Perspective

In many ways, the past six years have been very difficult. First I almost died from lithium poisoning. Then I developed horrible migraines and high blood pressure, coupled with unexplainable weight loss, only to find out - nearly a year later - that these and other symptoms were caused by hyperparathyroidism...

I remember that day. It was hot, and I was struggling to get through work. My doctor told me she suspected hyperparathyroidism, based upon my symptoms and  PTH levels. My first thought was, "What they hell is that?"

I had become thin, so thin, thinner than I had been since I was a teenager. At the time, I didn't like being that thin. I thought, "I hope David doesn't expect me to diet in order to maintain this ridiculously low weight."

Why didn't I just hold onto that thought? What would the past six years have been like, if only?

I'm tired. Depressed. Aggravated. And did I mention tired?

I've been thinking what a soul-sucking activity it is to look for a job. That the past four years have been soul-sucking. I almost died of ______. Fill in the blank. Lithium poisoning. Hyperparathyroidism.

Anorexia nervosa.

I mean, come on! Who in the hell develops anorexia in her forties? I do.

I could dissect the past six years into tiny little pieces, and still not get it.

But for all my depression and struggles, for all my fears and anxieties, I still have it pretty good.

This was on my Facebook newsfeed this morning: A Syrian Refugee Wedding. An article about a 15-year-old girl in a Syrian refugee camp getting married. To avoid prostitution and rape. To make her life better.

Marriage at 15? Really? Is this the world we live in?

And she was considered old; the story states that many of the refugee girls are married off at the age of ten or younger.

I confess that my perspective has been somewhat narrow, and selfish. I want to work. Being unemployed sucks, especially for a Type-A personality such as myself. (The joke used to be that I didn't know how to vacation, or relax. I'm working on it.)

But I'm 47, and I'm free. I'm able to make my own choices, albeit some of them have been stupid. But they are mine.

My family did not have to marry me off at 15 or 10 or 8  in order to protect me from rape and a possible life of prostitution. I did not have to leave school at the age of 9. I am able to read and learn, and just be.

This is my vow: I dig myself out of this hole I'm in, and then do whatever is in my power to help others. It could be as simple as creating awareness, or as profound as writing pieces that shine the light on the atrocities of the world.

If I lose my ability to care, I've lost everything.

Maundy Thursday

"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." John 3:16

I knelt down and slowly, gently, poured the water on her feet. I thought of Jesus and his disciples, and how our Lord humbled himself to show His love, even to the one who would betray him.

What were his thoughts as he washed the dusty feet of his followers? Did his heart break, knowing that one would soon betray him? Did his heart swell with love?

Did he know that one day, thousands of years later, I would humble myself and wash the feet of a stranger?

I imagined Jesus and the Twelve Disciples traveling the dusty roads of Israel. It was hot and dry, but they walked with purpose and they walked with love.

It is Holy Week. A time when the veil between God and man is torn, a time in which I often can feel God's presence both in and around me.

And yet, at times, doubts plague me. Why?

The last three months have been both a time of turmoil and a time of reflection. What place do I have in this world? Where do I fit into the whole picture? How do I live my life for the glory of God, to the purpose He has for me?

And what about pain?

I know these are not unique thoughts. But these thought hammer me at night.

Sometimes I'm frightened. I pray for strength. I pray to know all the answers.

Of course, that is impossible. I will not know until the day I die. And maybe not even then.

I think about placing my feet into the basin. The lady — whose name I do not recall — pouring warm water over them. How relaxing. How humbling that another human being did that for me.

And Jesus was there.

You can be free

To all who are reading this:

You can be free.
I am.
And I am amazed and grateful.

I never thought I could be free of anorexia.
But my psychiatrist, my family, and my friends believed in me. God believed in me. And it happened.
I am free.
Anorexia is dead.

Please, all of you out there.
Please fight.
You can be free.
You can live again.
And thrive.

I know.
I am thriving.
I love life now.

Thank you.

Thanksgiving and Recovery

Thanksgiving and Recovery

Two years of Surviving ED

Two years of Surviving ED