Last year when I began the program at Toronto General Hospital I was afraid. That meant I would have to give up laxatives cold turkey. How was I going to do that? I wasn’t ready. I had to come up with a plan.
That is when I tried vomiting. I wasn’t good at it and quite frankly it disgusted me. I tried several times and luckily gave up.
But, a few weeks later I tried again. I became very good at it. Really, really good. I wasn’t replacing one bad habit with another – I was doing both. It became all too consuming. It’s almost as if I was so angry at the system for not helping me I was saying “Fine, fuck you. I’ll show you. I’ll get so sick that you will have no choice but to admit me to a program.” In reality, the sicker you are, the harder it becomes to find a program. Telling me I was too underweight for an Eating Disorder program is probably the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Would they tell an alcoholic that they have to drink only one bottle of vodka instead of two before they get admitted into a facility? The reason for this nonsense is that they don’t want to be held liable. When you are severely underweight there are so many medical risks that in a nutshell they don’t want you to die on their watch. Plain and simple.
But here was a person, begging for help. Telling them that she wanted to get better. Wanted to gain weight. But they told me to gain weight and come back when my BMI was 17.
To give you an idea of how BMI works.
At my lowest weight in April of 2015 I was 88lbs (gross I know).
That is the average weight for a 14 year old girl.
That put my BMI at 14.6 – normal being 20. 120lbs would put me at a BMI of 20.
In order to be accepted into a program my weight had to be 102. So they were telling me that I had to put on 14lbs by myself. Someone with an eating disorder was expected to do something on her own that she hated more than anything. Ya, makes perfect sense. NOT.
As time went on, I soon realized that it was up to me to start making changes. Nobody else could do it for me, and the resources were so limited if not non existent.
The constant use of laxatives and vomiting were taking up too much of my life. They became my life. I knew that if I didn’t make changes soon it would never, ever change and I would forever be stuck in this vicious cycle. Or I would just not wake up one morning.
Rob has told me in the past that his biggest fear is that one day I would have a heart attack in my sleep. How sad is that? I’m 42 years old and my husband fears about me dying.
I would be throwing away my life to this disease. I still have so much to live for. I need to live it.