Dreaming...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vows meant truly (a poem)

Vows meant truly

Shattered pieces of my soul

Gathered in my hands

Leaking, draining

Spilling over

Like rain

Falling on the dry, hard soil.

I struggle to hold the shards

Inside my palms

Cutting, ripping

Crushed

Like glass

Falling all around me.

Heart-words swirling

Within my brain

Love, commitment

Forever

Lies told

Falling apart in an instant.

I fight to keep dreams alive

Inside my shattered soul

But my hands are

Like a sieve

And everything pours out.

Lost

Gone

Forgotten

Vows meant truly.

It is time to move on...

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


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


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


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


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


Life.


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


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


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


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

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


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


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


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


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


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


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

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

How many times can I screw this up???

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

How many times can I screw this up???

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

It didn't.

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

It wasn't.

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

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

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

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

So why am I so afraid of food?

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

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

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

Is the key inside me?

Will I be the person who saves my own life?

And what are my reasons for living?

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

I have asked myself many times lately ...

What needs does anorexia serve?

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

How do I find my way out?

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

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

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

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

It will be last year all over again.

I cried each day.

Many times I wanted to die.

Sometimes I thought about killing myself.

Then I drank another Ensure.

I knew it was the only way out . . .

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

Save myself or else live with anorexia until ...

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

Is this what I really want for my life?

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

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

She died of complications from anorexia.

But hey, she was thin.

The end.

Discovery (anorexia and lost dreams)

I have thrown away my life.

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

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

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

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

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

Prayer. Does God even hear me?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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