Releasing the weight of anorexia

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.

True friendship

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

Disconnected

I will eventually feel better, right?

Today begins my fourth week at the River Centre Clinic in Sylvania, Ohio. I am trying to learn and grow. I am trying to overcome my desire to dive back into my safety net of anorexia nervosa. I am confronting my demons and anxieties.

BUT IF I HAVE TO EAT ONE MORE BITE OF FOOD I AM GOING TO SCREAM!!!

I feel full all the time and I hate the feeling. My stomach hurts constantly and I am often nauseous. The amount of calories I eat in one day sustained me for more than four days during my most severe restrictive periods. I am eating mechanically; the concept of enjoying food is completely foreign to me. Frankly, I can't wait until bedtime when I don't have to eat anymore.

This worries me. I am still in the weight restoration phase, in which I am trying to reach what both the clinic and my doctor agree is a minimum healthy weight for me. Most likely I will not reach that weight before I return home and thus, I will have to continue to eat that many calories until I do. I also have learned from past experience that as a severe restrictor anorexic, I will most likely have to maintain a higher-than-average caloric intake in order to stay at a healthy weight.

I also hate the inflexibility of meal planning. It causes me a lot of anxiety on the weekends when I bring my meal plans home and have to make substitutions for one reason or another (mainly because our small town's grocery stores lack some of the foods on my weekend meal plan.) It also makes me feel weird to have to take my own food to social functions, like brunch at my brother's last week or lunch at church today.

It makes me feel disconnected from what's going on around me.

That is a real problem. I live in Sylvania during the week and at home during the weekends, and I often feel lost between the two places. One morning last week, I woke up and instinctively reached out for David. I was half asleep and started to panic as my hands couldn't find him. Then I realized I wasn't at home.

It really was the start of a very disconcerting week. Everyone there has their own issues, and sometimes it is harder to deal with some issues than others. I often wished I was a turtle, able to withdraw into a protective shell. I am trying to absorb such things as distress tolerance and mindfullness, or being in the moment.

But sometimes my emotions start spiraling out of control and it becomes hard to calm myself down. My anxiety can reach such a high peak I feel either like I am going to die or I want to die. The only other outcome I can envision in these moments is me literally exploding.

I have decided I need to change some things about myself in order to both recover and live (as oppose to just existing.)

I cannot let people push my buttons. The week also started with an anonymous comment that said in effect that I was not that thin and I am an Ana wannabe (I deleted it, as I will delete all comments that I deem are triggering to either myself or people who read my blog.)

But I allowed that comment to stay in my head and the eating disorder part of my brain had a field day with that, constantly whispering that this person was right and what I really needed to do was go home and lose more weight.

So I veer between feeling disconnected from my body (am I too thin? or do I need to lose weight? who is right? why can't I see the reality of my physical being?) and trying to trust those who tell me I need to remain in treatment and that I have not yet reach a healthy weight.

Trust. Who can I trust when I can't trust my own eyes nor my own thoughts at times?

It's a very confusing time.

My story (is still unwritten)

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Angela who lived in a world of books and dreams and fantasies. As she listened to the fights and yelling and alcoholic rages swirling around here, she dived into this world where she was safe.

One day she packed her bags and left for the unknown world of college. She never returned to the land of her childhood. But the deep recesses of her mind refused to let the past go, and her life took on many twists and turns that she had not planned for during her childhood dreams.

These twists and turns took her through abusive relationships and lost dreams. She ran through life, always searching for that elusive dream life and the person she had hoped to become. She did many things she was ashamed of, and that she struggles to forgive herself for to this day.

But eventually she was able to find some sort of center and take control of the story of her life. She decided she was going to write the story of her life and create what she had dreamed of so long ago. There was love and learning and books and writing and all the things that she had pictured. She started to feel safe.

Safety turned out to be an illusion. Something strange and illogical began to happen. An illness called anorexia nervosa grabbed hold and wouldn't let go of me. Suddenly food equaled fear and I longed to disappear. I became smaller and smaller, and lost the grip I had on my life. The thinner I became, the thinner I wanted to be.

Anxiety grew, waxing and waning with the number on the scale. I felt lost in a world with no help and unable to find the key to unlock my mind and release anorexia from it.

I began to wonder if anorexia would be the story of my life.

Now I am trying to regain my grip on life.

But the center is lost and there is no normalcy when trying to recover from anorexia. Food becomes an obsession in a new way. I used to count how few calories I ate in one day. It was so easy not to eat and the lower the number, the better I felt.

Now I have to count and make sure I meet the number of calories in my prescribed meal plan. It is hard. I don't like food and anorexia still seems to have a strong hold on me. It physically hurts to eat regular meals and snacks after barely eating anything for almost six months. I keep waiting for the thrill of recovery to kick in, the moment of realization when I know I want to beat anorexia completely and I can say I am totally done with this eating disorder crap.

Instead, I cried several times today as I looked at my meal plan; the calories and fat frightens me, the amount of food scares me and trying to plan it all around a visit home overwhelms me. I just wanted to run away and hide somewhere, anywhere. Find a place where there is no anorexia, no food and no people. Just me and my racing mind that can't seem to calm down.

So I cried and yelled, said I wasn't doing this anymore. I said I wasn't going back to the River Centre, I was quitting, I want to be thin, the hell with it all and why can't I die of anorexia if that's what I want. My mind has just been swirling, swirling all the time.

Then I read Tara's latest blog post. She writes The Struggle Within and is also dealing with weight restoration while caring for three children and grieving for her deceased husband. Tara, thanks for the inspiration behind this post. And getting me to go into the kitchen and heat up the lasagna that's part of today's meal plan.

Once upon a time ... I will write the story of my life if I have to wrestle that pen out of anorexia's hands. I may get tired and I may want to give up, but in the end I will keep fighting.

The only other option is to have my story end with, "and she died of complications from anorexia nervosa." I've thought of writing that as the ending of my story. But I'm don't think so. My story is still unwritten, but I am trying not to give control of it to an illogical, horrific disease.

Bones and flesh

Do I really want recovery? I have had anorexia for three years now, and I have become used to the sharpness of my bones. The protruding collarbone, the feel of my clavicle, the jutting of the hipbones have become familiar. The leanness of my face, the prominent vein on the left side, the absence of flesh are all embedded into my soul.

What will I feel when my breasts become round and firm again? How will I handle the curvature of my hips, the roundness of my buttocks? My stomach already feels as if it is becoming rounder and more feminine, and it frightens me.

But my bones do not always feel friendly to me. It still hurts to sit. My hips hurt when I lie down, no soft layer of flesh to cushion against. I walk out of the shower each morning, and often am shocked by my reflection, not recognizing the emaciated frame as my own. I look at my arms, stripped of flesh and looking anorexic. My collarbones appear too prominent. A girl with anorexia on a proana site once said I “beautiful collarbones.”

What happens when my body once again changes? Being in treatment full-time so far has raised more questions than given answers.

I waver between recovery and wanting to let anorexia nervosa run its course. The first offers life, which is both exhilarating and frightening. What do I do with life once I have it? How do I continue without being anorexic, which has been my identity for years? Who will I be then? The choices are endless, but I have forgotten how to chose anything but restricting calories and love and living.

I could go home and let anorexia run its course. There is a part of me that wants to do that so badly. Just live with this identity, continue on until I reach the lowest weight possible. Then release. Sweet release from all the pain and hurt of this world. I would have no worries, no fears. I wouldn’t have to make any choices. I would be surrounded by beauty and love; the perfect love of God and my Savior, Jesus Christ.

I would walk in the sunlight and never feel left out. I wouldn’t feel sad or angry or disappointed in my many failures. Joy would suffuse my being, and it would be forever.

Flesh. I am scared of flesh. I am scared of gaining too much weight, of having too much flesh. Don’t people realize that the smaller I get, the safer I am? Now I have given that up by coming here to the River Centre. I will again have some flesh; the safety of being smaller and smaller is being destroyed by all this food and drink.

I still want to be small, as small as possible until I am floating into nothingness. I see nothing beyond that.

How could I have given up on my goal to become so small that nothing would ever hurt again? How could I have committed myself to this? I am so frightened by this week, every fiber of my being says to run as far and fast as I can.

But I am not being held here against my will. I could leave right this minute. I could dump my breakfast in the toilet and never say a word. I could refuse to eat.

I could leave right this minute. So why don’t I?

I am ready (for anorexia rehab)

I will be leaving tomorrow for the River Centre. I am both scared and ready. Scared to gain weight, scared to discover who I am underneath the anorexia nervosa. Scared of the hard work I must do and the things I must face. Scared to live, but also scared this illness could kill me.

I am ready. I am ready to live my life again. I'm ready to discover who I am and who I can be behind the obsessions with calories and weight and body image. I ready to rediscover the love and beauty of my marriage to my incredible husband, David; the hope and fun that comes with friends and learning and growing; the life that comes with being a healthy weight and not being afraid and anxious about that.

I could not have taken this step without everybody's support and love. All of you have lifted me when I felt I couldn't make it. All of you have given me hugs and kisses. I can't express - it is beyond words - what everyone's support has meant. To me, you all are Beautiful Bloggers and beautiful people and I would hug each one of you if I could.

I will have my laptop with me, and plan to blog as events unfold and I rediscover how to eat without fear and everything that comes with that. I also plan on keeping up with all of you. :)

I know I can be more. I recently found out my GPA for this first year of graduate school. In spite of my relapse, in spite of restricting and starving and dropping more than 20 pounds, in spite of the rapid increase of my ED symptoms, in spite of everything, including often believing I wasn't smart enough for graduate school and should just leave — I have achieved a 3.8 GPA. I am proud of that.

I wonder I could have done without anorexia screaming at me constantly. When I told my doctor my GPA for my first year of graduate school, he said, "I told you are much more than your weight."

I will leave it at that. Tonight I will say goodbye to everything around me; tomorrow I will take a deep breathe, drive forward to Ohio and the Centre and work toward becoming me again.

I am ready.

I think I'll go to the moon ...

A month ago my insurance said the 30-day program at Renfrew was covered.

I filled out forms and underwent numerous medical tests. I made peace with being away from my husband for thirty days. I looked around at everything and everyone I loved and silently said good-bye.
I was ready to leave and start on the road to recovery from anorexia nervosa. I was already dreaming of my new life without the ED thoughts constantly gnawing at me 24/7. I felt a cautious hope.

On Friday the insurance denied coverage of the 30-day day treatment program at Renfrew. I had to cancel my reservation at the extended stay hotel, tell everyone I wasn't going anywhere and then cried myself to sleep. I kept thinking, but I'm supposed to be going to Florida tomorrow. My mind just didn't want to make the connection that I was not going anywhere the next day.

On Saturday I was heartbroken and doubled my dose of Ativan to keep myself from falling apart, combining it with OTC sleeping pills and one night, a glass of wine, just so I could remain numb. The few times I was awake I kept thinking, I'm supposed to be on the road to Florida. To hope. To recovery. I had invested so much of my heart and soul into this program. I was reluctant to go at first, but finally listened to my husband and doctor who continuously said I needed more extensive treatment. That I was getting sicker. That I was dying.

I barely ate anything between Friday and Monday, subsequently losing three more pounds and am now at the lowest weight I've ever been since I was in junior high school. I veered between despair and anger, and just wished the anorexia would kill me soon. Or something. A falling meteor. A caved-in roof. Anything to stop hurting and thinking.

On Monday the insurance company offered an alternative, the River Centre in Ohio. The company said its doctor was recommending IOP (which is only offered three evenings a week at the Florida program; an idea my doctor did not endorse) or partial hospitalization at the Centre. I looked the Centre up, learned that it had had some problems involving its director, but that all that had been resolved. But I was still scared - I had never heard of this place. On the other hand, ED Referral had a lot of good comments posted about the center.

On Tuesday I shook myself out of the fog I was enveloped in (thanks to everyone's kind and blunt comments!) and called the Centre. The person I spoke to sounded really nice and was very helpful, answering all my questions even though she knew the Centre was my second choice. The program sounded good, and the fact that they had a trauma-based group was a plus. The Centre also provides dorm-like housing (two to a room), so I would be around people in the evening after the program ends. Evenings and weekends are free, and some people commute and others stay there through the weekends.

On Wednesday (today) the insurance went through my second appeal; another one of their doctors talking to my doctor. He told them if I didn't get more extensive treatment, I was going to end up in the hospital.

Both my doctor and the insurance company called to tell me I was approved to go to any partial hospitalization program in the United States. I missed both calls because, ironically, I was making myself lunch - the first meal I had even tried to eat since Friday - and my cell was downstairs. I finally got angry and said I wasn't going to let any insurance company decide if I were to live or die. I finally had had enough. It wasn't much of a meal, but it was an attempt and a sign of hope and the fact that the despair was breaking up.

Now the question is - Renfrew or the River Centre? Each has its pluses and minuses. Renfrew is a seven-day, 30-day program. The River Centre is more open, but my planned stay there was going to be about 30 days. Of course, my total length of stay will be determined by the insurance. It will be reviewed every six days (something that is common, I am told). But now I am afraid, what if I get to Florida only to have to turn around and come back in a week? How hard is recovery going to be with that hanging over my head?

At Renfrew, I will have a room by myself - but I also will be alone each night, no one to talk to about how the day went. At the Centre, there will be a group of women around to talk to after the program day has ended. The housing costs are covered as part of the program at the Centre; I will have to pay about $1,300 out-of-pocket to live at the extended stay hotel while at Renfrew. I was looking forward to living alone, proving I could go through treatment and be an adult and handle all the stuff that comes with it.

I'm so confused. I was twittering at length to fellow blogger and good friend Half Shattered and she said I need to make the right decision for me. Not what will please this program or that center. Not out of guilt for putting the staff to trouble, only to say I'm going to this place instead. Putting myself first.

I need to choose the best place for me to start on the road to recovery. But my mind is such a jumble. This whole week with the insurance company makes me feel like Alice in Wonderland, where logic is turned upside down and twisted, where nothing makes sense.