I like the title. It’s really a t.v. show on the Travel Channel about a man that tours the United States finding “out of the way” eateries. I like the title because it’s about us. It should be entitled “Missing In Sight vs. Food” because that’s the direction we are heading these days. Safe foods have become unsafe. The one meal we were allowed to eat without repurcussions was dinner and now there is always a reason to get rid of it.

It has been an extrememly long day. I can’t say that emphatically enough. Every other day we go through the same hell with our pain patch. We have a herniated disc, L5 S1. Had it for about ten years. We’ve had all kinds of procedures done on it. We are going through another round of epidurals….again. The pain that has been shooting down both legs is gone, so we can at least celebrate that. But the normal, constant, chronic, dull, ache hasn’t lessened and because of our restricting the patch we use is not dispensing the medication into our system like it’s supposed to. So every other day we go through withdrawals a few hours before it’s time to take the patch off. The patch is supposed to last 48 hours, but we usually get 42 before we start to feel the effects of the back pain and withdrawal symptoms. Now, I’ve never taken heroine, but I’ve heard Duragesic pain patches compared to heroine and so the withdrawals are like withdrawals from heroine. It’s misery to the highest exponent. There are visual disturbances, weakness in the legs, sensitivity to temperatures, anxiety, sweating, cramping in the limbs, stomach disturbances, and that’s only to name a few. The obvious solution is to put the new patch on earlier, but that means doing so each and every time, eventually using my supply of pain patches before it is time. And the doctors WILL NOT give out a new prescription until the thirty days is up. So I have to be miserable every other day and go through the withdrawals.

A better answer would be to eat. When we were on a regular schedule of eating and keeping the food in we had no problems with withdrawals or the patch wearing out too soon or not dispensing enough at the time. But we are getting so lost in the eating disorder it’s not as silly to me anymore. I hear my members telling me we are not thin enough, but I don’t know how to rebut them. I don’t know what to live for. I feel extraordinarily hopeless. I am afraid I don’t have what it takes to finish school. Maybe I’ve been pretending all along.

D. and I have our 9 1/2 year anniversary on Valentines day. Our ten year is August 14. I spent my 9 year anniversary in treatment. I really want us to get our act together, but I have members who are in such pain from trauma that this is all they know to do and I don’t know how to help them. I really don’t. What motivates Lola to work on her eating disorder? How does she find life so amusing as to entertain us with her witty blog? I envy that so much. I used to be a good writer. I also used to be a good cook. Those things have been taken away from me. What will be next? Should I even care?

So today we were at Costco, like Sam’s club, a warehouse retailer where you buy in bulk and throw half of the items away because you don’t need a pizza the size of a Hummer’s wheel base. Never mind that. It was a good day to go, at least for non-eating disordered people. There were tons of samples, none of which I ate, or would take a little taste and give the rest to D. I only bring it up because I thought the U.S. was in a recession, but everyone was getting ready for the Superbowl tomorrow by purchasing 32″ HDTVs, cases and cases of beer and expensive wine, and everything your delicate food pallette could want for kickoff. D. and I sat down and did bills and we’re in it. How did we get so in debt? I don’t know. I used to pay cash for everything. Never the matter. I don’t care. But a new iPod would be great. But it just boggles my mind that the economy is so horrible and people are spending money right and right and left and left.

I sit here typing, trying to think of something poignant to write, but nothing is there. My mind keeps going back to food: us vs. food. It just happened so fast, our downward spiral, and I think if I write here something may pop into my head and make it all make sense and make it easy to eat. Monday’s the day we start the program. At least that was the last word. I’m so scared I had a nightmare about it. Everyone views their dietician as a Nazi, but this woman really is. This is not my first time in the program. I don’t like the program because you get no therapy, really. I mean there is group therapy and you see your case worker once a week, but no “let’s get down to the nitty gritty” therapy. It’s all too predictable. At least we get to see our outside T. while in the program. Somewhat of a consolation. We need to work on the trauma. No dancing around it. No tiptoeing. We’re ready. Scared, but ready. It has to be done. We will never gain weight until we feel hopeful and that progress is made with the member’s trauma.

Well, we’ve rambled sufficiently enough to say nothing. We just hope if we write long enough we’ll have an epiphany, something that will change us. I can honestly write that we want an end to our suffering, but I don’t know how to do that.

We truly live on this side of hopelessness, and finding a reason to live is getting harder and harder. It’s just too much. Too much to deal with, too much to handle, too much to try and claw our way to the surface.