No title

I have said it before and I'll say it again. Some people walk into our lives with blatant purpose; we know why they are there, how they got there, their purpose and place. They are fixtures of which we are aware and accustomed to having around.

Other people, though, whether phaseful friends (as I like to call them), acquaintances, teachers, peers, therapists, or...well, I am going to stop there. Therapists. Sometimes therapists can grace our lives like the gentlest breezes as spring just approaches in the weeks after the last winter storm. Other times, they fall down hard and crush the edges of our soft lives, smashing them into little shards of glasses and pieces of rough crumbly dust. Wipe it up or you'll slip. Other therapists fall somewhere between a breeze and a layer of sodered dust...and others nowhere even close to those places or resembling those perhaps inane-to-you metaphors.

Just a few months ago (as an insert, it is nearly impossible to believe the recent lapse of time in my life was a sheerly long three months, for it seems a lifetime and also a moment at the same time, you'll note my intended and obvious oxymoronical phrasings here), a therapist graced my presence who forever changed the trajectory of the rest of however many my days shall be. I came to know her by sheer coincidence, luck if you will, grace if you may, whatever beautiful words feel right, just use those. Whatever the words, the outcome was the same. I met her, had the firm and oftentimes outright emotionally volatile, and other times, soft and nurturing pleasure of working with her. When I try to describe Alanna as a therapist to others, the words never seem right, never enough, never amply illustrative of her nature. "Well, she is bright, intuitive, understands without asking too many questions...". I would aggravate myself by not doing justice to her what-seemed-to-be-innate ability as a therapist to heal and put back together those patients who so desperately need put-back-together-ness. "She gets it." But the words are just simply never enough.

We are all born with "stuff." Genes are scientifically incredible and they are a real goddamn bitch, too. For me, they're a huge moody bitch. Goddamn you, genes. But they're mine. I have genes for which I have a love-hate relationship, and because of this, I have been cursed, lucky, blessed, and all of that, to come in contact with many a therapist in my seemingly long proverbial day. Alanna took any therapist I ever met and placed them over there. Just right over there. In a different bucket. This bucket is not bad but it is not "the" bucket. Alanna saw right through my pale green complexion and into my soul the first time we met. "Let us not fast forward but let us sit here now and feel our discomfort right here, right now together." I believe this is one of the first things we did together...feel my discomfort together, rather than me alone. I let Alanna hold some of it for me then, and for the next few months, as well. Yes, I worked harder than I ever thought possible, but I would not be sitting here not had I not shared some of it with her. Alanna lectured me, and offered me tissue to dry my raining lids, she praised me and slapped my proverbial hand and back and forth and around again. At the end of the day and at the end of the stay, what I gained (please, no puns here) was invaluable, indescribable and I am certain unparalleled to anything I will find again.

Tonight, I feel profoundly sad at the gaping hole in my heart left by Alanna's absence. My heart hurts. It aches. I am grateful for the connection, the blessing of a presence that did come into my life like a breeze and left like a quick warm sun shower, and yet, I am deeply sad.

Thank you for your wisdom, your firmness, values, anecdotes, tissues, lessons and sessions, Alanna, Thank you for everything, and like you said, it is not and was not goodbye but so long for now.

Serenity then, there, now and here.

With light,
Rach

Gentle Reminder Kiddos

No Dismay at Disobedience

Since I've been back from treatment, I've been on quite the movie kick. My count within a seven day period is reaching approximately eight...I'm very good at math and therefore I know that averages more than one per day. Yep, folks, no shame. No alcohol, no regret, no shame. Just lots of movies!

But let me not digress too early on.

Last evening I had the sheer pleasure of watching the absolutely wonderful film, Disobedience. My enjoyment of this film stemmed not only from the fact that both Rachels' (Ms. McAdams and Ms. Weisz) acting skills were superb nor the sole fact that I related to the Jewish community aspect nor the fact that the main story plot revolved around two women forbiddenly in love. My enjoyment and rave review of this film did stem from all these factors along with more.

The plot and film follows a woman, Ronit Krushka (Ms. Weisz), back to her childhood home in an Orthodox Jewish community in England, following the death of her father, the praised town rabbi. Ronit has not been back since her earlier childhood days, during which she and a female friend, Esti (Ms. McAdams) shared a young forbidden romantic relationship. Ronit was shunned from her community for the frowned upon forbidden relationship and had not since returned.

Little to Ronit's knowledge during her time away, Esti married their other third "best friend" of sorts, Dovid Kuperman. The learning of this unforeseen marriage hits Ronit head on in the face when she walks into the Shiva house to pay respects to her recently deceased father. "Who is Dovid's wife?" Ronit muses at first and upon learning the answer is Esti, her musing immediately ceases.

The nearly two hour film follows the days of the Rav's funeral in the community, the still-very-present passion and love between Ronit and Esti and the constant Esti-is-a-married-religious-lady-reminder of just how very "wrong" is the attraction between the two.

The film is shot with deeply human frames, slow and close camera angles (I am certain not done in vain given Ronit's photography profession), deep interpersonal connections that leap from the screen into the chest, and acting hard to surpass. No matter your religious beliefs, affiliations, sexual preferences or comfort level, this is definitely a film for the ages and one not to miss.

A+.

... as per previous post. do not forget.

A Cosmic Equinox

A couple days ago, I traipsed into my gym for the first time since going to treatment. Aside from feeling like a different person physically in my "new" body, I felt out of place, odd, overwhelmed and overall out of sorts. (Not dissimilar to the way I felt in the rest of my life). My outfit was not what I wanted to be donning, nor my body, nor did I particularly desire to be present in the gym. But old habits die hard, and there I was. My account was inactive from three months of being away, not opening mail or paying bills, including my gym membership dues...and so, I was stopped before walking in. Ugh. Great. Another thing to deal with, and right away. Of course, I annoyedly thought. Here we go again.

"Rachel!" I heard someone yell my name from across the gym lobby. Who on earth could be beckoning me right now, three months after last being here in this nearly unrecognizable state? "Rachel, how are you? Are you ok?"

It was Mary, the gym membership consultant who had signed me up to become a member.

"I called you last week to see how you were doing...".

I walked over to her so as not to yell across the lobby.

(Yeah, Mary, I mentally mused, I'm great, I've been in an eating disorder treatment lock down facility for three months! Should I yell that across the gym?) Of course, I refrained.

I walked over and in my new calm present manner, politely responded.

"Hi Mary...yeah I've been, um, away for a little bit... (awkward pause for thought on my part)...do you have any idea where I was?"

"Yeah, actually I do," was her immediate response.

"Oh, you do? Ok..."

"Come back to my office to chat if you want." Mary said.

"Ok, sure"...I followed her back to her glass doored see through gym manager cubicle office.

I sat down across from her and my last three month of experiences started leaking through my pale lips. "Yeah, so, I was at this place called ERC..."

Before I needed to explain any further, Mary stopped me. "I did that, too, Rachel. I was at Renfrew for 2 and a half months a few years back."

My mouth dropped four inches. "What, you were?? Oh."

Mary proceeded to recount her experience to me, her ED that, similar to mine, had gotten so bad she no longer could see it at the end prior to treatment, until her family intervened and sent her off to treatment against her will (how oddly familiar the tune of the story continued to ring), her lengthly and harsh stay at Renfrew, and her exit, also similar to mine after reaching "the end of her rope." Yes, she actually used that phrase, my phrase, also.

"It is still hard, I am still uncomfortable," she softly told me, "but I feel so much better than I used to."

Mary then continued. "You know, I felt really guilty signing you up, I knew how sick you were. But I didn't know my place." Even though she was the gym manager, her words were still familiar, I had heard them innumerable times from countless people before.

"Didn't know my place."

Yes, these are powerful and real words and a strong scary sentiment. Those are some of the words landed me where I did at the ERC.

But, to continue.

Mary and I spoke for almost 45 minutes about our shared experiences, thoughts, treatment traumas, and all of that, until it was time for her manager meeting.

"Stop by anytime, Rachel, if you want to talk. I'm always here."

"Thanks, Mary, I will".

Sometimes people come into our space and presence if only for a short time but for a taller reason. We don't always know why at the time, and sometimes the reasons will never show their faces. But in this case, they did. Apropos to my Instagram, whether cliche or not, a couple of days ago, it is true that kindness is key. We never know what goes on in those around us, whether colleagues, gym managers, baristas, family or strangers on the street. Everyone has a story, most have a struggle, and no struggle is less or more important than another.

I have learned much in three months and among that learned, is to accept what is right now and make the better choice. We always have a choice in what we do -- to go backward or forward, eat or not eat, ruminate or walk ahead, be kind or unkind, judge or withhold judgment, isolate or connect. I can say that when I walked into the gym the other day, the last thing I expected to happen, happened. It reinforced that which I know I cannot forget -- accept and commit to what you can in the present. ACT thoughtfully and mindfully. Instead of spending the next hour at the gym, I quickly stairstepped, lifted a weight or two and exited Equinox for the day. I went home, showered, ate, and wrote, because that was my choice. That was my desired action, and I chose to do it.

Anyway, in closing, I recount this anecdote simply to remind you all and myself of what is important in life -- connections, health and authenticity. You never know what and who is around you when you are in your bubble, and being out of mine in that cosmic Equinox (pun intended) moment felt good. So, remember to stay out of the dotted bubble, ACT thoughtfully and all of that and all the rest.

That's all for now.

With light and gratitude,
Rachel

Apple Juice > Wine

That's all.
#soberlife
#nothanks
#bye

...the origin of love

Last time I saw you

We just split in two
You was looking at me
I was looking at you
You had a way so familiar
But I could not recognize'cause you had blood in your face
And I had blood in my eyes
But I could swear by your expression
That the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine
That's the pain
That cuts a straight line down through the heart
We call it love

Hedwig Heart... come back Hedwig

sexuality shmexuality. treatment, shmeatment

when I first came out as gay, well, bi at the time, no one believed me. "oh it's just a phase rachel.", or "you feel safer with women right now after your divorce and such", "you're nooooot", "you're straight you just like girls as friends" and whatever else they dared say at the time. "ok, we'll see" was my stark response on cue back then to all these retorts at one of my most personal traits, my sexuality. i had the tenacity, the courage and strength to come out and say who i really was...and others dared challenge me. it just simply made no sense to me. there i was, pronouncing my unconventional sexual identity to other people, and there they were, telling me i was not what i said i was. just a couple days ago, this same thing happened to me again, many many years after first starting to identify as bi/gay/whatever i feel that day. i am a girl who is attracted to girls, bottom line. it never changed since the day i came to terms with the fact and really embraced that it was real. i was attracted to her, then another girl, and five years later, i am still a girl attracted to girls. am i gay? likely. bi? unlikely. the thought of being with a man at this point seems foreign. it seems inauthentic to the self i have learned exists in me, and inauthentic to the identity i long to possess and own. i like women. i like their softness. i like women with tattoos and uneven short haircuts. i like everything about them. my heart races when i see a girl i want to impress, my stomach drops at her attention and my gut swirls. these feelings don't exist anymore in me for men. 

in a similar vein to my unbelieved sexuality, lies my eating disorder. yes, i have one. i have a pretty strong eating disorder. why exactly, i cannot say. when it started, i mostly know, and when it will fully leave me, i cannot yet say. but i compare my sexuality to my eating disorder for a reason. i don't have a conventional eating disorder...sure, parts of it are conventional, and parts aren't. i recently, and by recent, i mean as recent as two days ago, was in treatment for it. i started off as inpatient and residential back in my awful skeletor days, graduated to partial treatment (PHP as we in the community refer to it), which rung me tight and left me out to dry. i switched treatment teams from residential to partial, a move which i believe was detrimental and a huge system flaw in the treatment center in which i found myself. but like many other things, i had no choice. i switched teams, was forced to leave the most helpful and best therapist i had ever known (thanks Alanna for everything), went to partial, and fell down a hole. the partial program sucked, i did not jive with my new team, didn't get what i needed from them. i quivered in fear and disgust at the sight of my dietician, one of the most quintessential roles in ED treatment, and frankly did not find my psychiatrist to be helpful at all. his jerry seinfeld-esque hilarious nature that everyone loved somehow did not seem to serve me. it actually rubbed me the wrong way. i wasn't in a shrink's office for stand-up, just give it to me straight. but no alcohol of course. anyway, i digress. the partial program was wrong for me, i quickly went from somewhat ok to not ok in any way shape or form. my body was changing and i was still being force fed inhumane amounts and getting nothing else out of it. well, except gay group, that is. 

to come back to the point, i compare my ED to my sexuality for good reason. as the patient, i told my team every day, every session and probably frankly to the point of annoyance, how not-ok i was, how unhelped, fatigued, my overused phrase "at the end of my rope" i was...and my incessant honesty fell on deaf ears. "i'm nauseous", "anxious", "impatient", "frankly feel worse off now than before" fell into silence and instead of help, all i got was more food. "more nutrition!!" "no b's, c's all day", and all of that and more. 

just as my gay(ish) profession to others seemed to fall with no sound, so did my honest confessions of my state and apparent un-ok state at partial. keep eating, more nutrition and go home, rachel, was all i got. why this is and why this was, i cannot say. but here i sit now, with my own chosen pb&j (favorite) sandwich, still doing ok and feeling better than i did at partial. 

confused, yes. overwhelmed at the past days' events, absolutely. worse off, no. 

i have been through much, my heart still longs and wants a normal and recovered and decidedly un-straight life. that all remains, and that is that.

with authenticity,

rachel 

When TIme's Up...Denver Dabblings, Part III

How to know know when you're past your "prime", shall it be now or when it's really time?

Who's to say if you're good for sure, good for now, or really cured.

All the questions, all the unknowns, all the queries life bestows...

Upon us they fall, lightly at times, harder still yet still in rhymes.

Uncertainty can be the reddest dragon, the hottest flame, the squeakiest wagon.

Oil it up, let it run its course, or leave it alone, and feel its remorse.

How to know when you're ready to "go", when you're back to "you", how can we know?

I'm not to say now, perhaps nor are you, live moment to moment, is all we can do.

Mindfulness, shmindfulness, presence galore, smirk at it you may but risk the closed door...

that can slam in your face if you smirk too hard, broken windows and glass, their pointy shards.

None of this is pretty, honey, "that ain't cute", remind me please, forget it not, the point ain't moot.

All the questions, cease they likely won't, brush them away, honestly, just don't.

Life is a coaster, an up and down ride, not a straight arrow, not a straight down slide.

Eyeliner smudges and mascara runs dry, we fuck up, we suck up, we scream kick and cry.

But in my gut and at the end, what matters the most are the messages we send...

to our parents, our friends, the universe, our selves, all of the rest, sit on dusty shelves.

I'll use my line again, for I love it so, gotta end some time, so here we go...

What I know now and what I know for sure, the most important stuff is sometimes a blur.

But blurs become clearer the longer they live, so tread forward we must, both take and give.

Life is a swing set, a merry go round, when it's "time", joy shall abound.

But until then and until we know, the water waves, so fuck it, babes, and go with the flow.

With light and gratitude,
Rachel Ber.