Inside the Mind

Have you ever wondered what it is like to think like a person who has an eating disorder?

I am here to give you the insight you never knew you needed.

Now, I am what I like to call a recovering bulimic. I don't binge or purge habitually, but relapses happen occasionally because eating disorders are kind of like addictions; they don't really leave your mind all the way. You just train yourself to be stronger than the voice in your head that tells you that food is your enemy, that you need to have more control, that you'll never be good enough.

So, on a bad day, usually, there are external circumstances that start making it easier to amplify those thoughts. These are triggers.

Triggers can be different for different people, and they even vary for me. Sometimes, I can go through months of a stressful environment and never slip up. But other times, all it takes is one straw to break the back of the bulimic camel.

Recently, external circumstances included:

• less sleep than usual
• making large life decisions with plenty of unknowns still to be determined
• routinely falling behind and not getting caught up on housework
• increased isolation due to COVID-19
• increased hatred and judgment toward my family because of Clark's chosen profession

When I am not as strong as usual, these types of circumstances lead to:

• Feelings of loneliness
• Believing I don't matter to other people
• Thinking I am easily forgotten
• Increased irritation and anger toward others
• Self-flagellation because I can't get myself together
• Believing I need to work harder in order to be remembered and to matter
• Feeling discouraged because I might not be able to give more than I'm giving
• Resignation that I can never change and things won't improve
• Cynism over why I ever expected things to be better in the first place.

When this cycle of thoughts begins, I start thinking that my current goals are useless, that I was stupid to believe I could do anything, and that trying will only result in disappointment. At this point, I free myself from my sane self-restraint, and because nothing matters anyway, I might as well eat a cookie.

Now on better relapses, a cookie is just a cookie or two. On worse ones, a cookie is a cookie, and toast, and cereal, maybe some ice-cream, fruit snacks, a granola bar, and other things that kind of disappear into the black void of mental space.

After a while, the reality of what just occurred sinks in, and then the cycle is complete. What can be done, the disordered brain asks? Nothing, says rationality. Just move on, do better tomorrow, take care of yourself. No, disordered brain replies. This is bad. It will just make all those things that happened worse. People won't love you if you have no self-control. You were afraid you won't matter, and now you really won't matter. You should be ashamed of yourself. You really are as bad as you thought you were. Hmm, says rationality, this is an eating disorder talking. So what? disordered brain answers, this is a problem that needs to be fixed immediately.

At this point, rationality leaves the room.
And disordered brain fixes the problem.

All the voices kind of go quiet here.
Except one. My own voice. And all I can hear is a sort of exhausted whisper that even though all of that happened, I'm still getting better. We all have challenges to overcome, and this is one ongoing fight where I win most of the time. It's in the times when I lose where I can see the parts of myself where I am weak, the parts that still need work and reinforcement.

"The battle's in your mind, If you lose that, lose everything there is. The battle's in your head. If you lose that, then there's nothing left." - The Ballad of Jimjamal, The Tenglesons.

The Simpleness of the Way

Why, as humans, do we always want for something more complex, and avoid the simple way?

I do it just as much as other people.

We don't want to do something as simple as eating more vegetables and avoiding bacon and cake in order to achieve better health. We want a different answer, a new answer, a more complicated answer. The desire for a new, better, different way is why there are 500 diet books on the shelf at any given book store, all telling you beautifully complex ways to eat.

We don't want to try exercise as a solution to joint pain. That won't work for me, you think. I need something different. Maybe a pill or some stretching or essential oils or meditating or all four at once.

There's a story in the Old Testament of Naaman, a respected military leader, who becomes infected with leprosy.

Naaman goes to Elisha the prophet to be healed, and Elisha tells him to wash in the Jordan River seven times.

Instead of hastening to wash, Naaman gets mad. The Jordan river is a dirty river. There must be better rivers. Surely he could be healed without washing. Why couldn't he have a better miracle or a different one?

Naaman's servants, fortunately, are not so foolish and they say, "Dude, if Elisha had told you to do something crazy tough, like walking on hot coals or climbing the tallest mountain or slaying dragons, you totally would do it. But because it's washing in a dirty old river, it's not cool enough for you."

Naaman sees the light, washes in the river, and he is healed, just as Elisha told him he would be.

A simple way, but not really an easy one. 

Sometimes the simple ways are not the way you want your results to come. You want to have a better river to wash in. You want something flashy that you can brag about later. But instead, the most significant changes come in small and simple things, and they aren't things you can brag about. Choosing broccoli and beans instead of a grilled cheese sandwich. Running a mile every day. Doing a kettlebell swing. Wearing a mask at the grocery store. Praying when you don't really feel like praying.

There often isn't a greater answer out there or some big secret to uncover. Instead, it's just as basic as you always feared it would be. Because if it's simple, you can do it, and how scary is that? What sort of change might you have to make? What things will you have to give up? Your comfort, your pride, your previous convictions, your bad habits?

The simpleness of the way is often the stumbling block. We want something complicated so that when we fail, we have an excuse. It was just too complex/I couldn't keep up.

Sometimes the hard thing is just being real, recognizing that a simple path is not necessarily an easy one, and often the hardest part of the simple path is getting out of our own way. When the cart is not moving, it doesn't mean we need a new wheel; we just need to realize the old wheels will work perfectly fine if we're willing to push the cart.