The Panic Switch (which was supposed to be posted a week ago)

I'm sitting in my room waiting for my hair to dry. I figured I'd write a blog post because why not? So I got back from California last Saturday. Actually, I flew home on Saturday night with my mom and stayed at home. Let's start out with the flight... The flight back home was AWFUL. I had the worst travel/flying anxiety that I have ever had in my life. I was 100% terrified that the plane was going to rip apart in the air, or burst into flames (like what happened on one episode of "The Twilight Zone." I didn't, however, fear that there was a creature on the wing of the plane.). The days leading up to the flight, I had a really bad feeling about flying and I was very paranoid about it. When we were still in Cali, my best friend texted me and told me that she had a horrible nightmare about me where I died. Needless to say, this did nothing to help my paranoia. I thought "what if this dream is a sign?" I also told my mom about it, which I really shouldn't have done because then she worried (it's what she does). While flying, we went through horrible turbulence. I gripped my mom's arm for dear life, convinced that we were going down. The entire time I begged God not to take me, and if He did, to take me before the plane actually exploded or something so I wouldn't feel pain. We successfully made it into Cleveland, Ohio, not dead, being greeted by my dad. I felt safe as soon as we touched ground and began our 3 hour road trip back to Newark. The next day we went out to breakfast at Early Birds (a fantastic little breakfast place in Newark), and then later we went to the coffee shop that I've always dreamed of working at and my other best friend just so happens to work at. It was so good to be home, but unfortunately, it had to end, and I had to return to Tennessee. My dad took me to the airport and we were running late. The baggage check man said my bag might not make it to Nashville, which sent me into panic. Then I rushed to security to find an enormous line, which increased my panic as my flight had already started boarding. I called my parents on the verge of tears when I looked up and realized I was at the wrong gate. I rushed over to the right one, found no wait for security, breezed through, and got on my flight with ease. That was God. This flight wasn't as bad as the other one, but I was still scared. I had a stress ball in place of my mom's arm and it wasn't the same. I made it to Nashville safely and alive. I got my car, drove back to Lee, and I felt safe...for the time being. Two days later, I talked to my mom on the phone after she had woken up early worrying about me. The dream my friend had was the cause of this worry. On top of that dream, we met a woman in California who's daughter died of Bulimia. That made my mom extra super worried, and honestly, it did me too. I always hear about how eating disorders are the number one cause of death in mental illness, but I had never actually heard of a real person dying. I got scared that after all that I've put my body through in the years of the eating disorder, I was going to die too. I made the adult-ish decision to stop being vegan in order to ease my mother's worry (because of course that worried her), and I just feel like it's what God wants me to do right now. I still dream of being vegan, but we will save that for a later time. That night, I made the worst decision of my life to watch the Lifetime movie (so you know it's quality), "Starving in Suburbia." It's about a girl who develops an eating disorder after discovering the Pro-Ana websites. Now, this movie was pretty far-fetched and unrealistic to me. Maybe it was just because my experience wasn't like what they portrayed. But it also brought me back to a time when I was deep in my eating disorder, and all that I wanted was to lose weight, nothing else mattered. In the end, you find out her brother had an eating disorder and he died. Great. That's two people I've heard of or seen die of an eating disorder in one week. That movie left me feeling very afraid and my anxiety continued to increase. I say "continued" because my anxiety from the plane ride never really went away. Before I left for California, my acid reflux had been acting up, and when I returned, it came on full force. I began being short of breath, my heart beat was off, and I just felt weird. A girl that was in my hall freshman year came up to me out of the blue and told me she had been dreaming about me. "What? Why? What happened?" She couldn't remember, but it increased my paranoia. Why were all of these people dreaming about me? Am I dying and God is sending signs? It freaked me out. The next few days were hellacious. I went to bed every night on the verge of tears, begging God not to take me. I don't want to die, especially not like that: not by my heart giving out in the middle of the night in Tennessee away from half of the people I love. My symptoms had me living in constant terror, and I believed I was just a breath away from my last. Friday night came and I was sitting in the dorm lounge, watching TV and talking to my mom on the phone. I couldn't tell my mom what had been going on with me because I didn't want her to worry anymore than she already does. Plus, I was starting to feel better. However, after hanging up, I felt one sharp pain run through my chest and I thought "it's happening. I need to go to the hospital now." I got my shoes on, and went to the hospital in my pajamas and a sweatshirt from high school, all by myself. When I arrived, they did an EKG. I took it that nothing was wrong because I sat there from 10:30 -2:30 before getting in a room. I sat there, by myself, feeling so afraid and alone. I could have texted one of my friends to come, and they would have been there in a heart beat, but I didn't want to bother them. I was afraid and alone because I wasn't anywhere close to home. When I finally got into a room, they hooked me up to a heart monitor, and the readings on it were fine. A nurse practitioner came in a bit later, told me my EKG was fine, and I was good to go. It felt so amazing to hear that I wasn't dying. I was up until 4:17 a.m., and I even tweeted about it. It was such a great feeling. The next day was Saturday, and I woke up and headed over to Panera to do my weekly coffee and homework morning. On the way there, I got pulled over because I made an illegal turn that I didn't know of. He gave me a warning (that was God), and then I had a fantastic latte. I headed back to school, and we had a girls day with a club I'm involved in at Lee, where we painted pumpkins, ate candy, drank apple cider, and watched "The Cheetah Girls." It was such a fun day that was much needed after my horrible week. That night as I was getting ready to go to bed, I checked my phone to see a message from my best friend (who is basically a brother to me), who I hadn't talked to in months. He was asking me how I was doing. "Oh no," I thought. "Is God telling him to text me because I'm going to die and he needs to get his last words in?" I panicked. We ended up talking on the phone, and it was so good to hear from him. But I still went to bed that night begging God not to take me. Sunday night, I watched "The Walking Dead" and began to panic because I had the worst heart burn I've ever had. I later deciphered that was caused by the fake Italian sausage I had eaten for dinner (curse you meat alternatives). Monday came around, and I went to class. I then skipped my next class and slept. I slept for two hours, and when I tried to get up, it was physically difficult for me to get up. I would sit up, and then lay back down. I couldn't help it. I eventually got up, felt nauseous, but had lunch then went to class. Later I felt okay. I thought it was just my body coming down from all of the stress and anxiety I had been under. On Tuesday, I woke up and was feeling pretty good. I went about my day and nothing really felt wrong or weird. And then I made the genius decision to go to get an iced coffee. Now, I hadn't been drinking caffeine in the midst of this week, and you're technically not supposed to drink caffeine if you have anxiety. My body had a TERRIBLE reaction. I felt dizzy, short of breath, and I thought I was going to die (again). I sat in the lounge of my dorm for about 5 hours with one of my best friends (who doesn't even live on campus, I might add), and she just consoled me and listened to me talk and kept my mind busy. She even drove me to Speedway to get a free sub that I had a coupon for. Later, two of my best friends came and prayed and talked with me. I started crying (which I hate doing) and told them that I didn't think I could stay at school the rest of the semester if this was what it would be like. I ended up spending the night at their house off campus because I was too afraid to be alone in case something would happen to me. The next day, I woke up and went to class and things were starting to feel normal. And here we are now, getting ready to go on Fall break. I'm going home which is much needed. I miss home a lot. This week has been the scariest week of my life. I've only had one real anxiety attack (besides the one I faked my sophomore year of high school to get out of a golf tournament) and it wasn't as scary as this one. I've been trying to rely on God and keep the verse that says "do not be anxious about anything" in mind, but when you feel like there is a very real threat, that's hard to do.

Mirrors and Tears

Well, it's been 6 months in recovery. I've been through hard times where I thought I wouldn't make it, and I've been through glorious times of triumph where I felt God's hand on my life and Him guiding me in this journey. Here I am now, and to be honest, now is absolutely terrible. It is the worst I've been in the recovery process. Actually, it's the worst I've been since the eating disorder started. So here's what's been happening.... It's always been my dream to go to California. Actually, I've always felt called to live there even though I had never been. Well, I found that I had the time and money to be able to go, so I did it. I went to Santa Clarita, California to visit one of my best friend's from Lee who is from California. I used my own money to buy my airfare and activities. Now, I HATE, LOATHE, DESPISE spending money. I put all of the money I make into my savings account and don't touch it. I'm blessed and spoiled to have the parents that I have because they give me everything I want and need, which has transpired into a bad thing because I rely on them for everything. Regardless, spending money is not my thing, so making this huge investment was a huge move for me. However, I didn't realize that until I was actually there. The first night, I realized how much money I had spent and how much I was about to spend, and I became incredibly depressed and stressed and anxious, and I wished I wouldn't have gone at all, but I was already in it so I had to make the most of it. I spent half of the time miserable, but half of the time having a lot of fun. We went to Disneyland, Universal Studios, the beach, San Diego, and we hung out with her friends. I really enjoyed spending time with her friends because I have so much in common with them and I wish that I had friends like that (not that I don't love the friends I do have). So with all of that fun going on, why was I so miserable, you ask? Because of the money. So much money. On top of money, eating and I don't have a very good history. Because I was so stressed about spending money, I literally spent the entire week starving because I was too scared to spend money on food. I brought a lot of snacky food, so I ate that instead of buying food. On the bright side of that, though, I didn't eat because I was too stressed about money and not the food itself , which would have been the case in the past. Praise God for that. To wrap that up, I could not wait to get on that plane back to Ohio, which is really sad because I would love to stay in Cali forever if I wasn't so stressed about money. And then I returned home...and the depression began. I can't put my finger on what exactly sparked it, but I have become insanely depressed, more so than I have felt in years. Very unfortunate since I also just got out of a forever long funk and finally beginning to feel happy. While I don't know what caused the depression, I do know why I feel depressed. I hate the way I look. HATE. Call me a typical anorexic, but I'm fat. Well, medically, physically, "health" wise I'm not fat, but to me, I'm a house. I don't feel like I look the way that I'm supposed to. I feel too big for how I should look, and this is eating at me to the core. Every time that I look in the mirror, I either feel physically sick or I want to break down in tears. I don't want to go out and do things because I don't want people to see me. I don't want to see people from high school because I don't want them to see how big I've gotten. I've been working as much as possible because it's the only thing that takes my mind off of my body. I feel stuck because I used to be able to control my weight and appearance by starving myself, however, after going through a week of that in California, I don't want to do that ever again. I'm also still going through treatment, so I can't do that there either. All that I want to do is go on a diet. Like, that would literally make me so happy. What I need to do is start working out so that I can get toned and everything, but I don't know what to do or how to do it, and quite frankly, I hate working out. I'm way out of shape and I get bored easily. That's more of a "suck it up and get over it" situation, but it's what it is right now. Right now, I just wish I never would have left Lee to go into treatment. At the same time, though, I'm thankful I did because if I hadn't, I'd be dead. What a double-edged sword. People often say "would you rather be fat and happy or skinny and sad?" Well, right now I'm fat and sad so where does that get me? Exactly. I feel more sad now than I did when I was incredibly sick. I don't plan on changing, though. I still plan on following my meal plan and trying to get through this. Still, I'd rather be skinny than healthy. I could care less about being healthy. I've learned that eating disorders suck and they are awful, but the matter of fact is, almost every single person on the face of the earth have some sort of distortion with food or eating. So no matter where you go or who you meet, people are going to have something "disordered" about their eating. My attitude right now is who really cares if I diet? The rest of society does it, so why can't I? You see, I hate society and the media. It makes people feel like garbage and like they aren't good enough. That's why there are so many diets and exercises and eating disorders and plastic surgeries in the world. Even though I feel that way, I am falling into society's trap. This depression has made me vulnerable and mean. I've been showing the classic symptoms of a bully, where they don't like themselves so they're mean to others. In my case, it's my mom. I feel terrible every time I say something mean to my mom, but I just keep doing it. I try to avoid her as much as possible because I don't want to hurt her, which hurts me because I want to be able to talk to her without being mean. I talk to my dad a lot about what's going on, which I know also hurts my mom. Needless to say, that relationship needs major work. Now on to my faith. Well, that's a weird subject in the midst of this. I'm not mad at God, and I don't blame Him for what's going on. I still believe that there is a greater good to come out of this all. However, I'm having a hard time giving these problems up to God. When it comes down to it, I guess I don't want to. I want to feel miserable so that I can have the motivation to lose weight. In reality, I need to be in prayer and communication with God, asking Him to give me confidence and acceptance that this body is what it needs to be, and it is beautiful the way it is. Right now, though, that isn't happening. I have to do my hair or makeup to feel slightly pretty, and I feel disgusting if I wear anything other than t-shirts and gym shorts (which, I might add, hardly fit me anyway). I'm sorry that this isn't a very happy or inspiring post. It may be even down right depressing or triggering. However, this is what recovery looks like with the ups and downs. This is a major down, but with that, there will be a major up. I don't know when that will be or what it will look like, but I have faith that God is going to move in my life. I just hope that it's soon because this stage of life really stinks.