Health is Wealth

If you've read yesterday's blog, you already know that I have gained five pounds since starting treatment a week ago. This causes me so much distress. It makes me feel that I am physically getting larger - that my body is expanding before my eyes and I am helplessly watching with horror. I feel that my clothes are tighter; that I look bigger in the mirror. I feel heavier, and I hate it. Of course - this is part of ED. He wants me to feel this way. He convinces me that I am larger. That before I know it, I'll be fat. And then people will make fun of me. And all of my hard work losing weight will have gone to nothing. When my rational mind thinks about it, I cannot possibly have gotten huge in one week. Sure, it was five pounds. But all five pounds did not go straight to my stomach or thighs. I have to remember how each and every part of my body is fighting for nourishment. My hair (which is currently falling out and extremely thin) needs to get thicker and healthy again....

I got weighed today. And I gained. A LOT. In simple words, I was crushed. I could not stand to see that number on the screen in front of my face. I could not imagine that my weight could climb so high in on measly week. Of course, I felt horrible. The entire was full of struggles. ED filled my head with his running tape of how much of a failure I am. Of how fat I would soon become. That I would gain this much every week. You foolish girl. You stupid, stupid thing. Did you think you would come here and eat this much and not gain weight? You are becoming fat. You are almost there. Everyone will notice and tell you that you look healthier - what they really mean is that you look fat. Your clothes will get tighter, and then they will no longer fit. You filthy, rotten, useless girl. You failure. And he doesn't stop there. He continues to tell me that I do not deserve to live. He makes me feel so weak and small. He makes me hate myself and my body. So, in short, you can picture...

Tomorrow is the worst day of the week. Well, Mondays are never enjoyable. But, where I am in program, Mondays are ‘weigh’ days: the day inpatients must don hospital gowns and step onto the scale. If I could insert the scariest music possible right here, you should know that it would be playing. Getting weighed is never fun. The team expects a 1-2 kg weight gain per week. So, that’s about 2.2-4.4 pounds. YIKES! The problem with weigh days is that ED likes to show up – big time. If my weight goes up, he tortures me because then I will be fat and I will just keep gaining weight. ED will insist that I will no longer look thin and pretty, and that I will never again be able to eat normal food without continuing to gain. I will not fit into my clothes; I will once again be teased about being bigger than everyone else. In summary, ED will torment me, reminding me of how much work it was to lose weight in the first place. He will then mock me, calling me weak and fat and ug...

I cannot even begin to say how often I have heard this phrase in my week at treatment. The doctors and nurses constantly tell me to remember that even when I’m full, I still have to keep eating. To treat food as my medicine that I must take in order to get better. But, I wonder if they’ve ever thought about what they are telling me to do. They are basically trying to get me to think of food like a pill that helps cure an illness. Which, in some ways, I suppose is true. I’m underweight and my body is probably a lot weaker than it should be. So, it makes sense that eating food would make me stronger. It’s like when you have a headache – you take an Advil, expecting that it will cure the terrible pain. What makes this difficult for me is the fact that I’m scared of eating. So, I’m terrified of the ‘medicine’ that I am supposed to take. This is what makes it different than your typical medicine – no one is scared that taking an Advil is going to do something so terrible to them. ...

Today is Friday – the weekend is coming. This will be my official first week of treatment. Honestly, I thought that this would never come. It seems like it has been so much longer than just a few days! It has definitely been a tough week. Monday was hectic – blood tests, ECGs, interviews with the nurses and doctors, learning the schedule, etc. And let’s not get started with the meals. The food here is so much more than I am used to…actually, A LOT more. And you are expected to finish all of it – or else you get supplemented with a meal replacement drink. The bathrooms are locked at all times, and they are only opened half an hour before meals (unless there is an emergency. Then the staff stands outside of the bathroom while you go). There is no activity allowed. In fact, I was told to sit down on my bed when I was praying my prayers for the morning! We have many good groups that I find are helpful. Everyday, we all sit down together and share what we did the last night, inclu...

ED (notice I did not say ‘dear’ – you are NOT to be cherished), I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when you first entered into my life. All I can recall is that you came into my life when I was vulnerable…seeking attention and refuge from something that had hurt me so much. My close friends teased me, calling me fat and overweight. They commented on parts of my body, telling me that I desperately needed to lose weight. And so began the fall into your control. I wanted – ever so much – to be simply accepted. After realizing that I could achieve this by losing weight, I put my heart and soul into the task. Every moment of the day was put into figuring out how I would lose weight, avoid the next meal, eat the lowest-calorie option, etc. Night and day you tormented me with your harsh words, telling me that I was never good enough. That I needed to be thin in order to be happy, successful, and loved. But it was NEVER good enough for you. Five pounds meant that I could lose mor...

Yesterday was my first day in the inpatient eating disorders program. The first group I attended was the diabolical behavior therapy (DBT) group. Yesterday’s topic was learning how to identify, express, and tolerate our emotions. With ED comes the expression, “I feel fat”. But wait…is fat really a feeling? Is it an emotion like happiness or sadness? The truth is that when we say that we feel fat, we are actually using this phrase to express other emotions we are experiencing. In my case, ‘feeling fat’ means that I am physically very full. I am bloated. My stomach is loaded with food and I feel so disgusted at myself for having eaten all that food. Mentally, it means I am struggling because I know that I will gain weight. Emotionally, it means fear because I do not want to become larger and be made fun of for my weight and shape. It means feeling regret and guilt that I ate all that food; that I will be overweight once again. Perhaps this is why I become so frustrated and ...

I'm scheduled to return to the hospital tomorrow, to formally begin treatment for my eating disorder. I'm so scared, frightened, and nervous. What will it be like? Will I fit in there? Will the other girls like me? Will I be cooperative with the staff and doctors? Will I be able to finish all my food? Will I do well in therapy? It's a new start for me. I guess it's a good thing that I'll be starting treatment early. Studies have shown that the earlier the treatment, the better the outcomes. But something inside of me is crying and hurting. The pain of not being home anymore. The sorrow of not going to school with all of my friends. The loneliness that I will feel. I suppose that is what recovery is all about: going through tough moments before the good comes. But it's ever so difficult to keep your head held high, to keep working even when you feel like giving up. I am the type of person that demands perfection from myself - a trait that most people with ano...

Many people who are misinformed are fooled into thinking that anorexia is a choice. That people who have ED CHOOSE to have it, simply out of the desire to be thin or lose weight. It's simply not true. I mean, sure, usually ED begins with the desire to lose weight, but it soon spirals out of control. What began as a way to innocently shed a few pounds turns into a nearly unstoppable storm that continues to howl, night and day. Why would any human being choose such a thing? Why would one subject him or herself to a monster that clings to you, threatening to take away every source of happiness and peace? It's simple: you DO NOT CHOOSE IT. Anorexia chooses you. No one knows exactly what causes eating disorders, but it is known for sure that no one actually falls into the depths of the disease with knowledge of all the damage that it can do to you. I'm not exactly sure when ED began in my life. I can trace back to days when people made fun of me because of my weight, say...

"I wish I could have a little anorexia". I hear that phrase often. Before my ED developed, I was one of those people who said it. I mean, come on! People with anorexia are thin and happy, right? They are gorgeous, look like models, and they are thin and happy. They are successful, and they are thin and happy. (Did I mention that they are thin and happy?!) That is what the media tells us. That is what society tells us - that thin is beautiful. As if being thin will make you a happy and successful person. So, is it any wonder that young girls (and boys) grow up thinking that they must be thin?! Look at TV commercials. How many times do you see an average-sized person in them? Heck, even ads for no-fat products are endorsed by the tiniest people I've seen on TV. Or what about men? The actors are all muscular and bulky. What message is that sending to viewers? The truth is...THIN IS NOT IN. I used to think it was. I used to think that being skinny would change everyth...

I'm sitting down at my kitchen table, facing my biggest fear. My worst nightmare. The enemy. My chest tightens, it is becoming hard to breathe. My heart is racing - I can almost hear it beating against my chest. My head is pounding. I cannot do this. I cannot face this horrible, wretched thing. Someone, make it stop! Take it away! Free me from this misery! No, I'm not talking about a spider. Or some deadly bacteria. I'm talking about (can you guess?)...food. That's right. F-O-O-D. Yup. That's my fear. The only thing that makes me shiver, makes me want to  run away and hide. And for so long, that is exactly what I did. Having anorexia is not 'all about the food' - there are lots of other issues, depending on the victim. But, to a great extent, it IS about the food and the weight gain. I spent countless days, desperately trying to run away from any chance to eat. Of course, this sounds strange to many people. I mean, what happens when you get together with...

I know what you are all thinking: someone with anorexia posting a recipe?! Isn't there something a little wrong or strange here? Well, sure there is. I'm not exactly your biggest fan of eating (not just yet...but everyday sure gets easier!). But this is not your ordinary-everyday-take-out-the-stuff-and-cook recipe. This is the ultimate recipe for recovery, a list of ingredients and instructions that helped me along my journey with anorexia...and what continues to help me day by day. It's super simple, too. Even the worst cook could probably get this one down! INGREDIENTS -a cup of prayers -a tablespoon of hope -a pinch of determination -a sprinkle of love INSTRUCTIONS 1) Mix all ingredients together. Stir well. Expect resistance while you are preparing this dish. It is not easy to make. There will be bumps to overcome along the way. But keep going, keep stirring. Fight all challenges. If you want that yummy meal, you have to work to make it! 2) Eat up! Give you...

Going home was the best thing that could happen to me! I was so excited to finally leave the hospital. My most glorious moment was walking out of the room. You see, during my hospital stay, I was not allowed to get up and walk at all - except to and from the bathroom in my room (which was NOT even a walk...it was literally right in front of my bed). Because I was immobile, I was given a needle to prevent blood clots - everyday. But now, here I was, standing tall and proud. I remember feeling so happy that I could walk out of the room! When I first woke up at the end of May, my body was still long asleep. I tried to get up and walk, but my body was too weak. The physiotherapist was called in to help me 'learn to walk again'. I felt ashamed and horrified that I had to use a walker to begin walking. I was terrified that I would never be able to walk alone again. The second I got home, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy fill my heart. This was home - the place where I belonged...

I was put on dialysis for 24 hours a day for 10 days. My body was extremely swollen because of my kidney failure. I had - shockingly - 30 pounds of 'water' that my body was holding on to because my kidneys could not process it. The dialysis was supposed to get rid of this water, in hopes that my kidneys would restart. But, as the doctor said openly to my parents, things did not look so good. "She is the worst case we have ever seen. She is the youngest and most dangerous case out of all the ICU patients. That means she is the sickest one in the hospital," the doctor told us - on more than one occasion. And so I was asleep - under the power of sedatives - for the entire month of May. I would sometimes wake up, only to feel extremely dizzy. The whole world around me appeared to be nothing but darkness. My room always looked black to me. The dialysis, along with the antibiotics, made my body weaker and weaker. My body was fragile. My heart rate soared to about 140 ...

I woke up from a nap at 2 p.m., grasping my chest with my right hand. I could not breathe. I gasped, desperate to get any amount of air into my lungs. It was hopeless, useless. My lungs were bailing on me. My dad called the RACE (Rapid Assessment of Critical Events) team to come to assess me. Upon examination, it was determined that my intercostals and diaphragm (the muscles of breathing) were way too weak because of my being underweight. And so, I was unable to breathe properly. I was instantly given an oxygen mask. The next day, I still could not breathe, despite the oxygen mask. I also developed a harsh cough. The doctor discovered that I had caught pneumonia. He was hesitant to give me antibiotics because of my small size, but he realized that since my immune system was too weak, I could have very well died from the pneumonia. So, I was started on a potent antibiotic to battle the pneumonia. I thought that my life could not get any worse... Later that day, the doctor revealed...

I thought I could rule the world. Fool the doctors. Look stubborn in front of the hospital staff, not eat, and be kicked out of the hospital for noncompliance. I was dead wrong. I hardly ate the first two days in the hospital (I was still in the ER, waiting for a room). After two days, the nephrologist (kidney doctor) showed up in my room. "Your kidneys have shut down. They have shrunk to the size of a three year-old's kidneys. They aren't working properly. You need to eat and drink, if you do not want to die", he said. I smiled at him smugly. These words meant nothing to me. Absolutely nothing. It's not that I did not understand him. I did. But the thought of eating and drinking was too scary. Maybe I'll eat and drink some more, I thought. Just to keep myself living. Perhaps my kidneys will get better if I do. NO! Don't eat. Don't drink. You can't. You will get fat. Is that what you want? ALl your hard work, done with? To be fat, obese, wi...

I'm at home, typing up the latest of my assignments. My dad comes home early. I stop - why is he here so soon? He goes into the family room and speaks with my mother. I am called to their presence, where I am told the most horrific news of my life:  'You need to go to the hospital', my mom said. "You are too sick to stay here. You need help. We need you to get better. You are so sick and unhealthy. Please, get into the car. We are driving you to the emergency room". Ouch. My mind began spinning in circles. Here I was, in my home on a seemingly normal day, and being told that I had to get myself into the hospital. "NO!", I shouted. "I won't go. I can get better. I'll eat, I promise. Just give me a chance. Don't make me go. STOP!" But there was no point in trying. For months, my parents and sister had helplessly watched me fall into the depths of anorexia, losing more and more weight with each day. Skipping meals. Pretending tha...

This is the story of a girl's journey throughout an illness. A terrible illness that controls your entire life. Something so horrid that it, in fact, can end your life within days - even seconds. I'm talking about anorexia nervosa. The disease is powerful. Day by day with less and less food, the illness threatens to take your life away. And you may not even realize that you are dwindling away into nothingness. That's the cleverness of the eating disorder. But this is not meant to be a sadistic and depressing blog. It's really just my way of letting the world know about this vile thing called anorexia. Here you'll find stories of my journey with the illness, but you will also read about the positive steps I've taken on my way to recovery. I am in no way recovered just yet, but each day brings me one step closer to freedom. I pray that you will find something in this blog. Perhaps you know someone with an eating disorder - this may help you understand the challe...