The Spirit Within

Not sure what to write...

2012-02-14T00:44:00.000-05:00

***Warning-Could Be Triggering***

I'm not sure what to write. First, because I am struggling internally. Second, I am afraid of triggering someone.

But the truth is that I am yet again at the point in recovery from anorexia that makes me want to give up. I have poor body image, and all I see when I look in the mirror is FAT. Now, please don't get me wrong. I really despise the word fat because I think it is used to hurt people, particularly people who may be struggling with their weight. I also don't judge other people based upon their weight; I reserve that for beating myself up. I wouldn't treat my worst enemy the way I treat myself at times...

Anyway, I haven't written because I am eating and watching my stomach grow and my thighs spread and fighting the uncomfortable feelings of being inside my body with all this flesh and roundness. I miss my thin body; the flat stomach and slim thighs that did not touch; wearing a size zero and having that hang loosely on my diminished butt; the incredible feeling of being empty...

Except I wasn't happy. I was dying. I stood to lose everything. I hated myself and the world around me. I am much more lively and attuned to the world around me. My curiosity has returned, and I am reading such things as Barack Obama's book, Dreams From My Father, and Jodi Picoult's novel, Sing You Home. I am finally beginning to enjoy some foods; the melting butter on a warm waffle, the creaminess of soy milk, the garlic taste of hummus, and more.

Quite simply, anorexia frankly bores me. I lived in such a narrow world when I was anorexic. I wasn't aware of anything around me, and I didn't care for much of anything except the all-pervasive counting of calories and stepping on the scale each morning, praying that the number is right so I could have a good day. Now my scale is in the trash, buried in the local dump under a ton or more of trash where it belongs. I can breathe again.

But if so, why do I still question recovery? Why do I still think of ways to starve myself? Why am I so very afraid much of the time???

I do not know...

Underneath

2012-01-29T15:36:00.000-05:00

Underneath (A Poem of Anorexia and Loss)

Peel back
the layers
and
Underneath

My smile
I am
Crying
Thinking

About a
Life
Without you
Here

I try
To imagine
You
Gone

Forever

And my
Heart
Breaks
In a

Million
Tiny Pieces
Shards
Cutting

Me
Deeply
Inside
My

Skin

And I
try to
Salvage
The

Spirt
Within
I try
to

Feel
Underneath
My
Bones

But I am
Unable

Saying goodbye (again)

2012-01-25T13:43:00.000-05:00

I will be filing for divorce this spring, and frankly it still hurts.

But in my heart, I know that this is the right thing. We simply aren't able to give each other what we need. David needs his freedom to create his art. I need someone to love and cherish me, to stay by my side no matter what and to share both the joys and troubles of life with me. Simply put, there was nothing left for us to give each other as husband and wife.

I still love David, but more and more I realize it is not David I miss—because I was very anxious around him this summer, and often felt within me that reconciliation was not going to happen—but companionship; the fun of having someone to do things with and be with.

I'm not sure how any of this happened, for once I believed that we would be together forever. I never expected to change my name again; not for the reasons I did. But there are a few days, I look at my new name and think, I can become who I once was—courageous, curious, strong, independent, often fearless, and someone who loved people and being part of their lives. That a whole new life awaits me, if only I have the courage to live the life that I have instead of mourn forever the life I once lived.

I simply know that it is over, and even though my heart is broken, it will mend one day. And I will look back at the pain of the last few years and it won't hurt as much.

And then I will be healed, and able to move forward...

Thesis Diary - 24 January 2012

2012-01-24T10:43:00.000-05:00

Excerpt from "We Shall Be Heard: Releasing the Silence of Anorexia Nervosa and Achieving Healing Through Creative Nonfiction and Memoir Writing"

Fear Anxiety Depression Self-Hatred . . .
Each rock was a strange mixture of velvety softness combined with rough bumps and indentations. I wrote each word — feelings and actions that have weighed me down for years — on several rocks in stark black ink.
One rock was reserved for the terrifying and addictive disease which has been trying to take over me body and soul for years.
Anorexia
I started to feel both fear and relief as I traced that word in blood-red ink on each side of the rock. I fear letting go of anorexia because it has become so intermingled with my identity. But I know I need to let go of this disease in order to live.
The word looked so powerful. My mind flew back to when anorexia first crept into my life, chipping away bits and pieces of me until I sometimes felt there was nothing left.
Each one of us wrote down the things that have weighed us down throughout the years. We then could choose to hold onto these rocks that symbolically represented the traits that have held us down for years.
Or we could chose to toss these rocks into the river running past the River Centre Clinic. The choice was ours . . .
I went first. I was determined to throw everything that had weighed me down for years. I have struggled through almost six weeks at the clinic. The road to recovery has been rocky and I often have been my own worst enemy as I have fought to get better.
But through all the struggle and pain, through the tears I cried and the loneliness I often felt as I longed to be with my husband and friends back home, through the ambivalence I sometimes felt about letting go of anorexia, there remained a mustard seed of hope that I could be free, I would be free.
I stepped down the grassy, sloping path to the river, dodging overgrown bushes and hanging tree branches, balancing my rocks in my hand. I stepped close to the edge, the river's dark waters churning just a few feet away from me. I threw the first rock, angry as I remembered life before my eating disorder developed. I threw more rocks as far as I could, willing each one to sink deep into the water.
The rock with one word — anorexia – remained in my hand. It felt soft and cold in my hand. The word seemed to mock me, saying that I would never get better, I would never be free. I hurled it as hard as could, feeling a strong sense of release as it landed into the water. I felt as if I had been buried under a ton of rocks and I had finally climbed my way out. At that moment it finally hit me — I want to recover. I want anorexia out of my life forever. I want to be free.
Each one of us took our turn. Some women were able to release all of their rocks, while others chose to hold onto one or more until they felt ready to release their burdens.
I started to cry as I walked back up to the clinic. I'm still not sure why. I was feeling a mixture of release and relief, mingled with fear about the work I still need to do in order to get better.
Later that night, I thought about all those rocks we threw into the dark waters. I could still see the words we had written on the rocks. I imagined the water rushing over the rocks until the words disappeared through the ages, the ink worn off and everything which had weighed us down mingled together into nothingness, becoming meaningless as we move forward into recovery and life.

Thesis Diary - 22 January 2012

2012-01-22T18:37:00.000-05:00

Hi everyone! Things have been hectic. I thought I would share part of my thesis - which has consumed much of my time - with all of you. Thanks for reading, and watch for a post explaining everything soon...

Thesis Diary

An excerpt from my thesis, "We Shall Be Heard: Releasing the Silence of Anorexia Nervosa and Achieving Healing Through Creative Nonfiction and Memoir Writing":

Several people took pictures of Grandpa before the funeral started. I wanted to scream, "He's not here, damn it! Can't you see Elbert Mounce has left us?" I knew he was gone when I kissed his icy forehead and touched his stiff hand as I placed a small pocket rosary in the pocket of his jeans. I wanted to say his soul is gone, as the soul of each one of us will fly upward when the cord is cut, when God decides that is it for us, when the Grim Reaper comes to carry us home.
"Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound ..." As soon as the first words floated through the funeral home, the wall I had built around myself with Ativan and Xanax broke down and my heart twisted and I again was a child, playing on the green, green lawns of Kentucky, dancing with the fireflies as my Grandpa, Dean and my mother softly spoke to each other on the long, wide porch. I was again a child; a confused little girl who felt both loved and lonely, a child who dreamed of a life far in the future where I would spend each night with someone who loved me and have a life filled with books and learning.
Afterward I was surrounded by food. So much food it frightened me. I know the family here has noticed my weight...

Smoke Rising (A Poem)

2011-12-26T00:25:00.001-05:00

Smoke Rising

Pain scrapes against my heart
As I listen...
And no one is there

Inexplicably, smoke rises upward
A life of lies and ruin
I turn and suddenly you are there

It's as if Christ heard
My cries...
But only for one moment

For months cold has seeped
Into my bones
And I curl into a ball

Seeking warmth
Covers wrapped and tucked...
The sudden brush of a thigh

That is not there
Startled awake...
I forget the emptiness

That has invaded
My life
And my soul

Seeking solace
In forbidden places...
And my heart begins

To feel again
Stirrings of emotions
Going places

That I should not go
Unable to stop...
I turn to Christ

But there is no answer
My prayers cry out
To no one

And I long for what
I can never have.

Three years later...

2011-12-05T17:54:00.004-05:00

I started this blog exactly three years ago today. Here is what I wrote:

The enemy - Food

So when did food become the enemy?

I look at my plate each morning, noon and night and think - I must eat, because in order to live, I need food. But when I hear people talk about the pleasure of eating, of the joy of creating a new recipe, I just don't get it. I think, why bother? It's all the same, anyway, and I just want to shovel in the bare minimum and get it over with.

No more not eating for me. No more skipping meals or weaseling out of breakfast or eating half a sandwich and giving the other half away (like I did many times in Haiti). But to eat for fun? No way; that just doesn't make any sense to me.

So why am I writing about this very private matter in this very public forum? Because at some point in life, silence must be broken in order for healing to take place. And this is a start.

But eating for pleasure? That's going to take a very long time.

I find it ironic that in many ways, I still feel the same. I started this blog a few months after my first hospitalization for anorexia. I was still sure I was going to nail recovery within a year, and then move on and eliminate this blog.

And yet here I am, three years later.

Someday, I do hope to write that I am fully recovered and I am moving on. I thought it would be easy, but I really didn't know anything. But I do know that being able to write about how I feel has been a true gift, and so have all of you. I want to thank everyone who reads and comments and holds me up. I am eternally grateful for all of the support and the friends I have found through this blog. I literally wouldn't be here without all of you.

Murmuration

2011-11-29T00:00:00.004-05:00

Hundreds of birds swooped low within the sky, in perfect synchronicity. The dark forms filled the sunlit sky, and the flock flew and swayed rhythmically, as if they heard music from on high. I felt an inexplicable longing to join the flock, to follow these tiny birds to their unknown destination, to be free of all that holds me to this world...

I felt very fortunate to witness this murmuration the other day. I didn't expect to see one in the low-slung skies of Michigan, but God reveals His beauty and grace in the least expected of places.

I think of Judea and Israel, dusty lands that became the cradle of three major religions. I picture Jesus Christ walking amongst the people, on dirt roads, rough with stones and brambles, the air filled with fear as the Romans sought to crush the Israelites. The Romans never succeeded, and instead, Christ rose, triumphant and free and His name became holy and His words worthy to live by.

Lately, I have been thinking about Jesus and his humanity. He walked amongst us and lived as one of us. He had a circle of close friends, as do most of us, that he dined with and spoke with and I imagine him sharing jokes and laughter as they relaxed after a hot day, sharing bread and wine and figs. These were his friends, and he was their friend, and that made them very precious to each other.

Yes, I am drawn to Christ as Lord. But right now, I need to think of Jesus as man, knowing he loved his friends with all their flaws, and forgave them. "Let the first one without sin..." Mary and Martha and Mary Magdalene and the disciples - sinners all, and just like me. And right now that brings me comfort, because it helps me to know that Christ will forgive me all the sins I have committed and those of the future. As someone once said, I am the least of all Christians...

Mumuration. I wonder what happpens if one little starling becomes separated from the group. What happens to the starling that is lost? Does he ever find his way back to the flock? Does that single starling continue to fly, searching for his fellow starlings until his wings are tired and he can't fly anymore?

Sometimes I feel like that lost starling, searching for the murmuration I have been separated from. I remember once I was sitting in church, during a time that I was starving myself. I was tired of anorexia, and I had been begging God for release. I clearly heard, "I don't want you to starve. I don't want my people to starve."

And perhaps God whispers to the lost starling, guiding him back to his flock so the murmuration is complete...

Dreaming...

2011-11-22T17:54:00.000-05:00

For Annemarie...May your heart be at peace and your body free of pain, and I will see you someday.
I am dreaming of a new life, a good life completely free from anorexia and in which I am happy and love myself. I asked my eating disorders psychiatrist the other day if he believed that I could *fully* recover, and he said yes. I ask him this question often, not really out of doubt, but perhaps to hear one other person reassure me that yes, I can be free...

One of my friends, Annemarie, died of anorexia on Nov. 11. She was only 34. She was always positive, telling me that I would be one of those with anorexia who did recover. She completely believed in me, but I am not so sure she believed in herself. She seemed to be getting better, but then relapsed and eventually her body just couldn't take any more. My heart is broken that such a young, lively spirit is gone — she sent me a text about a month before she died, saying to always look on the positive side. I don't understand why that wasn't enough to save her, though. I mean, part of me does understand. She battled this illness for more than sixteen years. I have been struggling with it, getting better and then relapsing, for about four years.

Still, it is frightening. I think that when someone dies of an illness you are still struggling with, it makes you think that it could have been you. And there is something that shakes you to your core, and makes you want to deny that you have the illness; no, not me, I am not that sick, I was never that sick. Then you look at pictures or talk to family or friends and the reality comes through, that they also thought that at one time, you were going to die of anorexia, and you realize that they are right.

I say you, but I really mean me; perhaps by use of the third person is a way of protecting myself from the complete terror. Okay, so I remember the slow heart rate and the skips between beats, the fear that my heart might stop in the middle of the night, and the trips to ER in which I was always lectured by the ER physician on duty to do something, to eat, that I needed to get better or one day, my heart could stop and that would have been it. I remember thinking I was too fat, and then my hand would brush against a protruding hip bone or feel my clavicle, and then my heart would race, I would be afraid and yet, at the same time, wonder with the wonder of a child if I would at some point see Christ, and there was hope mixed in with fear because I was so very tired of it.

And I remember last Thanksgiving, when I got up to get ready to go to my family's and instead, I blacked out and fell down the stairs, crashing into the wall, giving myself a migraine and sick feeling in my stomach and spending the holiday curled on the couch, safe from the world in spite of wondering why did I blackout? Of course, in the deep recesses of my mind, I knew why I had blacked out. I was starving myself again, and eventually it will catch you one way or another. I continued to blackout several times through December, and actually did not find the determination to eat and try to be healthier until my husband left me on Dec. 27. On December 28, I fixed myself a full breakfast, knowing the only way to any life was food; no, it is not only about food, but food had to come first and nutrition and weight restoration was the start of recovery. Of course, as most of you know, it did not make a difference in my marriage and we are now permanently separated, but will not divorce until I am at least finished with graduate school.

So what does this have to do with dreaming? This year has been much better; I eat and have maintained at least a reasonable weight. You would not know, or at least I like to think so, that I have had anorexia to look at me now. I still have a ways to go, but I am proud of the progress I've made.

I finally realized I had two choices: I could continue to go in and out of recovery, abusing my body and getting sicker each time simply because I am 46 and things are harder on me now; or I could eat and tell the voices in my head to shut up and go to hell, that I am going to live, and more than that, I am going to thrive.

I have allowed myself to dream again, after years of believing there were no dreams left for me. But part of that feels like self-pity, and I hate that.

So I am dreaming...I am dreaming of love and a full relationship, someone by my side, sharing life and laughter and love. I am dreaming of actually earning my master's degree, of having it in hand in May 2012, and finding a job I both love and in which I help people. I am dreaming of connections with friends and family, and sharing love and friendship.

I am dreaming...And in those dreams, my friend is now at peace and perhaps she sees these words she helped inspire, and perhaps some day we will live in a world that sees the soul, the spirit within, and not the frame that holds us, because that is just superficial. Each one of us has a spirit that is more beautiful and wondrous than we can even imagine; right now, I live in a world that doesn't help us see the spirit within, the innate goodness and kindness that is part of most people, and the quirky traits and things that make each person unique and interesting and special.

I am dreaming...And I thank God that anorexia did not kill my dreams; there was a time I thought that might happen.

I am dreaming of being free. And when I fully recover, I will be free.

Tired

2011-11-18T00:18:00.002-05:00

I am sick with a strep infection and I am tired and I feel very discouraged right now. I keep waiting for something inspiring and beautiful to enter into my head, but it doesn't. I keep waiting to think about something hopeful and encouraging to write for all of you, but I fail. The truth is that right now I don't feel hopeful or inspiring or any of those positive things I said I would after changing the name of this blog.

Instead, I feel alone and depressed and physically drained, and I can't imagine anyone ever wanting to spend his life with me. I feel like all of this is my fault, and I deserve to suffer...

On changing my name

2011-10-26T00:15:00.001-04:00

I am again Angela Elain Gambrel. What I haven't figured out is who that person is...

I go to write my name, and I become confused about which name to write since the changeover is incomplete.

A feeling of misunderstanding? confusion? unreality? comes over me when I sign the name. What am I supposed to write? And what does it all mean in the end besides some letters strung together meant to indicate who I am? Or is it all a legal falsehood, a lie perpetuated by society? Are we defined by our name?
And I wonder why it ever meant so much to me...

It was supposed to empower me. Return to my birth name; the name I held for thirty years. Wipe the slate clean. The final break between my husband and I without actually divorcing - discarding his name, and taking my former name back.

Instead, I cried the day my Social Security Card arrived with Angela Elain Gambrel clearly printed on it. It was the final break of our 15-year marriage. We no longer share the same name, and instead of feeling empowered by that, I only felt a heavy ache in my heart and I wanted to take it back, take it all back, because I knew that it meant the true beginning of the end, that I will some day no longer be his wife. The dream is truly over and I must move on.

I have spent days drinking wine and pouring over photos of us, happy and smiling and Mr. and Mrs. Lackey. I have prayed at times, God, please return me back to those happier times, before I got sick, before I developed anorexia, before everything imploded and happily ever after became lost. There are wedding photos and vacation photos and photos from this summer when we attempted to reconcile...

And I thought I could erase him, erase all the pain, by a mere name change?
I am grieving right now; the death of my marriage as autumn starts to fade and life itself dies and soon the cold will be here...And I will be so cold without David here.

But in my heart, I know that this is the right thing. We simply aren't able to give each other what we need. David needs his freedom to create his art. I need someone to love and cherish me, to stay by my side no matter what and to share both the joys and troubles of life with me. Simply put, there was nothing left for us to give each other as husband and wife.

I still love David, but more and more I realize it is not David I miss - because I was very anxious around him this summmer, and often felt within me that reconciliation was not going to happen - but companionship; the fun of having someone to do things with and be with.

I'm not sure how any of this happened, for once I believed that we would be together forever. I never expected to change my name again; not for the reasons I did. But there are a few days, I look at my new name and think, I can become who I once was - courageous, curious, strong, independent, often fearless, and someone who loved people and being part of their lives. That a whole new life awaits me, if only I have the courage to live the life that I have instead of mourn forever the life I once lived...

I'm not sure what I am trying to say. I simply know that it is over, and even though my heart is broken, it will mend one day. And I will look back at the pain of the last month and it won't hurt as much.

And then I will be healed, and able to move forward...

I Am Not Ashamed

2011-10-01T22:14:00.000-04:00

I am a chrysalis
Wrapped tightly in golden skin
Until one day the layers will slowly crumble
Revealing the beautiful butterfly of my soul
With delicate gossamer wings
Strong enough to carry me into an unknown future

I am not ashamed that my marriage has failed, and David chose freedom and Florida over more than fifteen years of love, shared experiences, and a real life of meaning and joy. I know that I did everything possible to make my marriage work, but it won't and I must face reality and move forward.

The first step is reclaiming my original name. We won't be filing for divorce until next spring/summer for a number of financial and legal reasons. However, I am his wife in name only, and I want to be my own person. So I will start the proceedings Monday to become who I was fifteen years ago, and know that I will at least experience some sense of closure until we can untangle the web of our two lives next year. I feel somewhat overwhelmed when I think about how meshed our two lives our, so perhaps taking this first step now will make it easier.

I continue to think about what the future holds. I am both excited and frightened. I had expected to grow old with David, and really thought this time that we would reconcile and remain together. We both said we loved each other up until the day he drove away to Florida and what I see as an empty and lonely life for him. I told him that there will be no more chances, no more tries at reconciliation. I am done.

So now I have to pull myself together, continue to get healthy, and turn to my family and friends instead of isolating myself as I did last winter when we separated for the second time. (This has been one long year!)

Not only do I need to reclaim my name, I need to reclaim myself. That is much harder because I poured so much of myself into my marriage and trying to save it. Between that and the damage done by years of struggling with anorexia - and it is still a struggle; some days I eat like a normal person, while other days I fight to eat enough to keep me alive - I am confused about many things. I am lucky in that I had a life both before David and anorexia became parts of my life.

It really is like a slow peeling off of layers to reveal the person within. These next few months in particular are going to be periods of discovery and learning.

I am not ashamed of anything I've done. There are only two things I might have done differently: first, I wouldn't have ignored the warning signals that David's heart really wasn't into reconciling, and I would have stopped pretending that everything was perfect, that he was perfect.

But I am not ashamed to be alone, and starting over. I still believe in true love, and I know there is someone out there for me.

And some day, we shall meet...And all of this will just be a painful, yet distant memory.

Saying goodbye...

2011-09-26T21:25:00.001-04:00

David and I said goodbye to each other tonight. There will be no reconciliation. No more attempts to salvage our 15-year-marriage.

No more sharing the love we still feel for each other...No more nights on the couch watching old movies. No more holding hands in church as we sung hymns and recited the Psalms. No more Sunday afternoon lunches at Ruby Tuesday's.

No more.

It is over, and there is no going back.

I thought we would make it this time. It looked so very promising. But in the end, David decided that he doesn't want to be married to anyone. He wants to be single and alone, and has said he will never marry again. He says I am the love of his life, and that he will always love me. But he feels we can't stay together and he still maintain his freedom and his art.

And thus it has ended.

Now I must move forward. I strangely ate more tonight than I have for weeks. It was as if my body was guiding me to the nutrition I needed after being so drained by this.

I will always love him. But I will move forward, and hope some day to have a full and loving relationship with someone who loves me as I am and will stay.

I couldn't compete with a life of freedom and riding motorcycles and hanging out at the bar with his brother's band at 3 a.m. I couldn't compete with a life of no restrictions and being responsible only for himself.

Our love just wasn't strong enough to fight all these forces.

And that is really it for now. I have nothing more to say at this time.

One year later

2011-08-31T14:33:00.003-04:00

As I lean back into your arms/ I am transported to a time/ Where everything was safe/ And nothing could touch the love/ Surrounding us./ Take my hand/ As we revist the dark time/ One last time/ And then what destroyed us/ Will be banished Forever/ And we will move forward...

One year ago today, David and I separated for the first time. The driving wedge, of course, was anorexia nervosa. Our marriage was shaken by years of this illness, in which I illogically starved myself to a wraith-like thinness. I thought I was achieving control and perfection, when in reality my entire life was crumbling at my feet.

I am a Phoenix/ The ashes of anorexia/ Burning through my soul/ And finally blowing away/ Like so much dust/ Never to rise again/ Instead I will rise/ Free from the demonic hold/ of this mean disease

It has been a long road. We briefly reunited, only to be driven apart again in December. Anorexia was the third partner in our marriage, and eliminated all joy and laughter from our lives.

The Dark Time/ Is beginning to pass/ And the light of my soul/ Sings to God/ Grateful for his Grace/ And second chances/ At life and love

For a long time, I believed my marriage was over. Then a miracle occured, and David and I began marriage counseling and the long and painful process of coming back together. This week we discussed how my struggles with anorexia impacted both of us. He was afraid he would wake up and find me dead one morning. That is an awful truth to live with and think about each day.

There were times I hoped I would die in my sleep. I was tired. Tired of fighting this illogical disease. Tired of hoping, only to see each effort at recovery implode as anorexia again wormed its way into my brain.

I am much healthier now. I am at a healthy weight, and interestingly two people mentioned yesterday how much better I look this semester than during the past few years of graduate school.

And I know that soon David and I will be reunited. I am very fortunate. This post one year later could have been one of sorrow and pain, of me still sick and fighting any attempts at recovery.

I have learned much. I don't want anorexia to come back into my life again, because there is no life in anorexia.

And in the end, I want life...

NOTE: This post reflects the reality of my life at the time written. Things have drastically changed, and I hope to write a post about these changes when I feel I am able to. I have approved all comments sent to me, because I respect and am touched by anyone who feels moved to comment on the things I have written. But please, no more well-wishes or comments about being happy for me, etc. It is too painful. I hope all of you understand, and I will explain further when I am able to.

Frozen (Searching For God)

2011-08-13T18:56:00.002-04:00

Come to Me when you are weak and weary. Rest snugly in My everlasting arms. I do not despise your weakness, My child. Actually, it draws Me closer to you, because weakness stirs my compassion—My yearning to help. Accept yourself in your weariness, know that I understand how difficult your journey has been. ~ Sarah Young, "Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace in His Presence"

I am frozen. The words dance at the edge of my brain, but are encased in ice and I feel as if I have to chip away at each tiny sliver to release my thoughts and allow them to fly free...And I still feel frozen.

I am weak and weary. I wish I had more faith, but this body — this vessel in which my soul resides — is sometimes a huge source of frustration for me. Each time I see health and strength within my reach, the wind scatters everything just out of reach and I am left chasing shadows, wondering why I can't remain well for more than several months.

Just when I was beginning to feel strong in my recovery from anorexia...Now I face surgery for polyps and cysts, and a CT scan of my right lung because the pre-op chest X-ray showed a pulmonary nodule. I also am taking a strong antibiotic because the pre-op check showed a raging staph infection.

I've already been struggling with body image issues, trying to accept that I am more than twenty pounds heavier than last year. I know that is a good thing, and that I am still too thin and need to gain several more pounds. But I just wish I believed what I hear other women in recovery from their eating disorders say — that my body is good and wonderful just for the things it can do, not because of what I weigh.

People say I am an inspiration. I don't feel like an inspiration, but instead I would love to sometimes crawl into a hole and hide. I'm tired of waiting for real life to begin....when? Damn it, real life is now! Real life is tied up in the messiness of recovery and doctors and tests and surgery and working on reconciliation with my husband, David.

I asked him last night what he wanted from me and he replied, "a strong, independent woman." I feel like I am becoming that woman again, but it is hard with all these other issues swirling around me, pulling at me and making me feel tired and anxious. I want to return to my true, authentic self; someone who loves people and books and learning and doing new things and singing Christmas carols in July and...I want to have enough energy to ride my bike or take a walk, to go out with a friend for lunch or even read a book or magazine.

And it all frustrates me. I'm frankly tired of all this crap with my body.

But I have been working hard to still eat and maintain my weight, in spite of anxiety and nausea induced by the antibiotics. I also have been working hard to understand and honor David's needs, while still honoring my own needs. We both know we have to seek balance, and work on truly talking to and treating each other with love and gentleness.

I am trying to grow closer to God, allowing His love and grace to see me through my fears and anxieties. But that also is sometimes hard, and I sometimes wonder if He even hears me...

However, I have to believe that God does hear me and is with me and eliminate these oppressive feelings of being frozen, frustrated, and anxious that do not help anything, but only makes things worse. I have to believe everything will turn out all right in the end.

Weight(ing) For Change — Why Weight Stigma Impacts Us All

2011-07-27T13:39:00.005-04:00

First, a little test.
What is the first thing you notice when you first met someone? Most likely you first notice the person's weight. And that is the first thing he or she mostly likely sees when meeting you.

Now I would like you to dig a little deeper. Do you have assumptions about people based upon their weight? Most of us do assume certain things about people solely based on their weight. All the stereotypes are right there in our heads. We assume people who are thin are healthy and fit, and we think that people who are overweight are unhealthy and not fit.

We have been trained since childhood by societal and cultural influences to think this way. But society is wrong, and we have accepted erroneous information based on nothing more than an arbitrary number. We can't tell if someone is fit or not solely based upon his or her weight.

We really don't know anything about a person based upon his or her weight. And often we can't see beyond that depending upon our own assumptions about people and weight. That is sad. We miss out on getting to know people because we have allowed our prejudices to dictate our actions.

Weight stigma goes both ways. I am not fond of a current movement that states, "Real women are not a size [X]." Why does someone get to decide who is a real woman based upon her size and weight? Aren't we all real women (and men)? We were all created different sizes and each one of us fall within a spectrum. That is the beauty of being human — each one of us is unique in shape and size, and we are perfect in God's eyes. We only start questioning our bodies and weight when society interferes and tries to force us to accept its values.

So what does weight stigma mean to me? It can be very dangerous because society continued crushing pressure on all of us to fit its very narrow definition of what is an acceptable weight. Some of us listen to society's voice and develop eating disorders during our quest to meet that narrow ideal. I am not necessarily saying that weight stigma and society's views about weight cause eating disorders. But it certainly doesn't help with either recovering from eating disorders or accepting our bodies.

It personally means that I have been a slave to this machine for years. I developed anorexia nervosa several years ago, and the number on this machine dictated my life for a long time. I am not saying weight stigma and society's extreme ideals about weight caused me to develop anorexia and almost cost me my life. But as I wrote earlier, it certainly didn't help.

I continue to move forward in recovery and am becoming healthier each day. Keeping my scale is one of the last vestiges of my eating disorder, and I still struggle with the numbers I see on it. I continue to work on eliminating weight stigma in my personal life, and I believe awareness is key to both recovery and eliminating weight stigma.

Because no one wins when it comes to weight stigma. The number is never right because none of us can meet the ridiculous standards set by society. Instead, we struggle and become frustrated until we reach a point where we can let go and simply be ourselves.

One last question. What if I had substituted the word race for weight stigma? Because that is what weight stigma is — one of the last acceptable forms of prejudice.

I'm still waiting for change. I hope it comes soon because weight stigma seems to be spreading during this country's obsessive fight against obesity. Perhaps some day we can focus on health and other things that are real and important about people.

This post was written as part of Voice in Recovery's Weight Stigma Blog Carnival. Visit Voice In Recovery's website for links to more posts written by a variety of bloggers on weight stigma and its impact on society and people.

Day by Day

2011-07-07T20:27:00.004-04:00

Living my life day by day . . .

"Day by Day"

Day by Day
Day by Day

Oh, dear Lord, of thee
Three things I pray
To see things more clearly
To love thee more dearly
To follow thee more clearly

Day by Day . . .

(From the musical, "Godspell")

As David sung this song to me this afternoon, I could feel the presence of God surround us. David was practicing the music for Sunday's outdoor Eucharist, and I asked him to sing this song again as it is one of my very favorites.

"To see things more clearly . . ." I want to see and be part of life in all its beauty and glory. I want to see that the Lord does love me, and that love surrounds me daily and is the strength I draw upon when I feel weak. I need to look at things more clearly... Life is beautiful and painful and wonderful and, at times, tremendously trying and it is worth every minute.

I didn't feel that when I was ensnared by anorexia. I didn't feel anything except either an all-consuming numbness or anxiety breaking through. I couldn't see the gifts that surrounded me, and I now see clearly that my life has been one of both beauty and heartbreak, joy and sorrows, and I have survived. I have survived an illness that takes the lives of many women and men, an illness that made me illogically starve myself and want to deprive myself of life.

I have been sick for several days, and have struggled to eat because of nausea and have lost a few pounds. In the past, I would have ignored that and rejoiced in that loss. Not now. I asked David to pick me up several packages of Ensure Plus, something I know I can get down me and that will halt the weight loss and turn it around. I am very proud of myself, and the fact that I clearly see that I have to keep eating to be healthy and have a full life.

"To love thee more dearly . . ." As I sung out these words along with David, I knew I want to draw closer to my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I want to be part of making His world a better place, and I can't do that if I am sick. And I want to thank Him and show Him my love, for it was through His grace that I am recovering from anorexia.

"To follow thee more nearly . . . " What more can I say? Christ, I am yours. You have given me another chance at life and I promise not to squander that.

Each day, David and I draw closer together and reconnect with each other. It hasn't been easy. There have been tears and painful moments brought up, but we are still working together and learning about each other after years of illness. We haven't given up, and there are many wonderful and joyful moments, too.

Such as hearing David sing as I relaxed on the couch, recovering from a minor illness. I can't think of anything more beautiful than hearing your husband sing to you. It lifted me up and made all the aches and pains fall away as his soulful voice practiced the hymns for Sunday.

Thank you, dear Lord, for this afternoon's beauty and for all the grace you have shown me each day.

"Day by day . . ." I plan to try to live my life more day by day. I think I will heed Christ's advice not to worry about tomorrow.

Day by day... I grow and learn and love and become more myself. Life is good.

Guest article - "15 Alarming Facts About Eating Disorders In College"

2011-06-29T14:44:00.001-04:00

I was recently e-mailed by Kaitlyn Cole of OnlineUniversities.com regarding a recent article the website had published — "15 Alarming Facts About Eating Disorders In College." Don't let the title fool you — the article contains valuable information about eating disorders for people of any age. It also takes on several stereotypes about eating disorders. For example, the article points out that eating disorders strikes both men and women.

One of the most interesting things pointed out in the article is how nutritional information on food can be triggering. As someone recovering from anorexia, I sometimes do feel a twinge of guilt or worry when ordering out in restaurants and the calories are laid out there for me to see, and I have to tell myself it is okay to enjoy higher calorie foods. I remember when I was actively anorexic and I would count every calorie I ingested. The nutritional information provided by so many restaurants and packages of food were a great help for restricting.

The article also addresses other important issues, including the pro-anorexia movement and the fact that eating disorders do kill.

Therefore, I highly recommend you read "15 Alarming Facts About Eating Disorders In College". I would love to hear what you think about the article.

(Note: I do plan to write a personal post very soon. Graduate school is keeping me really busy right now, but soon I will have time for personal writing. I wish everyone a happy and safe Fourth of July holiday!)

Happy Anniversary!!!

2011-06-14T09:43:00.000-04:00

Last week, David and I celebrated our 15th anniversary (June 8). We had a lovely time strolling through the Toledo Zoo and Aquarium and finishing the day with a great meal at Applebee's. We then spent the evening at our hotel room talking, reconnecting, and looking through our wedding album and wondering at how young and hopeful we looked on that day.

I was proud then to marry the love of my life, and I am still proud to be David's wife. We have gone through so much and are still working to come back to each other. It is confusing at times. We love each other very much, and yet still live apart. We attend church together each Sunday, and see each other often during the week. I am learning to "live in the moment" and just enjoy the time we have together. We are both learning to understand and be more gentle with each other. We also sometimes dream of a future together; the house we might live in, the things we might do together, the life we could build.

What does this all mean? I don't know. Today David will decide if he wants to continue with marriage counseling. I have asked if if it means its over if we don't, and he said no. I pray that we do continue, because I think we are just starting to learn some important things that can strengthen our marriage. But I shall see, and I pray for strength to accept whatever direction we take next.

For now, we still love each other and are still working together. There have been a few arguments and tears (on my part - I tend to cry easily), but I feel we have worked through them and realize no couple has a perfect relationship.

I still believe in "happily ever after" and I still have faith . . .

David and me on our 15th wedding anniversary - 8 June 2011

Love, Hope and (Un)bearable Uncertainties

2011-05-18T20:35:00.000-04:00

And thus the story continues...

I thought I was ready to move on and accept that my marriage was over, and that there was nothing I could do about it. Then David returned to Michigan about one month ago. We have seen each other often, and these have been wonderful, intimate times together for the most part. Each moment with him feels precious because I am not certain of the future.

I know that he loves me, and I love him. Neither one of us can imagine being with anyone else. And David says he will always love me, and wants me in his life forever. I know I will always love him, he is too deep in my heart.

But will our life be as husband and wife? I do not know. We are undergoing marriage counseling right now, and it seems to help both of us. We are learning to listen to each other, and some of the things we have talked about surprised me.

One of the things David wanted me to hear is that I am very intelligent, accomplished, and a wonderful writer and it puzzles him that I am so lacking in self-confidence. Another thing he mentioned is that I am so worried about the future that I fail to "live in the moment."

I've been thinking about those two things a lot lately, and realize he is right on both counts. I struggle to be confident, and I do often worry about the future. I often later find out that those worries were unfounded, and a waste of valuable energy and time.

Why? Knowing I have a tendency toward self-sabotaging behavior does help me understand a bit more how I developed anorexia at 42. But I have so much to learn in order to grow and completely heal.

But I believe I can overcome these traits, and live a joyful life free from anorexia and overwhelming anxiety. And I still believe that life can be lived with David. Right now he needs time and he needs to see me healthy. I pray his heart will remain open to the possibility of us being together, of the beautiful life we can still build together.

I know he's afraid. I am afraid. But I refuse to give into fear, and truly believe I can do "all things through Christ who strengthens me."

I have so much hope for the future. Hope for myself. Hope for us. Hope that this will be "happily ever after." After all the pain of the past four years, I believe we deserve it.

But sometimes I feel as if God keeps throwing lessons at me. First there is the uncertainty of my marriage. Graduate school also has some uncertainties, as the chair of my thesis committee is leaving the university and now I need to find someone new to work with. I am planning on going on a mission trip in June, and I feel some uncertainity about how I can serve Christ while there.

However, that isn't the biggest uncertainty right now. I went for my yearly check-up yesterday. I was very proud because I have reached and maintained my goal weight for months. The last time my family doctor saw me, I weighed about 25 pounds less and I was getting ready to go into PHP as a last-ditch effort to conquer anorexia.

My family doctor did notice, and was quite happy. She knew I was relatively healthy because of my monthly blood tests ordered by my eating disorders doctor.

Then the check-up began...and she found some lesions that could possibly be cancerous. I am being sent to the gynecologist to be checked. I didn't take it seriously at first, and asked if it could wait until after the July mission trip because I have so many other things I'd rather do than go see another doctor. No. I have to go in the next few weeks.

Somewhere, I hear Alanis Morrisette singing, "Isn't it ironic??...."

Vows meant truly (a poem)

2011-04-24T22:22:00.002-04:00

Vows meant truly

Shattered pieces of my soul

Gathered in my hands

Leaking, draining

Spilling over

Like rain

Falling on the dry, hard soil.

I struggle to hold the shards

Inside my palms

Cutting, ripping

Crushed

Like glass

Falling all around me.

Heart-words swirling

Within my brain

Love, commitment

Forever

Lies told

Falling apart in an instant.

I fight to keep dreams alive

Inside my shattered soul

But my hands are

Like a sieve

And everything pours out.

Lost

Gone

Forgotten

Vows meant truly.

The legacy of family

2011-04-14T22:52:00.000-04:00

"I must write it all out, at any cost. Writing is more than living, for it is being conscious of living." Anne Morrow Lindburgh

So many memories have been dancing at the edges of my brain this week. I am being pushed to remember and think about the past, and I'm not sure I like it. Old songs and pictures and writing memoir essays have opened the Pandora's box that I have struggled all my life to keep firmly shut and locked.

So why does the past feel so close, so much more real than today?...Growing up in a volatile family; misplaced Southerners who never completely adapted to life in the cold North, but moved here in search of better opportunities...Traveling down to visit my maternal grandmother, married seven, eight times, and yet dying alone in Section 8 housing...Visits to Kentucky and my grandfather and step-grandmother; happy, and yet Grandpa still dreaming of his beautiful, yet troubled first wife, my grandmother, until the day he died...My father's family; his mother, part Cherokee but passing as white; his father, first an alcoholic and then a die-hard member of a snake-handling church in the hills of Kentucky...my mother dropping out of high school after the eleventh grade, my father only making it through the eighth grade...

And the family's legacy reverberates through the next generations...I look at the picture of my beautiful grandmother, who struggled as she aged and her stunning beauty faded...I glance at the picture of my other grandmother, whom I never knew, and can see the Cherokee in her long, dark hair and eyes, haunted and tired, wearing a dress made out of sack cloth...I wonder about all these people, related to me and yet distant and disconnected from my life. Does any of this really effect who I am as a person?

Then there's my own life....As I wrap up my graduate nonfiction writing class, I think about the things I've written, the truths I've unveiled and the truths I couldn't bring myself to write about because some things are still too painful to put into words. My struggles with anorexia and its impact on my marriage...my husband leaving because, I believe, he couldn't take it anymore...my hopes and dreams for reconciliation, shattered...traveling down to Florida in one last ditch effort to save my marriage and failing...and yet...

I'm not sure what I'm trying to say... except that I am confused and my mind is swirling with all the mistakes I've made in my life, wondering where did I go wrong and how to move forward...wondering about the possibilities and if I can start over...and find a measure of peace and happiness in my life.

I am not alone

2011-04-09T19:26:00.000-04:00

Hope is the dream of a soul awake. ~ French proverb

I am not alone. Christ surrounds me every minute with His love and grace. I am forever grateful for His mercy during these times of struggle and change.

I am learning to live again. Being alone for long periods of time have shown me that I have only been half alive for years. Why?

Sickness, a disintegrating marriage, a slew of changes and losses during the past five years....first, the loss of myself as I became entangled with the illogical illness of anorexia. Then frantic attempts to become what I felt David wanted as I slowly recovered and grew stronger both in body and mind, and yet he drew further and further away. Leaving my career as a journalist to attend graduate school, and the subsequent adjustments to academia and trying to fit in to that world.

I am learning to trust that my intelligence and strength will see me through wherever God takes me. I never thought my marriage would end, but it has and I accept that and continue to move forward. I have hope for the future, and its infinite possibilities. I know I will never be alone no matter what happens, and to finally feel Christ's presence so fully is a joy that is indescribable.

Not that it has been easy. I have cried many times during the past three months, and prayed for God to lift the depression and anxiety as I contemplate unraveling fifteen years of dreams and hopes. As I look around my house and the tangle of possessions — David's paintings, my books; a life built that now must be torn down — I sometimes feel overwhelmed. I want to just give everything away, pack my clothes, and go somewhere were I am not known as David's wife or a former reporter or a recovering anorexic or all the other roles I have filled that I now must leave behind...A place where I can be free.

I am not alone. Christ is with me throughout all this. He is with me when I wake up in the middle of the night, still confused about all that has happened in the past year. He is with me each time I must tell one more person about the break-up of my marriage, that David is never coming back to Michigan and he has left it to me to tell all of our friends. He is with me when I still sometimes ask myself if I am a failure, if something is wrong with me and if I am an awful person who drove away her husband because she was so stupid to develop anorexia in her forties. I don't always believe these things of myself; they are just unbidden thoughts.

Christ was with me when I decided on December 28, 2010 that I would overcome anorexia and live a full life, one filled with joy and happiness. He was with me when I kept eating and gaining weight, and when I struggled with that and had to tell myself that health and freedom were worth the pain of recovery. I have told myself I will not settle for anything less than full freedom from anorexia. I become more free every day, and anorexia is beginning to seem like a distant memory.

I am not alone.

It is time to move on...

2011-03-27T14:51:00.015-04:00

"Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." Anais Nin

It is time for me to move forward in life. In each one of our lives reality shifts and changes. Nothing remains static. I can face the future with hope and courage, or I can face it with fear. I choose the first, and to accept that the dreams and hopes that I might have held at one time are no more.

For I do not want my life to shrink, become nothing more than waiting and dreaming for what will not happen. It has been three months — to the day — that David left, and there will be no reconciliation. Nothing can change that.

So I can choose to cry and rail against God or fate or whatever you want to call it. Or I can choose to move forward. The life I lead really depends upon me. I am now healthy and I am free. I feel strong in my recovery from anorexia, and thus those fears are not there anymore. I am proud of myself and I am fine with my body. I rarely think about being thinner or restricting or all the other things that came with the illness.

I am not saying things are perfect. Once in a while, I will get glimpse into the mirror or pull out the scale and weigh myself and I will feel an old, familiar twinge from days past. I just push it aside and think about what I stand to lose.

Life.

This might not be the life that I originally dreamed of when I started focusing on gaining weight and health three months ago. But as I wrote, realities change and you either accept it and move on or become bitter and stuck forever.

I think about the possibilities. I could move to Ireland after I finish graduate school. Or move south, away from Michigan's cold winters. I could do just about anything. I have far more blessings than many people. I am intelligent and educated. I have a variety of experiences in different fields. I have been told — although I still struggle to believe this about myself — that I am strong and courageous and beautiful.

Beautiful. There is such power in that word. Of course I like it when people say I am beautiful. Who doesn't? But I want to tell them to dig a little deeper, that perhaps real beauty can be found within people, including me. For I never again want to be trapped by anorexia, and part of me is afraid that one simple word is part of the trap.

You would be beautiful if only you were thinner...

This is one of the many thoughts I had before I became healthier. What nonsense! I can look at the pictures and see that at my thinnest, I was far from beautiful. I was emaciated and looked old and drained.

I would rather be thought of as strong and courageous and kind. These are the traits that open my world and allow others to be in it.

I am ready...It is scary because so much of the future is unknown. But in the end, isn't that really true of all of us? Can any one of us really say with complete certainty that this person or that job will be in our life tomorrow? Christ has taught me to not trust the things of this earth, for surely they will rust and decay and finally, disappear.

Make no mistake. I still believe in love and romance and the possibilities that exist. I am not bitter nor do I have a hatred of all men because of what David did. I am sometimes still angry and feel abandoned by him. But I am slowly moving through the stages of grief, and I am finally beginning to accept what has happened.

I am becoming myself, and I don't plan to lose that ever again.

And now, I step forward into the unknown...

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." Phillippians 4:13

Rant

2011-03-14T23:38:00.001-04:00

For the love of God, I need a break. I feel as if everything is crashing down upon me and I am going to be buried and suffocating under the deluge.
I want to run away from all these responsibilities. The house. The bills. The damn cat and her litter box. The betta fish that barely moves and yet requires clean distilled water in his tank each week. My graduate studies in which I can barely stir an interest in — do I really care about multigenre or segmented essays? My anxieties and depression. The still-cold Michigan weather and the fact that I still see SNOW on the damn ground. The fact that in fact, I am alone. The loneliness and fear that this is all my life will be EVER.
Did I mention the bills? I am afraid to check the mail, because oops, there's another bill.
I can't wait for spring, to get out there and shoot a few dozen arrows at some choice imaginary targets.
The one good thing — I haven't stopped eating. The last thing I need is to starve and feel like crap again. No way. Not ever.
Okay, my rant is over. (So I can't remain Pollyanna positive all the time. The title of this post was stolen from another blog written by someone who sounds more overwhelmed than I do.)

This Crazy Love

2011-03-10T14:44:00.001-05:00

I know it might seem as if I have fallen off the face of the earth. It's just that a few things changed and I've needed some time to adjust . . .

David has decided to stay in Florida for now. I was heartbroken, and drove down there to see him. It was a good thing because we reconnected and for the most part, had a lovely and intimate time together. It was a bad thing because it makes me miss him worse than ever.

But it did create hope within him to see me looking healthy. Hope he did not have before.

This I know: we still love each other very much. We plan to continue to talk regularly and work on reconciling. The door is still open and neither one of us is ready to close it. We also will definitely be married at least until I am done with graduate school because he wants me to finish and said he would support me through it.

But I told him I won't wait forever. I want a life partner, someone by my side who will be there through the good and bad times. I am sometimes terrified we won't come back together and I will be alone for life. I don't think I can bear that thought, especially after the five days spent with him in Florida.

So I am very confused right now. I long for my husband and I don't know how any of this will turn out. It feels very crazy at times to me. I also have cried a lot of tears and this morning (almost) felt like giving up. But I won't because no matter what, the way to a better and happy life is to be healthy. Diving back into anorexia would only kill me.

And that is what I have been up to the past week . . . Now I need to find the strength to endure a long-distance marriage, and continue to recover from anorexia and complete graduate school. I've allowed myself today to just rest and do nothing. By the weekend, I must start my work again.

I still believe all of this will have a happy ending. But I know I have to trust in God and have faith.

Believe and it will be true . . .

Freedom (One month)

2011-02-26T20:32:00.000-05:00

One month ago I reached my healthy goal weight.

One month ago I really began to believe that full recovery from anorexia was possible.

One month ago I was so proud of myself I called my psychiatrist to tell him the good news. Dr. S later said that was when he first heard a change in my voice. He heard freedom in my voice. And although there have been ups and downs during the past month, that sense of freedom is becoming stronger each day.

Freedom.

That is my ultimate goal. Complete freedom from anorexia.

And I believe it can happen.

I remember when Pam weighed me at her office (I have put away the scale and my therapist monitors my weight.) I was fairly certain I had reached my goal weight because I could feel my body changing as I gained. My hips were becoming rounder and my breasts were fuller. My stomach - and this is the only part I struggled with - curved out a bit. I would look in the mirror at my slender, yet womanly figure and I was fine with it.

I didn't hate my body. I didn't feel any urges to restrict or lose weight. I wasn't disgusted by what I saw. I didn't argue with my doctor about the weight he said I needed to be at as I had in the past.

I felt free.

My anxieties about food and life began to dissipate and I felt as if I could finally breathe because I was no longer trapped by anorexia. Its hold had finally been broken.

It has been an emotional month. There are times that anxiety broke through, and I was disappointed to have lost that strong feeling of freedom. Then I realized that I had added too much sugar to my diet and as a hypoglycemic, I was crashing every time I had too much. So I re-worked things to include more protein and natural sugars, and less of the high fructose processed variety. I learned how different foods could make me feel better or worse, and how to eat properly while still including an occasional treat that I enjoyed.

This whole recovery has been a work in process.

I expected to have significant body image issues, but I haven't. I look at my body and I am still fine with it. I look at pictures of me at my thinnest; emaciated and looking like I could die at any moment and it is like looking at someone else.

I felt the same way when I read blog posts from last year. I wonder why I would ever think that remaining anorexic was a viable goal? (I actually suggested this was what I wanted to do many times last year. No wonder my husband became frustrated and hopeless. He was dealing with someone who was completely illogical, but I didn't see that I was and nothing got through to me. I felt that the idea of living with anorexia was a perfectly good one. Unbelievable.

My body continues to move and shape as I enter my second month of recovery. I am told things aren't completely settled yet, and that could take some time.

I have had to learn patience through this journey, and that has been hard. I never have been a very patient person. I believe God is trying to teach me ...

I am still emotional, and my doctor says that is normal at this stage of recovery. I know I am also emotional because of the uncertainties of life, including the relationship between David and I. This I know: we love each other very much and miss each other like crazy. We both have fears, and will need to work through them. Anorexia has left scars on both of us.

And we will see each other next Saturday for the first time in two months. I think about seeing my beloved's face again, and my breathe catches in my throat my anticipation is so great. I know I will cry, and then . . . It has been a long two months. I pray for this new beginning for us, and firmly believe we will be reconciled and able to put this behind us.

Because I will never go back. I will never re-enter that prison that is anorexia. It would kill me. Recovery tastes too sweet to want to go back.

Freedom. That is what I am aiming for — complete and total freedom from anorexia. A full life with David, growing old together in love and joy. An interesting and useful career using my writing and other talents. Becoming closer to my God so that it is His light that shines through me, and people will know He allowed me to be set free.

Freedom.

Believe and it will happen . . .

Shedding the ED Identity

2011-02-18T10:41:00.003-05:00

I am Angela.
I am not anorexic.
I am not a bad person.
I refuse to place labels on myself anymore.
I no longer hate my body.
I am learning to love myself.
I turn to my God in times of need and blessings.
I am in love with my husband and my friends and my family and all that life has to offer.
I am shedding the eating disorder identity.
I am no longer the woman who felt the most important thing about her was her weight and body size. I refuse to be that person. The only way to full recovery is to believe it can happen, and then go through the process.
Anything less than believing this is selling myself short.

Several people have questioned what they see as a dramatic change in me within only a few weeks. One person wrote, "How can it be that easy?"

No, it wasn't easy. It was hard and full of pain and tears. I often got down on my hands and knees and begged God to take away the anxiety and pain of recovery, of being separated from my husband, of the loneliness I felt as I ate most meals by myself.

But I have chosen to be positive. I have many blessings. My husband and I are talking and growing closer again, and we both acknowledge our love for each other. I have no idea about the future, but I do believe love will prevail in the end. I am determined to live a life of joy and happiness, free of anorexia and all its fallout. I feel one way to do this is to envision the type of life I want.

I remember my last attempt at recovery in the fall. At first I was very positive. But then I slowly slid back into anxiety and depression, and of course I used that to start restricting and losing weight. Before I knew it, I was again enmeshed in anorexia.

You see, I did have a rather romantic view of anorexia. Several people accused me of romanticizing anorexia, and of course I vehemently denied these accusations.

But I was wrong. My malnourished brain didn't realize that I was addicted to anorexia and the whole eating disorder identity.

This time around, I knew I had to do something different or recovery would always remain just out of grasp. I also knew that if I didn't recovery that I could die of anorexia. It was no longer romantic and airy-fairy, floating through life as a feather. It was about pain and suffering and death. And that death would most likely be slow and painful, not the quick heart attack I had imagined.

So I decided that this time I would stay as positive as possible. I would focus on the positive aspects of recovery — the lessening of anxiety and depression, being able to think clearer, the fact that I could focus better on writing and studying.

But it wasn't easy. I cried at many meals, and in the beginning I struggled with eating and drinking about five times more calories than what I was used to.

But I never stopped eating. Not once. Even when I felt so much emotional pain that I asked myself if giving up anorexia was what I really wanted to do. The answer was always, "Yes!"

This is because I simply decided I wanted a real life. Not a life of counting calories and worrying about every bite I put in my mouth and being constantly hammered by the eating disorder voice within my brain that I shouldn't eat, that I didn't deserve to eat.

I wanted out.

I don't have those thoughts anymore. I don't call myself anorexic. I say I am recovering from anorexia. I have reached my goal weight, and I look at my new figure and I rather like it. I look like a woman, not a starving person on the edge of a breakdown.

I am not that person anymore. And I never want to be again.

The Circle of Recovery

2011-02-10T22:48:00.000-05:00

Sometimes I will be walking across campus to class or through the local mall, I will see someone who reminds me of myself as I was about a year ago. She is emaciated and often seems hyperactive, as if she can't stop moving and she's running towards somewhere she can never find. She will have a fleeting look of despair in her eyes, and I always wish there was something I could do or say to help her. If I could, I would take her hand and lead her toward a private place where we could talk and I would say, "You can get better. You don't have to live your life of fear and anxiety anymore."

But of course in this world, we don't take strangers by the hand and start talking to them about healing and recovery. That is too bad, because I wish somebody would have taken me by the hand last year and said, "You can recover." Of course, both Dr. S and my husband did say those type of things to me many times. So what makes me think I would have listened to a stranger? But perhaps I would have listened to a stranger who had been through the same things I was feeling. I will never know, just as I can't make that final step to reach out to a total stranger.

However, I did reach out in a way. Last year, I wrote several posts about the dangers of anorexia on a pro-anorexia site. I was completely trashed by the site's author and many of her readers, and I felt that my posts were probably just empty echos into cyperspace. But sometimes a word or two can fall upon the right person and just maybe you can make a difference. I recently found out that my warnings did make a difference to a young woman who had recently had a baby. She had gained weight and was desperate to take it off, and started looking to pro-anorexia sites for tips to lose weight more rapidly. She began to get sucked into the whole mindset of becoming a size 0, and it seemed as if she would soon become trapped into the whole anorexic mindset.

Then she came across my posts, which basically stated that being a size 0 wasn't all it seemed, and that indulging in anorexic behaviors was like playing with fire. I wrote about how anorexia was destroying me mind and soul, and this was even before things really started to fall apart. My posts led her to this blog, and this is what she recently wrote in part: "I think I was borderline of developing a problem, but it was your posts (and) then reading your blog that showed me I was playing a nasty game." She talked with her doctor and started losing weight the healthy way, and a potential crisis was averted.

I've been thinking about this because I have been thinking about all of you who read my blog and have left me encouraging and kind comments when I was at my worst and now that I am getting better. It is like you are the stranger who reached across and took my hand, saying "Yes, you can do it. You can get better."

I want to thank all of you for your support. I have cherished it, and it has made these difficult days just a little easier knowing so many people are praying and hoping for my complete recovery.

I won't let all of you down. I have no desire to return to anorexia. In the past, when I would look at these women, I felt a twinge of envy. Now all I feel is pity. Recovery is almost like I died and was resurrected. I feel like I am becoming a better person, one ready to face the future and is excited about it. It doesn't mean I don't still get anxious or depressed. It means that I face life, deal with it in the best ways I can, and continue to eat no matter what.

And it also means a life of love and joy and happiness, and I pray this includes my husband, David. I believe in the end our love will see us through, and I believe we both have so much hope. I just have to be patient, and patient with recovery as I discover new and exciting things about myself. None of this can be rushed, and I will enjoy all of it; returning to life, reconnecting with my husband and friends, learning and growing in graduate school, everything that I missed for so long.

Freedom...It tastes so sweet, and it has been so long in coming. Perhaps it is sweeter because it has taken me so long to want full recovery, to really work at it like I mean it.

I am going to make it. I just know it.

I am going to be free. And someday, I hope to reach out my hand to someone else and whisper, "You can be free, too."

Today I am free

2011-02-06T15:55:00.001-05:00

Today I am free. Free to love and laugh and rediscover all that life has to offer.

Free to live. It hasn't always been this way.

Achieving freedom has been hard work. It has meant eating and gaining weight, and sticking with the process no matter how mentally or physically uncomfortable it has felt. It is still hard work. It means feeling emotions I haven't felt in years. It means really feeling, instead of being numb from starvation. There are days I am down on my knees, praying to God to take away the pain I am feeling. There are other days that I feel as if I can achieve anything I want. No two days are alike, and it certainly hasn't been boring.

However, it has been rewarding. I will never again go back to that half-life state called anorexia nervosa.

I am free.

Free from weighing myself everyday. Free from being afraid of every bite I put into my mouth. Free to think and write and learn.

I think I realized I was free on Friday, when first I joked with Dr. S, making him laugh, and then I took a handful of M&Ms out of the office jar and ate them. I didn't carefully count the candies. I didn't think about grabbing a handful. I just did it because I wanted some nibbles of chocolate. That was the first time. And I didn't berate myself afterward, or try to figure out the calorie count or want to get rid of them. It was only M&Ms. So what?

My soul relishes this freedom, and I will never give it up for the prison of anorexia.

Lately I notice I often refer to anorexia as a prison, and myself as having been imprisoned by anorexia. I look back and realize that is exactly how it felt. I was in a prison; a dark, dank, and dirty box. Locked away from love and life. Unable to think clearly. Anxiety often made me feel as if I was going to explode. Now I can look at what is making me anxious, and calmly tell myself that everything is going to be okay.

I still have much work to do, including figuring out why I developed anorexia in the first place. I'm not sure if I will completely answer that question, and perhaps it isn't that important.

I also hope it isn't too late to repair my marriage, and have a joyful and loving relationship with my husband. He is still in Florida, and I miss him like crazy. I want to share this newfound sense of freedom with him, to laugh together and reconnect. I want us to love each other, and do fun and exciting things together that we have missed out on because of my illness. We are both hopeful, although I still have no idea what will happen and that sometimes causes me anxiety.

This I know: we both still love each other and miss each other. We both are trying. We both have fears to work through, and we are doing that. We talk often, and my heart just sort of melts every time I hear his voice. (I almost feel like a teenager falling in love, or like someone who is just being awoken by the handsome prince!)

Did I say we both still love each other? :) In the end, I believe anorexia can't kill that love.

Believe and it will be true...

I am free.

Mission accomplished

2011-01-26T20:51:00.002-05:00

I found out today that I have reached my healthy goal weight as set by my doctor. I was weighed by my therapist Pam because I banished the scale to the closet a while ago (I only peeked two or three times!)

And now I move onto the next stage of recovery. I am already doing some things that I think are healthy for my recovery. I have stopped my incessant reading of articles about anorexia and all things related. I have left some Facebook groups that posted articles and other items of information that I still find triggering.

I am slowly extracting myself from the world of anorexia.

It was my whole world for a long time. I am now thinking clearer and feeling more positive than I have for years. I thought this fall I was done with anorexia, but I had a few more months to wrestle with it. I am determined that this time I will continue on the path to health, knowing it will lead to a joyful life filled with love and happiness. I am beginning to believe I deserve that, and I know all of you out there do too.

So what does this mean? I believe it means I am still in recovery from anorexia? To say I am recovered would be premature. I still have thoughts and fears, although not as many as I thought I would at this stage. I am not experiencing any significant body image issues. Of course, it has helped that I have banished People and other magazines like it from my life. It also helps that I no longer look at pro-anorexia sites. Yes, I know super skinny women will always be part of life, but now I just feel sorry for them and what they are missing out on.

Life.

I was missing out on life for so long. Now I can think clearer and I find the anxiety is lessening. I am still nervous about many things. I miss my husband, and I still pray constantly that we will eventually reconcile. We are having some really great, fun conversations and right now we just plan to have fun with each other and get to know each other now that the fog of anorexia is lifting and I am becoming healthier. I am going to be dating my husband - how many women can say that!?! LOL!

I am looking forward to getting to know myself again. These things I know: I am a loving and caring person with a good sense of humor (hard to have when you are starving) that can be borderline sarcastic. I am intelligent and interested in many things, and feeling better has made graduate school less stressful and more fun (I have had great online discussions about technology and its effects on learning and literacy, and the whole idea of the ownership of text.) I am beginning to think I am beautiful, but that my beauty inside is what is most important. Most importantly, I feel closer to God and am forever grateful for His grace and love.

Oh, and I am sooo looking forward to the day I don't have to drink another damn Ensure Plus and can just enjoy food.

"I am strong..."

2011-01-21T22:17:00.001-05:00

"I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman!" Helen Reddy, 1972.
My strength continues to grow as I realize I am strong and can do anything if I really want to. I am determined to leave the unhappiness of anorexia behind forever, and live my life with joy and happiness and love.

The week did not start out this way. I was very depressed by Sunday evening and I didn't leave the house until Wednesday. My darkest moment came on Tuesday night when I decided that my life wasn't worth living, and unbidden thoughts taunted me to just get this sorry excuse for a life over with already.

All my past mistakes, my failures at recovery and the uncertain future of my marriage hammered in my brain. I hated myself for again relapsing and driving David away, hurting him because I was just not able to sustain recovery and I didn't have an answer to why I couldn't.

Then I called several friends and after hours on the phone, I felt as if I could breathe again. I was still sad and anxious and depressed, but I felt a tiny flame of hope that I might someday have a life worth living.

I was calm enough to do some homework on Wednesday, and I left the house that afternoon to go see my therapist. Then I went grocery shopping and bought exactly the types of foods that Dr. S has told me to eat. (I can't afford a nutritionist, so my psychiatrist is taking on that role.)

I proceeded to carry my bags loaded with healthy foods (including Stouffer's, and yes, I know I said I would never eat those foods again, but whatever Dr. S says goes and he told me to ditch the Healthy Cuisine and buy something with more calories.) Then two of the bags ripped apart and my food scattered all over the snowy walk.

I screamed out my rage. My rage at anorexia. My rage at David leaving. My rage at what a mess my life seemed like. My rage and fear of the future. I'm surprised my neighbors didn't call the police. (I think I screamed quietly until I was in the house.)

Of course, it was at this moment that David returned my call and I was crying about the dropped groceries. Then I poured my heart out to him. I said I was going to beat anorexia and put it behind me, and that we would get back together and have love and laughter in our lives again and grow old together and ... and then he said, "I've always loved you."

I'm not sure what prompted him to say that. I don't remember what I said before he said that. But I do remember he said earlier in the day that I had hurt him by relapsing after he returned home, and I told him I was very sorry and that I had not meant to hurt him. I realize how hard it must have been for him to admit I had hurt him so much, and I am sorry.

On Thursday, I decided no more depression and anxiety. I worked on my schoolwork and managed to have a calm day. I went to bed early enough to get a decent night sleep, and said my usual prayers to God for healing of myself and my marriage.

Today I woke up to the bright, cold Michigan sunshine and got up to make my two-hour trek to see Dr. S. I plugged in my iPod and started playing some new Christian contemporary songs. I found myself singing along, and realized it was the first time I had really sung - sung from my heart - since David left. Dr. S smiled as I told him that I was playing music and singing on my way to see him.

Then I asked him if he thinks I will recover from anorexia. Think? I don't think you will. I know you will recover from anorexia this year.

As I shook his hand goodbye for the week, I felt hope rising as I realized this kind, gentle psychiatrist believes in me. And I thought, Yes, I will recover from anorexia this year. Driving back north, I again began singing to the music, the sun streaming through my sun roof, as David and I chatted for awhile.

It was then that I had my epiphany. I am a strong woman. And that's what I need to be, both for myself and my marriage. I thought about it all the way home, and remembered this song by Helen Reddy about being strong. I have been listening to it every since...

"Oh yes, I am wise. But it's wisdom born of pain. Yes, I've paid the price. But look at how much I've gained..."

Dr. S says I am gaining myself and freedom. I will be free. I will break out of the prison of anorexia, and I will peel back the layers and find myself.

"You can bend but never break me, 'cause it only serves to make me, more determined to achieve my final goal..."

Recovering Through The Loneliness

2011-01-18T19:41:00.001-05:00

I have to be honest. Recovering from anorexia would be so much easier if I didn't feel so alone at times.

And I hate to admit that. I hate to admit I am feeling anything other than positive.

I would love to write I am handling all this with grace and dignity. But there are hours spent crying, begging God to restore me to health and restore my marriage. There are many times I panic and am afraid I will be alone the rest of my life. I often become angry at anorexia for all the havoc it has brought to my life. I sometimes wish my husband would just believe I am going to stick with recovery and come home already.

I sometimes don't understand why

Love

isn't enough right now. Why can't we

Be Together?

However, I have learned some important things. That meals shared mean more than just food, even if you are sometimes afraid of the food. That I can turn to my friends and ask them for help and they won't turn me away or abandon me. That God is always there, even it is only a whisper or a hint that I carefully have to listen to.

That I need people — real relationships that involve connection through talking and/or seeing the other person.

And I learned I never let go of my eating disorder, I never let go of control, until now. I am now doing exactly what my doctor says. I don't like it, particularly the amount of calories he wants me to eat. But I tell my eating disorder voice to shut up and do it anyway.

My way was not working

AT ALL!

My body and life are in the hands of Dr. S and God. My weight is being monitored by Pam. And I am dreaming of a future of freedom, complete with love and joy and happiness. And that dream still includes David.

We both speak of hope tentatively, fearfully at times. It has been a rough road for both of us. We have vowed when we do reconcile, we are going to put all this behind us and live.

I just wish I could talk with the future Angela and ask her how she got through this incredibly tough and lonely time. Where did she find the inner strength? What were some of the things she did to quiet the anxiety about the future that buzzed around in her mind? How did she calm her fears?

(Perhaps, dear Angela, you could give me a hint?)

Everyone tells me there is light at the end of this tunnel, there is hope for the future and dreams to still be lived. I try to believe, and live as though I do believe. I keep saying to myself: Believe and it will be true. Believe...

Spirit Rising (Today I Put Away The Scale)

2011-01-12T00:08:00.001-05:00

After almost two weeks of unrelenting depression and anxiety, I finally felt today the first stirrings of my spirit rising to the challenge of living. I have no doubts I will recover from anorexia in 2011. I must in order to have any kind of life.

Today I put away the scale, that hated instrument that

I have been a slave to for at least a decade.

I will no longer be defined by a number (one of my therapists is going to keep track of my weight to make sure I am going in the right direction and not losing weight or leveling off until I reach my healthy goal weight as set by my doctor, not me.)

I am finding it difficult to put down in words what I am feeling right now. There is a strong sense of loneliness since my husband and I separated. I struggle with ongoing anxiety about the future. I am in the beginning stages of refeeding my body, and it is a time of feeling bloated and constantly full. I am writing and thinking and praying, and constantly learning ways to recover. I have an odd sense that this is my last time at recovery, that I must recover this time.

I am different this time. I refuse to even consider a relapse in my future. As far as I am concerned, I will fully recover from anorexia and then put all the pain and hurt caused by it behind me.

My moods have been swinging from anxiety and fear about the future to raging anger at anorexia for every coming into my life. I am working my way through "Life Without Ed," a recovery book by Jenni Schaefer that has many exercises in it to help people overcome their eating disorders. I find it very helpful to read and work with a book that focuses on recovery. However, I am stubborn about one exercise that has you in one chair and your eating disorder seating in another chair, then you talk back and forth as both yourself and as your eating disorder.

I look at the chair each night, give it the finger, and tell my eating disorder it has had a voice for four years and now it is time to listen to me. I then proceed to tell my eating disorder — no more name for you, as I have finally decided that gives you too much power — how much I hate it for entering my life and almost totally destroying it.

Right now, I am so very angry at anorexia it is almost frightening. Anorexia would already be dead if it was a person. Too bad I can't just put a knife through the evil heart of anorexia.

I wish I didn't have to do this alone. I have learned that having David here made this house a home, and while it still is my home . . . the emptiness sometimes becomes so hard to bear I break down crying.

My husband and I talk frequently. At first our conversations were pretty depressing, and he finally told me that. I was feeling the same way — crying during each phone call — and was grateful for his honesty. It is just I am not sure where our relationship stands right now, it all feels very strange and new and difficult to negotiate.

This is I what I know: we both still love each other very much. He has said he does not want to sit here and watch me slowly kill myself through starvation. I know that I hurt him by almost immediately restricting my eating when he returned home. I have assured him that it is not his fault. Instead, anxiety and depression came roaring back and I struggled to talk about the things that were bothering me.

I was feeling isolated and lonely because I was in the process of joining the Catholic Church and I didn't realize how much I would miss being with my husband at worship each Sunday. But I felt trapped; trapped by the work done to get David's first marriage annulled. I felt trapped by what I thought I wanted, not realizing how lonely it would make me feel. I felt trapped and like I had to continue the process even though my heart ached to be at church with my husband.

I finally told them last week I can't go through with it. I will remain at our church, which is the Episcopal Church and the one thing that was driving me toward the Catholic Church — the belief in the true presence of Christ Jesus in the body and blood of the Eucharist — is shared by both churches. David sounded...well, actually happy that I would be staying there. He said he felt that by joining the Catholic Church, I was isolating myself further from him.

Anyway, that is the past. I must learn to embrace the now. I wish I could be certain . . . well, certain of many things. But I have learned that I can't change the past nor control the future. I also have learned I can only control my own actions. And finally, I have learned that God is in all this and any illusion of control is just that — an illusion.

I must trust in God. I must go to Him whenever I am frightened and lonely, and I must thank him for His grace and mercy. Most of all, I must build the foundation of my recovery on Christ Jesus. Before, the seeds of my recovery were strewn on rocky soil and thus did not take deep root. I must allow the seeds of recovery to land within the soil of my heart, creating strong roots that stay with me the rest of my life. This will create the healthy me, and I will become the person I was and will be able to live a full and joyful life. I will be free!

Beyond that, I pray for this painful period to past; painful for many reasons. I pray that springtime comes to my soul and I become less angry and anxious, and more the healthy me I was before anorexia took over.

I pray, and each day do something toward recovery. I continue to work through "Life Without Ed." I write and ask myself what does loving myself really mean? I am trying to discover who is this person underneath the layers of anorexia? I sure I will find lots of surprises. It does feel strange to be 45 and doing this work, but if not now, when?

I pray, and I repeat to myself often: Believe and it will come true.

There will never be another me...

2011-01-04T22:42:00.000-05:00

Sometimes it takes a child to voice the truth that needs to heard. As I watched little Sophia speak her words, I thought of myself as a little girl much like her and bawled. I was a little girl with long dark hair and light blue eyes, and I loved reading and writing and books and chocolate and kittens. I loved to go to school and sitting in the front row, eager to learn. But as life unfolded, I learned to dislike myself. And one day, I grew up to hate my body and did everything in my power to look and be like someone else.

Anybody but me.

I have been trying to recreate myself almost since I was born. I never thought I was beautiful enough. I never thought I was smart enough. And when I got married, I never thought I was good enough for my husband. But the harder I tried to become someone else, the worse things became.

Until I was lost.

Anorexia nervosa knew just when to strike. And I then embarked on a new mission to remold my body to society's idea, and I was so successful that I lost sight of everything else. The love of my husband. The friendship of others. Joy and laughter and love became buried by layers of anorexia until I couldn't breathe anymore.

It wasn't just my body that became smaller, my soul became smaller.

But as little Sophia says, I am unique and there will never will be another me in all the history of the world. So why in the world would I try to look or be like someone else? I am rediscovering myself; my love of writing and reading, of the joy of Celtic music and classic Elton John, of cuddling with my cat and crying because this little girl's message moves me so much I can't hold it back. I have dark curly hair and light blue eyes, and my body once was strong and beautiful and it can become that again. I am opinionated and believe strongly in justice for those who can't speak for themselves. I love to study English and poetry and history and the Bible and religion. I am passionately loyal to my friends and would do anything for them. I am stubborn, and my therapist says one of my greatest strengths is that

I never give up.

I believe in miracles, and the power of love and hope. I know I can recover from anorexia. I'm just starting to unravel the layers of this cloak of anorexia, but unravel it I will. I have finally learned the key is within me.

I just have to unlock the door.

The Spirit Within

2010-12-31T20:18:00.000-05:00

Anorexia nervosa (noun) — A disorder that has caused me to illogically starve myself for four years. A disorder that has stolen the best parts of my personality, that has wreaked havoc on my marriage and friendships, and has almost cost me my life. A disorder that my psychiatrist rightly calls a "love stealer."

I vow that this disorder will not continue its grip upon my spirit and soul in 2011.

The first part of breaking anorexia's grip is creating a new focus for my thoughts and writing. I have renamed this blog, "The Spirit Within." It is my hope that this new name will reflect my growing commitment to full recovery.

I have written "Leaving ED" for two years. When I started this blog, it was my full intention that I would in fact leave my eating disorder behind and eventually write about other things. But instead, "Leaving ED" has often become a trigger for my anorexic behaviors. I'm not exactly sure why. Perhaps it is because I never did leave my eating disorder behind, and the title has taunted me for years.

Now it is time for a change. This coming year will be a pivotal one in my recovery from anorexia for many reasons. I have been told that I must recover; that my body can't take much more of anorexia at 45 and that I could be looking at a very bleak future if I don't turn this around.

Dr. S believes I can fully recover. But he also believes in order for me to fully recover, I need to break this attraction, this almost addictive-like hold that anorexia nervosa has over me. And he believes in order to do that, I must find out who Angela is underneath the layers of anorexia that have been smothering me for years.

In order to do that, I need to change what I write about. I can no longer focus on a relapse, because in doing so, I have found that I have just made it worse. Then I continue the downward spiral until it is too late and I'm either in the hospital or undergoing some other treatment.

For four years, my life has really been nothing but anorexia. I hope to change that. I will still write about my efforts to recover from anorexia on this blog, but my focus will be on recovery. I can no longer focus on urges and symptoms; writing about it has not helped me, but instead has made things worse.

With the new blog name and some changes, I hope to find and show who the real Angela is. The Angela I was before anorexia came and took everything away. Before the darkness enveloped me so fully.

There always is a danger in changing the name and focus of a blog. I value each reader, and I hope all of you will read the new blog, "The Spirit Within" and get to know the person I am and that I will be becoming as I recover. Please pray for me. This will be the hardest work I will ever do, but I believe it will be worth it.

I am doing this for hope. I am doing this for life. I am doing this so 2011 can be a year of health, love, and laughter for me. I wish this for all of you, too.

Yours in Christ,
Angela

Becoming myself

2010-12-29T23:49:00.003-05:00

I now know I must recover for myself alone. I must discover who I am under the layers of anorexia, and it will be hard and painful work.
But these are my choices — full recovery or anorexic purgatory. And I refuse to only exist. I refuse to continue with this half-life of anorexia.
I want to know fun and laughter and deep, abiding joy again. Today I felt it is possible. I can do this. I can do this for me. I can learn to love myself and feel worthy of eating and life.
I need to become myself again. This is a new journey of Leaving ED, one that will be filled with tears and pain and happiness and life. I am ready.
I will not be taking this journey alone. I have so much support from my wonderful sister, Samon, my friends, and most importantly, from my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am blessed and humbly grateful for the things I have in my life.
This does not mean I don't miss David or don't want him to return. I love him very much. But I want him to return to a healthy, strong and recovered woman. He deserves that, and we both deserve a full and rich life free from anorexia. I believe it can happen if I trust in the Lord and do the things I must do.

Alone again

2010-12-27T17:39:00.001-05:00

My husband has left me again. Because of my anorexia. Because as much as I promised to get better, I didn't stick with it. I have been sliding for a while.
He says he still loves me and he took very little with him. That gives me signs of hope that perhaps . . .
But first I must get better. I must recover and stay well. For me. I'm not sure I can do it. But I suppose I will have to try.
I already miss him so much. I just wanted to make him happy. But I have been struggling, and he can't handle it. I don't blame him.
I miss him. I wish he would at least call me...
I probably won't be writing much for a while. I will see. Thank you to everybody who has believed in me and tried to help me.

I am not always strong

2010-12-26T14:23:00.000-05:00

Today I did something I've never purposely done since developing anorexia.
I threw up my food.
I had tried to unsuccessfully several times before, but for one reason or another, it never worked. Then I read how other people do it. And this time it did work. My stupidity never ceases to amaze me.
I was feeling very desperate because I had ate some Christmas treats — two cookies and a small snack bar.
Little things, really. But all of the sudden the food felt dirty inside me and I knew I was not worthy of eating. So I threw it up and then called for my husband, crying about what I had done.
I am very ashamed of myself. I didn't want to admit to anyone that I did this. But I promised I would always be honest on this blog.
This has to be one of the worst things I've done since developing anorexia nervosa. I feel like a hypocrite, writing about recovery and about being positive and forgiving oneself. I even underwent the anointing of the sick on Thursday. So many people are trying to help me fully recover, and then I go and do something like this?
Why do I keep learning new ways to hurt myself? Why do I keep learning new ways to keep myself from recovering? Why can't I forgive myself?
I am feeling a lot of pressure. To gain weight and recover. To write honest and helpful posts on my new blog at HealthyPlace.com. To finish up an incomplete class. To complete some freelance articles.
I think part of me doesn't want to recover. I've thought of that before. It is a hard thing to admit. Who would I be if I weren't anorexic? As each year passes, the memory of who I was fades and the person I have been becomes stronger. Sometimes it feels as if I will some day become trapped for good, and that will be the end.
Some people have accused me of romanticizing anorexia. Well, there was nothing romantic about puking up Christmas cookies into the toilet. There is nothing romantic about starving yourself until it hurts to eat, and the food makes you feel dirty inside. I cried and prayed constantly for all this to be over. I just don't understand why recovery seems to be so hard. It's not like I've been afraid of hard work before.
But each time I try to make a step forward, I find a way to shove myself three feet backwards.
There is definitely nothing romantic about any of this.

A silent and holy night

2010-12-24T23:07:00.000-05:00

"A silent and holy night"

My heart awaits the peace

The Christ child brings

The world is silent,

Empty

Frozen

Holy is she

Opening heart and soul

To the Lord

Bringing the Christ child

Forth into the world.

Knowing one day,

He will die

For me.

My mind barely

Comprehends

Such a gift

Heaven above

The dark

Filling with angels

Singing to God

Made man.

It is quiet.

But soon,

He will come

And He brings,

Justice and mercy.

If only I am worthy.

Then I realize,

I am already

Forgiven.

To Anonymous (Eating disorders are real illnesses)

2010-12-21T15:33:00.000-05:00

To @Anonymous,
I accept your apology because apparently something is going on with you. But you need to know just one thing. I also have a life threatening illness — it's called anorexia nervosa. My doctor has spent years trying to get me to take this illness seriously and to realize it can kill me. You see, for years I didn't really think it was a big deal. I was just thin, so what? I truly believed nothing was wrong with me.

Now I am finally listening to him, and I hope it is not too late. The sore spot you hit is the fact I was told Friday that my body is not handling this very well and that I am at risk for a stroke at 45, in addition to ongoing liver and kidney problems. It also tends to make me cranky to blackout and hit my head against the wall and the nightstand, and then deal with a headache and overall soreness for days.

What I think you — and you are not alone — don't realize is that this is not always a choice. Yes, I do believe we choose recovery. But sometimes — at least for me — my mind knows that recovery is a logical and rational choice, but for some reason it won't allow me to do what I know I need to. That is to eat and eat and eat ... The fear and anxiety of food takes over the fear and anxiety of possible permanent damage. It is like a war within my brain and believe me, I wish it would stop.

I write this blog for several reasons. One reason is to bring some sort of understanding to the outside world of what it is like to have anorexia. It is not fun. It is not glamorous in spite of what the media would have you believe. And it is not a choice, although pro-anorexia sites say otherwise. Why would I chose to live this way? Why would anyone chose to live this way? It is destroying my life and apparently my body. I have so many dreams. I want to finish my master's degree and use my talents to help people in someway. I want to live a full life with my husband, and travel to places like Ireland and Alaska. I want to read and write and know joy again.

I want to be normal. I once was normal, you know. That's what started this whole thing, when I started remembering life before anorexia and my writing was a mixture of nostalgia and sadness.

Again I will stress that those of us with eating disorders also have life threatening diseases. Eating disorders are misunderstood by the vast majority of the population. But eating disorders are illnesses and can be fatal. Many, many people have died of anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorder. Many are dying of these diseases right now. And yet the world blames us. The world would not if we had cancer or ALS or MS or another disease.

That is the sore spot you touched. People who are struggling and trying to recover from their eating disorders. Some people with eating disorders are praying that this time treatment will work and they will be free of this imprisonment of the mind. Others are praying they can recover without treatment because yet again their insurance refuses to pay. Finally, some feel as if they will never recover. All of them are hurting, and your words hurt them further. But I do understand you are hurting, too.

I will ask again — who would chose to have an eating disorder? Who would chose years of fighting and struggling with illogical illnesses that take so many lives and ruin so many others? Who would chose to enter eating disorder prison? Because that's what it feels like at times. A prison, and there is no get out of jail free card available.

Some people might wonder why I have spent so much time addressing your comments. I am hoping that God will open your heart and allow compassion and understanding for people with eating disorders enter. Perhaps I am a fool or a dreamer, but I believe maybe this is time well-spent if it changes the thinking of one person toward eating disorders and those who suffer from them. I can always hope.

The (mis)adventures of the brave Victorian lady

2010-12-17T19:58:00.003-05:00

Ah, if only it were that easy to rid oneself of anorexia . . .

"You are not some brave Victorian heroine, sighing and weeping and fainting on a couch. You have simply found a powerful way to manipulate others and get attention. In someone of your age, class and intelligence it is truly a disgrace. say it how it is. You have wasted a good life and that is criminal." Anonymous

This comment was left by yet another brave anonymous poster. Someone who thinks anorexia is just a creation of my craven attention-seeking nature. Someone who believes that eating disorders are not real illnesses, but instead something each one of us has control over and can overcome if we would just stop being so silly and selfish. Someone without the guts to leave her real name. Pardonnez moi while I swoon onto my divan and call one of the servants over to fan my prostrate body.

Oh yes, anonymous, I've enjoyed these years of anorexia tremendously. I loved it when I had to spend two weeks in the hospital with a line running through my vein to my heart because I was so malnourished. It was great to go in and out of the hospital five more times two years ago when anxiety over eating and weight had me crawling the walls and literally pulling my hair out. I thought it wonderful when mere restricting wasn't enough and one evening I found myself slashing my skin, so angry at myself for having anorexia, so full of self-hatred I couldn't stop myself. The insertion of the NG feeding tube through my nose in February didn't bother me at all; I enjoyed choking on my own bile as the technician poked the tube down my throat and into my stomach for more than forty-five minutes.

Oh yes, anonymous, all this fainting and swooning has been a real blast. Do you know what happened to me yesterday? I woke up and reached for my robe, only to blackout and crash face-first into my nightstand, hitting it so hard that everything on it scattered throughout my bedroom and the contents inside all slid back. I ended up with a bump on my head, and spent the day with a headache and nauseated so bad I couldn't eat much even if my mind would have let me. I guess I just don't know how to swoon gracefully, which is strange because I've been practicing so hard, with all the recent dizziness and lightheadedness.

I'm sure while you enjoyed Thanksgiving Day you never gave a thought about those of us who struggle not only with either not being able to eat or binging and purging, but also that those of us with eating disorders realize that many people believe it is all our fault and we aren't struggling with a real illness at all. That was the first day I blacked out and fell head-first down our staircase, and spent Thanksgiving Day on the couch thankful I hadn't broken any bones or didn't have a concussion.

Oh, but wait. Why didn't I go to the hospital? After all, the emergency room is the ultimate for those seeking attention. The nurse spends lots of time asking you questions and showing concern, and most of the doctors are kind and attentive. Damn, I missed the perfect opportunity! (And I didn't go yesterday. Do you want to know why? Because I didn't want to bother the ER with my minor issues, feeling they have more important things to treat than just a woman crashing into her nightstand.)

Anonymous, you imply you have a physical illness that is possibly fatal and untreatable. Let's see — anorexia and other eating disorders also are illnesses that can be fatal and treatment often fails. Ever heard of Karen Carpenter? Christy Henrich? Margaux Hemingway? Each one of these gifted women died too soon of an eating disorder.

And you don't know a damn thing about me. I am a former social worker and journalist who has won numerous awards, including the Distinguished Service Medal (the highest civilian honor given by the military) for my work in covering the local military's deployment, and I am currently a freelance writer and graduate student in English Communication and Composition carrying a 3.8 GPA in spite of the fact I haven't been well for the past year. I have a wonderful husband and great, caring friends and family, and I hope some day to recover and use my writing and other skills to help others. Sounds like a wasted life to me.

But probably none of that matters to you. I think your real problem is envy. As I wrote, I will pray for you.

Anonymous, you remain wrapped in your protective cocoon of self-righteousness and continue to pass judgement on people and illnesses that you obviously don't have the capability to understand. But the next time you post on my damn blog, at least have the guts to leave your real name. Otherwise don't bother.

Now, excusez moi while I try to recover while surrounded by ignorant, uncaring people like you.

Remembering the life before

2010-12-12T21:06:00.004-05:00

Remembering the life before . . .

Before anorexia nervosa came, snatching away my smile and leaving me with a hollow shell of empty fake laughter.

Before anorexia came, stealing my spirit in exchange for the gift of anxiety; a gift that keeps me second-guessing day or night whether I have done.said.eaten something wrong, a gift that makes me worry about that small cheese biscuit that accompanied my plate filled with lettuce.carrots.dicedtomatoes.greenpeppers.mushrooms, all safe foods of few calories and no salad dressing, not even a dribble.

But sometimes I want to eat something warm and comforting, like cream of potato soup or mashed potatoes or hot chocolate with whipped cream, but NO, I am not allowed, I would be a GLUTTON and that is a sin and I pay for my occasional indulgences, knowing the scale won't start its inevitable slip and slide downward, and then of course I would no longer be me, or am I no longer myself now? I am confused.

Before anorexia came, teaching me to fear food and people and fun social events in which I would casually chat with someone, and I would occasionally stop talking to take a bit of cheese and crackers, stuffed mushrooms, perhaps nibble on a cookie or two without any fear.

Remembering the life before when I believed that love could overcome anything and love was the greatest gift of all, and people and vows could be trusted and my mind didn't constantly turn against me, the voices in my head rubbing me like a hairshirt of old; always reminding me that there will be consequences if I eat too much and who defines too much? Well of course, anorexia defines how much is too much food, just as anorexia defines every aspect of my life and right now we are fighting to me to hang onto six lousy damn pounds, because once those pounds are gone, I'm back into the double-digit and then anorexia will be in total control; there will be no small, inner voice to whisper recover. Try and eat; try to recover. That whisper will be lost, and this time I fear forever.

Sometimes it feels as if life has changed irrevocably, and to even hope of returning to who I was is an impossible dream, like wishing upon a star; the star has imploded and isn't taking any more wishes, at least not from me.

There is much sorrow remembering the life before. It was a time of freedom and love and feeling cherished and not crying for three days straight because I feel I have failed as a wife, I am failing at recovery, and sometimes my greatest wish is that anorexia would just kill me so it can all end, because I am definitely sick of this drama, but I can't change the station nor find the key to turn it around; each time I think I have, it crumbles in my hand.

So right now I'm in anorexia purgatory, fighting to not lose, but perhaps not fighting hard enough. Meanwhile, my body is starting to go haywire with all this starving.notstarving.starving.notstarving, ad nauseum. My doctor told me there are certain liver enzymes that are acting weird, and the kidney functioning is typically bad, and the potassium can't make up its mind whether to stay in my body or not. I figure it is a crap shoot - cardiac arrest, kidney failure, or liver failure.

For me, it is when he reminds me that anorexia does kill people do I realize what I have done to myself, and then he can't truly predict which one of these things will implode within this body I have abused so long, he can only keep an eye on things for right now.

Back to to the life before . . . one of freedom from fear and anxiety, filled with interesting work and the love of my husband, when food wasn't an issue . . .

Did I dream this past life? Because I'm beginning to believe it never happened, that I've always been on this rollercoaster.horrorhouseride.suicideplan called by the innocuous term of anorexia nervosa.

Tumbling down

2010-11-26T21:03:00.001-05:00

On Thanksgiving Day, I took a tumble down our staircase and landed headfirst into the wall. I could almost hear Alanis Morrisette in the background singing, "Isn't it ironic?"

I am tired. Tired in my soul. I don't know whether I should feel grateful I wasn't more seriously hurt or pissed that I had yet another potentially fatal accident AND YET I DIDN'T DIE. Why? It might have made things much easier.

I am trying to kill myself by plunging headfirst back into anorexia and starvation. At least that is what my doctor said today, and he wants to know why I want to diminish myself until I become nothing.

I struggled to answer his question. Not because I don't necessarily have an answer, but it is typically easier for me to write out my feelings.

Do I want to die? On some days, yes. The anxiety is so all-consuming, I feel as if I could crawl the walls and scream at the moon. I can't stand the thought of all I have to do and all the people I have to please. I want to shut myself away into the box of anorexia, slam the lid shut, and tell everyone to leave me alone. (Thank you, Dr. Sackeyfio, for this very apt metaphor.)

Other days, no. I feel I can pull myself through this and turn it around. I just have to do one simple thing: eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat. Eat.

But I don't want to eat. It's what I need to do to feel better and function more clearly. It is the simplest thing in the world, really. Billions of people lift food to their mouths, insert and then chew daily.

So why do I find this very simple act so very difficult?

Because if I eat, I live. I live and must face life, in all its ugliness and beauty, its pain and joy. I must live my life; read and study, write papers; it is all very simple enough. I must rebuild my relationship with my husband, rediscover love and joy and everything that comes with an intimate relationship.

Is that what I'm afraid of? Perhaps. As we grow closer together, I am haunted still by his actions this summer, when I came back from class and found our home stripped of everything he valued. Except me. I often dream of that evening, hurtling back into time and seeing the rape of my home, my life; knowing nothing would ever be the same again. I think about it and struggle not to cry.

Maybe that's why I am again starving myself. I don't want to feel what I felt then, and if I block off my emotions by starvation . . .

There it is. The box is there and I crawl into it more and more. I just don't know if I can crawl out of it this time.

The broken road of anorexia

2010-11-18T20:45:00.000-05:00

For almost two months, I have woken up afraid. Something shifted within my brain and I can't seem to get back on track. I struggle with simply being, and yet I have no explanation for this sudden change from when it seemed as if I were, to quote a friend, "traveling the yellow brick road to recovery" from anorexia nervosa.

Now the bricks are broken into sharp little pieces and the yellow paint is faded, and whatever was guiding me down the road to recovery has abandoned me. I don't understand why it is so difficult to simply get up and face the world.

I don't grasp why I have (again) decided that I am not allowed to eat more than 800 to 1,000 calories daily, that I am not worthy of eating enough food to sustain a child. I have lost several pounds over the past few weeks, and now each morning at the scale I pray that the number goes lower, and lower, and lower...

I don't get why each time I am faced with a blank computer screen in order to write an article or paper, I freeze up and need to resort to either extra tranquilizers, a glass of wine or two, or any combination of things before my mind unlocks and my fear begins to subside and I can breathe again.

I feel as if I am now walking the broken road back down to anorexia and each time I try and bring myself back, the voices within my head scream I am not worthy. Not worthy to eat. Not worthy to live.

Not worthy.

I'm again starting to feel tangled in the web of anorexia; its tentacles wrapped around me. I still eat, but I look for ways to restrict. I still rest and try to take care of myself, but increasingly feel guilty about what a lousy graduate student and wife I have become. I still take part in life; however, I am afraid each time I must meet a new person and I always wonder if I have said the wrong thing.

According to my evil anorexic doppelganger, anything I say is wrong and I am a hopeless case who will never recover.

Now I am writing a memoir about my experiences with anorexia for one of my classes, and I cried when I wrote the prologue because it is about when David left me.

I fear each day he will see my struggling as a sign I will not get better, and this time he will leave for good.

I thought all this wasn't noticeable until I really looked at my face in the mirror the other day and realized it is beginning to again take on that gaunt, anorexic look. Then my blood tests came back and my doctor confronted me with my restricting, which he knew about without even asking me. He says my whole demeanor changes when I am restricting.

I think I know what it is. I become sad inside, fearful I will descend further and not find my way back this time. It is hard for me to hide sadness with a smile and some carefully applied makeup. I believe sadness fills our eyes, and nothing can hide it.

I am sad. I am sad that the road to recovery seems broken down to me and I am sad about all I stand to lose if I can't find my way back.

I am sad that I still want to follow the broken road of anorexia. I am sad that I still crave thinness after all this time, that I am addicted to sharp bones and a concave stomach.

Most of all, I am sad that I am beginning to believe that anorexia holy. I am sad that I am trying to convince myself that this is what God wants; that He wants me to eat less to become closer to him. That fasting is a good and right thing to do. I know am subverting God for my own purposes, and deep down I know that is evil.

I can't keep all this sadness out of my eyes or my drained face. I've lost my smile again, my sense of happiness and excitement about the future replaced by fear and anxiety.

I am sad . . .

Grieving anorexia

2010-11-10T11:40:00.003-05:00

I have been struggling yet again with my recovery from anorexia for about a month now. The all-encompassing anxiety has made it so hard to eat, and I have dropped a few pounds and the old voice trying to convince me to lose more weight has awaken from its slumber.

But I haven't been able to put into words what was really bothering me until my friend, Carrie at ED Bites asked me if there was something she could do. That opened the floodgates and I cried as I wrote her the following:

I just can't seem to get past the all-encompassing anxiety to continue to eat enough to get to my healthy goal weight. Dr. Sackeyfio assure me once I reach that weight, eventually the ED thoughts and behaviors (i.e. restricting, self-harm, etc.) will stop. But I can't seem to take that final leap, and I think I allow myself to be triggered by a number of friends who either have relapsed or given up on recovery altogether, and the fact that it seems like so few people I know can't seem to stay in recovery.

The frustrating part is that I was so close, and still could make my goal weight if I pulled it together. Also, since I am so close, everyone around me (except my husband) seems to think things are fine - I don't look emaciated like in the winter and spring, so I'm all better, right? But I wake up every morning scared to death to face the day, I burst into tears for no reason at the weirdest times (like right now while writing this) and I can't seem to stop restricting, but I of course I'm eating something, so it's not like a full-blown relapse, right? (I'm being sarcastic.)

I need people to hear me and maybe I'm not saying the right words. I'm grieving. Grieving the loss of my too-thin body. Grieving the fact I am 45 and most likely will never have a child. Grieving for the person I was pre-anorexia. Grieving. And everyone wants to see happy smiles and recovery full-speed ahead, and I am failing them. And I can't get the voices in my head to shut up and let me eat; instead I hear that I don't deserve to eat, I'm a fat pig, etc., etc.

I'm afraid I will be one of those who don't [recover], and it makes the future look very empty. I'm tired of weighing myself and counting calories and worrying about every bite . . .

Reflections on life and anorexia while driving through the Minnesota prairie

2010-11-03T20:36:00.003-04:00

Right now we are driving through southwest Minnesota, about twenty miles from South Dakota. The sky is a huge bowl cupping the earth; the land is flat and as endless as the Atlantic Ocean. Dotting the landscape are huge white windmills. These windmills give the landscape an alien feel, as if the structures were towers from another land or planet. The sun shines brightly over the land, a few trees here and there dotting the landscape. The road looks as it would drive straight off the earth.

Now fog has descended and the sun is watery, diffused; a small yellow circle surrounded by streams of white. The fog does not diminish the sun's power, however, and my eyes burn each time I stare up at the sky. The miles home seem endless. Not just the literal miles, but also the miles home to myself. I take several steps forward in recovery from anorexia, only to balk and pull back, feeling as if I don't deserve recovery or happiness or life. The desire to go back, to become so thin that the bones are sharp again, aches within in me. It is an ache that I am afraid I will not be able to resist. An ache that is inhuman. The ache of Ana.

Why? I can't ever seem to answer that question. What is the allure, the seductiveness of being emaciated? It truly is an addiction that continues to grip my soul. I think: I can go back. I can go back even further. I was almost there once; so close to the eighties. What can I do? Allow myself to fall back into the addiction of anorexia or continue to fight? But I am so tired, and the recovery doesn't seem to hold the same allure, the same seduction, as anorexia.

So should I just accept that this is part of my personality? Should I just let go and live my life with anorexia, accepting that this mental illness is part of me and I can't excise it out, can't cut it out with a knife, can't write it out of me? That nothing will really heal me? Perhaps I am not meant to be healed. Perhaps I am meant to continue on the path of anorexia. Perhaps I am meant to be like the medieval nuns and become a holy anorexic, fasting and praying to become closer to God. Perhaps food really is the enemy, the enemy that keeps me separate from true spiritual growth and truth?

We continue traveling down I-90. The land is still flat and covered with diffused light, although it is fading as the fog breaks up and the enormous sky returns; white clouds feathering the sky, broken up once in a while by the crisscross of electrical wires.

Narrowing my blue eyes, I can almost see the land as it once was. Flat, covered with grass and just a tree here and there to break up the aching loneliness of the land. There were bison and Native tribes who moved with the seasons; people were connected to the earth and sky and the changing of the seasons. They would be preparing for winter right now. How did they prepare for the brutal winters that sweep across this land, nothing to break the icy wind and snows?

They turned to each other and worked together to survive each winter. They were connected to one another as much as they were connected to the land, and the ideas of individualism and self-sufficiency were laughable in the face of reality; the reality of either work together to survive or die.

We have lost many connections in our colonization of the land. Connection to people. Connection to the land and the sky and the vast clouds and the ever-changing sun.

Instead, we tell ourselves we can each make it on our own. That individualism and self-sufficiency are virtues, part of the Grand Narrative of America that has destroyed souls and left many people feeling lonely and depressed in their separate apartments and homes and mansions and other boxes we build to keep out the cold and rain and snow, not realizing we also keep out people and laughter and togetherness because we hide in these boxes.

I also was in a box at my thinnest. The box of Ana, anorexia; whatever word you want to use. I was very comfortable in my box, and I resent being made to open the lid and crawl out. I want to go back into my box, separate myself from others and from myself. This box is small and cramped, cold and empty, but it defines me. I feel myself drawn to this box, because nothing outside the box feels as good or important or safe as what is within. The outside world created by man is not one I want to be part of; I do not feel drawn to it. So how do I live and yet not become trapped by a world that I mostly reject?

For anorexia is a world I understand and trust. The rest of the world I do not.

Written 31 October 2010 while driving through the Minnesota prairie about twenty miles north of South Dakota. These words were written stream-of-consciousness and reflect my thoughts at the time. When I wrote that I "trust" anorexia, I meant that I have become used to it through the years and can predict how it will make me feel and act. Please don't misconstrue this as me saying anorexia is a good thing or something someone should put her/his trust in. Anorexia is a dangerous and often life-threatening illness and I would not want anyone to think that I believe otherwise.

Denying Anorexia

2010-10-27T15:53:00.000-04:00

I am denying anorexia nervosa the victory it is trying to claim. The past month has been one of struggling with rampant anxiety and constant voices in my head first whispering, then screaming at me to stop eating and go back...

You don't deserve to eat. You are a gluttonous pig and should be ashamed of yourself. Look at how you have let yourself go...

Every pore of my being is filled with anxiety. I am frightened to get out of bed and start the day. Each class assignment taunts me, reminding me that I am stupid and unable to grasp the concepts of English rhetorical theories, literary elements and critical analysis. I can barely decide what to put on my fat body each day!

Each day feels like a treacherous journey through a threatening landscape. I feel as if I could literally crawl out of my skin, the raw bones and veins exposed and scrapped against the sharpness of life. I want to hide, become invisible, burrow under the covers and never come out; anything to be safe.

Anorexia kept telling me there is a way out. Just eat less. Anorexia promises that the thinner I become, the less I will feel. I will be free again. Free of this anxiety which has become my constant companion, and that tempts me with a permanent way out of all this...

I am fighting these lies, conjured up in my brain by anorexia and most likely fueled by a lack of full nutrition. Even the thought of doing things to combat the anxiety, such as yoga, brings me to the edge of panic.

Then yesterday I drank two Ensure Plus. Dr. Sackeyfio has been trying to get me to increase my calories for some time now, assuring me that full nutrition and reaching my healthy goal weight will lessen the anxiety and make things easier for me. Easier to get up in the morning. Easier to do things. Easier to study. Easier to just be.

Of course, in spite of my earlier vow to do whatever he said to get better, I first ignored his advice and instead did things my way. I mixed different tranquilizers, and sometimes added a glass of wine or two to that. Sometimes I would throw in one of my migraine painkillers. It got to the point I wasn't sure what kind of cocktail I was ingesting; anything, anything at all to stave off the anxiety.

I liked these options because of course, none of them involve weight gain (I just factored in the calories from the alcohol.) But a tiny part of my brain told me I was behaving stupidly, and I was quickly going down the yellow brick road of addiction to tranquilizers, pain killers and alcohol, or else putting myself at risk of doing something stupid that would 'accidently' kill me.

Then I did something terrible while filled with anxiety and despair, and it could have cost me my life. I felt as if I were being eaten alive by anxiety, and part of me wanted to die. Then I stopped and thought of David and our love for each other through all of this. I thought about my hopes for the future; to write and learn and reach out to others. I thought about my upcoming presentation at an English conference and how proud I was to have been chosen as one of the participants. I was really looking forward to reading my paper about anorexia, and perhaps opening the eyes of some people.

And I thought of Dr. S and how hard he has worked with me, how patient he has been and how much he has believed I will recover, even when I didn't believe it myself. I thought of the words he often says: You are more than your body size, and you have so much to offer the world. I would reward him and his hard work by dying? Talk about being ungrateful.

So after another day of feeling anxiety crawling all over me, I knew what I had to do. I don't need a different medication or more tranquilizers (not that he is likely to increase my dosage, anyway.)

I need full nutrition. I need what anorexia keeps telling me is bad for me — food and calories. Even though I have been eating, my body has been so depleted by anorexia, my brain is still starved and not totally thinking clearly. This creates the cycle of anxiety and eating less, and eventually my weight would have continued to drop (I already had lost two pounds.)

I kept hearing Dr. S's voice, telling me to eat more and that will heal me. I finally decided to believe him. And after two days, I do feel calmer. Anorexia is still screaming at me, but it is starting to melt like the Wicked Witch in The Wizard of Oz.

How many times can I deny anorexia? As many times as it comes back — until it is gone for good.

In the borderland of anorexia recovery

2010-10-16T16:53:00.001-04:00

I thought anorexia had been torn from me body and soul forever after David left.

Now he is back.

And so is anorexia.

Anorexia nervosa started creeping back a few weeks ago.

Taunting me with anxieties and fears; driving me to seek solace in dangerous places.

I look in the mirror and wonder who I am with this newly gained flesh.

I step on the scale, the relentless pursuit of thinness hovering in the back of my mind.

I know the numbers are a lie, and mean nothing without the power I give to them.

I know the path I have been on has been one of health and recovery and life.

I think of the future, and there are two alternative paths.

One is the path of anorexia and self-destruction. I fight to face the feelings stirred by recovery, but sometimes fail and use medication or alcohol to dull the inner pain. I don't want to become the victim of an accidental overdose. I want to learn how to handle anxiety so powerful it feels as if it could kill me.

The other path is one of healing and hope. It is a scary path, filled with anxieties that must be faced and food that must be eaten and weight that must gained. For I know until I reach my healthy goal weight, the anorexic thoughts will continue to nip at me and I will not be free. But I am so close to being free...

From 3-7 October 2010 journal entries.

This is the borderland of recovery. The word borderland implies a middle state of not belonging to any place or group. You are the "other." I am not yet recovered. I still sometime restrict and count calories and fight the thoughts of anorexia. I still weigh myself every day, and that number still means something to me.

Yet, I am not emaciated nor in physical danger, except for a persistent low potassium level which could impact my heart function (I also have potential heart problems from having scarlet fever. Typical for me, I try not to think about it.) But I am overall healthy and my mind is more clear than it has been for months. I know I must continue on the path of recovery. Neither my mind nor soul could handle failing this time.

Perhaps I am not failing. As I traverse the borderland of recovery, I see both many obstacles and many sources of help scattered throughout. The main obstacle is my mind and the still-obsessive drive to lose weight and become unimaginably thin again.

I am trying to discern why this thought remain pervasive. My therapist believes I am still afraid of life, and this is my way of staying safe. But the question is why am I afraid of life? I'm not sure. Sometimes life is beautiful and wonderful; the sun shines through my study window and caresses me and the brilliant leaves of orange and yellow and red fill my yard. It is a dying time, and yet reminds me that everything God creates is beautiful and life will come again.

Things are going wonderful for me in many ways. My husband and I are reconciled and are working hard to reestablish the intimacy we shared before anorexia nervosa decided to join us as a third partner in our marriage. I am working hard toward fulfilling my dream to obtain my master's degree, and I was recently admitted to the English department's writing program. This means I can pursue writing as my career, and use my skills as a writer and journalist to help people with eating disorders and mental illnesses. This means so much to me, and I am gratified in particular by one comment made by a professor reviewing my portfolio: "You have a rare gift." (She added that means she will push me hard to cultivate and hone that gift, and I might not always like what she says or wants me to do.)

I have a wonderful group of readers of this blog and recently it caught the attention of Ladies Home Journal. I am now working on a piece about my experiences with anorexia. I also will present my graduate paper on this topic at an English conference later this month, and will be interviewed by an Internet show by HealthyPlace.org next week. Finally, I am working on a presentation on eating disorders to present to students at the university, fulfilling another dream to begin to create a ministry to both present my story as a warning and help young people realize that we all different and beautiful in God's eyes and that is good.

But I'm not recovered. I am still walking through the borderland of recovery and know I can cross into either territory. At times, I feel as if I am on a very thin line and I am teetering either way. Cross one line and I am embrace life and all it has to offer. Step over the other line and I am looking at a lonely future with little hope and dreams destroyed.

My protection in this in-between state is my Lord and Savior Christ Jesus, and He guides me through the harrowing journey of recovery. He tells me I am beautiful and wondrous in His eyes when I look at my body and see fat that I want to carve out. He assures me that I am His child when I doubt myself and listen to my anxieties and fears that come of this world. He reminds me that my body is His gift and I am responsible for its care and love while I am on this earth.

I often wonder how long I will be on this earth. There are times I don't feel as if I belong here; the borderland is a lonely place and I haven't yet met anyone else wandering there, fighting for strength and recovery and wondering if s/he is the only one there. If you too feel as if you are in the borderland of recovery; if it is hard and you need an encouraging word or prayer, contact me via my e-mail on my profile.

I dream of a world where we all help each other; that not one of us becomes the Good Samaritan left forgotten by the side of the road. We all have wounds inflicted by our eating disorders and I believe we can help each other heal.

Christ Jesus is my guide through the borderland and will lead me to safety. Without him, I could not make it. But He also requires me to work hard on my own recovery. He will be there to guide me but I have to do the work, whether it means picking up the fork and eating the food or hiding from my feelings through unhealthy means.

The choice is mine. Choose to move forward and cross into the land of recovery. Or not.

Treatment denied (Blogging for Sofia)

2010-10-09T20:05:00.000-04:00

Sofia Benbahmed as a toddler.

The joy and wonder of life shine in the face of this little girl; dark, tousled curls framing her face, eyes closed and the warmth of a summer day embracing her as she clutches a daisy in each hand. There was a time when this little girl felt comfortable in her body. She didn't worry about weight and calories and body image. She was free like all little girls; running, playing and secure within herself and her world.

But at some point, something shifted within Sofia Benbahmed and she developed an eating disorder about twelve years ago. Now a young lady, she is struggling to overcome her illness and create a normal life free of fear and anxiety. She began residential treatment at Monte Nido in California in November. She spent three weeks there, healing and beginning her journey of recovery.

Sofia wrote, "During my time there I began to feel myself changing and rising to the occasion in a way I never had before. It was as though all of these years I have been in a room with no doors or windows, and suddenly doors began to appear — and not only did they become visible, but I began to walk through them."

Then her insurance company denied further treatment.

Many of us know how it feels to be trapped by an eating disorder, looking for a way out and praying for recovery. I have struggled with anorexia nervosa for four years, and residential treatment was recommended for me about two years ago.

My insurance does not pay for this type of treatment. Furthermore, when my treatment team recommended partial hospitalization (the highest level besides hospitalization that my insurance will cover) this past spring, I was denied treatment three times even though I was at my lowest weight and was quickly becoming medically compromised while the various powers-to-be at the insurance company debated with my doctor about the necessity for this level of care.

I was finally admitted to a PHP after my doctor told the insurance company I would soon end up in the hospital. I remember my own fight with the insurance company; how it wore me down and made it harder to focus on recovery.

It is because of my own experience that I am taking the time to write about Sofia, someone I've never met. Sofia's treatment team has recommended that she return to Monte Nido and receive the full treatment necessary to recover, but her insurance continues to deny her.

Sofia Benbahmed continues to fight for recovery in spite of the fact that she is becoming sicker every day. To contribute toward the costs of her treatment, go to GiveForward.org. You can read Sofia's complete story there, and see what a brave and determined young lady she is and how she takes full responsibility for her recovery; it is not easy for her to ask for financial help to pay for the treatment she so desperately needs. You also can find more information through Miss Mary Max's blog; she is the one who spearheaded the "Blogging for Sofia" campaign.

Everyone deserves the treatment their doctors and health professionals recommend. Insurance companies have no right to play God, deciding if this person is worthy of treatment while that person is not.

I am honored to have a small part in this effort to gain treatment for one person with an eating disorder. I just wish that appropriate treatment would be readily available for everyone who needs it.

Sofia Benbahmed today.

Survivor's guilt (living with anorexia)

2010-10-03T15:25:00.002-04:00

She was thirty-three years old and died of anorexia. My therapist told me this almost as an aside, near the end of Friday's therapy session. Our talk had centered on who I am besides anorexia, and how I continue to hold onto strong anorexic thoughts and tendencies in spite of working so hard to regain weight and health.

I said I had been struggling for the past week, bombarded with urges to restrict and feelings that I did not deserve to eat. I have been restricting; missing Ensures and eating lighter meals when I can get away with it. I also have been using other means to stave off the ever-increasing anxiety; extra tranquilizers sometime combined with pain killers make me feel calmer; a glass of wine added also helps.

Anything not to feel. Anything to forget how strong I was, how well I have done, only to have it start falling apart for no apparent reason. I am not an inspiration. I am a failure, heading for a relapse if I don't find a way to stop it.

Dr. S. said it was because part of me still wanted to hide; hide from life and a relationship with my husband and obtaining my master's degree. Hide from all the responsibilities that come with being healthy and recovered.

He is right. There are times I want to dive right back into anorexia.

I said I miss my uber-thinness, the feeling of my bones and concave stomach. I sometimes crave to be that small again; it is unlike any other feeling in the world, the world of anorexia. It is so damn seductive, so alluring sometimes I can't think over the still-loud, screaming voices that try to urge me on to the impossibility of being thin, so thin I am just a whisper . . .

I also know what I stand to lose if I chose this path. My husband. Writing. Any hope of getting my master's degree or having a successful and fulfilling career. Friendship.

Me.

(But I would be with God.)

Strangely, I never have really believed that I could die of this illness. There are a few times awareness has tried to trickle in, but then my heart beats and my mind thinks, and the thought of anorexia killing me seems so remote.

I cried yesterday when I realized how close I was to my goal weight. I felt both happy and bitter, the two feelings intermingling until I just felt overwhelmed and exploded into tears and self-recriminations. I looked down and hated my body and what it has become; rounder, feminine and softer.

But I want to get better. I ate the foods and drank the Ensure Plus necessary to gain weight starting in September, and I was so determined to do it after my husband left, to prove I could recover and we could still have a life together. I moved forward in faith each day, and felt the promises of tomorrow whisper, you can do this.

But then there is guilt.

Why do I deserve to live when so many others have died from anorexia?

The guilt eats at me, tells me I haven't suffered enough and I don't deserve to eat nor recover. Why is anorexia like this? Why is it the only disease that tries to entice you back to it? Why does it make you feel guilty for becoming better?

Today I decided to eat less. And I have. Is that supposed to be the great accomplishment of my day?

I can still move forward. I must move forward. But right now I am frozen.

Frozen by guilt.

Frozen by fear.

Frozen by anxiety.

Frozen by anorexia.

Frozen by the thought relief could come soon.

(But what type of relief? Which will I chose? I have thought about the woman who died of anorexia all day. What were her hopes and dreams? Was she surrounded by loved ones at the moment of her death? Did she once dream of recovery? When did it become too late? What does all this mean to me?)

The part of me that wanted to die, that developed anorexia in the first place, thinks why not?

Survivor's guilt (living with anorexia)

Guilt fills me

The thought of
a
young woman
Killed

By anorexia.

I ask myself
Why do
I
continue to live?

While others die?

Feeling cheated
of the
Death
meant for

Me.

Dear Anorexia . . .

2010-09-29T19:17:00.007-04:00

Dear Anorexia,
You made me
Sm
  al
   le
   r
Shrinking
me
and my
W O R L D.
Leaving me with
n o t h i n g . . . . . .

Intertwined
for years,
when you started to fade away
my fingertips would
reach out,
grasping for you
afraid

Anorexia is thy name
And I was thee.

My soul and yours
a hazy mixture
Unable to be part of
Life

You did serve
A purpose
Or two

Protecting me
In a strange and
S I C K
way.

Anxiety calmed

Depression staved off

(For a while, anyway
It was never a permanent
Fix.)

It is so hard
To let go
even now

Your voice still screams
You don't deserve
to eat
You don't . . .

But I know there is
No
option of returning to you

In order to live,
I must allow you to
die.

It is time
to say good-bye.

Your usefulness
Is gone
All you can bring me is
Grief.

And I have already cried
so many t
   e
   a
   r
   s
because of you . . .

Anorexia

Now
I want
life
mind
soul
body

The arms of my
husband around me
Not your snakelike
Tentacles.

Friends
Conversations
Reading
Writing

Laughter

The smile
that you tried to
kill.

My thoughts
are becoming
Free
of your interference

And I am beginning
to finally
rediscover

Me.

Forgiveness, grace and anorexia

2010-09-25T20:42:00.002-04:00

Tomorrow my husband will return home for good.

I have a lot to forgive. But perhaps not what people think.

My doctor says to me, "You left him first." This was very hard to take, particularly right after David left. I came home from class, his things gone and the house stripped bare of his artwork. I didn't need to read the note he left. The bareness echoing through our home told me what had happened.

Anorexia had driven him away.

Anorexia nervosa is a strange disease. It can kill you and the logical part of my mind understood that. But it is so seductive. There was just something about feeling empty, airy; bones protruding and stomach concave that just drew me in time and time again.

I was unable to give up anorexia. I was afraid to give up anorexia. I didn't know any longer who I was without the disease.

Anorexia also is a disease that fights back. The more I've tried to recover this month, knowing that was the only path to any kind of life and any attempt to salvage my marriage, the more I've eaten and the harder I've worked, anorexia has been at work, too. Insidious, sneaky; planting unwanted thoughts and fears into my brain.

It just doesn't get it. Anorexia isn't welcome here anymore.

It was only through the grace of God that I was able to eat when I was lonely and doubtful that I could either recover nor regain my former life. That life seemed so far gone . . . I really felt I had lost everything.

So why did I keep going?

Grace showered down on me, covering me in God's love and caring as I struggled to escape anorexia's grip. I prayed every day for release, to please this time allow me to escape. It really has felt like a prison sometimes.

God heard me and made it easier each day to nourish myself, to try and bring myself back to life.

With grace comes forgiveness. First I needed God's forgiveness for a slew of broken promises. Promises that I would stop abusing laxatives. Promises that I would stop starving myself. Promises that I wouldn't cut or do a multitude of things to degrade myself.

Promises broken. And yet God forgives me each and every day.

But I also must forgive myself. For too long I have blamed myself for developing anorexia. I have blamed myself for what my illness has done to my husband, family and friends, and I have since apologized to those who loved me.

But I left out one person. I haven't apologized to me for what anorexia has done.

I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for hurting myself, one of God's creations. I didn't deserve that kind of treatment, and I will try to treat myself better each and every day. For out of loving myself will I be able to give love to those around me.

As I sit here, my last evening without my husband at home, I think about forgiveness and grace. I forgave him a long time ago. For my doctor is right; I did leave him first. I left him for anorexia, shutting him and everything out until I didn't believe there was anything else. I do not blame him for leaving; in fact, it was probably the most loving act he could have done even though it hurt like hell for both of us.

It will take a long time to heal. I am only at the beginning of recovery. Anorexia continues to scream its lies at me; sometimes as just mere background noise, sometimes loud and obnoxious taunting about my newly gained pounds.

Anorexia whispers, You can be thin again. Thin Thin Thin ...

I was thin; I was skeletal. I am becoming slender and healthy. By no means am I overweight and that is one of the worst lies anorexia keeps throwing at me, as if it will make me return to it.

I won't.

As I told my doctor the other day, I had already decided I would either beat anorexia this year or kill myself. I don't want to live another year like this one. Plummeting weight and the all-pervasive wish to just die, die of anorexia because there felt like there was no hope of escape. I was smothering and I knew my body and soul couldn't take much more.

I will keep moving forward, toward life and laughter and my true love back with me again. The anxiety is sometimes so strong it feels as if it will consume me, and the call of anorexia is still seductive, but . . .

I will keep moving forward.

"Through many dangers, toils and snares, I have already come; 'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far and Grace will lead me home." John Newton, "Amazing Grace" 1779

De-romanticizing anorexia (Ten Days)

2010-09-15T12:49:00.008-04:00

"Many miles many roads I have traveled / Fallen down on the way / Many hearts many years have unraveled / Leading up to today." Madonna, "I Deserve It"

I sit here and think that in ten days, you could be home and real life can begin again. I have been half frozen without you. I have been cold and lonely, and I have cried many tears while on my knees begging God to bring you back to me.

But . . . I have survived. I have not sunk into despair nor have I turned to anorexia for solace. I have fought hard and emerged victorious with each bite of food and drink of Ensure Plus.

I have survived, and at times even felt joy and happiness. The wind and the sun have blown through my hair, the fading warmth of fall a promise of a better tomorrow. I am able to dream again, and in those dreams are you and I, one once more, healthy and happy and content, learning and loving and growing in this life.

At first, I railed against this separation. That is lessening as I realized that each one of us face many things throughout the years, and this is what God has chosen me to face at this time. It has hurt and has made me cry and become angry, and perhaps that is what I needed to do.

At first, I was angry with God. I didn't really understand and I was caught in a maelstrom of emotions and pain as I contemplated a future without you.

Then hope was offered. I began to believe we would have a future together. I didn't know when, and that was hard, but with each kiss I felt your love and longing, and remembered your promise.

Now I am beginning to understand why I needed to go through this. I needed to learn I could survive and recover from anorexia, that I have the internal strength and that it won't kill me if I only draw upon that strength and fight back.

I needed to learn that recovery from anorexia nervosa is a lifelong process. I will constantly need to draw upon my strength and resources to fight and overcome this inexplicable and evil disease.

I have survived. No one can ever take that away from me. Anorexia cannot take that away from me. This part of recovery, this victory, is mine.

This doesn't mean I don't need nor want your support. It will be ... My breath catches in my throat and my heart races as I think of it ... for us to be together again, to hear your encouragement as I continue to move forward in this journey.

But in the end, it is my fight and I will need every ounce of internal strength to win. Anorexia is a formidable foe and doesn't give up easily. But I will recover and learn to laugh and dance and love myself again.

For too long, I gave up fighting for myself. I started to believe I really couldn't recover and that was okay. I began to believe lies, lies that told me I was not worthy nor able to recover, lies that said I didn't deserve to eat, lies that enticed me to forever become thinner. Lies that I allowed to define me solely based upon a number on a scale.

I have learned since you have left that numbers mean nothing and that anorexia was really in control. There is nothing beautiful or graceful or delicate about being emaciated and starved. I have looked at the pictures, at my stripped-down arms and stripped-down body and no longer wonder why you were so afraid and frustrated with my belief that was an acceptable way to be and live.

But I wasn't really living.

I did romanticize anorexia, as much as I denied it. I was caught in a web and couldn't find the weapon to cut myself free. And therefore I moved forward, trying to escape and yet feeling so trapped ... I felt as if I were in a jail cell, left forgotten and broken, left to die.

Every morning I prayed to God to either release me or let me die. You see, I couldn't live with anorexia anymore. I wanted out and I believed the lie that only death would free me.

The lion's share of my anger has been directed and aimed at anorexia. It is evil and has destroyed so many lives. It took almost everything from me; body, soul and spirit. It has scarred our lives and me and for that I am sorry.

I struggle not to cry as I write this. It feels like it has been a long journey toward wanting to live and recover from anorexia. To move from one mindset to another in the space of two weeks is both exhilarating and exhausting, and my emotions have veered from despair to hope and everywhere in between.

It has been two weeks since you left, and each night I still turn and reach out for you. You are not there, and yet this morning hope entered my mind and whispered soon, soon . . .

And I smile.

A prayer and a promise

2010-09-10T19:20:00.001-04:00

"My soul glorifies the Lord; my spirit rejoices in God, my Savior." The Magnificat

A prayer

Hear my cries, O Lord!

I will prevail only

With Your mercy

and kindness

Fill my spirit

With courage

and hope

Free me

From this evil

I fight every day

Surround me with your light,

love

and protection

Know that I am

your servant

And I glorify your name

Forever.

It is only through the Lord's grace and mercy that I am slowly recovering from anorexia. It is very hard to eat sometimes, and there are moments when I want to give up. It is hard to eat meals, and oddly harder to eat alone than with others.

Each morning begins with breakfast of yogurt and granola, and recently some added pecans or walnuts for more calories and healthy fats. I now pray at each meal, a simple prayer that the food will nourish me and allow me to become healthy. I am actually hungry at breakfast time, and thus it is my favorite meal of the day.

My other two meals vary, usually a sandwich and yogurt or pudding for lunch and some type of pasta with meat and bread and butter for dinner. Then there is the three bottles of Ensure Plus and I have added a mid-afternoon snack since my metabolism is quite active and my weight gain will plateau if I don't add more calories.

I don't exactly count calories, as I find that still too triggering and reminiscent of the days I was enmeshed in anorexia, but I have a rough idea from years of constant vigilance over what I ate.

I am amazed I can eat the amount of food I have been eating for the past two weeks without major anxiety. It still feels as if anorexia has died within me, although the enemy (and that is what my doctor says anorexia is) tries to fight back and make me feel bad for eating "so much." I pretty much tell the eating disorder voice (I will no longer give *it* a name because it does not deserve one) to shut up and that I'm not going to listen.

I have to make sure I don't tell myself to shut up while in public. :) (I suppose I have done this a few times. I don't really care what people think.)

Another amazing thing is to step on the scale and want to gain weight. I plan on getting rid of the scale in the future, but right now with things still in flux I need to make sure I'm not losing. Dr. Sackeyfio told me today I could plateau or lose because of the additional stress and feelings I am going through, and that I will most likely need to add even more food/calories to my day.

I can do it. I am doing it. There are times I miss David so badly . . . But I tell myself this is the only way to any kind of life. He still is a strong source of support, telling me he is proud of me and celebrating with me when I had cookies with dinner just because I wanted to have cookies.

Then there is his promise — that if I stay healthy, we will get back together. Hope fills my soul each time I think of his words. There are times I am impatient and I want us to be together now.

Then I wonder . . . I have been battling anorexia nervosa for four years, and this is the third time I have made a concerted effort to become healthy. Maybe God wanted to make sure this was my recovery. Maybe He wants me to believe in myself; that I am strong and capable and able to do this.

And each day, I do believe more in myself. I still cry and feel lonely, and I might feel this way whether David was here all the time or not. Refeeding is a very emotional and lonely time, and there is no way out except for through.

"The Almighty works marvels for me.

Holy his name!

His mercy is from age to age . . ."

One week later (what I have learned)

2010-09-07T23:10:00.001-04:00

It feels like it has been forever.

David has been gone for one week.

It hurts like hell. I miss him so much . . .

I live between hope and despair. Hope that we will get back together. Despair that we won't. And an all-pervasive anger at anorexia and what it has done to me and David, my friends and family, my very soul.

I have raged and cried every day this week. It hits me at the weirdest moments, sometimes at night as I lay in my bed alone, sometimes during the afternoon after I have been feeling strong and hopeful all day. The sudden realization that he is not here and I have to do this alone. I miss everything about him; his smile, his enthusiasm for interesting projects and the world around him, his gentle arms around me and holding me, his wild graying hair that is all over the place . . . everything.

We have talked a lot and seen each other a few times during the past week. I sometimes ache to hear his voice, and call just to touch base. I feel like I am being weak during those times, but as I said before, I will not be ashamed for loving someone and wanting to reach out to that person.

I have learned much about myself these past weeks. I am emotional and cry at the oddest moments. I can still feel joy, such as when I was driving to class and singing "God of Wonders" with the music full blast and the sun roof open. I sometimes panic, but usually am able to stave off that feeling. I can reach out to someone else in need and give her hope, not thinking about myself and the pain I feel.

I have wonderful friends who have spent hours listening to me, and a very gentle therapist who has talked with me pretty much every day since David left. Dr. S keeps telling me I can do this, and first and foremost I need to become healthy to rediscover and find myself. He insists that I am more than my weight and body size; that I am so much more and that I can return to full life.

I have learned I want to live, live fully. I don't ever again want that life of purgatory, between living and existing, that I have had for almost four years with anorexia. I have found out I am strong and I can fight the eating disorder voice and win. I have not missed one meal nor one Ensure Plus all week. Even when I'm not hungry. Even when the grief threatens to double me over in pain. Even when it is late and it would be easier to skip the Ensure Plus "just this once." There is no skipping Ensure Plus or meals no matter what; skipping become sliding too easily for me.

We have talked often and always say, "I love you" at the end of the conversation. We have seen each other a few times, and I can tell he misses me (and I know I miss him) by our interactions. I sense he is lonely and a bit lost, and not sure what to do. Right now it's "wait and see," and that doesn't really feel very comfortable, but that is where he is at and I need to respect that.

I also know he is afraid to hope. He is afraid to believe this time I will stay well and not again be lured by anorexia. I understand his fears and why he has them. It has been a long four years, so he needs to see that I will get healthy and stay healthy. I have also always been afraid to really hope I would get better during other times in the past.

But I hit rock bottom. I can go no lower. My only choices are to climb up and really live or die.

I have learned many things this week. That weight doesn't matter and being thin is unimportant. That counting calories and obsessing over every bite is the biggest waste of time. I can't believe how much time I've wasted on anorexia. But I also have learned that regretting doesn't do anything.

I know this time I am going to recover and stay well. I feel it in my heart. All doubts are gone. God has transformed me and is leading this recovery. I can't go back. I must move forward. I have to do this, first for myself and then . . . then, hopefully we can be together again and move forward toward the beautiful life I know we can have and that we have been dreaming about, and talking about, even this week.

I have learned how very much I love David. I just pray it isn't too late.

Hitting the target (of anorexia)

2010-09-05T21:37:00.003-04:00

5 September 2010

My hand pulls back the bow string, the arrow securely attached and my eyes aimed at the round circle in the middle. The circle represents anorexia. I want so badly to hit this circle and to kill anorexia. I am swearing under my breath, cursing anorexia for all it has done to my life . . .

It is early evening. The time when day's end and twilight begin to meld into one. The sunshine held that peculiar autumnal quality, a mixture of warmth washed with pale yellow. A reminder that summer is dying and soon this part of the world will be covered with snow and ice, and the sunshine will hold light, but little warmth. Our ancestors would be making preparations for the coming winter.

Now we wait for winter's onslaught and think we are ready with our houses of wood and stone and vehicles of steel and rubber. But we are separated from one another by these artificial structures, The world we have created often prohibits turning to each other for warmth and companionship during times of need, and we remain cold deep down inside as we walk through a dead world and wonder if life will ever return again. The turn toward winter has begun . . .

Anorexia is a cold companion.

I think of all the things anorexia has stolen from me as I aim at the target.

It has taken away my husband, the love of my life. I have not been a full partner for years. I have been too busy counting calories and plotting ways to lose weight. I have been obsessed with the number on the scale.

(Every morning it was the same thoughts, hammering at my brain. Is my weight low enough? Please God let it stay in the double-digit. Let it be lower today. Tell me when it is exactly the right number so I can finally relax and do something else, anything besides think about my weight one more second! Free me from this obsession, because I will never be thin enough. God, are you listening??? Am I thin enough now? Can I eat something without feeling guilty or punishing myself? God why won't these thoughts leave my brain? FREE ME FROM THIS SLAVERY!)

It has stolen my health and strength, stripping my arms almost to the bone. I have been sick much of the time since my relapse in January, and I needed an NG feeding tube in February.

It has robbed me of myself. I allowed anorexia to almost completely destroy my personality, swallowing quirky traits and endearing qualities until I have become a shadow of my former self. No longer did I sing Christmas carols in July or ring up a friend just to talk about life and love for hours at a time.

It has tried to crush my spirit. I have woken up many mornings wishing I were dead. I felt I could never defeat anorexia. I felt I never could complete graduate school. I wanted to hide in bed until the end came because I didn't think I could turn it around.

I am barely able to pull back the bow string, but I will not give up. I am going to hit one part of that target before calling it a night. My rage is at anorexia and I will be damned if I will turn it inward anymore.

My first attempts at letting the arrow fly are pathetic. The arrow is hitting the grass, the side of an outbuilding, the garage. Everywhere except one of five round circles printed on a piece of paper and attached to a large square of Styrofoam.

Suddenly . . . Bang!!!

The arrow hits the top right circle. The mark is so very close to the round bull's eye. It's just a hair's length off. Damn!

Still, the arrow did hit the target and a circle. I feel very proud of myself and shot off a few more arrows just for fun, enjoying the weakening sunshine and slight breeze in my long hair. I hit the target representing anorexia, and told myself it will die.

I went to talk to David the night he left and I wanted to die when I realized he wasn't going to come back home. However, we did talk of reconciliation and how we both still love each other. That night I slept on and off for about two hours at a time. I kept listening, thinking he might change his mind and still come home. It was the loneliest night of my soul when I realized around 4 a.m. that his van wasn't going to pull into the driveway and he wasn't going to come through the back door.

I wanted to die. But a stronger feeling took over. I wanted to live, really live. Live as I haven't lived for years since anorexia took over. I couldn't stomach food that first day, but I could drink six Ensures (three regular and three Plus.) And so I did and it was the beginning.

I knew what I had to do the next day. I had to eat and get healthy. Three regular meals and three bottles of Ensure Plus. I have kept up this regimen ever since. I have much hope we will reconcile and be a couple, a family again.

But I'm beginning to feel an even bigger hope. That I will become myself again. The person I was before anorexia, only better and hopefully, more understanding and compassionate of the needs of my husband and others.

As I went into the house today, I looked at the scratches on my left thumb and the red marks on my left arm. My hair was in my face and there was dirt on my boots and dust all over my black dress. And I didn't care. Because I realized I didn't just hit an arrow on a paper target. I am beginning to hit the target when it comes to recovery.

Being recovered looks so far away. But finally, finally the road of recovery is the one I have chosen. I may feel pain and I may cry every day because I miss my husband. I am not ashamed of that. I will never be ashamed to love someone and cry because I miss him.

But I also step forward each minute and this time I haven't looked back. I have hit rock bottom. I have finally hit rock bottom and God in his mercy has used it to transform me and lead me to healing. I truly believe anorexia died inside me last week.

I truly believe I will finally live.

Alone

2010-08-31T22:59:00.000-04:00

My husband has left me. Because of my anorexia. Because he couldn't handle it. It was too much for him.

I understand. It is too much for me. He said he would consider getting back together if I got better. Right now my heart aches. I miss him so much. This house is not a home without David. I don't know how to live here without him.

I hurt so much. I feel destroyed.

Anorexia has destroyed everything. I have learned too late . . . I hate anorexia with all my heart.

I miss him . . .

Anger rising

2010-08-30T20:26:00.001-04:00

I woke up this morning feeling as if my insides were being twisted by a malevolent force. I could feel all the food I ate churning and bubbling, a caldron ready to explode. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, hating myself and food and anorexia and all of life.

I ate like a normal person on Sunday. Then I punished myself by taking a handful of laxatives that night. What goes in must come out, right?

I am getting so sick of this. The time wasted either sitting on the toilet or trying to count each and every calorie I consume. The time spent on the scale, silently begging it to not show a triple-digit weight. The time spent sick to my stomach and sick at heart because I have failed once again.

The unrelenting pursuit of thinness.

I will never be thin enough. I read about Marya Hornbacher and her lowest weight of 57. I ached with jealously. I will never be that thin. And that hurts. Then I wonder . . . How did she do it? Could I . . . Maybe I could learn how by reading her book.

I look at the innocuous white scale, its flickering numbers ready to bring me joy or despair like a desperate gambler at a roulette wheel. Round and round the numbers go and where they land nobody knows.

And where it lands is never the right place. I hate the number no matter what it is . . .

I want to pick it up and hurl it across the room until it smashes into a billion pieces.

I look at the tiny pink pills that I slyly, quickly swallow so David doesn't see me. Yet I know laxatives don't really rid your body of calories, but instead depletes you of fluids and gives the illusion of weight loss.

My mind circles desperately, the Ana voice telling to just stop eating. You are a pig. Fat pig. You would be better off dead than the way you are now.

FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT . . .

It never stops. I want to scream as loud as I can — Dear God, save me! Save me from all this. Take it away. I can do nothing on my own. Only You can deliver me from this ongoing nightmare.

And I fantasize about taking a sledgehammer and smashing it into the scale which has ruled my life for years.

Then I become afraid.

Who am I besides someone fighting anorexia nervosa? Who am I besides my weight? Who am I besides my body size?

My doctor asked me to think about those questions and come up with some answers this week.

I see nothing but blankness right now. My thoughts are too filled with little pink pills and a white scale. My thoughts are too filled with what more can I do to rid myself of more weight. I look up tips. Karen Carpenter took extra thyroid pills and used syrup of ipecac. Hmm...I have thyroid pills. Perhaps I should double the dose.

I draw back, afraid.

And my anger at anorexia grows.

I am so sick of this. When will I be free? When will I allow myself to be free?

For it is I who locks myself in the golden cage and throws away the key.

Back and forth ...

Recovery

Thin

Recovery

Thin

Dear God, please save me before . . . the possibilities are infinite.

Anorexia, the old woman and me

2010-08-24T21:25:00.004-04:00

I travel each week two hours one-way to see my eating disorders specialist. Rarely do I see other patients coming or going. (I suspect it is set up that way.)

But last week, I did my usually sprint into the office to grab the bathroom key before my appointment and was stopped short. By a very old woman, leaning against a walker and talking with Dr. S's secretary/office manager/all-around wonderful person.

I was a bit flustered by her being there. Is she a patient? Is she someone's grandmother, paying a bill or arranging for an appointment? Dear God, don't let her be a patient! She must be 80; she should be home surrounded by her loving grandchildren and great grandchildren, baking pies and cookies — NOT battling an eating disorder!

I did not ask Dr. S about her (and I know he wouldn't be able to tell me anything.) BUT had I even mentioned her age, I know he would have said, Of course people in their 70s and 80s battle eating disorders. Or something like that. Since I also knew this deep down, but did not want my knowledge confirmed, I didn't say anything.

I don't want to face the reality that an elderly woman could be battling anorexia or bulimia. I don't want to know that on so many different levels . . .

I haven't been able to get the stooped, elderly woman out of my mind. Was she a patient? No, that's not possible. She was too old. WAS she anorexic? Bulimic? Was she still fighting her demons? WHO WAS SHE???

I know I'll never know.

Sometimes I think of my own situation. I am 45 and still struggling with anorexia nervosa. I am still trying to climb my way out of a relapse. After gaining some weight at a PHP this summer, I've lost most of it and am only maintaining.

Each day I try to eat more to gain weight. This past week has been back and forth. I'll eat well and then panic, swallowing a bunch of laxatives and watching all my efforts go down the drain. Other days, I try to eat what feels a little safer and only add a few hundred extra calories.

Then the war starts in my head. You are getting TOO FAT! See that huge stomach and thighs? Feel that pudgy waist? You are a BIG FAT LOSER?

Get some laxatives and cleanse yourself of all this dirty food. Then go back to the basics. Eat as little food as possible. YOU ARE FAT FAT FAT! Everyone around you thinks that. They just won't tell you — yet.

You don't need food and you don't deserve food.

But eating less is not healthy. I need to be healthy in order to complete my graduate classes and have some sort of a future. To have a life with my husband. To enjoy the fullness of living.

To be less afraid and less anxious.

My mind is constantly this war zone. I sometimes feel as if I am going to shatter in a million different pieces, literally implode upon myself until I'm nothing but a pile of broken dreams and promises. No future.

Then I think of the old woman. I imagine I am her . . .

The year 2050. I am 85. Hopes of recovery are long gone. Counting calories and losing weight has defined me for decades. I am told I am too thin, but I don't believe it. I still could stand to lose a few more pounds. My gaunt face looks at the doctor's face and I laugh.

I am thin. THIN THIN THIN

This is the most important thing about me. Everything else has faded, sucked into the black hole of anorexia. There is nothing left. I never finished graduate school. I became too weak and had to drop out. I've been living on odd jobs and finally, at some point, disability. My husband has left me and I have few friends.

I am alone.

Dear God, please let her be somebody's grandmother. She can't have an eating disorder. She doesn't have anorexia or bulimia. Maybe she was friends with Dr. S's secretary and just stopped by. Maybe she was there to thank Dr. S for the recovery of her granddaughter or grandson.

Can she?

Not My Fault: Erasing the Stigma of Eating Disorders

2010-08-20T10:58:00.000-04:00

I was honored to be asked by Sandy at A Glass Half Shattered to write an guest blog post. Sandy is currently in recovery from borderline personality disorder and also struggles with depression and anxiety. She is an awesome writer devoted to both her recovery and erasing the stigma of all mental illnesses.

My guest post, Not My Fault: Erasing the Stigma of Eating Disorders, explores further the differences between having an eating disorder and other illnesses and the stigma still attached to eating disorders. It is my hope I can perhaps show people that eating disorders are real illnesses and that the estimated 11 million people who struggle with these disorders deserve the same compassion and understanding given to others. The post is not meant to evoke pity, but instead create a dialogue of understanding.

I also would encourage you to explore Sandy's blog — you will come away with a better understanding of the day to day life of someone struggling with BPD and you might just relate to much of Sandy's life.

What if I had . . .? (The myth that anorexia nervosa isn't a real illness)

2010-08-14T21:48:00.001-04:00

What if I had cancer?
Or ALS?
What if I had suffered from several strokes?
Suppose I was unable to walk because of MS?
Or my hands were so twisted from RA?

Would you then encourage my husband to leave me because I'm sick? That he should abandon me when I need him most? That my rock and anchor should just throw fourteen years of marriage because you said so???

I'm glad you listen to him and allow him to vent and I understand you think dealing with a wife with anorexia is so hard for him.

But did you ever ask how I felt? Were you even concerned that I almost died this past winter, that I am still struggling? Did you ever call me to see how I was doing, or is gossiping like two old women all you are capable of? Are your relationships so dry, so empty (I know at least two of you are in very empty relationships; ones on their deathbeds, as a matter of fact) that you have to interfere with mine? At least next time have the guts to say what you think to me. After all, I don't even weigh 100 pounds; I surely can't hurt you.

Being betrayed by several people close to me won't heal. I must pretend to my husband I am fine. After all, he was very reluctant to tell me that several people have said to him they wouldn't stay with me. I should bury my feelings. I asked and I received, and I wasn't happy with what was there.

A world of disposable vows. Forever means nothing. "Love is patient, love is kind" and all that crap. I am such a dreamer; an idiot to believe love can conquer all.

When do I get to be free of anorexia? When I die? If I recover? Never? And what about my heart, which feels shattered right now . . .

Funny thing is, each one of you call yourself a Christian in some way. But I suppose you would have left the beaten man by the side of the road; after all, you are a Samaritan and he is a Jew and why would you help someone so different from yourself?

Did you know that anorexia nervosa has a 25 percent death rate? The highest rate of any mental illness, and higher than many physical illnesses? Do you know how hard it is to kick? Do you have any idea what it's like to live steeped in anxiety, trying to crawl your way back once more toward recovery? The last thing I need is a Judas or two in my midst.

But you go ahead and smoke your cigarettes and drink your twelve-pack and pontificate about how I can't seem to get rid of anorexia and why would anyone stay with me. But maybe I wonder the same thing about you . . .

The lies of Proana

2010-08-10T16:03:00.004-04:00

My mind feels as if it were split in two by anorexia. Part of me is pulled toward eating less and losing weight. The pursuit of thinness feels so strong, ready to pull me under. But is it really being thin that I want? I don't think so.

People say I am too thin now; losing more pounds feels rather pointless and yet . . . I look at pictures of those who are young and thin; fake photos to draw me in and trap me. I will never look like that. It is a lie. I won't tiptoe between raindrops nor walk across snow-covered fields with nary a footprint.

The Lies of Proana

Il Faut Souffrir Pour Etre Belle

(One must suffer to be beautiful)

Welcome to the world of fantasy

Where slender young women

float through life

untouched by the ravages

of their starving bodies

and

wasted minds.

Did I ever believe any of this? Do I still? Is my mind torn in two? As I struggle to eat, both believing I need to lose weight and then seeing the truth, I wonder whose mind is it, anyway? Who is in control here and am I that easily manipulated? Or am I sometimes drawn toward this fantasy world because I find it too hard to escape the reality of anorexia? I wonder ...

It is so easy to believe the lies of proana. The women pictured look flawless — smooth, delicate skin, slender bodies and glossy smooth hair. Who could resist the allure of these images?

Proana says all you have to do is not eat. Of course, not every one of these websites actually say you must starve to achieve this imaginary life. Starvation is sometimes just a whisper behind the positive posts of eating less and exercising more; of ways to avoid food and how much better you will feel the less you eat.

Some proana sites go further, trying to make starvation sound virtuous; a state to aspire to:

"Starvation is fulfilling.

Colors become brighter, sounds sharper,

odors so much more savory . . ."

LIES! I wish I could reach through the website where I found that and shake the person, yelling You are starving, that's why things seem different and strange. Starving!!! Lies which help perpetuate the downward spiral of so many women. More fulfilling??? I remember in some of my worse restrictive times I would suddenly get an urge to snatch food from someone eating in front of me. The smells and imagined taste almost were too much. And yet part of me was (is?) susceptible to this and it scares me.

The other, healthier part of me wants to break free of anorexia forever. I am tired. Tired of counting calories. Tired of worrying about every single bite I put in my mouth. Tired of fighting with my mind all the time. I struggle to maintain some semblance of a normal life and at each turn, crouching in every corner is anorexia.

Tired of thinking about a life without my husband, a life without love and joy.

The anxiety is the worse. I wake up afraid of everything. Having sex with my husband. Food. Getting out of bed. The fear that I will amount to nothing. Eating. Not eating. Facing the day. Taking a shower and deciding what clothes to wear. Completing assignments.

Nothing is untouched by anxiety. Nothing.

The other day my husband told me he was leaving unless I made a real effort toward recovery. I thought I was. I was thinking about what I needed to do, writing about it, trying to work through the fear of eating and gaining weight.

I felt I was making an effort. I was thinking about it; doesn't that count for something? Of course, I also was talking about not gaining anymore weight and possibly losing more. I feel fine, I said. Why can't I stay the way I am? Why can't I just accept I have anorexia and live with it. I could give up treatment and let things happen,

What did I expect? For David to say, sure that's fine, being under one hundred pounds is perfectly okay by me?

I'm such an idiot sometimes. I cried more that night than ever before . . . I promised to do better and I do truly want recovery. It's just so hard and I'm not as strong as people seem to think.

Last night, I told my doctor I want one of two things — either anorexia to kill me or to be free. Anorexia nervosa purgatory just isn't working for me.

Then I had an — epiphany? A revelation? Maybe a word from God, I don't know. I suddenly thought, What if I just stopped worrying and started eating like a normal person? What would happen? Would I literally explode? Would it kill me? Or would I start becoming the person I was, only better?

I think of the past and dream of the future, thinking of the possibility of a rich and normal life . . .

Eat to live (defying the illogical voice of anorexia)

2010-08-04T21:10:00.006-04:00

Fear
Anxiety
Eyes wide open
But is it enough?
The mirror would not lie to me this morning. I was dressed for this hot and humid Michigan weather, wearing a skimpy blue sundress with lace trim that I always felt cute in.

Not today.
My arms looked wraith-like; thick, ropy blue veins stood out as if ready to burst. My clavicle and my collarbones were predominant as I gazed in the mirror. I looked stripped to the bone, and it was not a bit pretty or beautiful.

I jumped back in horror. I didn't stop to think at first that I was recoiling at my own reflection. Then it hit me and I started to panic. I thought, "I'm going to die. I'm going to die of this disease." It felt like the end.

I've been told I don't take this illness seriously enough. One friend - who has been there herself - tried to break through my self-imposed apathy aided by extra medications and/or alcohol. She said any plans I have for graduate school, the possibility of changing programs and perhaps doing something I feel is worthwhile; all of this means nothing if I'm dead.
I thought she was being melodramatic. I feel okay. I'm not at my lowest weight. I am eating a little each day.

(Spiraling downward; fear and joy mixed as the numbers continue to decrease.)
But something broke through.

She's right. Nothing will matter if I am dead.
And yet ... I need a reason to live. I need meaning and happiness and joy, unapologetic joy in which my soul feels to its depth.

I'm glad this morning frightened me. I went back upstairs, changed into a T-shirt to cover the parts I could not stand to look at anymore, and continued to think.

Anorexia is a vicious circle. The less you eat, the less you feel. Then the less you feel, the less anything matters.
I know food is the answer. I keep repeating it - in order to live, to be able to fulfill my dreams, I must eat.

Then my mind whispers, wait one more day. Surely one more day can't hurt. I know this is not logical. Each day I restrict my food intake does hurt. Each pound I lose will make it harder to recover once I ... once I break free.

The voice of anorexia is illogical in its essence - don't eat. Starve yourself. You need to lose more weight. You really aren't that thin; everyone is exaggerating. You can never be too thin. Never too thin ...

This flies in the face of all human logic. And the more weight I lose, the more I become intwined with anorexia's twisted logic until my own voice is drowned out.

I have to find a way out. I am starting to feel trapped again. I wonder if it will ever stop ... or will anorexia's voice echo in my mind forever?

Here we go again . . . (anorexia or me - one of us has to go!)

2010-07-31T01:00:00.003-04:00

How many times can I screw this up???

I've been in Beaumont Hospital seven times (gee, have they named a wing after me yet???), have had a TPN and a NG feeding tube and left the River Centre Clinic in June after six weeks of treatment for anorexia nervosa.

How many times can I screw this up???

My doctor wants me to go into the hospital. AGAIN. I was just there in February. That was supposed to turn things around.

It didn't.

Then I went to the River Centre Clinic for treatment. That was supposed to be the start of my "journey of recovery."

It wasn't.

How many chances do I have left, anyway???

I told him I would think about it. That I felt just fine. That I wasn't sick enough to need the hospital. That I didn't want to go. I have too much to do. I hate giving up my freedom.

Then my real fear — it won't do any good, anyway.

I know what I have to do. I have to eat. And I have to eat a lot to gain at least ten pounds. I had to eat 2,900 calories while at the RCC to gain about one pound per week.

So why am I so afraid of food?

I have to eat real foods with fats and carbohydrates and calories. I have to drink at least two Ensures daily because I've never been able to sustain eating that many calories. (I am still feel full from today's intake - about 500 calories.)

I'm doing it all over again. Counting calories. Cutting back. Rejoicing with each pound lost. Planning to lose more.

The only thing different is that I am angry at myself for doing this. Angry that this has controlled me yet again. Angry that I feel trapped by anorexia.

Is the key inside me?

Will I be the person who saves my own life?

And what are my reasons for living?

That is what it comes down to. I need to find reasons to live. This can't go on indefinitely. Eventually something in my body or mind will break, destroyed by anorexia.

I have asked myself many times lately ...

What needs does anorexia serve?

Why is it so hard to let go of this illness?

How do I find my way out?

There will be no brave knight on a fast horse, scooping me up and taking me away to The Land of No Anorexia. There isn't a fairy princess who can wave a magic wand and instantly cure me. There are no spells or potions or secrets that will take it away.

I will have to eat. Eat when it hurts. Eat when it is uncomfortable. Eat many times a day. Eat until I'm sick of food.

I will feel bloated. And fat. My face will probably break out. I will have night sweats from refeeding. I will hate my body as the pounds come back on. And I probably won't always be a very nice person during the process. I will complain to my husband and fight with myself in my head a million times a day.

I will want to stop after the one millionth diet ad that comes across my Facebook page or in my e-mail. I will feel like a freak because everyone else seems to be working on eating healthy and losing weight.

It will be last year all over again.

I cried each day.

Many times I wanted to die.

Sometimes I thought about killing myself.

Then I drank another Ensure.

I knew it was the only way out . . .

I can do it at home or jump-start it at the hospital. No one else is going to be able to do it for me. I will have to make a decision.

Save myself or else live with anorexia until ...

I will lose everything before anorexia actually kills me. That's what will happen. This will drag on for twenty or more years. I will be 65 and getting ready to go to yet another treatment center. Alone.

Is this what I really want for my life?

NO! I want the life I have dreamed of for so long — a loving relationship with my husband, good friends and a meaningful career and life. I don't want anorexia to be my defining trait.

I do not want this on my gravestone or in my obituary:

She died of complications from anorexia.

But hey, she was thin.

The end.

At the precipice (falling back into the arms of God)

2010-07-22T12:38:00.000-04:00

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference." (Robert Frost - 1915)

Two roads stand before me. One leads toward life and health. It is rocky and requires much courage from me to step forward onto this path. The path is strewn with fear and anxiety. A river of uncertainty flows nearby and there will be times I will plunge into that river. However, I can swim and I will not drown, as long as I remain faithful.

This is the road to recovery and I am frightened as I think of stepping forward onto this path. It means I must eat regularly and give up the idea that I am in control. I must trust those who want to help me, and believe what they say without questioning and trying to do it my own way.

The other road is dark. The woods surrounding this road is filled with voices that try and convince me that eating is bad, it is evil and redemption can be found in becoming empty. I have walked down this road for months now, the snarls of anorexia reaching out to intertwine its tentacles around my soul. Thoughts have swirled about me as I have traveled this path. Thoughts of failure and disappointment. Thoughts of starving myself and letting go of all life.

This path is the road to death. There have been times when it has felt so dark, I couldn't see my way out. Times when I thought I should just keep walking along this path, as if I have no other choice. I felt as if I had lost my way forever, and like Hansel and Gretel, there was no way to lead me home. I know the further I walk down this path, the closer I come to losing myself.

Then the other day I asked a friend how she found the way out. She has been recovered from anorexia and bulimia for at least fifteen years, and her strength and courage has always been an inspiration to me. She said she had to let go of all illusions that she had control and that her first step was to get down on her knees and pray to God.

I was in the shower this morning when I started crying, wondering when I lost faith in both myself and God. I go through the motions, attending church and taking part in the Eucharist each Sunday. I often think about God, and I do pray to Him.

But do I really pray to Him? Do I really trust Him enough to let go and fall back into His arms, trusting Him to catch me and not allow me to fall?

The water ran over me as I knelt down this morning and begged Him to help me find faith in myself again. Begged Him to see I was stripped down to nothing, baring my soul before Him and finally realizing that I could do nothing by myself.

Begged Him to set me free.

Now I am at the precipice. I don't want to fall off, tumbling down and becoming fully entangled in anorexia ... I don't know if I have the strength to climb my way back up to the right path.

I am calmer now. I believe God will catch me before I hit bottom. Perhaps He has caught me many times and I just didn't feel His hand reaching out.

There are two roads. I will choose the path of light. I just have to follow and then ... let go.

Discovery (anorexia and lost dreams)

2010-07-17T18:37:00.001-04:00

I have thrown away my life.

Each day I struggle to get out of bed. I try to find meaning to my life. I wonder why I am here and why I should eat and recover from anorexia?

I cried this morning - as I have cried many mornings since January as I have tried to release the grip this illness has had on me. But today it hit me I am grieving. I am grieving the fact that I have never had children; I thoughtlessly threw away a gift of God's, I rejected the life I could have given to another and never gave it a second thought.

Until now. At age 45. How stupid can I be?

I remember the hopes of last fall. I knew God would answer my prayers and give us a child. I knew that at 44, a miracle could still happen. I closed my eyes to stories of failed attempts and miscarriages, and dreamed of the child my husband and I would create. I was convinced in December I was pregnant - I had several symptoms, and besides, God would listen to my prayers and grant me a Christmas miracle, wouldn't he.

Then came January. An unusual period dubbed "a possible miscarriage." Hope died. No longer did I have any reason to keep eating and continue with recovery; I was 44 and reality slapped me in the face. I might have once been fertile and been able to bear children, but that was no more as my weight once again dropped into the 90s.

Prayer. Does God even hear me?

I realized this morning I am still grieving for that lost dream. I brought it up while I was in PHP and was told to forget about it, tell myself I didn't have a miscarriage and move on. How can you move on when you continuously wonder if life slide out of you? How can you heal when you attempt to bury feelings that you can't even name?

But I tried to last winter. I tried to bury it by restricting and cutting. I tried to forget the lovely dreams of the fall, which brought my husband and I closer together as we both hoped that it wasn't too late.

But of course it was. Even if I was pregnant - and the uncertainty continues to haunt me - I was most likely too low in weight to sustain a healthy pregnancy and child.

I think God knew what he was doing. First He prevent or stopped a pregnancy, and then made sure that I spiraled downward until there was no chance I could become pregnant.

I know that might sound sacrilegious. But I can't help my thoughts. And right now I am angry with both myself and God.

Then this morning I realized why I continue to struggle to eat. Because I have lost all hope in having a child.

It is a dream denied. A dream that is dead. A dream killed by ambition and selfishness and anorexia.

Dead. Just like the dreams of recovery seem to be dead for so many with eating disorders.

I visited a friend in the hospital yesterday. She had been in a treatment center for six months and came home full of hope and passion about recovery. She has lost all the weight she gained during treatment, but the worst thing is she said she lost faith in herself.

This is how I feel. I have lost faith in myself to recover from anorexia. My blood tests continue to show damage, now to both my kidneys and possibly my colon.

I remember one author's theory of thirds regarding anorexia. She states one-third of anorexics will fully recover. One-third will partially recover. And one-third will never recover.

Today I decided the hell with it. I took my 2 p.m. Ativan with a Lortab, and then had two glasses of wine.

Anything to feel numb. Anything to not feel the pain of loss. Anything to not remember when hope was real and dreams seemed possible. Anything to not care anymore.

Because that's what I want. To not care anymore. Eat when I can. Don't when I can't. And stop trying to force recovery, that state which seems to elude all but the strongest.

I need to learn how to dream again. Otherwise, I will be lost.

Now is now (The fallout of anorexia nervosa)

2010-07-10T21:40:00.003-04:00

Dialysis
Even the word scares me. The thought that I might need dialysis in the future scares me even more. But the functioning level of my kidneys has significantly declined in the past few months. My blatant mistreatment of my body through anorexia and laxative abuse has taken its toll.

The first hint something might going wrong came up several months ago. I was badly relapsing and using multiple dosages of different kinds of laxatives to purge myself of even minute quantities of food. I craved emptiness and felt so clean after all food was cleared from my body. (Or so I thought. I've since learned it does not work that way and some of the food stays in your body. That was very clever of God to design our bodies to work that way, and it probably has saved me from worse problems.)

That was in February. I was hospitalized for a week with a NG feeding tube and this should have been my wake-up call. I thought I had hit rock bottom with my eating disorder, but I soon learned I was wrong.

Tests results showed minor problems with my kidneys just before I left for the PHP at River Centre Clinic. My doctor thought the problem would correct itself once I was eating properly again. No worries. The rest of my tests were fine and I was medically cleared to go to RCC.

I am tested weekly for all sorts of things via my blood and urine. I resumed both treatment with Dr. Sackeyfio and his tests after I left PHP. (I didn't receive any physical tests, except blood pressure and temperature checks, while at RCC.)

Then two weeks ago I went to see Dr. Sackeyfio. He pulled out the test results the minute I walked in — NOT a good sign — and told me my kidneys' functioning had "significantly declined" since the last tests two months prior. It really is a puzzle. RCC had me eating almost 3,000 calories daily for weight restoration and I have not once used laxatives in almost three months.

The bad news got worse this week. The damage is starting to show in my blood as my potassium levels have dropped. Low potassium levels can put me at risk of cardiac arrest, a leading cause of death amongst anorexics.

What's going on?

Damage from anorexia and laxative abuse. Damage that might not be reversible through conventional means, i.e. eating healthy. Damage which I feel I caused.

I am scared. Right now we are going to see if eating properly will reverse it. But ... I looked at Dr. Sackeyfio on Friday and asked if I could need dialysis in the future. He said yes.

Then there is food ... I have struggled with eating since leaving RCC. Eat well. Eat but not too much. Eat but avoid fattening foods. Eat but restrict a little. Eat but restrict a lot. Eat as little as possible.

Lose weight. Gain weight. Stay at the same weight. Fat. Not fat. Fat stomach and thighs. Not really hearing people when they say I am still too thin. Not seeing it myself. Nope. Nothing wrong with me. I'm just fine.

Looking at my gaunt face in the mirror. Feeling some days as if I have no future. Then becoming angry and declaring that anorexia WILL NOT WIN. Not this time. Then I plot how to eat less food each day ... Back and forth it goes.

My mind continues to swirl and I wonder why this doesn't shock me out of my complacency. I mean, dialysis for God's sake! Even the fact that it is just a possibility frightens me. And yet ... This should be rock bottom for me. What am I waiting for? Dialysis to fail and then need a transplant? Being rejected for a transplant? What then?

I feel as if I have squandered my future. I have so many dreams, and anorexia seems bent on killing them one way or another.

I try to tell myself that anorexia is an illness and I did not chose to have it. Something in my brain snapped about four years ago. I keep waiting for it to snap back, for something to click back into place and finally, finally give me the strength to let go of this and LIVE.

Many mornings, I wake up just as dawn is rising. I see the hint of the still blue-black sky and hear the small noises of birds readying for the morning. I look over at my husband, sleeping peacefully. I think about how much he loves me and how much he has believed in me through the past fourteen years.

I think about the friends and family who love and support me and the times we have spent together and the things we have shared. I think about graduate school and everything I have discovered there, from a love of children's literature to the pride I feel by finally understanding just a little about literary theory and criticism.

Sometimes I remember my days as a journalist. I remember when I flew in a hot air balloon and felt as if I could touch the clouds, that I could just leave the balloon and fly all alone. I remember the dips and shakes as I rode in a four-seater airplane, feeling scared and excited at the same time on that cold winter day. I remember the grief on the faces of family members who laid to rest a young soldier who lost his life in this inexplicable war in Iraq.

During these brief moments, my heart often races and I wonder if this time it will happen ... I lie still and try to calm my mind, but often my last thought before going back to sleep is that real life is behind me. I feel as if I am lost, lost in a demented fairy tale in which there is no cure from the evil witch's curse and I will forever be under her spell.

I wonder if I ever really appreciate how full and wonderful my life was before anorexia? Did I ever have even a hint of what was to come? Did I ever stop to think of the beauty in the ordinary? Did I know what was coming in the recesses in my mind? Or was I oblivious to the fact that the life I was living was soon going to fly off its tracks?

Did I ever tell the people in my life what they meant to me, what they still mean to me to this day? Do the people in my life really know how much I love them and that the thought of maybe not seeing their faces someday ... Why did it take anorexia to realize how important love and friendship and everyday, ordinary life is?

Each night, I lean against the back of my husband as I struggle to sleep. He already is sleeping; the peaceful look on his face makes me happy. I think of the future, in which anorexia is just a bad dream and recovery is so strong nothing can break it. The darkness begins to falls and I struggle not to let it ensnare me. I drift off thinking about possibilities ...

Then dialysis floats in my mind. But I try to let it go for the night, and bring myself back to the present. Now is now. I have no control over the past nor the future.

I tell myself I can still turn this around. That it isn't too late. I can return to health and life. That I have a future. I lean further into David's warmth, wrap my fingers through his thick wavy hair and then drift off.

(Postscript - Today I received word my mammogram showed "several abnormalities" in the right breast. I go see the radiologist tomorrow (July 13). I feel as if God is trying to teach me something ... Hopefully I will hear Him and follow His will.)

Lessons from anorexia rehab

2010-07-07T19:34:00.000-04:00

It has been several weeks since I left the River Centre Clinic. I immediately dropped into a deep depression and started restricting the day I returned home. I still struggle to write about it, and I'm not completely sure why. But I know I need to get all the verbiage out of my head and then move on in order to heal.

It will be the last time I will allow anyone to have that much control over my body and soul. I now realize that all the answers and healing are ultimately within myself. I will never again deny that inner voice; sometimes stifled by the roaring of anorexia and anxiety, but always there if I am still and just listen ...

What I learned in anorexia rehab:
Being lonely aches more than I ever could imagine.
The bed is cold and empty without my husband next to me.
A hug can heal pain and a smile can make the day easier.
Eating disorders and the people who have them are sometimes misunderstood even by those trained to treat them.
I would never have chosen to have anorexia nervosa, but my struggles with it have made me a better and more compassionate person.
Kindness means everything when you are away from everyone and everything you know.
The sun does shine in Toledo once in a while after all. :)
I am stronger than I ever thought; you might bend me, but you can't break me.
My core values - love, kindness, compassion, and the passion to write - remain within me and can never be destroyed.

Recovery is still difficult to understand and harder to obtain. I still struggle to eat and the idea of eating for pleasure remains a foreign concept to me. One day I was sitting in the center's common room, watching someone prepare her breakfast when I thought, "I am afraid to enjoy food."

Once I did enjoy food. I liked stadium hot dogs from the Pontiac Silverdome and chocolate bars from the ice cream truck. I used to dip Oreos in cold skim milk, the mixture of chocolate and cream a delight. My mother's cornbread, slathered with butter, tasted great with a bowl of bean soup on a cold winter's evening.

But as anorexia moved in, pleasure moved out. Pleasure in anything. Reading. Embroidery. Making love. Taking a walk. Creating snow angels while looking up at a crisp winter sky. Swimming. Walking in my bare feet, the summer's sweet grass tickling between my toes.

Anorexia sucked me dry; counting calories and fat grams and worrying about how much food I consumed took so much energy.

But the worst thing anorexia has done is try and steal people and relationships away from me. I still have the love of my wonderful husband and family. I still have many caring friends whose support and prayers have sustained me through the years. But often anorexia colors my mood and thus my relationships and I have had to fight against this.

So this is what I learned in anorexia rehab: people matter most.

Free falling

Free falling into

The abyss,

I am a bird beating its wings against a golden cage.

Trapped and clipped

Unable to fly

Knowing my life is

A crumbled leaf

Brown in the fading

fall.

Silver light

gently caresses it,

Until the wind screams.

The leaf ...

swirling upward

Lands on soft dead grass,

dreaming of spring.

But it is hidden

underneath the snow,

Its true worth buried

Forever.

Reclaiming my voice

2010-06-28T18:55:00.000-04:00

How do I distinguish between that inner voice which guides each one of us through life and the eating disorder voice which attempts to lead me down the path of self-destruction and death?

The two voices are warring within me right now. For four years, I have battled anorexia nervosa and its voice. My fingertips have touched recovery only to have it slip out of grasp and spiral downward, dead as a withered brown leaf in the fall. Hope would rise and fall, and the rollercoaster ride of anorexia would continue even as I screamed at God and Heaven to let me off.

I recently completed about six weeks of treatment at the adult partial hospitalization program at the River Centre Clinic in Sylvania, Ohio. The above verbiage is the result of both my continued confusion about what led me to need more intensive treatment (will I ever know why I developed anorexia) and how to move forward in recovery.

It wasn't the most positive of discharges. My therapist there privately told me she had concerns about my ability to continue in recovery, particularly in the area of meal planning and eating. And frankly, I had concerns about that too. I am still concerned how to transfer RCC program eating into real life. My official discharge papers also said I was leaving AMA - even though I had said before entering the program I had to leave for school by a certain date. Leaving AMA (against medical advice) could hinder any future treatment options.

Several fellow RCC patients had kind and encouraging words to say during the graduation ceremony held on my last day. I was grateful to hear that I had helped several people and that others had enjoyed getting to know me as a person. There had been a lot of drama for several weeks in our small living space and I was led to believe much of it was my fault (was I too difficult? too opinionated? did I say the wrong things?)

I know I struggled with wanting recovery, and I'm sure my ambivalence was not helpful to others who were struggling.) I know each one of us made mistakes and was gratified that for the most part, we were able to move past the problems and support each other. Hearing others speak about me so kindly helped me see the truth through their eyes.

Still, I drove back home in silence. No singing along to the radio and rejoicing in the fact that I did stick with it. No happiness that I ate everything (except one snack) and gained ten pounds. Just confusion about the future and the fear I would never escape anorexia.

I met with Dr. Sackeyfio (my outpatient doctor/therapist) the day after I was discharged from RCC. I was unusually quiet. He kept asking me about my treatment there; the things that happened and how I felt about it.

I felt weighed down and oppressed, unable to talk. He gently confronted me, asking why was I afraid to express my opinion. I started to cry. It felt like it had been a long time since my opinion really mattered and didn't seem to cause trouble. It felt like it had been a long time since I was more than just a set of symptoms and urges to be fixed.

I opened up and my fears began to ease. He asked me to consider what I learned during the past six weeks and write about it. (What I learned and what my inner voice taught me through that time will be in a future blog post.) Our session ran over because he wanted to make sure I heard something before I left: "You have the right to your opinions. You have the right to your voice."

Immediately I felt the crushing weight lift, my spirit already feeling more free. I felt relief.

I am reclaiming my voice. It is separate from the voice of anorexia, and it doesn't always agree with everything I learned in treatment nor from my doctor. It is my voice.

Releasing the weight of anorexia

2010-06-20T22:18:00.000-04:00

Fear Anxiety Depression Self-Hatred . . .

Each rock was a strange mixture of velvety softness combined with rough bumps and indentations. I wrote each word — feelings and actions which have weighed me down for years — on several rocks in stark black ink.

One rock was reserved for the terrifying and addictive disease which has been trying to take over me body and soul for years.

Anorexia

I started to feel both fear and relief as I traced that word in blood-red ink on each side of the rock. I fear letting go of anorexia because it has become so intermingled with my identity. But I know I need to let go of this disease in order to live.

The word looked so powerful. My mind flew back to when anorexia first crept into my life, chipping away bits and pieces of me until I sometimes felt there was nothing left.

Each one of us wrote down the things which have weighed us down throughout the years. We then could choose to hold onto these rocks that symbolically represented the traits which have held us down for years.

Or we could chose to toss these rocks into the river run past the River Centre Clinic. The choice was ours . . .

I went first. I was determined to throw everything which has weighed me down for years. I have struggled through almost six weeks at the clinic. The road to recovery has been rocky and I often have been my own worst enemy as I have fought to get better.

But through all the struggle and pain, through the tears I cried and the loneliness I often felt as I longed to be with my husband and friends back home, through the ambivalence I sometimes felt about letting go of anorexia, there remained a mustard seed of hope that I could be free, I would be free.

I stepped down the grassy, sloping path to the river, dodging overgrown bushes and hanging tree branches, balancing my rocks in my hand. I stepped close to the edge, the river's dark waters churning just a few feet away from me. I threw the first rock, angry as I remembered life before my eating disorder developed. I threw more rocks as far as I could, willing each one to sink deep into the water.

The rock with one word — anorexia – remained in my hand. It felt soft and cold in my hand. The word seemed to mock me, saying that I would never get better, I would never be free.

I hurled it as hard as could, feeling a strong sense of release as it landed into the water. I felt as if I had been buried under a ton of rocks and I had finally climbed my way out. At that moment it finally hit me — I want to recover. I want anorexia out of my life forever. I want to be free.

Each one of us took our turn. Some women were able to release all of their rocks, while others chose to hold onto one or more until they felt ready to release their burdens.

I started to cry as I walked back up to the center. I'm still not sure why. I was feeling a mixture of release and relief, mingled with fear about the work I still need to do in order to get better.

Later that night, I thought about all those rocks we threw into the dark waters. I could still see the words we had written on the rocks. I imagined the water rushing over the rocks until the words disappeared through the ages, the ink worn off and everything which had weighed us down mingled together into nothingness, becoming meaningless as we move forward into recovery and life.

Dear Anonymous

2010-06-18T22:08:00.001-04:00

Dear Anonymous,
Today I found this comment by you on a previous blog post: "Do your true friends really like you? Because I don't know many people who do. You are self obsessed and a very ugly person inside and out. You put on a front but everyone knows it is fake."

You need to know several things. First, this comment initially hurt me until I realized it must have come from a very sick and disturbed person. Now I only feel sorrow for someone who is so angry and hateful that the only way she is able to express it is by lashing out at someone else in such a gutless manner.

Second, you may think you are anonymous, but you are not. See the tiny little green and white box at the very bottom of my blog? That is a site meter. I am able to track every visit and comment made to my blog, including the place of origin, the Internet service provider and the type of computer and browser used. In this case the information was precise enough that I am 99.9 percent sure of who you are, Anonymous.

Why were you so afraid that you felt the need to hide behind anonymity? You obviously know me and could have approached me in person. I could speculate, but that would be wasting my mental energy on someone who doesn't deserve it.

I want you to be assured that your words mean nothing to me. I am very secure and surrounded by a loving husband and friends who value and support me on a daily basis. It just disturbs me that there are people like you in this world who feel the need to strike out at other people instead of dealing with the anger and resentment in a more appropriate manner.

Several people have suggested that I close this blog to anonymous comments because of your post, Anonymous. But I will not do that. I chose to use my full name whenever I blog or make comments on other people's blogs. However, I can understand that some people are not comfortable with full disclosure. I have received many insightful and supportive comments from people who have chosen to remain anonymous and I can respect that, because unfortunately people with eating disorders and other mental illnesses still face stigma and discrimination. I want each person to feel free to post in a way he or she feels most comfortable.

Rest assured, Anonymous, you have not changed either how I feel about myself nor how I conduct my life and this blog.

Sincerely,
Angela

True friendship

2010-06-13T22:50:00.001-04:00

I never realized how much my true friends — those who have been with me through tears and laughter, anxiety and joy, soaring highs and crashing lows — meant to me until recently.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about what true friendship is, and how often we as a society casually through around words like friendship and love and loyalty and commitment. Many people say these are part of their core values. But how often do people really show love and kindness to each other?

In the late 1980s and early 1990s, I worked as a social worker in downtown Flint. Flint was ravaged by the loss of General Motors and the income it had generated and was hit hard by Michigan's recession. Many people were unemployed and I would often be approached by people asking for money. I had been forewarned by my co-workers not to give money to beggars because they most likely would spend it on alcohol and/or drugs.

Sometimes I did give beggars money. Sometimes I didn't. I wasn't very consistent in practicing one of my core values — kindness toward others. Sometimes I would give someone money and later kick myself, feeling that I just fed a drug or alcohol habit. Other times I wouldn't give someone money and later berate myself for being so selfish.

I was judging people without knowing all the facts. I had no idea if the person was an alcoholic or drug addict. I couldn't tell by how the person looked — if I lived on the streets or in a shelter, I'd look pretty rough too.

Now I wish I would have given every person who had asked at least a dollar or two. Without hesitation. Without thought. Without judging.

What does this have to do with friendship? I have learned my true friends are ones who have stood by me, particularly after I developed anorexia. Several friends have since told me that they have been frightened for me; frightened when I was so thin and yet insisted nothing was wrong. Finally I received treatment and slowly regained weight and returned to life.

Then I relapsed and saw it all fall apart starting in January.

Yet none of these friends abandoned me. None of them judged me. All of them continued to call and invite me out for coffee or dinner, knowing I might just nibble at a salad. Each one encouraged me to try harder and seek more intensive treatment as my weight began to once again plummet, even though several of them were facing severe problems of their own (including unemployment and the threat of home foreclosure.)

I called my one friend, Michelle, the other day and she started crying after hearing I was eating again. She confessed that she thought I was going to die and she knew what she was talking about — Michelle beat anorexia and bulimia after decades of struggle. I assured her I was eating again as she gulped back tears — for me! I sometimes forget how loved I am by so many wonderful people.

Tomorrow begins my fifth week at the River Centre Clinic. I have been lonely there; it takes time for me to make friends and I miss this wonderful group of people who have stood by me for years and surrounded me with their love, prayers and hope for my recovery.

This world might think everything happens instantaneously. But I have learned — with some pain and hurt — that true friendship takes time. Two people meet, start talking with each other and then begin sharing a history. True friendship is like a strong tree with deep roots which has been watered with tears and laughter through the years.

Not every person who seems to be a friend is one. Not every beggar is an alcoholic or drug addict. These past four weeks have taught me to cherish my friends, save my trust for those who have earned it and not judge people by their outward appearance. Some of the most physically beautiful people in the world can be toxic and dangerous for my recovery, while a beggar wearing the dirtiest rags could be an angel whom you "entertain unaware."

"If you are judging someone, you have no time to love them" - Mother Theresa of Calcutta