Every Now and Then

I try really hard to keep these posts somewhat thoughtful and upbeat; I figure no one wants to hear me whine about my "white-girl problems." (That's Carly's term, not mine. I wonder what movie she picked up that from anyway.) Also, I know that Carly and my mom read this on occasion and I would never want to cause them worry, even for a moment, so I try to keep my real whining in my journal and out of my blogs.

BUT, to keep this blog honest and believable, I feel compelled to share some of my struggles, every now and then. With that being said, I have had a rough couple of days.

I've really been dreading starting the whole jury duty thing tomorrow morning. I'd much rather show up in Room 223 ready to hang out with my 5th graders. Every change in routine brings a bit of anxiety for everyone so I've convinced myself that my feelings are no different from other people's. I'm wondering about fat people that might be part of the jury, someone thinner than I am, what about snack and lunch.

More than jury duty, though, I have an appointment with my gynecologist tomorrow afternoon. I haven't been in more than 3 years when I weighed about 30 pounds less.

 Part of me wants to show up, do all of the exams and stuff and nobody say anything about anything. Another part of me wants Dr. Evans to say that I look great, and she's glad I've gained weight.

Part of me wants her to overlook the scars all over my legs and stomach, but another part of me wants her to recognize them for what they are -- symbols of surviving a very dark place.

My disordered thoughts tell me that she'll probably think (if not say) that she's never seen an anorexic weigh as much as I do and that I better put on the brakes or I'll be back for gastric by-pass, and that she'll also wonder what kind of pathetic nutcase would use a razor to make cuts in her own skin.

The healthy part of me would love to able to say that I've been in recovery from an eating disorder for the last two years and I'm very proud of the weight I've gained. I would love to look at that scale with my eyes open and see that three digit number as a symbol of well-being and not loss of control.

For the majority of the time, my sane thoughts win out these days, but every now and then, the disordered voice whispers in my ear.