Health and Happiness

The last few weeks have been full of medical appointments and testing. Doctors are still trying to figure out what has been making me so dizzy. The dizziness isn't as bad as it was originally but it's still there. Since September I've been in the emergency room three times, undergone one CT scan, two x-rays, two MRIs, and multiple rounds of blood testing and they still can't tell me what's wrong with me. Every test comes back normal, which is good. But it doesn't help me figure out what's going on or how to stop it.

I'm supposed to see an ENT and a Neurologist, though I'm still waiting for my primary doctor to schedule those appointments. I also need to see an OBGYN because of ovarian cysts. One ruptured Thursday causing me yet another trip to the emergency room. I saw my primary doctor today and she told me the blood work I had done was basically normal, even my B-12 and iron levels. That is the first time in 7 years (since my eating disorder began) that everything has been normal! I credit it to good nutrition. I've been making an effort not only to eat enough, but to eat the right foods for my body's needs. I focus less on calories and more on nutrients. I choose foods with high levels of protein, iron, and B & D vitamins since those are the areas I'm generally lacking. I'm not interested in torturing my body. I'm interested in nourishing it.

I do have to admit that all of these appointments have triggered my eating disorder in some ways. For example, most of my labs required me to be fasting. That word alone triggers something deep within me, and I apologize if it triggers any of you who may be reading this. I understand that the point is to test my blood levels when nothing is in my body, but the very act of having nothing in my body brings back too many familiar sensations. It's like recovering from alcohol abuse only to be told by someone you have to drink alcohol before they can help you. Regardless, I overcame it, and I'm eating regularly.

Normally I request at doctors' offices not to be weighed or at least not to know what the scale says. With my new doctor, I was too embarrassed to ask for that, so I know my weight now. As you can imagine it stressed me out. It's better not knowing. Even though I am making steps to love myself and nurture myself and accept myself no matter what, hearing a number higher than I anticipated was like a little punch in the stomach. But it doesn't matter. For the first time in my life I'm realizing a few pounds are not going to be the end of me. Just more proof the grip anorexia once had on me is loosening and loosening.

Before long, I will shake her off completely. There is no doubt in my mind. Life without her is too good. I'm too strong, too happy, too free to go back.

I don't normally make resolutions for the new year, but this time I'm going to. Very simply, I am dedicating 2011 to health and happiness. That means doing everything I can do to be the healthiest, happiest me that I can be.

I wish the same to everyone reading this. Health and happiness.

(Re) cover ed

The last few days have been a whole bunch of blah. I've been super busy finishing up with grad school. (I graduate in two weeks! Yikes!) In addition, I've been sick with the flu or maybe just a bad cold. Regardless, I've been sniffling and sneezing around my apartment feeling down in the dumpster. I've had difficulties the last few days with eating. I've had no desire to eat. It's not that I'm not hungry, and it's not that I'm consciously trying to restrict. I just don't want food. It doesn't sound appetizing.

But I've been fighting.

Appetite or not, I'm eating anyway. I'm pushing myself. It's the right thing to do. Actually, it's the only thing to do.

Starvation is not an option. It's a horrible feeling. It's a horrible word. And there's simply no place for it in my life.

There shouldn't be any place for it in your life, either.

There is, however, room for health. There is room for happiness. And there's room for hope.

Today I forced myself to eat even though I didn't really want to. I ate chocolate "ice cream". I ate chips. I ate pasta. Holy cow. I know, right? I rarely eat any of those things, let alone all of them in one day. But guess what: It didn't kill me. The world didn't stop turning. I didn't throw up. I didn't work out afterward. And I didn't gain even a pound.

Not to mention, it was yummy.

I'm so tired of being a slave to my eating disorder. The bitch doesn't own me anymore.

I have regressed, restricted, revolted, reacted, rebelled, repented, reflected, rededicated, regrouped, revamped, readjusted, refocused, reconciled, renewed, rediscovered...

and am well on my way to being

RECOVERED.

“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation.” - Elizabeth Gilbert

If it isn't obvious from the quote in the title, I just saw Eat, Pray, Love. This is not a post about the movie or the book (I recommend both, the book more so than the movie. Isn't that always the case?) This post is about ruin. This post is about transformation. This is a concept I've been thinking about for weeks, since I read the book of essays by Eula Biss. I had an entire post devoted to it. Gilbert says "“Ruin is a gift. Ruin is the road to transformation” and Eula Biss says, "there is always some promise in destruction." I agree with both.

My eating disorder was certainly destructive. It certainly left my entire life in ruin. But would I be the person I am today without it?

I would never wish an eating disorder on anyone. I know that most people can't even begin to imagine how serious they are--how destructive. How deadly. Anorexia is contradictory in the eyes of society. On one hand, the overly thin are glamorized and idealized. On the other hand, they're ridiculed. The point is that people are judgmental and fickle. If you're too fat they'll tell you to slim down. Once you get too slim, then they'll tell you to fatten up. I've been on both sides of the spectrum and I wasn't happy at either. Unlike a lot of people who develop anorexia, I was slightly overweight when my eating disorder began. I wasn't obese, but I wasn't thin either. By the time anorexia was finished with me, I'd lost 80 lbs. I was a skeleton. I was sick. I was dying. And it still wasn't good enough for anyone. The people who used to say I was chubby now said I'd gone way too far, as if it was their place to decide how I should look. Now my weight is somewhere in between. I'm not overweight and I'm not underweight. I'm tired of being pulled in either direction.

Like anyone else who has overcome an eating disorder or any other major struggle, I'm not left with bruises, I'm left with scars. Some of them are deeper than others. But they will all heal. I have never been content with myself. I wasn't happy when I was chubby. I wasn't happy when I was skinny. I didn't love myself high and I didn't love myself low.

Here is to balance.

Here is to contentment. To courage. To strength.

I am thankful for all I've been through because it's brought me where I am:

Somewhere in the middle between healing and happiness.