The past few weeks have been really chaotic, work-wise.  I actually haven't had that much work (I'm mostly finishing up old stuff), and so I'm scrambling to get stories placed so I can hopefully pay the bills.  Tonight, I got slammed both with a need to send out new ideas and finishing up a story from before.  When I figured out what my workload was going to be, I pretty much panicked.

How was I going to get all of this done?

I realized I was going to have to move some of my trawling for story ideas to tomorrow--deadlines always win out over no deadlines.  But I was behind anyway and frustrated, and then I had to contend with trying to schedule and then transcribe several last-minute interviews.  I was simply overwhelmed.

Photo by Summations

So I watched TV for an hour and did some crochet.  Then I went back to work.

I still have more to finish tomorrow morning, but that was part of my plan.  I feel okay now.  Still frustrated and disappointed at how hard it is writing-wise right now, but I put on my Big Girl Panties and did what needed to be done.  That "me" time was essential.  I wouldn't have made it through the rest of the evening without that little break.  But I did it.

I guess the moral of the story is that I can balance work and play, and that I can calm down and assess the situation like a professional.

Much of the writing about anorexia is couched in the terms of mind vs. body.  Perhaps it is something of the nature of eating disorders; perhaps it is our conception of what an eating disorder is.  As hunger pulls at your gut, you tell yourself "mind over matter," as you crack open yet another can of Diet Coke.  Starving, you tell yourself, is an all-out war with your body, and your mind is determined to win.

Recovery, then, seems like capitulation.  Surrender.  Okay, stupid body, you win.  I'm waving the white flag. You couldn't vanquish your body and so you break down and eat.

Or, in my case, lay off the exercise, too. 

This past slip didn't see a return of the full-blown exercise addiction that I've shown in the past.  But the urges did increase somewhat, and now I've been advised to basically cease all activity until my weight starts trending upwards.

I know my body needs this to heal.  I try to think about my heart, liver, and kidneys.

But then I start worrying about my mind.  How am I going to stay sane if I am sedentary?  Some people exorcise their demons, but exercise mine.  The repetitive motion is soothing--I'm like a baby being rocked.  And as much as I hate the fatigue, it does turn the volume down (however slightly) on the worries and obsessions.

So exercise right now seems good for my mind and bad for my body, which pits me right back at the crux of the matter.  Of course, exercise addiction is a Very Bad Thing for my brain over the long term.  Anxiety, however, rarely takes the long view.  Sure, it obsesses about the future, but when in the throes of anxiety and stress, all I'm thinking is make this stop NOW.  The long term can go screw itself for all I care.  I'm not going to be around for the long term if I can't ratchet down the anxiety--or at least, not around and sane.

I'm struggling to find something half as soothing as exercise.  Today was especially hard, as the day was warm and sunny.  Perfect day, I thought, for a bike ride.  Except, oops, I messed up and now going out for a spin wasn't in the cards.  So I crocheted this evening, all gloom and doom and look at me working on this motherf*cking project like a good little girl. Woo woo. {{Say it in an Eeyore voice.}}

Healing my body will heal my mind.  I'm trying to tell my fat starved neurons that avoiding a good sweat is good for me, really it is.  My neurons aren't buying a word of it.  That doesn't make it untrue, just pathetically unbelievable. 

In yesterday's post, I shared Dr. H's metaphor about how stress is like coffee and my coping skills are like a coffee cup.  You can have lots of stress and be perfectly fine if you have enough coping skills.  Alternately, you can be royally screwed if you have the coping skills of an espresso cup and half of a normal cup of coffee (which, for me, is like a standard cup.  I have BIG mugs, kids. Okay, wait, that sounds dirty...).

The key to coping with stress is either decreasing your stress/coffee or increasing your coping skills and coffee cup.  Today's tip day is going to focus on how to improve your stress coping skills (ie, making a bigger coffee cup).

1. Find a hobby.  It sounds cheesy, but even lame-sounding hobbies can be a stress reliever.  So you like collecting stamps.  Or latch-hook rugs.  Or ant farms.  It doesn't matter what it is, but having an outside interest can often be a sort of pressure release valve.  Things like crochet and House re-runs and playing the piano might not be the most exciting of hobbies, but when I'm stressed, working on my afghan for a few minutes can be tremendously relaxing.  It also helps me remember that whatever I'm stressing about isn't the entire world.

2. Make a list.  Of your potential coping skills, that is.  What makes you feel better?  Write these things down so that when you're freaking out you don't actually have to retrieve that information from the deep, dark depths of your brainpan.

3. Act like a kid.  I don't mean throw a temper tantrum in the middle of the grocery store--although I have wanted to on more than one occasion!  What I mean is try to remember what you liked to do as a child, and try to re-create that when you're stressed.  I still have a bunny puppet that I got as a baby (his name is Bozzlie) and no, he doesn't cure my stress, but he does bring a smile to my face.  This also explains why I usually have bubbles somewhere.

4. Prioritize.  Part of the problem I have when stressed is that everything seems equally important.  This is where I get into trouble because it's very easy to misjudge what desperately needs to get done and what is the proverbial icing on the cake (make mine cream cheese).  My criteria is "How bad will it be if this doesn't get done? Will it majorly inconvenience anyone else?  How many people will be seriously pissed or even notice?"  Buying cookies to take to your book club instead of making them from scratch doesn't mark you as a bad person.  Most people are like "OMG COOKIES!!!!1!"

5. Delegate.  This is probably my Achilles heel.  I suck at delegating, mostly because I don't really trust anyone else to do the job "right."  It's essentially an open invitation for people to treat you as a doormat.  Even if it wasn't, there will come a time when you have to face the grim inevitability that you can't do it all.  It might mean asking your significant other to cook dinner for a change (or at least pick up some take out).  Or asking someone at work to help you with a project.  It's not a skill that comes naturally to me, but when you're really in a bind, it can be a lifesaver.

6. Positive self-talk.  Often what helps me is not telling myself that it's all going to be okay because, hey, you never know.  What helps me is to remind myself that whatever happens, I can figure out how to handle it.  This usually calms me down because I can start to let myself stop worrying about the outcome and start trying to figure out the solution.

Now that I've closed on my house and am waiting to hear about several writing gigs in the near future, I'm sitting with a lot of anxiety.  Like many people, especially those with eating disorders, I find change difficult.  The thought of change makes me nervous and apprehensive--what if things don't go right?  What if they do?

Then there's the simple fact that I don't like change.  It's a fact.

Let's face it: I'm moving from an environment with a built-in support system to living on my own (albeit only fifteen minutes away).  I have some career uncertainty, and with that comes financial uncertainty.

In the past, I have tried to cope with change in some, shall we say, less-than-productive manners.  I have too much on the line now.  I don't want to go back to the eating disorder.  Which means I am going to have to figure out some way to cope with the change.

Basically everything in my new place will be familiar, as I already have most of what I need.  I'm having a new sofa delivered tomorrow, but that's pretty much it.  I will also have mostly the same food around, and use tried-and-true recipes.

Oh yeah--I'll also have the same cat. :)

In the past few months of freelancing full-time, I've come up with a solid daily routine. It can be a little unusual (I hate mornings and don't expect that to change), but it works for me.  So I have that to rely on, too.

What has helped me the most is reminding myself that I have the skills and strength to cope with these changes, even if they do go pear-shaped. That I've coped with it in the past and I can do so again.

Change does stir up a lot of ED crap.  The body dysmorphia has never really gone away, and the chattering has gotten a little louder recently.  I've started to fantasize about having my own exercise equipment--what fun I could have!  I know that's a Very Bad Idea, and even if I didn't, I don't have the spare change to buy it anyway.

I have to keep telling myself that these thoughts are just a sign that I am stressed, not a sign that I am a fat, lazy cow.  Having a thought doesn't make it true. {{See, TNT, I really was listening!}}

I also have to keep telling myself that it's normal to feel apprehensive at times like these.  When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, I was told that I was having trouble "individuating" from my parents.  Aside from the fact that, outside of my mental health issues, I was handling my own life just fine, thank you very much, didn't seem to matter.  I've been itching to start my own life for months now.  But with the privileges of adult life (you mean I don't have to go to bed on time?) come the responsibilities.  Paying the bills is a pain in the ass.  So is emptying the dishwasher and taking out the trash.  As much as I hate the fact that I'm currently living with my parents, I also know that I've had things pretty plush.

My goal for the transition is to establish healthy new routines so that I can stay sane and stay on track with my recovery.

The last week or so has been one massive slog through writing, editing, revising, interviewing, and writing some more.  It is, in a sense, a very good sign that I'm rather swamped with stuff.  It tends to make paying the bills easier (although some of that writing is for a freelance gig that I'm "auditioning" for at this stage, and therefore no payment is guaranteed. But it's a great career opportunity, and I'm excited about it).  I have a headache, I can barely keep my eyes open, I want to beat my head against my desk in frustration half the time as I'm trying to write about science I can't quite wrap my mind around.

I'm simply exhausted.  I just want to nap.  I took an hour or two this afternoon to read, as I had a brief reprieve in the never ending gauntlet of deadlines.  But tonight it's back to the computer and work, followed by more of the same for tomorrow.

This kind of grim exhaustion, followed by the deep inner sense that I have a job to finish, reminds me of eating in the early days of recovery.  I would have gladly eaten all of my exchanges at an all-you-can-eat buffet first thing in the morning so I didn't have to worry about eating the rest of the day.  I was just so sick of the endless slog through meals and snacks.  I wanted it to go away.  And that's what this is kind of like, although I do actually like writing, which I couldn't say about food back then.  It's this numb exhaustion, combined with the knowledge that the end result is rewarding.

Today's work really hurt my brain, as I'm trying to write smartly on science I'm not exactly sure I understand.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't understand it one bit, and I had to eventually phone the researcher and ask him to explain his work using words with no more than three syllables.  I still don't think it worked.

And this exhaustion has led a slight uptick in feelings of depression.  It's more of the anhedonia and apathy caused by being too tired to care much rather than an actual "I hate my life" feeling.  I used to deal with this in a very ED way.  First of all, I better not be tired because I still had to get through my exercise routine, and I was never too tired for that.  The exercise also served as a little pick-me-up, and as a vent for my stress.  It's hard not to turn to that when I know it's so effective--at least for the short term.

I suppose this is part of what recovery and life are all about. Surviving the crappier times without resorting to unhealthy behaviors.  Recognizing that said crappy time won't last forever.  Integrating self-care into your life (such as my reading and blogging this afternoon).  And the acceptance that the ED won't change your current situation for the better.

The subject came up in my therapy session on Monday- was an eating disorder a coping mechanism or did it instead simply have an adaptive function? I've been mulling it over since then, following various thoughts to and fro, trying to put my finger on the exact difference between the two, and where an eating disorder really lay on that spectrum.

When I was first diagnosed in 2001, the basic mantra I was given was that anorexia was a "maladaptive coping mechanism" and that recovery meant I would need to learn better ways of coping than starving, purging, and exercising. This I understood--if I was to get better, I couldn't keep abusing my body so horribly and expect to live. But my understanding of anorexia-as-coping-skill got quite muddled when the rubber hit the road.

The sessions with my ex-therapist would go something like this: she would ask why I was restricting, I would say I don't know, I'm fat, it seemed like a good idea, I eat too much, etc. Then she would ask me to think about what happened that might have "triggered" this. Sometimes there would be a specific event, sometimes there wouldn't. But I never deliberately thought: gee, my life is stressful and anorexia would help me cope. Let's stop eating.

Yet I couldn't totally deny the fact that my eating disorder had a "purpose," as it were. I felt better when I wasn't eating. I just...did. It loosened the straitjacket of anxiety and depression that held me captive, only to entangle me in something far worse. Eating the same paltry food each day felt soothing, and the hunger pangs became confirmation that I was at least doing one think in my life right. When my depression got bad, I literally lived for the hope that tomorrow I would weigh less. That got me out of bed in the morning. The exercise and accompanying endorphin rush hit both anxiety and depression at once.

But I still wasn't coping with life, and I knew it. I was trying to seal the hole in the Titanic with bubblegum- a noble endeavor, perhaps, but entirely futile. The ship was sinking, I was aware of this, but at least the bubblegum made me feel like I was doing something.

I don't consider my eating disorder a coping mechanism any more, because I don't see it as a choice. A coping mechanism is something you choose. I fell into the eating disorder because of the way I was wired and because of the culture in which I live, but none of this had anything to do with helping me cope. Anorexia had a lot to do with self-medication and my brain somehow figuring out the adaptive functions of prolonged malnourishment.

Perhaps these thoughts are little more than semantic hair-splitting; perhaps they're not. To me, the main difference is how much control and choice you have over your eating disorder. I wouldn't say I have none, because I obviously do right now. Yet when I am in the thick of anorexia, my behavior takes on a life of its own and I just kind of hold on. It's as if my brain has been hijacked, as sure as those planes on 9/11.

It's also true that I do need to learn better coping mechanisms so that there won't be as many adaptive functions for the eating disorder to fill. If I can learn to handle stress better, there won't be that pressing need to have it numbed by starvation. If I can learn better self-esteem, maybe I can find something more important to get out of bed for than the hopes of losing weight. If I can find fulfillment in life, maybe I can enjoy that full feeling after a meal without immediate thoughts of guilt and recrimination rushing in.

There is a place for learning coping mechanisms in recovery--but it's not to replace the anorexia.

I'm a geek- I freely admit it. One of my new favorite geeky activities is iTunes U, which contains a bunch of free lectures and videos on virtually any subject under the sun. I listen to these a lot on my way into work, as they make the ride go a lot quicker. Yesterday and today, I listened to two lectures by neurobiologist Robert Sapolsky, author of the book Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers.

Sapolsky researchers specifically the neuro-psycho-biology of the stress response- what the physiological outcomes are, and what psychological and environmental factors can mediate this response. And his research, combined with a rich background provided by other scientists, has led him to figure out a bunch of very basic tips to help us cope with stress:

• An outlet or hobby. Rats who could gnaw on a piece of wood after receiving a very mild shock didn't develop any stress-related diseases, while those with no way to "cope" with the stress did develop diseases (ulcers, high blood pressure, etc).
• Predictability. If the rats received a brief warning that the shock was going to happen, even if they couldn't avoid it, they did not develop stress-related diseases.
• Sense of control. This one is pretty self-explanatory.
• An ability to tell the important stressors from the not-so-important ones. This one came from Sapolsky's own work with baboons. If male baboons reacted to every minor threat from another male as needing a massive, aggressive response, they had higher levels of stress hormones.
• A sense that things are improving. Also pretty self-explanatory.
• Friends. This, says Sapolsky, is perhaps the most important mediator of stress. Cloning and medication and all of these advances are saving human lives, but having a friend to talk to, to share things with, to understand what it is you're going through, may be the most live-saving of all.

Maybe this is why blogging is so therapeutic for me- it incorporates all of these elements. I still have a lot of work to do in order to better incorporate these ideas into my everyday life, but I think these are really basic, really important elements to making it through the day intact.

What do you think? Anything to add to the list?

To listen to these lectures, go to iTunes and do a search for "Robert Sapolsky". The two I listened to were "Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers" and "Stress and Coping: What Baboons Can Teach Us." They're an hour each but extremely entertaining.

I feel like my entire state of being can be summarized by waiting and wondering.

An internship/job/something to do after I graduate is at the top of my list. I've interviewed for several positions and am- you guessed it- waiting to hear back.

I'm chugging away at my thesis, but it's still a long way from finished. Long way. I do think I've finished all of my interviews unless something else pops up.

As for my term paper? Funny you mention that... If I could just research and not start writing, I'd probably be in pretty good shape. But part of what a term paper implies is actual writing, thusly I need to put fingers to keyboard and start hacking out something vaguely resembling and beginning, middle, and end.

I am still eating, which is unusual given the past, say, decade or so of my life. I am frequently stressed to the point of being nauseated, but I push through it.

My pile of work is just ridiculously high, I almost have to laugh. I have a 15 page draft due on Thursday (the above mentioned term paper), and an entire book to finish for the same class. Both of those aren't going to happen. The book will be skimmed, since it's much harder to turn in a fake draft than mumble something quasi-intelligent when called upon. I'm trying to remember that this will bear little resemblance to anything I do for a future career, so screw it. If I fail to comprehend the exact politics of the banana republics (not the clothing company, though I can go into detail about how and why the clothing company has the name it does. Should you feel some insomnia coming on, let me know and I'll fill you in. Should clear that sleeplessness right up.) and the US and the environment, I'm pretty sure I'll live.

I still need to learn the art of letting go. Of accepting half-assed every once in a while, just to save my sanity. I'm not good at that. The all-or-nothing thinking is a big shortcoming of mine. I want things in order, in their place, all nice and neat and ready to go. Not stacks of crap piled around my desk, a cacophony of books and papers and Post-Its liberally dusted with cat hair. Of a dishwasher filled with clean dishes that I can't be bothered to empty.

I am, somewhat miraculously, caught up on laundry.

I read, I think on Christine Kane's blog, of the idea of not having a to do list (or not just a to do list), but of making a "ta da!" list. This is a list you make at the end of the day, where you fill in all of the things you have accomplished. I fed the cat, changed my sheets, worked on my term paper, transcribed an interview, watched my friend give a public reading of her work, read an assigned newspaper article and two chapters in a book. It's said to be more positive, mentally, than crossing these items off of a list. Given my state of busy-ness, I need to write a list out in the first place so I can have something to write down on my ta da list. Which makes me feel a little asinine and redundant copying everything out again- except I always end up doing a load of stuff that comes up that doesn't make it onto the master list.

Still, I intend to venture into the strange world of positivity. We'll see how much I like it.

I'm now a student. All over again.

I have my ID card, I'm registered, I've navigated the bureaucracy as successfully as any. I have yet to meet my advisor, but the five of us in the program are being fêted at a "faculty reception" tomorrow evening. I've heard it's all fancy-schmancy, which means I will have to once again read the directions on the back of the make-up bottle so I remember what to do. Normally I might not bother, but it's TTOM and I'm zitty.*

I'm slowly (s.l.o.w.l.y.) getting settled in. I have papers all over the place for my class, so I think that's a good sign. It's a new mess rather than an extension of the moving-in mess, so we're getting somewhere. Being here, on my own, after living at home (in the bosom of my family, as the Victorians would say...but no one in my immediate family is busty enough to make that literally possible) is a HUGE shock. I have music on all the freaking time to keep from flipping out from the quiet. It's nice to hear CDs I haven't heard for years. On the other hand, I'm afraid I'm going to tire of my stuff sooner rather than later. That is one of the benefits of OCD- repetition is good.

Repetition is good.
Repetition is good.
Repetition is good.

In my teaching class, we had to comment upon essays written by students in years past. I sounded like quite a jackass. I stuttered and stumbled all over myself. I was also horrified at the sheer lack of writing ability from most students. I don't want Nobel Prize winner wannabes. That would just...suck. But something to work with would be nice. The upside of today's embarrassment is that I know better now of what problems you can work with and what basically leave your hands tied except for saying "Um, well, start over." Pat on the back, send you on your way.

What in the bloody hell did I get myself into?

Overwhelmed. That's what I'm feeling right now. Just over-freaking-whelmed.** If "whelmed" is at sea level, I'm cresting Mt. Everest, about 10 feet from packing myself into Sputnik and orbiting earth.

My appetite is totally disregulated because of a chaotic schedule, and nervousness always makes me lose my appetite. I don't know if I'm eating enough. Probably. I have a meal plan, and I think it's pretty close to what I'm eating. I keep telling myself that I need to focus on all this other stuff to get my anxiety levels down from Mt. Everest to at least K2, but that won't do me a whole lot of good if the anorexia starts to get out of hand.

Crap. Just crap.

There are about four orientations before the official start of classes. I intend to skip two of them because they seem to be fairly pointless. Our science writing orientation has a special visit from the counseling center. I almost want to tell her not to come that I'll be able to recognize symptoms of every major psychiatric disorder and give them referrals and suggestions for proper medications. One thing I found out that sounds good is a weekly mindfulness/meditation session on campus every week- and it's FREE!

But I have to get up early tomorrow morning and then spend all afternoon in orientation, followed by faculty reception. It's bedtime for me. I'm whipped.

*I learned last night that if a little pimple cream is good, a lot isn't necessarily better. I had to wash it off because it was burny and tingly. Needless to say, my ID photo was less than ideal, though I don't know of anyone who has an ideal ID card. I used to have hair (with bangs!) that was halfway down my back when I was 16 and got my licence. I had to get my picture re-taken at 21 when I renewed because my hair was short and no one recognized me. Not good at airport security. I don't look like a Yeti, so I'm satisfied. It's only for a year, though I do intend to squeeze student movie theater tickets out of the damn thing for years to come.

**I would love to know what "underwhelmed" is. I don't think I've ever experienced it.