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.

Alone

My husband has left me. Because of my anorexia. Because he couldn't handle it. It was too much for him.

I understand. It is too much for me. He said he would consider getting back together if I got better. Right now my heart aches. I miss him so much. This house is not a home without David. I don't know how to live here without him.

I hurt so much. I feel destroyed.

Anorexia has destroyed everything. I have learned too late . . . I hate anorexia with all my heart.

I miss him . . .

Anger rising

I woke up this morning feeling as if my insides were being twisted by a malevolent force. I could feel all the food I ate churning and bubbling, a caldron ready to explode. I jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, hating myself and food and anorexia and all of life.

I ate like a normal person on Sunday. Then I punished myself by taking a handful of laxatives that night. What goes in must come out, right?

I am getting so sick of this. The time wasted either sitting on the toilet or trying to count each and every calorie I consume. The time spent on the scale, silently begging it to not show a triple-digit weight. The time spent sick to my stomach and sick at heart because I have failed once again.

The unrelenting pursuit of thinness.

I will never be thin enough. I read about Marya Hornbacher and her lowest weight of 57. I ached with jealously. I will never be that thin. And that hurts. Then I wonder . . . How did she do it? Could I . . . Maybe I could learn how by reading her book.


I look at the innocuous white scale, its flickering numbers ready to bring me joy or despair like a desperate gambler at a roulette wheel. Round and round the numbers go and where they land nobody knows.

And where it lands is never the right place. I hate the number no matter what it is . . .

I want to pick it up and hurl it across the room until it smashes into a billion pieces.

I look at the tiny pink pills that I slyly, quickly swallow so David doesn't see me. Yet I know laxatives don't really rid your body of calories, but instead depletes you of fluids and gives the illusion of weight loss.

My mind circles desperately, the Ana voice telling to just stop eating. You are a pig. Fat pig. You would be better off dead than the way you are now.


FAT FAT FAT FAT FAT .  . .


It never stops. I want to scream as loud as I can — Dear God, save me! Save me from all this. Take it away. I can do nothing on my own. Only You can deliver me from this ongoing nightmare.


And I fantasize about taking a sledgehammer and smashing it into the scale which has ruled my life for years.

Then I become afraid.

Who am I besides someone fighting anorexia nervosa? Who am I besides my weight? Who am I besides my body size?

My doctor asked me to think about those questions and come up with some answers this week.

I see nothing but blankness right now. My thoughts are too filled with little pink pills and a white scale. My thoughts are too filled with what more can I do to rid myself of more weight. I look up tips. Karen Carpenter took extra thyroid pills and used syrup of ipecac. Hmm...I have thyroid pills. Perhaps I should double the dose.

I draw back, afraid.

And my anger at anorexia grows.

I am so sick of this. When will I be free? When will I allow myself to be free?

For it is I who locks myself in the golden cage and throws away the key.

Back and forth ...

Recovery

Thin

Recovery

Thin


Dear God, please save me before . . . the possibilities are infinite.

Anorexia, the old woman and me

I travel each week two hours one-way to see my eating disorders specialist. Rarely do I see other patients coming or going. (I suspect it is set up that way.)

But last week, I did my usually sprint into the office to grab the bathroom key before my appointment and was stopped short. By a very old woman, leaning against a walker and talking with Dr. S's secretary/office manager/all-around wonderful person.

I was a bit flustered by her being there. Is she a patient? Is she someone's grandmother, paying a bill or arranging for an appointment? Dear God, don't let her be a patient! She must be 80; she should be home surrounded by her loving grandchildren and great grandchildren, baking pies and cookies — NOT battling an eating disorder!


I did not ask Dr. S about her (and I know he wouldn't be able to tell me anything.) BUT had I even mentioned her age, I know he would have said, Of course people in their 70s and 80s battle eating disorders. Or something like that. Since I also knew this deep down, but did not want my knowledge confirmed, I didn't say anything.

I don't want to face the reality that an elderly woman could be battling anorexia or bulimia. I don't want to know that on so many different levels . . .

I haven't been able to get the stooped, elderly woman out of my mind. Was she a patient? No, that's not possible. She was too old. WAS she anorexic? Bulimic? Was she still fighting her demons? WHO WAS SHE???

I know I'll never know.

Sometimes I think of my own situation. I am 45 and still struggling with anorexia nervosa. I am still trying to climb my way out of a relapse. After gaining some weight at a PHP this summer, I've lost most of it and am only maintaining.

Each day I try to eat more to gain weight. This past week has been back and forth. I'll eat well and then panic, swallowing a bunch of laxatives and watching all my efforts go down the drain. Other days, I try to eat what feels a little safer and only add a few hundred extra calories.

Then the war starts in my head. You are getting TOO FAT! See that huge stomach and thighs? Feel that pudgy waist? You are a BIG FAT LOSER?

Get some laxatives and cleanse yourself of all this dirty food. Then go back to the basics. Eat as little food as possible. YOU ARE FAT FAT FAT! Everyone around you thinks that. They just won't tell you — yet.

You don't need food and you don't deserve food.

But eating less is not healthy. I need to be healthy in order to complete my graduate classes and have some sort of a future. To have a life with my husband. To enjoy the fullness of living.

To be less afraid and less anxious.

My mind is constantly this war zone. I sometimes feel as if I am going to shatter in a million different pieces, literally implode upon myself until I'm nothing but a pile of broken dreams and promises. No future.

Then I think of the old woman. I imagine I am her . . .

The year 2050. I am 85. Hopes of recovery are long gone. Counting calories and losing weight has defined me for decades. I am told I am too thin, but I don't believe it. I still could stand to lose a few more pounds. My gaunt face looks at the doctor's face and I laugh.

I am thin. THIN THIN THIN

This is the most important thing about me. Everything else has faded, sucked into the black hole of anorexia. There is nothing left. I never finished graduate school. I became too weak and had to drop out. I've been living on odd jobs and finally, at some point, disability. My husband has left me and I have few friends.

I am alone.

Dear God, please let her be somebody's grandmother. She can't have an eating disorder. She doesn't have anorexia or bulimia. Maybe she was friends with Dr. S's secretary and just stopped by. Maybe she was there to thank Dr. S for the recovery of her granddaughter or grandson.

Can she?