the fantasies of eating

Dear Bee,

I’m home alone at my boyfriend’s apartment, and I’m finishing some writing for that novel I’ve been working on. I’m supposed to complete 50,000 words by December 1st. I just hit my 22,000 mark. The characters are taking own their own paths; the plot is shaping into its own story. I feel like I am just the puppet master overseeing the show. I do not feel as if I have control over what happens. That’s the beauty of writing. When you are immersed in it, the creativity just flows. The words cannot come out fast enough.

It’s a peaceful late afternoon. We’ve been working on homework, enjoying a leisurely Sunday. He’ll be back in about an hour. I’ve just been doing my best to relax.

Over the past few days, I’ve had  fantasies of bingeing, and I’m not sure what void they are filling. Sometimes, before I go to sleep, I’ll start thinking about cramming myself with food. The thoughts are seductive and fierce. It’s intensely realistic, almost in a fervent sexual manner. They terrify me. I haven’t been acting on these urges, and they feel nearly subconscious rather than immediately triggering, but it weirds me out. I feel silly for having such thoughts, because I know NOTHING makes me unhappier in life than acting on my eating disorder. There are a lot of terrible things in this world that I cannot control, but how I treat my body and soul IS in my control. I know this is a part of recovery. I remember when I used to binge in my dreams and wake up discombobulated and confused between reality and fantasy. It always felt so relieving to know it was just a dream.

I’ve been missing my “safe food” repertoire and feeling guilty for eating with less inhibitions and more intuition. I’ve been eating out a lot, which can be a struggle in recovery. Still, I’m pushing. I’m acknowledging my thoughts and feelings, but I’m choosing to act against them.Everyday, it gets easier to veer away from those low-calorie, bland foods and allow in what I really want without bingeing on it. I do not have to succumb to restriction or deprivation to avoid bingeing. Like I said yesterday, living in the gray is healthy. When living in the gray, anything is possible. It’s when we only want to look at the black-and-white, everything is impossible. 

Yesterday, I found out one of my close colleagues is in recovery from alcoholism. She regularly works the Twelve Steps and maintains her sobriety in the best ways she knows how. Like me, she is also studying to be a therapist. Initially, something about her bothered me. She complained frequently, projected her anxiety onto others, and seemed to stem her insecurities in all the inappropriate ways, but for some reason, I feel so much more connected to her now that I know the battles she’s undergone. On some level, no matter how different we are and how different are vices might have been, we have fought the same demons. We deal with the same emotional roller coasters and triggering situations. We know our poisons, we know our disordered voices, and we know how delicious the sober life tastes compared to the sick life. And yet, we both probably flirt with our sick selves more than we’d like to. That’s part of recovery. That’s part of healing.

I’m glad that I have therapy tomorrow. It’s been three weeks. And after running dozens of sessions in that timeframe, it will be refreshing to have my own selfish hour. 

Now, I’m going back to my novel writing. Going back to my creative flow. I love this blog, but I want to get lost in my own fantasies right now. Fantasies that don’t involve my sickness, but rather, ones that involve the uniqueness of my soul. 

whether or not you can recover, you deserve to recover

Dear Bee,

I have much more clarity today. It has been a good morning. There was laundry (anyone else feel like a huge success after washing, drying, folding AND hanging up two loads in just a few hours), coffee, yoga, writing, homework, and also pizza. Life. Is. Good. 

Three more clients until my weekend. Mid-semester crunch. Ready for winter break. Ready for new classes. In disbelief that Thanksgiving is two weeks from today. Time just flies.

Weighed myself when I woke up. It’s been a week and a half since I last jumped on the scale. Not beating myself up for doing it. The number is still low-ish. Definitely not underweight, but low for me. One of the lowest weights i’ve been at in years. I’m seeing more muscle and definition in my body. Clothes are becoming somewhat looser. Interestingly, while I don’t feel like I’m eating more food, I’m definitely expanding my variety of food. And even though I’m exercising, it’s more intuitive and less intensive. My compulsive need to “clean-eat” has been severely diminished. My definition of “safe foods” is growing everyday. I no longer feel trapped to my usual go-to meals (vegetables, fruits, lentils, etc.) In fact, some of these foods aren’t even appealing much to me anymore! I am better at identifying specific cravings and becoming more attuned to when I am hungry, when I am comfortable, and when I am full. 

I don’t think of my eating disorder as and incurable disease. I just find that kind of logic faulty, and that was why I ultimately stopped finding virtue in the Twelve Steps philosophy. I could identify with the fact that I had a problem that was making my life unmanageable, but it was never up to Higher Power to take it out of my hands. It was up to me. The universe can give me answers and solace, but it cannot solve my problems. I had to own up to my life. And that’s one of the scariest things that we as humans can do. Own up to the mistakes we’ve made, the choices we’ve chosen, and the pathways we’ve crossed. 

Mental illness is not a matter of willpower, but oftentimes, recovery is. You cannot choose to have a mental disorder; nobody would choose to have one. We need to stop acting as if some people are “better” than others for choosing recovery. They are not. They have simply grabbed onto the belief that they CAN AND WILL do whatever it takes to defeat the labels and stigmatizations they once internalized as their identity. That does not make them stronger or smarter. It does not give them more willpower. It simply slowly  changes one negative belief into a positive one. It simply lifts the blindfold. It simply gives the person enough air to not feel so suffocated in his or her own toxic world. 

Everybody has his or her own eating disorder story. We can try and shove people into cookie-cutter treatment plans, but, by doing that, we dismiss the individual makeup that composes who we are. Some people will never achieve recovery, even though I believe everyone deserves it. Eating disorders are brutal, dangerous, complex, and often chronic disorders, often co-morbid with other illnesses, interlaced with trauma, and laden with other physical and emotional ailments. I wish I could save all the lost souls, but I cannot. I wish I could promise that it gets easier, but I cannot. I am not a mindreader nor do I look into the future. To say “everyone can recover” is ignorant and generalizing to those who continue to suffer. To say that recovery is always feasible disregards the people who have done all that they can to recover…and still cannot pull themselves out of the dark abyss that is eating disorder sickness. 

Again, I may not believe everyone can recover, but I do believe everyone deserves to recover. 

so, my weekend..

Dear Bee,

I mean, you were obviously around this weekend. In the mirrors and on the scales and in the food I ate. You were there lurking in the booths at each and every restaurant at each and every meal.

That’s not to say I didn’t have a good weekend, because I did. I had a fabulous weekend with my boyfriend. We had a vacation house to ourselves, where we were able to lounge in the jacuzzi, hike pretty mountains, and enjoy gorgeous beaches. He is the best thing that has ever happened in my life, that I know. But, still a part of me, wishes I could be fully and 100% present to soak in every delicious vibrance of this love.

I recognize that last sentence streams into perfectionism. There is no 100%. It is impossible. And nobody can be fully present. After all, that is what distinguishes humanity from all other animals. Because we are able to think and explore alternative meanings, our minds are constantly wandering to the past and future. To expect to live in the exact moment at every single exact moment would not only be irrational, but it could also be detrimental. Imagine if we only had our impulses to drive us into what we wanted to do. We would have no way to self-regulate, own responsibility, or make intelligent decisions based on our unique needs and wants. In other words, we would live in chaos.

I ate a lot of carbs this weekend. There was pizza and pasta and calzones and fudge and burritos. So, yes, I ate a variety of food. This is a simple statement. Also a neutral statement. It’s the meaning I want to attach to it. My eating disorder wants to attach the negative dialogue (of course) and tell me that I’m hedonistic, gluttonous, a failure at recovery, grotesque, disgusting, and weak. My “positive-affirmation” warrior side of me counterbalances those insults by telling me that I’m allowed to enjoy life, that one weekend won’t kill me, that food is just food, and I’m absolutely not grotesque, disgusting, and weak. I want to believe both, but I will choose to listen to the warrior side, because the disordered side just wants to keep me sick, and I’m fully aware of that. I’m not a bad person for what I ate. I’m not a bad person for experiencing certain feelings or thoughts about these foods. I’m in recovery, and it gets hard. Especially on vacation. 

I am done weighing myself again for awhile. At least for a few weeks. I’ve been letting that number dominate my emotions and thoughts about my body image way too much. I gave up the scale for about six months at the beginning of this journey, and I can give it up again. There is no reason to measure myself by an electric number, not at these stages of recovery. However, I have rationalized the stepping up and down on the scale, attempting to convince myself that I’m just “checking the number” just to “see my progress.” This is unhealthy for me. This is way too dangerous. I’m realizing it now. I have come WAY too far to backslide into the never-ending, addictive quest to reach a new lowest weight. And that’s exactly where you will take me…down that slippery slope that promises eternal beauty and happiness. Bullshit. There’s no beauty or happiness attached to a weight. There never was, and there never will be.

I’ve been working on that novel for Nanowrimo…so far, so good. I’ve missed fiction writing. I like letting my characters unravel their stories into complex and intricate plots. I have a loose idea of the beginning and the end. The middle is a little more fuzzy. Kind of like recovery. I remember where I started, and I have a vision of what the end chapters will look like, but all that lies between…that’s really up in the air, isn’t it? 

old friendships, rebellion, caffeine, bulimia, & positive affirmations.

Dear Bee,

It’s strange. For the first time in about a year, I’m struggling to actually sit down and write these posts out. This was such a natural catharsis for me, a creative high of sorts, but now, it just feels dull. I’m just going to keep writing and see what happens. Spin gold out of a chaotic mess of the clouds in my mind. Or something artsy like that. I don’t want to edit this either. In fact, once I feel like I’ve said what I wanted to say, I will click Publish Post and be done with it. I just want to ramble. I’m not going to go back and read anything I wrote. So, here goes. 

Several months ago, I wrote this: http://loveletterstobee.com/2013/03/21/the-day-i-broke-up-with-my-alcoholic-best-friend/ in regards to my painstaking decision to end a friendship with one of my closest friends. Last night, we met up for dinner. I initiated the contact. I missed her. I wanted to see how she had been. This girl had been by my side through multiple heartbreaks, graduations, vacations, and spontaneous adventures. A few years ago, we had a threesome with my ex-boyfriend, but that’s an entirely different story. We’ve been close. Closer than close. “Breaking up” with her was harder than breaking up with anyone else. So, we were at dinner, and it was emotional. Tears, hugs, laughs. Flowing conversation for five hours without a hint of awkwardness. We both said our pieces. She still drinks. To what extent, I do not know. I struggle to believe that alcoholics can drink in moderation once they’ve reached the threshold of substance dependence. I’ve heard that some percentage (like five percent) can do harm reduction, but the rest must commit to sobriety in order to kick their addiction. Again, she still drinks. I don’t know what boundaries to set up with her just yet. I don’t know if I want to be friends. It just felt good seeing her last night. Telling her about what I’ve been up to. She’s missed so much of me: my new boyfriend, my new internship, Europe, things with my family. At this point, I just wish I could avoid the alcohol problem, but I know if I choose to do that, it will just become the white elephant in the room. And I don’t want that either.

Anyway, enough about that.

I’ve binged once this week. Last night. Any coincidence that this was right after meeting with my friend? I think not. My eating disorder is boring me. Bingeing once used to be exciting, seductive, and glamorous. I actually felt like such a rebel in the middle of the act, like look at me, I’m breaking ALL THE RULES. Now, it’s just a step-by-step process with predictable emotions, inevitable self-loathing, and a total sense of, I don’t give a fuck. I guess in a sense it’s still a form of rebellion. Except, instead of rebelling against whatever so-called diet I was on, I’m rebelling against recovery. Sometimes, to be honest, recovery just feels like another euphemism for diet, but I know it’s not. 

I’ve also been drinking copious amounts of coffee over the past few weeks. This is 1/3 due to the taste, 1/3 due to the jolt of energy, and 1/3 due to the low caloric content. I keep hearing all these positive studies about the effects of caffeine, so that rationalizes my consistent brew. Still, I know it’s not good to suppress my appetite with a cup of java. I know it’s not good to use it as a natural diuretic, and yet, I can’t lie and say I don’t enjoy those benefits. Whatever. One vice at a time. Nobody would look at a serious drug addict and condemn him or her for chain-smoking cigarettes. The same could apply to eating disorder recovery. The importance thing is awareness. Awareness that I am still using/abusing certain substances to mask the remnants of my disease (I write this as I chew a piece of gum. I chewed at least 4 pieces in a row yetjerday, something I haven’t done in a long while. Five second pause. Just spat the gum out). 

Talked about eating disorders in supervision yesterday, because one of my colleagues is working with an individual struggling with bulimic symptoms. It’s so interesting how easy these cases can sound when presented. Just, you know, teach her some coping skills, show her to value her body, pinpoint how there will never, ever be a good enough body when living with an eating disorder, no matter what number, size, or look she is trying to achieve. Obviously, I know nothing about an eating disorder is simple. But then again, nothing about any mental illness is simple. If it was, I would be out of a job. Plain and simple. Surprisingly, I don’t have any clients who have presented eating disorder pathologies just yet (about the only disorder I haven’t seen), but I often wonder how I will be in the room with them. Will I self-disclose the same way my own therapist did? Or will I remain professional, safe in my powerful chair, and keep distance between us? What if someone who reads this blog was one of my clients? They would never know it was me, I can guarantee that. I present myself so much differently in the world than I do on here. It’s subconscious. Part of it is my ability to deceive as a means of survival. I know what it takes to be successful in this world, and, unfortunately, vulnerability isn’t the road to it. It’s an interesting thought to think that a reader could be a client, since many of them must be struggling/have struggled with an eating disorder or relative mental illness. 

This rambling feels amazing. The morning is turning out well. I randomly picked a positive affirmation out of my “recipes for my soul” love box that I made as a demonstration for a group therapy class I lead, and today’s read, I am exactly who and where I need I am supposed to be in this exact moment. Damn straight. Who am I? A young, talented, creative, loving individual with an unquenchable thirst for life and hunger for adventure. Where am I? In my bed, laptop perched on my stomach, listening to music, ceiling fan blowing over me. I don’t have the answers. I am still exhibiting disordered behavior. I STRUGGLE. I fight. I complain. I question whether it’s worth it. But choices, people, and experiences have brought me to this point, and, when I really think about it, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be. 

I am so grateful for this life, for recovery, for all of you lovely readers (I read every single one of your emails and do my best to respond to all of you), for the cloudless blue sky, for the warmth of my bed, for the breakfast I am about to eat (I no longer have to suffer and “starve” today to make up for yesterday), for the clients I’m going to see later, and for the boyfriend I’m going to fall asleep with tonight.

depleted of emotional nutrition

Dear Bee,

I heard an interesting concept today. Emotional nutrition. As in, people plagued with pain and attachment issues are starving for emotional nutrition. Yet, when they receive the feedings they need, all they can do is purge, repress, or deny the nutrients. Rather than digest them, their bodies reject them. Thus, they are always hungry, but never satisfied. They are looking to be filled in all the wrong places. As a result, the void is constantly present.

This is the epitome of an eating disorder, is it not? 

We look at food (whether we struggle with too much or too little eating) as a way to occupy some void, to take away some pain, to mend some unresolved issue. We use our eating disorders as habitual coping mechanisms, as ways to alleviate distress, manage emotions, and fester a self-fulfilling prophecy that validates our weak willpower and essential worthlessness. We would never tell a child to starve. We would never tell our best friend to throw up a meal after she overindulged. And yet, we become conditioned to this mentality. We think we are the exceptions are the rule. We are searching for a remedy in the middle of distortion. Because that’s what an eating disorder is: irrational distortion. And yet, our thoughts shape our reality. The craziest of logic can become absolutely normalized and even embraced. 

When we believe eating disorder behaviors will fill voids for love or attachment or happiness or overall satisfaction, we immerse deeper into the sickness. That may be a harsh reality, but it’s the truth. Nobody can discover true love and passion for life in the throes of their own imprisoned mind filled with inner rage and hatred. We can only discover what love and passion may look like. In a sense, we brush shoulders with these emotions, and get a feel for what they may be like, but they never experience the penetration.

Soon enough, we recognize that thinness does not correlate with happiness, that restricting calories does not necessarily make a boy fall in love with you, that bingeing does not alleviate the depression.

Unfortunately, the short-term mentality often overrules the long-term one. And there are obvious benefits to having an eating disorder: we wouldn’t have such instilled coping mechanisms if they were not serving us in some way. We need a sense of control, we need to fill our perfectionist needs, we need to avoid feeling pain, we need numbness, we need to hide from the world.

Whatever it may be, we have our reasons to torment ourselves.

We also have our reasons to heal ourselves, and those are what we need to focus on. 

Delayed gratification is hard, and that makes recovery a challenge. Because it doesn’t feel good in the beginning. The emotions we’ve suppressed rise to the surface. We feel naked without our behaviors, unidentifiable without our diagnoses. We fear the change. Change is a terrifying, unstable force. We have been told that eating disorders will not fill the void in our hearts, but at least we will get skinny, right? At least, we will feel in control. Isn’t that enough, we wonder?

No, it’s not. Because we are still starving. Emotionally starving, desperate for nutrition, but unable to be fed. We have turned ourselves against the only emotionless force who has been with us since day one: our own bodies and our minds. If we stop our eating disorders but remain hungry, we will turn to other compulsions, to sex, to gambling, to drinking, to drugs. We will chase other highs that alter our consciousness, that take us away from these painful voids. We will recover from one toxicity and run straight into the arms of another. This is common. Trading one addiction for another is common. We just want to be filled. 

There is no one-size-fits-all approach for filling voids. Part of it comes from acceptance. Acceptance of those painful feelings. Observance of how they affect you. Tolerance for having them in your life. Action-based plans to increase your quality of life. The ability to change your thoughts and choose healthy behaviors. This is a work-in-progress. Eventually, we all realize that life can be difficult and things do not always go accordingly to plan and people can walk away at any given moment and tragedy can strike at any time. We entered life without a rule book or guidelines, and it can be extremely rough to navigate the pitch black tunnels without a flashlight. 

Filling those intagible voids takes time. Eating disorders only delay that process. 

what’s it worth?

Dear Bee,

So today is off to a great start. I went hiking this morning. My energy level is high. I feel happy and grateful. I reread what I wrote a few times yesterday, and it felt so reassuring to see how far I’ve come. I work hard for this recovery. As hard as I would like to be on myself (especially after this particularly difficult couple days), I know that I am still trudging along the right path. Sometimes, I lose sight of all the changes and progress I have made over the year. NONE of it has been easy, and yet all of it has been worthwhile. Obviously, I still have a journey ahead of me, but I’m not afraid of the experience. I am turning into the strong and resilient person I was always destined to be! 

This recovery challenges me on a daily basis. Growing up, I never learned how to cope with emotions. I’m learning how to do it now, but it undoubtedly embodies a struggle. I have to remember that I am allowed to experience a spectrum of emotions, that none of them are inherently good or bad, that some may feel better than others, but that doesn’t mean I need to chase them in the wrong settings. It is okay to be hurt. It is okay to be sad, disappointed, insecure, or angry. These feelings tell me about myself and the experiences around me. The only thing bad about these feelings is how I choose to manage them. And by engaging in my eating disorder, I am not addressing the emotions. I am starving, exercising, bingeing, and thus avoiding, suppressing, and numbing them. 

As children, we follow our intuition and believe in our instincts to guide us in the right direction. We listen to those we trust. We avoid things that hurt and seek pleasure when we can. We are selfish and put our own needs first. We would never think of hurting ourselves. I think the road to mental illness starts once we ignore our inner voices, once we stop following sound wisdom, and once we become more comfortable with discomfort. We put the needs of others often before our own. Rather than protect ourselves, we start harming ourselves. This becomes our reality. This becomes our way of life. We are prisoners of the mind, and, with an eating disorder, we are prisoners of the body.

Pain is an inevitable fact of life. The only common thread we have as humans is that we all are born and we all die. That’s it. What lies in between is largely up to us. One can take this is a free-for-all opportunity to fuck it up, to say nothing matters, to disregard responsibility. Another can interpret this existence as the chance to make the most out of it, to live it up, knowing that ultimately, it just doesn’t matter. Although parents will try to pose influence and society will try to tell us how we should live, it’s really up to us. Suffering is optional. None of us want to be in a chronic state of despair, but few of us realize we have the emotional and cognitive capacities to release ourselves from that torture. We just have to be willing to try. To push. To fight. To be persistent. It’s likely going to get worse before it feels better. That feeling of being stuck and alone will hurt like nothing else.

Pain may accompany you throughout life, through the rough moments and tragedies and crises, but one day, you may just realize you are no longer suffering. You just have to ask yourself how much feeling good is worth to you. 

why shame keeps you stuck

Dear Bee, 

Earlier this morning, I told a very distressed client that shame counteracts healing. Thus, to foster the process of healing, one must express the shame. One must become familiar, attack, and confront it. Shame keeps us sick. Toxic, stuck, hurting. Shame penetrates into every fear and robs us of our ability to be genuine with ourselves and others.

The antithesis of shame is acceptance. And that’s why recovery, recovery from anything, is hard. Because we don’t want to accept ourselves. We don’t want to accept our self-perceived flaws, and we don’t want to accept the elements that are simply and painfully out of our control. 

Shame is deeply entrenched in any mental illness, but I only recognized my own roots of it this year. I think of mental illness as a tree. The leaves embody the outward manifestations we call symptoms. The branches represent triggers that exacerbate the symptoms. The trunk is the history that develops the branches. The roots signify perceptions we hold about ourselves and the world, which, in turn, make the trunk grow. 

I couldn’t talk about my eating disorder. Whatsoever. I still struggle with open disclosure of my distorted thoughts and difficult feelings, simply because I often think I’m crazy, irrational, stupid, incompetent, etc. etc. etc. The list of negative adjectives could go on forever. Before this year, I couldn’t even identify my feelings. Imagine that. If someone had asked me how I was really feeling, I couldn’t tell them. Because I didn’t know. 

I would minimize, lie, exaggerate…I was essentially wrapped in a choke-hold of shame. I wouldn’t tell people when I began slipping back into old behaviors. I wouldn’t tell people if I was bingeing. Weighing myself. Getting obsessive with food counts. Checking calories. Overdoing my exercise. And so forth. I would smile and say, everything was fine. Because that’s what I thought people wanted to hear, and that’s what I wanted to believe. And the more you lie, the more bitter the taste…but that taste becomes familiar, and eventually you are all but desensitized to it. I’ve been working with the same therapist for a year, and I still find myself occasionally being deceitful in session! This just shows how painstakingly uncomfortable it can be to express utmost honesty. I have a hard time letting people believe I am anything less than perfect. I still sometimes feel weak asking for help. In turn, I do not like being vulnerable. Because it triggers the shame, and sitting in shame is like sitting on a bed of nails. 

Face the vulnerability. Relish in it. Accept it. If shame is Trainstop A, vulnerability is the train that takes us to Health, Trainstop B.

Bee is a voice that thrives in the name of shame. Even through recovery, you do all you can to keep yourself hidden, concealed, and protected from the world. You want me all to yourself. You absolutely recognize that healing comes from expressing, which is why you do all that you can to prevent yourself from being talked about. You’re a smart and powerful voice. It’s taken several years, books, individual and group therapy sessions, and support teams to start using MY voice, rather than yours.

You kept me in deep pain and turmoil, and I now recognize that same deep resentment in my clients. Their struggles may be starkly contrast from my own, but each person I work with desperately wants to remedy his or her distress. They want that sense of normalcy and health we all crave. Shame, however, often prevents them from believing they are truly worthy and deserving of those gifts.

Shame may manifest in different ways through different illnesses, but the feeling is universal: sheer humiliation, self-loathing, disgust with oneself, the disbelief that others can possibly accept or tolerate the particular circumstance. Shame is dangerous; shame keeps us isolated and afraid. 

The process of healing shame takes time. It involves forgiveness and a willingness to examine inner turmoil. Ultimately, it also boils down to finding a place of acceptance: acceptance of past, present, and future. This is not an easy task. Not by any means. We are constantly bombarded with reasons not to accept ourselves or our realities. We are constantly receiving messages that tell us we are not worthy of health, respect, or dignity. When we feel broken in some way, we often think we are doomed.

I know I did.

I didn’t think I deserved help for my eating disorder until I finally felt so frustrated that I walked into my college counseling center and asked to talk to a professional. I didn’t think I deserved to be honest until I met a supportive treatment team who promised that I could not let them down, no matter how many times I believed I failed. 

Tackle the shame. Even though it may put up a tough and scary front, you will overcome it if you are willing to put forth the fight.

The first time I told someone my secret

Dear Bee, 

Life is so amazing right now. I know I’m lucky, and I don’t take one SECOND of it for granted. The boyfriend and I are doing so well, and everything between us is just incredible. I could spend every waking and sleeping moment with him. We connect on a level I never knew existed, and it astounds us both. Yesterday, I dropped most of my dinner in the parking lot outside of my workplace. This isn’t unusual for me, as I am a ridiculous klutz, but how does he respond? Goes to the grocery store to buy vegetable broth (because he only had chicken in his place), makes us quinoa, roasts a bunch of vegetables, buys my favorite iced tea, and brings us some fresh blueberries for dessert….then drives the half hour to forty-five minutes in rush-hour traffic to my work just to see me and give me dinner. And I’m not one to blast my sex life on the Internet (yeah, right), but NOTHING has been lacking in that department. It’s like I literally can’t get enough. So our relationship compromises of a healthy balance of insanely deep conversation, playfulness and goofiness, random and crazy adventures, mushy and gushy love babble, crazy hot sex, and therapeutic jargon. Like, what more could I possibly want? I’m ridiculously happy. 

Summer is winding down quickly. August is just around the corner, and in two weeks, I’ll be prancing around Europe!! Just got my grade for my most recent summer class…98.5% on my 3-hour and 10-page final. Still maintaining that shiny 4.0 🙂 Stoked. 

Yesterday, I had therapy. It’s been slow and mellow in sessions lately. I’ll be seeing clients soon, so we’ve been talking and processing that. I’m really excited, of course, but part of me is definitely nervous. I think this anxiety comes from a genuine place of caring, but I have to be mindful of my perfectionistic tendencies. If I go into this field expecting to save the world, I won’t even be able to save myself from burnout. I know I struggle with a core belief of incompetency, in that I won’t be good enough. I am certainly no expert, but I also realize we tend to put mental health professionals on a pedestal.  recognize that my clients may perceive me to be some all-knowing source of power…when really, I’m just a human being who is trained to understand patterns of behavior and offer uncompromising support and guidance to those in distress. Ah well. Everyone has to start out somewhere!!!

I also had a follow-up with the psychiatrist yesterday. Ten minutes. Ugh. I guess I’m biased, but I really DO NOT like him. He fits the perfect “psychiatrist” stereotype. Lack of empathy, no attempt to join or connect with me, only focusing on symptoms. For a career that is designed to dole out medication, you would think there would be more in-depth analysis with patients. I guess not. Anyways, I’m staying on the lowest dose of Prozac (20 mg) for the time being. My emotions have definitely stabilized, but it’s obviously hard to tell whether it is from the medication or simply my life circumstances. One thing I have noticed: I experience significantly less urges to binge and stronger hunger satiety signals. This is one of the reason antidepressants are actually prescribed for bulimia and binge-eating disorder; in conjunction with psychotherapy, this evidence-based treatment reduces the insane and nearly intolerable cravings to frantically binge. 

Interestingly, I was searching for an old email yesterday, and I stumbled upon an email I had sent my ex-boyfriend in April 2012. He was the first person I ever told about my eating disorder. At the time, I couldn’t do it in person. I was too scared. Too insecure. I didn’t even know how to approach the subject, but my condition was worsening, and like most secrets, it just kept getting bigger and bigger, until it began controlling my every thought. I attached the email (with some edits for privacy) here.

 I’ve never been able to tell you this, and mostly it’s because it’s the one part about me that makes me want to hate myself, the one part that makes me feel like a complete hypocrite and failure. And believe me, I feel ridiculous writing this all out in a stupid email, but I also know that I owe it to both you and myself, and I don’t have the same bravery you do to say it to your face. 

I clinically have an eating disorder. If I went to a doctor or therapist, I would be immediately diagnosed, given that I match every single criteria. It’s not mild or temporary, and it’s something that is seriously compromising my quality of life. To be specific, I have bulimia nervosa-nonpurging type disorder. I know that’s quite a term, but that’s what I have. You can read over the criteria if you’re not familiar with it (basically: eating a lot of food in a discrete period of time, a sense of lack of control over eating during this binge episode, using compensatory behavior to prevent the weight gain). It is nonpurging type, because instead of vomiting, I abuse other “compensatory” behaviors, like excessive exercising or severely restricting my food intake. 

I know I told you that I suffered from this during a dark phase in high school. I suppose that was lie. I’m still in the middle of it, and I struggle privately everyday. It’s never gotten easier. I’ve just gotten better at not disclosing it.

Explaining all the psychological disturbances is just exhaustive and upsetting. Just assume I’ve done it all. Count calories, weigh myself fifteen times a day, look in the mirror and cry, etc. I have the world fooled in thinking I eat so healthy and rationally. And, 90% of the time, I do because I care so much about my health. And, it makes me so amazing when I’m eating the proper nutrients for my body. But there are those times, those scary and sad times, when I fall into a mood and devour incessant amounts of food. Amounts of  food that I’m sure you don’t think I’m capable of eating. Last night, for example, I was really upset about what happened between us. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, and I just needed to numb the pain. That’s when people turn to alcohol. Or drugs. You once turned to painkillers. And not to sound like a bitter, forty-five year-old divorced woman, I use food.  I ate a bowl of ice cream, a piece of pie, three cookies, four waffles with butter, a chocolate bunny, and two spoonfuls of Nutella in less than an hour. Was I hungry? Nope. Not really. My mind just goes on auto-pilot, and all I want to do is grab whatever I’ve restricted myself from eating and stuff it into my mouth before I can feel guilty about it.

Invariably, I end up feeling physically sick to my stomach. I can handle that. It’s the mental consequences that hurt. The dread, the guilt, the disgust at the person I am, the shame at my lack of willpower, the confusion as to why I’m like this, the promise to never, ever let it happen again. It’s a control issue. You know all about my control issues. Nevertheless, it’s just not normal, and it’s just not something I can easily talk about.

The main problem is that I truly know I have nothing to worry about. I’m healthy. I know I’m beautiful. I take such good care of myself. So why do I feel this need to sabotage my body? Why do I feel so anxious around “bad” foods or “good” foods?

I suppose the worst part about having this disorder is that I FUCKING know all the biological and social reasons for my behavior. I FUCKING know the appropriate treatment, what medications are prescribed, what kinds of therapies help people recover from it. I FUCKING want to do this for a living. But, I can’t even help myself. I can’t even talk about it. Ugh. Who am I kidding?

I’m telling you all this because I love you, and because, I honestly need your help. I’m not sure how you can help me, but maybe, I just need you as my sort of sponsor for when I’m feeling anxious or scared. Because, right now, I feel so discouraged. I feel like I’ve tried everything to fix myself, but maybe I need professional help. Either way, I have to open up to you the way you open up to me. And that’s no easy task either. I love that you find me so strong and powerful. But, I don’t feel like I am, and I’m scared after reading this, you will think I’m just a coward. Of course, that’s not really true. I know you would never think that of me, but honestly, this monster inside of me makes me feel so weak and powerless. I’ve been fighting it since high school, for probably (X) years. I just want it to end. I just want to be at peace with myself.

Writing this all out is probably one of the most difficult things I’ve done in awhile. Admitting weakness hurts, especially when it’s over something I feel isn’t as important as other problems. For example, I always thought drug addiction was WAY worse than an eating disorder. But, I’m starting to realize that I’m not overreacting over a “first-world” problem.  

Yesterday, I promised myself that I would tell you this. I’m sorry I haven’t found the courage to talk about in person yet. I hope you understand. Thank you for loving me and already believing me. I love you.

I could process this all right now, but for anyone who has followed me on this blog…you can see how much I’ve grown. That was probably the first time I recognized that I needed help. That I needed to do something, and that the problem was just going to go away on its own, like I had spent years hoping.

In that letter, I just see a terrified and isolated little girl. I see someone who has no idea if she will ever get better. I see someone who is so sick, so afraid, and so lost. I am not that girl anymore, but I still relate to her everyday. I remember what it is like to be in that position. I can feel the agony, cry those same tears, experience that same horror. Words cannot describe my gratitude for recovery, but the memories of such hell will never be lost upon me.

I have come a damn long way.  

death by anorexia

A few months ago, I wrote about The Mother with Anorexia to describe the devastation of eating disorders on families and friends. On Sunday, that woman passed away. She was 35. I knew her. I have babysat her child. She catered for one of my brother’s parties. She had been hospitalized six times. She passed out unconscious last week, and they were unable to revive her. They pulled the plug late Saturday night. She’s dead. Anorexia killed her. 

I don’t have enough information on her life history to know about her battle with this uncompromising and vicious disease, but this is obviously something that hits home (literally) to me. Anorexia kills. It takes the lives of individuals everyday, mentally and physically, and for this young woman, her body essentially starved to death. 

Not everyone with an eating disorder will die from their eating disorder, but we simply cannot ignore that anorexia is still the most fatal mental and chronic mental illness. Her last few months were horrible: she was wrecked and depleted; there was no spark of life left. It wasn’t a matter of being able to eat again. It became a matter of being so fragile and weak that there was simply no motive left. She was emaciated and malnourished. Her family did not sound all that surprised. She was withering away, a shrinking time bomb. Anorexia does this to people. It does this every single day.

If you are suffering, please get help. 

You may not have control over your eating disorder, but you do have control over what you do about it right now. 

A mild eating disorder and a severely difficult recovery

Dear Bee,

I found this quote this morning: I thought my eating disorder was mild…until I started recovery.

Yes. YES. What an absolutely fitting caption to describe how this process has been for me.  But you know what? I’m at peace with my recovery. It is mine and mine only, and I am learning the most perfect and beautiful lessons along the way. Everything has come to me at the right time. None of it has been “easy” by any means, I am grateful for this journey, I really am. It’s so simple to feel that surge of gratitude during the “high” parts of recovery and nearly impossible to feel it during the “low” parts, but the truth is, throughout this year, I have felt blessed.

Like most, I exhibited a sense of nativity when I began recovery. I figured I’d be “cured” in a couple of months. Yes, cured. As in the food obsession would just melt away, the bingeing would totally stop, my weight would settle into exactly what it needed to be (aka into the perfect body), and life would move on. This was before I recognized the underlying reasons maintaining my eating disorder. And, of course, this was before I realized my eating disorder was simply the outward symptom of all this buried distress.

By scientific and medical terms, my eating disorder was mild. It still is. In fact, the DSM-V now has qualifiers, similar to other diagnoses such as depression, that indicate the severity of the diagnosis (I’ll fpost my review on the new diagnostic updates after I finish writing 3483794837498374 treatment plans for school). Mine never met criteria for severe. Maybe moderate, but even that’s a stretch. By clinical terms, I’m just a girl with a “mild” disorder. In fact, that’s why I was lumped into that catch-all EDNOS category. That doesn’t negate my suffering. That doesn’t invalidate sickness or pain. That doesn’t mean my problem wasn’t important enough warrant help and treatment.

Yes, I thought my eating disorder was mild, but recovery has been the most challenging process I’ve ever taken. Everyday, it seems, presents some new lesson, twist or turn, challenge, setback, success, or milestone. Recovery from this illness is hard, and I do not take such changes lightly nor do I undermine how much work I do on a daily basis to maintain progress. Not a day has passed without thinking of my recovery. And indeed, there have been many days where not an hour has passed.

I don’t think eating disorder recovery is easy for anyone, and if it is, I would love to hear your story. Recovery involves changing the way you perceive yourself, others, and the world around you. Recovery involves dismantling rigidity, perfectionism, control, and self-loathing. Recovery involves learning how to regulate emotion, cope with stress, and find nourishment and indulgence in things other than food. Recovery involves mistakes, pain, patience, and heartache. Recovery involves wanting more for yourself than a number on the scale, food in your stomach, and escape from your problems.

To anyone who doubts the severity of their sickness or believes they need to get “worse” before they are deserving of help, who feels they are not skinny or fat enough to have an actual problem, listen to me: no matter how mild your diagnosis may be, eating disorders are progressive illnesses that do not just go away on their own. And if you are working recovery, pat yourself on the back. Don’t ever discredit all the hard work you are doing to take yourself to a better place. You absolutely and wholeheartedly deserve this.