One in Eight

It was May of 2005 in Wickenburg Arizona and a therapist was talking to the group. "1 in 8 will die from this disease," he said. "Look around the room. Two of you won't be here in a few years"

I hate that he was right.

This is one of those weeks where I've felt completely helpless. Sometimes I have to take a step back and remember that this isn't a normal thing someone in their 20's go through. I spent about five years pretty consistently in different treatment centers and hospitals and the number of people I've met is in the hundreds. People that I consider my closest friends are scattered across the country. Usually the only way to know that they're okay if listening for the little changes in their voice on the phone when they're lying or their texts getting less frequent.

I asked my therapist today at what point and how many years out will I stop getting the phone calls that someone I know lost their battle with this disease. She gave me the answer I knew in my heart but was hoping she wouldn't confirm. Never.

Tears start running down my face as I type that sentence. It's scary to know that people you love are dying and you can't do anything about it. It's not a situation that you can understand unless you've lived it. Unless you've gotten your fifth phone call from ICU and gone to bed praying this time will be a wake up call for them.

It's not even fair for me to say that. In March of 2008 I was the girl laying in the ICU with doctors saying they didn't know my chances. I remember being angry when I finally woke up and realized that I was still alive and hadn't succeeded. I guess that's what makes it so frustrating. Knowing what it feels to be on the brink of death and come out the other side with a reason to smile.

And while this past week, month and even past few years have felt like a string of bad news I have to remember the good. Remember that I've ssen people who were barely alive when we met graduate college, get married, and start families of their own. I have to remember that I can't control who will die next. The only thing I can do is keep fighting and hope those still struggling can see that it is possible to find a reason to live. 

Something Worth Fighting For

I’ve always had a hard time looking into the future. It scares me to think about what life will be like three months from now much less three years. It’s always been safer to view my future self as in a casket rather than in life.

A few years ago that was a very big possibility. These days as I see small glimpses of what life can be it terrifies me. It’s scary to view a future for myself and not be able to achieve it. It’s scary to work towards something only to have my eating disorder come back in and take everything away.

It’s no secret that I’ve been struggling on and off for the last year or so. Ending up in the hospital as recently as a few months ago. Wanting things to be different but never really setting a bottom line and making it not an option to go back. Too scared not to have my only coping mechanism to fall back on. It’s funny that while I’ve been in the midst of feeling like I’m in limbo God has slowly shifted things in my life.

I’ve been able to open up to my friends in a way that I never have before. To let them know what’s really going on. The good, bad, and the ugly and having them remind me that they aren’t going to run away when things get hard. I’ve begun to set up plans for being done with school and leaving Oklahoma. And as recently as last week I had an internship kind of fall into my lap that I love and makes me feel so fulfilled.

As corny as it sounds, these things give me something to keep fighting for. Something to make myself wake up each day and eat three meals for, and something to look forward to. I can’t say that I have visions and goals for the next ten years but I’m slowly beginning to see a future for myself other than six feet below the ground.