Plans

Plans are always just plans without action.

First, I planned to lose weight by not eating anything but cereal and fruit as a senior in high school. I planned to run 8 miles every day, in addition to intense soccer practices and tournaments for my competitive soccer team. I planned to avoid social situations and restaurants where eating is not avoidable. I planned to have control, be perfect, and look the part. After I succeeded in losing 20 pounds, reaching a goal weight of 104 right before college, I was skinny enough to raise some red flags around school and home, prompting my pursuit of thin even more.

In college, I planned to maintain my thin physique and even lost weight during my first semester as a freshman soccer player. 100. What I didn't plan for was the introduction of alcohol to my lifestyle. Alcohol took hold in a way I could have never anticipated, made me relax, and loosened my grip completely on controlling my diet and exercise. The more I drank, the less I cared. Until drinking because the norm and the feelings of fat, ugly, and out of shape set in.

What I also didn't plan for was learning how to purge. I learned to purge during college by trying it once. I was somewhat of a natural, or at least had the ability to purge food fairly easily. Having the wherewithall to purge changes your life forever. It provides a guaranteed sense of guilt for keeping anything down. This aspect of an eating disorder can make everything so much more complicated. You don't want to eat, but you know you can and have minimal consequences on weight - at the expense of heavy consequences on health and quality of life. Learning to purge set the stage for the rest of my life. I type this blog 7 years after learning to purge and the repetitive emptying of my stomach has resulted in an inability to hold anything down. I purge hands-free now, simply bending over and releasing. Try recovering from that, even if you want to.

I have always planned to start living my life without my horrifying habits and binding eating disorder. I've always thought I could shake it if I really and truly tried. In recent years, I have started to hate feelings of fear and anxiety that accompany every bite of food and obsession with burning calories through exercise. I desperately want to be like my friends and significant others, giving zero thought to planning meals, exercise, and calories. No more calculating and recalculating calories in and calories out. No more undereating, overdrinking, and obsessive exercise. No more obsession over deviations in life that cause deviation in plans.

I planned to get over my eating disorder in college as a Nutrition and psychology major, then as an intern studying to be a Registered Dietitian in graduate school, and then as a PhD student studying, you guessed it, Nutrition. But as life progresses through ebbs and flows, trials and tribulations, and constant stress and strain, the eating disorder and associated issues persist, flaring up and subsiding slightly, but always existing.

Sometimes, more often than not, facing your fears requires changing your plans. Day treatment was an attempt to change my plans by facing my fears, but it's not enough for me. On Monday, I start residential treatment for my eating disorder, exercise addiction, and alcohol abuse after relapsing heavily over the past week and a half. Today, I've run 19 miles, thrown up 4 times and keeping no food down, and weigh 98 pounds. I am ready for treatment and I'm ready to be healthy and happy. I am ready. I am terrified, but I am ready.

Anxiety

I have never taken medication for my eating disorder, anxiety, depression, or for any other psychological issue. I take ibuprofen when my hangover won't go away, or tums when the acid reflux from chronic purging flares up. Other than that, nothing. I think it's time to investigate the (non-addictive) options.

The more severe my disease gets and the longer treatment takes to "fix me", the more anxiety I'm prone to. One minute, I think my moods are becoming more stable with treatment, but then the next, something really small and insignificant sets me off. I have, admittedly, had a string of bad luck lately, but I think it's overexerting myself during the day and not following my meal plans when I'm not at treatment, that sets me up for extra anxiety. I feel like I'm constantly running on Empty and it's Exhausting.

Today, for example, I had a 150-calorie bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, ran 11 miles, and went out and about with P to look at houses. After house hunting around 4:00 pm, I had half a veggie sandwich (no cheese, no fat, etc), then nothing else. I ended up purging the sandwich while walking the dog for 5 miles, mostly unintentional, but it left me with no fuel at all. I also ran into an ex-boyfriend on the walk. I return with a lot in my head, but nothing in my stomach. The other half of the veggie sandwich goes in and I promise myself I'll keep it down. But, my clumsy and careless self has other plan as I spill roasted tomato vinaigrette all over P's suitcase which contains a white and a light blue suit shirt. Completely ruined. The stains will never come out. I'm a failure. I freak out, overreacting completely, and the sandwich comes back up.

It's a nightmare of a night so far and I'm not looking forward to going out with friends now. I'm going to drink too much, compromising my integrity and my relationship. I'm going to fail. Every day that passes affirms that I do, indeed, need residential treatment. I'm falling back into restrictive habits. I'm falling off the I'm getting better and I'm happy about it! train. I hope it's not too late for me...

Accountability

I've had three awesome days this week. Then today - Thursday, day 4 of treatment this week. day 4 of no purging at all. Also, the one year anniversary of meeting my boyfriend. Our dateversary. Hopes are high. We're eating dinner out tonight. I'm excited, not nervous. All is wonderful. Treatment Is Working.

Reality.

My cell phone died in the middle of the night and my 6:40 am alarm did not go off. I wake up to my boyfriend's alarm at 9:00 am, a full 30 minutes after I'm supposed to be at the treatment center. It takes over 45 minutes to drive there, and I'm still completely uncomfortable with the amount of food we're required to eat throughout the day unless I've run at least 6 miles first.

Panic.

What to do? Go in late? Make up an excuse? Do I still need to go to treatment? I can eat on my own. Maybe I'll stop going to treatment, back to school. Back to life. I'm fine. I'm healing. I'm good. Quit treatment. My phone dies and I wake up a little late, and this is where I end up. I don't need to be in treatment anymore. Red flag perhaps?

So.

I ride the wave of motivation and a very successful streak and call the treatment center. I won't make it today. I tell myself, I'll be totally fine on my own all day, alone from 9:30-6:00. I am out of bed as my boyfriend leaves for work at 9:30 am. I feel great. I can do this. It is easy for me to eat and not purge at treatment, so it will be easy today, too.

Today.

I go to the grocery store for chai tea mix. I'm addicted to it and I'm out. I withstand the first urge to buy food to eat and purge. Then, an exciting task. I go to Lowe's and make a duplicate key to my boyfriend's apartment. He has suggested this, and it makes me very happy. I drive home. Make a chai latte. I wait to have breakfast til noon. Oatmeal, splenda, peanuts, more 45 calorie per 1.5 cup serving of chai latte. I forget the chai latte makes purging easy peasy. Perhaps I do not forget this at all. Too much liquid with food so I have to purge aaaaaaaaaaaaand.... the familiar story beings. I spend most of my dateversary eating my boyfriend's food... powdered donuts, oatmeal, pancake batter, peanut butter crackers, pop tarts, chips and hummus, cereal... and throwing it up. Buying more. Throwing it up.

I take a 6 mile walk mid-day. Come home empty and famished. More. I regain control again by late afternoon, nap for an hour, go to the gym down the street. 9 more miles. 15 on the day.

I come home from the gym to an excited boyfriend, who actually gives a shit that we've been together for a whole year, and find flowers and thoughtful gifts. He asks, jokingly, if I ate a whole bag of powdered donuts because he notices the brand on the bag is different than it was when he left for work. I am caught. I confess. He's mostly unaware that my eating disorder sometimes involves eating 5,000-10,000 calories over a short period of time and throwing them all up.

What does he think? It's actually not a big deal at all. He does not think I'm completely crazy. He accepts me no matter what. Back on track. Incentive to get better. I love him and what we have and I cannot fall into the trap of purging. I cannot waste my days shoveling food into my mouth - food that burns me because it's too hot, food that's past its expiration date, food that's been left out over night, food that no one else would ever think about eating, food that I don't even like. I cannot waste more time hunched over the toilet. I cannot waste more life like this.

Another slip up. But dealt with in honesty, acceptance, and the viewpoint that this will happen and it won't mean I'm not making progress. I will go to treatment tomorrow, I will be honest and accountable with my boyfriend, my family, my therapists, my treatment-mates. And someday, when this is all said and done, I will be able to eat two or three powdered donuts on the 1-year anniversary of meeting the best person in the world, the person I could see myself with forever, and have it be just that. Donuts. Food. Fuel. Life.