Fighting to Win or Maintain

So, this week, in one of my many battles with my therapist, we discussed the idea of fighting. In recovery, there are a lot of things we fight, good and bad. The bad things are easy to list: cravings, triggers, urges, etc. But what about the good things? Why is it that we fight so many of the things that are good for us when going through recovery? One answer: to maintain the eating disorder.

I've been incredibly guilty of fighting to maintain lately. After being sick, it's been difficult to get back on track. Even though I wasn't actively restricting, I still was from being sick. That allowed my eating disorder thoughts to come in full force, which when already feeling under the weather, doesn't help. I've also had an increase in my anxiety and PTSD symptoms in the face of upcoming trauma work that have also made my need for control even higher. So, I've been allowing that voice in ever so slightly, but it's enough to make a difference.

In discussing this with my therapist, a few things were highlighted. My anxiety about facing my trauma has always been bad, but now that we are getting closer to it, it's even worse. I have always been fairly uncomfortable with deep or strong feelings, especially when they're negative; however, connecting that emotion to my trauma is a bigger hurdle. It's one that I rarely have faced throughout my life. This is primarily because I've spent more than half my life using eating disorder behaviors to cope. So, by letting that voice back in, it's the start of a return to a past, very dangerous cycle of relapse for me. Here's the wise quote from my therapist this-

"You fight so hard to keep that trauma and those negative feelings away that it's exhausting, and your eating disorder is there to help maintain that disconnect. If you fought even half as hard on processing them, the eating disorder might actually go away."

Well damn. She's right. I have spent countless days and weeks using eating disorder behaviors instead of just sucking it up and dealing with my trauma. Granted, I have to be in the right place to do my trauma work, and those have been far and few between throughout my life; however, I've been there for a while now. There is just this overwhelming, crippling fear that prevents me from ever truly going to those dark places; the ones that no one, not even myself, knows what's really there. That's where the fight begins.

I know that I will never have complete recovery if I do not do my trauma work. I will not stop using behaviors unless I go to that dark place, feel the pain from those events, and learn to accept and move on. I will not stop hearing those disordered thoughts unless I stop shutting down. So, baby steps are the most important part of this. There are multiple traumas that I have to face. The first step is determining what will be "easiest" and hardest and make a list of what order to face them in. By building my tolerance to emotions in the "easier" levels, I'll be better equipped to handle the hardest. From there, I stop living and fear and choose to begin to feel how angry, upset, hurt, and scared I truly am instead of numbing out.

I make that choice to fight to win.

Shut Up and Be Happy

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.

Falling for Triggers

ED has a sneaky way of coming up when you least want it to. Triggers surround us every day in our lives. Even people without mental health problems face them. The slightest things set off memories, feelings, behaviors, etc. For me, triggers have been all over the place this week, and I've done kind of okay at managing them. It's just led to extreme anxiety, body checking, and a lot of ED thoughts.

My biggest trigger this week has been being sick. For the record, there are gross details following. So, if you don't like bodily functions, skip over this paragraph. TMI:
 Over the weekend, I could tell I had a UTI, but kind of let it go. I took some cranberry tablets, and drank vodka/cranberries at the bar. Nothing seemed to help. Then, it came to a head on Monday night. I was at cooking class and was in so much pain that I could barely sit, let alone stand. I typically can't stand through cooking class with my heart problems anyways, but this was worse. Then, I went to the bathroom and saw blood in my urine. I spoke with the dietician and off to the emergency room I went. After 2 hours of waiting, I had a 5 minute conversation with a doctor who prescribed me antibiotics and sent me on my merry way. I took off from work on Tuesday to rest, but I could feel increasing pain in my back. By Wednesday, it was unbearable. I worked in the morning, but left early to go see my doctor. 2 hours later, I was in a CT machine getting a scan to see if my kidneys were infected. The next day, I got a call saying they were clear and was given a script for hydrophone to help the pain. About 7 hours later, I was in urgent care again, because I was throwing up and passed out. The doctor did some tests and suggested that my UTI had cleared, but there was probably something on my kidneys that might not have been strong or big enough for the CT machine to see. I went home, threw up some more, and then went to bed. I took off Friday to rest. Today, the pain finally started to go away. Now, I'm just exhausted.

So with all of that crap happening to my body and the pile of medications I have been taking this week, eating hasn't been my favorite thing to do. It's been really hard on my stomach and hard to eat to make up calories after I've thrown up unintentionally. It's a difficult battle. My ED voice says I can just skip all of those, and it'll be fine. Skipping a few meals this week won't hurt. It'll actually help me look thinner for my brother's wedding next week. All the crazy talk.

Trigger two actually has been my brother's wedding. It's knowing that it is going to be a heavily photographed event. These pictures are going to be ones that last forever. I am just so terrified of looking fat in them that I want to restrict to make sure I look the best that I can. Rationally, that's insane, because my dress is wonderful and flowy. It'll hide my least favorite area of my body, so I can rationalize that it'll be okay. It's also just a lot of people with a lot of eyes on me. This will be the first major event since I went through treatment. I mean, I've seen my family, but I am also seeing a lot of people that I haven't seen since before I went to treatment. So, it just makes me nervous. I just keep telling myself that I need to focus on TJ and not myself that day. Maybe that'll help.

Trigger three has been my isolation due to being sick. I have spent a lot of time in my apartment by myself this week. I consider myself an extroverted person. I thrive on being social and communicating with people face to face. When I'm alone, I tend not to eat, because 1) my hunger cues really come and go. They haven't been consistent in a long time. 2) No one to hold me accountable. 3) I have never really been a person who eats when they're bored. Isolation and people not reaching out to me leads me to feeling unworthy or useless, which isn't even close to true. My feelings just get the best of me sometimes.

So, how do I cope? I wrote the massive letter to ED blog yesterday, which was really had an impact on me. I had done similar exercises in groups during my first round of treatment, but always had a time constraint on it. I also don't think I was at the place to be able to do it back then. I would love to expand it for me personally with more details about some of those situations, because I think I need to. It was my way of starting to connect to that story and begin to somewhat feel everything in my life. I'm also writing this blog today as accountability. In addition to blogging, I've been watching a lot of horrible reality television. I learned that Undercover Boss makes me cry like a baby, and Intervention makes me miss my life of being a therapist. I've thought about signing up for dance classes and challenging what might be the most triggering thing for me. That'll probably be a blog in itself one day. I've listened to a lot of music, and taken a lot of showers.

This week has proved to me that I am probably stronger than I give myself credit for. I have strongly considered myself a survivalist for a lot of the crap I've been through, but I have also turned to really negative coping skills in the past. I didn't turn to any of those this week. I thought about having a drink to unwind, but I know that drinking on antibiotics and pain pills is an overdose waiting to happen. So, I didn't. Honestly, I haven't had a drink in over a week, which hasn't happened since the first time I was in treatment. I also don't have the craving to drink anymore. I haven't done cocaine in a while. I didn't try to exercise through the pain while not eating. I even took off work which, if you know me, never happens. I'm a workaholic through and through. I engaged in appropriate self-care. Surprising, I know. I surprised myself with it too. Maybe I am capable of all of this without turning to ED.

Triggers will come up at the most inopportune moments for all the wrong reasons. But if we can learn to engage in appropriate self-care and coping skills, they become easier to manage. Those skills will become a necessary ally in the battle against ED in the fight for recovery. Even though I did engage in some behaviors this week, I know it will be okay. I may fall, but I can always get back up and make the choice for recovery.

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

Valuing Values

This weekend, I had the wonderful opportunity to go up to Milwaukee with my brother to visit our friends and go to a Brewers game, which is exactly what I needed for my mental health. The best part about these weekends is the time I get to spend with my bestie, Liz (BTW, she blogs about being a new mom here) She and I met under really shitty circumstances.  We met the night before the funeral of our good friend, Mike, who had died unexpectedly overnight of a heart condition that no one ever caught. So, we connected in a group of people at the bar and just clicked. We are basically the same person, except that we disagree on Beyonce.  I could not have survived in Milwaukee as long as I did without her. So, last night we were able to talk about our lives and all the crazy shit that's been happening. We ended up talking a lot about feeling unsatisfied right now for various reasons and looking at making major changes.  So, we talked about values.

In treatment,  I had a therapist that filled in on a week that my primary therapist was out of town. This therapist had me doing a lot of identity work. He and I went through my life's timeline. Then, he picked certain words and had me free associate to them on separate sheets of paper. Later, I had to go back and identify my emotions related to them.  The last word he handed me was my name. I drew a total blank. I literally had no idea how to respond to that. He told me that it was because I was struggling with figuring out who I am. He said that the best way to start is to identify my values.

Values are the ideals that we strive to live by. For me, some of my primary values are honesty, loyalty,  friends, family, and independence.  I believe that if we stick to the things we value, all the choices we make will fall into line and we can be comfortable. If something in our lives conflicts with our values, it leads to anxiety.  We know that these things aren't how we want to live life, so it creates this inner conflict. If one of our values isn't being fulfilled, it leads to depression,  because there is a void that needs to be filled. If we don't figure out what value is lacking, we might turn to negative behaviors to cope but don't exemplify the ideal we want to follow. It sounds easy, but like all things in life and therapy, easier said than done.

So what do we do? I have created a list of my personal values and keep it in my journal.  That way, if I start to feel anxious or depressed, I can look at those things and remind myself that if I have those, I am happy. It's not as easy figuring out if jobs, relationships,  or other things fall in line with those values (especially if society goes against them); however, if we set those ideals for ourselves and strive to follow them daily, our identity will fall in line behind it, even if we don't realize it. In the end, our values and journey to follow them will always be remembered more than making the right choice about changing jobs or moving to new places. But if we follow our guts and values, we just might make it.

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.

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.

 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.

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.

... 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.

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.

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. 

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.

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:

Compartmentalizing and Meltdowns

Caution: This is a pretty negative post.

I will never understand how I can go from being completely okay, happy, and laughing to completely breaking down. Today, I honestly just feel like I am fighting a losing battle, so why keep fighting? The battle between my healthy mind and ED mind has been slowly growing. Most days, I stay in healthy mind, but then, days like today happen where ED takes over and wins control of my brain.  It always happens when I get stressed out.

Treatment honestly had one very negative side effect for me. As a workaholic/perfectionist/etc, I have always had to focus on work and getting tasks done, regardless of what other bullshit is happening in my life. When my fiance left me after college, I continued to work 40 hours a week and commute to Milwaukee three times a week for 9 graduate credits. I never took a day off. I stuffed it and kept going. My ability to compartmentalize my personal life was so crucial for me existence that it severely hurt my emotional capabilities, but it helped me succeed in my academic and professional life. Ever since going to treatment and had to process my entire life, that ability is shot to hell. If I get triggered on even the slightest thing, I tend to go into a meltdown, which is completely foreign for me. One, I hate expressing emotions. It makes things really fucking hard for me, because it makes me feel like I've failed. That goes into wanting to use ED behaviors to cope. The vicious cycle continues. Two, I have always had to be the strong person among my family and friends since childhood. That role is the only one I know how to fill. My purpose in life has been to be that person that people can talk to when something happens, but it has rarely worked the other way. I have some very important and amazing people in my life, but I have a very difficult time reaching out when I need anything, because again, I feel like that's failure. Finally, it just overwhelms my brain. As someone who has compartmentalized shit since I was 5 years old, I have never had to deal with a brain full of stress AND emotions/memories. I have a very hard time remembering things now, because my brain is on overdrive a lot of the time. This has had a huge impact at work.

So, since I was moved into the office manager position approximately 2 weeks ago, I have felt like I am losing my mind, because I think I am. I am having a very difficult time balancing work mind, healthy mind, ED mind, and lack of compartmentalizing. It's getting to the point where I get so fucking overwhelmed that all I can do is just vent and meltdown. Luckily, I haven't cried at work yet, but I've come close. I know I have the skills for this job, but my lack of compartmentalizing is making it really fucking hard to continue it; however, in my perfectionist mindset, I feel like I have to stick with it and not let anyone else down. The issue is that I'm letting myself down. 

I've been engaging in some ED behaviors the last few weeks, particularly restricting. Until Monday, I had spent about 2 weeks eating one meal a day. Granted, it was typically fast food or take out or some other unhealthy option as I have just been too tired to cook after working 60 hours the last 2 weeks. I have gotten a little more on track this week, but it's still hard. My body image has been pretty terrible. My mind battle getting worse. I just don't know how to get over this and maintain how I am doing right now.

That's why I blogged. I just need some way to stay accountable tonight and not engage in behaviors. This ED struggle bus is so fucking brutal.

Honesty.

I've been thinking a lot about honesty lately. I have an extreme amount of honesty (to the point of being blunt) with everyone but myself. This is one of the biggest reasons my eating disorder continued to thrive for as long as it did. I never had the ability to be honest with myself about what I was dealing with or the emotions I was experiencing but denying. Even when I first entered treatment, I made it clear to my treatment team that I would only be staying for 2 weeks before returning to Milwaukee to go back to work, as my medical leave would be ending. I was honest about my desire to return to work, but in denial about how NOT ready I was to do so. Eventually, I was dealt a solid reality check by the people who I had begun sharing my life with. The men and women in treatment with me that I can never thank enough for being honest with me about how concerned they were about my return to Milwaukee.

Thankfully, I listened.

Why is it so difficult for us to be honest about everything, especially the shit we feel and have to deal with every day? For me, my experience of carrying my own childhood trauma (that I had never told anyone about until going to treatment) was too overwhelming. So, I stuffed it deep down into the back of my head and my heart pretending it didn't exist, but it was always there. I think I was too scared to be honest with myself, because I was too scared of how much intense pain and anger I was actually feeling, particularly about the major triggers of my eating disorder. It wasn't until I had a temporary therapist while my primary therapist was on vacation that I really ever tackled many of these topics and my complete lack of identity at 22. I mean, no one has their shit together in their early 20's, but I have always felt this compulsive need that I had to be different and figure it out. I was always the one who everyone needed to rely on. That week when I was really diving in on my work, my therapist required me to be honest with myself and gave me another reality check that I harbor blame and responsibility for so many things that are not my fault. Honestly, I still have a hard time accepting that, but it's a day by day process.

Honesty to me is starting to come easier. Last night, I went on a date and found myself comfortably talking about my eating disorder and treatment. Pretty sure the person I was speaking with had a big part of that, because I felt comfortable sharing those things, which is strange for me. I'm normally a pretty guarded individual, but it felt great to be honest about these things.

I have also been avoiding this blog, because it keeps me accountable and honest with myself, but I think if it doesn't come out, I'm going go back to 6 months ago where I couldn't even see the reality in myself. So, maybe there's nothing wrong with being honest with ourselves. Maybe I need to be just as blunt with myself as I am with others. Otherwise, how can we live the honest lives that we are allowed to have? Honesty is allowed and necessary, even if it doesn't always seem that way.

Carpe Diem. Seize the Day, Boys. Make Your Lives Extraordinary.

I've been thinking a lot about suicidality since the passing of Robin Williams this week. He was always one of my favorite actors, and his movies had significant influences at different points in my life. There will always be one that had the biggest though, so much so that I even have lines from it tattooed on me.

Sitting in my high school English class my senior year,  I remember watching Dead Poets Society right before graduating high school. I had such a huge future  planned. I was going to go to UNC and study dance, and move on to a huge professional dancing career.  Through all of those ambitious, I still had an underlying desire to help people. Dead Poets Society taught me that I could still be ambitious and go for those professional dreams while still helping people. That inspired me to pursue a psychology degree as well. Robin Williams' Mr Keating was the right balance of encouraging and understanding. He also encouraged his students to be the best versions of themselves, even if it's not what others expected for them. That's something I have always strived to instill in others. Very few of those dreams actually happened,  but new ones follow those same ideals.

Conventionality has never been for me. Growing up and moving all the time, I was always the new kid who never fit in. So, I just did my own thing of dancing and theatre outside of school.  Even as an adult, I received my Master's degree at 22. Fuck conventionality. Being unique and different has always been something I have worked towards;  however, that need to be skinny, pretty, and have everyone like me has maintained.

My Eating Disorder thrived off of that constant unfulfilled need. It still does. Every time I feel like I am failing, I turn to ED, because he knows me. He loves me. He tells me I'll be pretty when I lose 10 more pounds. He tells me more people will like me then too. Someone else besides him might actually love me at that point. So that constant void gets filled with love from ED, and I will do anything to keep that love, even to the point of ending my own life.

Earlier this year in treatment,  I faced the idea of my own mortality. When doing my most intense trauma therapy and reliving some of the darkest moments of my life,  I had to talk about things to my therapist that I never talked to anyone about or even faced myself. This caused an endless stream of anxiety, nightmares, and flashbacks. It got to the point where there were multiple nights in a row that I held my pill bottles in my hands thinking of how easily I could make this pain stop. My disorder completely consumed my mind, and the medicine made it impossible to even function. I felt like I was crawling out of my skin, and it needed to stop. So after being hospitalized for 7 days for my own safety,  I saw Dead Poets Society on TV, and it was time for my turn around.

It devastates me that Robin Williams could not find that peace of mind to help him through his darkest times; however, I think his passing is sparking a new conversation about the stigma of mental health and the idea of suicidality. Suicide isn't selfish. It's sometimes the only way we now how to end the pain and the daily suffering, which impacts our friends and families as much as the act of suicide itself.

After this year, I have a newfound, yet struggling, healthy-ish mind that allows me to make my new life extraordinary.  So seize the day.

Being Pulled Behind the Struggle Bus

So, I'm not totally sure what to put here. My bestie and soul sister from another mister,  Liz, convinced me that I should start a blog to chronicle the crazy of my life. It's been helpful for her, so I figured I should try it.

I've been in recovery from my eating disorder for a few months. I officially entered treatment in February after having a massive mental breakdown after working 40+ hours a week as a therapist, going through a break up, and drinking to the point of intoxication at least 4 times a week. Going to treatment was one of the most terrifying things I've ever done, mostly because I have always been a "stuffer," that person who says, "I'm fine" with a smile of their face but dying on the inside. I just couldn't keep up the facade anymore. So I cracked. I got on a train to St Louis and walked away from my life in Milwaukee as I knew it. I left my job, my friends, everything to try and put myself back together again.

When I first went to treatment,  I only had planned on going for 2 weeks on a medical leave to return to Milwaukee and go back to work. I was doing 6 hours of therapy, 7 days a week. After about a week, I knew I couldn't go back to Milwaukee, maybe not ever again. So, I transitioned into 10 hours of therapy, 7 days a week to get more intense treatment.

Looking back on all of that now, it seems like such a blur. I honestly have a hard time remembering a lot about that time.  But with where I'm at now, I wish I could escape back to that bubble sometimes.

I have been significantly struggling in my recovery lately. I was recently promoted to a new position at my job, which has been chaotic to say the least.  It has also allowed me to skip meals and stay so busy that I "haven't had time to eat." My rational part of my brain calls bullshit on that,  but that irrational ED part is so overwhelming that I have no idea what to do lately.

"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?"

I can just hear the voices of my friends and family saying that to me in my head. That omnipresent threat helps to keep me in check most days, but I still wonder if I'm slipping away back into ED. Back to my safety zone. Back to my comfort. Back to the world where I don't have to deal with feelings. Back to nothingness.

"You don't want to go back to treatment, do you?"

No.