Being home.

Being home is one of the most complicated things I've faced up until now. There's constantly this unseen battle, this inner struggle going on inside me. I feel completely torn between trying so hard to be "normal" and wanting to go back to my comfort zone, my old habits and ways. Without anorexia I feel completely lost. This sounds really horrible, but my eating disorder is what controlled my life for over a year. Every decision, everything I said or did was based around it. It controlled what I did, who I spent time with, what mood I was in. Food (or rather not eating it) was my purpose in life. Seeing that number on the scale go down is the reason why I would wake up in the morning. It was a disgusting realization to come to, because it made me realize how pointless my life was up until this point. It hit me that if I kept going down the road I had been on I would reach the end of my life only to realize that the only thing I would have accomplished was lost weight. What a pointless, meaningless existence! And yet I feel the pull to go back to it. I feel the constant urge to eat less and less. I hear that unheard voice whispering in my ear, telling me to skip meals, to constantly look for ways to burn more calories, to lie to others about my eating habits. Every day is a struggle, every day is a fight. Every meal time I have to sit down and tell myself "I WILL eat this". I fight with feelings of guilt after eating, and then I feel guilty for feeling guilty. In other words I feel guilty because I'm not 100% better, even after all this time. I know it's a fight for the long haul, but sometimes I get tired and I wish all this would go away. I wish I could snap my fingers, go the the nearest cafe and eat and ice-cream without any problems. Instead I struggle with eating an apple, or drinking a coffee with milk. But I have to keep hope, I have to keep reminding myself how disgusting and pointless my life was with my ED, how unhappy I was. I have to keep believing that with time things will get easier, that I will win this battle someday.

My story so far

"So I finally did it. I'm going into recovery - for real this time.
I have an appointment with a psychiatrist tomorrow. His opinion determines weather i go to a hospital or not. I refuse to go - I'm still too fat for that.

I ate breakfast with my family this morning - only 130 cal but i feel like a fat fat fat little piglet. I've been fighting the urge to purge for all morning. I feel dizy, bloated, tired, sick and FULL. It's the most disgusting feeling in the world. I hate purging too, but right now I CRAVE that feeling. I need to be empty, to be dizzy, tired, light headed and to LOSE WEIGHT.

How am i going to recover, i don't know. I'm so depressed right now, because all i see is a dead end in front of me. If I don't eat at home, I'm going to a hospital. I might go to one either way, but being defiant will make it final. So I can't fight this. I want to give in, i want to commit and get better. But how? I don't even know where to start. Right now i just want to curl up and sleep or purge until every God-damned calorie has dissapeared from my body. But if this is how I'm acting after 130 cal, how the hell will i eat the 250 cal meal they put in front of me at lunch. I don't know, I'm so so so scarred.

But deep inside my heart i know i want to get better. I don't want to keep living the way i do, just surviving and hoping that it gets better. I know it's only getting worse, i know this is killing me. So I will try. I will fight this. I will fight because I love my family and because I'm hurting them. I will fight because my friends believe in me and are there for me. And I will fight because I deserve to be happy and Ana is just not cutting it for me anymore. Today is the last day of Ana, tomorrow will be the beginning of a new and better life. Yes, the thought is terrifying, yes i will miss the control my ED gave me. I have no idea how I'm going to deal with all this. But I will. I will because i have to, because there are people who love and believe in me in the world and who want to help me. I will because i will not let my younger sister watch me die of an eating disorder before she finds out what one is. I CAN do this.

To all of you out there - I respect your choice. We all make choices and need to deal with the consequences. This is my choice, you make yours. Just don't be blind, stupid and naive like i was. Never think "it'll never happen to me" because it just might. I wish you all happiness - whatever that means for you."

That was the last post on my old blog, written the day before my hospitalization. At that point I'd been anorexic for a little over a year. On January 5, 2010 I was admitted to a psychiatric ward in a hospital, where I spent a little over 3 months. I gained 8.5 kg in recovery - a relatively small number compared to some other patients, but to me it might as well have been 20. I didn't admit myself to the hospital voluntarily, and for the first 3 weeks I didn't even feel it was necessary. In hindsight however, I see it was the only way to break the habits I had developed over the past year. With bathrooms locked after every meal, people monitoring you at meal times, pre-served portions of food and cameras in every room it was hard to keep up the same regimented schedule I had become accustomed to at home. I was forced to eat, forced to gain weight; there was no other way. Even on the days I didn't feel like I wanted to fight any more I wasn't given a choice. The doctors assured me that the only way I would be released from the hospital is if I complied and gained weight. For the first month it was pure hell - psychologically and physically. My body wasn't used to food, I was sick nearly 24/7 and found myself lying down for most of the day. To add to my troubles, no matter how hard I tried I seemed incapable of gaining significant amounts of weight. I would push myself to the limit and ended up gaining 2 kg in a month, a painfully slow rate. The psychiatrist tried everything - I spent a week doing nothing else other then lying down, I was given supplement drinks and extra food. Finally, just when I was about to give up, I started gaining weight. Then there was the psychological aspect : learning to eat foods I hadn't eaten in years – butter, cheese, jam, sweets; adjusting to the routine – not being able to exercise, having to eat in a certain amount of time in a very specified way; trying to learn to accept weight gain as a positive occurrence. I would say the mind battles were much harder then simply learning to eat again. And that's unquestionably a downside of recovery in a hospital – they focus much more on the weight gain then the mental issues related to anorexia. But in the end it helped me. I experienced a gradual but noticeable mood change related to my body getting the nutrients and rest it needed. People around me commented on how “alive” I was compared to before, and I could see the change in myself. Now I'm not here to say that hospitalization is the best way to beat this sickness, because it isn't. Each person is different and needs something different. One vital key to having the strength to even begin to battle with this sickness is the support and encouragement of friends and loved ones. I fought for them when I didn't feel it was worth it to fight for myself. I fought because I couldn't disappoint them, I couldn't go on hurting them. I finally realized that what I was doing to myself wasn't only affecting me but affecting those around me. Anyways, to make a long story shorter I was released from the hospital 2 days ago. Even though I am exited and happy to be away I'm also scarred. Now I have control over my eating habits and it's difficult. Every day I have to make a choice to eat, to keep my exercise in check, to keep all my food down. It's hard and I'm afraid I won't make it. But my motto has become to just get through one day at a time, one meal at a time. I hope in time it'll get easier and eventually I won't even have to think about all this any more.