2013 will be my year.

I am SO glad 2012 is coming to an end.
I hate 2012.
Many of you have heard me say this periodically throughout the past year.
I've wondered if the Mayan's meant that 2012 would NOT be the end of time but that peoples individual worlds would come to an end.
Ok, so my 'world' did not come to an end.
But it has certainly been turned upside down.
2012 started with my ex husbands strange, bizarre illness.  One I went to great lengths to try and get treated.  Months later I discovered he did not have an unexplained illness - he was getting high.
During all of this I lost one of my dearest friends, John Healies.
His death was a pretty significant loss for me.  It continues to be.  John would have been one of the shoulders I cried on this year had he been here.  I think of him daily and speak to him often.
My cat, Julius, died in my arms after 14 years together.  Throughout my many moves up and down the East coast, all of my relationships, jobs, friends, and the drama that accompanied them all, Julius was always by my side.  My first baby.  The only constant I have known in my adulthood.
I am currently in the midst of a real estate closing from Hell.  Buying a house is one of the better parts of my year but the process has been a nightmare at times.  
I'm closing my year with a divorce.  Yes.  A fucking divorce.  It doesn't even seem real most of the time.  I have a hard time processing that I even got married now I am trying to wrap my brain around that fact that I am a divorcee.  With a toddler.  How fun.
All of these unplanned and unforeseen events have led me to the verge of a total meltdown.  I am not smoking.  I am not starving myself.  I am not drinking or doing drugs.  And I don't quite know what to do with myself.
Depression is totally kicking my ass.  I walk around in a constant state of anxiety.  I'm having full blown panic attacks for the first time in YEARS.  It has been discouraging and scary.  I often feel like the 98lb drunk girl who hasn't eaten in three days and is on her 2nd pack of cigarettes for the day.
But I am NOT that girl.  I do not know what I weigh because I haven't weighed myself since before I was pregnant.  I eat.  And I eat.  Because food is nourishment and Lord knows I need it.
I have quality friends to talk to.
I have people who inspire me to be in my body and challenge it.
I have a therapist and a 12 Step program to work.
I have a Higher Power.
I have a beautiful son whom I need to be strong for.
I'm employed.  I have a clean drivers license.  I have 2 professional licences.
So, why do I feel so sick and defeated?...
Because 2012 has sucked.
There has been a tremendous amount of loss.  An insane amount of stress.  An abundance of adversity.  And I have stayed in bed.  And called into work.  And not answered my phone.  And made emergency calls to my sponsor.  And seen my therapist more than normal.  And cried in my pillow.  And eaten too much chocolate.
And I have faith that I will get through it.  There is more in store for me.
2013 is the year of the new home.  A home for me and my son.  That I get to create and tend to.
2013 is the year of reinventing myself.   As a single mom.  As the head of my humble household.  As the woman who took a chance on love and doesn't regret a minute of it even though it did not work out.
2013 is the year of conscious contact with my Higher Power.  Because I can't help but think things may have been easier for me this year had I been a little more vigilant.
2013 is the year of weeding out the negativity and setting boundaries with people who bring nothing to the table.
I will be in bed by midnight tomorrow.  It's amateur night.
Happy New Year to you.

5K

Today I will be participating in my first race.  The Cahill Classic starts at 9am at Cahill Elementary in the village.
I decided to register when a friend, Sarah, posted on FB that she was going to run.  I quickly summoned my running mate Meghann to join us.
It is amazing to take a step back and process where I am today.
The reason I am able to run in a race is because I no longer weigh 98 pounds nor do I smoke a pack of cigarettes a day.
I have not had a drink or a drug in 7 years so I am actually coherent at 9 in the morning.
I now have a child whom I want to instill the importance of physical fitness and being a part of a community.
Who IS this person?
I still struggle.  I believe I always will.  But the struggle is no longer my lifestyle.  I have the usual ups and downs like all of those 'normal' people I was so envious of my whole life.  Yet, when I'm having those ups and downs I have to be a bit more mindful of my relationship with food.  My relationship with my Higher Power.  And commit to doing more work on myself.
There are still things I want to change about my body.  Still aspects of my life I am not happy with.  However, today I realize it is not about those things.  Just like my alcoholism is not about alcohol and my eating disorder is not about food.
So, today I will run.
Be a part of.
Spend time with women I respect.
And go from there...

Before

2006

31 years old

size 1

Enough said.

One of these things first

When I share my experience, strength, and hope at an AA meeting I often start at the beginning.  I talk about when I started drinking.  I was 15.

High school was a particularly stressful time for me.  I don't think it had to be.  But I had horrible self esteem and not too many people in my life with a healthy sense of self to help me.

When I tell my story I often say that I was lost as a teenager.  I had a hard time fitting in every place I tried.

I was pretty.  But not enough to be on of the Pretty Girls.  My parents didn't allow me to wear much make up.  My straight hair didn't hold perms very long.  I didn't really care about clothes.  I was happy in jeans and my dads old flannel shirt.

I was smart.  But not enough to be one of the Smart Kids.  I failed biology.  Twice!  I took two years of math in four.  I had a hard time concentrating.  I hated to study.

I was athletic.  But not enough to be an Athlete.  I played volleyball in 10th grade.  But when it got time to move up to Varsity I couldn't handle the competition.  The older girls were intimidating and aggressive. I wasn't so concerned about winning.  I wanted to have fun. So I quit.

When I found cigarettes, drugs, and alcohol I found my place.  I did that well.  I was finally enough.  It made me (or so I thought) more interesting.  Mysterious.  More daring.  More mature.  Grown up.
It made me funny.  It made me clever.
It made me an asshole.

So 20 years later as I reflect on my adolescence and all of the things I could have been or wanted to be I think of where I am.  And I had a moment just recently when I realized all of those possibilities that were at my fingertips at 15 are still there.

I am pretty.  My teeth are a little yellow from 20 years of smoking.  I don't keep up with my roots that well.  I'm usually dressed from head to toe for under 25 bucks.  But no one is paying attention to my teeth when I smile.  And I do that a lot more than I did at 15. ( Just ask my dad.)

I am smart.  I have an Associate of Science degree.  A Bachelors degree.  I have my Masters in Social Welfare.  So, it took me 9 years to complete 6 years of school.  I did it.  I have two professional licenses.  Granted, I know alot of complete idiots that hold both licenses.  But I was smart enough to work hard for them.  And I hope I make smart decisions for the people I serve.

I am an athlete.  I can't chaturanga.  But I try.  Week after week.  One day I will do it.  Maybe after the shoulder surgery I need from lifting weights like a badass for the last three years.  I have cycle shoes and sneakers.  And wear them.  Often.  I have found my strength.  I can't wait to Warrior Dash.

So I could have been all of these things.  Not just one.  But all of them.  Because I am now.  And who I am today is who I inherently was as a teenager.  Just a little older.  And with faith that if I take a risk and get out of my comfort zone I will survive.  I am that same girl but with confidence.  I am someone who trusts herself and those she surrounds herself with.  I am someone who doesn't need to 'fit in' so badly.  Because who am I really trying to fit in with?  I am no less than.  I am no better than.  I'm a flawed beauty.  A philosophical ditz. I am an brownie for breakfast eating jock.

That is my experience.  That is my strength.  There is hope.

perspective

I have a girlfriend who has recently lost a significant amount of weight.  I don't know how much.  I wouldn't even take a guess.
She lost it in a very healthy manner. Diet and exercise.  She exercised her ASS off.  She looks great.  And I'm hesitant to say that because I in no way want to imply that she did not look great before.  I'm super sensitive when it comes to complimenting weight gain, weight loss, etc. I try and avoid commenting on it.
This friend and I were chatting on the phone one day and she mentioned quite excitedly that she was trying on clothes and she was a size 6.
I had an incredible moment of clarity.
I have been spending the last few weeks going through old clothes.  Clothes that I have not fit into in years but have been unable to part with until now.
Having Rocco has changed how I treat my body and how I see myself.  Some would argue that I am still pretty preoccupied with how I look.  But I have done a tremendous amount of work in therapy and recovery.  I love working out and challenging my body.  I am proud of my muscles.  Accepting of my cellulite.  Powerless over my chin.
Over the last 5 or 6 years I have been eating.  Cycling. Squatting.  I had a baby.  I turned 36. I stopped throwing up.  I stopped smoking.  I have stuffed my face shamelessly with ice cream, empanadas, hunks of cheese, mayonnaise, and Krause's chocolate.
I have held up jeans that I know will not fit me.  But for some reason feel like I need to try them on just in case.  I can hardly get my calf in them.
I have been slowly been adding to my wardrobe.  I need new pants!  And I have been bitching and moaning that I am now a size 6.  I don't even bother trying on clothes any smaller when I am shopping.  Come to terms with it, Kelli.  Size 1 and 2 are a thing of the past.  You are not 21 anymore.
I have to remember that there are people out there working really hard to fit into a smaller size.
And in some ways I guess I have been working hard, too.  I wouldn't say I've been working on getting bigger.  But I have been working on taking care of myself.  And loving my body.  Being more than just a body.  And this is the end result.
A size 6.
For now...

Eating Disorder Awareness Week

Last week was Eating Disorder Awareness Week.
I hate Eating Disorder Awareness Week.
Actually, I hate 'awareness' of any kind.  I think it is a poor choice of words.
Autism Awareness.  Breast Cancer Awareness.  Domestic Violence Awareness.
Are there people out there not 'aware' of these issues?  And what does 'awareness' do?  'Awareness' does not stop people from being sick or dying.  ACTION does.  While I am all for finding solutions to these problems I find myself annoyed by magnetic ribbons stuck to vehicles asking me to be 'aware' of something.  I'm aware.  Now what?
I digress....
For some reason Eating Disorder Awareness Week (EDAW) doesn't get a whole lot of mention.  Maybe because people don't understand it.  Maybe because there is yet to be a social movement trying to end anorexia and bulimia.  I'm not sure.  But I don't know of any organized walks, bake sales, magnetic ribbon sales, or telethons dedicated to EDAW.
My reason for hating EDAW is personal.  It has affected me personally.  And of course I think I know everything if what other people do does not coincide with what I think should be done I get annoyed.
During EDAW while I was a student at Ulster County Community College and again at SUNY New Paltz, EDAW consisted of a free eating disorder screening.
This screening was held in the cafeteria of all places.  Really, people?
A corner of the room was sectioned off by the metal curtain rods you find in most doctors offices.  Not only could you see through the cracks in the curtain you could see the people who were walking behind it to get interviewed.  There was absolutely NO privacy.  So, people who were questioning their eating habits were afraid to approach the curtain in fear that the cafeteria full of classmates might find out their secret and the ones who were brave enough to get screened had no anonymity.
What also irked me about this set up was the bowl of apples sitting outside of the display.  Like eating disorders are about healthy eating or something.  How about a box of donuts, two bags of Doritos, a frozen pizza, 4 grilled cheese sandwiches, macaroni and cheese, a loaf of garlic bread, a pint of ice cream, and directions to the nearest one person bathroom?
The year I started school at New Paltz a girl was found dead in her room after two days.  She died of complications from years of anorexia.  When Eating Disorder Awareness Week rolled around I thought there would be more activities and events planned to talk about what had happened.  Nothing but the apples and screening.
Last week there was a table at the gym with eating disorder facts and warning signs on poster board.  I can appreciate the intention.  Especially at the gym which can easily become a part of someone disordered eating routine.  But I can't help but feel something is missing in all of this.
I'm not sure what the answer is.  Maybe I should talk to the magnet people and ask them to produce a ribbon.  But then again, I'm pretty sure kids are still being born with autism.

8 pounds

My memories of being at the Renfrew Center are quite fuzzy.  I remember it was 1998.  I was living in Atlanta.  My father had driven to Atlanta from Saugerties to pick me up.  He brought me to Saugerties for a few days.  Then he and my mother drove me to Philadelphia where I was planning to spend 30 days in a residential treatment facility for women with eating disorders.  
I lasted about 24 hours.
I vaguely remember being in a restaurant the night before my admission.  I'm not sure what it was or what I ate.  I remember debating whether or not I was going to start my recovery that night and actually digest my dinner or if I was going have one last bulimic hoorah.  It is interesting that I don't remember actually eating but remember the mental debate that took place prior.
Driving up to the facility was like the opening scene of a Lifetime movie.  The emotionally unstable daughter in the backseat looks out the window taking in her surroundings with a glimmer of hope while her parents sit quietly in the front seat full of anxiety and fear.
The campus was beautiful and consisted of several buildings.  I remember stone walls.  The dormitory had two floors.  The girls who were confined to wheelchairs were housed on the first floor along with the nurses station, counselors offices, and kitchen.  There was a lounge on the second floor and a few pay phones.  The pay phones would later become very important to me.
I was introduced to my roommate only she was being discharged that day.  She happily packed up her things.  She shoved her clothes in her suitcase and quickly collected all of the 'art therapy' crafts she had made during her stay.  I imagine now she was probably in such a rush to get out of there so she could binge or something.  Something like an alcoholic who can't wait to get out of rehab so they can have a drink.
After she left I had the room to myself.  My had a bathroom that connected to another room with two women. One of those women was a 50 something compulsive over eater.  She looked depressed.  A permanent frown and dark circles under her eyes.  She was very whiny.  I did not like her.  I don't remember her name.
I remember very little of the admission process.  I met with a nutritionist.  We made a meal plan together for the next 7 days.  For two days I would eat 1,500 calories a day.  For the remainder I was required to eat 2,000 calories a day.  Kitchen staff would 'grade' me at the end of my meals.  Calories I did not consume in my food I had to make up with Ensure at the end of the night.
The girl next to me at lunch dipped every bit of her food in a cup of hot black tea.  That is all I remember from the meal.  I recall eating a veggie burger.  I'm not sure what else.  And in a room full of women with bizarre eating patterns all I remember was the girl and the black tea.
After our meal we had a group meeting.  I think it was called 'mealtime support' or something.  It was held on the first floor in the room of one of the wheelchair girls.  She was extremely thin.  Much thinner than me.  Her eyes and teeth looked way too big for her head.  I remember she cried and said how bad she felt for being in treatment and not at home helping her mom with her younger siblings.
There was some downtime where I was instructed to go to the lounge and spend some time with the women. The girls sat around and painted their nails while watching the Food network.  I think the name of the show we watched was Two Fat Ladies.  One of the residents went on and on about them and what they cooked and how they cooked everything in lard.  The same girl had gotten a letter from her boyfriend that day.  In it he put a photo of himself holding up eight of his fingers.  He was proud of her for putting on 8 pounds.  She probably needed to gain 8 or 35 more.  I often wonder if that girl is still alive.
I started to freak out toward the end of the night.  My parents came back that evening for an open meeting of some kind.  One of the patients was being discharged and moving on to an outpatient level of care.  She was really pretty.  Much younger than me at the time.  I remember thinking I wanted to be like her although I didn't know anything about her except that she was taller and thinner than me.
After my parents left I made a few desperate phone calls to my 'boyfriend' back in Atlanta.  I use the term 'boyfriend' loosely to describe that relationship.  He was relieved to have me out of state.  In some sort of treatment.  Off of his shoulder crying all of the time.  He was watching a movie with a friend.  He was probably relaxing for the first time in months.
We had an evening snack scheduled every night.  We all had to meet back in the kitchen.  The women who did not eat everything they were suppose to had to make up the calories with Ensure.  Some of the women had 4 or 6 cups of that stuff in front of them.  They also dispensed fruit flavored Tums at this time so we could get some extra calcium.  The woman I sat by at her Tums like a cookie. Like it was 10 times its actual size.  Who needs to take bites of a Tums?
I called my sister.  I think she got in touch with my parents who were at a hotel and planning to drive back to NY the next morning.
I smoked alot of cigarettes.  I didn't talk to any of the girls who tried to find out what was wrong.
I went to my room and did sit ups.  Sits ups were not allowed.  Neither was going to the bathroom alone after a meal.  I did sit ups for at least an hour.
I did not get out of bed when I was woken up by the nurse for a 6am weigh in.  I stayed in bed.  The older woman who shared a bathroom with me gave me a hard time about missing meals and weigh ins.  She kept telling me I wasn't 'allowed' to do certain things.  I wanted her to shut up and mind her own business. She disgusted me.
A few counselors came in at different times.  They tried to talk to me.  Convince me to give it a shot.  Talk to the women.  Etc. Etc.
I told them I wanted to go home.  I wasn't like these other women.  I needed to get back to my job.  I needed to get back to my cats.  I needed to get back to my strained relationship.
I don't remember if I talked to my parents or if they had just spoken to staff at Renfrew and my sister.  They ended up showing up at some point in the day.  I told them I wasn't going to stay.  I remember my father brought me a carton of cigarettes.  I think that is kind of funny now.  Marlboro Lights were just about the only think in life that brought me joy at the time.  And I think my father just really wanted me to be happy.  It was the only way he knew how.
We met with a counselor.  I didn't say anything.  She and my parents spoke about me in third person like I wasn't there.  In some ways I really wasn't.  I remember her saying that if I was refusing to participate it was silly for them to leave me there.  Especially at $1000 a day.
I packed my bags as quickly as my roommate did the day before.  I threw the bag over my shoulder and headed past the patients in the lounge as quickly as I could.  I made no eye contact but could feel them all watching me.
I wonder if my discharge was considered AMA.  In the medical field AMA stands for against medical advice.  My admission to Renfrew was not a medical admission it was a behavior health admission.
I guess it doesn't matter.  I'm just curious.  I wonder if I could get my hands on my medical record.  It would be interesting to see what they thought of me.  And if their assessment would bring back any more of my stay there.    

Wait...Why don't YOU move over?

Recently I went to IXL in Rhinebeck to take my favorite class with my favorite instructor, Jen.  I walked in a little late.  I took off my coat and shoes, put my hair up, and headed for my 'spot' - to Jen's left in the front row.

In the mirror I could see the woman behind me getting closer.  She asked, "Could you move over?"  I was blocking her ability to see herself in the mirror.  I'm abnormally territorial and wondered why she didn't move over.  I moved over and ended up standing where the two mirrors meet which completely distorts what you see.  More so than my already distorted view of myself.

While  we warmed up I realized I recognized this woman.  I have not seen or thought about her in almost 20 years.  But I have thought of her often since that night a few weeks ago.  She definitely kicked up some shit.

When I was 20 years old I worked at Gold's Gym selling memberships.  .  The owner of the gym said he needed 'someone attractive' to go out into the community and represent the gym.  To this day I wonder if his idea of 'someone attractive' was a 5 foot 7 inch girl who weighed under 100 pounds and why anyone would buy a gym membership from someone looking like that.  Whatever.  I just needed money to buy cigarettes.

I loved working at Gold's because I got to work out for free.  I was extremely unhealthy at this time in my life and although I was smoking, drinking, and starving myself, I think the exercise helped a little.  However, it was a challenging environment for a mentally and physically unstable 20 year old.  The men at the gym loved me.  I was young, cute, flirtatious, and had no concept of boundaries.  The women at the gym hated me.  I was young, cute, flirtations, and had no concept of boundaries.

A few of the women I worked with were very rude to me.  There were times they would try to steal sales from me and blame me for work related mishaps.  The general manager was constantly trying to compete with me which I found kind of annoying.  Many of the women who were members at the gym were equally as mean.  This woman who was now standing behind me in Barefoot Bunz was one of those women.

I do not remember her name.  Yet I remember her coming into the gym  wearing a full length fur coat with two little boys in tow.  She came almost daily.  She didn't engage in much exercise while she was there.  My guess is that it would mess up either her hair or her makeup.  She had a perfect tan year round.  My assumption was that  she did not work.  She would whisper to her posse of other 40 something housewives when I walked by.  I remember alot of eye rolling.  Some of the gossip got back to me from a few male employees I was friendly with.  I don't remember exactly what the hostility was about.  But my guess is that it was about nothing more than my age.

I forgot all about this woman until I watched her in the mirror behind me.  Struggling to do burpees.  Unable to hold warrior pose.  Stopping to towel off the sweat on her forehead every other drill.  She still had a nice tan.  Her outfit matched perfectly.  I kept wondering if she would recognize me in the mirror.  Why would she?  I'm sure I did not have a profound effect on her.

It is interesting to realize that I have a resentment with a stranger and the resentment isn't really about her specifically.  It is about all of the older, theoretically wiser, women who were catty and bitchy to me when I was clearly in need of some help.  Rather than try and reach out to me and give me some guidance they chose to mock me and make me feel small.  These were grown women.  Women who were the age I am now.  What an immature way of behaving.  Shameful really.

Part of me wanted to turn around and address her.  To ask her if she remembered me.  And remind her that I am still 20 years younger than her.  But that would be catty and bitchy and make me just as bad as her.

Blogs can turn into books...

When I started blogging about Rocco my sister told me that blogs can turn into books.  I've always secretly wanted to write a memoir.  I love reading them. But I think there is something narcicistic about.    Writing a memoir is kind of a ballsy move fuel by ego and grandiosity.  Who really cares what I have to say?  

Lately I have been praying ALOT for God to show me where to go with my career.  And since I started praying I have had an insatiable urge to write.  Maybe God is telling me to start writing for some reason.  Maybe someone will care what I have to say.  Someone will want me to write a book.  And then make a Lifetime movie about it.  And then I can quit working and become a part time yoga instructor and spend all of my time blogging about Rocco.

I am no writer.  But I definitely have a story to tell.  Here it goes...