Suicide Prevention Awareness Month – Alyssa

I am very excited to share a piece today written by my friend, Alyssa. Alyssa is someone I have known for years, yet have never been all that close with. We were in the same sorority in college, but a couple pledge classes apart. 

The reason I mention this though, is twofold. For one, it helps to prove my point that you really never know what someone is struggling with at any given time. And two, I just want to say that I was taken aback by Alyssa’s genuine willingness to share. Talking about suicide and suicidal thoughts is terrifying. Sharing something so intimate can make you feel completely exposed and beyond vulnerable. Somehow, Alyssa was able to put that fear aside and contribute to this project anyway. She shared some of her most intimate feelings and experiences for me, someone she has never been extremely close with, and even more so than that, for all of you reading.

As you will soon see, Alyssa is still in the midst of her recovery process. Having said that, she has still found a way to explain her mental health journey, and how it ties into this month’s theme of Suicide Prevention Awareness, in hopes that her words will positively impact someone else.

I may have said this in the past, but I cannot stress enough how meaningful that is. Being able to put words to some of your demons is hard enough. Sharing those words with the world is even more difficult. Like those who have shared before her, Alyssa is one of the few people that has found a way to break her silence in hopes of breaking the stigma.  

Without further ado, check out her piece here:

Suicide and depression are complex and are so unspoken that it becomes difficult to find the words to express the darkness. It is hard for me to understand the effects these diagnoses have on my brain, let alone on my life.

For many years, I was able to keep these things hidden. I struggled constantly and knew I wasn’t like everyone else. Something was wrong with me. I grew up thinking I was a defective version of a human, flawed beyond fixing. I lived my whole life constantly criticizing myself and convincing myself I was not enough. If you can’t imagine, this becomes extremely exhausting. A daily battle with yourself, filled with negative thoughts and feelings of shame and guilt. Feeling guilty for just being alive. I lived basically my entire life inside of my head, never taking a breath of fresh air or stopping to enjoy what was around.

Having depression and suicidal thoughts is like walking through darkness with your eyes closed. Everything just seems pointless and confusing.

For years, I convinced myself that I could beat the flood of negative thoughts by myself. By the time I turned 21 though, I knew it was a serious problem that I could not solve alone. Around this same time, I was also still battling my eating disorder – a very physically harmful component of my anxiety. I was sick, but I was able to realize how unhealthy these habits were really becoming.

I panic every time I think about the effects that 8 years of an eating disorder had on me. It ripped my life right out of my hands and forced me to think I did not deserve anything. I was not worth love or life. Suicidal thoughts were not foreign to me. They had been very present in my head ever since high school. 

One day, as I sat on my couch wanting to die, I was scrolling through my phone when I came across #projectsemicolon. I immediately thought to myself that I needed this tattoo. As an impulsive person (probably not much help from my anxiety/depression), I was on the way to the tattoo parlor in under 10 minutes. For those of you that have not heard of Project Semicolon, I highly recommend looking it up, it is beautiful.

This tattoo gave my life a little bit of purpose. It was exactly what I needed. I promised myself that after I got the tattoo, I would confess to my mom that I needed help. She had been in the dark just like everyone else in my life. Keeping all of these things hidden became too easy, and that is a scary thought. I was struggling more than ever and I was not okay. I wrote my mom a note explaining everything, put it in my nightstand at home, and left it there for “the right time.” (Now my only wish is that I would have asked for help sooner).

Finding mental health services alone seemed impossible, but telling my family about my anxiety and depression was the last thing I wanted to do. I did not want anyone else to feel the way I felt, and for some reason, I thought it was something they would take personally.

Since then, it has been two years and a rough road to recovery. There have been days where I wanted to give up, but my support system has kept me going. I would be lying if I said that recovery is smooth, because there have been times of relapse and obstacles. I have spent months crying and not feeling like myself. I surrounded myself with people who bring love into my life and helped me see positivity. My friends and my family are the reason I am alive today to share my story. I am forever thankful for all that they have done.

Along the way to recovery (where I still am today), I have endured a lot of self-discovery, both good and bad, but all of it makes me a stronger person in the end. I am thankful for yoga, coping skills and ALL of the mental health services. Two years later, and I have no shame seeing my therapist weekly or taking medications to help my brain reach a healthy place – both things that seem to have a negative connotation. There are still days that seem never-ending and way too difficult, but the main thing recovery has taught me is to enjoy the little things. I have learned to celebrate all of my minor accomplishments (and some days they may be smaller than others.)

On my journey to recovery, I have found my passion, which gives me purpose. Something I lacked my entire life, until now. My preschoolers bring a special kind of light into my life and filled a hole I did not even know I had. They make me feel happiness – a feeling I had long forgotten.

Some days, my accomplishment is just making it through the day with minimal tears. It’s the little things that make life worth it. To this day, I still struggle wrapping my head around all of this, because it’s something I’m still battling. But for now, I have started to see the beauty in the world. Throughout this process, I have learned that I am worth love from myself and from others. I will continue to take life day by day, minute by minute, because at the end of the day- All we have is now.

I honor the place in you where the entire universe resides. You are enough. You matter. The world is a better place because YOU are in it.

Learn more about Project Semicolon here: https://projectsemicolon.com/

 

Suicide Prevention Awareness Month – Kathleen Pt. 2

 Today’s piece is the second half of Kathleen’s story. Here she shares her experiences with recovery and self-love.  If you have not yet read part one, I highly encourage you to first start there. 

I know I said it before, but Kathleen’s words are so raw, and because of that, so important. 

The nature of blogging is supposed to be concise, yes, but I think it’s extremely difficult to wholeheartedly share a story of struggle and recovery in such a short format. Each word that Kathleen writes has so much meaning, and because of that, I felt so compelled to share it, length and all.

I think one point I really want to stress though, is that suicidal thoughts are so far from a one-size-fits-all type of “problem”. Kathleen’s struggle developed in conjunction with her eating disorder. This is not always the case. The more we open up to share each of our unique experiences, the more others struggling will begin to realize that they are not alone. Although each of our feelings are uniquely ours, we are all in this together. 

Without further ado, here is pt. 2: 

My “final recovery process,” lasted just over two years. There are so many things I want to share about those two years. So many life-changing moments. Moments of lucidity and transformations that ultimately resulted in me finally fully healing from suicidal thoughts and the eating disorder. I hope that by sharing a few of these moments I will be able to help someone else find hope, restoration, and a path to become fully-healed.

First of all –I came to realize that there was an urgent need to stop thinking the way that I had been thinking.  This was no easy feat, as many of you reading may know.  It is also especially difficult when you are malnourished, drinking to numb the pain, and when you have felt, for 18 years, that the earth would be better off without you.

But in meeting Kitty and the George’s, I realized that suicide and eating disorders kill people at an alarming rate, often times without warning or intent.  On June 13, 2002, I also realized that suicide was real, it wasn’t enigmatic, it was final –and it leaves behind a pain that is indescribable.  In order to stop considering suicide, I had to tell myself over and over again, “Suicide is NOT AN OPTION.”  I told myself that for months and months on end.  There were many dark moments during my final recovery process, but it was too dangerous to allow suicide to even be a consideration.  No matter how hard things became, and no matter how truly dark, empty and desolate my whole life felt, I had to continuously tell myself, “Suicide is NOT an option.”

Thankfully, I was very, very blessed to have my dog Gretz by my side to help me in these darkest hours.  His fur soaked up more tears than I knew were possible to cry.  During this time, he never left my side. Sometimes he was even the ‘only reason’ I felt life was worth living.

Secondly, I came to realize that there was much more left to heal beyond my suicidal thoughts–I also had to truly nourish myself.  Before skipping lunch for the first time, I had never felt suicidal.  It was stunning how quickly the under-eating and purging changed my ability to handle my feelings in a rational way. They drastically impacted my mood. My body didn’t have the nourishment it needed to help balance my emotions. And although, yes I had been very sad about my appearance in the past, I had never considered suicide–not until my brain was malnourished.

Think about it this way: imagine if you decided to stop feeding a baby.  How would that baby react?  Would it be content, joyful, and able to self-soothe?  No, not at all! It is nearly impossible to feel happy, self-soothing, rational or stable when you are not well-nourished.

Third –I finally gave myself permission to take recovery seriously. This was not my first attempt at healing. In fact, by this point, I knew my family was extremely tired of my constant cycles in and out of poor semblances of recovery. Taking recovery seriously this time was very bold and new for me.  This piece of my healing meant that, even though I still battled constantly with feeling desperately unworthy of living, I still managed to put myself first.

Somehow, this time, I found a way to start recovering just for the sake of recovering.  In my previous attempts, I always had a reason that I needed the quick fix. Whether it was because I wanted to go back to school, or because I wanted to make my parents happy, there was always something I felt like I needed to accomplish. The flaw in those attempts though, was that I ignored the fact that I hadn’t yet found myself worthy enough of actually healing. I just wanted a problem to go away so I could live “normally” again.

I had to finally get comfortable with putting aside my idea of my “life’s timeline” (ie: get my Ph.D. b the time I was 33, get married before 35) and I had to make healing my number one priority. No matter how long it took, I gave myself the permission to heal WITHOUT FEELING GUILTY ABOUT IT.  I gave myself the same permission we afford people who have visible, physical illnesses –we do not expect people with cancer, for example, to feel guilty about the time and treatment they need in order to heal. Why should this be any different? This mindset allowed me to accept that working on healing was a worthy pursuit.

Fourth –I now believe that part of the reason I suffered for so long is due to the commonly repeated misconception that “no one can ever fully recover from an eating disorder”. After meeting the George’s and Kitty, I realized it was just not an option to let that statement be true. I had to come to understand how wrong it was that therapists often told me to “learn to accept that I would always dislike parts of my body” and that “there would always be days when I felt fat.”  After seeing what the eating disorders had done to Kitty and the George’s lives, I felt compelled to want more from life than how I had been living.  I could not accept mediocrity, knowing the pain the George’s and Kitty were living with. I vowed to never use the word “recovered” unless it was fully and completely true.

I started with baby steps. The first baby step was just to allow my brain and self to get used to the concept that I could, one day, actually, love my body. I then began to dream that recovered, in all ways, existed. I started to consider that fully healing was possible. I had to learn to cling to, and believe in, hope. Hope became an enigmatically powerful force in my healing process. A Song About Hope

Fifth –I got pissed off.  By getting pissed off, I got motivated.  I got pissed that people had told me I wasn’t capable of recovery. Whose right was it to tell me what was or was not possible in my life, my brain and my body?!  I got pissed off at the professionals that had set limitations on me, which propelled me to fully and honestly heal every single nook and cranny of what led to me to consider suicide.

Then, I also began to examine what “body image” meant to me. My body image had become society’s view of me rather than my view of me.  That epiphany compelled me.  It compelled me to start believing that I deserved a co-existence with and within my body. Slowly, I began to form my very own body image. It took nearly two years for of self-talk, a lot of positive post-it notes on my mirror, a lot of time spent without looking in a mirror at all, a lot of simply ignoring my brain when it said something negative…and a lot of talking to myself in ‘dog voice.’

Yep, I started looking in the mirror and talking to myself like I talked to my dog:  “Aren’t you just the cutest!  Oh, I just want to smoosh that face with kisses.  You are the best human ever!  I love you so much!” –I realize that might sound silly, but, it really did help.

You see, my dog Gretz never compared himself with the dog next door.  When he went outside, he didn’t check to make sure every piece of fur was in place. He didn’t think he was any less than other English Setters who had more fur and more spots.  He didn’t base his self-worth on how much kibble he ate the day before and he most certainly didn’t want to go “o-u-t-s-i-d-e for a w-a-l-k” because he thought his butt was too big.

People loved him and thought he was absolutely adorable.  People thought he had just the right amount of spots.  Perhaps most importantly, people, and Gretz himself, thought he was worthy of unconditional love because of who he was, broken tail and all.  Gretz taught me that a mirror is not an enemy nor does it hold any power over me.

The reflection I see in the mirror now is very surreal.  When/if I pause for a moment to look at myself, I see a reflection of life and happiness and peace.  I no longer see my body in pieces or my face as ugly.

I believe that everyone deserves to realize the truth that Gretz taught me: It is a given you ARE beautiful, because you are alive. Simple as that.  (Gretz’ story: https://youtu.be/mDKIdrSg5jk)

*

Oftentimes I am asked, “How do you know that you’ll never go back, I mean can you really say you’re recovered?” or, “Do you ever have urges, think you’re fat, or ever think of suicide?”

My answer to those questions is this: I spent many years chasing after the enigmatic word “recovery.”  Now healed, I can see that during all those years of chasing recovery, I was actually just chasing after a whole and healthy brain and a spiritual peace, two things that the eating and body image disorders had convinced me were not possible.

After a year of doing nothing but focusing on healing, I had made many strides in my healing process. Regardless, there were many days on which I had to talk myself into feeling happy. In many ways, I was still dealing with the feeling that I was about 18 years ‘behind’ in life.  Cognitively, I was able to tell myself to “choose happy thoughts and embrace a unique path,” but that didn’t automatically mean that happiness was visceral.

One day, two friends of mine, Joe and Chas, recommended I go talk to a Priest. I had long before stopped going to church. At one of my darkest points, I had even started to believe that God created me to die from suicide.  But Joe and Chas somehow convinced me anyway. I remember on that day, the Priest said, “Well, tell me what’s on your heart.”  In that moment, I bared my soul and said, “Now healed from so much, I still feel lonely because, while I was focused on healing, I didn’t form any friendships.”  I remember the Priest genuinely suggested, “Pray for friends.”  Seriously?  That’s it?  Pray for friends?  Wow, what a wasted hour of my life, I thought.

I left his office certain that nothing would be different. As I walked to my car I fought back tears thinking, “Great, I have my health and my brain back, but I still have no friends –thanks, Priest.”

As I got on the road to face the mess of traffic, I began to take a scornful look at the long stretch of cars ahead, I saw something.

I saw the sky.

And the sky was blue.

The sky was a bright blue with big fluffy white clouds. Nearly fifteen years later, I still remember it so clearly to this day.

The miracle in this?  I realized that I had been so entrenched in depression and an eating disorder, that for 18 years I hadn’t even noticed the color of the sky.  I had been living my life under a sky of gray, believing that was all I could have and all that I deserved.

But on that day of seeing the blue sky I remember thinking, “Anna doesn’t even get to see the sky anymore…”  In that very simple moment, something clicked: I realized that my negative thoughts about life had held me bound in such a negative cycle for so long, and they needed to be resolved.

On the way home, I stopped at one of my favorite book stores in Ann Arbor, Michigan and picked up what would be a book that changed my life: Peace Is Every  Step, by Thich Nhat Hanh.  From there forward, I have felt happiness and I have seen the blue sky, no matter how cloudy the day.

Since then, I have been tested time and again by life challenges, some greater than I ever could have imagined.  But nothing life brings my way has or will ever drive me to consider suicide an option again. Nothing has or will ever trigger the return of an eating disorder. God, nourishment, spirit, my friends and family, Gretz and I transformed my brain, thoughts, soul, and body. I firmly know that Life is meant to be lived, and enjoyed, in health and peace and with humble respect for who I am, broken nose and all.

And, since I have healed, life really has come full circle.  I went on to be the Education and Prevention Coordinator of the Gail R. Schoenbach F.R.E.E.D. Foundation where I developed the College Speaking Tour –speaking out about eating and body image disorders and suicide.  I became Policy Director of the Eating Disorders Coalition and through this, I was able to address BMI report cards through the CDC. I also have the humble privilege of speaking every year at Leslie George’s Memorial at James Madison University and her sorority is now my sorority; I became a Tri Sigma in 2014.

At present, I am a Health Insurance Advocate at the only law firm in the country, Kantor & Kantor, LLP that has a dedicated eating disorder practice. There, I write appeals on behalf of patients and families when they are denied treatment (we also handle much more than eating disorders).  I feel so blessed to have a circle of trusted friends and colleagues. My family and I are close again, I have repaired my finances and my spiritual health, and I know that one day I will achieve my educational goals.

I also became an Aunt to the most amazingly sweet, kind and perfect nephew  who has never known me as “Aunt Kathy with an eating disorder.” He has only known me as “Aunt Kathy.”

I have been a ‘mom’ to seven English Setter rescues. I am a hospice volunteer. I sit on the Educational Committee for the MT American Foundation for Suicide Prevention. I am a healthy runner, an artist, a mentor and…Life is full.

Life is not always easy, but it is wonderful and I am so blessed to say that, since I traversed those two long and restorative years of healing, nothing life has thrown me has made my mind default to thoughts of suicide again. I will never ever be thankful for the times I was suicidal and suffered the eating disorder, but I will always be thankful for the healing process that resulted.

I deeply hope that by sharing these experiences I can help others to see that the gift of life without suicidal thoughts is yours to behold. I hope I can help others to believe that you can undo years of damage. You can work hard at your healing towards whatever is healthy for you. You can embrace your unique body and self. You can begin speaking to yourself in a language of self-love, not of self-deprecation. You can decide to begin the process of living again.

There is hope and there is freedom and there is also no shame in suffering or recovering.  May you go forward from reading this to find…your blue sky.  

**Special thanks to Alex for her blog and for her seriously-amazing patience.  Thank you to the George’s and Tri Sigma for keeping Leslie’s legacy alive through the Speak Out.  Thank you to Kitty for sharing Anna with us.  And to all those who have lost a loved one to suicide, depression or an eating disorder, my deepest and most sincere sympathy.  If you need help: American Foundation For Suicide Prevention **

Also, if you would like to see how Kathleen and the Leslie George Speak Out have impacted some members of the Tri Sigma sorority at JMU, check out this video I made a couple years back: https://vimeo.com/136264045

 

 

Suicide Prevention Awareness Month – Kathleen

As a special two-part series, I am extremely humbled and proud to share the words of Kathleen MacDonald – someone I consider to be such an inspiration to myself and so many others.

I first met Kathleen during my sophomore year at JMU. As many readers know, I was part of a sorority in college. Every year, during February, my sorority would put together a “Speak Out” for Eating Disorder Awareness Month. The “Speak Out” functioned as a safe space, where students were encouraged to come listen and share stories related to struggles with body image and eating disorders. The event was in honor of a sorority member, Leslie George, who passed away after losing her battle with bulimia. Kathleen (for reasons you will later read), hosted this event every year. 

When I heard her story for the first time, I was blown away. She seemed like the happiest, most loving, kind-hearted, vibrant person in the room. I couldn’t fathom that she had gone through the experiences she was explaining to all of us.

Kathleen’s words changed my life. She changed my views on beauty and self-love. And more so than that, she taught me that inner demons are often so easily hidden from the outside world.

These two parts will be lengthy, but they are without a doubt worth the read. Check it out:

By most accounts, I should not be alive today.  To this day, I am not sure why I survived what so many others have not.

No one ever sets out to have the deadliest of all mental illnesses: an eating disorder, and all its accompanying symptoms of depression, moodiness, etc.

No one ever sets out on a diet, hoping that one day they will be suicidal.

And even though I am guilty of having once said, “I wish I could have anorexia for just a little while,” it still wasn’t a “choice” for me to suffer from that mean and terrible disease.

When the eating disorder took root, it changed my brain chemistry and rid me of the ability to have good sense.  Ironically, despite being trapped in its prison, and despite all of the hell the eating disorder brought to my life, for the majority of the years I suffered, I never felt like I had a serious problem. I never felt I was ‘sick enough’ compared to people who were thinner than me. Most people didn’t know that I lived daily with humiliating inner-embarrassment, pain, and shame because of what I saw in the mirror.  To boot, at my worst, when I was severely suicidal because of the eating disorder, the day I reached out for help after using laxatives for 18 years, my doctor patted me on the knee and told me, “I wish I had more patients as thin as you” (a comment that he and I eventually discussed, in depth, with good results).

I want to start my saying: To all those who suffer with eating and/or body image issues, depression, and suicidal thoughts, and to all those who love someone suffering, I hope with all my heart that the words in this blog might meet you with compassion and kindness, encouraging you to realize that you are not alone, and that you deserve to believe in a day where you live free from whatever is making you endure thoughts of suicide.  I hope that, no matter if you’re a sufferer, or a loved one or friend of someone suffering, after reading this, you begin to realize what I began to realize back on June 13, 2002: that no one was created to die by suicide, that you are beautiful and wonderfully made…and that YOU deserve to love yourself, and treat yourself with loving-kindness, every single day.

My story is a long and complex one, but like many people, what pushed me to develop an eating disorder was nothing out of the ordinary.  When I was about 10 years old, I began to feel pressures to look thin and pretty.  Coincidentally, around the same time, I broke my nose.  Because I never had my nose ‘set’ by a doctor, my nose changed shape and it became the subject of discussions and teasing; I was called “mogul nose”, among other things. Up until then, I never gave a thought to whether what I looked like was pretty/not pretty, good/bad, attractive/unattractive. When I broke my nose, I became acutely aware of what I looked like to other people, and acutely aware that people did not like my face.  This caused me to feel intense confusion and sadness because, at just 10 years old, I realized that all the things I thought people liked about me – my kind-hearted, loving nature, and strong relationships with friends and family- didn’t matter, because I wasn’t “pretty.”

When puberty hit, I grew even more uncomfortable with my appearance, not because I noticed the changes so much, but because other people started commenting on my body and its (natural) weight gain.  Our society sends a very loud message to (especially) young women that “thin is pretty.” I didn’t handle the teasing about my body very well. The utter confusion that wreaked havoc on my mind and spirit was horrendously painful.

Fast forward ahead two years – two years of me feeling heartbreakingly ugly. I’m 12 years old.  It was the first time I watched an after-school-special about a young woman who falls victim to anorexia. The movie made eating disorders look easy and attractive. The movie made it seem like anorexia fixed that girl’s life. It made her pretty and made everyone value her more.  That movie, coupled with my lack of self-worth and the pressure I felt to be thin and pretty, compelled me to take a simple step the next day that would change my life forever.  The day after watching the movie, I skipped lunch for the first time.

I was 12 years old.

Like most people who suffer from an eating disorder, I never intended to have one, let alone to have it take up over half of my life.  I thought my ‘diet’ of skipping lunch would make my happy, pretty, and well-liked.  I thought that I would only be on a ‘diet’ until I lost a few pounds. Surely then I would receive approval from my friends and family. Surely then they would think that my body looked good.  I had no idea that this ‘diet’ would actually drive all of my friends away.

The next time I ate lunch was 18 years later.

It may seem odd that I can remember the exact day, but it’s because, on that day, I actually called my mother to say, “I ate lunch.”  Most adults don’t call their parents to report that they ate something –they call to tell them about a job promotion, an engagement, or a completed graduate program. I called because I had eaten some food.

But for me, it was a big deal.  It was the first time I had eaten during the day (outside of a hospital setting) and kept it down, in 18 years.  I was scared to not purge, but I was also so proud of myself.

My mother, however, wasn’t able to be excited with me –and looking back, I don’t blame her.  She had suffered 18 years of hell because of the way the eating disorder made me feel (moody, depressed, angry, etc.).  In response to my phone call, she said, “Great. Now, what are you finally going to do with your life?”  I faked a response that wouldn’t let her know how deeply her words hurt, and we hung up the phone.

When we hung up, any feeling of hope and accomplishment I had immediately turned to visceral and deep sadness, intense self-hatred, hopelessness and suicidal planning.  I sat there realizing that I had absolutely no idea what I was going to do with my life beyond that moment of eating lunch. I felt ridiculous knowing that I actually thought eating was an accomplishment.

Just when I thought I had finally made a breakthrough, my heart sank and I cried because I felt like such a failure.

So I called in sick to work, and I stayed home and I wept.

I wept about what a waste my life had become.

I wept thinking about what a waste I had been for 18 years –focusing so much on whether or not I was fat and basing my happiness on whether or not my pants fit the differently than the day before.

I wept because I had disappointed my family, disappointed myself, and lost all of my friends.

I wept because I, a former 4.0 student, had been kicked out of college twice because of the eating disorder and my resultant inability to handle going to class.  (Oh, and after re-entering college at age 28, they told me not to come back second semester because I was still too sick to feel attractive enough to attend class. Yes, that’s how warped my brain was.)

I wept because I had depleted IRA’s and at least $60,000 in mutual funds to pay for food, laxatives, food, laxatives, alcohol, and more food and more laxatives.

I wept because I had wrecked my credit after failing to pay doctor bills, student loans, rent, etc.

And most of all, I wept because I realized that I might never be able to get rid of the thoughts that had been controlling my life, making me miserable every single moment that I was alive.

The thought of having to live this way for the rest of my life felt unbearable.

I finally decided that if I couldn’t overcome my body image issues, bulimia, and anorexia, I did not want to live.

Unlike what I saw in the movie when I was 12 years old, what I was going through was not simple or pretty. It was not about being thin, it was not about getting attention or winning friends.  Up until the day that I ate lunch, I honestly believed that the thinness I had sustained for those 18 years would someday, somehow reward me –it didn’t.

Being thin never ever resulted in anything positive.

So, I purged my lunch.  Disgusted with myself, I ate more, and purged that, until I eventually felt numb.  I remember crawling into bed and begging God not to let me wake up.

But I did wake up.

The next morning, after weighing myself and glaring in disgust at my puffy post-bingeing/purging face in the mirror, I broke down crying over my bathroom sink. I was alone and tired and felt so ugly. I just wanted the vicious cycle of my pain to end.  I stared into the mirror, looking for any sign of hope in my eyes.  I saw none.

What I saw was someone looking back at me who was so very tired of just barely “getting by.”  I saw someone who was so very tired of depriving their body and mind, but someone who couldn’t seem to stop the deprivation.  I saw someone so very very tired of life being so empty.

Exhausted of the cycle, I pulled out my laptop and decided to search one last time online for help.  Of course, in all of my Google searching, I didn’t find a single free treatment option. All I found that day was one single nebulous sounding group called The Eating Disorders Coalition for Research, Policy & Action (EDC).  There was a “Get Involved” button, so I clicked on it, typed in my name and email address, and shut off my laptop. Then I started officially making my plan.

About a month later, I received an email from the EDC.  They needed a speaker to present to Members of Congress and their staff as to why people with eating disorders deserved insurance coverage for treatment.  I called the then Policy Director of the EDC, Dr. Jeanine Cogan, and told her why I thought I could help them out as a speaker at their Congressional Briefing.

On June 13, 2002, I traveled to Washington, D.C. to speak.  Little did the EDC, or my only remaining friend, Jim (who accompanied me to DC), know, I had a plan.

At the Congressional Briefing, first, a doctor spoke. He gave definitions and talked about what a “typical” eating disordered patient is like. The whole time he spoke, I tried to act as if nothing he said resembled me at all, trying to convince myself that if I didn’t fit his mold, I couldn’t possibly be someone who was sick and slowly dying.

Then, a woman named Kitty Westin got up to talk about her daughter who suffered from anorexia.  Her daughter’s name was Anna. When Kitty got up to speak, she brought along a picture of Anna –a big 18×20 poster-sized picture.  In the picture, Anna was smiling, sitting somewhere in the mountains, looking into the camera with a peaceful contentment in her blue eyes.  Anna looked healthy and alive.  But as Kitty continued to speak, I realized that the reason she was telling Anna’s story was because Anna was not alive to tell it on her own.

Anna had committed suicide because of her torturous battle with anorexia.

Anna was the first person I knew of who did exactly what I had wanted to do so many times over the course of my 18 years suffering.  And, Anna was the first person who made me realize how scared I was of my plan.

But after Kitty finished, I got up and calmly read my speech as if I was ‘fine.’ To give you an idea of just how fine I was that day, here is how I ended my speech:

“I wake up knowing that if I continue being sick, I will die. I wake up, therefore, wanting to go to therapy so I don’t die and become a statistic… I do not want to live my life as a result of these disorders. I want to live my life beyond anorexia and bulimia and all the years of torment and mistakes made… I never dreamed that throwing my lunch away one day would, 18 years later, result in me seriously considering suicide– for two years, every day, all day.”

I wasn’t fine.

And I was doing more than “seriously considering” suicide like my speech suggested. My plan was that June 13, 2002 would be the end of my life.  I had planned my suicide, and no one knew.  

I had planned to give my speech and then follow-through on my plan –in hopes that it would make people take note of the seriousness of eating disorders.

The Congressional Briefing concluded and there was a line of people waiting to talk to me.  I thought they wanted to congratulate me on how good my speech was.  But every person said something along the lines of, “You have to get help.  You’re going to die.”  I just kept telling everyone, “No, don’t worry. I used to have an eating disorder.  I’m fine now.”

I do not remember any of the 20 or so people who hugged me after my speech, except for two.  The very last people I spoke with that day were Mr. and Mrs. Ron George.  I will never ever forget how Mr. George, trying to refrain from gently sobbing, his face red and wet with tears, took hold of me and said, “I lost my daughter to bulimia, you need help or you’re going to die.”  And as I hugged him, I wanted so very much to collapse in his arms and beg for help…  But I couldn’t.  I had a plan.  So, I’m pretty sure I probably looked at him and said, “Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

Yet something happened at that Congressional Briefing –a miracle.  Between witnessing Kitty’s agonizing pain, and hearing Mr. George pour out his heart about losing his daughter Leslie (all the while holding me, a complete stranger), something clicked inside my soul.  It was in those moments that an undeniable surge of some unearthly spirit of hope took over, and I somehow mustered up the wherewithal to vow to myself that I would do everything in my power to finally stop. I would finally stop maintaining my thin-as-possible frame. I would finally stop exercising to maintain my weight and self-worth. I would finally stop using laxatives. I would stop purging and starving. I would stop believing that I had been sick for “too long” to get help. I would stop believing I was ugly.  And perhaps most importantly, I would stop believing that suicide was an option.

I am very humbled to tell you that instead of June 13, 2002 being the day I took my own life, it became the day that I began my final recovery process…and I never looked back.

MHAM Post #12: Gina

Like Sammy (who wrote the first piece), Gina has been one of my best friends for as long as I can remember. It’s honestly difficult for me to even put into words how lucky I am to have known both of them all of this time. 

Growing up, I always had an issue with feeling secure in my friendships. I always believed every friendship I made had an expiration date. Either a time, an experience, an argument, etc that would make us grow apart. 

Gina (and Sammy) have genuinely taught me that I am so delusional for ever thinking that way. We have each had some very difficult, defining moments in our lives, but as cliche as it sounds, we’ve been there for each other through all of it. 


Gina wears a tough exterior that not many see at first glance, and she is often too good at hiding what is going on in her mind at any given time. 

In my opinion, Gina is one of the most intelligent and well-spoken people I know. She doesn’t always take the opportunity to make that known though, which is why I’m so glad she agreed to write this piece. 

Her story is about something a bit different than just generalized anxiety or depression, but it’s just as valid. 

Here it is!!!:


When Krump asked me to do this, I thought it’d make the most sense to write about my experience with an eating disorder. I’ve been hesitant because I [personally] know quite a few people who deal with some type of food/body issue and it’s different for everyone. So i feel like writing about something so specific to me and my body might not be something the majority can relate to. But I guess that’s not the point of this; this is about accepting other people’s struggles and trying to understand someone else’s perspective. My eating disorder might not look like yours. 

I remember people suggesting books to me about other girls who had struggled with eating disorders. I remember feeling frustrated with these books because they portrayed the most extreme examples. Girls who became bone thin and required hospitalization. Girls who only ate carrots and then threw them up (If you know me at all, you know I’m extremely emetophobic!!). I wasn’t that girl and I couldn’t relate to that girl. Since I couldn’t relate to something that I was already resistant to solving, it was easy to dismiss it as not being applicable to me. I would finish the book, the warning, and say “but i’m not that bad”. And I really wasn’t. Something I’ve learned with time is that doesn’t make it okay. I didn’t need to be the worst case scenario to need help. Dealing with the mental issues that surround wanting to starve yourself is still not okay! No matter how much you weigh. I would look at photos of anorexic girls but I didn’t feel like I wanted to look like them. I was slightly underweight and that was enough for me. People told me I was skinny constantly and that was enough for me to stay motivated in my pursuits.  

I eat fairly normally right now, so I feel uncomfortable talking about the “worst” of it. I also don’t think it’s beneficial to anyone to write out the details – especially when it comes to something like losing weight. I did have GERD for 2 straight years, and I want to acknowledge the role my eating disorder played in that. Both in the cause and perpetuating it. A diet of predominantly vodka and tabasco sauce and a need for a real excuse not to eat, respectively.
One aspect of my struggle, that’s remained consistent throughout the past 12 years, is that I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable eating meals around new people. I started a new job in January and I could only eat sliced vegetables for lunch for the first few weeks. I worry people are judging me for eating, noticing how fattening it is. I worry I’ll gain weight and people I barely know will be like “well yeah, she eats pasta for lunch”. It took me over 2 years to eat a full meal in front of my boyfriend’s family. I dread when I’m able to eat guilt-free and someone ruins it by making a comment. It’s often in jest and I recognize that outwardly, but it sticks with me. On a contradictory note, I can easily lie about my food intake to make myself seem more relatable. I’ve found that my food issues alienate other young women. I remember new friends being excited to see me binging on junk food, like it made them feel comfortable, and I replicated that in the form of.. lying? To make them feel better about themselves and me. It’s an extremely nuanced set of issues. 

I’ve dealt with this for over a decade and sometimes I don’t think I ever won’t. It comes in waves and I can’t explain them. Sometimes it’s too easy for me to restrict myself to an extreme and sometimes i desperately want to go back to the comfort that comes with that kind of control but I can’t and I give in to food.