Alcott Unit

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. 

I haven't posted in such a long time. Here is something that has been on my mind.

Before going inpatient I wrote a list of my reasons to recover. I would like to share that list with you now.

• Because hating myself is exhausting.
• For all the things I haven’t done.
• Because I would never wish this pain upon someone else.
• To be able to achieve my dreams.
• To go to a restaurant and order impulsively without studying the menu for days beforehand.
• To be free.
• To feel complete.
• Because I am stronger than my eating disorder.
• Because life is fuller when I am full.
• Because the fridge isn’t a battlefield and food is not the enemy.
• To be able to go to a party and not cry about what I ate there.
• Because birthday cake should be a celebration, not a mental breakdown.
• So I can love myself as much as others love me.

I have been out of treatment since January 2013, and while every day is an uphill battle and recovery is a lifelong process, I am indescribably happy to be where I am in this moment. I never thought I would be able to change the tapes that played in my mind for so many years, telling me I was never going to be good enough, that I was fat, ugly, and that no one would ever love me.

I was so wrong for so many years. I see the light, I am now on the greener grass I always dreamed of. I did this, but not without the help of my loving family, close friends, and Walden Behavioral Care.I wish this for you all: that you can wake up and know what it is like to be free of your eating disorder, or whatever has its grips on you. Life is so much richer when you let yourself out of the shadows and into the light. Here's to recovery and all of its splendor. L'chaim! If this moves you, please feel free to share it. I am proud of my journey.

Dark

Eighteen hours of darkness
The highest suicide rate
One would think that the Swedes would see beauty in the night
There is more to the dark than meets the eye
Or what doesn't meet the eye, I suppose
It's so dark, one cannot see

Darkness means not death
But rest
Break for a new day
A new beginning
Those 18 hours of dark are an offering from the skies
A gift full of sleep
Full of passion

Imaginations cultivate under to moonlight sky
I much prefer it that way

The still, the quiet, the tranquility of dusk sets my mind apart from all else
Apart from the pain
Offers a distraction from the food, the abuse, the hurt

The best judgement comes in the night
Evening uncovers the finest of crowds
Surrounded by the cold blanket of the dark sky

If I were to have eighteen hours of darkness, I'd not commit
But I'd live every moment more than ever before

Darkness inspires
Darkness constructs and crafts

Enjoy the mysteries of the night
The gifts of the darkness

For darkness is the light
For darkness is the essence of all creation, of all man-kind

Dark

I just want to beat my eating disorder once and for all

Like nothing I've ever wanted before

I just want this fight to be over

... And I want to win

And did I mention that I'm very competitive?

NEDA Week Begins!

Today begins National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) Awareness Week! This week is filled with activities, seminars, and walks all over the country fighting to raise awareness and funding for eating disorders. While I am doing my part this week, the only thing on my mind will be the future: my future and the future of every other person struggling with this horrific illness.

What we have been through will not be in vain. Someday, funding for eating disorder research will be equal to or greater than the highest funded illness, to reflect the fact that eating disorders have the highest mortality rate. Someday, jokes about eating disorders will not be spoken in conversation or at parties because people will finally understand the severity of these illnesses.

What we have been through, my friends with eating disorders, has not been in vain. Someday we will ALL recover, we will all be free of the shackles, strong enough to fight Ed's voice every single day of our lives, and most important, we will dedicate our lives to raising awareness and helping others, those we love and maybe even strangers, fight this illness until it is gone forever.

xoxo A friend in the fight

Still on Ed's terms

Last night Ben sent me a text:

I don't care what we do tomorrow (Valentine's Day), as long as you know how beautiful I think you are.

My body image has left something to be desired lately. It comes and goes in waves, I'm sure some of you can relate. I've been behavior free for 15 months but I still have days, if not weeks sometimes, where I fear getting out of bed and letting the world see my face, my body.

It's like I'm at odds with myself these days. I'm so recovered in the sense that I never even consider purging, restricting, or any of my other old behaviors; but I feel as though lately, being "recovered" is not enough. Will I ever reach a day when instead of considering myself recovered, I simply don't consider myself in the terms of my eating disorder at all? 

This is a scary concept, but one I may want to welcome into my life someday.

On the one hand, I feel a strong attachment to the battle that I fought for so many years to beat Bulimia, and with that attachment comes one to my sisters in the fight, the ones I know and the ones I don't. If you aren't one of us, you may not understand the deep connection we have to one another. My friends who have battled eating disorders are some of the most important people in the world to me, and we hardly ever see each other. It's a deep, almost spiritual connection that binds us together. We know what each other went through, on a level no "normal" person could ever understand.

On the other hand, I want to close the door on this part of my life. I want to forget so much of the years I was clouded by this illness. I did some horrible things to myself, to my family, my friends. During the time I was in the grips of Ed, I did irreversible damage to relationships and to my own psyche.

Just last week I was driving home and I caught myself thinking about some of the unspeakable things I did during my worst years. I had this thought that I would pay any amount of money to be hypnotized to forget any of it ever happened. Sometimes I cannot bare to think of the things Ed made me do. It's horrifying.

Just when I thought I was done being "at a crossroads", I find myself heading down a new path. Maybe I won't forget about my eating disorder, but one day, I hope to really put it all behind me.

The dentist (devil)

On Monday morning I went to the dentist for the first time in over three years. Why had it been so long? That answer is easy: I was bulimic, ashamed, and in pain. The very idea of going to the dentist caused me so much anxiety during the years I was sick, many of which I was a minor and didn't have a choice about going. I have a wonderful dentist, don't get me wrong, but I wanted no one snooping around inside my torn up mouth.

About a year ago I made it into the office, into the private room with the hygienist and everything. As soon as she uttered the words, "It's been a long time since you've been here, so this will probably take awhile", I broke into hysterics. I cried, ran out of the office, and sat in my car, having a full-blown panic attack for almost an hour before I had the courage to drive home.

I was offended. I had told my dentist I was a Bulimic, I assumed it was in my chart and that her staff would read that chart and be sensitive when dealing with me. I'm not sure if it was in the chart and her staff had no sensitivity to my illness or what, but I was really hurt. I emailed my dentist and asked if she would do the cleaning, she wouldn't, a policy of her's or whatever. I reminded her I was bulimic and that I was nervous about going back and she assured me everything would be fine. Anyway, it took me until my wisdom teeth started coming in to make an appointment.

I wish I hadn't waited so long. I was in so much pain during that appointment. I had so much buildup and was told I have gingivitis. The appointment was an hour long, an hour of agonizing pain. The hygienist was pleasant but condescending and showed no mercy. Did she not know? She kept mentioning how long it had been since my last visit and how I could have done serious damage to my teeth, that I almost had.

It ruined my day. I was sad, irritable, and anxious for hours after.

The point of this post is not to make anyone feel bad for me, but to urge those currently suffering from Bulimia to brave it and go to the dentist, setting their fears aside. I know your mouth hurts, that your gums bleed, and that you are ashamed to tell anyone about your illness. Stop, stop right now. You will feel better in the long run if you go to the dentist and are open about your illness with he or she while you are still sick. I have been recovered for over a year and my decisions to avoid the dentist are still haunting me. Don't ruin your beautiful smile, schedule an appointment with your dentist today and take care of your teeth in hopes of a future where you won't have to go through what I went through or worse.

Take care of your body, you only have one. And as my Grammy always says, "Be true to your teeth, or they'll be false to you."

A new year, free from Ed

When looking back on 2011, one event, one accomplishment really stands out: my recovery. In 2011, I recovered from Bulimia with Anorexic tendencies. I won't be writing too much tonight, as I have champagne, the love of my life, and the first food of 2012 to eat; but I must send a message to all of the women and men still struggling, especially my IOL Loves...

I love you all so much. Let's make this our best, most recovered year yet! You all can do it and I am here to help any and all of you reach your full potential! 2012 is a new year, a year filled with opportunity, promise, and most important: HOPE. I have hope for myself to maintain my new recovered life and hope for you all, strangers and friends alike, to begin a year free from Ed, and filled with recovery.


Happy New Year! Happy Recovery!

Pinch me!

Blown up like a raft? Impossible!

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!

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.

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?

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.

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?

A realization in real time

I only just realized that it is entirely possible that I will live the majority of my life eating disorder free.


Time for some quick math:

• For the better part of a decade, I had an active Eating Disorder
• About a month ago, I turned twenty years old
• As an American woman, my life expectancy is about 80.8

Here it goes: 80 years - 10 years = 70 years. That's seventy years of my life that I have the chance to spend recovered. Think about all the things a person could do in seventy years other than have an eating disorder. The list in endless, my future has never been so bright!

For the last 349 days I have been free from eating disorder behaviors. That's 49 weeks and 6 days without engaging my eating disorder in any physical way. 349 days ago, I was sitting in a sunken-in leather chair in my psychologist's office, telling him there was no hope for me. I believed that I was doomed to live a life filled with self-loathing, torture, and regret. I had almost given up; but I didn't.

Instead, I told myself to take it one day at a time. I began setting small, achievable goals and, before long, I had made it through that first week. I sit here, looking back at the frail young woman I once was and I don't even recognize her as myself. 

Some might say it's a miracle, but I just call it recovery.