What do Christianity and Eating Disorders have in common?
Probably nothing. Except maybe the fact that both are the result of wanting to believe in something or the feeling of direction it serves. It took me years to realize the purpose that my eating disorder served me. And now, as I embark on a new journey through recovery, I turn towards the Lord for that purpose.
My eating disorder, diagnosed as Anorexia Nervosa at age 13, was a source of protection. It protected me from everything that was going on at home and school. Around the time that it began to manifest, my dad had been diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, my parents didn’t really get along and my mental health was already heading downhill. Probably a difficult time so it makes sense I guess.
From a young age, I was the shy kid. I didn’t fit in with the sports crowd or the art kids. I was my own person and that didn’t seem to work very well at school. I didn’t have many friends and often was excluded in activities. Honestly, I’m okay with not having a large social group but then again, that could just be due to how difficult it is to socialize with mental illnesses. I’ve had anxiety since I was 7 or 8 and that made things difficult. Eventually my obsession with disappearing grew into an eating disorder in which I would eventually become small enough to disappear all together. A dangerous task yet I quite determined.
That was the past though. Here’s the now.
My eating disorder has been a cage that I live within the confines of. An exhausting, daily battle. Within the last 2 years, I completed 4 months of adolescent day treatment and multiple family therapy appointments. I can tell you the spot on the floor in an office that I memorized. I can tell you the set up of every room doctors office I’ve ever attended. I can recite calorie amounts like the back of my hand. I’ve spend countless nights on my bedroom floor instead of sleeping in my bed.
Last year I faced my worst relapse ever. My weight dropped lower than it was during high school, I began to abuse laxatives, starting purging even though I swore I never would, and eventually began abusing caffeine pills. Did you think overdosing on caffeine was possible? Answer: It Is. I took the equivalent of 80 cups of coffee and had emergency services called because of it. So bad that they wanted to take me to the hospital because my heart was beating so damn fast and they were concerned. I turned down the suggestions. I said no. I said I’d get better on my own.
Update: I’m not better yet. It’s been over a year since that night and I am not better. I don’t touch those tablets and I don’t take laxatives and I haven’t purged since November, but I am not better. I am still at war with my mind. I wake up every morning uncertain of whether food will be okay or not. It’s exhausting. I wake up every morning ready to fight. It’s exhausting mentally, physically and emotionally. Yet, I am still fighting.