A monthly column featuring stories, articles and editorials
about eating disorders

Payson Road is excited to introduce, The Truth, a monthly editorial column that is focused on the subject of Eating Disorders. Unlike our other two columns, the Corner and The Voice, The Truth is all about ED's. So we want to hear it. If you've got an article, or a story to share or even medical information, send it on over.

Because the Truth shall set us free.

January - Taking it a Step Further
February - The Weaker Sex?
March - Following Your Own Advice
April - Ask Me Again What Does Spring Mean
May - How Far Have We Really Come?
June - Living with Bulimia
July - Letters to ED
August - A Bulimic's Journal
September - Friend's Don't Let Friends Go to the Bathroom Alone!: An Inside Look at Residential Treatment
October - No More Security Blanket
November - Letter to a Sister

Archives | 2002 | 2003 | 2004 | 2005

I am writing this letter, I guess, because I can’t seem to communicate with you lately. It seems as though every conversation we have turns into a war of words, and I need to express my feelings to you.

Growing up with you as my sister was a gift to me—it truly was. You taught me so many things, and gave me the love I was looking for, yet never seemed to get from mom. You also showed me another way in life. A life that included college, and privacy, and I don’t know, I guess just a life the complete opposite of the one I saw growing up. I idolized you, and I put you on a very high pedestal. I see now how unfair that was to you.

I remember the first time I went to the Moore’s for Christmas Eve, I think I was 12 or 13, and you called over to our house, and asked mom if she wanted to bring me over. Yvonne had all the presents for me, the scarf, the bear---yes they were probably in her closet of ‘extra presents for people who drop by’ but that night meant more to me than I ever really can say here. What I remember most about that night, was you telling me that this is how a family could be. There could be a celebration where everyone was nice to each other, and I could have nice things, and a happy home if that was what I wanted. I realize now that the picture perfect life I saw that night was not perfect, and in the years that followed, I saw Yvonne’s meddling and stressed out jabs to Jerry. But they never screamed—there were no tears at the end of the night. To this day, I still cringe when people raise their voices.

You and John provided yet another example of how life can work. You didn’t end up pregnant before you were married—you didn’t yell and scream either (at least not around me). Cass—you know, I realize now that things were never perfect with you and John, but still I thank you for letting me believe they were, because I needed that. I needed to believe in the fantasy of happily ever after, or I don’t think I would have ever made it through those years of living with Grandpa.

When you turned 30, and moved out and went crazy—ok, you didn’t go crazy, but that is how I refer to that year, because it seemed like you turned 30 and freaked out—that was really hard for me. For one, I so wanted Megan to have what we never did. A mother and father that lived together, and were married, and loved each other. I wanted her to grow up with that security. But it was more than that. I don’t think I realized this at the time, but you see, you and John splitting felt like my own parents and family were splitting apart. I love you both so much and my picture of what life could be was being torn in two right before my very eyes. And you were the one who was wrong, in my eyes. You were the one walking away from your family, and you were the one deciding that partying was more important than your family. Yes, I knew that you had had times when you partied a lot, and the vague memory of when you said you used Coke at 18, but I never really thought you were like mom. When you split with John that’s what I thought. And it was really difficult for me to deal with. Because you were perfect in my eyes. You had shown me that we were better than the rest of our family. You had gone to college, dressed nice, liked nice things, and new how to handle yourself in any situation. And here you were, leaving your family and drinking and partying it up with a bunch of ‘losers’. And on top of all of that, when everything happened with mom, you were useless. You did nothing, and didn’t seem to care.

Cassi—I was afraid. I didn’t trust myself to make the right decisions. And you were no where to be found. My protector was gone. And through all that I realized mom did matter to me. You see, before that time, I often wondered if it would make a difference in my life if she was gone. I had(and still have)so many resentments towards her, and always felt like you were more of a mom to me than she ever was. But at proved to me that I cared, and that scared me. So to compensate for your lack of action, I became super-daughter. It was my way of controlling a situation that was out of my control. And instead of dealing with that, I became the martyr. I always have worn that role so well.

It took a long time before I was able to let go of the anger I felt during that time. But you told me you weren’t drinking anymore. And I was going through all that crap with Mike, and you supported me, without any judgements (at least none you said to me). I mistook your codependency to me, for a kinship that we used to have, before your pedestal came crashing down in front of me. But through all that stuff with Mike, I realized that being true to your own happiness was very important, and I finally came to understand why you left John. And I supported that, I still do. I started to feel some of the feelings I missed with us. Like I mattered to you, and you mattered to me. But you lied to me. You told me that you had cleaned up your partying, and that you weren’t even drinking much, but that you still felt you needed to be apart from John. Last Christmas, when you kept not showing up at John’s I didn’t realize it was because you were getting loaded.

I don’t know how I could live with drug addicts for as long as I did, and have it escape me so easily, but I guess it was because I didn’t want to see it. And then you forgot my presents, and it really hurt—not because I needed to open presents, but because I saw how unimportant I was to you. And when I did open the presents, that was actually my first clue that you may be on drugs. It reminded me so much of Marci—because not one thing was anything I would remotely want. It was like you just went out and bought a bunch of stuff to have stuff. And you didn’t get a Hallmark ornament for me that year. I think it was the first time since mom quit buying them. I don’t say that to hurt you, and its not about whether you spend 5 or 500 dollars on me, it really is the thought that counts. I had put a lot of thought into the gifts I chose for you, and I didn’t feel like you had.

I know this is getting long, and I hope you are still reading. I just want to get everything out, or else it will eat me up inside.

When we drove to mom’s and you told me they all thought I was a snob—I don’t remember the fight, oh yeah, it was something about Meg crying, although I don’t remember the specifics, but I do remember you telling me that John and our whole family thought I was a snob. That hurt—I wasn’t being mean to you—or attacking you personally, and the fact that you did to me, really pushed my buttons. I remember the whole way up there, you talked smack about John, and I don’t know what you expect from me. Yes, I love you. I love John too. He has been a part of my life pretty much since I can remember. And I didn’t happen to think he was wrong about all the CPS stuff. You know, again, you told me such bits and pieces of that story—whatever didn’t make you sound too bad, but all that did was break down my trust in you—I would have had more faith if you had just been honest with me. But you couldn’t be honest with yourself, so I guess I couldn’t expect you to be honest with me.

When I found out that you had shot up (heroin or not) it made me sick. Sick that I could very likely lose my sister. Sick that Megan would have to grow up in any kind of resemblence of your childhood with mom. If you think that just a little drugs are no big deal, and that you can control it, remember your childhood, Cassi—I know it had to have been 10 times worse than mine. Mom was pretty much just an alcoholic by the time I was a kid, but still my early memories are filled with random people in our house, Leslie Carlson stumbling into my bed, drunk—crying over how fat she was, a mother who was never there—and who had no idea how to teach me anything I needed to know about the world.

And then there is my bulimia. Oh how I would like to just blame it on mom, and grandpa—and those hellish years on Lakehills Drive. But I can’t Cassi, because I remember from such a young age always feeling like I was too much. Compared to you. You know that story you tell? The one about me visiting you and John in Santa Barbara (when I was 12) and while you were both at work, I ate all the cheese. You came home, asked why there was no cheese and I said I didn’t eat it. But you had counted it, so you knew. You laugh about it now. It’s kind of our ‘little family joke’. Except think about it, did it ever occur to you how shameful that was for me. It reiterated what I already told myself, I was too much. I wanted too much—whether it was too much cheese, or too much attention. Another Santa Barbara memory—we were at a street side café—I don’t know how old I was, but we were ordering lunch, and somehow, whatever I ordered was wrong. I don’t remember all of the details, just that I ended up in the bathroom crying and very embarrassed, and when you came in, you told me you were just trying to help me lose weight. To this day, if I am eating a candy bar, or a slice of cheese, or some other forbidden food, I hide it. I can be home alone, and still the food will be sitting underneath the blanket on my lap. Because its shameful and because I know I should be stronger than that.

This trip down memory lane isn’t an attack. My bulimia is not your fault. I have made my own choices along the way. Its just, its hard for me, because I realize you were a child, raising your sister, and you did the best you could—but your food issues became my food issues. I love you Cassi. And luckily the good memories outweigh the bad at this point. There were so many wonderful things you did for me growing up. I just needed to say all this, because it is eating me up inside. I hope we are able to re-build our relationship, before it’s too broken to fix.

Peace and Love,

No More Security Blanket
by Mindy Silbergleid

I am now six weeks out of residential treatment. It is hard to believe that 90 days ago I entered residential treatment for the first time after suffering from an eating disorder for seven years. Although I wasn't diagnosed until seven years ago, the disordered eating thoughts and patterns go back even further. I remember having a very poor self-concept and body image at the age of 11. I remember that for the first time I was bigger in size than my older sister, and could no longer where her hand-me-downs. Instead she wore mine. I remember vividly trying on a pair of her black jeans with stirrups and no longer being able to pull them up over my hips and thighs when I could just a couple weeks previously. I remember listening through the vents hearing my parents argue about diet and exercise because they were concerned that my sister was anorexic. She wasn't. Although petite and slender, she never developed an eating disorder herself. I remember whe n my mirror was switched with my sister's and I was signed up for an aerobics class. None of these things were done to hurt me, but they certainly had a lasting effect.

While I was in residential treatment we read from a wonderful book called The Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie. It is a book of daily meditations written to help those in recovery take a few moments to concentrate on self-care. Missing the daily inspirations, I went and purchased the book myself the other night. As I was flipping through the pages I found an entry titled "Feelings" This particular passage moved me very deeply as perhaps one of the things I'm struggling with the most after treatment is allowing myself to feel. For the past 15 years I've used some maladaptive coping strategy to numb my feelings and they are only slowly starting to return. To me, this is one of the scariest parts of recovery, especially since I am faced with mourning the loss of both my best friend and my grandfather since being discharged. I no longer have the security blanket of my eating disorder to help me cope with the intense feelings. Eating disordered thoughts and behav iors although still present, do not help me feel any better. Instead, they leave me feeling worse. My therapist says this is a good thing. She says this means I'm losing the dangerous old messages that replay in my mind and replacing them with new, healthier ones. I'm not yet convinced, but I do trust her. In an attempt to comfort myself I reread the following passage at least 100 times in the past couple of days.

"It's okay to have and feel our feelings-all of them. Years into recovery we may still be battling with ourselves about this issue. Of all the prohibitions we've lived with, this one is potentially the most damaging and the most long-lived. Many of us needed to shut down the emotional part of ourselves to survive certain situations. We shut down the part of us that feels anger, sadness, fear, joy and love. Many of us lived in systems with people who refused to tolerate our emotions. We were shamed or reprimanded for expressing feelings, usually by people who were taught to repress their own. But times have changed. It is okay for us to acknowledge and accept our emotions. We don't need to allow our emotions to control us; neither do we need to rigidly repress our feelings. Our emotional center is a valuable part of us. It's connected to our physical well-being, our thinking, and our spirituality. Our feelings are also connected to that great gift, instinct. They enable us to give and receive love. We are neither weak nor deficient for indulging in our feelings. It means we're becoming healthy and whole *"

I don't feel healthy and whole. I don't feel like I'm were I'm supposed to be six weeks after leaving residential. I really don't know where I am supposed to be, but somehow I don't feel like I'm there. Old messages die hard. It is still very hard for me to follow my meal plans and use a moderate amount of exercise. Most days I feel frightened and unsure. But I am feeling. I am not dissociating or numbing myself in an attempt to protect me from the pain and sorrow any longer. I am working hard to continue taking steps forward in my recovery process. I have a strong support network, of course that means humbling myself enough to use it. As much as there is a part of me that still says, "You got yourself into this mess you should get yourself out," deep inside I know that trying to do this alone will not work. I tried to do it alone for seven years and only fell deeper into the eating disorder. So here I am. Trying to accept m e for who I am and what I feel. It is a difficult process, but then so is recovery. Nothing good in life ever comes easy.

*Beattie, Melody. The Language of Letting Go. Hazelden Foundation, 1990. p 361.

Friends Don’t Let Friends Go to the Bathroom Alone!” An Inside Look at Residential Treatment
by Mindy Silbergleid

“Friends don’t let friends go to the bathroom alone.” hung from the wall in decorative letters. This is the first thing I saw as I entered the first floor at Rogers Memorial Hospital. Hmmm. I wasn’t sure what to think. I didn’t come to treatment to have someone watch me go to the bathroom, but I knew it might be a necessary step to help break the pattern of purging which I unfortunately had returned to. I also knew that the philosophy behind the program was “challenge by choice” which I didn’t fully understand yet. All I did know is that I’ve had a diagnosed eating disorder for close to seven years, disordered eating patterns for closer to 16 years, and I wanted help. I finally had accepted and could admit that my eating disorder was way beyond my “control;” I needed real intervention to help me further my recovery process.

I spent the next 45 days in a residential eating disorder program living where I learned so much about myself, the origins of my eating disorder, my family dynamics, and my recovery process. I had a roommate and lived with nine other ladies. Some of these ladies I grew very close too and others I did not. All of the ladies I met though, impacted my stay profoundly.

I soon learned the literal and figurative meaning of the sign that I saw hanging on the wall. “Friends don’t let friends go to the bathroom alone.” Literally, this meant we were required to have a buddy with us at all times for at least one hour after any meal or snack. This rule, obviously meant to help us from purging meant little to some of the ladies. To me, and figuratively speaking, however it meant that I was not only given permission to ask for help to keep myself from purging , but it was something I was supposed to do. Finally, validation for my needing help to break the binge/purge and restrict/purge cycles. It wasn’t enough that I knew I needed help. I needed external validation for why it was not only ok, but healthy to ask for help.

I have an eating disorder. I am working toward my recovery. It is an on-going process. It isn’t easy, its actually friggin’ hard. I was abused. I was sexually assaulted. I used my eating disorder and self injury actively to cope with being me. I grew up believing I was inherently evil. Only 8 years old and I thought I was rotted to the core. My family doesn’t understand my thoughts and feelings. They try to help but it only makes matters worse, because they really just don’t get it. They ask me to explain it but I cannot explain it when I don’t always get it myself. I know that I try to hide from my emotions because I never received validation for them growing up. My thoughts scare me. My feelings scare me. The world as I know it scares me and I don’t feel like I belong. Consequently, it feels awkward to be me in mind, body, and spirit. As a result, I use my eating disorder which doesn’t comfort me even a little bit anymore. I don’t know any other way. So sad.

Sit with your feelings and just allow yourself to exist.” I so often heard from the residential counselors (RC’s) Night after night I sat crying in the RC’s office and asked for my nighttime medications at 6:30 PM. No, Mindy you can’t take your nighttime medications until 8:00 pm. Why do you want them now? “Because I just want this f***ing day to be over,” I replied over and over again. They of course did not give me my medications so I could simply fall asleep and deny what I was experiencing. Instead, I had to face my biggest fear. Myself.

For 45 days I was not allowed to hide from myself. For 45 days I was challenged to sit with my thoughts and feelings and I was “challenged by choice” to use healthy coping strategies and self-soothing techniques to get through it.

It was truly amazing how many people needed to use the bathroom at 7:05, precisely an hour after finishing dinner and a buddy was no longer required. Many evenings someone emerged from the bathroom with the all too familiar look of a red face, swollen glands, bloodshot, puffy, and tearing eyes and the rest of us knew they had purged. I admit there were a couple times I did not challenge myself and escaped my buddy for the meal or purged shortly after the ending of buddy time. Challenge by choice. The remainder of the 268 meals and snacks I chose to sit with myself and my feelings and was able to allow myself simply to exist. I was “challenged by choice.”

I’m not sure that I could have challenged myself alone. It took a lot of support. I needed my “buddies,” those nine other ladies who believed in me and my deserving recovery. I needed the unconditional love and support that I received from Brian while I was away. Why is that? I couldn’t intrinsically challenge myself and succeed. I needed once again, external validation. I didn’t receive external validation for my thoughts and feelings growing up. As a result, I crave it now. The good thing is that its been psychologically proven that extrinsic motivation can lead to learned intrinsic motivation. (Thanks to my undergraduate psychology course on motivation I learned that.) This means there is hope folks. Yes, recovery needs to be about you wanting recovery. My recovery needs to be about my wanting recovery and believing I deserve it. But that idea can start with external validation and extrinsic motivation.

So many have asked me what I learned while I was in residential treatment. I’m not sure that I can summarize everything I learned.. I don’t think I know how far I’ve come and how much further I still need to go. All I do know is that I am out of treatment now, and still struggling. I am not “cured” of my eating disorder like some friends and family members assumed and I’m certainly not comfortable in my own skin or with my own mind. I do however possess a new mindfulness. I am aware of why my eating disorder developed, my family dynamics, and that recovery is and always was a process, not an end result.

I have been bulimic for 2 years now, and have had body image issues as long as I can remember. Well, that is not true, exactly. I can remember a time when I wasn’t obsessed with what I looked like. I just don’t remember how that actually felt.

My real body image issues began in the 7th grade. We had moved to an affluent neighborhood, just outside of Sacramento. My grandfather had just purchased a farm, for our entire family to live in. That lasted all of about 9 months, before it blew up in our faces. Most of the family moved out, and in the end, it was my mom, my disabled uncle, my grandfather, and myself. I was a strong-willed child, by my family’s standards, and this caused conflicts with my grandfather. I was overweight, and my grandfather made it known that the excess weight was both unattractive, and unacceptable. I began working out to videotapes, and lost the weight, the summer before eight grade.

As I got older, my relationship with my grandfather deteriorated. My uncle died, and his son came to live with us. This eased my grandfather’s cruelty to me, because more than he dislike the fat people in our family, he disliked boys. Unfortunately for my cousin, this meant he became the brunt of that cruelty. My grandfather always had to hate somebody. He faltered between my cousin and myself. That made it almost worse. It was one thing to be shut out, and entirely another thing to be shut out and see him express such love for another. He was good at that. Rubbing his love in your face. Showing you what you could attain, if only you were ‘good enough’. To this day, the smell of a cigar, reminds me of laying my head against my grandfather’s belly, with his arm around me, watching television. I felt secure. I felt loved. If only those days hadn’t been so far and few between. If only he hadn’t mixed in whispered words, like, “you are ugly”, or “you are a worthless pig”, when no one was around to hear him.

The next year my cousin went back to live with his mother. As insane as she is, I still feel he was better off, than had he stayed to live his teenage years with my grandfather. His departure only made my life more difficult. At this point it was my mom, myself, and my grandfather living in our home. He had to be mean to someone, and he really couldn’t be mean to my mom, so I was, once again, the chosen one.

There were a lot of times that my mom was gone, and he would constantly tell me how ugly, fat, and worthless I was. He never said any of these things in front of my mom, and when I would tell her, he would deny it. It got to the point where I just didn’t tell her anymore. He said I was lazy. I didn’t love my mom. I only cared about what I wanted. I was ungrateful. All these things, because I didn’t want to clean the house. I refused to empty ashtrays. I wouldn’t sit in the living room filled with smoke. HELLO….I was a teenager. Show me a teenager alive, who wants to clean. Yet the abuse grew and grew. Mixed in were good times, although they are hidden under the piles of insults and cold stares accumulated during those years. Honestly, the good times just made it worse, because again, it showed me what I could have, if only I deserved it, if only I was good enough.

During these high school years, I was in decent shape. I worked out, everyday, some would say obsessively. Two hours a day, six days a week. Christmas Eve? New Years? No problem, I would just head over there first thing, get my workout in, and then head out to whatever plans we had. Looking back I guess I can see how that was a bit much. I also ate pretty healthfully. I cooked my own meals, made a lunch for school each day. I could pretty much eat what I wanted, but during this time, I really didn’t want all the junk food. I liked taking care of myself. I was never super skinny. My smallest was a size 8. I remember that timeframe. I felt FAT. I felt HUGE. You see, that was what I was told. My best friend was a size 2, so really I was big, compared to her. Was I fat? Well I look at the few pictures I allowed to be taken of me during those years, and today I would say, “No, I wasn’t.”

In my freshman year, the overalls fad was very big. We didn’t have a lot of money, so my mom didn’t buy me any. My uncle was still alive at the time. He had a lot of overalls, so I asked him if I could have a pair. “It’s ok, if they are a little big”, I told him. “That is the style.” He looked at me with such disbelief. “You really think my overalls will fit you Leslie? You have got to be kidding me.” At first I thought he meant they would be too small. I almost started to cry. I guess it would be important to mention here, my uncle was about 6 feet tall, and weighed over 400 lbs! So he clarifies that I am crazy, there is no way I would fit in them. They would be WAY too big. Yet I am sitting there, in his room, swearing to him, that they really wouldn’t be too big for me. So he humors me. He says, “Here, put them on. Not only can you have them if they fit, but I will give you $100 as well” So I step into the overalls. And I did fit. In ONE leg of them!! I came across a picture of those overalls, with me AND my cousin in them, at the same time. And still they were big! It pains me to think, that my body image was that distorted at such a young age.

My relationship, with my grandfather, only got worse. When I did go to my mom about it, she would just tell me to ignore him. Just tell him he was right, and things would get better. She would tell me that there was nothing wrong with just appeasing him. I could know I was right, even if I told him he was, and at least then he would be nice to me. I just couldn’t do that. Even though I didn’t stand up for myself anywhere near the amount I do today, the little I did do, was considered by my family to be overwhelming. It was too much. I was too much. In my junior year, we quit speaking entirely. That same year my mom remarried. My grandfather now had someone else to be mean to. At that point, I barely gave him any reaction, so he really needed to find someone else to hurt anyhow. My mom’s husband was a jerk. He was wonderful bait for my grandfather, because in all honesty, my grandfather was right about him. He was overbearing, controlling, demeaning of both my mom and myself, untrusting, abusive, an alcoholic, the list goes on…amazingly enough, all of those qualities would describe my grandfather as well. Needless to say, life in that house only got worse. When my grandfather wouldn’t let up on my mom’s husband, we ended up moving. While I was glad to be out of there, I also felt strangely betrayed by my mom. You see, we stayed in that house for so many years. She knew he was cruel and abusive to me, yet we stayed. She wanted to own her own home and felt she could only do that with his help. She closed her eyes to my pain. She drank away her own pain. I wasn’t important enough to take a stand for, but her husband was. She wouldn’t allow my grandfather to treat him that way, but her own daughter, that was ok. We moved out for maybe six months, but my grandfather got into a financial mess, and once again, dangled the house in front of my mom’s eyes. Back into the house of hell, we moved. She promised me my grandfather was moving out. He wasn’t going to live with us. She wouldn’t subject me (or her precious husband) to that ever again. Well, that lasted about 1 week, two tops! Then he was staying the night, then two, when he didn’t have anywhere else to go, he was going to move in for a while. I moved out, before I turned eighteen.

My early twenties are filled with moments of both happiness and pain. During these years, I was forever on a diet, yet steadily gaining. I would lose a few pounds, and gain twenty. I never realized that I was getting so fat. I had always felt fat, so in my mind’s eye, I still was trying to lose that same weight from high school. The only difference was in high school, it was 20 more pounds (which may have even been a bit much back then), and by the time I stepped on the scale that fateful morning, February 28, 1999, I had 150 lbs to lose. I weighed 299 pounds. I looked into the mirror and burst into tears. How had I gotten so fat? Was I really always this big? I was desperate. A few weeks earlier I had been speaking to my boss, and good friend at the time, Marci about my weight. I remember saying that I really wanted to lose weight. At this point I had been a vegetarian for about 6 months. She told me about her struggles with anorexia. “ I love to eat too much,” I replied, “or I would be anorexic. It’s just; I could never stop eating like that. I would just make myself puke, but I can’t, so I guess I will have to think of something else.” Marci, good friend that she was, replied, “Les, you can make yourself throw up, it’s easy. I will show ya.” Who would have thought those words would lead me on the hellish path of bulimia. So she showed me, and I waited about a week, and thought, “ok, I will give it a shot, if it works great, if not, I don’t know what I will do”. That night we had enchiladas, and I went into the bathroom, pulled my hair back, and begin to mimic the actions Marci had showed me that fateful day. At first it didn’t work, but with a little persistence, out came every bite of my enchiladas. It didn’t even hurt. I felt great! Looking through my journal, I found an entry from March 12, 1999.

Ok. So it’s been 14 days since I started this crazy diet. I have lost 18 pounds. YEA! It’s working great so far. It started with me deciding to make myself throw up. I figured I might as well try it because I really haven’t been working out, and it takes so long to lose the weight the healthy way. So the throwing up idea wasn’t so bad. I figured I would eat whatever I want for 1 meal and then anything else I eat I would just throw up. But that is still kinda gross, so what I have been doing is eating 500 or less calories a day and anything else I throw up. Sometimes I think it is just more work to eat something I am going to throw up, so I just don’t eat it to begin with. At this rate, I will be where I want in 6-7 months. I hope it keeps coming off like this. If it slows down, I will have to think of another plan. The only thing that scares me is that I am afraid it will go too far once I am at a healthy weight for myself. I hope that I will be able to recognize what weight is thin enough. When I weight 117, I will eat healthy again. That is my promise to myself. I only hope I can keep it. As for now, I don’t care if I take it too far, as long as I lose weight. I stepped on the scale this morning and I weighed the same as yesterday. That kinda freaked me out. As long as I lose a pound a day I will be happy. So today I ate a bowl of cereal. Then I didn’t eat until dinner, which I threw up, so no calories there. I think about food and my weight all day long now, but it helps to keep me focused. If I can really do this, I will feel like I can do anything. Dr. Gilliam gave me Adipex today. I will try it tomorrow and see how well it works. I really hope when I wake up tomorrow, I weigh less, maybe even 2 pounds, which will make up for today. God-it will be so great to have a thin body again. To be able to buy cute clothes, instead of big shirts and sweats.

It is so strange to read these words, nearly six months into my recovery. I have learned so much about myself. The entire entry is so erratic, and unreasonable. I never did reach that goal weight. I did lose 80 pounds, and gained 30 of them back since I began recovery. It amazes me that from the very beginning, my expectations were so unrealistic. 117 pounds-not gonna happen! It’s not healthy or realistic for my body size and type. I remember beginning this journal. I thought I was in control. I never thought what I was doing was a smart move, I just never really thought it would take control over me. I never thought I would actually be bulimic. I was just trying to lose weight. It took such a hold over my life. It was all I could truly focus on, which was a good thing, because I didn’t want to see what the rest of my life had become about.

Letters to ED
-If you would like to add your letter to ED please email the_truth@paysonroad.com

Bulimia, I turned to you in a time of turmoil and uncertainty. I needed you when times were tough and I felt alone, powerless, and out of control. I thought you were my friend and something that could make me happier. I was wrong. You have taken away so many happy times, what control I had, and not to mention my health. If I gained anything from you it was kidney stones, severe indigestion, a heart that goes crazy at times, chest pain, and loss of hair. You have controlled me for too long and it's time for me to fight. You may still win me over momentarily but I will not give up. I am a stronger person and learning who I am more, everyday. I can find comfort within myself and in the love and support of others. I no longer need, and never did need you. You were filled with false promises of happiness and a sense of belonging. So to you I have to say f@#$ off!!! I CHOSE to be happy and I CHOSE recovery. I am allowed to make my own decisions without you compromising my every thought.

Goodbye,

Michelle

You came into my life like a knight in shining armor 11 long years ago. Just a child, you charmed me with you ability to take away the pain and sorrow that I was feeling. You and I became the best of friends. The only constant in my life, I always knew I could count on you. Whenever I felt pain or sorrow, you took it away. With you around I felt invincible....nothing could stop me. I could try it all, do it all, and if I failed you were there to pick up the pieces and put me back together. You provided comfort and safety in an otherwise chaotic world.

You were, however, not who I thought you to be. With your ability to take away my pain and devastation that I so often felt, you took away my ability to feel joy and happiness. Before long you separated my mind, body, and spirit and left me broken. It has taken me 11 years to realize all that you have stolen from me. You took away my childhood, but most of all you have taken away my health, my ability to think rationally, my ability to feel and my ability to know what my body needs.

You tell me lies. Too young to realize that you were slowly stealing my spirit from me, I am no longer that same scared little girl. I am no longer

charmed by your ability to take away the pain but disgusted by your manipulation. Any time I begin to feel you try to take that away from me telling me the most horrid things. You saved me from one abusive relationship only to draw me into another.

I am not fat and ugly. Food is not the enemy. I do not need to be perfect and others are not better than me. I do not deserve to feel pain or to be

punished when I don't play by your rules. Your rules are bogus; I am me, worthy of support, love, happiness, and health. You have become a part of me yes, but a part that I no longer need in my life.

As I learn to reconnect my mind, body, and spirit, that you separated so that you could manipulate me as you so desired, you become furious. Instead of whispering "sweet nothings" in my ear as I thought you once did, you yell and scream the most awful lies. As you try to tighten your grip, I only want to fight against you even more.

I am tired physically, emotionally, and mentally and you have an uncanny ability to sense when I am feeling weak. However, I am not so weak that I

will allow you to regain control of my being as you've done for so many years. I will continue to fight against you until I find my inner truth. Soon you will be nothing but a distant memory and I will be living my life as I so desire.

I bid you farewell, my long time "friend." With friends like you, I need no enemies.

June 2002

Living with Bulimia: Jessica’s Story
by Linda Beadle (with Jessica)

Recently I was introduced to a beautiful, young woman named Jessica. Jessica has suffered with the eating disorder called bulimia for most of her life. Although she presently has control over her bulimia, she fears that one day that could all change. Like alcoholism, bulimia is a form of a disease that remains with you for life. It is a constant struggle for anyone suffering with bulimia to keep it from resurfacing.

Bulimia is a serious eating disorder that affects a very large percentage of the female population. The actions of bulimia are out of control eating (binging), and then throwing up (purging), to dispose of all the food. The majority of females who suffer are of a thin to average weight, but believe themselves to be much larger. Often bulimia is looked upon as a disorder to be embarrassed of and ashamed of. It is time to put the shame and embarrassment aside and focus on the real dangers.

I spoke with Jessica in detail about her struggles with bulimia. We discussed her issues concerning weight, diet, mental health and low self-esteem. Here begins the journey through the mind of a young woman who has fought a 17-year battle with bulimia and has hopefully won; or least found some peace and acceptance within herself.

Q-Jessica, have you always had problems with your weight?

In my mind I have. If the truth were known, I have never been more than 5-10 pounds overweight. I know that I see myself bigger than I really am, and I know that I am not fat. I feel that in order for me to look attractive, I must always be thin. As long as I continue to compare my size with women thinner than myself, I will always strive to be like them. It has been an obsession that has anguished me down for years.

Q-When did you become so concerned with your weight?

When I was sixteen in high school. I read all the fashion magazines portraying the very thin, beautiful models; I became fixated with looking like them. All the guys at my school dated the thin girls who resembled the models in their skintight clothes. I felt that in order to be popular, I needed to be thin. From that point on dieting became my main focus.

Q-When did you develop the eating disorder?

I was eighteen. My girlfriends and I all wanted to be thin. We tried every diet imaginable, the ice-cream diet, the watermelon diet; you name it, we tried it. We also tried speed, which helped to suppress the appetite but made us sick. What we found to be the best weight loss plan was to eat and then throw up. It was a joke at first, all my friends and I would gather together, pig out like animals and throw it all up in the toilet. We did this for several months. It was funny when we did it together, but it wasn’t so funny when I continued to do it alone.

Q-Then what happened, Jessica?

I developed such a craving for bad, fattening foods that I started to depend on them. I needed to gorge myself on anything that was high in calories and were forbidden foods on my diet in order to feel content. This type of eating was definitely causing me to gain weight. Therefore throwing up became a regular part of my diet regimen. This method seemed to be the only way for me to control my weight.

Q-What goes through your mind when you binge?

When I eat like this I don’t have any control over my thinking, I go into a trance. I stop at nothing and will eat anything fattening I can put my hands on. I often drive out of my way to restaurants and stores just to buy the bad food. I’ll eat until I can eat no more than then throw it all up. Afterwards I feel sick and utterly depressed. I fell like such a failure and I hate myself.

Q-Did you plan on purging before each binge?

Before I would begin each eating binge, I knew that I would get rid of it by throwing up. This was my only prevention to gaining weight. What a destructive mind game. My mind becomes so out of control obsessing on what food I can eat. I tell myself that I won’t gain weight as long as I throw up. I’m aware that what I am doing is really bad, but I can’t stop myself. I always promise myself that everything will be better tomorrow.

Q-How often did you make yourself throw up?

In the beginning it was a lot, but it wasn’t a daily event; there were days when I could control my eating. For about a year I was doing it about five times a week. Sometimes twice in one day. I wasn’t always doing it at home; sometimes I would be at someone else’s home, at a restaurant or at school. Any time I put something bad and fattening into my body, I had to get rid of it.

Q-How was your physical and mental health at this point?

I started suffering from headaches, stomachaches and severe dizziness. I developed dark circles and was so pale. I was an emotional wreck. I knew what I was doing was so wrong, but I couldn’t stop myself. After throwing up I would hover in a corner and cry uncontrollably. I hated what I was doing to myself, but my need to be thin was more important.

Q-Did you ever tell anyone?

For the longest time it was my big secret that I was to embarrassed to share. However, as my problem grew worse I knew I had to tell my Mom. She was very understanding and sympathetic, but very confused by it. Right away my parents took me to see a therapist. I attended therapy for almost a year and learned that my problem was an eating disorder called bulimia that is common amongst young women. I was relived to learn that I was not a freak and other girls were also suffering. I also learned that I had low self-esteem issues. Although therapy was helpful to a certain degree, it still never stopped me from wanting to be thin.

Q-After therapy finished did you feel you were now cured?

I was bulimia-free for a couple of years, and felt quite proud of myself for curing myself of my nasty habit. However my obsession with my weight never ended. I was always seeking out new diets and new forms of exercise. I tried to accept my average size and cute figure, but it was a real power struggle. I managed to cope as best I could.

Q-Did the bulimia ever come back?

Sadly enough it did. When I was twenty I entered into a very destructive relationship. This relationship shattered my, already shaky, self-esteem. I suffered again for about 2 years with on and off with bouts of bulimia. As a result of my bad relationship, my low self-esteem and my bulimia, I started having suicidal thoughts. I was pretty close to the edge and became really scared. I returned to a new therapist for further treatment.

Q-What did you learn in therapy this time?

This time I learned that the action of bulimia is a form of control. Whenever my life becomes out of control, like it did during my relationship, my destructive behaviour acts up. The therapist also warmed me about the seriousness of the eating disorder. If I continued to make myself throw up, I could physically harm myself, or possibly kill myself. I heard everything the therapist was saying and became very scared. When I ended my sessions with this therapists I felt pretty confident that I would beat the bulimia this time. My life moved on smoothly and for several years there was no sign of the bulimia.

Q-What do you mean when you say that bulimia is a form of control?

I don’t fully understand it, because I never feel like I have any control when I am having a bout of bulimia. Apparently by making myself throw up, this is my way of controlling my weight, thus somehow controlling my life. When my bulimia surfaces I don’t have any control over the bulimia itself, I do however have control over how much weight I gain by way of purging. It is a very difficult concept to grasp.

Q-Do you still suffer from bulimia?

I have continued to suffer from the bulimia on and off since my last day in the therapist’s office. I’ve taken notice that my bouts of bulimia surface when my life is in some form of crisis. It hit me after my parent’s divorce, when I left home, after a relationship ended; very low points. The bulimia always surfaces when I have no control over the situations in my life and feel periods of low self-esteem. I take notice when my bulimia acts up and what is going on in my life at that time. Although I can see the patterns of why I have these bouts of bulimia, I still don’t understand why I cannot control it when it is happening.

Q-Do you feel your bulimia will ever go away?

I’ve been told that bulimia is something that will stay with me forever, like that of an alcoholic. As long as I can stay in control of the situation, I can live a perfectly normal life. However it will never end, I will always be fighting this battle. I am now 35, and although I have more control over the bulimia than I used to, it still acts up when things are tough. The incidents now are very rare, but they do still happen regardless.

Q-Why are you so obsessed with your weight?

Good question. I will never, ever understand my obsession with being thin. It all has to do with my low self-esteem issues, that I continue to deal with. I am just so afraid of gaining weight, as if that justifies my whole existence. When I do gain weight I cannot concentrate on anything other than how to lose the weight. Thanks to a good healthy diet and exercise I have been able to maintain my average size, but I am obsessive about it. When I do feel the urge to ‘pig out’, I still have the compulsive behaviours and eat whatever I can put my hands on. Thankfully I rarely purge.

Q-Are you finally able to live with bulimia and be at peace with yourself?

It’s hard to say if I’ll ever be at peace with myself. I have accepted the fact that I have bulimia and that it could come back full term, which scares the hell out of me. I do fear for my future because this obsession with weight makes me fear for my mental stability. I pray that one day I can fully accept myself at any size and realize that big or small I am still a wonderful person. I am proud of myself for not letting the bulimia completely beat me; I guess I should give myself some credit.

Q-Jessica, what are your final thoughts on this subject?

Because of society’s pressure on women to be thin, so many of us develop bulimia, anorexia or some form of an eating disorder. Women of all ages are pretty messed up by all the pressures forced upon us by the media. This kind of pressure is not placed on men, they seem to be accepted in any shape or form. I want society to start accepting that there is more to a beautiful woman than a pair of thin legs and a flat stomach. I fell completely into the trap and followed the stereotypical picture of a perfect woman. For my own sanity I want things to change, I want the pressures to be thin to all disappear. I just want people to wake up and take notice of the damage that has been, and continues to be, created from this quest to be thin. I’m living proof that nothing good comes from it.

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May 2002

How Far Have We Really Come?
by Jennifer Campbell

We still have a long way to go in the understanding of eating disorders. I find myself so often wanting to just yell at the top of my lungs, Doesn't anybody get it yet!! In a world were fast and quick is better, I have to suppose that that idea rings true for the explanation of eating disorders. It's because of the media...It's because of the pressure to be thin...those are the two most commonly given answers to the often asked question, Why do people develop eating disorders?

At times I find myself laughing as I hear the simplistic and simple answers given to this issue. Yes, I spent all those years, wasted all that time, caused irreversible damage all because of the media or because I wanted to be skinny like a celebrity? Please! It makes me furious, and it makes me extremely sad. People are dying and it is not because of the media and it is not because we all want to look like Kate Moss. How trivial and slight to pass such a painful and deep seeded issue off on mere vanity and peer pressure.

So why do people get eating disorders? Maybe its because ones voice has been silenced and the body becomes a louder voice. Maybe the bones and the swollen cheeks can express the hurt a lot more effectively than a voice that has forgotten how to say, I am hurting, I have needs. Maybe a binge can more quickly fill a void where pain, too intense to feel, resides. Maybe the act of purging can more vividly display the guilt one feels for the need for nourishment and the desire to punish a body and a self that is perceived as unworthy. And yet even these reasons seem too minimal. I find myself too quick to write them down. For it is not that simple. It is almost impossible to articulate in a nice neat paragraph the reason one gets an eating disorder. Every person has a different story and unique reason.

It will take time for us as a culture to truly begin to understand what eating disorders are about. It will take opening the door to places inside of us where we all are trying to starve, stuff, numb, purge, disguise, hide, or detach from our pain. We as a culture will need to move beyond the surface and beyond the easy and simple answers to allow ourselves to dive deeper.

It does me no good to boil with anger or crumble with sadness as I hear how our culture tries to quickly and neatly place the cause of eating disorders into a small and acceptable box. I understand now that I must honestly and continually share my personal experience, educate, express, and hold no judgment on those who don't understand. I can not yell at them or shake them. I must speak. I must use my voice not my body.

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April 2002

Ask Me Again What Does Spring Mean

How to Follow Your Own Advice: My 4 a.m. Epiphany
by Mindy Silbergleid

Four o'clock in the morning and here I lay unable to sleep AGAIN. My alarm will go off in less than two hours. Tossing and turning the same thoughts kept running through my mind. As individuals with eating disorders, why can we so clearly know what others need to do to advance their recovery process, share eloquent words of wisdom, yet we can't follow our own advice? I cannot even count the amount of times that I've told myself I'm a hypocrite.

Why are we full of compassion towards others yet cannot share that same compassion with ourselves? We learned somewhere that our needs came secondary to those we love. We learned to disconnect our minds and bodies from our hearts and souls. Our eating disorders kept us safe from feeling any intense emotion. With a disconnected mind, body, and soul, we cannot look at our own situations objectively. The combination of placing our needs secondary with a disconnected mind, body and soul makes it far easier to give advice than to follow it.

So often we tell each other to give ourselves a little tender loving care. If we can tell each other that we need to fill ourselves with a little tender loving care and no one deserves to suffer the pain of an eating disorder, logic states that the same holds true for ourselves. Unfortunately, ED does not follow the rules of logic and inhibits us from seeing that we are just as special, precious, and unique as our other friends with an eating disorder.

Still another obstacle in following our own advice is the multiple steps in doing so. First, we must decide what we or another need to do. That in itself is a process with multiple steps. We need accurate knowledge and the ability to consider completely new schemas. We must do this while bombarded with the lies and irrationality of thought ED sends our minds. Then, it is still a completely separate process to actually "do" what we've decided we or someone else needs. That requires a degree of belief in the effectiveness of what we are to do. If we don't believe, then we will not try, and we can all too easily fall into the victim mentality.

We do not, however, recognize our own knowledge , strength, courage, and dedication because there are so many unrecognized steps in giving advice. We do not realize how much really goes into giving advice to another. If we can follow all of these processes, we each then DO possess the knowledge, courage, strength, and dedication to decide what is needed and then follow through. It is, however, no wonder that we can clearly advise others yet not feel strong enough to follow our own advice, given all these unrecognized steps.

So today as you live out your life and offer advice to another with an eating disorder who is behaving, thinking, and feeling as you do, remember all those unrecognized steps that PROVE you have the strength, dedication, courage, and knowledge to follow your own advice, Then DO it. Perhaps today just might be a brighter day.

February 2002

The Weaker Sex ?
by Cindy Chickara

Sometime in my childhood, I think between 8 and 10 years old, I was convinced that it was better to be seen and not heard. I learned the quickest way to my father's approval and attention was by being pretty, demure and obedient, as well as cleaning my plate and my room. Those were the basics for me and the values I inspired to maintain. After all, my daddy was my hero and it never occurred to me that anything he did was wrong or sexist. I didn't know any better when he hit my mother into submission or when he yelled at me for talking to my dolls in the back seat of the car. I thought everybody's daddy was like mine. Flash to my teenage years, my obese body and the concept that there was a big world outside of my father's "palace." I punished my body as my internal struggle mounted -- who is this man who rules with an iron hand, who taught me that I should dare to be different, yet squashed every idea and dream I had as stupid babble?

I was taught early on that women compromised and gave in. Keep the peace no matter what the cost, physically or psychologically. Maybe it's the Italian upbringing-- think about The Godfather trilogy. As a child, it was normal for mom to take care of everything -- cooking, cleaning, me and my sis. The world revolved around my father...or else. I'm reminded of that stupid 80's commercial for Enjole perfume "I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan and never let you forget you're a man...cause I'm a woman..." I remember thinking I wanted to be that lady as she threw dollar bills into the frying pan, in her evening gown, thin body, flowing hair. What crap. So I grew up with an archaic view of women but you know what, my mom didn't know any better. She was making a better life for her
children than she had and her upbringing instilled in her that once she was married, she would deal with her life, for the love of her husband. Gives me chills. I remember all too well washing her bruised body in the bathtub with tears streaming down my face telling myself that no way in hell was I living like that .. once I escaped.

The past is my history. And through the years of my eating disorder, I have looked at the world and all its stereotypes with disdain and been challenged to find a way to amicable survive. Which almost didn't happen given my 16 year dance with death - laxatives, bingeing, purging, starving, over-exercising, diet pills, diuretics....should I go on? I know this world is full of chauvinism. I hate the idealization the fashion industry shoves down our throat, encouraging us to believe that waif models who look like little boys from behind and who have molars extracted so their cheeks look even further sunken is what I should look like. That if I don't, maybe I won't be ideal. I feel a twinge of insecurity if my boyfriend takes notice of an especially attractive woman walking down the street. I get aggravated when a male colleague walks right past me in the hallway without acknowledgment when it is just the two of us and no one can see his act of ignorance. I get annoyed as hell when a "bimbo" plays out "the act" to get her way with a man. And I say to it all, PHUCK IT!

What I have learned as I've faced these issues in my recovery, rather than stuffing them down my throat in a binge purge frenzy to not feel is that I really can't change any of this. The fashion magazines are coming out every month, men still think with their small heads most of the time and I can't reprogram my father. I can change though. And so can you.

I think figuring out and sustaining our own happiness will take us a long way in life. I really believe that my generation is not going to see the battle of the sexes end any time soon. But I'm stepping aside. I don't want to play anymore. If men don't like me cause I speak my mind or finish my plate, phuck em. If I can't fit into the biggest size pants in the children's department anymore, GASP ! I'm enjoying life now. Living on my terms, celebrating my femininity with all my curves and I'm not afraid of my own sexuality anymore either! I will ask for a raise when I think its deserved, I will continue to offer my opinion, I will not conform to the be seen but not heard mentality. I will demand the same quality
of service that men receive and I will not teach my daughters to ever, ever be quiet. If I have a son, he will know how to treat and respect a woman. I will continue to work hard and play even harder. I will cherish my man, for in him I have a found a special love but I will definitely let him know when I think he's crossing the line back to primitive times. But most of all, I will continue to honor and respect the authentic, powerful and beautiful woman I have come to be.

The weaker sex? Nah, I don't think so.

To launch this new column, we're kicking things off with Payson Road's theme for this New Year - Taking it a Step Further with an article of the same name from Jenn Campbell, the Director of the Mind Body and Recovery Journal.

Taking it a Step Further
by Jenn Campbell

Life is a series of stages and passages, small bits and short moments woven together, each with its own feelings, its own texture, its own essence. As each of us decides it is time to take the next step in our life, and in our recovery its important to really look inside and see what “taking it a step further” means for you.

Take a moment and think of where you are right now in your life. What has led you to this place in time? For the majority of us it was not some instant split second occurrence that brought us to this place, it was a lifetime of events and feelings and situations. In thinking about how you can grow from here and what you wish for your life it’s important to remember the process. The tiny baby steps of change and growth. A person who has never swum can not just jump into the deep end. It takes gradual patient guidance and support. When we talk about “taking it a step further” we are talking about talking that next small step, not some unreachable leap. It is important and inspiring to hold onto the image or dream that you have for your life. It is that vision that will fuel you journey, but the journey is what matters. It is the small tiny steps that will allow that dream to unfold.

Your life is meant to be lived as a dream come true. All that is needed is the patience and the trust to slowly and gently begin to allow yourself to make your dreams come true, one day at a time. “Taking it a step further” means beginning to put your dreams and visions of the life you want into small reasonable actions that take you closer to the larger picture of what you desire for your life. How does that look in your day to day life? That depends on the goal. Is you dream to have a new job, a new home, a new relationship, to heal an old wound, to learn to speak your truth, to truly be happy? Let’s say you want a new job. Well instead of waking up, quitting you job and then sitting in panic, taking it a step further means acknowledging that you want a new job and then starting slow with reasonable goals and actions. That could include looking through the help wanted ads for a few weeks to see what is available, or maybe setting up an appointment to see a career counselor to help to clarify what you really want in a job. Let go of the time limit the urgency and the need to hurry up and have a new life. Allow yourself time and enjoy the process and slowly making your dreams come true one day at a time.

This same philosophy applies with recovery. For the majority of us it is unrealistic to tell yourself you’re going to stop your eating disorder behavior cold turkey. It took years for the eating disordered thinking and way of life to manifest. Recovery is an ongoing process as well. So instead of trying to force yourself into an overnight recovery. Try and think of small actions that you can take to slowly and gently help you along your path of recovery. Pick one small area to focus on. Instead of trying to stop the bingeing and purging cycle right away, “ taking it step further” could be writing down and becoming aware of the emotions you feel before a binge or after a purge. Instead of trying to recover on your own, “taking it a step further” could be acknowledging the need for support and beginning to look into groups or individual therapy. There is a lot of work involved in recovery and many time it may feel as though there is so much happening on every level physical, mental and emotion. Slow down, breathe and know that you can get through it, one small step at a time.

Hold on to the image of your dreams, of a life full of health and recovery and allow them to guide you, remembering all the while to enjoy each day. Stay present in the moment and be thankful and proud of the progress you have made no matter how small it may seem. Life is about the moments, not just the end result. It is the day to day choices and thoughts that we have that make up our life. By living day to day, moment to moment, cherishing even the smallest or most insignificant steps that we make towards our happiness, our health, and our right to live our dreams, we will be living our fullest life possible and will be making our journey that much more beautiful.

The Truth is published monthly. New articles appear on the first of every month. If you would like to contribute an article to the Truth, please visit article submissions.

The Truth
Edited by Sarah Mason
President, Payson Road
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