The truth about slip-ups

This is going to be a very self-serving post. I've had a really difficult two days and I want to really dig deep and explore what's at the root of these slip-ups. 

First, a little background and morw of an update on my life after residential than my last post. I'm back at school which is a gentle way to say, I went back to my normal life and professional routine wayyyy fast after leaving residential. Perhaps I overestimated my progress, basing my success off those first couple of honeymoon weeks after Renfrew. Every weekday, I get up at 7:00 am, a much different story than my alcoholic past. I feel great when I wake up, kiss my boyfriend, let the dog out, take a shower, make a tea latte with soy milk, and get my wet-haired unmade-up self to my office at school before 8. The usual routine is to eat my fruit and oatmeal for breakfast around 9:30 when my appetite really kicks in. After fooding, I do my thing (which, this week, is reviewing journal articles for my systematic review to comprise chapter 1 of my dissertation) until it's time to get the hook up for lunch with a Publix veggie wrap, complete with cheese and mayo oh my. This fills me up and keeps me thinking and performing well until my afternoon snack around 3:30 or 4.

At the end of the work day, it's off to the races. Literally. I sprint around town in the every day more beautiful weather for 30-45 minutes (okay, I admit it's 6.2 miles) every day. I go to my boyfriend's apartment which has become home base full time, unless I have a support group or social function. No drinking. Eating enough to appear to be eating. Accidentally purge. Still too damn good at it. Getting better. Slip. Back. Down.

So. I trick myself into cheating through my day and I wonder how I could get so off track while following the rules? I'm on the eliptical now, at 8:50 on a Friday night, after purging everything but breakfast today, and I'm going to figure this out once and for all. There is no such thing as compensation during recovery, no half-assing, no bending of rules. Tomorrow I do 100!%.

Recovery Ain't Easy

I haven't posted in a while because I've been so busy and focused on the momentum I carried out of residential. Luckily, I'm still on track and feeling positive though a stint in residential is ny no means a quick and easy fix. While P, my friends, and my family are easily convinced that I'm fixed as I scarff down breakfasts of oatmeal, lunches of veggie wraps with cheese and mayo, and dinners as wild as BBQ pork sandwiches, I still hear the eating disorder.

My biggest struggle has been resisting the urge to compensate for my daily food intake through exercise or sobriety. I'm over 45 days sober, but sometimes I worry it's the calories I'm avoiding instead of the fact that I'm likely an alcoholic. Either way, sobriety is helping me in every way except inducing hangovers bad enough to prevent over-exercising. Today at therapy, we worked on exploring how I'm still compensating and yes, occasionally purging and the impact of these behaviors on my recovery. I've vowed to keep a food and exercise log in an effort to keep myself in check, reimplement an escort system at home to make sure I'm not given the chance to purge after meals, and take a Boost every day I'm running to gain the weight my body lost after residential.

I am not going to have a completely perfect recovery process and that's okay. As long as I'm moving in the right direction, exploring the triggers underlying slip-ups, and trying my best to challenge all eating disorder thoughts, I can be very proud of myself every day.

Houston, we have recovery

So I made it through 27 days of residential treatment at the Renfrew Center of Coconut Creek, Florida. I didn't binge, run, overexercise, or drink for almost a month and I ain't dead yet. In fact, I feel better than I ever have. 

From now on, this blog will explain what real recovery from an eating disorder looks like and how beautiful life can be when you're actually living. 

It's a brand new chapter in my life and I'm so glad I've finally understood 26 isn't too late to start living. Happy Sunday, folks. 

Residential treatment starts in 3, 2, 1

Well folks, I'm elipticaling and running my little heart out at a random hotel in southern Florida before leaving for residential treatment this morning. I drove 10 hours alone yesterday and spent my last evening at the hotel alone, too, but managed to not binge and purge. Instead, I finished 16 miles last night and have put in another 10 before 8 am today. I weigh 95 pounds at 5'4. Residential has to work.

The most difficult part of this process will be losing my running capabilities and access to this blog. Don't worry though, I'm going to journal these 30 days away because what else do I have to do besides read the 15 books I brought while getting chubs?

This is going to be, hands down, the most difficult month of my 26 years thus far, but I'm resolved to make the most of it. I have too much life to live and too much to lose to waste it on calories, miles, numbers, calculations, and compensation. I can't wait to start really living so I'll see you folks on the flip side!

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.

Downward spiral

Last night, P and I went out for drinks with a crew of rowdy friends to a bar where we notoriously drink too much. After purging any substantial food I ate (except a small bowl of oatmeal and a pack of peanut butter crackers), I let my anxiety and exhaustion get the best of me. P and I got into a big fight which has been the norm lately. We went out, having settled nothing with my stomach growling and 2 shots already coursing through me. I think we can all speculate how this ended.

I don't remember most of the ride home, but I remember the feeling of thinking this break up is for real...we really are over this time. I hate what I put this wonderful man through and I constantly feel guilty and resentful at myself and my eating disorder. We go around in circles, with me apologizing for everything, assuming I'm always doing something wrong, and finally apologizing for apologizing. It becomes increasingly true what they say, I cannot fully love someone who tries so hard to make me happy and make things work until I can love myself. I hope that happens sometime very soon because I fear the fighting and the tears and my inability to trust when P promises, over and over, he does want to be with me, regardless of my problems, is doing irreversible damage.

This morning I wake up with bruises and scrapes, mementos of my drunkenness and pain. I wake up with a gnawing hangover and the urge to binge and purge and make the hurt go away. I know none of this will do me any good, but I know I'll spend the rest of this beautiful Sunday fighting the already embedded urge. P and I resolve our fight and seem to be in a much better place than last night, but I'm still so damn disappointed with myself, my stubbornness, and my inability to maintain a functional relationship without bringing my partner down with me.

It's all or nothing with me right now and I'm afraid I'm teetering on a very dangerous, very narrow edge, close to giving up.

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...