I almost gave up on therapy two weeks ago. I'd just felt like it wasn't going anywhere and mainly because I wasn't ready to really put the effort into it. I called C (bf) as I pulled out of the parking lot of school and asked her to remind me why I was going. She asked me a few questions and then basically said that if I didn't feel like it was helping that I shouldn't go anymore. I guess I really just expected her to rattle off all the reasons anyone in my situation should continue. Her reasoning was that she felt I had already decided that therapy wouldn't work for me a long time ago and that if this psychologist wasn't a good fit or getting the job done then each session I attended would only validate and strengthen that thinking. She had a good point.
I'm not sure if she meant to do this or not, she is quite good as reverse psychology, but it put me on the defense. I really do like my therapist and she's really good. I don't want another one and I really didn't want to just give up. She did, however, say I should go to my appointment (even if it was the last) to at least tell her I wasn't going back.
As S (therapist) and I sat down, the first thing out of her mouth was, "So what are we going to do about this eating disorder? Because I feel like we're just treading water." And in that moment I decided that I didn't want to give up and that I really want to work on this. So from there things got a lot more real. I set up my first appointment with my dietician and S said she really wanted me to go to a support group.
This threw me for a loop. I was not expecting it and it freaked me out. Especially when she explained it was an addiction group she wanted me to go to. I just couldn't imagine me meeting with alcoholics and drug addicts and having a sponsor. In the end S realized how high my anxiety was and decided to send me to an eating disorder group instead so that I would feel more comfortable. It did make me feel a bit better but not much. I left that session feeling numb.
The next day the whole thing was a constant buzz in my head. My friend J, who was my roommate during my last bad relapse and is also ED, called to check on me because she knows I'm always in a bit of a funk after a session. I told her about the dietician and the meetings and she immediately said, "I'll go with you. I'll just work it out so that I can leave early on those Mondays." I'm so lucky to have such amazing friends because so much of the anxiety I was feeling had to do with walking into the unknown alone. I also talked to C and updated her. She was pretty surprised after our last conversation but had encouraging words. And then I just broke down.
How did I get here? How did things get so out of control and twisted that I need constant therapy, meds, weekly visits with a dietician along with a meal plan and nutritional education, and 12 step programs, and support groups? How many years have I lost to this obsession? I'd give anything to go back and give that little girl something else, anything else, to help deal with the hand that was dealt to her. Or even back to that day at 16 that I first made myself throw up. It would be easier, I think, if it was only one I was fighting. How much life have I missed out on? How long will it take to get better?
My last session was Thursday with S. She was very excited that I had indeed made the appointment with my dietician, CA. She was also glad that I had a plan in place to start attending group sessions with the support of J. Now that there is support in place for the actual eating issues, she wants to mostly focus on the problem at the core.
There are many reasons why people develop eating disorders. I'm sure society, genetics, circumstances, and general temperament play a big role. The biggest factor, however, is the fact that I was never taught or modeled how to feel or express those feelings in a non-self destructive way.
My parents never dealt with their issues. They just screamed and fought (sometimes physically) and then one of them would leave with nothing ever getting worked out. My dad doesn't talk about anything emotion related and drinks pretty heavily. The only emotion he knows how to express is anger and it comes out violently often. My mother is the only one I've ever seen him put his hand on, though I've heard ex-girlfriends accuse him of it, but he's always been verbally abusive to everyone close to him. My mother had no tools to deal with her life falling apart so she drank... all the time. The only time she was sober was while she was at work. She also stopped taking care of herself and started to consistently put on weight going from a size 2 to a size 14 over a 5 year period.
My childhood was complete chaos, but emotional displays were not tolerated in my family (unless apparently they were my parents'). I don't remember much of my childhood because I've long since blocked it out. There are just tiny bits and pieces like a number of video clips and photographs. I don't really know when food became the way I coped. I guess perfectionism was my gateway drug. I do remember feeling the need to be perfect. But perfect was never good enough it seemed. I had perfect grades and perfect behavior. I guess the only thing left was a perfect image. I do remember knowing from a young age that I was ugly (though anyone who knew me then and knows me now would hit me upside the head for that comment). I was actually a pretty attractive kid and as uncomfortable as it is for me to say it, quite a beautiful woman now. But I didn't see it then and I still don't see it often now. So I decided that I couldn't fix the pretty aspect, but I could fix the fact that I was fat. Granted I have never in my life actually been fat.
Thin was all around me as was the importance of being thin. My mom pre-divorce was always a stick and I remember her and her friends always talking about weight and comparing who was thinner. My dad has always judged females first and foremost on how thin they are. Famous quote, "There's nothing wrong with a little anorexia." Yes there is. At any rate it isn't very surprising that thinness and weight control became my focus starting at around age 8 or 9.
So now I have to learn how to deal with stuff. It sounds so ridiculous. S asked me what I could do to deal with feelings instead of restricting or purging and I couldn't come up with anything. I've never done anything else. And so the long journey begins. I guess it's good that I felt the need to start this blogg because I'm pretty sure writing is one of the ways that is suppose to help me work through things. We'll see.
I have an appointment with Dr. M (psychiatrist) on Tuesday. I hope she won't give me any crap for the fact that I've lost 4 more pounds since my last visit. I had been trying to lose more weight, but had been stable at 107 for a while. Since that visit two weeks ago with S I haven't purged once and I think that's why I dropped the weight. It really did just happen this week without me trying. I hope she can just be happy that I'm at least getting that behavior under control and have faith that the dietician will work her miracle.
Well, it's a new week. Let's see how it goes.
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