Dancing with Fear and Desire

Today, over two years in to recovery, I still find myself overwhelmed with sadness a lot of the time. Sadness, anxiety, and a deep sense of loss and confusion.

Sometimes, as I sit in my room, alone, watching YouTube or reading a book or desperately trying to figure out what my ochem homework means, I am sad for myself. I’m 20 years old, and I still haven’t had a boyfriend. I’m 20 years old, and I haven’t even had my first kiss yet. I’m 20 years old, and yet I spend my Friday nights doing homework because I don’t have anyone I’m close enough with to hang out with. I rarely drink, almost never go out, and have been to a club a grand total of once in my life.

And then, the thought pops into my head: WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING WITH MY LIFE?

I realize these worries and woes seem pathetic or meaningless. My stepmom constantly tells me if I want to have friends/do things, I just have to get out there and do it. The way she says it and how often she says it ultimately makes me incredibly angry, because, yeah, thanks, I HAVEN’T THOUGHT OF THAT BEFORE. But now that you said it, of course I’ll go out alone on a Saturday night to meet people. Yeah. You just changed everything. /sarcasm

I wish I could change everything. I’ve been making some small efforts over the past month. I hung out with people the first two Friday nights in March, and had dinner with a lovely friend this past Wednesday. I have definite plans to go snorkeling and to a Doctor Who party this break. I have maybe plans to have a wine/pancake night and go on a hike. I try to talk to people more often. I try to not be so afraid.

I’m trying. But I worry still that it’s not enough. I worry that there’s something wrong with me. Some mornings, I wake up at 6:45 to my heart racing, in a blind panic, unable to determine the origins of my anxiety or calm myself down. I find myself zoning out in class, completely unaware of what is going on around me for a few minutes as anxiety fills my veins. I tell myself at least once a week that I need to call the therapist here in Hawaii that I found, and yet every time I pick up my phone to do so the little voice in my head, the anxiety in my veins talk me out of it. Yeah, that’s right. I’m too nervous and panicky to make a phone call to the one person who could possibly help.

Ironic, no?

I guess this whole future thing still seems new and scary to me. Just 2 and ½ years ago, September 2010, I didn’t know if I was still going to be alive in a few months. That thought terrified me, but for a good year up until that point, not enough to make me save myself. At this time 3 years ago, I didn’t want to live anymore.

Not that I wanted to die. I just didn’t want to live. There’s a very important, if subtle, difference between those two feelings. If you want to die, at least you still want something; you have something you are working toward, even if, yes, you are in an incredibly fragile and dangerous mental state. When you don’t want to live anymore…you’ve lost everything. You are empty, trapped, dying whether you realize it or not. That summer, I did realize it, and I was scared. But I wasn’t strong enough to pull myself up on my own. And that scared me even more.

Looking back on who I was 3 years ago, I am scared and sad for that girl. That girl who diligently worked out for 6-8 hours a day, finding creative ways to hold her notes for her IB math test as she did endless sit ups and jumping jacks and kickboxing exercises secretly in her room. The girl who hoarded food in her room that she hid in her pockets at meals, and then threw away in a trash can in the park by her house. The girl who had lost sight of everything she loved. The girl who wasn’t letting herself grieve. The girl who thought she wasn’t good enough to live. The girl who…didn’t want anything anymore.

As much as looking back on that saddens me, it does give me hope for myself today. Because as scared and anxious and sad and lonely as I am, I know what I want. I have dreams and hopes and desires, and I (mostly) believe in myself now. However, after so many years of letting fear win over desire, this desire thing is still…terrifying to me.

At one point earlier this semester I sent an e-mail to my parents either about study abroad or a scholarship. In it, I was trying to express a deep part of myself, offering them a view inside my mind and anxious heart. Of course, they completely ignored that sentiment, focusing on the rational instead of the emotional, which frustrated me incredibly. And still does. But anyway. That sentiment was something along the lines of, “I want this. I know that I really really want this. It is such a huge opportunity for me, and I honestly think it will make me happy. But I’m scared. I’m scared because I want it so much. I’m scared of really wanting or dreaming of anything, because I know it will hurt that much more if I don’t get it.”

Have you ever wanted something so badly that your heart literally starts to ache from desire and fear and hope and sadness? Because this past Thursday, I did feel that way. One moment, I was sitting quietly in my room, researching my options to study abroad in Australia next semester. And the next, I was trying not to cry, holding back an anxiety attack in the shower, feeling my heart quite honestly ache for adventure and love and hope and something new.

I think, though, I’ve realized why I’m so scared of the future. At least partially. Because at this time three years ago, I honestly didn’t think I would have one. It’s not a thought I ever uttered to anyone, even a therapist, then or since, but here’s the truth: Back then, I didn’t think I would still be alive in college. I didn’t picture myself making it to 21, going out to drink with friends. I didn’t picture myself graduating from college. Or, I knew if I did make it to any of those milestones, I would be mostly dead, the ghost standing in the pictures, putting on an empty smile as my heart rattled in fear in the bone cage I created for it.

But now I do have a future. I know that, and I try to embrace it. For the first time in my life, I realize I really can do anything I want with my life (ignoring any financial obligations). I can become a marine biologist studying sharks. I could go spend a year being a park ranger in Alaska. I can go study abroad in Australia. Maybe, I can find someone to share my life with. If I want, I can go drink wine with friends on a Saturday night. I can make mistakes and dream big and chase my dreams.

All of that opportunity still frightens me, though. And so, I tend to curl up into a little ball in my room, ignoring the big world out there because it still fills me with anxiety. I hope, though, that I am slowly coming out of that cocoon. I hope someday soon to throw off this terrible demon that sits on my shoulders every day, whispering in my ear and beating down my desires.

On a related note, as I am talking about fear, I have recently found myself liking this wonderful guy in my classes. We’ve only been friends/known each other since September. Last semester, I realized I loved spending time with him, laughing with him on the boat, running a race with him. He was sweet, he always said hi to me and hugged me goodbye. We laughed together; he introduced me to a new type of rum. I helped him study for our oceanography final, and, generally, I was pleased to have a new friend.

But recently those feelings of friendship have turned into something more. I find myself seeking him out in the library or the front lanai at lunchtimes, and feeling that little pang in my heart when he’s not there. We don’t even talk all of the time, but I like being able to glance over my computer screen and see him working on the computer across from me. The nurses were selling cupcakes on Monday, and I bought one. Partially because I wanted one, but partially because I wanted to offer him some, since we had a slight joke about the time these girls brought cookies to class and offered them to everyone but the two of us. As it turned out, he wasn’t in class. And I found myself feeling more upset than I thought I would. I mean, I got to eat the whole cupcake (hooray!), but I genuinely missed having him sitting next to me. I missed getting to glance over at him and smile or sigh or make some other nonverbal communication about whatever ridiculous thing the teacher was saying.

Then, when I saw him on Tuesday, my heart leaped. And I actually found myself telling him I missed having him in class. Luckily, he didn’t seem to think that sentiment was weird, but….uuuuuuuurgh. I just don’t know how to go about making my feelings known to him.

I realize this probably sounds ridiculous. And more like the musings of a 13 year old with a crush than a 20 year old college student. But I’ve only ever had a “crush” or felt this way about a boy once before in high school. We ended up going to prom together, but it was just as friends. To this day, I regret not asking him to go with me as an actual date. I regret not seeing if a relationship could have worked there. I don’t want to have that regret again.

But, yeah, I am being a little ridiculous. I feel like I should be past the point where I’m too scared to tell a guy that I like him. Truthfully, though, I never got to go through that crushy schoolgirl phase in middle and high school, because I instead spent those years falling into a black hole, living in a bone cage, unable to love myself or anyone else. And I definitely wasn’t in a place where I could let anyone else love me.

This is not to say I love this guy or anything, but these feeling are certainly different than anything I’ve felt before. Something special, new, and…again, utterly terrifying. Because I really do have as much experience with guys as I did when I was 12, which is great.

Anyway. I slightly got off topic there, but I’ll try to wrap this up nicely.

Going back to my beginning statement. Even though I still find myself overwhelmed with sadness and grief and anxiety, I know I am 1000x times better now than I was 3 or even 2 years ago. I want things again. I have dreams. I have a future. I may be scared of that future, but I am nevertheless actively going after my dreams instead of starving my body and brain until it gives up on the world for me.

I still am probably letting fear win too much in the dance between fear and desire. So I’m going to take this moment to list a few things I do want, even if the voice in my head is consistently telling me I won’t get these things.

I want to travel the world. I want to write a series of short stories. I want to hike the mountains of Patagonia. I want to spend my time studying sharks and the environment they interact with. I want to find friends who love and accept me for who I am, instead of having to change myself to have fun. I want to find a guy I feel I can share my life and myself with. I want to sit on the roof with him, sipping champagne under the stars and talking of everything from How I Met Your Mother to the meaning of the universe until the sun comes up. I want to stop being so afraid of everything. I want to dance more often. I want to tell my mother I love her. And I want to let myself…be myself finally.

Maybe not all of those things are possible, but I have to hope they are. I don’t know where I’ll be three years from now, but I know where I won’t be. I won’t be spending hours in my room exercising and wishing I wasn’t alive. I won’t be falling asleep to the sound of a heart monitor telling me I am still alive.

I realize now how sick I was three years ago. And that, in turn, has made me realize how well I am doing now. I am healthy. Yes, I am also sad and anxious and lonely and scared, but I don’t run from those feelings anymore. I happily go out for pancakes with my friends late at night. I eat peanut butter from the jar with a spoon again to give myself energy during my late nights of studying. I smile a lot more. I keep dancing. And I keep dreaming.

I’m not perfect. I’m not all the way healed, and I doubt I ever will be. But I am wonderful. And I am alive. I have so much ahead of me, and I’ll just have to see where I am in three years and trust that wherever that is, I’m on the right path today.

One thing I do know? No matter where I end up or what I end up doing, I’ll be dancing.

I’ll never stop dancing. 

NEDAwareness Week Day 7: On Recovery

Recovery from any sort of illness or injury is an incredible challenge. Recovery means we are losing something. Of course, if you are recovering from cancer or surgery, generally it is easy to accept that loss as a good thing.

It becomes a lot harder when recovering from an eating disorder, because while it is trying to kill us, it has also helped us travel the world and live for a little while. It's our coping mechanism, our security blanket, and we think we cannot live without it.

But we can, and we must, if we want to live.

There's no way to live with an eating disorder. Some patients will deny that, saying that they are living, are having fun, have a job, friends, family, etc. Generally, that is true. Unless and until one reaches a state of extreme starvation or purging, a sufferer likely won't lose all of those important things. But, the sufferer is not living. He or she is merely existing, a sad soul trapped inside a fragile bone cage, wandering the earth as a sort of ghost, continually fixated on food, exercise, and their own body image.

In addition to all of that, the person is slowly dying, for all of the reasons I mentioned on Thursday describing how our bodies deteriorate and die a piece at a time.

That being said, it is incredibly difficult to let go of an eating disorder. We accepted them as a friend. And while we may or may not recognize that that friend is trying to kill us, we don't want to let go of her. She is powerful, and by extension, we feel powerful. Of course, the reality is that she is sapping our power, our life, in order to live, like some kind of warped parasite. Generally, though, we don't see that. Or want to accept it.

"Acceptance is the first step to understanding, and only with understanding can there be recovery." -JK Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

We have to accept that though. We have to accept a list of things before recovery is possible:

1. We have a problem. This sounds obvious, but it takes time and work. Some patients do refuse to believe they  have an eating disorder at all, but even those who do generally don't see it as a huge problem. They think it is necessary, helping them, etc. So we have to accept that we have a problem before we can move on and truly recover.
2. We are going to have to lose our coping mechanism. This was hard for me to accept, because I had dealt with so much loss already. But it is true. Give a sufferer time to grieve this loss, time to build up other coping mechanisms. Offer support, and love, and tools. Don't just rip it away with no time for closure.
3. We are powerful without this disease.
4. We want to live, and what we are doing is not allowing us to do that, at least not fully.
5. Recovering from this disease is  not going to bring us ultimate happiness, but staying with it certainly will not.

Unfortunately, the truth of the matter is that recovery does not always feel amazing. At the beginning of recovery, especially, recovery feels like shit. Because our eating disorder is so strong in our head, we don't feel like we are doing something good. Rather, we believe we are failing, because that voice tells us so. 

Every day becomes an internal fight, trying to ignore that voice and start using our own. A single meal or snack becomes a battlefield, one where we have to use our new-found tools to fight and defeat this "friend" turned enemy. And, unfortunately, unless one has access to adequate treatment, this fight becomes silent and private.

This is why support is so imperative in recovery. From parents, therapists, friends if possible.

I also want to stress that support is important not just during the weight-restoration phase. While the anxiety may be highest here, hinting to family members that support is needed, that anxiety does not go away simply because one reaches their target weight or no longer appears to be using purging behaviors. The self-criticism becomes stronger. The anxiety skyrockets. We are being told from the outside that we are doing a good job, while the strong eating disorder voice tells us otherwise. 

So continue your support. Recognize that this disease does not go away easily. It will put up a fight, and you need to be there to help your loved one put up an even stronger fight. No one can give in.

This, of course, does not make the idea of recovery appealing to many eating disorder patients. Who wants to face that sort of fight every day? We want to be told that once we are in recovery, we will feel happy and successful and free. Certainly, that's what I expected on some level after my first time in treatment, and I think that's part of what pushed me to relapse: If I couldn't be happy when I was healthy, I might as well have my eating disorder while I was sad.  

So that last bullet point is the most important one to accept: Recovery does not mean happiness. It will not fix our problems. Life is still hard. We will feel sad and anxious and upset. You cannot control what goes on around you, but you can control how you react. 

If you feel sad, feel sad. Don't try to tell yourself you should be happy or let others tell you the same. (Actually, in the words of Gary, never let anyone, including yourself, "should" on you).

I'll admit: I'm not happy all of the time. I feel lonely and sad and anxious even now, 2 years into recovery. Part of that is my natural propensity for anxiety (I've been diagnosed at one point with GAD), and part of it is just that life happens. No one can be happy all the time, regardless of how they appear on the outside.

But the truth is, my worst days in recovery are 100 times better than my best days in relapse. Even when I thought I was happy then, going to concerts or out with friends, I was continually consumed by my eating disorder: thoughts of food and exercise, wondering what others were thinking of me, wondering how I looked, wondering (at times) if I was dying. Now, even when I'm sad or lonely, I am me. My thoughts are my own. I am strong and powerful. I have my whole life ahead of me. It doesn't matter what or when I eat, or if I exercise, or how much. 

I am not defined by the food I eat, the weight on the scale, or the size of my pants. None of those can bring me happiness. 

What can? Living. Dancing. Crying when I need to. Going out with friends. Connecting with my family. Etc.

One of the most important revelations I had early in my recovery time, when I was struggling a lot, was that losing five pounds was not going to make me any happier. It wasn't going to bring me more friends or make my stress seem okay. It had been proven in the past, in fact, that losing that five pounds never made anything any better, and generally lead to a downward spiral, as no weight was "good enough" for my eating disorder.

Realize that. Realize you are defined by so much more than your weight or body image.

Recovery is tough. And you have to accept that, or else you are almost one hundred percent doomed to failure. I hate having to tell my friends this, because it doesn't make recovery seem like something anyone would want to do. But we have to. We have to build up our armies, put on our armor, and go out and fight, every single day (for the rest of our lives) against this terrible enemy. 

Some tips for recovery:

1. Find your reasons to recover. Ideally, this would not include "doing it to make your parents worry less," as I have generally found that doesn't work. You have to find a reason why you are doing it for yourself, not anyone else. This website has some great reasons, though I encourage you to find your own: 100 reasons to recover
2. Build up a support system. Don't push people away. You need them.
3. But, make sure that support system is well-educated on eating disorders. 
4. Find new coping mechanisms. Triggers are common in this world, unfortunately, and we will often feel the urge to resort to behaviors when we are sad, angry, lonely, etc. Find other things that work: draw a picture. Go for a walk. Talk to your parents. Listen to music. Dance in your room. Do yoga. Find things that work for you, and keep that list handy.
5. Try not to focus on the food. This is tough, incredibly so. But maybe at least focus on the scientific basis of what a calorie is (a unit of heat energy) and why we need them. Remind yourself of how much activity you do every day. This is what food allows you to do.
6. Don't stop therapy, etc, until you feel you are ready. And never stop talking to your friends, parents, etc, when you feel down. Don't crawl back into your own little bubble. Your family may not be able to reach you there, but you can bet your eating disorder will find a way to wiggle in through the smallest crack.
7. Stay vigilant. Don't let your eating disorder back in. Watch out for behaviors and thoughts.
8. But, that being said, don't limit yourself. Exercise, within limits, to keep your body moving and awake and strong. Eat when you want to, what you want to, as long as you are not restricting. Go out with friends, or don't, as you desire. Let your own thoughts and desires rule what you do, not your fears.

Thank you so much, everyone, for reading this blog this past week. I hope I have helped to spread awareness. As always, please, please contact a therapist or treatment center if you think you or a loved one may have a problem. 

And don't stop spreading awareness. Talk to people, donate money, rebel against the media's stereotypes. Keep fighting.We are strong.

We are strong because we survived. No pity, no shame, no silence. 

NEDAwareness Week 2013 Day 6: Chasing Happiness

Since it is quite late and I'm sure I'm going to fall asleep any minute now, I'd like to share yet another old post. This one, at least, involves a lot of insights I had early in my recovery, that I think will be really important to young men and women trying to start their own long road to recovery. Tomorrow, when I'm more awake, I'll write a better summary and conclusion of what recovery means and why support and awareness of eating disorders is absolutely vital to recovery.

Thank you so much, everyone, for reading my writings this week. I really am going to try to write more, both to offer eating disorder support, and to reflect for myself. 

Stay strong, and keep on believing. Never give up, because there is always hope. 

12 April 2011

After a long 10 months of being prevented from running, my therapist finally agreed to allow me to be on my high school track team this season. I was scared, he was scared, my parents were terrified (perhaps a bit too much), but so far, over the past 6 ish weeks, things have gone amazingly well.

Somewhere along the way in treatment this past fall, I learned to recognize the power of my body, the power of my mind, and then connect the two of those. Erin, my dance therapist, allowed me to reach into that power of my body and just recognize it. Slowly, slowly, I began to realize if my body was strong enough to move me and survive all of the awful CRAP I put it through, there must be some reservoir of strength deep inside of me. If my body could delve into that reservoir and fight back, surely my mind could too. Surely, at some point, I could find the power of my mind to fight ED.

I'm not sure I've discovered that power yet. I'm scared every day that Ana will sneak back in without me knowing again. I still think she is so much more powerful and so much stronger than I am. She knows me, and I don't know her. At least not as well.

But over the past weeks of practice, long runs, hill workouts, and speed work, I've learned how to build up strength. I've seen it happen, slowly and steadily. I've felt the difference, as certain runs don't feel so tough anymore. I've endured shin splints and windy races, and I've...survived. Maybe not had the best of days, but I've survived past the tough spots, the pain, the emotional breakdowns.

With Ana, I still struggle enormously. I struggle especially with self-confidence, body image, and thinking I'm worth all of this. There's still that voice in my head telling me I don't deserve anything, that these other people around me deserve happiness so much more than I do. There's still a voice telling me I'm "fat," whatever that means. I'm still not happy a lot of the time, and sometimes I have to sit at the table and push through it until the meal is done.

But you know what? Maybe, just maybe, like in track, those struggles, the pain and emotional breakdowns are building up my strength. It's not as easy to see, since I can't feel the muscles growing stronger or see the faster time or not feel as tired or whatever sign of improvement is clearly visible. But maybe...maybe we need to have those tough days. I think we do.

Today I went on a four mile run by myself, since the rest of the team was at a meet. And I RAN all of it. For some people, that's probably not a big deal, but I tend to lose motivation when I'm alone or start out at too fast a pace and have to stop. But today I felt amazing. I felt like I could just keep going and going. On the other hand, last Friday felt ridiculously tough, even though, objectively, it was probably an easier run.

So, here's my (rather obvious) revelation: Some days I'm going to feel amazing, right on the path of recovery. And some days I'm going to struggle, wanting to curl into a ball and disappear from the eyes of the world. But both days will be there.

Recovery is a tough road. I don't think I'll ever stop struggling with body image or my own self-worth. Whether a day is good or bad doesn't matter as much, though. What matters is how we build up our strength. How we push back against Ana, against ED, and slowly form our reserves of power. Most days, I just want to punch Ana in the face (assuming Ana was, you know, an actual person...) I truly hope some day, metaphorically, I can do that. WHAM. ;D

I think what I'm doing right now is trying to chase down happiness. And I don't think that can be done. In a race, you can't chase the finish line. You have to know it's there, but mostly you have to focus on your pace, the people around you, and how strong you are feeling. The finish line is there, waiting for you. If you run, it will come. I think happiness is the same way. Maybe I just have to trust that it exists. And that maybe it exists in a form different from what I'm expecting. Maybe happiness just means getting through it, building strength, and having more good than bad days. Recovery doesn't mean total happiness. I'm still working to accept that, but I know it's true.

Stop chasing happiness or peace. Just keep running. Keep moving and pushing and breathing and living. Don't search for happiness. One day, while you are asleep, happiness will come. And it will be beautiful.

Happiness is like a butterfly; the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on your shoulder." ~Henry David Thoreau

NEDAwareness Week 2013 Day 5: Getting Treatment for this Illness

How would you classify an eating disorder?

As a phase?

An illness?

A psychological problem?

A death wish?

Or something else entirely, outside of your realm of comprehension?

The truth is, eating disorders absolutely 100% are illnesses. Mental illnesses, psychiatric illnesses, yes, but they are also physical illnesses. As a sufferer starves their body, they begin to eat away at their muscle, weakening their heart, their eyes, their brain cells. Constant purging tears at the lining of the esophagus, the stomach, erodes the teeth. Hair thins and falls out, while a softer body hair grows everywhere else to keep the body as warm as possible. A sufferer will often layer on three sweatshirts in 70-degree weather. He or she will literally become consumed by and obsessed with food, as his/her starved brain kicks in the survival instinct. Some of the symptoms common to eating disorders, including an inability to identify emotions, are primarily caused by the starvation effect.

Eating disorder sufferers walk around in a starvation state, regardless of the type: anorexia, bulimia, orthorexia, EDNOS. We are all walking around, starved, mad, confused, empty. We need both medical and psychological intervention. We need food for both our bodies and our souls. The food alone will not fix the problem, as an eating disorder is also characterized by severe psychological issues, trauma, depression, etc, that also requires treatment. The food will take the patient out of immediate danger, but it's not going to fix anything in the long run.

My basic point is that eating disorders are illnesses. They require serious treatment, like all illnesses, whether mental or physical. 

This is a hard thing for the sufferer herself to realize. Often, it can be hard for the parents or family members to recognize, or at least to recognize how severely sick their loved one is. Generally, unless the sufferer falls in the extremes of anorexia, with a BMI of 14 or lower, it's almost impossible for society to identify an eating disorder patient as a truly sick individual. 

This is something that bothered me a lot when I was in the hospital. I didn't feel like I was "sick enough" to deserve to be there. Whatever the hell that means. That sounds absolutely ridiculous to me now, because I can look back and see how sick I was. At the time, however, I felt ashamed and angry and guilty for taking up a place on the medical floor of Colorado Children's Hospital. In the rooms around me, there were children as young as two with "real" physical illnesses. I could hear the young ones crying. Their families would walk past my room, and I told myself all of them were probably wondering what the hell I was doing here, a seventeen year old just lying in bed taking up space that much sicker children probably needed more.

I convinced myself that the nurses thought the same thing, that I didn't need to be there. I felt guilty for taking them away from their "real" job and "real" patients. It got to the point that I wouldn't press the button to go to the bathroom unless I absolutely couldn't hold it until the next meal time. I felt guilty that they had to eat dinner with me (just me alone by that last day on the floor) instead of taking care of patients or doing charts.

Now, I have to say, I'm sure a select few nurses did think that, although Colorado Children's has a fantastic eating disorders program and many of the nurses I feel had become accustomed to how to treat us. The majority of the nurses I had were exceedingly compassionate and understanding and comforting. I am forever grateful to those nurses. Looking back, I realize that they probably did know how sick I was. They wanted to see me get better, just as much as they wanted to see that two year old next door recover from her virus or fever.

I took this picture on my phone while I was in the hospital, and I've kept it ever since to remind myself that, yes, I was sick. 

No healthy person has a resting/nighttime heart rate in the low 30s.

No healthy person has high levels of protein products in their blood.

No healthy person needs to be strapped to a heart monitor 24/7.

I hadn't menstruated in a few months, and I'm sure my bones were ridiculously weak. I could feel my bones as I continued to work out excessively. I knew very well I could suffer from a heart attack and yet I kept diligently working out for 8+ hours a day. I hid food in my room, my pockets, my purses, threw it into a trash can when a distracted school counselor was not looking. 

I had severely orthostatic blood pressure and a dangerously low heart rate. I don't remember all of the details of my medical work (my mind was so dead at that point I didn't really know what was going on some of the time), but I do remember one of my doctors saying that both my blood and urine showed high levels of Nitrogen/products of protein metabolism. Simply, my body had begun to break down my muscles to survive when I wouldn't give it the food it needed.

And, of course, in addition to all of that, I was wracked with constant anxiety, self-criticism, depression, obsessive thoughts.

These are not the acts of a healthy person.

No one with an eating disorder is healthy. In a hundred different ways, we are very, very sick. No matter what our weight, we are sick. Our bodies are dying along with our minds. And we cannot fix this by ourselves, just as a cancer patient cannot merely wish away their tumor.

Why, then, is it so hard to get treatment for an eating disorder?

An insurance company wouldn't refuse chemotherapy to a cancer patient because their tumor isn't big enough. They wouldn't stop radiation treatments because the tumor was mostly gone and they think it can fix itself now. 

However, they often repeatedly do that exact thing for eating disorder sufferers. Many have a minimum weight requirement, which is ridiculous. The time to get help is not when a patient reaches 85% of her body weight or has been binging and purging for years. Similarly, you cannot kick a patient out of treatment once she reaches 85% or has been "free" of behaviors for a few weeks. Especially since most of us already think we are not "sick enough," these policies reinforce our self-degradation and push us back into our eating disorder. If the hospital/insurance company says we are not sick, then our eating disorders will damn well grab on to that and convince us we're perfectly fine.

Personally, I believe inpatient/residential treatment is incredibly valuable. Sure, I wouldn't have said that when my doctor first told me I'd be put on the medical floor of the hospital for as long was necessary. But I came to realize how much that time was saving my life, even as I hated being stuck there, unable to engage in behaviors, being forced to talk and eat and come face to face with the reality: I am a deserving, kind person who has been ravaged by this disease. It is powerful, but I have the power to defeat it. 

Let me say that again, to all of you, anyone suffering:

You are a deserving, kind person who has been ravaged by this disease. It is powerful, but you have the power to defeat it. You are powerful. You are beautiful. You have this disease, but it is not who you are. You are so much more than you know and are allowing yourself to be.

Eating disorder treatment, a combination of inpatient, residential, day treatment, did far more for me than individual outpatient therapy ever did. And while each person is different, I think that's generally true for most people, especially if they've been suffering for many years, as I had. 

Treatment saves lives. Treatment is expensive, but what if we did it right the first time? What if we didn't push out patients teetering on the edge between relapse and recovery to make room for other patients? What if we understood the importance of creating a unique treatment plan, allowing patients to stay in each level of treatment for as long as necessary to truly begin the long walk to recovery?

Well, I would argue that if we did treatment right, if the insurance companies allocated their money in this way, then overall the process would be far less expensive. Patients would relapse less, for one thing, and be less likely to need further hospital stays. Unfortunately, this isn't the way businesses think.

How do patients get treatment, then? How do families ensure that their loved one is getting the patient they need?

Fight for it.

This can be an exhausting process, yes, but it's the only way to fix the system. We have to convince the public and the insurance companies that eating disorders are illnesses. Complex illnesses, ones that require intense treatment. Food alone cannot cure them, nor can psychotherapy, nor can medicine. Patients are quite literally dying as they wait for treatment, simply because we have a convoluted system that only the "sickest" are worthy of intense treatment. 

This is why NEDAwareness Week is so important. We need to spread awareness, share our stories. We need to raise support, raise money, and tell the truth. We need to break through the cone of silence and start discussing what eating disorders really are.

That, of course, isn't much comfort to you, I'm sure, if you are struggling to get treatment for yourself or a loved one. You/they need it NOW, not when we finally raise enough money/awareness.

In that case, I'd say this: call as many hospitals as you can. Call as many treatment centers as you can. Get in contact with many therapists, and don't be afraid to question those therapists about how they would treat someone with an eating disorder. Keep calling. Don't give up. 

Visit NEDA's website for a complete list of treatment centers. If your insurance company will not cover it, then at least that center can give you the names of qualified therapists in your area that may be able to help and may accept your insurance. Some treatment is always better than no treatment. Intervene as early as possible, and don't stop fighting.

One day, I hope that NEDA walks like the ones I've organized in Colorado Springs will attract just as many people as the Race for the Cure. You'd think that since more women in the US suffer from an eating disorder than from breast cancer, we'd be working for a cure for this terrible illness as well.

We're not. But we can. We need to. 

Because I was very sick. Because everyone suffering from unhealthy eating habits is very sick. Don't fool yourself into thinking otherwise. 

Get the help you need. Don't be afraid. It's the only thing that will save your life, or the life of a loved one. And there are always people willing to support you, offer help and support and empathy.

You are not alone, despite what the insurance company may say. 

You can do this, and get well again.