This afternoon, my husband and I went and saw the movie “Everything Must Go.”  In general, I’m not much of a movie watcher.  It’s funny how I can watch a House marathon all day, but run out of patience about 2/3rds of the way through a film.  Anyway, when I heard the movie had Will Ferrell and was about alcoholism, I obviously had to go.

First, as a kind of sidenote, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a serious Will Ferrell movie.  I didn’t really even know it was possible, actually, and was definitely not anticipating it.  So, be warned: it’s not funny (or silly).  At all.

I think that the movie provides a very sobering (no pun intended) picture of what addiction / alcoholism takes from your life.  It ruins relationships, careers, health, and lives.  I don’t think this is a surprise to most people, but the film portrays it in a very relatable circumstance.  Nick (Will Ferrell) seems like an average guy — he has a good career in sales, lives in suburbia, is married, middle-age, etc.  Boring, in a way.  He’s clearly struggled with alcoholism for a long time (they point out at least two stints in rehab), but is what you’d probably consider a functional alcoholic.

You see these glipses of who he was and who he could be.  He reconnects with a girl from high school, who tells a story about how he took care of her at a party.  He befriends a young boy and takes on this father-like figure (for 5 days).  He gives a (possibly) homeless guy his leather recliner (which was was sleeping on at the time).  There are all these little things that lead you to believe that he is a good guy and make you want to root for him to pull through.

Walking into the theater today, I was feeling pretty crappy.  I was anxious about eating today, worried about some big decisions that I have to make, and crawling out of my skin from horrible body image.  All I was focusing on was eating disorder stuff.  I was probably driving my husband crazy from fidgeting so much.  Anyway, it was a good message for me today: eating disorders (like addictions) wreck lives.  Probably not in an acute manner, but slowly, over time, they eat away at those same things — relationships, careers, health, etc.  And it’s sad, because most of the people I know with EDs are wonderful people.  They’re caring, intelligent, talented, supportive, driven… and you just want the best for them.

In the movie, Nick is definitely at a low point in life — but who knows how many other lows he’s had before.  It’s clearly not the first one, and who knows if it’ll be the last.  You see the same thing with eating disorders (different lows, but lows nonetheless).

It’s easy to see the destruction that addiction / mental illness causes when you’re on the outside.  It’s also easier to recognize when the person you’re observing is at a low point.  In most cases, I think it takes a long time to reach a point where you’ve lost your job, all your belongings are on the front yard, and your wife wants a divorce… but the movie definitely does a good job at emphasizing the toll that it takes on your life.

If nothing else, “Everything Must Go” was a good reminder to me that the ED is not going to take me where I want to go in life.  It doesn’t affect just me, and the consequences of maintaining it suck and are very real.

I re-watched Girl, interrupted the other day.  When I first saw the movie, I was in high school had just gotten home from my first ED inpatient stay.  The film actually made me homesick for the treatment center and all the girls there.  I was amazed at how well the directors portrayed the relationships and lives that are formed in an inpatient setting.

Anyway, now that I’m a little older and detached from the inpatient thing… I can appreciate the pure GENIUS that is this movie.  Maybe I’m exaggerating little bit, but there are so many little nuances that you probably can’t appreciate if you haven’t been inpatient before.

For example…
Susanna’s mother drove her to the psychiatrist’s office, but Susanna had to take a cab to the treatment facility – because “it will be less emotional that way.” That’s such a treatment thing to say.

Susanna’s parents took her to psychiatrist’s office.  Her psychiatrist told her she had to go for treatment and got her a cab.  The cab dropped her off at the front door of the treatment facility.  The nurse met her and walked her into the place.  And then… she is told that she has to sign the papers because she’s choosing to be there.  It is just like that!  Yes when you’re over 18 and not being committed, you are technically choosing to be there… but in this scenario, it doesn’t really feel optional and it was definitely not your idea.  They should change the words.  Instead of saying “you are choosing to be here,” they should say, “you are over 18 and not being committed.”

During the initial tour, Susanna and Valerie find Polly in the art room by herself – where she’s not allowed to be. Coming from the real world you’re thinking, “She’s not allowed to be in a room by herself?  What is she, three?”  It’s similar when you’re touring an ED facility and they are explaining that the bathrooms are locked and that you have to ask for permission to use them or count while you are in there.

Valerie tells Susanna that in a month she’ll likely have grounds privileges, and Susanna balks and says she’s not even supposed to BE there that long. That has definitely happened to me!  They told me I would have probably have exercise privileges in three weeks, and I explained that I was only STAYING three weeks total.  And I got that same kind of “okay then, don’t worry about that now” nod that Valerie gave Susanna.

Everyone always wants to know the others’ diagnoses. I think that’s normal human curiosity, and since everyone is in there for SOMETHING… While ED treatment centers are a little more dichotomous than general psych units, you still want to know what ED they have.

The first family session with Susanna’s parents starts with her mother describing a situation where Susanna rolled off the bed when she was changing her diaper. The trauma!  It’s all of the stereotypical “causes” wrapped up in one: blaming the mother, everything relating back to an incident in childhood, parental neglect or abuse…

Also in the first family session, the psychiatrist mentions mental illness being more common in individuals with a family history of mental illness. He may have well said, “maybe something is wrong with one of you, too.”  In ED intake assessments, they also ask about family history – and it makes sense.  They have to.  However, I think things start to get uncomfortable when the therapists start to ask about the parent’s eating habits and parenting skills.

Susanna isn’t told something about her diagnosis because it could “hinder her recovery.” Thankfully this is LESS prevalent now, but it still exists!!  Especially with personality disorders.  I’m not sure how NOT knowing your diagnosis would help your recovery, but would love to hear someone’s opinion on the matter.

They all went and got ice cream in a blizzard. I found this particularly funny, since more than once my dietitian has wanted to do an “ice cream challenge” in the winter.  We’ve never done one in the summer.

I’m sure that there are a 100 more nuances in the movie, so if you think of any, definitely comment!

Will: I find the key is to think of a day as units of time, each unit consisting of no more than thirty minutes. Full hours can be a little bit intimidating and most activities take about half an hour. Taking a bath: one unit, watching countdown: one unit, web-based research: two units, exercising: three units, having my hair carefully disheveled: four units. It’s amazing how the day fills up, and I often wonder, to be absolutely honest, if I’d ever have time for a job; how do people cram them in?

Now, this statement is supposed to emphasize the absurdness of doing nothing — having no relationships, no jobs, no real hobbies, etc. And it’s a great quote! However… I don’t think that I am supposed to relate to it (or at least that was not the movie’s intention). I don’t really think of time as “units” and I do work and have relationships and hobbies… but when my depression is really bad, I have to break my day down into little pieces like this, and make it very mechanical.

Sometimes I even have to write it down:
6:00 – 7:00 - alarm goes off. get ready for work. (2 units)
7:00 – 8:00 - check email (2 units)
8:00 – 8:30 – breakfast and coffee (1 unit)
8:30 – 12:00 – regular work stuff (7 units)
12:00 – 1:00 – go to the gym (2 units)
1:00 – 1:30 - shower (1 unit)
1:30 – 2:00 - lunch (1 unit)
2:00 – 4:30 - more work (5 units)
4:30 – 5:30 - walk dog (2 units)
5:30 – 6:00 – clean up house (1 unit)
6:00 – 7:30 - preparing, eating, and cleaning up after dinner (3 units)
7:30 – 10:30 – online stuff and/or television (6 units)
10:30 – 11:00 – get ready for bed (1 unit)
11:00 – 6:00 (next day) – sleep (14 units)

Terribly unexciting, I know… but, like Hugh Grant says, extended periods of unscheduled time can be intimidating (okay, maybe I am a little better off than him–full hours are okay). I don’t have to schedule my day like this everyday… but when I have a weekend like this one (boring), two whole days of free time is overwhelming. I need some kind of schedule, even if it is filled with ridiculous plans like “check mail,” and “get coffee,” and “take dog to the pet store.”

Anyway, somewhere in the middle of college my nutritionist decided that eating disorder recovery was all about “intuitive eating,” and that meal plans and food logs were detrimental to treatment

For someone with an eating disorder, eating is not intuitive. Does eating a piece of pizza excuse restricting the rest of the day? I don’t think so, but my nutritionist felt that trying fear foods was more important than anything. I used to joke that I could eat nothing but a plate of spaghetti one day and my nutritionist would probably pat me on the back for eating scary pasta.

It’s been years since I kept a consistent food log, but I think it can be therapeutic because it helps you keep yourself accountable. I recently moved and changed my entire routine… and that’s stressful. Because eating for me is still not 100% intuitive, I rely on a lot of external factors. Queues from the people around me, usual eating patterns, my daily schedule, etc. When all of that is different, it’s hard to keep myself accountable. Plus, writing down all the food & body image thoughts/fears does a lot to lessen anxiety. It’s easier to be objective when everything is sitting on paper in front of me. (and much easier on my boyfriend — he doesn’t need to hear every time I’m having a freak-out about food/weight).