2 Years Later: The Night I Asked For Help

 

sainty's wedding

Two years ago, I went to a wedding, drank 6 glasses of wine, and wouldn’t take off my coat.

Earlier that day, I binge ate 2 boxes of cereal, threw up- and went straight to the gym with my dad.

I ran for 45 minutes- analyzing how many calories I’d likely thrown up and how many I could continue to burn.

It wasn’t enough.

When my dad came over to the treadmill, he signaled he was ready to go and I hopped off and followed him out of the gym.

We chatted in the car that day, giggled about the latest Bachelorette (because, yes, my father watches The Bachelorette), and when we got home I lurked till he was back in his room before I grabbed the keys and yelled out I was going to “run errands.”

My brother, I was later told, watched me pull out of the driveway and went back to my parents room to let them know I still had my tennis shoes on.

30 minutes later, as I ran cemented to the treadmill, I looked up to find my Dad standing there at the gym entrance- his eyes watching me.

Filled with shame, I stared back as he walked discreetly over to my treadmill.

“Linds” he whispered. “C’mon.”

We didn’t talk much that afternoon. I stayed upstairs with a bottle of wine avoiding my family and getting dressed for the wedding.

Anxious because I hadn’t finished running 12 miles, I hated the way I looked in that dress. I hated how much tighter it felt, I hated my thighs, I hated my arms, I hated my stomach and I wore Spanx that sucked in what was already bloated from purging.

At the wedding, I lingered near the bar.

Please take off your coat, my Mom whispered at some point when I’d gone out on the dance floor with my winter coat zipped to the neck.

I’m cold, I lied.

That night, I got absolutely hammered. I spoke with people I don’t remember talking to but have pictures with, I spent the last hour finding ways to sneak the grilled cheese appetizers in my coat pocket to ”eat later,” and I danced with sweat pilfering through my coat because I wouldn’t take it off.

Wine-dazed and dehydrated, someone drove me home that night and as I walked in the door I heard my Dad call me into the living room.

Shit, I sighed drunkenly. I just wanted my bed and the Cheez Its I’d hidden in the bathroom.

As I walked into the living room, I immediately noticed the two empty boxes of cereal on the coffee table.

Lindsey, he said calmly. What happened to the cereal?

Dunno, I slurred, my face reddening.

Lindsey, he said again- softer. Mom and I counted before you got here and we had 6 boxes of cereal and now we have 4.

I stared at him.

Honey, he whispered. We just love you.

Tears welled in my eyes.

We know, he said. Lindsey we know you need help.

I’m sorry, I heard myself whimper. I’m so sorry.

Did you throw it up? He asked.

I nodded.

My mom shook her head. We have to get help, she said. Lindsey you can’t keep living like this. We can’t live like this.

I don’t want to, I mumbled. I just can’t stop.

Let us help, my dad pleaded. Let us get you help.

I nodded. I didn’t care anymore.

I was done.
Continue reading “2 Years Later: The Night I Asked For Help”

Holidaze: Surviving The #Blessed Season With An Eating Disorder

gifffff tgiving

…Because, likely, if you have an eating disorder you love Thanksgiving- but hate Thanksgiving food.

Personally, I have no problem admitting I am the scrooge of Thanksgiving (okay, fine. And Halloween… Costumes and Body Dysmorphia just DO NOT fly with me no matter if I dress like a slutty nurse or a Pentecostal nun.)

Anyways…

Give me your pilgrims, your Indians, your Thanksgiving Charlie Brown VHS, The corporate Vacation Days, Family small talk, The sweet smell of doughy rolls-

But my God, keep your stuffing, your pecan pie, your cranberry sides, your corn pudding like 1000 feet away from me.

thanksgiving 21

There are times I wish I could use a get-out-of-jail-free card on my eating disorder; Thanksgiving is one of them.

If it were up to me, I’d sit at the ”kid table” far far away from the buffet of food and play airplane while someone feeds me a spoonful of carrot mash alongside my cousin’s 1-year old.

airpline food

Alas, recovery- however- doesn’t exactly approve of carrot mash (although it might just  be the ONE food item I actually don’t know the calorie count on…)

Anywho, despite my silent protesting- Thanksgiving feast occurs again- as it did last year and the year before etc., etc.

Continue reading “Holidaze: Surviving The #Blessed Season With An Eating Disorder”

Eat Dessert For Breakfast Because #Recovery

It’s dat simple.

Dessert for Breakfast:

eating cookie
…Because 4 years ago on 11/22/11 I was a lil girl I can no longer recognize, and I’m going to enjoy 3 cookies.

“I’m tired of living like this,” I wrote then. “Can’t stand drowning in food. Just want to be a person; To enjoy a meal. To not rape myself for eating a candy bar. Need help Bradley, where are you? My god come help me. I’m tired and just want to be okay. When I look into a field I don’t see grass anymore. Don’t see the scenery. I just see a long treadmill made to run off what I ate this morning. I’ve made everything I do a way to burn calories, and the joy of life has left me in so many ways. Nothing is interesting if I can’t make it about weight. I’m 22 years old and lived like this for so long I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal; the last time I sat down and felt hungry. So far in and don’t know how to get out. Afraid I can’t. Can’t remember what’s enjoyable, only in theory. Was given so much, and am wasting it. Given looks and I cut them away; given a brain and am using it on everything senseless. Given morals and forgot how to abide. Can’t remember how to be apart of anything.”

belly button cookie
Belly Button Cookie

Rehab Truth: See Ya Orthorexia

Remembering tonight that 2 years ago pineapples had “too much sugar,” strawberries had “too many pesticides.” iceberg lettuce held “not enough nutrients,” soy sauce had “too much sodium,” cashews had “too much fat,” and quinoa salmon patties held “too much olive oil and breadcrumbs.”

2 years ago I ate like a rabbit- I picked and sorted and moved and analyzed. I could binge eat a box of cereal yet not eat a sweet potato because “carbs.” I wouldn’t eat a bowl of fruit because “natural sugar” but would binge drink a bottle of wine at happy hour. My orthorexia was a mad woman in my brain- and I was miserable.

2 years later, I’m sober; I’m cooking every meal- and I’m realizing that I enjoy it (something I never thought possible). I’m googling what sounds interesting and coming up with Asian lettuce chicken wraps and quinoa patties and homemade yogurt parfaits.

Im feeling useful to myself and I’m taking care of my body. I’m eating foods that I once deemed inedible and finding myself full and content on a level that doesn’t give me massive anxiety (I.e. My mind screaming: run it off you lazy bitch)

In short, I’m waving goodbye to the pieces of orthorexia that still remain as I enter this sober side of my life. I didn’t comprehend how much of me was still skewed by this ridiculous logic of my eating disorder brain.

Orthorexia is a real deal. People discredit it because our culture is unhealthy in nature, but taking clean eating too far is real. It’s obsessiveness and habit-forming in the same way bulimia and anorexia are. It carries the same warped values and illogical patterns.

As I continue down my sober epitome, I find myself waving goodbye to a part of my existence that just didn’t make sense, and thankful to be cooking- even if it means I’m not necessarily the girl with the most “fun” stories from the weekend anymore.

I’m content living this way lately. I’m content cooking- sometimes successfully, other times not so much (my potatoes are always undercooked-ugh) but hey- I’m learning. And I’m sober. And I’m finding a happiness that’s consistent- and that’s all I could ask for tonight.

Cheers-

One Month Sober Sally

 

sober linds

1 month sobaaa!

You never know how much wine is a part of your life till you let it go. In 31 days, I’ve gone to a wedding, baby shower, client meeting(s), office party, bar (x3), Halloween, had bad days, good days, happy hour, meetups, brunch, a 3-hour ex “what went wrong” phone call, and multiple Friday night Netflix reruns:

And the truth is I don’t regret any of them. It’s hard to not drink, and it’s hard to eat sober in public with an eating disorder – I thought after a month my skin would look superb and my growing crows feet less rigid- but alas, neither has happened thus far. Assumed that perhaps all the clarity I ever needed about life would come as well- but looks like I’m still working on that too. The beautiful part, however, is that I feel good. I feel healthy when I run. I feel talented right now and productive and mostly, honest.

Working on my eating disorder in the most active way I’ve ever known. I’m pushing myself to be uncomfortable- truly uncomfortable- being sober at times is handling discomfort, and I’m learnin’ how to sit with it.

Got no time limit on sobriety- but for now, I’m incredibly pleased and thankful to be doing this ❤