Is complete recovery from an eating disorder even possible?

In 2007, an inexplicably irrational and frightening disease entered my life — anorexia nervosa. I was familiar with it, of course, although I did not have any close friends who struggled with anorexia or any other eating disorder, at least that I knew of.

My first contact with anorexia was with a two-sentence entry in my Abnormal Psychology textbook. It was the 1980s, and eating disorders just weren't getting a lot of attention. My next encounter with anorexia was in the early 1990s, when I was hospitalized at the University of Michigan Hospitals after a particularly bad bout with depression and anxiety. There was a young woman there, very thin and pale, who was on complete bed rest. I later found out that she had anorexia. I scoffed, eating my bacon eggs, that anyone would willingly starve herself.

Little did I know that years later, that woman would be me.

I developed anorexia after a bout with another frightening disease, hypoparathyroidism, caused me to lose a significant amount of weight. I found that I liked being that thin, and thus was kicked into anorexia and five years of utter hell.

There have been many fits and starts during my recovery, when I would go so far, only to jerk back and start clinging to anorexia like it was my best friend. I became a serial patient at my ED doctor's hospital, being admitted eight times between 2008 and 2012.

I still sometimes ask myself, will there be a ninth admission?

I started working seriously on recovery after my last hospitalization. I was discharged on 1 January 2012, and days later, I slammed my scale against the trash can and tossed it out. I have not owned a scale since.

But eating disorder thoughts still come and go, some fleetingly, others taking hold until I feel as if I am smothering.

Fat. Not so fat. Cellulite. Dimples............fatttttttttttttt.....oh so fat!!!!!!!! I wouldn't be caught.dead.in.a.bikini, said in a clinched tone. FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT, SCREAMING AT ME, GOD PLEASE STOP THESE THOUGHT NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, anorexia isn't really about weight and food and body image. And yet it is. My life is pretty stressful right now. I'm looking for full-time work after finishing graduate school. My living situation isn't idea. I feel like a failure after the twin disasters in December and June.

It is characteristic of me to turn inward, churning up self-hatred, berating myself for actually nourishing myself as a normal human being, hating myself for no longer being a size XX.

But all of this leads me to think, will I ever be completely recovered?

I mean, the truth is, I am at the high end of the acceptable weight for my age and height. I do need to lose some weight. I am risking my health, or I was, with all the sugar and simple carbs I've been ingesting.

So how does a recovered anorexic — if I am truly recovered — address possible health issues and the need to lose weight? How do I do it safely, or is it simply not possible?

Or will this simply trigger another relapse? Can I safely maintain my healthy, get to a healthy weight, without inviting anorexia back in?

Does anyone ever really recover from an eating disorder?

In which she chooses life

I know I haven't written in a while. It's just...some days I'm full on-board with recovery, and some days it gets tiresome.

So many things still stand in the way of full recovery. A picture in a magazine, a spoken word misinterpreted, a half-remembered longing triggered...

What is it about this illness, anorexia, that makes it so hard to let go? Why have so many people, including me, start strongly on recovery, only to succumb to its siren call yet again? What does it even mean?

What did — does? — anorexia mean to me? As time passes and memory fades, it is easier to see the positive aspects of self-starvation. And yes, there were positives, or its allure would have faded long ago.

It becomes easier to remember only the positives, and frankly, harder to remember the pain of it all. So I have to dredge up the pain in order to save myself, and dampen any incipient enthusiasm for that which could still kill me if I am not careful.

What is it about this illness — one that destroys all life and love and ambition, boiling down existence to mere fear and self-hatred — that makes one cling to it, screaming inside that it is the only thing that could possibly understand, the only thing that can save one from nothingness?

Now I have life and friendships and a bright future. Why would I even consider giving those up for the abyss? Why would I let days of loneliness and anxiety take me down that path? Why would I even invite it at all?

It would have been so easy. Sick, unable to eat. The perfect excuse. The perfect reason to go back.

But no. I still choose life, even if it is hard and frightening. Because I would rather be frightened than dead.

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.

Love, Hope and (Un)bearable Uncertainties

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??...."

Tumbling down

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

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

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 . . .

Denying Anorexia

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.

Dear Anorexia . . .

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.

Not My Fault: Erasing the Stigma of Eating Disorders

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.

Eat to live (defying the illogical voice of anorexia)

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?

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.

Getting ready for anorexia rehab

Anxiety Fear Hope Desire Love Beauty Depression Panic Fragmented Life Death Heaven Christ
Emotions and words swirl through my mind like a fast-moving tornado heading dead center for its target. "Left of Center" by Suzanne Vega is playing. The watery sun is setting on the deep, dark green grasses and newly bloomed bushes. Aliena sits in the window, ready to pounce on any stray bug which crosses her path.
I am cold. I am hot. I can't think.

I leave for Renfrew in one week. I'm afraid I will fail. I'm afraid I will succeed. I'm afraid ...
Thirty days. Away from my home. Away from my husband, my friends. I will be alone each night, trying to sort out each day as I work toward recovering from anorexia. There will be memories stirred up, things I would rather forget. I will face food I am afraid of and I will need to eat it. I will need to talk about how I feel.

How do I feel? My emotions are in upheaval right now. How am I supposed to feel? Should I continue to mourn the life I lost when anorexia hit me at 41? Or do I move forward, knowing that person died years ago and it is time for the resurrection of a new me? Do I rage against the neighborhood boy who sexually abused me? The uber-conservative church of my childhood which left me feeling dirty and knowing I was hell-bound? Do I continue to be angry because alcoholism and depression made my childhood feel unstable and rocky?

How do I let go of it all?
I believe I must let go in order to recover. I must let go of everything. Anger. Secrets. Laxatives. Cutting. Enemas. Restricting. Control.
Playing at recovery.
I will have to turn my entire life over to complete strangers for thirty days, and that will require a hell of lot more trust than I've ever been able to give anyone.

But I can't take it anymore. I will not be able to live much longer with anorexia. I can't take waking up each morning crying and hating life because ... because I'm me.

From my recovery journal - Part III

Dark days, and then some light ...

March 23, 2009

Today is the first day of my medical leave. It feels like a very dark day. I can barely keep from crying. It is so hard not to just grab a bottle of pills and swallow them. Why don't I just give up, already? What really is the point of going on? What does my future really hold, but more pain? I took my life and destroyed it. At least I feel like I did.

March 27, 2009, 9 a.m.

All I can think is someday things have to get better; I have to get stronger; I will be better. I must hold onto hope. I must!

March 30, 2009, 10:15 a.m.

I sit here, hopeful yet afraid that I won't get better, that all this will be fore nothing. Why is this so hard?

It was odd seeing snow on the rooftops; we got a dusting yesterday. In a way, the colder weather makes me feel less guilty about being home and not working.

If only I could get better, work and have some sort of normal life again! I pray for this every day. I must be patient and wait for my body to heal. It will take time. I just hope there is a job there when I'm better and can work. I try not to worry, and I think the anxiety is getting better. I must keep my faith.

April 22, 2009, 11 a.m.

How do you fight fear so strong it threatens to consume you? How do you tell yourself you can be better, stronger and live a normal life when you haven't for so long?

Las week, Dr. Sackeyfio and I talked about me going back to work (note - I was working as a journalist at the time.) The anemia is gone, my heart is fine, there is no physical reason I can't work. Everyone believes I can make it. Everyone but me. I go from being worried to okay with it to feeling terrified. And the doctors want me to go back part-time to start; something I haven't mentioned to Ralph yet.

I am so afraid. Afraid I won't make it. But do I want to stay in this house forever, moving from bedroom to bathroom to living room, not really having a life, only going out once in a while. NO! I want to live a full life, go places, have fun, live!

So how do I battle the anxiety, the fear of failure?

And the practical things — a lot of clothes don't fit me since I've gained weight, I still need to drink Ensure twice a day, and I haven't even gone through my clothes yet!

But the biggest fear — can I perform at work after being gone for 2 1/2 months??? Everyone seems to think I'll be okay. Except me.

Postscript

I returned to my job as a full-time journalist, fighting the anxiety and struggling with writing even the simplest story.

I didn't write in my journal for a long time. Then ...

June 28, 2009

It's been a long time. I've been back to work for two months. It has been so weird; sometimes I barely feel like myself.

And now they've offered a buyout and I have a chance to go to graduate school. Do I take the chance, knowing financially it will be very hard? But newspapers are dying and I need to carve out a new career. It's such an uncertain time. It's not a good time to be recovering from anorexia (if there is a good time.) The uncertainty feeds my anxiety and makes it harder to eat. I've been holding onto 110 pound for a while now.

But at least I'm holding on.

Life's a competition sport - even when it comes to anorexia!

I've been in the hospital for a few days, dealing with anxiety and anorexia. I quickly discovered two things - I'm not the thinnest girl on the block and I'm not sure if I like that.
Let me explain: at this particular hospital, all the eating disorder patients have to sit together at meals. That means we get to discuss calories, weight (exactly how low did you go? Oh, 92? Pshaw, I'm 60 pounds right now and could lose more in a second), weight lost techniques (do you take laxatives? the whole box or just the normal amount? how about water pills? enemas? Syrup of Ipecac, anyone?) and how much you may or may not be eating (You're not going to eat that muffin, are you? Well, yes, I had thought I might - until now.) (You're not worried about those two creams in your coffee? - said in a slight incredulous lilt in the voice - But after all, they are only about 20 calories - 20 calories can't hurt anything - CAN IT?) And then someone (thinner) points out how brave you are, how well on the way to recovery you must be if you can tolerate those two creams, how they would like to be like you but just can't imagine it.
Blood tests come back bad? That anemia and bad kidney functioning might have you worried, but damn, at least you aren't a walking heart attack waiting to happen. Your clavicle protrudes? But why do you still have so much hair? Any self-respecting anorexic would have lost most of her hair by now.
The doctor says you need to stay for a week, get better. The doctor says another person must stay for a month, and was threatened with a power of attorney if she did not agree to the catheter pumping thousands of calories into her heart (which, btw, I experience for 10 days this summer - oops, did I just one-up?)
I sit down at the table each meal, trying so hard to eat what is a normal meal for others. It makes me so anxious. It makes me feel like I will get fat. It makes me feel like I'm giving up anorexia, that ever-present companion. I feel so proud of myself for trying so hard - even though the anxiety sometimes feels like it will kill me - to eat like a normal person. I feel so proud that I am trying so hard to rejoin life.
Then I look around at my meal and her meal and I feel like a pig. How could I let myself get this fat! Fat fat fat at about 100 pounds???!!!
I keep telling myself, the only way out is through. And eating normally is the way to health and the life I want to lead. The way back leads to death.
I don't want my whole life to be anorexia. I want this bitch to DIE! But the competitive part? I wore a size 0. She wore a size 10 - children's.

Anxiety overdrive

My anxiety has gone into overdrive, and I have chosen to admit myself into the hospital. I'm scared to death and don't know what is going to happen to me.
I keep thinking - if only I had been better. If only I had pulled myself together. If only I had tried harder. If only ....
But the anxiety was consuming, my medication didn't seem to be working, and I have not slept in about 36 hours - I couldn't stand the way I felt, and if I had to feel that way, I'd rather be dead.
I pray this can be fixed, and that I can heal from the anxiety and anorexia. It's my only hope.

My body I hate

As I move through recovery in fits and starts, I find my body doesn't fit me anymore! My jeans are too tight. My jeans are too baggy. My underwear rides up or sags down. My sweaters either make me itch, choke me or squeeze me. If I could, I would wear a loose toga, draping my body in soft cotton comforts as I go through the process of adding weight to my skinny little body.

Maybe there should be specially made clothes for those recovering from eating disorders. Loose, comfortable clothes that don't cause one a major anxiety attack when the number goes up (or down), one that doesn't cause choking breathes when the waistband pinches. In other words, one that doesn't remind us we are in recovery; clothes that don't point - I have an eating disorder I'm desperately trying to beat.

This body of mine feels foreign - I look in the mirror and it's either too thin (arms spindly, chest caved in, breasts soft, clavicle showing, butt nonexistant) or too fat (oh my God, those thighs spread to Europe! that stomach looks like it either has a baby or 10 pounds of gas in it!) Where is the smooth curve of my concave stomach? I can still see my ribs and the bony knobs along my spine - but look! are they being enveloped in, I can't believe it, something resembling roundness!

I miss the body anorexia gave me; and I mourn it's loss. I miss loose fitting size 0 jeans and T-shirts. I miss putting on anything, knowing it wouldn't - gasp! - feel too tight. I miss gliding through life, knowing I was small and light and airy. I long for the empty feeling inside, that cool, clear and light feeling; it was safe, even as it was deadly.

I avert my eyes, walk upstairs and go through the long process of trying to clothe this foreign beast of a body. I long to live in Tahiti or the Bahamas, anywhere I can drape a loose fitting summer dress and feel more fluid, more like me.

The anxiety of this new, and hated, body gets to be too much. I can only escape its confines when I sleep.

Letting go

I know I must let go of my ED behaviors in order to be truly free. I must stop counting calories. I must stop weighing myself every day, sometimes two, three or more times (the number is never right; it is never good enough). I must stop worrying about getting fat, and I must start thinking that getting better means getting healthy. I must let go of the illusion of control, for I do not control my anorexia; instead, it controls me.

I was in a state of panic this evening. I worried about returning to work after two weeks. During those two weeks I was first sick with a norovirus, then consumed by anxiety that I felt would either kill me or cause me to kill myself.

I feel ready to go back to work, if only so my life does not become anorexia. So I have taken a deep breath (many deep breaths, actually), a hot bath and continue to tell myself it will be okay, that I am stronger than this.

Being this thin, carrying the identity of anorexia, having it define me, is a jail cell that I must break out of. I want to be free.

The fear of ...

Anxiety threatened to consume me in the past few days. It gnawed at me like an evil demon, not letting go, coloring everything until I felt like I was literally going to die.

I should have listened to my doctor. He said I needed Zyprexa. I said, no, and secretly, inside, I said no because I feared it would make me gain weight.

It all came crashing down on me in the last few days, until my husband took me on a 2-hour, fear-filled drive to the hospital, where I was admitted for a few days.

I couldn't read. I couldn't write. I couldn't think, and I literally thought I would die. I begged everyone to help me, please just make it go away; finally, the drip of an IV and some Ativan did beat back the demon.

I am calmer now, functional, the residual anxiety just nipping at me. I dread the thought of that black hole consuming me again. At least I can breathe again. Never again will I take for granted the simple feeling of being me, being whole, being able to move my limbs and perform simple functions without the fear that any movement, any wrong action, could cause - what? I don't know.