Monday, 03 August 2009

• You CAN recover from an Eating Disorder

  
  

  Okay, so this is the first very personal blog post I have done so far. It's brief and not very detailed, but it's one of the biggest accomplishments of my life.

  I used to have an Eating Disorder. 24 hours, seven days a week, 365 days a year, for five years, my life was consumed by this disease. I battled uphill against my body, pushing myself to terrible lengths. I hardly ate anything, I isolated myself from all of my friends, and I lost hope. The things I did, the most embarrassing things, to obey the monster that was slowly consuming me are too disturbing to even write down. None the less, over those five years my weight would fluctuate between almost normal and dangerously low, but never quite low enough to be admitted into a hospital. I guess you could say that most of my life with Anorexia was one where I could still function. I could pretend that I was fine, that I was just a bit 'too skinny'. I hid behind the title Vegan as to why I didn't eat most foods, and my parents chalked it up to me just being a hormonal teenager or a strict diet to maintain the 'ideal bod'.

  It wasn't until last year that my facade crashed down around me. I dropped down to 86 pounds, and at a scary BMI of 13.6 I could no longer hide my eating disorder. I wore it on me everywhere, it was no longer my private obsession. People at school started rumors, teachers asked me if I was okay, and my parents were horrified that they couldn't get me to eat (or that they didn't notice sooner) and were positive if I didn't get help soon that I would die. I refused any help blatantly, lashing out at the people around me. I was so blind that now I can't believe how skewed my vision was. Even as my ribs poked out and the seat of a chair in a classroom became impossible to sit on because I had no fat to cover my backbones, I was sure I need to lose weight. That I need to be 79 pounds, or 75, or 70, and then I could get help. The lies I told myself, the fact that I believed those things, are ridiculous to me now. Even as I look back on it, I feel like that couldn't be the person I was, that It was some terrible thing that possessed me.

  It wasn't until I took 16 laxatives on an empty stomach and almost had a heart attack in my bathroom that I realized that I needed help. As I sat there, in the dark on the cold tiled floor, vomiting, dehydrated, and sure that I was going to die, all alone at 3 in the morning, that I found my will to live. And it just happened that simply. I can't put my thumb on it, but it was almost dying (or thinking I was going to die), that scared me into living. I promised myself that I would get help and try to recover if I lived. And I did.

  The bizarre thing about an Eating Disorder, is that it traps you into thinking it's normal, or that you're just a bit 'food crazed', or perhaps even that it's not serious enough for you to seek help just yet. And though I'd like to, I can't blame the Media, or a person who called me fat in Kindergarten, because it's just not true. It wasn't a choice, or a thought process of my own -- it just happened. I became consumed with something that too many women (and men) around the world fall prey too. It's not a joke, it's not a choice, it's painful. It's a disease. And it's a tragically misunderstood circumstance if you're not living it.

  Recovery for me has been a hard, long road. Filled with lapses, tears, and doubts. I still have my days where I stand in front of the mirror and think to myself that maybe if I just cut out one or two food groups I could fit into my size 00's again. But the fog that clouded my vision is slowly lifting, day by day, I become myself, and I regain all the confidence I lost. I realize that I am skinny, that I do deserve to be happy, and that food is not the enemy. I can eat pizza now, and go out with my friends for a latte and not obsess for ten minutes over the calorie content of one simple drink. I know my words make it sound a lot easier said then done, and i'm not denying it was hard, but I did it. And I do face terrible consequences for the way I treated my body -- I may never get my period again or be able to have children, my body has a hard time holding on to nutrients now after so long without them; and my hair, nails, and skin all are far from radiant.

  If you asked me 8 months ago, I would have said that you can never fully recover from an eating disorder. That it always will be with you. But now I know that's not true. That recovery IS possible. And if someone out there has an eating disorder and reads this, I truly hope you find recovery too and that this helps inspire you to find help -- within yourself or others.
  

  If you've been in this situation, how did you recover?
  

  
  

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