Warning Triggers!!!!

 

It took me many years to figure it out, but I now know when my anorexia started, and a lot of the "whys" too.  During my childhood, I lived with my Dad, who was a violent drunk the first 10 years of my life.  My biological mother, Doreen and my dad divorced when I was young.  I didnt see Doreen again until I was 17.  My dad re-married a lot and I seemed to have constant abandonment issues. 

 

When I was five, my Dad overdosed on Valium and alcohol.  Thanks to me, he lived to tell about it.  When he came home from the hospital, he was terribly angry with me.  As far as he was concerned, he would have been fine even if I hadnt intervened.  I was so thrilled that my Dad was home and all right, that I was completely unprepared for the absolute anger and coldness from him.  

 

I was raised mainly as an only child, but I had a lot of adult responsibility put on me at a very young age.  I was this grown up in a little kids body.  I have no real idea what childhood is supposed to be like.  My whole purpose in life has always been to make my father proud of me.  I never felt like I could do that.  To me, I never did anything good enough for him to be proud.

 

When I was 7, my monkey (anorexia) reared its ugly head and has been with me ever since.  I would like to say that my dad married some hideous woman and that is what sent me over the edge, but I cant.  To make a long story short, I was gang raped and felt I had nowhere to turn.  I didnt feel like I could turn to my dad because I thought and felt he wouldnt believe me and I thought it was my fault.  In 1978, it just wasnt something that was talked about.  It was many years before I had a name for what happened to me.  I internalized everything that I felt about the rape and the loss of control.  The end result was self-starvation.  In the beginning, I just had no appetite.  I thought that it would make me invisible to others.  If you cant see me, you cant hurt me.  Simple logic. 

 

Some how or another, I kept enough weight on for me to start my period at 9 and it happened at church camp (of all places).    I was completely horrified.  I knew what was going on with my body and that didnt bother me.  The horrific thing was the reaction of those around me (those at camp).  Within about an hour, everybody at camp knew.  If I went anywhere, they would point and whisper.  If I went to the bathroom, there were several older girls who would follow me in there and ask 20 billion questions about it.  I was also the only girl in the 4^th grade that to worry about such a thing. 

 

By 10 years old, I was eating as little as possible, exercising 5 plus hours a day, and I had been turned on to speed.  What a sight I must have been!  I had my first heart attack and my first hospitalization around this time.  The heart attack was very scary.  I honestly thought I was going to die, but that wasnt the scary part.  The scary part was that I didnt care.  My dad went ballistic!  I swear he went through every emotion known to mankind.  When I was well enough, they transferred me to a psyche ward.  I learned their game real quick.  I knew what they expected, what they wanted to hear, and how to get around just about everything. 

 

My dad got sober when I was 10 and been ever since.  His sobriety helped and hindered my ed.  We seemed to always be going somewhere or he was going somewhere and I stayed home by myself.  Nobody was there to see if I ate, but dad now saw his wasting away daughter through clearer eyes.  He did a lot of what I consider typical reaction things.  He used to threaten to tie me down and force-feed me and he threatened bodily harm.  It did no good.  I was what I was, an out of control anorexic.

 

By 13, I was severely underweight, exercising until I couldnt move, taking excessive amounts of laxatives, addicted to speed, trying to run track, trying to be in gymnastics, and trying to compete in dance (the love of my life).  I would say, just a little overload!  I had my second heart attack around this time.  My dad completely flipped out and was at a complete loss as to what he could do to help me.  Another round of psyche ward here I come.  This round was no different then the first trip to the hospital.  I knew all the right answers and all the right things to do.  Nobody at this hospital was interested in helping me get to the root(s) of my destruction.

 

When I was released from the hospital, I tried really hard to be good and maintain my weight.  I did it for a while and then I hit complete chaos again.  Here was this upper-middle class skinny, pathetic white chick, dealing drugs to go along with her ever increasing speed habit.  I also belonged to a gang and was destroying everything I had.    I did get off the drugs and quit dealing; I also left the gang life behind.

 

In the midst of doing all these things I pushed my dad into a corner that he could see no other way to get out of.  I was kicked out of the house when I was 16.  I bounced from friends house to friends house and eventually lived on the streets for a while.  I had no money, so I couldnt get anything to eat.  I was still trying to attend high school and the principal found out I was living on the streets.  He tried to make sure I got something to eat everyday and he would pay for it out of his own money.  But it wasnt enough; the weight just started coming off again.  A couple weeks after I was kicked out, this guy that was like my brother and his mother offered to let me stay with them.  In a nutshell, my friend raped me.  No more staying with him and his mom.  Again, I told no one.  I thought I was such a horrible, rotten person that I was getting what I deserved.  The weight dropped off again and I started all my rituals again.  I did find a permanent place to live with another friend and his family.

 

Time goes on and other people have noticed that whenever I have an overload of emotional and/or psychological stress, the weight drops fast.  At this point in time, I am (of course) choosing mainly lousy men to get involved with.  So, I end up getting sodomized at 18 (a week before moving from California to Kansas: yes the move was because of another lousy guy).  At this point in time in my life I swore I had a sign that said, Please rape me.  I have learned that due to everything in my life, I made myself vulnerable.  I was unable to set boundaries and I didnt matter to me!  My life went back into the downward spiral that by now was so familiar to me.  I was slowly trying to kill myself by withholding life sustaining nutrients. 

 

The end of December 1990 changed my life in a dramatic way.  I gave birth to my lifesaver, Wesley.  Being pregnant with Wes was very hard for my mind and me.  Pregnancy distorts your body to begin with, now couple that with my already distorted body image and look out!  BUT, I made it and so did Wes.  I had a great OB who gently encouraged me to gain weight.  I started underweight and gained a total of 27 pounds, a great accomplishment for me.  I gave birth to a 6 pound 1 ½ ounce healthy, baby boy.  Finally, I must have done something right.

 

Wes and I had a rocky road.  As well as being a single mom and working full time, I had a baby that would only sleep 2 hours a day (found out later on he has some special needs) and I started as a full time college student when Wes was 8 months old.  I had decided I needed to do something with my life now that it wasnt just me anymore.  Plus, I needed to make dad proud; I needed to live up to the image in my head of his expectations.  I did pretty well.  My weigh would go up and down, but I quit taking laxatives, I quit counting calories, I threw out my scale and I quit exercising completely.

 

I meet my ex-husband when Wesley was 2.  I thought he was everything I ever wanted.  I knew I had finally found a man that I loved and that loved me for me.  What a joke!  I became the skinny, little trophy wife.  I couldnt tell him no on any issue that dealt with me, so I began a slow downward spiral.  Then at the end of December 1994, we found out we were going to have a baby.  Yep, I knew this would help.  It surely couldnt hurt!  By the time February of 1995 came along, I was on complete and permanent bed rest.  I was having a baby and a tumor.  I had a tumor in my uterus with the baby.  There goes school, there goes freedom, and here comes depression.  I still did very well.  Again, I had a great ob.  I started underweight and gained 30 pounds.  Mid August 1995 I gave birth to a healthy, happy 6 pound 11 ounce baby boy. 

 

Three months after having the baby, I wanted to commit suicide.  Thanks to my best friend, it never became a reality.  I have a picture of this time period and everyone that has seen it says it makes them sick.  I went back into therapy and was diagnosed with post partum depression.  The diagnosis was eventually changed to include depression, OCD, ED, anxiety, and PTSD.  I was put on anti-depressant and worked with very closely.  I started back to school in the fall.  Finally, my life seemed to be coming together.  I was growing stronger and the stronger I got, the worst my marriage got.

 

1997 was a busy and tough year for me.  I knew by now, my marriage was a disaster and I didnt want to stay in it.  I felt like I was this trophy and I lived in a box.  None of my friends came around because of the husband and I only saw them at school.  My oldest son had been diagnosed as special needs and my youngest son was doing well.  In April 1997, my dad had lung surgery after being told he had lung cancer.  He did not have lung cancer, but he does have COPD.  In May, I graduated from college with a BBA and my dad was there to see me receive my diploma.  By July, I started a decent job.  I met my current husband there.  We started at the same time and went through the same training session.  At the end of August, I finally had enough strength to kick my ex-husband out.  When the ex left, he took the kids.  It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever made.  I was working 10 plus hours a day and didnt think it was fair to the boys to see me maybe a half hour a day.  Their dad could be there to make them dinner, help with homework, and etc.  I made a completely unselfish decision that was right for me sons, but not what I wanted.  All the turmoil and the feelings of loss sent me on that wonderful downward spiral again.

 

My current husband knew about my ed and was a great source of comfort and understanding.  But, by Oct 1997, he was scared.  I was down to about 80 pounds, I was passing out, I couldnt move without getting a new bruise, and I was just a walking mess.  My husband convinced me to go to the doctor and he wanted to hospitalize me on the spot.  But I knew I couldnt emotionally handle being away from my boys or being somewhere I couldnt see them.  So, I worked out an agreement with my doctor.  I had to gain 5 pounds in a week, I had to give him a list of support people that I could call and he could call, and a host of other things.  If I did not do all of these things, then he had the legal right (I signed the thing and it was stipulated) to put me in a treatment center anywhere he could or wanted; it would not be a voluntary but a mandatory stay.  I accomplished all but the 5 pounds.  I was just a little shy.  Because of the commitment that I showed, he let me stay at home with a whole new list of things I had to do or it was a mandatory stay at a treatment facility.

 

With a lot of help from my current husband (Poor guy, we werent even married yet when all this was happening) and my best friend, I started picking up the pieces of my life.  I started rebuilding and getting stronger.  In December 1997, we decided we wanted to move from Kansas to Colorado.  Another difficult time for me because I knew my sons needed to stay in Kansas with their dad.  My special needs son had grown attached to his doctors, which were wonderful with him and there was no way I was going to separate them.  At the end of February 1998, my husband and I moved to Colorado.

 

We settled in after the move and things went well.  In April 1999, my darling husband and I were married.  I had finally found a great guy that loved me and accepted me with all my baggage (OCD: obsessive/compulsive disorder; my ed; etc.).  We, like most newly married couples, had some rough times those first couple of months, but we made and were stronger as a couple afterwards.

 

Our toughest challenge to date came in February 2000.  While visiting my sons, I was drugged and raped.  This time, I told!!  My darling husband had a very difficult time dealing with what happened, but what a trooper he was. I, of course, did my usual backslide.  BUT, I knew it was coming.  I dropped anywhere from a pound to 4 pounds in a day and I did this for over a month.  I was talking to rape crisis counselors and therapists and the police.  One more time, I dug myself out of my hole with the love and support of my very loving husband, my dad, and my best friend.  The police did find the SOB that raped me.  He plead guilty to multiple counts of rape and multiple other charges.  I later found out, he was a serial rapist.

 

Earlier this year (2001), my husband and I were given a new challenge.  I was diagnosed with MS (Multiple Sclerosis).  But I have not faced this challenge the way I normally do.  I have not completely freaked out and lost a lot of weight.  Instead, I have done a lot of research and try to take things as they come. 

 

Today, my husband and I are enjoying being first time homeowners.  I still do not own scale nor do I allow one in my house.  I do not take laxatives, because they scare me.  I try not to count calories.  I forbid myself to exercise, because I still cannot do this in a healthy, responsible way.  I am currently maintaining my weight and I am generally ok with what I weigh.  My husband keeps an eye on my weight, but doesnt normally say anything.  If he brings it up, it is because he is concerned and does it in a very non-threatening way.  I still have times when I struggle with my ed.  My anorexia has been my coping mechanism for 23 years.  I am still trying to learn healthier ways to cope.

 

-Gloria (wulf_dancer)