I laid in the hospital bed circling back to the question that got me there in the first place. “Why couldn’t I just be skinny like the other girls”, “Why did things have to go so far”, and “Why the hell did it have to be me?”.
I remembered just how bad the drive to the hospital was as neither of my parents were home. The tears formed in my eyes as I was driving on the bloody highway in Texas!!! Literally one of the dumbest things I could’ve done because Texans can’t drive for the life of them but I couldn’t stop myself from crying. I finally reached rock bottom. I was going to die if I continued blindly following the voice of my eating disorder and that was soon to be made very clear as arrived at the hospital.
Once I got checked in and had my vitals taken, I helplessly awaited my faith in my hospital room. Eventually, a nurse walked in. She looked sweet, I thought, but I knew she was about to interrogate my ass. She took one look at my stats- blood pressure, weight, temperature- and one look at me and immediately changed her direction of interrogation. She began to ask basic questions you would see on a depression test and as any logical person with an eating disorder (even though I was in denial), I said no to all of them. To make matters even more uncomfortable, my parents began to trail in.
Months ago, I recall my parents questioning my eating habits. The small portions I would eat compared to the extremely large portions I ate, the long hours I would spend in the bathroom, the overexercising, the body-shaming, the way I kept getting thinner and thinner as the days passed, etc. They were concerned, hell, even I was concerned but I chose not to stop and that was precisely what got me in the situation I was in. In a hospital bed, 85lbs, hair falling out, cold, bandages in multiple spots because the nurses couldn’t draw blood. I felt lifeless and it showed through my stats, my body, my face, and even my eyes that no longer had the shine they once did.
The question my parents now asked was, “What did we do wrong”, “What can we do?”, and “Is she going to live?”. The question that scared me the most was “What can we do to help her get better?”. I knew exactly what the answer was and exactly what it entailed as it was the thing I was dreading the most: in-patient eating disorder recovery. Upon hearing this, I broke down, I couldn’t do it anymore. I remember being so tired and drained from all that I did to my body but I still didn’t want to recover.
I desperately asked if there was another option. Once again, I was given the option of recovery but it would be at home with the hugeeeee risk: DEATH. Essentially, my choice was either death, death from refeeding syndrome, or inpatient which at the time, also was equivalent to death. It was in a whirl of thoughts that my mom suddenly held on to me and began to sob and that’s when I had my great epiphany that made me see that it was not just me that was affected by this eating disorder. It was everyone I held close and dear. Therefore, it wasn’t just me that I had to recover for. It was for my friends, my brothers, my dad, my mom, and most importantly myself. I returned to the question that I was left to answer, “ recovery or death” and finally made my answer. I replied with a faint smile on my face, “I’ll start in-patient recovery.”
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t excited to begin recovery. During the times when I was balls-deep in an eating disorder, I thought of recovery multiple times but I was just too mortified to commit. Even though having to be hospitalized during the brink of exams (thankfully the 9th was my final AP test) and the end of my junior year sucked so so much, this event catalyzed the beginning of my recovery. Without it, I am not sure I would be here today to write this blog which brings me to my point of this blog.
Eating disorders are a life-threatening illness that should be taken very seriously. It is not just a little diet to lose weight; it is a disorder that takes away all sensibility, confidence, self-love, and strips you of everything that makes you, you. That is why it is so critical to begin recovery if you haven’t already, and to keep pushing forward till you can finally say that “I recovered from an eating disorder”. Don’t let this voice in your head continue to strip everything you love away from you because if you do, the sad reality is that all that will be left is a corpse. Recovery is scary, but not recovering is so so much scarier. My point is, to seek help and begin recovery before it’s too late. It will be a long journey with perhaps some relapse, I know I had many, but just keep showing up and it will become easier over time. You can do this <3!!
XOXO,
Laiba
