Surfacing After Silence

Life. After.

Full recovery from the eating disorder led to me enjoying food and the social occasions around food.  I liked trying new (and previously terrifying) foods.  I looked forward to a Friday movie night on the couch with a pint of ice cream, some wine, and some great company.  I honored my body’s signals and was doing what I had thought was impossible–eating intuitively.  And it was awesome.

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These previous few months have been . . . trying.  Ten years of recovery is a long time, right?  I felt secure in that recovery–and I still do.  But I’ve discovered that dieting-by any name-is a definite NO for me.  My cholesterol climbed up a bit in 2017, enough for it to be a valid concern.  This is likely a symptom of my heart disease and may be unavoidable.  It could be a result of hormonal middle age.  It could be that as my body has been changing, my food choices haven’t.  So I was told to “make better food choices” and “avoid cholesterol” and “limit fat” and we’ll see where I stand in six more months.

I have been obsessing about food again.  Not if I should eat, or even how much I should eat, but what to eat.  During the years of the anorexia, pretty much all food was “bad” except for black coffee and water.  Now I’m asking if the food I’m eating is “right,” which quickly leads to wondering if I’m eating “good” food.  Once I put labels on food, those same labels shift over to how I see myself as a person.  Did I make the right (good) choice?  Then I’m a good person.

My trips to the grocery store have been agonizing lately.  I find myself comparing food labels and making sure what I choose is the one with the least amount of X,Y, or Z–even if it’s only by 1 little milligram.

I don’t like living like this.

And it’s hard to go anyplace without hearing about people’s diets.  Why they are on a diet, or why this particular diet, or why the previous diet didn’t work.  I read an article today about how restrictive diets are dangerous for those who are vulnerable to eating disorder behavior or thoughts.  It’s nice reading that other people who have recovered still turn obsessive when making a “simple” lifestyle adjustment.  It’s not ever going to be “simple” for me.  I obsess too easily and food equaled worth for too long.

I obviously have to make some small changes here and there for medical reasons.  I obviously can’t “go on a diet.”  Somehow, this person who tends to exist in extremes, is going to have to find the grey zone of compromise.  But I have also decided that my cholesterol level is not a good enough reason to torment myself and risk sanity, especially when I probably have little control over the actual numbers.  (Did I mention I like having control?!)

I will try “tweaking things” (as my therapist puts it), but if I can’t do so without my overall health staying as it is, then these numbers are just going to be my numbers.  If I have to manage the side effects of one more medication, I have confidence that I can do that.  But I refuse to be miserable, and no one will ever touch my chocolate!

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February 22, 2018 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Body Image, cholesterol, depression, Eating Disorders, exercise, guilt, health, heart, progress, recovery, responses, shame, therapy, treatment | , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Never My Friends

neverfriends

Every so often, when I’m scrolling through my facebook feed and see random blogs sponsored by an advocacy organization, I want to punch the screen of my laptop.  Don’t worry, I don’t do that.

Recently, I saw a blog detailing one writer’s recovery from Ana.  Not “anorexia.”  Not “eating disorder.” Not “life threatening illness.”  Ana.  I have friends named Ana.  They have faces and bodies and fashion styles and colored hair and hand gestures and quirks and a way of speaking that are different from my other friends.  None of them are trying to kill me.

But by using this cute nickname, this writer is referring to the years spent suffering from an illness and the strength and energy it took to recover.  For that, I admire her, just as I admire anyone who has recovered or has just made the decision to try recovery or is caught up in the hell of figuring out if recovery is possible.  (It is.)

I have seen too many friends die because of various eating disorders.  When I was still sick and had no real intentions of recovery, I brushed these deaths aside, as much as one can brush death aside.  “I only knew them for a couple of weeks in treatment,” or “She never really wanted recovery anyway,” or even, “I’m jealous.”  Then, some of the friends I made in treatment because “out of treatment” friends who I’d meet for coffee and hang out with and go to movies with.  A lot of these individuals are still my friends; we fought the eating disorders together.  Social media, of course, widened my network of friends with mental illnesses.  Some of these friends became close friends.  And a good percentage of them died. One of these friends, I think if we hadn’t met in treatment, became the closest thing to a soul sister I have encountered.  And she died.

I could no longer “brush death aside” with a casual wave of my hand.  These friends weren’t dying after a chance encounter with a stranger named “ana,” “mia,” or “ed.”  They died from an illness.  Over an extended period of time.  In a lot of physical and emotional pain.  I just can’t give those illnesses cute little names.

We give names to inanimate objects as a way of personalizing them.  They mean something to us, and we want to hold these things close to our heart.  Sometimes we name these objects or situations in an effort to make sense of them, and eating disorders rarely make sense.  But when you personalize something, it becomes harder to let go of.  And when you don’t use the true vocabulary of these illnesses (death, pain, feeding tube, throwing up, purging, isolation, obsession, compulsion, loneliness, depression, fear), it’s easier to forget the harsh consequences of knowing this “friend.”

Even ten years after recovery, I cannot look back and casually refer to my twenties with “Ana” anywhere in the description.  I was sick, and just like the cardiac illness I have is not cute and fun, neither was the eating disorder.  Would you nickname depression or bipolar disorder or suicide with cute names?  How about cancer?  How about stroke?  Then why do we consider eating disorders worthy of cute and fun?

February 12, 2018 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Body Image, coping, death, depression, Eating Disorders, exercise, guilt, health, heart, identity, progress, publicity, recovery, suicide, thinspo, treatment, triggers | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Lists of Changes

I recently started enjoying the memories app on facebook.  This was one of my memories, from five years ago.  Eating disorder wise, I had been in full recovery for eight years.  Depression wise?  I was entering what would become the most hellish depressive episode ever, triggered by everything going on with my heart–all things I couldn’t grasp on an intellectual level.

Some of these things are still the same.

A lot of these things are different now, and it’s nice to be able to see and acknowledge those changes–and to take pride in the work it took to make those changes.

And NONE of the changes listed could have been possible without recovery.  Eating disorders are never your friends, and they will never “work for you.”  They are never “the best option for now.”  They kill.  They steal lives.  They hurt the survivors.  You will lose more than you ever thought possible. 

But recovery is possible.  You have the power to make it happen.

TEN things you wish you could say to ten different people right now:

1.  You’re not the same person as you were two years ago.  I liked that person better.

2.  I wish you would have let me change.

3.  I do not understand your priorities anymore.

4.  I wish I could say something, anything, that would do this justice.

5.  Sometimes I hate you and sometimes I can’t forgive you.

6.  I see myself in you and am powerless to stop the train from derailing.

7.  I wish you knew how much I loved you, and what I meant when I said that.

8.  You and I are no good apart.

9.  If I could tell you how much you’ve let me down, I fear that no one would ever look at me the same.

10.  I know I’m not good enough for you.

I’ve healed some relationships.  I’ve walked away from others.  I’ve watched other people change and grow and heal.  And most importantly, I know I’ll never be good enough for some people–and I don’t really give a damn, because I’m good enough for ME.

NINE things about yourself:

1.  I keep point shoes in vases.

2.  I have a model of the human heart on my bookshelf.

3.  I am more terrified of living like this than I am of dying.

4.  Each day, I wake up with this huge, ominous question mark over my head and I’m not sure how long I can take it.

5.  I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.

6.  I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.

7.  I will never measure up.

8.  I treasure silence.

9.  Translating Latin is the only escape I have right now.

The model of the human heart is on my shelf, knocked over weekly by Camena.  I crossed off number 3 because although I am still scared of “living like this,” I have learned that I can live like this–fully live.  I know I can take it, and I know I’m supposed to be here right now.  I don’t know if this is where I’ll stay, but I’m thinking it will be.  I know I will never measure up–no one ever does, really, because it’s called Being Human.  I still like to translate Latin, but I have a lot more healthy ways of escaping than any other point in my life.

EIGHT ways to win your heart: 

1.  Don’t laugh at my fears.

2.  Treasure silence as much as I do.

3.  Don’t waste money on jewelry when there are thousands of books to be devoured.

4.  Give me flowers.  One at a time.  On random days.

5.  No pressure.

6.  If I tell you a song reminds me of you, listen to it.

7.  Believe me.

8.  Send me a poem in the mail.  Snail mail, that is.

These are all the same.

SEVEN things that cross your mind frequently: 

1. I hate this.

2. I can’t do this.

3. I wish I could leave.

4. I hate my heart.

5. This was not supposed to turn out this way.

6. Someday.

7.  Maybe.

There are still things I hate, but my heart is not one of them.  My heart can make me sad and bitter and can make me grieve at time, but I don’t hate it.  And maybe things weren’t supposed to turn out this way, but that doesn’t mean that Someday can’t happen.

SIX things you do before you fall asleep:

1. Journal.

2. Some form of devotional.

3. Listen to music.

4. If I can, take a hot hot hot bath.

5. Curl up with my cats.

6.  have a cup of hot decaf coffee.

Still a journaler–you will never be able to take that away from me!  My spirituality is still important, as it always will be.  I can’t take a hot bath here because we have no drain plug that fits 😦  And I’ve become a tea snob in the previous five years, and my nightly cup of tea requires thought.

FIVE people who mean a lot to you.

1. Sara

2. Wednesday

3. Neesha & Dustin (they count as one)

4. Court

5. Rena

These people are still important to me, even if some are no longer part of my life.  I’m proud to say that I’ve been able to add more people to this list, which was difficult to come up with five years ago.

FOUR things you’re wearing right now: 

1. Yoga pants

2. Camisole

3. Keeping the Beat T shirt

4. MedicAlert Bracelet

I will always wear my MedicAlert bracelet.  It does make me feel somewhat safer.  And I still do wear yoga pants and all that, but right now I still have on my bathrobe and PJs.

THREE songs that you listen to often: (recently) 

1. Dublin Boys

2. Bend Before It Breaks

3. Reasonland

I’d have to say these three songs are still prominent in my playlist.  “More Than Ordinary” has been my most recent obsession.

TWO things you want to do before you die: 

1. Publish my two books

2. Not have another sudden cardiac death.  That kind of sucked.

Yeah, so both of these are still the same!

ONE confession: 

1) I am drowning.

Maybe I don’t feel like I am always on solid ground, but I have learned that it’s my choice to be on solid ground, and that there are always people around me willing to help that happen.

September 20, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

One Day I Will Love My Body

ae2db3e26f6acb3b54fd48520d5521f4Here’s another post where I respond to someone else’s work.  Allison Epstein recently wrote “Why I Have No Intention of Loving My Body” for an online publication.  The title itself intrigued me.  As someone in recovery from anorexia, I have had the words “Love Your Body” shoved down my throat for over a decade.  I haven’t always reacted well.

I do agree with Epstein’s argument that the “Love Your Body” campaign has turned into just one more way for certain industries–fashion and publishing come to mind–to make money.  Not just among people struggling with eating disorders, but for anyone in a society that is programmed (due to fashion and publishing industries) to see only a certain kind of body as worthy or beautiful.

Speaking as someone who has recovered from an eating disorder and struggled with intense shame surrounding my body, I don’t want to proclaim that I have no intention at all of ever loving my body.  Loving my body is an ideal that I work towards, and I even have days when it’s true.  But to be honest, I haven’t yet reached a transcendent point in recovery where I can say without any hesitation that I love my body with all my heart and soul and always will.

But those of us who have sought treatment for an eating disorder or body dysmorphic disorder, we are told that we must love our bodies in order to recover.  At the beginning of my recovery, I was so far away from loving myself that the whole concept seemed impossible.  Which must mean recovery is impossible.  Or so I was made to feel.  In painting across my body’s outline on a piece of paper, I could not draw butterflies and suns and rainbows or symbols of peace and strength.  I could draw angry red scribbles as I tried to destroy my image.  I was fully weight restored, eating intuitively, and not over-exercising.  All awesome things to have accomplished.  But every time someone tried to simple tell me to love my body, I felt as if those things didn’t matter for much since I still kinda hated my body.  And I really did try to “just love my body,” but I think most of you know it doesn’t work that way.

Here’s how things worked for me.  During my first year of recovery, I focused on intuitive eating and I learned how to listen to my body and respond appropriately.  Because of the severity of the over-exercise, I agreed to one year exercise free–no running, no yoga, no speed walking, no biking, no weights.  Nothing.  The idea was to “reset” my relationship with exercise.  I still really couldn’t have cared less for my body.

So during the second year of recovery, I had a pretty good handle on intuitive eating and no longer consulted a nutritionist and didn’t see my doctor every week “just to make sure.”  I gradually reintroduced exercise into my life style.  i did not let myself keep a schedule, because in the past, that only led to obsessive thoughts.  Instead, I woke up and thought, “What would I like to do today?  Run or do yoga?”  It was through yoga that I released a great amount of hatred toward my body.  On the mat, I realized that even though I didn’t have the same super-athletic body I had while I was an All American in Track and Field, my body could do some awesome things.  I’m not extremely flexible, but I realized I was doing poses a lot of people couldn’t, and I could hold poses for a significant amount of time.  My time on the mat gave me the opportunity to appreciate the body for everything it could do for me, just as it is in that moment.  I didn’t need to improve upon it or make it stronger.

But did you note the language I just used?  I used “it” instead of “my.”  I still saw myself as separate from my body.  My body was this appendage that was necessary for me to exist, so I had to put up with it.  Not only did I continue practicing yoga, I began practicing slower, gentler forms of yoga than I was accustomed to.  While I was in a pose, I listened to what my body was telling me, something I’d later call mindfulness.  My body could tell me where I was sore or if I was tired and needed rest.  My body could also tell me if I was stressed emotionally, or angry, or overwhelmed with sadness.  This was when I began to learn to accept my body, and I learned to say that it was indeed my body.

Then I began learning more about mindfulness, which, to be honest, terrified me in the beginning.  Body scans could cause nightmares.  Very slowly, however, I learned to sit in my body, to be still in my body, and to be present in my body.  I am still beginning my journey of mindfulness, but over the previous few years, I have moved from a tolerance of my body to an appreciation of my body.

I admit, I do not wake up in the morning filled with love and awe for my body.  But neither do I wake up hating my body and dreading the sight of it.  There are days when I can appreciate my body just as it is, but there are more days when I still appreciate my body for what it can do for me.  This does not take away from my recovery.  If anything, the fact that I can acknowledge the different stages of body awareness is a huge accomplishment.

This body is mine.  I treat it well and take care of it.  I listen to its needs and wants and respond appropriately.  I could not do any of this while I was sick.  I think that if we expect people to jump from intense self-hatred to all-encompassing love of the body, we put too much pressure on them.  Recovery is not a one-day process, and we should not expect sufferers to “just get over it” as soon as they maintain weight or maintain healthy behaviors.  Our bodies carried heavy loads for such a long time, and we need to give them the grace and patience to heal.

August 31, 2015 Posted by | addictions, Body Image, Eating Disorders, health, mindfulness, progress, recovery | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Dreams Come

I just like my head.

I just like my head.

There’s really no meaning to this picture.  I have a clear glass head, and I put a black wig on her, and periodically use it to display hats I’ve made and to creep some people out.  But I have no main topic today, just a mish mash of what’s been in my head lately. Perhaps one of my readers has a better picture?

I am doing an Out of the Darkness Community Walk for suicide awareness on September 12.  These are run by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  I am close to my fundraising goal, and would really like to go over my goal, being the over-achiever I am.  You can help me here.  Five dollars means that more people can be helped.  If you are in the area and would like to walk with me, that would be awesome.  This is an extremely important subject for me.  I am a survivor of suicide, and I have lost family and friends to suicide.  You can read more about my story here.  I am mentioning all this here because it is absolutely necessary that our society talks openly about suicide and mental illness in general.  I remember being in high school and feeling like I was somehow broken because I had all of these bad thoughts that no one else had.  Except I know now that I wasn’t alone back then.  But mental health was not brought up in schools, so we were not encouraged to talk about it.  I was terrified to talk about it.  But imagine if we do talk about it in junior highs and high schools.  Imagine that one student in the classroom who has felt alone and broken, and then s/he hears that there are other people out there who struggle with the same types of thoughts, and then s/he decides to talk to someone, and then s/he gets help early, and then s/he may never attempt suicide at all.  That is why when I got my semi-colon tattoo, I put it on my wrist.  Not only is it easily visible to me, but it is easily visible to everyone else.  I hope people will ask me about it.

I hope my students will ask about it.  I will head back to the classroom this semester and teach eager college students about writing essays.  When I first began teaching in 2008, I spent a great deal of time wondering if I should wear long sleeves to cover up my scars from years of self-harm.  But I decided that, in my own little way, I wanted to show people I was not ashamed of my past.  And because of that decision, I have had multiple students approach me after class or via email about my scars–and about their own, be them external or internal.  Students who felt alone and scared and didn’t know where to go for help.  I have been able to direct students to the university’s health center, mental health center, and various treatment centers.  I have witnessed them grow and struggle and change, and I still tear up when I think of some of them.  Even if they didn’t take me up on the offer to walk them over to the mental health center, and even if they didn’t go at all, I put the idea in their heads that the life they were living could be left behind and a new life could begin.

If students ask why I took a year off of teaching, I will tell them.  If I had had major surgery, there would be no shame in needing time to heal.  There is no shame in needing time to heal from a serious depressive episode either.  It took me time to come around to that belief, and I hated running into people in my small hometown and having them ask, “So what are you doing these days?”  I felt ashamed for not being a productive member of society.  But I now realize that if I had tried to work last fall or last spring, I would not have been an effective teacher, and I might not have been physically capable of meeting all of my responsibilities.  Of course, I am nervous about this semester, but I am no longer ashamed of the time it took to get me here.

I want that message to spread.  Healing is possible, and it is worth the time and energy involved.  I realize that due to the cyclical nature of Bipolar I, I will likely need time to heal again.  But I also can’t plan my life around that fear.  Maybe my career in academia won’t be as I originally pictured it years ago, but I’m not the same person I was years ago.  I’ve changed, I’ve adapted, and I’m ready to continue seeing my dream come true.

This wasn’t as mish-mashy as I thought it would be, but I still have no idea for a good photo.

August 19, 2015 Posted by | bipolar disorder, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, progress, recovery, shame, suicide | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

questions for my former anorexic self

Question__by_Queen666I’ve been noticing a lot of blogs with titles like “10 things I would tell my former self”–usually the “former self” is specified further with “anorexic,” “addict,” “depressed,” “medicated,” and other adjectives.  The lists are poignant, and often reveal more about the process of recovery than anything else, and a lot of them are universal truths we can all nod our heads at.  I wish I could go back and tell my former anorexic self a few things, but I can’t.  People did often tell me those things, and I just didn’t listen or believe them.

I would like to go back and ask myself a few questions.  Things I could have pondered, if I had been open to doing so.  I would have given myself journaling assignments!  I have always preferred writing about something before speaking about it.

1. What do you want to be when you grow up?

We’re all asked this, and I journaled about this question all the time, and my answers morphed as I grew older, but I loved the world of academia and always say myself in an antiquated office with lots of books and a big, ornate desk and fancy chair.  And a patterned rug.  I wasn’t sure what would go on in the office, but I wanted to be in that office.  The worlds of teaching and writing and reading smushed themselves together, and I wanted to be an English Professor.

Someone did ask me a variation of this question that started me thinking, and this did lead to change on my part.  My first semester at my MFA program, I couldn’t decide if I should go into treatment or not.  I was debating this with one of my professors (whose office was nothing like the one in my dreams), and she asked me why I wouldn’t just go get help.  And I told her that I was a graduate student and couldn’t.  (My logic skills never were that great.)  But she just looked at me and told me I wasn’t a grad student.  Not really.  I came to class and read and wrote, yes.  All while obsessing over food and exercise.  I didn’t socialize.  I hadn’t gotten to know my peers.  I hadn’t explored the city I was living in.  I was isolated in my sick world and turning in sub-par papers.

I did go to treatment, and I learned that you could be a graduate student while seeking help for an eating disorder, but you couldn’t be an anorexic while being an effective graduate student.  Maybe I was ready to listen to that professor then, and I wouldn’t have been five years prior.  But what if someone had asked me–this goal-oriented overachiever–if I wouldn’t be able to be who I wanted to be if I weren’t anorexic?

2.  What is your picture of a perfect life?

I would have had myself write down every little detail, from my job to my location to my friends to my family to my church to my living quarters to my cats to my hobbies to my daily routines.  Ev-er-y thing written out.  A story book world that I created all about me.  All of my dreams.  All combined.

3. Why don’t you want that life?

“Of course I want that life!” I would have shouted.  And then I would have asked, “Then why don’t you have it?  Why don’t you make it happen?”  Eventually, along my recovery journey, I would ask myself these questions.  I’m still waiting for the perfect happy-ever-after fairytale, but I do realize that I have more of a chance of reaching that place now than when I was sick.

Question 3 would lead directly to number 4:  What are you afraid of?

Many people mistakenly believe eating disorders are about food and size.  But although I had a perfect life pictured in my head, and even though I had was given opportunities to make that life happen, something held me back.  Basically, the answer was fear.  I was afraid of being hurt.  I was afraid of failure.  I was afraid of what success meant.  I was afraid of people taking advantage of me.  I was afraid of being disappointed.  I was afraid of disappointing others.  I was afraid of imperfection.  I was afraid of anything I wasn’t familiar with that I could not control.  Therefore, it was easier to live in a world I created and controlled.

5.  How is that working out for you?

Could I have even answered this question then?  Everything I wanted out of life was not possible because of the anorexia.  I wasn’t happy.  I wasn’t safe.  I was alone.

But I was still scared.  At least I knew my current surroundings.  Sure, I could dream up a perfect life, but I had no reason to believe it was even possible.

People kept telling me that I could “learn how to manage this” and that “things would get better” but they offered no proof, just vague motivational lines of hope and faith.  I wanted, I needed, to see results.  After a few years, I did meet someone who had that proof of recovery.  And then I met a couple other people whose results matched my dreams.  Eventually, I came to believe I could do the same.  And then I became part of that network of recovered individuals who want to let people know that full recovery is possible.

We have enough media stories about the hell of eating disorders.  We have blogging communities devoted to sharing specifics of eating disorders.  We have online forums for people to compare symptoms.  News articles focusing on recovery that first must rehash all the trauma–complete with pictures–before summing up the “things are better now” conclusion in a nice succinct paragraph.

We need to hear the stories of eating disorder sufferers, yes.  More importantly, however, we need to hear the stories of recovery: not just the fact that someone recovered, but how they did so.  We need stories that provide a road map to recovery, not a road map to illness.

August 8, 2015 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Communication, depression, Eating Disorders, recovery, treatment | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

who is responsible when treatment fails?

holding_hands-1418Reading around the internet today, I came across A Disordered World, and the home page drew me in.  A site about experiencing mental illness and accessing treatment.  I read a lot of passion in this site, and I believe this author’s story is one of the stories that need to be told.  But it’s only one of the stories, and the first article and second article in a series investigating eating disorder treatment centers raised a lot of red flags for me.

Let me be clear:  It is not my intention to nullify this author or to negate her personal experience, but to draw attention to another point of view.  I do think the “investigation” is flawed because it’s an openly biased position with no acknowledgment of any other view.  This worries me, because I am afraid that people would look at this site and use it as justification for not seeking treatment.

I also support anyone who suffers outright abuse at a treatment center and speaks out, but I won’t say that the entire treatment system is flawed and incompetent.

If you have an eating disorder, are suffering, and are scared, please seek appropriate treatment. 

I’ve been in treatment for anorexia multiple times: Inpatient, Partial, IOP, and outpatient group therapy.  I was labelled as “treatment resistant.”  Maybe those are harsh terms that bias providers against potential clients, but using the word “noncompliant” only puts a prettier spin on things; it doesn’t erase the fact that in the beginning of my eating disorder, I resisted treatment.  I played the hospital’s games and got myself discharged and went back to the eating disorder.  I certainly am thankful there were people in my life that “did this” to me.  I would not be alive if people had not intervened and forced me into treatment.  Did I benefit emotionally, or did I come to any understanding about why I suffered from an eating disorder?  No.  But I am alive today because of the NG Tube inserted against my will.  These hospitalizations bought me time. I certainly didn’t enjoy them, but I don’t consider them failed experiences.

Eating disorder treatment centers all have rules, and usually they are pretty strict rules.  A lot of the times, it’s because if those rules weren’t in place, clients would continue to use eating disordered behaviors.  So yes, there are meal requirements.  Early in my treatment, I learned to just play along and clear my plate and I could go home earlier.  When I made my decision that recovery was my only option, I didn’t just “play along.”  I cried at my first dinner and could only manage a few bites.  I believe the first few meals went along the same lines.  And because I wasn’t following protocol–by refusing meals and refusing supplements and, therefore, not gaining any weight–there were repercussions.  At the time, I would have cursed the entire facility and staff and anyone who stepped into my field of vision, and I would have blamed everyone but myself.  But even though I was noncompliant, my psychiatrist and my therapist were supportive and encouraging.  It’s not like I was the first anorexic they saw who didn’t want to eat.  Eventually, I was able to work up to my full meal plan and supplements, but it took a couple of weeks.

I felt like I “should be trying harder” and that I should “just suck it up and deal” and that “it was all my fault anyway.”  One of my proficiencies is accepting guilt for almost anything possible.  But for the first time in treatment, I was being open and honest and showing my true fears surrounding recovery, and I needed that.  Because then, when I chose to eat a couple more bites of food at one meal, it was a personal accomplishment and not just “doing it because I have to.”

I don’t think my experience is unique.  I know many other women and men have experienced similar journeys as mine.  Relapse after treatment is not unusual, but it does not mean treatment failed.  Eating disorders are insidious illnesses; they take over an entire personality.  Recovery is learning who you were to begin with, and who you want to become.  And although it’s cliche, journeys usually involve some stumbles along the way, even as overall progress is being made.

I question writing that offers a blanket statement that inpatient facilities are not the most effective way to treat eating disorders.  (Have we come up with THE effective way to treat EDs yet?)  That doesn’t mean they’re not effective at all.  In an ideal world, people with eating disorders would get help before they required inpatient care and, therefore, immediately benefit from outpatient modes of therapy.  In an ideal world, insurance would pay for these outpatient modes of therapy, but a significant majority of individuals are faced with the either/or decision of inpatient treatment versus once a week sessions with a therapist.  Yes, you can appeal your insurance company, but that takes a great deal of time and energy.  At the time I decided I was going to recover, no matter what, I did not have the time or energy to appeal, and I didn’t have anyone in a position to call the insurance company for me.

I needed the inpatient treatment.  Because I was noncompliant by nature.  I needed the strict rules and consequences to get me through the initial stages of intense fear.  I would not have benefited from a partial program at first.  After six weeks of inpatient care, I did step down to their partial program, but I was ready for it then.  It was still scary and difficult, but I had also developed some faith in myself by that point.

I state on my blog that I do not recommend what type of treatment to seek.  We are all individuals, and have our own unique sets of needs and desires and tendencies and fears.  So I ask you not to write off a form of treatment because it wasn’t successful for some.  If we based decisions on that belief, every single treatment option would be scratched from the books.  I know people who have recovered fully using residential programs, inpatient centers, partial programs, IOPs, and outpatient therapy.  I also know people who have died after seeking each type of treatment.  But I know a whole lot of other individuals who died before seeking treatment at all.

If it hadn’t been for the “ineffective” treatments I received in the beginning of my journey, I would not be alive to say that I have been fully recovered for eight years now.  I may bear scars from some of those experiences, but I have to admit that I’m thankful for them.  I may have chosen recovery a little later than others had wanted, but in the end, I did choose it, and I thank everyone who helped me get here today.

August 1, 2015 Posted by | Eating Disorders, progress, recovery, treatment | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Regarding Relapses

885e88637cb1b2389902f7c29db65ddbThis may sound surprising–but this quote is actually one of my least favorites.  Even though I believe it and know it to be true.  Now.  But then? Back when I was still convinced I could live with anorexia with no repercussions?  When people threw this quote in my face, I wanted to scream and call them names.  And a little after that?  Back when I had decided to recover and was really, really trying but it seemed like there were more bad days than good days?  When people used this to motivate me, I only felt guilty and ashamed because obviously it meant I was choosing to have a bad day.  Which made it my fault.

Now?  Now I look back and can see that recovery was a series of choices.  Millions of them.  Every single day.  Overall I decided that in order to live, I needed to recover.  But some of those millions of daily choices?  They weren’t exactly made with my best interest in mind.  And each time I slipped and made the wrong choice, I felt as if my chance at recovery was thrown out the window.

In the beginning of my recovery?  Yeah, I made some shitty choices.  Frequently.  And then less frequently.  And then rarely.  And then once in a blue moon.  Now?  I don’t need to make daily choices about eating and exercise to stay on my path.

There are debates about the different definitions of “recovered” and “fully recovered” and “recovering.”  But I think we’d all agree that recovery is not one choice.  It’s many choices.  This means that when you slip or relapse, you still have that choice open to you.  No matter how big or small the slip.  Neither does a slip or relapse automatically throw you back to the very beginning of your journey.  “You start from where you are” is true for each of us, no matter where we are in our individual journeys.  All of those skills you learned to get this far?  You still have them. You can still use them.  In fact, you might have even picked up a new skill or two in the process.

A relapse, even a significant relapse, is not the end.

Not if you choose to stand back up and walk forward toward recovery.

July 11, 2015 Posted by | Body Image, coping, Eating Disorders, progress, recovery, self harm | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Bad Days in Recovery

invisibility-cloakA couple of days ago, To Write Love on Her Arms published a blog post that resonated with me.  Bad days.  While in recovery.  They happen.

I look back fourteen months ago and the severity of the depressive episode I was trapped in.  Currently, I am “doing better.” I am more active, I have a healthy lifestyle, I am writing again-and even sent out work for the first time in 18? months, I am trying to socialize more, and I’m even looking at job openings again.  I smile more and laugh more and, most of the time, find being alive a blessing.

Most of the time. Here’s the thing I wish I could get people to understand: For a significant majority of people, Bipolar Disorder isn’t something you catch one day, take medications to kill off the disease, and then are cured and then it is gone forever. Like my heart disease:  it is there for good.  I will have good spans, sometimes lengthy good spans, but that doesn’t mean I get to take my defibrillator out and wait for another bad spell to put it back in.  This is something I own now.  It’s a part of me.  But only a part.

Regarding the Bipolar Disorder, even now, while I am “doing better,” it is still there, kind of like my medic alert bracelet that adds an ounce of weight to my right arm that my left arm doesn’t feel.  I often wake up in the morning and my initial reaction is that life sucks and there’s no point in opening my eyes.  But I do.  Open my eyes, and get out of bed, and begin my day.  Throughout the day, a little voice may whisper in my head, “What is the freaking point of all this?” but I ignore it and move on.  I’ll go to bed, and I might wish not to wake up in the morning, but then I convince myself that’s not what I really want and think of things I’m glad I’m still able to enjoy.  And then I close my eyes and wake up the next morning.

But sometimes, my days are a little different.  There are days when getting out of bed feels like fighting off an invisible force crushing me into my mattress.  There are days when I don’t want to talk to anyone, let alone smile or laugh.  There are days when reading a book takes too much energy.  There are days when I wish I had a legit invisibility cloak.  Then I would curl up on my bed, throw the cloak over me, and no one would be able to find me and tell me I should get up and do something.

There are days I give in to this desire.  Then I listen to the, “But I thought you were better?” questions.

YES I AM BETTER BUT I STILL HAVE BIPOLAR DISORDER AND THERE ARE DAYS WHEN LIFE STILL SUCKS!

This is what I wish I could scream at people.  But I generally don’t have the energy to do so when I want to.  Sometimes, I really wish I had some easily visible illness.  Then, when I needed a day to myself to sleep, people would see the illness and understand that it must be rough dealing with a chronic medical condition and that I must get frustrated with it all and that these days are to be expected from time to time.  I realize I don’t have a full-time job, so no need to remind me.  And no, having a full-time job would not make everything A-okay.  It might very well make things worse.  I would like to be back in a full-time position, but I realize that it will take time, that my body needs to heal, and that there might be some setbacks along the way.

One day, or a half of a day, or an extra long nap of curling up and not moving is to be expected with me.  The last thing I need are lectures about how getting fresh air will make everything better.  If it were that simple, I’d live in a tent.  When these days start stringing together, I still don’t need lectures.  I need someone to prod me and ask, “Hey, have you talked to your doctors lately to let them know what’s going on?  Why don’t you give them a call.  They can help you.”

I am choosing to live.  Every day.  Some days, that choice is a little more difficult to make.  But I am still making that choice.

July 4, 2015 Posted by | bipolar disorder, depression, health, recovery | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Inspirational Photos

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Call them what you will–before and after shots, inspirational photos, self-promotion–I am not all that pleased with the combination of photography and eating disorders, which has been a problem on social media for years.

For obvious reasons, I’m not a fan of selfies that depict bones and angles and dark circles under the eyes–be it to glorify the illness or to say, “Look at me. I’m so sick and miserable.”  I am not in favor of the Go Fund Me sites that use these pictures to encourage others to donate money so the individual can get treatment.  Selfie-videos?  Maybe in another post.

The other day I saw someone post a link to a site with before and after shots proving recovery from an eating disorder is possible.  The before shot was invariably an extremely thin individual who is sad, and the after shot is the same individual after gaining weight, with a smile on his/her face.  Which is just so like real life . . . I mean I was glowing with happiness during the initial stages of recovery, which for me meant weight recovery and maintenance.

What do these pictures show?  They show that an eating disorder is about weight, and nothing more.  Are you life-threateningly thin?  Then you have an eating disorder.  Gain weight and you’ll be happy again.  It’s really that simple.  (NOT)  These pictures promote the stereotype that eating disorder=anorexia and anorexia=thin.

This is not motivational or inspirational.  It’s downright harmful.  Yes, some individuals with eating disorders are underweight. But not all are.  Some are at a supposedly healthy weight.  Some are overweight.  You can’t tell just by looking at someone whether or not they have an eating disorder.

And if recovery was a simple equation of weight restoration=happiness, then why did my eating disorder continue for years after my initial hospitalization in 1999, when I did restore weight?  I can guarantee you that I was not smiling after that hospitalization.

For me, due to the nature of the eating disorder I struggled with, weight restoration was an important first step in recovery.  But looking back, it was only just that–a first step.  The difficult and terrifying work would come later, after I was physically healthy enough to endure intensive therapy.  And I wasn’t smiling during that process either, by the way.

Recovery was the hardest thing I have ever had to go through.  Now?  Yes, I am smiling.  I can look at my body with love and awe–not because of my weight, however, but because I realize this body allows me to go for walks every day and do yoga and write and teach and officiate and go out with friends and live fully.

Please, don’t pass on those images of inspiration.  Think of where you were at your sickest.  Would you have taken inspiration from the after shots or the before shots?  Would you have felt glad for the person in recovery or would you have been jealous of the person in the before shot?

Share the stories of those who have recovered, from all types of eating disorders.  Share stories that focus on the internal process of recovery and the joy in living freely.

June 27, 2015 Posted by | Body Image, Eating Disorders, recovery | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment