For the first time, potentially ever, I have found myself in a surprisingly calm period of my life, and I am freaking out about it.
It's not like everything is perfect. I'm having a huge increase in eating disorder thoughts, which makes me want to use behaviors. I haven't really done so, and if I have, I always make it up later or the day after. I still don't have a job and haven't really heard back from any type of employer, except rejection emails, which is incredibly frustrating. Besides these things, everything is else is great and, dare I say, stable.
Stable is a weird word for me. It only ever seems to exist in the short term in my life. I have gotten used to relying on change to give me stability. No change makes my life feel uncomfortable, which it's not true in any way, shape, or form. It's actually a really good thing. So, what do I do in these situations? Create the instability.
One of my crowning achievements is that I am fantastically great at self-sabotage. I get scared that for the first time, things will be okay. My eating disorder hates that, hence the number of thoughts I've been having lately. It wants me to remain in chaos, so that it can come in and help control everything. Typically, I succumb and enter a new relapse.
Today, I can feel myself teetering. There's such a huge part of me that is determined to continue in recovery, but another that is honestly just tired. This journey is exhausting, and I've been listening to more ED thoughts lately. I just don't have the energy to keep pushing them out and challenging them. The worst part is that I make this worse by adding more value onto events than is really necessary. For example, my therapist called me out last week on being frustrated by lack of contact from jobs. She pointed out that I really haven't been unemployed for that long. It's only been 2-3 weeks. So, I am the one making myself feel badly about this. Self-sabotage at its finest. But how do I make it stop?
When working with clients with anxiety, I used to challenge them by making them give real, actual examples of how those irrational thoughts were in any way valid. Typically, there isn't any or, if there is, it's a pretty big stretch. I used to have clients very similar to me. Some had grown up in a very different world, but it was still chaotic none the less; however, when things were good, their anxiety would get worse. With one of my favorite clients, this went on for weeks until I finally told her to tell those thoughts in her head to shut up and just try to be happy in the moment. For once, things weren't chaotic. They were good. In some lives, that never happens for long. She was taken aback, but she agreed to "Shut up and be happy."
This is a phrase I need to take to heart more. I have spent so much time living in my eating disorder that I remember more moments related to that than actually positive ones. That's just sad. No one should live like that. If I continue to stay in this mindset, I will never actually be able to be content with where I'm at right now, and my life right now is wonderful.
So, self, shut up and be happy.
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label recovery. Show all posts
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Sick Equals Love
Sick equals love. An interesting concept. Yesterday, my therapist brought up the idea that maybe, on an unconscious level, I continue to struggle to stay in recovery, because this is ingrained in me. On some level, my needs are fulfilled when I am sick, but not when I am doing well. This is why I stay on this teetering edge between relapse and recovery. Does sick equal love in my world?
To me, my first gut reaction is absolutely not. It feels like she was telling me that I stay sick on purpose in order to get attention from others, which isn't true. I have never used my eating disorder as a cry for help. It has always been a type of self-punishment and sense of control for my unpredictable life. I went 10 years in my disorder before even admitting that I may have a problem with restricting. Now that it's been out in the open for a year, I feel more of a sense of responsibility to do well and stay in recovery, because if I struggle, people are going to notice it much more quickly. I also have those who are holding me accountable for my meal plan and doing well. So, I don't completely agree with this idea of sick equals love.
But what if she's right? What if on some level, I do stay in my eating disorder to receive love from others? That's a horrible thought. While I do receive more outward support from others when I'm struggling, I have so much support in my day to day life that fills me with so much love. How can she be?
When I'm sick, I cannot feel the love of others. I become very selfish and stay in my own self-absorbed eating disorder world. My eating disorder becomes my love. To me, sick equals love means that I feel more comfortable in the love from my eating disorder than from every other source. My eating disorder has never left my side. It's been there when other loves have ended. It's the one constant source of love. When I am sick, I am loved... by my eating disorder. That is a truly dysfunctional love.
My eating disorder is like that past relationship that you would do anything to keep or get back, but rationally, you know it's completely unhealthy and would ruin everything. You just can't help but want it. Sick equal love.
Today, I am trying to push myself more into that unfamiliar territory. I've been in this comfortable long term relationship with ED for entirely too long. I have a new relationship that pushes me to areas where I have never felt secure or comfortable with anyone. It's been causing me to retreat back into that comfortability that is restricting. For the first time in a long time, I am working on opening these places and trusting that it is the best thing.
Recovery is this horrible scary journey. You go into it thinking that you only have to worry about learning how to eat food again. Not even close. You have to be willing to open yourself up to these places that you have shut yourself off from for so long, that have definitely never been shared with others. But if you don't, sick will always equal love. Love equals love and if you're willing to be uncomfortable and learn to adjust, you might just find something extraordinary.
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Fear of Letting Go
Therapy is hard... Tonight was my first outpatient session with my therapist. I still can't say how much I enjoy working with her, as she pushes me to really confront a lot of the issues and feelings I have spent years avoiding. We have been working through my timeline slowly but surely, but we're at a pause point in order to do some prep work before beginning EMDR.
Tonight, we were discussing my life outside of IOP, which I think is going fairly well. She asked how often I had been restricting and if it has been full meals or just components. Most days, I have been completing very close to 100% of my meal plan. Others, I skip snacks, but not meals. Every day is a little different. So, my therapist posed an interesting question, "Why are you so scared to give up your eating disorder?"
At first, I was pretty taken aback by this question. My thought was "I've already given it up. That's why I spent 6 months of this year in treatment. What do you mean why am I scared?" Then, I took a reality check. In some ways, I am ready to stop living with my eating disorder in control, because it's ruined almost half of my life; however, there is SOME part of me that is absolutely terrified to give up all of my eating disorder behaviors, which is a terrifying thought in itself.
One of my biggest fears of letting go of restricting is having to tear down and rebuild the wall I have spent the last 10 years building up. ED for me has functioned as the threshold for emotions and attachments since I was in middle school. I learned from an early age that people always leave and that emotions don't do anything but make me uncomfortable. While both of those beliefs aren't true, I have functioned on those assumptions for years. It has protected me from many things but kept me from figuring out and showing my true identity as well. So, the idea of letting go of restricting, allowing myself to feel things, and let people see that side of me is a really difficult thing to overcome.
My next biggest fear is an inability to cope. My main coping skill is skipping a meal to help me feel better. It's my go to quick fix. While I know a plethora of other coping skills from my training as a therapist, I have a difficult time turning to them, because they don't have that same instant gratification. So, what am I supposed to do? Sit with my feelings? Don't be crazy. That would be a normal thing to do, and I have rejected the idea of normalcy. So, I am holding on to restricting just in case I get too overwhelmed.
Finally, my biggest fear is living a life that is eating disorder free, because I haven't done that since I was 12 years old. The vast majority of my memories are from periods where my restricting was present (because, of course, the bad memories are most prevalent). I do not know my life without my eating disorder, which is the scariest thing of all. I have to learn how to cope, feel and acknowledge my feelings, AND figure out who I am? Excuse me while I just go lie in my bed. Seriously, this is a massive undertaking.
So, I find myself asking, "Do I really want to give up ED? All of this other stuff seems like a lot of work, and I would just like to stay in my bubble. It's safe here." Then, I mentally slap myself in the face and snap back to reality. Have the last 10 years really been that great that I want to repeat them? That's a big fuck no. I have put so much work into getting to this point in recovery that I would be throwing it all away by choosing to hold onto these behaviors.
While I recognize that I cannot change my three major obstacles over night, I can dedicate myself to working towards these goals. If I can start to incorporate other coping skills, I can reduce the amount of restricting I do. If I can allow myself to begin accepting that it's okay to have feelings and actually feel them, I might be able to create stronger relationships with others and live a more genuine life. If I can continue to figure out who I am, I will be able to dictate the life I lead and keep the people that want to join me on that journey. That's what this journey in recovery is all about; facing our fears and being willing to accept change. If we don't, we continue to stay in these patterns and be miserable, and no one deserves to live like that.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Dance- How I Lost My Dreams to Anorexia.
This is probably the hardest blog I have written so far. It's very painful for me to discuss or even think about, which is why I don't talk about it often. But with it coming up more and more, I need to talk about it. If you know me, dance has been such a huge part of my life. It was one of the only constants I ever had growing up. Every time we moved, I was always involved in dance or something similar from city to city, state to state, country to country. Today, I came to the harsh realization that I haven't danced in over a year, which is something I don't think I ever would have thought would happen in my life, but here I am. I'm not dancing.
When I came to St Louis for treatment, I literally picked up and left everything behind. I was in such a bad headspace that I grabbed a pile of clothes from my floor into a bag (none of which even formed an outfit to leave the house in), got on a train, and tried not to look back. I left behind my job, my friends, my apartment, my car, everything. I ended up losing most of those things because of my eating disorder. To me, none of those things matter as much as dance. Losing that has been one of the hardest things for me to face. I can accept losing everything else, but this is has been really painful.
Last year, I was offered the contract of a lifetime. After so many days of auditioning, last minute trips to New York, and blood, sweat, and tears, I had finally done it; I was offered a contract to be a Rockette in New York City. It took me a few days to think about what to do. Had I taken that contract, I would have had to pick up and leave Milwaukee to move to New York City for a few months. I would have had to work another job to make it by, but it was something I had dreamed about since I was 5. I would be on stage at Radio City Music Hall. I chose to turn it down for two very big reasons- 1) I knew I would have to work a 2nd job just to make ends meet and 2) I was so deep in my eating disorder that I didn't think I would physically be able to do it. Two months had passed since my last audition, and I was down 15 pounds. I was barely able to work everyday, let alone dance a 90 minute show multiple times a week. So, I said no.
Things happen for a reason though. The show I was offered a contract for ended up being delayed, so I would have moved to New York for a few weeks of rehearsals and then, nothing. It ended up being the right choice. Little did I know that 2 months after that decision, I would ultimately lose everything anyway.
I haven't actually danced in over a year. The last gig I did was Mondo Lucha in Milwaukee, which was ninja hip hop and so much fun. For the first time in a long time, I was dancing just to have fun again; not to impress anyone or get a job. It was just for me, and I haven't gotten myself to dance since. Even in treatment, we had dance therapy, and I rarely participated. If I was in group that day, I would always sleep or zone out. It was too painful to accept that I wasn't allowed to really dance at that point in time. All I could do was eat a fuck ton of food and sit around in order to put back on all the weight I had lost. It was torture.
Even now, I haven't been able to bring myself to dance for so many reasons, which my eating disorder has a big part of. Being in front of mirrors for an hour where you have to body check to make sure your body is in the right position is incredibly trigger for me right now. All I see is fat and a body that I don't recognize when I look in the mirror. I have never been content in the way that my body looks weight restored. It makes it incredibly difficult to look in a mirror. Also, my eating disorder tells me that I can't go back to class, because I am out of shape, have no stamina, and won't be good anymore. It would be a failure for me to go, so I just avoid it. Finally, I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect in class. Dancing has always been an outlet for me, but it also has been a downfall. When I dance, I can't even describe the feeling. It feels like home; however, I feel like since I had been the best in class before, I have to live up to that in my mind, which is completely stupid. Dance is for me, not anyone else, but I still can't bring myself to do it.
I shudder in my mind to think that I won't ever dance again. Part of me truly believes it while the other can't see my life without that. Recovery has been a really painful journey so far. I have had to look at a lot of aspects of my life, past, and identity. Dance fits into all of those things, so I know in my heart that I need to reincorporate it. It's just a matter of how and when. I'm still not sure I can, but I don't think I or others would recognize me without it. So, it's sink or swim time. My challenge to myself is to take at least one class this month, because I know that I need to to prevent from going insane. I end this blog with this quote, because what is my life without dancing? Not as good as it could be.
Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free
When I came to St Louis for treatment, I literally picked up and left everything behind. I was in such a bad headspace that I grabbed a pile of clothes from my floor into a bag (none of which even formed an outfit to leave the house in), got on a train, and tried not to look back. I left behind my job, my friends, my apartment, my car, everything. I ended up losing most of those things because of my eating disorder. To me, none of those things matter as much as dance. Losing that has been one of the hardest things for me to face. I can accept losing everything else, but this is has been really painful.
Last year, I was offered the contract of a lifetime. After so many days of auditioning, last minute trips to New York, and blood, sweat, and tears, I had finally done it; I was offered a contract to be a Rockette in New York City. It took me a few days to think about what to do. Had I taken that contract, I would have had to pick up and leave Milwaukee to move to New York City for a few months. I would have had to work another job to make it by, but it was something I had dreamed about since I was 5. I would be on stage at Radio City Music Hall. I chose to turn it down for two very big reasons- 1) I knew I would have to work a 2nd job just to make ends meet and 2) I was so deep in my eating disorder that I didn't think I would physically be able to do it. Two months had passed since my last audition, and I was down 15 pounds. I was barely able to work everyday, let alone dance a 90 minute show multiple times a week. So, I said no.
Things happen for a reason though. The show I was offered a contract for ended up being delayed, so I would have moved to New York for a few weeks of rehearsals and then, nothing. It ended up being the right choice. Little did I know that 2 months after that decision, I would ultimately lose everything anyway.
I haven't actually danced in over a year. The last gig I did was Mondo Lucha in Milwaukee, which was ninja hip hop and so much fun. For the first time in a long time, I was dancing just to have fun again; not to impress anyone or get a job. It was just for me, and I haven't gotten myself to dance since. Even in treatment, we had dance therapy, and I rarely participated. If I was in group that day, I would always sleep or zone out. It was too painful to accept that I wasn't allowed to really dance at that point in time. All I could do was eat a fuck ton of food and sit around in order to put back on all the weight I had lost. It was torture.
Even now, I haven't been able to bring myself to dance for so many reasons, which my eating disorder has a big part of. Being in front of mirrors for an hour where you have to body check to make sure your body is in the right position is incredibly trigger for me right now. All I see is fat and a body that I don't recognize when I look in the mirror. I have never been content in the way that my body looks weight restored. It makes it incredibly difficult to look in a mirror. Also, my eating disorder tells me that I can't go back to class, because I am out of shape, have no stamina, and won't be good anymore. It would be a failure for me to go, so I just avoid it. Finally, I put so much pressure on myself to be perfect in class. Dancing has always been an outlet for me, but it also has been a downfall. When I dance, I can't even describe the feeling. It feels like home; however, I feel like since I had been the best in class before, I have to live up to that in my mind, which is completely stupid. Dance is for me, not anyone else, but I still can't bring myself to do it.
I shudder in my mind to think that I won't ever dance again. Part of me truly believes it while the other can't see my life without that. Recovery has been a really painful journey so far. I have had to look at a lot of aspects of my life, past, and identity. Dance fits into all of those things, so I know in my heart that I need to reincorporate it. It's just a matter of how and when. I'm still not sure I can, but I don't think I or others would recognize me without it. So, it's sink or swim time. My challenge to myself is to take at least one class this month, because I know that I need to to prevent from going insane. I end this blog with this quote, because what is my life without dancing? Not as good as it could be.
Dance, when you're broken open. Dance, if you've torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you're perfectly free
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Wake Up Call
Throughout my time in treatment and in talking to people who have successfully had longer periods of time in recovery, everyone has said that recovery is like a light switch. One day, you'll wake up and realize "What am I doing to myself?" and that's how you transition to focusing on recovery. In some ways, I agree with this; however, I don't know if I have ever truly experienced it.
The last time I was in treatment, it was my time in the hospital away from treatment that was the catalyst for my recovery. Being away from treatment made me realize that maybe I could successfully do things on my own. I didn't need to be there 6 hours a day, 7 days a week anymore. Also, being around others who were deeper in their eating disorders than me was incredibly triggering at that point.
This go around in treatment, I've been pretty stagnant. While I have been making good progress in my individual therapy, I haven't really done overly well with my meal plan or battling my eating disorder thoughts. Being of my stomach issues, I have days where I just generally give up on trying to follow my meal plan and focus on making it through the day; however, by restricting more, my body only gets worse, not better. I have more days where I am doing better on my meal plan, but I honestly don't think I have had a day where I have successfully completed all snacks and meals since I re-entered at the beginning of September. It's just trying to figure out if IOP is really helping?
Then, I received an e-mail from my therapist yesterday saying that they are threatening to discharge me because of my lack of progress and the number of days I have missed treatment to stay at work instead. I understand that. I fully admit that I have not been the most committed to treatment lately, but it is not because of my eating disorder. I think I might have had my wake up call.
In the days I have actually gone to IOP, I haven't found them the most effective. I have had more success with my individual sessions rather than the supported meals and groups. It ends up being more of a chore to go each day rather than providing the benefits that I need. So, what do I do?
Today, I feel more clarity in my mind than I have in a few months now. My eating disorder voice is quiet today. For the first time in 2 months, I have actually exceeded my meal plan, and I don't feel that guilty about it. I challenged myself by going to Target and actually spending some time in the grocery section. I attempted to avoid looking at labels and calorie counts, but still did on a few things. I bought a variety of foods that I can actually eat over time, rather than just a week. My stomach finally doesn't hurt today, even though I was sick most of last night. All in all, this is the first good day I've had in a long time. Nothing amazing has happened. Nothing has really changed. It's just a good day.
Maybe the wake up calls don't always come in when we expect them to, but it could be that the come in right when we need them, even if we don't realize it ourselves. I am a firm believer that everything in life happens for a reason, but it doesn't always make sense in that moment. Eventually, it always does. Maybe this wake up call is going to lead to bigger and better things and a healthier journey on my way to recovery.
The last time I was in treatment, it was my time in the hospital away from treatment that was the catalyst for my recovery. Being away from treatment made me realize that maybe I could successfully do things on my own. I didn't need to be there 6 hours a day, 7 days a week anymore. Also, being around others who were deeper in their eating disorders than me was incredibly triggering at that point.
This go around in treatment, I've been pretty stagnant. While I have been making good progress in my individual therapy, I haven't really done overly well with my meal plan or battling my eating disorder thoughts. Being of my stomach issues, I have days where I just generally give up on trying to follow my meal plan and focus on making it through the day; however, by restricting more, my body only gets worse, not better. I have more days where I am doing better on my meal plan, but I honestly don't think I have had a day where I have successfully completed all snacks and meals since I re-entered at the beginning of September. It's just trying to figure out if IOP is really helping?
Then, I received an e-mail from my therapist yesterday saying that they are threatening to discharge me because of my lack of progress and the number of days I have missed treatment to stay at work instead. I understand that. I fully admit that I have not been the most committed to treatment lately, but it is not because of my eating disorder. I think I might have had my wake up call.
In the days I have actually gone to IOP, I haven't found them the most effective. I have had more success with my individual sessions rather than the supported meals and groups. It ends up being more of a chore to go each day rather than providing the benefits that I need. So, what do I do?
Today, I feel more clarity in my mind than I have in a few months now. My eating disorder voice is quiet today. For the first time in 2 months, I have actually exceeded my meal plan, and I don't feel that guilty about it. I challenged myself by going to Target and actually spending some time in the grocery section. I attempted to avoid looking at labels and calorie counts, but still did on a few things. I bought a variety of foods that I can actually eat over time, rather than just a week. My stomach finally doesn't hurt today, even though I was sick most of last night. All in all, this is the first good day I've had in a long time. Nothing amazing has happened. Nothing has really changed. It's just a good day.
Maybe the wake up calls don't always come in when we expect them to, but it could be that the come in right when we need them, even if we don't realize it ourselves. I am a firm believer that everything in life happens for a reason, but it doesn't always make sense in that moment. Eventually, it always does. Maybe this wake up call is going to lead to bigger and better things and a healthier journey on my way to recovery.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Vacation and Something to Come Home to
Sorry for the blog hiatus. Last week was insane at work, and I ended up working 40 hours in 4 days, which was the worst; however, it meant I didn't need to take any PTO on Friday. I just got a free day off, so that was great.
This weekend, I made a trip up to Wisconsin to surprise my best friend for her 30th birthday. My therapist has been discussing the idea of self compassion with me a lot lately, especially because I tend to continually do things for others instead of myself. So after the crazy week at work, this trip could not have come at a better time. I spent a lot of time with my best friends and family all weekend. It was really a good way to get back to a better perspective on my recovery and where I am in this process.
The benefit of having true best friends that know you inside and out is that I trust them enough to be honest with me. While my eating disorder tells me things that I perceive are true, they are typically completely and totally false. Friends will be gentle in telling you the truth and use it to help you in the long run.
So, when a friend of mine pulled me aside this weekend and said, "Heidi, I am really concerned about you. I want to know if you are truly doing okay," I knew that she could see that I have been doing overly well. I, of course, said that I have been doing okay with good and bad days. She said, "Are you having more bad days lately? Because when you bent over, I could see every rib in your back." For me, that was really difficult to hear. My eating disorder voice said, "Yes. All that restricting we've been doing everyday is making you thin and more beautiful because of that." My healthy mind said, "Woah bitch. That is NOT good." So, what do I do with that?
This was honestly the wake up call I needed. My treatment team has really been pushing me about my lack of progress so far. I have been back in IOP 2 months already. In those 2 months, I have struggled with so many things. I still can't seem to complete my meal plan. I have lost weight, not maintained or gained. I have stomach/GI issues multiple times a week. I felt my depression and anxiety were so bad that I turned to psych meds to help myself. All of those things have made things really brutal, but I have made some progress.
I have not been restricting as much. I have begun sharing my timeline and actually beginning to feel a lot of my trauma, which I have never done. I am learning how to blame others for things they have done to me. I have learned how to handle things not in my control, even if I don't give up control everytime. It's progress.
Driving home, I was able to reflect on the weekend and what I need to keep doing. The hardest part about coming home is looking at what you have to leave behind. But I am coming back to things in St Louis. I have a job and an apartment that give me the freedom I need to continue my journey independently. I have the support of family and friends near and far. I have a treatment center that has wonderful staff and people I get to share this journey with. I am spending time with a wonderful guy that is supportive in this journey (and super cute). I have a new life in St Louis. It's not an easy life. It's not my dream life. It's something new and different though. Do I miss Milwaukee and my friends there? Yes, but it is not the place for me right now at this point in my recovery.
All I can do is take things one day at a time, and the place for me to do that right now is St Louis. The journey continues...
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Refusals
I had my first refusal in IOP last night. Every little thing seems to be adding up lately, and I just had no desire to go to treatment last night.
I hate Tuesdays. We go to group for an hour, sit around doing nothing for an hour, and then eat dinner/post/go. So, I arrived at treatment a few minutes late because of work. I got my weight and vitals, which were miraculously in range without having taken my medication yesterday, done by staff and went off to group. Group was fine. I was pretty numbed out to the conversation of "Love Yourself." Never a fun topic, so I just kind of sat there, zoning out. Conversations about love and relationships make me anxious. Some of the topics brought up were pretty triggering. Anxiety builds.
So then, we have this awkward 45 to 60 minutes to sit around and do nothing. With any eating disorder, sitting and anticipating anything with food is the worst. Your anxiety kicks off and all you want to do is go to sleep to relieve it. Then, of course, I decided to pick a challenging meal, chicken and dumplings, instead of my typical sub-meal of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. So, my anxiety continues to build.
Then, I had e-mailed my psychiatrist on Friday morning. I wrote about surrendering to her in a previous blog and being willing to try medication. Well, Thursday night, she left me this long winded voicemail about how she is concerned that I am using alcohol so heavily that I will go into withdrawal and Wellbutrin can kick that off faster. Honestly, I am not drinking nearly as much as I have in the past. I am not even drinking to the point of getting drunk most of the time. I typically max out at 2 drinks, and then I'm good. I have never gone through alcohol withdrawal, only hangovers. So, I e-mailed her Friday morning explaining that my alcohol use is down and that I am not drinking every day, etc. She never responded. So, I didn't start the Wellbutrin. By last night, she still hadn't responded, which was frustrating because I knew she had worked multiple days at this point. My anxiety builds even more.
So, I decided to check in with one of my favorite staff members. I had gotten pretty close with her the first time I was there, so she has been through most of my breakdowns and previous struggles with me. I expressed how frustrated I am with this whole process. In a lot of ways, I feel like I've wasted the last 8 months of my life by doing this, but rationally, I know that this helped save my life. I shared how frustrated I am with my team's lack of responses and my meal plan. I talked about my alcohol use, and how much I have progressed with that. I shared my fears about losing my job, having to move home, and potentially having to go back to PHP. I basically just bitched about everything for 45 minutes and got some support, which was helpful, but my anxiety was still pretty high. She said she would contact my psychiatrist to see what was up and to try and get an answer for me about my medications. My anxiety is at an all time high.
Then, right before dinner, the nurse comes over and tells me that my psychiatrist has said "Absolutely not" to starting medications. So, I just started crying, because at this point, I was just so frustrated with everything. Of course, that's the same moment we're going to sit for dinner. My anxiety has cracked.
On the walk across the hall to dinner, I spoke with another staff member about my struggles today. She informed me she couldn't get my meal changed, so I would have to challenge myself. So, that was just the news I needed. We talked about how I don't feel my alcohol use is bad enough to warrant a ban on medications, especially when I am even open to trying them. I got to the meal really upset, which is never how you want to start challenging meals. The anxiety is overwhelming.
The meal itself was a salad, chicken and dumplings, and cookie cake. Whatever I didn't finish, I knew I would have to drink supplement for, and I didn't want to drink 24 ounces of fluid instead of food. So, I knew I would have to try to eat some of it. For supplementing, you have to eat all or nothing for the appetizer and desert. For the entree, it is none, half, or all of it. I knew I wouldn't finish the salad, because there were ingredients on there that, for taste preference reasons, I won't eat. I was actually able to eat half of the chicken and dumplings. I tried to just focus on conversation and checked in with staff if I was close to 50%. I was feeling too anxious to try and eat all of it. I was also able to finish the cookie cake; however, that still left me with 12 ounces of fluid to drink. For reference, that's like a can of soda, but when you are already feeling so anxious that you're incredibly nauseous, thinking about drinking that amount of liquid in 15 minutes is insane. I need a relief for my anxiety
So, I chose to refuse the supplement. In some ways, it was for practicality. With how sick I already felt, I thought I would lose everything by drinking so much liquid. So, I wanted to keep some calories in. Also, my eating disorder was screaming, because I felt so out of control with the entire day. I didn't want to put those calories in me. I checked in with the staff after the meal just to try and calm down enough. We agreed that I would take the supplement with me and made a 2 drink maximum deal for when I would be out later that evening. My anxiety finally lowered a little when I left.
Refusals are a tricky thing. I feel extremely guilty about it, because I feel like in IOP, I shouldn't be having any. I also feel like I am fucking up my recovery. At the same time, my eating disorder is so happy with me. I felt back in control and ready to go for the rest of the night, especially because the supplement is still sitting in my fridge. I know refusals are a part of this process, but I just wish this would start to get easier. With every little thing adding up, I truly still wonder if recovery is worth it. Then, I have to check myself, because I know it is. I have a responsibility to at least try and make it work, even if I am incredibly frustrated. I do not need to have control over everything, even though it feels like I do. I have control over my choices in recovery, and refusals cannot be a part of that.
I hate Tuesdays. We go to group for an hour, sit around doing nothing for an hour, and then eat dinner/post/go. So, I arrived at treatment a few minutes late because of work. I got my weight and vitals, which were miraculously in range without having taken my medication yesterday, done by staff and went off to group. Group was fine. I was pretty numbed out to the conversation of "Love Yourself." Never a fun topic, so I just kind of sat there, zoning out. Conversations about love and relationships make me anxious. Some of the topics brought up were pretty triggering. Anxiety builds.
So then, we have this awkward 45 to 60 minutes to sit around and do nothing. With any eating disorder, sitting and anticipating anything with food is the worst. Your anxiety kicks off and all you want to do is go to sleep to relieve it. Then, of course, I decided to pick a challenging meal, chicken and dumplings, instead of my typical sub-meal of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. So, my anxiety continues to build.
Then, I had e-mailed my psychiatrist on Friday morning. I wrote about surrendering to her in a previous blog and being willing to try medication. Well, Thursday night, she left me this long winded voicemail about how she is concerned that I am using alcohol so heavily that I will go into withdrawal and Wellbutrin can kick that off faster. Honestly, I am not drinking nearly as much as I have in the past. I am not even drinking to the point of getting drunk most of the time. I typically max out at 2 drinks, and then I'm good. I have never gone through alcohol withdrawal, only hangovers. So, I e-mailed her Friday morning explaining that my alcohol use is down and that I am not drinking every day, etc. She never responded. So, I didn't start the Wellbutrin. By last night, she still hadn't responded, which was frustrating because I knew she had worked multiple days at this point. My anxiety builds even more.
So, I decided to check in with one of my favorite staff members. I had gotten pretty close with her the first time I was there, so she has been through most of my breakdowns and previous struggles with me. I expressed how frustrated I am with this whole process. In a lot of ways, I feel like I've wasted the last 8 months of my life by doing this, but rationally, I know that this helped save my life. I shared how frustrated I am with my team's lack of responses and my meal plan. I talked about my alcohol use, and how much I have progressed with that. I shared my fears about losing my job, having to move home, and potentially having to go back to PHP. I basically just bitched about everything for 45 minutes and got some support, which was helpful, but my anxiety was still pretty high. She said she would contact my psychiatrist to see what was up and to try and get an answer for me about my medications. My anxiety is at an all time high.
Then, right before dinner, the nurse comes over and tells me that my psychiatrist has said "Absolutely not" to starting medications. So, I just started crying, because at this point, I was just so frustrated with everything. Of course, that's the same moment we're going to sit for dinner. My anxiety has cracked.
On the walk across the hall to dinner, I spoke with another staff member about my struggles today. She informed me she couldn't get my meal changed, so I would have to challenge myself. So, that was just the news I needed. We talked about how I don't feel my alcohol use is bad enough to warrant a ban on medications, especially when I am even open to trying them. I got to the meal really upset, which is never how you want to start challenging meals. The anxiety is overwhelming.
The meal itself was a salad, chicken and dumplings, and cookie cake. Whatever I didn't finish, I knew I would have to drink supplement for, and I didn't want to drink 24 ounces of fluid instead of food. So, I knew I would have to try to eat some of it. For supplementing, you have to eat all or nothing for the appetizer and desert. For the entree, it is none, half, or all of it. I knew I wouldn't finish the salad, because there were ingredients on there that, for taste preference reasons, I won't eat. I was actually able to eat half of the chicken and dumplings. I tried to just focus on conversation and checked in with staff if I was close to 50%. I was feeling too anxious to try and eat all of it. I was also able to finish the cookie cake; however, that still left me with 12 ounces of fluid to drink. For reference, that's like a can of soda, but when you are already feeling so anxious that you're incredibly nauseous, thinking about drinking that amount of liquid in 15 minutes is insane. I need a relief for my anxiety
So, I chose to refuse the supplement. In some ways, it was for practicality. With how sick I already felt, I thought I would lose everything by drinking so much liquid. So, I wanted to keep some calories in. Also, my eating disorder was screaming, because I felt so out of control with the entire day. I didn't want to put those calories in me. I checked in with the staff after the meal just to try and calm down enough. We agreed that I would take the supplement with me and made a 2 drink maximum deal for when I would be out later that evening. My anxiety finally lowered a little when I left.
Refusals are a tricky thing. I feel extremely guilty about it, because I feel like in IOP, I shouldn't be having any. I also feel like I am fucking up my recovery. At the same time, my eating disorder is so happy with me. I felt back in control and ready to go for the rest of the night, especially because the supplement is still sitting in my fridge. I know refusals are a part of this process, but I just wish this would start to get easier. With every little thing adding up, I truly still wonder if recovery is worth it. Then, I have to check myself, because I know it is. I have a responsibility to at least try and make it work, even if I am incredibly frustrated. I do not need to have control over everything, even though it feels like I do. I have control over my choices in recovery, and refusals cannot be a part of that.
Tuesday, October 14, 2014
How Important is Recovery?
I have honestly been really struggling lately. It is making me wonder how worth it this whole process is. Is it worth spending 10 hours a week in therapy? Is it worth being watched for 3 meals a week and having to talk about how I feel about it afterwards? Is it worth unleashing all this trauma in me that has never been dealt with? Is it work spending 3 nights a week in therapy when I could be doing other things? Is it worth having feelings? Is it worth having to document everything I eat for my dietician to look over? Is it worth going on medications for? What is recovery really worth? When I get really discouraged, I often want to say "Fuck It" and just move on. I would quit treatment, have free time at nights, and just live with my ED.
My body image has been horrible this week. I went out with a coworker last night and had to change 4 times before I was okay with leaving the house. She finally had to say, "Stop. You get to change one more time and then after that, we need to leave. You look fine." I just look in the mirror and see stretch marks from weight restoration, stomach fat, lines from my clothes where they don't totally fit anymore, and just feel disgusting. How do you even get over that mental hurdle? I hope that one day my brain can see that I am human and that my body shape is fine, but I really don't think it ever will. Then, I just am so overwhelmed with my trauma and anxiety that it makes me want to curl up in a ball and just shut down. I can't handle thinking about it anymore. Anticipating treatment and having to talk about these things every night is making my anxiety unbelievably high. I have started shaking again and have had panic attacks. It's been really difficult. So, why not just give up? How important is recovery anyways?
Even when I have these awful days, I try to recognize the positives in recovery. I can't always see these things as positive or even that important, but they still exist. Recovery is worth it, because:
My body image has been horrible this week. I went out with a coworker last night and had to change 4 times before I was okay with leaving the house. She finally had to say, "Stop. You get to change one more time and then after that, we need to leave. You look fine." I just look in the mirror and see stretch marks from weight restoration, stomach fat, lines from my clothes where they don't totally fit anymore, and just feel disgusting. How do you even get over that mental hurdle? I hope that one day my brain can see that I am human and that my body shape is fine, but I really don't think it ever will. Then, I just am so overwhelmed with my trauma and anxiety that it makes me want to curl up in a ball and just shut down. I can't handle thinking about it anymore. Anticipating treatment and having to talk about these things every night is making my anxiety unbelievably high. I have started shaking again and have had panic attacks. It's been really difficult. So, why not just give up? How important is recovery anyways?
Even when I have these awful days, I try to recognize the positives in recovery. I can't always see these things as positive or even that important, but they still exist. Recovery is worth it, because:
- I have enough energy to make it through a day without having to take a nap.
- I can better focus on things I have to get done and accomplish.
- Long term goals seem possible.
- I'm not isolating from friends and family.
- I am not passing out everyday.
- My hair has stopped falling out and my nails are growing.
- I am not always doubled over in pain when I do eat something.
- I don't have the body of a small child anymore.
- I can enjoy the little things in life a little bit more.
- Clothes look better, because they're not hanging off of bones.
- I don't feel the need as much to turn to drugs or alcohol to numb out.
- I don't feel so empty all of the time.
- I sleep better.
- I have less anxiety.
- I don't have this obnoxious voice screaming my negative core beliefs in my head.
- I have my life back.
Friday, September 26, 2014
A Letter to ED
ED,
When I first met you 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew you would be trouble. You came into my life when I felt like things were getting out of control. After years of being anxious, you came into my life to calm me down from the life changes that were happening around me. For the first time in my life, I found the one thing that made me feel safe and protected. The first meal I skipped, I knew I was hooked. Your voice in my head encouraged me to keep going with empty promises that I thought would be fulfilled. The promises of love, adoration, and fulfillment had me completely indentured to you, and I was willing to follow you everywhere. Even in the times when I left you behind, you would always find your way back in. To me, you were the perfect relationship: something that would never leave me, always support me, and give me the self-love that I desperately needed. Little did I know how much you would destroy my life.
You came into my life at a very opportune time. After a year of being horrifically bullied, I had just finished a year at a brand new school where I found friends that supported me, classes that challenged me, and a new love: theater. I was finally beginning to work on my identity in high school. It was time to become more independent and figure out truly what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Then, life happened, as it always does. My father was leaving again for a year long tour in Kuwait. It always felt like abandonment to me, even though it was just the lifestyle of being a military brat. Not only did I fall into my typical pattern of shutting down, but I was lost. I was stuffing everything so deep inside of me that it became invisible. I was able to continue being with friends, doing theater, and doing well in school, but all that stuffing caught up to me and I felt empty. Then, I had a health class that talked about eating disorders. Anorexia stuck out to me as this beautiful concept. I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about it, and maybe even try it. That curiosity led to the internet where I saw "thinspiration" and saw that maybe I could be one of those girls that were being supported and praised just by being thin. That didn't seem so hard to me, especially because I was already on the thin side. It was all so tempting, and I fell head over heels for you.
That year, I lost enough weight to feel fantastic about myself. I was getting responses from friends and family about how great I looked, because I was thin, but in shape. I felt in control of my life for the first time in years. I was able to decide how I wanted my body to look and the ways I would do that, which was skipping meals and counting calories. On the outside, I showed everyone how great I was doing, but on the inside, a battle was raging on. That year, I was cutting, exercising, and spending hours listening to you tell me that I still wasn't enough and that I wouldn't be until I lost more weight. On top of that, my constant need for change was starting to creep in. I was maintaining in a sick twisted world, because I had all of these unfulfilled needs. It didn't matter though, because I was thin. You were my best friend, and there was nothing else that mattered. Finally, my life became more in control. My father returned from Kuwait. We were moving to the DC area, and I was able to let you go. I had to to focus on my friends and making the most of my time before another move, because I had learned that once you say goodbye, things change. Relationships will end. Your best friends then won't be your best friends later, because you'll lose touch. So, I had to focus on my friends, because I felt that they wouldn't be there later. I would have a new life in Maryland, and I would leave it all, including you, ED, behind. Little did I know that I had been ingrained with triggers, and you would show up when I would least expect you.
In March 2006, you were there for me when I experienced my first major loss. After weeks of communication and crazy talk, Mark was gone. Suicide is a tricky concept, especially when you're 14. Even trickier when someone would say you contributed to the reasons for it. Again, at 14, I had no capability of processing what was happening. Then, you were there, just when I needed you again. You came in and comforted me in a way that no one else could. My friends were so supportive, but I had no idea how to verbalize what was going on. Also, my life was so busy that I stuffed it, put on a brave face, and kept going. ED, you were there to help me cope with this loss, and it helped me survive in order to keep doing well.
After a few months of being with you again, we had a new struggle to face: health problems. Starting in 8th grade, I had always been told that I had asthma, but inhalers never seemed to work. This came to head my junior year when I would begin hyperventilating during classes with no warning. After seeing multiple doctors, spending hours in the emergency room, and just freaking everyone out, I needed some answers. You took a seat on the back burner, so I could have enough energy to see everyone and get some help. Luckily, one doctor randomly knew about Vocal Chord Dysfunction, and I was able to regain control. With that diagnosis, I felt like I was able to better handle my health issues, and didn't need you to help me control my life. I was capable of doing it again. So, we parted ways again... for now.
Recovery is a beautiful thing. I spent a year and a half living this beautiful life with my friends in Maryland. Then, we moved back to Wisconsin, and for the first time in my life, I returned to those best friends that I had desperately missed. For the first time, those attachments weren't broken. I spent my senior year with my closest friends and began looking at new opportunities to have this great life in college. For the first time, I felt confident without you. I was in control of my destiny, and nothing was going to stop me... Or so I thought.
My dream of going to college was slightly derailed for a variety of reasons. All of a sudden, I found myself applying to a local 2 year college to work on credits rather than moving across the country to start fresh. On top of that, my life at home was spiraling out of control quickly. My grandmother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. My dad became this completely different person: one I didn't recognize, let alone had respect for. Then, October came and so did you.
October 2008 is potentially the worst month of my entire life. My father left to live with his parents leaving behind a grieving family trying to grapple with our first grandparent with cancer. My grandmother deteriorated quickly. Everything was falling apart. I did what I always do. I took 17 credits, worked at McDonalds and the VFW, and was involved in 2 musicals. Stuff it and keep going. It all came to a head the last week of the month. My grandmother died. This lead to actions and words by my father that made me lose all respect for him, and the beginning of the end of our relationship. When you grow up a daddy's girl, that's an impossible concept to even try and comprehend. Also, I started to take care of everyone else, but not myself. I worked as hard as I could to make sure that everyone else was handling these losses, and I put on my brave face and kept going. There you were to support me while I was supporting everyone else. You always knew exactly when I needed you to help me out. I relapsed and quickly got out of control.
Relapse is difficult, because not only do you fall back into these behaviors, but there's a significant amount of guilt and shame that come with it. I was also so ashamed of running back to you, because I knew on some rational level what I was doing to myself, but you felt safe. This relapse was particularly easy though, because no one noticed. It was me and you. You took care of me while I was taking care of everyone else. It was a beautiful partnership. This one lasted for a long time before we broke up again.
I met someone who finally threatened your relationship with me. I fell head over heels for someone else, but you were always there. You would tell me that I wasn't good enough for him... that he would never love me, because he was still in love with someone else... that the only way I would be good enough was to be thin. I did the dance between you two for as long as I could. You were there for me when he didn't know how to be. You helped me through losing Peter and Logan. You always did when I lost people. But, he was there for me in dealing with my father and trying to figure out what kind of relationship we could have, if any. He began to support me the way you always did. The first year was a constant battle in my head between who I should listen to. In the end, you won, but not for long.
My study abroad in Spain could not have come at a more opportune time. After taking a break from my romantic relationship, I needed some time to figure me out. I ran away to Madrid to see if I could have a life without him and without you. The 4 weeks I spent in Spain were the foundation to my identity. For the first time, I was in control of what I was doing, and it was an amazing feeling. After spending 6 years at that time with you always there in some capacity, I was able to let you go. I returned from Spain happy and healthy. I went back to my romantic relationship and was prepared to take on anything without you. This was short lived unfortunately.
Fall 2010 was another difficult time. I was randomly passing out, feeling like my heart was beating out of my chest when I would stand up, and just constantly miserable. It's really difficult to be in and out of doctor's offices and the Emergency room when the person who has promised to love and support you refuses to be there. Luckily, I didn't need him, because I had you. You became that love and assistance that I needed while sitting in emergency rooms by myself. You were there for me when I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and told that I would probably be on medication for the rest of my life. Without you and my mom, I probably never would have gone to those appointments. You only went to take advantage of my POTS, but you were still there. Then, as my relationship was falling apart and choices were made that drove us even further, you became stronger and stronger. My friends and family were so supportive, but it just felt like you were the only one who understood. I could hear all around me that I needed help, but I just couldn't seem to get away from you. My relationship ended, but you were still there. You faded a bit when I was able to spend time with my friends and become back in touch with my life outside of my relationship. Then, I had a life of fresh starts, and away you went.
Moving to Milwaukee in Fall 2011 was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was originally going to commute for graduate school, but decided that I needed a new place to figure out what my life would look like since it would be nothing like I had planned. I was beginning a new life in a new school, meeting new people, and living in a new city where no one knew my dirty laundry. It was exhilarating. I didn't need you, because I was in control of my choices. Even when I lost 2 amazing people in my life a day apart, I was okay. One of those losses led me to someone who understood my relationship with you. Finally, I had someone who understood, and I didn't need you. I lived another beautiful year and a half in recovery. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than being in a full blown relapse. I had moments of weakness where I would dabble in behaviors and miss our relationship, but I knew that I needed a new life. I was doing well without you, and I wanted to stay that way. It did until I graduated with my Master's.
ED, you have always served as a wall between whatever identity I have and the things I have never dealt with. You have always protected me from feeling the things I never wanted to feel. You helped me stuff all of those traumatic events deep down inside of me. You made sure that, if I got overwhelmed by emotions, I wouldn't have to deal with them. We would skip a meal, and I would be fine. You did your job, and I was able to manage my life better... or so I thought.
After getting my Master's, I wasn't strong enough to hold back all of these feelings and memories from flooding me every day, especially when working as a therapist. Every day, I was speaking to people with some similar experiences to my own. It became draining to just be me and work with clients. There you were. Our relationship began again, but it wasn't unnoticed this time. Working with other clinicians, your presence was easily seen by my supervisor, who really pushed me to go to therapy. I went for one session, but I never went back. I was okay with that though. So were you. I had pseudosessions with my supervisor, which helped me be okay for a while, but you were still there. I entered a romantic relationship that challenged, but encouraged you as well. This built and built until one day, the switch went on. I knew I couldn't stay with you, but I knew I needed help to get out of it. With the help of my family, I got on a train, left everything behind in Milwaukee, and decided to look for a new life without you.
The first 2 weeks of treatment, I was still holding onto you. I would openly tell people that I would be there for a short period of time to go back to work in Milwaukee. In other words, I realized I had made a mistake and wanted to stay with you. Slowly but surely, rational me started kicking into gear, and I knew that I couldn't continue this relationship or I would lose my life. After experiencing so many losses, I couldn't put others through that. It also didn't seem fair to my friends who lost their lives too young. Here I was actively destroying my own life by choice. In the memory of my friends, that's just not fair. After 12 weeks in treatment, I was feeling okay with letting you go, but was still battling with depression. I felt like I had ruined my life by not being with you. It was my hardest break-up of all, but I have a new life in recovery.
Recovery is never perfect though. I ended up running back to you when I felt out of control, but I recognized it and got back into treatment. I always go back when I don't feel like I can handle things. But the truth is, I absolutely can. I don't need you to make me feel worthy of love, because I have friends and family who love me. I don't need you to help gain control, because I am capable of making my own choices and can handle when the unexpected happens. I don't need your voice in the back of my head telling me how awful I am, because there's no evidence of that. I just don't need you. So goodbye, ED. I will not miss you. This life in recovery isn't easy, but it's worth it.
Good riddance,
Heidi
When I first met you 10 years ago, I had no idea what I was getting myself into, but I knew you would be trouble. You came into my life when I felt like things were getting out of control. After years of being anxious, you came into my life to calm me down from the life changes that were happening around me. For the first time in my life, I found the one thing that made me feel safe and protected. The first meal I skipped, I knew I was hooked. Your voice in my head encouraged me to keep going with empty promises that I thought would be fulfilled. The promises of love, adoration, and fulfillment had me completely indentured to you, and I was willing to follow you everywhere. Even in the times when I left you behind, you would always find your way back in. To me, you were the perfect relationship: something that would never leave me, always support me, and give me the self-love that I desperately needed. Little did I know how much you would destroy my life.
You came into my life at a very opportune time. After a year of being horrifically bullied, I had just finished a year at a brand new school where I found friends that supported me, classes that challenged me, and a new love: theater. I was finally beginning to work on my identity in high school. It was time to become more independent and figure out truly what I wanted to do and who I wanted to be. Then, life happened, as it always does. My father was leaving again for a year long tour in Kuwait. It always felt like abandonment to me, even though it was just the lifestyle of being a military brat. Not only did I fall into my typical pattern of shutting down, but I was lost. I was stuffing everything so deep inside of me that it became invisible. I was able to continue being with friends, doing theater, and doing well in school, but all that stuffing caught up to me and I felt empty. Then, I had a health class that talked about eating disorders. Anorexia stuck out to me as this beautiful concept. I was intrigued. I wanted to learn more about it, and maybe even try it. That curiosity led to the internet where I saw "thinspiration" and saw that maybe I could be one of those girls that were being supported and praised just by being thin. That didn't seem so hard to me, especially because I was already on the thin side. It was all so tempting, and I fell head over heels for you.
That year, I lost enough weight to feel fantastic about myself. I was getting responses from friends and family about how great I looked, because I was thin, but in shape. I felt in control of my life for the first time in years. I was able to decide how I wanted my body to look and the ways I would do that, which was skipping meals and counting calories. On the outside, I showed everyone how great I was doing, but on the inside, a battle was raging on. That year, I was cutting, exercising, and spending hours listening to you tell me that I still wasn't enough and that I wouldn't be until I lost more weight. On top of that, my constant need for change was starting to creep in. I was maintaining in a sick twisted world, because I had all of these unfulfilled needs. It didn't matter though, because I was thin. You were my best friend, and there was nothing else that mattered. Finally, my life became more in control. My father returned from Kuwait. We were moving to the DC area, and I was able to let you go. I had to to focus on my friends and making the most of my time before another move, because I had learned that once you say goodbye, things change. Relationships will end. Your best friends then won't be your best friends later, because you'll lose touch. So, I had to focus on my friends, because I felt that they wouldn't be there later. I would have a new life in Maryland, and I would leave it all, including you, ED, behind. Little did I know that I had been ingrained with triggers, and you would show up when I would least expect you.
In March 2006, you were there for me when I experienced my first major loss. After weeks of communication and crazy talk, Mark was gone. Suicide is a tricky concept, especially when you're 14. Even trickier when someone would say you contributed to the reasons for it. Again, at 14, I had no capability of processing what was happening. Then, you were there, just when I needed you again. You came in and comforted me in a way that no one else could. My friends were so supportive, but I had no idea how to verbalize what was going on. Also, my life was so busy that I stuffed it, put on a brave face, and kept going. ED, you were there to help me cope with this loss, and it helped me survive in order to keep doing well.
After a few months of being with you again, we had a new struggle to face: health problems. Starting in 8th grade, I had always been told that I had asthma, but inhalers never seemed to work. This came to head my junior year when I would begin hyperventilating during classes with no warning. After seeing multiple doctors, spending hours in the emergency room, and just freaking everyone out, I needed some answers. You took a seat on the back burner, so I could have enough energy to see everyone and get some help. Luckily, one doctor randomly knew about Vocal Chord Dysfunction, and I was able to regain control. With that diagnosis, I felt like I was able to better handle my health issues, and didn't need you to help me control my life. I was capable of doing it again. So, we parted ways again... for now.
Recovery is a beautiful thing. I spent a year and a half living this beautiful life with my friends in Maryland. Then, we moved back to Wisconsin, and for the first time in my life, I returned to those best friends that I had desperately missed. For the first time, those attachments weren't broken. I spent my senior year with my closest friends and began looking at new opportunities to have this great life in college. For the first time, I felt confident without you. I was in control of my destiny, and nothing was going to stop me... Or so I thought.
My dream of going to college was slightly derailed for a variety of reasons. All of a sudden, I found myself applying to a local 2 year college to work on credits rather than moving across the country to start fresh. On top of that, my life at home was spiraling out of control quickly. My grandmother had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. My dad became this completely different person: one I didn't recognize, let alone had respect for. Then, October came and so did you.
October 2008 is potentially the worst month of my entire life. My father left to live with his parents leaving behind a grieving family trying to grapple with our first grandparent with cancer. My grandmother deteriorated quickly. Everything was falling apart. I did what I always do. I took 17 credits, worked at McDonalds and the VFW, and was involved in 2 musicals. Stuff it and keep going. It all came to a head the last week of the month. My grandmother died. This lead to actions and words by my father that made me lose all respect for him, and the beginning of the end of our relationship. When you grow up a daddy's girl, that's an impossible concept to even try and comprehend. Also, I started to take care of everyone else, but not myself. I worked as hard as I could to make sure that everyone else was handling these losses, and I put on my brave face and kept going. There you were to support me while I was supporting everyone else. You always knew exactly when I needed you to help me out. I relapsed and quickly got out of control.
Relapse is difficult, because not only do you fall back into these behaviors, but there's a significant amount of guilt and shame that come with it. I was also so ashamed of running back to you, because I knew on some rational level what I was doing to myself, but you felt safe. This relapse was particularly easy though, because no one noticed. It was me and you. You took care of me while I was taking care of everyone else. It was a beautiful partnership. This one lasted for a long time before we broke up again.
I met someone who finally threatened your relationship with me. I fell head over heels for someone else, but you were always there. You would tell me that I wasn't good enough for him... that he would never love me, because he was still in love with someone else... that the only way I would be good enough was to be thin. I did the dance between you two for as long as I could. You were there for me when he didn't know how to be. You helped me through losing Peter and Logan. You always did when I lost people. But, he was there for me in dealing with my father and trying to figure out what kind of relationship we could have, if any. He began to support me the way you always did. The first year was a constant battle in my head between who I should listen to. In the end, you won, but not for long.
My study abroad in Spain could not have come at a more opportune time. After taking a break from my romantic relationship, I needed some time to figure me out. I ran away to Madrid to see if I could have a life without him and without you. The 4 weeks I spent in Spain were the foundation to my identity. For the first time, I was in control of what I was doing, and it was an amazing feeling. After spending 6 years at that time with you always there in some capacity, I was able to let you go. I returned from Spain happy and healthy. I went back to my romantic relationship and was prepared to take on anything without you. This was short lived unfortunately.
Fall 2010 was another difficult time. I was randomly passing out, feeling like my heart was beating out of my chest when I would stand up, and just constantly miserable. It's really difficult to be in and out of doctor's offices and the Emergency room when the person who has promised to love and support you refuses to be there. Luckily, I didn't need him, because I had you. You became that love and assistance that I needed while sitting in emergency rooms by myself. You were there for me when I was diagnosed with Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome and told that I would probably be on medication for the rest of my life. Without you and my mom, I probably never would have gone to those appointments. You only went to take advantage of my POTS, but you were still there. Then, as my relationship was falling apart and choices were made that drove us even further, you became stronger and stronger. My friends and family were so supportive, but it just felt like you were the only one who understood. I could hear all around me that I needed help, but I just couldn't seem to get away from you. My relationship ended, but you were still there. You faded a bit when I was able to spend time with my friends and become back in touch with my life outside of my relationship. Then, I had a life of fresh starts, and away you went.
Moving to Milwaukee in Fall 2011 was probably one of the best decisions I have ever made. I was originally going to commute for graduate school, but decided that I needed a new place to figure out what my life would look like since it would be nothing like I had planned. I was beginning a new life in a new school, meeting new people, and living in a new city where no one knew my dirty laundry. It was exhilarating. I didn't need you, because I was in control of my choices. Even when I lost 2 amazing people in my life a day apart, I was okay. One of those losses led me to someone who understood my relationship with you. Finally, I had someone who understood, and I didn't need you. I lived another beautiful year and a half in recovery. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than being in a full blown relapse. I had moments of weakness where I would dabble in behaviors and miss our relationship, but I knew that I needed a new life. I was doing well without you, and I wanted to stay that way. It did until I graduated with my Master's.
ED, you have always served as a wall between whatever identity I have and the things I have never dealt with. You have always protected me from feeling the things I never wanted to feel. You helped me stuff all of those traumatic events deep down inside of me. You made sure that, if I got overwhelmed by emotions, I wouldn't have to deal with them. We would skip a meal, and I would be fine. You did your job, and I was able to manage my life better... or so I thought.
After getting my Master's, I wasn't strong enough to hold back all of these feelings and memories from flooding me every day, especially when working as a therapist. Every day, I was speaking to people with some similar experiences to my own. It became draining to just be me and work with clients. There you were. Our relationship began again, but it wasn't unnoticed this time. Working with other clinicians, your presence was easily seen by my supervisor, who really pushed me to go to therapy. I went for one session, but I never went back. I was okay with that though. So were you. I had pseudosessions with my supervisor, which helped me be okay for a while, but you were still there. I entered a romantic relationship that challenged, but encouraged you as well. This built and built until one day, the switch went on. I knew I couldn't stay with you, but I knew I needed help to get out of it. With the help of my family, I got on a train, left everything behind in Milwaukee, and decided to look for a new life without you.
The first 2 weeks of treatment, I was still holding onto you. I would openly tell people that I would be there for a short period of time to go back to work in Milwaukee. In other words, I realized I had made a mistake and wanted to stay with you. Slowly but surely, rational me started kicking into gear, and I knew that I couldn't continue this relationship or I would lose my life. After experiencing so many losses, I couldn't put others through that. It also didn't seem fair to my friends who lost their lives too young. Here I was actively destroying my own life by choice. In the memory of my friends, that's just not fair. After 12 weeks in treatment, I was feeling okay with letting you go, but was still battling with depression. I felt like I had ruined my life by not being with you. It was my hardest break-up of all, but I have a new life in recovery.
Recovery is never perfect though. I ended up running back to you when I felt out of control, but I recognized it and got back into treatment. I always go back when I don't feel like I can handle things. But the truth is, I absolutely can. I don't need you to make me feel worthy of love, because I have friends and family who love me. I don't need you to help gain control, because I am capable of making my own choices and can handle when the unexpected happens. I don't need your voice in the back of my head telling me how awful I am, because there's no evidence of that. I just don't need you. So goodbye, ED. I will not miss you. This life in recovery isn't easy, but it's worth it.
Good riddance,
Heidi
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Selfish vs Selfless
Today in group at treatment, someone talked about being selfish versus being selfless. These two words hold significant weight in the way that we think, feel, behave, etc towards ourselves and others. Selfish is when we are totally focused on our own needs, and selfless is complete focus on the needs of others. In an ideal world, everyone should have a balance of both. We need to focus on our own needs, but also look at the needs of others in order to maintain relationships. My eating disorder completely clouds this.
When I am in a full blown relapse, I tend to be very selfless in a selfish way. How is that even possible? I become very selfless in order to escape the battle in my head. Basically, I am using my selflessness as a way to be selfish. I do it to fulfill my needs, because I cannot handle what is going on in my life. So, I turn to others as a way to be selfish. It doesn't mean that I do not care about others and do not genuinely want what's best for them; however, I do tend to become enveloped in other people's lives and focused on them 100%. Most of my relationships have started in the midst of relapses, because I wanted to give someone else all of the attention in order to not have to focus on myself. This is something I have had to be mindful of in this process. I have found myself running to online dating as a way to take the focus off of myself. So, I have to monitor myself when meeting new people. As the great movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind said, "Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?" Change woman to man and that's me.
Using others to help me cope with my issues is potentially one of the most selfish things a person can do. It leads to an extreme amount of guilt and difficulties in my relationships, because I don't realize how much I am hurting others by using them for my coping. It also tends to push people away, because I become dependent on them to the point of unbearable. I become too much and people walk out. If they don't walk, I push them away by becoming clingy and then shutting down when a response is given. None of my needs can ever be fulfilled by others, even though I wish they could be. I become selfish, because even though I am attempting to fulfill their needs by doing anything I can, I am not taking care of my own needs, which causes everything to fall apart. So, how do I break this cycle?
In a lot of ways, I have to become selfish for the right reasons. I need to focus on my own personal needs and self-care in order to become a person capable of being selfless with no expectations in return. This involves a great deal of therapy and commitment to incorporating self-care. I have to let myself take breaks and process things. I have to take on only what I can handle and step away from things I cannot. I must take better care of myself and that includes following my meal plan. So, what's my biggest first step that I need to take?
I asked my new therapist to begin going through my timeline and actually talking about it in great detail. I did this the first time I was in treatment in 2 ways. The first was with my individual therapist, but we only hit the highlights and overlooked a lot of the smaller issues, which add up. The second was in a group; however, I have a really difficult time allowing myself to feel the events that have happened in my life. It feels like I am telling someone else's life like I am giving a biography report in school. I try not to connect on it, because my life is exhausting with the amount of trauma I have experienced. To feel all that trauma again is awful. That's the purpose of my eating disorder: to serve as a wall between me and all that crap. Without my eating disorder, all of that comes back and becomes so overwhelming that I shut down and relapse. Unfortunately, it's not enough to have insight as to what happens. Something has to be done about it.
It's time to move forward. It's time to allow myself to experience all the feelings I stuffed down deep inside, because they were too much to bear. It's time to accept that these feelings are okay. They are not bad, just scary. It's time to take away the blame of the things I don't deserve to blame myself for. It's time to heal. It's time to tear down the wall of my eating disorder and create a new whole self that can process the pass and emotionally heal.
When I am in a full blown relapse, I tend to be very selfless in a selfish way. How is that even possible? I become very selfless in order to escape the battle in my head. Basically, I am using my selflessness as a way to be selfish. I do it to fulfill my needs, because I cannot handle what is going on in my life. So, I turn to others as a way to be selfish. It doesn't mean that I do not care about others and do not genuinely want what's best for them; however, I do tend to become enveloped in other people's lives and focused on them 100%. Most of my relationships have started in the midst of relapses, because I wanted to give someone else all of the attention in order to not have to focus on myself. This is something I have had to be mindful of in this process. I have found myself running to online dating as a way to take the focus off of myself. So, I have to monitor myself when meeting new people. As the great movie Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind said, "Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?" Change woman to man and that's me.
Using others to help me cope with my issues is potentially one of the most selfish things a person can do. It leads to an extreme amount of guilt and difficulties in my relationships, because I don't realize how much I am hurting others by using them for my coping. It also tends to push people away, because I become dependent on them to the point of unbearable. I become too much and people walk out. If they don't walk, I push them away by becoming clingy and then shutting down when a response is given. None of my needs can ever be fulfilled by others, even though I wish they could be. I become selfish, because even though I am attempting to fulfill their needs by doing anything I can, I am not taking care of my own needs, which causes everything to fall apart. So, how do I break this cycle?
In a lot of ways, I have to become selfish for the right reasons. I need to focus on my own personal needs and self-care in order to become a person capable of being selfless with no expectations in return. This involves a great deal of therapy and commitment to incorporating self-care. I have to let myself take breaks and process things. I have to take on only what I can handle and step away from things I cannot. I must take better care of myself and that includes following my meal plan. So, what's my biggest first step that I need to take?
I asked my new therapist to begin going through my timeline and actually talking about it in great detail. I did this the first time I was in treatment in 2 ways. The first was with my individual therapist, but we only hit the highlights and overlooked a lot of the smaller issues, which add up. The second was in a group; however, I have a really difficult time allowing myself to feel the events that have happened in my life. It feels like I am telling someone else's life like I am giving a biography report in school. I try not to connect on it, because my life is exhausting with the amount of trauma I have experienced. To feel all that trauma again is awful. That's the purpose of my eating disorder: to serve as a wall between me and all that crap. Without my eating disorder, all of that comes back and becomes so overwhelming that I shut down and relapse. Unfortunately, it's not enough to have insight as to what happens. Something has to be done about it.
It's time to move forward. It's time to allow myself to experience all the feelings I stuffed down deep inside, because they were too much to bear. It's time to accept that these feelings are okay. They are not bad, just scary. It's time to take away the blame of the things I don't deserve to blame myself for. It's time to heal. It's time to tear down the wall of my eating disorder and create a new whole self that can process the pass and emotionally heal.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
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...
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...
Tuesday, September 9, 2014
War in My Mind
What do you do when you are fighting an internal battle all day every day? Every waking moment of my day, I am having all these different thoughts racing through my brain. ED thoughts. Healthy Mind thoughts. Work thoughts. Personal thoughts. More ED thoughts. Negative thoughts. Hopeless thoughts. Fight through it thoughts. Work thoughts. All of the thoughts. All of the anxiety. Every day is like a war in my mind. Those few moments of peace where my brain isn't racing are becoming harder to find. So, what do I do?
Every good soldier comes equipped with tools. As a therapist, I taught clients about their tool kits of coping skills that are all readily accessible. The only problem with this is that you can't always be doing coping skills all day every day. There's some level of coping with sitting with the war, but we all have other responsibilities that can't always be shaken off to focus on a coping skill 100%. Blogging has become one of my primary coping skills. It has become an outlet for me to put those thoughts out of my head, rather than letting them circle. It's also been really validating sharing my experiences with other people; however, I can't always drop what I am doing to write a blog. The battle continues.
Once I figure out what tool is best for me in that moment, I have to fight the hardest battle of all: challenging the thoughts in my head while using that skill to keep my anxiety at a somewhat manageable level. My biggest struggle is that many of my thoughts are irrational, which stem from irrational core beliefs. My own personal theoretical orientation is Rational Emotive Behavioral Therapy, which believes that mental health problems stem from irrational core beliefs, which impact our emotions and behaviors. It's full of fun phrases like "Should"ing over yourself (Telling yourself you "should" do something, even if it is damaging to you) and "Musts" ("I must be the best and win other's approval," "Others must treat me the way I want to be treated or they're terrible people," and "I must get what I want. I musn't get what I don't want. But if I don't get what I want, it's terrible.) All of these apply to me pretty well, especially the Shoulding. Most of these are pretty irrational. So, how do I challenge them?
Evidence is really important to challenging my irrational thoughts. I feel like I am doing a horrible job at work, and I am going to be fired, because I am doing such a bad job and can't keep up with it while at treatment. None of this is true. I'm definitely overwhelmed with trying to balance the demands of work and my recovery; however, evidence shows me that my thoughts are irrational. Proof: I got a raise this month. I get praise and validation from my coworkers. I have not missed a deadline on any assignments since returning to treatment. That evidence helps me challenge my irrational thought and become at peace with a rational one. This is a pretty exhausting process though.
The average person has about 40-50 thoughts per minute (Thanks Google). If every one of those thoughts I have is irrational, how much challenging do I have to do? An insane fucking amount. That's exhausting just thinking about it! It does get easier though. The more challenging I do, the easier it gets, especially for repeat thoughts. I have some of the same general thoughts everyday, which are not limited to: "If I eat that, I am going to get fat and be worthless." "That person in the mirror is fat and disgusting." "You're doing such a bad job, because you can't do this work fast enough." "You forgot to schedule these things for those kids, so you obviously suck at your job." "No one will ever love you, because you're gross and ugly." "You clearly can't take care of yourself, because you've let yourself go." "Don't feel happy. You don't deserve that." I could go on forever...
I think the most important thing is to continue fighting the war. There's that old saying that says something to the effect of "You might not win the battle, but you can still win the war." Each day is a new battle. We're never really sure what might hit us at any given moment; however, persistence in fighting each individual battle, even if we lose some, will help us win the war against our eating disorders and continue on a new journey in recovery.
Every good soldier comes equipped with tools. As a therapist, I taught clients about their tool kits of coping skills that are all readily accessible. The only problem with this is that you can't always be doing coping skills all day every day. There's some level of coping with sitting with the war, but we all have other responsibilities that can't always be shaken off to focus on a coping skill 100%. Blogging has become one of my primary coping skills. It has become an outlet for me to put those thoughts out of my head, rather than letting them circle. It's also been really validating sharing my experiences with other people; however, I can't always drop what I am doing to write a blog. The battle continues.
Once I figure out what tool is best for me in that moment, I have to fight the hardest battle of all: challenging the thoughts in my head while using that skill to keep my anxiety at a somewhat manageable level. My biggest struggle is that many of my thoughts are irrational, which stem from irrational core beliefs. My own personal theoretical orientation is Rational Emotive Behavioral Therapy, which believes that mental health problems stem from irrational core beliefs, which impact our emotions and behaviors. It's full of fun phrases like "Should"ing over yourself (Telling yourself you "should" do something, even if it is damaging to you) and "Musts" ("I must be the best and win other's approval," "Others must treat me the way I want to be treated or they're terrible people," and "I must get what I want. I musn't get what I don't want. But if I don't get what I want, it's terrible.) All of these apply to me pretty well, especially the Shoulding. Most of these are pretty irrational. So, how do I challenge them?
Evidence is really important to challenging my irrational thoughts. I feel like I am doing a horrible job at work, and I am going to be fired, because I am doing such a bad job and can't keep up with it while at treatment. None of this is true. I'm definitely overwhelmed with trying to balance the demands of work and my recovery; however, evidence shows me that my thoughts are irrational. Proof: I got a raise this month. I get praise and validation from my coworkers. I have not missed a deadline on any assignments since returning to treatment. That evidence helps me challenge my irrational thought and become at peace with a rational one. This is a pretty exhausting process though.
The average person has about 40-50 thoughts per minute (Thanks Google). If every one of those thoughts I have is irrational, how much challenging do I have to do? An insane fucking amount. That's exhausting just thinking about it! It does get easier though. The more challenging I do, the easier it gets, especially for repeat thoughts. I have some of the same general thoughts everyday, which are not limited to: "If I eat that, I am going to get fat and be worthless." "That person in the mirror is fat and disgusting." "You're doing such a bad job, because you can't do this work fast enough." "You forgot to schedule these things for those kids, so you obviously suck at your job." "No one will ever love you, because you're gross and ugly." "You clearly can't take care of yourself, because you've let yourself go." "Don't feel happy. You don't deserve that." I could go on forever...
I think the most important thing is to continue fighting the war. There's that old saying that says something to the effect of "You might not win the battle, but you can still win the war." Each day is a new battle. We're never really sure what might hit us at any given moment; however, persistence in fighting each individual battle, even if we lose some, will help us win the war against our eating disorders and continue on a new journey in recovery.
Friday, September 5, 2014
Before, During, and After
I've been thinking a lot about the Before and After moments of my life. At 23, I have had some pretty intense turning points in my life, and the ways I chose to cope with those things have also impacted what follows. This lead to me looking at my Eating Disorder. After my first major episode at 13, I have had 4 serious relapses at 15, 17, 19, and 22. All of these came as a reaction to some of the most serious, traumatic moments in my life. So, what happened before?
Before my relapses, I genuinely felt like I was in a good place in my life. At 13, I had had some really difficult moments, but I had finally settled in to a new school, new friends, and became very active in musical theatre. I felt like I was genuinely settling into what could be comforting for me. At 15, again, I had just moved to a new school in Maryland and was finding this amazing group of friends, who truly supported me through everything and still do. At 17, I had just started college. I was ready for my new start to find out who I truly wanted to be and what difference I could make in the world. At 19, I was in my final semester of college, about to embark on a new life with my fiance and looking to graduate school to become a therapist. At 22, I felt like I was in a great relationship, working a wonderful job, and becoming content with the idea of settling in Milwaukee.
Before my relapses, I was believed that the world wasn't such an awful place. I believed, even though all these horrible things that continued to build in my life had happened, that the good things in my life would stick around and that in some inconceivable way, I would be loved.
Before my relapses, I let the weight of my past build up inside me. I let the blame of things were in no possible way my fault sit on my heart, crushing it with guilt day in and day out. I let the shame of my trauma and my reactions to it eat me alive. I let my own self-hatred for my actions cycle in my brain in every quiet moment. I sat in silence and allowed this to eat me alive. I found solace in myself as people around me let me
Then, the things I saw as unthinkable happened... My dad went to Kuwait... My friend killed himself... My dad walked out on my family the day my grandmother died... My fiance left me... I finished graduate school and my trauma came flooding back.
And then, I relapsed.
During my relapses, I would restrict as often as possible. I weighed food to make sure that every serving size was to the correct ounce. I would count to 500 each day and hate myself if I went even 1 calorie over. I body checked incessantly. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours a day. I would pinch and pull and suck my body in, praying that the things I hated about it would magically go away. I yelled at myself for being so fat, disgusting, unlovable, and undeserving of this life. I contemplated taking the bottle of pills to make my peace, to make things easier on my loved ones who saw me wasting away. I would drink with my boyfriend, Jack Daniels, until I felt no pain. I rarely slept because the nightmares and anxiety would be so bad. I would do cocaine until my nose bled, feeling like I was invincible, knowing that my heart racing would help me lose weight. I skipped my heart medicine to have my heart race, not caring if I passed out. I isolated, hoping to just waste away in peace. I fought a daily losing battle against myself to the voice in my head saying, "You are not meant for this world being as fat as you are."
Then, friends and family reached out to help. Opportunities to bring me out of myself arose. New cities, jobs, and friends invited me to step outside of my mind. Happiness came in in a variety of ways, some that I didn't even know were possible. Learning that I was not alone and accomplishing things to better myself helped me focus on the positive. At 22, I entered treatment for the first time to process the things I struggled through the previous 10 years. The light came on, and I could see a way out of the darkness I had been living in.
After my relapses, I still struggle with thoughts every day. That little voice in the back of my head telling me how fat, worthless, and unlovable I am never goes away, but it does get quieter eventually. I see my body as a part of me, not some separate entity that my mind just lives in. I gained weight to become a healthy size, which makes things easier and harder all at the same time. I have to consciously make the decision to eat every day. I make the choice not to ignore my hunger cues. I talk about my emotions instead of stuffing them. I can say with some degree of certainty but not total absolution that I am not responsible for things that have happened in my past. I acknowledge that these things are not my fault. I am learning that my identity is an ever-changing thing, but I am figuring it out, because I recognize that I am not my eating disorder.
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My life has been largely colored by trauma and coped with by anorexia. Life is a constant series of befores, durings, and afters. Every moment we have is an after of another, but the before to the next big adventure. But by learning from our preparations for befores, our reactions for durings, and our solutions for afters, life in recovery just might be manageable.
Before my relapses, I genuinely felt like I was in a good place in my life. At 13, I had had some really difficult moments, but I had finally settled in to a new school, new friends, and became very active in musical theatre. I felt like I was genuinely settling into what could be comforting for me. At 15, again, I had just moved to a new school in Maryland and was finding this amazing group of friends, who truly supported me through everything and still do. At 17, I had just started college. I was ready for my new start to find out who I truly wanted to be and what difference I could make in the world. At 19, I was in my final semester of college, about to embark on a new life with my fiance and looking to graduate school to become a therapist. At 22, I felt like I was in a great relationship, working a wonderful job, and becoming content with the idea of settling in Milwaukee.
Before my relapses, I was believed that the world wasn't such an awful place. I believed, even though all these horrible things that continued to build in my life had happened, that the good things in my life would stick around and that in some inconceivable way, I would be loved.
Before my relapses, I let the weight of my past build up inside me. I let the blame of things were in no possible way my fault sit on my heart, crushing it with guilt day in and day out. I let the shame of my trauma and my reactions to it eat me alive. I let my own self-hatred for my actions cycle in my brain in every quiet moment. I sat in silence and allowed this to eat me alive. I found solace in myself as people around me let me
Then, the things I saw as unthinkable happened... My dad went to Kuwait... My friend killed himself... My dad walked out on my family the day my grandmother died... My fiance left me... I finished graduate school and my trauma came flooding back.
And then, I relapsed.
During my relapses, I would restrict as often as possible. I weighed food to make sure that every serving size was to the correct ounce. I would count to 500 each day and hate myself if I went even 1 calorie over. I body checked incessantly. I would stand in front of the mirror for hours a day. I would pinch and pull and suck my body in, praying that the things I hated about it would magically go away. I yelled at myself for being so fat, disgusting, unlovable, and undeserving of this life. I contemplated taking the bottle of pills to make my peace, to make things easier on my loved ones who saw me wasting away. I would drink with my boyfriend, Jack Daniels, until I felt no pain. I rarely slept because the nightmares and anxiety would be so bad. I would do cocaine until my nose bled, feeling like I was invincible, knowing that my heart racing would help me lose weight. I skipped my heart medicine to have my heart race, not caring if I passed out. I isolated, hoping to just waste away in peace. I fought a daily losing battle against myself to the voice in my head saying, "You are not meant for this world being as fat as you are."
Then, friends and family reached out to help. Opportunities to bring me out of myself arose. New cities, jobs, and friends invited me to step outside of my mind. Happiness came in in a variety of ways, some that I didn't even know were possible. Learning that I was not alone and accomplishing things to better myself helped me focus on the positive. At 22, I entered treatment for the first time to process the things I struggled through the previous 10 years. The light came on, and I could see a way out of the darkness I had been living in.
After my relapses, I still struggle with thoughts every day. That little voice in the back of my head telling me how fat, worthless, and unlovable I am never goes away, but it does get quieter eventually. I see my body as a part of me, not some separate entity that my mind just lives in. I gained weight to become a healthy size, which makes things easier and harder all at the same time. I have to consciously make the decision to eat every day. I make the choice not to ignore my hunger cues. I talk about my emotions instead of stuffing them. I can say with some degree of certainty but not total absolution that I am not responsible for things that have happened in my past. I acknowledge that these things are not my fault. I am learning that my identity is an ever-changing thing, but I am figuring it out, because I recognize that I am not my eating disorder.
On the left is December 2013 during my last major relapse and on the right is August 2014, 4 months after ending treatment.
My life has been largely colored by trauma and coped with by anorexia. Life is a constant series of befores, durings, and afters. Every moment we have is an after of another, but the before to the next big adventure. But by learning from our preparations for befores, our reactions for durings, and our solutions for afters, life in recovery just might be manageable.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
How Being a Military Brat Influenced my Eating Disorder
One of the biggest pieces of my treatment earlier this year was identity work. I have a very difficult time focusing on myself, because I feel very lost and second guess a lot of the choices I have made to end up where I am today. I also have a very difficult time accepting things that make me stay in place for too long, but that's part of being a military brat.
My entire life, I have had very little consistency. Growing up as a military kid, you're constantly moving and adapting to new people, situations, and lives. As a kid, I moved every 2 to 3 years. I switched schools three times in elementary school, twice in middle school, and three times in high school. Granted, sometimes I did end up back at the same school, but it's still change. Even if I didn't have my trauma, that constant change has severely impacted me as an adult.
The military has a funny way of saying, "Hey, guess what? Time to move again." As a kid, when you are settling into a routine and need that consistency in order to thrive, that abrupt change causes a psychological mind fuck. You begin to rely on the only thing that is consistent, your family. That becomes tricky when you have a fucked up family too. Things were never great in my family, but we "maintained" as a unit until my freshman year of college. So, in reality, there was no real constant. So, with no constants and the ever looming threat of moving again, it always feels like you have no control over your life.
That lack of control has left this void that I tend to fill with temporary things: people, alcohol/drugs, eating disorder behaviors, etc. That void drives me crazy. It drives my depression and anxiety to a more severe level. It also was a strong basis for my eating disorder to begin. In some way, it felt like I had some power in controlling my own destiny with visible goals. I could see my control working in the smaller sizes of my clothes, the lower weight on the scale, the more bones I could see. That skinny controlled person became my identity. So what happens when you have to challenge that identity, because it's not healthy?
When I challenged the sole thing that defined my identity, I quickly found that I was left with nothing. Underneath everything, my eating disorder, which made me feel like a person, was covering up my complete lack of identity. I had no idea who I was, what I wanted, or where I belonged. It wasn't until working through my values with a therapist that I had some picture of who I could be. When looking at my military brat upbringing, it had a major impact on my identity. I value change, because you can learn from it. It taught me about resilience, the importance of true friends and family, and that I truly can face anything that life throws at me.
While being a military brat did have a major influence on the development of my Eating Disorder, it also gave me important life skills that are vital to continue on my journey to recovery. Skills that if I didn't have today, I would never have survived the majority of my life without. So, while I am still trying to figure out my true identity, I know that Military Brat will always be a strong part of it.
My entire life, I have had very little consistency. Growing up as a military kid, you're constantly moving and adapting to new people, situations, and lives. As a kid, I moved every 2 to 3 years. I switched schools three times in elementary school, twice in middle school, and three times in high school. Granted, sometimes I did end up back at the same school, but it's still change. Even if I didn't have my trauma, that constant change has severely impacted me as an adult.
The military has a funny way of saying, "Hey, guess what? Time to move again." As a kid, when you are settling into a routine and need that consistency in order to thrive, that abrupt change causes a psychological mind fuck. You begin to rely on the only thing that is consistent, your family. That becomes tricky when you have a fucked up family too. Things were never great in my family, but we "maintained" as a unit until my freshman year of college. So, in reality, there was no real constant. So, with no constants and the ever looming threat of moving again, it always feels like you have no control over your life.
That lack of control has left this void that I tend to fill with temporary things: people, alcohol/drugs, eating disorder behaviors, etc. That void drives me crazy. It drives my depression and anxiety to a more severe level. It also was a strong basis for my eating disorder to begin. In some way, it felt like I had some power in controlling my own destiny with visible goals. I could see my control working in the smaller sizes of my clothes, the lower weight on the scale, the more bones I could see. That skinny controlled person became my identity. So what happens when you have to challenge that identity, because it's not healthy?
When I challenged the sole thing that defined my identity, I quickly found that I was left with nothing. Underneath everything, my eating disorder, which made me feel like a person, was covering up my complete lack of identity. I had no idea who I was, what I wanted, or where I belonged. It wasn't until working through my values with a therapist that I had some picture of who I could be. When looking at my military brat upbringing, it had a major impact on my identity. I value change, because you can learn from it. It taught me about resilience, the importance of true friends and family, and that I truly can face anything that life throws at me.
While being a military brat did have a major influence on the development of my Eating Disorder, it also gave me important life skills that are vital to continue on my journey to recovery. Skills that if I didn't have today, I would never have survived the majority of my life without. So, while I am still trying to figure out my true identity, I know that Military Brat will always be a strong part of it.
Friday, August 29, 2014
Being Rational
Well now that I am not totally losing my mind in a total freak out, I feel like I can write a rational blog.
Yesterday was a total shit show. It's often days like that when I feel like I absolutely cannot handle anything anymore. Just one thing after another kept adding on to the point where all I could do last night was lay in bed and cry. I have always never been really sure if I meant to live this life I have been given. I'm not sure why I was picked to have all these things happen to me, but I was. There's no rational or human explanation as to why.
One of my clients used to tell me that she knew she had experienced such a tremendous amount of trauma in her life, because God chose her to be a role model and example to others that you can make it through anything. The more I go through treatment, the more I think about her. She truly was an amazing example and leader for her family, church, and community. Even though she had experienced a huge amount of trauma, she tried so hard until her body wouldn't allow her to do so anymore. By the time I started seeing her, she was in her mid-60's but had been plagued with a tremendous about of physical ailments. She was on oxygen and walked with a cane. In the year that I worked with her, she became more and more ill, but still wanted to be that example for her family and others living in her assisted living home. The last 2 months she was my client, she was doing so poorly physically. We transitioned into phone sessions, because she couldn't make it into the office anymore. All of a sudden, I stopped hearing from her. I knew in my gut that she had probably passed away; however, it was still a difficult period of not knowing. Then, after mailing her a letter, our main offices received it back with the word "Deceased" hand written on it. It was a really difficult thing for me to accept, but I knew that she wasn't in pain anymore and gone out as that beautiful role model that she wanted to be.
Whenever I think about my client, I think of how calm and rational she was about everything. She could have been having nightmares and suicidal ideations all day, but she was still able to sit and explain in a calm and collected manner how she was doing and legitimate explanations as to why. She was very insightful. I have always envied this ability in other people. I feel like I am a very rational person. I think things deserve explanations and reasons, which is why I feel so frustrated in my eating disorder.
My Eating Disorder is clearly not a rational thing. The vast majority of my core beliefs that trigger my eating disorder are also irrational. One major belief has always been that I am unworthy of anyone's love, particularly romantic love. Another top contender is that I am undeserving of any good things that do happen to me. Finally, the worst one of all, I am responsible and deserving of blame for all of the horrible things that have happened to me in my lifetime. I can try and give evidence for all of these, but I am typically shot down by more rational answers.
The irrationality of my eating disorder has been a huge struggle point for me. I don't understand it. I hate it. I do not get why I can't just get over it. That battle between my rational and irrational minds are even more difficult than the one between my healthy and ED minds. The biggest battle of all will be accepting the rational and accepting that the irrational will always exist, but there are better things in the world to challenge it with.
Yesterday was a total shit show. It's often days like that when I feel like I absolutely cannot handle anything anymore. Just one thing after another kept adding on to the point where all I could do last night was lay in bed and cry. I have always never been really sure if I meant to live this life I have been given. I'm not sure why I was picked to have all these things happen to me, but I was. There's no rational or human explanation as to why.
One of my clients used to tell me that she knew she had experienced such a tremendous amount of trauma in her life, because God chose her to be a role model and example to others that you can make it through anything. The more I go through treatment, the more I think about her. She truly was an amazing example and leader for her family, church, and community. Even though she had experienced a huge amount of trauma, she tried so hard until her body wouldn't allow her to do so anymore. By the time I started seeing her, she was in her mid-60's but had been plagued with a tremendous about of physical ailments. She was on oxygen and walked with a cane. In the year that I worked with her, she became more and more ill, but still wanted to be that example for her family and others living in her assisted living home. The last 2 months she was my client, she was doing so poorly physically. We transitioned into phone sessions, because she couldn't make it into the office anymore. All of a sudden, I stopped hearing from her. I knew in my gut that she had probably passed away; however, it was still a difficult period of not knowing. Then, after mailing her a letter, our main offices received it back with the word "Deceased" hand written on it. It was a really difficult thing for me to accept, but I knew that she wasn't in pain anymore and gone out as that beautiful role model that she wanted to be.
Whenever I think about my client, I think of how calm and rational she was about everything. She could have been having nightmares and suicidal ideations all day, but she was still able to sit and explain in a calm and collected manner how she was doing and legitimate explanations as to why. She was very insightful. I have always envied this ability in other people. I feel like I am a very rational person. I think things deserve explanations and reasons, which is why I feel so frustrated in my eating disorder.
My Eating Disorder is clearly not a rational thing. The vast majority of my core beliefs that trigger my eating disorder are also irrational. One major belief has always been that I am unworthy of anyone's love, particularly romantic love. Another top contender is that I am undeserving of any good things that do happen to me. Finally, the worst one of all, I am responsible and deserving of blame for all of the horrible things that have happened to me in my lifetime. I can try and give evidence for all of these, but I am typically shot down by more rational answers.
The irrationality of my eating disorder has been a huge struggle point for me. I don't understand it. I hate it. I do not get why I can't just get over it. That battle between my rational and irrational minds are even more difficult than the one between my healthy and ED minds. The biggest battle of all will be accepting the rational and accepting that the irrational will always exist, but there are better things in the world to challenge it with.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
... And Then, My Radiator Broke.
You know those days where all this annoying shit happens and just piles up and you just have a meltdown? This is my day today...
Work wasn't bad. I had a very hard time staying focused, because I knew that once 3:45 hit, I would have to leave to surrender myself back to the world of therapists, psychiatrists, dieticians, and talking about food and how it makes me feel all the time. It was nice to walk in and see some familiar faces. No shock like I thought (because I'm pretty sure they all knew I was coming). Just love and support. That made it a lot easier to walk back through those doors.
Issue number 1 of the day came up when speaking with my new psychiatrist. She asked me to describe what my current symptoms were. One of those for me is flashbacks to some serious trauma. So, I am describing in detail what I am experiencing in these flashbacks when I am cut off. She says she has a suicidal client who needs assistance immediately. No wrap up. No conclusions. I got an, "Are you going to be okay?" Which my answer to that is always, "Of course. Sure." Honestly, an actively suicidal client definitely takes precedence. I had no issue with that. It's just that I was left open discussing a fuck ton of shit that I had no future opportunity to gain closure on. As soon as I left her office, I went straight into meal planning group (joy) and discussing the meal outing.
Oh right, the meal outing was tonight. I had about a 15 minute heads up about it, which if you've ever had an eating disorder, you know that meal outings are one of the worst fucking parts of treatment. Granted, for me, this time was a lot different as I have been living in the "real world" outside of treatment for the last 4 months; however, it doesn't make it any less scary or overwhelming, especially when your dietician has no idea what behaviors you've been doing or what you've actually been eating. A guessing game is never something you want to do when it comes to your food. I count calories. I measure things to determine appropriate portions. Guess what portion is good for dinner? I haven't been eating dinner, so I'm not even hungry, let alone trying to determine what's best for me. So, it just made things more overwhelming and more difficult. I ate a little bit, but definitely not anywhere close to what an "appropriate" portion is. Oh well.
Then, on my drive home, I noticed what looked like smoke coming off my car. I didn't pay much attention to it, because I was stopped at a stop sign and thought I might be over a manhole or something like that. It wasn't until I got into my parking garage when I saw more white smoke. I got out and liquid was just pouring out of my engine. I called a coworker to help me, and he was able to find this huge slit in my radiator. Without any coolant in my car, it's undriveable. It was just the one thing I didn't need today.
It's been overwhelming enough having to accept that I need to return to treatment. Then, add in the conversation about my trauma being unresolved. Next, a completely unplanned meal. Finally, my car completely wrecking. I literally can't handle any of these things.
I don't know if this is a sign from God that now isn't the right time for treatment or that I need to struggle some more before I do my actual work. If it is, I am praying for absolution, because I need a fucking break.
Work wasn't bad. I had a very hard time staying focused, because I knew that once 3:45 hit, I would have to leave to surrender myself back to the world of therapists, psychiatrists, dieticians, and talking about food and how it makes me feel all the time. It was nice to walk in and see some familiar faces. No shock like I thought (because I'm pretty sure they all knew I was coming). Just love and support. That made it a lot easier to walk back through those doors.
Issue number 1 of the day came up when speaking with my new psychiatrist. She asked me to describe what my current symptoms were. One of those for me is flashbacks to some serious trauma. So, I am describing in detail what I am experiencing in these flashbacks when I am cut off. She says she has a suicidal client who needs assistance immediately. No wrap up. No conclusions. I got an, "Are you going to be okay?" Which my answer to that is always, "Of course. Sure." Honestly, an actively suicidal client definitely takes precedence. I had no issue with that. It's just that I was left open discussing a fuck ton of shit that I had no future opportunity to gain closure on. As soon as I left her office, I went straight into meal planning group (joy) and discussing the meal outing.
Oh right, the meal outing was tonight. I had about a 15 minute heads up about it, which if you've ever had an eating disorder, you know that meal outings are one of the worst fucking parts of treatment. Granted, for me, this time was a lot different as I have been living in the "real world" outside of treatment for the last 4 months; however, it doesn't make it any less scary or overwhelming, especially when your dietician has no idea what behaviors you've been doing or what you've actually been eating. A guessing game is never something you want to do when it comes to your food. I count calories. I measure things to determine appropriate portions. Guess what portion is good for dinner? I haven't been eating dinner, so I'm not even hungry, let alone trying to determine what's best for me. So, it just made things more overwhelming and more difficult. I ate a little bit, but definitely not anywhere close to what an "appropriate" portion is. Oh well.
Then, on my drive home, I noticed what looked like smoke coming off my car. I didn't pay much attention to it, because I was stopped at a stop sign and thought I might be over a manhole or something like that. It wasn't until I got into my parking garage when I saw more white smoke. I got out and liquid was just pouring out of my engine. I called a coworker to help me, and he was able to find this huge slit in my radiator. Without any coolant in my car, it's undriveable. It was just the one thing I didn't need today.
It's been overwhelming enough having to accept that I need to return to treatment. Then, add in the conversation about my trauma being unresolved. Next, a completely unplanned meal. Finally, my car completely wrecking. I literally can't handle any of these things.
I don't know if this is a sign from God that now isn't the right time for treatment or that I need to struggle some more before I do my actual work. If it is, I am praying for absolution, because I need a fucking break.
Shame, Guilt, and Hating Everything (But Mostly Myself)
My anxiety is completely through the roof today. Here I am sitting at work, counting down the hours til I have to walk through those doors again to accept that I have failed and need help. I still know a few people there, but didn't tell them that I was coming back. So, I am nervous to see the looks on their faces when I walk back on the unit. Same with staff members. The first time I left, I had one staff member say to me, "Please do your best not to come back." Now, I have to. The amount of shame and guilt I have today is extraordinary.
I hate this disorder. I hate that I just can't get the fuck over it. I hate that I wake up every fucking day feeling like this. I hate never being good enough for myself or anyone else. I hate feeling like no one will ever be able to love me for who I am. I hate that I will never be thin enough. I will never be pretty enough. I will never be enough. I hate that I push people away, because I would rather have my disorder and be safe in my own little anorexia bubble. I hate the number of relationships damaged by going to treatment. I hate that I ruined multiple opportunities for my life in Milwaukee, because I couldn't keep my shit together. I hate the radical shifts in my ability to cope with every day life. I hate not being able to cope. I hate feeling like I have let everyone else down, but mostly I let myself down. I hate that all the bullshit in my life happened to me. I hate that somehow I was chosen to be the person to receive all this crap. I hate that I always feel alone in my disorder, which is my own fucking fault. I hate that, because of my trauma, I will never fully be able to trust anyone. I hate losing my hair. I hate the pain in my stomach when I haven't eaten for 2 days. I hate feeling so weak that I can barely get out of bed some days. I hate passing out. I hate not being able to remember anything, so it damages my job and my personal life. I hate that I took on all of this.
But the worst realization of all is realizing how much I hate myself, because that's a realization that I am starting to think you can never work yourself out of.
I hate this disorder. I hate that I just can't get the fuck over it. I hate that I wake up every fucking day feeling like this. I hate never being good enough for myself or anyone else. I hate feeling like no one will ever be able to love me for who I am. I hate that I will never be thin enough. I will never be pretty enough. I will never be enough. I hate that I push people away, because I would rather have my disorder and be safe in my own little anorexia bubble. I hate the number of relationships damaged by going to treatment. I hate that I ruined multiple opportunities for my life in Milwaukee, because I couldn't keep my shit together. I hate the radical shifts in my ability to cope with every day life. I hate not being able to cope. I hate feeling like I have let everyone else down, but mostly I let myself down. I hate that all the bullshit in my life happened to me. I hate that somehow I was chosen to be the person to receive all this crap. I hate that I always feel alone in my disorder, which is my own fucking fault. I hate that, because of my trauma, I will never fully be able to trust anyone. I hate losing my hair. I hate the pain in my stomach when I haven't eaten for 2 days. I hate feeling so weak that I can barely get out of bed some days. I hate passing out. I hate not being able to remember anything, so it damages my job and my personal life. I hate that I took on all of this.
But the worst realization of all is realizing how much I hate myself, because that's a realization that I am starting to think you can never work yourself out of.
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Intake Round 2
So today, I went back to treatment for my second intake. As I have only been out of treatment 4 months, it took no time at all. I also met with the same intake person that I have a pretty good relationship with, which made everything so much easier. She knew my story and what brought me in the first place. So luckily, I did not have to go into all the gory details of my trauma again.
The hardest part was discussing my current symptoms. My flashbacks have been getting out of hand lately, particularly of my childhood and high school trauma. My childhood trauma has always been there, but something that I have never truly acknowledged. I have no complete memories of these things happening; however, I have nightmares about them all the time. Also, I've moved enough times that it's easy enough for me to identify where they occurred. Thank you, navy brat lifestyle. Just having to go into detail about all of these things happening again is enough to be totally overwhelming. I probably should have taken the full day off from work, but decided not to. Overall, it was a pretty easy transition back in. In some sick way, it almost felt like coming home, which is shitty; however, I have done so much of my own self-exploration at McCallum that it feels like a safe place for me to figure my shit out.
I thought that was going to be the most difficult part of the day. It wasn't. I hadn't told my family, except my brother, that I was going back to treatment. So, tonight at family dinner was my time to share. It went a lot better than I expected, as most of my family had already suspected that I was struggling (damn it), but it was good to just say it. As much shame and guilt as I have about going back, it is truly necessary for me to have any kind of life in recovery.
I'm ending this post with a quote from an article from Buzzfeed found here
"Always I wonder if recovery ever exists. If I’m ever to be rid of this. I feel like it will always be on the periphery, a thing inside of me. It will always be there within me and every day I will think about it as it looks me in the face. It is about food and it is not about food at all; it has nothing to do with food but with things even more primal and closer to the bottom of being human. It is about control and desire and denial and all I can do is wrestle with it."
I truly don't know if I will ever be rid of my eating disorder, but if I don't even try, I will be fighting a vicious battle to the day I die. I am sick of fighting this battle, so the only option is treatment round 2.
"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?
I guess I have to.
The hardest part was discussing my current symptoms. My flashbacks have been getting out of hand lately, particularly of my childhood and high school trauma. My childhood trauma has always been there, but something that I have never truly acknowledged. I have no complete memories of these things happening; however, I have nightmares about them all the time. Also, I've moved enough times that it's easy enough for me to identify where they occurred. Thank you, navy brat lifestyle. Just having to go into detail about all of these things happening again is enough to be totally overwhelming. I probably should have taken the full day off from work, but decided not to. Overall, it was a pretty easy transition back in. In some sick way, it almost felt like coming home, which is shitty; however, I have done so much of my own self-exploration at McCallum that it feels like a safe place for me to figure my shit out.
I thought that was going to be the most difficult part of the day. It wasn't. I hadn't told my family, except my brother, that I was going back to treatment. So, tonight at family dinner was my time to share. It went a lot better than I expected, as most of my family had already suspected that I was struggling (damn it), but it was good to just say it. As much shame and guilt as I have about going back, it is truly necessary for me to have any kind of life in recovery.
I'm ending this post with a quote from an article from Buzzfeed found here
"Always I wonder if recovery ever exists. If I’m ever to be rid of this. I feel like it will always be on the periphery, a thing inside of me. It will always be there within me and every day I will think about it as it looks me in the face. It is about food and it is not about food at all; it has nothing to do with food but with things even more primal and closer to the bottom of being human. It is about control and desire and denial and all I can do is wrestle with it."
I truly don't know if I will ever be rid of my eating disorder, but if I don't even try, I will be fighting a vicious battle to the day I die. I am sick of fighting this battle, so the only option is treatment round 2.
"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?
I guess I have to.
Monday, August 25, 2014
How do you know if you have to go back to treatment?
How do I know when it might be time to go back to treatment? What are my signs of relapse and recovery? How do I know when to ask for extra support? What behaviors do I engage in at the beginning of a relapse? What are my triggers that may lead to a relapse? What are my thoughts related to when I am entering a relapse? Who can I call when I am struggling? How will I know that I need to seek treatment again? What steps can I take to get myself the help I need?
I had to fill out a 5 page discharge packet when I left treatment asking me all of these questions above. Lately, I've been looking back at it, because I can feel myself falling into a relapse.
It started slowly. I have felt for months now that the medication for my heart condition has not been as effective as it had been, even while I was in treatment. I saw a cardiologist, who was less than helpful, who recommended that I don't "reinvent the wheel" by changing my medication. So, I just decided rather than pumping medication into my body that isn't really helping, I would just stop taking it. This is typically one of my first relapse steps, as my medication slows my heart rate down from the normal resting rate of 120-ish.
What behaviors do I engage in at the beginning of a relapse?
Then, I caught myself providing excuses to skip meals, especially during the work day. "Sorry, I can't come too, because I just have too much work to do." "I am in the middle of something, so I can't go eat lunch now." "I need to sleep, so I will just skip breakfast to sleep in more." Any bullshit reason that was there I would use; however, I was eating larger meals at dinner of particularly unhealthy food aka take out to make up for some calories and the occasional snack during the day. I can always hear the voice of my last dietician in my head when I skip meals. "Do we need to place a tube?" No really. I would rather feel like shit eating all this food than feel like a failure for having a tube placed. But my ED mind takes over and those words fade away and I feel safe and warm in my restriction. The empty feeling in my stomach is like fuel to a fire to continue these patterns.
What are my triggers that may lead to a relapse?
All of a sudden on Friday night, I found myself waking up to the middle of a panic attack during the night. I had been having a nightmare when it started, and I woke up to hyperventilating, which is in my top 5 most terrifying experiences. Since then, I have been restricting often. I did eat at all on Saturday; however, I knew I needed to try and eat dinner. So, I ordered a sub from Jimmy John's, which feels safe and would be easy on my already anxious stomach. Then, I did something I swore I would never do. I purged. My M.O. has always been restricting. As I once told a psychiatrist who had placed me a 45 minute waiting time after meals before entering my room, "Does a serial killer change their M.O.? No, because it works. I'm not all of a sudden going to become a purger." Well, then that happened and it was totally overwhelming. I had a very difficult time eating all day yesterday with the amount of guilt I was experiencing. So, again, I ate very little yesterday. I don't own a scale, but I can tell I am down weight, and I love it. There's just still some fraction of a healthy mind left that says don't do it.
What steps can I take to get myself the help I need?
Last night, I went out with my brother and his fiance, because I have been isolating so much lately. I told them what has been going on, and they agreed that maybe going back to McCallum Place isn't to worst idea right now, especially with how off track I've gotten and my thought process that's telling me to keep going. So, I spoke with my boss this morning, who agreed to work with my schedule to allow me to do an IOP after work. Then, I made the call that I didn't really want to make. I called the same girl that I had done my intake with to say that I needed to come back and get some maintenance before things get so bad that I need to go back to a PHP like 6 months ago. This is a step that I really hoped I would never have to take.
How will I know that I need to seek treatment again?
When you realize that you're out of control and just can't keep doing this, I know that I need to go.
I had to fill out a 5 page discharge packet when I left treatment asking me all of these questions above. Lately, I've been looking back at it, because I can feel myself falling into a relapse.
It started slowly. I have felt for months now that the medication for my heart condition has not been as effective as it had been, even while I was in treatment. I saw a cardiologist, who was less than helpful, who recommended that I don't "reinvent the wheel" by changing my medication. So, I just decided rather than pumping medication into my body that isn't really helping, I would just stop taking it. This is typically one of my first relapse steps, as my medication slows my heart rate down from the normal resting rate of 120-ish.
What behaviors do I engage in at the beginning of a relapse?
Then, I caught myself providing excuses to skip meals, especially during the work day. "Sorry, I can't come too, because I just have too much work to do." "I am in the middle of something, so I can't go eat lunch now." "I need to sleep, so I will just skip breakfast to sleep in more." Any bullshit reason that was there I would use; however, I was eating larger meals at dinner of particularly unhealthy food aka take out to make up for some calories and the occasional snack during the day. I can always hear the voice of my last dietician in my head when I skip meals. "Do we need to place a tube?" No really. I would rather feel like shit eating all this food than feel like a failure for having a tube placed. But my ED mind takes over and those words fade away and I feel safe and warm in my restriction. The empty feeling in my stomach is like fuel to a fire to continue these patterns.
What are my triggers that may lead to a relapse?
All of a sudden on Friday night, I found myself waking up to the middle of a panic attack during the night. I had been having a nightmare when it started, and I woke up to hyperventilating, which is in my top 5 most terrifying experiences. Since then, I have been restricting often. I did eat at all on Saturday; however, I knew I needed to try and eat dinner. So, I ordered a sub from Jimmy John's, which feels safe and would be easy on my already anxious stomach. Then, I did something I swore I would never do. I purged. My M.O. has always been restricting. As I once told a psychiatrist who had placed me a 45 minute waiting time after meals before entering my room, "Does a serial killer change their M.O.? No, because it works. I'm not all of a sudden going to become a purger." Well, then that happened and it was totally overwhelming. I had a very difficult time eating all day yesterday with the amount of guilt I was experiencing. So, again, I ate very little yesterday. I don't own a scale, but I can tell I am down weight, and I love it. There's just still some fraction of a healthy mind left that says don't do it.
What steps can I take to get myself the help I need?
Last night, I went out with my brother and his fiance, because I have been isolating so much lately. I told them what has been going on, and they agreed that maybe going back to McCallum Place isn't to worst idea right now, especially with how off track I've gotten and my thought process that's telling me to keep going. So, I spoke with my boss this morning, who agreed to work with my schedule to allow me to do an IOP after work. Then, I made the call that I didn't really want to make. I called the same girl that I had done my intake with to say that I needed to come back and get some maintenance before things get so bad that I need to go back to a PHP like 6 months ago. This is a step that I really hoped I would never have to take.
How will I know that I need to seek treatment again?
When you realize that you're out of control and just can't keep doing this, I know that I need to go.
Saturday, August 23, 2014
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:
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:
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