by Suma » Thu Dec 22, 2005 3:02 pm
This all started back when I was in high school. I was a highly competitive swimmer and in peak season, I often was burning 3-4 000 cal/day. While other girls were having trouble keeping weight on and had six-packs and no periods, I still kept that layer of tummy fat. I guess, to keep it in perspective, my body was more resilient, but that wasn't the way I saw it when team pictures came out!
College came and I moved from free-spirited Northern California to the Grand Ole South, with it's sorority don't-go-to-the-drugstore-for-tampons-at-two-am-without-makeup-and-a-bow-in-your-hair attitudes. I had never experienced that and of course, it made me insecure. I tried to fit in by dressing, acting and talking like the other girls. Unfortunately, I was no longer swimming and my weight exploded, so my eating disorder did, too. After a couple of years, I tried to get help from the college guidance counselor, who unfortunately was a total dink and I was too young to realize that it was MY therapy and that I should have fired him.
My college boyfriend was also a total dink, who fed into the eating disorder with both his abuse and by allowing his frat brothers to abuse me about my weight, appearance, inability to fit in, etc. By the end of college, I was exercising constantly, eating 600-1 000 cal/day, purging 4-5x/day and taking about 10 laxatives/day. I'm not entirely sure how I was working out so much, because I remember having trouble walking up the stairs to class- I was so tired all the time.
I got to med school (in Atlanta- deep South, bad idea), where the female competition encompassed studying 18 hours/day and still having time to work out for 2 hours and have immaculate makeup and clothes. Somewhere during my second year of this, I hit rock- bottom. I broke up with the college boyfriend, he started stalking me and threatening my life, my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I suddenly lost all my friends as depression made me no fun to be around anymore.
I went to a lunchtime talk one day about addiction in physicians and the woman talking was discussing her eating disorder and how that led to substituting alcohol, losing her job as a resident and ultimately deciding to throw herself off a balcony. Which she obviously didn't do. But in a room of 200 people (most of whom were there for the pizza), she and I were sobbing. She approached me afterwards and we got to talking.
I told her things I've never told anyone and she drove me to my first therapy appointment in years, showed up on my front step with samples of anti-depressants and basically strong-armed me into getting help. God bless her.
I went to therapy for three years before I stopped b/p ing. That's not a bad thing, though. All that time, I was shoveling out the crap that had accumulated in my brain from this disease. I don't regret paying for a single session. What I do regret is stopping.
But I figured that I was "better." I had stopped b/p ing, right? I suddenly had a normal, stable relationship, right? Things looked sunny, right? Right? Right?
After med school, I moved to central PA with my new husband so that we could both start residency. I made it through my intern year without puking (not without binging- let's make that perfectly clear...) essentially by white-knuckling it. I really don't recommend that. It can only last so long, you know?
Then, just a week and a half short of my 3 year anniversary without purging, I fell back into it. I suddenly understood the Alcoholics Anonymous distinction: sober vs dry. A sober person is one who has gone through the 12 steps and continues to work through them daily. She is self-aware and avoids situations that might threaten her sobriety. One who is dry is just not drinking. They are not recovering. It's that guy you see standing next to the bar at a party talking about not drinking.
I was so dry. I was proud of myself for not purging while I gained 70 pounds from the binging. I hadn't learned good ways to either control my weight or deal with stress. So, I relapsed. It was only a matter of time.
I wish I could say that I climbed out of that relapse easier than I did last time and that the secrecy and shame weren't controlling my life yet again. I guess that's an extremely wordy answer to your simple question, Kara. No, I'm not really recovered. But I'm getting better every day. And that's all I'm asking right now.
Suma
PS- I live in southern PA. It's pretty far from MA/NH, but I'm here for you if you need me!