sweetened

Throughout the months of 2014-15, after experiencing my first heartbreak, high school graduation and a messy fuck buddy ordeal, my mental illness plummeted. I was stuck at a job I loathed in a cafe, spent my $400 paycheque every weekend on pot, binge drank on weekends and barely lived at home. But hey, I'm no sob story. To put it nicely, everyone my age was doing horribly. It seemed as though we were all floating in the fresh out of highschool void. Having no idea what to do with our newfound adulthood labels and trying to keep the party regime. We were all giant adult babies. Whining and crying and shitting babies that had no idea what we were doing here, screaming "Take me back to the womb! It was warm in there!" I was a huge adult baby. I was staring at my wall. I had no clue what the fuck I was going to study at in college, I felt like an idiot. It was only a couple months later, after quitting my job, was when I finally decided to change who I was. It was time to grow the fuck up.

It started as healthy eating! I swear! No more bread! Cut the sugar! No more 4AM pizza eating in the dark! All the basics of a healthy diet. Since August 2014, I had gained about 20LBS and was feeling shitty. Its the shitty you feel when no matter how much makeup you put on, you still see a baked potato looking back at you in the mirror. It fucking sucked. I was done with it. I cut out bread, sugar, and started to drink more water and walk everywhere I could. Couple weeks after that, I cut out marijuana. Bye baby! You make me have love handles and eat countless cinnamon buns so it's time to go our separate ways. After about a month and a bit, I was feeling pretty good. I started a new job that I began to love, my friends pointed out that my face looked thinner, my skin cleared up, and my confidence was growing. I was even feeling motivated to apply to college and get my shit together. It wasn't enough though. It was only then that the deadly cycle began.

The rap that I give to all my doctors is pretty straightforward. I began eating healthily, and realizing that I wasn't going to have enough time to exercise, I cut my calories dramatically. My Fitness Pal became my best friend. She gave me a pat on the back when I stayed beneath my 700 calorie goal, and scolded me when I went over. Which pushed me only to never do it again and god forbid eat two apples in a day! MFP taught me how to measure, to count, to watch my grams of carbs and sugar. I relied heavily on Pinterest, salivating at the delicious foods I knew I couldn't eat, and pinning new meal plans and diets to try. Paleo! Ketogenic! Veganism! (at one point, I actually convinced myself I was lactose intolerant AND gluten intolerant). My measuring became obsessive, I would measure EVERYTHING. Measuring spoons, cups, we even bought a food scale and I loved that thing more then sex. Needless to say, my food groups became smaller and smaller. A typical day was yogurt and fruit for breakfast, carrots and hummus or bell pepper and apple for lunch, ending with a tofu dog with coleslaw and measured calorie controlled dressing. Looking back at this, it was disgusting. I knew what I was doing to myself, I knew what I was doing was not healthy at all. Every day at my job was hell. I was so tired and suffered from short term memory because I was malnourished, (I actually almost fainted on the job once, but quickly rescued myself with a low calorie energy bar) You would think these things would be a wake up call, but the doubts were smushed with voices saying, "No! Your just eating healthy!" "Everyone always praises you for having such good self control!" "Willpower willpower willpower!" 

I got the real slap in the face in my moms car on our way home from Costco. I was starving (as usual), and all I'd eaten was a cucumber (normal). But my chest! Fuck my chest was clenching and hurting like an anvil had dropped on it. I pushed it aside, kept telling myself it was because I was hungry or hadn't drank enough water that day. I was wrong of course, my brain started freaking out. I began to convince myself over the next hour that I was having some type of heart problem connected to my restrictive eating habits. It wasn't until two hours later, that I jumped in my Dad's car on his way out, that I told him. Only that my chest was killing me and I needed help. Next thing I knew we were at a clinic and I was having a massive panic attack which resulted in the ambulance arriving. My heart was apparently racing way too fast and I needed to calm down or I was going to be in trouble. It was also that night that I finally, FINALLY blurted out to the doctor there that I hadn't been eating properly for months. You would think that getting a secret off your chest that you've been keeping for the last six months would feel amazing. It did, briefly. But the only thing that it resulted in was coming home after that and eating my tofu dog. The following days my parents watched me constantly, watching me measure out lettuce and count the amount of tomatoes I was eating. I'm lucky that I broke down and told my mom that I needed to see the family doctor immediately. It was time to shake off my measuring and eating habits and begin to live my life. 

At my doctors appointment, I told him everything. That I had been restricting my food since the beginning of that summer. I was immediately weighed, sent for an EKG and blood tests. The most scary factor of that visit was the EKG. If you don't know what that is, it's when the track your heart beat and such. The amount of wires and stickers and the banging machine weren't what scared me. It was that I saw there was a scale in the room with me and that I stepped on it as soon as the nurse stepped out. What the fuck? Since when was I so obsessive with this? The doctor just  told me my weight, why would it be different ten minutes later? I stepped off the scale, put on my clothes and left the building with still so many questions. The biggest was, is this how I've been living? Fast track a couple of weeks, I had seen an eating disorder specialist and was diagnosed with anorexia nervosa with a restrictive subtype. The diagnosis shocked me. I thought I just had weird eating rituals and was a health freak. But no, you factor in the extreme fear of weight gain and those lovely OCD habits that you develop. Another thing you should know that I learned about eating disorders is, you don't have to appear to be rail thin to be considered an anorexic. My last known weight to the specialist, my doctor and mom was 119LBS. Little did my mom know I actually had cut my calories even MORE and finally dropped to 114.3LBS. Even before dropping pounds, I was diagnosed with anorexia. It was brutal. I hated my lifestyle. I hated the fact that I had an eating disorder but also hated the fact that I secretly loved it. Anorexia felt like a toxic friendship. A friend that said over and over that they loved me and only wanted the best, but actually intended to hurt me for their own pleasure. Anorexia made me scream at my parents after refusing like a small child to eat a bowl of rice with veggies. Often followed by with throwing a bowl of almonds on the ground. I hate to use this term- but I felt schizophrenic. The way I explained to people over and over was, that it felt like a mini person was in my brain controlling me. Pulling different levers and buttons, controlling my emotions, thought process and behaviour. The worst of it all, was the ever present numbness and constant feeling of being a hoax.

One of the strange things about eating disorders that I've learned is, you don't feel much. You only have room for the feeling of hunger. On meeting with the specialist, I had asked, why the fuck haven't I cried yet? Shouldn't I be laying on the floor in the fetal position by now? He adjusted his glasses, and answered with a straightforward, textbook answer, "You have anorexia. Your brain is too caught up and anxious with food and weight gain that it sends experiencing emotions to the back of the brain" Oh. Fuck. That's why I hadn't laughed properly in months. That's why I hadn't experienced my fetal cry yet. I felt nothing. An answer I had that still shocks me to this day is when my mom asked me if I was ever stressed or nervous about starting college. I wasn't. I never felt fear, anxiety, or even a little excitement about it. I merely was too obsessed with figuring out the exact calories in the apples at the cafeteria. This numbness that I felt for almost a year I wouldn't wish on anybody, it was so dreadful. I missed on so much because I was too caught up in not feeling anything. Emotions were just another thing on my never ending to-do list.

Ironically, you would think with an official diagnosis I would be at peace with a label. But truth be told, I felt like a fraud. I felt as if this eating disorder was something that I had created to feel special and rare. I bounced between two lifestyles, one where I would eat, but JUST enough so my mom wouldn't think I was starving. I also became more and more comfortable with the fact I had anorexia and even developed a instagram based off of it. But, there was the other. The one where I longed I could just feel normal and order a huge sandwich with mayonaise without crying or that I could easily eat a slice of apple pie with ice cream. This feeling also convinced me that I didn't need treatment. I had admittedly dealt with similar ED like issues in the past, and had gotten over them myself. I could do it again. But no, my mom, who had been by my side ever since this shit started, denied it. My mom told me over and over, that yes. I am sick. Yes, I am underweight. Yes, I very well could be in the hospital. Hearing these deflated my conflicting lifestyles. It was then on, that I decided I was going to accept help, gain weight and eat some oreos one day goddammit.

I did end up eating those oreos. Quicker then I thought too, I had woken up one day and was feeling incredibly motivated. I was going to fucking eat today. Food is fuel! Fuck the scale! Wheres the ice cream! I want a mocha dammit! From that day on, my eating habits improved dramatically. I met with my dietician frequently, together we worked out a meal plan of three meals and three snacks a day. I still have slip ups of course, (I'm still deathly afraid of peanut butter), but I accomplished so much and it never felt better. I went through the expected stages of recovery from restriction; extreme hunger, and sped up metabolism which caused me to sweat and burn through my meals like Usain Bolt. Even though these got me down, I pushed them aside and kept eating. Finally eating proper meals with nutritional value, my mood dramatically improved. I was happier, had more energy and the nagging voice of anorexia was getting quieter and quieter each day.

Well, it's January. A new year, and I'm laying in bed writing this ramble of a story that has only been heard by my numerous types of doctors, family and a few friends. I had been avoiding telling this many times, (the fraud feeling is still here!) but I feel as if I had too. Since March 2015, I have made leaps and bounds ahead from where I was. With gaining a few pounds, I'm finally at a healthy weight and still challenging myself countless times with food that scared me. I am also learning to feel emotions. Being an expert avoider in avoiding feeling anything, it's still hard for me. But I'm crying more, and laughing more thanks to it. As much as I hate to call it this, my journey through this has grown with me. In a positive way I am beginning to find the balance between health and happiness. I'm not there yet, but someday I will find it and fall in love.

I'd really like to thank numerous people for helping me through this journey. I have so much gratitude and respect for you all.

Nana, thank you for taking me out to lunch, listening to my fears, cheering me on and feeling your love constantly. This experience really has made us closer and I am thankful for that. I love you.

Chelsea, I love you so much! I really am thankful for you. You listened to me at my darkest times and always gave the best advice. You were there for my first taste of ice cream in months, listened to my ugly crying on the phone, and told me stories that made me laugh and forget the hell that was going on in my head. Thank you.

Shadelle, my best friend. I love you so much and I'm so thankful for such a supportive friend. You really did help me pull me out of this dark pit and made me experience laughter again.

Dad, although it was scary and hard to grasp, I'm really thankful that you kept the mood light. You were there to support me through meals and give me that hard stare, saying, "you gotta eat this" instead of screaming at me. I was also thankful for your ability in finding humour in everything. It was nice to laugh at aspects of eating disorders and depression that seemed outright stupid. I love you so much. #EDJOKES

Cezanne, my fucking best friend in the entire world. How did you end up being my sister as well? I am so lucky to have the combination of the two. You listened to my fears, my never ending yelling, and held my hand throughout it all. I have no idea where I would be today without you. I can't say enough on how much I love you. I'm here for you always and am so excited to share parts of my life with you.

Mom, fuck. Holy shit! You fucking badass asshole. I can't seem to write this without swearing. Cussing aside, you have been there constantly. I mean no surprise there, seeing as your the best mom anyone could ask for. Thank you for holding me while I cry out of fear, thank you for putting up with my screaming anger and fiery insults, thank you for sitting with me for hours and listening to my thoughts on everything that was going on, I know it was hard. I know it was difficult to see something take hold of me and change who I am completely. But guess what, we got through it. I couldn't have done it without you. I love you mom.

To my Yiayia and Papou, thank you for allowing me and my mom to come back and forth and stay at your place while we were going through my treatment. Thank you for helping us out for me to able to even RECEIVE treatment. You guys kept me going, and I love you both so much.

There are so many others that I'd like to thank. My extended family on both sides, for saying I was beautiful and that I will get through this. To my younger cousins, for making me laugh and giving me kisses. To other friends who knew only snippets of my story, but understood and kept me distracted. To the people at Red Barn, thank you for letting me take a medical leave and being so incredibly understanding. And of course, to my doctors, where the fuck would I be without you guys?

I love you all. And hope that if you are struggling with depression, anxiety, eating disorder or any other suspected mental illness, that you get help. It's so worth it. Life is such a beautiful gift we experience in this body only once.

xo mads.