One Year Later: A New Perspective

One year ago today, I made the decision to seek treatment for my eating disorder. 

February 1, 2014. I woke up this morning feeling lower than I had in a very long time with a hangover so bad that I could barely see straight. I hadn't eaten in 4 days, but I had consumed about a bottle and a half of Jack Daniel's in that time. I woke up unsettled and uneasy. I could feel my heart skipping beats, my head spinning, and constant waves of nausea. I had just finished another night of blackout drinking to help alleviate the depression and anxiety I was overwhelmed with. I had been reeling from a break up that I knew was coming but was still having a difficult time accepting. I lay in bed staring the ceiling debating if I would get up or if I would take the bottle of heart pills on my night stand. I could not bear to stand the weight of my eating disorder, my alcoholism, and the bad person I had become. I reflected on how things had gotten so bad.

7 months before, my supervisor was encouraging me to seek treatment. In July, I went to one session with a therapist. I was recommended for intensive outpatient treatment, as I was refusing to leave my job, but I never went back. I had spoken with friends about my eating disorder 7 months before. I was scared about what power it was beginning to have. I knew that I needed help at that point, but I wasn't ready to truly admit it. Shortly after, I entered into a relationship that I was convinced would help distract me from my eating disorder and fulfill this void that I had had for years. In reality, that relationship became my downfall.

From September until January, I put on a brave, happy face to those around me, but no one knew how truly volatile things were in my relationship. My eating disorder behaviors were not only ignored, but they were encouraged. Multiple times a week, I was being told that I needed to go to the gym to tone up. I needed to grow up and move on from my trauma. I just had to deal with these things by working through them, regardless of the flashbacks. My skipped meals went without comment. My drinking escalated quickly as I joined his lifestyle. Soon, I was eating one, maybe two meals per day and drinking enough whiskey that I couldn't remember the hurtful words. I isolated from friends, only seeing them at the bars. I withdrew from my outside world. I went to work and to my relationship. I had no life of my own outside of that. So, when this relationship ended, I had no idea how to live a life outside of my eating disorder or my relationship. I was nothing, and I felt like it.

February 1, 2014. As I stayed in bed, I thought about the people in my life; the ones who tried to reach out and stand by me, even when I was pulling away. I thought about the people I had lost to suicide. I thought about what my loved ones would say if they were the ones who had to stand by and watch me being lowered into the ground, as I has done for so many of my friends before. I decided that I couldn't put my people through that, especially when no one truly knew what was going on. I got out of bed, talked with my roommates, and went out with them to try and have a positive day, but there were so many different thoughts going on that I had no idea what to do. 

I had to think about what my options would be. My biggest was making the choice between continuing to live in this downward spiral or finding some way to get out of it. In all of my previous bouts with anorexia and depression, I always had some type of life transition that allowed me to cope with things better. There was always a light at the end of the tunnel. This time, that light was gone. All I saw was darknesss. If I didn't commit suicide today, I would create a plan that would help alleviate as much of the pain as possible for those around me. I had no doubt in my mind that that would be what happened if I didn't make a change, but there's always that little voice that says "What if?"

What if I made the choice to live differently? What would that even look like? How would I even get there? Could I actually admit what was going on? What would my family say? What would my friends say? Can I give up everything? Can I accept the help that I had been giving to others for so long? Is this really what I should do? Where would I even go? Could my life really be different? What if I failed? What if I can't ever get better? What if this is what the rest of my life is supposed to look like? What would it take to make that change? What if I actually did it?

February 1, 2014. I made the choice to contact my family to let them know what was going on. I wasn't sure what to say or what would happen, but I had to be honest. I spoke with both my brother and my mom to tell them about my suicidality and my eating disorder. I had to admit how bad things were and to what extent. I had to have support to make this change. I have the best family, because they were willing to help me do that.

My family accepted this information with listening ears and open hearts. Had they not done so, I have no doubt in my mind that I would no longer be here. They worked with me to figure out what my best option was and talked about the things that would need to be taken care of: my job, my apartment, my life in Milwaukee. I coordinated with them about what the first steps needed to be. Ultimately, that decision was that I would look into taking a leave of absence from my job in order to seek medical treatment in St Louis and return to Milwaukee after that. It was the first step to a major life change.

I had to contact my job to let them know what was going on. My supervisor was incredibly understanding, but very taken aback, as she had no clue what was going on. I had only been at this job 2 months, so she didn't know my struggles but was willing to support me in any way. She volunteered to contact the company to determine how much leave I would receive and to direct my coworkers in covering my clients. She agreed that I should leave Milwaukee for care in order to avoid personal/professional conflicts and to be with family. She helped ease my mind that maybe I was making the right decision. I spoke with my roommates saying I would be gone for a little while, but I would be returning. I would leave all of my belongings in Milwaukee and take a bag on a train to St Louis to be with my family for a little while.  

February 1, 2014. My roommates and I returned home where I grabbed a pile of clothes off my floor and shoved them into a bag. I couldn't even think straight, but they helped me get organized enough in order to make it through the day. They took me to the train station in downtown Milwaukee. I said goodbye and walked in knowing that I couldn't look back. I sat in the lobby tearing the corners off my paper train ticket, waiting for them to call boarding for my train to Chicago. Finally, that time came. Boarding that train was the most overwhelming experience, but some part of me knew I needed to do it.

I sat on that train and thought about who I needed to tell. I contacted my best friends via text to let them know what I was doing and why, and received nothing but love and support back from them. I cried and stared out the window at Milwaukee and Wisconsin passing by. I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I made the decision to share my journey with those close to me, because it was important to me to be honest, not only with myself, but others too. I knew I had hurt people in this process, and it was important for me to be honest about it so that I might be able to redeem myself in some way to these people. I said goodbye to the life I had known. I got to Chicago, waited anxiously for my next train, and finally boarded for the last leg of my transition.

On my train to St Louis, I couldn't do anything but sleep. I was so emotionally drained and mentally exhausted that my body could not stay awake anymore. For 6 hours, I slept and dreamed of the life I might be able to have; a life that didn't involve obsessing over calories, weight, size, shape. For once, maybe I could have a life that involved being happy. I arrived in St Louis exhausted, but happy to finally be able to get some rest. I was at the end of the longest day of my life, but it would ultimately be the first day of the rest of my life.

February 1, 2015. Today is a vastly different day from the one a year ago. I woke up without a hangover (although, this cold can go away anytime now). Even though I feel a little under the weather physically, I am in a much better place emotionally. 

I am grateful for the new life I have here in St Louis; a life that never would have happened if I had not made the call to my family. This life does not include: a negative relationship, drinking everyday, restricting myself to 500 calories or less, obsessing over each calorie, hating myself if I go over, body checking every time I see a mirror, suicidal thoughts, melting down if something doesn't go the way I planned, and so many other negative things. My new life is one that I never was really sure I ever deserved, and I'm still not 100% convinced that I do. 

February 1, 2015. Today, I am still struggling with some aspects of my eating disorder. My body image can range from "This is okay" to "How did you ever let yourself get this fat?" It depends on the day or the circumstances, but I do have far more better days than bad ones now. I do sometimes struggle with complete meal plan fulfillment, but I try to be honest with myself and my dietician about it. I still have physical problems as the result of restricting. My stomach might not ever be the same, but I am taking the steps to figure out what I can do. My heart condition will always be there, and I have to accept that. Overall, I have learned how to battle ED when that voice gets too loud, rather than caving in and following through on behaviors.

February 1, 2015. I have more love and support from people than I ever would have imagined when I posted that note on Facebook a year ago. So many people, even some I barely knew, reached out to me when I left for treatment and throughout the process. I cannot thank those people enough for that. My family is amazing, and I never would have followed through with treatment or the requirements of it had they not been so supportive, but one of the best parts about coming to treatment was the people I have met during and after this process. 

The people I met in treatment are some of the most courageous people I know. It takes a lot of guts to admit that you have a problem, let alone commit yourself to daily intensive therapy to confront and work through it. That's what makes those people so wonderful. My friends from treatment are truly the ones who have kept me accountable. We have a certain level of comfortability with each other to reach out and say, "I'm really concerned about you. Are you okay?" These are the ones that supported me the most when I went back to IOP at the end of the summer. I would not have felt as comfortable going back had they not supported me in it.

Also, the people I have met outside of treatment have also been so supportive of my recovery and making sure I stay on track. My coworkers have helped keep me sane in a stressful job that has derailed me a few times. They've also made sure we go get margaritas and food when things are really bad. They bring laughter and joy to my life. I also am especially grateful for the one coworker who led me to the best support a girl could ask for. 

I couldn't ask for a better partner, because he is always there for the support when I need it and has also taken the time to learn about my eating disorder behaviors to help ensure that I stay on track. I couldn't have imagined this relationship in my wildest dreams, so I feel so incredibly lucky that he's in my life now.

February 1, 2015. Today, I look forward to the future. I know that so many of the things I have now are because of my choice one year ago today, and I know that in order to keep these things, I need to keep working at recovery and not give into ED. Today, I have love and happiness, things that definitely were not there previously. I have the last year to look back on and recognize that, even though it doesn't often feel like it, I have made leaps and bounds of progress. For the first time, I have taken control of my life and made the decisions I had to in order to get myself in a much better place, and it feels pretty damn good.

Eating Disorder: 1; Heidi: 0

My eating disorder thoughts are kicking my ass this week. I just feel very overwhelmed with racing thoughts and negative self-talk. It's been causing me to over analyze meals and monitor my intake/calorie count. My urges to undo have also been strong. I haven't, but it's been a little overwhelming. I hate how you can go from peace of mind over the weekend to complete chaos during the week.

I've had a lot of negative body image this week too. I just put on clothes and feel completely gross. I wonder why anyone would ever look at me or touch me. I feel very overweight and fat. I see nothing but fat in the mirror, and that makes it really hard to connect with anyone. It's a really hard concept for others to grasp, so it causes me to isolate. I am trying not to do so by going out with friends, but it's been hard to completely engage.

Last night, I put on clothes to go to karaoke with some coworkers, and I just felt awful about myself. The guy I was with said that I looked great, but those eating disorder thoughts kept getting louder and louder. I finally had to change into something different, because I couldn't handle the noise in my head. It's completely and totally exhausting. 

I hate these weeks where it feels like the only option is to completely succumb to those thoughts and restrict until I waste away on my own. It just feels shitty. All I want to do is go take a nap and not deal with anything.

One day, one hour, one minute, one second at a time...

Overcoming Challenges- Grocery Store Version.

Today was a really difficult day for me at treatment. It was my first time at cooking class, which takes place in a grocery store aka my personal hell.

I legitimately hate the grocery store. I would rather have surgery with no anesthetic than have to spend less than an hour at a grocery store. To me, it has always been one of the biggest enemies, because it represents the one thing that I struggle most with, food. Before coming to St Louis, my aunt would often do the majority of my major grocery shopping for me. Then, I was able to pick up the few perishable items that I needed at the Walgreens aka NOT a grocery store. If I did have to go to the grocery store, I would have an exact detailed list of what I needed and a game plan of the path I would take in the store. The longer I spend in the stores, the louder my ED voice gets. It's completely crippling to me. If I am there any more than an hour, ED is yelling at me about how everything in my basket (because carts represent being fat in my mind) is going to make me fat and unworthy. I could have lettuce, milk, and eggs in my basket, and my brain gets overwhelmed.

Cooking class is another difficult thing for me. It's not that I dislike cooking. Most of the time, I just don't like to waste the free time I have on cooking. I am exhausted by the end of the day, so I don't care to eat at all, let alone take an hour to make it. It's another challenge for me. This is definitely a challenge that my ED wins most of the time. If I do cook, it's microwaveable. So, the idea of going to treatment to cook a meal was brutal to me. I really debated calling in, but then I would have to deal with self-portioning. At least this way, I would have some control over what I would be eating.

So, let's combine my personal hell with an activity I dread. Best night ever, right? In reality, it wasn't that bad. I was very anxious the whole time, which made me feel like I was going to pass out. So, I was able to sit in a chair and just try to distract from my anxiety with creating something. I was in charge of the jalapeno poppers, a food that I definitely wouldn't eat ever, because I don't tend to stretch outside of my small, taste preference bubble; however, I decided to challenge myself to try some new foods tonight. So, I tried a small popper after they had cooked, and it was actually pretty good. Also, we were only responsible for a small portion of the grocery store list. So I stayed in one section, and it was okay. It was just challenging to be in a larger grocery store thinking about food and cooking. All of the challenges.

Today has been a challenging day. Facing two of my biggest fears, grocery stores and new foods, has left me pretty exhausted today. Honestly, I am really proud of myself though. I am trying to fight every day to beat this. I'm still having pretty bad body image, but bit by bit, I am hoping it will go away. One step and one challenge at a time...

Body Image- What the Fuck?

Body image is one of those things in eating disorder recovery that most people say is the hardest part to tackle. We can work on changing our behaviors and obsessions with food, numbers, etc, but there's something about the way we view ourselves and our bodies that is incredibly difficult.

One of the biggest issues is society's view of what "beautiful" truly is. I know the media and their unrealistic standards for beauty always come up in every conversation about body image, but it's so true. Growing up in the 90's, I used to look at pictures of Kate Moss and all these stick thin women that I would idolize. Also, as a ballet dancer, I wanted to be as thin and as light as a feather as possible. Photoshop and air brushing have only made things worse over the last 15-20 years, but most everyone, eating disorder or not, compares themselves and others to these standards. In my eating disorder history, my two most severe relapses were my sophomore/junior year of high school and my last one from last summer until entering treatment. The thinner I got, the most people would comment on how beautiful I was. Why do we force these standards on each other? It only makes it worse. It still happens to this day. I will post pictures from my disordered days, and more people seem to respond to those on social media with positive comments. I feel like I need to be a disclaimer on all of those, so people can know that responding positively to those makes my body image go crazy. Also, if one more person tells me how "healthy" I look, I am going to punch them in the face. My rational side acknowledges that they mean it in a positive way that I don't look like a walking skeleton anymore; however, my irrational side says that they are telling me I look fat. "Healthy" has never meant beautiful. "Thin" or "Skinny" is.

Throughout my treatment process and even now in my recovery, my body image really hasn't changed a whole lot. I have hated my body for as long as I can remember which, in a big way, is related to childhood trauma. I have always felt a strong disconnect between my mind and body. I often feel like my body is not my own, because my brain doesn't match it's hideous outside. It's a betrayal day in and day out by your own brain. How the fuck does one even deal with that? Outside of my healthy mind vs ED mind battle every day, the body image issues are always there. Some days I wake up and can't even choose clothes to wear, because I just feel so fat. "Fat isn't a feeling." Yes, I know. You hear that phrase 10,000 times a day in treatment. But the fact that it feels so shitty when you look in the mirror and hate what you see? Fat might not be a feeling, but it causes some fucked up ones. In my weight restoration, I was eating a fuck ton of calories every day and sitting on my ass. Honestly, that was one of my biggest problems with treatment, and one that I still have issues with today. I don't feel like I weight restored in a "healthy" way, which is also a psychological mind fuck. So, over 20 pounds later, it's been really difficult. I can rationally recognize that I am not an overweight or obese individual. I use evidence (clothes sizes, scales, body checking) to validate that on days when I feel terrible about myself. Yes, I realize all of these are risky behaviors, but some days, you just need to know that your smaller sized pants still fit. It's just that feeling of being so completely uncomfortable in my body that the irrational side comes out and attacks that person in the mirror. I will never be thin enough, pretty enough, or good enough for my insanely high standards. I don't believe anyone could love someone like me, because of all of those things either. When my body image is so bad, I can barely face other people, because I feel like they are judging me, even though my view doesn't match theirs.  I definitely can't let people touch me on those days. I just absolutely hate that one thought about how I look can wreck my entire day and relationships with others.

On a positive note, my body image has improved at least a little. I don't wake up completely hating myself and my body. There are many days where I do, but I do have moments where I can say to myself, "Okay. Not too bad today." My tighter dresses and crop tops have been coming out a little more often. I don't feel the need to wear ginormous sweaters over everything everyday, even though I do most days because I am still always cold and I like to be comfy. I can leave my house without make up, because I can sleep at night without beating myself up, which got rid of my heinous dark under-eyes. Finally, I can begin to accept my flaws, because without them, I wouldn't be me, and I can only hope that, one day, my body image will be positive every day.

Ending with a jam from Bastille, because I am obsessed with this song and play it on bad body image days: