Friday, March 14, 2014

I Am Out of Sorts Because...

Photos by Sofia
That photograph does not represent my current [emotional] state of being.
I am currently crying for the stupidest of reasons.
Margaret, don't talk like that....

I am out of sorts because I don't want to make gluten-free Nanaimo bars.
I am out of sorts because I don't want to make Nanaimo bars. Period.
I am out of sorts because my hand has a second degree burns on it which hurts. Blisters are odd.
I am out of sorts because some news from my mom involving health and I don't know what it means.
I am out of sorts because  I accidentally deleted a weeks worth of pictures and they are gone forever.
I am out of sorts because I feel exhausted and don't know why.
I am out of sorts because I feel lonely.
I am out of sorts because I had Nutella on my toast for breakfast and am now reaching my sugar low.
I am out of sorts because I'm done with dietary restrictions and being different.
I am out of sorts because there are so many unknowns that I don't get.
I am out of sorts because I want to write letters and it hurts to hold a pen.

Originally each of those "I am out of sorts" said "I am crying because" but then I changed the words and now I'm deciding to let you know I changed the words.

I am done crying now. I think I feel a little better.
Up and down.
Up and down.
Up and down.

Life is like a road down a pothole-y gravel lane in a Tobbit without proper suspension. Sometimes I think I should be shut up in a small hut until I sort myself out and stop being obsessed with sorting myself because that's too much self self self. Maybe

By the time I finished writing this, I already feel a bit different. Rode out the emotional wave. I'll just keep doing this. I'm going to go listen to a lecture... he's talking about identity. Thanks, Dick Keyes. I have a lot to learn.

Why do I vomit my existence on the internet? I've thought through this question a lot and keep coming back to it. I wrote this up a few days ago: don't know me.

And I don't necessarily blog that you will know me.
You don't need to know me.

I blog sometimes to oblige myself to come to terms with parts of my self that aren't pretty. It's how I pr

I'm not sure if that makes sense. That was a small snippet of something that might have been more discordant. I am grateful for the people who have known me in multiple seasons. I am grateful for those who can sit with me in all seasons.

I'm expanding on this because it's since been a few hours and I still feel so out of sorts. In the process of making the Nanaimo Bars, I've had five instances where I have to try, with all my might, not to cry. Trying really hard not to break down.

There are certain things I'm pretty open about on my blog and life - SPD and ADHD. I don't feel any shame, really, in those. I'm ok with talking about them. But there are other regions of my life that are sore, really sore, and they're the parts of life that I'd rather not talk about. These are the parts where, when things get to close, I feel really vulnerable and hopeless.

Based on everything I've read (books, websites, etc), I have BED - I fit it to a T (or maybe it fits me). I hate spelling out what it is and it really embarrasses me. I hate it. I hate it. I HATE IT. I hate talking about it so I don't. I hate living with it... but none of this will really make sense unless I do spell it out. BED is binge eating disorder. I don't really want to expand - but sugar and dairy, for me, are two triggers. Awful triggers. When I feed myself, I like to avoid, if at all possible, sugar, white flour, and dairy. Once I start, it's super hard to stop and, if no one's around to watch, I won't stop.

Making dessert is killer (in a bad way). I make it every Friday. I spend around three hours making some sort of delicious treat for the community to enjoy. The entire time, though, I'm smelling, creaming, touching, and mixing up something that I can't even eat. But I want to. I want to so, so bad. So every single minute of it is me trying to fight myself in not binging on it all. I can be strong for a little bit but it gets harder and harder. In the end, I might resist for three hours and then give in. Afterwards, I feel horrible and guilty. I hate this. I hate  it so much. I hate that it happens. I hate that I feel this way. And that is why I cry because I have to make Nanaimo bars. The entire time, people walk through the kitchen and say, "This smells good!" to which I feel even suck-y-er because I know it smells good and I wish it didn't and I want to eat it and be ok with eating it.

How long can people even stand to be around me?

11:42 PM Update (a few hours later):
 I ended up holding it together for a bit.. then I went out for tea and someone asked how I was and I immediately bolted away because I had to sob. I hid in the closet in a little basket and ended up falling asleep in there. Ending up falling asleep crying in a basket is an interesting experience.

Then I chose to eat a Nanaimo bar. I ate it. My body felt sick and rejected it. It made me vomit a few times. That felt gross. I had written out "Angry Bars" on the top of the paper that I scribbled the recipe onto so everyone called them Angry Bars. It was fitting that I would vomit them all up.

Then I got soap in my eye and it hurt and teared up for 10 minutes, burning in pain.

Oh Fridays.
Oh Fridays.

Here's a picture that my roommate took of me when she heard I was sleeping in your basket. "How do you fit in there?" she asked. So I demonstrated.

Overall, though, this day ended just fine. I got hella snugs from some members in the community (Jess, Liz, Emily -- so good! so good!) and that helped a whole lot. I am going to bed with a smile on my face and am excited for tomorrow.


  1. Oh Magi (please imagine there's an appropriate umlaut above the 'a'), do you think the community would have you making sugary treats while cognizant of your current challenge with BED?

    From how you've described things there, it's hard to imagine arrangements would not be gladly made to better support you (or anyone else there in a difficult spot).

    It is the shame around our secrets that hurts us the most; it is certainly what keeps us isolated, holed up with the parts of our selves we have difficulty accepting. You are not alone. You are not wretched, or awful.

    1. Thank you for your encouragement. It means a lot to me.

      The community is supportive -- they really didn't know what I was going through and I wasn't yet articulating it to them. Next week, I'll be doing very different things. We talked about it at a meeting, yesterday, and worked things out. I found someone who really likes making desserts and they'll be taking my place!

  2. Lovely to hear. This is fabulous news. :)

    Also, I just discovered this other Pacific NW lady's blog: (She just started it last month so although the archives are fascinating, they're not extensive.) I notice that some of the internal experiences she describes are very similar to some of mine; I also notice that some of her descriptions strongly remind me of some of your experiences as a human that you've chosen to share here.

    I typically eschew labels, but, full disclosure: she has been diagnosed (after long misdiagnosis) with Bipolar II Disorder; I likely have Adjustment Disorder with Depressive Mood. (Side note: Capitalizing like this is A Lot of Fun! It lends an air of Significance and Importance that can Rarely be Duplicated! Hee hee.) :) I am not in a position to connect any dots, just want you to know there appear, to this brain, to be strong resonances between experiences. I also find her blog to be a very vulnerable effort and thought you might appreciate that as well.

    Anyway: my warmest thoughts are with you. I greatly enjoy coming here to read your words (I first typed 'worms'- ha!) and view your photographs.


Your words make me grin.

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