Lost hope

This is hard...but, I've been struggling with depression for several months now. It started slowly, insidiously; sneaking up on me. Little forays into my happiness, striking at my self-confidence and laughing at my hopes.

I am happy.
Happy.
But...you don't deserve to be happy.
Why not?
Because.

The sun is shining and I am embracing it, twirling around.
My heart soars
Life has never been better.
I can do anything.
Anything.

I have finally become free...

That is what you think.
Icy streams surrounding me
Slowly choking out the happiness
Blackness filling my days

But....I was happy.

For weeks, I've struggled with everything.
First, eating. I'll either not eat, or not eat healthily.
It is if I don't deserve full nutrition, full recovery.
I don't want to always think about food.
Guilt.
Shame.
Aggravation.
FAT.
It is weird. Sometimes I can eat without free.
But then FEAR comes roaring back.
Each.and.every.time

Then there is this thing called life.
Cleaning. Laundry. Bills. Answering e-mails. Grocery shopping. Talking to people. Calling family. Visiting. Attending church. Volunteer work.....
AHHHH!!!
I can't do this.

So I stay up until 2, 3, 4 a.m.
Too afraid to got to bed.
Mindlessly wandering the Internet.
No thoughts.
It feels like a binge.
A binge of the online world.
Designed to cross-circute my emotions.

Emotions?
Do I even have any?
Why can't I cry?

Oh, I will sometimes squeeze out a few hypocritical tears.
Look, I am crying. I feel sad. I feel...
Numbness.

So I isolate.
This passive-agressive approach to life at full-tilt.
My cell phone voicemail full.
A week's worth of mail stuffed inside the mailbox.
Does the mailman think I'm dead?
Does he even notice?

Days sat huddling in my house,
I am embarrassed to be in my nightgown at 2, 3 in the afternoon.
I wish I had a drink.
Or two.
Or three...
Then I could oh-so-fashionbly sip my glass(es) of wine while twirling said nightgown.
I wouldn't be a loser, then.
Instead, I could say that something important kept me up and by God I deserved to sleep until noon, 1, 2 p.m.!
And the wine would seductively slide down my throat.

I sometimes miss starving.
The feelings of emptiness.
Dizziness.
Heart racing.
Sick, isn't it.

Sometimes I think if one more person tells me I look good, I'm going to fucking scream.
Look good=you're fat
I mean, does anyone ever ask someone if she has gained weight?

I sit, hopeless, in front of my computer.
Too scared to move.
Frozen.
I want to throw myself on my knees and beg God to take this feeling away, take it all away and open me to new life.

A life that is tantalizingly out of reach.
My fingers hovering, trying to grasp it before it falls apart.

Love
Worthwhile work
Friends
Family
Laughter

I feel unworthy. Lonely. Full of hopelessness.
I admitted that to my psychiatrist the other day (of course after he already called me out on it.)

I feel as if my dreams have fallen apart.
Damn it, I'll just admit it — I am envious of women whose spouses have stood by them, whose husbands cherish and love them...till death do they part.
Husbands who have KEPT their vows, who believe that the words meant something, not just to be thrown away like so much trash, like scrapping gum off of the bottom of a shoe.

What is wrong with me???
Why can't I inspire that kind of devotion?

Will love ever be a part of my life again?
Romantic love, I mean.

And...will laughter and happiness and fulfillment and all the hopes and dreams that threaten to bubble up and overwhelm me ever become part of my life?

In the meantime, my world continues to crash around me. Dishes are again piled in the sink. Laundry is half-done. The upstairs needs to be vacuumed. Three weeks worth of garbage sit in the garage. There are piles everywhere.
I mean, where does this crap come from, anyway??? Is there a clutter fairy who drops off junk at my house at an alarming rate?
Books. Books everywhere.
I mean, I love books. But I don't love tripping over them every five seconds.
Bottles of nail polish on my desk, clothes piled on the dryer, threatening to topple. The spare bedroom crammed with an overturned Christmas tree, complete with bulbs still attached.
My bicycle remains untouched, my bow and arrow no longer getting any practice time.
Months worth of vestry minutes untyped.
You get the picture.

Then, I sleep until 10:30 a.m. on Friday. The day I need to drive more than two hours to my psychiatrist's office.
Who needs nine, ten hours of sleep?
I do.
Because sleep has become my escape.
Really, I would stay in bed all day if I felt like I could.
Nothing can touch me when I'm in bed.
Sort of like nothing could touch me when I had anorexia.

I miss...
I miss me.
Me.
I feel as if I want too much.
Please God, are my wishes and dreams unattainable?

I know that only I can move forward and reclaim my life.
Then why is it so hard?

I want more...

I am not alone

Hope is the dream of a soul awake. ~ French proverb


I am not alone. Christ surrounds me every minute with His love and grace. I am forever grateful for His mercy during these times of struggle and change.

I am learning to live again. Being alone for long periods of time have shown me that I have only been half alive for years. Why?

Sickness, a disintegrating marriage, a slew of changes and losses during the past five years....first, the loss of myself as I became entangled with the illogical illness of anorexia. Then frantic attempts to become what I felt David wanted as I slowly recovered and grew stronger both in body and mind, and yet he drew further and further away. Leaving my career as a journalist to attend graduate school, and the subsequent adjustments to academia and trying to fit in to that world.

I am learning to trust that my intelligence and strength will see me through wherever God takes me. I never thought my marriage would end, but it has and I accept that and continue to move forward. I have hope for the future, and its infinite possibilities. I know I will never be alone no matter what happens, and to finally feel Christ's presence so fully is a joy that is indescribable.

Not that it has been easy. I have cried many times during the past three months, and prayed for God to lift the depression and anxiety as I contemplate unraveling fifteen years of dreams and hopes. As I look around my house and the tangle of possessions — David's paintings, my books; a life built that now must be torn down — I sometimes feel overwhelmed. I want to just give everything away, pack my clothes, and go somewhere were I am not known as David's wife or a former reporter or a recovering anorexic or all the other roles I have filled that I now must leave behind...A place where I can be free.

I am not alone. Christ is with me throughout all this. He is with me when I wake up in the middle of the night, still confused about all that has happened in the past year. He is with me each time I must tell one more person about the break-up of my marriage, that David is never coming back to Michigan and he has left it to me to tell all of our friends. He is with me when I still sometimes ask myself if I am a failure, if something is wrong with me and if I am an awful person who drove away her husband because she was so stupid to develop anorexia in her forties. I don't always believe these things of myself; they are just unbidden thoughts.

Christ was with me when I decided on December 28, 2010 that I would overcome anorexia and live a full life, one filled with joy and happiness. He was with me when I kept eating and gaining weight, and when I struggled with that and had to tell myself that health and freedom were worth the pain of recovery. I have told myself I will not settle for anything less than full freedom from anorexia. I become more free every day, and anorexia is beginning to seem like a distant memory.

I am not alone.

Freedom (One month)

One month ago I reached my healthy goal weight.

One month ago I really began to believe that full recovery from anorexia was possible.

One month ago I was so proud of myself I called my psychiatrist to tell him the good news. Dr. S later said that was when he first heard a change in my voice. He heard freedom in my voice. And although there have been ups and downs during the past month, that sense of freedom is becoming stronger each day.

Freedom. 

That is my ultimate goal. Complete freedom from anorexia.

And I believe it can happen.

I remember when Pam weighed me at her office (I have put away the scale and my therapist monitors my weight.) I was fairly certain I had reached my goal weight because I could feel my body changing as I gained. My hips were becoming rounder and my breasts were fuller. My stomach - and this is the only part I struggled with - curved out a bit. I would look in the mirror at my slender, yet womanly figure and I was fine with it.

I didn't hate my body. I didn't feel any urges to restrict or lose weight. I wasn't disgusted by what I saw. I didn't argue with my doctor about the weight he said I needed to be at as I had in the past.

I felt free.

My anxieties about food and life began to dissipate and I felt as if I could finally breathe because I was no longer trapped by anorexia. Its hold had finally been broken.

It has been an emotional month. There are times that anxiety broke through, and I was disappointed to have lost that strong feeling of freedom. Then I realized that I had added too much sugar to my diet and as a hypoglycemic, I was crashing every time I had too much. So I re-worked things to include more protein and natural sugars, and less of the high fructose processed variety. I learned how different foods could make me feel better or worse, and how to eat properly while still including an occasional treat that I enjoyed.

This whole recovery has been a work in process.

I expected to have significant body image issues, but I haven't. I look at my body and I am still fine with it. I look at pictures of me at my thinnest; emaciated and looking like I could die at any moment and it is like looking at someone else.

I felt the same way when I read blog posts from last year. I wonder why I would ever think that remaining anorexic was a viable goal?  (I actually suggested this was what I wanted to do many times last year. No wonder my husband became frustrated and hopeless. He was dealing with someone who was completely illogical, but I didn't see that I was and nothing got through to me. I felt that the idea of living with anorexia was a perfectly good one. Unbelievable.

My body continues to move and shape as I enter my second month of recovery. I am told things aren't completely settled yet, and that could take some time. 

I have had to learn patience through this journey, and that has been hard. I never have been a very patient person. I believe God is trying to teach me ...

I am still emotional, and my doctor says that is normal at this stage of recovery. I know I am also emotional because of the uncertainties of life, including the relationship between David and I. This I know: we love each other very much and miss each other like crazy. We both have fears, and will need to work through them. Anorexia has left scars on both of us.

And we will see each other next Saturday for the first time in two months. I think about seeing my beloved's face again, and my breathe catches in my throat my anticipation is so great. I know I will cry, and then . . . It has been a long two months. I pray for this new beginning for us, and firmly believe we will be reconciled and able to put this behind us.

Because I will never go back. I will never re-enter that prison that is anorexia. It would kill me. Recovery  tastes too sweet to want to go back. 

Freedom. That is what I am aiming for — complete and total freedom from anorexia. A full life with David, growing old together in love and joy. An interesting and useful career using my writing and other talents. Becoming closer to my God so that it is His light that shines through me, and people will know He allowed me to be set free.

Freedom.

Believe and it will happen . . .

The Circle of Recovery

Sometimes I will be walking across campus to class or through the local mall, I will see someone who reminds me of myself as I was about a year ago. She is emaciated and often seems hyperactive, as if she can't stop moving and she's running towards somewhere she can never find. She will have a fleeting look of despair in her eyes, and I always wish there was something I could do or say to help her. If I could, I would take her hand and lead her toward a private place where we could talk and I would say, "You can get better. You don't have to live your life of fear and anxiety anymore."

But of course in this world, we don't take strangers by the hand and start talking to them about healing and recovery. That is too bad, because I wish somebody would have taken me by the hand last year and said, "You can recover." Of course, both Dr. S and my husband did say those type of things to me many times. So what makes me think I would have listened to a stranger? But perhaps I would have listened to a stranger who had been through the same things I was feeling. I will never know, just as I can't make that final step to reach out to a total stranger.

However, I did reach out in a way. Last year, I wrote several posts about the dangers of anorexia on a pro-anorexia site. I was completely trashed by the site's author and many of her readers, and I felt that my posts were probably just empty echos into cyperspace. But sometimes a word or two can fall upon the right person and just maybe you can make a difference. I recently found out that my warnings did make a difference to a young woman who had recently had a baby. She had gained weight and was desperate to take it off, and started looking to pro-anorexia sites for tips to lose weight more rapidly. She began to get sucked into the whole mindset of becoming a size 0, and it seemed as if she would soon become trapped into the whole anorexic mindset.

Then she came across my posts, which basically stated that being a size 0 wasn't all it seemed, and that indulging in anorexic behaviors was like playing with fire. I wrote about how anorexia was destroying me mind and soul, and this was even before things really started to fall apart. My posts led her to this blog, and this is what she recently wrote in part: "I think I was borderline of developing a problem, but it was your posts (and) then reading your blog that showed me I was playing a nasty game." She talked with her doctor and started losing weight the healthy way, and a potential crisis was averted.

I've been thinking about this because I have been thinking about all of you who read my blog and have left me encouraging and kind comments when I was at my worst and now that I am getting better. It is like you are the stranger who reached across and took my hand, saying "Yes, you can do it. You can get better."

I want to thank all of you for your support. I have cherished it, and it has made these difficult days just a little easier knowing so many people are praying and hoping for my complete recovery.

I won't let all of you down. I have no desire to return to anorexia. In the past, when I would look at these women, I felt a twinge of envy. Now all I feel is pity. Recovery is almost like I died and was resurrected. I feel like I am becoming a better person, one ready to face the future and is excited about it. It doesn't mean I don't still get anxious or depressed. It means that I face life, deal with it in the best ways I can, and continue to eat no matter what.

And it also means a life of love and joy and happiness, and I pray this includes my husband, David. I believe in the end our love will see us through, and I believe we both have so much hope. I just have to be patient, and patient with recovery as I discover new and exciting things about myself. None of this can be rushed, and I will enjoy all of it; returning to life, reconnecting with my husband and friends, learning and growing in graduate school, everything that I missed for so long.

Freedom...It tastes so sweet, and it has been so long in coming. Perhaps it is sweeter because it has taken me so long to want full recovery, to really work at it like I mean it.

I am going to make it. I just know it.

I am going to be free. And someday, I hope to reach out my hand to someone else and whisper, "You can be free, too."

"I am strong..."

"I can do anything. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman!" Helen Reddy, 1972.
My strength continues to grow as I realize I am strong and can do anything if I really want to. I am determined to leave the unhappiness of anorexia behind forever, and live my life with joy and happiness and love.

The week did not start out this way. I was very depressed by Sunday evening and I didn't leave the house until Wednesday. My darkest moment came on Tuesday night when I decided that my life wasn't worth living, and unbidden thoughts taunted me to just get this sorry excuse for a life over with already.

All my past mistakes, my failures at recovery and the uncertain future of my marriage hammered in my brain. I hated myself for again relapsing and driving David away, hurting him because I was just not able to sustain recovery and I didn't have an answer to why I couldn't.

Then I called several friends and after hours on the phone, I felt as if I could breathe again. I was still sad and anxious and depressed, but I felt a tiny flame of hope that I might someday have a life worth living.

I was calm enough to do some homework on Wednesday, and I left the house that afternoon to go see my therapist. Then I went grocery shopping and bought exactly the types of foods that Dr. S has told me to eat. (I can't afford a nutritionist, so my psychiatrist is taking on that role.)

I proceeded to carry my bags loaded with healthy foods (including Stouffer's, and yes, I know I said I would never eat those foods again, but whatever Dr. S says goes and he told me to ditch the Healthy Cuisine and buy something with more calories.) Then two of the bags ripped apart and my food scattered  all over the snowy walk.

I screamed out my rage. My rage at anorexia. My rage at David leaving. My rage at what a mess my life seemed like. My rage and fear of the future. I'm surprised my neighbors didn't call the police. (I think I screamed quietly until I was in the house.)

Of course, it was at this moment that David returned my call and I was crying about the dropped groceries. Then I poured my heart out to him. I said I was going to beat anorexia and put it behind me, and that we would get back together and have love and laughter in our lives again and grow old together and ... and then he said, "I've always loved you."

I'm not sure what prompted him to say that. I don't remember what I said before he said that. But I do remember he said earlier in the day that I had hurt him by relapsing after he returned home, and I told him I was very sorry and that I had not meant to hurt him. I realize how hard it must have been for him to admit I had hurt him so much, and I am sorry.

On Thursday, I decided no more depression and anxiety. I worked on my schoolwork and managed to have a calm day. I went to bed early enough to get a decent night sleep, and said my usual prayers to God for healing of myself and my marriage.

Today I woke up to the bright, cold Michigan sunshine and got up to make my two-hour trek to see Dr. S. I plugged in my iPod and started playing some new Christian contemporary songs. I found myself singing along, and realized it was the first time I had really sung - sung from my heart - since David left. Dr. S smiled as I told him that I was playing music and singing on my way to see him.

Then I asked him if he thinks I will recover from anorexia. Think? I don't think you will. I know you will recover from anorexia this year.


As I shook his hand goodbye for the week, I felt hope rising as I realized this kind, gentle psychiatrist believes in me. And I thought, Yes, I will recover from anorexia this year. Driving back north, I again began singing to the music, the sun streaming through my sun roof, as David and I chatted for awhile.

It was then that I had my epiphany. I am a strong woman. And that's what I need to be, both for myself and my marriage. I thought about it all the way home, and remembered this song by Helen Reddy about being strong. I have been listening to it every since...


"Oh yes, I am wise. But it's wisdom born of pain. Yes, I've paid the price. But look at how much I've gained..."


Dr. S says I am gaining myself and freedom. I will be free. I will break out of the prison of anorexia, and I will peel back the layers and find myself.

"You can bend but never break me, 'cause it only serves to make me, more determined to achieve my final goal..."

Spirit Rising (Today I Put Away The Scale)

After almost two weeks of unrelenting depression and anxiety, I finally felt today the first stirrings of my spirit rising to the challenge of living. I have no doubts I will recover from anorexia in 2011. I must in order to have any kind of life.

Today I put away the scale, that hated instrument that

I have been a slave to for at least a decade.

 I will no longer be defined by a number (one of my therapists is going to keep track of my weight to make sure I am going in the right direction and not losing weight or leveling off until I reach my healthy goal weight as set by my doctor, not me.)  

I am finding it difficult to put down in words what I am feeling right now. There is a strong sense of loneliness since my husband and I separated. I struggle with ongoing anxiety about the future. I am in the beginning stages of refeeding my body, and it is a time of feeling bloated and constantly full. I am writing and thinking and praying, and constantly learning ways to recover. I have an odd sense that this is my last time at recovery, that I must recover this time.

I am different this time. I refuse to even consider a relapse in my future. As far as I am concerned, I will fully recover from anorexia and then put all the pain and hurt caused by it behind me.

My moods have been swinging from anxiety and fear about the future to raging anger at anorexia for every coming into my life. I am working my way through "Life Without Ed," a recovery book by Jenni Schaefer that has many exercises in it to help people overcome their eating disorders. I find it very helpful to read and work with a book that focuses on recovery. However, I am stubborn about one exercise that has you in one chair and your eating disorder seating in another chair, then you talk back and forth as both yourself and as your eating disorder.

I look at the chair each night, give it the finger, and tell my eating disorder it has had a voice for four years and now it is time to listen to me. I then proceed to tell my eating disorder — no more name for you, as I have finally decided that gives you too much power — how much I hate it for entering my life and almost totally destroying it.

Right now, I am so very angry at anorexia it is almost frightening. Anorexia would already be dead if it was a person. Too bad I can't just put a knife through the evil heart of anorexia.


I wish I didn't have to do this alone. I have learned that having David here made this house a home, and while it still is my home . . . the emptiness sometimes becomes so hard to bear I break down crying.

My husband and I talk frequently. At first our conversations were pretty depressing, and he finally told me that. I was feeling the same way — crying during each phone call — and was grateful for his honesty. It is just I am not sure where our relationship stands right now, it all feels very strange and new and difficult to negotiate.

This is I what I know: we both still love each other very much. He has said he does not want to sit here and watch me slowly kill myself through starvation. I know that I hurt him by almost immediately restricting my eating when he returned home. I have assured him that it is not his fault. Instead, anxiety and depression came roaring back and I struggled to talk about the things that were bothering me.

I was feeling isolated and lonely because I was in the process of joining the Catholic Church and I didn't realize how much I would miss being with my husband at worship each Sunday. But I felt trapped; trapped by the work done to get David's first marriage annulled. I felt trapped by what I thought I wanted, not realizing how lonely it would make me feel. I felt trapped and like I had to continue the process even though my heart ached to be at church with my husband.

I finally told them last week I can't go through with it. I will remain at our church, which is the Episcopal Church and the one thing that was driving me toward the Catholic Church — the belief in the true presence of Christ Jesus in the body and blood of the Eucharist — is shared by both churches. David sounded...well, actually happy that I would be staying there. He said he felt that by joining the Catholic Church, I was isolating myself further from him.

Anyway, that is the past. I must learn to embrace the now. I wish I could be certain . . . well, certain of many things. But I have learned that I can't change the past nor control the future. I also have learned I can only control my own actions. And finally, I have learned that God is in all this and any illusion of control is just that — an illusion.

I must trust in God. I must go to Him whenever I am frightened and lonely, and I must thank him for His grace and mercy. Most of all, I must build the foundation of my recovery on Christ Jesus. Before, the seeds of my recovery were strewn on rocky soil and thus did not take deep root. I must allow the seeds of recovery to land within the soil of my heart, creating strong roots that stay with me the rest of my life. This will create the healthy me, and I will become the person I was and will be able to live a full and joyful life. I will be free!

Beyond that, I pray for this painful period to past; painful for many reasons. I pray that springtime comes to my soul and I become less angry and anxious, and more the healthy me I was before anorexia took over.

I pray, and each day do something toward recovery. I continue to work through "Life Without Ed." I write and ask myself what does loving myself really mean? I am trying to discover who is this person underneath the layers of anorexia? I sure I will find lots of surprises. It does feel strange to be 45 and doing this work, but if not now, when?

I pray, and I repeat to myself often: Believe and it will come true.

There will never be another me...

 Sometimes it takes a child to voice the truth that needs to heard. As I watched little Sophia speak her words, I thought of myself as a little girl much like her and bawled. I was a little girl with long dark hair and light blue eyes, and I loved reading and writing and books and chocolate and kittens. I loved to go to school and sitting in the front row, eager to learn. But as life unfolded, I learned to dislike myself. And one day, I grew up to hate my body and did everything in my power to look and be like someone else.

Anybody but me.

I have been trying to recreate myself almost since I was born. I never thought I was beautiful enough. I never thought I was smart enough. And when I got married, I never thought I was good enough for my husband. But the harder I tried to become someone else, the worse things became.

Until I was lost.

Anorexia nervosa knew just when to strike. And I then embarked on a new mission to remold my body to society's idea, and I was so successful that I lost sight of everything else. The love of my husband. The friendship of others. Joy and laughter and love became buried by layers of anorexia until I couldn't breathe anymore.

It wasn't just my body that became smaller, my soul became smaller.

But as little Sophia says, I am unique and there will never will be another me in all the history of the world. So why in the world would I try to look or be like someone else? I am rediscovering myself; my love of writing and reading, of the joy of Celtic music and classic Elton John, of cuddling with my cat and crying because this little girl's message moves me so much I can't hold it back. I have dark curly hair and light blue eyes, and my body once was strong and beautiful and it can become that again.  I am opinionated and believe strongly in justice for those who can't speak for themselves. I love to study English and poetry and history and the Bible and religion. I am passionately loyal to my friends and would do anything for them. I am stubborn, and my therapist says one of my greatest strengths is that

I never give up.

I believe in miracles, and the power of love and hope. I know I can recover from anorexia. I'm just starting to unravel the layers of this cloak of anorexia, but unravel it I will. I have finally learned the key is within me.

I just have to unlock the door.

Becoming myself

I now know I must recover for myself alone. I must discover who I am under the layers of anorexia, and it will be hard and painful work.
But these are my choices — full recovery or anorexic purgatory. And I refuse to only exist. I refuse to continue with this half-life of anorexia.
I want to know fun and laughter and deep, abiding joy again. Today I felt it is possible. I can do this. I can do this for me. I can learn to love myself and feel worthy of eating and life.
I need to become myself again. This is a new journey of Leaving ED, one that will be filled with tears and pain and happiness and life. I am ready.
I will not be taking this journey alone. I have so much support from my wonderful sister, Samon, my friends, and most importantly, from my Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I am blessed and humbly grateful for the things I have in my life.
This does not mean I don't miss David or don't want him to return. I love him very much. But I want him to return to a healthy, strong and recovered woman. He deserves that, and we both deserve a full and rich life free from anorexia. I believe it can happen if I trust in the Lord and do the things I must do.

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.

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.

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.

Powerless

I am powerless against anorexia.

It is very scary to admit that I am powerless. It makes me vulnerable. It makes me cry. But it also is the first step toward true recovery.

Ana is a formidable foe. So many times she has taken over me, entering my heart and soul like a poltergeist from hell.

There was Christmas 2007. A dinner with friends turned into an exercise in self-flagellation. The four of us sat down, the side table filled with roast chicken, green beans, mashed potatoes, salad and bread. The pumpkin pie was baking in the oven, the rich smell that achingly reminds me of fall drifting through our small home.

It still felt like home then.

I tried to relax. I paced around, nibbled a few cashews, smiled brightly and tried to get Ana to shut up. We sat at the table, the blessing was said (inviting God to our circle - oh, why didn't He protect me?) and the food was passed around. My hands shook slightly as I scooped out the potatoes, Ana insisting that one spoonful was enough, two spoonfuls STOP STOP STOP, YOU PIG! I carefully cut off a small slice of chicken, avoiding the skin (it was so crispy; it glistened in the soft light) and added a small serving of green beans to my plate.

Small. Ana has made my world small.

David was so proud of this dinner he cooked, and so happy to have people over. I was finally becoming well after several years of illness; the migraines had retreated and I could think again, be around people. I could read and laugh and be filled with the simple joy of having friends over.

But Ana had already moved in and it was too late.

My anxiety cranked up when it came time for pumpkin pie and I declined, saying I didn't really care for it. Since when didn't I care for pumpkin pie? Since Ana said I didn't, that's when. That's the first night I used laxatives to purge food out of my system, but it wouldn't be the last.

I am powerless against anorexia.

Ana has ruined so many moments. She pretty much destroyed 2008. No food could be enjoyed, it was all the enemy. But perhaps the worst thing she did was destroy my mission trip to Haiti.

I had always dreamed of going on a mission trip. I wanted to help others; I felt it in my heart. I was thrilled when I given the opportunity to go to Haiti on a medical mission, and was also able to send back articles.

But I was so weak on that trip, physically and mentally. It was so hard to see the poverty all around me, and yet hear how grateful the Haitians were to God for life and love and family. The darkness of Ana was deep in my soul, and I could only bear it by abusing tranquilizers and painkillers, numbing myself to the real life in all its variety, pain and joy that surrounded me.

I wanted to be free. I wanted to hold each child, play games with them and run with them. I watched the other missionaries scoop up the children, swing them around and nuzzle their necks, and I felt such an ache in me nothing, no drug or prayer, could dull it.

I tried. I loved the people, they were so warm and welcoming. I would sit with children, my lips touching the tops of their heads, and silently pray for their safety and well being. I went up to the nursery, to hold the babies in my arms and smell their little baby smells.

But I couldn't hold them for long periods because I was physically weak. I couldn't rock a baby to sleep nor play a game of tag with a group of toddlers. Maybe it was okay, because sometimes they came to me and stroked my arms, braided my hair and whispered in a mixture of Creole and English.

The team went up to the mountains for a one-day clinic at a home for people with developmental disabilities. I feel in love with this one girl; her bright eyes and bright smile, her personality shining through in spite of the fact she couldn't speak. I think she liked me, too, as I placed my arm around her and gave her shoulders a squeeze. I hope she remembers the love I felt and not the skeletal arm that was holding her.

I am powerless against anorexia.

My 43rd birthday was spent with my husband, my parents and Ana. My parents wanted to take me out to eat; already, they were beginning to suspect something, although I tried hard to hide it. We went to a nice restaurant, and my father encouraged me to order whatever I wanted. I order shrimp, stripped dry of any flavor and plain rice with no butter added. I'm sure the chef was insulted, and I am sorry for that.

Anorexia has ruined holidays and birthdays and everyday dinners. It has kept me from being a real wife to my husband and a real friend to those I love. I go to bed with Ana and I wake up with Ana, and sometimes she haunts my dreams.

I am powerless against anorexia for so many reasons. The seductive voice of Ana is so strong now, I can barely hear myself think. I wake up in fear and then must keep myself busy for hours and hours to try and outrun the thoughts. Ana has really stepped up her presence in the past month, perhaps jealous of this summer and fall when she was just so much radio static.

Ana has me trolling and joining and posting on pro-ana sites under a pseudonym — I take full responsibility for my actions; Ana is just my way of naming the enemy within.

This is what I wrote (since deleted): "I love the feeling of my hips bones as I lay in bed at night.

I love the look of my collar bones gracing my chest.

I love feeling empty and watch other people eat, knowing I don't need to.

The empty feeling is just so seductive.

And when each pound drops ... I feel more in control."

LIES

The emptiness and sadness contained within those sites is almost unbearable. These women insist they want to be thin, that this is their choice and they have the right to make that choice. But then they expose the underbelly of their feelings. One wrote that she was "ana because it is a slow form of suicide." I can relate to that.

She went on to say how very worthless she was and that everyone would be better without her. This does not sound like a choice to me. It sounds like someone being hounded by Ana (or whatever eating disorder she suffers from.)

This is not a choice. It is evil.

My first act toward recovery will have to be destroying my Ana doppelganger. It will hurt like hell; she's all over the Internet now, Tweeting and making friends on Facebook and even starting a blog (still empty of posts.)

The pro-ana blog is what really made me realize how very powerless I am against Ana. Because I will never write another word before I write anything else that encourages anorexia or any other eating disorder as a lifestyle 'choice.'

The last thing I would have chosen to be in my life is this demon from hell.

I may be powerless against anorexia. But that doesn't mean I don't have weapons, too. It just will take all my strength to fight such an evil opponent.

"Et ne nos inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a malo . . ."

Amen.

Fighting the monster within

I woke up this morning realizing I don't want to feel this way anymore.

I don't want to feel achy and tired and hopeless.

I don't want to hurt inside and out.

I don't want to feel my guts wrenching, contracting, begging for nourishment.

I want to feel whole again.

I want to eat.

And I want anorexia to go away. Forever.

This monster came to stay years ago, taking resident in my heart and soul. She has been the third partner in my marriage, the one who says no to food and fun and life.

This monster tells me don't eat, you don't deserve to eat.

She has overcrowded my brain this past week or so, not just moving in, but taking over.

I want her GONE.

I don't want to look in the mirror and see the glazed eyes of a half-dead person, one without hope or strength.

But how do I kill something so strong, so powerful?

I realize I can't do this alone, and every kind word someone writes is another weapon against this monster. Thank you.

(Postscript - I ate several bites of Special K with strawberries this morning. As I bit into it, the milky mixture of strawberries reminded me of summer and sunshine and hope. I cried as I ate it.)

I am barely breathing . . .

I am barely breathing . . .

I stare at the Christmas tree lights, the purples and blues and greens and reds all blending together through my watery tears. I asked David to leave the decorations up, in hopes of remembering happier times, when I was less afraid and more optimistic. When the future seemed more certain.

I am still afraid of food. No, scratch that. I am terrified of food.

I am alone and cold and enclosed in the box of ana, trapped by my uselessness and fears and past.

I lay back in my husband's arm's and feel as if I'm stone.

Food does not interest me. I eat a grain or two or rice and wish I could give it to someone more deserving. I  taste the yogurt on my tongue, and it is bittersweet.

I am sinking fast.

Dr. Sackeyfio expressed much concern today and I felt maybe, maybe help has arrived. I told him I don't deserve to eat. He told me that as a child of God that I do and deserve to live. But anorexia doesn't agree. And she is louder right now.

He suggested the hospital, but first wants David to take over my eating. He said an infection has again invaded our house, and asked David to help nurse me back to health. He said I am not thinking clearly, that my brain is starving.

He said I am worse than I was two years ago. I found that strange, because I still weigh more than I did then. I am less than 10 pounds from two years ago. 110 has become 108 has become 106 has become 104 . . .

It's because of Ana. The creation of Ana and joining pro-ana websites, looking for tips and inspiration, looking for confirmation of my belief — that I don't deserve to eat. I despise myself for being part of something I think is evil.

So I run through the Internet, and the rope of recovery is beginning to feel like the Holy Grail. The lights are still shining, but I can't see the colors clearly. Everything is a blur. Am I looking for a rope of recovery or one for a different purpose?

I'm starting to feel the effects. Yesterday everything went black three, four times. I hoped it was the end. Jesus, please release me from Ana. But I woke up and the horror was still there.

I think of food constantly.

I dreamt that I was a prostitute. A prostitute for food. I could only eat after ... I couldn't, so no food.

I wanted to fast for Haiti, but realized it was an useless sacrifice if I am already starving.

I feel surrounded by ice, encased in the horrors of the past and the fears of the future. I can't reach the rope to climb out when I need an ax to cut myself out.

Dr. Sackeyfio said food has become the enemy again. And I need to eat to think clearly. I know this is true. But each tiny morsel of food is crowded out by the guilt.

I am no longer Angela.

But I still have this miniscule hope that I will win. I will again become a person who eats normal meals and can think of something besides this incredible emptiness inside me.

But I am barely breathing . . .

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.

Downslide?

Hope is a fragile thing, and can easily die.

Anxiety

Fear

Thoughts

Whirlwind

Tears

FAT

ED devours happiness and hope, taking away dreams and ambitions, leaving nothing in his wake but fear hammering at my brain. ED says, "How dare you hope?" "Forget your dreams - you'll never amount to anything!" "That will make you FAT!"

Started trolling pro-ana websites the other day, the hopeful words of New Year's Eve only a whisper. Images of oh-so-slim bodies float in my mind. Flat bellies, beautiful skin, thin, long legs. Beautiful. And in control. Like I once was.Anorexia whispers, "You were beautiful then," and I listen. I contemplate. I can become thin again.

LIES

I was not beautiful then. Stripped-down, dry skin, the smile of a skull, the eyes of the dead. Concave belly and depleted breasts. So tired that the bed and the couch were my homes.

Oh, leave me alone!

Summer days of ana, flitting around in a mini-skirt and short sleeve shirt. My eyes were closed shut, I did not see my bones. I did not - do not - see what other saw. I only saw the control I had over food and hunger, and the joy it brought me. Control unto death.

The past few days, it's been back and forth. Eat. Don't eat. Eat. Eat but just a little. Don't eat. Eat but don't eat . Eat only safe foods; make a list: yogurt, chicken, dry rice and bread (but one slice, thank you, ma'am!)

Fight with my husband. Fight with ED. I'm unable to think, to recapture the dreams and hopes of the other day. Tears flow and I look at my body, wondering what has happened.

I CAN'T THINK.

(I am so ashamed.)