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I had another good talk with J yesterday, though I kept breaking off into tangents.
It’s always good to be honest, and honesty doesn’t usually go hand in hand with an eating disorder. However, we both told eachother we had mixed emotions about living together. As our dietician has told me time and again, it could end up being a great thing, or it could be a sh*t storm.
My weekend was not great. I felt out of control and completely in my eating disorder. I didn’t know how to get out of it. Once the work week started, I went back into “recovery mode,” as structure is good for me.
My therapist called me yesterday afternoon to check in, and I told her I felt better about recovery, but still apprehensive about living with J. This whole situation sucks: her body composition triggers the heck out of me, yet we have so much in common it’s inevitable we will become friends. So except for the whole ED thing (which of course is a big deal), it’s the ideal roommate situation.
Ugh.
So I sent J an email, suggesting maybe we check in once a week with how we’re doing, and what support we might need from each other. She agreed, as long as we have the usual parameters of abstaining from talk about calories, weights, workouts, and foods (well, the food part is hard since we cook together sometimes, but you know what I mean.) So it’s a start. Time will tell, I guess.
Last night, I cut up some old collages I had made in treatment, and fit them into frames. I read a couple of homework assignments that were stuck in my drawing pad. Wow, I have come a long way (baby). I can’t believe it has been a full year since returning to work and leaving intensive treatment.
Treatment was the best thing to happen to me. I was in a desperate place back then, and the only solution was to shell out a good amount of money and go to residential, partial hospital, and intensive outpatient therapy. I am a blessed, blessed, blessed individual to have that kind of money at my disposal (thanks partially to my shellshocked parents) and to have an employer who allowed up to four months of medical leave at full pay.
Residential treatment attacked the purging and (lack of) eating. Though insurance only allowed me to stay ten days, I needed that exact amount of time to prove to myself that I could effectively live a life eating an adequate amount of food without purging. I had never gone that long before. It was hell, but an amazing time of growth.
PHP (Partial Hospital Program) continued to attack the food and purging, while attempting to get at the root of why I had an eating disorder. My relationship with my parents was addressed time and again. I routinely was threatened with being put back in residential because I could not last but a few days without purging. Finally, I got through a weekend without eliminating my food prematurely, and THAT gave me the confidence. It was my breakthrough. I suddenly felt that I could actually recover.
I left my residential and PHP program after a total of two months, and returned home. I attended an Intensive Outpatient Program (IOP) nearby for 4 hours every weekday and some Saturdays. The rest of the time was devoted to being acclimated with living without an eating disorder. I cooked. I ate. I exercised much less than I wanted to. This rhythm helped me prepare for the impending “real world” which would include work. When I was in program, we worked on my self esteem, prior traumas, and what work would look like. How would I eat? Where would I eat? What would I say if coworkers noticed my weight gain?
Each stage of my treatment was necessary… for me. Some people I know only did one of these types of treatment. Others did only two. Still others found recovery with weekly dietician and therapy appointments.
The key is to be open and honest with oneself. If I’ve learned anything in the recent weeks, it’s that personal recovery is absolutely essential. Living with any speck of an eating disorder is no way to live. Improved energy, physical health, clarity, self esteem, and meaningful relationships are only some of the fruits of recovery, and recovery is only possible with at least some level of treatment.
Yesterday, I ate over 100% of my meal plan.
I did not feel guilty for doing so.
Dinner was hard to eat, but I got through it.
Today, I’m on track for 100% again.
Things are looking up.
Last night, I had a fashion show for the roommates. I have a wedding on Saturday and a bridal shower tonight, and I have the fashion sense of a dead ant (read: none). They showered me with jewelry, shawls, and girly shoes. They told me what I’d look better in. There was much laughter and shouting and whatnot.
When I lived in a (two bedroom) condo (with five other girls… oh, the memories) during my outpatient treatment, we all handled things so well. We cooked together. We shopped together. We ate together. We participated in anything revolving food… together. And we all grew and learned and encouraged and received encouragement.
But, we were patients in a treatment program first, and roommates second. This is not how I want to relate to J. Unlike the girls in the condo, I see a potentially lasting friendship and, er, roommate-ship with her. So talking about food and exchanges and exercise plans and meal plans and therapy nonstop is not ideal.
But, sometimes that’s what I want. There is no one else in my life (besides a few friends from my support group, but neither of them deal with restricting) who lives in the same proximity who GETS it. sometimes I crave the ability to relate.
So, finding a healthy balance for both of us remains to be seen. But the cool thing is, I can feel myself getting into a good rhythm of casually mentioning ED and recovery type things, but above all being myself and just acting like a goofball.
I’m on track to eat 100% today. Actually, more than that, as I ate double for my snack just now. In Jess’ words, “I’m hungreeeeee!”
Mixed reviews have come in regarding the living situation. Therapist still thinks it will work, but will only give me till Halloween to be fully back on track. If I’m still struggling, I need to move out or as J to leave.
The girls in my support group think it’s a horrible idea to live with her (though in my defense, I had NO IDEA she had an ED when A and I asked her to move in. If I’d known, I’d never have wanted her as a roommate), and they think I should move out immediately.
My thoughts? I think it will work. Granted, yesterday sucked in the eating department, but today is a new day. Yes, I think it will be harder with her around, but not impossible. We get along so well already, and I think the prospect of moving out of an otherwise great environment will help motivate me to get back into gear.
What do you think? What safeguards should I have? Or should I call it a wash and move on? Why?
Last week was hell.
Besides being constantly hungry and sick from a plethora of caffeine and next to no food, my mind was playing insane tricks on me.
Living with an anorexic is hard, when one is trying to resist anorexia.
I had emergency sessions with my therapist and dietician. I tried to eat but couldn’t get above 40% of my meal plan. I was going downhill.
Time for reinforcements in the forms of my best friend and boyfriend.
I came up with a goal. If I was not FULLY back on track by Thanksgiving, I would move out. I have no idea where I’d move, but the goal was to provide motivation, and not actually have to relocate.
The prospect of moving has propelled me to eat. 60-ish% on Saturday. 75% yesterday. And I’m aiming for 100% today.
Let’s get this straight. I don’t want to eat. I want to starve. I want to “be thin” (whatever that means). I want to look like her.
But I can’t always get what I want.
I haven’t done much posting in a while, eh? There really hasn’t been much to report. I have rarely even thought of my ED, and if I struggled, I quickly got myself out of it (“it” usually being unhealthy ED thoughts.)
But life has definitely changed. The boy and I made it official and are “in a relationship” according to Facebook. I’m happy to be dating him. A week after we decided to be all cute and happy and call eachother girlfriend and boyfriend, I told him about my ED, treatment, recovery, all that.
He handled it amazingly. All positive. All encouraging. All supportive. Gah, he’s rad.
So that’s definitely a new change. Having a boyfriend. Also new on the life front is that I started school. Again. See, I never graduated from college. I worked my way up at my job to a position that usually requires a masters degree, and am now finally getting my undergrad done. On my company’s dime. Not bad.
Also new is the roommate, J. A and I have been living with psychoroommatefromhell, and we finally decided to kick her out. We were nice about it, and psychogirl was cool with it because she didn’t like us anyway.
So now we have J. She moved in a week ago.
She’s super sweet, and has a personality similar to A and I, so we knew it would work. But, there could potentially be a problem.
Long story short, J is in the beginning stages of recovery for anorexia. We randomly discovered that we both saw the same dietician, which outed both of us since she only sees clients with eating disorders. She’s also in therapy with an ED specialist.
But, as you and I know, recovery is not easy. She struggles to eat enough, and usually doesn’t hit her caloric goal.
My first thought was that it was awesome she and I were living together. Built in support, when needed. Someone to relate to. But since talking in-depth last night, all I can think about is restricting.
I am fully set on restricting again, and can only assume it’s because J is very thin and I want to look like her. I want to be at my initial recovery weight, not my current weight. I want to go back to my romantic view of my ED, not the reality of the hell I was living in. I want to lose weight, and lose it quickly.
This can’t end well.
My previous post was titled “Throwing in the Towel.” The premise being, of course, that I had given up. Eating disorder, take me away.
Thankfully, that thought process has changed. Unfortunately, the behaviors have not.
I took last Friday off in order to help a friend get everything ready for her wedding (yup, the dress-doesn’t-fit wedding.) I had a few hours of down time before the rehearsal, so I went to the gym for a bit. As I came back home, I found one of my roommates in the kitchen. She asked if we could talk.
I had no idea what it was about. Since rent was due that day, I thought I had written the check for the wrong amount.
Wrong. Oh, so wrong.
Long story short, my roommate discovered I had been using behaviors again. How naïve I was to think that in such close quarters, she would never be privy to my secrets. She wasn’t upset or mad at me, but she was deeply concerned.
She cried. She predicted my death. She expressed her worry. She, again, predicted my death.
I was shocked. Mortified. Exposed. Embarrassed. So many emotions were flooding my mind at once.
I didn’t know what to say but “Thank you.” Seriously, how could I not be in gratitude to someone who cared so much as to do the most awkward thing: confront me about my bulimia?
I was supposed to tell her what she can do to help – eat with her? Figure out some accountability thing? — but I couldn’t think of a damn thing. So I used the trick I knew best – avoidance. I was afraid to go home for lunch because I was so scared of what she’ll be thinking.
I recounted everything to my therapist last night, and admitted that I’m just not in a good place, emotionally speaking. I’m lonely. I’m holding on to unhealthy people for dear life because I feel that is all I have.
Then my roommate – a really great person – reaches out for friendship on multiple occasions, and I dismiss it. because it feels scary. Because she… is there. at home. Around me. and my behaviors.
Change is scary, period. And I have been going through a lot of physical and social changes over the past 6 months. Part of me almost rather stay in the position I am in – relapsing, dating a guy who I don’t see a future with, having my only close friend in the state be a complete party-er, etc etc etc – because it involves no risk.
But on the other side, there are potential friendships, a life without an eating disorder, and a future (as opposed to a dead end). It involves some scary stuff, and some needed risk. It involves vulnerability and community.
But something tells me it’s worth it.
I mentioned that Tuesday’s therapy session would be… interesting. And it was.
I cried.
I’ve mentioned my dalliance into the online dating world, and that would allow one to guess that it’s because I desire a relationship. But that is an understatement.
I desire a relationship – a husband – a family – more than anything in this world. And I have strong doubts that this will happen.
As each friend of mine proceeds to find a relationship of her own, then become engaged, and then get hitched, a part of my dream dies a little. As one friend’s dream succeeds, mine somehow fails. It doesn’t make sense, but yet it does in my warped head.
I once told my friends that if I wasn’t married by age 24, they could go ahead and shoot me. I’m turning 28 in two weeks. Luckily, they never took me up on my offer. I’ve had some great memories in those four years. I took some fun trips with my friends, grew a lot emotionally and spiritually. But I had some of the hardest years of my life, and it would have been wonderful to share it with someone. I never had any sort of relationship that lasted more than a month or two in almost 10 years.
With every year, I backed up my “plan” to get married. My goal of having my kids before age 30 seemed dimmer and dimmer. It didn’t seem to matter, as most of my friends were still single. Until 2010 hit. Then, engagement and marriage overload.
Wedding season is never ending right now, and guys still seem to be in the queue on my dating sites. But none of them are panning out. And my dream of having a family seems futile.
My therapist wants to give me hope, but it’s hard to have it when I know that, in all honesty, there is a possibility that I will forever be single. So she upped the ante a little and instead of asking me to hope, she wants me to grieve.
Grieve my plans I had for myself.
Grieve the family I expected to already have.
And that’s hard.
I expected to have my dad walk down the aisle with me by now, his eyes watering a bit while he whispered “I love you” in my ear, passing me off to the love of my life. I expected to be at the hospital at least once by now, screaming my head off and possibly yelling at people in frustration, or, knowing me, saying nothing in hopes of just getting the damn thing over with and holding a baby in my arms. At the very least, I expected to be in a relationship, enjoying road trips and sporting events, and beach days and just nights at home cooking dinner and watching movies on the couch with a boyfriend. But none of this has happened.
So, I grieve.
And, to be honest, I get a bit angry. At God. Because He can do anything, right? Why can others who have been even more screwed up than I ever have been allowed to be in relationships and become happy and shiny and full of love and sunshine and puppy dogs and all that good stuff? Why do they get what I so desperately want? Why must I be perpetually alone?
Angry at myself. Because of course I’m not pretty or smart or “together” enough.
Angry at the guys who have burned me in the past. Because they were douche bags.
But mostly, I get sad. Because my life has not turned out how I planned. And as much as I try to dismiss my feelings – as much as I try to say “Oh, such is life. It’s okay” – it’s not. It sucks.
I want someone. Badly. I want it to happen now.
Catalina was a blast, and I didn’t want to leave.
We walked the cute streets.
We hiked.
We laid out on the beach, and drank fruity drinks.
We ate. And drank fun coffee drinks. And I was more than okay with that.
But I noticed my pants were fitting a little snug. Of course in hindsight, it makes sense. I was drinking more than usual AND was PMS’ing, which is a double water retention whammy… but I’m not good at rationalizing perceived weight gain. I just wasn’t feeling comfortable in my skin.
My friend and I went to a fun karaeoke bar on Saturday night, where she proceeded to be hit on by guy after guy… after guy. I got nothing. I proceeded to feel even less comfortable. Finally, a very attractive Kiwi began showing me attention, which was not a bad thing at all.
We went with his group to a nearby club, so my friend could get her groove on for a few hours.
The boy and I got some fresh air and walked along the water for a bit.
I met back up with my friend and we made the trek up the hill back to the hotel. I woke up feeling… fat. Which isn’t a feeling. I kept waiting for him to text. He never did. He still hasn’t. And that’s when I realized that I’m wanting something deeper. Much deeper.
Therapy tonight should be interesting.
I ate a bit too much at lunch to which I felt that “uncomfortably full” feeling. I was sure I gained multiple pounds over the weekend (which is impossible. But I digress). So I proceeded to plan my meals for the week while on the boat. To give myself some perceived control. Instead of taking in the views of the ocean. Or talking with my friend.
I went home and planned some more. And then realized that it was futile. Because…
I’m in too much recovery. I know better. My mindset would not be the same. I would be faking a relapse. I collapsed into bed for a nap (At 6pm. What of it?) I woke up a little depressed because it meant I still had to sit with the uncomfortable feelings that I still can’t quite define, but proud knowing I would still be in recovery tomorrow, and the day after.
Lets face it, I was also a little depressed because I’d rather be here:
One of the greatest tools I utilized while in my day program were the girls I was in treatment with. I lived with five of them, and while it could have been a shitstorm of behaviors, we really challenged and encouraged each other to pursue recovery.
But really, it could have been a shitstorm.
I don’t talk to many of my treatment friends now, mainly because our eating disorders were the main common denominator. And, well, I don’t have much of an eating disorder any more. But good Lord, they were so amazing to me. I remember one night in particular, after a horrible day at my IOP center, I called my friend S in those ugly, I-can-barely-breathe tears. I wanted out of treatment. Out of recovery. I was done. She talked me down, as I have talked her down before. We used our skills on each other and watched eachother rise, fall, and get up again. Recovery friendships are.so.needed.
Remember the video I posted of my church’s Easter service? When the green paint was thrown, half of the painters saw the light, so to speak. They were changed. If we take this analogy to the field of eating disorders, they were pursuing recovery. But the other half were still painting the same spots black. They were using behaviors. Letting their eating disorders do the talking and deciding.
The painters who saw the green for what it was were only hanging with eachother, and the same for the painters who were just painting the black. And that is my encouragement to you. It’s easy in groups and other treatment settings to find people who are not quite ready to recover, and that can be alluring for multiple reasons. But they can and will keep you from truly pursuing recovery. From seeing the blues and greens and pinks.
When the time is right (and since I don’t know you, it could be right now), you might be able to be an encouragement to someone who is still struggling, but that will be more of a mentorship than friendship. What if my friend S was not in a recovery-minded place? She might have let me go back to my behaviors, and we could have been best ED friends. Even if she had tried to talk me into recovery, but was still active in her eating disorder without trying to be in recovery, it would have been hard to take her advice seriously. Having friends who are active in their disorder while you are active (or trying to be active) in your recovery is like trying to run with shin splints: technically do-able, but will only make things worse.
Find like-minded friends who are ready to risk it all and do the most painful, horrifying thing imaginable: recover. It takes a village to do that: a treatment team, non-eating disordered friends, recovery-minded friends, etc.
And slowly — but ever so surely — you will see the colors again.
How has your support system impacted your recovery?
