He's Feeling 22: 22 Things I've Learned from My Brother

Today is my brother's 22nd birthday. He graduates college in one more semester and then will start working full-time at Foursquare in New York City.  In my personal opinion, this makes him officially old and means that in one more semester, he will be a real adult.  It's hard to believe.

My brother and I at my high school graduation.

My brother and I, like all siblings, have not always gotten along.  In fact, we got into fights frequently, possibly much more frequently than other siblings, as kids.  We argued over whose turn it was to play the Game Cube, who got to sit in the front seat, and who had to do what chores with the rabbits.  We called each other names and got into physical fights on occasion.  I remember the time when he accidentally nailed me in the head with a saucer sled because he thought it would be a great idea to use it as a frisbee (I have a scar on my eyelid from that). But I also remember the times when we got along great.  The days we would spend playing Mario Kart together, the times we went sledding together in our neighbor's backyard, evenings spent snuggling with the rabbits.  I remember that he was the first person I went to when I slipped on a rock in the ocean and cut my foot open on some broken glass.

Being two years apart, we only spent a year in middle school together--Jacob as an 8th grader and me as a 6th grader. When my mom got sick, I remember all of the disagreements with my brother fading away as he stepped up to take care of me.  He protected me when the ambulance came by making me go out into the backyard and playing with the rabbits with me.  He let me pick the video game we played that night, made sure I got dinner, and didn't let me stay up past 10.  We didn't fight that week and I really gained a lot of respect for my older brother and his strength.

Spring break/Easter my junior year of HS
and his freshman year of college.

When we both got into high school, we were always fighting about what time we were leaving for school and how soon after the final bell we would head for home. We had countless arguments over this, and I always felt anger towards him because I was living in his shadow of brilliance--he is so much smarter than me, and I always felt I was never measuring up to his intellect and the reputation he had made for himself in our high school.  But in the midst of this, my brother was who I went to for advice on what classes to take, thoughts on how to get on a specific teacher's good side, and help with math homework when I just didn't understand it.  I wouldn't say that we were ever really that close, but we definitely grew closer.  When he left for college at the beginning of my junior year of high school, I realized how much I missed him.  Sure, he wasn't around to fight with all the time, but he was gone and that left a hole in my life.

In the four years since then, we have grown a lot closer.  I am now starting be able to talk to him about real things, like my eating disorder, depression, and anxiety problems.  Not a whole lot, but more than I used to be able to do.  And I think we've both started to enjoy spending time with each other, whether it's kayaking and going shopping together at the beach, watching a movie, or talking on the phone when we're both at school.  My memory is the time when we saw The Bourne Legacy together and then went for a walk on the beach that night.

Most recently, when I made the decision to come home and he made the decision to accept his job, we had a very brief text message conversation, during which he reassured me that my anorexia would not make me feel better in the long run and that he had faith in my ability to overcome it.  That's something that I've always found in my brother--a kind of strength that I am unable to find in myself.  Whether it comes from a simple text message, a strong hug when we finally see each other after being apart, him letting me hold onto him when I feel scared and lonely and sad at my grandparents' funerals, his ability to turn something I'm freaking out about into something very manageable... I could go on and on.  The past couple of days we have spent together, although they have been stressful for me, have been made better by his presence in our house.  We spent Christmas Day watching movies together (I saw Batman Begins for the first time!) and yesterday watched The Dark Knight.  He, without knowing it, is slowly helping me get out of my isolation mode and back into the real world.

Today, I celebrate the nearly 20 years that I have gotten to spend with my brother and I look forward to the next 20.  But most importantly, I celebrate a man who has no doubt helped shape me and mold me into who I am today, who gives me strength and courage when I need it, and who is always there for me, even though I sometimes feel like he's not (mainly because he always forgets to actually call me).  We don't have a perfect relationship, but no one does, especially not when you've grown up together.  We're siblings and because of that, we have a bond with each other that we cannot possibly have with anyone else, and for that, I am grateful.

I have learned so much from our relationship over the years. So today, because Jacob is turning 22, I would like to share 22 things, in no particular order, that I've learned from my brother:

1. To relax and calm down. 

2. That no one is perfect.

3. That being late is not the end of the world.

4. That I hate aquariums but should still go to them. 

5. How to kayak.

6. That Google is the best IT person.

7. To explore the world.

8. To go after what you want.

9. How to build a fire. 

10. That the world does not, in fact, revolve around me.

11. How to argue. 

12. How to stand up for myself. 

13. Humility. 

14. That a relationship will come when the time is right.

15. How to be strong.

16. To play video games. 

17. That family is important. 

18. That asking for help is okay. 

19. There's always someone who knows more than you. 

20. What not to do to avoid being in trouble with our parents. 

21. How a woman should be treated by a man. 

22. That one person can make a huge difference in your life. 

Happy 22nd Birthday, Jacob! Thanks for being the best older brother that I could ever ask for! I love you very much.

The most recent picture of my brother and I.

An Attitude of Gratitude in the Chaos

I promised myself that I would blog about my first day of day treatment (from here on out, known as DTP).  I promised myself that I would blog about Thanksgiving and how to survive it and have a super compilation of all of the articles I read about how to survive it if you have an eating disorder and how to support a loved one through Thanksgiving. And I did neither of those things. 

My first day of DTP was a whirlwind, from which I went straight into a car for the five hour journey to Michigan, where Thanksgiving happened, then we made the five hour trek back home, and I completed my second day of DTP. So none of the blogging got done because well, DTP is exhausting and I was tired, and I also didn't have the interwebs in the car.  

"By this point, I had long since accepted that I had a problem that could be called anorexia, although I didn't think I was thin enough to 'qualify' for the diagnosis. I was also quite happy to recover from my eating disorder, just as long as I didn't have to eat and gain weight."

--Carrie Arnold, Decoding Anorexia

I started reading Decoding Anorexia by Carrie Arnold last week sometime, and I have still to make it past the introductory chapter because I'm not sure right now is the time for me to read this book.  The quote above has stuck with me ever since I read it the first time because that's exactly where my mind is right now.  I have a foot in both camps--one is in the do-whatever-it-takes-to-recover camp, while the other remains in the I-like-the-idea-but-don't-want-to-eat/not lose-weight camp.

I keep having this discussion with people--from school, from treatment, from my team.  And every single one of them finds it normal that I feel this way and normal that I feel conflicted at this stage.  I mean, I currently have two competing ideologies in my head.  

And I still don't completely understand how sick I am.  I can look at the DSM and see how I fit the diagnosis of anorexia (Criterion B in the DSM: Intense fear of gaining weight. Check.), and I can be told again and again by doctors and therapists and friends and family that I am sick, and I think that I'm just finally becoming on board with that.  I still have my moments though.  

But recovery vs. continuing with my eating disorder?  I don't know.  I can still barely wrap my head around having an ED.  

In DTP, the group leaders have both told me that this is perfectly normal and that acceptance and commitment to recovery will take time for me to develop, but that it will happen and that will be a big part of my recovery.

My doctor today told me that it is going to take time for my mind to get there.  She said that as long as I continue to show up and do the hard work, it will get easier to want to recover.  And she also said that it's completely okay to have one foot in the recovery camp and one foot in the not recovery camp, even if I'm only 51% in the first and 49% in the latter, as long as I'm letting that 51% win.  And sometimes, my balance shifts and it becomes more like 50.00000001% in the recovery camp.

For days I have been feeling like the most insane person on the planet with all of these dissonant thoughts running around in my head.  But today, I feel better because of DTP and because of the supportive staff that work there and I am so thankful for that.

So today, the day after what I'm renaming "Thankfulness Day" because it really is supposed to be about giving thanks, I'm going to turn my mind to the blessings that I have right now, in the chaos, in the uncertainty, in the hard times. And right now, in this moment...

I'm thankful to exist and to be alive;

I'm thankful for warm blankets and naps that bring rest and for knitting, and Criminal Minds to distract after a long few days;

I'm thankful for writing, for blogging, for journaling and for the outlet it gives me right now;

I'm thankful for family and friends who are supportive of my recovery journey;

I'm thankful for a house and loving parents to come home to;

I'm thankful for Gettysburg friends who have been sending love and encouragement, for administrators who have gone above and beyond the call of duty to help me with all the logistics (and to encourage me when I need it), for professors who are becoming more like family away from home and who continue to encourage and support from afar;

I'm thankful for my home community and for older and wiser friends, who I am now becoming close to because of my struggles;

I'm thankful for babies to snuggle and children to watch, for the reminder that life is precious and for the joy their presence brings to me;

I'm thankful for everyone I know who is struggling or has struggled with an ED--for my friends, for those I met and am meeting in treatment, for those I've met by being vulnerable about my own life, for those I've met at school and the NEDA Conference, for those who I blog-creep on--because every single one of these people make me feel less alone and give me a reason to fight my own ED;

I'm thankful for CCED and their staff who are supportive of my recovery and validating of my fears, who understand how overwhelming it is to "just eat" or to "just follow your meal plan," who care about every individual in DTP, who come to work every day with a smile and know exactly what to say to make me laugh, who give me a place of safety where I can be vulnerable and where people just get how I'm feeling;

And I'm thankful for the 50% of me in the recovery camp that gets me to actually go to treatment, because like my therapist continues to tell me, the best thing I am doing for myself right now is simply showing up.

Too Fat to Have an ED

I live in a bubble.  I live in a bubble where people understand mental illnesses like depression and anxiety. And in that same bubble, are a few people who understand eating disorders. A few more of those people are willing to learn about eating disorders and the majority are willing to believe me when I say that I suffer from anorexia. I live in a bubble where when I tell people that I am dealing with all three of those things, they usually say, "I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?" or something similar to that.  

But what still blows me away is the ignorance of people concerning eating disorders. Today, in an effort to make Thanksgiving less painful and stressful on myself, I decided to email all of my relatives on that side about my current situation. This was mainly to avoid the awkward, "So how's school going?" question that seems to be the most popular topic of conversation whenever I see any adult that I haven't seen in a long time. And my extended family has been responding in the most supportive manner and, and for that, I am thankful. 

But then I received this response: 

"Unless you are now grossly underweight, <X lbs, I wouldn't think that anorexia is really an issue." 

This has always been one of my biggest fears when coming clean about being anorexic--that people wouldn't believe me because I am "too fat to have an eating disorder." It's one of my greatest fears in treatment--that I'm going to be the fattest, heaviest, biggest person that has the highest weight there.  That people think that I don't deserve to be in treatment for any type of eating disorder because I am considered to be a 'healthy' weight.  

And the thought slipped into my mind: maybe I don't actually need treatment.  Maybe I'm fine. I'm at a healthy weight according to BMI, right? I mean, it's not what my ED doctor recommended for me when I was in treatment, but if I'm still in a healthy weight range... I must be fine. Dr. G is just overreacting.  

It also brought to mind my sophomore summer and junior year of high school when I was working with a doctor, dietitian, and therapist at Akron who actually told me (while I was teetering on the edge of full-blown anorexia) that I was technically, according to BMI, overweight and that I could continue to lose weight if I wanted.  So they put me on a meal plan that was designed for weight loss, and even though I was eating 'normally,' it totally fueled the eating disordered part of my brain more.

If you want to read more about why this is, this blogger does a really good job of covering what happens to your body when, even if you are eating healthy and exercising, you can develop ED mentalities and other negative effects: I Am Overweight.  (Trigger warning on this one... there's numbers thrown around).

My target weight rang--the range that my ED doctor gave me, which helps them determine if I am 'healthy and recovered' or not--technically puts me in the 70-ish% of Americans who are overweight or obese.  My HEALTHY weight puts me there.  For a general, health conscious American, just being barely over that line would cause me to maybe get a little more exercise, maybe eat a bit healthier, the general stuff.  

But because I am anorexic, my brain hears 'healthy' and thinks fat.  It hears 'barely overweight according to BMI,' which excludes so many factors that contribute to a person's weight, shape, and size, and thinks lose weight. My brain doesn't want to hear healthy. When I wrote my email this afternoon, I attached some links to my family about "What Not to Say to Someone with an Eating Disorder" and one of the first things on that list is to not say anything about looking healthy because an ED brain hears healthy and thinks fat.  

Just as EDs do not discriminate against race, gender, sexuality, age, class, etc., they do not discriminate against size either. People of all body types, sizes, and shapes suffer from eating disorders. You can't tell just by looking at a person. Society has this image of emaciation and protruding bones of adolescent girls with anorexia and other stereotypes of bulimia and BED. A brave young woman wrote about that and her struggles with her own anorexia, even after being weight restored here.  I've probably referenced that same article before, but it is worth the read, even if you have already read it once. 

No one in the professional world defines anorexia as just emaciation. Anorexia is not just a description of a physical appearance. It is a term that describes a cluster of symptoms. Decreased weight is just one factor. Clinician Chelsea Fielder-Jenks elaborates on this idea of weight stigma in this article, concluding by saying: 

"The bottom line is this: Eating disorders do not discriminate. Eating disorder attitudes and behaviors can affect individuals of all weight, sizes, and shapes. Not only does weight stigma prematurely and, perhaps, erroneously determine whether or not someone struggles with an eating disorder, it also prevents those who are struggling from seeking the help they need. This stigma perpetuates a false belief that treatment is only necessary if one’s weight falls at either extreme of the weight spectrum. This is simply not true. A number on the scale is not enough to validate or invalidate an eating disorder diagnosis. Individuals of all weights who are suffering from all types and severities of eating disorders equally deserve treatment."

I am a psychology major. I've been in treatment for an ED for four years now, although my ED has spanned almost seven years of my life. I know the diagnostic criteria. And I meet all of it for anorexia, and I would have met it two years ago had the DSM-V been printed. I did the assessment with an ED specialist, who recommended the DTP level of care. I went to my ED doctor who not only found significant weight loss, that I was orthstatic, low heart rate, bradycardia, malnutrition, and signs that my body was starting to consume muscle for energy. She gave me a meal plan to help get some nutrients in my body and keep my heart from working even harder, slowing down more, and losing muscle mass. 

And that night when I was having an anxiety attack about having to eat food, and A LOT of it (this from someone who has been severely restricting her caloric intake, not for fear of gaining weight, but for the fear of not losing it) and when I finally realized that Dr. G put me on a meal plan to GAIN weight (which is the second worst thing in the world), Annie said to me: 

"You're body is devouring all of your organs.  Pro tip: that's a sign that you might not be at an effective weight." 

She's right. She's 100% correct about that. If all of this is going on with my body medically, then I'm probably not at an effective weight. Or it's a combination of not being at an effective weight and not getting enough nutrients or something. 

But it still bothers me, the whole weight thing--the thought that keeps repeating over and over in my head: You aren't thin enough to have an eating disorder. You're not sick enough to be in DTP. You haven't lost enough weight to be anorexic--in fact, you haven't lost any weight at all (Hello, body dysmorphia).

Rationalizing all of this is completely impossible right now. Making sense of hearing that unless I weigh X pounds, then I don't have an eating disorder added to the fact that my ED brain is already telling me that? I'm not sure I can do it. 

But what I can do is trust the facts and trust the experts. And that's what I'm going to do until I can trust myself.

Same Old Things.

Going off to college, I thought that things would be different. I thought that I wouldn't have the same old struggles. I thought that life with my family would magically be better. I thought that I would know the purpose of my life.

Turns out I was wrong.

About all of it.

That's the thing about leaving one place and starting over new. What was in your mind stays with you. People, places, work...it all changes. But your thoughts stay.

And you change, when you leave. And you forget that when you come back, things are going to be exactly how you left them. Your family will have the same old problems. You will react in the same ways. And too easily, you slip back into the person you once were.

It's all too easy.

Why haven't I changed? I have. Why hasn't anything gotten better? It hasn't. I just haven't had to deal with it like this in a while.

So I forgot.

I forgot how I used to shut down and shut everyone out.
I forgot how I would numb myself to every emotion because it was just too difficult to deal with this.
I forgot how destructive I could be when I couldn't block any of this out.

It's time this changed.
Past time to let go.

And this letting go...

It's a process.