Image- online search
The past couple of weeks have been exhausting for no good reason. My activity level essentially never changes with being housebound, but I’ve not felt great. With the colon cancer screening fails, that’s a bit unnerving, but the main areas of discomfort aren’t located in the iffy anatomical neighborhood, so that’s a little bit of a relief. I’ve had what feels like bruised ribs under my right armpit, but haven’t hurt anything there, so I don’t know what’s going on. I have a history of blood clots in my right lung, but that was 18 years ago, and I have no respiratory or cardiac symptoms. I need to make another THC dispensary run, since that’s what allows me to sleep, especially when I’m in pain.
The aftermath of the ex-therapist’s harm continues to be an emotional rollercoaster. I’ve heard and read so much more about her pattern of breadcrumbing and in some cases abuse that can’t be part of any normal therapy. I finally read a book about her, and was surprised but also not surprised. There was one situation in particular that she yelled at me when she called. The way she explained away that type of “therapy” in an interview was that the patients actually want that, so their eating disorder ‘mind’ isn’t as upset over the activity being yelled about, which is generally related to eating.
I’d had a rough day about 7 months into ‘therapy’ with her, and the patient she had talking to me on a regular basis had let her know that I hadn’t eaten what I was supposed to, so when Ex-T was home from her ‘food police’ time with the guy who showed up from Oz, she called me and yelled what I had to eat while she was on the phone, and then “don’t take all day with one cracker” (they’re dry, and I have physical issues with swallowing), “get X and eat it now”, etc. I was stunned, and miserably full when she got done shouting ‘orders’. She sounded SO different than the person I’d spoken with prior to that night. It was frightening.
In an email sent to her a while back, explaining how damaging the lack of contact had been, especially around the 2nd colonoscopy prep my GI doctor wanted done, her only response was how it all impacted her. NO comment about what I, HER PATIENT, had been going through. Then some vague comments about her health (a common explanation for lack of contact), with nothing specific disclosed (her prerogative), which was also a pattern. So, I’m trying to figure out what to do, and she’s having a pity festival over being butt hurt by my email about what was going wrong with the so-called therapy. The health stuff may be true (hope not) but it all fits into the breadcrumbing pattern of toxic control and psychological manipulation, so I don’t know if I can- or should- believe her. She’s still wanting some kind of contact, but I’m so far past wanting anything to do with her that I can’t see a situation where I’d want to talk to her again. At least I could block a couple of ways she could contact me, along with anyone I know who might be used to find out info from me, but I can’t block her on my email, unfortunately.
I am having more days when I’m not as bothered by her behavior, but it’s still hard to come to terms with how much worse this all was than what I’d envisioned. I didn’t think I’d be afraid to speak about her (via blogging), or find so many other examples on videos or in books where she was completely past any type of therapeutic ‘reason’ in what she did. She made up her own ‘condition’ to explain eating disorders, and there are parts of that that do resonate with a LOT of people, including me, though not as much now. She had some very good ideas at times, and when I first heard about her, I was amazed that she ‘got it’. But then having contact with her showed me someone unrecognizable from who I saw on a news program about her clinic. I also found a document on a financial website showing that the clinic had made over $9M CAD. Dun & Bradstreet is a known name, and it just came up when googling the clinic. This corresponds to the comments about how she lost interest in patients who ran out of money. Everything I’d seen in court papers from an investigation into her clinic pans out- and for so long, I didn’t want to believe any of that. That was my foolishness.
The holidays are also rough, not only with most of my family gone (who are around here and with whom I grew up), but with the eating disorder. I have a friend who invites me to every family holiday meal she hosts, which is SO kind, and I truly do appreciate being included. But I still can’t eat around others, and the autonomic disorder makes being inside a space with a thermostat set for normal people difficult, the stuff I’d have to drag with me is nuts, and also the temperature of what I eat impacts my declining invitations. I hope I get to the day when it’s not so hard.
I’m hoping that the pain of not getting well with Ex-T eases consistently in time, and that I get to the point of it being completely behind me. I won’t seek out help from another virtual therapy situation (or any new humans in general), and Medicare won’t pay for much- though I do have a very good dietician, so that helps. In the meantime, I’m exhausted physically and mentally, and am looking forward to possibly getting some snow this weekend. That generally perks me up for a while.
Tag: atypical anorexia
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It’s Been A ‘Bleh’ Couple Of Weeks
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Getting My Spiritual Life In Order
Photo- mine
I’m not a ‘religioius’ person. Organized religion has become associated with hate, and I can’t ‘do’ that. I was raised in a church way back when they were still fairly inert when it came to discussing social issues. I had a good experience at church during my entire childhood and early adulthood, but when I moved to Texas after getting my nursing boards results back, I worked a LOT of weekends and nights, so church kind of fizzled out, though my beliefs are still strong… they’re just much more moderate and accepting of all kinds of people. I am a Christian, but I’m not going to judge others for their beliefs, or who they love, or anything else that isn’t my business. AS a Christian, I believe that if there’s no compassion involved, I want nothing to do with it.
Because of lifelong pain from humans, I tend to prefer animals and God. It’s much easier for me to believe in something that doesn’t want to hurt me, than a human, whose species has been the source of ongoing pain for as long as I can remember. With animals, there’s no agenda- they just want to live their lives doing their animal thing. With my dogs, they were more emotional support than any human has ever been, though a few have given it a good effort with what they had to work with.
SO, I tend to rely on spiritual things to get me through rough times. For me, that could be finding interesting rocks, the seasons, weather, stars, wild critters, or other things in nature. I feel like the outdoors is my ‘church’, and a favorite activity before becoming disabled was to take my camera out and take a bunch of photos of flowers, storms, tornados, rivers, hills, etc. I’m also getting a lot out of meditation books. They come in all ‘flavors’ with the choice of one’s own spiritual life being left up to each individual. Books like “Chicken Soup for The ______ Soul” are also ones I gravitate towards, along with some of the Hazelden meditation books, or ones like those. They have short chapters, and leave me thinking about a variety of things. They get me out of MYSELF, and looking at the much bigger picture around me. It’s critical for me to have an anchor, and that has always been God for me. But I see God through other things.
I used to be more rigid, when I was going to church as a kid. Thinking was fairly black and white (typical kid stuff), and since social issues weren’t really a church ‘thing’ back then, I had a LOT to learn after leaving home. When I moved to Texas, I encountered my first transvestite- a very nice man in the line at Walgreen’s where he was getting his make-up. I worked during the early years of AIDS, and met so many young men who would never leave the hospital back when everyone died. I got used to different cultures living in Central Texas, and for all of it, I’m so thankful. I met some amazing people of different races, beliefs, LGBTQ (one was a very brave trans man who was transitioning at a time when nobody was talking about it; he was a great co-worker), and other social interests. That was also all part of my spiritual growth. And I’ve stuck to the “everyone deserves respect and to be treated with dignity” way of thinking. I owe a debt of gratitude to the people who showed me how to be a better person from having met them.
I’m far from perfect as a Christian, mostly because perfect doesn’t exist. I’ve been human longer than I’ve been a Christian. I still swear (working on it, just for the sake of really identifying what I’m feeling, and not just blurting something out). I have a lot of work to do, and have realized that nobody knows everything about what God thinks or said. The Bible is important to me, but so is the context of social norms at the time it was written, the things are NOT spoken about, and the fact that nobody could record everything that went on in the thousands of years it was written by humans, inspired by God. But the bigger thing that I was taught is that being compassionate and decent towards ALL people is the most important. With the recent things going, on in my life, that has been challenging. But I’m still trying not to forget what was good. It’s been a minute since there was anything to be an example, but it was there. I’m not sure how real it was, but it was there for a little while, and when I was most unstable medically and nutritionally. I’ve still got to look for the good. -
Waves of Grief and Anger
Photo: Mine
Even though I fully understand that the manipulation and emotional control measures used by my ex-therapist is her pathological shit, it still deeply impacted me. She doesn’t seem to feel remorse about much, and sent me a message saying she hoped i didn’t turn all of the crap she threw at me against myself. WTF? She KNOWS my history of poor attachment and abandonment, and it seems her ‘kindness matters’ schtick is reserved for those who pay for it. I ran out of money, so my former therapist ran off for greener pastures, resulting in a month going by between calls, and always with some reason that didn’t stand up when she said what else she’d been doing. I’m guessing, based on 3 1/2 years of hearing various things from her, that she’s got more patients that are ripe for the squeezing (of parents’ bank accounts). God help them.
I’m still dealing with the grief of not being a success story with that particular therapist, but still hoping that I can do what so many have done, and do it with YouTube videos and the books by those whose channels I prefer. I’m still struggling a lot with what I see in the mirror, and to justify feeding that thing, but at the same time, I know I have to eat enough to stay out of acute renal failure. Chronic kidney disease from poor perfusion (related to decades of inadequate fluids, food, blood pressure, and heart rate) is lousy enough with the protein restrictions.
I’m grieving the person I saw early on in this fiasco, who WAS very attentive, kept in fairly regular contact, went above and beyond a few times when I was sick, or my blood sugar tanked and I was having trouble keeping it up, etc. That person was gone in January 2023. I completely understand that contact lessens with more stable intake and coping with the hell of learning to eat, but then don’t say that a call is coming when the schedule is already booked.
Don’t tell me about multiple (odd) medical issues, that aren’t taken care of, but while being “too ill” to even phone me, she’s off to London to see a patient, off to Canada to see a patient, assessing patients in various parts of Europe, attending conferences in Macedonia, and moving countries again… if she’s so damn sick, she’s certainly not slowed down by it.
When I’ve had medical issues come up, I’d send screenshots of lab work or test results. I can show proof of what is going on. I’ve had multiple chronic disorders since 1995, with pain, dysautonomia, fibromyalgia, epilepsy that was diagnosed in 1986, degenerative disc disease, degenerative joint disease, SI joint inflammation, gout, diabetes, kidney disease, and something I’m forgetting. The epilepsy diagnosis was ‘fine tuned’ diagnosis in about 2005 or so, with a 5 day video EEG that showed increased risk of seizures in the first stages of sleep- however I end up there… bed, low blood sugar, dysautonomia. There have been numerous times when what she told me about her medical stuff, or her daughter’s just hasn’t made sense. She’s not stupid, but I’m not sure if there was some misunderstanding from what the docs told her, or what. But 35 yrs of being an RN, with 20 of that working in various types of nursing (heavy on the ortho and neuro, as well as general med-surg), I can sniff out a skunk fairly well. But it could be that not being a medical person, it was a misunderstanding. All I know is that shit didn’t make sense.
I’ve been doing fairly well with getting food in to meet minimums with macros, and have for a while. I’ve also been using Liquid IV, in order to get enough sodium to keep my BP up (check with your doc before manipulating electrolytes, protein, fat, and carbs for your particular situation). Today, I even managed an apple-cinnamon bagel (scary) with some cream cheese and apple butter, and really liked it. It’s hard for me to say I like something, because my head insists that means I’m going to go nuts and eat an entire package. I was stuffed after that ‘normal’ (not massive) sized bagel and toppings- but I also know that it’s something that is filling, tastes good, and even though I was apprehensive, I got it down without a lot of inner dialogue about eating it.
Individually portioned products are also helpful, and feel safer (depending on what it is). And I’m trying some new things here and there, even if just a bite or two. I do like to try new things, but it’s still scary. Food shouldn’t evoke that kind of emotion. It’s simply a fuel to get my body through the day, as well as repair damage from decades of under-eating.
I am angry at the load of crap I was fed during the love-bombing, and believe none of it at this point. It all seems like one big scam. I feel so stupid for sticking around as long as I did. I think that by not having consistent contact, it’s supposed to make me more appreciative of any crumbs of attention she gave me, but I don’t operate like that. If someone doesn’t do what they say they will, I back off, and take notes. When the BS outweighs anything useful, I don’t let the door hit me in the ass on my way out. And I don’t think she gives a shit that she made things worse. She implied some kind of medical issue that was bad, but in her usual manner, she chooses words wisely that could be interpreted in multiple ways, including pure BS. If she really is sick this time, I don’t wish her any ill will. But I doubt everything she says now. Hopefully, the messages in the archived section of WhatsApp will stay quiet.
I also hope that my head calms down about this. She’s really not worth being upset about, and yet the waves of anger and grief still pop up. Writing helps. So, I write. -
Birthdays With An Eating Disorder
Photo- mine
Birthdays (or any holiday or gatherings around food) are painful for people with eating disorders. I’d hoped to do better this year, but fell short. The ‘plan’ was to order something I wanted without regards to the nutritional information (calories and macros in particular), but it didn’t quite turn out as I planned.
I did manage to get a 5″ cake, but it tasted of the phony ingredients in the sprinkles, so it was disappointing. I did eat about a cupcake’s worth of it. I got a side order of Popeye’s Red Beans & Rice, which I did get down, along with a biscuit. Then things went sideways. I wanted to have a single burger from Culver’s, and onion rings, but when I put those into my food tracker, I freaked out at the total “numbers”, even though I was below my eventual calorie range. It was too much of a jump from where I’ve been.
This goes on with holidays as well. I’ve got a friend who always invites me to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter meals with her family, and has for years. I have a lot of reasons for not going that don’t involve my panic at eating around other people, or other eating disorder freak out triggers. The dysautonomia makes temperature regulation away from home difficult, and requires that I have an ice vest and extra inserts (so another big bag to lug around). My stomach also reacts to hot food, and that can be rough away from home if it sends the meal careening towards the ‘back door’ in a hurry, which isn’t great at someone else’s home where more people will be using the same bathroom. And hot food can trigger a full blown autonomic ‘episode’ where I end up passed out from my BP dropping too low. I also can’t have various foods in ‘normal’ amounts because of diabetes and kidney disease, or much animal ‘flesh’ protein because of gout. I don’t like a lot of holiday food (pumpkin pie, sweet potatoes, cooked carrots, etc). So, I suck at being a guest. I don’t like to stick out as some weirdo.
The eating disorder is also a factor. I feel too fat to eat around other people, even though I think nothing of someone larger than I am (or smaller) eating whatever they want. It’s a holiday- have fun ! Eat the goodies ! But not me. My eating disorder ‘voice’ tells me that when I’m small enough, THEN I’ll ‘deserve’ to enjoy food– not just put something in to make the “numbers” look good. I haven’t eaten around anyone (and that was in the car after initial COVID vaccines) since 2021. I haven’t eaten IN a restaurant since 2017, and that was with my uncle. I know nobody is paying attention to what I’m doing when they’re out having a nice time, but I still feel like what I see in the mirror isn’t deserving of food. Not knowing the exact nutritional information is also hard- some of that is necessary for insulin dosing and not exceeding daily protein amounts, but some is just panic.
I want to be able to just enjoy a holiday like a ‘normal’ person, but I haven’t been to a holiday dinner with family or friends since about 2002. I would go after meals and hang out for a while, but always skipped the food, using the dysautonomia as an excuse (and it is a valid one), But the food part is what scared me more. I grew up going to big family Swedish Christmas Eve parties, and love those memories. I try to get some of those foods to have at home, alone.
Birthday is a wrap, so on to what to do about Thanksgiving. I’m thinking about doing a Cornish game hen- small enough not to be intimidating, as well as not having as much waste because i can’t eat a lot of it (I can freeze the extra). Maybe some stuffing. I WANT to eat that. I hope I do better in a few weeks. I am determined to get well. It’s just slow going, with trial and error. I don’t feel like I necessarily failed today- but I do think I’m learning how to minimize panic, while eating things that are still scary. The cake may have sucked, but I still ate it. Next time, I’ll get something different. Live and learn. -
Eating Disorders & Age
Photo- mine
When I first was diagnosed with anorexia in 1981, it was thought that eating disorders were something that only impacted teens and those in their early 20s. That is absolutely NOT accurate. More and more women AND men, from all backgrounds, socioeconomic levels, and ages are being diagnosed with eating disorders. Some were never diagnosed accurately earlier in their lives, but many are being diagnosed for the first time in middle age, or older. Only %6 of those with eating disorders are medically underweight (according to the highly flawed BMI chart; someone can be within the “normal’ weight range, and be underweight for their body type). Every 52 minutes someone dies as a result of an eating disorder. More than 27 people per day are lost to eating disorders. Someone’s mother, father, sister, brother, daughter, son, cousin, aunt, uncle, grandparent…. gone.
General statistics on eating disorders-
https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/statistics/#general-eating-disorder-statistics
Eating disorders in older adults-
https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/bjpsych-advances/article/disordered-eating-in-older-people-some-causes-and-treatments/0F154FFC05FD133ACAC04A19ECF3258F
There is a huge disparity between age groups as far as correct diagnosis and treatment, with those who aren’t underweight being essentially ignored. I’ve had chronic medical complications from over 5 decades of disordered eating and restriction, with many of the symptoms of starvation (low blood pressure and heart rate for long enough that my kidneys are damaged, dehydration, feeling cold, delayed gastric emptying, etc), and not one doctor ever questioned my eating habits at the time, even though I’ve got anorexia in my medical history. My nephrologist was the one who identified that my chronic kidney disease was NOT from diabetes as was assumed, but from hypo-perfusion of my kidneys. He also looked at lab work that is routinely done for kidney patients, and with certain things being low, he told me that the only reason those labs were at those levels is from not eating enough. He gave me 2 weeks to eat more, get more fluids in, and a lab recheck or he was going to hospitalize me for medical issues related to restricted eating. I have been in acute renal failure twice in 4 1/2 years from restriction. I’m in my early 60s.
I worked at a nursing home in the 90s, and there was a lady there that starved her way down to 50 pounds, in spite of a lengthy list of interventions. She was in the facility along with her husband, and they shared a ‘room plus’ (a sitting area outside of the bedroom area) on the wing with the most independent residents. She was eventually transferred to a psych hospital (only place that would take an elderly patient) in a larger city about 60 miles away, after hours of talking to EMS transport (only medical transport we had in that town then), her psychiatrist (nice guy), and the family. Because of her age, she was given some wonky diagnosis that really didn’t fit. She came back about 25 pounds heavier (she was petite to start with), and lost some weight again, though not as severely as before. She eventually died. I don’t remember the official cause of death, but I’ve always thought that she was blown off in regard to anorexia nervosa because of her age.
I’ve seen several interviews of anorexic middle aged, or older, women. Some didn’t have any eating disorder history until a spouse/partner died, children moved away, a family tragedy, severe illnesses, or other traumatic events. Others had been anorexic in earlier life, but had decades of time when their eating was stable, and they weren’t losing weight. And a few had developed anorexia in their teens, and had never had a period of stable eating and appropriate weights. You can search YouTube for ‘eating disorders in older adults’ or ‘ middle-aged eating disorders’ for videos on this.
The genetic component is also interesting to me. I’ve got a paternal aunt who has been anorexic since her teens. She must be in her late 70s now. I’ve never met her (I was adopted but found my biological family), but have seen many photos from across her lifespan, and her diagnosis of ‘late onset schizophrenia’ doesn’t match with the degree of interaction or engaged affect in photos (I worked with many schizophrenic patients when I was a RN). But she is very petite, and a close family member of hers said she’d been anorexic for as long as she’d known her. She wasn’t ‘scary thin’, so again, my gut reaction is that her eating disorder damaged her brain because of nutritional deficiencies that have been in place since her teens, as well as how long she’d been engaging in restrictive eating in general. She could easily pass as someone who is just ‘smaller framed’- and with her age, nobody questioned her nutritional state in regards to her symptoms. Who knows what kind of psychiatric meds she’s been put on, when it’s possible she might need nutritional support.
It’s pretty common in older age to have some type of nutritional deficiencies as appetites change with age, along with grief and depression that occur following the loss of family and friends. There are many vitamin and mineral deficiencies that can cause or mimic mental illnesses. It’s important not to start supplements without talking to your primary care provider. But it’s also something to be aware that nutrition impacts mental health. The best ‘fix’ for nutritional deficiencies is better nutrition!
Nutritional deficiencies and mental health-
https://doctor.ndtv.com/nutrition/9-mental-health-issues-nutrient-deficiencies-it-could-indicate-8812494Vitamin B 12 deficiency can cause psychotic and dementia like symptoms. It can be reversed if treated in time. If not, it can be permanent. Vitamin B 12 deficiency can also be a big issue in vegetarian and vegan diets in all ages (which can be used by those with eating disorders in order to avoid higher calorie protein sources). As someone who was a RN for 35 years, I do not advise getting B 12 shots at shops in malls, that give them without medical assessment or lab work. The strength of the injections may not be what is appropriate for everyone. Talk to your doctor if you suspect any nutritional deficiencies, and get the appropriate lab work. There are places that will do lab work without a MD order if your doctor dismisses your concerns; you can search for these online in your area.
Find a lab-
https://www.ultalabtests.com/?msclkid=49a2b9308ef414bdf2e5d022da946273&utm_source=bing&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=Generic%7CNonbrand%7CBroad&utm_term=medical%20laboratory%20tests&utm_content=Ad%20group%201
Vitamin B 12 and mental health-
https://www.newstarget.com/2025-09-16-vitamin-b12-deficiency-overlooked-cause-psychiatric-symptoms.html -
I Saw My Dietician Today- My Head Is Changing! *insert happy dance*
Photo- mine (and blurry)
My dietician asked me something today, and I hadn’t even realized that I’ve been doing it for about 6-8 months. She asked if I still freaked out about having to eat X, Y, or Z, but knew that I needed to do it because it was the healthy thing to do. Yup. I do !! I AM thinking differently. I think the YouTube videos are sinking in, at least “enough” to make a difference. I knew I’d been able to put enough in a bowl to get food in- but not paid attention to my thinking around it. It has been just a chore to get done. But there is the focus on not letting carbs drop too much to strain kidneys.Since Ex-T has been MIA for nearly all of the last 5 months (and sketchy consistency before then x 2+ years), I know it has nothing to do with her. I still have trouble ‘feeding’ that thing I see in the mirror, but I know that to keep my kidneys from going into acute failure again, I have to get minimums in of protein, carbs, and fat. That’s the ‘loophole’ in my head – keeping my kidneys going. And Ex-T’s absence and lack of phone calls actually made has forced me to figure it out on my own when I’m in the moment. She tended to want people to come to her and ask for more contact, and I’m not into that- either do what is discussed, or quit saying that any phone call is coming. SO, her absence has made me stronger.
I’m still stuck when it comes to eating something because it sounds good, but I can consistently get the macros in, even if the assortment is a bit odd (breakfast tomorrow- cheese, crackers, strawberries). While I still fear gaining weight, and don’t enjoy eating or food prep, I’m still getting it done. And my weight has been stable since regaining what I’d lost, and is going down slowly again. I am wanting to lose quite a bit of weight, but I don’t want to go backwards. This has been hell to get to this point, and I’m nowhere near comfortable with food sitting in me.
Body composition has also changed for the better. I used to have visible tendons behind my knees from muscle atrophy- which is why I have a wheelchair for larger areas. The tendons aren’t visible (not thrilled with that if I’m honest, but at the same time, I know that muscle atrophy isn’t good). My right bicep and both calf muscles were essentially gone. They’re back, though I still have too much fat. I have little bits of hair on my arms for the first time since it all fell out during chemo in 2010. Protein has been an issue for decades d/t prep and cooking time, and the changes in how much muscle has grown back is noticeable. I’ve never eaten this much protein for this long in my life (60 grams/day per kidney disease limits).
It took me until tonight to realize what that question (and answer) meant in the overall picture of recovering. I’ve got a toehold now ! I don’t cry when I open the fridge door and have to choose something. There are days when I really don’t want food, but I make something happen, even if it’s just snacky stuff or a protein bar. My dietician talked about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (not allowed when I was a kid) because of limited protein options, quick/easy prep, and the healthy fats in peanut butter. Even 4-5 months ago, I would have freaked, but I think it’s OK to try. I know I like them, and especially with Aldi, they are very affordable which is huge now. It’s all about how i portion it.
I’m pretty pleased with this and at the same time, it’s scary. Getting ‘too’ comfortable with food is still a threat in my head. I still manipulate the numbers so I don’t go over my ‘quotas’. If I eat something unplanned, I redo the rest of the day’s food plan. BUT, at least there is a shift towards the good, and getting well. That is the most encouraging thing that’s gone on in 3 1/2 years. . -
It Started Out Pretty Well Before the Breadcrumbing
Photo- mine, turkey tail mushrooms
I have to be fair about how ‘therapy’ was – not just the bad ending. It started out well. I wasn’t in good shape, after not eating solid food for about a week, and in the middle of ’round 2′ in 2 years of losing weight rapidly. The first part of the relapse started in May 2021. When my labs came back, my kidneys were in lousy shape – as in getting used to the idea of a transplant list. I was in acute renal failure from cutting carbs too much, breaking down muscle that my kidneys had to deal with circling around in my bloodstream. I got out of that by increasing carbs, but still restricted. Then I restricted more, but kept ‘enough’ carbs on board not to make my kidneys worse. I’ve had chromic kidney disease for about 8 years, from inadequate blood pressure and heart rate along with dehydration after decades of restricted eating.
I’ve been through enough relapses (vs. my ‘normal’ restricting that I thought was fairly normal) to know when I’m getting into trouble, and it didn’t take long when I started losing again. Over the past 4 1/2 years, I’ve lost/gained/lost/gained a total 220 pounds (45 down/up, then 65 down/up). That’s hard on a body. When I was having more and more difficulty with just getting in my 500-600 calories/day and unable to ‘snap out of it’ (labs were stable) I decided to contact the eating disorder therapist I’d seen on Facebook, after first hearing about her on 20/20 in the late 90s. After I’d found her on FB, I told myself that if she was still treating people, AND had an opening, I’d take that as a sign that it was meant to be. I also thought there was no way all three of those would happen, but they did.
By the time I had my first phone session with Ex-T, I was barely even drinking enough water. I was getting just enough in, but that was about it after I’d cut the tube feeding formula out 5 days earlier. Ex-T was at an airport flying home, and she talked me through an 8 oz bottle of kefir. I’m not sure how long it took, but it was hard. My head was so against anything with calories, and it was a fight to get every sip down. She had a connecting flight, and called me from the next airport, and again when she got home, like she said she would. To distract me, she sent a video of some deer she’d seen near where she’d been staying. She was very kind and patient, just as I’d seen on the TV show.
For the next several weeks, she called a few times a day to check in and tell me what to eat. That was very helpful, because it took the ‘blame’ of eating away from me, so my head wouldn’t go after me as much. It was also difficult, because I wasn’t used to some of the foods she wanted me to eat (though she never told me I had to eat anything that I really didn’t like) and the amounts were not what I was used to. She didn’t asked me to eat a lot at one time, except for once (2 whole bagels and cream cheese). I just wasn’t used to eating what normal people did, because I never knew what that was like. From that, we both realized that I had no clue about what normal eating was- I don’t remember it. So, she was trying to undo 5 decades of food restriction, whether imposed or when I went off the rails during the summer of 1981 and haven’t been the same since.
Refeeding syndrome was a risk, and both Ex-T and my dietician said the same thing. Ex-T was in charge of food, but I had to see someone local, in person, in order for Ex-T to accept me as a patient, which was prudent. I’d seen the dietician a year or two before then, so had a bit of history with her, and knew I could work with here on this end of things. I hadn’t heard of refeeding syndrome, but looked up some stuff on it, though retaining information was a problem, and still isn’t back to my ‘normal’ of reading 3-4 novels a week. Ex-T gave me firm instructions that I was not to eat anything she didn’t tell me to eat, and if I wanted something else, I needed to check with her, and this was to keep me safe at that point. It wasn’t about controlling my food (or me) as much as it was to keep me from getting into potentially fatal complications.
I ended up with a concussion about a week or so after moving from my childhood home to an apartment, and that was problematic because of vertigo, nausea, memory issues, and constant ringing in my ears (still have constant ‘cicadas’ chirping nonstop 3 1/2 years later). That move was about a week or so after the first phone calls. Then, there were a bunch of infections and a sepsis scare, and she was very attentive with calls and messages. My blood pressure and heart rate were still erratic, and I was on activity restriction limited to being up for 10 minutes three times a day except for getting food or showering. My dietician said the same thing, without talking to Ex-T, so that helped that they were on the same page. I passed out a lot, and also have seizures (diagnosed when I was 22), which were more unstable. I was a mess. Being conscious was never guaranteed.
For about 5 months, if Ex-T said she was going to call, she generally did. I knew that the contact would decrease as I got more stable, and was fully on board with that. There were some humorous conversations and messages, and the relaxed ‘tone’ to the ‘therapy’ was pleasant. I had ‘homework’ assignments, to give background info on family, food history, trauma history, medical issues, etc. Those first 5-5 1/2 months were fine. I didn’t have any ‘red flags’ going off about anything. I had hope that I was going to get better.
Then, Ex-T asked me if I could pay double for more intensive contact for 6 months. I agreed, hoping that it would cut time off of the back end of the estimated 2-2 1/2 years the five stages would take to work through. Within a couple of weeks, the first signs of trouble started. Ex-T had gone back to Europe for the winter, and was working ‘in person’ with several patients who were further along in their therapy with her. I heard nothing from her for a couple of weeks (and was in chaos with what to eat). I finally contacted another patient who I’d been in phone contact with for a few months, and she told me that things had been very hectic, and a guy from Oceania had just shown up at the airport. When I did talk to Ex-T, she told me he was only 29kg (about 64 pounds), and she couldn’t turn him away. Turns out, he weighed more than that when he got there… 29kg was his lowest ever weight.
I have a hard time believing that someone just showed up at the airport to start ‘live-in’ treatment from another hemisphere without there being some planning involved. I believe she knew about this when she asked me to pay double. My heart sank, and the first very serious doubts kicked in. I understood not wanting to turn away someone that ill- I had no problem with that. But I did have trouble paying for more intensive time that was sporadic at best, and didn’t start for several weeks. I asked Ex-T if we should postpone my more intensive ‘therapy’ until the guy was more stable. She said no; she could do both. But it didn’t turn out that way. I never really got past that point in the ‘five stages’ in her program (stage 2), but I was so ashamed to send photos of what I’d eaten (how she checked what and how much I was having), or have someone on the phone talking me through food when she had the 64 pound guy there. It messed with my head a lot.
I was stalled with food for months after that, and then ended up with issues related to gout medication, so I had to change the types of protein I had. That was just one more thing that focused on food and medical stuff. All of that makes eating disorder recovery so much worse. In the past, I didn’t have to weigh out protein or limit (severely at times) how much protein food I ate. Even being diabetic wasn’t that big of an issue since I was diet controlled for 12 years. I’ve been on insulin for 18 years now. So, I wasn’t supposed to focus on numbers, but had to for insulin dosing, kidney disease, and gout flare prevention. Ex-T was agreeable to me managing the amounts of protein since I was here alone, and knew what I needed to do. She would still give input about other foods, at least for a while.
At any rate, the first 5-6 months were difficult only in that eating was so miserable, but not because of Ex-T. I was sick a lot. I passed out fairly often (have had a ‘safety routine’ when I first get out of bed, to avoid hitting the floor). My head was constantly upset about how much I was eating, even though I knew that for a ‘normal’ person, the portions were more snack-sized (though had 5-6 of them a day). I knew she wasn’t asking me to eat too much. My stomach was a mess with bloating, so that didn’t help. I was (and still am) using an NG tube to be sure I got enough fluids in. That started just to get me through a bladder infection, but it’s still in 3 1/2 years later (I change the tube every 4-6 weeks, and was trained as a RN on how to do that; do NOT attempt that if you don’t know what you’re doing- you could literally drown from it). I am doing better drinking fluids normally, but on ‘bad bloat’ days, it’s still hard. I want to remember more of the OK time. The lousy ending is still very raw, so I’m struggling. But it wasn’t horrible at the beginning. And there were some OK months with fairly regular contact after the guy was more stable, when I was supposed to be doing more intensive stuff. There were many calls that didn’t happen, and that got much worse a couple of years ago and continued getting more sporadic to the tune of not getting a call for a month (more than once or twice), but I didn’t know I was being breadcrumbed at the time.
It saddens me a lot that someone whose views I once respected so much became such a source of pain and stress. Trust is gone, and has been shaky for a while. This was a last shot. If I can’t get it together with my dietician and the YouTube recovery videos, I will never be free of the food wars in my head. I can deal with getting enough macros in each day, because my head ‘allows’ for keeping my kidneys from a third run-in with acute kidney failure- that’s been a loophole for several years.
I saw my dietitian today for the first time in 6 months (long summer of biopsies and tests), and she thinks I seem stronger mentally after ending contact/therapy with Ex-T, after I said I felt stronger. She is also checking into the YouTube content creators who share information based on their experiences with being recovered, and believe in a ‘no diet’ mentality. Single serving size packages of foods (frozen dinners, hummus, guacamole, fruit, etc) are also helpful for not being as scary. I’m no longer having to follow more food restricted by Ex-T, so my veggie intake has gone up (especially eggplant parmesan entrees, and bell peppers for a chickpea/feta/veggie/olive salad). So I am moving forward.I don’t have the hope I once did, but I’m not giving up.
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Grieving Hope of Recovery With Ex-Therapist
Photo- mine
It might sound weird to grieve for something that never happened. But I’d dreamed of getting well with someone who seemed to have figured out how to get the eating disorder voice to go quiet for good. She has helped a lot of people, but it seems that she loses interest quickly when the money runs out- even though she said she’d still keep me (after paying $32,700K USD- the agreed monthly amount before she accepted me). The calls petered out, and there was always an excuse. But what hurt the most is basically being blown off while I was still paying. I know that sounds stupid. I’m skeptical of a LOT normally. I’m not one to believe most people after so many violations of trust in my life, or taking advantage/targeting me because I want to be helpful or ‘good’ to others. But I felt I could trust her. I was very, very wrong.
The ongoing and lengthy absences with no warning, constant excuses (I don’t even know what things to believe are true or not), telling me other patients’ private information, and calls that never came just reinforced the feeling of worthlessness, with no acknowledgment of that whatsoever from her. When other patients did something she didn’t like, I was told by her that they were difficult or were somehow worth more of her time, when I did what I could not to cause problems. And that was a huge mistake. I needed squeaky wheels to be acknowledged- like she needed the patients to swarm to her for contact. I don’t do that 4th grade crap. This whole thing has been traumatic and painful. It’s hard when hope gets blown off by a person who is supposed to be a ‘last resort’. Her promises meant nothing.
I wanted the freedom to not think about food and losing weight that has haunted me since I was 6 years old. I wanted to be able to have something just because I like it- not because it’s specifically to fit into the macro numbers. I wanted my head to be ‘rewired’ so that I had a healthier relationship with food, so I could be more social with friends, and get my body repaired. It’s been through a lot.
But those dreams aren’t dead (they are with that therapist), and I still hope to get well via YouTube eating disorder recovery videos that all promote basically the same thing. Don’t restrict food. Period. Weight will even out when the body knows it’s going to get consistent food, and doesn’t have to hang on to calories for fear of not getting enough. I still have trouble with that because I’m not thin- but I have to try something, and with the numbers of people who have recovered with this method (intuitive eating and feast v famine mentality and body response), there has to be something to it. And aside from buying the books that Tabitha Farrar and Elisa Oras have written, it’s free. I also have my IRL dietician, who is very helpful, and knows I’m struggling. She also always responds to questions via email. If she’s out of the office, I get a notification that she’ll contact me when she’s back.I am hoping I have the nerve to have a piece of birthday cake this year- kind of a celebration of being free from the psychological manipulation and control by someone who isn’t worthy of such power, as well as not doing what my head says about being too ‘bad’ to deserve a bit of cake. Little goals.
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When Bingeing Is Self-Preservation: Extreme Hunger
Image- Texas Monthly issue on BBQ (not sure which restaurant this is from)
For those who don’t understand the body’s primary goal of keeping us alive, bingeing might not make a lot of sense. But when someone has been restricting for any period of time, if the body senses that there’s an urgent need to offset any calorie deficits, it does a few things. One is the obsessive thinking about food. Another is focused on feeding others. And when the mental cues to eat are ignored, an almost out of body thing happens… it’s like a mandate to eat. For some, it’s a lot. For others, it’s uncomfortable if it’s not planned meal plan food. But the ultimate purpose is to get calories into a body running on empty. Extreme hunger is normal after a period of restriction.
Tabitha Farrar talks about the feast and famine responses in her book “Rehabilitate, Rewire, Recover!” (second edition is out now). It goes back to cave man days, when food was sporadic and seasonal. The people in some areas were more nomadic to help source food, but even if people stayed in the same basic area, people ate when food was plentiful to prepare for times of less food.
I know from nursing school that homeostasis is the goal of the body at all times. Physical hunger cues can be trashed with eating disorders, because they’ve been ignored for so long. Mental cues and insomnia are other ‘kicks in the butt’ to look for food- and again are often ignored. Extreme hunger is like a tornado siren on loudspeaker when the body must. Have. Food.
The fear of “bingeing”/eating and possible weight gain is incredibly hard to deal with. Anything that could trigger weight gain is avoided- until it can’t be. It is just trying to get calories into a starving body, no matter how long it takes, or how long it lasts. I’m still at a place where I resist any mental or physical hunger if it falls outside of planned food. I want that to change, and I’m also very afraid of it. Not being thin, or even ‘normal weight’, I have trouble justifying feeding what I see in the mirror. I still don’t feel I deserve food, and the chaos with the “expert” isn’t helping, since she was restricting what and how much I ate when she was in control over my food. When I get either mental or physical hunger, I panic.
But, it does help to hear multiple accounts from people on YouTube who had extreme hunger (often mistaken for bingeing) and that it didn’t last forever. Some gained considerable amounts of weight, and then settled into THEIR body’s healthy weight- which often has nothing in common with that stupid BMI chart. Extreme hunger can be physical or mental. Both are valid, and the current recommendations are to honor that by eating what your body is asking for, as much as it needs. By replenishing the stores, the hunger dissipates over time once things are again in balance with needs and energy requirements. From what I’ve read, the time this takes varies with each person.
While I haven’t read a lot about binge eating disorder, there are those who believe that the excessive eating is really a response to restriction in those folks as well. That does make sense. I’ve known several people who don’t eat that much to support their weight, but who describe not being able to control their hunger once it hits. -
When ‘Self-Worth’ Therapist Seems To See Me As Disposable
Photo- mine
A big part of the eating disorder therapy with my now ex-therapist was based on increasing self worth. There were a lot of terms of endearment and declarations that I was loved. But words are really, really cheap when they’re not followed up with actions. I feel even less worthy of food or contact with other people now, after being breadcrumbed and manipulated. I was used for payments, with nothing consistent in return.
How are the following supposed to help feeling ‘worth’ something?
– more phone calls not made than made after saying she’d call– telling me how she was spending time with other patients or flying to other countries to see them when I didn’t even get a stupid phone call
– being told that she was making food for other patients at her house while I was barely able to open the fridge without breaking down in tears
– telling me I could call if I wasn’t OK, after a message that wasn’t responded to, but then declining the call and telling me she’d get back to me “if possible” (she’d gotten off the phone with me before when others had emergencies).
– spending over a year recording the audio book for one of her yet to be published books (working on one since blog dated in 2013), contacting me now and then, but nothing consistent
– the whole asking for money for personal reasons, and then greatly reducing contact when I couldn’t send more, after she said she’d keep me on when I told her I couldn’t pay past last December. She asked for another year, knowing I couldn’t pay- and then had very little to do with me when she knew I was going through some serious medical issues- during which time she asked for more money for personal reasons, telling me to sell things. I didn’t have the money to send, and no phone contact from her for a month after that.
– telling me she’d send information, food lists, etc- and not doing them, aside from the food list that took over a year to receive (and she was supposed to be approving what I ate).
– telling me i was like a daughter to her, and that she wished she’d raised me. I was better off with the one I had, even with the abuse and neglect.
– wanting to have control over food again when she couldn’t even be trusted to call when she said she would, and disappeared for up to a month at a time with very few, and brief messages– sending me the wrong person’s messages- like she was cramming more than one of us into some ‘time slot’ at the same time
– making all kinds of comments that she couldn’t back up, or that sounded very strange (referring to her and her daughter’s medical issues). Hearing them as a RN, many didn’t make any sense.– wondering what she’ll say to others about me after she told me thinks about other patients that I should never have heard
– knowing that her words were worth very little, and that I was just another name on a to-do list, when she got around to it. I have no reason to believe anything she told me about anything
How do I work on recovery when I feel worth even less now? I know it’s ‘her stuff’, but it impacted me badly. How can I warn others? Or will they just do what I did, and hope that she truly was how she came across in the media? How does someone use another person’s vulnerability and desperation to get well as some kind of psychological control/manipulation vehicle? What therapist has such low integrity to ask patients for money that isn’t part of the payment agreement FOR therapy? What kind of person does that? I guess one consolation is that I’m not like her. I do get comfort from that. I just wish those still in her talons knew that they were being used. -
Figuring Out Little Steps To Quiet the Eating Disorder “Voice”
PHOTO- mine; window in the kitchen at my childhood home. Designed by Tom Heflin and made by Frank Hautkamp
It is so hard to justify eating when I see what is in the mirror. Logically, I know that food is fuel, but for as long as I can remember, it was seen as something to be avoided at any cost, and the value of nutrition was never in the mix. As an adult, and nurse for 35 years, I had to take a nutrition class (skimpy on useful info) and learned more disease-specific nutrition issues during nursing school. And none of that ever seemed like anything I deserved. Even when I had lost weight prior to college, and was at the lower end of what looked OK in my body type, I still had to compensate for any calories consumed.
SO, I’m trying to find ways to go against my head, but not add weight. I’m back to my pre-relapse weight (again), and some things I’ve read said that it’s more likely my weight will stabilize as long as I don’t start to restrict more again. That is so hard. Eating is uncomfortable physically, and the shame of eating is still strong. I get away with getting food in if it’s going to keep my kidneys from going AWOL, but that’s about it. Everything else is a constant reminder from my eating disorder voice (head) that i’m not good enough to eat food I enjoy. There has to be a purpose for the food to justify it.
My dietician told me it’s OK to have something once in a while just because I want it- no rules other than safety with the chronic medical issues that dictate some food rules that I can’t eliminate- but hope to get more settled. I will be doing a pre-holiday grocery list to get later in November, and I decided on Peppermint Stick Ice Cream, which is seasonal here, and a favorite of mine. My head is already chastising me for something so indulgent, and yet I don’t plan on eating a lot of it, but being able to taste something I really used to enjoy. It’s been at least 12-13 years since i had it, and like usual, I had some and then threw the rest away. This year, I plan to divide it into ‘safe’ portions, and put them in airtight cups to eat during the remainder of the cooler months. That sounds so stupid to have to plan ice cream like that. But it’s either that, or I can’t bring myself to eat it.
Getting fresh fruits and veggies has been good again. I have to be careful that the low calorie nature of produce doesn’t require increasing other foods to the point that volume becomes very uncomfortable. It seems there’s always something physical that keeps the mental aspect on a rollercoaster trajectory, and that can be exhausting.
One of my favorite meals (now that there are no external ‘bans’ on any foods or food groups) is a chickpea salad. I combine canned chickpeas, kalamata olives, feta cheese, red/yellow/orange bell peppers (any one or combo), cucumber, red onion, a few croutons, and a Greek vinaigrette. It’s super simple, and good for a few days, so prep is maximized. The croutons and dressing go on last minute. Lettuce doesn’t really have enough nutrition to justify the expense, so my salad is made from salad toppings. I like meat, but with gout vegetarian options are safer for avoiding gout flares, and I like the fresh veggies in this. It’s taken a long time for my head to let me say something is a favorite. ‘Liking’ something has been too close to ending up on some wild binge, though I haven’t really binged for a long time (decades). I’ve eaten things I didn’t plan on, and that freaked me out, but nothing compared to 1981 when I only had an apple or 1/2 baked potato each day during the week, and then went nuts on the weekend.
The little steps are things most people never think about, and that’s great for them. For me, making the jump from shame to viewing food as fuel seems like climbing Mt Everest on my hands and knees. To ‘want’ something is to risk eating something that has been condemned since childhood. And I still have trouble seeing food as a ‘need’, even though my body (kidneys in particular) have made it clear that they’re fed up with running on fumes. In some ways, the acute kidney failure twice in 4 1/2 years was a wake up call that I could deal with because it wasn’t requiring that I feed myself, but consume enough to protect my kidneys. That probably sounds whacko to ‘normal’ people, but at this point, I’ll take whatever sinks in that leads towards being healthier. At my age, I don’t have more time for failed attempts. -
Why Did It Take So Long To Get Out of A Therapy Relationship That Wasn’t Working ?
Photo- mine
I’ve written about it taking nearly 3 years before I ended therapy with my online eating disorder therapist AFTER I felt something ‘off’. It’s been so difficult to leave- partly because I’m out $33K USD, and am not much better off than I was when I started- so hoped I could still eek something out of ‘therapy’. The other part of it is that this has been kind of like an indoctrination, along with some Stockholm Syndrome-like reactions (not full-blown, but being sucked into the drama). It’s sort of like how I imagine grooming in a cult or sex-trafficking. It’s not all at once, and when it’s happening, it doesn’t seem that problematic. But it’s a calculated form of manipulation that is often used to make future exploitation easier, and to get psychological control.
https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/22387-stockholm-syndrome
https://neurolaunch.com/emotional-grooming/
Everything started out feeling acceptable, and I felt accepted. There were lots of terms of endearment, and even a nickname she’d use with me. The interactions at first were focused on refeeding safely (even when overweight, it’s possible to have potentially life-threatening complications when eating resumes). I was in contact with the therapist a few times a day for a while, so she could let me know what to eat next, and see where I was with everything. It got a bit more complicated when I ended up with a concussion, and slept for about a week. But for the first 5-6 months, there weren’t any red flags. That’s the basis for being able to BE groomed. It’s got to seem within normal boundaries, and there has to be ‘enough’ trust. I wanted to believe that she was good.
During those earlier months, I did go from eating nothing for about a week prior to officially starting therapy (food is first with recovery, obviously), after having been doing tube feeding – either supplements or nearly all nutrition- via NG tube (tube from nose to stomach- do NOT try to do that if you’re not trained- or you can literally drown with whatever is in the feeding bag). Before therapy started, I’d restricted down to about 500 calories a day, and ended up in acute renal failure. Eventually, I was eating some solid foods- mostly yogurt, oatmeal, hummus, a few crackers, kefir, and eventually some fruits and veggies, as well as fish (until gout reared its ugly head). And, it also became obvious rather quickly that I’d never known ‘normal’ with food, and this was basically who I thought I was- I couldn’t separate the eating disorder ‘voice’ (like loud thoughts) from myself. Things were more ‘stuck’ than I imagined. And I hated having to eat as much as I was told to, even though the portions weren’t excessive. They just were sent to a stomach that had been in retirement for decades.
Then I was asked if I could pay double for more intensive therapy for 6 months. I was hoping that would shave time off of the back end of therapy, so I agreed. Within 2 weeks of that, I couldn’t reach my therapist at all. I think it was about 10 days before I reached another patient that I was in contact with as a supplementary support person. She told me that a “kid” (everyone is a ‘kid’ which reinforces the authority of the therapist) from Oceania had shown up at the airport, weighing about 64 pounds, and my therapist was tied up with him at restaurants getting him to eat. I was never notified by my therapist until a couple of weeks later- and it’s hard for me to believe that he just showed up with his mom, from another hemisphere, and it wasn’t planned. I think she knew he was coming when she asked me for double the therapy fee.
That’s when the “not right” feeling started. I also didn’t need to know his weight- I wanted to be underweight. I understood logically that he needed more intense help, since I understood triage as a RN. But to ask for double the money, for no contact for a couple of weeks, and then a bit more contact for a while, before going back to erratic calls. She said she’d call more often than she actually did. I even asked if we should postpone the intensive time (that went to the skinny guy), and was told no- she could handle both. Not the case. I basically felt like I’d been shoved into a dark corner, and only brought into light when it was convenient. The ‘intensive’ was an intensive drain on my bank account, but I still wanted to get well so badly. Being terrified and desperate makes for poor decisions on my part. I cried a LOT every time I sent in a payment, having to decide if a bit of contact was better than no contact. (Hindsight: NO).
Things settled into an “irregular regular” set up. I knew that phone calls may or may not come, so I stopped putting off laundry, taking out the trash, getting the mail, taking a shower, getting groceries delivered, etc so I wouldn’t miss calls. Food was still very difficult to manage on my own, so hearing that 2 “kids” living with her were getting stuff handed to them multiple times a day while I was in tears every time I opened the fridge door was more than difficult. It felt like rubbing my face in not having more money to ‘deserve’ more contact. In the beginning, she agreed to the price for one call/week and the ability to email or message 24/7. I’m not the sort to want to contact someone when i know they’re busy, and she knew that. Later, she told me when she was flying to different countries to ‘see kids’ when I was waiting for a stupid phone call. It was more than painful. And yet, there was enough to still think she was at least still a little bit invested in helping me. She had me hooked on her bait of empty promises.
My therapist then moved from one continent to another, and during that time, we had some contact, and I still had contact with the other patient. Once settled in the next country, calls were happening, but there wasn’t much substance to a lot of them. I started to feel a bit like I was the comic relief for the therapist’s benefit. We did a few actual therapy sessions, but I don’t remember anything that made a difference as far as getting better. That’s all I wanted- was to get better. Not have an international buddy.
There was always some reason for missed calls…. sick (that was frequent), fell asleep, emergency, migraine, etc. ALWAYS some excuse. OR she’d fall asleep when she was on the phone with me. I asked her repeatedly NOT to tell me she was going to call until she was ready to talk. One night (she liked calling me later when everyone else was asleep), she told me she’d call in 15 minutes, and couldn’t manage to stay awake for that. Then DON’T TELL ME there’s going to be a call that ends up triggering more “not worth the time” stuff.
Sure, she asked how I was- and she was very good at listening, which kept things feeling like they were “normal” therapy…. except when the calls not made exceeded the ones that actually were made. There were times when some emergency call would come in that she had to take, so I was the one who felt shorted out by contact going to someone else AGAIN. For a therapy that is supposed to build self-worth, not even having a phone call made when others were living with her, or with whom she visited in other countries, was a big blow to any self-worth. I was already running on fumes in this department.
When the ex-therapist started recording her next book, that took her out of commission for about a year. I did hear from her “enough” to seem like things COULD still move forward, but I was having more doubts. Again, the ‘crumbs’ of contact kept me engaged while allowing her to do other things. But I knew if she’d seen messages or not, and days could go by when that ‘lifeline’ wasn’t being monitored- or she just blew me off. I’ll never know what was true about anything she ever said to me… because that’s part of the whole mess. Confusion. Inconsistency. Hot/cold contact. No response to really rough times.
During the “good” times, I really enjoyed the phone calls, and kept wondering when the therapy part started. There were some humorous times. But gradually, the calls decreased more, until I heard from her more when she wanted money for a family member or herself, or a quick check-in when it was convenient for her. When I ever mentioned not wanting to keep going with therapy, I got the “you’re not capable of making that decision at this point”…. uh, lady- if a doctor hasn’t declared me incompetent, I can make any damn decision about my health that I want to make… I just wish I’d had the strength back then to get out.
When I’d run out of money that I set aside for therapy, I told her 3 months before I’d be stopping because of using up the money I’d allotted for therapy, and she said she would still continue therapy, even if I couldn’t afford it. But the grossly inappropriate requests for money continued. I said no a few times, and with one situation, she messaged me to sell everything I could to get her $1000 to “invest” in her website. She has had multiple deadlines for the ‘website’, and I don’t gamble like that. I can’t afford to. I don’t have the energy to sell stuff if I wanted to. I’ve never gotten back to ‘normal activities’. I never got off of activity restriction from the beginning of therapy, though I’ve been able to increase it somewhat. For a therapist to ask for money from a patient for anything but the agreed upon therapy fee is a huge red flag to run like hell… but that isn’t what ‘did it’ as far as totally cutting her out of my life. And I don’t even know if there is a website or other books… on an old blog site, she was working on the book since 2013. I don’t know what to believe.In April of 2025, I had some potentially lethal medical issues come up, that eventually involved a biopsy under general anesthesia, and later a colonoscopy and upper endoscopy for more biopsies. My dog was also very ill and was put to sleep on May 22- my only daily contact with a living thing for the previous 12+ years was gone. Then, after doing what she said I could do if things were seriously wrong ( message her, and if I didn’t hear back in 15 min, go ahead and call), I had the call declined, and a message “I’ll call you in an hour IF POSSIBLE”…. what the hell? I understood not being able to get off the phone (though she did when others had emergencies and she was on the phone with me). I didn’t contact her for urgent calls often AT ALL (maybe 2 times in over 3 years). I still don’t know if that polyp is cancerous yet. I can’t deal with the prep volume they’ve doubled, and they won’t work with me at all with that, so I guess I know how I’ll croak.
Then, I messaged her later that they wanted to do a 2nd colonoscopy with twice the prep over 2 days when I couldn’t get one dose down for the first one. I was in tears, knowing I had to make a life/death decision. She called right away, and said we’d talk the next day about ways to minimize the volume intolerance of a gallon of prep spread over a specific time period. The next day, I never got a call. Or for many, many days after that. Between September 10th and October 3rd (30 min voice call), there was no contact. Then on October 10th or 11th, she wanted to talk to me. I asked why, and she said it was important to both of us. She wanted to tell me she had COVID (one of 120 in the town of 62K where she said she was living). That could have been said in a message.
She knew I’d flunked the colon cancer screening (Cologuard), had an abnormal MRI related to my colon, and they’d found a large polyp (‘with more possible’ on the report) but couldn’t remove it for what they called an incomplete prep. The message about calling me “IF POSSIBLE”, and then no call were the final straw. The message was crystal clear: I didn’t warrant a reply to an SOS message and call. I was done. I’d already emailed her in mid September 2025 about the problems on my end, and no reply until I called her out on it, and got the reply of “I wrote back. I love you.”. THAT was the reply. To about 2 1/2 pages of emails. She addressed none of the things that I was having issues with re: therapy.
I don’t know if I can believe a damn thing she ever said, or that she saw me as more than some drained-dry ATM/cash machine. Before accepting me she knew I was selling my house (auctioned, and got a fraction of what it was worth; medical issues made that the least draining physically). That was NOT her money to tap into, and telling me to sell things was way out of line. If she’d been in the US with a licensing board, I would have reported her.
My feeling is that she’s used to patients acting like some supernatural being is in their presence when she’s around, when she’s actually looking for a payday from patients or their families. I don’t beg anyone for contact- either they have the integrity to do what they say, or they don’t. So, when I saw the article on breadcrumbing, I knew what I was dealing with- a form of emotional manipulation that was never going to change for the better. I think she’s used to getting away with “any contact is better than no contact”, but I don’t play those exploitative and manipulative games. I told her I wouldn’t lie to her and I never did. I wish I knew that she never lied to me, but I think a lot of what she said was bullshit. Her first book even talks about finding things to build someone up- true or not (that’s paraphrased, obviously- I won’t link her first book here). The “I wish I’d been your mother”, “you’re like a daughter to me”, and other quasi-comforting catch phrases all feel like things I want to rid myself of. She also talked about “saving your life”, like if I didn’t get help from her, I was doomed. Um… no. IF anything she’s made my life worse. It pains me to say that.
I wanted to believe in the person I saw on TV years ago. I wanted to believe that someone who knew that eating disorders aren’t about control, fashion, models, or other superficial nonsense. What I got was more painful than if I’d never contacted her. I should have done what I’m doing now- sticking with my dietician, and YouTube folks who have recovered by not restricting. It’s not easy, but at least I don’t have to wonder if the phone will ring, or if I’ll be stood up again.
But when I’ve had it, and it’s no longer even remotely healthy to maintain contact, I’m done. I’d sent the emails about issues with therapy and got no reply a month before the last contact. And then I blocked her from the contact platforms that I could. I wish her and her family well… and well away from me. I’d hoped so much that this would have turned out differently. But when I am not worth more than blown off calls or “I’ll call if possible”- yeah, that’s a line in the sand when I’m literally writing “SOS” on the message. -
Trauma and Eating Disorders
Photo: mine- it was the only footprint in the dry river bed… where did it come from?
There are plenty of articles and videos about the impact of trauma on the development of eating disorders. The attack on self-worth goes deep. For some, ‘disappearing’ is a response to unwanted contact with people. For others, it’s about misplaced shame. When someone is emotionally, sexually, or physically abused, or neglected, there is a major disruption to the foundation of a healthy view of themselves.
I don’t like ‘blame’ for how I view my mom who was one of my primary abusers. She did horrible things, but I think it was more that she was broken than deliberately malicious most of the time. My maternal grandmother also did some sketchy things when I was very young, but I still preferred being there than at home… at least with my grandparents, I wasn’t invisible.
There were traumatic events at the hands of those outside of my family, and one particularly horrific example is with my skating coach. Her husband bludgeoned their six children because he was mad she wanted a divorce. I was 14 at the time, and in another blog I wrote, the comments included many who felt the same way I did… if parents get mad, kids can get killed. I knew the oldest kid from the rink, though not well. My parents also didn’t handle it well, and told me to get over it, it had nothing to do with me. My coach was someone I could just be myself with, and she was very kind to me. I still think about that event every day.
As a young adult, I was raped, beaten, and sodomized for 6 hours before I was able to escape (he finally passed out), and police came. One of them shot the rapist in my bedroom. He didn’t die and I had to testify at the trial. He changed his plea mid-trial and accepted a 60 year sentence. He’s out on parole now for ‘good behavior’ and the stupid Texas law at the time of the crime, but he’s still my bitch until 2048. He planned to dismember me alive with one of my kitchen knives.
There were other less intense sexual assaults… one of the students at the U of IL wanted me to go out with him, and he pinned me to the dorm lobby floor, forcibly kissing me, as if that was some kind of lure. I was as disgusted with him as I was the other students in the lobby who just walked by and did/said nothing. A high school classmate groped me in the hall at school.
Having leukemia was traumatic. The intensity and duration of 20 months of daily chemo of some kind was exhausting, and the stress of the initial weeks when it was possible to die from sneezing and a brain bleed from the increased vascular pressure from a sneeze (or cough, etc) was hard. Being in the hospital for 6 weeks was also difficult, on reverse isolation. I’m fortunate in that the kind of leukemia I had (APL) is curable- not just in remission, and I’m 15 years out from the diagnosis with no sign of it being in my body for the last 15 years (first negative bone marrow test was after 3 weeks of induction chemo).
I didn’t used to think that trauma had anything to do with why I developed an eating disorder because of the way I was groomed for starvation at home, and the ongoing abuse when I was a toddler normalized it for decades- it wasn’t until after the rape that I was taught about types of abuse. Now I can see that the impact of each trauma/abuse did gut any self-worth, and that has a huge impact on who does or doesn’t engage in eating disorder behaviors. Food = staying alive. When being alive becomes too painful, there is an urge not to support its continuation. It’s not a conscious self-harm/suicidal mentality, but that’s what it becomes even if not acknowledged. I have no interest in dying, but I’m also not really living. I hope that changes. -
Doing The Opposite Of What My ‘Head’ Says
Photo: Mine, lychees
This is so hard. I’ve never known “normal” eating, and now have the Ex-T’s “food rules” to undo as well. The entire idea of restrictive eating disorder therapy to undo the restrictive eating disorder is NOT to have food rules (other than those I have to deal with for medical issues- diabetes, kidney disease, and gout). I just want my head to settle down, and not dictate what I eat, how much, when, etc. I’ve had periods of time when it was all less intense, but for the last 4 1/2 years, it’s been pretty constant- the longest continuous time in my life when I’ve been so controlled by ‘my head’ to this degree. I’ve been in acute renal failure/acute kidney injury twice because of not eating enough in those 4 1/2 years. I have to get this sorted out. I do have a dietician, and I’m thankful for her.
Every time I make a day’s food plan, it’s all about ‘the numbers’. I don’t eat things I like UNLESS they also fit into the days ‘numbers’. Macros (protein, carbs, fats), as well as sodium (can’t go too low or my BP drops which puts my kidneys at risk, and muscle cramping is horrific). If I spontaneously eat something different during the day that messes with those numbers, I have to redo the rest of the day so the ‘numbers’ are OK again. I’m trying to figure out how to just eat stuff without focusing on the stupid numbers as much, but it’s all I’ve known for 5+ decades.
My hunger cues have been messed up for a long time. For many years, I didn’t feel physical hunger, even though I thought about food constantly and still do. I am starting to feel physical hunger again, and it’s terrifying. I have images of me eating what I want until I feel full and ending up gaining even more unneeded weight. In reality, it doesn’t take much for me to feel full. But the fear is very real. I view myself as already grotesquely overweight, even though when I see TV shows about extremely obese peoples’ weight loss journeys I don’t judge them. I just wonder what hurt them so badly that they are hurting themselves so much. I know that sounds hypocritical. I KNOW all of this is bonkers. And, I can’t just flip a switch.
I want to set up a day when my blood sugars are more stable (parathyroid hormone is wonky right now, so insulin resistance is increased), and then just try and – for one day only (to minimize panic in my head)- eat what sounds good when I’m hungry, and not worry so much about anything that isn’t focused on getting me stronger. If I make it for only one day, I don’t have the pressure to do it for longer while giving myself the chance to see that it is possible. Then, I can do 2 days, etc. In the meantime, I’m trying to have one thing every day- even if it’s just 15 grams more of something, that is against what my head wants, which is eating close to nothing, although I’m eating ‘enough’ to keep kidney function stable at this point. I do get some reprieve because of the kidney situation, but it’s not all-encompassing. I HOPE that if I can get my eating more ‘normally’ that my kidneys will do better. I am not someone who would do dialysis if it came to that.
I have found that I do better if I can avoid sweet foods in the morning. I just don’t like them, so the past 3 1/2 years of being strongly encouraged to eat yogurt and berries, kefir, or oatmeal/porridge, and the horrible sweetness of those, have been miserable. I couldn’t find a savory oatmeal recipe that sounded edible. Scrambled eggs were/are allowed, but when my blood pressure isn’t stable, or I’m in a lot of pain, it’s hard to do a lot of stuff that requires prep and/or cooking. I much prefer something like cheese and crackers, and maybe some fruit that has a bit of tang, or even leftovers from another savory meal. Many countries have soups as ‘normal’ breakfasts, and that might also be a good thing to try.
Single serving items are also helpful, though I have to be careful with prices. For frozen entrees, I have several that are budget friendly and taste good, and only require being popped into the oven or microwave. Lean Cuisine has a lot of flavor options, and for a substantial treat, I’ll get Amy’s Kitchen or MichaelAngelo’s frozen single serve entrees. With some products, I can count out the portion size-and that’s doable. I do like the flavor of a lot of different ethnic foods, so that helps as well. I do have very specific dislikes, but those are easy enough to avoid.
It’s been good to be having more fresh fruits and vegetables, though with the prices in the US, most are a luxury. It helps to incorporate them into chickpea salads, or other food ‘stretching’ meals, and keep the frozen and some canned items for more ‘bulky’ vegetable servings. Lettuce is too expensive for what it provides, so most of my salads are what I’d put on a bed of greens. It cuts down on the volume without cutting down on the nutrition that comes from the chickpeas, peppers, onion, olives, cheese, and croutons. Doing seasonal grocery lists has been useful, as have some frozen options. I could have fruit and veg with Ex-T, but with the other stuff she wanted me to get in, volume tolerance was a problem. Now, I prefer to prioritize fruit and veggies more, and ‘fill in’ with protein, starches, and fats with an emphasis on nuts, olives, and the occasional avocado or premade single serving of guacamole. It’s still a challenge not to feel too full, but I’m making little steps.
Mostly, I need to quit freaking out about the numbers at the end of the day. I don’t let myself get to a calorie level that is too scary, and that’s still a problem. Calories should only be an issue in that I get enough to fuel my body for continued healing. Not that are restricted because it’s what the eating disorder wants. -
Why I Became A R.N.
Image: Online search results, cropped
When I was at university, I was studying to become a teacher. Both of my parents were in education, and while they never pushed me in that direction, they were pleased. But then, I ended up getting booted out for anorexia and the overdose, and when I was at the psych hospital the second time, a single defining moment changed the rest of my life.
I’d been sent off to the psych ICU for some reason- I think it was related to a new medication that had tanked my blood pressure. Most of the hospital was decorated in a gregarious 70s ‘floral’ motif. The ICU had bare cinderblock walls, beds bolted to the floor, bars over the outside windows, windows in the doors to the sleeping ‘cubicles’ (that were locked at night), and the lights were on 24/7, even if dimmed a bit. It was more like the images of a 60s state hospital instead of the private facility that it was. The staff were all pleasant, and the other patients weren’t that noteworthy. But it was rather barren. Everything was clinical, even if delivered pleasantly.
One week, some nursing students were passing through the ICU during their psych rotation. They were in their late teens or early 20s, so in my age range. They were sweet, but a little intimidated before they figured out none of us were drooling in corners, or showing symptoms of rabies. I had dark straight hair that went halfway down my back, and it was thick. That also meant it was rather unruly in a facility where I couldn’t use many brushes or combs without supervision or at certain times.
One of the nursing students approached me and asked if she could braid my hair. I wasn’t sure i heard correctly. I was used to “no touch”, and while the staff were always professional and kind to me, personal attention like braiding hair wasn’t in their job description. I told the student I’d like that, and she got my unruly hair braided and secured with a hair elastic. I felt human. That was amazing.
In the few minutes that it took for the student RN to braid my hair, she reminded me that even in a bare psychiatric ICU, I’d been seen as a ‘regular’ human being. I wasn’t a diagnosis with feet with standard protocols laid out. I was just an 18 year old with long hair that could use some tidying up. She saw me as ‘normal’. It was life-changing, and I began realizing that I didn’t want to teach. I wanted to show people compassion and kindness. I’d always had nurse toys as a kid, and had read medical books (household editions at my grandparents’ home) from the time I could read (age 5-6). It was a perfect fit.
I got out of the hospital just in time to start the Spring semester to get some adjunct nursing classes out of the way (chemistry, composition, sociology, nutrition, and psychology). It also gave me some structure as I was moving past 1982, and the 8 months I was confined in a place neither of my parents wanted me to speak about. My mom’s mom later told me that she’d never been told where I’d been. I’m not sure anyone knew where I’d been. All I knew was that I wanted to have a job where I could see past peoples’ diagnoses, and try and make at least one thing better for them that day.
One nursing student changed the trajectory of my life. That’s powerful stuff. -
Returning to The University and Ending Up In A Coma
Photo: online search from capefoxfcg. com
After a great six weeks working as a cabin counselor at my favorite camp, I had to face returning to the University of Illinois. I wanted to go back, but I didn’t realize how unprepared I was. My mom had also been diagnosed with breast cancer, and had started radiation, so i had to return to campus about 2 weeks before everyone else, so her radiation schedule could proceed. It got dicey fairly quickly.
Being in the nearly empty dorms was kinda creepy. I was on a different floor than my previous semester. Getting there on a Saturday made it all that much more ‘dead’. It was the female’s side of twin 12-story towers, and there were 1-2 other people on my entire floor (usually there were over 100 students on each floor). I was used to being alone at home, but not in a building that had been so bustling and full of life the previous (shortened) semester. I ended up going to campus bars even though I was underage to be served alcohol, and got plastered most nights before stumbling back to the vertical vacuum of a dorm. I wasn’t a drinker by a long shot. But I needed to numb my brain over my nervousness about being back in school after being removed the previous semester, and my former dorm mates knowing that I’d been in a psych hospital. My mom’s cancer didn’t really enter my mind, which sounds awful, but I think it was a form of self-protection.
My roommate showed up when the official dorm arrival time finally came, and we got along well. I was still technically a freshman, and it was her first semester in college. I look back now at how young we both were. But we were ready for the upcoming semester, though I tried to hide my anxiety. I continued to go to the bars most nights during freshman orientation week. I’d already been to that a year earlier, so didn’t attend those activities. I was glad to be back, but I was in over my head emotionally. Then classes started, which was a relief and terrifying. I still had academic probation rattling around in my head like a judge, jury, and executioner.
I was still on antidepressants (they never worked, but I was doing better because my eating disorder wasn’t as intense) and sleeping pills, so drinking was definitely not a smart thing to be doing. But I needed the ‘numb’. I didn’t have any thoughts of suicide. I was stressed out and not sleeping well, but was still focused on doing well in school. The time being alone before everyone else arrived wasn’t good, but it was the only option at the time with my mom’s radiation schedule.
I don’t remember a lot about the events that nearly took my life, but I do have bits and pieces, and wrote to my roommate later to ask her what had happened. I’m sure that being a teenager, as I was, it was traumatizing for her to have to deal with what she did with me.
I remember it was a Tuesday evening. I had on a red gingham short sleeved cotton shirt and denim overalls. I was exhausted. Classes were in session, and I was trying to settle into the routine again. I needed sleep, and went out to one of the bars again. I didn’t get sloshed, but I was more relaxed when I got back to the room. I was coherent enough to hold a conversation with my roommate, as well as do some homework, but mostly I was thinking about getting a decent night’s sleep.
I had a bottle of soda, and was sitting at my desk, with my back to the rest of the room. My roommate was reading on her bed behind me. I got my bottle of sleeping pills- there were ten in the bottle. I do remember taking those, but not to die. It was almost an out of body methodical and rhythmic taking a pill and putting in my mouth, then washing it down with soda. Swallow, repeat until the bottle was empty. I’m sure my roommate didn’t see anything. Not long afterwards, I went to bed.
In the morning (Wednesday), my roommate wrote that she tried to wake me up for classes, but I said I was too tired. I don’t remember any of that. When she got back from classes later that afternoon, and around 20 or so hours after I took the sleeping pills, she couldn’t wake me up. She went to the dorm floor where I’d been the previous semester to find someone who knew me then, and one of them came down to the newer room with my roommate. That student immediately got an ambulance called, and I was taken to the university student health center, who sent me on to a trauma center.My blood pressure ‘numbers’ were nearly meeting in the middle (70/60 territory), which is NOT good, and I wasn’t responding to any stimuli. My Glascow Coma Scale score was 3… next step is dead. When I got my chart later on, and after having worked on a hospital neurology floor as a nurse, I knew what I was looking at. I was lucky to be alive at all. My stomach was pumped, which also included being intubated. I don’t remember taking the bottle of antidepressants, but the bottle of 50 remaining pills was empty, and there were pill fragments in my stomach. I was sent to ICU, where they kept my blood pressure going, and dealt with variations in my heart rate. I have a vague memory of someone pulling an oxygen mask away from my face and asking if I’d overdosed, and I said no. I really didn’t think of it as an overdose at the time. I just wanted to sleep, so I’d do better going to classes.
The next clear image was when someone went towards my crotch with a syringe. I knew nothing about catheters, or having them removed, but that’s what the nurse did. I asked what I was wearing when I was admitted, because it helped me know what day I’d last remembered- I’d remembered the farmer get-up being what I’d worn on Tuesday. I also didn’t know about the charcoal they gave me to absorb the toxins, but knew exactly what impending explosive diarrhea felt like from months of laxative purging, so unplugged the leads so I could go to the bathroom. I didn’t know that doing that would look like something bad was going on via the EKG monitors at the nurses’ station, so was very surprised to see several people hurrying into the room as I was getting to the bathroom door. I got out of the bathroom, still kind of confused, and asked what day it was- and it was Friday evening. I’d been unconscious for 3 days. The red gingham shirt and overalls gave me a frame of reference for time, weird as that seems in the midst of what had gone on.
Very early the next morning (Saturday), I was helped to get cleaned up and put in a chair in front of the Saturday morning cartoons- and not really being able to follow the plot of Bugs Bunny. I knew that wasn’t right, but didn’t know why. Everything was fairly uneventful until I saw my parents out at the nurses’ station. I freaked out. I didn’t want to leave school, was too spaced out to understand the gravity of what had transpired, and was horrified that my parents were there. I’d messed up again. My university therapist was called, and she came up to talk to me, even though she was on bedrest for a blood clot in her leg during pregnancy. She kindly explained that the university couldn’t be responsible for someone who might kill themself, whether intentionally or not. I had to leave. There were no other options.
My parents had already cleaned out my dorm room, and put me between them in the front seat of the car to take me back to the psych hospital in Des Plaines, IL. That was a long 3 hour trip. I felt like a total failure. We got to the hospital, and checked me back in. At least I saw familiar staff faces, which helped a little. The next morning, my psychiatrist from the previous hospitalization came in and told me i was lucky to be alive, and that it was incredible that I didn’t have any brain damage with what I’d taken, and how long it was before I got to the trauma center.
Later, as a RN, I’d hear other nurses complain about overdose patients. They felt they needed harsher treatment in the ER if they were at all awake, to deter them from doing it again, as if it was a personal affront to the nursing staff. But I never heard one of them ask the person why they’d done it, or if they even wanted to die- not caring about what had brought that person to that point. I didn’t have thoughts of dying. I was young, did some stupid drinking, which dulled any common sense regarding the sleeping pills, and made a huge mistake. I never meant to cause the hospital folks any trouble. I certainly didn’t want my folks involved, or to leave school. My folks never asked why I did it, either. Ever. My mom had another 21 years to ask me, and my dad had another 34 years to ask, and nothing. That amplified the shame.
Things like ‘suicide attempts’ and overdoses aren’t attention seeking when they’re highly lethal without intervention. They’re a response to overwhelming stress and emotional pain. Why add to that? Being punitive is never productive with emotional crises. Compassion is free, and can change the course of someone’s life. And compassion is why I became a nurse, because of the kindness of a student nurse during the hospitalization after the OD. Change someone’s life for the better. Don’t make it about you. -
Food At My House While Growing Up
Photo: online search
My folks were always weight conscious, to the point of extreme dieting. Dad didn’t have a weight problem, but thought he did if his trousers felt a bit snug. Mom was ‘normal’, and not fat, but always on some kind of diet or going to some diet meeting. I ended up being most impacted by my mom’s food rules and bribes for me to lose weight starting when I was 6-7 years old and not at all fat.
Prior to the diet invasion into my life, I don’t remember a lot about food one way or the other. I know we had “kid cereal” when I was younger than 5 years old, because my dad liked it. Food really wasn’t an issue unless it was something I didn’t like (or threw up when I ate it- like cooked carrots, baked beans, and cold french fries). It was when the diet bribes started that my weight was constantly a part of my daily thinking. No child should be on diets that aren’t medically necessary or supervised. And offering a kid a dollar for every pound they lost (when gas was 36 cents a gallon) and a big bag of candy for every five pounds (how that made any sense, I’ll never know) isn’t OK. My mom wasn’t ‘bad’, but she was misguided by her own weight issues and wanting me to look like the beanpole kids at church. I’m built more like a brick. It would never work out. But as a kid, I wanted her to be happy.
As a family, we always had dinner together unless my folks were out of town, or at a work or church party of some sort. If my folks were entertaining guests for dinner, I got a TV dinner, which I loved ! I could pick whatever I wanted. But a ‘normal’ dinner for three would be one 15 oz can of ravioli, or sharing a box of Kraft mac & cheese (a hotdog would be cut up in it sometimes), or soup. But we did at least eat together.
My folks travelled over school breaks, and I’d stay with my grandparents (usually paternal since they were closer to our house). I was allowed to eat there most of the time, and would gain a few pounds. Being an active kid, it came off when I went back home. But my grandma always made sure she had some special things for me, and I was allowed to cook when I was in 2nd and 3rd grade, with pans she put in a certain place in the cabinet. They had “normal” food. Not fancy, but my Swedish grandma could cook and bake really good food. And it was much more nutritious than what was at home. A big treat was sardines on toast for breakfast. I loved it- and it wasn’t unhealthy.
In high school, I started doing diet competitions with classmates, and I made sure I always won. My mom had no issue with me having less than 600 calories per day (my usual would have been well under 1000). She’d buy me whatever foods the diet called for. My skating coach was never pleased when I was restricting, because I was a space cadet which could be risky with jumps and spins. More than once I fell and didn’t know why.
I don’t blame my parents for having an eating disorder. I think they did the best with their own hang-ups about food and weight. I was impacted by it, but I don’t believe it was malicious. -
My First Hospitalization for Bulimarexia & Depression
Photo: mine
When I returned to the University of Illinois after the winter break, I limped through emotionally, and things quickly became critical. I was still freaked out about being on academic probation (not in my perfectionistic vocabulary), and very depressed. I thought I was falling everything. I wasn’t thin enough, I was evidently very stupid, and I didn’t see any way out that would end well. And the idea of ‘ending things’ was what finally broke me down. The therapist I’d seen the semester before finally heard me say something besides “I don’t know”. What she got was “I want to die.” and followed up with my plan that would have been lethal, and cause trauma to other students on my dorm floor.
She called the university fire department to take me to the university health center for ‘holding’ until a bed could be secured at a psychiatric hospital near Chicago. The health center was for fairly minor problems or routine surgeries like appendectomies, and I guess for students who were being sent elsewhere. I was at the university health center longer than anticipated because of a severe February blizzard that made traveling to get me not possible. I wouldn’t go with my parents, so a family friend and her daughter came to collect me as soon as the roads were passable. During those days, I didn’t eat and had my jeans and shoes highjacked to prevent any ideas of ‘escape’. At that point, I was too tired to put up much of a fuss, so I sat there while dorm friends came to say their goodbyes. It was horrible. The staff were all very pleasant, but those goodbyes were SO hard. I didn’t want to leave, but knew I couldn’t stay.
When I got to Forest Hospital in Des Plaines, IL, my worst scenario played out. I hadn’t figured on my parents needing to sign me in since I was on my dad’s insurance. I felt I’d failed them, and was so ashamed. We did the obligatory hugs through their absolute denial and disbelief, and I went onto the locked adult unit, scared shitless that I was entering “One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s s Nest” territory. Instead, I found some very 70s floral wallpaper, a TON of cigarette smoke (like clouds), and people with all kinds of diagnoses from depression to raging schizophrenia and hyper manic bipolar disorders. I was the youngest on the adult unit, and terrified. Fortunately, my roommate was in the ‘mundane’ depression category and not scary, so that helped. There was one patient there for the rest of her life after falling out of a 2nd story window some years before, and ending up with a severe brain injury. She was a ‘constant’, which in itself was very sad. She wasn’t that old.
The first thing my psychiatrist did was ban contact with my parents for a month, to figure out why I was so opposed to seeing them. He also started me on the first of many medications, when I just needed food. I’ve never been depressed or suicidal without being very malnourished, but that realization wouldn’t come for several years. So, I settled in to the hospital routine. My folks came to family group sessions with other families and patients, but never really understood the purpose. Dad’s comment was “the sandwiches were nice”. Great, Pops, that was the goal, said no-one ever.
The dietician was easy to deal with- too easy. I talked my way into an 800 calorie/day meal plan. The chef (yup- a chef) at that place was incredible, and being a private hospital before insurance companies decided to play doctor without licenses, the food budget was first class. Prime rib, duck (yuck), shrimp, salad bar, and desserts with honey (no refined sugar). For someone who was afraid to eat, it was a minefield. But, it was also good food, and for someone who grew up being restricted by my folks before I took over that behavior, it was great when I finally allowed myself to eat something.
I was not so well-behaved when I was being monitored for food intake. When I had to eat on the unit vs the dining room, I’d switch out the meal cards so that I got some huge salad for a patient on a weight loss plan, and gave him my double portions. That was figured out fairly quickly… the diet guy wasn’t complaining about my donations, but the staff were not amused. Then they started me on Sustacal (now called Boost), and I poured most of it into the potted plants. That didn’t smell so great after a few days. One day, I tried to go AWOL, and hurdled the gardener’s wheelbarrow, with the gardner still attached at the handles, and got about 50 yards away before passing out on the sidewalk. I was half carried, half dragged back to the adult unit, in a haze of iffy blood pressure. Early on, I spent a fair amount of time in the quiet room (dumb name when one of the patients was in there screaming at all hours), and even in leather restraints, which was a common practice back then. I had small enough hands to get out of the straps, so then they just medicated me with heavy duty meds before leaving me in there, and peeking in the little window every few minutes. It was definitely a different kind of education. My psychiatrist never discouraged the acting out, because he sensed that I was a bit too tightly wound for “normal”.I went without eating anything for 2 weeks, and ended up in severe ketosis that was bad enough that one of the nurses smelled me from just walking past me in the hall. That bought me a seat by the nurses’ station desk while they pumped me full of orange juice and toast. My mouth was so dry that the toast literally stuck to my mouth.
Bulimarexia was a term used back then for what would now be either anorexia, bulimic sub-type or EDNOS (atypical anorexia). Because of my laxative abuse, and the thinking at the time (early 80s), any purging was put into some kind of bulimic category. I didn’t binge like a lot of binges were described at that point, and if I hadn’t purged, the food I did consume would not likely have caused much weight fluctuation. But in my head, any unplanned ‘diet friendly’ foods were binges, so had to be ‘gotten rid of’. I didn’t vomit (tried, but I wasn’t any good at it), so laxatives were my purging preference. For some reason, I thought that was more ‘dignified’ than vomiting. Both are pretty disgusting. I also did a lot of running in place in my room, and when that was discovered, I spent about a week in the day room being supervised around the clock. I had to sleep out there in slightly dimmed lighting and the fog of 24-hour smokers. I ended up starting to smoke there.
The staff were kind to me, and my psychiatrist was also a decent sort. I can’t say much was resolved with the eating issues, but they kept me alive, and with food, the depression lifted. I was still on meds, but I think that the food did more good than the meds ever did. I was released after 3 months.
I planned to return to the camp I’d worked at the previous 2 summers, though only for half of the upcoming summer season to avoid too much pressure. My former camp supervisor had visited me while I was at the hospital, I’m guessing to be sure I wasn’t drooling in a corner somewhere, and he was satisfied that I was still the same person who was harmless, but had crumbled the year before when I became anorexic at the same camp. It was hard being there that summer since I wasn’t in the nature center, but because I was going to be there for only 1/2 of the summer, I was assigned to be a cabin counselor. I guess that was a compliment since they were turning me loose on actual kids and not the snakes and goofy ferret. It was still good to be doing something I loved, it got me away from home, and people didn’t treat me like defective goods for having been hospitalized.
But all was not well…. -
Anorexia and Campus Life
Photo- mine.
Being a freshman at a good state university was overwhelming, and made so much worse by my deteriorating physical and mental health.
I was also a fairly good student back in my high school, with many college prep and advanced placement classes that I was used to, so the classes weren’t too advanced when I got to college. I loved walking around campus, even though I was getting weaker and much sicker. But I was glad for the experience of dorm life.
I was taking 40 laxatives/day (10 for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and before bed). I knew every bathroom in any building I had to walk into. Diet soda was my main source of fluids. During the week, I didn’t eat more than an apple or 1/2 of a baked potato when I had to make an appearance at meals. I ran the 12 flights up to my dorm room after ‘dinner’ (I could get by not eating breakfast or lunch because of everyone’s different class schedules). I had PE at 8 a.m. several mornings a week, and it was a ‘self-study’ exercise plan, so I jogged to attendance, and then back to the dorm for a shower. At the end of the semester, I ran 2 1/4 miles in 12 minutes- and I’m not sure how I actually did it physically.
My roommate moved out because I was too quiet. I also didn’t sleep much, and would watch one star go across the sky outside of my window, while listening to mellow music on the radio.
I saw the therapist every week, and I’m not sure that poor woman ever heard me say more than “I don’t know” to every question, and I wasn’t trying to be a smart ass- I was truly baffled by what I was supposed to be telling her. I had to drop my class hours down to 12 (dad was not happy- he was paying for 4 years, not some marathon of classes for more than that) because I just couldn’t keep up. I ended up on academic probation because of being so weak, and struggling with cognitive function. But I couldn’t see the physical changes. I still felt too fat.
On weekends, I’d binge. It was typical to have a pint of ice cream, a bag of chips, chip dip, cheese, cookies, chocolate, ramen, and sometimes picking the cheese off of discarded pizza boxes in the trash room after everybody was in their room for the night (usually around 2 a.m.), to avoid getting caught. My diet soda was a lifeline, and I didn’t want anyone taking it, so I labeled it with “herpes” in the floor fridge that held 2 liter bottles. I could only fit 16 oz bottles in the dorm fridge. Nobody touched it. It wasn’t true about the herpes, but I always had my soda.
My mom arranged for the food service folks to make me a birthday cake big enough for the entire dorm floor (80 girls? Guys had the adjacent tower). The cake was HUGE. I was terrified. It also angered me, which was a really crappy response to my mom wanting to make sure I had a cake for my birthday.
My ability to concentrate on homework was shot. I got a D in history (hated history back then), and for the first time in my life, I was not doing well academically. I passed out regularly, and was carried down the stairs to the floor with the elevator (and stretcher) more than a few times. It always made me cringe to have one guy pick me up- I thought it would take at least 2-3 firemen to carry my perceived fat ass. But looking back at old photos I was too thin for my body type. I asked a dorm neighbor if the leotard and sweatpants I was going to wear to go skating made me look fat. Her answer ” I can count your ribs”.
I became very depressed by the effects of starvation, and spent a lot of time in weird places- the top of the stairs that led to the roof (nothing else was up there, so seemed like a good place to hide), or I didn’t leave my room for anything but classes- nothing social. I was sexually abused in the dorm lobby while others watched, by a guy who was determined to go out with me. His approach sucked (it wasn’t ‘major’ but made an impact). I had to meet with the resident director every week as well, so she could keep track of where I was on the roller coaster of chaos. By the break for Winter/Christmas, I was making plans to end my life. I’ve never had that kind of depression unless malnutrition and starvation were involved.
I lasted for that first semester (not sure how), with many trips to the health center, dietitians, therapist, MDs, etc… the second semester was a short one.
More on that next time. -
How I Got To This Point Part 2: The Summer of Anorexia
Photo- El Arroyo in Austin, TX online photo
The summer before I started at the University of Illinois, I was working my second summer at a church camp I’d gone to as a kid for 7 summers (week long sessions). I loved that camp, and still consider it to be one of the most important spiritual factors in my life. Being outside and with nature is one of the biggest ways I relate to God. People lived what they believed, and it was fun.
I worked in the nature center the year before, as well as that fateful summer. The snakes, turtles, lizards, ferret, and raccoons were my responsibility. I was very self-conscious about my weight (as usual), and decided to use the increased activity at camp, along with calorie counting to get rid of what the ‘numbers’ said were wrong. I also felt I’d be largely unsupervised, which was important. That was back when women were supposed to be 100 pounds for 5 feet tall, and 5 pounds for every inch over 5 feet. That put me at about 135, which is NOT a weight where I look or feel healthy. I do not have a petite bone structure. I was also a figure skater for years prior to then, and my thighs were rock hard muscles.
I started off that summer by bringing my scale, calorie books, ‘expanding’ tablets to increase the feeling of fullness, and absolutely no common sense. Getting rid of the weight was THE most important thing for me to accomplish before having to compare myself to a university full of students. I wasn’t fat. I did have weight to lose, but I went off the rails. The diagnostic criteria for anorexia nervosa was different then. It counted the % of weight from the starting weight as the weight ‘rule’. I didn’t know that when I started out, but found out later (another future post). I lost a total of 1/4 of me in about 2 months. Now, it would be atypical anorexia. Face it- starvation is starvation no matter the size of the person.
What I hadn’t expected was an 88-pound anorexic with bulimic tendencies to be assigned to the same set of cabins I was, and became my guide to self-destruction. We became friends very quickly, and she taught me about laxatives for purging, the importance of exercising like a maniac, and how to avoid eating and nosey (concerned) coworkers. I woke up the first morning that we had campers (there was a week for staff only to get the ‘ins and outs’ of camp life before the kids arrived on Sunday). I ran down to the barn and back (2 mile round trip), and had an apple for breakfast. I felt great. I also was drinking about 6 cans of Tab per day (precursor to Diet Coke).
I lost 17 pounds the first week, and one of the counselors who went on “adventure camping” weeks (biking, river rafting, etc) didn’t recognize me when she got back the following Saturday. When people from the church I attended back then came to drop off their kids for a week long camp session, my mom would send ‘care baskets’ with body wash, quarters for laundry, and with the weight loss, a pair of rainbow suspenders to keep my jeans up (rainbow suspenders were a ‘thing’ with no other meaning than Mork wore them on “Mork and Mindy”). I didn’t feel any different, but got a ‘high’ from seeing the numbers drop on the scale.
The head honchos at the camp (direct supervisor, camp nurse, and main boss over the campus) knew something was wrong fairly quickly. They threatened to keep my paycheck unless I ate, but legally couldn’t do that. Over the next 4 weeks I lost another 23 pounds, and the nurse from the year before was in the area, and the camp folks sent me off with her on nights off, to talk some sense into me. She tried hard. But I was already hooked.
My folks came up to visit me (first time they’d done that, so I’m not sure if they were notified of the weight loss), and actually talked to me more than when I’d been heavier. Coincidence? Maybe- but for weight obsessed parents, I found it disappointing that I was ‘worth more’ if I weighed less. That was a big reinforcement of the determination to drop weight. And aside from the suspenders, they didn’t mention my rapid weight loss.
Over that summer, I lost 45 pounds altogether, and just had a couple of weeks at home before heading to the University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. A third of my hair had fallen out, I was freezing all of the time, I’d turn blue, and other students on the dorm floor knew something wasn’t right. When they caught me after I’d gone to the water fountain to fill my water mug, I was in a light winter coat, jeans, and 6 pairs of socks in very humid central Illinois, in late August. My feet felt cold through the socks. They called the resident advisor (more senior student for one dorm floor, for those not in the US), who called the resident director (over the whole girls side of the dorm), and they shipped me off by ambulance for a night in the university health center hospital. I had to talk to a psychiatrist in the morning. I thought they were nuts. I wasn’t thin enough yet. But, the psychiatrist disagreed, and the diagnosis of anorexia nervosa was given. In order to stay in school, and not have to tell my parents I was in trouble, I agreed to the therapist. I saw her for the entire semester, and early part of the next one.
More on the University of Illinois “routine” with how anorexia impacted me in another post.