We are living in a time where labeling seems to be a priority over support. Is it a disorder or a condition? Living with or surviving? Committing or dying by? In my opinion, there should be less focus on the labels and more support on coping and treating. Here’s one reason why: Bulimia presents as a disorder. It presents as a condition. It can be survived. It can be committed. I could go on and on. Particularly when it comes to the mind, symptoms and recovery are highly individualized and dependent on the individual being impacted.
In my previous post, I shared that I am bulimic and I am in recovery. I chose the word “recovery” purposely. That day that I sat down with my psychiatrist and made my admission was one of the hardest and worst days of my life. That statement speaks volumes because I have seen some tough days! (Haven’t we all?) After my disclosure/admission, she casually mentions the course of treatment we are going to begin immediately. At that point, I had sat across from this person on a number of occasions and had never shed a tear, until that day. As I listened, knowing this was exactly what I needed but did not want, I felt something rising up inside me. Something I cannot describe. Something I could not control. She was talking and all I could hear was my mind saying: “I told you so! I told you so! Don’t talk about it or they will take it away!” That’s exactly what was happening. She was taking away my binky! My wubbie! My lovie! The only method of soothing and comfort I knew and used. I started sobbing. My mind was racing. I was making a list of all the current stressors in my life and trying to think through coping without my binge…purge…calm ritual. She stopped (obviously) and asked what was happening. I was hysterical and terrified, but honest. Through my tears, I heard this tiny voice say: I have no other way to survive my life on a daily basis. If you take this away, I will not survive.
That was the moment we both realized that I did not have a disorder, I had an addiction.
There are many ways to treat any condition. Depending on the underlying cause, the root of the issue, Bulimia can be a disorder, an illness, a condition and as I have learned, an addiction.
I’ll spare you the details of the amount of energy this poor doctor had to put into convincing me that we were going to treat my addiction. To this point in my life, I could not really say I had been addicted to anything. I would even say, I had an opinion on addiction. Basically, if someone wanted badly enough, they could stop doing anything. Mind over Matter! Well the Universe has a way of teaching us things that we need to learn and I learned that my mind did NOT matter in this case! Or maybe it mattered entirely too much. The things going on in my head were wildly out of character, even for me to believe, and I was living in the same mind where this chaos was taking place! Who was this person? I was visibly shaking and internally frantic, filled with panic.
I was given Naltrexone. Naltrexone is typically used for treating heroine addicts and alcoholics. It works by suppressing and reducing cravings (usually for opiates and alcohol, but apparently sometimes food?!?) and binding the receptors in the brain that seek pleasure from the cravings. I was an addict. More accurately, I am an addict.
In addition to Naltrexone, I was referred to a therapist to address the root cause and to learn how to live under this New World Order. The following days, weeks, months were brutal, to say the least!
I was very sick from the medication. I was distraught trying to find positive outlets for my stress. While not easy, I was making progress! Each day, I felt a little better. Each day the compulsion weakened. Heck, I can recall a few days where my “dirty little secret” didn’t even cross my mind. Then it was weeks! Then a month! I was climbing out of the well! My energy was coming back! Food was a source of nutrition and not a binky/wubbie/lovie! Pounds were falling off. Brick by brick, I was climbing! I told myself: I can do it! Keep going! This time you finally WIN!
….and then, as life does, I was dealt an unexpected and crushing blow! It came through the mail. That very moment everything I knew was shattered and destroyed. No dosage of Naltrexone, no therapist, no coping mechanism and no self-control was going to stop the absolute flat tale spin that followed that piece of mail. Life placed it’s big ugly foot on my face and shoved me right back to the bottom of that well. Again, something new! Rage…binge…guilt…purge… no calm. Thanks to the Naltrexone, which I continued to take, NO CALM. Rage…binge…guilt…purge…no calm. Shame. Failure. Desperation. I clawed at the wall, I needed to climb. Rage…binge…purge…fail!
However, something had changed. I knew what it was like to feel better. My desire to get back on track was strong. I just didn’t know how to cope. I spent time with my therapist. I began meditation. Not the kind where you find a corner, light a candle and sit cross-legged in silence. The kind where in the middle of the work day or the grocery store parking lot, wherever you are in that moment where the addictive tendencies and cravings start to creep in, you stop and close your eyes. You breathe. You count. You quiet your mind until the urge passes. What you don’t do is walk into the kitchen and open the cupboard…
I started coloring. I started DIY projects. I fell in love with folding laundry (hilarious, I know), something I always liked but didn’t realize could be soothing. I now had a tool box of coping mechanisms. Life is not going to cut me any slack and I know that I am certainly not alone, sadly. My life is filled with people struggling to cope with something or another. There is strength in numbers. There is strength in community, even if that community is a giant ball of disorders and suffering.
I started to climb. I backslid. I climbed. I backslid. BUT, the backslide no longer sent me to the bottom of the well, just down a few bricks. As of today, I am two months clean? Sober? Compliant? What is the label for this type of addiction? That’s why labels do not work. I like to say I am two months healthy. Not a day goes by where I don’t miss that feeling. The calm. The release. However, my body is proof of the price I was paying. Last February (2018), I weighed in at 206 lbs. By October, my weight stabilized at 140 lbs. There is still another piece to the weight loss puzzle because that evaluation revealed more than my “dirty little secret.” But you already know, that’s a post for another day! It’s not just about the weight, my mind is more clear. At my most recent physical, my results were the best they have ever been. I am happier, even when life continues to throw curve balls at me! I have outlets for my stress. I am working out again, but for the right reasons!
Why did I choose the word recovery? Addiction is a road with no end. An infinite journey of recovery. I am careful not to over eat. A full belly is a trigger for the purge compulsion. I avoid the scale. It triggers the self-loathing which triggers the hate and you know the rest of the routine. Will I ever be able to stuff myself and not feel the desires? I do not know. But right now, it’s a risk I am not willing to take. Life is a series of peaks and valleys, but I never want to find myself at the bottom of the well. I never want to lie and hide. I never want to be an Imposter in my own life. I am an addict and I am in recovery.
The Imposter 