My personal poison is food, my addiction is hunger, and I am currently living in an at-home rehab type situation. How's that for a start? It feels a bit underdeveloped. Maybe I should back up. Well hello world. Yes- I'm still here: breathing in oxygen, taking up space. Truth be told, I'm taking up quite a bit more space these days, a fact that is both incredibly difficult for me to accept and immensely important for my future to celebrate. I suppose that the latter concept has driven me to the condition I find myself in today, and the reason for which I am choosing to write this post. This isn't a start, nay- if anything, this is one of many curves. I'm quite literally stuck in the middle at the moment, and while I am unsure what has prompted me to speak out now with an "update" of sorts, that is neither here nor there. I guess that I have my reasons, same as anyone else: to let my loved ones know that I have a pulse and to thank them for their ongoing support {thanks guys! Really}, to reach out to others that might find themselves struggling with the same daemons, and more acutely: to clear my mind. I think it's swelling too, and not in the 'yay I'm learning stuffs' sort of way. But I digress... So, here's the deal. For anyone who doesn't know my situation {and stumbles across this post for whatever reason life and the Internet comes up with}, I am going to start with a factual and grossly succinct history lesson: I have an ugly relationship with food. This has been a struggle most of my life, and to my chagrin, has dominated large bits of my adult existence. I was for formally diagnosed with Anorexia Nervosa about 5 years back, and spent a chunk of months in an inpatient then partial hospitalization program at that time. Since then, there have been peaks and valleys in my "lifelong recovery" process, and I was able to live mostly symptom-free for about 4 years, give or take. Last year wasn't so kind. 2014 brought a heartache that I wasn't ready for, and when the ball dropped, I did what addicts do: I looked for a fix, and my fix is famine. Long story less long, I spent the better part of last year (and the beginning of this one), trapped in my own mind. I didn't see it coming, but my ED welcomed me like an old friend. And so, between April 2014 and January 2015 I (unnecessarily) lost {35} lbs- ish. A great deal of brain cells (starvation does that) -and a lot of positive relationship opportunities. If you are a friend or family member, I would like to take a moment to formally apologize for a) disappearing on you, b) monopolizing the emotional aspect of our relationship in a terribly selfish way, c) flaking out on commitments, and d) generally being a grump. I would also like to step on my soapbox for a moment- if I may- to gently offer you the concept that although many of you came to me in the past year with concerns (for which I am incredibly touched) and may now be thinking "I told you so" or "I knew you just wanted attention"... There is more than one layer to this beast. Call me an ogre, because I'm an onion. A smelly, (hopefully) delicious onion that was not ready for help until I was ready for help. Does that make any sense? I hope so. In any case, the evening of January 1, 2015 found me crying in my bathroom over the horror of binge-eating like a madwoman the night before (bc I had been starving myself) in a way that made me want to do selfish things. I'm not sure what changed, or when or how, but sometime that night I wrote the words "I HATE EVERYTHING CAN I GET A REDO" In my journal. Fast forward. Jan 15, 2015: my journal heading reads: " 7 stone." In American, that means 98 lbs- my "ultimate goal weight." At 5'8", that's a stupid number folks. But I didn't see that. I saw composure. I saw a way to celebrate the 'only thing I was good at anymore.' At this point my eating habits were making it difficult for me to sustain life (and I was still losing). In March, after many sleepless nights and tearful conversations, Scott and I decided that in the spirit of quality of life, I would leave work to focus on health and recovery (so that I wouldn't end up back in the hospital). Looking back on it now, we realize that i shoulda just been hospitalized. If nothing else, that February trip to the ER should have taught me straight and sent me in. But...oversight. Instead, I left work on April 2- 8 weeks in (five lbs up!) to extensive outpatient treatment. Fast forward. July 8, 2015. 21 weeks of fighting like hell down, many more to go. I'd like to say that I'm all better now, but that would be false. In many ways, the hard part is just beginning: reprogramming my mind (again) to a world where there are colors between black and white. Physically, my body is "weight restored" (though not quite to my target weight). Mentally, I am at the most vulnerable stage: learning to cope with taking up considerably more space (those 35 lbs are back plus) when the world around me hasn't changed. Coping with triggering words and situations, social anxiety. If I could impart one thing on the world, it would probably be grace towards the emotional and physical truths of eating disorders. I could go on all day about this, but this saga is already bordering on epic status, so I will only share a few last personal notes from my experiences: The physical impact of an eating disorder goes beyond weight loss and (for me, in large part) is not about losing weight. I am currently struggling with significant hair loss and bald spots, nail and skin issues, amenorrhea, gastritis, stomach ulcers, and IBS- all side effects of anorexia. Among other things. Emotionally, real recovery begins after weight restoration: for me, this means still struggling with anorexia, acute anxiety disorder, and body dysmorphia. I struggle leaving the house, hating myself for "losing" by gaining all of the weight back. For failing the one thing I'm good at. I have also lost a lot of memories. Literally. In all honesty, I don't remember much about October-May. My mind was in a fog, and until I started gaining back into a normal weight range and stopped depriving my brain of nutrients, I was on auto pilot, running on fumes. I struggle daily with thoughts of relapse, ignoring my issues and emotions and hiding back in the hunger. I don't like taking up this much space, and am very uncomfortable with my physical self. I am not out of the woods yet, but I'm trying and I'm alive. Jehovah as my witness, I am fighting like hell. So, one more time- I would like to say: thankyou. I love you. All of you. Specifically to friends and family who send me cards and calls and texts and thoughts and prayers- THANKYOU. They are blessings, and they are felt. There is a long road ahead yet, so please be patient as I dare to selfishly ask you for more patience and love. Anorexia is a very selflessly selfish disease, and I am sorry that this post has followed this guideline. However, putting all of the many cliches aside, I wanted to share with you- in a moment of clarity- where my mind is currently residing. In the middle.
