I would like to report that Thanksgiving didn’t have any huge impact on me. Well, except for the DELICIOUS apple pie my sister in laws made. I seriously wanted to eat the whole thing. My mom also made some wheat rolls that practically melted in my mouth. I had mozzarella sticks with marinara sauce last night, so I am slowly chipping away at the list of food I want to try. I am making a new list though, which includes, but is not limited to:
A brownie with caramel on top
Obviously, I have a sweet tooth. Anyone who wants to join me in eating, let me know…I seriously need the support. I have found that it’s so much easier to follow through eating new foods if someone is there to cheer me on. I’m just so excited that I survived my first real holiday in recovery without a breakdown. It makes me feel like I can face anything. And something else that makes me feel invincible is my family telling me I look well. My sister’s boyfriend was in town and told me over the phone after her left that he didn’t want to sound weird, but that I looked so much better. Tears welled up in my eyes, because I was reminded of how much people care and especially how concerned they can be. For me. Even in my darkest times, someone out there loved me. Even when I hated everything about myself, the very cells that made me up, and the marrow in my bones, someone out there was hurting for me too.
I hate how painful I have made my life, not only for me, but for loved ones. Especially for my grandma, who is now passed. I wish I could have found the strength to get better when she was still alive to be there and see me rise above this. I know she was so worried for me, as were many people. I know she prayed, but I also know she worried. I hate to think how many nights she worried over me and pleaded with God for help. I am happy to say it wasn’t in vain though. Here I am, and I am not going to give up easily this time. If ever I am at a loss for reasons to continue in recovery, I’ll remind myself to “do it for grandma”.
I’m not really sure where this is going…so I will continue with this addition for those of you following and wondering what my next steps into recovery were. After my initial meeting with my dietitian, I found a doctor and made an appointment. When the day of the appointment came, I was super nervous. My mom accompanied me to the appointment, and talked with me while waiting for the doctor to arrive. My doctor is super sweet and compassionate. She has scheduled appointments on days that she is supposed to have off, how dedicated is that? At first I freaked out a little on the inside, when she started telling me if I gave up this time I would die. That this was my last chance. That I shouldn’t be there, that I should be somewhere safe, with 24/7 care. I nodded and responded that I knew, oh how I knew. I knew then and I know now that I have had so many second chances. I am a cat of a person, with nine lives. She must have thought I seemed dedicated to recovery, because she moved forth with some plans and ideas, and telling me she needed bloodwork done. I left the appointment feeling very good, and like I had found the right people.
One thing that I would like to point out that has been so helpful in my recovery is antidepressants. I have been on several over the years, and every time I cease taking them I think I’ll be OK on my own…and then things get a little icky. For the past year I have been on Citalopram. Just a low dose, but it has been amazing for me. It helps tone down the anxiety I feel around food. It lifts my mood a little to keep me from sinking into depression. I think it helped me to be ready to recover. Every time I tried before, I was so depressed I wasn’t thinking straight. I would cry at the drop of a pin. I was resistant, underweight, and sad. So sad. Hopeless, really. I was always put on an antidepressant when I went to see a doctor, but it wasn’t enough. I didn’t want to be there in the first place, I didn’t see an end to the starvation, I didn’t feel hope. Being on the Citalopram has opened my mind, I think. I know not everyone has the option of doing things the way I am, but I think that this is the best scenario for me right now. And I honestly feel that if I get to a place where I just can’t do this anymore, I will be able to voice that and ask for more help, like…residential help. Medicine, asking for help, accepting that help, helping myself…it was so hard, but exactly what I needed. When I was first on an antidepressant, I felt like I had a secret. I would see advertisements for Zoloft, and think, “hey, that’s me!” but I never told anyone that I was getting help to be happy. I felt fake. I felt ashamed. Nobody else in my family needed help feeling happy, I must be broken. Well, I was and am broken, but antidepressants have helped glue some of my broken pieces back together. Goodbye crappy life in shambles with eating disorder. Hello good life trying to push Ed out and live successfully without him as a crutch.