. More on that soon. For now, I quit feeling sorry for myself, and feel sorry for Phil instead--because he has to live with me? No, because he's so OLD!!! Cue music: "When I'm sixty-four!"

Sorry, I must have lost my tongue in my cheek. Both are so engorged right now--both tongue and both cheeks--that it's hard to tell one from the other.

Let's see if I can get one thing right. Phil is universally beloved in his local and his wider community. Check.
This year, he's achieved yet more notoriety in the local press, as a wise counselor for the Library Advisory Board (that's where you advise the City to give the library more money because reading is vitally important to the liveliness of the community and new books keep us vibrant)...

Source: Homer Tribune. Notice his book!

But Phil also has a sideline, although he would probably call it his mainline; his desired time allocation for it is mainlining the clock chime, as...a mammoth hunter! Yes, mammoths trod the ground we live on, or more likely, ground that formerly occupied  the space on which we stand, slump, or slide. As Phil's hiking speed has slowed to slightly less than warp, he's learned to appreciate the fact that you see more at a slower pace. And so, every time (the mainlined time) he's out the door, he's hunting, semi-systematically, for mammoth parts. Our neighbor recently told me that after hiking with Phil a couple times, he's found himself looking at the ground in certain places in certain ways at certain tides just as Phil does. On our hikes together, we sometimes divide up the beach, and tease each other with bits of petrified wood or layered metamorphic rock that could resemble "the real thing." 

Here's his hand with a piece of molar found last December...

Source: Juneau Empire

...and here's the whole Phil with that same molar

Source: Fairbanks News Miner--this news travels!

The pictures haven't hit the press yet, but he found another piece just a couple weeks ago.
Well, record-time post here. I need to round up the gifts, food, etc, for Phil's party we need to leave for imminently. Oh, and get out of my cooking clothes. I think I might have dirtied every single utensil in the cabin and the water to the kitchen is frozen off.
Next post, if I manage it, I'll be heading out on my trip to see my psych for a very very important decision. Although my mom just told me that bipolar is just a thyroid imbalance. So maybe I just need to get my thyroid dose right and I won't need my magical lithium after all.

Turning the Corner: Two Magic Potions, No More Soft-Pedaling

I've turned the corner!
- Memory: mostly back online
- Klutziness: diminished; some good predictive/evasive actions (but one big spill tonight)
- Energy: much better
- Breath: fine now

And my pen, my flagstaff, has been busy today.
All this clarity and increased energy has been helped by more calories and some quiet space, but it's--I've--received an additional quantum push from this magic potion:

Source: The Raw Food World

I've been hearing about Marine Phytoplankton and its amazing benefits for years. Plankton, whale food, tiniest plant organisms, are the ultimate, direct, bottom-of-foodchain source of those omega fatty acids for which people eat fish oil. Omega oils are so crucial for brain function (and are strongly recommended for people with things like bipolar, schizophrenia, and any depressive or psychotic tendencies). Plus, as an oceanic entity, it's going to be full of thyroid-supporting iodine and other trace minerals So, of course, this is a very expensive product! Out of my range...until recently it was on sale. Last Tuesday, I started taking just four drops with green powder in the mornings, and noticed a sharp difference by the next day. If you've ever had green juice, or wheatgrass, or one of those potions that give you a clear, ringing, bright energy that makes you feel positive and eager to engage with life, this stuff provides that feeling with an additional sense, physically felt too, of acuity in the brain.
I'm still noticing that increase in clarity and energy. Probably also helped me to step over the hurdle of these last couple days.
Holds Unbarred
I'd been panicking about the scale these last few days, distracted from what really needs to happen with the scale. That was the last holdout. I was eating more, but still backing off from my quantity-commitment, still scared to move forward. Then this morning, my therapist brought up the very real possibility I won't make the psych's ultimatum, and that she won't give me grace, and things will change very much. Up until now, I had not let myself imagine that scenario, even as I continued unable to ensure it wouldn't happen. I've been so afraid to move from where I am/was. Now I'm afraid not to get away/there soon enough.
So today, I ate more than I thought possible. (For perspective, I should confess that Phil, while very pleased, did not think it was a phenomenal amount.) I ate close to what I ate in treatment, quantity-wise; to where I'm lightheaded and it hurts. And I'll try for a night-time snack too, like I had to there. At least I can choose my food, which makes it far less unpleasant. Have some chocolate! Eat more honey (which I love, but quit eating when I quit beekeeping)! Actually eat some of those raw energy bars you always make and then stash in the freezer! 
I've got 'til Friday. Wish me luck. A birthday in the family and a packet deadline this week too. Big week!
Friends
The other 'magic potion' mentioned in the title is made of friends. Friends right here in town. Friends with whom I'm in touch via email and Skype. Friends on Facebook. Friends off the grid and out of range but still in heart connection. 
The umbilicus of gratitude.
This past Saturday, I Skyped in to a get-together of classmates from my school years in England. Most of us have known each other since age four or five, or even younger. It was so lovely to see five beautiful women in a room on the other side of the world, all so recognizable as their much younger selves, all enjoying each other and renewing shared stories now decades old.
My friend Rachel told me that her strongest association between me and food is a date with an almond in it. Yes! I was raised on those, I told her; also a pecan in a date. That's the candy my grandparents in Israel would give me, and I've offered it to my cousins' kids there now.
I Facebook posted this picture to Rachel today:

Yes, little almonds, big medjool date. You see the heart of it, though.
I ate the pecan one (!!!! first pecan in a long time) and left the almond one for Phil--sharing even when cramming=expanding, generous bigness.

Two-fer -- Not Story Alone (The Lyric Version)

Not only gratitude for stories, but...

Lack of gratitude for my own existence combined with gratitude for the experiences I've experienced and observed, and for the existences of so many other people who are inextricably part of me, constitutes a lyric moment--lyric monument, even, as well as all the stories.

I don't have the context to know gratitude for peace. But my questioning of the heart of the nature of peace is a song all of its own.

As I return, surprisingly rapidly, from deepened intertwining with anorexia to a clearer-headed, less klutzy, state, I wish that my haphazardly fixed scale weren't sending me crazy with implausible, potentially unhealthy, messages...but imagine if I were able to write a poem about that lyric pain!

Similarly, standing here, waving the white flag, being in an open space, not knowing what's to come next, I see a poem waving its flag, the staff of the flag being a pen, inviting.

Gratitude, Story, More on the White Flag

I'm not grateful to be alive. But:
- there are numerous people for whose existence I am boundlessly grateful
- and I am grateful for all the experiences I have embodied and absorbed through my senses
- and for the stories these represent.

I'm not grateful for the unprecedented peacefulness of our era, which is apparently the case despite endless war. I believe in it, but have no way to understand it. But:
- I am grateful for the safety of my family in the Middle East
- and for the love, grace, peace, generosity so palpable in my circles of friends
- and all the stories this brings.

I'm not grateful that my scale's battery died the very day I went to give an honest weight. I'm further not grateful for the anxiety provoked by the fact that the scale and I had been quite consistent, after wild initial fluctuation; and that now, with a new battery, it's showing wild fluctuations again. But:
- I am grateful to be shown that wild fluctuations may, astonishingly, not be all me
- and I am grateful for the reminder that technology isn't always home base
- most of all, I am grateful for the story it offers.

I'm not grateful that I have to have vital signs tracked, and to have rebelled against this, and to have been out of integrity. But:
- I'm grateful that I couldn't stay out of integrity
- and I'm grateful for having the experience of returning to integrity, that waving my white flag felt like such a relief, as it set the scene for beginning to project what might come next, rather than keeping things stuck
- and I'm grateful for the story to be told here.

I'm grateful for hearts, their hugeness, their power of connecting, like the earth with its mats of roots and mycelia.

I am grateful for the brain, with its firing and subliming, more powerful than a WiFi hub.

source: http://fearofwriting.com/brain-food-for-writers.htm

And oh yes, I am grateful for guts, seat of our instincts, absorption, seed-bed of neurotransmitters that regulate our feelings, tidal in ulterior motion like the ocean, like the hidden side of the moon.

http://www.fpnotebook.com/gi/Anatomy/SmlBwlAntmy.htm

And I'm thankful for all the ways these organs connect; all the stories for which they are lenses.

Thank you.

Integrity Again, and Surrender (but not what you think)

Phil is in Vegas whooping it up with his grandkids. Such a good thing for both sides! He is the funnest grampa imaginable, and it must be so good for him to be held in a space of such simple adoration; to be able to have straightforward fun, lots of laughter.

I'm staying home doing my best. Enjoying the quiet time, clear, deep-cold days, the sunrises and sets, visits with friends who are accepting, gracious, topplingly kind. Working on critical papers, writing, being ok with residual messiness and my fatigue-induced apathy toward it.
After my last appointment, I'm acknowledging that even after I get out of the chasm, there'll be climbing to do.
Which brings me back to integrity.
I was well short of the 'ultimatum' goal even after chugging a gallon of liquid, and since doing that makes a person pretty sick, if it doesn't get you there anyway, seems to be less point (or, point-less). Integrity is wholeness, right? So adding a gallon, or eight pounds, to myself is adding something not truly part of my integral whole, which is just as much out of integrity as if I were to take something away from my wholeness, like if I claimed not to know Latin or Greek.
Water-loading has always seemed such an easy fix, but it's only ever "worked" "partly," and there are times it's made me sick, or simply been implausible because I've miscalculated.
Now that I've (been forced to) come clean with my doctor and therapist; now that it's clear I won't be able to make the 'ultimatum' even if I drink enough to make myself sick; even if I gain for real the safe amount of weight in the time remaining, I'm in a space of surrender. I don't mean the Twelve-Step, spiritual, beatific, state-of-grace surrender, with all chakras lit up and rainbows puffing incense. Wouldn't it be nice if I did mean that; if I had finally reached the point I've been told to aim at all these years?
No, guys. I've been besieged from the outside and ambushed from within. I'm waving the white flag. There are certain limits beyond which I'm not willing to go, certain things I'm not willing to give up, but I'm hardly in a position to bargain for terms, am I? At this point, 100% adherence is mandatory until my psych appointment next Friday, at which time we will discuss my fate. Additionally, I am to go in for a weight today, augmented only by being an afternoon weight rather than first thing morning, with no extra liquid to strain (to stain) my integrity.
Ridiculous, eh, all this focus on my weight. It's all a matter of perspective. See my little pet parsley, a tree in the sunset?

A Happy Thanksgiving to all, in integrity.