Eating Disorders: Monster In My Head

As if one day I could wake up and live normal again. Live without this monster that infiltrates my mind 24/7. Every action I make is around this monster. Every plan, meal, thought has this monster in it. From the time I wake up in the morning to the time my head hits my pillow at night, this monster poisons my thoughts. Somehow he has made this cozy home in my mind, no one can explain it, and I cannot control it. But my mind has convinced me it is the only thing I can control in my mind, so when I start to freak out or lose control of everything, I always run back to this monster. He is called an eating disorder. It’s the nasty little monster that sticks like glue. 

Most eating disorders come as a pair or morph into one another. As for me, I met my first monster in 2008. Anorexia nervosa. He is the reason I lost 65 pounds in two months, the reason I developed horrible eating habits and became depressed and one of the reasons why my friends worried constantly about me. It didn’t just put a strain on my life but theirs also. I spent hours at my boyfriend’s sleeping because I was too tired and anemic to be awake and he spend his time trying to force feed me because he didn’t understand. My friends started talking about me behind my back and I wanted nothing to do with them. I felt alone, just me and my monster. It became my best friend. 

I reached my lowest weight of 108 pounds which is small for a tall girl like me. That’s when I admitted to myself that I needed to get help. I just wasn’t happy that I had no control of my life anymore. Telling my family wasn’t easy, but what made it worse was they didn’t believe me. I wasn’t home much and when I was, they thought I was losing the weight by eating healthy and working out. WRONG. After I talked to a couple people and made some changes, things got better you could say. It still seemed like every little pound I gained, my mind lost control. I developed Body Dimorphic Disorder. Something to this day I am never convinced will go away. It’s the monster that tells me I am fat, ugly, out of shape, unattractive, etc. I hate it the most; it is what triggers the rest.

Shortly after I started to binge eat. I “didn’t care” anymore and ate everything in sight. I still do and it is so hard to control. Eating this way can pack pounds quick, which triggered one more monster in my head. Over time my friend who is a student in psych noticed the amount and routine of my workout schedule. I had for sure developed exercise bulimia. This is the part of my brain that justifies binge eating because I can work off anything right? WRONG. 

Now since I have had no help I fall back into all of this in 2010. It’s not easy, and my life is so far from perfect. But I love God and I know he put this challenge in my life for a reason.  So one day, I will get over it. It may be hard now, and I may want to just cry myself to sleep because no one but me understands what goes through my head every day. But this will not defeat me. God doesn’t give people challenges they cannot handle. So let this be a learning experience by reading my life story. Don’t give up. Mark 5:36; Don’t be afraid, just believe.

By: Carolyn King

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Eating Disorder Story: Anything Is Better Than The Existence You Are Living Now

You sit on the hard orange chairs, the cold plastic rubbing painfully against the bones that protrude from the base of your spine. Normal people don’t have those bones sticking out, but you, the college freshman home for the summer, do have those two little knobs poking out at obtuse angles from your back. You look down at your thin tan legs, and see the creases your thighs and calves make when you sit criss cross, one boney limb draped over the other.

fat fat fat fat fat fat

You think you need to get rid of that fat, have clean lines, no folds or dimply cellulite lining your legs.

You’re only 19 years old, 19 year old women shouldn’t have fat on their bodies. They are long and lean with an effervescent beauty that screams

LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME LOOK AT ME

The nurse calls your name, and you quickly glance up to her troubled eyes. As you stand she quickly looks you up and down, averting her gaze to your veined arms and hollowed cheekbones. You follow her down the sterile white hallway to a small examination room where she asks you to remove your clothes and put on a creased paper gown.

You were told by your pediatrician—yes, even at the age of 19 you still see a pediatrician—to immediately go to the hospital after he saw you two days ago for a checkup. With a frightened look, he explained that you might collapse at any moment, that the months of running and weight lifting and bicycling and swimming on 200 calories a day has weakened your heart so much that you could go into cardiac arrest at any moment, that people have just fainted and died

the words swam around in your head swam around in your head

a whirl of threats and fear tide pooled in your mind

You don’t really know if you believe that you could have a heart attack—you just completed your first year of college, and no one this young has heart attacks—but you do know that you are tired. Your eyes are tired from studying late at night, your legs are heavy pieces of lead from the miles you ran around the school campus, your arms are too weak to open doors to the music classrooms. Your head hurts and even though it’s only 10 in the morning, you want to lie down in bed and sleep until the next day.

Your mother cried that summer afternoon you returned home from college. You knew you had lost some weight, but didn’t think it was too much—yes, you had to roll the waistband of your shorts one, two, three folds, otherwise they would fall around your ankles—but you could still pinch some skin around your stomach, and you still had the fat creases around your knees when you sat. At first you thought your mother cried because she was so happy to see you, the magnificent musician, intelligent hardworking student returning home from her first year at a renowned music college. Then she told you that when you walked out from the gateway, she didn’t even recognize the 78 pound girl wearing fleece in the middle of May. She didn’t know that that girl was supposed to be her daughter. You remember her tight grip of her hug as she finally realized it was you

Mom, it’s me, I’m right here, you cried

and then the look of shock and fear in her eyes as she pulled away from you. Your heart ached at that look.

A knock on the examination room jars your thoughts and a kindly middle aged man in a starched white coat enters the room. He explains in a calm, monotone voice the battery of tests that will be run on you

blood tests

an EKG

electrolyte checks

potassium level assessments

you don’t know what they all mean, but you nod your head in agreement as he goes over the list. The doctor then makes you do simple acts, stand on one leg, he says, close your eyes and touch your nose, walk in a straight line with your feet touching heel to toe heel to toe. You don’t understand why you have to perform such trivial and elementary tasks, but you do it, and as you do he jots notes down on his paper pad.

You sit back down on the examination bed, and watch with an intensely growing fear of dread as the doctor slowly shakes his head at his notes. He looks up at you with the same shock and fear your mother’s eyes held that day you stepped off the plane, and slowly explains that he will have to consult with the head administrator, but you may have to be admitted to the hospital

RIGHT AWAY. NOW. AT THIS MOMENT.

At the sound of the work “hospital”, your heart drops into your stomach like how it does on your favorite roller coaster rides, and you picture yourself

with needles sticking out of your right forearm, saline solution pumping through your dehydrated veins

your tiny body tucked under rough white sheets

your mother sitting on the straight backed hospital chair, tears slowly dripping down her cheeks

your father with downcast eyes, folding his fingers, intertwining them into a white knuckled grip

The doctor leaves the brightly lit examination room to walk down the corridor to the administration office, and as his footsteps grow fainter and fainter you feel a welling of strength burning inside of you, building up from the bottoms of your feet, pulsating to your chest and heart, radiating up to your mind your thoughts.

You avert your gaze down to your legs and for the first time notice how your knobby knees form round bumps and are surprised that you can actually see the individual muscle fibers in your calf. You look back up to the white walls around you and know

Even if you are admitted to the hospital

Even if you are fed three meals and three snacks a day

Even if your legs are dimpled with cellulite

ANYTHING ANYTHING ANYTHING

Is better than the existence you are living in now.

by: Lauren Takao



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The Turning Point In Her Recovery: Carnation

Today is the final day of National Eating Disorders Awareness Week 2009.

Following is a story written by Maria. Dieting since the age of 8, she was anorexic and bulimic by age 13. Now 17 years old, she's looking forward to April when she will celebrate a year in recovery. She says she's proud of her recovery but fights daily to stay in it.

She wrote this story after a stay in an ED facility. She calls it her "turning point." Her wish is that others may read it, find hope, and be inspired to take steps towards recovery.

Carnation

7:59, 8:00 , 8:01 . Even though the clock was across the room, the tick of its hands could still be heard by the small girl sitting down at the table in the midst of a showdown. A showdown of epic proportions, one that Clare could not lose.

There the food sat in all its glory screaming and tempting her to eat it, but she, with all her determination, refused. Not because the food looked gross; in fact, it looked delic

ious. The two bran muffins were golden brown with pieces of oats protruding out at the top making it look like the petals of a sunflower. The bright crimson apple was firm to the touch, and even though Clare dared not eat it, she knew it would be crisp just the way she liked it. Even the small Cheerios box seemed to smile warmly at her, as if saying that it was okay to eat its small grainy circles.

But Clare knew better. She knew that the bran muffins were carefully disguised mounds of fat. That the Cheerios were hidden calories. And the apple, though it looked good, was just another way of saying that she really did need this food to survive. Clare refused to believe it, and just glared at the food as if her staring might burn it into the table and make the whole tray disappear.

8:14, 8:15 , 8:16 . “Good morning, Clare,” smiled the nurse until she spotted the tumultuous war that was going on between Clare and her untouched tray of food. “Have a bad night?” the nurse inquired with her sweet voice that sounded as if she might truly care. Clare could only nod a slow, depressive yes and let the strands of her long

sandy brown hair fall into her face. I am so sick of eating food, Clare thought. I don’t need it; I never did. I can’t gain any more weight! I’m humongous! I really should go to a fat camp and lose weight, not come here and gain weight!

“Perhaps,” continued Cindy, not noticing the war going on inside the girl’s head, “maybe I should go find a barrette and pin that lovely hair up so we can see

that pretty face of yours?”

“No, that’s okay,” Clare quickly stammered looking up for only an instant to peer at the nurse with only one eye. Clare quickly replaced each strand in front of her face again, happy that the safety blanket of her hair would continue to provide her with comfort.

“Well, you better start eating,” reminded the nurse as she walked out

the door to her desk again.

But you can’t eat, shrieked the voice inside Clare’s head! You’re a fat and worthless pig! You don’t deserve the food! And do you really want to get any bigger?

You’re right. I can’t get any bigger, Clare acknowledged the voice within. I won’t eat this! I am determined not to! No more fat! No more fat Clare!

8:20, 8:21 , 8:22 . “Good morning, Clare,” said a pretty brunette college student with piercing eyes that had finally started to sparkle again. An older woman with sandy blonde hair and a big smile walked in with her.

“Morning, Shannon , morning Sarah!” exclaimed Clare with as much enthusiasm as she could muster for such a bad day. “How are you? Did you both have a good night?”

“It was alright,” started Shannon . “I talked to my brother and that went really well. A lot better than I had expected.”

“Awww well, I’m glad to hear that! I’m happy that went well for you,” said Clare this time with true enthusiasm.

“Mine was alright too,” stammered Sarah, “I have a bad headache, though, because I haven’t had any coffee in the last three days and it’s killing me! I guess I really do have an addiction to it.”

“I’m sorry, that sucks. I hope you start to feel better soon! I’m not having a good day either…” the lost teen continued with a mesmerizing sigh and a stare towards her untouched tray.

The two fellow patients looked at the food and knew exactly what she meant. Clare had been sitting there for half an hour without touching a single thing on her tray. It was go

ing to be a horrible day, but the failure was masked by the ringing pride that voiced in her head.

It was the tenth day of intense treatment and Clare could not take it anymore. Every day three meals had to be eaten and Clare could not remember a time when she had eaten three meals in… well, as far back as she could remember at the moment. At least she knew it had been a long time ago, way before all this mess had even started. This was life for Clare and she had become comfortable with it.

But people started to notice the strange little things that Clare did— the cutting of her food into small pieces, only eating fruits, taking hours to eat one thing. However, soon Clare’s friends discovered her nasty little companion, and so that was how she soon began going to the hospital every day.

The walk into the building had been torturous. Slowly pushing herself through the large old building, she ambled forward with her head hanging low, reeking of low self-esteem and non existent self-confidence.

The only good thing about the hospital was the nurses. Clare always chatted with them before they had to take her vitals and weigh her. She never minded having her low vitals taken; they were just another delightful reminder of the great job she was doing. But getting weighed was agony. The sluggish movement of the nurse’s fingers over the dials were wat

ched for any signs of a mistake that might have been made. Silent prayers were made in hopes that the numbers would not go up. If she was lucky, they would go down. But Clare was never lucky.

Trying to calm herself from the weigh in, Clare grabbed her manil

a folder and proceeded to fill out charts on the crazy emotions that she could not even identify. How could she possibly know if she felt anxious or worried or mad? After finishing, a slow pause came. The worst part was about to come. It was time to get breakfast.

Shuffling towards the cafeteria, Clare walked as slowly as she could, like a death row inmate on the final walk to meet the end. Not wanting to be seen or heard, she silently entered into the scary food emporium. The next step was to check the menu. Grabbing it with much hesitation at what would have to be eaten that day, Clare, looking calm on the outside but having a

panic attack inside, reached out and grabbed the small white list. Amazing how much distress could be caused by such a small piece of paper! And today was worse than usual!

After having gained six pounds in three days, Clare could feel the fat engulfing her entire body; it started to feel like she was being suffocated from the inside. She had been told that food was necessary for her well being and health, but it couldn’t be true. No way was

food necessary. Not now, not ever! Food made her fat— obese people are not healthy!

After a long breath Clare worked up the courage to look at the deadly choices of food she would have to consume for breakfast. The prognosis was awful. The calorie count had been upped to twenty-one-hundred! A torturous amount. Insane, actually. How could one human possibly eat this much in one day? Clare whined in her head. That’s seven hundred calories at every meal, which is way more than I would even eat in a day! Are they trying to

make me obese? Because it surely will happen with that many calories every day!

Looking calm as usual on the outside, Clare silently walked over to the glass refrigerator. Maneuvering her arm carefully, she tried desperately not to brush the nauseating whole and chocolate milks on her way towards the fat free skims. Once her hand was safely away from the loathsome products, she carefully weighed each skim in hopes of one being li

ghter than the rest. Maybe one has fewer calories then the others, she hoped desperately. Walking over to the muffins she noticed two were needed for today. Peering over into the brown box filled with frightening and appalling carbs, Clare examined each muffin carefully looking from all angles to find the tiniest one. On to the apples, the only safe food.

Not wanting to touch all of the apples, Clare moved the scary bananas and oranges to the side first and then glared at the array of fruits until she found the perfect one, a s

mall and crimson Macintosh. Last of all and definitely the worst, she spied the peanut butter, a man made substance consisting of pure fat, sugar, and lard.

Fat! All fat! Clare’s thoughts kept screaming in her head. This is wh

y you are obese, the voices continued, because you are eating pure fat!

I have to grab it. It’s on my meal plan, Clare said, trying to reason with the voice. I’ll take it but I won’t eat it! I promise!

Then just as quietly as she had entered, Clare trudged with her tr

ay back to the little room with cream walls. And there she sat not giving into the food’s allure. Through the nurse’s quiet little pleadings and Shannon and Sarah’s hellos and the picking of their own menus and trays, she knew they would make her eat. The thought made her sick.

8:50, 8:51 , 8:52 . The girls quietly chatted but not as cheerfully or as much as some other mornings. Each girl struggled with her own thoughts that morning, but none was brave enough to admit it. They never could; each was a prisoner in her locked up mind— a place from where each dared not escape, no matter the price.

9:02, 9:03 , 9:04 . “Good morning,” said the heavy-set therapist

named Janine, as she strolled in cheerily with a happy little smile. “Is everyone ready for morning check in?”

“I guess,” replied Shannon . “I can go first this morning, if you want.”

“Sounds good to me,” agreed Janine, with an exasperated smile and eyes half peering at Clare’s food. Slowly, in a half whisper, she remarked, “Clare, can you

please start on your tray?” The small girl looked down and pushed it a little closer to her, but did not touch anything on it, as if the tray was contaminated by a deadly disease. Good job! Her thoughts congratulated. That’s right! Show that food who’s boss!

Shannon slowly started talking about her night. It was eventful and after reciting most of what had happened, Janine meticulously went through each event to show her things that might be done better next time.

“I can go next,” volunteered Sarah after Shannon finished, knowing full well Clare would not be as upbeat about going next. “I just wish I didn’t have this headache,” Sarah started. “It’s hard to stay focused and stay on track with my meal plan.”

Janine again went through the long routine of going through each part of Sarah’s night, looking at the crucial elements as if life depended on them.

“The lack of sleep and the migraines are really starting to get to you. Do you have anything you can take for it?” asked Janine in a worried voice. “You’ve had this headache for a while now.”

“Yeah, I took some stuff but what I’m going to have to do is get some coffee,” stated Sarah. “The coffee here stinks though. It’s pretty nasty! I need to

go and get my Starbucks!”

9:44, 9:45 , 9:46 . “Clare, are you sure that your weight has really gone up six pounds in two days?” questioned Janine after finally hearing about the messe

d up little girl’s night.

“I’m positive!” shrieked Clare, again feeling the fat start to enclose her like a blanket. You’re obese, Clare, obese, her voice shrieked inside of her. Not even worthy to live!

“It’s probably just water weight. It’s not possible to gain that much weight in two days,” Janine stated. “Is this why you’re not eating? Should I just go and get y

ou a meal supplement right away?”

“Isn’t this why most people don’t eat?” Clare sneered sarcastically. “And you might as well get me a Carnation, cuz I’m not eating this!”

“All right, I’ll get you one,” answered Janine a little depressed.

10:00, 10:01 , 10:02 . “Here you go, Clare. I got you strawberry,” the therapist said in a hopeful voice. “You have till 10:30 to drink that.”

“Thanks,” whispered Clare, barely audible. But I’m not drinking that, she thought. Fat people should not have the luxury of drinking shakes.

At least the tray was gone. No more peanut butter, or milk, or muffins—just an icky caloric loaded strawberry Carnation mix, a pretend shake that tastes like someone took cardboard and syrup and blended them all together. The horror tha

t one little drink could really supply all the calories missed at one meal! Disgusting. . .

Crap, thought Clare, as she saw the head therapist Pam walk into the door for the next group, this is not good!

“Good morning everyone,” Pam said in her matter of fact voi

ce. Heading straight for Clare as if on a mission, she pointed, “I see that you have a Carnation, Clare. I’m going to have to have Jessica take you out of the room until you finish that.”

Of course, the one therapist who would not allow this kind of crap to happen would be the therapist for the next group therapy session. At least I get to be with Jessica and not someone else, Clare felt with a twinge of a smile. I really do like her a lot. Jessica has a way about her. She’s terribly funny and always seems to understand, which is us

ually not the case with many of the other therapists. They just don’t get it.

“Hey Clare,” Jessica was calm but looked a little worried, “I hear that you have to finish that. Are you ready to do it? We can both drink our drinks together,” she laughed as she lifted up her Starbucks in all its irony.

“I’m not drinking it,” Clare answered immediately without a mom

ent’s hesitation. “You can drink yours, but I won’t drink mine!”

“Well, for now let’s just go into the other room and talk, okay?”

10:47, 10:48 , 10:49 . “Clare, what’s stopping you from drinking that Carnation?” inquired Jessica. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Well,” Clare started slowly with tears starting to well in her eyes, “I . . . can’t. I can’t drink this. I’m already super fat and I won’t allow myself to get any more obese! I’m a monster!”

“Clare, you are VERY thin. Your body needs this to stay healthy. Can’t you see that those voices that are telling you that you are too fat are actually killing you? They are the enemy, Clare.”

“I know, Jessica, but they’ve always been there for me when no one

else has. They’re always there. They never talk behind my back. And they’ve never failed me. When things were hard they showed me how to forget the pain. And besides, you’re just trying to make me fat.”

“You and I both know that is a lie, Clare. You say the voices have helped you through the pain, but can’t you see how they’ve made your pain worse? They’ve locked you up, and you can’t get out. They’re hiding your beauty from the world and especia

lly yourself! You’ve got to start telling those voices that you are the boss and not them. You are the boss, Clare! Don’t allow them to do this to you. Everything they say is false. It’s okay, Clare, it’s okay that they’re wrong!”

“But they aren’t wrong! This is how I feel. I am a failure! A horrible person! I’m not worthy of food! An imperfect body reflects an imperfect soul! How true that is for me! Can’t you see why I can’t eat when all this is true!?! Why should I even live? I am a worthless person with no future!” Clare’s body seemed to fall back in shock as she realized that th

ose words were starting to allow her to escape from her gruesome prison.

“That is so wrong!” Jessica shot back. “You have so much to give this world, and slowly killing yourself is not the answer! Your body is not a definition of the wonderful person that you are inside! You are a wonderful person Clare! And you have touched so many people in such positive ways. Clare, you have helped every girl here! They improve with your s

upport!”

“They help me too…” Clare agreed weakly

Silent tears started to fall from Clare’s eyes. The drops floated down like a soft pitter patter rain after a frightening storm. She knew the truth. She had always known it but just never allowed herself to believe it. The truth was painful and it was easier not to believe it. But at that moment for the first time, Clare allowed another person to come into her life—to sav

e her.

Taking a bigger gulp from the Carnation this time, Clare started chatting with Jessica about different things, things that seemed a bit more normal--like the love of black nail polish they both shared and the chill CDs they enjoyed listening to.

Finally coming to the last few sips, Clare burst out with pride to Jes

sica, “I’m done!”

“Good job! I’m really proud of you. You know that, right?” The young girl nodded with twinkling eyes.

How simple a concept, how hard a job, Clare thought. Say no to my voices and drink the Carnation. Easy to say, not easy to do. Every day I am going to have t

o fight off those voices—the ones that say, “You’re ugly. You’re hideous. You’re grotesque. You’re obese. And you’re not worthy of food.” I know I can do this though! It’s going to be an ever lingering struggle, but I’m a fighter and I am going to try!

I guess drinking this Carnation was good for me today. I now sort of see what’s going on. My eating disorder has the power over me. As much as I like to think it’s giving me control, it is really controlling—my whole life! Control over food is not real control.

My so called control has led me here to this place. A place where I am broken down and forced to learn how to pick myself back up again.

“I can’t go on anymore like this Jessica,” Clare remarked with a renewed confidence that surprised even her. “Thank you for everything. You’ve helped me a lot today.”

“I’m proud of you, Clare. You can do this! You can take back control

of your life!”

“I will. . . I will. . .”

Maria

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