I haven't been writing in this blog as much recently, because I've hit one of the bumps in the road. Behaviorally things are still exceptional in comparison to where I'm coming from, and while I've had slips - as I've previously noted is, for most people, pretty inevitable in recovery from an eating disorder - I continue to get back up as quickly as possible, and move on. That's been very important. I believe now that I am on the path to recovery, though that belief waxes and wanes. Recently, I've felt somewhat more hopeless than I have in the last month or two, which has been discouraging, but I've continued in my behaviors to do what I need to do while I seek and am gifted with things that help with hope and a conviction that I'm going to make it through this. That said, I've also come to recognize and accept that recovery is a loooongggg process. It's bizarre - sometimes I'll find myself having made enormous strides in a very short period of time, and sometimes, like now, it's slower than I (or the people who love me) would like. Of course, no one wanted this to happen in the first place, did they?
Anyway, I came to this blog tonight hoping to reassure others who struggle, particularly with Bulimia; I have suffered from all different types of eating disorders, but primarily Bulimia, and so most of what I can offer is in relation to this particular subtype of eating disorder.
If you've suffered from Bulimia, you'll likely resonate with the moment(s) I'm about to describe to you. The urge to binge, or the compulsion to eat whatever is in front of you more quickly than is healthy or helpful, to stuff something down without even really tasting it, or to drink wayyy too much coffee far too quickly, the compulsion to put a hell of a lot more salt or splenda or what-the-fuck-ever in your food/drink...etcetera, etcetera. I myself struggle very much with each of those things. Tonight, after the day was over at my program, I decided to hop on over to World Market to look around and pick up a few things. One of the things I wound up purchasing was Pumpkin Spice flavored Hot Chocolate. I was excited about it - I haven't allowed myself to have anything resembling hot chocolate in a very long time - and thought I could have it for the evening snack that is a part of my meal plan, before bed. It didn't occur to me at the time what a difficulty it was going to be to have the hot chocolate in the apartment.
There was a time that having any food in this apartment (I'm staying in an apartment that my program, Eating Recovery Center, owns) was an enormous trigger for me. I'm proud to say that I can now live in the apartment and keep some food around and not have it rob me of the ability to think about anything else - I've slowly adjusted, but there are still certain foods I do not bring into this apartment, because while it's important to push yourself out of your comfort zone, there's also such thing as being just plain stupid and pushing yourself too far too quickly. As far as meals go, I don't cook yet, because typically when you cook you buy foods that lead to leftovers; if I were to, say, want to make myself a sandwich, the rest of the loaf of bread would be there afterwards. I'm not quite there yet. While I've come a long way, I'm still early in and protective of my recovery. I also tend to steer clear of keeping very sweet foods around, which brings me to the hot chocolate.
I try to wait until I'm hungry to eat my snack. Sometimes I eat it very early, which is sometimes because I'm going to bed very early that night, and sometimes compulsive. Sometimes I don't get hungry at all and I'm tempted to skip it, and I've had slips in that way too, but it's important to follow your meal plan as best you can when you are in early recovery. Your dietitian has tailored it specifically to you, your body and its needs, and it will not "make you fat". Often times, in early recovery from an eating disorder, your body's hunger signals are all screwed up. You may think you are hungry when you are not, and you may not be able to feel hunger, or even know what hunger feels like. This is often the case for me at this point.
Back to the hot chocolate. From the time I arrived "home" to the apartment, my mind was racing, my pulse had quickened, and all I could think about was - you got it - the hot chocolate in the cabinet. Which led to thinking about the other foods that I have here, which led to thinking about binging. I sensed this anxiety, this almost manic state that I have learned from experience makes me more vulnerable to binging and purging early on and went straight to my journal while I pulled up a TED Talk that a former dietitian I love performed today, which I felt I benefited from greatly and thought might be able to help center me. I journaled while the talk loaded, and then I watched some of the talk, which did help to calm me and center me a bit, and then I wrote a card for a friend's birthday tomorrow.
I can't say this enough: It has been my experience that a) planning ahead so that you aren't predisposed to strong urges in the first place, and b) catching the compulsion to binge in the very early stages are extremely important and helpful.
I managed to wait until the time I generally like to have my snack around, and writing this entry has helped me to not gulp it all down more quickly than is "normal", or healthy.
I won't lie. I didn't much enjoy the hot chocolate: at this point, certain foods still cause a lot of anxiety for me, and I still struggle with being dissociated from the experience of eating. A lot of the time, if not most of the time, I still find myself at the end of a meal or a snack and realize I hardly tasted it. I believe this is very normal. Binging is for a lot of people similar in some ways to being unconscious. In my experience, binging was a form of dissociation. It was like I'd knocked myself out for a few hours at the end of an episode - eat the food, very quickly, for my timed 30 minutes, and run to the bathroom, get it all up, go back to the food, do it again, get it up again, back to the food...and so on, and so on. It makes me sad to think about it, because it's sad. My discovery that food could do this - provide me with a sense of numbness - happened when I was very young. I don't remember the exact moment, and I'm pretty certain it was unconscious. But it clearly happened, and led to a very dangerous illness that is painstakingly difficult to recover from.
Because I want for a moment to speak directly to the person who is lost in the struggle with Bulimia - the person who has been labeled "Chronic" and feels hopeless, that their predicament is unresolvable - to the person who, like me, has many times considered suicide as a way to end this nightmare - I'm going to be very honest. I believe that I am in recovery. My recovery is not perfect, nor am I naïve enough to assume it would be - anymore. For a long time, I believed that I needed to stop all behaviors at once, and that if I had a lapse, it meant I had failed. It meant I could not recover. It was evidence that I was once again failing...and then I'd give up. I do not use lapses as an excuse to relapse fully any longer, nor do I allow them to go on once I have "woken up" from the slip. Do I still feel hopeless sometimes? Absolutely. Lately it's been more consistent hopelessness, which has been discouraging, but I have learned slowly that no matter what - no matter WHAT - it is my right and my duty to get back up. Even if I feel jaded and disillusioned, even if it feels like recovery is going to take twenty years. Now, I hope to hell it doesn't take twenty years, but I've come to accept that full recovery might take years for me. And how would I rather spend twenty years - recovering from an eating disorder while living life as fully as possible, or running in circles and getting nowhere, blinded by misery and hopelessness, isolated and desperate? I will not spend another twenty years with this eating disorder. I don't really believe I'd make it another twenty years. Eating Disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness, and while many of us who have been labeled "Chronic" have put our bodies through an absurd amount, and it is miraculous that we have survived, they can kill very quickly.
There have been times when I thought I was not lucky to have survived, but cursed. I wanted so, so badly for this pain to end, and I resented that I was still alive. Just my luck.
Today, I sometimes still feel this way, because of both the eating disorder and the Bipolar disorder, usually the depression. I don't want to lie and say that everything is perfect because I don't want the reader to expect that their path won't be rocky, so despite my anxieties that some of my loved ones will read this and feel disappointed in me, because I'm not recovering fast enough, I'm going to be to the point and honest. I still use a lot of behaviors. I still use too much artificial sweetener (which feels insulting, but I still do it - there will come a day that I don't, purely as a testament that I do not have to). I still drink a lot of diet soda. I still sometimes eat a meal far too quickly, or compulsively drink coffee in the morning before I go in for the day of treatment. I still "body check" - which means looking at your body in the mirror or another reflective surface - and hate it, sometimes. I still count calories a lot of the time.
I stop myself from doing these things a lot of the time, and I do them much less than I used to, and I am building and utilizing my awareness of when I am doing or want to do these things - but I still do them. I'm not "healed" or recovered or anywhere near it, and I won't claim to be. But I am shocked by how much progress I have made. I know it might not sound like it to you, when I name all of these residual behaviors, but eating disorders are insidious, mine was severe, and they are composed of millions of little behaviors, not just the obvious ones. I suspect that they often take a very long time to fully recover from. But we can't compare our journeys - some people will recover faster than others, and that's okay. We all just have to do the best we can, in this moment, today. I don't love the quote "Tomorrow is a new day" much - a) because it's bland and b) because I think it's important to get up right after you slip, that same day if possible. If you have a slip that lasts a few days, get up whenever you can. Get up however you can. I've learned that the longer you allow it to go on, the harder it is to get up, and if you have an eating disorder and have tried to recover you know how quickly it can take over again.
I guess I'll probably not sound as optimistic as you might expect sometimes, but I want to be realistic and honest. I do believe in recovery, and I believe in hope. I also think it's instrumental to be realistic with yourself.
That's it for today.
Sunday, April 19, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Our fucked up ideals
Another journal entry I'd like to share. This speaks to our society's fucked up ideals and judgments, and touches on one of the major faults I have come to notice in the way that centers that treat eating disorders are set up.
"I finally vented to someone (a counselor named Marisa) about the way ERC is so much more targeted to the treatment of undereating than the struggle of overeating and/or binging. This center and frankly most centers are so focused on making certain that the patients are eating enough that the fact that for some, saying "I am not hungry" is a victory goes unnoticed and unacknowledged. Because of this attitude even amongst patients it's generally more acceptable or "cooler" to struggle with Anorexia or undereating, so even those whose primary or only struggle is eating when not hungry, overeating and/or binging will often pretend their struggles are what they aren't; thus their treatment is ultimately a waste of time, ineffective, as they never address the true issue, and they may even leave worse off than when they arrived. I know for me it's now hard to NOT eat at specific times - even if I'm not at all hungry. That is counterproductive...that's making the situation worse than it was to begin with. I think I'm going to bring this up in Community group today. People here are more ashamed of overeating and often even proud of restricting/starving, and THEY'RE ALL EATING DISORDERS. Disorders. Ideally we'd never see one as somehow "better" than another. We are all here to have a go at/attempt recovery. Ideally, there wouldn't be any judgment around any of it, let alone pride - it's sad and fucked up that anyone would be proud of any self harming behavior. Disordered behavior in any form serves a purpose of some sort and at times one of the functions, for some, is to get attention, to "be seen", and that is very often judged as well, which is also screwed up. If that weren't so judged the people who use their behavior to serve that purpose would be less likely to hide that truth, that that is one of the major functions or a need being met, and they'd be able to address it, and more likely to get well sooner.
And the pride that so often accompanies certain eating disordered behavior or a starved body speaks to a lot of different types of dysfunction, including but not limited to how screwy our society as well as what is considered attractive is.
Are we all not human beings? We are born a certain way and that's it; we all have bodily functions and voices and eyes and hands if we're lucky, we all age, we all develop personalities and values and belief systems...we all have emotions and desires and intentions that serve functions. All of us have needs and those needs are constructed based on what we are taught and learn is right or what we believe or the way we're born and come into the world to begin with. How did we come to construct these completely bizarre, pointless and even harmful ideals? Who decided one day what was "ugly"? What was shameful? Random examples, scars and stretch marks. Most of us have them. What about them makes them so unacceptable or undesirable? Were we bored one day - did we develop ideals to have rules to follow, to give us ways to spend our time? Because I can think of a lot of ways to spend our time that would be a hell of a lot more meaningful, graceful, kind, loving, and productive. What the hell has happened in our society?"
That's all for today.
Monday, March 23, 2015
Bulimia.
This is just a brief entry, but I was thinking about a young woman who died from Bulimia. Her name was Melissa Avrin, and after she had died her mother, Judy, found the following in her journal:
"Someday...
I'll eat breakfast.
I'll keep a job for more than three weeks.
I'll have a boyfriend for more than 10 days.
I'll love someone.
I'll travel wherever I want.
I'll make my family proud.
I'll make a movie that will change lives."
And her mother made a documentary about Melissa.
I'm already emotional this morning, and reading that has me tearful. I drove a couple of hours to go see it went it came out, and I remember being so grateful that someone had, at last, raised awareness of Bulimia specifically. As someone who has suffered primarily from Bulimia, it means a lot to me. All eating disorders are painful, and serious, devastating and potentially deadly. But for some reason many people don't see Bulimia as equivalent to Anorexia in its level of seriousness...maybe because a lot of people with Bulimia aren't underweight. Many people who suffer from Anorexia also binge and purge (that is called "Anorexia binge/purge subtype, which I suffered from for a stage of my disorder as well - however, for the majority of my disorder, you could not see it by my body size), but many people who suffer from Bulimia are of average or higher than average body weights.
I was trying to write about what it's like in my journal to deal with Bulimia specifically. And I couldn't make myself. It was too much of a pain in the ass, and would take a tremendous amount of time and effort to explain all of the little but horrible ways it affected me, as well as the bigger things...I've been having a rough morning, and I just don't have the energy in this moment. But I promise to come back to this...I will contribute to the awareness of this particular eating disorder. I promise that to myself.
As for this morning, it's getting harder and harder to stay in treatment for such a long time. I've actually had longer stays at other places, and every time it begins to irritate me or get hard, I try to tell myself how privileged I am to have the resources to access care for as long as I need when the vast majority of patients do not. When I see people who have been here for two, maybe three months leaving, or people I feel like I'm in a better space than getting a discharge date, I try to tell myself I'm lucky. But there are times I just have to let myself be upset about it. I am so privileged in so many ways in my life, but no one would want to be away from home for ten months, never seeing their family or friends or cat, talking about difficult shit for eleven, twelve hours every single day, so controlled...it's just not an easy thing. And I really feel like I'm ready to step down, and if people insist that I still need to be in a program, I wish they'd at least let me do the one in my area at home, while living at home. I'll be living with my parents when I return to North Carolina; I've already given up my apartment, knowing that living alone in my one bedroom directly after such a long stay in treatment was a bad idea. My dad was the one that ended up helping me to see sense about that one.
Anyway, I'm in a super irritable mood this morning. It's happened a few times recently, and usually I feel more accepting of my situation by the time the afternoon rolls around. Oy vey...I'm just going to get through this day. And it's going to be alright, even though it isn't fun.
That's all for now. Later, guys.
Sunday, March 22, 2015
The Miracle of the Ability to Change.
The following is an email to a prior "sponsor" of mine; a "sponsor" in a 12 step program is a person who mentors another person and helps them in their recovery, and to "work the steps" with them. You tell them everything; you call them when you need someone, and they come to know you inside and out. They come to mean a lot to you. Anyway, this has happened with more than one person in my life, but this person had to set a boundary with me around my eating disorder in order to protect themselves; they couldn't continue to watch me hurting/killing myself, and they needed to have some space from me until I was in recovery. So over the last few years, I haven't really had her in my life anymore. I still love and miss her like crazy, and the other day I decided to send her an email update on how I'm doing; I wanted her to know how much things are changing, that I really think it's genuine this time. I've removed her name from the email in order to respect her anonymity.
______,
It's been such a pleasure and a gift to see your smile in the photos you've posted on Facebook; I love seeing you happy. I so hope things are going well, and that you're generally happy in your life. I love you more than words can do justice...I always will.
I have a couple of things I'd like to say to you, and I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable; I just miss you. I so respect your need for space. I get that if you'll have me in your life again someday, it'll need to be after I have sustained solid recovery for an extended period of time. For all I know you've moved on with your life, and we may not be close again. I will respect whatever you want and need, and whatever supports your happiness. But I do miss you tremendously.
I want you to know how well I'm doing...regardless of how it affects our relationship, I'm proud to tell you and I also think it'll make you smile...it shocks me, I'm in awe at my own progress. I'm actually proud of myself. I had given up, not long ago, for quite some time.Things are changing - things HAVE changed, so, so much over these last ten months here at Eating Recovery Center. I've been out in Denver at ERC for ten months now and it took about eight and a half for me to begin to be able to see and feel the changes in myself, but they are dramatic.
Today, I respect myself. The biggest change - one that makes me cry when I think about it - is that I can honestly say that I want to be alive today...and I am happy to be alive. The other biggest: I truly have hope today. I'm not overly confident, and for all I know this could just be yet smother treatment stay...but I have a suspicion that it isn't. I have fear, too...but it's amazing to feel hopeful; _____, today I actually want to DO things with my future, AND I regularly do "normal" things I couldn't make myself do for years, because I was so depressed. I used to pray for death. Today, I want to go to Africa and volunteer; I actually believe there's a chance that I'll get my GED, and go to college. I look on University websites for fun, the ones I'm interested in, and I'm not kidding around with my goals - Mills, UC Berkeley...I want to sing at Open Mic nights. I sing in the shower, and when I'm walking back to the apartment from the bus stop (I'm in Partial now, so I'm still here eleven hours a day but stay in one of their apartments, with some roommates). I've started keeping an art journal again - that only started up again in the last week and a half. For ten months I refused to do any kind of artwork or to attend our art therapy group. I want to relearn how to play the piano, and I want to learn to play the saxophone. I actually call my friends, when I had grown so used to isolation that calling people still scares me. But sometimes I can make myself do it anyway, and I answer their calls. I actually started doing LAUNDRY (that's still a newer thing) and I take care of my hygiene on a regular basis, with showering and brushing my teeth...I want to go to school and get my Masters in Psych, and specialize in chronic cases of depression, eating disorders and addiction (wonder where I got those ideas, eh?). I want to work with people who feel utterly hopeless. You know that I'm not the only one in my life who had come to believe I wouldn't get better. My parents, my mother in particular, still don't seem to have a whole lot of faith that I'll be able to sustain my recovery post treatment. But holy shit, I have faith that I really might.
I'm at a much higher weight than I'd like to be; my metabolism is kind of shot from everything it's been through. But my dietician says it'll normalize over time, especially when I discharge from here and do things like ride my bike and exercise (in a moderate and healthy way,
obviously). That I am able to work with the horrible thoughts I have every day about my body, and take a breath and tell myself that I am a valuable human being no matter my size, is amazing. When a thought comes up, I think that I'm aware of where indulging those thoughts gets me, and it's pathetic - it is not worth it, it's ridiculous how not worth it it is - and that I am not interested in becoming a statistic. The other morning I woke up before my alarm. I wake up really early to have some time to myself before program anyway, 5:45 on the dot daily, so I woke up at 5:00 yesterday, ha...but I was happy about it, because it was raining. I made coffee and sat on the balcony with my coffee and my cigarette, and I listened to and watched the rain, and I noticed the stars, and the noticed that I have the mental and emotional space TO notice something like the stars again. And I felt grateful, and happy. I cannot remember the last time I felt confident in saying I truly felt "happy". I could say "grateful", or another positive, but I never trusted that I could really be experiencing "happiness". And it had been a long time. I feel empowered...and proud to be who I am. I really like the person that I am, today. I'm a really good person. I can be funny. I'm deeply compassionate. In a lot of ways, I'm a rare type of person.
I'm becoming an adult - every morning now, I listen to and read articles on NPR :-P...
I didn't want to come to ERC, but had nowhere else to go. I was so alone...but so hopeless. I had no space in my brain that believed in the least that I could recover. My eventual death from the disorder, or, more likely I thought, from suicide, was fact. Today I found a little notecard my first therapist (I started at the "Evergreen" location, was there until six weeks ago - hard to say goodbye to my therapist there, but they don't have step down levels of care there so now I'm at "Pine" - yes, they're all tree names)...anyway, her name is Kelsey, and I love her deeply. She would write little notecards for me to carry around. On one side of this one, it says: "I will not get better". I don't think we had a single session where I didn't say that to her. On the other side of this notecard, it says: "Can I give myself some space from this thought?" Honestly, though, I sent Kelsey an email today telling her that I feel hope, and I know she'll be shocked, and ,happy and proud. Not a single session where we didn't spend half of it talking about how hopeless I felt, and where I didn't have to promise not to hurt myself. Because all I wanted was for the pain to end. I did not believe that it would. I stayed alive solely for my mother and my father, because I love them beyond belief, and I didn't want to break their hearts. Today, I'm alive for me. For them, too, and all of the people I love, but...for me, too.
In eating disorder treatment and recovery, specialists/the professionals insist that slips are a part of the process. It's a little different from drug addiction, in that you can't just stop using the substance; you have to eat, multiple times daily. I won't lie to you because I no longer lie, I have had some slips some nights. But I pick myself right back up the next morning, and I no longer think that a slip means a full on relapse, nor do I use a slip as permission for a full blown relapse. For that matter, I am completely uninterested in relapsing. What an unbelievably miserable existence...my eyes have opened so much and I recognize my privilege, how lucky I am in so many ways, but I no longer feel guilty or angry with myself for suffering from a mental illness. I have compassion for myself, and patience. No bullshit, don't get me wrong. For a long time I used my illness to get attention. I was proud of being so sick. But somewhere in the last few years, that stopped. I was just miserable, legitimately, and all I wanted was to be well but I just didn't believe I could be. It was terrible.
I wanted to tell you all of these things...because I love you, because I know you'll be proud, and in some ways it's like showing off success to a previous teacher, haha :)...you were my sponsor. _____, I am finally getting it, or at least I suspect so. Isn't that incredible? I know this email is long as hell. Hope you didn't mind too much.
I love you more than I'll ever, ever be able to say. More than you'll ever be able to understand. I miss you. When you "liked" my status on Facebook today, I cried, because I was so happy and grateful you felt comfortable enough to have interacted with me in some way. I just adore you. I'm so proud of the human that you are...I know you have your own story, that your life might have gone so differently. I'm so grateful, so happy that it didn't. I'm blessed to have met you.
Love you always, and thank you for reading this thing. I hope someday we go out to lunch or coffee and laugh and cry and smile together.
Always loving you,
Sofia
It really is amazing to notice all of these differences in myself. I'm self conscious about sharing so much in this blog because I don't want to sound like I'm self absorbed, or like I'm "showing off", but I have met a lot of people along the way throughout all of these treatment stays and those who know me will know what a difference this is; I'm hoping they find some hope in that. I'm hoping to provide hope for those of who you feel hopeless today; whether it's been two months or twenty years, there is always, always hope. When I used to hear that, I thought it was bullshit. But it isn't...please hold on, for another minute, another hour, another day. Hold on. Don't give up. Don't let yourself become a statistic.
I wrote an entry about one of my closest friends who did pass away from her eating disorder; Chrissie Steljes. I was looking through her Facebook photos today, thinking about her, and these two struck me:
[Side note: Since Chrissie's death, I've been determined to share her story. I believe it is my responsibility as someone who loved her to do so; her life was valuable, her life matters, even still - she was a remarkable, beautiful young woman, and she changed my life. I know that she would want to help as many people as possible, even though she's no longer here. I will always love her. I am blessed to know and love her family, and to have their support. To her family: Thank you for your love, your support, and your faith in me. I love you very much. Chrissie's life will not go unnoticed...she continues to change lives, and in that way, she will always be with us. Rest in peace, Chrissie.]
Today was up and down, but overall very successful in moving forward in my recovery. On Sundays, we don't go in until much later; most days we have to be at the van (they come and pick us up from the apartments we stay in, once we're at the Partial level of care) by 6:45 am, but on Sundays they pick us up at 9:15 am. So we have breakfast on our own. I was nervous about today last night; I knew I'd be up before my roommates, as I tend to wake up earlier than them, and I thought that as I'd gone grocery shopping the night before and had some (not a ton, but some) food around that I might be tempted to binge and purge. Before I turned out the light last night I wrote in my journal and used the coping skill of "Coping Ahead"; planning ahead. I've learned in this process that it's much more effective for me to plan ahead of time, and do my best to keep my mood level by doing things that keep me feeling more stable overall than it is to try to deal with an intense urge to use a behavior in the moment. I'm not saying I don't have urges still or that planning ahead of time will eliminate all urges, because I definitely do still have them, and they're very uncomfortable and hard to deal with, but coping ahead as much as is possible is probably the best plan and does really help to decrease the regularity of those impulses. Impulsivity is the most difficult thing I'm dealing with at the moment; when I feel impulsive, or act on impulse, there's very little space between the initial urge to do the behavior and the actual behavior. As another side note, something I find helpful lately when I feel like binging and purging is getting myself into the shower. It sort of removes me from the environment and gives me time to catch up with myself, and to think. I'm also wet by that point so if I want to go and do the behavior it takes more time to get myself into a position where I can, so I'm more likely to think it through.
I ended up doing very, very well this morning; I made myself something I really enjoyed, and I didn't end up have any urges at all. I've also noticed that by eating foods I truly enjoy and going into the preparation of my meals and/or snacks as mindfully as possible, I'm much less likely to want to overeat or binge - because I'm actually satisfied.
It's definitely been a ride. I'm getting tired and want to read a bit before bed, so I'm going to go, but I'll write again. Thank you so much for reading, and if you are suffering as well, please give yourself some time. Be patient with yourself, and try to be compassionate and kind to yourself. Don't shut yourself off from the world; I know that it was love, and my connections with others that I loved, that kept me going when I didn't think I could or had no other reason to. I know that I often thought that even if I DID recover someday it wasn't worth experiencing the pain for so much longer while I waited, that I should end my life to end the pain. I do not think that way anymore. I am so grateful that I didn't kill myself, and that I held on to get to this point. There's a long way to go for me, but I've come very far, and the little things - as cheesy as this sounds - are worth it to me...but more than even the things themselves (like the sound of the rain, or watching the sun rise, or the moon and the stars...) - more than even that, it's being able to experience and enjoy them, knowing that I was so desperate for so long and did not believe that I could. The miracle of the ability to change. It feels amazing.
Give yourself a chance. Goodnight.
______,
It's been such a pleasure and a gift to see your smile in the photos you've posted on Facebook; I love seeing you happy. I so hope things are going well, and that you're generally happy in your life. I love you more than words can do justice...I always will.
I have a couple of things I'd like to say to you, and I hope it doesn't make you uncomfortable; I just miss you. I so respect your need for space. I get that if you'll have me in your life again someday, it'll need to be after I have sustained solid recovery for an extended period of time. For all I know you've moved on with your life, and we may not be close again. I will respect whatever you want and need, and whatever supports your happiness. But I do miss you tremendously.
I want you to know how well I'm doing...regardless of how it affects our relationship, I'm proud to tell you and I also think it'll make you smile...it shocks me, I'm in awe at my own progress. I'm actually proud of myself. I had given up, not long ago, for quite some time.Things are changing - things HAVE changed, so, so much over these last ten months here at Eating Recovery Center. I've been out in Denver at ERC for ten months now and it took about eight and a half for me to begin to be able to see and feel the changes in myself, but they are dramatic.
Today, I respect myself. The biggest change - one that makes me cry when I think about it - is that I can honestly say that I want to be alive today...and I am happy to be alive. The other biggest: I truly have hope today. I'm not overly confident, and for all I know this could just be yet smother treatment stay...but I have a suspicion that it isn't. I have fear, too...but it's amazing to feel hopeful; _____, today I actually want to DO things with my future, AND I regularly do "normal" things I couldn't make myself do for years, because I was so depressed. I used to pray for death. Today, I want to go to Africa and volunteer; I actually believe there's a chance that I'll get my GED, and go to college. I look on University websites for fun, the ones I'm interested in, and I'm not kidding around with my goals - Mills, UC Berkeley...I want to sing at Open Mic nights. I sing in the shower, and when I'm walking back to the apartment from the bus stop (I'm in Partial now, so I'm still here eleven hours a day but stay in one of their apartments, with some roommates). I've started keeping an art journal again - that only started up again in the last week and a half. For ten months I refused to do any kind of artwork or to attend our art therapy group. I want to relearn how to play the piano, and I want to learn to play the saxophone. I actually call my friends, when I had grown so used to isolation that calling people still scares me. But sometimes I can make myself do it anyway, and I answer their calls. I actually started doing LAUNDRY (that's still a newer thing) and I take care of my hygiene on a regular basis, with showering and brushing my teeth...I want to go to school and get my Masters in Psych, and specialize in chronic cases of depression, eating disorders and addiction (wonder where I got those ideas, eh?). I want to work with people who feel utterly hopeless. You know that I'm not the only one in my life who had come to believe I wouldn't get better. My parents, my mother in particular, still don't seem to have a whole lot of faith that I'll be able to sustain my recovery post treatment. But holy shit, I have faith that I really might.
I'm at a much higher weight than I'd like to be; my metabolism is kind of shot from everything it's been through. But my dietician says it'll normalize over time, especially when I discharge from here and do things like ride my bike and exercise (in a moderate and healthy way,
obviously). That I am able to work with the horrible thoughts I have every day about my body, and take a breath and tell myself that I am a valuable human being no matter my size, is amazing. When a thought comes up, I think that I'm aware of where indulging those thoughts gets me, and it's pathetic - it is not worth it, it's ridiculous how not worth it it is - and that I am not interested in becoming a statistic. The other morning I woke up before my alarm. I wake up really early to have some time to myself before program anyway, 5:45 on the dot daily, so I woke up at 5:00 yesterday, ha...but I was happy about it, because it was raining. I made coffee and sat on the balcony with my coffee and my cigarette, and I listened to and watched the rain, and I noticed the stars, and the noticed that I have the mental and emotional space TO notice something like the stars again. And I felt grateful, and happy. I cannot remember the last time I felt confident in saying I truly felt "happy". I could say "grateful", or another positive, but I never trusted that I could really be experiencing "happiness". And it had been a long time. I feel empowered...and proud to be who I am. I really like the person that I am, today. I'm a really good person. I can be funny. I'm deeply compassionate. In a lot of ways, I'm a rare type of person.
I'm becoming an adult - every morning now, I listen to and read articles on NPR :-P...
I didn't want to come to ERC, but had nowhere else to go. I was so alone...but so hopeless. I had no space in my brain that believed in the least that I could recover. My eventual death from the disorder, or, more likely I thought, from suicide, was fact. Today I found a little notecard my first therapist (I started at the "Evergreen" location, was there until six weeks ago - hard to say goodbye to my therapist there, but they don't have step down levels of care there so now I'm at "Pine" - yes, they're all tree names)...anyway, her name is Kelsey, and I love her deeply. She would write little notecards for me to carry around. On one side of this one, it says: "I will not get better". I don't think we had a single session where I didn't say that to her. On the other side of this notecard, it says: "Can I give myself some space from this thought?" Honestly, though, I sent Kelsey an email today telling her that I feel hope, and I know she'll be shocked, and ,happy and proud. Not a single session where we didn't spend half of it talking about how hopeless I felt, and where I didn't have to promise not to hurt myself. Because all I wanted was for the pain to end. I did not believe that it would. I stayed alive solely for my mother and my father, because I love them beyond belief, and I didn't want to break their hearts. Today, I'm alive for me. For them, too, and all of the people I love, but...for me, too.
In eating disorder treatment and recovery, specialists/the professionals insist that slips are a part of the process. It's a little different from drug addiction, in that you can't just stop using the substance; you have to eat, multiple times daily. I won't lie to you because I no longer lie, I have had some slips some nights. But I pick myself right back up the next morning, and I no longer think that a slip means a full on relapse, nor do I use a slip as permission for a full blown relapse. For that matter, I am completely uninterested in relapsing. What an unbelievably miserable existence...my eyes have opened so much and I recognize my privilege, how lucky I am in so many ways, but I no longer feel guilty or angry with myself for suffering from a mental illness. I have compassion for myself, and patience. No bullshit, don't get me wrong. For a long time I used my illness to get attention. I was proud of being so sick. But somewhere in the last few years, that stopped. I was just miserable, legitimately, and all I wanted was to be well but I just didn't believe I could be. It was terrible.
I wanted to tell you all of these things...because I love you, because I know you'll be proud, and in some ways it's like showing off success to a previous teacher, haha :)...you were my sponsor. _____, I am finally getting it, or at least I suspect so. Isn't that incredible? I know this email is long as hell. Hope you didn't mind too much.
I love you more than I'll ever, ever be able to say. More than you'll ever be able to understand. I miss you. When you "liked" my status on Facebook today, I cried, because I was so happy and grateful you felt comfortable enough to have interacted with me in some way. I just adore you. I'm so proud of the human that you are...I know you have your own story, that your life might have gone so differently. I'm so grateful, so happy that it didn't. I'm blessed to have met you.
Love you always, and thank you for reading this thing. I hope someday we go out to lunch or coffee and laugh and cry and smile together.
Always loving you,
Sofia
It really is amazing to notice all of these differences in myself. I'm self conscious about sharing so much in this blog because I don't want to sound like I'm self absorbed, or like I'm "showing off", but I have met a lot of people along the way throughout all of these treatment stays and those who know me will know what a difference this is; I'm hoping they find some hope in that. I'm hoping to provide hope for those of who you feel hopeless today; whether it's been two months or twenty years, there is always, always hope. When I used to hear that, I thought it was bullshit. But it isn't...please hold on, for another minute, another hour, another day. Hold on. Don't give up. Don't let yourself become a statistic.
I wrote an entry about one of my closest friends who did pass away from her eating disorder; Chrissie Steljes. I was looking through her Facebook photos today, thinking about her, and these two struck me:
[Side note: Since Chrissie's death, I've been determined to share her story. I believe it is my responsibility as someone who loved her to do so; her life was valuable, her life matters, even still - she was a remarkable, beautiful young woman, and she changed my life. I know that she would want to help as many people as possible, even though she's no longer here. I will always love her. I am blessed to know and love her family, and to have their support. To her family: Thank you for your love, your support, and your faith in me. I love you very much. Chrissie's life will not go unnoticed...she continues to change lives, and in that way, she will always be with us. Rest in peace, Chrissie.]
Today was up and down, but overall very successful in moving forward in my recovery. On Sundays, we don't go in until much later; most days we have to be at the van (they come and pick us up from the apartments we stay in, once we're at the Partial level of care) by 6:45 am, but on Sundays they pick us up at 9:15 am. So we have breakfast on our own. I was nervous about today last night; I knew I'd be up before my roommates, as I tend to wake up earlier than them, and I thought that as I'd gone grocery shopping the night before and had some (not a ton, but some) food around that I might be tempted to binge and purge. Before I turned out the light last night I wrote in my journal and used the coping skill of "Coping Ahead"; planning ahead. I've learned in this process that it's much more effective for me to plan ahead of time, and do my best to keep my mood level by doing things that keep me feeling more stable overall than it is to try to deal with an intense urge to use a behavior in the moment. I'm not saying I don't have urges still or that planning ahead of time will eliminate all urges, because I definitely do still have them, and they're very uncomfortable and hard to deal with, but coping ahead as much as is possible is probably the best plan and does really help to decrease the regularity of those impulses. Impulsivity is the most difficult thing I'm dealing with at the moment; when I feel impulsive, or act on impulse, there's very little space between the initial urge to do the behavior and the actual behavior. As another side note, something I find helpful lately when I feel like binging and purging is getting myself into the shower. It sort of removes me from the environment and gives me time to catch up with myself, and to think. I'm also wet by that point so if I want to go and do the behavior it takes more time to get myself into a position where I can, so I'm more likely to think it through.
I ended up doing very, very well this morning; I made myself something I really enjoyed, and I didn't end up have any urges at all. I've also noticed that by eating foods I truly enjoy and going into the preparation of my meals and/or snacks as mindfully as possible, I'm much less likely to want to overeat or binge - because I'm actually satisfied.
It's definitely been a ride. I'm getting tired and want to read a bit before bed, so I'm going to go, but I'll write again. Thank you so much for reading, and if you are suffering as well, please give yourself some time. Be patient with yourself, and try to be compassionate and kind to yourself. Don't shut yourself off from the world; I know that it was love, and my connections with others that I loved, that kept me going when I didn't think I could or had no other reason to. I know that I often thought that even if I DID recover someday it wasn't worth experiencing the pain for so much longer while I waited, that I should end my life to end the pain. I do not think that way anymore. I am so grateful that I didn't kill myself, and that I held on to get to this point. There's a long way to go for me, but I've come very far, and the little things - as cheesy as this sounds - are worth it to me...but more than even the things themselves (like the sound of the rain, or watching the sun rise, or the moon and the stars...) - more than even that, it's being able to experience and enjoy them, knowing that I was so desperate for so long and did not believe that I could. The miracle of the ability to change. It feels amazing.
Give yourself a chance. Goodnight.
Friday, March 20, 2015
Something feels different this time.
Hi, everyone -
It's been a long while since I've updated this blog; a lot has happened since, but here I am - still here, still alive in the world. I have a lot to tell you, but I'm going to make the focus of this entry the journal entry I want to share with you, and I'll come back tomorrow and the next day and fill you in on the rest.
Those of you who know me know that I have suffered with this illness - the eating disorder, both Anorexia and Bulimia, as well as the Depression - chronically. It has been chronic, it has been severe, and the prognosis was not good. I am not the only person who had come to believe that I could not get better; I expected death, by the eating disorder or, more likely I thought, suicide.
I want to get to bed soon-ish because I am currently in treatment at the Partial level of care (you go during the day but sleep somewhere else) and have to wake up freakishly early to get there on time, but basically, the purpose of this particular blog entry is this: I want people to know that recovery is possible, even when you've given up on yourself. Even for the "Chronic", the hopeless. No matter how long you've been suffering and/or how bad it's been, something can shift, and it can happen when you least expect it. This entry may be missing some things, as I'm in a hurry, but I promise not to ditch the blog again; I want to share what I'm doing with others, particularly those who feel desperately hopeless, and I'll come back and fill you all in. So here's the entry I wrote in my personal journal just over an hour ago:
"Holy hell, I just spent the last three hours actually with other people, talking and engaging...with one of my roommates, M____, and another girl in Program, M____, who came over. SO out of character for me: every day I come back to the apartment, shut my door, and watch Netflix until I can fall asleep. I have grown to be afraid of actually interacting with others, and I never told anyone that I'm well aware that this 'routine' is isolation and based out of fear and anxiety, because I didn't want to have to change. But tonight M____ and I were walking back to the apartment together from where the Van drops us off, and we were talking, and it was fun...so I had a cigarette with her on our balcony. And we grew more and more honest and vulnerable with one another, and I grew progressively more and more comfortable, so I stayed. I became internally anxious when she told me M____ was coming over; I didn't know her well. But I decided to give her a chance. I told them I'd have to go call my parents and shower soon because I wanted an 'out' - but I stayed, and I wound up staying for hours, until it was getting late (considering how early I wake up) and I had to tear myself away to go actually shower. Generally I'd immediately watch Netflix after a shower (and it should be noted that my showering on a regular basis is not only major progress but incredibly recent), but I thought it would be good for me to journal. I'll probably watch a little of my show or read before bed, but tonight I'm choosing to veer away from my rigidity and routine - and to let that be okay.
My progress amazes me. It's incredible. It took ten months in treatment for it to become noticeable, measurable progress, but lately it's been one miracle after another - obvious things, and so fast. I have never done my laundry on a regular basis. I have gone months without doing laundry. I became so used to not doing it that I became afraid, in a weird way, to do it - I'd occasionally have thoughts about it, but not doing it was so much easier, safer, and more normal to me. I have done my laundry not once but twice in the last week, and I've come to discover that it just isn't that big of a deal. Not only does it take VERY little time, but doing it helps me to feel empowered, proud, and more confident that my recovery may actually last this time. This time may actually be different. For most people on this planet, doing their laundry is not groundbreaking: but I have lived with myself for over 25 years now, and I know what a big deal it is for me. It IS groundbreaking, for me, and it's a sign that something is honestly changing. For months now I've been trying every day to get myself to do it, but each time I'd tell myself: "Come on now...you know you're never actually going to."
And so I never did.
Today, I do my laundry. And that makes me brave.
Tonight I looked at my heavy body in the mirror, naked, after the shower; and I told myself that I was beautiful. What I am doing right now, and the ways in which I am changing, is a miracle.
I don't often go into the details with people about the severity of the behaviors I used or of the medical complications I suffered as a result because I don't want to 'trigger' anyone (people with eating disorders are often triggered by such things when in their illness), and because today I am not proud. But that I am alive is mindblowing. My body has suffered from sixteen YEARS of abuse - and I did not have a "mild" or "moderate" eating disorder. I have been in critical positions medically over, and over, and over - and I WANTED to die, because I was so desperately, despairingly anguished and hopeless, that I would not see a doctor or go to the emergency room - knowing that I was critically ill physically. I hoped that it would kill me. The miracle of my survival, of my body's resilience, felt like punishment - a curse. I would be up at some ungodly hour when everyone else was asleep because I could NEVER sleep, crying because I was alive.
For the first nine months or so of my treatment here at Eating Recovery Center, not much was different as far as my mental state was concerned. I spent every single therapy session with my beautiful therapist - and this was three times a week for nine months - talking about the depth of my hopelessness. My despair. How I wished things could be different - and I honestly did - but that I knew that things could not and would not change for me.
...and then, things did. Things began to change, after over a decade and a half, so slowly at first that I didn't notice. And then still so slowly, I thought I was imagining it. Then STILL so slowly, and it felt so impossible still, that I was too afraid to trust that it could be legitimate.
Very, very recently, I began to notice that something had definitely changed, and I slowly allowed myself to begin to believe that the small shifts I saw and felt in myself might be real. And I was scared, I was terrified, that by daring and pushing myself to believe in myself, and to allow myself to begin to have hope, that I was setting myself up to feel shattered. I had wanted things to change - I had been praying for the ability to experience hope - for years, and it felt like it was so unrealistic and unlikely and impossible that I could ever actually REALLY feel hope that I felt by believing it was real, I was almost being mean to myself.
It still scares me on some level, to allow myself to trust that these changes could last. But oh boy, I do let myself feel hope. And - I'll say it - even JOY. And confidence, empowerment, PRIDE. Yes, in MYSELF.
I also feel uncertain, and I feel afraid, and nervous. I feel suspicious. I am by no means, in NO way, overly confident.
Both are possible at the same time.
I have no clue what my future will bring. I'm utterly in the dark about what that will look like. I have a very deep understanding of the fact that it is extremely likely that I will relapse again. It's actually probably more likely, considering the history, than not.
But I allow myself this much: something feels different. I suspect that the outcome may be different this time.
It feels amazing.
Don't get me wrong - on occasion I have thoughts like: "Who are you kidding?"
But I have retorts. I choose not to indulge those thoughts.
There was a time in my life when I didn't have a choice."
That's all, for tonight. I'll be back. Love, peace, hope to you all <3
Sofia
It's been a long while since I've updated this blog; a lot has happened since, but here I am - still here, still alive in the world. I have a lot to tell you, but I'm going to make the focus of this entry the journal entry I want to share with you, and I'll come back tomorrow and the next day and fill you in on the rest.
Those of you who know me know that I have suffered with this illness - the eating disorder, both Anorexia and Bulimia, as well as the Depression - chronically. It has been chronic, it has been severe, and the prognosis was not good. I am not the only person who had come to believe that I could not get better; I expected death, by the eating disorder or, more likely I thought, suicide.
I want to get to bed soon-ish because I am currently in treatment at the Partial level of care (you go during the day but sleep somewhere else) and have to wake up freakishly early to get there on time, but basically, the purpose of this particular blog entry is this: I want people to know that recovery is possible, even when you've given up on yourself. Even for the "Chronic", the hopeless. No matter how long you've been suffering and/or how bad it's been, something can shift, and it can happen when you least expect it. This entry may be missing some things, as I'm in a hurry, but I promise not to ditch the blog again; I want to share what I'm doing with others, particularly those who feel desperately hopeless, and I'll come back and fill you all in. So here's the entry I wrote in my personal journal just over an hour ago:
"Holy hell, I just spent the last three hours actually with other people, talking and engaging...with one of my roommates, M____, and another girl in Program, M____, who came over. SO out of character for me: every day I come back to the apartment, shut my door, and watch Netflix until I can fall asleep. I have grown to be afraid of actually interacting with others, and I never told anyone that I'm well aware that this 'routine' is isolation and based out of fear and anxiety, because I didn't want to have to change. But tonight M____ and I were walking back to the apartment together from where the Van drops us off, and we were talking, and it was fun...so I had a cigarette with her on our balcony. And we grew more and more honest and vulnerable with one another, and I grew progressively more and more comfortable, so I stayed. I became internally anxious when she told me M____ was coming over; I didn't know her well. But I decided to give her a chance. I told them I'd have to go call my parents and shower soon because I wanted an 'out' - but I stayed, and I wound up staying for hours, until it was getting late (considering how early I wake up) and I had to tear myself away to go actually shower. Generally I'd immediately watch Netflix after a shower (and it should be noted that my showering on a regular basis is not only major progress but incredibly recent), but I thought it would be good for me to journal. I'll probably watch a little of my show or read before bed, but tonight I'm choosing to veer away from my rigidity and routine - and to let that be okay.
My progress amazes me. It's incredible. It took ten months in treatment for it to become noticeable, measurable progress, but lately it's been one miracle after another - obvious things, and so fast. I have never done my laundry on a regular basis. I have gone months without doing laundry. I became so used to not doing it that I became afraid, in a weird way, to do it - I'd occasionally have thoughts about it, but not doing it was so much easier, safer, and more normal to me. I have done my laundry not once but twice in the last week, and I've come to discover that it just isn't that big of a deal. Not only does it take VERY little time, but doing it helps me to feel empowered, proud, and more confident that my recovery may actually last this time. This time may actually be different. For most people on this planet, doing their laundry is not groundbreaking: but I have lived with myself for over 25 years now, and I know what a big deal it is for me. It IS groundbreaking, for me, and it's a sign that something is honestly changing. For months now I've been trying every day to get myself to do it, but each time I'd tell myself: "Come on now...you know you're never actually going to."
And so I never did.
Today, I do my laundry. And that makes me brave.
Tonight I looked at my heavy body in the mirror, naked, after the shower; and I told myself that I was beautiful. What I am doing right now, and the ways in which I am changing, is a miracle.
I don't often go into the details with people about the severity of the behaviors I used or of the medical complications I suffered as a result because I don't want to 'trigger' anyone (people with eating disorders are often triggered by such things when in their illness), and because today I am not proud. But that I am alive is mindblowing. My body has suffered from sixteen YEARS of abuse - and I did not have a "mild" or "moderate" eating disorder. I have been in critical positions medically over, and over, and over - and I WANTED to die, because I was so desperately, despairingly anguished and hopeless, that I would not see a doctor or go to the emergency room - knowing that I was critically ill physically. I hoped that it would kill me. The miracle of my survival, of my body's resilience, felt like punishment - a curse. I would be up at some ungodly hour when everyone else was asleep because I could NEVER sleep, crying because I was alive.
For the first nine months or so of my treatment here at Eating Recovery Center, not much was different as far as my mental state was concerned. I spent every single therapy session with my beautiful therapist - and this was three times a week for nine months - talking about the depth of my hopelessness. My despair. How I wished things could be different - and I honestly did - but that I knew that things could not and would not change for me.
...and then, things did. Things began to change, after over a decade and a half, so slowly at first that I didn't notice. And then still so slowly, I thought I was imagining it. Then STILL so slowly, and it felt so impossible still, that I was too afraid to trust that it could be legitimate.
Very, very recently, I began to notice that something had definitely changed, and I slowly allowed myself to begin to believe that the small shifts I saw and felt in myself might be real. And I was scared, I was terrified, that by daring and pushing myself to believe in myself, and to allow myself to begin to have hope, that I was setting myself up to feel shattered. I had wanted things to change - I had been praying for the ability to experience hope - for years, and it felt like it was so unrealistic and unlikely and impossible that I could ever actually REALLY feel hope that I felt by believing it was real, I was almost being mean to myself.
It still scares me on some level, to allow myself to trust that these changes could last. But oh boy, I do let myself feel hope. And - I'll say it - even JOY. And confidence, empowerment, PRIDE. Yes, in MYSELF.
I also feel uncertain, and I feel afraid, and nervous. I feel suspicious. I am by no means, in NO way, overly confident.
Both are possible at the same time.
I have no clue what my future will bring. I'm utterly in the dark about what that will look like. I have a very deep understanding of the fact that it is extremely likely that I will relapse again. It's actually probably more likely, considering the history, than not.
But I allow myself this much: something feels different. I suspect that the outcome may be different this time.
It feels amazing.
Don't get me wrong - on occasion I have thoughts like: "Who are you kidding?"
But I have retorts. I choose not to indulge those thoughts.
There was a time in my life when I didn't have a choice."
That's all, for tonight. I'll be back. Love, peace, hope to you all <3
Sofia
Tuesday, July 8, 2014
Grief
Christina "Chrissie" Ann Steljes, 12.1.1989 - 7.10.2013
To my best friend...
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, find you a lover
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
Go away somewhere all bright and new
I have seen no other
Who compares with you
You belong among the wildflowers12/1
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong in a boat out at sea
You belong with your love on your arm
You belong somewhere you feel free
Run away, go find a lover
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
Run away, let your heart be your guide
You deserve the deepest of cover
You belong in that home by and by
You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free
You belong somewhere you feel free
Grief. It shatters you.
I mentioned in my entry on death in the community of the mentally ill that I have lost a best friend to anorexia, Chrissie. I also mentioned Gulliver, the very first of a string of losses at the age of 16, to suicide...I said:
I was sixteen years old the first time someone I cared about died as a direct result of mental illness. He was fourteen years old, and he committed suicide. We had been together in a hospital for two weeks when I was fourteen and he had just turned thirteen. He was sweet, and funny, and incredibly smart. His smile was devious and lovely. His name was Gulliver, as of the stories.
I remember getting the phone call from a mutual friend, and how something cracked inside of me as tears streamed down my face at my introduction to grief; little did I know, this introduction was to crescendo years later at the age of 24, when I would lose one of the most dear people in the world to me.
His family was Jewish, and so he was buried the next day. I had never been to a funeral and didn't know what to wear. It seemed custom to wear black, and the only black pants I had (laugh if you want) had a hole in the crotch, so I taped them from the inside out. He was buried at the very top of a steep hill in a Jewish cemetery in Oakland, California. I met my friend at the bottom of the hill as I noticed how crowded it was, how many friends he had had, and how many people had loved him. The sun was mocking us that day; it beat down on our backs, and I sweat as we walked up the nearly perpendicular hill that led to his open grave. I could hear the tape crunching and swishing against itself - crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. It was almost funny, but not quite, and definitely not at the time.
That was my first experience with one of my peers dying. The next that comes to mind was a woman I was a bit closer with - we had been in a treatment program together in Sacramento, California, and she too committed suicide, though she had suffered from anorexia for many, many years and it's plausible that her suicide was related. Her name was Katie, and she was so loving and bright and brilliant. She had nearly completed her PhD in Molecular, Cellular, and Integrative Physiology at the University of California in Davis. She was a lovely human being, and an enormous loss for the world.
Then someone I had heard of, but didn't know personally. Then a few more. And as each pillar fell it seemed they grew closer and closer to me, until I knew one day that I would lose someone I loved very much.
And I can't lie and say I didn't see it coming with her, with my best friend Chrissie, but I was not expecting it on the day it did come. As mentioned in another entry I will not be sharing details of her death that are not well known. Her eating disorder killed her. That crack inside me that had formed when Gulliver died burst, and all of me shattered.
I am still picking up the pieces. July 10th, 2013. The day one of the people I loved the most in the world died at the age of 23, and I became horribly intimate with grief.
A year ago at this precise moment, my best friend was living out the last hours of her life.
I shattered. Something made of glass inside of me burst and shattered - this week, it feels as though I am beginning to shatter again, in slow motion. The grief had become less acutely painful and more of a lethargic sort of throbbing agony, moments throughout each day wherein I teared up, listened to songs, read emails or cards, looked at photographs...grief has become an enormous presence in my personal life. I miss my best friend. And this week the grief has again begun to crescendo; someone said to me on Chrissie's three month anniversary, out of love and honesty, "Sofia, she's dead every day." I respect how matter of fact that was, though of course I burst into tears when I read it on my computer screen. She's dead every day. And so why does the year mark feel so significant to me? It feels more real.
It comes in waves. Some days I forget, and I want to call or text her. At her sister's wedding this past month I looked around for her at the practice ceremony, believing for an instant that I had cheated death and would find her there. I could feel her sitting next to me as I sat outside of her aunt's house smoking a cigarette, hear her making her sarcastic jokes and her voice cracking like it always did.
I'll come back to this entry throughout the next few days and write more objectively (and some more about my personal experience) about grief.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Not abandoning this blog - a bit of a personal update.
Hello all,
So. I wanted to touch base and let the people who have sort of poked me about this blog know that I'm not discontinuing writing it by any means - I've simply been exhausted with treatment. I've been here in Denver for just over three weeks now and am feeling more settled and adjusted than before, though of course still homesick. I'm doing quite well as far as how things look on paper - no behaviors, Level 2, able to go on passes with peers and do well food wise - but the depression is relentless, and the hopelessness overwhelming.
I'm being honest, because that's part of why I started this blog. I don't want to get too deep personally, but I did want to update you all and let you know I am doing as well as can be expected and will be keeping up with this blog, probably not as much while I am in treatment as I have things to focus on all day long and am incredibly busy. But I'm still here!
So. I wanted to touch base and let the people who have sort of poked me about this blog know that I'm not discontinuing writing it by any means - I've simply been exhausted with treatment. I've been here in Denver for just over three weeks now and am feeling more settled and adjusted than before, though of course still homesick. I'm doing quite well as far as how things look on paper - no behaviors, Level 2, able to go on passes with peers and do well food wise - but the depression is relentless, and the hopelessness overwhelming.
I'm being honest, because that's part of why I started this blog. I don't want to get too deep personally, but I did want to update you all and let you know I am doing as well as can be expected and will be keeping up with this blog, probably not as much while I am in treatment as I have things to focus on all day long and am incredibly busy. But I'm still here!
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