I’m Feeling 22!

Last week, I celebrated my 22nd birthday much differently than my previous two birthdays.

(Trigger warning for this post - this is from a very dark time in my life and includes details of my experience for informative purposes. If currently struggling with an eating disorder - sensitive topics discussed)

My 20th birthday was spent in inpatient treatment at Center For Change, an eating disorder treatment center that I was admitted to during my first attempt at recovery. I dug through my closet to find my journals from then, and wanted to share my thoughts about turning twenty.

Sep 13, 2022 - “Well, it’s my birthday and I’m turning twenty in treatment. Not the greatest birthday ever. I’m pretty sad and just pretending it isn’t actually my birthday. Your 20s are supposed to be fun and exciting but I see nothing fun about my future. How am I ever going to live the life I want or do any of the things I want when I am just ugly and fat and disgusting? I am just going to be miserable and hideous forever. No guy is literally ever going to like me or want to marry me. I have nothing to look forward to or hope for. I’d rather just let anorexia kill me than be here in treatment gaining weight and becoming even uglier than I already am. I don’t want to recover, I just want to go to bed and never wake up again. The girls have been super sweet about trying to make it a good day for me though. They all signed a birthday card and sang to me this morning. I played cards with (names not mentioned for privacy reasons) and worked on some of my therapy assignments. They increased the calories in my meal plan again, but since it was my birthday I just boosted for everything rather than trying to eat any of it. A birthday gift to me, not making myself eat anything today. I called my family but it just made me sad, so now I am going to go to bed. Time to hook myself up to my heart rate monitor and call it a day. Definitely a birthday I won’t forget.”

My 21st birthday was not spent in treatment, but I was without a doubt at my absolute lowest. Both physically and mentally I had never been so sick. My parents took my sister and me on vacation and I dreaded going because I knew that meant eating “unsafe” foods, being unable to hide and isolate myself, wearing a swimsuit, and having to pretend like I was enjoying my time when really, I never enjoyed anything anymore.

I woke up on my 21st birthday and immediately my obsessive thoughts for the day began. A couple of months prior to this time, my doctor had given me specific orders that I was not allowed to exercise anymore because of the risk to my heart. I ignored his instruction and was still secretly going on runs at least once if not twice every day. I knew my parents would be upset if they caught me in the gym that was aboard the cruise ship we were on, so I instead just went up and down the 8 levels of stairs for an hour. I knew I probably wouldn’t get caught considering it was 6:00 AM and there was almost no way anyone in my family would be awake, but if by chance I ran into someone, I could use the excuse that I was just exploring a new area of the ship. It wasn’t unusual for me to be up early, my body was so hungry it hardly ever let me sleep.

After an hour of stairs, the breakfast buffet opened and I could treat myself to walking around and gawking at all the food I wouldn’t be eating. A common behavior of people with anorexia is an obsession with food. I loved looking at food, making food, drawing pictures of food, watching people eat food, and plating myself food that I had no intention of having. It became my biggest hobby and the number one way I found comfort. I sat at a table outside the buffet and wrote down a list of all the foods I wished I could eat for my birthday. Waffles, French Fries, Ice cream, the things that were strictly on my “off-limits list.”

The rest of the day was spent similarly to every other day at that time of my life. Pretending to be pleasant and present while internally going insane. Thinking about food and exercise and guilt and shame on a never-ending miserable loop. Before going to bed, I did my routine nightly check, where I made sure I could still feel my ribs, hip bones, spine, and collar bones protruding from my skin. Then, like always, I sat on the floor of the bathroom, made sure hard surfaces still hurt my tailbone, and took two laxatives before getting up to go to bed.

This was my life, and I knew it was going to kill me but I didn’t care. As I tried to go to sleep, I had the thought that I could have just experienced my last birthday. That didn’t scare me. Food scared me. I was unhappy anyway and I didn’t believe I’d ever get better.

My 22nd birthday was last week, and I am damn happy to say I got better.

Something that was crucial for me in my recent recovery process was having specific goals I could only accomplish with a healthy, nourished body. Running became completely unenjoyable and eventually impossible because of my eating disorder. I was entirely incapable in the body that once used to do everything I asked it to. Deciding to recover also meant deciding I wanted to run again. Not to lose weight or burn calories but because I loved it.

It was necessary for me that these goals I was setting were time-based. If not, then I would continue to procrastinate recovery. There was never going to reach a time when I felt 100% ready to fight anorexia; I just had to do it. I gave myself until my 22nd birthday to get healthy enough to be able to run 22 miles. It took some of the hardest work of my life but I woke up on my 22nd birthday a different person than I was a year ago.

I woke up in a body that was strong and could do awesome things.

I woke up with a family that trusted me again and didn’t have to question my strength or safety.

I woke up with friends who were proud of me instead of scared for me.

I woke up with excitement instead of dread.

I ran 22 miles and felt so extremely grateful and happier than ever. (I will admit though, at mile 20 I was getting to be a little less grateful and happy…)

I ran 22 miles but it meant so much more to me than that.

I can’t exactly describe my feelings about turning 22, but my heart truly is so full. I am so grateful for recovery. I am so grateful for the overwhelming love and support of every single person who has been a part of my life this past year. I am so grateful for my body and that it has given my soul another chance in it.

After my run, the very first thing I chose to do was go get a big cinnamon roll. Because on your birthday, and EVERY OTHER DAY TOO, YOU EAT THE DAMN FOOD!!