ECT=Electroconvulsive Shock Therapy.  That’s right.  Shock Therapy.  The stuff of horror movies and psychological thrillers.  You know–where people are strapped down onto the table and then, while they’re awake, they go into massive convulsions, sometimes getting bruises or breaking bones and waking up all disoriented and lost. In the 1940s and 1950s, ECT was given without any type of muscle relaxer or anesthetic.

But guess what?  This is 2012, not 1940.  A lot has changed in terms of ECT and how it is administered and exactly what it entails.

First off, we still don’t know exactly how ECT works.  Doctors discovered way back in the 16th century that seizures helped people with severe depression.  Then, they used insulin shock therapy and  then camphor and metrazol therapy.  And yes, they did have to strap patients down in order to prevent severe injury from the convulsions.

Now they use electrode placement on the forehead to induce a seizure.  Over the previous forty years, scientists have done a lot of research and have made a lot of progress as to where to place the electrodes and how much voltage to use and for how long.  We are still unclear about the exact mechanism that makes ECT effective.  All we know is that it is effective, most usually for people with long term, severe, treatment resistant depression.

That description is perfect for me.  I was first diagnosed while I was in junior high.  It’s been a rocky road since then as I’ve seen different doctors (some not all that good) and tried different medications (some better off not taken by me).  Right now, I am more than happy with my treatment team–my therapist, my psychiatrists, my medical doctor, and my cardiologist all are in communication with each other and working together.  AND AND AND I am included in the decision process every step of the way.

Was I nervous going into ECT?  Of course.  I was scared shitless.  But I asked a lot of questions, and my doctors answered them.  They walked me through ECT step-by-step.  One important thing to note is that they use a muscle relaxer via an IV/heplock so that you do not have a seizure on the medical table.  They also give you an anesthetic so you sleep through the whole thing.  They put electrodes on your head, make sure they have them positioned correctly, and then you fall asleep and then all of a sudden you’re waking up in Recovery.

Sometimes I have a headache afterward, but rarely does it ever get to the point that ibuprofen won’t take care of it.  I’m tired that afternoon and often take a nap.  I can still read, write, watch television, play online, knit, and all that normal day-to-day stuff I do.

We don’t know why, but ECT works better for me than any other medical treatment.  I may be looking at long term maintenance ECT, which is fine with me.  This does not mean that I stop working with the rest of my treatment team.  It really is best when it is a concerted effort, with everyone in communication with each other, asking questions if need be.  I would not feel as comfortable with the future prospect of ECT if I didn’t have a team whom fields any type of question I have.  This is not the 1940s–the patient has the right to know what exactly is going to happen and when, regardless of the type of treatment being used.   Your voice is a powerful ally.

Again, if you have any specific questions, please feel free to ask them.  If you want to ask via Formspring, my page is:

http://www.formspring.me/AlexisKatchuk

So I went to my boss’s office.  And I sat down across from her and explained the situation–using those dreaded words like “depression” and “crying” and “sleeping all day” and “increase in treatment.”  I was terrified I’d be fired on the spot.  I was terrified I’d lose my job permanently.  And I didn’t want that.  I’ve been through the depression enough times to know when I honestly don’t like something and when the depression is taking away my abilities.  And this, this is the depression.  And most of the time, I honestly don’t feel like it’s ever going to get any better, which is pretty disheartening.  But I’ve been through this enough to know that it will get better.  I don’t know when.  I have a good idea about how it will get better, but even that isn’t 100% sure knowledge–if it were I’d be healed by now. 

Right now, I am doing my best to remember that this does pass.  With time.  With medication.  With ECT.  With my light box.  With treatment.  With my friends standing beside me.  And, with the knowledge that I still have a job (one that I love) to return to when I am ready.  I have to admit that I am proud of myself for going to talk to my boss and tell her exactly what was going on. 

The point of this entry?  I’m not all that sure.  I know I haven’t been writing as much, thanks to the depression, so I guess this is just an “update post.” 

There are days when I want to give up.  When I think it will be easier.  But as I said, I know this is not a permanent state.  (You should see my journal.  I remind myself of that on a daily basis.)  And I may not feel like I have a lot going for me right now, but I have a family, I have some kick ass friends, and I have a treatment team that is working together to do whatever they can to help me.  I know that this will pass.  At some point.  With treatment and help.  And I will be back in front of that classroom and making corny jokes that only half the class laughs at.

I know ECT raises some questions for people.  If you have any questions about ECT, depression, treatment, and other related things, please feel free to ask:

http://www.formspring.me/AlexisKatchuk

But aside from the trivialities of how they handle snow in the middle of Missouri–why haven’t I been posting?  One of the things I value on my blog is honesty, so I will be upfront in saying that this episode of depression (I have Bipolar Disorder) took one drastic nosedive.  My treatment team and I decided a stay in the hospital was necessary in order to be able to quickly do a complete med change and to get me back on track with the ECT sessions.  Then I came home the next week and was overwhelmed with school and the end of the semester craziness.

It’s now January.  The spring semester has started (I’m an adjunct professor at an area college).  And the depression–still there.  Still rearing it’s ugly head in a ferocious way most of the time.  And I’m bringing this up because depression is often part of an eating disorder–and it’s also often part of the recovery process.

Here are some common ways that people have responded to me telling them I’ve felt depressed lately, both when it was related to the eating disorder and now, after I’ve been in recovery for some time:

“But you look happy.”  “But you’re going to school (or work).”  “But you were just at church last week.”  “You need to get out and have some fun.”  “All you need to do is push through this and it will all get better.”  “I thought you were doing well with the eating disorder?”  “Just keep trying.”  “Keep your chin up.”  “I don’t understand; you were doing so well.”  “You should be happy that your doing better with the eating disorder.”  “Well, at least you aren’t in the hospital.” “Haven’t you been praying?” “Everyone gets sad from time to time.”  “Ugh, I know.  Yesterday was a crappy day for me.”

Some of this is our fault (not the best word choice, I know).  Some of this is society’s fault.  Society in general would like to believe that things are fine and when things aren’t fine, it’s time to change to a new topic of conversation altogether.  Some of these responses are because people who have depression quite often try to hide it from other people, for a wide range of reasons.  For me–I grew up in a family that did not discuss emotions or feelings or moods, and I grew up with the idea that I’m not *supposed* to be depressed.  I was an All Star athlete in all my sports, Salutatorian of my graduation class, drum major, a member of an area youth symphony, and a member of my church choir.  And then I went to college, and the depression got worse and the eating disorder became a very serious issue.  And I still didn’t talk about it.  And with the eating disorder, almost all people who have an eating disorder learn to hide it.  Hiding the depression came with the territory.  And I also felt/feel guilty when I talk to my friends about how I’m feeling because I don’t want to burden them, and I don’t want to worry them.

I guess my point, which I seem to be taking the long way towards getting there, is that just because someone smiles does not automatically mean they are *fine*.  People with mental illness very quickly learn to put up the brave front during the day–which may sound like a good thing.  But the consequences of putting up the brave front are extreme exhaustion, frustration, loneliness, tears, sleeplessness or sleeping too much, isolation, and hopelessness.  We learn that a lot of people brush off our comment that we feel depressed, and then learn not to trust anyone at all.

Depression is not “a bad day.”  It is not the result of not praying hard enough.  And seeing someone smile does not mean things are automatically fine.  Depression is a very serious mental illness that can affect all areas of life from home life to school to work to social relationships to physical health.  Depression is not something that you just “get over.”  It doesn’t just “go away.”  Fighting and pushing through it are two useful skills, but they will not cure depression.

People with depression need support and encouragement and a safe place to let their guards down.  They need to be able to mention the word “depression” without people shutting down, running away, or changing the topic.  They need to be encouraged to seek professional help.  They need to know that people care for them, regardless of whether or not they are depressed.

I fully realize that being a friend or family member of someone with depression is taxing and tiring and frustrating, especially in the case of severe depression or long term depression.  I recommend having your own support person and making sure that you take time for yourself to destress and unwind and relax.

I feel blessed and grateful and lucky for the people who have crossed my path and have been supportive since I began struggling with depression.  I know I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for my wonderful and downright amazing friends.

****************************************************************************************

And if anyone wants to ask me questions–http://www.formspring.me/AlexisKatchuk

I received a comment letting me know that my advice and suggestions were unwanted, with a comment that you need to figure things out on your own.  I’m sorry, but I cannot follow through with that request, not if you are one of my friends.

I hate to see you suffering and in pain.  And unlike cancer or diabetes or a traumatic brain injury, all of which I know nothing about and could only offer the advice of “go to a doctor”, I do know what it is like to suffer the way you are.  And I also know that there is a way to avoid such suffering and pain.

You may want to “figure things out on your own” and if this were a case of finding the right boyfriend or figuring out which outfit to wear or which new technology to buy or how many classes to take in one semester, I would let you make your own decisions and learn from those decisions.  But what is happening now is so much more and comes at a higher price.

See, we’re talking about life and death here, not credit hours or tech toys.  The decisions you are making now impact your health and well-being and, ultimately, your life.  Oh, I know, I sound dramatic.  But remember that I am speaking from the point of view of someone who has lost over ten people to various forms of these illnesses and addiction.  Ten people I called “friend.”  Ten people whom I enjoyed spending time with and laughing with and drinking coffee and tea with.  Ten people who didn’t think they would die.

I know you think “that can’t happen to me” and “what I’m doing is far from being considered dangerous” but I beg to differ.  These illnesses don’t care how long you’ve suffered and they don’t care about the severity of the illness.  I’ve known girls who have died without meeting the “diagnostic criteria” as stated in that *wonderful* DSM guide.  And I’ve known girls and boys who have died within months of starting down this treacherous path as well as those who have struggled for years.

You  may even say “I’m not struggling at all” but your actions tell me otherwise, and other people have come to me wondering how they can help or intervene.  Your actions tell me that you are already obsessed to the point of denying your body the care and rest and love that it needs.  Your actions tell me that you are at war with your body and this war has been increasing lately, not decreasing as you initially promised it would when you “reached a certain point.”  And I’m scared that this war you’ve declared on your body is just going to keep increasing until your body has no choice but to break down.

There’s a reason I can see these patterns in you.  Looking at you is like looking in a mirror of my past.  And that scares me, because multiple doctors have told me there is no reason I should be alive today.  And I don’t’ want you to follow that same path and reach a different outcome.  If there were some way to make you see the potentialities and convince you that the earlier you stop this war against yourself, the easier recovery will be and the shorter it will be.  But right now, all I can see is where you’re headed if you don’t change: the minor obsession you now have will slowly take over your whole life and other things will fall by the wayside and become unimportant; friends will watch helplessly, and some friends will not be able to watch and will leave; your dreams that you are working so hard to make happen, will slip through your fingers.

I could very easily do what you wanted and not say anything; I could “mind my own business.”  But one thing you may not be aware of it how much your actions are affecting those around you.  Friends feel helpless and confused and frustrated and scared and anxious and they are experiencing a pain of their own–the pain of watching someone they care deeply for hurt themselves.  You do not exist in a bubble; your actions and choices affect those around you.

Again, I speak from experience.  In the beginning, I did not know how much my behaviors affected those around me.  I thought that it was “my life” and “my issues” and shouldn’t affect anyone else. But then, my friends got tired–not just ‘frustrated tired’ but also physically and emotionally tired from trying to help and constantly being pushed away.  I couldn’t see the pain my friends were in because they felt so helpless–all because I put up defensive walls and kept up convenient excuses of denial.

I am thankful for the friends who stuck by me through all of this.  The friends who never stopped speaking the truth to me, even if I didn’t want to hear it.  I am thankful for all the times someone took me by the shoulders–sometimes literally–and said, “Stop this!  You are hurting yourself!”  I am glad that I had friends willing to put our friendship on the line and tell me how much my actions–the actions I thought were mine and mine alone–were hurting those around me.  I am alive today because of them, and I am healthy and, most of the time, happy.

I know that you are in pain, great pain.  Please know that there are ways out of this pain, and that these ways do not involve hurting your body.  There is a path to love and acceptance and, ultimately, freedom.

As your friend, my job is not to stand idly by and watch as you self-destruct–and it is a path of self-destruction, and I can counter all of your “logical” arguments with proof and experience.  My job is to help you find the path of freedom, to help you find a way out of your pain.  I will do anything I can to help you on that path, but do not expect me to silently watch as you continue the path you are on.  That is not what friends are here for.

Sincerely,

A very concerned and worried friend.

But I’m seeing this phrase and similar phrases in a whole bunch of people that have never struggled with an eating disorder.  In a way, seeing this comment from someone who does not have an eating disorder concerns me more. Quite often, this isn’t expressed is such blatant terms–but there are the individuals who post seven status updates a day about how much exercise they’ve done, the status updates about what the individual chose not to eat, the status updates celebrating weight loss, the status updates expressing disappointment in not losing “enough” . . . . and I could go on.

What worries me even more is that this is now acceptable in our society.  Gyms encourage this type of thinking with classes like Body War and Body Combat, instilling the idea that your body is something that you have to fight against rather than fight for.

What this creates is an atmosphere of discontentment, dissatisfaction, and downright hatred for one’s body.  And, perhaps if we all existed in little bubbles, this wouldn’t be such a problem.  But we don’t.  We live in a community.  And the more people read updates about body hate and the more people overhear conversations where the people are talking about how much they exercised and the more people talk about what they aren’t allowing themselves to eat, the more this will become the norm.  And again, perhaps if this only affected adults who can think for themselves and make their own decisions based on experience, logic, and outside resources, this would be “okay.”

But what about our youth?  I was walking in the mall the other day and heard (what looked to be) two junior high aged girls talking while shopping for clothes.  “God, I just hate my legs.  I really need to exercise more.”  Junior high and they are already fully fluent in the body hate lingo.  There is  no escaping this language.

What can we do to help this situation?  What can we do to provide a counter for those junior high girls so they can learn that they do not have to grow up hating their bodies?  What are simple, yet effective, strategies to encourage others?

I’d like to hear some suggestions and will then follow up with another post.

And now we have a new kids book, Maggie Goes On A Diet.  Unfortunately, it is not a spoof  or a joke, but an actual children’s title.  There are already a plethora of books out there about children and weightloss (a disturbing number of them include the word “fat” in the title), and a couple books about eating healthy for “weight management.”  But now we have reduced the obsession with size to a 4 to 8-year-old’s reading level and logic.

In the book, Maggie loses weight.  And then she is popular, athletic, and happy.  The cover shows her looking in a mirror, holding a dress half the size of her own body, and seeing a reflection of a happy, thin girl.

The basic problem is thin does not equal happy.  The media would like us to believe otherwise, but we just need to look at the number of hospital units for eating disorders to see that this equation is false. And on a purely personal note, the happiest–and healthiest–people I know are not what our media would term “thin.”

And somehow I can’t picture a happy “maggie” if she’s on a diet.  The people I know who are on diets tend to be the unhappy people in my life.  Children are generally happy when they’re allowed to be children, and they need proper nutrition in order to be happy children.  Their bodies physically can’t sustain the emotion of happiness when on a diet and when living a lifestyle obsessed with a superficial goal.

Yes.  We currently have a problem in the United States.  While there are still children starving and living in poverty, there are an increasing number of children whose weights are pre-diabetic and put them at a greater risk for heart problems. However, there is a difference between eating overall healthy meals and getting adequate physical activity–as well as looking at genetic risk factors–and dieting.

Children also have different rates of growth and development.  Their metabolism changes frequently as they grow.  They go through growth spurts.  Some people gain weight before they gain inches.  But this book encourages children and adults to believe there is one acceptable way to mature, and that way is by being thin.

Perhaps we need books where children of various body types are shown to be happy, with these same children pursuing activities that increase self-esteem and confidence.  Perhaps we need to stop the equation of “thin equals happy” rather than encouraging it.  Perhaps children need to learn self-acceptance and self-love rather than learning about self-denial and dangerous lifestyles that pose more health problems than not fitting into a tiny pink dress.  Maybe it’s time to throw that little pink dress in the trash and tell Maggie she’s smart and talented instead.

Apparently, it is now fashionable to trigger the hell out of other people with status updates as well as photographs.

It’s not me I’m worried about.  I get annoyed at these posts, but I am not triggered.  But I’ve been in really solid recovery for over three years and started working for recovery over five years ago.  A status update from someone I hardly know isn’t going to change that.  I am worried about the people on Facebook who aren’t yet in recovery or who are new to recovery.

Sure, you can unfriend people.  But that will only prevent future instances of being triggered.  It does nothing to help the current situation or feeling.

And you can “justify” the status updates by saying they are a cry for help or a way of getting support, but why in crying out for help do you want to jeopardize the welfare of others?  Because that’s exactly what is happening.  Being so casual about the specifics of these illnesses is only causing harm to this community.  And it is a community.  Facebook itself is one big community, and then within that community is the eating disordered community.  You can break down the eating disorder community into smaller communities: recovered, questioning recovery, just beginning recovery, ambivalent, pro-ana.  It would be one thing if we could select our community and then be protected from the invasion of other, less-healthy communities, but we can’t.  You can unfriend and block people, but that newsfeed still tells you what your friends are doing and what friends of friends are doing and in this way, we see things that we wouldn’t normally choose to see.  So if you are new to recovery and are trying to surround yourself with supportive people and then you see that your friend is also friends with “forever ana” and suddenly you see a pro-ana image and message on your newsfeed.  The only way to truly block these messages and images is to leave Facebook altogether.

Being part of a community means considering the welfare of the general community.  Think about what you are writing when you post a status update or leave a comment on someone’s wall.  Think about how it’s being perceived by others.  If you feel the need to give specifics beyond “I’m having a really shitty day” or “things aren’t going very well right now” think about how those specifics are affecting others.  I don’t need to know that you lost X pounds or that you needed X stitches to know that you are in pain and hurting.

I’m afraid this trend of specificity is going to turn into a competition.  I’m also afraid that someone who is considering seeking help might read one of these status updates and think, “I’m not as sick as she is, why am I asking for help?”  When turned into a competition, these illnesses are even more deadly than they already are, and anything that makes someone question whether they are worthy of treatment is hurting the community as a whole.

You may think this is a pointless post.  After all, what can you actually do to stop status updates like this?  But I’m hoping that maybe one person reads this and changes his or her status update.  Then maybe one of his or her friends will notice and that person might change his or her status update.  This is my naive and hopeful mind insisting that change is possible, however small that change may be.

There’s a lot to say about that article; “agreement” is not one of the words that come to mind.  “Confusion” is, so bear with me for this entry as my thoughts strive for some type of order as I type.

Let me start off by saying that I know what it’s like to get medical tests result back that say “there is the potential for future harm here.”  I’ve gotten those same results back.  And yes, they did warn me that my heart could be in (more) future danger if I didn’t change my lifestyle a little in order to change those numbers. And yes, I did change some things in my life.  My heart’s rather important to me, and seeing as how there is so much I can’t do to stop future harm, I will do whatever I can do to help it.

So if Jess Weiner was focusing on those numbers for the entirety of her article, I suppose I would be more empathetic.  Instead, she is choosing to focus on her weight.  But here’s the problem: those numbers are not dependent on weight.  If they were, my numbers would never have been off.  If they were, my doctors wouldn’t be asking about my parents’ numbers or my brother’s.

Aside from that is the confusion–no, not confusion but the downright fear and worry I feel at the title of the article and the content and what these are going to do to the eating disorder community.

If I were still sick, caught up in the throes of the eating disorder, and saw that title, I’d feel a freedom to go ahead and continue destroying my body, all with the perverted logic that I’d be healthier my way, “because, see, even Jess Weiner admits that she weighed too much and so all I’m doing is trying to prevent that.”  I would have felt a freedom to continue hating my body, and I would have scoffed at someone who told me I needed to appreciate my body, let alone love it.

But here’s my real problem with the article: her focus on numbers.  Not the numbers from the medical tests, but her weights.  We know how much she’s lost and how much she’s disappointed with that number, even though the medical tests all came back in normal range.  If this were solely about health and medical tests, her focus would be on those numbers and she would have been happy that she was out of the danger zone.  But we know she wants to lose more, that she won’t be happy until she’s lost a certain amount of weight.  And she’s specific with those weights.  Knowing that she’s speaking, in part, to the same community she was speaking to before–a community that she was trying to convince not to focus on numbers in terms of weight and size.  A community that looked to her as a role model.

Here’s what I would like to say to Jess:  There is no magic number at which happiness occurs.  You can lose those thirty pounds, but they won’t determine your happiness.  You run the risk of finding out that thirty pounds wasn’t enough.  That you need to lose more and then you’ll be happy.  Except you won’t be happy when you get to that weight either.  And then you’ll want to lose more.  And you’ll start a cycle of forever dropping that magic number, thinking happiness will descend upon you if you reach that number.  The very cycle you were trying to prevent people from starting. The very cycle that can, unlike “loving your body”, kill you.

Here’s what I would like to say to people who are tempted to let go of recovery because they read this article:  If I hadn’t learned to love my body, I would not be alive right now.  It was the hatred I felt for my body that drove me to jump into the cycle of “lose more weight and then I’ll be happy” thinking.  It was that cycle that almost took my life.  My heart, my physical heart, was not strong enough to withstand that cycle.  It took numerous ER and ambulance trips and a week on a cardiac unit for me to finally learn and accept that if I didn’t start caring for my body, I would become another statistic.  Another loss.

My physical heart demands the care of my metaphorical heart.  There are days when I still wish I had an escape from the difficulties life will, inevitably, throw your way.  But there is not a day that goes by when I’m not thankful for all I have gained in recovery.  The difficulties are still there, but they’d be there no matter what my weight is.  Except now that I’m healthy, I can actually handle those difficulties.  Sometimes with more grace than others, but I can handle them.  And now that I am recovered, I can also enjoy the blessings that life throws my way, something I couldn’t do while I was sick.  Something I fear Jess Weiner has lost in her decision to focus on weight.  Something I hope she is able to find again.

The figurative heart isn’t so lucky.  There is no science, no technology to take the pieces of a broken heart and sew them back into their proper place.  No medication to take that corrects the problem.

The heart breaks.  Even while the physical heart may be beating along in it’s reliable pattern, the heart of the soul can shatter into fragments, sometimes making the physical heart ache in response.

Recently, I experience something, the specifics of which I will keep to myself, that has resulted in the sensation of me being shattered.  I feel like if I had a special pair of glasses (I watch too many episodes of “Bones”), I could look around and there on the floor I would find shadows, parts of me that have broken off and are now just scattered pieces with jagged edges.  Waiting to be put back together.  Waiting for someone with a good eye to come along and look closely and say, “Yup, this edge matches that piece over there.  Let’s get you joined back together.”  And then someone would be standing ready with a needle and thread to stitch the two pieces together.  And this would continue until I was whole again.  And then everything would be better.

But it doesn’t work like that.  No one can see those broken shadows but me, no matter what type of special glasses they wear.  Those shadows are all mine, and it is my responsibility to take the pieces and put them back together again.  No one can do that for me.  People can support me and encourage me, but those pieces are mine, and only I know how they fit together.

I find that I’m stuck, however.  I feel as if I am picking up each individual piece and saying to it, “Yes, I know you.  I feel you.  I need you.  But I don’t know how to fix you.”

I’ve experienced this before, and I know time has a lot to do with it, and this specific instance has only been a matter of a couple of days.  Journaling helps me.  Writing in general helps me.  The peace found in knitting helps, as if making something beautiful from a string of yarn is the equivalent of making something beautiful of the shadows on the floor.

I also know I’m not the only one who feels broken at times.  I know that in the throes of an eating disorder, one often feels broken or somehow not quite whole.  I’m here to tell you today that you are not alone in this, but we often keep the broken parts of ourselves hidden and silent because that is what society wants: the new and shiny and whole.

So my questions for my readers today is this:  What do you do to help yourself when you feel broken?  What helps you feel whole again?

I am hoping that people comment, that we can all help each other and support each other.

I’ve been using this quote a lot lately, for various reasons and people, including myself.  It’s a quote that has helped me out a lot, and it takes a lot for a quote to do that.  It’s a reminder for me that sometimes you can’t wait until you want to change to go ahead and change.  Sometimes, you’ve just gotta dive in and, to complete the cliched analogy, completely submerge yourself in the process of change.  When you jump in the pool, you jump in with the faith that you’ll pop back up to the surface, that you’ll legs will kick and your arms will reach, and that your head will break the surface and you can breathe again.  But there’s always that second when you’re kicking and reaching and you’re just not there yet and there’s that touch of panic that you won’t get there in time.  And then you get there.

Recovering from an eating disorder is often much the same way.  You just have to jump in.  No waiting for the perfect temperature.  No dipping your toes in first and testing the waters.  Sometimes, our bodies are ready–they need–recovery before our mind is ready.  The starvation, the binging, the purging, the overexercise has taken its toll and your body screams “ENOUGH!!!” and you end up in the ER or you keep getting sick all the time or you’re just plain exhausted to the point of weakness.  You can’t afford to wait for some big revelation to come to say, “Okay.  I’m ready for recovery now.”  If you wait that long, your body may give out completely.  Sometimes, you just have to accept treatment with the blind faith that the motivation and desire will come, that you’ll make it through the initial stages of discomfort and pain and anxiety and that you’ll break the surface of the water in time to breathe again.

My decision to recover came as a result of lots of small realizations.  There was no one moment that made me change, and in the beginning of the process, I wasn’t sure I was doing the right thing.  I wanted the old, reliable, familiar, eating disorder.  I didn’t want the anxiety and the pain of dealing with all the shit that was going on in my head as a result of getting treatment and not acting on symptoms.  But I stuck with it, because I was tired of being The Sick Girl.  I had no idea how not to be that person, but I knew I was exhausted.  As the months went on and I continued accepting the help that was offered, more and more realizations happened that told me that recovery was what I wanted.  That it was what I needed.

If you are struggling, go ahead and dive in to recovery and seek help.  I don’t care if you’ve had the eating disorder for years or for weeks.  An eating disorder can kill at any stage of illness.  You may not be at your ‘thinnest” or your “sickest” but the eating disorder doesn’t care about such trivialities.  You deserve to be free of this hell.  You can be free.  Go ahead and dive in and kick and reach and fight your way to the surface.  The air you’ll breathe without the eating disorder is the purest air you’ll have ever taken in.