Utah County Resources

In response to an "Ask Aly" that was sent in a couple of months ago, I realized that it might be a good idea to start updating and adding to the recovery resources I have on the blog. Luckily, I was able to get a great list of doctors, social workers and psychologists from the eating disorder recovery group that I mentored for this past semester.

Hope this helps!
(For more resources, click on the "Helpful Website/Resources" tab on the menu bar)

Meet Rachel

I first met Rachel Morrow while I was working at my part-time job a few weeks ago. She and her friend approached me and mentioned that they knew of me and my blog. Needless to say, I was super flattered that people actually knew who I was and read what I wrote! We exchanged information and decided to collaborate in the near future. Rachel is an incredible writer and an inspiring woman who doesn't let depression drag her down. To learn more about her story and to read the article that I wrote for her blog, check out her blog, Finding the Sunshine, at www.yellowinthegray.com 

 I’ve always been a bit of a perfectionist. From the time that I was little, I can remember feeling a little bubble of anxiety in my chest when things weren’t perfect. I’ve wanted to be perfect—to be the perfect daughter, perfect sister, perfect friend, perfect student…perfect everything. This wasn’t too much of a problem until I was diagnosed with depression when I was sixteen.

My perfectionism fed my depression. It made me hate myself for not living up to an impossible standard. The more I thought about my insecurities, the stronger my depression grew. I felt like I was never going to be able to be good enough and that I might as well give up. No matter what I did that was good, I felt like there were a billion other bad things to outweigh it.

 I mostly got things under control by the time I was eighteen. I started school at BYU and decided to serve a mission at age nineteen. A month or two into my mission, my perfectionism (along with my depression) started to really get to me. I got overwhelmed and frustrated. As my depression started to drown me, my perfectionism was there too as my constant companion. I felt like I was failing as a missionary--I was failing myself, God, and the people around me. What I didn't realize is that the chemical imbalance in my brain was causing these thoughts. I was holding myself up to a standard that wasn't realistic because it was perfection.

When I came home early from my mission in 2013, my depression was debilitating. I had to come home after six months because I couldn't do the missionary work and for my health it wasn't right for me to stay in the field. So when I got home, I still struggled to get out of bed. I had a hard time with social interactions and often had panic attacks when I was in a crowd of people. I felt absolutely awful about myself. Because I had come home early, I felt like a failure. I was trying to work to be better—I started my blog, I went back to school, I got a job, etc.—but my depression and my perfectionism kept telling me I wasn’t good enough. I hated myself for being depressed and for not being able to do what other people can do.

Finally, I started to realize that perfection isn’t possible. I began to look for the little accomplishments I did each day. I decided to live each individual day to the fullest, and to go from there. If one day all I could do is shower—that was enough for me because I was living that day to the fullest. The less I focused on the things I couldn’t do and the more I focused on what I could do the happier I became. Progress has become my mantra.

Progress, to me, is living my life to the fullest. As I take each day one at a time, my days are brighter and I am happier. I have to assess each day individually and work on some sort of progress for that specific day. Progress doesn’t have to be big. It just has to be one step, then another. I still struggle with perfectionism, but I’m learning more and more each day. As Frederick Douglass said, “If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” To struggle is okay. Struggling and striving are a part of the human experience. Through my battle with mental illness I have learned that perfection isn’t possible. But I’ve also learned that it’s not perfection that matters—it’s progress.



Love,
The Optimist in Progress

Finding the Sunshine

This week, Rachel from Finding the Sunshine (a blog about depression and overcoming mental illness) and I decided to do a collaboration! She asked me to write a post for her blog about how I've "found the sunshine" despite my challenges with eating disorders, and how other people can do the same.

Here's a preview of what I had to say, but make sure to check out Rachel's blog to see the full post tomorrow!

I was 14 years old when I first began my journey with eating disorders.

Although I had struggled with body dysmorphia for as long as I could remember, I didn't do anything to drastically change my body until the beginning of tenth grade. I decided to follow the "advice" of my health teacher and start a "calorie deficit" diet to lose weight (which I now realize didn't need to be lost in the first place).

Around when I first started to "diet".

The diet quickly turned into more than a weight loss plan, it was a disorder...an obsession. I was constantly preoccupied with counting calories and controlling my food intake--I was convinced that I was being "healthy". Food was always in the forefront of my thoughts and I was always hungry; I would go to bed starving just so I could eat breakfast in the morning. However, during this time I wasn't willing to accept that what I was doing was wrong. I was happily miserable.

At my lowest--not healthiest, weight. 

Towards the beginning of eleventh grade, I was bullied. I became depressed and turned to the one thing that I had been denying myself in order to find comfort: food. This quickly turned into a different disorder known as binge eating disorder. I would go into my family's kitchen and gorge on food for hours on end until my stomach couldn't take it anymore. I hated myself and it was also during this time that I became suicidal. 

Dr. Michael Spigarelli was the first person to tell me that an eating disorder--of any kind, is a (curable) mental disease; my disorders were not me or my fault. Additionally, he made sure to emphasize that depression and anxiety are often linked to disordered behaviors as well and also can act as catalysts for disorders to begin. Thanks to him, my therapist, and antidepressants, I was able to overcome my disease along with the depression that resulted. 

In all honesty, this was an incredibly dark time in my life; I had no hope for myself or for my future. There were times when I couldn't and didn't want to find the sunshine in anything. I accepted and feared that my life would always be a constant battle against myself; it felt as if I was slowly burying myself in a grave that I wouldn't be able to climb out of.

Ask Aly: Questions

I recently received this email and I thought it would be worth sharing with all of you. I want to clarify that this blog is not intended as a handbook for recovery, but rather a source for hope and insight into the world of eating disorders and body dysmorphia since everyone's experiences with both are different. If you ever have a question about a specific topic or resource I have included in a past post that you may have missed, feel free to click on the label section of the sidebar to find what your're looking for, check out the "Helpful Websites" section of the navigation menu, or submit an "Ask Aly". Although I may not have all of the answers or word things exactly as you need them to be said, I'm here to help!

I have struggled with EDs for almost my whole life. As a college student, I have emerged myself in  health studies, which have helped me cope with my eating issues, because I've been studying how to promote health in others.
I love reading your blog, and often find myself relating to the things you say. But as of late, I have had an issue with some of the things that you preach. You reach many young women, especially your peers, and I feel like you should be hyper aware of the messages you send to others.
You send the message that recovery is possible, and mention health pretty frequently. I wish you would promote the idea of reaching out for help from more than just those around you. I don't know if you ever got any professional help for the problems you have faced, but as with any mental disorder, professional help should be a line of defense. Many people are afraid to get help because of fear of being "caught" or the stigma related to mental health issues. I honestly wish you more explicitly would offer some type of professional resources for recovery, rather than just suggesting leaning on family and friends for support.
Additionally, I feel like you don't promote health quite accurately. You mention that now you are helathier, even if that means being heaier, however you don't really explain how you are healthier. I know it may seem like common sense to you or I, (both college educated and have struggled with these things) but some people have never faced these issues and don't really understand what is healthy and what is not. SO overall, I'd like to say that I enjoy your blog, but wish you'd promote health in a more professional light with more emphasis on how to get help and what being healthy really means.
I know you personally and understand how you get when you're criticized, and don't want you to take this as a personal attack, rather I'd like this to be seen as some support from a fellow soldier in this fight looking for ways to help you coach others.
xoxo best wishes

Hi there,

In past posts I have mentioned that I did go to a professional and I list his information on one of my blog pages. I don't know how long you have been reading my blog, but from the beginning, I have emphasized how seeing health professionals is a crucial aspect of recovery. I mentor girls on campus for their EDs and tell them the same thing. A good doctor will always be better than a good friend who is trying to help you. I am hyper aware that what I say influences the young women around me--which is why I say what I say. I try to focus on the causations for eating disorders like bad body image and low self-esteem--since those need to be cured first before one can successfully overcome an eating disorder. I suffered from depression and was suicidal during my eating disorders; I understand that eating disorders are a mental disorder. As to what I have said about reaching out to others, that was in response to a specific question that I was written about that. However, reaching out to others is another crucial step towards recovery. As to my health, I have been diagnosed as completely recovered from my disorder and I no longer hate my body--I have a healthy mentality towards myself; which I have also explained before. Thank you for your message, I'll make sure to reiterate these points in future posts.

Also, I know that offense wasn't your intention when writing this, but I question the extent to which you know me and what I have written on my blog based on what you have written to me.

You probably won't get this response because you used what looks like a fake email in order to maintain anonymity, but I hope that you're able to recover and find the help that you need. It's a hard journey, but it can be done.

*To submit a question, you can either use the submission app on the sidebar of the blog or email me at: tomyfullestblog@gmail.com*

Ask Aly: Accepting Help

How can people with eating disorders reach out for and accept help from others? Eating has always been very personal for me. I don't know how I can include loved ones in my recovery journey when I can't even be honest with myself about my eating habits.

Hi there!

Accepting help from others and being honest with yourself are two of the hardest--but also most important, steps that anyone can take when trying to overcome an eating disorder. Personally, I really struggled with both throughout all three of my disorders; however, I realize now that being honest with myself enabled me to reach out and accept help from others when I was ready.

When I was anorexic, I was in complete denial about what I was doing. I thought that because I was the smallest I had ever been in my life, I was also my healthiest (which is definitely not true for anyone). Whenever friends or family tried to reach out to me, I would push them away and justify my actions. Not only did I make myself miserable, but I made them miserable as well.

My relationship with my family--especially my mom, became really strained when I became a binge eater. However, it was during this time that I was finally able to start accepting that my previous "diet" was an eating disorder and that turning to food for comfort (I would eat uncontrollably for hours in order to forget my depression, how much I hated myself, or to forget how I was treated at school) was a disorder as well. Despite realizing this, I had a lot of emotions trapped inside of me. My family didn't really know how to handle me, my depression, or my disorder; no matter what they did or said to help, it was wrong. I hated them for not understanding what I was going through or for not understanding in the way that I needed them to. Because of this, everyone tip-toed around me like  I was a bomb that was waiting to go off...which only made things worse.

Eventually, I went to a therapist and she helped me gain more control of my emotions and my relationship with my family.

Like you said, eating is a personal thing and I think eating disorders are even more so. I think that's one reason why connecting with others throughout recovery is so hard. Eating disorders are unique to each individual who experiences them--but they aren't something that you can overcome on your own. Just like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a strong (and diverse) support group to heal an eating disorder victim.

Looking back, I think that the most important step that I took towards being honest with myself was telling my mom that I thought I had a binge eating disorder and then looking for medical help. From there, I was able to find professionals who gave me the tools and support that I needed to heal--and with this, Elaine Cheung, my therapist, was a godsend. I sincerely believe that having an unbiased, third-party to talk to was one of the best resources that I could have had--especially at the beginning of my recovery. Talking to family members--or even friends, about eating disorders or other emotional experiences, will always have strong emotional consequences on both sides...there can be a lot of unintended misunderstanding. My therapist looked at me objectively which allowed me to say things to her that I couldn't have said to others--she allowed me to talk about my relationships at home without offending anyone at home. By doing this, I was slowly able to release a lot of emotional pressure within myself and get to a state of relative calm where I could then move forward and take bigger strides towards recovery.

Another thing that I came to realize is that you have to give those around you some slack. I think a lot of my fear and frustration towards my family came from me expecting them to perfectly understand what I was going through--which they never could have done; not because they didn't want to, but rather because they couldn't. Well-meant sympathy is never the same as empathy. They also weren't eating disorder specialists. I expected them to save me when they were just as lost with how to help me as I was. I was so focused on myself drowning, that it was hard to see them drowning beside me.

I don't know if this answered your question, but I think you already hit the nail on the head. The first step towards including those around you is to be honest with yourself which then enables your to be honest with them. I remember that after meeting with Elaine for a while, she suggested that I sit with my family and officially tell them what I was going through--put it all out in the open so that everyone was on the same page. It was terrifying and embarrassing, but it helped. It's a wall that I would have eventually climbed at one point or another, but as soon as I did, I was able to move on to the next hurdle in front of me.

So, the sooner you do in your road to recovery, the better.

I can't guarantee how your family will react to something like this, but it's important to remember that whatever they do, it will be out of love and concern (even if it's sometimes misguided).

So make sure that you're not only patient with yourself, but patient with them too.

You can overcome your disorder, I believe in you.

You can do this!







*To submit a question, you can either use the submission app on the sidebar of the blog or email me at: tomyfullestblog@gmail.com*

Dots

During the last week of July, my family and I went to Bryce Canyon as our summer vacation. While I was packing for the trip, I grabbed my "I am beautiful" t-shirt thinking that this would be a great opportunity to promote the blog and to wear the shirt out in the real-world for photos that I could use in a future blog post.

However, when we got to the park my plan went totally out the window.

Why?

Reason 1-I wore the shirt once and immediately took it off (I'll explain later--also, light grey is super unforgiving when it comes to sweat marks).
Reason 2-Most of the tourists at Bryce Canyon that weekend were native French-speakers.

Oops.

Anyways, at the entrance to Bryce Canyon, there's a huge sign that has the park's name on it and as tradition dictates, a lot of visitors (including my family) stop to take photos of themselves in front of the sign before entering the park itself (there's even a column a few feet in front of the sign that was made to put cameras on for optimal photo-taking).

I had brought the shirt with me in my backpack so I could change into it for pictures since I would look like a sweaty mess if I chose to wear it for both pictures and hiking in hot weather (I found this out the hard way after wearing the shirt while sitting through a two hour "rodeo" the day before). So, I decided that the most practical spot to take a picture in the shirt would be in front of the sign rather than inside the actual park itself, so once we got out of our car I asked my sister to take a couple of pictures of me.

Long story short, although I felt great while taking the pictures, I hated how I looked in all of them afterwards.

My stomach showed.
My arms looked too big.
My thighs were touching.
My body looked wider than normal.

I obsessed over how I could have made myself look better or how I could have hid myself more.

I shouldn't have tucked in my shirt.
I should have put my arm on my other hip.
I should have angled myself differently.
I should have worn longer pants.

When I realized that those thoughts wouldn't change what happened, I tried to find ways to "salvage" the photos--and my self-esteem.

So,

I deleted.
I cropped.
I filtered.

No matter what I did, I still hated how I looked.
(Which was ironic, given the shirt that I was wearing)

I allowed negative thoughts and embarrassment about my appearance to consume the rest of my day.

Despite the eating disorders that I've been through and the steps towards self-acceptance that I've made, I'm always surprised by how easily and how often I fall back into old habits of criticizing my body.

During one of my first visits to my eating disorder doctor, Michael Spigarelli, he showed me a piece of paper that looked like this:

What do you see?

When he asked me this question, I responded that I saw a dot. He then asked me if I saw anything else and I told him that I didn't. Dr. Spigarelli went on to explain to me that by only focusing on the dot, I had forgotten to notice the rest of the paper.

How often do we allow ourselves to lose sight of the whole picture by only focusing on the "dots" that are in our lives?

And concerning my situation, how often do we allow ourselves to lose sight of our personal worth by only focusing on the "dots" or "flaws" (which really aren't flaws, but just warped personal opinions) that occur on our bodies?

We all have "dots" on us, but I think it's time for us to embrace our bodies holistically instead of obsessing over what we deem to be our "trouble areas".

Just like there was more to that piece of paper than the dot, there is more to each of us than what we perceive to be our flaws.

Our bodies aren't something to hide, crop, angle, or filter, they are perfect the way they are.

We are the sum of our parts, not the parts themselves.

It's taken me a month to figure out what I've wanted to say in this post. Since the trip to Bryce Canyon, there have been other instances where I've second-guessed my self-esteem or complained about my body. I've had the photos taken at Bryce Canyon hidden in my phone and I've avoided looking at them out of fear.

Luckily, I realize now that how I appear on film or even how I appear in general are the least important things about who I am as a person.

We all struggle with insecurities, but we need to remind ourselves that they are just a small aspect of our lives. And in my case, there was more to that trip than the photos of me that were taken there and there is more to me than those photos.

After all, a piece of paper is more than the dots that are drawn on it.

You know, I actually don't have a problem with 
this picture anymore, I love how happy I look! 

Swimsuits

When I was in high school (and during one of the worst stages of my binge eating disorder), my choir class went on a trip to San Francisco. I've talked about this trip before in previous posts, but there's one story I haven't shared yet from my trip to the city by the bay. Given that it's almost summer and that "swimsuit season" is almost upon us, I figured now would be the best time to share it with all of you. 

From my Instagram account. Fun fact: This week marks exactly
two years from the time that I went on this trip. 

On one of our last nights in San Francisco, we were given some free-time to hangout at the hotel pool. I know this is going to sound stupid, but for some reason (despite the fact that the itinerary specifically said to bring a swimsuit) I didn't think we would actually have the chance to swim. I mean, I brought a swimsuit, but I didn't think I was actually going to need it given all the sight-seeing we had planned. 

Anyways, that night I panicked when I heard the news. I told my friends that they could go without me because I didn't feel well (which was partially true, I just wasn't experiencing the sickness that they had in mind). In reality, I was terrified to have my peers see what my body looked like beneath the baggy, ill-fitting clothes that I normally wore. The thought of stripping all of those layers away from myself and allowing nothing to be left to their imagination was petrifying. No matter how much I wanted to go have fun with everyone else, I couldn't find the courage to not care about the potential thoughts that others might have had about my body. 

Instead, I stayed in my hotel room, binged on my roommate's snacks, cried in the stairwell, and fell asleep early. 

So, why is it that we feel like we have to look perfect to have a perfectly good time? 

Summer 2011: 120 lbs.
Anorexic. Dieting. "Beautiful".  

Swimming and swimsuits aside, how often do we figuratively lock ourselves away in "hotel rooms" and away from life due to self-esteem, body image, or weight issues? 

How often do we place how good we look in a swimsuit alongside how good we feel about ourselves? 

I posted an article on the Facebook page for this blog about a week ago about fashion blogger, Jessica Kane, who went to the beach without a coverup over her swimsuit and posted a picture of it online. People were praising her, saying that she was "brave" for loving her body and not hiding it. Her response to those comments was surprising, but perfectly stated:  

"THIS WAS NOT BRAVE. I’ve been told how brave I am for not having a coverup, but going with out (sic) a wrap would only take bravery if I cared what others thought of me, but I don’t. I spend my time worrying about things I CAN control and this day, I was only thinking about how fab I felt and how much sun I was catching ☀️ Things that DO take bravery? A family battling tragic illness, a mother trying to beat addiction, a person trying to break free of domestic violence, reaching out for help when you have already planned your suicide and feel like you can’t breath one more day. THAT is brave. Not wearing a swimsuit at the beach. LIVE life and only worry about what really matters."

(Why do we place wearing a swimsuit in public on the same field of bravery as any of the other things listed above?)

After the trip to San Francisco, I went to an appointment with Dr. Michael Spigarelli. I told him about what happened and how I had not only avoided swimming because I felt inadequate, but that I had also binged and become depressed as a result of the emotions that stemmed from my actions. After hearing this, he told me that the only way I could prevent this from happening again in the future was to accept my body, buy a swimsuit that made me feel amazing, and to go have fun in that swimsuit. 

I'm sure that those of you who have experienced being a teenage girl know exactly how I reacted. 

I smiled, nodded my head, and completely ignored his crazy challenge. 

As time has gone by, I realize now that I wasn't afraid of what others would think of my body if I did this.  

I was afraid of going into a dressing room to try on a swimsuit only to need a bigger size. 

I was afraid of going out in public and seeing the stretch marks that were normally covered up by my clothes. 

I was afraid of feeling my thighs touch and my fat jiggle.

I was afraid of comparing myself to the other women around me. 

I was afraid of my own thoughts. 

Like those individuals who commented on Jessica's picture, I thought that in order to go out in a swimsuit (especially when I didn't have a beach-ready body) I needed to be "brave", and you know, I guess that's partially true. You do have to be brave when wearing swimsuit, but not in the sense that they implied. 

It isn't brave to wear a swimsuit in public, but it is brave to love yourself regardless of what the world tells you to be.

If you spend your life (or your summer) worrying about what others think of you, you'll never find out what you think of you. 

I'll be honest, I still haven't taken up Dr. Spigarelli's challenge to go buy a new swimsuit to fit my bigger body (it's a matter of personal finances now, rather than self-esteem), but I think I finally understand what he meant when he told me to do so. 

We shouldn't love our bodies conditionally or be ashamed of them when they aren't what we want them to be. 

We shouldn't fall into the trap of believing that we're only good enough to enjoy life when we diet or exercise regularly. 

We shouldn't let an article of clothing determine our happiness. 

However, we should go buy swimsuits that make us feel good about ourselves and start having fun. 

Today: 165 lbs.

Chubby. Healthy. Loving my body and loving life without coverups.
(My middle school swimsuit was the only one at home
that would fit me; I look like a lady bug!)

Free

My sister, Holly, was a good sport and took some pictures
 of me for an employee board at work. I was surprised by
how  much I actually liked how I looked in each one.
Definitely a new experience. 

Lately I've started to realize that the older I've gotten, the more prioritized and selective my free-time has become. Thanks to this, February came and went with no blog posts. 

Last month I had an appointment with Dr. Spigarelli and heard some great news.

Guess what? 

I am officially eating disorder free. 

It took me six years of battling my thoughts, my habits, and my body, but I did it. 

If you asked me six years ago if I ever thought that I would like my body at any size, I would have said no. 
If you asked me five years ago if I ever thought that I would have a healthy relationship with food, I would have said no. 
If you asked me four years ago if I ever thought that I would ever have a normal life, I would have said no. 
If you asked me three years ago if I would be alive right now, I would have said no. 

If you asked me three years ago if I wanted to be alive right then, I would have said no. 

It's amazing what time can do. 
Actually, scratch that. It's amazing what the influence of selfless people can do. 

My mom. 
Dr. Spigarelli. 
Dr. Cheung. 

Without them (and countless others) I don't know where, or who, I would be right now. 
They were my friends, my mentors, and ultimately, my saviors. 

Dr. Spigarelli mentioned during our last appointment that he had just been my cheerleader, and that I was the only person to credit for my success. 

Obviously he's right in the sense that it was up to me to find the desire to change and act upon that desire, but in all honesty, what I needed most was a cheerleader; someone who unconditionally believed in me more than I believed in myself. No one is ever "just" something. We all play roles in the lives of the people around us, whether we realize it or not. Who you are or what you do may be exactly what someone needs. 

Looking back on the past six years I spent fighting either an eating disorder mentality, or an eating disorder itself, I can't say that I regret anything that happened...which must sound crazy given all that I went through.

I was miserable, I was suicidal, and even at my lowest weight during my first eating disorder (restrictive eating/ anorexia), I loathed myself. The smaller dress-sizes, lower calories, and increased exercising didn't make me happier, they made me paranoid.

I sold my childhood to see a lower weight on a scale, only to have it stolen from me when my body said "enough" and my growing appetite became an addiction (bingeing/ bulimia).

As I gained weight at the rate of 20 lbs. per month, my world shattered around me. I had an identity crisis, and broke down. I remember thinking that if I wasn't thin or "beautiful", all I did was take up space. I felt like the "real me" was hidden under layers of fat. I thought that it was my bigger body size that kept people from I asking me to dances or going on dates.

I sincerely believed that because I weighed more, my value was less.

I realize now that it wasn't my weight that held me back, but myself.

Why is it that we tend to think that we need to change or "improve" ourselves in order to be loved or accepted by others when the only person we're really trying to earn acceptance from is ourselves?

I've been told before that God gives us trials to make us better people, and I completely agree. My experiences have opened my eyes and caused me to see the world differently. I'm more compassionate towards others, especially myself.

The lessons I've been taught through my eating disorders weren't easy, but they were worth every ounce of weight gained or lost. I know now that there's more to life than calories counted, clothing sizes worn, miles run, or weight placed on a scale; life is about living.

Even though I'm no longer medically diagnosed with an eating disorder, I still fight my past every day.
Sometimes I wish I was smaller, and sometimes I eat when I'm not hungry.
But that's okay.

Because I like who I am, regardless of body size or what anyone says I should or shouldn't be.
I am a survivor, the hero of my story.

I am free. 

Sample

A few weeks ago, I was invited to write a sample blog post in order to be considered for an opportunity to write on a volunteer basis for the LDS blog, Sugardoodle.

With this in mind, I thought that I could share with all of you what I submitted:


Eating disorders, like a lot of things in life, aren't exactly predictable.

During my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I was done with feeling embarrassed by my body and the extra pounds it carried. As a result, I started a strict diet that only allowed me to eat about 1,700 calories a day. Within two months I had lost 40 pounds and reached, what I thought to be, my ideal body weight. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. No matter how much weight I lost, I wasn’t satisfied; I could always lose five more pounds. Eventually, I reached a point where the compliments I had been receiving from friends and family became tinged with worry; but no one could stop me. I realize now that I had become a victim of an eating disorder due to my own warped perceptions of beauty and self-worth. My “diet” controlled every action, thought, and emotion I had; it consumed me, and became my identity.

Pre-eating disorders.

 I still can't believe I thought this was fat.



 A few months later, I became depressed due some drama at school within my circle of friends. Almost immediately I turned to food as my medication of choice, and shortly thereafter, I developed what would become another eating disorder. The sadder I became, the more I ate. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose (plus a little extra), came back within a month’s time and the depression that followed resulted in even more eating. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t stop myself--food was my escape from reality.

For the longest time I felt that it was my fault that I couldn’t control my eating because I was weak and too miserable to change. Luckily, I met with a doctor who helped me realize that an eating disorder is a mental disease with physical implications. It isn’t just a matter of not eating or eating more; it’s an addiction, a state of being.  He once compared an eating disorder to a person with Diabetes (which I have) by explaining that just as you can’t tell a Diabetic to make insulin on their own, you can’t talk someone out of an eating disorder. It takes time, therapy, medication, meditation, and patience for change to occur.



Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about how and why I came to have an eating disorder in the first place. I've come to the conclusion that it didn’t come from a single source, but many. In both instances, I felt inadequate. I was angry that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough. I guess I believed what society told me: that my value lay in the number on a scale, the calories on a box, or the size on a clothing tag.  Even though it’s been two years since my last relapse, I know that my eating disorder is an intrinsic part of who I am, shaping my thoughts, opinions of myself and, at times, how I interact with others. However, through the support of my loved ones, the blessings of the Atonement, and the love of my Father in Heaven, I know that we're never really alone during the trials placed before us.

Poison

I love Tuesdays.

I especially love the Tuesdays when I get to go to Salt Lake and see Dr. Michael Spigarelli. 

Dr. Spigarelli is the main reason why I chose to go into adolescent psychology this year at college (when I told him this today he said that, "Those who go into adolescent health care do it because they remember what it was like to be misunderstood. They don't try to forget their memories, but hold on to them."). He saved my life in ways beyond my physicality, and--aside from my mother, is my biggest cheerleader. Simply put, I admire him beyond words and I am incredibly grateful to have him in my life. 

During today's check-up we mainly talked about experiences that I've gone through over the past few months and my progress with my eating disorder. I'm proud to tell you all that I haven't binged, or had thoughts of bingeing,  since September of last year. It seems like I've finally reached a long-awaited hiatus until my next massive trial strikes.

More good news, I've lost 10 lbs.!
Want to know how I did it?

I ate.

Whaaaaa?! (Anyone else think of "The Amazing Spider-Man 2")

Yep. You heard me right. I ate food and because of that I lost weight.

For some reason, we've been taught to see and treat food as a necessary poison that we eventually become addicted to and need to pull away from at times. But why is that? We seem to think that it's better to deprive our body of nutrients by skipping  a meal than to eat a piece (or pieces) of cake at a birthday party.

Growing up, I was taught to count calories and to monitor the sweets that I would eat...I guess it was a generational issue. Physicians today now realize that calorie counting isn't important when compared to consistent eating. The secret to a healthy and active metabolism isn't found in a pill, super-food, or diet, but rather in eating what you want, when your body needs it. Essentially, the best diet is to listen to your stomach-- not restricting what you eat.

When I met Dr. Spigarelli, we established that my first goal would be to retrain my body to know when it was, and wasn't, hungry--due to the fact that for a year I had stretched it to its limits with binges and I simply didn't know when I needed to eat anymore. This was done through creating a regular eating schedule (meals six times a day plus protein snacks to keep myself full) and also by allowing myself to eat what I wanted. Dr. Spigarelli was teaching me that the best way to overcome an eating disorder is to go against what my eating disorder had been telling me for three years--which was, to eat (junk food, fruit, carbs...everything and anything).

I wish I could record every conversation that I've had with Dr. Spigarelli and upload them here unto this blog so that they could help other people. I feel like Mormon the Book of Mormon when he writes, "...I cannot write the hundreth part of the things of my people" (Words of Mormon 1:5). I don't think that I'll ever be able to adequately retell the things that I've learned from my visits to Dr. Spigarelli's clinic, but I hope that I can spread his general message of loving yourself.

Although I lost 10 lbs. over the course of about a year, it was healthy, natural, and safe. We need to learn to trust our bodies and know that our bodies will compensate for the days when we eat more than we intend to or less (think of Thanksgiving-- we stuff ourselves on the actual holiday, but we tend to not be as hungry the following day because our body doesn't need the food due to the obligatory eating festivities prior--like mitosis in cells, our bodies balance themselves out).

We shouldn't focus our lives upon a game of counting numbers and deprivation.

So, long-story-short, eat the 500 calorie piece of cake over the 300 calorie piece. Heck, eat two.
Because honestly, it really won't affect your weight in the long-run.

Of Monsters and Men

I heard recently that in order to understand a monster, you must become one yourself.
I realize now that I'm the perfect archetype of this.

After 90+ blog posts, I can't exactly remember how much I have talked about my first eating disorder, but I wanted to write this down as a reminder to myself that numbers don't determine happiness.

I wish I could start this story at a specific point in my life, but as I've mentioned before, my eating disorder didn't just appear one morning. Rather, I believe that it had been festering inside of me for years.

In sixth grade, a boy named Noah told me that I looked like Fionna the Ogre.
Middle school brought self-awareness and the desire to fit in.
By high school, I was done.

My 10th grade health class was where I first learned about "calorie deficits" from my teacher, Mr. Lambourne. This concept of eating less to lose weight quickly seemed like an answer to my prayers. I did as he said, and kept a food journal online that would track my weight, my calories and my feelings throughout the process.

The first week was hard, but manageable. I wrote every day, and although I saw no change in weight, I was optimistic about the future.By the end of the second week, I had lost 5 pounds and fell into the rabbit hole. From that moment on, the scale became my best friend in what I thought to be a battle against myself.
The rules of my diet were simple: (looking back, I realize now how restrictive I had become) measure everything out into serving sizes, only eat 1,500 calories a day, eat celery and ice between meals (no calories),apples/rice cakes/bananas for snacks, and I couldn't eat sugar. My mom had told me that my lifestyle wasn't sustainable, and I was determined to prove her wrong.

The longer I did this, the easier it became. It was life. In the beginning, my mom complimented me on my self-control and I took pride in my "strength".  My A1c and blood sugar levels dropped dramatically and  I used them as an excuse for my actions. I thought my doctors were impressed with me, but as I look back now, I realize that their eyes were filled with worry, rather than awe.

Within 3 months, I had lost close to 35 pounds. I remember going to a parade with some guy friends during this time to see my best friend perform a cheer routine. As we were walking back to one of their cars, they admitted to have been checking me out. I laughed it off, flattered. They told me that I never needed to go on a diet, but they liked my new body more. Comments like these perpetuated my ever-growing ego. (However, I feel the need to state that not all of my guy friends were like this. One of them, Zach, would always tell me that he was worried I wasn't eating enough. When I finally started to turn my life around, he stated one day, "Alyson, I am so glad to see you eating again!") It seemed to be that the more weight I lost, the more compliments I received. My hunger for food was satisfied by my cravings for attention.

My restrictive eating caused a lot of tension between my me and my mother. The most prominent memory of this is when my family went to Oahu that same summer as the parade. I made my parents buy specific food just for me...low calorie, of course. I had temper tantrums over snacks and meal plans (I cried over not being able to have sugar-free syrup at Denny's to go with my whole wheat waffles and egg whites...). Needless to say, I definitely took away from the happy mood of the trip.

My thoughts were continually shaped around calorie amounts, my current weight, and my current clothing size. My mom told me that I wasn't enjoying life, I told her that I hated her. I constantly criticized everyone's eating habits around me. I thought of myself as an example for others to follow, so that they too could partake of my "happiness". I would tell my story whenever, and wherever I could. I wanted to become a nutritionist and write to inspire girls to do as I did--starve themselves to death in order to feel beautiful; I was clueless.

Although I thought that losing weight would make me feel more confident, it caused my insecurities to become even more exaggerated. Dress shopping for dances was ridiculous. I was constantly defensive, on edge and easy to anger. I didn't care about any of that though, I was too focused on the image I saw in the mirror. I remember being in the shower one day and looking down to see my feet, without my stomach obstructing the view--I was so happy I cried.

The more I write about this, the more I realize that I'll never be able to adequately record my thoughts, feelings, or experiences during this time of my life or about eating disorders in general. I said earlier that in order to understand a monster, you have to become one yourself. Well, I became a monster and lived to tell the tale; I'm able to better understand and help those around me because of it.

I can proudly say that I've been in your shoes, I get it.

Happy Holidays!

With the holiday season finally over, I definitely feel proud of myself.  My A1c is down from 9.0 to 8.4, and I haven't binged in months.

For the past four years, I've either avoided Thanksgiving dinner or overindulged in everything placed before me; this year was different. I didn't count calories and I didn't stuff my face,  I just ate. Maybe that doesn't sound like much, but for me it was surreal, miraculous. The entire night I was waiting the floodgates to open and drown me in my eating disorder once again.

After going shopping, I went home expecting myself to at least have the desire to binge on leftover pie or stuffing, but nothing happened. I ate a piece of pie and that was it.

When I went to my doctor appointment a week later, I told  Dr. Spigorelli about what happened and he was actually just as shocked as I was. He said that he expected me to have a normal holiday dinner in maybe two years from the time he first saw me, not 8 months.

Christmas went fairly well too. I had a couple more cookies than I planned on at our family nativity party and I indulged in some treats that my parent's neighbors brought by; however, I could stop myself whenever I wanted to. I was in the front-seat, not my eating disorder. I ate those things due to my own free will, not infectious impulses.

I was able to wear size large pajamas that my Great Aunt gave me without my self-esteem taking a nose dive. I also didn't care about unflattering instances captured by cameras.

My body is attached to my soul, but it doesn't determine my spirit.

Through the tears shed and trials endured, I've come to respect who I am as an individual.
I've decided that self-control and self-esteem are gifts best given to one's self.

2013: A Year in Review

A new year symbolizes a new start and a rebirth. It can be used as a marker of progress made and motivation to continue on in various endeavors.

A year ago today I was suicidal and depressed. I had lost all hope for recovery and my future seemed bleak. My relationship with my parents was strained and I was a living lie to all of my friends. I was constantly masking my feelings and trials, hoping for a better day that I feared would never come. I was isolated and alone, my soul shrouded in constant, endless night.

I had to see a therapist every week in order to better grab hold of the reality surrounding me. Every appointment was primed by tears and filled with sorrow. I would talk about the hatred I held for my sisters and the loathing of my mother. I would cry over the fate I had been given and the misunderstandings of the world. I would empty my heart to a complete stranger.

I would constantly check out of school or be late to classes with the excuse that, "I didn't feel well". I was telling the truth, but my sickness was caused by chemical imbalances, actions taken, and overwhelming insecurities--not physical illness or Diabetes. I stopped participating in activities that once brought me joy. I purged in secret at home and in public; as a result, my eyes became bloodshot and my skin sallow.  I wore baggy clothes and pretended not to care about my appearance. In reality, I was trying to hide my body from my own scrutiny and that of others.

I went to San Francisco, had some fun. I binged on my roommates foods while they were gone. I cried on the hotel balcony for what seemed like hours. Slowly I gave up on my schooling, friends, and life. Since I didn't trust myself, I wouldn't trust anyone else.

Through my therapist, I was able to meet a doctor who specialized in eating disorders. He gave me hope, medication and valuable advice. Since then, my problems have been far from gone, but at least they're diminishing slowly, one by one. I began my first semester of college in June and the impossible started to become a possibility. The control held by my eating disorder started to dissolve, food became less of a burden and I could finally stand tall. Despite progress made, my insecurities remained (and I'm sure they'll never completely go away). I avoided pictures and mirrors;  I restrained from being myself. I did meet a dear friend though, and because of her I started to live again.

In 365 days I have become a person that I never thought I would ever be. I still get sad, I still slip up, but at least now I love who I am and appreciate where I've been.

I've learned that life should measured by the trials we have endured and risen above. I could look back at this past year and see myself as a victim, but rather, I choose to see how I became empowered by my experiences.

I am strong, but not unbreakable.

Here's to the end 2013, and the dawn of 2014.
It's a new year "with no mistakes in it yet".

Cravings

During the past week I had to go without taking anti-depressants due to my prescription running out. I thought I could handle a few days on my own, but I guess I'm still a little shaky. I definitely felt the urge to snack more and, well, I did. Actually, I'm snacking on slice of bread with raisins and peanut butter plus a cup of soy milk hot chocolate as I type....at 2:30am....

I know I've mentioned before that I'm scared that this disease, this disorder will follow me throughout my life. Times like this always reawaken those fears. In all honesty, nothing terrible has happened over the past seven days. I mean, I practically scarfed down an entire family-size bag of Frootie Tooties on my own, but aside from that I've been maintaining myself fairly well. Dr. Spigorelli has told me countless times that one day I'll be able to look back and not remember the last time I binged. I think I'm slowly getting there, but honestly, I just want to get to a point where I can eat like a normal person for a day, or at least feel "normal" for an instant.

My biggest problem is that I often allow objects or opinions to determine my happiness.

I'm nervous for my future and frustrated at myself. Healing physically is one thing, while healing mentally is a completely different ball game. I guess that's what I'm scared of, never being able to recover mentally from this disease. I've always had my insecurities, but I've allowed this eating disorder to make mountains out of molehills. 

I'm certain that one day I will be in a better place.

I'm just not sure who I'll be when I get there.

Or how long it will take. 

Demons

Having gone from being an extremely restrictive eater to a binge eater, I still find myself subconsciously counting calories and fighting urges to eat everything in sight, despite the progress that I've made over the past two years.

I've been told that an eating disorder is a form of disease that, with help, can be cured. However, I feel like I'm never going to be completely separated from this demon that seems to follow me everywhere I go...I've learned that medication and determination can only take me so far.

I really believe that an eating disorder can physically be cured, I consider myself living proof;
but, I don't think that I'll ever be mentally cured.

These disorders will haunt me for the rest of my life and relapse will forever be on my horizon.
This is more than a disorder or a disease, this is my personal demon. 

Beauty

Well, I actually survived high school; in all honesty, it was a longshot. Senior year was definitely better than Junior year, and for that I'm glad. A few months ago, my therapist, Elaine Cheung, introduced me to Michael Spigarelli. Mike was the answer to every prayer I've had over the past few years. I don't know why things clicked with him, but I think part of me knew that he was my last chance for help. He's seriously a great person, I admire him so much. He definitely isn't afraid to talk your ear off, but the information he gives you is worth way more than a missing ear. I can't say that I'm 'cured' yet, but life has gotten easier. I still overeat occasionally, but the binges are pretty much ancient history. I'm not trying to count my chickens before they hatch, but I know that I've changed.

Before I thought I was a worthless individual. Throughout middle school and high school I placed value on a scale that weighed beauty. I thought that I was at my happiest when I went on a restrictive diet and lived off of celery sticks and crystal light. In all honesty, that was such a miserable time in my life. I didn't value who I was as a thinking human being, but rather as an object that everyone could/should admire. My motto seemed to be, "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels". Now that I look back, I've realized that the only thing that dieting will make you feel is hungry.

I'll admit that I would seriously love to naturally be a size 4 and have no reason to feel insecure about my body. However, I need to accept who I am eternally, and in the present. Numbers don't determine your worth, but your actions towards others do.

Throughout the past years, I haven't been able to let go of an experience I had after I had lost weight.
I probably shouldn't name names, but In ninth grade (before I lost weight) I had a massive crush on this guy, B. I thought he was amazing in every single way (mostly because I was overlooking his faults). He showed some interest, but the next year when I had starved myself down a few pant sizes, everything changed. He told me I was beautiful, that I dressed well, that I didn't need to lose the weight--but I look great now, he serenaded me with songs while he played his guitar, he texted me, he tried to be around me, he blushed when he saw me,  and he even attempted to ask me to be his girlfriend.

I thought about him all the time, I really grew attached. Sixth months later when I gained 50 pounds, he was gone from my life. No more smiles, no more compliments, nothing.

I hated myself. I hated who I was. I hated him. I hated every boy who had ever lived on the planet.They were all selfish pigs who couldn't overlook a girl's weight. I kept telling myself that if I lost weight again, he would be back in an instant. I told myself that this was my fault, that I was a failure, that I didn't deserve to be loved since I wasn't worth looking at.

My brother-in-law once told me that it's always good to be served a slice of humble pie and I can't agree with him enough. Bouncing from both ends of the eating disorder spectrum, helped me widen my view of the world and of myself. I felt like I had shattered into a million pieces and there was no way to put myself back together. Ultimately, I was the only person who could pick myself off of the floor and become whole again. During the healing process, I had to examine each piece of myself including the good, the bad, and the straight out ugly. I'm actually grateful for this experience, it helped me realize who I was, what I valued and what I stood for. I want someone to love me for me, not for how I look at a certain moment in life. Afterall, humans bodies only get weirder when we age...

Raven Simone was recently complimented on losing weight by being told that she was "beautiful". Raven responded "I was always beautiful, now I'm just thin."

I am valuable. I have worth. I like who I am now.

I am beautiful, and no one can take that away from me.

Faith...

Well, my week of purging has finally ended.

Hopefully I'll be able to keep out of that grave for good this time.

I can't help but get frustrated lately with how hard it is to quit. I thought that I was finally done with this eating disorder back in July, but I still can't accept just how wrong I actually was. I've gotten larger in the meantime, and it is physically strenuous to keep myself away from food. I'm doing better, but for how long? When will I completely snap again?

I'd like to think of myself as a thoroughly religious individual. I want to serve a mission in the near future, but that can only happen if I end this addiction. The scriptures talk of faith overcoming all trials, but my faith hasn't helped me at all lately. I feel that I have withdrawn myself from God again through my doubts. I guess that one can only face so many disappointments and failures before breaking down. I know that I'm a broken individual.

Today, things were better up until dinner. I controlled my eating, listened to my stomach, and successfully kept out of the kitchen. During dinner, I ate a regular amount--even leaving some of my unfinished meal on the plate, and then caving in to have a piece of cake with everyone else afterwards. However, as soon as everyone left the kitchen to socialize, I began to fall apart. I should have known better, but  I can't explain how hard it is to resist food that is left out after a meal. It's not that I went totally overboard with my eating, but I definitely ate more that I should have. Heck, I don't even remember what I ate. But I broke my own rules, and goals for the day.

All I want is to lose enough weight to be healthy, if not skinny. I don't even know how much I weight right now. I'm guessing that I'm bordering around 170 lbs. (more or less). Its depressing to think that I literally gained 50 pounds over about 6 months. I know I'm fat. I know I'm weak. I know that I should try harder.

But how?

Food makes me so happy. I guess that's the addiction talking.

I can't help feeling like a failure after all of my relapses. I just can't seem to stay resolved for long enough. Knowing myself, I'm a very impatient person. Often, I seek instant gratification on issues like this. When I chose to diet two years ago, I did the maximum calorie deficit possible in order to lose the weight fast. Now, if I don't see a physical change within two weeks of monitoring myself, I give up.

I think part of my problem deals with the fact that I haven't quite accepted the reality of my decisions. I still want to be that skinny girl I was a short year ago. It just happened so fast. I was robbed of my chance of being healthy for a change.

Because of this, my faith has began to dwindle.

I can't decide if this trial was something that I need to go through, or just a consequence of my actions, and those around me.

I know that this disorder has shaped my character for better, and for worse. But how much of it has been necessary?

Another part of me just wants to place the blame on those who have hurt me in the past. Although my emotions are more controlled now, I still feel a lot of contention towards my mother, my sisters, and those who I once called close friends. How different my life would have been had they acted differently in my life. And on the same note, my life would be drastically different had I chose to react differently to their actions.

I've noticed that often, trials cause us to drown in the waves, float above the surface, cling to a life-preserver or swim to the shore. In my case, I think I was floating for a while, but I distracted myself from surviving a few moments, and now I'm slowly sinking again.

The FUN clinic doesn't really help me anymore, and I don't think that this new therapist will either. Maybe it's my pride, but something keeps telling me I should be able to overcome this. I just can't for some reason.

I don't want to say that unseen forces are trying to hinder my actions, or that I can be healed completely by someone else acting on my behalf, but this whole experience has been a trial of my faith. I have faith that one day I will be healed, but I don't know how, or when it will happen. The bigger question is, why aren't changes happening now? Why can't I apply gospel teachings to my life to help me save it. Should I talk to my bishop? Do I need to go to a rehab center?

I'm going to try harder.

Purging

I need to post this. I can't hold it in any longer. 

Within the past week, I've started to purge again, but much worse than in the past. This time around, I'm actually throwing up, not just gagging myself by thrusting my index finger against my uvula. 

The bingeing has gotten worse too. Like worse than before. The past three days have been the darkest since this eating disorder matured last February. 

I just cant stop. I want to go to rehab more than anything in this world, but it wont ever happen. I guess I just want to separate myself from the real world for a while. I know I can make it without needing food when I'm not in close vicinity to a kitchen or food source, but being at home is like living in Hell. I don't want to talk to my mom about what has started to happen lately, she's never around anyway to help me when I need her most, and she just gets upset at me when I tell her that I'm struggling. She also isn't much help either. 

Please don't think that I hate my mother, because I don't. But I do hate talking to her about this. 

I can't handle this anymore. I truly cant. I've tried all that I can, but I'm never consistent. The urge is just too strong. And now, the urge to purge is getting stronger as its own separate addiction. It feels so...satisfying. 



I'm so done with everything.

Complications

So I know that this isn't the first time I've said this, but I did relapse a little today. BUT, today's near catastrophe wasn't necessarily due to my own choices or desires.

I have had high blood sugar practically all day. It started around 8:00a.m. and it has pretty much lasted throughout the entire day. I've tried to explain this concept before, but high blood sugar influences my appetite and even my mental state at times. Because of this, I usually either binge, have my blood sugar raise and binge more as a result OR I have high blood sugar and binge until I realize I have high blood sugar. However, today I knew I was high (and no, not on drugs) and I really tried to avoid the kitchen all together. Somehow, despite all of my efforts I still ended up eating half a serving of mini wheats, two cups of honey nut cheerios (with honey on top of it), banana bread with peanut butter, milk, cheese with pretzels and some frozen cool whip....so yes, I definitely binged. I did go to the bathroom after and I did try to purge, luckily I didn't get hardly anything out.

I'm not trying to use diabetes or my blood sugar as a passes for my actions (ultimately, I make the final decision to act on my cravings), but depression on top of whacked out sugar levels is almost like asking for a binge to happen.

This is all really hard to explain and probably even harder to understand if you haven't been severely addicted to anything in your life. I know I should just be able to walk away or stop eating, but it just isn't that simple. On top of the plethora of complications that an eating disorder readily provides, having a disease that has such a strong influence over so many aspects of your health makes recovery seem impossible. Gaining weight messed up my insulin ratios and I still haven't gotten a handle on it yet.

I'm hoping that withing the next month after seeing a psychiatrist and my endocrinologist I'll be able to at least attempt to get better control over my mental and physical health so I can finally make even more steps to permanent recovery.

Clinics, Confessions and Trips to the Library (Part 1/3)

Part One-"Clinics"

I finally feel like my life has finally started to take a few turns for the better.
I guess it all started a few months ago with the end of my AP classes and the conclusion of soccer season. My dad had found a car for me and my friend drama was dying down. My mom also found an eating disorder clinic at Primary Children's Hospital and we were able to set an appointment for last week. I'm getting ahead of myself now, but literally, the past month has been a blur (in a good way).

My sister, Holly, took decided to take me to an LDS Family Services meeting for church members with eating disorders about two weeks ago. After having her check to see who was there, I chose to not attend because there would have been at least a ten year age gap between me and the other victims there; however, this was a huge step in the right direction. Not only did her kindness help me realize that I wasn't as alone as I thought I was, it helped me look at my life in a new light. In a sense, it prepared me for the change that would later take place within that same week. A few days later I attended my first of many clinic visits at Primary Children's.
I can't begin to tell you how wonderful that experience was. After my experience at Dr. Foster's office two months prior to this visit, I have to admit I was beyond skeptical. I guess I just didn't want to be disappointed again or have someone take my disorder lightly when it is something so serious.

We signed in and were immediately taken back to a patient room and was told to get put on a gown so I could be weighed accurately. They had me stand with my back to the digital screen so I couldn't see my weight, it wasn't hard to tell that they specialized in eating disorders after this. They obviously understood the sensitivity that eating disorder victims have towards viewing their weight. After we were met by a doctor, nutritionist and social worker/therapist. They were beyond helpful, they were my saviors. We spent the most time talking to my social worker (apparently we had set a "record" for the longest visit), she was so understanding. It felt nice to talk to someone who was experienced with what you were going through. She helped mediated between me and my mom along with giving excellent advice. Luckily, I was able to be honest with her. I told her about my purging, eating habits, emotions and pretty much anything else I could think of. It felt fantastic except for the moments I would look over at my mom and see the pain that would shoot across her face as she heard about things I had been keeping secret for months (purging, suicide, bingeing while she was gone). I could have never said the things that I said in that doctor's office to my mom alone. I needed someone else's support and expertise to soften the blow.

Later we met with the nutritionist and she definitely helped me adjust the way I viewed food. Now, don't confuse this with recovery, in fact, I'm no where close to that yet. Relapse will always be an all too eminent reality for the rest of my life and even more so in these vital following months. However, because of this changed mentality, my habits and thoughts are slowly starting to shift away from the extremes in which I have been living in. I'm finally gaining ground against the disorder that I allowed to define who I was for far too long.

 A few days ago I was talking to my Mom about the progress I had been able to make that I frankly wasn't capable of even fathoming prior to the clinic visit. After discussing this for a few minutes, I think she hit the reason why right on the head. I finally had hope. (I can't begin to express how liberating hope can be when deprived from its presence for a prolonged period of time.) I guess it felt like I was trapped in a small, uncomfortable concrete box that allowed no light in. Then after going to Primary Children's for the first time, the walls of that prison began to expand outward in every direction. Light broke in through cracks formed in the concrete cell I had built up around myself as its foundation began to crumble. (I'd like to imagine that one day the cracks would become so large as to cause the walls to crash down, never to form again.)I had room to not only stretch my legs, but to see glimpses of the world around me again, ending my self-induced solitary confinement.

Its been two weeks since my last clinic visit and also two weeks since my last binge or purge. Since then, I have been diagnosed with moderate depression and severe anxiety. Both can induce eating disorders to take place. I was advised to officially tell my immediate family about my disorder and that I would need their help to end this vicious cycle. When I decided to, I seriously wanted to cry I felt so relieved. I was terrified at first, but their support overwhelmed me. My therapist said that this is a family problem and that we're going to need everyone to come together in order for me to heal as an individual. After talking to them, I've decided she couldn't have been more right. My disorder is no longer something kept or talked about behind closed doors, but a topic that is openly (but still carefully) discussed. My Mom also has been doing some online researching and we discovered that Diabetics are more likely than "normal" individuals to gain eating disorders due to changing blood sugar levels and mental instabilities that can follow. Insulin (which is a steroid) can also promote weight gain in Diabetics due to excessive usage and the way the body may react to the substance (double-edged sword, anyone?). I guess this disorder wasn't just formed after one event or one flaw in my character. It was ultimately made up of seemingly small factors that ganged up to become one big problem. 

As recommended, my mom arranged an appointment for me to meet with a disorder psychiatrist at the end of July and I have my next clinic visit this Thursday. As much as I wish that medications and doctors could solve this dilemma for me, I know that my future is in my hands and based upon my resolve--not a bottle of anti-depressants. It's such a relief to finally feel like we're going about this the right way and I have educated professionals to support me. I feel alive again. I feel like I am gaining control. I'm starting to feel like myself again. I feel...happy.

My brother and nephew playing around while we were out
celebrating  Dad's 50th birthday, it's nice to finally
look outside of myself and notice moments like this again