I have been writing my little fingers to the bone.

Not here, I’m afraid…

Though I’d love to be here with you, instead, I’m writing reams about body image ~ mine.

It’s exhausting and triggering. Working on recovering from my eating disorder with psychologist, Kim Watson, Ph.D involves reading two workbooks ~ on body image and self-esteem.

Every day, for at least one hour ~ usually more ~ I do challenging writing exercises that resonate in places I don’t really like going.

I spent last week in the past…

For me and my body, the past not a pretty place.

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When I graduated from my six-week Eating Disorders Program on January 6th, I knew much more about metabolism and normative eating.

I had a fresh, liberating understanding of what “normal” eating is for me. For everyone. We need a minimum number of calories for our bodies simply to function.

That number is always ignored by the diet industry. Though I no longer count calories or weigh food or even weigh myself, I know that my body needs 1,400 just to exist.

Because of my broken arm, I’m not doing any exercising. Not yet.

Risking a fall isn’t an option right now…

Furthermore, exercise is an activity I must work back into in a safe way, since I have used exercise as a form of purging. That kind of thinking, exercise in order to control weight or change body shape is no longer an option for me. It’s not healthy or realistic. It’s a specious way to try to control your weight. You can’t. Your genetics determine your optimal body weight. That’s a whole other story.

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It’s been a while. And a struggle. But I am definitely on the mend.

Happy 2012. I have resolved not to make any resolutions, other than to be more empathetic with Marty, my husband, who has a completely different temperament than I do.

My mind works faster than my left forefinger, so writing this blog is not easy for me. Living with me is not easy either, but we’re doing much better. Couples therapy is wondrous if you find the right therapist and, happily, we did through my eating disorders program.

Today’s big news? 

My cast comes off today ~ I hope.

In the meantime, to make life easier for Saint Marty, I had all my hair cut off. Every little bit helps. I love it and when both my hands are working, I’ll send you a picture.

Since we last spoke, I was on Day 31 of my Eating Disorder Treatment Program.

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You may be wondering where I’ve been since November 30 ~ Day Three ~ of my outpatient eating disorder treatment program.

Read the comments to that last post. You’ll see some of my progress.

Since then a few things happened…

I snapped the picture you see, this morning. It’s a tight shot of my right hand.

Note the discolouration on my thumb. Not dirt. It’s a bruise, black and blue.

Also…

I am very right-handed and not, as I have discovered ~ in the least, whatsoever, in any remote way ~ ambidextrous. The plaster cast you see goes up to my elbow. It weighs “a ton.” Feels like it, anyway.

After a stupid fall on Wednesday, December 14 ~ all falls methinks are stupid, right? ~ and an x-ray revealed that I had indeed broken my right arm above my wrist, the technician in the ER fracture clinic said I would be able to have a yellow fibreglass cast in a week. Mmmmmm. My favourite colour.

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I am exhausted. I can’t remember feeling so emotionally and physically drained and depleted. As soon as I finish this post, I’m going to bed.

It’s Day Three of my five-week Eating Disorders Day Treatment Program.
My goal for tonight was to write to you, to let you know what’s happening.

To be honest, mealtimes are hard for me. Right now, I feel nauseated. This happens after every meal there, and not because it’s hospital food. After breakfast, here at home, today. I became nauseous.

Is this normal?

Yes. Apparently, for someone with an eating disorder at the beginning of treatment, nausea after eating is normal.

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This afternoon I met with the service manager of the Canadian National Institute of the Blind ~ the CNIB.

Kids with mental illnesses and visual impairments…

She and a group of teachers, parents and professionals working with blind or visually-impaired kids had asked me to speak at an annual conference ~ about mental health

A New Challenge…

Admittedly, I have never spoken or facilitated any kind of workshop on the subject of mental and emotional health for children and youth who are visually-impaired, had never even thought about this particular demographic

The topic fascinated me, so I was anxious to continue our dialogue.

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When I was about 16, I spent about nine months in a psychiatric hospital.

During that time, I was extremely ill. At one point, I became catatonic.

Following that hospitalization, I recovered at home with the help of my mother, who made two wise decisions.

My mother and my recovery…

The first, was to buy a dog for me to care for.

I was the sole family member to help her.

Finally, we settled on a Yorkshire Terrier. After accompanying my mother to dog shows and various breeders, we found our little pet. In this case a two-year-old retired show dog we named Derrier, or Derry for short.

Learning calligraphy was another recovery technique…

My mother was involved in a charity. Learning calligraphy was one of her chapter’s pet projects (no pun intended) so personalized plaques could be given to honour worthy recipients. These plaques were a form of fundraising.

I found calligraphy strangely therapeutic.

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November is not a pretty month in these parts.

Today is typical. Though we have had some lovely, sunny, sweet un-November-like days, today is not one of them.

It’s grey and damp and drizzly.

Not a day to lift one’s spirits…

I have often said that I do not suffer with clinical depression. That is not to say, however, that I am immune to situational “sadnesses” or “the blues” or “the blahs” ~ and lately, that is how I’ve been feeling.

There are some solid reasons for this.

One is a feeling of worthlessness. Right now, I am not gainfully employed for the first time in my life. I am awaiting a call from an Eating Disorders Clinic that will tell me I must report the next day. I have no idea when that call will come, thus, it is rather futile to look for any kind of job.

I am not working. I am not writing, as you well know.

My posting here has practically stopped cold.

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The other day, I walked 1.7 miles from Toronto General Hospital to Number One Yonge Street.

The offices of The Toronto Star are located there, where I write from time to time as a freelance.

I had a meeting with my longstanding editor Brandie Weikle. It was a quick cup of coffee, more than a meeting. We like to keep in touch.

Walking lifts my spirits…

Best of all, I love walking around Toronto. I’m a passionate walker. With or without my dogs. Walking lifts my spirits. Keeps me in touch with my body, which as you probably know, is not a a source of pleasure for me right now.

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Introduction

Unlike almost everyone in Canada, this weekend Marty and I are not gorging on turkey, stuffing and all the other traditional Thanksgiving delicacies that celebrate the annual harvest.

Marty has a terrible cold and is living on chicken soup with matzah balls. I’m walking the pooches, eating whatever we have, whenever.

In short, we’re here.

As for my protracted “break from blogging,” all I can say is I’m otherwise occupied. Concentration isn’t the greatest at the moment and I’m not in terrific shape in terms of my mental health.

Just returned from the gym and a good workout. I walked there and back. It’s a glorious day. Blue skies, spattered with feathery clouds. It’s 25 degrees Celsius or 77 degrees Fahrenheit. How can one complain?

Also, it’s October. The best month of the year. I was born in this month and here in Ontario, autumn is breathtaking. Stunning. Dazzling.

The landscape is replete with all my favourite colours as the leaves change. Oranges and yellows and burnt amber and bright reds. My dogs are happy because they can walk in this weather, though it’s a bit warm for them today. They’re cold weather dogs, preferring sub-zero temperatures and snow to heat and rain.

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