I started this blog on what I consider to be Day One of Recovery.
This is not necessarily the true "Day One", as there have now been what seems like hundreds of days in between the moment I admitted I had a "mild" (my distorted perception at the time) case of disordered eating and now. I've since been hospitalized, seen a member of my treatment team almost daily, and kept countless mandatory food journals since that artificial "Day One".
But now here I am at the Official Day One...the day I decided to get real, follow my therapist's advice and Just Do It (Dr. Joe and I are both runners and athletes...his eyes twinkle a little when he drops the Nike reference).
I just finished reading Lucy Howard-Taylor's "Biting Anorexia" and started into Nicole Johns' "Purge: Rehab Diaries" last night. While it's generally not recommended to read the accounts of others in the initial stages of eating disorder recovery (because, really, only an anorexic would be triggered by another person's graphic account of puking up lettuce leaves) there is a certain comfort in reading thoughts very similar to your own right there in black and white. It's like assurance that you are not the only one out there who has laid in bed at night feeling for hip bones to reassure yourself the Hershey Kiss you "indulged" in earlier did not cause you to blow up like a killer whale.
These books- though I have only finished one and just started the other- have motivated me to tell my own story. And I want to make sure my own story has a happy ending that inspires others to be strong, seek support, and take the steps needed towards recovery.
And when you decide that today is Day One, you have to start finding signs of hope in the little things. Today I woke up with renewed insight on an incident that occurred last night...
Last night brought the usual painful yet cathartic (like a drug, really) appointment with Dr. Joe the Therapist. Usually, Dr. Joe sits back and pisses me off with his laid-back demeanor. I should mention I'm a bit Type A (No! Writing a blog about seeking perfection?! But that doesn't make any sense!), and while I seek out and need these "chill" people in my life for balance, they generally do get under my skin.
Well, last night Dr. Joe starts talking hospitalization again. He is concerned I will pass out during my evening weight lifting/run routine because there is very little in my stomach during this most recent return to anorexia. He asks repeatedly "why are you abusing yourself?" and I scream and yell at him that I don't know. He mentions he thinks I've been victimized by my dysfunctional, loveless upbringing, that I am detached, that I abuse myself because that's what I'm used to...
...and I'm pissed.
...don't ever tell ME I'm a victim. No way. Not this one. I don't play that game, and never will.
When the excrutiating 60 minutes is over, I hop in my car and speed off, fuming at him. I realize I want to eat...BADLY. I loop my car through the Dunkin' Donuts drive-through (foreign territory for an anorexic) and ordered the biggest blueberry muffin they had (reduced fat of course).
I shoved it in my mouth. I was pissed.
This morning, with some cooling off time, I realized there is hope to be seen in that blueberry muffin. I have been telling myself all along that anorexia is so engrained in me that it will be impossible for me to get out.
But an anorexic emotionally eating a random, fat-laden (it's not really reduced fat...they lie) blueberry muffin? Proof that Dr. Joe is right. Progress is not always a straight line or a grand gesture.
Dr. Joe knew how to push my buttons in just the right way to drive me straight to eating a muffin. And by doing so, I now know that anorexia is not as engrained in me as I once thought. Even I, Queen of Discipline and Detachment, is not immune to emotionally-charged indulgence.
And now it is time to begin the imperfect journey of recovery. Day One. Just Do It.
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