I knew that something had to be changed within my support system in the outpatient setting. My dietician, Melanie, seemed to know her stuff. Although we met only a few times, I was confident that she would be able to help me during our appointments. I was also confident in seeing Dr. Hoffman, as I had seen him since the beginning of my journey. He scared me in the sense that he held the power, but that also made me want to work and stay on the positive side. Dr. Pitts, however, was a different story.
I had always assumed that the relationship between a therapist and the patient did not matter too much, that it was just a professional setting and the two did not have to be compatible. I was wrong. My journey had taught me that in order to make progress, the relationship did matter. My therapist was supposed to be someone who I liked. They were going to be listening to me week after week, and I knew that I needed to be comfortable with them. I was not comfortable talking with Dr. Pitts and from the first session on, it did not seem like a good match. Sometimes I would get annoyed with his comments and dry humor. Although I liked to laugh, some jokes in therapy were not funny, sometimes even inappropriate. I did not feel like he was really listening to me. I felt that he simply heard my voice but did not pay attention to my explanations. I needed someone who I felt comfortable with, someone who would listen to me, someone who I actually wouldn't dread going to see every week.
As I signed my name on my discharge papers, I was not anxious. A sense of calmness washed over me, almost as if my body sensed that it was the end of that particular process. I was not finished the journey and I still had a long way to go, but I overcame obstacles that stood in my way. I never thought that I could conquer them. Before I could leave the program, I met with Dr. Serrano for one last meeting.
"So, Erin...it's your last day. How are you feeling?"
I clasped my hands together and a small smile appeared on my face.
"I'm kind of excited. I'll miss the people here, but I feel ready for the most part. It's different than last time. I'm not really expecting to come back. I hope I don't have to come back."
"Well, that's definitely a change from last time." We exchanged smiles and she continued.
"Since it is your last day, I don't really have anything for you today." Usually, in individual meetings, daily and weekly goals were set. We all met every day with a staff member so we could let them check in on us.
"You have everything set up for your outpatient appointments, right?"
"Kind of...." I fidgeted a bit and my foot began shuffling on the ground.
"I kind of don't want to see Dr. Pitts anymore. I'm not comfortable with him. I was wondering...if it's possible, can I see you instead?" I was slightly worried that she would not be able to be my therapist outside of the program, or that she did not want to be my therapist. My insecurities were still there but I pushed them aside just long enough for me to ask the question. I was comfortable talking to her and I knew that meeting with her instead would keep me on the right path.
She thought for a moment.
"The only problem with that is, you'd have to talk to Dr. Pitts about it. I know you've had some problems with him. You're going to have to be assertive and talk to him in order to make the switch. And I know being assertive is difficult for you. Other than that, I don't see why not."
Her answer pleased me, yet I started to worry about talking to Dr. Pitts about my decision, a decision I had not even mentioned to him.
"Yeah, that will definitely be hard. I don't want to hurt his feelings, but I know it's the right choice. I'm not looking forward to talking to him about it." Assertiveness was a topic that we went over numerous times in the program and it was still very hard for me to take in the concept. It seemed easy on paper, but in the situation, it was not easy at all.
22
True Test of Willpower
My last day of the intensive outpatient program at Stafford Hospital was on a Tuesday. That Thursday, I met with Dr. Pitts. I knew that it would probably be our last session together, although, I do not think he had any idea what was coming. My nerves made my stomach nauseous and my hands shaky. No matter how many calming techniques I had learned during my time in treatment, I was still unable to control my anxiety for the most part. I was always an anxious individual and it was going to take a long time to rid myself of its effects.
While sitting in the waiting room, my hands could not stay still. I played with my key ring in order to keep them occupied. My mind was still racing with thoughts and I had to convince myself not to back down. I knew I was making the right decision, but I was also scared of hurting someone else's feelings. My tendency to please others was still a part of me and it was a hard habit to break. The thoughts in my head kept going back and forth, ultimately giving me a headache from the intense thinking. As I saw Dr. Pitts walk down the hall, my heart raced faster and I knew that my moment was soon approaching, making the knots in my stomach even worse.
Our session went on for about a half an hour until a long pause. I had nothing to talk about and was still weary of bringing up the subject of terminating therapy with him. Up until that point, our conversation consisted of very trivial issues. I also had a terrible time of paying attention to what he was saying, and my words spewed out of my mouth without much thought. After a few minutes of silence and playing with the string on my jacket, I finally built up the courage to speak.
"I'm not sure how to say this...." I could not believe that I was actually going to tell him. My anxiety increased almost to the point of forgetting what I was supposed to talk about. His stare only made me want to shut up and continue on with the mindless conversation, but somehow I found the words to continue.
"Well...I was thinking..." He continued to stare, wondering what I was about to say. I did not usually bring up subjects in therapy.
"I was thinking....maybe it would be better if I saw Dr. Serrano instead. I mean, I'm more comfortable with her and I think it would help me a lot. I don't want to hurt your feelings...but....I want to see her instead."
I stared at the floor in order not to look him in the eye. I was convinced that he would be upset or angry. His reaction was better than I had expected, but still not excellent.
"Why do you think that? Therapy isn't about being comfortable."
I asked myself, What is he trying to get at? I had no answer for his question. I was not sure if it was rhetorical or genuine.
"I'm just more comfortable talking to her. And I think that's what I need."
"Hmm...well. I am not sure."
He was not sure? Was he not sure if I could see her? I was not asking him if I could switch, I was telling him. I was the patient and I had the right to switch.
"I just think it would be better." The only explanation I had for him was that seeing her would be a positive change for my recovery. Imagining future sessions with him only gave me the picture that I would continue to repeat the cycle of sickness.
He was silent and I had nothing else to say to him. In being assertive, one of my fears had come true: confrontation. I disliked confrontation more than anything and I avoided it at all costs. And there I was, sitting in a small room with someone who was not agreeing with me. But I was still alive. I had the strength and courage to speak my mind and to let him know what I wanted, and even though his reaction was not ideal, it was not the end of the world. I was able to let others know how I really felt and life was still going to happen, no matter their reaction.
The silence in the room grew more and more uncomfortable with each passing second. I continued to play with the string on my jacket, twisting the fabric and knotting it every which way. Playing gave me something to focus on. Without it, I was not sure what to do. We continued to sit in silence until the end of the hour.
"Our time is up." He broke the awkwardness by telling me that I could leave. I had to keep myself from running out of the room and escaping, never to turn back again.
We both stood and I walked toward the door.
"Thanks
for your help." I was not sure if that was an appropriate comment to say to a recently fired therapist, but I went with it.
"You're welcome." he said, as he held the door open for me.
I rushed down the hallway and into the bathroom next to the waiting room. I used the sink to splash some cool water on my face to calm myself down. My nerves were finally decreasing and I could feel the relief increasing. My reflection in the mirror looked back at me and I saw a hint of a smile. I had just overcome another obstacle. It was another barrier standing in my way and I tore it down.
During the days following that final session, I was able to stick to my meal plan and use coping skills in order to keep the monster in check. It was not getting any easier and I was not sure if it would ever be easy, but I taught myself how to take things one day at a time. One meal at a time. One bite at a time. It was strange being away from the program in somewhat of a different mindset. It scared me and excited me at the same time.
On the days where I would have been at the program, talking in group, eating dinner with the others, I wondered how they were all doing. I was happy to be on the outside, yet I missed the interaction with the other patients. We understood each other and we knew what we were going through. I did not have anyone outside of treatment that could relate to me in the same way. And although I missed the friends I had made, I also knew that I would still have support from my outpatient team.
Before I knew it, I was back at Stafford Hospital in the waiting room, yet again. I looked at the dark walls and the modern decor, and I flashed back to the first time I sat in that room. In my mind, I replayed everything that I had been through in the many months since the start. I was a year older and wiser. I was still afraid of many things, but I was not as scared of myself anymore. I had grown to learn many things, and I learned that I had underestimated myself. I was much more capable of accomplishing things in life than I realized. When I looked at the other girls sitting in the waiting room beside me, I no longer envied their bodies. My comparing was not erased but it had decreased significantly. Nothing was going to change overnight.
Deep in thought, my ears focused on the sound of keys jingling. I heard footsteps walking down the hall and when I looked up to see who it was, Dr. Serrano came around the corner to bring me back to her office.
In her office were a few toys and motivational items scattered around. The window overlooked the parking lot, which was not a great view, but the sun was able to shine through. I sat in the chair with the pillow across from hers and let out a sigh.
"So, what would you like to talk about today? It's your session, it's up to you."
It was my recovery. My choices and my actions would determine my path. It was all up to me. I was not cured but I was on my way. I was not sure whether I would slip up again or not. I was not sure if I would ever need to go back into the program. I was not sure of anything, really.
For so long, I had been listening to the whispering voice and ignoring my own. I was finally starting to raise that voice enough to be heard.
Afterword
I wrote this book for National Novel Writing Month 2009. Every year in November, thousands around the world write for thirty days, ending at the stroke of midnight on the 30th, with 50,000 words. I was one of those thousands of people setting aside other plans in order to write. Writing a book has always been a dream of mine, and now I guess I can cross it off my bucket list. I am amazed that I was able to accomplish such a feat and I am proud of myself for it.
This book is based on my own experiences with battling an eating disorder, going through treatment, and the thoughts behind the process. Technically, what I have written is fiction. Names have been changed but the general ideas and events are mostly true.
I decided to write about this in order to give another perspective on eating disorders. There are many, many books out there that focus on the subject, but not all of them go beyond the physical aspects. There are some that use shock value in order to pull in readers. And while that is good for publicity, it also does not speak the full truth. I intentionally left out specific numbers and weights because while eating disorders call attention to them, they are not all about the numbers. The common misconception is that eating disorders are used just to get skinny. While that is not completely false, there are many more reasons people turn to eating disorders to cope with life.
My battle is not over and I have been fighting for quite a while. My journey began in 2004 and I spent much of 2008 and 2009 in and out of the hospital, leaving me and my family to deal with insane medical bills. I have missed opportunities and years of my life because of the sickness, but I hopefully have many years to make up for it. There have been many times when I thought that I could never dig myself out of the hole I had created. I am still climbing out of that hole but I am not longer alone at the bottom with no light. I can see some of what is ahead. I am still crossing those hot coals and there are people waiting on the other side for me. Sometimes it is fun to look back and wave goodbye to my eating disorder. Sometimes I turn around and step in the wrong direction again. But in all of my struggles, I have learned many things. I believe that we are given obstacles in life on purpose. I have been able to learn about myself while others my age may not truly gain insight until much later. I have missed out on a lot, but I have also gained a lot in the process.
As in the book, my treatment team has played a huge part in my recovery. Although it is ultimately up to me, they have learned the difficulties and complications an eating disorder brings to an individual. I am less alone with them. I am thankful to have such a great team, although, I do not think the eating disorder is quite as thankful. The eating disorder is still learning how to listen to me.
Resources
Something Fishy
http://www.something-fishy.org
National Eating Disorders Association
http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org
The Joy Project
http://www.joyproject.org
F.R.E.E.D. Foundation
http://www.freedfoundation.org
The Center for Eating Disorders
at Sheppard Pratt
http://www.eatingdisorder.org
Gürze Books
http://www.bulimia.com
Jenni Schaefer
http://www.jennischaefer.com
Campaign for Real Beauty
http://www.campaignforrealbeauty.com
National Novel Writing Month
http://www.nanowrimo.org
About the Author
Jennifer Kinsel is a twenty-something year old artist/designer/creative/dreamer. Restricted: a novel of half-truths is Jen's first book, a challenge she took upon herself for National Novel Writing Month; writing a book had always been on her long list of things to do before she dies. Born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland, she attended Stevenson University and earned a bachelor's degree in Visual Communication Design.
Since college, her life has taken a different direction than most her age, due to her battle with an eating disorder. Although the process of recovery is very difficult, Jen is hopeful that the obstacle was put there for a reason.
On a less serious note, she stays awake much too late for her own good, enjoys thrill rides and the rush of adrenaline, and watches The Golden Girls every morning while eating breakfast.
For more about Jen, visit http://www.jenniferkinsel.com.
Stay Connected!
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/restrictedbook
Wordpress: http://ifnothingchanges.wordpress.com
yscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
Restricted: A novel of half-truths Page 14
