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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.
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.
Thanks for the encouragement about my sudden unwillingness to eat. I haven’t been so terrified to consume certain foods since before I went into treatment.
I figured that, though I’m not willing to eat much, I *am* willing to reach out to people. Though I want to be thin, I (thankfully) want to recover even more.
I texted and emailed my treatment team. I let my bff and bf know my obsessive thoughts. I see my dietician tomorrow for an emergency appointment (which, of course, is right before my roommate’s appointment. Oh joy.)
I… don’t know what else to write. I’m struggling. I’m drowning. I’m terrified of food.
I’m hungry.
As the title of this post suggests, I have not been feeling so hot.
It started a week and a half ago, when I completely lost my appetite. And when I did eat, I was nauseous. At first I just thought it was the heat, but it kept happening.
Turns out, I have ulcers.
I had them last year (along with a slew of other health problems) but they vanished (thank you, drugs) by February. The thing is, I had no symptoms last time. This time around, I hurt. A lot.
My mindset towards ED recovery is positive. It could be a total mindf-ck, as I have been cleared to eat less than usual. But I’m trying to consume as much as my ulcers will allow me. I haven’t purged for a week, which has been the best I’ve been for over a month.
I’m going to win.
Flashback Friday is an ongoing series chronicling my time in residential and intensive outpatient treatment. Click here for the previous post.
A hot dog and ice cream cake.
I looked down at my plate and didn’t know whether to gag or cry. It was my third lunch at residential treatment, and I was used to the rules by now: I had to eat 100% of my meal, and if I didn’t, I had to drink an Ensure. But a hot dog? With the bun? And that cake?
I ate the damn food, and then I journaled.
I’ve posted before about how an eating disorder isn’t about the food. Though it is. But it isn’t. My eating disorder was not just about my fear of white carbohydrates or tendency to vomit my food, or my penchant for running miles on end without consuming any calories before or after. It’s about my self-loathing, anxiety, depression, and poor coping mechanisms.
Residential treatment attacked the food. Sure there were groups and other therapeutic activities (helloooo, collaging!) that were very beneficial, but in my opinion, it was all.about.the.food.
I came into treatment more or less orthorexic – I was looking for the most “pure” and perfect diet with only the most pure ingredients. My diet consisted of less than 10 foods. The rest of the foods I consumed were purged. Then I entered treatment, and was all the sudden forced to eat evil, processed, food. You know, normal food.
The program was incredibly structured. Three meals, three snacks. Same time every day. There was a weekly “dessert challenge” (hence the ice cream cake) and a Wednesday “restaurant challenge” (where no one could order a salad) and guess what? I didn’t gain weight on this evil, processed food diet.
Prior to treatment, little to no nourishment was getting to my brain. My period was beginning to stop. My concentration and mood were deteriorating (okay, they were deteroriated, to be perfectly honest.) The food had to be addressed first in order for any other work to be fruitful. And I had to be convinced that all food is good food so as not to maintain the disordered patterns I was used to.
Before meals, we rated how hungry we were on a scale of 1-10. Afterwards, we rated our level of fullness. We helped cook meals and prepare snacks. We even grew our own vegetables. Our lives revolved around food. And for once, this was a good thing.
So I ate everything portioned to me, which began to conquer my restricting behaviors. And I couldn’t go to the bathroom for half an hour, so I couldn’t purge. And the bathroom door had to be cracked when I finally was allowed to go, for good measure. Not that it was embarassing, or anything
If I had the same snack twice in a row — snacks were the one thing we were allowed to choose — we were gently encouraged to add variety.
It was all food, all the time.
And it needed to be that way.
Next week: My transition into day treatment was uncomfortable at best… dangerous at worst.
When I first told my parents about my eating disorder, they were most shocked about two things: first, that I actually had an eating disorder (“but you’re not even boney!“) and second, that I was seeing a dietician.
Unless one has an eating disorder or is familiar with the field, a dietician might seem odd. Eating disorders are thought of as behavioral health problems. See a therapist, start eating, and presto! You’re better!
But an eating disorder is physiological as well. The brain is starving and shrinking at a rapid rate, and a therapist is not equipped to address a lot of the physical needs, such as a meal plan.
In my recovery, a dietician was incredibly necessary. She guided me into a meal plan, first just getting me to eat one starch every meal. Of course, residential and outpatient treatment did the rest and set me up with a structured plan, but even when I got out of those facilities, I still met with my dietician. For the first few months after treatment, I met with her every week and was challenged to eat desserts and other foods that I still felt were “scary.”
I see her ever few weeks now, and in a few months will finally be discharged from her care (!!). She is helping me with Intuitive Eating as well as challenging me to cook more. She keeps an eye on my weight, which has not changed and thus has freed me of caring what my weight is at all. As long as my pants fit, I’m good to go!
Remember — it’s an eating disorder. It is a brain and emotional disorder, to be sure. And it usually involves depression, anxiety, or another co-existing condition. But food — like it or not — is a huge factor. A dietician is a huge part of the treatment puzzle.
(For help with finding a dietician specializing in eating disorders, click here)
What are your thoughts about dietitians in the recovery process? Do you have one? Do you think you need one? Leave a comment!
I haven’t relapsed.
And I’m not going to.
Okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way.
This has been a tough few weeks. The trigger doesn’t matter (and is a bit too personal to blog about, as I’m still working through it myself), but I will say that it started with a seemingly “normal” therapy session that ended up delving into some incredibly difficult material. I held it together, or so I thought, for a day or two. Then, I cracked.
Binge.
Purge.
Binge.
Purge.
Restrict.
Run.
Purge.
Repeat.
I felt like I was on autopilot, as though there was no way in hell to stop me from performing those actions. And I was fighting, hard, to stop.
That was the difference between the past few weeks of behaviors, and my previous relapse. I could not give a shit before. Now, I want to curb the behaviors and get back on the path of recovery like no other.
I called my therapist. I called my dietician. I made extra appointments with each. I asked for prayer. I prayed. I wrote. I went back on my meal plan.
I slipped. More than I would have liked.
But then I got back up.
I’m still on my meal plan, except when I go out to eat. But this past weekend, which provided many instances in which a meal plan just wasn’t going to happen, gave me the confidence that I could begin to (slowly) eat intuitively again. Without restricting, or feeling the need to binge or purge. I’m back on track, with some reservations.
Perseverance is difficult, but worth it
I had an interesting experience over the weekend. I was out to dinner with a friend, and the conversation got quite deep. She and I hang out quite a bit, but it’s usually on a light hearted, superficial level. At this moment, however, she was really opening up and started to cry about some emotional burdens she was carrying. She then said admitted a few other tidbits.
She trusted me.
She cared about me.
She appreciated my friendship.
In that moment, it finally clicked: I’m not just somebody that people use to pass the time with. I matter to people. People actually care about me. they appreciate my character. In that moment, I made a conscious effort to live as though I constantly believed these facts. The next day, I actually suggested things to do with this friend, instead of agreeing to do whatever she wanted. I broached conversations first. And we had a blast.
I’m creating a voice for myself. And people still like me.
They might even like me more.
So, back to my year in review. What a ride it has been.
August
My medical leave was coming to an end, and I started to freak out. I had been desperately searching for a new job, but no dice. I was doing very well in my recovery, but my anxiety of returning to work caused me to relapse a bit.
I still was in intensive outpatient treatment, but I couldn’t stand half of the girls in the program and their negative attitudes. Such is life.
I left treatment at the end of August, and immediately went back to my outpatient therapist and dietician.
I didn’t realize that living in the “real world” would be so… odd. I was used to 4 months of being cooped up in rooms with a very small group of females, talking about my eating disorder. Real life isn’t like that. I found that it was the only thing I talked about with my friends, because it was the only thing going on in my life. It was a bit depressing.
September
I went back to work the day after Labor Day. I was panicked. But my boss acted like all the water was swept under the bridge, so I took her lead and acted the same way. Since returning to work, my job has been great because, ya know, I’ve been eating.
Going back to the real world has been nice. Life has included lots of happy hours and dinners out. I probably worry more than the average person, but for the most part, it’s been good.
My best friend got engaged Labor Day weekend. It stirred up a lot of emotions.
October
I started to have a lot of anxiety attacks. A lot of that was due to the trauma work I started with my therapist. Fun times.
Other than that, same ol’ same ol’.
November
I went on a few dates with a seemingly great guy, who fell off the face of the earth and never spoke to me again.
I fell into a depression, and started to isolate. I figured that my social life was irrepairable since my best friend was moving to another state in the next month.
December
I slowly eased out of my relapse. This was partly because of health complications brought on by my relapse. Oops.
My best friend had a beautiful wedding. It was difficult to say goodbye, but my happiness for her was the strongest emotion.
I was anticipating Christmas to be stressful, as I wasn’t completely out of my relapse and I so desperately wanted to restrict. However, I ate completely intuitively, which gave me great confidence that I could be completely out of my relapse and into recovery. It was a huge turning point for me.
January has already brought fun and memorable moments. My dietician decided I only need to see her twice a month, as opposed to every week. I spent a beautiful day in Santa Barbara with friends shopping, eating, and drinking. Last weekend I went on a beautiful hike with a friend, and am looking forward to learning how to snowboard this weekend!
Bring it on, 2011.
