This is the first of a 3 part series. If you are in early recovery and you are reading this blog, I wish to warn you that there may be some triggering language in this series such as numbers and behaviors. Please proceed with that in mind.
If you are lucky enough not to be in recovery (because you do not have an eating disorder) My purpose in writing this series is two-fold. First, I wish to illustrate for myself, the leaps and bounds I have achieved towards my new reality of a life without Anorexia.
Second, I wish to help answer the question often asked of me, "how do I support you (or my spouse/friend/significant other) in their recovery efforts?" I feel that though it leaves me more vulnerable and exposed than I ever care to be publicly, this exercise will help others to perhaps empathize with their loved ones who might be suffering from an eating disorder, so that when the time comes to lend support, you might have a better understanding of what we are recovering from.
The three parts will illustrate "A Day in the Life" when Anorexia was in charge of me and was at its worst, when I was in the hospital treatment setting and finally, as it is on my recovery journey:
Part I (When Olivia Called the Shots)
2:00AM~ wake up even though I didn't get to sleep until 11pm, because I am starving, dizzy with a headache from the lasting effects of alcohol on my food-deprived body, and my mind is racing...trying to remember..."how many calories did I eat today?" having obsessively counted them on paper and in my head all the previous day long, just in case I missed something. Always rounding up.
2:45AM~finally drift back to sleep
3:30AM~wake from a startling nightmare. This is the 4th night this week that this plays out. Unresolved trauma which haunts me when I give in to sleep, unable to drown it out or purge the feelings with the conscious action I take when I am awake, to keep it pressed in the corner where I wish to keep it.
Sleep will not come again for me at this hour. Olivia is telling me, "if you get up now, you can get 100 pushups, sit-ups and dips in before it's time to run (and before you get on the scale)." I cannot resist taking advantage of this thought. Like the itch on your back that you can never quite reach to relieve the discomfort it causes, I can never do enough exercise to satisfy Olivia's persistent desire for more. I set my timer and execute my first round of self-destruction.
4:15AM~use the restroom one last time in hopes that the scale will reveal the truth I wish to see. It's the same ritual every morning now since I bought this scale, ostensibly to ensure my continued weight-gain. No coffee or water before the scale. Exercise as much as possible before stepping on the scale. Strip off all clothing. Close my eyes until I can't stand the torture of looking/not looking/looking/not looking any longer. Then ultimately, always look.
You see, it really doesn't matter what the scale says. If the number is too high, it would send me into even more self-punishing restricting/over exercising/purging and self-loathing because Olivia would be at her loudest and most cruel. If the number was lower, I am elated because my efforts have been rewarded, and I continue the path of destruction because it is working and shuts Olivia the fuck up.
4:30AM~drink coffee for energy so I can run with my running partners and keep up with their pace. They begin to notice and comment that I am losing weight/stamina. I outwardly acknowledge that I need to eat more to placate their concerns, while on the inside, I am high-fiving Olivia for the success that even others are beginning to notice.
5:15AM~run 6-8 miles, depending on how much time we have and how late my friend (Hi Erin!) is getting here.
7:30AM~more coffee on the way to work after fighting a loud and daily morning battle with Olivia about eating/not eating breakfast. Like most mornings for the past 4 and a half years, Olivia wins today. "You can't eat anything now and undo all the work you have done this morning. Are you really that stupid and weak? You are losing weight and people are noticing and that is why they love you. Everyone will love you more when you are thinner. You will show them how disciplined and strong you are. It's who you are. It's your identity. It's all you have. Don't give in now you loser. Everyone will see how weak you really are if you get fat and then you will be alone again." (Or some daily variation of this theme)...
I ignore my familiar growling stomach, white and cold fingers even though it is 70 degrees outside, and my shaking body by distracting myself with a news story from the radio (that I can't even begin to comprehend or remember because I am really only thinking about my growling stomach and my freezing and shaking hands)
8:00AM~get to work and collect the things I need for a morning of court hearings for the clients I work with. I put my "lunch" (4 carrots and 2 TBS of hummus... because it is the easiest thing to bring back up and the colors are bright enough so I can tell that I am being successful) into the refrigerator so I am not tempted to eat any of it before I am allowed by Olivia.
8:30AM-12:00PM~ court proceedings which occupy my time but where I miss important return dates and sentencing conditions because my mind is wandering "you have to put off eating today because you have to eat a normal dinner with your daughter tonight and you might not be able to purge it". "Don't be such a weak person! If you give in to this hunger you are going to lose control and gain weight and no one will ever love you because you are going to be fat and weak." I even begin to nod off a little, a cumulative effect of the inability to sleep night after night.
12:30PM~ having successfully put off eating for this long now, the reward for my efforts begins to emerge. My anxiety over finances, past hurts and guilt, a future that feels out of my control, finally begins to wane.
I have a quick conversation with my co-worker, making sure to confirm that she will be out of the office later this afternoon (so I can purge if I actually eat my lunch). Dash to an hour-long meeting not remembering driving there or what was discussed. Mechanically going through the motions. A robot. A slave to Olivia's ever-present deriding.
2:30PM~I return to my office and see that my co-worker is indeed gone now. I am alone. It's the perfect time to eat my lunch. In the first moments, my healthy self (who does still reside inside of my head and who's voice sometimes finds a crack in the space occupied largely by Olivia) promises me that I deserve this nourishment and that purging it in my place of work is not an option.
By the third carrot, Olivia has elbowed any positive thoughts from my head, "Hurry and eat the rest, and down some water so you can purge this. You don't deserve this food. What are you thinking?! You are hopeless, giving in to hunger. You KNOW you are going to have to eat tonight with your daughter...what a pig you are...you have no self-control and don't even deserve to live"
As though I am watching myself in a movie, and I have no idea of the plot or the ending, I dutifully do what I know is the only way to shut Olivia the hell up at this point. Hastily, I shove the remaining carrots and hummus into my mouth, a snack for most people, hardly chewing. I follow with a large glass of water and run (literally) to the restroom, frantically reach for the toothbrush I stashed in the drawer, which assures I will be able to undo the damage I have done by giving in to my hunger.
It's the only way I know of to quiet the noise.
Not caring that vomit has splashed onto the floor and my shoes, that I am now sweaty and my eye-makeup is streaming down my face, eyes red and watery, Olivia implores me to get in another 100 pushups. Right here, right now. Dropping to the slippery floor, I comply, then wash away all of the evidence of the hell I am trapped in, never truly able to wipe away its stains.
<I wish I was making this up. I wish that I could say I am embellishing this to make it a good read. If you really know me, you know that if anything, I am probably softening it a little to protect my dignity>
3:00-5:00PM~having (literally) purged the anxiety that taunted me all day, hunger quiet from the exertion of what recently transpired, I am at my most productive, Olivia quiet for a blessed couple of hours until it's time to go home and face dinner.
5:30PM~with my daughter at practice for another two hours, I quickly drop my bags, change out of my work clothes and lace up my still-sweat-soaked-from-the-morning's-workout running shoes and I am off for another hour of punishment. Not because I am a "runner". Not because I enjoy this, but because it is a mandatory component of Olivia's program. "Just Do It" says she. "Of course, I say". And as a result, dinner will have to wait until almost 8pm. I must sacrifice all for the sake of Olivia. All values, all relationships, my body, all of my dignity.
7:00PM~I begin to prepare dinner, gulping wine to both numb the sharp pangs of hunger and to turn down the volume of Olivia's relentless emotional beatings for what I am trying to do (have a normal dinner with my daughter).
Like most evenings, this dinner goes as usual. We discuss the day, and what is happening tomorrow, talk about everyday teenage-girl drama and eat in less than 15 minutes. My daughter announces that she is going to take her evening shower now ("finally!" says Olivia)
What ensues is basically "Lunchtime, Part II". Minus the push-ups because even Olivia concedes that I don't have the energy to pull that off.
I come downstairs, once again calm with the knowledge that I have won the battle against food, pour more wine and clean the kitchen.
8:00PM-10:00PM~I sit with my daughter, sneaking wine in a coffee cup, until the pangs of hunger, along with the anxiety of my life are numb enough so I can try and sleep. Counting the calories I ate today and most assuredly accumulated to expand my un-deserving body. Making me visible and vulnerable to everyone.
10:00PM-2:00AM ~after my daughter goes to bed, I will once more purge (the wine and the anxiety of the day), crawl into bed, shaky, weak and full of guilt, shame and self-loathing, praying for peace and normalcy and quiet in my head.
Rinse.Lather.Repeat.
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