The Siren's Song

I have a confession. Recovery right now is steady because people I love deserve a recovered me not because I want recovery. I long for the sweet arms of addiction. She beckons to me like a siren promising that one night would satisfy my lust. I know it isn't true but the voice sings beautifully and I struggle to resist her pull. I just want the outside pain to match the inside pain.

sometimes ignorance IS bliss

Thank you my dear friend for helping me fight today by feeding my family.  We are all grateful, me beyond words. 

Words fail me in trying to describe the battle inside of me.  I want to explain but it doesn't make sense.  Maybe it is better to stop trying to explain.  My thoughts are scary, vocalized they become terrifying. 

Niece

I'm worried about Niece.  She has been living on the streets and in shelters for months.  She called another family member last week, hysterical because she had been stabbed.  Turns out she wasn't stabbed per say but rather that someone threw a knife at her and it cut her arm.

This other family member went to pick her up and said she looks awful.  Niece has been cutting a LOT and has marks up and down her arms.  She also has needle marks from drugs. 

I saw a picture of her yesterday and wanted to cry.  She was wearing a shirt, not immodestly low-cut but low-cut enough for me to see that she has dark bruises all across her chest and collar bone. I am so heartbroken for her.  I wish I could help her and I know I can't.  She needs divine intervention, it is her only hope.

Logical

                                                      


                                      

There is nothing logical about an eating disorder.  If it were logical, those of us who have had them could easily see the error of our ways and stop killing ourselves.  


Hubby once told me that dealing with someone with an eating disorder is difficult because you have to be rational yourself while acknowledging that the person you love cannot be rational or reasoned with.  Malnutrition messes up every single thing in your mind.

When I was malnourished, I couldn't see how much my actions were effecting my body.  I was constantly in a state of "conspiracy theory", certain that everyone around me hated me.  Even when I finally realized that I was killing myself I couldn't think logically about it.  The logic of my malnourished brain said, "My family is already watching me die slowly.  If I were in a car accident, they wouldn't watch me die they would get a phone call to say I was gone.  It makes more sense than putting them through this."


It made perfect sense to me.  It was logical for me.  But it wasn't rational.  Nothing at all is rational or logical about any addiction, including eating disorders.  Do you know how many times I have heard,  "Why don't you just stop?"


If it were that easy it wouldn't be a disorder.  If I could explain it, I wouldn't have needed help.  If it made sense I would have never been stuck.  If it was logical, I wouldn't still have days that I just don't feel like eating for no reason at all.

I have a friend who is dealing with some pretty serious food demons right now.  And the difficult thing is that her husband is dealing with his own different demons.  He finally acknowledged his demons with this statement, "I guess I should start to stop."  She proceeds to tell me that she doesn't understand that "start to stop" mentality.  When she decides to do something, she just does it.  What does it mean to start to stop?


I smiled and reminded her of the illogical ways that that addictions work.  Do you know you should be eating?  Yes.  Do you know you are destroying your body? Yes.  Then why do you do it?  You know the problem, you can see the problem and yet you haven't stopped the behavior.  Suddenly his issues and willingness to work on them came into perspective.  


Addiction is emotional first and then physical.  Long before our bodies  crave the relief from restricting or purging or alcohol or drugs or whatever the addiction, our minds do.  Our minds crave the relief from the craziness of life, from the pain of our emotions.  We cater to our minds and emotions and then without warning and very quickly the physical body is completely addicted.


It would make sense to just stop.  But in the middle of the addiction, it doesn't make any sense.  To someone on the outside it seems so obvious.  To someone stuck it is terrifying.  To just stop means to have no way to cope with the pain of life.  To just stop takes away the illusion of control that you think you have.  


If making sense of it all were enough, if being logical and reasonable and rational were enough, no one would need treatment centers.  We wouldn't need help.  If being logical were enough, it wouldn't be a disease, it wouldn't be an addiction, it wouldn't be an issue at all.


EATING DISORDERS DON'T MAKE SENSE!  THEY ARE NOT LOGICAL SO PLEASE STOP TRYING TO FIX THE ONE YOU LOVE WITH LOGIC!

Post It note frenzy

Today I sat outside in the sun with my lunch and my thoughts.  The weather was beautiful and the fresh air was needed.  The problem was that  I didn't really want to eat my lunch.  I sat trying to remember why I needed to eat it.  I sent my friend a message telling her that I couldn't remember why I needed lunch.  She sent back the perfect words.  So perfect that I copied them to a Post It note and put it on my computer.

It has been really hard to remember lately why sick was bad.  I keep trying to remember the things I hated about being sick, but much like delivering a child, time has a whiskey effect and it doesn't seem as bad as I know it was.  Orange seems like a comforting friend holding her hand out to me and it hurts to turn my back and keep walking.  I know she can't really comfort me but she keeps promising that she can, that this time she has really changed, that she won't abuse her power anymore.

So tonight I made more sticky notes.  I made more notes of why I need to eat.  I have notes to put in or on that adorable new lunch bag I just got.  I have reasons that eating is important.

How about you?  Anything to add?  What reasons do you eat when you desperately want to avoid food?  Do you write them down?

forgiven

Obviously on Monday I blew it big time.  Yesterday was only slightly better.  I spent my morning feeling sorry for myself.  I spent my afternoon feeling guilty.  Food was not high on my priority list.  I was too busy beating myself up for giving in to my addiction.

See this is how orange works.  Doing well.  Doing well.  Then the voices.  You really don't deserve that nice meal that you just had.  Food is for sustenance not for fun.  Your husband shouldn't have spent the money to buy something special for in house date night.  It is frivolous.  How dare you enjoy that food?  You don't deserve to be taken care of.  You don't deserve to eat. The lies keep attacking until finally in a sheer panic, I give in and try to purge.  Maybe purging will shut them up. But it doesn't.

Then the next morning when I cannot swallow without feeling raw scratching in my throat, I realize what I've done.  And the voices start again but this time even more accusatory.  Look at yourself!  Look what you've done.  You know better than this.  What is wrong with you?  You're a worthless piece of sh*t.  You spent your night trying to get rid of food that your body needed.  If you aren't going to try to keep it down then why on earth should you eat it?  You have to pay for last night.  No you can't have breakfast.  How can you trust yourself to not go running to the bathroom to get rid of that breakfast?  No, better to not eat, at least until you can trust yourself again.  See, it's true, you are not capable of recovery.  You will always mess it up.  Just give in to it.  You aren't going to beat me so why not just surrender to me? Just let me destroy your body.  You are stuck.  You are mine.  You will never be free from my grip.  Even when you think you want something else, I will always be here waiting to hold your hand and take you back.

The lies of orange attacked me so viciously that I couldn't hear anything else.  I shivered my way through a miserably cold night at work.  I joked with my customers that it was ok that it was only 54* because shivering burns calories.  Who needs exercise when you work in an icebox?  They laughed.  I ached that I had seriously just said that.  I had hoped for time with a good friend after work but in God's grace and wisdom, she didn't get my message asking if I could come over for a bit. 

I decided as I neared home to turn on the radio.  Once again God used music. The only song I heard before arriving at home was Forgiven by Sanctus Real.

I love the end that says, "When I don't measure up to much in this life, Oh I'm a treasure in the arms of Christ."  See that is the amazing part of grace.  I blew it.  But God gently calls me back.  He reminds me that I don't have to carry the weight of what I've done because He has already carried it. As I thought of this, I remembered a verse that was very dear to my heart during my first go round with recovery.

Micah 7:8 (NIV)

  ⁸ Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
   Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
   the LORD will be my light.

Though I have fallen, I will rise.  Though I gave into darkness, the Lord will be my light. I blew it but He redeemed it.  I can't say I'm feeling perfectly fine right now.  But I can say that I am allowing God to minister to my pain and my guilt and my self condemnation.  I don't know how to do this but I do know that God knows how to carry me through this.  I know that His grace is sufficient to cover me.  I know that sometimes the lies will win in my heart but I know that His truth is bigger and can break through those lies.  If I know nothing else, I know this
HE IS FAITHFUL.

good news bad news

In case you wanted to know, it doesn't matter how far I stick my finger down my throat, I cannot throw up.  It doesn't work with a toothbrush either.  I have a faulty gag reflex.  I have proved that once again.  Sometimes the panic just gets to be too much and I have to try.  I still can't purge.  I guess that is the good news.

The bad news is that it is still an urge, one that tonight I couldn't make shut up no matter what I did until after my fingers had been jammed repeatedly down my throat.  The bad news is that orange just won't get out of my ear tonight.  The bad news is that in my shower tonight I contemplated scrubbing my skin till it bled like I used to.  I wondered if I could find an area to cut that my husband wouldn't notice tomorrow and ask me what happened.   

I wonder why these feel so strong tonight. 

afraid

I haven't had enough to eat today.  That is a statement, not a question.  The old habits are hard to war against, they pull against my soul with a fierceness I cannot explain.  I need to go have dinner but I'm afraid to.  I don't even know what I am afraid of.  Afraid I might get better?  Afraid I might live my life? 

OR

Afraid I might like the taste of food?  Afraid I might never stop if I start eating?  Afraid that I will lose the thing I can control?  Afraid that I might have to feel my feelings?  Afraid that I might have to acknowledge my inadequacy?  Afraid that I might not be worth the effort I put in to recover?

** K, I needed to hear you say I was weary while I was writing this post.  I was looking for scripture reference about being weary and this is the one that jumped out at me.

Isaiah 40
²⁶ Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
   Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
   and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
   not one of them is missing. 
 ²⁷ Why do you complain, Jacob?
   Why do you say, Israel,
“My way is hidden from the LORD;
   my cause is disregarded by my God”?
²⁸ Do you not know?
   Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
   the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
   and his understanding no one can fathom.
²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
   and increases the power of the weak.

I can't do this

I had a rough day today.  My kids are back in school now and to be honest, I miss my 6 year old.  He is now a big 1st grader and is in school all day this year.  I didn't think I would get lonely but I miss the sound of his laugh and the zillion ways he makes me smile each day.

Work went well, until the end.  A former co-worker is helping out with fall rush this week and while neither of us dislikes the other, there is an awkwardness that feels nearly suffocating.  My last 45 minutes of work seemed to last as long as the rest of the day had.

I came home cranky.  It wasn't until after my kids were in bed that I realized food (or the lack thereof) is why I was cranky.  By that point I really didn't want to eat.  It was too late for dinner.  Only half joking I asked my friend if a beer was enough calories to be considered dinner.  Apparently not :)

I heated up some dinner.  I poured the beer into a frosty mug.  I tried to eat.  I ended up crying instead.  I DON'T WANT TO!  I managed a tiny smaller than normal amount of dinner through my tears.  I hoped the beer would make the dinner seem more appealing.  Not the case.

I realized that when I am at this point, hoping for happy seems so far out of reach that numb feels like the best  I could achieve.  Tonight I long for numb, for a place where the hurt can't find me.  Tonight I am pissed off with recovery and am ready to say take this recovery and shove it.  While I know this is not a permanent outlook, tonight I could care less if I ever get better.  Tonight I long for numb and I know restricting brings me numb, even if only for a short time.

Tonight is another night of crying through the bites.  Another night of wondering why I keep on going.  Another night of wishing it were easy.  Another night of being angry with myself for not being able to just suck it up.  Another night of wanting to be anyone but me.

I just received this text message from my dear friend. Isaiah 46:4 even to your old age and gray hairs, I am He who will sustain you.  I have made you and I will carry you.  I will sustain you and rescue you

God, sustain me.  Carry me.  Rescue me.  For I am too weary to fight on my own right now.
 

I didn't hit the panic button!

Last week could have been devastating to recovery, but it wasn't.  What I thought would be a week wrought with food panic was a week covered by the grace of God.  I did not one time panic about the food I was eating!  Let me repeat that because as many of you know it is indeed HUGE. I did not one time panic about the food I was eating! 

I have had several people notice the ribbon in the wing of my butterfly tattoo.  One asked if it was a fish, I said no it's an awareness ribbon.  She asked if it was for breast cancer.
After a quick pause I answered, "It's actually for Eating Disorder Awareness."  Her response was interesting to me.  "Do you have an eating disorder?"
"I'm recovering from one."
"Wow, so that explains how you lost all that weight so quickly this past summer. I wanted to be like you and then I decided you were maybe a getting a little too thin."
"Oh. Um, so you noticed that too?"
"Yeah, how could we not notice?"

In thinking about it, I find it to be funny the difference in men and women.  Women around me noticed.  Men did not (or if they did, they pretended not to.)  My pastor was surprised, his wife nodded and said, "Yeah, you are looking a bit thin, Missy." My husband noticed, of course, but that is not a fair call because he sees me naked so of course he would notice!  Many of the women around me were concerned.  I got comments like, "You're not eating with us?" more than once.

I thought I was being discreet.  I mean really, how could it be obvious to others?  It wasn't obvious to me until I went to the hospital.  Isn't it funny what ED does to your brain?  I would easily notice it in someone else and yet I expected no one to notice it in me.  I didn't see it in the mirror (remember Why does the mirror lie?) so it seemed unreal that others would see it.  In looking back though, I don't know why I thought my disease was invisible.

I guess because I felt invisible, I felt that my disease was also invisible.  If they can't see me, then surely they can't see my hurt both physical and emotional.  I know that triggers are always a breath away.  I am so grateful for the online support I have found with others who struggle.

Here is what I have learned about eating disorders (especially anorexia).  Way too many people suffer from ED.  Many more people are committed to recovery than I had ever realized.  Many more people are afraid of recovery than I wish to mention.  We all suffer differently and yet the same.  While one is doing in-patient care for months, another is finding support groups nearby.  One trusts God, another trusts self.  We all hurt.  Some look the part of the emaciated little girl, some look normal and healthy while slowly dying.  Some were smaller than me some were bigger than me and yet we all felt like we were not small enough.  It is not age confined.  I have talked to young girls, teenagers, college students, newlyweds and even other 30 something moms like me.  While the media may give an age range that is more likely to struggle with ED, it is not something that ends when the stress of grad school ends or the days of up all night with the baby end.  It is not confined to the poor or the rich.  It crosses every socioeconomic barrier, every age barrier, every religion barrier, every time zone.

Recovery is harder than the hardest work.  It is harder than giving birth, harder than surgery, harder than any physical condition I have ever had to overcome.  Recovery is harder than giving in to the addiction, it is harder than meeting a deadline, it is harder than the most daunting tasks I have ever undertaken.  It is harder than parenting and harder than loving.  Recovery opens up a part of you that you never want to be seen and then you have to keep it open in order to allow healing.

Recovery to me means I have to keep letting people in, even when all I want to do is shut them out.  It means believing my husband when he says I'm beautiful.  It means knowing that I really do want to be around for my kids and my hubby even when I think I don't want to live.  It means not looking at calories or sugar grams when I indulge.  It means giving to others even when I am afraid that I have nothing worth offering.  It means trusting that God has a plan and a purpose for my life, even when I can't see it.  It means being willing to let go of my hurt rather than let it control me.  It means being happy for every baby step I make.  It means rejoicing when I have a week that I didn't panic once about food.  It means telling people I am a recovering anorexic, not that I am anorexic (big and difficult distinction there!). It means finding ways to cope with fear, pain, anxiety and stress in healthy ways not destructive ways.  It means not allowing myself the euphoria that I experience when I restrict.

I'm not foolish enough to think that one great week means no more bad weeks, but I am happy to know that I have finally reached a point where I can have a great week not just a great day!

misplaced guilt

Misplaced as it is, I have a very extreme case of guilt right now.  The last couple of days have been easier to eat.  This morning I took my 3 year old to our family's traditional first day of preschool breakfast.  I then, for lunch, proceeded to cave to my beyond extreme craving for chocolate and ate a couple of peanut butter cups.  Tonight I had dinner with my family.  I feel so sick to my stomach and have for most of the day.  I also feel so very out of control.  It seems crazy to say that.  Here I have been saying that I want to get better but then when I make steps to try to achieve my goal, I feel like I'm spiraling out of control and I'm guilt ridden.

I'm sure part of the guilt lies in the fact that thanks to hormones, I have had such an obscene craving for chocolate.  I have caved a couple of times because this is almost equivalent to pregnancy cravings.  It is the kind of craving that is so strong that it makes you feel almost like you will get sick if you don't indulge it.  I cried when my husband brought home chocolate donuts.  They looked so good.  I only had a part of one, just less than half.  I am feeling so very conflicted about food.  On one hand, I have a desire to eat and to be healthy.  On the other hand I despise food and that we are dependent on it.  If I could live a happy, healthy life that never included another meal, I would do it! 

Yesterday was a 10, I desperately wanted to get better at all costs.  Today is a 4, I kinda want to get better but not really too much.  I have started exercising quite a bit more as well.  I am terrified to go back to the body I had.  Sounds stupid, especially if you know me, but it is indeed how I feel. 

So all of that said, I need to go and immerse myself in the truth of the Word.  If I don't the lie will most definitely win this time!  The lies are pouring through my brain almost faster than I can sort through them right now.  Pray for the truth to saturate me even more than the lies have.

Oh, completely random but don't want to forget, my bone scan came back ok.  There is no visable bone mass loss.  Several people have asked so I wanted to remember to update that.

don't you love me?

For some reason my entry is once again going to be "there was this boy....." Shortly after making the "full" connection, I dated a guy who I loved very much.  He said he loved me too.  I loved him enough to share my secret, I wasn't eating.  I had never shared that with a boyfriend before.  I thought having him knowing would be helpful to my journey towards healing.  I even invited him to come to one of my counseling sessions to help him understand how to help, love and support me.

At the counseling appointment, he said all the right things.  My counselor even mentioned after he had left that he was very kind to me and seemed to have a real desire to help me through it.  Not that at any point I expected him to cure me but I really thought he would at least support me as I was seeking help.  He tried.  After a while though it is draining, especially when you view anorexia as a stupid choice not as a vicious stronghold. 

I could feel how frustrated he was getting and I wanted to get better to keep him from being so frustrated with me.  The problem was that I wasn't getting better.  Wanting to for him was not enough.  I still had too much emotional baggage and my own blinding hurt kept me from being able to get better for just his sake.  He started saying things like, "Why can't you just eat? Why is this such a huge deal for you?"  And then he said the worst, "Don't you love me?  Why can't you stop for me?"  The funny thing is that I never felt guilt over not eating as he intended.  I always felt guilt from eating though. 

I was afraid to stop.  Anorexia had become part of my identity.  I didn't know how to function without it.  It was a safety net that helped me to think about food not sex.  I wanted to feel badly enough to get better for him but I didn't want to get better for me.  As anyone at all will tell you about any addiction or destructive habit, if you don't want to get better, no one else can make you get better.

Unfortunately, he didn't know that.  He pressured me more and more.  We also had a fairly physical relationship so the more he pressured me to eat, the less control I felt.  It was MY body and I didn't like him telling me how to use it.  I would allow him to be physical, too physical, hoping that if he had that, he would quit trying to make me eat.  As our relationship got more physical, eating became more difficult.  No matter how much guilt he heaped on me, I couldn't feel guilty enough to change.  I did indeed love him but I couldn't stop for him.

When he finally left me ( I would say broke up with me, but I didn't get the courtesy of that kind of closure) I was broken.  I remember telling my counselor that I wish I had gone ahead and slept with him.  We were physical enough that it is surprising that we didn't.  She asked why and I remember responding with tears flowing down my cheeks, "Because then he would have my body but not my heart."  She told me several times that it wasn't really like that.  I just remember crying and crying and hating myself for not being able to love him enough to change.  I wanted him.  I had changed when abusive boyfriend thought I was fat.  I had desired to please him enough to starve myself.  Why then could I not change for this boy who I did love?  Why couldn't I force myself to eat just as I had forced myself to stop eating? 

I don't fully know the answers to those questions but I do know this, loving him and wanting to please him was not enough to break years of destructive habits.  Loving him was not enough to heal me.  Being physical with him only continued my feelings of being out of control.  His guilt was no where near big enough to bring change to my heart, my body and my life.  His guilt only made me hate myself more because I couldn't change for him, even though I did love him.

my cry for help

I don't really know why I picked the number I did. I had done my research though and I knew what average weight was for someone my height and age was and my number was significantly connected to the research that I had done. When week after week was not making a significant dent to my goal to the perfect number, I upped the use of the diet pills. I was now taking more than recommended dose after meals and sometimes before meals as well.


I finally got to the point where I had to get rid of food completely again and keep the metabolism boosters to try to achieve my own perceived perfection.   On a retreat with our church's youth group and college/career aged group I had too many.  Way to many.  I started feeling dizzy and I didn't like the way I felt.  I locked myself in a ladies restroom and took more pills.  I was afraid that the dizzy feeling meant that I was going to want food and that thought terrified me.  I didn't realize at the time that it was actually because I was racing my metabolism with nothing to fuel my body.  An hour later when I still couldn't numb the emotional pain yet, with my head still pounding and spinning, I took more pills.  I ended up passing out in the same ladies room I had previously used to hide my pill usage.  I'm not really sure how long I was out but I didn't think it was very long.  I somehow managed to make it to the main room where evening services were being held.  I could barely walk and holding my head up was getting more and more difficult.  I found a corner, sat down and buried my head in my knees and cried.

Crying made my head hurt worse.  I remember nothing of the service that night other than there was a very funny skit early in the service before the sermon.  I only remember one tiny part of the skit but I have heard from many friends and my husband how funny the skit was.  I remember nothing at all of the rest of the evening and have no recollection of how or when I got back to my room for the night.  I think my friend, who several years later became my husband, came to check if I was ok but it is all blurry.  I probably did what I was so good at and said yeah and then buried my head to cry some more.

The next day I knew I needed help.  I still used the pills, but not in the rather large excess that I had the day before.  After the service that evening I sought out the pastor.  In retrospect I should have sought out his wife or pretty much anyone besides him.  I pulled him to the side in the auditorium and told him of my struggle.  I confessed my not eating and I confessed the use of the pills.  I also confessed the amount of pills I had taken just the day before.  I finally wanted the help that I had known for some time that I needed.  I wanted to get better.  I wanted to live a life to glorify God and I wanted to find the peace I had been searching for my entire life.

 Unfortunately, he was not the person to help me find help. His response was devastating to me.  He informed me that it was just a matter of making up my mind to stop sinning.  It was just that obvious, I was sinning and I had to stop.  His words, though not intended this way, told me that I was in this battle alone, that God didn't care about my pain but rather about my actions and I would only hope to see the grace of healing.  I felt myself fill up with anger.  I knew that if I had come to him with a drug or alcohol problem, he would have done everything in his power to get me help.  If I had come to him pregnant or even in a gay relationship, he would have moved mountains to help me.  But I didn't.  I came to him with a what he felt was a perceived problem not a real problem.  He didn't understand that I was equally addicted to starving myself as I had once been to alcohol.  My addiction was one of denial not of excess, so of course it was just a sin not an addiction.

I guess I'd like to put in a disclaimer.  This pastor, was not a bad guy.  He is actually a really good guy, he was just clueless about this particular struggle.  His wife however was amazing and I still say has been one of the most influential people in my Christian walk.  She showed me the love of Christ in such an unconditional and beautiful way.  It was through her influence that I chose to stop drinking, and through her influence that I had the realization that I needed to break up with the abusive boyfriend.  Not to glorify the woman as the cause of these things, it was truly the hand of God.  She was just the instrument He used during that season of my life and I will be forever grateful that she pointed me to Jesus and loved me when I was unlovable.