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
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
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.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
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."
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."
Sunday, January 1, 2012
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!
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!
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
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!
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!
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.
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