Please note that the following, as I spare graphics, may still be triggering to those who have dealt with an eating disorder. Please follow reader discretion and do not substitute anything I've detailed about my experiences for medical or psychological advice.
This past Friday ended
National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. A non-profit campaign for prevention, access to quality treatment and increased research funding to more adequately understand eating disorders (ED). The message/tagline was,
"It's Time to Talk About it." And 5 years after my recovery, I'm finally ready.
I've actually sat on bringing up this topic for a long time. Not just on the blog, but with family, close friends and even my SO. I was scared (still am). Of what? Truthfully, the shame still follows me. Added, I didn't want people to infer that ED was a force behind my weight loss or continued efforts towards my goal. It was a part of my past and while tempting at times, I am proud to say that none of my ED behaviors made their way into this journey.
At 17 years old, I had no idea that a few misguided choices would lead to a 3-year stint with what is recognized as bulimia nervosa. Bulimia, defined as an illness in which a person binges on food or has regular episodes of significant overeating and feels a loss of control. The person then uses methods such as vomiting or laxative abuse. The primary resolve to my "food mistakes" was the latter. With the former, being a substitute.
I was seemingly your average teenager; working a job, had my own car, had a boyfriend, was planning on attending my college of choice ... yet, there was one thing throwing a wrench into my fairytale - my 180-pound figure. Intermingle the fact that parallel to my average teenage life, I held a responsibility that was unbeknownst to everyone, outside of a handful. I was the sole caregiver to my 600+ pound mother. Too prideful to enlist outside help for operative needs or even medical intervention, everything fell on me. Day-in and day-out I watched my mother slip away from life; functionally and mentally. All over food. Or so I thought at the time. Secretly resentful, I was determined to never get "that big." That mindset was solidified following a visit to my doctor...
During a routine physical I was getting for drill team and tennis, I was asked to weigh-in. My aunt who had accompanied me, in response to the scale reading, chimed,
"It's cute now, but you don't want to end up like your mom." She was right. No matter what it took. I could not turn into my mother.
Sure, healthy eating was an option, but it didn't register with me at that age. Growing up in a house where comfort food and take out menus were plentiful, it never really crossed my mind to change my diet. There were no nutritional classes, or visible resources to support "getting healthy" in my inner-city world, let alone my home. I was still determined, though, to get rid of this fat and to stop any additions of it.
Working my retail job as a cashier, I encountered so many women coming through my lane to purchase diet pills. We could not keep them on the shelves! Over time, I internalized that they must work. If only I could get my hands on some of those miraculous fat burners and cleanses, my worries would be over. But there was a hiccup in my devious plan. I wasn't quite 18, yet. In my state, diet pills were like tobacco and alcohol - you got carded. I considered having my boyfriend at the time get the pills for me. Too embarrassed, I decided against it and started thinking of a new plan.
One day it hit me. People took laxatives to technically "cleanse" themselves. I would use it to do the same, just more frequently. And it was even cheaper than those popular cleansing pills, that I ran past the scanner all of the time. Taking them would ensure that anything I ate would not "count" and was going to make losing weight a lot easier. One pill and all that I consumed would be forgiven. Genius. I was sadly ignorant to the fact that all of the good and bad components of food were absorbed before my intended result was executed. But I felt better and that evil scale was going down ... that's all that mattered. In the process, not realizing that I was depleting my body of much more than a few pounds or that late night double cheeseburger.
But you couldn't tell me nothing. I had discovered a loophole in the system! It was completely legal for me to buy laxatives and ipecac syrup (to induce vomiting if I desired an immediate release). No questions would be asked, no one would request my I.D. and I could still eat what was around the house and not fret or feel guilty about indulging. My daily formula was fail-proof and it followed me through my Freshman and Sophomore years of college.
Then things started getting a little more complicated, in concealing and maintaining my regimen. I had whittled down to about 160 pounds and became quite underwhelmed with my weight loss. So, I increased my dosage of both purging agents - meaning - I had to make even more trips to the only pharmacy on campus for my "supplies." One quarter, the same clerk ringing people up would be there whenever I would come in. I became paranoid that she'd catch on and alert somebody about what I was frequently buying. Who? I have no clue, I just decided to avoid putting myself in that situation of possibly being called out or even worse - judged. Not to be deterred, I started ordering what I needed off of the internet.
I thought I was in the clear, until the next incident came up that forced me to see that what I was doing, wasn't right. I asked my dorm roommate to get something out of my purse for me. Totally forgetting that I kept a stash of "supplies" in it, she asked, "What do you have these for? My sister used to do this." I got immediately defensive and tried to dismiss her apparent concern. She saw right through me, though. Voluntarily divulging how her sister was hospitalized for an ED, she encouraged me to get help. I honestly think she knew about what I was doing prior to this incident and used this opportunity to confront me about it. Little gets by people when you're sharing close quarters like that. Not to mention, she was hellishly nosey as it was.
In my mind, however, she was crazy and overreacting. I couldn't possibly have an ED. Her sister had reached emaciation, I was still plus size. Her sister was White, I was Black. And I did not jam my fingers down my throat like they did on those LifeTime movies. THAT was an eating disorder. Not what I was doing. I did not fit the profile. Plus, I could stop this at any time. Boy, was I wrong.
What started as a quick fix to my conscience bad eating habits, turned into a dependency. Whether I ate heavy or light, if I didn't get the food out of me quickly, I'd literally get sick. Fatigue, dizziness, heart palpitations - were an every day occurrence. It got to the point that the feeling of any food in my body, angered me. I had, over 2 and half years, conditioned my mind and my organs to reject food. Developing depression over this revelation, I decided to just stop eating. I would go days without solid food, only to binge shortly after. Following a return of my laxative and/or syrup usage. I didn't know what balance was anymore.
When I genuinely wanted to quit, I couldn't. I tried forcing myself into normalcy; eating regular meals and forgoing the use of laxatives or ipecac afterwards. But my digestive system wasn't being cooperative. I couldn't "go" on my own, basically. I felt hopeless. I was terrified at the thought that I would have to rely on these vices, for the rest of my life. I laid in my bed crying many nights, because I couldn't defeat this monster of a sickness that I had created. At one point, feeling like I deserved to suffer. Until my roommate's advice of getting help, resonated with me.
I didn't quite know where to turn. I couldn't fathom scheduling an appointment with my family doctor, who had treated me and everybody else in my family, to discuss this problem. Too risky. So I searched for something I could do on the basis of anonymity. There was a student help line that was established for counseling of just about any personal issue. Despite the array of situations handled, students referred to it as the "suicide line" on campus, as that was the perception of why people generally called that number. Now, I wasn't contemplating taking my life, at all, but I was slowly killing myself and that warranted a call. I waited until a Friday night, when I knew everyone was away at the basketball game to dial the number. Poorly disguising my voice (in the event that the person would recognize me), I got a hold of "Sophia" and did something I had never done and was too prideful to do ... confide in someone about my ED.
After talking for what seemed like an eternity, she assured me that I had done the right thing by calling and that I was not alone. That laxative abuse was common. I wanted to faint. I seriously thought I had cracked open Pandora's box, with my diabolical, purging
secret system. But
this shamefully gross abuse ... was common? She went on to advise that it was a trend among Black women. That floored me again, not only the fact that laxatives were a leading method for us, but that Black women had eating disorders! Not to find comfort in other people's pain, I felt almost, less shameful. I stopped feeling alone at that moment.
Concluding my phone session, I was given a list of numbers of campus resources to help me out and was encouraged to admit myself to the hospital for observation. Reluctantly, I did, that following weekend. I lied to everyone telling them I was visiting a friend out of town, to give me a reason to disappear for a few days, subsequently not raising suspicion. Shortly after being admitted, tests showed that my heart rate was irregular, I had significant damage to my intestines and esophagus and I was critically dehydrated and lacked a host of vital nutrients - needed for survival.
After being treated for three days, I was discharged with a recovery program. I had to be weened off of laxative and ipecac use, with medical supervision. Abruptly quitting my practice was potentially fatal, considering how long I had been abusing both items. The program included weekly support group meetings and a healthy eating plan. The support group allowed me to address the emotional causes of my choice to start abuse, which I greatly needed. While the eating plan felt like a slap in the face, admittedly ... NOOOOW someone wants to talk to me about healthy eating? It took all of this for someone to notice that I could use a hand, in making diet choices. I digress.
Over the course of 4 months, I got better. I was no longer dependent. The downside? I was gaining weight. The antithesis of what I started all of this for. As my body began to replenish itself with water, the pounds were creeping up. I had matured though and recalled my suffering - a few pounds added to the scale were now the least of my worries. I just wanted to be free. If I could get to a normal state, emotionally and physically - one day, maybe I would be able to focus on health and weight loss, in a non-destructive manner. And for a better motive other than resentment and fear of turning into my mother (who had eventually turned her life around - after facing her ED and emotional ties to food). A few years later, I was able to do just that ... hence my journey.
I substituted worrying about how to get food out of my body, with caring more about what I put into it.
With millions suffering from some form of ED and associated mental illness, no one is alone. Don't live imprisoned. Don't live in shame. There is a way out. And there is pride ... in asking for help.
Free & Confidential Help Line: 1-800-931-2237
ED Online
Support, News and Pathways to Treatment
I was making the drive into work this week, station surfing, when I stopped on our local Hip Hop and R&B frequency, Power 107.5. Morning DJs, Konata and Misty Jordan, were discussing their plans to attend a fabulous local wedding after the show's end. I assumed it was some ex-Buckeye baller, or by the way they were bigging it up, that the royals chose to ditch their plans across the pond to elope here in our capital city! Both speculations, were far from the truth and my understanding. The ceremony that they spoke of was actually that of a couple who decided to share their vows and hold the reception at a White Castle Restaurant ...
