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Saturday, September 29, 2012


Today I woke up and decided to make cinnamon rolls for my friend Julian and my family. Julian does hair. He is amazing. And he colored my hair yesterday FOR FREE. So that when I go to treatment I can feel pretty. I love that he gets how important that can be. I know I'm already going to feel large, uncomfortable, and ugly during this process. I love that I won't have to worry about watching my roots grow out.

ANYWAY. I made cinnamon rolls and it was lovely. They're fun to make. You get to punch dough and cinnamon smells like heaven.
Plus, look how pretty!

After I did that I was feeling super anxious. I found out this morning that Avalon Hills WON'T TAKE ME WITHOUT INSURANCE. Even after they said they would. Apparently they can't take someone with a "weak heart" unless they have insurance. Cool. So we're back to figuring out where I'm going. Probably Center for Change or Remuda Ranch. I scheduled assessment intakes with both of them for Tuesday. So stay turned.

Anyway. . . after I formed the cinnamon roll dough I needed to keep busy waiting for it to raise. I wanted to work out so badly. But I'm not medically cleared to, so I cleaned. I wanted to bake something else and I was thinking about what people like. And then I thought to myself,
"Self, what do YOU want to make?"
. . . I don't ask myself that very often. I usually decide what to bake based on what is easiest or what someone likes or what will make people happy. But what did I want to make? . . . Looking around the kitchen I saw these beautiful carrots. My friend Mariana works at Oxford Farms and brought me a "share" box full of amazing vegetables.

Honestly, there are some vegetables that I won't eat. Carrots are one of them. But I used to love carrot cake. I smiled SO BIG. CARROT CAKE WITH FRESH ORGANIC CARROTS. SO fresh that they were still dirty. How could something with dirt on it be scary?

It was like a reminder that food can be beautiful. That it's a gift from God and the Earth to sustain and nourish us. Yes, I got all that from dirt on a carrot.

And the little muffins are cute too.
And not dirty. Because I washed the carrots. Just saying. . . 

Friday, September 28, 2012

Some Things Don't Have to Make Sense.

Since starting this blog I've received several e-mails asking how baking could possibly be calming or therapeutic to someone with anorexia. Or pointing out that sometimes I fall apart when I'm baking and it's NOT therapudic. Or wondering why I do it. Or if it's eating disordered behavior. .
I really don't know the answer to any of those questions. It doesn't make sense to me either.
My theory is that baking is like art therapy. A creative outlet. Only I'm not good at art, so I hate art therapy. HATE. But I AM good at baking.

So that's my best guess. Cooking as art therapy.

Anyway, I don't know the answer. But what I CAN say is this: To all the skeptics. To all the haters. To all the nay-sayers,

Don't even ACT like you don't want a cookie. :)

Or Truffles . . .
Etc . . .


Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Frank HATES the Packers.

I live in the Seattle area. I like the Seahawks. I'll even root for them. . .
Most days.

I was born in Fond du Lac, WI. 6th generation Wisconsinite, Cheesehead through and through.
Wisconsin is the Motherland, the Packers are the Mother of all football teams, and the Seahawks are like a favorite aunt. They are wonderful and awesome and fun, BUT THEY ARE NOT YO MOMMA.
And you're gonna pick yo momma every time.
Great Grandma *yes, I inherited that sweatshirt*
Me and Dad 2011
Anyway, there's been a lot of talk about how badly the game was called last night. People around here aren't even gloating. I think every Seahawks fan is a little embarrassed by that win. But that's not really the point of this post.

Like anyone else with terrible taste, my eating disorder (Frank) HATES the Packers.

I had no idea.

I didn't realize it until I went to the Wing Dome with my family to watch the game.
For two blissful hours my brain was my own.
I cheered. I did Raji's touchdown dance. I looked people in the eye. . .

AND I ATE A MEAL IN PUBLIC. Not just public, but a CROWDED BAR.

2 hot wings, a small side salad, and some sweet potato fries WITH ketchup.


And I didn't feel like I had to exercise like a maniac afterwar. Even when I felt a little nauseated later (my body wasn't quite sure what to do with the food I think), I just accepted it.

I know it was my Packers and not just the restaurant or my family because I've gone to Wing Dome before with my family and had issues. Frank always sticks around. This is the first Packer game I have watched this season (shameful I know, but I don't have cable), and Frank did not stick around.

I think he might be intimidated by Raji's belly and Clay's arms.

Too bad Frank.

Like I said, Packers are the Momma, Seahawks are the favorite aunt. . . and Frank is the dysfunctional boyfriend everyone hates . . .
You know I can't have nobody dissin' my momma.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012


Today was really difficult.

I didn't sleep last night. I organized my drawers,

found a million headbands

and this shirt,

baked oatmeal cookies for my dad,

and left the house at 8 for an appointment with Social Security Disability Therapist Person.
The first hour was me telling my life story. Which sucked. I cried a lot. I'm pretty sure the second hour was some kind of IQ test. And I have to go back tomorrow. (Note: I SUCK at spatial reasoning.)

I came home and crashed in a much needed nap for a few hours, and then went to another appointment. Last monday I had a Dr. appointment. Since then she's called me almost daily.
I've also been getting calls from my old PHP program, Opal. After my appointment last week, Doc asked me to schedule an appointment for today. That seemed excessive, but I agreed. At our appointment today she asked how I was doing and then dove right in. . .

"Camilla, you need to be in a program. Now. Like tomorrow."


"I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but when people ask me who of my patients I worry about the most, it's you. Of all my patients, old people, others with eating disorders, people with all kinds of diseases, I'm most worried about you. Your heart rate is too low. It's 35. Even professional athletes don't have heart rates like yours. You need to be in residential NOW. I know that might not be possible, but that is what I recommend."

Well fine, but I'm not bad enough to be hospitlized

"You have [X, Y, Z,] conditions that do qualify for involuntary hospitalization. I'm not doing that because sticking an IV in your arm for a night is not going to solve the problem."

This isn't happening. I know I needed to be there SOON, but I didn't realize it was THIS urgent.

"My supervisers and other physicians agree with me and are very concerned."

Well they haven't seen me

"They have seen your charts. Your charts scare us."

It's so bad they want me to go somewhere in the interim if I can't get into Avalon fast enough.
But I feel fine.

Or as fine as someone with an eating disorder can feel. . . I mean I DON'T FEEL like I'm going to drop dead.

I'm annoyed.
I stayed there for an hour crying and trying to convince my doctor and my mom that I was ok to be in my brother's wedding in two weeks. That I don't need to go in now. That I'm FINE.

Yeah, that didn't work very well.

I'm so angry. Maybe irrationally angry, but angry. My brother is getting married ONCE. My brother who is practically my twin. My brother who is my hero. I CAN'T MISS THE WEDDING.

My mom cried.
"Do you think he'd rather have you in the wedding or dead."

Oh please. This feels so DRAMATIC. I FEEL FINE.
"Mom, I am not going to die. I feel fine. I SEE people out and about who are smaller and sicker than I am."

Mom said,
"Camilla, you don't know that those people aren't already dead. And it's not about your size. It's about your heart. And no one with these issues thinks they're going to die."

And Doc interrupted,
"I can't say that you're going to die tomorrow, but I can't in good conscience recommend anything other then you going into treatment NOW. As soon as you can get all the papers in order."

I've never had her talk to me the way she did today. I can't even express it adequately here. It was frustrating because I couldn't get her to take back what she was saying. And she was so blunt that I couldn't skew it into something else in my head, which I certainly tried to do. She was painfully straight forward. Which hurt.

That's where we are.
I have a follow up on Monday. If they don't commit me first.

"Camilla, I want to see you on Monday if you're here. But I really hope you won't be available because you'll be at Avalon."

Grateful. Terrified. Angry. Not ready.

I feel fine.

. . . . And then I went to watch the Packers/Seahawks game, but only with the condition that my mom checked my heart rate every 5 minutes. Because that game was CRAZY. And the refs. . . oh goodness. Bless their hearts.

see how I try to make jokes? Fail.


My Guys

Sunday, September 23, 2012


This blog was supposed to be food and baking and my progress with treatment. Lately it's been mostly about the eating disorder. I had another blog about that which I haven't shared with everyone, but I'd like to because it might provide more insight into how this feels for me. I don't write in it much anymore but sometimes I put more depressing stuff over there. Anyway, feel free to read it or watch it (I have a couple video journals on there) if you want to know more. It's pretty sad to read. And if you have an eating disorder please don't read it. Because it might trigger something negative.

In case you didn't read it in another post, Frank is what my big brother named my eating disorder. I don't know why he picked Frank, but it stuck.

Oh, and reading this might also help you understand why I need residential treatment. I was in partial hospitalization, which is an all day program, but we slept at home. Some days I just wouldn't go. . . Or I'd lie about it.Or it would be super hard to get there (it was in the U district, I live in Kirkland. There's a toll bridge. There's traffic. Excuses). And I'd leave and go exercise. It's hard to show up for something when you're so in love with your eating disorder. Not love, obsession. Need. Compulsion. Addiction? Can you be addicted to a behavior?

Saturday, September 22, 2012

People are Lovely.

On my way home from a meeting tonight I stopped at the store to buy chocolate chips because I'm out (and that's a PROBLEM in my house). I felt like this random man was following me around the store and it was making me very very uncomfortable. I was trying to ignore him when he walked up to me and said,
"I never do this. . . "

Oh dear . . . I look like a teenage boy am I seriously getting hit on?

"But I feel like the Good Lord wants me to give you ten dollars. . . "

*Blank stare from me*

" . . . Could you use ten dollars?"

I got teary eyed but I couldn't figure out what to say. . .

He insisted that I take it.

"It's not me, it's Him (pointing up). I don't know why, but God wants you to have this. Please take it and be well. God Bless You."

He started walking away and I said (awkwardly),

"I've actually been trying to raise money to fund some medical expenses. . . Thank You So Much."

Not the most eloquent thing to say, but it was all I could think of and I wanted him to know that his prompting actually made sense to me.

People. Are. Lovely.

“In God there is no hunger that needs to be filled, only plenteousness that desires to give.”
―C.S. Lewis,

A treat for the eyes AND the ears. For you, dear Reader.  

Friday, September 21, 2012

Busy Busy.

I'm applying for Avalon Hills in Utah. My family believes it's the best fit. I'm not sure. But frankly I think I will feel that way about EVERY place because my eating disorder wants to survive. I know it can't. The eating disorder and I can't BOTH survive. One of us has to die. And unfortunately for the eating disorder, a lot of people love me, and no one loves it. Except me. But I'm trying not to.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, my eating disorder has a name. It's FRANK. Thus named by my brother. I don't know why. . .

Anyway. . 

Tonight I'm feeling very undeserving. People are so generous.
My sister took sugar cookies to work and "sold" them for donations. People were way too generous. But apparently they raved about them, so that made me happy.
My friend Erin bought chocolate chip cookies from me. I had a major anxiety attack right before she got to my house, so I didn't even say hi. And she was so nice about it. And was also so ridiculously generous. She has been so understanding. I appreciate her more than she realizes. She checks on me and randomly texts me to see if I'm ok. It means so much. She's SO thoughtful that she ASKED me what kind of cookie would be the least stressful for me to bake. For all I know she doesn't really like chocolate chip, but that's what she ordered because it's the least anxiety provoking. Very very kind.
My friends Julian and Mariana commissioned cinnamon rolls for a Star Wars party they were having

(clever right??)

. . . and took donations from everyone who went. Like a mini-fund raiser. I feel so supported and so undeserving. Especially since (if I'm totally honest) there is a part of me that doesn't care if I recover. Knowing how much people believe in me definately helps combat that apathetic feeling.

And my dad is in town. That made today better. I love my daddy-o.

Sunday, September 16, 2012

Angel Mother.

I just finished a long post filled with accolades to my mother. She is my angel. She is a saint. She is extremely private, humble, and easily embarrassed. So I decided not to post  the whole blog. But here are some key points.

My mom is amazing.
I love her more than anything.
I hope I can be like her, because if I can become like her I know I'd be a woman she could be proud of.
She has sacrificed more for me than should ever be asked of one person.
She makes other mothers look a little pathetic. At least to me.
She is the heart and soul of our family. We would have fallen to pieces long ago without her.
She is the master pie maker. And her cheesecake is world peace in a springform pan.
She did it all without hiring a nanny or sticking us in daycare. RESPECT.

I love you mom. You're my hero. I'm still alive because even though I don't believe I'm worth it, I believe that YOU know I'm worth it. And I have faith in you.

Saturday, September 15, 2012

Making Plans.

My sweet friend Sarah is always sharing "when I recover" pictures from this tumblr site. So I felt inspired to make my own. Please forgive the plainness thereof. I'm not very tech-savy.
When I RECOVER. . . .