Trading One Hell for Another (Part II in a series of III)

This is Part II of a three part series which depicts a "Day in the Life" of my own personal journey from the most active time in my eating disorder to the road which I am presently on to recovery.  You can read Part I HERE.

In Part II, I wish to share what a typical day in Mercy Hospital's New England Eating Disorder Program was like when I began to take recovery seriously.  I was hospitalized twice in this setting, once in November, 2014 and then again in May, 2015.  The two experiences were similar in structure but worlds apart in substance.  That's a story for a different day.

Here I am trying to depict what a day in the middle of my treatment was like, when it was still difficult but not as trying as the first two weeks.  I have gained a little traction by now and have started feeling the positive effects of proper and regular nourishment.

4:30AM~Wake up and fight immediately with Olivia about exercise.  While in the program, I am prohibited from all exercise.  I am not even allowed to walk up the stairs to the 6th floor of the hospital.  I am required to take the elevator.  No caffein allowed.  This works against Olivia and she chides me to break this rule each morning.

5:30AM~Drive to Portland to make it to Mercy by 7:00AM.

Every morning on the way to the hospital, like a movie reel which only plays an unsatisfying, repeating preview clip that never gets to the happy ending,  I re-live all of the ugly moments that caused so much pain in my life and which threaten my ability to stay in recovery.

By the time I arrive, I am filled with anxiety from the negative thoughts Olivia has managed to berate me with in an hour's drive.

"You can't eat today."

"They are making you eat bread AND butter AND sugar AND meat.  There are way too many calories in that and they are just trying to make you fat."

"You HAVE to resist it or else you are going to leave this place so out of control you will never be able to re-gain control."  

"Everyone will see what a failure you are, even at Anorexia."

"If you eat all that food, no one is ever going to think you are pretty or strong."

"Being thin is what makes you special.  If you lose that you have nothing else and you will be alone your whole life."

7:00AM~ We are required each day when we arrive to submit to a battery of tests (vital signs, etc.) and to answer questions about pain, bathroom habits, etc.  Then we are summonsed by the nurse to go into the office, strip down and put on a johnny.  Next we have to stand on the scale backwards, so we cannot see the result.  Olivia always pesters me to look.

I don't look but I do try and encourage the nurses to tell me at least if I gained.  "Yes" says the nurse.  Inside I am filled with anxiety.  To fake my not-yet-solidified commitment to recovery, I say, "good".

Olivia turns up the noise even louder. "You failure!"

It is the start of a new day in treatment.  8.5 hours each day, five days each week, devoted to the job of recovery.

7:30AM~ We move as a group, dutifully to the "dining room" when the nurse announces, "time for breakfast!" in her best effort to inspire motivation into a group of people who would rather have slow, unmedicated root canals than eat this meal.

Once in the room, we circle the table in what must look like a crude attempt at musical chairs... previewing the meals, hoping that the one with our name on it has nothing under the ominous plate cover that will provoke our Eating Disorder voices into their ruthless torments.  They move us around the table each meal...often to put those of us who might be struggling, closest to the supervising nurses at each end.  (i.e. hiding butter in our pockets or intentionally dropping food to the floor).

They have been around a long time.  They know all of our tricks.

There are strict meal-time rules:

1). We must eat 100% of what is on our tray.  Each butter pat must be completely scooped out, dressing packets must be squeezed empty, if you don't slurp your juice through the straw at the end, you didn't drink it all.  Any missed/dropped/hidden or otherwise uneaten food is "replaced" before we leave the table with a calorically-equal ration of Ensure which must be consumed before the allotted 40 minutes for the meal is over.  

2).  We are not allowed to "deconstruct" our meals.  In other words, if a sandwich is on your tray, you may not take it all apart and eat the bread first, then the veggies, then the meat, etc.  We must eat foods as they are intended to be eaten (Most of us have rituals and rules that they are trying to help us move away from).  

3).  We are not allowed to talk negatively about our (or anyone else's) bodies, foods that we don't like, overeating, undereating, tricks for eating a little, tricks for eating a lot, (you get the picture...)

4).  We are given a mood-monitoring sheet at each meal where we are required to log our present feelings about the meal and whether or not these feelings contribute to or hinder our recovery.  At the morning meal, we are to write (and announce) our goal for the day in treatment. 

This morning, the breakfast with my name on it consists of two scrambled eggs, two slices of french toast with two packets of butter that must be used and one tub of maple syrup.  I also have two links of turkey sausage, a banana and two 4 ounce orange juice cups staring up at me, threatening to bring on the familiar rapid breathing, tears and self-doubt about my ability to recover.

Olivia is incensed.  This is more food than I would eat over a week.  To say that it is difficult to eat 100% of this breakfast is like saying that the Pope is a little bit religious.

Filling out my log, I note that I am feeling determined and provoked.  Many of my "fear" foods are here on this plate in front of me (our personal nutritionists get to know us very well) and it is a struggle to eat with all of the noise of Olivia in my head...trepidation to commit to recovery...pain in my heart that I am still dealing with from both ancient and recent history.  It almost seems to be too much but my goal today was to "choose recovery over my eating disorder" and I would use the coping skills, "4-4-8" (breathe in slowly for 4 counts, hold it for 4 counts then breathe out slowly for 8 counts) to achieve it.

Noticing that my pace is slowing down and I am tearful and frustrated at this meal, another patient who is half my age (yet full of empathy and compassion) reaches out to me and pats my arm in an effort to let me know she is there and fully understands.  Much like the words of encouragement my readers have offered me since beginning this blog, it is a small gesture at the right moment, that lends me the strength to complete the seemingly monumental task in front of me.  Through tears, I grit through the last bites, fighting the anxiety and nausea that threatens to reverse what I have just done, Olivia's handiwork.  

From the second day of treatment (the first day is hell, even when you know what to expect the second time through treatment), I ate 100% often reminding the staff that something was MISSING from my plate.  With each day, my determination and confidence begins to accumulate as I own my recovery for the first time.

8:30AM-11:00AM~ Since it is Monday, we have multi-family group where all of the patients have their support people join us for the morning daily check-in.  Here, we discuss how the weekend went, struggles, victories, emotions, etc. with the lead Social Worker.  at 9:30AM our snack is delivered and we are to eat 100% of it in 20 minutes, while in this group.  Still full from breakfast, I now have to choke down an apple with peanut butter and a strawberry greek yogurt cup.

11:30AM~ Lunchtime.  Same dance as breakfast.  Same daily berating from Olivia for disobeying her demands to quit, same colossal pile of food in front of me.

My lunch today consists of home-made macaroni and cheese with breadcrumbs and butter on top, cooked carrots with a pat of butter, garden salad with Italian dressing, dinner roll with butter, a carton of low fat milk and a piece of lemon meringue pie.  All to be eaten, 100% in 40 minutes....

Olivia takes aim where it hurts because this gets more and more difficult as the day progresses, feeling full and uncomfortable because early recovery does NOT feel good.

"Just STOP this right now.  If you don't stop eating  you never will be able to and you are going to lose control of your life again."

"You are so weak."

"Remember how you feel? You don't deserve to eat.  You made everyone in your life hate you.  You are never going to be able to feel love again if you eat this meal and take up more space than you deserve to."

"If you think people rejected you before, wait until you get fat.  It's bad enough to be weak but you are going to be weak, fat AND rejected.  Stop listening to these people.  You KNOW you will feel better when you start running, stop eating like a pig and lose that weight they made you gain."

It gets louder and more cruel as my healthy self stands up to Olivia.  This is the place where my recovery is most vulnerable.  Two parts of my self, given life by me, in a desperate battle for my soul.  One wants me to live.  One wants me to die.

Today, I choose recovery and let my healthy self win.  It isn't without cost however, as Olivia sensing that she is going to lose, turns up the heat and causes real and brutal nausea that increases with each bite.   I  remember that I can breathe through this moment.  Stay present.  Fight.  Breathe in for 4, hold it for 4, breathe out for 8.  Over and over and over again, until the last bite.

100% eaten.

One more victory in my corner.  The confidence that I can survive eating normally continues to accumulate.

12:30PM~Bathroom visits are not allowed during meal times for obvious reasons.  When we do need to use the restroom, it is always with staff supervision.  Yes, they come in WITH us...backs turned, trying to balance preserving our dignity with making sure that we don't attempt to purge.

Anorexia is not a choice.  Who would choose this??

12:30-1:30PM~ This is group therapy time and is usually run by the head of the program or the staff Psychiatrist.  I am tuned in, trying desperately to learn how to overcome this hell.  Sometimes literally lying flat on the floor, trying to get the food to stay in.  Looking for ways I can maybe keep a piece of Olivia alive, in case I am not really ready yet...so conflicted.  It is so confusing and frustrating all at the same time.

This is the point.

The discomfort that is associated with the changes that must be made to overcome Anorexia is real.  They are the exact emotions/physical pains/memories of past traumas and hurts that we are trying to avoid with our eating disorder behavior in the first place.

It's an evil truth.

In order to overcome this disease, I have to bring the demons into the light that I have worked so hard to bury over the years.  I have to feel all of the feelings head-on, without my familiar and faithful remedies to soften their jabs, so I can stand up to them one by one, then lay them in their graves outside of my body for good.

I force myself to discuss, out loud with this group of strangers who now know things about me that my own loved-ones and past partners never did, the painful hurt that is haunting me the most.  It's uncomfortable.  It's frightening.  It's necessary.

One more nail in Olivia's coffin...

1:30-2:30PM~This time is spent with the Recreation Therapist who has disclosed to us that she too, has overcome an eating disorder.  She is pivotal in my recovery.  She gets it.  She gets me.  Failing miserably at finding things to distract me during this hour where we are supposed to learn self-care and relaxation (this comes later for me) like nail-care, massage (NOO thank you!) and arts and crafts, she finally loans me a book she thinks will change my life.

It did.

8 Keys to Recovery from an Eating Disorder: Effective Strategies from Therapeutic Practice and Personal Experience by Carolyn Costin

If you have an eating disorder, please read this book.

If you love someone who has an eating disorder and you want to understand how to help them, please read this book.

If you know how to read.  Please read this book.

2:30-3:30PM~ Back to the dining room for the last snack of the day.  Mine is always the same.  6 graham crackers and two packets of peanut butter.  All to be eaten in 20 minutes.  Still full from the earlier victories.

We process our day over snack.  Declare whether we met our daily goal (I did this day) and share something new that we learned.  Some of the new girls don't take this part seriously.  I didn't when I was here the first time.  I didn't want to heal.  Some of them don't either.  I don't care.  Their behavior has no bearing on my recovery.

I need to participate because I am starting to find during treatment this time around, that the more I talk honestly and openly about this disease, socially exposing my own jugular for the sake of healing, the more I stuff a figurative sock into Olivia's relentless mouth.

3:30PM~I take the elevator back down to the first floor, walk to my car emotionally and physically exhausted from the work of the day.  Carrying a lighter load of "weight" in my heart with each passing day of treatment, that adds weight to my body I am overwhelmed always at this point.

Each day, I cry the entire drive home.  Drained, conflicted, saddened by the memories that I can now access of things I have done to the people I love the most.

I give in to the process fully, eventually.  Trusting the process because I haven't yet before and so far, this hell is starting to improve, unlike than the hell I have been living the past 4.5 years.

Tonight, after dinner with my daughter (prepared without gulping poison to try and kill the demons and not purged so as to continue to choose recovery, one meal literally, at a time)  I sleep soundly.

Rinse, lather, repeat....

                                                               
Someone told me the other day that I have "Fortitude".  I had to look it up.  Yeah, I think he's right :)