How I struggled with anorexia on my own: A 10-year story
Each of us is a carrier, if not of a unique, but rare experience. Yet a rarity is a relative concept. Here are some facts related to what I experienced ten years ago. According to statistics, anorexia and other eating disorders are becoming more common among adolescents from 10 to 19 years. The mortality rate among patients with anorexia and bulimia ranks first compared with mortality from other psychological diseases. Nevertheless, among my acquaintances, there is not a single person who faces this problem as closely as I do. Until now, I have not told anyone about this in such detail, I was embarrassed. When I lost consciousness in school, when I weighed 38 kilograms and could not sit and lie for more than three minutes in the same posture due to aching pain in the joints, the Internet was not so widespread, and neither I nor my parents knew the words "anorexia". Justine, the author of the beautiful, I think, books about anorexia "This morning I decided to stop eating," faced with the disease just one year before me.
Now many have heard about this eating disorder, but most perceive anorexia as a whim rather than a serious problem: they continue to joke about the weight of their daughters, sisters or girlfriends and advise mindless starvation as a way to become more beautiful (and, naturally, more beloved).
Anorexia occurs in several stages. The anorectic stage of the disease occurs against the background of persistent fasting, a person loses 20-30% of his weight, and this loss is accompanied by euphoria and even greater tightening of the diet: the patient underestimates the degree of his weight loss due to distorted perception. At the next, cachectic stage, occurring in 1.5-2 years, the patient's body weight is reduced by 50% or more, and dystrophic changes lead to irreversible changes in the body and death. I'm scared, tickling in the abdomen, interested in the line separating the anorectic stage from the cachectic one. Apparently, I have seriously advanced in the anorectic stage, but the main question remains unanswered: how far do I stay from this face?
How it all began
The story of anorexia is worth starting from the moment when I was in the tenth grade - I started a new life, and it was a pretty happy time: we started to study again in the same class as my best friend Masha. Before that, I did not have a close friend in the classroom, the relationship did not develop, I was very lonely and very worried about this.
Masha and I had a lot of fun together, we were ardent fans of “Zenith”. Dad said that he was proud of me, because I understood football better than many men, and I flourished. My dad is a wonderful, extraordinary man, but - all of them have flaws - tactless. He loved to "joke": "Oh, eat the pie? And that only one, take it all! Something skinny you too!" or "We have these, like you, at school called" khochbochki. Yes, just kidding, just kidding! ".
In May 2005, I once again decided to try not to eat after six, and I unexpectedly succeeded. I also started to press the press and for some reason did not miss a single day. I was surprised to myself, but not much: I sincerely believed that I was capable of much. I thought that I could only respect myself if I kept the promises I had given myself: I decided not to eat - do not eat! And did not eat. Even then, I refused the evening piece of cake, even when my internal controller was ready to give up and make an exception. I found it sometimes easier not to eat anything than to eat one allowed piece. And the scales already showed 52 kilograms instead of 54.
The peak of the ecstasy of his own willpower fell on the second half of the summer of 2005, before entering the eleventh grade. Every day, in any weather, I got up at ten in the morning, drank a glass of kefir and went to train: a racket, a ball, a wall, then a swim in the lake. Then I had breakfast, and after that my friends woke up. That summer was intense: for the first time I kissed a boy and at the same time discovered an amazing thing for me - the process can be pleasant even if the one with whom you do it is a little more than indifferent to you. I managed to eat a little. Better and better, less and less - by the end of August I returned to the city with a pack of cigarettes in my pocket, very slim, proud of myself, impatient to appear to the class and equally ready for both fun and activities.
Life according to the scheme
I made lists of goals. I have to look great (eat a little and play sports), be smart (read 50 pages of fiction a day and study well), enroll in a journalism school (study history, literature, Russian, journalism) ... In early September I developed tough daily routine, which was strictly followed, no longer surprised, but taking her own uncomplaining obedience for granted. I remember it thoroughly: exercises, breakfast, school, lunch, press exercises, lessons, courses, tea, shower, reading, sleep, on Sundays - tennis.
I followed this routine until about the end of December. I did not change the scheme, which I quickly came up with in my head, quickly and decisively, which is peculiar to me. At that time, I instantly and photographically accurately embodied my plans in reality. But very soon the scheme began to change me and grab more and more.
It seems to me that the turning point and the transition to the next stage took place during the autumn holidays. My success in learning, losing weight and self-discipline were obvious, but they became habitual and no longer brought joy. A school uniform, bought for me, already thinner, in August, began to hang and looked much worse, but that didn’t really bother me. I observed other changes with interest: on the holidays I continued to get up early, although I used to like to sleep. I woke up at 7-8 o'clock, quickly did the obligatory exercises and right in my pajamas I ran to the kitchen to eat my meager breakfast alone. I didn’t set myself a goal to get up early and woke up not from an alarm clock, but from hunger. But I also decided to use this in my favor: getting up early in the morning, I managed to work on an essay on literature or read more pages of the book. My portions were getting smaller, the pants were hanging more and more freely, and the tea and shower were getting hotter (I drank boiling water and washed in boiling water to warm up), and I wanted to communicate less and less with someone.
It was the beginning of December when I found the old scales. I weighed 40 kilograms, which then imperceptibly turned into 38
Questions of parents, teachers, girlfriends, classmates began: one (“Yana, you are so thin! Tell me how you managed?”) Alternated with others, with anxiety in your eyes and intonation (“Yana, do you eat anything at all?”) . I noticed it, but how should I react? I achieved perfection in limiting myself. At first she thought they were jealous, and then she simply drove away these questions from herself, was rude in response or silently dismissed. It was too hard for me to reflect on what was happening. I stopped liking myself: all the clothes on me hung ugly, and it did not occur to me to ask my parents to buy another.
“There is no one for her to be fat,” snapped the dad in response to the remark of the radiologist that I was too thin. And I liked papin's answer - really, there is nobody. Now I think it was strange, because six months ago I, in his opinion, was fat (and if not, why did he “joke” about it?). I think he was also worried, but he didn’t want to show himself in front of a foreign woman.
It seemed to be the beginning of December, when I found the old grandmother’s scales. I weighed 40 kilograms, which then imperceptibly turned into 38. In December 2005, the pope had serious problems at work, and probably because of this he had a stomach ulcer, he was terribly haggard. My mother was very worried about him, and for me, of course, too, but I hardly remember this: apparently, then it was difficult for me to interact with others. I carried out my tasks according to the list, with all my might. There is no longer wanted; Mom sometimes persuaded them to at least eat yogurt before bedtime or add sugar to tea, but I smiled (it seemed to me that with a smile) refused. Yogurt took with her to bed and left for breakfast.
It was then that I decided to go to a psychologist. How could I know that when you enter the office, they immediately say: "Well, tell me ..."? I frantically thought out what to say, feeling inside a black hole. “I have no friends left,” I said, and it came true. The psychologist suggested: "You probably read a lot. Yes? And they probably smoke. Yes?" I nodded and thought about how to get away as soon as possible. Thank God, she did not ask if I smoke.
Return trip
It was a physics lesson, it seems, the penultimate in the semester. The teacher told everyone to solve problems and called in turn those who had controversial assessments. That day I was very bad, I couldn’t physically concentrate on what tasks I couldn’t write. The teacher called me and saw my empty notebook. “Yana, let's tell me what's going on with you,” she said. Something in the depths of me gave a start: she didn’t care. I felt keen gratitude, but I could not answer anything intelligible. “Go home,” she said.
And I went. And she decided to eat normally. And so it began ... I drank cold borsch right out of the pan, stuffed white bread into my mouth and drank everything with cloying cherry juice. I ate everything I saw, until I recovered from the acute pain in the stake sticking to my stomach. The pain was so intense that I almost fainted. I called my mother, and she scolded me: you don’t eat anything at all, so here you are.
Since then, periods of fasting have been replaced by eerie, painful, shameful periods of overeating. I didn’t make me vomit badly, although I tried - it probably saved me from bulimia. 100% control was replaced by total chaos. There could be no talk of any exercises anymore, I abandoned tennis, which I still associate with terrible disappointment. Sometimes I did go to the pool, but not after periods of overeating: at such moments I was not at all capable of anything other than burning self-hatred. I made desperate diary entries, endured almost permanent stomach pain, and wore sweaters to conceal a disproportionately bulging stomach. All this was wrong, dangerous, radical, late, but all this was for me a step towards recovery. It was one of the most difficult periods of my life, but even in the most terrible moments I did not lose hope. I believed that someday I would succeed; this faith, which was not based on anything, emerged from somewhere from within with pain, and saved me.
Already in spring, I, as my best friend noticed, with whom we suddenly had fun together again, learned to smile again. For six months I gained 20 kilograms, I did not enter St. Petersburg State University, but I entered the Institute of Culture. I read much less than in the previous six months, but I ate much more, drank and said. In the summer, menstruation began to return, and the hair stopped falling out only by autumn. Gradually, following new impressions, acquaintances, and falling in love, the amplitude of movement of this destructive swing, from the strictest diet to overeating, decreased. Uneven, unpredictable, very slowly, but I was getting better.
Residual effects
Ten years have passed since then. It seems to me that there are no former anorexics: in the one who faced this, the risk of relapse always smolders. Recently, I shouted at a young man, seeing that he had not eaten his lunch and brought home a full container of food. I was seized by anger engendered: others can forget about food, but I don’t. I think too much about it, visualize it, plan it, I hate it when it disappears, I try hard to distribute the products so that nothing is spoiled. The most destructive part of me gives a voice in the worst moments of my life: she wants to return anorexia.
There are periods when I systematically overeat, sometimes for weeks I do not feel any "special" relationship with food. Either I ignore the restrictions, or "take myself in hand" - it turns out differently. Weight is normal and quite stable, but even its minor fluctuations cause a lot of experiences.
Of course, I spoiled my stomach and intestines, and since then they regularly remind of themselves. Several years ago I underwent a detailed examination by a gastroenterologist. At that time I was studying at the institute, working in parallel and eating chaotically: as a rule, between an early breakfast and a late dinner there were only muffled snacks in yogurt or a bun. Every evening my stomach hurt. Experts suspected chronic pancreatitis or stomach ulcer, but in the end neither was confirmed. It turned out that in order for the stomach not to hurt, it is enough just to eat regularly: not necessarily every 2-3 hours, as nutritionists advise, but at least every 4-6 hours.
I still have problems with the menstrual cycle, it is not known if it would have been more regular, and the menstruation would have been less painful if it were not for anorexia. I haven’t tried to get pregnant yet and I don’t know if there will be any problems with it. The vision then fell and did not recover - perhaps it would have worsened anyway.
I think too much about food, visualize, plan, I hate when it disappears
My breast size quickly increased back, the condition of my hair and skin was restored. I’m pretty sure that I’m looking now about the same as I’d look like if the disorder had not happened in my life. The ghost of anorexia is still in me, but he retreats. And I'm still learning to love myself.
It may seem strange that I decided to tell my story only now, ten years later. In fact, it was during the last year that serious changes took place in me, more precisely, in my perception of myself. I wanted to take care of myself: I worked with a psychotherapist, read some good books and articles, and in the end I was able to finish this text that seemed endless to me. Therefore, I am ready to give some advice to people in a similar situation.
If you think that you have problems in dealing with food and your own body, contact a psychotherapist, but this should be a specialist in eating behavior. Otherwise, he, quite possibly, will help you to understand other equally important issues, but he will not be able to help in solving the problem that is tormenting you now.
Find a type of physical activity that gives you pleasure. This will surely be found - for me they have become dancing. Regular classes will change the shape of your body without radical nutritional restrictions, and most importantly, at some point, the face will no longer be the only indicator: you will want to rely on strength, flexibility, agility, plasticity, endurance, speed.
If you still have not abandoned the idea of a "magic diet", I advise you to read Svetlana Bronnikova's book "Intuitive Nutrition". It tells about the "myth of beauty", and about the physiology of nutrition, and that prohibitions are ineffective, and awareness is effective in nutrition. Finally, I advise you to read the communities and websites dedicated to body positivism: they really teach respect for oneself, namely, respect for many of us is not enough.
I think that it is necessary to say that it hurts - let it be crumpled, let it be through force. I believe that by talking about the disease, you are taking another step towards recovery. Or maybe - who knows? - a little helping others.
Photo: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 via Shutterstock