Attempting to lace up my shoes for a race when I can barely stand.
I felt awful and called out of work. I showered because I was so cold, but could barely stand.
I spent a good half hour wrapped in my towel on the floor, trying to find shorts and a shirt for the run.
After I was dressed I made my way to the car and headed out.
For those of you that don’t know, I have been looking into residential places lately for my eating disorder. Everything in me screams, “Don’t do it!!” “You aren’t sick!” “C is just trying to use a fear tactic.” “You aren’t 90 lbs and emaciated, you are fine!” Another part of me realizes what I am doing isn’t healthy, whether I am 90 or 490 lbs.
Well, my therapist seems to have some radar that just knows when to email/text/call me. There was a few times that she caught me at either the right, or wrong, time:
1. I was in the bathroom throwing up when I got her email on my phone.
2. I had taken laxatives and was literally running out of class to use the bathroom when I got her text.
3. Headed on a run when I got another email.
4. Popping diet pills as she was calling me.
So, anyway, here I was, had made it to the race. After feeling like shit all day. I hadn’t eaten in days, I could barely stand, my head was spinning, so lethargic. I had just gotten my packet pick up with my bib and all of that when my pocket started to buzz. The first thing to go through my head, besides the throbbing from my headache, was “It’s Saturday, who in the hell is call me?!” As I finally grabbed my phone and was looking at the number I had missed the call….
…. I got on Google to see where/who/what they wanted, and if the number would pop up. As I was typing it in my phone started buzzing again.
Without thinking, I answer it.
Hello, this is Joe Schmo with XYZ, calling for Susie Q….
I can barely hear anything at this point, my head is throbbing, my legs are ready to give out, I’m not sure if I am going to shit myself or throw up, and of course the damn band for the race had decided right then that me answering my phone was their cue to start jamming out….
“I’m sorry, give me one second, I can barely hear you.”
That’s fine, take your time.
“Ok, now who are you?”
After a few minutes (I swear I wasn’t drunk/high/etc I was so out of it from feeling awful and not eating in days I was so groggy) everything clicked. “Oh God, he is calling about ED related bull shit.” I thought to myself.
He got information, asked general bull shit questions.
So, tell me about your struggles, so I can help find a facility that can help. Like if you struggle with anorexia, compared to binge eating.
“Um, sir, I am at a race right now, I can’t really, uhhh, work out a lot, eat very little.”
Hmmm, a race? are you running in it or cheering someone on? *I could feel his wheels turning*
How much do you work out?
“I don’t know, I try to run anywhere from 5-7 miles.”
The conversation went on like this for quite a while until I reached my car.
What kind of treatment were you thinking about looking into?
“Honestly, I don’t know. Apparently outpatient wasn’t the smartest because of driving over an hour there on little food.”
Ok, well if you struggle with anorexia, but have a BMI of under X, then we would have to see if you were even healthy enough for some places.
“Yes to the first part, but I run and work out so much, no to the under X.”
So anyway… talk about timing huh? I have a race that is starting in a half hour and here I am on the phone with some dude trying to get me into treatment. It was kind of surreal. I still see myself as fat. Boobs, stomach, thighs (a couple people think that is mainly the dysmorphia), but to talk to a complete stranger about my habits, and have him say,
“Given just the little bit of information you gave me, the knowledge and experience from being here, your intake, exercise and so on, you would fit the criteria for residential.”
Well, fuck me…..
Yay, and fuck. I’m not sure what I want. The ED is screaming, I am ready to cry, my best friend is happy and nervous for me, one other person keeps saying, “School and work won’t matter if you are DEAD.” and I refuse to tell my mother because she will probably say the same things the ED is screaming.