Eating Disorder Talk

This is quickly shaping up to be an epic tale, though I suppose I should have assumed so after 20 years. You can find the previous installment here.

Last time I delved into my teens. The roller-coaster that was restricting, overexercising, drugs, modeling, laxatives, purging and cinnamon bagels. Today, we hit my twenties, or there abouts.

At nineteen, I finally started listening to doctors and acknowledged that something was wrong with me - psychologically. I was put on a low dose of the popular antidepressant Paxil for nearly a year. It took awhile, but then, birds were singing, the sky was a marvelous shade of blue, I was capable and willing to work full-time, volunteer and take a full course-load of college credits. Life was working out so well.

Not surprisingly, I let myself go. Or I should say, anorexia let me go. And I was comfortable with myself and the choices I made. I could look into the mirror and see a happy person, not body parts out of proportion to each other. It made life wonderful and so much more relaxed. Yes, I was still a closet drinker (shh!) but all other issues seemed so…insignificant.

Then my fiance fell out of love with me and it occurred that, if I was going to be depressed over the end of a four-year committed relationship, I might as well save some money and go off of the antidepressants. I weighed about 130 pounds, then, late in September. By mid-November, I was nearing 95 pounds again. I had been through a few traumatic incidents and I was still not taking my antidepressants. I was also smoking and drinking coffee, two things I’d avoided during the relationship and two things that both suppress appetites and have an effect on metabolism.

I met the man who would be my daughter’s father a year later. I’d regained some weight via living with my father - he had always had an extreme control issue with my eating disorder and would make me food and then make me feel guilty if I didn’t eat it. I always knew that I could lose the weight, so gaining up to 120 pounds didn’t concern me much until I had someone to look good for. Rather, until I had someone that I thought might think I didn’t look good at a healthy weight.

I dropped 20 pounds within a month and a half - I quickly retook to restricting and once exposed to family meals, regained my ability to silently purge in the bathroom immediately after eating. Another month passed and another 10 or so pounds was missing. I plummeted to 78 pounds and an ultimatum was issued.

And so the next four years went. I’ve always cycled seasonally, both with my eating disorder and depression. Every spring, I’d reassess my form and mind and go back on medications and to restricting. By the end of each summer, I’d hit a low, normally around 90 or so pounds and throughout the winter I’d regain and then lose, regain and then lose. The the next spring would come and I’d go back on the eating wagon, having not been overweight or even really a healthy weight at all.

When that relationship ended, though it was temporary, my psyche took a nose-dive. I’d already been on medical leave for stress-related anxiety that was induced from being a workaholic in an unhealthy environment. I had been working some 70 hours a week on little to no food, for a company run by a man best described as an abusive bully. I spent a few months back in the cycle of coffee, restricting, drugs and surprise! male attention.

When I reunited with the ex, I was tipping one hundred pounds, drinking daily, smoking like a chimney and only eating when under the influence of munchies-inducing drugs. So I was actually eating quite often. I think the reunion activities burned off most of the calories consumed because I maintained 105 pounds until I got pregnant that fall.

Next time, I’ll elaborate on how pregnancy meant it wasn’t my body anymore and I easily gave up the control of my eating disorder…and how it’s returned in full force.