“Of course you’ve lost weight. You haven’t eaten anything!”
Jonathan doesn’t know I’m in recovery. He doesn’t know I ever had an eating disorder. Most people don’t. I never got “thin”. I was never underweight or gaunt, I just went days without eating worked out obsessively, abused laxatives, and punished myself for eating. Yep. Even fat girls can have eating disorders.
Currently, I’m overweight. 230lbs. 5′ 7″. Size 16/18 I struggle with thoughts of dieting and obsessive calorie counting. I frequently consider starving myself since that’s the only way I’ve ever been able to lose weight. Yet, I don’t. I balance on the fine thread of recovery; acknowledging but not acting on the compulsions.
I don’t weigh myself anymore. I used to weigh myself obsessively. Upon waking. After showering. After eating. After defecating…
Lately it seems I’ve lost a few pounds. My pants feel loose. Jonathan thinks it’s because I haven’t been eating. I think it’s because I’ve been working hard at recovery.
There are things you just can’t tell someone. An eating disorder is one of those things. Only crazy people have eating disorders and no one wants to be married to a crazy person.
After months of relentless, 80-100hr, 7 day, work weeks, I finally have an evening off. Although I desperately need to go to the grocery store, the roads are covered in ice so I made soup from pantry groceries. I did a much needed load of laundry so I can finally stop hunting for the least dirty outfit to wear to work, done dishes, replied to photography clients, replied to emails from members of the meetup group I organize, and picked up around the house.
Currently I’m sitting on the couch waiting for the laundry to dry and sipping an individual serving of white zinfandel contemplating both how amazing it is to have an evening off work and my own infertility. I’m so tired of hearing how everyone “my age” is either having or has already had children. It’s the annoying sting of constant reminders…
While not technically engaged, Jonathan and I made plans to be married in April. I will inherit two extremely cool children via marriage. Jonathan has spent every weekend working on my house so I can sell it while I’ve been working around the clock for my job. The best thing about our relationship is that we have such a good friendship. We love each other, but we also help each other. It’s such a change to be loved like this.
One week ago today, my 14yr old cat was put to sleep. Velvet was an amazing cat. She was the type of cat that even non-cat people adored. She purred almost constantly, loved to be held and to ride on the shoulder of anyone who would give her the opportunity. She would pet people with her paw for attention. She would play catch and fetch with balled up receipts. Lately, she was happiest sitting between Jonathan and I on our date nights.
I knew her symptoms were serious when I brought her to the vet that morning. Earlier in the year she had been treated for hyperthyroidism and had finally started gaining weight again, however she wouldn’t take the thyroid medicine Wednesday evening. What I did not know is that she couldn’t swallow because her chest cavity was filling with fluid due to heart failure. The fluid was squeezing her trachea making it impossible to swallow. She seemed so normal the day before.
Then I was faced with a choice from the vet: try lasics which may work for a couple days until her heart stops or euthanize to prevent her from suffocating on the fluid in her chest. Since she wasn’t swallowing pills, I made the painful choice to euthanize Velvet. Having had pneumonia in the past, I can only imagine how terrible it must be to suffocate on the fluid in your chest.
I carried Velvet around the vet’s office on my shoulder. She purred as I cried. My poor sweet cat. I refused to let the vet take her out of my site. I followed them to the operating room and gently stroked her ears while they shaved her leg to insert the catheter. Over and over I said, “It’s OK.” in the softest voice I could even though nothing was ok. First the vet injected the sedative and I held Velvet in my arms until she fell asleep. Licking my arm was her final sentient act. I stroked her head gently as the vet injected the euthanasia drug. I put her paw in my hand just before she stopped breathing.
For the past week I’ve cried for her at least once a day. Velvet was with me longer than any person had chosen to stay with me. She always came to me when I was crying. She always greeted guests at the door.
For a few days I felt guilty for choosing to euthanize her. Could lasics have worked? At least for a couple more days? Selfish thoughts. How could I pill a cat with lasics when she won’t take pills because she can’t swallow? If I were a cat, would I want to be constantly pilled for my last few days on earth only to suffocate anyway? No. I would want my person to be with me. I would want my person to comfort me and love me and tell me softly everything will be ok. So that’s what I did. Even though it is not ok.
Cleaning mouse excrement off my desk has become part of my morning ritual. The manager has called an exterminator, but it seems to have had no effect. I wonder how large the colony of mice is growing to be. Hundreds? Thousands? I work in a large building.
Since I’d prefer not to deal with mice carcasses, I asked a coworker to check the traps under my desk. I have since been labeled phobic and been mocked when in truth I’m not scared of mice, I just disagree with killing animals. The purpose for killing mice is reasonable; mice are restrictive, smelly, and carry diseases. I’d just prefer not to be involved in killing the mice. I would also prefer not to be publicly mocked but the two seem to be mutually exclusive at work.
Another day. Another mouse turd. Another misunderstanding.
A friend of mine is getting married. Not a very close friend, but more than an acquaintance. She asked me what I would charge to photograph her wedding and I told her if work for whatever she would pay me. I know she’s not in the best financial spot right now for reasons beyond her control. In spite of my offer, she hired someone else who has less experience and charges more. I’m feeling really annoyed with her at the moment because I believe she was just trying to scam me into shooting her wedding for free now that she’s hired someone more expensive.
She and her brother are in a Facebook security group where I post more personal things. Nothin too serious, but an occasional health update, a struggle at work, etc. Since it seems she was trying to use our friendship for free photography, I’m thinking maybe I should close that group and just post those sorts of here where no one really knows me and, therefore, cannot use me. As odd as this may sound, her actions make me feel suspicious of more people than just her. Her actions make me wonder how many people are “listening” so they can ask for money and/or free work. I have a small inner circle I don’t have to worry about, but this has caused me to wonder who I really can and cannot trust.
Jonathan and I spent Saturday looking at houses. New houses. Old houses. Country houses. So far, our favorite house has been a newer doublewide on 5 acres of land. I’ve never considered living in a doublewide before. This one, however, is quite nice.
Someone added a front room which will be my photography studio room. There’s a building in the back for Jonathan’s workshop. 1 of the 5 acres is cleared and landscaped with fruit trees, butterfly bushes, and a host of other beautiful plants.
The carpet is a terrible dark green and the walls need to be painted. Apparently the people who owned the home chose to decorate in a style I’ve nicknamed “early-90’s country bumpkin”. All these things can be fixed. The terrible carpet can be replaced with laminate. The terrible printed walls can be painted over. The counters can be replaced. Sure, it’s a lot of work. Jonathan is a carpenter. I’m a home repair novice myself since my house is a 1920’s bungalow.
Jonathan and I spent today working on said bungalow so we…well, so I…can put it on the market. After touring houses, I realize how little needs to happen for my house to look better than most others on the market.
What a whirlwind weekend…