Jessica Jurinch
Over the course of our lives we experience days that are seemingly unending, days we are tired, irritable, longing for solitude; simply a day in which we are not ourselves. Luckily, however, these days are not unending. Are they hard to get through? Most definitely. But get through them we do and tomorrow is often much brighter.
Over the course of my struggle with an eating disorder, I was always tired, irritable more often than not and I isolated enough to push away nearly everyone in my life. I was certain the only companion I needed was my eating disorder. The solitude I longed for and ultimately granted myself, only served to further propel me into the abyss of my disorder. To say I was not myself is an enormous understatement. The days began to string together, turning into months and then years. Recalling those years, my most vivid memories are solely centered on food, weight and body. Of course it did not begin this way, and to be honest I still am not exactly sure how it began. Growing up, I was the child who always listened, your typical people pleaser. My toys were put away meticulously and I would certainly panic if a hair were out of place. I will not go into a nature vs. nurture debate nor will I turn this into a story of the difficulties I experienced with my family, but will disclose that the variables of my eating disorder were certainly a combination of the two-genetics and an environment that “pulled the trigger”.
I was officially diagnosed with anorexia and bulimia at age 15, although now I distinctly remember exhibiting symptoms of anxiety and experiencing negative thoughts about my body from a much younger age. The perfectionistic view that I must achieve, that everything I did had to be “just so” and feeling it was imperative I fulfill my unrealistic expectations began early, long before my eating disorder. I vividly remember the weigh-ins during the first week of school, where it didn’t matter that I was a gymnast and very muscular, it simply mattered that I weighed more than my friends. There were countless fights over my body-maybe a red flag. The year when Mudd jeans were all the rage, as was being a very specific size; a size that I was not, I broke down in more than one fitting room and cursed my thighs the whole drive home.
I did gymnastics from a very early age and to address the likely question, no, gymnastics did not cause my eating disorder. Of course I compared my body to the other girls; I also went home and ate ice cream every night. I very much enjoyed gymnastics and I thrived in the competitive environment. I did not exhibit any disordered symptoms, until an injury side lined me. Perhaps it was having nothing to do to distract my anxious thoughts and ever spinning mind? Maybe without the workouts of gymnastics I feared getting fat? Maybe it was “this”? What if? These questions I have honestly stopped trying to answer, and frankly I do not care to. All I know is I began a descent into eight years of eating disorder hell. I fell down the rabbit hole, but I was not in Wonderland.
I so very distinctly remember the moment I told my mom about my eating disorder; I was incredibly scared and felt too fat to be sick. At any rate the next thing I remember is going to a therapist, hobbling in on my crutches as I was recovering from ankle surgery. I was positive the recent weight loss was from the calories I was burning using the crutches, never did I allow it to occur to me it was my limited intake and all the purging. He and I immediately clashed, I wanted my eating disorder and he wanted to take it, that mixed with his not so compassionate manner and I was not a fan-of him or of being in therapy. Not being a fan of therapy seemed to be an ongoing theme for me, I begged my mom not to take me, swore it was a huge waste of money; I even stooped to telling her I was just saying what I knew they wanted to hear. Sooner or later I was without a therapist, being congratulated by my eating disorder for this great success, we were alone once again.
Despite having an eating disorder and all that comes with it, I did quite well in High School, able to keep my head above water so to speak. Eating disorders cause you to become a master manipulator and I was no exception. By junior prom things had escalated, for obvious reasons of vanity. My eating disorder began to roar, I became more deceptive, secretive, utterly consumed. Clearly, I was not your average teen having pre-prom jitters about looking good in her dress. Before I was to be picked up by my date I was hysterical, filled with absolute self-hated, crawling out of my skin. With no coping skills or not caring to use any, I threw my shoe, leaving a hole in the wall; my eating disorder was beginning to leave a hole in my integrity. Let’s fast forward some to senior year, a year built around convincing myself and everyone around me that I was recovered, free from my eating disorder. Honestly, I was determined to go away to college, not to mention expected to do so. I suffered in silence, physically and emotionally. I was “fine”, so fine in fact I awoke one night positive I was having a heart attack. I prayed that I would stop, I would eat tomorrow, I would flush all the diet pills I was taking, popping them like candy. Eating disorders like to promise a lot, somehow though the most horrible moments do not register when a new day dawns.
I ended up going to University of Delaware, thinking it was my dream school. Now in hindsight I know I didn’t have many schools to compare it with. My eating disorder caused me to be so apathetic I did not visit many schools, nor did I give myself enough credit while applying. I could have applied to a better school, more prestigious, but figured I had no chance. I had become a pro at putting myself down. However, I digress. I went to Delaware, ready to start a brand new life.
My first weeks or so at school were truly incredible, I felt quote-un-quote normal. I went out with new found friends, participated in class and was enjoying my new found freedom. So what happened? My best answer, the normalcy scared me, more so I did not know how to be normal. I could not be normal socially, with food, in relationships. The only relationship I had carefully cultivated was the one with my eating disorder. I cannot express how badly I wanted to be “normal”, wanted to fit in with the girls and create lasting friendships. I tried and will not say I failed, but I will say that my eating disorder was simply too strong.
As Thanksgiving break neared, I distinctly remember feeling that I needed my eating disorder; I had lost all sight of trying to be normal with food. I was proud to go back to school knowing how little I had consumed. The comments about looking thinner, fueled my already kerosene soaked fire. My dorm room door slowly closed, I listened to the laughter outside in the hall wishing I were participating, laughing, but I was held captive inside my tiny single room alone with my eating disorder.
My memories of school are not from parties or 3am chat sessions in the hallway, but of days spent alone “perfecting” my eating disorder.
Upon picking me up for summer break, my mom asked how long it had been since I had eaten. The weight loss was considerable and quite noticeable; that sick pride welled inside of me. My eating disorder went from being a really bossy backseat driver, to having complete control over the wheel.
That fall I did not return to school. I had called my Mom’s bluff the whole summer, figuring I was certainly not too sick and even if I were my Father would never allow for it; for him school was the priority. I try not to wonder about what would’ve happened had I gone back to school, maybe I would have my degree by now, maybe I would not be sitting here typing my story of recovery. Questions of “What if?” never do lead to a positive place in my mind. To occupy my time I began as a full-time employee at my summer job. Although I had stayed home from school in order to work on recovery, things were not going too well. Co-workers began to express their worry and not only about my eating disorder. Rumors flew around the office-as office rumors do, this one, about my relationship with a male co-worker. I was warned to stay away, told he was nothing but trouble and not to get even remotely involved. I promised everyone I was Okay, assuring them we were just friends. There was no way I could bring myself to be honest about the situation, I was paralyzed by fear, shame and embarrassment. From early on in my employment he had pursued me, making comments and flirting. I was uncomfortable with compliments of any kind (as are many individuals who suffer from an eating disorder), I still have trouble with that at times. I never knew how to respond, except with a thank you which was accompanied by nervous laughter. His flirting soon escalated to not so appropriate office behavior, our cubicles were unfortunately close. The relationship became a twisted web of lies, not unlike my eating disorder. Please note, I call it a relationship because I am not sure how else to describe it, but it was the relationship of a puppeteer and his puppet, I of course was the puppet. Obeying his every command, no matter how degrading it may be. I lied to my mom and would drive to his house late at night, saying I was going to Applebee’s with some High School friends. “Applebee’s!?” I wouldn’t touch that food, I joked to myself on the car ride. I still don’t call it rape, sexually abused I say, because I didn’t say “No!”, I didn’t say anything. I was lifeless, numb, a puppet on string, almost watching it happen to someone who was not me. It took me a great deal of time to come to terms with what I have gone through, I did not disclose it to a therapist until years later. The interactions with my co-worker turned my world upside down and were the catalyst to a level I never imagined my eating disorder could reach. Without a doubt I can say today that it was not my fault, I still struggle with what happened at times but I am stronger now and not defined by struggles of my past.
I soon became my eating disorder, we merged into one and no piece of my mind was my own. The sense of control I once derived from my eating disorder was nowhere in sight and its new found power and wrath was too much to bear. I had already gotten into a car accident because I lacked out at the wheel, I could barely walk up the stairs and scrubbing my hair took every ounce of energy I had. All I did was lay in bed, at 19 years old I was dying. My body was shutting down and I had lost the strength to fight. I think back now to that time and wonder how I still engaged in the behaviors I did, how I had the strength to come up with lies and quickly at that. Truly shows the intense strength and control an eating disorder has over those who suffer.
March 1, 2007 my mom insisted I get out of bed, feel the fresh air. I fought, I was too tired to move and of course I threw out the line about being too fat to go out in public. Now I am not terribly religious but some higher power must have influenced her determination that day. After an exhausting trip through CVS, we headed to the food store. I gripped tightly to cart and lasted the whole shopping trip, almost. That day I ended up in the local hospital and after 7 days was transferred to Princeton EDU. I did not believe the claims made by doctors that had I not gone out that day I would not have survived the weekend, my eating disorder stronger than ever was convinced it was simply a ploy to get me to eat.
I spent almost four months at University Medical Center Princeton’s Eating Disorder Unit, reclaiming my physical health. I was convinced I would leave only to run back into the arms of my eating disorder, something out of a sick twisted love story. I would not be one of those girls who recovered and I was okay with that. I relapsed quickly, having attempted recovery for everyone but myself left me with no drive and with no true reason to recover. I was again powerless to my disorder.
I had yet to change the attitude I had towards recovery when I began with a new outpatient treatment and without a doubt in my mind, I tried their skills and their patience, they never gave up, never. They helped me to find myself, an identity outside of my eating disorder-something I never thought possible. Of course this was an arduous process, one I was unsure I would make it through. My eating disorder screamed, kicked, threw childlike tantrums while I was trying to leave it behind. Many times it came in through the back door, so to speak, finding ways to reenter my life that caught me completely off guard.
I found it so difficult to reintegrate back into “real world”, I was unsure how to act and unsure if I would fit in. The simple question of “What are your interests?” baffled me. I didn’t have interests, at least not healthy ones. Even activities like reading, or going for as walk always served as a purpose of distraction from my eating disorder or a way to bring down my overwhelming anxiety. I did not know how to do anything for pleasure, I still was unsure that I deserved that. I had isolated so much that I had very few friends and I always found an excuse as to why I could not hang out if they did call. I would sometimes even stare at my ringing phone paralyzed and not being able to answer. Why would anyone want to hang out with me? What did I have to contribute? My answers then were no one and nothing. I strongly believed that. The hatred I had for myself was immense and ever growing. I scrutinized every word, every thought, and every action.
I kept saying I did not know how it happened, did not know why I had stopped doing so “well”. Subconsciously though, I knew why and I knew what I needed to do. It was all about pushing past my comfort zone. Like so many other parts of recovery, however, that was easier said than done, easier conceptualized than implemented. I always had wonderful insight, great knowledge to what was going on, why I had slipped or what triggered me. My knowledge, however, was often a great barrier for me, as I would over analyze, rationalize, over think absolutely every situation. Just knowing does not get you to the next step. Being intelligent and understanding all the ins and outs of your situation is not the answer. Having all the answers does not equal “doing the work”. Luckily, I had some wonderful people willing to repeat this over and over for me until I was able to believe it for myself. Their patience is incredible.
For quite some time I did remain rigid, in all aspects, especially with food. I was not incredibly open to trying new things as an overwhelming fear was holding me back. I showed up each week for therapy, went to my dietician and doctor, claiming I was doing “the work” and then adamantly wondered why I still felt so stuck. Truth be told, I was not doing the work. I was doing just enough to get by, coasting, skimming the surface and hanging on to every piece of my eating disorder that I could grasp. In the same breath I would say I was in recovery, I would freak out over my body or a change to my routine. I was still so numb, unsure of how to feel emotions, and unsure if I wanted to. “I want to be normal!” “I am too fat!” “I should be back in school!” “I SHOULD, I SHOULD, I SHOULD…” Should wasn’t getting me anywhere. I needed to accept my current reality and begin from that point. A lesson that took years to learn.
Slowly, things began to change; I wish I could say why or how, but happily they did. I learned I cannot take 5 classes, work full-time and sustain recovery. I dated here and there and laughed over lunch with friends. A group I once sat in terrified and sick, I now sit in and offer insight and encouragement. I am on my way to becoming a therapist, helping others who struggle to find recovery.
I am now able to show emotions, joy, anger, sadness, frustration. Quickly I type this and think-do I want to feel ALL of that? Do I want to experience, the hurt, the pain, the uncertainty? In a quick after thought, I realize, yes, I do. The alternative of complete numbness scares me. Being so numb and so consumed by my eating disorder that I had absolutely no reaction being told by a doctor I could have died, probably should have even, that scares me. It scares me more than the uncertainties of “real life”. Being so trapped in an eating disorder leaves you a complete shell of a person; not only physically dying but emotionally dying as well-to those who knew you “before” you are virtually unrecognizable. As with every aspect of recovery, the prospect of “feeling” again is scary, terrifying even. It takes practice, yes practice at feeling and recognizing emotions again. For me, it began slowly, with painted on emotions portraying what I thought I should be feeling. Forcing smiles and laughter-wondering if I really was happy or was I just supposed to be? It takes practice, but also strength to be vulnerable, especially when you no longer have your eating disorders arms to run back into. With each interaction though, mastery is built and I soon began to find my true self. I started to remember what I liked, what I disliked; I formed new likes and learned about new dislikes. After all I could not go back to age 14. I needed to rebuild, I needed to learn how to live as an adult and I needed to do it without my eating disorders’ safety.
Recovery is a journey, a long one, a worthwhile one. I can no longer justify using my eating disorder, I have moments where I think “Oh, maybe if just cut back a little…” but these thoughts are fleeting and I no longer entertain them. I knew to achieve full recovery I had to cut ALL ties with my ed, I had to widen my variety, gain to my set point and learn to REALLY live, live past my comfort zone. Am I comfortable yet? No, but I am happy. I know I cannot look like I did and live how I am living now; moreover I can now value myself through qualities and not a size tag or number on the scale.
I have found qualities that have no bearing on my appearance that I love about myself and the ones I do not like I do not need to starve away. I have inflictions in my voice when I speak, there is a new found conviction and trust in my words, stemming from a new found trust in myself. I am learning to like who I have become. As you already know, there is no book on how to recover, no nice neat instruction manual, trust me, I asked for it! The willingness to recover is really what pushed me through. Through the tears, the eating when I wasn’t hungry, the days I found myself thinking it wasn’t worth it, thinking I wasn’t worth it. I knew what I had to do and I was determined, more this time than any other time. Recovery is not one size fits all, of course there is a common goal but everyone takes their own path to reach it. That individualized path is an amazing thing. It is an integral part of growing, of finding and cultivating a new identity outside of the eating disorder. The ups and downs are inevitable and as cliché as it sounds truly make the ride worthwhile. Truly and honestly I would not change the path I took for a second. I am grateful to the opportunities recovery has afforded me and I cannot wait to see what else is in store.