The following post is brought to you by the letters A, P and the number 12.A as in anorexia, the eating disorder T believes I have.
P as in the pills she thinks might help me cope better.
And 12 as in the approximate number of hours I spent crying about all this over the weekend.
I hadn't seen her in three weeks so I knew I'd have loads to say when I went in for our session Friday evening. The BBQ, the sleepover, the crying, the hospital visit. And that was just three days worth. I didn't expect what she said after I finished telling her what I'd gone through: that I was starving myself to death; that I had anorexia; that I was withering away, have lost so much weight and looked like a broomstick; that she feels she hasn't helped me very much; that I'm getting worse; that I might need more help than she can give me; that maybe pills would help after all; that maybe I should consider group sessions.
I just sat on that chair and cried. I refused to admit that I had anorexia. I know I've lost weight and that I've never eaten as much as I probably should, but when I pointed out that I would never want to lose weight on purpose she said that's a common stereotype about the disease. That it's not just about wanting to be thinner, it's about wanting control over your body and feel as if you can survive without needing to eat. I was still in denial. I wasn't just going to believe it because she was telling me so. But then the other part thought maybe she was right...maybe that's just something else to add to the list of things wrong with me: depression and anxiety with a dash of anorexia. How positively hopeless. I truly believed I was never going to get better.
If the person I had been seeing for almost a year, who many times told me I was improving drastically and making changes by leaps and bounds, now felt that I was on this downward spiral, what did I have left? Everything I had done seemed pointless; the few steps forward, worthless. Like I was taking two steps toward the light and then five jumps back.
But as the weekend wore on, anger set in (I'm not grieving, but DABDA anyone?). How dare she make me feel so ready to give it all up? If anything, the thought of things improving was what helped me go in every week and bear through countless sessions of poking, searching, questioning, thinking, answering.
Therapy is tremendously hard. I don't know how people do it for decades since it takes such a toll on you. Whoever tells you it's always all peaches when they go in for a session isn't really working at it. So I know I still have work to do and can't let one session make me throw everything out the window. But I do have half a mind to totally tell her off come Wednesday evening. Politely of course.
I actually haven't weighed myself since that thing happened three weeks ago. Seventy-six pounds. I'd never seen a number so low staring back at me from a scale. Granted I had just finished shedding five pounds in tears, but you'd think the bags under my eyes would've counterbalanced that. Either way I've been too scared to check again and the scale has been banished to Under The Bed until Who Knows When.
If the person I had been seeing for almost a year, who many times told me I was improving drastically and making changes by leaps and bounds, now felt that I was on this downward spiral, what did I have left? Everything I had done seemed pointless; the few steps forward, worthless. Like I was taking two steps toward the light and then five jumps back.
But as the weekend wore on, anger set in (I'm not grieving, but DABDA anyone?). How dare she make me feel so ready to give it all up? If anything, the thought of things improving was what helped me go in every week and bear through countless sessions of poking, searching, questioning, thinking, answering.
Therapy is tremendously hard. I don't know how people do it for decades since it takes such a toll on you. Whoever tells you it's always all peaches when they go in for a session isn't really working at it. So I know I still have work to do and can't let one session make me throw everything out the window. But I do have half a mind to totally tell her off come Wednesday evening. Politely of course.
I actually haven't weighed myself since that thing happened three weeks ago. Seventy-six pounds. I'd never seen a number so low staring back at me from a scale. Granted I had just finished shedding five pounds in tears, but you'd think the bags under my eyes would've counterbalanced that. Either way I've been too scared to check again and the scale has been banished to Under The Bed until Who Knows When.
And as this posts, I'll be sitting in a waiting room for my first physical in a year. I'll be dreading the moment I meet my new physician and am forced to step on that scale and hear her mention something along the lines of "You're underweight." No kidding, I'll think as I muster half a smile. And then I'll ask her for a prescription for multivitamins and appetite stimulants because those are the only pills I'll be consuming for now.
So this post is also brought to you by two other letters: B and S. Because no matter how much weight I lose, I'll be damned if I let someone get away with calling me a household cleaning supply regardless of whether they're trying to help me or not.
oh, i feel for you. hopefully writing about it somehow made you feel better. do take care.
ReplyDeletepersonally i think T is completely equivocada....your not anorexic ... what u are is human, and you've been going through a lot of stressful events and u have emotions which affect you... so your slim and when these things happens it shows more on you...it doesn't mean that it doesn't happen to everyone else...its just less noticeable. YOUR NOT ANOREXIC...u don't look at yourself in the mirror thinking i look fat..in fact you've stated many times in this blog that you know your thinner and your working on improving that and being more healthy... so she needs to effing realize that people don't walk around in life like robots...things happen and what affects us emotionally affects us physically too and if she can't see that then maybe she needs to change profession and get a life of her own before she gives out anymore advice
ReplyDeleteShe should not have told you that you look like a broom. Completely unacceptable.
ReplyDeleteAbout the Anorexia thing, Anorexia is about control not only about a distorted view of how your body looks. You look at yourself and you know what you see, no one needs to remind you. You want to gain weight, we all know that. But I think that T wanted to shock you into doing something about it. Maybe that's why she made the comment of the broom.
Back to the anorexia thing, I know you're trying to get to the bottom of whatever it is that is going on in your mind. Whether it is Anorexia or not, I don't know, I am not certified to diagnose anyone.
But if it is, its nothing to be ashamed of, its something that you will get through. If its not Anorexia then great, 1 less thing to worry about.
Whatever it is thats going on take the time to figure it out. Don't let the stigma associated with Anorexia outrage you. Look at this as the jumping off point to take control of your life again.