Now I'm going to share about when I decided to go into an eating disorder treatment center. And for once I'm without a snappy intro or a funny line. For once, I've.Got.Nothing. I want to share this part of my journey because if I begin to keep things secret, it means I'm embarrassed or ashamed of something I've been through. I'm working very hard on letting that sort of thinking go.
So in 2005 I was in my first full year of being a supervisor, and was struggling with the new responsibilities and duties of my job. Being responsible for my self in the work place was never a problem. Being responsible for the efforts and motivations of others and the production of a department of 8, that's a horse of an entirely different color. I was certainly using food as a crutch to handle stress, anxiety and the fear that despite all my fervent attempts at people pleasing. As I desperately tried to keep my fingers in the dam, the overwhelming depression that I had experienced in college was beginning to rear it's ugly head. I was pretty much doing NOTHING other than working, and going to my apartment after work and eating large amounts of binge foods as a way to relieve the pressure cooker of stress and anxiety that was brewing. The damn finally broke one weekend when two people in my recovery community were working at my house to help me break out of my isolation, and when one of them had the gentle care about them to ask me, "How are you doing?", I just completely lost it. After 45 minutes of crying it was apparent to me that possibly drastic measures would be necessary. After some serious thought, and consultation with trusted member's of my support network at the time, I made the decision that it would be necessary to take a leave of absence from my work and seek intensive inpatient treatment for my depression and also help handling my compulsive overeating. That meant deciding to check myself into an eating disorder treatment center.
Someone I knew had recently had received successful treatment at a facility that was located in Southern California, and for lack of better options I researched that facility as a possible option. The only other facility that I was considering was located in Florida and due to my weight, I was not prepared to undertake air travel to get to a facility. After speaking with an intake coordinator at the facility which was located in Ventura County, I made the decision that I would check into the facility on the following Wednesday. The day I made the decision was on Thursday. When I called my parents to let them know what was going on and what I the action plan that I had prepared, the only words that I received were words of encouragement. I will forever be grateful for their IMMEDIATELY supportive response. They told me to do what I needed to do, and if my insurance would not cover the treatment they stated they were prepared to take a mortgage on their FULLY paid for home, to assist in making sure I received the help I needed. I don't discount their tremendous gift of generosity. I also made the decision to tell my boss ONLY what was required by law, which was that I was taking a medical leave and that I would be gone from work for at least a month. She was surprised by my announcement but was very respectful.
I had given the women who had been at my house the permission to share with the recovery community that I was seeking inpatient treatment and would be leaving town for a rather prolonged time. The supportive response I received was truly wonderful. A couple who attended meetings together graciously offered to foster adopt my 9 year old kitty Maya. They were true kitty lovers and lived quite close to my apartment and I knew that she would be well taken care of and possibly spoiled to the point where she might not want to come home with me when I returned. Many people asked me what they could do to offer support and I just asked for good thoughts and that I would let them know after I'd had a chance to get settled. On a Monday morning, after kissing my beloved fur child the day before when she was picked up for foster care, and having a friend hang out with me all day before to provide support and encouragement, I got in my car and began the journey.
Upon getting to the facility I was rather surprised to find it located in a somewhat residential neighborhood. I discovered when I arrived that I had decided to check in on the day that the treatment team did their team meetings and so to say that the staff was a bit scattered was an understatement. I was shown around, met with the intake person who did a brief interview and then given one of the most thorough medical exams that I'd ever received. It may or may not surprise people to learn that being a compulsive overeater is not a sufficient diagnosis to be admitted for inpatient treatment at an eating disorder treatment facility. What got me admitted was a diagnosis of major depressive disorder, which qualified me for inpatient support. The first night I was sleeping in a bed in a room with other girls for the first time in my life, I was homesick, scared, and totally convinced that I wasn't really as bad off as I thought I'd been. Little did I know the journey that lay ahead.
For someone who lived with my parent's during college, being in this treatment center was my first opportunity to be living in a communal situation with other people, who were primarily young women. Because I was choosing to check in during the summer, I didn't realize that many young women would be there because they were on break from college. I felt like I was 20 years old. Learning to coexist with others was a very positive opportunity for me. I learned a lot.
One of the overriding emotions that came up when I was admitted was insecurity. Because 95% of the patients who were receiving treatment were suffering from anorexia or bulimia, and were extremely thin, I immediately began to feel like I didn't deserve to be there. After expressing my feelings to the counselor that would be my small group counselor, she put me on the spot to share my feelings to the group that I would be participating in daily. I just felt acutely insecure and vulnerable, which in retrospect I learned is a good place to be if you're looking for significant change.
After consulting with the psychiatrist on staff, I was placed on a dose of antidepressant medication that began to help me out of my malaise. Daily therapy and group sessions made for full days and challenges. One of the things that drew me to this facility was their use of the 12 Steps as the foundation of recovery. My first big writing assignment was to do a first step examining my powerlessness over food and the unmanageable state of my life. After writing it, I was required to share it with the group. My aversion to verbal confrontation that I had developed at home because of my parent's constant arguing was put to the test living with people who were seeking help mental health issues as well as potentially life threatening eating disorders. It was a truly educational experience and that's all I'm going to say about it because specific detail I don't feel is necessary.
Because I had previous experience with 12 Step recovery I felt grateful to feel a bit ahead of the game. I also had a built in support group at home waiting for me who OVERWHELMED me by sending cards and letters of support. My fellow patients thought I was special in some regard because after I told a member of the fellowship that getting mail could be the most helpful thing, I believe I received 2-3 letters every other day at least while I was in my inpatient phase of treatment. I also received some photo post cards from my kitty's foster family, showing her lounging around and looking rather unfazed by her new surroundings. I was glad to see her getting love and special wet food for her time away. About half way through my inpatient treatment I also decided to divulge to my boss where I was and what I was doing while on my medical leave. Part of the reason was because I was located less than 15 miles away from where she lived. Her response was very supportive and she came to visit during the weekends when family time occurred. It helped me to feel not so alone. I received other visits from coworkers that I typically spoke to only on the phone.
All in all, I am grateful that I made the decision to seek such intense professional help with regards to my issues surround food and depression. I wish I could say that I never compulsively overate again after treatment but that would not be accurate. There were things that I didn't necessarily find helpful specifically related to the treatment center I had decided to go to. But I will say that the facility saved me from a potentially life threatening depression and gave me a chance to focus solely on my emotional well being, which was necessary. I would definitely encourage anyone who believes they need intensive psychological and focused therapy for an eating disorder to seriously consider inpatient residential care. My only word of caution would be to research the facility you choose thoroughly.
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