From Habit to Disorder.

October 24, 2019

10 am

Disclaimer: the following post may contain trigger words for anyone struggling with an eating disorder. From the bottom of my heart, if you or someone you know is struggling, please reach out to a licensed therapist or a treatment facility for help. From my own personal experience, there is no shame in asking for help as everyone deserves to live their best life possible. I also recommend checking https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/ for more information.

This is the story of how my eating disorder evolved; the black and white of it. This post is not meant to attract pity or attention, but rather to inform those who may not be aware of how easy it is to for an eating disorder to develop. I hope to shed light on something that effects over 30 million people and has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness (www.anad.org).

So buckle up and let’s begin...

In the Beginning

I remember a time when I was able to eat without worrying about how that food would affect me...seems like a lifetime ago. We all had that at one point, didn't we? When we’d eat that hot dog on the Fourth of July, that box of Kraft mac & cheese, or that Friday night pizza and it wouldn’t phase us one bit. Ahh the glory days…

"...we’d eat that hot dog on the Fourth of July, that box of Kraft mac & cheese, or that Friday night pizza..."

This changed for me when I was about 15 years old, and I really became serious about swimming. In my blog titled Hey, Hello, Hi, I talked about how I was a pretty decent swimmer growing up and as a teen, it really was all I did. Lifting before class, swimming after class, and going to practice on the weekend; I was burning calories like crazy. And I was hungry. All. The. Time.

This led to having to make sure that I was eating enough food (particularly carbs) to support all the physical activity I was doing. A small, yet NECESSARY change.

Fast forward to college when I decided I wanted to lose weight to become a coxswain on the rowing team. I started monitoring everything I ate on a level I hadn’t before. I also cut out dairy and became a vegetarian. Don’t be fooled! This didn’t mean I was healthy.

" I also cut out dairy and became a vegetarian...this didn't mean I was healthy."

After college, I moved into the “real world” where I was alone more than I had ever had been before. No one was constantly around to see what I was eating, and therefore, no one was there to see the habits I was developing.

And So It Started

It was always the same thing...during the week, I’d be ON POINT. I’d eat what I thought was “healthy” food, prep my meals, and never strayed from the meal plan I had given myself. But on the weekends...it was like I became a different person. #alieninvasion

I would eat burgers, pizza, brownies, you name it. Calories don’t count on the weekend right?!? And then I’d be going out and drinking too, which would then open the door to some late night munchies.

Now, I’m not saying that letting loose on the weekend and eating out is a bad thing. Moderation is 100% key. But I was easily consuming the triple amount of calories in two days what I would eat the entire week.

These sessions of overeating slowly became less of a social-accepted activity and into something I’d do alone in private.

Friday night plans cancelled? Well that just meant I’d order a large pizza and eat it all by myself. In one sitting.

And then I’d go get McDonald’s. And eat it all by myself. In one sitting.

It’s now time for dessert right? Well that box of a half dozen donuts from Dunkin seem pretty good to me.

It was like something would take over my mind and body. I KNEW I wasn’t hungry. I KNEW what I was doing wasn’t healthy, yet nothing was going to stop me. I just had to eat it all.

I HAD TO.

And I would eat until my body rejected the food, and I was sick. I would be crying, stuffing donuts into my mouth until I had to run to the bathroom to throw them up. But low and behold, I still had two donuts left in the box.

So I ate them as well.

My body would start to sweat excessively and my heart would be pounding in my ears, but it didn't matter. I still ate.

And then I'd just...stop. Just come to a point where I tamed the cravings and could finally be done, but the shame and guilt of it all would still be there making me feel even more worthless.

The next day would consist of a three hour gym session trying to “counter” the damage, but it didn't matter; the damage was done.

And over and over this would happen at least two or three times a month if not more.

What’s ironic is that because of all the calories I would consume on the weekend, all the work I was doing during the week didn’t matter. I wasn’t losing any weight, but rather, gaining.

What’s doubly ironic is that I did a semester-long project on eating disorders so I knew not only the name of what I was experiencing, but also the specific effects bingeing was having on my body.

Four years on and off of this, and I told no one.

"Four years on and off of this, and I told no one."

It wasn’t until a year ago, that I started mentioning it to others that I suffered from a bingeing disorder. I think I became more comfortable with saying it because I had stopped doing it so much. I hired a nutrition coach, leaned heavily on my faith with God, and started doing more and more self-reflection to discover the underlying reasons as to why these sessions occurred.

I’ll explain in future posts as to how I cope with impulses now (because, yes, I still get them), but I think that’s enough for now- don’t you?

So raise that glass (of wine, I hope)...

...Here’s to Health. Cheers.

Reference:

https://anad.org/education-and-awareness/about-eating-disorders/eating-disorders-statistics/