Restricted: A novel of half-truths

by Jennifer Kinsel

  Once I got to IOP for the first time, my fog started to lift and I was scared. That fog only lifted so high before I decided that it was best to keep it around. I've come to the point now where I know I need to face issues or I will keep repeating the cycle. Do I want that? No. But I don't want to face issues either. Nothing changes if nothing changes.

  Which is worse? I can't decide and so for now I'm stuck in this one spot, wanting to ask for directions but trying to find my own way…. and failing miserably. It’s hard enough facing these things personally and I’m wondering how I will ever be able to handle anyone else knowing. How am I supposed to let people see this much of myself without completely breaking down? I want to break down and destroy myself and it’s still in my head where it’s been forever. I only want to run in the opposite direction and never come back. I feel sick and want to throw away this entry and continue to avoid.

  With little eye contact, I handed my journal over to Dr. Serrano on my way to dinner one night. My stomach was upset during the meal as I thought about her reading my words on paper. I forced myself to down the food, trying to focus on nothing but chewing and swallowing.

  As I walked back into the program after the meal, my heart pounded, wondering what I could expect, if anything. Luckily, art therapy was last so I had that to help take my mind off things. Did Michelle read it too? I wondered if she knew. I sat down and tried to gather my thoughts, but only long enough before Dr. Serrano opened the door and asked to see me in her office.

  Oh, no! How could I face her? She read everything I wrote and she knew everything. Everything.

  I took a deep breath, walked into her office, and sat down in front of her. I felt like she could see straight through to my soul and could see every secret I kept hidden inside of me. It was a very uncomfortable, vulnerable position to be in. But then she told me how important that one journal entry was to my recovery, how it was not my fault, how I have acknowledged an important event. I suddenly felt relieved yet still very vulnerable. I was no longer hiding behind the huge wall I had in front of me for so long. I was exposed.

  “We’re all very proud that you’ve taken this step in your recovery! Do you know how important this is? It’s huge! None of us knew the extent of what you were willing to share with us, but this is a big step. How do you feel about it?”

  “It’s scary. I haven’t told anyone, and I’ve never talked about it. I know that you won’t judge me, but it’s still kind of weird that you know. And it’s weird that I know that you know. I mean, I’m sure it’s a good thing, but I’m going to have to get used to it. I do feel relieved, though.”

  “I can imagine that this is a huge weight that’s been lifted from your shoulders. It’s not easy to face these types of issues, and it sometimes takes a long time, and here you are. You’ve taken a risk even though you were afraid.”

  Dr. Serrano assured me that my secrets would be safe and locked in her desk, but that did not take away the fact that my words had already been read and that they could not be taken back. I felt like my words were just floating around in space for everyone to see and I could not concentrate. My mind kept wandering and I kept thinking about what I had just done. I had taken a giant step and now there was no turning back. Now that it had been let out, there was no way to hide it away again.

  I was more wary of making eye contact with the team because it was when I felt the most vulnerable. When I looked at them, I imagined a huge sign above their heads with, “I know!“ written in big, bright letters. I often wondered if they saw me any differently, or if I had been judged negatively, or if….I did not know. Why did I even care? They were not my friends or family but they were all still important people in my life at that moment. I kept reminding myself that I was sure they had heard it all, and as professionals they needed to be open-minded on different issues. My instinct told me that it was safe that they knew and I was pretty sure they all realized it was a big step for me to be so open.

  But then that little voice told me that maybe they were not so open-minded and that what I was being told was only to keep me content. For the most part, though, I was not too worried about them judging; rather, I was more anxious that my thoughts and secrets had been revealed to anyone. It had been comfortable keeping my secrets to myself and I did not have to deal with them. My eating disorder kept them far enough away that I felt safe holding onto them. I did not feel safe any more.

  I had never revealed such important issues to anyone before and my treatment team as a whole knew more of my “real self” than any of my family or friends. It was such a foreign thing for me, to be so completely honest, that somehow I felt like what I did was something wrong. I was used to automatically telling people that everything was fine, and when I did have the courage to tell the truth and that I was really not okay, I felt the need to apologize. I did not want people to know the real me or that I was not okay most of the time. If people knew who I really was or how I really felt, I feared no one would ever want to be around me. It had become second nature to always pretend to be fine, to wear a smile all the time, and there was no way I could pretend anymore. The team knew exactly what was going on and it would have been pretty much impossible to be completely fine until the problems were resolved. I had to continue to be truthful.

  I felt as though the situation as a whole was my "A-ha!" moment for my recovery. Dr. Reed told me that the team was excited that I had finally come out with important things to work on, but I wished I could have been as excited about it. It was the furthest I had come so far, and maybe the only real work I had completed. Maybe the past time in the program was a waste of time; or, maybe I was very slowly peeling back the layers to get to that point. I had no idea why I had finally come to that point. I heard the statement, "Nothing changes if nothing changes." and for some reason, that somehow made the difference. I was only starting to become comfortable with the treatment team knowing my deep secrets, so what was the next step? I was not too sure.

  Even though I was not sure what the next step was, I had come to the realization that everything had nothing to do with my weight at all. I knew that for a long time but I did not really “get it” until I let everything out. Obviously, it was much easier to focus on weight rather than dealing with issues. Weight could be changed but feelings could not be changed.

  During the days after I gave my journal to Dr. Serrano, I did restrict and I did wonder if I had lost weight. But then I thought to myself, Who cares if I lost weight? I have important things to figure out here and the number on the scale doesn’t mean shit. Weight was such a trivial issue to worry about, but I guessed it seemed like the most important thing in the world when it was used to cover up the real issues. Many things seemed trivial to me when compared to the fight I was battling.

  For so long, I had ignored the incident with Randy. Since my thoughts were written down and other people knew, it all became very real. Too real for me to handle at that point. I had no idea where to go from there and I was stuck treading water. I did not want to move any further. How was I supposed to come to terms with the reality? I could not accept what happened and I could not accept myself. I had rationalized my thinking and told myself that those things were not a big deal. I tried to pretend to be someone else and be happy. I thought of never telling anyone, just because of the fear of rejection and judgment. I came out with it but I did not think that I was strong enough to do much else.

  How was I supposed to accept myself? It was so clear why it was hard for me to accept myself and the reasons were staring straight at me. I needed to find a way to turn around my thinking, even though I had not been successful with that yet. I hated myself for letting him take advantage of me. I hated myself for not setting boundaries. I hated myself for being ashamed and hiding. I hated myself for many things. I was never good enough and I always wanted to be like someone else, just so I was not me.

  Those things would have seemed so illogical if I heard it coming from a friend. I would have told them t
hat it was not their fault, that it was not a choice, that it was their life and it was not their job to keep everyone happy. But because it was me, everything was my fault and I would have rather suffered than disappoint others. I had hated myself for as long as I could remember and it was hard to believe there would be a day when I would be okay being me.

  I was sure my head was going to explode, either from all of the emotions or from the headaches I kept getting from thinking so much. I felt so alone and I had no one to talk to about what I was going through. I talked in vague terms to Dr. Pitts during an appointment and I could only say so much without giving details.

  I was very worried that I would be discharged out of the program before I was ready. I knew I was only treatment in order to stop eating disorder behaviors. I had previously been hesitant about discharge, but that time was a whole different situation. Before, I was anxious about not having the program for structure. I was still anxious about that, but I was also very worried that I would not have the time to be able to work through issues while still in IOP. Was I supposed to do the real work in outpatient? That support would not have been enough. I had not gotten to the point of actually talking about things and I hoped that would happen before I left. I had yet to say anything out loud to myself. Talking was admitting. Talking required interaction with someone else in the moment and it was so much easier for me to write. I did not need to see the reaction to my writing, but I did have to face the reaction when speaking.

  I knew it would not be fixed before discharge and it would take a long time to work through after discharge, but I needed the support system. I was emotionally worn out. I could not say that I did not want to go back to the eating disorder once I was out because I was sure the urge would always be there when things got rough. But I just could not repeat the cycle again because then all of the work would have been tossed out the window.

  I could have either chosen to ignore, turn around, and destroy myself. Or I could have faced it, move forward, and be healthy. I did not particularly want to do either. I had already been down the path of destruction several times and I never made it to the other side, so maybe I needed to go the other way for a change. Only I was terrified to go alone.

  21

  Feeling the Feelings

  Now that I had faced issues, it was impossible for me to turn back around. I was walking on the hot coals on the path of my recovery. I saw my treatment team standing on the other side of the path, waving and encouraging me to keep walking. They assured me that I would be okay, safe, and that things were better on the other side. I could not fully trust them, yet I continued to walk, despite my trepidation. Slowly, but surely, my feet took me over the hot coals and I started to inch my way to the end.

  My eating disorder was on the starting end, yelling at me to come back. It wanted to keep me trapped and on the path of destruction. It was almost impossible to turn my head toward the better direction and ignore it. Every once in a while, the voice was very tempting and I made a few slips. But a slip did not mean a relapse. The monster had a way of convincing me that things would be different the next time. Maybe his way did not work previously, but I just had to try it again and I would see different results. I was promised that the next time would be the time that I would be happy. The next time, everything would be fixed and I would be content. It was not easy to ignore those enticing calls.

  By disputing the eating disorders' challenges for me, the result was me being able to feel emotions. I had not felt true emotions for such a long time and it was very overwhelming. I did not like the change and I was not sure if I was supposed to be feeling that way. I questioned whether everyone was supposed to feel emotions that intensely. Luckily, I had the support of my treatment team in the program to help me through the intense times.

  It was common for us as patients to be worried about feeling emotions. It was a foreign experience. Emotions were natural to others, but to us, it was a scary thing. Eating disorders muted out all feelings so that individuals did not feel anything at all. Happiness was shown as a smile on the face, but no real excitement was felt on the inside. Anger was ignored, not felt, and piled up inside, ready to explode whenever the emotions would come back. Depression was the only emotion that was present. There was nothing to live for and nothing to be excited about. It was a lonely existence with no emotions, yet, they were not wanted, either. It was a catch-22 that made all of our actions that much more complicated.

  Dr. Serrano often explained emotions when one of us would start feeling again. We were confused as to why they were so intense, more intense than we had ever felt before.

  "Emotions are like a wave." She drew a water line on the whiteboard with a blue marker. In the middle, she then drew a vertical line.

  "I’m not an artist, but…what do you think this is?"

  We examined the simple artwork on the board and came to a conclusion.

  "It's a dam?"

  "Right! It's a dam, blocking the water. Emotions are the water. They are built up and keep getting higher and higher until the level is equal to that of the dam. What happens then?"

  "It overflows? Breaks?"

  "You guys are smart! It either flows over the wall, or breaks from the pressure of the amount of water. Some of you are working through issues; the issues are your dam. For so long, you've built up this wall in order to block the emotions. If you're working on the issues, the dam is being chipped away, leaving the water no where else to go. It rushes through or over and all of a sudden, the emotions seem to come at once."

  Her explanation made so much sense to me and I wondered why I had not thought of it before. My water level was so high that is was barely being held back by the dam. By acknowledging my secrets inside, the dam was being broken down. My flow of emotions burst out through the wall and overwhelmed me. I was literally drowning in my feelings.

  I was not sure how to navigate through the waters. I was simply floating around, trying to tread and keep my head above the surface. I was never taught how to swim and so I was going to need to learn how on my own. I had the help of the professionals, but I felt alone. It was my journey and only I could free myself.

  There was not an option for me to reach out for the life vest. My life vest was the eating disorder. I knew that if I reached out, I would not be able to let go again. The eating disorder had sneaky ways of trying to get back to me, but I was catching on quickly to the tricks.

  Dr. Serrano continued her explanation of emotions and water.

  "It's just like a wave." She drew a blue wave on the whiteboard, and wrote atop the crest, "Emotion."

  "When you're experiencing, it's just like this." Her finger pointed to her drawing as we paid attention to her clever analogy.

  "The crest of a wave never stays there for very long. It comes to a climax and then crashes down and disappears. Your emotions are exactly the same. It builds up until it crests, which is when you're feeling overwhelmed. In reality, emotions only last for about two seconds. That's it! The overwhelming sense makes it feel so much longer and ruminating tends to happen. If you let it happen naturally, it goes away. Without ruminating on the emotion, it dissipates, and another wave comes along. You're able to stay at the crest if you try, only that's not how we're biologically programmed."

  If I wanted to keep heading in the right direction, I had to come to terms with the fact that I was supposed to feel. I was programmed to feel emotions, not suppress them. Suppressing them only made things worse, not better like I had hoped. My hopes had crumbled before my eyes. For every wish came a failure. The promises that were told to me were only lies. It took me too long to want to walk away from the monster. Suppressing the emotions only built them up and made them even more intense when it was time to feel. I could no longer ignore what was a natural human function.

  I could not turn back around. I started to see the light on the other side of the path and it gave me hope, hope that I knew would be for real. The eating disorder gave me false hope and constan
tly played tricks on me. I was increasingly becoming fed up with the mind games, but I also was not sure if I could trust myself, with myself. I was not sure what was right or if I was going in the right direction. If I did not listen to the monster, who could I listen to? I was not confident enough in myself, so I chose to trust my treatment team until I could gain confidence. I decided to go the “Fake It ‘til You Make It” route and pretended I knew where I was headed, when I was actually blind with no sense of direction. My only option was to listen to those who believed in me when I could not believe in myself.

  By the time I figured out my plan of action, I was soon to be discharged from the program again. I was reliving a scenario I had just lived a few months before, only it was somehow different. The nervousness about being out of the program was not nearly as strong as it was the first time. I was not thinking about how fast I could lose the weight again or wondering when I would be back. My preparation and my willingness to try something different was scaring away my eating disorder. It did not like when I had control; when I was in control, the eating disorder voice was next to silent. It was there, yet not overwhelming like it always had been. I was playing the tricks, and I wanted to win the game. It was my turn to hand out the cards.

  Before I could leave, I had to prepare a plan for my treatment. The plan was to be set in place to increase my chances of success and to minimize the risk for relapse. I did not want to have to be readmitted back into the program within a matter of weeks. Ideally, I wanted to stay out of the program for good. My plan was to stay well enough that I would not need intense support every day. I was not kidding myself - I knew that I would still need support - but I also came to the realization that maybe I was strong enough to overcome my obstacles. If I was strong enough to hurt myself, I was strong enough to make myself better.