A Letter to My Family

Dear family,

Hi. So, I really don't want to do this. I'm very scared to do this. I'm doing this because God is telling me I need to. Here goes nothing...

I'm in treatment again. I've been in treatment since February 15th. I was going over to Columbus Monday-Friday for 6 hours a day, and I just recently stepped down to 3 days a week for 3 hours. I had been struggling with eating since I got home from school in October. In January, the Lord called me to go into treatment again and I began to relapse very quickly. I was severely restricting, exercising to the point of exhaustion, and I reached the most depressed state that I have ever been in in my entire life. I worked out at 5 in the morning, went to work, then came home and did nothing because I had no energy. I ate next to nothing for about a month because I was coping with my stress. I didn't want to go to treatment, but God was telling me I needed to. I was scared. I was ashamed. This would be my 14th time in treatment. I was embarrassed. I was afraid of judgement...that is why I never told any of you. I made sure my parents didn't say anything because I was so embarrassed.

I want to tell you why exactly I didn't tell you. I know most of you don't understand this, and that is okay. You have no reason to understand this. You've never been through it, and you haven't been through the training that my parents have been through in order to try and understand. I can also tell you that even though they have been through those trainings, they still don't fully understand. That is okay. I feel like you judge me. I feel like you think I'm choosing to do this: like every time I've been in treatment, I'm doing it for attention or something. I don't know if that is truly how you think, but it is how I feel. I want to tell you that it is exactly the same thing as cancer. Me relapsing and going to treatment is no different than a cancer patient relapsing and then having to return to chemo-therapy. Again, I don't blame you for not understanding. No one really does unless they experience an eating disorder. I feel like you pity me, and I don't want that. I don't want you to see me as a lost cause, and  I'm scared as though you do.

I know you pray for me, and you've probably helped me in some monetary way these past few years. I can't express how much that means to me, so thank you for your support. While I appreciate that, it's not the kind of support I need. I need quality time. I like to spend time with people and I love talking to people. I want to tell you who I am outside of my eating disorder because I fear that is all you see me as. First and foremost, I am a daughter of God, a follower of Christ. That is all I am. I am a soul in desperate need of my Savior. Outside of that, I am nothing. I do my hair and makeup every day because I feel like I need to, but I hate doing it. I love my job. I decided that I'm not going back to school so that I can work at River Road and serve the Lord wherever He calls me. I eat my breakfast every morning by candlelight. I'm incredibly chill and easy going. I love to laugh. I talk about pooping on a regular basis with my friends. My favorite thing to do is walking on High street, going out for breakfast or coffee, working at River Road, and going to bible study. I hate yoga and feminism. I'm trying to die to myself every day and live my life for Christ alone. That's just a part of who I am. I am not my eating disorder, and I so desperately need you to know that.

I'm sorry for not telling you. I'm sorry for being so distant and secretive. I'm sorry if I've ever hurt you in anyway. Please know that the past few years my actions have not been of my own accord, but they have been a result of my eating disorder and depression. I so desperately want to love and serve, but I have chosen not to fight my mental illness, so I just don't. I want you to know how well I'm doing now. It is by nothing I have done, but by the grace of God that I am where I am. Only a little over a month ago, I believed I was nothing but an eating disorder. I believed that was all I was good for. God has changed my heart completely. I now no longer identify with my eating disorder at all. Sure, I still struggle with eating as I'm supposed to sometimes, but I'm still working on recovery. I believe that there will be a day where this disease is just a memory and not a reality. The Lord is so good and His timing is perfect. I don't know why I've had to go to treatment so many times, but I know it's for an eternal reason. I don't regret any of my struggles or experiences because I know they glorify God in some way. All praise and honor and glory be to Christ for the redemptive work He has been doing in me. I have done nothing. It is all Christ.

I hope you can forgive me for not telling you. I hope so desperately that our relationship can be more like it was before my eating disorder started. I know that it won't be exactly the same as everyone has grown up and changed, but I do hope that the love and connection we once felt will be rekindled. Thank you for all you do and have done for me. Thank you for all of the prayers and support you have given me. I really do love you.

Sincerely,
Zoe

So Happy I Want to Cry

Hello friends! How's it going? Hopefully bueno!

So remember my last few posts where I described feeling depressed, self-loathing, and just all around sad? Well get ready for this one. For the past 4-5 weeks I have felt overwhelmingly...happy. Not just on the outside, but I feel happy in the depths of my heart!

A few weeks ago, I had a meal plan increase and I just felt huge and disgusting after leaving treatment. I hated myself. The next day, I met with a girl I work with and am in bible study with, Mandy. I can't explain what it is about her, but I feel so happy when I'm with her. We talked about God and how He is working in our lives. It was spectacular. Right after that, I met with one of my best friends, Courtney. We walked my dog and talked about how the Lord is working in both of our lives. I left feeling overwhelmed with joy of the Lord. I kid you not, ever since that Wednesday, I have not stopped feeling happy.

God has been working in my life so greatly both in my eating disorder and depression, but also aspects of my life outside of those. For example, I got bored one night, so I started playing on Tinder. I know, dumb. I started talking to a couple of guys who said they knew Christ. I didn't go into it with the intention to date, but if I met new friends who were Christian, I was game. I actually got asked to hang out by one of the guys, and I agreed. The next day, I began to feel convicted about it. I prayed about it more, and God told me He didn't want me to go. I messaged the guy and told him that God wasn't feeling us going on the date, so I had to cancel. Luckily he understood. As I drove home one day from treatment thinking about Tinder and the boys I was talking to, the words "I am enough" rang in my head. The moment I heard that, I felt overcome by feelings of peace and the love of God. He is enough, in every aspect of my life: He is enough no matter what I weigh; He is enough no matter what I have to eat; He is enough even if I never end up finding a significant other and getting married. He is enough, and I'm okay with that. I know, I'm only 21 and I still have some years left to find a man, but for now, Christ is enough. It's such a freeing feeling. Oh, I also deleted the Tinder app after feeling convicted. I realized that I was seeking affirmation outside of Christ and that was not okay. Bye, Tinder.

This past Saturday, my best friend and I participated in the NEDA walk in Columbus. To be honest, I only did it to spend time with my friend. I didn't necessarily care about the cause. We were talking, and I told her about how I've never been super big on the whole "pro-recovery, rah-rah NEDA" thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad people can get hyped for recovery, it's just never been me. I never knew why, and as we talked about it, I came to a realization: I'm NOT pro-recovery because I'm pro-Jesus. Let me explain: I put my hope for recovery in Christ alone. I believe that He is the one true healer. Only He can truly heal my wounds and wash away my sins. It is by nothing that I do, but what Christ does in me that I will recover. I believe that there will be a day where I don't struggle with an eating disorder or depression at all. I believe that those thoughts won't even cross my mind. I believe that because He promises me that. Based on observations and hearing others in recovery talk, I've found that many who get super jacked on recovery still have days where they struggle and feel the weight of the eating disorder or depression pressing on them. I believe that this is because such people are that way because their entire hope for recovery is based in the concept of recovery. It's entirely based on the idea that there is a great fight against the disorders that they constantly have to be on guard against. In reality, the fight is over. That fight has been nailed to the cross. It is just as dead as my sin. Knowing that, I know that nothing is impossible with Jesus. I know that as long as I am obedient to Him and His will for me, I cannot fail or stumble because it is finished. Praise Him!!

When I spend time in prayer, I usually ask God if He wants me in school, if He wants me at Ohio State, and if He wants me to major in nutrition. My plan for the past half-year has been to become a dietitian at an eating disorder facility and help those afflicted with the disease. Like I said, it's cool to see God working in parts of my life outside of the disorder. I hadn't really been thinking about school that much and I was just going to go through with MY plan. I was going to go to Ohio State Newark beginning in Summer, live at home for a year or two, transfer to main campus and live in Columbus, and get my degree in Human Nutrition. That was MY plan. As I think about my plans and how well they typically go, it's just a big LOL. I met with one of my good friends this past Tuesday, and I cannot for the life of me remember what we were talking about, but the topic of school and me going to school came up. I started to have feelings of not wanting to go, and I started to question it. On my way to treatment that day, I realized it: I'm not supposed to go to school. At least, I don't think I am. I don't believe that it is God's will for me to go to school, at least right now. Honestly, though, I don't know if it's His will for me to go at all. I realized that I truly just want to live a simple life, without a lot of money, serving God daily. I really just want to work at River Road for as long as I can, and serve Him there. The moment that I realized that, I felt an overwhelming feeling of peace. So now I'm no longer planning to go to school, and I could not be more excited about it. I'm not excited about the concept of not going to school, but rather I'm excited to be obedient to God in what I believe He wants for me right now. I'm continuing to pray about this as it is a very recent revelation, but I feel right about it.

Last week I stepped down to (what is essentially) IOP, so now I go to treatment 4 days a week for 3 hours. I'm supposed to be there for 6-8 weeks. I talked with my therapist yesterday and told him how incredibly happy I've been feeling. He said if the weeks continue like this, I will reduce my hours to 3 days a week for 3 hours a day, and maybe I'll even end sooner. I'm so sick of treatment. I just want to be done. I realized that I get bored because I don't agree with some of the ideas of treatment. For example, they say you have to recover for yourself. While I believe that is true, it's not the entire truth for me. I have to recover for Christ, because it's not about me. Nothing is about me. It is all about Him. Every breath I take, every beat of my heart, every decision I make, every good thing that happens is because of Him and ultimately glorifies His name. I have to die to my flesh every day and turn my thoughts from the belief that my life is about me because it's just not. I know to a worldly view that sounds so rigid and strict, but in reality, it is the most freeing thing I have ever experienced. I'm not in control, God is. I don't have to have it all together because He does. I may choose whether or not I will engage in recovery, but He is ultimately the one who decides. He is the one I must do it for. I must die to my flesh and desires to live my life for myself and live it for Him. I can't even begin to tell you how much freedom I feel.

Where I'm at right now is light-years away from where I was a few weeks ago. I genuinely feel so happy. I actually have had multiple days where I feel so happy in my heart that I want to breakdown and cry because I just don't know what to do with these emotions. It's a scary, beautiful thing. I'm so excited about life. I'm excited to live my life for Christ. Oh, I also want to say that I don't think anyone is wrong who gets excited about recovery. If that's how you found recovery, that's awesome! For me, however, I choose Christ and to walk in the freedom that He won on the cross. All praise and glory be to Him!

Failures and Succeeses

Hello friends! I'm currently sitting in a coffee shop typing this on my phone because I left my tablet at the hotel (my mom and I are staying in a hotel this week because her work is having a conference there so they're paying for her room hollaaaaa). I was supposed to meet a friend but she couldn't make it, so here I am. I was really disappointed when she said she couldn't come because I had nothing to do. I just decided to come here. I ordered a latte, but it was no bueno, so I got a nitro cold brew instead. This is technically my snack (which it's really not a snack), but I didn't know what else to do...Oh well.

So the past two weeks have seriously been so good! Two weeks ago, I got a meal plan increase, and I had a lottttttt of food at dinner. When I left treatment, I felt disgusting and I hated myself. I've only told a few people this, but this time in treatment, I've (unsuccessfully) tried to make myself throw up.
(PAUSE: I stopped writing yesterday and the rest of this is being written at Cosi Café, just to keep you updated). I know this is bad, but I haven't felt conviction about it. I know the health risks of purging, and I know that it serves no purpose, but I had felt so disgusting and I just wanted the food out of me. Like I said, every time I tried I was unsuccessful. I didn't feel bad about trying, but I felt mad that I couldn't do it. But that Tuesday, I tried to purge and when I couldn't, I felt worse about myself. I was at Bible study and could hardly focus because I felt so gross. The next day, I met with a girl I work with (who is now a very good friend), and we just talked about how the Lord is working in our lives, an it was so good. Right after that, I picked up my dog and one my good friend's, Courtney, met me on the bike path, and we walked him for like an hour. I walked 50 minutes longer than I'm supposed to, but I lost track of time and was so involved in the conversation with Courtney. It was great. We also just talked about how the Lord is working in our lives and just how great He is. Ever since then, my weeks have been really good. I've felt positive and happy. The weekends have still been hard in the sense that I've missed meals and snacks, but mentally and emotionally I've felt wonderful! Now I just need to learn how to feel great and follow my meal plan...

Like I said, my mom and I have been staying in Columbus at a hotel, which has been good. My mom and I are always around each other, but we're never really "together". We sit in the same room all of the time, but we rarely really talk or get to know each other. On Monday, we went out to a restaurant in the Short North that I had waned to try called Brassica. I can't handle it because it was the best thing I've eaten in a long time. It's my new favorite dinner restaurant. My mom even liked it, and my mom rarely likes restaurants that I like. It was good just to sit and have a meal with her that we both enjoyed. After that, she dropped me off at a concert that I won tickets to on Twitter. I met with my new friend from treatment. It was good because I NEVER go out at night, and if I do, I leave early. However, I made myself stay the whole time and try to enjoy the show. It was successful. Tuesday is usually my least favorite day of the week. For some reason, bad things always happen on Tuesday. However, this past Tuesday was awesome! I met with my best friend at Cosi Café for breakfast. I got a swiss, egg, and spinach breakfast sandwich on a multi-grain "squagel" (square bagel), and it just might rival Panera for the best egg sandwich competition (but how sad is it that a chain is winning?). After that, we were going to walk around the mall, but on the way there her car got a flat, so we just sat in her car for like an hour and a half talking until AAA got there. I think that was God being like "LOL No" to me, because I half wanted to walk at the mall to over exercise. Well played, God. It was so good though, just because my best friend is my "safe place". I can go to her with anything and she just listens. She's honestly the only person outside of my family that I always feel comfortable around and don't get anxiety thinking about hanging out with her. Then treatment was good, then mom and I went to Meijers (a grocery store we used to have in Newark, but it closed and made everyone sad, so you've gotta go when you get a chance), then we met my "brother-best-friend" for ice cream. WOAH HOLD UP I ATE ICE CREAM?! Yeah, I did, and I literally had no anxiety or thoughts about it. I think that's because a) my mom wanted to go b) we were planning on going c) the particular ice cream shop isn't one of my "challenge" or "fear" places, and I don't get worked up and anxious thinking about it. I got bourbon pecan chocolate chip, thinking I liked liquor flavored things...nope. I don't. Luckily, the girl traded it for peanut butter chocolate chip, and all was well in the world because peanut butter. Wednesday was good, except I felt like I was going to explode after my lunch and I pooped about 5-6 times (I'm getting real sick of pooping). I was supposed to meet with a girl I work with after treatment, but she couldn't make it. That made me slightly anxious because then I had nothing to do. I ended up going to a coffee shop, getting a latte I didn't like, trading that latte for a different mediocre drink, and my friend from treatment met me for like 20 minutes. After, I didn't have anything else to do since my mom was still in her training, so I thought the best option was to walk...for an hour. Oopsie. I wasn't feeling necessarily guilty or anxious or eating disorder-y...just bored. When I was hardcore engaging in behaviors a couple of months ago, I would walk on the treadmill while listening to sermons from my church. It was something that I genuinely enjoyed, and I could actually pay attention. So I walked and listened to the sermon. The whole time I was just thinking "you aren't supposed to be doing this," but I didn't listen and just kept walking, justifying that "I have an eating disorder and I'm still in treatment, so it's okay if I slip up every now and then." That's not okay. I feel like I've gotten to a place where I know I have power over my eating disorder, and I have the ability to choose whether or not I will engage in a behavior without feeling like I have no choice but to listen to the eating disorder. However, I still choose to. I guess it's  part of the process, but I also feel like I'm not even trying.

Dinner at my new favorite restaurant, Brassica. It's a pita sandwich with hummus and veggies. So. Freaking. Good.

The concert I went to. The band was Parachute....I knew 3 songs, but it was a lot of fun!

My delicious egg, swiss, and spinach sandwich on a multi-grain squagel at Cosi Café (I ate this twice this week)

Me on Sandy the penny pony at Meijers! #throwack

Bourbon Pecan Chocolate Chip ice cream at Graters....not my thing

Second try at ice cream: peanut butter chocolate chip. Much more my speed.

Yeah, we ate here twice this week. So worth it.

On Sunday, I was thinking about how people often diet and exercise trying to get to a goal weight. I know it's common in eating disorders, but honestly it's like that with anyone. I just thought it's never enough. Once you get to your goal, what next? You'll probably want to lose more. You can take that with anything really: you can never make enough money, you can never smoke enough weed, you can never buy enough clothes, you can never watch enough porn, you can never gossip too much, you can never run too far, etc....it's just never enough. I realized that until you acknowledge and accept the person God created you to be, and until you realize that your identity is in Christ, nothing is ever going to be enough. He is the only one that satisfies. This gave me so much hope and inspiration. I just need to accept myself and who I am in Christ, and then I will truly have the happiness that my eating disorder always promised me. Now getting there is where it gets tricky, BUT I have God leading me through it, so it's going to happen. Yesterday I met with my dietician and she told me more about my goal BMI. I know I just said that it doesn't matter and it doesn't satisfy, however, what she told me helped me a lot because the number was lower than what I thought it was. It was lower than a number that I thought I couldn't bear. Even if it were higher, God would have given me the strength to be content at that weight. However, it's just kind of funny that it was that number because the last few weeks I had been so scared of being a weight I wasn't comfortable with. I truly didn't think I could handle it. I've been praying for God to help me love and accept myself at whatever weight I end up at, and I'm starting to get to a place where I can. So it's just funny that I'm not going to be at a place that I thought I would freak out at. It's funny how God's got my back.

This week, I've felt confident. I saw myself yesterday and I actually thought I looked good. I still have some weight to gain, but I'm hopeful that I will still feel confident and like my body when I'm done weight restoring. I still engage in behaviors and want to restrict, but it's starting to be just because I don't feel like following my meal plan because I want to be "normal," and not necessarily as a means to control or lose weight. It's still not an excuse, but I'm happy that at least my mindset has shifted a bit. I found out on Tuesday that next week I am stepping down to 4 days a week for 3 hours a day. I'm feeling good about this. I'm ready to go back to work, and I'm ready to start functioning on my own. I'm excited to start eating without being monitored. I'm excited to actually want to and to actually let myself eat. I've really been working on the idea of mindfulness because I realized I hate it, but that's because I never do it. I tend to just zone and numb out. But since I've been working on it, I'm able to stay present and truly enjoy the moment. I haven't been living in fear of what I  think I'm going to look like when I'm done gaining weight. It's been so nice. I'm starting to feel like a normal person. I do believe that God can completely heal my eating disorder, and I believe this is just part of that process. So while I still struggle, I still have hope in God and I believe that I am almost there. Also, swiss cheese is the best cheese on breakfast sandwiches. 

Only He Can

Hello my internet friends!

I don't have a real reason to post today. I haven't journal-ed recently, so I figured I would do so now and just share it with the world-wide web. Cool? Cool.

The past couple of weeks have been a combination of good and bad. I've still had a great deal of depression and a depressed mood (that's not going anywhere soon), but I've been doing things that I enjoy. I've even been going out at night...which is a big deal for me because I just don't do that. My nurse practitioner put me on an anti-depressant, and she increased the dosage yesterday, but she said my weight isn't at a place yet for it to take a real effect. However, I can kind of tell a slight difference. Wahoo! Last Tuesday I got a meal plan increase. On the same day, we had First Watch for lunch. I got a pancake and eggs. This is something I really love, however, it gave me anxiety and I felt guilty after eating it because it was 2 fat exchanges over my meal plan. Dumb, I know, but it is what it is. I had a pretty big dinner, and then I had to have my meal plan increase on top of that which made for a pretty uncomfortable meal. I left feeling so depressed, hating myself, guilty, and disgusting all because of how much I had to eat. I went to bible study and couldn't shake the feeling of self-hate. That's something I've been really battling recently, self-hate. It's weird because it's like I don't want to hate myself and I don't completely hate myself, but my eating disorder wants me to hate myself, so I just do. I feel powerless to my eating disorder. Whatever it wants, I give to it. It's voice is louder than mine, and worse, God's. I continue to engage in behaviors and thoughts, and I feel little to no conviction about them. There have been two times where God made it clear to me that I was not to do an eating disorder behavior, but I listened to my eating disorder instead of Him and did them anyway. This is very frustrating to me because I don't want to do them but I can't help but listen to the eating disorder and do them. "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." -Romans 7:15. I feel guilty because I know what to do and I know if I would just fight, I could do them...but I just can't bring myself to do it. 

Like I said, in the midst of the depression, I have been doing things I enjoy. I hang out with my best friend at least once a week, and we usually get coffee or walk around Columbus somewhere (my two favorite things). I've been hanging out with new friends. On Saturday, I didn't have anything to do, so I cleaned my house and made a cake. I discovered I love cleaning...I'm turning into my grandmother. Yikes. I've also realized how loved and supported I am. 3 of my very good friends who have only known me for less than a year come to family and friends support night every week. My friends drive all the way to Columbus to see me and be with me. I have an entire community of believers who are praying for me. My mom woke up at 6:30 this morning just to go with me to get my labs drawn. This is funny to me to think about because I realized a couple of weeks ago that I'm so afraid to gain weight/give up my eating disorder because I'm afraid people won't love me. I don't know if I wrote this in a previous post, and quite frankly I'm too lazy to check, BUT I realized that this fear comes from my experience with not being loved as a kid. Like, my parents didn't love me because they gave their attention to my brother, boys didn't love me because I was so fat, my friends didn't love me because they were always leaving me (probably because I was so fat), and God didn't love me because He made me so fat. I KNOW NONE OF THAT IS TRUE, but it's where my fear of gaining weight comes from. I thought that was a pretty ground-breaking revelation in my eating disorder. I also realized that I've been depressed since I was in 6th grade. People often ask if the eating disorder caused the depression, or if the depression caused the eating disorder. I've always thought it was the first, but I'm realizing it's the latter. My eating disorder is how I cope with my depression. Knowing this helps me because I now know what a root of my issues are, and now I know how to properly fight them. Neat. 

On an unrelated note, I've learned that Swiss cheese is the best kind of cheese for an egg sandwich. I've learned that Sumatra is my favorite blend of coffee. I've learned that I hate being around my dad's side of the family because I'm afraid of their judgement. I've learned I love to eat in the dark with candles lit. I've learned that I love cleaning. I've learned that I have a hard time feeling things
(for example, I know my feet are on the floor, but I can hardly feel them). I'm learning who my community is. I've learned I feel better about myself when I'm tan. These are random realizations and blurbs, but they are things I'm learning about myself that make me me. I need to keep these things in mind when I get caught up in believing my eating disorder is my identity. I know it's not, but I'm still not at a place where I believe I have an identity apart from my eating disorder. This is hard for me as a Christian because I need to find my identity in Christ, and I just can't. I'm working on it and praying for it. 

I still feel crippled by fear of what I will look like when I'm done weight restoring. Well, half of the time I'm terrified, but sometimes I actually get excited. Because no one knows what my normal weight range is supposed to be, it's completely uncharted territory. I might look like crap, but I might actually be really hot. I might have a body like a normal woman. I might actually have a sense of confidence. Who knows? My mood often depends on which of the two mindsets of my body I have. If I'm in the mindset that I'm going to be huge and unhappy, I'm more depressed than usual. If I feel excited about looking good when I gain weight, I still feel depressed but I have a more positive and happy attitude. I wish my moods didn't depend on my appearance. 

God is good. Through it all, God is good and sovereign and constant. I struggle with knowing I'm forgiven and loved by God and using that as an excuse to sin, and that is NOT okay. When I do this, I question if God still loves me. I know He does, but my heart and head don't often connect. In the midst of my trials and struggles, though, I see God working and moving in my life and the lives of others. I believe that through my struggles and vulnerabilities, He is glorified because it's a reminder that I am NOT in control of my life. He is teaching me to rely on Him, and relinquish my control to Him. I'm such a control freak, and I get so worked up and stressed out about things going according to MY plan. My plans don't always work out like they should, and even when they do I don't get as much satisfaction out of them as I anticipate. I believe God is using this time to get me to a place where I fully rely on Him. Yes, being in treatment sucks and it was not a part of my plan, but God is with me guiding my path. I still engage in behaviors and struggle, but that's okay because it's part of God's plan. No, I shouldn't do them, but the experience is day by day teaching me to trust in Him, because only He can satisfy and only He can save. 

A Little Thought On Transformation Pictures

Yesterday I made a post on Facebook saying "Transformation pics are great and all but can we just not...ever" (or something like that). I rarely post on Facebook, but it was one of those things where you see something so much, and something that really bothers you, so you have to speak up. I couldn't take seeing some peoples' weight loss pictures anymore, so I just had to say my peace.

Here's the thing: I understand why people want to post transformation pictures. They are proud of their accomplishments and want the rest of the world to be too. I get that. Here's the real thing: it's something that can be incredibly irritating and possibly triggering. Now I know that I have an eating disorder and I am more likely to be triggered by weight loss. However, whether people know it or not, everyone can be triggered by these. You don't have to have an eating disorder to be triggered. One may see these transformation pictures and think "hey, I could lose some weight too if they could," the problem being that the person may be healthy and at a normal weight already. These transformation pictures can lead to negative body image, self-hate, competition, unneeded weight loss, eating disorders, and a slew of other negative things for the people viewing them. Sure, they may inspire hope for the viewers, but at what cost? Ultimately, the question you need to ask yourself when posting these pictures is "is this photo honoring God?" Yes, if you were obese to the point where your life was threatened and you lost weight in order to become healthy, that can be honoring God because you are taking care of yourself and the body He has gifted you with. However, if you are posting something that shows how much muscle you have gained, how your stomach has shrunk, or your new found thigh gap, are you doing that to honor God or to seek the attention, love, and approval of others?

I removed the Facebook post because someone left a comment arguing for the case of transformation pictures. I posted it because I was expressing an opinion, not to start a debate (which, in retrospect, is impossible to do on social media). I was also really hurt when two people who I thought really cared about me "liked" the comment. I felt convicted for starting a debate, so I thought it best just to remove it. However, I am pretty pissed about this topic. All I ask is that when considering transformation pictures, think about the minds and emotions of others who are going to see them. Think about how it could possibly be damaging. Think about what God would say about the picture. Just a little thought for your Saturday morning.

Depression and Egg Sandwiches

Hello friends! How is it hangin'. My dad just told me about his confusion as to why that is a commonly used phrase because in his day it meant something totally different than today's meaning. I hope all is well in your world. Me? Not so much. Last week was quite literally one of the worst weeks of my life (that I can remember).

Last Monday, I met with my "case manager" (a.k.a. therapist), and he told me my treatment plan, which contained some devastating news. First, it said my estimated length of stay in PHP: 2.5.-3.5 months. That's May. Last year, I was in this program for 2 weeks. Okay, I can handle that. It's just where I'm at in my illness and it's where God wants me; I can handle that. And then the real blow came….my weight range. And it was not what I was hoping/praying for. It was way higher. It wasn't where it was last year when I was in the program; I would have been okay with that. No, it was a weight that I am just not okay with. I was completely happy and content with my weight last year. Why do they have to change it? Are they trying to make me hate myself for the rest of my life? Do they know that I will never accept myself at that weight? Do they know I will forever be putting on a happy face, though on the inside I can't stand who I am or what I look like? Maybe they do, but they don't care. It's still my weight range. They aren't going to change it. Great. So after that session, I left feeling completely defeated, apathetic, sad, and about to have a nervous break down.

On the same day, I was meeting my best friend for coffee at one of the cool coffee shops in Columbus. She was risking her poor little Solara that doesn't run all that great just to meet me for coffee. What a gal. The same night, the fam and I were going to get Chipotle for dinner. Now, I knew going into treatment that I would have to weight restore, so I made a list of restaurants/foods I wanted to eat that I'm usually too afraid to eat. Last year, I ate all of my fear foods with no anxiety because I knew how much I was going to weigh when I was done, and it was a number I was comfortable with, so I didn't care. This year is completely different though. I had so much anxiety before I left treatment to go to the coffee shop. "What do I get at the coffee shop and then Chipotle to meet my meal plan and not go over, but still challenge myself by eating a fear food?" I talked with my dietician about it before I left. She vaguely told me what I could get at both, but it wasn't really what I wanted. I got in my car and started crying. I called my dad because I just needed to talk to someone. I had found out my weight range (which killed me), and I was terrified to get a mocha and a burrito on the same day. He listened, and then I left for the coffee shop. I also texted my mom and told her I couldn't go to Chipotle because thinking about having two challenge foods in one night borderline gave me a nervous breakdown. At the coffee shop, I did end up ordering the scary mocha I wanted to try…it was terrible. And not just "eating disorder" terrible, it was one of the worst coffee beverages I've ever had in my life. I made my friend try it too, and she agreed. So I had them change it to an iced coffee…which was also not great, but it had virtually no calories, so my anxiety decreased. I texted my mom back and told her we could go to Chipotle because I had "calories to spare." It was so good talking to my friend. I needed it since I was falling apart inside. She didn't understand exactly what I was going through, but she could empathize/sympathize. She didn't say anything, and I didn't need her to. I just needed someone to listen, because there is no way I can change what is going to happen but I can't make the feelings go away and I just need someone to hear me vent. So, though the coffee sucked, the time with her was grand.

Later that night, I was on the verge of tears all night. We didn't end up going to Chipotle because the whole reason we were going was to use a coupon, but it was invalid when I checked it, so we just didn't go. My mom took me to Walmart, and then on the way home, she made a comment that wasn't necessarily bad, but it was just enough to send me over the edge. I broke down. I hid my face as I ugly cried. I got myself composed, ate dinner, took a shower, then later as I sat with my dad watching TV, I thought of how much weight I was going to gain, and I had a nervous breakdown. I cried for a good 1/2 hour, and he just sat there trying to comfort me. Now, I know what you're probably thinking: "Zoe, it's just weight. These thoughts are just your eating disorder." Well, that may be. But here is where I don't believe that 100%: I was overweight as a kid (see last blog post to learn more about that), and I HATED, LOATHED, ABHORED myself because of the way I looked. Looking back now, I first became depressed when I was in 6th grade because of the way I looked. Until I lost the weight when I was a freshman in high school, I was a fraud. I put on a happy face every day so people wouldn't know that I was dying on the inside. I had to put on a tough exterior so no one could know that I was vulnerable on top of being fat. My problem with the weight they want me to be is that I know when I'm at that weight, I will hate myself again. I will forever be faking my happiness because I can't stand my appearance, and I can't go back to that. It was miserable. So, there was the reason for my breakdown.

The next morning, I went out  to breakfast with my best friend who is basically my brother at a place I've been to once before in Columbus. I told him that I lost it the night before, and it was again good to talk to someone about how I was feeling. I ate my breakfast in literally 5 minutes (I was anxious about it, and I've realized that when I have anxiety about eating, I eat really fast to get it over with). After I met him, I did a couple little things around Columbus, and I was able to distract myself from the weight conundrum. Then I got to treatment, and BAM hit with the feels. I became incredibly depressed and just plain down, which lasted all day. I skipped bible study that night because I didn't want to see anyone or let anyone in. I went home and just sat on my couch staring into space, not really thinking about anything but how miserable I was. I knew God was right there with me; I could feel Him. But I was pissed at Him. As I prayed that night, I quite honestly said "f**k you" to God. I knew He wasn't "making" this happen to punish me, or for his sick pleasure. But why is He  making me go through this? Doesn't He know that I would do anything for Him BUT this? MY weight is the one thing I have, and He was going to make me give it up? I was pissed at the circumstance, to say the least. Things were like that the rest of the week. On Friday, I met with my case manager again, and I told him what had gone on that week. We explored the topic of how depressed I was, and it hit me: I'm depressed.

I was officially diagnosed with depression when I was a freshman. Throughout high school, I never noticed being depressed. I never wanted to hang out with people or go out or have sleepovers like I did in middle school before I was diagnosed with depression and anorexia, but I never really felt super down, like depressed people are supposed to feel. When I went to college, I got better and mor excited to be around people and do things.  As time went on, though, I never wanted to do things with people for very long. When I entered treatment, I was afraid to go out with people for very long because (my excuse was) I would have to eat and I didn't want to in front of them. Looking back, that was an excuse for not really wanting to be around people. Last year in treatment, especially Summer, I was doing some things with my friends, but I would only go out for coffee with them, or go on a trip to some restaurant in Columbus. I never had any desire to go out at night, or hang out at their houses with them. I wanted to be in and out  as soon as possible so I could be by myself at home. When I got back to Lee this past Fall semester, things were the same. When I got home in October, things were the same. As my case manager and I explored this, I realized: I've never gotten over being depressed. That's why I never want to be a "normal" college age kid and go out and have fun with people my age. Hm, what a revelation. We also explored my identity and the fact that for 8 freaking years, the only identity I've had is being the "skinny girl" or "the girl with the eating disorder." Before my eating disorder, my identity was in being the "funny fat kid." And now that I can't restrict or do my eating disorder behaviors, I don't know who I am. I KNOW I'm supposed to be a child of God, and I'm supposed to put my identity in Christ alone, but I don't FEEL that in my heart. Where is the disconnect? I think this is something that all Christians battle: putting 100% of their identity in Christ. We come to know ourselves as something we have, something we can contribute to society, or something we are good at, but it is a real struggle to honestly and whole-heartedly put our identity in Christ.

This past weekend wasn't a good one. On Saturday, I had breakfast and then had nothing to do. So, I exercised in secret for an hour and a half while no one was around. I'm not supposed to do any exercise at this level of treatment. I also skipped 2 snacks, almost all of my exchanges at lunch,  and some at dinner. At church that night, I don't know why, but I was crawling out of my skin and dying to literally run out. The next day, I skipped exchanges at breakfast, went to work from 10-4 where I skipped a snack and lunch, and then I skipped exchanges at dinner. Again, at work I felt like I was crawling out of my skin and dying to run away. Two of my biggest loves and passions (church and River Road) I wanted to run away from because I couldn't stand being there. I told my dad and he thinks I'm under demonic oppression, which I could totally see. The thing about all of these behaviors and actions that I did this  weekend is I just don't care. I don't care if I miss a meal. I don't care if I exercise when I'm not supposed to. I don't care who this hurts. I don't care how this hurts my body. I just don't care. I feel no conviction when I do  these things. None at all. And that's not okay…but I just don't care.  That's depression. This is what it looks like. People  often ask "did the eating disorder cause the depression or did the depression cause the eating disorder?" For years , I thought my eating disorder caused my depression, but after this week, I realize that my depression probably caused my eating disorder. I can use eating disorder behaviors to quiet and numb out my depression. That's why I restricted and exercised over the weekend: because it distracts me from how depressed I am. How about that?

Yesterday and today have been better. Yesterday, my best friend met me in Columbus again. We got  coffee another coffee shop, and my latte sucked again (Mondays are apparently not my day for lattes). We walked down High St. (my favorite thing in the whole world to do), and the sun was shining bright as I told her about my past week and my depression. Today, I don't have to go to treatment until noon, so I came to Northstar Café for breakfast by myself. I got an egg sandwich and coffee; It was good, but it came on a biscuit, and I really dislike biscuits. I also really dislike spending $13  on mediocre breakfast, BUT the atmosphere here is super chill and I would do it again in a heartbeat. I spent some time in the Bible, and am now writing this blog  post. I'm also about to pee my pants, but I digress. Going out to breakfast and just sitting around drinking coffee, being with God is my favorite thing in the whole world (apart from walking on High street). I ate my breakfast in 10 minutes as opposed to 5 because I wasn't as anxious. Today, I feel peaceful and content. This past week, I realized that me and my eating disorder are two completely different entities, and my eating disorder voice is overpowering both my and God's voice. I've given control over to my eating disorder and I basically listen to everything it says to do. My eating disorder has been telling me to feel guilty, depressed, and to do behaviors. Not today though. Today I feel good. I'm still terrified to gain weight, but I try not to think about it. The "me" part of me is slightly excited to gain weight. I'm hoping to finally look like a woman my age (I'm really praying for the weight to distribute evenly, and most importantly, for boobies!). I also think I'm going to go to OSU instead of Columbus State. When I'm in my eating disorder, I don't want to push myself or do what I really  want to do. I think it would be better for me, and I think God wants me to (at least I hope He does) get  4 year degree and go on to get my masters in Dietetics and Nutrition. My plan (MY plan) for now is to go to OSU-Newark  to finish my gen-eds while living at home and working at River Road, which should also give me enough time to be in recovery for some time. When I'm done with that I will move up to Columbus and finish my degree at main campus. I will live on my own, use my own money, and finally be an adult. The hope in all of this is that I'm "recovered enough" to be able to  live on my own. That's another big reason why I'm slightly excited to  recover.  All the while, my eating disorder is pissed and scared and telling me I need to be to, and that I need to fight back. I usually fall into what my eating disorder wants me to do (hence why I restrict, and why I can't get myself  to eat 100% of my meal plan on my own). But I also realize that that's just where I'm at in recovery, and why I'm anticipated to be in PHP for 2.5-3.5  months.  I have time to fight my eating disorder, begin to truly heal from my depression, and most importantly find my identity in Christ and Christ alone. I've also resolved to making this time the time to seek the best egg sandwich.  So far, the star has been Panera, which really pains me to say, so I have to continue with my quest.

Me with my egg sandwich at Northstar Cafe

Where I Come From

I was reading a blog earlier, and I realized that I said I would tell you more about my life a long time ago on here, and I never did. So, I just thought I would tell you my life story so you can get a glimpse of who I am, where I've come from, and why Jesus is so good. Usually when I tell this story, it takes me 30 minutes to get through, so I'm going to try and keep it as concise and brief as I can while keeping the important bits in tact. So, Grab a cup of coffee (or night time tea, depending on when you're reading), and enjoy reading a story about lil ol' me.

Me with C3PO at Mellow Mushroom at my birthday dinner last year.

I was born March 9, 1995 in Columbus, Ohio. My dad was a timid, shy geek who loved to cycle, live a healthy and active lifestyle, and grew up in the Catholic church but was saved in non-denominational church when he was in his 20's. My mom was an outgoing, energetic workaholic who grew up Catholic, and considered herself to be "Catholic" still. I was baptized in the Catholic church, but I was also dedicated in non-denominational church. We went to non-denominational church up until I started kindergarten. I started school at a Catholic school, and for some reason, after that, we stopped going to church all together. No one in my family knows why...we just did.

Me as a cat...meow, so purrrfect.

As a child, I always wanted to be known and seen. I was very talkative. My favorite movie was "The Wizard of Oz," I loved playing dress up and having tea parties, and I loved going places. I gained a passion for singing at a young age, so you could always hear me singing around my house. I also loved acting and I did various workshops and things throughout my childhood. I tried out for many plays, but never got a role. At age 3, God gave me a little brother named Christian. We grew up essentially hating each other. My parents are incredibly loving, but that love turned into giving things for love. So, my brother and I grew up very spoiled, getting every thing we wanted whenever we wanted it. This often looked like going to Toys-R-Us (which, by the way, is still in business. I know, I couldn't believe it either), and getting McDonald's every day. That's not an exaggeration. We ate McDonald's...every day. My dad was vegetarian for 17 years before he met my mom, but she thought it made life too difficult, so he stopped. He wanted our house to be one that ate healthy foods when we grew up, but my mom loves junk food and sweets, so we experienced more of those than health food. I never thought anything about eating or food. I just ate...a lot. I enjoyed eating. I was always heavier than the other girls in my class at good ol' St. Francis de Sales elementary, but I never noticed it until I was in second grade. That was when I first realized I was "fat"...in second grade.

Me with my gingerbread train in 6th grade.

I was always a very popular kid in the sense that I got along with everyone and everyone seemed to like me. I had different friend groups as I grew up. Though the people were different, they all had one common theme: they were always the pretty, skinny girls. By the time I was in third grade, I had 2 best friends who were the skinniest, boniest girls I knew. They got all of the attention of the boys in class, and I never got one look. It seemed as though I was always the one girl in class who boys never thought twice about.


Third grade was the first time I tried to lose weight. My mom signed me up for Curves and I started going there with her. I also started my first diet. I don't remember what I ate, but it only lasted a couple months before I went back to eating whatever and how much I wanted. My parents both worked full-time jobs, and I really never saw them. My grandma would watch Christian and I when my parents were at work. I remember being in 5th grade, and Grandma would pick me up at school and take me to Taco Bell. My usual after-school snack was 3 crunchy tacos, an order of nachos and cheese, cinnamon twists, and a Baja Blast (because obvi, you get the Baja when doing the Bell). This was on top of the lunch I had at school, whatever we would eat for dinner, and grazing on chips, soda, and whatever throughout the day. There was one time when I was in 6th grade where I really wanted to lose weight and I was serious this time. My mom took me to the YMCA to have a fitness evaluation. They weighed me then had me do exercises to test my strength, endurance, etc. I forgot to mention: I have never been athletic. At all. In 4th grade, I played basketball, and I was decent at it. However, running killed me and I really only enjoyed it for the fun of the game. I also played softball, which I also only did for fun. Anyway, the fitness tests proved that I was ridiculously out of shape, and the woman conducting the test gave me a piece of paper with exercises I could do, and the scariest thing I had ever seen: 180 lbs. I was in 6th grade, and I weighed 180 lbs. I hated myself. I hid the paper so no one could ever see. Then right after, my mom took me to the ice cream place across the street, and I swallowed my sadness with a strawberry shortcake twister.

Sixth grade was the first year where life started to hit. In Fall, I got my first period. I was so embarrassed and ashamed. I didn't want to be a woman yet, and what if people found out and made fun of me? I didn't tell anyone for months, but mom eventually figured it out when she ran out of pads faster than she was using them. The same Fall, the group of skinny, pretty, popular girls I was friends with stopped talking to me. No reason, they just decided one day they didn't want to be my friend. I began my first battle with depression that year. In the Spring, I became friends with the girls I used to make fun of. I was still "fat" and they were all skinny and pretty. I became the "funny, fat friend" of the group (self-titled). I constantly put on a happy face, when on the inside, I was dying.



I had a personality when I was a kid. I was passionate about The Beatles and "oldies" music in general. I loved history and studying it in school. I loved writing, especially poetry. I loved people and making people laugh. My favorite show was "Doctor Who" and I was incredibly involved in that. I had parties every weekend and was constantly over at my friends' houses. I loved playing "Singstar" on play station. I loved making videos and editing them. I loved going ice skating, going to the playground, and going on walks at Ohio State Newark's campus with my friends. I loved going shopping, though I hated actually trying on clothes because the sizes made me sad. I was just a weird kid, in the best possible way.

Classic middle-school selfie.

Typical photo shoot. Please appreciate the Sesame Street characters found in my basement.

Me with my history fair project in 8th grade. It was about John Lennon, my hero.

Seventh grade was a fun year. I hated myself because of my weight and appearance, but I had fun. Eighth grade was great too, but I was a terrible person. For example, I made fun of one of my good friends everyday because he was short, and I stopped talking to my best friend and began to hate her. No reason, I just did...like my old friends did to me. It was all symptoms of a classic bully: they hate themselves so they take it out on others. In Spring of my eighth grade year, I decided to become vegetarian because I wanted to lose weight in a healthy way, I wanted to be more like my dad, and I thought it sounded cool.

Me on the first day of my 8th grade year. I was the first one in forever to wear a sweater vest, so I had that going for me.

Me eating rice after my 8th grade graduation. I really loved to eat...

As the summer went on, I lost weight slowly and received compliments. My freshman year, my skinny, pretty friends were getting noticed by upper classmen, and I was just there. So, I decided to take my diet to the next level. I was never a breakfast eater, so not eating brekkie was never a big deal. But I cut my lunches down to just a pack of goldfish or a bottle of juice, and then I would eat a normal dinner. The weight continued to fall of slowly. I restarted my membership at the YMCA, and exercised a couple times a week. I decided my New Year's resolution that year would be to go vegan. My friends told me I couldn't do it, so I had to prove them wrong. I began a vegan diet, which ended up being broccoli. Like, that's all I would eat all day: a plate full of steamed broccoli. I also began exercising 2 hours a day 6 days a week, and if I didn't, I would feel immense guilt. If I ate over 200 calories, I would feel even more guilt, and force myself to exercise harder and longer the next day. I became very lethargic and reserved. I remember spending hours in the computer room with the door locked looking up menus of restaurants and vegan foods. I also started looking up "anorexia", and I would feel so good and proud of myself because I fit a few of the descriptions they talked about. I was finally good at something that no one else was.

I always believed in God, but I never had a relationship with Him. I was never told I needed one. My 8th grade year, I started seeing things I disagreed with in the Catholic Church. I had to go through classes for Confirmation because "we already paid for it" (in my mother's words), and get confirmed, though by then I no longer considered myself Catholic. I started considering beliefs of my dad's that he had told me throughout my life, but I never thought about it seriously.

I went on the March For Life my freshman year with my cousin (who was my best friend) and my (other) best friend. I went because I wanted a chance to go an entire weekend eating as little as possible with no one noticing. Well, my cousin did. And she told some family members who got the word to my parents. I was pissed. They took me to my pediatrician. My weight was down. She told me I was at a healthy weight and I needed to stop my diet, but I wasn't satisfied. I could lose more. I made no changes to my diet or exercise, and no one stopped me. There was one night where I was laying in bed with no energy (like I did every day) and my mom came in crying her eyes out, begging me to eat a spoonful of peanut butter. I fought for 10 minutes before she sat on me and forced it in my mouth as I balled my eyes out. She left the room, my dad came in, and I cried for hours. That's when everyone knew things were out of hand. A few weeks later, I began outpatient treatment at Nationwide Children's Hospital in Columbus, where they diagnosed me with anorexia. I felt so good and excited to be getting better. I never followed my meal plan they gave me exactly, but I was eating something and that was enough. Around the same time, I realized I wanted more out of life, and I knew there was one answer: Jesus. So I asked my dad if we could look at the non-denominational churches around town, and we found where we go now. That's when I've always considered myself to have been saved. The end of my freshman year and most of my sophomore year is a blur. I golfed and went to Disney World for the first time. Those are the only real memories I have. I was still going to outpatient treatment, and things never got worse, but they didn't necessarily get better. I just didn't notice.

Me at a Harry Potter party I had.

Me flexin the guns before homecoming my sophomore year.

Me singing "I Want To Hold Your Hand" at my high school's cabaret sophomore year.

The Spring of my sophomore year, I noticed the group of girls I had been best friends with since 6th grade start to talk to me less and less. It got to the point where they weren't speaking to me or asking me to do anything, so I addressed it. Two of my best friends told me they couldn't handle the fact I had an eating disorder. So that Summer, I had no friends. I got really close to my dad because he was the only one I had to hang out with, and we could go on adventures to Columbus when I had doctors appointments. Later in the Summer I became best friends with a group of boys who were a year older than me (and they are still some of my best friends today). Now, I have forgiven those girls completely. They were also females fighting to get through high school and they had their own stuff going on...I get that. While that wasn't the sole cause, the abandonment added to my other issues, sending me in a downward spiral. My junior year was plagued with depression and restricting. The highlight of the year was playing "Madame Thenardier" in our high school production of "Les Miserables".

Me and one of my best friend's, Mark, as the Thenardier's in "Les Miserables."

Me and my mom and dad at my school's honors evening. Good face, ma.

In April of 2012, I was hospitalized at Children's for the first time for low heart rate and malnutrition because my eating disorder had gotten so out of hand. They said I needed to go to residential treatment because things had been going on for so long and not getting better. So, I spent that Summer in Wickenburg, Arizona at Rosewood Ranch. I had a great time there! Then I came home, back to normal life.

Me with my unicorn pig, Blinkie, on the way to Rosewood. I'm brunette now.

My senior year started out fine. I hated my high school, but they put on a retreat (Karios) that was one of the only things I liked about high school. I was doing well being home from treatment. I wasn't losing weight, but I was still afraid of certain foods. I still thought about food 24/7. I was able to maintain my weigh though. As the year progressed, so did the stress of getting into college and whatever else a senior stresses about. I began to restrict more. I remember at lunch, my dad would make me peanut butter sandwiches (crunchy, of course), and I would tear the bread away from the peanut butter and only eat the peanut butter because I was so afraid of carbs. I got a job at the local ice cream shop in April. I began to stress about working there because I thought "I'm working at an ice cream shop so I'm going to gain a bunch of weight." I didn't. I thought I was going to college and "I would gain a bunch of weight being on an unlimited meal plan." So I just restricted all Summer to prepare for college.

Classic senior duck face pic.

 I decided to go to Lee University in Cleveland, Tennessee. I made the best friends of my entire life the first week there, and I really loved being there. However, after a trip to the health clinic, they found that I was very sick due to the restricting I had done over the Summer. They sent me home to Columbus so I could go to Children's hospital again to get stabilized. I returned to Lee after a week and started an IOP down there so I could stay in school (which, FUN FACT, is where this blog started!). But, I wasn't involved in anything and I got bored and ended up hating it down there.

A little mariachi for your troubles.

Pancake night with the hall.

(I'm going to sum this up quickly because the details of all of this have been blogged about) When I came home for Christmas break, I relapsed hardcore. I ended up having to go back to the hospital, go to Children's PHP (as an 18-19 year old), and give up on my goal of being a student. I grew very close to Jesus in that time and I had no choice but to rely on Him. I went to California to visit a friend in May, which triggered a relapse, and I quit treatment and spent my Summer relapsing. I decided to go back to Lee, where I was essentially slowly dying the entire time as I starved myself. When I came home for Christmas break, I was hospitalized again, had to give up my goals of being a student (again), and I went to residential treatment at the Eating Recovery Center in Denver. I came home to Ohio, and did PHP at the Center for Balanced Living in Columbus for two weeks, then stepped down to IOP for four weeks, then stepped down to outpatient. I had an amazing summer, following my meal plan, doing recovery, and loving life. I felt like God wanted me to go back to Lee (you think I would have learned by then), so I returned to school this past Fall. I never felt peace about being there and I was unhappy. I was planning on coming home the following semester. I went to the NEDA conference in San Diego with my mom in October, and when I got back to school, I began having panic attacks. I went home for Fall break, and my parents told me they wanted me to stay home because it wasn't worth me having panic attacks, not being able to sleep at night because I thought I was dying. I happily agreed and left Lee for the third time. I came home and got a job at the coffee house that I had wanted to work at since I was 10. Things were going great. I was loving life, and I felt like I was doing what God wanted me to do. Then about 2 months ago, God told me He wanted me to go back to treatment. I had been avoiding the whole "eating" issue since I got back to school, and He wanted to stop it. I fought back for weeks, then I started PHP at the Center for Balanced Living again last week. And here we are....

So here I am today: 2 hair colors, 7 different majors, an ever new relationship with Jesus, and a whole lot of therapy later. I don't know where my life is going, but I know where it's been. I know that God will use my story to His glory and I just pray that it can help someone in some way. Everything that I have gone through and been able to overcome is all because of God and his ever-abounding grace and mercy. I can't do this on my own. I don't want to have to do this on my own. In honor of national eating disorder awareness week, if you or someone you know is struggling with anything that has an inkling of sounding like an eating disorder, PLEASE get help! They suck and are better nipped in the bud before they get worse. Please stop talking about food as being "bad", stop glorifying fitness and exercise as a matter of moral worth. Recovery is possible and prevention is possible. To God be the glory and through Him may we end this disease.