There usually isn’t anything in particular that wakes me up at 3:36am; I just open my eyes at that time every single morning.
Panic woke me up this morning.
We discussed the Thanksgiving menu last night. Read back a few blogs and you’ll see what my plan was going to be.
Now apparently there are going to be between 10 and 13 people over for dinner. And that’s ok. The people aren’t the issue, it’s of course, you guessed it…the food.
The kids want “The real thing”. Turkey made the Puerto Rican way, with the Puerto Rican stuffing and arroz con gandules and garlic bread and my daughter wants a side dish of mashed potatoes. My daughter’s “other” family apparently enjoys some sort of sweet potato dish with marshmallows and step-mom also makes a ham. My sister in law (or should say “surrogate sister?) doesn’t cook so she’s bringing desserts. Yes “Desserts”-plural. oh, and the alcohol.
I don’t drink anything alcoholic. I’ve always been a cheap date and one glass of wine or one frozen margarita was enough to make my spacier than I already am. Since losing so much weight, alcohol of any type makes me feel spacier sooner so I don’t drink at all.
Last night, after goings and comings of texts with everyone about the menu, my daughter texted: “How are you going to be with all this mom?”
“Oh, fine. Just fine. Our meeting last week at EDA was all about handling the holidays. I can do this.”
“Here are a few tools to help you have a more peaceful and recovery focused holiday”
I think the only step I can handle is step 8.
My therapist has also gone over some “coping skills” for this occasion. Yeah, and that’s not where I am right now.
Other than my three kids, not one person sharing this meal really understands what having an eating disorder means.
My sister in law watches what I eat like a hawk. "Oh my gosh Gaby, I want to be a size zero too!*" "I’m just having one more slice, just one more piece, just a little bit more. Gaby, you have some. Come on, it’s only one time.”
My daughter’s father thinks women can never be too thin. He thinks it’s awesome that I’m so thin. He was a huge part of my anorexia during our relationship. While I am no longer accountable to him and we have discussed my ED, he cannot understand having a problem with food. His wife eats like a healthy, large, farm-girl. She’s not fat at all, but she likes her food.
And all the young ones eat like healthy, “normal”, well-adjusted, growing teens.
Then there’s my angel, who will hold my hand, serve the right amount of food on my plate, sit next to me, smile at me and occasionally pat my leg under the table to make sure I remember to breathe.
And I am filled with anxiety. I’m preparing the turkey, the special stuffing, the rice, the mashed potato, the garlic bread…The house will be filled with the smell of food; there will be mounds and mounds of food everywhere. Thinking about already has me panicked, stressed and ready to hide under a rock.
I am trying to focus on the positive. This is the last thanksgiving we will ever have in this house, my kids will finally be able to enjoy a calm, peaceful holiday with their whole family, they will all enjoy the food and I will show that I love them by making this extraordinary effort of cooking with love and patience.
But I can’t help feeling incredibly overwhelmed. I feel sick to my stomach. I know my pattern and so does my angel. I’ll find all sorts of things to get up from the table to go and get, I’ll push my food around the plate and I’ll be the focus of the conversation because of the small amount of food on my plate.
Picking up pamphlets from the next EDA meeting and laying them around the house isn’t going to help because those talk about ‘recovery’. I am not as “in recovery” as I pretend to be.
I am still holding on to this DISorder with a grip of steel. I can’t stand the thought of chewing anything of substance and meat/turkey/ham and I still aren’t friends. Mashed potato, sweet potato, bread and rice are LOADED with carbs and it makes me sick to smell food.
Breathe, meditate, relax and pretend that this isn’t really going to happen. I’ll prepare, cook and sit at a table with a loving family and pretend it's all good. It’ll be over in no time and everyone promised to bring containers to take the left-overs home.
And I will bleach out the kitchen, spray the house with air freshener and light all sorts of scented candle when everyone leaves.
Don’t forget to breathe.
*(for the record, as much as this DISorder enjoys torturing my brain about how thin I should be, I'm not a size zero.)
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