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Recovery Story #3: For The First Time, I Was Terrified Of Dying.

By July 28, 2017ANAD Blog

It took me losing my job, my income, almost my marriage, and nearly my life for me to reluctantly accept the help I needed. For many years, I only agreed to see therapists, counselors, and the occasional psychiatrist. But I refused any further treatment, even though it was painfully obvious to everyone in my life that I needed a higher level of care. I refused it because I needed my disorder; I needed it to handle this life, to cope, and to survive. It’s what made me special; it was my identity, my guiding principle, the best coping mechanism I’ve ever had, my comfort, my shield, and even became my God. I was so sick, so brainwashed, so brain-starved, so malnourished, and so stubborn.

My disorder went in stages of losing, gaining, ups, downs, highs and lows. and surprisingly, there were few years that I wasn’t consumed by ED. But when my now husband and I decided to relocate before our wedding, I tanked. It was a steady decline for 2 years. Of course, I would have argued and denied it at the time, but looking back, it was a slow suicide. Not just a physical death, but it was a mental death, an emotional death, and a major spiritual death. No weight nor pant size was ever good enough… I was NEVER good enough. I often just wanted to disappear. My shrinking body was the perfect reflection of my shrinking soul.

But my body finally spoke up. I heard it scream, “I’m shutting down. I simply can’t do this anymore.” And for the first time, I was terrified of dying. Thank the Lord my family decided to rescue me. They researched the best residential centers in the country; it broke their heart, but they didn’t have a choice. They had to save my life. I have never seen my mom or husband so sad and lost. But nevertheless, they flew me to treatment where I passionately argued with my husband up until they dropped me off, “I’m not that bad! I will be the fattest one there.” I will never forget that morning heading there; shaking, feeling weak, faint, nauseous, and numb all at the same time. It was unbelievably surreal; all I could do was sob. These people were trying to take this away from me and turn me into someone I hated even more.

Ohhh, how wrong I was! They literally saved my life; they brought me back to life! The place I dreaded most, became my happy place, my safe bubble. I actually didn’t want to leave! Everyone there became my army, and the dining room table was my battlefield. Every single morning when I didn’t want to get up and eat and was so homesick it physically hurt, I pushed and fought with every fiber of my being to do this for my loved ones.

I came home a few days before Christmas and felt like a completely different person. I feel like I had a new brain, a new set of eyes, a clear mind, a clean heart, and a restored soul. I had color back in my face, brightness to my eyes, and I could really smile again! I have energy, I can remember things. I am less anxious, judgmental, and irritable; more loving, fun, spiritual, open, and present.

So I guess it’s safe to say, I understood myself only after I destroyed myself. And only in the process of fixing myself, am I getting to know who I really am. I am choosing good over evil, light over darkness, and life over death every single day. There IS a way out. Is it easy? Hell no! Is it quick? My no! Is it painless? Not a chance! Is there a rule book to follow in recovery? Absolutely not. Is there a guaranteed “no relapse policy?” Unfortunately not. But is it worth it?? Yes, a thousand times over!!


I am a 32-year-old female who is finally in recovery after 10 years of fighting.

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