Forgiveness

Forgiving yourself is life's greatest challenge.

Name:
Location: Daytona Beach, Florida, United States

Adopted, only child...need I say more? That has a whole set of sterotypes right there!

Thursday, November 16, 2006

Doctors, Meds, and Misc.

Well, I did it. After 3 years of avoidance, I finally went to see a doctor...and told them about my eating disorder. 200 questions later, I had an official bulimia nervosa diagnosis and a very concerned doctor who immediately ordered me into getting a gammit of tests to determine just how badly I have screwed up my insides. She noted first off that the roof of my mouth has scarring as does my throat. My gums are also inflammed. They did an EKG in the office, sent me over to the hosiptal to get a chest x-ray and echocardiogram STAT! (side note: when a doctor puts STAT on your hospital order, they do actually pay attention). I have to get blood work done to check my hormone and mineral levels. Then I get to go to a gastrointestinal reflux disorder specialist. Then back to the doctor for a full physical and discussion of my results. Then more blood work, then a follow-up appointment. Full throttle ahead on trying to fix whatever it is I have done to myself.

I must say, it is nice to be taken seriously. Part of my fear in going to a dr. in the first place was feeling judged. I know what I'm doing to myself. I can probably tell you all of the side effects I know can occur. Yes, I know that Karen Carpenter died of an eating disorder. Yes, I know Terry Schivo might have slipped into a coma from one as well. I don't always feel like I have a choice. Feel full? Throw up. Feel anxious? Throw up. Feel angry and out of control? Throw up. Feel like you have no control? Throw up. It is such a habit at this point. It will probably take collective support from doctors, therapists, family and friends to help me overcome this as much as possible.

One thing I'm not quite sure about? My doctor wants to put me on Zoloft. It has a track record of helping patients with eating disorders get a grip and fight the compulsion to eat too much and purge. That combined with therapy has yielded results. I'm not big on medicating, however, I know it has been successful for many people...and not so successful for others. So, if anyone is reading this and wants to weigh in on the drug or their thoughts on anti-depressents in general, please comment. I'm researching.

Monday, November 06, 2006

Shame

One aspect I have not talked a lot about is the element of shame associated with an eating disorder. In fact, as I sit here and start to type, I feel shameful even talking about shame. But that very element is why a disorder like this can go on and exist under the radar for YEARS without discovery. Each and every person that is consumed by an eating disorder is crying for help, but we are too ashamed to ask for it. So we continue our self-destruction of eating and vomiting, eating and vomiting, sometimes just vomiting. And all the while hating ourselves for being so weak that we would need such a wretched habit in order to cope, in order to lose weight, in order to survive it sometimes seems. It says something when I can’t eat 20 gummy bears or a mini-candy bar or a normal sized meal and not immediately think it is going to make me fat and I want to just get rid of it. It also says something that the first thing I think of when I hear a negative comment, or a mistake is pointed out, or someone confronts me that I all I want to do is purge. Purging food and purging emotion – it is all the same. So I do and then the guilt and the shame for having “done it” yet again floods over me as a cold shower of reality. “You are THROWING UP Kate! Stop it! What are you doing to yourself?!?!?!” Wanting to stop yet feeling fat and disgusting and slightly self-satisfied over “taking care of” the “problem” of simply eating and enjoying food. I feel shame when I eat. I feel shame when I can’t deal with negativity and mistakes. I feel shame when I throw up.

A friend commented to me today that I have made so much progress the past year. Of course I instantly retorted I didn’t feel like I had progressed at all. Perhaps until I get a hold of my perfectionism, I will never be good enough for myself. I will never make enough progress. I will never simply allow myself to, of all things, be happy.