BECAUSE I KNOW…

We began this blog a few months ago with the hope of sharing our experiences so that others will feel less alone in their journey. Whether our audience is battling addiction, facing grief, coping with mental health issues, or just needs to feel less alone in this world, we long to be a place where others can see that they are not on this journey by themselves.

Why? Why did we sink money into a website that only a few people may ever visit? Why? Why do we continue to talk about our battles and our recovery? Because I know. I know what it is like to feel trapped in the deepest hell of addiction. And I do not ever want anyone else to feel hopeless the way I felt. Many people face obstacles in their lives that they discuss briefly and then move on. People have health issues, financial hardships, relationship problems, and so on that they overcome and never discuss again. Mental health is different. In my opinion, your body heals faster than your mind. The mind can be a fragile place, easily tricked into old behaviors if not trained and maintained properly. For me, the only way to prevent relapse is to remind myself of what I went through in the first place.

The Unseen Battle: Mental Health vs. Physical Healing

Eating disorders are not discussed nearly enough. I would have given anything during my lowest points to have a medical team who at least halfway tried to understand the mental state I was in during my addiction. They all understood the physical toll it was taking on my body, but none of the medical professionals I encountered made a very good effort to help me mentally. “You know you are going to die.” Or “You know you are killing yourself.” Those were the types of comments I was handed as I cried in the cold, lonely examining rooms. Even some mental health professionals were baffled at how I could justify skipping my insulin doses in order to lose weight. It was not until I began counseling with a former addict that I was able to finally feel understood. Addicts helping addicts. What a concept!

You may not have issues with eating and dieting addiction, but I can almost promise you that someone you know or are acquainted with does. Compare it to the game “Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon.” I bet you will not have to dig far in your contact list to at least find someone who knows someone who suffers from this dreaded mental illness.

So, let me tell you in raw, deep detail why I continue to talk about it 20 years into my recovery. Simply put, because I know…

I know what it is like to look in the mirror and hate what you see.

I know what it is like to know what you NEED to do for your body, but your mind will not allow it.

I know what it is like to have your medical doctor tell you that you need to focus on carb counting and food limitations while your mental health professional tells you not to focus so much on what you are eating. I also know what it is like to go home and try to process those conflicting ideas.

I know what it is like to stand in front of the mirror with my husband as he points out sunken cheeks, hallowed eyes, and a set of protruding ribs. While in the same reflection, I see a blob of fat that desperately needs to disappear.

I know what it is like to wake up in the morning, and before your feet hit the floor, you are already contemplating how you can consume the least amount of calories possible during the day. And also, how you will rid your body of said calories.

I know what it is like to spend good money at nice restaurants to only push the food around my plate, tricking those I am dining with into thinking I am eating when in fact, I never put more than two bites in my mouth.

I know what it is like to have people ask, “Why can’t you just eat?”  And I know what it is like to not know that answer myself.

I know what it Is like to step on the scales, go pee, step back on the scales, drink water, step back on the scales again. Actually, I know what it is like to weigh myself up to fifty times a day.

I know what it is like to walk into a friend’s house, and instead of admiring their new furniture, my first thought is where they keep their scales in the bathroom, excusing myself to weigh them too.

I know what it is like to have your husband throw away multiple sets of bathroom scales, only for me to keep a pair in the trunk of my car. Yes, I know what it is like to pull over in a parking lot and weigh myself in the middle of a trip to the store.

I know what it is like to skip my insulin dose, placing harm on my entire body. I know what it feels like to have labored breathing, chest pain, severe headaches, muscle spasms, weakness, blurry vision, night sweats, and all the bag of tricks Diabetic Ketoacidosis has to offer.

I know what it is like for the doctor to tell your husband you may or may not live through the night.

I know what it is like to be so hungry your body physically aches, but your mind tells you that you are too fat and do not deserve to eat.

I know what it is like to miss special occasions because you know that people will expect you to eat.

I know what it is like to be told by one person, “Hey, you have lost weight! Good job!” and the same day be told by someone else, “You are getting too thin.” I know what it is like to feel conflicted with those two statements.

I know what it is like to see my three-year-old daughter step on the scale and then sigh in frustration because she has watched me do it for so long; she thinks that is the reaction at three years old, too, is supposed to have.

I know what it is like for my teenage daughter to sit with me in the car and beg me to live long enough to watch her graduate because she realizes I have relapsed.

I know what it is like to enjoy dinner with my family, only to sneak off and throw it all up five minutes later.

I know what it is like to take so much ephedrine (formerly known as convenience store energy pills…yellowjackets) that you feel like your heart is going to explode. But you keep taking them because they keep you from being hungry, and they give you lots of energy.

I know what it is like to be told by the convenience store clerk they cannot sell ephedrine to you anymore out of concern.

I know what it is like to have your boss come to your office, not to discuss your job performance, but to discuss his concern about you dying.

I know what it is like to have people who really should not be that concerned about you educate themselves as much as possible about eating disorders while those people who say they are “friends” do not blink an eye at your slow suicide attempt.

I know what it is like to hear your parents’ voices break as they plead with you to take care of yourself. I know what it is like to promise you will. I also know what it is like to know that said promise is broken as soon as it is spoken.

I know what it is like to ride in an ambulance. I know what it is like to be a patient in the Intensive Care Unit. I know what it is like to have tubes and monitors hooked up to me. I know what it is like to be scared.

I know what it is like to be threatened with feeding tubes and inpatient treatment.

I know what it is like to go to rehab.

I know what it is like to not be trusted. And even though people were right in their failure to believe anything I said, I know what it is like to be mad at the ones who are trying to help.

I know what it feels like to be a liar.

I know what it is like to sit on the bathroom floor, crying with a bottle of pills, wondering if you should just put an end to the darkness; you feel you cannot escape.

I also know what it feels like to beg God not to let you die.

I know what it is like to get my weight down to less than one hundred pounds as an adult, and I still feel I need to lose more.

I know what it is like to take multiple diuretics and laxatives to purge any remaining fluid or solids my body may have inside. I know what it is like to get severe cramps and pain from doing so. I even know what it is like to smuggle my mom’s diuretics out of her bathroom.

I know what it is like to feel that any light at the end of addiction’s tunnel is a train ready to hit you head-on.

I know what it is like to feel like nobody understands.

I know what it is like to not understand myself.

I know what it is like for my head to constantly spin between calories, exercise, weight, and blood sugar.

I know what it is like to wear a calculator out from adding calories all day.

I know what it is like to feel alone and desperate, but I still do not have the will to try to be better.

I know what it is like to be angry at myself for sins I committed, tempers I lost, angry words I spoke, and not be able to forgive myself. Even twenty years later.

But….

I also know what it is like to recover.

I know how good it feels to finally release the secrets of addiction.

I know how good it feels to find a place where they treat your mental and health issues.

I know how free it feels to be able to talk about it openly, freely, and willingly.

I know how it feels to be supported by family and people you never thought would support you. But I still know how some will still never try to understand.

I know how it feels to make new friends and relinquish past relationships of those who simply just were not there for me in my darkest hour.

I know how it feels for my daughter to be proud of me again.

I know how it feels to enjoy meals with my family, date nights with my husband, and outings with my friends.

I know how it feels to be at peace.

I know how it feels to be forgiven. Praise God!

And I know how it feels to be recovered.

A Message of Hope for Fellow Warriors

If you are reading this and battling any type of addiction, I want you to feel the same joy in recovery. I want you to feel understood during your journey. You are not alone in your battle. That is what this site is for because I know.

If you’re battling addiction, know that you’re not alone. This platform exists to foster understanding and support. As I share my story, I hope it resonates with those on their journey. You are not alone, and your path to recovery, though challenging, can lead to understanding, joy, and forgiveness. I know.