Forgiveness (step 8)

I tackled a "big one" today.  I wrote about someone in my life who hurt me in the past. I'd been thinking on it and avoiding and absolutely dreading it, and I'd gotten to the point that my fear of facing the emotions associated with writing about him was greater and more unpleasant than the actual emotions themselves. Everything I prayed about and wrote about made me realize I need to let this go so I can keep moving forward. It was an anchor holding me stuck in the same spot, unable to move.

I gave him something somewhere around 2,500 words (with the awareness that more may come up later - this isn't necessarily the end) and more tears than I realized I had in me.  I'm drained emotionally and physically, but I'm strangely peaceful. I wrote about it and allowed myself to feel the hurt and pain and betrayal and anger I've been avoiding feeling all my life, that I've been eating to make go away.

And then it happened - it melted away. 

The things I wrote were no longer painful.   I can read over what I wrote and not feel the pain and the anger anymore. In fact, the things I wrote, especially more recently, were positive.  They filled me with pity and empathy for the flawed and spiritually sick human being he is ... (just like me)... and then with love and gratitude that we've somehow managed to patch together a working relationship in the present. I can love him for the person he is now, not condemn him forever for the things he did in the past.  I can let go of the expectations that he will become a perfect human being and right all the wrongs he's ever done. I can be grateful for the things he's helped me with  and see the positive - like all the times he's gone to extreme lengths to help me in anything and anywhere.

I can forgive him and love him for who he is now. 

Procrastination

I don't want to do step 8.

It calls for a lot of writing and thinking of things past, things I've done and things done to me, and forgiveness. Ah, the healing power of the steps.

I think I'm afraid of this one.  I've been procrastinating on it for weeks.

I'm afraid of the emotions, the process. Even more, I'm afraid of what comes after step 8. I can't help but think about it when I'm writing about step 8.  I don't want to pray for some of these people, don't want to forgive them.  There is a small part of me that wants to hold on to that hurt and that resentment.  It's like I think it makes me special or something, makes me have something that others don't.

But it's making me miserable. 

It's a poison to my day.  It draws me into myself, when I am most happy and content and peaceful when I'm outside my head. I am that tight muscle that resists the flu shot and is sore for a week when a relaxed muscle is not as sore; I am a resistance strong that doesn't want to let this through without a fight.  I don’t want to feel these emotions.  I don't want to let them out.  They're quiet as long as they stay in their little box inside me, only spilling out when I open the lid to take a peek and then snap it shut hard when I see what's inside.

But that little box is getting full, and it's bursting at its seams.  Its contents are festering and fermenting, becoming stronger and more putrid.  They're leaking out.

Open it and clean it out. Throw it out and don't hide things there anymore. Be at peace.

God, please give me the willingness to open this box and bring to light the things that I don't need.  Please relieve me of the fear of them so I can let them go without struggle and be a human being at peace with myself. 

A letter

I've been told many times that a good way to write and get out your feelings is to wrist a letter to God. Then, wait until you get a response back.

God, where am I? I'm lost.  I'm hiding and just going through my days hoping that nothing happens and tomorrow will come sooner, only for tomorrow to come and be exactly the same.

Why am I here?  Why do I feel this emptiness, this stagnant blah that is my life right now?

Can you lead me to a solution, a cure? Can you lead me to my life, one that I can live whole-heartedly?  I want to LIVE my life, not just go through it.  I don't particularly need to change what I do, but love what I do.

How do I do that? How do I capture that again?

Also, I really miss the CSC and being in school and working toward something.  But now that it's here, how do I go about a normal life? What am I working toward in this life?

[watches funny youtube videos and laughs]  Thanks for that.

I guess I'm still tired and lonely.  Is hopeless the right word?

Ok, enough of that. 

Yeah, I feel like crap right now, but it's a passing thing.  Just a couple weeks ago you were shocked at how you could be satisfied with your current life, not constantly raging against the idea that you haven't yet gotten to your real life. THIS IS YOUR LIFE AND MOST DAYS IT'S NOT ALL THAT BAD.

You care for people.  Yes, you hurt for them too, and you stress for them and sometimes you feel like you've failed them.  But you never told Jeff what he did for you, or how much of a relief it was to see mom not having to be with grandma every single night. You are helping these people every day by caring for them.  Don't lose that.  You may never see the seeds you plant, but that doesn't mean you should ever stop scattering them.

You're stuck inside your head and your room.  You go to work and go to the internet and go to sleep. 

Get out of yourself. 

Go outside to the beauty that is there.  RIDE YOUR FRIGGIN' BIKE LIKE YOU KNOW YOU LOVE TO. Don't let the elliptical be your excuse not to do anything for yourself. 

And above all, make this for you, not for your weight or for Kim or Rick or your extended family or co-workers. Not even for the CSC people. You know you are a better, happier person when you get out - and obviously, losing weight is not the end-all be-all purpose to life.

YOU are the purpose to your life, that God may make YOU the best, special, no-mistakes-in-creating-you YOU that will shine for others and greet him cheerfully and maybe a little sheepishly at the end. 

Fear

You might be surprised to read this (why yes, that is sarcasm), but one of my main character defects is fear.  I cling to it, I ruminate and obsess over it, and it overtakes me. 

I've been having a lot of trouble recently.  My little Star Wars calendar that has a cute little sticker for every day that I've been abstinent, and the last week has been a little bare.

What gives?!  It's like I snap.  I am immediately and utterly a different person, and this person is angry at the world and doesn't even want recovery anymore. Why the hell should I be abstinent when I don't care about it anymore? My brain says.  I WANT FOOD, NOT THIS PROGRAM, it yells.  And I give in.

I've started to notice a pattern in these.  Usually up to these episodes, I have been focusing more on the weight and the weight loss.  Particularly, I started weighing myself more often.  I was flabbergasted that I'd lost as much as I did - and I didn't feel like I was doing anything to make this happen. I wasn't in control of my weight loss, but I was losing anyway.  I wasn't exercising, wasn't obsessing over the calories I was eating, and wasn't even hungry all the time.  I lost 10 pounds.

And then the thoughts took hold.  I'm planning a trip to see a guy coming up - maybe I can get to [blank] weight and impress him and be attractive. I'm going to a wedding soon - I'll impress them all with my amazing self-control and not eating that stupid, evil cake. I'm coming up on a doctor visit - better stick to your food plan like glue this week so you'll impress her with how hard you've worked. These plans even go into next year, my year-anniversary with my company, a visit to friends from college, a family reunion - surely if I keep this up I'll be [blank] weight or [blank] size and will shock them all.

As counterintuitive as this sounds, all of this weight loss and thoughts about getting physical recovery  scare the living daylights out of me. It leaves me with a pit in my stomach and lump in my throat to think about walking down the street in an outfit in a normal size and have someone look at me as a normal person, not as a blimp who takes up the whole sidewalk.

So I eat.

I eat to keep myself the way I am because I know nothing different.  I don't know what it is to be a normal weight - I CAN'T EVEN IMAGINE what it would be like to weigh under 200 pounds. A part of me wants to keep the fat, because it is my protection from the outside world and its dangers.  You know, the danger of getting to know people. The danger of being seen as myself, not as my waistline. The danger of not having the "I'm too self-conscious about my weight, so I don't go to public places" excuse that gets me out of things that make me uncomfortable.  The danger of WALKING and BEING OUTDOORS and GOING PLACES that my fat and asthma and bad knees have kept me from.

My fat keeps me in a miserable, small, and boring little world, but it is at least familiar.  [I found a blog post from another person in a 12-step program that said something of the same thing - I'm not alone!] Doing something - anything else - is absolutely terrifying because it is all new. I don't know what is out there, so I fear it, and I cling to the shreds of my insane life that keep me miserable, because I don't know how to function when I'm happy and reasonably healthy.

This isn't the only reason, obviously, that I eat, but sometimes it feels like it's one of the biggest.

As I sit here, on my first abstinent and clear-headed day in a while, I am deeply miserable and sick at heart.  I actually started crying in the middle of my day today and had to hide in my car until it passed; I fully realized just how out of control I have been and how unstable it has made me lately.  I don't want to be this sad and gloomy and angry all the time.  I'm like a little kid who seeks attention - even if it is negative attention - just because that's how I've learned to get what I want in life. I don't want to be that kid. 

Today I want to recover.  I am desperate to find again last week's beautiful sense of surrender, that I was not fighting the food because it did not belong to me anymore.  I am desperate to stop fighting myself and my higher power.

Steps Six and Seven are being completely ready for God to remove all my defects of character and wholeheartedly asking for it. God, please take away my fears.  I am powerless to get rid of them, and I am useless as a person when I am living in them. Please take them from me, and all other defects that keep me from you. 

Green Beans

Who in hell put dried green beans in the healthy food section?!?!

Crunchy, salty, oily, delicious snack.  WHAT WAS I THINKING?

I bought them thinking, "here is a nice idea for a healthy snack!"

They didn't even make it home.  My mom spent 4 minutes in the bank on an errand, and in that time I had eaten 3/4 of the package.  The rest got dumped in a ditch.

Dear grocery store stock person:  THESE ARE NOT HEALTHY. THEY ARE CHIPS.  THEY ARE NOT HEALTHY AT ALL. PUT THEM IN THE SNACK FOOD/CHIPS AND CHOCOLATE AISLE.  Sincerely, Sarah. 

Re-stepping

I titled this "re-stepping" because after my most recent binge, I started to go through the steps again, but in a more natural progression.  I didn't try to take them, but they happened on their own.  You've already heard about reaching (what I hope is) a bottom and looking up and asking for help. I became willing to do just about anything to get me out of this pit  (steps one through three).

And then it kept happening. The progression of these steps was revealed to me not as a predetermined prescriptive set of actions, but a natural progression that someone goes through when they are reaching for recovery.  They are not the sort of steps or rules I learned in school - you read, you pay attention, you do the homework, and - eureka! - you have all the right answers. No amount of studying could prepare me for the 'test' of recovery - I had to TAKE the steps in my heart and LIVE them, not just do the work to try to pass the test.

A sidebar - My favorite contemporary author/internet person, John Green, presented the entertaining and educational  "World History" Crash Course videos.  The first begins with a question from a student: "Will this be on the test?"  And the answer continues to blow my mind:

(the quote starts at about 10 seconds into the video) "The test will measure whether you are an informed, engaged, and productive citizen of the world and it will take place in schools and bars and hospitals and dorm rooms and in places of worship. You will be tested on first dates, in job interviews, while watching football and while scrolling through your twitter feed. The test will judge your ability to think about things other than celebrity marriages, whether you’ll be easily persuaded by empty political rhetoric, and whether you’ll be able to place your life and your community in a broader context. The test will last your entire life and it will be comprised of the millions of decisions that when taken together make your life yours. And everything - everything - will be on it."

Crash Course is another of my addictions. Now back to step stuff:

Have I ever complained about a specific co-worker?  I shall not name her, but anyone who knows me in person probably has heard me complain about her.  At the beginning of my baby of a career, a time full of so much hope and excitement, she became the absolute focus of my resentments.  I hated her for what I assumed- what felt like to me - was a personal hatred for me.  My insecurities and fears and her way of telling me when I messed something up made me feel that she was unjustly persecuting me because she hated something fundamental inside me. I was convinced that she purposely did not train me in certain things, setting me up for failure to make herself look good.  I was sure that she caused a facility to complain about me by badmouthing me behind my back with the other staff. I darn near hated this woman. 

And what do I do when I have strong emotions (positive or negative) roiling through me? I eat.

After finding bottom, I sure wasn't going to go back into the food, but my feelings about her were strong enough to drive me back to it or possibly to worse things.  I though about quitting - a lot.  I began fantasizing about her getting fired.  I began sabotaging my own work in small ways  so that it would make her day harder. I knew this, and I needed help getting rid of these poisonous resentments that would drag me back into relapse. 

God gave me that release in the form of overhearing her one day. She had just gotten a rather nasty email from her superiors, who were pressuring her to change the way she has done things for 20+ years.  It was - quite truly - unfair of them to expect her to do differently (it's a petty, paltry difference that makes her life significantly harder, and does nothing for the company).  I then had a conversation with her [regarding the new therapist who just started and missed one simple treatment note/obscure Medicare rule that made a huge difference in how much money the facility got paid and made our company look incompetent], about *shocker* how hard it is to be expected to train someone in all that there is and ever was to be known about Medicare while also trying to live up to our own productivity demands and expectations from the company. We cannot babysit the new therapist and walk him through every single treatment note and evaluation - there is not enough time in the day, and I'm already stressed enough with my workload. Most days we hope he does things mostly right, and pick up the pieces if he doesn't.

Gosh, she must have felt the same about me.

BOOM. Something happened in that conversation.  It was empathy.  It was a shared experience.  It was seeing another human being in front of me who has flaws and frustrations and stress and sometimes doesn't deal with them in the greatest way, making her come off very abrasively.  In a way, she was just as sick as I was/am.  She is "just another bozo on the bus" trying to make her way in the world and trying not to lose her job or the good standing she's earned in a very picky facility.  Is she perfect? No!  Do I think she is still handling things potentially incorrectly?  Yeah. 

BUT I DON'T HAVE TO HOLD ON TO THOSE FEELINGS.  I DON'T HAVE TO LET THEM MAKE ME RELAPSE. I don't have to let my fears and resentments weight me down so much that I slide right back down to a bottom so deep I can't see the light from the top. 

The way I did step four was based loosely on the recommendations in the Big Book, Alcoholics Anonymous.  You list your resentments (for after all, they keep you from recovering fully), you do some other stuff, and you say a prayer for that person (shortened for my purposes): "God, Please help me to be free of anger… help me to master my resentments by understanding that the people who wrong me were perhaps spiritually sick. Please help me show those I resent the same Tolerance, Pity and Patience that I would cheerfully grant a sick friend. Help me to see that this is a sick [person]."

I don't hold the monopoly on being sick in my mind, body, and/or spirit. Once I realize that, I can let go.  I can start to be free and continue to recover.

And (dang it), I now get along with her pretty well.

I hope that my continued foray into the steps will be as fruitful.  I cannot imagine what is to come or what I will become,  but I am willing to keep going. 

Reaching for... what?

Why am I trying to recover from compulsive overeating?

I already wrote "the list," but that was all about weight.  I've come to realize that my recent 'success' (following my most recent binge) with my OA program has been mired in a sense of defeat, a sense of complete and unconditional surrender.  I canNOT control my food, so I kind of gave up.  Yes, it was great not to be as tempted to eat off my planned food for the day, and yes, it's great to stick to my commitments about exercising and food, but there was still this pervasive sense of ...loss.  Indeed, I even began to feel deep feelings of grief, mourning the loss of the delusion that I ever controlled my life at all.

But I had let go of the food, and I was left with nothing in my hands.  I had let go of my anchor and was floating freely, ready for another wave to wash me into turbulent and dangerous waters.

That wave came soon, and it was bad news about my brother.  I won't elaborate, but it's a wave of emotional pain that I cannot fix, cannot stop feeling, and can only make worse if I do just about anything.  I've admitted to being insane, and part of that was an intense desire to make everything and everything around me "right" and "ok."  That meant bending over backwards (in my mind) to help (ahem, force) my mom to clean her house and belittle my brother for his life choices (for his own good, and he needed to hear the truth even if it was an ugly thing for me to say).  It saddens me to write this, since at one time those thoughts were at the front of my mind.

I'm getting ahead of myself, but I already know that those closest to me are the ones to whom I owe the most amends.  I hurt them with words and actions more times than I can count because I was intent on "saving" them from how they had "messed up their own lives." 

Not arrogant at all, right?

I spent a Saturday evening ruminating about my brother, wallowing in the sadness and helplessness.  And then I got angry.  I got angry with having to follow this stupid program and what the hell is the point in losing weight if I can't do any good and why should I care… etc. I ate about twice as much as I normally do for dinner, plus a couple snacks, but it didn't take long for me to admit that the food wasn't making me any better either.  It definitely felt like a temper tantrum.

I realized I had let go of the food, but not taken hold of anything else.  I had been filling an emotional void in me with food for years, and now without the food I wasn't filling it with anything else either. I can't just sit and wade in the water, anchor-less; I need a raft or at least the tiny tip of a nearby island that I can set my sights on and swim for.

I read back over my "list."  This stuck out: "Life… I want to be a part of it."

What am I striving for?  What, on bad days, will keep me pointed in the right direction rather than being lured away by the false security of food?  LIFE. 

No guarantees that it will get easier or that I will be successful.  No guarantees that I will be happy all the time.

(but I don't get that from the food either.  I didn't really get anything from the food - it just helped me feel better about not living my life.  It gave me an excuse not to go out and DO things. It also turned me into a very selfish and not nice person to be around)

What I DO get is the ability - no, the privilege - to PARTICIPATE in my life.  It is a wondrous gift to be given this particular body and mind in this particular country and time. I have a great job, am saving for my dreams, and have a loving circle of people around me who, despite my efforts to prove them brainless for doing so, love me for who I am.  Why do I hide in misery of food compulsion and bingeing and being so overweight that even my patients make remarks?

Here's my revelation for today: I WANT TO LIVE. And I can do that more effectively without the food. I can swim for that. 

Missteps

So I come back to writing. Blogging. That tool that I love so much but neglect so quickly…. After a slip.

A few weeks ago I went to the Region 4 conference of OA.  It was amazing, eye-opening, and one of the most lovely weekends I've spent in a long time (See "Convention!"). But it also put me out of my element and plopped me into a large city and a large group of strangers.  Even though we were all of the same mind and had so many things in common, I still am inevitably nervous in large crowds - especially when I'm being "just me" and not "professional Sarah" or "academic Sarah" or "singing in choir Sarah."  That's the funny thing: I can sing or present academic/professional material fine in front of people, but the minute I am just being myself in that group (without the extra purpose or "hat" I put on), I self-destruct.  I had a few moments where I just had to be alone and hid in my hotel room, took a walk outside (in a large city, at dusk, alone) or hid in the bathroom. I spoke to some people, but was so nervous on a few occasions that I started hyperventilating and crying. *sigh*

[This was also the reason I went back to my doctor and asked to trial another antidepressant/anti-anxiety med… I know this is more than your average levels of fear.  On the bright side, Wellbutrin is NOT a devil drug for me.]

But still, it was quite a wonderful weekend, and that's what got me. 

I had just spent two weeks running on empty/burning the candle at both ends/whatever cliché works for you.  I had been, once more, ridiculously busy at work, and maintaining abstinence was the only thing keeping me together.  I clung to my food plan like it was the thread keeping me from falling off the cliff edge I was dangling from.  Then I had a fun relaxing weekend surrounded by happy, recovering people (who also talked a lot about food and food plans).  I started to compare my recovery to theirs, my food plan to his or hers, and I started to cheat.  After a few days of cheating and "getting away with it," I went from zero to binge in the space of a heartbeat.

Fifty minutes into a full-on binge, after eating I don't know how many days' worth of eggs, bread, cheese, crackers, barbecued beef, and a lot of other things, I started to shake.  For one, I was on the verge of being physically ill because I was so stuffed.  But I was terrified that, even as I was contemplating whether I needed to use the trash can to puke or if I could make it to the toilet in time, I was still eating. 

I was still eating and I could not make myself stop. 

My mom finally came home, and I basically had to ask her to take the food out of my hands.  And then I lost it.  I cried and shook and curled up in despair and shame and disgust.  I had let my guard down because I was happy, and I let my disease catch up with me when I wasn't looking.

But I had also, truly, in my heart, taken the first step. 

"We admitted we were powerless over food — that our lives had become unmanageable."

I then cried out to God in desperation to save me from this insanity. I am sick, and I and doctors and medications can't save me, so I have to ask that Someone with the only real power.

[Ahem, step Two]

And I started reaching for my OA tools and listening (well, trying to listen) to my higher power, because I obviously could not trust what my brain decides what is a good idea.  I became willing to do whatever was necessary to avoid ever living through that pain again.  I passed up on extra servings not because I didn't think I could get away with it, but because they weren't on my food plan for that day. I even went through a period of grieving - not for the food, but for the delusion that I ever was in control of my life at all.

[..aaaaaannd Step Three]

What I started that day and that week was a realization that the Twelve Steps are not simply a predetermined/prescripted set of rules I have to follow.  Instead, they are a natural progression that a human being takes when s/he is faced with the crippling, life-destroying disease of addiction.  I began to take the steps on my own because one naturally leads to the next, and they make my life a little easier to bear one day at a time.  They make me a better person.

(More on this later!)

The "devil drug"

I once had a friend who took Effexor for a while.  It had such horrible side effects for her that she now refuses to call it by name and instead calls it "the devil drug."  She started calling it this after being picked up by the police stumbling half-naked down the middle of a road slurring her words and yelling nonsense to the sky. 

I have my own now: Prozac.  I no longer will even say that I have no drug allergies; I will list this medication as "DO NOT GIVE TO ME EVER" for the rest of my life because of how crazy my reaction to it was. 

Settle in, here comes a LONG description of 2 weeks of hell:

It started with a conversation about how maintaining my abstinence had revealed my anxieties and obsessive thoughts and just how powerful and destructive they are.  Like, I-have-such-low-self-esteem-that-death-seems-a-sensible-and-logical-option destructive.  Like I-am-so-anxious-around-people-and-sensitive-to-criticism-that-a-little-note-from-a-co-worker-makes-me-hide-in-the-bathroom-and-cry-for-twenty-minutes anxiety.

I got the courage to ask my doctor.  I also 'fessed up to not taking my first blood pressure medication (a diuretic that was making me rush to the bathroom every ten freaking minutes) because the side effects were bothering me even after months of taking it when my body should have adjusted.  Also, I was sort of subtly not wanting to take those medications because  I have a lot of resentment toward the doctor who prescribed them to me. THIS is how screwed up my head is, that I don't want to take medication I need (putting me at risk for stroke and heart attack and vascular damage and who knows what else) simply because someone hurt my feelings.

My doctor was (miraculously, to my mind that was expecting revulsion or condemnation) very understanding and said OF COURSE you shouldn't take medications whose side effects are that disruptive.  There are PLENTY other options.  And OF COURSE we can get you on a medication to treat your totally clinical and utterly-not-your-fault depressive/anxious/compulsive tendencies.

Can I just say how awesome it is to have a doctor who is this AWESOME?

The first few days were pretty ok.  About day four I started having these little flashes of feeling awake and energized, making my ridiculously happy and carefree.  I was like, wow!  I'm reacting quickly!  They say it'll take weeks - this is great! I had a really busy week, but that was ok. And oh yeah, I also had almost no cravings or compulsive food thoughts haunting me.  I know what you're thinking - PLACEBO EFFECT - right?

Sure.

I had started the medication on Tuesday morning, and the following Sunday I had a very nice morning; after sleeping in, I went to church, and I actually paid attention to the message and enjoyed it! Yeah, I felt kind of weird, but that's ok; l felt good too.  I felt a part of my own life, not an outsider. I was hopeful that this medication could help me get my head screwed on straight again.

But the weird feeling didn't go away.  I felt vague, somewhat lightheaded, and almost like I was separated from my body. But my blood pressure was slightly lower than my normal (high) reading [yay for new BP meds!], and my heart rate was normal even after climbing stairs.  I sat down to fold laundry, lounged in my pajamas, and spent 15 minutes or so on facebook.  I was having a gloriously lazy day.

Then it all went to hell in about 15 seconds.  I felt this mad flush go through my body, starting in my chest, and started sweating like mad.  My heart rate, previously 60, was over 100 in about ten seconds and pounding painfully.  I felt dizzy, heard a rushing in my ears, and generally felt like I was going to puke in my mom's lap or else pass out at any second.  It felt physically effortful to speak or move my limbs, almost like a drunk feeling.  My right hand started tingling, and it was shaking like mad. I said very calmly, "Mom, I think you should call 911.  Take me to the ER now."

[a brief side note - it is a mark of my always-think-of-the-worst-case-scenario mentality that I had thought through previously what I would do if I ever had a medical emergency at home and upstairs.  My thoughts were basically to get down the stairs and to the car if able, because waiting for an ambulance to get to the middle of nowhere and then EMS people having to get a gurney upstairs (or worse, lift and have to carry me down them, just for the 20+ minute drive to the hospital) is not a pretty situation and would make the patient-to-hospital response time that much slower. Not to mention what the neighbors would say]

I stumbled to the car, and mom proceeded to try to beak the sound barrier or else make my car blow up.  She told me later that she made it over 100mph. Yikes.  I talked to the 911 person on the phone, told him my symptoms, and told him no, we don't need an ambulance because it'll be faster if my mom takes me, and yes, let them know I'm coming.  I was really out of it (indeed, felt almost like this was happening to someone else) but doing my best to describe my symptoms clinically to my mom in case I passed out.   I even made sure she could give them a copy of my new insurance card. I objectively listed my symptoms, my new medications, and listed off the possible diagnoses that were in my head: heart attack, stroke, or delayed allergic reaction to the new meds (oh, and what are the symptoms of serotonin syndrome, by the way?).  I didn't pass out, and I listed the same symptoms and history to the doctor in the ER. And to the nurse.  And to another nurse.

I remember distinctly saying, "If this turns out to be, like, just a panic attack, I'm going to be really pissed off."

They lay me on the bed and took an EKG and my blood pressure.  EKG was normal, but my blood pressure was ridiculously high.  I lay there for what felt like a dizzy, heart-pounding, out-of-body-what-is-my-body-doing-to-me eternity, mom trying to distract me with funny stories, and gradually I started to feel better.  The doctor asked me a lot of questions about my history and when the new meds started, and said this could be "growing pains" from the Prozac. Sometimes taking medication for anxiety can lead to increased anxiety. It should go away.  Follow up in two weeks with your doctor.

F#$% &%*#% ^^&#$($ &$^#@* #@&# #*#$ @%%$

They gave me a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication PRN, and a nifty little handout about anxiety.  Surreally, I checked off every single of my stupid little symptoms, even down to the tingling fingers and "derealization" or "depersonalization."

Wanna see a list?

"just" a panic attack

"just" my body betraying me

"just" my body's fight-or-flight system going ape$%#!

"just" my body trying to run a marathon without bothering to inform me of its plans

"just" a hideous ER bill that will come in the mail.  For what?! For a little pamphlet and some benzodiazepines. 

Let me stress this: I've had what my therapist called a panic attack before, but I knew what those were and where they came from.  They came from my being in a situation that caused me anxiety, and I was so full of the emotions of fear and shame that my body over-reacted as well (cue the crying and hyperventilation).  This was nothing like that.  This was the physical CRAZY without any of the emotion or the fear.  In those past situations, I ultimately had the power and the option to extricate myself from the situation or allow myself to work through the fear.  This was the ultimate in feeling out of control - I had absolutely no say, no power, and no way to stop this from ever happening again.  (cue pity party)

 What followed was a week of hell.  I called my doctor three times the next day, and she said - because surely it's too soon for the medication to be taking effect - wait for the results, ride it out if you can, and call if anything changes. I did my best. 

That whole week I was alternately fidget-can't-stop-talking-so-happy girl, or get-me-the-hell-out-of-this-job-I-hate-life girl.  I was mildly nauseated every single day, and I started having mini panic attacks in the middle of the workday.  You know, sitting with my co-workers in a meeting and suddenly feeling like I'm having hot flashes and can't control my racing heart while trying to discuss the finer points of dementia treatment planning.  I started feeling like something was stuck in my throat; not blocking my breathing or interfering with swallowing at all, but nevertheless feeling like it.  I was constantly tapping my feet, unable to sit still, and most of the time had uncontrollable urges to rock back and forth or else jump up and down. I was utterly unable to concentrate, my mind flitting like a bird from on thing to another, and not letting me do my work.  I felt like work wasn't worth it, and I just wanted to stay home and forget the world.  I took to speeding regularly (I'm talking 80 in a 45) just because 55 wasn't fast enough, and the speed limit didn't apply to me anyway.

On the bright side, I never really felt like eating.  Mild nausea and a lump in your throat make that a little less desirable.  On a few occasions I actually had to force myself to eat.  And the kick to it all? Even with two days of help from my COTA, I worked nearly 50 hours; we had just that many patients.

I went in the following Monday to ask my doctor what the hell was going on with this lump in my throat.  Am I getting sick and this is just a swollen lymph node?  Do I have mono? Do I have cancer?!  (yes, I do frequently diagnose myself like this. Not an anxious personality at all).

As it turns out, it wasn't.

Read about 'globus sensation.'  And for the record, those happy euphoric moments were clinical mania or hypomania, and the restlessness was 'akathisia.'  They (along with panic attacks and personality changes) are listed in the little drug handout in bold and all caps as "SEVERE side effects - seek medical attention IMMEDIATELY"

These were all physical symptoms of my body basically being in a panic fight-or-flight state at all times for the past week and a half.  The manic episodes are considered precursors to reckless and suicidal behavior and in studies had led to death.

Awesome. &**$^&@# #*^$*^ $^#& #*&@#*&\

As I stood [I couldn't sit or even stop tapping my feet] there in the office, describing my symptoms, my doctor's face became more and more flabbergasted that I could have reacted SO quickly and SO strongly and SO BADLY to -get this - the exact same medication and dose I had taken and responded well to in high school when I was depressed. She told me to get the hell off that medication NOW and to tell her when the effects were completely gone (it may take WEEKS).  We'll leave my serotonin levels alone, thank you very much.  SSRIs are now a new addition to my Drug Allergies list.  

On the bright side, the not-eating and panic-fidgeting all the time had led to me losing four pounds in two weeks.

Getting off the meds was just as hard.  The globus sensation didn't go away for a week, and the mini panic and manic episodes got less intense but lasted until the following Sunday.  What was worse was realizing how much of my personality had changed.  I had stopped caring even about my patients or my family, and losing the ability to concentrate was near and dear to my proud-of-my-intellect heart.

(Another side note about how amazing my mom is for having stuck with me through this week of me treating her like crap and putting her through all this.  Thanks mom.)

I called my doctor yesterday to tell her the symptoms were gone, and I am ready to try bupropion, an SNRI.  Norepinephrine, you're next.  Please don't screw me up.

Oh, and here's the kicker:  how did I know I was back to normal?  A little voice inside my head saying, "You know, even though last week was really bad, you still lost weight.  Maybe it would be worth it."  

Convention!

I went to OA Region 4 convention!!!!!!!!
I gave up spent a whole weekend on recovery!!!!!!!!!

Lessons I learned:
• I am not alone - I am part of a community of millions of different people, young and old, who share the same crazy head when it comes to food.
• HOPE - There is hope.  I saw 'before' pictures and sane, happy, peaceful people at normal weights. I heard people tell my story, nearly taking the words from my heart and saying them aloud in the air for others to hear and agree with. There is hope for recovery.  I can live my life DESPITE having this, not CONTROLLED by this.
• We are never finished - no matter how many years of abstinence and recovery people have, they are still addicts.  They are still compulsive overeaters.  They can have one tiny event or crumb or emotion throw them off - and 200 pounds later, they start over again.
• I have a new assignment! Pray every day, meditate every day, and 'love on' someone from OA every day

I felt the comfort of belonging and feeling truly understood.  I felt like I belonged with them.  I realized whole-heartedly and with a sinking stomach [as I rushed to my room immediately after finishing dinner to eat my snack, and feeling so ashamed at my haste that I felt the need to eat it in the bathroom, washing the crumbs down the sink to hide the evidence] that I AM AND ALWAYS WILL BE A COMPULSIVE EATER, BUT I DON'T HAVE TO STOP LIVING MY LIFE.

I choose recovery.

I also felt the terror of talking to these people - despite knowing that I am welcome and accepted - and DANG IT I need to get this anxiety treated.  I should not almost break down in tears and hyperventilation just talking to someone new.

The wonder and excitement, then the depression that follows after the high.  The compulsion returning because of the 'new' and unusual happy feelings (it's been a couple stressful and terrifying weeks - I'll post on that soon).  The temptation to self-pity, that as wonderful as it is to have these people, I still have this disease, and right now I can't label myself as "grateful" (yet).

Saturday Sadness

So....... apparently Saturdays are a difficulty with me.

The events leading up to the afternoon in question are clear to me now, though they felt ok at the time.  Friday night I was TIRED, but I was happy for Friday and decided to have movie night with my mom, a few alcoholic drinks included.  I stayed up later than normal, but it was ok since the next day was Saturday.  

I slept in the next morning, missed my workout, and rushed out the door WITHOUT COFFEE.  I. WAS. TIRED. 

 I left my morning meeting on a high, and then the day went down from there.  Yesterday in particular, I went from my meeting (WE HAVE A NEWCOMER YAY) all bright and cheery and then turned 180 emotionally after eating lunch alone surrounded by happy "normal" people, went shopping (and had to brave the crowded mall - my social anxiety did not like it), and went home.  I had a lot to do, but I was tired and didn't feel like it.  So I wiled away a few hours watching internet videos, but that only made me feel worse because I wasn't doing anything productive.  

I had bought some chocolate at the grocery store for use later in the week.  I decided to try "a little" because - ummm... I deserved it?  Because I was tired? Who knows? 

I kept along that line - a little bit at a time - until the entire (very large 6-or-7 serving bar) was gone.  Then I felt sick from all the sugar, so I told myself that an early dinner couldn't hurt, and the meal would help me feel better. 

I ate my dinner, and then grazed my way through the rest of the evening, unable to stop or go to bed or stop watching internet videos endlessly.  

I went to bed without a qualm, having convinced myself that I had maintained abstinence because the foods I ate weren't on my binge list.  

I woke up groggy, sleepy, and unable to think clearly.  I half-dozed through church. I left church in tears, finally feeling the feelings (mainly shame and sadness, with a little hint of despair) I had eaten away the night before.  I was in a food fog and utterly unable to engage in life, in church, in things I desperately wanted to do to find comfort that day (enjoy the day with enough energy to ride my bike and do my chores, sing at church, pray/meditate and make a meaningful connection to my higher power). 

I cried a lot. 

And then I called an OA friend.  She's fairly new/returned to the program, and she and I have a lot in common emotionally. She shared in my pain, and talking to her turned the roiling chaotic ball of turbulent, raw emotion slowed its rumbling and calmed my inner insanity for the moment.She helped me realize that I need to keep being honest about my food.   There is no "innocent" slip, no such thing as "just a little." I am sick, and this program is my treatment. 

I re-committed to working the program, the steps, emailing my food honestly to my sponsor, and defeating my isolation vigilantly by calling someone from the program even when I feel just a little bit lonely or tired or resentful. 

Also, more blog posts to come!

Step Five

I took step five last week.   As in, I first completed a "searching and fearless moral inventory" to help me identify the" core character defects" that  are at the heart of why I eat.  I then "Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of [my] wrongs."  

Oh the feels.

All of the above. AT ONCE.

Step five is a painful but apparently necessary part of a 12-step program.  I trusted the program enough to take the leap.  By sharing, I aired those events and actions in my past that made me set myself apart from people, ending my self-imposed isolation in a radical way.  I learned more than I ever have about acceptance and trust.  I originally planned to talk to my sponsor, but three massive weekend storms prevented that, and I didn't want to wait any longer. I asked the flustered local parish priest (who knows very little about any 12-step programs, let alone anything about OA) to listen.

The crazy part was that in the end, the actual telling wasn't even a big deal.  So I've made mistakes.  So I've done stupid, selfish, and dishonest things out of fear and pride and wanting to feel in control.  So have a lot of other people.  The part that was even better?  The process of explaining to someone who hasn't lived this life (the roller coaster of feelings that are so out of control that you become a slave to [insert addiction here])forced me to articulate in simple and straightforward terms why I needed this program and how it is helping me.  As my sponsor later said to me, "Isn't it weird how sometimes the things you say are exactly what you needed to hear?" 

In explaining the program to him, I explained to myself that OA is helping me put food back in its proper place.  From the beginning, my food plan has been to eat three meals a day with LIFE in between; that purpose is more real to me than ever.  Food had once become my God, the thing around which I centered my life.  Without a real, healthy anchor for my life, I went spinning out of control.  Now I can put God back at the center.  Now I can get back on my way Home. 

Tantrums

I've recently likened my period so far in recovery to being like a toddler, specifically with regards to emotions.

What I mean is: from an early age, I learned that eating could help me cope with my emotions.  Specifically, eating (especially large amounts of food) could quiet those emotions.  If there was en event that caused me stress (or fear or happiness or sadness or just about anything), I could find solace and peace in eating. I could make myself numb. Food was my friend.  Food was my drug. Food was the way I coped with life.

But now… *sigh.*  Now I don't have the food anymore.  I don't binge, and I avoid eating compulsively and those foods that trigger these behaviors.  I have to cope with life without the coping mechanism I'd been using for the majority of my life.

Now when something happens - something sad, annoying, worrying, or even just when I'm bored - I have to deal with it in healthy ways.  But what happens when someone didn't learn healthy ways? The answer: TANTRUM.

Good heavens, I FEEL LIKE A TWO-YEAR-OLD.  Whenever I'm a little tired, something doesn't go my way, or something annoys me, I WANT TO CRY AND CURL UP IN A BALL AND YELL UNTIL SOMEONE MAKES IT ALL GO AWAY. It's like I expect Mommy to pick me up with a hug, take me home, give me a snack, and tuck me in for a nap. If not, I'LL SCREAM UNTIL SHE DOES IT.

That, or I feel like a Vulcan who's lost emotional control and is unable to control his/her emotional responses.  [I've been watching a lot of Star Trek lately, sorry].

An example:

Yesterday, I woke up and made plan for the day.  It didn't include much except going to my OA meeting and maybe cleaning the kitchen.  Then I looked out the window and saw that it'd snowed all night and hadn't quit. Already, about five inches had accumulated, and there were no plows in sight.  The roads getting out of town would not be safe.  After two hours of watching more snow fall and not seeing plows, I called and let the meeting contact person know that I wasn't going to make it.

Shortly after that, mom reminded me that a musical performance [to which I had said yes ages ago and then promptly forgot about] was that afternoon.  I did NOT want to go.  *Cue pout and passive-aggressive door-slamming and dramatic sighs.*

We went to the performance, and just as I was warming up to it, the beginning chords to "For Good" from Wicked came on.  This is the song they played when I left my last church community and the choir people that I loved so much; this song has a lot of meaning for me.

BAM.  Memories.  Sadness.  Grief.  Loss.

I practically ran to the bathroom and proceeded to have a cry fit that lasted for the next two songs.

I cannot stress how terrifying and unsettling it was to have these emotions so suddenly and so absolutely overwhelm me.  Like a child whose crying is so strong that she starts to hyperventilate and hiccup while sobbing, I could not control anything. 

Ugh.  Feelings. I hope I learn how to deal with them soon.  Obviously, eating to drown them is not the solution; that leads down the road to insanity. I need healthy coping strategies - and fast. 

Imaginings

I've shared my experiences with imaginative  prayer in the past, but in those instances it was in a structured retreat environment.   I never really thought that this type of dreaming-slash-prayer-slash-whatever weirdness was for me - at least not on a daily basis.  But recent events have made me desperate. 

I've been coming slowly to the realization that my prayer life has been lacking.  Most days, I halfheartedly parrot memorized prayers and call it good.  I don't meditate, I don't converse, and I certainly don't listen. 

Then I took my certification exam and had to wait for the results. 

Before the test, I was stuck inside all day, trying to study. Now I'm stuck inside all day NOT studying.  I'm just waiting. 

So I reached out.  I shared at a phone meeting (yeesh, that was terrifying), called my sponsor, and answered some more workbook questions.  What’s more: I turned off Netflix, put away Facebook, and lit the blessed candle for some one-on-one time with my higher power.  I let my imagination wander, and two days in a row, I was astounded by what resulted.

Day one: 

I'm in rough waters, treading but barely keeping afloat (interesting to imagine, since I usually have no problem floating.  I do have a lot of buoyant material in my body).  It's dark, I'm lost in what feels like an ocean, and I feel like I'm going to become exhausted soon and drown.  I cry for help.

A piece of wreckage floats near, and I grab hold.  I cling tightly, desperate not to let my grip loosen.  I try to steer, but I can't see where I'm going.  I give myself up for lost. 

I'm nearing the edges of sleep when I feel something.  It's sand under my feet, weeds tickling my hands.  Land!  I have found the banks of this endless water at last!  My attempts to steer myself must have led me here.

A hand reaches out to me.  It helps lift me from the water.  It is strong, and it wraps a warm towel around me.  The sun is coming up, and I see clearly: I was in a river.  The current carried me here.  There were logs and floating items all around me, but I flailed around so much that I caused them to drift out of my reach.  Indeed, my attempts at steering had led me away from shore each time I came near.  I simply had to be still and wait for the current to carry me to safety; my attempts to choose my own course only led me further away.

Day two: [by the way, I didn't get my exam results.  I HAVE TO WAIT ANOTHER WEEK FOR THEM AAAARRRRGGGHHHHH!!!!!]

I'm sitting alone on a beach against a tree.  My flashlight has just quit working. It's pitch dark, and I'm very afraid.  I've never felt more alone or scared.  I feel something brush my shoulder, and I freeze up in fright.  I'm convinced it's a spider or some other scary bug about to crawl all over me and bite me.

I speak into the darkness, ask for help. 

I hear nothing but the breeze.  I come out of my curled-up ball of fright and look up. 

The thing that had brushed my shoulder was a butterfly.  And there's something else - it's not so dark anymore.  In fact, I can see the brilliant expanse of stars.  They dazzle me in their brilliance.

But there's more.  That thing that had brushed my shoulder - it's a butterfly.  And it's glowing!  The leaves glisten as they are moved by the wind.  The insects, the water, even the fish light up like glowworms.  I am surrounded by beauty and life, and I revel in it.  I am no longer alone or afraid.  I sleep peacefully, awakened by the light of the glorious sunrise. 

A minor miracle

Last week I did a little job shadowing.  I followed an OT around a hospital for a half day.  He's pretty awesome, and I learned a few tips.  More than that, I got to spend five hours with someone who loves his job almost as much as breathing.

A small miracle happened that morning.  Not only did I have very few food-obsessed thoughts while I was observing, I also ate lunch late AND WASN'T FREAKED OUT ABOUT IT.

The original plan was for a half day (morning only), so I packed a lunch to eat after I was finished, and I left it in the car.  I didn't feel like dealing with storing my lunch and then making a mess in the office trying to eat it (however unwisely, it included a can of soup). 

But when lunchtime came, there was still more work to do and more things to observe until about 1:30.  My supervisor took me to the café and invited me to grab something like a sandwich so we could eat quickly in the office while he completed documentation.  I said calmly (AND MEANT) "I'm all right.  I have plans for lunch later.  I'll just have coffee." 

I can't get over the fact that I truly meant what I said.  I really was ok with the idea of eating my lunch at some undisclosed later time.

When the day ended (about 1:45), I headed to my car.  I was mildly hungry, but not uncomfortable.  Did I scarf down my lunch while sitting in the parking lot? No!  Did I slurp down my frigid can of soup straight from the can?  No!!!!  I DROVE HOME AND HEATED MY LUNCH AND ATE IT THERE.

There.  There's my miracle.  I LIVED.  Food came second to LIFE. For once.

:)

Coping Strategies

Is there any situation more dangerous for me than one in which I am left to my own devices... and BORED?

Before I joined OA, even when I was on one diet or another, I used food as my entertainment. Yes, I used it for a good number of other purposes, but that was one of the most frequent.  Eating made periods between fun activities interesting and tolerable.

Studying?  Popcorn
Watching a movie? Chocolate.  And popcorn.
Procrastinating on a big project and trying to find something -- anything -- else to distract me from what I'm supposed to be doing? Cook something extremely time-consuming and intricate.
BORED BECAUSE THAT INTRICATE DISH YOU'RE COOKING IS TAKING TOO LONG TO COOK? EAT A SANDWICH AND A BAG OF CHIPS AS A SNACK. You know, to "sustain me" and "keep up my strength" until my food is done.

Yeesh.  Talk about insanity.

And now I'm at home, using my time in between graduation and taking the Big Bad Certification Exam to study.

Hours.  Hours and hours of sitting and reading.  Occasionally there might be some writing of flashcards. Maybe even a highlighter or two.

As necessary as it is, it's still dead boring.

Every two to twelve minutes on average, I glance at the clock and find out how long it is until I can eat again. The distraction is so strong that there are some days that I can spend forty minutes out of sixty thinking about food, preparing food, and/or pacing aimlessly toward and from the kitchen.  It's maddening. There are peaceful periods, the miraculous stretches of time when my mind is so occupied by other things that I am drawn out of my head and out of myself.

I've gotten the clear message: if I don't want to go back to the insanity that is living for food, I need to cultivate more instances like that, more daily miracles.  I need activities that are so intrinsically motivating that I have to remind myself that it's time to eat.  (Ha... or at least that will keep me occupied in positive activities and out of the kitchen).

It's time to apply my philosophy of love and kindness, which I've attempted to apply to my food plan, to more of my life.  Just because I have a long list of chores and things to study doesn't mean the rest of my life - and my recovery - can be put aside.  I can't keep procrastinating on living, putting off doing things for myself until everything falls into place.

So, for future reference, I hereby give myself permission to enjoy myself, even when I haven't finished a chapter or a project or an exam.  Some ideas to fall back on:
MUSIC: practice the tinwhistle; write down the notes to some of your favorite reels; help mom learn Mass parts
CONNECTIONS: write notes to people for no reason
OA TOOLS: write, read OA literature, go to a meeting
ART: start a pastel or pencil or charcoal project
LANGUAGE: watch a Mexican soap opera, play with Rosetta Stone
MOVE: do an exercise video; heaven forbid, do some lifting on the equipment downstairs
READ: pick up a book you haven't touched in years; open your Awakening envelope; Listen to an audiobook
PRAY: take a few moments to be grateful that God's gotten you this far.  Look at the light around you; listen to the sounds.  Thank God for the miracle that you're alive, that you can feel your heartbeat and breathe the air freely.

H.A.L.T.

I had a rather humbling (and frustrating) day today. I started behind because I had unwisely stayed up extremely late to watch the premiere of a new tv show.  I found the episode at about midnight when I was already WAY late, and then decided that I just couldn't sleep without finishing the story. I could deal fine with one day being sleep deprived, right?

Ha.  Wrong.

Granted, it wasn't all bad.  Carried on a caffeine high, I dragged myself out of bed and to church.  There were more people than usual, always a good thing.  I stayed late to give my contact information to someone coordinating volunteers, and we ended up talking for quite a while.  We eventually made it downstairs (I successfully resisted donuts - ha!) for coffee and chattering away with the woman's two ADORABLE daughters.  They had recently gone to The Wizarding World of Harry Potter, and we all had fun talking about the books, movies, rides, and other fun nerd stuff.  I WANT TO GO SOOOOOOO BAD.

It was about 12:30 by the time we left the church, and we still had to drive to another town further away (read:40-50 minutes from home) to go grocery shopping.

The caffeine wore off, I was hungry, my precious food plan schedule was awry, and I was dreading the ordeal that is shopping for foods that are on my food plan (and not the fatty, tasty, breaded, microwavable, uber-convenient ones that stare at me from the shelves and just ask me to take them home and not leave them lonely on the shelf). I made it, but only by shutting down and not really making eye contact or the usual polite nothing conversation with the cashier

I knew I was in danger, either of going home and compensating with food, or of taking out my stress and frustration on my mom and starting a huge fight. I shut down, trying to shut out the world. I was miserable, and I wanted food.  I wanted to say "screw this crap.  I deserve to eat what I want."

I got home, ate lunch, and called my sponsor.  She gave me the best gift I could get at that moment: she listened.  She shared that she'd been through this more than once, and it's never easy. She also reminded me of the familiar warning: H.A.L.T. As in, don't let yourself get too Hungry, Angry, Lonely, or Tired. Those are recipes for disaster.  I'm not in college anymore with the instant ability to pull all-nighters with impunity. I have to take care of myself, or I'll slip back into my old ways, a sure road to insanity.

So, in that light, I'm going to bed! Goodnight, internet.

Productive proctrastination

I've been answering OA workbook questions again.  Step Four, "Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves," is for obvious reasons rather intimidating.  Fittingly, the first question of the step in the workbook is about procrastinating starting the inventory.  Once again, my inner voice found itself through writing.  I'm astounded, honestly, at how effective writing and answering my own questions has been.  I hope this continues, as writing and organizing my thoughts for writing helps organize and calm them in my head. Once I post them here, it's as if I've let them go, and they don't have to bother me anymore. 

So, here is the product of my procrastination:

1. Is something keeping me back from beginning my "fearless" and "searching" inventory? What?
1. GAAAAAH   GRRRRRR ARRRRGGGHHHHHH I DON'T KNOW. 
2. I don't WANT to do this step.  I don't WANT to trudge it all up like I did in therapy.  Isn't that what this step is, examining all the past resentments and fears so better to know yourself and move on? Yeah, well, that's great and all, but in my last meeting I was reminded of what happened the last time I tried that.  It was with a therapist, and she helped me examine some of my fears and resentments and irrational thoughts that came from them…. And it brought it all up to the surface. 
3. The more aware of my illogical, irrational thoughts I was, the more disturbed by them I became.  I did not want them, but I could not help believing them. I couldn't shake the conviction that I wasn't worthy, I was nothing, and that everyone was judging me. 
4. (cue panic attacks and the worst semester ever, only ending when the coursework got easier and I threw myself into church activities to stay sane)
5. Wait a minute… you were reminded in your last meeting, but that's not all you shared.  You heard something that stuck to you.  You heard that the thoughts you dwell on you give power to.
6. You give power to the thoughts you dwell on.
7. Last time, you exposed those thoughts to the light.  It was like a callused scab or shell that you'd grown to protect yourself had been peeled away and exposed the raw, bleeding, unprotected thing inside. You tried to step out of that shell and that protection, but the world overwhelmed you.  You gave power to those thoughts and fears, and they overwhelmed you. They took over. 
8. Then you used food, your friend and your enemy, to anesthetize yourself to make them go away.  If the real you was covered in fat and shame and false cheer, no one could see what's really underneath.
9. But that's not what this step is, is it?  Yes, it's exposing those thoughts and anxieties and grudges and resentments for what they are - excess baggage. And this time you know, from your first three steps and even from that wonderful Awakening retreat, you weren't meant to carry it alone. You CAN'T carry it alone - no human strength is enough.  All you have to do is ask for help.  All you have to do is ask for the heavy load you've been dragging to be picked up.  Unburdened by that extra, you'll be free. 
1. At a retreat, you once tried a new (for you) form of prayer, called imaginative prayer.  It was weird, but you tried it anyway.  You meditated on a topic or a scripture passage by imagining it vividly. At some point, you experienced a series of images that overwhelmed you.  You imagined yourself on a camping/hiking excursion in the mountains, but you were tired and weighed down by your pack and supplies that other people had dropped or left behind on the way.  You were resentful that you had to drag along all this behind you.  You trudged along slowly, not looking up or paying attention.  Even when you began to think you were lost, you kept going because turning around or looking at a map would be a sign of weakness. Trudge, trudge on.
2. Night comes, and you realize you have lost the group.  Cold, running out of water, and scared, you seek shelter. You hear strange noises and hide in a cave to get away from them.  You pass the evening alone, afraid, and blaming yourself and everyone else for letting you get lost. 
3. Just as you are about to give up, you see a light at the mouth of the cave. It's a flashlight.  The leader of the hiking team had come out in the night to search for you.  He brings you out of the cave, with a warm hug and relief in finding you.  He's so happy that you're all right.  He asks how you got lost, and you offer your feeble excuses about having to carry such a heavy load. 
4. The leader looks at your pack, the load you've been dragging made of your and others' things, and laughs. He throws away most of what was in the pack, saying that you were never meant to carry those things for the other people.  You had even picked up rocks and sticks along the way, making your trek more difficult.  Your own pack is still heavy on your shoulders, so he lifts it from them and carries it himself.  He takes your hand and leads you back to the path, back home.
10. See the flashlight in the dark.  Come out of the cold cave.  Strip off the harness that has you strapped to a load you were never meant to carry on your own.  Let him pick up what's yours and leave behind what isn't.  Feel the warmth and safety of the hug.  Feel the firm and strong hand leading you, despite your unsteady feet, back to the path.  Let him lead you home.
11. That's what this step is.  It will hurt, and this time you won't be able to bury the emotions that come with it.  But you'll be better for it, and you won't be carrying others' burdens in addition to your own.  Above all, remember that you don't have to do this step alone.