I was sitting in the somber obsolete room, neatly kept with the two therapy chairs that were well padded, and easy to curl into as she spoke to me. The cream color of the wall attempted to create a calming atmosphere, but in the moment I felt slightly to mostly nauseated, and a little lethargic. She was explaining the scientific calculation behind caloric intake, weight gain, energy, bmi... blah. blah. blah. When the statement "you are not safe where you stand," escaped her lips, suddenly I was not so absent from the conversation. I sat a little taller in my chair as if it would give me ground in the conversation.
This woman who I barely know as my dietitian is sitting here, and goes on to explain to me that my body is in what is to be considered starvation mode, all while I just spent the morning denegrating myself in a mirror, worrying about the weight I was surely gaining, thoughts racing at losing a so called culturally known "thigh gap." Oy. **just a disclaimer- Beyonce and Mermaids don't have a thigh gap, so obviously I should put some reconsideration into my priorities here** She tells me that my meal plan is not enough, and it will need raised for the second time since my arrival to treatment. I am not sure whether it was my facial expression, my jaw hitting the floor, or the fact I may have lost all the color in my face that made her continue to explain how even with this food, my body was maintaining its' weight. I have to say, here I've been putting myself through scrutiny, torture, and starvation to only discover even with a normal diet- surprise! My body burns through more food than three teenage boys would even think about consuming like its' nothing. For carrying honors in college, I don't think I have the whole common sense thing in the bag. Never the less, I walk out of my treatment meeting with this dietititan bewildered, with a fiery spirit, but anxious and racing under the assurance I was surely becoming "fat."
The following morning, I learned that I was in the right place for a reason. As much as I stomp my feet, and resist, I am amazed how God doesn't slap me- other than with some blatant signs I've truly needed of course. One moment Friday morning I was standing, and moments later I was on the ground. I had felt my world waver, close in, and shut off before everything went black and I was gone. I came back shaking and crying. Perhaps it was my terror in the girl I've allowed myself to become, the mourning of the girl I've lost, the disease that has taken over... or the fact that I didn't realize how seriously sick I have been.
I was supposed to finish my semester at my University on December 11, but I left to fight what has turned out to be much more fierce a battle than I could have ever known. I have been so upset and resistant to the idea that I have not been in school, but I was told that there was a chance my body was not strong enough. I didn't believe them. But- what if I had been there.. in that time.. God has a plan, and I am truly blessed in my fight that I do not walk alone. And I am so thankful to each person who saved me from what could have been.
I want to gain back the innocent girl who is still hidden deep inside this lost wandering soul. She is fierce. I am fierce. I learned my dietitian was right- nutrition is medicine, and being kind to ourselves is the best antidote we can give. The only two digit sizes I want to ever see again are the positive numbers. I've been drowning myself beneath unrelenting thought feeling suffocated in a fight I thought I would never win. The hardest part of recovery is relinquishing control to give yourself life. It is trusting others to care for you until you are strong enough to stand on your own, and letting them equip you with new tools. Be it drinking Ensures, or being bound to a wheelchair, I will overcome the adversity that life tosses my way. Distortion has yet to disappear, but the beauty within will always win, and stars cannot shine without darkness first.
This woman who I barely know as my dietitian is sitting here, and goes on to explain to me that my body is in what is to be considered starvation mode, all while I just spent the morning denegrating myself in a mirror, worrying about the weight I was surely gaining, thoughts racing at losing a so called culturally known "thigh gap." Oy. **just a disclaimer- Beyonce and Mermaids don't have a thigh gap, so obviously I should put some reconsideration into my priorities here** She tells me that my meal plan is not enough, and it will need raised for the second time since my arrival to treatment. I am not sure whether it was my facial expression, my jaw hitting the floor, or the fact I may have lost all the color in my face that made her continue to explain how even with this food, my body was maintaining its' weight. I have to say, here I've been putting myself through scrutiny, torture, and starvation to only discover even with a normal diet- surprise! My body burns through more food than three teenage boys would even think about consuming like its' nothing. For carrying honors in college, I don't think I have the whole common sense thing in the bag. Never the less, I walk out of my treatment meeting with this dietititan bewildered, with a fiery spirit, but anxious and racing under the assurance I was surely becoming "fat."
The following morning, I learned that I was in the right place for a reason. As much as I stomp my feet, and resist, I am amazed how God doesn't slap me- other than with some blatant signs I've truly needed of course. One moment Friday morning I was standing, and moments later I was on the ground. I had felt my world waver, close in, and shut off before everything went black and I was gone. I came back shaking and crying. Perhaps it was my terror in the girl I've allowed myself to become, the mourning of the girl I've lost, the disease that has taken over... or the fact that I didn't realize how seriously sick I have been.
I was supposed to finish my semester at my University on December 11, but I left to fight what has turned out to be much more fierce a battle than I could have ever known. I have been so upset and resistant to the idea that I have not been in school, but I was told that there was a chance my body was not strong enough. I didn't believe them. But- what if I had been there.. in that time.. God has a plan, and I am truly blessed in my fight that I do not walk alone. And I am so thankful to each person who saved me from what could have been.
I want to gain back the innocent girl who is still hidden deep inside this lost wandering soul. She is fierce. I am fierce. I learned my dietitian was right- nutrition is medicine, and being kind to ourselves is the best antidote we can give. The only two digit sizes I want to ever see again are the positive numbers. I've been drowning myself beneath unrelenting thought feeling suffocated in a fight I thought I would never win. The hardest part of recovery is relinquishing control to give yourself life. It is trusting others to care for you until you are strong enough to stand on your own, and letting them equip you with new tools. Be it drinking Ensures, or being bound to a wheelchair, I will overcome the adversity that life tosses my way. Distortion has yet to disappear, but the beauty within will always win, and stars cannot shine without darkness first.
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