Murmuration

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...

I am not alone

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.

Fighting anorexia

Dreams of recovery and freedom continue to haunt me. I see a life without anorexia just within grasp. My fingers brush against it and I try to grab hold tight, only to have this shadow dream life spirit itself away. It hides from me, glancing back mockingly while tears flow and I beg to be release,  God please release me from anorexia; I am so tired.

Ana ... ED ... The Evil One ... The enemy has many names. And it has many tricks, tricks thrown at me each time I try to move toward recovery. This journey started out as simple restricting. I didn't eat and I lost weight. End of story.

Then the illness grew and new manifestations entered my life. First Ana whispered that I should purge my food, and helpfully suggested laxatives. I didn't do it every day; just when I needed to assuage the guilt of indulging in too much food. What was too much food? Anything that resembled what a normal person would eat. Ana said I wasn't to be normal; I was to be light and delicate, beyond mere human needs of eating normal meals and the companionship that often comes with that.

Christmas 2008. It was a few months since I left a two-week IP stay at Beaumont Hospital. This stay was meant to nourish my depleted, 92-pound via a tube (called a TPN) running through my vein and set just above my heart. For ten days, I often thought about those nutrients feeding my heart, taking care of it when I wasn't able to. It was a comforting image.

But I struggled after leaving Beaumont that first time. I didn't know it then, but I would return to IP six more times between September 2008 and February 2010. I hadn't gained any weight during the months after my discharge; I was still hovering under the 100-pound mark. I was struggling and beginning to think anorexia would be with me longer than I had originally expected. ED had become a persona, and I created this blog to vent some of my feelings.

One night, I was looking at the Christmas tree with its lights of blues and greens and purples and reds. The angel ornaments hung serenely, gold and silver intermixing and glinting upon the lights. Suddenly I became very angry, so angry at myself. I decided I hated myself for having anorexia. I felt I was spoiling yet another Christmas for myself and my husband, David. I got off the couch, went to the bathroom and took a small razor, slashing it against my skin several times until I finally felt the anger leave me.

It wasn't a suicide attempt. It wasn't even an attempt to hurt myself. To this day, all I know is I felt angry at myself, I despised myself and I needed to release that anger. Why cutting? I do not know.

It never has become a regular practice, and I didn't really cut myself except once or twice throughout the years after that first incident. Then my husband left for a two-week trip to Florida in February. The trip was less than a week after I got out of my seventh stay in IP, this time for refeeding via a NG tube.

Dr. Sacekyfio told us the trip was a bad idea, but we did not to listen. Ana was overcome and dancing with glee; the freedom to restrict and indulge in all sorts of harmful behaviors was an opportunity too rich to pass up. I told him to go, that he needed a break. I felt like such a virtuous wife; so selfless and giving, when in reality I wanted him to go because I couldn't wait to stop eating again.

But that's not all I did. Ana thought of all kinds of new ideas, and no, I am not going to list them here because of the fear it could be too triggering and dangerous for some people. The only thing I will write about — and that's because cutting is so common among anorexics; another manifestation of our hatred of our bodies? — is that one night, I found myself carving, "Hate me," in my upper right arm.

As I watched the blood seep to the surface, I couldn't believe I did that. I felt faint. It seemed like it was someone else's my arm; that couldn't be my arm, I couldn't have done that. I still can't believe I did that, although the marks are still there and I am still too embarrassed to wear short-sleeve shirts.

I thought to myself, I started out restricting food and now it comes down to this? What was happening to me?

When I started treatment with Dr. Sackeyfio in August 2008, I promised him two things — I would never lie to him and I would always be upfront about what I did. I would always be honest; otherwise, I thought I would be wasting his time and mine and what would be the point in going to a therapist only to lie to him?

I have sometimes regretted that promise, but I'm proud to say I have kept it. Sometimes I have spent a 45-minute session dancing around what I know I have to say, then blurting it out with two minutes to finish up. Sometimes I have had to write down what I needed to admit I had done to myself, or about what was too painful to talk about. There have been times I have had to shut my eyes and block out everything as I talk, particularly recently as we delve into the likely causes of my anorexia.

Each trick Ana has thrown at me has been exposed and tonight I had to rip the lid off another one. 

I was at a small party to welcome home my nephew, and I just wanted to be a normal person, just like anyone else who went to a party and grazed a bit and maybe became somewhat stuffed. I also ate because I was hungry; I still eat so little, I've been restricting for days and I'm not sure why.

But for the first time since I've developed anorexia, I tried to make myself throw up my food. This wasn't just a fleeting thought or a quick, halfway attempt. This was 25-minutes bent over the toilet sticking my fingers down my throat as far down as I could. I was desperate; I felt so full, I was so angry with myself for drinking four glasses of wine and eating chips and salsa and homemade brownies made by my sister-in-law.

I couldn't get the food up. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make myself throw up. I got up, disgusted with myself and immediately called my doctor and left him a message about what I tried to do. I didn't wait until our appointment on Wednesday. I'm sure he was thrilled to get a drunken message from me on a Sunday night, but I knew I would dance around it and I knew I had to expose this latest trick as soon as possible.

To quote my husband, "This is bad." (I told him during what I tried to do during the drive home; no bathroom stops for me and he made sure every laxative I had thrown away this morning - in an attempt to renew my promise to God; another story - was mixed in with the garbage so I couldn't get to the pills.) My husband sounded frightened of this latest manifestation of my illness. He reminded me that throwing up had been taboo; I hated to throw up and this attempt spoke of increasing desperation.

But this also is recovery. I step forward, filled with hope. I step backward, frightened and filled with anxiety. And I continue to dream and hope and work toward recovery, making sure the steps forward are more than those taken backward. Ana ... ED ... The Evil One ... can throw every trick possible at me. I remind myself I have weapons to fight, too. I have my friends, my doctor, my husband and my family.

Above all, I have my God.

This is the start of Holy Week, when we remember the Passion of Christ and the ultimate sacrifice He made for us out of the love the Lord holds for us. For me. As I move forward to Good Friday and reflect on those horrific hours of His dying and death, His descent into hell and freeing of souls; I pray that He can free me from anorexia. I remember that Easter morning is coming, and He will rise, reminding us of God's power and love.

And when he had entered, He said to them, "Why do you make a tumult and weep? "The child is not dead but sleeping. . . .Taking her by the hand he said to her, "Tal'itha cu'mi"; which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise. Mark 39, 40-41

I am not dead, and I too shall arise to life.

                                     "Breaking With Midnight" Photo courtesy of Nasa.gov