Recovery is a Choice

     I know this might make me sound like a jerk, but one thing I've learned through the last five years recovering from my eating disorder is that RECOVERY IS A CHOICE. Believe me, in the depths of my obsession I would tell the doctors, family, and friends that they didn't understand, this wasn't my fault, I couldn't stop..."I'm sick". The truth is I was sick, very sick. Developing and eating disorder is NOT a choice, it is a disease that kills without prejudice. I never once sat down and said, "I think I want to be anorexic" or "I am going to throw up from now on". Developing the disease is absolutely not a choice, but overcoming it is.
     I spent years playing the "victim", I sat in hospital beds being nourished by a tube down my nose and hydrated by an IV in my arm, content that this was out of my control. I was in my first treatment center as a teenager, I was there because my parents wanted me there, and though the whole team tried to help me I wasn't ready to help myself. I ate to get out, I learned what to say, how to smile, and how to work the system. I was a walking, talking eating disorder there was nothing else on my mind except my eating disorder. Whenever they put me in the hospital I turned into a toddler, arguing about everything, refusing food, turning my tube feeds off, exercising, and having full blown meltdowns that resembled temper tantrums my son throws at three. I can't tell you how many times I would fold my arms across my chest and say, "You can't make me"!
     Everyone told me that I was the only one who could fix this, and I would scoff telling them that I couldn't do it. Part of me wanted to be fixed, I wanted them to cure me without me actually having to put forth any effort. My doctor was an amazing, very caring man who began taking care of me when I was 19 and at college. I put this poor man through the ringer for three years, every week he saw me, and every week I was worse. He kept me alive when I couldn't or wouldn't keep myself alive. One day he came in to my hospital room and flat out said, "If I am the only one that cares about you getting better I might as well just send you over to adult psych, and you can spend your life as a "chronic anorexic". I started crying hysterically, begging him not to drop me, and he flat out told me if I didn't make an effort he wasn't going to have a choice. I think that was one of the first times I realized that I couldn't shove the responsibility of my recovery/life on everyone else.
     It took me eight years of battling my disorder before I made my mind up that I had to recover. During those years I would half way try recovery, for a couple months I would be "stable", and eat like I was suppose to only for it all to unravel very quickly. Every failure solidified the lie in my head that I was beyond hope, obviously I will never recover. I made excuses, accepted that this was my life, and gave up. The fact is none of that was true, I was terrified of recovery, terrified of not having my eating disorder. My identity became Andrea the anorexic/purger/cutter, so if I gave all that up who would I be?
     When I hit rock bottom after a suicide attempt I realized that I had two options...recovery or death. It was not an overnight metamorphosis by any means, it was a long journey full of set backs. I reached out to my boyfriend (now my husband) and told him that I needed help because on my own I would for sure fail again. His job was to snap me back to reality when the lies started screaming in my head again, when I would fight eating, or try to be sneaky he held me accountable. He didn't fix me, let me make that clear, he supported me as I sought out to fix myself. I had meltdowns, I cried when clothes didn't fit right, I would fall into body checking rituals, and I would journal the horrible thoughts that were racing through my brain. I had to do something I hadn't done in years...be completely honest. For so long it was all smoke in mirrors, the smiles, assurances that I was eating and not purging, not cutting, and the list goes on. I had to learn how to put it all out there, and I had to do the one thing that I had been trying to avoid for years....FEEL. My life revolved around numbers, restricting, purging, cutting, and anything to avoid the real issues behind it all.
     Believe me when I say the ED clung tighter as I fought to beat it, the screaming, and the lies got louder. My skin would crawl, and I would have irrational thoughts that if I ate a piece of toast I could feel my stomach growing. For months you could see the struggle, you couldn't have a conversation with me without seeing me fidget or obsessively hit my hip bones. It took more strength than I thought I had to get through the days, I often took it an hour at a time to not get overwhelmed. It has been five years and I dare not say that I am recovered because I'm not. My recovery is a process, and there are moments when that voice breaks through and I start to panic. The only difference now is that have the ability to realize that what my head is telling me is untrue. I have safety measures in place...I do not know my weight, my doctors do not discuss body size, I do not wear jeans, and my husband will not even acknowledge when I ask questions like, "Do you think I've gained weight"? It is a fight, but a fight that is worth it.
     The only way to beat an eating disorder is finally decide that your life is completely out of control, and realize that you WILL DIE if you don't break free. Believe me I know the voice in your head telling you that you aren't strong enough to do it, or that you can't possibly survive without the protection of your disease. I know how scary it is to accept an identity that doesn't involve being sick. The fact is that you can have the best doctors, the best treatment center, the most supportive friends and family, but if you aren't willing to fight you are never going to get any better. The only person who can make the choice is you. I didn't understand that when I was a teenager, the doctor who diagnosed me with anorexia told me flat out, "I'm not going to argue with you because you are going to win every time, and you are going to be the one dead". As a kid I rolled my eyes, but now I see how right she was. This is a fight, a fight for life...a life that you deserve. You didn't make the choice to develop an eating disorder, but you can make the choice to defeat the eating disorder.