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12:21 PM [21 Oct 2008 | Tuesday]
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Not For The Faint Of Heart Or Weak Of Stomach Part 3
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 This is only part 3 to my story, and I can almost guarantee there will be a 4th. Please see the rest of my blog for...well...the rest of the story.
Well, my dad called me this afternoon. He told me he wanted me to get back into counseling, and that he wanted me to tell my mom about my summer with him in 2006 when I first battled bulimia. Needless to say, this isn't what I wanted to happen. He also wants me to tell my mom about my battle with bulimia during the summer I lived with him. I am no looking forward to telling her, but I think I'll tell her tomorrow afternoon before dad calls in the evening time. If I know him, though, he'll call her while I'm at school, and I'll just be telling her something she already knows.
If he doesn't tell her, though, I don't want to be the one to hurt her. I won't let my dad down again, though. I'll do whatever he thinks is necessary. I know he's just concerned, and he loves me...as does my spy-brother. He's making sure that I'm eating and to the best of his abilities that I'm not throwing it up afterward. He's a good guy, but I think his concerns are unwarranted. Then again I'm the girl who made herself throw up after a big meal after two years of a spotless record.
I'm intent on making this part of my testimony, so this is not a losing battle for me. I've got an upcoming freeform narrative in my Creative Writing class that can be about anything we want. I choose this because I think it will help people more than any other story I've written or could write. I know it's very "PSA" but I feel led to do it. I think I might even use my blog here because I like the storyform and don't feel a need to deviate.
So the conversation with my mom went well. Okay, she freaked. I may not have it perfect, verbatim, but this is the way I remember the conversation going:
"Mom, you know that summer I spent with dad in California?"
"What about it? I hope you're not thinking of going back?"
"No, but when I was there, I was in therapy for being bulimic. The therapy worked, but last Friday I slipped up and made myself throw up. Dad found out and he wants me to talk to you about getting back into therapy."
"How could you not tell me? How could HE not tell me our daughter was in therapy for an eating disorder, and then send her back to me thinking everything's okay?"
The next 5 minutes were basically her asking me all the "let's freak completely out" questions including the really gross ones about the problems it causes with the esophagus teeth. She asked me how often I did it and how long it had been since my last purge. She called my dad just as I was leaving for church and was yelling at him, too. She asked him the same question she asked me about not telling her...I didn't hear his end of the conversation, but I think he got Spencer in a little bit of trouble too. Dad did ask him to keep an eye on me after all...and he didn't tell her.
So that's it. Looks like I'm going back into therapy. Dad's disappointed in me (especially now that I basically got him and me busted), but I should have expected no less. Anyway, thanks for reading and for all the support. |
Mood: None, or other
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12:15 PM [20 Oct 2008 | Monday]
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Not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach Part 2
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This is part two of the story for those who haven't read part one. You can look in my blog at "not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach" to read my story from the beginning. Everyone's responded so well, and it's gotten rave reviews. Thanks.
Kacie had me figured out from the moment I went to the bathroom. She could tell from the look on my face that I was about to go do something I'd later regret. She talks to my brother almost every day. They get along almost too well for being my brother and my friend, haha. Anyway, she asked Spencer if I'd ever been bulimic, and he told her that when I came back from Cali, my dad asked him to keep an eye on me and make sure that I ate...and make sure I was keeping it down. Over the course of the last two years, he's been watching me less and less and hasn't even checked up on me in a long time. He hasn't had a reason to. So Spencer sends our dad a text, and next thing I know, I get this in my inbox:
"So I hear through the grapevine that you've been doing things you promised you wouldn't, and going back on your word. I can't say I'm not disappointed, in you Emmy. I thought you were stronger than that. I am half tempted to talk to your mother and tell her about that summer you spent with me here, and our therapy sessions which seemed to help. I really wish you could have stayed and kept doing the therapy, but I can't blame you for going back to face what you were running away from. I'm proud of you for that, and that did earn you my deep admiration and respect.
Don't be mad at Spencer, either. He's looking out for you because he loves you and doesn't want you to do this to yourself. You know I love you, Emily. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you. I thought you were perfect then. I think you're perfect now. I just wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Please take care of yourself.
--Dad."
So, my own personal shadow/dietitian has been watching me eat, then following me around when I'm done. I've tried being up front with him, and I did come clean with Spencer about Friday evening. However, he's not going to let up on me for a long time to come, I can already tell. Hopefully the two of them decide that I don't need to go into another eating-disorder therapy program. Like I don't have enough going on already...
I thanked Kacie when I saw her today, and I came clean about my summer in Cali. She seemed to understand better when I told her how much the therapy program helped me, and how much what happened Friday night was a fluke, and the first time since some time in early July 2006. I don't know if she believed me about the last part, but she seemed to. I certainly wouldn't have believed her. At least with the increasingly vegan food that mom's been making, I don't feel like I have to not eat or throw up to keep from gaining too much weight.
We'll see how the next week pans out. |
Mood: None, or other
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12:25 PM [19 Oct 2008 | Sunday]
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Not for the faint of heart or the weak of stomach Part 1
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In the summer of 2006, I moved in with my dad in Northern California. Going from a strict vegan diet to my dad's choice of..."cuisine" was kind of a shock for me. I felt like if I ate anything at all I'd gain 20 pounds. I tried not eating for awhile, but my dad took note and yelled at me. So I started eating again, but I'd always go make myself throw up afterward. I had my own private bathroom, so I didn't have to worry about being caught.
Even the friends that I made shortly after I started staying there noticed that I wasn't eating. I told them that I wasn't hungry or that I was okay and didn't need anything, but they started getting suspicious since I'd be with them all day and not eat anything, so with them as well, I started eating just enough to placate them, and I'd get rid of it at my earliest opportunity.
One day Sean and Kevin came over and wanted to know if I wanted to go to the skate park. My roller blades were broken the week before but since Stacy and Miranda were going to be there too, I decided to go along. I mostly chatted with Stacy and Miranda while we watched Sean and Kevin who would talk to us between board runs. About 1:30, they wanted to go grab some pizza. Sean and Miranda offered to pay for mine since I only brought enough money for the skate park. I went along, being on the anoradar already, and it was decided, between the four of us, that we could need/could eat 2 larges. For my quarter, I wanted mushroom and sausage. It was at this sitting that I realized I even ordered food based on what was easiest to throw up.
I was sitting there, contemplating my ordeal, and they noticed that I wasn't talking. "What's wrong, Emmy? You're so quiet." I told them I was fine and went back to acting like the outgoing sanguine Emmy they met earlier that summer. Our pizza arrived, and I slapped two pieces of pizza onto my plate. I stared at the slices with the "easy to vomit" toppings for a couple of seconds before I decided I needed to put on a little show. I let them cool off and even used a napkin to absorb the excess grease before I dusted them with parmesan and ate them down to the crust. I never eat the crust.
We talked for about 10 minutes before Kyle and Sean decided they wanted to go back to the skate park, and they were discussing going to the movies later that night. I let them walk toward the door and excused myself to the ladies room. It was a common room with lots of stalls and no lock on the door, so I slipped into the first one and started purging. I didn't realize by the time I was done that I'd been in there a long time. I was about to get up and wash my hands, but I looked over and saw Miranda's shoes in the ladies room just outside my stall...like RIGHT there. I could have reached out and touched them. Maybe it was that I'd been busted. Maybe it was my realizing how screwed up it was for me to be on my knees in a public restroom face to face with a community toilet. I don't know why, but at that moment, I knew I had to do something. I gathered myself up and walked out of the stall to see the look on Miranda's face.
I expected Miranda to be mad. I've seen her mad and she scares the daylights out of me, but instead she was crying. She told me she knew what I'd been doing and that she used to do it to until she blacked out doing aerobics with her mom. She was forced to come clean and was sent to a place that deals with eating disorders. We hugged and cried for awhile, and I kept saying "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Though I didn't know at the time that I wasn't apologizing to her, but I was apologizing to myself. I had let myself down, and I was better than that. I finished collecting myself and Miranda and I went outside together. She did make sure to run over to the salad bar and steal me a handful of crackers. Just outside the doorway, she shoved them into my hand and closed my hand around them.
Word did get around to my dad. One of the girls who hung out with Miranda, Kyle, Sean, and I didn't like me from the start because her mom and my dad were kind of dating. She wished me back to Washington quite frequently, and when she overheard me and Miranda talking about it, she told her mom who told my dad, and I was RIGHT BACK in the hotseat. Apparently, though, someone told him how to deal with a teenaged girl with an eating disorder because he didn't blow up at me like he did when he figured out I was anorexic.
I ended up talking to the same therapist who helped Miranda. She talked to my dad about meeting me in the middle, about getting food that's more nutritious so I wouldn't feel bad about eating it. I hadn't realized that I had not eaten any fresh fruit or vegetables since I arrived. I ate (and threw up) a lot of burgers and french fries that summer.
She also said a lot of things that made a lot of sense to the both of us. She told me to stare into a mirror and tell myself that I am a beautiful person inside and out. I felt like a liar at first, but not because I felt fat. I felt like a liar because I felt ugly inside, because of what I'd done to myself. I was 30 pounds under my height/frame minimum weight. She also encouraged us to tell my mother (the strict vegan...oh we'd NEVER heard the end of it), but the two of us decided together that this was better as our secret. We kept seeing her once a week for 6 weeks. Dad kept up his end of the bargain. For his efforts, he lost 16 pounds before I went back to Washington. He tells me he's still buying more nutritious food, but doesn't know how much he weighs. There's a scale in his bathroom...or at least there used to be.
By the end of the summer, I felt empowered. I decided to go back to Washington, but not to appease Kelly. I was only down there to run from something else up North, and I decided that my running days were over. I made a promise to my therapist and my dad and then I moved back home. Then I faced what I ran away from, and overcame my challenge with flying colors. That, however, is another story.
That brings me to present day. I did really well back home (especially under mom's vegan diet which she later modified for Spencer and me because we were both in athletics at the time and needed extra protein). I was grateful for the chance to eat something substantial for once, actually. Everything was going swimmingly until Friday.
I was at my friend Kacie's and her parents decided they wanted to take us out to eat with them. They were going Italian, and I love italian food. I'd never been to this place before, and I ordered the Lasagne Dinner (thinking it was going to be just the dinner portion of lasagne which is already quite substantial as I'd been told) but I missed the part where it says it comes out on a platter heaped to the ceiling. There was angel hair pasta on one side, large piece of lasange in the middle, some kind of alfredo on the other side, and an italian sausage. This was after I'd already half stuffed myself on salad and bread. I ate maybe a quarter of the lasagne before I realized I was in trouble. I begged for a box, but Kacie's dad urged me to continue, saying the alfredo is awesome and such.
I actually made it through about half of the angel hair with red, but that's when I threw in the towel for good. I had eaten way too much. I felt dirty, I felt ugly, I felt ungrateful, and I felt hideously engorged. They were waiting for the waitress to return so they could pay the check, and I told them I needed to use the restroom. Kacie let me out of the booth and I ran straight into the first stall and made myself throw up before I knew what was going on.
Now, on top of feeling dirty, ugly, ungrateful, and hideously engorged I felt disappointed in myself, and disgusted by myself. I hated myself. I purged myself so hard and so many times that my abdomen ached, and several places in my back and shoulders popped and are still sore today. It's hard to breathe (because of the soreness) and I think I may have accidentally aspirated some of my dinner on its way back up.
I SOOO thought I was past this. I thought I'd won. My mom still doesn't know, but I think my dad might have talked my brother into watching me...making sure I eat. If Kacie talks to my brother about Friday night, and they do talk, they might put it together. I've monitored my intake over the last few days, making sure it's not under the minimum I discussed with the therapist, and that I just make sure to "keep it down". Anyway, I made promises that I refuse to break (again). |
Mood: None, or other
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12:27 PM [30 Sep 2008 | Tuesday]
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Faith, Friends, and Forgiveness.
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Two years ago (Sept 26, 2006), I came to know Jesus as my Lord and Savior. Some of my friends stuck with me, some of my friends were Christians anyway, and welcomed me with open arms, and some of my friends turned on me and forced me to choose between them and Jesus. I chose Jesus and for awhile I didn't hear from them. I spent my Wednesday nights at youth group and my Sunday mornings at church instead of hanging out with them at the Tacoma Mall, and staying up late on Saturday nights.
Anyone who knows me knows that I was a Myspace junkie. I had almost 200 friends, and my top friends was fluffed out to show the top 40. Suddenly, last month, my former friends started harassing me on Myspace, sending me horrible vulgar messages, and doing the same to my top 40 friends telling them what a bad person I was, how fake I was and all that. I locked down my account, and posted a bunch of bulletins telling everyone what was up and why I was taking down my account. I would have left it up if they weren't harassing my friends, too. Two days later, I pulled the plug on my Myspace account, which is part of how I found my way to Xianz.
So, yesterday, one of my former friends sends me an email calling me a coward and that I was such a weakling and a hypocrite. I responded to her and told her that it didn't matter what she or anyone else thought of me, that I was unapologetic for both our friendship (when we were friends) and for choosing Christ over our friendship when I was given the ultimatum. I told her that I was still open to being friends, but as long as the condition of denying Christ was on the table, my friendship was not.
Today at school, she confronted me about it asking why a dead religion meant more to me than our once-living friendship. I told her that my LIVING relationship with my LIVING God meant more to me than any relationship with any person on earth, and that I still loved her like a sister. I said, "I can tell that you still want to be my friend, and I'm all for it, but you'll have to accept me as me, Christian and all." She said she couldn't do that, and that Heather for SURE couldn't do that. We parted ways amicably (or at least I hope so).
Of course this had nothing to do with yesterday's encounter with Rebecca, but I have to blog about that, too. Rebecca "speaks her mind", and I figure that has to be some sort of MTV code for "say the rudest possible thing you can think of whether or not you mean it and whether or not it applies." I feel sorry for her sometimes, because every time she leaves a room, there's a 5 minute "Rebecca-bashing" session that verifies at least part of what she says when she admits "People don't like me because I speak my mind." She just had an argument with her best friend Breanna that morning, so I was trying to be extra nice to her. She went off on me, "speaking her mind" and basically very obviously just venting on me. I did my best to just walk in love, and was nice to her anyway. She ended up sitting outside against the wall most of the rest of lunch texting. |
Mood: None, or other
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