In 13 Days...

I hope you're happy.

I hope you're happy now.

I hope you're happy how you've hurt your cause forever; I hope you think you're clever.

I hope you're happy.

I hope you're happy, too.

I hope you're proud how you would grovel in submission to feed your own ambition.

So though I can't imagine how, I hope you're happy right now...

SUMMARY: In the past 13 days... 

1. I took a trip in a snowstorm to Gettysburg, with an overnight stop in Chambersburg, to see friends.
2. I became okay with taking extra time to finish school and not graduating in four years. 
3. I found out that I WILL be graduating in 2016!!! Even though I had to take almost a full year off of school.
4. I chased an adorable two-year-old around the science center.
5. Life chats!
6. Two of my friends were hospitalized and released a few days later for mental health related reasons. 
7. My roommate kicked serious ass at her senior recital. 
8. I stole her picture off a bulletin board in the CUB.
9. Katie, the nurse practitioner who works with my ED doctor, resigned. 
10. I watched Tangled! 
11. I visited my brother and a friend at CMU on my drive home. 
12. I survived driving in another snowstorm!
13. I got a lottery number for housing! 
14. I was offered a volunteer position at Summa hospital in the psych ward. 
15. I spent twenty minutes looking for my car...
16. We've solidified our housing arrangements for next year more. 
17. I did my taxes! 

Some other stuff happened in there, too, mostly having to do with going to see my therapist and dietitian and doctor and going to groups. And exploring Beachwood--and by Beachwood I mean, how long I can sit in Panera before they kick me out. So all sorts of good and exciting things. 

But there's this thing called impression management, which is defined in social psychology and similarly in sociology as "goal-directed conscious or unconscious processes in which people attempt to influence the perceptions of other people about a person, object or event by regulating and controlling information in social interaction" (thank you, Wikipedia). Naturally, because I am human, I do that. 

I read somewhere that everyone wants to hear that you're fine, you're doing better, taking it one day at a time, making progress. And honestly, I would be lying if I didn't say that's exactly how I feel sometimes. Not just when talking with other people about their recoveries and lives, but when talking about my own. It's comfortable and easy for me to say that I'm doing better, that treatment has made a world of difference for me. 

All of that is true. 

I am doing better. Treatment has made a difference. 

But I would be lying if I said that every day is a good day. That's false. Some days just flat out suck. And sometimes, I have days--weeks--where things just go to hell in a hand-basket and behaviors your happen and I just don't care. There are days where wanting to get better and wanting to graduate and get my PhD and travel and have kids and change the world mean nothing against my eating disorder. Sometimes things, no matter how good they look to the naked eye, are actually pretty crappy. 

In case you were wondering what really happened in the past 13 days... 

I slipped. 

My ED took over. 

I had behaviors. 

I disappointed people. 

My dietitian told me that I "have not decided to be kind to myself" and I had a mental breakdown. 

I completely blamed myself for my friends' hospitalizations. 

I cried. A lot. 

I had more behaviors. 

I got so caught up in taking care of other people that I forgot to take care of myself.

I made excuses for behaviors. 

I ignored the fact that I am sick and in treatment and that means that I cannot live normally. 

I had more behaviors. 

I disappointed the same people again. 

Recovery isn't easy. It looks easy and sounds easy to those who haven't been through it or something similar. But it's not. Sometimes it just sucks. And sometimes its impossible to be okay. That's where I'm at--the sucky and not being okay part. The part where I have to make a choice between a difficult, hard, challenging, hellish path that brings life and a much easier one that eventually brings death... A choice that seems so simple. 

The hard path, that brings life. 

But right now, I'm not so sure that I'm up for the challenge...

"Just Might (Make Me Believe)" by Sugarland

I got miles of trouble spreadin' far and wide

Bills on the table gettin' higher and higher

They just keep on comin', there ain't no end in sight

I'm just holding on tight...

I've got someone who loves me more then words can say

And I'm thankful for that each and every day

And if I count all my blessings, I get a smile on my face

Still it's hard to find faith

But if you can look in my eyes

And tell me we'll be alright

If you promise never to leave 

You just might make me believe

Its just day to day tryin' to make ends meet

What id give for an address out on easy street

I need a deep margarita to help me unwind

Leave my troubles behind...

But if you can look in my eyes

And tell me we'll be alright

If you promise never to leave 

You just might make me believe

I used to believe in us

When times got tough

But lately I'm afraid that even love is not enough

But if you can can look in my eyes

And tell me we'll be alright

If you promise never to leave you just might make me

Oh, you just might make me

You just might make me believe

Christmas Eve.

I keep thinking back to last year, after the candlelight service at church, I was sitting downstairs watching some Christmas special with my family, writing a post reflecting on all of the growth that had taken place in my life that year.  I wrote about being recovered, feeling valued and beautiful and loved and worthy.  I wrote about being more than my past, about never being alone, about hope and healing.  I wrote about my complete faith in an all-powerful, healing, restoring God.

Christmas 2012 I was in a very different place than I was Christmas 2011.

And Christmas 2013 is no different. 

Tonight, I sit alone in my room, thinking.

Thinking about how my life has changed in the past year and has put me in a position that I never once thought that I would be in.  I dropped out of my first semester of my second year at college because I had a major relapse with my eating disorder, depression, and anxiety.  I took medical withdrawals from all but one course, in which I’m taking an incomplete and hope to finish up soon.  I’m taking the entire spring semester off from school.  I’m spending at least four hours a day in different kinds of therapy groups, with different psychologists and psychiatrists and doctors and nutritionists, trying to learn how to completely accept and manage life with an eating disorder, with depression, and with anxiety, trying to learn how to manage my life with this illness.

I never once thought that my life would go back to this, not even all those days I spent in treatment in high school, when I was so excited to go to college so that I could fully engage in my disorder and no one would notice.  I never once thought that things could get this bad again. I never once thought I would be in very intensive treatment again.

I never once thought that my life would do a complete 180 on me. But it has and that’s something that I’m just going to have to accept because even though I think that I've convinced myself that I've accepted this situation, I reach a moment where I get really pissed off about having been given these genes with this temperament and these personality traits and having been dealt this environment.  And then I’m back at square one, trying to accept it all just one more time.

But it’s never just one more time.

Looking back on my post from last Christmas, I can’t help but be a bit judgmental about where I am now and thinking that I’m in a worse place now than I was then.

This Christmas Eve, I’m not thankful. I’m not filled with joy and hope and strength.  I’m not feeling encouraged or blessed.  This Christmas Eve, I am filled with anger and bitterness and resentment.  I’m filled with depression and loneliness and insecurity. I’m filled with anxiety and distress and worry.  I’m filled with shame and guilt and regret.  

I’m filled with questions like “Why me?” and “Will this ever be over?” and “Will I ever feel and live a ‘normal’ life?” I’m questioning what my next steps are, where I stand with my relationships with everyone in my life, and how my faith fits into this.  I’m filled with questions about what my life will look like next Christmas and the one after that.

And something that I've learned in the past five weeks of treatment is that all of this is okay. Having questions and doubts and emotions—it’s all okay. Even during Christmas, when the expectation is joy and peace and contentment. My emotions are real and I am allowed to feel them, even now. Even at Christmas.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is that things change. People change. Lives change. And things don’t always go how you expect them to go. You don’t always end up where you want to in life. Sometimes the unexpected is exactly what happens and sometimes you take a giant leap backwards.

All of that is okay.

It’s life. And life doesn't stop for anyone.

Not even at Christmas. 

Today, I thought about making a grocery list

I have discovered exactly what people-who-don't-know-what-else-to-say say to you when you take the rest of the semester off in order to recover from your eating disorder: 

"So what did you do today?"

It seems to be the only thing that anyone, anywhere wants to know.  And I've struggled to come up with a good answer to that question.  Here's what I've got so far: 

1. I slept. 

2. I became re-addicted to Bejeweled Blitz

3. I did some blogging. 

4. I read some blogs. 

5. I caught up on my emails.

6. I got out of bed and washed my face/brushed my teeth/etc. 

7. I put on clothes that I had not previously slept in! 

8. I watched Kevin Costner in For the Love of the Game

9. I technologically interacted with friends. 

10. I thought about going to the grocery store. 

11. I got angry about having to take a semester off of college, live at home, and go to treatment, which by the way, might not start for the next two weeks or so because the program is full. 

12. I thought about maybe making a grocery list and that maybe then I would actually go to the grocery store. 

Given, the majority of these are things that 'normal' people do every day.  The word normal has been thrown around all over Facebook and blogs quite a lot recently in reference to mental illness and recovery--from this post by Kelsi to this post here, and honestly, it's been something that's been on my mind quite a bit, as well.  I kind of touched on it earlier today when thinking about failure and re-framing my perspective to make it relevant to me and what my normal is.  

See what's normal for me right now, was written about very eloquently in this post here, which was about a completely different topic, but is on my mind right as I write this: 

"You see, people without an understanding of eating disorders don’t realize that they can have a devastating impact upon every facet of an individual’s life. That their life is dictated by rules, their day can revolve completely around exercise or eating or not eating. That their nights can be completely sleepless or spent in the bathroom or spent in the kitchen. They don’t see the urges that arise when the individual is experiencing guilt for 'only exercising three hours that day' or for 'eating extra sultanas out of the Sultana Bran' at brekky time. People don’t see the exhaustion, or the fears, or the thoughts that harangue the individual every single moment of every single day. They don’t understand the outbursts or the tears at mealtimes. They don’t get the rules or the rigidity; the desperate need to feel safe, and if that need can be fulfilled by eating out of the same bowl every day, then so be it. They don’t see the 4am walks; the exercise in the pouring rain for hours on end which leads to extreme hypothermia. They can’t understand the inability to work or study because of a malnourished brain – caused by deprivation of carbohydrates, leading to incapacity to function adequately. They don’t think about the dry skin, the falling out of hair, the bruises that appear the hell out of nowhere, the endless injuries caused by overexercise, and the excruciating leg cramps that awake the individual in the middle of the night. The low blood pressure. The low blood sugar. The osteoporosis. People don’t see the guilt and grief that is felt when the individual 'can’t' go to their friend’s birthday parties or be social ever, due to having to be exercising instead or out of fear of the food that may be present at said event. And they don’t see that they eventually lose their friends, because those friends will only put up with so much shit before they crack. I could go on for ages, but we’d be here all day."

You see what I mean?  Life is vastly different for an individual with any form of an eating disorder.  Vastly different.  And when you are just beginning an initial period of recovery, the seemingly little things are huge victories.  Little things like putting any form of nourishment into your body.  Little things like admitting that life is not always rainbows and sunshine and that yeah, sometimes it can be really, really crappy.  Life is also vastly different for any individual suffering from depression or anxiety, both of which are linked to all types of eating disorders.  The little victories there are getting out of bed in the morning, getting dressed, any form of communication with anyone.  

The little victories when facing mental illness in the beginning stages of recovery are all about survival.  

Today I found out that, best case scenario, I can start the DTP program at CCED the week over November 25th.  That's in 11 days.  11 days of being at home and being miserable and struggling to win the smallest of battles.  I was frustrated and angry and feeling really, really defeated because look at what I've done over the course of 24 hours--things most normal people do in a couple hours in morning or that they do without even having to think about them at all!  All of those things took me an entire day! 

One of my recovery buddies and a good friend put it this way when I was freaking out about making it to the point where I am actually in the DTP program and getting through the next 11 (or more!) days: 

"Recovery is going to be a lot of hanging around and surviving."

She did not say that recovery is going to be a lot of progress and accomplishment.  She did not say it's going to be a lot of jumping out of bed in the morning being excited about life and the future, or that it's going to be a lot of instantaneous progress.  She said that it's going to be a lot of surviving.

Surviving to me means winning the tiny battles and racking up the small victories.  Things like, getting out of bed at some point during the day. Brushing my teeth. Putting on clothes that had not previously been slept in. Responding to emails. Things that seem 'normal' to everyone else. 

Even things like thinking about going to the grocery store, or even thinking about making a grocery list.  

That right there is a small victory.  Because on most days, I would not even consider making a grocery list, much less, a trip to the grocery store to buy 'normal' food.  But let's think about what my normal is right now--I'm in the survival stages of recovery.  I am waiting to get into a program, where they will give me a meal plan and I will learn, at 19, how to eat.  I have been living with a very restrictive diet for quite some time and am still getting used to the idea of doing the hard work that recovery entails.  In my normal, a trip to the grocery store causes a lot of anxiety.  Thinking about buying 'normal,' not 'ED food' (it's a thing...), causes a lot of anxiety because it is outside my routine.  Thinking about what I need to have in order to nourish my body, even if it is 'ED food,' causes a lot of anxiety because I do not know how to eat.  Even the simplest task of making a grocery list, fills me with cognitive dissonance that is not present in the world of 'normal' people.

So yes, even though I only thought about making a grocery list and did not actually succeed in making one, that in and of itself is a huge victory.  Yes, when most people have asked me what I have done today, I list all of the other things that I've done, because in the 'normal' world, those seem more productive.  

But in my normal world, where people understand the understand the unique challenges that come with living with anorexia, I am able to respond to 'What did you do today?' with 'I thought about making a grocery list,' and feel like I actually accomplished something worthwhile. What I see as my accomplishments are just going to seem less 'normal' and more trivial because I do not live in the 'normal' world.

And my world is all about survival.  

Flashback.

Just a little something that I wrote while I was awake at 4am this morning.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Everything was fuzzy.  Like the radio station is slightly out of range fuzzy or the tv antenna isn’t quite receiving the signal fuzzy.  And everything was moving.  I don’t mean the people.  I mean the ground, the bleachers, me.  I was moving.  I was moving and I wasn’t aware that I was moving.  I had stopped as soon as I got to my seat.  Or at least, I thought I did.

Someone was calling my name.  It sounded familiar, but distant.  Kind of like a dream.  I didn’t think that it was real at first; I thought that it was all in my head.  Until…

Until that voice was in my ear, screaming my name, begging me to answer it.  Asking me repeatedly if I was okay.  I think I mutter a weak ‘yes,’ or at least attempted to do so.

Everything was spinning, blurry.  Music was playing.  People were staring.  I was confused.  The notes, they sounded so familiar to me and I tried to figure out what they were, and then I was falling.

The closest stable object to me was China.  I grabbed onto her arm and lowered myself to sit on the bleacher.  She sat next to me, looking at me with her big, concerned eyes that I was so familiar with.  And then the voice was back.  Questioning.

Yes, I was okay.  Yes, I had eaten more than the meal before the game.  Yes, I didn’t need to go talk to a band director and go home.  No, I wasn’t dizzy; I only stood up too fast this one time.  I was fine, promise.

But what she didn’t know was that I had only eaten once in the past two days and that was the ‘meal’ right before we headed to rehearsal.  Or that I’d spent the ten minutes right before rehearsal in the bathroom throwing up.  She didn’t know that my mother had been asking questions, bringing up accusations, telling me I wasn’t eating enough.  And she definitely didn’t know that I was extremely tired and dizzy and in pain.

My heart was beating loudly in my ears.  Crazy loud.  So loud that I was absolutely positive that everyone in our 218 member band could hear it.  I candidly took my pulse.  Fast.  Entirely too fast.  And extremely erratic.  This wasn’t good, I thought.

That’s the last thing I remember.

I was suddenly sitting on a chair in the band room.  I wasn’t entirely sure how I had gotten there.  But since only China was around, I figured that it must not have been because I passed out.  Thank goodness.  People couldn’t know my secret.

He sat down across from me, the teacher.  He looked at me.  I looked at him.  It was sufficiently awkward.  Words came out of his mouth, but I couldn’t hear them over the heartbeat in my ears.  He looked concerned.  China looked worried.  I tried harder to focus.  But everything was spinning and blurry and I didn’t know how I got there.

I mumbled something about needing a drink of water.  They both nodded.  They watched as I stood up, attempted to take a step forward and almost fainted.

I had an eating disorder.
It was obvious.
To them.

It would never be obvious to me.

Reflection of the Day.

Today I had one of those days where I just wanted to scream and cry and then go to sleep.  Or where I really just wanted to get hit by a bus... not die, but get hit by one and wake up in the hospital.

Yeah.  It was a long day.

I dealt with friend drama, with my eating disorder, with being angry at my mother, with life, with everything.  And after this kind of crappy day, I really just wanted to sleep.

But of course, I can't do that.  I go to college, remember?  I have homework.

So I decided to go work out.
And I did, after my night lecture.

Now let's pause here for one quick moment and think about the implications of me working out.  It's not something I do on a regular basis.  In fact, the only times that I have ever worked out in my life are when my eating disorder was the worst or I was super stressed.

So the fact that I worked out tonight implies lots of things.  First, that I'm currently in eating disordered mindset and not trying to be healthy.  Which means that I haven't really eaten today.  Or lately, really.  Which means that my vitals are crap right now.  Which means that I've been told that I'm not allowed to work out.

Second, this implies that my stress level was un-chartable.  That I was just feeling things and needed to get them out via some form of physical activity.

Luckily for me, I have a friend who was more than willing to go with me.  Not luckily for me, she also struggles with body image and had a sub-clinical eating disorder in high school.

Well.
I didn't run until I passed out.
I limited myself to half an hour of running because I had a friend with me.

But here's the thing: anorexia makes me not want to listen to the voice of reason inside of my head.  It makes me upset that it's even there and it makes me feel crazy because I can't think/function/act normally.  Anorexia takes the good and turns it into the bad.  It takes the counsel of wise women, like my nutritionist, and ignores it.  It takes the friends and turns them into enemies.

And I'm sick of it.
Literally just sick of it.

I wake up every day wanting to fight.
And I fall asleep wanting to give up.
This is not okay.

It's not okay because it's not who I am.  It's not who I was meant to be and it's not good for me.  That voice of reason, the good, the counsel of those wiser than me, the friends--those are all things that I need.  That anorexia has taken from me.

It's taken my life.

How much more of it will it consume before I cease to exist at all?

Giving up is not an option.
I can't change the world if I'm dead.

Struggling.

Why is it that when we struggle, we are so ashamed to let other people know about it? 
Why is it that we have such a fear of failure?
Why is it that it is so easy to lie and to shut down when we struggle? 

Today, I was having dinner with a very wonderful sister.  And one of the first questions out of her mouth was:  "How are you?" 

I'm okay.

That was such a lie. 

She knew it.  I knew it.  God knew it. 

But here's the thing, even when she asked me about something very close to the thing I was struggling with, I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth about what's been going on in my life. 

Because the truth is scary.

It's so much easier to hide from the pain.  To take a pill to make me numb and not have to work this all out.  To hide from people so that they won't notice that I'm not okay.  To comfort someone else, when it's you who needs the comforting. 

Let's be honest here: 

Life is hard.  And it hurts.  And gosh darn it, we need each other. 

But living authentically, saying what is in our hearts, what is paining us, what we are struggling with, it sucks. 

Because what if that means I'm failing? 

What if that means you won't love me? 

What if that means that I'm not who you want me to be? 

But here's the thing about eating disorders and depression: 

Your recovery grows in proportion to your level of honesty and communication with those around you who love you.

There are no secrets in recovery. 

And there should be no secrets between sisters.

Especially when you know that they will only continue to love you.

So here goes nothing. 

I'm struggling. 

I'm struggling with my depression and eating disorder. 

I'm struggling with being around people and being social. 

I'm struggling with asking for help. 

I'm struggling with admitting to myself that I may still need help.  

I'm struggling with the idea of Jesus. 

I'm struggling with shame. 

I'm struggling with my view of myself. 

I'm struggling with my view of others. 

And I'm hurting. 

So very much. 

There's this voice in my head that tells me that I need to have this together right now. That I either need to have all of this together or that I need to allow myself to completely relapse into the point of not functioning so that it would be more acceptable that I am struggling. 

What kind of twisted thinking is this? 

Friends, I'm struggling and I'm hurting. 

I need you to know that. 

And I need you to know that I'm struggling to reach out and tell you that.  

That I don't know how to say those words to you.  

That I don't know how to say that I need Jesus, that I don't know how to say that I'm failing, that I don't know how to be okay. 

And somehow, this all has to be okay with me. 

I have to make peace with the fact that I struggle and will continue to struggle. 

I have to learn how to not be ashamed of being that girl who is in a continual fight with herself and her demons. 

Will I stop feeling this way? 

Will I ever stop struggling? 

I don't have the answers. 

I just have to keep walking through this mess. 

To keep struggling. 

And maybe, just maybe, this will all one day be a distant memory. 

One can always hope.