We’ve Got Quite a Pickle Here

I’ve totally and utterly put myself in a pickle. Despite my chest pains subsiding over the weekend, they’ve returned, sporadically, throughout this week.

I’ve been waking up on and off throughout the night for the past two or three nights; my body’s way of letting me know that yes, I am still alive and breathing. But last night, when I woke around three in the morning with slight chest pain again, I had a minor panic attack and had a clear realization: I can’t do this anymore. There was no ED voice to disagree, there was no rationalizing, there was no arguing, there was no compromising. In that moment I realized I had to stop engaging in my eating disorder and start eating again. The other voice, the ED voice, said, “Okay. I give up. Tomorrow, I will let you eat.”  I then promptly fell asleep with lingering feelings of fear; how unfortunate it would be to die the night before I decided to begin recovery again.

And then a mere six hours later, when my husband had left for an overnight trip for work, I decided to go to the store as soon as I woke up in order to buy a donut and some chocolate peanut butter. My plan was to come home and eat the donut and mix the peanut butter with the last of our ice cream and fast the rest of the day. The two voices were back in my head: you can start recovery next week, after you indulge in the junk food you are about to buy, after you have the family bbq this weekend, after you lose a couple more pounds.

I bought some other much needed groceries, feeling guilty for spending over $4.00 on a small jar of chocolate peanut butter, and was in such haste to get home that I started leaving as soon as the groceries were bagged and put in my cart. The cashier said, “Woah, hold on there, I need to give you your receipt.” I casually said, “Woops!” and he replied with, “You in a hurry to get out of here? I don’t blame you!” I laughed an embarrassed laugh and took the receipt.

I ate the donut in the car and the ice cream and peanut butter when I got home.

The chest pains are on and off. They get worse when I panic. They will inevitably continue tonight, especially because I will be home alone, and that is when I most fear something will happen to me. There will be nobody to help if I suddenly go into cardiac arrest. There will be nobody to give me CPR. There will be nobody to call 911.

And here lies the pickle:

The week and a half’s worth of chest pains has got me pretty freaked out. And after last night and the fact that I made no effort to combat the ED behavior this morning despite last night, has got me even more freaked out. I think about treatment options and the reasons why it wouldn’t work:

1.) My job.

If I went into treatment, regardless if it was outpatient or inpatient, I would have to take a medical leave of absence. If I were to be honest with my employer as to why I was seeking a leave of absence, she would definitely let me go, as in permanently. She knows my eating disorder history and states that if anyone on her staff relapses, she will let them go. She will not rehire you until you have five years worth of “sobriety,” or in my case, “abstinence.” I suppose there are ways around this; legally I don’t know if I have to tell her why I’m seeking a leave of absence, but either way my job is potentially at risk. If I lost it, I wouldn’t be rehirable with the same company for five years and the odds of me finding another job in my field in my location? Slim to none right now.

2.) Funds

We are broke. We are barely living paycheck to paycheck right now, and to top it off, one of my step-sons was just in a bad accident (he is okay) and we will most likely be paying a lot of medical bills within the next few weeks/months. Despite my insurance covering treatment for anorexia, I’m sure there will be hidden fees in there somewhere, or the insurance would find some way to screw me over, or it would run out as soon as I gained a pound. Not to mention I wouldn’t be working, and I’m sure even if I went on disability, it wouldn’t be nearly as much money as I’m getting now.

3.) My relationship

There’s a risk my relationship could possibly end, or at least hit a rough patch, if I came to my husband yet again stating the need for treatment. The last time I did this in November, he threatened to leave while I “got my shit together.” Not necessarily a threat at divorce, but a threat to separate, at least temporarily. He made it very clear he thought I shouldn’t need to go into treatment because I had already been there and should be able to recover on my own with the help of OA. He thought I only wanted to go into treatment for attention, because treatment as always been a “trophy” for me in the past.

I just feel so alone and trapped right now. There’s literally nobody I can talk to about this. Even if I were to start small with going back to a therapist, none of the ones my insurance covers are ED specialists, and I don’t think we can afford the $20.00 copay I would be spending every week. Especially with what is going on with my step-son.

So I feel if I wanted to recover, at this point I would have to do it by myself. There’s always OA, but I think I need more than a 12-step program right now. A part of me wonders why I can’t just make the decision to eat 1500 calories a day and start meetings again. It seems so fucking simple. But then there’s apart of me that feels like maybe I’m freaking out for nothing and these chest pains are psychosematic.

But they are SCARING me. I’m scared to the point of wanting to just cry. I want so badly to get checked out by a doctor, but we are so fucking broke I’d feel guilty spending ANY money on this FUCKING EATING DISORDER.

I suppose I could call my insurance and find out what types of tests they DO cover so I won’t be surprised with a $500 bill again. Then I can go ahead and schedule a physical and request covered tests. Anything else, we literally cannot afford.

I’m really scared. And tonight I will be by myself….I hate this.

Looking For Recovery? You’ve Come to the Right (Wrong?) Place.

I suppose when someone types in “recovering anorexic” or “anorexia recovery” or “recovery from anorexia,” they are looking for beacons of hope. Maybe it’s a girl at the end of her rope, finally contemplating recovery after a long struggle with anorexia. Maybe it’s someone who has just begun the recovery process and is looking for someone who relates to just how hard it is. Maybe it’s a concerned mother looking up resources for a sick child, scared and lonely and feeling helpless.

But instead, my blog is probably one of the first sites they find.

If you type in “recovering anorexic,” google has place me first on the results list. With “anorexia recovery” I am seventh, and with “recovery from anorexia” I am third.  Given that the first thing they see is my URL, anyone who isn’t familiar with my blog will most likely click on it assuming they will find someone who has been through anorexia and subsequently “recovered.” Instead of entries of a girl who is happy and enjoying life ED free, they will get someone who had previously entered recovery but then relapsed back into her illness.

Sometimes this makes me feel bad. The bulk of my views come from google hits, and the overwhelming majority of search terms have to do with recovery. Nobody finds my blog looking for thinspo or tip and tricks (not that I would necessarily want that).  Nobody finds my blog looking for general eating disorder information. I’m assuming most of the people who find my blog via google are either contemplating recovery or have already entered into recovery, and I can’t help but think my blog with either make them feel like recovery is hopeless or that it will somehow trigger them back to their old behaviors.

Now, if you know anything about me, you know I’m an advocate of taking responsibility for your own feelings and actions. If someone is triggered over my blog, that is out of my control. It isn’t directly my fault if someone relapses because of the content here. But that doesn’t mean I still don’t feel bad about it. I know, I know, I can take my own advice and change how I feel about it. And most times I am able to do that, but then there are those times when I scroll through the search terms and see nothing but “recovery.” I wish this blog were still a blog of hope and inspiration, but unfortunately, it’s a blog of disappointment and hopelessness.

I consider changing the name, but I know I never will. As most of you have already pointed out, “relapse is a part of recovery,” so in a sense, the title still works.

I still do believe recovery is possible. So to any new readers who have come here in search of something inspiring, recovery is possible. I don’t believe anyone will ever be cured of an eating disorder, but I do think if we find a recovery approach that works, and we stick to it on a daily basis, we can learn to live our lives free of ED symptoms. Don’t let my relapse discourage you. Realistically, relapse rates are high for any eating disorder/addiction, but there are plenty on this earth who have stuck to recovery and have not relapsed. It’s a hard, long process, but recovery is possible and it’s worth it. I was happiest in recovery, my relationships were strong, I was physically healthy, and even when things went “wrong” in my life, I was able to handle each situation with maturity, grace, and confidence. People may not understand then why I relapsed, or why it’s seemingly impossible for me to get back into recovery, but that would require a whole different entry on the relapse process. Just know that I am a firm supporter in recovery and that if you try it, you may just find that it was the best thing you’ve ever done.

For new readers looking for recovery, I encourage you to start reading my blog from the beginning. If you read my entries from 2007-2010, you will be able to read three years worth of recovery related entries. As they say in the 12-Step program, take what you can and leave the rest. Take what you can from my recovery entries and leave behind the relapse ones if you find they do not help you. This blog can still be seen as a tool of recovery, and if anything, use these relapse entries as a warning of what NOT to do in your own recovery.

And again, thank you to those who regularly come back and read; my fellowship grows stronger each and every day, and even though my relapse related entries may not help everybody, I’m hoping this blog in general has helped a lot of you in other ways, even if it’s just to feel like you are not alone.

I Don’t Hate My ED

So I’ve been reading a lot of blogs lately where the authors talk about how much they hate being eating disordered and if they could just stop, they would. So posing that question to myself, I couldn’t really agree 100% in regards to my own eating disorder. There are times when I do hate this disease, and those are usually times when I’ve finished a binge and wished I hadn’t eaten so much food, or when I’m absolutely starving and time seems to drag on like there is no tomorrow. But during those in-between times, those times when my body is not weak from the restricting or full from the overeating, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I liked my eating disorder.

But maybe it’s not that I like the eating disorder as much as I just find it a comfort. I don’t like spending time counting calories, eating bland food, lying to my husband, hiding a scale, planning my life around when/what I eat, worrying about getting/not getting pregnant, overeating, bingeing, being hungry all the time or taking laxatives. But I do like losing weight and feeling different from other people. Despite all the negatives that come along with the eating disorder, it somehow keeps me “sane” as long as I’m not eating like a normal person and/or losing weight.

And the strange part is is that I’ve been the same weight plus or minus a few pounds since August of last year. So given the fact that I haven’t been losing a ton of weight, what motivation do I have to keep living this way? The promise of maybe losing more weight? Possibly. To keep from gaining weight? Absolutely. But also because it’s just…comforting. That’s the only real way I can explain it. If I stopped all this right now and went to eat 1500-2000 calories a day, I would feel naked, exposed, vulnerable, and worst of all, average.  My life hasn’t spiraled that out of control where I’ve hit a rock bottom (this time), and I think that also has a lot to do with it. I think my attitude towards my eating disorder would change if my husband really did leave, or if my work really did fire me, or if I really did get rushed to the hospital for collapsing from *insert organ name here* failure. Not taking the negative things I’ve already listed into consideration, my life is pretty manageable. I do what needs to be done at work, my relationship, although it’s not perfect, is pretty strong, our finances are average, and my health is relatively normal. So either my eating disorder just “isn’t as bad” as others or maybe I’m just one of those “functioning addicts.” Because I’ve said it before to other people — they may be “functioning addicts,” but take away their drug of choice and they will no longer function the way they did before. Take away my eating disorder and things WOULD take a turn for the worst, at least at first, which is why it’s almost easier to just stay sick than have to deal with the frustrations of recovery.

Logically I know that’s not true given I’ve been in long-term recovery before, but when I first entered real recovery, I’ll tell you right now that I missed my eating disorder MORE than I missed my dead mom. That’s how hard it was for me to change my behaviors.

Sometimes I feel like I don’t even have a real problem, which is also why I stay in the behaviors. I watch these ED reality shows where these girls are asked to like…eat a cupcake. This one girl was like, literally crying and saying how she just COULDN’T eat it. How it was the HARDEST THING SHE HAD TO DO. If it were me, I would have been like, “I’m down.” I don’t have mad anxiety at restaurants. I can eat a burger and fries and feel relatively okay. I can allow myself normal food once in a while without feeling disgusting or obese. In treatment, yes it was hard eating the meals, but it wasn’t like, “I can’t even fucking touch this or I’m going to die of anxiety” like some girls there. If I were like one of those girls, maybe I would hate the ED more.

Or maybe I just have a more realistic view on my ED and weight. Logically I know one cupcake isn’t really going to make a different in my weight. Nor is a burger or friends. Logically I know I am visually underweight. So maybe a comfort in seeing things for what they really are helps me resent the ED less.

So. I like my eating disorder, or at least parts of it. Does that make me a wannarexic? Someone who doesn’t really have an eating disorder? Or maybe I’m not just as sick as other people. Or maybe I just haven’t hit a rock bottom. Maybe the honeymoon isn’t over yet. Or maybe I’m just a rare breed. Sometimes I feel this disease doesn’t really have any control over me and I really do choose to live this way. I mean, on some level, I do choose to live this way because I always have the choice to enter recovery again. I don’t feel like I have these strong compulsions driving me to do things I don’t want to do. I could always just not do them. But at the same time, I’ve also been thrown some pretty big threats and have still managed to continue the ED behaviors. Is that because this is a disease or is it because I’m just a selfish person who likes to play with fire? I lean more towards the latter, unfortunately.

So, onto my readers: How do you feel about your eating disorder? What keeps you sick? What prevents you from choosing recovery?

Want Some Advice? Come and Get It.

Since starting this blog in 2007, I think I’ve only been asked once for tips and tricks. I suppose you don’t get much of that when the title of your blog is “Recovering Anorexic.” With that said, I have gotten multiple emails asking about recovery, but usually the questions are so vague I don’t have really anything to go off of. The typical emails I receive go something like this:

“Dear RA, I think I have an eating disorder. I constantly worry about my weight and count calories. I’m depressed all the time and don’t eat as much as I should. I want to lose weight but I’m scared. Any advice?”

It’s hard for me to know what to say. Eating disorders are so much more than just those five sentences above. Most of the time I’m not even sure what advice you want. Do you want to know if you have an eating disorder? Do you want to know how to not develop an eating disorder? Do you want to know how to stop it before it becomes an eating disorder? Do you want to get help for an eating disorder? There’s so many different things I can answer, and in the end, I’m not even sure how much of a help I would be given I am in relapse. I’m no longer the poster-child of RECOVERY.

I get it though. When I first developed anorexia, I emailed every woman in recovery and treatment center asking if I had an eating disorder. I asked for help and advice because I was “scared,” although really I just wanted to know if I had a diagnosable eating disorder (impossible to get a real diagnosis over the internet for all of you “newbies”) in order to stroke my ego.

But in all seriousness, for those of you who want feedback on whether or not you have an ED, whether or not you should get help, advice on how to not let your diet go “too far,” advice on how to tell your family, advice on how to enter recovery, here it goes:

o Think you have an ED but aren’t sure?

Get a professional opinion.  No matter how many people you email, no matter how many online doctors you ask, no matter how many eating disorder websites you surf, nobody will be able to tell if you have a real, diagnosable eating disorder until they can meet you in person and get an entire history of your food/weight behaviors, an idea of your symptoms (if any), and a physical. But if you are at the point where you are wondering enough to email someone, chances are you do have a problem with food and weight and deserve to at least get it checked out. Especially if you do not want to develop an eating disorder or are worried about your health. The sooner you go in to intervene, the better chance you have of avoiding a possible lifetime of misery.

o Think you need help?

Get it. If you are at a point where you think you need help, then you probably do. Sure, there are times where we all second-guess ourselves and say things like, “Oh, I’m not as bad as so-and-so” or “Oh, I’ve never thrown up” or “Oh, I don’t weigh 60 pounds” or “Oh, I’ve never had any major health consequences,” but the fact of the matter is, if we are doing anything that causes us to even question whether or not we need to get help, we have a problem regardless if we are in tip-top shape or on our death beds. Even if we are not as sick as some others, it doesn’t make us any less deserving of reaching out.

o Think you have disordered eating and are on the verge of a full-blown eating disorder?  Don’t know if you are dieting like everyone else or actually have a problem?

Take a moment to think about your situation. Whether you are starting to count calories or weighing yourself more than usual, ask yourself why you think you are using such coping mechanisms. What’s going on in your life? What’s causing you to turn to food (or lack of food) to help your situation? If you can somehow pin-point what’s causing these behaviors, you may be able to try and rectify the situation before it gets worse. Maybe you are stressed because of work, or maybe a relationship isn’t going to well, or maybe you have poor self-esteem. Regardless of what it is, disordered eating isn’t going to help the situation and tackling the root problem head-on is usually what’s best. With that said, if you really are on the verge of a full-blown eating disorder, you are probably “hard-wired” to have one, meaning you are probably genetically pre-disposed to develop one. That can make things tricky given the fact that once you start with the disordered eating, it’s really hard to just stop. That’s why it’s important to tackle those root problems first to see if that helps. If it doesn’t, then I would suggest you reaching out to a professional for help (see last bullet).

o Think you want to tell your family?

Then do it. People will often ask me how to tell their loved ones about their eating disorder. The only real answer I have for that one is, “Open your mouth and speak.” Whether you want to tell just one person or get a whole group together, that’s up to you. There is no right or wrong way to come out with your eating disorder. I won’t lie. It will be hard, it will be scary, and it will be painful. You will be opening yourself up to vulnerability. Your family may react in a myriad of different ways: sad, shocked, passive, defensive, angry, supportive, awkward. If they are supportive, that will make your steps towards recovery (if that’s what you choose) all the more easier. If they are not supportive and somehow don’t take you seriously or get defensive, then realize they just don’t know how to process the information in a healthy way and it’s not your fault. The most important thing to remember is that regardless of how your family reacts, they love you, even if it doesn’t seem like it. There is no manual on how to react when we find out a loved one is struggling with something, so don’t blame them if they aren’t sure how to handle it.

o Think you want to enter recovery?

RESEARCH. And then research some more. And then research again. This is the hardest question I get from readers, because everybody is different and every eating disorder is different. Going back to the first bullet, it’s virtually impossible for me to know what type of recovery is best for anyone because I am not a health care professional, nor am I a mind-reader. All I can say is research. When you are done researching, I would advise you to either see your family doctor or a therapist and let them tell you what they recommend. Depending on your physical, mental, and emotional health, you may be referred to a residential facility for eating disorders. You may be referred to an outpatient facility for eating disorders. You may be referred to therapy. You may be referred to support groups like 12-Step programs. There’s so many different factors involved that I could not possibly give you any solid answers. I can only offer my experience and hope that it guides you in the right direction, whatever a “right direction” is for you.

If you are unsure you want to enter recovery, nobody on the face of the planet can make that decision for you but you. As I said earlier, people can offer advice, but in the end, it’s up to you to take it. Whether or not to enter recovery is one of the biggest decisions I have ever made. It was also the hardest thing I ever had to do (even topping the loss of my mother and my house burning down). So yes, recovery can be scary and painful and awful, but I can tell you right now that for me, it was 100% worth it. Nobody wants to give up what they are used to, but change is a part of life and recovery requires that very thing.

Think of it this way: If you enter recovery and find it’s not for you, you are always welcome to go back to the same life you were living before. But DO NOT fucking use that as an excuse. If you decide to enter recovery, don’t fucking bullshit your way through. Don’t convince yourself you can have your cake an eat it too (have both ED and recovery). It really is one or the other, and if you are going to enter recovery, do the work. Nut up or shut up. And THEN if you decide it’s not for you, your eating disorder will always be there with open arms. It’s so very easy to sabotage ourselves when we make that decision to recover: “This eating disorder is just who I am,” or “I didn’t like my therapist” or “The medication they put me on just didn’t work” or “Therapy costs too much money” or “I really don’t like talking about my feelings” or “The food plans were just too high in calories.” Well, I’ve got advice for you: No, your eating disorder is NOT who you are, if you don’t like your therapist, get a fucking new one, if your meds aren’t working, try a different combination, if therapy costs too much money, find one that works on a sliding scale, if you don’t like talking about your feelings, get used to it, if you think you are eating too much, that’s not your call to make. I find many people enter in recovery and then find the first excuse they can to bail on it. But in order to find a balance with recovery, it takes practice, and practicing takes time. It’s easier to be sick than it is to be healthy, and if you aren’t willing to dedicate the time and energy it takes to be eating disorder free, then maybe you aren’t ready for recovery (or you just don’t want it bad enough).

If we spent half as much time in recovery as we did with our EDs, we would see that recovery isn’t really that bad.

With that said, I don’t want to discourage people for reaching out for help, but at the same time, I may not be the best person to ask for advice in terms of recovery. The only thing I can leave you with is my past experience with recovery and how it helped me live a happy, healthy life. Recovery is possible for those who want it. Recovery can last a lifetime if we work at it. We do not have to live with our eating disorders, but at the same time we can’t also be as naive to think we can cure them. Recovery takes work, just as our eating disorders take work. Either way we will be WORKING, it’s just up to us to pick if we are going to be working on digging our early graves or working on lengthening our lifespans.

Violated

It’s October 2006. I couldn’t tell you the exact date or even what the weather is like. I don’t watch the community television, I seldom use the computers, and I’ve gone outside once since I’ve been here. In here, outside doesn’t exist anymore.

I can tell you it’s meal time. Time to line up, waiting to be let into the dining room where 20 girls and you will look for your food, your custom menus placed neatly beside your plates.

I find my meal and casually glance at the menus next to mine. Depending on who I am next to, the meal could go by rather quickly or drag on into eternity. Sometimes I care, sometimes I don’t. Even when I am with friends at the table, by the time I prepare my food, I am in the zone. Nothing really matters but putting fork to mouth and eating everything on the plate.

We are instructed to lift our plate covers and to take a deep breath. We are asked to get in tune with our minds and bodies. We are told that our food is there to nourish us and that we should pay attention to each moment…chewing, swallowing, digesting. Someone has picked Jewel to be playing  in the background, and it’s supposed to relax us, although listening to “Who Will Save Your Soul” only reminds me of elementary school when I thought my biggest worry in life was whether or not mom was going to let me shave my legs.

It’s mandated we eat in silence for the first few minutes, and in those first few minutes I look over my food: a serving of chicken, a serving of beans,  two servings of rice, a piece of bread, two servings of mixed vegetables, a serving of salad, a banana, a serving of yogurt, two servings of peanut butter, a cheese stick, some honey,  and water. I have a routine, mixing everything (excluding the yogurt, banana, and honey) into one big salad so it’s easier to trick my brain into thinking I’m only eating one thing vs. 12. I put two packets of Splenda into my water. I hate plain water but am too scared the diet soda will make me bloated. I eat from one side of the plate to the other, leaving nothing but a few mixed veggies behind. I mix together the banana, yogurt, and honey for dessert; my favorite part of the meal.

Afterwards, when I see an empty tray that once was full and I can feel the heaviness in my stomach, I start to feel…dirty. The same way I used to feel when a towel would brush across my nipples as a child, the same way I felt when my half-brother’s grandpa would massage my shoulders or hug me just a little too long, the same way I felt when my former boyfriend stuck his hands down my pants when we were making out when I didn’t want him to: dirty, disgusted, whorish, shameful. All I want to do is take a million hot showers and scrub until my skin falls off. Anything to get rid of this feeling. I want to cry and shout all at the same time but I can’t.

I talk about this in process group and my counselor compares it to sexual violation. Many girls feel violated after eating, as if they’ve been raped by food itself, she says. I have never heard of this before, but I suppose it makes some sense.

It doesn’t stop for quite some time. I feel it after every meal and am forced to sit in it for however long it lasts. The one thing that is supposed to nourish me is the one thing that violates me; how am I supposed to trust it when it makes me feel so shameful?

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Compulsive Overeater VS. Anorectic

When I started this blog, it began as a tool of my recovery as I continued my journey with Overeaters Anonymous, a 12-step program for eating disorders. If you are a new reader, and you go back to the beginning of this blog, you’ll see that the entries I wrote in 2007 were very different than the ones I write now.

I don’t talk much about the program anymore, even though I do occasionally post 12-step work. I feel disconnected from the program, especially now that I am in relapse, but even more so because the majority of people in the meetings are compulsive overeaters. What is strange is that I felt such at home with OA and never saw the differences of compulsive overeating and anorexia. I never once thought that the people there were lazy, or fat, or struggling with a problem lesser than mine. I never once thought that maybe, on some level, those who saw me secretly resented me for being underweight and not having issues with food as they did. I never saw those things, because recovery was too important for me to let those things get in the way. If people had issues, those issues were no business of mine, and if I had issues, then I wasn’t following the OA tradition of putting “principles before personalities.”

Now that I am in relapse, I see things totally differently. I don’t like talking about my relapse. I don’t like “complaining” about how hard it is to eat normally. I don’t like saying how I feel like I’m fat. Why? Because I know most of these overweight people who struggle with binge eating disorder are probably offended in some way.

I started the first OA group on facebook and a fellow member said she wished she could shake those who were underweight in order to convince them they weren’t fat. She went on to say how jealous she was of us, and how we had nothing to complain about until we knew what it felt like to be 200 + pounds.

Without going into too much detail and breaking anonymity, I responded by stating that posts like hers are part of the reason why I don’t feel comfortable speaking up about anorexia in an Overeaters Anonymous meeting. She then responded how she understood because she “used to be anorexic” but that it still frustrated her to see underweight people complain about being fat. For an “anorexic” who “understands,” I find it hard to believe she would get frustrated at someone who legitimately felt they were fat. She justified her rant by saying how people like me make her feel like crap because she wishes she could look like us. Last time I checked, how YOU feel is YOUR responsibility. I’m also pretty sure my weight, all 80 whopping pounds of it, does not have the power to make you feel like crap.

I can see how one can get frustrated. I, too, get frustrated when the Abercrombie-wearing, big sunglass-sporting, bleach-blonde, duck-lipped teenager complains about how fat she is when clearly, she knows she isn’t. But there’s a HUGE difference between that type of person and a person who sits in an OA meeting who may be desperate for help and in need of support.

If I could go to Eating Disorders Anonymous or Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous, I would. But unfortunately, I don’t have the luxury of living in LA or San Francisco where all those meetings are held. So until then, I will continue to attend OA. In the end, we ALL have issues with weight and food regardless if we are underweight and restricting, overweight and bingeing, or a mixture of both. I may not understand what it feels to be overweight. You may not understand what it feels like to be underweight. But regardless of what weight we are, we are all judged in one way or another. Being overweight sucks. But being very underweight isn’t a party either. Please don’t tell me you wish to be like me. An eating disorder is an eating disorder, and regardless of what we look like, we ALL feel like SHIT in the end.

Edit: BRILLIANT! She went on to say how anorectics don’t overeat (as in, AN ANOREXIC WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND WHAT IT’S LIKE!). I kindly let her know that I binge quite often. Her response? “But you only overeat because if you don’t you will die! I am fat and don’t need to overeat but I do anyway!”

*face palm to the highest degree.*

My Flaws (Step 4)

So I’m working on Step 4 of the 12 steps. The first part is to write about my flaws and then come up with assets that refute those flaws.

My list was pretty extensive and included being afraid, avoidant, careless, conceited, deceitful, dependent, dishonest, envying, exaggerating, forgetful, impatient, insecure, justifying, lazy, pessimistic, procrastinates, and rationalizing.

With these though, I was able to think of assets that refuted them. For example, in terms of my dishonesty, I’m actually quite honest when doing step work and writing in here, not being afraid to tell the truth about who I am or what I do.

However, there were four flaws that I literally could NOT think of assets to, so I’m assuming those are the ones I need to work on most:

Gossiping
Inconsiderate
Self-destructive
Selfish

Gossiping: I talk way too much about people behind their back, especially at work. When someone is talking crap about someone that I don’t like, I don’t hesitate to join in on the conversation. When I know something “juicy,” I seldom keep it to myself and tell it to anyone I know who would appreciate the information.

Inconsiderate: I rarely take other people’s feelings into consideration.  My husband often surprises me with little romantic things and I never do. When people ask me how I am, I often answer and forget to ask them how THEY are doing. I often zone out when people are talking to me about something I don’t care about (even if they DO care). I don’t put my clients first nor do I really care where they go after they graduate from my program. I don’t send birthday cards to those who send me one.

Self-destructive: I almost didn’t even circle this one, but then I figured restricting my food intake and severely limiting my vegetable and fruit intake is doing damage to my body in the long run. The emotional toll it takes is pretty high as well. I’m angry/irritable more days than not.

Selfish: Putting my life in danger is selfish and unfair to my loved ones and potential children. I often get upset when our money is spent on unnecessary things but don’t think twice when I buy binge foods or new shoes or make-up. All of my actions are usually for my benefit.

Even when I was in hardcore recovery, I still struggled with these behaviors. But when I was in recovery, I had a better grasp of what was reality and could stop myself when I recognized the behaviors. In my eating disorder, I fully give into these things and don’t think twice. It made me feel like shit when I couldn’t think of an asset to go with these four flaws, but at the same time, at least I recognize them in this mind frame (seeing them as negative) vs. the ED mind frame (not giving a fuck).

They say you can’t fully work the steps unless you are abstinent from your eating disorder. That’s probably true. When I ask myself, “Can you stop yourself from being inconsiderate?” I think so, but at the same time, I’m more likely to be considerate of others when I’m thinking straight and not irritable from starving. I’m more likely be concerned with others when I’m eating healthy and taking care of my body. I’m more likely shut my mouth when I can be secure with myself and not needing the constant attention of others. And that is all easier when I am content, present, and well-fed.

So can I continue with the steps while I’m still restricting? I can try, but I’m not so sure how beneficial it will be, especially because I’m only really on Step 3 in my heart. Step 1, admit you have a problem. Check. Step 2, came to believe in a Higher Power. Check. Step 3, surrender. I’ve got nothing for you there.

Step 3 for me would be to eat three, moderate meals a day and to surrender my weight.

I keep saying, “Well, I’ll surrender my weight once I hit below 78 pounds.”

Which goes completely against what surrendering actually means.  Surrendering means no conditions or terms, and unfortunately, I can’t do it yet.

We’re All Still Alive

I go through my facebook friends and visit the profiles of all the girls I knew from inpatient.On the outside we all look happy, joyous, and free. Some of us got married, a few of us had children. Some of us did neither, although that doesn’t change the fact that if a stranger looked at us all, he or she wouldn’t care to guess all of us ever had eating disorders.

My mouse strays to friends of friends and I see even more girls from back then — all looking healthy and ED free.

I messaged the ones I’m friends with asking if they ever went back — the majority said that although they don’t feel residential helped them much, in the long run most of them found recovery. The common denominator for that was having a child — I guess carrying a baby in your womb and giving birth to your own flesh and blood will change your priorities.

Some just happened to grow out of their eating disorders.

So I ask myself — were any of us really that sick in residential, or are many of us just masking an ED behind our children, our marriages, our jobs, and our lifestyles? I mean, I thought eating disorders had the highest relapse rates? Why are none of them SICK anymore?

That’s one thing I’ll never know, but the one thing I do know is that we are all still alive and ticking. Nobody looks bone-thin, nobody looks hungover, nobody looks overweight, nobody looks hauntingly sad. The competitor in me thinks, “Thank God, nobody is thinner than I am.” The eating disorder in me thinks, “God, did these girls ever really have serious eating disorders? You mean to tell me NONE of these girls are still SUFFERING as I am?”

I know, I know. You don’t have to look like you have an eating disorder to have one. But the pessimist in me asks, “Why hasn’t anybody died yet?”

Maybe some have and I just don’t know about it. But out of all the girls I went into treatment with, only four of us were visually underweight. The 60-pound, 25-year-old woman who had a heart attack is still alive and working as a CRN at the same facility we received treatment from. Still underweight, too. The others? They don’t have facebooks. Who knows if they are doing well or not.

I used to pride myself as one of the only “recovered” ones from treatment. I used to look down on those who failed to continue a treatment/recovery program after they got out. And now look at me. I’m stuck in the same thought processes and behaviors I had before I entered Rader.

And for today, I’m choosing to manage the eating disorder. If I can perform well at my job, perform well in my relationship, perform well with my responsibilities, and manage my health, what is there to feel guilty for?

Oh and…weighing everyday makes me crazy. But not weighing everyday also makes me crazy. I was 79.8 pounds on Saturday morning. This morning I was 81.2. Water weight I’m sure, especially as I don’t think I went over 1000 calories yesterday, but really? If only I could weigh just once a week.

PS: Yesterday I started feeling pain in the left side of my chest. It’s a small spot slightly above my breast. The spot feels like when you have a bruise. It’s only tender when you press on it, although yesterday it also hurt when I would inhale deeply or laugh. It feels more like a chest muscle thing vs. a heart thing, although I have to admit I wouldn’t know what a heart thing even felt like. Thoughts?

Finally Back in the 70s

It’s hard sitting in 12 step meetings with the notion you have given up on changing your ED behaviors. Because then you sit there and say, “Okay, I am working a recovery program, but around what if it’s not the food?”

I ate a cupcake, cookie, and ten almonds yesterday so by the time the meeting rolled around my mind felt fried. I couldn’t put thoughts together and the thought of having to open my mouth and speak made my heart race. I was afraid I wouldn’t eve be able to put a coherent sentence together. I was so weak and tired from not eating that all I wanted to do was sleep.

When it finally got to my turn, despite feeling everything above, words did manage to explode out of my mouth and tears ensued. I told them I had no problems now with Step 1 (admitting a problem) and Step 2 (believing a Higher Power can help me) but Step 3 (turning everything over, or in other words, letting go of the ED) was a whole different story.

I feel tugged in different directions. I feel like the more I make myself vulnerable, the more I betray my eating disorder. It wants to be thoroughly protected and every time I go and speak in a meeting, it’s like I am slowly getting pulled away from the depths of something that already has a firm grip on me.

This morning a bulimic man from the meeting called me and told me he has been where I am now. Not wanting to give up the behaviors. Everything he was saying was making perfect sense, but all the while I could hear my ED telling me not to listen…because if I listened and took what he said to heart, I may actually get closer to wanting recovery again.

My eating disorder can’t have that.

Especially since I am finally 79 pounds again.

That will most likely change this weekend, but just the fact that I haven’t seen that number since Thanskgiving weekend? I am happy. My new work schedule almost makes it easy to eat less. I am actually excited for the week to come to see if I can continue this weight loss.

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Weight Restoration

When is weight restoration necessary in the the treatment of eating disorders? (Note that this entry is based on opinion only. I am not a health care provider and am not giving health advice.)

I would say weight restoration should be reserved for those anorectics who are significantly under their pre-eating disorder, adult weight and/or those whose weight is significantly affecting their physical health.

Now, when I began seeing a therapist a few months ago, she considered me alarmingly thin and felt I needed residential treatment. My coworkers, who saw me sparingly, felt I had lost a significant amount of weight and thought it was quite noticeable. But those who knew me best and saw me on a daily basis rarely commented on my weight, and my husband, the person who saw me every single day and the only person to ever see me naked, didn’t even recognize I had a problem. In fact, he still considers me curvy and does not think I am too thin.

So why is this?

Those who don’t know me well don’t know I am naturally underweight. My normal, adult weight is around 93 pounds. And for those wondering, I am 5’0. So 93 pounds is actually fairly normal, and given that I am 80 pounds now, it’s not that big of a deal compared to a 120 pound person who starves their way down to the same weight.

My therapist and corworkers don’t think to take these things into consideration. I have always been small regardless of my eating disorder.

So when I say I would like to at least maintain my weight, I don’t think that’s irrational. Is it that imperative that I gain a measly 13 pounds? Is my body going to drastically work better at that weight? And on the other hand, am I really doing any damage at the weight I am now? I can’t fathom a 13 pound difference would change anything either way.

Feel free to correct me and I will humbly take your evidence, but until someone can give me a rational explanation as to why the weight I am at is dangerous, I won’t consider weight restoration.

I am tired of doctors saying, “You may be fine now, but later down the road your body will start deteriorating.” Well, ten years of on-again, off-again anorexia seems to be treating my body just fine. Am I irritable? Sure. Am I fatigued? Definitely. Do I find it hard to move on some days? Absolutley. But my period is in tact, my head seems to think clearly, I’ve never fainted, dizziness is non-existant, my hair is long and thick, my EKGs are awesome, my vitals are normal, and doctor’s give me a clean bill of health every time I go for a visit.

Is weight restoration really critical in ALL anorectics, or is it just ingrained into society that weight restoration is a must? I feel like my past weight and history are not taken into account when people see my body shape and they assume I must gain 30 pounds to be considered healthy.

I am not writing this entry to rationalize my eating disorder. I am writing it to get people’s opinions on the subject. Do you feel like weight restoration is a must, regardless of the person’s natural body weight?