This past year has been a complete and utter rollercoaster ride filled with some of the highest highs I’ve ever experienced mixed in with a few of the lowest lows including, and probably most importantly, spending time in eating disorder treatment.
Last spring I shared my excitement over the potential to finally be in a committed relationship with life thanks to an experimental treatment for my rare disease, which I’m thrilled to say is continuing to be extremely promising. I quickly realized that it is entirely impossible to be in a committed relationship with life while only being in a friends with benefits relationship with recovery. You know, we’d fuck on the weekends, but stayed at a distance the rest of the week. Enough to make me feel something, but always leaving me wanting more and never sure of which one; safety or risk? The eating disorder or recovery?
On my very first day the clinical director of my treatment center in California told me that, if I gave myself over to the process, I would walk out a completely different person than I walked in. I didn’t believe her, but I’m beyond grateful she was right.
As I’m writing this, I’m still in treatment*, but now at a step down level of care in a different facility in DC and my final discharge date is approaching quickly, which is truly surreal.
I initially found out I was being sent to treatment about a month after publishing my blog sharing my long battle with an eating disorder. It should not have been a surprise, after all, as I shared in the post, my outpatient therapist and dietician were bringing up the possibility of needing to go inpatient. I have an uncanny ability to avoid things though and figured this would be another on the list. The whole situation felt like a lucid nightmare, something I’d eventually wake up from leaving me a bit shaken, but with everything having returned to normal. (To be fair, that feeling might’ve been in part due to the severe lack of nutrition.)
At the time I had absolutely no intention of ever sharing this part of my journey. I’ll be honest and admit that in the beginning this was partially due to still being in the friends with benefits phase. I did not know if I really wanted full recovery let alone the accountability of being public with my time in treatment. Even after that mental shift took place, I was still pretty much set on privacy until recently. Until I felt proud of myself for the first time in my life. That statement might come as a surprise given the objective extent of my accomplishments over the course of my life thus far, but it’s true. I was too busy listening to the voice in my head screaming that I am worthless, that no matter what I do, I’ll never be enough.
You see, living with an eating disorder is like having another person inside your brain 24/7. It’s presence feels like a protector, someone looking out for your best interests and making sure you are always striving to be better, but in reality it is just destroying you from the inside. It takes away everything you love and makes you think you deserve it. Unsubscribing from the deeply rooted beliefs my eating disorder spent the better part of a lifetime instilling is a challenge to say the least, but it gets easier everyday to tell it’s shrill voice to shut the hell up and give myself grace instead.
In my blog disclosing my eating disorder I wrote, “Sharing this post is one of the hardest things I have ever done (and I’ve re-learned how to walk five times, so that’s saying something). I’m scared to admit my brokenness, and not just admit it, but put it on full display for the world to see.” I often still feel this way. In fact, as I type this tears are streaming down my face and in this moment I’m still unsure of how long it will take me to actually hit the “Save & Publish” button. It could be two weeks or two months or hell even two years and I’m having to remind myself that, that’s okay.
I don’t know how this post will be received and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t care, but at the end of the day it really doesn’t matter. Because sharing now isn’t about being open and honest, though those are important. It isn’t even about reducing the shame and stigma, which is also important. Rather, it is about grieving the years spent wasted in my disorder and celebrating how much I have overcome to get to this point.
The terrifying reality of eating disorders: if you’re not recovering, you’re dying. And I am so fucking done with dying.
* Note: At the time of (finally) publishing it has been four months since I “graduated” from program. I spent a whopping total of 6 months, 25 weeks, 175 days in treatment fighting to get back in my body.
While I’m in awe of how far I came in that time, I’m by no means “cured.” I’ve had struggles that have led to slip ups, especially recently. If I’m being honest, the chaos of the world and it’s unexpected triggers have pushed me to the brink of a full-blown relapse. I’m even considering doing a (hopefully) quick stint back in virtual treatment.
It might seem strange that I’ve chosen now, in the middle of a pandemic and the day before my birthday (not to mention while I’m considering going back to treatment), to share, but it couldn’t be more fitting.
I didn’t realize just how far I backslid until I had a bit of a wake up call the other day. In between initially writing this blog about four and a half months ago and hitting publish today I lost that crucial sense of pride I’d been feeling. Even when I was not engaging in actual behaviors, I was letting my eating disorder’s evil voice dictate how I saw myself and that’s just as damaging.
My earlier words were filled with such happiness and strength, which is so far from what I’m feeling now. Instead I’ve been angry, really angry these past few weeks. I got a taste (literally) of what life can look like in recovery from mental health and stability from physical health. Now that’s gone with no timeline of when it’s coming back. I had processed the grief of the life I lost before, but I wasn’t prepared to grieve the life I gained in the interim. The isolation and overwhelming sense of helplessness in this situation have been getting to me and allowed my eating disorder to slowly, but surely take over again, ripping away the person I worked so hard to become the past ten months, the one I was finally learning to love. It’s frankly heartbreaking.
With all of the darkness and uncertainty right now it’s been hard to remind myself what I have to dig myself out of this hole for. Then, while re-reading what I wrote above, the answer dawned on me and it’s the same as always: life. Because, even during this turbulent time, life is always worth fighting for. And, like anything good in this world, just because it’s worth it, doesn’t mean it’s easy.
Recovery is a never-ending battle and healing is not linear. It’s filled with twists, turns, and lots of loop-de-loops. While I’m absolutely terrified of reaching the point of a full-blown relapse like I have in the past, I’m more hopeful than ever before. Because, despite what social distancing is leading me to believe, this time around I have something I’ve never had in my fight before: support.
Here’s to dual velociraptor screams, Florida, and fucking it up to the tempo. Here’s to yeeting and yoinking. Here’s to Chronic Taco, taking things step by step, and Aldovia. Here’s to beaches and boba. Here’s to cool whip, stolen pumpkins, and the 8:23. Here’s to whore cookies and wholesome content. Here’s to tiny desk, GPS, and never holding the hot sauce. Here’s to Fleetwood Mac and face masks. Here’s to zombies, glitter bombs, and walking into walls. Here’s to faith and freedom. And generally speaking, “Here’s to the ones who stuck in when they should’ve run despite all of my ranting and raging.” (“Reasons Not To Die” by Ryn Weaver)
But most importantly, here’s to my family back at the shoreline and the self-proclaimed “Sane Squad.” There is not a day that goes by where I do not think of each and every one of you, “So much of me is made of what I’ve learned from you. You’ll be with me like a handprint on my heart. And now whatever way our stories end, I know you have rewritten mine by being my friend.” (“For Good” from Wicked)
I don’t know what the future holds, but for now? For now I’m going to work my ass off (or rather on?) so I can get back to celebrating being in the greatest love story of all time: one with life and all of it’s endless possibilities.
*cue the cheesy rom-com credits song*
If you or anyone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you are not alone and there are resources that can provide immense support. The first step to recovery is reaching out.
Xo,
S