A Genuinely Good Day

Okay, so I've been lectured on the dangers of owning a bathroom scale and of thinking about weight as opposed to health, but for me it is very much the same thing. I have spent the last decade of my life becoming, being, or recovering from being obese, so to me weight matters. I don't obsess over it, though, and I don't weigh myself on a regular basis. Usually, if I feel like I've had a good couple of weeks I'll step on the scale just to see how I'm doing.

This morning, for instance, I felt pretty good about life, and it seemed like it would be okay. So I checked to make sure my grandmother was occupied, then I sneaked in to her bathroom and dragged the scale away from the wall. It's avocado green with beige shag carpet on the foot pads and the numbers only go up to 250. I was struck by the realization that there was once a time this scale would have not been able to measure me. I took a deep breath, stepped up onto the shag carpet, counted to five, and looked down.




195



195. This might seem like a really high number to you, but to me it is a small victory. I haven't been below 200 pounds in probably 6 years. My battle is far from over, but little by little I'm gaining my life back. This is a step. I don't know how big or how small, but it's definitely a step forward. It feels monumental. I could erect a statue of this moment: a little scale with the giant numbers 195 and me off to the side, grinning from ear to ear.


Through all of this, these 10 years of disappointment and frustration and huge pant sizes, I've learned a few things. I've mentioned some of them before, but I think they're important to remember.

If you want to lose weight, go for it. Just make sure you do it right. Don't pump your body full of needless chemicals. Don't starve yourself. Don't think that you're broken or that you are unworthy of love or affection because you aren't a size 2 (this one is still hard for me). These things take time, patience, and a crap load of effort. Weight loss should be about changing your perception of yourself and developing a healthy relationship with your body and with food.


Think about who you are now as a person. Sarah-lucy once told me that maybe I was fat all of those years because I needed to be. I don't know if I believe her, but I know I would be totally different if I had been skinny. So while I don't relish the fact that I pretty much wasted my teenage years, I know that it led me to where I am today and I take it to be a jumping off point:

This is where I stand, that is where I want to be, this is what I'm going to do about it.


Realize that your body knows what it needs and will generally lead you in the right direction.

Discover the kind of exercise that you adore and do it often. Mine is dancing-- in musicals, via Just Dance 2, in the parking lot with Shelli -- and the eliptical/stairstepper machine at the gym.

Make friends with other people who are struggling through similar things.

Get yourself a really great therapist.

Find religion.

Remember that all of this is a part of getting to where you want to be.

Do it for yourself.

Do it because it's something different.

Do it because it's good, really, truly, powerfully good for you.



It's been hard. It's been involuntary at times. But this change has affected more than my appearance. I feel great. I haven't felt great in a long time. I mean, I've got my issues, but I'm taking great strides toward not hating myself. And that's huge. That's bigger than any number.

Jrunk Food

I am sick of food. Recently I came to the realization that I've spent the majority of every day over the last 22 years obsessing about food. 22 years! How exhausting. I think I became aware of it in LA when time flew by and I seemed to be sitting through a play just so I could go get something to eat when it was over. Yerdhglk.

Today some other frustrations got the better of me. I don't drink, so instead of hitting up a bar and drowning my sorrows in liquor, I resolutely turned my brother's PT Cruiser in the direction of the Wal(STAR)Mart. I decided to buy whatever I was craving, good or bad. I don't starve myself, but I usually try to eat healthy foods. But today, if I wanted to eat an entire bag of Doritos, so be it.

The little blue basket swung merrily from my arm as I stumped through the candy, bread, and cookie aisles (usually carefully avoided territory). I ended up with a box of Little Debbies (Swiss cake rolls), a package of Double Stuff Oreos (my first in MONTHS), a small box of Junior Mints, and at the last minute, a Kit Kat.

The cashier looked at me with a little bit of pity, a little bit of disgust . She asked with a very condescending smirk, "Did you find everything alright?"

I grinned, completely unembarrassed. "Yup!"

And so I set off for home. I put this song on repeat and cranked up the volume. (By the way, if you're wondering what it's like to live with an anxiety disorder, it's like that song.) I sang at the top of my lungs, way past the top of my range, all the while popping Junior Mints. I got home, warmed up some pre-made Pasta-Roni, and plopped down in front of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince with a mug of milk, my chocolate, and a journal to fill with ACTF memories.

At the end of the night I had devoured 7/8 of a box of Junior Mints, one whole Kit Kat, and a double package of Little Debbies. You know what the best thing is? I don't feel guilty about it at all. I don't care. Calories, shmalories. It's my life, it's my body, I usually take really good care of it, and one night of indulgence doesn't spell the end of the world. I needed to just do what I wanted to do for a couple of hours. So I did it. And I think I'm the better for it.

I don't plan on pigging out every time I'm in emotional crisis (and indeed, I usually avoid emotional eating). So.

Music.
Really delicious treaty-treat snack foods.
Great movie.
Alone time (bot not lonely time).

Overall, not such a bad evening.

As a PS-type side note, I decided not to attend Pulse, which is a bit of a breakthrough. Ann, if you read this, I decided the obligation I felt to the School of the Arts was ridiculous. I don't need to see the show, and not seeing it doesn't make me a bad person. I don't have to make myself sit through it if I don't want to. So.

Sooo...
Jrunk food. Heh? Heeeeh?

I'm not funny.

~~~

Recorded 2/18/11

Things to Suck On (Thanks, Robbie)

I woke up a little more tired than I had been when I went to sleep. I think it was

resistance, a hesitation to face the day's terrible absoluteness. The spare bedroom seemed stark, colorless, lifeless in the cold November sunlight. My air mattress had deflated a little, but I stayed in bed until the ache in my shoulder forced me to get up. The morning moved slowly; every action seemed a pointless ritual I could not help but perform. And then we were at the church setting up displays, pinning flowers to lapels, arranging tables and chairs, straightening skirts, brushing tears from faces, praying so fervently for survival and understanding.

The last thing I expected my father to say, with his family gathered around him in our too-small house, was "Your mother passed away this morning." It couldn't have happened. I hadn't said goodbye. She was supposed to have died at home surrounded by loved ones, sprawled dramatically on her fainting couch. Last words. Shouldn't there have been last words? Shouldn't I have said goodbye? It couldn't be true.

Yet there I was in my brightest orange outfit (the one she had told me to wear to her funeral), my long hair cascading down my back, tears spilling down my face, staring at her body in a great white casket.

The stillness- the unbelievable stillness.

I expected her any minute to sit up suddenly, throw her single yellow rose in the air, and to laugh. To laugh and to make some snarky comment about the carnations. But she never stirred.

She didn't look peaceful. She didn't look serene or happy or any of the things they tell you dead people are. She looked like a waxwork sculpted by someone who had never known her, never seen the tenderness or the intelligence behind her eyes.

The casket closed.

The procession marched on.

We sat and listened to stories. We cried. We listened to music- songs she had picked herself- and we cried. They all watched us file out. We cried.

A lone piper on the horizon gave voice to the sadness I didn't know how to express.

The carnations on the unyielding metal box. Even Brandon cried.

Two years faded uneasily into obscurity. I stood with a single yellow rose at the granite marker with my name scrawled on the back. I cleared away the dead leaves. I placed the rose carefully in the built-in vase. And I felt the weight of it all. It tore a chasm in me, wrenched open a space between my collar bone and my hips, an abyss vast enough to accommodate every awful second of the last two years.

I don't know how I have lived without her. Worse still, I don't know how I have gone several days at a time without thinking about her.

I could no longer predict her answer to a question of paraphrase potential advice. I can't remember how she smelled. I have forgotten the precise warmth of her hugs. I feel like I have lost so much of her reality, like she was my mother in some distant, marvelous dream and I've awoken to the horror of my lonely life.

And now every day is another dreary funeral. I trudge along, weary, listless, saturated in grief, able to see but unable to enjoy the best parts of life.

Ann is my new therapist, and she hopes to change all that. She has already proven more effective than Jack. We meet on Thursdays. I believe that our meeting was an act of divine intervention. I have faith that Ann can turn things around. I can't yet see the light at the end of the tunnel, but I can sense it- that slight change in atmosphere which promises better things.

This is a letter she had me write to myself:

Dear Aubrey,

These last two years have presented challenges you never imagined you would face, and trials you could only hope to survive. The days seem long; the world isn't quite what it used to be. Sorrow and disappointment have become staples. Most days you can't find the strength to confront simple tasks, much less the emptiness of your broken heart. When that is the case, I hope you will read this and find a small piece of comfort.

Remember the love of your Savior. Look to Him. Think of those times He has granted you a glimpse of paradise, and know that the full realization is not far off. A Sunday evening at the end of Spring, Asher in your arms, singing silly songs with Kelsey. A glorious sunset of burnished orange and fiery red. A family together in the warm embrace of a winter evening by the fire. The serenity of a deep sleep after a long day of work. All of these moments are treasures from heaven.

Your life is tedious and painful now, but it will not always be. Heavenly father is waiting to bless you with a loving husband, beautiful children, and endless, endless time in which to enjoy them. Remember this and rejoice.

An Inexplicable Controversy Hopefully Resolved

For some reason, people don't understand my fascination (okay, obsession) with Hanson. This is what I wrote in Miss Fix It after the concert last night. Hopefully it will provide some illumination:

BEST.

NIGHT.

OF MY LIFE.

This suddenly sounds like a teenager's diary, but seriously, Hanson is INCREDIBLE live. It is actually ridiculous how much I am a screaming fan girl. When Zac walked out the first time, I fell off of my chair and cried a little. And then I hyperventilated for about ten minutes. Emilee spent most of the night laughing at me. But she also convinced me to buy a shirt, and though it cost more than the ticket to the concert, it was worth every penny. I am going to wear it to school tomorrow, and possible every day for the rest of my life. I just might be buried in it.

Somehow I love Hanson more now that I ever have before; that concert solidified their place at the top of my "favorite artists" list for eternity.

I'll make this quick since I'm falling asleep.

Let's talk about why I love Hanson so much that I cried a little when its members became real people to me-- music is this magical, transcendent phenomenon that has the power to create a soul-to-soul connection on an intangible plane. Hanson's music not only touches my soul, it fills it, stretches it past capacity, and even creates more music within me. Hanson inspires me to the core of my being, and there is nothing quite so beautiful.

I felt it slide back into place during one of the first songs. I still don't know what it is, but it's back where it belongs. Tonight, I firmly believe, was a much-needed gift from heaven-- beauty and excitement and inspiration. It was a new experience to go along with my new hair, new place, new attitude towards life. This concert meant so much more than a great night out. It was the final piece in my growing up puzzle. It was the first step on the road I've always wanted to take but could never find.

Now let the healing begin.

~~~

Recorded 9/30/10

Bum buttery, flit fluttery Dum diddly-ooh, Bum Buttery, bluebird Is singing a tune!

Peach pancakes with spicy brown sugar syrup, gentle spring

sunshine, snacks smuggled into movie theater. Today was the best day this week. I finished cleaning my room (a feat,

I assure you, that would have made Hercules cry like a little girl). Trinkets and memories and clothes in the garbage- 3 days of deconstructing my world and tearing little pieces out,

discarding the inessential. And now I can breathe. I shut my closet doors against aliens and monsters. Cobwebs (physical and figurative) have been cleared away. My thoughts have room to go skipping about. I fit comfortably back into my life.

So many things happened to me last week. A dinner party, poorly planned (and appropriately attended), yet lovingly prepared for my high school friends. We talked, the conversation fragile as our crystal plates and goblets. Time changes things. Time changed me. I felt the space between us, miles of life, years.

I washed the last dish today. I hid it in a cupboard behind some other, less ornate serving trays. I don't know when (or whether) I'll need it again.

The day after the party was Therapy Thursday, also known as the day I used Lou's kidney stones as an excuse to avoid confronting my emotions. I sent Jack an email ten minutes before my missed appointment. Coward. I fake solace in the fact that he hasn't responded- if he doesn't care enough about me to see if I'm alright, then he doesn't care about helping me fix my problems. That sort of reasoning lead to a second session skipped. Coward. Coward, coward, coward.

While I didn't go to therapy, I did take a trip to Saint George with my ward. A great many things about one's personality can be revealed on the face of an immovable mountain.

We hiked Angels Landing, a notoriously difficult climb in Zion National Park, responsible for several deaths.

(photo courtesy goldengatephoto.com)

By the second mile, I was sure they'd add my name to the Wikipedia article. Somehow, I survived. I didn't even get sunburned.

I think I have a secret fear of heigh

ts. I've always told myself otherwise, as though that could make it go away. There's something about my family- we suffer in silence (we don't use our problems to get out of things, we don't talk about our fears, we convince ourselves everything is okay, etc.). Somewhere along the way I came to associate maturity with fearlessness, and so began to deny my phobias. I think I will have to admit, however, that I kept envisioning my dramatic plunge from the 1500-foot-high ledge and the horrifically abrupt end to that fall. Pretty sure that qualifies as a fear of heights.

I'm learning to accept myself. I may be afraid of falling, but that hasn't stopped me from dragging myself up the mountain by chain. I did it, after all. I wasn't even that far behind the group on the way back down. I think it's okay to be a little freaked out sometimes, so long as I don't let these things take over.

That night (Friday, in case you're still keeping track) I attended a wedding reception for my mom's best friend's youngest daughter.

I missed her so much, maybe more than I have yet this year. It was odd to be saturated in loneliness, to be so full of an emptiness, especially surrounded by all those people. It wasn't so much that she wasn't there that day as it was that she won't be there when it's my turn. There is now a finite supply of letters, of handwriting samples; of pictures of the two of us; of memories and experiences; of hugs; of inside jokes. Those few moments at the reception illuminated my future, and made my mother's absence more real to me than it has been in the year and a half since her death.

I haven't done much since I got home, except make a few spectacular meals and dejunk my life. while I was going through the stuff in my bucket, I had a "The Letter That Never Came" moment. I found a postcard from my mom. Inscribed on it is a hope that I will get married in the temple, an expression of gratitude for caring for my dad while my mom is away, and and a little shot of encouragement by way of "I'm proud of you." She couldn't have planned it better- I must have received that postcard when I was 8 and my mom was visiting friends in Salt Lake for a week. I should frame it. Put it next to her picture on my dresser.

Lou got me out of the house today, and not a moment too soon. We wasted a trip to Salt Lake (Sam Weller closes at 6. Who knew?), then puttered around Provo for two hours. Sherlock Holmes is funny, but awkward people make it just a tad hard to watch.

I love the way the cottonwood tufts dance on the air, then when they tire, collect in the grass and in the corners of the porch.

We have purple tulips in the front yard, hovering on the verge of wilt. I think I'll take them to my mom's headstone tomorrow. It's a lovely, lovely spring (I'm not ashamed to admit that I just started A Series of Unfortunate Events for the second time in a row. Jude Law is S U P E R attractive, even in voice over and silhouette, and it's a great catharsis movie).

~~~

Recorded 5/20/10

In Which We Discuss Prayers, Shrinks, and Doubts

I didn't do much today, so this shouldn't take long.

First off: the Lord really does provide, especially if you're looking for opportunities to serve people. More than you can imagine, He delivers on that particular prayer every time.

Second: it took every bit of self control I had to sit in that chair for half an hour, but I went to my first therapy session this afternoon. It made me realize just how much anxiety I live with every day. We did a relaxation exercise, and when it was over everything came rushing back and about knocked me off my seat (cause I was sitting. Get it?)

Also, I don't know whether this guy, Jack, takes me seriously. He seems to be giving me tools to fill up my anti-anxiety utility belt, but that's just it: he's teaching me to live with my disorders, not trying to figure out what's causing them and whether they can be eradicated. I don't want to just deal with it the rest of my life. I want to be healed, I want to get better. I just don't know how to explain to a man with a PhD that he's doing his job all wrong.

But the services through the school are free, and we are uninsured. So.

One of these days, someone will figure out what's wrong with me and will be able to fix it. In the meantime..

~~~

Recorded 5/6/10

Ready, Set...

I went to see some kind of therapist today (not sure whether he is a psychologist or psychiatrist or what the difference is), and I don't know why I didn't do it sooner. It didn't take him thirty minutes to diagnose and put together a rough treatment plan for me. Turns out that when you let anxiety issues go unchecked, they can develop into severe panic disorder, general anxiety disorder, and mild depression (adjustment? Adjusting? Something like that). So that's the official word.

As hard as it was to walk into that office, fill out that paperwork, and actually see the man (I'm sorry, his name escapes me and my toes are too cold to come out of hiding, so I can't super sleuth and figure it out), I feel better now. Better, even, than I felt after my visit with Nancy. The thing is, all this time I've been battling some huge, imaginary creature that existed only in my mind and my most terrifying moments. But now this thing has a name (or three). It's a reality, a thing, an object, a conquerable and visible foe. And now I have a professional on my side who can help equip me with everything I need to keep my sanity in check.

I set up the next four appointments (all the way through May), I signed a fee waiver form, and things on this end seem to be looking up. I just really, really, REALLY want to get better. This was the first step in the right direction that I think I've taken in a long time.

On that happy note, I kind of wanted to DESTROY everyone in UVU and its administrative process today. It took two hours for someone to tell me that although the school made a mistake, it was too late to fix it, so now I have to pay $216 lest I won't be able to register for any other classes ever. I don't know where I'm going to find that kind of money. I do think the Lord will provide (see? Positive thinking. I can keep that up.. I hope).

What a crazy, emotional day. Lou and I ate ourselves sick at Fuddruckers in an attempt to drive away the jitters and the frustration and the anger along with the hunger. It mostly worked (largely because neither of us had eaten all day and the food devoured our unrelated grumpiness). I still felt a bit blue when we got home, though, so we took some blankets out into the back yard and napped there in the weak April sun. It was hard to be moody, all curled up under a down comforter and the perfect blue sky while Ingrid Michaelson and pear blossoms drifted through the air. I fell asleep (and squooshed my food baby) for a good hour.

The main thing that I recognized today is the importance and power of a good support system. It's okay to have a few really good friends and a lot of understanding acquaintance-friends. Depth is important, but breadth is so comforting when it seems like I need to go home and rethink my life. This way, anywhere I fall I have someone who will stand beside me and help me scrape myself off the pavement.

Today kind of sucked, but there were some really good moments. My room is clean, my mind is clearer than it has been in months, and I feel like although I'm just getting started, I'll get there eventually. And I know that I have some great friends who will comfort and guide (and feed) me along the way. That's a pretty good place to start, if you ask me.

~~~

Recorded 4/22/10