I Still Don't Believe It!

So, per last week's post, I was scheduled to leave for the e.d. treatment center on Monday. Packed and repacked, eager and anxious at the same time, I am grateful the day is finally arriving. Except it isn't, or it doesn't, or whatever.
When I ran by Walgreens Friday to get my meds, I was informed that I do not have insurance any longer. I was further informed that my COBRA (can you say evil) policy ran out March 31. This is most confusing as I have Explanation of Benefits, etc where the insurance company has paid claims through both April and May. Of course, since it is the weekend I can't do a thing about it until Monday. So I spend the weekend in limbo. Not.A.Good.Weekend. I call Cobra yesterday and they confirm that, in fact, my insurance was cancelled on March 31 due to non payment. (yes, I sent payments for both April and May). By now, however, I have checked my bank statement and neither check posted. Yet, I am still confused. Why did they make payments on claims over those two months if I didn't have insurance for more than 60 days. The answer: They are shorthanded. The turnaround time to let the 'paying people' at the cobra insurance office is about two months. Now, I don't know exactly what to think, say, or feel. I am angry. I know that much. It may not be the cobra insurance's fault that they never received my checks. (I mailed 2 checks of 2 different accounts in one envelope and yes I put my id number on them), but I do know, KNOW, that had they not been paying those claims in April I would have taken care of the problem by now because I would have known something was very much amiss. The lady asked me, "Don't you check to see if your payment posted to your account?" I said, "Lady, when you pay you electricity bill and turn the light switch on, if it comes on, do you then go and check your bank statement to see if it posted or do you just think 'wow, damned thing musta posted cuz I still have lights'?" That is my only defense. They used up my grace period because of their slow turn around. I could be at the treatment center right now, probably carrying on about how I want to come home but instead, I'm sitting in a coffee shop getting madder by the minute as I type this. I have filed an appeal. Big Whip. Apparently Cobra, at least as it pertains to former teachers in Arkansas, is an entity to itself and doesn't have to answer to the insurance commissioner in Arkansas, who I also called. In other words Cobra-God. I don''t know. I just don't know. Maybe I'm missing something. I just don't know. But if anyone knows of a decent facility for treating eating disorders that is nonn-profit or offers financial assistance, I would be so incredibly happy to hear from you.

ps. I'm too mad to proof this. just whatever.

IRamblings on Insurance, Gratitude, and Giving Up.

A lot of people care about me. I'm not entirely sure why, but they do. I was supposed to leave this morning for an eating disorder treatment facility in St. Louis.
I had gone back and forth about it for weeks before finally committing to entering treatment. Of course, best laid plans and all that. After picking up my prescriptions Friday afternoon, I found out I don't have insurance coverage any longer. Never mind that I have documentation stating several things have been filed and paid, even through May. Cobra with ArBenefits says my coverage terminated on March 31. Nevermind that I made payments for the two months after that. They don't show up on my bank statement so for what ever reason they either didn't make it to Little Rock or didn't get posted. My guess the payments didn't make it for one reason or another. Why the first two made it and these didn't, I don't know. Anyway, the whole episode is making me very insane, very upset. I want help for my eating disorder. I want health insurance. I am very well aware that ultimately it is my own fault I am in this predicament in the first place. I never let myself forget it, trust me.
But even in the midst of all this crap, people are surrounding me, trying to help me any way they can, whether I want it or not. What I really want it to go to sleep and stay that way for eternity. At least that is how I feel right this moment. Hopefully, those feelings will change.
The ArBenefits division gave me the option to appeal, which I have already done via fax, and now I must wait a minimum of two weeks to find out my fate. I am so sucky at patience and waiting in general. And I have been packed since Thursday. Did I say that already. The people in my life who are supporting me are full of rallying messages: "this is your disease talking." "You have a mental illness that is running the show right how, it will get better." Maybe they are right. I know they are about the mental illness, anyway. But, I do not want to have a mental illness. I never have wanted one, though I can't remember not having some degree of something that looks like, talks like, walks like mental illness. I just want help with the eating disorder. I checked with the place I should be at even as I write this. They don't offer scholarships, etc. that would allow me to seek treatment there. I understand that. It is a business after all. I am just disgusted. I am also grateful for sponsors, therapists, and friends who continue to believe in me when I do not have the slightest belief in myself.
I am staying at a hotel tonight. I want to be a lone. Good idea? I don't know, maybe not. Do I care? Not so much right this moment. Do I want to be me? Not in the least. Is this a pity party? Possibly, but I do not really give a flying fig right now if it is. I am angry, primarily with myself, frustrated beyond words. I am just so very, very tired of me.
I'm also not proofing this. I just don't care right now.

Eating Disorder Treatment-Needs, Fears, and Desires, Oh My

 On Monday, I am going to treatment for an eating disorder, a disorder that has been with me so long I do not know a version of me without it. "Eating disorder" is a broad term that covers a continuum of conditions like anorexia nervosa, bulimia, and emotional eating. There are others, but the one characteristic they all share is extreme attitudes, feelings, or beliefs around food and/or body image and weight. For me, it is a huge dose of body dysmorphia, a couple of scoops of diet pills, washed down with liters of food obsession and what I have been told are irrational beliefs about my body.Very much extreme, Very much qualify. So after changing my mind, packing and unpacking, doctor's visits and blood work mix-ups, I will leave Monday morning to embark on yet another trek in the recovery journey.  


I have fought this more than anything else I have done in recovery, EVER. Even the first treatment center for sex and love addiction in 2006 was easier for me to commit to than the eating disorder thing. It has been with me the longest, so I suppose that makes sense. I was a skilled disordered eater before I even knew about boys and sex and such. I have fought with my body and with food as far back as I can remember. And while I've done some work on it, it has never been the intensive, eating disorder focused treatment my therapist has been telling me for 8 years I need. So off I go, kicking and screaming, yet hoping this work will lead to the grounded and connected feeling that so eludes me almost every day. 


I am scared to do the work. I'm not scared of doing work, just scared of doing this work. I dread the anxiety and shame that comes with being away from home and away from the girls. again. I dread the little girl feelings of terror because my safe places are 500 miles away. I dread worrying about the money. But, truth is, what I dread most of all is a life forever filled with the obsessions and beliefs that mark my eating disorder. I am expecting a lot from this treatment because I need a lot from it. Fear or not, I will do the work. And when the 6 year old in my mind takes over, I plan to take the best care of her I ever have in our life. She needs to know she is worth it and so do I.

Undecided.

It is no secret that I have been dealing with disordered eating since the pre-teen era. It is also no secret that I have never had treatment for said disorder. I get a phone call today from the lady at the treatment center I've been in touch with lately telling me they would like for me to begin their program next Tuesday and suddenly I am all about not going and all the good reasons, really good reasons, I can not possibly go right now.

The truth is I am terrified of feeling that trapped, anxious feeling that goes with being somewhere I cannot readily leave on my own. At first I was to be in the day program and would have access to my car and could leave if I wanted to, not that I have ever left treatment before. But now, they want me to stabilize in residential. I get the reasons for it, but holy the freaking cow that is one scary, trapped feeling swelling up in me right now. I don't know. I just don't know. I don't want to even think about it. I don't want to think about feeling like this for the rest of my life, either. I am tired. Apologies for the quite unedited dumping.

Eating Disorders, Daughters, and Dimples

I have been in California with the oldest since Tuesday. The USMC has done an awesome job stationing my future son-in-law on both the Gulf of Mexico and the beaches near San Diego. It doesn't get much better. Being so far from home, however, reminds me how shaky my feelings of safety still are even after trauma treatment and the ongoing therapy. I was ready to head for home the first full day, but I am getting a little more comfortable. It may be that some of my comfort is motivated by the awareness that I am scheduled to enter treatment for my disordered eating/body image issues when I return home. I am both ready and terrified, but when I think about my daughters and their own body image issues, my mom and her issues, and the cycle, I cannot imagine not going.

Sometimes it seems as if am a professional treatment-goer, or would that be 'treatmenter'? Sex and love addition treatment, trauma treatment, iop trauma treatment, now eating disorder treatment. Honestly, though, before I even knew what sex was I knew my thinking and behaviors around food and my body were too intense to be healthy. I thought I would grow out of it. I did not. My feelings of self-worth are just as connected to my feelings about food and my body as they ever were, possibly even more so since the trauma work. Even though I have a lot of fear around this treatment, I am even more fearful of not addressing something that has been such an integral part of my world forfreakingever! It hurts hearing my girls voice the same kinds of concerns and messed-up thinking that has ruled a huge part of my life. And I thought I did such a good job of keeping the insanity to myself and not letting my thoughts spill over into their lives. Looking back, I realize it is impossible to hide something this big and this consuming. Food obsessions and body dysmorphia are huge serenity busters. I think 47 years of it is enough.

So I'll finish my California vacation and do my best not to let the body image stuff be a barrier to the beach and to enjoying time with my daughter. I will think about the message I am sending her and how actions speak louder than anything, and I will look forward to that day-post treatment-when my worth as a person does not have one thing to do with dimples on my butt and jiggling body parts-a very worthy goal indeed.

Faith-When Size Doesn't Matter

I have never really cared for hot holidays. I think it is a combination of sticky, sweaty childhood memories and my insane issues with body image. I start dreading them as soon as Easter is over. Memorial Day, Fourth of July, and Labor Day all commemorate people and places well deserving of a national holiday, so I know my dislike for summer festivities and such is selfish. Nonetheless.

I am 47 years old and there are many things so much more important than the size and shape of my thighs or the all over my body jiggling feeling that seems to go on long after I have stopped moving. Those thighs work well along with the rest of my body.  My children's bodies are healthy. My entire family, from my 70 something year old mom to the baby due in August is healthy  and well. So why, I mean I'm hardly a hormone-driven teenager anymore, do I still freak out at the thought of wearing shorts or, O.M.G. a swimming suit. I cringe at the idea of wearing a swimming suit even in my own back yard. Some of this insanity may have something to do with the recommendation from my therapy team (Team Breath.Repeat) that I pursue treatment for disordered eating. Honestly, I do not have a memory of being carefree in or about my body, a fact that sometimes fills me with shame considering how blessed I am in so many ways. But again, it is nonetheless the truth of it all.

Amy Steinberg, the best female vocalist and lyricist world wide, in my opinion, sings Beautiful in Me which you can find here (also available on amazon and itunes). My favorite part of the song says, "I got these thighs, I got this hair. I will not even dare compare." This verse is even more appropriate if one knows that my hair is the curliest, frizziest crown of glory ever. The song contains a very affirming body image message. "Today I choose to only see the beautiful in me." She actually sang this song just for me once. I work on accepting my body a lot. I have been for a long, long time. I do not seem to be making much progress on my own. I think the team is right. I really am going to need some help with this one. And I think it is time.

 Fighting addictions is often like the whack-a-mole game, that annoying game at Chuck-e-Cheese. You know the one where the player has a hammer-whacker thingy and whacks a little rodent-like head as it sticks out of a hole only to find another rodent face staring at you from another hole. It is very annoying and very much like addiction. With help, you get one under some control and another is vying for placement. And when dealing with addiction, there are no tickets to exchange for some sort of plastic loot. You just get more work. Some folks would say more opportunity for growth. I believe this to be true, but I usually feel like I have enough growth opportunities already. No need to add more, I'm saying.

I've tackled the relationship addiction. After 6 years of SLA recovery, I am still so grateful for the freedom from bondage I was in for years due to serious, sometimes deadly, problems with relationships which affected EVERY aspect of my life. I have worked doggone hard on trauma issues. The Life Healing Center in Santa Fe is the most therapeutically safe place in the world, again in my opinion. I learned so many, many things during my stay there which I still apply to my life on a daily basis in an effort to heal from the steady diet of chaos that was my childhood. The disconnection and dissociation are so much better. That constant static or fuzzy television noise in my head is more manageable. I have more nightmare free nights than before I went to LHC, and when I do find myself in a bad place, I am better equipped to handle it.  What I know about my disordered eating, however, what I have always known about it, is that it is the most elusive and most difficult rodent  for me to whack. There may be more than one type of bondage, but no matter the kind, bondage is miserable. I feel like Seymour from Little Shop of Horrors who cannot get away from Audrey 2, regardless of the consequences. Come to think of it, that could be a pretty thorough analogy from the beginning. How much harm can a little extra of this or that really hurt, after all? Until it does. It hurts in a way that has nothing to do with that helping (or second helping) of Moo-Licious ice cream.

Anyway, I need help. When I have asked for help before, I have gotten it. Why am I so scared of this? I mean how hard can it be, really? Why so much shame around this? I mean how much shame can be involved in getting help with disordered eating after I have been the ONLY sex and love addict in a treatment center full of alcoholics and drug addicts. I was wickedly popular. And the treatment did help. I learned that even though my behavior has consequences, I am not a bad person. I did what was suggested and it has changed and is changing my life. Why do I sense that the Higher Power who has gotten me this far is unavailable or unable to help me with this? I believe this is going to require a Leap of Faith. Just a small leap, because with faith, size really does not matter.

Dear Fear of Failure

Fear of Failure,

You have certainly been a powerful part of my life. Unfortunately, you have been one of  the most powerful, but I am relieved to see the back side of you. It has taken years to gather the positive resources necessary to reach the place in my life where I can say GET THE #(@) OUT! I have earned the right to every #(@) YOU I send with you as I kick you out of the door.

I am aware of no gratitude from having known you. Some day my perception may shift into believing you have initiated positive growth in some way. For now, however, my only awareness is of the countless number of things I have been afraid to try and to pursue because of you. From climbing a damned tree to believing I could ever again write a poem, from daring to swing with abandon at recess to the willingness to accept someone's love for me, you have been my constant companion. As both a soft, quiet whisper and a powerful and piercing voice, you have prophesied how I could and probably would fail. Your mantra has been the theme song on the soundtrack of my life, and just like that stupid song one cannot get out of her head, you have haunted me. Your power has been nothing but a dam to possibilities.
So #(@) OFF NOW!

I am going to know failure in my future; I am going to know even more success. But what I am not going to have anymore, what my ears refuse to listen to again is your echoing message. I will no longer sway in rhythm to the fear of failure melody you love to sing.

Today it is time for a new song.

Courageously,
ME