When the Clock Strikes Mindnight

This is not folklore...though at times I wish it was. This whole "recovering from an eating disorder" thing is blisteringly real. In my last post, I spoke about when and for how long the eating disorder occurred and how miserable it was, but I almost wish I could remember that level of misery so that things didn't feel so awful right now. It's as if my mind has forgotten how much worse it could be. And it was.

Maybe it feels different because I'm not numb to my feelings in the way I used to be. This past week I've felt unclear, which leads to my confusion as to whether any of this even makes sense—I'm writing this in an airport that I've occupied for 5 hours, so that might be a contributing factor. All I know is that I'm IN it right now...deep. It's like I've been (and still am) following that yellow brick road to meet this infamous Oz character who seems millions of miles away, no matter how long I've been walking where this tin man tells me to go.

Please don't take this as me expressing the desire to give up and wave the white flag— it's quite the opposite. I worked my butt off in treatment, leaving behind that miserable shell I inhabited for so long. To say it looks unappealing to return to that would be an understatement.

With that being said, maybe the clock has struck midnight and my glamorous ride to the ball is just a fucking pumpkin. Essentially what I'm getting at is that the pink cloud of early recovery is eventually going to burst, but that's ok! I'll be ok, you'll be ok, and our recovery will carry on—Maybe just not in a horse drawn carriage.

photo cred: http://www.allposters.com/-sp/Pumpkin-Carriage-Posters_i10358918_.htm

Damsel In Distressed jeans

Though I finally consider myself in recovery from my eating disorder, this was not always the reality I got to wake up to.  As I begin this journey away from the fairytale, I want to outline the timeline of how things came to fruition. I was a damsel in distress even before the eating disorder began, in the perfectly fragile state to mistake an enticing witch for what I thought to be a my own prince charming.  My knight in shining armor had arrived in the chaotic lunchroom of my high school cafeteria, blowing a kiss while motioning to the nearest trashcan. This is when I met ED. *

I started with restriction when I was about 16 years old. Around the same time I found myself struggling with diagnosed depression and anxiety. Restricting food became my means of coping with my emotions, my nerves, and the unfamiliar “beasts” so to speak. To be clear, I did believe that losing weight and looking a model-type of way would increase my happiness. Some may not be able to acknowledge the appearance based draw that an eating disorder has on a person. It is certainly not the only factor in one’s falling pray to the disorder, but I personally find it important to acknowledge as a substantial contributing factor if you ever want to find recovery. You probably wanted to be skinny... and its ok to admit it!

Restriction left me feeling free, no longer a captive to whichever beast the witch had most recently sent to take me down. Unfortunately the type of freedom I found also left me feeling lost in a foreign land that restriction and I couldn’t navigate alone. In chapter: “Still pretty fucking miserable” enters Bulimia.  And it was off to the races. I could have my cake (as any princess would want) and eat it too…

This damsel was unaware of the distress her restricting, bingeing, and purging had created. A fog of pills, alcohol, and men created the perfect backdrop for more relevant and treatment-worthy dilemmas to surface.

My eating disorder had found a place to camouflage itself and it hid there with minimal disruption for 7 years—until now.

* I’ll refer to ED throughout this blog as an abbreviation for Eating Disorder. Though some dislike the term, to think of my eating disorder as a separate entity from myself has been very helpful in keeping me away from “him”

Once Upon A Time...

We all know how this story begins, but trust me when i say that the hero, the villain, and the plot are far from orthodox and even farther from being universally acknowledged. It's time I think we exposed the fairytale. And so it begins...

                Once upon a time there lived a girl trapped in what seemed to be an inescapable existence; a tower she couldn't fathom nor dare try escaping. She was captive to her own bulimia and yet felt herself a foreigner to her plight. The efforts of countless allies and suitors failed to free her or awaken her inner strengths. When the tower felt increasingly like an inevitable burial site, the girl saw a crack in the mortar; one that had obviously always been there but never appearing to her distorted vision. The crack revealed a glimpse of daylight almost blinding, surely overwhelming at the least, but she couldn't take her eyes off of it. An existence outside of the impenetrable stone walls was real. The desire to escape began to breathe; it became as real as the suns light on the other side. That day, the tower lost its height by 50 feet and its walls became thinner. That day bulimia became a room that had an exit. That day the tower lost its chance at ever becoming her final resting place.

Here is where i ruin the ending... This is not a fairytale. It is not fictional and it has no alternate ending. This is my life and it is my experience as a woman in recovery from an eating disorder. If this is your story, read it with me. If this is not your story, it can be... Start by telling yourself it WILL be.

xo, Franny

                                                              photo cred: http://www.kateforsyth.com.au/kates-blog/page/5/