Atypical Anorexia Recovery

Image: general online search; not my image.

Today is one of “those days” when everything seems to trigger a round of crying. I’m struggling physically with food and fluid intake, which makes everything else worse. I’m super protective of any sleep I get. Most people with eating disorders have some sort of trauma in their lives, and I’m no different. I think this was triggered by such a deep sense of loss about many things in my life, set off by seeing the obituary for one of the family friends who’d known me since I was first adopted as a newborn. The rest seems to be a cascade of things that I never would have imagined to be part of my life when I was thinking about those things at a much younger age.

I’m not up for going into a lot of detail now, but I’ve been through various types of abuse, the loss of so many people, the murders of my skating coach’s six kids when I was 14, rape/beating/sodomy for 6 hours in 1987 resulting in police shooting the offender in my bedroom after I finally managed to escape when he passed out- he didn’t die, so off to trial, medical abuse and errors, leukemia that nearly killed me shortly after the first abnormal lab work, etc. I’m disabled to the point of only being able to safely leave home for MD appointments and to pick up prescriptions that can’t be delivered. And few people notice if I’m not around.

It hasn’t been a year yet since my dog needed to be allowed to go in peace and in my arms, and that is something that still haunts me. It was the right thing to do, and she let me know it was time. She only knew me not working, and we never spent a night apart in 12 1/2 years. She knew when I wasn’t OK, and many times, she’d get on the bed and lie down between me and the edge of the bed, so I couldn’t get up unless she moved. I can’t express how much the loss of that sweet dog has hurt. She was only 3 1/2 when my dad died, so since then, she was my only “in town” family. But I’m also so thankful that I had her as long as I did. She truly was special, even though all of my dogs before her were loved very much as well.

When I was growing up, and even when I moved away from home after nursing board results were in (took 3 months back then) when I was 22, I always imagined having a husband and kids, and living a fairly ‘normal’ life. My eating disorder was relatively stable when I first moved (that changed quickly). But, it was the rape that really changed things for me. To avoid any pressure to date, I often chose night and/or weekend jobs so I wasn’t available. I’ve never liked bars or clubs, so that was out, and even church was pushed aside because of work hours. I never wanted to be physically close to another person again, and I never was. I dated in high school and nursing school, and those 2 guys were very kind and always treated me well. I knew good guys were out there- but I was afraid of another sociopath, who’d planned to dismember me alive before that day/weekend was over. I never was afraid of “all” men after that, I just didn’t want anything to do with feeling trapped.

I think about the things that I’ve never known- what it’s like to be a sibling, an aunt, a mom, a wife, or to feel what it’s like to be loved properly. I know my folks loved me, and they did their best- and yet they had their own traumas from their childhoods. But I felt like a prop a lot of the time. I had to be worried about ‘family image’ from a very young age, not that I was a ‘mischievous’ kid. It was just made very clear to me not to tell anyone how I felt unless it was all sunshine and daisies. Even when I was suicidal in junior high and high school, I was in big trouble when I answered a depression screening honestly that a teacher gave me in the hall at school after noticing that I was struggling. Dad was the principal at that school, and my guidance counselor (another family friend) approached dad with the teacher’s concerns after she told him about the depression screening. I needed to move away from home so I could just be me.

I believe that there must be some purpose for me still being around, even when my ability to work as a nurse was cut short nearly 22 years ago. It feels like all I’ve ever done is try to survive, and my body is struggling with the stress of all of that. The last year, with therapy being irreparably destroyed, has been the hardest because it was so personal. I doubt Ex-therapist would agree with that, but she doesn’t get to dictate how it feels on my end. The rape wasn’t personal. Both changed something in me forever. I’ve survived a lot, and it’s exhausting. I have no interest in dying, but I need to find something to help when the grief and reminders get rough. I’m having a lot of trouble with nausea and feeling full with not a lot of food, or having to tube fluids because I can’t tolerate the volume of fluids and food. The amount may be the same, but how quickly they go in is different.

It’s hard not to know what is going on with the large colon polyp, or what impact that will ultimately have on my lifespan. And, even if I knew, I doubt it would change what i would do. My kidneys couldn’t handle chemo, and daily radiation for X number of weeks would be way too physically demanding. The GI docs won’t consider a prep that I could handle volume-wise, so that makes it impossible to remove the polyp. Not being allowed to speak with my ex-therapist (as she said she would) about possible ways to make the huge prep (2 days, 2 gallons) easier was the emotional equivalent of being told that I’m disposable. I’d already flunked the Cologuard, the colonoscopy when the polyp was found, and colon abnormalities were seen on an MRI of my pelvis (also had an endocervical biopsy last summer).

I go through days like this periodically, and since i don’t really have anyone to talk to, I write.