First step to recovery? You have to want it.
Being in a relationship with ED is like any other addiction. You cannot help the person unless they want to be helped. I think as soon as I entered the hospital, I knew this was no joke. I felt scared and immediately wanted to get better. I didn’t want to die. I also knew that this was not someplace I wanted to return. Sharing a room with two other girls my age and peeing and pooping in front of them, only shielded by a curtain, was not awesome, for a lack of a better word. I think I told my parents on day 5 that I craved a hamburger (would I have actually eaten one if it was placed in front of me? I think perhaps yes.)- that is how badly I wanted to get out of there. It was such an odd experience for me, it was very surreal. I remember thinking that I did not have anything in common with the other girls and one boy who was getting treatment with me, except that I did. I felt bad for the boy who would constantly walk up and down the hallways trying to burn calories and the young girl who was there on her third try. I also remember the time I chose full fat cream cheese over reduced fat cream cheese for my morning bagel. Literally the cafeteria went silent and all eyes were on me- how could I possibly have wanted full fat??! Apparently my mathematics was a lot better than the other girls (and boy) there because I am pretty sure 1 container of full fat cream cheese equals the same amount of fat and calories as the 2 containers of reduced fat cream cheese that they were all eating. I desperately wanted to get out of there. I think this is why my initial recovery went fairly well. I was scared shitless to go back.
Unfortunately, no matter how bad you want it (or think you want it), ED sure has a way of convincing you otherwise. After leaving the hospital it probably only took about 4 hours for me to realize that the road I was on was going to be a bumpy and long one (tomato incident). It was not going to be easy.
As years passed and my anorexia turned into bulimia and my bulimia turned into excessive exercise, I still remained hopeful. Looking back I think each time I changed my eating disorder, it was me progressing (even though at the time it might not have seemed that way). Each year that passed I wanted to break up with ED even more so. It’s no surprise that I certainly didn’t enjoy what I was doing. I didn’t enjoy throwing up and exercising even when I was not feeling well. I didn’t like the shame I felt every time I hid in my room to eat a piece of chocolate so no one would see me. And most of all I was tired of being mentally exhausted all the time. Some months/years it was easier than others for me to see the finish line. For a long time I thought external factors would be the way to “cure” me. During my early years of college I thought having a boyfriend would cure me, then I thought having a job I loved would cure me and then I thought moving out of my parents house would cure me. These things were just band aids… through therapy and hitting rock bottom (really just an accumulation of everything), I realized I had to really want it. Also it’s a choice. You can either choose to be miserable with ED or you can choose to go to marriage bootcamp with NED and realize that NED is the Beast (the non hairy one) to your Belle.
Yours,
Robin