The First Step

Eating disorders are like a cancer. Doesn't matter what kind you have, it can still destroy your life. Of course, it doesn't start out too bad. At first it's manageable. Controlled. Maybe you count calories here and there, or maybe you sneak a few extra sweet treats when nobody is looking. Next thing you know you're restricting entire food groups from your diet, or you're downing entire bags of potato chips in secret, and maybe you're purging too. Before you know it your eating habits have spiraled completely out of control. You withdraw from your friends and family--maybe on purpose, maybe not--because they just won't stop asking questions. You can't stop thinking about food. How many calories have I consumed today? What if I don't have time to purge? You've never been so out of control in your life, and yet you've managed to convince yourself that you're perfectly okay. You have never been more in control.


This post is not meant to preach at people who struggle with eating disorders. This post is for me to get my thoughts and feelings about my own eating disorder into words, both to help myself and possibly to help any others who might read this blog. I don't expect that I'll post here much or for very long, but I may end up surprising myself.


I don't have anorexia, but I come pretty close. My official diagnosis is Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. I severely restrict my eating, but I still weigh enough that I have a regular monthly period, so I don't meet the criteria for anorexia. I don't binge, so I don't meet the criteria for binge-eating disorder. I don't purge, so I don't meet the criteria for bulimia. Therefore, I have EDNOS. We can add that to my growing laundry list of anxiety disorders--generalized anxiety, mild post-traumatic stress, all that fun stuff. Yes, contrary to popular belief eating disorders are classified as anxiety disorders. This is because those of us with eating disorders usually have control issues. Some of us take comfort in losing control in a binge, and others of us take comfort in strictly controlling our diets. It's a very physical way of re-exerting control when we feel like we otherwise have no control in our lives.


I've always had issues with control, but only recently (within the past year or so) has it manifested itself as an eating disorder. Just a couple years ago I had a pretty significant fear of going to the doctor. I hated giving so much control of my body over to someone else that I barely know. I have that more or less under control now, so I guess that means it's just time to move on to a new obstacle. I'm really not sure how it started, and I can only guess why. I started exerising regularly a couple years ago, and once I found my groove in that I moved on to improving my eating habits. Within a year I have transformed into someone whose diet consisted of mainly frozen chicken, mac n' cheese, and lots of ketchup to getting anywhere from 2-4 servings of vegetables a day, lots of fruit, dairy, lean protein, and complex carbohydrates. My restricting started so gradually that I'm really not sure when it crossed the line from eating junk food only in moderation to not eating it at all. Once I crossed that line though, my restrictive habits very quickly gained momentum. I exercised intensely six days a week. I completely avoided junk food like pizza, burgers, cookies, and even staples like butter on toast or syrup on pancakes. I dropped from a healthy weight range of 120-125 pounds to a malnourished 115. Mind you, I am 5'7". I was constantly counting calories and going over how many I had consumed so far that day, and mapping out what I would eat the rest of the day and how many calories that would cost me. I would stay up at night for hours planning out what I would eat for every meal and every snack to ensure that I consumed as few calories as possible.


My personality shifted dramatically as well. I have always been a very social person. I love getting to know people and hanging out with friends. However, at the worst of my disorder, I retreated into myself. I stopped hanging out with friends, citing excuses such as being too busy or too tired from work. I had gotten a new job around that time, and my coworkers expressed concerns because they thought I was so timid and shy. I realize now that that was a symptom of my disorder, but then I had myself convinced that I was just fine. Despite the fact that I would often forgo a snack and instead down a Diet Lipton Green Tea. I have hypoglycemia, so the artificial sweetener would spike my blood sugar for just long enough with no extra calories. I didn't realize that I had a problem until one night when I had lain awake for hours worrying about what I had eaten and what I would eat the next day. Sickened, I thought, "How did I get to this point?" It was a devastating realization. I put myself under a tremendous amount of pressure and strive for perfection. Having an unhealthy relationship with food is hardly perfection. Nevertheless, I resolved to get some help before things got worse. I got in touch with an eating disorders program at a local hospital. I was still pretty sure that I was okay, but I figured they could at least help me get the problem nipped in the bud before I crossed over into "eating disorder" territory.


I scheduled an appointment with a therapist and a dietian so they could evaluate my condition and develop a treatment plan. Suffice it to say, I cried through pretty much the entire thing. When so much of your self-esteem and sense of self-worth is caught up in your perceived ability to maintain control over your urges and your life, it is very difficult to admit that you are powerless. Powerless. Even now the word makes me shudder. It was then and in subsequent appointments that my eyes were opened to the fact that I do indeed have a disorder. That was about two months ago. I have come far enough that now when I look back I wonder how I could have completely convinced myself that I was well and happy when in fact I was the farthest thing from it. I was lonely, anxious, consumed. Consumed with fears of gaining weight. Consumed with worries about my job, about my family life, about so many things. I have come so far, and yet I have so far to go. I am so much happier and more social now, my job anxieties have mostly passed, and I eat so much more. And yet, my body stubbornly refuses to regain weight. I don't feel quite so guilty anymore if I eat an extra roll at dinner or add butter to a bagel, and yet just a week ago I had a panic attack after eating an M&M Milkshake at Steak n' Shake. The attack was induced by fear of losing control of my eating habits and just eating and eating, but also loathing myself for having such an extreme reaction to something normal people can do every week with no negative thoughts. Still, I can't expect to be well overnight as much as I wish I could be. I still have a lot of inner demons to fight and fears to conquer. I guess what matters is that I've started.