#bc I full on spiraled and cried in front of everyone bc I have trauma and can’t handle being yelled at

[jocelynships]

Finally made it home

Tonight was a fuckin’ mess

But at least my coworkers were as supportive as they could be and I really do appreciate the fact I seem to have some good people around me

[edo-vivendum]

My Past Two Years 11/2019

I wanna tell yall the briefish version of my past two years. Two years ago, I was doing okay. I proudly identified as 99% recovered from the eating disorder which I'd done IOP treatment for twice. Yet at the same time, I was in a rigid daily routine and maintaining a "healthy" yet artificially low weight (though I didn't realize this). But I was doing way better than I had in high school or in my first two semesters of college. However, I was finding myself fairly frequently overwhelmed with emotional flashbacks, and I decided I was stable enough and ready to finally dig deeper in therapy and delve into my childhood traumas.

I was very wrong. I was far from stable enough to do outpatient trauma work. I managed to fight my eating disorder thoughts and urges through the spring semester, but the signs were there: I was slipping. I was crying most days at lunch. I was lying, arguing over food, skipping meals. Things I'd promised myself I'd never do again. Finals week I told myself I had to follow an old meal plan: I needed energy to perform well in my tests, tests which would replace lower grades from days and weeks during the semester when I just couldn't gather the energy to study. And I did it, I finished the semester with all A's, a feat that was quickly overshadowed by my rapidly disintegrating mental and physical health.

During this period of time, my thoughts were obsessively suicidal, but only when I was eating (adequately). And so I stopped. It seemed safer, a temporary delve into my eating disorder in order to stay alive. Seems fair? I was terrified I'd accidently kill myself. I was so overcome with shame and guilt. I thought I'd be able to just turn my eating disorder off again the moment I was ready. But it didn't work like that.

My mental health was overpowering my sheer will power, and I quickly found myself deeper in my eating disorder than I had been in years. And unlike in high school, my body couldn't take it for months and months on end. I found myself in the ER and was told that I couldn't do IOP anymore, that the lowest level of care that was ethically appropriate when I was a medical risk was PHP, and so I did PHP (a day program). I couldn't think straight, ever. My thoughts were hazy. I couldn't concentrate. It was like being dissociated constantly, except it was there even when I wasn't. And as an all A student, a girl who (at that time) found my confidence only in my intellect, I was terrified. But I was also terrified I'd accidently kill myself if I stopped restricting. But, regardless, I ate my meals in program, arguing and debating over every bite. Then curling up and crying. I stayed alive for the swim team I coach during the summer. I coached in the morning then headed to PHP for the rest of the day. And those kids brought me so much joy. They kept me alive. Them and my guilt. The thought of damaging the lives of everyone around me by ending my own made me so guilty.

Eventually, somehow, I graduated, stepped down to IOP again, and only had groups for a three hours 3 days a week (rather than 6 hrs 6x/week). But then one day they challenged my rigidity. They told me I couldn't bring plain rice with 1 tsp of butter + chik'N (vegan) nuggets + steamed broccoli + a cheese stick. It met my meal plan. Precisely. And they said it was disordered. (it was). They asked me to add ketchup to my nuggets. Something overcame me, and I couldn't do it. I cried so much that night that they pulled me out of the room and had me sit individually with someone. "This is not an IOP response." It wasn't. And suddenly I realized that I had never been recovered, that my rigidity was part of my eating disorder, that I had MILES of work to do, and it was too much. I couldn't do it (at that point in time). I felt so defeated. And I didn't know what to do. And in my defeat, my urges became harder to fight, and my intake once again decreased dangerously.

PHP was suggested again, but I was skeptical. If it didn't work before, why would it work now? My outpatient therapist mentioned to me that residential treatment was only a slightly higher level of care than php. I started looking into options. I felt like a fraud. I wasn't underweight. I wasn't physically at risk to myself (my team and my current self disagree with that). But I didn't think I needed it. But part of me found hope in the idea. What if I could go somewhere and receive ED treatment and trauma treatment at the same time? Somewhere where I'd be safe from myself? In my head, the options seemed to be : (1) die (2) starve myself until I die (3) go to residential treatment, give it my all, and try to recover.

And so I picked option 3. I felt like a fraud, but my insurance covered it. I did my research, and I picked Monte Nido River Towns in New York City suburbs. Within two weeks, I was flying up there. I was terrified, but I was ready to work.

It was harder than I ever imagined. I was so scared. Never before had I lost so much control over my food. I got no say in what was in front of me other than my choice of three food items i could exclude. I picked Brussel sprouts and red meat (and later added raw onions as a third bc the chef overdid it on the onions every time). Monte Nido was stricter than my local program in so many ways, but they were also more supportive. For the first time, I was able to begin to explore my past. I was able to start healing. While there, I realized I was sicker than I could have previously admitted. Most of the clients there were at healthy weights (many of whom has anorexia or atypical Anorexia diagnoses). My bloodwork was a mess. I was having heart palpitations nearly daily. My sodium was low, and my water intake was restricted in order to level my sodium. I realized I'd been overhydrating previously, and it felt like I was withdrawing from a drug. I was always thirsty, overheating, dry throat. It was terrible, but after a few days, I adjusted to drinking only 64 ounces of water a day (I know that's such a normal amount lolll I have no clue how much it was before!!).

My insurance only covered 30 days, and I wasn't ready. I discharged to a PHP in Boston also owned by Monte Nido. I stayed in their supportive housing and did a month and a half of php. It helped. I slowly improved some. I became more stable with meal plan compliance. I started to realize how bad my family was for me. It was only in their absence that I began to flourish. I was preparing my own food outside of program. I did another month and half of IOP in Boston, and then in November, about one year ago, I came home to continue IOP at my local program.

And things became stagnant. I would have a good week and then two bad weeks. Things were stable enough to not need PHP again, but not stable enough to discharge. But I couldn't stay in IOP forever, and after 5 months, they discharged me.

I knew I wasn't ready, but I was determined to try to make it work. I knew I couldn't stay in IOP forever. But I wanted so badly to recover, and I was so scared I'd fall backwards.

So I did pretty well for about a month, then slowly things started slipping. I'm not sure what happened per say. I think I was probably brute forcing it, and I couldn't keep it up. I decided to go back to IOP, not in the full program, just twice a week, sort of a tune up. That was the plan anyways.

I did an assessment on a Monday, started that evening. I was to come back on Thursday. Tuesday, I went to my parents, and for whatever reason, my brother told me that it was my fault that I was bullied.

I spiraled. It triggered shame and guilt. It triggered my own belief that it was my fault. As though all my work had come undone, I was suicidal again.

I tried to hold it together. My therapist talked to me on the phone countless times over that week, but on Saturday afternoon, I asked my boyfriend to take me to the hospital. I didn't feel safe with myself. I was scared to be in the bathroom alone.

The hospital was a horrible experience. It was my second time in a psych hospital, and this time was by far the worst. There were 38 women in a small unit. We spent all our time in a day room that definitely was not designed for 38 people. Most of the people there were detoxing and were sporatic and loud and... Terrifying to me with PTSD from being bullied and verbally abused by peers and teachers. Staff were verbally abusive. Finally, after what felt like a year but was only six days, I left the hospital. My suicidality had been quite literally scared out of me, but my anxiety was 10/10 constantly. I felt unsafe. I was shaking consistently for an entire week. Even now, I start shaking thinking about it.

My therapist suggested residential trauma treatment at a place in Florida called the Refuge. They had an eating disorder program as well, so they would be able to take me (as most places just straight up won't take you if you have an ED but most ED places don't do real trauma work either). Anyways, this place was amazing. I was there for two months, and I grew so much. I was surrounded by support. The ED part of the program was pretty relaxed, which in some ways was good but in other ways let me act out through my eating while doing trauma work. But they kept me contained enough that I was very safe physically. I was so emotionally supported; I don't even have the words for it. My program therapist gave me new understanding of myself. She tested and diagnosed me with Asbergers and taught me that some aspects of my rigidity were likely because of asbergers and not because of my ED —that it was OK if my recovery looked a little different than other people's recovery. I was able to share in groups about my childhood, and I received a ton of validation and support for traumas that I perceived as not worthy of being traumatized by. I was supported and respected and made a ton of progress in respecting and supporting myself.

I discharged back into the shitty ass local iop program. I needed to refocus on the food aspect just a little and get back on track with food. I had a little weight I needed to gain in order to be at my own set point. Blah blah. Etc.

This program has been such a mess. My case manager told me everyone walked on eggshells around me. When I advocated for myself, I was told I was being needy. Then they told me I had to discharge because I was refusing to learn to cope with emotions despite the fact that my outpatient team and I both agree that I'd made huge progress. Before going to the refuge, the experience would have been triggering, but instead it became an opportunity for me to prove to myself just how resilient I have become. I finally discharged IOP last week, and this time, I actually feel ready.

I've been meal plan compliant for months. I've been actively using coping skills and managing situations more effectively than I ever have before. I have made so so so much progress; and I can say, today, I am happy to be alive. I haven't had a suicidal thought since being home from the Refuge. I haven't self-harmed since September. I still have work to do, but I can also accept where I'm at while I'm doing that work. Life is good. I am confident I can keep this up for months, even years.