The Hard Part - 3

Does everyone have their glasses?

This blog is brought to you in 3D, since the final installment in every movie franchise EVER is always in 3D. I will also be including go-pro footage, so this blog is not for the weak of stomach.

It’s not like any of us here are bulimic...

For those of you who may be experiencing similar struggles, I apologize if some of my comments seem crass and insensitive. Eating disorders are NOTHING to joke about. Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness. The mortality rate associated with anorexia nervosa is 12 times higher than the death rate of ALL causes of death for females 15 – 24 years old. Only 30-40% of people diagnosed with eating disorders will ever fully recover.

But I love me some humor. Have to have it. I believe that the ability to laugh at one’s self is the greatest form of acceptance, and an integral part of learning to love one’s self. However, as he often does with any person, place, or thing that provides solace, Ed will twist humor to fit his agenda.

And Ed has a side-kick.   

Although ever-funny and often a life-saver in awkward situations, Sarcasm is probably second only to Ed when it comes to self-deprecation. He can provide great comic relief, but he and Ed get along way too well when it comes to snide remarks. Ed uses Sarcasm to disguise the fact that he is telling me something truly awful. Example:

Rich: “You are my world.”

Sarcasm: “Well, I’m about as big as one. Plus, the only way I could ever get a guy like you would be if I had my own gravitational pull, so I guess that makes sense.”

Ed’s underlying message: “You’re fat.”

This became the conversational norm.

I was on top of the world: I was fresh out of rehab with almost 2 weeks of “sobriety” under my belt, newly moved in with the man I love, and attending IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program) in Northampton three times a week for four hours. I had no cravings or urges to engage in Ed’s riff-raff. Ed will have none of this. He’s scheming to bring his little lost lamb back into the fold. But I’m wiser now. Ed knows this. He can’t just come out guns blazing, screaming “eat it all! Then flush it away!” I will call him on it. It’s easy to escape your enemy when you can hear them coming from miles away. No, he needs a sneak attack. So he takes my perfectly witty sense of humor (I imagine him looking somewhat like a Santa Claus, round and jolly), breaks his arm, and tells him that if he doesn’t do exactly what he says, there will be no Christmas.

No! NOT CHRISTMAS!

Ed has found his way in. I love to poke fun at myself. It’s all in good fun, and as long as it brings a smile to someone’s face, I’m willing to take a few jabs. I will watch the “All About Mormons” episode of South Park and laugh harder than anyone else watching. It’s all about perspective. However, little by little, Ed is turning my once jovial jesting into a vindictive commentary. Example:

Friend: “You look healthy.”

Allie: “Yeah, I don’t have to worry about being carried away by a light breeze anymore.”

Ed: “You’re too fat for the wind to even affect you. You’re a house. A tornado couldn’t move you.”

I had almost a month’s worth of no binging or purging. And then Ed found his golden opportunity…

I had lost weight. How much, I’m not exactly sure. I wasn’t really keeping track; I kept away from the scale like it would give me leprosy.  I attributed this to the running I had recently been doing. In part, this is true. But I had also been skimping on my meal plan. Instead of three meals and three snacks daily, I had whittled down to two meals and two snacks daily. Not a horrible difference, but with the added exercise, I might as well have been eating nothing.

The treatment center decided to increase my level of care from IOP to PHP (Partialized Hospitalization Program). I would now be attending treatment five days a week for six hours. Ed was THRILLED.

Ed: “How terrible. You’ve been doing EVERYTHING RIGHT and now they’re punishing you for it.”

Allie: “But…I have been restricting….not a whole lot but I’m not supposed to restrict anything…”

Ed: “Who cares? You haven’t binged or purged in a month! You’re losing weight the healthy way and they think you still have a problem. They want you to stay fat.”

Allie: “That’s not true. They want me to get better and eat 100% of my meal plan.”

Ed: “You don’t need to get better, you’re fine to begin with. And now they’re taking away more of your freedom. We’ll make them regret this. We’ll GIVE them a reason to be in PHP. You are going to binge and purge tomorrow. That will teach them.”

Allie: “Ok.”

I sunk into a relapse my first week of PHP. I was so embarrassed that I had essentially obliterated all the progress I had made, I didn’t want to tell anyone. Not even the counselors or group members at treatment. I don’t know how or what prompted me to come forward, but I finally did. It was the hardest thing I have ever done throughout my recovery. There is no way to describe how low you feel after your first relapse: like you are back at square one, a lost cause. Ed telling you to just give up, you will never be able to beat him. But then your case worker hosts a family meeting, with your loving parents and boyfriend, and you realize how much you have to fight for. But with only three insurance-approved sessions left, it’s hard to get your feet back on solid ground before corporate America rips the rug out from underneath you.

I had my good days. Only a few bad days here and there. But even a couple bad days is enough wiggle room for Ed. He’s like Houdini. Give him an inch and he takes a mile.

I soon fell into the worst relapse I had ever had. I was binging and purging at least five times a day, if not more. Already ate all the food in the house? That’s what delivery is for: meet Mr. Pizza Hut and Ms. Domino’s. I spent all my money on binges, and when that ran out, I spent money I didn’t have. I told no one, and left no evidence. Except the empty cupboards. I could only hide those for so long…

It was barely two weeks ago that Rich realized I had been struggling. It was a long and teary discussion. I was ashamed and confused. I felt worthless. How could I have fallen so hard after coming so far? Ed was questioning everything that made me feel like a human being. “You don’t deserve to be healthy, you don’t deserve to be happy, and you certainly don’t deserve this love, this boy who has shown you nothing but support and trust and you betrayed it.” He was doing such a good job of ripping the cornerstone from my foundation. Then…

Rich: “I think you should go back.”

Ed: “Ha. Right. Go back to the scoundrels that caused your relapse in the first place.”

Allie: “Shut up Ed. Here I have fallen down again and the people I love are still picking me up off the ground. They care. I matter. I should go back. And I will.”

Since checking back into IOP (this time in South Windsor, CT), I now have 8 days of “sobriety” under my belt. Monday is my last day of treatment. I feel stronger than ever, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared.

But I am no longer afraid of fear. Like I told a fellow patient today, fear keeps you from doing stupid things. Fear means you value your life and are actively fighting for it. Fear means that I am aware of the dangers that I face. Fear means I know Ed’s real game, and I know nobody wins when he plays. Fear means I have a chance. Fear means I will win.