My Story

I have debated many times over exactly how I want to tell this story. Do I want to focus on the "how's and why's" I developed my eating disorder or do I want to focus on what it was like to live in that world? I reviewed my diaries, my journals, and my computer logs. I spent many hours pondering where to begin and where to end. I've even tried to ask myself" what do I want to accomplish by telling this history?" What I concluded is that I wanted to divulge a deeper understanding of what it is like to engage in a life with a disease such as this one. I wanted to depict what thoughts and events keep someone hanging onto an illness that is killing them and I wanted to offer hope for a path out of the darkness. In accomplishing this, I have had to examine a lot of my past and some of my present. It has not been easy, but I hope it will be worth it. If, after reading this story, you have comments or questions, please feel free to e-mail me, or leave a message at the BIBRI guestbook. I will answer as quickly and honestly as I am able.

A MESSAGE TO THOSE WHO READ THIS STORY:

If you have come to this site looking for information that will help you place the "blame" of an eating disorder on a specific place, thing or person, you will NOT find that here. My belief is that Eating Disorders are a combination of many different things that occur in our lives. They are not merely the product of abusive pasts, nor are they selfish behaviors a person does "to" someone or "for attention." They are a means to surviving when the heart and mind are in chaos. Please read without judgment for I promise you that I have placed more than enough judgment on myself in the course of my struggle than you could place on me in a lifetime. Judgment has no place in recovery, or in Life. 

WARNING: Some of the information contained on these pages could be triggering to those who struggle with self-inflicting behaviors and/or sexual abuse issues. Please read with caution, when you are at a safe moment in time, and in a "safe" spot. In peace and healing .... Wen

The telling of this story is a long and rocky journey. Please have patience with me as I struggle to find the right words to express my experiences. Thank You.

Part One: "DEFECTIVE"

"Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord, my soul to keep."

de-fec-tive -n a person with some physical or mental defect -adj. imperfect; faulty; subnormal

It's been many years now since I first remember hearing the word "defective" and, yet, it still is emblazoned in my subconscious. There are days when it burns like a fire inside of me and days when it lies a sleeping ember in my heart but it is always there.

I was very small and sick with pneumonia the first time anyone ever called me broken. I remember that's how the doctor explained why I felt so bad inside. He said I was sick because something inside of me had broken... had become defective, but if I was good, he could "fix" it. He could make me better. He kept his word and so did I. Still, even so small, I wondered what I had done to "break" myself in such a way as to be taken away from my bed and my toys, to this strange place. What did I do to make myself feel so sick? How could I make it not happen again?

The things I remember most about that time are that, somehow, tomato juice was supposed to make me feel better (even though it tasted terrible!) and that one or the other of my parents was always right by my side. I remember mom looked sad and daddy always looked tired, but they were always there, taking shifts. ( I am the last of seven children in my family, so they took turns between work, home and me.) It was a scary time for me, made more so because I didn't know how long it would be before I was "fixed" again.

People say that when children are small they don't remember the things that happen to them, or the words said to them. Funny, I remember some things very well.

I remember when I was 6 and having trouble with my kidneys. I remember it hurt, I was tired and sick, and scared. I remember when the doctor told me it was because I was defective inside. Something in my inside wasn't working right and in order not to hurt I had to listen to him. "I had to take medicine, and do as I was told because if I didn't I could get very sick and die, and not be with my mommy and daddy anymore and I didn't want that." Doctor after doctor, test after test, and yet, I was in the fourth grade before I was "fixed".

For the longest time, especially on those days when I knew I hadn't been a very good kid and was getting a well deserved punishment, I was scared to death to go to sleep, for if I feel asleep, would I wake up? Some nights I would lay in bed and pretend to be asleep... trying so hard to stay awake so I couldn't fall asleep and not wake up. I learned the children's prayer.. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take. Now, close to 30, I still find myself uttering those words in my head. Only now, they hold a deeper meaning. for I know first hand what it is like to "die in my sleep."

This Page Last Updated On 02/22/98