Life With Ed

No one would be able to tell now. Now, I have color in my face, brightness in my eyes, a quick step, silky hair, and most importantly, I’m myself. Not a day goes by without thinking about the past. It was something all out of my control to be honest. I didn’t plan on having a mental disorder. Anorexia Nervosa wasn’t something I chose to have, but I did choose to recover. The worst part is that, even though I chose to recover, it’s going to be a lifelong process.
On April 1, 2010, I went to the Highland Park Hospital with my mother. First, I put up a fight to go, but my parents made me. Therapy wasn’t working, and I didn’t stop my actions like I said I would. They were more concerned with my health of the inside rather than the outside. I guess I could have died. Well, at least that’s what they told me. If it went on too long I could have more serious issues. I went in there thinking I was only going to be there once. I thought I didn’t have a problem. Yes, I ate. But, it wasn’t enough. I restricted myself and watched my calories. I told everyone, “I’m not that bad. I eat!” But now, I know I was. I was one of the sick. I went in there scared. I was ninety percent sure I wouldn’t be back, but I was afraid to tell me secrets.
Shari evaluated me. She looked sixty years old, but I found out later she was a lot younger than that. She had black, curly hair that was all over the place, just like she had been electrocuted. Her two front teeth had a gap and were titled in different directions, with a yellowish tint. Shari wore a short black dress that she should not have, because she was too old to. I did not want to see her old, white legs that much. I sat in her office for about an hour. It was a small square, no color on the walls, with one desk, a couch, a chair, and a calendar. Nothing else. No decorations or accessories. It just made the situation worse. I was just asked questions: what I eat, how much I exercise, friends, family, reasons, etc. I told the truth, and I wasn’t afraid to. I even told her I wasn’t “that bad” compared to other people.
The next day, I found out I was “that bad” because starting Monday, I’d be in the hospital. I was in my backyard tie dyeing some shirts with my new kit I got for Easter. The phone rang, and I heard it, but I didn’t care who it was. Five minutes later, my mom came outside. She held the phone out, her deep, blue eyes stared at me holding tears. She looked at me and said, “It’s for you.” Then, I knew. It was not going to be good. SuEllen was the lady’s name. She was the head of the unit. She had a high pitched voice and talked to me like I was in preschool. “It’s going to be hard,” she told me, “Harder than school.” I cried the rest of the night. I sat in my room and cried. I blamed everyone but myself. Most of all, I blamed my parents. I screamed, “How could you do this to me?!” My friends came over that night while walking their dogs, and they wanted me to come. I didn’t leave my room, but I watched my mom walk outside to talk to them from my window. They stood in front of my house and my mom told them. I knew she did because they one's face was shocked and scared, and the other started to cry. I’d never been more embarrassed in my life. Only close friends and family knew, but I didn’t talk to them. For days, I didn’t text, call, or talk to anyone but my mom, dad, and brother. They sent me sincere texts and messages, but I ignored them. I was so ashamed in myself. How did this happen to me?
This new lifestyle of mine started in September, 2009. I was only in eighth grade. I was overweight, and one of the bigger girls in my grade. I should have lost a few pounds to be healthy, but I wasn’t “obese”. I had always been bigger, and it runs in my family. I was sick and tired of not fitting into clothes, looking different than my friends, and I was embarrassed when I was called “fat”. I was only really called fat by my brother, cousins, and a few people in my grade, but I knew I was. I wrote a contract to myself saying I’d eat healthy and exercise to lose weight, and I signed it. I actually stuck to it, but to the extreme.
I first started to count calories. Then, I restricted foods and food groups. Plus, I exercised a lot. My focus was food. I watched people eat food, make food, buy food, etc. I spent a lot of time with food, except I didn’t eat it. It was like a friend, but at the same time an enemy. The pounds dropped fast. Too fast. Especially for someone my age and weight. My heart rate and blood pressure were low. I didn’t eat enough to fuel my body because I also played sports. I lost energy. I even went to a nutritionist on the middle of having the disorder and going to the hospital. But, I didn’t listen to her. I thought she was telling me to eat too much, because I forgot how to eat properly. So as time went on, I got went up and down with improving my habits.
I went to the Highland Park Hospital Eating Disorders Unit on April 5, 2010 as a full time patient. It was one of the worst days of my life, but in a way, it was the one of the best for me, even though I don’t want it to be. I had to miss school. I went from 9am-6pm everyday during the week for two weeks. That morning I thought I made a good decision. I was going to listen and eat whatever they told me to so I could get out of there as fast as I could. Was that a step towards recovery? No. I still had my eating disorder, which later, I figured out its name was Ed. That is what everyone there called him. “E” for eating, “D” for disorder. It was the little voice in my head telling me what to do and what not to do. He called also negative, calling me fat and ugly. It was like another conscience. I cried the whole drive there. I was so scared. My mom kept telling me, “If you are good and do everything they ask, you can leave in two weeks.” She lied. I walked in, and I saw SuEllen, Shari, and two other ladies who I found out were named Mara and Nora. They were therapist like Shari. I also met other girls. I was even more scared because I was the youngest. But, I was one of them now. We were in this together, helping each other out, and battling with same disease. But, the first day was one of the worst days of my life. I didn’t talk to many people, nor did they talk to me. At meals, I ate everything that was sent up for me. I was new, so I couldn’t pick my meals yet. I had to forget about Ed, and force myself to eat everything on my plate, even if I didn’t even like it. I had never liked milk my entire life, and I had to drink it three times that day. I wanted to throw up. I wasn’t bulimic, and I had never made myself throw up, but I truly thought I was going to. I was in pain, not only in my stomach, but also in my head. I was mad at myself. The whole car ride home I cried, screamed, kicked, and complained about how much I hated everyone and the food.
After the first day, I had one mission. I had to recover. I didn’t care about calories, weight, or my appearance anymore. I didn’t want to be there as long as some of the other girls have been there for. They had been there for weeks, months, and a few close to a year. I know this sound crazy, but after being there the first two days, I thought I was recovered. I told my parents I would eat more and gain weight alone, but I wanted them to get me out of there. I told them I learned my lesson, and to please take me out. I think I wanted to “recovery” more to get out of there rather than recovery for my own health. But my parents didn’t put me in there for me to learn a lesson, they put me in there so I could go back to my old, healthy life. At that point, it didn’t matter why I chose to recover. At least I made the choice to do so. I gained 4 pounds in two days, and I cried. But then I was happy. I was closer to getting out of there. I gradually ate more food, and felt comfortable. I was trying. I made friends, opened up to my therapist and family, and was closer to a healthy lifestyle.
For two weeks, I followed my meal plan one hundred percent. They told me two weeks was the minimum I had to be there if I did well. After two weeks, I proved to everyone I deserved to get out. Looking back, I was not ready. And they knew that. So I had to continue to go there. That’s when I made the biggest decision. I have to get healthy for myself. I realized I was sick. All I wanted was to be “normal”. I didn’t want food to such a big part of my life. I needed to be at a healthy weight, get my period, have a normal blood pressure and heart rate, and become myself again. I went in there learning how to eat properly again, but that wasn’t the main purpose. I had to become healthy mentally, not just physically. I ended up going back to school one day a week, then two days, then three, and then four. After nine weeks, I no longer was apart of the “sick” group. I was healthier, and I got to leave. I had to continue therapy weekly, but therapy is healthy. I even continued therapy with another person after Shari.
Now, I live life as a teenager in high school. Do I still have flashbacks and thoughts? Yes. Am I fully recovered? No. Recovery for Anorexia is a lifelong process. I’ve made the decision to try to help it, but I believe it will never fully go away. My main goal is to not relapse and live like I did in eighth grade. I want to control my life. I don’t want food or Ed to. People think that an eating disorder is all about food, being fat or skinny, calories, etc. But really, it isn’t. It has nothing to do with food. It’s all about something else. What triggers the disorder? Something is out of one’s control, and when someone develops the disorder, they have control. What caused mine? I still don’t know exactly to this day. I mean, I have ideas, but I think it was because I was tired of my looks. I think there were multiple reasons.
What might surprise people is that I don’t regret trying to lose weight. I couldn’t control the situation from going out of control. This might be a bad thing to say, but I’m glad this happened. I’ve learned so many lessons, and more about myself. I think it made me a stronger person. Since I’ve battled this disorder, I feel like I can take on anything. Nothing scares me more than what I’ve already been through. I’m more prepared for life. I thank God for helping me through it, and hopefully I never go through more pain than what I’ve already been through.