Welcome!

My name is Becca, I’m 29, and I’ve struggled with an eating disorder in some way, shape or form for the past 16 years. It started when I was 13, and got progressively worse until I was 18. From the ages of 18 to 21, I was in pure self-destruct mode, and finally entered inpatient treatment in May of 2013. I had several what I would describe as “mini relapses” from then until November 2019, when a few life events sparked the flame of my eating disorder into a fire I had no control over. When COVID happened, things only got worse, and in July 2020, I entered treatment for the second time, and did 5 weeks of inpatient treatment. However, after discharge, I continued sliding backwards into my eating disorder, and in September, I entered inpatient treatment again, this time for 8 weeks. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say that those 13 weeks combined were the hardest 13 weeks of my life.

While I started this blog while I was in inpatient, I’m currently back with my outpatient team of a therapist, doctor and PA, and this blog will be used to document my journey through recovery. Lately I’ve been ruminating on the quote, “You’re only as sick as your secrets” and my eating disorder has definitely been my best kept secret for 16 years, so my hope is that by being open about this part of my life, it will lose some – or all! – of its power over me.

Recovery is not linear, as I’ve learned, so there will be many ups and downs throughout this journey, I’m sure, but my goal is to make this blog as authentic and raw as possible, so it may not always be sunshine and rainbows. But I do know that the sunshine and rainbows do exist, even if I can’t always see them. So welcome to my journey through recovery!

You can find my first post here.

Becca

Twenty Eight

Where even to begin? So much has happened, and yet…nothing is different. Or maybe it is. It’s hard to tell most days. Maybe some day soon I’ll share what exactly has been going on in my life for the past two months or so, but I simply don’t have the energy or will to do that right now. I don’t have the energy for much beyond the bare minimum lately. I wake up, go to work, come home and crawl into bed. I’ve spent so much time in the same position in my bed for the past however many months that you can tell exactly where I lay, curled up in a ball, based on the sinking in of the mattress. It’s a pathetic existence, really.

I’m constantly tired, but I’ve come to realize that it’s the type of tired sleep and coffee can’t fix. I haven’t checked my mail in who knows how long because I’m too tired to walk to my mail box to get it. I still have some groceries in bags sitting in the middle of my kitchen floor that I bought three weeks ago, and I honestly don’t know if they’ll ever find a more permanent home. I have four separate piles of clean but unfolded laundry in my living room that I sift through every morning for something to wear to work, and just the thought of trying to put them all away properly in my bare closet makes me want to cry. And I don’t know why.

This is not a life I ever pictured myself living, that’s for damn sure. Most nights, usually when everyone else is asleep and I’m left alone with just my thoughts, everything feels so hopeless that I start to dream about what things might look like if I just…didn’t exist anymore. I know better than to let my mind go there, but it’s calming to think about. I’ve just about convinced myself that it would be a microscopic loss to the world, and I’ve come to terms with that. Mostly.

Thank goodness for the little things that somehow manage to keep me going – an unexpected laugh with friends, slobbery kisses from my favorite horse, beautiful sunsets, baby ducks in the courtyard at work. I wouldn’t be here without those things. I only hope I can keep finding them.

Twenty Seven

I’ve been trying to write something for this blog for a couple of weeks now, but I’ve felt so drained, both physically and emotionally, that it’s been hard to organize my thoughts. I doubt this will be a very long or interesting post, but just a little bit of an update instead.

This past week, specifically the past three days, have been straight up miserable. No way to sugarcoat it. Things have been awful at work, awful in my personal life, and awful in terms of my eating disorder. I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself or my life, honestly, as much as I do right now. I know hate is a strong word, and maybe in an hour, or tomorrow, or next week, things will change, but right now, that’s exactly how I feel.

I’m currently on the waiting list to go back to inpatient and I’ve been on that list for almost four weeks now, so hopefully I won’t have to wait much longer – not because I want to go back, but because I genuinely feel like I have no other option. I feel like the eating disorder is suffocating me, that the air around me is poisonous. I want nothing, NOTHING MORE, than to get rid of this fucking illness once and for all. I have no clue how to keep living my life this way, and the thought of having to is such a scarily hopeless feeling.

Not quite sure how I’m going to get through this weekend – one hour or minute or second at a time, I suppose. But to anyone who asks, yeah, no worries, I’m fine. I might be surrounded by fire, but I’m fine.

Twenty Six

2021. Finally, a new year, new – wait. Nope. New year, same shit.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve updated this blog, so I’m not really sure where to begin. I’ll guess I’ll start with now. I’m currently quarantined after being deemed a first contact with someone who tested positive with COVID at my work. So I’m supposed to stay home for 10 days before I can finally return to work on the 25th. I’ve been playing by the rules, but I’m so over it, it’s not even funny. And I’m over it for a couple of reasons.

One, I’m so bored. And before you say anything, blah blah blah, yes, I know, boredom should not exist in our current culture, or if you’re bored then that means you’re not being creative enough or some shit like that. And you’re not wrong, there are probably things on the creativity spectrum that I could be doing, but instead I’ve been binge watching Cheer on Netflix for, like, the 18th time. So there’s that.

Two, there’s nothing worse than making me stay at home and sit with my own thoughts all day. I want – no, need – to be busy. Sure, there are things I could do around my apartment to keep me busy for short bursts at a time, but I’m talking “leave my apartment at 6:45am, return home at 8pm” type of busy. Normally I go straight from work into doing Instacart orders until 7:30 or 8, and that keeps my brain occupied enough so that I stay out of trouble. Housework doesn’t keep me out of trouble. Distractions like puzzles or books or Netflix don’t keep me out of trouble. So having to bring my life to a grinding halt almost feels like torture.

I’ve been trying to think of different ways to look at this quarantine, and the only other perspective I’ve been able to come up with is that maybe this is the Universe’s way of telling me I need to slow the hell down for a second. I’m always so busy trying to stay busy that I’ve let a lot of things slide that do actually need my attention. For the most part, those things are household chores that I’ve just been too tired to do after I get home at night, so maybe this is the world giving me an opportunity to catch up on things I would otherwise still probably be neglecting.

But I’m not 100% sure that the reason I’ve neglected so many things has anything to do with me being busy at all. I’d like to think it is, but I also know it could be my depression, or my anxiety, or my eating disorder, or any combination of the three. really. Every fork, knife and bowl I own are currently in my sink, waiting to be washed. I still have a pile of stuff from treatment – yes, the treatment I discharged from over 2 months ago – sitting in a pile on my floor by my closet, waiting for me to find homes for it. I honestly can’t tell you the last time I washed my hair, but I do know it’s been 2 or 3 weeks since I’ve done laundry. And I have fruit rotting in my fridge that I can’t seem to throw away due to my lack of energy, even though it would literally only take me 2.8 seconds to throw it out. That is, if I can fit it into my garbage can. See where I’m at right now? Yeah, I know. Not good.

The eating disorder is raging, making me hate myself in ways I’d forgotten were possible. My hair is now so thin that my ever present headband can’t hide all of the bald patches anymore. I had lab work done, and there are some areas of concern, I’m sure due to my lack of eating. I’ve skipped my meds more times than I’m comfortable with, not on purpose, but because I just genuinely didn’t remember to take them. Or was too tired to remember. I know I need to be more on top of my meds, because I know from past experience that if I were to stop taking them all together, I’d be in deep shit. So I’m trying to do better with that. But it’s so hard. I’m so tired.

Since it’s what I call “deductible season,” I’ve had to cut my number of therapy sessions I usually have per month in half since I can’t afford my usual number until my deductible is met, so it’s been stellar having to go a couple of weeks without seeing my therapist when I need her most. Thank you American healthcare system. You’re a gem.

This makes it seem like my life has been nothing but miserable for the past month, but I can’t say that’s completely true. I am lucky to have wonderful friends that genuinely care about me and make me laugh and teach me new things (I got to learn how to “set” a theater set on fire with projections, how freakin’ cool is that?!). I’m also lucky to work at a school with such great kids, and to have had the opportunity to connect with some of them to encourage and help them through this crazy school year. A good friend of mine is about to have her first child, a little girl, and I couldn’t be more excited for her and her partner. I can’t wait to watch them grow into amazing parents – and I finally have a reason to buy cute baby girl clothes! So there have been positives. They just seem to get lost in the heaviness of life these days.

I’m trying to set small goals for myself every day this week, with the hopes that by the time Sunday rolls around, I’ll be all caught up on chores and will have a day to truly relax, watch the Packers kick some ass, and prepare myself for the first week of kids being back in the building in over two months. I personally can’t wait for them to return, as I don’t think the classrooms and hallways were ever meant to be as quiet and empty as they’ve been since November. Fingers crossed that we won’t have to go completely virtual again any time soon. I miss doing my actual job.

I don’t know where things will go from here, if they’ll get better or stay the same, or God forbid, get worse. All I can do is keep fighting and showing up, even when I feel like I just keep getting knocked to my knees. Because all of this, it can’t last forever. Right?

Twenty Five

I don’t even know where to begin. It’s 3 1/2 weeks post discharge and just about everything feels out of control right now. And I think we all know how I react when I feel like things are getting out of control…

My weight is officially the lowest it’s been in a couple of years, so there’s that. Part of me is ecstatic about that, and the other part of me is nervous that I might soon start to slide down a slippery slope that I know in my head is dangerous and will only cause more problems than I already have. And Lord knows I don’t need any more problems in my life right now.

But if I’m honest, I know I’m already sliding down that slope. The real question is, do I want to stop myself? Some days, the answer is a resounding yes. Other days it’s a big hell no. It’s exhausting ping ponging between the two, and I wish I could make myself decide no, this is enough, I’m not going back to where I was in September. And everyone tells me that only I can make that choice, and I know that. But it truly feels like it’s out of my control, like someone else is calling the shots for me. Or maybe I’m just back in the eating disorder deeper than I realize, or want to realize, and I’m just stuck now. And if that’s the case, then maybe I am already back to where I was in September. But deep down, I don’t think I am. So I’m going to try to fight like hell to stop myself from getting to that point. Even if I’m still engaging in eating disorder behaviors, I’ll consider it a win if I don’t get to where I was in September.

Another idea I’ve been toying with a bit is the idea of quitting therapy, or at least significantly decreasing the amount of times I go. My thoughts behind that are, if I’m not 100% fully committed to recovery right now, which I’ll be honest, I’m not, then why waste my and my therapist’s time every week. Not to mention money, as well. And I know what you’re probably thinking: big mistake, Becca. And who knows, maybe you’re right. But I’m just so burned out on therapy and talking that I just feel like I need a break. I still have appointments scheduled for the rest of the month, but I think January will be a bit of a respite month for me, and then I’ll see how things are going come February. 

There was one positive this past week, though. Last Friday was a good day. By far the best day I’ve had since I discharged. The world didn’t seem so dark and heavy, and everything felt bearable. That day kind of carried over into Saturday, but by Sunday I was back to feeling like my “normal” self. But I’m so glad I got to have that day, because it reminded me that good days are possible. And I can always use that reminder.

So I don’t know where things will go from here. There are other factors I’d rather not get into that are also contributing to my feelings of everything being out of control, so it will be interesting to see how those things play out over the next month or so. Hopefully they won’t turn out to be the worst case scenario like I always imagine in my head. But this IS 2020, so who knows…anything could happen…

Twenty Four

26 Things I’m grateful for on this 26th of November.

1. Jesus. Oh so thankful for Jesus.
2. Not having to spend this holiday in the hospital.
3. All of the texts, emails and cards my friends and family sent me while I was in the hospital. They meant the world to me.
4. The incredible friends I made in treatment.
5. The amazing staff that took care of me in the hospital, from my doctor to the nurses to the techs, therapists and everyone in between.
6. My job that I love, and everyone I get to work with.
7. For my tiny, perfect apartment with its Christmas lights in the window and 4 foot rose gold Christmas tree.
8. Warm socks in the middle of winter.
9. That books can take you places you never thought you’d get to go.
10. Fall – the weather, the colorful leaves, the crisp air, and everything pumpkin spice.
11. Music! The lyrics, the melodies, the emotions and passion behind it…
12. Squirrels. They’re just so cute! And animals in general, really.
13. New York City.
14. My family.
15. The sunshine, especially on the cold days.
16. The magical moments that come at night, in the quiet, just after a fresh snowfall.
17. All of the days I get to sleep in.
18. A good cup of coffee. Or tea.
19. Long drives with the windows down on summer nights.
20. For the opportunity to be an aunt to the cutest nephew and niece in the world. I don’t know how I got so lucky.
21. That you can hold onto memories forever.
22. Technology and its ability to keep people connected.
23. For sunflowers. They make me so happy.
24. The way everything else, every worry and problem in life, disappears and doesn’t exist when I’m riding a horse.
25. The moments where you laugh from deep within your stomach, or laugh so hard you cry.
26. Everyone who has ever pushed me to keep going, whether I was grateful in the moment or not. I’m grateful now.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Twenty Three

I’ve been home for 5 full days now, and I don’t know what to do anymore. I just don’t fucking know.

I thought that things would be easier coming home this time around, that something I learned in those 8 long weeks would have stuck with me enough to spark a real change. But so far, that is not proving to be the case. And I don’t understand why.

Or maybe I do. I mean, I have a little bit of insight, I think. It’s hard for me to admit, because it requires being vulnerable, and I know that was what I wanted to be on this blog – raw, authentic, and vulnerable. So fuck it. I find it so hard to change my behaviors because I’m afraid that the more I eat, the less worth I’ll have as a person. If I don’t eat, if I become smaller, take up less space in the world, then maybe I’ll finally be worth something. Because right now I feel like a worthless piece of shit.

I hate that I tie my worth to what I eat, and as a byproduct, the number on the scale. And I don’t know how to break that connection. And I’m afraid that until I do, nothing will really change. Not permanently, anyway. So I just feel stuck. Stuck and defeated and a bit hopeless, if I’m honest.

The eating disorder voice has been so loud this past weekend. It’s a bit quieter when I’m at work, keeping myself busy, but nights and weekends…they’re not very fun. Most of my coworkers are looking forward to Thanksgiving break, but I’m already ready for it to be over with. And Christmas break…I’m absolutely dreading. The last thing I need right now is an endless amount of time unsupervised in my own head.

So grateful tomorrow is Monday.

Twenty Two

It’s been a minute since I’ve last posted, mainly because I’ve spent the past 8 weeks back in inpatient treatment and have been too occupied trying to, you know, recover, to post. But tonight is my last night here, and I have journaled all along the way, so over the next few weeks, I’ll be updating this blog with treatment journal entries as well as current postings.

I didn’t anticipate being here as long as I have been. I thought this would be a quick 2-3 week deal, 4 at most, but here I am, exactly 8 weeks later, still nervous to step out of the treatment bubble and back into the “real world”. In some respects, I feel as though I’ve made a lot of progress, and learned a lot that I hope to implement into my daily routine once I get home. But I’m also not naive, and know that I still have a long way to go in some areas as well.

I know I just need to keep reminding myself that recovery is not linear. There will be really high highs, and really low lows. But my hope is that as time goes on, the mountains and valleys will begin to flatten. And it’s not going to happen overnight, or in a week, or in a month, or maybe even in a year. If I’ve learned anything about my eating disorder, it’s that it requires intentional effort to fight it every single moment of the day. There will be days, I’m sure, where I’m too tired to fight, but my goal is to not let those days send me into a spiral as they have in the past, and instead view each day as a new chance to continue making progress, and continue toward recovery.

As nervous as I am to leave, I’m so excited to go home and see my friends and family, sleep in my own bed, go back to work, and just get back into a routine again. You truly don’t realize how lucky you are to have what you have until you’re separated from it all. So just one more night. One more night.

Twenty One

Do you know what it’s like to be told your electrolytes are so critically low that you should be admitted due to the risk of cardiac arrest, and then walk out of the hospital not even an hour later as if that conversation never happened?

Rational Becca would never do that. The part of me that wants to live knows I should have listened to the doctors last night, as I now lay in bed still feeling miserable. But that part of me isn’t in control right now. The eating disorder is. The eating disorder says the doctor and nurses were being dramatic, that they don’t know what they’re talking about, that they don’t know what my body can really handle – and that it can handle this. So despite a small inner voice screaming to be heard over the disorder, all I said was that I’d be fine, changed back into my clothes, and left.

I’m not proud of this version of myself. I hate her, actually. And I’m scared to death. Scared that I won’t be able to separate who I really am with this fucking disorder in time to save myself. I mean, who gets told that if they don’t stop what they’re doing to themselves immediately that they could die – they literally said it to me that bluntly – and chooses to ignore it?!

I think this is the worst it’s ever been. Worse than when I did inpatient 7 years ago, and worse than when I did inpatient over the summer. I’m almost two weeks into my initial 2-3 week wait time for an inpatient bed, but I was told yesterday that it will still be another 2-3 weeks, so who knows when I’ll actually get to go. The more time that passes, the more tired I become, and the more I start to wonder if fighting for this better life everyone else talks about is even worth it anymore.

But I don’t think I’m going to give up just yet. This morning, I watched a live stream of the funeral for a friend’s brother who died as a result of his addiction. I am in no way saying that having an eating disorder is the same thing as having a drug addiction, but today I got a small glimpse of how much his death has devastated his family. My heart broke for his mom as she spoke so frankly about his battle and how much she missed him. I honestly don’t know if this fight is worth it anymore, but I also don’t want my mom to have to make the same speech about me at my funeral.

So I guess for today, I will keep trying. But if that bed could open up sooner rather than later, that’d be great. Never thought I’d say that.

Twenty

I’m excited to be able to start this with a positive. This week Thursday, we were FINALLY allowed to come into our school building to work, and I’ve never been so excited to go. I got to see so many of my amazing coworkers who I haven’t seen in about 6 months, and it was just good for the soul. These past several months have felt particularly lonely, and it was nice to return to a sense of normalcy.

In other news, I found out this week that I was officially accepted into the inpatient program and am now on the waiting list, where there is an approximate 2-3 week wait. It’s strange because even though, rationally, I know I need the help, a big part of me was still convinced that there was no way the doctor reviewing my assessment would look at that information and say, “Yes, she definitely needs inpatient.” I was expecting them to say I was fine and should just continue in outpatient, or at the opposite end of the spectrum, tell me I was a lost cause and that they couldn’t help. (Don’t ask me how both of those scenarios make sense in my head at the same time.)

2-3 weeks feels like a lifetime and 2 seconds all at once. I’m panicking because now I have a general time frame for how much longer I can continue losing weight and controlling what I put in my body. It’s real now. Before Wednesday, when I got the call, it was still just an idea, a possibility I was flirting with, but nothing was for certain. Now it’s real. I mean, I know I can still change my mind, but I also know that would be a bad idea.

Walking down a hallway feels like I’m walking through mud. Lifting a bag of trash into the dumpster feels like trying to lift 200 pounds. Going up a flight of stairs makes me feel like I just ran a marathon. I had to take a break from putting the few groceries I actually buy in my car because I was seeing stars and felt like I was on the verge of passing out. Those things are not normal, and I have to keep reminding myself that these things happened, are happening, and the only way to fix this is by going back to treatment, and putting in real effort to get better.

It feels like my only chance at leaving behind this miserable existence I’ve been trying to call a life.

Nineteen

Today was a hard day. A day I was hoping would never have to happen, or if it did, that it would happen months from now. I completed an assessment for more inpatient treatment. If insurance agrees, if the program’s medical director agrees (I’m half hoping they don’t), then I could admit in the next couple of weeks.

There are so many emotions swimming around in my head, I don’t even know if I could identify them all. Disappointment, for starters, that I let things slide downhill so quickly. I think the reason it happened as fast as I did is because on the day I discharged, both the nurse practitioner I saw and my nurse didn’t believe I should be discharging. They didn’t think I was ready. But they let me go anyway. So my brain took that as, “Well, you’re still engaging in ED behaviors, but they don’t seem to care enough to keep you or stop you, so that must mean it’s okay to keep engaging in them.” I know that’s a twisted way of thinking, but…

I’m nervous. I don’t want to screw up this time, because I feel like all I did last admission was screw something up every single day. I know that I can WANT things to be different all I want, but in the moment, when things are so unbearably hard…will I have that inner strength not to engage in certain behaviors and do the “right” thing? I honestly don’t know.

I’m also mad at myself. I had the perfect opportunity over the summer to get help, when me being gone was an inconvenience to no one. This time around, I’ll have to miss work, a few weeks worth I’m guessing, and I’m mad that I’ll be letting my coworkers down. I like my job, and I desperately want to be there every single day. But I won’t be. And I feel like I’m just going to create an inconvenience for so many people.

At the bottom of my heart, I know going back for more treatment is the right thing to do. The past two and a half weeks have been hell and I don’t see me digging myself out of this hole I’ve gotten myself into by myself any time soon, so. I know it’s right. But a large part of me still doesn’t want to go. There’s still a part of me that believes that what I’m doing is okay, fine, that I’m fine. But everyone is telling me I’m not fine, so…

Here I am. Prayers and good vibes much appreciated.