Wednesday, March 19, 2014
Thanks and Promises
I'm currently in my 6th week of PHP treatment... a.k.a. three weeks more than what is intended for the program. Not because anything I or my parents have or have not done, but simply because my B.M.I. isn't where it needs to be. BUT today I found out the date that I will be done! April 5 is my last day!
What that means is that I have two more weeks of treatment, making my length of stay a total of nine weeks...5 weeks more than what is intended. The most surprising part...I'm actually okay with it. I cannot tell you why or what happened, but since Monday, I've been in a great mood. It could be because I had a good weekend, or because my meds are finally starting to work, or maybe even everything has just been going my way. Nah. Honestly, I feel like this mood shift has changed as the result of all of the prayers I am receiving. I know that people are praying for me all over the country, and I believe in the power of prayer. And it's working. I've been in more a state of acceptance, happiness, joy, reduced anxiety, and just overall goodness. It's really nice to feel this way.
So, I just wanted to say thank you: thank you to everyone who has been praying for me. Thank you to everyone who has been rooting for me and my recovery. Thank you to my Dad for sitting through the tedious and lackluster family sessions every week. Thank you to my Mom for overcoming her fears and paranoia and going out to breakfast at places I want to try. Thank you to all of my friends who have stood by my side through this all, and who listen (or read, rather) to all of my pages of texts complaining about my meal plan or my life. Thank you to everyone. I plan on staying better. Really. This time I mean it. Last night, as I got dressed after taking a shower, I had a conversation with my stomach and I promised it that I wouldn't starve it again, that I would treat it right, and that I would love it the way that it is. And I make the same promise to everyone: I promise that I will feed myself and I will do everything I can to fully recover. I believe that God has given me this chance to recover for a reason and I'm going to do it this time. I may complain, have my off days, or slip up, but I WILL NOT give up. I will fight this until it's dead. God will prevail over this ailment and I will be delivered. I may be in a four week program for nine weeks, and that may suck a bit, but if it means I have a better chance of living up to my promise, so be it.
Thursday, March 6, 2014
So Much For 4 Weeks
GOOD NEWS: My 4 weeks of treatment in the PHP program are over! BAD NEWS: My 4 weeks of treatment in the PHP program ended last Saturday, yet I am still in treatment in the PHP program. Yes, I'm still in treatment. As I sat in one of the rooms where we spend most of our time here last Monday, I saw my therapist, doctor, psychiatrist, and dietician walking down the hall with intent to my therapist's office. When I saw this, I automatically thought, "Oh crap. This has to do with me." Moments later, my therapist came to me, and asked if I could come with her. I swear I'm a friggin' psychic. I sat down, nearly snuggling in the small office, with the members of my treatment team, as they told me that my BMI wasn't where it needs to be for me to move on to a lower level of treatment that usually comes following the 4 weeks in the PHP program. They then told me that I would be in treatment longer, but how much longer they did not know, and that would be determined on a week by week basis. I left the room feeling very emotional, yet very unsurprised and very uncaring about everything.
Every weekend that I 've been in this treatment, I've lost weight over the weekend. Mind you, it is always miniscule amounts, but it's still a trend that isn't supposed to be happening. I don't really know why it happens exactly. Well, I kind of do...I usually don't get all of my exchanges in and I do some sort of physical activity that I don't always do on the weekdays while I'm in treatment. Still, I usually only miss one or two exchanges, and the "physical activity" I do includes hanging pictures on my wall or walking up the stairs to get to the bathroom or my room; so it's not like I'm doing anything drastic. I am amazed, though, at the fact that with all of the food I'm eating and little activity I do I can lose weight, while there are people who work out and eat very little and hardly lose an ounce. I'm in a state of "hypermetabolism" (I've discussed this in a previous post), which means my metabolism is so high it just burns up everything it takes in quickly. I'm on a higher meal plan because of it. And I am scared to stray from my meal plan. The way I see it is I'm already eating so much food, why should I eat more than that? I'm scared to eat more than my meal plan says, in short. You would think that in this metabolic state I would feel like I can eat whatever I want with no fear because my body will just burn it up; but sadly no. Also, being on a higher meal plan has its pros and cons. Pros are that I'm excited that I get to eat so much (which sounds dumb as I write it out). Cons are that it makes it very difficult and stressful to get everything in when I'm at home.
My psychiatrist increased the dose of the anxiety medication I'm on last week. It's supposed to make me less anxious about food, eating, and my parents being in control of my food. I've noticed the medicine has made me more willing to give up control to my parents, but I'm still very hesitant to do so. Giving up control to my parents has been the biggest struggle in this whole process so far. Within the five weeks of treatment, I really haven't done as I'm supposed to and given up complete control. It's very dificult for me to do. See, I trust my parents with everything...except food/portions/etc.. They don't know enough about it or what "normal" eating looks like for me to be able to give them complete trust and control, so that's where my problem lies. I really am trying to give up control, it's just a very hard battle.
While the control battle is proving to be one of my greatest challenges, so is the whole battle of recovery. I've learned that through the re-feeding process (which is what I'm currently going through) there is a great deal of anxiety and depression that occurs within the patient; oh, is that the truth. Anxiety in that I'm anxious about trusting my parents with food or what I eat. Depression over still being here, not being in school, not having anything to look forward to, and just general feelings of depression. But the thig is, I don't feel depressed; I honestly feel happy, but I feel like a cloud of depression is covering that happiness. A lot of it stems from not having anything to look forward to (since I'm not in school, and even when I go back to school, I'm only going across the street to the branch), but when I put that into perspective, I only have like two months before I can start Summer classes and working again. Right now, it just feels like the whole recovery thing sucks. It's so hard and frustrating. Between the meal plan and not knowing when I'll be done with treatment, I'm so stinkin' frustrated and stressed out. On top of all that, my clothes are starting to get tighter, and my stomach is starting to stick out. Believe it or not, that doesn't bother me as much as one would think because I know it's part of the re-feeding process (also discussed in a prior post). All of the weight initially gained in the process accumulates in the stomach because it wants to protect the vital organs, but it will eventually re-distribute to the rest of the body as long as you continue to eat normally. I'm really really REALLY hoping this proves to be true because right now I feel like I look pregnant.
In the past five weeks, I've been through a plethora of emotions. I go from depressed, sad, hopeless, happy, excited, disappointed, cheerful, annoyed, frustrated, overwhelmed, stressed, scared, and pretty much every emotion under the sun. I've been in states of "woe is me" to being helpful and offering insight to others. I don't know how much longer I'm going to be in treatment, and that's frustrating. I don't know how much longer I'll have to deal with the eating disorder, which is more frustrating. I'm still trusting that this is all happening for a reason, God is using it for a greater good, and God knows what he's doing with all of this. I feel very indifferent and uncaring about staying in treatment longer because I feel like it must be what I need and it is God's will. I'm done trying to figure out God's will for my life, and I'm done trying to fight it to try and have my will be done instead of His. I've adopted a sort of "go with the flow" sort of attitude. I still struggle, and I still fight for control. The difference now, though, is that I know when to put my guard down and give into what is best for me. Hopefully, that's what I'm supposed to do, and that's what will get me through this disease.
Sunday, February 23, 2014
Oceans
I just thought I would share this song because I've been listening to it on repeat for the past 30 minutes. I first heard it when I was still at school at Lee, and it's stuck with me. It's a song I think of a lot when I don't know how or what to pray (which is the majority of the time), because it says exactly what I want to say. Give it a listen. If you believe in God, let it be a song to speak for you when you just can't. If you don't believe in God, listen to it anyway; it has a pretty melody.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m_sWJQm2fs
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1m_sWJQm2fs
Monday, February 17, 2014
Frustrated
"I don't want to get better." Those were the words that have come out of my mouth a few times in the past two days. I hate the fact that I'm even thinking it, but I am. Honestly...my life sucks right now. Actually, my life really doesn't suck, but my circumstances and mindset really sucks. I feel like poop.
Treatment is going, well...treatment. I actually enjoy going. I like the people, and I'm trying to get as much as I can out of groups. The best part, though, is that all of my meals (except for my night snack) are given to me 4 days a week, and I don't have to make decisions. I'm done in two weeks, and I don't feel ready at all. I still get anxious about making food related decisions, I can't give up control of my food to my parents, I don't trust my parents with food, and I'm terrified of getting fat. Now, I've always been afraid of getting fat, but last night that fear hit me hard. I'm terrified that I'm going to gain weight and get huge in a short amount of time versus gaining gradually as I grow up. Honestly, I don't know why I'm so scared of getting fat. I always say that it's because I hated myself when I was fat, but after the pounding fear that hit me last night, I think it has to be something more; I just don't know what. Other than treatment, though, I come McHome every night, hang out, do nothing, eat a snack, and sleep. THE BEST PART: what do I have to look forward to in two weeks when it's all over?! NOTHING! That's right! A hot load of nada! I can go back to work, but that isn't really anything to look forward to. Or, for me, it's so routine. Needless to say, I am not looking forward to treatment being over, mainly because it gives me something to do.
So, do I really NOT want to recover? No. I guess what I mean when I say that is my eating disorder is all that I've known for the past 4 years. I know what to expect, how to act, and how I am with it. I'm inflicted with the fear of the unknown. Everything is different now: I'm not in school, so I don't have that routine and I'm growing up, which means so are my friends who go out and have lives. It's not high school anymore, and I really am not coping with it very well. I think that the fact that I developed my eating disorder in my teenage-formation years was unfortunate because I got so used to my life then, not preparing for any sort of change. I want big things for my life, but I'm so afraid of the unknown right now that it holds me back from doing what I dream of. Today, my devotion talked about how God calls us to move out of our comfort zones and go into places where he calls us. These places aren't usually places that are routine or constant, but we must trust that God knows what he's doing. I'm not trusting God with this. I trust God with everything but this situation, and that is something I need to work on. I know that God is using this for a greater good, and I'll be better for it, etc. etc., but honestly...I'm getting a little irritated with God. Like, throw me a freakin' bone here, God. I'm trying to get better, I'm trying to give up control, I'm trying to be your servant...all that I want in return is some clarity, or a sense of direction, or a better sense of my purpose. Right now, I feel like all that I'm good for is having an eating disorder. I know that's not true, but I don't have any idea what else it could be. I'm not mad at God, I just reeeeeeaaalllyyyy would enjoy a little assistance down here.
To sum it all up: I'm very frustrated. Frustrated about recovery, giving up control, not having anything to do besides go to treatment, not having anything to do once I'm done with treatment, not having a good sense of God's will in my life, and just stress. As I write this, I feel guilty because I feel like a whiny little girl complaining about things that are insignificant in the grand scheme of life. I think about people in third-world countries who don't have shoes or clean water and food, and have to care for 9 kids while going to work in a dirty factory, or be sold as a sex slave. Like, compared to that...I need to shut up. At the same time, I suppose my feelings are valid so I shouldn't compare myself to them. I don't know...I'm just so...frustrated.
Treatment is going, well...treatment. I actually enjoy going. I like the people, and I'm trying to get as much as I can out of groups. The best part, though, is that all of my meals (except for my night snack) are given to me 4 days a week, and I don't have to make decisions. I'm done in two weeks, and I don't feel ready at all. I still get anxious about making food related decisions, I can't give up control of my food to my parents, I don't trust my parents with food, and I'm terrified of getting fat. Now, I've always been afraid of getting fat, but last night that fear hit me hard. I'm terrified that I'm going to gain weight and get huge in a short amount of time versus gaining gradually as I grow up. Honestly, I don't know why I'm so scared of getting fat. I always say that it's because I hated myself when I was fat, but after the pounding fear that hit me last night, I think it has to be something more; I just don't know what. Other than treatment, though, I come McHome every night, hang out, do nothing, eat a snack, and sleep. THE BEST PART: what do I have to look forward to in two weeks when it's all over?! NOTHING! That's right! A hot load of nada! I can go back to work, but that isn't really anything to look forward to. Or, for me, it's so routine. Needless to say, I am not looking forward to treatment being over, mainly because it gives me something to do.
So, do I really NOT want to recover? No. I guess what I mean when I say that is my eating disorder is all that I've known for the past 4 years. I know what to expect, how to act, and how I am with it. I'm inflicted with the fear of the unknown. Everything is different now: I'm not in school, so I don't have that routine and I'm growing up, which means so are my friends who go out and have lives. It's not high school anymore, and I really am not coping with it very well. I think that the fact that I developed my eating disorder in my teenage-formation years was unfortunate because I got so used to my life then, not preparing for any sort of change. I want big things for my life, but I'm so afraid of the unknown right now that it holds me back from doing what I dream of. Today, my devotion talked about how God calls us to move out of our comfort zones and go into places where he calls us. These places aren't usually places that are routine or constant, but we must trust that God knows what he's doing. I'm not trusting God with this. I trust God with everything but this situation, and that is something I need to work on. I know that God is using this for a greater good, and I'll be better for it, etc. etc., but honestly...I'm getting a little irritated with God. Like, throw me a freakin' bone here, God. I'm trying to get better, I'm trying to give up control, I'm trying to be your servant...all that I want in return is some clarity, or a sense of direction, or a better sense of my purpose. Right now, I feel like all that I'm good for is having an eating disorder. I know that's not true, but I don't have any idea what else it could be. I'm not mad at God, I just reeeeeeaaalllyyyy would enjoy a little assistance down here.
To sum it all up: I'm very frustrated. Frustrated about recovery, giving up control, not having anything to do besides go to treatment, not having anything to do once I'm done with treatment, not having a good sense of God's will in my life, and just stress. As I write this, I feel guilty because I feel like a whiny little girl complaining about things that are insignificant in the grand scheme of life. I think about people in third-world countries who don't have shoes or clean water and food, and have to care for 9 kids while going to work in a dirty factory, or be sold as a sex slave. Like, compared to that...I need to shut up. At the same time, I suppose my feelings are valid so I shouldn't compare myself to them. I don't know...I'm just so...frustrated.
Sunday, February 9, 2014
The Toilet At My McHome
DISCLAIMER: This blog-post contains poop-related material. Those suffering with fecal-phobia use caution.
On Monday, I started going to PHP (partial hospitalization program) in Columbus. Going in, I wasn't expecting much of anything different than what I already know from past treatments, so I wasn't really looking too forward to it; BUT I kept an open mind. Essentially, the program is exactly like residential but I go home at night. The day went well: I ate all of my meals with no problems (they never are in treatment), I participated in groups (which I loathe), and I made some new friends with the three other kids in the program (I'm also the oldest of the group). As the day came to a close, my stomach started feeling funky. I figured it was because I was full or my stomach was starting to hurt from all of the food I had consumed that day, but that also struck me as odd because I had been through treatment numerous times where I'd have to eat just as much (if not more) food, and I never had problems with it. Nonetheless, I carried on with the day into "wrap-up group" with the parents who pick us up at the end of the day. Mom picked me up, and as we drove home in the car, I had to shut my eyes and sit there. My stomach was in a great deal of stress. I felt constipated and that wasn't any fun at all. When we got home, I took my coat off, and went straight to the couch where I fell asleep for the rest of the night. My stomach was in so much pain that I couldn't do anything else but sleep. I woke up the next morning around 6 and went straight to the bathroom. SURPRISE! I had friggin' diarrhea. What a way to greet the day. I ended up going to the bathroom 3 times before we left home to go to Columbus around 7. All of the way there, my stomach was upset. In my day at treatment, I ate all of my meals with difficulty because my stomach hurt so badly. I also went to the bathroom at any chance that I had, and I went every stinkin' time. I looked like death, on top of it all. I met with my doctor, and he said it was a stomach virus of some sort (which made sense because my dad had the exact same symptoms the week prior...thanks a lot, Dave). He didn't give me any medicine because he said the virus needed to come out, and the only way it would was through defecating it on out. He did order me Gatorade, though, because apparently diarrhea causes dehydration. The day went on with a great deal of stress and pain, but I pushed through. And then dinner happened: a soppy joe, chips and salsa, vanilla pudding, milk, and grapes. The thing about eating in an eating disorder program is that you have to eat everything, 100 % of what you're given, even if you're sick. Dinner was a nightmare. I could barely eat a tablespoon of food without my stomach getting unspeakably painful, and here I was downing more food than most "normal" people eat. Ugh. I started shoveling it down because I wanted to get it over with and not think about it or the pain I was going through. I'm pretty sure I can never eat vanilla pudding or salsa again without getting sick. I don't know if it was because of the dehydration or what, but by the time that I got to the sloppy joe, my mouth literally would not produce enough saliva for me to chew my food. With the assistance of the wee-bit of milk that I had left, I managed to finish the entire meal...Ouch. As we went into wrap-up group, everyone noticed how bad and sickly I looked as I walked into the room after going to the bathroom (AGAIN). I could hardly speak because of my stomach. That was not what I would consider to be a "pleasant dining experience" in the slightest.
After the "fun" day at treatment, mom and I headed over to the Ronald McDonald house approximately three minutes away. I've decided to call this my "McHome" or "McHouse" for the time being, since I am basically living there for the month. We checked in and went straight to our room. I promptly claimed my bed, wrapped up in about 30 blankets and my plushy, yellow bath robe, and fell asleep. Like the night before, I was freezing and being tortured by my stomach, so I again had no choice but to sleep. I woke up later around 9 because (despite my stomach issues) I had to have a snack. Luckily, all that it had to be was 4 oz. of orange juice, so Mom and I sat in the kitchen area downstairs as I drank it and she told me about her day. We returned to the room, and I went back to bed, feeling like my stomach would explode. I woke up around 1:30 and had to go to the bathroom (big surprise) where I was for about half an hour. There really is nothing more fun than sitting on the toilet, especially in the middle of the night.
The following morning, I woke up to a new day with less stomach pain and a lot of snow outside. We got ready for the day, and went downstairs to see about breakfast (it was Wednesday, and on Wednesdays you have breakfast at home instead of at treatment). Mom got a call from work saying that the snow caused them to delay opening until 11, so she had more time to get ready and take care of me. In the kitchen area, we saw one of my new friend's who is also staying at the Ronald McDonald house. He and his mom were also making breakfast, and they told us that they got a call from the program saying they were cancelling treatment for the day because of the weather. We realy lucked out on seeing them because we recieved no call, no message, no pony express...nothin'. I could have ended up over at the stupid facility alone. BUT that was not the case, and I'm pretty grateful that we saw them when we did. Having no time restrictions now, mom and I took the shuttle over to the hospital across the street to get breakfast. I had my exchanges for the meal, along with my stomach issues. I got something that I thought met it, but also wouldn't make my tummy troubles worse. I finished most of it, but then my stomach started to hurt again and I couldn't finish. Mom recieved a call from work again, but this time to tell her that they were cancelling her work all together that day because of the weather conditions. So we had the whole day to do whatever we wanted...which was very little because I was sick, she developed a headache, and no one was technically supposed to be "driving" or "out" because of "dangerous weather conditions" (psh, girl please). The rest of the day was spent sleeping, laying around, watching "Let's Make A Deal" and "The Price Is Right," eating very little to appease my stomach, making valentines in the craft room, and being bored. My stomach hurt, but not as bad as it had because I wasn't forcing food down my throat. Plus my diarrhea subsided, so in some regards, I was living what we like to call "the dream life." The next day at treatment, I ate breakfast, anxious that it would upset my stomach and send me into more excruciating pain. What do you know? It didn't! I went on to eat all of my meals with hardly any pain, and that was a good thing.
Being sick this week was such a struggle. Like, how lucky am I that I get a virus that makes eating a death sentance in the midst of being force fed a lot of food? #AWESOME. Besides that, though, I spent a lot of time coloring or doing wordsearches because I had nothing better to do. I get bored WAYYYYY too easily. I can't really stop and do one thing without getting impatient and anxious, so relaxing and I are not friends. This is not a good equation for me right now, and it's sent me into a bad depression. The fact that I have nothing to do bothers me a lot. I miss being a student. I could use my time to study or do homework, but no...I just have to sit and do puzzle books. Mom and I were driving around on OSU's campus the other night, and as I watched all of the kids walking around, going into restaurants, being with their riends, and doing other things that college kids do, I became indredibly bummed. I just kept thinking, "that should be me." That should be me. This eating disorder has made me lose friends, family, my passions, my personality, my sense of caring, it's made me bitter and impatient and mean...and now it's taken away my sense of "normalcy" in that of being a student. My entire life is "off-track" so to speak because of the dumb thing.
In my devotion yesterday, it spoke of the story in Matthew where Peter asks Jesus to let him walk on the water to join him, Jesus allows it, Peter starts, Peter freaks, and Peter sinks, then Jesus asks him why he asked for something and then didn't trust him to do it. Still, Jesus was there for Peter the rest of his days on Earth and made him more than he could have ever have dreamed of being. This really spoke to me because I'm the same way, especially right now. I constantly ask God for help, and he always gives it to me. Sometimes I may try to do what he's helping me to, but I always end up doubting and not trusting God, so I fall and end up back to square one. Regardlesss, God is still there for me, waiiting to help me when I am ready to trust him 100%. I've asked God for 4 years to help me end this battle; God has given me treatments, meal plans, people, and countless other resources to help me overcome it; I often start acting on or with these things, but I doubt that they will work or I get scared of the unknown outcomes, and I end up falling again, which is why I'm where I am today. Even though I've doubted God and haven't trusted his plans for me (which I know isn't good), he takes me back and will continue to help me until I do respond. He's always going to be there for me. That's the cool thing about God: He is constant; while humans would get impatient and sick of trying, God never does because he loves us that much. I'm hoping that this time, I do respond to God's call for me to recover because I am so sick of dealing with this, and hurting the people who love me by forcing them to watch me go through it. I want to live my life, and do good things for the Kingdom of God, and be a student, and go to school, and travel, and help people, and stay out late, and do silly shenanigans, and have a personality, and all that I really want...freedom. I don't want to feel guilty everytime that I eat, or get anxious or stressed out over food, or be mean to people, or be so depressed. Those outcomes are worth more than the outcomes that my eating disorder promises me, so I must keep them in mind.
This was a pretty "poopy" week overall, both literally and figuratively. It actually really sucks right now, but I'm okay with it. I was never promised that I was going to be happy all of the time, or that treatment would be easy. I just have to keep my goals and hopes and dreams in mind to pull me through, while trying to take each day as it comes and learn something from it, even if that lesson comes while on the toilet.
On Monday, I started going to PHP (partial hospitalization program) in Columbus. Going in, I wasn't expecting much of anything different than what I already know from past treatments, so I wasn't really looking too forward to it; BUT I kept an open mind. Essentially, the program is exactly like residential but I go home at night. The day went well: I ate all of my meals with no problems (they never are in treatment), I participated in groups (which I loathe), and I made some new friends with the three other kids in the program (I'm also the oldest of the group). As the day came to a close, my stomach started feeling funky. I figured it was because I was full or my stomach was starting to hurt from all of the food I had consumed that day, but that also struck me as odd because I had been through treatment numerous times where I'd have to eat just as much (if not more) food, and I never had problems with it. Nonetheless, I carried on with the day into "wrap-up group" with the parents who pick us up at the end of the day. Mom picked me up, and as we drove home in the car, I had to shut my eyes and sit there. My stomach was in a great deal of stress. I felt constipated and that wasn't any fun at all. When we got home, I took my coat off, and went straight to the couch where I fell asleep for the rest of the night. My stomach was in so much pain that I couldn't do anything else but sleep. I woke up the next morning around 6 and went straight to the bathroom. SURPRISE! I had friggin' diarrhea. What a way to greet the day. I ended up going to the bathroom 3 times before we left home to go to Columbus around 7. All of the way there, my stomach was upset. In my day at treatment, I ate all of my meals with difficulty because my stomach hurt so badly. I also went to the bathroom at any chance that I had, and I went every stinkin' time. I looked like death, on top of it all. I met with my doctor, and he said it was a stomach virus of some sort (which made sense because my dad had the exact same symptoms the week prior...thanks a lot, Dave). He didn't give me any medicine because he said the virus needed to come out, and the only way it would was through defecating it on out. He did order me Gatorade, though, because apparently diarrhea causes dehydration. The day went on with a great deal of stress and pain, but I pushed through. And then dinner happened: a soppy joe, chips and salsa, vanilla pudding, milk, and grapes. The thing about eating in an eating disorder program is that you have to eat everything, 100 % of what you're given, even if you're sick. Dinner was a nightmare. I could barely eat a tablespoon of food without my stomach getting unspeakably painful, and here I was downing more food than most "normal" people eat. Ugh. I started shoveling it down because I wanted to get it over with and not think about it or the pain I was going through. I'm pretty sure I can never eat vanilla pudding or salsa again without getting sick. I don't know if it was because of the dehydration or what, but by the time that I got to the sloppy joe, my mouth literally would not produce enough saliva for me to chew my food. With the assistance of the wee-bit of milk that I had left, I managed to finish the entire meal...Ouch. As we went into wrap-up group, everyone noticed how bad and sickly I looked as I walked into the room after going to the bathroom (AGAIN). I could hardly speak because of my stomach. That was not what I would consider to be a "pleasant dining experience" in the slightest.
After the "fun" day at treatment, mom and I headed over to the Ronald McDonald house approximately three minutes away. I've decided to call this my "McHome" or "McHouse" for the time being, since I am basically living there for the month. We checked in and went straight to our room. I promptly claimed my bed, wrapped up in about 30 blankets and my plushy, yellow bath robe, and fell asleep. Like the night before, I was freezing and being tortured by my stomach, so I again had no choice but to sleep. I woke up later around 9 because (despite my stomach issues) I had to have a snack. Luckily, all that it had to be was 4 oz. of orange juice, so Mom and I sat in the kitchen area downstairs as I drank it and she told me about her day. We returned to the room, and I went back to bed, feeling like my stomach would explode. I woke up around 1:30 and had to go to the bathroom (big surprise) where I was for about half an hour. There really is nothing more fun than sitting on the toilet, especially in the middle of the night.
The following morning, I woke up to a new day with less stomach pain and a lot of snow outside. We got ready for the day, and went downstairs to see about breakfast (it was Wednesday, and on Wednesdays you have breakfast at home instead of at treatment). Mom got a call from work saying that the snow caused them to delay opening until 11, so she had more time to get ready and take care of me. In the kitchen area, we saw one of my new friend's who is also staying at the Ronald McDonald house. He and his mom were also making breakfast, and they told us that they got a call from the program saying they were cancelling treatment for the day because of the weather. We realy lucked out on seeing them because we recieved no call, no message, no pony express...nothin'. I could have ended up over at the stupid facility alone. BUT that was not the case, and I'm pretty grateful that we saw them when we did. Having no time restrictions now, mom and I took the shuttle over to the hospital across the street to get breakfast. I had my exchanges for the meal, along with my stomach issues. I got something that I thought met it, but also wouldn't make my tummy troubles worse. I finished most of it, but then my stomach started to hurt again and I couldn't finish. Mom recieved a call from work again, but this time to tell her that they were cancelling her work all together that day because of the weather conditions. So we had the whole day to do whatever we wanted...which was very little because I was sick, she developed a headache, and no one was technically supposed to be "driving" or "out" because of "dangerous weather conditions" (psh, girl please). The rest of the day was spent sleeping, laying around, watching "Let's Make A Deal" and "The Price Is Right," eating very little to appease my stomach, making valentines in the craft room, and being bored. My stomach hurt, but not as bad as it had because I wasn't forcing food down my throat. Plus my diarrhea subsided, so in some regards, I was living what we like to call "the dream life." The next day at treatment, I ate breakfast, anxious that it would upset my stomach and send me into more excruciating pain. What do you know? It didn't! I went on to eat all of my meals with hardly any pain, and that was a good thing.
Being sick this week was such a struggle. Like, how lucky am I that I get a virus that makes eating a death sentance in the midst of being force fed a lot of food? #AWESOME. Besides that, though, I spent a lot of time coloring or doing wordsearches because I had nothing better to do. I get bored WAYYYYY too easily. I can't really stop and do one thing without getting impatient and anxious, so relaxing and I are not friends. This is not a good equation for me right now, and it's sent me into a bad depression. The fact that I have nothing to do bothers me a lot. I miss being a student. I could use my time to study or do homework, but no...I just have to sit and do puzzle books. Mom and I were driving around on OSU's campus the other night, and as I watched all of the kids walking around, going into restaurants, being with their riends, and doing other things that college kids do, I became indredibly bummed. I just kept thinking, "that should be me." That should be me. This eating disorder has made me lose friends, family, my passions, my personality, my sense of caring, it's made me bitter and impatient and mean...and now it's taken away my sense of "normalcy" in that of being a student. My entire life is "off-track" so to speak because of the dumb thing.
In my devotion yesterday, it spoke of the story in Matthew where Peter asks Jesus to let him walk on the water to join him, Jesus allows it, Peter starts, Peter freaks, and Peter sinks, then Jesus asks him why he asked for something and then didn't trust him to do it. Still, Jesus was there for Peter the rest of his days on Earth and made him more than he could have ever have dreamed of being. This really spoke to me because I'm the same way, especially right now. I constantly ask God for help, and he always gives it to me. Sometimes I may try to do what he's helping me to, but I always end up doubting and not trusting God, so I fall and end up back to square one. Regardlesss, God is still there for me, waiiting to help me when I am ready to trust him 100%. I've asked God for 4 years to help me end this battle; God has given me treatments, meal plans, people, and countless other resources to help me overcome it; I often start acting on or with these things, but I doubt that they will work or I get scared of the unknown outcomes, and I end up falling again, which is why I'm where I am today. Even though I've doubted God and haven't trusted his plans for me (which I know isn't good), he takes me back and will continue to help me until I do respond. He's always going to be there for me. That's the cool thing about God: He is constant; while humans would get impatient and sick of trying, God never does because he loves us that much. I'm hoping that this time, I do respond to God's call for me to recover because I am so sick of dealing with this, and hurting the people who love me by forcing them to watch me go through it. I want to live my life, and do good things for the Kingdom of God, and be a student, and go to school, and travel, and help people, and stay out late, and do silly shenanigans, and have a personality, and all that I really want...freedom. I don't want to feel guilty everytime that I eat, or get anxious or stressed out over food, or be mean to people, or be so depressed. Those outcomes are worth more than the outcomes that my eating disorder promises me, so I must keep them in mind.
This was a pretty "poopy" week overall, both literally and figuratively. It actually really sucks right now, but I'm okay with it. I was never promised that I was going to be happy all of the time, or that treatment would be easy. I just have to keep my goals and hopes and dreams in mind to pull me through, while trying to take each day as it comes and learn something from it, even if that lesson comes while on the toilet.
Saturday, February 1, 2014
#dropout
Short and to the point; here we go.
Last Tuesday, I went to a doctor's appointment at Nationwide Children's Eating Disorders Clinic. Not at all to my surprise, I was put into the hospital for being underweight. I wasn't surprised, you see, because based on how I'd been eating (which was horribly), I'd be shocked if I wasn't put into the hospital. I actually kind of wanted to go to the hospital: good food, a week off, and I have so much free time that I could work on school work. So, I went in last Tuesday, and luckily for me, my dad had taken the day off so he hung out with me all day. There I was: in the hospital. The food was kind of disappointing all together, but I got a lot of school work done (waste of time....READ ON FOR MORE ON WHY). And when I say " a lot", I'm talkin' two papers and a lot of reading. Boom goes the dynamite. I got put on some anxiety medicine which knocked me out like a tranquilizer the first day that I took it. Every day, the doctor told me that things were looking good and my weight was going up (not necessarily something I like to hear, but I know that it's what I need to do, so it is what it is). I was released on Monday with a follow-up appointment scheduled for the following Friday. OH! BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT: I saw my menu for Monday, and it was a better day of tasty meals planned, but I was being released that day; AND since the last time I was in the hospital, I had wanted cheesecake, and I was supposed to have it for my snack Monday night! UGHHHH.
At the doctor's appointment before I was admitted, my doctor told me that he thought I needed to be in their PHP (partial hospitalization program) or go into residential. This continued to be discussed daily while I was in the hospital. But, me being me, I didn't want that (especially PHP. That was not going to happen.) I wasnted to continue going to school, and be out of control having my parents make my meals for me. I was eventually told that we could try it, and then decide if it would work at my follow-up appointment. After being released, I drank milkshakes made with Carnation Instant Breakfast (a quick, tasty way to pump up calories; I used to do this when I was a junior in high school for the same reasons) just to make sure that I didn't lose any weight in the four days that I had.
I went to my follow-up appointment yesterday (1/31). After discussing everything with my parents and doctor, I eventually told my parents just to decide what I was going to do because I was getting overwhelmed and frustrated and eventually just didn't care. Here's basically my life now:
I had to drop out of school, I lost half of MY money because yesterday was the last day to withdraw from classes while still getting some sort of refund (so I guess I'm thankful that I got some of it back), I now have to go to the PHP program 45 minutes away every day at 7 a.m. except Sunday for 4 weeks, go to an I.O.P. following that, and I may be staying at the Ronald McDonald house to alleviate logistical issues.
Yesterday was not a good day for me. I spent a lot of it frustrated, angry, balling my eyes out, asking God "why?", and cussing a lot because I was so upset (I don't cuss; I think it's stupid, ignorant, and unlady-like. BUT I do also think because of those things, it's excusable to use when one is upset because they don't have anything better to say, so they just need to get emotion out in some verbal context.) The thing is, though, I'm not completely against or completely upset with the situation. In my head, I know everything sucks because it was NOT what I wanted, but in my heart, I'm content. I think that's God. And another thing: I'm not angry with God about everything going on either. I'm frustrated because I have no idea what where he's leading me or what he wants me to do with my life, but I'm not angry with him. I know that everything going on is for my own good and the good of his kingdom, and there will be a greater outcome; I just have no clue what that could possibly be. I often pray for God to just wreak havoc on my life and take control (in a good way), so I think he kind of is in a way. I believe that this experience is going to make me a better Christian and follower of Christ. I think about people like Job (my biblical role model), and think that this situation, though his was worse, is the same. God basically broke Job down, but Job kept his faith in God, even when the world was telling him not to. So that's what I'm going to do. I keep telling God, "I'll show you! I'm just going to keep my faith in you!" kind of in a "na-na-na-na-boo-boo" kind of way. And I will. I'm a little perterbed because I always planned on being a typical, American student: go to college straight out of high school for four years, get a degree, and then enter the job force. I'm learning that sometimes God has different plans, and that's not the way it has to be. I'm still a little shaken by everything going on, but I'm going to look to God to be my rock. So feel free to call me a "dropout." I'm God's "dropout" (at least for now).
Last Tuesday, I went to a doctor's appointment at Nationwide Children's Eating Disorders Clinic. Not at all to my surprise, I was put into the hospital for being underweight. I wasn't surprised, you see, because based on how I'd been eating (which was horribly), I'd be shocked if I wasn't put into the hospital. I actually kind of wanted to go to the hospital: good food, a week off, and I have so much free time that I could work on school work. So, I went in last Tuesday, and luckily for me, my dad had taken the day off so he hung out with me all day. There I was: in the hospital. The food was kind of disappointing all together, but I got a lot of school work done (waste of time....READ ON FOR MORE ON WHY). And when I say " a lot", I'm talkin' two papers and a lot of reading. Boom goes the dynamite. I got put on some anxiety medicine which knocked me out like a tranquilizer the first day that I took it. Every day, the doctor told me that things were looking good and my weight was going up (not necessarily something I like to hear, but I know that it's what I need to do, so it is what it is). I was released on Monday with a follow-up appointment scheduled for the following Friday. OH! BIGGEST DISAPPOINTMENT: I saw my menu for Monday, and it was a better day of tasty meals planned, but I was being released that day; AND since the last time I was in the hospital, I had wanted cheesecake, and I was supposed to have it for my snack Monday night! UGHHHH.
At the doctor's appointment before I was admitted, my doctor told me that he thought I needed to be in their PHP (partial hospitalization program) or go into residential. This continued to be discussed daily while I was in the hospital. But, me being me, I didn't want that (especially PHP. That was not going to happen.) I wasnted to continue going to school, and be out of control having my parents make my meals for me. I was eventually told that we could try it, and then decide if it would work at my follow-up appointment. After being released, I drank milkshakes made with Carnation Instant Breakfast (a quick, tasty way to pump up calories; I used to do this when I was a junior in high school for the same reasons) just to make sure that I didn't lose any weight in the four days that I had.
I went to my follow-up appointment yesterday (1/31). After discussing everything with my parents and doctor, I eventually told my parents just to decide what I was going to do because I was getting overwhelmed and frustrated and eventually just didn't care. Here's basically my life now:
I had to drop out of school, I lost half of MY money because yesterday was the last day to withdraw from classes while still getting some sort of refund (so I guess I'm thankful that I got some of it back), I now have to go to the PHP program 45 minutes away every day at 7 a.m. except Sunday for 4 weeks, go to an I.O.P. following that, and I may be staying at the Ronald McDonald house to alleviate logistical issues.
Yesterday was not a good day for me. I spent a lot of it frustrated, angry, balling my eyes out, asking God "why?", and cussing a lot because I was so upset (I don't cuss; I think it's stupid, ignorant, and unlady-like. BUT I do also think because of those things, it's excusable to use when one is upset because they don't have anything better to say, so they just need to get emotion out in some verbal context.) The thing is, though, I'm not completely against or completely upset with the situation. In my head, I know everything sucks because it was NOT what I wanted, but in my heart, I'm content. I think that's God. And another thing: I'm not angry with God about everything going on either. I'm frustrated because I have no idea what where he's leading me or what he wants me to do with my life, but I'm not angry with him. I know that everything going on is for my own good and the good of his kingdom, and there will be a greater outcome; I just have no clue what that could possibly be. I often pray for God to just wreak havoc on my life and take control (in a good way), so I think he kind of is in a way. I believe that this experience is going to make me a better Christian and follower of Christ. I think about people like Job (my biblical role model), and think that this situation, though his was worse, is the same. God basically broke Job down, but Job kept his faith in God, even when the world was telling him not to. So that's what I'm going to do. I keep telling God, "I'll show you! I'm just going to keep my faith in you!" kind of in a "na-na-na-na-boo-boo" kind of way. And I will. I'm a little perterbed because I always planned on being a typical, American student: go to college straight out of high school for four years, get a degree, and then enter the job force. I'm learning that sometimes God has different plans, and that's not the way it has to be. I'm still a little shaken by everything going on, but I'm going to look to God to be my rock. So feel free to call me a "dropout." I'm God's "dropout" (at least for now).
Sunday, January 19, 2014
What A Week
I feel like a lot has happened in the past week, but yet nothing has happened in the past week...weird. It was a very revealing, mind-opening, and realization-y sort of week. Well, I'll just write about my week day by day because something of some significance to my psyche happened each day...
Sunday:
Last Sunday, I woke up, walked down stairs, and drank a bottle of water with my dad on the couch as we watched "Petticoat Junction," trying to figure out what we were going to do. That Sunday, I told my parents that they could have another day where I would eat whatever they told me to. Mom had to work at Bob's that day, so Dave got to do the pickin' for most of the day. There was very little food in the house (and, believe me, if I'm saying that, our kitchen was American desolate), so we went out to eat. After driving around, not knowing where to go, we eventually decided on the Sparta downtown. We had been there before and enjoyed it, so we figured we'd go again. I had pretty much starved myself the day before because it was how I was coping with what I was about to do: that Sunday wasn't going to be just another day I gave my parents, but that Sunday was the day that I was going to give up control and start eating and getting better. The day before Sunday, though, as I ate nothing or anything of real sustenance, I told my parents that I had to do it because it was kind of like a "breaking up" with my eating disorder. I was about to do something I haven't ever done in my time of dealing with this, and that was surrendering control willingly; it was like I was saying goodbye to my eating disorder. Regardless of what it was, I basically starved myself on Saturday, leaving me ravenous on Sunday. My dad looked over the menu, trying to figure out what to order me. When the waitress asked for our order, dad did all of the ordering. First he gave his order, and then told her what I would be having: a veggie omelet (made with 4 eggs, American cheese, tomatoes, onions, squash, and zucchini), home fries, and rye toast with butter.. I demolished that food as soon as it came out, except for some of the home fries because they weren't crispy enough. As we left, I had a feeling of pride over the fact that I could eat that much food. When I eat, I eat. I'm actually pretty convinced that I could win some of those food challenges. I had that sense of pride for a good part of the day....until the guilt set in. I always feel guilt after I eat, so it wasn't anything that I wasn't used to. The only thing that kind of helped that day was the fact that I didn't choose to eat that food on my own accord, but I gave the control to my dad. None the less, there was a lot of guilt being felt. We went to my grandma's after that, and then home after that. I took a good nap when I got home. Later, Mom got home and we decided that we were going to go to Texas Roadhouse because my cousin was working that night. We invited my Papaw to celebrate his birthday, too, which was nice. We got there and saw two friends' from high school's parents, and talked to them for a few minutes until we were seated. We looked over the menu, and mom gave me options of what sounded better. I felt bad because I was interjecting things that I thought sounded good, when the point of that day was for my parents to have me eat what they (not I) wanted. My cousin came to take our order, and I left to go to the bathroom. I had to pee, but I also didn't want to know what my parents were going to order me until I got it. When I came back, I heard the remnants of my order, so I could decipher what I was getting. Mom made me a roll with butter and I ate it even though I'm not too big on them. Next came some salads, one of which I got. It was actually really good. A few minutes passed, and then came our food. I apparantly ordered the BBQ pork dinner (which was basically 4 lbs. of pulled pork with a side of applesauce and sad looking roll). When they brought it out, we all were kind of astounded at the amount of meat on the plate. My dad took some of it off, as it made me less anxious and they even thought that it was too much. I ate what was given to me and I enjoyed it. When we got home, the feelings of fullness set in and I felt it. I started burping (which is no different than usual), and mom started freaking out, thinking that she made me sick. And, honestly, I was kind of afraid too. I had heard of people dying from re-feeding syndrome, and while I didn't think that I had eaten enough to give way to death, I was afraid that I was going to get sick. Well, I may have been afraid that I had eaten too much and the guilt was talking. Mom and I then went to the grocery, where I listened to her freak out about me dying and it being her fault (I never should have brought up that re-feeding syndrome). We went home and watched TV, as I assured her every five minutes that I was okay and not dying. Around midnight, I had some buckeye frozen custard, and after that I felt horrible. Not physically, but mentally/emotionally. You see, mom had said earlier that I was going to have that custard, but after she realized that I could get sick, she didn't want to give it to me as much. But (despite my distaste for frozen custard and the whole "eating disorder" thing) I wanted it, so I reminded her of it. She hesitated, but gave me what she considered to be a "small bowl." I ate it, and it tasted good..but then I felt like poop for eating it. We went to bed, and I went to sleep feeling guilt for technically eating something that I wasn't forced to eat...
Monday:
It was my first day to be "out of control" on my own at home while my parents were at work. Mom wrote me a note with what to eat that day. I woke up around 11, so I texted my parents and asked them if I should eat breakfast or lunch. As I waited for a response, I read a book for school, and I waited until noon to eat anything. I didn't really follow my parent's instructions, and that led to guilt. The day went on, I had one of my prescribed snacks, and then it was dinner time. This wasn't just any dinner, though. This was the dinner where I experienced my first, real anxiety attack. Over what, you ask? A taco. It wasn' necessarily the taco that got me, and I really don't remember what it was, but I freaked and didn't eat a lot because I was freaking out. That was one of the weirdest experiences that I've ever had, and it was made worse because I had never experienced one, so I didn't know how to handle it.
Tuesday:
I went to class beginning at 8, drank coffee like I usually did, and then had some yogurt and an egg at a later point in the day. I left after my 12:45-2:05 class to pick up mom because we decided to take a quick jaunt down to Tennessee to get my stuff from school. I drove most of the way, until I had to pee so mom and I switched. She got Subway sub-sandwiches on her way to work so we wouldn't have to stop on the road. I ate the veggie sub she got, and took a little nap. We got to Cleveland around 10, and started packing the car. We hung out with some of my friends in the lounge until they went to bed, and we slept in the lounge. As we laid on the couches trying to get to sleep, I asked mom if she would help me eat the next day, and she agreed.
Wednesday:
We woke up around 7, got ready, had my room check at 9, and then stopped at Einstein Brothers. I had to get my last coffee (delicious as always), and mom get a cinnamon sugar bagel with honey butter which she's been raving about since. She suggested things for me to get but I said no. We hit the road, and she asked me as kindly as possible to eat something. I started getting very anxious and I couldn't. As mom drived, I tried to read for school. It took me two hours to read 5 small pages because I couldn't focus; I was so anxious. Around 1, I was finally hungry enough to eat, so I had mom tell me what to eat because I couldn't/didn't want to decide. We kept on driving, and when we reached the Cincinatti area, I had to pee and mom wanted me to drive. We were passing the Great Wolf Lodge, so she decided to stop there for a "potty break." It was awesome, the whole 10 minutes we were there! It made me want to stay so so bad. BUT reality checked in and we had to get back to good ol' Nerk. We left, and got home around 6. The rest of the night was chill, and that was fine because I was tried of driving.
Thursday:
I went to school at 8, and after my first class, I felt hungry so I texted my parents about what to eat. Since they aren't the same person, they told me different things which stressed me out, so I decided to wait and see what they said later. I got to my 11:10 class, and decided to have an Ensure that I brought, despite my parents telling me other things to have. I texted them to ask if it were okay if I had that, and they told me to have it. For some reason, it made me feel less anxious to drink than eat. I enjoyed it as it went down...and then the guilt kicked in. 1. I felt like I had wasted food that could go bad 2. I started freaking about calories. I felt guilty for not listening to my parents the rest of the day, and I became very depressed about it. I went to the rest of my classes, and began to feel overwhelmed by the work. Dad picked me up at the end of the day, and I was in a horrible mood. We went to the store and he listened as I talked about how I don't know what I'm doing with my life. When we got home, I had a miniscule dinner that I made because it was the way that I chose to deal with my feelings.
Friday:
I went out for coffee with my friend, Jamieson. It was a lot of fun. I love that girl! She's such a great human being, let me tell you. After that, I got home and decided that it was lunch time (especially since I had been up since 8 and hadn't eaten anything). I ate, and didn't feel anxious or guilty. The rest of the day went on, I had an apple, and then took Christian to get his hairs cut. I tried to read again for school, and got very little accomplished (to no one's surprise). Later that night, mom came home and made this artichoke heart and chicken pasta for dinner. It was really good and I didn't feel anxious about it. We watched an episode of "Downton Abbey" and had a lovely family night (without Christian, who went to a friend's).
Saturday:
Mom had to do something that morning, so she asked me to work for her at Bob Evans until she was done. I agreed and went in at 6 (5 a.m. is too early to wake up). The first couple of hours were fine because it was so slow; and then the tsunami of people began. It got packed! Food wasn't coming out quick enough and people were NOT happy. I was supposed to leave at 11 when my mom got there, but they were so busy and they made me stay. I eventually got really overwhelmed and stressed out. Mom noticed (as she was working now as well), and wanted me to leave immediately because she knew I was getting overwhelmed and I was about to have an anxiety attack. I eventually got cut around 2, and I bolted to get out of there to dad's car. We dropped Christian off at home, and then dad took me to Tim Horton's for coffee. OH! SIDENOTE: I found out in my Psychology class that people with anxiety disorders shouldn't drink caffeine, so now I'm on decaf... But I do love coffee, so I'll take that decaf. It was really nice to spend time with my dad doing something little like that. We got home, and I sat on top of my oven and ate some carrots and lettuce. Around 5:30, mom came home and we got ready to go to church. We picked Christian up from one of his friend's house, and had the pleasure of listening to him complain about having to go to church. After the service, we went out for pizza. We watched "Iron Man 3" back at home, I had a snack, and then went to bed.
Sunday:
I woke up around 10, having had a great night's rest. I ate breakfast with dad, and then decided to nap. So I just napped all day. I tried three times to do some sort of school work, and (of course) didn't get too much accomplished. So then I just napped again. We met my mom at the movie theater at 3:30 and saw "Lone Survivor." It was a really good movie, but I felt bad because I spent most of the movie thinking about how hungry I was. After the movie, we went home, and mom made dinner. I tried not to interject my opinions about food so that she could just make a meal without me being in control, but I did just a little bit. We ended up having chicken and cheese enchiladas with corn, and they were good. After that we went to the grocery, came home, I took a shower, put on my footie pajamas, and here we are now, getting sick of typing and wishing that I had taken a different route to writing this...
So what did I learn this week? My anxiety is increasing MAJORLY. I think a lot of it has to do with my giving up (or attempt at giving up) control. I learned that I don't know if I can handle school right now with the way mindset is. I have no motivation or inclination to do school work, and the thought of it stresses me out. I'm almost positive that once I start feeding myself what I need, I will have more motivation and energy and will be fine with my school work, but right now it's so hard. I learned that along with anxiety, my OCD is starting to really come out. I realized that I'm too anxious to eat, but then I feel bad about wasting food and money and I obsess over that...it's a double-edged sword. I'm really struggling right now because I have absolutely NO idea what God wants me to do with my life or where I'm going. It's starting to really get me down. Still, I have faith that God is working in me, and there is a greater good coming out of all of it. I want more out of life, and I believe that God will use my quench for life to bring Him glory. So while everything in my life seems kind of stinky right now, I still place my hope and faith in God. I'm having a hard time trusting Him, but I'm trying. I know that God loves me, and I know that I love Him. Just like Rick Astley, I know that God is "never gonna give me up, never gonna let me down, never gonna run around and desert me."
Sunday:
Last Sunday, I woke up, walked down stairs, and drank a bottle of water with my dad on the couch as we watched "Petticoat Junction," trying to figure out what we were going to do. That Sunday, I told my parents that they could have another day where I would eat whatever they told me to. Mom had to work at Bob's that day, so Dave got to do the pickin' for most of the day. There was very little food in the house (and, believe me, if I'm saying that, our kitchen was American desolate), so we went out to eat. After driving around, not knowing where to go, we eventually decided on the Sparta downtown. We had been there before and enjoyed it, so we figured we'd go again. I had pretty much starved myself the day before because it was how I was coping with what I was about to do: that Sunday wasn't going to be just another day I gave my parents, but that Sunday was the day that I was going to give up control and start eating and getting better. The day before Sunday, though, as I ate nothing or anything of real sustenance, I told my parents that I had to do it because it was kind of like a "breaking up" with my eating disorder. I was about to do something I haven't ever done in my time of dealing with this, and that was surrendering control willingly; it was like I was saying goodbye to my eating disorder. Regardless of what it was, I basically starved myself on Saturday, leaving me ravenous on Sunday. My dad looked over the menu, trying to figure out what to order me. When the waitress asked for our order, dad did all of the ordering. First he gave his order, and then told her what I would be having: a veggie omelet (made with 4 eggs, American cheese, tomatoes, onions, squash, and zucchini), home fries, and rye toast with butter.. I demolished that food as soon as it came out, except for some of the home fries because they weren't crispy enough. As we left, I had a feeling of pride over the fact that I could eat that much food. When I eat, I eat. I'm actually pretty convinced that I could win some of those food challenges. I had that sense of pride for a good part of the day....until the guilt set in. I always feel guilt after I eat, so it wasn't anything that I wasn't used to. The only thing that kind of helped that day was the fact that I didn't choose to eat that food on my own accord, but I gave the control to my dad. None the less, there was a lot of guilt being felt. We went to my grandma's after that, and then home after that. I took a good nap when I got home. Later, Mom got home and we decided that we were going to go to Texas Roadhouse because my cousin was working that night. We invited my Papaw to celebrate his birthday, too, which was nice. We got there and saw two friends' from high school's parents, and talked to them for a few minutes until we were seated. We looked over the menu, and mom gave me options of what sounded better. I felt bad because I was interjecting things that I thought sounded good, when the point of that day was for my parents to have me eat what they (not I) wanted. My cousin came to take our order, and I left to go to the bathroom. I had to pee, but I also didn't want to know what my parents were going to order me until I got it. When I came back, I heard the remnants of my order, so I could decipher what I was getting. Mom made me a roll with butter and I ate it even though I'm not too big on them. Next came some salads, one of which I got. It was actually really good. A few minutes passed, and then came our food. I apparantly ordered the BBQ pork dinner (which was basically 4 lbs. of pulled pork with a side of applesauce and sad looking roll). When they brought it out, we all were kind of astounded at the amount of meat on the plate. My dad took some of it off, as it made me less anxious and they even thought that it was too much. I ate what was given to me and I enjoyed it. When we got home, the feelings of fullness set in and I felt it. I started burping (which is no different than usual), and mom started freaking out, thinking that she made me sick. And, honestly, I was kind of afraid too. I had heard of people dying from re-feeding syndrome, and while I didn't think that I had eaten enough to give way to death, I was afraid that I was going to get sick. Well, I may have been afraid that I had eaten too much and the guilt was talking. Mom and I then went to the grocery, where I listened to her freak out about me dying and it being her fault (I never should have brought up that re-feeding syndrome). We went home and watched TV, as I assured her every five minutes that I was okay and not dying. Around midnight, I had some buckeye frozen custard, and after that I felt horrible. Not physically, but mentally/emotionally. You see, mom had said earlier that I was going to have that custard, but after she realized that I could get sick, she didn't want to give it to me as much. But (despite my distaste for frozen custard and the whole "eating disorder" thing) I wanted it, so I reminded her of it. She hesitated, but gave me what she considered to be a "small bowl." I ate it, and it tasted good..but then I felt like poop for eating it. We went to bed, and I went to sleep feeling guilt for technically eating something that I wasn't forced to eat...
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| Basically an entire hog with some BBQ sauce and applesauce. |
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| Buckeye frozen custard, elegantly sat on a TV tray. |
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| The remnants of a veggie omelet, home fries, and rye toast. |
Monday:
It was my first day to be "out of control" on my own at home while my parents were at work. Mom wrote me a note with what to eat that day. I woke up around 11, so I texted my parents and asked them if I should eat breakfast or lunch. As I waited for a response, I read a book for school, and I waited until noon to eat anything. I didn't really follow my parent's instructions, and that led to guilt. The day went on, I had one of my prescribed snacks, and then it was dinner time. This wasn't just any dinner, though. This was the dinner where I experienced my first, real anxiety attack. Over what, you ask? A taco. It wasn' necessarily the taco that got me, and I really don't remember what it was, but I freaked and didn't eat a lot because I was freaking out. That was one of the weirdest experiences that I've ever had, and it was made worse because I had never experienced one, so I didn't know how to handle it.
Tuesday:
I went to class beginning at 8, drank coffee like I usually did, and then had some yogurt and an egg at a later point in the day. I left after my 12:45-2:05 class to pick up mom because we decided to take a quick jaunt down to Tennessee to get my stuff from school. I drove most of the way, until I had to pee so mom and I switched. She got Subway sub-sandwiches on her way to work so we wouldn't have to stop on the road. I ate the veggie sub she got, and took a little nap. We got to Cleveland around 10, and started packing the car. We hung out with some of my friends in the lounge until they went to bed, and we slept in the lounge. As we laid on the couches trying to get to sleep, I asked mom if she would help me eat the next day, and she agreed.
Wednesday:
We woke up around 7, got ready, had my room check at 9, and then stopped at Einstein Brothers. I had to get my last coffee (delicious as always), and mom get a cinnamon sugar bagel with honey butter which she's been raving about since. She suggested things for me to get but I said no. We hit the road, and she asked me as kindly as possible to eat something. I started getting very anxious and I couldn't. As mom drived, I tried to read for school. It took me two hours to read 5 small pages because I couldn't focus; I was so anxious. Around 1, I was finally hungry enough to eat, so I had mom tell me what to eat because I couldn't/didn't want to decide. We kept on driving, and when we reached the Cincinatti area, I had to pee and mom wanted me to drive. We were passing the Great Wolf Lodge, so she decided to stop there for a "potty break." It was awesome, the whole 10 minutes we were there! It made me want to stay so so bad. BUT reality checked in and we had to get back to good ol' Nerk. We left, and got home around 6. The rest of the night was chill, and that was fine because I was tried of driving.
Thursday:
I went to school at 8, and after my first class, I felt hungry so I texted my parents about what to eat. Since they aren't the same person, they told me different things which stressed me out, so I decided to wait and see what they said later. I got to my 11:10 class, and decided to have an Ensure that I brought, despite my parents telling me other things to have. I texted them to ask if it were okay if I had that, and they told me to have it. For some reason, it made me feel less anxious to drink than eat. I enjoyed it as it went down...and then the guilt kicked in. 1. I felt like I had wasted food that could go bad 2. I started freaking about calories. I felt guilty for not listening to my parents the rest of the day, and I became very depressed about it. I went to the rest of my classes, and began to feel overwhelmed by the work. Dad picked me up at the end of the day, and I was in a horrible mood. We went to the store and he listened as I talked about how I don't know what I'm doing with my life. When we got home, I had a miniscule dinner that I made because it was the way that I chose to deal with my feelings.
Friday:
I went out for coffee with my friend, Jamieson. It was a lot of fun. I love that girl! She's such a great human being, let me tell you. After that, I got home and decided that it was lunch time (especially since I had been up since 8 and hadn't eaten anything). I ate, and didn't feel anxious or guilty. The rest of the day went on, I had an apple, and then took Christian to get his hairs cut. I tried to read again for school, and got very little accomplished (to no one's surprise). Later that night, mom came home and made this artichoke heart and chicken pasta for dinner. It was really good and I didn't feel anxious about it. We watched an episode of "Downton Abbey" and had a lovely family night (without Christian, who went to a friend's).
Saturday:
Mom had to do something that morning, so she asked me to work for her at Bob Evans until she was done. I agreed and went in at 6 (5 a.m. is too early to wake up). The first couple of hours were fine because it was so slow; and then the tsunami of people began. It got packed! Food wasn't coming out quick enough and people were NOT happy. I was supposed to leave at 11 when my mom got there, but they were so busy and they made me stay. I eventually got really overwhelmed and stressed out. Mom noticed (as she was working now as well), and wanted me to leave immediately because she knew I was getting overwhelmed and I was about to have an anxiety attack. I eventually got cut around 2, and I bolted to get out of there to dad's car. We dropped Christian off at home, and then dad took me to Tim Horton's for coffee. OH! SIDENOTE: I found out in my Psychology class that people with anxiety disorders shouldn't drink caffeine, so now I'm on decaf... But I do love coffee, so I'll take that decaf. It was really nice to spend time with my dad doing something little like that. We got home, and I sat on top of my oven and ate some carrots and lettuce. Around 5:30, mom came home and we got ready to go to church. We picked Christian up from one of his friend's house, and had the pleasure of listening to him complain about having to go to church. After the service, we went out for pizza. We watched "Iron Man 3" back at home, I had a snack, and then went to bed.
Sunday:
I woke up around 10, having had a great night's rest. I ate breakfast with dad, and then decided to nap. So I just napped all day. I tried three times to do some sort of school work, and (of course) didn't get too much accomplished. So then I just napped again. We met my mom at the movie theater at 3:30 and saw "Lone Survivor." It was a really good movie, but I felt bad because I spent most of the movie thinking about how hungry I was. After the movie, we went home, and mom made dinner. I tried not to interject my opinions about food so that she could just make a meal without me being in control, but I did just a little bit. We ended up having chicken and cheese enchiladas with corn, and they were good. After that we went to the grocery, came home, I took a shower, put on my footie pajamas, and here we are now, getting sick of typing and wishing that I had taken a different route to writing this...
So what did I learn this week? My anxiety is increasing MAJORLY. I think a lot of it has to do with my giving up (or attempt at giving up) control. I learned that I don't know if I can handle school right now with the way mindset is. I have no motivation or inclination to do school work, and the thought of it stresses me out. I'm almost positive that once I start feeding myself what I need, I will have more motivation and energy and will be fine with my school work, but right now it's so hard. I learned that along with anxiety, my OCD is starting to really come out. I realized that I'm too anxious to eat, but then I feel bad about wasting food and money and I obsess over that...it's a double-edged sword. I'm really struggling right now because I have absolutely NO idea what God wants me to do with my life or where I'm going. It's starting to really get me down. Still, I have faith that God is working in me, and there is a greater good coming out of all of it. I want more out of life, and I believe that God will use my quench for life to bring Him glory. So while everything in my life seems kind of stinky right now, I still place my hope and faith in God. I'm having a hard time trusting Him, but I'm trying. I know that God loves me, and I know that I love Him. Just like Rick Astley, I know that God is "never gonna give me up, never gonna let me down, never gonna run around and desert me."
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