I never thought I would find myself in a locked inpatient unit in a private hospital in a town in Massachusetts I had never previously heard of. I found myself there in late October 2012. I checked myself in, I fought my insurance to be on A LOCKED UNIT two hours from all of the people I knew and loved. I was ready to fight for my life, though I had no idea what that actually meant.
I must admit, the drive to Walden was actually one of the best I’ve ever had. I recruited my willing boyfriend to be my driver and we listened to our favorite music for two and a half hours on the highway. It was peaceful. It was peaceful until we pulled into the parking lot and I immediately broke into tears. I was afraid to go in. I did not want to wheel in my luggage and say goodbye to my love, or loves. I knew that by walking into that building, I was saying goodbye to my best friend, my worst enemy, my confidant, and my secret all rolled up in one. I was saying goodbye to my eating disorder.
My eating disorder and I had been in a steady and committed relationship for ten years the day I walked through the cold metal double doors of Alcott Unit. My eating disorder was everything to me. I would rather stay at home alone and starve then see me friends, go to class, love my boyfriend. I was a slave to my eating disorder for ten years.
It started out small, purging after a few meals, really hating on myself each time I passed a mirror; but as the years when on, it escalated. I began to binge, purge, restrict, and abuse diet pills, water pills, laxatives, and the like, all to aid my eating disorder. I even tried turning to drugs to quiet the self-hating person I had become, but even they could not hold my interest like my eating disorder. I would rather be hungry, light-headed, and alone, then loved and having just had a meal. Really I cannot put into words how stuck I was on my eating disorder.
Despite being so stuck, I knew something had to change. I had so many dreams for myself as a young girl, and I began to notice that, as a young woman, I wasn’t achieving any of them. I knew I had to make a change. Thus, I checked myself into the hospital. (Actually it wasn’t as easy as just checking myself in, but for the sake of the story, we’ll say it was.)
I stayed inpatient that last time for only seven days, but it was the most healing seven days of my life. I struggled to put on weight at first, but I held fast, I did not give up (though mentally I wanted to). I ate 100% of all of my meals while I was inpatient in Alcott. I decided when I checked in that I was going to eat my meals despite the pain. I knew that if I needed it, nurses and doctors, clinicians and my loved ones were there to support me.
Through each meal plan increase, I pushed forward. I don’t know what it was that gave me the strength to fight, I honestly never knew that I even had any. Through 5 a.m. vitals, supervised bathroom trips, timed meals, and therapeutic groups, I got better. I left Alcott still sick, still underweight, still fighting for my life, but I left a different woman. I had strength, I had new skills, I could fight this disease. And I did. And I still am, in different ways.
Through my survival, rehabilitation, and recovery, I have grown into a woman (both physically and emotionally) and am back on track with my life. I’m in love more than ever with myself. Huh, never thought I’d be able to write that. My next goal is to believe it.
