Blast from the Past

     We were headed to lil man's speech today when I looked out the window and caught the glimpse of the new branch of McCallum Place passing me by. For a minute everything went quiet and I found myself thinking about that first day so many years ago that my parents dropped me off at McCallum Place in Stl for treatment I desperately needed. My anorexia and cutting were out of control, and the whole world could see it but me. 
     In that moment I remembered everything about that day, riding in the back of the truck wanting nothing more than to disappear before we pulled into the day suite parking area. I watched as my dad carried up a suitcase with all my belongings in it knowing that soon enough they would leave and I would stay to do the one thing I hated most...eat. I remember them going through everything, signing papers, telling me to say goodbye to my parents, and leaving me in a room where girls wrapped in blankets paced around me. That sat me at a table expecting me to eat and drink, and I wanted to run away. When I called begging to come home I was met with the voice of my calm therapist telling me that I would be court ordered to treatment if I tried to leave. I was a kid, a teenager who just wanted to get away. 
     I was in the program for a close the three months between residential and day treatment. The staff did everything they could, and they fought for me when insurance pulled the plug after relapsing in days. At the time I hated the whole institution, I didn't want any part of it, and I was too young and stupid to realize how good I had it. That kind of treatment is a blessing if you can get it, and I had it once. After that I spent all my days in hospital beds with tubes or in inpatient EDUs that are fare less nice than residential offers. 
     I'm coming up on seven years in my recovery from my eating disorder, and some days I still feel like that stubborn kid who sat at the tables in McCallum Place. Those memories still burn bright in my eyes. There was a time that I found comfort in my hospital bed, it was my normal, and I didn't mind other people taking control over things because left to myself I wouldn't have survived. Now the docs have to practically tie me to a bed to keep me in the hospital when my life is endangered. It is amazing how the years can change a person, and in some ways leave us completely the same. 
     Those eight years of my anorexia my life was saved by doctors, nurses, staff members of McCallum, Research, and University Hospital countless times. Sure, I didn't find recovery until I hit rock bottom, but if I hadn't had those places before that there is no way I would be laying next to my son right now as he drifts off to sleep. Everyone around me thought it was so simple to 'just eat' and the people that worked with me during those years never said those words to me. They sat at tables while I screamed at them, cried, pushed trays away, and they held me down and forced nutrition on me when I refused. People think that is barbaric, but had they not stepped in I would have starved until there was nothing left. Those feeding tubes and IVs, as much as they sucked they kept me alive in some of the darkest days of my life, just as they do now so I can be a mother to my son. If I hadn't had those people that believed in me, who refused to leave when I pushed them away my story would have a very different ending. 
     When I looked down at my son as we put McCallum in the review mirror he was smiling up at me, and I felt so grateful to be where I am. I am sick, my body is weak, but my mind is completely my own these days. I spend my time fighting to be here to see my son grow up, no longer am I one of the girls pacing around the room in a blanket hoping to burn off a few calories before someone makes me sit down. Life is hard, and I know that my ED lives inside me but I also know that I won't let her see the light of day again. The years of treatment taught me that you can have a whole village around you encouraging you to get better, but if you don't want it for yourself it isn't going to happen. Eight years of playing with my life, barely escaping death, in the end it was up to me whether or not I would stop. I waited for so long for them to fix me when all they could do was give me the tools to fix myself. I didn't even realize I had taken anything away from those many stays in treatment until I started my recovery and all of the things they had said to me started to come into practice. I could finally see their truth and accept that mine was flawed. 
     If you are struggling with an eating disorder I encourage you to seek help, any help you can get. No one deserves to live trapped like that, to have lies screaming at you every second of everyday. So many people can't understand what it is like to wage war against yourself, but it is the hardest battle I have ever fought. The lie is that you can't do it, you can't find recovery, but the truth is you can. No one can make the choice for you, in the end you decide.