This Crazy Love

I know it might seem as if I have fallen off the face of the earth. It's just that a few things changed and I've needed some time to adjust . . .

David has decided to stay in Florida for now. I was heartbroken, and drove down there to see him. It was a good thing because we reconnected and for the most part, had a lovely and intimate time together. It was a bad thing because it makes me miss him worse than ever.

But it did create hope within him to see me looking healthy. Hope he did not have before.

This I know: we still love each other very much. We plan to continue to talk regularly and work on reconciling. The door is still open and neither one of us is ready to close it. We also will definitely be married at least until I am done with graduate school because he wants me to finish and said he would support me through it.

But I told him I won't wait forever. I want a life partner, someone by my side who will be there through the good and bad times. I am sometimes terrified we won't come back together and I will be alone for life. I don't think I can bear that thought, especially after the five days spent with him in Florida.

So I am very confused right now. I long for my husband and I don't know how any of this will turn out. It feels very crazy at times to me. I also have cried a lot of tears and this morning (almost) felt like giving up. But I won't because no matter what, the way to a better and happy life is to be healthy. Diving back into anorexia would only kill me.

And that is what I have been up to the past week . . . Now I need to find the strength to endure a long-distance marriage, and continue to recover from anorexia and complete graduate school. I've allowed myself today to just rest and do nothing. By the weekend, I must start my work again.

I still believe all of this will have a happy ending. But I know I have to trust in God and have faith.

Believe and it will be true . . .

Reflections on life and anorexia while driving through the Minnesota prairie

Right now we are driving through southwest Minnesota, about twenty miles from South Dakota. The sky is a huge bowl cupping the earth; the land is flat and as endless as the Atlantic Ocean. Dotting the landscape are huge white windmills. These windmills give the landscape an alien feel, as if the structures were towers from another land or planet. The sun shines brightly over the land, a few trees here and there dotting the landscape. The road looks as it would drive straight off the earth.

Now fog has descended and the sun is watery, diffused; a small yellow circle surrounded by streams of white. The fog does not diminish the sun's power, however, and my eyes burn each time I stare up at the sky. The miles home seem endless. Not just the literal miles, but also the miles home to myself. I take several steps forward in recovery from anorexia, only to balk and pull back, feeling as if I don't deserve recovery or happiness or life. The desire to go back, to become so thin that the bones are sharp again, aches within in me. It is an ache that I am afraid I will not be able to resist. An ache that is inhuman. The ache of Ana.

Why? I can't ever seem to answer that question. What is the allure, the seductiveness of being emaciated? It truly is an addiction that continues to grip my soul. I think: I can go back. I can go back even further. I was almost there once; so close to the eighties. What can I do? Allow myself to fall back into the addiction of anorexia or continue to fight? But I am so tired, and the recovery doesn't seem to hold the same allure, the same seduction, as anorexia.

So should I just accept that this is part of my personality? Should I just let go and live my life with anorexia, accepting that this mental illness is part of me and I can't excise it out, can't cut it out with a knife, can't write it out of me? That nothing will really heal me? Perhaps I am not meant to be healed. Perhaps I am meant to continue on the path of anorexia. Perhaps I am meant to be like the medieval nuns and become a holy anorexic, fasting and praying to become closer to God. Perhaps food really is the enemy, the enemy that keeps me separate from true spiritual growth and truth?

We continue traveling down I-90. The land is still flat and covered with diffused light, although it is fading as the fog breaks up and the enormous sky returns; white clouds feathering the sky, broken up once in a while by the crisscross of electrical wires.

Narrowing my blue eyes, I can almost see the land as it once was. Flat, covered with grass and just a tree here and there to break up the aching loneliness of the land. There were bison and Native tribes who moved with the seasons; people were connected to the earth and sky and the changing of the seasons. They would be preparing for winter right now. How did they prepare for the brutal winters that sweep across this land, nothing to break the icy wind and snows?

They turned to each other and worked together to survive each winter. They were connected to one another as much as they were connected to the land, and the ideas of individualism and self-sufficiency were laughable in the face of reality; the reality of either work together to survive or die.

We have lost many connections in our colonization of the land. Connection to people. Connection to the land and the sky and the vast clouds and the ever-changing sun.

Instead, we tell ourselves we can each make it on our own. That individualism and self-sufficiency are virtues, part of the Grand Narrative of America that has destroyed souls and left many people feeling lonely and depressed in their separate apartments and homes and mansions and other boxes we build to keep out the cold and rain and snow, not realizing we also keep out people and laughter and togetherness because we hide in these boxes.

I also was in a box at my thinnest. The box of Ana, anorexia; whatever word you want to use. I was very comfortable in my box, and I resent being made to open the lid and crawl out. I want to go back into my box, separate myself from others and from myself. This box is small and cramped, cold and empty, but it defines me. I feel myself drawn to this box, because nothing outside the box feels as good or important or safe as what is within. The outside world created by man is not one I want to be part of; I do not feel drawn to it. So how do I live and yet not become trapped by a world that I mostly reject?

For anorexia is a world I understand and trust. The rest of the world I do not.

Written 31 October 2010 while driving through the Minnesota prairie about twenty miles north of South Dakota. These words were written stream-of-consciousness and reflect my thoughts at the time. When I wrote that I "trust" anorexia, I meant that I have become used to it through the years and can predict how it will make me feel and act. Please don't misconstrue this as me saying anorexia is a good thing or something someone should put her/his trust in. Anorexia is a dangerous and often life-threatening illness and I would not want anyone to think that I believe otherwise.

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

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference." (Robert Frost - 1915)

Two roads stand before me. One leads toward life and health. It is rocky and requires much courage from me to step forward onto this path. The path is strewn with fear and anxiety. A river of uncertainty flows nearby and there will be times I will plunge into that river. However, I can swim and I will not drown, as long as I remain faithful.

This is the road to recovery and I am frightened as I think of stepping forward onto this path. It means I must eat regularly and give up the idea that I am in control. I must trust those who want to help me, and believe what they say without questioning and trying to do it my own way. 


The other road is dark. The woods surrounding this road is filled with voices that try and convince me that eating is bad, it is evil and redemption can be found in becoming empty. I have walked down this road for months now, the snarls of anorexia reaching out to intertwine its tentacles around my soul. Thoughts have swirled about me as I have traveled this path. Thoughts of failure and disappointment. Thoughts of starving myself and letting go of all life.

This path is the road to death. There have been times when it has felt so dark, I couldn't see my way out. Times when I thought I should just keep walking along this path, as if I have no other choice. I felt as if I had lost my way forever, and like Hansel and Gretel, there was no way to lead me home. I know the further I walk down this path, the closer I come to losing myself.

Then the other day I asked a friend how she found the way out. She has been recovered from anorexia and bulimia for at least fifteen years, and her strength and courage has always been an inspiration to me. She said she had to let go of all illusions that she had control and that her first step was to get down on her knees and pray to God.

I was in the shower this morning when I started crying, wondering when I lost faith in both myself and God. I go through the motions, attending church and taking part in the Eucharist each Sunday. I often think about God, and I do pray to Him.

But do I really pray to Him? Do I really trust Him enough to let go and fall back into His arms, trusting Him to catch me and not allow me to fall?

The water ran over me as I knelt down this morning and begged Him to help me find faith in myself again. Begged Him to see I was stripped down to nothing, baring my soul before Him and finally realizing that I could do nothing by myself.

Begged Him to set me free.

Now I am at the precipice. I don't want to fall off, tumbling down and becoming fully entangled in anorexia ... I don't know if I have the strength to climb my way back up to the right path.

I am calmer now. I believe God will catch me before I hit bottom. Perhaps He has caught me many times and I just didn't feel His hand reaching out.

There are two roads. I will choose the path of light. I just have to follow and then ... let go.

Disconnected

I will eventually feel better, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's a very confusing time.