In my first post about my disorder I mentioned I had done this as well. Unlike Schaefer, I knew from the beginning that my disorder was female. She has her own name and all my disorder behaviors and urges and negative self-doubt come from her. Reading this book has made it even easier for me to separate myself from her, and to feel less awkward about discussing her at all in this way. It has helped me to recognize a particular thought or emotion as hers rather than my own, and has helped me to confront her when she's telling me to do something wrong or trying to send me down a spiral of self-doubt. This post will be filled with references to her. If while reading this you're starting to think I'm crazy, well news flash - that's what eating disorders are. They are crazy, and nonsensical, and the rules of their world make absolutely no sense to those in the real one. This helps me though, it really does, so crazy or not I'm sticking with it. Now with no further ado, here is what's been going on with me the last couple weeks.
I had one week that was actually kind of ok. I didn’t feel awesome, but I wasn’t so bogged down with misery that getting through the day felt like a breeze compared to the weeks prior. Instead of feeling like an injection of awfulness and despair had been shot straight into my heart flooding me with an instant rush of emotions so strong I'd spend the rest of the day reeling and desperately grasping for something to hold on too, she’s now more like a steady IV drip, where at periodic intervals a few drops of negative feelings are poured into my veins so they can make their way through my body to rest in my heart and mind. I still hate it, but it’s better that way, more manageable. I think part of the change had to do with a letter and book I got from a fellow Mercy patient. I swear seeing them continue to fight gives me more inspiration and strength to fight than anything else. Unfortunately, I think there was another reason why the disorder laid low for a few days – she was planning her next move. Each time it’s a different kind of attack, a new tactic meant to get in and uproot the shaky foundation of recovery I’ve built. A new plan meant to send me straight back to where I was before. Despite the fact that this is taking place in my own mind, I have no idea when it will come, and never any clue what to expect.
She made her move last Thursday, right after my weekly weigh-in at the doctor. I lost weight, I’m not sure how much, the nurse just said a little. To a healthy, sane person with no experience of disorders you might think that after hearing that the hugeness I usually do feel might have dissipated a little. But that’s not how it works. To an eating disorder no amount of weight loss is ever enough. They will tell you every single time you step on that scale that you can always lose more, that you should lose more, that you must lose more, or else you are a failure at losing weight, at managing your life, at being a person. They will tell you this until it kills you – and I can guarantee if they could find a way into the afterlife with you they would be there telling you that you still didn’t lose enough – that you should have done more to weigh less before you finally did wind up in a grave.
So when I found out that my number on the scale had gone down a bit, she jumped right up and informed me that the nurse was lying, that I had in fact gained, and that I needed to go home and throw in a work out dvd, go out for a hike in the woods, and then run up and down my stairs for an hour. When I refused to listen, she said fine, then go home and eat dinner but eat less than what I normally do. I could still have an entrée, a side and two veggies – but I needed to make sure that what I chose for those first two things had fewer calories than other foods I might possibly want. My evening snack should have only 2 tablespoons of nut butter instead of 4, the apple I ate should be the smallest one I had so the calorie intake wouldn’t be so high.
Her voice hasn’t stopped since. Imagine the most talkative person you know and then multiply what they say by a thousand. Now envision that everything they say is an attempt to make you feel miserable, to attack any good feelings they have, to get you to do the exact opposite of what you know is good and healthy and right. Imagine they are trying to kill you. Now imagine living with that person and their thoughts and comments 24 hours a day 7 days a week with no end in sight.
She rarely asks me to skip a meal altogether, instead she asks if I really need a side for my breakfast since I did so much sitting the day before. She says that if I feel so full after eating that means I ate too much so that I shouldn’t have a night snack, or at the very least it should be half of what I normally eat. She says that dinner is fine, but I can only have one thing that isn’t a vegetable and everything else must be veggies. Or if I want more than one non-veggie item then that’s find but I should really make sure it’s these two things because they less fat than anything else. Or if I want that higher fat item than I have to make sure it’s organic, and I need to make sure that I do go for a walk that’s 10 minutes longer than my normal route. Yogurt is ok but it has to be organic, and she makes sure to tell me that I’m slowly poisoning myself to an early death whenever I don’t follow the organic only rule.
She says all these things in such a cheerful upbeat way (because she knows her previous approaches haven’t worked) that it’s hard to not give in and listen. And I won’t lie, there are times she has won. I haven’t skipped meals, but I have gone for the less calorie option. I bought some of my favorite yogurt since it was on sale but it wasn’t organic, so I grabbed some organic yogurts too even though I like that brand less. I haven’t done anything that falls into the category of “strenuous exercise” but I have upped the amount of physical activity more than I probably should have because it was the only way she would stop screaming and let me eat.
She also likes to bargain through the mirror. It seems like every time I pass by one she zeros on one area of my body that is clearly way bigger than it should be so that means I should eat a little less when the next meal time comes around. When I don’t listen to that suggestion than the next mirror (let me just say how much I hate mirrors right now) I happen across – sometimes only seconds later – she’ll say “ok that first thing I brought up really ok, but this part of you really is enormous so how about you go make an extra trip up and down the stairs and leave out a few almonds from your next snack. It’s ok, just a little bit is fine. You made it this far in recovery – how bad can it be?”
"How bad can it be?"
"What could it hurt?"
"You've been good for so long, don't you deserve a break?"
She peppers those questions in between every bargain she tries to strike with me trying to make it sound like she's on my side, has my best interests at heart, that she wants me to succeed.
I’m telling you this so I can be held accountable. I am staying as strong as I possibly can, but it definitely helps when people know both my successes and failures. It helps when I am asked directly how I am doing, what I’ve had to eat today, am I staying healthy, are the voices tougher today than normal. It helps if people know I’m kind of on shaky territory so they can see any warning signs take my arm, sit down, and ask me how I am doing.
It is also important to be reminded that I don't just owe it to myself to fight back. I owe it to my mom, to my sisters, my best friend. I owe it to every one who has ever done anything, has gone out of their way, to help make sure I have a better future. They don't deserve the figurative slap in the face I'd be giving them and their efforts by throwing my health and life away simply because I'm tired of fighting. I know recovery can only be achieved if I want it. I do, but there are times that my family, friends, fellow Mercy patients, and anyone else who might be rooting for me, are the reason I push through the exhaustion and do what I, not the disorder, knows to be right. Because I am tired. So tired. There's never any rest. Even on the days where she is quiet, I still have to be constantly on guard because when I drop it for a second she sneaks in and does her absolute best to trip me up. This week she damn near succeeded.
There is good news. I left my therapy session this week feeling stronger than I have in a long time. I stopped by the store on the way home and bought food that she hates but I wanted. I got my weight checked today and the nurse said I hadn't lost any more - that I'd remained stable. And, I've had flashes where I felt my old self peeking through the cloud I've been in since this whole thing started. Not so much this last week, more during the week prior. Still, regardless of when, they happened. There were moments I actually felt comfortable in my own skin - something that hasn't happened in over a year. There was a second or two that the thought of eating something like peanut butter brownies, or gelato, or a chocolate chip cookie didn't send my blood pressure through the roof. Did I eat those? No. But I can't tell you the last time I looked on those foods without fear, so that's progress. I have found something that makes bread slightly less terrifying, although I know I've got a long way to go before I overcome that hurtle completely. Most important, right now at least, is I got through this new attack. It was really tricky and I almost didn't make it. The fact that I did just gives me more arsenal to fight with the next time around; whatever she brings.
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