When I was five years old

It's Christmas time and my church is putting on their annual pageant.  The older kids get to be Mary and Joseph and the Wisemen and the little ones, the five year olds, get to be angels.  

All I remember of this is standing in the back of the church bawling my eyes out because being an angel scared me.  I remember my mom standing in the back with me.  I don't remember what she said, I just know she didn't make me walk down the aisle.  

I wanted to be an angel so bad.  Then why didn't I just walk down the aisle with all the other angels?  Because I was scared of the unknown.  We didn't rehearse.  We were told just walk down the aisle and stand near the altar.  Okay...but...what if I mess up?  Even at a young age I needed to do everything right.  I needed to be perfect.

It's strange to think at the age of five I was already aware of people watching me and judging me and making mistakes and the consequences of mistakes.  Five seems like such a young age to be worried about the world.  These days I see little kids in church just doing their own thing.  They are coloring or looking at a book or even sitting quietly during the Mass.  And we all know those kids who have maybe just a little too much energy and they make themselves known.  (Sorry parents, the whole congregation knows where you are sitting, you cannot hide.)  I think about these active children and wonder why they don't worry about people looking at them or realize that their voice carries or that they make noise when they toss a toy at the ground.  These children are curious and they should be.  They want to experience what is around them.  I think of them as adventurous.

I was not adventurous.  In the confines of my own home I went on plenty of adventures, but bringing me out to the real world I just froze.  I was too afraid to move because...what if I make a mistake?  I don't know exactly what I was afraid of all the time, I just had this unsettling feeling that something bad was going to happen.  I still experience those moments; they're called panic attacks.

Recently I've been trying to motivate myself to finally do what I want to do, but I keep getting in the way.  

I want to write a play.  Okay, write a play, brainstorm some ideas and start writing stuff out.  It doesn't have to be perfect and most likely the first draft will need work, so go head and write a play.  Easier said than done.  Do you know how many times I've started writing a story and I just stop because I'm afraid it sucks?

I want to write music.  Okay, write some music.  Just write what you feel and think and a melody will come to you.  Again, it doesn't have to be perfect, so go ahead and write a song.  Yeah...easier said than done.  What if no one likes it?

I'm still five years old standing in the back of the church crying, afraid to walk down the aisle because...why?  In my last blog I said it's time to get real and I'm still working on that.  I know what I want.  Now I need to let go of my mom's hand, dry my tears and walk down that aisle not having a clue what I'm doing because no one has told me, but that's the point.  No one can tell me what to do, only I can do that.  I can't go back in time and change how that played out all those years ago, but I can challenge myself every day to keep on moving toward my goals and aspirations.  Easier said than done, but if I write a sentence or a phrase, that's better than not writing anything at all...and hey, at least I wrote this post.  ;)

Crawling out of my skin

Right now I literally feel like I'm crawling out of my skin.  I've been feeling this way since before my psychiatrist appointment today and that was three hours ago.  I don't know how to make the feeling stop!  I don't know why I'm so anxious!  

My doctor suggested I don't go back to work full time yet so that decision has been made, no reason to be anxious over that.

I have rehearsal tonight, but I'm only there for a little bit because I don't have a big role.  No reason to be nervous...

My friend is going to inpatient tomorrow...sad panda.  It's possible I'm feeling anxious for her...I do that a lot - take on people's problems and feelings.

I'm planning out my next album, which I decided is going to be about recovery.  That's exciting, but it can be anxious producing...but I'm in the beginning phase of it so would I really be anxious about this?  Maybe....right now I'm mostly just conceptualizing, figuring out songs I want to cover and reading through old lyrics for my originals.

There are auditions tonight and tomorrow for an upcoming show, but since I can't be there I already auditioned so I don't need to be nervous about not being at auditions...but the waiting game is terrible.  Anticipatory anxiety?  Most likely yes.

It's almost dinner time and feeling anxious already doesn't really start me off on the right foot.  Am I hungry right now?  Of course not.  The thought of eating anything turns my stomach, but I need to eat sooner rather than later since I have rehearsal tonight.

Do I have to eat?  Yes...unfortunately.  Do I have to like it that I have to eat?  No...but that doesn't make it any better.  

Seriously, why does this have to be so hard?

I don't know...ugh...

Bumps in the road

Dinner is almost done and even though I agreed to have what John is currently cooking, I'd rather just not have it.  Why?  I'm not hungry, I'm feeling anxious about the first cast meeting for Annie, I feel like I ate enough today, I'm worried I've gained weight, and blah, blah, blah.  I could continue on with all my excuses of why dinner shouldn't happen.

This week I can't count how many times I wanted to just give up.  Recovery seemed too complicated and impossible.  I had made plans how to make it look like I was recovering, but really going back to what I used to do.  Thankfully this week I met with my psychiatrist and therapist.  Since my anxiety has been so high the psychiatrist made a med adjustment and talking things out with my therapist was super helpful.  My family has made steps in helping me create more structure to my day and checking in with me to make sure I'm continuing in the right direction.

ED has been getting louder and more persistent.  There are times that what he says is comforting and makes sense so it makes not having a snack seem reasonable.  But as we like to say when in doubt follow the meal plan.  

My mom said she didn't quite understand after going through treatment and accepting I have a problem why eating was still difficult.  It's a good point she brought up.  I've been starving myself for so long that eating six times a day is still a foreign concept.  Also, I'm usually not feeling any hunger cues or I may feel very anxious and my stomach is in knots.  The biggest part though is that the thoughts and emotions don't go away.  They will be there for the rest of my life, except they won't affect me like they do now.  I know people have recovered and are in a much happier place in their lives.  They are my inspiration.

Putting my life back together is like doing construction on the worst road ever.  It's going to take time and it's going to be hard manual labor.  It's going to take a lot of people and equipment.  Before the road is successfully finished it's going to be uncomfortable to drive on with all the potholes and bumps.   My car may run out of gas on this road, which currently doesn't have a gas station, debris could cause a flat tire or create dents, my car may get stuck in a pothole, etc.  

ED is going to do whatever it takes to slow down my progress and keep creating potholes and bumps on this broken road, but he doesn't seem to quite get that I have a whole construction crew helping me repair it.  

I'm still going to have days I don't want to eat dinner.  Tonight I took a break from blogging and ate dinner.  Why?  I need to have energy to go to my meeting tonight, I have ballet tomorrow morning, I have things to do around the house this weekend, but the biggest part is wanting to take back beauty and kick ED to the curb.

Anxious thoughts and theatre

I've been a bit quiet for a few days and partly that's from feeling very anxious recently.  Do I know why I'm feeling anxious?  Not always.  Anxiety, like any mental illness, can be time consuming.  ED isn't the only one who likes to talk in my head, my Anxiety and Depression do also.

Let's say...John asks me to stop at the store on the way home:

Anxiety: What do you mean go to the store?!  You can't just go to the store.  This isn't a part of the plan.  Nowhere in the plan did it say to go to the store.

Me: I know we usually don't, but John does this kind of stuff all the time.

Anxiety: Nope, nope, nope.  We cannot go to the store.  First you have to drive there and park your car perfectly, then you have to walk in and make sure you're not in anybody's way, then you have to decide cart or basket, then you have to figure out where the hell you need to go in the store without looking like a moron and you better not ask anybody for help because they will think you're stupid and a waste of their time, then you have to pick the right items, then you have to go to the checkout line and not look awkward, then you wait for your stuff to ring up and the clerk may want to make small talk, then you pay and have to be as quick as you can because there is a huge ass line waiting for you to leave, then you walk out to your car, but you can't effing remember where you parked it.

Me: Yeah...you're right, that sounds too complicated.

My anxiety loves to make everything sound complicated because it's afraid of everything.  I hardly ever do errands on my own.  I make sure someone is with me.  Of course there are times I have done an errand on my own and I'm still living to tell the tale.  Sometimes it doesn't seem bad at all and other times my heart is ready to pound out of chest, I can't slow my breath down and my stomach has bats flying all around inside.  Phew...

And my anxiety doesn't just affect me outside the home, it likes to bother me inside the home too.  I want to be a productive human being and actually make my house look nice, but more than half the time just the thought of doing one task throws me for a loop.

Anxiety: Laundry?  Why do you have to do that right now?  We are so not ready to do laundry.  You have to take your dirty clothes downstairs and separate them, then you have to turn the washer on and put in the soap and your clothes, then you have be around when it's done so you can put the laundry into the dryer and then you still have to be around to bring the dry clothes upstairs and put everything away perfectly.

Me: Yeah...you're right, that sounds too complicated.

Most of you know I love theatre!  So how in the world am I able to get through auditions and be in shows?  I don't know...  

Auditions are a killer.  Last night I auditioned for Annie.  I ran my audition piece in my head all day.  This wasn't by choice, this was my anxiety telling me I wasn't  prepared enough and this was my first  audition since the fall (and since being in treatment).  What if you forget your lines?!  Waiting to leave for the audition was horrible.  I couldn't focus on anything and I was so nauseous that I could hardly eat my dinner.  I was glad and terrified when it was time to leave the house and go to the audition location.  I always feel a little better once I'm there, but the more people who come to audition the more I'd like to sneak out the door and run for the hills.  While we were waiting to begin, the accompanist came by and retrieved everyone's music...and then I forgot all the lyrics.  I was the second person to go and I had no idea what were the lyrics to my song.  I could remember the first few, but I couldn't concentrate hard enough to get very far and then I looped back to the beginning.

Omigodomigodomigod....

Once it was my turn I walked up to the table to give the four production staff members my info sheet and I introduced myself.  The music started and...I sang the right lyrics!  I didn't know what was going to come out of my mouth, but miraculously I sang the song correctly.

I find out tonight if they would like me to return for a call back.  I know the high anxiety I'm feeling today is because of that call.  (I have no patience).

It's very exciting to get the call that you were cast in a show though!  It means you were good enough.  And depending on what role you get you may feel you obviously weren't that good since you didn't get a bigger role (that's not always true, but it's hard not to take casting personally).

Being in a show is a lot of fun.  You meet new people, catch up with old friends and laugh about the crazy theatre antics you got into before.  (Theatre is a small world after all.)  The best part is becoming someone else.  I no longer am Emily, but I'm someone new and I like creating this new person to be on stage.  

On the nights of performances, I love arriving to the theatre early to put on my makeup, do my hair and put on my costume.  If no one else is around it's even better.  It's just me and silence.  Just me and deep breaths.  Just me and taking time.  If there are other actors around I most likely will keep to myself until I'm all ready.  I feel bats in my stomach right until I walk on stage and then it disappears because I'm a new person.

So...tonight I hope I get a call and receive an invitation to call backs, but I keep reminding myself the reason I auditioned was to bring back a sense of normalcy into my life and to challenge myself.  I have to prepare myself for the chance of not getting in and that means it wasn't meant to be.  I also have to prepare for the chance that I do get in and have a lot of fun.

Tomorrow is D Day

Tomorrow I'm discharging from the partial hospitalization program.  This is a good and bad thing.  It's good because my treatment team thinks I'm ready (even though my insurance pushed the issue) and it's bad because I do not feel ready.

It seems somewhat surreal that tomorrow is my last day.  I've bonded with so many patients and the staff.  For awhile it will feel impossible that I can move on with my daily life without them.  I'm not even sure if I will get to participate in Tuesday's schedule fully and get a good chance to say my goodbyes.  Discharging patients seem to get pulled here and there, which will only make me more anxious about leaving.

I get to take home my most recent art project (made out of clay!) and...my scale.  I turned in my scale to the treatment team when I couldn't fight the urges to not weigh myself anymore.  My scale causes problems and even though I know that I still don't want to get rid of it.  According to staff my weight has remained stable...that's good.  So...what is the number?  And they ask, why is it important?  And my reply, because it has always been important.  It's not a good answer anymore.

A close friend on my support team does not even own a scale.  He has no clue what he weighs and that is so bizarre!  He doesn't value himself as a person by a number.  I'm not at that point yet, but seeing my friend do it without even thinking about it is a good example.

Something potentially therapeutic to do is smash my scale.  Smash it to pieces.  Someone might think that it's a waste of a perfectly good scale when I could just donate it, but it would symbolize so much more if I obliterate it, take it's power away, take ED's power away.

I will be the most vulnerable once I leave treatment.  I can already hear ED planning all the behaviors I should engage in.  What ED isn't bargaining on is I've come this far and I will keep up a good fight.

I am being discharged

I'm trying my very best not to freak out that I am being discharged on Tuesday.  I got official word yesterday...and I did a lot of crying.  I knew one day I'd have to leave treatment, but I thought I'd stay a little longer.  I don't feel ready to leave, but there isn't anything I can do to prevent my discharge.  (Radical acceptance.)

My biggest concern is slipping up.  I know it's human nature to make mistakes, but I'm a perfectionist.  The staff at treatment are amazing and they help keep us all accountable.  Now...I have to be accountable for myself without their help.  That's very scary.  I will have an outpatient team so I'm not being thrown to the wolves, but I won't be seeing them on such a frequent basis.  I will also have my support team, but it's very easy to isolate myself from the people who are there for me.  I just hope I can stay strong and use the tools I've learned.

Also, I just don't feel like a whole person yet.  There are certain house chores I can't even do because they overwhelm me so much.  And somehow I'm supposed to face the world when doing laundry causes a panic attack?  In the past I have dealt with anxiety and overwhelming feelings by engaging in ED behaviors, but I can't do that anymore.  I have to sit with feeling anxious and overwhelmed and scared and frustrated and depressed.  That is fucking hard and there are days it seems easier to give in to ED because it "worked" before.

Just typing this makes me want to cry all over again.  Know what my therapist at treatment would say to that?  "Go ahead, cry!"  She gets excited when our emotions become so raw and vulnerable that the only thing left to do is cry.  We have to feel the pain that we've been trying so hard to contain and hide.  If we feel like shit that basically means we are moving in the right direction.  Great...I'll just check that off of the recovery to do list.

I am very grateful for our therapist because she is suggesting that I ease back into work.  That will be so helpful.  At work I got away with a lot of behaviors so easing back in not only will reduce some of my anxiety, but also help me create a new relationship with work, a healthy relationship.

I'm in love with fantasy and fairy tales and today I realized that some of my favorite characters didn't stay at their new found magical place.  Dorothy, Wendy and Alice all went back home.  They learned a lot on the way and eventually they knew they had to return home.  Although I wouldn't call treatment magical per se, I have learned a lot on my recovery journey thus far and now it's time to go home, time to return to the real world, time to see what I'm made of, time to figure out who I really am.

Am I terrified to figure out who I really am?  Oh yeah...

I am struggling

Yesterday I said I was a warrior and I still believe so, but today I'm struggling.  I have no hunger cues and sticking with the meal plan gets tougher.  I'm trying so hard to accomplish recovery that I keep resisting urges to restrict, binge, purge, self harm, exercise...but all those urges just keep building.  The impending discharge doom is hanging over me.  It's very hard not to focus on and all the potential slip ups I might have after I'm released from the program.

I know logically engaging in any behavior will NOT make me feel better, although the thoughts in my head say otherwise.  I may feel better for a split second and then I will just feel as crappy (or more) than I did before.

These difficult days make me feel defeated and I question (really ED questions) if recovery is worth it.  Having an eating disorder is my way to cope with the world.  Now I'm trying to find new ways to cope and it's hard and majorly sucks.  I'm hoping this blog will be one of those new ways to cope.  Other  good coping skills I've discovered are reading, coloring (yeah like a little kid, seriously it's an amazing thing), listening to music, painting my nails, playing strangely addicting games on my iPad, talking to the people on my support team, and list is going to grow.

Crying also works.  I had a good cry on my way home from program today because all I really wanted to do was purge my dinner, skip my evening snack, and just give up.  Once I came home I talked to my husband (while hiding under the covers, still crying) and he was doing his best to calm me down.  After we talked I was so depressed I didn't want to get out of bed.

Guess what?  I got out of bed.  Took some coaxing and nudging and doing goofy things on John's part, but I got out of bed.  I did some necessary paperwork regarding short term disability for my work, painted my nails, listened to Imagine Dragons, texted with my dad (which was so helpful), and now writing up a blog.  At this moment I don't feel as hopeless, but it can change by the hour, the minute, the second.

Fighting ED is one huge war and there are going to be battles I win and there are going to be battles ED wins.  I'm not trying to set myself up for failure.  I'm trying to be realistic since no recovery is perfect.  Slipping up is a part of recovery.  Slipping up freaks me out.  Slipping up doesn't equal a relapse.  Slipping up means I'm human.

As Cesar Millan (Dog Whisperer) says, "It's not about how bad it was, it's about what you do now."  And now?  I'm going to eat my snack that I've been avoiding since I got home.

I am a warrior

As humans we all have something we struggle against and wrestle with.  For a long time I felt alone and ashamed and embarrassed with the war I was fighting.  I'm fighting myself on a daily basis, I look in the mirror and see a distorted image of myself, my day is based on a number presented on the scale below my feet, I try to control situations and what people think about me by controlling my weight...

I have an eating disorder.  I refuse to let it define me anymore.  I am NOT an eating disorder.  I am Emily.

I am a warrior.  Really, we all are warriors.  We are all fighting each day to live our lives and move through our own pain.

Last year I could hardly function.  I have struggled with my eating disorder for at least 14 years and last year I was losing the war.  I felt like I just wasn't trying hard enough.  There were so many others who were achieving their weight loss goals, but I was running out of steam to keep playing ED's game.  My anxiety and depression were at levels I couldn't manage anymore, but I kept hearing if you lose x amount of pounds then you will finally have control and life will make sense.  So I tried and tried and tried, but really all I was doing was digging a grave.  

I couldn't see that I was digging a grave.  The couple close friends I opened up to last year were trying to get me to see that I needed help, but I would continue to be in denial.  You're not an anorexic, you don't qualify to be one, which means you don't have an eating disorder, you just can't stick to your diet.  If ED says it, it must be true...  (But really having eating disorder not otherwise specified (EDNOS) is a real eating disorder, it just doesn't get as much attention as anorexia.)

I had stopped telling my husband what was going on and he was the first person I ever opened up to about my eating disorder.  I wanted him to think everything was fine.  What's wrong with starting a new job, competing on a state and national level with your business group from school, being maid of honor in a good friend's wedding, being in a musical where you weren't good enough to get a bigger part, and buying and moving into a house on top of trying to starve myself and lose weight?  Did I mention that was mostly in the beginning of 2013?

As the year progressed I was getting worse.  I was in an operetta over the summer and although I was all smiles with my faerie wings and wand, inside I was being ripped to shreds.  You're one of the bigger faeries, you aren't graceful enough, you are a joke, they only let you in the show because they pity you.  At first I wasn't sure if anybody actually liked me in the cast.  All I could think was all these people are so talented, what am I doing here?  Even though I was a bit unsure of everyone I started to actually makes friends with many of the cast members.  It was a strange feeling to trust that they weren't going behind my back and talk about how stupid I was.  Eventually rehearsals became my safe haven from my thoughts, but once it was time to go home ED would return and I cried many times on my drive home.  During the summer I met with my therapist for the first time (with much support from my husband and a couple friends) and continued to see her whenever I could.  I have tried therapy in the past, but something would happen that would end it prematurely whether it was in my control or not.

Then August came...and everything got crazy.  I was in a car accident that put me on bed rest for five weeks due to a concussion.  Those were terrible weeks.  Although people shared their love and support in various ways I still felt like no one cared.  It broke my heart when I couldn't be in a friend's wedding and I felt like I was letting everyone down in my life.  All my issues magnified and I was sobbing constantly when my thoughts turned to suicide more and more.  I couldn't stand being in my own skin, I just wanted to die to end the pain.

Once I was back at work I noticed I couldn't concentrate because I was still dealing with concussion symptoms, but then my eating disorder, anxiety, and depression started distracting me every minute of every day.  The concussion can cause sleep problems and when I couldn't sleep I was being bombarded by negative thoughts.

I was able to join the cast of another show and found again that theater was my safe haven.  Unfortunately, I ended up having a complex migraine caused by the concussion and missed two shows.  I was back to resting for a few days and I felt terrible for letting my cast down.  I'm so grateful to everyone in that cast for stepping it up when I could not be there.

When that show ended it was time to get ready for Christmas.  My husband's family was coming to visit and I couldn't handle the pressure of what I was feeling mentally and emotionally and trying to get our house ready for company.  By this point I would come home and just lay in bed.  I didn't have the energy for anything, even if it seemed like a simple task to anyone else, and I had isolated myself from close friends.  

The night before Christmas Eve my husband's family arrived and that night I couldn't sleep.  I was suicidal.  My husband woke up and asked why I was crying.  It took me forever to tell him and he stayed up with me for hours.  I was ashamed to tell him, but it also was a relief to know how much he loves me to be supportive and refrain from judgment.  The following day he spoke with his parents so they were aware and could be a source of support for me.  Unbeknownst to either of us his parents told my parents.  On Christmas Day they had an intervention.  I never thought I could be that bad to be worthy of an intervention.  Now looking back I realize that was the only way I would have sought the next level of treatment I needed and to be finally open and honest with my family.

This is the start of my fifth week in a partial hospitalization program.  My insurance has said the magic word "discharge" and I don't know when that will happen.  What I do know is that I am a warrior and I will continue to fight for me.