Sunday Sermons: Recalculating

Lately I've had a love/hate relationship with church. It seems every Sunday, I sit through the sermon and I leave feeling like I was smacked in the face with some important life truth. This Sunday was no exception, however, I also left questioning my plans to return to college in the fall. Pastor Jeff is doing an excellent job of challenging me in my faith. 

Today's sermon was based on Numbers 22:21-35: 

22 But God was very angry when he went, and the angel of the Lord stood in the road to oppose him. Balaam was riding on his donkey, and his two servants were with him. 23 When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord standing in the road with a drawn sword in his hand, it turned off the road into a field. Balaam beat it to get it back on the road.

24 Then the angel of the Lord stood in a narrow path through the vineyards, with walls on both sides. 25 When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord, it pressed close to the wall, crushing Balaam’s foot against it. So he beat the donkey again.

26 Then the angel of the Lord moved on ahead and stood in a narrow place where there was no room to turn, either to the right or to the left. 27 When the donkey saw the angel of the Lord, it lay down under Balaam, and he was angry and beat it with his staff. 28 Then the Lord opened the donkey’s mouth, and it said to Balaam, “What have I done to you to make you beat me these three times?”

29 Balaam answered the donkey, “You have made a fool of me! If only I had a sword in my hand, I would kill you right now.”

30 The donkey said to Balaam, “Am I not your own donkey, which you have always ridden, to this day? Have I been in the habit of doing this to you?”

“No,” he said.

31 Then the Lord opened Balaam’s eyes, and he saw the angel of the Lord standing in the road with his sword drawn. So he bowed low and fell facedown.

32 The angel of the Lord asked him, “Why have you beaten your donkey these three times? I have come here to oppose you because your path is a reckless one before me. 33 The donkey saw me and turned away from me these three times. If it had not turned away, I would certainly have killed you by now, but I would have spared it.”

34 Balaam said to the angel of the Lord, “I have sinned. I did not realize you were standing in the road to oppose me. Now if you are displeased, I will go back.”

35 The angel of the Lord said to Balaam, “Go with the men, but speak only what I tell you.” So Balaam went with Balak’s officials. 

Pastor Jeff began his sermon by talking about the conspiracy Mapquest, GoogleMaps, YahooMaps, and all other directional websites have to get him lost. (Personally, I just think it's a user error...) Then he spoke about how now, he has a GPS, but sometimes, he still gets lost and when he does, it passive-aggressively complains about the fact it has to recalculate. 

His question was: Is the exasperated recalculating voice our own when we have to shift direction in order to find where we need to go?

We all have goals for our lives--dreams we want to achieve educationally, professionally, personally--and even though we know the directions, we sometimes miss a step or turn or a new situation may arise, be it a health problem, a family problem, or just a door being shut. And in these moments, we find we need to recalculate and this may come with anger, frustration, sadness, annoyance and other emotions. 

In Numbers, Balaam has a special relationship with God. He's going to meed the king of Moab, but God is not super thrilled by that idea, so He sends an angel with a sword to stand in Balaam's path and for some reason only allows Balaam's donkey to see it. The donkey, seeing the danger, diverts the course in order to save Balaam from percieved danger three times, and Balaam, frustrated because he has to recalculate, hits his donkey each time for not staying on course. 

After the third time, the donkey says to Balaam, "WHY DO YOU KEEP DOING HITTING ME?! IT HURTS!" And the donkey and Balaam then argue, until God allows Balaam to see the angel, who explains why the donkey kept averting the course. 

Balaam, now realizing he maybe should not be going to see the kind of Moab, wisely decides he should go home rather than risk his life, but the angel encourages him to go on to meet with Balak, but only if he does what God says. 

Pastor Jeff then began to talk about the journey of faith and how it involves discernment. There are moments when life recalculates us, and in those moments, we need to ask, is God leading us or are we deciding where we go? We need to discern the difference between our voice and God's. We need to be actively figuring our which is which, following the one and leaving the other.

Especially when life seems to recalculate us. We need to turn to God and ask, "Now what?"

This process of discernment means paying attention to the divine messengers God places in our paths--our friends, teachers, mentors, maybe even our donkeys. Who is God asking us to pay attention to? What are the voices saying? Is God asking us to recalculate our plans for our lives or to go ahead with His blessing?

God is always speaking to us in the moments when life recalculates us, not passive aggressively, with exasperation, anger, frustration, or annoyance, but with a voice of love, challenge, and grace.

Ten months ago, my life recalculated me. It sent me home from my dream college to deal with my health and mental illnesses. It took me down a road I never thought I would be on at this point in my life. I still find myself exasperated and saddened I missed out on a semester and a half of college.  

In 22 days, I am planning on moving back to Gettysburg for what should be my junior year of school. And for the past four months or so, I have been having doubts about returning. Others in my life have also been having similar doubts, to which I've put on a brave front, but the truth is... I'm filled with so much anxiety and fear about returning that I'm not sure it's the right decision. If it was the right decision, I'd feel 100% confident in it, wouldn't I? 

And this morning, I was challenged to ask myself another question: Is God leading me or am I the one deciding where I go? 

I honestly don't know. If I look at the could-be messengers God has placed in my path, I am hearing mixed opinions. I'm listening to the voices but I don't know what they're saying to me. 

How do I know who God is speaking through? How do I know if God is telling me to go ahead with the journey I'm on or if He is asking me to recalculate my plans? What if I don't have enough faith to discern any of this? What if I misunderstand God's voice and make the wrong decision? 

I don't know. 

[Dis]CHARGE!

I am now officially done with IOP. My vitals are pretty stable. I'm almost back in my weight range. I'm not using behaviors. I'm following my meal plan. Behaviorally and medically, things look good and are getting close to "normal." But emotionally and psychologically, I'm not there yet. And according to my treatment team, this means that I am ready to move on to outpatient.

However, I have been having a lot of mixed feelings about it all. On one hand, I am so glad to be done and be a "free woman" again, as one of my treatment friends phrased it. But on the other hand, I'm absolutely terrified of having so much time to myself, as well as just generally being fearful of behavioral lapses and relapses (the latter has more to do with returning to school in the fall, which is still a long way off). 

Ever since I was in middle school, I have never had a lot of time to myself. My mom was always on me for over-committing myself to things, being too busy, and not having any time to relax. I was either at school, an extracurricular, doing homework, or hanging out with friends. I rarely took time out for self-care and rest. Being busy was who I was. I was my education, my extracurriculars, my friendships, my busyness. In the summers, I was my camp job. Overarching all of that was my eating disorder, my depression, my anxiety. For the past few months, I have been my treatment.

Now, I have none of that. No job, no extracurriculars, no school. My friends are all off at their own colleges, five hours away in Gettysburg, or worried about high school. And now treatment, although it is not ending completely, is becoming a less significant part of my life.

So the question that remains is, who am I, as just Sarah? Who am I without my accomplishments, my academics, my involvements? What is it that I value? What matters to me? How do I want to spend my time? How is Sarah, the person, defined?

My therapist suggested to me in our last session that I make two lists--one consisting of what I know I am and what I want for myself and my life and a second of what I know I am not and do not want for myself and my life. I haven't yet started on this task--I had a busy weekend of chaperoning an elementary lock-in at church, babysitting, and catching up on all the sleep I did not get because of those things. But I'm planning on beginning it soon.

Now that I have been discharged and have an extra 18 hours in my week, it is time to charge forward into this new Sarah-ness that is governed solely by Sarah and her dreams and aspirations, her likes and dislikes, her values and personality. 

Something that has been very motivating in getting myself to this point in recovery is wanting to feel fully alive and in touch with life--being able to fully feel every memory and moment as it occurs and to enjoy it in it's entirety. And until today, partially influenced by this blog post, I have been unsure as to how to make that happen for me. Feeling fully alive has to do with living life according to my values, my desires, my aspirations and letting go of everything that is not in line with those things and not me. It means not living for academics, but still gleaning knowledge; it means not putting my worth in how well my friends like me, but still cultivating relationships; it means not putting my identity in what I do, but still participating fully and passionately. 

It's time to discover what feeling fully alive means... 

Time to charge forward into creating who I am and who I want to be. 
Time to charge forward in the next phase of recovery.
Time to charge forward into life.
Time to live with my heart as my compass. 

"Compass" by Lady Antebellum

Alright

Yeah it's been a bumpy road

Roller coasters

High and low

Fill the tank and drive the car

Pedal fast, pedal hard

You won't have to go that far

You wanna give up 'cause it's dark

We're really not that far apart

So let your heart, sweet heart

Be your compass when you're lost

And you should follow it wherever it may go

When it's all said and done

You can walk instead of run

'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone (never be alone) oh oh oh

Never be alone oh oh oh

Forgot directions on your way

Don't close your eyes don't be afraid

We might be crazy late at night I can't wait til you arrive

Follow stars you'll be alright

You wanna give up 'cause it's dark

We're really not that far apart

So let your heart, sweet heart

Be your compass when you're lost

And you should follow it wherever it may go

When it's all said and done

You can walk instead of run

'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone (never be alone) oh oh oh

Never be alone oh oh oh

You wanna give up 'cause it's dark

We're really not that far apart

So let your heart, sweet heart

Be your compass when you're lost

And you should follow it wherever it may go

When it's all said and done

You can walk instead of run

'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone (never be alone) oh oh oh

Never be alone oh oh oh

When it's all said and done

You can walk instead of run

'Cause no matter what you'll never be alone

Christmas Eve.

I keep thinking back to last year, after the candlelight service at church, I was sitting downstairs watching some Christmas special with my family, writing a post reflecting on all of the growth that had taken place in my life that year.  I wrote about being recovered, feeling valued and beautiful and loved and worthy.  I wrote about being more than my past, about never being alone, about hope and healing.  I wrote about my complete faith in an all-powerful, healing, restoring God.

Christmas 2012 I was in a very different place than I was Christmas 2011.

And Christmas 2013 is no different. 

Tonight, I sit alone in my room, thinking.

Thinking about how my life has changed in the past year and has put me in a position that I never once thought that I would be in.  I dropped out of my first semester of my second year at college because I had a major relapse with my eating disorder, depression, and anxiety.  I took medical withdrawals from all but one course, in which I’m taking an incomplete and hope to finish up soon.  I’m taking the entire spring semester off from school.  I’m spending at least four hours a day in different kinds of therapy groups, with different psychologists and psychiatrists and doctors and nutritionists, trying to learn how to completely accept and manage life with an eating disorder, with depression, and with anxiety, trying to learn how to manage my life with this illness.

I never once thought that my life would go back to this, not even all those days I spent in treatment in high school, when I was so excited to go to college so that I could fully engage in my disorder and no one would notice.  I never once thought that things could get this bad again. I never once thought I would be in very intensive treatment again.

I never once thought that my life would do a complete 180 on me. But it has and that’s something that I’m just going to have to accept because even though I think that I've convinced myself that I've accepted this situation, I reach a moment where I get really pissed off about having been given these genes with this temperament and these personality traits and having been dealt this environment.  And then I’m back at square one, trying to accept it all just one more time.

But it’s never just one more time.

Looking back on my post from last Christmas, I can’t help but be a bit judgmental about where I am now and thinking that I’m in a worse place now than I was then.

This Christmas Eve, I’m not thankful. I’m not filled with joy and hope and strength.  I’m not feeling encouraged or blessed.  This Christmas Eve, I am filled with anger and bitterness and resentment.  I’m filled with depression and loneliness and insecurity. I’m filled with anxiety and distress and worry.  I’m filled with shame and guilt and regret.  

I’m filled with questions like “Why me?” and “Will this ever be over?” and “Will I ever feel and live a ‘normal’ life?” I’m questioning what my next steps are, where I stand with my relationships with everyone in my life, and how my faith fits into this.  I’m filled with questions about what my life will look like next Christmas and the one after that.

And something that I've learned in the past five weeks of treatment is that all of this is okay. Having questions and doubts and emotions—it’s all okay. Even during Christmas, when the expectation is joy and peace and contentment. My emotions are real and I am allowed to feel them, even now. Even at Christmas.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is that things change. People change. Lives change. And things don’t always go how you expect them to go. You don’t always end up where you want to in life. Sometimes the unexpected is exactly what happens and sometimes you take a giant leap backwards.

All of that is okay.

It’s life. And life doesn't stop for anyone.

Not even at Christmas. 

Reasons to Recover

I haven't written for a while, and frankly, I've just been so completely exhausted at the end of the day to even process what happened and very emotionally disregulated.  Things have changed rapidly for me in the past few days--my insurance company decided that since I have behaviorally stabilized (meaning, since I followed my meal plan for an entire week) and that since I'm mostly medically stable, that I needed to be stepped down to IOP (intensive outpatient), which is essentially the same thing as DTP, except it is only three and a half hours and not six. But initially, I was overcome with a lot of fear and anxiety that this is making me rush treatment, which will just put me back at CCED in another year or so. The other thing that this drop did was to completely invalidate how I felt about recovering from my eating disorder. Insurance companies are really good at doing that. They see a person simply as money, especially when it comes to mental health problems (but seriously, if I had cancer, this would not be how they would be treating me), and don't go by the guidelines for real healing. They just want to have to pay for as little treatment as possible and if the results are just barely in their checklist, then you are magically better and they will not pay for treatment any more.

Luckily for me, instead of dropping me completely, they allowed me to just step down into IOP, but even still, I don't feel okay with it. I feel fake because my actions and medical charts are improving, but my mental state is actually getting worse. Which is normal in eating disorder recovery world. But it makes me feel crazy because to normal people, I am getting better externally while internally I am feeling worse. It's a very frustrating process.


On the bright side, dropping to IOP, it means no more rush hour traffic, no more waking up at 6am, no more driving in the dark. It means no more exposure to one girl's defiance and protest to being in programming and no more exposure to another's hopelessness and desire to be the most pitied girl in the room. So I'm just trying to breathe through it and see how I feel at the end of the week.

One thing that has been the most helpful in getting me to this point where externally things are looking better is to remind myself continually why I am recovering. Why I want to get better. Why I need to get better. And at the beginning, I could not discern any of it for myself. So my favorite professor gave me a little help with why I need to get better, which got me following my meal plan all the time. And now in this time of change when I feel like my illness is being trivialized by my insurance company and I feel invalidated and like I need to get sicker to "prove" that I need the help, reminding myself of my reasons to recover helps me turn my mind from the distorted eating disorder thoughts to wise mind thoughts that allow me to continue following my meal plan. Here are the original 20 reasons to recover that my professor sent to me, which I keep coming back to as my base:

Reasons why you need to get better (which  means following your meal plan): so you can...

1. be HAPPY!

2. live normal again (whatever normal is) =)

3. come back to school and attend awesome classes

4. hang out with your Gettysburg friends

5. chat during my office hours

6. let your body recover

7. finish school and get a great job

8. get that job to help others

9. NOT let the disorder win

10. be that awesome success story that motivates others to get better

11. play with Eric and other little ones (because that is fun)

12. have your own kiddos someday (if that is of interest to you)

13. enjoy meeting up with friends

14. eat out in social situations and actually enjoy delicious food

15. go to church without anxiety

16. truly enjoy family gatherings

17. take back control of your emotional state

18. continue to help all of those friends that need you

19. use all of the potential that is waiting inside of you

20. simply live!

And as treatment has progressed, I've been able to add some more reasons to this list. I need to recover so I can... 

21. enjoy the holidays and not fear or dread them

22. travel and visit new places and far away friends 

23. have an identity outside of my disorder

24. go grocery shopping on my own 

25. fully experience everything around me

26. not have my life ruled by food, calories, and weight

27. stop hurting myself 

28. care for myself in ways that are not self-destructive

29. live freely and be able to have spontaneously with food

30. tell others that recovery from an eating disorder IS possible and actually mean it

Last night, I was asked, "What are the things you DO want? The healthy things? To come back to school, right?" And I responded with, 

"Yes. And to play with kids and smile and laugh and not be self conscious while I'm doing it. I want to be fully alive and able to experience EVERYTHING--to travel. To not be afraid of the unknown. I want to have kids and a rewarding career where I get to help others. I want to love and be loved. I want to live."

Progress.

Ready or not...

...here I come! 

I remember shouting this phrase a plethora of times when I was happier younger.  These were the days of playing house and freeze tag, of dolls and Pokemon, of softball and kickball.  But most importantly, those were the days of hide'n'seek with the cousins.  

The rules are pretty simple.  One person is chosen to be 'the seeker' and counts to whatever number seems appropriate at the time, while everyone runs for a hiding spot.  Once the special number is reached, the seeker screams out (or in my case whispers) "Ready or not, here I come!" to warn the others that they better have chosen a good hiding spot because he or she was going to come find them.  The goal was not to be found.  

I remember my favorite hiding spots were the mousehole in my uncle and aunt's house, their linen closet behind some pillows, or in rare cases, under the bed or behind the couch.  I had default hiding spots and would usually take a younger cousin along with me, placing my hand over her mouth to quiet her when the seeker came looking. But whenever "Ready or not, here I come!" was bellowed by one of my cousins, I usually erred on the side of not.  

I knew that I would be searched for, I had a default plan in mind, so I never had to search for a hiding spot, and I always had plenty of time to get to that spot before the seeker was done counting.  But I was never ready to be found.  

In high school, we began playing hide'n'seek with our church youth group, and eventually switched over to a variation of it, known as sardines.  In sardines, the roles are basically flipped.  One person hides and everyone seeks them. Once that one person is found, instead of the game being over, that person hides as well.  The game ends when everyone is hidden in the same space (hence the name, 'sardines') and only one person is left looking.  

When playing sardines in my church, I also had default hiding spots--in the closet with the choir robes, under the table in the library, and in the back of the church, under the pews where the choir sat.  I had a default hiding spot, always plenty of time to get there, but I was never ready to be found.  

I always erred on the side of not.

Today I met with one of the group leaders for the adult day treatment program I will be starting soon. She told me that I will either be starting this coming Wednesday or the following Tuesday.

Ready or not... 

Yesterday I touched on the idea that there is not "perfect time" to start treatment, that a person with an eating disorder will never "be ready" for recovery.  I know this.  I know that ready or not, my body needs this.  I know that ready or not, my mental state needs this.  I know that ready or not, my future and my life need this.

...here I come. 

It's the part that's coming that's going to be miserable. The eating part. The looking into myself and changing cognitions part. The being vulnerable and not hiding behind my anorexia part. The part that author Marya Hornbacher describes here: 

"This is the very boring part of eating disorders, the aftermath. When you eat and hate that you eat. And yet of course you must eat. You don’t really entertain the notion of going back. You, with some startling new level of clarity, realize that going back would be far worse than simply being as you are. This is obvious to anyone without an eating disorder. This is not always obvious to you."

Right now, I feel as if I'm hiding in that linen closet at my uncle and aunt's house or under the table in the library at church and someone is opening the door and saying, "Sarah, I found you! You can come out now." This prospect terrified me as a young child.  

I hated seeking.  I hated feeling confused and alone and trying to find what I who I was looking for because they were always so much better at coming up with hiding spots than me.  Everyone else was safely hidden away, and I was wandering around, confused.  I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing, but I wasn't sure how to do it or where to look or what course of action to take.

That's exactly what recovery is going to be like--a lot of knowing what I need to do, but searching blindly for it.  A lot of feeling lost in the process and confused and alone. But luckily for me, my treatment program is going to be more like a game of sardines that hide'n'seek.  A group of people, all searching and reaching for the same goal.

I have some many people on my side, supporting me, helping me find the right room where recovery is hiding.  I have a lot of people holding my hand and walking with me--my family, my friends, my treatment team at home, and some very wonderful adults who have done nothing but encourage me in this process.  

I don't know where recovery is hiding.
But ready or not, here I come. 

Today, I thought about making a grocery list

I have discovered exactly what people-who-don't-know-what-else-to-say say to you when you take the rest of the semester off in order to recover from your eating disorder: 

"So what did you do today?"

It seems to be the only thing that anyone, anywhere wants to know.  And I've struggled to come up with a good answer to that question.  Here's what I've got so far: 

1. I slept. 

2. I became re-addicted to Bejeweled Blitz

3. I did some blogging. 

4. I read some blogs. 

5. I caught up on my emails.

6. I got out of bed and washed my face/brushed my teeth/etc. 

7. I put on clothes that I had not previously slept in! 

8. I watched Kevin Costner in For the Love of the Game

9. I technologically interacted with friends. 

10. I thought about going to the grocery store. 

11. I got angry about having to take a semester off of college, live at home, and go to treatment, which by the way, might not start for the next two weeks or so because the program is full. 

12. I thought about maybe making a grocery list and that maybe then I would actually go to the grocery store. 

Given, the majority of these are things that 'normal' people do every day.  The word normal has been thrown around all over Facebook and blogs quite a lot recently in reference to mental illness and recovery--from this post by Kelsi to this post here, and honestly, it's been something that's been on my mind quite a bit, as well.  I kind of touched on it earlier today when thinking about failure and re-framing my perspective to make it relevant to me and what my normal is.  

See what's normal for me right now, was written about very eloquently in this post here, which was about a completely different topic, but is on my mind right as I write this: 

"You see, people without an understanding of eating disorders don’t realize that they can have a devastating impact upon every facet of an individual’s life. That their life is dictated by rules, their day can revolve completely around exercise or eating or not eating. That their nights can be completely sleepless or spent in the bathroom or spent in the kitchen. They don’t see the urges that arise when the individual is experiencing guilt for 'only exercising three hours that day' or for 'eating extra sultanas out of the Sultana Bran' at brekky time. People don’t see the exhaustion, or the fears, or the thoughts that harangue the individual every single moment of every single day. They don’t understand the outbursts or the tears at mealtimes. They don’t get the rules or the rigidity; the desperate need to feel safe, and if that need can be fulfilled by eating out of the same bowl every day, then so be it. They don’t see the 4am walks; the exercise in the pouring rain for hours on end which leads to extreme hypothermia. They can’t understand the inability to work or study because of a malnourished brain – caused by deprivation of carbohydrates, leading to incapacity to function adequately. They don’t think about the dry skin, the falling out of hair, the bruises that appear the hell out of nowhere, the endless injuries caused by overexercise, and the excruciating leg cramps that awake the individual in the middle of the night. The low blood pressure. The low blood sugar. The osteoporosis. People don’t see the guilt and grief that is felt when the individual 'can’t' go to their friend’s birthday parties or be social ever, due to having to be exercising instead or out of fear of the food that may be present at said event. And they don’t see that they eventually lose their friends, because those friends will only put up with so much shit before they crack. I could go on for ages, but we’d be here all day."

You see what I mean?  Life is vastly different for an individual with any form of an eating disorder.  Vastly different.  And when you are just beginning an initial period of recovery, the seemingly little things are huge victories.  Little things like putting any form of nourishment into your body.  Little things like admitting that life is not always rainbows and sunshine and that yeah, sometimes it can be really, really crappy.  Life is also vastly different for any individual suffering from depression or anxiety, both of which are linked to all types of eating disorders.  The little victories there are getting out of bed in the morning, getting dressed, any form of communication with anyone.  

The little victories when facing mental illness in the beginning stages of recovery are all about survival.  

Today I found out that, best case scenario, I can start the DTP program at CCED the week over November 25th.  That's in 11 days.  11 days of being at home and being miserable and struggling to win the smallest of battles.  I was frustrated and angry and feeling really, really defeated because look at what I've done over the course of 24 hours--things most normal people do in a couple hours in morning or that they do without even having to think about them at all!  All of those things took me an entire day! 

One of my recovery buddies and a good friend put it this way when I was freaking out about making it to the point where I am actually in the DTP program and getting through the next 11 (or more!) days: 

"Recovery is going to be a lot of hanging around and surviving."

She did not say that recovery is going to be a lot of progress and accomplishment.  She did not say it's going to be a lot of jumping out of bed in the morning being excited about life and the future, or that it's going to be a lot of instantaneous progress.  She said that it's going to be a lot of surviving.

Surviving to me means winning the tiny battles and racking up the small victories.  Things like, getting out of bed at some point during the day. Brushing my teeth. Putting on clothes that had not previously been slept in. Responding to emails. Things that seem 'normal' to everyone else. 

Even things like thinking about going to the grocery store, or even thinking about making a grocery list.  

That right there is a small victory.  Because on most days, I would not even consider making a grocery list, much less, a trip to the grocery store to buy 'normal' food.  But let's think about what my normal is right now--I'm in the survival stages of recovery.  I am waiting to get into a program, where they will give me a meal plan and I will learn, at 19, how to eat.  I have been living with a very restrictive diet for quite some time and am still getting used to the idea of doing the hard work that recovery entails.  In my normal, a trip to the grocery store causes a lot of anxiety.  Thinking about buying 'normal,' not 'ED food' (it's a thing...), causes a lot of anxiety because it is outside my routine.  Thinking about what I need to have in order to nourish my body, even if it is 'ED food,' causes a lot of anxiety because I do not know how to eat.  Even the simplest task of making a grocery list, fills me with cognitive dissonance that is not present in the world of 'normal' people.

So yes, even though I only thought about making a grocery list and did not actually succeed in making one, that in and of itself is a huge victory.  Yes, when most people have asked me what I have done today, I list all of the other things that I've done, because in the 'normal' world, those seem more productive.  

But in my normal world, where people understand the understand the unique challenges that come with living with anorexia, I am able to respond to 'What did you do today?' with 'I thought about making a grocery list,' and feel like I actually accomplished something worthwhile. What I see as my accomplishments are just going to seem less 'normal' and more trivial because I do not live in the 'normal' world.

And my world is all about survival.