A Letter to my Eating Disorder

ED, I hate you.  But I love you at the same time, and struggle to give you up.

You tell me I am not good enough, that I am fat and ugly, that no one will ever love me.  You lie to me, isolate me from my friends and family, and tell me that only you can help me.  You distract me from facing problems, and tell me that you are my solution.  You have cheated me of a life lived unrestrained, unrestricted, and told me that if I can just achieve x,y,z... THEN I will be truly happy.

Yet you have been there in times when it seemed no one else was.  You comforted me when I felt so alone and lost.  You helped me cope through difficult circumstances.  And because of that I struggle to let you go.  You served a purpose, even if the results have been destructive.  Without you, there's no telling where I would be now.  Yes, even in your destructive, soul-crushing wake, I know somehow that I survived in part thanks to you.

The thing is, you no longer have a place.  You no longer serve any purpose in my life except to control, taunt, and destroy me.  And as I start to let you go, you cling to me even tighter.  You tell me how much I need you in order to still have control.  But I am choosing to let you go... one day at a time, one meal at a time, sometimes even one hour at a time.  So, ED, today I am choosing recovery over you.

Update

Well, it has been a bit since I wrote.  Life has been pretty busy.  I've gone to Florida, Illinois, and Yellowstone.  Days off in between have been packed with appointments or friends.  Work has been mostly good.

That isn't to say that life is always great.

There are things I'm struggling with.  Progress seems to be one step forward, two (or three or four or five, etc) steps back.  I am hopeful that one day I'll be able to look back and see how much progress I've made.  In all honesty, my eating recovery seems to be moving ever so slowly.  Each week is an attempt at small changes.  Trying to give up restrictive thinking.

In general, I have more energy and life these days.  I seem to have leveled out as far as that goes, and honestly not quite where I'd like to be but am working on a lot of self care and prioritizing my alone time, reading, meditation, getting eight hours of sleep, etc.

As far as my body image goes, that is up and down.  Mostly down, honestly.  I am constantly consumed with worry about what is going to happen to my body, about what is already happening to it, what people will think about me, etc.  I've decided to take a break from exercising as intentionally.  Instead, if a run fits my schedule, I'll do it.  But I am not going to lose sleep to do it, or miss out on experiences to do it, or isolate myself from friends to do it.  I've been hiking more, which is a far more enjoyable and peaceful way to get movement in.  Not to mention it's incredibly therapeutic!

But I need to learn how to eat apart from exercising away the calories.  That's hard and scary.

So while the last few weeks have been a bit of a "bump in the road," and I have felt like I lost all progress, I'm not letting that stop me from moving on as I would in the past.  Each day is always a step closer to full recovery.  And that is exciting!

One Day at a Time

I happened upon this post about loving my body in my blog archives from 2012.

At what point did I go off the rails?

I don't know if there's a specific time I "got" an eating disorder.  I know that the descent began in 2013 when I dieted and restricted my way to losing weight in a short period.  I know that for a couple of years after that I struggled severely with disordered eating off and on.

I know that it was the fall of 2016 that I finally admitted to myself and to my sister that I had an eating disorder, and had been struggling with it for close to two years.

And I guess it doesn't really matter at what point I went from disordered eating to a full-blown disorder.  But the fact is that I can pinpoint the beginning of the spiral to one specific thing: dieting.  Restricting.  Losing weight rapidly.

That's not to say every person who diets will develop an eating disorder.  But odds are if you have an ED, it probably started with a diet.

I still struggle with the idea of never dieting again.

No more Weight Watchers.  No more Whole30.  No more counting calories.  No more restricting carbs or major food groups.

Letting go of the control.  Facing the fear that I might gain weight and not be able to turn to dieting to quickly lose it.  Each day that I don't step on the scale to monitor the fluctuations.... fearing what is happening to my body even right now in this moment.

And facing head-on all the crap behind WHY this is going on in the first place.

Needless to say, it's extremely overwhelming if I think of it all at once.  So I take it one.day.at.a.time.

One Day at a Time

There is no shame in admitting that you need help.

One of the hardest things I have ever done was finally admitting that I had a problem and that I needed help with it.  We attach shame and stigma to this... something that in all actuality takes great strength.

It's been just over a month since I finally reached out for help.

Thirty-three days in recovery.

Thirty-three long, emotionally-draining, overwhelming days.  Thirty-three days of an uphill climb... sometimes one step forward followed by two steps back.

I'm happy to say that today looks brighter than this day a month ago.  That I can now begin to feel my emotions again, feel a desire to be around people, and actually smile and laugh for real and not just because I'm faking it.  That I now have energy each day when I wake up.  Sure, some days looks better than others, and that's not to say there haven't been some low ones as well.  But at one time most of my days looked dark, and now there seem to be more light ones than dark ones.

So I will keep on keeping on.  One day at a time.

What I wish People Knew

I overheard a conversation recently between co-workers.

It centered around depression.  This particular person, co-worker number 1, was expressing that there was a possibility that he was, in fact, depressed.  So number 2 responded with a sudden, "Research has shown that really, there is no proof that antidepressants work and that the myth of a "happy pill" is just that-- a myth."  Co-worker number 1 begins to make light of people with depression.

Of course, here I was sitting there listening and feeling shame deep down.  Here I had just that very morning taken my very first dose of an antidepressant medication.  A huge, difficult step for me in this journey.

Happy pill?

I have spent the last year and a half solidly depressed.

I have felt insignificant, alone, and worthless.

I have looked in the mirror every day for months and not recognized the face looking back at me.

I have very few things that I actually enjoy doing anymore... in fact, I'm not even sure what I consider to be "fun" anymore.

I have abused my body with extremes of bingeing, starving, over-exercising, restricting, and starting all over again... and literally being unable to stop.

I have spent six months with no energy, no spark, feeling stuck in a hole so, so deep I could see no way out.  

I have lived with insomnia that could drive a person crazy.

And you think it's about a happy pill?

I could have screamed in that moment.  Because I'm not looking for a happy pill to fix my problems. I have been hanging onto whatever hope I have left to get through this-- hoping against all hope that along with therapy, perhaps an antidepressant might just help me have a little bit of light in my eyes again... a little bit of energy to spend with friends... a little bit of "me" back again.

As I have mentioned frequently, I have been struggling with an eating disorder.  Would you look at me and guess that?  No.  Because I'm not super thin, nor am I really even overweight, I slide by as someone who just really, really loves food but also really, really loves health and fitness.

The truth is, both of those things have become something I am enslaved to.

I haven't been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I will be working with an eating disorder center starting in a few weeks for help with this to determine what exactly is going on.  I think there are varying aspects to my eating disorder but I'm not really sure what they are, but I've most closely narrowed it down to binge eating as far as I can tell.  Binge eating disorder is characterized by (source: nationaleatingdisorders.org):

• Recurrent episodes of binge eating. An episode of binge eating is characterized by both of the following: 
• Eating, in a discrete period of time (e.g., within any 2-hour period), an amount of food that is definitely larger than what most people would eat in a similar period of time under similar circumstances.
• A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode (e.g., a feeling that one cannot stop eating or control what or how much one is eating).
• The binge eating episodes are associated with three (or more) of the following: 
• Eating much more rapidly than normal.
• Eating until feeling uncomfortably full.
• Eating large amounts of food when not feeling physically hungry.
• Eating alone because of feeling embarrassed by how much one is eating.
• Feeling disgusted with oneself, depressed, or very guilty afterward.
• Marked distress regarding binge eating is present.
• The binge eating occurs, on average, at least once a week for 3 months.
• The binge eating is not associated with the recurrent use of inappropriate compensatory behaviors (e.g., purging) as in bulimia nervosa and does not occur exclusively during the course of bulimia nervosa or anorexia nervosa

I am not sure exactly when I can pinpoint that this actually began.  Looking back over my life, I seem to have had periodic episodes from anorexia, to extreme restriction, to bingeing and overexercising, and body dysmorphia.  Eating has never really been... normal.  At least not since I was fifteen years old.  I have begun reading through old journals and found some pretty heartbreaking entries in relation to my dieting, exercising, and body image mentality.  I didn't realize just how deep a lot of this goes.

It's difficult, because I know that at times when I've opened up to people about this, they don't take it seriously.  I look healthy enough.  I don't ever gain more than 10 or 15 pounds.  Never mind that my weight has fluctuated up and down nonstop for the past several years.  It's kind of the attitude of, "Oh. You struggle with overeating. Join the club."  Cue the eye roll.

God I wish it was that simple.  I wish that was all it was.

Right now, I don't see a way out of my struggle in that particular area.  It has been a vicious cycle for too long now.  I'll think I'm in the clear, think I've overcome it... only to crash and burn in the worst way and be starting from scratch all over again.  That's why I'm reaching out for help specifically in that area.  It's hard being almost thirty years old and this STILL being an issue.  It's embarrassing.  But I don't want to be forty, of fifty, or sixty and STILL be dealing with this so severely.  I've seen what that looks like.  Seen the life that eating disorders steal from people.  And I want my life back.

Depression.

Yes, depression.  Writing that and acknowledging it feels so strange to me.

I realized today that possibly one reason I haven't acknowledged this fact is that I'm not exactly... sad.  Mostly I feel nothing.  Nothing but tired, fatigued, and zero energy 95% of the time.  My mind feels muddled and struggles to concentrate.... which has made everyday tasks seem insurmountable at times.  My insomnia hangs on, which only exacerbates things.

From the outside looking in, my life looks awesome.  It really does.  I have received comments about all the exciting and amazing things I do.  And it's hard because what people don't see is that most of the time when I'm NOT doing those things (which are actually extremely far and few between... and honestly, are only ever half-enjoyed), I spend most of my time home.  Alone.  Unable to reach out to anyone.  Sometimes I go for a run or to the gym.  Most of the time I am simply laying around not doing much of anything but watching Netflix.  Sadly, the Office and Parks and Rec are my friends these days.

How do you explain to people what you're really going through?  I kept it hidden from even my closest friends and family for so long.  Even the ones that knew bits and pieces weren't getting it all, because who wants to keep listening to the same crap over and over?

That's why I finally reached out and am getting into therapy.  It's been a long time coming.  And I can finally admit that I NEED HELP.

And even though I still feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water, I finally have a small flicker of hope.  Hope to overcome.  Hope to live fully.  Hope for healing relationships and re-building bridges.  I know tomorrow may not feel quite this bright, but for today I am thankful for the small light that just might be at the end of this tunnel.

It's Time.

Life, man...

Do you ever just wish you could get a do-over?

I have been struggling.  STRUGGLING.  And for the first time in my life, I finally have had the courage to reach out for help.

I haven't been there for people in my life because of what I've been going through... I know how to self-sabotage, push people away, be hurtful, and keep myself away from the world because of this.  My mind has been in a very dark, sad place for too long.  It is time for me to recognize my problems as what they are-- I am struggling with mental health problems and I can't do it alone anymore.

I need prayer, because right now I simply can't pray.  My prayers come in the form of tears and pleas these days, and silence is my answer.

I know this sounds like I'm in an acute crisis and I'm not... I am not suicidal so please don't interpret this as a call for help in that way.  I simply want to shed light on where I'm at and where I've been.  Maybe it's tacky and strange to post this on a blog, but honestly I don't really care.  I want to be heard, and even if putting this out on a blog post that won't be read by many can alleviate some of that, then it's worth it to me.

Thirty.  Thirty is a milestone.  I want thirty to kick depression and binge eating disorder in the balls.  I want to overcome this and I want to live fully again.  I am tired.

Thoughts, Thoughts, and More Thoughts

Well, I can't seem to figure out a good way to keep this blog going.  I guess we will just go back to the tried-and- true, write when I have time and inspiration to post.  And that's ok!

I shared recently some of my struggles over the fall and winter with eating disorders, anxiety, and depression.  The weight gain that came with it, that seemed to perpetuate the cycle even more.  Binge, gain weight, feel depressed about gained weight.  Anxiety attack, then another binge, and so on and so forth.  It.Was.Miserable.  It was happening probably 2-4 times per week by the time November rolled around.  It was really hard.

I'm in a much better place now, although yes there are still days it can be a struggle.  Because I look at how others live their lives, seemingly unaffected by the choices they make from one meal to the next, and I feel like that is a struggle I may never get over.

I know I have never been obese.  Overweight, yes.  But obese, no.  I realize I don't understand what it's like to be a fat person in our society.  But I know what it's like to feel trapped in your body, trapped in your mind, and unable to break free of the cycle of hating your body-- and both hating and loving food because of what it does to and for you.  This thing that I literally rely on for survival is also my greatest enemy.  Drug addictions may be worse in other ways, but food addiction?  You can never get away from your addiction, not really.  You can't "not eat."  Before you say food addiction is not real, tread carefully.  Because there are people who literally think about food night and day, and constantly have to fight the urge to eat and eat and eat.  Looking at me you wouldn't think I've been there, but what you see on the surface isn't always what it looks like.

So while I try and love my body as it is, to appreciate what it is able to do, deep down I still hold tight to the ideal "perfect body" that I want to attain.  I do still feel that I won't be truly happy until I have that.  The thing is, I know that isn't true, but it is still somehow the way I feel.  And I've realized recently how much this has hindered me in life.  At times I think, would I be married if I hadn't ever had this struggle?  I always seem to go for guys who value fitness above all else.  Perhaps because I myself am shallow in that way, but then I put those same expectations on myself as well to be perfect.  So instead of finding someone who really, truly thinks I am perfect as I am... well, I find the ones who seem to value perfect bodies above all.  *sigh*

Catch my drift?  I'm kind of a mess to be honest.  I'm 29 years old and still trying to figure it all out.  Maybe there's a reason for it, I don't know.  The thing is, I don't want my 30s to be defined by this.  I feel that my 20s has been plagued by constant hatred of myself and who I am, what I look like.  And while I'm entering my 30s much more confident than I was 10 years ago (thank goodness!) I still feel as though... I don't know.  I feel like I should be much farther along in that area.  While my friends are all mostly married, and raising their children and going about their happy suburban lives, I feel stuck in this phase of my life like I am never going to get out of it.  And when I think I'm close, I just fall back into the same cycle again and again.

This has been probably the most disorganized post ever, but somehow it feels good to write this down and put it out there.  Maybe someone else knows how I feel right now.  Or maybe you're just reading this thinking, "Get a grip, Natalie, there are more important things to worry about!"  Well, you are not walking in my shoes, and I'm not walking in yours.  This is my journey and I'm just doing the best I can right now.

"I Don't Remember"

I don't remember being sure.  Sure of my faith, that is.

I have long spent my life wondering what is truth.  You see, I know all the "answers,"and try as I might, I often had a hard time with belief.

It kept me up at night, even as a very little girl.

I'm not sure I've ever doubted God's existence, although there have been times I've wondered.  However I look around and I only see evidence of His existence.  I know we can't be here by accident.  I know there is some sort of purpose, some reason we are placed on this earth.  My belief about God is probably different than the one in which I was raised in, however.  

I felt guilty having these doubts and questions, and I never talked about them.  It's taboo in most Christian circles I've ever been apart of.  It only recently occurred to me that they aren't a mystery to God.  He knows they're there, whether I outwardly express them or not.  I have lately been in a period of doubt and questioning, of letting myself express those doubts and questions.  I don't remember not having them.

I don't know what answers those questions will lead me to.  I trust God has a purpose in letting me go through this, but I also wish He would just grant me faith to never question and to always believe.  That just seems so much simpler to me.  I think my biggest question lately has been, is there more than one path that leads to Him?  Even just voicing that scares me.

Anyway, there is one thing I do know, and that is my belief that God is good.

PS

Anyone seen The Shack yet? I saw it last night and it gave me pause to think about these things.

"I Remember When"

In an effort to write more, I am using writing prompts from Ann Dee Ellis, in which I am given a topic and 8 minutes to write unedited.

I remember when life was simple.

I viewed it through rose-colored glasses.  I was raised in a conservative, Christian household and was homeschooled.  I forget often just how good and simple those days were.

When they ran together one into the next.  When life revolved around my favorite events each week-- Sunday night Pioneer Clubs, Wednesday afternoon choir, and Friday morning co-op.  Because I was homeschooled, I lived for those moments when I could see my friends.  And the icing on the cake was going to McDonald's on Fridays.  Oh, those simple pleasures.

And then in the summers, when the days were long and we would play outside all day long.  Riding our bikes, making up games in the backyard, my favorite being "Underground" in which my sisters and I discovered an entire world beneath us. 

I remember when trips to Grandma and Grandpa's in the summer, but most especially at Christmas time, were magical.  I mean that when I say magical, because there was nothing like it.  I think those are my best memories from my childhood.  My grandparents knew how to make those visits so special.  I don't know if it was because in my family we didn't really do a whole lot "as a family."  For some reason, when we went to Grandma and Grandpa's, it really felt like I was home.  I miss those times more than I can even express.

I remember when that curtain between my childhood and reality became slowly lifted.  Is it bad?  No, but I do miss the simplicity of those days.  I don't think of them often, but when I do the nostalgia almost overcomes me.  I dream of one day having a family of my own, because I want to give that to my children.  I want to live those memories again with them.  I want them to remember happy, simple times.  Sure, there are things I will do differently than my parents did, because they didn't do everything right (does anyone?) but I want my children to have a happy childhood in the same way I did.

2016 has been an odd year.  One I won't be too sorry to leave behind, and I hate that I feel that way.  To look at an entire year and paint it with one broad brush of "Terrible" or "Amazing."

The truth is, 2016 has been lots of things.  Not just bad.  A lot of good things happened this year.  But I come to the end of this year feeling beaten down, weary, and ready for some sort of new beginning.

I suppose what it comes down to is I worked really hard and reached many goals this year.  And I stop and wonder, for what?  Sure, marking things off a bucket list feels good.  But to what end?  I have done nothing for my fellow man.  Nothing to help others.  Granted, I realize my career does help others, but even that has ceased to fulfill me in the way it once did.  I have lived selfishly and not cared for those around me.  I have invested very little into cultivating friendship and community.  I have simply existed, going from one day to the next.

I am looking for ways that I can look outside of myself and help others.  Make new friends, cultivate real and authentic relationships with people.  Isolation simply begets more depression and anxiety, which leads to more isolation.  I am done with that life, and I want to learn how to get beyond it.