Gratitude

I am grateful...
To be alive.
To feel free.
To enjoy food once again.
To no longer be afraid. Or anxious. Or worthless.
I am grateful that I no longer wish to die.
That I no longer pray for death.

I am grateful...
For the love of friends and family.
For the spring's caressing warmth and the bright sunshine.

I am grateful...
To God and for His everlasting mercy.

I am grateful...
For this second chance at life.

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...

Frozen (Searching For God)

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.

Shedding the ED Identity

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.

De-romanticizing anorexia (Ten Days)

"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

"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)

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)

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.

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

"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.