Secrets II

I've spent my whole life trying to figure out who I was.  In doing so, I became a chameleon with an eating disorder.  There was something so deeply wrong with me, I had to do whatever it took to keep that buried and away from the world.  And I did so at any cost.

I was young, just around my first decade of life, when I realized there was something that "wrong" with me.  A secret that could NEVER escape lived in my head, and I spent every moment in public ensuring the protection of that secret.  I got good at it, too.  It was like an invisible armor that automatically dropped on me as I left my bedroom, and was magically removed when I returned.

My eating issues developed around 13.  This secret became more scary around that time, too.  By 16 it became so scary that I started the roller coaster of dieting.  I had to starve it to death.

More than 20 years later, that secret is no longer buried as deep.  It's still secret.  It's still something I can't speak.  But it no longer holds me hostage.

My therapist holds the secret.  So does my dietitian.  One of my BFFs knows, too.  Sharing this secret with them has made it a little easier for me to carry myself.  I'm still afraid to tell anyone else, yet the lightness that came from sharing with the few above?  That they all still like me? 

Secrets are insanely scary.  Holding them and sharing them, actually.  I was so afraid to even acknowledge my own secret, much less share it with anyone, for fear that the world would hate me even more than I hated myself.

I don't know what I'd do with out my treatment team.  I've worked with therapists on and off much of my life, but nothing compares the support I have now.  Secrets may stay hidden from the rest of the world, but having my team to share with?  I wish everyone could have the chance for a relationship this therapeutic, it's the best gift I've ever given myself.  Between my dietitian and therapist, I've never felt so optimistic.

I wish everyone could have someone to hold the horrid secrets that keep us captive in our own minds.  As bad as my secret felt, it is held differently by my team than by me.  Secrets don't need to destroy me anymore.  Sharing them won't make me explode.  It won't end my world.

Sharing them only makes me stronger.

Sources of my Smiles

Every day when I walk through the door at home, I am greeted with the biggest (or smallest, technically) source of my smiles.  The Pup.  He is always there, waiting, full of kisses and wiggles and cuddles.  I love coming home to him and the smiles he brings me.

Since the peanut arrived last July, wow.  Smiles galore!  Whether I'm experiencing the giggles, the grins, the raspberries, the shrieks, the claps, whatever it is that peanut is doing, my heart smiles.  Big, warm, smiles.

My students make me smile, too.  I love watching them grow and learn and overcome challenges they thought to be impossible.  I love going to conferences and sharing my students experiences with my peers.  That makes me smile from the inside out.  (Now, if only politics would get the h#$% out of schools, there would be even more smiles there.)

My........ well........ I guess she's now my former dietitian. She made me smile too. She gave great hugs.  Great hugs.  And knowing how grounding they are for me, she greeted me with one and said farewell with one.  I'm really going to miss her.  I hope, that even though she no longer works with me, our old emails will wrap me up in a hug and bring forth smiles.

My therapist makes me smile at least once a session.  Sometimes I'm smiling through tears.  Sometimes I'm smiling cause I've made her laugh.  Sometimes it's cause I've annoyed her.  Sometimes I'm smiling because she's right, and I don't want to admit it.  Mostly, though, I smile because I know she cares.  I don't always feel like people care about me, but knowing she does.... on those really bad days, just hearing her voice makes my heart smile a little, no matter what's going on.

The reason for this post, though, is one that took me quite by surprise.

I've been working with my new dietitian for less than a month.  One of the hardest tasks that she's "encouraged" is daily communication of my food log.  Which means that I send her an email each evening with the day's food log and the tentative menu for the next day.  Doesn't sound hard, I know.  But for me?  It's been a kind of torturous tasks.  It feels selfish to be emailing someone daily, especially knowing they'll respond to each and every email.

This past week, though, I realized how much I look forward to her replies.  Like, really look forward to them.  Don't get me wrong, we're not talking therapy via email, just a few sentences that acknowledge what I sent her, encourage whatever needs encouraging and question whatever needs questioning.  I didn't realize it, and I doubt she has either, but it has become one of the highlights of my day.  As hard as it has been to click send, it's the exact opposite when it comes to clicking read.  Maybe one day, it will just be a smile, and not a smile riddled with guilt for taking up her time outside of the office.  Right?

30 Day Recovery Challenge: Day 16

16. What experience(s) has been most helpful your recovery (for example, meeting a supportive friend, deciding to go to therapy, etc)?

The most helpful experience of my recovery has been having the most amazing treatment team.  Seriously, I would not be here without their support.  With my therapist coordinating pretty much everything - she sent me to my psychiatrist and dietitian, I have gotten the best possible care as I trudge through this hell.

I've also found it helpful having my two best friends knowing about the situation.  They are both amazing people, and they each help in their own ways - one of them is great for distracting me from my head, the other is great for a quick pick-me-up get together of sorts.

Finally, this blog has been a pretty powerful tool in my recovery.  Through this blog I've met so many others who are walking along a similar road.  I've found comfort in reading others' words, and found confidence in comments left on this blog.  What began as a recovery project has morphed into an instrumental recovery tool - a place where I can share my experience, my voice, my challenges, and my successes - has become a special community that feeds my soul in a unique way.

30 Day Recovery Challenge: Day 7

7. What type of treatment are you getting right now? Talk about your current treatment team - are they helpful, do you trust them? Are you honest with them?

I am currently working with an Ah-May-Zing team that have been with me from the start.  When things were first starting, and really bad (so for the first year of treatment) I was seeing my primary care doctor once a month, my dietitian once a week, and my therapist three times a week.

As I have grown, my treatment has adjusted as needed.  I have always felt supported, and just because I am seeing my team less frequently, didn't change the support and care I receive.  Currently, I see my primary care doctor every other month, my dietitian every other week, and my therapist twice a week.

I trust my team completely.  I have never trusted anyone the way I trust them.  My therapist knows more about me than anyone, she knows things that I never anticipated sharing.  Ever.

I am honest with them.  I actually used to joke that I will screw up and make dumb choices, but I will always come clean about what I've done.  These days, I'm screwing up less, and making slightly fewer dumb choices, and even better, sometimes I can confess to what I want to do before I do it, saving the pain of the lesson.

I love them all.  Even when I don't love what they tell me.

World Mental Health Day

Did you know that today is World Mental Health Day?  I didn't, at least not until I read a tweet about it from Psych Central.  They are actually hosting a blog party in celebration of the event!  Those participating are encouraged to share their story, experiences, or anything related to mental health.

I thought I'd start with a few facts from the World Health Organization.

• Depression affects more than 350,000,000 people, nearly 10% of the adult population?
• Depression doesn't discriminate by age, community, race, religion - anything.
• Only one-fifth of those with mental illness will receive treatment and care needed for the condition.
• 75% of visits to the doctor are due to stress-related ailments.
• More than three out of four employees who get the care and treatment needed for their condition see drastic improvement in work performance.

(more facts here)

My story is no different than thousands of others... and you can read about it throughout the pages of my blog, as it's an ongoing life experience for me.

I was 14 the first time I journaled about suicide.  I was 16 when a clearly laid out plan was thwarted, thankfully.  I've been in and out of therapy ever since, thanks to a teacher, who finally got my parents to see how much help I needed.  They weren't capable of understanding me, no matter how much they tried.  I don't blame them any more, but it doesn't make the longing for what could have been hurt any less.

I was 13 when my anorexic tendencies took over, though at that point, no one noticed.  Graduating from high school sucked, it was a very traumatic summer.  College was rocky as well, though I found my true calling as an educator, and while anxiety nearly cost me my college education, I managed to graduate and get an awesome job teaching in a school where I've now spent the last 10 years.

Fast forward through several other therapists (seen anywhere from 4 months to 18 months) and many, many visits to a variety of doctors for a variety of ailments (some were legitimate medical issues, others completely anxiety related.)  With all those doctors appointments, it's kind of odd that no one picked up on my eating disorder until just last year.  I kept it well under wraps, and it kept my emotions well under control, or so I thought.

Being blessed with multiple mental health issues, including major depression and anxiety, definitely has it's challenges.  It is a constant struggle to take care of myself, and to do what needs to be done to lead a fairly productive life.  Some days are obviously better than others, as I do have a great job that I love and often times, it's the only reason I do get out of bed.

But some days the depression takes over, and I want to roll over and stay buried under the covers until the weekend is over, and I get to go back to work on Monday.  Strange, I know.  I've learned over the years that I thrive on structure, and structure is very strong at work, but nearly non-existent at home.

Thanks to an incredible treatment team, including my doctor, therapist, and dietitian, I am doing better than ever.  While I am not "cured" nor will I likely ever be completely rid of my depression and it's pals, I am more able to sustain good days, and not let the bad days suck me down as deep as they used to.

Don't get me wrong, I can still (and do) fall off the face of the earth for days at a time, especially when I have time off work.  I can't even say that those days are few and far between, because right now, they're pretty regular weekend guests.  But I can finally say that I know what it's like to trust people, as I have complete trust in my treatment team and I am forever grateful for their support.  It is worth every penny, every minute, every tear of my being to work with them. 

Cause without them.... without my doctor (who is amazing,) who sent me to my therapist (whom I adore,) who sent me to my dietitian (whom I also adore,) I'd become another negative statistic.  And that is something I'd rather avoid.