THE ROAD TO HELL AND BACK (still on my way...) #6 : Bumpy Road of Recovery.

----------------------------- WARNING! - NSFEUI (Not safe for emotionally unstable individuals)

I had decided to recover, whatever that means. Lying in the hospital for a week gave me some time to reevaluate my priorities and concepts in life. I couldn't understand what exactly was wrong with me, but I understood well enough that I can't go on like this - I had to change something. My doctor at the hospital advised me to see a psychiatrist at the eating disorder center, so I did. Over there I was strongly recommended inpatient care, but I refused. I mean... I wasn't anorexic or anything... I just needed to get my nutrients back on track and I was certain I could do that on my own, with a little help from Dr Google. So I went back home and researched about meal plans and self-recovery stuff, which definitely helped a lot.

Two months in

"Why is this happening to me??" It’s like the worst case scenario that I could've imagine.
I was alone in the house, just started eating dinner and suddenly, some people stepped into the kitchen, who were to stay overnight. Although I was expecting them, I freaked out. At first it was like my usual social anxiety – "people coming, omg, what should I say, what’s going to happen!!?" But as they entered, seeing me there at the table, eating alone, I felt I couldn’t swallow anymore. I wanted to cry, but I held back tears as they sat down at the table, trying to start a conversation with me. But I was the only one eating!! I tried to answer something, but that came out beyond awkward. I literally couldn’t form sentences and my mind was blank. Once in a while I tried to take a bite from my unfinished meal. Just looking at it made me want to burst into tears. I felt I was being torn apart inside by some uncontrollable power. I tried to think of something that could've excused my leaving from the room but I couldn’t find any and even if I did, I probably wasn't able to say that out loud. That was the first time I felt I’d like to throw up my food as it seemed like the only release from that trapped situation.
So I sat there with my food and my pain until they all went outside for a moment to set up a grill. In that moment I pushed down all the food from my plate as quickly as I could, not getting any satisfaction from it (I was self-programmed to finish all my meals at that time, so not finishing it wasn't the option).
This was my day. Two months in recovery, I wouldn’t expect that, because I thought I was doing pretty good on my own. But people. People make me sick (no pun intended).

August 2016

After that incident this was the first time I was doing body-checking again. Measured thigh gap and stuff. I decided to take a picture of the last few mm of what was left from my thigh gap as I was certain it was the last time I ever have it.

This is What You Came for

...in other words - validation. Seeing the diagnosis on black and white made it real. And the demon of illness got a kick out of it - it felt important now. It felt like a center of the universe now and gained power again.

Oh, so proud to get the diagnosis. Anorexia Nervosa F 50.0. So proud, that I felt I needed to prove all the way that I really didn’t make this up. That I really do have a real fucking serious eating disorder. So let’s lose weight. Just a bit. And let’s work out. Just a bit. Because that's what people with eating disorders do. Otherwise I wouldn’t deserve the "title". Although going to the hospital seems scary, it gives some kind of validation that it's real and important, that I'm real and important. So inpatient, here we go!

September 2016

Some of my uncensored thoughts during the stay:

It’s fucking hell. No one cares. They feed you shit. And you’re so fucking alone. No one actually listens what you have to say. Anyway… since I’m here and obviously have no way out, I’d rather give some insight what’s going on here.

Day 1

No sleep first night. No coffee in the morning. No nothing in the morning. Until breakfast, which was oatmeal and a sandwich. Oh, and three cherry tomatoes. Like wtf. 5-a-day…

Actually… it’s just sick. I can’t even.

Meals aren’t huge, but they’re thick and disgusting. And so frequent. It’s like you’re eating all the time. I used to get hungry with same amount of calories, but here I’m not.

Constipation. Sucks. Why can’t I just drink a cup of coffee in the morning?

Day 33

I’m still here. And I’m still alive. I’ve gained 2.7kg, BMI 17.3. And I feel so big. 2.7 kg in a month isn’t a big deal. I thought I’d list some of my successes:

not using laxatives
not counting calories/macros/fiber
not drinking excessive amounts of water
not freaking out about “wrong” food
not freaking out about constipation
not burning calories to burn calories
not thinking about what others think of me

This month has probably been the hardest time in my life so far. I’ve been crying almost daily. I’ve come to trust people. I’ve come to trust my body. At least way more than I used to.
At first I was fighting, I felt like a kid. Just crying at the table and then after the meal (for the fear of harm I thought this food could cause). Then I felt like a teenager, protesting, trying to cheat, being mad, showing disgust for the whole system. Recently I’ve tried to be as honest with myself as I can. Am I really afraid of becoming fat? Am I really afraid of health problems? Am I really afraid of people? Honestly, I don’t know anymore. It seems I’m not. I’m not freaking out if my weight rises. I’m also not freaking out while talking to people and sometimes even when I do feel awkward and criticized, I can suck it up. Maybe that’s recovery? Maybe it does work? The first two weeks the main issue was to accept and understand that I really do have a real eating disorder. That it’s not made up or just weird eating habits. Yes, the cause is yet unknown to me, but my body has suffered from malnutrition and low weight. My bone density is below normal, my digestive system has been harmed, my skin is lifeless, my brain chemistry has changed and I need to take anti-depressants. This anxiety and sadness that I feel inside me is most likely just because my brain has been hungry for so long. Fortunately, my blood work is fine.

There’s also this hypothesis that I might be slightly on the autistic spectrum, but again, the eating disorder has been with me for so long that maybe it’s the ED, which causes those obsessions, rituals and anxieties. Shit, I don’t understand anything anymore. And I’m getting out next week to do some music gigs and earn some money. Makes me anxious as f***, but I can manage. Hopefully. I wish I could just snap my fingers and become completely normal young woman, who's able to enjoy life and deal with crap in a healthy manner.

November 2016 - First time out of the hospital to do some gigs. I went thrift shopping and got myself size 38-40 (EU) winter jacket (obviously too big) because I felt huge.

Home

I stayed at the hospital exactly for 2 months. I understood how important it is to speak your feelings. I had never done it before. It was a strange thing to me. To tell someone how I feel. Not what I think or what I know, but how I feel. I enjoyed this new thing to feel sad, to feel afraid and to say it out loud. I learned to eat again. Yes, by the rules, but in time I can see that the more you follow the rules, the more freedom there is to break the rules if I want to. I’m not freaking out if I eat my lunch an hour or even two later than usual. Although I have these rules, there is not that kind of fear of disaster attached than it was before when I was “recovering” on my own. It’s also suspected that I’ve got PDD (pervasive development disorder), or in other words, autism. It’s weird. I sometimes think I maybe exaggerated things while talking to the psychiatrist and taking the tests. But there definitely is some clarity now to how I feel about people and social situations in general. Now that I don’t have ED related anxiety, I don’t feel as bad, but I still feel different and slightly awkward all the time. But I’ve kind of accepted it and proud of myself that I’m able to get my shit together if needed and act as a (almost) normal human being.

Huge recovery win. First time in 10-something years I ate pasta. And I liked it.

I gained 3kg in the hospital and now I’m maintaining. My BMI is still just 17.4 and I don’t think I weigh too little. I also don’t think I’m too fat, but this desperate need to see lower number on the scale or fit into smaller clothes is hard to fight. If I write it on black and white, I can see there are many distorted thoughts. And the worst and the most embarrassing thing about it is that I don’t want to get rid of those thoughts. I don’t want to get rid of anorexia. WHY?!

I eat all my six meals every day without too much trouble. I also started going to the gym to get fit. I think about skipping meals and reducing portions daily, but I’m not acting upon it. But only this thought together with not acting upon it makes me feel guilty for eating. Weak for not being able to control. I’ve noticed lately that I like being hurt. I partly let my cat attack me to get scratches. I enjoy the pain. I doubted whether to get my ears pierced or not and decided to get them because of the pain. I don’t self harm, but I let others to harm me. WHY?!

Before recovery (May 2016, BMI~14) & now (December 2016, BMI~17)

New Year goals:

2017 will mark 10 years with this eating disorder crap. Let’s go separate ways from here on. I’m fucking tired of its stupid rigid rules and fear-based, self-destructive ideas. Go back to hell, I’m going on. WITHOUT YOU! Sorry not sorry.

PART 1: https://steemit.com/health/@joanneblowanne/killing-perfectionism-1-intro-perfection-and-control
PART 2: https://steemit.com/anorexia/@joanneblowanne/the-road-to-hell-and-back-still-on-my-way-2-onset
PART 3: https://steemit.com/anorexia/@joanneblowanne/the-road-to-hell-and-back-still-on-my-way-3-loss-of-control
PART 4: https://steemit.com/anorexia/@joanneblowanne/the-road-to-hell-and-back-still-on-my-way-4-fat-is-a-feeling
PART 5: https://steemit.com/health/@joanneblowanne/the-road-to-hell-and-back-still-on-my-way-5-let-thy-food-be-thy-medicine