Being recovered is a beautiful thing. That being said, I still find myself in a few eating disordered dilemmas. The one I'm thinking of specifically is those full vs. fat feelings and how to deal with them. While I definitely battle this issue still today, I am finally beginning to master the belief that full can never equal fat.
On any given day, I eat several "mini meals". I do this not only because everyone and their doctors say it is the healthy thing to do, but also because I find that it allows me to avoid that overly full feeling that I so often translate into meaning I am fat (a word I absolutely hate using, which I will from here on out refer to as "the f-word"). Anyway, eating these mini meals has permitted me to never feel too hungry, a feeling that absolutely invades me and makes it near impossible for me to function during just about any task, and to never feel too full. I have always hated the fact that full so often translates to the f-word for me.
Recently, as a recovered woman/hardcore survivor extraordinaire, I have made the discovery that the issue of full vs. the f-word is not an issue unique to those with eating disorders! What a revelation! Here I am, recovered, thinking, "What is wrong with me? Why do I still feel this way?", when BAM, it occurs to me that this is a feeling many, if not most women deal with everyday! Okay so, I am not alone, and neither are any of you!
It is not only the culture of the eating disordered that deals with these strange beliefs, but the culture of all American women. Living with the totally rad American Media has turned us all into self-doubters! It's rather depressing, if you ask me, that we beautiful, strong, well-represented American women feel it necessary to eat only a yogurt before going out for the night because eating dinner simply must mean that we will not fit into our cute little party dresses!
Well I am through with this whole full vs. the f-word bull. It is ridiculous to assume that any meal would cause myself (or any of you) to experience a significant/noticeable weight gain.
I am officially putting my size 8 feet DOWN.
Here it is, my vow: I vow to always eat when I am hungry and until I am full. I vow to put on my hottest party dress and totally rock it whenever I desire because no amount of food will make me any less sexy.
Your turn! Challenge that full vs. the f-word feelings! Think of an activity that you dread feeling so "the f-word" for and tell yourself now that you will, from here on out, feel AMAZING no matter what every time you do whatever it is you do.
I believe in you! We can all beat this!
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Fed up and freed
When I was wrapped up in Bulimia and Anorexia, nothing else ever mattered. Mirrors defined my existence and I only ever saw what my eating disorder allowed me to see. For the past few months, leading up to my recent realization that I am now recovered versus recovering, I have begun to notice things. All kinds of things. It is as though for the first time in my life, I am completely in control of how I perceive everything I come in contact with. Yes, there are occasions during which I find myself doubting my body and even some specific features, but for the most part, I not only see my body as it really is for the first time in my life, but I see the world around me free of eating disordered thoughts that tend to alter reality.
Seeing the world (and myself) free of an eating disorder is almost like seeing the world for the first time. I once was lost in my own world, a world defined by my warped sense of reality. Honestly, it wasn't until only recently that I managed to escape that world and join reality. I mean, of course I still live in my own variation of reality, as we all do, but today that variation is more accurate and only exists for the sake of protecting my sanity against the cruelness that has always existed in our world.
I came to this new place for many reasons: I wanted happiness, to love my body and personality, the ability to take my clothes off and share my body with man I love completely unreserved, and to prove to the people who have been by my side from the very first day I was in the hospital, and all throughout this battle, that I am not immedicable, but instead am invincible and resilient. All of these reasons factored into my desire to recover, but one reason, above all others, pushed me to where I am today.
I was fed up.
I was fed up with my eating disorder. I was fed up with hating myself, weighing myself, and most of all, killing myself, all in the name of Bulimia and Anorexia. I could no longer be sick, it was not an option. Not only had my eating disorder instructed my to cause unnecessary harm to my body in multiple ways for years, but it stole my soul. For years I had been living inside a cage, trapped deep within myself, no hope of getting out. For years I was convinced that there was no way I would ever ever ever recover.
I was sixteen when I attempted suicide. It was the twenty-second of October, I had only been sixteen for under a month. I had just had the most perfect sweet sixteen any girl could ever ask for. Thinking back to the day I overdosed, I cannot explain exactly what was going through my mind. I thought to myself, "This is too much. I'm doing everything right and I'm still not thin enough and I'm still not happy enough." I had convinced myself that if I did die from this overdose, I would finally be at peace. However, deep inside myself, I did not expect to die. I attempted suicide because I did not know how to ask for the help I needed. There was no way I could tell my mother and father about my eating disorder. I knew no other way so I did it, I tried to kill myself.
I blacked out and woke up vomiting and screaming. I somehow had the mind to change my clothing (probably led by my eating disorder) and was immediately rushed to the emergency room where my system had to be flushed. My levels were completely out of sorts, not only because I had just overdosed but because it had been weeks since I actually ate something without forcing it to leave my system immediately.
It took seven days for me to fully recover from my overdose. While I was still in the I.C.U., during morning rounds, the doctor overseeing my case would ask me if there was anything I needed to tell him, like if I had an eating disorder. I said no each time. Finally one night, I pulled a medical student into my room, broke down crying, and told her that I did in fact have an eating disorder. She was clueless, but the message was passed on.
The next day, I told everyone again, including my family, and it was decided that upon leaving the hospital I would enter treatment. That was a little over four years ago. Nothing worked, nothing stuck, I would just lie and pretend I was doing better for the sake of my family.
Finally last October, I found a new psychologist. He helped me talk through things and set small, achievable goals. It was the first time that things began to click. Of course it helped that I had decided to recover myself this time, instead of others deciding for me, but without those twice weekly sessions, I would have never made it here this fast.
I was fed up. I was fed up but now I am free. I am finally free after years of torment, years of self-loathing, years of destroying my beautiful body. I write this today as a survivor, and a very proud one at that. On my twentieth birthday I vowed that this decade, and every other decade of my life to follow, would be eating disorder free. I will not relapse. I will never go back to that cage deep within myself. My eating disorder is a part of my past and my present is my recovery and every day after that I promise to live free.
I will never be bound by the shackles that once held me, for they had no business being there in the first place.
Seeing the world (and myself) free of an eating disorder is almost like seeing the world for the first time. I once was lost in my own world, a world defined by my warped sense of reality. Honestly, it wasn't until only recently that I managed to escape that world and join reality. I mean, of course I still live in my own variation of reality, as we all do, but today that variation is more accurate and only exists for the sake of protecting my sanity against the cruelness that has always existed in our world.
I came to this new place for many reasons: I wanted happiness, to love my body and personality, the ability to take my clothes off and share my body with man I love completely unreserved, and to prove to the people who have been by my side from the very first day I was in the hospital, and all throughout this battle, that I am not immedicable, but instead am invincible and resilient. All of these reasons factored into my desire to recover, but one reason, above all others, pushed me to where I am today.
I was fed up.
I was fed up with my eating disorder. I was fed up with hating myself, weighing myself, and most of all, killing myself, all in the name of Bulimia and Anorexia. I could no longer be sick, it was not an option. Not only had my eating disorder instructed my to cause unnecessary harm to my body in multiple ways for years, but it stole my soul. For years I had been living inside a cage, trapped deep within myself, no hope of getting out. For years I was convinced that there was no way I would ever ever ever recover.
I was sixteen when I attempted suicide. It was the twenty-second of October, I had only been sixteen for under a month. I had just had the most perfect sweet sixteen any girl could ever ask for. Thinking back to the day I overdosed, I cannot explain exactly what was going through my mind. I thought to myself, "This is too much. I'm doing everything right and I'm still not thin enough and I'm still not happy enough." I had convinced myself that if I did die from this overdose, I would finally be at peace. However, deep inside myself, I did not expect to die. I attempted suicide because I did not know how to ask for the help I needed. There was no way I could tell my mother and father about my eating disorder. I knew no other way so I did it, I tried to kill myself.
I blacked out and woke up vomiting and screaming. I somehow had the mind to change my clothing (probably led by my eating disorder) and was immediately rushed to the emergency room where my system had to be flushed. My levels were completely out of sorts, not only because I had just overdosed but because it had been weeks since I actually ate something without forcing it to leave my system immediately.
It took seven days for me to fully recover from my overdose. While I was still in the I.C.U., during morning rounds, the doctor overseeing my case would ask me if there was anything I needed to tell him, like if I had an eating disorder. I said no each time. Finally one night, I pulled a medical student into my room, broke down crying, and told her that I did in fact have an eating disorder. She was clueless, but the message was passed on.
The next day, I told everyone again, including my family, and it was decided that upon leaving the hospital I would enter treatment. That was a little over four years ago. Nothing worked, nothing stuck, I would just lie and pretend I was doing better for the sake of my family.
Finally last October, I found a new psychologist. He helped me talk through things and set small, achievable goals. It was the first time that things began to click. Of course it helped that I had decided to recover myself this time, instead of others deciding for me, but without those twice weekly sessions, I would have never made it here this fast.
I was fed up. I was fed up but now I am free. I am finally free after years of torment, years of self-loathing, years of destroying my beautiful body. I write this today as a survivor, and a very proud one at that. On my twentieth birthday I vowed that this decade, and every other decade of my life to follow, would be eating disorder free. I will not relapse. I will never go back to that cage deep within myself. My eating disorder is a part of my past and my present is my recovery and every day after that I promise to live free.
I will never be bound by the shackles that once held me, for they had no business being there in the first place.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
One year free
I have been in recovery from my eating disorder for one year today. I just spent the last 20 minutes sobbing from happiness and I feel the most pure feeling of joy and sense of accomplishment that I have ever felt.
I used to cry, scream, hit my chest and pull at my skin saying, "It's right here (grabbing my chest). I can feel it. My eating disorder is right here and I can't get it out. I can feel it. It's right here." I was hysterical then.
Today I feel nothing where my eating disorder used to be, nothing but myself. For the first time in my life I am whole. I thought this day would never come. I told myself that if it did, I would probably feel the same, but I feel different today. I feel that I am no longer in recovery. Instead, I am recovered.
Recovered. I love saying it. I want to go outside and tell everyone I see. I give myself so much hope. I can describe my battle with Bulimia and Anorexia as my own personal war. I really do feel as though I have just survived the longest and most trying battle of my life. What's amazing is that I beat myself, I beat this evil part of myself, this part of me that controlled my life for nine years. Even more amazing? I've got so much life left to live and now I am going to live it recovered from my eating disorder.
I wrote all of that yesterday on my one year recovered, but unfortunately was not able to post it until now. I also wrote a Facebook status that received more likes and comments from my friends than anything I have ever posted. I have a little over 200 Facebook friends and I felt that posting this status was my version of screaming my story from the rooftops.
Hey guys, I've been in recovery for one whole year today! For 365 days I have been eating disorder free. So let me say this, because I have been waiting 8766.1536 hours (and some change) to do so: I AM RECOVERED. It is possible. I am the evidence. For those of you still struggling, hang on, you will get here someday... And when you do, it's going to be the BEST FUCKING DAY OF YOUR LIFE!
I write this blog because I believe that the story of recovery is more important than the story of being ill. I hope to inspire large numbers of people to take the first step towards healthier lives. It begins today. I challenge those of you who are still struggling to take one small step towards recovery. Whether it be eating lunch (because it is lunch time after all) or maybe a sweet snack in between meals, or even trying to not weigh yourself today. Whatever it is, I challenge you to take this small step towards recovery. It all begins with one step. I KNOW YOU CAN DO THIS!
And so from the place in my chest that used to be filled with illness but is now filled with hope for my future and peace of mind, I wish you all the best of luck in recovery. Remember that it takes time, for some it takes years, for me it took 365 days; however long it takes doesn't matter, as long as I see you here soon.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Hard times
When life gets in the way, it is so hard to stay healthy.
I just have to make it to Sunday. Sunday and this will all be over. Sunday makes one year recovered. After one year, I can do anything.
Right?
I just have to make it to Sunday. Sunday and this will all be over. Sunday makes one year recovered. After one year, I can do anything.
Right?
Monday, November 7, 2011
Meaning
Many of you reading this are probably wondering the meaning behind the title of this blog, "Sitting With Discomfort", so here's the scoop.
About four years ago, I began my journey towards recovery in an intensive outpatient treatment center located in Hartford, Connecticut. After meals we would have some down time in the main room sitting on couches, popping Gas-X after Gas-X (the save-all for girls in recovery with stomach pain), sitting in a very sad silence. This time ranged anywhere from 15 to sometimes 30 minutes of just sitting after each meal, sitting with so much psychological and real pain thanks to the meals we had just eaten. This sitting is what I began to refer to as sitting with discomfort.
Throughout my life I have had to do a lot of sitting with discomfort: in Doctor's waiting rooms, in hospital beds, in therapeutic sessions, during every single meal, and even in my own home. Sitting with discomfort is as much a part of an eating disorder as food itself.
About four years ago, I began my journey towards recovery in an intensive outpatient treatment center located in Hartford, Connecticut. After meals we would have some down time in the main room sitting on couches, popping Gas-X after Gas-X (the save-all for girls in recovery with stomach pain), sitting in a very sad silence. This time ranged anywhere from 15 to sometimes 30 minutes of just sitting after each meal, sitting with so much psychological and real pain thanks to the meals we had just eaten. This sitting is what I began to refer to as sitting with discomfort.
Throughout my life I have had to do a lot of sitting with discomfort: in Doctor's waiting rooms, in hospital beds, in therapeutic sessions, during every single meal, and even in my own home. Sitting with discomfort is as much a part of an eating disorder as food itself.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Nightmare or a faint look into my future?
I had a dream I was in treatment again. It was so strange.
It was in an inpatient facility and was a "family day" and I somehow was in a room with some other girl's family. Her waspy mother was grilling me about how sick I was [appeared to be] and how many times I had been in treatment. I had answered that I had been through this sort of thing many times before and that sometimes it stuck with me and others it didn't. She was very displeased with what I said, as though it meant her own child would also be doomed to my treatment pattern.
In the dream I kept panicking because my neck felt "too big", something I have never been preoccupied with in real life. I notice now that my neck feels bigger than it did in the dream, but I am not sure if this means anything.
On top of that, I was trying to run away the entire time. I found myself running, searching for back doors but upon finding one door, I realized it was locked, and so on until I had exhausted all measures and found only locked doors.
What does this dream mean? Is this dream a manifestation of some fucked up desire to be ill or a sign that I will never truly escape my eating disorder? Could this be a look into my future if I do not stay healthy or is this just my fears being laid out for me to see?
One of my biggest fears definitely is falling victim to my eating disorder yet again. For me, nothing would be worse than my life once again being controlled by Bulimia and Anorexia. I fight so hard every second of every day to push through any temptations and keep my eye on my goal: one year recovered.
I feel so close. I am SO close.
But what does this dream mean?
It was in an inpatient facility and was a "family day" and I somehow was in a room with some other girl's family. Her waspy mother was grilling me about how sick I was [appeared to be] and how many times I had been in treatment. I had answered that I had been through this sort of thing many times before and that sometimes it stuck with me and others it didn't. She was very displeased with what I said, as though it meant her own child would also be doomed to my treatment pattern.
In the dream I kept panicking because my neck felt "too big", something I have never been preoccupied with in real life. I notice now that my neck feels bigger than it did in the dream, but I am not sure if this means anything.
On top of that, I was trying to run away the entire time. I found myself running, searching for back doors but upon finding one door, I realized it was locked, and so on until I had exhausted all measures and found only locked doors.
What does this dream mean? Is this dream a manifestation of some fucked up desire to be ill or a sign that I will never truly escape my eating disorder? Could this be a look into my future if I do not stay healthy or is this just my fears being laid out for me to see?
One of my biggest fears definitely is falling victim to my eating disorder yet again. For me, nothing would be worse than my life once again being controlled by Bulimia and Anorexia. I fight so hard every second of every day to push through any temptations and keep my eye on my goal: one year recovered.
I feel so close. I am SO close.
But what does this dream mean?
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