Unicorns and my Recovery

Had to...

Most people who know me, know my obsession with unicorns. It's pretty real. But I've always kind of thought of my obsession with unicorns as almost like a metaphor for my eating disorder. I know that sounds really odd, but I'll explain.

My obsession with unicorns began around the age of 17. A little bit after the time that Jesse died. I think it was a way for me to take my mind off of the tough things in life and channel it into something else. I was also struggling with my ED at this time, but unicorns was another outlet, something that brought joy, something that I could focus all my attention on, something that I could use to relate to other people. For instance, I remember buying these awesome unicorn converse (which I no longer own :(. ), and it being the cool thing that I'd go around sharing with my cousins. "Look at these awesome shoes." And I'd get validation, that they were in fact pretty awesome.

Like my eating disorder, my unicorn obsession filled a void. It also served many purposes similar to my eating disorder. For one, it gives me an identity. Everyone on social media (facebook, tumblr, instagram, etc.) and real life knows me as the unicorn obsessed girl. People are constantly posting unicorn pics, quotes, things to buy, etc., on my facebook wall. I'm known for being obsessed with unicorns by others, but also by myself. I KNOW I'm the unique one with the unicorn obsession.

Along with that, it's something that's MINE. I'm the unicorn obsessed. I get defensive and dominate over it. If someone else expresses interest in unicorns, I immediately get angry, because unicorns is my thing. I have control over it. And I feel like if someone else gets excited over unicorns, they're taking something important away from me. People know me for my obsession, and they know it's mine.

Like my eating disorder, it's also something that controls my thoughts, but in a more positive way. I'm constantly thinking about unicorns (when I'm not in my eating disorder). I could spend hours (I have) looking up unicorn paraphernalia online. I have an entire unicorn board on Pinterest. It's something I can use to take my mind off of the things that I don't want to think about.

But unlike my eating disorder, it brings something else. It brings me passion, and joy. It keeps me lighthearted. It adds fun to my life. I enjoy thinking about unicorns, and posting my cool new unicorn gear, and bragging about how much unicorn stuff I have. It keeps me connected to people, because it gives us something to talk about. Unicorns was kind of a hot topic in my old house.

So how does this all relate to my recovery? I think it serves the purpose that I can find other ways to have an identity outside of my eating disorder, unicorns being a big one. I can focus on my obsession with unicorns as something that's mine, instead of feeling possessive of my eating disorder. It's something I can rear my mind to when I want to avoid the tough feelings (which I do have to deal with eventually). It can keep me connected to people. And it can feed my happiness and help me to not dwell on the unpleasant things in life.

Fears vs. Benefits of Recovery

My dietitian gave me an assignment to write out my fears of recovery, and the benefits of recovery. I had no problem coming up with a list of fears (although while they're all different, some may seem really similar), but I struggled with making a list of benefits.

Here are the lists.

Fears of Recovery

1. Being weight restored and still having all my ED thoughts and behaviors (e.g. obsessive compulsive behaviors around food, anxiety or avoidance of eating around people, constantly obsessing over what I'm going to eat, etc.)
2. Being recovered from my ED, but still having all my other problems & not being able to cope with them.
3. Losing my identity - not knowing who I am without my ED, or feeling unique/different.
4. Feeling valueless
5. Fear that I'll do all the work and fail at recovery, and that I'll do all the work for nothing.
6. All the emotions that I numb out with my ED coming at me with full force.
7. Not having it as a safety net or back up plan - doing poorly in school, not being able to be self-sufficient, not doing well in my career, being alone.
8. Not feeling loved by my family, losing their emotional support.
9. Not getting attention from my family.
10. Not having something that's MINE, that I have complete control over.
11. Being alone and rejected and feeling worthless; with my ED, none of that matters.
12. Dealing with things in the big world - my ED makes me only have to deal with one simple thing - my ED.
13. Dealing with responsibilities of growing up that I've been able to avoid.
14. Being independent - as much as I know independence is a good thing, I don't feel equipped for it. And I was independent most of my life, and I feel like I missed out on being dependent.
15. Not being cared for/about
16. Losing my community of friends who get what I'm going through and support me - all my "friends" are from treatment. Not making real friends.
17. Not being able to handle life outside of my ED.
18. Feeling like nothing because I don't have my ED.
19. Not having the structure, rigidity, routine my ED brings me.
20. Not being able to celebrate holidays with my family, because my ED has made things incredibly scary and awkward with them.

Benefits of Recovery

1. Not being controlled by my ED, feeling free.
2. Experiencing positive emotions - but that also scares me, because you can't have the good without the bad.
3. Having energy to do well in school and volunteering.
4. Thinking clearly.
5. Being physically healthy (which also scares me - see list above)
6. Being able to enjoy meals with my family.
7. Participating in holidays and vacations with my family.
8. Not isolating all the time.
9. Future - grad school, career, maybe a family.
10. Being able to tell my story and give hope to others.
11. Maybe being able to make friends, and actually enjoy being with other people.
12. Not being tired all the time.
13. Not being a financial and emotional burden on my family.
14. Maybe being able to find things I enjoy - but also scares me because what if I don't?

"Happy Birthday, Jesse"

Stop. It makes me so mad.

For those who don't know, Jesse is my baby brother. He was born 9 years ago today (Nov 13, 2006), and killed 33 days later in a car crash.

I remember Jesse. I remember the night I was working at Safeway, texting with my parents while they were at the hospital before he was born, and after he was born. I remember taking turns holding him in the hospital with my younger siblings. I remember putting a football helmet on him, and holding a football next to him. I remember fighting over who was going to sit next to him in the car. I remember lying in the woods hearing "where's Jesse?" over and over as the paramedics searched for him. I remember crying as my dad told me, "Jesse died," while lying in a hospital bed waiting to be stitched up. That day still haunts me.

But I hate seeing, "Happy Birthday, Jesse. We miss you." Or posts along those lines. It's okay from my immediate family, because they had the privilege of knowing Jesse, of holding him. They're the ones who genuinely miss Jesse, and miss the life they could have spent with him.

But for everyone else, maybe you met Jesse for a brief moment. But you didn't know Jesse. I hardly knew Jesse. I knew him for 33 days. I feel like you're stealing something precious from me. Jesse was, is, my brother. And I feel like I'm being stabbed when someone steals that from me.

I understand wanting to recognize Jesse on his birthday, or showing support to our family. It just makes me incredibly angry because Jesse is precious to me. And I feel like if you're not in my immediate family, you don't understand just how precious he was. Maybe I'm being selfish for wanting Jesse's day to myself. But my family went through tremendous pain when Jesse died, and I feel completely invalidated when people toss around, "Happy Birthday, Jesse. Rest in Peace." Like you're stealing something painful and intimidate to me, and owning it as yours.

Maybe this makes no sense at all. Maybe I'm being entirely selfish. Maybe my parents and siblings feel differently than me. But I feel like you're stealing my love and my adoration from me, and you're invalidating the pain that came along with losing my brother.

All that being said, I will always think about Jesse, especially on his birthday, and the anniversary of the accident. I feel so much love towards my family when we celebrate Jesse's life together. It's like a bonding moment, something that holds our family close. Jesse's birthday is a sad day to remember, but also a happy day in an odd way, because my family spends valuable time celebrating his life. We have a tradition where we go to his grave plot and visit him, and let blue balloons go and rise to him to heaven. I feel like the celebration is more for my younger siblings, who don't have as strong memories of his birth and life. It's a way for them to remember and recognize his life. I truly value the time I spend with my family on this day, and appreciate the joy of my siblings as we partake in traditions in Jesse's memory.

Alexa Penavega's Dancing with the Star's Representation of Bulimia

http://www.cosmopolitan.com/health-fitness/news/a49062/alexa-penavega-eating-disorder-dance/

 

An amazing representation of bulimia by Alexa Penavega on Dancing with the Stars. This dance really resonated with me. I feel like this can represent the possession of any addiction, whether it be an eating disorder, drugs, alcohol, gambling, etc. The way it takes over you and holds you and doesn't let you free. It controls you while you try to break free from it. Amazing to watch.

 

Art Therapy: Body Tracing

I don't think I have body image issues. I hate that I have a body and that I have to think about and take care of and deal with it, but I don't think I'm fat. I don't like my body, or having a body, but I've kind of accepted that it's always going to be that way.

Yesterday I had art therapy and we did a body tracing. I was reluctant, because my fear was that I was going to draw my body and then she was going to trace it, and it was going to be totally bigger than I thought. We decided that I wasn't going to draw my body, but instead she'd trace it and we'd go forward from there.

When I think of body tracings, my initial thought is most people think they're bigger than they are, and it's this big awakening moment where they find out that their body takes up less space than it actually does. That's not what happened for me. My body looked kind of like I expected it to, which was disappointing.

I don't think I'm fat, but I don't think I'm small. I think I'm average. I've been told that I'm small, and I wanted the image I saw to reflect what I've been told, or what my weight says. But it didn't. It was just an average body, with big hips and stubby legs. But I knew that I have stubby legs and big hips. I've been told that I have "child bearing hips" and I come from a family with short legs and big calves. Just to reiterate, I was disappointed that it wasn't a shocking moment where I was like "oh, I actually am small."

But enough about my body. After we did the whole point out what you like/dislike about your body thing, we did some collaging. I'm not sure what exactly I was supposed to do, but when I asked for clarification, she told me to do what I felt inclined to do. Basically I collaged the body with images that I felt represented different parts of my body, or emotions I felt in different parts of my body or in my head things that I thought about a lot.

The themes that came up were anger, death, anxiety, and I can't remember what else. I wish I had taken a picture so I could remember. She asked me about anger and if I feel anger a lot, and I told her I do, towards a lot of people. I feel like I'm filled with anger. I've worked a lot on managing my anger and taming it, and not expressing it physically. But it's still there, and sometimes it manifests itself as hurt, or hate towards myself.

I think next week we're going to do work on anger have, but I'm not really sure what that's going to look like.

Why is it truly so hard to let go of my eating disorder?

I feel so stuck in my eating disorder right now. Conflicted between wanting to get better, while still grasping so tightly to my eating disorder. Right now the grasp is tighter than the pull to recovery. Over the months, I've made a list of things that are holding me so tightly to my eating disorder. I feel like there’s so much more tied into my eating disorder than just food and body image (and right now body image isn’t that big of a factor for me anyways). But I feel like I get the food aspect of things under control, and then everything else is still there, and actually gets bigger because I don’t have my eating disorder to help anymore. Which in turn, pulls me back to my eating disorder. I've experienced this enough times, that it makes it scary to even take the steps to let go, because I don't want to be free of my eating disorder completely or even a little bit, because the drivers are still there. And it's so scary to live without my eating disorder.

I made a list of functions of my eating disorder (I always think of more, so this is a shortened version of it.):

It gives me an identity, makes me feel like someone when I don’t feel like I have any value in this world.

Along with the above, it makes me unique, and different.

Emotion numbing/avoidance - feelings of shame, anger, worthlessness, like I don’t belong, unlovable, etc.

It’s what I know best, it’s comfortable.

It’s a safety net - when I feel hopeless about everything in my life, and fear of failure, at least I have my eating disorder to keep me safe.

It helps me feel like I am loved by my family. And even by others who are helping me in the healing process.

Attention - I didn’t get attention when I was younger or in my teens (at least the attention I needed - when it was most important), and my eating disorder helps give me that.

Feeling like it’s mine, I own it, I can control it.

Worthlessness - feeling like I’m undeserving of love and affection, like I’m nobody, like I can’t keep connections.

Keeps me safe from being rejected, because it keeps me isolated from everyone.

Makes my world small - I can’t deal with everything in the big world, and when I’m so focused on my eating disorder, that’s all that matters.

Channeling my negative emotions on myself.

Structure, rigidity, routine, when everything else is chaotic.

Avoiding responsibility - not wanting to grow up, stay young, and be cared for like a child.

Community of friends who get what I'm going through, and are supportive of me.

I know all these things seem trivial, but they're real and big to me. It's scary to let go of something that's been a huge safety net for me in the past.

Dietitian Appointment (trigger warning, no numbers)

I had my appointment with my dietitian last night, and it was really challenging (they're all really challenging, but this one was particularly challenging). I've only seen my new dietitian 3 times, but she really challenges me and is hard on me (but it super nice at the same time), which I need.

I had struggled since the last appointment (typical), and have lost a fair bit of weight (ongoing, but she was pretty concerned about the drop this week). She kept telling me that I could be in a hospital right now. Of course I fought her and told her I'd been at much lower weights and still hadn't been hospitalized. She told me how eating disorders are scary and aren't like other illnesses such as cancer where you may have some anticipation of death occurring. In EDs, your body is resilient, but only up to a point. I've battled my eating disorder for a long time, and have lost weight, gained it back, lost weight, gained it back, etc. She told me how at any point my body could just start shutting down, even if my labs are fine. That I could just have a heart attack.

Part of me knows this, I've known plenty of people in treatment who have died from their ED. And that's not an exaggeration. On one hand, it's scary to think about. My body has been resilient. I've put it through years of damage, but my body has been faithful to me. But she's right, people CAN die from their ED at any point. On one hand, I want that to be scary to me. But it's not. I keep thinking I'm invincible, my body won't shut down on me, it can't. Or who cares? My life is pointless anyways, I'm not making progress, I have no purpose in this world, so why does it matter? I've thought about suicide a lot, but dying from an eating disorder, in a very sick way, is much more appeasing to me than committing suicide. So, so what if it kills me.

I didn't share those thoughts with her (although looking back maybe I should have?), but we did talk a lot about it. She has a caloric goal for me to hit every week (which isn't high given the meal plans I've been on in treatment, but is still scary for me to think about reaching), and I have been able to meet it a couple of times. But there's so much fear and guilt in letting go and giving recovery 100%. I'm scared of gaining weight, yes, but what's even more terrifying is giving up my eating disorder.

She told me if I dropped anymore weight she'd have to put me on supplements. She didn't mean it as a threat, and I didn't take it as one. More like, so what? I'm so conflicted right now in terms of recovery. I want it, but I don't. I'm sure that makes perfect sense to someone struggling with an eating disorder, but sounds pretty confusing if you don't struggle with addiction of some sort. Maybe you get it, I don't know.

On a happy note, today I met my caloric goal. I feel like crap because of it, my ED is screaming loudly at me. But I did something good, I guess. Even though it doesn't feel like it.