I Threw Out My Scale: How One Woman Found Freedom

I stood nervously in front of my father so he could get a better look at me. He said I should go put on some black jeans so my ass woudn‘t look so fat. I changed right away because a fourteen year old girl needs to make her daddy happy. She also needs to look thin enough to walk around in the world okay. I would do what I could. Through the years sometimes I was skinny, sometimes I was fat, always I was insecure and angry. This went on until I was in my late thirties.

Finally I got sick of putting my life on hold while I mostly failed at trying to keep my weight down. There were other things I wanted to do besides being fixated on fat. I wanted to be happy and my body obsession made me utterly unhappy. It just never delivered. I had to make a change and since my anger seemed to be right up front screaming at me, I gave it a chance to speak. It told me I needed to find a new way to treat myself and a new way to think about my body. It reminded me how I longed to be my full female self, someone who was so much more than breasts and curves and genitals and fat. I wanted to come on up through my body and be with no appologies.

I had to be brave and try new ways of being. For example, in the morning I forced myself to get ready in the buff. I looked at my naked body in the mirror and I mean I really got a good look. I jiggled and stretched and bent over and even looked at the side rolls. I watched my muscles move beneath my skin. I noted my favorite and least favorite body parts. I practiced the habit of petting my thighs and other body parts and thanking them out loud for serving me. The more I said it, the more I started to believe it. When I ate too much and felt a stomach ache I apologized to my stomach for making it sick. I even began to allow my body to be natural in bed with my husband. I let my breasts fall and flap and I didn’t try to keep myself in my best posture. I relaxed and let my naturally beautiful body be. My husband has always been wonderfully accepting of my body. Why couldn’t I be? It felt heavenly even if I did feel shy. My body was so happy and that made the initial embarassment totally worth it. The act of treating my body with respect and love was freeing the inside me too. What a wonderful little trick!

Still, a father can have a powerful effect, and even after all my changes I found myself practically paralyzed with panic as we pulled into my dad‘s driveway. He hadn’t seen me since I’d lost all the weight. Would he be happy with me? We walked in the door and he came up to me and gave me a great big hug and rubbed my back and said “Skinny Vicky!” To my surprise my father’s comment angered me. It didn’t feel good at all because why is it so damned important to you dad? I wasn’t going to let him oppress and suffocate me any longer. Inwardly I rejected his “compliment.” I don’t know what sank into me but from that moment on I never needed my fathers’ approval again. After I got home from that trip I threw out my scale. I didn’t want to live by “the number” anymore. I wanted to continue creating new ways of living. I wanted to ask new questions that were about my overall health and happiness. How did I feel in my body? Could I move comfortably? Could I do the things I wanted to do? Was I relaxed in myself? If I wasn’t, what could I do to change that? Change became an opportunity instead of a demand. Feeling good truly became more important than looking good.

Thanks to my father I now have the freedom to ask any question I please. I can also stop asking questions like, “What kind of sick person talks to themselves and swears compulsively and has addictions and takes Paxil?” I can throw that scale away too! Why can’t I? I can throw it away if I want to. I don’t’ have to put myself into an inferior category of humanity. Instead I can say, “Look world, this is me just as I am.” I am a woman. Watch me shine! Watch me not shine! I will walk on the Earth regardless of what anyone thinks of me. People can wish me to be whomever they like. I won’t hear them and I will walk around and do what I like. I will strut and skip. I will day dream. I will lay in my hammock and read for a while. I will eat pepperoni with cheese and crackers and spend hours writing. I will go dancing! I might even take a nap. Why not? I don’t have to ask daddy anymore… I can ask myself.
 Written By Victoria Lee

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Recovery: Our Common Threads

We are unique. Each of us possesses a story, a history, a struggle, and/or triumph that will never be the same for any other person, anywhere. Our stories are personal ones. Not in the sense that they are private, without witness... but that they are simply ours, and only ours.

If you were to take two people and place them in identical circumstances you would, on some level, still get two different results because we take to each event, to each trial or celebration, to each moment in our lives... our uniqueness.

Though we are all different there is a common thread that links us together. Somewhere, in the fabric of one person's story, is a stitch or two that will resonate within us. A stitch or two that will feel familiar, connect us, inspire us.

I have never had a problem with alcohol but I can listen to a recovering alcoholic tell his/her story and I can relate. I may not ever fully understand what they are dealing with but that part that sought me out and connected with me will touch my life and change me. The underlying emotions can be so surprisingly similar.

Recovery is like that. Recovery is full of common threads. And common threads can change the fabric of our being. It is in the sharing of your own experience that can touch and inspire another who is facing their own personal struggle, or enlighten someone who is desperate to understand and help.

This is why I feature submissions by readers on Weighing The Facts and think they are so important. Because some aspect of your story will most likely reach out to another. The person who felt different and alone, finds they aren't so different. Nor are they so alone.


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If you're interested in sharing you experience on Weighing The Facts you can email me at mrsmenopausal@yahoo.com

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It Has Nothing To Do With My Weight: Kelly's Story

I was only 3 years old when I wish that I could cut the fat off my little rounded, protruding tummy. That’s the age my body image issues started. As for the eating disorder itself I do not even know. Maybe around 15 or 16 for occasional binging and if not binging, then overeating. I was maybe 20 when I started restricting.

My story is hard to tell for me. Not because of the details but because there are so many twists and turns in it. This is what I remember in great detail during my childhood; having surgery on my bladder at the age of 3 and thinking that I had done something wrong and that was my punishment, my mother’s stomach, my mother standing at the refrigerator in the middle of the night binging on cottage cheese, my thighs, again my stomach, my mother counting calories and feeling very old for my age in kindergarten. I had already gone through so much more than my classmates had. I felt alone and very scared.

When I got a little bit older I can remember; my first diet at the age of 14, how much I weighed, how my body was different than my friends, gaining weight by eating the candy bars I was suppose to sell for cheer-leading, trying to purge and breaking blood vessels in my eyes, being jealous of a previous friend who was clearly anorexic, counting my calories and feeling inadequate in all areas of my life. I was compared to my twin sister that excelled in school. School for me was a social thing and I didn’t apply myself at all. I always wonder how things would have been different if they had given me my diagnosis of ADD/ADHD in high school instead of when I was 30.

Around 19 or 20 I had broken up with a boyfriend and binged through the end of the relationship which resulted in a large weight gain. I decided to join weight watchers and was very happy that I had consistently lost weight and got down to my goal weight. Which I stayed at for about a day. I couldn’t stop right from the start. Just as an alcoholic, which I am; couldn’t put down a drink; which I couldn’t do, I also couldn’t stop losing weight. Until I got scared. Then I’d try to gain a few lbs; which I did but couldn’t stop THAT until I hit the previous high weight. I did this over and over in record speed between my 20’s and 30’s. I went from disgusted at myself for a high weight to being scared for myself because I was anorexic. I did the cycle probably about 4 times a year or so, maybe more. I couldn’t get off the roller-coaster ride.

My problem went undiagnosed, even from a doctor who asked me if it bothered me that I wasn’t getting my period. My favorite excuse to anyone, especially myself was…I’m only 5 fool 1 ½ inches tall. I could be at a very low weight and still fall in the guidelines for normal weight or slightly underweight. It didn’t matter if I wasn’t getting my period or bones were sticking out…I fell into the “healthy” weight on “the” charts. My body was never meant to be at the low end of those weight charts. I could never get low enough in weight to satisfy me.

Things started clicking for me that I had a eating disorder when my best friend’s little sister asked me bluntly, “Are you on drugs or just an anorexic?” I was shocked but her words made an impression on me. It didn’t stop me from using any behaviors…I was merely becoming aware that I had a eating disorder. I continued my up and down weight while I met my first husband. He loved it when I was in my anorexic stages and withheld love when I wasn’t looking what he considered was my best. I went through a bitter, horrible divorce when he walked out on me and literally skipped the state. It doesn’t just happen in the movies…it was happening in my own life. At the exact same time many horrible events started to unfold. Between May 1998 and May 1999, these events happened; my husband at the time walked out on me and fled the state of Minnesota leaving me unknown to his whereabouts; I lost my job; my Dad died; My truck that was repossessed; I was forced to file bankruptcy; my husband filed for divorce, my husband tried to sue me for filing bankruptcy which has never been done in the state of Minnesota, BUT that’s a whole different story in itself, and the little apartment that my mother embarrassingly had to co-sign for went up in flames, literally and I lost every piece of everything I had, which I had no renters insurance for. But considering they told me I was minutes away from possibly dying from smoke inhalation put losing all my possessions into perspective for me. Basically I had lost everything I ever had. I was so low that I didn’t know if I was going to ever get up again. I was so scared that God was putting me through all of this drama to get me ready for “something” bigger and I couldn’t handle bigger.

That was a lot to go through in a one year time span. It took me at least 2 years before I could even function in society. I was certainly a mess and I certainly used restricting and drinking alcohol as a coping mechanism, not to mention smoking 2 packs a day during this time. I liked how drinking dehydrated me and always after a night of heavy drinking with no food my pants was always loose on me and I craved that feeling. I was certainly quite the mess during this time. I was in so much pain emotionally that I don’t know how I survived. But I kept putting one foot in front of the other and with panic attacks and all, I managed to get to a place in my life where every living minute wasn’t filled with pain. It took me many years to get there.

I remember my first smile I had after a few years with no real laughter. I was driving home from work listening to Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline and when they get to the part that goes, “good times never been so good”…I smiled a REAL smile. It was a break through moment for me. Many good things happened to me during those “sad” years but I just couldn’t feel any joy. I did make some wise decisions though. I had met my NOW 2nd husband at the job I was working and KNEW there was no way that he was going to fall for me like I already had for him under these self sabotaged conditions that I had put myself into.

By the Grace of God, I quit drinking. I was also going a outpatient program which I had started going to in 1997. I started dating XXX (my husband) and I was starting my life over. I had come far in the few years and was complimented by close friends how I was a true survivor. I had grown closer on my journey with my relationship with God during “those” years and with quitting my 2 pack a day habit, now I was starting to build a foundation for myself. Sounds good but I was also purely using my eating disorder as not only a coping mechanism but it was my fun, it was what I knew and could do well, the low weight made me feel important and I got attention. Most of it was unwanted attention because I always hated how people came out of the woodwork when I was thinner. I hated hearing “wow, you look good” when I knew I was actually battling an addiction that I couldn’t control.

Rumors started at work about me which made me self conscious. I guess they weren’t rumors….when it was the truth. I WAS the girl in the license bureau who was anorexic. I wanted to be thin for me…not for anyone else and my weight would usually result in a small gain when the attention got too much. I also was scaring myself getting my weight to where I wanted it. I was, or thought I was in total control.

Between the ages of 29-34 I did my “pattern” of gaining weigh only once or twice each year and I mainly stayed at a low weight. At the age of 34 I happily got pregnant and did a shotgun wedding when I was 4 months along. I was sooo happy. I was having the baby I always wanted with the man that I so desperately wanted and needed in my life. Life was good. What a turn around from the previous 5 years. Life was what I wanted although I was anxious as hell.

While I was pregnant I was so anxious and mostly binged and overate to self medicate. I watched the scales rise once I let the nurses start weighing me for fear that something may be wrong with my daughter. I gained a very, very large amount of weight. I stopped weighing near the end so I don’t know what the actual total was but it was a lot. Then it took me approximately the 10 weeks I was off of work on maternity leave to lose it all in record time by restricting and starving myself. I had to get rid of the weight because I could not handle feeling the way I was feeling.

Once I got the weight off I relaxed a lot and for the first time ever I ate with not using eating disorder symptoms. I intuitively ate and it felt good and was very freeing. For about a whole year I was able to do this. Around xxx’s first birthday I had gained a little bit of weight and fear set in. I could NOT do another round of the up and down game. I think I may have been going through some post partum depression and quite sure that my body was giving in from going through a rough pregnancy and delivery and the starvation that followed. I started to sink again with fear of being a mother and fear of gaining weight. One thing lead to another and next thing you knew I was in Arizona going through a 30 program at XXX.

It was tough and when I came back I sincerely tried to eat. But I was angry for gaining weight, which was barely anything, and my team for refusing to tell me my weight in treatment. I had to take matter into my own hands again. I lost what I had gained plus some and then just continued to be in group and tried hard to recover. I really did want recovery by this time. I was tired of playing my never ending game. One really good thing came out of going to XXX. I started attending Eating Disorders Anonymous meetings. It was such a homey comfy feeling like I got when I went to AA meeting that I knew I had to start a meeting in Minnesota since we had NOTHING for support groups 3 or 4 years ago. My friend XXX and I started meetings at her house every Sunday night and then eventually moved the meeting to a nearby church. I got and continue to get a certain type of support from attending the meetings that I don’t get from going to professionals.

Starting EDA was one of the best things I have ever done. Now I serve as xxx of the General Service Board of EDA and continue to use service work as a means of recovery. I learned in my early days of quitting drinking that you really have to give away what you’ve got in order to keep it. At least for me it works. In fact most of the AA slogans work well for me….ones like “take what you can and leave the rest” and “it works when you work it…it really does” gives me a sense of responsibility that I have for my recovery as well as staying in my disease whether it’s a eating disorder or drinking.

Then I don’t know what happened but when my daughter was almost 3 years old I had a lot of flashbacks to when I was in the hospital when I was 3 having bladder surgery and I think I just lost it completely thinking of my own precious little daughter going through what I went through. I don’t remember much over the course of a few days but apparently, I called my therapist like 15 times in a row one night and for some odd reason he put a 72 hour hold on me. It was a total nightmare and I’m still trying to deal with all the details of it because I don’t remember and don’t really want to. But I was locked up for 10 days at xxx Hospital on the psych-ward. To boot, I was in the “side for dangerous people”. Not proud moments for me. I won’t even go into detail about it because I am still shocked at myself that I was acting that way. Of course many traumatic things happened in there but the worst in my opinion was when one of the doctors said to me about my eating disorder – “you’re not THAT thin”. Maybe the fact a doctor was talking to me so unprofessional snapped me out of “it” because I was only there a few more days after his comment.

It was horrible in every way but a very good thing came out of it. They put me on a antipsychotic medication that has changed my life drastically for the better. I doubt they would have ever put me on a antipsychotic if I wasn’t acting psychotic so it all turned out okay. I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder. Anyways, I eventually forgave my therapist, forgave my husband, and forgave myself. I still have a hard time talking about those events those 2 weeks. I still don’t understand what happened. And I’m scared shitless that it could happen again. Part of my aftercare was to be in IOP and groups and continue to go to EDA meetings.

Shortly after I got out of the Hospital , I started to restrict during the day and then binge at in the middle of the night. Usually I don’t remember much of it, but in the morning I have the sinking feeling of “what did I do last night?” Funny, just like I did with drinking. My binging at night on top of eating a normal food plan resulted in a big weight gain for me. That was little over 2 years ago. I binged at night and restricted during the day. My eating disorder had totally morphed into something else now. I was diagnosed with Bulimia, non purging type. Now typically I have never purged in all my eating disorder years because it felt like too violent of an act on my body but I was so freaked out about weight that I did the unthinkable. I purged. I think it was the next day I went into my therapist’s office and said, “I need help”.

I was sent to an in-treatment facility for 30 days. It was extremely hard to leave my daughter and husband to get treatment but I couldn’t go on anymore. I had a very good experience while I stayed at the house. I was able to break through some barriers and close some doors as well as quitting the horrendous cycle of restricting then binging in the middle of the night. I told my mom and sisters for the first time ever about my eating disorder. Of course they still say everything wrong but I am happy I told them for my own sake. I am done hiding.

I am starting to be proud of myself and proud to be me. I have a husband who truly loves me regardless of what my weight is and fully supports me in every way imaginable. I opened up to my stepson about the eating disorder too. I’m tired of secrets and have spent the same amount of energy protecting my recovery as I did protecting my eating disorder and alcoholism. In all honesty, I still protect my alcoholism. I am not sure where I want to go with that. I don’t have a problem talking about it to others in recovery at all but outside of that I feel that is private. My Dad died of Cirrhosis of the Liver due to his alcoholism and I’d like to think that I silently ended a destructive pattern that ran in our family. That’s not based on shame but rather not wanting to bring energy to it.

Back to the in-treatment facility…that was last May through June and the recovery that I have made since then has become the final stretch. All though I am still working on things and honestly trying to lose the weight that I haven’t been able to lose the last 2 years I am the happiest I think I have ever been which is ironic that I am the heaviest that I’ve ever been. I started a blog of writing letters to my body and ED and vice versa. That is perhaps one of the best tools that I have encountered in my career of therapy/groups and treatments. Some other recovery tools that have significantly helped me have been putting my baby picture up on my bathroom mirror and every time I see my picture I say something nice to that little innocent beautiful baby. I’ve been doing that for 3 years now and it’s really made a dent into healing early childhood traumas and hurts. The last one, is trying to end the fat talk. I still go in spurts of doing this but I have been very aware of how I talk to myself and the relationship that I am trying to grow with myself. I don’t want to be mean to myself anymore. I want to love who I am which has nothing to do with weight.

Yep, 13 years of coming to the outpatient program and almost every form of therapy to be able to say that one sentence out loud. In case you didn’t hear me, it has nothing to do with my weight! I can honestly say that all though I may not LOVE myself quite yet, I don’t hate myself either. And that’s made all the difference in the world.

written by: Kelly M of Dear Body

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There Is Honor In The Fight: One Woman's Story

For years I was sick, but didn't understand with what, or what to do about it. I couldn't eat, everything I was able to eat made me sick. I got a little better, then a lot worse. Finally what had apparently been clear to my friends became clear to me, I had an Eating Disorder.

My first intake appointment at the Emily Program (where I am currently getting treatment) was hell. The therapist was as sweet and as supportive as anyone could hope for, but I was terrified. It all got much easier after that, after admitting that I was sick and asking for help. I decided very soon after that first appointment that I was not going to hide the fact that I have an illness, and that I am fighting it.

When anyone asks what I have been up to, or what I do, I tell them, with my head held high that I am in treatment for an eating disorder. Its interesting to see the different reactions I get from people. Some of them get uncomfortable and look for any other topic to turn to, some of them get curious and ask me all manner of questions.

I'm not sure why I am so open about having and fighting this illness. I think it has something to do with knowing I will win. Also, I wonder, if people had been this open about their eating disorders when I was sick and confused, if I would have sought treatment sooner. Also, I recognize the courage and strength it takes to fight this. I know that what I am doing is more than most people do for themselves at any point in their lives. I know that I am taking the time I need to lay the groundwork for the rest of my life. I know that I am facing demons so terrifying and sneaky that many people prefer to just live with them, rather than try to eradicate them once and for all. I know that this disease is not my fault, there is no shame in it, in fact, there is honor in the fight. I hope other people see that too.

written by: anonymous

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I Have A Mistress: ED Poetry And Writings

I have a mistress. She is strong and persuasive.

She is the only thing in this world that truly frightens my husband.

I have virtually stopped eating. I eat enough so that I still have a period and can keep people off my back. Maybe secretly, I want to starve myself to death and not have to deal with anything anymore. (July 18, 2008)

Her name is Ana--short for anorexia.

The National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorder estimates there are eight million people in this country who suffer from anorexia or another type of eating disorder.

I am one of those people.

My complicated relationship with Ana reached its breaking point when I was led out of a hospital in handcuffs and leg shackles.

Technically, I had done nothing illegal to warrant all of the hardware. But when I walked into the emergency room and informed the nurse on duty that I wanted to kill myself, there are certain procedures a hospital must follow.

Ana is all about control. In the beginning, I thought I controlled our relationship. She knew she was the one calling the shots.

With her at my side, I have watched myself become someone I don’t even recognize. To be with her, I have lied and deceived my family and friends over food.

Some days Ana is so frustrating that I wish I could switch places with someone else so I could get some peace from her voice. From the time I wake up until I go to sleep, I think about food. It usually begins with me wondering what to eat but it always ends with me not eating.

I used to love eating apples. I would cut the apple in half. Then cut each half into fourths. And then cut each of the fourths into four more pieces. It should take a person no more than ten minutes to eat an apple.

It took me an hour.

It’s not about the numbers on a scale. It’s about control. And my food intake is the one thing in my life that I can control. (June 1, 2008)

When I was 16 years old, my grandmother had a stroke.

I saw the ambulance from the school bus and knew something was wrong.
Since the day I was born, my grandmother helped to raise me. I remember dropping my backpack and running across the yard.

It was scary to see my favorite person in the whole world helpless and frail.
In that moment, my life changed. I went from being a high school sophomore to being a caregiver.

This was the beginning of Ana and I’s friendship. She didn’t show up because of any abuse or neglect.

Ana became a constant companion for a shy geeky teenager with few friends that was terrified of losing the one person who understood her.

I didn’t know how to share my fears or deal with all of the change. So my coping mechanism was to control how much and when I ate food. It would be years before I would admit that I was anorexic.

At home, nobody noticed because I did most of the cooking.

During that year, my friends and I had different lunchtimes. Instead of making new friends, I would get a Pepsi and a pack of crackers. For most of high school, this would be my lunch.
Truth be known, I am a lazy anorexic. I don’t exercise or calorie count. I just slowly eliminate eating as a priority for each day.

Sometimes I watch the Food Network so I can get a food fix. It’s sad that I watch Emeril or Bobby Flay so I can imagine what a meal would be like without her voice. At one time, I wanted to be a chef but being around so much food scared me.

Anorexia is a hard disease to explain to those who don’t have it. For some, it is just a matter of eating. For those of us in the know, it is about control. Control when there isn’t really control. (March 2, 2001).

I read once that in a day a person should eat about 2,000 calories. I probably eat 800 to 900 calories in a day.

It was hard at first but it became easier with time to ignore the hunger pangs and the sound of my stomach growling.

Eventually from time to time I would weigh myself. If the numbers were too high, I would freak out and not eat. But I still refused to admit I had a problem. Who punishes themselves for weighing 97 pounds by going to bed hungry? It is amazing how numbers on a scale could change my whole day.

There have been many signs that our relationship is very unhealthy.

At one point in my late 20s, I got down to 73 pounds. My friends were scared and not sure what to do.

There is a picture of me at this weight. It was taken at a Memorial Day pool party. At that time, I thought I looked awesome. My closest friends saw it differently. They saw a dangerously thin woman.

In January of 2001, a physician assistant voiced the truth.

Before that visit, I was sick all the time. I would have the flu, a cold or some sinus problem. It was always something. When I finally went to the doctor, she took one look at me and asked how long I had been anorexic.

I angrily informed her that I was not anorexic.

“I am just having trouble getting rid of this cold,” I said.

“No, you are anorexic and your poor body is fighting to stay alive,” she said quietly but firmly.
She gave me a prescription for my sinus infection and the name and number of an eating disorder specialist.

At this point in my life, Ana and I weren’t ready to be separated.
I crumpled the paper once I got in my car and threw it on the floor of my car. I refused to believe what she was saying.

Throughout that day, I called friends to tell them about what was said. I expected them to be sympathetic for me and angry at the woman also. But all I got were awkward silences or “I’ve got to go.”

The one person who had the guts to talk to me about it was one of my best friends (now my husband, James). In a very calm voice he said, “She’s right. You have an eating disorder. I hope you will listen to her and get help.”

A few days later, I picked the paper up off the floor of my car and called for help.

I wish I could say I sent Ana packing but that would be the biggest lie ever.

A few months after starting therapy, I looked in the mirror as part of an exercise. I avoid mirrors. I always have because they make me feel uncomfortable.

The first thing I noticed was that I was getting a little pudgy. At that time, I was 82 pounds. What scares me the most about the memory is how upset I was at weighing 82 pounds. This is the weight of a fourth grader. I was angry at myself for weighing 82 pounds.

I have always struggled with eating. I can’t remember the last time that I just sat down and ate without stressing about it. It’s not about calorie counting. I just can’t explain it. (May 7, 2001)

Ana and I have been together through a major move to another state, several boyfriends, two engagements, a wedding, miscarriages, a still born and the birth of my son.

She has always been there in the background waiting for me to call her back into my life.

Food will always be an issue in my life. When a plate of food is put in front of me, I get anxious and nervous. I hate to eat with others because I feel like they are watching and mentally recording every bite I put in my life.

Through the years, I had learned to keep Ana hidden.

But I accepted her embrace when the newspaper I loved went from a twice weekly to a weekly. She started her seductive whispering.

It started with me eating more junk food than real food. Then I was only eating certain foods on certain days. It soon progressed to eating only one meal a day as late as possible.
Then the newspaper was sold and my job eliminated.

Moving back home was stressful and depressing for me. Not only did I not have a job but I would be around people and would have to eat. When I lived alone, I decided when I ate. With others, there were semi-set meal times or torture time for me.

We had just bought a home. My mother was undergoing her second round of chemotherapy for stage four metastatic breast cancer. Everything was spiraling out of control.
With all the uncertainty in my life, Ana knew the only thing that could be controlled was how much I ate in a day.

She knew, in a very sick way, I got a high from going hours or days without eating. Once for a week, I survived on bag of oyster crackers and a container of cottage cheese.

Change is a big trigger for my anorexia. If the change is too big, I quit eating. (March 31, 2001)

It was tough relearning how to be a mother while being homesick for my former life.

“You may not work at a newspaper but you can still write,” everyone told me.

It is not a matter of blogging or writing a book. I wanted to write for a newspaper. I can’t describe how I feel when writing. The group, Coldplay, has a song called “Viva La Vida,”,” which sums up how I feel. The song talks about a person going from a prince to a pauper. This is how I feel now.

It starts out with “when I ruled the world.” This is how I felt as a reporter. Writing was a way of expressing myself. It was my identity. I was a reporter and not just a mother or a wife.
I started looking forward to night time. When it’s late at night, everyone is asleep. Ana’s voice subsides and I don’t have to do her bidding. There is no sneaking food into a napkin or putting it down the drain. Just silence.

The doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong. He said it could be a kidney infection. It could be. But I know why my body is messed up. I always know why. (March 14, 2002)

As with most affairs, I didn’t see how it was destroying my body, my life and my family. My two-year-old son didn’t want to eat because Mommy didn’t eat.

My husband felt powerless.

One night, I overheard him talking on the phone about being so frustrated.
I wish I could tell him how self-conscious I feel about my body. Some days I see the skeletal body that others see and other days I see something else. I envy him when he eats. He doesn’t seem to worry or stress. He just eats.

I hoped he wouldn’t notice my relapse.

He noticed. He saw how fast the weight was dropping and what I was eating. Or shall I say was not eating.

He is an excellent cook whose efforts were wasted on me. He knew this but would try anyway.
“Here try this,” he said. “I made just the way you like it.”

He would buy my favorite foods. He tried anything to get some calories into my body.
My husband is one of those people who wants to help wherever there is a need.

I know my relationship with Ana frustrates and angers him. He would express his concern about my appearance and mental state. And Ana whispers that he is jealous and don’t let him take me from her.

So instead of listening to concern for my well-being, I embraced destruction of my body.

I can’t explain her hold over me. The way it alternates between craziness and numbness. How she makes nothing else matter except not eating.

There is so much that I want to tell him but I can’t so I push him away. I don’t isolate myself to hurt him intentionally. I do it because I’m scared to imagine a life without her.

So a lot of times I try to eat enough so no one will notice.

I thought I did it with finesse but my weight loss was soon very noticeable.

Ana became my constant companion who made me feel like I was holding things together. But in reality, people I loved watched me retreat and fade away. She had become all that mattered.

Believe it or not, it does scare me when I look at my body with my clothes off. I shower with my eyes closed so I don’t have to see how painfully thin I am, but I am not sure what to do. Everyone knows. Either because they figured it out or James told them. (July 10, 2008)

Some days I would see how long I could go without eating anything substantial. This is not easy when you are running after a small child with tons of energy. Each night, I would be exhausted and stressed about eating.

Being with Ana was not a secret game that I took pleasure in playing. I no longer have an appetite. I haven’t had one in years. Whenever I get a headache or became too dizzy, I know I need to eat something.

One night, something snapped. I knew I couldn’t live like this anymore. I decided that death was the only way to get rid of her.

I could no longer live with her but in a twisted way, I couldn’t live without her.
But when the day came, I realized I didn’t want Ana to win. Even though I was desperate, I wasn’t ready to give up.

Who would do the airplane routine after my son’s bath?

Who would know the little things about him such as his favorite shirt? Who would be able to say lines from the movie Cars with him?

Those things were on my mind as I sat in my car wondering what to do-carry out my plan or seek help.

With all the stress, Ana had convinced me that nobody cared if I lived or died.

But I knew one person on this earth who would care—my son.

I was barely hanging on when I walked through those emergency room doors.

My problem is causing you problems. I have lost so much control in my life that I have nothing. I can’t do anything right. I feel so lost and helpless. I have tried to ask for help but each time I can’t make the words come out. (August 15, 2008—from suicide note to my son.)

I spent a few days at a crisis recovery center. I came home fragile and scared. Ana wasn’t completely there but she wasn’t gone either. I was determined to keep her away.

The medications that I take mimic an appetite. I’m not as lightheaded as much because I try to eat small meals and snacks throughout the day. And slowly, the numbness is starting to go away. I want to see my son grow up, graduate and have a life. I want him to have a mommy who is strong.

I don’t want to do anything to hurt my son. He’s sweet, smart and is picking up on my lack of eating. This is about him and how I must save myself. (September 24, 2008)

I don’t feel as hopeless but I still feel alone. It is hard to talk about Ana.

At my lowest point, I was 73 pounds. This time I dropped to 89 pounds. It may not sound like much but it is scary when you are four feet and 11 inches.

I used to have long, beautiful hair, somewhat of a shape and a mouthful of teeth.
Thanks to Ana, I am losing my hair, most of my teeth are gone and I feel unbalanced.
And yet my mistress still desires me.

I weigh 105 pounds. Everyone says the weight looks good on me. Ana is not comfortable with those numbers because they represent me finding strength without her.

I feel at times everyone and everything is closing in on me. They try to make me eat. It is not that simple. You can’t undo years of bad eating with one meal. (August 15, 2001)

Ana is working hard to regain a footing in my life. She whispers that she needs just a little more time with me.

One day, I will have a good day. A day when I can eat, enjoy food and not think about it too much. It will be a long time before that day comes. Ana and I have begun our dance again.

Each day is a constant struggle—to eat or not to eat. I wish I could say I am completely cured. I am not and will never be completely okay.

My therapist is nice but overwhelmed by Ana. Until I find a job with insurance, I will battle daily with Ana about eating. Some days I win but most often I don’t. If I am stressed or upset, eating is the first thing to go. It shouldn’t be so hard to get rid of something that is so deadly.
Like a person addicted to alcohol or drugs, I will also have a longing for my mistress. So I keep reminding myself of what will happen if I let her return with full force.

The two of us can never be together again because the next time Ana will kill me.

By: Jacqueline Hough of Notes From The Voices

..the trials and triumphs of a young mother trying to conquer her eating disorder while trying to find a job and keep her sanity.

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