STILL GOT IT

I’m teary today. It comes with being scared. I’ve just past the five-month marker for severe food restriction. 

 

Funny, I used to count months in terms of being in a relationship. With that kaput, it’s about months of food deprivation. Segued smoothly from one to the other, with one month of numbing and hoping for a change of heart in between. 

 

I’ve gotten myself into a troubling spot. It could all be fine. I’ve been restricting food for decades. I’ve been at this level—and worse—before but never this long. 

 

This past week, I went for a reassessment of my eating disorder. I’d gone undiagnosed for so many years and then in 2017, I was finally told I had anorexia nervosa. I cried. It was a strange relief to finally hear that something I’d long felt was “off” with me was indeed an issue. I felt seen, understood. The label mattered. I could receive support from psychiatrists, counsellors, dietitians, nurses and occupational therapists. I could finally be present with others who had eating disorders, hear their stories, nod along. They could listen to me and nod back. I was with compassionate people who understood the struggle.

 

Throughout 2018 and 2019, I tried everything available—outpatient support, hospitalization, a group home. I was connected but neither my behaviours nor my mindset changed. Due to funding issues and the high demand for support for persons with eating disorders, my access to support was cut off after two years as a matter of course. I left the program knowing I officially had a problem and realizing I was stuck. I could sit out for six months and then seek service again, but I didn’t see the point. Without progress, I was taking someone else’s spot. 

 

I was fine. My life was different than others. Not as carefree; more rules of my own making. But it was an existence I could live with. 

 

In my two-year relationship, I was open about my eating disorder. I invited questions and answered honestly when the occasional discussion came up. I did everything I could to try to minimize the impact of my rules during our shared experiences. I exercised when it would have the least impact. I restricted but also ate regular meals, full portions. I even questioned which of us was the more disordered eater. His intake always seemed less. 

 

In the end, my rules were cited during the breakup. I’d been open about my mental health challenges, including those beyond the eating disorder. I don’t think he ever truly understood. I had unpacked all my “baggage” within the first week of us being together. I really wish he’d said his “No thank you” then and shown me the door. An early exit would have been more humane.

 

My reassessment took two hours. (There were already two updated blood tests and three ECGs on file.) As things shifted to talk about programming available to me, I interrupted and said, “So…I still have an eating disorder?”

 

“Yes. Severe. Anorexia nervosa.”

 

The “severe” was new. I knew this but hearing a professional say it was difficult. I wanted to break down but fought it off. With a hand, I was able to wipe away the few tears that welled up and finally trickled down my cheeks. 

 

Early on during the appointment, she told me I needed to cancel my upcoming travel plans. I am scheduled to be away for six weeks and this is delaying my cardiology appointments as well as access to eating disorder programming. I shook my head. Part of my trip is about building on social connections that are vital to me since, in Vancouver, I am rather isolated from deep relationships. I also managed to convey over the rest of my appointment how travel lifts me and how I even eat more when my routine has to adapt to different environments. I treat myself more. I allow things that are no-gos on home turf. 

 

So, yes, travel before treatment. The interventions have to wait. My decision. Still, it is scary. There are more what-ifs about my physical health now. I’ve heard a couple of frightening things from my family doctor and my psychiatrist. The remarks shook me so much I knew not to ask any follow-up questions. I was too startled and I couldn’t handle any more detailed information. I most certainly won’t be Googling.

 

Make it go away.

 

The information. The eating disorder.

 

The problem, however, is just what I said during my reassessment. “I can’t stop.” It was another teary moment. She nodded. We both knew this. That’s an inherent part of having an eating disorder, especially one that is severe.

 

I don’t sleep well. I don’t exercise well. Basically, I don’t function well right now. Nightmare scenarios play out in my head. I’m hoping travel will offer the distraction it always does. Let my mind and body rest. 

 

Let me be ready when I return to will some sort of change for the better.