Holy balls it's early, eh? You might be wondering why I'm up so early on a Friday morning, and you'd be right, because this is nuttzo. The reason I'm up so early (5 a.m.!) is that I'm the best wife in the world. Yup. And the best wife in the world agreed to get up early to wait in line at the Apple store for the iPhone 5 release so that David can get an iPhone 5 and start making prototypes and molds for his iPhone 5 Popsockets. And yes, I do realize that lotsa peeps get up at five a.m. everyday, but I'm no longer one of those people, and it was pretty absurd when my alarm this morning went off that early.
So here I am, sitting with my Apple computer amidst a bunch of Apple freaks who just couldn't live without an iPhone 5 for another day. Geez. And, not surprisingly, they are mostly male, and prolly talking frantically about their Linked In profiles or something.
Whew. OK, rant over. But David owes me.
Today's post picks up where my last ED Reflections post left off, namely, with me complaining about how I started yakking. I don't want to add too much detail to that, exactly, but I will say that from the time of my first purge--eighteen--until I was about twenty-one years old, I consistently struggled with disordered thoughts and periods of binging and purging.
By the time I had turned twenty or twenty-one, however, I was living in Boulder in a dorm specifically for "scholars," i.e. people who could beat the school average of C-. I was happy here, and met and began dating my only serious college boyfriend. But binging and purging quickly became the only way that I could deal with stress and the big, fatty meals that our chef prepared for us. It's also around this time that I finally confessed to my parents that I was bulimic and began seeing a therapist.
My first therapist was a bit of a nightmare. She was about forty-five to fifty years old and usually wore mini-skirts to our sessions. (And I mean mini-skirts.) I didn't dislike her because she wore mini-skirts per se, though we did lack a deeper connection that made any kind of real recovery possible. In general she just didn't get me, even to the point that she suggested I'd been abused as a girl when I'm pretty (mega) confident that I wasn't.
I stayed in therapy from a few months to a year, until I hit a good streak of time where I was lessening or quitting my ED behaviors. That is, after a couple of good weeks, I decided to quit. Ha. Classic and idiotic therapy move.
Unfortunately, from that time until the age of about twenty-five, I just continued on my crap-path of trying to get by. I was usually desperate to lose weight and thus constantly dieting and thus frequently binging and purging. Hint: starving yourself makes you go berserk when you finally do eat. This seems obvious now, though at the time I didn't feel like I had any other choice.
I just felt trapped. So trapped, and scared, and even though I didn't realize it then, angry too.
OK, with that I'll leave it. It's not freezing outside, but my fingers are starting to get cold and confused about what they're supposed to do with the keys on my keyboard.
I hope you all have a wonderful fall weekend! Eat something pumpkin!
*Will you get an iPhone 5? Do you hate Apple products? Will you get an iPhone 5 even though you hate Apple products (and culture)?