One Door Closes, Another Opens

Today is the day. 

After putting off treatment for my eating disorder since the end of June, I am finally returning. In July, I hit rock bottom and my doctors felt the only option for me was residential treatment. Being the stubborn person that I am, I refused to enter such an intensive level of care; I had bills to pay and a new life to adjust to. So, I took it upon myself to do most of the difficult work. I figured if I utilized my skills and relied on family support, I’d be able to get a tighter grasp on the eating disorder. It wasn’t easy, but over the span of three and a half months, I was able to significantly reduce the amount of behaviors I had been using. My decision to tackle this obstacle led to the opening of new doors; I landed a full-time (but manageable) job with a law firm, discovered my passion for adventure, and started to build meaningful relationships with those important to me. 

Life is good and I am very happy I made the decision to move back home. However, there are still some issues that need to be addressed, which is why I will be starting IOP  (Intensive Outpatient Program) this evening. I am both nervous and optimistic about returning to treatment. In a way, I am disappointed in myself for not being able to completely overcome the eating disorder on my own; however, I am also proud of myself for challenging it to the point where I am no longer a candidate for residential treatment. I’ve come to understand that progress is progress, no matter the magnitude! I am going to use my time in treatment to further develop my future goals. Within the next year, I want to move out of my parent’s home and begin working on my master’s degree; I know they’re both HUGE  and potentially stressful goals, but I think I am finally at a place in my life where I can handle the pressure without crumbling.

Stay tuned! I plan on posting updates more frequently, now that I am settled. 

Life in Pieces

It has been quite a while since I’ve posted on here and there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for my absence. Before I go into details, let’s just say that 2017 has certainly tested my strengths and it’s only February! So, let’s start from the beginning…

On New Year’s Eve, after my mom’s wedding, my fiancé and I got into our biggest fight. We both had been drinking that evening, which is no excuse, and things turned ugly fast. Typically, our fights have a pattern; he brings up concerns late at night while I am trying to sleep and because I don’t answer him, he becomes angry. On NYE, he got a little too angry. He called me names that no man should ever call the woman he loves and he tried to wrestle me out of bed to get me to talk. Needless to say, it was a huge eye-opener to the type of person he was. As a person who forgives too easily and too often, I tried to forget the words he spoke and the actions he took. I tried to mend our relationship the best I could, but despite my greatest efforts, things did not seem to be improving between us.

Jump forward to Monday, January 23^rd: we had yet another fight. The night ended with me crying, self-harming, and sleeping alone in the guest bedroom. To make matters worse, I had a therapy appointment the next morning. I tried to convince myself to stay home but unless of an emergency or illness, I am not one to cancel appointments. I’m not even sure how I managed to make the 1.5 hour drive in one piece, as I was unbearably exhausted. My therapist noticed something was wrong as soon as I walked into her office and I reluctantly explained the events that had taken place the night before. Due to my depressed demeanor and self-harming behaviors, my therapist began asking me questions about suicide. I did not want to dignify her answers with a response, as I was tired of her assuming that depression equated to being suicidal. I suppose she took my silence to mean I was feeling suicidal because the next thing I know, she was on the phone with one of her colleagues. When she finished the call, she informed me someone was coming to pick me up so I could “get the help I needed.” I told her no, that I was fine and didn’t want to go, but she kept insisting I had to go. Five minutes later, two men arrived at her office to pick me up. My therapist explained that the men were going to drive me to another building for a 10AM psychiatrist appointment and that they’d drive me back to my vehicle afterwards. To make a long story short, I did not go to a simple psychiatrist appointment; I was put in an inpatient facility where I was monitored for suicidal behavior.

It was an absolute nightmare. During the 24 hours I was there, I stayed by the nurse’s station and refused to join in on any of the groups or activities. I was genuinely terrified of the other patients. The ward was both male and female, which made me feel extremely uncomfortable. I explained to the nurse that I had been sexually abused as a child and I neither trusted nor felt comfortable around strange men– some of which were straight from jail or the streets. And to make matters worse, my body and mind were extremely malnourished; not a single staff member asked me if I wanted to join the others for a meal, even though it clearly stated in my records that I suffered from anorexia. I would have said no, regardless, but as an institution that claims to help people, they should have been supporting me with my critical nutritional needs. The 36-hours I went without food made a significant impact on my recovery (and not a good one)!

By time I got out on Wednesday, I was a complete wreck. I couldn’t eat and I couldn’t sleep, and my fiancé was so busy with work that he barely was home to comfort me. A couple of days later, my mom (bless her!) got on the first flight she could and came to take care of me. While she was here, she managed to get me talking about my relationship struggles. I confessed how unhappy I was and how I didn’t think our relationship could withstand marriage—it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to admit. Later that evening, as if I wasn’t already struggling with enough, I made the decision to break off my engagement. He was crushed, and rightly so. So was I. Everything that was once familiar became a big black hole of unknowns. He packed his things and took his furniture the very next day, while mom tried to mend my many broken pieces.

It has been two weeks since I was “locked up,” and it has been one week since I called of my engagement. I’ve gone through more trauma and heartbreak in these past two weeks than I’ve ever known was possible. It makes me wonder what my future holds; will I stay here where my friends are and continue to work, knowing my ex-fiancé lives right across town? Or will I sell my house, move back home with my family, and start all over? I thought I had a pretty clear vision for my life but now, that vision is shattered. My mom keeps telling me that I am young and that I can do anything I set my mind to; however, I am not too sure of that. What if I never figure it out? What if I remain stuck in this limbo of one step forward then two steps back?

All I know is that I must reach out to the people who love and support me. I may not be able to get myself together right now, but I know their help will lift me up in this time of darkness.