Anorexia Nervosa
Alright, I know that this is not the happiest topic to disucss, but it's the 15th of the month-and the 15th of the month for me (and usually the 27th) always seem to be my melancholy, ho-hum days. In other words, my "down days," of the month-I do not intentionally plan it that way-but as I look back through journals and this blog and my own great memory-that's just the way my life and months have panned out for several years. Not a bad thing, at least I'm aware of it.....
Anyhow, today I logged onto Trisha Yearwood.com and found out that one of the members recently died of Anorexia Nervosa and it touched me. Obviously, "death" as we call it is not generally a good thing-although sometimes it can be-death is a change; a one way ticket to hopefully a much better and more peaceful place than this struggle induced earth. However, it is always sad when someone, especially a young someone, passes on-and it's even more sad when they die of a horrible disease like Anoreixa or cancer.
Disease in my mind is just that DIS-EASE-and Anoreixa Nervosa is an obviously psychological disease as well as a physical one.
Today, I will recount my personal story involving anorexia-no, it's not me who was or ever will be anorexic, it was my best friend, from years past. It is my hopes that by telling this story someone out there will seek help and information-and at least-education about a horrible disease that affects and kills thousands of girls (and boys) every year.
Whenever I hear about Anorexia I'm instantly taken back to 1995/1996:
We were 12 years old and my best friend at the time, EM, was suffering from SEVERE Anorexia.
It was actually my mother who caught it and spotted EM spitting food into her napkins at mealtime and using the bathroom immediately following mealtime. That of course is known as Bulemia, a different kind of Eating Disorder-but Bulemia usually leads to Anorexia and for EM, it was also her fate.
I remember EM not eating very much and getting skinnier and skinner. She would take a few bites of lunch and then excuse herself. Now, me, I've always been a rather thin and petite person-but it never occured to me NOT to eat. I mean, I LIVE to eat-I get up in the morning so I can eat. So I couldn't understand (and still can't) how someone could have NO desire to eat; but she didn't. EM basically lived on Sprite, Water and Chewing Gum for about 15 months....not really a healthy or sustainable diet, and it was bound to catch up with her.
In late March of 1996 it did:
EM was hospitalized for what appeared to be the flu-it was then that everyone else recognized that her organs were begining to shut down due to the lack of nutrition she had been facing. I was only 12, but I knew that this was serious-and I knew that she could die.
"Making her eat," was not the solution, Anorexics don't just eat and gain weight, it's not that simple. It's a serious psycological disease where a person's image of themselves is incredibly deformed and detatched. They have a need to be perfect and thin, the problem is, they can be 40lbs and still see themselves as "fat," all the while they are obviously skin and bones and oftentimes on the verge of death.
EM was my very best friend at the time, and although we had a VERY MESSY breakup (I still refer to it as a 'divorce'), at that time in March of '96, I was scared....
I couldn't imagine my life without her, she was like my "sister."
The two of us did EVERYTHING together-and we'd been friends at that point for just over two years-she was my companion, confidant, and yes, even my rival. She could sing, I couldn't. We both desperately wanted to be country singers; we even referred to eachother as Reba (her) and Wynonna (me). We sang and did shows for our families, we talked, we experienced highs and lows and heartbreaks. My parents (mom and step-dad Jim) divorced about a month earlier in 2/95 so when EM became as ill as she did-I was dumbfounded. I had just lost my daddy (the one who raised me) had to move down the highway to a mobile home, and was being sexually harrassed at school (6th grade sucked) and now THIS-now everyone was telling me that my best friend might possibly DIE....
I think that it was in in March of 1996 that I became REALLY angry-and STAYED really angry-until March of 2005. I was angry at EVERYTHING-I'm damn suprised now that I didn't comulnate some horrible disease myself-I was definately at serious DIS-ease for a very long time.
But, back to EM.....
I remember walking into the local ICU where I had been myself SO many times before and seeing this tiny, skinny little body-with almost no life in it.
EM was white as snow, hooked up to IVs and monitors and could barely speak.
You know, I've been in that bed, literally, in that position (for VERY different reasons) many, many times. In the ICU, hooked up to everything medical technology had available at te time-but it's very odd and discocerning to SEE SOMEONE ELSE in that bed. Someone at the time that I did love so much...
EM was very, very ill-and her heartrate was incredibly low. She contracted a kidney infection and they said that her liver was also malfucntiong. After over a year of not eating, a body does that-it says "enough." A car can't run without gasoline, and a body can't run without food.
Two weeks later, after they stabalized EM and got some form of nutrition into her frail body-she was sent to Stanford, California for treament and recovery.
She left sometime in early April and I was devastated. I worried about her constantly-I wanted her to be back in school with me-my life was already miserbale (all beit a lot of that at my own creation) and now my best freind was gone, locked up and secluded in some God forsaken recovery center for Anorexia....."Anorexia?" I kept thinking. No, SEVERE anorexia that had consumed my best friend.
What I remember most about the second half of 6th grade is walking the outskirts of that enormous playground all by myself every recess.
EM and I always spent our recesses together; we got really good at the swings earlier that year and would have contests-who could swing the highest and the fastest-she usually won-my stomach coudln't take it. Then, if we had time, we'd walk the playground together-on the edge of it-right by the fence-you could see her house from the West side of the playground and a big field on the other side of that fence. We'd walk and talk and plan our weekends-sometimes we'd sing-sometimes we'd fend off other kids who were trying to harass us-and sometimes, we'd just walk in silence. On a good recess, we'd get in two laps around the playground.
But now, here I was, all alone-and scared. I can't imagine what EM must have been going through. Hell on Earth I would guess. The therapy sessions, the coersed eating, the IV's, the bloodtests, the tubes and feedings and seclusiveness of it all. I'm sure she had a much harder semester that year than I did-and I think that while for a lot of friends-a struggle like that would bring them close together-for EM and I, it tore us apart; while it was the begining of HER healing and HER life-it was the begining of the end for our friendship.
But before our friendship disolved in a bitter, ugly breakup a year and a half later-we had to finish 6th grade:
The last 2 weeks of 6th grade were quite tough; my Grandpa Jim died on May 26th, ; I had been forced to switch classes/teachers because the kids in my original class refused to quit verbally sexually harrasing me; my mom and grandma threatened to sue the kids/school/principal if it continued-and EM was still in Stanford.
I wanted so badly for her to be there, to cry on one another's shoulders-to support her and tell her I loved her and was there for her. I wanted to cry on her shoulders-to tell her what was going on at school-how bad it had gotten in my old class-and to cry when my grandpa died-but she wasn't there-and I know now that she couldn't be. In God's divine grace, I think it was during that time that I learned to kind of heal/soothe myself.
I do remember when I got the chance to go visit EM. My mom drove me down to Stanford one time that spring to visit her-something I looked foward to with both great excitement and reservation. I knew the chance of seeing the "old EM" was not great, but I held out hope. Those hopes were shattered the minute I saw her; if I thought the ICU in our hometown was a horrible sight-the Stanford Treatment & Recovery Center for Anoreixa was ten times worse.
EM didn't say much, she was very withdrawn and ended up crying for most of our visit. Trynig to talk to her was very difficult-I didn't know what to say or what to do. I knew she hated being there-as much as I hated seeing her there. But I also knew that she had to be there-I kept telling her to fight, that if I could survive what I had (20 something surgeries that point) than she could certainly survive this. I tried to be a becon of hope and inspiration-she wasn't too interested. Looking back, I should've just shut up and listened-I should've just tried to be there for her-by example, instead of words.**
EM had somehow gotten the stregnth to write her favorite singer/idol, Reba McEntire a letter-and Reba's camp sent her a life-sized cut out of Reba and three CD's-when I walked into EM's room, Reba McEntire (the cutout) was right next to her bed. I know that EM spent those months listening to all of Reba's CDs in her discman, while I had spent those months greiving/healing while listening to Wynonna's music-it's amazing how music is such a healer.
After our tearful goodbye-I walked back to the car with my mom and cried some more. I was worried EM wouldn't make it, and all I could ask was "Will she be there to graduate with me in June?" I think I cried halfway home.
EM did survive. And she did come back to shcool.
June 4th 1996- the very last day of 6th grade, just in time for graduation EM was being hurried home to Reno to graduate with her class, and me, her best friend.
I'll never forget it; it was one of the happiest and most relieved moments of my life.
I was wearing a soft pink shirt and black pants with little roses on them. I was writing down my name on a peice of paper while standing at my little brown desk. The desks in the classroom were set up in a 'U' position and Mrs. Perior's (our teacher) desk was in the middle of the 'U.' I was sitting next to some boy that I liked at the time but can't remember his name. We were discussing the impending graduation and how we only had about ninety minutes left before were were Middle Schoolers. And then, suddenly, that big, heavy tan oak classroom door opened-and in she came. She had on a levi jumper with a white shirt with a black purse bigger than both of us-and a humongus paper grocery bag in her hand that she almost dropped when the door shut on her.
My jaw dropped, I wanted to jump OVER the desks and tackle her like a field goal. I was overcome with joy, shock and relief and tears welled up in my eyes.
EM made a beeline for the front of the class room, standing right by Mrs. Perior's desk and yelled "I'm back!"
The whole class clapped and everyone hugged her-I was last. She came up to me and said "Hi Sarah, aren't you glad I made it back in time?" I smiled and said "heck yeah!" We hugged and teared up a bit and then sat down at our desks and turned our attention toward the teacher.
About two hours later we graduated 6th grade while our families looked on.
EM would have several relapses over the next year or so-and I believe that for her, eating will always remain a struggle, as it does for so many anorexics.
It's like Alcahol-you're never NOT an alcaholic anymore; and you're never NOT an anorexic anymore-you're a RECOVERING one.
I still think about EM every now and then, like on her birthday every October-I wonder how she is-I wonder where she is. Last I heard she ended up moving to New York to pursue a career on Broadway-and I hope and pray to God she finds it. Despite our bitter end, I don't think you ever stop caring about people you were once that close with-sure, I harbored bad feelings towards her for a while-and I let her stupididly concern the first half of my teengage years. But, that was my doing-not hers.
Today, I hope EM is healthy-eating, thriving and surviving, while each day overcoming her anorexia and kicking it in the crotch. I hope she is happy and doing what she loved to do best-singing her heart out with a heart that is beating fast and strong and will continue to for many years to come***.
Many Blessings,
-Sarah Liz
***Just in case she ever comes across this-EM, I harbor no hard feelings today. I'm glad for the times we had, for the lessons we learned and I wish you nothing but the best!
**And in fact, right now, this very moment, I just had an ephiany. I need to be there for my family and friends (more than I am-although I'm very loyal and good at it) by just shutting up and listening-ah, okay, God, so THAT is the point of reciting this story today isn't it? Wow, You still work in myseterious ways. "Shut up and listen, Sarah, don't talk, don't preach, don't try to inspire or encourage-because you do-just by being strong and available." Whoa, thank you Lord!
posted by Sarah at 11:50 AM
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