No cure, huh?

by Laura
(Dallas, TX, USA)

It was all so innocent when it began. I had always been body-conscious, although never very overweight, but for some reason I didn’t want to get fat. Somehow I equated body weight with others’ opinions of me, and I thought that if I ever got fat, I wouldn’t be loved.

My sister-in-law told me about these new diet pills she was using. She claimed that she knew a lot of people who have been losing weight with them and swore that they worked. I had to give them a try. At first I didn’t change my diet, but the weight was coming off. I was loaded with energy and began experiencing insomnia. Slowly I began changing my diet to all fat-free foods, and then began eating less and less and started exercising frantically.

Somewhere over the next few months I began a journey into darkness that I never saw coming. Stepping on the scale became an exciting activity for me, because I was watching my weight drop lower and lower and each pound lost was a victory. I began to fear all foods, and thought that even a glass of water would make the scale go up, and I was determined to avoid that at all costs. In six months I had lost over 80 lbs and became extremely depressed.

Constantly freezing, I can remember one night wanting to warm up in a hot bath. I was settling in to enjoy the steamy water surrounding my goose-pimpled flesh when my husband walked into the bathroom and startled me. I should say, we were both startled because he got a good look at me for the first time in a long time and by his expression, I could see he was repulsed. Stunned, he sputtered as he tried to speak, asking me what I had done to myself. I couldn’t comprehend what he was talking about. When I looked in the mirror, I saw flab. My stomach, hips and thighs were nowhere near where I wanted them to be. I thought my husband was crazy the way he carried on so, saying I was “skeletal”.

Somewhere in the back of my mind the food and weight issues became a game for me. I found that I could use these tools to manipulate the people I loved. Family and friends were so concerned for me that they didn’t know what to do. I played the game of asking to go out to restaurants so I could watch everyone else pig out while I nibbled on lettuce. People stared when I walked up to a buffet and put an olive on my dish and sat back down. I would make that olive last a long time.

I began enjoying every aspect of food except, of course, for eating it. One night my husband caught me, in a trance-like state, in the kitchen with my hands and arms covered in chocolate pudding. It was then that I realized something wasn’t right.

I finally confided in my doctor and a treatment center was recommended. I loved the idea, not because I wanted to give up my little game, but because I wanted to “stump the experts”. I wanted to show that my will was stronger than anything they could dish out, so I eagerly contacted the center. After giving my information, I was told that my health insurance would not cover my treatment at all, that the cost would be $1250.00 per day and that I needed to be in treatment for 3 months! I called my health insurance company to beg and plead and was told by the agent that there was no cure for eating disorders, and they didn’t want to be responsible to pay for me for the rest of my life!

By then my depression worsened because I felt that I couldn’t even get the help that I needed, that I wasn’t worthy of anything or anyone. I wanted to die. In my mind, it seemed logical that my children would be better off with a better mother, that my husband deserved a better wife and that I was a nobody. I cried often and knew that I was going to die.

Then one day the phone rang.

Someone at the treatment center had contacted a psychologist in my area after hearing how distraught I was that I couldn’t afford to get help. She told me she had been treating people with eating disorders for over a decade with much success. When I protested and told her that I couldn’t afford to get help, she offered to help me for free. I couldn’t wrap my mind around someone thinking that I was worthy enough to save. It took weeks for me to accept that someone could actually care enough to offer their services, so I went.

Three years later in 2007 I went to my last session, gloating over the fact that I had, indeed overcome this crazy disorder. I worked hard and learned a lot about myself during the process, and had come to faith in God. I truly believed that it was God that sent this angel to help me when no one else could. I wish I could go back to the insurance agent who insisted that there was no cure and I would never be well. She was dead wrong!

I have had no problems since then, and have maintained both a healthy weight and acceptance of my body, with all its flaws and imperfections and am living life to the fullest.