Location:
Bakersfield, CA 93308
Who am I? What is my story? After much therapy, and digging into my mental history, I've come to see the timeline of my disordered eating/eating disorder pretty clearly. I will warn you- this isn't a happy or uplifting story. However, it is myown personal journey with an ED, and how I've evolved to be who I am today. This biography was not written for anyone with an ED to compare themselves to ("I'm not as sick as she was, so I don't need or deserve treatment." I hear this one a lot!), but for my readers so they see that I have suffered too. For those with an ED, I hope this will make you feel less alone in your struggles- there is nothing wrong about admitting you have anorexia/bulimia/EDNOS/Binge-eating disorder. In fact, it just makes you stronger in the fight against the ED. To read more about this programme, please head over to: "Who am I? What is this?"
This takes us about 14 years back. At that point in time, I was Lily Berger, age 8. I was 
short, with blonde hair and bright green eyes...and I was hyper beyond all means. I had already become the school outcast and "freak" by age 5. Although my mother was sure I had ADHD (Attention Deficit and Hyperactivity Disorder), she was too concerned about making me a zombie with medication to take me to be tested. So my over-excitement continued. I lost friends, irritated adults, and exasperated my parents. I quickly realised, at age 8, that I needed desperately to calm myself down in any way possible. I had noticed that when I didn't eat lunch, or didn't have a full meal, I would start to drag in energy after awhile. It made me less of an annoyance, less "obnoxious," as my mother would often describe me. And so it began. Throw away a juice box here, a sandwich there. But I was hungry often, and resorted to eating other things that actually looked appetizing- plastic sporks, paper, dirt. I thought it was normal, since I had heard of other kids making "mud pies."
By age 12, I had extremely low self-esteem. I won't go into detail, but my abusive family had broken me in more than one way. I had been raised to strive for and achieve perfection, so I began to use that mentality on my physical looks, as well as how worthwhile I was. If I got less than an A on a report card, or if I received less than first place at a competition, it seemed as though I had failed to reach that unattainable perfection status. One comment that has stuck in my mind was something my mother had said to me at that age: "Well, you could lose five pounds," as she stared down at my muscular dancer/gymnast's thighs. She had blown the trigger in my brain to continue in the cycle of my disordered eating. But now it was not just about calming my hyperactive mind; I was restricting and throwing things away in order to slim down those legs.
At age 15, the trauma that I was experiencing had heightened, and my thoughts became more and more suicidal. I made a pact to myself to lose weight, lose my mind, and then lose my life. "At age 20," I told myself, "I will kill myself- twodecades was enough time to live, right?"
My eating disorder had turned into a way to escape, run away, numb myself. I began purging my dinner every night,and lost friends, boyfriends, and my family became distant. I began self-inflicting, just to punish myself for reasons only known to me. I wasn't good enough, not worth happiness. My moods shifted often, and for that reason, I lashed out at my parents and my sister, especially. She shared a room with me, and many times, I'd treat her cruelly.
During my 16th year, I lived in France for three months. It was my dream come true, but didn't "fix" my eating disorder or the self-mutilation- I continued in these two self-damaging habits throughout my stay, breaking apart my shaving razors, and pretending I had a stomach bug to cover up my purging. However, my passion for the French language and culture grew exponentially, and I became nearly fluent in the language of love.
As a junior in high school 
(age 16-17), I began restricting and purging to an extreme, taking speed-like diet drugs (that wereillegal), and covering up my pain by downing sleeping pills and cough syrup. I spent my days either in a fog or in rapid motion, running at a 100 MPH. I went to McDonald's with my guy friends after school, only to eat ketchup and salt, then run to the bathroom to be sick. I felt like I was in a perpetual cycle of exhausting pain. I had to find an alternative, it seemed, but I didn't know what it could be. By this point, I was self-inflicting in addition to the ED behaviours, so I thought had no other coping mechanisms to turn to...or so it would seem.
A month after my 17th birthday, I met and went to my only dance (the prom) withKevin Mershon, who was a 
year older than me. I made the decision that I would never date again if this relationship didn't work out, as I had been left multipletimes due to the ED. But it did work. Kevin made me the happiest I'd been in years. My eating disorder seemed to vanish for the first couple of months of our relationship. Four months later, Kevin had to move to San Jose, CA to go to San Jose State University, and we began a long distance relationship. After graduating at age 18, I had started working at Starbucks, my first job, and the ED began to strike back harder. I would eat whatever I wanted, but my exercise became excessive. I'd leave the house at midnight to go for long runs, and frequented the gym much too often. But I was still madly in love with Kevin. I began going to Bakersfield College, majoring in business administration and French. I adored school, but it seemed I "adored" my ED more, and the self-infliction became more and more secretive.
In November of my 19th year, I got
engaged to Kevin. I was elated! I had moved up to San Jose with Kevin, and was attending San Jose City College. I was still working at Starbucks, and I adored my co-workers. We lived with two other males, who detested my way of thinking and doing things. I drank constantly, skipping school in favour of vodka. I became more and more promiscuous, and ate huge amounts as a way to give Ed the finger. I pretended that the eating disorder no longer controlled me, but little did I know, the worst was yet to come.
I could keep things "under control" until my 20th birthday, when I bought a scale. I stepped onto that dreaded scale, which I hadn't used since I had moved out of my parents' house, and found that I was the heaviest I had ever been in my life...though it was still within healthy limits. I panicked, and the next day, my descent into restrictive anorexia nervosa began spiraling out of control. I was also terrified that I had lived past my 20th birthday, even after multiple attempts to take my own life, and this fear also pushed me farther into my eating disorder. Kevin and I moved into our own apartment just a few blocks away a few months later, though we were far from happy.
I was exhausted, and in 6 months had lost 40 pounds. I had started another job, as well as Starbucks, as a student assistant at San Jose State University. I had also transferred to SJSU, and was a full-time French student. The stress of school, work, and the eating disorder were beginning to take its toll. I was mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually drained. I had no time for my fiance, and no time for my cat Mittens. Ed was my all.
In October of 2006, Kevin convinced me to see a counsellor at SJSU, as I was slipping at work, fainting, and though I was still getting straight A's in school, I couldn't concentrate. I had begun to isolate, drink, smoke marijuana, and beg co-workers for prescription pain medication...just to get out of my head. I was literally starving myself to death, and every moment seemed too bright, too warped to handle. The counsellor turned out to be an intern. Though she was nice, she just didn't help me. I lied my way around her questions, and pretended I was doing so much better.
Kevin and I were married on the 21 December 2006, during the university's winter recess, in the courthouse ofBakersfield, CA. We had a 40-person reception at my parents' home, and I felt beautiful (yet freezing cold) in my white fake-silk spaghetti-strap dress that I had bought off ebay for 30$. I felt like maybe I could finally be happy, feel loved, and get rid of this pesky eating disorder. Our honeymoon was in Anaheim, CA and we stayed in a hotel across from Disneyland for three days. It was far from happy or exciting- I was purging after every meal, hurt too badly to take a bath with my new husband, and refused his pleas for intimacy. The lights and crowds at the amusement park were just too much for me, and we spent nights going back to the hotel early and bickering.
Three months before my 21st birthday, I began bingeing on fruit and candy, purging everytime. I gained 15 pounds, and became terrified. I took fatal doses of sleeping pills just to numb my mind, and my relationship with Kevin was going down the drain. We discussed breaking off the marriage many times. In February of 2007, I admitted to my counsellor that I was taking sleeping pills in large amounts, and she gave me two options: either I go with the campus police to the ER, or Kevin could take me to the ER who had been told to notify the police if I didn't arrive within the hour. The head therapist of the student counselling centre withdrew me from my classes, and gave my boss at SJSU the news that I would no longer be able to work in the foreign language department. I wrote my resignation from Starbucks on my 2.5 year anniversary of working there, citing my eating disorder and mental health, as well as my panic attacks, as my reason for leaving.
I was admitted to the psych ward immediately. I stopped eating completely, purging water, hiding Boosts I was given, and bonding with the other patients who drank and self-inflicted. I acted as a mini-therapist, pretending my life was just perfect, and that I didn't understand why I was in the psych ward in the first place. I spent one week there, before passing out in the hallway with a blood pressure of 77/44. I woke up in the medical ward, with a geriatric roommate. I was placed on nine different drugs in the next two weeks- I began cutting myself with broken cans, pulling out my IV (I had to have a new IV placed seven times), and running out into the hallway naked with the IV in my arm in order to weigh myself. I was placed on a 51/50, otherwise known as suicide watch. I had a sitter in my room all day and all night. I was traumatised one day when a nurse entered my room, glanced at my chart, snorted, and then said: "You have an eating disorder? You don't look like it!" I was 15 pounds underweight, but was weighed down with five blankets to keep from shivering. My eating disorder screamed to me that I needed to show her, and I completely stopped eating, despite the fact that I was told I was on a "75% of meal finished" calorie count.
At the end of March 2007, the hospital informed Kevin and my parents that I no longer had any mental health insurance left. I had gone through 100,000$ due to the hospitalisation, and my social worker had contacted Oceanaire, a residential facility in Palos Verdes, CA for eating disorders.
I was discharged on 3 April, drove down to Bakersfield from San Jose, and on the 4 April, I was travelling with my parents 6 hours south of Bakersfield to Oceanaire, in order to be admitted to the facility. My father informed me sternly that I needed to get better because they were going to pay out-of-pocket, as I no longer had insurance.
Oceanaire was a devastating experience. The environment was too lax, the therapists were condescending and didn't take their jobs seriously, and the obviously actively anorexic dietitian discussed her personal issues. The groups were never scheduled or on time, weight restoration was done with huge amounts of food (imagine 3500 calories in a heap on your plate), and we were allowed to watch television/read tabloids/smoke whenever we wanted. I picked up that nasty habit there. Basically, the programme was a glorified eating disorders spa! I spent my 21st birthday there. No vodka shots for me- instead, we did water shots, as the girls sang happy birthday to me over our breakfast granola.
I was discharged against medical advice on the 29 May, after two months of h_ll. I immediately relapsed, spiraling even deeper into my disorder. I had stopped cutting, but had stepped up my starvation and purging. By November 2007, I had dropped another 30 pounds, and was consistently restricting then bingeing and purging at night. I spent what should have been the most exciting vacation in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico purging and shivering cold, due to lack of body fat. My body was starting to fail, but I didn't quite know to what extent. I had had a seizure during a blood draw at the doctor's office, and after my doctor told me she was petitioning to take away my license, I decided never to see her again. My therapist and dietitian feared for my life, and pleaded with me to go into acute inpatient care. Little did they know what would happen...
In December, my BMI was lower than the level of medical emaciation. I couldn't walk up the stairs to my apartment, and spent my days lying on the couch in pain. I became insane, paranoid, and severely irritable. I never saw my friends, and my husband wouldn't even touch me.
On the 9th of that month at 4 in the morning, I collapsed into two seizures.
Kevin rushed me to the same hospital my mother-in-law worked at as the chief clinical dietitian, the doctor told me (as Kevin later told me when I was coherent) that I "shouldn't have lived, kid." My kidneys were starting to fail. My potassium, magnesium, and phosphate were dangerously low. I was severely dehydrated and anemic. I hadn't slept for five days straight, and was suffering from bradycardia, low blood pressure, and pulse deficit. I had a urinary tract infection, muscle wastage, and extremely low body fat- to the point where my body had been eating at the fat and muscle around my organs. I couldn't hear correctly (and later realised I had damaged my hearing), see straight, or barely open my mouth due to hugely swollen lymph nodes (from purging). I had broken my tailbone and had a PPN placed in my arm (I had potassium, saline/caloric liquid, magnesium, and lipids flowing into my arm for four days straight), so I lie in the hospital bed in agony.
And yet, I continued to eat miniscule amounts, and purge when the nurses were out of the room. My mother-in-law stayed at my bedside, making sure no one would trigger me, or send me into a downward spiral. My father's business sent me flowers, even while my father was extremely angry that he would have to pay for treatment yet again. Two women from my mother-in-law's church visited me, and the hospital chaplin even took the time to speak with me.
I began to realise that God was at work in my life. I know, it sounds cliche, but God spared my life for a reason. I had been a staunch and angry atheist all my life, but I began to soften, and accept Christ into my heart. My mother-in-law aided me in my journey, and after four days of hospital workers trying to stabilise me, I was discharged on the condition that a legal guardian or a nurse would escort me on the flight to Remuda Ranch in Wickenburg, AZ. My husband and I left for AZ the next day.
In less than 24 hours, I was in AZ. The reality that I would be away from my husband for at least 60 days hadn't dawned on me yet. Walking had become very difficult, as my legs were badly suffering edema and muscle cramps. As we finally got to the Ranch after the admittance at the main office, Kevin and I began crying, and I clung to him with all of my strength.
Despite the pain of leaving my husband, I found that Remuda Ranch was the safest place I've ever been. The rules were strict, and Ed had no wiggle room. The staff was firm, yet goofy. And then came the NG tube. My dietitian sat down with me and told me that it was strongly medically recommended that I get the tube for weight restoration. So...I agreed, terrified. Having that tube go down my throat and into my stomach was not a pleasant experience, and I was the only in my community (there are three communities- Appaloosa, Paint, and Palamino) to have a tube for a good two weeks.
Suddenly, waking up at 5 in the morning after listening to the purr of my jevity IV pumping nutrition into my tube at night was nothing out of the ordinary. I became the official hyper-active Remuda greeter, though I imagine I was probably pretty intimidating at first. I plastered stickers on my tube, and felt like I finally belonged somewhere. I finally trusted women, and loved my sisters in crime.
Time went by in a blink of an eye. Six weeks into my stay, Kevin, my sister Ricky, and my mother Kerry came to AZ for family week therapy. My dad, who is the one who really needed to be there, was busy with work as always, and didn't make it. Kevin and I got a lot out of it, but my sister and mother were so distraught in their own thoughts, that they couldn't soak in all the information and put it to use. It was a disappointing epiphany that made me realise that I have to take care of myself, and that I can't change my family.
On 9 February, I got rid of my kids sized clothing on the cross where girls lay down their sins and past. I also tossed nearly all of my "big" jeans that I used to judge myself by tossing them into the lost and found box (which most girls used when they had grown into a new size). I was a wreck- I was sobbing, and felt horrid that I had to give up such a physical form of my eating disorder. Later, they had to take my NG tube out. I still hadn't reached my ideal body weight, but if I was transferring to Remuda Life (the step-down residential programme), I couldn't have one. I grieved over the last shred of the ED being drawn out of me. My body had gone from 9% body fat/5-10th percentile of muscle mass/BMI of 14.7 to a healthier 15% body fat/50th percentile muscle mass/BMI of around 20. I mourned the loss of Ed, as foolish as that may sound. It was like someone ripping my baby blanket away from me.
On the 10 February, I sobbed as I left to go 1.5 hours or so away to Remuda Life residential facility. I spent 30 days there, studying about God's amazing plans for us. I continued to do my meals, cooking them with the other girls, and making friendships that will forever flourish. I struggled with the 1 Ensure and 2 Boosts I had to continue to eat in order to restore weight. I was very uncomfortable in my body. For that reason, my therapist recommended a 2-week extension, but my parents refused to pay any more money. On 11 March, I discharged at the low end of my ideal weight range, bawling about leaving my friends who I felt I had just started to get to know. Most of them live in central/south USA, so who knows when I would see them next?
I returned home, and it felt strangely surreal. I didn't enjoy being back into the real world, and floundered around for awhile, slipping multiple times, and feeling hopeless. But after a few months, I've realised that life is too precious to waste. After studying French for three years, I made the decision to switch majors to dietetics with a minor in psychology and the hope of specialising in EDs. I began gardening, getting out more, going to the gym to continue restoring my body after all the harm I've done to it, and becoming more active in eating disorder awareness. My husband and I understand each other so much more, and are still happily married. I have set limits with my family, though they will always continue to trigger me. I just have a different way of dealing with my anger and shame now.
That's not to say I don't struggle. Everyday is a challenge. But at least I know that I'll take on that challenge now.
------------------------------------------------- -----------
Long history, eh? If you have any questions about Remuda Ranch, Oceanaire, or any part of my story, please feel free to contact me. If you are going into treatment, it will be my pleasure to write you while you're there. Mail can sometimes brighten your day and turn it around.
As the Bible says:
"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves have received from God." (2 Corinthians 1:3-4)
I hope to hear from you soon! Send me an e-mail, sign my guestbook, or leave a comment on this entry if you'd like to get ahold of me.
Love and blessings,
RSS 2.0
1
