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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504958806 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 11/04/2015 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 92 |
| File size: | 3 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
"Finding Faith in the Battle"
My Fight Against Eating Disorders
By Alysia Keller
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2015 Alysia KellerAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5049-5879-0
CHAPTER 1
Annoyed, frustrated, angry, sad, and resentful — the nonstop emotions overflowed me as I sat and waited in the Memorial Medical Center Hospital parking lot. My mother and nanny were on their way to accompany me for my first dietitian appointment. I thought to myself and wrote in my journal, I don't need this. They're crazy. I had oatmeal before my class that morning. I'm not even starving myself. I ate, for goodness' sake — and even with all the regret I felt from eating, I still ate.
But of course they wouldn't believe me. I already came across as a liar. I had become good at it. I was only protecting myself and my mind so I wouldn't go crazy — or so the voice wouldn't. This voice had taken over my life as a new best friend and companion. It lived within me; it became my heart and soul. Its name is ED.
As I awaited the arrival of my mother and nanny, and wrote in my journal with these feelings, I heard a knock on my driver's-side window. As I took in a deep breath I looked over to my driver side window and let out a loud sigh as I saw my nanny waiting for me to get out of the vehicle.. I quickly put away my journal, stepped out of my truck, and rolled my eyes as we walked into this dreaded nonsense of an appointment.
I am a twin, and comparison has always been part of my life. People always try to figure out how to tell the difference between me and my sister: Short or tall? Thin or fat? Style of hair? Clothes? Attitude? Smile or not so much? Nice or mean? These always seem to be the questions or reasons for how others could tell us apart.
I already see so many things wrong with this ideal. Others label us in their eyes so they are able to tell the difference. And by all means, I had refused to be the chubbier twin.
Depression had marked middle school for my sister and me. We'd had weekly to monthly visits with a local therapist, and I could honestly say I looked forward to our appointments. I felt relieved, had a clearer mind, and better understood the circumstances in my life and how to deal with them. But the moment I left each appointment, I felt like a scared child about to face the world, and that's what terrified me. My head was such a mess inside.
My parents had divorced when I was four years old. I remember all the fighting, yelling, and arguing back and forth as one parent relayed information through my sister and me to tell the other parent. This was mostly horrible bad talk they did to each other behind their backs. But guess who had to hear it all? Which little ears had to hear the childish trash talk of the other parent? Who had to listen and take the heat of it all? Who felt trapped between the two? My sister and I did.
There was nowhere to run but to face this each time in the presence of the other. There was so much stress and pain, and so many emotions and tears for a child who felt such a burden. No young child should ever have to go through that. Parents should teach their children how to love one another and forgive. Ha! This wasn't even close. The situation was always a fight, and we had to deal with it all the way through high school. I felt so pushed away from what love was supposed to be in a family. Since then, both my mother and father have happily remarried.
My mother, Sam, married my stepfather, Bennett. I am thankful to God every day to have such a loving and caring man to take me in as his own and also to be a great father figure in my life. Though we may not have seen eye to eye when I was growing up, now I am thankful for the bond we have.
I became very interested in cheerleading in middle school, and I was determined to achieve the goal of making the cheer squad for my eighth-grade year. I felt that others would accept me better if I achieved this goal. My mom signed me up for cheerleading classes with a gymnastics company I had been a part of for two years when I was younger. During all the practices and tryouts, I started to skip meals — this became my first episode with an eating disorder.
I was at home one evening after practice when my mom asked me what I wanted for dinner. My response was, "Nothing. I need to lose weight." Growing up and watching my mom as a yo-yo dieter, I believed skipping meals to be normal. Mom, on the other hand, didn't think so. After I went several days without eating, she threatened that she would call my dad and that they would take me to a hospital to have a feeding tube shoved down my throat. That didn't seem too pleasing to me, so I ate in front of her.
My father was an athlete who excelled in running, weight lifting, football, baseball, basketball — all kinds of sports. I remember the weekends when my sister and I would stay with him. He would take us to the track as he ran miles on a track and on bleachers. We joined in at times, but sitting on the bleachers, drinking a Gatorade, and listening to my Backstreet Boys CD were more enjoyable. After Dad finished his runs, we went back to the house so he could lift weights and punch the bag. Or he would have us rollerblade, ride bikes, or play basketball or soccer — anything to keep us active.
But going to Dad's place meant seeing Nana, and Nana let us have all the ice cream, doughnuts, candy, and fast food we wanted — whatever our little hearts and big stomachs desired. So, of course, I took advantage of that. But the words my father drilled into my head were, "You can't have doughnuts. They make you fat. Ice cream has too much sugar and will make you fat. All this cheese in your burrito will clog your arteries. Pizza is too greasy. It will stick to your insides and make you fat." What messages did these words send me?
My high school years weren't bad. I was in the marching band, the concert band, and the jazz band. I played the alto sax for seven years, and I won the jazz scholarship award during my senior year alongside my sister, Karen, who played the trombone. We traveled quite a bit to attend football games, visit contests, and go on our yearly trips. And with all that traveling, we ate a lot of fast food and restaurant food.
Once, we had a marching contest in Rockport, Texas, and on our way home we stopped at a wonderful seafood restaurant, The Big Fisherman. Fried shrimp and fries were a favorite of mine, and the condiments that came along with them were ketchup and tartar sauce: sugar and fat. I ate so much that my stomach hurt. Then thoughts of guilt, disgust, and regret came over me. Before leaving to head home, a few of us girls went to the ladies' room. I stuck my finger down my throat, trying to throw up as my sister and friends listened, but I really didn't think anything of it. I was just trying to get these feelings out of me. This is one memory, I know, that is stuck in my sister's mind as a haunting red flag. I failed at the purge and was forced to deal with these feelings all the way home.
I graduated from Calhoun High School in 2008. One of the proudest moments for any high school senior is walking across the stage as family and friends watch him or her receive a diploma. A lot of pictures were taken at my graduation, and when I look back, I just see an unhealthy fat girl. Embarrassed after seeing photos from that evening and comparing my senior photos to those of my sister, I felt awful. How could I have let myself get this far out of line?
Now that I was free from high school, starting college, and feeling more independent, I decided to make a goal for myself — to get my body healthy, fit, and feeling great. I researched the best diets, which exercises to do for the toned body I dreamed of, and quick ways to lose weight. I automatically cut out carbs, sugars, sodas, and restaurants. Fruit, veggies, and lean proteins — and our Bowflex — were my new trend to live by. Devoted to a forty-five-minute run on the treadmill (which I totally hate now), working out every muscle every day was something I instantly craved and made a priority of. Before anything else started the day, I had to do this.
After a few months, people started to compliment me on my weight loss and told me how good I looked. Ha! Me? I had never received compliments like this, but hey, I'd take them. The more people told me these nice things, the more my ED ate me up inside and told me to keep going. So I did.
My clothes were fitting looser, the number on the scale was going down and I felt I had control of something in my life. This was the only way I felt I had victory over something and was able to make myself proud. My stepdad would get so frustrated and annoyed at my continuous workout schedule every day. Having that as my number one priority along with my sudden change in eating habits, he could already see the difference. But for me, I still had a ways to go to accomplish goals and to make myself happy.
I worked at Walmart as a cashier and hated the job. I became depressed and stressed with school. College was harder than I had expected, and keeping up with studying and working late made studying and focusing on school even harder. I would take all my emotions out on my workouts, and I didn't care about anything else. I was on the hunt for a new job, and at the time a new restaurant was being built. My sister had worked at a restaurant and made good money, so I thought I would try this job out as well.
I got hired as a waitress and started in February 2009. This opportunity took a whole new turn for the worst. I enjoyed serving people food and watching them eat bad, greasy food; this experience made me feel satisfied, and I didn't want to eat. It was almost like a game. Who can take in the least amount of calories per day? The customers didn't know about this game, but it was planted inside my head. I usually worked the lunch shift, so I got up early to workout, went to work, watched people eat, and then went home, feeling satisfied for the day. I would do nothing but drink glasses of water and sit outsider till someone came home so I was not tempted to touch any food in the house.
Chewing gum also became a hunger kicker. Anytime I felt the urge to eat, I would chew a piece of gum, and when the flavor ran out, I would put in another piece. My purse was full of gum and sugar free mints. I sometimes had dinner with the family, depending on what Mom had made. If I thought it wasn't "healthy" enough or too fattening, I said I'd had a late lunch and wasn't hungry.
Five hundred calories became my limit per day. If I succeeded at half the amount, I would reward myself by having to fruit Mentos chews before going to bed. At night I would go to the bathroom and stare into the mirror. As I slowly started to see progress of my bones showing I would get even more excited and motivated to just completely starve. My collar bones have never peaked out so much, the bones on my back were clearly visual and I could count my ribs. This became a thrill and a feeding to my mind to keep going down this path until I felt happy with myself.
CHAPTER 2The Appointment
As we waited for the dietitian to call us back to her room, all I could think about was escaping. I needed a hot coffee to kill the hunger and a jacket since I was freezing. The assistant finally called us back to meet the dietitian. She was all prepped and had the room ready for the appointment. My thoughts upon meeting her were the following:
1. She already annoyed me.
2. She was a small lady, so I was triggered by the fact that a smaller woman was trying to tell me what and how to eat which would lead me into more restriction of food.
3. I already concluded not to listen and to agree to whatever she said just to get out.
The appointment went well. I had a one-on-one moment with her to discuss my feelings and issues with food. She then asked whether I had eaten anything since breakfast, and I said no. She pulled out a bag of cherries, put them into a bowl, and told me to eat them. I pushed the bowl back to her, "I am and done with this appointment." How dare she make me eat something when I didn't want to and pull that stunt in front of my mother and nanny! I was livid. The appointment was over.
It was clear in my eyes that my family was breaking apart, or at least my attachment to a daughter/sister in the household was becoming blocked off and distant. By this I felt as though I were just living in a house with strangers. I was the queen of hibernation and had built a wall no one could get through. I was embarrassed for anyone's eyes to see me. I felt like a disgrace and unworthy of any love or attention. I just wanted to be in my room and behind walls that kept me apart from the outside world. This was my habitat of security and peace, living in my own little world with this sickness that fed my soul with this disorder. But in reality this disorder was harming my soul and hijacking my life.
CHAPTER 3My Secret Revealed
My mother was concerned about the weight I had lost. She asked about my eating, and of course I said I was just eating cleaner and healthily, and I was working out when I could. I saw disbelief on her face. She knew but didn't want to believe it. She tried to make excuses. "Maybe it's your thyroid, or you could be diabetic, and we don't know."
She made an appointment with the doctor to run some tests, hoping to come to a conclusion about why I was thinning out. I arrived at the clinic on the morning of my appointment to meet my mother. She had been employed there for years, so the clinic was almost a second home to us.
My original doctor was on vacation, so I had to settle for having the appointment with another one. The nurse called me back to check my weight and vitals. I was quite happy with the number on the scale reading: 112. Then automatically a voice inside said I needed to be thinner. My goal was to get to the double digits after that. I knew I could do it; I had already come this far.
As we waited for the doctor, the room was cold and quiet. My mom seemed a little nervous as she flipped through the magazine pages, rubbing her hands together and making small talk about posters on the wall as if she were trying to get her own mind off of what information she was about to hear and this would also be the truth. The doctor finally came into the room, reviewed my weight and vitals, and asked about the reason for the visit today. My mom jumped in with the weight loss, wanting to know the cause; maybe I had diabetes. The doctor asked about my eating, and of course I replied that I ate healthily and worked out; therefore, she didn't see a problem with the weight I had as long as I was doing that. She even said I could lose a little more and would be fine because it would barely put me on the underweight mark.
Let's pause right there. First, I got excited because I had permission from a doctor to lose weight, while family members had been on my case about it. Second, was she calling me fat? Oh no. This weight has to go, I thought. This diagnosis made my mother mad. She didn't want to hear the doctor say I could lose more weight; she wanted to know what was wrong and how it could be fixed.
The doctor left the room for a couple of minutes and, upon returning, said she would like to proceed with blood work. Also, due to my current status of weight loss and the rapidness of it, I was considered underweight. I thought, Heck, yes! But she then proceeded to say that she would diagnose me as anorexic after hearing my food rituals and the determination I had to want to lose more weight.
I was in sudden disbelief. I looked at my mother, who covered her face with her hands, in shock. She'd had an idea, but to hear the doctor say this took another toll. She was almost in tears as she stood up to give me a hug. I was speechless. I kept thinking I was fine. Nothing is wrong with me. Anorexia is such an ugly word. I don't have any part of that ... at all!
We headed down the hall to the lab area so blood work could be done. I remember sitting in the chair, thinking how ridiculous this was. They tied the band around my arm and picked up the needle, and I suddenly felt faint. I knew receiving blood from a vein would be hard, since they were so small, and I was dehydrated. I remember a Brad Paisley song playing on the country station and then talk about Michael Jackson's death. It was a weird combination, but at that point I had already passed out.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from "Finding Faith in the Battle" by Alysia Keller. Copyright © 2015 Alysia Keller. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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