My Story

I used to have this page titled “About Me”, but then I realized, this is not me.  I am not the sum of my struggles. So this isn’t “about me”.  This is just a story that is continually evolving.

 My eating disorder began more than three years ago, when I was a sophomore in high school.  For me, it all went downhill rather quickly.  Before that point, though I had a great life, I wasn’t happy.  I had begun cutting and suffering from anxiety attacks in my first year of high school, but when I started restricting, it was like an ‘aha’ moment.  I could just starve and everything would be better, I thought.  I got an adrenaline rush I could mistake for happiness, I was blissfully numb, I felt light, I was accomplished because I was good at losing weight, I was productive because of my efforts to distract myself from food …  everything was great.  Or at least that’s what I told myself.

My parents noticed quickly. They were worried.  I lost weight rapidly and became intensely fearful of food.  My health deteriorated.  I couldn’t stand up without losing my vision because of low blood pressure.  I felt constantly dizzy, and the almost-summer weather made me so cold it hurt.  My fingers turned purple from bad circulation.  My skin was colorless.  My hair fell out.  My friends worried.  People stared.  I looked sick.

One morning in my final week of school that year, as I stood at home in front of my parents, I came dangerously close to fainting, and that was the end of my “secret”.  I was brought to the doctors, then to dieticians, more doctors, a therapist, and within a week I was hospitalized.  It was a horrible experience.  I had no desire to recover, and I was forced to gain weight as rapidly as possible before my insurance kicked me out of the hospital.

I was sent to a partial program afterwards, which helped no more than the hospital did, and eventually left for an outpatient team.  Over the course of a year, my weight declined gradually, but my motivation to recover slowly increased as I saw how much it hurt my family.  Eventually, midway through my senior year, I was forced inpatient at Renfrew.  In some ways the program benefited me; in other ways, it did not.  In any case, I left without enough motivation to fully recover.

I went to college and there, I once again immersed myself in my eating disorder.  My life was no longer a life.  It was nothing more than school and sleep.  I barely talked to anyone.  I barely ate.  I was held captive in a mental prison, and I was terrified by who I had become.  All I thought about was food.  Everything was an effort.  I desperately wanted out.  I saw my eating disorder for what it was: something that stole away the joy and possibilities from my life, isolated me from friends and family and kept me trapped in my own mind instead of living the life I was meant to lead.

I decided to take the next semester off to recover, but was forced to return home before the semester ended.  I didn’t care.  I just wanted to recover, but for the first few days of being home, it looked like I wouldn’t be able to do it the way I wanted to.  I wanted to put myself through recovery rather than using a program, but my doctor was intent on forcing me inpatient.

Finally, when it was determined that I was (barely) medically and psychologically stable, she allowed me to begin my recovery as an outpatient.  And so, I began my long journey of recovery.  I have now been recovering for more than a year, and have made more progress than anyone expected of me.  I am attending a different college and living at home, seeing my therapist and dietician and attending support groups.  I am not fully recovered; I have still got a LONG way to go, and I know that.  Yet, I’m moving forward.  It’s not comfortable or easy, but I’m doing it, and I know that it will be worth it when I emerge from my struggle, happy and recovered.