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.

They Tried to Make Me Go to Rehab and I Said...Dang

Who's ready for a big surprise?! On the count of 3, ready? 1..2...3.. I'M IN TREATMENT AGAIN! Yayyy! Hazaa! Who would have guessed?! Third year in a row! WA-FREAKIN-HOO!

So, if you got caught up in the dramatic amount of sarcasm in that, I'm in treatment...again. Here's what's been going on since I last posted...

It was about five weeks ago. I was sitting at downtown River Road on a Saturday having my Jesus time, reading the Word, and God just hit me with something: "you need to go to treatment." The moment He revealed that, that I freaked. I sat there for awhile and journaled, begging God not to let that be His will. He didn't change it. I begged Him to wait. He said now. After resolving that He wasn't going to change His mind, I left feeling very scared and very angry. I wasn't angry at God, but I was angry at what His answer to prayer was. People had been praying for me since I got back from Tennessee for guidance and direction on where He wanted me. I wanted those prayers so badly to be directed into terms of if God wanted me in school or working full-time. I secretly prayed that treatment wouldn't be in my future, but I knew deep down and locked away that it was going to be the outcome. "Zoe, why would you think that? I thought you were doing so well!" Well, I was. At least, I convinced myself that I was. Honestly, I haven't been doing well since the day I got back to Tennessee. I think it was quite literally the day after my parents dropped me off at school Fall semester that I was walking, having a mini-mental-freak out, and I thought "I'm not going to follow my meal plan. I'm not going to eat like I'm supposed to. I need to go home." I convinced myself that I was just nervous about starting back at Lee and I needed to give myself time to settle and adjust. I decided that I wasn't going to follow my meal plan because I finally had freedom to eat what I wanted with no one telling me what to do and having zero accountability. I decided I wouldn't go see a counselor at school until my parents threatened to make me come home, so I never did. That's when I started to relapse. Then you know the rest: I went to Cali, had panic attacks, came home, got my dream job, etc. etc.

Like I've said before, River Road is the second best thing that has ever happened to me (Jesus being the first). My co-workers are basically all of my best friends, I love the customer service aspect of it, I love the atmosphere, I love my bosses, I love the product, and the benefits are pretty great too (free shift drink, hollaaa). The only problem that arose with my job is that I began to use my shift drink to replace meals. A latte has milk which has calories and a combination of protein, carbs, and fats (depending on the type of milk you use). Lattes can be used for caloric intake...but not every day. Which is what I did (at least whenever I worked). My eating began to become a major issue of control for me. I planned out every thing I would eat in a week and if I strayed from that, I wigged out a bit. But it was no big deal because I had everything under control, right? I convinced myself that the area that I was weakest in and needed the most prayer for was in my issues of control and being so rigid that I wouldn't let God work. My control issues are what I asked people to pray for me for. Food and eating was always in the back of my mind, but I never wanted to or tried to bring it to the forefront. I pushed it and hid it in the dark recesses of my mind, so not even I would have to deal with it.

In mid-January, the Lord put the idea of meat on my heart. I had been having conversations with people where my being vegetarian came up, and when they asked why I gave them my reasons: because it sounds cool, it's what I'm used to, I really don't like the taste of meat, etc. After those conversations, I would think about it more, and I realized that the real reasons were because it's how I "control" my weight and I placed a lot of my identity in being vegetarian. When I realized that, God said "Hey! Your identity should be in Christ and Christ alone, home girl, (the Message version)" So, I decided to give up on eating meat. The first thing I got was the grilled chicken kids meal at Texas Roadhouse. I really wanted my usual (a baked sweet potato with no butter or brown sugar and steamed vegetables with no butter), but I felt God pressing me to get meat, so I did. It wasn't bad. It wasn't something that I'm crazy about, but it was good. I was worried that when I started eating meat, my eating would get bad because when I tried to eat meat in the past, I freaked out and it caused me to restrict more. Well, it was confirmed that it was God's will for me to start eating meat because I had no negative feelings about eating meat and my eating didn't get any worse than it was...but my eating wasn't very good at that point anyway.

So, back to that one Saturday at River Road. The next day, I worked my usual 11-7 shift at 21st street. That is a very stressful shift because a) there's a drive-thru b) we close 2 hours earlier c) there is more to do to close than working in the day d) for some reason, all of Licking County thinks River Road frozen drinks sound best at 6:30 at night. Before, it didn't bother me as much, but that day, it really hit me with mass stress and chaos. After that Saturday, I entered a horrible depression. What was I going to do? I would have to take time off work, I would have to tell people that I was struggling EVEN THOUGH I was announced to be in full remission, and worst of all, I would have to let someone else be in control of what I ate. No. Absolutely not. Can't do it. I went about a week hiding what God had told me. I didn't know what to say or how to admit it. For months, I couldn't even admit to myself that I was struggling with food. How was I supposed to tell anyone else that not only I was struggling, but I needed treatment? I first told my best friend, Madison. I then told my mentor, Terry. I didn't want to tell my parents because once they knew, then I would actually have to do something about it...so I put it off. Oh, I forgot to mention this: I had felt like I was dying for the past 2 months. I don't mean to sound dramatic, but I could feel my body deteriorating. My acid reflux had just come up and gotten bad because I hadn't been eating. My parents would ask what was wrong and tell me I needed to go to the doctor to get looked at, but I ignored it because I knew it was because I wasn't eating properly. I stopped going to Bible Study because I became too depressed and I didn't want to let anyone into what I was struggling with. I also stopped taking my anxiety medicine about a month before because I didn't want to have to go to a doctor to get it refilled and then them tell me I needed help. My anxiety and depression became unbearable. I eventually told my parents, and then I had to start making plans.

We got a family membership at the YMCA for Christmas. At first, I went two or three times a week, and just did one zumba or yoga class or something like that. As time went on, I discovered there were different classes that I could keep up with and I slightly enjoyed (f.y.I.: I hate exercise). I also found that going gave me something to do when I wasn't working. I started waking up early and going to the gym to get it out of the way. If I didn't, I felt immense guilt. For about two weeks, I would wake up at 4:30, go to a Spinning class then yoga (on Tuesdays and Thursdays), then Pilates, then I would walk on the treadmill for an hour and listen to VGF (my church) church sermons (which I actually did genuinely enjoy because walking is probably the only form of exercise I like and I enjoyed hearing the sermons). I began obsessively keeping track of how many calories I burned and how many I consumed. I began going to the gym, going to work, and not consuming anything with calories until I got off at 2 or 3. Even then, I switched my usual latte "lunch" to an iced Americano with a splash of soy milk....as few calories as possible. I started to eat nothing but steamed vegetables for dinner, and I would have something low carb/calorie for a bedtime snack. I had zero energy. I would come home from work and just lay around all night because I couldn't move after working out and working. I became very mean, irritable, grouchy, etc. because I just didn't have energy to be nice or keep up a conversation (which unfortunately was always directed at my mom).

My brother has never been involved in anything. He did Boy Scouts for like half a year, he played Viola for about a month once, and he played Upward basketball when I was a freshman in high school...that's pretty much it. Last year, he entered my high school territory of theater. I was stoked when I found out he was involved in it! BUT I was in rehab and missed him in his first show. I was real upset. So, when I found out this year that he was in the play, I was stoked out of my mind to be able to see him. The night of the show, dad and I sat in our seats at the theater chatting before the show started, while mom went to buy my brother flowers at the school. Then, all of a sudden, the left side of my body went numb. I started breathing heavily and crying. I thought "this is it. I'm actually having a heart attack." My dad said we needed to go to the hospital, so we did. And I missed my brother in his play...again. It turned out that my blood sugar was just low and everything else was fine. Nothing wrong with my heart, nothing wrong with my blood...just my sugar. This event caused me to fall further into my depression. Not only did I miss my brother's play, but I also wasn't sick enough to be admitted into the hospital. I knew my weight wasn't that bad, but I had secretly been hoping my insides were failing so I could be hospitalized. I prayed to be that sick. But I wasn't. The next day I had to work the busy Sunday shift, and I had another small panic attack. I had to follow up with my doctor the following Friday, so I did as much as I could (i.e. working out, eating as little as possible) to try and be hospitalized that time. Nope. My blood pressure was low, but I still wasn't sick enough to be admitted. I sunk further into my depression, worked another busy Sunday and had another mini panic attack. The next week, I had a phone screening with the Center for Balanced Living (the treatment center I went to for PHP, IOP, and Outpatient last year in Columbus). They scheduled me for an in-person assessment the next week. When I went to that, I struggled to speak and say what had been going on because I just had no energy. They recommended that I start doing their PHP program....again. But before I started, I would have to get an EKG, blood work, and a physical done. So the next day I went to a place in Columbus that did all of that. They told me that my heart rate was really abnormally low, and asked if that was normal for me. I said "yes" because it is normal for me to have a low heart rate... when I'm really malnourished. They let me go,  and I felt a sense of excitement because I thought if my heart rate was that low, I would most certainly have to be hospitalized. I thought the Center would call me the next day and tell me that I needed to be hospitalized ASAP. The next day, I worked, had a latte (which was the highest calorie thing  I had had for a "lunch" in weeks), then went home and waited for them to call to tell me I needed to go to the hospital. They did call and they told me they couldn't treat me because my heart rate was so low. SCORE! So I was told to go to the hospital and get looked at. I excitedly went to Children's hospital (because that's where I've always been hospitalized) with my dad. We sat in the ER for 4 hours. They did a chest x-ray, EKG, and blood routine. "Unfortunately" for me, my heart rate was at a stable beat and they didn't need to keep me. But my blood sugar was low again, so they made me drink orange juice. I had a nervous break down. I wasn't planning on drinking orange juice. There are a ton of carbs and calories in orange juice. I couldn't do it. But I did through a lot of ugly crying and hyperventilating. They took my blood sugar a few minutes later...still low. Another glass of OJ....another nervous breakdown. After that, my blood-sugar was fine and they let me go. And I entered a pit of depression. I really wasn't sick enough to be hospitalized. I was so looking forward to a break. I didn't want to "be in control" anymore. I wanted someone else to take over for me. I wanted to be free from my eating disorder. But if I wasn't "sick enough" I couldn't be. I called off work the next day because I mentally couldn't handle it. I laid in bed until 1 in the afternoon because I was too depressed to move. I received a phone call from the Center saying that I was medically cleared to be treated there, and I was starting Monday. I was excited for it because I didn't want to fight anymore. I worked short shifts the next two days, and then I started PHP, for the third year in a row, the following Monday.

So what happened this time? I'm not entirely preoccupied with my weight (though I don't want to gain weight). I'm not entirely using my eating disorder as a means to cope with stress and anxiety. It was something I could control. This time, my eating disorder manifested itself as a control issue. My mom has been asking me what makes it okay for me to eat if I'm in treatment, but not if I'm in control. My answer: I don't know. I can't help it. Like, if I'm in control, I have the power to restrict. If someone else is in control, I don't have any say and only then can I let my guard down. So how have the past three days been in treatment? Great. I've eaten 3 meals and 3 snacks and I feel good. I texted a couple people on Monday and said "It's amazing how much better you feel when you eat." And it's sad that I forgot, but it's true. I'm actually enjoying and super stoked to allow myself to eat again. I could hardly sleep last night because I was so excited to wake up, spend time with Jesus, drink some coffee, then go to treatment and see what they made me for breakfast. And I was super stoked to eat breakfast. When I knew I would be going to treatment, I was at first embarrassed. I know, I can't control it and there's nothing to be embarrassed about, but I held myself to a higher, recovered standard and I shouldn't have relapsed. But I did, and I acknowledge it. I've started telling people what I'm doing and I'm okay with it. I started an Instagram account documenting my recovery (my name is Hecalledmetorecover, if you wanna follow my insta-journey). Things are going up. I'm probably going to be in longer than I was last year because of where I am physically and mentally. I'm struggling because I don't know what to eat when I'm not in treatment, and it's giving me a lot of anxiety. But as far as eating itself goes, I'm golden, pony-boy. I'm nervous to find out what my weight range is too. If it's what it was when I was in treatment last year, I'll be okay (because I was very comfortable and confident with it). If it goes out, I'll probably have a nervous break-down...but that is TBD. And I'm still not mad at God. In the midst of my depressed weeks, I was hardly in the Word at all. I'm trying to get back into a routine of reading, and the Lord is already revealing things to me. I know that no matter how far  I wander, I am NEVER out of His reach. He is always calling me, pursuing me, loving me, reminding me that He is in control and He only has my best in store. So while I'm disappointed that I have to give up the life of working, drinking nothing but coffee for breakfast, eating "what I want", and not being accountable to anyone, I'm deciding (and it's a decision I have to make daily) to fix my eyes on Him and what He has in store for me. For now, I'm going to enjoy not having to make too many decisions about food and just letting someone other than my eating disorder be in control

Meant To Be Posted New Year's Day...Oopsie

Happy New Year! You know, I was sitting in bed thinking about how weird it is that we celebrate New Year's. Like, we celebrate a date. Not a date that commemorates anything special, but just a date. I spent my New Year's this year at a friends' party. It was nice, but I hate being out late (especially in the Winter), so I went home and hung out with my dad. And to be honest, that is my idea of a good New Year's celebration. So, tis the season. Not a lot had happened since my last post. I still love my job. Like, LOVE my job. When people ask me how it is, I tell them it's the second best thing that's ever happened to me (the first being Jesus, of course). I've been trying to be very prayerful about my decision on whether or not to return to school. I've been worried about what I will do with my time if I don't go to school, because I like to be constantly busy and I try not to have down time during the day. I talked to my managers about potentially working full time. They said a few more hours might be opening up in mid-February/early March, but nothing full-time yet. That was pretty discouraging to hear, because until that point I felt confident that God wanted me to take another semester off, and then I was left uncertain. However, the more time goes on and I continue to pray about it, I don't feel led to return to school next semester. There is really no part of me that feels a pressing need or desire to go back right away. Right now, I'm in a season of life where I'm perfectly content and happy with the way things are. I love my job, I love my family and friends, and things are just good. This is really exciting for me because I've never really felt like this. I don't know what's going to happen to me in the future or where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do, and I'm okay with it. Sure, I still plan my days out in terms of meeting people, what I'll eat, what I'll wear, and small things like that, but I've begun to surrender the big things to God...and it feels so freeing. Now about the small things, that's still a work in progress. I know I need to surrender EVERYTHING to Him, so that is what I want to work on this year. My eating has been okay. I say "okay" because I no longer struggle with fear of food or what it will do to my body, and I don't use it as a coping mechanism for my stress and anxiety. I do struggle with hunger cues and controlling food though. Like I said, God has allowed me to surrender a lot of my desires for control onto Him. However, I have an eating disorder and that son-of-a-gun knows where to hit me. When I give up one thing in my life, the disorder fights back and tries to hit me where I'm most vulnerable (a.k.a. food). When I say that I'm struggling, my struggles are essentially just me planning what I'm going to eat in advance, and getting wigged out if they don't go according to plan. I need to practice flexibility (both in life and body because I can hardly touch my toes anymore...). But other than that, I don't really think about food or have eating disorder thoughts. This is a double-edge sword because while it is incredibly liberating and exciting, it can also be very dangerous if I don't stay on my guard. I've been praying for God to help me give up my desire for control onto Him, and for Him to help me eat without planning or worrying. “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes?" -Matthew 6:25 The biggest things that God has been revealing to me in the past couple of months is "do not be afraid". My quiet times with Him are the most refreshing, pleasurable part of my days. It's actually funny to say that because there are days where I don't have my quiet time just because I "don't have time", or I'm too comfortable to get up, get out my bible, and read. I've found that I have to go out somewhere in public (like a coffee shop) to read, or else I get too distracted at home. It's amazing how God pursues us and just wants us to spend time with Him. I say it's amazing because you feel amazing after you do it. Sure, you may be convicted in your time, or you may struggle along the way, but (at least for me) I feel like I'm participating in a never-ending relationship with the King of Kings, and He actually wants to spend that time with me. It's very exciting, I say all of this to encourage and just share how I experience God and how freaking awesome it can be. I've also found that God likes coffee because He enjoys communicating with me over a cup of coffee. (Disclaimer: this has not been scripturally proven true or false). In the New Year, my resolution is going to be to obey God. Writing that out is actually embarrassing because when I say it, I think "well why do you need a New Year to do that? You should be doing it every day anyway." My answer to that is I'm human and humans don't always think in the most logical or even spiritual terms. BUT today is the first day of the new year, so I will be obedient. I'm both excited and terrified about this resolution. Excited because who knows what the Lord has in store for me, but terrified because who knows what the Lord has in store for me. This will be my first year not in rehab (fingers crossed we can keep that up). This will be my first year choosing to work and not go to school. This will be my first year to be in a relationship (details in progress). Most of all, this will be my first year that I go into it trying to dedicate my life to serving and loving the Lord. Like I said, exciting but terrifying.