Where would I be?

Everybody has that day, that moment in time, that defines their life.

For some it's the birth of a child, others it's a death of a loved one, for me it was the day I went to the ER because of symptoms of my eating disorder.

That was the moment I could not deny I had the eating disorder, my symptoms had left me in severe pain, seeking relief from Veteran physicians.

It's now three years letter and I've been in treatment for an eating disorder for the last 2.5 years of it. In that time I have had symptoms of bulimia, anorexia, and EDNOS. I have had two hospitalizations and been out from work 6 months and part time for over 2 months. I almost lost my job about two years ago.

Three years was the moment I realized I had the eating disorder but I had been ignorant of it, largely, throughout my whole life. It has been the symptom of a difficult life and a defense mechanism that has kept me alive. For a while it was what kept me safe, until it was the coping mechanism that had gone horribly array.

When something is part of you for so long it's hard to imagine what life would be without it. And, in that, it's hard to think about what my life would've been like without my eating disorder. The truth is, I may be better off, I may be worse, there's no way of knowing. What caused the eating disorder would've largely been there, still, so the likelihood of developing another symptom/'coping skill' would've been likely.

So, what I like to think, is that I would still be right here. Maybe fighting another illness but, hopefully with just as much insight as I have now.

I am lazy

What would be my super power? I would be able to make meals instantly and not have any clean up. The reason I say this is because I used to like to cook; however, the eating disorder took this joy away from me. Now, I hate doing dishes, going to the grocerys store, all preparation aspects actually... BUT I love a home cooked meal. Things get pretty desparate at my place when I only have things that need to be cooked in my apartment.

Until I am bestowed with this magical power I will be relying on tv dinners and the thought that I'll eventually use the meat in my freezer.

Something Positive About Myself

It truly is hard to think about something positive about myself. I can readily list the things I would change, even though this list is greatly influenced by culture and my own insecurity, within a few minutes. But, something positive?

The answer came to me while I was at work a while ago; I am a creative person. Innately. It doesn't matter what the task/event/etc is, or if I know how to initially do what I want/am asked, I will find a way to do it and add my own flare at the finish line.

I won't add all of the negations that are running through my head even though they are dripping from my tongue. It's easy to discount compliments but I do not want to discount this.

Being creative is more than putting some photos strategically on a board, or painting a beautiful pictures. It's about putting a piece of yourself in what you create so it carries on past your involvement.

Intimately proud

I am not comfortable in my own skin; I hate knowing that other people are looking at me sexually; I realize these are not mutually exclusive and that they are, in fact, intimately intertwined.

The right to explore myself was stolen before I can remember and I'm just now fighting for that right back. The people/places/things are not actually present, not anymore, so I am fighting from within myself to accept this need to find myself, this desire, as okay. Intense work is being done in order to work from my beginnings out to the present; apart from this work I'm also exploring what feels good. It is my goal that I don't find my way from my past just to be lost in what I would like to do with my new present.

I'm proud of myself for exploring myself and learning what it's like to be connected to who I am, at home in my own skin.

The Process of letting people back in

In the midst of an appointment today I realized I had been shutting most of my treatment team out, with the exception of my main therapist. It became a topic of conversation today with my art therapist and it has needed to be one for a while now.

We touched on the fact that things changed between us after we did the body sculpture. That the act of having her next to my skin may have been a little too much for me, without me necessarily recognizing it.

Over the last few months I have been working on trauma and uncovering the pile of trash the city of sarah has been built on. Because it has made me sick, kept me sick, and has made it impossible to make authentic relationships with most people. This process has been so hard and so intimate that I have not let my treatment team in on the struggle to help me. My doctor does not know and thus some symptoms are not fully explained. My art therapist didn't know why things had gone flat between us. My dietitian may have seen a little more but not where it was understandable. Her end was more of the body's physical response to the trauma.

I know the hospital is not the answer. It helped me tremendously the two times I have been in the last 1.5 years but I felt that this would happen when I started working on trauma again. I know that the I'll keep ending up here until we work through the issues that effect my weight. It's not about body image for me anymore. The number on the scale is more distressing because I no longer want to lose the weight. I might not like my body but it's from the point of feeling like other people are objectifying it. The acting on symptoms are more of a reaction to stress and the really hard work I've been doing.

So, I need to let my treatment team back in. So they can help me through this time and my symptoms can be looked at with full knowledge of where they're coming from.

The Last Time Someone Else Had Control

The last time someone else had control I was violated...words I never thought would come out of my mouth. Usually I think about the question I am asked and the answer gets filtered somehow but, maybe I was too flustered because, these spilled out immediately after I was asked why I was afraid to trust someone else with control over a situation.

I sat in stunned silence, trying to take in what I had said, contemplating what these words meant now that they were spoken. I couldn't take them back like one deletes mistakes in a word document; these words sat like bricks on the floor, each one shattering the film that covered the truth and allowed me to deny my past. They are weighted words that have held down my spirit and a dense mass that have reminded me I have been hurt. By saying them out loud I have admitted to myself and another person the truth; something very wrong has happened and maybe it's not my fault.

I've held this control tightly, so close it's suffocating me with its toxicity. I am being asked to hand over control to someone who has proven trustworthy thus far and I am afraid. I am being urged to hand over keys to my past so that closets can be opened to give the skeletons light, to uncover secrets that have kept me sick. It's a constant battle; for twenty odd years I have held the reins tightly and, even though it has been smothering my soul, part of me can't let go.

Is This What I'm In For?

I am absolutely devastated. If I weren't already in therapy I would definitely need to go now.

Today I received the news one of the women from the shelter overdosed. I spent many hours with her, annoyed with her, concerned for her, listening to her; I was her residential advocate.

She came to the shelter from the hospital after giving birth to her son. He was going through withdrawal because his mom had been on suboxen during her preganancy. If she had tried to withdraw from Meth during the pregnancy she could've lost the baby.

She came through those doors running from her past, fraught with anxiety and battling the highs and lows of bipolar disorder. I watched her change her life, build a life for her son, and heal some deep wounds. Even though I moved on from the shelter before she did I know she walked out those doors a changed person.

Except she was struggling. She reached out to me, to those around her, but I didn't see it and those who saw her everyday placed everything on a 'spiritual' domain. Bipolar can be prayed over and a person can be healed, they just have to keep walking.

A few weeks ago she told me she was having problems with her bipolar. but that she was ok.

Obviously, she wasn't ok.

June 6th she posted the last things she would to face book. She went back to drugs and overdosed. When she had been found she was laying there with a needle next to her. Next to her was also her son. She had been dead for 26 hours before she was found. She had been dead 26 hours before anyone found Elijah. Elijah was crying for hours and no one in the apartment complex noticed?

I had been there for so long to listen and care but then I wasn't. I'm second guessing everything even though I know I did what was right and I did what I could. We cannot change the way another person is, ultimately, going to act, but it doesn't stop me from thinking 'what if?'

I'm hoping I don't ever get calloused from my career, from listening to the struggles of others, that finding out about the death of a client just flows off my back. Going through this right now, though, leaves me wondering, Is this what I'm in for.