Life has many lessons people must learn. Many of these are learned "the hard way". One of these lessons is learning to break free of an eating disorder. I am a nineteen-year-old (20 in October of 2001) who has been fortunate enough to learn this lesson. I have been in recovery from anorexia for a year as of July 29, 2001. While my recovery is strong now, it has been a long and difficult struggle to get where I am today. I still struggle to remain in recovery, but I am in a 100% better place than I was just over a year ago. Now I wish to share my story with the world. I hope my story will help others to realize there is hope - no matter how far into an eating disorder someone falls. I want all sufferers to know that as long as there is life, there is hope.
My eating disorder began when I was about 15 years old. However, the problems that led to my eating disorder began years before. I inherited depression at a very young age. It became apparent to me that I was different before the age of 12. I was not the same as my age mates. I tended to feel alienated from classmates because I feared rejection. I knew all too well the ability of children to be cruel, but I did not understand why certain children targeted others. What I did not know was I had a chemical imbalance in my brain that caused me to feel alone. I had depression.
At the age of fifteen, the feelings of alienation grew stronger. High school students tended to be just as cruel as kindergarteners. However, high school students were cruel in more subtle ways. Instead of hurting you in person, they hurt you behind your back. This felt worse, because some classmates would pretend to be my friends and end up hurting me behind my back. I hated it. I was classified as a "gifted" student. This classification actually encourages cruelty from students not in this category. Gifted students tend to analyze life and people more. I did not know this was normal at that point in my life. I found myself questioning my values as well as the values of others. I began to analyze why I was alive. I felt I was not capable of changing the world, so why was I here? Did I honestly have a purpose in the short time I was to be on this earth? Was I honestly worth the space in the increasingly overpopulated world? What if I could not achieve anything during my time here? Would I be remembered as a failure? Would I be remembered at all? These questions constantly ran through my mind as I continued to fall down my own emotional roller coaster. Hardly anyone else thought about these things (as far as I knew). Why was I so different? I felt like an outcast.
Being gifted created a profile of me before I was able to create my own. The program told me what I was able to do and how I would act. I was to be a model citizen, student, and daughter. I was told what I was supposed to be capable of, and I hated not living up to these (which became my own as well) unattainable standards. In this aspect, I was a perfectionist. A trait of gifted students is to be able to see ideal outcomes. When these outcomes were not attainable, I felt like a failure. Failure was never a feeling I handled well.
The gifted classification also created problems at home. I felt I needed to be perfect for my family. This is referred to as the "perfect daughter" syndrome. My parents were proud of my achievement into the gifted program. I was their first child, so I was their first experience with this program. The term "gifted" meant that I was intelligent. Therefore, it seemed logical that I should be receiving A's in school. When this did not happen, I felt I had failed my parents. They always told me they knew I could get the A's if I worked hard enough. They also said B's were okay as long as I had tried my hardest. However, when I received a B, they usually thought it was because I had not worked to my best ability. I also felt this way at times. No matter how hard I worked, I always felt I should be doing better. I could never achieve my standards. Since I could not satisfy myself, I felt it was logical that I had disappointed my parents as well. I now know that was not always the case. My depression was distorting my thoughts and perceptions.
Even in junior high, I found myself crying for no reason. I was losing interest in life. My junior high and high school years brought three suicide attempts. Each of these was stopped by uncanny circumstances that I now firmly believe were aided by the hands of God. I was afraid as well as embarrassed to reach out for help. Deep down, I knew I could talk to my parents, but I did not want to disappoint them. I did not want my parents to have to know their daughter was so messed up. I wanted them to be proud of me, so I pretended everything was fine. When I was upset, I shut myself in my room or sat away from people and cried silently. Eventually, I learned to turn off the tears. I bottled them up so it appeared that I never felt any negative emotions. Anger and sadness were not welcome in our family. When I was mad, I was told there was no reason to be. The same went for sadness. I felt family as well as society were controlling my emotions and actions. I was not able to define myself, because who I was not my choice. I did not have control over any aspect of my life due to stereotypes and expectations. I knew that if I talked to my parents or anyone else, I would simply get suggested solutions instead of someone to just listen. I needed someone to tell me everything was okay, but I did not want my family to know about my failure to be the perfect daughter. My parents' approval always has been very important to me. I felt knowing I was hurting for no apparent reason would make them ashamed of me.
Fifteen is a time of changes for any adolescent. These changes were accompanied by acquiring the knowledge of my father's previous marriage. Normally, this would not have a large effect on a child - especially since no children came of that marriage. The problem was I was told never to tell my parents that I knew. My grandmother accidentally told me, and she was convinced that my parents would never allow me to see her again if they found this out. I was at a very impressionable age where trust of family and friends was a big issue. I began to wonder what else my parents had not told me. What else could they have lied about? Also, why was this a terrible secret? This added to my perception that my family must appear to be the "perfect American family" no matter what the truth was. I no longer knew if I could trust my own parents. I felt they did not trust me, because they could not tell me this secret. I was also experiencing the normal changes of every young teenager.
My body was changing, and I was becoming very self-conscious. I had some friends who were very superficial. They were always making comments about their bodies as well as others in our group. I did not feel as pretty as some of them. One of these girls constantly talked down to me about my appearance and ability. She especially degraded me about my musical ability. I was a very good singer. I now see that she resented that. Therefore she was constantly bringing me down by telling me I was not good enough for the choirs, musicals, etc. Music was and still is my emotional outlet. It was the one activity that I felt I was good at. I was happy when I was singing. This girl was slowly taking that away. My only outlet for my depression was taken from me. Now, I really felt alone and helpless. I needed a way out.
When my subconscious realized I was still falling, it brought a hidden part of me to the surface. This part was another version of me. I have since learned while it is a part of me, it is not who I am. Therefore, it (anorexia) will be referred to in the third person. This part of me began as a totally separate being inside my head. She was an eating disorder - an anorexic. She came to me to help. Anorexia quickly became my best friend. She was the only part of me that could understand what I needed. I needed help. I needed my depression to be noticed. Anorexia could do this for me. As she took over my soul and eating habits, family and friends began to notice changes in me. Due to self-starvation I was losing weight at an alarming rate. I never was overweight, but Anorexia convinced me that I was enormous. She constantly told me to lose "just five more pounds". Being able to refuse food gave me a sense of power. Food was a weakness. Everyone else needed it for survival, but I didn't. I was stronger than that. When I did eat something, it tore me up inside. I felt completely out of control. Eating showed that I was weak. I could not stand that. Worst of all, I could not stand others seeing me in a moment of weakness. I would exercise to make up for it. If I worked it off, everything would be okay. I would be powerful again.
Eventually, Anorexia overtook my entire being. I was only feeling confident when others were eating and I was not, or I was over-exercising. I became increasingly irritable. I began to get angry when someone else refused food. I was the one who could do that. When someone else refused also, I felt threatened. When asked about my eating habits, I was cussing close friends out. I began to shut down. Anorexia had done her job. She numbed me out. I no longer felt anything. Even the formerly acceptable feelings were gone. I confided in two friends. That way, at least a couple people knew about my "successes". Eventually, they also knew my fears. I feared being made to stop the behavior. Eventually I feared not being able to stop. My parents were asking questions. When Anorexia first entered my life, she was going to help me get my problem noticed. However, by the time she achieved this, she did not want to let me go. Therefore, she convinced me that admitting my problems would be a failure. I had not been able to control anything in my life due to my depression and "perfect daughter" syndrome. However, NO ONE could control what went in and out of my mouth. If I told my parents, they would control that also. I could not give up now. That would be admittance of a failure, and I was succeeding. I finally found out who I was. I was an anorexic. If that were taken away from me, then who would I be? As far as I was concerned, I would no longer exist. I had to keep my "best friend" a secret in order to have an identity.
Eventually, one of the friends I had told made me tell my parents what was happening. She told me that if I did not tell them by 3:00pm that Sunday, she would tell them. That Saturday night, my parents cornered me in the laundry room and began grilling me about what was going on. I ended up in tears and admitting that I did not know how to stop the anorexia from taking over. They had a hard time believing that I just could not eat. My mom took me to a counselor who officially diagnosed me with anorexia. It was hard for my parents to accept - especially my dad. He is a very science-oriented person, and it was hard for him to understand the problem. They were both very angry and upset that they were not able to fix me without outside help. Within a month, the therapist had me take an electrolyte test to see how my health was. I was winning three first places in a solo/ensemble (vocal) contest when the hospital called my parents to say they did not know how I was still standing. That was a Friday. I was admitted to the hospital that Sunday.
I spent a total of three weeks in Memorial Medical Center on floor 3A (juvenile psychiatric ward). The first two weeks I was in inpatient therapy. I went to outpatient the final week. I recovered physically but not emotionally. I was told I had to reach a certain weight in order to be discharged. I wanted out, so I reached that weight. I had every intention of losing the weight when I felt it was "safe" to do so. Safe meant no one was worrying about me anymore. No one would be watching. I was very afraid of being "locked up" again. I was angry, and I simply wanted out. My psychiatrist at the time severely betrayed my trust by calling a friend of mine, without my permission or knowledge, to obtain information about me. I only found out because she told me. I hated him. He refused to believe that I had not been purging in any way other than exercise (which I hadn't). I began to say to myself, "If he wants to think I'm throwing up, then it might as well be true." It was not until this time that I taught myself to purge.
I did not see Memorial as a place to get help. I saw it more as a jail cell. I became very cocky upon discharge. I told the nurses there was no way I would be "that stupid" again. However, to me the "stupid" part was getting caught. The eating disorder did not appear to be such a horrible thing. The day before I was admitted, my friends threw me a "get well" party. One of them actually said, "We all have eating disorders in some aspect. You just got caught." It made me feel weak. Immediately I became determined not to let that happen again. This added to my cocky attitude at discharge
I remained in a pseudo-recovery for about three years. During this time I had small setbacks. My family or friends would call my attention to it, and I would correct the behavior. I even had myself convinced it was because I did not want to slip back into the eating disorder. Now I realize it was simply because I did not want to be forced to let the anorexia go again. I was not ready to lose my "best friend" who helped me escape my problems. When I went away to college, I realized no one was able to keep me in check anymore. Anorexia was free to reign again. I found this a comfort at first. I had something to cling to - something I was good at. I had gained a lot of weight over the previous three years due to a medication, and now I had the chance to lose it. Now, I could regain control of my food intake. I had a hard time adjusting to the school-home-school transitions mixed with an ill relative and normal school stresses. I felt I was losing control. I knew I had had control and power once, and now I could have them again. I slowly fell into a serious relapse.
A close friend of mine became seriously worried about me just into the second semester. When she asked me about it, I told her I had been anorexic before. I also told her I knew I was doing it again, but I could stop at any time. I had her convinced for a short time. Eventually, she realized I could not stop the behavior. It worried her even more that I had no intention of trying to stop. She began watching me a lot, and I hated it. Finally, I broke down. I admitted that I could not stop, but I also admitted that I was not ready to let Anorexia go either. I told her "Anorexia is who I am. If I lose this, I won't be anyone anymore. I won't have an identity. I can't do that." She begged me to at least look at some of the materials from the school's "eating disorders awareness week" since I refused to attend any of the presentations. I went to make her get off my back. That was when I first met my current therapist, Beth.
A month later I was growing weaker. I began missing classes because I did not have the energy to get out of bed. Somehow, this made me feel more powerful. I was able to make myself that weak and still not give in to the food. It was a success to me. My friend became increasingly more alarmed. We had many daytime and late-night talks about how I felt. She truly wanted to understand what I was feeling. Eventually she realized I was feeling absolutely nothing. I no longer cared about anything but losing a few more pounds and staying in control. She begged me to see Beth at least once. During one of these talks I ended up in tears of frustration and fear. I knew this disease was killing me, but I did not want to let go. My friend convinced me to call for an appointment with Beth. I was very nervous, because I did not have good experiences with therapists before. Why would this be any different? My friend went with me to my first (and many of the following) appointment to make sure I actually went.
I walked into Beth's office, and she shut the door. I suddenly felt trapped and scared. I had flashbacks of my former therapist and psychiatrist's offices. Tear welled up in my eyes. I did not want to be locked up again. At the same time, I did not want Beth to see my fear and tears. I did not want her to have that advantage over me. I sat down, and Beth proceeded to give me the usual confidentiality assurance speech. She could tell I was not happy about this, and she asked me how I felt about it. I looked right at her and said, "Well, I've heard that entire speech before I was still betrayed. Therefore, I frankly don't trust you people…and I will never go to another hospital. If you try to put me in one, I will never come back to you." She immediately knew it would be work to earn my trust. She talked to me about my previous experience and told me why she also felt what he had done was wrong. This helped a little.
After a few months, Beth finally earned most of my trust. During this time I began using laxatives in addition to my restriction. I did not tell anyone. Eventually a couple of my friends found out. It was too late. I was already addicted. I was eventually convinced to tell Beth. It was then that she implied I might need more intensive treatment. I felt angry and persecuted. I was convinced she just wanted me to be locked up again. She assured me she did not want this to happen. She suggested looking into clinics rather than hospitals. She also said it was completely up to me. Beth told me, "If you're not ready for recovery, no one else can force you into it. It has to be your decision." This gave me the control again. Now I was able to consider looking at some of the places. I was more open because I was given the power of choice. Deep down, I already knew I needed intensive treatment. I just needed someone else to say it but not force me into it. Beth gave me a list of places to call for information in case I wanted to.
I began to call around, and I was referred to La Montagne - an eating disorders treatment facility in Crystal City, MO. I called and talked to a nurse, Glenda. She was very caring and understanding. I began to cry almost immediately, and she just let me cry and pace the conversation. It was comforting to be able to vent to a total stranger. This was a person I had never met and had no idea who I was. I found a kind of peace in that. She took my name, phone number, and address, and had information sent to me as well as the intake coordinator, Cathy, call me. She explained the intake procedures. I had to schedule a phone interview with Cathy when she called to determine the best level of care. Glenda was able to give me hope, and I am still eternally grateful for that.
I made another call after La Montagne just in case that one did not work out. The woman who answered the phone was very cold towards me. She did not know a lot about the program and procedures, and she did not make an effort to refer me to someone who did. She made me feel like an inconvenience. I am very grateful this was not my first call, because it lowered my confidence. I refused to call anyone else on the list. I refused to be treated like that again.
La Montagne was in touch with me very quickly. My interview with Cathy showed I did need a very intense treatment facility. I was approved for the program. She also told me if she had felt I needed something less intense, she would have referred me to such a program. She would never turn her back on someone who needed help. Then I received the information, which included the price. It was phenomenally high. I was scared. I thought now that I had admitted I needed more help and found it; the money issue would keep me away from it. I felt doomed. Cathy talked to my insurance company and found out they would cover it. Another obstacle had been crossed. Now I had to tell my parents.
My mom was able to tell I was having problems again. I called my parents and told them about La Montagne. I had not talked to them about my problems much at all before, so this was quite a shock. They were angry, hurt, and scared. They wanted to fix it themselves. They were angry and hurt that I had not said something sooner. Eventually they realized I had not said anything, because I had not been ready to accept the help. During the time between the beginning of summer and June 1, 2000, my parents and I became closer. They were very supportive even though they did not understand the disease. They accommodated me any way they could. Eating at the table with the family was extremely stressful, so we always ate on trays. This was hard also, but it made it a little easier. They also went on walks with me to help get my mind off a recent meal or just to talk. This helped prepare me for treatment.
The closer June 1st (my admittance date) became, the more scared I became. I began to try to convince myself that I did not need to go. I also occasionally found myself trying to convince my parents also. Luckily, Beth had talked to them shortly after I told them I needed to go, and she had warned them that I would do this. When I was more in my healthy-minded states, I had also told them I knew I would try this. Therefore, I did not get out of it. I became terrified. What if it didn't work? Who would I be if it did? Would they take my identity away? Did I even belong there? Was I really sick enough to fit in? Could I survive without Anorexia?
The first day I walked in and had to eat dinner with the group, I was terrified. Peggy, the dietician, asked me if I wanted some green beans, and I broke into tears. She was very caring and helped me through everything. Shortly after my admittance, I began to realize how completely numb I was. I had a long way to go. Insurance would only cover 1.5 months, and I did not think I could recover in such a short time. Many times I wanted to quit and leave. My parents and I had set up a code in case I was not being treated well. My parents and I agreed that is I gave them "the code," they would come and get me. It took great restraint not to use this. I finally realized this facility was my last chance. I had to give it a try if I ever wanted to be free. My confidence was low, but I had to try.
Other than crying due to frustration and having to eat, I did not show much emotion. I cried because I was frustrated by having to be there. I felt locked up again. When talking about emotional issues, I was numb for the first couple weeks. Finally I cried during a group therapy session. My inner wall was coming down, and my years of suppressed feelings began to surface. I was feeling again, and I hated it. I was on an emotional roller coaster for over a week. It was so frustrating! As I learned how to feel again, my emotions began to even out. I began to understand my identity as well as my eating disorder. I was finally learning to differentiate the two. I was also learning to eat three meals a day and two snacks in accordance with a meal plan. I had been down to less than 300 calories a day in addition to laxative abuse, so this was very hard. I worked extremely hard the entire time. The therapists, nurses, and CNAs were all wonderful. There was always someone there. One time, the art therapist said something while interpreting one of my drawings that truly offended me. She was merely making various suggestions about what certain aspects may mean, but I was in a state of mind that was angry. I was able to talk to her alone and tell her why I was mad. She listened and understood. This meant a lot to me. I was afraid she would just tell me I was wrong, but she didn't. She was actually happy that I talked to her. Confrontation was an issue I needed help with, and she knew that. She was actually hoping that I would say something about it! It made me feel a lot better.
I worked all of the way until my discharge on July 29, 2000. It was extremely hard, but I stuck with it. The day I left, I had many mixed emotions. I was happy to have gotten to that point, but I was also terrified. I was afraid to leave the security of La Montagne. I had been out on passes with my parents and done very well, but I always had La Montagne to come back to. It had become my home, and I did not know if I could do well away from it. I knew I was prepared. I had been over my coping and grounding skills at least a hundred times. I also knew that I would be seeing my therapist, Sheri, and dietician, Peggy, once a week. However, discharge was still a huge, scary step. It was also a powerful achievement. I had been able to admit I was powerless against my eating disorder. I had admitted she was in control instead of me. I was able to see how NOT giving into Anorexia was true power.
Many struggles followed my discharge. I was back in the environment where it all began. All of the original triggers were there. The only trigger absent was the scale. Mom and Dad hid theirs, and Sheri, Mom, and Dad helped me destroy mine by taking a hammer to it at La Montagne. I beat it to smithereens, and Mom and Dad also got a couple whacks at it. However, Mom and Dad were still dieting off and on. They were still concerned about their own weight, and this became the topic of conversation during meal and snack times. They worked on it, and it became less apparent. They still are concerned with weight for their health, but they now know not to discuss it at meal times or when I am having a hard time.
When school started, I continued to see Beth twice a week and Sheri and Peggy once a week. I reached my six-month mark, and Sheri declared me in a "stable recovery". I was able to go down to once a week with Beth and still once a week at La Montagne. July 29, 2001 marked one year in recovery. May of 2001 marked one year being laxative-free. I am very proud of my achievements. I still have struggles, but I continue to use my coping and grounding skills when needed. I still see Beth about once every two weeks. I have renewed my faith in God as well. I know without His help, I could never have made it this far. Many times I found (and still find) myself praying for His help to get me through my struggles. It was not until I asked for His help that I began to do better at La Montagne. Many times, God was the only One to keep me going. He is now my everything.
I have learned many things through recovery. I have learned to stay conscious of my eating disorder. It never goes away. Anorexia will always be a part of me. She's always there. I just have to remember to distinguish her from my true self. La Montagne taught me to nurture that part of myself and realize I cannot turn her off. I just have to be stronger than she is and keep her in check. The therapists taught me to give her "another job". I had to find something else to invest that energy and stubbornness in. I now use that to be a strong person and stick up for myself. I do not let people walk all over me anymore. Recovery has also taught me that life without being controlled by an eating disorder is worth it. There is life after recovery! Anorexia controlling me was merely surviving. I was not living. Now that I control me, I can be a real person instead of a shell of a human. I can now see past my eating disorder and invest my time and energy into helping others recover. I want to give others the hope I now have. I can see and love God and all His glory now. I also know that people will always make dumb comments about food and/or eating habits. It is human nature. I do know that these comments are due to the insecurities of others brought on by society's pressure to be thin. I know how some people talk about food is not healthy. I have a better understanding of what true healthy eating is by following my food plan and knowing proper nutrition.
Recovery has also taught me to love. I was never able to truly invest in any type of relationship before. Now I am close to my family, and I love it. My mom once told me she and Dad finally has their daughter back. I have to admit that I do like being able to be me. I have realized I am a good person who does not have to be the perfect daughter/person. I have flaws like everyone else, and that is okay. I have also had a meaningful romantic relationship that I was not capable of before. Even though I am not in that relationship anymore, I was able to get past most of the hurt and anger. I now realize he was the first person I fell in love with. Being able to feel that way was worth the pain. Numbness blocks the happiness as well as sadness. I know you cannot have one without the other. The feeling of being in love and knowing that I could feel that way made the hurt worth it. I have also learned to be confident and assertive. I now know that it is okay to tell someone when he/she has hurt or upset you. What is not okay is bottling it up until you suffer an inner explosion.
My story really is not all that different from the stories of many other eating disorder sufferers in recovery. While many of the symptoms and triggers are different, we all have something in common. We all stop feeling. For one reason or another, we decide we do not want to deal with feelings anymore, so we use an eating disorder to numb our emotions. Somewhere in that path, we lose our identities. We become empty. We begin to survive, and we cease to live. If recovery is not attained, we may actually die. However, suicide is not the intention. The result, however, is emotional suicide. We not only stop hurting. We stop loving. We stop laughing. We stop feeling. The disease is not about the food. It is about surviving the judgments of our world. However, this survival has no quality of life. We all must realize that life does exist beyond an eating disorder. Food, restricting or overeating, does not have to be our only safe-haven. We all can learn to cope with life in less destructive manners. If you are suffering, no one can make this choice for you. No one can force you to choose life. You must decide whether or not you want a real life. All I ask is that you consider your options. Many therapists as well as people in recovery, such as myself, are more than willing to help you. All you have to do is reach out and say, "I need and want help. I want out of this inner prison." Please consider your possibilities. Life after recovery does exist and is definitely worth the risk. I know. I've been on both sides of the decision. I chose life. Please join me in this decision.
To contact Sara: musicluva@hotmail.com