Today I Decided to Give Up on My Eating Disorder

They say in treatment, “Your worst day in recovery is better than your worst day in your eating disorder.”

This year, I wasn’t sure that was true. Things were supposed to be looking up after the isolation and terror of 2020. I was healing from a year and a half battle with gastroparesis, a gastrointestinal disease with no set cure. I had a surgical feeding tube placed and was stuck on a feeding pump since 2019. I had been unable to work because of my struggles with this disease as well as fighting anorexia for over 16 years.

I was hoping 2021 would come as a light, a relief. All year I looked forward to a planned vacation with my family. I was only about two weeks away from having my tube taken out because of the effectiveness of a new medication I was on. For some reason, at my favorite place in the entire world, the Outer Banks, my mind was entirely captivated with thoughts about how much I hated my body and how badly I wanted to change it. I ate in front of everyone but wept five times a day. I was so deeply depressed and could not remember a time I had wanted to end things so badly. I couldn’t wait until I got home and I could go back to the comfort of my eating disordered behaviors, which I was sure would take away this distress.

Instead, I created a new, secret kind of hell. I saw my gastroenterologist, had my tube taken out, a hoped for a new kind of freedom. Unfortunately, it was a disordered, fake type of freedom. I told myself I didn’t need all those extra calories anymore. I started cutting back my meals as much as I could. I watched the number on the scale go down. I felt the euphoria of having a goal I could accomplish and successfully hiding it from everyone. For the hundredth time, I did these things and I didn’t think about the consequences.

Then I had my new rock bottom moment.

It was a normal night. I tried to lay down to sleep. It had been four weeks of engaging in extremely dangerous eating disorder behaviors, and I thought I had things under control. All of the sudden my heart started to race. I walked around my bedroom, the room spinning, and I tried to tell myself to breathe. I couldn’t feel my hands or my feet and lights were flashing in front of my eyes. I wanted to break down and tell my partner everything I had been doing, but I couldn’t. She tried to soothe me on the bathroom floor, distracting me and telling me to breathe. After experiencing chest pain and palpitations for hours my body gave in and I slept for a couple of hours. I vowed I would nourish myself the next day. My body had never deteriorated so quickly.

Thinking I could just reverse weeks of behaviors in one day, I ate and drank everything I was supposed to. I still struggled several more days with intense, terrible nighttime attacks of heart palpitations and insomnia. I thought living in my body was bad, but almost dying was worse.

Today, I decided to give up on my eating disorder.

I no longer want to teeter on the edge of life and death, hiding myself in the shadows, and losing my passions. I don’t want to live another sleepless night, I don’t want to cry at my reflection. I don’t want to lie to my therapist and dietitian and family. I want to leave the eating disorder so far behind me that I no longer recognize my own brain. I decided that I’ve lived through enough torture, and settling for a body somewhat outside of my expectations or society’s expectations cannot be as bad as death. I finally realized I cannot do both.

Today, I chose life. And I will tomorrow, too.