Going back into the program was almost as painful as stepping into the building for the very first time months ago. My anxiety was overwhelming even though I knew what to expect. But even though I was anxious, I was more willing to share my feelings with the group, something I had learned during my last stay.
While trying to calm myself down with deep breathing, a door swung open and Dr. Serrano walked out of her office, prepared to lead the first group of the day.
"Ready?" She glanced at us all and we started the march from the waiting room into one of the rooms for therapy.
We all took a seat around the large table that sat in the middle of the room. I sat next to the wall, as the wall gave me a sense of security. Dr. Serrano passed out a worksheet, and with little instruction, we quietly began writing.
My crossed legs started shaking up and down and my fingers danced around on the flat tabletop. My anxiety was not decreasing with the passing time and the silence made the thoughts in my head even louder. I could not concentrate on the questions written on the paper. Instead, I used my pen to draw within the white spaces on the page. I drew leaves floating from the top edge down to the bottom, as thought they had fallen from a tree in autumn. After calming myself with a distraction, I was finally able to set aside my anxiety and focus on the worksheet.
The paper was familiar and I had completed it the first time I was in the program. Others in group were seeing it for the first time. The questions were based on our levels of motivation in our recovery process. On the top of the page listed the Stages of Change:
Pre-contemplation
Contemplation
Preparation
Action
Maintenance
I had to think for a minute in order to properly place myself in the right stage. I was not sure if I was in the preparation or action stage.
The preparation stage meant that, "The person has made a commitment to change a behavior he or she considers problematic, and is intending to make the change soon."
The action stage was one step further meaning, "The person is currently in the process of modifying his or her behavior or environment to reduce or eliminate the problem identified."
Maybe I was not even as far as preparing, maybe I was still contemplating on whether I should go forward in the recovery process at all. I felt like bits of me were in various stages but I knew that I had a long way to go if I wanted to truly change. Not that I wanted to change my behaviors, but it was mandatory if I wanted to get out of the hell I had created for myself. I was in between wanting to step forward and keep going on my journey, eventually crossing the finish line, and staying where I was being miserable, yet feeling the comfort of that misery.
Any outsider would hear the word "misery" and automatically want to move forward and get away from it. It was not as easy as it may have seemed to others. The relationship between me and my eating disorder was almost like a relationship between a woman and an abusive boyfriend.
She loves him and he loves her back, yet he hurts her and knocks down her self-esteem. Deep down in the back of her mind, she knows that it is not right, yet she has trouble believing that he is wrong. She is scared to leave him and scared to stay with him at the same time. There is comfort in the familiar, even if it is hurtful.
By the time I explained my stage of change to myself, everyone else had finished writing down their answers and Dr. Serrano was ready to have a group discussion.
"I saw lots of writing in here today so I expect you all have a lot to say! Who wants to tell us what they thought about the Stages of Change?"
Like the start of many other discussions, the room was silent and every one was afraid to speak up first. During that time, I made sure not to make any eye contact, for fear of being called out to speak without warning.
But to my surprise, after a few moments of the silent questioning, I opened my mouth and began to explain what I had written on my paper. My analogy between my relationship between my eating disorder and a woman and an abusive boyfriend was told to every one. It was rare for me to give my answer first. I was usually too concerned about what others would think of my answer and so I always waited to respond after others so that I could gauge the situation and their opinions.
"That's very interesting, Erin. Have any of you thought about that before? About comparing those two situations?"
No one had thought about it before, and I started to feel like I was way off the mark. But then a few girls started talking.
"It makes sense. I just never thought about it."
"I agree. It's almost exactly the same, only the eating disorder isn't a physical person."
I quietly sighed in relief since my view was actually seen as something worth talking about. I was proud of myself for bringing up the subject in the first place, and even more proud for stepping out of my shell and doing what had been so uncharacteristic of me and starting the discussion. We all continued talking about my opinion and then switched to slightly different views throughout the hour.
About ten minutes before the group was finished, Dr. Serrano stopped us to give us a little pep talk. She liked to motivate us and we enjoyed listening to her honest advice. She did not sugarcoat anything but she was not harsh, either.
"So, today we talked about motivation and change. Motivation is such an important part of recovery and it's also one of the most difficult. You're all here, whether it be by force or your own will, and you all have a desire to change...but you all have a desire to stay the same, too. You're all expected to listen to us and our suggestions when your little devil is sitting on your shoulder telling you otherwise.
It’s like we're telling you all to walk across this path of hot coals to get to the other side. We promise that it's better on the other side, but you have to get through the coals first. So you start walking, walking, walking, then stop. You're tired, and it's hard, and you want to go back, yet we tell you to keep moving forward. We know you still need to get through the tough stuff, but there's an end that seems so far away to you. We tell you that it's possible while the eating disorder tells you, 'Screw it, go back!' Your motivation keeps you moving and when it runs out, you're stuck, and there's no way you can get to the end."
She made complete sense to me. It also scared me because of how right she was. Putting recovery into images helped me see things more clearly, like my lens was focusing and the fog was lifting from my world. Instead of only hearing words, the pictures that she described burned into my brain and made things more real. It was easy to ignore words, less easy to ignore a graphic image.
She continued and wrapped up her pep talk.
"It's extremely easy to get caught up in the cycle of eating disorders. I've seen some of your faces multiple times. I'm not saying recovery is simple at all, but you are the only ones who can change. We can tell you everything and anything, health risks, statistics, predispositions, whatever, but we can't change for you. We can only help. You will stay in the same spot unless you do something yourself. I know Dr. Reed has told you multiple times, but I’m going to say it again. Nothing changes if nothing changes."
19
That Can't Be Me
My favorite part of the treatment process was art therapy. I had always been an artist, ever since I could remember, and my obsession with weight and numbers stole my passion for creating on paper what was inside my head. At nine years old, I asked Santa for a full art set, complete with paints, colored pencils, crayons, everything needed to draw and color. On Christmas Day, I found the set laying underneath the Christmas tree and I was so excited that I ignored all of the other toys that were there. As I grew older and technology advanced, I taught myself how to create art on the computer. I continued to pursue it during high school, and chose it as my major in college. Ever since the eating disorder took over, my decision to go in that direction had been questioned numerous times because of my lack of motivation and enthusiasm for it. But my love of art was coming back because of treatment.
&n
bsp; While I was in the program before, I chose not to make a body tracing of myself. Body tracing was a project where patients drew themselves as they thought they were and then their actual bodies were traced over top of it. I was not in a place where I could process the work and I was not comfortable enough with the changes my body was going through. Although I was not thrilled about starting the project this time around, I knew it would be a good learning experience for me.
Without speaking about it too much beforehand, Michelle, the art therapist, already set everything up for me to work on my body tracing. After dinner one day, we all walked into the disheveled art room with the tables and chairs not in their usual spots. On the wall hung a sheet of paper that almost went from the floor to the ceiling. I looked at the paper, then at Michelle, and knew what was about to take place.
"So, Erin, are you ready to do your body tracing?" She knew that I was nervous about the project but she also knew that if she did not push me, I would not have to courage to ask to do it.
I grimaced and thought for a minute.
Was I ready to do this project? What happens if I draw myself and my drawing is actually smaller than my real body? What if I still hate how my body looks after seeing it in a different way?
I wanted to push myself, though, so I walked over to Michelle and grabbed the pencil she held out for me.
The paper on the wall was a huge clean white slate and I had to draw myself in the way that I perceived it to be. I dragged the pencil along the paper and my body slowly started to form, with arms and legs and eventually a head. I erased a few times, making myself bigger after each erasing. I thought that I was drawing myself too thin so I had to correct it. After about ten minutes, I stepped back to look at my body. It looked about right, I thought.
"Ok, Michelle, I'm finished."
She walked over with another pencil in her hand.
"I've been trained to do this so it will be accurate, alright? The pencil will stay level so it won't go in or out of your frame." She showed me how she would be holding the pencil, perfectly perpendicular to the wall. "Ok, I need you to stand right in front of your drawing...."
I stepped to the center and stood straight up.
"....alright. Just take a deep breath and try to relax."
My body was already tensing up as she started to trace, starting at the top of my head and working down my left side. I worried that the two drawings would be completely different, and that mine was the more accurate one. I was nervous that she could see my curves, something that I was not used to, as I always tried to hide underneath larger clothes.
About halfway though, she stopped and reminded me to take another deep breath. My fists had been clenched together the entire time and my legs shook from nerves. The second half of the tracing seemed to go by faster, possibly because I tried to focus on the painting across the room instead of the situation I was physically standing in.
"Ok, done! Now come back here and look at it." We both took a few steps forward so we were far enough away from the paper that we could see the full picture at once. At first, I thought she was playing a trick.
"That's not me." I scratched my head in disbelief and wondered how she drew the image with me standing in front of the paper.
“Yes, it is. You can ask anyone here, everyone saw me trace you. It's you."
My eyebrow raised and I walked over to the wall again. I turned around and placed my body against the paper, checking to see if the lines on the paper matched up with the imaginary lines of my body. They did. I was still in disbelief.
"I don't believe it. This can't be me. I mean, I know it is, but it doesn't look like me."
Everything that I had seen before had been a lie. Every mirror I looked into had given me a fake image. What I was seeing was not me, but a distorted me. My real body was a womanly shape with hips and a thin build. The body that I drew was a boxy character that looked to be overweight. When I saw the thin womanly figure on paper, I actually kind of liked it for a second. Until I realized that it really was me.
Why could I not like it regardless? If the body were of someone else, I would compliment her on her figure. Yet, because it was me, there were still parts that could be changed.
I no longer saw the image that was drawn on the paper, but the image in my head. I saw the disgusting body, my body that I had seen every day in the mirror. I reached over to the table and grabbed a bright red marker and I started marking the drawing with words.
Gross. Fat. Hate. Disgusting. Terrible. Horrible.
The words crossed my chest, arms, and legs, representing all that I hated about my body. It was what I felt when I stared back at my reflection in the glass. My hand scribbled some more over the shape and it was soon turning into a disastrous clash of misunderstanding. I wanted to cross out everything and not see any of it. I wanted to redo the entire piece and make it perfect and pretty. It was now ruined by my impulsive actions.
"What are you feeling?" Michelle asked quietly as she looked at my art.
"I'm kind of angry. I don't like this."
"What don't you like?"
I took a deep breath. Then sighed.
"It's like I've been lied to all of this time. Like, if that is what I really look like, why do I see myself so differently when I look at myself? I don't understand."
"You see yourself in a distorted way. It's not the real you, it's kind of like one of those fun house mirrors, you know? The ones where you're shaped all funny. We know those aren't real, but when you see yourself, it does seem real." She made sense and I knew she was right, but it still did not take away the anger I was feeling.
A smile appeared on Michelle's face.
"And you know what? You're getting your feelings out, your anger. I don't think I've seen you express your anger before."
I thought for a minute and initially tried to wipe the emotion off my face, only she already guessed how I was really feeling.
"That's true."
"And that's a huge step for you."
It was the first time during treatment that I was able to get angry at anything. Even if I was only getting angry at a piece of paper, I was still feeling the emotion. In that moment, I realized that something must have been changing inside me. Possibly, the monster was growing weaker and my own voice was growing louder.
20
Journaling Exposes the Soul
I've been avoiding journaling for almost a week now and am finally ready to type it all out….at least, I think I'm ready. While journaling in CBT last week about avoidance on these subjects, I physically felt sick and didn't want to think about it ever again. The sickness went away, but I've only thought about it more, making me very overwhelmed and anxious. I didn't eat well at all on Friday in order to cope with these feelings, even though I know that restricting will not help in the long run. What I need to do is face the emotions and feelings - but how can I? It may not be as painful typing out my thoughts, but how do I get past journaling? I can't get past the emotions by journaling alone. I will eventually need to talk and work things out. I've come to realize that maybe I am not supposed to deal with everything by myself. It obviously hasn't worked so far. I pretend I'm okay, tell myself that my problem is solved, stuff the feelings, then move on. But really, I deal with nothing and my eating disorder takes over in its place. I still automatically answer ”Fine” when most people ask how I’m doing. Why can’t I just come out and say, “Yeah, I’m really not okay.” My treatment team needs to know exactly how I’m feeling or I will continue to be stuck.
Although I'm terrified, this is the first time in treatment where I've come this far and have seen something that can help me move on with recovery. During the past time in IOP, I tricked myself into thinking that I was feeling emotions and working through things. In the end, I knew I was going back to the eating disorder. For the first time, I am feeling real emotions and I know I need to get over this hurdle in order to start repairing myself. My eating disorder still tells me that I can g
o back to old habits after IOP, but I’m trying to fight it this time. This is the time when I need the most support ever. I'm barely treading water now and I'm afraid I will be discharged before I learn how to swim. Then the cycle will start all over again.
So what exactly is behind these emotions? I had it all explained out in my head, but as I'm thinking this, I'm scared to actually write it and see it on the paper. I will literally have to face it. If I pretend I'm writing a story for now, maybe I will be okay….
I described in detail the situation between me and Randy, prior to being admitted into treatment. My treatment team was going to be let in on my secret that had been hidden away for so long. It was a relief to get it out of my head and onto the paper, but I was worried since I had not told anyone yet.
….maybe it was my fault? Maybe I should've yelled and screamed? Maybe I should've stopped him? Why wasn’t I more assertive? We did drink and maybe I gave him some clue that I really did want to? He didn’t rape me so why worry about it?
Looking back, maybe I only liked being around him because he was interested in me. It’s hard for me to believe how anyone could be interested in me. I was just excited that someone took notice and I failed to set any boundaries. I let him take advantage. Things would’ve been different if I set my boundaries - and if I didn’t drink alone with a guy at his place. By now, I’ve convinced myself that it happened, that maybe it happens to everyone and it’s not such a big deal. I know that my body was shaking as I was driving home and that I was so scared in the moment, but maybe it really was nothing.
Instead of focusing on myself and trying to deal with past issues, I've been swallowed by the eating disorder and now I have no where I‘m going. Or, I don't want to face what happened. What happens if the eating disorder goes away? I will have no wall to hide behind. I’d be exposed for every one to see, for every one to judge. Starving works since you feel so sick and dead that there's no time to think about feelings. Yeah, starving works, but it's not living. Sometimes, though, going through the motions and not remembering anything is much better than feeling. Actually, I would rather do most things than deal with my feelings.
Restricted: A novel of half-truths Page 12
