A Come To Jesus Intervention

My body has still been struggling with wanting to involuntarily throw up. It had been getting slightly better, until one night around 1 am I got seriously ill. I ran to the bathroom, projectile vomited on my hand and the toilet. It had been something I ate, I was not feeling well, but woke up the RC (residential counselor) just in case to cover my ass.

Every other resident here went to a facility before coming here. I’m the only one who went from 100 mph to 20, and it sucks. Eating maybe once a week, running everyday, coffee, gym, to sedentary, eating 6x a week. My body couldn’t handle it. They had to step down my meal plan because I wasn’t able to keep anything down. My body was still struggling, I was told I had to sit down after meals, oh… and I had been told “If you’re going to throw up, just do it right there at the table.” ….well, so, on a couple occasions, I threw up at the table.

I got told I had an appointment with the therapist while at residential. Instead, I got pulled into the clinical director’s office and was told they were, or had already decided, they were going to be sending me to UNC Chapel Hill for a while. I began to just bawl and bawl. I didn’t want to go. Thoughts began to run through my head, “Do I go home and just pretend that now I’m fine?!” “Do I go? Hell No.” “I can’t leave and go back to my life of hell.”

Two of the people on the clinical staff had been the ones who had to tell me. The main therapist sat right next to me on the couch and held me in her arms as I fell into her and just continued to bawl and cry. She tried to console me by saying this was in no way a reflection of me, but of just how trapped in my eating disorder I am. That didn’t help, I just got angry and said “Girl 1 practically flipped you the bird…she gets to stay! Girl 2 had to go to the hospital for a fake panic attack, she gets to stay. Girl 3 is refusing to eat today… she gets to stay. I am actually trying and you are trying to send me away!”  The clinical director rolled her chair over closer to me, I could tell she was genuinely upset. Her eyes began to tear up and get red. The evening before I had written her a letter thanking her for what she has done for me, and how far I have come even though I am still struggling. I expressed I am actually capable of eating, I am able to talk about feelings, and so on. The clinical director knew how upset I was, and was really trying to hold back tears. She was just following orders, I knew that, but when I looked up at her between sobs and just asked, “Why?”  She had to get up and leave. She then returned with the program director who took a seat staring at me.

Between gasps and sobs I was told to explain what had happened. I told her how every other resident had been to a facility before this one, except me. Where I was before I came and where I am now. How I am struggling, but I am trying and willing. The clinical director then piped up, “Tell her about this morning.”  So I continued, “It was a rough morning. The voice started and was so loud with how fat I was, why I was even here, and so on. Yeah, you walked by and saw me still sitting at lunch, but I ate it and finished it. Then I laid down like you asked.”   The program director said I needed to be “behavior free” for so long and that they were calling UNC. I looked at her and explained, “Besides getting physically ill and sick last night, I would have been so many days behavior free!”  I was so determined to stick this one out. The program director looked at the clinical director and asked her if this was true, to which she vouched was.

“Do you have any hobbies you could work on after meals?”

“Sports. Sports was my hobby.”

After many many tissues, sobbing, anger, and compromises later, it looks like I am not being transferred. I’m now under super babysitting watch, have to tally how many times I climb the stairs, no showers at night, medicine for acid reflux, medicine for anxiety, can’t do the dishes after eating bc my ed loves to puke in the sink, oh, and my 15 min “sit out” time, was upped to 45 thanks to the  program director.   I made a mistake though. Weigh ins are on Monday and Thursday… my intervention was on Wednesday. I water loaded myself the next morning before weigh ins, I was scared my weight had gone down and then I was really going to be transferred.

What comes up though, must come down. I was weighed yesterday morning, then got woken up early this morning for one other girl and I to be weighed….. Earlier today, she was discharged and left the facility.  It has been a crazy time here and I’m not sure, still, what is going on or what I’m doing.  I told the clinical director that and she said, “You don’t know what you’re doing? You’re getting better.”

Oh, and the treatment team decided that since they took all of my other coping mechanisms, I get 10 minutes of Ensure baseball or just kicking a soccer ball. Makes some pretty great therapy