Peak: Slaying Demons

Yesterday was a bad day!

I was overwhelmed! It’s not like there is something major going on but an absolute ton of small stuff. More than I am usually dealing with these days. (by design) For the last two weeks, I have averaged 10+ hours a day on the computer between home and work and about 0 hours doing things I like to do, things I need to do. My house is trashed, the beautiful flowers I have been working so hard to maintain, are begging for attention, and I have not taken my dog outside at all.

Worse than that, I have not been meditating, or coloring, any of the things I do to protect myself from the demons that surround me.

When you are an addict in recovery, it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to forget how intricately designed your routines are and why. It’s easy to forget that you are in a daily battle. It’s easy to forget that you ARE an addict in recovery. What an amazing thing to say after such a long battle! Sometimes I forget that I even have this issue. Until days like yesterday….

….when it all comes crashing back. I felt it. I woke up at 4 am, after getting 3 hours of sleep. I had a whole 4.5 hours off the computer and then back to work. Things were not going right. Deadline on a project that was turning into a disaster. System conversion at work that was NOT going well. I could sense it. Time was ticking and nothing was going my way.

Then it whispered: ...are you starting to feel nauseous?

Yes, yes I was. I was definitely starting to feel nauseous, but there was no time! I was scrambling trying to get out of work. Finally on my way, 2 hours later than I planned, I hopped in my car.

And I heard it again: ...a little dizzy maybe, like your stomach hurts?

It did! My stomach was killing me all day because I had not eaten. Then, I saw the box of cookies that I grabbed on my way out the door that morning to have with my coffee. I reached for them…and stopped.

…..yes, do it! you will feel better…all of this will go away and you will feel better….do it!

STOP! I saw the signs. I picked up the phone and called my sister. I cried my eyes out, half because I was overwhelmed and half because I was scared I was about to fail. I made another call and another, just to keep myself occupied. Because in that moment, I knew exactly what would make me feel better.

And it whispered: you are going to vomit….

The feeling of nausea was becoming overwhelming. See that’s the game, because the mind is strong, you can in fact convince yourself that you are feeling sick….when you are not. Because throwing up when you are sick is okay and not a slip into old habits.

I pulled into my driveway and sat in my car, with my eyes closed, counting …1..2..3… I knew if I went inside, I would lose. I got my dog, I walked around outside, breathing, surrounding myself with things that bring peace…counting…30..31..32..33. I finally went inside and laid down on my bed. I was late and I needed to shower. If I just skip the binge and take the purge, that’s okay right? You know, just to get rid of the nausea. Then I will feel better and can get on with my fun night? NO! …75…76…77…78… I closed my eyes and shut the demon out.

I woke up 20 mins later. Silence. My mind was quiet. IT was gone…no nausea, no urge, silence.

Yesterday was a bad day! Or was it?

Peak: The Climb

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.

Valley: I am Bulimic

Publicly, I have never admitted that I am bulimic. I would even say that most people I know, don’t know I am bulimic. I used to say (when I said it at all): I WAS bulimic in high school. And I was. Last year, I finally admitted that I AM bulimic.

The erosion of my self-image and self-esteem began from a young age. Without spending too much time on that piece, I will say that I was bullied, repeatedly told I was fat, not good enough, less than, not working hard enough, not as good as such and such, etc. People who I loved, people I respected didn’t think I was enough. How can I be if they don’t think so? I must not be. Additionally, I was shy (yes, it’s true) and awkward, traits that don’t play well in school. As a result, I spent most of my adolescence suffering from depression. I did not know that then, but hindsight….

By high school, I had spiraled into a deep dark place. Expectations were high. There was so much at stake. How would I measure up? I was stressed trying to out run a mind that told me I was worthless while working tirelessly to find success. Where things started (continued?) to go wrong is that I loved food, food was always sooooo good to me! After a bad day, I would sit to find comfort, in food, but then the guilt would set in because I saw myself as fat, ugly, stupid, worthless. Me to me: You just ate WHAT?? You are already fat, what did you DO???? My solution was to undo what made me feel guilty, the surrogate for my emotions…the food. I started vomiting to remove the guilt. I liked it, that feeling. Feeling so full and then having a release. There was a calm that would set in. Over time, it became a routine and a habit. Bad day….binge…purge….calm. Because I prefer to wear loose clothing, it took time for anyone to realize that I was losing weight. But, it was high school and eventually I got “caught.” I made promises to stop. I had it under control. It’s over. I used to be bulimic.

But it didn’t. I hid. I was sneaky. I was guilty. The cycle continued. Guilt…binge…purge…calm. I was lying. I was fake. I was everything nobody thought I was, an Imposter. Guilt…binge…purge….calm. What if they find out? They will think I am weak. I am supposed to be strong. Guilt…binge…purge…calm. Something new began…hate. I hated myself for not being able to find another way. I hated myself for the way I looked. I hated myself for not being like everyone else who seemed so confident. I hated myself for not being a shining example for my kids. I hated myself for walking around with this “dirty little secret.” I hated myself for hating myself. The cycle evolved: Hate…binge…guilt…purge…calm.

There is a misconception when a condition is labeled as an eating disorder. For me, it had nothing to do with the eating. It had everything to do with the disorder, the guilt, self-loathing and seeking comfort. A cycle. A part of my routine. I knew there was something wrong in what I was doing, otherwise there would be no reason to hide. I needed a way to comfort myself and if anyone found out, my comfort could be taken away. For that reason, if I talked about it I talked about it only in the past tense. Then, it didn’t really exist. Did it?

As life went on, the medical issues began. Acid reflux, high blood pressure, low electrolytes, weight gain. Doctors were running tests and treating conditions but could never find the source. “….maybe you need a lifestyle adjustment, more exercise, better eating habits….”. I started to workout like mad. No results. More workouts! New workouts! Cycle. CrossFit. No results. Back to the doctors! How can I work out this much and still be obese? (denial is amazing!) They said: “….it gets harder as you get older….”. “….metabolism slows down with age…”. “….just keep at it…” I heard: …”Your body is a mess. You still can’t do anything right. You failed, again! If you just tried harder, maybe you could accomplish something!” Okay. I started working harder, eating smarter. I joined challenges. Signed up for gyms. The harder I worked without seeing results, the more I hated myself. The cycle continues. Hate…binge…guilt…purge…calm. I found new ways to be self-destructive to cover the guilt and shame. I denied that the lack of results could be related to my “dirty little secret”. That was a thing of the past, high school, right?

After my hormones were balanced (previous post). Mentally, I still wasn’t whole and I wanted to be. Something was stopping me from feeling like myself and it went beyond my hormonal imbalance. I was referred to a psychiatrist for evaluation. The testing was tricky. In general, on these tests, I can figure out what the question is assessing, navigating my way safely through without revealing too much. On this test, I could not. I gave honest answers. For the first time in my life, I WANTED to get better and to understand how I became so broken, why was I so tired and what was happening with my weight! I went in for my results. I was not prepared for what came next.

I sat down. The very first question I was asked was: Do you have an eating disorder? I felt flushed and looked at my feet. Does she ask everyone this? How could she possibly know? I let out a little quiet no. She told me that I scored off the charts for an eating disorder and reminded me that if I wanted to feel better, I needed to be honest with her and more importantly with myself. I broke down and for the first time, I said: Yes, I am bulimic and have been for decades. I found myself at the bottom of a well. It was a low point, a deep valley.

To quell any concern, I am in recovery. If you are one of the people who wanted to know how I lost weight, here is another piece of the puzzle. I am bulimic and I am getting help. (Aren’t you glad you asked?) My road to recovery has been long and deserves it’s own post, so stayed tuned! Falling into the valley is an important part of climbing to the peak.

Why am I sharing this today? Mental health is important! Beyond important! Yet we hide symptoms and pretend we are fine because that is more acceptable than admitting we need help. I am sharing this very personal information, because I have healed enough to know that I am not the only person walking around with a “dirty little secret.” (And believe me, this is one of many) If you need help, get it! If you need a friend, contact me! I have wonderful resources and would love to support anyone who needs it because I would not be where I am without the help and support of others. I am thankful for those who have been serving as my light while I navigate through darkness! Whether you have an issue or issues and even if you don’t, know that you are not alone, at the very least, you have me!