My Secret Police
…Then I was reminded of the proprietor of a Vietnamese restaurant in Quebec who used to be head of the secret police in Da Nang - and it occurred to me I was thinking about all this stuff to keep from thinking about something else… Isn’t that just what secret police are all about?
‘Get Up Jonah’, Bruce Cockburn
November through, say, the end of January isn’t a good time to eating disordered recovering. Not that there ever is a good time, really, but these few months are especially trying. Just ask Meg, Charlynn or Megan.
The caveats on how to avoid “packing on the pounds” start before Thanksgiving and gather momentum as Christmas approaches before the many-headed hydra – the diet industry – and scores of self-appointed food police and obesity doomsayers unleash full frenzy just before and for weeks after New Year’s.
I haven’t been blogging with my usual de rigeur lately and it hasn’t been entirely due the busyness of the holidays. I’ve had a relapse in my recovery throughout the last two months brought on primarily by extreme stress and a recurrence of depression, but also compounded by this full-scale assault waged by the weight-loss culture.
I just can’t seem to muster the energy to think even more and write about issues on food and weight.
I’m the classic overachiever and as an overachiever with ADD, I often tend to take on multiple projects I cannot ever realistically accomplish. Case in point: Trying to do full-time graduate school while continuing to work a professional career 40-plus hours a week.
I struggled throughout the quarter, but the last two weeks in November are what really triggered the disordered behaviors: I had to read 20 articles (about 300-plus pages); write 20 summary reviews; read three books; write two three-page reviews; and complete a 24-page comparative review of five dense books – and all of this while working my standard 40-hour work week.
Somehow I managed to do all of it – and well. But it came at a price.
I hardly slept. Dark circles ringed my eyes. My nails were bitten to bloody nubs. I should mention that I had also gone off my depression medication several weeks prior (under a doctor’s supervision).
So, it should have really come as little surprise when I found myself once again counting calories; purging (without binging) after meals, sometimes several times a day all the while desperately hoping my husband wouldn’t find out; and mentally berating myself.
I don’t believe there is such a thing as eating disordered recovered. No, an eating disorder does not have to be a lifelong shackle, but the disorder is always there, even if it lies dormant. What being eating disordered recovering means is that you come to recognize the triggers that can cause you to revert back into disordered behaviors and work to find alternative and more constructive means to confronting and managing these forces outside of food and weight.
My relapse was a direct result of extreme stress and depression and even though I rationally understood this even at the beginning of the relapse, emotionally I reverted back to what once was a familiar coping mechanism. The worst of the behaviors stopped almost immediately after grades came out and I’ve since gotten a handle on the rest.
What I have come to accept about recovery is that I cannot always control the urge to fall back into disordered behaviors. But I can, to a large degree, control those forces in my environment that leave me susceptible to setbacks. This quarter, I’ve slashed my graduate workload by half. I’m placing a priority on getting enough sleep and carving out time to exercise. And, I’ve resumed medication for depression.
My disorder may always lie just beneath the surface, but recovery has given me the experience, knowledge and know-how to better combat it.
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